Warning: Contains sexual activity between boys who are over sixteen but under eighteen.
Author's note: Title and inspiration are taken from "The Road to Ruin" by The Libertines. Beta-ed by deathjunke. Many thanks and much love.
Written for the Regulus fest for the prompt Dreams are strewn across the sand.
I own none of the characters or settings here, they all spring from the eternally wonderful mind of JK Rowling.
WHEN THE PENNY DROPS
The snitch appeared out of nowhere; the slow-witted Gryffindor seeker didn't even see it. Regulus Black sped upwards, utterly focussed, unaware of the action below him. Being equally single-minded, James Potter had no idea that the goal he was striving for was never going to matter anyway. The Quaffle flew through the hoop at exactly the same second that Regulus' glove closed around the snitch. The referee allowed it because it made no difference.
Regulus flew from player to player for congratulations while the Gryffindor team glowered at them from below. He was golden, bursting with pride; the only other time he had felt this good was when he had taken the Mark.
In the stands, his once-brother spat at the ground before climbing down to commiserate with his House-mates. Sirius' anger made Regulus' victory all the more sweet. Potter was welcome to him. Regulus was the only child now: the heir, the future of the House of Black. Potter was welcome to Sirius. Sirius, on the other hand, didn't deserve to touch Potter.
James Potter was the Head Boy, the Quidditch captain, the best looking boy in the school; he might be a Traitor to it, but his blood was Pure – his lineage went back centuries. Sirius was lost to the family and the cause, but James could still be saved. Of that Regulus was convinced.
The referee called them down and the Slytherin players shook hands with their defeated opponents. Most of the Gryffindors were reluctant. The boy who had been Black stepped away, looked down, pretended Regulus wasn't there.
James was different; with his head held high he looked right into every Slytherin's face as he firmly shook his hand. He was the captain and he knew how to set an example of graciousness. Regulus was transfixed by him. He barely noticed the uncouth girl Beater who hissed, "I don't know why you're all so pleased with yourselves. It's just a match. We're still going to take the cup off you."
He pulled his hand from her limp grasp and moved forward.
Potter's hand was dry and his grip firm.
"Good match, well played," he said.
Regulus smiled without smugness and replied, "It was very close. Bad luck."
"Good catch at the end there."
"Thank you. You distracted everyone for me." He smiled as charmingly as he could. "You do score some worryingly impressive goals."
Potter smiled back. "I try."
As he walked back to the changing room, Regulus heard Sirius behind him, asking James angrily whether "all that mutual appreciation" was "really necessary."
"Dry up, Sirius, it's only Quidditch. He's a pretty decent player. Do you want me to lie to him?" James replied. Regulus smiled to himself.
James Potter would be an asset to the cause. At one time, he had been as limp and decadent as Sirius, but recently he had pulled himself together and stopped fooling around. Now he was being mature and responsible; his blood was showing through.
He had always been serious about his sport. It was rumoured that he practiced alone in his spare time, in addition to the team training. He was conscientious, like Regulus. Often at night, between studying and curfew, Regulus went out flying over the school grounds. He had heard, though, that Potter's favourite time was between lessons and tea: that was when he would take the Quaffles down to the edge of the lake to throw and catch - stretching himself, finding his limits, frequently falling several feet to land in the soft sand round the edges of the water. Regulus decided to change his routine and his route.
He flew high above the lake, tracking its edges as a guide, going higher and higher; he glanced down at Potter's strenuous manoeuvres and was pleased to see that from time to time the older boy looked up at his. After half an hour, he sent his broom into a spinning dive, pulling up just above the water's surface.
"Good catching!" he called over companionably.
"Thanks!" James shouted back. "Nice flying!"
Regulus nodded his appreciation of the compliment and headed to the school for tea.
He didn't go back the next afternoon; that would have been too obvious.
They did meet several times that term, and eventually it was James who caught up with Regulus to fly back to the Great Hall together. They flew in silence a few times until Regulus finally asked about preparations for the forthcoming match against Hufflepuff. They talked tactics and analysed the Hufflepuff team as they flew along together.
As winter overtook autumn, the days grew shorter and one evening late in the term, the two boys found themselves flying through an impressive sunset.
"The colours," James whispered in awe.
Regulus just nodded, his eyes shining.
When the sky turned red the next day, James pulled out a camera.
"Won't do it justice," he muttered, half to himself. He looked into the sky through the viewfinder. "Bit empty," he added.
Regulus watched him standing strong and glorious against the bloodied and blackened backdrop.
"Erm, I don't suppose you'd mind?" James asked, pointing the camera at Regulus. "Make a better shot," he explained.
Regulus shrugged, dropping to the ground. "You a bit of an artist, then?" he asked.
"You couldn't fly?" James asked hesitantly. "Just above the horizon?" He said quietly, "You make such great shapes," quickly adding "just an amateur, not really artistic," before Regulus could react to the compliment.
He pressed the shutter and wound on the film a few times and then they headed back to the crowded normality of the castle.
"Let me see them? When they're developed?" Regulus asked.
He had expected James to bring the photographs to the lake one afternoon. Instead, in the middle of the next morning, as he walked back to his Common Room, he was surprised to see the Gryffindor walking down the corridor towards him.
"I was hoping to catch you," James said. "Just had Potions, so as I was down here ..." he shrugged nonchalantly. "I've got the photos."
"You're not going to get them out here? In front of everyone?" Regulus feigned bashfulness.
"Where do you suggest?" James asked.
It should never have been that easy. Once he was alone with him, Regulus was sure, he would be able to recruit James to the side of Truth, using logic and a little charm. He would be an admirable addition; Regulus would be rewarded. James would be saved.
They found an empty room and sat close together to look through the pictures.
"I think you are an artist," Regulus said, though he knew nothing about art.
"I think nature did all the work for me," James replied, self-deprecatingly.
"The colours look wonderful," Regulus agreed.
"So do you."
Regulus looked up to find that James wasn't looking at the photographs any more, he was looking straight into Regulus' face.
Disconcerted, Regulus looked down and watched the image of himself shooting across the evening sky, bent low over his broomstick. He looked back up to meet the older boy's gaze. The blood rose warm to his cheeks. James' face was flushed, too. Regulus became very aware of the heat of the thigh close to his own. He had never expected it to be this easy.
He pointed his wand at the door and it closed. There would be plenty of time for persuasive arguments, now he had to win over his quarry. He leaned forward slightly, and murmured, "You know I do admire you most terribly."
He heard James' breath catch in his throat; Regulus' groin began to tingle and to heat up.
"I ..." James swallowed, his eyes darting around the room. "I think a l-lot of you, t-too," the Head Boy stammered.
Their heads moved towards one another. Just a moment before their mouths would have met, James said suddenly, "You know I've got a girlfriend?"
Regulus couldn't remember, didn't want to think about that now. "Don't mind," he mumbled. Then he lifted his hands up to James' face and held it still as he kissed him on the lips.
They kissed ardently for several minutes, before James pulled back and whispered in a forced voice, "Damn! I'm supposed to be in Astronomy."
"You'd better go then," Regulus replied. He felt a little dizzy.
"After tea, you will be in the usual place, won't you?"
It took a few seconds for Regulus' head to clear enough for him to understand what he was being asked. "By the lake." He nodded. "Will you?"
"I wouldn't miss it for anything."
James patted Regulus' cheek as he stood. Then he hurried out of the room and the blood slowly returned to Regulus' brain. He tried to remember which lesson he was meant to be in next.
The winter worsened and the rain fell more often. Soon the sandy area beside the lake was indistinguishable from the other bare mud of the grounds. Still, James Potter continued to practice there most afternoons. In the dark, Regulus would join him and always they would kiss.
Regulus was sure that it was only a matter of time before he saved Potter. The man was too worthy to keep wasting his time among Mudbloods and Blood Traitors. He was physically and mentally strong, and so intelligent that he would surely understand the Lord's arguments when Regulus put them to him.
There was little time for conversation but that did not bother Regulus. He had two more terms before Potter left the school. It would be plenty of time. He didn't want to rush things. He was using his body as the bait to lure him to their cause. Gradually he increased the fever of their trysts, preparing Potter for the moment when he would seduce him over to the side of Truth.
It was easy. Their hands roamed over each other's clothed bodies in the sharp cold of early evening in December. Potter was more than willing. Pressed between the taller boy's hot body and the rough bark of a tree, Regulus appeared to be the passive partner – but with no more than a careful jerk of his hips, he could produce quivering and moaning.
As they flew together back to the castle, Regulus opened their first conversation on the subject of Blood Status. He intended only to prepare the ground for later debates on the matter.
"Your girlfriend?"
"Yes?" Potter asked, obviously surprised. "Lily Evans."
"Yes. I understand that she may be Muggle-born."
"She is." James stopped flying. He hovered in the air and examined Regulus' face.
Regulus pulled up short and turned to face him.
"Does that bother you?" asked Potter. "These lips that have kissed Muggle lips have also kissed yours. Do you feel tainted?"
Regulus remained aloof. "Not at all." He began to fly forwards again, but slowly. "I was just wondering. Whether it felt different."
James caught up with him. "It's different because she's a girl and you're not."
"Does she touch you the way I touch you?"
"Of course not! She's a respectable young lady. We're saving all that for our wedding night."
"You'd marry her?" Regulus was horrified. It was obscene enough that he would undertake a public liaison with a Mudblood; Regulus had not realised that Potter had become so corrupt that he would consider neutralising his bloodline through marriage to one. He was scandalized by how depraved the Blood Traitors had become.
"Well, I can't marry you, can I?"
They flew in silence for a while.
"Would you?" Regulus asked in a whisper. "If you could."
"Bit tricky. You being a boy would be the least of it."
"You mean the families?"
James nodded curtly. "And Sirius. Don't think he'd be delighted."
They did not usually speak of Regulus' no-longer-kin; he didn't want to do so now. Somewhere in this conversation he felt as though he had missed an opening to talk about the ways of Truth. Before he could mention the Purity issue, though, Potter spoke.
"You know what we should do," he said, "we should find somewhere a bit warmer, get a bit more cosy with each other."
It sounded like a change of subject, but felt like a logical progression.
"Did you have a particular place in mind?"
"Can't think of anywhere."
"Nor can I, but I will put my mind to it."
The lit windows of the school came into view and they parted, careful always to approach the building from different directions and at different times.
The end of term approached and passed them and still they had not found a place to claim each other's bodies. They kissed their Christmas farewell between the frozen puddles of the hard-packed sandy mud at the edge of the lake.
Over the holiday, Regulus was free to attend meetings. As always, his leader's rhetoric inspired him to greater love of his cause. He wondered whether he should share his plan to save James Potter with his fellow Death Eaters; he decided against it on the grounds that they might try to rush him if they knew of it and he did not want to risk showing his hand early and losing this game.
Within a week of their return to school, thick snow had covered the shoreline of the lake and they were forced to look for alternative places to practice and to meet. Their reunion had been ardent. Potter seemed to be driven by a new and greater hunger for Regulus' touches just as Regulus' zeal for his recruitment mission was invigorated.
Regulus was nervous about his imminent loss of innocence – as anyone would be – but he was determined to sacrifice his virginity to his cause. The pleasures of the flesh could not be an end in themselves. His lineage was too noble for him to subjugate himself to base abandonment for its own sake.
A setting was needed, though. For a fortnight they exchanged no more than covert heated glances in crowded corridors. The Prefect's bathroom was a possibility, but a risky one. They were not the only boys with access to it. Regulus had heard a rumour of a 'iCome and Go/i' room somewhere in the school, but had no knowledge of how to find it. Their Prefect duties allowed them access to the corridors out of hours, but there they could have been discovered by teachers, the caretaker, portraits or ghosts. They both took their responsibilities too seriously to abuse their posts anyway.
Regulus was initially confused one morning at breakfast, when an owl delivered him a copy of the Quality Quidditch catalogue. He already had one and it was always sent to his home. Folded within it there was a scrap of parchment, however, which he slipped into his sleeve. When he read it later he found it said: Midnight, tonight, the Whomping Willow. I yearn for you, JP.
Yearn? His heart beat faster and he found his throat constricting. For one wild moment he was nervous, excited, aroused and scared. He calmed himself using the focussing techniques his Lord had taught him. Tonight he would persuade James of the Truth, he would use his body to save a Pureblood and thus to enrich the righteous cause.
Leaving the school building in the middle of the night was difficult and frightening. Regulus had never done such a thing before. The very idea of breaking rules nauseated him, and he had never previously used the privileges of his role as a Prefect for personal gain. He reminded himself that he was not meeting James because he was handsome and strong, because of the deliciousness of his body, nor the warmth of his desire. It did not matter that when James looked straight into his eyes he was weakened by being wanted that much. James was too good a man to be lost to the fools who followed Dumbledore; Regulus would save him. To that end, it was acceptable that he break some school rules.
Midnight found him nervously shivering in the dark as the long branches of the willow thrashed over his head. He seemed to be alone. A strange hope fluttered briefly: perhaps he would not have to go through with this after all. He had tried to imagine what they would do together, how it would feel to disrobe in front of another person, what James would look like naked, how they would touch each other, to compose what he would say. It had left him feeling stimulated, scared and confused. He had focussed on his plan for getting out here instead.
"Come with me."
James' voice startled him. He spun round. James stood beside him. Regulus had missed his approach, he didn't understand how. Looking up at his face in the moonlight made Regulus' breathing difficult again. He calmed himself.
James' larger, cold hand enclosed Regulus'. Crouching, they approached the base of the enchanted tree. Regulus tensed, awaiting its blows. They would not matter, not tonight. Potter's grip on his hand made him feel safe.
They paused and James levitated a stick. When it hit a bare spot on the bark, the sound of moving branches ceased. Regulus had only a moment in which to look up, amazed, at the stilled tree, before he was being firmly pulled forwards.
"Follow me."
Their hands were no longer touching.
Regulus watched James climb between two of the willow's thick roots; he followed as instructed. The place he found himself in was dark and enclosed, it smelt of damp earth.
"Not too far down here," James said.
Sightlessly trusting, Regulus crawled forwards, his heartbeat rapid in his chest.
Eventually, he saw light ahead, and then James' smiling face in that light. When he reached that face he kissed it. He remembered how wonderful those kisses felt; it was impossible to conjure the memory of them when he was alone. They forgot themselves in that kiss for a while. Then Regulus felt strong hands on his shoulders, felt himself being pulled ahead and down. His feet touched a floor, but he did not open his eyes for a while, because their mouths were still moving against each other.
They finally broke apart, breathing heavily. James was flushed, his pupils large, his lips reddened.
"It's not much, but – what do you think?"
Regulus blinked and took in his surroundings for the first time. They were in a dusty, dilapidated wooden shed or hut full of broken furniture. It didn't matter; he was alone with James at last.
"There's even a bed upstairs," James said.
Fear dried Regulus' mouth; this was really it, they were actually going to do this. He nodded.
The bed had no legs and the headboard was scored with what appeared to be bite marks. James had a clean sheet shrunk into his pocket and once he had spread that over the mattress it looked less daunting. Regulus stood immobile and watched him. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. James sat down and looked expectantly, but hesitantly, over to him.
Regulus' limbs seemed to have turned to clay and his mouth was numb. Slowly, he crossed the bare floorboards to sit beside James. They looked at each other.
"I've never done this before," James confessed quietly.
"Nor have I."
Regulus patted the back of James' hand. It had been a long time since they had been so uncomfortable around each other. Regulus watched his own hand against James' skin.
"Are you nervous?" he asked.
"No," James answered too quickly. "A little. But more ..." he turned his hand so that he could take hold of Regulus'. Their eyes locked as he moved their hands to his own groin. He pressed Regulus' palm against the bulge growing there.
Regulus tingled. He felt the familiar heat building through his body while he caressed through cloth, as he had done many times before. He couldn't stop himself from imagining what was in there, though: how it would look and feel and whether it would hurt him.
James leant towards him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "We don't have to do everything all at once," he said. "We have a place now, that's all."
He was so kind and caring and compassionate – too good a person to be allowed to sink into the stinking filth of the Muggle world. Regulus was supposed to be seducing him; he wasn't doing a very good job of it. This good man might be lost if he didn't begin move soon.
"Where is this place?"
"It doesn't matter," James replied quickly. He looked earnestly at Regulus. "You must not ever tell anyone about it."
"Very well."
"It's important."
"I won't tell anyone." Regulus kissed James again. The kissing was nice, it was safe and familiar. He felt his own erection growing as they lost themselves in the taste of each other. James fell back, gently pulling Regulus with him. They lay side by side, front to front, their hands exploring and mouths busy.
Regulus wanted to be like this always. "I wish we didn't have to hide away!" he blurted out suddenly. He swallowed as James looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Then he realised what he was saying, that it might not be stupid after all. "I wish our friends weren't enemies," he elaborated. "Then they might accept this. We could spend all of our time together."
James shook the lust from his head. He swallowed and then nodded urgently. "Yes!" he enthused. This was going to be so easy!
James sat up, looking down at Regulus and stroking his face. "Regulus, listen, I've been meaning to talk to you about this. You're a decent chap. I mean I like you and you're awfully attractive and everything, but I think you're a good person, too."
Regulus sat up, too. His mind was sharpening. "I am! And so are you!"
"Yes. You're smart as well. You're too intelligent to accept all that Pureblood rot. I mean I know you're a Death Eater and everything. But you don't have to be. I want to talk to you about the Truth; I'm going to save you."