Regulus Arcturus Black is drowning.
In the heart of an ancient cave, where shadows coil like serpents, he finds himself ensnared by an abyss of cold, implacable water. The cavern's walls, draped in a mantle of darkness, seem to pulse with a sinister life of their own, their icy surface glistening with a malevolent sheen. Regulus is submerged, and a disorienting haze shrouds his thoughts, obscuring the memories of how he arrived in this dire strait. The water is a frigid, opaque void that consumes him, pressing down with relentless force, suffocating every flicker of hope.
Invisible hands, claw-like and unforgiving, pull him deeper into the watery chasm. They are not his own, nor do they belong to anyone he recognizes; they are spectral, ghostly appendages of despair. Each tug drags him further into the merciless depths, their grip unyielding and cruel, as if the cave itself conspires to keep him ensnared.
Regulus struggles to recall the simple act of breathing, but his lungs refuse to obey. His breaths are frantic, desperate gasps that are swallowed by the relentless pressure, each one a struggle against an invisible, oppressive force. The very air seems to conspire against him, turning to liquid, rendering every attempt at respiration futile.
Yet, amid the cold terror and the encroaching darkness, there remains a solitary beacon of warmth in his mind. Through the suffocating gloom, one memory shines with the clarity of a distant, sunlit shore. He can only remember the radiant eyes that once gazed upon him with boundless affection, and the gentle smile that offered solace in a world of shadows. It is a sun that exists far beyond the reach of this stygian embrace, a memory of love that persists despite the encroaching void.
Regulus Arcturus Black is drowning, but his heart clings to that fleeting vision of warmth and light, the only remnant of hope in a world determined to swallow him whole.
The first time Regulus Black crossed paths with James Potter was on an evening cloaked in opulence and bewilderment, a meeting he would never come to remember. His family had chosen to attend the opera—a peculiar choice for an outing with two unruly boys aged five and six. The opera house itself was a grand spectacle, its vast interior adorned with crimson velvet drapes and golden mouldings that seemed to shimmer with each flicker of gaslight.
The family's private box, an enclave of sumptuous luxury, was perched high above the stage. Its plush, crimson seating was lined with intricate patterns of gold thread, and heavy velvet curtains framed the view. The box was a world unto itself, cut off from the bustling sea of patrons below. Yet, despite its opulence, the box did little to shield Regulus and his brother Sirius from the evening's droning monotony.
The performance roared on, a cacophony of arias and orchestrations that seemed to vibrate through every fibre of Regulus' being. The music, while grand, was an endless barrage of noise, its elaborate melodies and dramatic crescendos washing over him in waves of relentless sound. The grandeur of the opera hall, with its towering columns and glittering chandeliers, felt more like a prison than a place of enchantment.
Sirius, restless and defiant, drew the ire of the surrounding guests with his constant fidgeting and outbursts. Their parents, already frazzled by the evening's events, were subjected to growing murmurs and pointed looks from their fellow opera-goers. The stifling tension was palpable, a stark contrast to the supposed refinement of the event. Regulus could scarcely keep his eyes open, his young mind overwhelmed by the sensory assault of the grandiose spectacle.
Unable to endure the oppressive boredom any longer, Regulus slipped away into the darkness with a silent resolve. The corridor outside the box was a labyrinth of shadowy passages and indistinguishable doors, each one leading to more of the same. The polished wooden floors reflected the dim light of the gas lamps in eerie, distorted patterns. Panic gripped him as he wandered through the endless hallways, each turn and twist amplifying his disorientation.
In a moment of desperation, Regulus stumbled into an adjoining private box. The familiar decor and the muted murmur of the performance from within seemed to offer a glimmer of hope. However, as the box's heavy curtains parted, Regulus found himself not in the sanctuary he sought but in an entirely different realm. Here, a family of three occupied the plush seats, absorbed in the unfolding drama on stage.
The boy in the box, about Sirius' age, wore an expression of similar disinterest, his gaze shifting from the stage to the intruder. He leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in his eyes as he scrutinised Regulus' dishevelled appearance.
"Hi," the boy whispered, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. His voice was a conspiratorial murmur, carefully modulated to avoid disturbing his engrossed parents. "Who are you?"
"I got lost," Regulus admitted, his voice barely more than a tremulous whisper, his lower lip quivering as he fought back tears.
"Where are you supposed to be?" the boy inquired, his tone shifting from curiosity to concern.
"A place like this," Regulus replied, his voice a fragile echo of his bewildered state.
"Let's go on an adventure then," the boy declared with infectious enthusiasm. Without waiting for a reply, he took Regulus' hand and led him out of the box. Together, they ventured into the shadowy corridors, their footsteps a rhythmic pattern against the silent, polished floors.
It remains a curious mystery how neither Regulus' nor James' parents noticed the absence of their young charges. Perhaps the opera's grandeur was so consuming that the presence of two missing children was overshadowed by the evening's grandiose spectacle. For Regulus and James, the night was an unexpected odyssey, a brief escape from the mundane into a shared adventure that would forever remain a fleeting, precious fragment of their childhoods.
The first time Regulus Black became acutely aware of James Potter's existence was through a letter—a letter that arrived like an unwelcome messenger the day after his brother Sirius' departure for Hogwarts.
Regulus was ten years old, and the night of Sirius' departure, the house seemed to expand in its emptiness. The once-familiar spaces, now barren of Sirius' boisterous presence, felt cold and unwelcoming. The house—its grand, but unforgiving halls—grew more desolate as darkness enveloped it.
The shadows cast by the flickering candlelight danced ominously on the walls, and the silence was a heavy cloak that smothered any semblance of comfort. Regulus lay alone in his bed, the sheets pulled tight around him in a futile attempt to ward off the chill that seemed to seep from the very walls. He could hear the distant murmur of their parents, their voices sharp and indifferent, mingling with the occasional, sullen mutterings of the old house-elf. The elf's presence offered no solace; its eyes were as distant and unfeeling as the rest of Regulus' world that night.
He cried himself to sleep, his small frame shaking with the weight of his solitude and the loss of his best friend. The loneliness was a tangible force, a cold, pressing presence that filled the empty spaces left by Sirius' absence. Sleep came fitfully, interrupted by dreams of shadows and echoes, of a world that seemed to grow colder and more distant with each passing moment.
The next day, the first light of dawn brought with it an owl, its feathers a stark contrast against the pale sky. The bird's arrival was heralded by the soft, rhythmic flutter of its wings as it alighted on the window sill. Regulus watched with a mix of apprehension and anticipation as the owl, carrying the weight of Sirius' letter, made its way into the room. The letter, sealed with a wax emblem and hastily scrawled with his brother's handwriting, seemed to promise some semblance of connection to the world beyond the house's cold walls.
With trembling hands, Regulus broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. The letter was a hurried scrawl of ink, filled with the enthusiastic exuberance of Sirius' new experiences. As he read, his heart leapt and then plummeted with each line, the words a kaleidoscope of emotions that both intrigued and wounded him.
I made a new friend, right on the train! Can you believe it?Sirius' words leaped off the page, a stab of betrayal hidden beneath a veneer of excitement.
His name is James Potter and he is amazing, the next line sent a pang of envy straight to Regulus' core. The name felt foreign and unsettling, a new presence that overshadowed the bond he had shared with his brother.
He's the funniest person I know,the words sliced through Regulus' heart.
He loves Quidditch just like I do and we support the same team, the letter continued, each revelation a twist of the knife, deepening Regulus' sense of abandonment.
I think we'll be best friends, the final declaration was a cruel irony, the promise of a new, deep bond that Regulus was no longer a part of.
As Regulus finished reading, the weight of the letter's content settled heavily in his chest. With a surge of frustration and sorrow, he watched as the letter, along with its ink-stained confessions, flew into the fireplace. The flames leaped up eagerly, consuming the parchment with a crackling fury. The letter turned to ash, a fleeting spiral of dust and ember that mirrored the shattering of Regulus' own heart. The fire's warmth was a bitter reminder of the absence of the comforting presence he had once taken for granted.
The first time Regulus Black felt real hatred for James Potter was during the Christmas break in Sirius' first year at Hogwarts. When Sirius returned home, it was as though he brought with him not just physical luggage but a tempest of change that swept through the very fabric of their household.
Sirius' manner of speaking had transformed, drastically. No longer did he use the precise, measured tones and cultivated vocabulary that had been instilled in him by their parents and tutors. Instead, his speech was punctuated with a rapid-fire cadence, full of slang and colloquialisms that sounded foreign and brash. He spoke with a carefree lilt, each sentence a cascade of casual irreverence that contrasted sharply with the formal, almost stilted language that had been their norm. His words tumbled out with a rough-edged enthusiasm, as if he had cast off the constraints of their upbringing and embraced a new, less restrained way of expression.
Sirius' behaviour was equally jarring. He moved through the house with an infectious energy, louder and more exuberant than ever before. His presence filled the rooms, a whirlwind of action and sound that seemed to challenge the house's staid tranquillity. Where once he had been a model of restraint, now he was a catalyst for chaos, seeking out and delighting in the mischief that had previously been outside his purview. His interactions with their parents were marked by a reckless defiance, a willingness to provoke and push boundaries that had clearly been inspired by his new experiences at school.
With Regulus, the change was even more pronounced. The gentle brother who had once offered comfort and listened with patience now treated Regulus with a rough-and-tumble affection that bordered on brash. Playful wrestling and teasing had replaced their previous, more tender interactions. While once Sirius had been a steadying force, offering understanding and empathy, now his approach was one of unrestrained exuberance. When Regulus tried to voice his worries or frustrations, Sirius would brush them off with a grin and a pat on the back, dismissing them with optimistic assurances that everything would turn out fine. The optimism felt hollow and patronising, a stark contrast to the genuine support he had once provided.
The subtle but unmistakable corruption of Sirius' character was glaringly apparent, and in Regulus' young mind, it could be traced back to one clear source: James Potter. The more Sirius seemed to embrace this new, reckless persona, the more Regulus' resentment toward the boy who had caused this transformation festered. The very traits that had once made Sirius a beloved brother now became markers of a change he could not comprehend or accept. To Regulus, James Potter was not just an individual but the embodiment of the unwelcome shift in Sirius' nature, a figure of animosity upon whom he could project his burgeoning feelings of betrayal and jealousy.
Thus, Regulus chose to hate James Potter, a decision rooted not just in the tangible changes he saw in his brother, but in the deeper, more insidious impact those changes had on their once-intimate bond. James Potter became the scapegoat for all that Regulus had lost, the symbol of a divide that seemed to grow wider with every passing day.
The first—though unbeknownst to him, the second—time Regulus Black encountered James Potter was aboard the Hogwarts Express.
The scene at Platform 9 was a riotous ballet of organised chaos. The air buzzed with excitement and trepidation as families crowded around the barrier that would lead their children into the magical realm of Hogwarts. The platform itself was a tumult of activity: farewells were shouted across the din, luggage trolleys clattered over the cobblestones, and magical creatures of all kinds emitted their own unique sounds, from the hoots of owls to the soft purrs of cats. Children darted between their parents and the train, their faces flushed with both excitement and nerves. Parents, some with tearful eyes and others with stern expressions, hovered protectively, offering last-minute advice or reminders.
Amid this frenzy, Regulus arrived with his parents and Sirius. He was a bundle of nerves, his small frame taut with apprehension as he approached the looming form of the Hogwarts Express. The train's black engine hissed with steam, and its red carriages gleamed in the sunlight, each one promising a journey into a world unknown. Regulus' excitement about leaving the confines of home was overshadowed by a gnawing anxiety. He knew that being so close to Sirius, whose recent transformation had created an emotional chasm between them, would be a challenge. While he was eager to escape the stifling atmosphere of his parents' expectations, he was equally aware of the testing year ahead.
Summer had done little to mend the widening rift between the brothers. In fact, the divide seemed to have grown colder with each passing day. Sirius' letters had painted vivid pictures of his adventures and the camaraderie he shared with his new friends. Each letter was a testament to a world Regulus felt increasingly alienated from. The names of three friends, with James Potter among them, seemed to accentuate Regulus' sense of isolation. The vibrant life Sirius was leading was a stark contrast to Regulus' own solitude.
As soon as they boarded the train, Regulus saw an opportunity for a brief reprieve. Sirius, consumed by the excitement of reconnecting with his friends and chattering animatedly about how eager he was for Regulus to meet them, became an easy target for Regulus' desire for solitude. With a quiet determination, Regulus made his way through the bustling aisles, past groups of chattering students and their families, finally discovering an empty compartment.
The solitude of the compartment was a balm to Regulus' frazzled nerves. He had always sought refuge in isolation, a quiet space where he could retreat from the clamour of his surroundings. The empty compartment was a sanctuary, offering him a momentary escape from the chaos of the train and the turmoil within his own heart. He settled into a seat by the window, allowing himself a deep breath, the gentle rocking of the train lulling him into a fragile sense of peace.
Yet, in a train brimming with Hogwarts students, uninterrupted solitude was little more than wishful thinking. The compartment door slid open, and a head of unruly black hair with round glasses peeked inside. The boy's face, framed by the tousled mess of hair, was bright and open, his eyes twinkling with hopeful curiosity.
"Hi," the boy said with a cheerful lilt, his voice imbued with an infectious optimism. "Um, would it be okay if I sit here? Everywhere is full, and I can't find my friends. Might as well make a new one," he added with a laugh that seemed to cut through the lingering tension.
Regulus, initially taken aback by the boy's friendly demeanour, managed a shy smile. The boy's earnestness and warmth were disarming, and Regulus felt a pang of determination to prove to himself that he, too, could forge a new connection. "Of course, I'd like that," he replied, striving to sound more assured than he felt.
As the boy settled into the seat across from him, they began to converse. The boy's charm was immediate; his conversation was lively, punctuated with genuine interest and engaging questions. His kindness was palpable in every word, his intelligence reflected in his thoughtful responses. Regulus' heart beat a little faster each time the boy beamed at him, his bright eyes crinkling with sincere enthusiasm. The moments they shared were filled with laughter and a comfortable flow of dialogue, starkly contrasting with the cold formality that had often characterised Regulus' interactions.
In the midst of their conversation, the boy suddenly paused, a look of playful embarrassment crossing his face. "I forgot to ask your name!" he exclaimed, his tone light and teasing. "Mom would reprimand me if she knew how impolite I was," he chuckled. "So, what's your name?"
Regulus opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, the compartment door swung open once more. Sirius walked in, his face a blend of surprise and recognition. "Hey, James! I see you met my brother," Sirius said, glancing between the two of them with a puzzled expression.
Regulus' mind went numb, as if a jolt of shock had instantly erased every thought and left him in a stunned, paralyzed void.
The first time Regulus Black beat James Potter was in a Quidditch match. It was Regulus' second year, and he was already making a name for himself as the youngest Seeker Slytherin had ever seen—a prodigy of speed and precision. On the opposing team, James Potter flew as a Chaser for Gryffindor, his presence as vibrant and commanding as the red robes he wore. Sirius, Regulus' own brother, wielded his bat as one of Gryffindor's Beaters, his expression fierce and defiant. Regulus burned with a need to prove himself, to show them both that he was better, that Slytherin was better.
As the game began, Regulus was all focus and determination, his eyes scanning the sky for the elusive golden snitch. He was quick, his movements sharp and calculated. Each manoeuvre was precise, each decision executed with the cold efficiency that had already set him apart from his peers. His mind was a whirlwind of strategy and instinct, driven by the desire to outshine those who doubted him.
Yet, even as he soared above the pitch, Regulus couldn't ignore the figure of James Potter darting through the air. Regulus wanted to dismiss him, to pretend that James was just another opponent to crush under the weight of his ambitions. But despite the simmering resentment and jealousy that tinged his thoughts, Regulus found himself admiring the older boy's effortless grace. James rode his broom as if it were an extension of himself, his movements fluid and commanding, every twist and turn executed with the kind of ease that spoke of innate talent rather than practice. He wasn't the captain, yet he directed his team with a natural authority, his laughter cutting through the wind as if he owned the sky. And every now and then, James would pass close to Regulus, flashing him a cheeky wink that sent a confusing mix of annoyance and exhilaration through Regulus' veins.
But when Regulus caught sight of the snitch, all distractions fell away. His focus honed to a singular point, his body tensed, and he shot forward like a bolt of green lightning. Nothing could stop him; not the cries of the crowd, not the players who zipped by in a blur. His fingers closed around the tiny, fluttering ball, and the roar of Slytherin's triumph filled his ears, drowning out everything else.
As both teams descended and made their way towards the changing rooms, Regulus' heart still pounded with the thrill of victory. The Gryffindors, visibly disappointed, walked with slumped shoulders, though James was still grinning, his hair windswept and his cheeks flushed from the exertion.
"Sirius told me you were good, but I didn't expect such skill from a second year," James called out, his voice cutting through the din of post-game chatter. He fell into step beside Regulus, his expression sincere despite the loss.
Regulus' instinct was to deflect, to shield himself with a wall of indifference. "Shouldn't you be with Sirius, crying your eyes out?" he scoffed, his voice laced with a sharp edge.
James, unperturbed, merely laughed—a bright, unrestrained sound that grated against Regulus' annoyance but, to his irritation, also warmed something within him. "Ah, we'll do the crying later," James said with a playful shrug. "Right now, my priority is to congratulate you. So, congrats."
He clapped Regulus on the shoulder in a gesture that felt both familiar and unexpected. Then, with a grin that sparkled with mischief, James jogged ahead, turning back with exaggerated sobbing sounds as he glanced over his shoulder, clearly putting on a show for Regulus' benefit.
Regulus watched him, his eyes narrowed, yet unable to suppress a faint smirk. He told himself it was only natural to keep an eye on the competition, to study every nuance of the enemy. But as he watched James disappear into the crowd, a strange thought flickered in the back of his mind—a reluctant acknowledgment of the boy's unrelenting charisma and the magnetic pull of his carefree spirit. And though he tried to dismiss it, the memory of James' laughter lingered, echoing softly like a song that refused to be forgotten.
The first time Regulus Black kissed James Potter was against his will. Well, not really.
It all began with a truce that Regulus and Sirius had tentatively called over the summer between Regulus' fourth and fifth year. After years of cold silences and heated arguments, the gap between them had started to close ever so slightly. One day, Sirius had stolen a bottle of firewhiskey from their parents' stash—a bold move, given that their parents were away on holiday and had left Kreacher to keep a watchful eye on the boys.
"That's enough," Sirius declared, striding into the clearing in the woods surrounding their parents' grand mansion. Regulus lay sprawled on the grass, engrossed in a Muggle novel he'd found intriguing. The late afternoon sun dappled the ground with shifting patterns of light, a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves.
"What do you want?" Regulus asked, frowning up at his brother as Sirius approached with the bottle swinging from his hand.
"I'm tired of us not being able to talk like we used to," Sirius said, his voice edged with the frustration of their unresolved tension. "So today, we're going to talk." He handed Regulus the bottle, the amber liquid inside sloshing invitingly.
Curiosity got the better of him. Despite the walls he had built up, Regulus felt a pang of longing for the closeness they had once shared. They drank, the firewhiskey burning a path down their throats, loosening their tongues and breaking down the barriers that had kept them apart. They talked about things that had long been unsaid, the words pouring out with the courage that only came from alcohol and desperation. They cried, unburdening themselves of the silent grief that had haunted their hearts. And they hugged, the touch a fragile promise of better days to come. Later, they would get into a lot of trouble for it, but in that moment, nothing mattered except the fragile, tenuous bond they were rebuilding.
So when November came and with it, Sirius' birthday, Regulus was determined to keep their fragile peace alive. He rounded up his friends and together they made their way to the secret room where Sirius had instructed him to come. It was a hidden space within Hogwarts, one of many that Sirius' group of friends had discovered—a sanctuary of mischief and fleeting freedom. The air was thick with the thrill of secrecy, the scent of old wood and the faint burn of conjured candles filling the room.
The party was in full swing when they arrived. Music blared from a bewitched gramophone, and laughter echoed off the stone walls. Someone soon suggested a game of truth or dare, the classic party staple that often led to bold confessions and reckless choices.
When it was Regulus' turn, he wanted to seem unfazed, to prove that he was just as daring, just as cool as the older Gryffindors who surrounded his brother. He wanted to show that he wasn't afraid of anything, not in front of Sirius' friends. He met Barty's eyes, the challenge clear in his gaze. "Dare," Regulus said, trying to inject a note of bravado into his voice.
Barty's eyes gleamed with mischief, his grin widening as he sensed an opportunity to stir the pot. Regulus should have known it was a mistake to choose dare with Barty at the helm. A sinking feeling coiled in his stomach even before Barty spoke, the twinkle in his friend's eyes hinting at trouble.
"Kiss Potter," Barty announced, wiggling his eyebrows with an exaggerated flourish. The room erupted in laughter, the challenge hanging in the air like a tangible force.
Regulus' heart stopped. His mind went blank. For a brief moment, all sound faded, and the room seemed to shrink until it was just him and James, eyes locked across the circle. James wasn't laughing, nor was he making any snide comments. Instead, he gazed at Regulus with a gentle, reassuring look that sent warmth rushing through Regulus' veins.
"I don't bite," James said with a wink, though Regulus could hear the undercurrent of nervousness in his voice. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a fragile thread of connection that neither had dared to acknowledge until now.
Regulus could easily refuse—Barty's dare was childish, a ploy for entertainment at Regulus' expense. He could roll his eyes, brush it off with a dismissive comment, and let the moment pass. But something in James' eyes held him there, a quiet invitation that promised safety, acceptance, and maybe even something more. Those lips, soft and curved in a faint, welcoming smile, seemed to beckon him forward, a temptation Regulus wasn't sure he could resist.
And then James leaned in, just slightly, closing the distance between them with a subtle movement. It was a small gesture, but it was enough. In that instant, Regulus knew he couldn't say no. Not when James was so close, not when the warmth of his presence sent Regulus' heart racing. It would have taken a much stronger man to resist the pull, and Regulus was not strong when it came to James.
He closed the gap, their lips brushing in the lightest of touches, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. A spark jolted through Regulus' heart, electric and undeniable. He pulled back just an inch, his breath catching, but James was already chasing him, closing the distance once more. The second kiss hit Regulus like a crashing wave, powerful and all-consuming. It was passionate yet gentle, demanding yet laced with an undercurrent of tenderness. Regulus felt like a man starving, desperate for something he hadn't even known he craved. The world around them faded, the laughter and teasing of their friends becoming a distant murmur. All that mattered was James, the heat of his lips and the thundering beat of Regulus' own heart.
He gave in, letting the kiss deepen, ignoring everything and everyone around them. For that brief, infinite moment, Regulus allowed himself to forget the expectations, the rivalries, the complications that lay ahead. All he knew was the taste of James' lips, the feel of James' hands in his hair, and the intoxicating freedom of giving in to something real.
The first time Regulus Black felt himself falling in love with James Potter was… right in that moment...
The first time Regulus Black told James Potter that he loved him was a year after their first kiss. It was a moment that should have been etched in his memory as a quiet, private celebration of them, a culmination of all the secret glances, whispered conversations, and stolen touches. Instead, it annoyed him that this second, important milestone with his now boyfriend coincided once again with Sirius' birthday, as if the universe insisted on weaving his brother into the fabric of every pivotal moment of his relationship with James.
The Room of Requirement had transformed itself into a lively, vibrant space to accommodate the party. Its enchanted walls pulsed with the beat of music, candles floating lazily above, casting flickering shadows that danced along with the revellers. A wide table groaned under the weight of sweets and firewhiskey, and the air was thick with the mingled scents of laughter and magic, a blend of carefree joy that was almost tangible. The room was filled with the sounds of Sirius' laughter, the occasional pop of a Butterbeer bottle, and the thrum of conversation that swirled around like a comforting blanket.
Regulus, never one for the spotlight, lingered at the edges, content to observe rather than participate. His eyes tracked James effortlessly as he moved through the crowd, charismatic as ever, greeting friends with easy smiles and casual touches. Regulus found comfort in the quiet of the corner, the way the shadows seemed to wrap around him like a protective cloak, hiding him from the prying eyes and allowing him the luxury of watching James undisturbed.
James, however, had other plans. He caught Regulus' eye from across the room, a playful glint flashing behind his glasses as he excused himself from a conversation. With a determined stride, he crossed the distance between them, his presence as magnetic as ever. Regulus felt his heart quicken in his chest as James approached, that familiar mix of excitement and trepidation bubbling up inside him.
"Come on," James said with a lopsided grin, extending a hand towards Regulus. "You owe me a dance."
Regulus hesitated for a moment, a slight furrow creasing his brow. He wasn't one for dancing, especially not in front of a room full of Gryffindors who thrived on chaos and noise. But the way James looked at him, with that easy confidence and warmth, made it impossible to say no. With a resigned sigh and a roll of his eyes that was more fondness than annoyance, Regulus took James' hand, allowing himself to be led to the centre of the room.
The music shifted almost instantly, the upbeat tempo fading into a soft, slow melody that filled the room like a gentle breeze. Regulus knew this wasn't a coincidence. James had a way of making things happen, of bending the world to his will in the most effortless of ways.
"Figured you'd be more comfortable with a slow one," James murmured, his voice soft as he placed his hands gently on Regulus' waist. The touch was light, almost tentative, as if he were aware of the fragility of the moment. His fingers spread slightly, the warmth of his palms seeping through the fabric of Regulus' robes, grounding him in the here and now.
Regulus slid his hands up to rest on James' shoulders, his fingers grazing the nape of James' neck, where the curls of his hair tickled his skin. He felt the rhythm of the music seep into his bones as they began to sway together, a slow, unhurried dance that felt like a secret shared between just the two of them, despite the room full of people around them. Their movements were subtle, barely more than a gentle rocking back and forth, but it felt right—like this was where they were meant to be.
James' eyes met Regulus', and in that moment, everything else faded away. The noise of the party, the people, even the ever-present shadow of Sirius' influence—all of it vanished, leaving just the two of them standing in the soft glow of the floating candles. There was a softness in James' gaze, a quiet understanding that spoke volumes, and Regulus felt his chest tighten with the weight of it. This was different from the thrill of their first kiss or the stolen moments they shared in hidden corridors; this was something deeper, something that rooted itself in the very core of who they were.
"I love you, James," Regulus whispered, the words slipping out like a secret he had been holding onto for far too long. His voice was barely audible above the music, but in the quiet intimacy of their dance, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
James' eyes softened, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Regulus' lips, a tender affirmation of everything they had become to each other. "I love you too," James murmured against his mouth, his breath warm and comforting.
For that brief, perfect moment, it didn't matter that they were standing in a room full of people or that their lives were tangled in the complexities of family and loyalty. All that mattered was the steady, unwavering beat of their hearts, perfectly in sync as they swayed together, wrapped in each other's arms. And for Regulus, that was more than enough.
The first time Regulus Black made love to James Potter... is a memory wrapped in the sacred quiet of night, something tender and private, meant only for them to know.
The first time Regulus Black drowned... wait, that's not right...
"Reg, love, wake up," a soft voice calls for him, cutting through the suffocating darkness of his mind.
The words echo faintly at first, distant and almost unreal, like a whisper carried on the surface of the water. But they grow stronger, insistent, pulling him toward consciousness. Regulus' body jerks, the cold grip of the dream loosening as he gasps for air that suddenly flows freely into his lungs.
He opens his eyes to find James leaning over him, a worried crease between his brows, the morning light casting a halo around his messy hair. James' touch is gentle on Regulus' cheek, his thumb brushing softly along the edge of his jaw. His eyes, those same radiant orbs from the depths of Regulus' nightmare, are full of concern and a quiet, steady affection that anchors Regulus back to reality.
"There you are," James says, his voice a soothing balm, warm and familiar, washing away the lingering tendrils of fear. "You were having another bad dream."
Regulus sits up, his breathing ragged, the taste of saltwater still sharp on his tongue, though he knows it's only a phantom of the nightmare. He blinks rapidly, trying to shake off the remnants of the drowning, the icy clutch of the ghostly hands. James' presence is a solid comfort beside him, his steady heartbeat a reassuring rhythm in the quiet of their room.
"Sorry," Regulus mutters, his voice still shaky as he runs a hand through his tousled hair. The warmth of the bed and the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the curtains feel almost foreign after the chill of the cave. "Same dream again."
James wraps an arm around Regulus, pulling him close until their foreheads touch. "It's okay," he murmurs, his breath a gentle warmth against Regulus' skin. "You're safe. I'm right here."
Regulus closes his eyes, leaning into the embrace, feeling the solid reality of James—his warmth, his scent, the steady cadence of his breath. It grounds him, pulls him fully from the lingering edges of the nightmare.
But there's no time to dwell; there's a wedding to get to, and not just any wedding. Sirius' wedding. To Remus. The thought of his brother's big day cuts through the last vestiges of the nightmare, replacing them with the familiar flutter of excitement mixed with anxiety. It's a day of celebration, a rare gathering where old wounds and new beginnings will dance together under the same roof.
James pulls back slightly, grinning at Regulus with that crooked, boyish smile that makes his heart flutter. "Come on, love," he says, his tone light and teasing now. "The best men can't be late. If we miss the wedding, Sirius will kill us."
Regulus chuckles softly, the sound still tinged with the ghost of his dream but lifting with the promise of the day ahead. He allows James to help him up, their fingers interlacing in a brief but comforting squeeze.
Together, they move through the morning's preparations, the routine of getting dressed and ready for the ceremony almost a welcome distraction from the shadows that had haunted Regulus' sleep. As they step into the bustle of the day, Regulus casts one last glance back at their bed, the rumpled sheets a quiet witness to his struggle.
But then James' hand is in his again, guiding him forward with a gentle tug, and the warmth of the sun on his skin feels just a little brighter. Regulus smiles, grateful for the light, for James, and for the day ahead—a day where, surrounded by friends and family, love will be celebrated in all its forms.
And as they make their way to the ceremony, Regulus holds onto that vision of warmth and light, letting it banish the cold grip of the nightmare for good.
Regulus Arcturus Black is drowning, drowning in love.