#jegulusfic

Regulus-centric

Jegulus

Regulus is Harry's parent

Zombie Apocalypse AU

Slow Burn

Angst w/ Happy Ending

OR OR OR

The way I have no patience for the things I want to read.

Regulus-centric Jegulus Regulus is Harry's parent Zombie Apocalypse AU Slow Burn

It started small. He would follow the name with the map at night until it eventually stayed in the dorms, until one night he saw the name start up again after only about an hour of being stationary. It couldn't be going to the Astronomy Tower, the first years were still in class, and he wanted to make sure Regulus was safe.

So after a few seconds of contemplation he grabbed the cloak and snuck out, using the map to guide him until he caught sight of pale freckled skin.

James remembers his breath catching for the first time at the sight in front of him, how the moon seemed to light up his skin, highlighting the curls in his black hair, showing off the stark white streak, and the jewelry that he adorns himself with.

There was something inside him that realized that this sight, the sight of Regulus star gazing in a small alcove with a book open but not being read, was all his own. The openness within silver eyes so different compared to the apathy that is usually shown.

James could feel his neck constrict as suddenly the urge to take filled him. But he couldn't. That's... that's wrong. But he can't leave now, Regulus would hear his steps, know that someone was here with him without his consent.

At least that's the excuse he gave himself at the time. He doesn't know how long he stayed there, watching with his fists clenched at his sides. He hadn't noticed before, but the streak of blond goes all the way to Regulus' lashes. It's mesmerizing. Connecting the freckles into the stars and patterns that the other is watching.

He feels so guilty the day after, he doesn't look anyone in the eye and just the sight of Regulus in the great hall is enough to heat his face to the point that he feels lightheaded. He's lucky that it's hard to tell. He doesn't plan to do it again. It makes him a bit sick to think that he did that in the first place, that he just couldn't help himself like the usual sick excuse people give when they're caught like that.

But he does. He does do it again. He can't help it. The image stays stuck inside his mind, and it warps his fantasies. Green eyes turn grey as the curtains around his bed are spelled shut, pale skin that loses its rosy undertone as he closes his eyes tight to lose himself in his imagination.

He needed to see it again.

It was months of the same thing over and over again. Promises that he won't go again, that he won't do anything again, that he'll give back the small collection of rings that don't fit his own fingers and fess up. He doesn't. He can't. He aches to be close. To feel soft skin against his own.

He knows if he's caught now it would be disastrous. Regulus wouldn't want anything to do with him. So he just has to keep their hidden moments together to himself. He doesn't even think he feels guilt anymore, just the stress of keeping it to himself. Not being able to brag about how he's seen every inch of Regulus, sneaking in when his roommates are out or when Quidditch games are over just to watch.

Not when it would leave him with a label that, while probably accurate, feels dirty. He's just looking. Admiring can't be that much of a crime, could it?

That doesn't mean he doesn't daydream about Regulus finding out, though. Mainly, it's about more improbable outcomes. How Regulus' eyes would go wide and coax him into the shadows like he hasn't already been the reason that James will be dragged to hell when he dies. But he's thought about the more realistic ones, and those are things he just can't let happen. He can't let Regulus look upon him with disgust and disdain, not when Regulus only just started to look at him at all.

So he'll keep it to himself until he's unable to. Keep their hidden moments together close to his chest. They're just for him. No one else.

chapter four

preview for this chapter under the cut

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He is sure that at some point he could have confused it with something else, with what it once was. If he only took a glance he would see something very different then the view in front of him. He would just see skin and movement and think 'person.' However he has taken more than just a simple glance. And now he finds himself staring.

Staring at the sallow, sunken skin full of imperfections and spots that seem close to bruises littering its skin. Staring at the jerky movements it makes as it slams around the enclosed desk it finds itself trapped behind. Leo takes several steps back but he doesn't look away. He can't.

It stops occasionally to pick at something he can't see on the ground beneath it, but it doesn't seem too taken. There's a large gash down its left arm, skin peeled off and just showing the muscle and pink flesh underneath, the white of bone peaks out near the joints. Blood doesn't flow from the gash, possibly having all dripped out as it caused the noises that lured him here.

It wears wine red scrubs that are stained darker in some places, he can see the small glint of a plastic laminated name tag that is pinned to its breast pocket as it shuffles around. It occasionally tries to make a move out of the place it's trapped in only to be stopped by something blocking the way on the floor. Leo holds his breath. There's a word floating around in his mind to describe the walking corpse but the second he tries to reach out and grab it it slips out of his grasp like water. It hasn't noticed him yet, and he wishes he had at least some sort of pocket to fold the envelope into so he can more properly hold the scalpel for at least some kind of defense on the chance that it does.

Harry squirms in his arms, pushing against his shoulder, he has no choice but to adjust the little one further up because they seem to be persistent on getting away. Harry shakes their head, leaning away and pointing to the black haired walking dead.

"Papa." They whine like that means anything to him. It doesn't. He doesn't know who it once was no matter how much Harry seems to think otherwise. He is looking at the corpse of a stranger. Nothing more.

A small hand pushes against his cheek and the little one almost slips out of his grasp again. He makes a small grunt and Harry repeats, “Papa."

He doesn't know what Harry thinks they're trying to do because he highly doubts that they can even walk without assistance. They are so determined to escape the hold that they cried for earlier, reaching towards the dead. He takes a small glance to the corpse and it's already looking back, staring off in his direction, but quite not at him. It looks the same as it did a few seconds ago but he swears that it seems almost confused, it's dead lax face now almost scrunched up. But it doesn't try to start going near him or breaking out from behind the desk so he supposes it could be worse. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all.

A flash of annoyance flits through him as he still can't recall how or why he knows these things, no matter how small they seem to be. Harry doesn't help with his current state as they start to whine again but it's quickly silenced by the startling sound of a heavy thunk. Leo looks over again to see the corpse halfway leaned over the counter and he takes another step back, his breath feels cut short and he can feel his eyes widening and heart speeding up. Harry's hand finally stops pushing against his face for a second.

It still hasn't managed to spot him somehow, and instead it grips the hair of the man slumped against the desk, pulling the body up with surprising strength. The movement jostles the glass embedded in the skin, blood getting spread up the side of the vinyl as the body gets dragged by seemingly brittle arms until the torso of the body lays flat against the desk top.

The corpse seems to take a second -the same second Leo takes to regain his breath- watching and looking at the man's dead complexion that is similar to its own before its hands slowly touch the sides of the dead man’s face, trailing down and feeling along the skull almost unconsciously. Leo watches in some dreadful fascination as it feels over the man's nose and lips and neck until discolored fingers reach the body's collarbones. He feels like he had only blinked before suddenly the skin of the chest and stomach was being torn open and the corpse was face deep in the cavity it had made, not caring about decorum or etiquette as it gorged itself. The sounds it makes are down right gag inducing. The wet comping and pulling and gurgles seep into his mind and he's worried that he won't get them out, that it might stay where his memories used to sit.