Chapter Text
The people of London were fast, busy and reclusive, a fact that hadn't changed within the last four hundred and sixty-one years. The streets were crowded, full of life, but no one was really interacting with their surroundings, merely walking from one destination to another, without greeting, without looking around, without noticing.
When you were a stranger, you were background noise, a small detail in a day that was already filled with too much stimulation. There was no way you would be remembered by any of them, you were too small in their eyes. Insignificant, one might say.
In other words, London had the perfect conditions to go hunting, at least to James. Others of his kind preferred rural areas, where disappearances could be attributed to wild animals or getting lost in the woods, where witnesses weren't an issue and the world at large wouldn't care. But to James, the big city had always appealed to him and his style. He wouldn't hide out in the shadows, waiting for nightfall to feed on innocent people that wandered about. That simply wasn't him.
No, James would do exactly what he was doing right now, sitting on a bench in a random square and observing the people around him. He didn't have to hide, didn't even make it seem like he was doing anything other than watching. No one would notice him anyway, they were all too engulfed in their little lives to care. He could look around without anyone asking about what he was doing, that was the benefit of a large city.
What was he looking for in the crowd? That was easy to answer, for he had spent a large portion of his unending life perfecting his hunt and the attributes he searched for in a person. To put it simply, he looked for someone who was alone, having other people around would decrease his likelihood of success drastically. Someone, who might seem a little lost. A tourist was always good. In the last years, the number of tourists that visited London all by themselves skyrocketed, which James appreciated. Americans were especially easy to get, he found, but the nationality didn't matter all that much. When the hunt looked to turn out unsuccessful, he would sometimes go for locals, but those times were few and far between.
The age didn't necessarily matter, as long as the person was over eighteen. He wouldn't do children - the less blood, the easier they were to accidentally kill and he didn't want to repeat his mistakes. He also tended to stay clear of older people for the same reason, and the added drawback that they often tasted as bad as they smelled.
So, those were the attributes he was looking for. Alone, lost and an adult. The day had been rather slow, most people traversed the streets with purpose. They had somewhere to be. As James watched yet another group of friends walking close together, he thought about switching locations, since this one seemed particularly dry, but then his eyes fell on him.
A short dark-haired man was standing to the side of a building, glancing between his phone and his surroundings with a frown. With one look, James categorized him as a lost tourist, trying to figure out where he needed to go. He seemed young but not younger than eighteen, and utterly unaccustomed to the world around him.
In short, he was the perfect victim.
James stood up and slowly made his way towards the man, his eyes not once leaving him. His instincts had kicked in and he was not about to let carelessness ruin his dinner. Before he reached him, he made a conscious effort to release the tension in his body, willing himself to seem as unthreatening as possible. If he wanted this to work, he needed to be trustworthy, or at least appear that way.
He had walked up to the man, who still hadn't noticed him, too busy trying to locate himself on the map on his phone. It was a bit laughable how little sense of orientation he seemed to possess. The square was not a very difficult place to find, since it was rather large and central. But of course James wouldn't complain, it was more than welcome to him.
With as much kindness as he could muster, James cleared his throat and asked, "Excuse me? I'm sorry for just coming up to you like that, but you seemed rather lost. Do you need any directions? I'd be more than happy to help."
The stranger had startled as James began to speak and was now regarding him with his wide, almost unnaturally green, eyes, clearly not having expected anyone to address him. A paranoid one, it seemed. This might prove more complicated than anticipated.
"Ähm..." The man shut off and pocketed his phone. "Yes. Thank you for asking. I'm supposed to meet someone at the Southwark Bridge, but I'm completely lost. I'm on vacation, you see, so I've never been here before."
Odd place to meet someone, James thought. He couldn't help but note the German accent of the man, which was so heavy that it almost seemed put on if James didn't know better. A few English lessons as a child would have done him well.
"Southwark Bridge? You just walk this way," James pointed towards the right direction, "then turn left until you reach Upper Thames Street and then you turn right and keep walking until you turn into Queen Street, alright?"
They were simple directions, anyone could easily follow them, but for some reason, the man looked as confused as ever, his frown only having deepened. "I'm sorry, did you say first right and then left?" A less polite man would have laughed.
"What? No, I said first left-" James had to pause. This was an opening and he had almost passed it up. "You know what? I can just walk you there, I was walking in the same direction anyway. If you want to, that is." It was a bit of a shot in the darkness, but if he wanted to stay in the game, he needed to take risks.
Despite his obvious reservations, the stranger nodded and smiled slightly. "That would be very nice."
They began walking, at first in silence, with James stealing glances at the man next to him. He was admittedly beautiful, with brown curls that framed his face and rosy pale skin that he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into. But if James wanted to do that, he couldn't simply admire the man, he needed to show initiative.
"So," he attempted to hopefully start a conversation that revealed more about the stranger. "You're meeting your girlfriend or...?"
The stranger looked up, surprised once again at being asked a question. "Huh? Oh no, I'm as gay as they come." The sentence seemed to have slipped out and James could smell the blood rushing to the man's cheeks. He continued with an awkward laugh, "which I probably shouldn't tell random strangers on the street."
James shook his head, a kind smile on his face. "It's fine, don't worry, I'm pan myself, so I'm not homophobic. Quite the opposite, actually." And he wasn't lying, this was great news to James, seeing as he could adjust his strategy to a more fitting approach. "So, are you meeting your boyfriend, then?"
The stranger sighed. "No, I'm meeting a friend. She lives here. I'm painfully single." Useful information that James stored away in the box in his mind that had the stranger's name on it. Well, he didn't know his name yet. As if the stranger had read his thoughts, he ran a hand through his hair and spoke, "I'm Leon, by the way."
Leon. He could work with that. "I'm James." Squinting his eyes in mock suspicion, he added, "Is that a German accent I hear?"
"Yes, I'm from Berlin," Leon explained, eyes shyly flitting to the floor. A good sign.
Since Leon seemed to have the worst sense of orientation known to man, James allowed himself to make a wrong turn, elongating their time together. As predicted, Leon didn't point out the mistake, even though James had explained the route mere minutes earlier. How he had even survived until now was a miracle. James' eyes trailed the strangers around them, none of them paying any attention to him, unknowing that he had taken one of their own. "So, Leon from Berlin," he emphasized the words to prove his interest, "Why did you come to London? Simple vacation?"
"That's part of the reason," he replied. "Like I said, my friend lives here and I'm visiting her. But I always wanted to see London, it's so busy and interesting, I could wander the streets for all eternity." Leon had an awed expression that James found quite endearing.
"And you would have if I hadn't come up to you," James pointed out in a teasing manner.
Leon playfully rolled his eyes. "Do you want a medal or what?"
"Maybe." He shrugged, looking down on Leon, absolutely loving their height difference. He usually wasn't someone to take an interest in his victims, but something about this one drew him in.
To James' disappointment, they reached the bridge, even his detour hadn't been enough to make a significant difference. They came to a halt, Leon nervously glancing up at him. "You know...," he drawled, "I could find a way to make it up to you."
James tilted his head and lifted an eyebrow. "And how would you do that?"
The way Leon's face turned red again was all too enticing, from the smell alone. "I could invite you to dinner," he stated.
Wait, what? That was... highly unusual to say the least. Maybe James' earlier assessment of Leon being paranoid was way off. He gaped at the man before him, but quickly caught himself. It was unexpected and unpracticed, maybe even immoral, but it was new. As his eyes once again flitted over Leon's figure, he decided - he might have already decided since laying eyes on him for the first time.
He could have some fun with this one.
"Sure," James answered with a grin. "Where do you want to go?"
Leon looked around and shrugged. "There, maybe?" He gestured towards a restaurant in a nearby building, it was rather fancy, but nothing ridiculous.
The place seemed nice enough and the alleys that surrounded it were perfect to strike after dinner. James nodded. "Yeah, why not? I'm never one to pass up good company. How about tonight?"
"Isn't that a bit early?" Leon tilted his head, perfectly exposing his neck, a challenge to James' self-control.
Eyes not leaving the patch of skin, James answered, "Why wait?" It might have been too insistent, but it was impossible for him to focus under these conditions.
Thankfully, Leon straightened his posture again, before James could say or do something he would regret. "Alright, then. We'll meet here at seven." He turned to the side. "I think I see my friend back there, so I'll go now." With a sweet smile, he glanced back at James. "Thank you for helping me."
"You're welcome. I'll see you at seven," he said as he watched the man walk away. Truth be told, James was not ready to let Leon go, the fear of never seeing him again was all-encompassing. It wasn't that he actually held any fondness for him, he didn't know him after all, his instincts were merely possessive of what they decided was his dinner. At the end of the day, he was a hunter whose prey was walking away from him.
He had to remind himself that he had Leon's scent now and could simply pick it up from here later, if Leon decided to stand him up. There was no need to risk being seen stalking him and give Leon second thoughts about their date.
Just as James was about to leave, Leon threw him a glance over his shoulder one last time and James used the chance to wink at him, delighting at the flush he earned in return. James couldn't see Leon's friend, but that was unimportant to him. He was on the way to securing a successful hunt, if a little unconventional.
It wasn't like he'd never gone on a date with the intent of feeding, but it had never been this easy. He had never been asked out within five minutes of knowing someone. The lack of challenge was disappointing, but he hoped that the freshness of their shared evening was enough to entertain him.
He could really use some entertainment.
With anticipation crawling beneath his skin, James took the tube home. Sitting in a wagon that smelled of multiple bodily fluids and hadn't been cleaned, probably ever, brought a unique sense of humour with it. If someone had told James a century ago that he would be using public transport among the commoners, one of millions, on the way to an unglamorous and run-down flat, he would have laughed in their face. Now, he laughed at the absurdity of it all.
When he came to London all those years ago, he had climbed his way to the very top in a matter of years, determined to hold his place for the rest of his cursed existence. Funny how things could change in a mere century.
The declining trend over the years could be best exemplified in their residence. When they had first moved in together, he and his best friend, Sirius, had inhabited a manor in the upper district of town, a luxurious place that attracted the envy of passersby. But then a few stock market crashes happened, it wasn't really financially viable to be a homeowner anymore, and they had been sort of careless on how they spend their money, so eventually, they had to sell in favour of moving somewhere less expensive.
They had luck with their flat. It was located in a less than ideal area, crime-ridden would be a good way to describe it, but since James and Sirius had nothing to worry about being hurt by humans, the only effect it had was the lowered rent. That wasn't to say that the rent wasn't still monstrous, because it was, but for a five-bedroom flat, it was borderline miraculous. And much needed. Only a few years after moving in, Sirius brought a freshly transformed Remus home and the extra bedrooms quickly proved to have been a necessary precaution. Even when Remus and Sirius eventually started sleeping in the same bed, they decided to stay in the large flat, a choice that proved to have been correct when Peter had moved in with them sometime in the eighties. Only two rooms stood empty now, collecting dust over the many decades of not being in use.
As James walked up the grimy stairs of their apartment complex, he reminisced about the days long past, when someone actually came to clean the hallways and he didn't have to step past broken heroin needles. The clean freak in him was appaled.
The door gave an unhealthy squeak as he opened it, being immediately greeted by an empty living room, not an unusual sight, but still uncomfortably disappointing. Not as disappointing as the blanket that had been desultorily thrown over the backrest of the dark green sofa, which was a memento from the seventies.
Seriously, could no one in this house clean up after themselves? James grumbled and went to fold the blanket, setting it down at its rightful spot under the coffee table. Truly disgusting how James had to be the one to do everything all the time, just because Sirius was too lazy to do so.
Oh, he could wait until James got a hold of him. This was the last time Sirius would leave the living room a mess. James went to knock on the door on the far right with urgency. "Sirius?"
Nothing. He knocked again. "Sirius, I swear, if I have to go in there and beat you up, I will!"
"He's not in there," came an exhausted voice from behind him.
James turned around and furrowed his brows at Peter, who sat in an armchair in the corner, right next to a plastic plant. "Were you sitting there the whole time?"
"Yep," Peter said, his golden eyes clouded over, looking like they were about to fall shut. He seemed as tattered as the old chair he was sitting in.
"You okay? You look a bit tired, mate." James stepped closer to him. It wasn't exactly unusual to find Peter in this state, but every time it happened, it was highly unnerving.
Peter shrugged half-heartedly. "Slow day. Not a lot going on as of late."
"Why don't you turn on the news?" James handed him the TV remote from the coffee table. "I'm sure there is some emotion for you to feed on there."
"Perhaps. It's just not the same. Emotions on TV or the internet are only third-hand, you know?" James did in fact not know. The downside of having a psi-vampire live with three normal vampires was that none of them knew what the fuck he was talking about most of the time. He fed on extreme emotions, that was what they knew, the rest was gibberish to them.
James nodded, despite having no clue what Peter meant. "You need something closer, then?"
"Yes." Peter sighed. "It used to be so easy back in the day, but now you're all boring. How am I supposed to survive when there's no interpersonal drama going on?"
"Sorry," was all James could think of saying. Peter had a point, though. The last few years had seen them all adapt to a dull routine that had them grow more distant. James felt more and more how the space between him and his friends isolated them from each other, for a reason he couldn't quite figure out. There was a hole in their undead lives and he didn't know how to fill it. It was depressing to think about, so James quickly changed the topic. "Do you know where Moony and Padfoot are?"
"Remus is nowhere to be seen, as always, and Sirius is hungover in the bathtub," Peter answered, turning on the TV to his favourite channel, sky news, which was coincidentally airing the tory leadership debate. James smiled. That was sure to get Peter at least a little bit of nutrition.
He decided to check on Sirius in the bathroom. At this point, James was used to finding him in weird places after a night out, his body's affinity for hangovers having carried over from his human life. Instead of knocking, James just barged into the bathroom, finding Sirius laying in the bathtub, his eyes closed and clothes dishevelled, full of unknown stains that James didn't want to find out the origin of. "Alright?" He asked, not sure if Sirius was even in the state to answer.
Sirius stirred and murmured, "yes, now leave."
Rolling his eyes, James left the bathroom, but not before throwing a towel at Sirius. There was simply no way he would let him throw up on the floor again, where the smell would stick to it for months to come. James and his extremely sensitive nose would rather die.
With Sirius out of commission, Remus presumably asleep and Peter dreadfully boring, James had to find a way to spend the rest of his day. The kitchen was clean, the living room and bathroom were occupied, and James' own room was in perfect condition, so that only left the unused rooms to satisfy his cleaning urge. He started with the one on the far left, which had been used for storage. Even though it was the second largest room in their flat, it went unused because of the giant window with a perfect view of the sunrise, a risk none of their kind would willingly take, even if it was blocked by heavy curtains.
James and his friends would burn in the sunlight if it weren't for Peter's potions, which allowed them to be out in the sun for a limited amount of time. Peter was something of an amateur potioneer, which helped his flatmates greatly, although the quality of his creations had some room to grow. James shuddered at the memory of what had happened to him when he volunteered as a test subject. There are decidedly more fun things than puking up gold coins, James knew that intimately now.
The storage room reflected Peter's hobby, with all the empty vials and potted ingredients, that James was careful not to touch, for fear of whatever side effects they might have. Instead, James focused on the old boxes in the very back of the room, containing all sorts of ancient shit. Those were the belongings he and Sirius had brought with them when moving in way back in 1913.
He sat down on the edge of a creeky chest and got to work, sorting through the boxes, with the conscious effort of not damaging anything. There were many items he had long forgotten, like the diary he had briefly written in 1611, something that he never did again because it was just too time intensive and boring.
James spent hours categorizing items, cleaning the dust from them and putting them into the correct boxes, which he labelled as 'boring,' 'marginally less boring,' 'sentimental shit,' 'Sirius' and, the fullest box, 'random flyers that I can't throw away for some reason.' Seriously, he had found about three flyers that invited him to the Grand Bonfire of 1893, and yet he couldn't bring himself to throw them out. What if they were important someday?
Hours later, he was carrying the last box over to its new spot, when his eyes fell on the now exposed space behind it, where-
Oh.
He had forgotten that those were here.
Three portraits were leaning against the wall, buried under cobwebs and dust. One of them was covered with a moth-eaten cloth, obscuring the painting under it. He didn't need to see it, to know who it was portraying. All three had been painted in different years by different artists, yet they still looked like parts of a series.
The one on the right was done in 1791 and depicted Sirius, only two years after his transformation, wearing a red coat that he had frequented in his human life, a symbol of the French aristocratic family he came from. His eyes, an equally deep red, were pointed directly at the observer, narrowed in a silent challenge. When it was painted, James and Sirius hadn't even met yet, a sad truth. Even though they were the best of friends now, they only knew each other for a little more than two hundred years.
The painting in the middle had been done in 1848 of James himself, wearing a black tailcoat that was common for the time and a bright waistcoat that James could admit was honestly quite ridiculous. His gaze seemed to be turned to the distance and James could distantly remember standing model like that for hours, quite a stressful process. For that reason, this portrait might be the only one that existed of him. He wasn't in the habit of standing around for unreasonably lengthy periods.
The covered painting, the one on the left, closest to the window, was done in 1818 if James remembered correctly. The black and golden frame had withered over the years, but it still looked the most resplendent out of all of them. How Sirius even got a hold of it was a mystery to James, it should have been impossible. The person it depicted wasn't one of their flatmates, not even one of their friends. It was the only thing they had that belonged to Sirius' brother. This portrait was the only reminder of his existence, besides their memories, which James only allowed to the surface in the quiet shadows of night, where no one would judge him for living in the past.
Sirius' brother had been a part of his life for a few interesting decades. Well, he hadn't been part of his life necessarily, he had tried to end it, actually, on multiple occasions. A reminder that despite his undead life, he was decidedly not immortal.
James' hand glided over the fabric that obscured his old rival from view, but before he could uncover it, the noise of the door falling into the lock startled him, causing him to whip around so fast that he almost fell over the scattered boxes on the floor.
"Are you thinking about him again?" Sirius asked, leaning against the door, one eyebrow raised at James in disdain. "He tried to kill us all, you know?"
James shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, but at least he posed a challenge..."
"If you want a challenge, go and join a vampire fight club or something," Sirius suggested. "At least the chances of you dying are way smaller there."
James argued, "But you have to agree that he made existing a little more thrilling."
Judging by the exasperated glare he received in return, Sirius did not agree. Understandable, in a sense, since it was probably not the most pleasant feeling to be hunted down by your own brother. James sighed and shook his head. "You're right. He's probably dead anyway."
Sirius hummed. "No, he's not. But it doesn't matter." He walked over to him and picked up one of the boxes for James, stacking it on top of the other one. "Before I forget to ask, how was your hunt?"
Right! James had almost forgotten about that. "Pretty good, I'd say. Talked to a guy and he invited me to dinner this evening."
"Oh? So you do have game?" Sirius asked in mock surprise.
"Shut up, of course I do! Might be kinda fun to do something different like that for a change. I was getting tired of the whole stalking thing." James gave the room a once-over, checking if everything had a good new place.
Sirius laughed. "What do I hear? James Potter tired of stalking people in the dead of night?"
"Fuck off." James hit Sirius on the shoulder. "Not everyone can convince people to voluntarily give their blood."
"I'm telling you, mate, just go to a fetish club. None of them mind," he explained as they left the room, satisfied with its clean state.
James scrunched his nose. "I'm a man of tradition."
Looking him up and down, Sirius grinned and said, "Sure. If it helps you cope."
The sun was setting and James was tying his shoes, which were colour coordinated with his outfit, dominated by brown and maroon. He had gone all out for today, it wasn't often that he got to experience something new after all.
Remus, who had finally crawled out of his room, was waiting with Sirius by the door to say goodbye to him, the supportive friends that they were. As James threw on a suit jacket over his dress shirt, he opened the door, looking at his flatmates one last time.
Sirius grinned widely at him, a certain wild glint in his eyes. "Bon appetit!"
A yelp of pain could be heard, as Remus hit Sirius in the stomach. He narrowed his eyes at James. "Remember, if you kill him, I'll know and kick your ass!"
"Yes, Moons, I know." He rolled his eyes. "I'm not gonna do anything too bad." With that, he closed the door and made his way to his destination, Remus' words not leaving his head.
No one else in their household got threatened by Remus before going out, it was always just James who was distrusted to behave himself. Most likely, it had something to do with Remus' early experiences with him.
Since Sirius had gone off to war and came back with a highly confused, freshly turned soldier, things changed for James. Remus, after finally getting an explanation of what had happened to him, implemented what he proudly called 'empathy rules', which consisted mainly of the pathetic rule to not kill humans, at least not willingly. It had taken a whole decade for James to get used to it, but with time, stopping while drinking before draining someone became easier. It wasn't even really hard per se, only unfamiliar.
Besides James having not killed for a long time, Remus was still suspicious of him, which was fair. His past didn't exactly look promising with all the murders he committed, even after Remus came into his life. But at some point he really should be able to trust him, it wasn't like he wanted to kill or anything. At least not anymore.
He could stop drinking at any time, and he would.
As James reached the restaurant, he was hit by a sudden sense of déja-vu. Sometime in the 1920s, the building that now housed the small Italian restaurant was home to a trendy bar, which he used to frequent. He was quite sure that he had even taken a date there back then, funny how it all came full circle. The restaurant itself should have been fairly new, maybe twenty years old. James hadn't learned the name, he never bothered to, since establishments came and went.
He could already see Leon waiting by the door, eyes trailing the passersby in concentration. James had to stop for a moment to take in the sight, the streetlamp light only accentuated Leon's beauty by reflecting on his skin, making him look almost ethereal. He stood there, casual, nonchalant, and yet with a focus on his surroundings that distantly reminded James of a cat waiting to strike.
Adorable how Leon seemed to think of himself as the predator here.
James went up to him, conscious of portraying an approachable exterior, and greeted him. "You look lovely today."
In an instant, all the calculation in his gaze fell away and Leon warmly smiled up at him. "Thank you." His eyes flitted briefly over James. "You look quite good yourself."
"Thanks." He offered his arm to Leon, not entirely sure if that gesture was still in fashion. "Shall we?"
Leon chuckled and looked at James in what he could only assume was a healthy mix of pity and amusement, but he took the offer anyway, linking their arms and entering the restaurant.
They sat down across each other at a table for two, separated by the flickering light of a candle, atmospheric in the orange hue it gave. The first few minutes were filled with the awkward but enjoyable small talk only a first date could bring with it, while they both looked through the menu, James ordering red wine for them both and the least voluminous meal he could find for himself, with Leon deciding on some kind of pasta - he didn't pay attention to it, human food, while edible, seldom piqued his interest.
"So," James began when they had sorted themselves out, "how was the meeting with your friend?"
Leon squinted his eyes, as though trying to decipher what James was talking about, then slightly widened his eyes, before forcing a polite smile. "Eh, right. It was nice catching up with her. She has a new job here, so it was great to hear more about it."
James nodded, electing to ignore Leon's strange responses, he seemed to be an unusual person in general. "What does she work as?"
"We're both scientists, zoologists to be exact," Leon leaned back in his chair.
"Interesting. And what exactly do you do?"
"We study the behavioural patterns of certain animals, mostly predators, and determine if they pose a danger to humans."
"And if they do?"
Leon laughed. "I'm a researcher, not a hunter. If we find signs of dangerous animals, we notify the government and leave them to deal with it." He shrugged. "They usually make sure to separate the habitat of animal and human, I think."
"I've never talked to a scientist before," James stated. "Do you have a PhD?"
"No." He grinned smugly. "But I do have a professor title."
James raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You do? But you're so young."
Leon leaned slightly forward, arms propped up on the table. "I got it as a title of honour for outstanding achievements in Germany."
Now that was impressive. James was almost sad that he would only see Leon today, a scientist friend would certainly be useful. "So should I call you Professor...?"
He hesitated for a moment, before saying, "Schwarz. Professor Leon Schwarz."
"That sounds much cooler than James Potter, I have to admit," he joked, drawing a laugh from Leon, which he counted as a win.
"And you? What do you do? Or should I assume that it's your job to accompany lost tourists?"
"No." James shook his head. "I only do that for the most handsome ones. I'm a journalist." A blatant lie, Remus was the journalist, actually, but James could hardly tell him where he really worked.
Leon tilted his head, which was honestly quite adorable. "Really? What do you write about?"
"I mainly inform the public about misinformation circulating on the internet. It's usually some kind of supernatural story that actually has a rational origin, but people believe it anyway and I'm trying to change that." Thank you, Moony, for ranting about this for hours, or else James would have no idea what to say.
"Wow," Leon commented but was cut off when their food was delivered to them. They ate while continuing to get to know each other. The whole time James couldn't take his eyes off Leon, there was something about him drawing him in.
James carefully studied his features, searching for something that he couldn't put his finger on. The proximity gave him a perfect view of Leon's skin, decorated with freckles that he could never even begin counting, as vast as they were, unfathomable like stars on the night sky.
Amidst the freckles rested small lines, scars, James assumed, rough and delicate all at once. It was a wonder that he hadn't noticed them before, especially the one on Leon's cheek, stretching from the bottom of his eye all the way down to his chin, where it disappeared. James distantly wondered if he was hiding more of these marks under his blouse.
"Your eyes have a very peculiar colour, you know?"
He was startled out of his thoughts by Leon's voice and hummed in confusion.
"From up close, they almost look... red." The man across him regarded him with an inquiring gaze, insistent and also heated, in a way.
James chuckled. "That's just the lighting. My eyes are actually hazel," he explained, maybe a bit too dismissive, but he was sure that a man of science would never make any suspicious connections like that.
"Hm." From that point on, their conversation circled around different subjects, James made the effort to learn as much about Leon as possible in the limited time they had, out of pure curiosity. Somehow, they had landed on the topic of family, with Leon talking about his cousin, who seemed to have a great influence on his life.
"What about your parents?" James asked, regretting it immediately when Leon's smile fell and a sense of hollowness overcame his expression as if he was reminded of an uncomfortable truth.
"They're dead." Leon shrugged, trying to seem unbothered. "Killed when I was younger."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, frowning. James had a great deal of experience with losing people or being responsible for other people losing someone, but he was still uncomfortable with hearing about it first-hand, being reminded of the grief he himself had caused on countless occasions.
Leon nodded, while the life slowly crept back into his face. "It's alright. They weren't the best parents anyway."
"It's just you and your cousin, then?" James carefully asked.
"Yes. It used to be a lot more, but the rest of them are all dead, my aunt and uncle, my other cousins. My brother as well." He stated it like a matter of fact, with a hint of challenge to it, as if he was expecting James to refute him, to say that they were indeed alive.
Obviously, he said no such thing.
Before James could express his condolences once more, Leon continued. "And you? Do you have any family? Friends?"
"I don't really have any family, but I have three flatmates. They basically are like family. We used to be inseparable," he answered truthfully.
"Used to?"
James sighed, for once not having to lie. "It's not been the same lately. We're all kinda living our own life. Sometimes I wish that things were like they used to be, but I don't know how to do that." He took a sip from his wine. "I just wish that we could all be best friends again, you know?"
Leon frowned, thinking for a moment. "That sounds tough."
"It is, yeah."
For the remainder of the dinner, they stuck to small talk. James wasn't sure what Leon was thinking, but he was worrying his bottom lip, a movement that, as seductive as it was, seemed to be born from a kind of inner turmoil that James would love to know the details of. There was no hint in their conversation, however, so it seemed like this was one of those mysteries that would have to be left unsolved since their date was inching closer to its end.
"I had fun today," Leon said with a shy smile as they exited the restaurant, the cold night air greeting them.
"Me too," James returned, a lopsided grin on his face. It was only them and the streets now, he could feel his instincts beckoning him, his self-control loosening. The only thing he could see was Leon and the only smell he could perceive was the scent of his blood. But he couldn't strike, not here in the middle of a busy street. "Do you want me to walk you back to your hotel? We wouldn't want you getting lost again, would we?"
Leon raised an eyebrow and smirked. "No, I guess we wouldn't. I'm staying at the Savoy Hotel."
"Fancy," James commented.
"I am a fancy person."
"I can tell." He held out a hand to Leon, who took it without hesitation, a sign of trust that James would shamelessly exploit. He guided them through the streets for a few minutes, until they were about to enter a secluded alleyway, when Leon stopped, his hand slipping away.
"Are you sure that's the right way?" He asked, biting at his bottom lip again and regarding the narrow alley with caution.
"It's a shortcut," James said, stepping closer to him. "Come on," he almost whispered, taking Leon's hand and gently leading him away from light, from people, from safety.
Darkness encased them, the shadows welcoming James like an old friend.
"James," he heard Leon hiss from behind him, panic gradually infusing his voice. James turned around to him, studying the way Leon's eyes squinted, trying to see something in the unnatural dark that surrounded them. He closed the distance between them, delighting how Leon's breath hitched, frozen in fear as James drank up any reaction of his.
Moments like these were the most intimate. Nothing but him, his victim and the shadows around them.
James trailed a hand down his cheek, tracing the mysterious scar, as the other one held him by the hair, tilting his head to expose his neck. "Don't worry, it won't hurt too much," he hushed teasingly. The only thing he got in return was a whimper, accompanied by a shiver that only furthered his fixation on Leon's delicate neck. He would have expected the man to put up more of a fight, but oh well, he wouldn't complain over an easy hunt.
He inched closer and closer to the point of Leon's pulse, his breath fanning against his skin, fully intent on drawing this out as long as possible. As he was about to finally sink his teeth into the soft flesh, his instincts kicked in, automatically pulling away and blocking something with his arms, before he even realised what had happened.
Directly over his chest hovered a wooden stake, held in place by Leon's nimble hands which were parried by James' own, barely a hair between him and certain death. James looked up into Leon's green eyes, which he now identified as contact lenses, a fiery determination burning in them, nothing left of the shy scientist he had gotten to know.
All of a sudden it all made sense. The vague back story, the scars, the put-on accent, the too convenient invitation to dinner and - okay, maybe James should have seen this coming.
"You're a slayer," James felt the need to speak out, though, of course, both of them already knew that. There was no reaction from Leon, nothing to indicate there was anything on his mind other than killing James.
As to prove his point, Leon pulled away with a jolt, trying his luck again. One stab, then another, both blocked by James. He had to give it to him, Leon was agile, with the way he worked on penetrating James' defences, but he was still human. James caught one of Leon's arms as he went in for another hit, and used his body weight to push him back, pinning him against the wall behind him.
James took a second to breathe, searching his opponent's features for any explanation for why he was the target of such a careful assassination attempt. From up close, James realised that the scar on Leon's cheek was longer than he originally thought. Much longer. It extended all the way down to his neck.
He knew that scar.
He had made that scar.
"Regulus Arcturus Black," he whispered in shock.
"The one and only."
Le- Regulus used the distraction to kick James in the stomach, forcing him back, and immediately went after him, pushing him to the opposite wall. James only narrowly dodged the stake. He grabbed Regulus by the arms and switched their position with all the strength he could muster, pinning him once again.
Now that he knew who he was fighting, James wouldn't take any risks.
He held Regulus' mouth shut with one hand, tilting his head in the same way he had done before.
James took a breath. "I've been waiting for this for more than two centuries."
Before he could lean in, a pungent pain caused him to instinctually let go. His hand was bleeding profusely where Regulus' teeth had pierced the skin.
"Oh, fuck," he shouted. "Are you the one with fangs or what?!"
Regulus ignored the dramatics, using the opportunity to lunge at him, stake at the ready. He forced James to the ground, looming over him, about to stab, when James grabbed him by the back of the head, pushing him to the side. They struggled on the floor until James found his opening, successfully overpowering Regulus, nailing him to the ground under his weight. He forced the stake out of his hands, throwing it far away.
James pinned him by the wrists, looking down on him as he caught his breath. "You are a handful, did anyone ever tell you that?"
Through the contact lenses, James could see nothing but contempt. In perfect English, absent of the heavy German accent he had pretended to have, he spat out, "Fuck you, Potter."
"Fine, be like that. It's not gonna save you."
Not wasting any more time, he leaned in and bit into his neck as Regulus squirmed beneath him. The taste of blood that he had waited two hundred and ten years for entered his mouth, finally quenching his thirst. One of his hands went to the collar of Regulus' blouse, intending to free more space.
A white garish pain ripped through James' brain and he immediately drew back with a hiss, his skin burning. He retreated until his back hit the wall, unable to do anything but wait for the pain to stop.
It did and James looked up, seeing Regulus lean against the wall opposite of him, wearing an undiscernible expression, white blouse stained red and the opened collar revealing a silver cross necklace.
They stared at each other with wide eyes for a while, catching their breaths, James cradling his bleeding and burned hand to his chest and Regulus pressing his sleeve to the wound on his neck.
An unspoken agreement was made, a sign of respect between two old rivals.
With a nod, James retired to the shadows, fleeing into the night, not knowing how to recover from an encounter not even the moon bared witness to.