Chapter Text
“It’s June after all, and you’re young until September.”
It was fucking hot.
Worse than that, it was humid, and Regulus had felt tendrils of his hair plastered to the nape of his neck like cement in a landfill. The sensation had been so unpleasant that he’d briefly considered dumping the remains of his gas station icy Diet Coke cup down his back for just a bit of relief, but decided keeping an ounce of his dignity might be better in the long run. He’d experienced hot days in Pittsburgh, sure—if you counted staying inside to blast the air conditioning an experience — but nothing as damp, as sticky, as clammy as June in New York. He tugged at the collar of his black t-shirt, panting as he pulled another bag from the trunk of his car.
“Feel free to help me unload at any point, Barty,” he sneered, glaring at Barty’s reflection through the side mirror from beneath his sunglasses. “You know, whenever it’s convenient for you.”
“But you look so handsome doing it on your own—all sweaty and chivalrous,” Barty called out, and Regulus had to seriously fight the urge to roll shut the window Barty currently had his legs spilling out of until they snapped.
He briefly considered asking Barty for help again, but decided against it. As far as favors go, Regulus unloading all their baggage wasn’t too big of an ask. After all, Barty was throwing away his entire summer just so Regulus wouldn’t have to be alone. He was also throwing his entire summer away to spite his father, but Regulus chose to focus on the former reason as inspiration to dig his heels deeper into the dirt and haul Barty’s expensive suitcase over his shoulder.
Working at Hogwarts hadn’t been Regulus’ first choice. But he’d submitted application after application to non-profits, and local newspapers, magazines, and, in a desperate moment, even radio stations. He hadn’t heard back from most, and the ones he did hear back from sent him a kind but firm, “not a chance in hell, kid.” He’d managed to snag one interview in his bottomless sea of no’s, a social media gig for some new brand that sold pimples patches in the shapes of miscellaneous vegetables—Regulus’ least favorite had been the eggplant. The Zoom interview lasted a whopping ten minutes, and Regulus answered five questions in total. Experience? None. Passion? For tomato-shaped patches, not even a bit. College education? Non-existent, though not by choice. He had then spent at least a minute speaking rapidly about his plan, his dream to study journalism at Columbia, but, regretfully, how they’d failed to accept his application for the upcoming academic year. This had led to the common follow-up question—didn’t you have any backups? And that led to Regulus’ common follow-up answer—absolutely not.
The final question had been an awkward request for a refresher on Regulus’ name. And a subsequent apology for calling him Reginald for nine of the ten minutes. And that was that.
It had been a Sunday morning when Narcissa called. They had scheduled their phone call for that morning because Walburga and Orion had signed up to help at some Easter Sunday event at the church, one that Regulus only barely avoided by convincing his parents that he needed to study for his AP French exam and swearing to thank Jesus for his sacrifice in some other way. His parents, peeved off about having to participate in the church they’d chosen to join, accepted his request fairly easily—his mother had even suggested he try fasting. And so when Narcissa called, he was sitting at their kitchen table with a Monte Cristo he’d asked Kreacher to whip up for him, a large glass of orange juice, and a satisfied smirk on his face.
“You know, when they get back home, they’ll be expecting you to skip dinner,” Cissa had said with a laugh, her voice a breathless, titterless thing as Regulus regaled his parents’ sudden devoutness.
Regulus’ smirk grew. “I have a feeling they’ll be so tired and annoyed from the whole day, they’ll drown themselves in an entire bottle of wine and completely miss the fact that Kreacher will save me a plate.”
“Don’t you mean the blood of Christ ?” Cissa asked, and the two of them had erupted into a laughter so loud, the empty house echoed. When they were finished, Cissa sniffed. “Ugh, I miss you so much, Reg. I keep having these dreams of you all alone in Pittsburgh next year, miserable and—”
“Hungry?” he offered, and Narcissa huffed a breathless laugh. “I’m fine, Cissa. Really. I…I’ll admit that Columbia was a setback. But it doesn’t matter, the plan is just…changing, a bit. For now.”
“Columbia can’t just be your only plan, though, Reg,” she’d said, and then the line fell silent for a moment. “I looked over your application. You know, you really should’ve sent it to me before you turned it in.”
He winced. “That awful?”
“No, not awful,” she had said solemnly. “Just…impersonal. They asked about the greatest challenge you’ve ever overcome, and you said beating John Kennedy for junior class president.”
“Well, the asshole thought he was a shoe-in with that name,” Regulus had said, defensive. “What was so wrong about writing about that?”
Cissa had sighed over the phone—Regulus knew her well enough to know that this was her ‘you’re being an oblivious idiot’ sigh, and he was in for some gentle, but tough parenting. He bit his tongue to prevent himself from reminding her that they were only ten years apart in age. “Look, Reg. You’re smart. You’re the smartest kid I’ve ever met. And, I mean, nobody worked harder at that high school than you. Debate club, junior and senior class president, nearly perfect SAT and ACT scores—”
“All while maintaining a 4.0 for four years—yes, Narcissa, I’m very aware of my accolades.”
She huffed another long, drawn-out sigh. “You’re smart,” she started again, and Regulus held his breath in anticipation of the but. “But your essays sucked.”
“They did not—”
“No, Reg. They sucked. Like ‘Fergie singing the national anthem’ sucked. Like ‘One Direction on X-Factor’ sucked.”
He’d pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your references suck, too.”
“You get my point, regardless,” Narcissa hissed, and then quieted. “Listen, college apps don’t want to hear about how you ran an excellent class presidential campaign, or how you got a perfect score on an AP exam. Not in the essay questions. Those questions…Reg, it’s a chance for them to get to know you better. By opening up. And your essays were about as open as a Chick-fil-a on a Sunday.”
“I—”
“They want you to get deep , Regulus. And don't you dare bullshit me—I know you can go there,” she said. “You need to write about something real. Something true.”
Regulus scoffed down a bite of his sandwich. “What, have you got any ideas, genius?”
“Yes, I most certainly do, and especially considering I graduated from Columbia, you might want to start listening to me,” Narcissa retorted, and really, Regulus had walked right into that one. She took in a small breath. “You could write about him , Reg.”
It had been instant. The taste on his tongue had gone stale, his heart had paused its vital pumping, and his throat suddenly grew tight and raw. “ No.” He felt the word being ripped out of him. Narcissa was wrong—he wouldn’t go there, not even if it meant a full ride to Columbia. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. “I’m not going to spew some fucking sob story to get into a college, Narcissa. There’s got to be another way, and I will figure it out when I reapply in the winter.”
“You can’t just—okay, fine! We don’t use the brother thing. It’s fine, I get it. Even though I’m pretty sure my essay about Andy was the only reason I got in. And not to mention the only reason I had the courage to reach out to her again,” Narcissa said, and then sighed. “Look at it this way, then. On paper, Reg, you’re a rich little white boy telling one of the top schools in America that you think you deserve to get in because your grades are good. News flash—everybody’s grades are good. It’s the personality and the experiences they’ve had that set them apart. And I really don’t think you’ll have much luck at Columbia until you figure out something to set you apart from all the other nepo babies with good grade point averages.”
“And once again, Cissa,” Regulus seethed, still extremely annoyed despite her tone going from disappointed to soothing, “I am asking you if you have any ideas.”
The line was silent for a moment. Regulus’ phone suddenly buzzed, and he lifted it away from his ear to see a message from Narcissa.
Are You Ready For The Summer Of Your Life? Are You Ready To Have An Impact On The Youth Of Today? Apply to become a Camp Counselor at Hogwarts NOW!!!
There was a long silence. “It’s a summer camp,” Narcissa said.
“I gathered,” Regulus muttered, horrified. “One with kids in it?”
“Ages 7-17,” Narcissa recounted. “Kids who…well, special kids. I’m sending Draco there this summer.”
Regulus had frowned. “Draco’s special, how? What sort of camp is this, Narcissa?”
She sighed loudly on the phone—an ‘I didn’t want to have to share this bit yet,’ sort of sigh. “They take in all sorts of kids! But it’s sort of known for being…well, a grieving camp,” Narcissa muttered begrudgingly. “For kids who’ve had deaths in the family and need healthy coping mechanisms. It’s meant to support them and be an outlet for fun and all.”
Regulus gripped his phone against his ear. Lucius had died the year before—Regulus had never liked the man, but he knew that he was Draco’s father and Narcissa’s husband. He didn’t envy them the hardship at all. He swallowed. “I wouldn’t do well there, Cissa,” he murmured. “With kids like that and kids in general. I’m not that kind of person.”
“ But you could be, Reg,” Narcissa said, and Regulus could practically hear the smile in her voice. “Draco would love to have someone he knows there. Just think about it, okay?”
And Regulus had thought about it. He sat at his desk for weeks, reading and rereading his Columbia essays and starting all over in his head. So, he wouldn’t be going to Columbia this term. Did this throw a wrench the size of the Titanic in his plans? Absolutely. Columbia was meant to be his escape and, damn it, he’d had a plan he’d been counting on for five years all written out with Barty. They’d both get in, use their subjective inheritances to pay for it all, and graduate in four years. Somewhere between all of that, they had smaller, minor goals—finding actual jobs, renting an apartment, learning how to do their own laundry. But none of that was happening now, at least, not for Regulus. Barty had gotten in. Regulus hadn’t.
The way Regulus saw it, he didn’t have any decent options. Living at home another year would be bearable at best. He’d had it in his mind since he was six that he’d get out at 18, go to college, be an adult far, far away from his parents. It had been his idea— he was the one who told Regulus about college, who borrowed books on Ivies from their school library, back when they went to the same school, and it didn’t take long for Regulus to become sold on Columbia. “My genius little brother,” he’d say, and rub his fist along Regulus’ head, “an Ivy man. I can see it now.” Regulus thought of him more frequently than he wanted to in those weeks he spent reorienting himself and his plans. It's always been a question in the back of his head—what would he do—a question that, when answered, he would tend to do the exact opposite of. After all, Regulus didn’t know what his brother made of himself now, at 20 years old, four years away from Walburga, Orion, this house, and him.
He knew what his brother would do. What scared Regulus was how much he wanted to do it, too.
It was another two weeks of him trying to convince himself not to. And then, a drunken night in Barty’s basement that led to sloppy kisses on his sofa, a brief bout of convincing that led to a hickey on Barty’s neck, and two applications finished and submitted to the head of Camp Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall. Regulus had watched tensely as Barty fiddled with the neck of his dad’s expensive wine bottle, lip piercing twinkling in the dim light, watching him. “Now, what do I do?” he’d asked, voice quiet and unsure in a way he wouldn’t dare sound around anyone other than Barty.
His friend had only smiled. “Now, you wait.”
Waiting had proved to be a laborious task. Regulus did all he could to occupy himself. He studied for his finals until he gave himself migraines, and went on long walks downtown until his feet became sore. He reread books, David Grann’s Killers Of The Flower Moon by day and Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer by night. His stomach twisted with dread reading things like, “‘ I am living at the Villa Borghese. There is not a crumb of dirt anywhere, nor a chair misplaced. We are all alone here and we are dead.” He swore to himself he’d get out of Grimmauld, like he had all those years ago. He wouldn’t change his plan. He’d graduate, turn 18, and leave like he’d always intended.
Finals came, and still nothing from Hogwarts. He secretly packed his bags in the quiet of the night. Graduation came, and still nothing from Hogwarts. He wrote the letters to his parents and shoved them into his now-empty bedside drawer. And then, by some miracle, a week before he turned 18, his laptop pinged. And Regulus had a plan again.
His birthday came—his inheritance was his. And he was out by June 26th.
He and Barty loaded up Barty’s car and made for the road—but not before Barty chucked a carton of eggs at his father’s bedroom window as Regulus enjoyed a cigarette in his car. The egg-tossing lasted a good 12 minutes before Barty’s father appeared at the window, sleepy-eyed and fuming, and Barty had thrown himself into the passenger seat with a wicked laugh.
They didn’t need to make it to New York until the 30th, so Barty spent an insurmountable amount of money on an Airbnb in the Hamptons where they rolled around in bed all day sharing croissants, weed Barty brought from home, and mimosas. His parents called, and Barty showed him how to block their numbers in between kissing the underside of his neck, and it all hurt a bit less than it should. Because at least he wasn’t alone.
He tried to remind himself when he was lying naked in between the white and blue sheets that this bliss was temporary. His parents would find him, eventually. Would figure out what he’d done, who he was. And maybe he’d survive the summer, but when fall came, he would be alone. Barty would be starting at Columbia studying whatever it was that he had chosen to study, and Regulus would be nothing. No one.
The thought put Regulus in a sour mood for the latter half of their trip, and by the time they were packing up the car again, Regulus was trying really hard not to cry. Had he made a mistake, choosing this? What was he choosing, anyway? A life with Barty? Not exactly. Apart from their impending separation, Regulus knew he didn’t love Barty. He loved him, of course, but it wasn’t that way, not with them. There was no one at their high school that he liked apart from the loud-mouthed, obnoxious kid with green streaks in his dark black hair, and he knew he would have suffered a lot more without having Barty there to help pick him back up. He needed Barty. He knew that. But that wasn’t love, was it?
“All right, fine, I’ll help,” Barty crowed, shoving his feet back into the car and tugging open the door. He stood before Regulus, in his black muscle shirt and blue jeans, cigarette dangling from his mouth as he smirked. “But only because I’m tired of hearing you grunt like a little girl.”
Regulus tugged the last of their bags—a long, blue duffel that was half his size. “I’m done anyway, you dick. You wanna help? Carry something.”
“So bossy,” Barty mouthed and then hoisted the blue duffel along his back as if it didn’t weigh a thing. Regulus briefly considered tackling him or sucking him off in the forest, but he was far too hot and annoyed for either option. “So this is it,” he muttered. Barty turned, eyes taking in the ultra-green landscape before them. Regulus followed his gaze to a welcome sign painted in a sickly brown reading, Welcome to Camp Hogvarts! “Am I crazy, or does that sign say Hog varts?”
“Yes,” Regulus muttered breathlessly, as an answer to both. Other than the shitty paint job on the sign, Regulus thought as he surveyed the area, Camp Hogwarts was sort of… beautiful. Lush green trees covered the entire landscape, a sapphire lake that Regulus considered throwing himself into, and he could see a shed beside it full of numerous bikes, canoes, and other outdoorsy things he promised himself he wouldn’t touch. There were ten cabin houses, eight medium ones, a small one, and one large one—the mess hall. Where they were meant to check in, he assumed. The counselors and staff arrived two days before any campers actually did—a real-life training and orientation meant to supplement the online courses he and Barty completed upon accepting the job offer—and Regulus was more than grateful. The thought of this place overrun with kids frightened him, and he’d only just gotten here. He swallowed. “Barty…”
His friend turned around, lips pulled into a deep frown. “Hey, no. We’ve not been here for ten minutes, Reg. Do not pull a freakout on me.”
“This was an awful idea. An awful, awful, awful idea. And I curse the day Narcissa was born for ever roping me into this,” he grumbled, running a hand through his damp hair. “And I curse you for doing it with me. I don’t do shit like this! Stupid shit! And I never would have come alone!” He felt the strange urge to kick something—his mind was supplying a helpful image of his estranged brother, who’d also gotten him into this mess—but all he had were bags and bags of clothes and shoes and knick-knacks, and so he settled for a patch of dirt. “Fuck you, Barty Crouch Jr.!”
“Fuck me?! This was your idea, Reg! If you don’t want Columbia to see past the massive stick up your ass, then we can turn this car around and go back home to mommy and daddy! Would you like that, Reg? Huh?”
Regulus looked up from his patch of dirt, fuming at the idea, when he heard a loud whistle ring out across the way.
A girl with red hair so bright it looked like fire was there, standing at the entrance of the mess hall with her fingers in her mouth. She frowned, cupped her hands around her jaw, and shouted:
“You boys coming in, or what?”
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼
“Jamie, it’s fucking hot !”
James turned toward him, biting back a smirk as he watched his best friend lift his obscenely long hair into a knot at the top of his head. “You should have let me cut your hair for the summer,” James said to Sirius, digging into the center console until his fingers brushed against a thick card and a hair tie. “Here.”
Sirius turned, blue eyes bright against the backdrop of the sky, and practically squealed with relief. He tied up his hair into a messy updo, grabbed the card, and immediately took to fanning himself, sighing softly. “I swear to God, one of these days I’m going to melt like fucking Dorothy.”
“Dorothy didn’t melt,” James says patiently, shooting a glance at his brother, who was, unsurprisingly, scowling. He snickered. “Sorry, just—the Wicked Witch of the West is famously the one who melted. Haven’t you seen The Wizard of Oz ? You’re gay!”
“Are you saying that every gay person has to see The Wizard of Oz ?” Sirius retorts, shoving a finger in James’ face.
He bit back a grin. “I’m saying that there’s a strong correlation, yes. Friends of Dorothy, and all of that.”
Sirius blinked. “Eight years of friendship, deep love, and great sex, all gone away because you hate gay people. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“That sentence is wrong on every possible level,” James said, making to shove Sirius but instead being greeted with gross contact with his sweaty chest. “I’m pan, which makes it extremely difficult to hate gay people. And, you fucker, we have never once had sex, and I wish you’d stop saying otherwise! People will get confused and think this is an episode straight out of The Fosters . Which is also a piece of media every gay person has consumed, I’ll have you know.”
“Okay, fair. I have seen that one,” Sirius said with a toothy grin. He stuck a scarily pale arm out of the window. It had become a running joke in the family that even with the most sun in the world, Sirius wouldn’t change from being the color of a sickly Victorian child, unless it was to burn. It kept James amused and well-stocked in sunscreen, since the idiot wouldn’t carry it around on his own. “Can we just turn the air on? Please? I’m dying here.”
“It’s not that hot,” James mutters, because it really wasn’t—Sirius was just a special edition of drama. “Just shut your mouth and enjoy the nice breeze, will you? And remember that if you hadn’t taken ninety-two years to pack for camp—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
“We would’ve had time to top off the tank before we left North Carolina,” James finished, smirking at Sirius. “And we wouldn’t be at risk of losing fuel in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.”
Sirius huffed a breath, tossing the card into the backseat with a roll of his eyes. “We would’ve been late, anyway. We might as well have stopped for gas to begin with.” James forced his gaze to remain on the road because the alternative might include hopping over the center console and shaking Sirius until he stopped saying stupid things in this hot ass car. “What’s our ETA, anyway?”
“Late. Very fucking late,” James muttered when suddenly, up ahead, he saw the telltale sign of a gas station. He breathed a sigh of relief. “And getting later by the minute,” he muttered as he turned the car into the station.
Thirty minutes, two bathroom breaks, one crossword, and a few gallons of gas later, James and Sirius were back in the old Jeep and on their way to Hogwarts. He felt a bit better knowing now that their chances of running out of gas on the side of the road were slim, and with a Twinkie in hand and three more in the bag of snacks they’d acquired from the mart. He grinned. “You know, I’ve got a really good feeling about this summer,” James said, and then licked a spare bit of frosting from his lip.
Sirius looked up from his buffet of an ice cream sandwich, Hot Fries, and fruit snacks with a smirk. “You’re only saying that because you’ve got a gut full of Twinkie.”
“No, I mean it,” James assures him, gripping the wheel and talking with a Twinkie in hand. “I mean, just look at it. A summer doing what we love with the people we love, getting paid for it, might I add, and absolutely no stress whatsoever.”
Sirius blanches. “Well, no, sweetheart, there is just a touch of stress for me,” Sirius says, shaking his head. “I’m expected to declare my major this semester, you know?”
“Still a no for music?” James asked, finishing off his Twinkie and shoving his hand into Sirius’ large bag of chips. “You’ve got a perfect ear. I don’t think that should be taken for granted.”
Sirius huffed out a loud breath. “I’ve got a perfect ear because my parents drilled music in me until my ears bled. I don’t…I don’t love it anymore, James. Not when I’m the one playing it.”
James pursed his lips. It was always a huge hit at camp when Sirius hopped on the piano, or guitar, hell—James had seen people be impressed by his work on the tambourine, himself included. It was no secret that Sirius had a gift. An immense one, at that. But James knew what he meant. Sirius’ parents had tainted so much of him. His image and self-worth, for one, if you asked James, but also his enjoyment of the things he actually cared about. The first year after the adoption, Sirius had been humming to himself while tidying up the kitchen after Mom finished baking a fresh batch of cookies, and she’d briefly mentioned how lovely of a voice he had. He’d gone all red and returned to the dishes, practically ignoring the compliment. And once, when Dad caught Sirius eyeing the guitar in the corner with a longing eye, he’d asked him to play something. Sirius had responded as though the idea was insulting to him. “Not much for music, Monty,” he’d lied, and James only didn’t say otherwise because of the panicked look he sent his way.
“Let’s not talk about this,” Sirius interrupted James’ thoughts, shoving a few chips into his mouth. “Think it’ll be awkward? Seeing Lils again?”
“Why would it be?” James asked, slightly offended. “We’re friends.”
“Yes, you’re friends, but there was also that brief stint last summer where you two swapped spit and hid away in trees talking about your childhood traumas and hopes and dreams,” Sirius reminded him, eyebrows wagging. “And then, what? She ended it?”
James fought back a loud sigh. “We both agreed we’d work better as friends,” James said, shooting Sirius a pointed glare. “Which I told you. As soon as it happened.”
“All I’m saying is,” Sirius responded, cheeks turned up in mischief, “avoid getting into a car crash, alright? You wouldn’t want Lily to take you into her remote cabin and offer you her special treatment.” And then he made two clicking sounds with his mouth and gestured a sledgehammer being taken to something invisible, something that James could only assume were meant to be his ankles.
“You are a sick, twisted individual,” James said, throwing the Twinkie wrapper at Sirius’ face. “Lily Evans is not going to break my ankles for a mutual breakup we had eleven months ago.”
Sirius clicked his tongue. “Just, if she asks you to climb in a bed with restraints, kindly say no.”
“You’re going on a two minute time-out.”
Sirius put on his best Annie Wilke voice and said, “‘The operation was called hobbling,’” and James knocked him upside the head twice, just for good measure.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼
Regulus had made a vital error. Or, several vital errors, really. The first was worrying so much about socializing with the sad little campers and not at all considering how he’d get along with the large group of camp counselors. The second being the fact that his Converse were simply not good enough for an hour and forty-five minute long tour of the campgrounds, including the surrounding forests and lake. Regulus stared at the back of a counselor named Marlene, and tried to imagine the cool satin of his pillow from home, the light blow of air conditioning from the vents.
“So this is where we usually have our camp movie night at the end of the summer,” Marlene continued her helpful albeit rambly tour of the grounds, turning to face them with a bright grin. She was an odd sort of girl, Regulus thought, with shaggy, blunt-cut blonde locks and a genuine excitement about wildlife, trees, and sports. She must have chatted their ear off at the start of the tour about all of the sports activities she and James ran for the camp. “We blow up a big projector and pop popcorn and have a candy bar. Cool, huh?”
That was the other thing about the California girl, Marlene. She only seemed to know two adjectives: cool and awesome. Regulus found himself wishing there was a store nearby so he could buy her a thesaurus.
A girl holding a large tote bag with black braided hair, a scowl, and a pink portable mini-fan looked at the flush-red Californian, unimpressed. “Neat,” she deadpanned, glancing around. “We nearing the end of this tour? Because we’ve been walking in this heat for nearly two hours and that guy looks like he’s about to turn a new shade of red.”
She points at a man with dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and cherub cheeks that were, in fact, bright red. He frowned and Regulus tried to remember his name, and found he couldn’t, though he was sure it started with a Pe . “I didn’t realize the tour would be this long—I would’ve brought my sunscreen!” he snaps, obviously self-conscious.
“Here,” the girl—Regulus vaguely remembered her announcing herself as Dorcas, when they’d all briefly met in the mess hall—tosses a bottle of suncream to the red guy, and Regulus catches the brief blaze in Marlene’s eyes.
“We’re almost done, Meadowes. If you can’t handle a bit of heat, maybe you should head back to camp,” Marlene snapped and Barty whistled a low whistle.
“Girl fight,” he whispered excitedly, except it was the sort of whisper that an entire hall of 400 could have heard, and certainly their little band of ten.
An admittedly attractive guy, all tan skin and blonde hair and dark roots and pierced ears, glares at Barty with crossed arms. “Dick,” he mutters, except he actually manages to say it under his breath, and so Regulus thinks the only reason he’s the only soul to hear him is because he’d been sort of ogling him a bit. He turns away, a new shade of red himself.
The redhead girl from before—Lily, who, despite her tactless interruption of Regulus’ breakdown before, Regulus found he quite liked—made an exasperated sort of noise. “Oh my god, nobody’s fighting! Marlene, continue the tour and let’s wrap it up, maybe? Dinner’s starting soon.”
“Okay, okay, I just want to show them the treehouse. It’s only a half mile away!” Marlene said with a smile, and oh, joy, they were all walking again.
Regulus stuck next to Barty on the walk, wondering how he wasn’t absolutely sweltering in this heat. So far, he didn’t quite know what to make of Hogwarts. Everyone seemed so young, even mid-20’s aged Frank and Alice, head coordinators of activities who were right behind Marlene with strong legs and dutiful hiking boots. But Lily, Gorgeous , Marlene, Dorcas, Perry, and the weird, spacey girl with blonde braids and what looked like toy butterfly clips couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than him. Why was it that they were entrusted to deal with the emotions of a group of kids who had just lost someone? Why was he, for that matter?
Because Regulus has always been the luckiest boy in the world, the treehouse is half a mile uphill , and his Converse scrambles for purchase as he attempts to climb up behind his fellow counselors. He glances at Barty who’s a bit in front of him and decidedly not struggling in the slightest, despite the fact that he was in jeans. Regulus wanted to start his own fight, but for the second time today, he realized he was too hot and tired for that.
The altitude increased and, unsurprisingly, so did Regulus’ discomfort. His shirt was stuck to his back with sweat and his bag seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and he was beginning to wish he’d applied more sunscreen like Percy when he felt it. The dull ache in the back of his skull and, horrifyingly, the red drip of blood onto his upper lip. He stops immediately, and the blood doesn’t, cascading from his nose in ripples and ripples of crimson so bright his stomach turns. “ Fuck !” he hissed and then immediately regrets it, for every pair of eyes turns to him.
“Oh, Reg,” Barty murmurs, clambering past Dorcas and Percy until he’s in front of him, a rare concerned look on his face. “Eyes shut, come on. Stop looking at it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Regulus muttered, because it didn’t. Even with his eyes shut, he remembered the red. And he could taste the taste of blood on his tongue, the smell of it hitting his wretched nose. “It’s…everywhere.”
He pinched his nose and tilted his head back because that’s what you were supposed to do, and counted backwards from ten as everyone fussed around him. Embarrassed didn’t even begin to cover this.
“The new nurse? Is she here yet?” Lily asked, and Regulus imagined someone shaking their head.
“Not till two nights from now.” A male voice, an older one. Frank? “She’s coming from out of the country, could only book a connecting flight. She’s still in Illinois right now.”
A girl—Alice—huffed. “Of all the places to be.”
“I’m fine,” Regulus said, hating how similar he sounded to Kermit the Frog with his nose all held up. “I’m fine. This happens all the time. I don’t need a nurse.”
A hand gripped his shoulder, and then there was a soft voice. “Are you sure?” a girl asked, and he opened his eyes a bit to see the weird girl smiling kindly at him. He felt bad for calling her weird in his head. “You seem faint. You aren’t dizzy, are you?”
“No,” he lied, and then caught the sight of his bloodstained fingertips. He winced. “Ah, okay, yes. A bit. But it’s fine.”
Barty, always helpful, chose now to intervene. “He’s got that weird, blood-phobic thing. Could never handle Biology class, the poor kid.”
“Barty, I’m going to cut you.”
“Not if I bleed, you won’t.”
Dorcas stifled a laugh. “Well, aren’t you just a modern-day Bella Swan?”
Everyone’s eyes turned to her, confused, and she frowned. “Bella Swan? Also hemophobic? In love with a vampire?” Everyone stared some more. She raised her hands exasperatedly. “Okay, I refuse to believe that none of you have seen Twilight !”
Marlene brushes past her, and, even with his eyes half-closed Regulus can tell she shoulder-checks the girl on purpose. “Maybe you should suggest it for movie night, Meadowes,” she mutters sarcastically, ignoring Dorcas’ answering glare as she nods at Regulus. “Alright, then. Back to camp we go.”
The walk back to camp had taken longer than the walk away from it, given the fact that Regulus was walking blindly and trying very hard not to faint. Barty had offered off his t-shirt, which Regulus was pretty sure was just an excuse for him to show off the perfectly chiseled V-cut Regulus knew he had, but the blood flow had stopped itself anyway. He’d simply have to wait for the first swim day, the poor bastard. When the cabins finally came into view and Frank was handing him the key to an empty dorm that would be his alone for the weekend before the kids arrived, his knees nearly collapsed in pleasure. He’s not proud of it, but when he made it inside the room, too tired to even survey the place he’d be living for the next ten weeks, Regulus had only the energy to lay down a thin sheet, wrap a single pillow in his satin pillowcase, and tug out of his shoes. He laid down, all bloody and sweaty, and was out in seconds.
When he came to, there was that brief moment of panic where he truly didn’t know where he was, the fact emphasized by the fact that it was dark in the room and, well, he really didn’t know where he was. He sat up slowly, eyes relying solely on the single sliver of moonlight coming through one of the windows. He checked his watch and sighed. Nearly midnight.
Awake now, Regulus didn’t take much time to survey the room, other than to sneer at the rows of beds that, to his chagrin, would soon be full of prepubescents he would be in charge of. The thought had him feeling faint again and he sighed. It’d be nice to find Barty, ask him to fuck the bad feeling away, as they were both often inclined to do, but it was dark and he felt gross and the only thing Regulus wanted to do was take a long hot shower and his facial cleanser. And moisturizer. And maybe just a bit of toner. And under eye cream, obviously.
He glanced around the room and found that someone had tucked his bags near the door and, with the first real smile of the day, Regulus stumbled forward toward them. He latched onto a bag he had specially organized to carry his bathroom things—his skincare products and soap but also a couple of towels, shower shoes, and teeth brushing supplies—and he was out of the cabin and into the cool night air before he could think better of it. About halfway to the cabin where he briefly remembers Marlene pointing them to find the showers, he wishes he’d thought to bring a flashlight or at least bug spray, but he continues on. He was still exhausted, he thought, as he tugged a pair of headphones on and queued up a few songs. He wouldn’t be long. Maybe he’d skip the toner.
After a walk where Regulus briefly reminds himself of the necessary self-defense tactics one should employ when coming face to face with a bear, Regulus stops in front of the men’s counselor showers. The last person to have used it tonight must’ve forgotten to shut off the lights, so he’s greeted with bright white when he opens the door. The shower room is nicer than Regulus expected, with white covered walls, taupe wood for the stall doors and sink counters, and a decent amount of space. There were three sinks, a long rectangular mirror that stretched over the wall, and three stalls to match it all. Regulus set down his bag and rifled through it, tugging his skincare bag from the bottom and briefly going through it to make sure everything was there. He was reconsidering skimping out on the toner when he got that strange feeling someone was behind him. He looked up, into the mirror and—
“ Jesus fucking Christ!” he shouted, jumping out of his skin as he met the eyes and then, penis, of an utterly naked, utterly beautiful man through the damn mirror that stretched on for ages and left nothing to the imagination. Flushed bright red, Regulus brought a hand to his eyes and shoved his headphones around his neck. “I didn’t realize somebody else was in here. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
The man behind him let out a breathless chuckle, and there was the sound of a towel whipping through the air. “No harm, no foul,” he heard him say, and fuck , Regulus wasn’t exaggerating when he says that this man had the sexiest voice he had ever heard. It was low, and smooth, and really, he should win a medal for not losing his cool right then and there. “You can uncover your eyes, you know? I don’t mind.”
And what was that supposed to mean? Regulus kept his hand planted firmly around his eyes, cheeks still bright red, because genuinely, who says that? I don’t mind. As if he wants Regulus to look. As if he were offering. Was he offering? Regulus’ grip loosened and he felt himself growing angry at that fact. “Yes, well, I mind. The key word in communal bathrooms is ‘communal.’ So put some clothes on, will you?”
“I’m clothed,” the voice called out, humor lacing the deep honey sound Regulus knew he’d forever associate with the brief but meaningful view he’d had of this lovely man’s cock. “And you’re still hiding.”
“I’m not,” Regulus argued, dumbly, considering his hand was still covering his face. Slowly, he unlaced his fingers and found that the man had shifted positions and was now standing beside him, leaning against the counter like an absolute Greek god. Regulus was pretty sure he nearly started drooling. The brief look he’d had before hadn’t done this man any justice. No, in the time it took for Regulus to take in his amber brown eyes and remarkable dick, he’d completely missed out on the honey brown of his skin, the chiseled cut of his jaw, the dimpled, dazzling smile he was giving Regulus now. He was only in a towel, and truly, this was the worst day of Regulus’ life , because his body was just as beautiful as the rest of him. Soft and hard in a way that made Regulus want to touch him, to know him, because there was so much space, so much to know. He watched the boy reach over him to grab a pair of glasses Regulus hadn’t even noticed, and the scent of sandalwood and coconut made his head spin.
“James,” the man said, except Regulus had sort of been staring at his pectorals and wasn’t really listening. He frowned and stared up at the man, now bespectacled and twice as handsome. Funny, that.
“What?” he hissed, aware of how much of a dick he sounded. His self-defense tactic around beautiful men, however, had always been the same as one’s self-defense tactic around a black bear—make yourself into a bigger threat.
The man sent him another grin, entirely undeterred. It only made Regulus angrier. “My name,” he murmured, voice kind and patient. “It’s James.”
The name rang briefly familiar in his ear from Marlene’s mention of it earlier. So this was James. She’d described him as a sporty guy, which explained the abs, at least. Regulus swallowed. “Congratulations,” Regulus muttered, and then turned back to his bags. Maybe if he busied himself with something else, the bear—or man, rather, would grow bored of him and leave him alone.
James looked at him from, and, from the corner of his eye, Regulus thought he seemed amused. Regulus had planned to shower, but with James looming over him like the sexy ghost of Christmas past, the urge to get undressed surprisingly evaded him. Given the fact that Regulus’ own pale, skinny body would look drastically imperfect next to James’, Regulus found it easy to avoid his desire to get naked at the sight of a wet, grinning, perfect James. “What’s that?” James asked, reaching out to touch Regulus’ navy blue bag of products. He fought back a groan.
“Mine,” he replied, waving James’ hand away. “Paws off. Some of these products were expensive.”
James takes in the contents of the bag and gasps. “Ooh! My brother uses that moisturizer. Says it’s the best one out there. Hey, can I borrow some?”
“If it’s the best moisturizer out there, why would I let a stranger have some of mine?” Regulus asked, pulling out his toothbrush and toothpaste instead. Maybe he’d just do his skincare if James insisted on staying. Sans shower. And toner.
“Well, we wouldn’t be strangers if I knew your name,” James said with a devilish grin. “Come on, I know you’re a new counselor here. I’ll find out sooner or later.”
“Then what difference does it make, truly?” Regulus asked, forcing himself to look up into the man’s eyes, just to check they weren’t as dreamy as they’d looked before. He stifled a sigh. Nope. Just as dreamy. “Reg. It’s…I’m Reg.”
“Reg.” James said the word like he was tasting it, and he grinned like he liked its flavor. “It’s been a pleasure.”
Regulus watched as he brushed past him and stalked out of the washroom, all bronze calves and back muscles and seduction on legs. It wasn’t until Regulus heard the door shut behind him that he dared a glance at his face. There was still a bit of swollenness around his nose, his eyes were sunken, and his entire face was bright red. He swallowed hard.
“Welcome to Camp Hogvarts, I guess,” he grumbled to himself before he finally stripped and took his long awaited and, he thought, well-deserved, shower.