Crimson Rivers

Chapter 2

Well, at least there are perks," James says with faux cheer, reaching out to pluck a tiny lemon tart off the table that's full of food that's surely exquisite.

Regulus resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course James would try to look on the bright side. He's so annoyingly positive, Regulus hates him. He's hated him for years.

Not all of them, admittedly, but years nonetheless.

Sirius looks tired. He's not eating, and neither is Regulus. The train continues on, and the only one who has spoken is James. Regulus looks at him and wonders how he can manage to act like things are fine. Does he look at Regulus and wonder if he'll have to kill him, the way Regulus looks at him and wonders if he even can? Nothing about this is fine.

"No, really, you have to have one of these," James declares with his mouth full, eyes wide as he waves the tart at them.

"Well, this is all very...somber," Pandora says as she comes sweeping into the train car, her lips pursing. She's a Hallow through and through, her eccentric style loud and dramatic. Her voice, despite being the one to call his name at the reaping-the reaper, if you will-is very soothing.

Regulus leans back in his chair and says, flatly, "Well, death is a somber subject, generally, except to the Hallows, I suppose. James and I are going to be knocking on death's door soon enough, so you'll forgive us for being a bit...maudlin."

"Death is a somber subject to us, too," Pandora tells him with a frown, her eyebrows tugging together.

"Oh, how shocking," Regulus replies, tilting his head in mock confusion. "I thought you Hallows thrived on that sort of thing, but only when it's people like us, right?"

Pandora presses her lips into a thin line, looking ridiculously hurt, and Regulus doesn't regret it. She sniffs in offense and narrows her eyes at him. "You know, with your attitude, I don't really expect you to get many sponsors, Regulus."

"Well, that's more Sirius' job than mine," Regulus mutters.

"You have to give me something to work with, Reg," Sirius says wearily, his gaze fixed on the window as he watches the world outside whip past them. "I can't present something to the sponsors if you won't give them something to like."

"I don't really care," Regulus admits, because he doesn't.

Sirius' gaze snaps over to him. "You need to care. Sponsors can save your life in the arena. I would be dead if it wasn't for the sponsors I had and Effie's brilliant management of them, but I was charismatic. You..." Sirius makes a face, and Regulus scowls. Sirius snaps his fingers and points at James. "Now, him? It'll be easy to get sponsors for him. He's charming, he's kind, he knows how to make people like him. It'll be like taking candy from a baby. But you? I mean, you never smile, and you're just-you're really fucking mean, and grumpy, and miserable. People aren't going to like that."

"So, what I'm hearing is, to get sponsors, I'm not allowed to be...myself?" Regulus asks in disbelief.

"Yes, exactly," Sirius replies promptly, the prick. "Be like James."

Regulus glares at him. "I'm nothing like James."

"Yes, as we've established, which is the problem," Sirius tells him, utterly oblivious to the way those words are a knife sinking into Regulus' gut. Regulus knows that already. Regulus has known that for a long time.

"I think-I don't know," James mumbles, looking down at the plate of tarts. "I mean, I would sponsor him."

"You would sponsor everyone," Sirius says, heaving a sigh. He tips his head towards Regulus. "Even the least desirable ones."