Notes: For the amazing Rish (starlight. moon. princess) for last year's Gift-Giving Extravaganza.
Rish, I feel I should apologize. Not only for the delay, but what is this even. I'm not gonna lie, I missed these two with a burning passion. I hope you like it even if... just. What is this.
Chaser
"Barty, catch!"
You don't need to make a conscious effort for the Quaffle to reach position. You know where to fly, how to stick out your hands in exactly the right shape for the red ball to fit between them seamlessly.
The night is warm, the skies are clear, and the Quidditch pitch is yours for the evening. It's you, Regulus, your broomsticks, and his old, beaten Quaffle. It's been a long summer without him. Two months of seeking his face in every corner or seeing it behind closed eyes, having his existence away from you haunt you like the most wicked spirit. Now he's here. In front of you. Looking every bit as good as you recalled.
This whole thing was his idea. You would go through with every plan he comes up with, and this is one you can gleefully execute. The Quidditch team is incomplete, after all, and he says you're good. He says you're worthy. He's played with you countless times and he knows you to be a talented Chaser.
The thing is, Barty, you're not so sure. The name has been Chaser for centuries and you're the only one it doesn't make sense for. You're a Chaser and you wonder, what exactly are you chasing?
Not the Quaffle, that's for sure.
Regulus flies away, his green robes trailing behind him like a comet's tail. Nobody else is there, so your eyes linger on his figure, trying to drink it in before your thirst becomes apparent. You wish a permanent imprint of his face in your memory, to recall when lost in fantasies and dreams. It faded away during the summer and you cannot let it get away again. Memories of Regulus fill with warmth your darkest nights. They fill with hope your bleary days.
Now you have him here, flesh and bone, and it's even better than you remembered. You keep watching as he positions himself between you and the hoops. Regulus is quite the decent Keeper, if you must say so, but he's said to be the best Seeker in all of Hogwarts. He was chosen in his second year, and only twice he failed to catch the snitch during a game since then. Once in his first game, and once after a broken rib.
Regulus can do anything he wants to do. He can be anything he wants to be. If he wants you to be the best Chaser, he will move mountains to make it so.
It means that you're Seeker and Chaser. The same meaning, but not quite. Regulus seeks, you chase. He seeks you in the early mornings and you chase after him like a lost puppy. He seeks your quiet companionship and you chase him wherever he wants to go. He seeks your approval and loyalty and Barty, you very well know you would chase him to the moon and back even if he pretends to go without you.
You'd say that you follow, but you know it to be a chase. He eludes you like drops of water slipping between your fingers. It seems as if you're there, together, but still miles apart. Does Regulus know? Does he know he's a goal you'll never reach? Does he knows he's the craving you'll never satisfy?
"What are you waiting for?" He taunts. You could tell him you're waiting for him to stop running away so you can finally, finally...
You sigh, back to focus, and aim the Quaffle at the left hoop. As you throw, you realize he seems to have anticipated your actions. He always does. You don't know how and when he got there, but he catches the Quaffle without effort, with a smirk.
Always a smirk.
"You're not even trying," he taunts.
"I am."
You don't know what you mean by that.
"Do you want to be part of the team, or not?"
This is how he teases; you smile on cue. The smile doesn't reach your eyes even though it should, Barty. You know it should. He's here for you. He's here to help you. He wouldn't be doing this if he didn't think this is the best for you. He's Regulus, after all. He's got a big heart and a cunning mind.
He seeks your well-being. You chase him away.
"Try again," he says. Your eyes are fixed on his graceful movements; he leans back as he prepares to throw. He's a masterpiece, proud and cold, with his piercing gray eyes and his upturned nose.
You're Barty, just Barty, eerie and quiet like an empty ballroom.
The Quaffle falls into your hands once more. You don't even attempt to make it so. You only have to look away from Regulus a fraction of a second to calculate its path, and then your gaze is back on him. And he is looking back.
If only it were this easy.