unspeakable | jegulus

silhouetted anger, manufactured peace

chapter title: ballad in plain d by bob dylan

The night was cold and dark. All of the snow on the grounds in every direction made him feel like he was on the surface of the moon, nothing living for miles, the lake frozen over and snow covered in the distance only added to his impression of the endlessness of the fields of white. While they walked toward the Quidditch pitch James stared up at the stars.

"Do you know which star is yours?" he asked Regulus, pointing upward. Regulus frowned.

"Of course I do."

"Would you show me where it is?"

"I'll show you later, alright?" James swung their clasped hands between them as they walked side by side. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"It's so romantic, isn't it? Looking at the stars together, flying at night. I always wanted to do something like this with someone, but I never got a chance."

"Was Evans not much for romance?" Regulus had an indecipherable edge to his voice. It seemed caustic.

"No, she was, she was just... very different. You two are similar in some ways, but at the end of the day you're very different people. You have a completely different temperament, different interests, everything. Lily is terrified of flying. In the first year she could barely get her broom to listen to her when she called it up, and when she flew it was maybe four feet off the ground, if she got any higher she instantly started hyperventilating." He smiled at the memory, familiar affection blossoming in his chest. "Before every quidditch game, once we were together, I mean, she'd give me this big speech about how much she loves me and made me say it back 'Just in case you fall to your death. This might be the last conversation we ever have'," he mimicked her, still smiling. "'Course, before we were together she always told me she hopes I fall off my broom and die, so, she changed her tune pretty quick once she actually got to know me." James shook his head. "Anyway, I'm happy I have you now. You love flying too. You're a seeker, after all. You'd have to love it to risk getting hurt or killed playing this game. You're a very careful person, the risks you take are calculated."

"I don't love it as much as you do," Regulus said quietly. "I don't have the same natural talent you do either. I'm too small and thin—"

"You're a seeker. You're meant to be small and thin. It makes you quicker, so you can gain height during a match as fast as possible. If we raced to the top of the stands you would win because you're so light. Think about it. It's like I'm fighting gravity that doesn't apply to you, and you're just floating up, like you're a bird, hollow boned so you can stay in the air." James dismissed his excuse, because it was an excuse. "It's not natural talent, by the way. I was shit at quidditch until the third year, if you think back, or ask anyone, you'll see I'm not lying. You just don't care as much as I do. You're not willing to put in the work, and wake up at—"

"Like I said..." Regulus smiled. There was a softness in his expression that hadn't been there a moment before. "You love it more than I do."

"I like playing against you," James confessed, when they reached the silent, snowy pitch. He thought back to their first secret meeting, the hollow place beneath the stands where Regulus had dismantled his future completely with a handful of sentences and a look in his eyes. "You're so clever you make it interesting. My seeker never knows what to do with you. She can tell you're planning something but she never really knows what. You're too slippery."

"Am I?" Regulus peered up at him and took his hand, fidgeting with the tips of his fingers. James liked when he did it. The casual affection between them now made him feel a sense of unreasonable and inadvisable peace. "I like playing against you for a different reason entirely."