Chapter Text
The courtyard was silent as Barty and Evan made their way through it. Overnight, the first snow had fallen, and the yard lay still and frozen before them. With every step, stirred-up snow whirled around their legs, mixing with the tiny snowflakes tumbling down from the cloudy sky.
Their only company was a murder of crows. Nine in total, Evan counted. Everybody else was inside, in class. They should be too, but neither of the boys saw any use in urgency.
"Well, I'm just saying, rules are rules. So it's not cheating." Barty said, gesturing wildly.
"Kissing somebody else under the mistletoe while you're in a relationship is absolutely cheating. Honestly, she should've dumped you way before that."
Barty pouted: "Now why would you say that, Rosie? My poor little fifth year heart was broken. Obliterated, into a thousand tiny pieces."
"You shagged her best friend two days later.", Evan replied, desperately wishing the conversation would end. He'd already had to deal with Barty's one actual relationship while it had been happening (it was agony), and didn't need any reminders.
Barty sighed wistfully: "Oh yeah. He was a bloody good shag, too."
Evan remained silent.
"Hey, Rosie." Barty said and threw his arm around Evan's shoulder. "If you were under the mistletoe with someone, what would you do?"
"Nothing?" Evan broke his resolve to ignore Barty, frowning in disgust, "I definitely wouldn't stick my tongue down their throat."
Barty didn't let off: "So you don't wanna kiss anyone?"
"Not some random person I met under a mistletoe, no."
"Are you sure it's not just because you've never kissed anyone?"
Evan shoved Barty off. "If you don't let this go, I'm feeding you snow- the yellow kind.", he warned.
"But you would want to kiss people?"
"Sure, I guess.", Evan threw up his arms, exasperated and very much done with the topic. "But I'm not gonna do it under a mistletoe just because."
Barty hummed.
"Why are you even-", Evan started, but was cut off by Barty's lips on his own.
What?
Evan blinked.
The touch of his lips was feathery light, and it took Evan a second to realize what was happening. He could feel the heat of the other boy's body against his own, Barty's hand that had curled around his wrist burning like embers. The smell of Barty's shampoo filled his nose, something dark but sweet. Cinnamon and black tea. Evan's entire body was in freefall, his knees growing dangerously soft.
It was all too much and not enough. The moment was over in a heartbeat. Barty leaned back and Evan took a shuddering breath.
"Come on now. We can't be even more late for class.", Barty grinned. He turned around and started running across the courtyard.
Dumbfounded, Evan stood rooted to the spot. His brain had frozen over and was only now slowly thawing.
"What the- Wait!", he yelled, taking off after Barty, white powdery snow flying up around their feet. He followed Barty all the way to the entrance, where he finally caught up.
"What the fuck." Evan panted as they came to a stop. "You can't just fucking do that."
Barty turned around to him, with that stupid smile that made his eyes gleam and showed the little scar above his lip, right where Evan had jammed his wand during a fight in second year.
"Why not?", he asked.
Evan stared at him. "Buh- because- what the fuck, you can't- What even is that question?", he stuttered, attempting to find his bearings.
Barty's grin only widened, and he took a step towards Evan, their faces only inches apart. "Do I make you nervous, Rosie?"
Evan stared at him. Barty's face was flushed with the cold, little clouds of fog accompanying every breath he took. Tiny flakes of snow clung to his dark curls and lashes, the blue of his eyes underneath almost hidden by the black of his blown pupils. His lips were cracked, and Evan watched as Barty's tongue darted out.
Evan grabbed Barty's collar and shoved him against the stone wall. Surprise flashed across Barty's face, but Evan didn't give him a chance to speak, crushing his lips against Barty's.
The craving that had been plaguing Evan was finally bleeding out as he kissed Barty. It was too eager to be gentle, too desperate to be sweet.
Barty's lips were rough against Evan's, parting to deepen the kiss. Evan pulled back, ignoring Barty's noise of protest, and shot forward to bite down on Barty's lower lip until he tasted blood. The twangy taste of iron spread in his mouth.
Barty's hands found their way to Evan's hips, and he pulled the other boy closer, going back in for the kiss.
Evan's hand turned into a fist around Barty's collar, his other hand buried into Barty's hair until he couldn't tell where Evan ended and Barty began. He pulled back, gasping, eyes transfixed on Barty's face.
He looked fucking beautiful. There was blood trickling down from his split lip. He was panting, hair stuck up in every direction, bright eyes fixed on Evan. A dark blush had spread over his cheeks and up to his ears, making his face glow.
For a while, they just stared at each other, both breathing heavily.
Evan's fist, he realized, was still clamped around the collar of Barty's shirt, knuckles white. Slowly, as he gained back control over his limbs, he uncurled it. His hand was shaking, and his nails had left crescent-shaped indents in his palm. In some parts, they'd broken skin, droplets of blood seeping into Barty's collar.
Tenderly, Evan brushed his fingertips over the tiny red stains decorating the white.
His eyes flicked back to Barty's, still focused on Evan, cutting like a surgical knife.
Barty's lips quirked into a grin as he grabbed Evan's hand, caressing the moon-shaped cuts, then closing around it. He interlaced their fingers, resting warm and soft against each other.
He pulled Evan after him, into the castle. Their hands stayed interlocked.
---
The sun had set by the time Regulus left the quidditch pitch, legs numb and every other muscle sore. He dragged his feet over the grass, still moist with the melted snow.
Regulus kept close to the castle wall, out of view from any windows. His breath created little clouds, and he shivered, pulling his quidditch coat tighter around himself. He was coming to regret not changing it. The thin, short-sleeved overcoat did little to ward off the freezing wind, and the woolen clothes underneath were damp with sweat. It made each breeze feel like a bucket of ice water was being emptied over him.
He spotted Dorcas lingering in the shadow of a tree, the hood of her dark jumper pulled deep in her face.
“Suspiciously unsuspicious, Meadowes.”, he commented as he snuck up behind her. He laughed at her startled flinch.
She grinned back: “Real funny. ”
They turned towards the greenhouse standing a few yards from them, the mountain of glass eerily quiet in the dark.
Regulus broke the silence: “Everybody should be out by now, right?”
“Oh yeah. Look, it’s already locked up and everything.” Dorcas pointed at the thick iron lock hanging from the entrance door.
They crowded around it. With a tap of his wand and a muttered Alohomora, it snapped open. He pulled open the glass door, and they slipped through.
“Towards the back.”, Dorcas whispered. They crept around rows of work benches, barely visible in the dim light.
Overgrown ferns and bushes sat atop every surface, an impenetrable wall of green that blocked the view of the remaining space. The smell of wet earth rose from the dirt floor, mixing with the scent of cut grass, herbs, and damp wood. Above them, the glass roof gave view of the black sky, stars shining through the dark.
Dorcas stopped abruptly, Regulus walking straight into her. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down.
“What?” he hissed, looking around frantically.
Dorcas held a finger to her lips, then pointed at something outside of his view. He leaned forward, straining his neck to see. Suddenly, he caught a movement in the dark.
A few rows across from them, the dark silhouette of Professor Sprout was leaning over a bench. Regulus looked back at Dorcas, cocking his head in a silent question. She motioned forward with her hand, then pointed down.
They sat off again while crouching, ducking behind plants for cover. The workbenches started to clear up, forcing them to drop on all fours and crawl across the ground towards the storage room.
Once they reached it, they sat up and peered through the glass. The professor was still immersed in her work, back turned towards them.
Regulus shot Dorcas a nod, then turned around to take in their surroundings. It wasn’t quite a room, more so had the back of the greenhouse been walled off from the rest. It was a claustrophobic space. Plants sat huddled on tables that lined the walls, hung from the ceiling, and covered the ground in little clusters.
“Got any idea where they might be?” he whispered. Dorcas, who’d been poking around a pile of foul-smelling cacti, just shook her head. He sighed. Squinting through the dark, he tried to make out the letters on the little shields next to each cluster. He slowly moved down the rows, checking each label while being careful not to touch anything.
“Here!” Dorcas hissed. Regulus hurried to her, leaning over a row of potted plants. “Let’s just grab a fistful of the green and slice them off- Did you take the knife?”
He nodded and pulled out his knife, usually reserved for chopping potion ingredients. “You hold the top, I hold the bottom and cut.”
They shimmied around, both taking a firm grip on the plant. Regulus set the knife and started cutting. He grunted with the effort, sawing through the thick, stubborn greenery. Finally, his blade slipped free, and Dorcas held up the fistful of leaves.
A shrill cry cut through the silence.
Regulus’ hands flew to cover his ears as he spun around, disoriented. A hand clenched down on his arm and started dragging him along. He stumbled behind, dimly aware as he ran into a workbench. The weight gave underneath him, sending chunks of plant and earth everywhere.
He shoved up, running through the rows, Dorcas right in front of him. They burst out of the door and into the fresh air, the screeching fading behind them
Dorcas stumbled, so he snatched her arm, dragging her along towards the castle entrance. Their steps echoed loudly as they ran through a labyrinth of corridors and stairs, finally ducking into an empty bathroom.
Regulus dropped to his knees, heaving and dry gagging as the world spun around him. He pressed his hands against the cold tile, finally unclenching his hands from the knife. Slowly, he flexed the fingers, watching as blood rushed into the white knuckles.
He looked over at Dorcas. She was curled up on the ground, gasping for air. Her face was hidden by her braids, flared out over her shoulders and the floor. In her hand, she was clutching the leaves in a death grip.
“I didn’t think it would do that.” she gasped.
“Aren’t you in herbology?”
“Yeah, and failing.”
As it turned out, they had been right to worry about getting their ingredients in time. Once November turned into December, the first snow started falling. In no time, Hogwarts was covered in a thick white blanket. In the morning, students walked past ice flowers blooming on windows into the Great Hall, in which the first small ornaments of greenery, fir cones, and red bows had started to appear.
However, not everybody was in holiday spirits. Instead of spending their weekends in Hogsmeade strolling through gold-lit alleys, looking at living gingerbread families in the store windows of the Honeyduke or sipping mulled wine at the Three Broomsticks, the sixth years could be found barricaded in the library trying to keep up with the ever-increasing avalanche that was their homework and exam preparation.
Or, in Regulus‘ case, shivering away in the barely heated quidditch changing rooms.
"Alright, let's bring it home. Full concentration, I don't want any of you diverging from the plan this time. Got it?"
Shouts of approval sounded from the rest of the Slytherin team. Talkalot turned around, clearly satisfied, and marched off towards the exit of the changing room.
The rest of the team followed her, excitement and nervousness mixing in the low murmur.
Regulus turned away from the others, fishing a small vial from his uniform and downing it in one swig. He almost groaned in relief as the taste of the pain potion spread in his mouth. How had he ever thought it tasted bitter?
Making sure nobody had seen him, he joined the team.
The potion was working its magic. By the time they had mounted their brooms, the stabbing pain in Regulus' ribs had faded
The gates creaked open, and the team shot out.
Cold air bit at Regulus' cheeks as he flew higher and higher, taking up his position.
He took a second to register his surroundings. Green and blue banners fluttered in the wind. The audience's cheering was deafening, only fading once Madame Hooch flew into the pitch. Both the pitch and the surrounding lands were a snowy landscape, only the evergreen breaking up the sea of blinding white. Regulus had to squint to see.
The whistle sounded and the quaffle was thrown. Regulus started circling, watching the game unfold from above. The Slytherins were good, but their recent failure had clearly thrown them off. The Ravenclaws quickly started amassing goals, with the Slytherins looking more and more unsure.
It felt like no time had passed before he saw it: a golden gleam on the opposite side of the pitch. Immediately, Regulus shot towards it.
He vaguely registered the other seeker following him. Regulus continued to race forward. His eyes watered from the wind. The cold bit at his cheeks and burned on his hand like boiling water. Regulus leaned forward.
It was right in front of him. He stretched his hand out.
It closed around nothing.
His own speed threw Regulus for a loop around a tower. Once he was back on the field, he spotted the other seeker flying down towards the snitch. It had suddenly dropped in height, now at eye level with the lower bleachers, right below Regulus.
But the chaser wasn't shooting down, idly flying instead. Clearly, he was sure Regulus wouldn't reach them in time. Not on a broom, at least.
Without another thought, Regulus let himself fall sideways. He heard the crowd roar as he slipped off his broom headfirst, curling up tightly to be as small but heavy as possible.
The audience's shouting grew even louder. Regulus was now close enough to see the Ravenclaw's cocky grin. Within a heartbeat, Regulus shot past him.
There it was. He stretched out his hand.
Regulus snatched the golden snitch right out of the air as he plummeted towards the ground.
He watched, almost in a trance, as the ground shot nearer and nearer. The snitch was cold in his hand.
He stretched his other hand towards heaven. "Accio broom" He heard himself shout, the noise muffled in his ears.
Looking up -or was it down?- he saw the broom floating below him.
Regulus splayed out his limbs and caught the brom, hooking both arms and a leg over it. His fall stopped with an abrupt jerk. His arms felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets, but they held. He clung to the broom as it floated down steadily. As soon as he was close enough, he simply let go and unceremoniously dropped to the ground like dead weight.
As if somebody had turned on the radio, the screaming and cheering from the crowd blasted into his ears. Lying on his back, he stretched out his arm, presenting the snitch.