Chapter 13: Do you trust me?
Notes:
Hello hello!
TWs for today's chapter:
More heights related scares
Very vague reference to Regulus' sleeping potions use (blink and you miss it's there)
Mentions of past death (vague, not violent, just referenced in a conversation)
Memories of child abuse (Sirius and Regulus' back story)
References to homophobia (as a thing that unfortunately exists in society, but no one is actively homophobic in this chapter)
I think that's it! Enjoy :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Regulus' hand fits into James' like someone took moulds and made them to measure purposefully. He's cold, but James doesn't mind because he's always too warm. See? Again. They're made to work together. Opposites that fit to make a balanced... something. James can't look at that too closely, not yet, but it exists. He can tell because his chest constricts and then expands like it's full of bubbles when Regulus touches him.
James tugs gently, so gently, like Regulus might get spooked and bolt. But Regulus comes closer. There's reluctance and hesitation on every line of his body, but he's moving, so James is tentatively hopeful.
James gestures to the back of his broom with his head and Regulus climbs on it without a word. Regulus is a very good flyer, so he sits on the broom without issue at first, then James can tell when he comes to the inevitable conclusion of what has to happen next. James did build this entire plan around the fact that Regulus would have to hold on to him. He's looking forward to it.
"Actually, no," Regulus says, and begins to climb off the broom.
James twists his body. "Come on, Regulus. It's just for your safety."
"No."
He's stubborn, James will give him that. The scowl is back, pulling his eyebrows together. There's a determined glint to his eyes. This boy will not agree to this, James can see that clearly.
Alright. Okay. So, his plan isn't working.
James can adapt. He's smart, or so he's told. And he's picked up on the fact that Regulus is a little particular about physical contact. He only seems to accept it if he's the one that initiates it. And this might be for nothing, but James thinks perhaps he'll agree to a swap. At this point, James has nothing to lose so he might as well just try.
"What if you go in front of me instead?"
Regulus pauses. He's standing on the roof again, looking uncertain. He's scowling even more, believe it or not, because that's just his permanent face, apparently. But he's still here, and he's not hexing James, so he's taking the win.
"And you hold on to me?" Regulus asks, tilting his head to the side like he's considering it.
James nods. "Yeah."
"You would have zero control over the broom," he says. It's the way his voice snags on the word that clues James in. Regulus likes to feel like he's in control of situations. That's fine, because James has no problem simply tagging along for a ride.
"Don't mind that. Well, I did plan a whole route for us, but I don't mind changing it. You could fly wherever you want. Or, I can tell you where to go," James says calmly.
Regulus is fidgeting with his rings, which is distracting. But he takes a tentative step closer. James waits. Doesn't push. It has to be his choice. Otherwise, they're never going to get anywhere.
"Alright," Regulus says finally, setting his shoulders. "You hold on to me."
James slides back on the broom, and Regulus climbs in front of him this time. When he's settled, James scoots forward, until the other boy is firmly between his legs. James should have thought this through, because he's only now realising that he's basically sentenced himself to literal torture for the foreseeable future.
Regulus fits. He fits like he's made for him. To sit right here, between James' legs. He thinks of a fireplace, and a pile of books—Regulus seems like the sort of person who just reads a lot of books—and blankets and cushions. A lush carpet. Hot drinks steaming on a side table nearby. Regulus sitting between James' legs, reading. James simply being. Quiet. Peaceful. With this boy against him, and the fire cracking, and snow swirling outside their window.
"Potter!" Regulus snaps, and James has been a little too lost in his dream and missed what he said earlier.
"Huh?"
"I'm taking off whether you're secure or not," Regulus says.
James smiles. So mean. So beautiful. He puts his arms around Regulus' middle, rests his chest against his back. The boy kicks the roof so hard the tiles groan, but James is too distracted by the smell of Regulus' skin.
Lavender.
And what a fucking moment to have an epiphany. He's soaring in the air, holding on to a boy he's suddenly pretty certain embodies everything James is attracted to. Everything James could love, if given the chance.
Grass. The outdoors. Outside. Regulus does spend time in the forbidden forest, he said the other day. Or in his garden, where he has a little patch to grow things on. He has to, for his potions ingredients. It's easier and quicker than having to buy absolutely everything, especially when certain plants or flowers have to be exposed to things like moonlight on a specific night or whatnot.
Broom polish. Because he's a seeker. And not just any seeker. He's the best one in the school. Regulus loves flying, and he's good at it. They are currently on a broom, as if to bring the point home.
And lavender. Which, honestly? James has no idea where it comes from, but it's there. He'd recognise it anywhere and it's right here, on Regulus' skin. Not on his clothes. On his skin. Regulus Black smells of lavender. And other things, like parchment, and… well. Boy. He's a boy and he smells like one and James is not one bit surprised that he likes it.
But the important thing is that he also smells like lavender.
"Potter?"
"Sorry. What?" James feels dazzled. He knew he was attracted to Regulus. Driving himself insane with lust and wants that he shouldn't be having.
But this? This is more dangerous. It's also better. And if he's honest with himself, and puts his feelings about Sirius aside for a moment (frankly, the hardest thing he's ever done), James can admit that since he's actually managed to have real conversations with Regulus, he's been liking what he's finding.
The hotness is just the surface. And yes, on a shallow level James is attracted to what Regulus Black looks like. Horrifically attracted. Extremely attracted. But that's just… well. It's superficial. It doesn't mean much, does it?
Except now, James is getting glimpses of what's under Regulus skin and James likes it all so much he wants to burrow himself in it, too.
Regulus is smart. He's wickedly smart. More intelligent than James could ever aspire to be. He's also protective of his friends, which James noticed when he made an off-the-cuff comment about Rosier seeming a little boring and Regulus absolutely tore into him. Regulus also thinks muggles are interesting—which is so far the most promising discovery because James knows for a fact blood supremacists do not think muggles are worthy of anything, let alone interesting. Regulus knows way too much about muggles for it to be coincidental or anecdotal. Like, Regulus has purposefully researched this stuff. And isn't that proof that he's not like his parents? It has to be.
"Potter, I asked you where we're going," Regulus says.
His voice. James likes his voice, too. It's sharp, like it has edges. And he turns it against James, sometimes, and he likes that, too. James wonders if Regulus can sing like Sirius. If he's ever performed a song.
What music does Regulus like?
"I'm about to kick you off this broom, Potter," Regulus snaps, shoving an elbow backwards and directly into James' stomach.
He grunts from the sting of it, but finds his voice through it. "Right, sorry. Yes. Let's go down towards the lake," James instructs.
James tries to focus. Enjoy the moment. He can feel Regulus' body under his arms, his hands splayed over his abdominal muscles. Regulus' hair tickles James face, which he shouldn't like but he does, because it confirms that it's as soft as it looks.
They fly down, close to the lake until James nudges Regulus to bring them almost to water level. He does, and James reaches down and breaks the calm surface with the tips of his fingers. It's freezing cold, and it tingles his skin, but the ripples he leaves behind are worth it because the lake reflects the sky and James feels like he's got the stars under his fingertips. He leans a bit too eagerly and loses his balance for a second, but regains it quickly.
"Merlin's sake, Potter, what the hell are you doing?" Regulus asks.
"Touching the sky," James replies.
"If you fall off I won't rescue you," Regulus says petulantly.
"Come on, it's pretty cool," James says. He squeezes Regulus a little with his arms and adds, "Go on. Try it. I won't let you fall."
"No."
"Touch the sky, Regulus," James says.
"It's a lake, Potter."
"Where's your imagination?"
And instead of another retort, Regulus is quiet. He slows down a little, and James slips thorugh the crack because he's learnt that when Regulus hesitates it's because he wants it, he's just not sure how to let himself have it. James doesn't mind helping.
"Regulus. Trust me. I've got you," James insists. "Touch the sky."
To his delight, Regulus does. He keeps a hand on the broom handle, knuckles white with how firmly he's gripping it. But then his long fingers are grazing the water, and he's leaving behind a trail of beautifully symmetric ripples. The stars twinkle, and the moon's reflection blinks at them, silver on the black surface. Regulus goes a little faster, angles the broom so they follow the path of moonlight stretched over the water.
James holds him firmly, and he can feel when Regulus relaxes into it, dipping more of his hand in the lake and wiggling his fingers like he's truly touching the path to the moon. James isn't sure, because he can see very little of Regulus' face, but he thinks he might be almost smiling.
When they're almost at the shore, Regulus sits up straight again and brings the broom higher so they can hover over the lake. And to James' absolute ecstasy, Regulus let his head fall back against James' shoulder and says, "Okay. That was nice."
If James could sing, he would burst into song right about now.
James tilts his face, and he's so close to Regulus he could kiss the underside of his jaw. He doesn't. He can't. He won't. It's too soon, and that isn't the point, no matter how badly James wants it. The point of this is to find a way in. To save Regulus. To bring him back to Sirius.
What James wants is secondary.
But he wants. And he acknowledges it, because he's not ashamed. He's a big boy with big feelings and a big heart and that's okay. Except, well. He isn't sure if this time there's any point to it. Does Regulus want these things too? He hasn't asked. There are moments when James thinks maybe Regulus does, but he hasn't forgotten Regulus is a Black. There's a reason Sirius is struggling so much with his feelings for Remus. A reason he's in denial, and totally blind to what he really wants.
James can't imagine Regulus would just accept something like this, even if it was a part of who he is. Would he? James hopes to find out someday. His optimism is likely to get him hurt, but James is willing to risk it.
"Let's go that way," he says, pointing towards the mountains past the lake.
"What's there?" Regulus asks, but he's already angling the broom and accelerating. He has to lean forward for this, and James mourns the loss of contact.
"You'll see."
And they do. When they soar above the mountains, the small villages scattered over the land become visible. Twinkling lights dotting the shadowed landscape, like fireflies caught in dark velvet. It's pretty beautiful, James thinks. He likes to come see this every now and then because it reminds him just how big the world is, and how small his problems are when he gets some perspective.
Regulus murmurs appreciatively, and James smiles to himself. "It's nicer in the winter. We'll come back, and I'll show you."
"Show me what?"
"A little trick," James says, enormously pleased that Regulus didn't immediately refuse to do this ever again. "I need snow and ice for it."
"Ah," Regulus says. They hover there, watching the land stretch as far as they can see until it meets the sky. There are so many stars above, and so many little lights below.
James forgets himself for a second, and gives into his impulse to put his chin on Regulus' shoulder. He feels the boy stiffen, but he doesn't say anything, and James thinks perhaps he's wrong about Regulus and he's less of a Black than he thought.
Here's where things go wrong. Because James waits for Regulus to get tired, to decide when he's had enough and wants to leave. James could stay up here all night, feeling Regulus' breathing under his hands, and savouring the way he smells and the things it does to him.
The problem is that in simply waiting in silence, he's giving Regulus time to think. And James hasn't figured this out yet, but Regulus having time to think never ends well for him.
James feels the shift before Regulus speaks because he's quite literally pressed against his body. It's like someone's flicked a switch and the energy coursing through the Slytherin turns from content and a little curious to angry and cold. James barely has time to brace himself, pulling his chin away from Regulus' shoulder.
"Here's what I don't get," Regulus says, and his voice sounds detached. Cold. James is immediately on high alert.
"Ask," James says. "You can just ask, Regulus. I'll answer."
Regulus' shoulders tense so much they move a few inches up, closer to his ears. "Where is Sirius? He's watching, isn't he? Waiting."
James is so shocked his arms go a little slack around the other boy. "What?"
"I won't repeat myself," Regulus says. That's when James notices that the broom is slowly angling backwards.
"What are you doing?"
Regulus tilts the broom back even more in answer.
Godric Gryffindor have mercy on his soul, Regulus will drop him. He has no doubt. He'll drop him, because he must know James has his wand and he can cushion his fall. But he's so far from the castle it'll take him all night and then some to walk back. James has the map, but he left the cloak hidden in the owlry so this would be absolutely disastrous for him. He'd be caught coming back.
Also, there's no way he could keep it from his friends, which means they would know he's been sneaking up to the roof with Regulus.
Absolute disaster.
"Regulus," James says calmly. "Sirius doesn't know."
"I don't believe you."
"I swear. He doesn't know."
"Stop lying to me."
"I promise you on my mother's name, which by the way I never do because my mother is precious, that I'm not lying to you," James says a little desperately.
"Nice try."
The broom keeps tilting, but less aggressively now. He's sliding slightly, because he's strong but he cannot defy gravity. Regulus is stiff, staring straight ahead but James thinks he's making progress. He has slowed down, at least. But James is running out of time to turn this around successfully.
"Regulus, I promise you that Sirius doesn't know. No one knows, okay? Well, Remus suspects. But Sirius doesn't. He doesn't know. He has no idea. I promise."
They don't level out, but they stop moving. James scoots forward as best he can, gaining an inch maybe. It's not much. He's definitely sliding backwards still, but he's hanging on to Regulus, so he's fine. So long as Regulus doesn't do anything to force his hands open, he's fine.
"Why?" Regulus sounds a little winded, like he's running but he's not, he's just sitting on a broom and mildly torturing James.
"Because I needed someone to help me source the cigarettes, and I went to Remus. He's the one who told me how to get them. He told me you liked smoking them, too. It was after the party," James explains in a rush, stumbling over his own words in his rush to make Regulus understand. "But he doesn't know… no one knows about the roof. That's just… no one knows."
"No one knows," Regulus says. The broom tilts forward a little, giving James respite. He almost slumps against Regulus with relief.
Regulus sounds like that was for himself, and not for James. Like he's reassuring himself. And James just... He has to make sure Regulus understands that he's not doing this as part of some strange plan. No prank, no joke. There's no hidden agenda here. He needs Regulus to know this is just James… just James, really. Stupid shit like this is his particular brand of idiocy. It has always been.
"I wanted to see you after the game," James says.
"Why?"
"I just did," James says. "So I snuck out of the party and came looking for you. Sirius doesn't know." He makes sure his voice is strong, steady. Confident. Regulus has to believe him because it's the truth. "He has no idea. And honestly, I'm not thrilled about it. I feel like shit for keeping it from him, and I want to tell him. Eventually. But I wasn't going to tell him until I figured out whether I had a chance—"
He screams, because he's now sliding off the broom completely. He's falling through the air and fuck he needs to get his wand to stop his fall, except Regulus must have used a spell on him somehow because James' hands are completely numb and useless so he cannot grab it.
His heart pounds in his chest, fighting for space with the rest of James' insides which have taken residence at the top of his ribs. He's fallen off brooms before, but never been dropped on purpose. It's... okay. It's terrifying.
James can't use his hands. He can't get his wand.
He's falling.
He's going to crash.
It's going to hurt.
James isn't sure he's going to survive it. And is Regulus really just going to let him die?
No. He's not. As abruptly as he bumped James off the broom, Regulus is there again, wand pointed at him as he flies under him, slowing his fall enough to catch him in his arms.
Honestly. James thought he'd be the one doing the rescuing, but it's… ehm… nice? Regulus is stronger than he looks and he is a truly fantastic flier. James has never been saved by anyone before, and now Regulus has rescued him twice. James could get used to it.
"Merlin's balls," James pants, clinging to Regulus who's expertly balancing on the broom while holding on to James. "Godric have mercy. Oh my fucking God. I thought I was going to die."
Regulus rolls his eyes, then helps James climb back on the broom. In front of Regulus this time, possibly because logistically it's the only thing that makes sense.
James wraps his hands around the handle and looks over his shoulder. "If you want to kill me, there are better ways," is what James says, because his heart is pounding, and his head is spinning, and Regulus just dropped him a few dozen feet before catching him again.
Regulus looks at him with such preternatural calm James would never know this kid just attempted murder. He's so fucking composed. The man is a little insane, he has to admit. It's a good thing James doesn't mind crazy.
"If you tell Sirius about this, I will," Regulus says. "That was a warning."
James does his level best to swallow his retort. Regulus can't forbid him from talking to his best friend. The fact that he's his brother complicates things somewhat, but still. James has never lied to Sirius and he's not going to start now. But he can choose to withhold some information for a little longer. And he will.
Especially when he's being threatened with death at several thousand feet in the air.
"Well," James says cautiously, still twisted on the broom so he can look at Regulus behind him. "There's nothing to tell yet. Is there?"
Their gazes lock, and they wait. His hazel eyes matching green ones. Lovely. So beautiful James could do this all day. Regulus' eyebrows are pulled together, and there's a challenge there. He's daring James to break first. To say that there is something. And that something is better than nothing, and it can grow into anything.
And James has never met a dare he didn't love, so of course James breaks first. He opens his mouth, but Regulus looks away swiftly and announces, "We're going back. Enough stupidity for one night."
His arms latch around James' torso, and he has no choice but to obey. James doesn't think he has the ability to deny Regulus Black anything anymore.
Regulus knocks on the door and waits for McGonagall to invite him inside. Her office is very different to Slughorn's, which doesn't surprise Regulus one bit. They're polar opposites, these two. Regulus prefers the Head of Gryffindor house, though he'd never tell her that.
He gets the feeling that she's the kind of woman who wouldn't hesitate when shit hit the fan. Calm. Cool. Collected. She exudes power, and Regulus respects it. It's why he's coming to her with this first, even if there are better candidates. Deep down, Regulus has wanted an excuse to properly talk to her outside of a transfiguration lesson for years, though he's not about to acknowledge that, either.
He can keep it to the surface. Pretend this is necessary research. That he wants to be meticulous and not leave any stone unturned, even if Minerva McGonagall is unlikely to give him anything. She's too smart for that.
The office is a small room, but it has a big fire that's crackling already, even though it's early October. The walls have a few portraits, but nothing outlandish. It's simple. Regal. Elegant. Regulus likes it. It feels cosy and peaceful. He could read a ton of books in here, if he had the time to read for leisure anymore, which he doesn't.
"Mister Black, please sit," McGonagall says, gesturing to a chair across from her desk. Behind her, there's a window overlooking the grounds.
"Thank you, professor," Regulus replies, taking a seat. He pulls a piece of parchment from his bag, together with an inkwell and a quill.
He clears his throat, looks at the woman calmly waiting for him to speak. He's got this. He's rehearsed it carefully so that she tells him as much as possible without suspecting what he's really after.
"I'm doing a project for our History of Magic class, as you know," Regulus begins.
He's set the foundations for this by spending an incredibly boring hour with the history teacher putting forward a proposal. The ghost agreed, seemingly because Regulus is the only person to ever want extra credit in history. He was so touched his eyes got a little teary, which prompted Regulus to make an immediate and hasty exit. No matter, he got what he wanted, which was for Binns to tell all other professors to let Regulus interview them if he asked.
"I'm looking into notable figures and successful wizards that are Hogwarts graduates. There are many, as we know, but I'm particularly interested in Slytherins because I'm hoping to find some patterns in behaviours and or traits shared by these truly exceptional individuals," he says.
She gives him a little nod, acknowledging his opening, which tells Regulus he's on the right track. She continues looking at him attentively. Politely listening to him without interrupting. He quite likes it. "I want to focus on Slytherin because it's my house, but if the project is successful and there's interest, Professor Binns would extend it to the other houses as well."
"Sounds fascinating, Mr. Black, but I am a Gryffindor," she says, then takes a sip from her cup of tea. "And I don't understand what you're hoping to achieve through this."
"Well, if I'm honest with you, professor, it all started because I was wondering how legitimate the hat's sorting is," Regulus says, hoping that his gut feeling that McGonagall is a woman who respects frankness is correct.
"Is that so?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.
Regulus rallies. "Well, yes. You, for example, were a notable hatstall. Why does that happen? What does that tell us? You could have been in two houses. Would you have been as successful had you been placed in Ravenclaw? Perhaps more? We'll never know, because students are put in these boxes and they never question it. Very few dare look outside the box," Regulus is ranting. He knows he's ranting, but he needs McGonagall to believe he's genuine about this.
McGonagall looks at him for a long time. Regulus waits. Endures her scrutiny. "You want to see if these successful people you're investigating had traits from other houses? Is that it? What are you hoping to prove, Mr. Black?"
"I was just curious," he says vaguely.
She takes the bait. He can see the way her expression softens a little bit, and he knows what she's thinking. He knows because he hoped it would happen and help him get something out of her. She's thinking this is a younger brother reaching for reasons why his older brother was put in the wrong house.
Before she opens her mouth again, Regulus knows that she's going to indulge him. "Very well, Mr. Black. Ask your questions."
Regulus begins easy. He asks about her sorting experience with the excuse of wanting to understand more about how the hat works. He needs to know as much as possible if he's going to write a paper that challenges the entire sorting system. McGonagall tells him how she debated with the hat for over five minutes before she was placed in Gryffindor.
Then, he moves on to her Quidditch team, because Regulus knows McGonagall used to play for Gryffindor. He asks about her experience playing against Slytherin. Name drops two famous Quidditch players that are Hogwarts graduates and Slytherins. She only played one of them for a single year, because they didn't overlap much, but she tells him what she can.
Then, he brings up the fact that she was head girl. This is a nice segway into discussing other notable students. He mentions he has noticed there are some students that seem to have stood out even more than others. He's gone through the lists of head boys and girls dating back several generations. They discuss how there doesn't seem to be any particular house that has more head students than the others.
They talk about Slytherin having more potions awards than any other house. And Regulus begins to ask about bloodlines, and traditions. Traits all Slytherins share.
And then he begins to ask the questions he really wants answers to. Everything before that was a diversion. Cover so McGonagall doesn't figure out what he wants to know.
"What about house legends, professors?" he asks innocently. "Not Quidditch related, obviously. I know about those. Everyone does. Is there anyone you'd say was a bit of a Slytherin legend when you first attended school? A student that was… a favourite, maybe?"
McGonagall looks up, thinking. She's been relaxed—or as relaxed as Minerva McGonagall can be—drinking her tea and chatting to him. And then, something shifts. And she nods. "There was a kid who was popular a few years before I started school, but I can't remember his name. I never met him," she says, and it's vague. It's vague on purpose, and Regulus feels like he's grazing a clue with the tips of his fingers.
"Anything you remember about him?"
He sees a flash of something cross her eyes. She knows a name. She's thinking of someone. "No, not really. He didn't play Quidditch, and that was all I was interested in back then. If you're curious about the Quidditch players names, they're all on the plaques. You can see them for yourself."
He knows this. He's already been there. Seen all the plaques, the Quidditch, and the non-Quidditch ones. Read every single name (this is how he found out McGonagall had been on the quidditch team to begin with). He's still not sure any of them are what he's looking for.
Regulus remains impassive. He doesn't show his frustration. McGonagall thought of someone, but she didn't tell him. Why? "Who would you recommend I talk to about this next, professor? I'm interviewing Professor Slughorn, of course. But anyone else?"
"I suppose you could talk to Professor Flitwick. He's been here even longer than I have," McGonagall replies.
Regulus thanks her, and leaves her office. He sets the parchment with the useless set of notes on fire and drops it into a bin before heading straight for Flitwick's office.
Professor Flitwick's interview goes similarly to McGonagall's with one notable difference. Regulus steers clear of Quidditch related topics, and instead focuses straight away on students who displayed brilliance. Regulus goes on and on about Ravenclaw's being smartest, and wondering if any Slytherins have come close.
And Flitwick nods. "We still haven't managed to have a Ravenclaw earn an award for special services to the school. There was a Gryffindor girl in the 1800s, and more recently, a Slytherin boy. I believe sometime around 1941," he says, pursing his lips as he thinks. "We don't like to talk about it, because a student died rather tragically, but it's public information. You're a smart kid. Would have found it anyway."
Regulus isn't breathing. He knows the plaque. He thinks. He didn't pay attention before because what does 'special services to the school' even mean? He thought he'd donated some money or whatever. Clearly not.
A girl died.
A Slytherin boy was given an award.
"I don't understand, professor," Regulus says innocently. "If the poor student died, what was the other kid given an award for? What I mean is, I'd understand if he'd saved her life, of course. But it's a little baffling, isn't it?"
Professor Flitwick nods. "Well, yes. But the award was given to the student for finding the person responsible for the death of the girl."
"Thank you, professor," Regulus says, standing up and gathering his notes. "Your interview has been most helpful."
"No problem, Mr. Black. Good luck with your research!"
Regulus waits for the door to close behind him before he hurries down the corridor. It's late, and most people will be heading to dinner. He's hungry himself, but he's too busy. He's got more important things to do. Because if a girl died in the early nineteen forties, and a Slytherin boy got an award for finding the killer… Regulus is pretty sure the killer could be who he's looking for.
It's not a lot to go on, but it's something. It's a lead, and that's more than Regulus has had for this particular strand of his revenge planning. Everything else is going swimmingly: proficient at duelling, cursing, using dark magic in general – check. Felix Felicis potion to help him survive the shitshow he's diving headfirst into – check. Keep up his sleep, exercise and good eating regime so he has the mental acuity so he can begin to train himself in legilimency and occlumency – check.
He still needs to sort out a few things with his family. And he should, at some point, consider how his friends play into the whole thing. He doesn't want them to get hurt. But that's secondary.
The point is, he'd been trying and failing for months to figure out where the Dark Lord came from. Regulus has made a few assumptions because he had to start somewhere, and he's heard him speak. He does have a British accent, even if it's a little warped. So he's operating under the assumption that he attended Hogwarts at some point. When? Beats him, but the forties seem as good a decade as any.
The one thing Regulus has no doubt about is that if the Dark Lord did attend Hogwarts as a kid, he was a Slytherin. No blood supremacist would be anywhere else. And this is what he's been trying to find—notable, powerful Slytherins that stood out during school so he can look into them. Because Voldemort is impressive. He's powerful. Someone like that had to be a top student.
And now he has a lead. Regulus suspects him to be the killer the other Slytherin student caught so, naturally, he has to start by finding the awarded person. It would also make sense—if he was expelled from Hogwarts early, he won't be a known graduate. It explains why nobody seems to be able to tell him who the hell Voldemort is. Not even his family knows. As far as everyone he's spied on is concerned, Voldemort simply materialized into existence a few years ago as the dangerous dark wizard he is.
Regulus calls bullshit. He has to have a backstory. Everyone does. Someone was his mother (Regulus shivers at this thought) and someone was his father and Regulus wants to find out who they are.
When he finally makes it to the trophy case with the plaque, Regulus is panting lightly. It's dark, because it's dinner time, but Regulus takes out his wand and murmurs 'Lumos!'
Awarded to Tom Riddle for special services to the school.
Tom Riddle.
Regulus grins to himself. He's just met his new best friend. He's going straight to the library so that he can look up bloodlines. If he was a Slytherin, chances are that Riddle was at the very least half-blood. Very few muggle-borns get sorted into Slytherin—this, Regulus thinks, is because the kids have a strong sense of self-preservation and outright refuse the hat's choice. He simply cannot believe there are no cunning muggle-borns.
Thinking about it, bullying the hat into placing them somewhere other than where they're supposed to be is rather Slytherin of them. So, point made. Regulus is correct. Argue with the wall.
Anyway. He needs to find this Riddle character and ask him about the alleged killer. If he attended school in the forties he'll still be around, somewhere. Wizards do live long lives, and this Tom person can't be older than fifty something. His memory should still be intact, so all Regulus needs to do is persuade him to tell him the tale. He'll come prepared with some potions and curses to help him, should Riddle not be amenable to his request.
"Reg?!"
He looks up to find himself in a staircase landing. He knows the way to the library so well he can get there without paying attention, which allows him time to put his thoughts in order. Dorcas steps off a moving staircase right in front of him and smiles. It takes Regulus a moment for his brain to process the slightly dishevelled state his friend is in.
And suddenly, he realises he didn't see her this morning and he should have. Dorcas is now sharing his dorm. The curtains around her bed were closed, and Regulus simply assumed she was sleeping in because it is the weekend. But maybe she didn't sleep there at all.
"Where did you come from?" he asks, frowning as he takes in more details like the smudged make up (Dorcas' make up is always on point, so this is highly suspicious) or her creased shirt.
And Dorcas beams. She beams like she's five and it's Christmas morning. Regulus is confused, but in a good way. Dorcas looks happy, and Regulus fully supports it. In fact, Dorcas should be happy all the time. He would make it so, if he could.
"I have to tell you something," Dorcas says. She leans forward, and reaches towards him with her hand before she catches herself and drops it. "Sorry, I'm excited. Can we talk?"
Regulus wants to go to the library and research. But he's also made progress today. A lot of it. He's spent the better part of the day talking to teachers. Regulus supposes he can take a little break, for his friend's sake. He can go with Dorcas and do his part for this happiness to continue. She wants to talk, which means he barely has to do anything. And he's good at listening, Regulus.
He can continue searching for this Riddle person tomorrow, he decides.
"You'll miss dinner," Regulus says.
"Worth it," Dorcas replies.
Regulus shakes his head. He's not going to let Dorcas go hungry for the sake of some gossip. "Come on. Come with me," he tells her, then turns around and goes back down the stairs with Dorcas right behind him.
He leads her to the kitchens, coming to a stop in front of a portrait with a pear. Regulus glances at his friend, fiddles with his ring. "Don't go telling everyone about this," he warns her. "If I start bumping into people in the kitchens, I will hurt you."
Dorcas nods, eyes wide and curious. "This is where the kitchens are? How did you figure this one out?"
Regulus likes the awe in her voice. It makes him feel like he's done something good. Something impressive.
"Kreacher's cousin works here," Regulus says, shrugging. "He told me."
The house elves welcome him like they always do, in a cacophony of voices and excited hand gestures. For someone who despises crowds and loud spaces, Regulus is surprisingly at ease with the house elves for some reason.
He crouches down, chats to some of his favourites for a few moments, including Tappy who is Kreacher's cousin. "Everyone, this is my friend Dorcas."
"Hello miss Dorcas!" a chorus of voices replies. "Welcome, welcome!"
Dorcas smiles and waves, a little self conscious. Regulus stands next to her to address all elves at once.
"She has to tell me something secret and important, but we didn't want to go to bed hungry. Can you help, please?" Regulus asks politely.
Dorcas leans close to him and murmurs, "I don't think I've ever heard you be that polite before and I've known you for six years."
There's a flurry of activity. Literally, a tornado of small people doing a million things at once. Somehow, in the middle of all this, Regulus is swept off his feet and deposited at a table in a corner that has an impressive spread of food. Dorcas is deposited right next to him, presumably so they can talk in quiet tones. The house elves bring a portable screen and place it around them.
"If you need anything, just call!" Tappy, Kreacher's cousin, tells them. "We isn't listening through the screen, we isn't."
"Thank you, Tappy," Regulus says.
Tappy smiles. Bows so low his ears touch the floor, then disappears behind the screen. Regulus looks at Dorcas, who is gaping at him with her mouth fully open. A memory rises in Regulus' mind. He was six, maybe seven, and Sirius was eight. Their mother had brought home a kitten and asked Sirius to torture it for practice. Sirius had refused. Their mother had threatened with breaking the kitten's neck. Sirius had volunteered to do it himself, which had made Walburga very pleased.
As soon as Sirius had his hands on the kitten, however, he'd sprinted through the house faster than should have been possible and full on launched the kitten out their window, into the street. Regulus had followed, and caught up with him just in time to see the kitten land safely and sprint away. He'd had his mouth open just like this, and Sirius had put his finger in Regulus' mouth for the giggles. Their mother had found them then.
Walburga had broken every single one of Sirius' fingers for that, and glued Regulus' mouth shut for three days. Regulus became Sirius' hands for a while, but Sirius refused to be Regulus' voice for fear that Walburga would punish him further. It was the first time Regulus starved.
"I can't believe that just happened," Dorcas says, looking at the meal laid out in front of them. "So this is how you get food when you skip meals."
Regulus shrugs. "Sometimes I just skip meals."
"Why am I not surprised?" Dorcas says, then helps herself to a bowl of salad.
Regulus picks roasted vegetables instead. He doesn't like raw food. They eat in silence for a few minutes before Dorcas takes a sip of water and clears her throat. She looks at Regulus, bites her lip. Regulus tries to school his face into keen interest, which he thinks is still a scowl, but less pronounced.
Dorcas sets her shoulders. "Do you remember I told you I have a crush?"
"Don't worry. I'll make it look like an accident," Regulus says immediately.
Dorcas makes an alarmed noise. "Salazar's cape on a pole, no. I'm telling you a good thing, not a bad one. There's no need to kill anyone."
A good thing? It takes Regulus a moment to figure out what this might be, but when he gets it, he relaxes back into his chair. "So, she likes you back?"
Dorcas beams again. Wide and joyful. "She does. Regulus I… well. I'm not entirely sure how official it is, because we'd both been drinking so I guess I need to like, talk to her about it again just to make sure, but… I think we're dating? I think I have a girlfriend."
This isn't good. As far as Regulus is concerned, there should be zero ambiguity surrounding these things, right? Like, it's a yes or a no. You're either dating or you aren't. You can't… can you? Regulus feels a little panicked because if normal people like Dorcas can find themselves in this situation, what hope is there for Regulus?
He still can't tell for sure if whatever goes on at night on the roof can be considered romantic in any way. There's a solid chance James is simply being a platonic friend to him. Regulus wouldn't know, but he thought that was just because he's… well. He's Regulus Black and broken and cold. But if Dorcas Meadows can't tell whether she has a girlfriend or not? This is concerning. Regulus was hoping that other people knew these things so that when the moment of truth came, they could help him.
"What do you mean you think you have a girlfriend?"
Dorcas' smile dims a little. "Well. Just that. I think, but I'm not sure?"
"Isn't this the sort of thing you should be certain of?" The more he thinks about this, the more alarmed Regulus becomes. His own confusion about James aside, this whole situation is just not ideal for Dorcas. Right?
Dorcas said there was no need for murder, but from where he's standing, it is a very likely possibility. What sort of person makes another think they're dating but leaves it so vague they're unsure of it?
"Well. Like I said. We were drunk," Dorcas says, defensively. "She told me she liked me a lot. And I told her I liked her, too. And we kissed. And then she said we should do it again, like not again immediately, which yes, we did, too, but again as in, another time."
"Dorcas," Regulus says.
"And when I woke up in her bed—No do not look at me like that, Regulus Black. I am seventeen years old and I can have sex if I want to," Dorcas says.
Regulus has no idea how he's looked at Dorcas, because he's not judging. Not even a little bit. He is, in fact, mildly jealous because he too would like to be having sex, just not with a girl. With a very specific person. A person with abs so chiselled Regulus still can't believe they're real, and hair so messy it drives Regulus crazy, and thighs that make him want to faint.
"Anyway," Dorcas continues, "when I woke up, she was super nice. It wasn't awkward, and that's a miracle because let me tell you that the aftermath of it is usually awkward as fuck. Like, you're gathering your clothes and it's just… but it wasn't. Not with Marlene."
Regulus can see Dorcas' rambling for what it is: denial. She's trying to convince herself, not Regulus. And he thinks that it's his duty as her friend to point it out. Right? He can't just let her sprint head first into disaster. He can't let her get hurt, right?
"Dorcas, listen—" he tries again.
She shakes her head. "No. Don't. I've a good feeling about this. I do."
Regulus sighs, looks at the ceiling. "Dorcas. Did she use the word girlfriend?"
Dorcas deflates like a popped balloon. "Well, no." She takes a deep breath. "But in her defense, the common room was so noisy we couldn't really talk. It was very crowded so there wasn't a chance there and—"
"You kissed a girl in front of other people?" Regulus is halfway out of his chair with shock. Is Dorcas insane?
She smiles, sighs dreamily. "Well, yes and no. We were in the common room, but two of her friends were covering for us. So like, they know, and they're okay with it. They've been covering for Marlene for years, apparently. And they had no issue with us going up to their dorm. And—"
"Wait."
Regulus' brain snags on the word. The name. Dorcas' said it twice now, but the first one didn't really register in the shock and chaos of this whole confession. Now though? Regulus feels the world fracture under him. The sky splits in two, a light shining on him. He thinks he can hear celestial choirs singing and they're singing in French. Regulus' head choir sounds suspiciously like Edith Piaf but he's not looking at that too closely.
Dorcas looks at him, hesitant. Regulus cautiously asks, "Marlene… McKinnon?"
Dorcas nods, fighting back another humongous smile.
"The Gryffindor beater?"
She nods again, confusion drawing her eyebrows together.
"Blond? Wears a lot of black eyeliner?"
"Regulus, why are you—"
"You're dating Marlene McKinnon," Regulus says again. Just to be sure. There can be no confusion here. Zero. None.
"Yes. Well, I think I'm dating her. But yes, that Marlene," Dorcas replies. "Why?"
Regulus puts his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. Merlin's balls. This is… he can't remember the last time he had this much good luck in a single day. First Flitwick sets him on the right track to finding more about Voldemort's past. And now, his best friends worms her way into James' inner circle.
This is brilliant for several reasons. One, it confirms his suspicion that Gryffindors are way more liberal and open than Slytherins. Two, chances that James is, in fact, queer and Regulus didn't imagine him flirting last night on that broom have increased tenfold. Three, he can, and will, find out if James was being genuine last night. Regulus thinks so, because James can't lie to save his life and also Regulus almost killed him so it would be fucking stupid of James to continue the charade after that. Four, Dorcas can, and will, get him information so that he can keep James interested.
"Did you go to the Gryffindor victory party, then?" he asks, keeping his tone controlled. Casual. Neutral.
Dorcas is looking at him strangely, but she nods. "Yeah. Marlene invited me. I told you I was going to go talk to her about whether she was interested after that Forbidden Forest party. She is. She very much is."
"Well, I like her for you," Regulus says, sitting up straight.
Dorcas snorts, picks up a roll of bread, puts it down again. "Please, Reg. Have you ever talked to her?"
He leans forward, body halfway over the table, and looks at Dorcas straight in the eye. "Someone who's brave enough to kiss you in a room full of people has my approval. You deserve nothing less."
"Oh."
And now Dorcas is getting teary-eyed and Regulus feels awkward. He slumps back on his chair. "If you cry, I'll leave you here alone."
Dorcas laughs. She dabs at the corner of her eye but thankfully avoids any waterworks. They eat for a bit in silence, and Regulus stresses over how to ask Dorcas what he wants to know without her finding out that he has a tragic crush the size of Scotland on James Potter.
Who may or may not like him back.
Does Regulus understand this? No. Is he going to fight it? Also no.
He tried that. He fought him. Electrocuted him. Threatened him. Regulus did his best to push James away. Alright, perhaps not his best best because selfishly a part of him didn't want James to go away. But he did try. He was mean, and a little violent. He did drop him several dozen feet.
And yet, James keeps coming back. Inexplicably. Impossibly. James just… seems to want to be around him. He promised he'd be on the roof again tonight, and every night until Regulus told him to stop coming. Those were James' last words to him last night. The same night he almost killed him.
James Potter is insane, obviously.
But his crazy is somehow pushing him in Regulus' direction and at this point Regulus simply won't fight it.
He'll be careful. Oh, he'll be so fucking careful. But he won't stop it. Not unless there's good reason to. And if he's going to find these reasons, he needs to ask. Except. He doesn't know how. What does one say? He can't just. You know. He's not Dorcas. He can't just announce he's got a crush all willy-nilly.
"I… ehm…" Regulus tries. It doesn't work. Obviously, it doesn't work. This is ridiculous.
"You what?"
"Who else was at the party?" Regulus asks instead. He keeps his face a mask of stone. No emotion. Just blank.
Dorcas narrows her eyes at him, chewing around a potato. She's got that look in her eye that tells Regulus she's picked up something else is going on. With any luck, Dorcas will figure this out herself without Regulus having to actually say anything. That would be brilliant.
"Sirius was there, obviously. Just… drinking beer and having a good time. He mostly sticks to his friends. Leans against walls a lot, for some reason. People seem to find this attractive. Several girls approached him but he turned them all down," Dorcas says all this quickly, like she knows Regulus is about to tell her he doesn't care about his brother. Normally, he would. Except well. Where Sirius is, James goes. So, he'll endure the update if it leads to Dorcas spilling the beans about James next.
"Right," is all Regulus says. "Anything interesting happen?"
"Well, he sang a song. It was impressive. I know we hate him. Actually… he's never done anything to me, but you hate him and I hate him in solidarity. Still, I have to give credit where credit's due."
"Was he… with anyone else?" Regulus tries. Can he play this off using the brother card too? He doubts it, because Dorcas knows him a lot better than McGonagall. But it's worth a try.
Dorcas lights up. "Well, yes. I mean, I'm not sure, okay? But I think… I think the reason he turned all those girls down is that your brother has a boyfriend."
Regulus chokes on his water so hard he falls off the chair.
"Reg?" Dorcas gapes at him in shock. "Are you alright?"
No. He's not alright. Sirius has a boyfriend? What? That can't be. It's impossible. He heard Dorcas wrong. Or Dorcas has been hit with a confounding spell and her brain isn't working.
"What did you just say?" Regulus asks, pushing himself to his feet.
"I think Sirius…" Dorcas says, hesitates. "They weren't kissing or anything, but he was… very touchy feely, you know? Like all in his space. It just gave me a vibe, you know? Like…"
Regulus sits down, runs a hand through his curls. She's still rambling, but he's only half listening. Dorcas just doesn't understand, because she hasn't seen them together as much as Regulus has. He's not surprised she thinks there's something there, but Regulus knows there isn't.
"And then, when Sirius was singing, just the way he was looking at Sirius? It just felt different to me. Also, there was this moment…"
Dorcas' voice comes in and out of focus as Regulus recovers from his shock. She's got it all wrong. Sirius replaced him with James. The bond they have is that of brothers. They'd never see each other that way.
So, he speaks over Dorcas to say, "Yeah, well. Sirius' always been like that with James. They've no shame, but it's not romantic."
"And then they were smoking together, so close—"
"Oh, not James then?" Regulus says. It slips out, because if it's not James, then who the hell would get close enough to Sirius for Dorcas to be confused? Maybe Lupin?
Dorcas stops talking abruptly. Regulus is still reeling, and he didn't think, and he said it and Dorcas' face swung around to stare at him, wide eyed.
They lock eyes. And Regulus knows he's made a mistake. Dorcas puts a hand on the back of Regulus' chair and looks at him. "James?"
Regulus rolls his eyes. Dorcas shakes her head. "First of all, how do you know who smokes and who doesn't? And second of all, since when is he James?"
Regulus is the master of his own body. He is. At all times. So he physically stops the blush from blooming, even though the effort makes him a little light headed. He holds Dorcas' gaze and yawns.
"Sirius blabbed non stop about him for years before he betrayed us," he says. "It rubbed off."
Dorcas holds his gaze for an uncomfortably long moment before she sits back, putting some space between them. "It wasn't Potter. It was Lupin."
Regulus twists the ring on his thumb. "I think Sirius is just his annoying, clingy self," he says, shrugging. "He can't be gay."
"Why not? You are."
Regulus scowls. "I don't want to talk about my brother," he says brusquely.
And to his shock, Dorcas simply nods. "Well, Potter was there, too. He talked to pretty much everyone, he's a bit of a social butterfly, I think? But he didn't spend too much time with any one person."
Regulus is sitting very still. No fidgeting. No blinking. Barely breathing. He needs to pretend he doesn't care. He's not interested. He's also not fucking elated that James wasn't with anyone at this party. It doesn't mean much, but it's something. Right? If James had a girlfriend, she would have been there. So at the very least it confirms James is single. Doesn't it?
"Marlene is good friends with him, obviously. He's her Captain," Dorcas says casually. "She would know if he's interested in anyone."
"Do I look like I care?" Regulus says, a little too aggressively.
Dorcas smiles. "You don't. But I have a hunch, and I'm going to run with it."
Regulus scoffs, pushes his chair back and stands up. "You have more important things to worry about, like figuring out if Marlene is your girlfriend or not."
"Ouch!" Dorcas says, standing up, too.
Regulus shrugs. "I'm not sorry. Someone has to keep your feet on the ground for you."
"There's a sign of affection in there somewhere," Dorcas says, waving goodbye to the house elves as they cross the kitchens.
Regulus doesn't say much else on the way back to their dorms. He's too busy turning Dorcas' words over in his head, analysing everything she's told him about James. Not much, admittedly, but Regulus is starved for information so he'll take anything. Any hint that can help him figure out what is going on, what it means. Whether Regulus has any chance at all with James.
To his absolute horror, Regulus finds that he's hoping he does. And isn't that pathetic? It is. But Regulus cannot help himself. When it comes to James, Regulus' mastery of himself leaves a lot to be desired. Surprisingly, it's not half as bad as he thinks it ought to be.
Notes:
James Potter being a hopeless romantic and going all out with a random date idea for literally no reason gives me LIFE. Also, special mention to the fact neither of them knows it's a date. Idiots in love are my brand.
Regulus Black being a little shit and threatening murder because he simply cannot accept that someone might just be interested in him is so tragic but also I love him, your honor. Sorry, not sorry?
Dorcas the queen Meadowes picking up on Regulus' vibe but knowing him well enough to not voice it out loud? SHE'S THE MVP. Also, not her casually picking up on the Wolfstar disaster while those two are still one hundred percent blind to it. HELP THEM, they need it :D
Anyway. All that to say my babies are getting there!! Slowly, but surely.
Sorry for the ranting, I've had like four coffees and felt chatty for some reason.
I will try to post again on the 1st of January so HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE :D