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Grey November with its fog and falling leaves engulf Regulus. The cold bites at his neck while rustling branches brush against him and tear at his clothes, reaching out to pull him back into the past.
Walking Scott Street, feeling like a stranger, Regulus approaches a door he knows all too well.
The Potter’s.
Regulus knocks upon the door, heart open, like a trapped snake ready to burst from its container.
James opens the door and—
“I got your mail,” Regulus blurts.
James stands squarely in the doorway so as to block the entrance. He is as radiant as Regulus remembers, tan skin and the rim of his circle-shaped glasses glowing. The sun may be hidden behind the clouds, but James makes his own light.
The only things that don’t glow as they once did are his eyes. A beautiful dark brown with flecks of honey splashed across the irises, his eyes were so deep that Regulus used to think he could swim in them for hours. But sometime while he was swimming, the water turned murky. The lust for life dimmed, Regulus knew he had swum too far and was destined to drown.
“I just saw that the mailbox was full so I figured I would bring it to the door,” Regulus rambles on.
James remains stoic and silent.
“Is it always this quiet here? It’s quieter than I remember,”
“Helicopters fly over the house at night,” James replies inquisitively.
“Every time you go to bed, no doubt. They always have a knack for that,”
“Is that all?” James asks.
…
“Walk down Scott Street with me?”
“Alright,”
☽☼☾
And so the pair of strangers walk down the street, lovers scorned and promises broken. All that remains are the memories.
“I asked Sirius about you, you know,” James says quietly, just above a whisper.
“When?” Regulus breathes.
“A couple months ago. Said you got your degree,”
“I did,” he nods slowly and carefully as if he doesn’t believe his ears. Probably because he doesn’t.
“I said it makes me feel old,” James recounts.
“What does that make me?” Regulus smiles before he can catch himself.
“Sirius is getting married. The whole band is, if you ask me. They all live together anyhow,” Regulus continues.
“I got an invitation. Mr. and Mr. Sirius and Remus Lupin, save the date.Our date.” James replies.
James stops in his tracks. Scott Street stretches before them, and the road not taken looks real good now.
“Why did you have to marry her?”
“James—” Regulus starts.
“Regulus.” James responds.
“You know I had to,” Regulus can feel the lump in his throat growing, choking him from the inside.
“No, you didn’t,”
“I did.”
“I had to marry her. You know how my mother is, you know how she gets. It was arranged, James, I’m not in love with her!” Regulus can feel himself growing angrier. Not at James, but at himself. For letting him go. He knew the night he left James was ready to propose, his mom’s ring in his pocket all polished and ready to go.
“You left me.”
“I didn’t want to. I would’ve loved you for a lifetime. I still will,”
“Do you feel ashamed? When you hear my name?” James asked,
“Or do you just pretend like you never even knew me?”
“The shape of your name still spells out pain,” Regulus whispers.
That’s it. The end of the street. A fork in the road divides the land; one path dimly lit, haunted by ghosts past and skeletons in closets, and the other a busting train station leading only to the future.
“Write me?” Regulus asks, sounding more like a plea than a question.
“Write me back,” James replies.
“Kiss me?”
Amidst the rush of people boarding trains and waving goodbye, James does. It’s their last kiss, at least for now. And it’s the most beautiful kiss the world has ever seen.
As Regulus boards, James waves and watches the love of his life fade away into the smoky exhaust of the train,
“Don’t be a stranger.”