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Chapter Text

You knew the entire time; you knew that I’m a mastermind

When he was younger and had just discovered his love for chess, Regulus Black had realized people weren’t so different from chess pieces. Once you knew them well enough, they were predictable, limited to a certain range of moves. Regulus could see the different possible outcomes of an interaction lined up in his head, and he could predict what moves and countermoves would lead to what situation, and which one was most likely to occur.

If his brother Sirius came home after disappearing for three days, smelling of smoke and sporting bruises, their mother, Walburga, pale and tight-lipped, would threaten to disown him or refuse to let him eat leftover dinner. Their father, Orion, would press him against the wall and pat him down for drugs. Or, sometimes, he’d punch him so hard blood would splatter all over the floor. Sirius would either take the beating with quiet resignation when Regulus was there, or fight back with tooth and nail when he thought Regulus couldn’t hear it because he was up in his room. Of course, Regulus always did. The endgame then consisted of two options: Sirius, going to bed with throbbing bruises and a nagging hunger in his gut, or the sound of Sirius’ boots hitting the pavement when he escaped through the window the same night.

All these chess games were tinged with rage, fear, desperation and loneliness. Regulus hated being able to analyse the tension that gripped the people living in Grimmaud Place, hated being able to predict what would trigger his parents, hated being forced to tiptoe around it. When Sirius abandoned him for good when he wasn’t even twelve years old, Regulus escaped into the world of chess.

He focused on the cleanliness of a real chess game. It never got as messy, a move triggered a countermove, and the chess pieces weren’t sharp enough to cut him open and draw blood. It became an obsession, one that he had welcomed with open arms. It was a distraction from the suffocating quietness in the house and the void that Sirius had left behind. He could lose himself in a chess game for hours, play and play and play until his mind was hazy and his eyes were burning. He soon started reading books about chess, littering his floor and his bed with it, bringing them to school, absorbing every opening that he could find, storing it in his brain, baffled by the amount of knowledge he could easily memorize. By the time he was fourteen, he had read about Paul Keres and Bobby Fischer in Candidates Tournament (1959), of how Fischer was only 15 year old when playing against the seasoned grandmaster, of Mikhail Tal and Mikhail Botvinnik in World Championship Match (1960) when Tal sacrificed his queen and won the championship. He read about the Sicilian Defense and the Queen’s gambit and King’s Indian Defence.

By the time he was fourteen, he had skipped school more times than he could count to play against the old men in the park, winning and winning until they just shook their head with a smile, refusing to play against him because he’d beat them again in a few chess moves. He saved the money he was given to buy school lunches and entered a small tournament in his town, and he won.

Then, his mother, who had until then frowned upon her son’s obsession and scolded him every time she caught him reading a book about that nonsense, once again searched through his room when he was away, like she had always done since the day Sirius had left, making sure Regulus wouldn’t go astray like his brother, had found the 200 dollar price hidden between the pages of a battered edition of My System.

And from then on, Regulus life was both heaven and hell. From the moment his mother had discovered Regulus had an actual talent, and that talent could bring the Black family fame and recognition, and most importantly, money, she’d gone from ripping apart his books in one of her fits to dumping a pile of four or five heavy books on his desk every week, forcing him to work through them. She signed him up for chess tournaments, kept the money when he won, and on the rare occasion she didn’t, she treated him with cold disappointment and accused him of not having worked hard enough.

Regulus grew up between chess players and chess fanatics, sleeping in motel rooms that filled him with a sort of loneliness that tugged at his heart, the constant pressure of his parents’ expectations weighing down on his shoulders. When he was home, his parents would show him off like someone would show off a priced possession, thinking it would make their relatives forget about the failure that Sirius, their older son, had become.

Regulus developed a hate-love relationship with chess. He loved playing, loved the cold calculation and the straight-forwardness of it, the predictability, loved the mixture between a warm smile and astonishment on his opponents face when he won, often players with a much higher score than his. He loved watching other players play, his eyes glued to the board and his mind attempting to anticipate every move before anyone else.

He hated the pressure of it. Hated that his parents didn’t care for the game, only for the money, which Regulus gave them without spending a thought. Hated how his parents would allow journalists to prod him with questions, thinking about how Sirius would feel reading about how Regulus had relented to being the perfect son, while he was an outcast. Hated how he didn’t have a home, always on the move, never once settling down and waking up in a different room almost every week.

Soon, Regulus developed insomnia. No matter what he did, sleep would not come easily to him. He’d turn in bed until he’d give up, turning on his light and sitting down on his desk, drawing his knees up and playing chess until the early hours of the morning when the sun would tinge the sky orange. His thoughts wouldn’t stop churning and there was no way of quieting them down. He soon started falling asleep in the middle of the day. That, paired with the dark circles under his eyes and his jitteriness from all the coffee he was consuming, alarmed his mother, and Walburga, instead of dragging him to doctors, gave him her own prescription medication – tranquilizers, he would later learn – that she used for her headaches.

About two months later, Regulus discovered that when he took two or more, something curious would happen: He could picture the chess pieces clearly before his eyes even without a board, playing games without every forgetting the place of even a single piece, and he could go through innumerable possibilities within just a few hours. To his parents’ astonishment, he improved so much within a few weeks that he was able to play against players that had been considered way above his league. He won against Peter Pettigrew, the local chess champion in Kentucky.

And then, at seventeen, he found himself in a hotel in Cincinnati, taking part in a match organized by the US Chess Federation, standing at the reception and trying not to get lost in his thoughts. He was beyond tired and exhausted and Walburga had worn him down with her constant scolding on the way to the hotel, complaining about how Regulus would not live up to the expectations that other families had of them, complaining about his hunched shoulders and his bad posture, the plain black shirt he was wearing, the way he had once again let his curls grow just a bit too long. She tended to nag a lot when she hadn’t had a drink for a while.

She had only now turned her attention away from him as she talked to the receptionist, and Regulus blinked into the lights on the ceiling to get himself to wake up, looking around in mild interest, and freezing up when he recognized a familiar face in the crowd that had gathered around a table with a chess board on it, watching two players. Regulus felt his heart skip a beat only to flutter against his ribcage a moment later.

James Potter.

United States Champion. Known for his aggressive style and considered one of the strongest chess players of the country – and, one of the most charming. Regulus had seen him on the Cover of Chess Review, had read interviews of him, had studied his games. He was brilliant. Sharp-minded, precise, not ever wasting a move. Fast and brutal.

And he was, unfortunately, very attractive.

Potter’s curls were dishevelled and messy, his eyes bright, and he wore a simple black t-shirt tucked into his black jeans. He had crossed his arms in front of his chest, his eyes trained on the chessboard, a knowing smile on his lips as he followed the game, a mixture between amusement and cockiness on his face. His fingers were adorned with black rings. Regulus felt his throat run dry.

Then, as if Potter had felt Regulus’ gaze on him, his eyes snapped up and he looked directly at Regulus, who snatched his eyes away sharply, cursing the blush creeping up on his cheeks. His paleness really didn’t help to cover it up, and he gritted his teeth and fixed his eyes stoically on the keychains behind the receptionist. Suddenly, something hard hit his chest and Regulus winched, staring around to see his mother glaring at him, instinctively grabbing the thing she was pressing to his chest. It was the key to his room.

“Regulus, stop daydreaming. They messed up the reception, so we’re getting slightly smaller rooms,” she said, her discontent drawing sharp lines on her face. “It’s on the second floor.” Regulus closed his fingers around the cold metal until it dug into his palms, carefully avoiding glancing into Potter’s direction. “Hurry up, I’m tired and I have a headache.”

She walked towards the stairs leading upwards, her back straight and her chin high. The marble of the stairs was polished and shining in the dim orange light of the lamps leading all the way up. Regulus followed her, begrudgingly swallowing the question how tired she could really be after sleeping four hours on the flight when he hadn’t managed more than half an hour of dosing, when he felt a tingling in his neck and suddenly grew very aware of somebody watching him. He turned briefly; and there he stood, James Potter, staring back at him and not even embarrassed about being caught. Regulus, not about to back down this time, not when he was the one who had caught him staring, held his gaze, challenging and daring him. His heart palpitated when a knowing smile spread on Potter’s lips. He gave the smallest nod at Regulus before turning his attention back to the game, and Regulus just stood there, the keys imprinting red marks into his palms.

As always, they had two adjacent rooms connected with a door. Walburga drew the curtains close in her room and lit a cigarette, while Regulus walked straight into his own room, having seen the liquor standing on the cabinet and not waiting for his mother to get drunk. She’d taken on a habit of drinking a little too much for the past year and she was unpredictable if she did. Not that she would ever let her husband know about it. But he was barely home anyways, so it wasn’t exactly hard, and she was a Black, still – meaning that she was always careful to behave as expected in public, living up to her name.

She’d let Regulus drink from time to time, and while he hated the burning of the liquor in his throat and the lingering taste it coated his tongue in, he liked how it soothed his mind. He probably would have drunk a bit more if it wasn’t for his mother keeping a sharp eye on her supplies, not wanting Regulus to damage his brilliant mind. She was paradoxical in that way because she refused to acknowledge the damage it was clearly doing to her, but Regulus wasn’t about to start a pointless fight about it and so he never brought it up.

The pills, thankfully, she wasn’t so careful about.

She was the one who carried the prescription bottle, but it was very easy to just steal a few more pills here and there. Regulus hid them in different places each time, depending on the situation. He took them out now, considering the bottle for a moment as he counted how many he had left. Seven. One or two for tonight, then another two for tomorrow and the rest for the day after that. Then he’d have to find a good moment to steal some more without his mother noticing. The green capsules glinted in the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. What if he took some now? They’d already eaten and he didn’t really have to leave his room. His mother probably wouldn’t knock on his door. She was already busy getting drunk.

He stuffed them in the pillowcase, firmly shutting off all these thoughts. He couldn’t risk it. He should only take them when he really needed to. To distract himself, he grabbed the book he’d been reading and dragged a heavy wooden chair to the window, sitting down, getting rid of his shoes and drawing his feet up, resting the book on his knees. He could almost hear his mother scolding him for hunching his back like this and destroying his eyes, and let his left foot dangle over the armrest for good measure.

He started reading, but soon realized it was to no avail. It wasn’t just because he was tired, or because the unoriginality of the chess matches he was reading about bored him – they really did – but because his mind kept wandering back to the entrance hall and James Potter, staring at the chess play so intently, so arrogantly, confident about the fact that he’d end it within a minute if he was the one playing. There was something about the easiness of his smile and brightness of his eyes that was unnerving to Regulus. It meant that James Potter really was what all the journals and books had told him before: Potter was a mastermind. And he might just be better than Regulus.

That thought irked him more than he wanted to admit, and he drew his left foot up to his chest and tipped his head back, the open book resting against his chest as he closed his eyes only for a second, staring at the ceiling in the next. He knew it shouldn’t bother him that much. Of course there were players out there far better than him. He was seventeen, and even thought people had started calling him a prodigy, there was a natural progression in chess that just didn’t allow a player to skip forward. There was too much to learn and to study and too many possibilities to ponder and too little time. He already was a miracle.

But knowing Potter, only two years older, had stored a hundred more chess constellations in his mind and had read so much more gave rise to a sort of competitive urge inside of Regulus, making him aware that time was ticking by, and resulting in a grim sort of resolve. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to beat Potter. He wanted to get better than him. Wanted to see that cocky smile fade from his lips, wanted Potter to look at him with a new kind of respect, wanted him to acknowledge him.

Regulus’ thoughts screeched to a halt. No. There was something to Potter that caused people to want to prove themselves to him. Regulus didn’t need his approval. He wasn’t going to let himself be charmed.

He dropped the book to the floor and got up, shaking his thoughts off with a jerk of his head. He walked over to the mirror and stared at his reflection. He studied the shadows under his eyes and the exhaustion drawn onto his pale face, the bruise on his upper arm, almost entirely covered by the sleeve of his t-shirt, where Walburga had grabbed him too hard when he had refused to get in the car. He hadn’t told her about his claustrophobia yet (and wasn’t exactly planning to), and he mostly managed to hide it quite well, but the car had been too damn small and the windows wouldn’t open. In a surge of sudden panic, Regulus had shrunk away from the car, shaking his head, begging his mother to get another one. Regulus tugged at his shirt so that the bruise was fully covered and threw a stern look at himself. Don’t let it happen again. The memory made him even more jittery than before and tipped his thoughts over the edge.

He needed to get out of the hotel room, otherwise he’d end up pacing up and down all night until his mother came over complaining about the noise. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix it and gave up when it only got messier than before, letting the curls fall onto his forehead. He put on his shoes again and grabbed the key, stopping for a moment for any noise coming from his mother’s room, but it was quiet and he assumed she’d probably fallen asleep. Hopefully not with a glass in her hand like last time, when she had spilled wine on the carpet.

Quietly, he stepped into the corridor, the mustiness he’d never get used to hitting his nostrils. Every hotel had a different scent, but they never stayed long enough for Regulus to get so accustomed to it that didn’t strike him as odd. His feet sank into the carpet as he made his way to the lobby, passing only a few people as he walked down the stairs. There was an eerie quietness that Regulus had grown familiar with – spending most of his teenager years in hotels, you start getting familiar with certain noises just like you get used to them at home.

There was chatter coming up from the hall next to the lobby, the quiet sort of conversations that bleed together into a sort of low rumble. On a whim, and because he wanted to give his aimless wandering a direction, Regulus decided to sign up for the tournament, and walked through the lobby to the adjoining room. It wasn’t yet set up for the tournament, none of the tables were arranged in neat order. Instead, like every time a bunch of chess players gathered somewhere, there were chess boards on all surfaces, and groups gathered around players, some loudly discussing the game, some watching with concentration. Two players were playing speed chess under the dim light, the sound of the chess pieces on the board like a constant rhythm. Some were seated in big armchairs, reading Chess review, and briefly glancing up at Regulus as he made his way over to the desk where one could sign up.

The two men seated behind it were engaged in a lively discussion, gesturing with their arms, breaking out into laughter from time to time. Regulus cleared his throat. “I’d like to sign up.”

“Sure thing, boy,” one of them said, reaching for a sheet on the stack next to him and sliding it to Regulus, while the other one handed him a pen. “You know how to fill it out?” He was friendly, and Regulus knew he was only asking because he looked so young. They didn’t recognize him, not that Regulus was expecting them to. The room was full of much more famous and better players than him and he’d only made it into a few journals and newspaper articles. He wasn’t yet someone most people had heard of.

Regulus nodded and started filling the sheet out.

“Thank god, somebody with a good handwriting for once,” the other man said, glancing at the sheet. “I don’t know what it is with chess players, but the handwriting’s barely decipherable.”

Regulus blinked at his neat letters for a moment, almost feeling Walburga’s knuckles on the back of his head like every time she’d deemed his handwriting unsuitable for an heir of the Black family.

“It’s because people would find out don’t actually know how to spell our own names,” the first man laughed, tipping his stool back a bit.

“We have a reputation to remain,” his friend said with a loopy smile. “We’re all geniuses, aren’t we?”

“Not so sure about you,” the other man teased, while he took the paper from Regulus and threw a quick glance at it. As his eyes fell on the name, his eyes widened in recognition, and he looked up again. “Oh, you’re the Black boy. The child prodigy. Kentucky, right?”

Regulus nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, excited to watch you play. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Regulus said with a nod and turned around, freezing as his gaze fell on James Potter leaning up against a marble pillar with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His eyes were trained on him, his head tilted. Regulus’ breath had hitched, but now he fought down his nervousness instantly, reminding himself of what he had thought back in his room. No matter how smug James Potter looked right now, Regulus might just have a chance beating him. He squared his shoulders. Potter pushed off the pillar and walked up to him.

“So you’re playing, too?” His voice was smooth and more pleasant than Regulus was willing to admit. He was still wearing the same shirt and trousers, his curls artfully dishevelled. Regulus wondered how they’d look like if he ran his hands through them, and dug his nails into his palms as the thought fully registered.

He gave a half-shrug, wary. “Got enough points to take part,” he said matter-of-factly.

Potter narrowed his eyes at him for a second, tapping his finger against his chin before pointing at Regulus. “I know you, don’t I? I feel like I know you.”

Regulus didn’t respond, waiting for Potter to figure it out. A moment later, he did.

His face lit up. “You’re Regulus Black, the child prodigy, aren’t you? The child from Kentucky who wiped out Harry Baltik.”

“And you’re James Potter, United States Champion. I read your book.”

“You did?” Regulus couldn’t tell if he looked surprised or smug, the crooked smile could mean everything. Regulus already hated the sight of it. It threw him off balance, making him wonder if James was an enigma he would become obsessed with. He had a tendency.

Potter tilted his head. “What’d you think of it?”

Regulus crossed his arms. “It told me a lot about you.”

At that, Potter raised his eyebrows. “Oh, did it? Like what?”

“That you’re full of yourself”, Regulus said bluntly.

Potter threw his head back and laughed. Regulus, who hadn’t anticipated the reaction, just stared at him until James returned his gaze to him. The glint in his eyes drew shivers down Regulus’ back. “Touché. Anything else?” he dared.

The conversation felt like a chess game, one that Potter lead with such ease Regulus was thrown off balance. He’d never been good at conversing with anyone, his childhood marred with social anxiety and the loneliness of growing up in a dysfunctional home. “You lack intuition.”

“I do? Unlike you, I suppose?” He crossed his arms again, tilting his head. A part of Regulus hated how amused he sounded – did he even take Regulus seriously? He couldn’t be sure. Potter, despite the fact that every emotion seemed to be displayed openly on his face, was hard to read. Potter shifted his weight to his others foot. “Listen, I’ve read about your game in Kentucky. It was brilliant. Except…”

“Except what?”

Potter paused for a moment, throwing him a calculating gaze as though he had been taken off-guard by the sharpness in Regulus’ voice and took a moment to store the reaction somewhere in his mind. “Well, you shouldn’t have castled.”

Regulus blinked, startled, drawing his eyebrows together while he tried to reconstruct the game in his head. He could still clearly remember the constellation, having gone through the game several times since then, spending long nights analysing it for any weaknesses, desperately trying to ignore the thick silence strangling the house after Sirius had returned to pick up some of his stuff and Walburga had flipped out. Feeling a twinge of annoyance in his gut, Regulus slowly shook his head. “I needed to get the rook out.”

“Well”, Potter said with a shrug, “you could have lost your advantage.”

“No. You’re wrong,” Regulus replied decisively.

“He plays pawn takes pawn,” Potter explained, making a gesture as if he moved imaginary chess pieces. He was wearing rings on almost every finger. “You can’t take back.”

Regulus’ head started spinning, chess pieces moving in his mind, white and black nearly blurring together. Why was Potter so keen on poking holes into a game he had played brilliantly? He hadn’t made a mistake, had he?

Potter seemed to sense Regulus’ hesitation and his smug smile vanished from his face as he seemed to sober up, now keen on making Regulus see it. “Set it up, think it out. Your problem is your queen knight.”

“I don’t need to set it up,” Regulus said sharply.

The smile returned along with the calculating gaze Regulus had already started to hate. “Oh yeah, heard about that. You’re playing in your head, aren’t you?”

Regulus ignored him and walked over to an abandoned chess board sitting on a table nearby, switching out some pieces with practiced movements. He placed his hands flat on the table and stared at the constellation with narrowed eyes, his concentration briefly faltering as he sensed Potter approaching and staring over his shoulder. Before James could say anything, Regulus was already moving the pieces again, his mind running through all the possible moves within split seconds, but there was – oh. Oh. Regulus froze, hot white frustration searing through him. He gritted his teeth.

“The-“ Potter started, but Regulus cut him off.

“I see it.”

“You still won,” Potter replied, softer than before. If Regulus didn’t know any better, he’d say Potter sounded apologetic now. Maybe Regulus was hiding the fact that Potter had crushed his sense of self-worth along with crushing his perfect game not as well as he wished he did. A flaw in his game was a flaw in his character. He needed to be perfect. And Potter had just pointed at his mind and told him it was faulted.

He was about to lash out at Potter, but then gripped his anger and self-hatred tightly and shoved it down to deal with it later, whenever that was. Probably in his hotel room sometime after midnight and high on some pills. He wasn’t just taking them to think more clearly. They also took the edge of of…everything. He turned around and gave Potter a cold stare. “I don’t fucking care, Potter.”

Did he imagine it or did he actually seem a bit sheepish now? The smugness was gone, replaced by an almost unnoticeable frown. His eyes were different now. “It was a good game. You still played brilliantly.”

Regulus almost huffed at Potter’s ridiculous attempt at soothing the wave of self-hatred he had set lose in Regulus. As if it was going to make a difference, as if rational thoughts ever won against years upon years of having to see the disappointment in his parents’ eyes. Nice try. “You always sneak up to people and point out the flaws in their game?” he asked, desperate to change the topic before Potter started to stir up some more trauma. There was plenty left, and he wasn’t about to wait until Potter found it.

“You always stare at people in the hallway?” he retorted as though he had been waiting to ask it, his eyebrow raised. He was not about to give Regulus the high ground.

Regulus felt the blush creeping up on his cheeks but ordered it to stay the fuck away. “I was running on four hours of sleep and staring into space,” he said dryly.

“Oh yeah? And then you turned around and threw a gaze over your shoulder?” Potter asked, teasing.

Regulus gave him a blank stare, then turned around and started heading for the door.

A hand wrapped itself around his upper arm and he was softly jerked back. “Hey, okay, wait-“

Regulus winced, a twinge of panic ripping through his gut at the touch of Potter’s skin on his own.

Potter immediately released his arm and Regulus stumbled back, his heart pounding against his chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Potter immediately apologized, his eyes widening as he saw the flash of panic in Regulus’ eyes, holding his palms up as though trying to calm an animal.

Regulus immediately cursed himself for his reaction. He had himself under control around strangers, but Potter had taken him off-guard. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to go for nonchalant but failing to do anything against the slight tremor running through it. He made an effort to even his breathing. “It’s fine. Just…surprised me.”

Potter raised his eyebrow in a way that told Regulus he was not buying it, but he didn’t say anything and just nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure.” He shoved his hands in his pocket. “Sorry.”

Regulus opened his mouth to say something, but Potter was faster. “What about a game of speed chess?”

Taken off-guard by the question, Regulus just stared at Potter until a thought popped in his mind. He raised his eyebrow. “Aren’t you speed chess champion?”

The crooked smile made a comeback, along with a pair of dimples. “I might be. Why?”

Regulus gave him an incredulous look. “I’m not going to play against you, Potter. Not when I don’t stand a chance,” he huffed.

“That intimidated?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You know that we’re going to play against each other sooner or later, right? You might as well rip off the band aid now.”

“I’m not going to humiliate myself,” Regulus said darkly, shaking his head, brushing past him. Of course, Potter followed.

“Your rating might be below me, but not for much longer if you keep it up.” He looked at him with a calculating gaze as he followed Regulus out of the room. “And something tells me you’re stubborn enough to do exactly that. You’ve been reading, haven’t you? If you’ve read my book, that means you’ve read other books. You’re not foolish enough to rely on intuition, are you?”

“I’m not foolish enough to rely on your book, either,” Regulus said with the faintest trace of a mocking smirk on his lips.

“But you’re relying on other books. Which means you’re not as arrogant as some of us.”

“Including you?” Regulus asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I became a champion when I was thirteen years old. My ego hasn’t taken a single hit since then.”

Regulus stopped abruptly to look at Potter, considering him. He crossed his arms. “That’s because you don't take any chances. I’ve read about you. You don’t take part in anything major because it can only hurt your reputation.”

If Potter was irritated by Regulus statement, he didn’t show it. “Seems like a smart move, doesn’t it?” he said with a shrug.

Regulus turned and walked on, shaking his head. “It’s a weak move.”

“Oh yeah? What about you refusing to play against me, then?”

“That’s not me not wanting to risk my reputation. I don’t have one.”

“You do. I’ve heard about you. I usually don’t pay attention to newcomers, and yet you’re on my radar.”

Somehow, Potter’s words caused a shiver to run down Regulus’ back. He became suddenly aware that Potter might have feigned not recognizing him at first, acted as though he didn’t know his name when he actually did. Was this some sort of chess game they were playing? Had it been Potter’s first move? Was him pointing out the flaw in Regulus’ game his offense? If it was, they were playing a game more complicated than Regulus had ever played. His games were limited to his chess board – he'd turned to chess in the first place because it wasn’t entangled with human nature, because it was wiped clean of emotions and it was something he could read easily.

Potter, not so much. But as Regulus saw him arch his eyebrow, tilting his head with a dare glinting in his eyes, Regulus knew he was going to play. “Give me your best book about chess and I’ll play against you.”

Potter seemed surprised by his proposal, but then his features softened and he nodded. “Deal.”

“And it can’t be one of your books.”

Potter pouted. “But they’re really brilliant.”

“No. I want the one that helped you become a champion at thirteen years old,” Regulus said decidedly.

Potter narrowed his eyes at him, pausing, and nodded. “Alright. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Regulus said, and left Potter at the bottom of the stairs without another word, feeling his gaze resting on his back his whole way up until he turned around a corner.

Chapter Text

The moment he pushed the door open to his room, he could sense the laden atmosphere and his heart sank into his gut like a stone. He braced himself and opened the door all the way. His mother whirled around to him, her dark eyes ablaze with rage. She held a bottle in her hand, her long fingers wrapped around its neck. Her lips were red from the wine.

“Close the door behind you,” she hissed, and Regulus did.

She took a few steps towards him and he resisted the urge to back up against the wall, forcing his feet to stay put. She towered over him. “You were supposed to be studying, Regulus! You were supposed to sit right here”, she hissed and pointed jerkily at the chair, “and read your goddamn books!” Her voice was shrill, but her words didn’t slur together. Her tolerance was high enough now that it usually took more to get her really drunk. The kind of drunk where she got dangerous.

Regulus clenched his jaw, making sure his words didn’t come out sharp. “I needed a break. I promise I’ll get right back into it,” he said, then immediately regretted his words as he sensed he had said the wrong thing.

Her lips curled and she pointed at him. “Don’t turn out like your brother, Regulus. You know better, don’t you? You cannot bring any more shame on this family. If you disappoint us, you won’t get a penny of the money.”

He didn’t get any anyways, but he wasn’t going to point that out. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“It’s too late for that,” she snarled, a bitter smile on her face. “You’ve been slacking. Do you think I haven’t noticed? Do you really think I don’t know how close that game was at your last tournament?”

She only knew because he’d made the mistake to tell her. She’d been in one of her better moods after he’d won, and somehow Regulus thought it would be okay  to tell her about the game. There was no one else he could talk to about it. As if she cared. He followed every one of her movements with his eyes, his body so tensed he could feel his heartbeat thrum through it. “The magazine called it a brilliant game.”

Walburga slammed the bottle on the table and Regulus winced. She spun around to him. “You were on page twenty, Regulus. You could have been on page one if you for once got over your moods and played like you were supposed to!” She stabbed her finger in his chest with so much force that he stumbled backwards against the door, the handle drilling into his back.

A few wisps of hair hung into her face as she glared at him with cold disappointment. “You have no reason to be depressed, Regulus. You have no reason not to sleep. Stop making up excuses.” She swiped the empty wine glass from the table, and it shattered into a thousand pieces when it hit the wall. Regulus turned his face away, but it was too late. He felt the shards raining down on his hair. “Sirius was like that too. That’s how he started out. And look what he became. He’s disinherited. He has no money. He doesn’t have the protection of the Black name. He’s probably somewhere sleeping in abandoned houses holding onto his pathetic little life as if it was worth anything.” Regulus ruffled his hair to get the glass out without ever taking his eyes of his mother. “But you, you’re worth something, Regulus. You can still be someone. And I won’t let you throw that away.”

Regulus kept his anger carefully in check, swallowing his words. “I’ll study harder,” he promised. He eyed the bottle. Being hurt with that usually hurt a lot more, and it stood an arm length away from his mother.

“Oh, a promise,” Walburga huffed. “Because you never break those, do you? How foolish do you think I am?” she scoffed.

Regulus breathed in and squared his shoulders, knowing exactly what he had to say. “Do you know James Potter?” he said, fighting down the wave of reluctance rising in his throat. He made sure his voice was firm before speaking again. “He’s United States champion. I’m gonna make sure I play against him. And I’ll win.”

He could see the effects his words had on his mother, like cool water against a raging fever. She got that glint in her eyes that he hated, but he knew he’d said the right thing. “This is what I’m talking about, Regulus,” she said, her voice soft and oily. “This is what I expected from you all these months. This fight in your eyes. I’m glad it’s back.” She sat down on the chair, reaching for her bottle without looking. “Don’t disappoint me. Your father will get to know about it if you do, you understand?”

Regulus almost laughed right then and there. His father? His father he could handle. His father wasn’t manipulative and cruel, he was just violent. Violence was something Regulus knew how to deal with. He’d learned that from Sirius. Bruises healed every time. Even broken ribs healed, even if they took a bit longer. It was his mother who rubbed him raw, who broke his mind, who made him take more pills than he knew himself was safe. “Yes. I know.”

She nodded slowly, exhaustion suddenly radiating off of her. Her outburst seemed to have drained her, the booze slowing down her mind. She rubbed her forehead with her knuckles. “You’ll have that book finished by morning.”

Regulus nodded. He pressed his lips together, keeping his face devoid of emotion.

She heaved herself up onto her feet, swayed, nodded at the broken glass. “Let the room service clean that up.”

Regulus nodded and waited until she had closed the door before he wiped the warm trickle of blood from his neck. A shard had cut him right above his collarbone. He pressed the t-shirt against the wound to soak up the blood, trying to get his mind under control. His mother was the only one who could rile him up like that, who could stir up the fragile order he had in his mind, the one that protected him from himself. Everything was neatly filed away, but she managed to turn it all into chaos again. Gritting his teeth, he began collecting the glass shards, one after the other, careful not to cut himself – as a chess player, his hands were always at the center of attention –, then walked into the tiny bathroom and flushed the shards down the toilet. Better not to get the room service involved. Sometimes, his mother broke several glasses during her stay, and clumsiness wasn’t a sufficient explanation anymore.

Only as he was finished he felt himself sway and blindly reached for the sink, propping himself up on it. His stomach turned and he felt like vomiting, but his stomach was empty. He shoved his rising panic down and began methodically plucking the rest of the shards from his hair, letting them fall into the sink. When he was done, he took his shirt off and cleaned the blood from his wound. It was a small cut, not too deep, but he’d have to be careful to wear a t-shirt that would hide it. He thought about how Potter’s t-shirt would be big enough.

With a huff, he shook his head, dismissing that thought, giving himself a hard stare in the bathroom mirror, and left the t-shirt in the sink. He returned to the bedroom and walked straight to where he had hidden the pills. He took three, swallowed, and paced restlessly until the effect set in twenty minutes later and he could finally sit down and concentrate on the book.

“Go without me. I've got a headache. Don’t open those goddamn curtains, Regulus!” she said sharply, even though Regulus hadn’t even come near them.

“Do you want me to-“

“I’m not hungry. Go and let me be in peace, Regulus.”

Without another sound, Regulus slipped through the door. Secretly relieved he didn’t have to have one of those dreadful breakfasts with her, he closed the door behind him and slowly walked down the stairs. She would fall asleep again like she always did, which gave him about three hours of free time. And since he’d stayed up till three in the morning and managed to finish the book, she wouldn’t even notice he wasn’t studying.

He skipped breakfast, not feeling particularly hungry after the last night. He knew it was a bad habit, but he’d always had a tendency to just…not eat for a little. Sirius had been the only one to keep him on track, and since he was gone, Regulus didn’t bother. Or maybe it was less not bothering than making the conscious decision not to bother.

He’d always been lean, but now he was on the skinnier side of lean. Sirius would probably scold him. But Sirius had left him, so it wasn’t like he got anything to say about it.

He leaned over the banister, resting his elbows on the cool metal and observed the busy bustling in the lobby, losing himself in his brief invisibility, this anonymity that always came along with hotels. He couldn’t erase his family name, he was still Regulus Arcturus Black, but people didn’t know that here. It gave him a sense of freedom, a fleeting calmness as his family name didn’t weigh down on him so much anymore.

He didn’t know how long he had been watching people, but as he sensed a presence behind him, his thoughts were jerked back into reality. He turned around, and Potter stepped next to him, leaning against the banister with his back and crossing his arms. “Trying to get any clues for the games?” he asked.

Regulus examined the chess boards scattered across the hall and shook his head. “It’s not like anybody is really letting anything on. It’s just pretence.”

Potter turned around to face him, one elbow on the banister. Regulus’s gaze briefly lingered on the rings on Potter’s fingers. He wondered how the cool metal would feel on his skin. Something in his stomach squeezed at the sight of it, but he kept his face blank.

“Oh, look at you. Exposing all the chess players.”

“Where’s the book?” Regulus asked without indulging in the teasing. His mother’s voice still echoed in his head, the shrillness of it still ringing in his ears. She was like a shadow, the sharpness of the broken glass making him consider every one of his words.

“I didn’t know I was going to find you here. I don’t have it with me,” Potter answered smoothly. “I’d look like a nerd running around with a book under my arm.”

Regulus huffed, slightly amused. “Wouldn’t want to destroy your reputation.”

Potter smiled. “Can’t risk that,” he said, his eyes always resting on Regulus. “So, you’re getting breakfast?”

Regulus shook his head. “Not hungry.”

He felt Potter consider his response for a second, but whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself. “Not even coffee?”

Regulus usually avoided coffee. It made him jittery, worsened his anxiety. Besides, it made his insomnia even worse. The only thing he would drink on really bad days was black tea, but only with an embarrassingly large amount of milk. “I can’t stomach caffeine.”

“Yeah. Figured,” Potter said, and Regulus gaze snapped up to read his James’ face, but he already smiled his dazzling smile. “What about a game of chess, then?”

Regulus, still caught off guard by Potter’s words, didn’t immediately react. He paused, his mother drilling her sharp fingers into his back. Come on, Regulus. Remember your promise? Do not disappoint me again. He just wanted her to shut up, tired of hearing her voice in his head. “Give me the book and I’ll play chess with you.”

Potter tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. “It’s in my room.” Why was there something suggestive in the way he said that? Or was it only Regulus? He could never tell if people were flirting with him, and if they were, he made them stop.

Regulus just raised an eyebrow on his own, unfazed. “Then let’s go get it.”

A slow smile spread on Potter’s lips and he pushed himself off the banister. “Alright. This way.”

They walked along the gallery, their feet sinking into the soft cushions, their steps muted. The low chatter died down once they had entered a broad corridor, the brass numbers on the doors glinting in the wan light.

Regulus felt Potter consider him from the side. “Who’s that woman you’re traveling with?”

Regulus wanted to sigh. Of all the topics Potter could have picked, he had chosen the worst one. His mother was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now. “She’s my mother,” he said curtly, hoping he would catch on his gruff undertone and change the topic.

“Oh, so she’s the one who gave you those ridiculously sharp cheekbones,” Potter said. And a hell lot of bruises, Regulus wanted to add, but he bit his tongue. His t-shirt choice was solely based on whether the sleeves were long enough to cover up the cut on his collarbone and the five little bruises on his upper arm.

“Trust me, I wish I didn’t look like her,” he said dryly before he really knew what he was saying. It was the truth. He’d stood in front of the mirror so many times, hating how he could see his mother in his own features, in his chin, his eyes, his cheekbones. He had her cold fury, and he hated it.

Potter seemed to pick up on his tone, because he changed the topic. “So, is it true? You’re playing in your head?”

Regulus had let that slip to a reporter when he’d been thirteen. He’d mentioned it without realizing how rare it was for someone to play entire games in his head. He hadn’t thought it remarkable back then, had assumed every chess player did it. And unfortunately, the reporter had written a whole passage about it. It had been a local journal, however, and most people didn’t know about it. It surprised Regulus that Potter did. He still didn’t know what he was planning on. “Don’t you?”

Potter chuckled softly. “I do. But I didn’t when I was a child.” There was a glint in his eyes as they locked eyes, but Regulus refused to read anything into it. He just needed the book, that was all.

They finally stopped in front of a door and Potter sank his hand in his pocket to withdraw a set of keys, sliding the smallest one in the lock. It clicked and he pushed the door open, stepping aside. “Child prodigy first.”

Regulus didn’t hesitate and stepped into the dim room. He was met by the faint scent of coffee and something so inherently Potter he wondered why it was so easy for him to leave traces in a place that wasn’t made to remember its visitors. He only realized he had stopped in the corridor when he sensed Potter stepping up behind him, wincing when Potter’s finger brushed his hip as he reached for the light switch.

Even before he had flipped the switch, Regulus had stumbled into the room, keen on getting some space between him and Potter. There was just something about Potter that threw him off. He let his fingertips brush the wall as he walked through the corridor, the lights slowly coming to life above him. It was a warm light, not too bright. The small corridor opened up into a wide room, just barely bigger than Regulus’.

But it didn’t have that emptiness that Regulus’ rooms always had.

There were three chessboards, one on the table, one on the bed, and another one right on the floor. Five books were scattered all across the floor, some empty mugs between them. That at least explained the scent, which was even stronger here. Some t-shirts were thrown onto the bed, carelessly, shoes right on the threshold to the bathroom, and Regulus wondered if his room would look the same if he hadn’t grown up trying to be invisible.

He stopped right where the corridor met the room, staring at the chess pieces on the chess board on the floor. Something about the constellation had caught his eye, and he was intrigued, not just because his mother would want him to gain every piece of information he could get. This wasn’t about trying to memorize and analyse Potter’s games, this was a translation of Potter’s brilliant thoughts onto black and white squares and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to sit down then and there and trace back every one of Potter’s decisions.

Potter squeezed himself past him, making sure he wasn’t touching him again. He’d probably picked on Regulus wince. Regulus still tensed up when he brushed past, feeling the heat for just a split second, but forced himself to relax.

“I never said my room was tidy,” Potter broke the silence with a half shrug, interpreting Regulus’ hesitation as him judging the chaos, stepping over the chess game on the floor and throwing the keys onto the bed.

“Is that Bobby Fischer against Donald Byrne in 1956?”

Potter didn’t seem to know what he was talking about until he followed Regulus’ gaze down to the floor. “Oh yeah. Couldn’t sleep last night, jetlag. It’s brilliant, isn’t it? He was thirteen and he just sacrificed his queen then and there. They all though he wouldn’t make it. Thought it was too bold.”

Regulus was aware that he should get the book and leave, but some part of his mind had latched onto the game and he suddenly wanted know Potter’s thoughts about every move, wanted him to talk about what he would have done. Wanted to analyse it with him. Wanted to lose himself in the game. But he realized how dangerous that would be. His mother wouldn’t approve of any of this. He’d be flying too close to the sun, revealing too much about himself. No matter how mesmerizing it would be to watch Potter’s fingers pick up chess pieces, no matter how much he craved catching a glimpse into his mind. He couldn’t risk it.

He tore his eyes away. “Which book is it?” He nodded at the books scattered across the floor, mentally taking note of their titles. He wouldn’t just read the one Potter gave him. He would read all of them.

“Oh, none of these.” Potter walked over to his bedstand and opened the top drawer, and drew out a copy of “The Art of Attack in Chess” by Vladimir Vucović, written in a glaring red on a background full of shadowy chess pieces. “It’s this one.” He rounded the bed and handed it to Regulus, gauging his reaction.

Regulus took it and opened it on a random page, surprised to see annotations scribbled in the margins, between the fond, seeing words crossed out. He looked up. “Are these yours?”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who hates when people write into books.”

“I don’t care about that.” He turned the page and was met with yet another page full of miniscule writing. Potter’s writing was slanted but neat, written with a pencil so thin his letters never ran together. It looked like him, a translation of his voice onto a page. Regulus own handwriting didn’t look like this, it was marred by years upon years of being forced to write with his right hand that even when he did with his left hand, it didn’t look like him anymore. He hated that.

“In that case, yes. They’re all mine.”

Regulus looked up at him and wondered why the hell Potter would just hand it over to him as though he wasn’t giving him any leverage, as though he hadn’t imprinted the workings of his mind onto the old faded pages. This was giving Regulus so much advantage he even felt sick for taking it. Was Potter really so unafraid of him? Did he think he didn’t stand a chance anyways?

Regulus almost wanted to hand it back, feeling as though it was burning right through his fingertips, but the rational part of his mind wouldn’t let him. This was the only protection against his mother’s wrath and his pride came nowhere close to the fear of the consequences if he lost. It wasn’t even like Potter was giving  him anything he couldn’t get his hands on with a little effort. The alternative was collecting every piece of his writing, reading every interviews, analysing every one of his games.

“Does that mean you’re gonna play against me now?” One window was open and a soft breeze brushed over Regulus’ face. He wanted nothing more than to stay here, not return and face his hungover mother and her cold condescension.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice rough, regret heavy in his heart. “I’m not breaking my promise,” he said, when Potter opened his mouth to say something, “but I just really need to get back.”

The charming easiness was wiped off from Potter’s face. He knitted his eyebrows. He took a tentative step forward, then seemed to sense Regulus tensing up and back up a bit. “Sorry. I just…I didn’t wanna ask, but…I just,” he trailed off. For the first time since Regulus had met him, he seemed unsure. “Are you okay?”

Regulus stared at him, incredulous, not knowing how to react to the ridiculousness of the situation. No, I’m not. I’m addicted to sleeping pills. I’m traveling with my abusive mother, my brother abandoned me because he couldn’t put up with our family anymore and I can’t even make my hotel room look like home because I don’t know how to take up space. Also, I’m wearing his goddamn shirt because there are bruises on my arm. “

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he lied, the words coming over his lips without effort. He was good at telling lies. He ran a hand through is hair, clutching the book tighter than necessary. “Just supposed to wake my mother up in time for breakfast.”

He could tell that Potter searched for a sign that he was lying, but couldn’t find one and relaxed. “Oh, alright. Sure.” He smiled sheepishly. “Just let me know when you’ve got time to play.”

Regulus nodded, lingering for another moment, then turned around and walked out of the room, feeling Potter’s gaze resting between his shoulder blades like the touch of a warm hand. It wasn’t unpleasant, to have his eyes on him.

She was up when he was back. She was sober, at least, only the small tremble in her hands was a remnant of her alcohol abuse. Her eyes were clear again, sharply cutting into him as he pushed the door open. She was sitting in her chair, one leg folded over the other, searching a newspaper for any new tournaments that she would circle with her fountain pain if the prize money was high enough.

“Eaten enough?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. She’d probably gotten up earlier and noticed him being gone for longer than usual.

“I was just hungrier than usual,” Regulus said, shrugging, painfully aware of how his shirt was pooling around his narrow waist.

“You need a haircut,” she said a moment later as though she hadn’t heard Regulus’ answer.

Regulus liked the length of his hair, but he knew that every time he grew it out too long, it reminded his mother of Sirius. She couldn’t bear the sight of it. He pushed a curl from his face and didn’t say anything.

“What’s that?” Her sharp eyes had finally spotted the book in his hands and she put the fountain pen away.

Regulus reluctantly showed her the title. “Vucović. It’s going to help me win against James Potter.”

His mother curt nod was the closest thing to approval. “Then stop wasting time and study it.”

Regulus nodded. The little freedom he’d had this morning was over. That was all he was going to get today. He started towards the door when his mother called him back.

“I almost forgot. Your father phoned this morning.”

Regulus froze and turned around, immediately wary. God, he hated this family with every fibre of his being. “What did he say?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Her bore into his. “That you better win the prize money.”

Regulus felt anger surge through him but kept his face blank, nodding. “I will.”

His first game was against a woman who introduced herself as Pandora. Her long, flowing hair was shiny and looked impossibly soft, her voice so melodic it felt like a cool breeze after the sharpness of his mother’s voice. Her rating was 1200. Regulus, who didn’t have an official rating yet, knew he was going to beat her sooner or later, but he didn’t mind. Playing against her turned out to be a lot of fun.

She drew quickly and with certainty, and despite the dreamy look in her eyes, she was an excellent player. She played simple moves so brilliantly that it gave them an air of glamour, and Regulus felt himself relax. It was as though he was playing against a friend. When he finally won, with him barely having used ten minutes of his time, and her almost forty, she didn’t even seem disappointed. She just offered her hand and he shook it, and she gave him a dazzling smile. “That”, she said in her soft voice, “was brilliant.”

Her smile was contagious. “I liked your endgame,” Regulus said before he realized he had opened his mouth. She couldn’t be much older than him, but there was an inherent joy to her that Regulus had never owned. But there was also this trace of sadness he knew too well. It made him wonder if it was that what made him want to trust her so quickly.

“Yeah, I’m very good at those,” she said, amused. Her voice was both breathy and dreamy. “You eventually know how to play it when you find yourself in an endgame ten minutes into the game.” She didn’t even seem the slightest bit bothered by it. It was refreshing to see. Everyone, including Regulus, got too much in their heads about it.

Regulus was aware of his mother’s gaze on him – she had taken to standing with the other spectators, her arms folded in front of her chest – but he knew everybody else would take a bit longer to finish, so he just kept seated. “Your opening was pretty strong.”

“Until?” she asked, amused.

“Until you made the move with the knight.”

“Oh yeah, that was me panicking.” She laughed. “I ran out of ideas.” She held out her hand again, and he shook it. “Well, nice meeting you. I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so,” Regulus said, and he meant it. As he watched Pandora leave and got up himself, he realized that they might have been friends in an alternative universe. She had the sort of energy that Potter also had – the ability to see beyond what other people saw, and the ability to accept it no matter what because they didn’t deem it strange. Regulus had never been good at making friends. It had gotten worse when his brother had left, and it didn’t help that he was introverted and tended to self-isolate, shutting everyone and everything out like flipping a switch. Pandora didn’t make him self-conscious, and he liked that about her. This was the first time he’d met something like a friend in this world of chess.

He won the second game, and strolled around in the hall, hovering around Potter but never getting near enough to watch the game. Instead, he just studied the line of his broad shoulders, his messy curls, the tiniest crease between his brows that would smoothen seconds later. A part of him was curious about the game, but he knew it was better to stay away from Potter for a while. He was throwing him off balance, and that was the last thing he needed in a tournament like this.

The third game was against a Swedish player who greeted him with a fleeting smile, and then tapped his clock and got right into the game. They played the Queen’s Gambit and Regulus knew immediately that he was in safe territory. After ten minutes, his opponent had lost most of his pawns, the rest of his pieces scattered across the squares in weak positions. He was stubborn, though, and as the game dragged on, Regulus caught himself stealing glimpses at Potter.

He looked like he breezed through the game. There was a spark in his eyes, a smile on his lips. Regulus would have never admitted it, but he was fascinated by how easily Potter dominated the game. He never wasted time, but his movements were calm and precise. Last night, when Regulus hadn’t been able to sleep, he’d opened Potter’s book on a random page, ghosting over Potters’ scribbles with his fingertips. He’d been drawn into it from the second he had laid eyes upon it, the hours flying by until something suddenly pulled him out of his thoughts and he’d realized it was four in the morning. He’d opened the window, letting the cool breeze ooze into the room, and had gone to bed without changing out of his clothes, dreaming of the diagrams Potter had carefully drawn onto the pages.

Thirty minutes later, the Swedish players resigned and they shook hands. Regulus got up, watched the man at the other end of the room peel of his opponents name from the board, and ruffled his hair. Absent-mindedly, he wondered if winning against Potter would finally feel like a victory. His mother always expected him to win, expected him to perform his best, and he had internalized the fact that winning should be taken for granted. Nothing worth celebrating, like a simple task performed well. He was aware that he was supposed to feel triumphant, or at least proud, but his mother’s constant downplaying had been wearing him down for years, and somewhere along the way, he’d simply flipped a switch. Not that he didn’t feel anything when he lost, though. That was a different kind of story. Failure was a crushing blow.

With his mood darkening, Regulus crossed the hall, refusing to glance at Potter. If he lost against him, though, something in Regulus would just crumble. Potter had that power over him. He was dangerous in that way.

His mother waited for him. “Where are you today?”, she hissed.

“What?” Regulus asked dumbly, caught off-guard by her question. He felt himself shifting into an alerted state, feeling unwelcomed tension creep into the line of his shoulders.

She tapped her foot. “You seem distracted, Regulus. He was a minor player. You weren’t supposed to play that long.”

Regulus sternly told himself not to snap at her. “I’m tired. I stayed up long to study.” It wasn’t even a lie, but he held her gaze to make sure she didn’t suspect him of lying.

She raised an eyebrow at him but he could see that her attention had already shifted. She was staring over his shoulder, her eyes cold and unreadable. She jerked her chin at something behind him. “Is that James Potter?”

Regulus didn’t dare to turn around. He didn’t trust himself – what if his mother read something in his gaze? He just nodded. “Yes. That’s him.”

She scrutinized him. Her face was stone-cold, her lips curling ever so slightly. It was weird seeing her looking like that at somebody else. It had been a long time since Regulus had seen her look at Sirius like that. Now, that look was usually reserved for him. “I read that he’s from a good family. Good education. But questionable views. They’ve let themselves go.”

Her words hit him harder than they should. For some reason, he hated the thought of her having checked up on him. He wanted her to stay away from him, and somehow, reading about him felt like she was already tainting him with her poison, leaving her dirty fingerprints all over him. He swallowed the sudden rush of anger down, but with effort. “What matters is how he plays chess. Nothing else,” he said, his voice an irritated undertone that he couldn’t get rid of.

His mother raised her eyebrows ever so slightly at his tone but decided to let it go. “You need to stop trying to narrow everything down to a chess game, Regulus. It’s never as simple, life is not as clean. There are no rules.”

Chess wasn’t simple or clean. Chess was full of tragedy and sacrifice and loss. But there was a beauty in tracing the construction and intricacies of a downfall. That wasn’t the case in real life. But his mother had never seen it as anything more as a board with wooden pieces, so he had grown weary of explaining long ago.

When he didn’t answer, she just huffed. “You have two hours until your next game, don’t you? Go to the pharmacy and get me a bottle of the sleeping pills. I’m having trouble sleeping again, and they only fill those bottles up two thirds. Here’s the prescription.” She handed him a piece of paper.

Regulus stared at it, relief washing over him in waves. This was easy. He’d feared she wasn’t going to get another bottle, and he’d somehow find another way to get them. After having swallowed two of them to fight down his surging anxiety after his mother’s freakout, the thought of not having enough to make it through the tournament had lingered like a bitter taste in his mouth. He pocketed the paper, nodding, keeping his face blank.

It had rained and he walked through wet streets, the air fresh and clear, the scent of the asphalt wavering in the air. It was nearly five, and the lack of sleep was getting to him. He felt drowsy, like his mind was fogged and he realized that chess had once again pulled him in. He hadn’t been outside for two days. This had happened before, and if he wasn’t careful, it would end in a bad sleep cycle, too many pills swallowed and sitting on the floor of his motel room crying his eyes out.

He needed to go on a run. He hadn’t been for two days, and this was always the first step to his downfall, like a scent of sadness that hung in the air like a warning, and his heart would clench at the smell of it because he knew he was getting bad again. Running was keeping him sane. Andromeda had taken him on a run the first time Sirius had ended up in the hospital. She’d bullied him into running every other day until Sirius had recovered, and he had just kept that routine. It kept him on track, kept his level of happy chemicals up. Made him eat regularly. He had become so dependent on it that it was unsettling to miss too many days, because that meant he was losing control.

The pharmacy was small and stuffy, an elderly man behind the counter with bushy eyebrows and a sharp nose. He looked up when Regulus entered but then continued talking to the small women in front of him, keeping his voice low. Regulus glimpsed at the prescription. Ninety pills. He couldn’t take more than one third, so that meant he’d only have thirty pills. It wasn’t enough. His mother took so much longer to use up the other sixty than he did the thirty, no matter how much he restricted himself to just a few pills a week. If he was to survive the game against Potter, he would need so much more – the stakes were too high, the pressure of his mother wearing him down, and his anxiety had been acting up lately.

“Young man?”

Regulus hadn’t realized the women had left, leaving the elderly man raising his eyebrows on him. He shook his thoughts off and stepped to the counter, sliding the prescription over. “My mother sent me for her prescription.”

The old man took the paper and read it, briefly glancing up at Regulus again, the nodded wordlessly and went to the back of the store, returning only a few seconds later with a bottle filled with green pills. He put it on the counter, but kept his hand on top of it. “Tell your mother not to take too many of these. They can be addicting.”

Oh, really?, Regulus thought sarcastically but just nodded, waiting for the man to take his hand of. He did, but only after a moment, as though to make sure Regulus had understood. Regulus took the bottle, mumbling a thank you at the old man and got the hell out of the store, clenching his jaw when he was outside. What was that old man thinking? Did he suspect Regulus of taking them? For a second, he feared people could somehow see it in the haze of his eyes or the bags under his eyes. But it wasn’t true. They couldn’t. Not even his mother had realized, even though he hadn’t always been subtle.

Not that his mother ever looked beyond the money he provided her with. He doubted that if she knew, and she also knew he needed the pills to play chess, she wouldn’t force him stop.

The next chess game passed by in a blur – Regulus was tired, but his opponent made a mistake early on, which gave Regulus the upper hand after just ten minutes. Regulus was relieved when he was finally allowed to get up again. His mother had left sometime during the beginning of the game when she had realized Regulus would win. He shook the hand of the German man and got up, feeling the pills in the pocket of the black raincoat he had thrown over during his walk to the pharmacy. He’d taken thirty-five, knowing it was a mistake but unable to resist. Now, as he walked, the weight of them felt reassuring and he wished he’d taken even more.

He went up to his room, getting off his jacket, when his gaze fell on the book had given him. He stopped dead in his tracks, hesitating for a second. He was tired, but the thought of tracing Potter’s thoughts made him forget about it. It was the arrogance, the self-assuredness, the precision that oozed from his scribbles that drew Regulus in. Potter was good and he knew it, and it made Regulus want to be better. It made him want to stay up all night and study Potter’s mind until he could anticipate every move and wipe the teasing smirk off his face.

Regulus took his shirt off and went to the bathroom to splash some cold water in his face. His heart skipped a beat for a second. The bloody t-shirt was still in the sink. He cursed, biting the inside of his cheek hard. God, he hoped his mother hadn’t let the room service in. They weren’t supposed to see it. He took it out, rubbing over the dried stain, knowing it was in vain. He would soak it in water later. He hid it in his dirty laundry and turned the water cold, splashing it onto his face until it hurt and his cheeks burnt. Avoiding his image in the mirror, he only briefly traced the scabbed over cut on his collarbone. It was healing fine. The bruises on his arm were almost faded, which meant he didn’t have to be too careful with his clothing choice anymore. He ran a hand through his unruly hair before walking back into the room and perching on the chair, taking James’ book like it was something fragile.

Chapter Text

There he was. James Potter. The same person Regulus had met a few days ago. And yet he had changed, had become more enigmatic and more graspable and the same time like a concept that revealed its complexities only when he’d thought he reached the limit. He understood Potter better than before but he also realized that he understood nothing about him.

And it frustrated him.

“Woah, I know you’re scowling twenty-four-seven, but this is another level. What did I do to deserve this?” Potter asked, raising his eyebrows as he stepped onto the balcony next to him. He was wearing a jumper that would have looked stupid on anyone else but not on him, his rings clinking against the metal of the balustrade as he propped himself up on it to look down on the quiet street.

Regulus tried to dial down his glare, but only a little, avoiding looking into the melted brown of Potter’s eyes in the sunlight. “You lied. You didn’t read the book at thirteen.” His voice was hoarse. He hadn’t spoken all morning, and he hadn’t gotten much sleep.

“Ah,” Potter said, nodding as though there was something he understood that Regulus didn’t. “So that’s what you’re upset about?”

“I don’t like being manipulated,” Regulus growled.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Potter said, unfazed. He turned around to face Regulus. “It is the book I read at thirteen that helped me win the game.” When Regulus opened his mouth to say something, he cut him off, holding up his palms. “The annotations I added later on.”

Regulus stared at him, then deflated. It suddenly all made so much sense. He’d spent the last night with an ever-growing anxiety in his stomach, his mind spiralling as he had realized Potter had been thinking about chess moves at thirteen years old that Regulus himself hadn’t even discovered yet. He had felt like he had lost so much time, felt like he was running a race he couldn’t win, felt like he was already on the way down before every reaching his peak.

But here it was, the simplest explanation that Regulus hadn’t even considered.

Elbows propped up on the balustrade, he buried his face in his hands and pressed his cold palms against his eyes. A headache was pounding at his temples. “Merde,” he whispered, angry at himself and his mind for latching onto a path that he knew he shouldn’t walk. He could feel Potter’s gaze resting on him as he straightened again, but put his hands on the balustrade and stared stoically ahead.

After a pause, Potter turned around, leaning against the balustrade with his back. “So. Your games yesterday. You didn’t exactly look like you were having a hard time.”

“I wasn’t.” What was Potter aiming at? If he wanted to make stupid smalltalk, Regulus was the wrong person. He didn’t have the patience or the interest for it. He wondered whether he would be able to sneak out for a run later.

“I could tell. You were staring at me the whole time.”

Regulus’ breath hitched in his throat, but he refused to be embarrassed about being caught. He didn’t know the intent behind Potter’s teasing, but he had grown up with Sirius. He was used to smug smiles and provocations. He finally looked at Potter, raising his eyebrow. “Are you sure it’s not your ego making this up?”

“Oh, I am delusional, but not that delusional. You should really try to be less obvious about it. Something tells me your mother will not appreciate it.”

Regulus froze up, ice running through is veins and his heart skipping a beat. “You saw her?”

“Like you said, same chin, same cheekbones. Pretty easy to recognize.” Potter's gaze wandered over Regulus’ face as he scrutinized him, and Regulus could swear they were lingering on his lips for a second. “She even has that dip between her eyebrows when she frowns.” He touched his forehead with his finger.

Under normal circumstances, Regulus would be thrown off by the fact that Potter had apparently studied and memorized his face the way he memorized chess games, but the thought of Potter having recognized his mother was far too unsettling to leave any space for any other thoughts. “Yeah, she’d be fucking delighted if she knew we were talking,” he said darkly.

“And yet, you are still talking to me.” Potter tilted his head.

Regulus raised an eyebrow at him. “Like you leave me a choice.”

Potter gave an amused huff, still completely unfazed by Regulus’ cold demeanour. “You know what? You’re like the angry version of a person I know. I keep seeing him in you.”

It made Regulus think of Sirius. Being abandoned by his older brother was still, after all this years, and despite all the memories that he repressed the hell out of, a fresh wound. Abandonment always left behind a void filled with hurt. He raised an eyebrow. “I hope he’s handsome.”

“Annoyingly so. But don’t worry, we’re platonic husbands. And he’s not my type.” Potter’s smile was crooked.

Regulus changed the subject before his body could react too strongly at being looked at like that. “Are we going to play chess now?”

Potter seemed amused by how stoically Regulus ignored his flirting. “Sure. There’s a café at the other side of the street I always go to when I’m here. It’s not exclusively for chess players, but it is kinda exclusively for chess players. It’s a little bit hidden, not easy to find, but I know the owner.”

Regulus paused, glancing at the clock. His mother had lain down to sleep, swallowing one single pill from the bottle. With her tolerance much lower than his, Regulus figured she’d sleep at least five hours, if not longer. It wasn’t too risky. He nodded. “Okay.”

Potter looked happy, nodding at the stairs. “This way.” He led Regulus down the stairs, their steps cushioned by the thick carpet. “It’s actually not even an official café. Well, it wasn’t. Lily just likes having people around and she makes good coffee, and somehow there are always some of her friends there, and they always bring their friends.”

“Lily?” Regulus asked, feeling a twinge in his stomach as he suddenly realized he could be talking about his girlfriend. Damnit it, why hadn’t he realized earlier that Potter could be dating somebody? Why did he assume he wasn’t? And why was it even bothering him that much?

“Lily Evans,” Potter said as they crossed the hall. “She wants to be an architect. Well, she’s studying to become one. If you ask me, she doesn’t need to stupid degree, because her work is already impressive enough, but she says she won’t make it without one.”

Still wary of her, Regulus just nodded, following Potter outside. He breathed in the fresh air, enjoying how cool it was on his skin, and Potter led him down the street. As though he had sensed Regulus sudden uneasiness, he put his hands in the pockets of his jacket and said: “We’re not together, though. She’s strictly into the ladies.”

Regulus almost stumbled over his own feet and caught himself in the last moment, cursing himself as he swallowed down whatever choked cough was climbing up his throat. Oh. Oh. So his friends were… oh. It was like with Sirius, who had magically gravitated towards a friend group that was – well, not what their parents would have liked them to be, and exactly the kind of people around which Regulus felt at ease. He wasn’t someone who easily interacted with people, with social anxiety always getting in the way, and his extreme introversion making his avoid most people, but Sirius’ friends – from what he remembered in the sea of his hazy memories – had always been nice and welcoming. The occasions where he had met them, the one’s that he remembered, at least, he’d always felt…okay. And now, Potter… Regulus forced himself to stop overthinking it. “So people keep just showing up to her place and she brews them some coffee?”

Potter laughed. “Oh no, she’s not doing anything. You’ll see.”

The door was old and battered, the blue paint was peeling off, and it was hidden in a narrow alley. Regulus would have never noticed it if Potter hadn’t pointed it out. It was unlocked, and as Potter drew it open, a narrow staircase was revealed that lead up steeply, the stairs crooked. “After you.”

Regulus huffed, absolutely not comfortable to be walking up in the dim lights. His gut was clenching at the thought of how narrow it seemed, the walls so close they’d brush his shoulders. He remembered how he had felt in the cab, remembered how his mother had grabbed him, and felt his bruises throbbing. But he was too proud to admit in front of Potter that he was about to fucking lose it, so he gritted his teeth and stoically entered the staircase, ordering his reluctant feet to take one step at a time. He heard Potter shuffling in behind him, closing the door and shutting out the rest of the light, but he was so concentrated on just starting ahead and ignoring the tightness in his chest that he couldn’t even hear the footsteps behind him.

Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t too bad. His shoulders never even touched the walls and the air wasn’t stuffy. Instead, the scent of coffee wafted down the stairs, and it somehow calmed Regulus down. He was still relieved when the staircase opened up into a room and natural sunlight streamed through the windows. He stepped into the open space and stopped, feeling momentarily dazed by the world he had just entered.

It was the cosiest space Regulus had ever seen. The sun shone through four windows and drew orange patters on the wooden floor, the tables and chairs. The walls were plastered with drawings of buildings, exact, precise lines and shades blurring together, and blueprints with tiny calculations written on the margins. In a corner, there was a counter with a coffee machine, boxes with tea bags, and behind that on a cupboard, the biggest collection of mugs Regulus had ever seen. There were four chess boards scattered across the room, and there were plants everywhere. Long pothos plants were wrapped around the beams on the ceilings, hanging down low enough to people had to duck not to brush them, every inch of the windowsill was covered in an army of plants, and some were even on the floor as though they hadn’t found any other place in the café.

There were only a few people there, mostly students from the look of it – probably Lily’s fellow students –, smiling and nodding at Potter as he entered, but continuing their quiet conversations. Potter brushed past Regulus, smiling at his awe. Standing behind him, he brought his mouth close to Regulus’ ear. „I suggest you don’t get her started talking about the plants unless you don’t want to talk about anything else for the next two hours,” he warned in a low voice. Then, while Regulus was still recovering from the feeling of Potter’s hot breath on his neck, he walked towards a girl with flaming red hair in a grey t-shirt and jeans, who was bending over a table that was covered in loose papers and pens, her bare feet on the wooden floor, and her hair falling into her face.

“Hey, Lily.”

She turned around, pen still in her hand, and then rolled her eyes, while trying to keep the smile of her lips. “Oh great. James Potter. Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.”

Potter laughed, opened his arms and hugged her before she could even protest. She rolled her eyes again, but melted into it the next second. Regulus followed him awkwardly, keenly aware of the interested glances into his direction. This was why he didn’t go out in public. He hadn’t even recovered from the claustrophobia and now he was walking right into a friend reunion. Part of him wanted to turn around and head back to the hotel. He preferred locking himself in his room and playing chess until the morning to awkwardly stand by while people showed physical affection.

When Potter let go of Lily and stepped back, she wrapped her hair into a bun and stuck her pencil into it so it would hold, a few wisps of hair falling in her face and glowing in the sunlight. Then, she looked at Regulus. “Blink twice if he dragged you here on the promise of-“

“He’s here because I was promised speed chess,” Potter cut her off. He had moved behind the counter and chosen a mug from the collection.

Lily seemed surprised, but then arched her eyebrow, smiling. “So, you’re a chess player?”

Regulus nodded, not really knowing what was expected from him at the moment. It wasn’t that Lily made him feel uncomfortable, it was just that he felt uncomfortable and like this whole thing had been a bad decision. This felt like a play he hadn’t been given the script to and was forced to improvise.

“Then do me a favour and teach this arrogant ass a lesson for once,” she said, completely serious.

Regulus glanced at Potter, clutched his heart, mocking offense, and nodded. “I’m planning on it.”

“Nice. I’m Lily Evans by the way.”

“Regulus Black.”

“And already my friends are turning on me. What is it? His cheekbones?” James asked, gesturing vaguely at Regulus.

“More like the fact that he looks like he could beat you,” Lily said, already turning back to other plans. “And I’d really like to see that.”

Potter shook his head, sliding the mug over the counter towards Regulus. It had a big fat No written on the side, and Regulus raised his eyebrows at Potter, who just shrugged, supressing a smile. With a sigh, Regulus took the mug, wondering why it felt like Potter’s charm was working its magic on him. What was his big plan? Make Regulus’ defeat even more devastating? Mock him when he’d finally win against him? He didn’t trust him.

“Hot water’s in there, tea bags are in there,” Potter said, nodding at the items at the counter, and chose a mug for himself, into which he poured some coffee. While Regulus prepared tea himself, even though he didn’t even really want any, Potter put a generous amount of milk into his coffee and stirred. Potter drank a big gulp and nodded at a table near the window. “Chess?”

Relieved they would finally step onto terrain Regulus was comfortable with, he nodded, following Potter over to the table on the window. Lily was already lost in her drawings again, tapping her lip with her pencil. They sat down, and Potter had to put a plant on the floor to have space to for a clock next to the board. Regulus watched his nimble fingers rearrange the pieces into their assigned positions, momentarily mesmerized by the sight of it, unable to take his eyes of it.

And then, Potter began pulling his rings off his fingers, one by one. Regulus almost choked, feeling heat slowly creeping up his neck. He tightened his grip around his mug, but his eyes were glued to Potter’s movements. His mind spun, momentarily rendered completely useless.

When Potter slid them in his pocket, Regulus took a deep breath, fighting to get a grip on himself, determined to not show Potter how flustered he was. Jesus, how many times had he thought about those hands already? Sternly, he banished all thoughts that didn't have anythign to do with chess.

But when finally dared to glance up at Potter, he tensed up. Potter was barely supressing an amused smile, his raised eyebrow telling Regulus that his reaction had definitely not gone unnoticed. He placed his arms on the table. “Enjoying yourself?”

If this was some strategy to throw Regulus off, it was definitely working. He clenched his jaw, forcing his mind to focus, and blocked every thought that didn’t have to do with chess – like wondering how Potter’s hands would feel on the bare skin of his chest. “You’re playing with black? That sure of winning?” he asked cooly.

“Are you always so stubborn about not accepting a little advantage?”

“Only when it feels like pity,” Regulus growled.

Potter looked at him strangely, as though they both knew exactly that no, Regulus was absolutely not able to accept any sort of help, but then just nodded at the chess board. “Ready?”

Regulus drew in a deep breath, blocking all noise from his head, and exhaled, dropping his gaze to the chess board. He nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Potter started the clock, and from then on, it was just the ticking of the clock, the sound of the chess pieces on the board, and Regulus’ ever-growing hot frustration in his stomach.

Potter was fast, insanely fast. He didn’t even need time to think, counter-acting every one Regulus’ chess moves just a split second after him, not losing time on the clock. It was like playing against a goddamn machine. Potter was so precise in his chess moves, so sure in everything he was doing, and Regulus felt himself now the victim of Potters justified arrogance, in the same position as all those opponents he had watched grow desperate just the day before. He sensed Potter glance at him from time to time as though he could read Regulus’ thoughts, and it infuriated him how he could divert his attention so easily while his own mind raced and his heart was pounding in his chest.

It was queen, rook, pawn, rook, bishop, moving so fast it all blurred in front of his eyes.

The first game didn’t even take one minute.

Regulus clenched his teeth, frustration like bitter bile in the back of his throat.

“Again?” Potter asked, and the smile on his face told him that Potter knew he had pushed Regulus’ buttons. He was stubborn, and he hated losing. Of course he wouldn’t just get up and walk away.

It didn’t get any better. Regulus lost too many seconds hesitating, pondering, feeling himself freezing up under the pressure, his thoughts getting tangled up. He angrily clenched his jaw and he glared at Potter, but in the end he knew he was losing, and he knew he just wasn’t good enough to win, but he was too proud to stop, and Potter didn’t call it a day, either. He seemed mildly amused by Regulus’ stubbornness, and soon Regulus lost count of how many times he heard Potter ask him if he wanted to play again.

The sun went down next to them, first taking on an orange tinge, then disappearing behind the buildings and plunging the world into darkness. The streetlamps from outside mirrored in the window, and Lily reluctantly interrupted her work to switch on the lights. People left and at some point Regulus looked up and realized the room was filled with about fifteen students, and another time he looked up to register that their table was surrounded by people who were closely watching their games, but then they were gone again, and Regulus lost track of time until Lily suddenly appeared next to their table, stopping the clock and making Regulus jump.

“And this is where you stop, guys. It’s enough.” Potter opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head. “It’s past two in the morning, James. You drank all the coffee, I’m about to fall asleep standing, and you two need to stop spiralling.”

Regulus blinked at Potter, and it was only now fully settling in how much time had passed. It was as though he’d been underwater all this time and had only now resurfaced. His heart skipped a beat and panic seized him. “My mother,” he said, alarmed.

Lily looked at him weirdly, her tired mind unable to make any sense of those two words, but Potter seemed to understand, his eyes widening. He cursed and sprang up, his chair scraping over the floor and almost toppling over. He gulped down the rest of the coffee, side-hugged Lily and tapped Regulus’ shoulder, half pushing him towards the door. “ByLilythanksforthecoffeeseeya,” he said over his shoulder, then planted his hand on Regulus’ back. “Go, go, go!”

They sprinted down the narrow staircase, out into the fresh air, and Regulus sprinted down the main street, the fact that he was a runner for once useful as he picked up speed effortlessly. He knew it was way too late, and his mother would have registered his absence by now, but some part of him was still hoping. Behind him, Potter’s feet splashed into the puddles, and even though his breathing was more laboured, he kept pace with him. He didn’t leave his side until Regulus stood in front of his door, and muffled his breathing with his arm, nodding at Regulus in lieu of a goodbye – he knew if Regulus’ mother saw him, Regulus would be in trouble.

Regulus’ skin still tingled from where Potter had pressed his hand on his back.

His mother was fast asleep.

Regulus leaned against the door, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it wanted to escape his chest. He rested his head against the cold wood, closing his eyes, swallowing, not quite yet believing his luck. He could have walked in to his mother drunk, screaming at him. It could have been so bad. The game had taken over his mind, had drawn him in, held him spellbound, his stubbornness resulting in a tunnel vision, letting him forget about the world around him.

Regulus slid down the door, pressing his cold palms against his eyes and sinking his fingers in his hair. God, he had been so foolish. He’d risked infuriating her just for a stupid match with Potter. And he hadn’t even won. Not a single time.

He stayed like that for a while, the adrenaline in his veins only slowly fading, and slid his hand in the pocket of his jacket, taking three pills and swallowing them without water. He needed to control the chaos in his mind, his raging frustration, the hollowness in his gut.

The next morning, the evening felt like a fever dream. The only reason Regulus knew it had happened was because his sleep deprivation reached an all-time high. It took him two hours in the morning to get wake up, and even then, he couldn’t shake off his weariness. His mother had to drag him down to breakfast, but Regulus only ate automatically and later couldn’t even recall what he had eaten. He wanted to go on a run to shake of the remnants of the sleepiness that still lingered even after he had been up for three hours, but his mother made it clear that she expected him to study, so Regulus splashed cold water in his face and perched on the chair in his room, forcing himself to focus.

Through the thin door, he could hear his mother coughing at the other side of the door. She kept on pacing for a while, then he heard the scraping of a fountain pen on paper. She was calculating the costs again, subtracting the money for the hotel and food from the prize money he had won.

It always irked some part of Regulus how she took it for granted that she was in control of his money, but he wasn’t going to risk getting into a fight over it. It was pointless anyway. What counted was that he got to play chess.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

A little later, he heard her get up and a minute later, the water was running in the bathroom.

Regulus was re-playing a game from Potter’s book when his telephone rang. He jumped at the sound, throwing an alarmed gaze to the door that separated his room from his mother’s room, but when it didn’t burst open immediately, he rushed to the phone, picking it up before it could ring again. He turned his back to her door, already pretty sure about who was calling him, feeling a wave of anger rush through him at how inconsiderately he was putting him at risk. “Potter, I swear to God-“ he grouched into the phone, keeping his voice low.

“Oh good, you’re alive.” Regulus heard the faintest trace of relief in his voice, as though Potter had actually been concerned about him.

Regulus threw a gaze over the shoulder, alert in case the water stopped running. He shielded the phone with his hand and spoke in a low voice, unable to keep the anger from his tone. “You do realize that if my mother had picked up the phone, I’d be dead, right?”

“I asked for your room.”

“My mother is right next door,” Regulus hissed. “And I swear she can hear a needle drop from thirty miles away.”

“Is that why you walk so quietly?”

Regulus froze up, the air pushed out of his lungs. He grabbed the phone tighter, his mood darkening with every passing second.

When he didn’t immediately say something, Potter spoke again. “If she had picked up, I’d have pretended to be room service.” He paused. “I just wanted to know if you’re okay after last night.”

What was it with Potter that made the words last night sound so suggestive? Regulus ran a hand over his face, trying to control his emotions and supressing a frustrated groan. Then, he leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m fine. She took some sleeping pills. Didn’t notice I was gone.”

He could hear Potter exhale. It sounded as though he was breathing right in his ear, and it made something in his stomach twitch. He held the phone away a few inches. “I can’t risk it again, though,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Even he himself could hear the exhaustion and tiredness seep through his tone.

There was another short pause. “But we didn’t finish the game.” Potter sounded serious again.

“How many more times do you want to win against me?” Regulus asked tonelessly. “Wasn’t that enough for your ego?”

“Black, don’t make me wait until we play in the tournament.” Potter sounded a little desperate now, and it sent shivers down Regulus’ spine. What game were they playing? What were they doing? Had he lost his defence, or was he dominating the game?

“Why? So that you can intimate me? So that you can make me think I will never beat me? So that you can win in the tournament?” He heard the water going off behind him.

“Ever considered that it might not be about winning?”

“I don't have the fucking luxury to not win, Potter.” Footsteps on the other side of the door. “I need to go.”

“Reg-“

Regulus hung up the phone, burying his face in his hands, when it suddenly struck him that Potter had started calling out his first name, and he paused, not knowing how to feel about it. It had sent a thrill through his body – not many people called him Regulus these days. But was it part of his scheme? Manipulation?

Angry, he walked over to his book again, staring at it contemptuously. For a moment, he contemplated just leaving it on Potter’s doorstep without another word, but then he closed his eyes and forced his anger to die down. It was no good. He needed to get himself under control. He needed to keep everything clean, needed the real world and the chess game to stay separated. No matter how much Potter wanted to confound it, Regulus wasn’t going to fucking let him.

For the next three days, Regulus only left his room to play in the tournament and to go on runs (after which he got out of his way to avoid Potter in the hallways), and swallowed more pills than he probably should have. It got harder to imagine the games in his head if he didn’t take them, and setting it up on his chess board slowed him down too much. Translating his thoughts onto it took so long it frustrated him, and after a few hours, he always caved and allowed himself to swallow a few pills.

It was the third night when Regulus discovered a flaw in one of Potter’s games. His mind screeched to a halt, and he paused, blinking, double-checking every chess move. Pawn takes pawn. Knight on h1. And then, a missed opportunity right there. It was so obvious.

He felt a thrill washing over him, and he rechecked again, and again, but there it was, the flaw in Potter’s game. The bishop. He could have used it, but he hadn’t. Regulus could see it right then and there. Maybe that was Potter’s Achilles heel. Maybe Regulus could make it his downfall. He closed his eyes and tried to reconstruct some of the speed chess games they had played a few nights ago. It took some effort, but it was worth it, because the pattern was there. Potter focused too much on his knight, because he liked how it complicated the game, adding layers and layers of complexity.

Regulus leaned back in his chair. Did that mean it was about aesthetic? About making it as complex as possible so it was harder for his opponent to see through his game? Or about intimidation? He couldn’t get a read on Potter, couldn’t answer the question because he couldn’t trust any of his words. He was charming, smug, arrogant. Maybe it was exactly the fact that he seemed like an open book that made him so hard to get a read on. It seemed like it was all there, but maybe that was only what he wanted everyone to see.

It was so frustrating and fascinating at the same time that Regulus suddenly deeply regretted pushing him away. But there was no way he was going to apologize. He wouldn’t give Potter the satisfaction, wouldn’t let him see that it wasn’t just him who longed for another game. It gave him a quiet sense of power to know that he wasn’t giving Potter something that he was craving. That Potter was forced into a position where he was dependant on Regulus. That even though it felt like Regulus had allowed Potter to be in control from the minute they’d met, the power balance could still tip. He sat down with grim determination, turned the page and got to studying again.

“I enrolled you in a Russian course,” his mother informed him at breakfast. It was the first time Regulus had gone down with her, not quite voluntary. The last thing he wanted right now was to sit in an overcrowded room with too many people he didn’t know and too much noise, but his mother had insisted. Now, he startled up from the chess game he had been replaying in his mind, and stared at her.

“What?” he asked, his mood souring almost instantly. Why did she keep doing this? Why did she keep controlling his life?

“Don’t say what, Regulus. You sound stupid,” she spat sharply, throwing him a warning gaze from her coal eyes. “You heard me very well.”

Regulus took a deep breath and controlled his anger. He was not going to start a fight with her in the middle of a breakfast room, even if he didn’t care about what the other people were thinking. He’d be gone in a few days, anyways. He glared at his mother. “Why did you enrol me in a Russian course?” he asked, his tone carefully controlled.

“Because you will be playing in Russia one day. And you will not embarrass your family by not being able to speak a word of Russian. Besides, they will not treat you like a stupid American.”

“I’m not American.”

“That doesn’t matter to them. It’s about the fact that you are not Russian,” she said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “The first lesson is this evening. You will attend it after your games today. It’s just down the street, in an old school building.”

Regulus clenched his jaw, swallowing down the sharp words that clawed up his throat.

She looked at him as though she could see how much he was struggling to restrain. “Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Regulus said coldly, chugged the rest of his tea, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand because he knew his mother hated it, and got up from the table. “Chess starts in fifteen minutes.” And without another word, he walked away. He felt a grim satisfaction at the fact she had to fight down the urge to scream after him, but couldn’t because of her precious family reputation.

He was too early, of course, but sat down on his assigned table and waited until his opponent showed up in the last minute. Pandora hurried past him, and gave him a small wave, but before Regulus could react, she was already somewhere behind him and the game started. Regulus played more aggressive than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. His frustration seeped into his every chess move and he was daring and brazen, and it felt like the runner’s high he got on his long runs when he felt invincible.

He was dominating the game in the first half, until he endgame started and everything he had build started to crumble.

His opponent, a serious Mexican man whose name he had already forgotten, turned out to be an excellent endgame player, so much better than Regulus. He knew his endgame had always been his weakest point, but this man wasn’t giving him any chance. He was ruthless, using strategies that felt like a blow to the face, and Regulus time on the clock started seeping through his hands like sand. He lost so much time thinking about hidden motives that their time on the clock was evening out. It freaked Regulus out, the knot in his stomach pulling tighter and tighter. He felt like throwing up. He couldn’t lose just because he had been too confident. He couldn’t risk not playing against Potter.

God, what if he wouldn’t get to play against Potter?

He made a move with his queen, but the man countered it with his knight and suddenly Regulus realized just how bad his position was. He felt a tremor run through him, his curls were hanging in his face but he didn’t brush them away, staring at the board in front of him. Nononono. This couldn’t be happening. He made a desperate move with his bishop, but yet again, the Mexican man threatened his queen with a fork. Regulus glanced up at him. He stared back, completely calm, his eyes unreadable, and Regulus looked down on the board again.

What was going on with him? Was it because he had lost against Potter? Had his confidence taken that much of a hit?

…What if he wasn’t as good as he once used to be?

Then it struck him out of nowhere, and his hand reached for the pocket in his jacket for the small pills. They were there, all thirty-five. He hadn’t hidden them yet.

With twenty-five minutes left on the clock, Regulus stood up so abruptly his chair scraped over the floor and heads turned into his direction. Even Potter momentarily looked up from his game, dazed, until his eyes focused on Regulus, who walked across the hall, mumbling a bathroom to the man who oversaw all games, not waiting for him to nod but diving straight into the narrow corridor. He reached in his pocket and closed his fist around the pills, walking like this until he pushed the bathroom door open with his shoulder. It was empty, thankfully.

Regulus braced himself up on the sink, evening out his breathing, waiting until his heart had calmed down. Then, he lifted his head and met his own gaze in the mirror. His green-grey eyes stared back at him. They was a flash of panic in them, and Regulus averted his eyes with a scowl, reaching for the tap. He turned the water ice cold and retrieved two pills from his pocket, throwing them in his mouth and drinking from the tap. He swallowed, turned the water off, and stayed propped up on the sink for five minutes. He told himself he was okay until he almost believed it.

Then, he closed his eyes and summoned the chess board, re-constructing the constellations until he had a perfect copy of the board that was waiting for him outside. With a new sense of calm, he began systematically working through every possible constellation, ever possible move and countermove. The chess pieces were clear in his head, and he never had to think twice about what piece had assumed which position. The squares were sharp, black and white.

Ten minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom, and re-entered the hall with thirteen minutes left on his clock. He felt Potter’s gaze on him as he sat down but refused to look into his direction, calmly taking his castle and moving it to C4. He could sense his opponent’s hesitation as he narrowed his eyes, intimidated by Regulus’ sudden calmness. He scrutinized Regulus for a second, then threw a gaze at the clock and then back to the board. He shifted on his seat. Then, he played bishop D6, just like Regulus had known he would. From then on, it was like domino. Regulus won with ten minutes left on his clock.

His opponent, stupefied, shook his head in a trance and remained sitting as Regulus got up. Pandora smiled at him, still playing against a small black-haired man, and Regulus walked out of the hall, relief spreading in his chest.

Sometime in 1977

Remus understood why Sirius hated Grimmaud place. It wasn’t just the fact that his parents lived there, it was the coldness of the place itself. It was a hostile house, drenched in dark colours and cold air and heavy silence. Sirius only ever let Remus get anywhere near the house when his parents were away, and even then, he normally didn’t invite him in. He would just slip through the door, shrug on his jacket, not saying much until they were a few street corners away. It always took him a couple of minutes to brush off his strange mood, and he started to come to life.

Remus waited patiently every time, not ever pushing him. He didn’t know much about what exactly was going on behind closed doors, but he knew enough to know that it was bad. Really bad.

This night, things were different.

Sirius pulled the door open before Remus had even rang the bell – he’d probably seen him from his window –, a lazy smile on his lips. He was in his leather jacket, his brown hair glorious as ever, his long legs in combat boots. He visibly relaxed at the sight of Remus. “Hey.”

Remus was taken off-guard for a second, but recovered quickly and sternly told his gaze not to linger in places it didn’t belong. He returned the smile. “Hey. You ready?”

“You wanna come in for a second? I need to get some stuff,” Sirius said with a jerk of his head.

Remus frowned. Sirius had never invited him in, he thought he’d never see the inside of the house. They had been friends for a few years now, but Sirius never once let him catch so much as a glimpse into the corridor. “Uh, yeah. Sure,” Remus finally said.

Sirius stepped aside as though it was no big deal, and their shoulders briefly touched when Remus walked past him, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. Remus forced himself to ignore the warmth flooding his arm and focused instead on the dark corridor. He cautiously looked around. Everything, was pristine and clean, but old and probably worth more than Remus earned in an entire year. There was something cold and reserved about the interior, as though it welcomed visitors with an arched eyebrow and a mocking smile. Remus shivered in the coolness of the room and hoped Sirius didn’t notice. He didn’t want him to think that he couldn’t even bear a few minutes in a house Sirius had lived in his entire life.

Sirius closed the door behind him. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Remus nodded, and Sirius ran up the stairs, not bothering to take his boots off. Remus wondered if he would pay for it once his mother returned home and noticed the dirt, but forced himself not to think about it. It wasn’t like he had any right to tell Sirius how to deal with his parents. In a bad moment, when Sirius had shown up on his doorstep in the middle of the night with angry eyes and a bruise on his cheek, Remus had suggested that Sirius could just keep quiet for once instead of provoking his parents.

He had regretted it ever since, because he had learned that rage and love and abuse were more complicated than that. Sirius had every right to lash out, to defend himself, to fight tooth and nails, if only to preserve his sanity.

“Are you one of Sirius’ friends?”

Remus whipped around, feeling caught even though he hadn’t really done anything except linger in the doorway, wondering if Sirius had ever been beaten where he was standing.

There was a boy in the doorway to another room. He was smaller than Sirius, but shared the same cheekbones and long legs and narrow waist. His unruly black curls fell into his sharp grey eyes, which eyed Remus carefully. They seemed to see right through him.

“You’re Regulus, right? Sirius’ brother?” Remus asked.

“Are you one of Sirius friends?” Regulus asked, ignoring his question. The answer was obvious, anyway.

“Um, yeah,” Remus said, trying not to hate the bitter taste of friend. “I’m here to pick him up. We’re going to a party.”

Regulus seemed conflicted for a second, lingering in the doorway. His shirt was too big on him, and would have hidden his frame if it wasn’t for the way he had crossed his arms; the fabric somehow hugging his torso. He fixed Remus with those grey eyes. “He goes with you, he’s your responsibility. He drinks too much. Don’t let him. My parents are coming back tomorrow and they’ll be furious if they realize he’s been out drinking. Understood?”

“I, uh-“ Remus replied, not very intelligently.

Regulus raised his eyebrows at him, impatient. Remus shouldn’t be surprised. Regulus probably didn’t like being in the hallways, did not like feeling exposed, had too many bad memories of Sirius arguing in the corridors. Maybe it didn’t matter that his parents were away, maybe he had been five when he’d first learned to recognize the footsteps of the people that walked through the house.

“Sure. Got it,” Remus said.

Regulus just nodded gloomily – if there was brief relief, somewhere hidden under his mask, Remus couldn’t tell for sure. And then, without another word, Regulus disappeared through the door again.

When Sirius came down the stairs two minutes later, Remus was still standing in the hallway, frowning.

“You ready?” Sirius asked, jerking him out of his reverie.

Remus looked up at him, regretting it the moment he laid eyes on Sirius, and something died inside of him. Sirius’ hair was a little messed up from the running, his face flushed. Remus wanted back him up against the wall right then and there and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. Instead, he firmly kept his hands in his pockets, his elbows locked at his side, and nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.”

Sirius grabbed a keychain from a small table and shoved it in the pocket of his leather jacket. “You okay? You sound a bit off.” He asked it in that particular tone that Remus hated. The carefully casual one. As though he was afraid that if he let on that he cared more about Remus than his other friends, or, cared about him in a very different way, he’d actually have to admit to himself that he felt the same way Remus felt about him.

Biting back a snarky remark, Remus just nodded with a stony expression on his face. “Yeah. ‘m fine,” he grumbled. When he followed Sirius outside, he threw a look over his shoulder, but the corridor was empty. Regulus was nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t even light streaming into the corridor.

Remus wanted to punch himself. He knew better than to get distracted and let Sirius out of sight. Especially when his brother had just warned him to keep an eye on him. Two hours into a heated conversation about The Stranger by Albert Camus, Remus suddenly realized his mistake when Sirius came stumbling into the room, a cup in his hand. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dangerously dark; his hair was all over the place. He’d lost his leather jacket somewhere and the sight of Sirius’ in a simple black t-shirt made Remus freeze briefly before he got himself together.

He cursed under his breath, already putting his cup on the table.

Lily, who sat with her back to the entrance, was startled but followed Remus’ gaze. Her red hair fell on her back. “Your boyfriend is drunk out of his mind,” she commented, clucking her tongue, sounding both amused and exasperated.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Remus said, getting on his feet, his mood darkening. “And I was supposed to watch him.”

Lily narrowed her eyes at him. As always, she had immediately sensed that there was more to Remus’ words. “Since when are you his nanny?” she asked with a sharp undertone in her voice. She did not approve of the way Sirius kept treating Remus. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him – she really did –, but she was fiercely protective over Remus since she’d found out Sirius had kissed him a few months ago, and acted like it hadn’t happened. Since then, Sirius was a sore subject and Remus was careful not to bring it up.

“Since his fucking parents are gonna flip the fuck out when he vomits all over his breakfast tomorrow morning,” Remus growled. He ran a hand through his hair, anger and frustration simmering in the pit of his stomach. Why couldn’t Sirius just stop and think one second before he went and did something stupid? Why was he making it so hard for Remus to protect him?

“Remus!” Sirius’ eyes lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree when he saw Remus make his way through the crowd. His voice was almost drained out by the chattering and the music around them, but Remus was fine-tuned to that voice.

Look at me like that when you’re not drunk, Sirius, and you’ll be on your knees in seconds, Remus thought.

The worst part about drunk Sirius was that he got touchy with Remus when he had drunk enough. So, as expected, Sirius’ hand was immediately on Remus’ shoulder before he knew what was happening, and Sirius drew him closer to bring his mouth next to Remus’ ear.

“I found some really good stuff, Remus,” Sirius said. His words slurred together a bit, but Sirius had acted drunk before, because he liked getting away with doing stupid things, so Remus wondered if he wasn’t at least a little more sober than he let on.

He angrily ignored the effect of Sirius’ breath on his skin and scrutinized the liquid in Sirius’ cup. It smelt questionable. He reached and took it out of Sirius’ hand before fixed him with a hard gaze. “I think you had enough of that really good stuff, Sirius.”

“What?” Sirius asked dumbly. “No, Remus, give-“

“Not happening,” Remus said firmly, shaking his head. He tried so hard not to grab Sirius by his stupid shirt and shake him. Instead, he planted his hand on Sirius’ waist and pushed him towards the kitchen, holding the cup out of reach in case Sirius tried to grab it. “Come on, let’s get somewhere quieter.”

Sirius didn’t much resist and let Remus manhandle him into the kitchen. Remus gave him a little push and closed the door behind them. The voices and music were drowned out immediately and Remus only now realized how loud it had been. His ears were ringing. He threw a dark gaze at Sirius, walked over to the kitchen, and poured the liquid into the sink.

“Remus, no-fuck, come on,” Sirius swore, then threw his hands in the air. “Why did you do that?”

Remus spun around to Sirius, anger ripping through him. “Because you’re drunk out of your mind and your parents are gonna beat the shit out of you tomorrow.”

Sirius huffed, shrugging, acting nonchalant. “They do that anyway, Remus,” he said, pretending to be unfazed. He wanted to grab a bottle of clear liquid from the kitchen counter, but Remus grabbed his wrist and stopped him. He stood right in front of him, looking up at Sirius. He was only slightly taller; Remus was in converse.

Sirius suddenly went very still.

“And”, Remus growled, “because I’m here to spend time with you, but like every singly fucking time, you’re too drunk to even have a decent conversation. And I fucking hate that.” He sighed, angry. “I just wish you’d be sober for once. For one evening, Sirius, one fucking evening.”

Sirius seemed to deflate a little, and when Remus let go of his wrist, his arm fell to his side. He didn’t try to reach for the bottle again. “We came here to party, Remus,” he said, sullenly.

“You came here to party. I came here because you wanted to go.”

Remus could see the exact moment Sirius got defensive and wanted to smack himself for sounding so accusatory. He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that. He was just so sick of it, so sick of Sirius getting drunk so he could avoid actually talking to him. He was also very conveniently making it impossible to be held liable for his actions, all the flirting, the kisses, the touches. He could do all that to Remus without facing any consequences.

Sirius glared down at him. “You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to,” he said with a shrug. His voice was cold. “I never asked you to show up at my house every goddamn day.”

Remus froze, taken aback for a second. Then, his anger lashed out stronger than ever. “You know what? I don’t care. Go for it.” He grabbed the bottle and thrust it into Sirius’ chest with so much force Sirius took a step back. He reached for it automatically, holding onto it. “I’m sick of this. I know your life is shit, but don’t make me pay for it.” Remus spun around and ripped the door open, slamming it close behind him.

Chapter Text

The classroom was old and smelt distinctly of cigarettes. There were swear words carved in the wooden tables, the paint was peeling from the wall and the floor was squeaking under Regulus’ soles. He sat down next to the window, hoping he would at least get to stare outside. Besides, he felt better not sitting next to the aisle. He couldn’t stand teachers walking past him with mere inches between his shoulder and their hip, couldn’t stand sensing them somewhere behind him.

Students walked in, for the large part a few years older than Regulus. There was a gorgeous Black girl with dreads, whose earrings caught the light of the dawning sun as she walked in. She eyed the room completely unimpressed, then settled on a seat behind Regulus so that her scent wafted over to him. Regulus stared out the window, ignoring the murmured conversation until a scrawny boy with messy brown hair walked in, who seemed to be just his age. He stopped for a second, then his eyes fell on the girl behind Regulus and he walked over, but didn’t sit down next to her as expected. “I’m sorry, Dorcas, but I’m not thirdwheeling while you and Marlene eye-fuck.”

Regulus winced as the boy slumped down right on the unoccupied chair right next to him. He looked at him, not exactly giving him the friendliest look. There was so much space left in the room, there was no need for him to choose the seat right next to Regulus, was there? Regulus was one step away from scowling at him, but the boy seemed completely unfazed by Regulus sour face.

“Who got you smiling like that?” he asked mockingly, raising his eyebrow at him.

Regulus could see the faintest trace of freckles strewn across his face. His admittedly pretty attractive face. Regulus bit the inside of his cheek. Great. First Potter, then this guy. Why couldn’t the world just give him a break from stupidly attractive boys who also happened to annoy the fuck out of him? Before Regulus could think of a sharp response, a blonde, tall girl with smokey eyes sat down next to Dorcas and paused at seeing the boy sit in the row in front of her.

“Why are you sitting there?”

“Because I can’t watch you gay-panicking the entire lesson, that’s why,” the boy said with a dramatic eye role. “So just get it over with already”, he said, waving vaguely, “and I will gladly re-join you. Until then, don’t worry about me.” He threw a crooked smile at Regulus. “I’m good over here.”

Regulus’ breath got stuck in his throat, but quickly got himself under control again. He raised his eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Oh yeah, pretty sure,” the boy said, his gaze lingering on Regulus’ lips before locking eyes with him again. They were a rich brown that seemed to melt in the sunlight. “I’m Barty, by the way.”

Regulus stared at him, unfazed. “Barty?”

“Barty Crouch Junior.” His dimples showed again, then he nodded at the girls. “And this is Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene McKinnon. They’re in love but they’re still in denial about it.”

“Oh, fuck you, Barty,” Dorcas said, rolling her eyes. She had put on the faintest trace of golden eyeshadow and her eyes were glowing.

Barty showed his palms. “What? I’m just stating facts, stop coming after me.”

“Oh, I will come after you,” Marlene said, glaring at him. She looked dangerous, like she was absolutely capable and willing to beat the shit out of him, but Barty seemed unfazed by it.

“This is a free country, Marlene,” Barty said with a shrug. He turned to Regulus again. “So, do we get to know your name?”

Regulus considered him for a moment. “Regulus Black,” he said after a little pause.

“That sounds like you’re hiding a middle name from me,” Barty said, tilting his head.

“That’s because I absolutely am,” Regulus said dryly.

“I like him,” Dorcas announced with a smug smile.

“Me too.” Marlene said, taking out a notepad and pen from her bag. Like Dorcas, she had about eight rings on her fingers. On her hands, though, they reminded Regulus of knuckledusters. “I like everyone who gives you shit.”

“So why are you taking Russian lessons, Regulus Black?” Barty asked, ignoring the two girls.

Regulus raised his eyebrows at him. “Why are you taking Russian lessons?”

There it was again, the crooked smile that never quite vanished. Regulus sensed he had walked straight into a trap, but it was too late. “Oh, I like to put my mouth to good use.”

Dorcas rolled his eyes and Marlene just silently shook her head, and Regulus gave an amused huff. Something about Barty put him at ease, his carelessness, his lazy arrogance. It should be annoying, but it was refreshing after being surrounded by chess players with muted emotions and blank faces. And, the enigma that was James Potter. He leaned back in his chair. “Must be frustrating not to get that many opportunities.”

“Oh, but I am getting a lot of opportunities, thank you very much,” Barty said smugly.

“God, please someone make him shut up,” Marlene groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is verbal abuse.”

Dorcas scrutinized Regulus from the side. “You’re French?”

Surprised, Regulus turned to her. What the hell gave that away? “My mother’s side.”

She must have seen the question in his eyes because she added: “Nothing gave it away. I’m just good at guessing. I’m a model. And I travel a lot, so I get to see a lot of faces.” Regulus wasn’t surprised to hear it. She was drop dead gorgeous, and she had that demeaner of someone who was absolutely aware of it. Confidence was seeping through every one of her elegant moves.

“So why are you learning Russian?” he asked.

“Because I fucking want to,” Dorcas said, looking him straight in the eye. “And I can.” Something in her words made Regulus realize that people tended to underestimate her intelligence because of her looks, and to say that she was tired of it was an understatement.

Marlene didn’t offer her reasoning, and Regulus didn’t ask. Barty, who had studied Regulus’ side profile, opened his mouth to ask another question, but the teacher, a middle-aged, tall women walked in and the whole class fell silent. The students in front of Regulus sat up taller.

She put her bag down on the desk, put her hands on her hips and assessed the class over the brim of her glasses. “Well, I sure hope you are more intelligent than you look, otherwise this is going to be a hard class. Buckle up, ladies and gents.”

When Regulus walked out of the room, his temples were pounding and his head was spinning, filled to the brim with Russian words that kept blurring together.

This time, Regulus had decided he was going to attack first before Potter even had the slightest chance at picking apart his defences. So when he was sitting perched up on an chair at the deserted roof terrace, his legs drawn up to his body and a book in his hand, and he heard Potter’s familiar footsteps behind him, he had already braced himself for the game and was ready for confrontation.

He sensed Potter linger behind him, then, he strolled into sight, the sleeves of his ugly sweater pushed up to his elbows. The wind was playing with his curls. Some part of Regulus’ mind registered how gorgeous Potter actually was – the solidness of his body, the line of his jaw, the broadness of his chest –, but Regulus shoved aside that thought, afraid that if he once acknowledged it, he was never going to come back from that. “I didn’t even know about this place,” Potter said, hands in his pockets, briefly glancing at the city stretching out beneath them.

Regulus lowered his book. He’d known two hours after checking in. It was the first thing he always searched for; there was something about being up there that calmed him down. Up here, it didn’t matter if the room wasn’t his own and the city he saw was unfamiliar. He studied Potter’s side profile for a second. “Fuck off, Potter.”

A flicker of surprise passed over Potter’s face, but then he just chuckled and drew another old, battered chair and sat down on it the wrong way round, his elbows resting on the backrest. “What, already tired of me?”

Regulus just huffed, wishing Potter would have just stayed away. It made him deeply uncomfortable how Potter had followed him with his gaze as he had walked out of the room to swallow some pills mid-game. It felt like he had laid himself bare, right there, and Potter only had to put one and one together and would know more about Regulus than he had ever wanted to reveal. “We’re opponents, remember?”

“Life does not solely revolve around chess,” Potter said.

Regulus just stared at him. Except it fucking does. It does when your family’s approval depends on your performance. Regulus shut his book and put it on the small round desk. “Maybe it should for you. I found a flaw in your game.”

Potter’s reaction was not what Regulus had expected. He had expected a surprised look, that crease between his eyebrows, a tension in his shoulders. But Potter only tilted his head, unfazed, as though he was simply interested in what Regulus had to say. There was something attractive about his self-assurance. “Oh yeah? Is this your revenge for pointing out your mistake in the game against Pettigrew?”

“Do you really think I need that?” Regulus said, rising his eyebrow.

Potter smiled. “No, you absolutely don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t need to put others down to feel better about yourself. You just need to figure me out. You just want to know how my mind works. And you found a flaw, and now you just want to know if coincidence is or if there’s a fault in my code.”

An ice-cold shiver ran down Regulus’ spine, but part of him had already known Potter had seen right through him, had assessed his reaction to being pointed out his flaw. He stayed calm, daring him, holding his gaze. “So, is it?”

“Well, what did you find?” Potter still looked like he found all of this amusing.

Regulus studied Potter’s face for a moment, taking his time. “Pretense.”

Potter tiled his head, a silent smile on his lips. “Pretense,” he echoed.

Regulus rested his elbows on his knees, the wind ghosting over his face and running its fingers through his curls. “So is any of it real?” he asked.

“Any of what?”

“You. Is any of that real?” he asked.

Potter’s brown eyes were like liquid chocolate. “I’m a chess player. We have a tendency to blur the world of chess and our lives, don’t we?”

“Why did you call me? That evening, why did you call me?” Regulus interrupted him. He hated how his careful attack was falling apart, how he was losing force and strength as Potter could simply get him to lower his weapon with a single look.

Potter kept silent for a moment as though he considered his words carefully. “Because I had a feeling that if your mother found it, we would have never played against each other. And I can’t endure that thought.”

Was this honesty? Was this the truth? Why did it come over his lips so easily? Regulus always knew when his mother lied. He needed to take one look at Sirius, even before he had said anything, and he was be able to tell whether or not his next words were going to be truthful. But Potter was ambiguous, because he jumped between two extremes and Regulus was never sure when he was brutally honest. That’s what he thought, at least. He expected people to lie at him, because that’s what they had done all his life. “We are going to play against each other soon enough. Two more days, four more games, and we’ll play against each other.”

“I don’t want to just play against you in a tournament, Black,” Potter said.

His words sent a thrill through Regulus, but he stared at him coldly. “I need you to stay the fuck away from me.”

Potter ran a hand through his hair, artfully dishevelling his curls, and Regulus wanted nothing more than to drink in the sight. He wanted nothing more than to watch Potter take off his rings again, or see that arrogant smile on his face. He wanted nothing more than to watch him carefully pick up the chess pieces as though they were fragile. It was painful to refrain himself from it, to never reach out. But his entire career was at stake. This wasn’t about chess, this was about his mother and the cursed blood that ran through his veins. This was about pursuing his passion and accepting the price he had to pay. He couldn’t just destroy it. He could feel himself slipping, but he had to stop it before it hurt too much, before his fascination grew into something that could just too easily switch into pain.

Potter’s face was suddenly stony, hurt like a shadow on his face. He shook his head. “You don’t have to do this,” he said tonelessly.

Regulus sank his fingers into his curls and buried his face in his hands, exhaling. It took him a moment to get his whirling emotions under control, but years upon years of emotional abuse came in handy. “I do.”

The next round of the tournament was postponed by two days and Regulus wanted to scream. He’d been high-strung for days on end, nervous that he’d eventually meet an opponent that would just wipe him out, and he’d been telling himself to hang on for just a few more days. Now, the torture had been extended. Instead of screaming, he went on a run, showered, and walked down the street to the Russian course, his damp hair still wet, his feet aching. When he arrived, Barty was already sitting in the same spot as last time, and his crooked smile revealed the dimples on his cheeks.

“Mr. Cheekbones, what a pleasure.”

Regulus sat down on his chair, shaking his head. “You ever shut up?”

“Only if you make me,” Barty shot back. He was wearing a grey t-shirt that he had tucket into his jeans and a black jacket over it. His hair was as messy as the last time, but it looked soft. He faintly smelled of cigarettes, but Regulus didn’t mind. Sirius had smoked. Despite what had happened between them, it was still oddly comforting.

“Do you use that line on everybody?”

“What, like you’re special?”, Barty said, raising his eyebrow. “You know you need to do a bit more to unlock the flirting reserved for those who don’t scowl at me the moment I enter a room.”

“Guess I will keep on scowling, then,” Regulus huffed.

Barty shrugged. “Your loss, believe me,” he said. He rummaged in his jacket for a battered cigarette pack and took one with his nimble fingers, putting it between his lips. “So, are you gonna tell me why you’re here for another torture session?”

Regulus considered him. There was something about Barty and his crooked smile that both drew him in and made him wary. Regulus sensed that he was the kind of person who was cocky only to have control over every situation. The one that attacked before others could come anywhere near him. But that didn’t make him a bad person. It just made him a person Regulus couldn’t trust. He watched Barty light up his cigarette and take a drag before he answered. “That’s none of your damn business,” he said calmly.

Barty turned his head to breathe out the smoke before fixating Regulus again. “Trust issues, huh?”

“You haven’t given me an answer either.”

“Ooh, an eye for an eye.” Barty leaned back, drawing one leg up. “Okay, I’ll tell you. It doesn’t matter if I’m here or somewhere else. It just matters that I’m not somewhere where my shithead father can find me.” He said it so nonchalantly that Regulus wondered if the cockiness was actually real. It might be. “And he’s gonna take some more time to figure out that this is where I go to, because it’s the last thing he’d ever expect, but I can see that it drives him mad. Your turn.”

Regulus shook his head. “I never agreed to give you anything in return.”

Barty flicked his cigarette, throwing him a dark look. “You’re giving me trust issues, that’s what you’re doing.”

“Oh yeah, right. Blame me for your trauma,” Regulus said dryly.

Barty smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, I won’t. My father’s got all that covered,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette. He’d barely smoked a minute. It was probably more of a nervous tic, or maybe he liked igniting them. “Hey, you wanna join us later? We’re drowning our feelings in alcohol until Dorcas pretends to be an adult and says it’s enough and sends everybody home. You can stay longer, though. If you want to.” The smirk was back, drawing dimples on his cheeks.

Regulus’ first impulse was to say no. He had to study. He had to study James. But he realized that the mere thought of it made him feel sick to the stomach. It wasn’t as clean anymore. He hadn’t been careful enough, and now emotion had slowly settled in where there shouldn’t have been any. It had gotten unbearably complicated. And then there was the issue with his mother. The way she was exercising her control over him made him feel caged, made him feel like he couldn’t breathe freely, and that had summoned a churning heat in his chest. So what if he just didn’t go home? So what if she realized that she was nothing without him?

“Yes to the drinking part.”

Barty seemed briefly surprised but recovered quickly. “No to the staying longer part?”

“The awful Russian your mouth can produce makes me question its other abilities. So, no.”

Barty huffed in disbelief, then burst out laughing. He flicked the cigarette at Regulus, who dodged away in the last second. “Fuck you. Some of us didn’t grow up bilingual and inherited some genius language speaking gene.”

“Yeah. I can hear you haven’t,” Regulus said dryly.

“You’re hurting my ego, Black”, Barty said, a hand dramatically pressed over his heart.

“Yes, and we’re all very thankful for that,” Marlene said as she said down behind them, stretching her legs out under the table. She had really long legs. Her biker boots were caked with mud. She gave Regulus an encouraging look. “Keep up the good work.”

Regulus huffed, surprised at his own amusement, while Barty turned on his chair to face her. “I’m fragile, McKinnon. You can’t say things like that.”

Marlene rolled her eyes. “Suck it up, Crouch.” She got out a bundle of battered papers with some notes on them and rummaged in her backpack for a pen. Regulus noticed she had scribbled something on her left arm, but couldn’t decipher it. It was smudged. Then, suddenly, she stopped what she was doing and looked at Barty with a sudden seriousness in her expression that made Regulus uneasy. “Hey, Crouch, heard anything from Rosier?”

Regulus could see Barty wince, even though he hid his reaction pretty well. His tone was changed when he answered, defeated but carefully controlled somehow. “Not a word,” he said curtly.

Regulus felt like he was witnessing something he shouldn’t and suddenly wished he was somewhere else, just him and his books and no thick emotions that lingered in the air and made it harder to breathe. He had never been good with emotions. Not with others and not with his own. He hated being around people who openly displayed their emotions because he had no idea how to react to it.

Barty did not seem bothered by Regulus’ presence, but he cast his eye down. He put his foot on the cigarette stub on the floor. “You worried?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as though he tried to discern something in the distance.

“Not yet,” Marlene said with a shrug. “Just hasn’t visited in a while and I have no idea where he is.”

Barty’s face was closed off, but he shrugged as though he didn’t care. “You never know with that asshole. He just keeps wandering off and then he shows up again and his fucking hair is bleached and his wrist is broken and he’s on some new medication that you’ve never heard of.”

Marlene huffed in lieu of an answer and turned to Regulus, apparently keen on changing the topic. “Hey, wanna get drunk after this?”

“Your people skills are immaculate, McKinnon, really. Making it seem as though we’re all some sad traumatized teenagers with parent issues and then invite him to join our little new-found family. He’s really gonna wanna join now.”

Marlene turned to Regulus. “We are sad traumatized teenager with parent issues. You still wanna come?”

“Okay,” Regulus said, shrugging.

“Cool.”

“I already asked him,” Barty said.

“Shut up, Crouch.”

Dorcas waited for them outside, leaning against a lamppost and smoking a cigarette. Her long braided hair shone under the orange light and her copper skin seemed to glow, her black eyeliner sharp and drawn on immaculately. She wore a long coat and a dark blue top underneath, several golden necklaces with different length around her neck, the penchants on her bare skin. She looked like a literal goddess, and Regulus, who walked in front of Marlene, heard her draw in a sharp breath.

Dorcas stubbed out her cigarette and started towards them, her hands in the pockets of her coat, completely unaware that Marlene was holding on for dear life. Apparently, Barty hadn’t been wrong with his teasing. Regulus buried his hands in his pocket, taking a deep breath of the cool air. It had rained and the wind had gotten colder, but it wasn’t unpleasant, just the sort of temperature that cleared your head.

Barty opened his mouth to say something, but Dorcas cut him off with a gesture of her hand. “The job was shit. Don’t make me talk about it. There’s a lot of pent-up rage in here that you really don’t want to unleash right now. Let’s just go.”

Barty shrugged in that fine-with-me way and started walking, so that he completely missed Dorcas catching Marlene’s gaze and raising her eyebrow at her. Marlene just raised her eyebrow back at her, refusing to get teased and holding up her chin. “Nice coat.”

“Thanks,” Dorcas replied.

“Get a room, you two,” Barty said without turning around, his hands buried in his jacket.

“Says the one who can’t even afford his own apartment. You know you’re just living in mine as long as I’m traveling, right?”, Dorcas retorted, but started walking. “That’s, like, temporary.”

“Once my father kicks the bucket under mysterious circumstances, I will be so stinky rich I’ll be able to afford as many as I want.”

“Or, you could just stop being so stoic and put up with his shit and be rich now,” Marlene said.

“Over my dead body,” Barty said, his face dead serious as he turned around, shaking his head. “I don’t care on how many couches I have to crash, he will never see me follow in his footsteps.”

“You still don’t even really know what he´s up to in that department of his.”

Barty had waited for them until they had caught up and had put another cigarette between his lips but hadn’t ignited it. “’m working on it.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that working out? You’re barely home. You haven’t seen him in weeks.”

Barty didn’t turn to face her. “Thank God I haven’t. I hope it stays that way.” Regulus could feel Barty giving him a side-glance. “What about you, Black? You’re not home here, are you?”

Regulus kept silent for a heartbeat. “I’m staying in a hotel down the street.”

Barty seemed surprised. “Oh yeah? Alone?”

Barty let the silence linger and Regulus almost didn’t let himself be bullied into an answer but relented in the end. “No.”

“Figured,” Barty said. “Let me guess, that French mother of yours is sitting in her room asking where you are and the only reason why you’re coming with us is to piss her off.”

“The free booze was also a very strong argument.” The thing was, this wasn’t the first time he hadn’t come home. He used to do it more often, when he was younger, long before chess, when Sirius was still living at his parent’s house. Sirius hadn’t been the only one to sneak out. It was just that back then, there had been nothing at stake for his parents. They knew he would return, so their precious heir wasn’t lost. Now, Regulus was risking losing the chess game – and, the money.

“I didn’t take you for someone who drinks,” Dorcas said. They rounded a corner to a sidewalk littered with puddles. Barty stepped right into one of them, purposefully, but Marlene had already seen it coming.

“I usually don’t.”

“Ah,” she said. “So we’re opting for our healthy coping mechanisms today. Great. Responsible adults, all of us.”

Regulus almost laughed at that. The whole walk, his fingertips had been touching the smooth surface of the pills in his jacket. It was like an anchor, like a reminder that whenever this constant drumming of anxiety got too much, he could just take one and fix it within minutes. He wondered if alcohol was a worse coping mechanism than taking pills to manage his emotions and clear his mind.

“You’re the one to talk,” Marlene said. Her words had been meant to be teasing, but Regulus picked up on the gentleness she hadn’t intended for him to hear. If it had been just the two of them, Regulus was sure she would have chided her for whatever bad habit Dorcas had picked up.

“What are you, bad coping mechanism police?” Dorcas asked, teasing. “What, you’re gonna arrest me? I’d like to see you try, babe.”

Marlene opened her mouth but closed it again the next second, clearly taken-off guard by Dorcas’ suggestive tone. She stared down at her boots, then looked up again, her jaw set. It was astonishing how Dorcas could turn tough leatherjacket- and combat boots-wearing Marlene into a flustered mess with just a few words.

“Ten bucks Marlene can absolutely kick your ass in a fight,” Barty chimed in.

“Crouch, you don’t even have ten bucks right now.”

“Give me five minutes for a game of poker against Black and I’ll rise the stakes.”

“Black, don’t ever play poker against him. You’ll lose,” Dorcas said sternly.

Barty gave him a crooked smile. “I’ll go easy on you.”

The group slowed down on the street corner and Regulus stopped, looking around. There was a dark red door with its paint already peeling off, three steps leading up to a small landing. Dorcas retrieved a key from the depths of her pockets and walked up the stairs. She turned the key in the lock and opened the door, holding it open for Marlene, then passing through it herself. Barty caught the door and looked back at Regulus still at the bottom of the stairs.

For a moment, Regulus wasn’t sure if he shouldn’t just walk away and get home to the hotel, for once not provoking his mother’s rage. But then, Barty made a jerking notion with his head. “It’s already too late now. You might as well make it worthwhile.”

“She’s gonna kill me,” he said flatly.

“Then let’s make sure you enjoy your last day on this beautiful fucking planet.”

It was a small flat with a small kitchen that blended into the living room. It smelled faintly of Dorcas’ perfume. There were three windows through which the light of the streetlamps streamed in and drew golden patterns on the couch and the kitchen until Dorcas switched on the lights. Regulus stopped in the door, once again taken aback by how lived in it looked. There was a t-shirt over the back of the sofa, and mugs on the kitchen counter, and a dying plant in the corner. Papers with rough sketches of women in dresses and suits scattered all across the coffee table, a sewing machine in the corner. Books half-read and face down on the floor.

Regulus had to swallow down a twinge of longing. Sirius’ room had always looked like this. Messy. Full of unnecessary clutter that he had never even tried to keep in order. Half-started projects strewn across his room; leather jacket’s on the floor, empty cigarette packs everywhere. Regulus’ room had never really looked like that, because he had learnt early that he could avoid a lot of unnecessary scolding if he just kept his room clean. And now he wished he would just have put up with it.

He shook his head to clear his mind from the remnants of his memory. Barty beelined for the fridge and retrieved multiple bottles that he put on the counter, while Dorcas let her coat slip from her bare shoulders and hung it up. She touched Marlene’s shoulder, who let her help out of her jacket. Dorcas hung it up next to her coat.

Regulus watched Barty’s narrow back for a second as he bent down to retrieve a bottle from the lower shelf. The outline of his frame became apparent under his oversized t-shirt. “So I might or might not have eaten all the snacks yesterday evening.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. Help yourself.”

“But I didn’t touch any of the booze.”

“Your self-restraint is beyond impressive,” she said sarcastically.

“It’s probably because he fell asleep before he could touch anything.”

“McKinnon, stop calling me out,” Barty said with mock offense.

“You’re a grandpa, Crouch,” Marlene said.

Listening to their bickering felt like a déja-vu to the one time his parents hadn’t been home for two weeks and three of Sirius friends had stayed over. For days on end, it had just been this friendly back and forth that had made Regulus both annoyed but also so devastatingly sad that he had shut down and had gone out of his way to make sure he didn’t accidentally cross their way. He had been so inexplicably angry at Sirius for bringing them, but he also hadn’t been able to find a reason why they shouldn’t have been allowed to stay. He had never brought it up again with Sirius.

Regulus walked to the couch and sat down, and Barty handed him a bottle. Regulus stared at it. “What is it?”

“Butterbeer,” Barty answered, opening his and sipping on it before slumping onto the battered couch.

Regulus had never heard of it, but as long as it contained alcohol, he was fine with it. He opened it and drank some of it. A warm feeling spread in bis belly. Yes, he thought. This was exactly what he had been craving. Something in him went numb immediately.

Dorcas, sipping on her bottle, spotted a book on the table and frowned. She picked it up. “The Catcher in the Rye? That’s what you chose from my bookshelf?” She looked at Barty.

Regulus hadn’t thought Barty as someone who read, and suddenly felt a pang of jealousy. He hadn’t picked up a fiction book in what felt like decade, because in his world, there was no place for them. In Barty’s world, there was.

Barty shrugged nonchalantly, his knees drawn close, his elbows resting on them. He ran a hand through his hair. “It was that or The Bell Jar, but your copy was so heavily annotated I couldn’t decipher a single word.”

“You’re living in my feminist utopia apartment. Of course Sylvia Plath’s books are annotated.” Dorcas gracefully sat on the couch, crossing her legs. “You just don’t want to admit you relate to Holden Caulfield.”

Marlene was still on the scout for snacks. “Please don’t talk about books,” she begged without taking her head out of cupboards.

Dorcas, thumbing through the book, suddenly huffed, mildly amused. “He highlighted the line: I was surrounded by jerks. I’m not kidding.”

“I’m very happy you found that,” Barty said dryly. “I hoped you would.”

Marlene gave up, closed the cupboards and walked over to them. “Dorcas, stop, please.”

“Fine,” Dorcas said, smiling her secretive smile, and putting the book away when Marlene sat next to her, too close for friends but too far apart for lovers.

Regulus picked it up, tuning out the banter. He remembered reading the book a long time ago – he’d found an old battered copy in Sirius’ room when he’d wandered in there while he had been away at Hogwarts. He was pretty sure Sirius had never finished it. Regulus had. He threw a quick gaze at Barty, who was smiling mischievously at something that Marlene said, his hair all over the place, perfectly at ease.

It shouldn’t be that surprising that he read, but somehow, it was. The thing that Regulus kept trying to learn was that people were contradictory and always toed the lines others kept drawing around their souls. What if Potter was the same way? What if he wasn’t all arrogance, pretense, smugness? What if there was another side to him, one that Regulus refused to acknowledge, because he might find himself liking it if he did?

Trying to avoid thinking of Potter again, he thumbed through the book like Dorcas had done. There were a few annotations, but not a lot. (Not like in the book Potter had given him). Three different handwritings, one of them almost unreadable. Then, one quote caught Regulus’ eye. It was underlined.

“I think one of these days,” he said, “you’re going to have to find out where you want to go.”

Regulus’ gaze snapped up to Barty, who sensed it, and returned it, raising his eyebrows. Regulus wondered if it had been Barty who had written, I don’t know how on the margin.

If it was the case, Regulus couldn’t pretend any longer that Barty, or Potter, were easily explainable. That they were who Regulus thought they were. Instead, they were complex, and flawed, and three-dimensional. And Regulus had just decided who they were on a whim, judged them, arrogantly assumed their personalities, and gotten them all wrong.

So this is what became of a boy who grew up alone.

Barty snatched the book from his hands and jerked him out of his reverie. “The aim of the evening was to get drunk, Black, not be a pretentious academic.” He threw the book on the table. If he had read Regulus’ strange gaze correctly – and Regulus thought that he actually might have –  he didn’t show it.

“Maybe the book’s more interesting than you,” Regulus quipped.

Barty huffed, amused. “Your flirting sucks, Black.”

“So does yours.”

“Shut up and get drunk,” Barty said, shoving him.

Regulus almost smiled, and hid it by putting the bottle to his lips.

Regulus had always had trouble sleeping for longer than a few hours, and this time it was no exception. When he woke up, finding himself sprawled on the couch, he was surprised he’d fallen asleep in the first place. Sleeping with other people in the room wasn’t exactly something he was used to. Normally, he was just never comfortable enough with anyone else in the room so that he was able to fall asleep. How much alcohol did he drink to just pass out like that, unguarded? There was a hazy memory of Dorcas and Marlene disappearing into the bedroom and some point, but not much else. It was all a blur. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, still not quite there, and threw a glance at the clock in the dark. It was almost half past three in the morning.

He groaned, letting his head fall back on the couch, dragging his hands over his face and pressing his knuckles on his eyes.

God, what was he even doing here?

He suddenly felt strange in that unfamiliar room, as though every fibre of him became too keenly aware of the fact that he was in somebody’s home when everything he had ever known were hotel rooms. It felt so wrong Regulus was sick all of a sudden. Everything about this was wrong. Him, being here, with these people he didn’t know, in this home that wasn’t his and was never going to be.

Regulus slowly eased himself up. The room spun and he waited until he was sure he wasn’t going to face-plant on the coffee table, then got up. In the dark, he searched for his jacket. There were bottles all over the table and as though the sight of it reminded his body of how much he’d consumed, Regulus’ stomach turned. He pressed one hand on his belly and kept on searching until he found a pile of black cloth that looked remotely like his jacket. It was draped over one of the chairs. He picked it up, but didn’t put it on as he silently walked towards the corridor.

“That is about the worst idea you’ve had this far, Black.” Barty’s voice was scratchier as through the booze had rubbed it raw, and deeper from the sleep. Regulus heard the rustle of clothing as Barty eased himself up. “And that includes deciding to learn Russian.”

Regulus turned around, his jacket draped over his arm. Barty’s hair was even messier than before; it fell into his eyes. It looked soft.

Regulus raised his eyebrows at him, unimpressed. “I’m leaving.”

“I can see that. You shouldn’t, though,” Barty said with a sudden graveness that surprised Regulus. Barty was cockiness and bravado, not reason.

Regulus huffed, but his throat was dry and constricted and it came out choked. It sounded desperate. He raised his arms to the side, letting them fall again. “I’m not supposed to be here, Barty,” he scowled. “This isn’t my home.”

Barty snorted. “But that hotel room is?” He shifted, and got up from the armchair, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to him. He stopped right in front of him. Regulus was just slightly taller, so he had to tilt his head to meet his eyes. “You can’t go back there tonight, Black.” It was a simple statement, and he said it with certainty.

Regulus stared at him, the bitter coffee brown of Barty’s eyes, the freckles on his face, the ever so slight crook of his nose. The black leather bands around his neck that peeked through the collar of his oversized t-shirt that Regulus hadn’t noticed before. The faint scar on his jawline, nothing more than faded white line. “Why,” Regulus whispered. He felt his edges fraying. The world spun around him, and he had nothing to hold onto.

“Because you’re absolutely smashed and I’m not letting you walk out the door like that,” Barty said quietly. Then, he huffed, but there was no amusement in it. “I don’t know if you can ever handle your mother’s rage, but I know you can’t definitely handle it like this. You’re gonna do something stupid, Black. This is not gonna end well.”

Regulus considered him for another second, then he shrugged on his jacket. “I’m going.”

“No, you’re not,” Barty simply said.

Regulus hesitated. He didn’t even know why, but his feet stayed where they were. “What do you even know?” he snapped.

“I know enough,” Barty hissed back, apparently starting to lose his patience. There was a fire in his eyes and he took a step closer towards Regulus, who wanted nothing more than to keep the distance between them but was not about to back up. “Just because I joke about it doesn’t mean it’s not bad. And just because you don’t talk about it doesn’t mean that it’s not happening. What do you think this is, Black? A happy found family? You think I’m staying here because I want to? You think Dorcas lets me crash here just because? My father is an abusive asshole and he fucking hates me.”

“My mother doesn’t hate me.” The words spilled over Regulus’ lips.

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Well, congratulations on that. Doesn’t mean she’s not abusive, though. Doesn’t mean that she’s not hurting you. People don’t have to hate you to abuse you. They just do.” He paused. “And you might have learned how to act around her so you don’t upset her, but you are in no condition to do the right thing now, Black. You’re still completely smashed. So, stay, for fuck’s sake.”

Regulus sighed. God, he just felt so tired, so drained. His whole life felt like a brawl with someone who never quite let him get up from the ground before punching again. And he was so sick of it. He was so goddamn sick of his controlling mother and the pressure he was under, and he was sick of facing his parents alone because his brother had just left him alone in this battle. “Okay,” he said, hating how breathy his own voice sounded, not nearly as strong as he wanted. “Okay, fine.”

“Thank God,” Barty breathed. “I was starting to worry this sense of responsibility would stick and I would lose my status as an irresponsible moron.”

The tension between them broke. Regulus huffed, shrugging out of his jacket. “You wish.”

Barty sat back on the couch and padded the space next to him. “Quit that sarcasm and sit, Black.”

Regulus glared at him but walked over and sat down again, drawing his feet up and resting his elbows on his knees, burying his fingers in his curls and running his hands down his face. He was keenly aware of Barty scrutinizing him from the side, but he didn’t meet his gaze. This was as vulnerable as it was going to get, and every moment of it was unnerving. It made him extremely uncomfortable; it was so unfamiliar a part of him was panicking. He endured it for Barty’s sake. And maybe, just maybe for his sake. He took a deep breath and broke the silence. “I’m a chess player,” he said, keeping his voice down. The last thing he wanted right now was more people to witness him like this.

“Aren’t they supposed to be smart?” Barty asked sceptically. It fell flat. His voice was too soft and his heart wasn’t in it, because he knew he shouldn’t make it any harder on Regulus but the words just spilled out of him like a reflex, because it was his coping mechanism. Regulus couldn’t blame him for it.

Regulus huffed a reluctant laugh. “I’m smart enough to earn my family money.” No part of him wanted to share this information, but the wan light made him feel anonymous, as though this wasn’t about him. That had always been his weakness, the feeling that the dark was protecting him. He’d never understood people who were afraid of the dark.

Barty shifted next to him. “Ah, so that’s the root of the fucking problem. I see. Well, that fucking sucks.”

Silence ensued until Regulus broke it again. He couldn’t help it. “I liked chess. I liked playing it. It was my escape. And now I fell caged by it. And it’s my fault, I’ve put myself here.” It felt like he had to peel every one of these words from his mind, but he kept going. “You know what really truly hurts? Realizing you made a mistake by fighting for the one thing that means something for you. Because now I have it, but it’s become this ugly thing and I’m stuck with the stupid decisions of my traumatised childhood self. I should have never pursued chess. It could have been my thing, and now it's fucking not, and I hate it.”

“So that’s why you’re stuck with your mother. You told her and she realized she could use your talent for money,” Barty analysed.

Regulus grimaced. “No one’s supposed to know this about the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” he spit the name, “but my parents lost a lot of money. Gambling, debt, the usual shit. And when my mother realized I was good enough at chess to restore their wealth, my fate was sealed. I’m the child prodigy that their whole reputation depends on.”

“Oh, so no pressure,” Barty said sarcastically. “Just the honour of the family name depending on you.” He shifted, reaching for a beer bottle and taking a sip. “So you’re putting in all the work and she gets to reap the profits? That sucks, but that’s not what’s bothering you, pretty boy.”

Regulus felt a sudden tension in his shoulders, a reluctance in his chest. What was he doing? Trauma-dumping in the middle of the night? Barty, of all people? He wasn’t that drunk. Not drunk enough to drown out the panicked voice telling him to shut the fuck up. “What are you? My therapist?” he said more heatedly than intended.

“You really think I’m compassionate enough for that, Black?” Barty asked dryly. “No pity from me, Black. Those are the rules. Feel free to tell me all the shit that you’ve been through, but don’t expect me to throw you a fucking pity party. Jeez.”

Barty’s bluntness loosened a barrier in Regulus and he relaxed a bit. “You’re a delight to be around, Crouch,” he scoffed.

“Back at you, Black,” Barty said with an amused smirk. He emptied his bottle, but kept it in his hands. “So, you get to live your dream, play chess all day long, what’s the catch?”

Regulus had to think of Potter all of a sudden. The images just flooded his mind before he could stop them. Potter and his stupid smile. Potter and his knowing gaze. Potter and his rings, and his messy room, and his voice over the telephone. Regulus squeezed his eyes shut. And this was exactly the reason. Because he wanted to play against Potter so bad, but it had to be part of the game. It had to be entangled with manipulation and pretence and he hated every single part of it with every fibre of his being. He longed for a simple game, just the two of them, on the rooftop of that hotel when the sun was going down and they’d part the next day, but it was okay because they could tell each other things and know there was no message between the lines. It was the cryptic that was picking at his edges, slowly taking him apart fibre by fibre because it was so exhausting and isolating.

“It’s lonely,” Regulus whispered, and was surprised by the supressed hurt in his voice. He immediately wanted to take the words back, but the confession already hung heavy between them. Regulus felt like he couldn’t breathe, but the words clawed up his throat and escaped anyways. “It’s so fucking lonely.”

“Regulus,” Barty said quietly and Regulus turned around only find Barty staring at him with such intent a shudder ran down his spine. Barty’s eyes briefly flicked to his lips.

A shock wave went through Regulus and he shook his head before he knew what he was doing. “Don’t”, he said sharply. It sounded choked. He wasn’t in control.

Barty shrugged lazily. “Okay”, he said. “Sure, okay.” But he didn’t turn away.

His hair looked so fucking soft, his hazel eyes ablaze in the wan light. Regulus wanted to touch the dimples on his cheeks.

“I’m not much of a hugger,” Barty said with an apologetic shrug. There it was again. No one ever said what they meant, did they? What was it about all these hidden messages? I can’t bear the thought of not getting to play against you again.

This is the only comfort I can offer.

“Barty,” Regulus warned again. But it was in vain. Really, he was warning himself not to do something stupid.

Barty wasn’t even making a move. He was just sitting there, both his feet on the floor, and sometime in the last minute, he had put the bottle back on the table so that his hands were free. Regulus couldn’t even recall when that had happened. He also couldn’t recall Barty’s last cigarette, but he smelt faintly of it.

Regulus was still slightly drunk, but so was Barty. They were a fucking mess, none of them in their right mind. It meant nothing. It was only now that Regulus saw the hunger in Barty’s eyes, hunger for something he couldn’t name, maybe hunger for another life. Hunger for a small distraction.

In a swift movement, Regulus grabbed Barty’s face, pressing his lips onto his, climbing into his lap, straddling his hips with his knees. Barty’s breath hitched, but he caught on quickly. He gave a content hum against Regulus’ lips, his hands settling on Regulus’ narrow waist and bunching up his t-shirt, fingertips digging into his skin. Even with his head tipped back, he easily took the lead and deepened the kiss, and Regulus felt his smug smile when Regulus allowed him to without any fight. He was too lost in the sensation of Barty’s fingers roaming over his hipbones, then up his lower back, and Barty’s soft hair between his fingers. It really was as soft as it looked.

Barty broke the kiss first to get some air, but before Regulus had the chance to say anything, Barty’s lips started tracing down a path to his jaw and the spot right below his ear and Regulus had to bite his lips hard to keep down a very embarrassing whimper that made his way up his throat. But Barty had still heard the hitch in his breath, because he started really paying attention to the spot, and Regulus was seeing stars. He had to press his hands on Barty’s chest to keep himself upright, bunching up the loose fabric. He cursed under his breath, and Barty’s lips left the spot for a second, moving to his ear. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he whispered against the skin of his neck.

“Fuck you,” Regulus scowled and wiped that smirk of his lips with another kiss. Barty didn’t seem to have any objections and kissed him back enthusiastically, his fingers tracing the lean muscles of Regulus’ back until Regulus shuddered under his touch. Regulus could literally read Barty’s thoughts in the way the pads of his fingers pressed into his skin. Somebody’s been working out. He pressed them into the spot between his shoulder blades, making his arch ever so slightly, and moved on to explore Regulus’s chest, slowly making his way down to his ribs and over his stomach.

Regulus was hot all over, but for once his panicky part in his brain was helpful and prevented him from losing all control. There was a line, and he was not going to step over it. So, when Barty’ hand suddenly cupped his ass, he drew back, and Barty immediately just grinned lazily.

“So, we’re not doing this?”

Regulus shook his head, his chest still rising and falling fast. Barty’s hair was a mess and his face flushed, and Regulus knew he wasn’t looking any different. He couldn’t even remember messing up Barty’s hair like that, but it was all over the place. Barty’s hands were on his hips again, thumbs were still drawing circles on his hipbones, and it was distracting, but so was seeing Barty’s eyes. They’d never been bitter coffee in the first place, maybe they’d always been honey.

“If I had known you’re hiding freaking abs under there, I would’ve gladly unlocked level two flirting,” Barty said. It didn’t seem to bother him that Regulus had stopped before things got to heated.

“Spare me,” Regulus scoffed, climbing of Barty’s legs before he could think twice of it. The kissing had sobered Regulus up enough that he missed the warmth of Barty’s hands on him but immediately dismissed that thought.

“Too late now. You’re pretty the most athletic chess player I’ve ever met.” Barty ran a hand through his hair, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“I like running, that’s all,” Regulus said, painfully aware that he was telling Barty about yet another self-destructive coping mechanism he didn’t want anyone to know about. The excessive drinking had already been telling enough.

“What is this? Three a.m. slumber party?” A voice suddenly said, making both of them flinch in surprise. Dorcas walked into the room, yawning, making a beeline for the fridge and getting a bottle of cold water before eyeing them with a raised eyebrow. She was wearing a loose black-t-shirt and shorts.

“You gave me a fucking heart attack, Meadowes,” Barty said, his hand on his heart. “Don’t walk into the room without knocking!”

Dorcas looked from Barty to Regulus and back again, then opened the bottle. It hissed. She put the cap on the counter. She looked so knowing Regulus sensed she knew what had happened, but she just swallowed down some water and walked back to the bedroom. “There is not fucking door, Crouch,” she said over her shoulder, then she was gone.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Regulus woke up to an empty flat. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet when he already sensed that he was completely and utterly alone. Over the years, he’d developed a sixth sense for the sort of silence that promised a long evening of loneliness. He groaned, slowly easing himself up on his elbows. His head immediately started pounding and he grimaced, but forced himself to sit up. He swung his legs over the side of his couch. Running his hand over his face and through his hair, he blinked at the clock at the other side of the room. It was almost half past eleven. The time should shock him, but it didn’t. It was too late now anyways. His mother was already furious. She’d been furious yesterday at eight p.m. Not much left to save now.

His stomach grumbled. Reluctantly, he got up, and walked over to the sink, holding his mouth under the running water, then he walked over to the fridge. There was a small paper attached to it with a magnet. We’ll be back tomorrow morning. Make yourself at home. The last word echoed in Regulus’ head, touching some part of his mind while he toasted some bread. For the first time in quite some time, he was actually genuinely hungry. (Or, allowed himself to be hungry). While the smell of toasted bread wafted through the entire living room, he half-heartedly cleaned up some of the mess from last night, all the while wondering what kind of person was okay with some random stranger staying at their house unsupervised. Especially someone they had met two times and spent a drunken evening together. Did he just think it weird because he was so used to his controlling mother? Was this just another experience he was supposed to have had a few years ago? The sort of friendships one at sixteen or seventeen? He briefly wondered what else he had missed out on, while he wasted his life away in hotels, studying late into the night, going on runs alone.

He picked up another bottle and straightened, looking around. Suddenly, it struck him out of nowhere, as though he had finally been presented the solution to a riddle he had been trying to solve for a long time.

He was free.

However fragile and fleeting, Dorcas, Marlene and Barty had given him freedom by letting him stay in the flat. His mother couldn’t track him down. He was safe from her, for now. No one watching him. No one controlling him. No chess, no games, no studying. No pressure to be the perfect son, no pressure to meet expectations.

And, a lot of booze.

The effect it had had on his last night was already wearing off. The hollowness in his gut had returned, like a black hole that tugged at his fraying edges. The clump of anxiety in his gut when he realized that he soon had to return back to his normal life. The crushing fear of failure in his chest. And the panicked anticipation of his mother’s rage.

Regulus just stood there, conflicted emotions swirling in his chest until he made a sudden decision. He put the bottle back, walked over to the toast and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing while he cleared away the empty bottles, leaving the half full one’s on the counter and the table.

And then, he began to strategically drink as though he was dying of thirst and the only way to appease his thirst was to drink booze.

At three in the afternoon, he took one of his pills, and passed out on the floor in front of the sofa, his back against the soft cushions.

He woke up at eleven, drank a little more – just enough to stay drunk –, and fell asleep again.

When he woke up a third time, it was morning, and he began cleaning the flat, leaving no traces.

When he stepped out of the door and orange sunlight hit his face, a sharp pain surging through his head, a sudden thought struck him out of nowhere, so panicky that it cut through the haze in his mind, and his heart skipped a beat.

He was almost late for the tournament.

Merde.

He began jogging, then running, then broke into a sprint. His head was pounding from all the alcohol, but adrenaline surged through his veins and dulled the pain. People stared at him, but he pushed past them, cursing himself in his mind. Panic was ripping through him. What if he missed the tournament? What if he got disqualified?

What if he wouldn’t play against Potter?

Regulus had never run that fast in his life.

Fifteen minutes later, he stormed into the lobby, running towards the hall where the tournaments took place. A portier wanted to stop him, but stepped back as he recognized Regulus’ face. “Let him through. It’s Regulus Black,” he heard him shout at the people that had gathered to watch the games. The crowd parted dutifully, and Regulus entered the hall, feverishly searching for an empty chair. He couldn’t even remember against whom he was supposed to play; the alcohol had wiped his mind blank.

“Over here, Mr. Black,” a man said, pointing at an empty chair nearby.

Everyone’s eyes were now resting on him and Regulus was keenly aware of it. They were probably wondering where he had been, what was important enough to risk getting disqualified. Regulus tried to control his breathing, slowing down as he walked over to the seat, but his chest was heaving. It was obvious that he had been running. The fact that he was wearing yesterday’s wrinkled clothes and his hair was probably a mess really didn’t help.

He briefly shook the hand of a bored-looking black haired man, then sat down, ignoring the questioning eyes resting on him. Instead, he concentrated on the chess board. e4. Regulus decided on Sicilian defence and responded with c5, then punched the clock. His heart fluttered when he took a look at the time. He’d lost twenty minutes.

They spent the next few minutes playing the Sicilian, then their tapping on the clock slowed down and Regulus had time to take a deep breath and briefly glance up from the board. Potter, who was playing against a blond small man, sat at the other side of the hall. He didn’t look at Regulus now, but Regulus had instinctively sensed his gaze among the others when he had entered the room. He’d developed a sixth sense for Potter’s gaze.

Regulus’ opponent pressed the button on the clock, and Regulus made his move, then looked up again. He hadn’t planned to, but his body moved of its own accord as he turned around to look at the small group of people at the other end of the room.

His mother was there. When she realized Regulus had seen her, she met his gaze with a cold stare. Regulus held her gaze, but the knot in his stomach hardened. Making sure she felt his contempt for her didn’t serve him anything. Defiance didn’t serve anything. She was more furious than he had seen her in months and the only reason why she wasn’t scratching his eyes out was the fact that they were surrounded by prestigious chess players and she didn’t want to make scene with journalists swarming the hall.

Regulus concentrated on the chess board again. His head was pounding in the rhythm of his heart. Listening to Barty hadn’t been one his brightest ideas, but then again, he had himself to blame. He’d been so fed up by all of it. Compared to Sirius, he wasn’t a hot-headed person, but even he snapped sometimes. Every time they had argued, Sirius had tried to never push him that far. No matter how bad the fight between them would get, Sirius would always back up when he realized Regulus was getting to close to the edge.

And here they were.

Regulus’ opponent played as though he was following some secret manual Regulus hadn’t read. Every one of his moves opened up so many possibilities for him Regulus could practically see them neatly listed on a page in some old chess book. He must have memorized them. Regulus had trouble finding them all, half of his mind distracted. A part of him wanted to prolong the game. As long as this game went on, he was safe. The second he shook his opponent’s hand, he was doomed. But stalling without risking losing wasn’t an art Regulus had mastered. The only thing he could do was to respond to his chess moves with countermoves that made the game so complex the man had to take more time to think.

For the next fifteen minutes, Regulus was engrossed in the game.

Then, the man made a fatal mistake and Regulus froze up. No. No.

If he seized the chance, the game would end in less than two minutes. His opponent would resign, because there was no way he would get his queen out to counter Regulus’ threat.

Regulus briefly looked up to his mother, who now held a cigarette between her spidery fingers. The swirl of smoke dissolved above her head but Regulus could swear he smelt it. It almost made him gag.

Regulus concentrated on the game again, hesitating. The clock was ticking unbearably loud and he wanted nothing more than to silence it. He had twelve minutes left, his opponent twenty. He watched the clock hand slowly make its rounds. The game blurred before his eyes. The knot in his stomach was so hard he felt sick, like he was never going to be able to keep anything down ever again. Should he just end the game? What use were those few precious minutes? He wasn’t naive, he knew it didn’t make a difference. It wouldn’t save him. He reached for his queen, but his fingers hovered over the piece. He felt his opponent look at him. He drew his hand back, pressing it flat on the cold wood.

Regulus realized his mistake as something akin to horror flashed over the man’s face. Regulus watched his eyes snap to his queen, watched it dart over the board. He’d realized what Regulus had planned to do.

If he didn’t want to lose this game, Regulus had no choice now. And Regulus couldn’t lose, because that meant he’d lose the opportunity to play against Potter. And no matter how much he told himself otherwise, he couldn’t bring himself to risk it.

He drew the queen, and the man paused visibly, went completely still, then nodded slowly and offered his hand. Regulus shook it numbly. His head spun as he slowly got up, chair scraping over the floor so loud he winced. He felt like a condemned man as he walked towards his mother. His heart was pounding in his chest. He despised himself for feeling like that, but the young boy who had grown up in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was still somewhere inside of him, and he was still marred and traumatised, and Regulus couldn’t get rid of him. The fear was ingrained into every fibre of his being.

His mother put out the cigarette in an ashtray and jerked her head sharply towards the door. “Come on,” she said simply. Regulus shoved his hands in his jackets and formed fists around the pills. Feeling their tiny shapes calmed his nerves, and he followed his mother up the stairs. She didn’t say a thing all the way up into their room. When she slid the keys into the keyhole, she threw a gaze over his shoulder before opening the door.

He reluctantly followed her inside.

She had already put the keys on the table and gracefully sat down on one of the chairs, her black dress spilling over the edges. “Close the door,” she said.

Regulus did as he was told, his whole body wary and tensed. He leaned against the door, feeling the cold wood against his back and wishing he had just stayed away. He had realized his missed opportunity only now and his heart ached at the realization. He could have just left, like Sirius. He could have just joined Barty and Dorcas and Marlene and somehow, he would have made it work. He would have played chess against the old men in the parc. He would have played chess against Potter, with not one watching, just the two of them, like in Lily’s café. Sure, he had no money and he would miss the tournaments, but he would never have to face his mother again. And at that moment, that seemed like the only thing he wanted.

“Where were you last night, Regulus?” She reached for the teapot on the table and poured some coffee into a mug. It was steaming. It must have been brought up here just moments before they had arrived.

She seemed oddly calm, but Regulus knew better. She was about to explode. He could already see it in the line of her shoulders and the sharpness of her collarbones.

“I was back in time for the tournament. I won,” he said.

“That is not an answer,” she hissed.

There it was. Her rage.

“Is this about me not studying for my game against Potter? Is this about the prize money? You can’t control my every move.” He didn’t know where his defiance came from, but it was fuelled by the heat in his chest and Regulus made full use of it.

She sprang up from the chair, and Regulus swerved, but he was too slow and his mother pushed him roughly against the door again. Pain shot through the back of his head. She brought her face near his, her fingernails digging into the skin of his neck. “I know you drank last night, Regulus. You smell like a liquor store. If this is your form of rebellion, I’d suggest you stop right now before you turn into an alcoholic like your useless scumbag of a brother,” she spat.

“Like my brother?” Regulus huffed an incredulous laugh. “Addiction runs in the family. If I’m an addict, it’s just because I’ve inherited it. Does Orion know you drink that much? Does he ever look at the fucking bills he’s paying? The bills he’s paying with my money?”

His mother bellowed her crazy laugh. It was her only resemblance to Bellatrix, even though no one had ever heard her laugh like that in public. This was a laugh reserved for Sirius and Regulus. She shoved him against the door again before letting go of him, pacing the room. Regulus, regarding her warily, slowly moved away from the door so that she couldn’t trap him again.

“Your money, Regulus? What, like you’d be anything without us? Like you would have ever made it this far?” She huffed. “Please. You would have never made the first step on your own. You wouldn’t have dared to actually compete in tournaments, because you were too scared you might realize you weren’t actually that good. You would have kept it all to yourself because it was the safer option. All of this”, she gestured at the hotel room, “is just because of me.”

“You’re wrong,” Regulus retorted, shaking his head. “I would’ve pursued it even just because it’s the only thing that would get me away from that fucking place! It’s all I wanted since I was a fucking child!”

His mother blinked at him and he suddenly realized what she must see. He wasn’t acting like Regulus, he was acting like Sirius. He was on dangerous territory. She clenched her jaw.

“If you’re so keen on getting away, then go,” she said simply, her voice carefully controlled, waving her hands a though to shoo away an annoying fly. “Turn around and leave, Regulus. See how you will do in this world with no money and no family to protect you, no place to stay, no nothing. No more opportunities to play chess against people that are in your league. I know you can’t give that up.”

Regulus scowled. “You’d never allow me to leave. You can’t afford your lifestyle without me, the booze, the cigarettes, the five star restaurants. I’m your only source of income. The moment our fucking family finds out you’re bankrupt, they will cut you off like a withered branch. You’ll fall from grace and you’ll be left alone with nothing but a run-down house and a name that means nothing anymore.”

His mother had gone white and he knew he had hit her most vulnerable spot. God, she was so afraid of losing her status. She was so fucking scared of being deemed unworthy. She’d do everything to make sure she was still part of that powerful family, reap all the benefits that came along with it. She loved how powerful her name was. Sometimes Regulus thought it was the only thing she loved. “Don’t act like the family name means nothing to you, Regulus,” she whispered.

Regulus held her gaze. “It doesn’t. There’s nothing special about the blood in my veins. We’re not more worthy. We’re not pure. We’re not better. The only thing that makes us different from others is that we are cruel and ready to do anything for money.”

“Regulus,” his mother warned.

Regulus wasn’t done. “In fact, if I could, I would erase every little thing in me ties me to this fucking family.”

He should have seen it coming.

He didn’t, and so he was too slow to react.

His mother grabbed the steaming cup of coffee and the next thing he knew, an explosion of pain erupted on his chest, just above his heart. Regulus hand flew up to protect him, but it was already too late, and he doubled over when a burning pain seared through his chest. It was the worst pain he had ever been in. He was in shock, stumbling backwards, unable to move for a few very long seconds. Then, he somehow snapped out of it, and struggled to get his shirt over his head. But once he got a look at his already blistering skin, the world tilted around him. Blood rushed in his ears. It was so deafening Regulus heard his mother say something through a thick layer of cotton.

He stared at the burn, at the angry, read, blistering skin, and his hands were trembling. He was swaying on his feet.

Some part of his mind registered his mother walking to the telephone. His feet gave in. Rationally, he knew he was in shock, but his whole body was paralyzed and he had to press his lips together to not get sick all over the carpet and there was an incessant ringing in his ears and oh god, his skin was lit on fire.

Soon, he was shaking all over, and the world turned black around him.

He woke up from the burning pain on his chest. For a long moment, he didn’t know where he was, and he started trying to ease himself up, until he spotted a familiar book on the table and his panic subdued a little. He let his head fall back onto the pillow. He was in his hotel room, in his bed. Something was tightly wrapped around his chest. Slowly, he traced the cloth with numb fingers. A bandage. He cursed under his breath. His throat was so dry and his voice came out pathetically weak.

Part of him wanted to know how bad it was and lift the bandage to see, but he knew the sight of the burn wound was about the last thing he could handle right now. He tried to breathe in deeply to soothe his panic.

“He’s just so clumsy sometimes, I don’t know how it always happens. I warned him it was still scalding hot.” His mother’s voice came from the other side of the door. It was muffled, but Regulus could still hear every word clearly.

“It’s a second-degree burn. It’s serious. Are you sure you don’t want to have him stay at the hospital tonight?”

“Yes,” Walburga said decidedly. “Thank you for your help.” The icy undertone in her tone told Regulus that she was getting annoyed. It probably wasn’t the first time the man had asked her that. “I’ll look after him. He’ll recover in no time.”

The male voice seemed to hesitate for a moment. “It might take up to three weeks to heal.” Another pause. “It might scar.”

Regulus pressed his eyes shut, his breath getting stuck in his throat, and he swallowed, but his mother sounded calm when she answered. “We’ll just give it time. Thank you, doctor.”

Regulus heard steps from the other side of the door. “Oh, almost forgot. Make sure he swallows these two times a day.”

“Of course.” Regulus head the rustle of clothing, more footsteps. A door being opened. Murmur from the corridor, then the click of a door falling shut. Next, the sound of packaged pills hitting the wood of the coffee table. Footsteps approaching his door.

Regulus shut his eyes. If there was one thing he was good at, it was faking being asleep. Even Sirius had never been able to tell.

He heard the door open and felt his mother’s gaze roaming over him. Just a second later, the door shut again, and he heard her cross her own room and step out onto the corridor. The door fell shut behind her and Regulus was left in silence.

He eased himself up, angrily blinking away tears as the pain re-ignited. Slowly, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got on his feet, walking over to the bathroom, fumbling for the light switch. When he finally found it, he stared at his own ghostly reflection in the mirror. He was white as a sheet, his freckles even more prominent now. There were bags under his eyes, almost as dark as bruises. A few curls were clinging to his forehead – he’d been sweating. Regulus slowly lowered his gaze to the bandage around his chest, only once stopping at the scabbed over cut on his neck. The bandage was a dirty white, wrapped tightly around his narrow frame, covering the area between his heart and his collarbone. He let his finger ghost over the fabric as if to prove to himself that it was real. It was. Oh god, it was.

Maybe he had never needed Sirius more than in this moment, but instead, he cursed him for leaving. He blamed him for every little wound on his body, and all the pain and the screaming. It hurt less than having to admit that he needed the help of a brother who had abandoned him. Who had left him, even though he had known all too well of what he would leave behind unprotected. Sirius could have done something, but the important thing was that he hadn’t. He must have known Regulus wouldn’t be able to leave on his own, right? Then why hadn’t he come back for him?  

Why hadn’t he come back to get him?

Hogwarts, 1976

Barty had other things to concentrate on than Evan Rosier. His shitty life, for example. The fact that his father kept threatening to throw him out, or the fact that his teachers kept cornering him to make plans for his future, or the not-yet-healed bruises on his torso. Maybe also the fact that he hadn’t really slept in three days, or the fact that he couldn’t forgive his mother for never intervening when his father beat the shit out of him. It was a lot.

He thought about Evan anyways.

He thought about his sun-bleached hair, the tattoo on his shoulder blade, the necklaces around his neck.

The other day, Evan had caught him staring. Meeting eyes with him had felt like a heart attack. Like the good kind, where you can’t breathe for a second and then the air rushes back into your lungs, and then you want to feel like that again, because you’re already addicted to it. Evan had smiled his apocalyptic smile, the sort of smile where only the left corner of his mouth quirked up, and had raised his eyebrow ever so slightly.

Barty had looked away, embarrassingly flustered. Evan’s smile was dangerous. He was dangerous on all levels ever to exist. Barty used to think he was casual; casual-everything. Cool with being in school, content with drunken nights in the dorms, unfazed by the unfairness of life. Two days after he’d first talked to him, Barty had seen that unnerving smile for the first time and it had dawned on him how wrong he’d gotten the storm that was Evan Rosier.

Evan Rosier liked to smash things, and he also liked to collect things, and those two tendencies existed side by side inside his chest, and it baffled Barty. Barty would watch Evan collect random stones and use them to smash the window of their dorm the next day. He’d repair cars one day and steer them off the road the next. He was in a desperate hunt for the in-between but never seemed to get it quite right, and Barty sensed his frustration edged into his soul, even though it was hidden behind dangerous smiles and jagged tattoos.

And, Evan Rosier was restless. It was as though something inside of him was always begging him to be somewhere else. He couldn’t sit still. When they (Dorcas, really) were studying in the library, he’d get up and wander off without explanation, and re-appear in the middle of the night, when Barty, pretending to be asleep, would watch him take off his shirt and climb into bed. He was sure Evan knew Barty wasn’t sleeping, and always waited for him to return, but even after months, neither of them ever brought it up.

No one ever knew where he was, except that he was never in class, never where he was supposed to bee, like there’d be a tiny crack in the time-space-continuum if he ever showed up somewhere he didn’t want to be. 

It was a thrill to feel Evan’s gaze linger on his body. It was alarming, bone-jarring. It was like a wake-up call that put Barty’s body into fight-or-flight mode. It was pure adrenaline.

And Barty felt high on the knowledge that the guy the entire school tip-toed around had a crush on him. It was exhilarating. It made him feel a quiet sense of power. Evan had chosen him, Barty Crouch Junior, even though he cared about no one, ever.

It didn’t matter that his father wished he’d never been born, then. Because Evan made him believe he was worthy of something. That Barty had something, anything inside of him that made him worthy of love. That there was something his father hadn’t beaten out of him. That there was something of him left, something besides his aimless drifting, the frantic search for something, the crookedness of his smile. A sliver of the old Barty, if there had ever been one, still somewhere underneath all that self-sabotage.

Barty felt like he’d started his life out trying to get as far away from his father as possible. He’d been six when he had realized he needed to keep as much distance between him and that lunatic man if he didn’t want turn twenty-one and hate his life with a burning passion.

He’d been fourteen when he’d realize he’d fail.

Now, he was sixteen, and he still hadn’t gotten away from him. Instead, he had ended up with no purpose. He was crashing at his friend’s apartments, sleeping on their couches during the winter breaks, he was avoiding calls, he was disappearing from the face of the earth the moment he caught as much of a glimpse of his father. The years he had spent in that house haunted him still, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t outrun them. It was as though by trying to get away from his parents, he had thrown himself into chaos, and he hadn’t recovered from it. His life was a shitshow. The only reason he was attending school was because his school fees were covered, and he didn’t know where else to go and what else to do. His friends were here. If he left school, he didn’t know if he’d ever see them again. He liked being around them, so he stayed, because he had nothing better to do.

Evan Rosier was fascinating because he had an aim. He had a purpose. It was so strong that he always needed to be somewhere else. Barty told himself it was the only reason why he liked studying Evan. What if he was simply jealous? What if this wasn’t about Evan’s bleached hair, or his unbuttoned shirt, or the golden pendants resting on his chest? What if he just wanted to snatch Evan’s purpose away, steal it for himself, and finally be happy? He just needed someone to show him how to not waste his life, how to not rot in his room all day, every day.

That’s what he told himself when Evan woke him up in the middle of the night by throwing his shoe at him, and told him he was going to jump of the big cliff into the water, from the spot that that guy had jumped from three years ago.

“You wanna come, Crouch?” Evan asked, standing to meters away from Barty’s bed, a dark silhouette against the window.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Rosier,” Barty just said after a pause, running a hand through his hair, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

Evan was putting on his combat boots. He was wearing his black jacket, the one that made Barty’s mouth run dry. It made the entire night so much more dangerous. “I can go on my own,” Evan said, shrugging nonchalantly.

Barty stared at him, watching him straighten and raising an eyebrow at him. You coming or not? “Fine,” he said a moment later. “I’ll come with you.” He got out of bed, keenly aware of Evan’s interested gaze on the strip of skin between his waistband and the oversized t-shirt when he lifted his arms to put on a sweater. “You’re bat-shit crazy. You’re actually mental, Rosier,” he said, shaking his head, ignoring how pleased he was that Evan took a little too long to tear his gaze away.

Evan smirked lazily. “You’re actually grinning, Crouch.”

“’m not.” He was.

“Shut up and hurry up. I’m not gonna get caught by Gonagall again.”

Sneaking out of the school with Evan didn’t feel like sneaking out. It felt like walking straight out of the front door, because that’s exactly what they did. Evan had buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket, completely unbothered as he shouldered the door open. They stepped outside and cold night air made Barty suck in his breath. The sky was clear, littered with stars. They walked for about fifteen minutes, then entered the Forbidden Forest. They didn’t talk on the way. Evan was a taciturn person, and Barty was still woozy from his lack of sleep. A few minutes later, Evan pulled a large green cover off a very battered looking car. Its left headlight was smashed in and there were dents all over the passenger door.

“You really know how to impress a girl, Rosier,” Barty commented dryly, looking at the car.

“For our next date, I’ll steal a Chevrolet Camaro for you, Crouch,” Evan said, throwing the blanket on the ground and ripping the door open.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Barty said, following him to the car, ignoring how strongly his body reacted to the word “date” coming from Evan’s lips. Was this Evan’s twisted idea of a date? Evan didn’t do things the normal way, so it wouldn’t be that far-fetched. Barty tried to read his face.

Evan just looked at him, then shook his head as though he was giving up. “Get in.”

Barty eyed the car with a raised eyebrow, not quite sure if the jalopy would even get them anywhere, but ended up shrugging to himself. Did it matter? Whatever was going to happen, it still beat lying in bed feeling sorry for himself and making plans to somehow make his father pay for what he had done, to revenge all the versions of him he had not become. He sat on the leather seat and pulled the door shut, while Evan got in at the other side. The door creaked when he pulled it shut.

“Where’d you get it from?” Barty asked, contemplating for a second if he wanted to put the seatbelt on. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see them. It was two or three in the morning.

Evan had crouched forward and was fiddling with something underneath the steering wheel, his jacket obscuring Barty’s view.

Barty huffed, a smirk on his face. “Oh. Got it.” He shook his head, but found that he couldn’t care less. Evan was a collector. He collected things. He wasn’t fazed if those things belonged to somebody else. There were no rules on Evan’s world.

The engine came to life and Evan sat up, turning on the headlight. The moon light was barely enough to illuminate his shit-eating grin, but after focusing all his academic drive on studying Evan, Barty knew it was there without having to actually see it. Evan grabbed the steering wheel, his other hand on the gear stick. “You better put on that seatbelt, Crouch.”

“What, so that I don’t get out in time if you set this car on fire?”

“It’s the seatbelt or your brain on the windscreen,” Evan said, turning in his seat, his hand on Barty’s backrest, dangerously close to Barty’s neck.

“My confidence in you is increasing with every word, Rosier,” Barty said. He buckled up just in time before Evan stepped on the accelerator and they shot backwards, the car rumbling over the uneven ground.

Branches hit the rear window; then, they were on the open field and Evan stomped on the break so hard Barty hit his elbow on the door. “Ouch,” he complained, cradling his arm, but his complaint drowned in the sound of the engine once Evan stomped his boot on the gas pedal and the car started with a jolt, pressing both of them deep into the seats. “Jesus, Rosier, do you even have a fucking drivers licence?”

“I’m fucking seventeen, how the fuck do you expect me to get my hands on a drivers licence, Crouch?” Evan said, rising his voice to be heard over the hum of the engine.

“Legally, preferably,” Barty said dryly.

“Your full of shit, Crouch,” Evan said with a quick side glance and a shake of his head.

“Back to you, Rosier,” Barty said. “Jesus, Evan, don’t-“ he started but broke off when Evan didn’t slow down before ripping the steering wheel around once they reached the road. Gravel shot up and the car slid, but Evan quickly regained control and sped up again.

“Don’t what?” Evan said in that tone that told Barty Evan knew exactly what Barty had wanted to say, and was amused by it. The way the corners of his mouth quirked was dangerous.

“How about don’t wreck the fucking car!”

“I was gonna get a better one anyways. Turns out certain girls have standards.” He held his gaze for a second, and Barty snorted, rolling his eyes, biting back a grin.

“Fuck you, Evan. Honestly. Did you seriously expect me to be impressed by this jalopy? Like, have you seen this thing?” He made a vague gesture.

“Not in daylight yet, no,” Evan said. With one hand on the steering wheel and half an eye on the road, Evan leaned over ever so slightly to fiddle with the radio. Barty tried not to be too obvious about how the sudden proximity of Evan’s hand to his thigh sent a sudden shock down his spine. He couldn’t take his eyes off the long, nimble fingers. He wondered how all those rings would feel on his neck.

Evan cursed under his breath. “I got it working yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Barty asked, raising his eyebrow. “You mean yesterday as in the day we didn’t have time for anything because we had an mandatory assembly after school?”

“We did?” Evan asked in a flat voice, sounding like he couldn’t care less and blatantly skipping assemblies wasn’t a much more interesting topic than the weather.

Barty felt a sudden tug at his heart. He’d attended because, really, there hadn’t been any other place for him to be. Evan hadn’t been there because he’d had more important things to do, or at least things in general, something. Something he considered important. Sometimes, Evan’s presence made Barty hate himself even more for spending his life locked up in a mental cage. “Where’d you go?” he asked, trying to make it sound casual.

Evan squinted at the road, his face suddenly a bit more closed off. Barty wasn’t sure if his jawline just looked sharper because of the wandering shadows in the car or because Evan was clenching his teeth. “Somewhere. Anywhere,” he said darkly. He paused as he effortlessly steered the car around a turn in the road. They were driving upwards now, and the street was getting narrower. The trees were closing in from both sides. “Sometimes, Crouch,” he said, “I just really, really need to get out of there. Like, get somewhere. Get away from this fucking place.” He had stopped fiddling with the radio.

Barty studied his side profile for a second but didn’t say anything.

“Oh, shut up, Crouch,” Evan said with a shake of his head, seemingly already regretting his words. “See, this is why I don’t-“

“So where’d you go?” Barty asked again before Evan would shut him out completely.

Evan was silent for a full minute and Barty already thought it hadn’t worked, but eventually, Evan did answer. “Doesn’t matter. It never does. I just…I can’t fucking keep staying here. I’ve been here for the past two years, Crouch. I never stay that long. I just don’t. It’s driving me insane.”

“Bold of you to assume you were sane in the first place,” Barty said with a huff.

There it was again, the smile. God, if it was up to him, he could play this game forever. “Fuck off, Crouch.”

“You fuck off, Rosier,” Barty said. “So what, you’re gonna drop out of school?”

“I wanted to drop out the moment I got here. Didn’t you?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” Barty asked with a raised eyebrow.

Evan huffed. “Guess so. I’ve been wanting to, anyways. Every fucking day when I’m locked into the same fucking classroom with the same fucking people, I’m thinking about just getting up and packing my shit and leaving. No one can possibly expect me to stay here for another few years. I can’t fucking do that.” He slowed down a bit, then nodded to himself and steered of the road. They were on a bumpy field again.

Something in Barty clicked into place and a heavy feeling spread in his belly. “So what is this, then? A fucking goodbye?” Maybe the frustration bled a little through his words, because Evan gave him a sharp look.

“Jesus, Crouch, I wasn’t gonna leave tomorrow,” Evan said.

“Then when?”

“Dunno,” Evan said after a pause, narrowing his eyes. “Someday soon.” It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it.

Barty wanted to ask him from what was holding him back, but didn’t want to know the answer. What if he didn’t say you? What if it wasn’t him? What if he’d read the signs wrong? It didn’t matter, anyways, because they wouldn’t ever do anything about it. Having Evan crush on him was dangerous. Letting it get somewhere was suicidal. And Barty’s life was shitty, but still worth living, so he wasn’t ready to risk it all for a brazen boy.

Evan finally stepped on the break and killed the engine. Next Barty knew, Evan had already climbed out of the car. For a moment, Barty eyed Evan’s back through the window. His hair was silvery in the moonlight. Then, Evan turned around, his hands buried in his unzipped jacket.

“You fucking coming, Crouch, or do you need help opening that door?”

Barty flipped him off, unbuckled his seatbelt and kicked the door open. “What happened to being a fucking gentleman, Rosier?” he asked as he got out.

“You don’t want me to be one, Crouch,” Evan said as though he was merely stating fact, raising his eyebrow, his gaze suddenly traveling over Barty before meeting Barty’s eyes again to gauge his reaction.

Barty’s stomach gave a funny little tug. He was glad that it was so dark, because otherwise, Evan would have seen how flustered he was. The heat was throbbing in his cheeks.

Who was he kidding? Evan knew anyway.

Evan didn’t wait for him to catch up and made his way over the dark field, and Barty lingered behind, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. The green grass underneath his feet was wet and his jeans were soon soaked, cold and damp against his ankles. Barty wasn’t shivering, though, the air was warm enough.

Five minutes later, they stood at the edge of a cliff. Barty stopped five feet from where the ground just broke off, leaving behind a sharp, jagged line. Beyond that, it was just dark water, and then, the vague line between the lake and the stars, a void littered with tiny little blinking stars. Evan stood closer to the edge, the tips of his boots merely a foot away from the edge. He seemed perfectly at ease.

They were quiet for a second.

Barty eyed Evan, wondering what he was thinking about.

“So what are we doing here?” he asked. His voice sounded like it was packed in cotton.

Evan turned around to him. The wind tugged at his hair. “You wanna jump?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Evan stepped even closer to the edge, gazing down as though he was trying to guess how far the jump would be. “Yeah. Me neither,” he said after a moment. And just like that, he’d changed his mind. That was the Evan way of doing things. You couldn’t trust a thing that came out of his mouth. Maybe he’d wanted to jump in the first place, maybe he hadn’t.

Evan sat down, letting his feet dangle over the edge, squinting at water as though he was trying to figure out the exact line where the sky started. He was perfectly at ease.

“Oh, you’re so fucking mental, Rosier,” Barty sighed, then sat down next to him, one leg drawn to his chest, the other dangling.

Evan’s mouth quirked up at the side as looked at him from the side. “You’re gonna miss me so much when I’m gone.”

“I’m gonna cry every day,” Barty said dryly, but didn’t look at Evan.

“You’re already doing that, Crouch,” Evan said.

“Yeah, your presence does that to people.” It was the easier banter that it always was, the one where neither of them had to cross any line, but it didn’t feel like it. Barty kept thinking about how he’d wake up to an empty bed next to his. How Evan was out somewhere finding his purpose and he was still here, stuck, and how the frustration was growing every day, like an infestation in his body.

As though Evan had sensed        something was off, he didn’t immediately say something, turning to look at the darkness stretching out before them. Barty tried his hardest not to stare at Evan’s hands fiddling with a stone he’d picked up. There was something about these long, nimble fingers that made his stomach flip.

“Listen, Crouch, I’m trying very hard not to get in that fucking car right now and just drive off. Get away from here.”

“No one’s stopping you,” Barty said.

The glance Evan threw at him said everything Barty ever needed to know, and his heart grazed his ribs like the wings of a bird.

He held Evan’s gaze. He’d never really noticed it before, because he didn’t often dare to look into his eyes that unapologetically, but Evan’s eyes were melted amber. The dangerous kind that nearly had the colour of raging fire.

“No one’s fucking stopping you,” Barty repeated, feeling brazen all of a sudden. What did he have to lose? His father had already taken everything from him. If there was something left, it wasn’t worth holding into it.

“You fucking asshole,” Evan said, slowly shaking his head.

Barty just held his gaze, unflinching. The anger was like simmering lava in his bones.

Evan threw the stone with so much force it must have flown a hundred feet. Neither of them could tell, it was swallowed by the darkness the moment it left Evan’s hands. Evan got on his feet in one swift movement, already walking towards the door before Barty had even registered what was happening. His jacket billowed in the wind. Barty could tell from the tense line of his shoulders that this was the kind of Evan teachers barely had under control, the one students avoided in the hallways. He was heading back towards the car.

He couldn’t stay in one place for even one fucking moment, could he? What was the point of coming here in the first place?

Barty sprang to his feet, coming after him. “I can’t fucking go with you, Evan. You fucking know that,” he said sharply, raising his voice so the wind wouldn’t snatch his words away.

Evan replied something Barty didn’t understand.

“I can’t fucking hear you,” Barty shouted.

Evan whirled around to him. “I said, I can’t fucking stay here until you’ve made up your fucking mind.” His voice was hard. “So you don’t get to be angry about this.”

“I’m not angry about it,” Barty said, raising his arms and letting them fall to his side.

Evan had stopped walking, his eyes ablaze. “Oh yeah? You sure about that? You are literally making this place so much more unbearable than it already is, Crouch! You make me want to get away from here because you’re so fucking angry at me all the time!”

Barty startled, caught off-guard by Evan’s words. “What?” he asked dumbly. “What are you-“

“You’re so fucking angry,” Evan said, shaking his head, “and you don’t even know it.” He ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head and turned around, walking towards the car.

Barty was too stunned to move at first, but once Evan slammed the door shut, his body jerked out of its paralysis. He walked towards the car, his thoughts all over the place, his head spinning. When he ripped the door open, Evan was already hot-wiring the car again, his jaw set. He didn’t look at Barty when he climbed in.

“I’m not angry,” Barty said, his voice sounding strange even to himself.

Evan gave him a dark are-you-fucking-kidding-me-look, but shook his head and concentrated on the cables again.

Barty just sat there, trying to find a single moment in his day when he didn’t completely hate everyone and everything around him.

He came up with nothing.

He just knew he was cursing his father with every breath he took, and that he blamed him for all the shittiness in his life, and he knew that school and his friends just felt like a bad, makeshift distraction that wasn’t even making him forget the fact that he’d eventually have to go home again. He had been thinking about him this whole time he’d been with Evan.

Okay, so maybe he was angry. Like, a lot. Maybe he’d been angry for a long, long time and he hadn’t even realized it. And maybe, just maybe he was angry at Evan for pointing it out. Maybe he was angry because Evan didn’t have to right to force him to acknowledge that no matter how much he had distanced himself from his father, his father’s anger was etched into his blood.

The car came to life, and Evan turned the headlights on, buckling his seatbelt. He didn’t step on the gas pedal.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Barty asked.

“For you to put your fucking seatbelt on,” Evan said, stoically looking ahead.

Barty clenched his jaw, swallowing down a are-you-fucking-serious-right-now-Rosier, and buckled his seatbelt.

Evan checked it with a quick glance, then put the car in reverse and turned the steering wheel. He stopped again, steered the other way, changed gears, and then they were off towards the street.

“Rosier-“

“Just because you’re repressing it, doesn’t mean it’s not there, Crouch. Like, you do realize that it’s not normal to hate every fucking moment of your day? I thought I was a miserable person until I met you. The teachers are scared of you.”

“The teachers are scared of my father.”

“They’re scared you’re gonna burn this place down.”

“The fuck are you even talking about,” Barty breathed. His head was starting to hurt. There was a pounding behind his eyes he knew would soon turn into a headache.

“I’m talking about how people are scared of you in the same way they’re scared of me, just for different reasons. I’m unpredictable. I don’t care about this place or anyone in it. I don’t care that it’s going to give me a future. I don’t want that future anyways. You,” he said, “you’re living with this simmering anger every day of your life, and everyone’s just waiting for you to blow.”

Evan took a sharp turn and they were on the street again.

Barty felt strangely calm all of a sudden, as though all emotions had been sucked out of him. He stared at the gravel before them. Was that really true? Did everyone see this anger in him and he hadn’t even registered it? Nobody had ever said anything. Dorcas had glanced at him worryingly, sure, and teachers rarely addressed him, but could it really be he had walked the hallways of Hogwarts all this time, not realizing Evan and him were interchangeable in their eyes? Made up of the same explosive material? If Evan was gasoline, what did that make him?

“That’s not who I am,” he said.

Evan didn’t say anything.

“So you’re gonna blame it on me that you’re leaving?”

“No.”

“How is you being like this okay but me being like this not?”

“Because in case you haven’t noticed, Crouch,” Evan said, his jaw set, “I’ve never once taken anything out on you.”

Oh.

There was heavy silence between them. The gravel crunched underneath the wheel; Evan was steering too sharply.

“So you want me to apologize? For being angry?” Barty asked, the edge in his voice making it obvious he was not going to.

Evan huffed. “I don’t fucking care if you’re sorry or not.”

And then, they didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. They got out of the car silently, and after Evan had hidden the car underneath the blanket and thrown some branches over it, they headed back to Hogwarts. When they arrived in the dorm room, Evan just wordlessly grabbed something from his nightstand and walked straight out of the room again, disappearing as though it wasn’t 3am and they had classes in a few hours.

His mother acted as though nothing had happened. She didn’t apologize or mention the “accident”. The only proof that she even acknowledged Regulus’ burn wound were the painkillers she reluctantly gave him when she caught him awake. Without commenting on it, she threw it on his bed. He could tell that she didn’t care if he took them or not. She didn’t notice Regulus took almost all of them over the course of three days. They didn’t just numb his pain, they also helped numb the panic.

He was careful to always put on a t-shirt, even if he just stepped up to the window. Regulus knew a wound like that was incredibly painful, but the painkillers soothed his screaming nerves so effectively he often forgot he was injured in the first place and only remembered when he moved in the wrong way and ended up straining the wound.

The only good thing that came out of it was that his mother was less controlling now that she thought Regulus had learned his lesson. Regulus could wander around pretty much anywhere in the hotel, as long as he kept studying. She also didn’t make him eat breakfast or dinner with her anymore. The wound was reminder enough of her control.

In a way, it had given him more freedom, except that he was painfully aware how limited that freedom was. Somehow, that made it even worse.

Regulus found himself wandering around in the hotel aimlessly, until, on the fourth night, he walked up the stairs to the rooftop terrace before he even knew what he was doing. He pushed the heavy door open and was met by warm summer night air that smelt like jasmine, but there was an underlying scent of something else, and then, the smell of cigarettes. Regulus froze as he saw someone slouching in one of the chairs, staring up at the stars, a cigarette between his fingers.

Potter.

Absolutely not. Regulus wanted to turn on his heel, but then the door fell shut behind him so loudly he winced and Potter turned around to him. It apparently took him a second to recognize him in the dim light. As he did, his shoulders relaxed and he turned back around again.

“Oh. It’s you,” Potter said, and there was something in his tone that Regulus didn’t like. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

He looked back at the door, contemplating just leaving him here without another word, but then begrudgingly walked over to Potter, who took a drag a cigarette. The tip glimmered orange. He might as well stay now. His mother wasn’t going to say anything, was she? She thought he had learned his lesson for now. And she was right. No more risks.

Regulus stopped next to Potter, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking down at him. Potter’s side profile looked like it was carved from marble, the statue of a Greek god. “Congratulations on your win,” Regulus said. He’d heard Potter had played brilliantly. He hadn’t been there. He was acutely aware that except for his mother, most people could tell if he was high on painkillers.

Potter huffed, shifting in his seat. “The queen, Black,” he said, shaking his head. “I almost lost her.”

“You should have sacrificed her instead of the pawn move.”

Potter shook his head. “No. That’s how you would play the game. I’m not that self-destructive.” There it was again, the subtle edge in his words. Not hostile. Potter wasn’t capable of that. But enough that Regulus would pick up on it.

Regulus drew a chair and sat down, drawing both his legs up, gloomily staring down onto the city stretching out before them. The streets glistened because it had rained in the afternoon and the lights of the streetlamps reflected in the puddles. It was so late that only a few lights in the windows were still on and nobody was outside anymore. Regulus waited for Potter to break the silence. He did, five minutes later.

“Do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Any of our conversation?”

Regulus frowned at him. What conversation was he referring to? The one where he had told him to stay the fuck away? Yeah, that one he did remember very distinctly. And if that was Potter’s point, he was also acutely aware of how hypocritical it was of him to show up here and break his own rules. He did not need anyone to tell him that, thank you very much. It was that the wound on his chest made him want to call Sirius and this was the less stupid option compared to the alternative.

Potter looked at him and saw the bewilderment on Regulus’ face. He huffed, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, figured.”

Regulus glared at him. “Don’t turn this conversation into a chess game, Potter. I’m tired.”

Now, Potter shifted on his chair and rested his arm on the back it so that he was facing Regulus, who could now finally see his face. Which didn’t mean that he could read it. “You were apparently too drunk to remember, but you called me a few days ago. It wasn’t from your room in the hotel, so I asked, and you said you were in a friend’s flat.”

It was a punch in the gut. Regulus froze up, his heart fluttering in his chest. Merde. He couldn’t remember much about that day the others had left him alone, but he would remember calling James fucking Potter, wouldn’t he? That would be the kind of memory he would like his mind to remember for once, unlike all the other fucked up memories from his childhood. Let alone the most recent. “When was it?” he asked, keenly aware of how alarmed he sounded.

“Sometime in the afternoon.”

Regulus relaxed a bit, and could tell that Potter noticed but had no idea why he was so relieved. He exhaled. So at least none of the others had heard whatever he had told Potter. It had happened when they had left him alone.

But what had he told him? “What did I say?”

Potter took a pull on his cigarette and Regulus glared at him, knowing he was doing it on purpose. Potter exhaled slowly. “You wanted to talk to me about Morphy Defense.”

Regulus shot him a warning glance. “If you’re gonna-“

Potter held up his hands in a placating manner, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Hey, it is a good opening.”

Regulus scowled at him, mortified. “Don’t tell me you let me talk to you about the Morphy Defense for an hour.”

Potter smiled. “I interrupted you about twenty minutes in, don’t worry.”

“And then what?”

Potter seemed…off. There as an hidden sharpness to his movements as though he was upset and bad at hiding it. It made Regulus nervous. Potter was smug and laid-back and sturdy and this hard gaze untypical. “I told you that I knew you had more drinks than are good for you and you needed to stop if you didn’t want to end your chess career before your 21^st birthday,” he said with a rough voice.

Regulus was taken aback for a moment, anger flaring in his chest. “Listen, I’m sorry that I called you. I wish I didn’t,” he scowled coldly and watched Potter flinch back ever-so-slightly. “But that’s none of your business, Potter.”

“The game against Ford was one of your worst games, Black. It wasn’t even worth analysing,” Potter shot back, equally heated. Normally, that would have shattered Regulus fragile sense of self-worth into tiny little pieces, but Regulus was still packed in cotton from the pain killers. They dulled his emotions.

Ford. Regulus had read the name only the next day, when they had recapitulated the wins of the previous day on the board for everyone to see. “I was twenty minutes late. Of course it wasn’t my best game.”

Potter put the cigarette out in the ashtray. Regulus started suspecting that Potter didn’t actually smoke. He wasn’t the kind of guy who turned to cigarettes as a coping mechanism. It didn’t come naturally to him. “You only won because of Ford’s mistake. And it isn’t hard to guess why you were even late for the tournament in the first place.”

“I overslept.” Regulus met his gaze, a challenge in his voice.

“I bet you did,” Potter said tersely.

Regulus studied Potter’s reproachful expression. For the first time, he realized that he wasn’t even that much older. One, two years at best. He was at Sirius’ age. It was his confidence that made him appear older, how smoothly he navigated a world Regulus had only been introduced into a couple of years ago and in which he still sometimes felt like an intruder, an imposter. But now, in the dim light, Potter’s features were softer and more youthful, more vulnerable without the smug smile. Regulus fought down the sudden urge to tell him about Sirius. He didn’t let his guard down, keeping his face blank. “I played drunk and won. That’s-“

Potter cut him off, incredulous. “Don’t even dare to tell me that’s some sort of fucking accomplishment, Black! Playing blindfolded is, or simultaneous chess. Playing drunk is just an insult to the game.” Regulus could see a muscle twitch in Potter’s jaw. “Show up drunk our game and I’ll get up and leave.”

That was the first sentence that really pervaded the haze Regulus was wrapped in. Our game. A shiver ran down Regulus’ spine. The game he had longed for so long. First, he had only wanted to play against Potter to win. Winning against him would feel better than the first time he’d saved up four pills and swallowed all of them at once. Now, simply wanted to play against him. He wanted nothing more than that. It scared him. “I’m not an alcoholic, Potter,” he said quietly. There are reasons. But how could he ever tell Potter the whole story?

“Just…don’t be one in four days.” Potter exhaled, leaning in the chair again, his long legs stretched out before him. “Don’t be a chess player in a long line of chess players with troubled minds. You’re more than that.”

“Steinitz claimed he played against God. On a level from zero to Steinitz, I’m barely a two,” Regulus said dryly.

“Two is bad enough, Black,” Potter said without looking at him. He seemed calmer now, his sense of humour seeping back. “A two on the Steinitz scale is just two under Morphy, and his friends tried to institutionalize him.”

“I haven’t yet stripped naked on a bus like Carlos Torre.”

“Oh, that one I wouldn’t mind,” Potter chuckled. The gaze that he threw him made Regulus’ cheeks heat up, but he refused to let Potter throw him off the track. They were back in the game. This teasing was just him figuring out how far he could push Regulus.

“Figured,” Regulus said dryly.

“All I’m saying is, Black, that sane people don’t play chess. You have to be mad to become obsessed with sixty-four black and white squares. We’re all a bit mad here. And the problem is, we don’t keep each other in check because chess is all we know and people who play chess is all we know. We’re living in this parallel world that most people don’t know exists. And that makes us isolated and alone and prone to thinking that these sixty-four squares is our entire world.” He turned to Regulus. “Chess can be an addiction.”

Regulus shrugged. “Everything can be an addiction if you’re just obsessed enough.”

“But not ever obsession can burn you out that quickly. We start young and we burn bright and we peak at twenty, and then it’s all over and we’re left with nothing. You don’t know who you are because ninety-nine percent of your thoughts revolved around chess and you’re nothing without it.” He paused. “When your world becomes bigger than sixty-four squares, what are you going to do, Black?”

Regulus didn’t meet his gaze, staring up to the stars in the distance. They were so faint tonight. This would be yet another night when he wouldn’t find his star up there. And it was supposed to be the brightest. (That fact was always something Regulus had felt mocked by.) “The Russians don’t go through that cycle. Think about Riddle. He’s only getting better.”

Potter huffed. “The rules don’t apply to the Russians. They’re different from the English, the American. Chess in Russia is supported by the state. We have to beg organizations for money if we ever want to leave America to play. It’s not the same.”

Something in Potter’s tone piqued Regulus’ interest. “Have you been to Russia? Have you played there?”

Potter nodded grimly. “They ripped me apart like some bloody rookie. I came home not playing for four months because I thought, what’s the point of it. Russians are always going to be better.” Potter took out another cigarette but didn’t light it, turning it in his fingers. Regulus tried not to watch. “I played against Riddle. If you win against me, you qualify to play against him in Paris in a few months.”

Why was he giving him that information? Did he think Regulus had a chance? Or was he so sure he didn’t that he knew it didn’t hurt to tell him? “I don’t stand a chance against him.”

Potter shrugged. “Not yet, but you’re too deep into all of this to just accept that. You’re obsessed with winning, Black. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve been studying the book, haven’t you? Every single one of my comments. Every single position.”

“Have you studied my games?” Regulus asked without answering his question. He was not about to give Potter the upper hand by admitting that yes, he had.

The smirk that drove Regulus insane made a comeback. It had to be illegal to look that smug. “What if I did? Will you be trying to throw me off with something unexpected? Not playing Sicilian? Forcing an exchange of queens?”

So he had been reading up on him. Of course. Did this now mean Regulus should play Sicilian because Potter expected some other opening? Or should he not play Sicilian precisely because Potter thought he was going to opt for the safest option? This is why chess players didn’t discuss each other’s games before a match. The conversation itself became part of the chess game. As though while putting up the pieces they also banned them from certain squares. “That scared of me Potter, that you have to read up on me?”

“Not scared, I’m afraid. Just fascinated by your games,” Potter stated simply.

“I’d prefer scared.”

Potter chuckled. “You’d prefer me beaten in ten moves, but that’s also not going to happen, Black. Vaguely intrigued by your game will have do to.”

“Your fascination just turned into vague intrigue pretty quickly,” Regulus said with an arched eyebrow.

“Just want you to keep your ego in check, Black. Those cheekbones are giving you enough of that.”

Regulus glared at him. “I’m not in the mood for your stupid flirting, Potter.”

“You think I’m flirting with you?” Potter asked, amused. “Is it working?”

Regulus looked at him sternly. “This is the last time, Potter, that we’ll talk outside of the game. I was serious about us needing the fuck to stay away from each other.”

That seemed to sober him up. Regulus could see how he retreated into himself ever so slightly. “Yeah. Sure, Black.” He nodded. “Only hostile stares from now on,” he added, a flash of challenge on his face as if he wanted Regulus to back-pedal. “You’re already doing those pretty well, so it’s up to me.”

Regulus got up. “If you want me to stay sane, Potter, don’t ask me to meet you outside the game. It’ll ruin me. It’s that simple,” he said calmly, leaving Potter alone out on the rooftop.

Chapter Text

One more game, then he would face Potter. The morning of the second-most important game of his life, Regulus sat in his hotel room near the window and struggled to re-wrap the bandage around his chest. It didn’t help that he couldn’t really lift his arm without igniting an onslaught of pain and it was so frustrating that Regulus, who under normal circumstances refused to ask for help, considered walking down to the hotel’s pharmacy and get someone to deal with the bandage. In the end, he managed a slightly too loose bandage by using both his hands and clenching the bandage between his teeth, swearing under his breath the entire time. It was healing well, but Regulus could already tell it was going to scar. He'd gotten an ointment from the pharmacy once he had used up all the painkillers to keep the burning at an even level. He couldn’t afford to be high on the wrong pills during these important games.

He knew he was doing a horrible job at taking care of the wound, but it would have to do. He reasoned that it wasn’t going to be his last scar, just one among many, and it wasn’t like he would ever let anyone close enough for them to catch so much as a glimpse of them. He would have never let Barty take off his shirt. He was grateful Barty hadn’t even tried. And, he was grateful that Barty hadn’t mentioned the scar tissue from all the faded white lines on his body. There was no way he hadn’t felt it.

Coming down from the painkillers had taken much more of a toll on him than he had expected. He had felt dizzy almost all day and his appetite was messed up, his stomach in knots, but that could also just be nerves. When he washed his hands in the bathroom, he gave his reflection a stern look. Get a grip, Regulus.

His mother was waiting in her room, her cold snake-like eyes roaming over him when he entered. She nodded curtly and got up, and Regulus followed her into the corridor and down the stairs. He was nervous, but hid it behind a stony expression. When they arrived in the hall, Walburga stayed behind and Regulus walked over to the table. There were two tables, not far apart, both of them with a chess board on them. Potter’s opponent was already seated, a middle-aged man with an open face and a receding hair-line. Potter was nowhere to be seen and the chair opposite to Regulus was empty as well.

Regulus sat down, ignoring the two reporters with their cameras who were waiting impatiently for the others arrive so they could take pictures of the handshakes. The articles usually showed up in a side column of the local newspaper, and, very rarely, in the Chess Review. Regulus hated nothing more than getting his picture taken – it brought back so many memories of his mother insisting that portraits were to be made of them ever year –, so he refused to smile and angled his head in a way that made it impossible to get a good picture of his face. His mother scolded him for it, but almost all pictures in the articles showed him with his curls casting his face in shadows, his hands or fingers in the way, his sharp jawline in profile with his eyes unreadable. This wasn’t a game he was participating in. Every interview he had been forced to do, the journalists had twisted his words and portrayed him either as an arrogant child prodigy or as psychotic. He wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

He had to wait ten minutes for Potter to arrive. He showed up in his usual black jeans and a jumper with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. (Jesus Christ. Regulus needed a full minute to recover from the sight of it.) He smiled as his shook his opponents’ hands and sat down, seemingly at ease and completely relaxed. He acknowledged Regulus with a nod and a crooked smile, leaning back in his chair, supressing a yawn. Regulus wondered if it was pretence, if Potter was really that good at faking it. Or was he simply so sure of his skills that this match was just another obstacle in his way to the final game? Regulus wondered if James would yawn at their game, or if he would look at him with this fascination, with that gaze that seemed to see what was hidden behind Regulus’ glares.

They waited in tense silence until Regulus’ opponent arrived, a little out of breath. He was French, Regulus could tell from his slight accent as he introduced himself. They shook hands and sat down, and a man stepped forward, standing between the two tables.

“Now that everyone has arrived, you may begin.”

The man pressed the buttons on the clocks.  

Regulus’ heart picked up pace and he moved his pawn to d4, expecting to play a Queen’s gambit. The man, however, drew his pawn to f5 and punched the clock. The Dutch Defense. Regulus heart sank. He didn’t hate the Dutch Defense, but it always made him uneasy, and an inkling told him the French man had sensed that and chosen it on purpose to throw him off. It gave him a weak f7 square that Regulus could attack later, but it made the man’s pieces dangerously active, and Regulus wondered if the Achilles heel left him vulnerable enough that the man could use it to his advantage.

They went through the motions, each one developing their own pieces. For the next ten minutes, it was completely silent except for the quiet sound of the chess pieces.

Regulus sensed Potter’s gaze on him from time to time, ignored it stoically, but eventually looked up, and realized Potter was focused on Regulus’ chess board. There a frown on his face. Regulus’ heart skipped a beat. Potter was analysing his game. He was so keen on playing against Regulus that he couldn’t help but keep an eye on it. Regulus didn’t know what to make of it. Shouldn’t Potter focus on his own game? Or, at the very least, not distract him with his starring?

Regulus moved his bishop to e2, then his knight to e5, to which his opponent responded with pawn to c5. Regulus paused for a second, his mind racing. He hadn’t quite figured out what he was getting at. The safest move was to draw the pawn to c3. He did, and punched the clock.

Potter was still staring, his attention divided between his own game and Regulus’. Regulus wanted to meet his eye and warn him to concentrate on your own fucking game, Potter, but never got the chance. It irked some part of Regulus that Potter was so genuinely worried Regulus wasn’t going to win. Was he that anxious that he would watch Regulus make the wrong decision and cause his own downfall? Did he have that little faith in Regulus? Because Regulus was going to win. He was, because he had no other choice.

His opponent moved his king to take his bishop on d6, and Regulus responded.

Potter kept watching his game.

The more time passed, the more pissed Regulus was. He hadn’t made single mistake, and yet Potter couldn’t bring himself to trust Regulus.

Anger flared.

So, Regulus did what he always did in moments like that, decided to piss Potter off.

The next sensible move was to put his knight on c6, but he didn’t and instead took his bishop. When Potter checked the game a few minutes later, he visibly paused, frowning, and Regulus watched with some smugness how it threw Potter off so much that he had to blink at his own chessboard as he tried to get his mind back on the right track.

Regulus enjoyed every second of watching Potter struggle to figure out the strategy behind Regulus’ move. He could almost see Potter’s racing thoughts and how they got entangled with his own chess game. Good luck trying to play two games, Regulus thought. Are you really arrogant enough to believe you can manage that? The answer was that he clearly couldn’t.

It was Regulus’ turn again. He hesitated for a second, then moved his rook to 1b. It wasn’t a stupid move. It was just confusing enough to make Potter’s thoughts stumble. And oh god, did they stumble. Potter took a double-take on Regulus’ chessboard, who leaned back in his chair, spinning the pen he had been given to note down his moves. It was a rush. If he had known paying Potter back for his smugness would give him such satisfaction, he would have done it earlier.

It felt so good Regulus was willing to take way more risks than he should. He didn’t care about how the game would later be torn apart in the magazines, or how people would say it was one of his worst games. He just wanted to have that power over Potter, no matter how fleeting. He wanted to make him squirm on his chair and grow desperate when he failed to figure out the intention behind Regulus’ moves. He wanted to elicit a reaction out of Potter, wanted to break that façade of smugness and gaze behind it.

Barty had pressed his fingertips between Regulus’ shoulder blades as though curious of his reaction. Regulus wanted to press his fingertips on all the sensitive spots on Potter’s mind and watch the confusion bleed into frustration and despair and anger. Wanted to see if Potter was even capable of these emotions. If they were real, for once.

Regulus took his opponents rook on 7b, and had his rook taken by the black king. He drew his king to 1c.

Potter stared absent-mindedly at the chess board in front of him. He had a pawn that had already been taken out of the game between his fingers, moving it around, tipping its top with his index finger, tipping it against the table. There was the tiniest crease between his brows. He seemed troubled. To outsiders, it must have looked as though Potter was very concentrated on his own game, but Regulus knew the truth. Potter was trying to play two games simultaneously.

Regulus was not making it easy on him.

Part of him was scared of himself for risking such an important game, but he realized soon that he had more control over the game than any other game before. He knew exactly how many mistakes he could get away with. It was all clear in front of him, the possibilities like endless lists of number and letters in his head. His opponent had become so predictable within the first few minutes of the game Regulus knew exactly what he was going to do minutes before he actually did. It was exhilarating.

Regulus watched the frown deepen as he sacrificed his queen. It was a bold move, not really a mistake, but dangerous. It was also very unlike Regulus, who loved the queen. Sacrificing her wasn’t something he did if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, and Potter, who had studied his games, knew that.

They had twenty minutes left on the clock when Regulus looked up just in time to catch Potter’s eyes. Potter paused, the brown in his eyes darker than ever as he held Regulus’ gaze. Regulus felt his chest grow warm at the sight of Potter’s bewilderment. He looked so puzzled.  Regulus arched his eyebrow at him, triumphant that he had for once gotten a reaction out of Potter, when something in Potter’s gaze suddenly changed and his features relaxed.

A smile tugged on his lips and amusement flashed over his face.

Regulus went hot and cold as he realized he had lost the game between them.

Just then, Regulus’ opponent punched the clock again, and Regulus immediately forced his attention back to the chess board, his thoughts racing, looking at the chaos his revenge had brought upon the chess board. He knew how to save it, he just had to make sure his opponent wouldn’t intervene. His jaw set, Regulus took his only knight.

Everything happened fast after that. Regulus played his best endgame yet, considering that he didn’t have many pieces left, and ten minutes later, his opponent resigned. They shook hands, and just as he got up and walked away, Potter finished his game.

Regulus stood up, wanting to avoid a conversation, especially with his mother watching, but the man who had observed the games blocked his way to congratulate him and when Regulus had endured a damp handshake, he turned and almost ran into Potter, who grabbed his shoulder to stop him, squeezed it, and then brushed past him.

“I knew the entire time, Black,” he said so quietly no one else could hear it. His finger’s lingered on Regulus’ shoulder, and Regulus, who had stopped right dead in his tracks, clenched his jaw as Potter smirked at him with such smugness Regulus wanted to wipe it off his face right then and there. He glared at Potter as he walked backwards for a few steps, then turned around like nothing happened. Regulus, keenly aware that he was staring at him and people had taken notice of their interaction, forced himself to turn his back to him and walked over to his mother, his skin tingling where the warmth of Potter’s touch had seeped through his shirt.

He ignored how some of Potter’s acquaintances patted his shoulder and congratulated him, stoically crossing the hall and approaching his mother. When he was in within earshot, and close enough that she didn’t have to raise her voice, she hissed: “There were a lot of flaws in that game.” She only knew from studying the reactions of the people around her who really cared about chess.

Regulus walked past her. “I won,” he said coldly and left her standing there, disappearing into the crowd that had gathered in the entrance hall before she had time to grab his arm.

He was halfway through the hall when he spotted a familiar face lingering at the entrance of the hotel, looking around partly impressed and partly bored, an expression that only Barty Crouch Junior could pull off. He spotted Regulus just a second after he had spotted him and his face lit up, and he walked straight over to Regulus, strutting through the lobby as though he belonged there.

“Oh great, you’re alive,” Barty said as soon as he was in earshot. “This place is really fucking nice.”

Regulus resisted the urge to roll his eyes – what was it with everyone greeting him like that – and wordlessly grabbed Barty, who allowed Regulus to drag him into a quiet corner.

“Black, if you want to make out, you might want to choose another corner. Preferably one where not the entire lobby can see us,” Barty said with a grin as Regulus let him go again.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus hissed, keeping his voice down. He couldn’t be sure his mother hadn’t followed him into the hall.

Barty put his hands up in a placating manner. “Just making sure you’re not dead,” he said and paused. “You did drink quite a bit while we were away so I just wanted to see if you were alright. You know, pretending to care and all that.” He didn’t mention Regulus’ mother, but he didn’t need to in order to make clear that he was also very much worried about Walburga killing her own son in a fit of rage.

Regulus ignored how the pain on his chest flared up. “I’m fine.”

Barty scrutinized him for a second. “Biggest lie you’ve ever told,” he said, then plunged his hand in his pocket and retrieved a little piece of paper, presenting it to him on his palm. “Here, I wanted to give you this.”

Regulus arched his eyebrow, then took it reluctantly.

“It’s the phone number to Dorcas’ apartment. She’s the only one of us who doesn’t move flats every other week, so she’s our fixed point. You call her and she can tell you where to find me or give you a phone number or something.” Barty smirked. “Well, in case you want to meet up sometime.”

Regulus put the piece of paper in his pocket. “We’re not-“

“Oh no, don’t worry, pretty boy. No strings being attached here. You’re my type, but you’re not exactly boyfriend material. No offense.”

“None taken,” Regulus huffed. There it was again. Barty somehow put him at ease with his bluntness.

Barty nodded at the paper. “You’re kind of officially part of our found family now,” he said with a lazy shrug. “We adopted you, if you want to or not, so you’re welcome to call if, you know, anything comes up. If you need somewhere to crash or something.”

“You barely know me,” Regulus said with a frown. How come they trusted to easily?

Barty tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, that doesn’t really matter. You’re kind of a good person, Regulus, under all that broodiness and all those glares. We’ve taken a liking to you, that’s enough. We don’t overcomplicate things. The world is complicated enough, so it can go fuck itself and let us do whatever we want. And we want you to have Dorcas’ stupid telephone number.”

Regulus felt a smile tugging at his lips as an unexpected warmth blossomed in his chest. “Thanks”, he said, quietly.

“You’re welcome, Black.” He looked down, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket now, then flashed him his roguish smile. “I gotta go now. Dorcas said Evan called her and I’m gonna steal my father’s car and drive over to him to get that stupid asshole before he disappears on us again.”

“You’re father’s gonna be delighted.”

“Oh, definitely. He thinks hiding the keys will somehow prevent me from hijacking the car. Little does he know that he raised a gay criminal whose boyfriend taught him how to hot-wire a car.” Barty huffed. “Well, wish me luck. See ya, Black.”

And before Regulus could even say anything, Barty was already through the door, disappearing into the busy street and leaving Regulus behind with a piece of paper that, weirdly enough, felt like a piece of armour. And for once one that wasn’t cutting into his flesh, one that didn’t come with a price or any drawbacks. It was an unfamiliar feeling, strange and new. Regulus wondered if Sirius had felt this way surrounded by his friends. Maybe that was why he’d chosen to stay with them instead of Regulus.

Sometime in 1977

One hour later, Remus sat on the staircase, smoking a cigarette and listening to the sounds of the party. They were playing different music upstairs than downstairs, and Remus just sat there, in-between. The last thing he wanted was to be in an overcrowded, stuffy room, where drinks were spelt and conversation was impossible. And, he was very much hiding from Lily, who had seen him slam the door after his argument with Sirius, and would definitely question him about what had happened if she found him. And she was a lot less forgiving than Remus.

Suddenly, loud steps made him look up. Sirius was coming down the stairs, swaying on his feet. Remus clenched his jaw. When their gazes met and Sirius realized who was blocking half the staircase, his steps faltered. He stopped, his hand on the handrail.

“Oh. There you are.”

Remus mustered him, raising an eyebrow. Sirius’ eyeliner was a bit smudged. His hair was falling into his eyes. He seemed just slightly more drunk than before. Remus was surprised he could still string together coherent sentences. “You finally had enough?”

Sirius hesitated, then came down the rest of the stairs, his jaw set. It was clear he was just going to ignore Remus, and Remus turned around again, refusing to look at him. But when Sirius had just passed him, he suddenly tripped and lost balance, and Remus shot up from where he was sitting before his mind could catch up, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ waist and dragging him backwards to stop him from face-planting on the floor. Sirius gave a surprised yelp and blindly reached for Remus’ upper arm to steady himself.

And suddenly, they were standing nose to nose.

Remus’ heart gave crazy little dance. He froze, holding his breath, waiting for Sirius to draw back, loosening his grip on him.

Sirius didn’t draw back. Instead of taking a step back, he just kept standing inches away from Remus, like the stupid idiot he was.

Remus let go of him, wanting to punch Sirius for making it so much harder for him not to grab him and-

Sirius’ gaze dropped to Remus’ lips and time slowed down.

Oh.

Suddenly, Remus couldn’t think of anything else but what it would feel like to kiss Sirius right now. What if would feel like to have his lips moving against his own. What he would taste like today.

No. Nonono.

“Sirius-“ he warned.

Sirius’ eyes returned to Remus’ and Remus’ breath hitched. A hot flash of desire shot through his entire body. Merlin have mercy on him. Sirius’ gaze was intense. His hot breath hit Remus’ skin. He shifted ever so slightly, and Remus noted alarmed that he had drawn nearer, had turned his chest to him. Off their own accord, Remus’ hands settled on either side of Sirius’ waist.

The scent of leather and cigarette made Remus lose his mind. His throat ran dry. He wanted to shake his head, but he found himself frozen. “Sirius-” he began again, his voice rough.

Sirius planted his hand on Remus’ chest and walked him backwards against the wall and suddenly, his lips were on Remus’.

Remus’ mind went entirely blank for a full second. Then, a rush of emotion surged through him and overrode all of his second thoughts. He growled and spun them around so that Sirius was pressed up against the wall, and then he came after him, bunching up Sirius’ t-shirt, tipping his head back, and forcing Sirius’ mouth open.

Sirius gave an appreciative low hum that made Remus shiver with desire. He slid one of his legs between Sirius’ and bit back a smile when Sirius’ breath hitched, but didn’t give him any time to recover. He wasn’t going to get another chance anytime soon. He was painfully aware that he was being self-destructive, kissing Sirius like that, knowing very well that Sirius would blame it on the alcohol, yet again.

But he thought he deserved this fucking moment. Because it was all he was ever going to fucking get.

Sirius had found the patches of skin where Remus’ sweater had ridden up and dragged his calloused fingertips up Remus’ sides, leaving a trail of fire. Having Sirius’ long nimble fingers explore his body sent a rush through him, making him pull Sirius closer, and kissing him more hungrily. Sirius’ hands left bruises on his skin.

There was no space between them. Remus could feel Sirius’ chest rising and falling rapidly against his own. When they briefly parted to get some air, Remus sank his hand in Sirius’ soft hair and pulled his head back ever so slightly to expose the fair skin of Sirius’ neck. Sirius complied obediently, tipping his head back, moaning when Remus’ lips wandered downwards.

Remus increased the pressure of his leg and Sirius responded with drilling his nails in Remus’ skin. Remus arched his back and Sirius used the momentary distraction to take advantage. Suddenly, his mouth was on the spot just below Remus’ jawline and a whimper nearly escaped Remus’ throat.

Merlin have mercy on him.

He’d known Sirius was good – there had been more than enough guys in the last couple of years –,  but this felt obscenely good. It was out of proportion. It made Remus wonder what it would feel like if Sirius would do more than just drunkenly kiss him and he doubted he’d survive it.

The sharp sound of a wine glass hitting the closed door and shattering made them drew apart with lightning speed. Sirius stumbled back against the wall, while Remus’ back hit the handrail. They were both breathing way too hard. Sirius’ cheeks were flushed, his pupils full blown, his hair mussed. Remus didn’t even remember running his hands through it.

They both stared at each other. Remus had no idea what to do, and Sirius didn’t, either.

The door opened and they jerked around. Remus wanted curl up and die. It was obvious something had happened between the two of them; Sirius’ shirt was still pulled down from when Remus had grabbed the hem to expose more of Sirius’ neck.

“Oh. Hey. Didn’t know you two were here,” Mary said. Her eyes seemed to have to adjust to the dim light. When they did, she suddenly frowned.

That was about as far as Sirius would ever let her go. Even drunk, his instinct not to let himself be caught in any ambiguous situation with Remus seemed to kick in. He stumbled down the rest of the stairs. “Hey, Mary. You look great. Nice shirt. We were just leaving. See ya.” And with that, he had brushed past her and disappeared into the crowd behind the door.

Remus lingered behind. He could still feel Sirius’ fingers on his skin. He flexed his hands.

Mary looked up at him, her frown deepening. Remus knew Lily had told her. She might not know the details, but she knew enough. Remus knew Mary couldn’t help it, but he hated the look of pity on her face. “He’s still-“

“Yes,” Remus cut her off, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix it. His anger was back. He came down the stairs.

“You need to-“

Remus shook his head. “Don’t, Mary,” he warned. “I need to follow him. He’s still drunk out of his mind, he’s gonna do something stupid. Can you tell Lily we left?”

Mary pressed her lips into a thin line, then nodded. “Sure. But you need to stop letting him treat you like that.”

“It’s not like I don’t want to kiss him,” Remus said darkly, shrugging.

Mary briefly cupped his face. “He’s hurting you, Remus.” Her brown eyes were ablaze with worry. “And you need stop letting people do that to you. Even if you love them, it’s not right.”

“I don’t-“

Mary rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” She gently nudged him towards the door. “Go and stop him from doing something stupid.”

Sirius stumbled into the tiny table in the corridor and Remus had dive forward to catch the – undoubtedly very expensive – vase from falling down. He exhaled sharply, closed his eyes for a second, and grabbed Sirius to steer him away from the table.

“Remus, I don’t feel so good,” Sirus whined.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Remus said dryly. He wondered how he’d still ended up making sure Sirius got home safe. After what he’d done, he deserved to be left on his own. Maybe it was because Remus had become numb to the pain – it had happened before. Four, five times, if Remus counted the one time a game of truth or dare had escalated because Sirius had grown jealous over Remus being kissed by James. And still, bringing Sirius home had become a routine.

And, he knew he’d feel guilty if he didn’t, and he’d stay up worrying. So this was the better option, really. For his own sake.

Sirius didn’t lift his boot high enough and nearly face-planted on the stairs, the dull sound of his boot hitting the wood echoing through the corridor so loudly Remus winced.

Then, Sirius seemed to have decided to sit down right there on the stairs, but Remus wouldn’t let him have it. He kept him upright. “You need to get upstairs, sleep it off. Come on, help me a little here.” He gave him a push, maybe with more force than necessary.

He didn’t hear Regulus and only noticed him when he was halfway down the stairs. He was still in the same clothes as the day before; a grey t-shirt that pooled around his stomach. Long curls fell into his eyes. He was barefoot.

When he was close enough to see in what condition Sirius’ was, his face grew dark. His grey eyes snapped sharply to Remus. “You fucking promised,” he whispered.

Remus tried not to snap at him. It wasn’t his fault, it was Sirius’. It wasn’t fair. He brushed his hair out his face with his arm. “Yeah, well, it’s not always this easy,” he said, irritated, then felt bad for his sharp tone. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him. You can go back to bed.”

Regulus huffed, shaking his head. “My parents came back earlier. They’re upstairs. You’re gonna wake them up.”

Fear for Sirius seized Remus’ heart and made his mind screech to a halt for a second. “What? No.”

Regulus, managing to look both absolutely pissed and slightly annoyed at the same time, came down the stairs. His feet made no sound as though Regulus dedicated his life to perfect the art of walking down this particular staircase without ever making a noise. He didn’t really look at Sirius, ignoring him when he mumbled something incoherent and dodged Regulus’ hand. “We need to get him up to my room. I’ll watch him until the morning. You can’t stay here. It’ll make things worse for him.”

Maybe he deserves it, Remus thought, then felt a pang of shame for thinking it.

“Just help me get him up the stairs,” Regulus bluffed. He made Sirius put an arm around his neck.

For a second, Remus wondered if the scrawny boy could even take Sirius’ weight, he was a full head taller than him and all lean muscle, but Regulus had already started dragging him up the stairs and Remus wrapped his arm around Sirius’ waist and helped him.

Together, they managed to get up the stairs fairly quietly. Remus still held his breath every time the made the slightest sound, but the house remained quiet.

“’m fine, I can walk on my own,” Sirius mumbled once they had reached the landing, but Regulus told him to shut up and manhandled him to a door at the end of the corridor.

Remus only relaxed once the door feel shut behind them with a quiet click.

The moment it did, Sirius opened his mouth. “I don’t feel so-“

It took Remus one look at Sirius’ greenish face to realize what was going on. Regulus seemed to know that look on his brother’s face too, because he pushed Sirius towards another door and pushed it open with his shoulder, revealing a tiny bathroom. Seconds later, Sirius was bent over the toilet. Neither Regulus nor Remus bothered to get the hair out of his face, they just stood behind him.

Regulus seemed to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

Their gazes met over Sirius’ hunched back and Remus almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. But then he remembered what had happened half an hours ago and he didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

“You can leave, if you want to. I got this,” Regulus said.

Remus hesitated. Sirius deserved for him to leave him alone in this miserable state. He really did. But Remus was not the kind of person who could just leave Regulus to deal with the mess he created. “He was my responsibility and I messed up. I can stay until he’s asleep.” He paused. “If that’s alright with you.”

Regulus seemed like he couldn’t care less. He shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, and with a last look at his brother, he returned into his room.

Fifteen minutes later, when Sirius seemed to have gotten most of the alcohol out of his system, Remus deemed it safe to leave him alone for a bit. He re-entered Regulus’ room and found the boy bent over a chess board, lost in his own world. Three opened books lay on the bed around him. When Remus looked around, he realized that more than twenty books were scattered around Regulus’ room. A huge bookshelf in the corner was overflowing with at least another fifty.

“He stopped puking his guts out?”

Remus hadn’t realized Regulus had noticed him and felt caught for staring. “Guess so. He’s in the self-pity stage.”

“Great,” Regulus said sarcastically. “Love listening to him whining.” He put down the chess piece he’d been holding.

“You like reading?”

Regulus looked like the last thing he wanted to do was have small talk with his brother’s friend while his brother was in the bathroom puking his gut out, but indulged him. Remus felt like he’d warmed up to him at least a little and wondered why it had happened. When he had offered to stay and fix the mess he’d created? Or, much simpler than that, when Regulus had realized Remus cared about Sirius? “Half of these books are about chess.”

“Oh,” Remus said. “Sirius didn’t tell me you were-“

“I’m surprised he even told you he has a brother,” Regulus said. He didn’t really seem bothered by the fact, even though his bluntness made Remus wince. Vomiting noises came from the bathroom and Regulus’ eyes briefly flicked to the door before returning to Remus. “You want to play?”

“Play chess?” It was past midnight and he was beyond tired, but from the sounds of it, he was not going anywhere in the next thirty minutes or so. “Sure.” He drew a stool and placed it next to the bed, so that the chessboard was between the two of them, and sat down. “I’m not very good though.”

Regulus shrugged. “Better than playing against myself.”

While his long fingers rearranged the pieces, Remus wondered how old Regulus was. He couldn’t be much younger than Sirius, maybe two years. But there was something about him that made him seem older. He seemed reserved. His grey eyes were cold and calculating. Even though he had invited Remus to a game of chess, Remus wasn’t sure if he actually wanted him here.

“You’re white,” Regulus said, his way of telling Remus to start the game already.

Remus tried to concentrate on the chessboard and made his first move.

They played silently for a few minutes.

“Thank you for…” Remus hesitated, searching for the right words. “Making sure he doesn’t get in trouble.”

“They’ll still notice,” Regulus shrugged. “He’s gonna smell like a liquor store tomorrow.”

Remus felt a twinge of sadness, because Regulus would have to face yet another confrontation just a few hours from now, but decided that the last thing Regulus wanted right now was his pity. He captured Regulus’ centre pawn.

“He never lets his friends into the house,” Regulus suddenly said, his gaze carefully studying Remus.

“Well, if I’m in any way special, I’m not sure it want it,” Remus said darkly, not looking at him.

“Trust me, he doesn’t give any other friends hickeys like that,” Regulus said, his gaze lingering on Remus’ neck.

Remus’ hand went up on his own, touching the tender spot. Anger surged through him. Sirius didn’t deserve to leave his mark like this. Not when he would never claim him. “Yeah. I just wish he’d do it sober for once.”

Regulus considered him for a another second, then concentrated on the game.

Regulus won in the end. Remus could sense he went easy on him, but didn’t call him out on it. Something told him Regulus could checkmate him in six moves if he wanted to, but had the decency not to make it obvious when he purposefully ignored a sound chess move.

They dragged Sirius to his own bedroom, and Remus took off his boots and pulled his sheets over him. Regulus left before Remus could thank him, and, left alone with an already snoring Sirius, Remus just sighed and tried not to let his gaze linger on Sirius. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep.

Regulus went into the game against Potter severely sleep-deprived, high on caffeine and ready to risk it all. So Potter wanted to play against him? He was about to regret his decision. Regulus was angry enough to tear him apart on the chess board. He was going to wipe that smug smile off his face. Potter had proven that he was better at manipulation, better at pretence, but when it all narrowed down to the chess board, Regulus had sixteen pieces to his avail to strip Potter down to who he was: a young man, not much older than Regulus, who was nothing without his charm and his cockiness.

Regulus was starting to take it personal. His lost battle the day before fuelled his anger. Potter’s smile had been a war declaration. Regulus was not about to back down.

He stepped into the elevator dressed in all black, his curls tangled, his face unreadable for everyone except Potter, who would detect the brewing anger in the storminess of his eyes with the same ease that he seemed to gaze beyond Regulus’ barriers.

The elderly couple in the elevator subtly moved away from him, trying their best not to stare at him too closely, hiding their curiosity. Regulus knew they would gossip about him the moment he stepped out of the elevator and the doors closed behind him. He didn’t care.

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, flexed his hands, determination settling in his chest. This wasn’t even about winning for his mother anymore. This wasn’t about the price money. Regulus was simply so fed up with being manipulated that he longed for the moment he would see the light fading in Potter’s eyes as he realized he was going to lose.

He stepped out of the elevator and walked across the lobby. Cameras flashed once he entered the hall and he shielded himself from the flashing lights with his hands, knowing it would ruin the pictures. Potter approached from the side, where he had talked with a few chess players Regulus had seen around the hotel.

Regulus could see the exact moment Potter laid eyes on him. His reaction was puzzling. Potter’s eyes widened for a split second, his steps faltering. There was a flash of…something on his face as his eyes flicked down Regulus’ body and up again, but it was so fleeting it was impossible to read. When Regulus frowned at him, Potter cut his gaze away, swallowing, looking stoic.

The whole thing was so brief Regulus wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it as the usual smugness settled on Potter’s face again just mere seconds later.

They stopped next to the table, both seizing each other up. “Trying to throw me off, huh?” It took Regulus some time to realize Potter was talking about his outfit.

Regulus narrowed his eyes at him. Was Potter flustered? Regulus couldn’t say for sure. Nobody had ever been flustered by him before, but he’d watched people being flustered around Sirius a lot, and Potter had the same look of somebody who had just witnessed Sirius casually changing into another shirt. It hadn’t been Regulus’ intention when he’d put on his clothes, but he still felt a surge of triumph. He arched an eyebrow at Potter. “Like it’s hard,” he said, dryly.

Potter huffed, amused, his cockiness slipping into place again and masking what lay underneath. He offered his hand, and Regulus shook it. It was warm and dry, and it struck Regulus out of nowhere that this might be the first time they had touched like that. The cameras flashed once again, and for once, they got a clear picture because the touch had caught Regulus off-guard. His skin tingled as they let go again.

They sat down and the crowd creeped up, stopping in polite distance in a circle around the table. Regulus would never get used to the feeling of so many pairs of eyes on him and squirmed under the weight of them, knowing, however, that as soon as the game started, he would forget all about them. The chess board had been set up for them. The pieces were made out of wood, not the plastic ones they had used up until know. The looked solid and cool to the touch. Regulus scrutinized the black pieces in front of him, the sight soothing his nerves.

He made the mistake to glance to Potter’s side.

Jesus.

He felt his cheeks grow hot. Potter was wearing his rings again, the ones he had slowly taken off one by one in Lily’s café. Just the memory of it made his head spin, made him wonder about how they would feel on his skin, on his neck, on his chest, and he glared up at Potter, whose smile confirmed his suspicion that he’d put them intentionally. Here they were again. Everything up until now had been part of the game. It had started the very moment their eyes had met in the lobby. And it all boiled down to this moment.

Good thing Regulus had no inhibition about playing his most brutal game yet.

Potter ran his hand through his hair, smug smile dancing around his lips, then, he put his elbows on the table and fixated Regulus over his entangled fingers. “Knight on 3c, huh?”

Regulus’ heart skipped a beat. He knew exactly what game Potter was referencing. The one that had been doomed from the very beginning because he’d put his knight on 3c, a stupid response to getting his queen threatened. It had been years ago, which made the fact that Potter knew about his mistake even worse. He gave him a cold stare, and opened his mouth to reply something, when the elderly man who oversaw the games stepped forward, putting the clock on the table.

“You may begin now.”

Regulus swallowed the words down and instead glared at Potter, who punched the clock completely unfazed and drew his pawn on c4. Najdorf variation.

Regulus responded with c5 and pressed the button of the clock.

Around them, the world plunged into darkness as everything narrowed down to the small chessboard between them. Regulus could see nothing but the pieces in front of him, his thoughts racing, constellations upon constellations forming in his mind. It was just him and Potter in their own little world that no one from the outside could enter.

It was a carnage.

Regulus had chosen violence and Potter, once he had sensed the brutality and sharpness behind Regulus’ chess moves, had adjusted so the game soon spiralled into bloodshed full of intrigue and sacrifice. Neither of them missed any opportunity. Neither of them backed down. Regulus would consider Potter with withering gazes, and Potter would stare back arrogantly.

Both of them made full use of their knowledge about each other. Regulus prodded holes into Potter’s constellations, knowing fully well where his weaknesses lay, and Potter repaid Regulus by rendering his rooks useless, knowing fully well Regulus had taken a liking to them, very much aware what he was doing by making it impossible for Regulus to use them.

Regulus, in turn, destroyed his defence in the centre, and threatened his king.

He was close to victory, until Potter suddenly captured a pawn and turned Regulus’ whole world upside down.

Regulus froze.

He stared at the chess board.

He felt his heart sink.

No.

Nononono.

His eyes roamed over the chess board, his thoughts tangling up as he tried to figure out a way to stop the catastrophe.

He looked up at Potter, who only gave a slight shrug. That told Regulus all he needed to know. He was doomed. He was fucking losing.

How could he not have seen that coming? How could he have missed that?

The answer was, he hadn’t thought Potter would dare to capture his protected pawn. And now that he had, he would force an exchange of queens and there was nothing Regulus could do. He would be open to a rook-bishop mate, because the fucking bishop was on the open diagonal.

Regulus considered the chess board, adrenaline chasing through his veins. He might be able to protect his king by using one of his pawns, but it was in vain, because the protection wouldn’t last.

And all because of that stupid knight. The knight that he hadn’t even considered because it had looked so fucking innocent, and which was now blocking his king’s escape. There was nothing he could do. Nothing. That revelation felt like a stab through the heart.

Regulus met Potter’s gaze again. Everything was so silent that one could hear a needle drop. Potter looked at him with his warm brown eyes, waiting. He used it as an excuse to study Regulus’ face.

Regulus felt his chest grow cold as the disappointment slowly settled in his ribcage. All strength left his body. He was suddenly jerked back into reality and felt exposed and vulnerable under the stares of all the people around him who were about to witness his defeat. A headache throbbing at his temples. The world was spinning around him. He hadn’t even noticed how exhausting the game had been and it was now biting him back.

Potter came into focus again. Regulus forced himself to breathe, paused, and resigned his king. “You win,” he said, his voice hoarse. He offered his hand. Potter hesitated. Then, he took it and they shook hands. The skin contact sent shivers up Regulus’ arm.

Cameras flashed once more and Regulus let go of Potter’s hand, blinking against the flashing lights as he got up and held his arm in front of his face to shield himself. Blood was rushing in his ears. He spotted his mother in the crowd, her face nothing but hard lines and disappointment. Regulus needed to get away from her. He couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t scream at her the moment she opened her mouth.

He pushed through the crowd before he knew what he was doing, people jumping out of his way, voices raising, people patting Potter’s back, his friends congratulating him.

Regulus needed to get to some quiet place. He left the hall and entered the lobby. He wished he could just storm out onto the streets, but even in his upset state, he knew how pointless it was. He wasn’t fucking eighteen yet. He couldn’t just leave. Not when he didn’t have friends to fall back on. Not with his family so powerful and influential.

Ten minutes later, he found himself in a restroom he didn’t remember entering, searching his pocket for the little green pills. On a whim, he taken two of them with him this morning, in case his thoughts refused to comply, and he needed them to sharpen the outlines of the chess board in his head. He threw them in his mouth, drank cold tap water to wash them down, turned it off again and felt the coldness sliding down his throat and through his chest.

Suddenly, he felt something wet on his upper lip and looked at himself in the stained mirror above the sink. Shit. Holding his hollow hand under his nose, he blindly reached for the paper towels, ripping them from the dispenser and putting them under his nose to absorb the blood. It wasn’t the first time he got a nosebleed. Those had started when he had started taking the pills. It would stop bleeding in just a minute. He turned on the water with his free hand and held it under the stream, washing off the blood, then shaking the water off, bracing himself on the sink.

God, how could he have lost? He knew Potter in and out. He’d studied him. He’d traced back every single one of his thoughts, and he’d still lost.

He’d still fucking lost.

It was humiliating.

He was pathetic.

The disappointment was like a dark storm in his chest.

He tried to ignore it, hoping it would stop wrecking his heart and pressing against his ribs if it realized he was trying to suffocate it with indifference. He threw the soaked paper towels away and got new ones, just when somebody walked in the restroom. Regulus spun around, ready to run if it was his mother.

It wasn’t his mother.

It was Potter. Of course. He was breathing hard, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly. It probably wasn’t easy to escape all those journalists.

As soon as he saw Regulus, he held up his hands in a placating manner. “Regulus, I-“ He cut himself off when he saw the blood-stained paper towel in the garbage can, drawing his eyebrows together. “Are you okay?”

“Nosebleed,” Regulus said, his voice hollow. He refused to look at Potter, checked if the bleeding had stopped, and threw the paper towel away. “Fuck off, Potter.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Potter didn’t come closer, but he also didn’t leave. He lingered in front of the door, hesitating. “I – I saw your mother. She’s furious. I didn’t think – I didn’t realize she was-“

“What did you think would happen?” Regulus snapped, his emotions boiling over.

Potter looked like a kicked puppy. All that pretence was gone. He was a boy wringing his fingers, looking so sorry Regulus immediately regretted his outburst. He drew in a deep breath, rubbed his forehead, and eyed him coldly. “I would have killed you if you hadn’t played like you meant it. You did nothing wrong, Potter. Just do me favour and leave me the fuck alone now, okay?”

Despite Regulus’ glare, he still didn’t budge, stubbornly staying put. “That was one of the best games I’ve ever played, Black. Not even the game with Riddle was so…” Potter trailed off, then made a vague gesture with his hand. “Well, you know, don’t you?” he then said softly.

Regulus stared at him. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better, Potter. I don’t need your pity,” he snapped. The pills slowly started having an effect on him. He felt the pressure on his chest slowly vanish, as though a weight was taken off of him.

“Pity? Jesus, trust me, I’m far from pitying you, Black,” Potter said, raising his voice. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re a bloody mastermind. You single-handedly dismantled my entire defence with a knight and a pawn. No one has ever done that to me before. No one.”

“You still fucking won,” Regulus said tonelessly.

Potter slowly shook his head. “Because I studied you, Black, like you studied me. I studied your games almost every minute of the last few days. I can’t get you out of my head.”

Regulus froze, his thoughts tangling. He could do nothing but stare at Potter. Was this manipulation again? Did they lay the groundwork for their next game? The chess game was finished, but the game between them might not be. Regulus opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say. Potter’s vulnerability had taken the wind out of his sails. “It’s just a game,” he said hoarsely.

“It’s not just a game, and you know that. You’re accusing me of pretence but all you do is pretending, Black. You pretend that this is normal. You pretend that we’re just rivals but we’re not. You pretend that we’re not entangled in it, that it’s not about more than just the game.”

“Because it’s exactly what I didn’t want to happen, Potter!”, Regulus said sharply. “This is messy, it’s so fucking messy now, and it’s all your fucking fault! I told you to stay the fuck away but you can’t even do that! You win and ten minutes later you show up here! You did this to us!”

“You didn’t really want me to,” he said. “To stay away, I mean.”

Regulus stared right into his eyes. “I fucking did, Potter. I fucking did. And you still kept showing up, because you’re too arrogant to ever think about anyone else but you.”

Potter winced, but stood his ground. “You’re addicted to winning, Black. You pretend nothing is happening between us because you’re afraid it’s going to make you lose.”

“Well, that’s what fucking happened, Potter. I just lost. So don’t blame me for wanting to keep us out of it! I lost because you kept fucking manipulating me like I was some piece in a fucking chess game!”

Potter’s face drained of colour, and he staggered as though Regulus had hit him in the face. “No. I was never trying to sabotage you, Black. I never did any of this so that you would lose, I-”

“Well, good for you that that’s what it lead to.” Regulus wiped the dried blood from his upper lip. “I’ll leave your stupid book at the reception. Congratulations on your victory.” And with that being said, he pushed past Potter, who was too stunned to hold him back, and disappeared into the corridor.

Chapter Text

They left that very evening. Walburga was ice-cold towards him, as expected, but at least didn’t reproach him for his defeat. She seemed to sense that Regulus himself was upset enough about it, even though she could never know it was partly because of the conversation with Potter, and was satisfied that Regulus at least beat himself up about it. Maybe she thought it was punishment enough, or maybe even she realized that Regulus was not quite there yet to win against a United States Champion.

Or maybe she saw how Regulus kept his arm stiffly by his side as not to put strain on his burn wound and thought it was enough punishment for now, satisfied Regulus had to live with the reminder that he wasn’t the one in control.

They got a taxi to the airport, no matter the long drive.

Regulus stared outside, watching the water pour down the side of the window, the orange glint of the streetlights illuminating his face. For once, he wasn’t thinking about chess. He was thinking about James Potter, who took up all the space in his mind, which made him both furious and sad at the same time. Because he hadn’t wanted things to end like this between them, but now that they had, Regulus wished he at least had a number to call.

Even if it was just to rant and call Potter a fucking manipulator, accuse him of crossing a line, making him pay for trying to get under Regulus’ skin and fucking succeeding.

He was still angry, so fucking angry.

Having a number would at least mean he could talk to him.

He felt more isolated than ever before in his life, even more so than during the time after Sirius had abandoned him, when he’d had no one to talk to. His mother beside him sat stock-still, her sharp gaze cutting over to him from time to time as though she didn’t trust Regulus’ silence. She hadn’t said a word in half an hour since she’d talked to the driver and watched Regulus struggling to lift his suitcase in the trunk.

The sudden thought that she might have guessed there was more between Potter and him made him panic, and he drilled his fingernails into the palm of his hand, leaving half-crescent marks, glancing at her, but she had already looked away again, her elbow resting on the door, her fingertips on her temples as though he had a headache. The light illuminated her dark hair and her cheekbones, her profile like a dark shadow.

Regulus turned around again, calming his fluttery heart. She wouldn’t notice. She wouldn’t even be able to imagine Regulus would be interested in anything else than chess. Her range of emotion included fury, disappointment and disdain. And schadenfreude, which she would deny if accused of it, because it wasn’t proper.

They arrived at the airport, and Regulus, who wanted nothing more than sleep and forget about his awful day, followed his mother only reluctantly, carrying their two suitcases. He’d thrown on an oversized black jumper that he only got away with because his mother was certain they wouldn’t be recognized at the airport. She had       still raised his eyebrow at him, obviously unhappy about his clothing choice,and Regulus resolved to hide it once he’d taken it off, not wanting to wake up to the smell of burning fabric. She’d burned a few of Sirius’ clothes that she hated – she hated all of Sirius’ clothes –, until he one day drenched them in spiritus and she nearly burnt her eyebrows off. From then on, she’d kept her fingers off his clothes. Except it hadn’t mattered, because Sirius had left for good just a few weeks later.

Of course, the flight was delayed, and Regulus just ended falling asleep on a bench.

When they got off the plane a few hours later, walking through one of the airports of New York in the early morning, a familiar face cut through his reverie and he nearly stumbled over his own feet, stopping dead in his tracks to stare up at the advertising poster that had caught his attention.

His heart squeezed.

He was too emotionally drained to deal with this; it pulled the rug from under his feet, and he a rush of frustration so strong he wanted to smash something. Because he didn’t deserve this kind of hurt, didn’t he?

The poster showed Dorcas in a beautiful blue dress that hugged her silhouette like water pouring down over her body, her black hair adorned with golden pearls, a smug smile on her face; a brand name Regulus didn’t recognize under her feet. She was stunning, ethereal even. The fact that Regulus had stood next to her, had seen her without the make-up, made her even more beautiful because Regulus knew the person behind the picture, the soul that it didn’t capture – the glint in her eyes and the velvetiness of her voice. It was a flat, generic, soulless photo of her and she still managed to look like a goddess, even if diminished like this.

Regulus wondered how many times Marlene stopped in awe in front of advertisements, only to call Dorcas later on and tell her she’d seen her today, her voice soft. A game they had played too many times, like a broken record that provided comfort because the motions were familiar.

The shrill voice of his mother jerked him back into the present. “Regulus,” she called, annoyed.

Regulus tore his eyes away and followed her outside.

Seeing Dorcas now felt like a cruel joke from the universe. A personal taunt. There was no way he was ever going to see any of them again, Dorcas, Marlene, Barty. When it came to their travels, his mother had a strict schedule. At best, they would return a year from now. And now, all he had, was this sense of loss, and he wondered if it had been better if he hadn’t met them at all. He would have saved himself a lot of hurt. He’d gotten a glimpse at how things could be, and that was almost too much to bear.

Regulus barely ate anything for breakfast the next morning, realizing with a bitter feeling that Sirius would immediately pick up on how he was only nibbling on his food if he was here. And he would find a way to help him out of it, help him break the rules he had created in his head. He would tell him that it was okay to eat, give him a hard stare if Regulus glared at him and told him to mind his own business. He would ignore his attempts at pushing him away and would not leave his side, bullying him into finishing his food. Sometimes, it took a brother who didn’t care about hurting your feelings, who had no qualms about confronting you, who didn’t care if things got messy.

If Sirius had stayed around longer, he would have seen how bad it would get sometimes. He would have known.

Sirius wasn’t here right now, and because his mother was oblivious and self-absorbed, Regulus got away with three bites of his food. He felt odd comfort at the thought that at least he hadn’t messed up when it came to the food he had eaten that day. Some things were in his control. 

He spent the morning going through chess games from his books until he grew too restless (the chess games seemed dull without Potter’s annotations) and went on a run in the large parc near the hotel. Rainclouds hung heavy in the sky, but it didn’t start raining until three miles into his run. He was completely soaked by his fourth mile but pressed on until the eleventh when he started feeling dizzy. Reluctantly, he slowed down, water dripping from his curls and running into his eyes.

He knew it was because he hadn’t eaten enough – he was starving –, but he still made no move to get back to the hotel.

Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly saw something he hadn’t noticed before: A stone table with a chess board painted on it; the thirty-two pieces neatly on their respective places. It was placed underneath a tree, strong, gristly branches stretching out above it.

Regulus paused, then walked over and sat down on the wobbly chair, his chest still heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He stared down at the pieces. Clear raindrops clang to them. Small rivulets ran down the chessboard towards Regulus; the table wasn’t even. Regulus touched the white queen, taking it off the chessboard. It was heavy, as though made of stone and equally cold. He put it back down, sat back.

The memory of the chess game with Potter immediately pushed into his mind and his mood soured.

He wondered what the tabloids already wrote about their game.

They’d excuse his mistakes, saying he had been too old when he had stared, no matter his talent, saying he was still too inexperienced, saying he had tried but inevitably things had fallen into place as expected.

Would they write the same if they knew about Regulus self-destructive tendencies, how he hadn’t eaten, how he was sitting in a parc shivering after running too many miles?

Regulus angrily reached for the pieces and rearranged them. He still remembered everything so clearly. He recreated the point in the game where he had made his fatal mistake – or what he believed to be his fatal mistake –, brushed his wet hair out of his face, rested his chin on his hands, and studied the chessboard for a full minute, his gaze flicking over the pieces. He moved another pawn, made Potter used his bishop to threaten him, then paused as he realized Potter would never do that. He drew back. Stared at the empty chair on the other side of the table.

He could almost see the smug smile on Potter’s face.

Irritated, Regulus concentrated on the chessboard again, and moved the black knight.

That what you would do, Potter?

Regulus tipped the domino and watched the chain reaction until Potter was suddenly threatening his king and Regulus stopped again, grimacing. He was growing frantic. Was there no way out? Was every one of Potter’s moves so sound that Regulus still couldn’t win, even now with all he knew?

He tried a third, fourth, and fifth time, until he was shivering from the cold and his fingers had become numb.

Then, with a frustrated growl, he rearranged the pieces into a game so hopeless neither side had a chance of victory, and abruptly stood up, hoping he would at least piss of some chess players who would come to the parc, hesitate, and try to figure out to solve the constellation until realizing it was nearly impossible, and walked away.

“Dorcas?” Marlene asked, standing in the middle of the living room.

Dorcas, sitting on the kitchen counter cross-legged and engrossed in her newest sketch, a glass of wine next to her, just gave a low hum, not taking her eyes off her work.

“I need a new outfit.”

Finally, Dorcas looked up, her beautiful eyes resting on Marlene and making her throat run dry. She would never get used to the magic that was Dorcas Meadowes’ gaze. Marlene prided herself on being a tough girl, no-nonsense, outspoken, but when it came to Dorcas, she was more than okay with letting Dorcas do whatever she wanted to her.

It was getting increasingly harder to hide these kinds of thoughts from Dorcas, who shot her a curious look every time Marlene had to hold her breath to recover from the slightest, accidental brush of Dorcas’ hands. The amount of times she had hidden in the bathroom until she had cooled down was getting out of hand. It was getting ridiculous, it really was.

The truth was, Marlene McKinnon was absolutely and devastatingly in love with Dorcas, and it would be embarrassing, if she was the kind of person to be embarrassed.

Thankfully, she wasn’t.

Hence, she was standing here in the middle of Dorcas’ flat, knowing exactly what she initiating by asking Dorcas that sort of question. Offense is the best defence, that’s what they said, right?

Dorcas put her pencil down, sizing Marlene up. A smile danced over her perfect lips. “Another one?” God, her voice was angelic.

“Yes,” Marlene said, sternly ordering herself to pull herself together. “I want a dress.”

Dorcas’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. She shifted and let her legs dangle over the edge of the counter, her gold earrings flashing. Marlene had the urge to put her hands on Dorcas’ knees, gently nudge her legs apart and stand between them, but instead walked past her and made herself some tea just to busy her hands.

“Marlene McKinnon, asking me for a dress,” she said, disbelief edged in her velvety voice.

Marlene had put some water in the kettle and turned around again, waiting for it to heat. She rolled her eyes. “You know exactly that when I say I want a dress, I mean the sort of dress I can survive the apocalypse in. I need to be able to do a fucking roundhouse kick in it without flashing everyone.”

Dorcas took her scrapbook and turned the pages until she had found a blank one. “Marls, I assure you it’s pretty unlikely the apocalypse happens halfway during your concert.”

“Meadowes, I need you to stop making fun of-“ Marlene began.

Dorcas held her hands up in a placating manner, her pencil between her fingers, suppressing a chuckle. “Fine. Right. Just tell me what you have in mind.”

Marlene’s heart skipped a beat. She forced herself to take measured breaths, her nerves vibrating. “I want black,” she began. “The kind of black that is pitch black, like really, really dark. And I want it longer, but I want it to have slits. You know, for the potential roundhouse kick.”

Dorcas had already started sketching. She had no idea how much Marlene loved watching her delicate hand work on the page, watch her thumbs smudge lines. She had no idea how much Marlene loved having an excuse to get to watch her so unapologetically. It was mesmerizing, watching her work and translate Marlene’s thoughts directly onto a page.

Dorcas’ made a sound to tell her to go on.

“And I want my shoulder’s bare.”

There was the tiniest hesitation in Dorcas’ drawing, but she kept her gaze on the paper, nodding.

“And I want it backless.”

Marlene had moved on from watching the sketch to watch Dorcas’ face, which meant she didn’t miss the blush rising to Dorcas’ cheeks. Without taking her eyes off her, she went on. She woke up this morning ready to provoke.

“And I want it to give me the sexiest cleavage anyone has ever had the privilege of laying eyes on.”

Dorcas’ gaze snatched up and was met by Marlene’s, who arched her eyebrow at her, feeling a flutter of triumph. Dorcas was affected. For her standards – Dorcas was the epitome of calm and collected –, she was so flustered Marlene marvelled at the sight of it, in disbelief that it had been her to put Dorcas into that state. Marlene knew Dorcas was picturing her in that dress. It was exactly what Marlene had wanted.

And then, Dorcas smiled, and Marlene knew she was mentally taking that dress off her, and the power balance shifted as Marlene grew hot all over. Oh, she was doomed. She had started a war she was going to lose.

But she didn’t care.

“That all?” Dorcas said after a brief pause.

Marlene tried to radiate her usual confidence. She nodded. “Yeah.”

Dorcas turned her sketch around so that Marlene could see it, and Marlene’s breath hitched in her throat when she saw just what Dorcas had created with a few pencil lines. Her heart sank and she bit her lip hard. Dorcas had given her the most precarious neckline Marlene had ever seen on a dress. She looked up at Dorcas, her throat dry, and Dorcas met her gaze easily.

“Like that?”

“That neckline does not seem very practical in an apocalypse,” she said, scrambling for something to say that wasn’t Dorcas, you can’t do that to me.

“You don’t trust me to make sure everything’s gonna stay in place?” Dorcas asked, smiling lightly as though she was in on a joke Marlene wasn’t.

Marlene was going through the five stages of grief at this point but miraculously managed to hold it together. “I do trust you.”

“Good.” Dorcas put her sketchbook away. “I need your measurements.”

“You already have my measurements,” Marlene replied automatically, frowning.

Dorcas quirked her eyebrows at her, and Marlene was quick to change her mind.

“Sure. Let’s do it.”

Dorcas slid off the counter and walked into her room to get a tape measure. Marlene closed her eyes, burying her hot face in her hands for a second, taking a deep breath. “Get it together,” she muttered under her breath. “Get it the fuck together, McKinnon.” When she heard footsteps approaching, she leaned against the counter casually, her face carefully even.

“Take your jacket off,” Dorcas said, returning into the living room.

Marlene ignored the tingles that sparked through her entire body and shrugged her leather jacket off, folding it carefully and putting it on the kitchen counter. It was her most prized possession, and after Dorcas, it was the thing that meant the most to her in the entire world. Which meant, the only person she had ever lent it to was Dorcas. (Who, by the way, looked very hot wearing it.)

Dorcas sized her up, then stepped forward. “You’re going to put the jacket over the dress anyways, aren’t you?” she asked with a sigh.

“Did you really think I was just going to show up in a dress without my leather jacket?”

Dorcas huffed. “McKinnon, you sleep in that thing,” she said, somewhat exasperatedly. “Of course I didn’t.” She reached and gently brushed Marlene’s hair behind her ear so that she could measure shoulder to shoulder. Marlene tried not to shudder under the feathery touch and stood stock still, forgetting to breathe.

“You make it sound like I never take it off, which is not true.”

“Oh yeah? When do you take it off, Marls?” Dorcas leaned in unnecessarily close to take the measurements and Marlene tried very hard not to stare at Dorcas’ perfect face, instead pretending to have spotted something incredibly interesting somewhere above Dorcas’ shoulder.

“I take it off when I shower, for example.” At least her voice wasn’t too telling.

“I’ll believe it when I see that for myself,” Dorcas said with a smile that Marlene could only interpret as daring, and stepped back to scribble a number on a paper.

Marlene crossed her arms. “Oh yeah? Then why don’t you?”

Dorcas turned around to her, raising her eyebrow at her. “Oh, I will,” she said earnestly, every trace of humour gone. “I absolutely will.”

Marlene swallowed, while Dorcas just approached her again as though nothing had happened. She tapped Marlene’s upper arm lightly so that she held it out, and wrapped the tape around it. “Don’t underestimate me, Marls.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Dorcas,” Marlene shot back.

“I would never,” Dorcas replied. “It’s just that you keep flirting with me, McKinnon, but somehow we’re still both here, fully clothed, I haven’t had a taste of those lips yet.”

Marlene’s breath caught in her throat, her brain stuttering to an abrupt halt. She stared at Dorcas, who stared right back, unfazed and unbothered. “I-“ Marlene began, but had no idea how to finish her sentence. “You can’t say things like that, Dorcas,” she squeezed out, not looking at Dorcas because looking at the ethereal beauty that was Dorcas Meadowes would make her mind shut down completely.

“I just did,” Dorcas said, amused. She wrapped the tape around Marlene’s waist and measured at her belly, her fingers resting against Marlene’s skin. She could feel the warmth of her hands oozing through her t-shirt. Their faces were inches apart and Marlene stared in awe, her mind still not quite recovered. Dorcas met her gaze. “I can feel you staring, McKinnon.”

“I don’t think you mind,” Marlene said, thinking herself quite brave for that response, when in reality, she was keenly aware that Dorcas had full control over the situation.

“Touché,” Dorcas smiled. She stepped back to write the number down, then got down on one knee, practically kneeling in front of Marlene, who proceeded to lose her fucking mind. Then, Dorcas nudged her legs apart gently, and Marlene was biting her lip to swallow down the whimper climbing up her throat. Dorcas put the tape on the highest point of her leg, measuring down to her ankle, pretending that it was fully necessary to have her hand pressed against Marlene’s thigh.  

Extremely bothered, Marlene bit her lip hard as not to blurt out anything stupid.

“I’m always surprised by how long your legs actually are,” Dorcas commented.

“And you’re so in denial that you have to measure them again and again?” She was thankful that her mouth could still come up with quips even when her mind was out of order. It was one of her best traits.

A quiet smile danced on Dorcas’ lips. “You’re getting bold now, huh?” she said without looking at her, and measured her thigh.

“You’ve just proven you’re the bold one.”

“And you don’t even try strip me of that title?”

Marlene looked down on her. The fact that Dorcas kept flirting back made her cocky. “I will strip you of other things if you let me.”

“Who said I wouldn’t?”

Marlene’ breath hitched in her throat. “Dorcas,” she breathed.

Dorcas straightened again. “That’s it. I’m done.”

Marlene hesitated. “Don’t you need to…”

“I don’t need to measure your chest, McKinnon,” she said, shaking her head. “Trust me, I know those numbers.” She wrote down the last measurement and put the tape away, handing Marlene’s leather jacket to her.

It felt cool on her hot skin when she put it on.

“When do you need it?”

“Tomorrow.”

Dorcas slowly released her breath. “Marlene, you will be the death of me.”

When he got back into the hotel room, he could hear his mother talking to somebody over the phone on the other side of the door. He closed his door as silently as possible, peeling off his wet jacket and starting towards the bathroom when his mother raised her voice.

“Regulus,” she called him.

Regulus hesitated, squeezing his eyes shut. He wanted nothing more than to just take a shower and get the soaked bandage off his chest. He knew the run hadn’t done the burn wound any good, and he was definitely not making it better with the wet fabric stuck to the barely healed skin. But did he have a choice?

Already angry, he turned around, entering his mother’s room.

She held the telephone towards him. “It’s your father.”

Regulus contemplated taking the telephone, hanging it up and getting into the shower, but the thought of having to put up with his mother’s rage for the rest of the day made him hold it to his ear. It wasn’t worth it.

“Regulus?” Orion’s voice was slightly distorted. He didn’t wait for Regulus to confirm. “Your game was already released in the Chess Review. I had it analysed.”

Regulus closed his eyes, trying to keep his flaring anger in check. He’d just spent an hour in the parc taking the game apart and his father had paid a stranger with Regulus’ money only to get the official confirmation of his son’s failure without having to understand even the slightest bit about chess himself. It was infuriating.

Orion started to say something, then seemed to stop himself. “Well, you already know, don’t you?” he asked, his voice heavy. “I don’t have to quote him, do I?”

Regulus didn’t respond, staring out of the window into the rain. Walburga lit up a cigarette, even though they weren’t allowed to smoke in the rooms. She didn’t care, never cared.

“You played like shit,” Orion said, and the fact that said shit told Regulus just how upset he was. His father had always punished Sirius for every curse word that had come over his lips.

His father didn’t understand. He didn’t understand that with Potter, things were different. That Regulus had never played against someone like him. That they both intimidated each other, that everything they did was more than a simple game. That Regulus had been fucking manipulated by him, and he’d allowed it to happen, which was even more unnerving, because what had happened to Regulus’ self-preservation? To his pride? Potter had thrown him off like no one had ever before. And he fucking hated him for it.

“We’re taking Andromeda's share of this. The money you’ve been sending her? It stops now.”

His words felt like a blow to the stomach and his head snapped up to stare at his mother, who only smiled thinly, then took another drag from her cigarette, hiding how much she enjoyed seeing him upset like that.

Regulus needed a mere second to recover. He scowled. “How did you know? How did you know I sent her some of the money?”

Walburga scoffed, grimacing at his naiveté. “Oh come on, we’re managing the money, don’t you think we would notice a monthly transfer to an unknown account?”

Regulus could only stare at her, cold, black rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

“If you think of it, it’s pathetic of her, isn’t it? That she took the money? How desperate do you have to be to live off of the money of your seventeen-year-old cousin?”

Regulus hung up on his father, putting the telephone back with a little too much force. He glared at his mother. “She’s trying to keep Nymphadora alive,” he said through gritted teeth. “She’s trying to give her a better life than anyone ever had in this family. And there is nothing pathetic about a single mother accepting help, especially not since she was outcast by her entire family.”

“Nymphadora? That’s the name she gave her daughter?” Walburga seemed outright appalled.

Regulus ignored her and took a step forward. “It’s my share. I can do with it whatever I want to. It’s not even that much. And I want Andromeda to have it, because she’s doing everything she can, and it’s still not fucking enough, because you’re using all your connections to make sure she won’t get anywhere.”

“We’re doing nothing of that sort, Regulus,” she said, a flash of anger in her dark eyes. “She brought that upon herself.”

“She married the man she loved and you’re making her pay for it,” Regulus said through gritted teeth.

Walburga huffed. “She knew about the consequences of marrying Ted Tonks, didn’t she? And she did it anyways, because she’s too stubborn for her own good.” She put her cigarette out in the glass on the windowsill before turning around to Regulus again. “And you, you brought this upon yourself. You’re breaking your promises. You said you were going to win against James Potter and you didn’t. We need the money ourselves, we can’t give it away to undeserving relatives. This charity ends here. We’ve allowed it for way too long, watching you give away money that belonged to us. To the family.”

Regulus realized that his parents had only allowed it for that long in order to have leverage. They had needed something they could threaten in moments like this and he had handed it to them on a silver platter. And Regulus had clung so hard to the hope that it would go unnoticed that he hadn’t wanted to admit to himself that it was foolish to believe his parents wouldn’t monitor his own account.

“You have no right,” he said, his voice sharp with barely contained anger.

“Oh no, you have no right to go behind the back of the family. What do you think would happen if they found out we’re affiliated with her? We want nothing to do with that scum.”

Regulus opened his mouth to snap at her, fury coursing through him, but shut it without having said anything. He knew it was pointless. He was seventeen. There was nothing he could do, he needed a legal guardian to do anything. He wasn’t stupid enough to lash out now and risk even further consequences. They had demonstrated they had the upper hand, and there was nothing Regulus could do against it, no matter how much the hatred towards his parents culminated into a black, churning mass inside his chest. It was so bad he was almost choking on it.

He scowled at her. “The moment I turn eighteen, I will leave this family.”

“You will do no such thing!” his mother hissed, but Regulus had already walked through the door and shut it forcefully behind him, turning the key in the lock.

His mother raged for a little bit at the other side of the door, threatening to disown him like Sirius, threatening to make his life as hard as Andromedas’ – Regulus had known she had hand in Andromeda’s life – but Regulus peeled off the rest of his clothing, and the bandage, and took a shower, locking the bathroom door as well, just in case.

Regulus found her sitting in front one of Vincent Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms. She wore trousers and a blouse, her brown hair was piled up in a bun and revealed dangling earrings, a few curly strands framing her face. Even though she was a Tonks now – the silver ring glinted on her delicate ring finger – she couldn’t quite shake off her upbringing, sitting with her shoulder’s back, one leg crossed over the other, one hand behind her on the bench, the other in her lap.

She stared at the painting so intently, eyes narrowed, studying it, Regulus felt reluctant about intruding.

He couldn’t say that he had ever understood her passion for art, could never quite see what Andromeda saw in a painting until she pointed it out, but he knew that it gave her comfort, and drive, and that it smoothed out the hard lines of her face, and that was enough for him to never question it.

She looked up when he entered the room, momentarily dazed as she was pulled back into the present, but the sharpness in her eyes returned after just a second. She got up, staring at Regulus for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to say, then walked towards him.

“No hugging,” Regulus hurried to say, but Andromeda only huffed.

“Regulus, I swear to god,” she said, rolling her eyes. Regulus let her embrace him, tensing up but enduring it for her sake, a whiff of her perfume in his nose. She let go of him again.

“How’s Sirius?” she asked, concern carefully tucked away behind her sternness. Andromeda was not easily shaken. Regulus wondered if he had ever witnessed one of her weak moments, but doubted she had any.

Regulus shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said, not elaborating any further. Sirius had come in his room three nights ago, hushing him, saying he’d be gone until things quieted down a bit. He hadn’t returned yet. Regulus felt vulnerable without him but would never admit it. Every time Sirius left him behind, Regulus felt the knot of anger in his stomach grow. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of being abandoned. He feared the moment Sirius would not return. It was going to happen one of these days, he could sense it.

He'd never let Sirius know how much he was already hurting, though.

Andromeda sighed, then sat down on the bench again. The museum was so empty Regulus had only encountered a young couple and an elderly man in the other exposition rooms he had crossed. Since Regulus was underage, he didn’t even have to pay anything. Andromeda was careful that the Black family never found out that Regulus met up with her. She had even refused to see him for months after her wedding, saying she was absolutely not going to be responsible for putting Regulus at risk.

It had taken Regulus months to wear her down. They were both too stubborn for their own good, and they’d negotiated for weeks on end.

“He’ll be fine,” Andromeda said, more to herself than to Regulus. “You know he visited me a few weeks ago?”

Regulus didn’t, and he was kind of angry at Sirius for not telling him. Sneaking in phone calls with his cousin without his parents noticing had become increasingly hard. They had talked twice over the course of the last four months.

Andromeda smiled quietly. “Had a guy with him. Shaggy, sort of, with bad posture, chain-smoking, but laid back and pleasant to talk to.”

Regulus mustered her side profile, not quite sure what Andromeda’s secretive smile was all about, but she dropped the matter before he could ask.

She nodded at the picture. “You know Van Gogh painted that for his nephew?”

Of course Regulus didn’t, but he still turned to the painting, studying it like she had done. The blue was beautiful. It was a soft painting. It looked strangely hopeful. Regulus wasn’t sure he liked it. It was too serene, too calm, too peaceful.

He suddenly sensed Andromeda’s nervousness and stiffened, receptive to the emotions of the people around him. Growing up in an abusive household does that to a person. He needed to read the room the moment he entered, for his own sake. Before he could ask, Andromeda broke the silence.

“I’m pregnant.”

The air whooshed from Regulus’ lungs, and he stared at his cousin, his mind blank.

So that had drawn Andromeda to the painting. Regulus should have known she’d never pick one randomly.

“We want the baby,” Andromeda continued, not looking at him. The fierceness had returned to her voice. “I don’t know yet how we’re going to manage it, just the two of us, but I sure as hell know I will not let myself get dragged back into this fucked-up family. She’s going to have a better life than all of us. They will not get their hands on her.” She put a hand on her belly. Now that Regulus knew, he could see the tiny bump. “I’ll finish my degree. I’ll apply as a museum curator. I’ll build a future for myself.”

“I didn’t know you were studying.”

She finally looked at him. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry for shutting you out like that,” she said, softer.

It hurt Regulus more than he would like to admit. He felt like both Andromeda and Sirius had left him behind, had been meeting up outside of this fucked-up family, and Regulus felt left out, felt frustratingly powerless because there was no way he could escape. He didn’t let it show on his face. “What’s her name?” he asked.

She allowed herself a little smile. “Nymphadora.”

“Breaking with the star tradition.”

“Breaking with all the traditions, Regulus,” she said, meeting his gaze. “She’ll have a good life.”

Regulus briefly closed his eyes. “Good,” he said quietly, and he meant it. Somehow, it was a relief to know that down the line, someone would be brave enough to put an end to the suffering. It didn’t matter that it was already too late for Regulus, or Sirius, or even Andromeda herself. That only meant they could give everything they had, because they had nothing to lose.

“I’ll take her to art museums and show her my favourite paintings. I’ll buy her every book she likes, and I’ll let her watch French films and eat whatever she wants. I will never once mention the Black family. They don’t deserve to know about her, and she’s not gonna be cursed with the Black family name.”

Regulus was so much younger than her, barely fourteen, but even at his young age, he realized Nymphadora was now the most important person in his family, and he would protect her at all costs. He would make sure she didn’t go through the same thing he’d gone through. Whatever needed to be done, he would do. And Sirius would do the same thing. He hoped it was enough. God, he hoped it was enough.

Regulus couldn’t even call Andromeda. He didn’t get a chance under the watchful eyes of his mother. Walburga seemed to sense that Regulus wanted to get in contact with her, so she kept a close watch on him, and Regulus let it go after a few days, knowing he had no choice but to wait. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it. And Andromeda knew Regulus wouldn’t just stop sending money if it wasn’t for a good reason, not after she’d received money every month for so many years. She had probably already guessed his parents had something to do with it, and already reluctant about taking money from him in the first place, she would just keep quiet, forbidding him to endanger himself for her and shutting down every attempt of contact. She had insisted on paying ever single penny back anyway. She’d only accepted in the first place because Regulus had told her she needed it for Nymphadora.  

Regulus’ birthday was a few months away and he was counting down every single day.

He played two games, one in the early morning, one in the afternoon, and won both, even though he was distracted. They took place in an ornate room clad in dark wood and heavy curtains, dimly lit, surrounded by bookshelves, but Regulus couldn’t even marvel at the place. Once all the chess players were gone, he wandered distractedly around the room, climbing up winding stairs that lead to the second floor, sitting down in front of a large round window, both knees drawn towards his chest, looking broodingly outside. It was still raining.

He didn’t know for how long he sat there, wasting time because he didn’t want to get back to studying, when suddenly, the wooden floor creaked not far from him, causing him to turn around.

A man appeared between two bookshelves.

Regulus heart froze, skipping several beats.

Riddle.

It was unmistakably him: dark hair, a straight nose, piercing blue eyes. He had a book under his arm, the title printed in gold but unreadable from the distance. His gaze only distractedly brushed over the boy sitting at the window, without recognizing him. He was frowning, as though deep in thought.

Regulus did not move as he walked past him, heading down the stairs, apparently not in a hurry, and waited until he heard the door downstairs fall shut behind him.

Then, he buried his face in his hands, cursing under his breath.

Potter had told him he would play against Riddle in Paris. He hadn’t told him he was here.

Regulus was angry at his own desperation, but he couldn’t help it. He was already in a precarious situation. He needed to win a tournament. His parents expected him to. And he would’ve, if it wasn’t for the freaking Russian mastermind to show up and checkmate him mercilessly in a few simple chess moves. Regulus wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he stood a chance. Potter had played against Riddle, and he’d lost. There was no way he was going to win.

And how had he not read Riddle’s name on the list?

He knew exactly why he hadn’t. He’d been too distracted mulling over the game with Potter. He couldn’t get him out of his head.

Regulus got up and walked over to the poster on the wall, ripping it down, hastily reading the names. There he was. Tom Riddle. His international rating was 2715. Regulus’ mood darkened and he crumbled the paper, letting it fall to the ground, already heading towards the stairs.

He needed the pills.

He spent the next two days drugged up, determined to keep the anxious thoughts at bay with the tranquilizers. Even though he wanted to, he was cautious not to take too many in case Walburga would somehow notice that there was something off about him. The time passed in a blur; the chess games he couldn’t even remember. One opponent once regarded him a little too closely, quirking an eyebrow at Regulus, asking him in French if he was feeling alright, but Regulus pulled himself together and smiled politely, answering in French that he just hadn’t slept very well, and the man let it go.

In the evening, he allowed himself to take four pills at once, watching his bottle grow emptier and emptier alarmingly quickly, but he told himself that this was an emergency. He’d stop the moment the game with Riddle was over. He just needed to keep himself calm now, to keep himself functioning and clear-headed. He barely ate and slept even less, avoided eating breakfast with his mother, escaped into the parc to play if the hotel room felt too stuffed and constricting.

The third night, he lay in his bed at three a.m., staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep, and wishing nothing more than being able to call Potter.

God, sometimes he just wished Potter would have just…asked him to leave with him and maybe, just maybe Regulus would have said yes because he just wanted to get away from this fucked up place. It was an absurd thought (Potter, of all people?) and Regulus rarely allowed himself to indulge in it, hating how pathetic it was, but who was there to judge him? He was alone in some strange hotel room in New York, isolated from his friends, estranged from his brother, and cut off from his cousin.

He was so lonely it physically hurt, like a toothache that reverberated in all his bones.

He reached in his pockets, pulling out some more pills, rolling on his side, and staring at the little green capsules on the mattress beside him. They glinted in the wan light streaming in from outside. He took one and turned it between his fingers, remembering Potter’s words and the plea in his voice.

I told you that I knew you had more drinks than are good for you and you needed to stop if you don’t want to end your chess career before your 21^st birthday.

Potter had talked about alcohol.

If he knew about the pills…

I’m not some fucking addict, Regulus thought in a sudden rush of anger, throwing the pill across the room. It hit the wall and rolled under the bed. He fell back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands.

His cursed under his breath.

…He couldn’t just keep numbing himself like this, and he knew it.

Sirius had once fallen into a bad habit of drinking too much. He might not remember much of it, the black-out drunk that he was, but Regulus had lain awake all night until he heard his brother get home, had rushed down the stairs, had dragged him up the stairs and into the bathroom, had waited patiently until Sirius had thrown up enough times to sober up a little bit, had made him change into fresh clothes and manhandled him into bed. It became a routine, went on for almost every night for months on end.

Regulus had scolded him, warned him of what would happen if their parents found it, had poured every bottle in their house down the sink, but it was no use. Of course, their parents had occasionally found out – Regulus hadn’t always managed to get rid of every evidence – and Sirius took numerous beatings, which only aggravated his addiction. It was a vicious cycle. Sirius was always either bruised or drunk, mostly both at the same time.

He had never once thanked him.

Regulus didn’t know if the Sirius’ friends had intervened or Sirius himself got it under control, but eventually, the drinking had tapered off. And then, not long after that, Sirius had left.

They’d never had a chance to talk about it.

And now Regulus was high as a kite and Sirius wasn’t there to put an end to his self-destruction, to be there for him when he needed him, even though that was how it worked. Even though that was what brothers were supposed to be. They were supposed to save each other, that’s how siblings worked.

But Regulus didn’t need his fucking brother. Not after he had decided it was okay to leave him behind with their abusive parents.

Regulus got up on autopilot, grabbed the pills, grabbed the bottle, and walked into the bathroom, barefoot, switching on the light.

He walked over to the toilet and opened his hand, letting the lose pills fall into the water. He watched them sink to the bottom. He opened the bottle with his thumb and held it over the water.

He hesitated.

The game with Riddle was in two days.

He needed these pills.

He was freaking out.

He took a deep breath.

Fuck it. I can do without them.

But he didn’t dump them.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t turn the bottle over. His hands trembled.

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling.

Come on, you fucking-

He couldn’t.

What if he lost? Jesus, what if he lost? What if his mind refused to comply?

With a stony face, he gave up and put the lid back on.

He returned to his room, hid the bottle, and stared at the ceiling until he somehow fell asleep for what felt an eternity later, his mother coughing in the other room, self-hatred churning in his stomach.

Chapter Text

When he sat down opposite to Riddle, Regulus realized that he had never been more scared in his life. He felt sick to the stomach, even though he hadn’t eaten much this morning. The Russian’s face was unreadable, blank, unemotional. Regulus knew he was almost fifty years old, but he looked forty at best. His handshake was firm. Regulus knew exactly what Riddle saw when he looked at him: A scrawny boy with dishevelled hair, circles under his eyes, his shirt pooling around his waist, looking out of place in the elegant room. Looking like he didn’t belong, didn’t deserve. And maybe he didn’t. Riddle didn’t see a challenge in him. He would wipe him out and there would be nothing Regulus could do, no matter the endless hours he had spent studying Riddle’s games, no matter the sleepless nights.

The director’s voice cut through the low murmur. “Play will begin in four minutes.”

Regulus avoided eye contact, trying to ground himself by looking at the chessboard.

Sixty-four squares.

This was a world he knew, didn’t he? So why did he feel so estranged, so awkward and unsure all of a sudden?

Unlike most people, Regulus’ nervousness didn’t translate into jitteriness. He didn’t bounce his leg or bite his nails, he just sat on his chair, unmoving, so that most people didn’t take notice of the whirling emotions inside of him. Outwardly, he appeared unbothered. The only one he couldn’t fool was Sirius, who would see right through it, notice Regulus’ paleness, his unusual stiffness, the panic in his eyes.

Somehow, Regulus feared Riddle saw straight through it, too.

Several photographers swarmed around them used the last few minutes before the game to take photos of them, and this time, Regulus couldn’t be bothered to do anything. He knew he would look brooding and unapproachable in every single one of them, and his mother would scold him, but nobody ever looked at the pictures anyways. Not when the chess game was printed next to it. And he was sure he was going to throw up if he as much as acknowledged the amount of attention their game would receive.

A man in a suit stepped up behind Riddle and bent down to say something so quietly even Regulus couldn’t hear it. Riddle hesitated, then nodded, before fixing his gaze on Regulus. “No. Don’t underestimate him,” he said in accented English, obviously wanting Regulus to hear it.

Regulus looked up, surprised, caught off-guard. What was that supposed to mean?

Upon seeing Regulus’ reaction, the Russian just huffed, saying something to the man, in Russian again, who nodded and retreated to the crowd of people around them, who respectfully kept their distance.

“You may start your opponent’s clock now,” the director said to Regulus with a nod, and Regulus’ breath got stuck in his throat for a second.

He reached out and punched the clock.

Riddle face was serious now, stoic, devoid of the faintest trace of amusement that had flickered over it earlier. He briefly glanced at Regulus, then took moved the pawn to king four, and punched the clock.

Regulus immediately decided for Sicilian, but when he reached for the piece, he found himself hesitating. He remembered reading about how Riddle’s affinity of the Sicilian, of how he almost always won the games opened with the Sicilian, and withdrew his hand. Regulus couldn’t afford allowing Riddle into a territory that he had mastered. Instead, he mirrored his move, playing pawn to king four himself. He looked up quickly to catch any reaction from Riddle, but he didn’t give him any.

Infuriatingly calmly, Riddle brought out his knight f3, and Regulus responded with his queen, moving it to protect his pawn, but Riddle moved his bishop and Regulus froze.

The Ruy Lopez.

He had played it before, but he wasn’t comfortable with it, certainly did not like seeing it in this game. Riddle had chosen it for its complexity, knowing fully well that Regulus hadn’t analysed it thoroughly and was at a loss. Regulus already felt vulnerable, unprotected and already wounded. He wasn’t up for this. Potter hadn’t been up for this. He had been foolish for thinking he stood a chance.

Regulus gritted his teeth, and used his pawn to attack the bishop.

As expected, Riddle moved it back, and when Regulus brought forward his other knight, Riddle castled, and Regulus decided to play the open variation, and took his pawn.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Regulus watched them go through the motions, as though he was in a dream, watching his own destruction. With his first move, Riddle had set of a domino reaction and it soon occurred to Regulus that he could do nothing to stop the inevitable. As of yet, he hadn’t made a mistake; rationally, there was not the faintest foreshadowing of Riddle’s victory (the only advantage that Riddle had was that he played White), but Regulus’ intuition was screaming at him that he had already gotten it wrong, some distant part of him already upset about a defeat that hadn’t happened yet.

Regulus watched Riddle take his queen and put it in front of Regulus’ king. He blinked at it, confused. Was he mocking him? This wasn’t about him going after his knight, was it? Something about the move was off, but Regulus couldn’t put his finger on it, felt himself losing his footing. Looking up at Riddle, he was met with an unreadable, stony face. He almost looked bored. Regulus glanced around the room, briefly disorientated as he was met with the unfamiliar faces of the crowd, whose eyes were fixed on the chessboard, anticipating Regulus’ next move. It would have been a comfort to see Potter’s face amongst all those stranger. It would have made a difference.

But he was on his own again.

Chasing away the hollowness in his chest, Regulus quickly turned his attention to the chess board, feeling anger coiling in his stomach at the prospect of so many people witnessing his defeat.

(Would Potter read about the game in Chess Review, wherever he was? Would he feel sorry for Regulus?)

Forcing himself to concentrate on the game again, he narrowed his eyes. He desperately needed to get rid of this fucking bishop. He sorted through the possibilities in his head and, not wanting to unnecessarily overcomplicate a game against a grandmaster like Riddle, he used the knight, and Riddle responded with his knight, and Regulus was again staring at the chessboard.

Why had Riddle done that? Regulus had been sure he’d use his rook.

A few frantic moves on Regulus side later, and Riddle brought his bishop to king three to protect his king, and Regulus wanted to smack himself for not having seen that. How could he have missed that? It was so unnervingly obvious now. Regulus’ feeble attack was falling apart now; his queen would fall in the carnage if he didn’t immediately react. He lashed out frantically, noting with a cold feeling in his gut that Riddle had taken Regulus’ line of attack apart, was even threatening him now, in full control.

Regulus wanted to scream.

He stared at the board for twenty minutes, keenly aware of the time ticking by, then watched his arm reach forward of its own accord and topple his black king on the board. It rolled, and after a second of silence, applause erupted. Two Russian men were by Riddle’s side immediately, saying something to him that Regulus didn’t understand, and Regulus mechanically looked up to meet his mother’s eyes.

She didn’t seem too disappointed, which alarmed Regulus, until he realized he would still place third. They’d get money, even if not that much. Walburga didn’t care about chess, cared about it even less than she cared about Regulus. It was a means to an end, nothing more.

Potter, though, he would understand. He’d been in this exact place before, knew what it was like to lose, to fail. He would find the right thing to say. Somehow, he would make Regulus feel better about this. And Regulus, for a brief second, allowed himself to admit that he wanted James Potter by his side. Then, he shook that thought off, stood, and walked over to his mother.

Coming down from the high dosage was hard. Regulus didn’t sleep at all that night, he was high-strung, on the edge and restless. He went on a run, but it didn’t help, stood under the hot water of the shower for almost half an hour, but that didn’t help, either. He paced his room, trying to convince his stubborn mind that he was not in danger, he was in a hotel room, he was safe. It was no good. His thoughts kept churning uncontrollably, only fuelled by his most recent defeat. A headache was pounding on his temples, he felt physically ill, as though his joints were aching; his skin clammy, his throat dry.

He couldn’t even count how often he had held one of the pills between his fingers, contemplating. What if he just took one? Just one more? Just to soothe him so that he could get some fucking sleep? Maybe if he slept, he’d be okay again. Maybe things would hurt less in the morning. Every time, he had put them back again, and cursed himself for even considering it in the first place.

At two in the morning, he was so desperate that he took one of the cigarettes from the crumpled pack of Chesterfields he had nicked from his mother’s coat when she had been asleep on the plane. (He was better at stealing than Sirius, who always got caught). He lit it with the lighter she had always stuffed in her most current pack and walked over to the window, opening it to feel the fresh breeze of air brush over his face and tug at his curls. He rested his elbows on the windowsill, staring down onto the city with its flickering lights, then up to the stars, taking a drag. It tasted awful. He hated it. Barty had tasted good when they had kissed, but that had been different. He had been lonely. Maybe it hadn’t been about Barty at all. Maybe it hadn’t mattered.

Back on that rooftop, Potter had smoked too, in the same way that Regulus was now smoking. To busy his hands. To soothe his whirling thoughts. Not because he liked it. Because maybe other coping mechanisms were unhealthier.

Regulus briefly wondered how Potter would’ve tasted like on that rooftop, then immediately discarded the thought, angrily taking another drag as though he could somehow daze his mind enough not to go into that direction, watching the orange glint in the darkness. Potter was somewhere far away, unreachable. It was better if it stayed that way. For the both of them. Regulus had been so hung up on their game, he hadn’t been prepared for Riddle. He couldn’t let that happen again. He couldn’t allow Potter to linger at the back of his mind like that.

He grimaced at the stale aftertaste the smoke left in his mouth and put the cigarette out, discarding it, grabbing the pack of Chesterfields, and flushing the cigarettes down the toilet. Maybe if his mother realized she had run out of cigarettes she would sent him to get another pack, and maybe also to get some tranquilizers as well. He was running alarmingly low. He was down to four.

Then, he ripped the last blank page from his Russian grammar book – his mother still made him study it – and grabbed a pen. Talking to Andromeda on the phone was impossible, but if Regulus was careful, a letter would go unnoticed. He could sneak out later and throw it into the mailbox.

Potter.

Oh. Fuck.

Regulus stopped dead in his tracks, his grip on the handrail tightening as he recognized the dark-haired man in front of the empty reception. It was undeniably Potter, with his broad shoulders, clad in a jumper with a horribly ugly pattern, his elbows resting on the reception desk as he was leaning forward, saying something to the receptionist that made her laugh. He grinned at her when she replied something, tilting his head and nodding.

What was he doing?

Regulus narrowed his eyes, studying Potter’s body language until the realization struck him out of nowhere.

Was he flirting with her?

All the conflicting emotions in Regulus suddenly boiled down to annoyance and he huffed, glaring down at Potter, then turned to walk up the stairs again before Potter could catch a glance at him. It had been two tournaments since he had seen Potter, but the defeat against Riddle still hurt like one uninterrupted wound, and Potter would bring up again.

Would bring everything up again and Regulus just couldn’t deal with that.

Besides, what was he even doing in New Mexico? What was he doing here at one in the morning?

He didn’t even want to see him again. Since Riddle, he hadn’t tried to analyse the game once more to pinpoint the moment everything had gone wrong. He wanted to, but Riddle had proven to him that he couldn’t afford the distraction, so he had ignored the itch in his mind and stoically concentrated on the new games, the new opponents. He had won all of them since then; his mother satisfied with the money from the last tournament.

And the fact that he’d wanted Potter to be there after his defeat meant nothing. He’d been devasted because of his defeat, he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He was better now.

“Black!”

Regulus froze up, closing his eyes and exhaling. No.

He turned around, though, before he could stop himself.

Potter stood at the bottom of the stairs, a smile on his lips, the strap of his bag running over his chest. He didn’t seem to have many belongings. “Don’t worry, I’m not taking part,” he said cheerfully when he saw the expression on Regulus’ face.

Regulus eyes flicked to the receptionist, who disappeared into the room behind the reception, then looked back down at Potter. He sighed. “The fuck you doing here, then?” he asked.

Potter shrugged with one shoulder. “No bigger tournament in two weeks. Figured if I wanted to be surrounded by chess players, I had to come here.”

Regulus sank down on the cushioned stair, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched Potter walk up the stairs. Potter hesitated, then sat down next to him, freeing himself of his bag and putting it on the stairs next to him. They were looking down the empty lobby now, hidden in the shadow of the winding staircase.

“I lost against Riddle.” Regulus broke the brief silence, the words hurting like a toothache. He had imagined the moment he’d see Potter again, had imagined all the things he would say to him, but in the end it all boiled down to this.

Potter studied his side profile, then looked away again. “Yeah. I know. Read about it in the Chess Review.” He shifted. “You can win against him, you know? Just…give it a few years.”

“Even you couldn’t win against him,” Regulus huffed, failing to hide his frustration.

“Black, I told you before, you’re good. You may be better than all of us one day.”

Regulus didn’t respond, watched the lights flicker in the lobby down below. Potter’s words made him uncomfortable. Why was he lying to him? To comfort him? And why was he even here in the first place? The anger flared up again. “Why can’t you just stay the fuck away?” His voice sounded raw.

“Regulus, I wasn’t manipulating you!” Potter immediately said, picking up right where they had left it. “And I meant what I said, you know,” he added, more calmly. “That I wasn’t doing any of this to sabotage you. I didn’t know you’d be here. I have an interview with a chess magazine here. They want my commentary on some of the games. I suspected you might be here, but I didn’t know.” He paused. “Not that I mind now, though. I kinda hoped it, to be honest,” he said, quietly.

Regulus studied his face, realizing that Potter was telling the truth. And then the terrifying truth hit him. Maybe he had been so caught up in all the chess games that he’d seen feints and counterattacks everywhere, when all that Potter had ever done was letting Regulus get to know him, had trusted him enough to let him get close. Regulus wasn’t used to vulnerability, not with the kind of family he had grown up on, so he maybe he hadn’t been able to read Potter because he simply didn’t know how. No one had ever been nice to him, let alone shown interest, without ulterior motives.

“I kept analysing our game,” Regulus said, just to get a taste of what vulnerability would feel like. As expected, it felt awful. His stomach turned in response.

At that, Potter smiled. “Me too. You had me in the first half.”

“I didn’t,” Regulus said flatly.

“Maybe you should re-analyse it then, because you were in complete fucking control and I was freaking out.”

Regulus huffed in disbelief, shaking his head. “You absolutely weren’t.”

“I absolutely was!” he said, feigning offense. “Don’t gaslight me, Black!”

That brought a rare spark of amusement to Regulus and he just shook his head. “I went through it. I kept getting stuck. I’d make a move and suddenly you were threatening my king and my knight and my bishop.”

“But I didn’t do that, Regulus,” Potter said, suddenly sobering up and straightening. He turned around to face Regulus. “I didn’t do any of that.” His brown eyes looked into Regulus as though he was searching for something. He was quiet for a second as though he was thinking about it. “You’ve been self-sabotaging, Black,” he eventually said. “When you were playing against yourself, you couldn’t win, because you didn’t want yourself to win. You told yourself that you never stood a chance in the first place and that my chess moves were too sound. But that’s not what happened. It’s not true. It’s just what you kept telling yourself.”

Regulus stared at him, then buried his face in his hands, exhaling. “Merde. Jesus, I hate you, Potter.”

James gave a sympathetic smile, then watched the receptionist return to her desk with an armful of documents. She started going through them, engrossed in her task. “You just hate me because I’m right.” He kept his voice low now so that she couldn’t hear them.

“As if that isn’t enough of a reason,” Regulus murmured.

Potter snorted. Silence ensued. Then Potter bumped Regulus’ leg with his. Regulus stiffened at the touch, his brain short-circuiting, his breath getting stuck in his throat. “You wanna grab something to eat? I’m starving,” Potter asked, oblivious to Regulus’ reaction.

Regulus was hungry, but he couldn’t eat right now. He just couldn’t. It was too late in the evening already. “Not hungry. And my mother would freak out if she realized I left the hotel.”

“Oh,” Potter said, grimacing as he seemed to remember Regulus’ mother, “yeah, okay. We’d better not.” He slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder again, then fished in his pocket for the keys of his room. “I’m in twenty-four, if you ever…” he trailed off, vaguely gesturing.

Regulus arched his eyebrows at him. “If I ever want another psychoanalysis?”

Potter huffed, amused. “Black, was that a joke?”

“I don’t think I’m capable of that,” Regulus said, getting to his feet. It felt like a ceasefire between them, a temporary one, that would last until the moment their names showed up next to each other on a board. But maybe until then, they would know each other in and out, and neither of them would be able to trick the other anymore.

Regulus looked up just when Potter entered the breakfast room, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of his dishevelled hair that screamed bed hair. Potter was absent-mindedly running his hands through it in an attempt to comb it; in vain. Regulus, who sat opposite his mother, stared at him, momentarily stunned. As though sensing Regulus’ gaze, Potter looked up at him, and smiled. Regulus averted his eyes to his plate.

Absolutely not.

Potter knew very well what effect he was having on Regulus strutting into the room looking like that.

His mother folded her newspaper and put it next to her on the table. She opened her mouth when her gaze fell on the plate in front of Regulus. He’d eaten half his toast. Regulus cursed internally as he followed her gaze. She was silent for a second. “No more running, Regulus,” she said.

She didn’t make him eat, she just wanted him to stop the running because he was getting a little bit too skinny for her liking; he was starting to look bad in the photos. Regulus had seen them in the Chess Review the other day. He was on the skinnier side of slim. He didn’t care how he looked. He just wanted control. And she thought it was just some new form of rebellion, not an eating disorder he had been battling for over a year now.

He glared at her. “I need the running. It helps me with studying.”

She shook her head. “Andromeda made you believe that.” Her lips were a tight line. “She was obsessed with running when she was younger. We tried to talk her out of it, that stupid girl, but she was so stubborn. She competed in marathons, for god’s sake. As a women.” She paused. “The only good thing that came out of her wedding with Ted Tonks was that she isn’t running under the name of Black anymore. She’s brought enough shame on this family.” She fixed her gaze on Regulus again. “Your running stops right here. You should know better than to listen to your cousin.”

“You are not taking the running from me,” Regulus said with a firm voice.

“I will do whatever I want,” she hissed. She leaned forward. “If I catch you disobeying me, there will be consequences,” she said. “And you are not the only one who might have to suffer from them.”

She was talking about Andromeda, Regulus realized with a jolt. He levelled an ice-cold glare at his mother. “Leave her out of this.”

“Listen to me and I will,” she said nonchalantly.

That night, after two successful games (one of them was a close case), Regulus waited until he heard his mother take a shower and head to bed, then changed into running shorts, a long-sleeved black shirt and a thin rain-jacket, taking the letter from where he had hidden it. She had drank wine that evening, which meant she would sleep soundly. It was ridiculous that she still thought her threats were effective. Regulus had sneaked out almost as much as his brother at this point, and he knew exactly when he could risk it. Wine meant it was okay.

He grabbed the key to his room, safely storing it in his pocket, shutting the door close behind him as quietly as possible, walking down the corridor, the stairs, through the lobby, nodding at the receptionist – the same Potter had flirted with yesterday, Regulus realized with a pang of annoyance – and went outside.

It was raining ever so slightly, nothing more than a drizzle, and Regulus walked until he reached the mailbox two roads down and threw the letter in. He wasn’t going to get a response. Andromeda knew better than to try and contact him, so he would just have to hope the letter reached her. He turned and picked up pace until he was running through the streets, savouring how it cleared his head, how he could for once silence the constant churning of his mind. It was as though he could simply switch his thoughts off. It was the only thing, apart form the tranquilizers, that allowed him a few minutes of silence.

He ran for almost ninety minutes, then slowed down and walked the last quarter mile to the hotel, feeling hopeful for once, entering the lobby slightly shivering – it had gotten quite cold – and walking up the stairs with burning legs, reaching in his pocket for his key.

He stopped.

It wasn’t there.

Cursing under his breath, he searched his other pocket, the ones of his shorts, then briefly closed his eyes. If he wasn’t in his room by the time his mother woke up, she’d get suspicious. Especially since he couldn’t even change out of his running clothes.

Regulus turned and stared down to the reception desk, contemplating if he should just ask for another key. She’d seen him before, probably remembered him and would give him a spare without batting an eye, but what if she mentioned it to his mother during check-out? What if she made a harmless comment that would give him away? It was too risky.

He searched his pockets again, more thoroughly this time, even though he already knew it was no good.

Merde.

A thought popped into his head.

What if-? He knew Potter’s-

No, absolutely not. No.

Regulus stayed there, shivering for another ten minutes, caught between asking the receptionist and Potter, refusing to even contemplate the latter option. That was a level of vulnerability he was not comfortable with. He’d rather stay here in the lobby, tell his mother some lie (what lie he hadn’t figured out yet) and maybe get away with an arched eyebrow. Maybe she’d be too hungover to care. Maybe-

What was he doing. Of course she’d care. And Andromeda would take the brunt of it.

Five minutes later, he stood in front of room twenty-four, despising himself for getting himself into such a position, but he was tired and outright freezing in his wet clothes, and Potter had told him his room number for a reason. Maybe not for this one, but Regulus had no other choice.

Gritting his teeth, he reached up and knocked reluctantly, waiting. The hotel was eerily quiet. Regulus could only hope Potter had a light sleep but doubted he was the kind of person who did. Actually, Regulus was pretty sure Potter was the kind of person who could just pass out everywhere, anytime. He envied him.

A mix of relief and panic laced through him as he heard footsteps approaching the door. Before he could change his mind and turn on his heels, the door opened.

Okay, so Potter hadn’t slept, but he held his sweater in a way that told Regulus he had just taken it off. The  t-shirt underneath had ridden up on his hip and revealed a patch of skin that made Regulus frantically rip his gaze away and snatch his gaze to Potter’s face, which was a fucking mistake, because his hair was tousled, and Regulus went through all five stages of grief. He stared, scrambling to get his thoughts under control again.

Potter seemed to have recovered from the surprise of seeing Regulus standing in front of the door at half past twelve and tugged at his t-shirt, oblivious to the fact that Regulus was absolutely losing it at the sight of about two inches of skin. “Regulus? What’re doing here?”

The embarrassment about the situation sank in and his mind started working again. He forced himself to answer. “I went on a run,” he began, drawing in a breath, “which my mother specifically said I shouldn’t, which means she’ll kill me if she finds out.” He was so thrown off he wasn’t even fully registering his own words. “And I lost my fucking key.”

He waited for it to click. Potter blinked. “Oh. Shit. Okay. Come in.” He opened the door wider, stepping back, throwing his sweater onto the bed. One of his t-shirt sleeves was pushed up and Regulus stoically ripped his gaze away, trying his very best to ignore the annoying gloriousness of Potter’s arm muscles. He was not ready to acknowledge that he felt a certain way about it.

Regulus entered, taking his shoes off by stepping on the heels. The bedside lamp was the only source of illumination. Potter’s scarce belongings were already scattered all over the floor, the bed, the table next to the window. There was a chess board and an opened book on the table, and something told Regulus Potter had just been reading it.

Potter came after him, ruffling his hair. “You know, if you missed me, you could have just asked. You don’t have to have to pretend-“

“Don’t even go there,” Regulus warned. His annoyance was there for the sole purpose of hiding how extremely uncomfortable he felt. It was as though they had skipped several steps and were too familiar all of a sudden. Being in Potter’s goddamn hotel room sure felt like they were. They weren’t even friends, were they?

“So does this mean we’re done staying away from each other?” Potter asked, a glint in his eyes. Regulus picked up on the suggestive undertone but chose to ignore it, glaring at Potter, who smiled to himself and nodded at the bathroom. “You can shower here if you want. I’ll give you some of my clothes and you stay here until the morning.”

Regulus was beyond grateful, but couldn’t get over just how vulnerable he was making himself, squirming at the thought that he even had to ask for help in the first place, so he just nodded, hoping Potter understood that he was kind of saving his goddamn life right now. He peeled his jacket off, while Potter searched his bag, making a show of seizing Regulus up as though he hadn’t stared at Regulus often enough to know his size (and as though any of his clothes would fit him), and finally retrieved a sweater and shorts.

“Here,” he said, handing them over.

The fabric was soft in Regulus’ hands. He arched his eyebrow and held the sweater up. It was the ugliest piece of clothing he’d ever seen. “Really, Potter?”

Potter just shrugged. “We gotta dial your hotness down somehow.”

Regulus stared at him, completely caught off-guard for a moment.

“Bathroom’s that way,” Potter said as though nothing had happened.

Regulus could feel that he was blushing and turned around wordlessly, heading into the bathroom, hearing Potter trying to stifle his laughter. This new game Potter was playing had nothing to do with chess, and while Regulus reluctantly admitted that he preferred the unguarded Potter, he refused to participate in it. Because Potter used his charm on everyone just because it was fun to him. (It didn’t mean anything, right?)

He switched the light on in the bathroom, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror, putting Potter’s clothes down. Shivering, he peeled off his running shirt, turning around to put it over the edge of the bathtub right next to the shower, and stopped dead in his tracks, having almost thrown the shirt on a chessboard that balanced on the narrow edge.

It was frozen in a mid-game, as though Potter had abandoned it because he had been distracted by something else and had never returned. Regulus didn’t want to step closer initially, but did anyways, remembering the last time he hadn’t been able to analyse Potter’s chess game when he had been in his room and how much he had longed to. White was in a precarious position; having lost its queen, it was subjected to an aggressive threat by Black, but if it castled, it could…

“Forgot to give you a towel,” Potter said, his voice muffled through the door. Before Regulus could say anything, he stepped into the bathroom behind Regulus.

The hitch in Potter’s breath and the moment of loaded silence told Regulus exactly what Potter’s gaze had fallen on and Regulus tensed up, cursing himself for being so careless. How was it that he had spent years of hiding his wounds, and the moment Potter and he declared a truce and he ended up in his hotel room, he was so thrown off he didn’t even lock the door before taking his shirt off? He turned around. As expected, Potter’s eyes were huge with shock.

“Don’t say anything,” Regulus warned before Potter had even recovered enough to open his mouth.

Potter was taken-aback, his expression darkening. “Who did this to you?”

“I did. It was an accident,” Regulus said sternly. Once again, he was glad he had at least learned how to lie. He had mastered lying. He held Potter’s gaze easily; coldly.

“It looks like a burn wound. How did that hap-” Okay, so Potter was not having it. Regulus blamed his mother for it. She didn’t try to hide her disdain, just kept it in check. Potter must have already suspected something. Maybe he’d known from the moment that Regulus had flinched when he had touched him.

“Can I have the towel?”

“Did your mother do this?” Potter shot back, ignoring Regulus’ outstretched hand.

Regulus retraced his arm and glared at him. “Respectfully,” he said, “that’s none of your goddamn business.”

“It was her, wasn’t it?” Potter pressed on.

Regulus wanted to snap at him, but something in Potter’s expression made him pause and narrow his eyes at him. Potter was too upset. He had gone pale, his lips pressed into a thin line, the lines of his shoulders hard. This couldn’t be just because of Regulus’ burn wound. No, something told Regulus Potter had a history that Regulus hadn’t anticipated.

Looking at Regulus like this, he was seeing someone else in his place.

Regulus regarded him carefully, on guard, silent for some time. “My mother is narcissistic and manipulative and controlling, but she didn’t do this,” he lied calmly to deescalate the situation, wondering who Potter was thinking of. Which one of his friends had shown up on his doorstep with bruises all over their torso? Who had he taken in, whose injuries had he taken care of?

Potter hesitated, but the heat had died away. He cleared his throat. “It looks new,” he said weakly.

“It’s healed,” Regulus said, pretending not to care how much it bothered him that Potter had seen him like this. He didn’t always look like this. Sometimes, when he wasn’t hurt, when he wasn’t bruised, he could almost believe that there was something attractive about his narrow waist, the moles scattered across his skin. He wished Potter had seen him when-

No.

Regulus stifled that thought as soon as the meaning sank in. “Towel?”

As though on autopilot, Potter mechanically handed over the towel.

Regulus hung it over the shower screen, his gaze once again falling on the chessboard.

Potter seemed to have followed his gaze and winced, momentarily distracted. “Oh yeah. I just get them scattered everywhere,” he murmured apologetically, absent-mindedly, ruffling his hair. “Don’t know how.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you alone, then.” And he was gone, closing the door behind him.

Regulus exhaled, glaring at his reflection in the mirror, and stripped out of the rest of his clothing. He wasn’t sure Potter really believed him, but he had lied well enough to avoid further questions for the moment. If he didn’t let anything more slip, Potter might not bring it up again.

He turned the water steaming hot and held his breath, standing under the stream for a full minute without moving until his lungs screamed for air. He pushed his hair from his face. Despite the steam, he could still see the chess board and he found himself drawn in by the constellation once more, studying it. He contemplated it for some time, then wrote some chess moves on the shower screen in the neat handwriting his mother had drilled into him, starting at the very top of the glass.

It was more complicated on second sight and Regulus doubted a real game was ever so artful and intricate. It wasn’t a constellation that naturally happened. Potter had probably set it up out of curiosity, like drawing abstract art instead of realistic paintings for once. All that the tournaments allowed was realistic art, but sometimes things had to be muted and left vague.

Regulus paused, then suddenly changed his mind. He erased the last moves with his hand and corrected them, making Black violently wipe White off the board, and signed with R.A.B.

Chapter Text

Regulus hadn’t bothered to dry his hair and stepped into the bedroom with his hair in wild, wet curls. Potter’s sweater was, as expected, too big on him. He looked ridiculous. He spread his arm with a mocking smile to show just how too it didn’t fit. “If your goal was to make sure I looked absolutely ridiculous, congratulations, Potter. Mission achieved.”

Potter looked up from his book, momentarily dazed as though he had been deep in thought, and turned around to look at him. Within a moment, the bleariness in his eyes was gone and he blinked at him, his mouth slightly open. His gaze flicked over Regulus’ body, and after a brief silence, he seemed to gather his wits and cleared his throat. “Ridiculous it not the word I’d use,” Potter said vaguely.

Regulus arched his eyebrow at him, unsure how to interpret his words, and tried to ignore the way Potter drank him in with his eyes. He walked over to the table, his bare feet sinking into the carpet, and sat on the second chair, drawing his feet in and hugging his knees. He hated sitting with both feet on the ground, like his mother had taught him to. It made him feel awkward. Potter had opened the window and the soothing sound of rain filled the room. “Potter, I’m-“

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” Potter interrupted him before Regulus could even fully begin his sentence. He closed the book. “Anything to get you away from your mother.”

So, he wasn’t convinced. Regulus should’ve known. He winced internally but refused to get into it again. He nodded at the book. “What’re reading?”

Potter seemed reluctant to let Regulus just change the topic like that, but eventually gave in. He ran a hand through his hair. “I know you think I’m obsessed with chess, but this one’s actually a novel. It’s the Great Gatsby. A friend is forcing me to read it.” He suddenly seemed embarrassed. “I normally don’t tell anyone this.”

“Why not?” Regulus had taken the book and skimmed the summary at the back.

“Because it would ruin my reputation,” Potter said with a shrug.

“You’re a chess player, there’s not much to ruin,” Regulus said matter-of-factly. He thumbed through the book. “Your annotations?”

“No, Remus just likes to buy copies that are already annotated, just to make fun of the pretentious annotations,” Potter said, a fond smile on his face at the mention of what Regulus presumed to be his friend’s name.

Regulus put the book away. “I used to read. A lot. As a kid, I would never go anywhere without a book. I’d sneak away in family gatherings to find a quiet room and read until my mother would find me and drag me back,” he said quietly.

“Why’d you stop?” Potter seemed genuinely interested.

Regulus was afraid he was sharing too much, felt as though everything was just pouring out of him without control because he was tired and it was late. “I fell out of love with reading,” he said, a little remorseful. “I can’t focus on a book anymore. There’s no fascination. I just…stopped caring.”

“Maybe it’s because you started caring about chess too much,” Potter ventured.

Regulus huffed. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Potter was silent for a moment. “I’m not saying you exchanged one obsession for the other, but-“

“Then don’t,” Regulus said, glaring at him.

“-You absolutely did.”

“Is this the part where you tell me I have an addictive personality?” Regulus arched his eyebrow.

Potter held his gaze with ease. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

Regulus took a white pawn, frowning at the board before putting it down on a different field. When Potter made no move to counter, Regulus looked up at him. “I thought you wanted to play,” he said.

“This doesn’t have to be about chess,” Potter said, somewhat stoically, shaking his head slowly as though pleading for Regulus to put the pawn back on the starting position.

This. Regulus wondered what Potter was talking about. Him saying it wasn’t about chess felt like a betrayal to the game, as though it wasn’t interesting enough, and he felt a small flare of anger. “It’s always about chess. Everything ever is.”

“I don’t want to play against you like this,” Potter said both softly and sternly.

What he wanted to say was he didn’t want to play against Regulus when he was like this. Vulnerable. As though Regulus wasn’t painfully aware of it already. His guard was down; he was at ease, which, at the same time, was almost unbearable. It was risky. Regulus knew he was unapproachable. He pushed people away, kept them at distance, lied to them, and Potter seemed to be aware that Regulus was letting him see a side of him no one ever got to witness. And he was scared Regulus would do something he would later regret.

Regulus sighed, then put his pawn back. He was too tired anyway. It was almost two in the morning. He rested his elbows on the table and looked at Potter. The light from the street outside was hitting his face just right, drenching the room in a golden glow. “Fine,” he said. Then, he added after a pause: “I don’t like this ceasefire between us.” The truth was, it felt strange. The little voice in the back of his head that was constantly questioning Potter’s motives was quiet now and Regulus wasn’t sure if there had ever been a motive to question in the first place. Every now and then, he wondered if Potter had just always been himself and Regulus had looked for something that had never been there. Maybe Potter had just been cautious, or caught up in something else; his charm like second-nature.

Potter, seemingly relieved Regulus had given in without much of a fight, laughed quietly. “You don’t want us to be friends?”

“I very much preferred being mysterious and cryptic,” Regulus replied. Potter’s smile loosened something in him and he relaxed a bit, putting on of his legs to the floor and shifting to a more comfortable position.

“Don’t worry, you’re still cryptic and mysterious,” Potter said. “You’ve got the brooding face going for you, and the hair, and the fact that you don’t talk much.”

“I also preferred you cryptic and mysterious,” Regulus said.

“Me? I never was.” Potter painted innocence on his face.

“Oh yeah? What about the book? The annotations? The fact that you pointed out a flaw in my game the moment you met me? The speed chess?” Regulus huffed. “Oh wait, maybe you’re right. You’re not cryptic and mysterious, you’re cryptic and machiavellian.”

“I’m not even capable of moral ambiguity.”

“Oh yeah? Giving me this sweater is moral ambiguity.” Regulus tugged at his sleeves.

“Nope, that’s self-interest,” Potter corrected, biting back a smile.

Regulus arched his eyebrow at him. Oh, he was ruthless. “That a confession, Potter?”

“Stating the obvious is not a confession,” Potter replied.

“So that’s your whole motive? Self-interest?” Regulus asked, raising his eyebrow mockingly. “Does that mean you told me your room number out of self-interest as well?”

Potter did not bat an eye when he answered with a smug smile. “Yes.”

Regulus looked him straight in the eye. “Stop flirting with me, Potter,” he said sternly.

“I can’t help it!” Potter said, gesturing at Regulus accusingly, “you’re wearing my sweater and you’re making it very hard for me not to want to flirt with you! I can’t help it! You look…” He trailed off without finishing his sentence.

I look like shit, Regulus thought. There were bruises under his eyes. His hair was a mess and so long the curls kept falling in his face and he had to push them back. Sirius was the one who could look rough and pull it off as though it was part of his look. Regulus couldn’t. He had never cared enough about his appearance and except for some of his brother’s friends, there hadn’t been anyone around to put effort into his appearance for anyways.

He decided not to comment on whatever Potter was implying and looked at the chessboard. He was pretty sure it had been expensive; a gift maybe. The pawn had felt solid in his hand. It would give the chess game a certain sophisticated flair – if Potter ever agreed to play. “I’m turning eighteen in a month.”

Regulus could almost sense Potter freeze without having to glance into his direction. Potter didn’t answer at first, probably wondering why Regulus had told him that. “So does that mean you’re gonna travel alone from then on?” he then asked cautiously.

Alone? With you, Regulus thought, but immediately shut the thought down. “Yes. But my family is not going to like it. Which means they’re gonna make it as hard as possible for me. And they are absolutely capable of that.” God, why why why was he confessing all of this? He should get up and walk straight out of this room for damage control right now.

He remained seated.

“You’re eighteen,” Potter shrugged. “What are they gonna do?”

Regulus huffed. “They’ll think of something. It’s not easy to get away from this family. They make you dependant on them and suddenly you realize you can’t leave.”

“That’s sounds like somebody tried to leave before you,” Potter observed.

“Tried? They succeeded.” Regulus felt a pang of jealousy. Sirius had gotten out, just like that. He stared at his hands. “But that’s because they had someone waiting for them,” he added, more quietly.

“Oh,” Potter said after a moment of realization. “Don’t you?”

“What do you think?” Regulus said dryly.

“I think you do,” Potter said, holding his gaze. “You’re here right now, aren’t you?”

“If you think I’m going to drag you into this, you’re wrong,” Regulus said matter-of-factly. “I won’t.”

Potter seemed unfazed. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Regulus sighed, considering Potter for a few seconds before speaking. “I know you wouldn’t, Potter, because you’re a good person. And I’m not dragging you into this because I’m trying to be a good person.”

“You are a good person.”

“You know nothing about me,” Regulus retorted.

“If you stopped pushing me away, I would. It’s not easy talking to you, you know that, right?” Potter sounded genuinely frustrated all of a sudden.

Regulus looked at him, surprised, and frowned. Jesus, had he misinterpreted all their conversations, every time they’d interacted? Had Potter only talked about chess with him because he’d sensed that Regulus would shut down their conversation if it was about anything else? Maybe what they were having right now was what Potter had wanted from the beginning. Regulus deflated a little, trying to ignore his pounding heart. “I know,” he said after a pause. “I'm sorry.” It felt like he rearranged his pieces on a chessboard to blunt an attack.

“Don’t apologize,” Potter said, shaking his head. Then, suddenly, he offered his hand over the table. “You’re gonna have to start calling me James, though. You’re in my bedroom, I think it’s time we stop calling each other by our last names.”

Regulus shook his head, ignoring the hand. “No chance.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m calling you Regulus from now on.”

“You already did,” Regulus replied dryly, remembering the phone call when it had slipped from Potter’s lips.

A smile tugged on Potter’s lips. “So you did hear that.”

“I’m not calling you James,” Regulus said, ignoring Potter’s tease.

“If you do, I’ll show you Riddle’s Hastings games.”

“Blackmailing me much, Potter?”

“Is it working?”

Regulus contemplated him until Potter actually shifted uneasily on his seat, savouring the effect it had on Potter. Apparently, it wasn’t too hard to throw him off. Then, he relented, sighed, and shook hands with him. “Fine. James.” Potter’s rings felt cool against his skin.

“Don’t blame me, I was past the last name stage on day three,” Pott– James said as he let go of his hand.

“I haven’t even coped with having met you,” Regulus said more to himself than James, eyeing James pensively.

James leaned back again, tilting his head. “That a good or a bad thing?”

Well, he hadn’t taken any pills since James had shown up in the hotel. And he’d eaten breakfast. But it wasn’t that easy, was it? No one could just walk by and fix you. James couldn’t just make him not take the pills, or force him to eat breakfast. But with how out of control Regulus life felt, maybe James could be his fixed point, like the sun that kept showing up every day, and make him spiral less, make him stay in the orbit, on his track. With James around, Regulus didn’t rely on his bad habits as much.

“It’s neither. You make everything more difficult, you know that, don’t you?” He looked out the window at the wet roofs, the delicate handrails of sandy-coloured balconies, the dark sky. The city seemed to go on to the horizon, even though James’ room was high up. “I wanted to call you so bad the night we left.”

“But you were so mad at me,” James said, frowning.

“I’m mad a lot, James,” Regulus replied, with the trace of a rueful smile on his lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m not also capable of feeling every else as well.” He had said it before fully registering his words and regretted it instantly. “And you’re ridiculously good at making me trust you,” he said, a tinge of frustration in his voice.

James leaned back. “I’m not. You’re just distrusting, and it scares the shit out of you that you tell me things.”

“It also scares the shit out of me just how much I wanted to talk to you.”

“I wish you would have. Talked to me sooner, that is.”

“I’m glad I didn’t,” Regulus said. “My mother would have suspected something. She already read up on you. It’s bad enough as it is.”

“What did you want to say after you left? If you had had the chance to call me, what would you have said to me?”

Regulus was silent for a full minute. “That if I could, I would have left with you.” He stared darkly into the rain. “It’s too late now.”

Eventually, they had started playing chess – it had been inevitable. There was no alternative universe in which they didn’t pick up the pieces. James had talked him through one of Riddle’s Hastings games. Regulus woke up with his cheek on the table, something hard pressing against his temple. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and eased himself up, realizing the white knight had dug into his skin, and rubbed the spot. James sat opposite to him, his head resting on his folded arms, his hair obscuring his face. He seemed fast asleep.

The window was still open and Regulus shivered in the cold breeze. It was dawn; the sun was just an orange sliver behind the outline of the city. Regulus pushed his curls from his face, got up and sneaked in the bathroom, changing back into his running clothes. They were barely dry. He pulled James’ sweater over to hide it from his mother (James probably didn’t mind) and rubbed at the imprint of the chess piece until it was mostly gone. When he returned into the bedroom, James was still fast asleep, and Regulus sneaked out as quietly as he could, which was very quiet.

His mother found him in the breakfast room, half-heartedly chewing on a piece of toast, and didn’t ask any questions.

James had to leave the day after that. His reasoning was vague, but from what Regulus gathered, one of his friends needed his help and had called. James left Regulus the phone number to one of his flats – if Regulus was lucky, he would reach him there. He seemed reluctant about leaving but was oblivious to the turmoil of emotions in Regulus’ chest.

He didn’t want James to leave. Didn’t want to be left alone with his mother and a depressing amount of pills. When he watched James pack up his belongings, the knot in his stomach was pulled tight, his chest constricted, but he refused to acknowledge it and put on a stony face, sitting on the chair the wrong way round, resting his arms on the backrest and his chin on his arms. His first game would start at eleven; he had over an hour.

James walked around the room, mindlessly throwing his things on the bed where his bag lay without stuffing any of its inside. He seemed absent-minded.

“You know I’m not going to call you, don’t you?” Regulus broke the silence. There was a raw edge to his voice.

James stopped and looked at him. “You should. I’m sorry I can’t stay; it’s all I can give you right now.” He was frowning, obviously unhappy that he had to leave so suddenly.

It’s not enough, Regulus thought angrily. He was leaving Regulus behind with his abusive mother and his addiction and his eating issues, and Regulus knew it was wrong to blame him, especially because James didn’t know, didn’t know about any of it, but all he could think of was that he was being abandoned again and that wound had never fully healed. He’d be lonely again. Loneliness was familiar, and he’d become numb to it over time, but he hated James for making him feel it more intensely than he had in months, because James had no idea about the void he left behind.

Regulus exhaled. “Okay,” he said, swallowing all the other words clawing up his throat.

Take me with you. I need to get out of here. I can’t breathe.

His voice was steady. Sometimes, his childhood came in handy. He’d hate himself anyway if he showed that kind of weakness.

James regarded him closely, his shoulders sinking. “You’re really not gonna call me, are you?”

Regulus shook his head. “No.”

James sighed, then turned his back to Regulus to stuff his belongings in his bag. Regulus caught himself watching James’s shoulder blades moving underneath his shirt. When James suddenly stopped and turned around, he quickly looked away. James ran a hand through his hair. “I wish I could get you away from her.”

Me too, Regulus thought but said nothing. All he kept thinking, over and over, was I can’t do this again.

Regulus won the tournament. Somebody handed him a drink that reeked of alcohol, even though he was just seventeen, but he emptied the glass and enjoyed the haze that spread in his chest. People congratulated him, but their faces were blurred. Hands patted his shoulder, people laughed, cameras flashed. Late in the evening, Regulus returned to his room, slightly drunk. He didn’t register the silence from the other side of the door to his mother’s room until he had sunken down on his bed.

His mother hadn’t attended the tournament, saying she didn’t feel very well. She had episodes like that from time to time. But no matter how unwell she was, Regulus expected her sharp voice the moment she heard him return to his room. She’d want to know if he won the money, no matter how bad she felt. She didn’t say anything now.

Regulus frowned.

The last thing he wanted was to talk to her, but he sensed that something was off and there was no way his insomniac brain would allow him to sleep before he hadn’t figured it out. He needed to get it over with.

Reluctantly, he got up on his feet and walked over, hesitating before knocking on the door.

No answer.

Maybe she was out?

He knocked again, more forcefully this time.

Nothing.

He opened the door.

His mother was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, unmoving. She didn’t react when Regulus walked in.

Regulus’ thoughts stuttered to a halt. He blinked. His mind was wiped blank and he held onto the doorhandle so tightly the metal dug into his palms.

Eternities passed until he could form a coherent thought again.

She was dead.

His mother was dead.

Relief barged into him out of nowhere and his feet almost gave in, until a wave of sudden guilt ate away all the relief and he thought she’s my mother. She’s my mother. And then he felt anger overtake him for feeling guilty in the first place. He had never loved her. She had never meant anything to him. He was impassive to her death. How could there be sadness if there hadn’t been love?

Regulus took a deep breath, then exhaled. Forced his hand to let go of the doorhandle.

Then, he ordered his body to walk over the telephone and his legs obeyed after a long moment. He called the reception and talked to the manager, who arranged everything in five minutes. He watched two men carry his mother away on a stretcher; the manager instructing them quietly. He seemed worried about Regulus, not quite sure how to interpret his stony face but probably assuming he was in shock. When the two men had left the room after a doctor had pronounced her dead, taking his mother with them, he offered Regulus something to drink, and when Regulus declined, he asked: “Do you want us to call anyone for you, Mr. Black?”

Regulus forced himself out of his trance and ripped a page from the book his mother wrote down her finances. He wrote down the telephone number of Grimmaud Place; the house he grew up in. “Can you call them and tell them she-“ he didn’t end his sentence.

The manager was already nodding. “Of course.” He took the paper and hurried out of the room.

“My condolences, young man,” the doctor said, probably to fill the silence in the room.

“What was it?” Regulus didn’t really care but felt it appropriate to ask.

The woman sighed. “Just bad lifestyle, I’m afraid. Heart attack. Did she drink a lot?”

Regulus just nodded.

“That’s what I thought.” She had packed up her things and was about to leave. “Do you have someone you can stay with?” She seemed unsure about his age.

Regulus ignored her question. “Can you give me a prescription for a tranquilizer? Librium?”

She frowned. “You don’t need a prescription for that in Mexico.”

Something in Regulus’ mind perked up at that but the concealed his reaction carefully. “Okay. Thank you.”

When the doctor was gone, Regulus stood in the doorway for a few more minutes, unmoving.

Then, he walked back into his room and began packing up his things. When he was done, he raided his mother’s room; taking her purse, her prescription bottle, her little notebook and stuffed everything into his backpack. His suitcase was too big; he would just take the bag.

He was painfully aware he was running on autopilot but refused to do anything against the numbness in his chest. He was not going to let his one chance at escape pass by just because he guilt-tripped himself into believing his mother was worth mourning. They could call him callous, but the simple truth was that Regulus was not stupid enough to stay. He needed to make it until his birthday. A few more weeks, and he was legally free. He just needed to make sure his family didn’t track him down until then. Which meant he needed to disappear. He could do that.

He could finally walk away from his family.

The hotel manager caught him just when he had zipped up his bag. He seemed puzzled at stepping into Regulus’ empty hotel room, had probably expected him to apathetically sit on the bed, crying his eyes out. He lingered in the doorway, nervously wringing his hands. “I couldn’t reach anyone.”

Regulus couldn’t care less. “That’s okay. Thank you. I’ll try again later.” He slung his backpack over one shoulder. “I’m checking out.”

After signing a few papers and giving the manager his home address to send the rest of the documents to, he walked straight into the next farmacia, bought a bottle of Librium, then into another one to buy another bottle, and a third one, where he bought two.

He took three pills at once, scared that the eerie calmness was going to vanish and he was going to panic. He needed to keep a clear head until he’d made it far enough to be safe. His mother had already booked a plane ticket, so Regulus didn’t have to spent any of the cash from her purse. He took a taxi to the airport, watching the windshield wipers fight against the downpour that had set in sometime after midnight. The world outside was blurry.

Hogwarts, 1976

Three days later, Barty woke up from a pillow hitting his head. He cursed, grabbing the pillow, easing himself up on his elbows. For fuck’s sake, this needed to stop. When his eyes focused, he realized Evan was towering over him. His sturdy frame was hidden under a sweater and a leather jacket. His smile was lazy. Barty fell back into bed with a huff, rubbing his face.

“What. The fuck, Evan,” he groaned.

“You wanna learn how to drive?”

Barty wordlessly blinked up at him – after Evan had disappeared from the surface of the earth, this is what he said when he came back? – and put the pillow away. “What the actual fuck, Evan? No, I don’t fucking-“

Fifteen minutes later, Barty was sitting in the driver seat of Evan’s (stolen) car. “We can’t keep doing this,” he said, still not quite over the fact that Evan had managed to persuade him with just a smile and his dangerous eyes. “This is actively destroying my grades. I need to get some fucking sleep once in a while, Rosier.”

“You’re too smart to get bad grades,” Evan said, shutting his door.

Barty shoot him a strange look, but Evan didn’t seem to notice. “You need to start it first.”

“With what car key, exactly?” Barty deadpanned.

“Bartemius Crouch Junior, have you never hotwired a car?”

Barty resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You know I haven’t,” Barty said, looking at Evan reproachfully. It was so cold in the car their breaths formed little clouds. Barty already regretted getting out of his bed. Not only was he freezing his ass off, Evan also seemed to have no inclination of talking about their argument. He just pretended as though it hadn’t happened. Which pissed Barty of even more.

Evan rolled his eyes and before Barty knew what was happening, Evan had leaned over and grabbed Barty’s legs, pushing them towards the car door to make place. Barty bit his lip hard to keep an embarrassing sound from escaping. His nerves were tingling, his skin suddenly hot. Jesus, just how long were Evan’s fingers?

Evan removed the plastic cover on the steering column and drew out some cables. His head was level with Barty’s chest, his shoulder hovering inches away from Barty’s belly, and Barty tried to breathe as flatly as possible, while also praying that Evan couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating. He pressed himself into the seat, ordering himself not to watch Evan’s nimble fingers at work but unable to tear his gaze away. With Evan’s hair this close, Barty could smell its scent.

Just when Barty was sure he was going to pass out from not getting enough air, the car came to life and Evan put the plastic cover back. He smiled his apocalyptic smile. “You’re welcome.”

Barty forced himself to relax. “Friendly reminder that I’m here because of you, so don’t expect a thank you, Rosier,” he said.

Evan just huffed.

“I don’t even know where to…“ Barty began, frowning at the three pedals.

It was a mistake, because Evan leaned in again, and this time, their faces were at the same level. Even if Evan didn’t look at him, there were mere inches between their cheeks. If both turned, their lips would meet. Which was a thought Barty immediately banned from his mind. “This one’s the brake,” Evan said, pointing at the pedal in the middle. “That’s the clutch, and that’s the accelerator.”

When Barty didn’t immediately put his feet on the right pedals (to his defence, he was running on three hours of sleep), Evan tapped his knee. “This,” he said, “there. This one, there.”

Barty followed his instructions, very much distracted by Evan’s touch. He bit his lip, sternly telling himself to keep it together. “Now what.”

“Now you step on the clutch, and your hand goes here,” Evan said, placing Barty’s hand on the gear stick. “Put the car into first gear.” Evan released the handbrake. “Lift your foot slowly from the clutch and step down on the right pedal.”

Barty did as he was told, and the car made a jump, and Barty immediately took his foot off the accelerator, but Evan’s hand was on his knee in an instant and stopped him. He grabbed the steering wheel to make sure Barty wouldn’t steer into a tree.

“Slowly,” Evan growled, keeping his hand where it was, and Barty didn’t dare to move his foot even an inch. He avoided looking at Evan while he slowly steered out of the forest and onto the field.

“Now step on the clutch and change into second gear,” Evan told him, finally removing his hand as he was confident Barty had gotten the hang of it.

Barty did as he was told and accelerated again, then immediately switched into the third gear. A breathless laugh escaped his chest, and when he looked over at Evan, he was smiling his wolfish grin, and Barty shook his head in disbelief, still laughing.

Evan rolled down the windows and cold night air rushed in, tugging at their hair. It was a shock, but the good kind.

“The road,” Evan said, pointing at the narrow road they had followed just a few days ago.

Barty steered towards it, his movements still unsure and jerky. The field was so bumpy they were constantly thrown against the doors.

“Seatbelt,” Evan growled suddenly, as though he had only just noticed Barty hadn’t put his on, and before Barty knew what was happening, Evan’s arm was pressed against his chest as he reached for Barty’s seatbelt and fastened it. It was so uncharacteristic of Evan to care about road safety that Barty snorted, but he was way too high on actually driving a car right now to question it. What he did question, though, was how often Evan’s hands had been on him in the last ten minutes. He was acutely aware of all the patches of skin Evan had touched, and wondered if Evan was doing it on purpose.

When would he lean in, plant his hand on Barty’s chest, and kiss him? How many more chance would Evan ignore?

A minute later, they were on the gravel road again. It felt like a déjà vu.

“Where do you wanna go?”

Evan seemed unable to tear his eyes away from Barty. “Let’s see how far we get.”

“Before what happens?”

“Before you crash this fucking car,” Evan laughed.

“Fuck off, I’m already driving better than you ever have,” Barty huffed.

“You wish,” Evan said.

“You’re full of shit,” Barty snorted, shaking his head. He switched into fourth gear. The engine roared as he stomped down on the accelerator. His heart was pounding in his chest. If he were in the car with anyone else, they would have told him to slow down, but Evan just smiled proudly and leaned his head out of the window, and the wind tugged at his hair and the collar of his jacket. His golden jewellery glinted in the dim light.

Barty thought, I would set the world on fire for him.

And then: He’s gonna leave me.

The truth was that Evan had wanted to leave that night. He’d packed up all his belongings – it wasn’t much – into a duffel bag and had thrown it onto the backseat of his car. He’d sat behind the steering wheel, fully intending leave without a goodbye, but then he’d hesitated.

What about Barty? Fuck, what about Barty?

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t just leave him like this. He didn’t do goodbyes, but things were different with Barty. He didn’t know what it was about that scrawny boy with the crazy hair, but his mind had been rewired the moment he’d caught Barty staring all that time ago. He had gotten under his skin. No one else ever had.

So he’d walked back to Hogwarts and had woken Barty up, who, of course, had promptly gotten out of bed to follow him down. Sometimes, Evan wasn’t sure which one of them was in power. Maybe both, maybe neither of them. Maybe it changed with every second, so fast neither of them could keep up.

And now Barty was driving his car, and Evan was riding shotgun, and the duffel bag in the backseat was a ticking time bomb. Evan wondered how much longer the universe would allow him to delay the inevitable. He was going to have to leave. He was going to leave. It had never been hard before.

But when he looked at Barty, he realized that Barty was already angry. He was always angry. It wasn’t obvious. It was hidden in the way he was gripping the steering wheel, and the way he grew quiet sometimes, and the way he tensed up when he was frustrated. Like he had to use all his willpower not to lash out, the way he had learned from his father. Sometimes Evan thought the only thing Barty inherited from his father was his anger.

And he didn’t even know. Because Barty was also crooked smiles, and mischief, and craziness. He was tousled hair, and oversized jackets, and long fingers. He was cigarettes, and black coffee, and kindness.

Right now, he was all of that at the same time. Evan half-expected him to burst from the turmoil of contradictions. He wondered how long anger like that could simmer until it exploded. He knew he’d be right at the centre of it, but he wasn’t afraid. Evan was never afraid. Which came in handy, because he couldn’t be afraid of Barty if it was Barty he had decided to worship.

Barty’s voice cut through his thoughts. “I’m fucking starving,” he complained.

Evan was silent for a second. “This way.” They had reached the outskirts of the next city. Evan had been here before, of course. He always skipped Latin. That language was dead, and Evan wasn’t.

Barty followed his directions. A little while later, Evan told him to stop the car and they came to a halt in the empty parking lot of diner.

“Keep the motor running,” Evan told him and kicked the door open. It creaked violently. Evan got out, his jacket billowing in the wind. “I’ll get you something.” He could feel Barty’s gaze on his back the entire time it took to cross the parking lot. Evan had developed a seventh sense just for that. Barty tended to stare at him quite a lot. Maybe that was why he was failing all his classes (not that he cared much).

The fluorescent lights flickered as he pushed the door open. Warm, greasy air enveloped him and he walked up to the counter. Two tired-looking men were sitting in a corner. The door to the restroom fell shut. There was a paper-package with food to go and two paper cups. A woman appeared. She eyed him quietly, taking in his oversized jacket and his worn-out boots.

“Can I have a two burgers, please?” Evan asked. He was using his polite voice, the one Dorcas always made fun of, because no one who ever took one look at Evan believed he was well-behaved. It always amused Evan how people grew wary around him. Most of the time, he did nothing to counteract it.

She nodded and disappeared into a back room.

Evan tapped on the counter, waiting for half a minute. Then, he grabbed the paper bag and the cups and a handful of straws, and bolted. He heard the women scream after him, but he was already out of the door and halfway across the parking lot. The door swung open behind him as she came after  him.

Evan ripped the car door open and jumped in, his hands sticky from the spilt drinks.

Barty stared at him with wide eyes. “I can’t believe you just fucking-“

“Drive,” Evan interrupted him. “Drive, drive, drive!”

Barty started laughing, but he did as he was told. He stepped on the accelerator, stalled the engine twice, cursed, and tried again. The engine roared, and they were back on the street, the silhouette of the women growing smaller in the rearview mirror. Evan held the drinks up to make sure they didn’t spill over when they skidded around a corner. They chased down the street that led out of the town. All the while, Barty started laughing every time he looked at Evan, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you just stole me a burger,” he snorted.

“Flattered?” Evan asked.

“I thought you had money, dumbass! I thought you were gonna pay for it!”, he said, gesturing, steering around a corner with one hand. He was driving in the middle of the road. “And you became a fucking criminal just because I was hungry!”

Evan shrugged. “The lengths I would go to for you, Crouch,” he said vaguely, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Barty looked at him and laughed again. “You just made me your getaway driver, Rosier.”

“I knew you had it in you,” Evan said.

That exact second, Barty drove through a red light.

There was a moment of heavy silence.

Then, Barty burst out laughing, and Evan felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth at the sight of it.

He drunk in the sight of Barty. He was gonna miss him. Shit, he was gonna miss him.

Ten minutes later, they had parked the car in an empty parking lot. They shared what was left of their drinks – which wasn’t much. Most of it was in the parking lot of the diner. Barty devoured his burger as though he hadn’t eaten in days. He always ate like that. Nobody knew where he put all that food. When he was done, Evan was only halfway through his burger. He put it away. He wasn’t that hungry. The car smelt of grease and onions, but neither of them minded.

Barty grabbed the cup Evan had put between his thighs. He drank and leaned back. “You’re fucking insane, Rosier.”

Evan smirks. “You like your boys insane,” he said, because he couldn’t help it. He was going to leave and this was his last chance.

Barty stilled, looking at him. A smile danced on his lips. “I do,” he said more softly than before.

There was a loaded moment between them, full of possibilities.

Then, the smile died on Barty’s lips and he shook his head. “Jesus,” he said. “Evan…Jesus.” He put the cup on the dashboard, kicked the door open, and got out of the car, the cold air streaming in. Evan could see Barty through the window as he was running his hand through his hair, making it even messier than before.

Evan cursed under his breath, steeled himself, got out of the car and walked around. Barty was leaning against the hood, both of his hands braced on the metal. He was staring darkly across the parking lot, his eyes narrow and his jaw set.

Helplessly, Evan buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He was new at this. For fuck’s sake, he was new at this and he had no idea what he was doing.

“Barty…” he began, no clue what he was going to say.

Barty closed his eyes. “Rosier, fuck off. Seriously, fuck off.”

There it was. The anger. The rage.

Barty turned around to him, his dark eyes dangerously ablaze. “You have no right to put me through this. Do you know how fucking selfish you are? Do you have any idea how much you’re hurting me?”

Evan knew he was selfish. He wasn’t stupid. He was sorry, too. But there was no regret. “I do,” he said tersely.

“Then why are you doing it anyway?”, Barty asked, frustration mixing with the anger.

Evan didn’t know what to answer. There was no right answer to this.

Barty waited. “You can’t give me an answer, can you?”

Evan held his gaze unflinchingly. “You already know the answer.”

Barty stared at him, then ran a hand over his face. “Fuck you, Rosier. Honestly, fuck you. I was going to fucking kiss you.”

“I know,” Evan said. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have let you if you did.”

“To protect me? To protect me because you’re leaving?” Barty asked incredulously.

No, because I don’t want to kiss you, Evan thought. I just really don’t want to. I want to touch that spot on your neck, and I want to sink my hands into your hair, and I want to trace the line of your nose, but I don’t want to kiss you. But he didn’t say any of that. It wasn’t the right moment.

Barty huffed. “Seriously? How is being rejected and abandoned less worse than this?”

“It’s not,” Evan said simply.

“The duffel bag on the backseat,” Barty began and Evan’s heart sank, “it’s full of your stuff, isn’t it? You were going to leave tonight. I think I knew the entire drive, I just refused to believe it. I thought maybe you’d change your mind. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? You were going to leave tonight, no matter what. And you decided to be selfish and have a few more hours of this. Of us. I’m right, am I?”

“I couldn’t leave,” Evan said, shaking his head. “I wanted to.”

“Great,” Barty snapped. “You know what? You can’t end it, but I can. Whatever this is, it stops right here. You don’t care anyways.”

Evan hadn’t wanted it to be this way, but it was always going to be some version of this. There was no alternative universe in which Barty didn’t walk away hurting. “Okay,” Evan said.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Barty said tonelessly. Evan hadn’t realized Barty had still hoped Evan would put things right. He’d given Evan one last chance, and Evan hadn’t taken it. He couldn’t.

“We’ll call you a taxi.”

Hurt flashed over Barty’s face. “You’re not even gonna drive me back?”

It was no good. It was only going to make things worse. Evan couldn’t sit in the car with Barty simmering with anger. “No.”

“Fuck you, Rosier.”

“I’m sorry. Barty, I’m sorry.”

That night, Evan disappeared. That was the thing about Evan. He disappears like he never existed at all. And Barty thought he was never going to forgive him for it.

He called his father in the early morning when he had landed in England. He had asked a café owner if he could use the phone and was now standing in a dim hallway, the low murmur of people and the sound of cups hitting saucers reaching through the door he had left slightly ajar. He dialled the number and leaned against the wall, staring at his shoes.

His father picked up the phone after just one ring.

“Regulus?” his father asked.

“She’s dead,” Regulus said. “Heart attack.”

Orion didn’t say anything for a moment. He was breathing heavily. “I know. The hotel manager called me two hours ago. They’re flying her back right now.” He sounded composed.

Regulus had expected that he already knew. And it wasn’t as though their marriage had been a love marriage, so he wasn’t surprised his father didn’t seem too heartbroken about it. It was a nuisance at best.

“Where are you right now? Get a taxi to Grimmaud place.” It was supposed to be an order, but his voice was strangely strained. Regulus guessed the hotel manager had told him about how Regulus had left the hotel and Orion had realized he was in danger of losing his only heir, and, most importantly, his source of income.

“You really think I’m going home?” Regulus asked wearily, a sharp edge to his tone. It was ridiculous if his father actually assumed he was ever going to set a foot into that house again.

Another pause. “Regulus, you’re seventeen. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t make any rash decisions,” his father warned, his voice dangerously quiet.

“Stay the fuck away from me. All of you.”

“What life do you think you can have without us, huh? You can’t do all of it on your own. There’s barely any money on your account because you gave it all to your cousin. You have no money to go anywhere.” Now he was just frantically trying to reason with him.

“I have Andromeda and Sirius.”

His father bellowed a laugh. “Andromeda is barely scraping by,” he hissed. “Your brother has a criminal record. And if you turn your back on the family, it will have consequences. You know that, Regulus.”

Wait, Sirius had what? How did his father know about that? Did he keep tabs on him? Not important right now, Regulus reminded himself. “What life can you have without me? I won’t participate in any tournaments until I find a way to make sure you don’t get a single penny of the prize money.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Regulus was unfazed. “Don’t expect me at the fucking funeral.” He hung up and exhaled, leaning his head against the wall and looking up at the ceiling, swallowing.

God, what was he even doing?

He crouched down and retrieved the bottle from his backpack, swallowing two, praying it would calm his nerves. He waited until his heart wasn’t pounding against his ribs anymore, straightened, and took a deep breath.

Then, he picked up the phone again and called Andromeda’s number.

It took longer for her to pick up. “Andromeda Tonks speaking.”

“It’s Regulus,” he said after a pause, relief coursing through his veins.

“Reg! Are you okay? Why are you calling?” She sounded stern as ever.

“I’m fine.”

My mother is dead. The words got stuck in a throat and he only managed a How are you? How’s Nymphadora? to fill the pause before it got too long.

“Regulus, where’s your mother? Are you sure you can talk on the phone?”

“What? Yeah, sure. I’m went for a run. She doesn’t know,” he lied. She’s dead, he tried again, but didn’t say it. He could barely breathe, but kept his voice steady.

She exhaled. “Okay. Good. Nymphadora’s great. She’s walking now. Nothing is safe anymore. Yesterday, she knocked over my paint.”

Regulus couldn’t help but smile. Despite what people thought of him, he was capable of human emotion. He did care about people. He could hold grudges, he could shut everyone out and cut everyone off without batting an eye, he could hate his own brother, but that didn’t mean he’d completely gone rid of that other side of him. It was just that he kept it carefully hidden away, kept it at bay. Caring was risky and brought vulnerability, so he preferred being cold because it had kept him safe all those years.

“That’s great. Good to hear. How’s your job search going?” He didn’t know why he kept steering the conversation into a casual direction but couldn’t help himself. It felt good to hear Andromeda’s voice. It grounded him. He wanted her to keep talking for as long as possible, because that meant he could lean back, close his eyes, and concentrate on breathing.

“My job-“she began, then broke off. “Oh my god, I forgot you don’t even know yet.”

Regulus tensed up, not sure whether or not to expect good or bad news.

“I’m working for the Louvre now.”

Regulus’ breath got stuck in his throat. For a fleeting moment, he felt warmth flooding his chest, but then, his heart broke into tiny little pieces as the realization suddenly dawned on him.

Andromeda got the job. She had worked hard, juggling university and family, and now she finally got her dream job and Regulus was about to walk in and smash everything to pieces again.

If his enraged father found out about him finding refuge at Andromeda’s place, he’d start something, anything, to tear her life to pieces again. He would spread rumours, ruin her reputation, make sure he would never ever get a job again that paid enough to give Nymphadora the life she deserved. As though she had never gotten rid of the Black family curse.

Regulus needed to stay the fuck away from her. For her sake. He was not going to have her, Dora and Ted’s perfect life on his conscience. When it came to an abusive family, sometimes everyone had to fight their own fight.

“Regulus?”

“You made it,” he breathed.

“Of course I did.” She wasn’t big on congratulations and empty phrases, so she left Regulus no time to rake his brain for something appropriate to say. “I got your letter, about the money. I wanted to write you back, but I didn’t want to get you in any more trouble. I can pay you back now.”

“Andr-“

“No, I’m absolutely paying you back now, Regulus,” she said sternly. “That was our deal. It’s the only reason I ever agreed to it. The Louvre is paying very well; Nymphadora has everything she needs.” Regulus could almost picture her, standing next to the phone in her hallway, clad in elegant trousers, her hair pinned up, long earrings framing her face, watching Nymphadora carefully.

The thing was, Regulus needed the money. He couldn’t risk playing any tournaments until his birthday, in case his family managed to track him down. He resigned reluctantly. “I’ll try and open another bank account and call you again. I don’t want it to end up in my parent’s hands.” It was so easy; lying. He didn’t like lying to her, but he had to. He couldn’t tell her that Walburga had died. She would freak out and tell him to get his ass to her apartment right fucking now, which was the very last place Regulus should be right now. For her sake. Because she didn’t deserve that. He had to make it on his own, because Sirius and her had done so too, and he had no right to drag them back into this mess.

“Okay. But call me as soon as it’s done. I’m very thankful for what you’ve done, but I hate owing people. Oh, just a second.” She must have covered the earpiece because her voice was muffled, and Regulus couldn’t decipher her words. Then, she was back. “Ted said he read the Chess Review. They praise your game against Riddle.”

“I lost,” Regulus said. He had never read the article; had avoided reliving his worst moments if he could. His life was depressing enough as it was.

Andromeda seemed amused. “You’re dominating the world and you’re worried because you lost against a fifty-year old Russian with forty years more experience than you do? Regulus, do you even read the articles they write about you?”

“No.”

Andromeda huffed. He could almost see her rolling her eyes. “Of course you don’t. Well, you should. Because you evolved from child prodigy to most promising chess player of your generation. You parents must be so proud of you.” The last sentence was drenched in sarcasm.

Regulus winced at the word parents, but quickly recovered. “They show me every day just how much I meant to them,” Regulus said, matching her tone.

“I can imagine,” she said. She changed the topic. “Why did you call, Regulus? You sound a bit off.”

I have nowhere to go. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the words from accidentally spilling out. “Just tired. I’m fine,” he said instead.

“Are you lying?”

“No,” he lied. “I need to go before my mother suspects something.”

“Okay. Sure. Stay safe, Reg.”

They said goodbye and Regulus hung up the phone, cursing under his breath.

He looked up when the door opened. A slim woman appeared in the doorway. An apron was slung around her waist.

“Everything alright?”

Regulus grabbed his backpack. “Yeah, sure. Sorry for using the phone for so long. Thank you.”

“Oh no no no, that’s no problem,” she hurried to say. “I’m not here to throw you out, no worries,” she said.

“Thank you. But I need to leave.” He squeezed past her into the bustling café, feeling her gaze resting on him until he was through the door. It was drizzling. Eager to get away, he blindly turned right and started walking, not bothering to draw up his hood, not knowing where he was going. The only vague plan his frenzied mind had been able to come up with had just been smashed into pieces and he was left with nothing. He didn’t know where to go. He didn’t know what to do.

All he had was a bag of clothing, a little bit of money, and enough tranquilizers to put an entire neighbourhood to sleep.

He wandered around aimlessly for hours. He was so afraid of stopping anywhere, being recognized by anyone, even though he knew it was stupid. He wasn’t famous enough. And his father couldn’t track him down, could he? His father didn’t even know where he was. He should be safe for now.

But it didn’t feel like it.

He felt like he was being watched.

In the past, Regulus had witnessed his family shutting down rumours and scandals and lawsuits more times than he could count. The Black family was one of the most influential families in the country, and just because Regulus’ father was deep in debt, the Black name meant people courted for their favour, do anything, even if just not to get on their bad side. And, there was also the fact that except for Andromeda, none of their family knew just how dependant Orion had grown on Regulus’ income, which meant that the family was still backing him up. If he wanted to pressure Regulus into returning to Grimamauld Place 12, his family would help.

The eerie silence now made him uncomfortable. He didn’t know what he had expected, but he had expected something to happen. Surely, his father wouldn’t just sit by and risk losing his only heir.

Regulus walked until his legs burnt and exhaustion had settled into every fibre of his being and he suddenly had to stop because he was dizzy. He looked up and realized it was late in the afternoon; the light was fading already and he still hadn’t come up with anywhere to stay. He shivered, only now realizing that the rain had soaked through his jacket. He scowled, pushing his wet hair from his face.

He despised himself for his indecision but blamed it on his wariness. He wasn’t ready to settle down anywhere because he was still waiting for an attack, no matter how much he told him there was nothing his father could do so quickly, and that made him want to keep moving. Then, a flapping noise made him look up. A paper with the picture of a cat and the bold word missing fluttered in the soft wind.

Regulus stared it and suddenly had an inkling of what his father could do.

What if he reported him missing and accused him of a crime? Heir of the Black family gone rogue, stole most prized possession after his mother’s death. Untraceable. He could already see the headline. And just like that, people would start looking out for him. And they’d find him. That he had just come up with this idea meant that his father could have already thought of it, so it might just be a matter of time until Regulus saw his own face in a newspaper.

Regulus scowled and started walking again. He refused to check into any hotel, fearing the hard, cold loneliness of a sterile room that smelt strange, the lingering scent of people who had a home waiting for them.

But where else could he go?

Chapter Text

“Regulus?”

Hearing the James’ voice over the phone filled Regulus with so much relief he was overcame by a wave of dizziness. He held the telephone so tightly his hand hurt. For a moment, the words got stuck in his throat again.

“Regulus? Is that you? Please, god, please say it’s you, I-“

“It’s me,” Regulus interrupted him. He was trying hard to keep his voice from sounding too telling, but winced as it wavered ever so slightly. He sounded breathless.

“Oh thank god,” James breathed. “Jesus. I read about your mother in the newspaper, I-“ He broke off. Regulus pictured him rubbing the spot between his brows as he tried to find the right words. “I don’t know what to say. Are you okay? Where are you right now?” The last question was spoken with a sharp undertone.

Regulus stared at the cars passing by. It was dark outside and the headlights mirrored in the puddles on the street. “I’m okay,” he said. Then: “James, I think my family will do something to make me come back to them.” He successfully kept the flare of panic from his voice, gritting his teeth and speaking slowly. He hadn’t survived a childhood full of abuse just to lose his shit now.

“They’ll what?” James was incredulous.

“They might have the police searching for me. Or maybe they’ll do something else, I don’t know. All I know is they’ll try to get me back, because I’m my father’s only heir,” he said darkly.

James didn’t say anything for a second.

“I’ve seen them do things like that before. They can make people do what they want, trust me. They’re more powerful than the public knows. My father might tell the police that I’ve gone rogue because I was so upset about my mother’s death, and then they’ll track me down and everything will be the same.” He clenched his teeth, angrily staring at the floor. “He can make it look like I’m out of my mind, James. Easily. He just has to tell the newspapers what to write, and next I know, the whole country will be searching for me.”

The thing was, the public had declared him strange, eccentric and brooding a long time ago, and he had only been feeding that image. The ways in which he had tried to cope with his isolation and the daily abuse from his mother hadn’t translated well. The large sweaters he wore to cover up the bruises, his gloomy gazes, his stoic taciturnity had only added to the image of the mad chess player. And now his father could capitalize on all the newspaper articles, and the articles in the Chess Review that had already hinted at the cost of genius.

James let out a breath. “Okay. Okay. We’ll figure something out, I promise.” His voice was firm, which had a strangely soothing effect on Regulus’ pounding heart. “Where are you right now? Do you have somewhere safe to go?”

I have nowhere to go, James. He couldn’t just show up at Dorcas’ door because they didn’t know. And Regulus was too tired to explain it to them; them knowing was the very last thing he could bear right now. It was bad enough that Barty knew about the abuse. James had already seen his burn wound, and even if Regulus wished he hadn’t, it meant that he understood. He was may be the only other person except for Sirius who knew how far his family would truly go.

When Regulus didn’t immediately respond, James broke the silence. “You’re coming to my place,” he said decidedly. “They’ll never suspect you here, it’s probably one of the safest places you can be right now. Where are you? I’ll call a taxi.”

Regulus hesitated. All of a sudden, it dawned on him that he’d made a mistake by calling James. He had promised himself he wouldn’t drag him into his mess. What had he thought was going to happen? After James had let him into his hotel room at one in the morning without a second of hesitation, had he really thought James would just stand by when he was in trouble?

“Don’t even think about it,” James growled suddenly; a warning, as though he had read Regulus’ thoughts. “You’re not hanging up now. You should have called the moment you found your mother. You knew it was the right thing to do. And you know coming to my place is the right thing to do now.” He huffed. “Please, don’t be stubborn.”

Regulus stared at him feet. “I’m in London.”

James seemed to deflate. “Me too. God, we’re in the same fucking city. We could have…” he broke off. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sending a cab. Don’t even argue me on it.” He must have sensed Regulus was about to protest.

Regulus’ mouth clapped shut. He had no idea where that side of James was coming from, but it was effective. “Okay,” he said after a pause. “Okay.” Reluctance welled up in his chest, but it was overridden by the logical part of his brain. He had nowhere to go. None of his family would ever expect him with his rival chess player.

He gave James the address, pressing his hand on the glass of the telephone cell to steady himself.

“Okay, got it. But don’t hang up. Stay on the phone until the cab arrives.”

Regulus huffed. “I don’t have enough change to stay on the phone.” He paused. “You think I’m gonna walk away?” he asked more sharply than intended.

“I think you have self-destructive tendencies and you’d rather have your left arm cut off than asking anyone for help,” James shot back.

Regulus winced. “Charming,” he huffed, having regained some of his composure now. The panic was merely simmering now, not burning on high flame. Hearing James’ voice had soothed him somehow. “You really know how to compliment a guy.”

“I would compliment you a lot more often if you let me, Reg,” James said matter-of-factly.

Regulus closed his eyes, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Don’t.”

“What are you afraid of anymore, Regulus?” Now that he was allowed to address Regulus first name, he seized every opportunity, and it was doing something to Regulus. He wished James wouldn’t. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Your mother’s dead. And despite what you seem to believe, I never meant you any harm. You don’t have to push me away. I would never hurt you.” There was an odd combination of annoyance, desperation and softness in James’ voice that Regulus had no idea how to handle. It threw him off.

You don’t have to hurt me. I can do that perfectly on my own, Regulus thought. “What part of me agreeing to go to your home is pushing you away?” He knew his anger was unjustified, knew perfectly well just how ungrateful he was, but James had to stop getting under his skin.

“The part where it took you hours to even come up with the idea to call me,” James shot back. “The part where you knew I read about your mother’s death in the newspaper and you still decided to pretend that I don’t know you well enough to realize how conflicted you are feeling right now. I was so worried. I contacted the hotel, Regulus, but you weren’t there anymore.”

“You don’t have to take care of me. You shouldn’t care,” Regulus said coldly.

“That’s entirely my decision, isn’t it?” James retorted cooly.

No, it’s not. Because you’re asking me to care too and I can’t. “I don’t know why I called you.”

“You really don’t Regulus? I do. And I’m pretty sure you do too. You’re hurt and you’re lonely and you’re spiralling. You’re guilty about not feeling sad about your mother’s death. You don’t know where to go. You’re already falling back into bad habits.” His tone was so soft Regulus seized up. “You need me-”

“I don’t need you to do anything,” Regulus snapped.

“Regulus,” James sighed. “Don’t do that. Don’t withdraw into yourself. Please.”

Regulus paused, then exhaled. The tension oozed from his shoulders. Headlights briefly illuminated the small telephone cell. “Okay. I won’t. I’ll hang up, but I’ll wait for the cab.” And before James could say anything more, he had hung up, and pushed the door open with his shoulder. It fell shut behind him with a dull sound and Regulus leaned against it, surveying the traffic. For a brief moment, he considered just walking away. He could do that. Shoulder his backpack and just walk away. James would never find him again. No one would have to find him. He could apply for some stupid job in a small city and lay low and play chess against strangers in the parc. He could cut his hair and change his name. He’d never feel mocked by the stars anymore.

He looked up when a car stopped in front of him and a cab driver leaned his head through the window. “You’re Regulus Black?”

Regulus hesitated. He hadn’t realized so much time had gone by already. Then, he grabbed his backpack and nodded. “Yes.”

The man, thankfully, didn’t attempt awkward smalltalk and only looked at Regulus in the rearview mirror a few times before he soon lost interest and concentrated on the road. Regulus didn’t give him much either; staring gloomily out of the window. He was not in the mood to talk. His head hurt and he was restraining himself from reaching for his pills. It would soothe his nerves, but James might pick up on it, and he wasn’t going to risk it. But not taking the pills meant he was on the edge, the knot in his stomach drawn tight, his body and mind restless. His thoughts were going in endless circles.

Forty minutes later, he stood in front of a small house on the outskirts of London, and just seconds after the car was gone, the door opened. James appeared, his broad silhouette against the light of the corridor. Regulus had to blink as it stung in his eyes.

“Regulus.” James sounded ridiculously relieved.

Regulus didn’t know what to do. All of a sudden, he was overwhelmed. It was as though a dam was breaking and every emotion that he had carefully tucked away since his mother’s death was suddenly coursing through his body, and he was spiralling, out of control. He hated his mother for dying and making him a target for the hatred of his own family, he hated her for abusing him so much he was relieved she was gone, he hated her for making him realize he was even lonelier without her. Despite everything, she had always been there, a constant in his life. He hated the fact that he now stood in front of James’ house, vulnerable, in a three-day year old shirt and unruly hair and a soaked jacket.

And he tried to hate the relief he felt at the sight of James, but he couldn’t.  

James started walking towards him and Regulus had to repress the sudden instinct to retreat, even though his feet were firmly planted on the ground and he was so tensed up he wasn’t sure he’d be able to move anyway.

James stopped in front of him, looking down on him. Worry was radiating off him in waves. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, softly.

He wasn’t sorry for his mother’s death; he was sorry for every single one of the conflicting emotions that he read in Regulus’ eyes. The one’s that were now on full display because Regulus’ wall had broken down and he didn’t have an ounce of energy left in his drained body to change that.

And suddenly, James crossed the line. Before Regulus knew what was happening, he had drawn him into a firm embrace and Regulus stiffened, not knowing what to do, holding his breath, so thrown off his body was frozen. A distant part of him panicked. And then, with his mind stupefied and short-circuiting, suddenly found himself leaning into James’ touch of his own accord, unable to help himself, and James only pressed him even closer as he felt Regulus’ relax, almost not letting him breathe.

“I hate hugging,” Regulus said quietly, not fighting against James’ grip.

“Figured,” James said.

Regulus felt his breath on his skin.

Then, as James drew back, Regulus suddenly had to stop himself from holding onto James to make him stay. He staggered but grimly got himself under control again, steading himself. This had probably been the first time he had been hugged since Sirius had run away and it made Regulus realize just how touch starved he was. It was embarrassing. “I won’t stay long. I’ll find something else,” he said in an attempt to distract James from noticing just how much the hug had affected him.

James, who had surely noticed Regulus leaning in, hid a small smile, and shook his head. “You don’t have to. You really don’t. You can stay as long as you want.”

Regulus frowned at him. He had no idea how to respond to kindness. He knew how to retort sharp remarks or scolding or outrage but he was on unknown territory. As if standing face to face with James wasn’t disarming enough already, as if it wasn’t hard enough to form a coherent thought around him. James was disarming, annoyingly so.

“Don’t look at me like that,” James suddenly said.

Regulus arched an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like you think I’m the kindest human on earth,” James said, knitting his brows, “when I’m doing the bare minimum.”

Regulus couldn’t stand to look in his eyes any longer and evaded his gaze, readjusting his backpack. He cleared his throat. “If you’re doing this out of pity-“ he said quietly, but James cut him off.

“Are you kidding me, Regulus?” He seemed incredulous but didn’t elaborate any further. “Gimme your backpack.” He reached to take it off Regulus’ narrow shoulders but then seemed to remember how weird Regulus was about unwarranted touch and, probably thinking he had already pushed it by hugging him, just waited for Regulus to hand it over.

Regulus was too tired to argue and secretly glad he could take off the weight of his aching shoulders and gave it to James, who didn’t even bat an eye as though the bag weighed nothing. He slung it over his right shoulder.

“This way.”

Regulus followed James into the house and up a staircase. It smelt pleasantly of wood and tea; and some of the stairs creaked under James’ steps. Regulus, out of old habit, absent-mindedly avoided the creaking ones and reached the landing without having made any noise. He stoically ignored the inkling that James was letting him stay out of pity, no matter how ridiculous James had thought that idea.

He stepped into a corridor behind James and noticed two pairs of shoes; combat boots and converse. His gaze snapped to James. The same moment he wanted to open his mouth to ask, he heard a voice coming from the room at the other end of the corridor. The door was slightly ajar.

James noticed Regulus’ hesitance and smiled apologetically. “Oh yeah, I, uh, have some friends over. Oh come on, don’t look at me like that! They’re nice. Mostly. We’ve been best friends since school and they needed to place to crash. Please, just…stay?”

The prospect of having to face two strangers right now was enough to make Regulus almost turn on his heel and walk right out of the door again, but the fact that he still had nowhere else to go made him grit his teeth and follow James down the corridor. James pushed the door open and the conversation died, and James made way for Regulus in the doorway so he could enter.

Regulus froze.

His mind short-circuited, skidding to a violent halt.

He swayed, blindly reaching for the doorframe to steady himself.

He stared, his mind desperately scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing.

Who he was seeing.

James, still standing next to him, faltered, confused at the sudden tension. He broke the thick silence. “Uh, guys? What’s-“

“Oh, nothing’s wrong, James,” Sirius said, having recovered before Regulus, his eyes not leaving him, “it’s just when you were gushing about a ridiculously hot chess player, I didn’t think you were talking about my little brother.”

James’s jaw dropped. He stuttered, looking between Regulus and Sirius, his eyes wide in disbelief. A brief moment of silence passed by. “What?” he asked feebly.

Now Sirius looked at James. His jaw was set, but not because he was angry at James. “That’s my brother Regulus Black.”

“But you’re…” James was at a loss. “You’re…not…a…”

Sirius huffed. “I’m a Black. A descendent of The Most Noble and Ancient house of Black, to be precise.” His last words dripped with derision.

“Sirius…” the lanky guy behind Sirius murmured; and it was only now that Regulus even took notice of him. He had unruly brown hair and a bad posture, wore an old sweater one size too big on him with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He, unlike James, didn’t seem shocked about the revelation at all. Regulus vaguely remembered him as one of Sirius’ friend’s, but couldn’t recall his name.

James’s gaze shifted to him. “You knew.”

The lanky guy grimaced. “Listen, James, it wasn’t my place to tell you, it was Sirius’ decision.” His voice and tone was gruff.

“How-“

“I promise I’ll explain later,” Sirius said impatiently. His attention shifted back to Regulus. He was clearly upset, but hid it well, even if not as well as Regulus. There was a slight tremor in his hand. His brown eyes were too bright. “Reg,” he began, but Regulus already had enough.

He snapped as years upon years of rage and loneliness and hurt were suddenly set lose and overwhelmed him and he found his voice again. “Don’t fucking talk to me!” he growled. “You fucking abandoned me! How could you fucking leave me with them?”

Sirius stared at him but quickly recovered, his anger suddenly sharpening as his temper rose. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “How the fuck could I have stayed, Regulus?” His words were like knifes. “They hated me! You were the perfect son! You never did anything wrong, you’re the son they’ve always wanted!”

“I have a fucking burn scar on my chest, Sirius!” Regulus snapped before he could ponder his own words. “Is that how you treat your perfect son?”

Sirius’ mouth clapped shut at once. He stared at Regulus as thick silence filled the kitchen. He seemed to sway, but maybe it was Regulus who was losing his balance. He couldn’t tell. Sirius slowly shook his head. “Why did you anger them? Why the fuck did you have to anger them?” he suddenly asked, his voice breathy as though he had to work his way around the words. “You were always the smart one. You always stayed out of their way. Why the hell did you stop?”

“How could I not, Sirius?” Regulus said coldly. “They pushed me harder when you left. They made me become a chess player. They needed me to be perfect because I was the only one left, because they gave up on you, and I’m their only heir. You got away. And that only made it so much worse for me.”

Sirius’ eyes seemed to drink in Regulus’ narrow frame as though he was only really seeing him now, as though he was only now taking notice of how slim Regulus had gotten and how the skin under his eyes was bruised. Regulus squirmed under his gaze, but didn’t back up, his jaw set and his eyes ablaze.

“How could I have known?” Sirius asked, his face hard. “You never fucking tried to contact me. So you don’t get to say that I’m selfish.”

“You don’t understand, do you?” Regulus said through gritted teeth. “You knew very well in what sort of situation you left me. You knew I would fight back at some point because I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore but you refused to acknowledge that thought because it was easier to pretend you didn’t abandon me and left me in an abusive home. You knew. You knew all this fucking time, all this fucking time that you were out here with your friends,  in safety, you knew that I was suffering. And you still never came back for me. I will never forgive you for that.”

“Regulus-“ James began, but both Sirius and Regulus ignored him.

Sirius had faltered ever so slightly. “You don’t mean that,” he said, darkly, shaking his head. “You know better than anyone that there are reasons why I couldn’t go back. You can’t ask that of me. I got out and you have no right to drag me back into it. Not after everything I’ve done to escape. Not after all those years that I spent protecting you and taking the brunt.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Regulus’ voice was pure venom. “This is not black and white, Sirius,” he scowled. “This is more complicated than that. I hate you. I hate you for leaving me behind and pretending I was fine. And I know I also can’t expect you to save me. I don’t want you to. Not anymore.”

“You don’t make any sense!” Sirius exclaimed.

“That’s because none of this makes any fucking sense, Sirius!” Regulus shot back, just as heatedly. “I just know one fucking thing. If you think you get to be my brother again, you’re wrong. And don’t fucking call me Reg again, you don’t get to do that anymore. You lost that privilege when you decided it was okay to leave me to die.” Regulus grabbed his bag from where James had put it down, shouldered it, and turned on his heel. “I’m fucking leaving.”

James, too stunned to process what was happening, stammered something incomprehensible, the doorhandle still in his hand, looking like a kicked puppy.

Regulus stormed down the corridor and through the door, down the stairs and it was only on the porch that he heard footsteps behind him. The next second, he was jerked back as James wrapped his hand around Regulus’ upper arm and stopped him.

Regulus spun around, opening his mouth to tell him to let the fuck go, when James pressed his hand on his mouth. Regulus growled and shoved him backwards, trying to free himself from his grip, but James seemed to have had enough and directed him backwards until Regulus’ back hit the closed door and held him pressed against it. It didn’t even take much out of him; he was in a much better shape than Regulus and held him there effortlessly.  

Regulus glared at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Regulus, please listen.” James was on the edge, breathing fast, but his voice was commanding. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I know I can’t let you walk away like that. You have nowhere to do. I can’t let you go like that. I won’t let you go like that.” The wind blew his curls into his face but he didn’t bother brushing them away.

Regulus fought against James’ grip and James took his hand off his mouth.

He glared up at James. “You’re right. You have no idea what happened between the two of us. You have no right to make me stay.”

“I know enough to understand that you’re on the same fucking side, Regulus!” he exclaimed. His jaw was set. He added, quieter: “And I know both of you well enough to know that you’re too stubborn for your own good and you need someone to force you to talk it the fuck out and this someone is me. You’re staying.”

Regulus could see that James usually wasn’t like this, but was now because the situation demanded it of him. He obviously didn’t like it, but he was determined. Regulus glared at him. “There’s nothing to talk about, James. He left me behind years ago and I hate him for it. And he knows that now. And there’s nothing he can change about it because I can’t forgive him. There’s nothing left to say.” He pushed off the door, but James stopped him again, his hand against Regulus’ chest. Their faces were inches apart.

“I’m not asking you to forgive him. You don’t need to do that.” He shook his head. “If you can’t, then don’t. Hate him for the rest of your life if you need to. But don’t walk away upset like this. Do you know how worried I was after I read about your mother’s death? I had no idea where you were. You don’t get to make me go through that again.” His eyes were dark.

Regulus hesitated, looking at James uncertainly. He did look hurt; the emotion like a dark shadow on his face. Regulus wondered how he could have ever thought James was manipulative when it all had been right there. He doubted James was even capable of hiding emotions. He would have never survived in the Black household. He fought with himself for a few heartbeats. Then, he huffed. “Fine. But I’m not talking to him.”

James was so relieved he only shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He really didn’t seem to care.

Half an hour later, Regulus sat on the windowsill in one of James’ guest rooms – James had told him his parents had left him the house when they had moved into a smaller, more comfy one –, the window opened and his knees drawn to his chest. He had showered and shivered in the cold but wanted to listen to the thrumming of the rain. It soothed him. He was still upset; the knot in his stomach pulled so tight it hurt. The emotions were raging in his chest. He was hurt and sad and angry, so fucking angry, and tired of it all.

He had never before wanted to take the pills so badly but restrained himself. Not in James’ house. Not with him down the corridor arguing with Sirius.

Regulus hadn’t wanted to listen, but it was almost impossible not to as the doors were old and thin and Sirius and James had shouted at each other. Regulus guessed that James hated conflict and usually avoided it because the one time he didn’t, even Sirius seemed intimidated and sheepish. For his standard, anyway. The other guy – Remus, as Regulus had learned (the name rang a bell, and a few memories had started to come back) – intercepted only sometimes when thing got out of hand, but was mostly quiet. He could make Sirius shut up in an instant, though.

From what Regulus had gathered in the last fifteen minutes, the three of them had gone to school together. Their parents had sent Sirius to a boarding school for four consecutive years because they were tired of dealing with his rebelliousness. Apparently, Sirius hadn’t gone under the name Black, however. He’d somehow managed to convince the headmaster not to mention his family to anyone. Which meant that James hadn’t known all this time that he was friends with an heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Thinking about it, it was insane that Sirius got away with it.

Staring out of the window, reminiscing, Regulus realized that he remembered Sirius mentioning the name Remus Lupin the year before he left when he went home for Christmas. And maybe he also remembered a shaggy guy showing up from time to time when their parents were on a business trip? There was a very hazy memory of him bringing home a very drunk Sirius, but Regulus couldn’t remember any details. Even though Regulus tried hard, it was all too blurry. He hadn’t cared about with whom Sirius was meeting up back then. He’d had other problems.

“You thought you couldn’t trust me? We were friends all this time and you still thought you couldn’t tell me?” James sounded genuinely hurt.

Regulus closed his eyes, waiting for Sirius’ response.

“I just didn’t want anyone to know. When we were at Hogwarts, that was the one time I could pretend I wasn’t from this fucked-up family. I could leave this shit behind for another year, do you really think I would have passed out on that opportunity? Oh, don’t even go there. Remus is my boyfriend. Of course I told him.”

Boyfriend, huh? Regulus wasn’t too surprised.

“Sirius, we’re basically married! You’re the platonic love of my life!”

“And you’re mine, and you know that!” Sirius said and didn’t sound so serious anymore.

“Jesus, Sirius, I told you about the incident and you couldn’t even tell me your last name?”

“The incident?” Remus said, mildly amused.

“Hey, I don’t think I have to defend myself to you, Mr. Lupin,” James shot back.

“No, guess you don’t.”

And now they were bantering. Great.

Regulus still hadn’t wrapped his mind around the fact that his older brother and the charming chess player he had met were best fucking friends, but it kind of made sense now. Thinking about it, they fit together better than Regulus and Sirius ever did. It didn’t surprise him that Sirius wanted to surround himself with the kind of people who could distract him from his past, who made him feel normal. Because that’s all Regulus had ever wished for.

Still, everything had happened so fast that Regulus still felt like he was caught in a dream (or nightmare?) and he would be woken up by the shrill voice of his mother in a hotel room and play against strangers whose faces blurred together because Regulus didn’t put in any effort into remembering anymore.

He didn’t know if he wanted it to be a dream.

He was here with James.

The three of them stayed up until one in the morning, then went to bed. Regulus couldn’t sleep. It was as though he sensed Sirius’ restlessness and his churning mind through the thin walls and it only amplified his own agitation. At three in the morning he gave up and wandered into the kitchen and wasn’t surprised to find Sirius sitting there, gloomily staring out the window. When his gaze snapped to Regulus and he saw it was laden with twirling emotions and ice-cold, Regulus contemplated walking straight out again.

Instead, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.

They eyed each other for a long second.

“You look like shit,” Sirius broke the silence first.

“Do you feel sad that she died?” Regulus asked, ignoring Sirius’ comment. He was keenly aware of how battered he looked, thank you very much, and he didn’t need anyone to point it out. Especially not his brother who looked like he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks. Insomnia ran in the family.

Sirius huffed. “I’m absolutely devastated.”

“I found her.” God, it was so weird talking to him after all these years. He hadn’t aged. His hair was a little bit longer, and he had put on a little bit more muscle, that was all. Regulus felt like he had been catapulted five years back in time. Sirius, on the other hand,  was still looking at him so strangely that Regulus realized he must have changed a lot and Sirus was trying to match this new version with the one he remembered.

Sirius threw him a curious look, waiting for him to continue.

“And I was relieved when I realized she was dead.”

Sirius paused, his expression darkening. “Don’t tell me you feel guilty for feeling relief.”

“What if I do?” Regulus said defiantly, raising his chin. “For you, she’s been dead for years. For me, she died two days ago.” He grimaced, almost choking on the next words. “I’m grieving, Sirius.” He hadn’t intended to be so vulnerable, but he needed Sirius to understand. And he was the only one who possibly could.

Sirius scowled and shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

“I know she doesn’t, but I can’t change how I feel!” Regulus blurted desperately. “It’s just the way I feel. I can’t fucking help it. I thought you’d understand.”

“Well, I don’t,” Sirius said sharply. A hint of contempt flashed over his face as he looked at Regulus, as though Regulus had just revealed himself as a traitor for admitting that. It made Regulus straighten and wipe all emotions from his face again, withdrawing back into himself. Sirius saw and seemed to regret his decision, alarmed as he sensed Regulus pull away form him, and tried to explain himself. “She was evil and manipulative and sociopathic and she hurt us, Regulus. She was a monster. The fact that she died means that I can finally bury her.”

Regulus didn’t want to hear any of it. He was shutting down, regretting he had confessed in the first place. It was naïve, in hindsight. Sirius and his views had never really aligned. They were brothers, but in this family, that didn’t mean anything. He should have learned his lesson by now. He felt like James and Sirius were more like brothers than Regulus and Sirius had ever been. He pushed off the counter. “Yeah, cutting out people and forgetting about them is really easy for you, I should have remembered,” he said coldly.

Sirius stared at him. “I never forgot about you, Regulus.”

“Oh, didn’t you now?” Regulus scowled. “How much do you even know about my life?”

“I know enough. You’re a famous chess player. You’re living the dream. You’re staying in five-star hotels. You’re traveling all over the world.”

“Oh yeah, what a fucking dream. I especially like the part where the family reputations doesn’t rest on my shoulders and I’m not fucking exploited for money. That’s the best part of it,” he scowled.

Sirius glared up at him. “You were obsessed with chess, Regulus. It’s all you ever wanted to do. Every time I brought a friend over, you challenged them for a chess game. Remus had to fucking play again you every time he showed up, don’t you remember? And he did every time.”

Regulus was taken aback. He didn’t remember that. The years before Sirius had run away were blurry in his head. He had tried so hard to forget and maybe he had succeeded just a bit too well.

“What, you don’t remember that? Bugging my friends to play with you?”

Regulus shook his head.

Sirius eyed him with a strange gaze. “They always indulged you. It was the only time I ever saw you even remotely happy. So why do you hate your life so much now, Regulus? It doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“It makes sense when you realize how much pressure I am under. She was controlling. She controlled every fucking step I took. I couldn’t even make any friends. She isolated me. I was alone with her all the time. I had no one.”

“You’ve always been good on your own, Regulus.”

Regulus huffed. “I was never fucking good on my own, Sirius! You were just too fucking busy with all your friends and your pranks to pay any attention to me.”

Sirius looked down at his hands, silent for a minute. He took a deep breath, his eyebrow knitted in anger. “In the beginning, I kept tabs on you. I read the articles about you. And I looked at the photos. You never let them get a good one, did you? I suppose it made her furious. But I just…stopped. Because you looked like you were managing. And you never wanted my help, not even when we were kids. So I thought you wouldn’t want me to fight on your behalf. Your life seemed calm and I didn’t want to stir things up again because I thought maybe you didn’t want me to.”

“I don’t know what I wanted you to do,” Regulus said, quietly. “But I hate you for not doing anything.”

Sirius looked at him troubled but seemed too weary to start another fight. Instead, he changed the topic, looking out the window again. “It doesn’t surprise me that James picked you up. That’s what he always does. When I ran away at sixteen, I went to his house. I was always welcome there.”

Had James just seen Sirius in him and felt the need to rescue him? Was that the reason why he had been so adamant? Maybe he hadn’t even realized his own reasoning, but his subconscious had urged him to do it. He’d gotten under Regulus’ skin just so that he could intervene him before it was too late like it had been with Sirius. Maybe it had all been manipulation, but maybe it hadn’t been about the game at all, maybe it had been about this. James had needed to clear his conscience because he had realized his best friend’s dire situation too late and he carried guilt. “He pities me.”

“He doesn’t. He just needs to help. He’s got a big heart and he’s a better person than all of us combined,” Sirius said. “He can’t stand by and watch. That’s why you’re here now. Because he wanted to get you out of there and so he did.”

“I’m going to leave.”

Sirius shook his head, his expression changing. He was almost pleading now, even though is voice was flat. “Don’t do that to him. It’ll break his heart.”

“I never asked him to care,” Regulus said coldly.

“You don’t have to ask, he just does,” Sirus replied. “And if you’re gone in the morning, he’ll never forgive himself.”

Regulus shook his head. “I can’t stay under the same fucking roof as you, Sirius.”

“Don’t hurt him just because of me,” Sirius said, a warning etched in his tone. “This is between us. He has nothing to do with it.”

Regulus paused. He remembered the hurt in James’ voice. How he had pleaded him to stay. The worry would eat him up if Regulus decided to leave just hours after he’d arrived. Regulus heard himself sigh. Sirius watched him as he walked over to the table and sat down opposite to him, drawing his feet up. “I’m staying for James. But I won’t fucking talk to you.”

Sometime in 1977

The telephone rang in Remus’ tiny flat, and Remus jerked awake, his mood already worsening. He stared daggers at the minty green phone across the corridor. When it didn’t spontaneously combust under his stare, he cursed, grabbed his pillow and covered his ears with it, determined to get back to sleep. He’d worked two shifts that day to scramble up some money for rent before his landlord kicked him out, and on top of that, he’d attended three lectures, written an entire essay in one sitting, and tutored two other students. He was not going to sacrifice his precious sleep for anyone in this world.

A minute later, the telephone stopped ringing and Remus breathed out, relief filling his chest.

It began ringing again.

Remus cursed loudly and flung his pillow away from him, his jaw set as he reluctantly heaved himself to his feet, muttering to himself as he walked around the mess littering his corridor and picked up the phone.

“You better have a really good reason for waking me at fucking three in the morning,” he growled.

There was brief silence at the other end. “Is my brother being drunk out of his mind and stealing my parents’ car a good enough reason?” Regulus asked at the other end of the line.

Surprise chased the last remnants of sleep away. “Regulus?”, he growled. “Wh-“

“Can you take care of it or not?”

Regulus had never called him up to that point. It wasn’t like he’d gone back to pretending Remus didn’t exist, as he did with a lot of Sirius’ friends, but Regulus only ever acknowledged him with a curt nod or one of his unwavering, silent stares. Remus still hadn’t figured out where he stood with Regulus, but he supposed that no one ever did when it came to him. He was distant and unreadable, and it wasn’t like Remus tried very hard. They sometimes played the occasional chess game when Remus had to wait for Sirius to get ready.

“How’d you-“ Remus began, but broke off. Not important. “Sirius. Is he in danger? What happened?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Now, as he was beginning to understand the precariousness of the situation, worry welled up in his chest. The always simmering anger, though, also flared up.

“I don’t know.” There was the slightest tremor in Regulus’ voice that told Remus that Regulus was less composed than he pretended to be. He imagined him clutching the telephone so tightly his knuckles had went white, the line of his jaw sharp, his grey eyes troubled. “Our father beat him up. He sneaked out, and he came back drunk, and he rambled on about you and Hogwarts, and then he stole the car keys. I tried to talk him out of it, but…well, he’s gone now.” His voice was terse.

Remus’ heart fluttered strangely when Regulus said Sirius had talked about him, but he sobered up quickly. He probably hadn’t said very nice things considering they were fighting right now. Remus gritted his teeth, staring at his reflection in the window before answering. “I’m done with picking him up again and again and again,” he finally said. It wasn’t the truth. The truth was something different entirely. It was that it was slowly destroying Remus, and he didn’t deserve it. He was trying so fucking hard not to lose his scholarship and keep up with his school work and work his two jobs, and Sirius kept making him put it at risk like he hadn’t been working his ass off for it since he was twelve.

As though it wasn’t worth anything.

“I’m not blaming you if you don’t do it this time,” Regulus said after a pause, and he sounded like he really meant it. There was a tiredness to his voice that reminded Remus of his own, and it suddenly struck him that they had a lot more in common that he’d thought. Regulus was fighting for something, too, striving for some unknown goal that he hoped was worth sacrificing everything for – just to get away from the miserable life that the universe had decided for him. He realized that Regulus, too, wanted to leave this place behind and go somewhere no one knew his name and where life was less difficult and laughter came easier.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand over his face. He exhaled. “Okay. I’ll try to find him. I have an idea where he might have gone.”

Regulus sounded relieved, even though Remus was sure he was trying his hardest not to let it show. “Okay.” He paused a moment too long. “I’d do it, but I can’t really…” he broke off, sounding distressed. “Nevermind. I need to go.”

Remus’ thoughts got caught on Regulus’ words and he frowned. “Regulus, wait,” he said sternly. “Regulus, are you okay?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “Why do you need me to go after him? Why don’t you-“

“Because I got into a car accident last week,” Regulus said icily, “and I have a broken wrist and mild concussion, and as much as I’d like my idiot brother not to steer off the road, there’s not much I can do right now.” The frustration that Regulus had carefully tucked away was on full display now. “I can’t get in a car, Remus.”

It wasn’t just because of the injuries. It was because Regulus physically couldn’t get himself to sit in a car, because his mind and body shut down if he tried, and he’d be haunted by flashbacks of the smell of gasoline and the sudden pain in his head and the moment he hadn’t been able to breathe.

Remus’ face darkened. “Who was driving the car, Regulus?”

The silence lingered a moment too long, and Remus knew he’d caught Regulus off-guard, and Remus knew enough. He breathed out. “Jesus.”

“Remus, I’m not your fucking responsibility.” Regulus’ voice was all venom, he’d flipped the switch in mere seconds. “You want to fuck my brother? You think you can get him to stop fucking up his life? Great. Live out your saviour complex. But don’t fucking come near me,” he snarled. “I won’t have you on my conscience.”

“Regulus, I swear to god-“

“Get him or don’t. I don’t care,” Regulus said, flatly, as though he couldn’t care less, and then he hung up.

  Forty minutes later, Remus found the Black family’s car on the middle of the broad landing strip of the private airfield they had started to build until the investor had run out of money and the project had been abandoned. That had been nearly fifteen years ago. When Remus drew closer, squinting at the car, he realized there was fume coming off of it. His heart leaped in his chest and his relief turned into overwhelming worry again that clung to him all the way down the rest of the road. Sirius had stopped just before the end, and the braking marks underneath Remus’ shoes were dark in the headlights of his car as the got out.

A gust of wind tugged on his jacket. He walked around the car, and his heart plummeted. One of the headlights was merely flickering, and the front of the car was dented. It smelt of gasoline. Adrenaline flooded Remus’ veins, and he ripped the door of the passenger seat open, his hands ice-cold-

And Sirius was lounging there, on the driver’s seat, his goddamn legs propped up on the dashboard, a cigarette in one hand, a bottle in the other. The mixture of alcohol and cigarette smoke scratched Remus’ throat. Sirius turned around to him, his eyes glazed, squinting at Remus as though he couldn’t quite place him for a second. There was dried blood from a cut on his eyebrow and on his cheek, and Remus had no idea where they came from.

What he did know, was where the blossoming bruise at Sirius’ jaw came from.

The anger flared up in his chest, again, the one that had never quite seemed to leave him since Sirius had pretended their first kiss had meant nothing, when it had meant everything to Remus.

“Remus?” Sirius suddenly slurred. He was drunk, but not too drunk. “What are you doing here?”

Remus briefly closed his eyes, then, he got in the car, closed the door, leaning his head on the backrest, feeling relief pulsating through him. Sirius was fine. For the moment. He took a deep breath. “You wrecked the car.”

Sirius took a drag of his cigarette. “That I did,” he said, as though he couldn’t care less, taking a sip of the bottle. Remus could see it was nearly empty.

Remus turned to look at him. “That’s all you’re gonna say? Seriously?” There was heat in his words. “I got up in the middle of the night to search for you and you just fucking sit here and pretend it’s not fucked up that you nearly killed yourself?”

Sirius drew his eyebrows together. His eyes were dangerously dark as he met Remus’ gaze. “I had it under control.”

“You obviously didn’t,” Remus said sharply, gesturing at the dried blood on Sirius’ face.

Sirius touched the wound. He stared at his bloodied fingers as though they were something alien, as though he hadn’t even realized he was bleeding, but he still couldn’t care less.

“I’m sick of you needing this adrenaline rush,” Remus said, kicking against the glove department.

Sirius flinched and Remus was immediately sorry, but he reminded himself that he was allowed to be angry. He had to be up in three hours to work his morning shift. And yet he was here, with Sirius, drunk and stoic as always, blind to his own flaws or too long past to care.

“I’m sick of you doing all these dangerous things.”

It was as though the sudden outburst of violence had finally reached Sirius and he was wary now, taking his feet of the dashboard, the glaze gone from his eyes. He eyed Remus strangely, and put his cigarette out, flicking it out the window. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you really don’t? What about all the goddamn bottles in your room, Sirius?”

Sirius ducked his head. There was a flicker of shame.

“Yeah,” Remus said sourly. He tried not to stare at Sirius’ exposed neck, or his perfect jawline. Or the way his hair fell so effortlessly. Instead, he held onto his anger, made sure it kept burning in his chest.

Sirius exhaled. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

Remus was taken aback by the apology; it wasn’t what he had expected. He’d expected Sirius to fight back, to argue, to hurt him, as he always did. But then it struck him: Sirius had released all his restless energy, all his anger and frustration by racing down this landing strip like he couldn’t care less about his own life, and what was left was the burnt out Sirius, the one that was more numb than alive, and the one that came the closest to the one Remus had fallen in love with. It was a dangerous mixture; Sirius was never calm, but in good moments, his temper meant adventure and dare. It could always easily tip, but it used to not do that, and that was the version Remus had fallen in love with.

“You better fucking be,” Remus growled, not wanting Sirius to know that his anger had already dissolved into nothing.

Sirius lifted his head as though it took a lot of effort, and looked at Remus. His gaze lingered, then, it wandered down, tentatively, and Remus felt an unwanted rush of desire. This is what Sirius always did, once he was burnt out. There was nothing left to keep the fire alive, no rage or anger, and then he didn’t know where to go and he needed to distract himself from the hurt in his life. It always ended with Remus’ shirt discarded on the floor and Sirius’ hands roaming through his hair.

Remus couldn’t let that happen this time. He was about to break, he was fraying at the edges, and Sirius couldn’t be selfish for once because it would destroy Remus. One more of Sirius’ touches, and he’d crumble to pieces.

Sirius’ face was flawless. The straight nose, the dark eyes, the cheekbones. “I want to kiss you, Remus,” he said.

“I don’t want you to,” Remus said, holding his gaze. “So, don’t.”

Sirius seemed sober enough to respect that for the time being. He took a deep breath, silent for a whole minute, looking up at the roof of the car. “It’s not fucking fair.”

Remus let out a harsh laugh. “What? Life?” God, he wanted to smash something, or punch someone. Preferably Sirius.

“No,” Sirius said, settling his gaze on him. “That it’s got to be you.”

Remus’ heart palpitated. He wasn’t sure where this is going and if it went in the wrong direction, he was absolutely ready to smash his fist in Sirius’ face. Because he would not let Sirius blame any of his hurt on him.

But it took an entirely different direction than he’d expected. “That you’re the one I think of all the time,” Sirius breathed. “That you’re the one I can’t live without.”

Remus’ breath caught.

“Because I don’t want to hurt you. I’d rather hurt anyone else but you. But it’s you. It’s you. I’m so, so fucking sorry, because you don’t fucking deserve this.”

He didn’t. He really, really didn’t. But maybe, it occurred to him then, with the moonlight hitting Sirius’ face just right, that was alright. Maybe it was worth it in the end.

“Jesus,” Remus breathed, closing his eyes, stopping his thoughts. “Jesus. Don’t do that. Don’t say things that make me want to kiss you.” When he opened his eyes, there was the tiniest flicker of a smile on Sirius’ lips. Remus didn’t want to wipe it away, but he had to. Because he had sworn himself to protect his heart for once. “We’re not doing this again, Sirius. I can’t do it again.”

“Do what?” Sirius asked, as though he didn’t fucking know already.

“You kissing me like that and then pretending it never happened.”

“I kiss people when I’m drunk, Remus. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Anger surged in Remus’ chest and he glared at Sirius, opening his mouth to growl something, but Sirius suddenly cupped Remus’ face with his hands and Remus found himself going still.

“I does mean something with you,” he whispered. “And I should have told you that years ago.”

Something in Remus clicked into place as he finally heard the words he had longed for so so long. He almost couldn’t believe it that it was happening right now, here, in a car in the middle of nowhere, on an insignificant night. He remained wary. “How do I know you mean it? How do I know this will change things?” he asked, using every ounce of self-control not to climb into Sirius’ lap right now.

Sirius paused, holding his gaze. “Because I love you, Remus John Lupin. And I’m sorry for all the times I didn’t tell you that.” he finally said. His dark eyes were a dare, a spark of the energy that Remus loved so much. “And because I’m going to run away from home. I’m going somewhere far, far away.”

Remus could just stare at him.

“I want to be with you, Remus,” Sirius said, “but I can’t do that here. My home is haunted, Remus. As long as I stay here, I’ll need to drink, and I’ll need to break things, and I’ll need to be this fucked-up version of myself. I’ll never heal enough to be with you, Remus. I’ll keep hurting you. I need to get away from here.”

What about Regulus?, Remus wanted to ask, but he selfishly didn’t. This was about him, for once. This would finally get him what he’d wanted all this years, and he was not good enough of a person to put anyone else but him first.

“Then let’s run, Sirius,” Remus whispered. “Let’s get far, far away from here, so that I can finally be with the boy I’m in love with.”

Sirius paused. “You’re in love with me? Still?” He suddenly looked smaller and younger. It was what vulnerability always did to him.

Remus shook his head, a crooked smile on his face. “There is nothing you could do to make me not love you, Sirius.”

“I did try,” Sirius said, an apology in his eyes.

And then, just like that, Sirius leaned forward, and Remus did too, and their lips met. Sirius was desperate, Remus equally so, and Sirius gave a little whine, climbing into his lap. The bottle tipped over and spilt its contents over the driver’s seat, but none of them cared. Sirius’ hands were on Remus’ neck, his fingertips in his hair.

Remus grabbed Sirius’ waist, lifting him to draw him closer until their torsos nearly touched, letting his hands wander up Sirius’ t-shirt, feeling Sirius’ shudder in the desperate attempt not to arch his back. It was all hands on lips from then on, and before he knew what was happening, Remus had discarded his shirt and Sirius was running his hands over Remus’ chest, his dark eyes full of desire.

A part of Remus kept thinking how tragic it was that Sirius and he got to leave this place and Regulus didn’t, but Sirius’ lips were hot against his skin and he let himself fall, did not think for once.

Chapter Text

Regulus woke up with a start when someone knocked on his door. For a moment, he didn’t remember where he was. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, his heart beating against his ribs until James’ voice came from the other side of the door.

“Regulus? You awake?”

Regulus exhaled and felt himself relax immediately. He gave an unwilling grunt, brushing his hair from his face and blinking against the light. It was still raining outside. He had no idea how late it was, but the smell of tea and toast oozed through the door, so it probably wasn’t too late.

“Regulus?”

“Fuck off, Potter,” Regulus gave back, his voice husky. He was probably running on four hours of sleep. He was not going to get up.

“Oh, so you are awake,” James said.

“’m not,” Regulus mumbled.

“James, just drag his ass down here if you have to! He needs to see this, if he wants to or not!” Sirius yelled from down the corridor. Regulus perked up at that, alarmed. What was important enough that Sirius was ready to put aside their fight for a moment?

He huffed but reluctantly eased himself up, rubbing his left eye with his knuckles, scanning the room for his sweater. It hung over the backrest of the chair. He forced himself to stand up and pulled the t-shirt he had slept in over his head.

“Regulus? I’m coming in. You better not be-“ James broke off. “Oh.”

James had opened the door, and frozen in the doorway as he spotted Regulus standing in the middle of the room, very much without his shirt. His eyes briefly brushed over the scar on Regulus’ chest but quickly travelled down his torso to his waist. When he looked up against and realized Regulus had noticed him staring, he looked caught. The first time he had seen Regulus shirtless, James had been too shocked by the scar to care about anything else, but now, things were different. He swallowed, a strange look on his face.

Regulus met James’ flustered state with an arched eyebrow.

James visibly struggled to get himself under control again and averted his eyes as though it wasn’t already too late. “Jesus, Regulus,” he said with a grimace, suddenly very interested in the ceiling, “your brother is going to kill me.”

“My brother has no right to do anything on my behalf anymore,” Regulus said coldly and threw the t-shirt on his bed, pulling over the sweater. He turned back around, ruffling his hair, and found James still staring at him.

“What?” Regulus asked.

“You can’t wear that one, Regulus,” he squeezed out. There was a flash of panic in his eyes.

Regulus looked down and only now realized he had pulled on the sweater James had borrowed him the night he took refuge at his hotel room. He hadn’t paid attention. “Why not?”

James threw a quick gaze down the hallway as though to check that Remus and Sirius were still in the kitchen. He ran a hand through his hair, stressed. “Because you’re my best friend’s little brother and he’s gonna kill me if he realizes that’s my sweater!” he said in a low voice, his tone urgent.

James’ cheeks were red now. He looked desperate, almost horrified at the prospect of what Sirius would think once he realized it was James’. Regulus contemplated leaving the sweater on just to watch him squirm but in the end pitied James too much and shrugged. “Fine.” He pulled it over his head again, rummaging through his bag, keenly aware of James’ gaze resting on his back the entire time. He found an old t-shirt and threw it on.

James seemed conflicted, both relieved and disappointed Regulus was wearing a shirt again.

“What do you want to show me?” Regulus asked.

“You’ll see,” James replied cryptically.

Regulus frowned, following James down the corridor into the kitchen. Sirius and Remus were sat at the table; Remus with two plates of food in front of him, Sirius with a mug. His brother considered him with a dark gaze when he entered, anger still fuming and thickening the tension between the two of them, but wordlessly slid a newspaper towards Regulus.

Regulus knew what it was before he even read the headline. His mood darkened and he braced himself.

Walburga Black found dead in a hotel room in New Mexico

Regulus huffed. There was a black and white picture of him and a smaller headline.

Regulus Black, the child prodigy, guilty?

Regulus Black, the promising chess player and heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, is reported to have left the hotel just hours after Walburga Black’s decease and has since then been untraceable. The Black family expressed their concerns about their youngest member, speculating that, in shock about his mother’s sudden death, he left the hotel precipitately.

In the past, the child prodigy has been reported to have a troubled mind, not uncommon for children gifted with such talents. “He has an obsessive and turbulent nature,” one of the spokespersons of the Black family stated on Friday. “The cost of genius is often a troubling one.”

Regulus gritted his teeth and stopped reading until he had his welling anger under control. He skipped a paragraph that went on about his supposed troubledness, ignoring the fact that all eyes were resting on him, and began reading again at the word guilty.

However, the Black family is determined to shut down any allegations against their son. “He has nothing to do with her death. Unfortunately, Mrs. Black’s health had been compromised since her older son, Sirius Black, turned his back on his family. Her grief about his rebelliousness and cruel nature has left her in a fragile state.” The family stresses that they only want Regulus to return home safely and welcomes any clue helping to determine his current whereabouts. “We worry about him. We just want to know that he is safe. So if anyone out there has seen him, please don’t hesitate to contact the police.”

Regulus had enough and stopped reading.

They had done exactly what he had expected them to do. This was only a warning. Come back, and you’ll be fine. If he didn’t, they’d built on the image of his “troubledness” and imply he might actually be more involved in her death than initially suspected. And it would, of course, break their heart. They had laid the foundations in the first article, just enough to fall back on if necessary.

It wasn’t exactly hard for them to make sure the newspaper printed what served them.

Regulus growled, fury and frustration coursing through his veins. This wasn’t fucking fair. He had just wanted to get the fuck away from them. He’d waited seventeen years for a moment like this. All he’d wanted was his freedom. All he’d wanted was a life away from them, a life with someone who cared about him. But they just wouldn’t let him go.

Something inside of him snapped.

He turned around, throwing the newspaper in trash, and wanted to walk out without another word, when James put his hand on his chest and held him back.

“Wowowow, where are you going?”

“I’m going to burn their fucking house down,” Regulus said darkly.

Behind him, he heard someone get up. A chair scraped over the floor. “I’m in,” Sirus said determinedly.

“Sirius, no,” Remus growled immediately. “Sit down.” He dragged Sirius back on the chair. Judging from the thud, Sirius let him.

Regulus shook off James’ hand, but James shook his head, quickly positioning himself between Regulus and the door. “Regulus, I get that you’re angry, but I can’t let you do anything rash. Let’s all calm down a bit, okay?”

“Since when are you not in when it comes to a prank?” Sirius asked.

“Since it’s not a prank, Sirius! He wants to burn your parents’ place down!” James exclaimed, desperate.

“I will burn their place down,” Regulus said. And he meant it.

“He really is ruthless,” Remus said to Sirius. He was the calmest of them all; collected, almost unfazed. Regulus could see why Sirius was drawn to him. He still had his hand wrapped around his mug, leaning back in his chair.

“I told you he is!” Sirius said.

Regulus arched an eyebrow at them, scowling.

Remus met his gaze easily, unimpressed by the rage and coldness in Regulus’ eyes as though he had seen much worse. “You shouldn’t do anything but lay low right now, Regulus. There’s no point in acting on your rage right now. They just demonstrated they have the upper hand. Let them have it for a little bit longer until we come up with something that will actually hurt them.”

“There’s nothing that will hurt them,” Regulus growled. “They’re too powerful. If I don’t show up on their fucking doorstep within the next 48 hours, they’ll make the newspapers imply I had something to do with her death. They’ll say I’m insane, that I’ve lost it.”

“And burning their house down won’t give them that impression?” Remus said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he arched his eyebrow. Regulus could see why Sirius had fallen in love with him. Remus Lupin was powerful. “Maybe it’s not exactly the best idea to play into it.”

Regulus forced himself to take a deep breath, but held Remus’ gaze. “I will not just sit here and wait until they ruined my life.”

James briefly touched his shoulder. “You’re turning eighteen soon, don’t you?” he asked. Regulus, caught off-guard by this question, turned around to him. “You’ll legally be an adult, and then they can’t make you do anything anymore. You just have to lay low until then. As things stand, no one has claimed that your mother died from anything else but natural causes, so that means they police are not actively searching for you because of that. They’re only searching for you because you’re underage. And once you turn eighteen, and they find you, they can’t make you live with your family anymore.”

James’ words made sense. His birthday was six days from now. What if he just sat it out?

James seemed to have sensed his words reached Regulus and pressed on. “Nobody knows you’re here. And what if both of us just show up at the Ohio U.S. State Championship like nothing happened? If they ask for a statement, say that you needed some time. Say that you’re grieving or that you’re sorry you left your family in the dark but you were in shock and you needed time. Say whatever you want; it doesn’t matter. The public think you’re strange, but that’s what they always think about chess players because it makes for a better story for the newspapers.”

Regulus had refused to look at Sirius during this whole conversation, but now levelled his gaze at him. Sirius was the only other person in the world who really knew what the Black family was capable of.

Sirius didn’t seem to want to answer him at first, but then shrugged gloomily. “They’re influential, sure, but they can’t do much at this point.”

Regulus remained silent, contemplating.

James broke the silence. He moved away from the door, reaching out to touch Regulus but thinking better of it. He still seemed to have no idea how much Regulus wanted him to touch him. “Just…sit down and eat something. We don’t have to do anything now. We have time.”

Regulus hesitated.

“Regulus, James’ got a point. It might work,” Remus said pensively when Regulus didn’t move.

A little surprised, Regulus realized he trusted Remus’ judgement. He didn’t know what it was, but Remus had a reassuring effect on him. Unlike Sirius, he considered his words before speaking, and if he said that James was right, there was a good chance he actually was.

Regulus paused, then nodded, walked over to the table and sat down.

Sirius had noticed how Regulus had allowed James to touch his shoulder without batting an eye and was now narrowing his eyes at James, but then seemed to remember that Regulus and he were actually still arguing and didn’t comment on it. He sat back and glared into his tea cup, while Remus impaled his scrambled eggs with his fork like he had decided not to be bothered by the tension between Regulus and Sirius.

“Toast? Tea?” James asked.

Regulus’ stomach was too upset to eat, but he nodded, painfully aware that Sirius had tensed up at the question. He was the only one who knew that Regulus had never been that skinny, and he was probably going to bring it up at some point.

The last thing Regulus needed was Sirius confronting him about his eating habits, so he accepted a slice of toast and poured milk into his black tea. He made a point to slowly work his way through the whole toast, washing it down with his tea. Both tasted burnt.

Marlene thought that Dorcas must be the most beautiful woman in the world. And it wasn’t her glowing skin, her shining hair, her lithe body that made her think that. It was her confidence, and her intelligence, and her creativeness. Sometimes, Marlene thought that people ought to be afraid of her. Sometimes, Marlene was. She’d stand next to Dorcas, watch her work on a dress, push tiny little pins into the fabric, her bottom lip between her teeth, her brows furrowed in concentration, and an hour later, Dorcas would walk into a room full of people wearing that exact dress, and Marlene would know she was the most powerful women in the world.

It was because of the way she wore her work so proudly, with her head held high and her shoulders back. It was the fact that she could wear her own art, and she knew how it looked on her body, and she herself became art. The world made sense when Dorcas wore a dress she made by her own hands. Everything fell into place. You’d look at her and think, oh, of course this is the way the dress is, because how could it be any other way?

Marlene used to wear oversized band t-shirts and leather jackets, skinny jeans and boots. She still did that, because nothing in the world screamed more Marlene than that. But sometimes, Dorcas would knock on her door in the middle of the night, asking her to put on whatever she was working on, and Marlene would get up every time, and she’d pull the oversized t-shirt over her head, and pull over whatever Dorcas was handing her. She wore blazers with nothing underneath but a bra, dresses with dangerous slits, tops with her shoulders bare and her hair touching her skin. And maybe it was the fact that it was in the middle of the night or the wan light of the living room or Dorcas’ appreciative eyes on her, but she liked who she became if she wore what Dorcas created. It made her realize that Dorcas understood that she was more than just fierce and confident and brazen.

Whatever piece of clothing Dorcas made her wear, it brought out a different side of Marlene, one that no one had ever seen – until that particular night, when their eyes met and Dorcas smiled, and Marlene’s heart skipped a beat, realizing that Dorcas knew who she was. And no one would ever know her like she did.

It was both scary and exhilarating to be known like that. Marlene hated vulnerability, but she loved people who didn’t cut into her body and her soul trying to model them according to who they thought she was. Dorcas never did that. She knew the exact shape of Marlene’s body and soul and tailored clothes that she never felt constricted in.

Still, it was difficult being around her.

Marlene had an entire month of no concerts, no shows, no rehearsals. The band was scattered everywhere trying have some time away from each other. She had thirty days of lazy afternoons and long evenings with dripping sunsets. She spent almost all her days in Dorcas’ apartment. She was writing songs, Dorcas was making new clothes. The living room was scattered with fabrics, scissors, sketches, wine glasses, guitars, lose sheets of music and take-out food. They usually got up late and spent their whole day working away, drifting apart from time to time, until they ended up in the living room again. 

Marlene loved those days. Dorcas walked around barefoot in nothing but shorts and a big t-shirt and Marlene sometimes spent all day staring at her legs and the print of her curves in her t-shirt. Dorcas always had her hair up in a bun, so Marlene could see the nape of her neck. She was never able to tear her eyes away before Dorcas’ noticed.

Despite the fact that they were flirting all day long, nothing ever happened in those days. Marlene had no idea why. Normally, she was brazen and daring. Normally, she was always the one to make a first move, too impatient to wait. Not with Dorcas. Marlene didn’t know what it was, but she didn’t dare to touch the fragile thing that was developing between them. Both of them had noticed the shift between them, like continental plates moving along each other, but somehow, it had stayed like this between them.

Marlene tried to be okay with that.

Then, on a Tuesday night, she was sitting cross-legged on bathroom floor in an old band t-shirt, mixing hair dye in a small bowl, when Dorcas walked in. She looked up, surprised that Dorcas was still awake. She knew for a fact Dorcas hadn’t slept the night before, had spent the early hours of the morning finishing a dress for a fashion show. She had only a few days left on leave before she had to go back to modelling and her two side jobs, and she was determined to use every second of it to create as much as she could. There were half-finished dresses, high-waist trousers, and blazers all over the apartment.

“Hey,” Marlene said, putting her hair dye down.

Dorcas leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arm in front of her chest. She wore a top, and the swell of her breasts made Marlene snatch her gaze away quickly. “Hey. Colouring your hair again?”

“Yup,” Marlene said, turning her attention back to the hair dye.

“At this point no one even knows your real hair colour anymore,” Dorcas said, shaking her head, fake exasperation in her voice.  She took a step forward. “Let me do it.”

Marlene’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Let me do it,” Dorcas said, smiling her secretive smile, holding her hand out.

Marlene eyed her, then handed her the bowl. She got up from the floor and sat down on the edge of the bathtub, so Dorcas didn’t have to sit on the floor. Dorcas sat down behind her, so close Marlene could feel her breath on her neck. It made the tiny hairs on her skin stand up.

“Someday, I’ll cut it all off,” she said, to break the silence.

Dorcas put on the thin plastic gloves that always came with the kit. Marlene already knew her hands would still be dyed afterwards, and she knew she should feel bad about it, but the truth was, the only thing she really ever thought about was how Dorcas had touched her with those hands.

“What colour is it?” Dorcas asked, frowning at the hair dye.

“You’ll see,” Marle said, enjoying the moment of knowing more than Dorcas for once. It seemed that Dorcas knew all of her secrets, but Marlene knew none of hers. She liked when the power balance shifted just for a second.

“I hope it’s not blue, because that’s going to clash with the blazer you’ll have to put on for me later. I’m still not sure about the shape.”

“Blue?” she huffed. “Dorcas, come on.”

“I never know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours,” Dorcas said with a shrug. “It might be orange for all I know.”

“Not orange, either,” Marlene said.

Dorcas grabbed the brush. “I’m glad, because that would clash with my hair colour.”

Marlene huffed, raising her eyebrow. “Jesus, what are we, a couple that co-ordinates their outfits?”

“You know what would look great with my hair colour?”

“Hm?”

“Blond hair.”

“Well, then today’s your lucky day,” Marlene said. “Because that’s bleach.”

“Marls, that’s gonna absolutely destroy your hair,” Dorcas said, a hint of dismay. Marlene swung her other leg over the edge of the bathtub and turned around to face her. Her upper thigh and Dorcas’ waist were almost touching, hovering inches away from each other.

Marlene shrugged. “I’ll just cut it all off, like I said.”

Dorcas raised her eyebrows at her.

“You don’t want me to do it,” Marlene said. It was more a statement than a question.

“No, that’s not it,” Dorcas said. When she smiled, Marlene knew she was doomed. “It’s just that I know you’d look really, really hot if you did that, and it’s gonna distract me and I won’t be able to work, and that’s really bad, because I have four days let to finish all of this.”

Marlene’s chest grew warm, like every time Dorcas flirted with her like that. “That’s my revenge for all the songs I didn’t write because I was busy staring at your legs,” she quipped.

Dorcas seemed mildly surprised and pleased at the same time. “You’ve been staring at my legs?”

“I was so close to writing a song about them because I can’t think of anything else. You think I’m joking, I’m not,” Marlene said.

Dorcas’ snorted. “Yeah, that’d make a great song. A hymn to my friend’s legs.”

“Dorcas’ legs, the eight world wonder.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m dead serious, actually,” Marlene said, the smile gone from her face.

“You’re full of shit, Marls,” Dorcas said, laughing, shaking her head. Then, she grabbed the stained towel Marlene always used when she dyed her hair and put it around Marlene’s shoulders, her finger briefly brushing over the exposed skin of Marlene’s neck. She made Marlene turn her head ever so slightly and began applying the dye. Marlene shivered at the coolness of it.

Marlene tried to keep her head as still as possible, trying not blush at the way Dorcas was staring at her side profile. Marlene knew she was focusing on her hair, but it felt as though Dorcas was studying every inch of her face. Marlene sometimes imagined having Dorcas look at her like that when she was wearing nothing.

The thought made her feel brazen. “Dorcas,” Marlene said then, after some silence, forbidding herself to consider her words, “why the hell has nothing happened between us? All this time I’ve been here in your apartment, nothing’s happened. This is getting absolutely ridiculous. Because I spent all day thinking about kissing you.”

Dorcas’ stayed calm, but her surprise was given away by how her hand hesitated just a moment. “Maybe it’s because you’ve been thinking about it, but you haven’t actually done it.”

Marlene turned around to face her.

“Marls, come on, don’t move, you’re gonna mess it up,” Dorcas said.

Marlene couldn’t care less about her hair. She looked Dorcas dead in the eye. “Dorcas,” she began, “I’m going kiss you now.”

“You’re absolutely not going to kiss me now, there’s bleach in half your hair,” Dorcas said firmly. “And I need to finish applying it. It’ll look stupid if I don’t.“

“As if I could ever look stupid.”

“You do right now,” Dorcas said with a raised eyebrow.

Marlene leaned forward and kissed Dorcas on the mouth. Dorcas held her hand with the brush away from them as not to accidentally stain something. Her lips weren’t moving for a second, and Marlene realized with horror that she’d made a mistake, but then, Dorcas kissed her back, tentatively biting on Marlene’s bottom lip and relief filled Marlene’s chest. She put her hand on Dorcas’ jaw to hold her close, kissing her, hungrier than before.

Dorcas lowered her head and Marlene stopped.

“I’m sorry,” Marlene breathed, not really all that sorry. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins.

Dorcas met her gaze. Marlene’s heart was pounding in her chest. “You’re not.”

“Yeah, no. I’m not,” Marlene conceded. She stared at Dorcas’ lips, unable to tear her eyes away.

“Let me finish your hair,” Dorcas said. Marlene couldn’t read her face, no matter how hard she tried. There was a pang of frustration in her chest, anger rushing into her lungs, hard words in the back of her throat, but because it was Dorcas, she couldn’t say it. She’d straight out demand an explanation from any other girl, but she knew Dorcas wouldn’t give her one yet, so what was the point of trying.

“Okay,” Marlene finally said, trying not to snap at her. The word still came out sharp.

Dorcas looked at her with her brown eyes, considering her for a moment. Marlene thought she’d imagined it, but there was a glint of wistfulness in her gaze.

Stop playing with me, Dorcas, she thought. Don’t you dare play with me.

Dorcas touched Marlene’s chin with her thumb and made her turn her head around. Then, she continued applying dye to Marlene’s hair as though nothing had happened. And Marlene let her.

In the end, it still came out with some strands of hair whiter than others. Every time Marlene looked in the mirror, she was reminded of the taste of Dorcas’ lips.

Regulus sat perched up on the windowsill, a chessboard in front of him and a book propped up on his thigh. He needed to distract himself; his mind was still replaying the words from the newspaper article in his head all over again and he still refused to come anywhere near the pills. James was right, he needed to sit this out. But it was harder than he had thought. He’d been there less than a day and he already felt restless, felt caged.

He looked up when he saw someone out of the corner of his eyes. Remus was leaning against the doorframe, a lazy smile on his lips. “Thought I’d find out up here.”

Regulus tried not to scowl at him, annoyed at being disturbed, but from the look on Remus’ face, he was failing miserably. Remus apparently just found it amusing.

“Just trying to avoid Sirius.”

Remus pushed himself off and crossed the room. For the first time, Regulus noticed that he was limping ever so slightly – it was barely visible, but it was there. Remus gestured at the windowsill. “May I?”

Regulus just nodded wordlessly.

Remus sat down, resting his feet on the chair pushed up again the wall. His left ankle was glinting metallic.

The realization hit Regulus like a bucket of cold water.

Remus was wearing a prosthetic.

His eyes snapped up at Remus, who just smiled, amused.

“Car accident,” he said with a shrug. “Not too long ago. I’m fine now.” He briefly eyed the chess board that was now sitting between the two of them before focusing on Regulus again. “Sirius said you don’t remember playing against me. Was I such a lousy player?” he asked with a crooked smile.

Regulus decided that Remus would give him more details if he wanted him to know, and since he didn’t, he didn’t ask. Apparently, Remus thought there were more important things to talk about than his leg, so Regulus just let it go and shrugged. “I just don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

Remus chuckled, then picked up a white knight and moved it over the black and white squares. “I don’t blame you. I’d try to forget everything if I had to grow up in that house, too. And my childhood wasn’t exactly good either. I’m an orphan. Got passed around a lot when I was younger.” He pushed the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows and gave a wry smile. Tiny scars ran over his face in white faded lines. “I was an awful kid to keep around.”

“But you went to Hogwarts with Sirius,” Regulus said, responding with his black queen.

“Because I got a scholarship,” Remus said. “That I almost lost because these two dumbasses kept dragging me into their mess.” He feigned annoyance, but Regulus could tell he didn’t mean it. The glint in his eyes betrayed him. “I never saw you there, though. In Hogwarts, I mean.”

“Sirius was only sent there because he was a hazard to have in the house,” Regulus said with a shrug. “I kept my head down.” He watched Remus make his move.

“Smart choice,” Remus nodded.

Regulus moved his knight again and Remus suddenly paused, frowning.

“Did you just checkmate me in three moves?” He seemed mildly impressed.

“You should’ve-“

“Oh, have mercy and don’t tell me,” Remus said, holding up his palms. “I don’t wanna know. I’m not a masochist. I miss the days when I still had a chance against you.” He shook his head, smiling to himself. Somebody turned on the radio in the kitchen and faint music oozed through the house. Then, Remus suddenly seemed to sober up, shifting ever so slightly. When he grew serious, he looked older than he probably was. “Regulus, Sirius and I talked about your family. And I thought about them, and what they’re likely to be doing next.”

Regulus regarded him warily, his heartbeat quickening. Reflexively, he braced himself for bad news. When was it ever not bad news when it came to his family?

“I haven’t talked to Sirius about this, but I think you were actually playing quite a big role in maintaining their good reputation.”

“I – what?”

“They used you, Regulus. It wasn’t just about the money you earned. Well, for your parents, it maybe was, I’m pretty sure you were keeping them afloat, but your talent as a chess player played into their plans. It’s important to remind the world that the Black family is gifted with extraordinary talents and that they deserve wealth and power. You’re the child prodigy, the genius chess player. The public’s eyes are on you. And maybe,” he said tentatively, “you can use that for your own good.”

Regulus frowned at him, not quite understanding.

Remus sighed. “Listen, Regulus. You’re in a more powerful position than you actually think. You can hurt them with it, you can turn this around. The media’s attention is on you? Good. That means you can use it for your own purposes.”

“How?” Regulus breathed.

“You continue playing chess, but you stop following your family’s rules. First step: Falling in with the wrong crowd. You already did that.” Remus smiled crookedly. “Sirius and I aren’t exactly secretive about our relationship. Second step: Make sure the public knows you’ve fallen from grace. After both Sirius and Andromeda have left the family, and now you, people are gonna start wondering if there is something wrong with your family. Third step…” Remus suddenly hesitated and Regulus chimed in.

He shook his head. “But what will it serve me?”

“You’re gonna destroy your family’s reputation. People are drawn to them and agree to strike deals simply because their reputation is immaculate. You can seriously hurt them, make people start questioning. And they might finally just leave all of you alone because they can’t risk you destroying their business. And maybe, just maybe, the people who have been wronged by your family will start to speak out.”

The mere idea of having to lean into the public’s attention made Regulus squirm. He wanted to be left alone, for fuck’s sake, not have everyone’s eyes on him. He’d already gotten too much fame being an heir of the Black family and a decent chess player. All these years, Regulus had tried to escape it and now Remus wanted him to embrace it?

“The chess community is already obsessed with you, if you like it or not, Regulus.”

“Well, I don’t,” Regulus said indignantly.

“I know that. But this is how could get your family to stay the fuck away from your for good. They’ll eventually have to run a story about having fallen out with you, and cut your out of their will. You’re not gonna be any worth to them anymore, especially if they can’t exploit you for money or show you around like some fucking trophy.”

Regulus pondered Remus’ words for a second, realizing he might be right. He’d have to go through this, but eventually, he might finally be free. It would all die down eventually, people wound find new scandals to write about.

“Well,” Remus finally broke the silence, “think about it.” He got up, stretching his legs.  “James’s in the kitchen if you need him.” Amusement flashed in his eyes. “You know, you’re not exactly subtle, the two of you. Sirius is just completely oblivious.”

Regulus stared at him, his mind short-circuiting. He wanted to tell Remus that nothing was happening between them, but Remus was already gone, chuckling quietly to himself as he walked down the corridor.

The next three days passed in a blur. Regulus went out on a run every day, managing to keep his distance from the pills. There was an icy tension between him and Sirius; they went out of their way to not have to talk to each other. Regulus avoided staying in the same room as Sirius and vice versa. James very obviously hated it, but had no choice but to accept it. He did his best to lighten the mood whenever the two of them accidentally found themselves in the same room, but soon gave up after either Regulus or Sirius had wordlessly walked out every time.

On the fourth day, there was a new article in the newspaper, just as Regulus had expected.

Regulus Arcturus Black, the mad genius?

Regulus huffed in annoyance. The photo was bigger this time, showing him with dishevelled hair and bruises under his eyes. Regulus remembered they day it had been taken. He hadn’t slept that night and was looking the part.

James entered the kitchen and saw Regulus staring at the newspaper. “Regulus?”

Regulus slid the newspaper towards him and walked over to the kitchen counter, pouring hot water into his mug, watching the swirls emit from his teabag. He heard the rustle of paper when James picked up the newspaper.

A pause. Then: “Your second name is Arcturus? Like the star? You’re named after two stars?” James asked incredulously.

Regulus turned around to him, arching his eyebrow mockingly. “You’re one to talk. Fléamont? Really?”

“Somebody’s been stalking me,” James said, smiling.

“Fléamont,” Regulus repeated dryly.

James smiled, holding up his hands. “Okay. Touché.” He skimmed the article and drew his eyebrows together. “Wow. According to this, you’re mentally unstable.”

“As if that’s some great revelation,” Regulus huffed sarcastically, leaning against the kitchen counter.

James didn’t seem to have heard him, still scanning the article so that Regulus had a chance to muster his face without getting caught. The sunlight hit his eyes just right, and his curls were a work of art. He had pushed up his sleeves to his elbows, and for a moment, Regulus was so distracted by the sight of James’ forearms that he nearly missed his next words.

“They make you sound like some lunatic. And if you read between the lines…”

“They imply that I had something to do with the death of my mother?” Did James just wake up with hair like this or did he meticulously tousle it every morning to make it look that messy? Did he savour the effect it had on Regulus, smirking to himself when he caught Regulus doing a double-take?

“Well…” James said, looking rather displeased. “Basically, yes.”

Regulus huffed and poured some milk into his tea. “Figured.” He nearly burned his tongue sipping on it and cursed under his breath. He grabbed the milk again. His tea-milk ratio was a crime against humanity. “Well, it’s what we expected, wasn’t it?”

James frowned. “They could have just let it go.”

Regulus almost laughed at the idea of his family not getting their will and being okay with it. He shook his head. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening. No chance.”

James sighed, threw the newspaper in the trash and reached for the toast. When he put two slices in the toaster, he had to lean over and Regulus stiffened at the sudden proximity, not quite knowing what to do with himself when James’ breath hit the neck on his skin. He must have showered this morning; he smelt of soap, which conjured very unhelpful pictures of James showering in his mind that he immediately shut down, cursing internally.

James didn’t seem to notice and drew back like nothing had happened, already studying the jars of jam in the cupboard. Regulus pried his fingers off the mug that he had clutched so tightly his skin burned from the heat, and tried to act nonchalant, taking a sip and sternly telling himself to pull it together. He was keenly aware of the inches between their shoulders. If he just leaned a bit to his left, they would brush. Regulus stood there; tensed, not wanting to risk an accidental touch but unable to move away.

James lined up four different jars and retrieved a knife.

The toast was done, and Regulus turned around, rising his eyebrow. “You ever don’t burn them?”

James reached to retrieve them and this time, Regulus didn’t move out of his way, so that James had to nudge him out of his way, tapping against Regulus’ ribs with his hand to prompt him to move just a bit. Regulus just about died right there, the breath catching in his throat. The touch was fleeting, but it set his nerve ends on fire. He was sure James must have heard the hitch in his breath, but he just took the hot slices and quickly transferred them on his plate.

“Oh, come on, you’re being dramatic. They’re barely burnt,” he said and feigned offense.

Regulus looked down at the toasts. The edges were pitch black.

James was silent for a second. “Alright, fine. I’ll cut it off for you. I’m sorry that my toast is not up to the standard of the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”

“I doubt it’s up to anyone’s standard, James,” Regulus said, taking a sip of his tea.

“It’s up to my standard,” James argued.

“That’s not very hard,” Regulus replied. “Your standards are very low.”

“You’re a delight to be around, do you know that?” James said sarcastically, doing his best to cut off the burnt parts of the toast. What remained was could only be called a tragedy, but he soldiered on and cut it into triangles, then proceeded to slather generous amounts of different spreads on each piece.

Regulus couldn’t bear to watch it any longer and sat down on the kitchen table.

When James was done, he picked up the plate and placed it in the middle of the table, then nudged it towards Regulus. “Here. I swear there’s no burnt stuff left.”

“I already ate,” Regulus said, shaking his head. It was true. He’d made himself some porridge earlier.

“And?” James asked, looking at him like what’s your point?

The point was that Regulus had decided that he’d be done with breakfast after finishing the porridge. And now he would just drink the tea. This wasn’t planned. He was not gonna mess up his entire day. If he ate, his thoughts wouldn’t let it go for the next two hours. “I’m not hungry.”

“But it’s the Moony toast!” he exclaimed, crestfallen.

“That,” Remus said, who had just entered the kitchen, “is not the Moony toast. It’s an abomination. Did you burn it again?”

“No? Well, okay. I burnt it just barely,” James said, while Remus poured coffee into two mugs.

Remus raised an eyebrow and disappeared again, carrying the mugs down the corridor. They could hear his soft footsteps on the floor until the door to Remus and Sirius bedroom fell shut. So his brother was getting breakfast in bed, huh?

Regulus sighed internally and reached for one smaller piece with honey. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were hot and mysterious.”

James choked on his breath and Regulus suddenly realized he had said that out loud, freezing up. “Shit,” he said under his breath. It was too late. Too late for damaged control even.

Once James had regained control, the surprise transformed into smugness and he smirked. “Hot?”

Regulus gritted his teeth.

“You thought I was hot?”

Regulus glared at him but knew he couldn’t just get out of this one by changing the topic. “Unfortunately, yes,” Regulus admitted, refusing to blush. From an objective point of view, James was one of the most beautiful people to walk the earth. The tousled hair and his perfect side profile, his glowing skin, his arms, his hands, his stupid, stupid eyes. No one who had ever looked at James could deny that. This had nothing to do with Regulus’ stupid little crush on him. It was a simple fact.

“Oh my god,” James breathed.

“Don’t let it get to your head, you’re arrogant enough as it is,” Regulus said.

“What? I’m not arrogant!”

Regulus raised his eyebrow at him. “You’re even more arrogant than Sirius, which I didn’t think was even possible until I met you. No wonder the two of you get along so well,” he said with a huff.

“Nonono, don’t change the topic,” James said, gesticulating with his toast in his hands.

“Oh, so you want to keep talking about how great you are? That’s arrogant, James. Case in point,” Regulus said with a mocking smile.

“I was actually more interested in the part where you confessed you think I’m hot.”

“I didn’t confess anything.”

“You absolutely did,” James said, chewing on his toast. “You’re in love with me, Black.”

“You really think I’m capable of falling in love, Potter?”

James swallowed, suddenly frowning. “What?” he asked dumbly after a moment of silence.

Regulus was glad he had apparently gained back control, had turned the game around in his favour. A pawn had just turned into a queen, and all it had taken was a sacrifice. He took the toast and his mug and got up. “Jokes on you. I’m not.”

The night before Regulus’ birthday, he and James packed their bags and got in the car. The U.S. State Championship would begin just two days after Regulus’ birthday. They had decided to fly during the night to draw less attention to themselves, which meant that they said good-bye to Remus and Sirius under the dim light of the lanterns. Sirius and Regulus barely looked at each other, going out of their way not to acknowledge each other without making it too awkward for James, who was still upset about their ongoing conflict.

Remus raised his hand to flick his fingers against Regulus’ forehead, but Regulus had anticipated it and swerved. Remus smiled crookedly. “That used to work.”

“I’m not five anymore, Remus,” Regulus said dryly.

“You’ll always be five for me, Regulus,” Remus said with a shrug. “Take care of yourself. Make sure you wipe him out this time.”

“Hey,” James exclaimed scandalized, “I can hear you.” He was putting his bag in the trunk. He frowned at Regulus. “What is it about you that makes all my friends turn against me?”

“The cheekbones, probably,” Remus said. “You can’t compete with those cheekbones, James.”

James scrutinized Regulus. “No, you really can’t,” he said quietly. He joined them. “Alright. That’s it. We gotta leave or we won’t catch the flight. Remus, don’t let Sirius do anything stupid.”

“Define stupid,” Sirius said.

“I won’t, promise,” Remus said, ignoring Sirius’ comment.

“You ready?” James asked Regulus, who still lingered.

Regulus, reluctantly, caught Sirius’ eye. He had to. He had to get it out. “Sirius…” he said after a pause.

Sirius scowled at him, but then his shoulders dropped almost unnoticeably. “Yeah. I know.”

Regulus felt a spark of relief in his chest, but he pulled himself together and refrained from saying anything more, doubting he was even capable of putting it into words. He nodded at Sirius and turned around to put his bag in the trunk. The air between them had shifted ever so slightly; both awful at good-byes.

James hugged both of them good-bye, while Regulus already sat in the car, shutting the door and watching them in the rearview window. Remus seemed to tease James for something, because James blushed ever so slightly, while Sirius just looked thoroughly confused. Regulus strained to read his lips; a skill he had acquired early on in his childhood when he had realized how useful it was to be able to read his parents’ mood. His skills were rusty, but Sirius said something along the lines of why did you say it like that, Remus? and Remus just smiled, and then James was walking over to the car and the two of them disappeared into the house.

Cold air filled the car when James sat in the driving seat. James put the keys in the ignition. The sound of it scratched some part of Regulus’ mind and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second.

James paused, immediately picking up on Regulus’ discomfort. It was ridiculous how tuned in he was. “Regulus? Everything alright?”

Regulus put his hands on his thighs and shook his head. “No. Can I drive?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure.” James eyed him from the side and Regulus wished he didn’t. When Regulus didn’t return his gaze, he got out of the car without asking another question and walked around it, while Regulus climbed into the driving seat. He grabbed the steering wheel, breathing in and out in measured breaths until James sat down on the passenger seat and closed the door.

“You do have a driver’s licence, right?” James asked after a beat of silence.

“Yes,” Regulus said, turning the key. The headlights illuminated the street in front of them. “Sirius let me drive for the first time when I was thirteen.” Not that Sirius had been allowed to drive either, but being as rebellious as he was, he had already tried it years before, and he’d been pretty good. “He basically taught me how to do it.” He stepped on the gas pedal and steered the car smoothly on the road.

James nodded, not saying another word. From time to time, Regulus could feel his gaze linger on his hands on the steering wheel, but most of the time James pretended to be interested in the traffic outside as though to compensate for the time he kept staring at Regulus’ side profile. It almost made Regulus blush to be stared at as though he was an artwork being admired, but he kept telling himself James merely wanted to make sure Regulus wasn’t falling asleep behind the steering wheel. It was almost midnight, after all.

After fifteen minutes, Regulus broke the silence. “When I was fifteen,” he began, clearing his throat, “I was in the car with my mum. We were heading back from some chess tournament. I was sitting in the passenger seat.” He fell silent for a moment. James waited, frowning at him. Regulus tapped the steering wheel with his thumb. “I was in a bad mood. I had lost the game. And my father had just called my mother earlier to tell her that they were deep in debt, so she was livid. She screamed at me the whole drive.” He could sense James stiffening with anticipation next to him and looked stoically ahead. “I talked back and we got into an argument. I threatened to tell the others about their debt. I was just so fed up with them. And she-“ Regulus paused, taking a deep breath. His hands ached from gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had went white, but he was physically unable to relinquish his grip. “She fucking steered off the road.”

James sat there in shocked silence as he processed Regulus’ words. He had gone completely still.

“We crashed into crash barrier. She made it look like an accident, but I know it wasn’t. She did it on purpose. To show me that she was in control and that she could seriously hurt me.” He gritted his teeth. “And it worked. I didn’t talk back a single time after that. After years, I was still terrified of what she could do. I had nightmares of that accident for so long I didn’t dream about anything else until it was sixteen.” He changed the lane. “I- I broke my wrist pretty badly. She came out of it unscathed, but I fucked up my wrist. It was a complicated fraction. It still hurts sometimes and I can’t really move it like I used to before the accident.”

James was silent for a full minute as he digested it. The muscles in his jaw were working. “So, she was abusive. Worse, she was a bloody maniac.” He briefly ran a hand over his face, then turned to look at Regulus. “And she was responsible for the burn scar on your chest,” he said with a strange voice. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “Shit, I bloody knew it. I should have read the signs. Jesus, I should have realized the moment Sirius told me you were brothers. Because I knew that Sirius’ family was abusive. I should have gotten you out of there.”

“You couldn’t have,” Regulus said firmly. “And it doesn’t matter anymore. She’s gone.”

“And you’re still uncomfortable sitting in the passenger seat when somebody else is driving,” James said tonelessly.

Regulus hid a wince, stoically gazing ahead. “It’s okay when I’m sitting in the backseat. Backseat’s fine. I just can’t sit in the front. I thought it would be fine by now…” he broke off, gesturing vaguely. “Well, I was wrong,” he said with an edge of bitterness.

“You’ll get there,” James said immediately. “It’ll take some time, but you’ll get there. You don’t need to rush things.”

Regulus relaxed a bit at James’ words, relieved that he understood. He hadn’t even asked; it was Regulus who had offered the explanation. James had just moved over to the passenger seat like it wasn’t a big deal. Regulus stopped at a red light.

“Does the burn scar still hurt?” James asked softly.

Regulus had to fight to not recoil back into himself at the question. It was his natural instinct to hide his feelings and keep his face neutral, but he had learned that maybe it wasn’t necessary with James. He tilted his head. “In the beginning, it hurt a lot,” he said without taking his eyes off the red light. “Not anymore, though. But the scar will stay forever.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Regulus said hoarsely. “It doesn’t bother me.” It wasn’t a lie, not exactly, but it wasn’t the full truth. The truth was that Regulus didn’t have much of a choice when it came to accepting the scar. He could either look in the mirror and burn up with seething anger or decide to be okay with the patch of rough skin. Either way, it would stay, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was more bothered by the fact that he was reminded of his mother every time he caught a glimpse of it. She had no right to stay in his memory for this long, not when he wanted to erase her.

“That’s a lie,” James said as Regulus stepped on the gas pedal.

“And here I was thinking I could fool you,” Regulus said with a headshake. Jesus, he needed to steer this conversation into safe waters.

James let him. “Oh, you can. I can’t tell when you’re lying for the life of me,” James said with a small smile. “So it’s not like I got much of an option.”

“No one but Sirius can,” Regulus said. “So don’t be too harsh on yourself.”

James turned in his seat. “Regulus Arcturus Black, have you been lying to me?” he asked, feigning offense, a hand on his chest.

Yes. Every time I told you you needed to stay the fuck away. Because you didn’t need to. I just thought you needed to, and I was wrong, and I want to make up for lost time but I don’t know how. Regulus swallowed the words and smiled faintly instead. “I lie all the time, James,” he said and didn’t even know if he was serious or joking. “Don’t believe a word I say.”

“Oh, I already don’t, don’t worry. I don’t trust beautiful people, they’re given that power for a reason.”

“Are you flirting with me even though I explicitly told you not to do that?” Regulus asked, arching his brow.

“I’ve been flirting with you since the moment I met you, Regulus. Thank you for noticing.”

Regulus didn’t look at him. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, cursing his body for reacting so strongly to James’ stupid words and his mere presence. It was pathetic. “Don’t distract the driver, James,” he growled.

“Oh, so I’m distracting you now,” James said smugly.

“Actually, you’re annoying me,” Regulus said. In truth, a part of him was thankful for James letting Regulus change the topic like that. That boy could lighten up the mood in a room with a wink and a quick remark if he wanted to.

“I’m annoying you with how distracting I am.”

“Potter.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up, will you?”

“Never.”

Regulus just sighed.

They drove in comfortable silence for another half an hour. James grew suspiciously quiet and when Regulus looked over at him, he realized he had fallen asleep, his temple resting against the car window, and Regulus spent the next thirty minutes avoiding potholes as not to wake him up. He was relieved to have some time on his own to think; he felt like his mind hadn’t caught up to all that had been happening, and it was difficult to let his thoughts wander with James right there, next to him, shrinking Regulus’ whole world to just one person. He’d developed a habit of ignoring everything around him when James was near, transfixed by his presence, and it was ridiculous, but he just couldn’t help it. Not when he was the one to keep him afloat.

Twenty minutes away from the airport, James suddenly stirred and Regulus snatched his gaze away, wiping his face blank, painfully aware that he had been studying James face for the past half an hour and James would tease him relentlessly about if he caught him. James blinked into the light of the street lamps, straightening, ruffling his hair.

He paused. “Regulus, stop,” he said, his voice husky from just waking up. Regulus thought, I could get used to that.

Regulus looked over at him. They were in the middle of nowhere and it was drizzling, he was not going to stop. He made no move to slow down. “We’re gonna be late.”

“But, Regulus, it’s your birthday,” James breathed.

Regulus looked at the clock. It was past midnight. His stomach flipped. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, pulling all emotions back into him to keep them from spilling over. “Well, happy birthday to me,” he said sarcastically.

“Wow, gotta love your enthusiasm,” James snorted.

“Would it surprise you if I said I kind of don’t care about birthdays?”

James paused. “No,” he said, a strained edge to his voice. “No, it wouldn’t.” He straightened. “But I care, which means you have to pull over right now.”

“What for?” Regulus asked.

“Regulus, just do it,” James commanded.

Regulus sighed, then complied and stepped on the brake. He killed the engine and put on the handbrake. He opened his mouth to ask James what the hell he wanted, but James had already pushed his door open and got out of the car. He opened the trunk and cold air brushed Regulus’ neck.

Regulus groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t get me a present.”

“You’ll see.”

Regulus buried his face in his hands, listening to James rummaging in his bag for a bit. Then, he walked back to the passenger seat and pulled the door shut.

He was grinning and Regulus’ heart skipped several beats. How was someone be allowed to be so gorgeous? It was illegal.

“Here,” James said, and thrust something soft in Regulus’ hands.

It was the ugliest sweater Regulus had ever seen. Never mind the one James had given him that night when Regulus had fled into James’ hotel room. He held it up between them. “James…” he began.

“That’s for my own self-protection, Black. I can’t have you running around in your perfectly fitted clothes anymore, it’s distracting. You need to let me breathe, Regulus.”

Regulus arched his eyebrow at him. “I’m in a black t-shirt.”

“That’s exactly my point,” James said, amused.

Regulus huffed.

“Oh, and we decided to give you this.” James produced a single key from his pocket. It shone in the dark as James held it out to him on his palm. “It’s the key to my house. Well, our house. If you ever feel like you want to, well, need to come home, maybe drive to my place. There’ll always be somebody. My friends crash there all the time.”

Regulus was reminded of when Barty had given him the telephone number to Dorcas’ apartment and had to swallow down a wave of emotions. He took the key and managed a small smile. “Thanks,” he said quietly. James had no idea what it was like to be offered a home when it was all one had ever longed for. Regulus was fighting hard to get a grip on himself. He felt like breaking down right then and there but squared his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said again, his voice firmer this time.

“You always had the right to it,” James said with a shrug. “You’re Sirius’ younger brother; you were always welcome.”

Regulus carefully slid the key in his pocket. It was empty of the pills for once and the weight of the small metal key was so much easier to bear then the one’s of the pills. And maybe, just maybe it reassured him even more than any of the pills had ever done.

Chapter Text

They arrived at their hotel when the sun was setting and painting the sky a vibrant orange. Slivers of blue ran along the horizon. It was warm, but Regulus had pulled over the sweater James had given him. They got out of the taxi and walked up the stairs and into the lobby, their shoes sinking into the carpet. Softs murmurs wafted through the air. No one paid them any attention, which was a relief.

“Sirius made me book to separate rooms,” James said, almost apologetically, keeping his voice down as they made their way toward the reception. “But I made sure they were next to each other.”

Regulus huffed. “We’re rivals again, Potter. Remember?”

James grinned. “Oh, so I can shamelessly flirt again and pretend I’m doing it for strategic reasons?”

Regulus tried to glare at him, but failed to fight down a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Normally, he would feel worried about appearing in public again, coming out of his hiding. His family could easily track him down now. Easily hurt him. But with James by his side, he felt more safe than he had ever before. It was stupid to feel that way, because in the end, there was nothing James could do to protect him. Rationally, Regulus knew he was still on his own, but it didn’t feel like it. Because James had led him to his estranged brother and had given him the key to a home, and Regulus felt high on the knowledge that he wasn’t alone anymore.

When Regulus discovered that James had booked them two rooms that shared a balcony, he was so awkwardly touched that he had to hide in the bathroom for a bit and splash water in his face until he was sure he had a tight grip on his emotions again. He was not going to spill over. He’d rather snap his own leg in half than admit to James that he’d almost cried because James had remembered his habit of finding the hotel’s roof terrace to gaze down on the city below. He hoped that James still sensed his gratitude when he stood at the banister a few minutes later, closing his eyes to enjoy the breeze brushing through his hair. They weren’t too high up, but higher than most of the buildings that surrounded them, and had a perfect view on the entrance of the hotel, where cars stopped and well-dressed people walked up the stairs to the glass doors.  

James came out of his room freshly showered a few minutes later, his hair still wet and smelling of soap. He stepped up to the banister and rested his arms on it. Instead of gazing at the city, though, he was gazing at Regulus. “Remember when you said you would have left with me but it was too late?” he broke the silence. “It never was. Too late, I mean.”

Regulus turned around to him, drinking in every detail of James’ face. A shiver ran down his spine and he fastened his grip on the railing to ground himself. “We’re not out of the woods yet, James. My family is still out there and they can still hurt me.” It pained him to have to warn him like that. He wished things were different.

James frowned into the distance as though Regulus had reminded him of something painful. “I know. But you’re safer than ever before now.”

Regulus was more hesitant about it. “We’ll see,” he said darkly.

They watched as two paparazzi seemingly came out of nowhere to take pictures of a young man in casual attire, who got out of a taxi with the confidence of someone who was used to being in the spotlight. Regulus narrowed his eyes at him and recognized him as one of the chess players from one of his chess magazines. It didn’t surprise him that paparazzi would swarm about the hotel – it was the Ohio U.S. State Championship after all –, but it alarmed him slightly that they were here two days before the actual tournament took place.

He narrowed his eyes as the three paparazzi were joined by another; flashing cameras accompanying the man as he walked up the stairs, lifting his hand and smiling friendly.

Regulus drew his eyebrows together and stepped away from the railing as though he had burnt himself. A sudden wave of uneasiness spread in his gut.  

James turned around in surprise. “Regulus?”

One of the paparazzi had accidentally looked up to the balcony and Regulus could see his frown turn into recognition as he lay eyes on him. His heart sank in his chest and his veins filled with cold water. He cursed under his breath, watching the man alarm his colleagues. Suddenly, three cameras were aimed at James and Regulus.

“Oh,” James breathed as the realization dawned.

Regulus felt a flare of anger break through his paralysis. Of course his family had stationed paparazzi at the places Regulus was most likely to show up to. Even if not all those men worked for his family, at least one of them did. One of them was going to give his family a picture that they could use to their advantage. Him, with rumpled hair and bags under his eyes; maybe a cigarette in hand, sipping from a bottle of alcohol if they were lucky. Anything to destroy his reputation. Anything useful for their mad genius agenda.

And of course, he was tired out, he was wearing a wrinkled sweater, and his hair was a mess. They’d driven the entire night. He looked awful.

The paparazzi were done adjusting their lenses, and cameras went off, and Regulus had already turned his face away, backing away. Blinded by the flashed, he stumbled against James, whose hands immediately settled on his waist to steady him. For a moment, he was pressed up against James’ front.

“James,” Regulus said, a flash of panic in his voice. “James, we need to go,” he urged. “Now.”

James seemed frozen for a moment, then suddenly held onto Regulus and stopped him when he passed him. “Wait, Regulus.” He had stepped between the paparazzi and Regulus to shield him from view, to buy them a few seconds.

Regulus forced himself to focus on James, even though his mind was reeling and his body screamed at him to back away. It was only a matter of time until his family knew where he was – sooner than planned. He felt the control slipping through his fingers like sand.

“Regulus, we can ruin those pictures.”

Regulus didn’t understand. Why did James suddenly look nervous?

“Your family won’t be able to use them to blackmail you, they can’t release them if we…” James broke off, gesturing vaguely.

If we what? Regulus frowned at him, his heart pounding.

James plucked up courage. “If we kiss, Regulus.”

It clicked.

Oh.

Oh.

Regulus’ stomach dropped, but out of the corner of his eye, a flash blinded him, and he nodded. They hadn’t gotten a good picture of his face yet. And they’d be busy for days trying to make sure the rest of them didn’t get published. He was an heir of the Black family, and people loved gossip.

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?” James looked him in the eyes to make sure he really meant it.

Regulus did.

And next thing he knew, James had grabbed his face and smashed their lips together, and Regulus realized he had seriously underestimated how good it would feel to be kissed by James fucking Potter. His mind short-circuited immediately, and then he was already kissing James back without even fully registering what he was doing, his hands suddenly in James’ hair. A sharp surge of desire overwhelmed his entire body.  

James made a surprised sound at Regulus’ enthusiastic response, but then his hands settled on Regulus’ hips and pulled him closer, his fingers bunching up his shirt as he kissed him more hungrily now. He tilted Regulus’ head back, pressing him against him.

Regulus nearly died then and there.

Distantly, he realized the flashes of the cameras had died down; which meant they could stop, but the truth was that Regulus couldn’t.

Not when his shirt had ridden up at his waist and James’ thumbs brushed over the exposed skin of his hipbones, sending sparks through his entire body. Not when James gave a low growl when Regulus bit his upper lip. Not when Regulus found a patch of exposed skin over James’ waistband and dug his fingers in the dimples of his back.

It was a loud police siren in a nearby street that pulled him back into reality.

Abruptly, Regulus drew back, taking a small step back, but not far enough that James’ hands would leave his waist. They were both breathing fast; their chest rising and falling rapidly. James’s face was flushed and his hair messier than ever before.

Desire was still reigning in Regulus’ body. He felt hot all over.

The way James was looking down on him didn’t exactly help. “Regulus,” he whispered, his voice a little bit strained.

Regulus shook his head. His chest was cracking open. “I’m sorry. Please don’t. I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse.

I’m sorry that I can’t let us do this. I’m sorry I can’t let us have this.

James looked troubled, his eyes darting from Regulus’ eyes to his lips as though he couldn’t help himself. Then, he swallowed and seemed to physically stop himself. “Okay. Yeah, okay,” he whispered. He exhaled. “Your brother’s gonna kill me.” A rueful smile danced on his lips.

Of course he was cracking a joke now. James just had to, because he didn’t want either of them to hurt. Regulus still felt the hot skin of James’ back under the pads of his fingers but stubbornly ignored the heat pooling in his stomach as well as he could.

“He’s never gonna find out. My family will never let them release the pictures. They’ll have to track all of them down, make sure they don’t run a story about it.” His voice still sounded breathless, even though he tried desperately to get a grip on himself.

“Wouldn’t want anyone to know your family line ends with you and Sirius,” James said softly.

Despite everything, Regulus felt a dark smile tug at his lips. “None of them should have had children anyway,” he said with a huff.

The smile had drawn James’ eyes to his lips again, but he immediately snatched his gaze away when he realized what he’d done, swallowing. He quickly let go of Regulus as though he had burnt himself. Regulus felt a sense of loss like a void in his chest, and cursed himself for drawing a line between them. He deserved good things. He did.

“Sorry,” James said again, breathlessly. “Jesus. We should – I should better-“ He gestured vaguely at the door to his room.

No. A panicked voice in his head made Regulus step forward. “James, wait,” he said before he could stop himself.

James immediately stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, curious.

Regulus gritted his teeth, feeling the familiar uneasiness that he felt every time he was forced to lower his walls and allow his vulnerability to bleed through. “You can…” he began, then broke off. Frustrated, he tried again. “You don’t have to…” Jesus, this was hard.

James frowned at him, still half turned away from him, and Regulus could see that he didn’t understand. He had no other choice but to put it into words. Ah, merde.

Regulus drew in a deep breath. “I don’t want to be alone right now.” His voice wavered ever so slightly under the weight of his words.

“Oh,” James said. He looked at Regulus with wide eyes. “Oh.” He paused. Then, he nodded. “Okay. Yeah, sure. We can…yeah.”

Regulus hid his relief carefully, and nodded to himself before he walked past James and re-enter his room again, determined not to look at James for as long as possible now. A warm breeze followed him inside. He felt the urge to recoil back into himself but fought against it, trying to calm himself. It was okay; it was James. James, who he trusted. He could say things like that to him. Just like that, without having to pay a prize.

When they both crawled into bed a few minutes later, Regulus warned: “You better keep your hands to yourself, Potter.”

James smiled crookedly. “You just kissed me like there was no tomorrow, Black.”

“Oh, shut up,” Regulus huffed, turning his back to him, feeling the mattress dent when James lay down at the other side. There was enough space between them that the proximity was tolerable; Regulus wasn’t used to anyone being around when he slept. But right now, the presence of James was comforting, even though he would never admit just how much it soothed his nerves not to be alone in a strange hotel room for once.

He fell asleep faster than he had in weeks.

Daylight streamed through the curtains and Regulus awoke, jolted out of his drams all of a sudden. It took him a second to chase away the haze from his mind and figure out where he was. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, and froze.

His cheek rested on something suspiciously warm and solid, his hand on what felt like James’ belly. As the realization finally sifted through his slow mind, Regulus cursed under his breath and drew away from James. He couldn’t believe he had fallen asleep on James. He wasn’t even comfortable sleeping with another person in the room, for fuck’s sake. How the hell had he ended up in this position?

James stirred. Regulus hadn’t realized he had already been awake. He eased himself up on his elbows, a smile on his face. Jesus, Regulus’ entire system had not been prepared for early morning James with tousled hair and soft skin. He rearranged his facial features into a glare to hide how affected he was.

“Don’t look at me like that, Regulus. You fell asleep on me.”

Regulus groaned. “Shut up, Potter.” He eased himself into a sitting position, determined to keep his face from flushing. “It’s not like I had much choice with how much space you were taking up.”

“You know,” James said, “I never said I did mind.”

Regulus glared at James, stood up and walked over to his bag, rummaging in it until he found a sweater and a pair of jeans. Now, in the morning light, he had to try not to be embarrassed for how he’d behaved the night before. Had he really asked for James to stay?

He glanced at him, wondering if he would bring up their kiss, and regretted it immediately. James was stretching in bed and his shirt had ridden up at his hips. Heat pooled in the pit of Regulus’ stomach, his breath hitching in his throat. A few hours ago, his hands had touched that patch of skin, had roamed over his belly. Regulus bit his lip, then quickly tore his gaze away and pretended to search his bag for a pair of socks, turning his back to James. He closed his eyes for a second as he fought for control.

James yawned. “You mumble in your sleep, you know.”

“I don’t,” Regulus said. He drew his shirt over his head and felt a surge of triumph when James’ breath caught in his throat and he went completely still. His gaze raked over him, his eyes glued to his torso. Regulus skin’ tingled. He arched his eyebrows at him.

“Seriously, James?”

“You can’t keep doing this to me, Regulus,” James said, his voice strained. He averted his eyes to the ceiling in a vain attempt for damage control. “Sirius-“

“My brother has lost his privilege to say anything about my life,” Regulus huffed. He threw the shirt he had slept in carelessly on the bed, and grabbed his sweater, pulling it over his head. Then,  he grabbed the rest of his clothes, crossed the room and shut the bathroom door behind him.

Fifteen minutes later, they went down to the lobby together. Regulus eyed the newspaper rack nervously, and James, knowing it was futile to distract Regulus from it, picked up one of the newspapers and skimmed through it. “There’s nothing about you.” He smiled. “Seems like it worked. You know, we can do it again, if necessary.”

Regulus felt the tension leave his body and followed James. “I don’t think you can handle it if we do that again,” he said, a rare smile on his lips.

“I can’t handle it? Me? Oh, I can absolutely handle it, trust me!” James exclaimed.

“I don’t think so, Potter,” Regulus said. He felt light and daring this morning, knowing that he had countered his family’s first attack successfully. It gave him hope.

“I dare you to let me prove it,” James said, staring him square in the eye. “Because you were kissing me back quite fervently back there. You were quite enthusiastic, if I recall correctly.”

Regulus felt heat rise to his cheek. He was annoyed that he was, once again, flustered. This was getting out of hand. Why was it that James was so much better at this game? He gave James a hard stare. “Fine. James Potter, to my great surprise, you’re actually a decent kisser. There. I said it. Will you shut up about it now?”

“Decent? You moaned into my mouth,” James teased.

Now, Regulus was definitely blushing. He opened his mouth for a sharp reply as James raised his hands in a placating manner.

“Okay, you know what? I’ll take it,” he hurried to say before Regulus could take it back again. “Decent. Thank you for the compliment, Black.”

Regulus glared at him, but didn’t say anything.

James clapped his hands. “So, breakfast?”

Regulus merely shrugged, but James was already babbling on about a bakery down the street and Regulus followed him outside, only half listening, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, surprised at how peaceful it felt to walk down the street next to James in the early morning. The air was crisp but not too cold and the sun was just starting to rise behind the outline of the buildings. He inhaled deeply, realizing only now that he hadn’t thought about chess for quite a while. It wasn’t that he had lost his passion for it – he felt his stomach lurch at the prospect of getting to play in the U.S. State Championship in less than a day, he was thrilled –, but right now, it felt like a distant dream. The reality was that he was next to James Potter, clean for more days than he had been in quite some time, and he felt at ease.

He was secure in James’ orbit.

James ordered croissants for them, black tea for Regulus and coffee for himself. Regulus wasn’t even surprised James had remembered his hatred for coffee. James was the kind of person to notice things like that. It was the attention to detail that made James’ games even more fascinating; he remembered the quirks of his opponents, and, recognizing the patterns, used it to his advantage. Regulus had never cared enough about anyone to remember things like that. Not until he met James.

He had learned his annotations by heart without even trying.

They sat down on a nearby parc bench and James held the paper bag out to Regulus. “Here. Take one.”

The warmth of Regulus’ tea oozed through the paper cup and warmed his hands. He hesitated and James suddenly sighed, putting the bag down.

He suddenly looked uncomfortable, and Regulus stiffened at the shift in the atmosphere, wary and on-guard. He waited and braced himself, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“Regulus, I don’t think you’re eating enough. Like, in general,” James said cautiously as though treading on thin ice and afraid of setting Regulus off.

Regulus’ heart sank. He knows. Of course he knows. Because James Potter would never miss such a thing. How could he? He cared too much. Regulus felt himself shut down, withdrawing back into himself. He sipped on his tea even though it was still scathing hot and it burnt his tongue so badly it hurt.

“Regulus, please, talk to me,” James pleaded as though he had sensed the ice radiating off of Regulus.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Potter. It’s none of your goddamn business,” Regulus said tersely. His voice was hoarse.

“You’re my best friend’s little brother, Regulus. It is my goddamn business.”

“Is that all you see? Your best friend’s little brother?” Regulus asked sharply. He knew he was blindly grasping at something to steer the conversation into safe waters, but James merely looked irritated and taken aback and Regulus realized with a sense of dread that he knew exactly what he was doing. Because, somehow, he already knew him too well.

“After that kiss yesterday, do you really think I only see you as my best friend’s little brother?” he asked dryly.

Regulus blushed a little, but stoically looked down at his shoes, the tea still burning his hands.

James sighed. “Listen, Regulus, I care about you. A lot. And I’ve noticed that you’re a bit, well, weird, when it comes to food. I’ve barely seen you actually eat something. You never really finish the food on your plate. And you really didn’t want to eat that toast back at my place.”

“Wait, was that a test? Were you testing me?” Regulus growled, finally looking at him, putting the coffee on the bench next to him with unnecessary force.

“What? No! I literally just wanted you to try the famous Moony Toast, it wasn’t a test or anything. I promise,” James said earnestly. “It’s just…it’s just quite obvious, Regulus. It’s right there. And I hate seeing you do that to yourself and I want to, well, understand and maybe help…”

Regulus buried his face in his hands and exhaled, trying so goddamn hard not to let the turmoil of emotions overwhelm him, and failing miserably. He felt James shift next to him, unsure what to do. Regulus bit the inside of his cheek hard, cursing himself for thinking James wasn’t going to call him out on it.

James Fléamont Potter and his goddamn saviour complex.

“Regulus,” James said quietly, tentatively.

Regulus took his hands away, stony-faced, swallowing. He didn’t look at James. “I wish you hadn’t brough it up.”

“I couldn’t just not say anything,” James said.

“I know,” Regulus replied. He wasn’t even mad at James, because it wasn’t right. He’d wanted Sirius to say something, hadn’t he? He’d wanted someone to take one look at him and realize what was happening, and help him out of it. Help him get better, because as much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he wasn’t going to get better on his own. He was too far gone for that. He stared at his hands. “I have a complicated relationship with food, James. It’s always been complicated.”

James sat stock still beside him, anxious to disturb him when he was finally talking. From the sound of it, he wasn’t even breathing.

“But it’s gotten worse since Sirius left, and I was all alone all of a sudden. And because no one would call me out on it, I could just eat less, and no one was there to notice. It was easy.” He paused. “And now I don’t know how to get out of it anymore because it’s this one thing I can control.” Regulus didn’t want him to know that. He really didn’t. He stopped abruptly, his jaw set. He looked at him coldly. “Are you done prying now?”

“Are you trying to get it under control?” James asked bluntly. He wasn’t ready to let it go yet.

Regulus hesitated. “Yes. But I still have a lot of bad days. Like, really bad days, and an awful lot of them.”

“Is this one of them?” James asked, softer now. Regulus didn’t look at him. He just couldn’t. One look at those brown eyes and he would break down and cry.

He shook his head. “No. It’s manageable today. I was going to eat the croissant, James.” Even though he would have never chosen it himself.

“Good,” James said, swallowing. “Okay. So, I’ve never done this before, to be honest, and quite frankly – don’t take this the wrong way – I really, really like eating, so it’s not easy for me to understand why you’re...” Starving yourself? Regulus thought but didn’t complete James’ sentence, afraid James might actually start crying if he would. “You’ll have to tell me what I can do on really bad days.”

Regulus exhaled, trying his best not to be angry at James and not to push him away. He was silent for a full minute. “Just…tell me it’s okay to eat,” he said quietly. “Don’t eat less than me, because I keep comparing how much other people around me eat . Don’t skip any meals, because I will skip them to. Make me eat regularly, and make me eat after runs. Especially after my runs.” His stomach was in knots and a voice was screaming at him to stop talking, but he just went on. “I have rules in my head, James. It’s not easy to go against them, because they have made me feel like a stable, functional human being for the past years.”

James nodded tentatively. “I can do all that for you, Regulus, if you let me.”

Regulus met James’ eyes and thought he was going to drown in the chocolate brown. A shiver slowly ran down his spine and the knots in his stomach loosened. He felt faint. “I will let you,” he whispered.

At one in the morning, James was drunk out of his mind and Regulus, while not completely drunk, was more than tipsy. Neither of the could even remember how it had started. Down at the hotel bar, when Regulus had given in and drank a single shot? When the one shot had turned into three? Or maybe when they had stumbled upstairs and opened a bottle of wine that was now almost completely empty? Ever since that night in Dorcas’ apartment, Regulus wasn’t in control when it came to alcohol, because he had liked how it had felt, how it had filled him with that warm, fuzzy feeling and numbed the anxiousness in his chest. So he hadn’t exactly hesitated when James had suggested to get a drink.

And now they were sitting in James’ room at the table, a chess board between them, wine glasses next to them, trash talking each other.

Regulus was taking his rook just now, clumsily moving it, and punching the clock. He reached for his half-filled wine glass.

James just snorted. “The rook? Really, Regulus? That’s mental.”

Regulus shot him a look, an amused smile fighting his way on his lips. “No, you’re mental for thinking I wouldn’t pick up on you trying to make me sacrifice my knight.”

“If you think I’m bothered by your flimsy knight, you’ve guessed wrong. Jesus, Regulus, you used to be so cunning, and now look at you. Your defence it non-existent, it’s actually embarrassing!” He moved his black pawn in response. “You know, I can tell that you’re way more drunk than you let on.”

“I’m not drunk!” Regulus said indignantly, putting down his wine glass, narrowing his eyes to stop the chess pieces from blurring together. His cheeks felt warm from the wine. “I’m going easy on you. This is me showing mercy.” He made his move and punched the clock again, not even realizing James had forgotten to punch it. The time was already off.

“Mercy?” James exclaimed when he gazed at the chess board. “That is not mercy!”

“Okay, fine!”, Regulus said, throwing his hands in the air, rolling his eyes. “You get to keep your queen.”

“You wanted to take my queen?” For a moment, James looked like he was going to cry. “I knew you were evil, but that takes it too far, Regulus! This is personal.”

“Your knight was so close”, Regulus held up his thumb and index finger with virtually no space in between, “to my king. Of course it’s personal.”

“Says the one who has nine of my pieces next to him!”

“Says the one who made me start with only one rook because it’s not fair Regulus, you’re too good with them, love.” Regulus impersonated James’ accent so perfectly James blinked at him.

“When were you gonna tell me you’re have fucking degree in impersonation?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Your accent is so ridiculous, it’s not hard to impersonate.”

“You have the exact same accent!”

“No I don’t!” Regulus said, appalled that James even suggested that. “I never had. I spent half my childhood in France, James, I never picked up the proper British accent.”

Suddenly, James went completely still.

Regulus looked at him, frowning. “What?”

“Don’t tell me,” James said slowly, “that you can speak French.”

“Of course I can speak French,” Regulus huffed. “Sirius can speak French. Half of my family can speak French. My mother was from France.” Did Regulus imagine it, or were James’ cheeks flushed all of a sudden? Regulus had an inkling it wasn’t just the wine.

Actually, James looked like he was having a mental breakdown. “You can not speak French,” he said tonelessly.

Regulus arched his eyebrow at him. “I absolutely can.”

James ran a hand through is hair. “Regulus, I swear to god,” he said under his breath, voice strangely strained.

“It’s not my fault that it turns you on,” Regulus replied unfazed, even though he found he was secretly very much enjoying seeing James like this. He felt a quiet sense of power.

“Oh, you’re ruthless,” James said. “You’re absolutely ruthless. This is cruel. You’re enjoying this.”

“Of course I am,” Regulus said dryly, a rare smile on his face.

“You’re evil,” James breathed. “I’m gonna pay you back for this.”

“I’d like to see me try.”

“You do?”

Actually, Regulus didn’t. Because he knew if James really tried, he could turn him into a flustered mess with ease. A wink, a dazzling smile, a suggestive tone. When it came to James, Regulus was responsive. It terrified Regulus to know that James had that kind of power on him and could bring Regulus to his knees if Regulus ever allowed James to really flirt with him they way he flirted with his crushes.  He was sure James would have made a move on him already if it wasn’t for the fact that he respected Regulus’ wishes too much.

Sometimes, a small part of Regulus wished he wouldn’t. It was the part of him that wanted James. The one that had grown overwhelmingly strong the moment James had kissed him and hadn’t stopped bothering him since then.

It was like he got a taste of something and craved it stronger than before.

Regulus reached out and captured James’ knight in one swift motion of his hand. He put it to the other black pieces scattered alongside the edges of the chessboard. “Checkmate, Potter.”

Puzzled, James blinked down at the chessboard, taken aback by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. “How did you do that?” he whispered after a moment. He was in awe. “You’re a mastermind.”

Drunk James was both annoyingly adorable and devastatingly vulnerable, it made Regulus wish he had even a fraction of James’ unselfconsciousness. “I swapped out our castles when you were distracted.”

“Oh,” James breathed, disappointed, frowning. He wasn’t even mad, apparently just surprised he hadn’t even noticed. “That explains a lot.”

They were both so drunk it was ridiculous. Regulus had to hold back laughter; everything seemed funny at this point. “Oh, does it now?”

“Yeah, like why I thought I was actually playing White for a full minute.”

Regulus held his breath. “But you didn’t, did you?”

“Uh,” James said, ruffling his hair, screwing up his face as though he had to think really hard, “I might have? Accidentally? Like, one time?” He drew his eyebrows together. “Thinking about it…”

Regulus buried his face in his hands, groaning. “We’re ridiculous. We’re actually the most pathetic chess players on this planet. This,” he gestured at the chess board, “is a crime against humanity. We’re going to hell for this.”

“I will never tell anybody if you don’t.” James held out his hand to him, a secretive smile dancing over his lips. “Nobody has to know.”

“Nobody will ever know,” Regulus said immediately, nodding, grabbing James’s warm hand and shaking it.

Regulus felt himself transported back in time to when Sirius had made him pinky promise not to tell their parents he had accidentally set the kitchen on fire.

He realized with some surprise that he looked back at the memory fondly. It didn’t sting, reminiscing about it. Sirius had crouched down so that they were at eye level, confessing he had set it on fire when he had tried to bake chocolate pie for a boy he had fancied, and joined in with Regulus after a short pause when he’d burst into laughter because it was just so ridiculous. He was the one who talked Kreacher, their butler, out of telling their parents when they came home, because he had always had a better relationship with the old man.

“You okay?” James asked, jolting Regulus’ out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” Regulus replied, recovering. He retracted his hand, then nudged the wine glass at James.

James shook his head. “Nonono, you’ve had enough.”

Regulus wanted to argue back for a moment but then just shrugged as he realized there wasn’t really an urge for more. The warmth had settled in his chest quite comfortable as though it had no plans of leaving him again.

Sometime in 1976

Barty woke up in the middle of the night from hushed voices coming from the adjacent room. He frowned, blinking against the light of the streetlamp that illuminated the room. The clock on the nightstand told him it was three in the morning. He rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, but his curiosity got the better of him. Three a.m. Dorcas and Marlene were unhinged, and Barty liked not being the only nutcase in the room for once.

He got up and opened the door to the living room.

The world stilled.

The front door was open and Evan stood in the doorframe, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. The same jacket he had worn the last time Barty had seen him, just more worn out.

Memories came rushing back in all of a sudden and Barty could do nothing but stare, trying to match the Evan in front of him with the Evan from his memory.

His hair was a bit longer. A tattoo was visible above his collar (Barty had only ever caught glimpses of the one on his shoulder). He still wore the same boots, even though they must have been six years old at this point. Gold jewellery reflected the dim light. He looked dangerous, brazen, cocky.

And happier.

So much more happier than ever before.

Barty felt a sharp pang of jealousy.

The corner of Evan’s mouth quirked up once his eyes fell on Barty, as though he hadn’t broken Barty’s heart all those years ago.

Dorcas and Marlene’s gaze darted form Barty to Evan and back, unsure what do to. Neither of them knew the exact details, but both of them had been there all these awful months after Evan had left.. Marlene’s whole body was tensed up, as though ready to grab Barty if he tried to lunge at Evan, eyeing him warily.

Evan seemed unfazed, as always, even though he knew better than anyone what he deserved.

“Barty…” Dorcas warned in a low voice.

Barty forced his feet to comply. He walked into the living room and stopped. “Evan, you fucker. You fucking asshole,” he said, but his tone wasn’t hostile. Before he knew it, he was grinning. Evan was thrown off for a second, unsure, but then gave a tentative smile.

Marlene relaxed ever so slightly, but threw a confused look at Dorcas, who just shrugged.

Evan ran a hand through his hair. “Well. We should talk.”

Marlene rolled her eyes. “It’s literally three in the morning, Rosier.” Realizing they weren’t going to be at each other’s throat anytime soon, she crossed her arms. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Seriously, guys, what the fuck.” She stalked off.

Dorcas, dressed in an oversized grey t-shirt and shorts, gave them both a stern look. “Be civil, I swear to god. The neighbours already hate me,” she warned them. “Also, nice seeing you again. We’ll have a little talk later, so don’t you dare run off,” she said to Evan, and then followed Marlene into the kitchen. The refrigerator opened and bottles clinked. Insomniacs unite, Barty thought.

He nodded at the stairs leading up to the front door. “Let’s talk outside. I need a smoke.” He grabbed the cigarettes from the table and Evan sat down at the steps. Barty sat down next to him. The air was cool, but Barty didn’t feel it. He lit up his cigarette, not looking at Evan. If he didn’t want to stumble over his words, he couldn’t be looking at him. Evan’s handsomeness still affected Barty after all those years; his heart skipped a beat every time he felt Evan look at him.

“Are you gonna apologize?” Barty asked, blowing out smoke.

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Evan said. He was studying Barty’s face, trying to determine whether or not Barty was going to blow up anytime soon.

Barty gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, you think? Jesus. Then why the fuck are you here?”

Evan shrugged. “I wanted to-“

“Say you wanted to see me and I’ll break your nose,” Barty warned.

Evan fell silent.

Barty took a pull on his cigarette and slowly blow out the smoke. “So, where have you been?”

Evan wasn’t happy about the sudden topic change, but indulged him. He buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket, resting his boots on an even lower stair. Barty had forgotten how long Evan’s legs seemed in those heavy boots. “Spain. Thailand. Germany,” he said with a shrug. “It’s been five years, Crouch, what do you wanna hear?”

Barty didn’t know what he wanted to hear. Maybe a reason why Evan hadn’t tracked him down sooner. Why he’d been able to stay away for that long. “Did you do something stupid?”

Once Evan saw the sly grin on Barty’s face, he grinned. “I always do stupid things, Barty.”

Barty handed him the cigarette and watched Evan’s lips touch the place his lips had been just mere seconds before. “I stole a lot of cars,” Evan said, smiling dangerously. “I wrecked most of them.”

“You still don’t have your driver’s license?”

“Fuck no,” Evan said, shaking his head and handing the cigarette back. He’d never been much of a smoker. There was no anger in him that needed to be suffocated with cigarette smoke. “Sometimes when I steal a wallet, I find one with a picture  of a guy that looks like me. And I use it for a while. I once found one that looked like you and I wanted to send it to you, but I never ended up doing it.”

Barty huffed, nudging Evan’s boot. “New rule: Don’t sent me your stolen goods. Don’t make me your accomplice, Rosier.” 

Evan raised an eyebrow at him. “You already are. You’re my getaway driver, remember?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice, shithead.”

They fell silent for a moment.

Barty noticed that Evan was already growing restless again, even though he did his best to hide it. He was already bored of the street, already longing to find something else, to find something new and exciting and better. Barty still felt a pang of annoyance, like every time he realized he wasn’t enough of a reason for Evan to stay.

“Why are you really here, Rosier?” he broke the silence. He wanted to get it over with.

Evan drew in a breath. “I thought that this is what we could do.”

“What?”

“This. Me dropping in like that. From time to time, I mean.”

Barty looked at him. “You’re not fucking serious,” he said tonelessly.

Anger flashed over Evan’s face. “It’s better than nothing. It’s better than not-“

“Not seeing you?” Barty asked. “Fuck you, Rosier. You think I can’t handle not seeing you? I fucking can.” He huffed. “It’s not like you gave me a fucking choice there, did you? You just walked out of my life, just like that. I learned not to need you. You can’t just-”

“It’s not my fault you’re not over me,” Evan said darky. The power balance tipped.

Barty stood up. “You showed up here.”

Evan stood up, too. He had six inches on Barty, frowning down at him. It was infuriating. “It’s been four years. I thought you wouldn’t be angry anymore. I thought we could do this.”

Barty closed his eyes, feeling the all-too-familiar anger boiling in his chest. Every day, he had to make a choice not to be like his father. It was wearing him down. “We can’t. Because I can’t move on like this. You can’t just keep showing up and ruining things, because it’s making it impossible for me to move on. I can’t do that for the rest of my life.”

Evan swallowed. It was the first time Barty had ever glimpsed behind the aura of gasoline that Evan kept up at all times. Evan seemed uncomfortable, but endured it with clenched teeth. He looked around the street before looking at Barty again. “What if we promise it’ll never be more than this,” he said. “I’ll show up and we’ll talk and I’ll leave again. Nothing more is ever going to happen. Between us, I mean.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I won’t hold you back from falling in love with someone else. Whatever it was that we had, it ended.”

Hearing those words from Evan shattered something fragile in Barty, but he ignored it. Growing up with his father had taught him that skill, and in moments like these, it came in handy. He narrowed his eyes at Evan. “It’s easy for you,” he said, almost reproachful.

Evan shook his head. “It’s not,” he said firmly.

Somehow, Barty believed him. It was the truth. He stared at Evan, and Evan stared back, his eyes ablaze, his lips pressed into a thin line and his jaw set. There was a long moment of silence.

“Fine,” Barty said then, knowing fully well it was going to destroy him, but knowing it was worse not to have anything to look forward to ever again in his life. What’s the worst that could happen to a boy that was already hurt?

Evan eyed him warily, searching for a sign of hidden anger. He only slowly relaxed. “Really?”

“Yeah, you absolute shithead. Really,” Barty said, rolling his eyes.

Evan smiled.

Regulus woke up from somebody scurrying around the room. He groaned reluctantly, wincing as sharp pain lanced through his neck the moment he moved his head just a fraction. “James, stop making so much noise,” he growled, not quite ready yet to open his eyes.

“We’re so deranged for doing this, Regulus! We have a freaking tournament today and I have the worst hangover of my life,” James said tonelessly. “And, we’re almost late.”

Regulus, reluctantly, eased himself into an upright position. He had fallen asleep at the table again. His neck was awfully stiff.

James looked awful. He had rings under his eyes, the imprint of the chess board on his cheek, and supressed panic written all over his face. He rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand while simultaneously rummaging in his bag for an outfit.

Then, the realization settled in and Regulus was on his feet, his nerves fluttering. He cursed. The freaking tournament! The fucking U.S. State Championship! He cursed again. He made for the door to return to his own room, but James was already tossing a t-shirt at him and it was only due to a childhood that had refined his reflexes that he caught it midair. At least the abuse had been good for one thing.

“Just put that on, we have to be down in,” James took a glance at his watch, alarmed, “three minutes. Oh, and eat this. I promise I already had one.”

He threw a packaged oatmeal cookie at Regulus, who, knowing he had no time to argue, just opened the package, stuffing half of it in his mouth. His heart was pounding against his ribs. He pulled his wrinkled shirt over his head, throwing it on the bed, and changed into James’. It was, of course, way too big on him. He was swimming in it. “James…”

“Regulus, we don’t have time for aesthetics,” James said as he disappeared into the bathroom without even looking at Regulus. “Let your opponents breathe for once.” He opened the cabinet. Then, from the sound of it, he hastily gargled mouth wash.

Regulus hesitated, but begrudgingly admitted to himself that he didn’t care about his looks enough to risk and loose time on the clock.

James walked back into the room, pulling his t-shirt over his head.

Regulus nearly choked on the air, unable to do anything but stare.

Oh god.

Nononono.

God, how was he supposed to handle that? How the hell was he supposed get his mind to focus on chess after seeing that?

“Jesus,” he breathed.

In a desperate attempt for damage control, Regulus averted his eyes, but it was too late. The sight of James’ upper body was etched in his mind. It was not going anywhere. And whatever sport James did, it was definitely paying off. Regulus cursed under his breath and only then realized that James was smiling smugly.

“I said I’d pay you back,” James said, satisfied. “Looks like it’s working.”

Regulus stared daggers at him and Regulus did his very best not to let his eyes wander to places they didn’t belong, stoically holding James’ gaze. “James, I swear to god,” he squeezed out, his voice hoarse. Heat pooled in his stomach and his fingers very unhelpfully remembered ghosting over James’ back just two nights ago. “I have a chess game in one fucking minute.” How the hell was he supposed to focus?                                                                          

“Well, good luck, then,” James said with a crooked smile. He pulled a t-shirt over his head and grabbed the keys. “You’re ready?”

He was going to kill him. He couldn’t just do this. “That’s sabotage,” he hissed.

“That’s revenge,” James corrected, unfazed, opening the door for Regulus.

Regulus couldn’t trust himself with having to brush past James, so he stubborn waited until James had left the room and followed him, trying his fucking best to control his breathing. The part that wanted James had gained momentum and urged him to reach out, to back James up against the wall, to capture his lips and drill his fingers in the dimples of his back. He was shaking with a sudden desire so strong he couldn’t even look at James.

The elevator doors opened just when the two of them rounded the corner, and James nodded at it. “In there.”

Because close proximity with James was going to help him cool down. Regulus cursed his mind for reacting so strongly but clenched his jaw and stepped in the elevator, stoically staring ahead as the door closed.

“With you looking like that, I wouldn’t even be sure they don’t already suspect we’re sleeping together,” James said with a low hum as the doors had closed.

Regulus froze. What was he talking about?

“Regulus, you have a serious case of bed hair.”

Regulus just growled, combing through his hair with his fingers. It was too early for this. He was already on the verge of a breakdown. “Better?” The elevator started moving.

James eyed him for a second. “Now they definitely think we’re sleeping together.”

“James…”

James grabbed Regulus’ shoulder and turned him around to him, sinking his fingers in Regulus’ curls and frowning in concentration as he hurriedly fixed Regulus’ hair. Regulus stood stock still.

“There,” James said, letting go of Regulus, and just in time for the elevator door to open, he retracted his hand.

Regulus didn’t even have time to thank him, James was already bolting out of the elevator and Regulus came right behind him.

When they entered the room where the tournament took place, it seemed like the whole room stirred, a collective inward breath echoing through the room. Flashes blinded Regulus for a second and he had to blink tears from his eyes, raising his arms in front of his face protectively, focusing on James’ back, who was walking in front of him. Agitated murmur rose around them as they strode through the room, reporters swarming around Regulus.

He heard them say his name and suddenly realized that this was the first time he had appeared in public since his mother’s death. His chest went ice cold.

Several people tried to shush the journalists as not to disturb the games that had already started, but it was to no avail. For a full minute, no chess player was concentrating on the board, staring at both James and Regulus, frowning. An elderly man, obviously annoyed, finally stepped in the way of the journalists and stopped them, threatening to throw them out of the room if they didn’t stop making a fuss.

Regulus located his opponent at a table near the windows, making a beeline for it. He briefly shook the hand of the small man, sat down, mumbled an apology and realized he had lost only six minutes of his time. This wouldn’t be a problem, even with his head pounding from thirst.

They played the Danish Gambit.

Two minutes into the game, Regulus couldn’t help but steal a brief glance at James. Apparently, James had felt the same urge and their gazes met. The corners of James’ mouth quirked up, and he arched his eyebrow ever so slightly. Regulus ignored the jolt of desire running down his spine as his mind, very unhelpfully, conjured up a picture of James’ torso, and bit his lip, keeping his face blank. He had other things to concentrate on, for fuck’s sake. The whispering of the journalists, for instance, who didn’t tire swarming around him to get a good picture once the game was over.

Regulus’ anxiousness suddenly rose as it dawned on him that he was going to have to make a statement right after the game. He quickly snatched his gaze away before James could read his emotions and swore to himself he wouldn’t look over at him until the game was finished. What was he even going to say? My mother was abusive and sociopathic and I’m glad she’s gone because the world is a better place without her.

Absent-mindedly, Regulus responded to the man’s attack with a counter-attack. A headache was throbbing behind his eyes and he felt sweaty, craving a cold shower and more sleep. The last thing he wanted right now was to sit here, exposed to what felt like hundreds of gazes resting on him, judging his every move. He wished they wouldn’t look at him for once.

The game grew more and more complex as the time went on and demanded Regulus’ full attention. His brain was starting to hurt, but he gritted his teeth and refused to back down. Twenty minutes into the game, he was running on nothing but spite and he knowledge that if he wanted to play – and win – against James, he couldn’t just give up. Everything had grown more complicated between the two of them, but despite everything, Regulus was still determined to wipe James out on the board. It was personal.

It was five agonizing minutes later that the quiet suspicion arose in Regulus that his opponent had succeeded in making him believe he was working towards capturing one of his rooks and threatening his king with his knight, when in reality, all this time he had paved the way for his queen to checkmate him.

Regulus swore under his breath.

He needed to ignore the anxious rumbling in his gut, redirect his swirling thoughts to the chess game instead of trying to string together half-sentences of what he was going to say to the journalists. He couldn’t afford to be distracted; these were chess players he needed to take seriously.

He heard whispers arise around him as the man drew his queen forward, just as Regulus had feared, and Regulus felt his gut hollow at the sight of it.

He drew in a deep breath, held it, and went through all the constellations in his mind as fast as he could, a small voice scolding him for not swallowing a few pills when James had been distracted. He’d be calm now, his thoughts clear and controlled; he wouldn’t be all over the place trying desperately to hold it together. And, he’d be able to picture the chess board, see the attacks and counterattacks as clear as day and not feel his mind running against walls and stumble  at every other move.

His eyes flicked over the chess board until they settled on his bishop that he had withdrawn four moves ago, protecting his knight from being captured.

He held his breath, then reached out and made his most daring move in a long time.

The crowd around him grew eerily quiet. Even the journalists who didn’t seem to understand much about chess seemed to sense the tension and stood stock still.

Regulus’ opponent thought for a whole minute.

Then, he tipped the domino that, down the line, would allow Regulus to not only wriggle out of his attack but craft a counterattack. Relief flooded Regulus.

As expected, the game was over fifteen minutes later.

“Congratulations,” the man said with a sigh, nodding at him, shaking his hand, resignation in the way he remained sitting to analyse the game in front of him. Camera flashes blinded Regulus once again and worsened his headache.

Regulus wanted to assure him that it had been a pleasant game but couldn’t bring himself to say anything with the nervousness ripping at his insides. He got up, still seeing flashes like lightning bolts on his eyelids. He sensed that the reporters were going to follow him out and couldn’t help but look over at James, who looked up immediately as though he had felt Regulus’ gaze.

James expression darkened, but he nodded grimly at Regulus. You know what to say.

Regulus was glad James couldn’t hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest and nodded, trying to scrape together his last remnants of bravery. His throat was dry. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to be back at James’ house, sitting in his kitchen, playing chess against him while Remus’ music wafted through he corridor and Sirius laughed at something Remus had said. He didn’t want to deal with his family and he hated that he had no choice.

He crossed the room; the reporters springing into action and shuffling towards the door. It was only the stern gaze of the elderly man that kept them from shoving their recorders into Regulus’ face. The moment the door fell shut, however, Regulus was surrounded.

“Regulus Black, the public is wondering where you-“

“Mr. Black, can you make a statement about your mother’s de-“

“Mr. Black, are you aware of the accusations-“

“…true that…”

Regulus felt like a cornered animal and supressed his instinct to just push through the crowd and walk away, hide somewhere quiet. He glared and the reporters fell silent, five recorders hovering in front of him. He took a deep breath.

“I was very shocked about my mother’s sudden death.” That wasn’t even a lie, he had been shocked. Just more surprised than devastated. “I needed some time to grieve and wasn’t sure the public would respect that with how much media coverage there is about my family, so I decided it was best for me to lay low for some time. I regret I didn’t inform my family, like I said, I was in shock.”

“You arrived here with James Potter, is that true?”

Regulus nearly froze up but had himself under control a second later. He should have expected that question. “James Potter has become a good friend over the past few months.” Good friend? Regulus wanted him to press him against a wall and kiss him senseless. “I’m very thankful he’s helped me…in these difficult times.”

“Are you aware of any accusations regarding your role in your mother’s death?” Another journalist intercepted, apparently more interested in cornering Regulus than letting him make a statement.

Regulus turned to look at him with a cold gaze. “When I found her, she was already dead. I had nothing to do with it. There are official documents by a doctor stating that she died from a heart attack. My family has apparently neglected to make a clear statement about it, which I’m sure is forgivable since they are also grieving.” Regulus said the last part with a tinge of sarcasm. He just couldn’t help himself.

“Were you aware your family was very concerned about your whereabouts? Did you leave them in the dark intentionally? Are there certain tensions-“

“I have no intentions of reconnecting with my family,” Regulus cut him off. The journalists around him started scribbling furiously. “Like my brother Sirius Black and Andromeda Tonks, I have decided to turn my back on the family and wish no further contact.”

“Mr. Black, can you state your reasons-“

“Mr. Black,” a voice cut through all the others, and Regulus couldn’t help but look up and stare at the man with the mouse-brown hair. His clear blue eyes seemed to see right through Regulus. “According to several doctors and statements from pharmacies, your mother Walburga Black seemed to have taken a serious amount of tranquillizers.”

Coldness spread in Regulus’ veins and numbed his hands and feet. He distantly noticed the other reporters had fallen silent at that statement and were now listening intently. His heart fluttered in a flare of panic as he struggled to find words.

“She seemed to have sent you a lot of times to fetch them for her.”

How the hell did he know that?

“And she seemed to have been requiring at least a bottle a month, ninety pills in thirty days. Mr. Black, I am wondering, were you aware of the side effects of these tranquilizers? Could it be that you were enabling-“

Oh, so this was the reporter his family had sent. This was the one that was going to take Regulus down. Regulus felt like he was going to be sick.

Regulus forced himself to stay calm. “That seems like private medical information,” he said cooly.

“Oh no, the Black family has been very open about-“

“I didn’t enable anything. She took them in moderation.” The moment the words left Regulus’ mouth, he realized he made a grave mistake. He had walked right into the man’s trap. He was going to imply Regulus had taken the pills, and even though he had no idea how right he was, it didn’t matter, didn’t make a difference, because he just needed to make sure the public suspected him of it and suddenly it would all help depicting him as the unstable, mentally ill heir who turned his back on his loving family, not because the family had done anything wrong, but because he was an addict.

A suppressed smile tugged at the corners of the man’s lips. “Ninety pills in thirty days? That would mean three pills a day. I’m not a doctor, but that surely doesn’t sound like moderation to me.” The man raised his eyebrow at Regulus. “Now, if you insist she didn’t take that many, I wonder where the rest of it might have ended up. You know, the other sixty pills every month?”

Regulus gritted his teeth. “I assume her tolerance must have been quite high after years of taking them.” He was freaking out. Even James didn’t know about his addiction, for fuck’s sake. The only reason he wasn’t absolutely losing it in front of the journalists was because he spent years upon years of carefully keeping his emotions tucked away. At least he could make sure he looked unbothered and cold, as always.

“It was implied by the doctors that they could also help individuals who-“

“I’m a chess player, not an addict,” Regulus said calmy. “And I suggest you refrain from such accusations.”

The man smiled as though he had just won a game. Which, he probably had. Because the implication still hung heavy in the air.

Something in Regulus snapped and he took a step forward. “You know, if you’re so interested in the medical problems of the Black family, why don’t you go through some hospital records and ask yourself why, over the past fifteen years of my life, I’ve had to be stitched up three times, broken my wrist, burnt my skin, dislocated my shoulder, bruised my ribs, and been in a fucking car accident with my mother behind the steering wheel.” Regulus knew he would regret his words later, but the ridiculousness and injustice of it all just made everything so unreal he felt as though he was invincible. “And, if that’s not enough to make you wonder, ask yourself why my brother ended up in the hospital three separate times because he fell down the stairs. Maybe, you should stop looking into me and instead wonder what the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black does that makes their heirs turn their backs on them.”

The reporters had stopped scribbling and uneasily looked between the man and Regulus. The man opened his mouth to ask another question, but didn’t get the chance.

Regulus had enough. “That’s all I have to say to that matter. If you’ll excuse me,” he said and pushed through the circle of journalists and crossed the lobby in hurried steps, his heart hammering in his chest. Dizziness overcame him all of a sudden and his steps faltered, but he reached the stairs and held onto the banister and stoically made his way up. A few people brushed past him, but Regulus didn’t even fully register them; they were hidden behind the dark spots at the corners of his vision. His breath was coming out clipped and harsh.

He was halfway up the stairs when he had to stop because he couldn’t breathe anymore, and that’s when it finally clicked.

He was having a fucking panic attack, where everyone could see it, and a pack of journalists just down the stairs.

He had to go up to James’ room, now.

Fighting against the faintness and the tingling in his hands, Regulus pressed his flat hand on his chest and forced himself to take one stair at a time. His mind was racing, one thought chasing another. He stumbled and swayed and stumbled again and blindly reached for the banister. He had barely made it out of sight.

But he couldn’t go any further. Three steps until he would reach the corridor, and he couldn’t make it.

He sank down on the stairs, his head between his knees, desperately, desperately trying to breathe in and out in measured breaths, and failing. He was sure he was going to die; his heart was fluttering in his chest, chills running down his spine against and again and again.

“Regulus?” a sudden voice reached him through the rushing of blood in his ears. “Jesus, Regulus!” James cursed under his breath. From the sound of it, he took two stairs at once until he was right beside him. He crouched down, his hand on Regulus’ back. “Are you alright?” Regulus didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

James cursed again. “Regulus, I don’t want to have to do this, but you have to get outta sight! Come on!”

Suddenly, two arms hands lifted him to his feet. Regulus didn’t know how to use his limbs; the world was tiling in front of his eyes.

James steadied him easily, wrapping one arm around Regulus’ narrow waist, pressing him against his side, half-carrying, half-pushing him up the stairs.

“Regulus, I’m so sorry, but we can’t risk them seeing you like this,” James said quietly, his words blurring together, worry seeping off of him. “Try to breathe.”

James dragged him along the corridor, his free hand on Regulus’ chest, simultaneously holding him upright and trying to slow his breathing. “Almost there.”

Before Regulus had even fully registered they were moving, a door fell shut behind him and he was manoeuvred backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed and his feet gave in. He sank onto the mattress. Fingers wrapped around his upper arms to hold him upright and James’ face came into focus.

“Regulus, breathe with me. Come on. Just breathe with me.”

James inhaled slowly and Regulus forced himself to imitate it. The air stuttered in his chest. Rationally, he knew what to do, and was thankful that some part of his mind seemed to remember. This wasn’t his first panic attack. He locked eyes with James and tried to imitate the rhythm, fighting against the tightness of his chest, keeping the panic at bay.

“Good, you’re doing great,” James said quietly. Some part of Regulus realized he must have done this before, because he knew exactly what do to. His hands were still wrapped around Regulus’ upper arms, but his grip had loosened and Regulus tried to concentrate on the warmth that oozed through the fabric of his shirt. It grounded him, gave him something to hold onto.

Regulus gritted his teeth, feeling his heart slowly calm down more and more as the minutes passed. James’ voice was somewhere in the distance as Regulus found his own rhythm and made sure he stayed in it. When he felt a little better, he buried his face in his hands, closing his eyes, his curls falling into his face. The black at the edges of his vision slowly vanished and his fingers stopped tingling.

Then, what felt like eternities later, he straightened again. James was crouching in front of him.

“You weren’t ever meant to see me like this,” he said darkly. His voice was husky.

James let go of his arms and Regulus wished he wouldn’t. He let out a breathless laugh. “Regulus, they just accused you of drug addiction and then you told the entire nation about your abusive childhood. Anyone would get a panic attack from that, there’s no shame in it, you know that, right?” He sat back. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

He vanished into the bathroom and came back with a toothbrush cup full of ice-cold water.

Regulus accepted it and drank, his hand still trembling ever so slightly.

“Sirius used to get them a lot, too,” James said softly.

Regulus kept the glass in his hands. “Sirius had panic attacks?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes,” James said, a tinge of sadness in his voice, running a hand through his hair. “Especially the weeks at the end of the term when he knew he was going to have to return home. Back then, I always wondered why, but he fend off every question that had to do with his home, so I stopped asking.” He didn’t seem proud of it. “I should have known better, I was just…I guess I was just too young to fully realize…” He trailed off, but Regulus didn’t need him to finish his sentence to know what he wanted to say.

Exhaustion was weighing down on him. Every fibre of his being was aching. He wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for days on end, but he forced himself to stay put. “So, you heard what I said to the journalists,” he said after a pause.

“Most of it. I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough. Some of them circled me, too. Apparently, they saw us arriving together the other day and they started to, well…” James trailed off, suddenly flustered.

“Just because we arrived together doesn’t mean we’re sleeping together,” Regulus frowned.

“Just because the Black family stopped them from releasing the photos doesn’t mean there aren’t any rumours,” James said cautiously.

Regulus looked into James’ hazel eyes and wondered when it had gotten so easy to be vulnerable around him. Well, not easy, just easier. He just had a panic attack in front of someone. Normally, he’d freak out if anyone ever witnessed him in such a vulnerable state, but being around James now, he just felt tired and worn out. He was okay with James knowing. He didn’t care if he did, because James would never exploit any of his weaknesses.

“Regulus…” James suddenly said, quietly, and Regulus realized he had stared too long and James was shifting uncomfortably, a question passing over his face.

James’ eyes nervously flicked to Regulus’ lips before snatching up again, as though he was telling himself that it was the worst timing to think about kissing Regulus right now.

Regulus’ nerves still tingled. He shook his head. “James, don’t,” he said into the heavy silence.

“Okay, yeah. Sure. Okay. You were just staring at me…okay.” James said, nodding. He ruffled his hair, blowing out a breathless laugh, and Regulus knew he was going to chance the topic. “You know what? I think you got them good. I think they’re gonna have to spent a lot of time undoing the damage you’ve just done. And the reporters that are not on your family’s side? I’m pretty sure they’re gonna do some digging.”

“Maybe,” Regulus said darkly, not quite convinced. “Or maybe not, I don’t know.” He looked out of the window. “I just wish they wouldn’t know about the abuse. I wish I didn’t need to tell them. I don’t want them to know about the scars.” The scars that were everywhere on his body.

Regulus stood up. Normally, he’d go on a run to soothe his mind, but it was no good. His body was too drained. Instead, he grabbed a towel and went into the bathroom to take a scalding hot shower.

The next day, the telephone in Regulus’ room rang four times. Regulus only heard because the doors leading to the balcony that connected James’ and his room were ajar. The first time, James threw him a nervous gaze, looking up from the chess book he was studying. When Regulus didn’t move, he relaxed again and ignored the next two times. The fourth time, when Regulus made a move to get up, James quickly reached for his wrist as though he had read Regulus’ mind and held him back. “No, Regulus, it’s no good,” he said softly but sternly, and Regulus hesitated, but then forced the tension from his shoulders and stayed put.

Later that day, they went down to the lobby and James asked for another room; Regulus gloomily lingering behind and feeling the gazes of the other guests resting on him. He pretended not to notice, but scowled when he spotted his face on a newspaper of the love seats in the lobby. He felt himself tensing up again; feeling as though the echoes of his panic attacked hadn’t fully waned, leaving him on edge. He’d been jumpy all morning.

James, who had seemed to have developed a sixth sense for Regulus, followed his gaze and took a split second to react.

“Let’s go on a run, Regulus,” he said, successfully redirecting Regulus’ attention.

Regulus raised his eyebrows. “What?” he asked after a pause.

James took the keys from the receptionist with a smile. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? You feel bad, you go on runs. That’s your coping mechanism, isn’t it?”

“You do not want to go on a run with me,” Regulus said as they made their way up to the stairs to search their new room.

“Oh, underestimating me much, are you?” James asked, amused. “You did see me shirtless, didn’t you? You think I can’t keep up with you?”

“I think you would hate it,” Regulus replied, mildly amused.

James smiled. “Getting to see you in your running outfit will make up for that.”

Regulus almost rolled his eyes, but failed to keep a smile from tugging at his lips. “You’d hate it,” he insisted.

“Oh yeah, sure, I really hate having to see your ridiculously long legs and your-“

“Going running is not a good idea, James. There are paparazzi out there. There not in here because the hotel doesn’t allow them in except for events,” Regulus reasoned. He hated that he was right; he was already starting to feel caged. He hadn’t run and he hadn’t taken any pills, and he was fully relying on James to keep him steady. Which was difficult because a part of him was still reluctant about even letting James know how much he was spiralling.

The light in James’ eyes faded. “Oh. Yeah. Right,” he said, distractedly letting the keys wander from one hand to the other. “You could still change into your running clothes, though,” he added after a moment.

Regulus glared at him without really meaning it, reaching out to push James away, but he dived away, laughing.

Chapter Text

Regulus slowly eased himself out of the warm bed, pulling on a sweater in the dim light. He had known all day that he wouldn’t be able to sleep, and he’d been right. Of course. He’d been lying in bed for the last two ours, listening to James’ breathing, his heart hammering in his chest, watching the shadows on the ceiling; paralyzed. His anxiety was at an all-time high, his thoughts churning in his head.

Shivering  in the cold air of the room, he put on pair of jeans, trying not to stare at James’ peaceful face for too long. If he did, he’d just give in to the urge to wake James up and then he would start telling him things, things he didn’t want anyone to know, and he would regret it later.

As quietly as possible, he took some pills from the bottle without counting them and shoved them in the pocket of his jeans. Then, he chose a random bottle from the one’s that were still left over from when they’d gotten drunk, and with one last longing gaze at James, he opened the door to the balcony and slipped through, forbidding himself to look back to see if maybe, just maybe James had woken up and would stop him.

He didn’t.

It was eerily quiet outside. The cold night air hit him like a wall and he sucked in a sharp breath, shivering. It was almost half past two in the morning and everything was drenched in silver moonlight. He was suddenly reminded of the times he had snuck out of his parents’ house, just like Sirius had done so many times before him. Without him, every time. They had both been unbearable lonely, but Sirius always had friends to meet up if it got too bad, unlike Regulus, who’d only ever had chess.

Now, he had friends, but he didn’t know how to not push them away. How to allow them to get close, how to be vulnerable, when that had always brought him more pain in the past. Keeping everyone at distance had kept him safe.

He sat down on the floor, uncapping the bottle and taking a sip. The alcohol left a burning trail down his throat. Heat pooled at the bottom of his chest. He put the bottle next to him and took the pills out of his pocket. They glinted in the moonlight. He considered them for a long moment, then lifted his gaze to stare up at the empty night sky. No stars tonight, just vast blackness, mirroring the void in Regulus’ chest.

The truth was, he needed to ease this thrumming anxiety inside of him. All day, his mind hadn’t stopped thinking, and it was rubbing him raw. He was so tired of it. And now, he couldn’t even fall asleep, and in the darkness of the room, the weight on his chest grew even heavier, the shadows on the ceiling dancing in front of his eyes, mocking him.

When was his family going to show up at the hotel? What would the journalists write about him?

He couldn’t stop wondering about it.

He put all of the pills on his tongue, feeling their smooth surface. Then, he put the bottle to his lips and took a big gulp.

He knew it was stupid, because the pills could never take an effect so instantly, but he felt calmer almost immediately, as though someone had flipped switch inside of him. He leaned back, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. The wind gently tugged on his hair. He was surprised his body didn’t react stronger to the alcohol after the night in Dorcas’ apartment. He’d had way too much and he wouldn’t have been surprised if his body had refused to ever let him near any alcohol again. But he kept drinking and the liquid sent warmth through his entire body, comforting him.

Time passed.

Regulus had no idea how long he had already been sitting there when he realized the bottle was half empty. His head was packed in cotton. He felt numb, and he felt at ease. His throat burned, but his thoughts had slowed down and his chest wasn’t as tight anymore. Maybe he’d be able to sleep now, at least for a few hours, until James was awake again and Regulus’ heart calmed. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

He wondered if he’d been born with a curse. Maybe being fucked up ran in the family; he wouldn’t be surprised. His mother had her cigarettes, Sirius had his booze, he had his pills. He was sure his father was cursed like the rest of them, but like Regulus, he’d mastered the art of hiding it. The genes of the Black family were deceiving. Good looks weren’t the only things they passed on.

Regulus sank his free hand in his hair. In moment like these, it always hit him out of nowhere; the mourning for the childhood he hadn’t had. All the things he’d never gotten to experience, all the joy he never felt. He had deserved to be born into a good, loving family. Jesus, any family except for this one. His life could have been so much easier. He could have lived the life he’d always wanted. The one where he was happy, where he and James met under different circumstances and Regulus allowed himself to fall in love.  

James.

Jesus, James.

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of hurt erupted in his chest.

The simple truth was, James Potter deserved everything good in this world. He had saved him more times in these past months than Regulus could count, and Regulus wasn’t even sure if James was aware of it. It was James he’d had called when he hadn’t known where to turn to, and who had invited him into his house without giving it a second thought. James, who had been born with this inherent kindness.

Regulus felt as though there was a chasm between them and Regulus had set every one of James’ bridges on fire. James kept building them, but Regulus kept burning them down, one after the other, aching, hurting, but unable to stop. He wondered when James would give up. When his patience would run thin, and he’d wonder if Regulus was really worth it.

Regulus emptied the bottle and put it down with too much momentum. It shattered into thousands tiny shards, and hot pain exploded in his hand. Regulus cursed under his breath, his words slurring together. Warmth flooded his palm and he realized he had cut his skin. Blood spilt out with every beat of his heart, already running down his wrist. Regulus cursed again, shoving his sleeve up to his elbow to prevent it from getting bloody. His movements were way to sluggish as though he was under water.

He tried to ease himself on his feet but swayed violently and awkwardly fell on the floor again. The world spun around him, tilting dangerously. He gritted his teeth, pressing his uninjured hand against his temple.

He hadn’t realized how drunk he actually was. He already dreaded the hangover tomorrow. And, more importantly, how the hell was he going to explain it to James?

Then, suddenly, the door of the balcony was ripped open and Regulus’ heart plummeted. Even his slow brain realized his mistake, but it was too late.

“Regulus?” James asked, his voice deeper than usual. “What the-“ He seemed to spot the broken bottle because he trailed off and froze for a moment. Then, he crouched down next to Regulus, cupping his face and examining it.

“What are you doing out here? Have you been drinking?” His tone was serious as he searched Regulus’ face with those annoyingly beautiful eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Regulus said darkly, the vulnerability eating away at him. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Not sit out here in just a sweater, Reg. Jesus, is that blood?” Somehow, James had spotted the dark droplets on the grey ground. Before Regulus could pull his sleeve over his hand, James had already wrapped his fingers around his wrist and turned his hand to reveal the deep cut.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed again. “Regulus, I swear-“ he broke off again, shaking his head once and swallowing down his next words. “Let’s get you bandaged up, all right?”

“It’s not that bad,” Regulus murmured. He couldn’t care less if the wound was taken care of or not. The world was still spinning around him and it was hard enough to stay upright as it was.

“God, just how drunk are you?” James asked, suddenly both concerned and annoyed.

“Leave me alone, Potter,” Regulus said, embarrassed, ripping his hand from James’ grip. He was going to better in the morning, he’d be back to his normal self then. James needed to back up.

“Not happening,” James said sternly. “Come on, let’s get you into the bathroom.” Suddenly, James’s arms circled Regulus’ waist and he was on his feet before he could react. His knees buckled, but James was already prepared and drew him close immediately. He made Regulus put an arm around his neck to support himself. “Try not to get blood everywhere,” he said, dragging Regulus into the room.

Regulus was sure his hipbone was digging into James’ side, but he didn’t seem to care. He stumbled forward, his stomach suddenly protesting. Oh shit. A wave of nausea hit him out of nowhere. He pressed his flat hand on his stomach.

“Jesus, Regulus, did you drink the whole bottle?” James asked, alarmed.

In lieu of an answer, Regulus slumped against him. He couldn’t help himself. The world didn’t stop spinning and he was losing his balance.

James took his weight easily. “Okay, got it,” James said. There was the smallest hint of anger in his voice, but it was hidden behind concern. “Come on. Just a few steps.”

Regulus wished he would just let him sit down then and there, but James kept stoically carrying him towards the bathroom and Regulus had no choice but to give in if he didn’t want to risk James picking him up bridal style. He just knew James would do that and he’d let it happen over his dead body.

James pushed the bathroom door open with his shoulder and guided Regulus backwards until the back of his knees almost hit the bathtub. Regulus swayed but James’ hands never left him and gently pressed him down. “Here, sit.”

“James, I-“

“Regulus, don’t,” James said sharply, sounding strangely disappointed, which cracked Regulus’ heart open. “I knew it was bad,” he said, more quietly as though he was talking to himself, “but I didn’t know it was that bad.” He fished the first-aid box from the cupboard under the sink. “I was there, Regulus. Right fucking next to you. You could’ve just talked to me, for fuck’s sake!”

Regulus shook his head, desperate. No, he couldn’t have. No one, not even James, could soothe his pounding heart, loosen the knots in his stomach, slow down his thoughts.

James rummaged in the box while Regulus awkwardly pressed his sleeve on the wound to stop the bleeding. He wasn’t used to being taken care of this way and he was fully aware that he could treat the cut on his own, which made the whole situation a little ridiculous, but he didn’t stop James when he sat down next to him with a white bandage in his hand.

James’ brown eyes met his own. “I was right next to you, Regulus. You could’ve woken me up. I swear I wouldn’t have minded.” Now he just sounded hurt, and Regulus’ heart ached with guilt. He hadn’t wanted James to feel this way.

“I’m sorry, okay?” It came out sharper than intended, and Regulus immediately controlled his anger. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, then, softer this time.

James stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening a fraction. He hadn’t expected that answer and his anger died down almost immediately. “I just-“ he backpedalled, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus. I just wish you’d trust me enough. After all we’ve been through already, I thought we were past this stage.”

“I do trust you,” Regulus said quietly, searching James’ eyes. He was keenly aware that the alcohol made him blurt out things he’d normally never say, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I really do.”

James didn’t seem to know what to answer, so he just stared for a second, his mouth opening and closing without saying anything. Then, he cleared his throat. “Give me your hand.”

Reluctantly, Regulus offered the hand that he had held close to his body and James drew it towards him, letting it rest on his thigh. He grabbed a disinfectant spray and gently rolled up the blood-soaked sleeve.

The warm fuzzy feeling in Regulus’ chest was unbearable. “I can do that on my own.” He signalled James to hand him the spray, but James shook his head, holding Regulus’ injured hand where it was when he tried to pull it away.

“I’d be surprised if you don’t see double after downing that entire bottle, so no. Just sit still and pretend that this isn’t the first time somebody takes care of your wounds because I might cry if you don’t. So, have mercy on me,” James said and sprayed the liquid on his hand. It stung, but Regulus didn’t bat an eye.

“I’m good at pretending,” he said with a rueful smile. Jesus, he really was drunk out his mind, huh? Because sober Regulus would never say stupid things like that.

“Oh, I know,” James said, shaking his head with a helpless smile. There was a flash of fondness that made Regulus feel fuzzy and light.

He blamed it on the alcohol.

James carefully cleaned the wound, trying his very best not to hurt Regulus. Regulus wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to be that careful, but didn’t. “Why did you get drunk like that? Because of the journalists? Your family?” he asked after a moment.

Regulus grimaced. “Can we not talk about it?”

“No.”

Regulus sighed. “Yes,” he said reluctantly. He frowned at his hand. “My family knows where I am. It’s the worst feeling in the world, like I’m not safe anywhere.”

James sighed. “You do know we could have also just stayed hidden, right? We didn’t have to come here, to this hotel.”

The callouses on James’ fingers felt rough against Regulus’ skin. He tried not the let it distract him, and failed miserably. Shivers were running down his spine. A really, really stupid part of Regulus wanted to lean in and kiss James, climb into his lap, tip his head back, sink his hands in his curls.

“And do what instead?”

A faint smile danced over James’ lips as he shrugged. “We could have stayed at my house. You could have met all of my friends. They’re amazing. You would’ve liked them, and they would’ve liked you too. We could have sat on the floor of someone’s flat and got drunk together and tried not to care about our future. While also very much freaking out about our future because none of us has any idea what we’re doing. You would’ve-”

Regulus shook his head. “That’s not me.”

“It could be,” James said. He put the spray away and reached for a white bandage. Regulus’ hand was throbbing but he didn’t flinch when James gently pressed the fabric against his skin. “Or we could have just gone to Paris. We could have visited museums and seen the Eiffel Tower and we could have gone to the seaside and listened to the waves. We could have wandered around and played chess against strangers the entire night without anyone knowing who we are.”

Regulus was too drunk for conversations like this. “Took you long enough to mention the chess.”

James met his gaze. “That was assumed, wasn’t it? There’s always going to be chess, Reg. We’re in too deep to just stop.” He carefully held Regulus’ hand while he wrapped the bandage around it as though he was afraid of hurting him. Regulus wished he wasn’t so tender. It made him feel warm, and he did not like that.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the welling emotions. “We need to be here. The world needs to witness me defeating you.”

“Defeat me?” James huffed. “With you hungover tomorrow I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t even manage to defeat your opponents tomorrow.”

Regulus grimaced. James was right. Judging from the way he couldn’t even think straight right now, his headache tomorrow would split his skull. “I really need to find healthier coping mechanisms,” he murmured darkly.

“Oh, do you?” James asked sarcastically. “But this one’s working so great.” It was meant as a joke, but there was an edge to James’s voice.

“James, shut up,” Regulus warned.

“I think I deserve this moment, Reg,” James said sternly. “You know, considering the fact that you smell like a liquor store and I’m cleaning your wound at four in the morning.”

Regulus only huffed, but didn’t say anything. It was no use; James had a point. In fact, he had a very good point.

“Thank you, James,” James said in a horrible impersonation of Regulus’ voice and even more terrible impersonation of his accent. “I’m so grateful you’re here. You’re an angel. You’re my hero. Also, you look hot in your that t-shirt by the way. Like, really hot. Have I ever told you that? Because you do. Seeing you in that t-shirt makes me wanna do y-“

“James,” Regulus growled, but had a hard time keeping a straight face.

James, of course, noticed, and smiled to himself. “You’re not denying it,” he said teasingly.

“You’re so full of yourself,” Regulus huffed.

“That a bad thing?”

“Yes,” Regulus lied. Because it wasn’t, not when it came to James. That boy was arrogant in the best way possible. He was the opposite of self-conscious, the opposite of false modesty. It was mesmerizing.

“Liar,” James said, finishing up the bandage. He stood up and washed his hands. Regulus let his fingers ghost over the rough fabric of the bandage, then stole a glance at James’ back. That t-shirt did look good on him. And Jesus, his neck. He quickly looked away when James turned around.

“Okay, now your sweater.”

“What about it?” Regulus asked, almost back to his grouchy self, clumsily getting on his feet. He swayed ever so slightly. Graceful, really.

“Wow, easy there,” James said, reaching out to grab Regulus but thinking better of it.

Regulus regained his balance, and James leant again the sink.

“It’s full of blood.”

Regulus arched his eyebrow at James. “Is this you taking advantage of the situation to see me shirtless again?”

“Yes?” James replied.

Regulus huffed. “I feel very objectified right now.”

“It’s hard not to objectify you, Regulus. Come on, off with it.”

Absolutely not.

Regulus made towards the door but didn’t get very far when James’ arm was suddenly looped around his torso from behind and stopped Regulus dead in his tracks. Regulus lost his balance, damn the alcohol, and swayed momentarily. James immediately steadied him, and for the briefest moment, Regulus’ back was pressed up against James’ front and Regulus’ brain short-circuited. But then, James gently turned him around and Regulus sternly told himself to get it the fuck together. It didn’t work very well, not with James looking down on him like that.

“You’re not getting into my bed with that,” he said, shaking his head.

“Your bed?” Regulus asked with an arched eyebrow.

“You’d rather have me call it our bed?”

Immediately, Regulus felt himself grow flustered at the thought. “Shut up, Potter,” he murmured. “Fine.” He reluctantly grabbed the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head, relieved his face was hidden for a second. Still, the smile on James’ face told him that the wan light didn’t hide his blush as well as he wished. He glared at him and thrust the sweater against James’ chest, who didn’t even stumble back. He just took it.

Regulus turned on his heels and entered the bedroom, turning his back to James, who followed him. He rummaged through his bag in search of a new shirt, holding his throbbing hand to his chest, trying not to shiver in the cold air of the room. He just wanted to crawl into bed now, wanted this awful day to be over, wanted to die of embarrassment that James had witnessed his self-destructive behaviour.

James had followed him, and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. There was a moment of silence, and a sudden shift in the atmosphere that Regulus immediately sensed. Sometimes he wished he wasn’t so perceptive to the feelings of others. He tensed up, waiting for James to say something.

He did, a second later. “How often do you do it, really?” he asked.

Regulus knew exactly what he was talking about and made a point of not turning around. “Do what?”

“Get drunk like that,” James said.

Regulus found a wrinkled shirt and turned around. “We are not talking about this,” he said, a flare of irritation in his chest.

“We’re gonna have to talk about it eventually.”

“We don’t,” Regulus said, fixing him with his grey eyes.

“Yes, we do,” James said, frowning. “Because you can’t keep going like this.”

“Watch me,” Regulus scowled, pulling the shirt over his head. The moment he caught a whiff of James’ scent, he realized it wasn’t his own, but he wasn’t childish enough to take it off against just because it was James’.

“Oh, I’m watching. And I’ve seen enough.”

“What is this? An intervention?” Regulus asked him, a hint of coldness in his tone. “You knew what you were getting, James, so don’t freak out about the fact when you actually see me do the things you knew I was doing!”

“Yeah, well, suspecting and witnessing are two different things, Regulus,” James said, giving him a hard stare.

“If you don’t like what you’re seeing, look away.”

“Seriously, Reg?” James asked sharply. “You think I’m the kind of person who can just look away?”

No. No, he wasn’t. He was too kind. He cared. And it was time that he stopped.

“That’s exactly the problem, James!” Regulus snapped, glaring at him, and James actually took a step back. “You’re too good! Jesus, James, you’re literally perfect. You’re the embodiment of kindness. And me, I’m not even a good person. I’m a very fucked-up person with self-destructive coping mechanisms and a lunatic family, who can’t even forgive his own brother, even though it’s been years. When you look at me, do you actually see me? Because I’m not good like you, James, I’m not particularly kind, I don’t care, I’m selfish, I’m self-centred, and I’ve never even thanked you for everything you’ve done. That’s who I am.”

James was too stunned to respond. He stared at Regulus as though he was seeing him for the first time, as though if he stopped looking at Regulus, his world would crumble to pieces.

Regulus waited for him to respond, to say something, anything; his chest rising and falling.

Finally, James did. He shook his head, slowly. “That’s not what I’m seeing, Reg. That is so far away from who you actually are.” James drew nearer. “You’re so much more than that.”

Regulus shook his head, his emotions manifesting into a physical ache in his chest. “Don’t say stupid things like that. Jesus, James, stop.”

“It’s true.”

“James-“

“No, Regulus, you need to listen,” James said sternly. “So shut up for a second, and listen to me.”

Regulus fell silent.

“I want this exact version of you. I want Regulus Arcturus Black with his insomnia and his passion for chess and his bad coping mechanisms. I want the Regulus who pushes people away because he’s scared to care too much and who sucks at flirting and who still makes me blush. I want the Regulus that was strong enough to survive an abusive childhood and still came out kind and caring. I want the Regulus who beats my ass in chess and wears my sweaters.” He paused. “And I want the Regulus who came to my house when things got bad. And who stayed there just for my sake.”

Regulus couldn’t breathe for a second; his chest tight. “You knew,” he said breathlessly. “You knew I wanted to leave.”

James gave a helpless laugh. “Of course I knew,” he said, spreading his arms and letting them fall back to his side. “I know that Sirius asked you to stay for my sake. I know because he cares about me. And you did. You stayed.”

Regulus swallowed thickly. He was not good with emotions. Especially not when drunk. “That doesn’t make me a good person.”

James shook his head once. “I don’t need you to be a good person. ”

A bittersweet sadness tugged at Regulus’ heart. He was silent for a second, then, he met James’ eyes again. “But you deserve it, James. You certainly don’t deserve me. You’re you. And you should find someone else.” His jaw was set, but his gaze was determined. “And I promise I’ll try and be happy about it because you deserve good things.”

James now stood right in front of Regulus, looking down at him. “You’re a good thing, Reg.”

Regulus frowned, frustration flaring. “Can you fucking listen to me, Potter? Did you hear anything I-“

“I did. I was very distracted by the sight of you wearing my shirt, but I still heard every word you said. But you don’t listen to me. Because I keep telling you that you’re one of the single greatest things that happened to me in years and you want me to just let it go like it’s nothing. But it’s not, and I won’t.”

Regulus huffed in disbelief. “The greatest- Potter-“

“Regulus, I haven’t been very happy, these past years,” James blurted out. “Like, at all.”

There was a long moment of silence. Regulus blinked. “What?“ he whispered.

James ran a hand through his hair, seemingly agitated. He obviously hadn’t planned to tell Regulus that, but now that he had, he just pressed on. “Do you know what it’s like to play a twenty-three-man team at the age of eight and win every single game? Do you know what it’s like to become U.S. Champion and then realize that you’re not good enough to go anywhere from there? That that’s all you’re ever gonna achieve? Because I do. I’ve been stuck in this spot for years.” Frustration flashed over James’ face, and he ran a hand through his hair. It was clear he hadn’t told anyone that in a long time. Or maybe, never.

“I’m just waiting for someone smarter to take my title, I’m just waiting to be forgotten. I’ve been battling with that for the past four years. It’s really, really hard to get up in the morning and show up for tournaments I signed up for. It’s hard to compete knowing that someone might take my title and that’s it, I’m done. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve been, erased just like that.”

Regulus took a step back as the realization dawned on him and guilt slammed into him. He shook his head, walking backwards to bring distance between them. “I’m not playing against you,” he said tonelessly, suddenly panicky. It felt like he had been holding a knife all this time, ripping James’ heart open all this time, hurting him without every realizing. “I’m not taking your title. I’ll drop out of this tournament. I’ll tell them tomorrow. I’m not playing against you. I’m not doing that to you. If I had known, I’d never have done it in the first-”

“No, Regulus. I don’t want you to do that. You don’t need to do that,” James said. He took a deep breath. “I’m okay with it. I’ve accepted my fate, I swear. Don’t get me wrong, it hurt like hell, accepting that there just isn’t more for me, but I’ve had a really great time. I’m still having a great time. And it’s okay that I’m not as good as I thought I was going to be. I was so young when I decided that I was going to dedicate my life to chess. And I’m not disappointing my younger self, because I still showed up and I did the best I could. And that’s all that matters. That I did my best.”

“You’re one of the most talented chess players I know. I’ve been admiring you since I was twelve,” Regulus said with a hoarse voice, not even thinking about his words.

James seemed surprised. “You have?”

Regulus nodded. He felt his throat tighten. “Yes.”

James allowed himself a small smile, a little unsure, then sobered up. He ran a hand through his hair. “Regulus, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve had a few really bad months these past years. I know you think I’m okay, and I’m normal, but you can’t look at a person and see them smile and assume they’re okay.”

“God, I’m sorry, I should’ve – I was so caught up – James, I-“ Regulus broke off and squeezed his eyes shut, angry at himself to not even being able to articulate a proper apology.

“I’m not reproaching you, Reg. You did nothing wrong. It’s just…you look at me like I’m the fucking sun and you think you’re not worthy because all you see is warmth and happiness. And I am happy, but I also sit on kitchen floors at two in the morning bawling my eyes out, because I barely made it out of bed, and I need you to see that.”

“Okay,” Regulus breathed. “Okay, I can do that.”

James smiled tentatively. “Okay. Good.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Regulus, it’s fine. I’m okay right now.”

“Okay. Jesus, okay.”

They were supposed to change the topic or move on or sit down, but none of them did. Regulus kept looking at James, helpless, afraid that if he averted his eyes, the moment would be gone and this fragile thing between them would shatter into tiny little pieces.

James seemed to feel the same way because he just stood there as though afraid that one wrong move would scare Regulus away, as though he felt his turmoil. And he was beautiful. God, he was so damn beautiful. Dark curls and brown eyes and sharp jawline, leather band around his neck, rings on his fingers. Regulus couldn’t wrap his head around it. It was almost too much too bear, and he was too drunk.

He was going to do something stupid. He already felt too many emotions, it was hard to sort through them, and they were a tangled mess in his chest.

“James-“ he began, but broke off. He took a few steps toward him.

There was something in James’ face, something he couldn’t put his finger on, but his heart palpitated at the sight of it.

“James, I’m-“ He broke off.

“Also, just in case you haven’t noticed, I’m falling for you,” James blurted, quickly, as though he was afraid the moment would pass before he’d said anything.

Regulus just stared at him, his breath catching in his throat, completely taken aback.

“Like, I figured you knew, but-“

Regulus shook his head. “James, I- Jesus, don’t. I…don’t do that to me.”

“I can’t help it,” James said, a little breathless. “You’re gorgeous. I literally can’t help it.”

Regulus’ heart, the little traitor, skipped a beat. He suddenly felt dizzy, like his body just went into shock.

“You’re so gorgeous it hurts to look at you,” James whispered.

Regulus searched James’ eyes for the trace of a lie, but all he saw was honesty. He felt heat rise in his cheeks, but he was too transfixed to look away. This felt unreal. This was exciting. It was like a rush, a high Regulus’ couldn’t get enough of, no matter how wrong it was to let James look at him like that.

When James stepped closer, Regulus didn’t back away, even though his body was suddenly keenly aware of James’ proximity. He just kept staring at him, thinking he would never breathe ever again. James’ hands cautiously settled on Regulus’ waist, and he just kept standing while he felt every single one of James’ fingers resting on his skin, barely touching as though James was afraid he would shy away if he did.

And then, one of James’ hands left his Regulus’ hip and brushed back a curl that had fallen into Regulus’ eyes.

Regulus grabbed James’ arms, his thumbs in the crook of James’ elbows. “Potter, stop making me want to kiss you,” he said sternly.

A smile danced on James’ lips. “You want to kiss me?”

Regulus was spinning out of control. “I want to do more than just goddamn kiss you, James,” he breathed, and could swear that James’ cheeks reddened just at the sound of his husky voice. He looked James in the eye, unwaveringly. “I want you to press me against a wall and have your way with me. I want you to undress me, and I want you carry me to the bed, and I want your hands on my skin.” He felt himself grow flustered at his own words but ignored it. Because he needed James to understand this.

“But I can’t let you.” He drew in a deep breath. “I can’t let you do that, because I’m a fucking mess and this just isn’t the right time.” He whispered the last words, afraid his voice would break. “I wish I’d met you in a few years. I wish you’d met a better version of me. Not this me. Because I’m not okay yet. I’m not there yet.” Frustration mingled into his tone. “I fell too hard and I can’t get up that fast.”

“This doesn’t have to be the wrong time. We can make it right. We do,” James said, frowning. He sounded desperate.

Regulus blinked up at him, shaking his head, his chest cracking open. “You’re going to regret me, James. I can’t have you regret me. I can’t live knowing you regret me,” Regulus said, turning his face away as sudden longing and sadness and grief overwhelmed him all at once, clenching his teeth. One day, he was going to walk around somewhere out there in the world, and it was going to hit him out of nowhere, and he would remember that he was once James’ boy, and he was going to cry and scream and sob. He couldn’t bear carrying that grief for the rest of his life.

“You think I’m going to regret you, Reg?” James asked softly. “You really think I can do that to you?”

“You’ll have no choice. We start to hate the things that hurt us, even if we don’t want to.”

James shook his head. “We’re not going to lose this game, Regulus,” he said, straightening ever so slightly. “We’re not doomed. It’s love, Regulus. Love makes things easy. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t become a stronger, kinder, braver person for love. Love needs you to be like that. None of us would be able to bear it if it was any other way.”

Regulus tried not to show how shaken he was, but his hands were trembling slightly. He let go of James, taking a step back. James let it happen.

Regulus shook his head. “I’m not going to be some boy you dated for a while until things got bad.”

“You’re already so much more than some boy, Reg.”

He wasn’t going to understand, was he? He was too stoic. He was too optimistic, he thought the cards he was holding were good enough to win the game. They weren’t. He hadn’t seen his opponent’s cards. Hadn’t seen how things were going to go wrong, how he’d realize with a sinking feeling that things weren’t going to work out the way he wanted.

Regulus exhaled, feeling all the emotions drain from him, felt himself shutting down. He wasn’t going to win this conversation. Not with James being so stubborn. Not when James had that much hope, and couldn’t see how Regulus had none.

Regulus’ feelings must have mirrored in his face because James suddenly grew alarmed, tensing up. “No no no, Regulus, you’re not shutting me out, you can’t do that, not after I’ve just told you-“

“James, don’t. Stop, please,” Regulus said, briefly closing his eyes, begging James not to speak the words out loud, because they were going to break him. He turned around.

“Where are you going? Reg, please-“

Regulus was already grabbing his jacket. “Out of here, Potter. You keep making me hurt you, and I don’t want to. I can’t do this.”

James actually stepped in front of the door, his hands raised as though he was trying to placate a wild animal. “No. I’m not letting you go like that. You’re upset.”

“Of course I’m fucking upset, that’s the point,” Regulus snapped, glaring at James, who actually physically winced. “Because you’re making this so, so fucking hard for me. Jesus, James, I’m trying to be a good person for once. I’m trying to do the right thing, for our sake. For your sake. So get the fuck out of my way.” Regulus pushed past James, who made no move to stop him, and ripped the door open, storming out.

He felt James’ gaze on his back, but he didn’t come after him. Regulus didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing in the doorway, arms helplessly by his side. He knew the exact expression on James’ face. He knew his exact thoughts, the conflict churning in his chest. He’d never known a person as well as James. And he was never going to ever again, after James.

Chapter Text

Remus woke up in the middle of the night knowing that Sirius wasn’t next to him. When he touched the other side of his bed, the bedsheets were cool against his skin. He turned his head and blinked into the darkness. No, Sirus really wasn’t there. Remus rubbed his eyes, then eased himself into a sitting position, sighing.

Sirius was stupid about asking for help, asking for anything, really. Even though Remus had told him repeatedly that he was allowed to wake him up in the middle of the night, he never did. After bad nights, Remus usually just found him in the kitchen in the morning, a mug in his hands, gloomily staring out the window, with dark circles under his eyes because he hadn’t slept all night. But he never reached out. Not once.

But that just meant Remus had to reach out to him. It was simple as that.

Remus stood and grabbed a sweater from the chair, pulling it over, ruffling his hair.

He found Sirius outside, sitting cross-legged on the ground, repairing his motorbike in the flickering light of the garage. He’d tied his hair back, but a few black strands were framing his face. Oil was smeared on his left cheek. He was so focused on the bike that he didn’t even notice Remus at first, so Remus lingered a little, examining him.

So, Sirius was definitely not okay. Not that Remus had believed him in the first place when he’d told him that in the morning.

Remus leaned against the wall. “Hey.”

Sirius winced, pulled out of his thoughts, then, his gaze settled on Remus. He relaxed a little, a smile on his face, his eyes raking over Remus’ body. For some reason, Sirius liked seeing Remus in all those oversized grandpa sweaters.

“Hi.”

Remus was not fooled by that smile, and didn’t let Sirius’ lingering gaze distract him. “You wanna tell me why you’re repairing your motorbike at two in the morning?”

Sirius threw him an uncertain look, considering him. For a moment, it looked like he was going to give him a truthful answer, but then turned around and focused on the motorbike again. “Nope.” He was fiddling with the cables. Remus just hoped he didn’t do something illegal.

“Okay, so you’re just not gonna sleep tonight?” Remus arched an eyebrow at him.

“Sleep is for the weak.”

“Sirius,” Remus growled. It was a warning. They’d been over this so many times.

Sirius actually flinched, then threw Remus a dark gaze for having made him flinch in the first place. He ran a hand through his hair. “I just- I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah. I figured. You wanna tell me why, though?” Remus crossed his arms.

He could see that Sirius hated him for pressing on. His jaw was set, and he didn’t look at Remus.

Remus took a deep breath. “Sirius, please. If you think I’ll give up and get back to bed just because you’re making this difficult, you’re dead wrong. And you’re just making both of us look like idiots for standing out here at two in the morning bickering like an old married couple. Come on.”

Sirius still didn’t look up, but just when Remus opened his mouth again, he spoke. “I can’t forgive myself. For all the things I’ve done in the past. I can’t get over them. I just can’t.” Frustration was edged in his tone.

The air was knocked out of Remus’ lungs and his heart plummeted in his chest. That wasn’t what he’d expected. Or, maybe he had, but Sirius usually wasn’t so blunt.

Sirius disentangled two red cables. “The things I did when I was fourteen, or fifteen. When I thought I wasn’t gonna make it, and I just…stopped caring.”

Blame Remus for asking. Now, his heart had cracked open, and a wave of sadness was reverberating in his bones. He took a deep breath, making sure his voice was steady before he spoke. „Is this about Regulus?“

Sirius shook his head, a flash of anger on his face. „No. This is about me.” He threw a hurt gaze at Remus. “Can’t things be about me for once?“

They always are, Remus thought. Because they need to be. Because otherwise they’d be about Remus, or Regulus. And Sirius wasn’t ready for that yet. He remained calm, unfazed by Sirius‘ unpredictable outburst of emotion. Ever since Sirius had stopped drinking, he was tormented by the feelings he had drowned and which were now coming back full force, and he was like a child who had no idea how to deal with the storm inside of him.

„I grew up in that house, too. I didn’t ask to be the older sibling. I didn’t ask to be the one who has to protect. So this get to be about me,“ Sirius said darkly.

„Sirius,“ Remus said in his calm voice. „You don’t need to justify it. You get to be the protagonist in your own story. Your life it about you.“ Remus couldn’t help it; after reading all those books when he was younger, he kept referencing things he couldn’t even remember. Sometimes, he wondered if he kept stealing all of his words, if anything he said had actually never been said before.

Sirius didn’t say anything, but his shoulders relaxed a little.

„You think you can’t forgive yourself?“ Remus asked. „For what, Sirius?“

Now, Sirius finally stopped working and looked up at him. There was a long moment of silence. „For wasting all those years just because I wasn’t brave enough,“ he finally answered. His words were heavy with suppressed sorrow.

When Remus didn’t immediately respond, he shook his head, as though angry at himself for opening up, got on his feet, and walked over to the toolbox.

Remus intercepted him, putting his hand on Sirius’ narrow waist. All resistance immediately drained from Sirius and he let himself be walked back two steps until his back touched the wall. He leaned against it, as though his legs didn’t carry him any longer, exhaling. Remus could pinpoint the exact moment he stopped trying to hide the turmoil inside of him.

Remus came after him, until their chests and faces were only inches apart. He looked up at him, seeing the exhaustion radiating off of Sirius‘ handsome face, now that he’d stopped pretending to be okay. He seemed so tired, so drained. Remus had never seen him like this, but knew it was regret drew those hard lines on people’s faces.

Remus put one of his hands on Sirius‘ chest, holding his breath until he felt his heartbeat. Sirius just let him, watching him. His chest rose under Remus’ hand.

„I’m twenty now, Remus,“ he said quietly. „I haven’t started living until I ran away with you.“ Remus felt Sirius’ fingers slide under his shirt, touching Remus’ waist. Sirius swallowed, his eyes dark and ablaze. „Where’s my childhood? Where’s my fucking childhood?“

„What about all the years we spent together at Hogwarts?“ Remus asked, his voice breathy. His hand was bunching up the fabric of Sirius’ shirt, but he couldn’t let go. „All the parties, and the Quidditch, and the pranks? What about that?“

„I kept thinking about home,“ Sirius said, shaking his head. „I could never shake it off. Ever.” He leaned his head against the wall, swallowing, looking at the night sky. “Hogwarts was a pause, but my time was always running out.“

Remus touched Sirius‘ face and made him look at him. „We can’t regret the things we haven’t done, Sirius. That will destroy us,“ he said sternly. „I can’t let you do that to yourself. Not after everything I’ve endured to get to this place.“

„This is not about you,“ Sirius repeated, an edge of frustration in his tone.

„I know it isn’t,“ Remus said firmly. He touched Sirius’ bottom lip with his thumb, sighing. „I can’t help you through this. You know that. You are the only one who can forgive yourself. I can’t do that for you. I wish I could, but I can’t.“

Sirius shook his head, frustrated. „I don’t know how to do it, Moony. I just don’t know.“

„It’s not a decision, Sirius. It’s a gradual process,” Remus said. “You will forgive yourself, eventually. But you have to mourn first. You have to grieve for the childhood you never had, because nothing ever leaves quietly. It’s not supposed to. That’s not how it works.“

Sirius‘ hands were on the exposed skin of Remus‘ back now. Remus liked to feel Sirius‘ heartbeat, because it soothed him, reassured him, and Sirius liked to touch the scars on Remus’ back, to trace them with his fingers. Remus didn’t know why; he’d just found out about that the night in the car, when he’d felt Sirius’ fingers on all spots of his skin that would forever remember pain.

„What if it’s too late? I’ll never get my teenage years back,“ Sirius said. „They’re gone. I’ve missed my only chance. What if that’s it? What if everyone is right in saying that it’ll only get worse from here? What if the only time I was supposed to be carefree and happy, I wasn’t?”

“Sirius, joy isn’t reserved to youth. We can decide that there will be joy in our lives. We can cling to that hope. And we have a lifetime in front of us. An entire life that we can still live. This is the beginning. I’ve only just found you. I won’t let you leave.“

Fort the first time, there was a faint smile on Sirius‘ lips. „That’s selfish, Moony.“

„I’m a selfish person, Sirius,“ Remus said, his smile lazy.

„You really are,“ Sirius said. He straightened a little, until he was taller than Remus and Remus had to tilt his head. The hands that were pressed against the small of his back drew Remus‘ closer, then cupped his face. Remus thought Sirius was going to kiss him and wondered if it was a good idea, but Sirius’ eyes just travelled over his face until there was no spot he hadn’t examined.

“Are you ever mad at me for all the years that I we lost because I was scared?”

“No,” Remus said, without considering his words. “Because you were scared for a good reason.” He let his fingertips wander over the skin of Sirius’ back. “In fact, I’m actually more mad at me for not realizing how scared you were.”

“I was acting like an asshole,” Sirius said, with a rueful smile.

Remus huffed. “That you did,” he confirmed.

“Forgive me,” Sirius whispered. Maybe it was part of their banter, maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t really matter. Sirius needed to hear it, and Remus would do anything for that boy that had run away with him to find a better life.

Remus gently pushed his fingers into Sirius’ back. “Always.”

The corners of Sirius’ mouth quirked up, then, his eyes dropped to Remus’ lips. „I want to kiss you.“

Remus raised his eyebrow at him, but then smiled. „Permission granted.“

Sirius leaned down and captured his lips, and even though Remus knew Sirius‘ curse had only been lifted a little bit, it was enough for the moment.

Regulus waited for James to knock on his door all morning. One or two times, he was sure he heard James coming up to the door, only to hesitate and walk away again. He could have sworn he sensed James on the other side of the wood. He had been so sure James wasn’t going to be able to resist, because James hated conflict for the life of it. It was his Achilles heel. He couldn’t bear it.

Regulus, on the other hand, had never had any problem with enduring heavy silence and simmering anger. After growing up in an abusive household, he had been so sure nothing was going to affect him anymore.

He found that he had been wrong.

Because radio silence with James Potter was a whole different thing.

It was unnerving. It rubbed him raw. It felt so wrong. He was irritated for how much it affected him. He couldn’t focus on any of his chess games, or his books, or anything, really, except James’ perfect fucking face and the way he had looked at him yesterday.

Like he was worth something. Like he actually saw him for who he was and, despite all odds, liked what he saw.

There was a part of Regulus that had refused to believe him when he had said all those things. Because it wasn’t true, was it? No human was capable of being faced with that many flaws and still think it was worth holding on. James’ natural instinct should be to save himself, to self-preserve. To turn his back on Regulus and walk the fuck away.

Regulus was so distracted his chess games passed in a blur. He absent-mindedly registered the journalists bombarding him with question, but it was as though he was in trance. Ten minutes into the game, he had forgotten his opponent’s name. A headache was pounding at his temples and he was acutely aware that he was still slightly drunk – he hadn’t had a chance to sleep it off. He tried hard not to let it show when Potter entered the room and threw him a strange gaze, but could tell that James could easily see through it. He clenched his jaw and darkly stared down at the chess board, his dark curls falling into his face, waiting for the burning that was James’ gaze on him to go away.

When he was done, he numbly shook the hand that was offered, and got up, keeping his head down against the crowd of reporters and pushing his way through it.

He was stopped when a reporter sprang into his way with a recorder in his hand. “Mr Black, with your victory today, you just qualified yourself for the final match.”

Regulus tried to push past him; determined not to say anything.

The blond man wouldn’t let up. “Is there anything you want to say before your match against Mr Potter tomorrow?”

The recorder was hovering in front of his face again, but Regulus didn’t even register it. He had frozen up as the realization finally sunk it.

The game.

It was tomorrow.

He turned around. James was getting up from his chair, an unreadable expression on his face as he looked right at Regulus.

It was as though they were the only ones in the room once again. The voices faded into the background as though someone had turned the volume down.

It was then that it struck Regulus that they had both become more. They weren’t Regulus Black and James Potter anymore. They were rivals. They were genius chess players. They were the two best players in America. Between them was a secret understanding that now one else could ever catch on. They alone knew what it was like to be the best of the best, the top one percent of the top one percent.

And they knew each other in and out.

They knew each other’s flaws, weaknesses, strengths, and they’d gazed beyond what everyone else saw in them.

And now they were supposed to play against each other, armed with weapons so sharp that a simple pawn could tear down the entire defence.

When Regulus looked in James’ eyes, he saw that he was thinking the exact same thing.

He could see them from outside, how others perceived them.

The pale, skinny boy with the dark curls and the grey eyes, and the tall, sturdy boy with the glasses and a smile that could light up a whole room. Invincible. Determined. And in on their very own little secret, leaving everyone wondering who they really were to each other.

Regulus took a deep breath. “You want a comment?” he said, without every taking his eyes off James. “I want Potter to know that I won’t lose.” Something in James’ gaze changed. “Because someone was once kind enough to tell me that I stood a chance. And I believed them. And I’m grateful for that, no matter what happens tomorrow.”

When James entered the room the next morning, the air was punched out of Regulus’s lungs and he could do nothing but stare.

James was gorgeous.

And the worst part about it was, he’d done it on purpose. He’d intentionally ruffled so it fell in the way that made Regulus unable to tear his eyes away, he’d rolled up his sleeves up to his elbows, and he’d put on those goddamn rings that made Regulus’ body spiral out of control.

And he was wearing that annoying crooked smile that told Regulus he knew exactly what he was doing.

Except that smile froze when his gaze fell on Regulus and his eyes grew wide. Because Regulus had done the exact same thing, knowing exactly what James was going to do and deciding offense was the best defence. He’d made his curls fall into his eyes the way that made James always look at him like he was some fucking painting, and he’d put on one of James’ grey sweaters that made his eyes look even stormier than normal.

When he saw how James swallowed, he knew he’d won the first round.

As James walked over, his eyes roamed over Regulus’ body, taking in every inch as though they weren’t in a room full of reporters, as though they were in their hotel room and James had just gotten the permission to look at Regulus for the first time, look at him for real, and Regulus had to bite his lip because he was starting to feel hot all over all of a sudden and desire surged through his body.

He deliberately snatched his gaze away and stared at a point behind James’ shoulder. It didn’t help much. It didn’t help at all.

He’d miscalculated. It had been a mistake to show up like this. Because the way James’ dark eyes drank him in threw him off. And there was something about being looked at by James that turned him on more than he would ever admit to anyone.

James stopped right in front of him, and offered his hand.

Regulus shook it, restraining himself from grabbing James then and there, walk him back against the table and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. He was still angry at James, and he could tell James was still angry at him, but it just made Regulus want to kiss him even more. A part of him dared James to do it, to draw him close and kiss him until they ran out of breath.

A quick look at James’ gaze told him James was thinking the exact same thoughts.

Somehow, both of them managed to let go of each other’s hand without any of them doing something incredibly stupid. It was a goddamn miracle.

Regulus felt a twinge of disappointment at the loss of contact but held his chin high and his expression unreadable.

James flexed his hand but stopped immediately when he realized what he was doing.

They sat down on opposite sides of the table. James was playing the white pieces, and Regulus the black ones.

Regulus didn’t let himself think about it and punched the clock, shoving aside all confusing mix of desire and anger wreaking havoc in his heart.

James, with one last look at him, played pawn to king four; Regulus replied with pawn to queen bishop four. The Sicilian. Regulus should have seen it coming. But he hadn’t. Because he had thought about James the whole night, not chess.

Just like he wasn’t thinking about chess now.

When James brought out the king knight, Regulus played pawn to king three.

They went on like this, the world quiet around them, the volume turned down. The people gathered around them vanished into the background. All Regulus could see was the chessboard, and James, and his bejewelled hands. He could smell his scent even from across the board and it distracted him.

James pushed up his bishop pawn to protect his king pawn, and Regulus hesitated, just for a second. If he opened up the diagonal for his queen bishop, he might actually have the upper hand.

Suddenly, underneath all that anger and desire, Regulus remembered what James had said the other night, and his determination faltered almost immediately as though he had suddenly run into a wall he hadn’t seem coming. He had reached for one of his knights, but he drew his hand back as though he had burnt himself.

James looked up at him, puzzled.

Regulus’s heart was pounding. What if he won? What if he actually won against James? Would it break his heart? Would he stop and realize there was nothing left for him to do? Nothing left for him to achieve? All that hard work, and Regulus, two years younger than him, his best friend’s little brother, stepping in to draw the very line he’d never cross? To show him his limits as cruelly as possible? Mocking him?

He locked eyes with James, who held his gaze. He seemed to sense Regulus’ conflict, and shook his head almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t hard to read what he wanted to say.

Don’t stop. You’re going to be greater than all of us, Regulus. You promised you wouldn’t lose. Don’t.

Regulus wasn’t sure he could do it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. All that anger towards James had suddenly vanished, leaving a hollowness in his chest. The last time they had talked, he’d told James he deserved better, and now he was hurting him. He was only proving his point. He’d never thought he was a good person in the first place, but he was surprising himself with just how far he was ready to go for a stupid, meaningless title. He’d never thought himself cruel. But what else could one call this?

A wave of nausea overwhelmed him. His determination had evaporated. He thought about resigning. James would keep his title, people would remember him. He wouldn’t have his greatest achievement taken away from him at twenty years old.

But if James won, Regulus would lose. And it would rip his heart out.

He scrambled for something to do, but he couldn’t think straight, his thoughts tangling up in his mind. With a flare of panic, he realized he’d already lost time. Seven minutes had flown by without him even noticing.

Out of desperation, he opted for a weaker chess move, and punched the clock.

Something in James’ expression hardened as he watched Regulus’ move the piece. Without hesitation, he responded with an unusual chess move, and Regulus frowned, not quite understanding at first, until James’ hard gaze met his own and it struck him what James was doing.

He was making Regulus fight back. He was forcing him to play brutally. If he didn’t, he’d lose. Whatever brilliant strategy James had come up with, he’d thrown it all aside just to push Regulus’ buttons.

And it was working.

Fuck, it was working.

Regulus glared at James, who only stared back without batting an eye, his gaze hard.

Play like you mean it, Regulus.

Regulus evaded his gaze.

He fought with himself for a long minute.

Then, he reluctantly brought out his other knight, waiting for James to bring out his. He’d pin it, double his pawns.

James relaxed the slightest bit when he realized Regulus was fighting back with tooth and nails, but he was not backing down. Instead reaching for the knight, he took Regulus’.

They went on like that, a fast exchange of pieces, so quick Regulus’ mind struggled to keep up. One or two times, he let his intuition take over, afraid to lose too much time on the clock if he thought too much. He knew James was trying to keep it fast-paced; he was an excellent speed chess player, and he knew that Regulus made mistakes when he relied on his intuition. But both of them recognized each of each other’s chess moves. There were patterns everywhere, blatantly obvious to only the two of them.

Time ticked by, until it suddenly froze.

Regulus studied the board. It struck him out of nowhere that James was already on the defensive. It hit him like a punch to the stomach and he couldn’t breathe for a second. If he took his knight…It was clear that moving his queen pawn would make him trade queens, and he was not going to risk not having his queen to use for an attack.

But what if he let it happen?

Regulus held his breath, looking up, momentarily waking up from the daze and sensing the many gazes resting upon him. He immediately lowered his gaze again, not wanting it to distract him. It was a mistake, because now James’ hands came into view and Regulus watched him turn the ring around his fingers; a nervous habit.

Or was it?

James knew how much it affected him, and none of them were above playing dirty.

Regulus forced himself to focus on the game again. The pieces were beautiful. They were heavier than they looked, cool to his touch. If he won, would James shudder every time he picked up pieces like these, remembering his loss? Would he be able to play at all, ever again?

Regulus settled on a brutal but daring attack.

James struck back twice as hard, and a the carnage left them with losses on both sides.

Out of nowhere, James made a chess move that looked painfully familiar, like Regulus’ thoughts had gone down that path before, and with delay, he realized that it was part of the sequence he’d written on the shower screen in James’ hotel room all those weeks ago. James was now using it to his own advantage. Which meant he’d seen it. Had memorized it. Just like Regulus had memorized every single one of his annotations, read all of his books, played all of his games.

Regulus had never been known like that ever before.

The game was something intimate, something that only made sense between them.

Regulus met James’ gaze, and saw that James knew that Regulus knew.

He shrugged ever so slightly.

Regulus almost smiled to himself, then.

The game was both subtle and vicious at the same time, and soon, they were both battered and bleeding and Regulus was in awe of James’ genius. Only the two of them could create a game like this. No one would ever be able to come even close. This was a game they’d analyse endlessly without ever being able to read either of their minds. That was a privilege only they shared.

When they entered the endgame, Regulus looked up again, and his breath got stuck in his throat.

James was smiling at him. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. A glint in his eyes. The dent of dimples on his cheeks.

There was triumph written all over his face.

But James wasn’t winning.

He was losing.

He was triumphant because Regulus was winning.

No one had ever looked at Regulus with that much pride, and awe.

There wasn’t the tiniest trace of resentment.

Instead, there was something else in his gaze, something that made Regulus’ heart skip a beat.

He looked like he wanted to lean over the table, grab Regulus’ face, and kiss him right then and there.

The simmering desire flared up to an all-time high. Regulus wanted to look away, but all he could to was stare at James, his throat dry, his heart thumping in his chest. He’d never thought anyone would ever look at him like that. But here he was. James was practically worshipping him, undressing him, teasing him.

Do it, his eyes seemed to say. Destroy me. I’ll let you. I don’t care. Not when it’s you.

And Regulus did.

He traded rook and knight for his rook and knight, moving his king. James mirrored his move, and Regulus took his queen bishop pawn.

James froze, smiled to himself, gave an imperceptible nod, and toppled his king.

For a long moment, eerie silence stretched. It was as though everyone was collectively holding their breath. Then, slowly, applause erupted. Camera flashed blinded Regulus. Voices rose around them as though someone was finally turning the volume back up.

James stood up, offering his hand, and Regulus scrambled to his feet, still not quite processing, taking it.

“I knew it,” James said so quietly none of them could have heard. “I knew the entire time you’d win.”

I knew the entire time, I knew that you’re a mastermind.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus breathed, panic suddenly seizing him. He suddenly regretted allowing James to provoke him. What if Regulus wasn’t the only one with self-destructive tendencies? What if James broke down once the realization finally dawned?

Regulus searched James’ face for a trace of resentment or sadness, or anger, but there was still none. Instead, he was beaming with pride. If people didn’t know better, they’d have guessed James had won the game, not Regulus. It was shocking, to have someone look at someone that way. Regulus wasn’t used to it, he had no idea how to react.

Once they let go of each other, people swarmed around Regulus to congratulate him, and James was momentarily swept away. Hands touched him out of nowhere, suddenly all over him, people squeezing his shoulders, laughter all around him. It was all too much too suddenly and Regulus felt himself grow panicky. His claustrophobia peaked and blood rushed in his ears. But then James was suddenly right back by his side, and his hand settled on Regulus’s lower back.

Regulus stiffened but relaxed in the next instant, his heart calming as he realized James was effectively shielding him, smiling politely in lieu of Regulus, and gently leading him towards the door. Regulus was trying his very best not to let it show what it was doing to him to have James’ warm hand pressed up against that spot, and knew he was failing miserably. He bit his lip hard, keeping his head down while the worked their way towards the entrance.

Reporters held their recorders in front of his face once again, but within barely a minute, James had somehow manoeuvred them of the room without Regulus being forced to make any statement, and then they were in the lobby and could finally breathe.

James’ hand stayed right where it was, his thumb gently pressing against the dent of his spine, his fingertips dangerously low on Regulus’ back. Regulus realized James wasn’t planning on removing it anytime soon and he could have punched him for that but he also very much wanted to do some other things to James.

There was a certain urgency to how James ushered him up the stairs, and Regulus, his heart palpitating, only too happily obliged, sensing that the tension was about to explode. He longed to know what would happen once they in the privacy of their hotel room where no one could see them. If this was a bad idea, he didn’t care.

He felt high.

Two minutes later, James had unlocked the door to his room, and Regulus stumbled inside, and James came right after him, and before Regulus knew what was happening, he found himself pressed up against the wall of the small corridor with James’ lips rough against his own.

God have mercy.

Regulus was nearly trembling with how good it felt. He kissed him back almost violently, grabbing James’ sweater to pull him even closer until his entire body was pressed up against his own. James only too happily obliged, smiling, sliding one of his legs between Regulus’, making his breath hitch at the sudden pressure.

It was almost too much already.

James tipped Regulus’ head back, taking advantage of the fact that he was taller than Regulus, and Regulus’ hand slid under James’ sweater, hungrily exploring the hot skin underneath, his desire intensifying with each little shudder it elicited from James.

It still wasn’t enough. Not after all this time.

Regulus growled and walked James back against the wall on the other side of the corridor, tugging at his sweater until James broke the kiss long enough to pull it over his head and discard it somewhere on the floor. They hadn’t even turned the light on, but Regulus could see enough, and his stomach filled with heat.

James took advantage of his momentary daze and grabbed Regulus’ hips, spinning them around again so that Regulus was the one pressed up against the wall, and when Regulus reached out to touch James’ exposed skin, James easily caught both his hands and pinned his wrists over his head in one swift movement, holding them there without much effort.

Regulus wanted to protest, wanted to fight back, but James’ lips were suddenly on his jaw and found the sensitive spot on Regulus’ neck with ease. Regulus saw stars. He arched his back, cursing under his breath, his eyes fluttering shut.

It was ridiculous how easily James could render his entire body useless. It felt so good it almost hurt. Regulus forgot wanting to free himself of James’ grip, tipping his head back, willingly giving James even more access. James had no scruples taking advantage of it.

When he finally drew back, it was only because Regulus’ legs were nearly buckling and James had to wrap his hands around Regulus’ torso to hold him upright.

“You f-“ Regulus began, breathlessly, but was cut off when James suddenly lifted him off the ground like it was nothing, leaving him no choice but to wrap his legs around his hips while he carried him towards the bed.

He put Regulus down, who merely had time to ease himself on his elbows before James was over him, his legs on either sides of Regulus’, lowering his head to capture Regulus’ lips. The kisses grew more intense, more rough, more desperate. Regulus’s hands roamed over James’ back, exploring every inch of his skin, marvelling at every firm muscle, drilling his fingers in every dip between them, making James’ arch his back, making his breath hitch.

James drew back so both could get some air. “I nearly kissed you the moment I realized you were going to win,” he said, his voice husky. His curls were falling into his face. He had a smile on his face, shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“I know,” Regulus said, breathless. “You were looking at me like the only reason I wasn’t already in your lap straddling you was because you didn’t want any compromising photos in the newspaper.”

James chuckled, suddenly the tiniest bit embarrassed. “I won’t even attempt to deny that.”

Regulus huffed, then kissed        James again, his hand pressed against James’ neck. He should’ve already known James was an excellent kisser, but somehow, he grew even better with every time their lips met. It turned Regulus into a flustered mess; it made him lose control. It was a good thing that James’ legs on either side of his hipbones were caging him, holding him down on the mattress.

James started tugging at Regulus’ t-shirt and Regulus eased himself upward so James could take it off of him easier. James threw it aside, his eyes hungrily roaming over Regulus’ upper body, his chest, tracing the faint lines of his abs, his narrow waist. He swallowed. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Instead of answering, Regulus just grabbed his face and kissed him again, not allowing his thoughts to try and prove James wrong. They were not going to ruin this for him. James’ calloused fingertips left burning trails all over his torso, his abs, his lower back. Regulus let his hands ghost over James’ back and further down until his fingers touched the hem of James’ jeans, dipping his fingers underneath just an inch.

James’ broke the kiss, suddenly unsure, furrowing his brows, and Regulus nearly whined at the loss of contact but bit it back.

“Regulus, are you-,” he said, breaking off. “Do you-“

Regulus felt a warm and fuzzy feeling grow in his chest, and he could sense Jamse relax immediately when he saw a smile tug at Regulus’ lips. Regulus shook his head. “Can we just-“

“Yeah, sure.” James said, running a hand through his hair, suddenly relieved. He gave a breathless chuckle. “I can’t even wrap around my head that I get to kiss you, let’s not…”

“James,” Regulus said, impatiently. If he let himself think for even just a second, he wasn’t sure if he wasn’t going to walk straight out of the hotel room. “I don’t wanna think right now.”

“Oh, that I can make happen,” James smiled smugly, and despite the fact that James had his hands on his torso already and neither of them was wearing a shirt, Regulus died right then and there. He didn’t have much time to get embarrassed, however, because James had slid his thigh between Regulus’ legs with an evil smirk and Regulus forgot how to breathe.

James leaned down again, pressing kisses on Regulus’ neck, moving his leg from time to time in what Regulus refused to believe was accidental, and smiling every time he heard Regulus’ struggling to swallow down a moan that inevitably turned into a curse, which then turned into a French curses as time went on, which meant that James seemed to intentionally provoke it even more until Regulus wasn’t sure if his body could take much more.

Sometime later, they lay in bed next to each other, Regulus’ hand in James’ shirt, both of them barefoot with tousled hair and flushed faces. Regulus’ head was resting on James’ chest, one of his legs was tangled between James’. James’ hand was in his hair, gently stroking it. He smelt of soap and cinnamon, and chess boards and old books and Regulus thought he’d never want to miss that smell ever again. He thought he was going to cry if one day, he might not smell it again.

He inched even closer to James, acutely aware that he was already clinging onto him, but unable to do anything else. After spending all those past weeks refraining from coming anywhere near him, it seemed like he was going to die if he didn’t touch him. He was addicted to the warmth of James’ body, to the security it gave him, the sturdiness of it.

“I was so scared that I’d win,” James suddenly said into the silence, “and you’d hate me.”

Regulus eased himself up on his elbows to look James in the eyes, his left hand on James’s chest, his hair falling into his face. He shook his head, drinking in the sight of James’s perfect face, his eyes flicking from his nose to his jaw to his mouth, than to his eyes.

“I could never hate you.”

James’ hand was on the nape of Regulus’ neck, his fingers ghosting over his skin. “You’re not good at losing, Regulus. It’s your Achilles heel, to have to lose,” he said in a low voice. “I was so scared you’d hate me forever. That I’d lose you and we didn’t get to have this. Any of it.”

James without his glasses was a sight Regulus still had to get used to. There was a tiny crook in James’ nose, and it was only ever visible when he took his glasses off. His eyes were brighter, too. He looked more unguarded, somehow, and it made Regulus want to reach out and trace the soft skin of James’ face, his cheekbones, the line of his jaw.

“We would have gotten it anyway,” Regulus whispered. “I was never going to leave you.” He took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry for what I said. For everything I said. I just…I get scared when people get too close to me and I say things to push them away.” He felt a sadness tug at his heart. “Even now, I still don’t know if I deserve you.”

“You do.” James’ thumb brushed over Regulus’ lips. “We can make this work.” He gave Regulus a soft kiss and sank into the cushions again. Regulus put his head on James’ chest. His breathing rhythm might just be the most soothing thing in the universe, Regulus thought. Silence fell as both of them dwelled on their thoughts.

Then, James sighed. “It was never just your family putting pressure on yourself, was it?” he broke the silence. Before Regulus could say anything, he added: “It was you all along. You can’t stand to lose, and you would have never forgiven yourself if you lost against me. You would have walked away if I had won and I would have never seen you again. Because you would have told yourself that you don’t deserve good things if you keep failing like that.”

Regulus briefly closed his eyes, then stared gloomily into the half-darkness. “It’s kind of hard to react any other way to failure when I grew up getting punished every time I didn’t meet my parent’s expectations. I was brought up like this. I can’t get it out of my head, even now that my mother is dead. My brain is wired like that.”

“I won’t let you punish yourself like that. You deserve all the good things, Regulus, even on the days that you fail,” James whispered, so honest it tugged at Regulus’ heart. “My mother used to say that to me.” James shifted. “If you’re kind to others, why are you not kind to yourself?, she’d ask. And Regulus, you deserved this victory. And you deserve to become the best chess player the world has ever seen.”

Regulus looked at James and nearly melted with the bittersweetness of it. James believed what he was saying, every single word, even if Regulus didn’t. And it was enough for both of them, because James was a good and kind and honest person and the moment he had stepped into Regulus’ life, he had changed everything for the better.

Regulus gently cupped James’ face and kissed him again. James kissed him back hungrily, his fingers buried in Regulus’ curls, humming contently.

Regulus drew back, and James smiled faintly. “I can’t believe this is real.”

Regulus shook his head, a rare smile on his lips, too. “Me neither.”

“I also can’t believe I was so turned on by you absolutely destroying me in the game,” James said with a breathless chuckle, apparently desperate to chase away the sombreness of their conversation. He hated it when things got dark and sad. Which was weird, because Regulus was a dark and sad person.

Regulus raised his eyebrow. “New kink unlocked?” he asked dryly.

“No,” James said softly. “I think it’s just you.”

Regulus almost grew flustered at that but had himself under control. “You’re in love with my IQ, Potter,” he huffed.

“Oh no, don’t worry, I’m also very much in love with your body,” James smirked suggestively.

Great. Now Regulus’ cheeks were definitely heating up. “Shut up, Potter.”

“Never. I’m having way too much fun making you blush,” James smiled. “Even though it’s fairly easy. Not really a challenge.”

“Potter…”

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll stop.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes at him.

James looked up at him innocently, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“If you say one more thing, I’ll never play against you ever again,” Regulus threatened. He didn’t mean it, at all.

James raised his eyebrows at him. “That’s gonna be a bit hard considering you need me to beat Riddle.”

Regulus frowned suddenly and sat up, sobering up now. “What are you talking about?”

James eased himself up on his elbows. “That I’m going to train you.”

Regulus paused. “I’m not going to play against Riddle.”

“Sure you are. You’re going to Moscow.” James paused, then realized Regulus had no idea what he was talking about. “The Moscow Invitational? You’re a U.S. winner, which means you’re invited.”

Regulus’ chest froze over as the realization sunk in. Of course. He had never thought about what would happen after the game with James, but he was U.S. champion now. The next rational step would be to play against Riddle. If he won…

He shook his head, more to convince himself than to convince James. “I can’t do it. I’ll have to play against Russians. That’s murderous.”

James sat up, more serious now. “Regulus, you are the only chess player who can do it. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it? To be the best there is? To dominate the world? Regulus, if you do this, the world’s gonna know your name.”

Regulus stared at him, conflicted, frustration rising. “They already do,” he said darkly. Except not for the right fucking reason. He shook his head. “I’m not ready.”

“You just wiped me out in twenty minutes, Regulus, like it was nothing. Like you didn’t even have to think. Like you saw into my head and anticipated every one of my moves.”

“I lost against Riddle.”

“You weren’t ready then. You are now.” James was not backing down.

Regulus took a deep breath. “James, I’m just waiting for my family to walk through the door and  blackmail me into returning. I can’t leave for Russia.”

“Your family have nothing on you, Regulus. You did nothing wrong. If we’re lucky, someone’ll dig into your family history and realize things don’t match up. It’s still time, Regulus. Besides, things will have settled down until then.”

“Not with my family, James,” Regulus said darkly.

“They can’t stop you from leaving the country, Regulus. Don’t you understand? You need to do this. You’ll regret stopping now. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” James gently touched Regulus’ cheek.

Regulus shook his head ever so slightly. “Riddle will make me look like a fool. I’m not doing it.”

“We have five weeks to train, Regulus. We can do this. We’ll go to my flat, and we’ll train. We’ll get you there.”

Regulus hesitated, closing his eyes for a second. “No, James. I can’t do it again.”

“Do what?” James asked.

“All of it. Studying my opponents, and playing all those games, and being scared that I haven’t done enough, that I’m not good enough.”

James deflated just the tiniest bit. He ruffled his hair. “Okay. Fine.” He exhaled. “Listen, we need to get away from here anyway. Let’s just lay low for a while. Let’s not do any tournaments in the next few weeks. We’ll travel, or we’ll stay at my house, or go to museums, or get drunk. And we’ll play chess if we feel like it. And if you change your mind, we’ll train.”

Regulus frowned at him. “You sound certain I’ll change my mind.”

James smiled ever so slightly. “Because you will. You love chess, but what you love even more is winning,” he said. “You’re addicted to it. You can’t go too long without it.”

Regulus raised his eyebrow. “I can’t go without you too long, either.”

James blinked at him. “I’ll go with you. To Russia. I’ll come with you, as your second.” He sounded surprised Regulus hadn’t already assumed that.

Regulus let out a breath. “James, that’s…”

“You really thought I was going to just let you leave like that after getting kissed like that? Not happening, Black. You flashed me your abs one too many times. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“You’re impossible, James.”

“I know,” James grinned and leaned forward, capturing Regulus’ lips, and Regulus’ couldn’t help but melt against him, his arms around James’ neck, drawing him closer.

Chapter Text

They were just about to leave the room when the telephone rang. Regulus froze up, and met James’ gaze. James seemed alarmed. He shook his head warningly, taking a step towards the telephone, but Regulus was faster and picked it up.

“Mr Black?” a velvety voice asked.

“Speaking.”

James’ shoulder sagged, his mouth were a thin line, but he didn’t try to take the phone away from Regulus.

“We have a call from Andromeda Tonks. Do you want us to put her through to you?”

Regulus let out a relieved breath. “Yes.”

There was a silence, then a click. James looked at him strangely, confused, and Regulus shook his head once to signal that it wasn’t his father, or his family.

“Regulus?”

“Andromeda, how did you-“

“I read the newspapers, Regulus,” Andromeda cut him off. Her voice had a sharp undertone to it and Regulus knew her well enough to know what was coming. He barely had time to brace himself for it before she was talking again.

“Why didn’t you tell me she died, Regulus? Why didn’t you fucking tell me when you were on the phone with me?” Shit, if Andromeda was cursing, he was in for it. “I read it in the newspaper the next day, and I spent literally the entire week trying to track you down, while also trying to get your father and our entire fucking family off my back.”

“I couldn’t drag you back into this mess, Andromeda,” Regulus said firmly. He wasn’t going to apologize for the one good thing he had ever done.

“You had every right to drag me back into this mess, Regulus!” Andromeda hissed. “If you want me to or not, I’m responsible for you!”

“I’m eighteen, you don’t-“

“Regulus, I swear to god!” she snapped. “You could’ve at least called and told me you’re safe. I was freaking out. They showed up at my house four times, because even they thought you’d come to my place. And you know why they thought you’d be here? Because you were supposed to! Because it was the only reasonable thing to do!”

Regulus briefly closed his eyes. He was not good with being screamed at. “I’m with James Potter,” he said, then. James’ head jerked up at the mention of his name, and he watched him warily.

Andromeda paused suddenly. There was a long silence at the other end. Regulus could almost see her closing her eyes and massaging her temples. Then, she drew in a deep breath. “I know,” she said, her voice a lot more controlled. “It’s the one you played against yesterday. Congratulations on your victory, by the way.”

Regulus gave a helpless huff. It was all so ridiculous, how Andromeda was the only one keeping an eye on his victories not because of the money but because she truly cared about his talent. Because she was a good person, and she was trying to be the cousin he deserved. “Thanks.”

“Is he taking care of you?”

“James?”

“Yes. He better be.”

Regulus eyed James, who raised his eyebrow. “He is,” he said quietly, ignoring how the question made him blush.

“Good.” She huffed. “The family is furious. Your father is trying his best to hide the huge debt he’s in, but I think my sister is starting to get suspicious, so you’ll have a few more days before Orion will take drastic measures. Make sure he can’t find you.”

“Okay.”

Andromeda exhaled. “There’s not much he can do anyway.”

“He still has all my money.”

“I can send you some if you need me to,” Andromeda offered. “You send us money for the last few years, this is the least I can do for you.”

“Not necessary,” Regulus said, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Promise me you’ll get over here the moment our family goes haywire. You can not deal with that alone, you know that. It’s dangerous.”

Regulus was well aware that his mother had not been the craziest of his family. Bellatrix was on a whole other level, and if she decided she had enough of Regulus damaging the family’s reputation, Regulus needed to make sure she didn’t get anywhere near him. Just because the Black family was good at getting charges dropped didn’t mean things hadn’t happened.

“I’ll go with James. It should be safe.”

“Lay low, okay? Don’t give any statements. Don’t let them take any compromising photos. They’ll use it against you. You know what they did when I left.”

Regulus felt heat rise to his cheeks when he suddenly remembered the kiss on the balcony and the photos that had definitely not been deleted. He suddenly wondered if it had been the wrong decision. Not because Regulus was scared of being seen with a boy, but because it was James Potter in that picture and Regulus had dragged him into this mess, had painted a red cross on his back.

Regulus’ mood darkened, but he kept his face devoid of emotion as not to worry James, who was still studying ever single one of Regulus’ reactions.

“How was the funeral?” Regulus asked, desperate for a change of topic.

“Didn’t get invited,” Andromeda said, sounding as though she couldn’t care less. “It was probably very expensive, and they were probably putting on an Oscar-worthy show for the public. Anyways. Take care of yourself, Regulus. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

Regulus briefly closed his eyes, keeping his gaze on the floor. “Will do.”

They said goodbye and Regulus hung up the phone, his breath rushing from his lungs and a wave of exhaustion weighing down his body.

“Who was that?” James asked cautiously.

“My cousin. Andromeda.” Regulus grabbed his bag, turning his back to James, not looking at him.

“What’d she say?”

Regulus let out a breath, trying to ignore the flutter of anxiety in his chest. “That my family is freaking out and we really, really need to make sure I’m out of harm’s way when they go haywire,” he said, grimacing. He walked past James, desperate to get the hell away from the place his father knew he was staying at, but James gently grabbed his upper arm and stopped him.

Regulus let him turn him around, and shivered when James’ hands settled on both sides of his waist.

“We’re going to be okay, Regulus,” James said earnestly. “We’re going to get through this.”

Regulus shook his head. “You don’t know tha-“ he began darkly, but James suddenly leaned in and shut him up with a kiss.

Regulus’ mind was wiped blank for a second, and his body took over. He leaned in, grabbing a fistful of James’ shirt, kissing him back. The kiss grew more intense within seconds, and Regulus was about to push James towards the bed when James suddenly drew back. Regulus made a protesting sound.

James just smiled apologetically. “We need to go, Regulus.”

Regulus made a face, his heart pounding in his chest. “Fine,” he growled. He readjusted his bag. “My family will fucking pay for all the kissing I can’t do because I need to fucking run from them.”

“Add it to the list of things they are going to pay for,” James said, holding the door open for Regulus.

Sometime in 1977

Three weeks after he and Sirius had run away, Remus was on his way back home from university and stopped in the middle of the street, because it suddenly hit him that things had gotten better. When he’d been a kid, adults had always lied to him. It will get better Remus. You’ll be alright. And then, when there was had been no adult to comfort him anymore, Remus had started doing it himself. He’d gripped his bathroom sink, telling himself that tragedy didn’t last forever, telling himself that sometimes, bravery was all that counted.

And now, here he was, getting a degree, living in a flat with Sirius. He had a home, for fuck’s sake. A family. He woke up next to the love of his life every morning. He got to sit on the back of Sirius’ motorbike, got to casually drop by his friends, got to live the life he’d always wanted. Everything was annoyingly perfect.

He started walking again, amused by how sappy he sounded.

Ten minutes later, he got into a car accident. Screeching brakes, voices, a dull sound as the bones in his leg shattered, and then darkness.

He woke up in the hospital several hours later, with a headache so bad it was splitting his skull, his vision blurry, and the distinct feeling that he was high as a kite on painkillers. For a moment, he couldn’t remember anything, couldn’t explain why he was lying in a bed that wasn’t his, why the bedsheets were so scratchy, why he kept hearing an annoying beeping sound. Then, it came back to him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing.

Jesus Christ. Happiness truly was something for other people, huh?

“Remus?”

Someone said his name. Remus’ sluggish brain barely deciphered it, but he recognized the voice. Sirius. He forced his eyes open, blinking against the fluorescent light. His eyes had trouble focusing, and the world kept tilting around him. He groaned.

Cold hands suddenly ghosted over his burning face and Sirius came into view. His hair was all over his place, his eyes huge with worry, and he was wearing the shirt he usually slept in. It was loose on him, wrinkled, with a stretched collar because Remus kept dragging it down to expose Sirius’ neck. It was so weird seeing Sirius out in public with it that Remus almost laughed. Almost. His ribs were on fire.

“Remus?” Sirius asked again, trying to make Remus look at him. He seemed to relax ever so slightly when he realized that Remus was fully conscious. “Jesus Christ, I was so worried,” he exhaled. “Jesus. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Remus paused, looking at the four fingers Sirius was waving in front of his face. “Seriously, Sirius?” he growled, and Sirius looked a bit embarrassed.

“Just making sure you’re head ok. You’ve got a bit of a wound…” Sirius trailed off.

Remus slowly reached for the throbbing spot on his temple. His fingers touched the rough fabric of a bandage. “A bit of a wound,” he repeated dryly. “Yeah. I can feel a bit of a wound.” He couldn’t even fully open his left eye because of the swelling.

Sirius was supposed to smile, or at least roll his eyes at Remus’ sarcasm, but he didn’t. In fact, he gave no reaction, as though he hadn’t even fully heard him. Remus was immediately alarmed by his unusual behaviour. When it came to making jokes about painful things, they were a team. This was how it worked, this is how they kept the sadness at bay. But Sirius was not playing his part.

Remus took a closer look at him. Sirius’ face was ashen, his eyebrows knitted in worry. He was fiddling with his rings now that he’d gotten his hand out of Remus’ face.

“Sirius, what’s wrong?” Remus asked, wary. He eased himself up on his elbows, wincing as the movement set of a wave of pain. He grimaced. Jesus, his ribs were definitely not intact.

Sirius clearly didn’t know how to answer. He was so tensed up Remus wondered if he was even breathing. “You got into a car accident,” he eventually said, his voice toneless.

“Yeah. I really hope the car is okay,” Remus said dryly. He couldn’t help it, he hated it when people worried about him. It made him squirm. In the orphanage, there had been a nurse called Pomfrey, and she had taken the brunt of all his sarcasm. He’d been in the infirmary a lot, a mixture of bad luck, a lack of self-preservation and a short fuse.

“The car’s okay,” Sirius said, warily, and then immediately shut his mouth again.

“Sirius,” Remus said, trying to sound calm, even with his heart pounding in his chest.

Sirius was seconds away from breaking down. He ran a nervous hand through his hair. Then, he whispered: “Your leg, Remus. They had to-“

With a jolt of panic, Remus threw back the covers, and his mind short-circuited. He blinked. Blinked again. His mind refused to process, refused to accept what he was seeing. Then, he grimaced. “Fucking hell,” he cursed. “Jesus fucking Christ. No.” And then, his stomach turned in shock and he very gracefully proceeded to puke his guts out.

Twenty minutes later, a very nice old doctor told Remus that they had amputated his leg. It had been so badly broken in the accident that his chances of healing had been at exactly zero percent. He would have spent the rest of his life in unbearable pain and unable to put any weight of it, let alone walk on it. So they’d cut if off just below his knee. When it had healed, he’d be able to walk with the help of a prosthetic leg.

Remus kept rotating between burying his face in his hands and not saying anything for minutes, chuckling in disbelief (the painkillers were very strong and he was still very high), and swearing so creatively that Siris blushed next to him and mouthed an apology to the nurses, who just raised their eyebrows, but let it go.

He spent the next two weeks  in the hospital with a lot of time to process his situation, so that when he was finally discharged, he had already kind of come to terms with the fact that he was an amputee. Sirius, for some reason, had started behaving weirdly around him, so Remus was relieved to get out of that small room. Sirius had spent the full fourteen days refusing to leave his side, always hovering nearby, tiptoeing around him as though Remus was somehow fragile.

On day twelve Remus had had enough and had snapped at him to let me breathe, for fuck’s sake. It had only gotten only slightly better since then. 

Exactly eight weeks after his accident, Remus was limping around the flat in his prosthetic leg, trying not to get frustrated at how much it was slowing him down. He had resumed his studies as well as his two jobs, and he was exhausted. If he stood for too long, his leg started hurting, if he walked, his hip started hurting, if he sat down, his ribs started hurting. He just couldn’t escape the pain, whatever he did. On top of that, the pain medication caused throbbing headaches and made him sleepy. For weeks now, he felt like he was running on nothing but pure spite and stubbornness, when all he wanted was to lie down and rest.

His life really was a fucking delight.

Sirius was doing his best, but Remus could see the pity in his eyes, and that irked some part of his mind. More often than not, he snapped at him for doing the wrong thing or saying the wrong thing. He just couldn’t help himself. Remus knew that he was slow and clumsy, that he sometimes ran into things, that he sometimes lost balance, so Sirius really didn’t need to tense up when he watched Remus make his way down a staircase, ready to grab and steady him. He also didn’t need him to linger around the house the entire day, or check in with him ten times a day.

The worst part was that Remus knew Sirius wasn’t the problem.

The truth was, he knew very well that he was an ungrateful asshole solely because he wasn’t good with accepting help, and because he couldn’t admit to himself that everything had become too much too handle. Two jobs, studying, ignoring the never-ceasing pain all day. He never even got much sleep these days, because his leg would ache all night. And there was no way out of the situation, so he had no choice but to endure it, but if he was honest with himself, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. It didn’t matter how much he didn’t want to admit it to himself. One of these days, he was going to pay the prize.

Remus had just opened his book when he heard the key turn in the lock. Remus exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose, bracing himself. A few seconds later, Sirius walked into the room, shrugging of his jacket and putting the key away. He took one look at Remus, paused, and knitted his eyebrows.

“Remus…”

“Don’t even say it,” Remus warned, cutting him off. 

Sirius stared at him, then seemed to change his mind about something and put his jacket on the backrest of a chair, walking over to the sink and getting a glass of water. He put it down without drinking.

Remus tried to ignore him, but he couldn’t concentrate on the textbook. Not when he felt Sirius’ gaze on him and the silence was so heavy in the room. Eventually, he looked up. “Sirius, just spit it out. Please.” They had gotten into an argument just the day before. Remus wasn’t ready for another one.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the annoyance in Remus’ tone, but had apparently sworn himself to be the bigger person today. Remus was fully aware that the fact that he had kind of hoped to provoke Sirius did not make him a very good person. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that he shouldn’t direct his anger at other people. It was just that he was overflowing with it.

“Remus, this is not working. We can’t keep this up. It’s insane.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we spent almost all our savings in the last eight weeks, so we kind of have to keep this up,” Remus reminded him.

Sirius ran a hand over his face, then shook his head. “Jesus Christ, sometimes I wish my parents weren’t such assholes and we could ask them to lend us some money.” He seemed defeated, suddenly, but there was a quiet anger in the way he clenched his jaw.

“Sometimes I wish my parents weren’t dead,” Remus said dryly.

Sirius startled, looking at him, trying to find a trace of humour on Remus’ face. Remus didn’t even know himself if there was something to be found. He just knew that the good part of him was trying to de-escalate the situation and undo the damage the hurting part of him did every day. And the bitterness about their childhoods had been serving as material for jokes for a long time now.

Sirius huffed and shook his head at him, but Remus could see that a smile was tugging at the corners of his lips. Somehow, it made him feel relieved. So, they weren’t going to argue. His bad side had lost for now.

Sirius walked around the counter and sat down.

Remus fiddled with his pencil, waiting for him to say something.

“Remus, I’ll be the one working two jobs now.” When Remus opened his mouth to protest, Sirius shook his head. “You can barely stand, let alone walk, Remus. I can see how swollen your leg is. It was too much too early.”

“I chose to study, Sirius. I have to support myself. I’m not letting you work just so that I can fulfil my stupid dream. It’s not even that important.”

“It is,” Sirius immediately said. “It is important. Remus, you’ve been working for this for years. You’re not made for working a job you hate for the rest of your life.”

“Sirius…”

“I don’t mind,” Sirius cut him off, saying it as though he really meant it. “Remus, seriously, I’ve never had a dream like you. Look at me. I don’t even know what I’m gonna do tomorrow, let alone in a week. But you do. And that’s important. That’s so bloody important to me, and I’ll do everything so that you can become who you want to be.”

Remus searched Sirius’ gaze. He shook his head again, but his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t know what to say. He was so tired.

Sirius touched Remus’ jaw, then let his thumb ghost over Remus’ lip, staring at it before looking up again. “Remus, I know how much you’re hurting. I know how much you’re trying to hold it together. And I’m sorry that I act so awkwardly around you.” Remus’ eyes snatched up to him. Sirius smiled ruefully. “I’ve lost a brother, Remus.” He looked at his hands, frowning. “And I’m so scared I’ll fail again. I just…I can’t help it. I did the wrong thing, I ran away even though he was in so much hurt. And now I can’t leave your side because I wish I’d have done the right thing the first time that I had a chance at doing things right.”

Remus’ heart ached. He sighed. “I get it. But Jesus, you can’t keep treating me like that. You’re always there, you’re always breathing down my neck. It makes me feel like I’m helpless.”

“If I work this second job, I won’t be here nearly as much.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at him. “Look at you, sneaking your arguments into our conversation.”

Sirius smiled. He’d tied his hair back into a bun, but a few strands were falling into his face. “Smooth?”

“Very”, Remus said. Then, he looked down at his hands. “I still don’t want you to, though. You’re paying your half of the rent, I pay the rest and I pay for the stuff that my scholarship doesn’t cover. It’s just not fair any other way. I can pull through.”

Sirus rolled his eyes. “Remus, you’ve literally been falling asleep everywhere. You’re exhausted. Last night, you fell asleep while I was kissing you.”

Remus blushed and buried his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ. I did,” he said through his fingers.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, a glint in his dark eyes. “For the sake of our sex life, please let me do this for you. Because I can’t even remember the last time we kissed for more than five seconds. Let alone the last time we slept together.”

Remus looked up. “So, you’re basically just doing this for your own sake,” he said dryly, tilting his head.

“If that makes you accept my offer, yeah. Absolutely. I’m doing this purely for my own good. I’m the only one benefitting from this,” Sirius said with a crooked grin.

“Selfish.”

“I know.” His grin morphed into his stupidly attractive smile. “I’m an aristocrat after all. It’s in my blood. I can’t help it.”

“Sure.” Remus looked at him. “Promise me that the moment my leg is okay again you’ll quit one of your jobs. Promise me this is only temporary.”

Sirius’ gaze dropped to Remus’ lips, then up again. A shiver ran down Remus’ spine. “Sure, Lupin. The order will be restored. I promise.” There was a teasing tone to his voice.

“Sirius, I need to get back to studying,” Remus growled, fully aware why Sirius was looking at him like that. It was unnerving how strongly his body still reacted after all those months. The years of stolen kisses had left him starved for Sirius’ touch, and vice versa.

“You need a break.”

“I just had one,” Remus replied.

“You’ll need another. A longer one. In the bedroom. With me,” Sirius said.

Heat was pooling at the pit of Remus’ stomach. “Sirius, I still need to do-“

“You need to do me, Lupin.” Sirius leaned forward, and Remus let him capture his lips.

Sirius’ hand was immediately buried in Remus’ hair, drawing him closer, his other hand on Remus’ thigh. Remus kissed him back, hungry all of a sudden. He growled when Sirius bit his lip teasingly. Sirius’ hand wandered upwards.

“Sirius, studying,” Remus said into their kiss.

“Five minutes, Remus,” Sirius said, tugging at the hair on his neck.

And Remus gave in, like he always did.

James had seen almost all his scars the other night, and when they first got in the car and drove in silence, it was all Regulus could think about. All the scars his family had left all over his body for James to see. The burn wound on his collarbone, right above his chest. The faint line across his back. The one on his neck, usually hidden under his hair.

And James hadn’t even flinched. His rough fingertips had wandered over them as though there wasn’t a bump, as though there wasn’t scar tissue. As though he couldn’t care less.

It was a weird feeling to sit next to him now, knowing that James had seen what was underneath his shirt and had felt the marred skin and had felt it on his own.

He hadn’t even hesitated. Thank god he hadn’t, because Regulus wouldn’t have been able to bear James’ pity. If James had hesitated for even the fraction of a second, had started treating him like something fragile, Regulus wasn’t sure if he’d been able to handle it.

But of course James had naturally done things right, like he always did. And if he’d been shocked by the scars, he’d hidden it well.

“Let’s play chess,” James suddenly said, jolting Regulus out of his dark thoughts. Regulus turned around to James, who looked back at him, a small smile on his face.

“In our heads?” Regulus asked, two hands on the steering wheel. James was the kind of person to drive with one hand, with the other either resting in his lap, on the gearshift knob, or held out the opened window. Regulus couldn’t do that anymore. He needed to grip the steering wheel with both hands to ground himself. It was the only way he felt in control and it was the only way sitting in a car was even remotely bearable. James hadn’t even argued against letting Regulus drive, even though he must have seen the dark circles under his eyes.

“Isn’t that what you always do anyways?”

Regulus raised his eyebrow, biting back a small smile. “Maybe I don’t like sharing my interior chessboard with you.”

James feigned shock. “You’re hurting my feelings, Regulus Black!” He clutched his hand to his chest.

“Your ego is too big for that,” Regulus replied flatly. He sighed. “Fine.”

James smiled. “I’ll be White. Pawn to king four.”

“Pawn to queen bishop four,” Regulus said with no hesitation.

They played on like this for fifteen minutes. Regulus couldn’t help but steal glances at James from time to time. His heart felt strangely light. Sitting in this car, heading to James’ apartment, it made him feel safer than he’d felt in a long time. He felt all warm and fuzzy inside, a feeling his wasn’t used to.

James must have noticed the content smile on Regulus’ lips, because he was cheerier than ever, laughing loudly, telling jokes, turning up the radio. It only now occurred to Regulus that this was James as his truly carefree self and he realized with a pang that it had been his fault that James hadn’t felt this way in some time. He quickly tried to ignore that thought; he was not going to destroy the mood now, he was going to pretend for James’ sake. He wasn’t good at doing nice things for other people, but he could do this.

“Do you know what Scharz says about that move? The footnote?” James asked sometime later, way into their second game.

“I don’t read footnotes.”

“You don’t?” James asked, surprised. “You don’t study footnotes but you studied every page of the book I gave you?”

Regulus took his eyes off the road and was met with the hazel of James’ eyes. His heart melted at the sight of it. “You’re making me do weird things, Potter,” he said with a helpless little smile.

James looked at him like he had never seen him smile before – which was probably true. He seemed to not know what to say for a full heartbeat, staring at Regulus’ lips and the impossible smile on it. “I’m glad I do,” he said after a pause, his voice low.

Two hours later, James begged Regulus to teach him some French. Regulus had an inkling that James only wanted to hear Regulus speak it, but he indulged him anyway. They practiced some phrases, which James picked up quickly. He didn’t, however, succeed in getting rid of his accent. Regulus teased him for it, but secretly enjoyed hearing the way James’ tongue twisted around the vowels. He finally understood why James got so flustered every time Regulus spoke French.

Three hours later, they were back to discussing chess games. They had gotten some food and James’ boots were propped up on the dashboard. He was chewing his sandwich while giving Regulus the directions. Regulus’ sandwich sat half-eaten between them, but James didn’t comment on it. He probably didn’t want to ruin Regulus’ mood, but Regulus had an inkling James wasn’t going to let him get away with it. James was going to wrap it up and put it in the fridge.

Regulus was tired, but he kept shaking his head every time James asked him if they should take a break. He didn’t want to have to stay in another hotel again. He wouldn’t be able to bear it, even if just for one more night. And he couldn’t let James take over. It wasn’t a matter of trust, it was simply the way his body grew taut every time he even thought about sitting on the passenger seat with someone else steering the car.

A part of him hated that James knew about this, but there hadn’t been a way around it.

They arrived at James’ flat at one in the morning. Three steps led down to the red wooden door, with plants growing around the metal banister. The light of the lamps barely reached down, but James had the door unlocked within seconds and pushed it open. He gestured Regulus to enter.

Regulus adjusted the strap of his bag and did as he was told, and James came after him and switched the light on. A narrow corridor led into a          living room, stuffed full with books and magazines and a few dying houseplants. There was a comfortable-looking sofa in the corner. When Regulus stopped in the middle of the room, he could see a tiny kitchen with a floor made of black-and-white tiles behind a door that was left slightly ajar. The other door went off to the bedroom.

“I know it’s not much,” James said apologetically, ruffling his hair, “but I only come here to train, when I don’t want to get distracted.” He spotted the dying plant in the corner and cursed under his breath, letting his bag fall to the floor and hurrying into the kitchen. Regulus could hear water running, then James returned with a glass and crouched down next to the plants.

“Lily keeps giving me plants, and I always end up killing them,” he said ruefully as he carefully watered them.

Regulus didn’t have the heart to tell them that the plants were definitely beyond saving, but he kept watching him. Something about the scene had struck him and it took a moment for him to figure out what it was. When he did, he wished he hadn’t.

It was the casualness of caring friends. The no-big-gestures and don’t-mention-it-s in a friendship. Regulus had only gotten a tiny glimpse of how it felt like with Barty, Dorcas and Marlene. And now he had already left them behind. They felt out of reach. Maybe it hadn’t meant to be more than a few days, a few exchanged words, one evening. But now, looking at James, Regulus thought maybe they’d been signs that things were going to get better. Because they had.

“You alright?” James asked and Regulus blinked, suddenly realizing that James was standing now, frowning at him.

He nodded and held up his bag. “Where can I put this?”

James’ eyes flicked to the bag and back to Regulus. “Depends.”

“On what?” Regulus asked with a raised eyebrow.

“If you’re gonna sleep in my bed,” James said, not taking his eyes off Regulus.

Regulus felt his cheeks warm and cursed his body for responding so strongly. All James had to do was smirk at him and Regulus already felt his lips on his neck again, flashes of James’ back flooding his brain.

“Depends,” he said.

James frowned. “On what?”

“How scared you are of my brother.”

“Oh,” James said. “Right. Forgot about that.” He swallowed. “Can you believe he threatened to cut my dick off if I didn’t keep it in my pants around you?” he asked with a helpless laugh.

“Absolutely,” Regulus said with a nod, and started towards the bedroom door.

“Hey, where are you going?” James asked as Regulus walked past him.

Regulus turned around to him. “Dumping my stuff in your bedroom because I’m definitely not sleeping on the sofa.”

James ran a hand over his face. “You’re gonna get me killed, Black.”

Regulus just huffed, amused, pushing the door to the bedroom open with his shoulder and letting the bag slide off his shoulder.

“You know, you should definitely be more worried about me getting my dick cut off, Black,” James called after him.

Regulus fought hard to hold back laughter that bubbled in his chest, pressing his hand on his mouth.

He heard James’s footsteps in the living room as he drew nearer. “You know, because we’re f-“

Regulus wheeled around and pressed his hand on James’ mouth, successfully making him shut up. James made a surprised noise.

“Don’t say it,” Regulus warned him.

James considered him for a second, then shrugged, mumbling something that sounded like fine.

Regulus took his hand off James’ mouth.

“…fucking, Regulus,” James ended his sentence.

Regulus glared at him, but James looked back innocently, the corners of his mouth twitching. Regulus sighed. “He’s your best friend. He’s not gonna do anything.”

“I’m his best friend. That’s exactly the point. And you’re his little brother.”

Regulus huffed. “Sirius is oblivious. He thought I was meeting up with our neighbours’ son for tutoring. As if I’d ever need help with maths.”

“You did what?” There was an odd mixture of emotions to his voice and it took Regulus a moment to put his finger on it. James was stunned, and he was jealous. His gaze was sharp, his jaw slightly set. Regulus hadn’t thought James was capable of that emotion. And, more importantly, he hadn’t thought anyone would ever get jealous over him. It was a strange revelation. It was thrilling.

“Trade blowjobs with the guy living next to us?” Regulus said, enjoying it too much to miss his opportunity to push James further.

James’ expression was pained, and he covered his ears. “Regulus, don’t-”

Regulus just shrugged, unfazed. “You started it.”

He walked towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. As expected, the sandwich lay on the table, carefully wrapped in tinfoil. Regulus’ heart plummeted. The smile died on his lips. He eyed it for a long moment, keenly aware that James could enter the kitchen any second and witness his internal battle.

God, it was so stupid.

Clenching his teeth, with the light-heartedness already evaporating, he forced himself to move toward the kitchen counter. Mechanically, he grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and emptied it. The thoughts rose inside him as they always did, an eternal battle. He just wished they’d shut up for once. Like an automatic process, they recounted everything Regulus had eaten that day. The yogurt in the morning, the potatoes for lunch, the apple James had handed him in the afternoon. Half of the sandwich in the car.

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut. He was craving for the wrong sort of control. This one was self-destructive. It wasn’t even real control, not when he wasn’t even in charge.

It took all the willpower he had left, but he crossed the kitchen and grabbed the sandwich. He was going to make a change. Despite what James said, he didn’t deserve someone who couldn’t even finish his sandwich without feeling guilt for eating it. He was sick of feeling faint all the time, sick of the throbbing headache at his temples, sick of being unable to concentrate on chess because the hunger kept twisting his insides. He was sick of watching James eat and wonder how he did it so effortlessly, how he stopped when he was full, and stopped thinking about food until he was hungry again a few hours later.

He needed to put an end to it.

James feel asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Regulus, already used to his insomniac mind, listened to his breathing for what felt an eternity. But this night, he didn’t mind. It was soothing. It had never been soothing to have anyone in his room when he was asleep, when he was this vulnerable, but of course, it was with James. Because James would never hurt him.

Regulus lay on his side, tracing every inch of James’ face with his eyes. His jaw, his lips, his nose. He was ridiculously perfect. He was a boy straight out of Regulus’ dreams. The boy that would safe him.

And then, suddenly, it struck him that it was the quiet before the storm.

He could feel it coming in his bones, could already see the shadows gathering. It wasn’t going to stay this way. This moment would slip through his fingers like sand, he could already feel it, like a prophecy he’d known from the beginning. It wasn’t going to last. And suddenly, his heart was panicking, and he frantically tried to memorize every inch of James’ face before it was gone, the hook of his nose, the thickness of his eyelashes and the curve of his mouth, and sleep came only in the early hours of the morning.

He didn’t take the pills.

But he thought about them, with every one of his heartbeats, until darkness enveloped him.

Chapter Text

In the morning, they walked to the café on the corner of the street to get tea for Regulus, coffee for James, and something to eat. Regulus’ mind was sluggish and he felt stretched thin. A sense of foreboding still lingered in his chest, and when he’d taken a shower this morning, his thoughts had been like a broken record.

It won’t last. It won’t last. It won’t last.

James threw him a worried gaze from time to time, but didn’t ask what was wrong. He just put the tea in front of Regulus, eyed him warily, and sipped on his coffee.

Then, a woman sat down at their table.

Regulus turned around a fraction to late, and James had already said Oh, uh, hello before Regulus’ mind made sense of what he was seeing. When it did, the remnants of his sleep deprivation vanished and he was suddenly wide awake, alert.

“No,” he said, tonelessly.

His cousin Bellatrix smiled at him, all toothy and crooked. “Hello, little cousin,” she said, her eyes insane as always.

James’ set his mug down so abruptly the coffee spilt over. He looked between Regulus and Bellatrix, taking in the sly expression on Bellatrix’s face and the stony one of Regulus’ face, assessing the situation within a split second, and tensed up, his mouth a thin line.

Bellatrix grabbed Regulus’ untouched tea and sat back, crossing her legs. She wore a black dress with lace, her hair was a mess of wild curls. She was paler than Regulus remembered, and her fair complexion stood in stark contrast with her black eyes.

“So,” she said in a conversational tone, “that’s the one you turned your back to the family for? He’s the reason you abandoned us?” She scrutinized James as though he dirt under her fingernails, but there was also something lurking in her gaze that made Regulus’ heart grow cold. Interest. She was already trying to figure out how to hurt him best. She really, really did like hurting people, and she was terrifyingly good at it.

“No, that would be the abuse, Bellatrix,” Regulus said cooly.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that James’ jaw was set, and that he’d grabbed his mug so tightly his knuckles were white. He looked like he was one second away from getting up and moving between him and Bellatrix.

Regulus prayed he wouldn’t. There was already a target on his back.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, oblivious to James’ warning gaze or simply choosing to ignore it. “Abuse,” she mocked, laughing her little high-pitched laugh that always scratched some part of Regulus’ brain. She narrowed her eyes at Regulus. “There was never any abuse, Regulus,” she hissed, her tone suddenly like venom. “There was just you growing up in a good home that provided you with everything you needed, allowing you pursue your passion, and you being an ungrateful little bitch.”

She threw the tea cup so suddenly James flinched violently when it shattered into tiny little pieces. Heads turned around to them, and Regulus grew nervous under the sudden attention, but he was unfazed by his cousin’s temper tantrum. He’d grown up around her. Insanity wasn’t something that easily scared him.

“It’s also the fact that you’re here, Bellatrix,” he said, an edge to his voice. “It’s the fact that my father sent you to track me down and threaten me.”

Bellatrix bared her teeth, full of scorn. “I’m not even close to threatening you, little cousin.”

“What do you want, Bellatrix?” Regulus cut her off. He had no patience to play her little games. Never had.

She was silent for a moment. When she answered, she wasn’t looking at him, she was staring at James with narrowed eyes. “For you to go back to the fold.”

James held her gaze, frowning at her. All the kindness in his posture had vanished. His expression was dark, threatening – a warning in his eyes.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do you really believe I’m going back?”, Regulus scowled, trying to draw the attention away from him. “After all they’ve done? After all the years I spent in hell? What is so fucking important about me? Why can you let Andromeda and Sirius go, but not me?” He suddenly felt tired of all of it, and he wished nothing more than for his family to just disinherit him and leave him alone. This? He couldn’t keep doing it. He just couldn’t.

“Andromeda was useless from the beginning,” Bellatrix said dismissively. “She always cared too much, about everything. It was annoying. No, Bellatrix, don’t kill that dog. No, Bellatrix, don’t thrash its skull.” She rolled her eyes. “She wasn’t fun, with all her morals.” She threw her hair back. “And Sirius? He had potential.” Her eyes lightened up. “Have you ever looked into his eyes and seen all that glorious rage?”

Yes, I have, Regulus thought, his chest cold.

“He was dangerous. He didn’t know where to put that anger. And then,” she scowled, “that boy came around and made him soft.” She leaned forward. “You never had that rage. But you didn’t need to, did you? Because you, Regulus, you were always the smart one. The cunning one. You knew your way around the family. You knew what to do and what to say. You even had me fooled, with your perfect son charade.” She shook her head in disbelief.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Regulus said.

A flicker of anger crossed her face, but it was gone in an instant. The crooked smile was back. “Don’t you already know, Regulus? Your father was in debt.”

The air rushed from Regulus’ lungs. They knew. Of course they knew. Had probably always known. There was no way to hide anything from the Black family. It had probably amused them to watch Walburga and Orion try to hide it all those years.

“Wait. Was?” James suddenly asked.

Regulus’ head whipped round to him. His heart skipped a beat as Bellatrix wording sunk in.

“Was,” Bellatrix confirmed. Her smile was outright violent now. “Because he died.”

The world tilted around Regulus. He held onto the edge of the table, his knuckles white, waiting for his lungs to allow him to breathe again. Blood rushed in his ears. When his eyes focused again, he saw Bellatrix drinking in his reaction, smug. He tried to breathe in and out in measured breaths, silently begging James to stay out of the conversation. He could sense his worried gaze on him, and was keenly aware that Bellatrix could read it as well.

Please please please don’t call her attention to you.

“Did you kill him?” he asked, his voice husky. He wouldn’t put it past her.

Bellatrix huffed, and crossed her legs. She wore black high heels sharp enough to stab someone with. “Of course I didn’t. But you wouldn’t care either way, would you?”

No, he wouldn’t. He felt relieved.

She giggled suddenly. “It was all very tragic,” she said, not sounding like she thought it tragic at all. “You and your brother, you’re orphans now. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“So this is how it works?” Regulus asked sharply, ignoring her provocation. “He fell from grace with the family and suddenly no one cares? Was there even a funeral? There wasn’t, was there?” He gritted his teeth. “How do you still don’t see what’s wrong with our family? How do you still expect me to want to come back?”

Her expression changed again. Anger. She flashed her teeth. “Your father was lying to the family. He was stealing from us. His whole business was a losing game.” Out of the corner of his eye, Regulus saw James subtly move his tea cup out of her reach. “But you, Regulus.” She zeroed in on him again. “You were the only reason he could keep up the charade for so long. You with your chess games.”

The tiredness became all-consuming, and the black anger was a storm in his chest. “You want the money? That’s why you’ve been tracking me down? You want me to pay you back?” With his family, it had never been about anything else but power and money. He should have known. His father had used him to consolidate his power. Now, after his death, his family wanted to use him to stay rich.

“We don’t want your money,” Bellatrix spat. “Who do you think we are?”

Regulus realized too late he had insulted her. “Then what?” he asked.

“Your inheritance, Regulus,” she said, as though he was a stupid child and her patience was running thin.

A cruel laugh climbed up Regulus’ chest. “My inheritance,” he said with a toneless voice. “There’s nothing to inherit but debt, Bellatrix. Besides, they disowned me. I’m not even their heir.”

“Of course you are, Reggie,” she said, rolling her eyes, knowing fully well he hated when she called him that. “They didn’t have time to change the documents.”

Regulus stared at her, then took a deep breath. “What’d I get? What do you want?”

She paused. “The house, Regulus. Grimmaud Place 12.”

“That’s it?” Regulus nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Grimmaud Place. The mansion owned by generations upon generations of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, with its sharp edges, and its blind windows, and its walls made out of pure hatred. The air inside was poisonous. “You can have it,” Regulus spat.

“Regulus,” James suddenly said.

Regulus looked at him.

James shook his head almost imperceptibly. Don’t, his eyes seemed to say.

“I don’t want it. I can’t go back to it,” Regulus said tonelessly, half to Bellatrix, half to James, not understanding.

“Regulus, if you want to play against Riddle, you need the money,” James said in a quiet voice.  

And even though there was a lot of words he wasn’t saying, Regulus understood suddenly. If he wanted to become the best chess player in the world, he needed money to go to Russia. He’d just inherited his parents’ debt. Without the house, he didn’t have a penny. He was never going to be able to pay for a flight to Russia. Let alone pay for James’ flight.

And despite what he’d said in that hotel room…now, that it wasn’t even a possibility anymore, Regulus realized that he’d made a decision days ago without even realizing. Hell, it hadn’t even been a decision in the first place. He knew he’d play against Riddle. He had never questioned it. And now it might be taken away from him, and he suddenly felt the loss like ice spikes in his stomach.

But, what if they never left him alone? It was about pride for them. The house had sentimental value. It stood for everything the Black family was, everything they had ever achieved. They might never let go of it.

“I need time,” Regulus said, “to make a decision.” James relaxed a bit. “If I don’t call you, that means you don’t get to have the house.”

Bellatrix broke out into incredulous laughter. “Who do you think you are, Reggie? Do you really think I’ll return with empty hands just because you need to prove your defiance?”

“It’s not defiance,” Regulus said coldly. “And you’ll have no choice.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”

“The fact that even you can’t make me sign something against my will,” Regulus said darkly. “It’s not legal. Even The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black doesn’t have that kind of power.”

Her eyes had a feverish glow, her thin lips curving into a smile. “Oh, I was wrong. You have a bit of Sirius’ rage in there. But, you also don’t have a sense of self-preservation, do you?” She huffed. “You know what? Fine. I’ll deliver your message. And you know why I do that? Because you,” she poked his chest with her long index finger, “are going down for it. And that’s going to be a real show.” She beamed at him, then stood up abruptly. Her crazy hair glowed in the morning sun. She was about to turn around but stopped and levelled her gaze at James.

“Better taste than Sirius,” she said. “But he’ll break more easily than Sirius’.”

She turned on her heel and walked towards the door in no hurry, humming to herself.

Regulus stared at her until she had vanished and buried his face in his hands, breathing out shakily.

Of course, James wanted to talk about it. He asked questions Regulus didn’t know the answer to, and he made suggestions, and he thought out loud. Regulus didn’t say anything all the way back to the flat. He stoically remained silent, until James eventually gave up and gloomily walked beside him. Regulus’ mind was churning. He kept turning everything over in his head, again and again. Bellatrix’s words echoed in his mind like a broken record.

When they were back, he shook James off and went on a run. It took him a couple of miles, but the calmness eventually settled in him and he started to see things more clearly. He ran on, even when it began to rain. His feet had naturally found their rhythm. His breathing was even. He didn’t think, and thought a hundred thoughts at the same time. He weighed his options. He watched the rain pounding on the asphalt. He listened to the thrum of his feet on the pavement. He cursed Bellatrix, and his father, and his mother. He felt guilty. He thought about taking some pills, back in the apartment. He ran and ran and ran, until his feet suddenly just stopped and he just stood there, in a parc not far from the apartment, and the rain came down around him.

He was shivering. His breath was forming little clouds. The rain was dropping from his chin.

He turned, and walked back to the apartment.

When James opened the door, he clearly wanted to say something, but shut his mouth when Regulus warningly shook his head and let him in. Regulus headed straight for the shower and stayed in there for half an hour. James never came in complaining about the water bill, and Regulus was thankful for it, because he really, really needed to feel the scalding hot water on his skin.

It was when Regulus finally had made himself step out of the shower and had put on his trousers that James knocked on the bathroom door. “Regulus-“

“I’m going to Russia, James,” Regulus said. “And my family can’t have the fucking house.”

There was a breathless pause on the other side of the door. “You sure about it?”

Regulus stared at himself in the mirror. The burn scar caught his eye, and his heart ached. “No.”

“Can I come in?”

Regulus tore his gaze away, turning around. “Yes,” he said quietly.

James opened the door. All the steam escape through the door into the living room and whirled around James, who stood in the doorway. He came in, closing the door behind him. He looked less worried now that Regulus talked to him again, and was obviously relieved when Regulus finally met his gaze.  

Regulus felt vulnerable, shirtless like that, his dripping, until James stepped forward, and cupped his face and kissed his forehead, and suddenly embraced him, drawing him to his chest. Regulus closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of James’ sweater. James rested his chin on his head. A part of Regulus still despised hugs, but his body automatically melted into this one. He was crumbling, and fraying. The only thing holding him together was James.

“It’s going to be okay, Regulus. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna make it,” James whispered.

Regulus shook his head. “What if I don’t?”

“You will,” James said with the kind of certainty Regulus longed for. “Because I can’t live without you and life cannot be that unfair.”

The next morning, Regulus woke up later than usual. He looked at James’ alarm clock and realized it was already ten in the morning, which meant he’d slept for ten hours. Groaning, he eased himself up. Sounds were coming from the kitchen. So James was already awake.

Regulus’ legs felt heavy and stiff from the long run the day before, his muscles still aching a bit. He had no idea how far he’d run, but it must have easily been 12 miles. And now, he was starving. He’d been so exhausted he’d fallen into bed without eating much, and it was biting him back now. It was the kind of hunger he didn’t dare to ignore.

He blindly reached for one of the sweaters discarded on the floor and pulled it over. For once, it was his. He ran a hand through his hair as he got on his feet, walking to the kitchen, barefoot. James was making scrambled eggs, wearing a black sweater, humming to a song in the radio. It was so weirdly domestic that Regulus almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it.

When he entered, James turned around. “You’re finally up,” he said, his face brightening up. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. Regulus tried not to stare. There was something about it that made his stomach flutter, but if he let James know, he’d do it on purpose to tease him and Regulus wasn’t sure he could handle it.

“Why didn’t you just wake me up?” he said, rubbing his eye.

“Are you kidding me? You finally sleep for more than four hours a night and you want me to wake you up?” James asked, incredolous.

Regulus shrugged, then narrowed his eyes at the stack of books and magazines on the kitchen table. “What’s that for?”

James followed his gaze. “That’s what we’re gonna start with. Your training, I mean.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow and walked over to the table, picking up the magazine on top. “The Hastings Christmas Chess Congress – Falaise Hall, White Rock Gardens,” he read. “A Record of Games.” He opened it. There was a chess game on the first page, with the caption: Riddle – Penrose.

Regulus furrowed his brows at the stack. “You want me to study all of that?”

“Oh no, that’s just for this week,” James said, smiling in a way that told Regulus that he knew exactly what Regulus was thinking. He put the scrambled eggs on two plates, and walked over to Regulus, pushing one of the plates in Regulus hands. He’s also put two pieces of toast with butter on it. He gestured at the books. “We’ll start with the Hastings games.”

“And then what?”

James pointed at a book that read Grandmaster Chess. “That one.”

“Is all that necessary?” Regulus asked.

James looked at him. “If you want to win against Riddle? Absolutely.”

Regulus huffed. Then, he met James’ gaze. “When I win, are you gonna kiss me like you kissed me after the tournament?”

James smirked. “Absolutely.”

Regulus quickly realized that he had underestimated both the training and having James as his teacher. Sure, he’d won against James, but that didn’t mean anything. The amount of knowledge James seemed to have of chess left Regulus awestruck. James had studied chess, truly studied it. It was possible that he actually had read every single one of the books scattered across the apartment. And he had memorized them all. All the games and the chess moves and the names.

But training with James was also incredibly frustrating, because every time Regulus wanted to rush through the openings, James shook his head and stopped his hand. He’d ask: Why not the bishop? Why the queen? What about this pawn here? What’ll happen to it? Regulus rarely had the answer. He’d have to sit for five minutes, staring at the chess board, momentarily forgetting his food until he’d figured out an answer that would satisfy James. If it wasn’t enough, he didn’t let up.

Sometimes, Regulus’ mind was racing, rushing forward to possible attacks, ready to wipe Riddle or Luchenko off the board, when James stopped him to ask about the defence or the rook or anything equally unimportant, and Regulus had to physically stop himself from scowling at James.

He was, however, rewarded with a smile every time he got it right, and a rush would surge through him, and he’d have a hard time concentrating on the game for the next couple of minutes because all he could think about was James’ stupid perfect mouth.

And he knew James was right. This was more effective than Regulus’ thirst for winning, for thrill. When he’d studied Fred Reinfeld, the queen sacrifices and the melodrama had felt like a rush – with James, it was slow and disillusioning.

They traced the thoughts of great players and for the first time, Regulus saw all the other possibilities, all the other ways that it could have gone, and that would have also led to checkmate. A single white pawn that had been overlooked was now the most powerful piece, setting off a chain reaction, and that chain reaction came to an end when Black responded, and Regulus grew frustrated with it, but also realized its beauty.

They sat there all day, on the floor in the middle of the living room with the chessboard between them. Neither of them was able to stop for a long time. It was past midnight when James suddenly shut the book and Regulus was jolted out of his trance-like state.

“We’ll stop here.”

Regulus blinked at him. “What?” He shook his head. “No.” He hadn’t thought about his family all day. This was a good distraction. He wasn’t ready to give it up yet.

James grabbed his wrist when Regulus reached for the black knight. Regulus looked up.

“Regulus, stop,” James said. Regulus’ hand went slack in James’ grip.

His mind scrambled for something to say. “We could play speed chess again,” he suggested.

James shook his head, smiling at Regulus’ attempt. “Reg, it’s past midnight.”

Frustrated, Regulus leaned back. “Then go sleep. I’m not done here yet.”

James let out a breath. “Regulus,” he said softly.

“I mean it, Potter,” Regulus said stubbornly.

James seemed to think for a second, then nodded. “Fine.” He stood up. “Okay.” He pulled off his socks and smiled at Regulus’ puzzled expression. Then, he grabbed the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head.

Regulus’ breath hitched, and he blinked at James’ torso, his thoughts suddenly all over the place.

James discarded the sweater on the sofa. The light hit him just right, and Regulus’ heart plummeted. “Well, I’m going.” He loosened the belt.

That’s when it dawned on Regulus. He glared up at him. “Really, James? That’s how you’re gonna lure me into bed?”

James smiled and shrugged. “Well, it’s working.”

On his way to the bedroom, he stepped out of his jeans.

Regulus growled, angry at the desire pooling in his stomach.

“You coming?” James asked from the bedroom.

“You’re…” Regulus began, but then clapped his mouth shut, shook his head and stood. Fucking unbelievable. With one last look at the chessboard, he followed James in the bedroom.

He didn’t call his family. He’d made his decision and he was going to bear the consequences. He wasn’t going to change his mind just because he was scared.

But with every minute that passed, he still grew more and more anxious. A day later, after he’d spent a sleepless night, he was already questioning his choices. There were a million things he could think that his family might do to hurt him.

There was James. They knew about him.

James could tell he was growing nervous but didn’t say anything, knowing all too well that Regulus didn’t want him to. Instead, he made sure that Regulus ate regularly, that he went to bed, and distracted him with the chess. He was keeping him sane, just like he always had. Regulus had a fixed orbit around him. Regulus was on edge, but he could function. He could play chess.                                                                   

Two days after their encounter with Bellatrix, James made him study Shakhmatni Byulletens. When they had reached page thirteen, James suddenly put the book away and learned forward, and before Regulus had ripped his thoughts away from the chess game to process what was happening, James’ lips were already on his. Regulus’ breath hitched. James had his hands on the nape of Regulus’ neck, pulling him in, and Regulus sat up, willingly following his lead, leaning towards James, cupping his face and kissing him back.

When James suddenly pulled away again, Regulus made a sulky noise and tried to come after him, but James gently held him back, and amusement flashed over his face when he saw his disgruntled expression.

“What was that for?” Regulus asked. He was annoyed at how easily James had made him forget about the chess game between them, how quickly Regulus was ready to abandon it for James.

“Payment for my tutoring?” James said innocently. It came out like a question.

“Payment? When I’m clearly the one suffering here?” Regulus asked dryly, his eyebrow raised. He vaguely gestured at all the books and magazines scattered around them, the empty tea cups, the three chess boards, the pencils, the plates, and the chess pieces.

“You’re the one who’s suffering?” James pointed at himself. “I’m the one who has to witness you being brilliant like that and still keep my hands to myself.”

Regulus huffed. “You just failed miserably at that.”

“Don’t act like you mind,” James said with a smug smile.

Regulus stared at James in the way he knew affected him, and when James’ cheeks grew slightly red, he smiled mockingly. “Don’t act like that’s not what you want,” he said daringly.

James’ hand was suddenly on Regulus’ chest, and next he knew, he was lying on his back on the carpet, James hovering over him. His legs were on either side of Regulus’ waist, caging him. James leaned down and captured Regulus’ lips, and Regulus’ body took over, heat pooling in his stomach. He made an involuntary noise, drawing James closer, sliding his hands under his shirt, touching his chest. Regulus couldn’t help it, it always grew frantic, as though his body knew something he didn’t – that it might be the last time. When James drew back, Regulus followed him, but James grabbed his shoulders and forced him back on the carpet. Regulus made a protesting noise, frustrated, but James just smirked and took advantage of Regulus’ exposed neck.

Regulus nearly cried with how good it felt. He was aware that his fingers were digging into James’ skin, but he couldn’t do anything against it, couldn’t do anything but try not to make an embarrassing noise. His eyes fluttered shut.

His senses were on fire.

“Merde,” he whispered. “Fuck. Fuck.”

James stopped, kissing Regulus’ jaw before drawing back, and when Regulus opened his eyes, nearly trembling under the waves of pleasure coursing through his body, he saw that James was smiling down at him. “Better now?”

His smugness was infuriating. Regulus glared at him, then tried to push him off. James let him and sat back, laughing.

“Really, James?” Regulus asked flatly as he eased himself up.

“Can we continue now?” James asked. The glint in his eyes told Regulus that James knew exactly that he’d scattered Regulus’ thoughts all over the place.

Regulus resisted the urge to touch the spot on his neck where he still felt the ghost of James’ lips.

“Or do you have trouble concentrating?” James asked innocently.

“Fuck you, Potter,” Regulus grumbled.

“You’re welcome, Black.”

Barty definitely wasn’t a light sleeper. He could fall asleep anywhere, at any given time, and he was not easy to wake up – which meant that Evan almost had to knock down the front door of Dorcas’ apartment until Barty slowly, slowly came to his senses. Grumbling to himself, Barty rolled around on his makeshift bed, glaring at the door, daring the perturbator to knock one more goddamn time and get his life ended brutally.

There was a second of silence and Barty almost relaxed back into bed.

Then, a voice. “Barty, I swear to God, open the fucking door already!”

Barty jolted up in bed, breathless all of a sudden like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Evan. Evan Rosier. Barty scrambled to his feet, almost knocking over the empty bottle on the couch table as he clumsily crossed the room, his mind not quite fully awake and protesting against the overstimulation. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix it, then, giving up, he ripped the door open.

Evan Rosier stood outside on the stairs, wearing sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt, his blond hair in short tangled curls, looking absolutely deranged. He buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans and smiled crookedly. “Nice outfit, Crouch.”

Barty huffed. “Says the one in a Hawaiian shirt,” he said dryly.

“Says the one in a kimono,” Evan shot back.

“It’s from a very talented designer.” Jesus, Barty couldn’t remember Evan ever wearing anything but black, various shades of grey, or very muted colours. Seeing Evan like this was a shock to his system. He tried to act nonchalantly, but couldn’t stop staring.

Evan, meanwhile, eyed Barty’s kimono, seemingly undecisive if it was the ugliest piece of clothing he had ever laid eyes on, or a piece of art. “Did Dorcas make it?”

“Did I stutter?” Barty stepped away from the door. “You wanna come in or not?”

“I love being invited into Dorcas’ apartment by you,” Evan said with an amused smile, taking off his sunglasses and putting them on his head. “Is she not here?”

“She’s in New York right now,” Barty said, “being hot. You wouldn’t know.” Evan had gotten quite a tan. He wasn’t nearly as pale as he’d been a few months (half a year?) ago and Barty wondered where the fuck he had been all this time, while Barty had spent his days smoking, gambling, rotting from the inside out.

Sometimes Barty wished he would take him with him.

Evan walked past Barty and slumped onto a chair, deflating, kicking off his shoes and stretching his arms.

Barty slowly followed him into the living room, ignoring the patch of skin above Evan’s waistband. “You want something to drink?”

Evan had caught sight of the empty bottle on the couch table and nodded at it, quirking an eyebrow at Barty. “Yes. That.”

“Jesus, Evan. Something that won’t make your liver cry,” Barty said dryly.

Evan raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously, Crouch? Concerned about my health?” he asked.

Not for the first time Barty had to admit that Evan was looking better than ever. His restlessness used to be a dark, twisted thing, but now that nobody forced him to stay anywhere anymore, things were different. Whatever crazy adventures he was going on, it was putting his mind at ease. He had changed so much that sometimes Barty didn’t recognize him anymore. Sometimes, he felt like Evan had taken on a new role in a play Barty hadn’t read the script to. He had been left behind, and he tried his best to ignore how much it stung.

Wordlessly, Barty filled a glass with tap water and thrust it in Evan’s hands, who took it but didn’t drink. “Well, one of us has to be,” he said and sat down on the sofa, drawing his legs up and resting his elbows on his knees. “And you’re doing a miserable job at it.”

“Eye circles are in, Crouch.”

“I genuinely thought they were bruises for a second, Rosier.”

Evan smiled his charismatic smile. It tugged at the scar on his eyebrow. Then, he leaned forward, putting the glass on the table in front of him. “Crouch, announcement.”

Barty raised an eyebrow. “You did not come over here to tell me something you could have easily said on the phone, right?”

“Dramatics matter,” Evan said, unfazed.

“They don’t. Go for it, shithead. Please.”

Evan held his gaze with his dangerous eyes. “I met someone.”

Barty raised his eyebrow at him. He did not want to hear this. In fact, this story was absolutely going in the wrong direction. Despite their agreement, he rather didn’t know about any of Evan Rosier’s new lovers. He was ready to burn the world to the ground for Evan Rosier, and vice versa, but he was not going to sit and listen to him talking about that.

“We agreed weren’t going talk about any of our lovers,” Barty said.

“Jesus Christ, Barty, It’s not about that,” Evan said, rolling his eyes.

Barty just raised his eyebrows, still wary.

Evan leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. Barty watched his necklaces dangle in front of his chest. It was a shame Evan had put on a t-shirt. Barty hadn’t seen the pendants rest on his solid chest since Hogwarts.

“I met this guy,” he began again, “who likes David Bowie. The singer, Bowie.” When Barty gave no sign that he knew who Evan was talking about, Evan just huffed. “Forgot you have a shitty taste in music. At any rate, Bowie gave an interview and he mentioned something, and the guy I met told me what it meant.” Evan paused, staring at Barty for a moment. “I’m asexual, Crouch.”

Barty frowned at him, puzzled. He shook his head. “I have no idea what that means.”

Evan was holding his gaze as not to miss any of Barty’s reactions, and Barty felt a rush at being looked at like that. “It means that I don’t feel sexual attraction to anyone.”

Oh. There it was, the lightbulb moment. Barty stared at Evan until he had slowly wrapped his mind around the idea, then, he gave an incredulous huff. “Rosier, seriously, only you can show up after three months of radio silence and-“ he broke off. “It actually makes a lot of sense.” Barty’s tiredness had waned completely now; he hadn’t felt so awake in a while.

Maybe this was why Evan had never made a move on him, maybe this was why they’d never kissed, let alone slept together. Barty had always been confused by it – they were both daring, brazen, a little insane, it would have made more sense if they had, at some point during their car rides, ended up on the backseat. At least, before Barty had realized Evan was going to leave, when he hadn’t known about how he would still hurt him all those years after.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Evan grinned. There was a tinge of relief on his face, an expression Barty had only seen once, when Evan had realized Barty wasn’t mad at him for what he’d done.

Barty immediately grew uncomfortable – he hated it when things got sappy –, so he left himself no time to linger on it. A grin spread on his lips. “It makes sense, because everyone wants to fuck me, and you nev-“

Evan silenced him with just one dangerous gaze. Barty hid the quiet thrill that coursed through his body. Being looked at by Evan still felt like bungee-jumping of a high cliff.

Barty held up his hands. “Fine. Not gonna say it,” he said. He leaned back. “So does that mean I can go back to sleep now?”

“I show up after three months and you shithead want to go back to sleep?” Evan said incredulously.

“Fine. Let’s go steal something from my father.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “You’re insane.”

“You like your boys insane,” Barty smiled.

Evan returned his smile. “I do.”

Chapter Text

Four days after Bellatrix had shown up in the café, Regulus was jolted awake by the sound of someone trying to knock down the front door – or, from the sounds of it, at least trying to do so. Adrenaline flooded his veins and he sprang up, his body immediately wide awake. He heard James call his name from behind, but he had already grabbed the baseball bat next to the door and gripped it tightly, crossing the living room and ripping the door open.

His mind took a long moment to process what he was seeing. Then, he lowered the baseball bat.

“Sirius?” he growled.

Sirius, in his leather jacket and his black boots, stood outside, his hair wild. Regulus realized something was off about him before he had even said anything. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

The rage was back.

Sirius spoke before Regulus could say something. “They nearly killed Nymphadora,” he said through clenched teeth.

Regulus heard James enter the living room behind him. He made a surprised sound when he registered it was Sirius.

“Sirius?” he asked.

Regulus and Sirius ignored him. “They did what?” Regulus asked, voice dangerously low.

Behind Sirius, Remus appeared, much calmer than him. He grabbed Sirius’ arm and nudged him into the room. Sirius let him do it. Remus closed the door, and James switched on the light. That was when Regulus realized Remus wasn’t calmer than Sirius, he was just containing his anger better. His expression was cold, a silent fury in every one of his carefully controlled movements.

“When she was out playing,” Remus explained in lieu of Sirius, “someone gave her a bunch of flowers.” His face darkened. “She brought them in. They were poisonous. Anything could have happened.”

The world tilted underneath Regulus’ feet. He stopped breathing. There was a moment of silence before the crushing weight of guilt slammed into him. “It’s my fault,” he said hoarsely.

Sirius’ gaze snatched to him.

“I didn’t give them the house. I refused to give them the fucking house and they went after Dora.” Sudden, hot white anger mixed with the guilt. He still couldn’t breathe. He wanted to break something. She was supposed to have a good life, away from the fucking mess of his family, she was supposed to break the cycle.

“What house?” Remus asked, frowning. “Regulus, what are you talking about?”

No one answered him.

Sirius’ face was stony. He was looking at something on the floor, as though he hadn’t even heard Regulus. His fists were so tight his knuckles were white.

“Why are you not angry at me?” Regulus suddenly screamed at him before he knew what he was doing. He wanted to grab and shake him just to get a reaction, just to be looked at the way he deserved.

Sirius did look at him, but his hatred was not directed at Regulus. “Because we’re gonna burn the house down. We’re gonna burn it to the ground. Until there’s nothing left of it. That’s the only way to hurt them.”

“What?” James asked.

Remus shook his head. “I tried to reason with him, but-“

James turned around to Regulus and touched his shoulder. “Regulus, we are not burning the house down,” he said firmly. “You won’t be able to go to Russia if-“

“I don’t fucking care about Russia, or Riddle, James!” Regulus snapped at him. He knew it wasn’t right to punish James; it wasn’t him who deserved to take the brunt of his anger, but he couldn’t help himself. “They crossed the fucking line. Not touching Nymphadora was an unspoken rule. She’s innocent. She’s four years old, for fuck’s sake!”

“Regulus-“ James began but trailed off when Regulus spun around, blindly grabbing the sweater on the couch, pulling it over his t-shirt, and taking his jacket. “We’re burning it down,” he said. His voice sounded strange even to him. “It stands for everything the Black family represents. It’s the only thing they care about.”

Remus moved in the doorway to stop Regulus from leaving the house. He shook his head once. “Regulus, no. It’s a mistake,” he growled.

“Get out of my fucking way, Lupin,” Regulus scowled at him, a warning in his eyes.

Remus stayed where he was. “It’s arson, Regulus. With everything going on, that’s the last thing-“

“It’s my house. I can do with it whatever I want.” Regulus glared at him.

“What?” Sirius asked, his anger morphing into confusion. He narrowed his eyes at Regulus. “What do you mean it’s your house?”

Regulus turned around to him. “Our father died, Sirius. A few days ago. Bellatrix told me. I inherited the house, because they disinherited you,” he said darkly.

For a long moment, there was a storm of conflicting emotions on Sirius’ face, until it suddenly died down, leaving his face expressionless. Then, he said: “I’ve got three canisters of petrol in the trunk.” It didn’t surprise Regulus how much Sirius didn’t care about the news. He’d taken one too many beatings to care. Both of them had.

James just stood there, dumbfoundedly, silently following the conversation. He seemed unsure. He looked at Remus. “He’s allowed to burn it down. Legally, I mean,” he said cautiously.

Remus growled. “Which does not mean we should.”

Sirius turned around to him. “It’s Dora, Remus. You know what that means. It means that Andromeda was worried sick. It means that she was scared for Dora’s life. It means that she might never, ever let her out of sight again because she’s afraid something’s gonna happen if she does. Because that’s what fucking happened.” Sirius glared at him. “You know her. She’s had to be afraid for her the moment she realized she was pregnant. She’s been living like that for the past five years.”

Remus seemed to falter a bit, but he stood his ground. “Nothing’s gonna be solved by burning the house down, Sirius,” he snapped, grabbing Sirius’ shoulder as though he wanted to shake some sense into him.

“Except you losing your-“ James began directed towards Regulus, but, stepping next to Sirius, Regulus cut him off.

“It’s gonna change everything, Remus,” Regulus hissed. “The house goes down, the family goes down. It’s the reputation. It’s the awe of the people. It’s what keeps them powerful. They’re nothing without it.”

Remus hesitated for a moment. His chest was rising and falling rapidly under his sweater. He shook his head once, opening his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. Frowning, he looked between Sirius and Regulus.

It wasn’t like they needed permission. Regulus had decided all those months ago that he was going to do it, and he stood by his word. Sirius hadn’t had any inhibitions in the first place. But still, there was a silent understanding between them that if Remus approved, the idea wasn’t completely mental.

“Fine,” Remus said finally. “Let’s burn it down.”

“What?” James asked feebly, but Regulus was already past Remus. Sirius was on his heels, the baseball bat in his hands.

The cold air outside did nothing to cool the rage. Sirius’ car stood in the middle of the street, Sirus hadn’t even taken the time to park properly. As they crossed the street, Regulus heard James and Remus argue, but their voices barely reached them.

“I’m driving,” Regulus said firmly, holding out his hand for the car keys.

Sirius, his hair wild, shook his head. “No.”

Regulus grabbed his arm and stopped him. “You might be able to hide it from Remus, but I know you’re drunk. Give me the keys.” He stared up at Sirius.

“I can still drive,” Sirius said.

“Give me the fucking keys, Sirius!” Regulus snapped.

Sirius seemed to want to snap back but suddenly thought better of it. “Fine. Whatever.” Reluctantly, he handed Regulus the keys, levelled one last dark gaze at him, then turned away and threw the baseball bat in the trunk.

Regulus got in the car, Sirius on the passenger side. He turned the ignition. The headlights turned on. A cat crossed the road, frightened.

Two shadows sprinted towards the car. James and Remus ripped the doors open and got in, both breathing heavily. The collar of the shirt James had put on was lopsided.

“This is insane,” James said breathlessly. “Jesus Christ, it’s mental.” He broke into a sudden laugh, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair.

Regulus stepped on the pedal, both hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Sirius had gotten a bottle from somewhere and drank straight out of it. He turned around and offered the bottle to Remus. He seemed to hesitate, but the cursed and grabbed it. “Fuck it. I’m not doing this sober.”

Sirius smiled smugly. There was a crazy glint in his eyes. “James, remember the time we set the principles’ office on fire?” Now that they were doing this, the anger had transformed into grim determination and eerie cheerfulness. Regulus wasn’t fooled. Sirius reigned chaos and danger. This was him in his most natural environment.

“That was you?” Remus asked in disbelief. He passed the bottle back. “You promised me it wasn’t your fault this time.”

“It wasn’t,” Sirius said unfazed. “James accidentally set the curtains on fire. I just wanted to smoke in there.”

“You wanted to smoke in the principal’s office?” Remus asked, a tinge of exasperation in his voice. “Why?”

“To assert my dominance?” Sirius asked, shrugging. He offered the bottle to Regulus, who shook his head, his lips pressed into a firm line. Sirius turned around. “James?”

Apparently, James took the bottle, but he didn’t drink much before he passed it back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

When Regulus glanced at Sirius, he saw his dangerous smile. “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.”

“I get to strike the match,” Regulus said firmly, jerking the steering wheel violently and speeding up again. He was careful to not go over the speed limit. It took every ounce of his willpower not to do so.

“I’m the older brother,” Sirius said indignantly.

“What kind of argument is that supposed to be?” scowled Regulus.

Sirius turned in his seat. “That means I have privileges. Including getting to be the one to set our parents’ house on fire,” he said stubbornly.

“Absolutely not,” Regulus said flatly, glaring at the street sign that was telling him to slow down. “And it’s my house. If you do it, it’s arson.”

“It’s hardly arson when you’re standing right next to me without stopping me,” Sirius argued.

“Sirius, come on. He gets to throw the first Molotov cocktail. It’s only fair,” Remus said from the backseat.

“We have Molotov cocktails?” James echoed. “Okay, pass me the bottle. Remus is right. I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Sirus smiled and handed him the bottle.

“As of yet, we just have alcohol,” Remus corrected.

“And your shirt to rip up,” Sirius smiled.

“Nope. Nope. We’re not ripping up my shirt,” James said between sips, shaking his head.

“It’d be alright with me,” Regulus said, not taking his eyes off the road. They were nearly there. He hadn’t realized James’ flat was this close to Grimmaud Place 12. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to realize. It should have freaked him out, but really, there was nothing dangerous about the house itself. And after his mother’s death, only his father had lived there, and he had never been as crazy as his mother. Now, the house stood empty – until the next family gathering. Which was not going to happen anytime soon.

“That’s because you only want to see me shirtless again.”

Sirius choked on air, jerking around to James. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. He eyed Regulus darkly, but when Regulus gave no reaction, he glared at James again.

Regulus could feel the sudden nervousness radiating off of James. “Oh,” he said.

“Again? Shirtless again?”

“Sirius, come on. We’re about to burn a house down. That’s really not our biggest concern right now,” Remus intervened.

Sirius fixated James, pointing at him with his index finger. “If I find out you’ve been screwing me brother,” he growled, “I will-“

“Yeah. Yeah, got it. Sure,” James hurried to say. “Booze?”

Sirius gave him a last long warning stare, but then took the bottle and turned around in his seat again.

James let out an audible breath. Regulus could see in the rearview window how he ran a hand through his hair.

Normally, Sirius’ protectiveness would have made Regulus furious, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. There was only one thing he could think about. When he turned a corner, he found himself wondering how it was going to feel and realized it might be the first moment of his life when he’d feel at peace. It would quiet his anger, watching those flames. He stepped on the accelerator.

Twenty minutes later, Grimmaud Place 12 emerged from the shadows in front of them. It was huge, imposing, with sharp edges and a certain coldness to it. It was surrounded by a wide lawn, which was caged in by a tall black fence. The old trees were moving in the breeze; the wind had picked up.

Regulus felt his heart turn to ice. He hadn’t been here for almost a year, but his body never forgot. He felt himself tense up, and Sirius’ posture mirrored his, all white knuckles and hard lines. Regulus stepped on the brake right in front of the gate and the car came to a halt. The fence was looming over them.

Regulus couldn’t let go of the steering wheel at first. He took a deep breath, and peeled his hands off. Sirius started moving, too. His face was grim.

“Let’s do this,” he said, kicking the door open. He was already walking around the car.

Regulus sensed that James was about to say something, and got out of the car before he had the chance to. The air was cool, but not cold. It tugged at Regulus’ curls. He joined Sirius at the back of the car. There were three red canisters in the trunk, and four bottles of booze. Regulus briefly wondered if Sirius drove them around like that all the time or if he’d put them there for this special occasion. He didn’t really care. Sirius wasn’t his responsibility anymore.

James and Remus joined them.

“Regulus and I go in and drench everything,” Sirius said, already taking one of the canisters, and the baseball bat. “Nobody sets anything on fire until we’re out.”

It was the first reasonable thing Sirius had said all evening, and it just added to the sudden graveness of the situation. It struck Regulus that they were actually doing it. Burning the house down that he’d suffered in almost all his life, that was like a museum of all his bad memories, his nightmares, the hurt that was still carved in his body. His heart danced in his chest at the thought of getting to see it eaten up by flames. He took a deep breath and grabbed the second canister. It was heavy and the petrol sloshed as he stepped back.

“You rip up James’ shirt.”

“We are not ripping up my shirt,” James protested, but neither Regulus nor Sirius was listening to him.

Their gazes met. A silent understanding passed between the brothers. Sirius nodded, and they headed towards the gate. Regulus took the key from his pocket and unlocked the gate. Sirius kicked it open and they made their way down the gravel road, the pebbles crunching under their shoes. It was full moon, so everything was drenched in a silvery light. The wind tugged at Regulus’ sweater.

Unwanted memories flashed before his eyes like unwelcomed intruders. His mind warned him to not go any further, to turn around. His burn wound suddenly radiated heat. The scar at his back throbbed. His wrist ached. Regulus walked on steadily, his jaw set, knowing that Sirius was fighting the same demons.

They pressed on.

When they had reached the large door, Regulus unlocked it and pushed it open. He hurled the key at one of the old windows, and it shattered. The sound was shockingly loud, ripping through the eerie quietness.

Sirius stepped in first, and Regulus followed. Regulus shuddered when the familiar smell greeted him. His feet sank into the carpet. Without saying anything, they walked in different directions. Regulus started in the kitchen, drenching everything in petrol, and made his way through the living room, the gallery, his father’s office. Then, he walked up the stairs. Sirius had already done his room, and Regulus did Sirius’. Both of them knew neither of them wanted to step into their old bedrooms if they didn’t have to. The smell soon became unbearable and Regulus ripped up one of Sirius’ old t-shirts. He tied it around his head so that it covered his nose. It helped a little.

From the third floor, he heard glass shattering, then dull thuds as Sirius was swinging his baseball bat into the portraits that hung in the corridor. Wooden frames hit the floor. Sirius’ rage was unleashed. He kicked and smashed and tore everything apart, throwing things down the stairs, smashing all the windows and their parent’s expensive collections.

Regulus just wandered through the corridors, feeling nothing, regarding everything with a distant gaze, wondering how he’d endured all those years in a house with walls that oozed pure hatred and rooms that were filled with suffocating loneliness.

When they met in the entry hall again, ten minutes later, Sirius was breathing heavily. His narrow chest was rising and falling rapidly. Shards of glass glittered in his wild hair and he was bleeding from a cut on his face. “Done?” he asked in a rough voice. He didn’t seem to mind stench. He had a strange expression on his face.

Regulus nodded. He tossed his empty canister at one of the family portraits. Then, he turned around and walked towards the door. When he realized Sirius wasn’t behind him, he stopped. “You coming?”

For a moment, Sirius looked like he wanted to say something, and Regulus feared it would be something that was going to make him break down and cry, because really, the emotions were an uncontrollable storm in his chest, but then Sirius just shook his head and the rage was back as though it had never been gone. He cast one last dark glance at the hall.

“This,” he said, his gaze traveling over the dark wooden walls, “is what hell looks like.”

And Regulus could only nod.

They walked back to the car, Sirius drenching the lawn with the rest of his petrol. When the canister was empty, he discarded it and took his shirt of, throwing it carelessly on the lawn. He’d gotten some petrol on it. Regulus tugged his mask down.

Remus and James walked towards them, each carrying two bottles with a cloth in the bottleneck. Remus’ limp was a little more pronounced on the uneven ground, but James had adjusted his pace. He was shirtless, so Remus had apparently managed to persuade him. He didn’t seem to be shivering, however. Regulus tried not to let his gaze linger.

Remus shook his head. “Sirius, remind me not to piss you off.”

Sirius smiled his annoyingly handsome smile. “Don’t pretend you’re scared of me, Moony,” he said, grabbing Remus’ jacket and gently tugging him into a short kiss. The moment he’d seen him, a visible weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Remus just huffed, but smiled and handed one of the bottles to Sirius. “That’s gonna be a hell of a fire.”

“Oh, I sure hope so,” Sirius said.

James handed Regulus his bottle. They stood maybe twenty-five yards away from the house. If it was dangerously close considering the amount of petrol they had just poured all over the old wood, neither of them acknowledged it. Regulus held out his hand and Sirius put the lighter in his hand.

“For Nymphadora, because she didn’t deserve any of this shit,” he said.

Sirius nodded grimly.

Regulus set the cloth on fire. It caught fire immediately and he could instantly feel the heat on his face. Staring at the house, his anger culminated into an inferno, his cold rage exploding, and he threw the bottle as far as he could. It smashed a window on the first floor. A second later, an orange glow blinded them. The curtains were catching fire.

In the corner of Regulus’ eye, fire blazed. Sirius had ignited his Molotov cocktail. His face was tinged in dancing light. The wind had picked up and tugged wildly at his hair.

“That’s for fucking up my life,” he said and threw the bottle with such force it flew further than Regulus’. In an instant, they could see the staircase catching fire through the opened door on ground level.

When Sirius saw the ever-growing flames eating away at the dark wood, he broke into laughter, both arms in the air, jumping. The tension between them broke, and suddenly Regulus was smiling, too, and James and Remus were igniting their bottles at the same time.

Sirius screamed fuck you on the top of his lungs, and James and Remus tossed their Molotov cocktails, and it hit glass, and James’ one must have set their parents’ booze stash on fire because they all felt an explosion of heat on their face. Neither of them breathed for a second, until Sirius grabbed James’ shoulder, beaming, messing up his hair.

“Prongs,” he screamed, “that was the best throw I’ve seen in my entire life!”

He turned around to the house again. “Fuck you for being the worst fucking home I’ve ever had!”

Sirius picked up a big stone from the ground and shattered another window. The noise was ear-shattering now as the house started to collapse. Smoke clogged their nostrils. They still didn’t back up.

Sirius, grinning manically, kissed Remus again, and Remus let him, a lazy smile on his lips.

And Regulus just stood there, silently, a rare smile on his face as he watching the ever-growing flames encompass his childhood home. He’d been right. He felt at peace. He felt calm. His heart finally slowed down. He could breathe again. The weight slid off his shoulders, and he was carefree for the first time in years.

He sensed that James was studying his side profile, wary, but with a silent smile on his face. Regulus tore his eyes off the flames and offered his hand. James smiled and he took it. Regulus felt his thumb on the pulse of his wrist.

I love you, he wanted to say, but couldn’t. He just held James gaze, repeating it in his head, over and over again.

“Oh,” James said silently, because of course he understood.

Then, Regulus buried his free hand in James’ curls, drew him closer, and kissed him behind Sirius’ back, his hand pressed against James’ chest, and James’ hands on his waist.

They got drunk that night. They sat on the floor in James’ apartment, amongst all the chess boards and magazines and books, listening to David Bowie and passing around bottles. For the first time in years, there was a silent understanding between the Black brothers. They had just burnt their childhood home down; the house that had been drenched in hatred and smelt of their fear. They were not going to fight that night.

Somehow, James persuaded Sirius and Remus to play chess, but Sirius’ anarchistic side soon took over and ten minutes into the game, he declared a new set of rules. Mainly, that there were none. It resulted in chaos. There was a lot of trash talking (especially from Sirius) and a lot of cursing (especially from Remus). There was a staring contest. There were a lot of pieces being thrown. There was a third queen that appeared out of nowhere and that Sirius claimed to be the star-crossed lover of the black queen. There were pawns that suddenly rebelled against the king.

They passed out in the early hours of the morning.

When they woke up midday, they watched the news. The ruins of Black manor were the second story that morning. When pictures of the site appeared, Sirius broke into breathless laughter, James’ eyes went wide, and Remus just whispered holy shit. It had burnt down to the ground. There was nothing left of it except for a few dying trees that were scattered across the yard.

Regulus just smiled to himself.

In the early afternoon, Sirius and Remus drove back. Remus had missed all his lectures this morning and wanted to catch the one in the afternoon. They hadn’t even showered and still smelt like smoke and booze and cigarettes. Neither of them cared.

For the one day after that, Regulus felt triumphant, high on the knowledge that he had taken something from his family that had meant the world to them. He’d finally hit them where it hurt. He felt invincible and restless. He was unusually daring in the games against James, sacrificing his pieces like he couldn’t care less. He stayed up all night reading the books James had given him, sitting cross-legged on the sofa while James was fast asleep, oblivious to Regulus’ aggravated insomnia. He played quiet, feverish games against himself, sitting on the floor of the living room with the light of the street lanterns drawing obscure patterns on the board.

James, however, was worried, and the worry was justified.

When Regulus went to the bank, they told him his money had been moved to another account by a legal guardian. The blond woman, seeing his face, had asked him if he hadn’t known about that. Regulus shook his head, dread settling in his bones. She frowned. I’m sorry, she said, but the transaction was legal. Is there any way you can get in contact with…Regulus, numb, his ears ringing, shook his head again.

The truth was, the money was out of reach.

All the money he had earned over the years, all the tournaments he’d participated in, and it was all gone now. He should have known none of his relatives would ever risk him getting his hands on it. They had probably moved it the moment he’d gone haywire, and he’d been too caught up in everything else that he had paid it no mind.  

It felt as though somebody had pulled the rug from under his feet. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. This wasn’t something he could settle in court – he couldn’t even afford a lawyer, for fuck’s sake. Besides, ridiculously enough, it had been legal. His parents had planned it like that from the beginning, had somehow sensed the glint of anger in Regulus and taken precautions.

There was nothing he could do. He was left with no money, and the anger had pushed him to burn down the only thing that would have given him a chance of flying to Russia. Everything that had been left of his fortune laid in ashes.  

A part of him wanted to blame it on Sirius, but the rational part of him forbade it. Sirius wouldn’t have done it if he’d said no. It had been his own fury and rage. He was the one who allowed the switch inside of him to be flipped. He was the one who’d allowed the anger in and had allowed it take over.

He had never hated himself more in his entire life. He hated that he’d let the abuse to change him into this version of himself who was so hurt he blindly struck back.

James eventually found him in the driver’s seat of the car in front of the bank, with his legs drawn up to his torso and his knuckles pressed on his eyes, trying so very hard to just sit and wait for the wave of emotions to ebb away. Regulus didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, but judging the sigh of relief on James’ face as he ripped the door open, it had been hours.

“Jesus, Regulus, I was looking for you all afternoon,” James exclaimed, then paused suddenly. Regulus could sense his growing worry. “Regulus? Regulus, what’s wrong?” The car tilted as he climbed inside and pulled the door shut.

Regulus had taken his hands away but didn’t look at him, stoically staring at the twilit street in front of them. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out and he closed his eyes. He said nothing for a while, and James waited.

“I can’t go to Russia, James.” His voice sounded off.

James went rigid next to him. “What?” he asked breathlessly. “But why?”

“Because my family stole all my money,” he said, “and I burnt the fucking house down.”

“They what?” James breathed. “No no no, they can’t do that, Regulus, there are rules-“

Regulus shook his head. “It was legal,” he cut him off. “Jesus Christ, it was fucking legal.”

James seemed shocked. “There’s nothing left?” he asked after a pause. “They just fucking took it all?” Suddenly, anger bled into his words.

Regulus finally looked at him. James’ eyes were ablaze. Regulus had never seen him like that. For a moment, he forgot his situation, unable to do anything but stare at this version of James he’d never witnessed before.

James groaned, then buried his face in his hands, only to rip them away a second later. “Why the fuck did you have to burn the house down, Regulus? None if this would be a problem if you just-“ he broke off, frustrated.

“If I just what, James?” Regulus snapped. Oh, this was good. The anger had a target. “Not seize my chance the one time I can actually hurt my family? The one fucking time I can actually make them pay for the eighteen years of abuse they put me through? I was five years old when my father first hit me. I was eight when I was in the hospital the first time. You’ve seen all the fucking scars on my body, James, even if you pretend you didn’t.”

James flinched guiltily at that, which made Regulus even angrier.

“How the fuck can you expect me to just fucking keep my head down while they threaten to the same fucking thing to Dora? How in the world is this okay for you? How the fuck do you even live with yourself?”

“I was just trying to protect you,” James said, hurt flashing over his face.

“And what the fuck makes you think I’m more important than her? Why the fuck is it okay for you to choose me over her?”

“Because you’re the fucking love of my life, Regulus,” James said tersely, “and you’ve endured enough. Sorry for making you my priority. Sorry for caring about you more. Sorry for thinking that you deserve to fulfil your fucking dream after everything you’ve been through and everything you’ve sacrificed to get there.” His hands were balled to fists. “I’m so fucking scared that if you won’t get to do that, you’ll just keep destroying yourself.”

Regulus stared at him. “Have you ever thought that maybe I won’t be able to fucking live with myself knowing that my dream cost Dora a good life? That I didn’t try everything in my power to make sure she’s the first in this entire fucking family who doesn’t have to go through all that pain? I know you have no fucking clue what it’s like to have to live your whole childhood in fear, but-“

“Do not,” James warned, “make this about that. Don’t make this about what I had and what you didn’t have. That leads to nothing, Reg.”

“Then what else do you want to make this about?” Regulus found himself hissing.

James considered him for a long moment before speaking. “I know what it’s like to care for someone so much you’d give your live for them. The way you care about Dora, that’s how much I care about you. But you don’t care about me that way, do you? And all I’ve done, in the past few months, is picking you up. Over and over again, even though you’ve been pushing me away every single time. I thought it was alright. I thought it would get better.”

His eyes were ablaze.

“But this Regulus? I can’t keep doing this. I’m sick of it. I can’t have you push me away and get angry at me every single time something goes wrong in your life, like I’m your fucking punching bag. I don’t deserve this. I’m done with it. I’m so fucking done with it. I’m trying to help and all you do is push me away, again. I warned you not to burn the house down. You didn’t listen. And I’ve come here because I was worried about you and all you do is lash out, accusing me of not caring enough when all I do is care.”

“I never asked you to make these sacrifices. I never asked you to give that much.” Regulus’ hands were trembling.

“It’s what you do for the person you love, Regulus,” James said, his voice wavering with barely controlled anger. He gave a breathless laugh, sinking his hand in his hair. “But for you Blacks, love doesn’t mean good things, does it? For you, it’s twisted. You can never get it quite right, can you? You don’t know how to, and you’re not even trying. Actually, I think you don’t fucking want to.”

The words were like a punch to the stomach, but Regulus had learned how to keep breathing. “Oh, so now this is about me not loving you the right way?” he asked, his tone dripping with venom.

“Yes.” James’ hard stare made something die inside of Regulus. “Do you wanna know how I know that you don’t? Because I already know you’re gonna walk away now. I knew the moment you started screaming at me. You’re gonna get out of the car and you’re gonna leave. After everything I’ve done to make this work. After every time I was there for you when you needed it, you’re just walking away. And that is not love.”

Regulus let out a breath. He had a lump in his throat, but his emotions were under control. “You know what? You’re right. I’m leaving.”

James paused. “This really want you want?” he asked.

“Yes,” Regulus said through clenched teeth.

James exhaled, blinking. For a moment, Regulus thought he was going to start crying, and his heart sank in his chest, a wave of guilt slamming into him, but James just nodded. “Fine. Sure. But you know what? Take the car. I’m not really going anywhere, anyways.” His face hardened. “You know, having lost my title as U.S. State Champion, there’s not much point in going anywhere now, so I’ll just be in my flat, waiting for someone to need me until they don’t anymore.” He kicked the door open and got out, leaning in and holding Regulus’ gaze. “You could have been someone, Regulus.”

“Leave, Potter,” Regulus said tonelessly, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t.

James nodded, looked down the street, then back at him again. “Make sure you don’t call me when you’re drunk.” And with that, he shut the door.

Regulus, frozen, watched him cross the street to the taxi waiting there. He didn’t look back before getting in. Seconds later, the car was gone.

Chapter Text

And Regulus felt his entire body shake with grief. It was as though he had given James a part of him, sometime over the last weeks, and James had walked away with it, and now there was a void in Regulus’ chest that felt all-consuming. It felt as though it was going to swallow him whole. A minute after James had climbed into that taxi, the hurt came rushing in and Regulus squeezed his eyes shut, doubling over, burying his face in his hands. They were trembling. A choked sound escaped his throat, but he didn’t cry. He concentrated on his breathing, waiting for the pain to become bearable. It always did in the end.

But there was a point when he realised that it wouldn’t this time.

As soon as the realization dawned on him, something inside of him switched into survival mode. It was mechanism that had ingrained itself into his soul from a very young age, and it had saved him and Sirius multiple times. When things got too bad, the logical part of his brain took over, and his emotions were shut off. When he was like this, he could do all the things that were necessary to protect him from more hurt.

He straightened, reminded himself to breathe, and after a long painful minute, he had himself under control.

Maybe it was a good thing that he had left James. After they’d burnt the house down, his family was sure to plan revenge. Regulus shouldn’t have been around him in the first place, and now with their retaliation so unpredictable, it was better if he was far away. He’d been so triumphant these past days that he’d felt invincible, but it had been stupid and naïve.

He needed to leave.

With grim determination, he turned the key and the car came to life. He signalled and steered onto the road.

He drove for four hours. The sun went down and it started raining. Regulus numbly watched the windshield wipers fight against the downpour. He passed a gas station in the middle of nowhere and drove on for another half an hour, until he suddenly felt so sick to the stomach the world went blurry and he couldn’t get any air into his lungs.

He stomped on the brake and the car came to a screeching halt, and he unbuckled his seatbelt and kicked the car door open and stumbled a few steps and puked his guts out in the light beam of the headlights. The rain dripped from his hair and soaked through his t-shirt, but it didn’t register. He retched until nothing came, the air scraping his throat raw.

When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staggeringly walked back to the car and leaned against the side. He tasted bile and copper. He slid down until he was crouching. When he cursed under his breath, his voice was hoarse.

What was he even doing? What the fuck led him to believe he could make it without James? He couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t.

And still, here he was, alone in the middle of nowhere, and he was not going back.

Something inside him hardened at that thought.

Maybe it was okay this way. He was done. He didn’t need to get back, because there was no way he’d play against Riddle anyway. It didn’t matter if he just did what he’d been craving to do the past eighteen years of his life, if he didn’t eat and didn’t train and didn’t compete. There was no career he could sabotage anymore; he’d let his parents do that for him. Or maybe he’d done it for himself, it didn’t matter.

All that damage, all these hours of studying and competing, and it was worth nothing in the end. He’d put in all that effort for nothing. He’d spent his entire youth pushing himself, convincing himself that this is what he wanted, that this was the only thing that mattered. He’d wasted all those years chasing a dream only to find out the road was ending and there was no destination.

Maybe that was okay.

Maybe that was okay, because he knew now. That this was it. He could finally stop running. He could stop trying.

He knew how the story ended.

And maybe that was a sick kind of relief.

He pushed himself to his feet.

James would understand. He’d find a way to be okay without Regulus. He’d never needed him the way Regulus had needed him; he’d been fine on his own. Actually, Regulus couldn’t get rid of the sickening feeling that he had been better without him. He loved chess in a different way. Every time he had set up the pieces, they had greeted him like an old friend. They turned cold in Regulus’ hands, they were sharp enough to cut his hands and draw blood.

And Regulus couldn’t be around him. James didn’t exist without chess. It was chess and James, James and chess. Regulus would’ve rather killed himself than asking James to make a choice. He didn’t have the right to do that. But he also couldn’t bear staying around him and be reminded of his wasted potential every time he watched James play. He just couldn’t.

Regulus ripped the car door open and grabbed his jacket from the backseat. There were three pills in his pocket and he swallowed them before he climbed back in the car and sat behind the steering wheel. If there was one thing he had learned from his family, it was how to protect himself, how to keep the damage at bay. He was allowed to do everything in his power to help him, he was allowed to ease the pain.

The whole drive to the next city, he forbid himself to think about everything he had sacrificed to get to this exact point. The abuse he’d endured, the loneliness, the insomnia. He also forbid himself to think about James, knowing that if he did, he’d take his foot off the gas pedal and he’d somehow convince himself that he wasn’t bad for James. That he deserved to go back and put him in danger.

When he finally reached the next city, he checked into a hotel, holding just his jacket, the car keys, and his wallet. The woman at the reception raised an eyebrow at him, but the rings under her eyes told Regulus that she wasn’t paid enough to care much about who was checking in, and she handed him the keys to a room.

The scent of stale air and dusty carpets that he knew so well almost made him retch again, but he pressed his lips into a thin line as he walked up the narrow staircase. When the door fell shut behind him, he lingered in the doorway, numbly taking in the room.

He was not supposed to be here. Like being here had catapulted him back in time, and he was fifteen again, with bruises on his torso, his mother arguing with his father in the other room. Or he was sixteen again, and the journalists had called him an amateur, and there was a cigarette burn hidden underneath his t-shirt while he read the article. Or maybe he was younger than that, thirteen, feeling like he’d just been shut off the world and there was no one out there who cared, or even noticed, that he’d gone lost. No one searching for him, no one missing him.

Regulus shut his eyes for a second, his jaw set, and put his car keys in the pocket of his jeans. He took the jacket off and fished in the pocket to produce the bottle of pills he had bought in the pharmacia. It was almost full.

He walked around the bed and called room service, ordering a bottle of wine. Then, he pushed the door to the bathroom open and stripped out of his clothes and took a scorching hot shower. When returned to the bedroom, there was a green bottle on his nightstand. Regulus stared at it for some time, water dripping from his wet hair and soaking through his t-shirt.

He took it, sat on the bed and opened it. He drank straight out of the bottle, even though the room service had brought him a glass.

The liquid was hot on its way down, but warmth soon spread in his chest. He took a deep breath, letting his head fall back against the bedrest, closing his eyes.

This was the end of his story.

This was all he was ever going to be.

And he’d find a way to be okay with that.

Five minutes into the drive home, James was sobbing in the backseat of the taxi. It had come over him suddenly, out of nowhere, a wave of ice-cold sadness that irreversibly damaged something inside of him. It had started with him angrily blinking his tears away, pawing at his eyes, but soon, he had given up and buried his face in his hands. The taxi driver was shooting him concerned looks, but didn’t dare to ask what was going on. James was grateful he didn’t, because he was absolutely going to trauma-dump if he did, and the moment he said the words out loud, he’d realize that it was actually over.

He already missed Regulus. He already missed him so much his heart was aching with a pain that reverberated in his bones and hollowed him out. He had gotten so used to Regulus’ slim body next to him like a shadow that the void he had left behind felt alarming. It felt wrong not to hear his voice and feel his grey eyes on him and smell his scent.

Getting to wake up next to Regulus was his favourite moment of the day. He loved seeing his mussed curls, and his slow smile, and the imprints of the bedsheets on his cheeks. He loved getting to lean over and steal a kiss. He loved seeing him frown while trying his best to bite back a smile, trying to act nonchalant, even though his cheeks were already reddening. He loved teasing him about it, loved touching his cheek, loved getting to stare at his lips.

Loved how Regulus completely surrendered himself to him, then, waiting for James to make a move.

It felt like the unfairest thing in the world that the universe had snatched him away from him. He’d never done anything wrong in his life, and here he was, sitting in the backseat of a taxi, crying his eyes out over a boy.

Not just any boy.

Regulus Arcturus Black, the mastermind. His chess rival. The love of his life.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

He wanted to get out of the car and scream at the sky, but the horrible truth was that he already wasn’t even angry at Regulus anymore. He already didn’t care about the things Regulus had done to him – not caring as much as James, not needing him enough, being able to just…walk away as though there hadn’t been love, as though James hadn’t fallen hard for the boy with those unreadable grey eyes. It was James’ carefully guarded secret; the fact that he didn’t know how to be angry at the people that hurt him. That he sometimes pretended that he was still angry, when in reality, he was only angry at himself for being so forgiving.

Everything had happened the way it did because Regulus loved chess in the way people love things that destroy them. Chess was his everything. It had kept him alive. It had given him a purpose. It had given him a reason to get out of bed for the past ten years. It was the coping mechanism a eleven-year-old Regulus had chosen to protect himself from the wrongdoings of the world.

And it had failed him in the end.

And it was fucking unfair, because James, he would never do that. He’d never fail him, never let him down. And still here he was, because Regulus’ biggest flaw was that he had never learned how to see the good in people. He now hated James as much as he hated chess. He’d had seen it in his eyes. With his dream collapsing around him, Regulus had buried him with it.

And then he’d just left, as though James hadn’t confessed his love to him, as though his love had been nothing. Not worth enough to fight for it.

James tried so, so hard to understand him, and in a way, he did, of course he did, but underneath all that worry and understanding and empathy, there was a tiny, little part of him that had turned into ice and he wasn’t sure it was ever going to thaw again. It made him feel so guilty that it was there, but then again, he’d given so much. So fucking goddamn much, every single day. And for Regulus, heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, it had not been enough.

The truth about James Potter, the one that he kept hidden behind his dazzling smiles, was that he tried very, very hard to be enough for everyone around him. And the fact that he hadn’t been enough for Regulus, quite frankly, tore his world apart.

The next day, Regulus woke up at 4pm with empty bottles scattered all around him. The light was already fading again. He slowly eased himself on his elbows, running a hand through his curls, blinking until his eyes focused. His mouth was dry, filled with an ashen taste, his tongue clinging to the roof of his mouth. He closed his eyes again, then sat up and put his bare feet on the floor.

His elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands as a chilling sensation settled in his chest.

There was nothing for him to do.

There was no reason for him to get out of bed.

There wasn’t a chess game he had to study for, no tournament to take part in.

No James.

His life had become empty, and the realization of it made his bones hurt with a pain worse than toothache. It was shocking, somehow. For the last ten years, he’d never once woken up with nothing to do. And now, he had no idea what to do with himself. His ears were ringing with the shrill tone of purposelessness, with the stillness of the room.

Regulus didn’t know how long he just sat there until he finally got up. He mechanically took the bottles and put them on the table, splashed water in his face, stared at himself in the mirror. He felt so tired, as though he hadn’t really woken up at all, and all he wanted was to get back into bed. All his movements were heavy and sluggish. He stumbled around the room until he found his t-shirt. The light was hurting his eyes, even though the curtains were drawn.

Then, there was nothing else to do and he lingered in the room, unsure of what to do next.

He suddenly realized he was angry at himself for being like this, for not knowing what to do. The anger had been simmering for quite a while, since the moment he’d woken up, but it was only now that he had run out of things to do, he fully registered just how much rage had piled up in his chest.

Regulus closed his eyes, trying to keep his feeling from overflowing.

He stood there for what felt like eternities until he felt them slowly ebb away, giving way to a creeping emptiness.

He sat down on the bed again.

He got up, walked around in the room, then sat down once more.

Then, he curled up in bed, pulling the sheets over his head, enveloping himself in darkness. Five minutes later, he had fallen asleep.

When he woke up, he was prepared. He beat the emptiness to the punch. Before he was even fully awake, he grabbed his bottle of pills, put five in his hand, and washed them down with the remnants of the wine in the bottle on his nightstand. He stumbled into the bathroom and took another scorching hot shower. He ordered room service again, and, remembering he shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach, he ordered something to eat with his booze.

It took him four days to leave his room and buy a chessboard at the corner shop. The lady behind the counter raised an eyebrow at his appearance but the smile on her face was unwavering. When Regulus handed her the money, he wondered if he was making a mistake. But he’d spent the entire morning trying to convince himself that chess wasn’t an ugly thing, that it was a beautiful game, and that it wouldn’t rot at his touch. That he loved playing it for the sake of playing it, not because it had been the only thing to save his soul.

He knew it wasn’t true. He wasn’t stupid.

He still had to do this, because his fucking mind just wouldn’t shut up, and maybe playing chess wouldn’t make him feel so worthless. He needed to have a purpose, and the only thing that had ever given him one was chess.

The moment he touched the cool wooden pieces back in his hotel room, his stomach dropped. He let go of the pawn as though he had burnt himself, and it rolled underneath the bed. Regulus stared at it, and didn’t pick it up.

He realized it had been a mistake to think chess wasn’t going to hurt him anymore.

Because fuck, it did. It burnt him alive.

He scrambled to his feet, shaking his head, scowling at the chess board, his chest rising and falling. His hands were trembling, his mouth was filled with bile.

No. This was not his world anymore.

After his attempt to play chess, and with the hopelessness that weighed down on Regulus from that moment on, the chess board sat forgotten on the floor for the next few days. A layer of dust settled on the wood. Regulus avoided looking at it, avoided looking at the remnants of what could have been his greatest achievement. He didn’t have the energy to put it out of sight.

He barely had energy to do anything. He didn’t go on runs, he didn’t shower, he didn’t eat. He just slept. All day, ten hours, twelve hours. It was as though all the insomniac nights had caught up to him and he had to make up for all those night he spent staring at the ceiling in the dark. He was so tired. Keeping his eyes open was exhausting him. Getting out of bed left him drained before he had even put his feet on the floor.

His curtains were drawn close, and when he wasn’t sleeping, he laying in the semi-darkness, swallowing pills every time his chest grew tight, staring into space, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows wander through his room. It was as though gravity had doubled its efforts, dragging him down, making everything impossibly heavy. He ignored the tentative knocks of the room service. He had spent almost all his money making sure he could stay for as long as he wanted, paying in advance. He didn’t remember for how many days, but as long as they didn’t kick him out, he didn’t care.

On the rare days that he did get out of bed, Regulus ordered more booze. He drank meticulously, strategically, making sure not to upset his stomach too much. Everything about the heat in his stomach felt great. Whatever he was feeling at the moment subsided, the anger, the emptiness, the loneliness. It turned down the volume; it was addictive. He often woke up on the chair or on the bed, his head hurting and his back aching. He swallowed pills whenever he felt a twinge of anxiety. On day twelve, when he was very drunk, he knocked over the chess board, but didn’t bother to pick up the pieces.

On day thirteen, Regulus woke up with his stomach churning and his head throbbing. For a moment, he felt like he couldn’t breathe and doubled over, squeezing his eyes shut, tasting bile in his mouth. Sudden panic ripped through him.

What had he done? Fuck, what had he done?

He tried to ease himself up and only managed on the second try, adrenaline chasing through his veins. He hit his knee on the bedframe, his stomach rumbling, liquid fire in his heart. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he unsteadily stumbled into the bathroom. Seconds later, he was puking his guts out, bend over the toilet in his four-days old t-shirt. When he was done, he flushed and sat on the floor for a while, feeling, for the first time in thirteen days, like his mind was thinking clear.

Whatever instincts kicked in, whatever remnants of his childhood, whatever was left of his survival mode, Regulus mechanically forced himself to get up and rinsed his mouth with tap water, until the sour taste was finally gone. Somehow, he stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower. He let the water run until the mirror was misted up and his skin was red.

When he returned into the bedroom, he was steadier than before. Still, he reached for the pills and took two. He noticed the chess board out of the corner of his eyes and stared at it, only now remembering that it was there and had witnessed his downfalls all these past days. It felt as though it was mocking him for relying on chess so much, for narrowing his entire world down to a stupid game.

Fighting down the wave of emotions in his chest, he started picking up the pieces and putting them on their assigned positions. When he was done, he considered it for a moment and sat down in front of it.

But again, he did not find it in himself to play.

When he for the first time in what felt like eternities made it down to the lobby, it felt like a victory somehow. It felt like an accomplishment to have put on a t-shirt, to have opened his door, to have stepped out onto the corridor and to have walked down the stairs. At the same time, it left him so drained he wanted to sit down onto the last step, right then and there, to catch his breath and find the last scrap of his willpower to get up again.

Stoically, he forced himself to cross the lobby, walking past the reception. There were some magazines scattered onto the small tables near the green armchairs, and the familiar font of Chess Review had caught his attention. He picked it up, staring at it, knowing it was a bad idea but unable to stop himself.

When he thumbed through it, he saw they had published an article about him – or rather, the chess game against James. It felt as though years had passed since then. There was a picture of him and James, taken during the opening. James had rolled up his sleeves. There was a small smile tucked into the corner of his lips. He wasn’t looking at the chessboard, he was looking at Regulus, whose eyebrows were knitted, his curls mussed. Regulus hadn’t even noticed James’ stare. He remembered being focused on choosing his fourth move; the board was visible enough so Regulus could pinpoint the exact moment.

Regulus ripped his eyes away from James, scanning the article. They wrote that he was one of the most promising chess players of all time, maybe even more talented than Bobby Fisher or Capablanca. They wrote he was gifted, that he had unique talent, that his potential was yet unmatched. They said that if he wanted to become the best player of all time, he needed to go to the Soviet Union and play chess against Riddle.

They said he now had a once in a lifetime chance to prove himself.

Regulus let go of the magazine as though he had burnt himself.

It had been a bad idea to come down here.

He turned around, his head spinning as he made his way back up the stairs, the anger and frustration fuelling him until he was in his room again. There, he picked up the chess board and threw it against the wall, the pieces flying everywhere. He wanted to scream, but instead punched the wall, and pain exploded in his wrist. His vision whitened momentarily and he doubled over, cradling his hand, pressing it against his chest.

He sank to the ground, pain still shooting up his entire arm. His wrist was pulsating. The realization hit him with some delay.

Merde. He had re-fractured his wrist. He had re-fractured his fucking wrist.

It hurt so bad his eyes were watering and he had to blink away tears. He was clutching his arm, his breathing came clipped. In that moment, he wanted to call James so badly. He wanted to hear his voice, he wanted James to reassure him, he wanted him to tell him everything was going to be okay. He wanted him walk him to the hospital and make bad jokes on the way there to distract him from the pain. He wanted him to draw him into a hug. He wanted him to hover nearby while they took care of his wrist. He wanted him to fetch the pain medication while Regulus sat in the car, waiting. He craved being taken care of more than ever in his life. He wanted to rely on someone else just this once, to not carry the burden alone, but he knew it was his own fault that he had no one to do that for him.

In the end, hotel staff found him sitting in the floor, shaking from pain, and called an ambulance.

Back in his hotel room, Regulus had to take double the amount of pain medication to ease the throbbing pain. He cast was awkward and big, and every time Regulus looked at it, he had to remind himself that time had passed since his wrist had been broken in the car accident. The past and the present still bled together in his dreams, and he often woke up sweating and scared, disoriented, unable to recognize his surroundings. He stopped drinking, but he took his pain medication every time he felt his nerves beginning to awaken.

And he just slept. It was partly the medication, partly the fact that sleep made him forget things for a while, partly because he was exhausted.

Then, one day, a knock on his door woke Regulus up. He groaned quietly, pressed his knuckles against his throbbing eyes, and did not get up. If it was room service again, they would just leave if he didn’t answer.

“Mr Black?” It was a woman’s voice. It sounded friendly, but it Regulus’ chest still froze from the inside out. He sat up, suddenly alarmed, his heart beating in his chest.

“Mr Black, I’m with the police, special task force AUROR. We’ve been investigating your family.” She paused for a second. “You might want to hear this.”

Regulus swallowed, exhaled shakily, then braced himself. His stomach was in knots. But whatever was awaiting him, it couldn’t be much worse than what had already happened. If he was sent to prison – or worse, sent back to his family – it didn’t make much of a difference. He couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore.

He ran a hand through his hair, half-heartedly tried to smooth his creased t-shirt, and opened the door.

A petite women with a broad face and a very straight nose stood in front of him. She was wearing a grey blazer. They tips of her wavy auburn hair just barely reached her shoulders. Surprised, Regulus realized that she couldn’t be much older than Remus or Sirius – which meant that she had to be really, really good at her job to be sent alone to interrogate him.

Instead of the handcuffs Regulus had been half-expecting, she showed him his badge.

She looked even younger in the photo, her hair in soft auburn waves.

“Alice Longbottom. I’m with AUROR, a special unit tasked with cases such as yours.”

“Cases such as mine?” Regulus asked warily.

Alice Longbottom didn’t bat an eye. “Cases in which the suspects are powerful enough to compromise investigations through bribery and blackmail.” She shoved the badge back in her pocket. “As I’ve said, we’re currently investigating your family. Andromeda Tonks, your cousin, I believe, brought charges against them. May I come in?”

Regulus blinked, but automatically stepped away to let her in, only now realizing in what condition his room was. His clothes were scattered everywhere, the curtains were drawn, and it was clear he hadn’t let the room service in for several days. If his mother had seen him live in such a mess, she would have disowned him then and there.

Slightly embarrassed, he moved a few t-shirts, but she just sat down at the tiny table next to the window and motioned him to do the same.

He hesitated, considered her gloomily, then sat, his heart pounding in his chest.

She sat back. “So,” she began. “You’ve fallen out with your family, am I right in assuming that?” She interlaced her fingers on the table, tilting her head.

“I burnt their house down,” Regulus said dryly, raising his eyebrow.

“Legally, your hose. But I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, with a little smile. She seemed completely at ease in his small room, and didn’t seem to care about the chaos. “Now, listen. We know your family has been trying to blackmail you into issuing a public statement in which you apologize for your, well, erratic behaviour.”

She reached in the pocket of her blazer and drew out a few papers – pages from newspapers. She unfolded them and turned them around so he could read the headlines.

“We’ve collected all the articles. Here. This one, saying that you’re a troubled child. This one, implicating you had something to do with your mother’s death. This one,” she said, tapping on a small paper, “saying that you’re under the influence of drugs. All of them part of your family’s strategy to force you to go back to the fold. Turns out, these newspapers have been controlled by your family for decades now. And another thing.”

She drew out a folder from her satchel.

“These are your and your brother’s hospital records. After your involuntary interview, we’ve taken a closer look at them.” She met his gaze. “No child, no matter how active and clumsy, is injured that many times before they’re even ten years old. Your family has kindly suggested to the doctors not to mention any of it into their reports, but two doctors have since them confirmed that nurses had expressed their concerns after treating you and your brother for unrelated injuries and discovering bruises.”

She paused, as though waiting for Regulus to look through the reports, but Regulus didn’t. His hands were trembling and he didn’t want her to see. And frankly, the last thing he wanted was to read about the numerous injuries he had gotten over the past few years. He remembered every single one of them, anyway.

“Additionally, the Louvre has come forward with evidence of blackmailing – if they didn’t immediately remove Mrs Tonks from her position as a curator, the Black family would remove exhibition pieces that rightfully belong to them. And, on top of that-“

“I know all that,” Regulus said tonelessly, and frowned at her. Okay, maybe he hadn’t known about the Louvre, but he wasn’t surprised, exactly. It had only been a matter of time.

She put her hands on the table, her fingers splayed. “Mr Black, I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here to help you, your brother Sirius Black, and your cousin Andromeda Tonks.” She frowned. “In the past, there have been a lot of attempts to investigate your family, but all of them have been shut down because no one was ready to speak out and there have been concerns about bribing and blackmailing within the police. Your family is too influential. You know that better than anyone else. But now that your cousin has brought charges against them, things might look different.”

Regulus felt a tiny spark of hope, but suffocated it immediately. Alice Longbottom seemed ambitious, clever, self-assured, but she might be too naïve to realize just how powerful his family was. For the past fifty years, no one had managed to pin any of their crimes on them. She wouldn’t succeed, either. Not when all before her had failed.

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

“Just some answers.”

Regulus knitted his brows. “You want me to testify against them.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

She hesitated for a moment. “Yes, but maybe some time in the future. For now, it’s enough if you just answer some of my questions about your childhood, your parents, and your extended family. This investigation has just been launched a week ago, we’re trying to collect as much evidence as we can for now.”

He stared at her, weighing his options. This is what Remus had been talking about. How the three of them could start a war. And while both Regulus and Sirius had been too cowardly to come forward, Andromeda had already done it. They had threatened her child, and she’d snapped, just like Sirius and Regulus had snapped. Except she was braver than both of them, and unlike Regulus and Sirius, knew how to channel her rage in a way that wasn’t self-destructive.  

“I don’t know if it’s going to be enough,” Regulus said, his voice already hoarse. He hadn’t talked that much in days, and the booze had cut his throat open.

She tilted her head. “The public’s opinion of your family has changed a lot in the past months. People are ready to speak out. And even if no one goes to jail, we will still be able to protect the three of you from them. I’d take that chance over every day of having my family breathing down my neck if I were you.”

Regulus looked at her, conflicted. The thing was that she couldn’t have chosen a worse time. His family had just demonstrated that they still had the power to take everything he loved away from him. That somehow, they were still in power, that they could make him pay  by making sure more than ten years of struggle had been for nothing. Burning the house down now seemed like a childish thing to do, like a toddler throwing a tantrum that was only met with an arched brow.

Regulus wasn’t good at making the right decisions. He wished James was here.

He took a deep breath. “If they find out about this, it’ll be even worse.” She didn’t have the right to gamble with his freedom. If his family won, nothing would protect him anymore.

“I don’t think they’ll dare to do anything else. Not since we already have that much evidence,” she said, sounding completely sure.

“But you can’t protect me,” he said, his voice hard.

She weighed her words before speaking. “From what I’ve gathered, you’re really good at protecting yourself already.”

When Regulus pointedly raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to acknowledge that the heir of the Black family was currently hiding in a hotel room with the curtains drawn, empty bottles on the floor, and an unmade bed, she didn’t even flinch.

She read his gaze correctly. “I think this is more of a personal problem, Mr Black. You’re not here because you’re hiding from your family, are you?” Her gaze caught on the dent in the wall, then dropped to his cast. “You’re here because you think you’re a piece of shit and don’t deserve good things when they happen to you,” she said bluntly.

He froze, completely taken off-guard, staring at her.

She was unfazed. “Please,” she huffed. “I have a degree in psychology. You’re a text-book example of a victim of abuse. You’re self-sabotaging because it’s the only way you can be certain about what’s going to happen. It’s the only way you can predict things, and that makes you think you’re in control. That’s why you’re here.”

Her words reverberated in his bones, but he glared at her. “If you know so much about me, you already know my answer.”

“I do.” She carefully folded the newspaper articles. “I knew before coming here that you probably wouldn’t want to testify against your family. But I came anyway, because I wanted to let you know that there are now people on your side and you don’t have to fear the police knocking on your door one morning to arrest you just because your family bribed some important people. I thought letting you know would be the kindest thing I could do. So I did.”

Regulus found himself swallowing. Kindness. The way she had emphasized it already made him feel embarrassed about his reaction. After living with his family for so long, he’d started assuming that their poison had spread to everyone in his world. That they had a hand in everything. That everyone around him was on their side. He couldn’t help himself. Alice Longbottom, however, had been completely undeterred by hostility. She wanted to do a kind thing, no matter his reaction, because it was still a kind thing, even if Regulus didn’t acknowledge it.

It reminded him of James, and how Regulus had wronged him.

Jesus, everything reminded him of James nowadays.

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said eventually, a little reluctantly.

She smiled, put the newspaper in her pocket, and stood up. “Oh, before I forget about it.” She rummaged in her satchel and produced an envelope. “I took this into safekeeping this from a journalist. Thought you might wanna have them.” She winked, then said goodbye, and before Regulus could respond, she had left.

He stared at the envelope, unsure, and turned it in his hands. He sank his hand in his hair, then opened it hesitantly.  

There were four photos inside, taken by the paparazzi in front of the hotel.

All of them showed Regulus and James, on that night on the balcony, when they had first kissed. They looked like lovers, the way Regulus melted into James, and the way James held him.

In the last photo, Regulus looked directly into the camera, trying to discern if the paparazzi were gone, while James, undetected, seemed to drink in Regulus’ sight; his gaze soft, a faint smile on his lips, and his fingers still tangled in Regulus’ shirt. He looked like the happiest person in the world.

Sometime past midnight sometime in those heavy, blurry days after that, he picked up the chess board and pieces again and tried playing. He couldn’t bring himself to do it at first. He found himself trying every night. He found his gaze lingering on it. His mind started listing openings of its own accord. He remembered all the strategies, all the possible moves. But it was no good. He couldn’t play.

He tried again, and again, and again. Sometimes, he managed to play three or four chess moves, until some chess move suddenly reminded him of James, or he could almost hear James’ comments, and he had to stop.

One morning, Regulus woke up from the sound of the telephone ringing. He rolled around, glaring at it in the semi-darkness. He really didn’t want to pick up, but in the end, he did anyway. If it was his family, he could at least take his anger out on somebody.

“You have a call from a Barty Crouch. Do you want to accept it?”

Regulus’ heart skipped a beat. How the hell had Barty found him?

“Yes, please,” he said, frowning.

There was a moment of silence.

“Barty?” Regulus asked, his voice raspy from just having woken up. He held the earpiece with his good hand, the bad hand pressed against his stomach.

“Hello, pretty boy,” Barty’s voice came through the speaker.

Regulus could almost hear his crooked smile. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, a mixture of relief and longing and sadness overwhelming him all at once, swallowing down a choked sound. He clenched his jaw to gain back control.

“How the hell did you know I was here?”

“I’m doing fine, thank you for asking,” Barty said sarcastically.

“Barty-“ Regulus began, but Barty cut him off.

“You need to do something for me. It’s about Evan.”

If he was supposed to remember that name, the medication made it impossible.

“Evan?” he echoed.

“Evan Rosier. My friend. My lover. My soulmate. He’s in the hospital. Or, rather, was. That’s the problem. He’s not anymore. But you’re in the vicinity, so you’re gonna have to track him down for me and tell him to call me back.”

Irritation flared in Regulus. He was not going to leave the hotel room. He was tired, and it was 5 a.m., and every fibre of his being was aching.

“Evan called me from the hospital because a nurse forced him to call a family member to get him. But I know for a fact Evan is already gone because that’s what he always does. He doesn’t do hospitals.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you found me.”

“Oh yeah, that’s the interesting part. Evan saw you.”

“He what?”

“He saw you at the hospital. Recognized you because I once showed him a picture of you.” Barty paused. “Also, you wanna tell me why you were at the hospital?”

“No,” Regulus said flatly.

Barty snorted at Regulus’ bluntness. “Ever considered your coping skills might be worse than your actual problems?”

Regulus took a deep breath. “I can’t get out and get him, Crouch.”

“Uh, no, you absolutely can, Black,” Barty said with a sudden seriousness. “You’re gonna suck it up for twenty minutes and get out of your hotel room and search for him, because Evan does really stupid things sometimes. Like, really stupid. This is not about you right now, Black. For the moment, I don’t give a flying fuck about your miserable life, okay? This is about him. This is about me.”

Regulus wanted to hang up so badly and crawl back into bed, but he remembered calling Remus the night Sirius’ had gone haywire, and he closed his eyes. This is what it all boiled down to. Friendship. It was doing things for people you cared about, because they had saved your life once by cooking dinner, lending you a jacket, saying that things were going to be okay. Regulus was in debt. He hadn’t done nice things for people in a while. Or, ever, really. He was a really selfish person.

“Fine,” Regulus said, defeated, realizing James would already be out the door to help, because he was good like that. That thought made him feel even worse. “I’ll make him call you.” A headache was already throbbing at his temples.

Barty gave him a detailed description of Evan, including tattoos in places Regulus was absolutely certain he was not going to see unless Evan spontaneously decided to take his shirt off.

“Thank you,” Barty then said, unusually sincere. “Now hurry up and go find my lover, Black. Talk some sense into him.” And he hung up without saying goodbye.

It took a few seconds for Regulus’ body to get into motion. He hadn’t moved with purpose for over two weeks, but he still managed to be out the door in five minutes – his hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes, and a black sweater thrown over his wiry frame. (He hadn’t realized he’d gotten so thin, but then again, he’d barely eaten the last few days).

He’d been out for an hour, exhaustion weighing down his feet and hunger eating a hole in his stomach, when he spotted Evan: bleached hair, worn-out jeans and boots, large jacket, sitting on the stairs of an abandoned house. Black ink peeked out from the collar of his sweater. He was smoking a cigarette; one of his arms was in a sling, his face was covered in bruises and his lip was split.

When Regulus stopped in front of him, Evan’s eyes snapped up to meet Regulus’ and Regulus suddenly felt a quiet thrill racing up his spine.

Oh. Now he understood.

That gaze was dangerous. There was something hungry about it. Hungry, and callous, and charismatic. A warning that felt like an invitation. Like you’d cut yourself open trying to get near him but you wouldn’t regret it. It was like staring right into a fire until your eyes hurt.

Regulus understood what drew Barty to him.

Regulus stopped. “Evan Rosier?” he asked.

Evan tilted his head, eying him down – his black jacket, the cast peeking out of his sleeve. “Barty sent you, didn’t he? You’re the chess player. From the hospital.” His smile was crooked, lazy. He knew exactly what he was doing with that smile. When he moved, what could be seen of his tattoo seemed to come alive, tentacles of darkness reaching for his jaw.

Regulus nodded and sat down next to Evan on the stairs. His feet burnt. He hadn’t moved that much in two weeks. “I’m supposed to make you call him,” he said, not looking at him.

Evan nodded to signal that he had heard him, but didn’t seem too stressed about actually calling him, and dragged on his cigarette. “Why were you in that hospital?”

Regulus drew the sleeve of his sweater back to reveal his cast.

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Punched someone?” he asked.

“Punched a wall,” Regulus answered. He was too tired to pretend he wasn’t a miserable mess in front of this stranger. It wasn’t worth the energy. And Evan didn’t exactly look much better.

Evan scoffed, amused. “Classic,” he said.

There was a long pause.

Regulus didn’t care. He was so exhausted he wouldn’t get up even if Evan decided to get up and walk away.

Then, Evan talked again. “So, does Barty know you’re…” Evan didn’t finish his sentence, vaguely gesturing at the whole of Regulus. Does he know about the dead look in your eyes, the messy hair, the wiry frame, the trembling hands?

Somehow, Regulus had assumed he was better at hiding all of it. The headache had only gotten worse. “No.”

Evan huffed, amused, as though he was laughing at some secret joke.

“Don’t fucking tell him,” Regulus warned.

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Tell him what? That you look like shit?” he said bluntly.

“Can you just call him so I can get back?” Regulus asked, slightly annoyed. He rubbed his eyes.

“To your chessboard?” Evan asked.

“To my bed,” Regulus said, irritated.

Evan mustered him from the side. “Aren’t you supposed to be training for something?”

Regulus closed his eyes and breathed out. He shook his head. “No. I’m done with chess,” he said, pretending that it didn’t hurt to say it out loud.

“Ah,” Evan said. “You didn’t tell them that, did you?”

“Tell them what? That I’m done with chess?”

“No, that you’ve hit rock bottom, shithead. That you’re not getting out of bed and you’re drinking.” He must have smelt the alcohol on Regulus’ breath. “That you’re a fucking mess.”

Regulus got to his feet. “I’m going.” He had already done enough. He’d done what Barty asked him to. He couldn’t possibly expect him to hang around any longer. He wanted to sleep.

But Evan wasn’t done with him. “You’ve kissed him, haven’t you?”

Regulus froze and turned around. Evan took a drag, unfazed, his expression unreadable. His amber eyes glowed in the light of the sunrise. Regulus watched him, frowning, angry at Barty for not telling him about Evan. He’d never meant to hurt anybody, he’d just assumed that Barty’s questionable moral code at least included not cheating on his boyfriend.

“I didn’t know about you. If I had known, I wouldn’t have,” he said through clenched teeth.

Evan just kept looking at him, grinning lazily. “Jesus, relax, Black. I’m not going to kill you. You’re not his type anyway.”

Regulus mustered Evan’s strong body, his solid frame, his bleached hair. No, he really wasn’t. Maybe Barty hadn’t been attracted by his looks, maybe he’d been attracted by how Regulus could be a distraction. How kissing him would make him forget things. It had been like that for Regulus, anyways.

“Why are you here and Barty isn’t with you?” Regulus asked. He was too curious now to walk away.

“Why are you not playing chess anymore?” Evan apparently really didn’t answer questions he didn’t want to answer. It was Evan’s world, and he made the rules.

Regulus considered him for a moment. “Because I gave away my chance at being the best chess player of all time,” he then said calmly.

“Did you lose an important game? A once in a lifetime chance?” Evan asked, a hint of sarcasm in is voice.

Regulus shook his head. “No. I can’t go to Russia. My family took away my money. They took everything. I can’t afford the flight.”

Evan let the cigarette fall to the ground and stepped on it. “You’re like Barty,” he said.

“How the fuck am I like Barty?”, Regulus asked, tired of still being here, tired of the pain behind his eyes.

“Abuse,” Evan said, his dangerous eyes calculating and hard. “The inability to move on from it.”

“They quite literally took my money,” Regulus said sharply. “This is not some thing from my past.” For some reason, he needed Evan to understand. He felt the need to explain himself, to justify his self-destruction. As though that made it less pathetic.

“Did they also force you to drink all that booze? Punch a wall?” He narrowed his eyes at him. “Take tranquilizers?”

Regulus’ jaw muscles were working. How the fuck had Evan known about the tranquilizers?

“You need to find a coping mechanism, Black. Like the rest of us. Something to keep you alive on the inside. Something that isn’t self-destructive.”

Regulus shook his head. “There’s no point. I’m not going anywhere. My career is over. I’m done. And I’m so tired of it.”

Evan stood up. He was taller than Regulus. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You’re lying to yourself, Black. If you’d be over it, you wouldn’t miss it. But you do.”

Regulus stared at him. “I can’t play chess anymore. I can’t do it,” he said after a pause. His voice, the traitor, was wavering ever so slightly. “I fucking tried. I need to let it go.”

Evan shook his head. “If you really want this, you’ll need to pick yourself up. Jesus, you’re better than this, Black. I can tell.”

“People have said this to me,” Regulus said, “and in the end, they always changed their mind about that. So fuck off, Rosier. Mind your own business.”

Evan smiled his apocalyptic smile. He was unsettling even though he shouldn’t be, he was just stormy eyes and sun-bleached hair and sharp jawline, but he was. He raised his hands, showing his palms.

“Fine. Whatever you say, Black. Just know that if you don’t do this, you’re family’s gonna win in the end, and you’re gonna lose.” He poked his index finger into Regulus’ chest. “And you don’t strike me as someone who loses.”

Regulus just looked at him. “Why’d Barty kiss me back?” he asked after a pause.

Evan tilted his head. “Because,” he said, “he likes people who have a purpose. He likes them because he doesn’t have one, and he wants yours for himself.”

Chapter Text

For the first time in what felt like eternities, Regulus got past the opening. He was playing slow, painfully slow. His thoughts kept tangling up again and again and again. He spaced out four, five, six times, unable to focus. He sat there, drowning in discomfort, in vulnerability, gritting his teeth as he tried not to let his thoughts stray down dark paths. This is okay. I’m okay, he kept whispering to himself. I am not wasted potential. I can make this right.

At three in the morning, he called James. It took some time for him to pick up, but he did. Of course he did.

“Regulus?” James breathed.

Regulus closed his eyes at the sound of the voice, swaying for a moment, trembling. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “I played Fisher tonight. The one where he plays against Byrne.” He gave a helpless smile. “I kept hearing your voice, talking me through it.”

There was a beat of silence after he said that, and Regulus’ heart sank. He knew he needed to be better at this, had to apologize, but he’d never learnt how to do it. His parents had never apologized for anything, and Sirius hadn’t, either.

“Are you drunk? Are you calling me because you’re drunk?” James asked with a sharp voice.

Regulus tried to keep the hurt at bay. “No. James, I promise. I’m not drunk.” He was almost pleading now, clutching the telephone, begging James not to hang up. If he did, he’d sworn to himself he would never call again. He needed to give James that choice. He was going to put his life in James’ hands, and accept whatever he’d decide to do.

There was a long beat of silence, and Regulus was already beginning to accept that James was going to end the call, trying his best be okay with it, when he said something.

“You’re playing chess?” His voice was strange, but not hostile.

Regulus could picture him staring out the window, frowning, unsure if he wanted to give Regulus another chance but unable not to. He wondered if his heart had come alive again when he’d heard Regulus’ voice. Because Regulus’ heart had.

He exhaled, carefully weighing his words, keenly aware that James had every right to hang up. “I don’t know how to not do it. I don’t know what else to do in my life,” he said, sliding down the wall and sitting on the floor. “There’s nothing else.”

“I was there, Regulus,” James said. “All this time.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Regulus pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead.

“Remus says that’s not enough.” Hurt bled into his words. “He says I deserve better than this. You can’t just call me because you need someone to fall back on.” It was tragic how James, never knowing his own self-worth, only realized the extent of his hurt once people pointed it out to him. He would’ve let Regulus keep hurting him if Remus hadn’t grabbed his elbow and said some stern words to him.

Regulus shook his head, looking up at the ceiling and blinking the traitorous tears away that blurred his vision “I’m not calling you just because of that, James. I don’t know why I’m calling you,” Regulus said. He’d never been good at recognizing his own emotions. “I just- maybe I wanted to hear your voice.”

There was breathing on the other side of the line. Regulus couldn’t tell if James was crying, or if he was angry, or frustrated. Probably all three. “You’re calling me after nearly a month because you wanted to hear my voice?”

Anger. It was anger.

Regulus grew frustrated at his own inability to express his emotions, hated how emotionally stunted he was. What kind of person couldn’t even tell his own emotions apart, even when they were reigning his body?

“I miss you, James,” he growled before he even knew what he was saying. “That’s why I called you. Because everything keeps reminding me of you and I can’t go anywhere without seeing your face and I can’t play chess without hearing your voice.”

“Sounds like that’s not my problem.” James’ voice was hard, and Regulus winced, but knew he deserved everything coming his way.

He took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do, James?”

“I wanted you to stay with me, but you didn’t. You left. And that hurt me. A lot. So maybe there’s nothing I want you to do. Maybe, I want you to stay away from me. Maybe that’s better for both of us.”

Regulus nodded. “Okay,” he said, knowing that it was going to be the hardest thing in the world to accept it, but knowing that he could do it for James. “I’m- I’m sorry that I destroyed the thing we had.”

“You didn’t destroy it, Regulus,” James said heatedly. “You just wouldn’t allow us to have it. Because you didn’t believe I could be enough for you. You didn’t have faith in me.”

“I have faith in you,” Regulus whispered. “Jesus, James, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. But I’m nothing without chess. I can’t be happy without it. It’s not possible for us to be together when this is what chess does to me.”

“Why are you playing it now, then?”

Regulus huffed, bitterness overwhelming him. “Because I’m trying to prove to myself that I didn’t spent the last ten years doing something I hate. That I can still love it, even if my victories don’t mean anything anymore.”

“Our chess games meant so much more to me than every title I ever received.”

“James,” Regulus began, but James cut him off.

“You know what you’re wrong about, Regulus? You think that you need to prove yourself, that you’re worthy once you get the next title. You collect achievements because it validates you. You think you are nothing without them. You start believing you’re a failure if you don’t prove to yourself constantly that you’re not,” James said. “The thing about you, Regulus, is that hating yourself is your default setting.”

“I don’t know how to not do it,” Regulus said, frustration bleeding into his tone. “I genuinely don’t, James. Because if I’m not a good chess player, who-“

“You are whoever you want to be, Regulus,” James interrupted him. “It’s up to you. This is not the end of your story. Regulus, when I realized that my career was basically over, I didn’t apologize to my younger self. Because I wasn’t sorry for not becoming who I thought I would become.” He paused. “Regulus, you’re caged in this life that you decided for yourself when you were twelve years old, lonely and abused. It’s what saved you. But it’s not who you are. Being a chess player is not the only thing you are.”

Regulus watched the rain pour down his window. He’d opened his curtains sometime in the last days. “But I still want it, James. I want it so bad. To be the best. To win. I’ve come so far.”

There was a very long pause. It stretched to long that Regulus almost thought James had hung up.

“Regulus, I need you to listen to me now and not say a word until I’m finished.”

Regulus tensed up, his heart palpitating in his chest. He tried to brace himself, but knew it was going to hurt anyways.

“If you’re really still going to give it a shot, if you’re doing this, I need you to do it for the right reasons. I need you to do it because it’s your dream. And I need you to be able to lose when you do, because there’s a possibility that you will. I need you to be able to fail without taking it personal, because it’s not. It’s a game. It’s a stupid fucking game.”

Regulus was clutching the telephone so tightly his knuckles had went white. He’d let that stupid game destroy what he had with James.

“And if you want to come back to me, you need to do it for the right reasons.” Regulus forgot how to breathe, because those were the last words he’d expected to hear. James didn’t notice. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t have you cut me out when things get bad. I can’t keep being the first one who gets hurt when the worlds wrongs you. This needs to stop being about you, and it needs to start being about me, too. You need to try to make this work.”

Regulus could picture James’ set jaw, his wild curls, his agitated movements as though he was standing right next to him. The fact that he could picture him so vividly caught him so off guard that he nearly missed the next words.

“If you can play chess again, I can train you. I can do that for you. And the money? We’ll get it. I don’t know how, but if it’s worth it, it’ll work out. It always does. We’ll figure out a way.” James briefly paused. “I wanted to tell you that in the car. That I was going to help you. But you wanted to leave and I couldn’t stop you. And then I thought maybe I should just let you walk away, and put myself first for once. And I did.”

Regulus closed his eyes, remorse eating away at him.

“And when I got into the taxi, I was already regretting it. But I couldn’t go back because I knew as long as you don’t realize what you’re doing to me, you don’t deserve it.”

“I’m trying to be a good person, James,” Regulus said, his voice hoarse. “But I’m not very good at it.”

“Trying is enough.”

It wasn’t. Trying was never enough. Trying implied failing. And Regulus was constantly failing at everything. And especially at not hurting James.

“Is Remus okay with this?”

He could hear James hesitate. “Remus said that you need to understand that you hurt me, and that if you come back, you don’t get to walk out of my life like that again.”

“Okay,” Regulus said, swallowing. “I can do that.”

“He also said that you Black brothers are just emotionally stunted.”

Despite himself, Regulus snorted.

The warm humour seeped back into James’s tone. “And you’re both idiots.”

“James-“

“And that, sadly, you’re ridiculously handsome, so you’re genes kind of make up for it.”

“James.”

James laughed, and it chased the sadness away from Regulus’ heart.

James, surprisingly, didn’t draw him into a hug, which spoke volumes of just how hurt he was. He lingered in the doorframe, looking down at Regulus, a strange expression on his face.

Regulus grew panicky under his intense gaze, realizing it had been a mistake, and regretting coming here, regretting putting both of them through this. He made a step back, already turning away, shaking his head, his heart pounding in his ears.

“Regulus,” James said and Regulus immediately stopped, and then strong arms enveloped him and James drew him close.

Regulus tensed up and ordered his muscles to relax. James smelt of home. He was going to be okay.

“I’m still hurt, Regulus,” James said into Regulus’ hair. And then: “Jesus, you haven’t been eating, have you?”

Regulus froze up again, and James grabbed his shoulders to study his face.

“Oh, Regulus,” he said quietly. There was quiet shock on his face.

Regulus avoided his gaze, his jaw set. “It’s not your fault,” he said.

“Sometimes I think the one thing you learned from your parents is how to hurt yourself.”

James hugged him again and Regulus closed his eyes, burying his face in James’ sweater. “I’m sorry, James. For everything.”

James said didn’t respond, just tightened his grip on him. Regulus could still sense the quiet anger simmering in James’ heart. He should have realized it sooner, but he had been so caught up in his own shit that he’d taken James’ help and patience for granted. He was a selfish person; and James, whose only flaw was his selflessness, hadn’t known when to draw the line.

They would have to rebuild everything from the ground. Regulus had laid it in ruins, had destroyed everything they had ever had.

And of course, being back with James didn’t magically make everything better, even if a part of Regulus had wished it was. Their conversations were careful; both were wary. It got better with each interaction, but neither of them really said what they wanted to, and a part of the old intimacy was gone. James didn’t really touch him like he used to, and there were days when Regulus missed James’ touch so much he was fighting back tears in the bathroom when James was asleep, knowing it was his own fault and he deserved it. If James wasn’t ready, he had no right to ask for it.

Regulus’ addiction was worse than ever, because he’d taken too many tranquilizers over the past few weeks. When he tried to reduce the number of pills he was taking, the insomnia kicked back in and he roamed through James’ apartment in the middle of the night, not knowing what to do with himself, just knowing that if he woke up James and told him, he would lose all faith in him. And he wasn’t ready to watch the love die in James’ eyes.

Despite rotting in the hotel room for almost a month, doing nothing but sleeping, Regulus still sometimes couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. In the beginning, James would allow him to sleep in, but after a few days, he seemed to recognize the signs, and from then on, he coaxed Regulus into the kitchen each morning, making him sit on a chair, making him eat. Regulus only got up because of how much effort James put into luring him out of bed, and he tried not to rely on James too much again, because he had promised himself not to take more from James than absolutely necessary. Even if James was ready to give, and give, and give.

“This won’t go away for a while now, Regulus. There’s gonna be really bad days. You’re gonna get through them, I promise.”

Neither of them ever called it depression, but the word hung heavy in the air.

Regulus was making progress in chess. They didn’t train, but played a few games a day, nothing too complex. They were both holding back. Neither of them could bring up the topic of training, not when it wasn’t sure how they’d get the money to go to Russia. Instead, they pretended that they weren’t running out of time, and kept stealing glances at each other during training, and kept pretending they didn’t notice.

It took James almost a week to briefly touch Regulus’ lower back, and it was a shock to Regulus’ whole system. But it was a sign that things got better.

On the fifteenth night, Remus, Sirius, Lily and Mary showed up on the doorstep unannounced with some booze and food. When Regulus, dumbfounded, came into the living room, attracted by the sudden sound of laughter and voices talking over each other, he stopped dead in his tracks.

James was beaming, laughing along, carrying pizza boxes, teasing his friends, thriving in their company.

When Sirius locked eyes with Regulus, he gave an almost imperceptible smile, and Regulus found himself smiling back (even if it was a wary, tentative smile). Suddenly, the fact that they had burnt their parent’s house down had changed their relationship. A secret understanding passed between them. A truce, for this night. They would talk about everything eventually, maybe in a few years, when they were older and wiser and more forgiving.

Regulus intercepted James on the way to the kitchen. “Did you invite them?” he said, quietly.

“Nope,” James smiled, a bit apologetically. “That’s just what we do. We just show up at each other’s houses unannounced.”

Regulus realized with a mix of horror and awe that they really had no boundaries with each other. He huffed, mildly amused. “You need help with that?”

James handed him the pizza boxes, smiling, and Regulus’ heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. It felt like a victory.

Ten minutes later, they were scattered all over the room. Lily, Mary, James and Regulus were occupying the sofa, Sirius was lounging in the armchair with Remus half on is lap. David Bowie was playing in the background, and everyone was laughing, and Regulus was in the middle of it, his leg pressed up against James’ thigh, very much distracted by the sensation but determined not to let it show because Sirius was in the room. It must have been obvious anyway, because Remus once met Regulus’ gaze and smiled his lazy smile, raising his eyebrow.

Regulus ate the pizza James kept handing him, taking small bites, and James mindlessly ate a piece for every piece that Regulus ate, which made Regulus feel like it was somehow okay to eat that much. It helped that everyone around him kept distracting him from his thoughts. There was a short flare of panic when he realized he didn’t know how many slices he’d eaten, but he told himself to sit with it until his heart calmed down. It did, eventually, at least somehow. He didn’t drink and felt nauseous every time he smelt James’ bottle, so he stayed away from the alcohol the entire night.

He tried not to lean against James, no matter how inviting it was. Except for the hug, and the occasional tentative, even accidental touch, they hadn’t touched, and Regulus still didn’t know if James would be okay with it. He didn’t want to fuck it up this time, so he stoically kept his distance, until Mary, Lily and Sirius – way too drunk at this point – got up to dance in the middle of the living room, and the sudden uneven tilt of the couch nearly threw Regulus into James’ lap. Still engrossed in his conversation with Remus, James automatically reached for Regulus, looping his arm around his belly and drawing his even closer, the warmth of his hand seeping through Regulus’ t-shirt.

Remus burst out into laughing the moment he laid eyes on it and realized what was happening, and James blushed, stuttering something Regulus couldn’t hear over the music, but which made Remus laugh even harder (he was also very drunk at this point).

“You’re gonna have to do so much explaining, Prongs,” Remus said, shaking his head, taking a sip.

James had drawn his hand away from Regulus’ belly, but was now pressing it against the small of his back, where Sirius couldn’t see, and Regulus’ felt relief so strong he had to remind himself to keep breathing. James’ feathery touch might have been the best thing that had happened in the past few weeks.

“The only explaining I’ll do is sending him our marriage certificate,” James said. “That way he can’t kill me because I’m already family. I’m gonna present him with a fait accompli, that’s the only way I’m gonna survive it.”

Regulus, trying to act nonchalant, when all he wanted was to bury his face in the nape of James’ neck and melt into his touch, raised his eyebrow at him. “We’re getting married? That’s not even legal.”

“Not officially. But that doesn’t matter. I’d marry you with paper rings,” James said, blushing even more.

“Regulus, stop hitting on my best friend,” Sirius suddenly said from behind, grinning like a maniac, and grabbing James to drag him to his feet. James quickly removed his hand from Regulus’ back, a flash of panic on his face as he tried to asses if Sirius had realized. Sirius handed him a bottle, apparently oblivious to how close Regulus and James had sat, and whooped when he drank.

Remus watched them, waited until they were out of earhot, then put his bottle on the table. The atmosphere changed immediately. “Regulus, we need to talk.”

Regulus’ heart skipped a beat and his first instinct was to shake his head, but Remus’ earnest expression held him back. He realized Remus was more sober than he’d thought. Maybe Remus didn’t have to be that drunk to have a good time, maybe around his friends, laughter came easy to him.

Reluctantly, Regulus got up, and with one last gaze at James, followed Remus outside. He closed the door behind him. Remus lit up a cigarette and leaned against the wall. The tip glowed orange in the dark. Remus face was half-cast in shadows, his faded scars like fine white lines on his skin.

Regulus wrapped his arms around himself, shivering slightly. “Before you say anything,” Regulus said darkly, “I know it wasn’t right. I know he didn’t deserve any of it. And I know using the abuse as an excuse-“

“He called us in the middle of the night,” Remus interrupted him. His brown eyes studied Regulus, but Regulus couldn’t tell if he reproached him. “He was devastated. He was crying. He literally had a breakdown. Sirius was so angry with you for doing that to his best friend he was smashing things.”

Regulus averted his gaze, shame burning at the pit of his stomach.

“And he forgives very easily, because that’s just how he is. He’s not gonna make you pay for the things you put him through, he’s just relieved to have you back.” Remus tapped the ash off his cigarette. “He is too nice for his own good.” He fixed Regulus with his hard gaze. “But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t hurt. You had no right to put him through that and you have no right to put him through that ever again,” he growled.

“I won’t,” Regulus said quietly.

Remus looked gloomily onto the dark street. “Sirius did that to me. I was in love. I mean, you knew, didn’t you? I don’t have to tell you that, you remember all the times I brought him back home after he did something stupid.”

Regulus nodded, even though his memories were hazy. He’d forgotten big chunks of his childhood. Everything Remus had been telling him was news to him. But he didn’t have a heart to tell Remus just how much he didn’t remember. Because Remus deserved to be remembered, and Regulus felt as though he’d betrayed him for forgetting all of the things he’d done for his brother.

“I let him treat me like that because I thought maybe that’s what I deserved and that was all I was ever gonna get, and I should be okay with that.” Remus paused. “There’s this quote. We accept the love we think we deserve. You know why James is so welcoming, and kind, and upbeat? Because he wants other people to want to be around him. He’s performing all the time. He is constantly reading the room to figure out what he has to do to make the people around him like him.”

The wind tugged at Regulus’ curls. He’d known this, deep down. He’d known all this time. In the beginning, he’d tried to persuade himself that it was just his natural charm, but it was a carefully crafted skill.

“He’s been getting better. But sometimes he still thinks that people don’t actually like him, he thinks they just act like they do. Which means you can’t ever make him feel like that ever again. You can’t just cut him out of your life, because he’s gonna believe it’s his fault and he’s gonna hate himself, and he’s gonna push himself to try harder to please people, and he can’t keep doing it because it’s destroying him.”

“Okay,” Regulus said quietly.

Remus threw him a stern look. “Don’t okay me, Regulus. Promise me.”

Regulus met his gaze. “I promise.”

Remus seemed satisfied, because his posture relaxed a bit. “I know you’re a good person, Regulus. We’re all trying to be good, all of us. It’s the least we can do for each other, to make each other just a little bit happier and life a little less shitty. Do your bit.”

“I will.”

“And start giving something back, Regulus, for fuck’s sake. That boy is absolutely in love with you, but relationships don’t work that way. If you want it, you need to do your part. He’s not here to please you. Don’t accept his help if you don’t plan on giving something back.”

“Promise.”

James closed the door and leaned against it. He looked at Regulus with a soft gaze, who was just standing in the middle of the room, looking back with his guard down and smiling helplessly. He was fiddling with the cast on his arm, knowing that he was awkward but for once not finding it in himself to care.

“What?” he asked, breaking the silence.

James shook his head. “I don’t know. I just…you were at ease.” He paused. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“You’re not responsible for my happiness,” Regulus said pointedly, needing James to understand.

James pushed off the door. “I know,” he said. “But still.” Suddenly, he was on front of Regulus and his hands tentatively settled on his waist.

Regulus willingly let James drew him nearer, two seconds away from sliding his hands under James’ shirt. As always, he had to tilt his head, being smaller than James. He looked up at him and frowned ever so slightly, waiting for James to go on.

“You like my friends, don’t you?” James asked. It was more a statement than it was a question. He lifted his hand and tucked a curl behind Regulus’ ear.

Regulus was so distracted by his touch that he couldn’t answer verbally. He just nodded. It was the truth, after all. In another universe, he and Remus would have been friends. They would have traded books and written shitty poetry and maybe even acted out some scenes from Shakespeare just for the sake of it being dramatic and ridiculous. He and Lily could have gossiped about James, and he would have painted with Mary.

Mostly, what he liked about James’ friends was that they gave him the feeling of not being alone in a room full of people.  

James smiled softly. There was something in his eyes that made Regulus’ heart palpitate and his throat run dry. He couldn’t move away. Before he knew what he was doing, he was staring at James’ lips.

James, of course, noticed. His smile grew smug. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Fuck yes,” Regulus breathed.

And James did. Regulus’ entire world narrowed down to the feeling of James’ lips on his. He shivered ever so slightly, his teeth grazing James’ upper lip, his hands pressed against James’s solid chest. He got onto his tiptoes, pressing his hip against James’ body, and James’ hands slid down his back, stopping just below the waistband of his jeans, bunching up his t-shirt as he drew him even closer.

They hadn’t kissed since their argument, and now that they did, the tension was released like a rubber band stretched for too long.

James’ strong hands wandered up Regulus’ narrow back, pushing up his t-shirt. Regulus’ skin was ablaze. His muscles were liquid fire, melting under James’s touch. James could do his body make anything, and Regulus wanted him to. He didn’t care about giving up control. Not if it was James. He trusted him with his life.

“Bedroom?” James asked in a rough voice.

Regulus nodded. His breath hitched when James suddenly lifted him up as though he weighed nothing and carried him towards the bedroom. Regulus tried not to be too affected by the fact that James could literally carry him effortlessly, but failed miserably. Heat was pooling in his stomach.

James pushed the door open with his shoulder, then gently lowered Regulus on the bed. The mattress dented left and right of Regulus’ legs when James climbed onto it, his knees on either side of Regulus’ legs. He sat on his heels and grabbed his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it away.

Regulus’ throat run dry. James’ body was solid and defined, all long lean muscles.

He’d had tried to ease himself up on his elbows, but James gently pushed back onto the mattress and Regulus complied only too happily. His t-shirt had ridden up, revealing his slim waist, and James’ hand was immediately touching the soft skin there. He came after him, capturing Regulus’ lips and forcing them open – not that he was met with much resistance. Regulus’ good hand was in the nape of James’ neck, pulling him down, his fingers in James’ curls.

James broke away, but his face was still so close their noses were inches apart. “Can I take your shirt off?”

Regulus paused, a twinge of anxiety in his gut. It was stupid, because James had seen him shirtless so many times, but he couldn’t help it. That he had already seen them didn’t change a thing. It wasn’t as dark in the room as the first time James had seen his scars up so close. He was going to see every single one of them.

James immediately seemed to sense his reluctance. “You don’t have to-“

“It’s fine,” Regulus interrupted him.

James made no move to reach for the hem of Regulus’ shirt. “Are you sure?” he asked again, his eyes searchingly staring into Regulus’.

“Yes,” Regulus said.

James sat back on his heels and Regulus drew his upper body up. James bunched up the fabric of the t-shirt and pulled it over Regulus’ head. He carefully slid it over his cast. Regulus shivered ever so slightly when the cool air touched his hot skin. He resisted the urge to avoid James’ gaze. He was drowning in vulnerability, but he forced himself to keep drowning. He could do that for James.

James put Regulus’ shirt on the bed beside them.

His eyes drunk in the sight of Regulus’ body, studying every inch of it. When he met Regulus’ eyes again, his gaze was intense. Regulus shivered involuntarily.

“Regulus…” James began, his voice rough and breathless.

“Never seen my brother shirtless?” Regulus asked with an raised eyebrow. It was the only was he could endure it.

James grimaced. “Can you not talk about your brother right now?”

Regulus huffed, but it came out weak, because James’ fingers were inches away from his body.

“Can I-“

“Yes,” Regulus said. He closed his eyes briefly when James’ fingers slowly traced the burn wound below his clavicle. He swallowed, holding his breath. His whole body tensed up of its own accord. He tried to relax, but couldn’t.

Then, James fingers moved on to the little white scar on his throat. His eyebrows were knitted in concentration. Regulus lowered his gaze, letting out a shaky breath. The next moment, James’ thumb was tracing Regulus’ lips and Regulus’ eyes snapped up, alarmed, his heart skipping a beat. Two of James’ fingers were on Regulus chin, making him look at him.

“You’re beautiful,” James whispered, his eyes on Regulus’ lips as though mesmerized by the sight.

Regulus wanted to shake his head, but James wouldn’t let him.

“Have a little faith in my judgement, will ya,” James said with a soft smile.

Regulus couldn’t help it, he scoffed, amused. It just broke out of him. “With your queen attacks? Never.”

James laughed. “Touché.”

Regulus found himself smiling softly, but the smile vanished when James’ hands slowly made its way down his chin, his throat, stopping at his chest. James gently nudged him and Regulus laid down on the bed. James climbed over him, their chests inches apart. Regulus held onto the back of James’ thighs. When James kissed him again, his hands wandered upwards, squeezing, then moving past the waistband.

“This okay?” Regulus asked when James visibly shivered.

James nodded, swallowing. “Yeah.”

Regulus helped him out of his jeans, then lifted his hip to take his own off. Before he had time to overthink it, he was kissing James again. It grew more heated this time, teeth grazing against each other, James’ tongue in Regulus’ mouth. James shifted his leg and Regulus jerked at the sudden friction, sucking in a sharp breath. James swallowed Regulus’ moan with a kiss, but didn’t move his leg away.

Regulus cursed under his breath.

James’ hands were now everywhere on Regulus’ body; his neck, his jaw, his chest, his belly. His lips followed, mapping the moles scattered across Regulus’s skin. Regulus’ body arched, his head tipping back, his eyelids fluttering shut. James’ legs were caging him, holding him down on the mattress.

“James,” he said tensely, desire reigning in his body.

James moved his leg again, purposely not touching where Regulus needed him to. Regulus’ breathing was shaky. When Regulus jerked up, James placed on hand on his hip and held him down effortlessly, capturing Regulus’s lips again. Regulus could feel him smirking.

Regulus growled and pressed against James’ chest, and next thing James knew, Regulus was on top of him, sitting on his thighs, his hands on either side of James’ head. He looked down at James triumphantly. “I like this position better,” he said. “Better view.” He took his time studying James’ body.

James raised his eyebrow. “Like what you see?”

Regulus hummed. He touched James’ Adam’s apple with the fingers of his injured hand. James swallowed. Regulus shrugged. “Not too bad.”

“Not too bad?” James asked.

Regulus softly traced James’ arms, distractedly digging his fingers into the muscles. “For a chess player.”

James’ warm hands ghosted over the back of Regulus’ thighs, making him shiver. “You’re blushing,” he teased.

Regulus glared at him. “I’m not.”

James chuckled. “You are,” he said. And then, before Regulus knew what was happening, he was on his back again and James was hovering above him, grabbing his arms and pinning them above his head. “I prefer this.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

“You’re right, the view is better,” he smirked. His finger slowly traced down Regulus’ chest, eliciting shivers. Regulus’ eyes were glued to his finger, mesmerized. James’s expression changed when Regulus shifted underneath him. His eyes grew darker. “Do you want me to-“

“James, just fucking do it,” Regulus interrupted him, breathless.

But James was hesitating. “What about your wrist? I don’t want to hurt you when things get rou-”

“James, I swear to god, I don’t fucking care,” Regulus growled, impatient.

James’ hand was just inches above Regulus’ waistband.

“Are you sure?”

“James, please.”

And James complied.

They had eased back into training, had taken it slow. The rule was to only play for four hours a day and then put the chess board away. Needless to say, it had quickly spiralled out of control. They were both too obsessed, too enamoured with the game. Nothing got James more excited than watching Regulus master every difficult game he made him play. He loved teaching him strategies, loved when Regulus hung on his every word. And nothing pleased Regulus more than that look of silent awe and pride on James’ face (even though he’d rather cut his hand of than let him know).

It was two in the morning, and Regulus was frustrated. His head was hurting, a dull pain throbbing at his temples. They’d has a good day, discussing the book Middle Game Strategy. Now, they were in the kitchen; James was brewing them some more tea, while Regulus sat perched on a stool, barefoot, in one of James’s t-shirts, glaring at the chess board. The black and white squares seemed to blur in front of his eyes, but he wasn’t ready to let it go and go to sleep.

When he picked up the white rook, James came over, shaking his head. “Not there,” he said, looking over Regulus’ shoulder. “Let me show you something.” He held his hand open and Regulus handed him the piece. James moved it to the king rook one. “See?”

Regulus stared at the chess board, his thoughts tangling. “See what?” he asked, irritated. The problem with chess was that people thought you were intelligent if you were good at it – and that made Regulus feel like he was the dumbest person on the planet if he didn’t.

“Now, black has to move the king.”

“Yeah. I know,” Regulus said, frowning, wondering what James was getting at.

“My point is that the black rook can do this,” James said and moved the rook.

Something clicked in Regulus’ mind. “It’s Alekhine, isn’t it? I’ve seen this before.”

“You read the book?”

Regulus nodded absent-mindedly. It made it even more frustrating – the fact that he should have known, but didn’t. James had spotted it from afar, probably thinking it over in his hand while he had busied himself with the tea. He returned to the kettle, putting tea bags in two mugs.

Regulus rubbed his eyes. “I should be better than this,” he said darkly. “I’ve been doing this for so long. How am I not getting better? How am I still making these kinds of stupid mistakes?”

James placed a mug in front of Regulus and sat down. “Regulus, just because you aren’t doing something perfectly doesn’t mean that you’re failing.”

Regulus looked at him. “But I need to do it perfectly. I can’t win against Riddle being okay at chess. I can’t make mistakes like this.”

James leaned back in his chair, his hands around his mug. Secretly, Regulus loved past-midnight-James. His hair was always tousled, then, and all of his smiles were softer, somehow. He was a vintage version of himself, a James straight out of a photograph someone had taken without him noticing.

Regulus was pretty sure James knew that, but kept his amusement about Regulus’ secret admiration to himself, waiting for the right moment to tease him for it. He was always searching for new ways to make Regulus’ blush, and so far, he hadn’t run out of things to say.

“You are going to make mistakes like that. And so will Riddle. You’re not machines, you’re both human. That’s what chess it. It’s the mistakes that make the game even possible. Chess it nothing without imperfection.”

“What if I make more mistakes than Riddle?” Regulus asked.

“You’ll lose, or you'll win,” James said matter-of-factly. “It’s not about the sum of mistakes. It what you make out of his mistakes.”

“Why don’t you try again?” Regulus asked, out of nowhere.

“Try what?” James asked, frowning, blowing on his tea.

“Going up against Riddle.”

James tilted his head. “I’ve had my chance. I couldn’t do it,” he then said with a shrug. “Why are you asking me that?”

Regulus paused, considering him silently before speaking. “Because sometimes I wonder if I just won against you out of luck.”

James smiled, amused. “Trust me, you winning had nothing to do with luck.” Regulus raised an eyebrow, the mischief in James’ eyes warning him that he wasn’t finished. “…And everything to do with the fact that you’re just really, really hot and I couldn’t focus for the life of me.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but was unable to bite back a smile. “Oh yeah? Because you, of course, weren’t trying to distract me at all,” he said sarcastically.

“Of course not,” James said, feigning offense. “I’m just naturally that hot. I can’t help it. It is a burden.” He ran a hand through his hair.

Even if it pained Regulus to admit it, it was the truth. He had woken up in the morning next to James. James was the kind of person who was just effortlessly attractive. Regulus scoffed. “Sure.”

James put down his mug. “Listen. You won because you’re good. The only reason why I know a lot is because I’ve been part of this world longer. My mother taught me when I was five. She was the best teacher I could have had. I won my first tournaments with strategies she taught me. I never had to study chess, nobody was forcing me. It was just always there.” He tipped against his mug. “Remember how I get chess boards scattered all over my hotel rooms? It’s always been like that at home. They were everywhere. Openings, endgames.”

James grew up loving chess. Regulus grew up needing chess. That was the difference between them, and Regulus always wondered what would have happened if he’d started out playing it because it was fun.

“You never talked about your mother,” Regulus said, to distract himself from the thought.

“I haven’t?” James seemed genuinely surprised. A soft smile tugged at his lips. “Well, she’s so good at chess that she could’ve beaten us both if she’d chosen to pursue it,” he said. “I’m serious. She still beats me in speed chess. She loves playing it. My father hasn’t won since 1954.”

Regulus had a hard time envisioning a mother as anything but controlling, cruel, and cold, but when he looked at James, he realized there had to be a lot of his mother in him. Maybe she’d given him his kindness, his compassion, his patience. He wondered what his mother had passed on to him. The result was depressing. An addictive personality, insecurity, perfectionism.

James hesitated, falling silent for some time. He stared into his tea. “When I was, well, when I realized I wasn’t gonna win any more titles, I wanted to stop. I told her. She laughed and said, since when is chess about titles? Since when is it about anything else than having fun and trying your best?” James smiled to himself. “That helped. Hearing that made me realize that I’ve developed this false idea without even realizing it. You know, I thought that being a good chess player would make people like me more. They’d want to be around me because I had all these titles.” James shook his head. “But they all stuck around. I realized they didn’t care.”

“I don’t care either,” Regulus said.

James looked at him. “I know,” he said with a quiet smile. “I know.”

Then, a few days later, the bank called him about a money transfer. James had picked up the telephone and gestured Regulus over. With a sinking feeling, Regulus took the telephone from James. He’d opened a new account a few weeks ago. His family had probably found a way to steal whatever little money he had left.

“Mr Regulus Black?”

“Speaking,” Regulus said, trying to keep his dark thoughts in check. His heart was palpitating. When did the bad news ever end?

“Mr Black, are you aware that a large sum of money has been moved to your account? With a money transfer that big, it might be beneficial to transfer it to another account to with a higher interest rate.”

Regulus didn’t understand. Money had been transferred to his account?

When he didn’t say anything, the man continued. “If you come by the bank, we might be able to-“

“Excuse me,” Regulus cut him off, “but who transferred the money?”

The man seemed startled, but quickly recovered. He seemed to search his papers. “Uh, that would be a lady named – here it is – Andromeda Tonks, Sir,” he eventually said.

The world collapsed around Regulus, his heart hammering in his chest.

“How much is it?” he asked, unable to breathe.

James stood frozen.

“I’m legally not-“

“How much is it?” Regulus pressed on, impatient.

The man hesitated. “About four thousand dollars, Mr Black.”

Regulus felt a relief so intense he was dizzy and had to steady himself against the wall. “We can go to Russia, James,” he breathed.

“What?” James asked, dumbfounded.

“We can go to Russia.” Regulus looked at James, who stood unblinking, trying to process what Regulus was saying.

“It is the exact sum of money you have been transferring to Mrs Tonk’s account over the last seven years,” the man said over the phone. He sounded confused about Regulus' reaction, had probably expected him to know.

It was a payback. Andromeda’ had abided by her promise. Regulus hadn’t realized it had been that much, but it had accumulated over the years. It was more than enough to pay for all expenses.

“With that much money, it would be a good-“ the man continued.

Regulus didn’t listen, too overwhelmed to do anything but try to wrap his mind around what had just happened.

James took the telephone, realizing Regulus was in no condition to answer. “Excuse me, Sir, but we’ll have to call you back. Thank you for calling us.” He hung up; his hand shaking.

“Andromeda paid me back. It’s four thousand dollars,” Regulus whispered.

“What?”

“I can play against him. I can play against Riddle. I can play in the Moscow Invitational.” And then, Regulus burst into tears.

James was by his side in an instant and drew him against his chest, his left hand buried in Regulus’ hair. Regulus’ sobs slowly turned into breathless laughter, and soon he was hiccupping, and James was laughing, too, his chest vibrating.

“We’re going,” James whispered in disbelief. “Fuck, Regulus, we’re going to Moscow.”

He held Regulus at arm’s length to look into his face. Tears were streaming down Regulus’ cheeks, but he couldn’t stop grinning. James was beaming, his fingers digging into Regulus’ shoulders.

Regulus grabbed James’ t-shirt and pulled him into a kiss, and James wrapped his arms around him tightly, his lips still smiling against his, unable to contain his joy.

He was going to be one of the best chess players in the world.

Chapter Text

They had two weeks left and they spent every minute of it studying. Pure and utter chaos reigned in James’ flat. Teacups, plates, books, chessboards, magazines, pencils, papers, chess pieces; it was all scattered everywhere: The windowsill, the bathtub, the floor. They only left the house to go for a run or buy groceries. They ate frozen dinners and toast. When it got late, Regulus drank half a cup of coffee to stay awake, even though his grimace told James how much he hated it. They sometimes studied until the early hours of the morning, sometimes sleeping until noon. James had given up getting Regulus into bed at a reasonable time. Regulus’ insomnia grew worse, and sometimes he’d get up again in the middle of the night, wandering into the living room, staring at the chessboards, restlessly pacing around, sometimes going on runs. James always got up with him.

Regulus’ wrist healed. The doctor ordered him to wear a brace, saying it was too weak still and prone to fracturing again. It might never be as strong as it once was. James hated the way Regulus immediately tucked his sadness away when the doctor told him that, pretending that he was unfazed.

James slowly began trusting Regulus again. After everything they’d been through, and all the times Regulus had hurt him, it took him a long time until he wasn’t afraid of Regulus slipping through his fingers again, of being shut out, of Regulus withdrawing into himself. The memory of it still came to him when he couldn’t sleep, and every time he’d turn in bed to see if Regulus was still there, resisting the urge to touch his face, afraid of waking him up.

A part of James was still undeniably bitter what had happened itbut the simple truth was that he was madly in love, and determined to make it work.

One evening, he found Regulus sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, a chessboard in front of him. He stopped in the doorframe, leaning against the wood. Regulus was so focused he didn’t notice him, and James could muster him undisturbed.

Regulus’ black curls almost reached his neck now. Now that his mother didn’t tell him to cut it anymore, Regulus had let his hair grow long. James was secretly glad, enjoying it way too much to sink his hand into the soft curls. He didn’t tell him, though, because he knew Regulus would never cut it again if he knew. James was getting better at recognizing the signs of devotion in Regulus’ behaviour. Regulus didn’t love openly, but James had realized with a little shock that Regulus would do everything to please him, even if he’d never admit it, even if it was never obvious.

He was wearing an oversized jumper that made it impossible to discern his shape, and for the first time since reconciliation, James saw the clothing choice with different eyes.

The thing was, Regulus had gained a little bit of weight. It was barely noticeable, but James, who got to run his fingers over Regulus’ body almost every night, had of course noticed. The first time the realization had sunk in, the relief had been so strong he’d forgotten to breathe. But he’d also grown a little wary ever since. Because if James noticed, Regulus had surely too. And it was possible that the softness of his body made him relapse into certain behaviours, like pulling an emergency brake. Or worse, opt for other, potentially even worse coping mechanisms just to regain control.

James had noticed how Regulus rarely walked around without an oversized jumper anymore these days. When they showered together, Regulus waited until the mirror was misted up before getting out. There was a carefully controlled way about how he looked into the mirror, about how he ate the breakfast James served him, about how he averted his gaze when James worshipped his body.  

But it seemed as though Regulus was determined not to let the voice in his head win, even if he was sometimes quiet or a easily irritable after dinner, and in his own little world when their friends came over and brought pizza and snacks, eating mindlessly around him, oblivious to his internal struggle.

The weird thing was, Regulus seemed to love James’ sturdy frame, loved digging his fingers into the slim muscles of his arms. He loved feeling his weight on him. He would never want James to be slimmer.

But he had somehow unlearned how to see his own body for how it was. Like Sirius, he was born with a slim waist to die for, and he was naturally skinny. Now that he had put on a little bit of weight, James thought he looked better than ever – he was always going to be slim because that was just his body type. But James was keenly aware that Regulus didn’t see his body the way James saw it. And the fact that there was barely anything he could to hurt his heart.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Regulus said suddenly, jolting him out of his dark thoughts.

James looked up and saw that Regulus had arched his eyebrow at him. He immediately chased his gloomy thoughts away, afraid that Regulus would sense it – that boy had a sixth sense for things like that – and pushed off the doorframe.

“Rude. What are you playing?” He walked over to him.

“Geller versus Euwe,” Regulus replied, running a hand through his hair. “I needed a break from Riddle.” He grimaced. “I’m starting to hate the way he keeps making everything about the knight.”

James studied the board, realizing that it was a game he hadn’t analysed before. With the many sleepless nights, Regulus had a lot of time on his hands. It didn’t surprise James that he was running out of games to play, that he roamed the flat in search of books that he hadn’t yet read. One of these days, Regulus would know more than him. It wouldn’t take as long as James had anticipated.

“Maybe come to bed?” James asked, knowing he at least had to try. The circles under Regulus’ eyes were as dark as bruises, and James couldn’t even remember the last time Regulus had gone to bed with him. (Or, stayed in bed with him, rather).

Regulus pressed his lips into a thin line, remorse in the way he looked up at James. “You know I can’t,” he said with a hoarse voice.

James deflated. “Yeah. I know.” He tried not to let on how much it was worrying him. It was only now that he it fully struck him just how bad Regulus’ insomnia really was. (Or had it gotten worse since their reconciliation, since Regulus had moved back in?)

Regulus looked back at the chess board.

An idea popped into James’ head, and he smiled. “Regulus, do you know Philidor? The chess player?”

“Yeah. That’s the one that played three blindfold chess games simultaneously, right? Why?” Regulus asked, surprised.

James felt himself smile. “Because I want you to try that. Play blindfolded. Three games, simultaneously. Speed chess.”

Regulus stared at him. “James Potter, I promised myself to not ever play speed chess against you ever again,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh, so you have no problem with the blindfold but speed chess-“

“I can picture all the games in my head, James,” Regulus interrupted him. “I do it all the time, you know that. It’s not hard.”

“Exactly,” James smiled smugly. “That’s why we’ll play speed chess. Because it wouldn’t even be a challenge for you.”

Regulus seemed unsure, looking up at him. James already knew he’d won, because when it came to chess, Regulus was ambitious. Even if he said no now, he wouldn’t get the idea out of his head, and he’d wake him up in the middle of the night, wanting to try it. “Come on, Regulus. No guts, no glory.”

“That’s a stupid saying.”

“Regulus,” James almost begged.

“Fine,” Regulus finally said, as expected, taking a deep breath and shrugging. “Let’s do it.”

Grinning, James got two other chessboards and sat on the floor. For the next minute, they just quietly set up the pieces. Then, James stood up again to get a t-shirt from the bedroom. When he returned to the living room, Regulus just met it with an arched eyebrow.

“You don’t trust me to keep me eyes closed?”

“This is for my own sake,” James said dryly. “Maybe with half your face covered, I’ll be able to focus.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but he was struggling to bite back a smile.

James stepped behind him and gave Regulus the t-shirt, who rolled it up and covered his eyes. James made a knot at the back of his head and tried to ignore the way Regulus seemed to shiver when James’ finger sank into his hair.

Resisting the urge to plant a kiss on Regulus’ neck, knowing that they’d never get to playing if he did, he sat down on the other side of the boards that were fanned out in front of Regulus. “Okay. Let’s do this,” he said, determined not to let his gaze linger on Regulus. There was something unguarded about the way he sat in front of James, completely trusting him. James was keenly aware that Regulus would never allow anyone else to blindfold him. “You ready?”

“This is ridiculous,” Regulus said. Then, he sat up a little straighter. “But I’m ready.”

And once James punched the first clock, Regulus played with unhesitating precision, immediately attacking him on all the boards. They made their moves and countermoves on the first, moved on to the second, the third, and repeated the cycle. It was as though he could see the boards as clearly as James, who wasn’t wearing a blindfold. It was impossible. Regulus just sat there, cross-legged, his hands resting in his lap, his face unreadable as he told him his moves, and James could barely focus.

On the first chessboard, Regulus uncovered an attack on his queen on the tenth move and forced James to lay down his king on the sixteenth. It took two minutes. Thirty seconds later, James resigned on the board in the middle.

When he shot Regulus a quick glance, there was the tiniest trace of a triumphant smile on Regulus’ face, just barely noticeable. James redoubled his efforts, determined to at least win one, but then, Regulus attacked his rooks and James felt his heart skip a beat, and ten seconds later, it was clear that he’d lost.

He let out a breathless laugh, staring at the boards, then at Regulus. “No one’s done that to me in five years,” he said.

“Not even Riddle?” Regulus asked. He seemed pleased. There was a possibility that he didn’t even realize just how good he was, or didn’t allow himself to even consider his own potential.

“Not even Riddle,” James said, shaking his head. He looked at him. “Now do it without your rooks.”

“Both of them?” Regulus asked, clearly unhappy.

“Jesus, Regulus, give me a chance,” James said, exasperated, while he set up the pieces again.

Regulus looked into his direction. He hadn’t taken the blindfold off. “James, stop being dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic,” James said, leaning across the boards, and touching Regulus’ lips with his thumb.

Regulus flinched at the touch, but then stood stock-still. His chest stopped rising and falling as he held his breath. James, secretly thrilled about just how much power he had over Regulus, smiled to himself.

“I’m not dramatic,” he repeated, “I’m turned on.” Before Regulus could react, he had captured his lips. Regulus immediately responded, reaching up to take the blindfold off, but James grabbed his wrist and stopped him, then drew back. Regulus nearly lost balance as he came after him, and made a frustrated sound.

“Seriously, James?”

“I’m not above playing dirty,” James said, shrugging even though Regulus couldn’t see it.

“Now the last thing I wanna do is play,” Regulus said, reproachfully.

“Just one more game, Reg. Please.”

Regulus huffed. “Fine,” he said, readjusting his blindfold, a little disgruntled.

They played again, and this time, Regulus frowned once or twice, hesitating before speaking, but that only meant that the games took a minute longer than before. When Regulus beat him a second time, it fully sank in.

James stared at Regulus, speechless.

Regulus seemed unsure, unable to interpret the silence. A part of him was still reluctant when it came to playing against James, still fearing that his victory would upset James. He always seemed to cringe every time he won against James, as though he’d inflicted pain on him, quick to allay pain that wasn’t even there.

“Jesus, Regulus, I didn’t actually think you’d win this,” James exclaimed, then.

“Can we make out now?” Regulus asked, reaching up to untie the t-shirt.

James didn’t even really hear him. “Regulus, you’re ready to play against Riddle. Jesus, I think you could actually do it.”

Regulus froze. James gave a breathless laugh, then reached and took the blindfold off, putting it on the floor, cupping Regulus’ face. Regulus looked at him with huge storm-grey eyes.

“Regulus, this is it. This is it. You’ll win,” James whispered.

Regulus searched his eyes, trying to discern if James was lying to him, even though he knew fully well that James always spoke the truth when it came to something like that. Giving someone false hope was among the cruellest things someone could do.

“You’re not serious,” Regulus said tonelessly, frowning.

“I’m James, actually,” James said, unable to hold himself back.

The stupid joke broke the tension and Regulus rolled his eyes. “I swear to god, I don’t deserve this,” Regulus muttered to himself.  

“It’s exactly what you deserve, actually,” James said, biting back a smile.

Then, Regulus sobered up again, and hope brightened his features. “You actually think I’ll win?”

“I think you have a chance of winning,” James corrected him. “And I think I wanna kiss you.”

“Tell me something new,” Regulus said dryly. His curls were all over the place from the blindfold. It was the most attractive thing James had ever seen. Whatever the question was, the answer was always Regulus’ hair.

James leaned forward and kissed Regulus, sinking his hands in Regulus’ hair, gently tugging at it. When he pressed his lips to the vein on Regulus’ neck, he felt his heart beat fast, and knew it wasn’t just because of James.

It was because for the first time, Regulus actually allowed himself to consider that he actually might beat Riddle.

Somehow, word travelled fast. Soon Remus, Sirius, Lily and Mary knew Regulus and James were going to Russia. Sometimes, they stopped by uninvited, forcing James and Regulus to take a break, dragging them outside to go to some pub or sit by the water or stroll around the city for a while. Sometimes, they sat around in the living room, smoking cigarettes, drinking, listening to music. They brought pizza and wine and cake. They played card games, board games, drinking games.

Sirius and Regulus were still a bit wary around each other, not knowing how to interact. Somehow, they had unlearned how to talk to each other. Every time they accidentally ended up sitting next to each other, they both tensed up, as though waiting for the other to lash out, rip open old wounds, bring up old arguments. But they didn’t, somehow managing not to be at each other’s throat, which was some progress at least.

And then, Barty called out of nowhere and said he could get them to Russia under the radar of the Black family. Regulus, who had just sipped on his tea, grew still.

Listen. My father’s got a private jet, and Evan’s got a license. That fucker doesn’t have a driver’s license, but he can fly planes. We can get you there.

You’re father’s okay with this?, Regulus asked, raising his eyebrow.

Are you mental?, Barty scoffed. Of course not. We’ll steal it.

You’re insane.

Tell me something I don’t know, pretty boy, Barty laughed.

So, they started planning the cloak-and-dagger operation. Regulus and James would use James’ car, pick up Barty, and they’d meet Evan near the airfield. Barty would steal the keys and make sure his father was at the other end of the world on a business trip, busy with work. He said his mother wouldn’t be a problem, and from the scornful way Barty talked about her, Regulus believed him.

But then, Dorcas caught wind of it and next thing Regulus knew, she’d somehow convinced him to take her with them.

I was going to Russia anyways. To show my designs. I’m sick of wearing other people’s designs when I know mine are better than theirs.

There was a famous fashion show in Russia the night of the chess tournament. If they liked Dorcas designs, she’d never have to model again.

And then, Marlene refused to be left behind. I learned Russian for this, I’m going. And no one in their right mind would ever dare to argue with Marlene McKinnon.

In the end – nobody could later explain how it had happened – they were all on the airfield. Sirius, Remus, Lily and Mary, and Barty, Dorcas and Marlene, and James and Regulus. They had arrived in three different cars. There had been a lot of chaotic last minute phone calls and misunderstandings and stubbornness. They all wanted an adventure. None of them wanted to be left behind, rotting in their apartments when the world lay at their feet. Everything had happened so fast that in the end, neither of them knew who was going to show up. They knew the date and the place, nothing more.

And when they eventually arrived at the airfield, it turned out that, except for Regulus, all of them had gone to the same school together, which meant that after a short silence that spoke disbelief, they became utterly insufferable. Somehow, Hogwarts had bound them together; the parties, the pranks, the late-night deep talks. Sirius shook his head in disbelief of Marlene’s white blond hair, who in return made fun of his leather jacket, Mary actually went a little red when Dorcas smiled at her (Dorcas had been everyone’s gay awakening at Hogwarts), and Barty immediately picket up where he had left off, teasing Lily for being an overachiever.

Soon, they were all bickering and bantering. There was laughter, hugs, and old inside jokes that made Regulus jealous.

He was standing there with his bag on his shoulders, utterly perplexed, watching Sirius hug Marlene, his fingers in her hair and a grin on his face.

“Looks like you accidentally reunited the class of ‘77 and ‘78,” Evan said, who was standing next to Regulus with his hands in his pockets. He apparently had no intention of joining. Regulus should have guessed that crowds and hugs weren’t his thing.

“I had no idea they knew each other,” Regulus said, shaking his head.

Thankfully, Crouch’s private jet was large enough to fit them all in. Barty and Evan disappeared into the cockpit. Sirius, Marlene and Dorcas were sitting in the front, Mary, Lily and Remus in the middle, and James and Regulus sat in the back. Regulus sat at the window, James right next to him. Regulus briefly wondered why James didn’t mingle with his friends, but when James yawned, Regulus realized he was probably as exhausted as he was. They’d trained non-stop the past few weeks, and now that they were actually going, now that they were travelling, they could take a breather.

“Stop making out in the cockpit and get us in the air!” Marlene shouted at some point, kicking the door to the cockpit with her boots.

Barty’s voice croaked over the speakers. “Ladies, gents, buckle up and shut your mouths. Evan needs to concentrate. He’s ninety percent confident he’ll get us up the first try.”

“Ninety percent chance?” Sirius asked, alarmed. He looked at Remus, who raised his eyebrow.

“Rosier, there’s no such thing as a second try when flying a plane,” Marlene said, kicking the door once more.

“Correction: Evan just told me seventy-five is probably more realistic,” Barty said.

“Oh yeah, no pressure,” Remus mumbled. “It’s just, you know, the lives of ten people in your hands.” Sirius laughed – probably nerves –, and the corners of Remus’ mouth quirked up.

The jet started moving with a jerk. Regulus grabbed the armrests of his seat, tensing up. Even after flying all around the world for his tournaments, there was still always a brief moment when he got nervous. He couldn’t help it.

“Also, we weren’t making out,” Barty clarified.

“He hasn’t changed one bit,” Lily commented dryly. The morning sun streaming in through the window lit her impossibly read hair on fire.

James looked at Regulus. “I’m not sure we’ll make it out of here alive.” He was paler than usual, his body stiff in his seat.

“Has anybody even seen Evan’s license? Like, has anybody ask him to show it?” Mary asked.

There was a collective silence on the plane.

“We’re fucked,” Marlene said tonelessly. “Jesus Christ, we’re fucked. Happy school reunion, everyone.”

“I swear, I always end up putting my life on the line when I’m with you,” Mary said. “Every time we’re in the same room, it’s always a near-death experience.”

The jet was gaining speed. The lamps along the take-off runway were starting to blur, and a Regulus’ bones vibrated in his chest.

James was frozen in his seat, staring straight ahead, his skin white as a sheet.

Regulus looked at him, eyeing the quiet panic on James’ face. “You’re scared of flying,” he said, surprised.

“I’m not,” James said between clenched teeth, not looking at him as though he wanted to avoid accidentally looking past Regulus and catch a glimpse at the runway. “I just don’t like being in a plane flown by Evan Rosier, who, the last time I saw him, wrecked a car.”

The pressure on Regulus’ chest increased and he was pressed into his seat. He forced himself to stay calm. And then, the plane took off.

James grabbed Regulus’ wrist, making Regulus look at him. “Distract me.”

“What?”

“Distract me until we’re in the air.”

Regulus looked at him, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “You are afraid of flying.”

“Regulus-“

“You want to hear a secret?” Regulus asked, cutting him off.

James immediately seemed to forget where he was, holding his breath, nodding.

“You remember the first time I saw you?” Regulus asked. “In that hotel lobby?”

James nodded again. “Yeah?” he said. He still hadn’t let go of Regulus’ wrist, but his grip had loosened.

Regulus felt his heart fill with a bittersweet feeling, aware of all the things that could have gone wrong since that moment, never allowing them to have the life they had now. “I already knew I wasn’t gonna be just a game. When I looked at you and you smiled like that, I knew I was going to spend all my time thinking about you,” He smiled, frowning a little. “And I was right. When I went up into my room, I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“Oh,” James said.

“Yeah,” Regulus said, smiling.

“I love you,” James blurted, clearly without thinking.

Regulus looked at him. “Tell me something new,” he said, but it was without the usual dryness. His voice was soft.

James smiled cautiously, one second away from leaning in and kissing him.

Then, the plane was horizontal, and Sirius and Marlene cheered, throwing their hands in the air, Remus let out a string of curses that would have made Barty blush, straightening in his seat, and James was jolted out of his trance, slowly relaxing, letting go of Regulus’ wrist.

It was too late though, because Sirius, who had gotten up from his seat now that it was safe, had caught sight of it. He raised an eyebrow and his eyes snapped to James, who immediately ducked.

“Oh shit,” James whispered.

Sirius, his expression dark, walked over and grabbed the backrests to steady himself. He narrowed his eyes at how close they were sitting. “James,” he growled. “A word.”

“Seriously?” Regulus asked, incredulous. “Sirius, you have nothing to say in this.”

“He’s my best friend,” Sirius said, his jaw set, “and you’re my brother. I think I do have something to say in this.”

Regulus glared up at him. “You don’t have to protect-“

“I do,” Sirius said sharply. “Because you don’t know how to do it. James.”

“Fine,” James said, shrinking under Sirius’ gaze, holding his hands up. “Okay. Don’t argue, please.” He got up from his seat and throwing one last gaze at Regulus, walking down the aisle.

Before Sirius followed him, he raised his eyebrow at Regulus. “Seriously? Him?”

Regulus shrugged. “It’s not my fault his di-“

“Oookay,” Sirius said, turning away. “Jesus.”

Regulus watched Sirius grab James’ arm and drag him to the end of the corridor, where he pushed his index finger into his chest and started telling him something in a low voice, his eyes holding a warning. Regulus sank back into his seat, rolling his eyes and staring out the window. It was true that there was a truce, but Sirius hadn’t gained back any of his big brother privileges. He had no right to threaten James, no right to come between them.

When James returned to his seat, he wouldn’t tell him what Sirius had said, but for the rest of the flight, he kept his hands to himself, and it made Regulus even angrier at Sirius. They had only started touching again, restoring trust in each other, after all those days they had spent apart, and Regulus still couldn’t get enough. He was still starving for James’ affection.

They landed in the early hours of the morning. The sun came up and painted the sky orange and pink when the jet touched down. Somehow, Barty had gotten a permit – he wouldn’t say how, and no one really wanted to know anyways – and they all grabbed their bags, joyfully bantering as they got out of the plane. The air was crisp, but Regulus breathed it in greedily. It was the only way he believed he was in Russia, that he was really here.

James was walking behind him and briefly pressed his flat hand on Regulus’ lower back, knowing what was going through Regulus’ head. Regulus slowed down until James had caught up, melting into his touch, and looked up at him. When James noticed his gaze, he broke into a grin.

“I told you we were gonna find a way,” he said quietly.

Regulus raised an eyebrow at him. “You have nothing to do with this.”

“I have everything to do with this,” James said, feigning offense. “I did the hard part.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” James said. He threw a quick gaze at Sirius to make sure he was out of earshot. Then, he brought his mouth near Regulus’ ear. “You have no idea how many times I resisted the urge to kiss you for the last few weeks just to not distract you from your training.”

“Wow,” Regulus said, but it came out weak as his throat had suddenly run dry.

“Yeah,” James said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “But it’s alright. I can do two more days.”

James smiled at him suggestively, and Regulus couldn’t breathe.

“James, stop flirting with my brother!” Sirius growled from behind.

“I wasn’t!”, James said, feigning innocence, turning around to Sirius, holding his hands up.

“He was,” Marlene, who was walking in front of Regulus, said without turning around. Jesus, that girl was a menace.

“Get a room, you two,” Dorcas said. “Seriously. Please.”

“Planning on it,” James said, then immediately covered his mouth with his hand, ducking his head as he realized what he had just said.

“James, you are not sharing a room with my brother,” Sirius snapped.

“But what about chess? He needs to study!” James whined, walking backwards.

“Yeah, chess, not anatomy,” Sirius said dryly, readjusting the strap of his backpack.

“Sirius, back off,” Regulus warned. He shot him a dark glare.

“James, keep your hands off my brother,” Sirius insisted, completely ignoring Regulus, knowing that James would listen to him.

“Too late,” Regulus said curtly.

Sirius’ steps faltered. “What?” he asked weakly.

“Anyone else feel the need to share their love life? Lily? Mary? Anything you want us to know?” Marlene asked casually.

“James-“ Sirius said through bared teeth.

“Sirius,” Remus said, his hand suddenly on Sirius’ back. Sirius’ body went rigid. “Regulus’s slept with your neighbour’s son when he was sixteen. For like, months. Stop being oblivious.”

“What,” Sirius breathed, stopping dead in his tracks. The others kept walking and they quickly fell behind. “But he was helping you with maths,” he exclaimed as he hurried to catch up.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “As if I’d ever need help with that.”

“I once caught Regulus and Barty making out in the living room,” Dorcas chimed in.

“You what?” James asked sharply, spinning around to Barty. His eyes were ablaze.

Barty just smiled crookedly, not taking his hands out of his pockets. “Relax, Potter, it was before you two started f-“

“Don’t,” Mary said, covering her ears. “Please don’t.”

James turned around to Regulus. “Barty? Seriously?”

Regulus shrugged, readjusting the backpack on his shoulders. “I have nothing to say for myself.”

“I’m a good kisser, Potter, just so that you know,” Barty said smugly.

“Really?” Lily asked, turning to Evan for confirmation.

He shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person, Red,” he said, unbothered.

Barty wanted to say something else, but Remus had already stopped two cabs to get them two the hotel and the group separated; with James, Regulus, Mary, Lily in one car, and Sirius, Remus, Dorcas and Marlene in the other.

Barty and Evan stayed behind. “We’re not going to the hotel yet,” Barty declared. Evan was grinning his dangerous smile. And before anyone could argue against them, they were already gone, disappearing in the mass of people walking down the sidewalk.

In the end, Regulus and James did share the same room, but only because Remus at one point whispered something in Sirius’ ear from behind, and Sirius was suddenly all over the place, his cheeks slightly red. He dropped the key to his room twice and nearly left his luggage in the lobby. It would have been pathetic if Regulus didn’t know James had the exact same power over him.

Regulus went straight into the shower, letting the scalding hot water run over his body. The anxiety that had simmered in his gut had now risen to his chest, making it hard to breathe. Every time he thought about having to face Riddle, his breath caught in his throat. It was like a constant heart attack. When Regulus had dozed off on the airplane, he had dreamt of losing.

After what felt like an eternity, he forced himself to shut the water off and step out of the shower. He put on his clothes, avoiding looking into the mirror until he was dressed in jeans and a large t-shirt, and then stepped out of the bathroom.

James was standing in the middle of the room, Regulus’ bottle of pills in his hand.

Regulus froze in the doorway.

James’ features had been blank, but when his gaze snatched to Regulus, there was a brewing storm in it.

There was a long beat of silence as they eyed each other.

All Regulus could think of was why now, why did it have to happen now, when he was so close to getting everything he wanted?

“Are these yours? Why are you taking them?” James asked. Regulus realized a part of James was still hoping that Regulus could give a sensible explanation, because his anger was controlled. Underneath it, however, he looked so hurt Regulus felt his mind crumble to pieces.

“Why were you searching my stuff?” Regulus asked. His voice was husky. His mind was working overtime, trying to come up with an excuse, even though he fully knew James deserved not being lied to and he knew he was going to tell him the truth.

“I wasn’t,” James said, looking at the bottle with a frown. “I picked up your jacket from the floor and this fell out.”

Regulus remembered burying his hands in his pockets on the car ride to the hotel; his anxiety like a hole in his chest. The pills were his reassurance. Touching them always made him feel better, because it reminded him that there was always a way out of whatever he was feeling, a way to quiet his mind, to make him think clearer. It was like an emergency brake.

“Regulus, what are they for?” James’ tone was hard and unforgiving.

Regulus winced. He couldn’t help it, he’d been conditioned to fear people who raised his voice at him. He was eighteen, and never going to get rid of it.

“Regulus,” James repeated when Regulus didn’t immediately answer.

Regulus held James’ gaze, his heart pounding in his chest. He was one second away from losing his composure. “They’re tranquilizers,” he eventually managed. “I’ve been taking them since I was thirteen.”

“Why?” James asked tonelessly.

“First because of my insomnia.” The words nearly wouldn’t come out, but Regulus gritted his teeth, trying not to choke on them. “And then because they clear my head and make me a better chess player.”

James didn’t bat an eye. “So the journalists were right.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“Yes.”

James shook his head, letting the hand in which he held the bottle fall to his side. “You don’t need them to be the best chess player you can be.”

Regulus took a deep breath. “I’ve also been taking them too take the edge off.”

“Off of what?”

Regulus gave a helpless smile. “Everything.” His sight blurred, but he angrily blinked the tears away. “I was very, very lonely, for a very long time, James.” He knew that it wasn’t right to keep telling James the same things over and over again like some fucking broken record. He also knew that they were the only excuse he had. What he didn’t know whether it justified who he had become.

“I was under so much pressure all the time. When I was younger, I used to get panic attacks before tournaments, and sometimes, during games, my thoughts just keep tangling up and I – I can’t find my way out. That’s why I kept taking them.”

James’ face was blank except for a simmering sadness and hurt that he had carefully tucked away. “I was right. You’re an addict,” he said quietly. The tone of his voice felt like a punch to the chest.

“You knew that,” Regulus said through clenched teeth, fighting over control with his emotions. “And you still didn’t stay away from me.” He tried not to let it show how his ribcage was cracking open at the thought of losing James after everything they’d been through. It was tragic, risking too lose everything he had ever loved within the same twenty-four hours. He was in a parallel universe, facing the greatest loss of his life. It was ironic, really, how he’d been so close to getting to have both.

“Are you still taking them?”

“No,” Regulus breathed.

James’ face grew dark as a thought struck him. “Were you gonna take them tomorrow?”

“Not if I don’t need to. I’ve been trying not to take them, since I’ve moved back into your apartment. But I took a lot after-“ Regulus trailed off. He started again. “I took a lot of them when I thought I was never going to Russia and it’s hard coming down from that dosage.”

It was scary to see James angry. The kindest people were always the scariest when anger gripped them. “You know what’s also hard, Regulus? Realizing you’ve been high this entire time we trained together. And maybe, you were even high when we …” James trailed off, troubled.

Regulus didn’t need him to finish that sentence. “I swear, James, I was never high when we did anything! Please, I swear,” Regulus growled, taking a step forward. “I’ve thought about taking them from time to time, but I didn’t.”

The muscles in James’ jaw were working. “I don’t know how to believe you. After everything that’s happened, I don’t know how to believe you.”

“Believe me or don’t,” Regulus said, trying to appear unbothered because the other option was to break down in front of James, and that was not going to happen. “But I’m telling the truth.”

“But that’s not enough.” James shook his head, looking as though he would do anything in his power to make himself believe Regulus’ words. But he couldn’t. “Not if you’ve lied about this from the moment I met you.”

Regulus swallowed, then briefly closed his eyes, steeling himself. He held out his hand. “Give them to me, and I’ll flush them down the toilet.”

James didn’t move, just looking from Regulus’ hand to his eyes. “What if you lose,” he then said into the silence in the room, “and it’s my fault?”

Regulus tried to tell himself that this wasn’t a possibility. He’d trained so hard, he’d gotten so far. He told himself his thoughts were not going to tangle up tomorrow, or the day after, on the most important day of his life. He knew it was a blatant lie, but there were never going to be certitudes in life. Nobody could step in and play for him, in the end, only he could save himself. No matter what James said, there was nothing he could do to actually make sure he was going to win. Out there, against Riddle, he was completely on his own.

“I’d rather lose the game,” Regulus replied, “than lose you, James.”

James considered him for a very long time before speaking. “You might regret it for the rest of your life.”

“I’m also going to regret losing you for the rest of my life,” Regulus said quietly. “I can live my life knowing everything I gave wasn’t enough, that I wasn’t good enough, but I can’t live my life knowing you were the cost of my win. I can’t do that.”

James swallowed. “Regulus, I need to know if this love between us is not only mine.”

“It’s not,” Regulus said softly, stepping forward, and pressing his lips onto James’.

James didn’t move for a second, cold anger still radiating off of him. But when Regulus wanted to draw back, regretting his impulsive action, hating himself for forcing himself onto James like that when he was that vulnerable, James’ arms wrapped around him, drawing him closer, and as though he couldn’t help himself, he kissed him back. Regulus’ mind immediately calmed, his thoughts like the surface of a undisturbed sea.

Regulus drew away to look at him, meeting his gaze. His heart was throbbing in his chest. “James, I love you. I love you so much is scares me. And I don’t ever want to lose you ever again. I can’t love anyone else after knowing you.”

Surprise flickered over James’ face and was quickly replaced by a tentative smile, and Regulus felt a pang of guilt for having been able to say those words out loud earlier. James cupped his face. “I love you too, Regulus Black,” he said, watching the words sink in.

Then, he drew Regulus back into his embrace, one of his hands in Regulus’ hair. “And I promise you, we’ll get through this night.”

Regulus pressed his face in James’ shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around James’ body. They were so close the thought he could feel James’ heartbeat. It was his favourite rhythm in the world. He breathed in his scent, wishing them someplace else, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. None of them had ever deserved misery.

“So, you’re sharing a room with me, but you’re not going to kiss me back?” Marlene asked reproachfully, letting her bag fall to the floor. The hotel room overlooked a big street and the sound of the cars wafted through the opened window. It was late. Marlene crossed her arms in front of her chest, waiting for Dorcas to say something.

She had spent the entire flight either stealing glances at her while she was asleep, or cursing her in her mind, and she was done with it. She was simply fed up. If this thing between them wasn’t resolved while they were in Russia, she was going to take another plane, one that wouldn’t bring her back home to Dorcas’ apartment.

“Why did you even ask the staff to give us a room with a double bed if nothing’s ever going to happen between us?”

Dorcas hesitated, then turned around. Her golden eyeshadow glimmered in the wan light. “Now, Marlene?”

“Yeah, now,” Marlene said sharply. “Because I’m sick of it.” She took a step forward, glaring at Dorcas. “You do know I wouldn’t allow it this to happen with any other girl, right?”

Dorcas’ stare was unwavering. “Yeah, I know. That’s exactly the problem, Marlene.”

“What?” Marlene asked, caught off-guard. She had expected Dorcas to evade the question, she hadn’t expected confrontation.

But, all the better. She was good at confrontation.

Dorcas sighed. “You’re not you when you’re with me. Marls, you’re brazen and insolent and bold. You are not whoever you are when you’re around me. It’s like your turn the volume down on all of the traits that I love about you and that make you you.”

Marlene blinked at her, not comprehending.

Dorcas sighed again, put her bag on the floor and sat down on the bed. She let her hand ghost over the soft bedsheets like she sometimes did when she was distractedly admiring fabric, looking down. “I can’t be with you if some part of you thinks you have to change yourself for me.”

“What are you talking about?” Marlene asked, exasperated. She was so tired of Dorcas being cryptic.

Dorcas looked up at her. “I’m talking about how you keep telling me you wouldn’t let other girls get away with it, but you let me get away with it. I’m waiting for you to treat me like them. I’m waiting for you to be you around me.” Frustration bled into her tone. “Marls, when we got to know each other in Hogwarts, you had a bad reputation. Remember when you used to climb out on the roof with girls and make out with them? You constantly did stupid things, you always did whatever the hell you wanted. You wouldn’t let anyone tell you how to live your life. I liked that version of you. I really, really liked that version of you, so much that I fell in love with it. But when I started flirting back, you suddenly started acting strange around me.”

Marlene’s mind was still hung up on the word love. She groped for words. “Dorcas-“

Dorcas seemed unable to stop. “This is not you, Marls. You’ve been staying in my apartment for the last two months, hovering around me all day long, talking to me as though I’m made up of glass. When I invited you, I thought I’d accompany you to get a tattoo in the middle of the night, or you’d take off your shirt in the kitchen just to make me stutter and blush, or you’d flirt shamelessly with me, or I’d sit behind you on your motorbike while you go over the speed limit. None of that has happened. You stare at me all day and look away when I catch you doing it, that’s it.”

“I kissed you,” Marlene hissed, glaring at her. “I made a move, and you rejected me. I was bold and you rejected me.“

Dorcas got onto her feet. “Marlene, listen. I only stopped you because you don’t realize you’re not yourself around me. I need to you to see that first. I need you to realize that you don’t have to change yourself for me.” She hesitated, her eyebrows knitted, wringing her hands. “Marls, I wanted to kiss you back so badly. I nearly went over to your bedroom that night.”

Marlene’s breath hitched. She was at a loss for words. A part of her was relieved Dorcas finally acknowledged what was going on between them, god, she was so relieved, but she was angry at Dorcas for saying things like that about her. She’d always prided herself in being her truest self at all times. Maybe it had been wishful thinking.

Dorcas briefly touched her face, the touch of a ghost on Marlene’s chin. “I don’t need you to be soft, or caring. I need you to be yourself. You are not scaring me away if you are.”

Marlene swallowed, the skin on her face tingling. Just like that, Dorcas had touched a sore spot of her soul, a wound that had never quite closed. “But what if I do?” she heard herself whisper. “I’ve never cared about anyone or anything in my life, Dorcas. Nothing in my life has ever been permanent. I was okay with losing things, because I didn’t care. But I care about you so much I don’t know what to do if I drive you away.”

“Whatever you do, you can’t drive me away,” Dorcas said. “I’m serious. I’m not scared of you, Marlene. You have to try a lot harder to scare me.” She smiled helplessly.

Marlene held her gaze, afraid of missing the flicker of emotion in Dorcas’ eyes that told her everything she needed to know. She took a deep breath. “I’ve been too much so many times, Dorcas. Whatever I’ve done, I was always too much, too loud, too defiant. I never get it quite right. But I’m either happy or I’m what people want me to be, it’s mutually exclusive.”

Dorcas knitted her eyebrows, a little alarmed. “Marls, since when do you care what people think of you?”

“Since every girlfriend I’ve ever had left me, Dorcas!” Marlene said sharply, angry. She hugged herself, drilling her fingers into her upper arms, and raised her chin, her jaw set. “You have no idea how many girls I’ve dated in Hogwarts, have you?”

Dorcas was silent for a moment, weighing her words. “You had a reputation,” she said carefully, “but-“

Marlene rolled her eyes. “I had that reputation because all the girls I’ve ever been with only used me to experiment, and then they’d tell me I was too much, and they discarded me. I always thought I was interesting to them, that they were attracted to me, and they were, I know they were, but it became, I dunno, like a fucking game to them. Sleep with McKinnon, learn what’s behind the myth. Drop her once you found out what she’s all about.”

The silence that followed was heavy, Dorcas’ shock was deafening.

Marlene hated silences, so she broke it before it became suffocating. And what was the point of confrontation if she didn’t tell Dorcas everything? “The worst thing is, I liked it. I did. I liked what they saw in me. I was this mysterious, hot, flirtatious girl and I could do whatever the hell I wanted. I liked having that reputation, and I liked that I didn’t have to change myself so they’d like me, but that what I was was somehow intriguing. They did like me for myself. But they still left me, because they couldn’t stand being with me for longer than a few weeks, because it’s fucking exhausting to be with me.”

“It’s not exhausting to be with you,” Dorcas said tonelessly. Quiet anger was edged into every one of her beautiful features; the line of her shoulders, the line of her mouth. She was pale. “It’s just that these girls never cared in the first place. You were an exciting adventure to them, Marls. And I can’t believe they just fucking used you like that.”

“Yeah, well, I fucking let them,” Marlene said, clenching her teeth, uncrossing her arms. “I wanted them to. So it’s my fault.” She glanced at the ceiling. “And I fucking fell in love with every single one of them.”

Dorcas stepped forward, cupping her face, then drew her into a hug, wrapping her arms around Marlene’s lanky frame.

“Oh, Marlene,” she sighed, her hand at nape of Marlene’s neck. “I never knew. You always looked so happy. God, you were so smug. It was almost annoying, seeing you with all those beautiful girls. And you always moved on so quickly and you were never sad.” Marlene closed her eyes, leaning into her. She wasn’t a hugger, but what reputation did she have to maintain here? “I always wondered where you put all that sadness. You started thinking something was wrong with you, and I didn’t even notice.”

“I never broke up with any of them,” Marlene murmured, angrily blinking away her tears. Jesus, she was not going to cry. “I was always broken up with. Every fucking time. How could I not think that something is wrong with me?”

Dorcas’ fingertips were in her hair, stroking it softly, and shivers ran down Marlene’s spine. God, how often had she lain awake in bed imaging what it would feel like if Dorcas ran her fingers through her hair.

“I wish I could turn back time to when we were on that lake, you remember that?” Dorcas said, her hot breath on Marlene’s skin.

“Of course I remember that,” Marlene said into Dorcas’ neck. She smiled despite herself, her chin resting on Dorcas’ shoulder. “I couldn’t take your eyes off of you when you took your shirt off and went swimming.”

“I wish I’d have asked you out right there and then when I saw you looking at me like that. But we were so young and I barely knew you. I didn’t know how to ask a girl out; I wasn’t brave enough. And then you started going out with all those girls and I thought you were so happy. No attachment, no feelings, just the thrill of it. And I thought, well, that’s not something I can give her, and so I didn’t even try.”

Marlene pulled back to look Dorcas in the eyes. “There was, in fact, a shitload of attachments and feelings,” Marlene said, smiling ruefully.

“Well, I know that now,” Dorcas said softly, her finger’s ghosting over Marlene’s cheekbone. “I’m sorry, Marls. I truly am. I should have realized what was going on.”

Marlene shook her head, feeling awkward now. She let her hands settle on Dorcas’ waist just to steady herself. “There’s no way you could have known. I had a reputation to maintain,” she said, smiling ruefully.

“Oh, Marlene,” Dorcas said quietly, with the sadness of someone trying not to mourn what hadn’t happened, shaking her head. “You and Sirius, you’ve always been too good at fooling all of us, with you stupid leather jackets and your sly smiles.”

“I know,” Marlene said. “I know.”

“Idiots. Both of you.”

“I know.”

And then, Marlene put her finger under Dorcas’ chin, lifted it, and, tilting her head, kissed Dorcas Meadowes, the most beautiful woman on earth. And the most beautiful woman on earth kissed her back.

Evan and Barty walked aimlessly through the streets of the city. Back at the airport, Barty had sensed the last thing Evan wanted was to be locked into a hotel room for the rest of the night, so without talking about it, they had left their friends. Barty liked hotel rooms, liked them because of their soullessness, liked them because they erased his identity when he stepped into one. He could forget his father that way, because in hotels, there was no past, just infinite present.

But for Evan’s sake, they were outside. It was getting dark, but it wasn’t cold. The wind kept tugging on Barty’s hair and his clothes. They didn’t talk much – Evan had his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. He seemed absent-minded. The line of his jaw was sharp in the light of the street lanterns.

Barty was just relieved he was somewhere else for once, not locked up in Dorcas’ apartment. It made him wonder if this was what his life was supposed to be like – doing things, going places. He hadn’t been doing any of that for years, had been rotting in hotel rooms or his friends’ flats. Missing out on everything his life could have been, and worst of all, missing out on being a part of Evan’s life.

Barty was jerked out of his reverie when Evan suddenly stopped, gripping the banister and staring down onto the river. Barty frowned – Evan didn’t linger, ever – but stood next to him, his elbows on the cold metal of the banister.

“It’s the same fucking water we’ve been walking along for the past thirty minutes, Rosier.” Barty wasn’t even looking down at the dark water, but used it as an excuse to study Evan’s side profile. It made him want to touch the new scar on Evan’s eyebrow, and he shoved his hands in the pocket of his jacket to stop him from doing something stupid.

“Shut up, Crouch.”

“You shut up, Rosier.”

Evan fell silent, frowning down at the water. The wind was tugging at his messy hair, the light from the lanterns tainting his skin almost bronze. When he hadn’t said anything after a full minute, Barty grew impatient.

“Rosier, I’m freezing my arse of, can we-“

Evan covered Barty’s mouth with his hand. “Crouch, let me think for one fucking minute, alright?” he growled.

Barty immediately shut up, trying not to let on how much he was taken off-guard by the sudden contact. One or two years ago, he would have given everything to have Evan’s fingers anywhere near his mouth. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but it was still somehow electrifying, and a jolt ran through his nerves, down his spine to his stomach. It took him way too long to shake Evan’s hand off, and the smirk on his face told him that Evan had noticed.

Barty shoved him a little, but Evan was too sturdy, and just smiled in his apocalyptic way. Evan’s mouth was like a weapon, and every time the corners quirked up, Barty was already ready to surrender.

“Minute’s over. Can we go now?” he asked, letting annoyance bleed into his tone to mask just how much it had affected him.

When Evan didn’t immediately respond, Barty turned away and started walking, but Evan grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, tugging at him until his back touched the banister. He held him there, his flat hand planted on Barty’s chest.

“Crouch, we need to talk about this.”

Barty took one look at his face and realized something. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Evan wasn’t unfazed. His restlessness and his impatience were always right there, but underneath a layer of calm, a watch-me-not-give-a-fuck-attitude, and a dangerous smile. Now, something was bothering Evan, and Barty hadn’t even noticed, because he’d been too busy memorising every tiny detail of Evan’s face before he’d be gone again.

“Talk about what?” he asked, raising his eyebrow. His heart was pounding in his chest. Underneath his open jacket, he was just wearing a t-shirt. He could feel the warmth of Evan’s hand through the thin fabric.

Evan let go of him, seemingly unsure of himself. Even after years, and a lot of boys that Evan must have been with – Barty knew relationships didn’t need to involve sex –, he had always let their relationship be dictated by how far Barty allowed him to go. Barty always got to drew the line, which Evan always respected. And this was definitely about that line.

Barty’s heart skipped a beat as the realization sunk in. “What the fuck are you trying to say, Rosier? We said we weren’t gonna do this.”

Evan’s jaw was set and he avoided Barty’s gaze, shoving his hands in his pockets again and stoically looking at the river again. “I know we did. I fucking suggested it.”

Anger rose in his throat. “You said you weren’t gonna do it. You can’t keep playing with my heart. Why the fuck-“

“Because,” Evan said, turning around to him and glaring at him, “you are the only one who knows how to love me.”

Barty was at a loss. He had no idea what to say. A small knot had dissolved somewhere in his chest, but he kept the relief it brought with it at bay. “What are you doing, Rosier?” He glared at him. “What the fuck is this?”

“This is me telling you that it’s not working. The whole staying away from each other thing.”

“So?”

“So,” Evan said, his shoulder tensed, showing just how much he hated being at a loss, “I thought we should talk about it.”

“But you’re not talking about it. You’re just saying everything besides what you need to say,” Barty replied, sharply.

For a moment, he thought Evan would just shut the whole thing down, walk away, never bring it up again. Barty could see that he was considering it. But, he stayed and seemed to call upon all his willpower. “Okay. Fine. I’ll fucking talk about it.” He took a deep breath. “Two problems,” he began. “I don’t want to sleep with you. And, I don’t want to spent my entire life locked up in some apartment with you.”

Barty ran a hand over his face, forcing himself to keep breathing. He pushed the anger down; reminding himself that that was his father’s response, and he wasn’t his father. Sometimes, he needed to deescalate his stupid mind. “Evan, I don’t need you to sleep with me.”

“But you want me to.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“Seriously, Rosier, no. There are other ways. We could work around that. I don’t need-”

“But you were going to kiss me in the car.”

Barty rolled his eyes. “Because I didn’t know. If I had known, I wouldn’t have made it into such a problem, for fuck’s sake. What do you think I am? A sex addict?” Barty huffed. “There were some boys, Evan, when you went away. I had sex with them. It was fine. But I can be happy without it. I’m serious.”

Evan eyed him, warily. His gaze was dark and unreadable. “I’m not gonna change my mind about it,” he warned. “I won’t sleep with you.”

“Jesus Christ, Rosier, please tell me that wasn’t the only reason why things didn’t work out between us,” Barty said, exasperated. He knew fully well it wasn’t. Things had been so complicated back then, with his father, his anger, his purposelessness. No matter how brazen Evan had been, it was Barty who hadn’t been ready to move on. They had always been going into different directions, Barty couldn’t let go of the past, Evan couldn’t even bear the present.

But Evan had sensed that things had shifted and had seen that maybe, just maybe, things had become possible now. A second chance. Or maybe he’d just been fed up with fighting against the invisible string that was tying them together, tugging at them every second of their life.

Evan still didn’t seem sure if he believed Barty, but let it go. “Problem two: I need you to come with me, Barty. Everywhere. I can’t settle down. I’ve tried, and I can’t fucking do it. I’ll lose my mind.”

“I know,” Barty said calmly. He hesitated, conflicted. “Jesus, I know.” He paused again. “We can…I mean, we can try…I can come with you.”

Evan seemed surprised. “You can? You sure?”

“How should I fucking know?” he asked, shrugging darkly. “Maybe I can, maybe I can’t, I dunno. You’ve sort of sprung it on me, Evan. What did you expect? That I’d say yes without thinking about it? I was done thinking of us that way.”

Evan shrugged, his hands still in his pockets. “You just…fuck, you just never wanted to fucking leave with me. You told me you couldn’t. I was sort of waiting for you to-“

Anger, on. “What the fuck, Rosier? I told you four years ago that I couldn’t leave with you, and then you were gone. And when you showed up again, I was over you. We agreed we wouldn’t start anything. You never once asked me again, I didn’t fucking know you had a problem with our deal. You suggested it in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, it was a stupid idea.” The muscles in Evan’s jaw were working. “I’m asking you now.”

Barty stared at him, carefully pushing the anger down, again. He was not his father. This was not his rage. He couldn’t be angry at both of them for the years they had wasted. The anger couldn’t bring them back, either. He took a deep breath. “Rosier, you’re full of shit.”

For some reason, that caught Evan so off-guard that he smiled, just a little. He quirked his eyebrow at him. “You’re full of shit, Crouch.” He retrieved a cigarette box from his pocket and lit it, shielding it from the wind with his hand.

Before he could take a drag, Barty had snatched it out of his hand and brought it to his lips. Evan watched him, amused, a glint of gasoline in his eyes. He held out his hand and Barty handed it back, watched Evan take it between his nimble fingers. The tip glowed orange in the night.

“Fine. I’ll follow you. One condition, though,” Barty finally said, keenly aware that if Evan refused, Barty would accept it. “I still get to see you shirtless from time to time.”

Evan huffed. “I do change my clothes, Barty,” he said sarcastically.

“That’s not enough. I need at least twenty minutes a day.”

“Horny,” Evan commented.

Barty took his cigarette again. “Says the guy who literally kept undressing me with his eyes during in class.”

“I can still think people are aesthetically pleasing. I just don’t wanna fuck them.”

“Well, I find you very aesthetically pleasing, so do me a favour and flash me your abs from time to time.” Barty took a drag, and Evan watched him.

There was a moment of silence. “You’re really gonna leave with me?” Evan asked, then.

“Yeah,” Barty said, in the most nonchalant way possible. In reality, his heart was fluttering in his chest, a wild euphoria had seized him. All the knots in his stomach had loosened. He hadn’t felt like this in a while, had been so used to being underwater, unable to breathe, that he had forgotten how he used to feel.

The warm feeling might not have been happiness, but maybe it was peace. It was the next best thing. Maybe, it was even enough.

And now, looking at Evan, with his messy hair, his devilish smile, his sturdy frame, something inside of him clicked into place, and a realization dawned on him.

He didn’t need a purpose. Maybe nobody even had one, maybe that was the secret that everyone in the world carried around with them. And that might just be okay. So what if he had nothing figured out yet? Evan was here, with him, in Russia.

They were going to be okay. All Barty had ever wanted, without knowing it, was to simply be at peace. And he was with Evan.

Chapter Text

Dorcas was in a room full of a dozen women in different stages of undress, but all she could look at was Marlene. Marlene in her leather jacket, with the bleached hair, her straight, sharp nose, her pale skin. The chipped black nail polish on her nails. Her legs in her black skinny jeans. She was tall, taller than most women, but her posture was bad, so she wasn’t the tallest in the room. She was the only one who was fully dressed, sitting the other way round on a chair, watching the chaos around her with a raised eyebrow. She seemed completely unbothered – she was used to chaos of a band getting ready for a show.

Dorcas’ eyes kept darting to her. She couldn’t help it. It was embarrassing, but after last night, it was impossible not to stare at her. She still remembered how Marlene’s skin had felt under her fingertips, how Marlene’s hand had pressed against her neck, how her fingers had curled into her t-shirt.

Everyone was in a hurry, chattering in various languages – Russian, English, and some others Dorcas didn’t speak –, putting on dresses, shoes, pants, styling their hair. It smelt of hair spray, make-up, heavy perfume. None of the girls were designers. Dorcas was the only one to wear her own designs. She’d be nervous if she didn’t know that the dress she had designed was worthy of a goddess. It was one of two pieces she was most proud of. One she had brought for herself, and one, well, one she had brought for Marlene to wear.

Marlene just didn’t know it yet.

Dorcas had planned to use the element of surprise to her advantage, knowing fully well that the last thing Marlene wanted was to dress up to be judged by people she didn’t care about. She wasn’t a mannequin. But Marlene had always been eager to put on whatever Dorcas had handed her, even at three in the morning, and that gave Dorcas hope that she might still agree to it.

Because the thing was, the dress didn’t work on anyone else. Dorcas had made it just for Marlene. And Dorcas didn’t want to see anyone else in it, not when it was made for Marlene’s body, for the line of her shoulders, the curve of her neck, the slimness of her waist.

Time was running out and Dorcas plucked up courage. “Marls? Can you help me with the zipper?”

Marlene got up from her chair and walked over to her. She’d been staring at Dorcas almost the entire time, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Last night had changed things between them; the power balance was even. Marlene was confident, cocky, self-assured. It was almost intimidating how Marlene was teasing her with just glances and touches. But mostly, it was thrilling.

Marlene stepped behind Dorcas, one of her hands settling on her waist, the other briefly lingering on her exposed back, five fingertips pressing into her skin. Dorcas could feel her breath on her neck. Shivers ran down her spine, and she thought, yes. This.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Dorcas remembered why she had really asked Marlene to come to her. “Marls, you need to put on something for me.”

Marlene’s hand stopped. “What?” she asked, taken off-guard.

“Marlene, zipper,” Dorcas reminded her.

Marlene blinked, then regained her composure and zipped up Dorcas’s dress.

Dorcas turned around. “You’ll need to put on one of my pieces and walk on the runway with me.”

Marlene swallowed, then shook her head, her body tensing up. “Absolutely not.”

Dorcas had expected that answer, only allowed herself to push Marlene so far – if she said no, the last thing Dorcas wanted for her to feel guilty about it. “Marls, please. You’ve worn so many things for me. This isn’t any different, babe.”

Marlene briefly startled at the pet name, biting her lip, but then sternly shook her head. “No chance. I’m not doing it.”

“Why not?” It was her last attempt. Dorcas wasn’t going to pressure her into it if she really, really didn’t want to. She had no right to do that.

Marlene seemed both frustrated and angry, her eyes ablaze. “Because I’m lanky and I’m awkward and I hate wearing dresses. That’s why.”

“It’s not a dress,” Dorcas said. Then, she cupped Marlene’s face with her hands and looked her in the eyes. “And you’re a literal goddess and I love you so much so please do me a favour and put on the outfit, because my career literally depends on this.”

Marlene had stilled. Then, the confidence oozed back in, masking how flustered she was. “Telling me you love me just so that I do what you want is manipulative, Meadowes.”

“But if it’s so clearly working, how can you expect me not to do it?” Dorcas said smugly.

Marlene huffed, amused. “Still manipulation, Dorcas.” Her gaze dropped to Dorcas’ lips, and Dorcas nodded her consent, and Marlene tilted her head and captured Dorcas’ lips. Marlene’s lips were chapped, because she refused to use lip balm, but Dorcas’ couldn’t care less. Loved her for it, actually.

Then, Marlene drew back again. It was a good thing, because Dorcas was starting not to care about the show if it meant that she could just spent a few more minutes kissing Marlene. She had no idea how she had managed not to kiss her all those months. It seemed impossible now, in hindsight.

“If it’s not a dress, what is it?” Marlene asked sceptically.

“You’ll see.”

“Can I wear my leather jacket with it?”

Dorcas smiled. “Actually, yes. Please do.”

Marlene huffed in disbelief. “Meadowes, no freaking way.”

Dorcas shrugged. “Babe, it was the only way I’d ever get you to agree with this.”

The corners of Marlene’s mouth quirked up. “You’re the only person who’s allowed to manipulate me like that, Dorcas. The only one.”

Ten minutes later, Marlene was staring into the mirror, at a loss for words. She blinked at the mirror image, narrowing her eyes at it, touching the fabric, letting her hands ghost over her chest, her belly, her thighs.

“Fuck, Meadowes, I actually like it,” she heard herself concede. “What sort of witchery is this? How did you do that?”

When Dorcas didn’t respond, she turned around to her.

Dorcas was staring at her, her brown eyes drinking in her sight, completely distracted. She obviously hadn’t heard a word Marlene had said. Her eyes just kept darting over Marlene’s body, and Marlene felt a wave of smugness overcome her. Finally, finally, Dorcas was flustered. Finally, there was a crack in her composure.

She kept fidgeting with the jewellery on his wrists, looking like she was very conflicted whether she wanted Marlene out of her clothes or wanted her to keep it on. Both options weren’t merciful.

Marlene snorted. “Now you know how I feel 24/7, Dorcas. Welcome to hell. You could be wearing pyjama shorts and I’d still be looking at you the way you’re looking at me now.”

Dorcas seemed slightly embarrassed, almost mortified, and snapped out of her paralysis. Her usual coolness was gone. “It’s you goddamn legs, Marlene. They’ll be the death of me,” she said, swallowing, starting to fuss with Marlene’s hair just to distract herself.

“Oh yeah? Then why did you decide to show that much of them?”

“Self-interest,” Dorcas said, blushing.

They had ten minute until the show started.

Marlene kissed Dorcas again, her hand under Dorcas’ chin. “Your pieces are the best ones here,” she whispered, their lips inches apart.

Dorcas’ smiled. “I know.”

And in the end, they really were.

They were lying in bed. Remus’ leg was hurting from the flight, but he tried to ignore it. Thankfully, his pain tolerance had gotten quite high over the last years, so the pain wasn’t all-consuming. His head was resting on Sirius’ chest and they were staring at the patterns of light on the ceiling. Sirius’ fingers were stroking Remus’ hair. Neither of them was able to fall asleep, and with all the stress in Remus’ life, he wanted to savour every second of this break anyway.

“Sirius,” Remus suddenly broke the silence.

“Hm?” Sirius asked.

Remus’ heart was palpitating, but he knew he would have to do it eventually, and this seemed like the perfect moment. The thing was, he’d known for a while now, but he hadn’t known how to tell Sirius. He was Remus Lupin. He’d known what he wanted to do with his life the moment his English teacher had handed him his essay and told him he was gifted. He’d been eleven years old.

“Remember when you worked two jobs to make sure I could keep studying?”

“You mean to make sure that I still got some?” Sirius asked, his voice soft with amusement.

Remus huffed, rolling his eyes. “Of course that’s what you remember.”

“Priorities,” Sirius said simply. “But yeah. ‘remember.”

Remus stared at the ceiling, knots in his stomach. “Yeah. So. Those studies? I don’t want to do them anymore.”

Sirius paused, then sat up in bed, and Remus was forced to sit up as well. Nervousness was coursing through his body when he studied Sirius’ face to gauge his reaction. Sirius was frowning, but his warm hand was on Remus’ torso, steadying him.

“You what?” There was no edge in his voice, thank god.

Remus tried to hold his gaze, tried not to stare down at his hands. “Sometime in the last few months, I realized I don’t actually want to be an English teacher.” He waited anxiously for Sirius to hit him with a but you’ve been studying all these years, but to his relief, Sirius didn’t. He just seemed to need a moment to take in the information. Now, Remus did stare at his interlaced fingers.

“The thing with academic validation,” he said, desperate to fill the silence, desperate to justify himself even when he knew he didn’t have to, “is that you’ll do anything to get approval again. I was eleven years old. All I wanted was an adult looking at me and telling me that I was good, that I was gifted, that I had so much potential.”

Sirius was listening intently, but his expression was unreadable. He hadn’t retracted his hand, though.

“And I still love literature, I still love reading and writing, but I don’t want to teach it. I don’t want all those tiny kids sitting in front of me, looking at me and wondering if they’ll be good enough. I don’t want to put any pressure on them.” He paused, then ran a hand through his hair, speaking with more determination now. “I don’t want them to grow up like me. Chasing after numbers on a paper. I don’t want to be responsible for making them think that’s what they’re worth.”

Sirius touched his chin to make him look up again and Remus’ chest grew tight. He was begging Sirius not to say the wrong thing. He’d already made up his mind, but Sirius could still make things harder than they needed to be.

“Remus, since when do you know?”

“Almost half a year,” Remus said without considering his words. It was the truth.

“Jesus. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Sirius shifted, and the warm hand left Remus’ torso only to touch his belly. “Did you seriously think I’d have a problem with that?”

Suddenly, Remus was a bit embarrassed. He shrugged. “Most people have a problem with it. I’ve been doing this for three years now. It’s kind of – I don’t know, it’s kind of wasted time.”

“Wasted time?” Sirius asked, as though he hadn’t even thought about it that way. He was unusually serene. Sometimes, Remus thought that Sirius was wiser than both of them, he’d just decided to hide it, because he wanted to be reckless and break rules, brush everything off like it was nothing. People wouldn’t let him get away with it if they knew this version of Sirius. “I don’t think it is. You had fun, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Remus said, exhaling.

“See?” Sirius said, smiling a little. His hand moved to Remus’ sides, his thumb painting soothing circles on his skin. “Hate to be that person, but what do you wanna do instead?”

Remus looked out the window. The lantern outside was casting orange light into the room. A tree was moving in the wind. “Something in the medical field. But not a doctor. I’m done studying.” He looked back at Sirius. “I just know that I want to help people. It’s the kindest thing I can do, and I want to be a kind person. Maybe that’s all I wanted to be when I grew up. Kind. Not successful, not rich, just kind.”

Sirius nodded, absent-mindedly. Remus knew he was thinking about something, but didn’t urge him to share it. Then, Sirius cupped his face. “You’ll be on your feet all day.”

He didn’t mention his prosthetic, but I was implied. It didn’t bother Remus anymore than Sirius sometimes still worried about it. Sometimes, Remus didn’t worry enough about it. “I’ll manage,” he said with a smile.

Sirius’ gaze changed. “You know, I can actually see you doing that. You’d be the overworked, gruff guy with rings under his eyes and a coffee-cup glued to his hand, who swears like a sailor but is the backbone of the entire unit.”

Remus raised his eyebrow at him.

Sirius fell back into the cushion, grinning up at Remus and breaking the spell. “Hot.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but let Sirius draw him onto his chest again.

“And I’ll be the handsome boyfriend with the motorbike that all your colleagues secretly swoon over,” Sirius went on, staring at the ceiling.

“Are you talking about the motorbike or you?” Remus asked, raising his eyebrow, looking at Sirius.

“Both. They won’t know what hit them.”

“No, they really won’t,” Remus said, amused. He eased himself up on his elbows and pressed his lips to Sirius’ neck, kissing the line of his jaw before looking at him. “Lily will still kill me for taking so long to figure out what I want.”

“I can already see her rolling her eyes,” Sirius huffed. “Jesus Christ, Remus, it took you three years to figure out you had a crush on Sirius, and now this,” he said in a perfect imitation of her voice, her exasperation almost tangible. “What’s next? You’ll finally figure out that you were everyone of your friends’ gay awakening or do we have to wait five more years for you to realize that?”

Remus froze. “I was what?” he asked, sure he’d misheard.

Sirius grinned. “Remember how James walked into a pole when you agreed to fill in for Frank in that Quidditch game?”

“Yeah?” Remus said with a frown. There’d been a red spot on his forehead for three days. They had taken a lot of photos. But he had no idea what that had to do with him.

Sirius seemed to sense his confusion. “It was your fault, because you took your shirt off in the changing room. And James was useless the entire game. In the evening, he came to me and asked me if I’ve ever wanted to kiss a boy.”

“That did not happen,” Remus said tonelessly, in disbelief.

“That did happen,” Sirius said, running a hand through his hair. “I told him to stay the fuck away from you.”

Remus raised his eyebrow. “That was years before we even started dating.”

“I know,” Sirius said simply, as though there was no further explanation needed. “Also, my brother.”

“What about him?” Remus asked, not even sure if he really wanted to know.

“Jesus, Remus, he was always following you around when you were there. It was embarrassing.”

“He just wanted to play chess.”

Sirius raised his eyebrow in his you-sure? way. “He had a massive crush on you. For a few months, at least.”

Remus buried his face in Sirius’ neck. “Jesus Christ, stop.”

Sirius laughed, then made Remus look at him, and kissed him. Remus moved over Sirius, his knees on either side of his hips, and Sirius’ hands settled on the back of his thighs.

“So you think it’s a good idea?” Remus asked, when they broke apart to get some air. Their noses were inches apart. “The dropping out of university thing?”

“I think we can begin anew as many times as we want,” Sirius responded. “I think no one has things figured out, ever. Not even Remus Lupin.”

Remus hummed, then leaned down to capture his lips again, something inside of him clicking into place.

Regulus woke up feeling sick and barely made it to the toilet. He puked his guts out until nothing came, then sat back on his heels, groaning, wiping his mouth, grimacing at the bitter taste in his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to wake up James, but apparently he had, because he heard James’ steps, and the next moment he stood in the doorframe.

“I’m fine,” Regulus said, his voice husky, not looking at James. “Just nerves.” He forced himself on his feet, bracing himself on the sink, and rinsed his mouth with tap water until the bitter taste was gone. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Strong arms circled around his waist and James’ chest was pressed against his back, his comforting smell enveloping Regulus. Regulus felt himself melt into the teach, leaning against James, the nervous flutter in his belly subduing a little. The power of James Potter, everyone.

“It’s going to be okay,” James said softly. Regulus could feel his hot breath on the nape of his neck, then his lips as he pressed them to his skin. “A few more days. We can get through it,” he murmured.

Regulus turned around, and James’ grip on him loosened, then, his hands settled on his hips. Regulus buried his face in James’ neck, his hands sliding under James’ shirt, needing to feel the warmth of his skin to ground himself. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I’m okay, really. I just…”

“I know,” James said, and Regulus realized he might the only person who really did. James had been in the very same position just a few years ago, facing Riddle, and he hadn’t even had anyone to support him. Regulus knew he wouldn’t make it without James. He wouldn’t even have come here if it wasn’t for James.

James’ fingers sank into Regulus’ curls. “Let’s just eat something. We still have time. It’s barely five.”

Regulus took a deep breath, then nodded, and reluctantly took his hands off James. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to eat something, but it beat sitting around waiting for the tournament to start. They still had four hours to kill.

Regulus spent those four hours pacing the room, playing games, reading chess books, kissing James, and wondering how much he was going to hate himself if he lost. He knew it was inevitable, that hatred, he just wondered if he’d be able to look at himself in the mirror if he didn’t even make it until the final game with Riddle. He was so close to playing against him, so very close – what if someone just wiped him out? What if he didn’t even get a chance? The stakes had never been that high.

And then, at 8.45, Regulus made his way down to the lobby, his feet sinking into the soft carpet, James right by his side. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt like throwing up again. It was so bad he felt light-headed, and James had to gently nudge him into the elevator, guiding him with a  flat hand on Regulus’ back. The doors closed, and Regulus felt like he was drowning. He reached for James’ hand, and James smiled, giving his a little squeeze, and let go right before the doors opened again.

There was no need to fuel any rumours. It was just another one of their stolen moments.

They walked through the entrance hall and a bald man recognized them, waving them through a door, saying something in broken English that Regulus couldn’t decipher over the deafening buzz in his ears. James nodded at the man, and his hand briefly touched Regulus’ lower back, guiding him into the room. The next thing Regulus knew, he was facing an auditorium filled with people. The crowd was much larger than expected, and Regulus sucked in a sharp breath, momentarily freezing up at the sight of it.

Then, their eyes fell on Regulus and James and the chatter died down. Everyone stared at them. They were the only foreigners amongst exclusively Russian players. James smiled his most dazzling smile, then considered Regulus with one last look, silently asking him if he would be okay, and waited until Regulus nodded. When he walked away, Regulus felt a flare of panic at the loss, and for a split second, he wanted to reach out and hold him back, but he stopped himself.

He watched James disappear into the shadows. As Regulus’ second, he would be seated somewhere in the front, and nothing had ever reassured Regulus more than knowing that James would be by his side the entire time.

He forced himself to walk to his table. The ground was black marble, mirroring the wan lights. The small tables were in a neat row, each with a clearly new large chessboard on which the pieces were already set up. There was a clock next to each of them, and a pitcher of water and two glasses. Regulus nodded at the players who had already taken a seat, unable to recall any of their names.

His first opponent was a man named Laev. They’d talked about him almost the entire night, and James had told him what to do, what to watch out for, walking him through the games again, even though they had been over them so many times Regulus could recite them in his sleep.

The man wasn’t much older than Regulus, but his gaze was distant and he was frowning. When he shook Regulus’ hand, his skin was cool.

Regulus sat down.

It only took a minute for the rest of the players to arrive, and there was a short introduction in Russian. Regulus was too agitated too make out any of the words, but he recognized his name. It felt like a punch to the face, suddenly making everything far too real, and Regulus’ heart stopped beating for a second. Applause erupted, and Regulus forced himself to look up, nodding, knowing that he was pale and his nervousness was radiating off of him in waves.  

When Riddle was introduced, the applause seemed to never end. He was one of Russia’s best players, and the Russian valued chess. Everyone on the country knew his name.

Regulus searched for James in the mass of people, his panic worsening when he couldn’t find him, but then something silver flashed – James’ rings – and relief filled his chest, until the man next to James moved, and Regulus’s heart skipped a beat as he realized that it was Sirius. Their gazes met, and Sirius just stared at him, then nodded slowly. A secret understanding passed between them, in a language only the two of them spoke. Regulus swallowed and nodded back.

The director moved from table to table and punched the clock.

When he reached Regulus’ table, Regulus took a deep breath and had barely any time to brace himself before Laev already reached for his pieces.

Laev was playing White and moved his king pawn to the fourth rank. Regulus responded with his queen bishop pawn. The piece was heavy and cool against his skin. He had never played with pieces that expensive and doubted he would ever again.

Laev played pawn to queen four; Regulus took with his pawn. Out of the corner of his eye, Regulus saw the referee mirroring the move on the big board. He felt James’ gaze on him, but didn’t look up, focusing on recalling the games they had discussed just hours before. If they’d been right, Laev would play the Boleslavsky Variation, with his knight to bishop three, castle on the kingside. It was unlikely he would change his pattern in a game against an unknown player such as him. Regulus had no illusion about being fairly unknown in Russia.

Laev did as expected, and Regulus castled.

They moved past the opening quickly, both of them refusing to lose too much time, and soon they had both lost one knight and one bishop, their kings protected. By the nineteenth move, there was a dangerous equilibrium on the board – one move, and it would tip in his or Laev’s favour. The audience was on the edge, and Regulus’ nerves were buzzing. It felt as though he was standing on the edge of a cliff, one step away from free fall that he kept staving off.

It wasn’t the chess Regulus was used to from England or America. This was new and brilliant, subtle, intricate, complex. It was thrilling. It was beautiful.

Laev was a strong player, but Regulus parried all his threats easily, surprised by his own calmness. He forced him to retreat his bishop, and brought the rook over – the queen and the rooks were Regulus’ favourite pieces. He could turn a losing game around with just these three pieces; had done it against James too many times to count. He knew without looking that James nodded at the move, his warm eyes on Regulus, somehow entirely sure of his victory.

Regulus started closing in on Laev, poking holes in his defence, slowly, slowly caging him. The man started taking his time when studying the board, his responses not as quick and self-assured anymore. Even though he did his best to hide his agitation behind his poker face, Regulus could tell he was getting nervous. He allowed himself to come after him, and then, he put his knight on queen five, then brought his rook over to the knight file, directly above his king.

With his heart pounding against his ribs, he watched Laev, frozen on his seat, barely breathing.

And after studying the board for seven minutes, the clock ticking impossibly loudly, Laev did as expected. He pushed the king bishop pawn up to attack the rook.

Not hesitating for even a second, Regulus picked up his bishop, knowing that Laev had no choice but to do something against it. The audience started whispering when the referee mirrored his move, discussing it amongst themselves.

Laev’s sharp gaze brushed over Regulus, then, he sank a hand in his short hair, frowning even deeper, his gaze gloomy. He stared at the chessboard for full seven minutes, unmoving.

Then, he stood up abruptly and offered his hand. Regulus, with a wild euphoria seizing him, stood and took it, unable to breathe. Applause erupted. It was almost shocking in the silence and Regulus swayed, struggling to wrap his brain around the fact that he’d just won against one of the most skilled Russian chess players he had ever encountered.

When he walked down to the entrance hall the second time of the day, he was so lost in his thoughts that he realized belatedly that a large crowd had gathered there. One of the big boards had been moved out, and a referee kept the crowd updates on the games. There was no way all of the spectators would fit into the room. They weren’t journalists, only a few selected ones were allowed in the hotel.

When some of the people recognized him coming down the stairs, they turned around, elbowing each other. Applause erupted. Someone called his name.

Regulus just stood there, starstruck, in disbelief.

“Guess they liked your game yesterday,” James said, leaning in to make sure Regulus heard him over the noise. When Regulus looked up at him, he smiled at his expression. “You haven’t watched the news? They worship you.”

“Maybe you should take notes,” Regulus teased, having regained his composure.

“Oh, I’m already on my knees for you, Regulus,” James just said, smiling his infuriatingly attractive smile, and let his hand accidentally brush over Regulus’ arm as he pushed past him.

It was as though something had clicked into place, because Regulus played with such ease his anxiety eventually vanished completely. His opponent made an error in judgement on the eleventh move. Regulus, who had talked about him with James, knew what to do, knew his Achilles heel, and when he tried to hold him off with his knights, he just used his rooks, and he resigned even quicker than anticipated.

Riddle was playing at the other end of the hall, near the entrance, and when Regulus walked past his table, he briefly glanced at it, then at Riddle. His heart squeezed at the sight – the last time he’d faced him, he’d hadn’t recovered for weeks. How devastating would it be to lose a second time?

After spending the entire day pent up inside, Regulus was beginning to feel caged, so he went on a run to get rid of all his nervous energy and clear his mind. When he was done, he didn’t want to go back to the hotel yet and decided to visit the park that was adjacent to the hotel.

Rain clouds were gathering in the sky, but the sun was still shining, and it wasn’t cold, even though the wind was picking up. He slowed down once he was there. Some of the people seemed to recognize him, but none of them seemed to want to talk. Under a pavilion, people were seated in rows, playing chess. There were about ten boards, a small group had gathered around to watch. They were muttering in Russian. Regulus couldn’t help himself, he walked up the marble stairs, and stood behind a hunched over old man, watching over his shoulder.

Just when he was starting to figure out the game – his view was obscured by shoulders and heads and he had to picture the board in his head and fill in the blanks –, one of the players suddenly recognized him and gestured him closer. The group immediately parted, and Regulus, feeling uncomfortable with the attention, reluctantly let himself be pushed to the front.

“Regulus Black?” The man next to him asked.

Regulus nodded “Da.”

A few raindrops were starting to fall, loudly hitting the roof of the pavilion. One of the men who were playing gestured excitedly at the chessboard, and Regulus didn’t immediately understand, but then someone grabbed his shoulders and next he knew, he was sitting on a black chair.

The man said something to him in Russian, and Regulus hesitated, not quite sure he understood him correctly. Guessing the meaning of the words, he lifted his hand and pointed at the black rook, then one of the white knights.

The man nodded, broke into a smile, said a word in Russian in an appreciative tone, and someone patted Regulus’ shoulder, murmur erupting around Regulus. Both players seemed amused, but not intimidated by him watching, as though they didn’t really care about his rating or his titles or the games he’d won and the games he’d lost.

And, sitting there, watching them play, Regulus understood what James’ mother had meant. Since when is chess about anything but having fun and trying your best? It was so easy now, out here, surrounded by people that loved the same thing he loved. What if he lost? He’d always have chess, he’d always have James. It was all he needed.

Regulus stayed long until the men had gone home, chased away by the rain and the setting sun. He just sat on the chair, playing against himself, in his own world, lost in thought, not noticing how the hours passed by.

Then, someone sat down opposite to him, and Regulus looked up, startled.

Sirius.

His mood soured, but only a little. He was too tired to really care, too drained from all his anxiousness and being on the edge all day.  

Sirius ran a hand through his wet hair, then put his elbows on the table. With his hair this wet and sticking to his head, he appeared younger than he was, resembling the brother that had run away all those years and left Regulus behind. For a moment, the past and the present seemed to blur together, and Regulus’ heart ached unexpectedly, grieving all the wrong decisions they’d made.  

He put down the pawn and leaned back, warily waiting for Sirius to say something. The last thing he needed was another argument. Sirius couldn’t have chosen a worst moment, Regulus was too exhausted to control his anger. He raised his eyebrow at Sirius, daring him to start a fight.

“Until this morning,” Sirius began, “when I watched you play, I didn’t realize just how good you are.”

To say that Regulus was surprised was an understatement. He was so taken off-guard he couldn’t respond, his mind wiped completely blank.

“But James narrated your entire game, and he was beaming,” Sirius went on. “He nodded at every one of your moves.”

Regulus waited for him to say what he’d come here to say.

Sirius looked around, then stared gloomily at the table, before meeting Regulus’ gaze again. “Not sure how I feel about my best friend worshipping my little brother, but…” He broke off. “You turned everything that’s happened to us into a good thing, Regulus, and you did it without my help. You somehow saved yourself. We were both drowning, and you handled it with more grace than I could have ever had.”

Now, Regulus really didn’t know what to say.

Sirius absent-mindedly took one of the chess pieces, the black queen, and turned between his fingers. “That doesn’t make it okay that I left. But I just…” He trailed off. “Since no one in this fucking family will ever be proud of you, I guess I’ll be proud of you. Doesn’t matter if you win or lose.”

Regulus looked down at his hands, then narrowed his eyes as he looked around the park. He couldn’t meet Sirius’ gaze. He just couldn’t. “I don’t think I’m blaming you anymore, Sirius,” he then said with a sigh, not allowing himself to consider his words before speaking. It was the only way he could say them out loud. They had been waiting at the back of his throat for a few weeks now.

Sirius’s head snapped up, surprise flickering over his handsome features.

Regulus shrugged. “It’s how the story goes. One has to leave first. One has to be left behind. That’s just how it is. I hate that it had to be me, but I know that you needed to be with Remus, because he was the only one who could save you from yourself and you just wouldn’t listen to me. And our parents would have never approved of your relationship.”

At the mention of Remus, Sirius smiled sadly, his face open, displaying every little emotion in his chest. It was scary how vulnerable they both were right now. They hadn’t talked like that in years. Regulus wondered when they’d stopped being brothers. There’d been a time when they’d been inseparable, when they’d faced their family together, when they’d known the meaning of even the subtlest glance. They used to be able to carry a silent conversation.

What had become of those two children?

Now, as they sat there, there were silvery scars hidden underneath their clothes, screams echoing in their ears, dark memories carefully tucked away. They were mirror images of each other, the hurt split between them. Neither of them had wanted to acknowledge that both of them carried the same grief, but they did.

Regulus went on, because if there was one moment to get it all out, it was this. “I never intended to tell you, but I think a part of me was happy that you got out. Underneath all that blame, I think I was just – I think I was relieved. Because at least I knew you were safe, and no one was going to beat you up, no one was going to burn your clothes and cut your hair.” It was hard to admit that, but Regulus was tired of setting everything on fire, tired of lashing out. He craved peace.

And above anything, he wanted to have a brother again. He wanted a second chance, rebuild everything they had burned to ashes.

Sirius put the piece back. “I used to have nightmares. About coming home and seeing you on the floor in blood-soaked clothes, not breathing, not moving.” He briefly closed his eyes. “I was so close to getting you out of there so many times, but I knew they wouldn’t just let you go. Not with you being their only heir.”

Regulus briefly closed his eyes, letting the emotions wash over him. Then, he straightened. “Well, now the bloodline of our parents ends with us,” he said, desperate to move past the dark conversation, not wanting Sirius to make more confessions like that. He couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t burst into tears. “None of us is gonna pass on our cursed genes.”

Sirius considered him, then laughed a little, apparently not too unhappy about a topic change. Their conversations were like chess games in which neither of them had ever truly wanted to hurt each other. “So, it’s really James, isn’t it?”

Regulus nodded, a quiet smile on his lips. “It really is James,” he said softly.

“Jesus,” Sirius said, shaking his head, sighing. “I don’t even know if I should be protective of you or him.”

“You don’t need to be protective of James. I promise I’ll never do anything to hurt him ever again.” Regulus was being completely sincere. He’d hurt James enough for an entire lifetime.

“It’s not always that easy not to hurt the people around us,” Sirius just said, but left it uncommented. Regulus knew anyways, after what Remus had told him, and all the times he’d watched Remus carry his drunk brother up the stairs.

“So I have your approval?” Regulus asked, raising his eyebrow. It wasn’t like Sirius had any say in it, but it would make Regulus feel better about stealing Sirius’ best friend. In a twisted sort of way, it felt like cruel revenge, getting between Sirius and James. Because right now, James’ entire world had narrowed down to just Regulus, and vice versa. Sirius was not part of that equation. Regulus hadn’t meant to hurt Sirius in that way.

“I won’t get in your way,” Sirius said gloomily, half serious, half exaggerating. After all, he was still the most dramatic in the family.

“Generous,” Regulus said dryly.

Sirius huffed, then absent-mindedly studied the chess board. There was a long moment of silence between them. The wind tugged at Sirius’ wet hair.

“I’m sorry for everything,” Sirius finally said.

Regulus’ heart cracked open and he swallowed, overwhelmed by the sudden emotions on his chest. “Me too,” he said quietly.