James knows he's overprotective. Really, he does. He's not sure why. Not sure where it comes from. He's never lost anyone, never had anyone walk away from him, he hasn't lived through what Sirius has. What Remus has. There's no reason for him to have this deep need to protect when nothing has ever been taken from him. But he does. If you wanted to be cute, and sometimes his mother does, you could call it the Gryffindor in him. But it's more than that. It scares him sometimes, if he's honest. It's too...intense. He feels it about Sirius, about Remus, about Peter. This need to be at their sides. To make sure they're okay. To destroy anything and anyone who tries to touch them. Because they're his. His to protect. His to keep. His to love. It's too much. He knows it is.
It's worse with Regulus.
He doesn't like Snape. Whatever Lily says, he doesn't see much that's redeemable about the kid. But he's glad that Filch showed up when he did, glad that he pulled them apart. Because, for a minute, when he came around that corner, when he saw Snape with Regulus pressed against the wall...he doesn't actually think he was going to kill him. He hopes he wasn't. But merlin he wanted to. He felt the need burn under his skin. He wouldn't have needed magic. Wouldn't have needed a wand. He'd have done it with his bare hands. And that scares him.
Scares him almost as much as the way Regulus shakes in his arms. The way he cries silently into his chest. James has never felt his age quite so much as when he was crouched on the floor, trying to get Regulus to breathe. All he could think was; "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. Someone help. Someone get my mum."
It hurts. People hurt. Even when they don't mean to. Even when it isn't their fault. It hurts to see Remus the morning after a full moon, which is a selfish thing to feel, or to think, but it's true. It hurts to see him broken and battered and filled with loneliness. Just like it hurt to watch Regulus fall apart. He knows it isn't about him. None of it is. But it hurts like it's his. And he's sorry. And he wishes he was stronger. Wishes he was more. Wishes he wasn't the only person he knew who wasn't covered in scars.
"We're going to have to move," Regulus says eventually, still pressed against him, invisibility cloak over their heads. James's arms instinctively tighten around him.
"Lets go back to the room. Can we do that?" he realizes he shouldn't be making demands right now. But the idea of letting Regulus go back to that dorm—the idea that Snape might be waiting for him...
"Filch might check—"
"The room?"
"If you went back to your dorm."
James shakes his head. "I've already got one detention, another won't make much of a difference."
Regulus is quiet.
"I'm asking Reg," James says gently, "it's a question, you can say no. You can always say no." He knows he handled things wrong, before. Knows he looked disappointed when Regulus turned him away. He's never been good at guarding his emotions. He hates that he did that. That he made him think—for even a minute—that he had to do anything he didn't want to.
"I know," Regulus whispers back, before burrowing further into James's chest.
His hand goes to the back of his head, holds him there.
I love you.
I love you.
I'm so sorry that I wasn't there.
I'm so sorry that someone hurt you and I couldn't stop it.
I'm so sorry that I don't know what to do.
"Okay," Regulus says finally. "Okay, lets go."
"Yeah?" James tries to keep the relief out of his voice.
"Yeah. Yes. Yes James."
It's a slow process, getting Regulus back on his feet. James suggests carrying him but Regulus sends him a look so sharp James can't believe he isn't bleeding from it. He keeps one hand around Regulus's waist and the other holding up the invisibility cloak, even though it doesn't quite cover their feet. He figures some coverage is better than none, and he's not at all certain that Filch isn't coming back.
By the time they make it to the room he thinks they're both exhausted. He tosses the cloak over a nearby chair, Regulus collapsing onto the bed leaving James standing awkwardly by the door. He wants desperately to be closer but knows better than to move. He may not understand where it comes from, Regulus's fear of hands, and bodies, and touch. But he knows that Regulus hates it, that he's almost—ashamed of it. And that he'll let James cross boundaries if he pushes. Clearly it's something Regulus has grown used to. So James is so, so careful not to push.
"Do you have practice tomorrow morning?" he asks finally.
Regulus shakes his head, still lying on his back. "No. You?"
"Course, Frank's a complete tyrant."
"Please, you love it."
"Maybe," James admits, feeling shaky even as they fall into familiar patterns, "but I don't want him to know that."
"No, I suppose not."
There's another pause, the fire burning low, somehow anticipating their level of exhaustion.
"I'll sleep on the sofa yeah?"
"James—"
He knows that tone. Hears the pain in it. The fear. "It's alright Reg. I don't mind. Really."
Regulus sighs. "Has it ever occurred to you that you should mind? That you should want more? More than—"
"No," James cuts him off, voice steady. "It hasn't."
Regulus lets out another sigh, kicking his shoes off before wiggling so that's he's sitting up against the headboard. He looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept the whole time he's been gone. There are craters hanging under his eyes, his skin pale, his hands unable to stay still. Constantly fidgeting in his lap or with his sleeve.
"Okay, the sofa, but can you come here first?" he looks nervous when he says it.
When James had walked in here the first time, it had been hard not to react to the boy in front of him. Regulus had been swaying against the back wall, eyes barely able to focus, body held so tightly James was afraid he was going to snap. At least now he's present. But it's—it's all laced with a new kind of fear. One that's closer to the surface.
"Sure Reg," he sits on the side of the bed, leaving space between them. After a few moments Regulus reaches out, playing with James's fingers, slowly, carefully. James doesn't move.
"What happened," Regulus says finally, not looking up from their hands, "with Snape? I wasn't really...I didn't really see."
James blinks, surprised by the question, really feeling that he ought to be the one asking. "I heard you two arguing—or, well, I heard Snape anyway, he wasn't exactly keeping his voice down. So I followed the noise and when I found you he—he had you pinned against the wall," Regulus's hand stills, and James feels the anger fresh again, the desire to rip Snape to shreds.
"So I pulled him off you and he took a swing at me," Regulus looks up at that, squinting.
"He hit you?"
James snorts. "Not very well, Snivellus has never excelled at physical altercations."
"You would know I guess."
"Mm," James nods noncommittally. "Anyway, I hit him back, somewhat more effectively."
"I noticed," and James thinks he catches the hint of a smile in Regulus's mouth.
"Mostly we just shoved each other around a bit, he shot off a spell at some point but it missed by a mile."
Regulus doesn't respond right away, still playing with James's fingers. "I think he knows," he says eventually.
James raises his eyebrow. "Knows?"
"About...us."
"Is that why you two got into it?"
Regulus forces a breath out of his nose. "No. No, that was...well, anyway. The way he was looking at us, when Filch dragged him off, I think he knows."
"I don't know, it's not like we were snogging or anything."
"We weren't behaving...platonically."
James makes a scoffing noise. "I mean, we could have been, I'd have helped any of my friends out the same."
Grey eyes look up, tired. "But we're not friends."
James doesn't have an answer for that. Doesn't even know where to start.
Eventually Regulus sighs, pulling his hand back into his own lap. "I'm just warning you, because if I were Snape, the first person I would go to would be Sirius." James doesn't miss the way his voice frays on his brother's name.
He still doesn't know what the right thing to say here is. What it is that Regulus wants to hear. "It'll be his word against ours, he hasn't got any way to prove it."
Regulus leans back against the headboard, breathing in and out in that way he does sometimes, like he has to think about it. "Since when do you need proof to spread a rumour at this school?" and before James can answer he goes on; "Besides, that's why he'll go to Sirius. He won't need to prove it, he'll just need to make Sirius doubt you. Which he will."
James hates this conversation. "Will he?" a bit defiantly.
Regulus rolls his head sleepily towards him, eyes opening again. "Yes, it's what we do. Doubt and doubt and doubt. Everything gets all twisted in that house, love and hate and all the rest. You can't trust anyone. Can't even trust yourself."
James aches for the both of them. He wishes that he could fix it, that he could stop them from ever being hurt at all. "He trusts me," James says finally, voice weak.
Regulus nods. "And you're lying to him."
James feels the air escape from his lungs, like he's just been hit. He's not entirely sure he hasn't been. He makes to stand up but Regulus's hand shoots out, wrapping around his wrist. Sleepy eyes suddenly wide.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I'm not—" he fumbles with his words. "I'm not very good right now, I'm all—all the worst parts of me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
James breathes in, trying to put out the fires those words started in his chest. Because he hadn't thought about it like that. Not really, not fully. He knows that he is one of the few people that Sirius trusts—that he's ever trusted. But it never occurred to him before that he wasn't worthy of it.
Regulus is still staring at him with frightened eyes.
"It's okay Reg."
"It's not."
"It was just the truth."
But the younger boy shakes his head. "I was being cruel. I told you I'm—I'm not very nice. I try to be—for you," he grimaces at the confession. "I'm the one who made you promise not to tell anyone, it isn't fair for me to throw it back in your face."
"Regulus," he says softly, holding the other boy's eyes. "You don't have to be nice all the time you know, nobody is."
Regulus looks at him skeptically. "Says you."
"I'll have you know there are plenty of people who think I'm an asshole."
This doesn't seem to sway Regulus. "They think you're an idiot. There's a difference."
James laughs, probably too loud, but it melts some of the ice in Regulus's eyes so he doesn't feel too bad about it. "You might be right."
"I am," Regulus looks down at where he's still holding on to James's wrist, and then, slowly, and almost painfully sweet, he brings James's knuckles to his mouth and kisses them. It's soft and quick, like something he wanted so badly he couldn't help it. His cheeks are slightly pink when he puts James's hand back down again. James wonders how it is that Regulus can be so forward about so much else and so unsure of the littler things like this?
"I should let you sleep," he says eventually, breathless, heart trying to slip between his ribs.
There are so many words crowding behind Regulus's lips, he can see them, see Regulus swallow them down. He wishes, that just once, he wouldn't. That just once he would tell James all the things he thinks are too terrible to utter. The parts of him too ugly to show. I can take it, James wants to say, trust me.
"Thank you," Regulus says finally, voice quiet.
"For what?"
The younger boy shakes his head. "All of it. Everything."
They watch one another for too long before James eventually gets to his feet. He reaches his hand out, slowly, pausing before they touch, "Can I?"
There's a moment of hesitation before Regulus nods; "yes," he says softly.
James holds his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as Regulus closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. James bends forward and presses a kiss to the top of his head before pulling away.
"I'm not going anywhere Regulus."
The younger boy blinks his eyes open, so serious and stoic. "I know," he says, though the pause gives him away.
"I mean it."
Regulus looks almost sad for a minute, before he's able to wipe his expression clean, neutral. "I know you do."
He considers pushing the matter but decides against it, not tonight. "Goodnight Reg."
"Goodnight James."
James is slightly better at sneaking back into his dorm, using the invisibility cloak to make sure he gets upstairs unseen. Unfortunately, Sirius is already awake for quidditch, and there isn't really a subtle way for James to just...appear.
Sirius doesn't seem surprised when James takes off the invisibility cloak, he just gives him a cold once over from where he's sitting on his bed.
"I—" James tries to explain.
"Better hurry up," Sirius gets to his feet, grabbing his broom, "don't want to keep Frank waiting."
With that he brushes passed him and out of the room, shutting the door a bit too forcefully considering their other two roommates are still sleeping.
Sirius gives James the silent treatment for the rest of the morning, which James thinks is a little unfair but he tries to ignore it. All he gets is glowering and grumbling and sarcastic huffs every time he opens his mouth. By the end of breakfast he's about ready to throttle Sirius. Luckily Remus, being the perceptive lad he is, makes sure to sit between them in charms and then again in potions. By lunch things are actually starting to feel a little more relaxed. That is, until James hears the unmistakable sound of McGonagall clearing her throat.
"Professor," he says, resigned. Putting down his sandwich and turning towards her.
"Really Potter, fighting in the corridor in the middle of the night?"
James can feel the eyes of each of his friends boring into him, Sirius's especially.
"What on earth possessed you to act so foolishly?" After an extended silence James realizes that she actually expects an answer from him.
"Oh—er—I was sleep walking?"
She arches a formidable eyebrow. "Really? And you just happened to sleepwalk right into Mr. Snape?"
James rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, mad coincidence that."
"Mmhm," she says, eyes running him up and down, clearly unimpressed. "A weeks detentions—"
"Oh come on—"
"—and ten points from Gryffindor."
"Professor, you know Slughorn's not going to take anything from Slytherin for this!"
She sniffs. "How my fellow professors deal with their houses is none of my business, you, Mr. Potter, ought to know better. You're in fifth year for goodness sakes."
James doesn't understand how that's relevant to anything but he can't see the point in trying to fight with her.
"You're detention starts tonight, after supper, six-thirty. Filch will be waiting for you in the trophy room, you are to be punctual and contrite, have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, Professor," he grumbles, turning back to his sandwich.
"Oh, and Mr. Potter?"
He looks up as she calls to him over her shoulder.
"If this happens again I promise you the consequences will be far more severe."
James rolls his eyes—though only once he's certain she's no longer looking. "Brilliant."
It takes him a minute to realize that the other three marauders are all still staring at him and he tries to figure out if there's anyway he can avoid having the conversation that is clearly coming.
"You got into a fight with Snape?" Remus hisses.
Apparently not.
James looks guiltily up at the confused faces of his friends—well, Remus and Peter look confused. Sirius looks angry.
"Sort of," he answers eventually. "Yeah."
"Sort of?" Peter repeats.
James shrugs. "Don't know why you're acting like this is some big deal, we get into scrapes with Snivellus all the time."
"Not usually in the middle of the night," Remus says, not unfairly.
"Yeah well, what can I say, the bloke's a tool 24/7, no rest for the wicked eh?" he tries to smile but doesn't appear to appease a single one of his friends.
"What the hell were you even doing out of bed?" Peter asks, looking the most genuinely confused out of the bunch.
James shrugs again, looking down at his plate. "Walking."
That earns him a cold laugh from Sirius, who pushes away from the table muttering something that sounds a lot like "unbelievable" under his breath.
"Pads?" Remus calls after him, but Sirius is already walking away, without a backwards glance. James watches him.
"He must have forgotten something in the room," Remus says, eyeing James nervously.
James stares for a moment longer before dropping his eyes. "Yeah. Must have."
Sirius's mood continues for the rest of the day and it's for that reason that instead of going back to the dorms after class James decides to go to the library. Maybe giving him some space will help. Besides, if he has to listen to Sirius sigh one more time he's going to lose it.
Marlene and Lily are already there, Remus having promised to be along later after grabbing some books from upstairs. James stews over his coursework. Not really paying attention to anything he's reading, mind preoccupied with the Black brothers.
He wonders how Regulus is getting on—he didn't see him at breakfast and Regulus was still asleep when James left this morning. He wasn't sure if he should wake him up or not but decided against it—if anyone needs an extra hour or two of shut-eye it's Reg.
Sirius is a whole other problem. It's clear that James can't keep shutting him out like this. Sirius won't stand for it and even though he's being a complete wanker at the moment James knows it's fair. Knows he'd probably be just as bad. But what other option does he have?
"Oi! Earth to Potter?" Lily snaps her fingers in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"Damn Evans, we're in a library, tone it down a bit."
She blinks back at him, then elbows Marlene beside her. "Mar, did you hear that?"
Marlene, who is still scribbling out her potions essay, nods. "Sure did."
Lily turns back to him, biting her lips to hold in a smile.
"I don't understand what's so funny here," he looks between the two girls, not at all in the mood for mind games.
"You just told me to tone it down," Lily says, as though that ought to make everything clear.
"Er—yeah?"
"You," she repeats, openly smiling now. "You James Potter, king of the loud-over-the-top-wankers—"
"Oi, okay, I'm not that bad."
"—you just told ME to tone it down."
He gives her a flat look. "You're enjoying this way too much Evans."
"Pretty sure I'm enjoying it the exact right amount."
He snorts, shaking his head as he looks back down at his textbook.
"That must be some page there," Lily goes on, still smiling. He'd be more annoyed if it wasn't so fucking charming.
"What are you on about now?"
She nods down at the page in front of him. "Just that you've been reading that same section for the past thirty minutes."
He blinks, looks down at the page, and then back up again. "Maybe I'm just a very slow reader, ever consider that?"
"Please, I've seen you read a dozen times James."
He grins out of the corner of his mouth. "You been watching me Evans?"
She rolls her eyes, but he's pleased to see pink stains on the tops of her cheeks. "We've been in school together for five years, I've seen you read."
"A likely story."
"So," she goes on, ignoring him, "what is it that's got you so preoccupied you can't get through a single paragraph?"
He meets her green eyes across the table and thinks, not for the first time, that this lying business is really rather exhausting and he has no idea how the Slytherins manage it.
"I don't know," he sighs, running a hand through his hair.
She sends him a pointed look that makes clear that that will not be enough for her, so he decides to give-in a little: "Sirius is upset with me."
"Oh no, trouble in paradise?"
He doesn't particularly appreciate her joking tone. "Yeah, a bit."
She leans forward across the table, expression becoming slightly more sincere. "Did you have a fight?"
And how does he even answer that? "Merlin, maybe, I can't tell."
She arches her brow. "I'm sorry, you can't tell?"
Marlene snorts beside her. "Boys," she says disparagingly.
"Hey, it's complicated, okay?"
"Somehow I doubt that," Marlene doesn't even bother to look up from her coursework.
"Mar, stop antagonizing him," Lily elbows her again, holding back a smirk. "Go on Potter, you don't know if you and your best mate have had a fight?"
"Well, we did have a fight," he tries to explain, not at all sure why he's bothering. "But we were fine afterwards."
"You made up?" she asks.
"What? No. We just pretended it never happened."
She blinks slowly. "Ah, I see, you were," she makes air quotes with her fingers, "fine."
"Honestly, you lot are way less sympathetic than I thought you would be." James crosses his arms over his chest and slouches in his seat.
"Sorry, sorry," she shakes out her shoulders. "Sympathetic Lily, in the house. So, you ignored all your feelings, dealt with nothing, and now it's coming back to bite you in the ass?"
James glares at her across the table. "That didn't sound very sympathetic."
"Didn't it?" she asks innocently, and when he continues to pout she sighs; "Listen, here's what it comes down to, did you do something wrong?"
James's stomach squirms. "Yeah," he says reluctantly.
"So apologize."
"Oh brilliant advice that."
"Well," she looks at him expectantly, "have you tried it?"
James grinds his teeth. "No," he forces out eventually.
"You might want to."
He sighs, running a hand over his face. "It's not that simple—he doesn't want an apology, he wants me to—to fix it," which is as close to the truth as James is going to get.
Lily looks at him, eyes searching his face for a moment before she speaks again. "And you...can't? Don't want to?"
James lets out a breath. "I'm scared more like." Okay, THAT's as close to the truth as James is going to get.
She nods slowly. "Well, have you tried telling him that?"
He opens his mouth, finds he has nothing to say, and closes it again. That hadn't actually occurred to him. After a few moments of watching him flounder Lily leans forward again, placing her hand on his arm which feels...weird. Nice but...weird.
"Listen, I'm not saying I'm an expert or anything, but I'm pretty sure even the giant squid knows how much Sirius Black loves you. So, whatever you did, I bet you anything that he wants to forgive you more than he wants to be angry with you. Besides," she pulls back, "it's a bit sad, one of you without the other, you're really better as a pair."
James snorts. "I'm going to try not to take that as an insult."
"Good, it wasn't meant as one."
He nods, scrubbing at his face before meeting her gaze again. "You're right. I know you are. I'm bloody miserable without the wanker."
She smiles, a little more softly than he would have expected.
"What?"
"Nothing," she shakes her head, still smiling, "just, it's sweet is all."
James pulls a face that makes her laugh.
"I'm just saying, however annoying you lot are—minus Remus of course."
"Of course," James agrees. "I've always said Remus is my best quality."
She smirks. "However annoying," she continues, "the way you look after each other, it's always been...I don't know, the most human thing about you."
"Human?" James asks. "You thought I was inhuman?"
"Sometimes, there were a few years there where you felt more like a cartoon character than a person, all those bloody proposals."
James grimaces. "Oh yeah, those."
"Mm, those."
He rubs the back of his neck, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Suppose I owe you an apology for some of them."
She arches her brow, "are you sure you don't want to just act like they never happened?" her voice is dripping in sarcasm.
Marlene snorts. "As if any of us could ever forget."
James glares at her even though she's not looking up to see it. "Thanks Mar, big help you are."
"Anytime Potter."
James exhales, turning back to Lily who watches him expectantly.
He coughs, clearing his throat. "Well...for what it's worth, I am sorry. About most of them."
"Most?" she repeats.
"Well, not the first one."
She arches her brow. "But the rest of them?"
He shrugs. "It kinda became expected didn't it? Couldn't let my audience down."
He sees the familiar expression of anger pinching her face and when she speaks again her voice is brittle. "And what about me then?"
James ducks his head sheepishly. "Yeah, I know, it wasn't—wasn't fair. You got lost a bit, ironically, in the...show of it. It just, it took me a while to figure that out. That I'd stopped doing it for you. Stopped thinking about you at all really."
He expects her to get angry but she doesn't. Just watches him. He feels uncomfortable but he does his best to bear it, to let her get out whatever it is that she needs to. If not yelling, he at least expects a dressing down, Lily is rather famously good at those. But the next words out of her mouth are not what he expects.
"But the first one," she says slowly, "you thought about me then?"
"Yeah," and he doesn't know why that feels important but it does. "You were all I thought about really."
There's a moment of silence then, both of them looking at each other, for the first time with the past laid out in front of them. Eventually James can't take it anymore.
"Well," he says, suddenly feeling antsy, "better get back to..." he gestures to the book in front him.
"Right," Lily seems to shake herself awake. "Right, yeah."
He tries to concentrate. Really. But he never does get passed that page.
James is not new to detention. In fact, he's rather old hat at it. Usually it involves cleaning, on occasion, when McGonagall is feeling particularly spiteful, it also includes essay writing. Something about making him think about his actions and consider the consequences blah blah blah. Honestly, all things considered, dusting and polishing old trophies is one of the better options. So James is feeling in relatively good spirits as he strolls up to the dusty room in the east wing of the dungeons. That is, until he remembers who he's gotten himself in trouble with.
"Oh fuck," he mutters under his breath as Snape skulks down the corridor towards them. James turns to the caretaker.
"I would rather you hang me from the ceiling by my toes than spend the next three hours with that tosser."
Filch seems almost wistful. "If only my boy, if only." He pulls out a set of jangly keys from his pocket and unlocks the door, whispering something about ministry guidelines and "a little bit of torture never hurt anyone" which, James doesn't think is strictly true. He follows Filch into the room very pointedly not looking at Snape who has come up behind him.
The door has barely closed before James has a rag and spray bottle thrown in his face. He decides to let it go however, because Filch does the same thing to Snape who makes an affronted squeaky noise that James wishes he had recorded.
"You," Filch points at James, "start at that end, and you," he turns to Snape, "that one," he gestures to the opposite end of the long, slender room, which is made up almost entirely of shelves. What all these trophies are for James hasn't the foggiest. He's done this once or twice before, a lot of them are quidditch, some are for academics or sports that James has never heard of and clearly went out of fashion centuries ago. Some are inscribed in latin so honestly it's anyone's guess.
"Wands," Filch holds out his hand.
"Wands!" Snape demands indignantly.
James just rolls his eyes, pulling his out of his pocket and handing it over.
"There's no magic allowed in detention," Filch says with a leer, motioning to Snape with his fingers. "Now, hand it over."
Snape scowls back at the man, seemingly trying to decide whether or not he actually has to listen to him. James sighs, leaning against the shelves behind him. It's a rookie move honestly, getting Filch riled up.
"Do you want want me to be fetching McGonagall, telling her you aren't complying huh?"
If anything, Snape's scowl seems to deepen. "She's not my head of house."
"Didn't say she was."
James snorts and then quickly tries to cover it with a cough as Filch looks over at him suspiciously. There's no getting on the caretakers good side, there's only staying off of his bad side, and James has always managed that balancing act rather well.
Eventually, with a dramatic sigh, Snape hands over his wand.
"Alright then, you lot get to work, I'll be back in an hour to check on your progress."
"You're just going to leave us?" Snape demands outraged.
Filch smiles. "Don't worry, you needn't be afraid, Mrs. Norris will be here to watch you, won't you sweetheart?"
There's the sound of purring before the feline emerges from between a stack of trophies on the floor, winding her way around the caretakers legs. James does his best to repress a shiver. He's always hated that cat.
"Now, if you wanna get out of here before midnight I'd suggest you start polishing."
James kicks himself upright, happy to put some distance between himself and Snape as he walks down to the other end of the room. He polishes a few trophies the muggle way, keeping an eye on Mrs. Norris and the back of Snape's head. But once he's certain that neither of them can see him, he slides Peter's wand out of his sleeve. This isn't James's first rodeo, and he absolutely refuses to be stuck in this miserable room all night.
With the quick flick of the wand the trophies closest to him start to sparkle, and James smiles.
"My, my Potter, aren't you quick," Filch mutters an hour latter when James has nearly half the room done without breaking a sweat.
"Lots of practice sir," he smiles. Filch does not smile back, his sneering gaze moving over to Snape, whose normally grey face is flushed and sweaty and made even uglier by the intense anger James can see bubbling beneath it.
"You on the other hand," Filch looks at Snape's pitiful pile of polished trophies. James reckons he could do twice that many even if he wasn't cheating. "Pick up the pace boy. I'll be back again in an hour and I expect you to have more done than that," he all but spits on the floor next to him. There is little that bothers Filch quite as much as poor housekeeping.
He gives Mrs. Norris a scratch on the head before trudging out of the room.
James turns back to the shelves behind him. Unfortunately, now that he's no longer hidden away in his corner he'll have to start doing them by hand. Still, he's managed to make an impressive dent if he does say so himself.
"How the hell did you get through those so fast?" demands an irate Snape from beside him
James lets out a long suffering sigh. He is also now, unfortunately, much closer to his detention partner.
"Listen Snivellus," he looks over at Snape, whose rag is curled in his fist as though it has personally offended him, "it's not my fault that you're crap at everything."
Snape lets out an indignant noise, like a tea kettle that's just come to boil, and James can't help but laugh, bending down to pick up his next trophy. 'Prefect of the Year' is scrawled across it and James has half a mind to nick it for Remus.
"Never would have pegged you for a queer Potter," he hears the words come out of Snape's mouth in a hiss and feels himself pause.
It's the first time anyone's ever called him that and he expected to feel...more. More about the disgust in Snape's tone. But maybe it's because it's Snape—pathetic and grasping as he is—that makes it almost laughable instead.
He looks over at the other boy, expression flat. "Sorry? Did you say something? You'll have to speak up, I'm not fluent in asshole."
Snape's eyes narrow. "Tell me Potter, does your friend know you're fucking his brother?"
"Do you know that I'm fucking his brother?" James asks, feeling the weight of Peter's wand up his sleeve and struggling to find the willpower not to use it. "Because I don't actually think you do, that's just the baseless conclusion that you've drawn in that tiny little brain of yours. So, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to polishing so that I can get the hell out of here."
Snape opens his mouth to speak but James cuts him off.
"Great. Glad we're on the same page."
He very purposefully turns away from him, scrubbing rather unfairly at the trophy in his hands. A few moments of silence pass and James starts to think that he might actually be able to get through the rest of this night without having to speak to Snape again. Of course, Snape has other plans.
"That's the second time you've come to his rescue," he says.
"Good to know you can count," James does not look up from his cleaning.
"Bit hypocritical of you, don't you think?"
James hates that he can feel himself taking the bait, responding to the infuriatingly smug tone Snape's voice has taken on.
"What ever are you talking about Severus?" he asks, forcing a brevity into his words that he does not feel.
"James Potter, defender of half bloods and muggle borns, protecting Regulus Black? Hardly adds up does it?"
James grits his teeth. "Shockingly, I don't really care what you think adds up."
"I bet I'm not the only one who would have a problem with it, even if you aren't fucking him."
James very determinedly picks up another trophy, hoping Snape doesn't notice the way his hands shake with the barely refrained desire to punch him in his stupid mouth.
"People like Lily, for example."
As someone who quite enjoys antagonizing people, James can recognize a trap when he sees one. And this one is oh so transparent. Unfortunately, that doesn't stop him from walking right into it. You just can't help yourself can you? says the voice in his head that sounds strangely like his mother.
"Oh because you know Lily so well."
"I do."
James snorts. "Really, cause from what I hear, you two aren't so close anymore. And I don't know if you've noticed, Snivellus, but now at meals, she seats with me."
Snape's mouth forms a firm line and James is about to confidently turn back to his cleaning when:
"Did he tell you, why we were fighting?"
That makes James pause, because, of course, he didn't. Which isn't unusual for Regulus. For every word he says James knows there are a dozen he doesn't. Still, he can't quite bring himself to admit that to Snape, who seems to understand it anyway, smiling again.
"He called her a mudblood."
He says it so casually, that at first James doesn't quite understand it. Can't take it in.
"What?" he asks unwillingly. He doesn't want to play this game anymore.
"See?" Snape sneers. "Hypocrite."
James throws the trophy in his hand to the side, causing it to crash into the pile behind him. "Let me get this straight," he says, the anger now clearly humming under his words. "He just walked up to you in the middle of the night and went 'oh, hey Severus, you know that Lily Evans? She's a—" his voice cuts out, unable to finish that sentence. "I'm supposed to believe that?"
Snape is clearly enjoying this.
"No. There was a bit more to it than that, though I don't think you'd have liked any of the rest of it much better. A lot of boasting about his family and blood status. If memory serves, you've done worse than shove people into walls for that kind of thing."
James has a rotting feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Because Snape is right. And God does he hate it.
"And you were? What? Standing up for muggle-wizard equality?" James asks coldly, doing his best to hide the tremor in his voice.
Snape runs him up and down with his beady little eyes. "Well, you certainly weren't."
"Fuck you." He wants to be able to say that he can't picture it. But the terrible truth, is he thinks that Reg might—might say those things—if he was pushed, if he was angry. The rotting feeling grows.
"So which is it Potter?" Snape asks with a sneer. "Which side are you on?"
"Well I'm sure as fuck not on your's."
Snape's black eyes glint viciously in the candlelight. "Are you sure about that? Because I can promise you that Regulus certainly is."
James is already in the Come and Go Room when Regulus gets there. He came right from detention. He sits at the end of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. He doesn't look up when Regulus comes in. Doesn't quite know how to handle himself.
"Oh," he hears Regulus stop. "You're ... early?"
"Yup."
He doesn't want to be angry with Regulus. He doesn't want to believe Snape. He decides that if Regulus denies it he'll let it go. He'll trust him. Because he does, doesn't he? Trust him?
"James?" Regulus asks cautiously, still standing by the door. And James knows he's let the silence stretch on too long.
With a sigh he lifts his head, looking at Regulus and feeling the breath catch in his chest.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
He swallows with difficulty.
"Did you call Lily a mudblood?" he usually avoids the word, but he doesn't want there to be any ambiguity here.
Regulus blinks, surprised and then—nothing. A mask. Empty eyes stare back at him. He hates it.
"Yes," there's no inflection in his voice and James feels something icy drip down his spine.
"Why?" he practically whispers.
Regulus looks back at him like he doesn't understand the question. "Because she is one," he says simply.
"What?"
"Unless I'm mistaken she—"
"She's muggleborn," James interrupts, maybe more sharply than he means to, or maybe just as sharply as he means to, he can't decide.
Regulus stares at him silently for a beat too long. "I'm sorry, I don't see the difference."
"You—" James's voice fails and all he can do is gape at the boy in front of him. It's several moments before he seems to find himself again. "You don't see the difference?" he repeats, and when he gets no response he runs a hand over his face.
"Reg, are you kidding me?"
"They both mean the same thing—-"
"Bullshit," he's never raised his voice with Regulus before, and he sees the impact instantly. Sees Regulus's walls go up. See his eyes grow hard. "That's bullshit Regulus and you know it."
Once again Regulus doesn't respond, standing there stiffly in the middle of the room.
"One of them is describing someone whose family doesn't have magic," James tries again, a little desperate now. "The other is attacking them. Those two things are not the same."
Still nothing.
"Reg?" he gets to his feet but doesn't move, just—just trying to get some sort of response. "Is any of this getting through to you?"
He sees Regulus's jaw clench, sees the struggle going on in his grey eyes. He just wishes he knew what it was about.
"I understand your words," he says carefully. "It's the sentiment I'm struggling with."
"The sentiment?" James repeats, uneasily.
He can see Regulus's frustration before he hears it, though whether it's directed at James or himself James can't tell. "They don't...have...magic. They will never be us, be what we can be."
James opens and closes his mouth several times before he manages to get something out. "So what?"
Regulus's eyes narrow. "So what?" he repeats almost mockingly.
"What makes you think that we're the only thing worth being? Or even the best thing? Look at—look at this Reg!" he points up at the ceiling. "You love this, this painting, this story, a wizard didn't come up with any of that. But when this room tried to give you the things you needed most that's what it chose—something muggle."
Regulus has his eyes on the painting, it looks like he's concentrating, trying to puzzle something out. James knows that this is what he's like, that he goes quiet, that he needs to take his time with things. James has to be patient. But right now it feels as though his anxiety is going to break through his skin. He'd never thought—really thought—that Reg believed any of this. He was trapped in that house, trapped in Slytherin but he wasn't—he wasn't one of them. Not really. Not his Reg. And right now James just needs him to prove it. Needs it desperately. Because he can already feel the cracks in his heart and he isn't sure he can handle more.
"I never really thought of it like that," Regulus says finally, slowly, "it's just always seemed magical to me," he shakes his head, eyes dropping back down. "That sounds stupid I'm sure."
"No," James thinks of that awe and wonder that has nothing to do with spells. "Who says wizards are the only ones with magic?"
Regulus looks away from James and then back again, like he can't quite hold his gaze. "I don't know how to see the world the way you do. It's—no one's ever said anything like that to me. Or around me. If they had my mother probably would have dismembered them."
James isn't sure how much of that is a joke.
"But you still snuck out to those muggle museums," he prods gently.
Regulus nods "I didn't really think about it at the time, I just...wanted to."
That's enough, James thinks, we can work with that.
"Reg, I get it, I do, but you need to—you can't—you can't go using that word, okay? You can't go around calling people—because if you do then—" another sentence he can't finish. "I just need you to promise okay?" James is losing the threads of his thoughts, all the things he knows need to be said but that he doesn't know how to say.
Regulus nods again, warily. "Okay, if that's what you want."
Which isn't exactly the enthusiastic response James was looking for but he'll take it. For now.
"Promise?"
"I promise James," grey eyes unwavering. And James trusts him.
He trusts him.
He trusts him.
Doesn't he?
He exhales a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, before extending his hand—a question.
Regulus looks at it for a minute before walking forward, slotting his fingers between James's and allowing himself to pulled in.
"Okay," James murmurs, resting his chin on Regulus's head. "Okay."
The boy is warm and soft in his arms and it makes James's bones ache. It frightens him, how much he feels about Regulus. And he finds himself wondering, for the first time, if maybe it's wrong.