Fic: Not Ever Coming Back [PG15ish]
Hello, people! :3 I've come bearing a McFic and the sentiment that it's beyond awesome there's a place for this ship now. I've been quietly lurving it ages, and now I'm all greedyfingers and excitement over this community. So yay for the ship! And the shippers! And, just, hearts-in-eyeballs all around ♥
Title: Not Ever Coming Back
Author: derryere -> Heleen C:
Rating: Rrrawr stand for rrrlanguage.
Warning(s): EMO GALORE OMG.
Summary: In which James writes a letter and Regulus is constantly most decisively not ever coming back.
Notes: THIS, my friends, is ancient. As in, YEARS. Possibly even pre-HBP, perhaps, and if I were a little less lazy I'd definitely go back and check. BUT! Point is! I wrote this eons ago, and when I saw this community I was like - TIEMZ TO DIG IN THE FF CABINET OF THE OLD. And when I did relocate it, I realised it was in horrible shape. So I cleaned it up a little, tried to make it fit with the new canon as much as possible (i.e., not at all D:), and now here I am! Posting! So it's a little bit iffy, a little bit old and crumbly and weird with the canon, but it works. Sort of. If you kick it a bit and fumble with the buttons. I hope :o
Henjoy!
#
Guess what? We heard about you today. The news came pretty late they said, messenger got detained. Took him about a month to get to us. A month. From Newcastle to London, figure that. No one’s acting really weird about it, though. I suppose you could say no one’s really doing anything at all, that we’re all sort of . . . hanging around. Eating. Drinking. Playing cards. Putting a whole lotta effort into acting like it we should’ve seen it coming. Like it wasn’t one of the hardest things we’ve had to listen to, when they read the message out loud in the kitchen. And I’m sitting here and I’m wondering - were you expecting it? Did you know? Did you actually think you’d come out of it in one piece? Because I don’t. I’m absolutely fucking sure I’m gonna die every single day I go out there, all the time I’m positive someone will jump out of nowhere and come up with some intricate way to off me. Something really creative, too, like . . . a stick through the eye. A brick in a sock slung to the head. You don’t really need magic for that kind of thing - not really.
Not that it’s that important to you right now. And you’d hate hearing this, but people are nice about it. As in, they come up to your brother and they go, ‘It’s such a shame.’ And god, you should see how much that pisses him off. Can’t blame him though, can we? I’m sort of pissed off as well. I mean, it’s not like we liked you. It’s not like any of them ever really knew what the hell you were about, did anything while you were alive but resent the shit out of every single choice you made. So where do they get the courage, the idea they can just say that - as if they’re sorry that you hadn’t turned out differently far more than they’re sorry for what happened - and I’m like, who the fuck do they think they are? So. I suppose pretending it’s okay is the only thing we can do. Because no one here really has the right to mourn this, do they? None of us. We don’t have the right.
Well. That aside, everyone else is doing fine. The weather is brightening up lately, oddly enough. Took a walk without my jacket yesterday, which was nice. Petunias are coming out nicely, too. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying.
#
The early November snowflakes that stuck to his coat slowly vanished as he entered, and by the time he reached the counter had already melted into wet blotches, making for oddly shaped paws on the fake sheepskin fabric. He shuffled his way down creaky floorboards, taking an awkward seat at the bar and quietly asking for a drink. A man to his left was grinning at him. He stiffly ignored it, burying his nose in his foaming beer. The man was persistent. He bended over the bar, drunkenly, trying to catch James’ eye from the odd angle.
Annoyed, James shot a pointed glare at the man. A glare that said, ‘if you’d be so kind to fuck off’, but the man merely rejoiced at the attention. He was old, greyish, blotchy and red about the face. He grinned toothily before slurring, “That cold out there, issit?”
James blinked at the man, realising with a dull ‘huh’ that he’d still been quivering. James shook his head. “No,” he said, putting down his beer and trying to calm himself down by prepping up two arms up on the bar and locking his joints into submission, trying literally holding himself still.
“You all right?” the man kept on cheerfully, drunken voice cracking. He didn’t seem concerned at all, turning his back to the bar and leaning his elbows on the sticky surface. “Look pretty shook up. Yup. Pretty shook up.”
“I’m fine,” James tightly replied.
It could’ve been any answer, really. The man shrugged quietly, concentrating on his drink for a while. After a short minute however, he seemed to have contemplated his empty glass long enough and with renewed confidence offered James a hand.
“Abraham Duncan,” he introduced.
James eyed the sausage-like fingers with sceptically. He looked around him, for no particular reason, before quickly accepting the gesture with a curt shake.
“You can all me Abby though,” the man continued, syllables collapsing in his mouth. He smacked his lips, burping under his breath. “N’ what ‘bout you?”
James spoke into his pint, “What about me?”
“Your name. What is your name? The name . . .” His eyes fluttered for a moment. “The name that is yours. Given . . . when you were born. A name. Is given. As a baby, given, to you . . .”
“Ah, m’afraid I don’t have one of those.” James shrugged in fake apology as though to say, ‘what ya gonna do about it, eh?’
Abraham looked vaguely amused. “That’s quite all right. I’ll call you . . . Geoff.” He poked him in the chest. “Geoff.”
James instinctively swatted away the finger, muttering an, “Oy, hands off,” as the man’s hand fell to his side as though he wasn’t aware it was up in the first place.
“So!” he exclaimed, all wobbly movements and subdued irony. “What, m’friend Geoff, brings you to this palace of virtue?”
“It’s snowing out. And this place seemed sufficiently equipped with ceilings. So.”
“It’s not snowing out. What?” He pulled a humorous, disbelieving face - pulling it back into his neck, making under chins fold on one another as he added, “S’summer, there’s no snow in the sum . . . summuh . . .”
Sighing, James watched the man try to orientate himself about his speech. Looking down at the sleeves of his coat he tried to lift them a bit, and felt mildly amused at the fact that they stuck to the surface of the bar. He peeled them off and continued with flicking off bits of gum and a coaster that had come with. Thoughtlessly, without quite realising what he was doing, James said, “My wife’s pregnant.”
There was a momentary silence buzzing about before Abraham choked up an unpleasant, alcohol induced burp then turned to James with a confused expression. “What d’you say?”
“I said,” he muttered, “my wife is pregnant.”
“Of course she is!” Abraham cheered. “Congra . . . lations!”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Abraham nodded woozily, stumbling a bit closer. “So wus’that for?” he said, nodding at James’ hand. “Sum . . . sumsort of gift, yeah? For the wife, yeah?”
He blinked up. “What?”
“S’msortof gift, yeah?”
James glanced at his fist, upraised at eyelevel since he’d been plucking dirties off the back of his arm, and thought - Oh yeah. That thing. In quiet confusion he released his grip, dropping the locket on the bar.
“Oooh.” Abraham’s fingers padded, spider-like and greedy, over the surface to inspect it. “That’s nice. Issit real . . . metal, stuff?”
“Dunno,” James grunted, hoarsely, watching the old man fingering it with absentminded awe. “You want it?” he asked, making to stand up, “You can keep it.”
Abraham looked up, confusedly. “I can?” he garbled, honestly wondering.
“Yeah.” A tight lipped smile, a half-hearted shoulder-grip, and he was making his way out of the bar - shrugging his coat closer around his neck before stepping out. It had stopped snowing outside, but the slush covered the streets, soaking the hem of his trousers as he sauntered through the muddy snow.
#
It’s actually pretty funny. I mean, not funny, not ha ha I made a joke funny, but there is some sort of humour to it. Because I can remember the last time I saw you. And I tried to remember when it was precisely - date and place wise - and, well, that wasn’t that hard because it was the exact same day Lily told me about the baby. And I told you about the baby. And then some strangers, too. You know that that was the first time I said it, as in, out loud? First time I actually went B-A-B-Y in reference to my own flesh and fucking blood, and lord, lord you pissed me off so bad. I was really angry. I’m sure you noticed, ha ha.
But, to be fair, you seemed sort of genuinely nice about it. I don’t know if that part was actually true, but still - that was sort of kind of you. You didn’t do an awful lot of nice things, so. It matters. I’m not saying this to judge you or anything, or go all bla bla you really should’ve made better choices along the way! But . . . I don’t know. Maybe I’m saying this because that was just the kind of person you were. Not nice. Not sympathetic. Though you did good, sometimes. That matters, too.
#
Over time, he gradually learned to see everything in factors. Risk factor, safety factor, attack and ambush and drop-to-the-ground-and-roll factors. It was necessary now, with all these things to care about, issues that stretched way beyond school and shirt matching his pants, issues that made his heart drop fifty feet at the thought of something going wrong. People. People were suddenly everywhere, making him love them and care for them and rendering him insane to the point where he’s all, I’ll give my life for you and - what was that about, anyway? What was that about?
So now this is what he did. He looked around and determined chances in percents and estimates and vague numbers, things like: how likely am I to be killed walking down Abby Drive? Getting some milk at the grocery store? Shovelling snow?
He didn’t do this with a mindful of maths or brilliant facts. The calculations were probably absolute shit, honestly, probably way off the mark and resulted in bullshit conclusions - but it was a hard habit to break, all the same. Like imagining random tunes to fit the pace of the person walking in front of you, like that habit, only a little bit different. It wasn’t even that complicated at all. Sometimes it was just as simple as - do I go over the bridge or do I not go over the bridge? I don’t go over the bridge, for it might break, and I might die. So no. I’m not going over the bridge.
And it might not seem like much, but it meant the world to him. Because James didn’t not go over bridges. James didn’t not face danger and went, go ooooon then, suckaaah!
He picked main roads at noon, because they had less chance of being crowded at that time. He didn’t pick the red jacket because it increased the chances of being mistaken for a target in case a bull came trampling down the street or in case someone felt like playing darts. Things like that. Simple things. Reasonable things.
“Hey.”
James blinked once before abruptly turning on his heel, meaning to return to the main stream of people and picking the next best unoccupied alley to walk through.
“Wait a- wait! Potter, hold on!”
“Can’t talk,” he said. “Busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Walking.”
Regulus grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stop. James didn’t expect it and nearly tumbled over on the slippery sidewalk. Brusquely, he shook off Regulus’ grip, wordlessly continuing his stern walk down the street.
Audibly huffing, Regulus took a moment before jogging after James, keeping up to his pace. “James. James. We need to walk.”
“No, no I’m fairly sure we’re good like this,” he threw over a shoulder, trying to walk faster. “Not talking and all.”
Regulus, shorter than James, younger and smaller and possibly shrinking inside himself as it was, bravely stepped out in front him. “This is serious. I mean, this is really serious. Please. Just . . .”
He was slightly shaking. James noticed the boy was wet from head to toe, hair sticking to his face where it hadn’t been pushed aside to make way for eyes and nose. He wasn’t wearing a coat. Just a long sleeved shirt, soaking, clinging to his awkwardly maturing body. It started snowing about fifteen minutes ago, but the faint flakes couldn’t possibly be the cause of this and in all honesty - in all terrifying honestly - he looked like he’d been shoved off a cliff, left behind to climb his way back up. There were purple scratches on his unshaved face, and though it was easy to think, ‘Hey, what, guy should’ve seen it coming!’, it was a little bit heartbreaking, the fragility of it all.
“You look like shit.”
“Yeah, well…” Regulus laughed nervously, shrugging.
James sighed. “Two minutes.”
“Five.”
He looked around him, scowling. “Fine. But that’s it.”
“Yeah, s’all I ask,” he tried a smile. It didn’t work. So he pulled his lips tightly together for a passable expression, leading them into a small alley behind a department store storage space. Regulus kicked at a few empty beer cases stacked against a trash container. James waited, uncomfortably blowing into his freezing hands, as the other turned one of the cases to sit on. He wanted to comment about the whole sitting down thing, about how five minutes wasn’t that long and that he should just stand. But he didn’t. He didn’t do anything at all.
“So what’s in the bag?” Regulus said at length, squinting a little and nodding at the plastic bag James was carrying.
“A cake.”
He smiled faintly. “Celebrating?”
“Yeah. I suppose so.” And then, as an afterthought, “Lily’s pregnant.”
Regulus expression stilled mid-grin. Unmoving, warily eyeing James and waiting for the ‘psyche!’ bit. When it didn’t come, he almost deflated into his own frame. “So she’s…she’s fine?” he managed, weakly. “Your…Evans, she’s okay?”
“Yes. She’s fine.” James put down his cake. “How did you find me?”
Regulus fazed out a bit, looking at something behind or near James’ arm. “Sooo . . . you’re going to be a dad.”
“How did you find me, Regulus?”
At this, the boy’s eyes slowly dragged back to James, more focused now. He took a shallow breath, standing up. “Doesn’t matter. Not gonna do it again, am I? Ha ha . . .”
“Right,” James muttered. “Your brother knows you’re back?”
“Nah.” He shrugged, sniffing in the cold. “’S better this way.”
James sighed. It ached a little, just a little, that things had to be like this. That he had to be the one saying these things to this boy, this drowned rat, in a freezing alley in a city that wasn’t home to any of them. “You can’t be doing this anymore, Regulus,” he told him. “You can’t just . . . you have to stay away.”
Regulus was looking at his feet. “Yeah. I know.”
“Do you, though? I mean it, Regulus,” James insisted. “You can’t come back.”
Regulus didn’t reply. He shoved a little at the dusty snow at his feet, hands in his pocket.
James shook his head. He pushed off the wall and picked up his cake. “Okay. I’m going home now.”
“No - wait.” Regulus gave James a warded glance, then quickly resorted to trying to fiddle something out of his pocket - the fabric of his trousers clinging to his legs, making it tricky.
“What, Regulus?” James asked, watching him wearily.
“I’ve got something. For you.” He sniffled again, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. “Or . . . it can be for the baby, I . . . I don’t . . .”
James pulled a face. “What is it?” he asked. “Is it bad?”
“What?” Regulus looked confused. “No, it’s nothi-”
“Is it gross?”
“I - No! No, it’s not . . . jeez, just, hold on-” he trailed off, muttering when the thing he was looking for wasn’t in the proper pocket.
James kept on, “Will it kill me?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Regulus almost laughed. “No, James. No killing.”
“All right, then,” he managed after another moment of determined staring. “On with it.”
“Well, I’m looking-“ Annoyed, Regulus fished out a couple of candy wraps and a broken key. Sighing, he paused for a moment, looking up and trying to remember - where did he put it? - then quickly padding down his chest. It didn’t have pockets, though as the boy’s hand skimmed over his heart an additional square of fabric appeared that wasn’t there a second before. Somewhat relieved, he pulled out a fist full of something from this invisible pocket. James took a few lazy steps forward when Regulus nodded him to come over already, and give his hand.
“It’s a necklace,” Regulus told him, stuffing it in his palm before James could look for himself. “It’s not very pretty but . . . well, it’s old?” he offered. “And important. And you need to keep for a while.”
James frowned, fisting the cold metal. “Where d’you get it?”
“Found it.”
“Yeah. Found it borrowed-it with-no-intentions-of-bringing-it-back, found it, right?” He held out his fist again. “I don’t want it.”
Regulus shook his head. “It’s yours.”
Slowly, James let his hand fall back his side. With the sudden weight of it, he felt older than before. Too old for this, too old for this horrid little boy. “Fine.” His voice was thick, creaking around the edges. Hurriedly, James stuffed the golden locket into the pocket of his coat. “Bye.” He turned around, setting in a fast pace towards the main street.
“Wa-Hey, James!”
He ignored it.
“Great. Walk away! That’s a new one. Mature, too. I can see how all that time made you that much more of a man, Potter!”
Blocked it out, breaths even and teeth clenched.
“JAMES! Look at me, you tosser! I’m going away, I’m not ever coming back, James - LOOK AT ME!”
It was only five blocks and three side streets farther, only when he was sure there was no shouting or yelling or awkward little feet following in his wake, that James came to a slow stop. There, leaning against a lamppost, he took a moment. He took two. He took a breath and pushed himself toward a wall, throwing up and thinking - no going back, no going back, no going back, no going. . . back . . .
#
God. I’m exaggerating. I don’t even know you that well, I don’t remember an awful lot of bad or evil or anything. I mean, I heard things, we all heard things, but what to believe? You just never know what to believe. There are small things I suppose I can dig up, if I really try. Like - remember how you always used to tell the most shittiest stories that were clearly miles off the truth, just to get people to notice you? Didn’t work for fuck’s worth, of course, but. But. Endearing, I guess, could be a word to describe it. Desperately geeky is another.
Oh, hey, remember that time in third year, when Remus and I caught you out of bed on our way to the kitchens? We weren’t supposed to be out either, but you already acted like we’d accused you of god knows what before we could even get out a single word. Remember? You stood there frozen and then you just - you just dropped all those custard pies. And then - the babbling, oh my god I will never as long as I live get the image of you in your jimjams surrounded by food and babbling about . . . well I barely caught half of it. But suffice to say you were shouting. And sobbing. Some insane story about Dumbledore requiting you to spy on the Elves, to make sure they weren’t poisoning the custard. Ha ha! Poisoning the custard! Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.
But you were okay in the brains department. I mean, you got the hang of it. Of what sold and what didn’t. And then the funny stories turned into not so funny, into not just stories but into some kind of truth. For a long time we all joked about it, we were like, ‘oh, yeah, Regulus, he’s just trying to act tough. The loser. He’s lying. He’s soooo lying. But whatever. We don’t care, we don’t care, bla bla bla.’
But then you went and actually did all the shit you were talking about, and that’s when we went quiet. Guess you showed us, huh? Ooh, wow, big tough guy Regulus, goes out to war and gets himself offed, ooh, you sure showed us! Ugh. Loser.
Why the hell d’you have to go and do that? Jesus. Where the hell did you even go? What happened to you, Reg? What the hell happened to you?
#
She was so happy. He was so happy too, so freaking happy, he couldn’t stop staring at her and going over the fact that he couldn’t get over how much she looked like he felt. She was brushing him off, telling him to mingle - to at least go and say hello to his uncle, for fuck’s sake, the sorry sod’s been staring into his drink for the past hour.
“Uuurgh,” he protested. “I hate guy.”
She gave him a pointed look. “You’re an awful person, you know that?”
“Okay I don’t hate him. But. Come ooon, Lily, I don’t want to-“
“Hey, Clingy McClingy, go!”
He laughed, planting a small kiss to her lips before going to greet uncle Herman. And he was good for a minute or so. He was. He was making smalltalk, saying things like, ‘So how’s Berta? . . . Still dead? I’m sorry. What? Has been for the last seven years? Oh. Well, she’s on our minds!’, but soon his words trailed off and attention drifted away and he was looking for her again. And there she was, talking to an old school friend by the buffet, and she was still pretty. Six hours into it and she hasn’t gone ugly yet. Still seemed happy, too. Good, he thought. Good. I’m doing good.
Lily must’ve felt him staring again, because she paused her conversation to shoot him a questioning glance made of raised brows and a tight lips. James grinned and shrugged. ‘What!’ he mouthed, seeing no harm in any of it. She scrunched her nose, and with a sharp shake of her head nodding him back in his uncle’s direction. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes he turned to the man, conspiringly leaning over. “I think we have some Firewhisky inside,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “Let me check.”
Herman smiled toothily, and James gave him a ‘be right back’ before grinningly sauntering across the lawn to the house. September was generous, the sun kind and the warm weather had quickly drawn the party into the garden. Tables had been moved, pots and pans had hovered through windows and chairs were planted in the grass for the consideration of many a lazy guest.
Closing the kitchen door close behind him, James slumped against it.
Quiet.
Brilliant.
He lazily peered around the room. There was a large stack of gifts, piling up to an admirable height, on the kitchen table. Dragging himself toward it, James casually picked one of the smaller packages and gave it a small shake. It rattled. To be expected, he thought, throwing it back onto the pile.
“A Convertible Cauldron. Horribly cheap. Insulting, really.”
And with all the laziness, all that carefree feel that seemed to envelop everything about that day, James was rendered shitless with just that. So little it took to have his throat clench, his heart to thump toward his back. He looked up already angry, already prepared to have this end in punches and curses.
“So I thought I’d drop by,” Regulus explained. “Originally planned on barging in on the whole ‘or forever hold your peace’ bit, but,” he shrugged, held his shoulders up, “I suppose I’m just a old big sap, after all.”
And he stood there, as real as ever. Older, taller, a little bit drunk. But there. Leaning back against the kitchen wall, legs crossed at the ankles and hands half hanging out of his pockets. There seemed to have gone some thought into this, into the suit and the undone tie, into the shirt buttons being out of their holes, the hair uncombed and wild. And this was it, this was the point of it - the joke of it all, of Regulus and everything he was about, this game of pretending to be at this wedding without being there at all. Being someone who might be a part of James’ life without being a part of it at all and, fuck, it’d been years.
“Funny story, actually.” Regulus lifted his hand to his head, remembering something. “I was going through my mail the other day, preparing for this unforgettable event, and found I couldn’t remember where I left my invitation. Now at first, I was like, wait a second! I must’ve left it somewhere here! So there I am, looking all over the place, under cupboard and everything and I’m starting to worry, right, thinking I’d lost it or threw it away when I realised . . . I’ve never gotten an invitation, have I?” He smiled. “Hilarious, don’t you think?”
Outside, James could hear someone’s shrill laugh ring above the buzz of the crowd. Highly aware that anyone could walk, anyone at all, he attempted a quiet - “Why don’t you just calm down, Regulus?”
Regulus’ lips twitched into a shadow of a smile, ignoring the comment with a careless air before continuing, “And all the while I’m hoping it was all a grave mistake, right? I mean, wrong address, tipped the wrong owl - heck, maybe you forgot to mail it out. It happens all the time, I’m told.” His face was calm, almost friendly. “How disappointing.”
Someone walked by the garden door, loudly discussing a nondescript issue. James tensed, nervously eyeing the door until the voices faded somewhat. “Does Sirius know you’re here?” he asked tightly.
Regulus made a huffing sound. “What do you think, James?”
“Better get out then, don’t you think? Before he finds out?”
The other shrugged. “I’ll have time.”
“Get out, Regulus.”
“No.”
“Get out. Now.”
He looked at the ceiling, giving the impression of being a bit bored. “No.” He stretched the act, “Why should I?”
“How about ‘because you’re not welcome here’, is that good enough?”
Regulus grinned a little, looking back at James. “Still can’t believe you did the whole marriage thing.”
“Yeah. Well. Still can’t believe you did the whole death eating thing.”
The boy was laughing then. He pushed himself off the wall, face sickly twisted in bitter amusement. “Come on, James!” he exclaimed. “This can’t possibly be what you want!”
James automatically took a step back as Regulus came closer. At this the boy quirked a brow, making it out to be an act, pretending to be going along with it as he shuffled forth. “Don’t I know you, James?” he kept on. “I mean, look at you! All frowns and grumpy eyes. You’re not cut out for this husband shit, Potter.” He smiled up at him, reaching up to brush the hair out of James’ eyes. James, on his part, was quick to swat the hand away, pulling back his head.
“And now, you get out of my house,” he said. “Before I seriously mess you up.”
Regulus stared at him. For a long moment he stared, breathing hard through his nose. And when his face fell back into that wry smile, he brought his hand back up again and - casually as ever - tucked away that strand that had bothered him in the first place. “Come with me,” he said, and there wasn’t any theatre left to his voice, just a quivering mess of badly veiled insecurities. “You can have your women, I don’t - I won’t care. Just. Come with me.”
And there was a quiet surprise between them when James quietly leaned in a bit closer. He was looming over the younger boy, practically towering with all his legs and legs and big man’s-man chest. “Out,” he breathed, teeth showing. “Out of my sight. Out of my fucking house, or I swear, Regulus. I swear.”
And in the end it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that James had to be the one to do this, time and time again, to say these kind of things and mean them - absolutely fucking mean them - and to whom? This kid? This creature of immaturity and soft hearts, unable to let go and understand that there is no way - no way - not in this universe that it could ever - ever - never -
Regulus took a defensive step back, his eyes elusive and all on James. “You’re making a mistake,” he told him as if he didn’t understand. “Big mistake.”
Silently, James pointed at the door on the far end of the hall. “Leave.”
“If I go now, James, I won’t ever come back. You get that?” His brows were raised and the colour was flooding his face, reddening the tips of his ears. “Because I don’t think you do. I go now, and you won’t ever see me again.”
James stepped aside, making way.
Regulus stared at him for a small moment. His chin quivered, only just the slightest, before the sneer kicked in. He said nothing when passing James, and James said nothing when he purposely - trying so hard to hurt James right back - nicked one of the presents from the stack on the way out.
#
I know what you’d think. Takes two, right? And you, ha ha, you wouldn’t even say it out loud, you big boob. You’d probably try to mumble it - as in, really loud, so that it’s not a mumble at all and everyone hears it anyway - and then act as if you don’t care.
But it’s not like you ever wanted me to say anything about it. Or at least that’s the impression I got, anyway. Did you ever really look for something like an apology? I don’t know. I didn’t. Excuses, well, that’s another story. We had plenty excuses. Personally, I was in a blaming phase - blamed virtually everything. Blamed bushes, the lack of curfew checks, the carelessness of just about everyone - fuck, I’d run into a first year in the hallway and blamed her, for all I cared. And did it make a difference? HA. No. It didn’t.
So, yeah, I’ll keep on accusing you of things. And no, I’m not going to share the burden. This is my letter, I call the shots. If you want to have a go at me, then you’ll have to go and write your own fucking letter, mate.
#
“You didn’t come last week.”
“Uh, yeah . . . busy.”
“Might’ve taken the time to, oh, I don’t know, let me know? I waited a bloody hour, they had to wheel me in as an ice cube.”
James shrugged.
Regulus huffed. “God, you’re such a wanker sometimes.” And then, “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“So I read,” James said, digging inside his pocket for the crumpled letter before shoving it at Regulus. “In a rush, are we?”
Regulus didn’t answer, didn’t grab the note when James let go. It flittered to the ground. He hiked the school bag higher up his shoulder as he bended to pick it up, pocketing it quickly. James observed him with disinterest for a while as he fidgeted about the straps of his bag some more.
James was not going to ask what the matter was. He absolutely refused to.
“The thing is . . .” Regulus began after long-stretched pause. “I’m going away.”
James frowned mockingly. “Again?”
“I mean it this time!” Regulus wildly objected. “And. Well. I’m not coming back.”
“That’s what you said last month.”
“I don’t care.” He looked away grimly, giving the strap of his bag a yank. “I planned it better this time. I’ve got a place to sleep this time, and they said they’d find something for me to do while I-”
“Whatever. I don’t care what you do.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“Well . . . yeah!” James laughed humourlessly. “It took you three hours to come back last time, Regulus. It was Saturday. No one even noticed you were gone, egghead.”
“I said it’s different this time,” he hissed. “And don’t look at me like that - stop it! - I’m serious, Hogwarts is nothing compared to where I’m going. You just wait, James.”
“It is, now?” James smiled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the castle wall. “And where is this underage school-dropout heaven, Reg?”
Regulus pulled his lips tightly, giving his shoes a quick glance and muttering, “Not supposed to tell.”
It was hard not to grin at this. “No address, then? Where am I supposed to write to?”
“You’re not going to write me letters,” he said, sceptically.
“Hey, remember that one time when you sent me hate letters?” James scrunched his nose, snorting. “Yeah, that was fun.”
“It’s not funny.”
At Regulus’ earnest hiss James’ amusement cooled over. “You do know you’ll need to grow up someday,” he said, looking somewhat worried. “Right?”
“I’m not . . .” Regulus closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head as James was distracting him - derailing him from this massive main point he was trying to get at. “I’m - I’m really not here to discuss this. If you want to say goodbye then . . . yeah, do it now.”
James blinked. “Are you messing with me?”
“Is that all you have to say? I mean-“ He glanced aside, trying to cover up some emotion as he quietly said, “You might not ever see me again, you know. I’m not ever coming back.” And then, to James’ face again, “Is that all you have to say to me?”
“You’re mental,” was James’ rebuttal. “Absolutely batshit, is what you are.”
Regulus lifted his chin, hitching his bag up his shoulder again. With all the pride he had, all the grace a lanky fifteen and a half year old boy could muster, he walked up the slight slope to stand before James. And he did, if anything, look like he thought himself the most determined man in the world. Kid. Child.
Regulus’ breath sped up in white little puffs, and James didn’t move a muscle as the boy stood on his tip toes to kiss him.
Neither said a word when Regulus slowly sank back down. James’ pose was forever unmoving: arms crossed and face twisted in an angrily confused frown. The younger boy swallowed, nodding to himself as though -‘should’ve known’- when he walked back down the slope and farther, crossing the grounds and onwards, into the forest.
For a while, James firmly remained at his spot, waiting for Regulus to come running out of the woods any minute crying something had bit him in the butt.
He never did.
#
I suppose that eventually there wasn’t much to it. No underlying thoughts, no deep hidden secrets or tortured souls. Whatever. I wasn’t hurt, or damaged or resentful towards anything at the time. I was nothing more than younger than I am today. Perhaps somewhat cooler, nicer. And you . . . well, I don’t think that there was anything I had that you couldn’t find in any other random person. So it was unfortunate we had to be the way we were. And if you’re pulling a face right now, then you should know that yes, I do regret it. I regret it quite a great deal. But I also miss you. So there.
#
Sometimes, Sirius managed to snatch one of the letters before James could either hide or destroy them. “Aaah, the kid’s still at it?” He’d pull a face, rotating the letter as he cocked his head, “Man. I’m so sorry for this, I seriously thought he stopped that hate mail thing after that howler incident.”
James shrugged, mumbling an ‘apparently not’ before grabbing it back and offhandedly shredding the paper to pieces, throwing it into the burning hearth with easy disinterest.
He was pretty much sure the tiny message scribbled in the margin escaped Sirius’ attention, but just to be sure James waited a good half hour before he stood up, stretched, and announced he was gonna go out for an evening walk. On his own, nudge nudge wink wink if ya know whatimean yeah. It was stupid, low, annoying - and it worked.
“You’re late,” accused Regulus. “It’s half past. I said eleven.”
Shrugging, James made a small noise of indifference. No one was obliged to come, it was never a part of the deal for any of them to show up. If the boy wanted to call it off now - James wouldn’t stop him.
But Regulus settled for a resentful scowl, turning his back on him and setting in a quick pace into the forest, not once looking behind to see whether James was following or not.
It was a game two could play, in that sense. For them it couldn’t mean anything more than circumstances, couldn’t be important or ever trump anything - and yeah, so I was late. So what. Look, your choice, not mine - so hey, whatever. Do what you want. Go on. Go ahead, piss off.
I DARE you.
Well?
Staying, are we? Whatever. Yeah, same to you, tosser.
They came in light of the moon as the canopy’s crown opened up above in a small clearing. Regulus found it a while ago during Herbology. He thought there must’ve been a great oak in the middle, once, one that must’ve fallen during a storm or was eaten to death by forest bugs or burned or - who the fuck cares? James had cut him off. And who did, really? Who the fuck?
He picked a sturdy stem that stood somewhat askew at the outer edge of the clearing, and before it he marked - with the heel of his shoe - what would be his station for the bigger part of the night. Regulus, on his turn, picked a slim tree across the opening, facing James. The distance that separated them was so unneeded, so excessive because sooner or later someone always marched across all angry and heated and it would be like they never really stood that far apart, never really took part in such evasive little mind games. But the stubbornness on both sides was too easy, too familiar to allow either to state how ridiculous - how absolutely idiotic it was challenge each other like that. Just to see how far the other would go every - single - time.
“Saw you at Hogsmead yesterday.”
“Did you, now.”
“You were with that girl again. Whatserface? Miriam . . . Miranda . . .”
“Lily.”
“Yeah, that one. Pretty girl.”
“Yes. Pretty girl.”
“You seem to be pretty close.”
“What’s your point?”
“Nothing. I don’t have a point.”
James made an annoying sound with his teeth, and Regulus just stood there for a while, grinning a little at all the marvellous buttons he could push.
“So how’s my brother?”
“Still fine.”
“Delightful.”
“How’s his mother?”
“Still crazy.”
“Wonderful.”
Regulus was looking at his feet, and began to feel very bored. James blew some air into his cheeks, disinterestedly inspecting the trees around.
“So you like, like her, right?”
“Who, your mother?”
“NO. That girl, Miranda . . .”
“Lily.”
“Yeah, her.”
“None of your business.”
“You sure about that?”
“Oh, piss off.”
It was getting colder, and the moon slowly moved along the sky. Time was getting late and the act old. Once or twice Regulus attempted a hesitating step forward, but a distant howl or cracking branch made him rethink it, dismiss it.
He sighed. “This sucks.”
James shrugged, his attention still on the trees above.
Suppressing a shiver, Regulus wrapped his cloak tighter and pushed himself off the tree trunk. He took a few small steps towards the centre of the clearing and stopped, a contemplative expression pulling his eyebrows together. James slowly averted his eyes from the canopy, expectantly watching the younger boy. He gave a questioning look, silently querying what he was planning on doing.
But Regulus didn’t budge. He flashed James a small grin and with no explanation, made to lie down on the ground.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Lying down,” Regulus said, lying down.
“Get up.”
“Nope. Staying right where I am.”
“Get up,” James insisted. “Get up, or I’m going.”
“Fine. Go.”
“Fuck, Regulus - does crazy run in your family? Get the fuck up!”
“Nah,” he smiled, cocking his head to see James standing at his tree. “Come lie next to me.”
James barked a hallow laugh. “I’m not going to lie in the dirt. Idiot.”
Regulus blinked, unfazed. “Come on. Just do it.”
“This is stupid. I’m not . . . I’m not going to lie down. It’s stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“Yeah! Stupid!”
Regulus shrugged, turning his head to look up at the sky. For a long while James stood next to his tree, biting his lip, muttering stupid under his breath. Years later, he’d come to realise how much reason exactly stupid things need in order to happen, which is none at all. Had he known this at the time, then his mind wouldn’t have been so frantic in search for reason as he bitterly lay down next to the boy.
“Hey, remember how in third year, in Astronomy, we had to draw out the constellations we saw? And the connections between them and stuff?”
James briefly eyed Regulus, grunting a positive.
“I was so rubbish at that.” He chuckled. “Still am. Could never see stuff in the bloody stars. They’re just dots, aren’t they? What are you even supposed to see?”
“Just . . . figures and animals and . . . stuff, I guess. I dunno.”
“Were you good at it?”
“I suppose.” James looked up, as though looking for conformation - but it was a cloudy night, and the stars were faded. “I was okay. Passed the third, didn’t I?”
Regulus turned to look at James, bits of dirt and moss hanging in his hair. James looked back in question, and the former raised his shoulders in a hopeless disposition. To this, James couldn’t help but smile - yeah, tell me about it - he meant to say. A few clouds above shifted to a gust wind that wasn’t felt on the ground, hiding the moon and darkening the night. James couldn’t see his face when Regulus rolled to his side, bringing then inches apart. A warm breath lingered about his chin, and he wasn’t surprised at all when dry lips covered his.
And there was no time for stumbling about. Soon enough there were hands in necks, there were lips and slick hot tongues and intertwined limbs and two boys, two young boys with little worries and so much time. So much bloody, fucking time to forget about the strangeness of it all, about the disconnecting stars and everything else, all of it, whooshing around them in an otherworldly blur.
#
I never had anyone ask me, and you never bothered so I have to admit - I preferred not to ask question at all, not even in my mind. But now it’s all different and I can’t help but wonder, did I virtually think I could change you? Well, yes, sometimes. Who wouldn’t? Everyone thinks they’re right. Everyone thinks their perception of the world is the proper one and ‘I know that everyone says they’re right, but, well, I’m really really right’. And then, if you see another person and they’re struggling with life and the way it treats them then you think to yourself - why not share my brilliant revelation?
I really felt like I was doing the right thing. Like I was doing you this big favour, and you’d end up owing me big time. I just thought it all would be okay if you turned out a good person in the end.
Funny how that one came right round to bite me in the ass, huh?
#
James waited him up after class. Stood outside Slughorn’s class and waited with a letter scrunched up in his fist. The fifth year students flooded out, talkatively chatting and laughing and not even noting the tall seventh year as they passed him. Regulus was one of the last to exit the classroom, smugly discussing something with a curly little fellow. Tightening his grip on the letter, James swiftly used his other hand to pull the young Black out of the crowd by his collar, cutting him off in the middle of a sentence.
“OY! What d’you think you’re doing, wanker!”
James, still holding the boy up on his toes, shook him a little. “It’s time for you and I to have a little chat, Black.”
“Piss off! I don’t have time for you, I have to get to Transfigu-OY!”
James, who really did not care what the boy had to say, gave his collar a hearty yank as he started to drag him opposite direction as the rest of Regulus’ class.
“HEY! Let me GO, you lowlife!”
A slap on the back of his head was all the reply Regulus was going to get. He was trashing about. Kicking and twisting and biting - but James was taller, and stronger, and much - much angrier. They followed a few twists and turns of the dungeon before James pushed them into a small alcove. Regulus tried to push and struggle again but James released him, suddenly, so that he staggered onto the ground all shaky and wobbly. His face was red from effort and his robes all messed up. He looked livid.
Unfortunately for him, however, so did James.
“What is this?” He pushed the letter onto Regulus’ chest, making him bump into the wall behind.
“What do you think it is, genius?”
“Don’t get smart with me,” James hissed. “What is wrong with you, boy?”
He pushed off James’ hand. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Potter.”
“Then what the hell is this suppose to be?” James waved the letter in front of his face. “HM? What is this?”
“It’s a letter,” he deadpanned. “Expressing my hate. To you.”
“Yeah, I got that part, thanks.” James threw the parchment away, taking a somewhat deflated step back. “It’s been three months, Regulus. How many more warnings do you want? You want me to take this to headmaster again?”
“Dumbledore doesn’t scare me.”
“Well you should be scared of him. Fucking terrified, you little shit.”
“You don’t scare me, either! It’s all your fault anyway. Brought this all on yourself, didn’t you? What are you even doing, trying to be friends with Sirius? He embarrasses my family more than enough without your help, and then all those stupid pranks you pull - all those idiotic-.”
“Hey! Kid! It’s time you learn to live with it, yeah? I’ve been your brother’s friend for seven -- seven years now. What did you think you’d accomplish, Regulus? What, d’you think you’d scare me off? Make me change my mind? What?” James pointedly poked Regulus in the chest, pushing him against the wall again. “Make me leave my best friend? Look at you! What are you like, twelve?”
“FIFTEEN!” he boomed. “Fifteen and four months!”
James laughed menacingly. “Pardon me, Mister Man.”
Angrily, Regulus tried to shove his shoulders. But James had a good footing, and barely swayed at the push - the same, however, could not be said for Regulus. Immediately, James grabbed a fist full of his robes, pushing him against the alcove wall so hard the boy was coughing.
“Listen to me, kid,” he hissed. “This is your last warning. You stop those letters right now, or you’ll have to sort it out with your brother. Not me.”
Regulus was breathing shallowly as he inched up his chin, a most challenging look about him. “Sirius wouldn’t hurt me.”
James pulled him up, inching in a bit as he nearly whispered, “You sure?”
“You don’t know Sirius,” hissed Regulus. “You don’t get to know him. He’s my brother, yeah? MINE!”
“You sorry little boy.” James puffed a sound of wry amusement. “You sorry, sorry, jealous little boy.”
“I’m not little.”
“Stop the letters.”
“No.”
“STOP THE BLOODY LETTERS!”
“NO!”
“I SWEAR, boy. If you don’t stop the act RIGHT NOW, I’LL-“
It was true that there was very little within the power of the smaller boy that could deter James. He couldn’t push, or kick or even scream as well - but, well, hell knows how his mind worked that day. What had made him lurch forward and fist his two smaller hands in James’ robes and pull himself up, made him lose his mind like that and violently push his lips to James’.
The unmoving moment of realisation did not take long. With a loud grunt and a big gesture, James pushed Regulus off as hard as he could, pressing himself against the back wall - as far away as possible. He swallowed, eyeing Regulus with a mixed look of confusion and repulsion.
“Wha . . . what the hell . . .”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Regulus was staring at the ground now, his back slouching and face hidden by a veil of hair.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”
He remained silent, eyes sternly cast downward.
“What the hell did you do that for? What is your problem, Regulus?”
The boy didn’t even seem to be hearing him.
“Look at me.”
Nothing.
“Look at me when I talk to you!”
With a loud sob, Regulus looked up. His nose was runny and his face was twisted in a warped grimace - he seemed to be doing his best not to cry.
“Oh, shit . . .” James muttered, closing his eyes for a moment, touching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got some issues, kid. Some serious, fucking issues.”
Regulus sobbed again, loudly wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve.
Fuck.
“Hey - hey, don’t do that. It’s . . . it’s okay, all right?”
He’s not quitting. Shit, he’s not quitting.
“Don’t - don’t cry, come on, it’s okay! Look, I’m not angry, okay? Just . . . don’t cry, come on.”
Great. GREAT. My luck. Fuck. What am I suppose to do with this?
“Look, it’ll be okay, all right? It’s not that bad, it’ll . . . we can forget about it. It’ll be okay, Regulus. Really.”
Awkwardly, James tried to pat the boy on his back. A heavy, sticky weight climbing up his spine told him that this was one of those moments in life that would probably be a bitch to forget, that he’d never get rid of this and whenever he’d see this boy sauntering his way down the hallway, at lunch, when he tried to look up Sirius and James just happened to be there - he knew he’d think back to this day, this very moment, watching the sobbing mess of a boy bury his face in the crook of James’ arm. The image burned in the back of his throat with the awkwardness of it, the mess that it was bound to eventuate in.
At a certain point Regulus stopped crying. James, sitting on the floor, back against the wall, absently played with the hair of the boy sleeping in his lap. There was nothing left keeping him from running away.
Get up, James.
GET UP. .
Regulus mumbled something intelligible in his sleep.
James sighed, head bumping against the stone as he tilted it back, at a loss.
#
So. Guess what? This is harder than I thought it would be.
Look, I’m not that great with the words. I like that I’m not great with the words. I revel in it, it’s my charm, my thing, my whatever. But. Well, I’m just trying to . . .
Look. I don’t have anything to say that might solve anything. Nothing you can take with you or remember or use when you’re in trouble, but - I guess . . . I suppose I do know that there are things, a lot of things, that we don’t agree with. But I don’t think that means, well, as much as we would like it to mean. As in, maybe some things don’t need to be explained just because someone doesn’t agree with them. It doesn’t make them right, either. It just means that they . . . you know, they just sort of . . . are. Did that make sense? That didn’t make sense. Fuck. Forget that, what I’m trying to say is that - that - I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.
But so many things can change, Regulus. Don’t ever think things can’t change. Because nothing is the same all the time and maybe today we can see things like we couldn’t see them yesterday and, Jesus, it takes just a moment to change our ideas about everything and even less to erase it all and it’s like . . . we see everything, we know all the loose facts and stories but . . . we just can’t connect the dots. And it doesn’t mean we’re bad people - it just means . . . we’re different. Different people.
#
“REGULUS BLACK!”
There followed a moment of complete silence, only broken by the soft footsteps of little feet walking across the hall.
“Sirius,” James began, slowly.
“Yeeees.”
“That boy’s name is the same is yours.”
“Yeah, I heard. What are the odds, huh?”
“Sirius.”
“Yes?”
“That was your brother.”
“Well, you know. Brother is such a big word.”
“You could’ve told us, though,” Remus quietly added.
“I told you I had a brother.”
James snorted. “You made it sound like he was three.”
“Well, in a way, he is.”
A loud cheering erupted from a few tables away, and the little, dark-haired boy happily skipped over to the rest of the Slytherins. Every now and then he stretched his neck, looking in Sirius’ direction, making movements as though telling him to come over and join him at his table.
With a grunt, Sirius turned around.
“Great.”
#
I went out for a walk today, and found this . . . rock thing. I brought it back with me and put it in the garden. You see, we have this really big chestnut tree behind the house, so it’s under there. It’s really pretty in the fall, with the colours and all. So.
You don’t have a grave, so I’m putting this letter by the rock, in case you ever want to read it. It’s going to snow pretty soon and everything will be wet, so I’d hurry the hell up if I were you. I also wanted to put something of yours there, but I didn’t have anything left. Sorry I gave away your locket.
That’s it. That’s all I had to say. I’ll try to stop by whenever I can, Regulus.
Goodbye,
- James.
#
Title: Not Ever Coming Back
Author: derryere -> Heleen C:
Rating: Rrrawr stand for rrrlanguage.
Warning(s): EMO GALORE OMG.
Summary: In which James writes a letter and Regulus is constantly most decisively not ever coming back.
Notes: THIS, my friends, is ancient. As in, YEARS. Possibly even pre-HBP, perhaps, and if I were a little less lazy I'd definitely go back and check. BUT! Point is! I wrote this eons ago, and when I saw this community I was like - TIEMZ TO DIG IN THE FF CABINET OF THE OLD. And when I did relocate it, I realised it was in horrible shape. So I cleaned it up a little, tried to make it fit with the new canon as much as possible (i.e., not at all D:), and now here I am! Posting! So it's a little bit iffy, a little bit old and crumbly and weird with the canon, but it works. Sort of. If you kick it a bit and fumble with the buttons. I hope :o
Henjoy!
#
Guess what? We heard about you today. The news came pretty late they said, messenger got detained. Took him about a month to get to us. A month. From Newcastle to London, figure that. No one’s acting really weird about it, though. I suppose you could say no one’s really doing anything at all, that we’re all sort of . . . hanging around. Eating. Drinking. Playing cards. Putting a whole lotta effort into acting like it we should’ve seen it coming. Like it wasn’t one of the hardest things we’ve had to listen to, when they read the message out loud in the kitchen. And I’m sitting here and I’m wondering - were you expecting it? Did you know? Did you actually think you’d come out of it in one piece? Because I don’t. I’m absolutely fucking sure I’m gonna die every single day I go out there, all the time I’m positive someone will jump out of nowhere and come up with some intricate way to off me. Something really creative, too, like . . . a stick through the eye. A brick in a sock slung to the head. You don’t really need magic for that kind of thing - not really.
Not that it’s that important to you right now. And you’d hate hearing this, but people are nice about it. As in, they come up to your brother and they go, ‘It’s such a shame.’ And god, you should see how much that pisses him off. Can’t blame him though, can we? I’m sort of pissed off as well. I mean, it’s not like we liked you. It’s not like any of them ever really knew what the hell you were about, did anything while you were alive but resent the shit out of every single choice you made. So where do they get the courage, the idea they can just say that - as if they’re sorry that you hadn’t turned out differently far more than they’re sorry for what happened - and I’m like, who the fuck do they think they are? So. I suppose pretending it’s okay is the only thing we can do. Because no one here really has the right to mourn this, do they? None of us. We don’t have the right.
Well. That aside, everyone else is doing fine. The weather is brightening up lately, oddly enough. Took a walk without my jacket yesterday, which was nice. Petunias are coming out nicely, too. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying.
#
The early November snowflakes that stuck to his coat slowly vanished as he entered, and by the time he reached the counter had already melted into wet blotches, making for oddly shaped paws on the fake sheepskin fabric. He shuffled his way down creaky floorboards, taking an awkward seat at the bar and quietly asking for a drink. A man to his left was grinning at him. He stiffly ignored it, burying his nose in his foaming beer. The man was persistent. He bended over the bar, drunkenly, trying to catch James’ eye from the odd angle.
Annoyed, James shot a pointed glare at the man. A glare that said, ‘if you’d be so kind to fuck off’, but the man merely rejoiced at the attention. He was old, greyish, blotchy and red about the face. He grinned toothily before slurring, “That cold out there, issit?”
James blinked at the man, realising with a dull ‘huh’ that he’d still been quivering. James shook his head. “No,” he said, putting down his beer and trying to calm himself down by prepping up two arms up on the bar and locking his joints into submission, trying literally holding himself still.
“You all right?” the man kept on cheerfully, drunken voice cracking. He didn’t seem concerned at all, turning his back to the bar and leaning his elbows on the sticky surface. “Look pretty shook up. Yup. Pretty shook up.”
“I’m fine,” James tightly replied.
It could’ve been any answer, really. The man shrugged quietly, concentrating on his drink for a while. After a short minute however, he seemed to have contemplated his empty glass long enough and with renewed confidence offered James a hand.
“Abraham Duncan,” he introduced.
James eyed the sausage-like fingers with sceptically. He looked around him, for no particular reason, before quickly accepting the gesture with a curt shake.
“You can all me Abby though,” the man continued, syllables collapsing in his mouth. He smacked his lips, burping under his breath. “N’ what ‘bout you?”
James spoke into his pint, “What about me?”
“Your name. What is your name? The name . . .” His eyes fluttered for a moment. “The name that is yours. Given . . . when you were born. A name. Is given. As a baby, given, to you . . .”
“Ah, m’afraid I don’t have one of those.” James shrugged in fake apology as though to say, ‘what ya gonna do about it, eh?’
Abraham looked vaguely amused. “That’s quite all right. I’ll call you . . . Geoff.” He poked him in the chest. “Geoff.”
James instinctively swatted away the finger, muttering an, “Oy, hands off,” as the man’s hand fell to his side as though he wasn’t aware it was up in the first place.
“So!” he exclaimed, all wobbly movements and subdued irony. “What, m’friend Geoff, brings you to this palace of virtue?”
“It’s snowing out. And this place seemed sufficiently equipped with ceilings. So.”
“It’s not snowing out. What?” He pulled a humorous, disbelieving face - pulling it back into his neck, making under chins fold on one another as he added, “S’summer, there’s no snow in the sum . . . summuh . . .”
Sighing, James watched the man try to orientate himself about his speech. Looking down at the sleeves of his coat he tried to lift them a bit, and felt mildly amused at the fact that they stuck to the surface of the bar. He peeled them off and continued with flicking off bits of gum and a coaster that had come with. Thoughtlessly, without quite realising what he was doing, James said, “My wife’s pregnant.”
There was a momentary silence buzzing about before Abraham choked up an unpleasant, alcohol induced burp then turned to James with a confused expression. “What d’you say?”
“I said,” he muttered, “my wife is pregnant.”
“Of course she is!” Abraham cheered. “Congra . . . lations!”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Abraham nodded woozily, stumbling a bit closer. “So wus’that for?” he said, nodding at James’ hand. “Sum . . . sumsort of gift, yeah? For the wife, yeah?”
He blinked up. “What?”
“S’msortof gift, yeah?”
James glanced at his fist, upraised at eyelevel since he’d been plucking dirties off the back of his arm, and thought - Oh yeah. That thing. In quiet confusion he released his grip, dropping the locket on the bar.
“Oooh.” Abraham’s fingers padded, spider-like and greedy, over the surface to inspect it. “That’s nice. Issit real . . . metal, stuff?”
“Dunno,” James grunted, hoarsely, watching the old man fingering it with absentminded awe. “You want it?” he asked, making to stand up, “You can keep it.”
Abraham looked up, confusedly. “I can?” he garbled, honestly wondering.
“Yeah.” A tight lipped smile, a half-hearted shoulder-grip, and he was making his way out of the bar - shrugging his coat closer around his neck before stepping out. It had stopped snowing outside, but the slush covered the streets, soaking the hem of his trousers as he sauntered through the muddy snow.
#
It’s actually pretty funny. I mean, not funny, not ha ha I made a joke funny, but there is some sort of humour to it. Because I can remember the last time I saw you. And I tried to remember when it was precisely - date and place wise - and, well, that wasn’t that hard because it was the exact same day Lily told me about the baby. And I told you about the baby. And then some strangers, too. You know that that was the first time I said it, as in, out loud? First time I actually went B-A-B-Y in reference to my own flesh and fucking blood, and lord, lord you pissed me off so bad. I was really angry. I’m sure you noticed, ha ha.
But, to be fair, you seemed sort of genuinely nice about it. I don’t know if that part was actually true, but still - that was sort of kind of you. You didn’t do an awful lot of nice things, so. It matters. I’m not saying this to judge you or anything, or go all bla bla you really should’ve made better choices along the way! But . . . I don’t know. Maybe I’m saying this because that was just the kind of person you were. Not nice. Not sympathetic. Though you did good, sometimes. That matters, too.
#
Over time, he gradually learned to see everything in factors. Risk factor, safety factor, attack and ambush and drop-to-the-ground-and-roll factors. It was necessary now, with all these things to care about, issues that stretched way beyond school and shirt matching his pants, issues that made his heart drop fifty feet at the thought of something going wrong. People. People were suddenly everywhere, making him love them and care for them and rendering him insane to the point where he’s all, I’ll give my life for you and - what was that about, anyway? What was that about?
So now this is what he did. He looked around and determined chances in percents and estimates and vague numbers, things like: how likely am I to be killed walking down Abby Drive? Getting some milk at the grocery store? Shovelling snow?
He didn’t do this with a mindful of maths or brilliant facts. The calculations were probably absolute shit, honestly, probably way off the mark and resulted in bullshit conclusions - but it was a hard habit to break, all the same. Like imagining random tunes to fit the pace of the person walking in front of you, like that habit, only a little bit different. It wasn’t even that complicated at all. Sometimes it was just as simple as - do I go over the bridge or do I not go over the bridge? I don’t go over the bridge, for it might break, and I might die. So no. I’m not going over the bridge.
And it might not seem like much, but it meant the world to him. Because James didn’t not go over bridges. James didn’t not face danger and went, go ooooon then, suckaaah!
He picked main roads at noon, because they had less chance of being crowded at that time. He didn’t pick the red jacket because it increased the chances of being mistaken for a target in case a bull came trampling down the street or in case someone felt like playing darts. Things like that. Simple things. Reasonable things.
“Hey.”
James blinked once before abruptly turning on his heel, meaning to return to the main stream of people and picking the next best unoccupied alley to walk through.
“Wait a- wait! Potter, hold on!”
“Can’t talk,” he said. “Busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Walking.”
Regulus grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stop. James didn’t expect it and nearly tumbled over on the slippery sidewalk. Brusquely, he shook off Regulus’ grip, wordlessly continuing his stern walk down the street.
Audibly huffing, Regulus took a moment before jogging after James, keeping up to his pace. “James. James. We need to walk.”
“No, no I’m fairly sure we’re good like this,” he threw over a shoulder, trying to walk faster. “Not talking and all.”
Regulus, shorter than James, younger and smaller and possibly shrinking inside himself as it was, bravely stepped out in front him. “This is serious. I mean, this is really serious. Please. Just . . .”
He was slightly shaking. James noticed the boy was wet from head to toe, hair sticking to his face where it hadn’t been pushed aside to make way for eyes and nose. He wasn’t wearing a coat. Just a long sleeved shirt, soaking, clinging to his awkwardly maturing body. It started snowing about fifteen minutes ago, but the faint flakes couldn’t possibly be the cause of this and in all honesty - in all terrifying honestly - he looked like he’d been shoved off a cliff, left behind to climb his way back up. There were purple scratches on his unshaved face, and though it was easy to think, ‘Hey, what, guy should’ve seen it coming!’, it was a little bit heartbreaking, the fragility of it all.
“You look like shit.”
“Yeah, well…” Regulus laughed nervously, shrugging.
James sighed. “Two minutes.”
“Five.”
He looked around him, scowling. “Fine. But that’s it.”
“Yeah, s’all I ask,” he tried a smile. It didn’t work. So he pulled his lips tightly together for a passable expression, leading them into a small alley behind a department store storage space. Regulus kicked at a few empty beer cases stacked against a trash container. James waited, uncomfortably blowing into his freezing hands, as the other turned one of the cases to sit on. He wanted to comment about the whole sitting down thing, about how five minutes wasn’t that long and that he should just stand. But he didn’t. He didn’t do anything at all.
“So what’s in the bag?” Regulus said at length, squinting a little and nodding at the plastic bag James was carrying.
“A cake.”
He smiled faintly. “Celebrating?”
“Yeah. I suppose so.” And then, as an afterthought, “Lily’s pregnant.”
Regulus expression stilled mid-grin. Unmoving, warily eyeing James and waiting for the ‘psyche!’ bit. When it didn’t come, he almost deflated into his own frame. “So she’s…she’s fine?” he managed, weakly. “Your…Evans, she’s okay?”
“Yes. She’s fine.” James put down his cake. “How did you find me?”
Regulus fazed out a bit, looking at something behind or near James’ arm. “Sooo . . . you’re going to be a dad.”
“How did you find me, Regulus?”
At this, the boy’s eyes slowly dragged back to James, more focused now. He took a shallow breath, standing up. “Doesn’t matter. Not gonna do it again, am I? Ha ha . . .”
“Right,” James muttered. “Your brother knows you’re back?”
“Nah.” He shrugged, sniffing in the cold. “’S better this way.”
James sighed. It ached a little, just a little, that things had to be like this. That he had to be the one saying these things to this boy, this drowned rat, in a freezing alley in a city that wasn’t home to any of them. “You can’t be doing this anymore, Regulus,” he told him. “You can’t just . . . you have to stay away.”
Regulus was looking at his feet. “Yeah. I know.”
“Do you, though? I mean it, Regulus,” James insisted. “You can’t come back.”
Regulus didn’t reply. He shoved a little at the dusty snow at his feet, hands in his pocket.
James shook his head. He pushed off the wall and picked up his cake. “Okay. I’m going home now.”
“No - wait.” Regulus gave James a warded glance, then quickly resorted to trying to fiddle something out of his pocket - the fabric of his trousers clinging to his legs, making it tricky.
“What, Regulus?” James asked, watching him wearily.
“I’ve got something. For you.” He sniffled again, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. “Or . . . it can be for the baby, I . . . I don’t . . .”
James pulled a face. “What is it?” he asked. “Is it bad?”
“What?” Regulus looked confused. “No, it’s nothi-”
“Is it gross?”
“I - No! No, it’s not . . . jeez, just, hold on-” he trailed off, muttering when the thing he was looking for wasn’t in the proper pocket.
James kept on, “Will it kill me?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Regulus almost laughed. “No, James. No killing.”
“All right, then,” he managed after another moment of determined staring. “On with it.”
“Well, I’m looking-“ Annoyed, Regulus fished out a couple of candy wraps and a broken key. Sighing, he paused for a moment, looking up and trying to remember - where did he put it? - then quickly padding down his chest. It didn’t have pockets, though as the boy’s hand skimmed over his heart an additional square of fabric appeared that wasn’t there a second before. Somewhat relieved, he pulled out a fist full of something from this invisible pocket. James took a few lazy steps forward when Regulus nodded him to come over already, and give his hand.
“It’s a necklace,” Regulus told him, stuffing it in his palm before James could look for himself. “It’s not very pretty but . . . well, it’s old?” he offered. “And important. And you need to keep for a while.”
James frowned, fisting the cold metal. “Where d’you get it?”
“Found it.”
“Yeah. Found it borrowed-it with-no-intentions-of-bringing-it-back, found it, right?” He held out his fist again. “I don’t want it.”
Regulus shook his head. “It’s yours.”
Slowly, James let his hand fall back his side. With the sudden weight of it, he felt older than before. Too old for this, too old for this horrid little boy. “Fine.” His voice was thick, creaking around the edges. Hurriedly, James stuffed the golden locket into the pocket of his coat. “Bye.” He turned around, setting in a fast pace towards the main street.
“Wa-Hey, James!”
He ignored it.
“Great. Walk away! That’s a new one. Mature, too. I can see how all that time made you that much more of a man, Potter!”
Blocked it out, breaths even and teeth clenched.
“JAMES! Look at me, you tosser! I’m going away, I’m not ever coming back, James - LOOK AT ME!”
It was only five blocks and three side streets farther, only when he was sure there was no shouting or yelling or awkward little feet following in his wake, that James came to a slow stop. There, leaning against a lamppost, he took a moment. He took two. He took a breath and pushed himself toward a wall, throwing up and thinking - no going back, no going back, no going back, no going. . . back . . .
#
God. I’m exaggerating. I don’t even know you that well, I don’t remember an awful lot of bad or evil or anything. I mean, I heard things, we all heard things, but what to believe? You just never know what to believe. There are small things I suppose I can dig up, if I really try. Like - remember how you always used to tell the most shittiest stories that were clearly miles off the truth, just to get people to notice you? Didn’t work for fuck’s worth, of course, but. But. Endearing, I guess, could be a word to describe it. Desperately geeky is another.
Oh, hey, remember that time in third year, when Remus and I caught you out of bed on our way to the kitchens? We weren’t supposed to be out either, but you already acted like we’d accused you of god knows what before we could even get out a single word. Remember? You stood there frozen and then you just - you just dropped all those custard pies. And then - the babbling, oh my god I will never as long as I live get the image of you in your jimjams surrounded by food and babbling about . . . well I barely caught half of it. But suffice to say you were shouting. And sobbing. Some insane story about Dumbledore requiting you to spy on the Elves, to make sure they weren’t poisoning the custard. Ha ha! Poisoning the custard! Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.
But you were okay in the brains department. I mean, you got the hang of it. Of what sold and what didn’t. And then the funny stories turned into not so funny, into not just stories but into some kind of truth. For a long time we all joked about it, we were like, ‘oh, yeah, Regulus, he’s just trying to act tough. The loser. He’s lying. He’s soooo lying. But whatever. We don’t care, we don’t care, bla bla bla.’
But then you went and actually did all the shit you were talking about, and that’s when we went quiet. Guess you showed us, huh? Ooh, wow, big tough guy Regulus, goes out to war and gets himself offed, ooh, you sure showed us! Ugh. Loser.
Why the hell d’you have to go and do that? Jesus. Where the hell did you even go? What happened to you, Reg? What the hell happened to you?
#
She was so happy. He was so happy too, so freaking happy, he couldn’t stop staring at her and going over the fact that he couldn’t get over how much she looked like he felt. She was brushing him off, telling him to mingle - to at least go and say hello to his uncle, for fuck’s sake, the sorry sod’s been staring into his drink for the past hour.
“Uuurgh,” he protested. “I hate guy.”
She gave him a pointed look. “You’re an awful person, you know that?”
“Okay I don’t hate him. But. Come ooon, Lily, I don’t want to-“
“Hey, Clingy McClingy, go!”
He laughed, planting a small kiss to her lips before going to greet uncle Herman. And he was good for a minute or so. He was. He was making smalltalk, saying things like, ‘So how’s Berta? . . . Still dead? I’m sorry. What? Has been for the last seven years? Oh. Well, she’s on our minds!’, but soon his words trailed off and attention drifted away and he was looking for her again. And there she was, talking to an old school friend by the buffet, and she was still pretty. Six hours into it and she hasn’t gone ugly yet. Still seemed happy, too. Good, he thought. Good. I’m doing good.
Lily must’ve felt him staring again, because she paused her conversation to shoot him a questioning glance made of raised brows and a tight lips. James grinned and shrugged. ‘What!’ he mouthed, seeing no harm in any of it. She scrunched her nose, and with a sharp shake of her head nodding him back in his uncle’s direction. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes he turned to the man, conspiringly leaning over. “I think we have some Firewhisky inside,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “Let me check.”
Herman smiled toothily, and James gave him a ‘be right back’ before grinningly sauntering across the lawn to the house. September was generous, the sun kind and the warm weather had quickly drawn the party into the garden. Tables had been moved, pots and pans had hovered through windows and chairs were planted in the grass for the consideration of many a lazy guest.
Closing the kitchen door close behind him, James slumped against it.
Quiet.
Brilliant.
He lazily peered around the room. There was a large stack of gifts, piling up to an admirable height, on the kitchen table. Dragging himself toward it, James casually picked one of the smaller packages and gave it a small shake. It rattled. To be expected, he thought, throwing it back onto the pile.
“A Convertible Cauldron. Horribly cheap. Insulting, really.”
And with all the laziness, all that carefree feel that seemed to envelop everything about that day, James was rendered shitless with just that. So little it took to have his throat clench, his heart to thump toward his back. He looked up already angry, already prepared to have this end in punches and curses.
“So I thought I’d drop by,” Regulus explained. “Originally planned on barging in on the whole ‘or forever hold your peace’ bit, but,” he shrugged, held his shoulders up, “I suppose I’m just a old big sap, after all.”
And he stood there, as real as ever. Older, taller, a little bit drunk. But there. Leaning back against the kitchen wall, legs crossed at the ankles and hands half hanging out of his pockets. There seemed to have gone some thought into this, into the suit and the undone tie, into the shirt buttons being out of their holes, the hair uncombed and wild. And this was it, this was the point of it - the joke of it all, of Regulus and everything he was about, this game of pretending to be at this wedding without being there at all. Being someone who might be a part of James’ life without being a part of it at all and, fuck, it’d been years.
“Funny story, actually.” Regulus lifted his hand to his head, remembering something. “I was going through my mail the other day, preparing for this unforgettable event, and found I couldn’t remember where I left my invitation. Now at first, I was like, wait a second! I must’ve left it somewhere here! So there I am, looking all over the place, under cupboard and everything and I’m starting to worry, right, thinking I’d lost it or threw it away when I realised . . . I’ve never gotten an invitation, have I?” He smiled. “Hilarious, don’t you think?”
Outside, James could hear someone’s shrill laugh ring above the buzz of the crowd. Highly aware that anyone could walk, anyone at all, he attempted a quiet - “Why don’t you just calm down, Regulus?”
Regulus’ lips twitched into a shadow of a smile, ignoring the comment with a careless air before continuing, “And all the while I’m hoping it was all a grave mistake, right? I mean, wrong address, tipped the wrong owl - heck, maybe you forgot to mail it out. It happens all the time, I’m told.” His face was calm, almost friendly. “How disappointing.”
Someone walked by the garden door, loudly discussing a nondescript issue. James tensed, nervously eyeing the door until the voices faded somewhat. “Does Sirius know you’re here?” he asked tightly.
Regulus made a huffing sound. “What do you think, James?”
“Better get out then, don’t you think? Before he finds out?”
The other shrugged. “I’ll have time.”
“Get out, Regulus.”
“No.”
“Get out. Now.”
He looked at the ceiling, giving the impression of being a bit bored. “No.” He stretched the act, “Why should I?”
“How about ‘because you’re not welcome here’, is that good enough?”
Regulus grinned a little, looking back at James. “Still can’t believe you did the whole marriage thing.”
“Yeah. Well. Still can’t believe you did the whole death eating thing.”
The boy was laughing then. He pushed himself off the wall, face sickly twisted in bitter amusement. “Come on, James!” he exclaimed. “This can’t possibly be what you want!”
James automatically took a step back as Regulus came closer. At this the boy quirked a brow, making it out to be an act, pretending to be going along with it as he shuffled forth. “Don’t I know you, James?” he kept on. “I mean, look at you! All frowns and grumpy eyes. You’re not cut out for this husband shit, Potter.” He smiled up at him, reaching up to brush the hair out of James’ eyes. James, on his part, was quick to swat the hand away, pulling back his head.
“And now, you get out of my house,” he said. “Before I seriously mess you up.”
Regulus stared at him. For a long moment he stared, breathing hard through his nose. And when his face fell back into that wry smile, he brought his hand back up again and - casually as ever - tucked away that strand that had bothered him in the first place. “Come with me,” he said, and there wasn’t any theatre left to his voice, just a quivering mess of badly veiled insecurities. “You can have your women, I don’t - I won’t care. Just. Come with me.”
And there was a quiet surprise between them when James quietly leaned in a bit closer. He was looming over the younger boy, practically towering with all his legs and legs and big man’s-man chest. “Out,” he breathed, teeth showing. “Out of my sight. Out of my fucking house, or I swear, Regulus. I swear.”
And in the end it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that James had to be the one to do this, time and time again, to say these kind of things and mean them - absolutely fucking mean them - and to whom? This kid? This creature of immaturity and soft hearts, unable to let go and understand that there is no way - no way - not in this universe that it could ever - ever - never -
Regulus took a defensive step back, his eyes elusive and all on James. “You’re making a mistake,” he told him as if he didn’t understand. “Big mistake.”
Silently, James pointed at the door on the far end of the hall. “Leave.”
“If I go now, James, I won’t ever come back. You get that?” His brows were raised and the colour was flooding his face, reddening the tips of his ears. “Because I don’t think you do. I go now, and you won’t ever see me again.”
James stepped aside, making way.
Regulus stared at him for a small moment. His chin quivered, only just the slightest, before the sneer kicked in. He said nothing when passing James, and James said nothing when he purposely - trying so hard to hurt James right back - nicked one of the presents from the stack on the way out.
#
I know what you’d think. Takes two, right? And you, ha ha, you wouldn’t even say it out loud, you big boob. You’d probably try to mumble it - as in, really loud, so that it’s not a mumble at all and everyone hears it anyway - and then act as if you don’t care.
But it’s not like you ever wanted me to say anything about it. Or at least that’s the impression I got, anyway. Did you ever really look for something like an apology? I don’t know. I didn’t. Excuses, well, that’s another story. We had plenty excuses. Personally, I was in a blaming phase - blamed virtually everything. Blamed bushes, the lack of curfew checks, the carelessness of just about everyone - fuck, I’d run into a first year in the hallway and blamed her, for all I cared. And did it make a difference? HA. No. It didn’t.
So, yeah, I’ll keep on accusing you of things. And no, I’m not going to share the burden. This is my letter, I call the shots. If you want to have a go at me, then you’ll have to go and write your own fucking letter, mate.
#
“You didn’t come last week.”
“Uh, yeah . . . busy.”
“Might’ve taken the time to, oh, I don’t know, let me know? I waited a bloody hour, they had to wheel me in as an ice cube.”
James shrugged.
Regulus huffed. “God, you’re such a wanker sometimes.” And then, “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“So I read,” James said, digging inside his pocket for the crumpled letter before shoving it at Regulus. “In a rush, are we?”
Regulus didn’t answer, didn’t grab the note when James let go. It flittered to the ground. He hiked the school bag higher up his shoulder as he bended to pick it up, pocketing it quickly. James observed him with disinterest for a while as he fidgeted about the straps of his bag some more.
James was not going to ask what the matter was. He absolutely refused to.
“The thing is . . .” Regulus began after long-stretched pause. “I’m going away.”
James frowned mockingly. “Again?”
“I mean it this time!” Regulus wildly objected. “And. Well. I’m not coming back.”
“That’s what you said last month.”
“I don’t care.” He looked away grimly, giving the strap of his bag a yank. “I planned it better this time. I’ve got a place to sleep this time, and they said they’d find something for me to do while I-”
“Whatever. I don’t care what you do.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“Well . . . yeah!” James laughed humourlessly. “It took you three hours to come back last time, Regulus. It was Saturday. No one even noticed you were gone, egghead.”
“I said it’s different this time,” he hissed. “And don’t look at me like that - stop it! - I’m serious, Hogwarts is nothing compared to where I’m going. You just wait, James.”
“It is, now?” James smiled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the castle wall. “And where is this underage school-dropout heaven, Reg?”
Regulus pulled his lips tightly, giving his shoes a quick glance and muttering, “Not supposed to tell.”
It was hard not to grin at this. “No address, then? Where am I supposed to write to?”
“You’re not going to write me letters,” he said, sceptically.
“Hey, remember that one time when you sent me hate letters?” James scrunched his nose, snorting. “Yeah, that was fun.”
“It’s not funny.”
At Regulus’ earnest hiss James’ amusement cooled over. “You do know you’ll need to grow up someday,” he said, looking somewhat worried. “Right?”
“I’m not . . .” Regulus closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head as James was distracting him - derailing him from this massive main point he was trying to get at. “I’m - I’m really not here to discuss this. If you want to say goodbye then . . . yeah, do it now.”
James blinked. “Are you messing with me?”
“Is that all you have to say? I mean-“ He glanced aside, trying to cover up some emotion as he quietly said, “You might not ever see me again, you know. I’m not ever coming back.” And then, to James’ face again, “Is that all you have to say to me?”
“You’re mental,” was James’ rebuttal. “Absolutely batshit, is what you are.”
Regulus lifted his chin, hitching his bag up his shoulder again. With all the pride he had, all the grace a lanky fifteen and a half year old boy could muster, he walked up the slight slope to stand before James. And he did, if anything, look like he thought himself the most determined man in the world. Kid. Child.
Regulus’ breath sped up in white little puffs, and James didn’t move a muscle as the boy stood on his tip toes to kiss him.
Neither said a word when Regulus slowly sank back down. James’ pose was forever unmoving: arms crossed and face twisted in an angrily confused frown. The younger boy swallowed, nodding to himself as though -‘should’ve known’- when he walked back down the slope and farther, crossing the grounds and onwards, into the forest.
For a while, James firmly remained at his spot, waiting for Regulus to come running out of the woods any minute crying something had bit him in the butt.
He never did.
#
I suppose that eventually there wasn’t much to it. No underlying thoughts, no deep hidden secrets or tortured souls. Whatever. I wasn’t hurt, or damaged or resentful towards anything at the time. I was nothing more than younger than I am today. Perhaps somewhat cooler, nicer. And you . . . well, I don’t think that there was anything I had that you couldn’t find in any other random person. So it was unfortunate we had to be the way we were. And if you’re pulling a face right now, then you should know that yes, I do regret it. I regret it quite a great deal. But I also miss you. So there.
#
Sometimes, Sirius managed to snatch one of the letters before James could either hide or destroy them. “Aaah, the kid’s still at it?” He’d pull a face, rotating the letter as he cocked his head, “Man. I’m so sorry for this, I seriously thought he stopped that hate mail thing after that howler incident.”
James shrugged, mumbling an ‘apparently not’ before grabbing it back and offhandedly shredding the paper to pieces, throwing it into the burning hearth with easy disinterest.
He was pretty much sure the tiny message scribbled in the margin escaped Sirius’ attention, but just to be sure James waited a good half hour before he stood up, stretched, and announced he was gonna go out for an evening walk. On his own, nudge nudge wink wink if ya know whatimean yeah. It was stupid, low, annoying - and it worked.
“You’re late,” accused Regulus. “It’s half past. I said eleven.”
Shrugging, James made a small noise of indifference. No one was obliged to come, it was never a part of the deal for any of them to show up. If the boy wanted to call it off now - James wouldn’t stop him.
But Regulus settled for a resentful scowl, turning his back on him and setting in a quick pace into the forest, not once looking behind to see whether James was following or not.
It was a game two could play, in that sense. For them it couldn’t mean anything more than circumstances, couldn’t be important or ever trump anything - and yeah, so I was late. So what. Look, your choice, not mine - so hey, whatever. Do what you want. Go on. Go ahead, piss off.
I DARE you.
Well?
Staying, are we? Whatever. Yeah, same to you, tosser.
They came in light of the moon as the canopy’s crown opened up above in a small clearing. Regulus found it a while ago during Herbology. He thought there must’ve been a great oak in the middle, once, one that must’ve fallen during a storm or was eaten to death by forest bugs or burned or - who the fuck cares? James had cut him off. And who did, really? Who the fuck?
He picked a sturdy stem that stood somewhat askew at the outer edge of the clearing, and before it he marked - with the heel of his shoe - what would be his station for the bigger part of the night. Regulus, on his turn, picked a slim tree across the opening, facing James. The distance that separated them was so unneeded, so excessive because sooner or later someone always marched across all angry and heated and it would be like they never really stood that far apart, never really took part in such evasive little mind games. But the stubbornness on both sides was too easy, too familiar to allow either to state how ridiculous - how absolutely idiotic it was challenge each other like that. Just to see how far the other would go every - single - time.
“Saw you at Hogsmead yesterday.”
“Did you, now.”
“You were with that girl again. Whatserface? Miriam . . . Miranda . . .”
“Lily.”
“Yeah, that one. Pretty girl.”
“Yes. Pretty girl.”
“You seem to be pretty close.”
“What’s your point?”
“Nothing. I don’t have a point.”
James made an annoying sound with his teeth, and Regulus just stood there for a while, grinning a little at all the marvellous buttons he could push.
“So how’s my brother?”
“Still fine.”
“Delightful.”
“How’s his mother?”
“Still crazy.”
“Wonderful.”
Regulus was looking at his feet, and began to feel very bored. James blew some air into his cheeks, disinterestedly inspecting the trees around.
“So you like, like her, right?”
“Who, your mother?”
“NO. That girl, Miranda . . .”
“Lily.”
“Yeah, her.”
“None of your business.”
“You sure about that?”
“Oh, piss off.”
It was getting colder, and the moon slowly moved along the sky. Time was getting late and the act old. Once or twice Regulus attempted a hesitating step forward, but a distant howl or cracking branch made him rethink it, dismiss it.
He sighed. “This sucks.”
James shrugged, his attention still on the trees above.
Suppressing a shiver, Regulus wrapped his cloak tighter and pushed himself off the tree trunk. He took a few small steps towards the centre of the clearing and stopped, a contemplative expression pulling his eyebrows together. James slowly averted his eyes from the canopy, expectantly watching the younger boy. He gave a questioning look, silently querying what he was planning on doing.
But Regulus didn’t budge. He flashed James a small grin and with no explanation, made to lie down on the ground.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Lying down,” Regulus said, lying down.
“Get up.”
“Nope. Staying right where I am.”
“Get up,” James insisted. “Get up, or I’m going.”
“Fine. Go.”
“Fuck, Regulus - does crazy run in your family? Get the fuck up!”
“Nah,” he smiled, cocking his head to see James standing at his tree. “Come lie next to me.”
James barked a hallow laugh. “I’m not going to lie in the dirt. Idiot.”
Regulus blinked, unfazed. “Come on. Just do it.”
“This is stupid. I’m not . . . I’m not going to lie down. It’s stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“Yeah! Stupid!”
Regulus shrugged, turning his head to look up at the sky. For a long while James stood next to his tree, biting his lip, muttering stupid under his breath. Years later, he’d come to realise how much reason exactly stupid things need in order to happen, which is none at all. Had he known this at the time, then his mind wouldn’t have been so frantic in search for reason as he bitterly lay down next to the boy.
“Hey, remember how in third year, in Astronomy, we had to draw out the constellations we saw? And the connections between them and stuff?”
James briefly eyed Regulus, grunting a positive.
“I was so rubbish at that.” He chuckled. “Still am. Could never see stuff in the bloody stars. They’re just dots, aren’t they? What are you even supposed to see?”
“Just . . . figures and animals and . . . stuff, I guess. I dunno.”
“Were you good at it?”
“I suppose.” James looked up, as though looking for conformation - but it was a cloudy night, and the stars were faded. “I was okay. Passed the third, didn’t I?”
Regulus turned to look at James, bits of dirt and moss hanging in his hair. James looked back in question, and the former raised his shoulders in a hopeless disposition. To this, James couldn’t help but smile - yeah, tell me about it - he meant to say. A few clouds above shifted to a gust wind that wasn’t felt on the ground, hiding the moon and darkening the night. James couldn’t see his face when Regulus rolled to his side, bringing then inches apart. A warm breath lingered about his chin, and he wasn’t surprised at all when dry lips covered his.
And there was no time for stumbling about. Soon enough there were hands in necks, there were lips and slick hot tongues and intertwined limbs and two boys, two young boys with little worries and so much time. So much bloody, fucking time to forget about the strangeness of it all, about the disconnecting stars and everything else, all of it, whooshing around them in an otherworldly blur.
#
I never had anyone ask me, and you never bothered so I have to admit - I preferred not to ask question at all, not even in my mind. But now it’s all different and I can’t help but wonder, did I virtually think I could change you? Well, yes, sometimes. Who wouldn’t? Everyone thinks they’re right. Everyone thinks their perception of the world is the proper one and ‘I know that everyone says they’re right, but, well, I’m really really right’. And then, if you see another person and they’re struggling with life and the way it treats them then you think to yourself - why not share my brilliant revelation?
I really felt like I was doing the right thing. Like I was doing you this big favour, and you’d end up owing me big time. I just thought it all would be okay if you turned out a good person in the end.
Funny how that one came right round to bite me in the ass, huh?
#
James waited him up after class. Stood outside Slughorn’s class and waited with a letter scrunched up in his fist. The fifth year students flooded out, talkatively chatting and laughing and not even noting the tall seventh year as they passed him. Regulus was one of the last to exit the classroom, smugly discussing something with a curly little fellow. Tightening his grip on the letter, James swiftly used his other hand to pull the young Black out of the crowd by his collar, cutting him off in the middle of a sentence.
“OY! What d’you think you’re doing, wanker!”
James, still holding the boy up on his toes, shook him a little. “It’s time for you and I to have a little chat, Black.”
“Piss off! I don’t have time for you, I have to get to Transfigu-OY!”
James, who really did not care what the boy had to say, gave his collar a hearty yank as he started to drag him opposite direction as the rest of Regulus’ class.
“HEY! Let me GO, you lowlife!”
A slap on the back of his head was all the reply Regulus was going to get. He was trashing about. Kicking and twisting and biting - but James was taller, and stronger, and much - much angrier. They followed a few twists and turns of the dungeon before James pushed them into a small alcove. Regulus tried to push and struggle again but James released him, suddenly, so that he staggered onto the ground all shaky and wobbly. His face was red from effort and his robes all messed up. He looked livid.
Unfortunately for him, however, so did James.
“What is this?” He pushed the letter onto Regulus’ chest, making him bump into the wall behind.
“What do you think it is, genius?”
“Don’t get smart with me,” James hissed. “What is wrong with you, boy?”
He pushed off James’ hand. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Potter.”
“Then what the hell is this suppose to be?” James waved the letter in front of his face. “HM? What is this?”
“It’s a letter,” he deadpanned. “Expressing my hate. To you.”
“Yeah, I got that part, thanks.” James threw the parchment away, taking a somewhat deflated step back. “It’s been three months, Regulus. How many more warnings do you want? You want me to take this to headmaster again?”
“Dumbledore doesn’t scare me.”
“Well you should be scared of him. Fucking terrified, you little shit.”
“You don’t scare me, either! It’s all your fault anyway. Brought this all on yourself, didn’t you? What are you even doing, trying to be friends with Sirius? He embarrasses my family more than enough without your help, and then all those stupid pranks you pull - all those idiotic-.”
“Hey! Kid! It’s time you learn to live with it, yeah? I’ve been your brother’s friend for seven -- seven years now. What did you think you’d accomplish, Regulus? What, d’you think you’d scare me off? Make me change my mind? What?” James pointedly poked Regulus in the chest, pushing him against the wall again. “Make me leave my best friend? Look at you! What are you like, twelve?”
“FIFTEEN!” he boomed. “Fifteen and four months!”
James laughed menacingly. “Pardon me, Mister Man.”
Angrily, Regulus tried to shove his shoulders. But James had a good footing, and barely swayed at the push - the same, however, could not be said for Regulus. Immediately, James grabbed a fist full of his robes, pushing him against the alcove wall so hard the boy was coughing.
“Listen to me, kid,” he hissed. “This is your last warning. You stop those letters right now, or you’ll have to sort it out with your brother. Not me.”
Regulus was breathing shallowly as he inched up his chin, a most challenging look about him. “Sirius wouldn’t hurt me.”
James pulled him up, inching in a bit as he nearly whispered, “You sure?”
“You don’t know Sirius,” hissed Regulus. “You don’t get to know him. He’s my brother, yeah? MINE!”
“You sorry little boy.” James puffed a sound of wry amusement. “You sorry, sorry, jealous little boy.”
“I’m not little.”
“Stop the letters.”
“No.”
“STOP THE BLOODY LETTERS!”
“NO!”
“I SWEAR, boy. If you don’t stop the act RIGHT NOW, I’LL-“
It was true that there was very little within the power of the smaller boy that could deter James. He couldn’t push, or kick or even scream as well - but, well, hell knows how his mind worked that day. What had made him lurch forward and fist his two smaller hands in James’ robes and pull himself up, made him lose his mind like that and violently push his lips to James’.
The unmoving moment of realisation did not take long. With a loud grunt and a big gesture, James pushed Regulus off as hard as he could, pressing himself against the back wall - as far away as possible. He swallowed, eyeing Regulus with a mixed look of confusion and repulsion.
“Wha . . . what the hell . . .”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Regulus was staring at the ground now, his back slouching and face hidden by a veil of hair.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”
He remained silent, eyes sternly cast downward.
“What the hell did you do that for? What is your problem, Regulus?”
The boy didn’t even seem to be hearing him.
“Look at me.”
Nothing.
“Look at me when I talk to you!”
With a loud sob, Regulus looked up. His nose was runny and his face was twisted in a warped grimace - he seemed to be doing his best not to cry.
“Oh, shit . . .” James muttered, closing his eyes for a moment, touching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got some issues, kid. Some serious, fucking issues.”
Regulus sobbed again, loudly wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve.
Fuck.
“Hey - hey, don’t do that. It’s . . . it’s okay, all right?”
He’s not quitting. Shit, he’s not quitting.
“Don’t - don’t cry, come on, it’s okay! Look, I’m not angry, okay? Just . . . don’t cry, come on.”
Great. GREAT. My luck. Fuck. What am I suppose to do with this?
“Look, it’ll be okay, all right? It’s not that bad, it’ll . . . we can forget about it. It’ll be okay, Regulus. Really.”
Awkwardly, James tried to pat the boy on his back. A heavy, sticky weight climbing up his spine told him that this was one of those moments in life that would probably be a bitch to forget, that he’d never get rid of this and whenever he’d see this boy sauntering his way down the hallway, at lunch, when he tried to look up Sirius and James just happened to be there - he knew he’d think back to this day, this very moment, watching the sobbing mess of a boy bury his face in the crook of James’ arm. The image burned in the back of his throat with the awkwardness of it, the mess that it was bound to eventuate in.
At a certain point Regulus stopped crying. James, sitting on the floor, back against the wall, absently played with the hair of the boy sleeping in his lap. There was nothing left keeping him from running away.
Get up, James.
GET UP. .
Regulus mumbled something intelligible in his sleep.
James sighed, head bumping against the stone as he tilted it back, at a loss.
#
So. Guess what? This is harder than I thought it would be.
Look, I’m not that great with the words. I like that I’m not great with the words. I revel in it, it’s my charm, my thing, my whatever. But. Well, I’m just trying to . . .
Look. I don’t have anything to say that might solve anything. Nothing you can take with you or remember or use when you’re in trouble, but - I guess . . . I suppose I do know that there are things, a lot of things, that we don’t agree with. But I don’t think that means, well, as much as we would like it to mean. As in, maybe some things don’t need to be explained just because someone doesn’t agree with them. It doesn’t make them right, either. It just means that they . . . you know, they just sort of . . . are. Did that make sense? That didn’t make sense. Fuck. Forget that, what I’m trying to say is that - that - I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.
But so many things can change, Regulus. Don’t ever think things can’t change. Because nothing is the same all the time and maybe today we can see things like we couldn’t see them yesterday and, Jesus, it takes just a moment to change our ideas about everything and even less to erase it all and it’s like . . . we see everything, we know all the loose facts and stories but . . . we just can’t connect the dots. And it doesn’t mean we’re bad people - it just means . . . we’re different. Different people.
#
“REGULUS BLACK!”
There followed a moment of complete silence, only broken by the soft footsteps of little feet walking across the hall.
“Sirius,” James began, slowly.
“Yeeees.”
“That boy’s name is the same is yours.”
“Yeah, I heard. What are the odds, huh?”
“Sirius.”
“Yes?”
“That was your brother.”
“Well, you know. Brother is such a big word.”
“You could’ve told us, though,” Remus quietly added.
“I told you I had a brother.”
James snorted. “You made it sound like he was three.”
“Well, in a way, he is.”
A loud cheering erupted from a few tables away, and the little, dark-haired boy happily skipped over to the rest of the Slytherins. Every now and then he stretched his neck, looking in Sirius’ direction, making movements as though telling him to come over and join him at his table.
With a grunt, Sirius turned around.
“Great.”
#
I went out for a walk today, and found this . . . rock thing. I brought it back with me and put it in the garden. You see, we have this really big chestnut tree behind the house, so it’s under there. It’s really pretty in the fall, with the colours and all. So.
You don’t have a grave, so I’m putting this letter by the rock, in case you ever want to read it. It’s going to snow pretty soon and everything will be wet, so I’d hurry the hell up if I were you. I also wanted to put something of yours there, but I didn’t have anything left. Sorry I gave away your locket.
That’s it. That’s all I had to say. I’ll try to stop by whenever I can, Regulus.
Goodbye,
- James.
#