It's nice out. Late spring, the sun has set, the breeze cool but not cold. James closes his eyes for a minute and breathes in, letting the night fill his lungs, stars just starting to wink themselves into view.
"What about that one," he's on his back in the Quidditch stands, pointing up at the sky.
"Which one?" Regulus asks beside him.
"The group there, to the left of the moon."
"Oh to the left of the moon, well that clears it right up," Regulus says dryly and James elbows him.
"Those ones there you prat, the group that looks like a turtle."
Regulus lets out a juvenile snort that makes something warm pool in James's stomach. He turns his head to look at the other boy who's also lying on his back.
"I don't know what's so funny, it does look like a turtle," James says, shuffling just close enough that his words ghost over Regulus's neck. He grins as he sees the other boy shiver, eyes fluttering closed.
"I promise you it doesn't," Regulus says, a little breathlessly, and James likes that so much that he leans forward and plants a kiss just behind his ear, staying there for a few seconds before pulling back to look at the sky again.
"Oh, it totally does, look, right there," he uses his finger to connect the dots, "that's the shell and there's the neck and the head."
Regulus squints up at the sky. "You—oh Jesus Christ, Ophiuchus? You think Ophiuchus is a turtle? You really are an uncultured heathen aren't you?"
"Pfft, sorry I wasn't named after a bloody constellation."
"Regulus isn't a constellation, it's a star, thank you very much."
"If anything that's more embarrassing."
Regulus glares at him. "You know, I don't know where you get off mocking my name when you're the one named after the gay king. Bit on the nose don't you think? Overkill, even."
James blinks, looking over at him. "Wait. Really?"
Regulus rolls his eyes. "You don't know astronomy or history? Tell me, why do people think you're so smart again?"
"Was there really a gay king? Of England?"
Regulus lets out an exasperated sigh but James can tell that he's enjoying this. "James I of England and the VI of Scotland—had a string of young, very pretty, male lovers."
"No shit."
Regulus snorts. "Eloquent as always James."
"Please, call me your majesty."
"I definitely am not going to do that."
James grins wickedly, "Aw come on Reg," he tickles his side.
"Don't—James—" he's already giggling.
"Come here pretty male lover," he pulls a squirming Regulus on top of him, Regulus pitching forward, hands landing on either side of James's face. Their eyes meet and hold, the world no bigger than this—this moment between them, this breath, this look.
James reaches his hand up, fingers running through Regulus's hair, swooping down to cup his face.
"Will you bow to me Regulus?" he asks cheekily.
"Mm," Regulus turns and kisses the inside of his palm. "I could, but I'd rather get on my knees for you."
James almost chokes on his next inhale, Regulus smiling as he drops his head and brings their mouthes together. So much in James's life is a mess right now, but this, this has felt so right recently. This has been all good days. And James is grateful, because he's not sure how he'd be managing without it.
Regulus trails kisses across his jaw, his throat, James's hands sliding up his shirt.
"Fuck, your hands are cold," Regulus murmurs against his skin.
"Need you to warm them up."
Regulus snorts. "You're terrible at this."
"Please," James says, as Regulus pulls back, hovering above him, knees on either side of James's hips. "I'm endearing."
"You're something alright."
James makes an impatient noise at the back of his throat, sitting up so that Regulus is essentially in his lap. "So much teasing, not enough kissing."
Regulus laughs into his mouth as James's hand goes to the back of his head and brings them together again. James is still surprised by how warm Regulus is, how soft. He goes pliant in James's arms, leaning into the kisses, making small, happy noises when James bites his lower lip.
"We're going to have to stop," Regulus is breathless, forehead pressed against James's, "or I won't be able to concentrate tomorrow." James's gut twists at the mention of tomorrow but he tries to push those feelings aside.
"Ah, you've discovered my brilliant strategy," James says, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of Regulus's neck.
"Brilliant strategy?" he asks skeptically.
"Distract the other team's seeker with memories of my sexual prowess."
Regulus leans his head back and laughs, the noise echoing in the empty stadium.
"Oh sure, you laugh now," James goes on, holding back his own smile, "but have you ever tried flying a broom with a hard-on? Bloody difficult."
Regulus buries his face in James's shoulder, still shaking. "James please—stop—I can't breathe."
Which, really, Regulus ought to know is the surest way to get James to keep talking. "Can you imagine the commentary?" he clears his throat, putting on a voice. "This is shaping up to be an especially hard game today folks, specifically for the Slytherin Seeker. Wonder who he'll be Slythering into later?"
"You're a child," Regulus's words are muffled as he buries his face further into James's shoulder.
James laughs, about to continue when another thought occurs to him. "Oh my God, can you imagine McGonagall's face?! I bet she'd shut the whole bloody game down. Give you detention for violating the sanctity of Quidditch or something."
Regulus shudders, sitting up so that James can see him again. "Could there be a better boner killer than McGonagall's face?"
"Oi!" James pinches him, causing the other boy to let out an incredibly adorable squeak. "I'll not have you slandering Minnie in front of me."
"Oh my God," Regulus pinches him back, "have you had fantasies about Professor McGonagall?"
James only snorts. "Personally? No. Mommy issues are not my thing."
There's a brief beat of silence before Regulus's eyes go wide. "No!" he gasps, James biting his lip to hold back a smirk. "No, he never! Tell me he hasn't!"
James only shrugs. "Listen, it is not my place to judge what your brother does or doesn't fantasize about."
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Regulus brings his hands up to cover his eyes, laughing as he shakes his head. "I can't believe he did that. I can't believe he TOLD you."
"Hey, the dorm room is a safe space," those words do something annoying to the pit of his stomach. It's only a joke, but there was a time when he would have meant it. He doesn't know what their dorm is now, but he certainly wouldn't call it safe.
"Well, your strategy has been neutralizes now, because there's no way I'm getting a boner for the rest of my life with that image in my head."
"Shame that," James nuzzles at Regulus's neck, kissing it a few times before pulling back again. "Guess we'll just have to win the old fashioned way."
Regulus blinks, cheeks flushed from James's mouth. James has learned that necks are a particular weakness of Reg's. Breathing, touching, kissing—it all brings that slightly glazed look to his eyes.
"Old fashioned way?"
James nods, grinning even though he can feel the return of those nagging feelings in his gut. "Bribery and blackmail."
Regulus arches his brow. "Very Slytherin of you."
"Desperate times," he really does try to keep his voice light, playful. But tomorrow is the final Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. And James cant fly.
Well, he can fly. Technically. He can get on his broom and get into the air but then—then it's just—because Sirius isn't there. And it shouldn't matter, their second-string beater is perfectly adequate. But James and Sirius have always been on the team together. Since they were twelve. And now flying without him feels like flying without his bloody right arm.
"Hey," Regulus says, tugging lightly on the collar of James's shirt to get his attention, "fuck him, okay? You're going to be brilliant."
James's huffs. "Not if I play anything like I have been," he runs a hand through his hair, leaning back. "It's just...this is supposed to be my thing, you know? I'm supposed to be good at this."
"You are good," Regulus says vehemently. "It's honestly annoying how good you are."
"Apparently not on my own."
"You're not on your own, you have a whole team behind you."
James closes his eyes, dislodging his glasses as he massages the bridge of his nose. "I know, I know, it just—it doesn't feel like it. It's like there's no one out there who can read me anymore, who has faith in me. I know it doesn't actually make a difference, he was a beater, it's not like I relied on him to pass me the Quaffle. But it just...made me a better player, knowing I was out there with someone who believed in me a hundred percent, no matter what stunt I pulled."
There's a pause, the cool air causing the forest to rustle behind them. "You can't rely on other people to believe in you," Regulus says eventually. James opens his eyes and finds Regulus's stare trained on him.
"I know."
"Don't think, when you're up there, about faces or names," he can hear the competitiveness in Regulus's voice, the same way he sees it in his body when he plays. The need to win. "They're just players, pieces on a chess board, that's it. Focus on the game."
"Yes sir," James considers saluting but decides against it. Regulus still rolls his eyes.
"I'm just saying. It doesn't have to be personal."
"It doesn't have to be personal," James repeats, pushing himself up so that their faces are close again, "the Regulus Black motto."
"Okay, if you're just going to mock me I'm not going to bother trying to help you."
James bites back a smile at Regulus's pouty expression, brushing their noses together. "You help me, you always help," he kisses him, softly, slowly. All kissing is not the same, that's something he's learned with Regulus, having never kissed anyone else enough to understand the differences. It's one of his favourite pastimes, figuring out all the different ways to open the other boy's mouth. All the different ways to taste him.
"You are good James," Regulus says when they break apart. "I mean that."
James arches his brow. "Better than you?"
Regulus scoffs, though his eyes are all play. "You wish."
James laughs and Regulus quickly brings their mouthes back together.
"So loud," he says into the kiss, pushing James onto his back again. The older boy pulls at his lower lip.
"Guess you'll just have to shut me up then."
Turns out, James is not at all good. In fact, he is very, very bad. Playing what may be the worst game of his entire life. And if the pinched look on Frank's face is anything to go by, he thinks so too.
"Okay," the older boy says, running a hand over his sweaty face. The game is running long so Hooch called for a break, which is why the Gryffindor team is currently gathered in the locker room, looking ragged and hopeless. "Listen, I know things aren't good, but the game isn't over yet, alright?"
Mary snorts, leaning up against the lockers, arms crossed over her chest. Frank sends her a sharp look but honestly, James doesn't blame her. The Snitch hasn't been caught, but Slytherin is currently leading 140 to 80. All eight goals scored by Mary, of course, because for some reason James can't seem to keep his hands on the fucking ball.
"Beaters, I need you to be more aggressive, take more shots—nothing illegal—but the Chasers are getting too comfortable out there. Macdonald, good job on those goals, keep it up, Marlene—"
"I know, I know, I swear I'm looking," Marlene is sitting with her elbows on her knees, head in her hands, sweat bleeding through her uniform.
Frank just nods, "Sometimes it's like that, keep your eyes peeled, and stick close to Black. He moves, you move."
"Yeah, cause that worked so well for Morrow," Mary says dryly.
"You got anything helpful to add Macdonald?"
Mary doesn't balk, sending Frank's glare right back at him. "Yeah, actually, why doesn't James help me the fuck out out there?"
James grimaces, hand tightening around his broom handle.
"Back off Mary," Alice says, hand going to James's arm and giving it a squeeze. James has no idea what Frank has told her about Sirius, but he's grateful for the two of them either way.
"I'm just saying—"
"This is a team sport," Frank interrupts. "The fate of this game isn't up to one of us, if we're doing poorly that's on everyone in this room."
Mary rolls her eyes. "Oh come on, there's clearly one person who is monumentally fucking up more than the rest of us."
"Merlin Mary, shut-up!" Alice snaps.
"Oi!" Marlene's head pops up. "Don't talk to her like that."
"Then tell her to stop being such a cow."
Mary laughs, pushing off the lockers and stepping forward. "You know what Alice, just because you're screwing the Captain doesn't mean you get to do whatever you want."
"Okay that's enough," Frank tries to interject, but neither of the girls is paying any attention to him.
Alice smiles in a way that is not remotely pleasant. "Oh, you really don't want to go there." She tries to step forward too, but James grabs hold of her arm and pulls her back.
"Leave it Alice," he says quietly.
She looks back at him, face flushed with indignation. Honestly, he's not sure which of them is scarier—Mary or Alice—but he's pretty sure he couldn't take either of them in a fight.
"Look, James, I'm not trying to be a bitch," Mary says bluntly, hands on her hips. "But come on, I'm right, no? You're playing like garbage. I just don't see what good it's doing us to act like you aren't."
"Merlin Mary," Marlene mutters under her breath.
"What?" Mary looks around the room. "Did I miss something? Potter's a big boy, he can take it."
Alice is still pulling against James's grip, ready to fight.
"Macdonald—"
"You're right," James interrupts Frank. "I am playing like garbage."
"Thank you!" Mary sighs, "So, stop fumbling the Quaffle and just pass it to me every time you get it, okay?"
James snorts, finding himself surprisingly appreciative of Mary's "no bullshit" attitude.
"You got it Macdonald."
"Great, now maybe we can close that fucking gap," she looks around the room again. "Everyone okay with that?"
There's a beat of silence.
"Fine," Frank says, running a hand over his face. "But James, you get a shot you take it, okay? Don't second guess yourself."
Frank is hoping that he'll wake up. That he'll suddenly be able to fly like there isn't a chunk of him missing out there. Hell, he's been hoping the same thing, trying to do what Regulus told him—to think of them as faceless players, pieces on a board. To not look for Sirius. But he just can't quite manage it.
"Sure Frank."
Before anyone else can speak there's the ringing of a magically magnified voice in their ears.
"Teams back to the pitch, I repeat, the teams are now to return to the pitch."
Frank looks back at them, eyes running over each of their haggard, sweaty faces. "We are a bloody good team, whatever happens out there. And I'm proud of each and every one of you."
James feels his chest grow tight. This is Frank's last chance to win the cup. And he's fucking it up.
"You got it daddy Frank," Marlene stretches, getting back on her feet.
As they start down the tunnel back towards the field, James realizes that, for the first time, maybe in his entirely life, he doesn't want to get on his broom.
The second half of the game is not going any better. James's passes are sloppy, his aim off, and he keeps flinching every time he sees a goddamn Bludger. Luckily, the rest of his team is doing a bit less shit. Slytherin hasn't scored anymore goals and Mary has managed to get in two. At least if they lose now it'll be respectable. Which is not a thought James has ever had during a Quidditch match before. Usually he's more of a fight to the bitter end kind of guy. But everything feels wrong this game. The team. Him. Nothing is meshing well, and he just wants to go back to his room and wash the whole thing out of his skin.
Mary makes an unsuccessful attempt on the Slytherin goal and the Keeper chucks the Quaffle well across the pitch, overshooting his mark, so that there's no one on the receiving end. Normally James would revel in this—an easy steal. But the way this game is going, the Slytherin's will have it out of his hands in no time. Still, he has to try, doesn't he?
He's almost got it when another set of hands come out of nowhere, snatching the Quaffle before he can reach it.
"What the hell is—sorry Professor—what the heck is going on here? The Slytherin Seeker has just taken possession of the Quaffle!" booms the commentators voice across the field.
James feels just as stunned as everyone else, staring at the dark haired boy hovering on the broom in front of him.
"Regulus—"
But Regulus doesn't let him finish, grey eyes sharp. "You're throwing a temper tantrum."
James blinks. "What?"
"You're mad that he's not here so you're throwing a temper tantrum. Stop it. You're better than this."
"I am not—"
"Just because it isn't how you pictured it doesn't mean it's broken. And I'm tired of watching you give up," his eyes scan the sky behind James, watching as the other players get closer.
"What the hell Black!" that's one of the Slytherin's—Zabini maybe?
"Stop harassing my Chaser!" that's Frank.
"This is highly irregular folks, I quite honestly have no clue what's going on—weird strategy on Slytherin's part."
Regulus's eyes stop moving for a moment, locking on James. "I believe in you," he says quietly.
The wind pushes against James, rocking him like a boat. "What?"
"You said you missed having someone out here who believes in you—who has faith in you," he puts weight in his words, so that they don't float away, so that James has to hear them. "I have faith in you."
And then he's gone, flying past James and sending the Quaffle careening over his head towards one of the Slytherin Chasers. James blinks, trying to get his bearings.
I have faith in you.
Those words bounce around his head. Those words set fires in his chest. And then, slowly, James feels himself smile.
"POTTER!" Frank shouts, as James turns his broom around. "Get your head in the fucking game!"
And he does. The rest of the game is brilliant. Hard flying, fast game plays, James is out of breath and beaming by the time it's done. Gryffindor is leading 200 to 160 when Regulus catches the Snitch. It's work for James to hide his smile at the sight, Reg with the golden ball held over his head, the stands going wild. They've lost and it sucks. Really. But fuck, it feels like the first time he's really been able to fly in weeks.
"I'm sorry Frank," Marlene says even before she's off her broom. The team landing on the field, all sweating and red-faced. It was long game and the sun is starting to dip below the horizon, evening rolling in.
Frank shakes his head. "Don't be, you played beautifully. You all did."
It's loud and chaotic, the Slytherin's chanting in the stands, a few of them running onto the field along with Madame Hooch and Professor Slughorn. Green and Silver scarves are thrown onto the pitch.
"What the fuck did Black say to you and do I need to fight him?" Alice asks as she comes up beside James.
He laughs. "Nah, it was nothing," he feels almost guilty about dismissing Reg like that—dismissing what he did.
I have faith in you.
He stopped a whole bloody Quidditch match, in front of the entire school, for James.
"I knew all you needed was a little antagonism," Mary winks at him as she walks towards the locker room, squirting water into her mouth.
James laughs. "You trying to say that take down at halftime was all for my benefit?"
She turns around to face him, walking backwards. "Anything for you James, baby." But there's something not quite right—cold and sharp. It takes James by surprise, but before he can answer Alice beats him to it.
"You're lucky you didn't get socked in the face Macdonald," there's a playfulness to her voice as they start following after Mary.
"As if you'd dare Prewett."
"Bad idea to bet against me, just ask Marlene."
"She's right," Marlene admits, throwing her broom over her shoulder.
"Mar!"
"What? It is!"
James smiles at the three girls, hanging back so that he can walk with Frank.
"Alright Potter?" Frank asks, dragging his feet like he's reluctant to leave the pitch.
James nods as they slowly come to a stop near the edge of the field, Frank looking out at it all with a wistful expression on his face. James watches for a moment before clearing his throat, foot kicking nervously at the ground.
"Listen, I reckon I owe you an apology."
Frank looks over at him, eyebrow raised.
"I let you down out there."
There's a pause, in which James feels Frank's eyes on him but can't quite bring himself to meet them.
"You know," the older boy says eventually. "Two years ago—hell—last year, if Mary had said the things she said to you today, you'd have lost it on her. There'd have been a bloody duel in my locker room. But the way you handled yourself today..." he shoots James a proud smile. "You've always been a good player James, no doubt about it. But I was never convinced that you could actually lead the team, not until today."
James blinks, brain suddenly going a mile a minute. "I—wait, am I—are you making me Captain?"
Frank smirks, just out of the corner of his mouth. "But you didn't hear it from me. So do try to look surprised when the badge comes in the mail yeah?"
James nearly chokes on all the words that are trying to force their way out of his mouth. "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me, you earned it. I'm excited to come back next year and see what you do with them. You've got a good core here, but it'll be nice to get some fresh blood on the field."
James only nods, still feeling a little stunned. For some reason he'd always assumed that the captaincy would go to Marlene. Her being the most patient and reasonable of the lot of them.
Beside him Frank takes in a deep breath, eyes scanning over the field one last time. "I got into the Auror program," he says eventually.
James feels something tug on his gut. "So it's official then, no more Quidditch."
Frank nods, slowly. "It's official."
It shouldn't bother James as much as it does. The Aurors is the right choice—the noble choice. But he can't shake the feeling that it's unfair.
"Alice too?" he finds himself asking.
"Yup."
James bites down on his lower lip. "Be careful yeah?" his chest squeezes. Aurors always feel so big and scary and untouchable. Like you could throw them into anything and they would survive. Not like Frank and Alice. They're just kids. Just his friends.
Franks drags his eyes away from the pitch and back to James. "You too."
There's more to say. There almost always is. But James has no idea what, and before he can figure it out Madame Hooch is shouting at him across the field.
"POTTER, here, now!"
James squints in her direction, there are still scattered groups of revelling Slytherin's on the pitch, though the stadium has sufficiently emptied, only one or two straggles still left in the stands.
Frank lets out a low whistle. "She sounds pissed."
"Yeah," James grimaces, "think she's figured out I've been stealing Snitches all year?"
Frank laughs, patting James on the shoulder as he turns down the hallway behind them and starts making his way inside. "Merlin help you if she has."
That, James thinks, is wholly unhelpful.
Walking towards Madame Hooch, he realizes that he's not the only one who's been summoned. A spike of anxiety cutting through him that has nothing to do with stolen Snitches as he stops awkwardly across from Regulus.
"Mr. Black has something to say to you," Hooch crosses her arms over her chest, eyes bouncing between the two boys, her gaze particularly harsh when it falls on Regulus.
"Er—okay?" James shifts his weight between his feet, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. He can't quite look at Regulus, not this close, not with Madame Hooch watching them.
"I'm sorry for my un-sportsman like behaviour," Regulus says flatly.
James blinks. "What—"
"Your sincerity is truly inspiring Mr. Black, I'll be taking fifty points from Slytherin. I've never seen such vicious behaviour on my pitch and I won't tolerate it again, understood?"
"No—wait—Madame Hooch—"
But Regulus cuts him off, voice sharp. "I honestly was only making an observation, it's hardly my fault that he was playing like a drunken baboon."
James chokes, half-way between laughter and indignation. "A drunken baboon?" he arches his brow at Regulus, but the younger boy's face is made of stone.
"Yes, thank you Mr. Black," Madame Hooch says coldly. "Next time I'll disqualify you."
"Yes ma'am," he says dryly.
Hooch gives him one last look over before turning to James, hand clapping his shoulder as she walks off; "Excellent turn around in the second half Potter, really brilliant flying."
"Um...thanks?" he watches her walk away, brow knitting in confusion. "Regulus why—"
"Supply room," Regulus whispers, quiet, direct, "past the locker rooms, on the left." And then he turns on his heel, heading back towards his remaining teammates, leaving James feeling as though he's just been hit with a stunning spell. He watches Regulus's back for a moment before following what, he's assuming, are instructions.
Frank is no longer at the entrance of the stadium, the hallway clear as James makes his way down the hall, finding the supply room on the left just like Regulus said. He doesn't have his wand on him so the only light is from the small, high window on the far wall, illuminating rows of well-used brooms and mismatched Quidditch gear. The ceiling and floor are grey, the room smelling very distinctly of sweat and leather.
James runs a hand through his damp hair, wondering exactly what he's meant to be doing, when the door opens behind him. He turns around and finds Regulus slipping through.
"Hey," he says, when Regulus doesn't speak, the two of them standing awkwardly in front of one another.
Regulus nods. He looks tense and the fact that James has no idea why is wigging him out a little. "You can't tell people what I said to you during the game, you realize that right?"
James blinks. Oh. Of course. This is a PR meeting. "So what do I tell them?"
Regulus waves his hand in the air dismissively, and for some reason that irks James. "That I was taunting you, the specifics aren't important, though it's probably best if you choose one story and stick to it."
"You want me to tell everyone that you were being an asshole?"
"Yes."
James frowns, unsure why it bothers him so much. "I don't want to do that."
"You have to, it was a dumb thing for me to do in the first place, I wasn't—" Regulus shakes his head, looking off to the side for a moment before his gaze returns to James. "Look, it's what everyone will think anyway, so just go along with it okay?"
James thinks about Alice, and knows that Regulus is right.
"Well they shouldn't—the way that Hooch was treating you out there? That wasn't fair. I don't—you don't have to be the bad guy. I don't want people to think—"
"And what is the alternative?" neither of them have stepped any closer, the space between them poking holes in James's lungs. "Huh? Because people are going to ask and if you tell them the truth then they'll know that we're—" he cuts himself off. They've said they love each other but they haven't said much else. Like what they are. What they're doing. What it means.
"Would that be so bad?" James asks.
He sees Regulus's eyes widen, but not with shock, with anger. "Are you joking right now?"
"No."
Regulus stares at him for a minute, a look of complete disbelief washing over his face. "You're being ridiculous."
"I don't think so," he takes a step forward and Regulus instantly steps back, causing them both to freeze. James does his best to ignore the tightening in his chest. "What are you so afraid of Reg?"
For a second the expressionless mask cracks and something so much more powerful than anger or irritation slips through. And then it's gone.
"You have no idea—I can't be—" he starts and then stops, shaking his head. "And anyway, it doesn't matter. I told you—I told you before this started."
"This?" James repeats, a new edge to his voice. "What's 'this' Reg? What are we doing? Huh? What am I to you, exactly?"
He can see Regulus's chest rising and falling like he's still playing the game. Still trying to outmaneuver an opponent. "Don't start James," he says finally. "I told you that this had to be secret. You agreed," that last word is ground out of him, almost desperate sounding.
"I'm not the one who flew up to you in the middle of a Quidditch match," he shoots back, petulantly.
Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose. "All I am asking," his voice carefully level, "is that you confirm their biases."
"And I'm just telling you, that I don't want to go around bashing you to everyone."
"Oh get over yourself," he drops his hand. "It's not as though you've never done it before. My brother, I'm sure, has given you plenty of opportunities to practice."
Now it's James's turn to take a step back. That attack taking him by surprise, in no small part, because it's true.
Eventually Regulus sighs, breaking the new silence that's grown up around them. "James, please. I'm asking you. I made a mistake—a miscalculation—I wasn't thinking. I need you to do this for me."
It's not fair really. Not with the desperation in his voice, his words. He needs him. And really, that's all James has ever wanted. To be needed. "Okay," he says quietly, "fine, if that's what you want."
Regulus nods curtly, "It's what I want."
Another beat of silence.
"I should go," Regulus's voice is clipped, grey eyes somewhere distant, somewhere not on James.
"Reg?" he stops him with his hand on the door, the younger boy looks back over his shoulder but doesn't turn around. "It meant something to me, what you did out there. So just—" there's an unnecessary strain in his voice and he coughs, trying to make himself sound normal. "Just don't call it a mistake, okay?"
Something uncomfortable and heavy grows in James's chest as he waits for an answer, enduring a silence that stretches on too long. Eventually Regulus nods. "Okay," he turns back to the door but doesn't open it, hand still tightly gripping the handle. After several seconds he sighs, like he's giving up. Losing the fight. When he turns back around his eyes are softer than before.
"Don't—just—stay still alright? Don't touch me."
Surprised, James nods, clasping his hands behind his back in a way that Regulus can see, the younger boy approaching him slowly. Regulus's curls are long enough now to be messy after the game, his cheeks still flushed, making his eyes stand out—the grey bright and intense, trained on James's face. When they come toe to toe Regulus pauses for a moment, looking at James intently before rising up on the balls of his feet to press a quick kiss to his lips. The touch is soft, and when he pulls away both of them are breathing heavy.
"I got distracted watching you," Regulus says quietly, and James can tell that it costs him something, to give up that truth, "usually I can tune everything out when I'm flying, that's why I love it so much, but you—all that time I was supposed to be looking for the Snitch and I couldn't take my eyes off of you."
James feels his breath hitch, he knows what this is. An apology. An olive branch. James almost tells Regulus that it isn't necessary, except that he doesn't want Regulus to move. To hide behind his walls again. They aren't touching, James's hands still behind his back, but they're close. And there's something about the soft tones of Regulus's voice, low and gravelly, that send shocks of electricity through him.
"You take it on too easily," James says eventually, when he's certain he'll be able to keep his voice under control. Regulus sends him a questioning look so he continues. "The role of the villain, like you think you deserve it. Like you're trying to atone for something. Your family's guilt isn't your own Regulus, you don't have to bear it. You aren't them."
Something complicated is happening in the other boy's eyes, and James wishes he knew what it was.
"Sometimes," his voice gets even quieter, eyes closing, "I think I was born with blood on my hands."
James wants so desperately to reach out, to pull him close, to hold him. But he doesn't. Because Regulus doesn't want that. Because he trusts James not to.
"You've been saving me," he says instead, the next best thing. If he can't wrap him in his arms he'll wrap him in his words. "These past few weeks, everything that's been going on with Sirius, if it weren't for you I'd be sunk," he takes in a deep breath, leaning closer but still not touching, it's Regulus who ends up bringing their foreheads together. "You're not bad Regulus."
The other boy lets out a dry laugh. "Maybe," there are fault lines in his voice, ready to shake him apart, "but I don't think I'm good either."
"Reg," James whimpers, voice breaking. He has no idea what they've been telling him at Grimmauld Place, but he knows it's fucked him up, made him think he's something he isn't. It hurts, he realizes, to love someone who can't love themselves. Like watching a work of art set itself on fire.
They stay like that, frozen, pressed together. James closes his eyes and listens to Regulus breathe, surprised by how comforting it is. He doesn't know how much time passes before Regulus steps back.
"You're my person," he says suddenly, like it's a struggle. Talking always is for him.
James blinks. "What?"
"You wanted to know what you are to me," Regulus explains, flush high in his cheeks. "You're my person. You're mine."
James feels a smile tug at his mouth, something fluttering in his stomach. "Okay Reg," he says warmly, "yeah, I'm yours. You're mine too."
The other boy nods, exhaling, like he'd been worried. James can't imagine why. He's completely gone on the kid, he thought he'd made that clear.
"I won't be able to get away tonight," Regulus goes on awkwardly.
"I figured."
"Tomorrow?"
James nods, "tomorrow."
This time Regulus doesn't pause at the door.
The locker room is empty by the time James gets there. He doesn't mind, he feels a little raw. He needs time to pull himself together before talking to anyone. It isn't that it's bad exactly, just...intense. But then, it always is with Reg.
He thinks of all the art—paintings and music and plays—about love. Lines and lines dedicated to trying to get this feeling out. Metaphors and similes, blended colours and golden frames. Trying to make it into something that can be spoken and seen and touched. James thinks he gets that now, at least a little bit. The desperate desire to take the swelling inside his chest and say "look, it's real."
"James!"
It is clear, the minute he walks through the portrait hole into the common room, that the Gryffindor team has spent the time since he last saw them getting drunk. Well, the team and company. Peter and Remus are there, along with Lily. His eyes meet her's briefly before looking away. They still haven't spoken since that day on the lawn and James isn't sure he's up for anymore confrontation today.
"You lot certainly seem to be having a good time," he smiles, though, quite honestly, he'd like nothing more than to go upstairs and sleep for several hours.
"We're mourning," Mary says, holding up a half-empty bottle of something James can't recognize but assumes is alcoholic.
"Ah," he says, dropping his bag and sitting next to Remus.
"Sorry, about the game," Remus presses into his side just enough to be comforting before pulling away.
"Thanks," someone hands him a bottle and he takes it without thinking, though he doesn't really feel like drinking.
"To Frank," Mary hoists her drink in the air, all brown curls and red lips and devilish eyes, "the most anal-retentive captain at Hogwarts."
There are a few laughs and "here, heres," everyone raising their own glasses and taking a drink, the alcohol burns on its way down James's throat. He really needs to get something to eat. He's not sure when the last time he had food was—this morning?
"To Mary," Frank returns, Alice between his legs, leaning back against his chest, "the biggest pain in my ass."
Mary throws her head back and laughs as the rest of them raise their glasses again. More burning liquid pooling in James's stomach. He doesn't know why he feels so off.
"I'd have thought that title would go to James," Remus says playfully.
Mary snorts. "Please, Frank and James are basically the same person."
"Not quite the same I don't think," Frank says dryly. "For starters, I'm pretty sure I've never had detention."
"Jesus, really?" James asks. "Blimey, what've you been doing the last seven years? Sleeping?"
Alice giggles. "Some of us are just smart enough not to get caught."
"Smart enough or not bold enough?" James asks with a grin.
"Alright, alright, settle down children," Mary says from her perch on the arm of the sofa, lording over the rest of them on the floor. "I meant when it comes to quidditch. They're both big nerds."
"I believe the term you're looking for is top tear athletes," James says primly.
"I'll drink to that," Frank sends James a smile, tipping his bottle to him.
"I still can't believe I missed that bloody Snitch," Marlene is sitting at Mary's feet, knees pulled up, head in her hands, and at least two empty drinks bedside her.
"Oh are you still on that?" Mary says, looking down at her friend with extreme disinterest. "Really darling, it's done. Move on."
But Marlene only makes an aggravated noise. "We could have won—if I'd just been a little faster—"
"McKinnon," Frank leans around Alice to put his hand on Marlene's arm. "It's okay, you're a brilliant Seeker, you'll get them next year, yeah?"
Marlene scrunches her nose. "But you won't be here," she says thickly.
"O-kay," Mary reaches down and takes the drink right out of her hand. "That's enough for you, you bloody lightweight."
"Mar, baby, look at me," Alice says, leaning forward. Marlene turns her big eyes on the older girl. Her big red eyes.
"Jeez," James whispers to Remus. "How long were you guys drinking before I got here?"
Remus snorts. "Not long, she's just been pounding them back—it was impressive honestly."
"We do not," Alice's voice cuts across the room, she's taken hold of Marlene's hands and is looking at her very intently, "win Quidditch games for boys."
Marlene sniffles, nodding her head. "Right, yeah," but that only lasts for about a minute before another frustrated groan rips out of her and she pulls away from Alice, collapsing onto her back. "I can' believe I didn't see it!"
"There, there," Mary nudges her with her foot in what James thinks is supposed to be a consoling gesture.
"Stupid Regulus Black," Marlene mumbles, arm now thrown over her face.
"I'll drink to that," Alice says, a general mumbling of agreement sweeping around the circle. For a second James thinks he feels Remus go stiff beside him but he can't figure out why. Maybe because Regulus makes him think of Sirius? James doesn't know, and he's too tired to figure it out, downing the rest of his bottle before looking for a new one.
"I still can't believe that little twerp had the audacity to fuck with you like that," Alice says, and James can hear the anger in her voice. She's always been too much of a mama bear for her own good.
"What did he say anyway?"
It takes a second before James realizes that the question is directed at him, and that every set of eyes in the circle is now turned in his direction. Of course, he knew that Regulus had been right, that conversations would inevitably end up here. But somehow he still feels unprepared.
Eventually James shrugs, a motion he hopes looks more natural than it feels. "Don't remember, wasn't really paying attention," he takes a deep pull of his drink.
Mary arches her brow, "That bad huh?"
"I didn't say that."
"But it's bad enough that you don't want to tell us what it was?" Peter pipes up, unhelpfully.
"I didn't say that either," James growls.
"Maybe we should talk about something else?" Remus looks around hopefully. And not for the first time, James thanks the gods for Remus bloody Lupin.
"Wait, wait, now I'm intrigued," Alice leans further forward in Frank's lap, a look in her eyes that says she's not about to let this go. "What did he say James? Cause whatever it was, it got you playing like a rockstar."
James looks at her for a long minute before leaning forward himself. "Who says my playing had anything to do with him? Remember Alice, we do not win Quidditch games for boys."
She cackles, clinking her glass against his as she falls back against Frank's chest. "Touché."
"Was it about Lily?"
Everyone looks up at Mary who's now considering James thoughtfully.
"Don't bring me into this," says Lily, who, up until this point, has been uncharacteristically quiet. She's sitting against the side of the armchair, knees bent and pulled up, bottle hanging between them.
James looks at her and then away. "No," he says bluntly.
But, of course, Mary can't let it go. If anything, his flat denial seems to egg her on, that same sharp look in her eyes that he noticed on the field. The one that doesn't feel like joking.
"I bet it was."
"Why would Black interrupt a Quidditch game just to rib James about Lily?" Frank asks skeptically, and while James appreciates the sentiment, he really doesn't think audience participation is going to help the situation.
Mary shrugs, "It's a well known weakness."
"I told you, he didn't," James says flatly.
"Then what did he say?" she pushes.
James rolls his eyes. "I don't know, something about how shit I am. Does it matter?"
"Oh wow," Alice says suddenly, the spark back in her eyes, making James's stomach squirm, "you're lying."
"I am not," James is starting to feel a little desperate now.
"I really think we should change the subject," Remus tries again. "Frank, Alice, when do you guys start Auror training?"
But it's too late.
"Makes sense that you wouldn't want to tell us if he said something horrible about her," Mary goes on.
"I told you to leave me out of this," Lily says again.
"And I told you that he didn't say shit about Lily," James grumbles, somehow finishing off his second drink. He reaches for another.
"Maybe you should slow down," Remus says quietly.
"If I have to deal with her," he motions jerkily in Mary's direction as he grabs another bottle. "I'm going to need more alcohol."
"What was it Potter? Come on, I'll never sleep if I don't know."
"It couldn't have been that bad, could it?" Alice asks, intrigued. "Regulus has always seemed pretty harmless to me."
"I don't know about that," Remus says quietly, which surprises James.
"What?" he turns to his friend. "What do you mean?"
Remus looks thoroughly uncomfortable, like he hadn't meant to let that slip out. "Nothing, never mind."
"I'm with Lupin," Mary says, "the quiet ones are always the ones with sharpest teeth."
"Oh, piss-off would you?" James says, now starting to get angry.
"But why not just tell us what he said?" Peter asks.
"Pete," Remus shoots him a silencing look.
"Had to be some death eater nonsense," Mary goes on, eyes intently on James, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable this is making him. "Let me guess, he called her a Mudblood?"
"He's not Snape," James snaps back, and the room suddenly goes quiet. A moment passing where they all seem to be holding their breath.
"Well fuck you both," Lily says finally, getting to her feet and storming out of the common room.
"Lily!" Marlene calls after her, but the redhead doesn't turn around. "Jesus Mary," Marlene hisses when the portrait closes behind her,"was that necessary?"
Mary shrugs, though James doesn't quite believe she feels as indifferent about it as she's making it seem. "I didn't know she was still so touchy about it."
Marlene lets out a deep sigh before collapsing onto her back again.
"I should go check on her," Alice says eventually, patting Frank on the leg as she starts to get to her feet.
"No," James takes a mouthful of his drink before setting it down and getting up himself. "I'll go."
No one looks particularly confident about that plan.
"James, are you sure you—"
"I said it," already moving towards the corridor. "I'll go."
At first he worries he won't be able to find her. He doesn't have the map, and, truth be told, he has no idea where Lily Evans goes when she's upset. Luckily, the corridors are mostly empty, and he only has to wander around for a few minutes before he spots a red head sitting in one of the windows.
"Go away please," she says wearily, not even bothering to check who it is.
James, predictably, does not go away. Instead he leans against the wall next to the window. "Look, I'm sorry for bringing him up okay? Mary was just—"
"Being a bitch, yes, I know. She's angry."
That surprises James, knocking him off course for a second. "Angry?"
Lily sighs. "She's worked really hard to be as good as she is at Quidditch."
James blinks, feeling lost. "Er—okay. I get that, losing sucks."
Lily laughs dryly, shaking her head. "She isn't angry about losing."
"Then what is she—"
"This was going to be her game," Lily says, with the air of someone who is having to explain something very simple to someone very, very stupid. "For once, she was the star, she was scoring the goals and you were—"
"Playing like shit, yeah, I know."
Lily rolls her eyes, but doesn't look away from the window. "Then all of the sudden you—I don't know—woke up, stole the show the way you do. Now all anyone can talk about is your bloody comeback and all that work she did for the first half of the game is forgotten. So she's pissed, but she's also Mary, so she can't just shout about it like the rest of us. She has to pretend she doesn't care. That she's above it all. God forbid she actually care about something, it'd ruin her reputation."
"I—okay," he fidgets against the wall, unsure of what to do with any of this information. Though he supposes it does help explain why Mary's been having a go at him all bloody day. "I guess I don't really see how any of that is my fault?"
Lily sighs, forehead leaning against the glass. "It isn't. It's just...infuriating."
James blinks, looking down at her, long red hair braided down her back, green eyes reflected in the glass "I'm infuriating?" he asks.
"It's all infuriating."
"What is?"
She shakes her head, finally sitting up straight and looking at him properly, eyes sharp. "All of it. We—we come here at such a disadvantage. We've never seen magic before, never even known it existed, and then suddenly we're thrown into these classes with people like you who have been here their whole lives and it's like we're always playing catch-up."
James tries to keep up with her. "When you says 'we' you mean—"
"Muggle-borns, yes. Or Mudbloods I guess, the amount that people are throwing that word around these days it might as well be a bloody nickname." James flinches, but Lily doesn't give him the chance to respond. "Mary has to work twice as hard as you do to be on that team. The first time she saw a broom, flew on one, she was eleven, by which time I'm sure you'd been flying as long as you'd been walking," which James has to admit, it's not an inaccurate statement. "She can't practice when she goes home for the summer, or Christmas, hell she doesn't even have her own broom because she can't bloody afford it."
The words pour out of Lily and James realizes that they've been building in her for quite some time.
"None of that is your fault, I understand. You were born a Pureblood, you were born wealthy, you can't help it. But sometimes it's fucking aggravating. Especially when you walk around acting like we're all equals, because we aren't. Because we never will be. No one will ever look at you and decide that they can't be seen with you anymore because of your fucking blood," her voice breaks on that last word and she looks away again. Leaving James shaken.
It feels like a long time that they stay like that, not speaking or moving, neither of them even bothering to make eye contact. Eventually he sits down beside her, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them.
"It scares me," he says finally.
"What does?" Lily asks.
He exhales. "How easy it is, for me to hurt people. Because I can't always see it—I didn't—I never thought about how much longer I've been flying than Mary, just because of who I am. We don't use magic before we turn eleven, before we come here, so I never saw it as an advantage. But you're right, of course, I might not have been using it, but I was around it, I understood it."
He swallows, running a hand over his face. He can feel Lily's eyes on him but he doesn't look at her, staring intently at the wall across from him.
"Sirius hurt Remus," he says finally, voice straining.
"I know," Lily says, though James is well aware that she can't possibly—at least not really.
"I'm so fucking mad at him, you know? But part of me is terrified too. Because Sirius and I, we're more similar than we are different. And I don't believe for a second that he meant it—that he meant to hurt Remus. But he did anyway. Because he didn't see it—see how this is all different for Remus—more fragile. And I'm scared that I could make that mistake too. That I make it all the time, without even realizing."
James still hasn't figured out whether it makes it harder or easier to forgive Sirius, being certain that he would never consciously hurt Remus. Does intent matter when the wounds you've made are so big?
Eventually he hears Lily groan, shifting so that they sit side by side, backs to the window. "It's really irritating how difficult you make it to stay angry with you."
James snorts. "Do you want to be angry with me?"
Lily pull her mouth to the side, thinking. "Sometimes, maybe. Simpler that way, isn't it?"
"I guess."
A beat of silence passes before James manages to speak again.
"I'm not sorry about punching Snape," he says, pushing on even when he feels Lily stiffen beside him. "I don't like him, I don't think he's a good guy, but—but I know that I went about things wrong, that day on the lawn. That I ...created a situation that was...volatile. And that you got hurt because of that," he turns to her now, their eyes meeting. "That I am sorry for."
There is nothing weak or delicate about Lily Evan's stare. It is all fight. She has the type of eyes you go to war with.
"Okay," she says eventually. "Thank you."
James nods, and then, after a brief pause, gets back to his feet. "This mean we're friends again?" he asks, hands in his pockets.
She smiles. "Sure Potter, we're friends."
"Good," he smiles back. "I missed having you around Evans."
And he means it.
When he gets back to the common room Marlene, Alice and Frank are in the middle of a blow out argument about Quidditch teams. The specifics are hard to work out but James definitely hears the words "Chudley Cannons" followed by "no loyalty" and "couldn't catch a Snitch if it bit him in the face."
"They're really going at it, huh?" James pulls up next to Mary, who is still perched on the sofa.
She nods, bringing her drink to her lips. "It would be interesting if they weren't all completely wrong."
James snorts, watching as a very red faced Marlene gets on her knees, hands gesticulating as she explains why the Chuddley Cannons will never take the cup without a proper Seeker.
"How is she?" Mary asks eventually, voice pitched low.
James looks over at her but but her eyes are still on the fight below them.
"She's alright, yeah." James realizes then that he doesn't really have any idea what the girls' friendships are like. He assumes they're close, but he doesn't actually know.
"Listen, James, about earlier," Mary goes on, sounding as though she'd rather have her teeth pulled than continue this conversation. "I didn't mean to pry—well, actually, I very much did mean to pry, but I probably shouldn't have."
James waves her words away. "Don't worry about it," and then; "listen, thanks for—thanks for picking up the slack today. That game would have been really fucking embarrassing if it hadn't been for you."
She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, giving him a sharp smile. "Oh I know."
He snorts. "Good," that's when he notices that Peter's sitting alone, "talk to you later yeah?" he absentmindedly pats Mary's shoulder as he maneuvers his way over to the other marauder, crouching down beside him.
"Good to see Lily didn't dismember you," Pete says with a smirk.
"O ye of little faith," James sing-songs, earning him a low laugh. "Hey, where's Moony at?" he watches the tightening of Peter's eyes.
"Er—he went to bed."
James's eyebrows raise, surprised. "Bed? It's barely eight?"
Peter only shrugs, though his mouth has formed a firm line. "That's what he said."
"Wormtail," James pushes, eyes running him over. "What happened?"
Peter shoots him a sidelong look. "Sirius—came by."
James swears every muscle in his body grows tense at those words. "What'd he do?"
"Nothing," Peter shakes his head. "Mary told him to sit down, and he said he had homework to do and ran up the stairs. But—uh—well, you know. Moony got pretty quiet after that. And then said he was tired."
Is this how it's going to be now? James thinks, with an ache in the pit of his stomach. Avoiding each other for the next two years?
"I thought about going up to check on him, but—I don't know—it's hard to tell with him these days, whether he wants us around or not," Peter goes on, driving the blade in a little deeper.
"Yeah," James croaks, slapping him on the back. "You stay here, I'll go."
Peter looks worried but nods, "Let me know if there's anything I can do, yeah?"
"Sure Pete," James says, sparing their friends a brief look, just enough to confirm they're all too engrossed in the debate to notice him leave. And then he slips up the stairs.
The room is dark when he walks in, and for a moment he thinks that maybe Remus really did go to sleep, but then he sees him. Standing by his bed, book in one hand, bottle in the other. He doesn't recognize the book—he thinks it might be muggle—but Remus isn't exactly reading it, just, looking.
"Hey Moons," James says softly, leaning against the bedpost opposite him.
Remus doesn't look up. "I'm so tired of feeling like this," he says quietly, making James's heart squeeze.
"I know."
Remus gives the book in his hand one last look before chucking it on his bed and bringing the bottle to his lips, chugging it back.
"Merlin, now who needs to slow down?" James laughs nervously, watching as Remus wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
"It's supposed to help right?" he squeezes his eyes shut. "I just need something to make it—I just need something to make it stop."
"Remus," James says softly.
Remus's eyes open, bright in the shine from the moon outside. "It's what you were trying to do earlier, right?"
James blinks, taking in the slightly unstable posture of his friend. "Er—don't know what you mean."
"You were trying to forget him."
Something slightly uneasy flutters through James's stomach. "Forget who, mate?"
Remus stares at him long and hard for a moment before exhaling. "Nothing. No one. Never mind." He holds out the bottle to James who takes it without thinking. "I'm going to bed," he doesn't bother with his clothes, just shucks off his shoes before crawling onto his mattress.
"It'll get easier you know," James says helplessly. "We'll figure it out."
"You think?" Remus says skeptically, then he squeezes his eyes shut again, pressing his face into his pillows. "You want to know what the worst part is?" words muffled by the bed.
No, James thinks, isn't this bad enough? "Sure Moons," he says instead.
"Sometimes I don't even care—don't care what he's done, don't care that it was wrong. Sometimes I think I'd let him do anything he wanted to me just as long as I still got to be around him. As long as he was still mine sometimes."
Those words burn all the way down. "I'm sorry," is all James says, all that he has left.
"Everyone's sorry," Remus mutters. "Everyone's always sorry and none of it ever makes a difference. I fucking hate that word," his voice is heavy and slow, eyes still shut. It's clear that sleep is sneaking up on him.
James sighs, moving back towards the door when Remus stops him. "No don't—" his voice calls out and James looks back to see him curled on his side, eyes wide open. "Stay—can you stay, just for a few minutes?" He sounds so small.
"Course Moony," James gives him a weak smile he isn't sure he can see, "always."
He puts the bottle down on his bedside table before lying on his own bed, face towards the ceiling. "I know you don't believe me," he says after a few minutes, voice soft. He's not sure how much Remus is listening. "But I'm going find us a way out of this. I don't know what it is yet, but it won't be like this forever, okay? I won't let it be."
He waits for a few moments before turning his head, finding Remus's eyes closed.