Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mama who bore me
Mama who gave me
No way to handle things
Who made me so sad”

Sometimes talent, a passion and a calling are not enough. Not in musical theatre, at least. Let alone inside of the Black family house, and if you were raised by Walburga Black - former musical theatre performer, now mother of two, who blames her children for reducing her career to that of a simple theatre critic. She didn’t want them to follow her path. She wanted to feel special, unique, untouchable. But her husband, acclaimed actor Orion Black, wanted his last name to endure over time. And so, the weight of keeping the Black legacy alive on the West End Theatre circuit was deposited on their eldest son, Sirius Black.

Sirius, on the other hand, isn’t like them. He believes that theatre was a simple escape from life, a place he can belong in and feel free from the pressure. But even though he tries to pretend the world didn’t revolve around his family name, he’s constantly rewarded with the greatest gift an actor could receive: nepotism.

Does he think himself deserving of that kind of advantage? No, not at all. Not because he doesn’t think he is good enough - God knows he has an exceptional education backing his career. But he often finds himself nitpicking over the roles he’s offered, whereas his own brother was still living in his shadow. Even with the same outstanding education from every accomplished actor and singer that trained his brother, Regulus Black is a name no one ever mentions.

Regulus Black doesn’t exist.

Regulus Black wasn’t the name Walburga chose for him.

He wasn’t the son Walburga Black wanted; he was supposed to be the daughter she raised to revive the once praised career she had.

Regulus Black is a name no one dares to pronounce. Not in public, let alone on a playbill.

But times are changing, kids grow up, strength builds up and maybe enough time has passed for someone to go against the Black family influence in theatre.

Sirius Black had been the first one to step back, even when his brother remained curled at his mother’s feet.

---

“They won’t like you like this. Hair too short, skin too greasy and look at your arms!”.  Regulus flinches when his mother holds his arm up high with a strong grip. “They’ll believe I’m trying to starve you like a child worker.”

“It already feels like the 19^th century”. He mutters while his mother fixes his clothes.

“Excuse me?”, she exclaims in disaffection.

“It’s just an audition, Mother.” Regulus glances at the serious expression on her face. “They will fix me up for the play.”

No more words are exchanged. He just lets his mother pull angrily on his hair to make it appear long enough, until she gives up and tries to form his curls to make them look nicer.

It's the same before every audition. The rite of being angrily prepared by his mother is inescapable every time. She will pick the nicest clothes, reprimand him again for cutting his hair short, and submit him to an extensive and not so healthy vocal warm-up.

Walburga hates it when Regulus uses a heavy vocal weight, so all the warm-ups will always reach an octave higher than he's comfortable with. She used to do the same thing with Sirius, insisting that stretching his vocal range in less than a week for an audition was possible if he really put his mind to it. It gave him vocal cord nodules. These, however, aren't enough reasons for Regulus to follow on his brother’s footsteps and leave. He’s not about to risk a professional career in musical theatre by being weak. If you want success, first you must endure.

Fortunately, he’s old enough to go into auditions by himself. Although that was supposed to be a punishment, Regulus figured out a way to avoid public transport.

“Pull over.”

“We are still five blocks away from-”

“Narcissa. Pull over, I must change.”

She sighs and looks around for the closest parking spot available. But before she can even try to say something, Regulus leaps out of the car with his backpack and sprints into a coffee shop.

He returns fifteen minutes later, barefaced, in different clothes and carrying two cups of hot coffee.

“Every day it gets harder to wipe that boatload of foundation from my face,” he says, handing her the cup of coffee. “They were short of sweetener, sorry.”

She grabs the coffee and one of the packs of sugar he left on the cupholder, and the car falls silent as they both drink the first sips of the beverage.

“Aren’t you tired of all of this?” she asks, trying to sound as comforting as possible. Narcissa supports Regulus’ choice to keep his mother unaware of his strive to socially transition, but she knows that, though he often denies it, it will bring consequences in the long run. Emotional consequences.

“No.” Regulus states firmly. “What she doesn’t know won’t affect her.”

“Don’t you think she’ll get suspicious of why you won’t land a role, while Sirius-”

“The system will always favour cisgender men. We both fail one of those requirements each, so we'll fall behind either way,” Regulus bitterly smiles as he raises his cup of coffee. “Cheers.”

---

He walks five blocks to the theatre, arriving just in time for his audition. One of the perks of growing up the child of Orion and Walburga Black was that even as a non-equity actor he was always one of the top choices for small and off productions. Thus, he quickly became eligible to join the British Actors' Equity Association and began his path as a professional actor on the West End. Even so, he hasn’t managed to land a role since he started trying to audition for male roles only. The number of circumstances where they didn’t let him audition was even larger than the amount of rejection emails.

That didn’t stop him.

“Regulus Black”

All the heads in the room turn the moment they hear the last name. It’s well known by now that the Black children are on the scene, and while the older is having a successful season in the latest Cabaret revival, the younger one is nowhere to be seen since touring with Dear Evan Hansen six years ago.

Regulus ignores the sudden attention and walks straight to the audition room, where a lady with a clipboard sits waiting for him.

She smiles cordially, but Regulus feels the curious gaze on him. Still, she walks him into the room and closes the door behind them. The audition is nothing unusual, a small theatre that has been closed for the event with the audition board members sitting in the front row.

He greets every one of them with a handshake and a polite smile. Again, the curious stares linger as he walks to the stage.

“Regulus, I saw you on Dear Evan Hansen a few years ago. Your performance was astounding.” The woman smiles as she reads his resume. “Is there a particular reason why you stopped performing?”

He freezes. This is new. Everyone always sends him on his way so quickly.

“Yes, Miss.” Regulus meditates his response for a second. “I haven’t had a callback since then.”

“Well, it happens to the best of us,” she replies surprisingly smoothly. “Doesn’t it?”

Regulus nods. No, it doesn’t. But they will figure out why later.

“Regulus. Such an interesting name…” one of the audition members of the audition board muses, his voice solemn, almost too calm for the thousands of actors that are waiting outside to be heard. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you interested in auditioning for this musical? In what way does it speak to you?”

“I-”

He finds himself startled by the question.

“My mother,” Regulus begins talking. His voice shakes, unsure of the next words he will choose. If they're asking, they're expecting an honest answer, right?

“She’s everything the play is about.”

“And what is that?” the man asks, remaining calm, almost as if he's actually interested in Regulus’ answer.

“Albus, we don’t have enough time for-”

“Minerva” he – Albus - interrupts, looking at her with a gentle smile. “This is very, very, very important for the audition, isn’t it Regulus?” He eyes Regulus with a complicit smile.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sir.”

“Ah.” He nods, clearly disappointed by that. Regulus grimaces to himself. Is there a secrete motive behind the question he isn’t caught up with?

“Before we start with the vocal part of the audition, I have one last question, Regulus”. He speaks his name almost like he was trying to pronounce every syllable correctly, almost as if he’s trying to make Regulus aware he knew which name was put on his birth certificate.

Ah, there it is. The hidden motive.

“Do you want us to consider you for a female or a male role?”

---

Back home, his mother rants about his looks while his father blames Sirius’ recent role in Cabaret for the “deviation of his daughter”.

Regulus couldn’t even decide for himself without it being credited to his brother.

They haven’t talked for a few months now, despite Sirius constantly trying. The short conversations always end in fights. It was better for both to be as far away from each other as possible, and it was time for Sirius to understand that.

“Pointless role, really. If he wanted to announce his sexuality so publicly, he should have gone on a television dating show. He certainly fits the criteria.”

His father laughs, and Regulus feels a sort of accomplishment. His safety under the roof of the Black family was merely tethered to their use his brother’s name as the butt of the joke.

“How did the audition go?” Orion’s voice is firm- unlike Albus, his tone always indicates indifference. He wants to be respected, not to be a peer.

“It was-”

Walburga clears her throat, interrupting. “Don't speak of results before having them on paper.”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Go to your room, and don’t come back before you get notice of a callback.”

“Yes, mother.”

He clenches his backpack straps as he marches into his room. Every audition that goes by, he can feel his mother losing a little bit of her sanity. As if her only way to live is through him.

And it probably was. Regulus knows how trapped she is. Unlike him, she can’t perform anymore- a prisoner of the Black name, her only job was to lead the only child they had left to success. If she didn’t make that, well, it would only mean that she failed again.

Orion doesn’t interfere in Walburga’s methods. He’d still condemn her for every possible outcome. He blamed her for Sirius’ sexuality, claiming musical theatre was the reason. And yet, when Sirius moved out because of the constant harassment he received at the hand of his father, he blamed Walburga’s exhausting training for making his only son run away.

He believes himself blameless for their children’s trauma, and no one has ever dared to tell otherwise. But despite the faults, Regulus still feels closer to his father than he ever was to his mother. At least he could make himself feel a pinch of affection in his indifference, and could sometimes fantasize about a reality in which his father accepts him as a way of replacing Sirius.

He knows he can be the perfect son if they let him.

Regulus tosses his backpack and then himself onto the bed. With his gaze fixated on the rosette on his ceiling, which momentarily becomes the most interesting thing in his room, he keeps his mind from roaming. He doesn’t want to think about the audition. It isn’t even his performance that’s the matter, but what came before. Was he supposed to understand Spring Awakening in a certain way to audition?  He isn’t a bad performer, he knows how to build a character, but that’s something you do after you get cast. Why spend your time overanalysing the play beforehand? Maybe that’s something Sirius would do when he can just assume he will get a role.

He reaches for his phone in his pocket and searches the judge’s name along the name of the musical.

The first result is the post for the open call audition. The second one, his Wikipedia page.

He reads the whole thing and then clicks on the audition post again. As he reads, he slowly understands each of the questions he was asked before. Albus Dumbledore isn’t just your common director.

With a lot of people being critical of his work, the man is a well-known reimaginator of classic productions. Regulus wasn’t a big fan of these kinds of works that often degrade the quality of musical classics rather than bringing a fresh young audience to the stories that started all, but it seems that the market for these sort of productions is good enough for him to make a nationwide open call for Spring Awakening. They had proclaimed it a reinvention of the Broadway classic adapted to modern issues. The audition was open to people aged 18 to 25 for every role indistinct of their gender expression, and invited every performer to present as their most authentic self.

He checks his inbox. Most of the time, he just accepts every audition his agent sends over- he’s not Sirius, he can’t pick the most profitable. But he doesn’t remember ever reading about this being a re-imagined musical.

His agent didn’t mention that in the email. It was simply presented as Spring Awakening. That’s what Walburga probably thinks it is, too. There’s no way they would let him audition for a play like that after the entire Sirius fiasco.

He looks up more information about this Albus Dumbledore - and, ah, there he is. Sirius had played the lead role in the workshops for his first original play. 

Of course he did. Of course he'd ride the wave of attention his coming out sob-story had brought by him. Wonderful marketing stunt, Regulus thinks.

There's no way Sirius hadn't already been offered a role in Spring Awakening.

He quickly opens Sirius’ Instagram profile.

As much as he hates to admit, he envies his brother’s freedom.

Sirius built up his life from scratch in less than three years, forgetting where he came from, ignoring the status the Black name granted him and how much his own brother has to work for it.

Regulus hates all of his brother’s friends, really. He seems to be surrounded by people who are just like him: unfiltered, nonchalant twenty-somethings without an actual care for their craft, who just want the fame that comes with it.

He scrolls down the feed, waiting for his parents to go to bed. His stomach’s already beginning to grumble when three knocks break the silence against his door. He stares at the door in silence until two more knocks are heard. 

“Come in!” He yells. The size of his room compels him to raise his voice from his place on the bed every time; even more so when the family butler is the one on the other side.

The old man walks in, skilfully carrying a tray on his right hand, the smell of recently cooked food rapidly flooding the room. He's certainly too old to be a butler, but probably doesn’t have a family to go back to- or at least Regulus assumes.

“Kreacher, stop, let me just-” He leaps up from the comfort of his bed and walks to the short man, quickly grabbing the tray for him. The spinach buns and squash puree sit presented as delicately as if it belonged in a fine dining restaurant, and the portion itself looks bigger than what his mother would ever allow. Regulus smiles widely.

“My mother, is she-”

“Yes, young Heir. Your mother is asleep.  Please, remain in your dormitory after you finish with your plate. Let me know and I will get back to grab it for you.”  He places a cold hand on Regulus’ head as a sign of endearment. He wasn’t the first person you'd go looking for comfort from, but he had a certain soft spot for the youngest of the Blacks.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” says Regulus before sitting on the floor of his bedroom to eat. He prefers to eat only in designated places. His desk is full of books, libretti and sheet music - all of which could be ruined at the slightest mishap, - and he’s not about to stain his bedsheets with food thus betraying the house staff to his mother. He really appreciates being fed when his mother doesn’t allow him to be, and is not willing to risk it.

He finishes his entire plate as if it were his last meal. He’d had a snack before meeting with Narcissa and attending the audition, but his body is still begging for real food, not just granola bars.

The house employees always spoil him with the best recipes. They used to do that with Sirius too, but he was the one with the childlike palate, and their mother would never allow the food Sirius wanted to ever be served under her roof. But every night, at half past eleven, the staff would prepare whatever Sirius requested. Regulus never asked for anything, and that’s probably the reason he’s Kreacher’s favourite. The old man didn’t want to jeopardise his job, but, after all, both brothers were his employees too.

Before the hour turned too late, Regulus gets back up and presses the service call button on the wall next to his door. The last time he forgot to call Kreacher at a decent hour, the man had to get up from bed just to throw the candy wrappers down the service garbage chute.

Regulus refuses to behave like his brother.

A minute after calling him, the butler appears on his door, knocking five times to announce himself. That had become their secret code some years ago, when a seven-year-old Regulus got punished for trying to call his parents' attention during Sirius’ showcase performance.

“Have a good night of sleep, young Heir.”

“Thank you, Kreacher. Have a good night too,” Regulus says before closing the door quietly. He wonders why Kreacher called him “Young Heir” instead of “Miss” like the other members of the staff- he hasn’t told anyone on the house about his not-so-recent gender revelation, but Kreacher seemingly noticed something that the others didn’t.

Regulus walks to his wardrobe to change into his sleeping clothes and finally get into bed. But before turning off the light, he reaches for his earphones. Still curious about Albus Dumbledore and his “re-imagined” productions, he types the name into the YouTube search bar.

It didn’t take too long for his eyelids to fall heavily during a modern-age revisiting of Les Mis.

Regulus wakes up with the notification sound ringing suddenly straight into his eardrums. His right ear hurt from falling asleep with the earphone still there. He takes them out before feeling around for his phone amongst the bedsheets.

His eyes adjust to the incandescent light of the unlocked phone screen, but instead of checking the time, his eyes first catch sight of the email notification, and he opens it immediately after reading the subject.

SPRING AWAKENING – CALLBACK

 

Hello from London’s Theatre for Youth!

 

Congratulations on your audition for SPRING AWAKENING. After much consideration, we would like to offer you a CALLBACK CALL for the role of ERNST ROBEL.

 

Performance Location: RUDO Rehearsal Space for the Arts

Audition Date: MONDAY 30/06/25 -9AM

 

IMPORTANT NOTE: AUDITION MATERIAL WILL BE LINKED AFTER CONFIRMATION. PLEASE CONFIRM YOUR ATTENDANCE WITHIN THE NEXT 24 TO 48 HOURS, OTHERWISE YOUR CALLBACK REQUEST WILL BE WITHDRAWN.

 

We thank you for your interest in this production and are excited to see you again.

He stares at his phone in disbelief. He knows he should be feeling ecstatic about not only this being his first callback after many years, but also the first time he was being consider for a male role.

He quickly googled the name of the character; this was probably the moment to admit he saw Spring Awakening once in his life, when sexual topics still made him uneasy.

“A shy, anxious young man. Ernst is unsure of his sexuality and is easily manipulated by the handsome and charming Hanschen.”

“Oh.” He thinks.

He went back to his mailbox and typed and quick confirmation response. Still, too shocked to express any sign of happiness, he thought about his mother.

Under no circumstances could she find out about this callback.

He hears the five knocks on his door and immediately shoves his phone under a pillow, as if Kreacher was a spy bent on telling his mother about the secret life of Regulus.

He gets up from bed and wraps his bed robe around himself. “Yes, you can come in”.

Kreacher opens the door carefully and walks in with an armful of freshly folded towels and two granola bars placed on top of them.

“Good morning, young Heir.” He says, handing him the towels. “I’ll leave you to it. Your parents are out and requested for you to notice about any update on your audition.”

Regulus grabs the towels in a swift motion. The sole mention of the audition feels accusatory, as if he knew something he shouldn’t and should be a reason to terminate his long-term contract with the House of Black. “Sure, yes.”

“I’ll leave you to it, Young Heir. May I be excused?”

“Yes!” he blurts, before changing his mind. “NO- Wait.”

Kreacher shows no expression on his face. He is used to being shouted at by his masters, probably too overtrained in the art of being stoic.

Regulus lays the towels on his bed as he reaches for his phone, opening the callback email. He shows the phone to Kreacher.

“I need you to help me get out of here this Monday.”

The old man leans towards the screen, trying to read the small type on the device.

“Hm,” he muses.

“This is the only thing I’ll ever ask, she must not know about it. Please.” Regulus’ voice comes out urgent and begging, which the butler quickly catches onto. He appears to think about it for a split second before responding, “I’ll see what I can do. May I be excused?”
Regulus smiles, satisfied with the response. It’s more than enough- he has known the man for quite some time now, and knows how cold he can be when requested favours. Or at least it was like that with Sirius. “Yes, thank you.”

Kreacher places a cold hand on Regulus’ head before walking out the door.

He catapults himself back onto the bed and lets out a joyful laugh. It’s happening, it’s finally happening.

The phone notification startles him. He quickly grabs the phone back from between the covers and reads his email.

SPRING AWAKENING – CALLBACK CALL

 

Hello from London’s Theatre for Youth!

 

We thank you for your interest in this production. We are more than thrilled to see you again at RUDO Rehearsal Space for the Arts next Monday.

You'll find the audition material attached to this email. We kindly recommend you prepare all the songs suggested on the file, along with the script for all the male roles.

Don’t forget to bring comfortable clothes, water and snacks as we expect this to be a long audition process.

 

We will be sending a reminder to your email the day before.

 

Kind regards,

London’s Theatre for Youth production team.

It’s official. He desperately wants someone to talk to about it, but talking to the other people of the house staff is too risky and Kreacher is emotionless.

He scrolls down the list of his Instagram followers, most of them old colleagues and castmates from musicals he performed in years ago. Too much time has gone by to still call them friends, if they ever were. His mother took away his rights to have any kind of human relationship the moment Sirius walked out the door.

That is one of the things he blames his brother for.

He texts Narcissa instead, but receives no reply. Of course- they have the kind of relationship that is sustained by mutual favours. The Blacks aren't a close-knit family, and maybe that’s why Sirius left… and why his only friends are possibly around one hundred years old.

Chapter Text

“Mama who bore me
Mama who gave me
No way to handle things
Who made me so bad”

“Young Mr. Black. I’m so glad you could make time to come see me. Come in, please.”

Sirius walks inside Albus Dumbledore’s eccentric home. The place is full of musical theatre memorabilia, strange gold ornaments and a wall dedicated only to a series of cast photographs from all his productions. He sees a picture of himself, not even a good one, on the centre of the wall.

“Ah” the man walks behind Sirius and points at the picture frame. “That’s my favourite one.”

“Why? My jaw looks dislocated.”

Albus laughs, the soft laugh he employs when he believes you’re adorable but also incorrect. “That’s the moment you embodied the character for the first time. You connected with Vincent there-” He pointed at Sirius chest “in a certain way, so deep in your core, for a moment you felt his anger, his pain... flowing through you. You didn’t care about vocals, acting or stage marks…it was just you feeling everything.”

Sirius leans closer to the picture. “Still, too fucking weird.” He looks back at the old man, but he’s no longer there.

“But we are not here to talk about our workshop, right?” Sirius asks, raising his voice to try to locate where Dumbledore has gone, without prying too much around the house.

“Young Mr Black, please join me”

The voice sounds close, but he’s still not visible. Sirius approaches the room closest to him, divided not by doors but by tall golden arches. The room fits the house perfectly - it appears to be a living room of sorts. Two big cream-coloured sofas with a polished oakwood coffee table in the centre.

Dumbledore stands next to a window feeding a strange looking pink bird.

“Don’t you think it’s unfair to be this pretty and be unable to fly? We’re the only ones who can appreciate her beauty in here.”

Sirius walks slowly closer to them. The bird is in fact astounding. “What is she?”

“A pink cockatoo. The veterinary told me she has a rare mutation that prevents her from flying, so I must clip her wings or else she would try to fly around and injure herself badly. Do you think that is selfish?”

Sirius frowns. He’s known Dumbledore for quite a few years already- two musical adaptations and one original play was enough time for him to know this was just prologue for an incoming announcement. Still, he doesn’t have enough clues to assume anything.

“No, you’re taking care of her.”

Dumbledore smiles and caresses the bird’s head. “We must protect those we love, even if they’re hurting themselves.”

Sirius just stares at him inquisitively, until Dumbledore stops caressing the pink bird, who probably only wanted some more food.

“Your brother is an incredible actor, but I bet you already know that.” He says, his eyes fixed on Sirius’, as if to project the following thought directly into his mind without speaking it.

“Yes, he- Regulus auditioned?”

Dumbledore nods with a pleased smile. “Yes, and his callback message has already been sent.”

Sirius falls silent.

Too silent.

“My mother would never-”

“He’s 23, I’m sure it’s his decision, not your mother’s. Although, the producers are worried, you’ll understand…”

Sirius understands perfectly. He starts walking around in circles, biting his nails. A bad habit maybe, but the arguably better option when smoking a fag wasn’t a possibility.

Fuck, now he wants to throw the bloody bird out the window.

He sits down on the sofa and sighs, feeling Dumbledore’s eyes still fixated on his every move. He’d bitten his nails down to the finger and it still didn’t help clear his mind, so a seat might be of better help.

The bird batters her wings, as if to attempt to fly, but stops as soon as she remembers it’s not possible. She turns around and paces walks around her open cage for a moment until a toy catches her attention, suddenly making her forget about the brief moment where she tried to take off.

"Do you think she'll keep trying to fly if she injures herself doing that? Or you think the idea of being close to free is enough to keep her trying?" Sirius’ voice breaks the heavy silence in the room, and Dumbledore’s face is lit in a soft smile.

“I don’t think flying is freedom. She could easily walk outside the house if I let her.”

Chapter Text

“But I know there's so much more to find

Just in looking through myself, and not at them

Still, I know to trust my own true mind

And to say, "There's a way through this"

Every day, when the sun comes out, the house fills with the sound of its staff preparing the place for their patrons.

Walburga Black is the first one to show herself after disappearing into her room the night before at exactly 10 p.m.

She walks out of her bedroom and directly into the bathroom; an employee must be waiting for her halfway through, with freshly washed towels. They must be warm enough and soft to the touch, but the washing staff must avoid the use of softener with fragrance: the smells make her nauseous.

After Walburga Black enters the bathroom to begin a forty-five-minute routine, Orion Black walks out of the room. He’s not as strict as his wife, but he likes everything to be in its place: his breakfast must be already on the table when he enters the dining hall, and an employee hands him the newspaper as he eats.

No TVs or radios are allowed while they’re in the room. The place must be completely silent, except for the sound of footsteps alone.

Every day at 8, Orion Black excuses himself from the table and walks to the bathroom across the house to take a quick shower before going to work. He doesn’t need warm towels or a meticulous routine, but every employee is advised to keep his daughter in her room until he's out of the house, as the sight of her on the mornings is a reminder of the fact that his only son is long gone.

Regulus, on his part, waits patiently for the house staff to knock on his door. He’s been awake for hours already this morning. He’s been awake and fidgeting with nerves since 5 in the morning, but that has only given him time to come up with an alternate escape plan, in case Kreacher forgets about their arrangement.

Sitting behind his bedroom door, he tries to listen for the sounds of his parents going through their usual routines, but it’s nearly impossible. They don’t talk to each other or even cross paths in the morning. All he can hear is the clacking sound of Walburga’s heeled shoes walking swiftly past his room as she heads to the dining hall.

Sometimes, he can still feel the presence of his brother doing exactly the same thing in the bedroom across the wall from his. They both would wait for the knocks on their doors to come down and have breakfast next to their mother. But the days where Walburga was out for the mornings were the ones they expected the most-they used to run down the stairs laughing, knowing they were about to be greeted with chocolate milk and cookies for breakfast, and sometimes even they would have ice cream after Sirius reiterative demands.

It wouldn’t be so today.

Five knocks on his door.

He quickly gets up from the ground and opens the door. Kreacher is waiting outside, expressionless but concealing a granola bar in his hand.

“Young Heir, your mother is waiting for you to go down for breakfast.”

Regulus looks at him, devastated. Did he actually forget?

Kreacher extends the hand that holds the granola bar and Regulus takes it, quickly sprinting to his backpack to hide it from his mother.

When he looks back at the door, Kreacher is gone.

He braces himself and walks outside his room, feeling the full weight of his body on every footstep he takes on his way to the dining room.

There, his mother awaits, sitting at the end of the table.

He silently takes a seat next to her and looks at the meal that was served in front of him. A glass of milk, next to two slices of toast and three thin ones of tomato.

Another reason why Sirius ran away, probably.

“Have you heard back from the audition?” she asks, not even looking at him, like there was a solid wall in between them.

“No, mother.”

He sneaks a look at the clock on the wall. 9 o’clock. There’s only thirty minutes left to leave before he’s late to the audition and his mother starts believing he failed.

“Ugly girls won’t be cast. I've said this before, theatre is not the place for-” she pauses and looks at him in disdain. “...self-expression. You need to look like a normal girl. Your brother-”

“I’m not my-”

Walburga cuts him off with a sharp smack on the table. Regulus winces.

“Of course you’re not your brother. He might have brought shame to this family but at least he’s getting roles.” She points at the plate in front of Regulus. “Eat. You’re too skinny. Malnourished girls don’t get cast either. If you faint on the stage, it will precede you forever.

He reluctantly bites into the toast, knowing that serving won’t be enough to fill his stomach. Another glance at the clock shows that only five minutes have passed and Kreacher is still nowhere to be seen.

After finishing his breakfast, he gathers the courage to stand up. Walburga looks at him.

“May I be excused?”

Her face contracts in horror and he knows what comes next, so he closes his eyes and tries to make himself smaller by sitting again- but instead of the feeling of his mother’s hand hitting him on the head, he hear Kreacher’s voice.

“Madam?”

Walburga lowers her hand and pretends to fix the napkin on her lap. “Yes?”

Everyone on the house is already aware of Walburga’s way of reprimanding, yet she would never hit her children in front of the house staff.

“There has been a problem with the bathroom on the third floor. Dirty water is flowing out the sewage and most of the staff is working to avoid damage to the hardwood flooring.” He turns to look at Regulus: “It would be very helpful to have extra hands aiding with the shopping today.”

Walburga looks at Regulus and smiles. She would do anything to keep him away after botching yet another audition.

“Yes, of course.” She looks at him again, her expression falling quickly into a grimace. “You. Go help them, I don’t want to see you around for the day.”

Regulus nods and quietly leaves the dining room, following Kreacher to the staff entrance in the kitchen. The old man signals at the utility room’s open door, where Regulus’ backpack awaits him next to the cleaning supplies.

“Thank you, Kreacher.” Regulus can’t bring himself to a smile yet. Such a conversation with his mother will have that effect on him. Still, he feels truly grateful.

“Please, avoid the main entrance when you return. Edith stored a snack in your backpack for the morning."

It’s half past 9. He needs to run if he wants to be on time.

--

Water bottle, chips and a few granola bars are the only thing keeping Regulus company as he waited to enter the venue. Edith, the cook, used to hide snacks on Sirius' backpack too. They appreciated whatever few snacks they could spare to sneak them past Walburga. Regulus chooses a granola bar to eat as he lines up.

There are at least a hundred men waiting in line, most of them probably taller, more talented and better looking than him, Regulus thinks. He looks around looking for familiar faces, but he’s been away from the industry for too long to know them. Maybe they were actually calling unknown people, or he’s just outdated.

He finally walks into the building for his credentials. His number is 406- not too bad, but could be better.

Inside, everyone is warming up their voices, stretching and repeating their monologues over and over again.

Regulus feels prepared. Or perhaps he’s trying not to build his hopes up too high. He keeps a low profile- in case they figure out he’s not like the other actors.

Everybody is keeping mostly to themselves, keeping focus. He looks around at the competition- all the men in professional musical theatre look and sound pretty much the same, and even share the same personality. Or, well, a lack of it.

He wishes he was just like them.

But the girls, oh, they’re all too perfect, too pretty. For a moment, he feels guilty for not growing up that way. Maybe his mother would’ve been proud, the bitterness would’ve gone away, and they could have been happy.

But it’s not the time to be emotional now. He would make an ugly Wendla either way. She’s not a malnourished person.

The corner of the room looks perfect for him to take a seat and become invisible. He feels strange.

He expected to be cut during the first stage of auditions. This isn’t like other open calls. It’s more personal- it feels almost like a callback, even though it isn’t. This means that everything Regulus knows about auditions is out of the window today. What should we expect? More questions? Should he prepare his sob story to catch the board’s attention?

He feels too exposed after telling them his mother was all Spring Awakening was protesting. It’s not untrue, but any other production would’ve reprimanded him for being too emotional. Why were they trying to stir up his feelings? He doesn’t need to feel the same pain to be a good actor. And his mother is right, they don’t want self-expression, they want you to look good on the billboard. It’s an audition, it’s foolish to pretend to care about what people feel instead of measuring their ability to perform.

Interrupting his thread of though, a lady in black attire opens the door and walks into the room- the same one from the audition, Minerva.

Shit, he forgot to research her.

He tries to sink deeper into the wall. What if they realize they made a mistake by calling him again? Or even worse, what if she knows his mother? What if that’s why she was so fixated on him the first time?

Minerva’s stare is intimidating in itself- even more so if you’re on the ground, looking up at her.

“Silent, please.”

The room falls silent, and she smiles. Not particularly a warm smile, but without any malice, either- just pleasant at the respectful compliance.

“Well, welcome, everybody, to this stage of auditions. We’re very fortunate to have this amount of talented people willing to be part of this production.” She smiles, genuinely happy this time. “As many of you might know, and for the people coming to their first callback, the audition will be divided into 3 stages. There will be a dance stage, a singing stage, and an acting stage.”

Regulus curses under his breath and a blonde guy next to him laughs. He tries to ignore it- maybe it wasn’t even directed at him.

“Don’t worry if you don’t get all the steps right, it’s not a dance-based musical. They just want to see how you move,” the guy whispers, way too close for comfort, and Regulus glares at him. That’s why he tries to avoid people’s gaze- they believe they have the right to talk to you just by being in the same situation.

“I know, I’m not a newbie,” he blurts out in response.

Blonde-guy just stares at him for a moment before returning his attention to the lady.

Twat. Theatre guys think they’re the only ones with any experience, as if there aren’t another sixty guys currently in the same room believing to be the next Jonathan Groff [1].

“As you checked yourself in, you were given a number. Please place the sticker on the front of your shirt so we can easily identify you. You’ll be auditioning in groups of 50 people. If we call your number, I ask you to please stay and wait for the next stage of the audition. Thank you for your attention. We will start calling numbers in ten minutes.”

Minerva walks into the room again and closed the door behind her.

The clock marks 11 a.m. He’ll probably make it back home for lunch.

As the other auditioners begin talking, warming up and stretching again, Regulus stares at his number. Three hundred people will go before him. That’s enough to find the entire cast, the swings, and the understudies.

Maybe the producers who didn’t even let him audition in the past were just being helpful and not wasting his time.

The blonde guy has his eyes set on him again.

“What?” Regulus mutters out, too annoyed to even care.

“Let’s trade” He shows Regulus his number, 92.

“Why?” This is not a moment to trust any stranger. Maybe he knows something Regulus didn’t. He looks around the room, and the blond watches him, confused.

“Oh, I get it. There’re another six blonde guys in your group,” Regulus declares.

Blonde guy squints. “What? No, brother, I fucked up my ankle on the stairs as we walked in and I need more time to see if it’s going to swell. Wanna trade or not?”

Brother.

Regulus lets his guard down and takes the number off his shirt. “Fine.”

They don’t talk after that. Regulus just stares at the closed door. The voice of his mother calling him all sorts of names plays in the back of his mind.

They call the first group in, and there’s nothing but silence until music starts playing loudly through the speakers. Regulus checks his watch- they gave fifteen minutes to learn one minute of choreography, one practice run, and the final audition run. The first group spent a total of 20 minutes inside the room.

It was a short time for a dancing audition, but at least the pain of being rejected once again wouldn't last too long.

The doors open, and most people walk directly out of the venue, each of them looking as disappointed as the others. Their faces are red and drops of sweat are still falling down their faces, indicating the process was very hurried.  A small group of seven people come out the room smiling and talking to each other. He looks at each one of them. Pretty, well fed and not one of them looks like him. Not even the girls.

An old man with a funny voice walks out of the studio room.

“Group two, numbers fifty-one to one hundred, please come inside.”

His stomach grumbles. He shouldn’t have switched numbers. Maybe the blonde guy saw him looking too pale and took it as a chance to eliminate him. Regulus impulsively grabs another granola bar from his backpack and devours it in two bites, walking into the room with his mouth full as if that would prevent his body from shutting off.

The rehearsal room is bigger than he had expected, with enough space to hold 50 performers dancing in front of Dumbledore, Minerva and five other members from the production team.

He looks at the clock on the wall behind them: 11:44 a.m. Regulus wonders if his mother is looking for him already.

Dumbledore stands up and smiles at them with his arms open. “Welcome, everyone, I’m so glad to see you here.” He seems to be giving everybody the same speech.

Regulus stares at the ground as the man talks.

“As Minerva already told you, we’re kicking it off with the dancing stage. Unfortunately, we don’t have enough time for another callback day.”

Everyone looks at each other, confused. Every regular project has at least three callback stages before choosing the final cast.

“Yes, I know, I know. But I don’t like to do things the way others expect, and I assure you; my talented team and I will be able to make the correct decision today, in this same room.”

“Albus.”  Minerva cuts him off, trying to hurry him up.

“Yes, Minerva. I’m sorry, please proceed.”

Minerva stands up, next to a girl in her mid-twenties with a head full of dark brown curls. 

“This is Mary, your choreographer today. As mentioned earlier, we don’t have much time, so this is your only chance to learn and perform the choreography.”

Regulus looks at her. She looks…nice. Professional choreographers usually have an air of superiority to them, but she’s just smiling at everyone. Her hair in a ponytail and her clothes too baggy for extra comfort give Regulus a strange reassurance.

“Okay!” Mary exclaims with a loud clap, all her energy flowing through the room. “This is going to go like this.”

Regulus stands close to one end of the second row. Close enough to Mary to see and learn the choreography, but not too close, so they take longer to see he has two left feet.

“Two steps forward, two steps back and jump, with your arms out like this.” She shows the movement in slow motion once and proceeds with the next bit. A lot of arms and jumping are involved- the steps aren't really that difficult, but his body is threatening to give up.

A sharp pain in one of his ribs suddenly reminds him he’s binding. Hunger and compression are never an ideal combo for an audition. He breathes deeply, trying to ignore it and hoping no one saw the painful expression he flashed for a second.

Mary, oblivious to the auditioners’ feelings, keeps going with the choreography. “Arms go ‘swish, woosh, woosh, tap, boom, boom and down!” She looks around and smiles, as she sees everyone imitating her movements. “Okay, and for the last part, I want you to take your right hand, feel your heart and go down, down and then-” She gasps. “Oh no, my mother doesn’t understand me! And hit, hit your forehead. Got it? Let’s do it once, no music.”

Everyone dances every step to perfection. Regulus closes his eyes to avoid looking at himself in the mirror that's right behind the producers’ table.

Mary claps with a smile. “Oookay, you got it! Now for the finale, it’s pretty easy!”

She jumps three times, one step forward and abruptly sits on the floor, her knees apart, feet on the ground and hands on the floor next to her body. “One eight-count of this, then you’ll hit the floor with your body in one, two, three, four- throw a tantrum. Get up from the floor, another eight-count of this and swish, woosh, woos, tap, boom, boom and down again. Alright?”

Swish. Woosh. Woosh. Tap. Boom. Boom. And down.

Regulus repeats under his breath as he follows the steps. He looks around at everyone, who all looks the same: agitated.

“You’re all doing so good! The next three eight counts are up to you, improvise! And for the ‘totally fucked,’ you’re going to throw yourself on the ground again and I want you all to lie your head low and show your middle fingers to the front, like this.”

She shows them the last bit of the choreography; her energy is astounding, and the smile remained there for the whole time.

Everyone claps after she gets back up from the floor. “Thank you, thank you” Mary bows jokingly, smile still on her face. “Okay, ready? Now, let’s do it with the music. This is your test round. Feel the music, feel free!”

She moves out the way, standing on the left side of the room. “And on the count of, three, two, one. Music!”

The sound of footsteps floods the room. There isn't a single footstep out of place. It's a short choreography, and the moves are easy, but very telling of everyone's ability.

Regulus panics during the improvisation. He jumps up and down, taking advantage of everyone moving around him to look at what they were doing. He hates not being told what to do. Dancing is not his strongest suit, but following directions he could do no questions. He finishes the run with a hurt bottom from throwing himself on the ground a second time.

He looks at the producers and every one of them was taking notes. One of the people on the production team whispers something to Mary, and they both look directly at Regulus.

Totally fucked indeed.

“Okay everyone, that was perfect. I want you to feel free in the improvisation, feel it running through your body, no worries, just teenage anger. Think about all those things you want to escape from. Keep it in your mind for the last run, okay?

Now, places- three, two, one, music!”.

Regulus gives it everything he has. He’s sure he forgot a tap before the booms, but it felt alright.

He breathes heavily, looking around to check if anyone’s already drinking water. Nobody is- everyone is waiting for the results.

Drops of sweat fall from the back of his neck down the inside of his shirt. He wipes some off his face and takes a deep inhale.

Mary is talking to the producers and staff. The guy that mumbled something to her is looking at Regulus again- he remembers Mary from somewhere, but not this man. He has a large scar across his face, one side to the other. Regulus would’veremembered that detail.

Minerva stands up again, holding a list of handwritten numbers. “The following numbers are moving on to the singing stage. For the rest of the people, this is not over. Don’t give up, you all were amazing.”

She starts reading the numbers off the sheet and Regulus looks at the floor again.

Regulus counts: she’s already listed off six people.

“57,” Minerva reads.

So, that’s seven. Not him. Okay. Regulus turns around quickly, hoping to grab his backpack and drink a sip of water before walking fast to the closest café, tidying up a bit and swallow his feelings at home.

“Oi, kid! We’re not over!”

Regulus stops on his tracks. Oh, no. They’re probably thinking he’s unprofessional for leaving already. But they had called the seven chosen ones already...

He turns around, acting normal, and Mary is smiling at him with her thumbs up.

Minerva keeps calling numbers out. Regulus looks at all of them- everyone seems so happy. Fifteen people from his group have already been chosen to move on to the next stage-

“92.”

Regulus looks straight at Mary. She’s talking to the guy with the scar again.

“Thank you everyone. Please, be patient- we expect to start with the singing stage in around 3 hours. We ask you not to leave until you can perform. See you later.”

Regulus walks over to his backpack, one step at a time, this time knowing he’s not making it home for lunch. A smiled creeps onto his face for the first time in the day. He wasn’t out in the first stage.

Walking out the room, he sees his old spot on the corner already occupied by someone else. There’s a small patio across the hallway, and maybe some fresh air will help him through the day without any actual food on his stomach.

“Psst. 92, hey” Someone is calling for his attention. Regulus knows it’s the blonde guy before even looking. He wasn’t planning on giving much attention to anyone, but still, he puts on his best face and looks back.

“How was it?”

Regulus looks at the other people around them, several of them curious about the same and trying to overhear the conversation. He approaches the other man, who scoots left to make room on the seat for Regulus.

“Wait, you got selected?”

Regulus takes his time to answer; he desperately needs food in his body. He rummages through his backpack and takes the crips out.  After opening the package and eating some, his eyes meet the blue ones.

He looks at the number- right, 406.

“Yes, I got selected.”

406 smiles wide. Why? Regulus doesn’t know, he doesn’t know the guy.

“Congrats, mate!” 406 hugs Regulus tightly. He just stands still until the blonde guy lets him go. “So how was it, can you mark the steps for me?”

“No.”

Blonde guy looks at him, upset. Great, now he’s feeling bad for the guy a 90% better shot than him.

“I don’t think I nailed it. I don’t want to confuse you. Then it’ll be my fault if you miss a step.”

“Oh,” says 406, looking a bit less like a kicked dog. “That’s fair.”

Regulus returns his attention to the pack of crisps sitting on his lap. He wanted to go outside, get some fresh air, warm up his voice and have some rest before blowing the next stage of the audition, but the blonde guy seems too nervous and his ankle looks visibly swollen.

“Does it hurt?” Regulus points at the guy’s ankle. “There’s a lot of jumping; that can’t be good for it.”

“I know,” says the guy, trying to move his foot and flinching every time. “But if they don’t see it, they won’t know.”

“Dancing with an injury is very unprofessional, you could jeopardize the production, what if-”

Blonde guy laughs and Regulus glares at him. It isn’t funny, it’s true. There have been many productions that failed because one of the actors lied about their physical health. As a performer, you must treat your body right.

His stomach grumbles again.

That isn’t his fault.

Blonde guy takes a tupperware container out of his bag and offers one half of a sandwich to Regulus. “Eat something, your lips are losing colour.”

Regulus widens his eyes in horror. Quickly, he opens his front camera and looks at himself on the reflection.  

“Seriously, I have another one for later. You look like you need it.”

Walburga calling him a malnourished little girl plays on the back of his mind again.

Regulus just nods and accepts the food.

“Thank you.”

“I’m Evan, by the way.”

“Regulus.”

They both sat in silence, taking bites of the sandwich as the room becomes emptier and emptier with each passing group.

“I lost count,” says Evan, looking around at the people left on the room. There’s still too many people, but the smallest number on sight is over 300.

The door opens again: almost the entire group walks out, rejected, except for two girls. Evan gulps. It looks to them as if they got stricter, and are cutting more people as the groups go on.

Regulus tries to be comforting, as best as he can. He feels guilty- Evan should have gone first. Now his injury is cold, and it will probably feel ten times worse. He unfolds a pair of clean, full length pants from out of his backpack. “Here, go change yourself. I’m not sure whether they fill fit that well, but they’ll hide your ankle. If they see it-”
Evan quickly grabs the clothes and hold Regulus’ head to plant a smooch on his forehead. “You’re a saviour.”

Regulus waits for him to come back from the bathroom, anxiously staring at the studio door. What if they call number 406? What if he misses his call and thinks it was the plan all along?

Another group walks out practically whole. Again, too many cuts.

This time, the guy with the scar on his face walks out and calls the next group in. It isn’t Evan’s. Everyone stands up and walks to the room- Regulus tries to look harder at the man, but the door to the room is closed again before he can pinpoint what makes him stand out so much in his eyes.

He feels too familiar to be just some random producer.

Evan comes back, practicing his limpless walk. The sweatpants look good on him.

“How was it?”

“8 of 50.”

Evan whines. He’s tall and very handsome- those are the things producers care about when it comes to male performers. Singing? Dancing? It doesn’t matter too much if they’re pretty enough.

The room is silent now. The last auditioners are too nervous to function, and being tired of waiting is probably taking the last of their confidence. Regulus is glad Evan traded his number; he surely wouldn’t have made it if he auditioned with group 8.

The clock marks 2:45 p.m. There’s probably two groups to go before the singing stage.

The doors open again.

Everyone on the group coming out is rejected. All of them.

Evan eyes Regulus, looking for comfort.

Mary is the one who walks out this time. “Numbers 401 to 450! Please come in.”

“It’s going to be okay” Regulus mutters as Evan stands up and walks inside the room, trying to hide the pain.

Closing his eyes, Regulus tries to focus on the sounds coming from the rehearsal room. He can hear the jumps but not understand the voices- it sounds like a rumble, too far away for him to discern.

Swish. Woosh. Woosh. Tap. Boom. Boom. And down.

He plays the choreography in his mind- putting all that weight on an injury sounds horrible, but Evan seemed determined to succeed, even under all his nerves.

‘Totally Fucked’ plays for a second time, there’s a round of applause, then silence.

Ten minutes later, the doors open.

Regulus sits up straight. Evan walks out limping and unable to hide the pained expression on his face, but as he approaches Regulus, a smile grows across his entire face.

“I made it through.”

Regulus sighs in relief.

---

An hour goes by after the final group auditions, while they prepare for the singing stage.

Regulus is slowly falling asleep against a wall when Minerva walks out of the room and explains the dynamics.

There are 72 of 503 auditioners left. They let everyone inside the rehearsal room and line the girls first. This part is easier and quicker: just sing an 8bar-cut from the selected material for every character. There’s a line for girls who are going for lead roles, and another for supporting roles.

Everyone’s taking notes. The guy with the scar and Mary are walking around them, examining. This is the part where you could get cut off just by looking a little bit weird.

Malnourished.

One of the girls gets stopped on the middle of the first verse of the song. She starts crying immediately, but everyone stays focused on their own audition. This is not a place for the weak.

As the last girl sings the final note of her song, they thank everyone and start lining up the boys.

Regulus looks around. Evan’s in line for the lead roles. Of course. Regulus also notices he’s clearly not the only trans man there- he feels a little bit of weight drop from his shoulders. At least he wouldn’t be the only one with a vocal range higher than the other men there.

Regulus listens to everyone with a tint of envy. How would he be able to compete with all of them? There are harmonies he won’t be able to reach, his lower range is not as developed as he’d like and, even though Ernst is a tenor, his own voice would merge with the girls’.

Evan is the next one to sing, and Regulus can’t help but look at his ankle. Still wearing his sweatpants, Evan is clearly supporting his weight on the healthy ankle, which could affect his singing for sure.

It doesn’t.

Regulus almost tears up after listening to Evan sing a beautiful rendition of Once Upon A Time, from Bare. He doesn’t know the musical- contemporary musicals are not something he’d choose to watch, but he got curious and went through the materials for all the characters. Melchior and Moritz shared the same songs; Evan would make a good Melchior.

As he sings the last verse, Regulus desperately wants to clap. Of course, though, he doesn’t.  

Evan walks out the line and takes a seat on the ground, next to the other people who already auditioned. They cross gazes- Evan smiles at him and mouths ‘merde’.

Regulus looks away. He needs a miracle.

The first guy on his line starts singing. Regulus has been looking at the ground- he hadn’t notice the line of the principal roles being empty until now.

He looks forward, and counts only 5 guys before him.

In the blink of an eye, he’s standing first in the line.

He takes a deep breath, feeling everyone’s gaze on him. Of course, everyone is probably waiting for him to fail.

The uploaded material for Ernst was a cut of very naïve songs, two of them selected from musical tracklists and another two pop songs from artists he hasn’t even heard of. Well, he doesn’t know any pop artist from the last twenty years at least. He decided to pick from the category he’s most comfortable with, musicals.  Of course, there was a Dear Evan Hansen song, but I’ll Save The Girl, from Superhero, a song from a contemporary musical Regulus also didn’t know anything about, seemed like the perfect option.  

“Whenever you’re ready,” prepares Minerva, not taking her eyes off from the sheet of paper she’s writing in.

Regulus positions himself, takes a quick look at Mary, who’s the only one on that production team who looks the least bit reassuring, and starts singing.

The first note comes a little shaky, and he prepares to get stopped at any time, but they let him finish the 8-bar cut without any interruption.

It feels like an eternity.

“Thank you, Regulus.”

The air suddenly feels very heavy, and his hands go cold in a matter of seconds.  The room is spinning; his body’s finally giving up on him. He walks out of the line and, with a little help from the wall, takes a seat across from Evan.

Another two guys sing the same song right after him. He wants to pay attention, really, but even if he tries, the ringing in his ears wouldn’t let him.

Positioning his back against the wall and pressing his knees to his chest, Regulus tries to inhale and exhale all the air his compressed chest allows him to.

This has happened before. It isn’t something he can’t control, but still, he wishes it wasn’t happening. He needs food, real food, in his system as soon as possible- but buying anything to eat would mean his mother would spot the purchase in the joint bank account he was forced to share ever since his first professional job as an actor. Buying something would mean risking everything he has worked for in the last couple of days.

When he opens his eyes, the room has stopped spinning, but Evan is staring at him, looking concerned.

The last of the auditioners is singing his last verse. Regulus would would hate to be the last one standing in a room full of people wishing that you fail.

“Thank you, everyone. If we call your number, we ask you to please stay in the room. Otherwise, best of luck, and we hope to see you in future auditions.” Minerva talks in a warm, offering comfort with a simple smile before clearing her throat.

“209, 56, 406-”

Regulus sees Evan stand up with the biggest of smiles. Oh, he’s really pretty. His face on any billboard would definitely sell lots of tickets.

“02, 15, 92, 558, 120, 78, 352, 481. Thank you, everyone.”

Regulus looks down at his number. 92.

No, maybe it’s nineteen and two. He looks down again, but is interrupted by Evan sprinting towards him through the people leaving the room. “Mate, holy shit, are you okay?” He grabs Regulus’ face and presses a hand on his forehead. “You’re too pale- holy shit, there’s only eleven of us.”

It feels surreal. Maybe he’s dreaming. Or this must be a dream. He looks at the clock on the wall, 4:30pm.  It’s not too late yet; his mother is probably still locked up in her bedroom.

The room is empty except for the eleven chosen auditioners.

Evan is still holding Regulus, his hands now gripping him by the shoulders.

“Congratulations for making it to this stage of the audition. There’s something very special about each of you and that’s why you’re here,” Minerva declares, leaving her clipboard on the table as she walks around it.

“Albus, do you want to tell them how we’re going to proceed?”

“Are we cast?” Evan whispers to Regulus as he slowly sits down next to him. Everyone else is standing, but somehow, he preferred to be down there with him too.

“The pros.” Regulus realizes, in an almost inaudible whisper.

Evan looks at him in confusion. “The what?”

“Young actors-” Albus stands up in his place, looking at everyone with a soft smile.

Even though the man remains friendly and approachable, there’s something else about him too. Regulus stared at him: well dressed, with a head full of hair with only a few whites poking out, perfect posture and no visible sign of…anything. Still, something must be going on with the man if he was willingly deciding to cast him. He wonders if maybe Sirius…

“Your talent is…” he takes a pause, looking up at the ceiling as if he’d find the correct words there.

“Astonishing. You should be proud of what you achieved this afternoon and I’m very excited to see you on the acting stage of the audition, alongside a few selected actors who are currently working on professional productions. I’m talking about Olivier winners and nominees!”

Regulus looks around- it’s easy to spot the newcomers, the ones who have worked their bottom off to get to this exact point. It’s sad, knowing they’re probably already fantasizing about performing on a West End stage, when probably only two of them will be cast as a featured role while the faces of the billboard are renowned actors. The lucky ones will get to be cast as swing actors or understudies; he wishes for Evan to be Melchior’s.

“You have an hour to relax, freshen up and go eat lunch and we will see you right here at 5:30PM. Thank you everyone, you’re free to go.”

A hand grips Regulus’ arm and lifts him up. “I’m buying you lunch.”

--

There’s a short line at the street food stand two blocks from the studio asEvan looks through the menu written on chalkboard. “I tried the sausage rolls from a place not too far from here too, and I promise, this ones are a godsend compared to that shite.”

There aren’t many options on the chalkboard. Nothing would compare to what the cooks prepare for Regulus every night...

Or maybe he doesn’t want to admit he never had a sausage roll before… or anything from a street vendor, for that matter.

“Eat, I thought you were going to pass out after your audition.” Evan says as he approaches him carrying four sausage rolls in a paper bag. Three, as he grabs one and eagerly bites into it.

Regulus doesn’t refuse. He would going to pass out at any moment otherwise. He isn’t even sure how he walked out the building.

“I will pay you back”

“Yes, you will because we’re both booking this gig, ya hear me?” He takes the last bite from the sausage roll and licks the grease off his fingertips. “What do you think?”

Regulus takes a second bite. It’s too delicious for a street vendor- he couldn’t imagine how the same recipe would taste if it were made by the house cooks. Walburga would never allow him to eat something like this.

If you’re hungry, eat a granola bar. Just one, you don’t want to look to bloated for the audition, don’t you?

“We should go back to the studio, we don’t want to be too late, and we can check who’s booking the lead instead of us.”

Evan looks inside the paper bag. “But-”

“My cook prepared me a full breakfast this morning. Nerves make me dizzy sometimes, but I will pay the full price, don’t worry.”

Regulus offers a polite smile. It’s not a lie- at least bread and a slice of tomato is what his mother considers a full meal for someone his age and weight.

“Your- Oh, yeah, I was going to ask…you’re Walburga and Orion’s…”

Evan set his eyes on Regulus, who feels the stare run though his body like a chill. Evan is probably expecting him to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“Son,” responds Regulus, without hesitation.

Evan nods silently, and slows his walk down to a halt. He probably noticed Regulus’s visible discomfort. He shivers again.

That’s why he prefers to stay away from people at auditions. They try to pry on your personal life, and will even try to explain your own identity to you. People think they understand you just because they also got left behind at an audition for being left-handed or something once before.

“You know-”

Here it comes. Regulus sighs as he picks the pace back up. Maybe if they get to the studio fast enough, the conversation will be over.

“Going back to auditions after coming out was hard for me too.”

Regulus slows down at the insistence, fixing his stare on the floor to avoid making eye contact with the guy. People feeling sorry for you is common, insufferable, but common. But a cisgender gay man feeling sorry for you is blatantly unbearable.

“But...”

Oh no, here we go, he’s going to keep talking about himself.

“My vocal coach helped and guided me, even know that I’m-” he counts with his fingers like a kid. “Four? - Yes, almost four years on testosterone.”

Oh.

So that’s why he hasn’t addressed him in a gendered manner before.

He does understand the feeling.

The declaration opens another door for Regulus, the one that allows him to look forward towards the future. All these years, he’s tried to persuade himself by repeating that hormones would make him have a regression in the vocal techniques and abilities he has acquired in years of singing lessons. It would lead him to a point with no return. Or maybe that was just the mantra he needed to soothe himself to sleep, because even if he wanted to, his mother would never let him set foot on the house again.

“Have you been in any professional productions?” he tries to sound as amiable as possible, asking out of genuine curiosity.

Evan chuckles. “Yes, but mostly straight-plays. I work at an independent production company for deaf and hearing people and musicals cost way more money to produce.”

There’s people walking into the studio already. They both share a look and quicken their pace. Regulus and Evan entered the place with 30 minutes left to rest.

The eleven auditioners are already there chatting and rehearsing their lines. From what he can overheard, everyone was assigned a different character. That means it’s them versus the pros.

Regulus looks around, maybe this is when he shows up. Maybe this is the moment where he loses his role to his brother.

As he scans the place looking for possible signs of Sirius Black, he spots the guy with the scar smoking on the small patio. With his eyes fixated on his phone and a cig captured between his lips, he’s too distracted to even realize Regulus is looking straight at him. He knows that guy from somewhere, clearly not a musical because you’d have to be a lunatic to ruin your vocal cords in such a distasteful way.

“Psst, Reg. That’s the girl that played Anna on the last tour of Frozen”

Regulus follows Evan’s gaze. A red-haired girl is talking cheerfully to Mary.  Of course they all know each other.

“So, we’re against Disney musical actors? Not even the good ones like The Hunchback- hey, did you know there’s a version where Quasimodo has a surrogate singer? Because he’s gone deaf from the bells. You should do that one your company.”

Evan glances at Regulus. “That’s the most words I’ve heard you say all day and it’s talking smack against Disney musicals.”

That was likely. Living under the same roof as his parents has gotten him used to talking in monosyllables, considering his mother refuses to even listen to a complete sentence. It isn’t worth the time.

The room slowly fills up with people, both the now recognizable faces from the two last stages of auditions and new ones waiting by the door anxiously. People are whispering and smiling and even giving out compliments to the newcomers who looked impeccable, well rested and without a single stain of sweat on their clothes. Oh, to be a professional actor selected by the production team beforehand.

Regulus wishes he was one of them; unfortunately, a six-year gap in his resume is big enough to not be considered a professional actor currently in the field despite having worked nonstop from ages seven to eighteen.

Next to him, Evan reacts with familiarity to almost everyone who arrives some minutes before the audition time. His worried look is enough to know the people walking in are already established in the industry. That’s not something that Regulus would know for himself. Maybe he’d be familiar too if his walking contradiction of a mother would actually allow him to watch live theatre, and not just old recordings and bootlegs in his room.

A guy walks into the room very nonchalantly; he smiles at everyone and talks loudly, as if he’s trying to let everyone know he has arrived. Anna from Frozen rolls her eyes but waves anyway. That reaction coming from a girl was unmistakable: The one and only Barty Crouch Jr is auditioning today.

Of course he’d be here, Regulus shouldn’t have assumed that all his former castmates disappeared into thin air after closing night. Regulus is probably the only one that didn’t take proper advantage of his breakthrough role- Dear Evan Hansen was a big nest of young talent.

Regulus pretends to tie his shoe while slowly turning over. The memories of Barty being his first and only onstage kiss still haunt him at night. He doesn’t need a reminder from the past right now.

But his attempt at hiding is in vain- Evan clears his throat and pokes him on the head.

“Reg, why is Crouch staring at y- oh, shit, he’s coming.”

Regulus closes his eyes, maybe if he pretends he’s not there…

“I’d recognize that head full of curls anywhere,” the man says in a lively tone. “Black, are you ignoring me?” a small pause gives Regulus a little hope that maybe he’s talking to someone else. “And who’s your friend?”

With a long sigh he gets up from the ground- the least he can do is save Evan from the Barty Crouch spell.

“Crouch… hello.”

Barty scans Regulus from head to toe with a hint of curiosity, his mouth slightly open as if he’s trying to figure out what to say. “Hey… where have you been?” He smiles, almost too politely for Barty Crouch Jr. He’s definitely trying to figure out what is going on. Regulus presents way different now than he used to when he played Zoe on Dear Evan Hansen.

“Oh, so you and Regulus know each other? He didn’t mention it!” Evan makes sure to enunciate his name and pronoun very pointedly and puts his arm around Regulus’ shoulders.

He’s glad they met that day, otherwise he wouldn’t have be able to handle the situation. Barty lifts his eyebrows and smiles, his pretty eyelashes bewitching Evan, who, even after trying to save his friend’s back, is drawing circles on the floor with his healthy foot.

“Regulus, right, of course.” Barty smirks and taps on his forehead. “I’m bad at names and I completely forgot. Of course, we know each other-” He looks at Regulus. Barty has a soft and charming voice; even old ladies would let him do their bank transactions just by hearing his bubbly voice.

That’s until he drops the act. “He ghosted me”.   

“He was my Evan Hansen, and I didn’t have time to ‘hang out’ after closing night.” Regulus says in air quotes, and Evan… laughs. He’s gone.

“I’m Evan.” He moves’ his arm from Regulus shoulder- here we go. “I saw you on Heathers… and Book on Mormon… and Next to Normal… and Little Shop, but I couldn’t catch you on Evan… didn’t really think that guy fit the name that well, you know.”

Barty laughs. “Oh, I bet it fits you well.”

“For god’s sake.” Regulus whispers as he walks two steps away from whatever is going on between those two. Uncomfortable situation aside, it’s obvious that Barty is coming for the lead role. Auditions were just mere formality for actors like him. “Lead roles are already cast, aren’t they?”

Barty’s gaze shifts from Evan to Regulus. He points at the door of the audition room. “I’m not the one with people on the inside. You should be worried about your brother, he’s the one dating Lyall Lupin’s son.”

“The producer?” Evan asks in awe. It’s probably the first time he’s talked to someone with so many connections in the industry.

Barty nods towards Regulus. “You didn’t hear this from me, but people say the director is a creep going for your brother’s ass. He’s been on almost every production-”

The door opens and the guy with the scar walks out. Barty glances at Regulus.

So that’s Lyall Lupin’s son.

“Hello, everyone,” he speaks out, not even trying to appear nice like Mary or comforting like Dumbledore. “We’re going to call you by your numbers for your monologue, then couples and later there’ll be a group number. Auditions begin in five”. And with that, he just walks back into the room.

It’s not time to think about Sirius’ schemes to reach success. His brother might have a role secured but trying to impress the board was worth a try. It’s painfully evident they aren’t going to cast brothers in the same production, but networking also comes in handy.

“Have you heard of COCK[2]? I can get you a ticket for the opening night. I’m also in that.” Barty says in a mischievous way, to which Evan giggles.

Of course he’s flirting at a time like this. Back in the day, that was the way he’d get rid of the competition. A few blinks of his pretty eyelashes and the monologue they rehearsed night after night was completely gone.

They start calling people by character, that way it’s easier to compare between options. He hears laughing and talking every time one of the pros walks in. They were just hanging out in there while the others are out here biting their nails down to the bone. When Barty walks out, he’s laughing out loud, all smiles and bright expressions but as soon as he closes the door, the act is over.

He walks towards Regulus and Evan. “You,” he points at Regulus, “use emotional memory to perform, they probably already know about your crazy mother and that’s why you’re here. And you-” he looks straight at Evan, “Be pretty and smile at Dumbledore, the man is a creep.”

Evan peeks at Regulus after the mention of his mother, but Regulus ignores it.  Barty knows too much and it’s better to keep it between them…and the directors because Sirius has probably talked his mouth off already, and that’s why they kept asking strange questions on the first audition.

“406.” Barty gently pats Evan on the shoulder before he walks in.

“Regulus is a weird name to choose- your family has a weird thing going on with names.” 

Regulus looks at Barty, examining his expression to make sure he isn’t getting made fun of. “Why did you mention my mother?”

“I know it was your mother who didn’t allow you to talk to me, and people talk…your brother talks,” Barty offers a sympathetic look.

“Are you friends with him?”

Barty laughs. “God, no. He’s insufferable.”

Regulus takes a deep breath. If Sirius was going around talking about his mother, then Barty’s probably right.

When the door opens again, Evan walks out of the room with a serious expression. He walks towards the two and sits next to Regulus.

“I don’t think I’m getting the role; they didn’t even look at me while I said my monologue.”

They keep calling out numbers. Regulus wonders who is going for Hanschen. Will they be called before or after Ernst?

“92”

He gulps and stands up.

“Break a leg,” Barty whispers.

It’s weird to see the room so empty- just him standing in the middle and the production board behind the table. They’re talking and having coffee, probably already too tired to even pay attention to the not so important actors.

“Regulus, Remus will be reading with you. Are you ready?”

The guy with the scar turns a few pages on the script and looks at him. So, this is him. It’s going to be disturbing to read the scene with his brother’s alleged boyfriend.

Regulus nods at Lupin to get started with the scene.

“Those bells…so peaceful.” Remus doesn’t look at Regulus. He isn’t acting, just reading. Somehow, that doesn’t help this time. Probably because all he can think about is what he knows. Has Sirius talked about the house? Their parents? The day he escaped?

“Regulus?” Dumbledore says.

Regulus falls back into himself. Everyone’s looking at him, including Remus.

“I’m sorry, can we start again?”

Dumbledore nods and lifts his hand for Remus to proceed.

“Those bells…so peaceful.”

This time, he looks at Regulus.

“I know. Sometimes…when it's quiet, the evening like this…” His hands are clutching onto his shirt. Ernst is an innocent character, shy and awkward. Probably how it would feel to talk to someone you really like, he figures. “I imagine myself as a country pastor, with my red-cheeked wife, my library, my degrees...Boys and girls, who live nearby, give me their hands when I go walking...”  Staring at an invisible point on the wall, he smiles, imagining how it would feel to live alone in an apartment, no parents checking his every move, no worries, but still…a bittersweet feeling lurking around.

“You can't be serious,” reads Remus, his tone shifting. The voice acting helps Regulus get more confidence. “Really, Ernst, you're such a sentimentalist. The pious, serene faces you see on the clergy, it’s an act—to hide their envy.”

Regulus tries to remain in character, trying to push all of the new information he knows about his brother to the back of his mind.

“Trust me, there are only three ways a man can go. He can let the status quo defeat him — like Moritz. He can rock the boat—like Melchior—and be expelled. Or he can bide his time and let the System work for him—like me.” Remus says, clearly acting a lot more than he did on the first line.

Regulus scans the room; everyone’s paying attention to his every move. He remains still, hands clutching his shirt and gaze looking as naïve as he could muster. It’s a funny scene, really. He couldn’t take it seriously while he rehearsed it- Ernst didn’t feel like a character he would get used to easily.

“Think of the future as a pail of whole milk. One man sweats and stirs—churning it into butter—like Otto, for example. Another man frets, and spills his milk, and cries all night., Like Georg. But me, well, I’m like a pussycat, I just skim off the cream…”

That’s probably the worst line in the whole play. Regulus winces.

“Just…skim off the cream?” he asks, and proceeds to bite his lip. He’s dying inside.

“Yeah.”

“But…what about the- are you laughing? Hanschen?”

That’s his last line, and he keeps the character until someone talks him out of it. It is Minerva.

“Thank you, Regulus.”

He quickly turns around and walks out the room. That was probably one of his worst auditions ever. ‘Can we start again?’ you simply can’t ask for that at this stage. It was unprofessional, it was stupid, it showed he wasn’t ready. He should have played along, used the blank for acting, embraced the awkwardness of the situation and made it part of Ernst’s way of acting.

But no, he asked to start again.

“How did it go?” Barty asks as he slides to the side to make space for Regulus to sit between him and Evan.

“I blanked.” He takes the seat between the two and hides his head in his knees.

“Oh, it probably wasn’t that bad.” Barty tries to comfort him by softly pushing on his arm.

“I’m already at the bottom of the pyramid; I cannot make mistakes” Regulus murmurs against his knees, his voice barely audible.

Barty shares a look with Evan.

Neither of them responds. They obviously agreed to Regulus’ statement.

“No one here thinks about you that way. They know who your parents are, your brother was nominated for an Olivier award at twenty years old. Just because you haven’t been around doesn’t mean they aren’t scared of you.” Regulus feels a hand on his back. It’s probably Evan; he’s the only one there who doesn’t know he hates physical contact. That, and Barty’s lack of ability to comfort people.

They wait in silence for the rest of the audition stage. It becomes evident they aren’t following the list of characters anymore. No one’s saying a word.

Barty walks in for a scene with another guy; ten minutes later they call Evan in, and the other guy walks out the room. Chemistry reads weren’t that long, people come and go until they decide the perfect fit, and Barty and Evan’s inclination to each other was crystal clear.

Regulus peeks at the door when he hears it open, to see the two walk out laughing and joking with each other. He doesn’t understand how people were able to just click with each other like that, like they just belonged together.

But as they walk back to Regulus to tell him all about it, his number gets called alongside another guy, Lucius Malfoy.

Barty cringes at the mention of the name. That can’t be good.

“Scene 5, Hanschen and Ernst roll on the grass.”  Remus says, voice monotone.

Regulus sits on the floor next to Lucius, who’s staring at him with an odd smile. Placing his hand slowly on Regulus knee, he starts caressing it slowly as a build up for his line.

Was Hanschen supposed to be such a creep? At least that’s not how he remembers it, but every production differs, right?

“Oh Ernst… do you hear it? Those bells, so peaceful… so…” he sets eyes on Regulus, the creepy smile still there as he moves his hand higher, now resting it on his thigh. Regulus gulps, trying to hide his distress. He’s an actor, after all, and Spring Awakening is a very touchy musical.

He opens his mouth to recite his line, but is immediately interrupted by Lucius “Ernst, cat got your tongue?”

That wasn’t on script- nothing he’s saying or doing is on script.

“No… it’s just, sometimes, when it’s quiet in the evenings like this… I imagine myself as a country pastor.” He slides away from Lucius. Ernst is clearly uncomfortable in the scene, not because Hanschen is a creep like Lucius, but because he’s suddenly confronted by a situation he’s avoidant of. “I Imagine myself as a country pastor-”

Lucius laughs, loudly. “YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS.”

Regulus sighs in annoyance. Again, that wasn’t on script and Lucius was cutting off his lines. “Hanschen, if you could just let me-”

“Thank you, Lucius. Please wait outside the room.” Lucius stands up, smiles and walks out the room. Maybe this is the moment they called out Regulus for his unprofessionalism, how he should be working with his castmate to offer a good scene instead of getting annoyed at some line changes. That could happen on stage, people forget their lines sometimes and it’s their job to adapt and improvise.

Regulus, still on the floor waiting for instructions, watches Remus walk out of the room and come in with another guy. The number on his shirt shows he was also part of the open call, though Regulus doesn’t remember seeing him around.

Walking to his chair again, Remus takes a seat and whispers something to Dumbledore. The director nods with a smile and whispers probably the same thing to Minerva sitting next to him.

Regulus and the other guy are just waiting for instructions, too intimidated to ask.

“Scene 5, Hanschen has just kissed Ernst for the first time. Please improvise a scene after that between the two characters accordingly,” Dumbledore says, scribbling something down on his notepad.

The guy, James, is still standing next to him. Regulus wonders if he should stand too or remain on the floor, but his question gets an answer immediately, as James winks at him before getting into character and sitting next to him decisively.

He grabbed Regulus hands, bringing them to his chest with the sweetest smile. Regulus gasped in surprise. Unlike Lucius, his performance was more of a smug teenager instead of a creep. He wasn’t trying to lure Ernst into a weird sexual relationship; he was just expressing himself.  

“We should run away. Travel the world and laugh at the ones who weren’t brave enough to do so, Ernst.” James plants a few kisses on Regulus’ hands with such exhilaration. “And when we’re both settled up, you can live your life knowing you were able to experience something like this even though the world didn’t want to let you.”

Regulus giggles with a tingling feeling on his chest. Ernst is a hopeless romantic: this is the Hanschen he would be head over heels for. But the idea of going against what was established scared him the most, so Regulus turns the endearing moment into something entirely different, as he breaks free from James’s grip and turns his back on him.

“Hanschen, I-” He closes his eyes, thinking about James’s smile, the glimpse on his brown eyes that appeared as he talked, his warm hands holding Regulus’. It was easier to pretend to be in love when your castmate didn’t act the role as if he was trying to grope your character.

A hand is placed on his shoulder, and Regulus turned over slowly. James…Hanschen…was staring at him tenderly, the hand that was on his shoulder slowly moving to rest on his cheek. Regulus presses his face against it with his eyes closed, feeling safe, loved.

Unexpectedly, James leans towards him. Both of his hands on the floor, Regulus kneels closer to James, their faces now barely an inch apart, both able to feel each other’s breath.

“I love you, Hanschen. As I’ve never loved anyone.”

James kisses him the second Regulus finishes getting his line out. Holding his face with both hands, they both stare at each other until somebody cuts the scene off.

“Thank you, young actors,” said the director in his recognizable solemn tone.

Regulus turns around and wipes his lips as a reflex. He didn’t mind that much being kissed by James… Hanschen.

They both walk out the room, and Regulus quickens his pace to avoid any further interaction with the guy. That was just acting, it wasn’t mandatory to talk to him out of character, at least not at the auditions.

Regulus sits down between Barty and Evan again and doesn’t say a single thing. That wasn’t so bad. As an actor, you don’t rely only on your ability but also on the tools you’re given, and Lucius had been a flawed one.

Minutes later, some of them are called back in as a group to assemble a musical number. It doesn’t take long- the material for the characters’ harmonies had been given beforehand, and they all studied it as they should. The group waiting outside was terrified; Regulus watches a girl even shed a tear. The Song of Purple Summer is the last number in Spring Awakening, and if what they’re hearing from within the room is an unpolished number with people who never rehearsed with each other until today, then the finished version will be award-worthy.

He looks around and notices he’s in the same group as James. Evan and Barty are still sat by his side, singing their harmonies under they breath.

They are separated in halves, one half constituting each cast. It’s a mix between people from the open call and professional actors. He counts each one of them- there’s four people from the first round of auditions and seven that were selected by the producers.

At least, he won’t feel too bad for not getting chosen if Evan and Barty are in his same group.

They hear clapping and cheers from inside, and, after a few minutes of silence, they all walk out the room and Remus appears to call the second group in.

Barty helps Evan stand up- right, his ankle. It doesn’t look as bad as it did before. Hopefully it wasn’t sprained.

Inside the room, they’re given the whole song on paper just in case they’ve forgotten the lyrics. Mary walks to them and rearranges their positions, grasping Regulus by the shoulders and walking him next to James.

Remus talks to Dumbledore as Minerva observes the group. She waits until everyone is in position to give a nod to Remus, who starts the music.

Without warning, the track starts playing from the third verse. A girl who Regulus assumes is their Ilse starts singing without doubt, and, as the song goes by, they join in harmony one by one. The room is suddenly filled with hopefulness; you could taste everyone’s desire to be a part part of the production flowing in the air.

From his spot a few steps behind the lead characters, Regulus eyes Barty. He’s holding a short blonde girl by the shoulders as they sing. They share a look of happiness while Evan looks around admiring the scene. Everyone is just so happy to be there, and even if the result isn’t the one they expect, nothing could ever erase that feeling of belonging right there.

Regulus quickly wipes a tear that threatens to come out- it isn’t the time to be emotional. He glances at James next to him, his warm voice singing the most beautiful vocal arrangements. James spots Regulus staring at him and smiles back with a soft pat to his shoulder.

As they sing the last verse, Regulus sees Minerva’s expression- she has tears in her eyes, and a smile that can only be interpreted as pride for how the musical is slowly being constructed.

Mary holds her phone up, probably filming to decide between the two casts. She’s smiling cheek to cheek as she mouths every word of the song.

“And all shall know the wonder,
I will sing the song of purple summer,

all shall know the wonder
of purple summer...”

“Young actors,” declares Dumbledore-

“Welcome to Spring Awakening.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence, broken by a single gasp. A threshold opens- everyone cheers, screams and cries, looking at each other. Barty hugs the blonde girl tightly and then extends his arm for Evan to join. Regulus looks around, smiling and clapping shyly. He suddenly feels very awkward in the middle of the celebration. He doesn’t really get too much practice in what to do in an event that deserves actual gratefulness. For a second, he can only feel himself float in a bubble, in a place where, once again, he doesn’t belong.

Someone taps on his shoulder snapping him out of his trance. Before he can fully turn around, a warm hug makes Regulus almost lost his balance. It’s James, holding him tightly.

It’s quick, an instant, before he moves on to congratulate somebody else and the person next to that.

But still, the feeling of being acknowledged when he felt invisible was a sensation his body would probably take a long time to forget.

Chapter Text

“God, I dreamed there was an angel
Who could hear me through the wall
As I cried out, like, in Latin "This is so not life at all
Help me out, out of this nightmare."
Then I heard her silver call
She said, "Just give it time, kid. I come to one and all."

 

It’s not the sun coming up from the window directly onto his face that wakes him up, nor the constant noise of the city. It’s the hand slowly stroking his hair, a hand that belongs to someone Barty has totally forgotten was there.

Cast parties are… wild. He’s glad somebody spread the word that theatre people don’t get laid. That might be true in school, but in real life? You’ll find yourself accused of spreading around chlamydia or worse any given Saturday.

He opens his eyes with a gasp, feeling the body next to him. Oh, right!

A soft hum leaves him as he leans into the hand caressing his face, attached to an entire woman with short blonde hair. “So, what’s the title for your review going to be, baby?”

He leans close to her face and whispers into her lips: “BARTY CROUCH JR’s COCK: an amazing performance. By Rita Skeeter.”

One, two, and maybe three flutters of his eyelashes, and the woman is already blushing. Barty is aware that the angel face he was born with serves many good purposes; bedding the most irritating -and relevant- musical theatre critic in the UK is one of the handiest.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.” She giggles as Barty rolls her over by the waist and plants a kiss on the side of her neck. “I want the scoop on the Awakening cast. They’re already calling it a box office failure.”

“And why is that?” Barty smirks down at her, still holding her firmly by the waist. “They got me.”

Rita smiles, and it’s not flirtatious. Barty recognizes the hungry grin on her face that she gets every time she forms a negative opinion about a production. The woman loathes Albus Dumbledore. Most of the demeaning articles about him that have  ever been published have her signature at the bottom.

“Oh, you know.” She locks her hands on Barty’s hair at the sides of his face, twirling her fingers around it, innocently. “He’s not the most beloved director… but, if you give me something…”

Barty grins again before catching her lips in a messy, sudden kiss. It’s not like sleeping with her for reviews is much of a sacrifice, but he’s not going to risk himself by revealing the cast before the official announcement.

Especially if everyone is already expecting it to fail.

She bites his lower lip and moves her hands to his cheeks. “Just tell me one thing.”

“You don’t let up, don’t you.” Barty rolls over, lying down next to her. Of course she’s not letting up. She stretches next to him, unconcerned by the lack of clothing. They’re already very familiar with each other’s bodies.

“Is the power couple making a comeback?”

Barty sighs with a knowing smile. They’re both using each other quite blatantly, it’s just terribly convenient how they enjoy it. Rita smiles and props herself up next to him, strategically facing her breasts to his line of sight.

Barty Crouch Jr. is an acting revelation, a great crier and currently one of the most acclaimed musical theatre singers...

he's also so, terribly, awfully easy to lure into anything with sex.

“No. Lily Evans was cut on the final audition stage. I heard she went home crying.”

She didn’t, but someone had to plant the seed for a rumor to start. In the long run, something needs to keep the competition on their toes.

Rita flashes her teeth in a satisfied smile. She loves it when she can taste the blood. One thing about Rita Skeeter: her futile attempts at being an actual good artist have turned her into the hungriest, most ruthless critic.

“Well, my dear, your time is over. Tonight’s the opening night of that weird musical about the woman and her dead grandchildren and I have people to interview so-” She gestures for him to move- “up, up, up.”

Barty sits up on the bed, looking around for his clothes. He’s got to get ready for rehearsal, but the idea of walking home and running into his father isn't that thrilling.

“Can I take a shower here?”

“Aren’t you running already late?” she responds, snottily.

“No? What time is it? Rehearsal starts at ten.” He does his belt up before quickly putting on his shirt. All his clothes smell like booze. No wonder all he remembers is walking into the place and trying to flirt with the producer of Cabaret to get a role in its current run.

“It’s a quarter to ten, love.”

Fuck.

---

A first rehearsal is never actually a rehearsal- it's a meetup between the producers and cast. The producers already know him, so it’s not THAT bad that he’s running an entire hour late. What was he supposed to do? Show up smelling of sex and vodka?

The address to the rehearsal room lead him to a studio fifteen minutes from the city centre. The facade looks abandoned, but a small blue plate indicates it’s a rehearsal studio and not a trap house.

He rings the bell on the intercom and waits.

Remus Lupin’s head pops up from behind the door, looking not so happy about Barty’s little delay.

“Glad the lead decided to show up,” he says as he opens the door for Barty.

“Oh, don’t be sad. If I’m out after today, they’ll let your boyfriend in, won’t they?” Barty blows him a kiss and walks past him down a short corridor.

They hate each other. That’s not new. Barty’s very aware that the only way a twenty-something year old with no education in the field could just become a production assistant is to be someone’s kid. Still, after seven years of working in theatre, this bloke’s greatest achievement was shagging Sirius Black.

Rita should do some more research on the relationships between Dumbledore and his young hires. There’s probably something going there.

“He’s here,” Remus announces with a sigh walking into the rehearsal space behind Barty. Everyone is sitting in a circle, some people on chairs, others on the floor. Regulus’ friend from the audition, Evan, shoots him a smile.

“Nice shirt!”

Barty grins back. It’s one of Rita’s sleep tops, a black slim fit tee with a sparkling green beetle on the front. That was the only one she offered for him to change into; he couldn’t have said no. Beetle is better than booze stain.

“Glad to see my Moritz and Melchior are already getting chummy,” Dumbledore interrupts in his booming voice. Of course he’d be happy to see that. Creep.

Barty smiles wide. It’s part of his job to pretend to like the people he despises. Well, at least the important ones.

“Albus! Great to see you.” He walks to the director as he stands up to greet Barty, and gives him a tight hug. “I’m so, so, so sorry for the delay. Won’t happen again.”

He breaks off the hug and directs his look to Minerva McGonagall sitting next to Dumbledore. She’s definitely not someone he has to pretend to like. The woman is one of the greatest vocal coaches in all of London, all the way from musical theatre performers to mainstream pop singers. Scheduling a class with her is impossible unless you’re a former student from the academy she started teaching at.

“Minerva. I’m honoured to finally work with you.” He bends down and politely holds his hand out for hers, which he plants a kiss on. Lupin immediately snorts. Annoying prick, probably did worse to get to where he is now.

"Well, well,” Dumbledore speaks again, clapping his hands together once to get everybody’s attention. “Now that we’re all here, we can start by introducing each other. Yes?”

He points with an open palm to a young man in glasses sat right next to Minerva. “Young mister Potter, would you do the honours?”

Barty approaches Evan and sits on the floor, him on one side and the short blonde who was cast as Wendla on the other, as the Potter bloke babbles his way through his words.

“Well, hey, everyone,” he offers, to a response from everybody but Regulus. The little guy’s funny. He never even tried to pretend to like people, not even as a teenager. That’s probably what the upbringing of Walburga and Orion Black does to you. Both of them wildly acclaimed actors, but their reputation was terrible. That’s why Barty wholeheartedly believed he’d have been either dead or retired.

“I’m James, I was, um, cast as Hanschen, and-” he looks down at his hands as he speaks. Poor guy. There’s not too many bright minds in musical theatre. “I’m very thankful to be here, surrounded by all these talented people.”

Everyone clapped. Why? Probably no one knows, but they all still do.

All except for Regulus, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Barty really wants to joke about Potter, but Regulus, who’d be his easy partner, is three people away, so he looks towards Evan- who looks caught, already looking intensely Barty’s way.

“Lost something?” Barty whispers, returning Evan’s deer-in-highlights stare.

“Your number, actually,” he responds surprisingly swiftly. Barty leans back to take a proper look at the guy. He’s used to people finding him intimidating, so he wasn’t expecting to be turned on in return.

There’s lines, and there’s moments you realize you have to stop yourself before crossing them. Trying to bone your castmate on the first rehearsal was surely a line, but lessons could be learnt later. This was not a stop-himself moment for Barty.

“Hello everyone, I’m Peter, and I was cast as Otto, and-”

Barty rolls his eyes at the interruption. “We'll finish this later, yeah?”. Evan bites his lip and nods in response. Well, shit. He’s going to be the death of Barty Crouch Jr.

He tries his best to look like he’s paying attention to his castmates’ introductions and not thinking about taking Evan out back and snogging the life out of him. Somebody sits back down with a thump- ah, shit, he didn’t even hear their name. Barty blinks himself back into reality and forces himself to listen.

There's a girl named Alice who's very excited to be part of a professional production, then the short blonde, whose name is Marlene, who thanks them multiple times because, apparently, she was just rejected from her dream show a few weeks earlier, and then… there's Evan.

“Well, hello everyone. Name’s Evan, I’m twenty-five-”

Excellent. Barty’d been getting too used to older people.

 “I started acting in just straight plays, but I’ve been training vocally for seven years with Minerva here-”

That means he’ll have the voice of an angel. Perfect combination.

“...and I think I’m finally ready to debut in professional musical theatre. Not that I haven’t tried, but... this is my second musical. Ever. Oh, and my dream role is Whizzer, from Falsettos.”

Barty wants to kiss him right there, but everyone's staring. He claps along with everybody else and follows Evan’s hair with his eyes as he sits back down on the floor. Seriously, it’s going to be a dangerous distraction, and the production should dedicate a separate budget to make sure Evan can be properly wined, dined and kissed if they want their male lead in proper focus for rehearsals.

Suddenly, the turmoil in his head sounds extremely loud against the background noise- or lack thereof. Everyone’s fallen silent, and Barty looks around to find the culprit. Everybody’s looking right at him.

Oh, that’s right. His turn.

“Hello, sorry, I lost myself in my castmate’s beautiful story- I could be your Marvin, if you want” he winks at Evan, and everyone laughs as if they were part of the joke. Except for Regulus, obviously. “But anyway, I’m Barty, and you probably already know everything else. And I'll be playing Melchior.”

“What’s your dream role?” Evan asks, with a tilt of his head like it’s more of a challenge than a genuine question. “Not everyone here knows your Wikipedia page from memory.”

Barty can’t help but smirk. He loves a man with an attitude.

“Sweeney Todd,” he responds. “But I’m still considered too baby-faced for it.” He looks around to a polite giggle spreading throughout the room. He rolls his eyes to himself. It's not even that funny. That was just a cruel typecast.

He fakes listening intently for the rest of the introductions. Some of the girls he already knows from elsewhere, and the guy playing Otto too. It’s not his favourite type of cast, though. Too many new people. It’s going to be too boring. Where’s the drama? They’ll have no gossip to share. People who just came into the scene won’t know anything at all.

And then, there was Regulus.

Maybe he’s the one who was cast perfectly. Maybe the producers didn’t know about the incident during Evan Hansen in which his crazy mother clacked her heels loudly out of the theatre after Regulus botched one note.

Someone out there definitely knows, though- Barty turns his head towards Lupin, who’s rapidly tapping his thumbs on the screen of his phone. Most likely reporting everything to his stupid boyfriend. Sirius Black fancied himself a saint, but there isn’t a gossip in London that’s worse than him. If anyone knows anything about the chaos and abuse within the Black family, it’s because of him.

“I’m Regulus,” he states, standing with his feet together in his place. “And I was cast as Ernst.”

That’s it. That’s his entire introduction.

“What’s your dream role?”

Regulus shoots a glare in the direction of the voice. It’s the Potter bloke. Poor guy. He has no idea what he’s getting into.

“Dreaming is for people who aren’t aware of the extent of their abilities. If it’s not for me, then I don’t bother waiting for it.”

That’s a lie. Barty knows he’d been waiting on his tiptoes to be cast in The Hunchback for years. But maybe his bitchy mother didn’t raise him to be weak, or something.

The room falls silent after Regulus speaks.

Potter’s head turns to the opposite side to exchange a look with Lupin- there's a silent conversation going on between those too, which Barty catches. Regulus, clearly, doesn’t.

Barty immediately unlocks his phone and goes on Instagram. James Potter’s account is private, but Lupin and Sirius Black both follow him, among many, many other actors he knows.

“What, is he joining us two for coffee later?”

The whisper startles Barty for a moment, but he swallows his reaction and shoots back a smile as he sees Evan on the corner of his eye. “Maybe. Are you interested in that?”

Evan glances back up at James, who’s talking to one of the other guys really excitedly, and Barty takes the opportunity to look right at him. He can’t help but admire the guy’s side profile. It’s a marvellous sight, with a straight nose at almost too perfect an angle and soft, pink lips, so inviting, that made Barty want to just-

“Not really my type, no.” Evan turns to look at him and a smirk creeps through his face, like he notices the trance he snapped Barty out of.

Maybe he should back down or at least wait until the end of their run. He wouldn’t be able to think properly if Evan kept looking at him like that.

Lucky for him, the moment of casual silence was cut short by another single loud clap from Dumbledore. They’d quickly learned that that meant “at attention,” so everyone turned around to look at him. Barty found that halfway funny- why train them in commands like they’re kids at a daycare? Maybe Rita had a point in hating the man.

“Alright, young troupe, it’s our turn. As mister Crouch Jr. said earlier, very certainly you already know us, or at least of us.” He winks. Barty swallows a scoff. Every word he says is punctuated by his hands, or head, or feet, like a ventriloquist dummy who came alive and got very intensely into public speaking. “We insist, yet, on telling you a bit about us, as we’re going to be spending the next three months exhaustively working in this very space.”

Wanker. No one cares about anyone else in here. Everybody’s in here because it’s either their desired job, or, apparently, is friends with the producers. Each one of them has a given purpose. Barty’s, for example, is to be the face on the billboard that keeps the ticket press printing, or, as Rita put it, avoid box office failure.

“Well,” the old man repeats with another clap. “I am Albus Dumbledore, and it’s my honour to direct and bring together this wonderful, wonderful project. This story has been told many times, every time equally as relevant as the one before, and it remains a source of comfort for tons of young people who feel- smothered... defeated by the context which they live in and these conservative times,” he finishes pointedly. He spoke like he’d ran out of breath every few words, and every word was the protagonist of its own sentence. Rehearsal’s going to be over if he doesn’t get to his point soon.

“Feel free to right me if I’m wrong,” he adds with a chuckle, ready to say something that’s probably not funny at all. “You’re all here for one reason, one and the same. Each of you feels... connected... to the tale we’re going to be narrating to the audience.”

Soft hums arise around the circle, some people give a nod, and others, like Regulus, keep their eyes fixed to the floor. Barty looks around at the reaction and hopes they’re not all that connected, because a suicide and a death by medical negligence over an undercover abortion are surely going to ruin the opening night.

“Beside me stands the talented, talented team who is behind this production.” Dumbledore gestures at McGonagall, who sits next to him with a pleasant smile, looking almost as proud as the annoying old man. “Care to introduce yourself, Minerva?”

She stands up and leans slightly down to fix her long grey woollen skirt, like she’d came in character already for the adult female roles in the play. “As Albus here has begun, I am too incredibly honoured to be a part of this beautiful production of Spring Awakening. Some may know,” she gives a single, solemn nod in Evan’s direction, “I am a vocal trainer, and even though I work with singers from every corner of the industry you can imagine, my specialty and passion is musical theatre.”

Barty looks at Evan again, who’s looking up at her like she’s a prophet from heaven.

“We will be working intensively with your instrument to create this vocal ensemble and exceed all expectation... healthily.”

The entire cast claps, even Barty. She was famously magnificent, and her busy schedule has always reflected that. Barty himself had been unable to ever book her, and instead took vocal lessons from Gellert Grindelwald. He was also quite famous for training some of the best voices in theatre... and, also, for his teaching methods that bordered on vocal torture.

A small, klutzy looking man sits on Dumbledore’s other side, clapping excitedly, possibly louder than everyone else. “Oh, Minerva, so inspiring, every time.”

“Horace, up for your introduction?” Dumbledore addresses him with a complicit smile and sits down, giving the space over to the other man.

“Well, I’m not as impressive as them, but I’m Horace- Horace Slughorn. I will be your acting director,” he chuckles as he sits right back down, Dumbledore still gesturing for him to continue. “Oh, Albus, I believe there are more important people to introduce.”

Barty rolls his eyes. He hates the first rehearsal. Introductions always go on for too long and everyone’s sitting uncomfortably on the floor. If all three months are going to be like this, go ahead and delay the premiere already.

“All right, Horace. Suit yourself.” Dumbledore stands up one more time. Barty stares at his chair. Maybe if he thinks about it hard enough it’ll break the next time he sits.

“I must now introduce you to arguably one of the most important people you will be working with for the next few months. You’re all by now familiar with the story of Spring Awakening, and thus know how important the topic of sex and sexuality in the script. We want to treat it the way it needs to be done, with care and respect.”

Lupin signals for a woman from the producers’ table to approach.

“On the casting notice, you received details about the potential intimate and traumatic moments that will be present in this production. After you were cast, you received a separate contract detailing the same. With that in mind-” he makes a pause, waiting for the woman to be close enough. She’d been sitting in the back of the room, with the less important members of the team.

“I want to introduce you to my dear friend Poppy, who will be serving as your intimacy coordinator for this production.”

The woman offers a bright smile as Dumbledore puts his arm around her. People are whispering- surely the concept was intimidating since most of them hadn’t ever worked with an intimacy coordinator before, including Barty. The casting notice for the role of Melchior did mention nudity and sex scenes, which isn’t the standard for your usual production of Spring Awakening, but some versions were more realistic than others. He wonders if any other role required that type of written consent besides the two leads.

“Pleasure to meet you, everyone.” Silence falls in the room again. “I’m Poppy Pomfrey, and I’m in charge of making you completely comfortable onstage. Spring Awakening is a beautiful story about self-discovery and teenage sexuality, among other issues that are very current to all of us to this day. My job here is to guarantee that you’re comfortable and safe while rehearsing scenes that includes moments that are intimate, not only sex, but anything that could require you to set your mind in a professional space to allow yourself to portray closeness or trauma.”

Evan leans closer and whispers “D’you think they’re open to suggestions about the relationship between Melchior and Moritz?”. Barty laughs. “Mate, if you don’t cut that, I’ll be asking Poppy how to hide a stiffy.”

“Rosier, Crouch, glad to know you’re getting acquainted.”

Everyone stares at them as McGonagall calls them out on their chattering. Well, it’s not Barty’s fault that they were just making them hear everything that was on the contract again. If anything, Evan was the one initiating.

“Alright, everybody, on your feet. I don’t want to make this any longer than it should be.”

Well, too late, Horace.

The acting director walks out of the circle to grab his annotated libretto as McGonagall follows suit. “Today, I'm going to begin chorus assembly for Mama Who Bore Me with the girls, while you boys work with Horace. Girls, please, follow me.” The girls immediately obey and follow Minerva to one end of the rehearsal room, jittery with excitement.

Barty stares at Dumbledore, who is crouching awkwardly over the producers’ table, as the older Horace struggles to gather his books and notes in one hand and walks towards them, muttering to himself. Just like that? No read-through? Albus Dumbledore’s just leaving his cast alone with a man who’s talked to himself longer than he’s talked to them since they entered the room?

No wonder, Barty thinks. That’s what he gets for accepting a job from Old Cuckoo over there.

The place is enormous. Still, Barty doesn’t see a single prop or placeholder prop in the entire designated area. How on Earth is this going to go?

His line of sight is suddenly interrupted by Evan, getting up, stretching and running his hands through his blonde hair. Barty decides instantaneously to go with the flow. What the hell, they’ve got a nice cast and McGonagall is there. He’s gotten through worse.

Evan walks towards Regulus, who stands still on his spot. Barty is amazed at Regulus- he's nothing at all like his brother. Regulus is the calmer, less annoying side of the Black children coin: they hadn’t worked together in years, but, unlike his older brother, Regulus keeps a low profile.

Sirius, on the other hand... That man can’t keep his mouth shut. Whether he’s cast as a lead or in a supporting role, he WILL try to give direction to anyone and everyone who’s on the same stage. That was one of the reasons his run of Book of Mormon remains one of Barty’s worst experiences- it has nothing to do with Sirius receiving a nomination for his Elder Cunningham with nothing for Barty’s Elder Price.

It hadn’t been particularly hard to act irritated at Sirius, either. The geezer’s the world’s worst perfectionist, and tried to enforce his ideas by giving notes on every scene: “You should be standing here.” “You’re taller than me, so you’ll look better on that side.” “I know you’re taking the lower octave, but I think if we switched parts in this line, it’ll give a whole other meaning to this scene for Cunningham.”

The cunt.

Maybe the difference between him and Regulus came from their clearly segregated upbringing, Barty had thought. Sirius had clearly been raised by Orion, who ingrained into him that their last name carried enough weight to put him above others. Regulus, though, had been visibly engineered to be a smaller version of Walburga. Cold, calculating, solely and soberly devoted to his profession.

“Okay, children,” Horace begins, walking funny from balancing his papers in one hand and a chair in the other. “We’ll begin by blocking the scene before All That’s Known, and we’ll set your positions throughout the song. But ah, first- I like to do- well, yes. Pair up with your scene partner, please, whoever you share with in your script for this scene- quick, quick.”

Everyone moves, swiftly forming pairs next to whomever they’d been assigned. Evan sprints right next to Barty, since they’re playing best friends. Regulus remains fixed to his spot on the floor, waiting for Potter to walk unsurely towards him. It’s funny to watch him try to figure out how to approach Regulus. It’s a very awkward interaction. James seems to make some attempts at small talk while the other boy replies in cold monosyllables.

“Let’s get close to them,” Barty whispers to Evan as he drags him cautiously towards the two.

Horace gives instructions as they settle in place. “I want you to spend the next fifteen minutes getting to know your partner. What do you have in common with your characters? What bond do you have? Are your characters friends, couples, classmates only? The relationship begins today, between you.” He gestures with his hands towards the group and lets them proceed. Most couples sit back down where they stand, and Barty does the same, giving his back to James and Regulus so he can overhear better.

“Why are you so interested in James?” Evan whispers, almost inaudible.

“I’m not, it’s just- what do you know about-” he mouths the words “the Black family”- If Regulus is anything like Walburga, he’ll be trying to overhear right back.

“She went nuts after having children, quit her career and now just talks smack about others on entertainment magazines for mums that come with perfume.” Evan clearly doesn’t know too much, just the tip of the iceberg.

They've leaned towards each other to keep Regulus from eavesdropping, and Barty could kiss him right there. Still, he restrains himself. It’s not very in character, and the first rehearsal is not the right time to cause a scene.

He overhears James asking Regulus about his favourite food.

“Sausage rolls,” Regulus replies, not asking anything back.

Barty might’ve expected a posher answer, but maybe it’s just Sirius acting all snobby.

“So, what do you have in common with Melchior?”

Barty looks straight at Evan. This sounds like a genuine question, not any sort of innuendo.

“I like to think I’m loyal to my friends, and-” It’s the type of question that sounds easy to answer until you have to. “Oh, I know. I had top marks in all my classes at school.”

“I can beat you in a biology quiz any day. Moritz and I aren’t so alike, since my dad couldn’t use bad marks as an excuse for the beatings.” Evan smiles as if he hasn’t just left Barty wondering if his father would just beat him over the other things.

Barty doesn’t want to start the conversation on parents already, though.

He changes the subject. “Do you have a best friend?” is the first question that comes to mind- what was he supposed to ask? “Have you also tried to commit suicide by gunshot?” He swerved out of an uncomfortable situation already; he’s not getting into another one.

He rolls his jacket sleeve further down, just in case.

“Is it lame if I say my sister?”

“I think it’s adorable, actually.”

Evan smiles so big his eyes narrow. Barty feels a blush coming- oh, this was a different type of attachment. He’s not just horny. But then again, that’s happened before, and it’d ended up as just a showmance. It was over before curtain call.

“What’s she like? Your sister,”

Evan seems to lighten up immediately at the question. He undoubtedly likes to talk about her. And he does- he tells Barty about their antics, their childhood, their collection of fingernails they started as children and couldn’t let go of. It’s apparently close to a full jar of jam by now.

Listening to Evan ramble on makes him forget about his secret mission of unmasking James Potter’s secret connections to the industry, and the fifteen minutes has gone by in a flurry.

Slughorn clears his throat: “Everyone, up, please, let’s get to blocking! The set piece is not done yet, so we’re just starting with places.”

---

The walk home isn’t as delightful as the rehearsal.

His heart keeps skipping, and not in the good way- it's been almost two days since the last time he saw his father. That could mean anything, but Barty’s had an odd feeling about it all day. He’d even offered to walk Evan back to his place, to keep himself out of the house for longer.

Evan had refused politely. Understandable, Barty thinks. They’d just met, and he had probably thought it was a bad excuse to get him into bed.

He stops on the front steps of his house, not allowing himself much thought before pushing the door open as quietly as possible. The house is dark inside, even though it’s way past noon. There’s no sign of his father around.

“Mum?” he tries, softly. “I’m back...”

He keeps his voice low, in case they aren’t really alone. Bartemius Crouch Sr. was never happy when his son arrived home in screams after a day out doing God knows what.

“Mum?”

Dropping his jacket on the sofa, he walks towards his parents’ room. There are no windows in the hallway, and it’s darker than the rest of the house, so the sliver of faint light from the big bedroom at the end is visible from afar.

“Mum.”

There it is, the feeling again. He repeats to himself he shouldn’t have left the house for more than a few hours.

A sob breaks the silence from within the room.

His mother wipes her face quickly and smiles as he walks in, a fresh bruise covering most of her left cheek.

“Barty, sweetheart, how was rehearsal?”

He flicks the light on and walks to her, grabbing her face carefully in his hands. It doesn’t look that bad this time, but it’s too new to see the full picture yet. He presses his thumb gently to her cheek.

“Does this hurt?”

“It’s all right, darling.” She tries to stand, but Barty places his empty hand on her shoulder.

She winces at the touch, and responds immediately.

“Yes.”

Barty removes his hand carefully and kisses her on the forehead with a sigh. “Let’s go wash your face. Do we have frozen peas? I think I left the ice tray empty again.”

He’s not asking what happened. He never does. It’s the silent agreement they have, like a routine: Barty goes out, his father gets upset and his mother pays for it. Talking any more about it would make it too real.

Neither of them is ready to do that yet.