#alt7

"Can I kiss you?" The words tilt Regulus' world on its axis. One moment he's relaxing on the sofa with his good friend Peter at his side, revising their respective essays and peacefully coexisting. The next, Peter is breaking every rule they usually abide by (silence, ease into conversation if needs must, don't ask the other for a kiss) and inadvertently causing Regulus to smear ink all across the page. He blinks rapidly at the parchment now streaked with black and prays to every diety that does not exist Peter will take it back.

He does not take it back.

Swallowing, Regulus retorts, "I beg your pardon?"

Peter fidgets in his seat and avoids Regulus' gaze. "I just… I think I'm bent?"

"Okay." Regulus waits for there to be more. Apparently there is not more. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Do you think I'm fit?"

"Sweet Salazar, Peter what is your problem?" demands Regulus as he turns to fully face his friend.

Peter tortures his lower lip with his teeth and twists his fingers together so much they must be in pain. "Gilderoy Lockhart is flirting with me."

Still, Peter does not elaborate. Finally having enough, Regulus declares, "Either tell me the full story or shut up about it."

Peter gulps and presses his lips together. After what must be an eternity, he explains. "You know how after Sirius did that-that thing we all agreed not to talk about?" Regulus nods. "James and Remus and me… we kind of… things were awkward. So we didn't really talk for a few-few weeks, really." Regulus knows all of this, seeing as James is his bloody boyfriend. "And you know how I have—had that crush on Alice Fortesque?" Regulus nods again and is growing bored of this rambling quickly. "Well she has a crush on Gilderoy Lockhart. So I went up to him and asked what type of cologne he wears. I figured, well, maybe if I smelled a bit like him, she'd be more interested?"

"That's stupid," Regulus can't help but point out. "Why would you want to be with someone purely based on scent?" His nose wrinkles at the mere thought. Unbidden images of James' sheets and the man shirtless next to him rise up and suddenly Regulus isn't as confused.

"No, I know," Peter quickly replies. "I know. But I was alone and I didn't—well never mind. But anyway, so I asked Gilderoy what sort of cologne he wears and he never gave me a straight answer! It sort of became, like, a thing for us. I guess? Every time I saw him, I asked what cologne he wears, and he would respond with the same non-answer. Like a… an inside joke or something. I don't know. So anyway we started hanging out a little. He's—Actually, he's a lot like you and I know you don't want to hear it-!"

Regulus gags both for the performance of it and the actual way it makes him feel. "Gilderoy Lockhart," he repeats, deadpan. "You think Gilderoy Lockhart is a lot like me?"

"Regulus-" He cuts himself off with a sigh. "Just listen to me, will you?"

"I'm trying," Regulus retorts impatiently, "but you're being slow about it."

"I'm trying! Buggering twat, for Merlin's sake," he grumbles the last bit to himself. "Listen! We started sitting together in the library and revising notes since we're in the same year. It's easier when it's not with an younger student—no offence." Regulus rolls his eyes. "And he was… flirting, I think. But no one's ever flirted with me before. And so, well, it's easy to get confused and just assume he's overly—I mean, he's a flirt anyway so it wasn't, like—I just figured that's how he must be with all of his friends."

"I don't think so," Regulus interrupts because he actually has something useful to say—or so he thinks. "Gilderoy flirts to get what he wants. But with Rita or Bella… I've never seen him flirt for the sake of it."

"Don't tell me that," laments Peter as he buries his face in his hands. "I'm already confused enough as it is."

Regulus scoffs. "Then don't bring it up to me! I don't know what you want, honestly, I-"

"To kiss!" Peter exclaims again and Regulus is actually certain he's lost the plot.

"You're mad," Regulus insists. "I'm dating your best friend. I'm your other best friend's brother. You do not want to kiss me, you unbelievable prick."

"I don't know," he cries. "I don't—I think he's taking the piss but I obviously can't prove it."

"Why?" Regulus interjects before he can kick off again.

"Why what?" asks Peter miserably.

"Why can't you prove it?"

"He's impossible to understand." Somehow Regulus thinks that's untrue. "He claims he fancies me one moment, asks to kiss another, snogs me breathless another, but won't tell anyone about us. I can't—he's embarrassed of me, at the very least. Which, like, fine whatever. I get it. But I'm not sure if I'm just bent or if I actually fancy him back."

"What does it matter?" he finally inquires after Peter seems to run out of steam.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, how would you even know the difference anyway?"

"If kissing you feels like kissing Gilderoy does," answers Peter candidly.

"How does it feel?" That question is out of curiosity and has nothing to do with anything. In fact, Regulus suspects it might clear up a few of his own doubts about his relationship with James.

Peter sighs and looks away. "I don't know," he lies. He goes on, "I remember the first time I did accidental magic—" and oh if that isn't how kissing James feels. He doesn't really need Peter to explain more, but he wonders if hearing it out loud will assuage Peter's own fears. "I was so excited, obviously, because it was proof I was really magic. Sometimes in—well I don't have to explain it to you. Mum worried I might be a Squib because it took me so long to have any outbursts. I ended up on the roof of our house during dinner one night. I just wanted to get away so badly and poof there I was. It felt like magic."

Regulus smiles slightly, wistfully. "Kissing James feels like that too," he reveals.

Peter, rather than falling deeper into his spiral, seems relieved. "Oh thank Merlin," he mutters and Regulus fears he misunderstood.

He states, "I'm in love with James, Peter."

Peter complains, "Oh for Godric's sake."

Obi-wan closed his eyes and began to center himself. He ignored the stuffy heat that rolled sweat across his forehead. He ignored the orange light that filtered through his eyelids and tried to detach his senses from the nauseating tactile sensation of the Dark sludge. He acknowledged his feelings- confusion and hurt at Anakin’s betrayal, concern for Ahsoka, and fear at what would happen if the Son succeeded in escaping Mortis. He thought of what he needed to do. When he thought he was ready, he sank into the Force.

The Father had told him that the Well was an intersection for the Dark side. Obi-wan had already felt it once. Immediately upon sinking into the Force this time, cold, greedy fingers scraped through him, clawing at anything he hadn’t shielded.

Ahsoka! Obi-wan shouted. Disable the ship and run, Anakin isn’t— Pain shot through his head, as if lancelets were prying for crevices in his mental shields. The Dark Side surrounded him and crashed against him until he thought he might drown in it. The intention of using the Force to contact Ahsoka was dragged from his mind by brittle fingers. The Dark Side was cold, cold enough to shock his lungs still. It pressed against him, threatening to swallow him whole.

Obi-wan withdrew from the Force. The Dark tried to pull him back. The suctioning feeling hurt. With a gasp, Obi-wan closed himself off from it and came back to the present. His heart raced. A headache pulsed through his skull, and something trickled from his nose.

Anakin. Ahsoka. Please be alright. I’m so sorry.

There was no reply, of course. Nothing but the gurgling of the lava and the indistinct whispers from the Dark Side behind him.

Obi-wan’s chin sank to his chest. He couldn’t be sure how much time passed while he hung limply in the grasp of whatever the Son had summoned from the symbol’s center. The next thing he was aware of was the Son’s mellow voice.

“Not a complete waste, I suppose. At least I still have you.”

Obi-wan lifted his head, blinking away the sweat that stung his eyes. The Son stood in front of him, bent so as to inspect his prisoner.

“What happened to Anakin?” Obi-wan asked. “Where is he?”

“That explains it. You managed to use your Light side of the Force,” the Son said, seeing the dried blood beneath Obi-wan’s nose. He straightened. “The Dark Side doesn’t like you.”

Obi-wan watched as the young-but-ancient being began to pace. His brow furrowed with resilient hope. Something had happened to frustrate the darksider. Anakin was nowhere to be seen, and he couldn’t help but hope that his former apprentice had come to his senses and thrown off the Son’s hold.

“Your warning means the ship is temporarily an inviable option, and now that my father has interfered the Chosen One has forgotten what I showed him.”

Obi-wan couldn’t help but smirk a little. His warning, faint and small though it must have been, had reached Ahsoka. She was very in tune with the Force for one of her age. He was very proud of her. And if the father had done what Obi-wan could not and saved Anakin, they could leave.

“How frustrating,” Obi-wan said, looking up at the Son. “I’m sure it was a good plan.” He left no doubt he meant the opposite.

The Son’s growing red eyes flicked toward him, but the being refused to be baited. “The Chosen One is powerful. More so than he knows. Fortunately, at this point in time, he would do anything for you. Especially if…” the Son’s voice trailed off, and he made a gesture.

Obi-wan was taken by surprise as he was jerked aloft so his feet dangled over the portal in the Well. The black thing coiled around him seemed to pulse faintly like a heartbeat. Obi-wan stared downward, his own heart thumping against groaning ribs.