Written solely for Wifey's "The Dating Grounds" with Regulus Black at the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch. Sorry I'm lame and late.
Warnings: hints of bad home life, talk of failure, this story just happened and it reads like it just happened, so I guessed I should warn you about that too.
Word Count: 615
The Last Game
Regulus was exhausted. Horribly exhausted. But he didn't quit. He couldn't quit. How could he? How could he disappoint his family? How could he let all of his values fall through and puddle on the ground like a worthless pile of sludge?
He couldn't give up. There was no question about it.
He had to make it work.
He had to.
He just… had to.
His hands ached. His body, lithe and quick, burned. Sweat dripped from his brow, little droplets curving against the pale flesh of his face. His robe was soaked; it was demeaning. But dirty laundry was the least of his worries.
A punishment far worse than death awaited him if he failed. He wasn't sure if he could withstand it at all. So he didn't give up.
He didn't want them to give him the silent treatment. That would flat out suck.
"You can do it, Reggie!" a voice shouted from the Gryffindor stands, and Regulus's eyes snapped up to lock on Sirius's. A wide grin split the lips of his brother, and he pumped his fists in encouragement.
Regulus simply nodded; he had never been one to show much emotion.
Behind Sirius, wearing a Slytherin scarf—Regulus's Slytherin scarf—was James Potter. Even from a distance, Regulus could see his eyes sparkling. It filled him with an energy unknown to Merlin himself, and Regulus gripped his broom tighter.
He would win, even if it killed him.
The game had already been going on for five hours. It was the last game of the season, the deciding game. If Slytherin beat Hufflepuff, Slytherin would win, leaving Gryffindor to take second place, and Hufflepuff to take third. Ravenclaw, no matter the outcome of this game, would take last.
If Hufflepuff won…
Regulus shook his head. He had to win. Gryffindor and Slytherin had to place top two. If they didn't, then why even bother with Quidditch at all?
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Gold. Quick. Just a flash.
Regulus responded with lightning speed and bullseye accuracy. Within seconds, the Snitch was in his left hand, shuddering and trying to escape, but Regulus held tight.
Roars erupted from every angle—anger from the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws (they had formed an alliance, much like Gryffindor and Slytherin), and excitement from the Gryffindors and Slytherins.
Regulus pumped his fist in the air, his features strangely calm. He was cheering on the inside.
He only smiled when he met James's eyes; it was only then that a grin, as wide as his brother's, spread across his lips.
…
"I'm so proud of you," James whispered later that night. The two of them had snuck back onto the Quidditch Pitch, their eyes turned towards the stars. This was a common activity for the pair of them—fitting, since they both practically lived on the Quidditch Pitch.
Regulus smiled softly, turning to tuck into James's side. "I owe it all to you. You and Sirius, and your parents, and Remus, and Peter—"
James laughed, tugging Regulus into a tight hug and practically pulling him on top of his chest. "Our parents, remember? They became yours that night you and Sirius showed up on our doorstep."
Warmth flooded through Regulus's chest. It had been almost two years since he and Sirius had begun to live with the Potter's, and it still felt like a dream. How had he been lucky enough to get out of his old situation and get into his current one?
"I love you, Reg," James whispered after a moment, making the warmth in Regulus's chest spread across his entire body.
He took a deep breath before glancing up at James. "I love you too."