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It’s an accident, the first time.

Or maybe it was an accident every time. Regulus isn’t sure.

Sometimes that’s all magic is really. An accident.

September 1977

He’s fully dressed, he knows most students just put on their housecoats but Regulus has never been comfortable with that kind of casual vulnerability. If he could, he would cover up every inch of his skin at all times—it’s too soft, too unblemished, untouched. Sometimes he stares at it, his arms, his legs, his stomach, and wonders what will be the first thing to scar him. Wonders if it’ll pucker or lie flat. Wonders if it will feel different from the rest of him—stronger somehow. Safer. Surely it would be better, he thinks, to be covered in scar tissue, than this tender flesh?

In any case, he makes his way to the Prefects’ bathroom completely clothed, shirt buttoned all the way to his neck, cufflinks protecting his wrists. He doesn’t wear trainers like some of the other students, but leather boots that he polishes most nights. They click purposefully on the castle’s stone floors when he walks, like he’s someone important. Someone with authority. There aren’t many people around at the moment, it being that quiet time between dinner and curfew, everyone tired and full, lounging in their dorms or the library. Regulus moves quickly up the stairs, toiletries clutched in his arms.

“Hinkypunk,” he whispers to the bathroom door, which instantly swings open. He takes one step inside and knows right away that something is wrong. Firstly, the room is already filled with steam, so much so in fact, that it hangs heavy in the air, fogging up the windows, making it hard to see. Secondly, there’s a pile of clothes thrown in a careless heap by the edge of the bathtub. He glares at them. He knows for a fact that he put his name down on the schedule for this time slot, so either someone has decided to extend their stay or they’re stealing his spot. Either way, he’s livid. 

He tries to squint through the bubbles and dim lights to find the culprit, grimacing as it occurs to him that he might be about to break up some couple shagging. People do that a lot in here he’s been told. He clears his throat; “Excuse me,” his voice echoing through the bathroom, with its tiled floors and domed mosaic ceiling. “This room is booked actually so, you’ll have to leave!”

There’s no response, and Regulus wonders if perhaps he’s yelling at an empty room and someone has just…forgotten their clothes? Or maybe they’ve drowned? Merlin, he thinks wearily, that’ll be inconvenient, I was really looking forward to this bath. But then—

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” comes a teasing drawl. “Is that you?” horrifically, James Potter emerges out of the perfumed air, his naked torso on full display, the rest of him barely concealed by the bubbles.

“Oh—Salazar—what the hell Potter?!” In his shock Regulus drops his toiletries, whipping around so that he’s facing the door, blood rushing to his face. “You’re naked.”

He hears a snort behind him. “Well yeah, I’m in the bath. Do you normally wear your clothes in the bath?”

“I—” but he doesn’t really have a response for that, infuriated by James’s lack of  self-consciousness. “What are you even doing here?”

“Um, again, bath.”

“No I mean—” he exhales heavily through his nose. “There’s a schedule. I signed up for this time slot.”

“There’s a what-now?”

Regulus’s hands curl into fists and he looks up at the ceiling, begging for some higher power to give him the strength to deal with this absolute buffoon. “A schedule," through gritted teeth. “That the Prefects and Head boy and girl use to book the bathroom.”

“Really?” sounding unreasonably sceptical about this as far as Regulus is concerned. “That seems a bit much, doesn’t it?”

“Since I nearly just saw your entire naked body a second ago I, shockingly, do not think it is too much, no. Surely Lupin or Evans explained this to you?”

“Er—might’ve done? Can’t remember. Sometimes when they’re talking I sort of…tune out a bit.” 

“Brilliant,” Regulus swipes a hand over his face. “It’s more a mystery every day why Dumbledore made you Head Boy. My personal theory is he was trying to punish the rest of us.”

He’s not sure if he’s expecting that comment to make Potter angry but it doesn’t, he just laughs. “Nah Reg, just to punish you I think.” Regulus refuses to take the bait.

“Well, now that we’ve established that this is your error, would you mind,” he waves his hand through the air, “getting out so that I can bathe in peace?” He’s still facing the wall, staring at the intricately carved doors, he can see now the vine details that have been laid into the wood, somehow matching the greens and blues of the tiles surrounding them. This room really does feel like it exist in another world, separate from the rest of the castle. 

“I mean, it’s a pretty big tub,” Potter says behind him. “I feel like we could probably just share?”

Regulus’s mouth falls open and a strangled noise of indignation manages to make it out. He doesn’t even have the words for how absolutely fucking ludicrous that suggestion is, his face growing, he is certain, steadily pinker. The older boy’s juvenile laugh fills the bathroom.

“Oh Merlin, I can’t even see your face and that was still worth it.” There’s the sound of splashing, then wet feet on tile. Regulus assumes that Potter is going to tell him when he’s decent, but instead he starts walking towards the door only a few seconds after getting out of the water.

“S’all yours champ,” he bumps Regulus’s shoulder as he passes him, in nothing but a pair of red and gold boxers, hair wet, the rest of his clothes in his hands—he’s not even wearing any shoes!

“You’re just going to walk through the school like that?” Regulus demands, scandalized.

Potter turns around, hip-checking the door open as he grins at him. “What can I say? I love to put on a show. Gotta give the birds something to gossip about don’t I?” he winks—actually winks, like some sort of cartoon character—before disappearing into the corridor, leaving Regulus stunned and alone in a room that he realizes, with growing distress, smells like James Potter.

It’s not that school is harder this year, it’s more that everything else is. The letters from his mother have been growing more manic every day. She’ll send three or four, poor Merwyn having to fly with several strapped to his legs and in his beak.

It’s coming, she scribbles. It’s coming. T h i  n g s are changing. Forces are gathering. W e are str ong, strong, strong, strong. It is Tom Riddle t h e y rally around n o w, but one day, one d  a y it will be you. It’s coming, coming, coming, coming. And   we   are s  o      s t r o n g.

Regulus does know that this is his fault. He’d been so jealous of Sirius, of how important he was, how much their mother fussed over him. Even their father, who seems to forget about his family more often than not, would spare a word—a look, a touch—for Sirius. Sirius never appreciated it, hated it actually, and it used to drive Regulus mad. You don’t deserve their love, he would think in his worse moments. But I do, I do, I do. Now that he has it though, he thinks he understands his brother more. Understands why he pushed and pulled and bit the hand that fed him.

Because this isn’t love.

It isn’t.

It’s obsession.

It is unfortunate, that by the time Regulus really understood what was going on Sirius was already so far away. He doesn’t even look at Regulus when they pass one another in the corridors anymore. Like he has somehow managed to wipe Regulus completely from his consciousness. It’s Regulus’s fault, it is, he can accept that. He only wishes he knew how to take it back.

They tell you, when you’re small, that you’re allowed to make mistakes. That if you feel badly about them, if you apologize, you can fix them. That’s not true though, not really. Life is made of  glass. Of porcelain. Even if you can gather up all the pieces, even if you can fit them back in their proper places, the cracks will always be there.

Scars.

“Really Potter?” Regulus demands as the bathroom door shuts behind him. The steam and perfume are a bit less today, so he can clearly make out the other boy lounging at the far end of the giant tub, arms resting on the ledge behind him. Most of his body submerged in the water, Regulus says a silent prayer for the bubbles, and the small but significant coverage they provide.

“Didn’t I sign-up on the schedule?” Potter asks innocently, the corner of his mouth flickering upwards. Regulus can’t tell if he’s joking or not because everything sounds like a joke when it comes out of James Potter’s mouth.

“No,” he responds flatly, “you didn’t.”

“Huh, weird.” Regulus can think of several words to describe this situation—infuriating, obnoxious, idiotic—weird does not quite seem enough. Potter tilts his head to the side, eyes running Regulus up and down in a way he does not appreciate. “You’re sure dressed up for a man coming to take a bath.”

Regulus glares at him. “Some of us have a sense of common decency, now would you kindly get out, since I did use the schedule”

Potter stares at him for a few seconds before he starts wading his way through the water, Regulus pointedly looking at a distant spot on the floor. He can feel his face beginning to heat, blush crawling up his chest, his neck, his ears. Potter does not get out, but instead folds his arms over the side closest to Regulus, and rests his chin on top.

“Surely you could wear something more comfortable though,” Regulus cannot believe he’s still going on about his clothes. “You look like you’re going to some sort of posh dinner party.”

“Posh dinner party?” Regulus scoffs. “I’m wearing a shirt and trousers Potter, you need to elevate your standards.” He can feel the other boy’s eyes on him, and he wonders if he’s used some sort of spell. Something to give his gaze all this weight.

“Do you like, get a kick out of it or something?”

Regulus’s eyes dart to him and then away, unable to help himself. “A kick out of what?” testily, though his voice sounds higher than he’d like it to. It’s only that there is a very naked boy currently at his feet and his brain has no idea how to process that information.

“Being uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

That makes Potter laugh. “You bloody well are, it hurts to look at you you’re so stiff.”

“Nobody asked you to look,” Regulus snaps, those words perhaps a bit louder than he’d intended. Lingering in the air around them for too long afterwards. Potter does, frustratingly, keep looking at him.

“Is that what it is? Are you hoping if you cover yourself up enough maybe no one will see you?”

Regulus isn’t sure what to do with that question. Isn’t sure if it’s the kind of thing that requires an answer. In the end he just shakes his head. “You ought to leave the thinking to Lupin,” he says finally, “you’re no good at it.”

He hears Potter huff, something between a sigh and a laugh, before pulling himself out of the tub. Regulus forces himself to remain focused on the tile floor. Resisting the urge to shut his eyes and then cover them with his hands for good measure.

“Whatever you say, Regulus,” Potter’s wet feet slap on the tiles as he once again leaves wearing barely anything at all.

For a long time afterwards Regulus sits on the edge of the tub, only his legs dangling in the water, watching the mermaid in the stained glass window in front of him swim around. It’s not that Regulus enjoys discomfort, he doesn’t—hates it, actually. But there is some niggling fear in his chest, every time he lets himself relax. Every time he lets himself feel good. That tells him he doesn’t deserve it. That tells him he will be punished.

He never does get into the bath that night.

I cannot wait until you are home. We have been so busy since you left, my little prince. Oh you will see all the work we’ve been doing for you. The world we’ve been building. Change is coming, a new order, the right order. And you will be its crowning jewel. When the dust settles it will be you, you, you. I feel it in my bones. You, you, you, that is all they sing, every moment of every day, of every night. You, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you , you, you, you, you, you, you , you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you , you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you , you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you , you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you , you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you , you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you , y  o  u,     y     o    u uuuuuuu

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Sometimes his mother’s letters are just one word written over and over again until they’re barely recognizable. Like she is writing until her body physically can’t anymore. Regulus never knows what to say. Occasionally, he simply tells her that he loves her. Though he’s not certain that she actually cares.

“This is getting ridiculous now,” Regulus sighs, the third time he finds James Potter waiting for him in the bath.

“Oh but wait! Wait!” Potter says excitedly, hauling himself unceremoniously out of the water without any warning. Regulus immediately clamps his hands over his eyes.

“POTTER! What is wrong with you??” 

“No, no, open your eyes.”

“I will not!”

“Come on Reg, trust me.”

“I don’t. And stop calling me that.”

“Alright Mr. Black, open your bloody eyes.” Regulus just frowns, he’d glare if he could. “Regulus,” James sounds closer, and a second later Regulus feels a pair of damp fingers wrapping around his wrists, making him flinch. Potter instantly pulls away.

“Oh, sorry, not into touching. Should have seen that coming, honestly. Just…look at me? I promise I’m not that scary.”

“I’m not scared,” Regulus spits. “I just don’t want to see your…everything.”

Potter huffs. “I’ll have you know that plenty of people like my everything very much, thank you.”

Regulus’s frown deepens. “Do I look like a member of your fan club?”

“We’re always on the hunt for new joiners.”

“Potter.”

“Regulus.”

The older boy is standing right in front of him, he can hear it, feel it. If he pulls his hands away there’ll be nowhere else to look. At the same time, he despises the idea that James Potter thinks he’s scared of a little nudity. He isn’t. He just…has good manners.

He sighs. “You’re not going to move, are you?”

“Don’t think so, no,” Potter replies brightly.

Feeling the situation is rather hopeless, Regulus steels himself. “Alright—Merlin—okay, you lunatic,” he removes his hands, blinking the room back into focus. He does find himself face to face with James Potter’s naked, wet torso, though he is rather relieved to see that the other boy is sporting a pair of Gryffindor themed swimming trunks on his lower half—does he not own any other colours?   

“Oh,” Regulus feels himself relax slightly, looking back up to find a very smug James Potter staring down at him.

“I figure, since this time seems to work best for both of us, maybe this way we can share?” he snaps the band of his swim trunks against his hip for emphasis.

Regulus blinks at him once or twice before finally managing to compose some sort of response to that. “You want to bathe together?” hoping that it sounds as insane to Potter as it does to him. Of course, it doesn’t. Regulus isn’t sure anything sounds insane to James Potter.

“Yeah,” he shrugs easily. “You could even put my name down on the schedule with yours too if you want.”

Regulus really does wonder if him and Potter exist on the same planet. Not only does he want to bathe together, but he wants Regulus to announce it publicly? He scrubs at his face for a moment, trying to figure out how to reason with the literal mad man standing in front of him.

“Why don’t you just sign your own name up for a different time slot?” he demands finally, at the end of his rope. Grasping around for his sanity. 

Predictably, Potter shrugs again, his hair slicked back, water droplets running down his shoulders, his chest, sparkling in the light from the candles. “None of the other times work for me.”

“Well, none of them work for me either,” Regulus grumbles.

“Exactly, so,” Potter holds his arms out, “we share!”

It really is infuriating, how simple life seems to be for James Potter.

“Fine,” Regulus has no idea how he’s allowed himself to be pulled into this. “But I haven’t brought any swim trunks today, so if you wouldn’t mind starting this arrangement next week.”

Apparently Potter does mind. “Just wear your pants,” he says easily, and when Regulus sends him a thoroughly unimpressed look he rolls his eyes and goes on: “Or transfigure your pants into swim trunks then, whatever.”

Which is apparently the end of the conversation because Potter proceeds to slip back into the water, unbothered by, or oblivious to, Regulus’s glaring.

“Fine,” Regulus repeats, no more happy the second time. “But add more bubbles. I want as many barriers between us as possible.”

Potter only laughs. “Sure Regulus, whatever you say.” But when Regulus returns from quickly changing in the far corner, his pants transfigured, he finds that Potter has, in fact, increased the bubbles.

“That better?” he calls, from behind a particularly large mound of them, Regulus barely able to see him.

“It’s something,” Regulus grumbles, making sure to get in at the opposite end and hoping Potter chalks up the pink in his cheeks to the steam.

October 1977

So it happens that Regulus finds himself bathing with James Potter once a week. He does use the bathroom in his dorm as well of course, but after a hard quidditch practice there is nothing quite like the Prefects’ bath to ease his muscles. He simply doesn’t want to give it up. So that’s why he keeps going. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

“You excited for the match on Saturday?” Potter is barely visible through the bubbles, sitting at the other end of the tub with his head tilted back against the ledge, eyes closed. Regulus looks at the line of his throat for just a moment too long before forcing his eyes away.

“I suppose,” truth is, he’s nervous, but he’s not about to tell James Potter that. There’s a new kid on the team, a third year, he’s Regulus’s back-up right now, but he’s good. Very good. And very likeable. It’s not that his team doesn’t like Regulus, per se. They’re all cordial, and he wins games, which helps. But mostly, Regulus keeps to himself, apart from the rest of them. It’s only been a few weeks but Lucas, the new seeker, already seems to be best friends with everyone. In the middle of every crowd, part of every inside joke. As far as Regulus is concerned, skill is the only thing that should matter in terms of guaranteeing your spot on the team, but he knows that isn’t always how it works. He expects the others will be just waiting for him to make a mistake so they can pull him out and put in their new friend.

“What?” Potter’s voice brings him back to the present, the other boy now staring directly at him.

“What?”  Regulus repeats, confused.

Potter gestures to him with his hand, making a splash when he drops it back below the water. “You look grumpy all of a sudden, why?”

“I don’t look grumpy,” Regulus snaps. Potter only arches his brow, letting the silence drag on long enough that Regulus feels himself starting to fidget. Pathetically beaten into submission by a pair of hazel eyes. “I’m just…thinking.”

“Uh-huh,” skeptically. “Thinking grumpily.” Regulus glares at him but that only makes Potter grin. “C’mon, how could quidditch make you frown like that? Especially the first game of the season, and against Ravenclaw? You’re going to crush them.”

“I would have thought you’d rather anyone win but us.”

“Well,” Potter wobbles his head from side to side, “yeah, I would, but I’m not blind. Ravenclaw haven’t got half your speed or physicality.”

It’s true, but it’s still surprising to hear James Potter admit it. “No,” Regulus agrees a little warily, waiting for the trap. “They don’t.”

“So why are you worried then?”

“I never said I was worried,” too quick to be believable.

“Your face says you’re worried.”

Regulus shakes his head, looking away, poking at some of the bubbles next to him. It’s quiet in here when neither of them speaks. Sometimes you can hear the echoing of a dripping tap or the soft splashing of the mermaid in the window. But mostly it’s just…peaceful. Or at least it used to be, before James Potter started showing up, filling the space with all his noise. He can’t help it, everything about him is loud. The way he moves, the way he talks, the way he smiles. Regulus has never wanted to turn the volume down on a person so bad in his life.

“There’s a new seeker,” he says finally, though he has no idea why.

Potter tilts his head to the side the way he does sometimes, like a deer in the woods who’s just heard something in the trees. “Oh yeah?”

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek. “He’s second string, of course, but…he’s good.” Regulus just lets that hang there, not feeling the need to share anymore of his insecurities with a boy who is, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger. An enemy, even.

“I’m sure he is,” Potter says after a few seconds. “But you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I told you, I’m not worried,” he goes to cross his arms over his chest, but shirtless and sitting in the bath that position feels a bit ridiculous, so he ends up keeping them at his sides.

“Right, well,” Potter rolls his eyes, “if you were worried, you’d be wrong to be.”

Regulus looks at him and then away, he can feel himself scowling again, a bad habit. “How can you be so sure of that, you’ve never even seen him play?”

Potter half-laughs. “Because, I’ve seen you play.” Regulus can’t help it, he looks at him properly this time, eyes bright in the dim room. The sun has completely set now, so only the surrounding candles light them. “You’re the best seeker I’ve ever seen in Hogwarts or outside of it,” James goes on. “You could play pro like that,” snapping his fingers. At the look of obvious surprise on Regulus’s face James laughs again. “Oh come on, you must know how good you are?” But Regulus just keeps staring at him. He knows he’s good enough, sure, but he’s never thought he was anything particularly special. He certainly never thought he was special enough to earn this kind of praise from James Potter of all people.

“Regulus,” Potter leans forward slightly, even though it does absolutely nothing to close the enormous space between them. “You look so good in the sky I bet you make the stars jealous.”

What a horrible thing to say.

What a beautiful, horrible, treacherous thing to say.

What a massacre of words.

Regulus will remember them forever.

Your cousin says they squeal before it happens. Says they beg. Beg for mercy. But you cannot give mercy to such creatures my son, you cannot think for one moment that they are like you. They are a perversion of magic. They have made us impure. But hopefully when they are dead we will finally be whole once more. My son, my son, my little prince. I cannot wait to see you again.

Sometimes, Regulus watches his brother. In the Great Hall, or when he catches sight of him outside a window, or down the corridor. He wants desperately to speak to him. To apologize for not understanding sooner what this must have been like for him. For still not being able to give it up—their mother’s attention—even if he knows now, what a corrupted, heavy thing it is to bear. But then, Sirius would never be able to understand that. And more importantly, he’d never be able to forgive it.

“—so basically every time anyone leans on the walls, or touches them, they’ll shout boo. It’s going to be awesome.”

Regulus makes a noncommittal noise in response, pushing around the bubbles in front of him. They’ve been in here for nearly two hours and his fingers are starting to prune. He ought to get out, he doesn’t know why he doesn’t.

“Will you lot be doing anything for Halloween, then?”

Regulus looks up, Potter has sat a bit closer to him this time, they’re still too far to touch one another, but they’re not on opposite ends anymore. His hair curls at his temples from the steam, some of it plastered to his forehead. Regulus has the unusually desire to push it out of the way.

“No,” he says finally, after a short delay. “I don’t think so, anyway,” not that anyone ever tells him about these things. They don’t kick him out when he shows up of course, but he’s not sure he’s ever been specifically invited to a party. “Slytherins aren’t big on fancy dress, bit too gauche for us I think.”

Potter makes a dismissive noise. “Wankers,” his tone is meant to be teasing, not taken too seriously, and Regulus does his best not to mind, but he’s not sure he wants James Potter to think he’s a wanker. Which is stupid. 

“Well, you have to do something on Halloween,” the older boy goes on, he’s wearing his glasses and he keeps having to periodically take them off and wipe the lenses. “You can’t just sit around in your room doing coursework.”

Regulus doesn’t know where the words come from. Really he doesn’t. Aware they’re a mistake before they’re even out of his mouth, but he hears himself ask anyway; “Could I come to your party, then?” Sirius has never invited him. Not even when he was younger, when things weren’t…weren’t as bad as they are now.

For the first time Potter looks startled, blinking owlishly. “Oh—er—”  Regulus’s embarrassment is instant. He doesn’t know why he thought for one minute that Potter would say yes. “I mean,” the other boy goes on, clearly feeling awkward, “yeah, yeah sure? I’d have to check with Sirius but…”

Regulus is already shaking his head, standing up. “No, don’t bother, stupid question,” Sirius will never agree. No need to put Potter through the pain of having to ask. Having to relay the answer.

“Regulus—”

“I think it’s time to go,” already climbing out, heading towards his clothes, not looking back. “The bubbles have nearly gone.”

November 1977

Your father has been ask ing about you—you see? I told you things have ch an ged. He is just as excited as I am. He understands how spec ia l you are now. H ow important. Our son, son, son. I gave you to him and now he un de rstands. It all hinges on you. Our son, son, s  o  n.

“Okay but that dive!” Potter is saying as he floats in front of Regulus on his back, idly pushing himself around.

“Are you just going to recap the whole game for me?” Regulus asks, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. “I was there, you know?”

“I’m just saying,” his hair fanning out around him in the water, “it was insane!”

“It was a highly technical and controlled move.”

“Insane!” Potter insists.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but can’t quite help the curl of pride in his stomach at the older boy’s praise.

“I’m so excited to play you lot, that game is going to be incredible.”

“Yes,” Regulus agrees. “Especially when we beat you.”

“Oh, okay, cocky,” James laughs.

Regulus only shrugs. “Not cocky, just honest.” 

Without any warning Potter splashes him in the face and Regulus, completely unprepared for this attack, splutters and flails about, no doubt looking like an idiot. “Really James?” trying to get the soapy water out of his eyes, “was that necessary?” several seconds—and burning tears later, he’s able to see properly again. Which means he’s able to see Potter no longer on his back but standing upright, giving him a goofy smile. Which…feels ominous.

“What?” he asks warily.

“You called me James,” Potter says happily.

Regulus narrows his eyes. “No I didn’t.”

“Oh yeah, you absolutely did,” he looks up at the mermaid above their heads. “Didn’t he?”

Regulus’s eyes follow his and, to his mortification, he finds the mermaid nodding. Sold out by a stained glass window. He can feel his cheeks growing hot, he doesn’t even know why.

“Well,” struggling slightly, “it was an accident, clearly.”

“I liked it,” Potter says simply. Because it’s always simple to James Potter.

Regulus can only stare at him for a few moments before, finally: “You like…me saying your name?”

“Yeah, you should do it more often.”

Regulus really does wonder sometimes, if this kind of blunt honesty, this unabashed vulnerability, is Gryffindor bravery or beautiful boy stupidity. Because James Potter is undeniably beautiful, even Regulus can see it, and he expects it has saved James a great deal of pain in his life.

“I like this too,” James goes on, before Regulus can think to come up with a response. He reaches out, hand hovering next to Regulus’s cheek but not touching. He hasn’t touched him since that first time, when he tried to pull Regulus’s hands away from his face. “You get so pink,” James goes on, much to Regulus’s embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone’s cheeks in real life look like that. All rosy and shit.” And then, like all of this was the most normal thing in the world, he drops his hand and flops into the water again, starting to do laps up and down the tub.

Regulus powerless to do anything but watch.

But endure.

Our son, son, son.

“Just relax.”

Regulus glares up at the ceiling. “I am relaxed.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know what that word means.”

He huffs, he’s on his back in the water, James Potter’s hands underneath him, helping to keep him afloat. James asked if he could touch him and Regulus said yes so now James is hovering above him, and Regulus is very determinedly keeping his eyes off his face.

“I’m going to move my hands now, okay?”

“If you do that, I’ll sink.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“This is pointless.”

“Regulus,” he says his name so softly, it drives Regulus insane. Like feather light touches running up and down his arms, and he wants more of it. More, more, more. Wants James imbedded in his skin. James doesn’t start speaking again until Regulus reluctantly meets his gaze. “Trust me, okay?” He has such big eyes, it’s not fair, Regulus can’t think when he’s looking into them. “Okay?” James repeats.

Regulus lets out a long suffering sigh. “Okay.”

He feels it—the loss of heat, of pressure, the small disturbance in the water—leaving him there to hang all on his own. A spike of fear runs through him but he doesn’t let himself move, sucking in air like he’s expecting to run out any second. His legs and arms are outstretched like a starfish—an objectively ridiculous position, but James insisted it would help. Several seconds pass, and Regulus waits for the water to creep up, waits for the panic. But somehow, it doesn’t happen.

James appears overtop of him again, beaming. “You’re doing it!”

Regulus stares for a moment, not quite taking in what he’s said. “What—really?”

“Really,” James is beautiful on a bad day, but when he’s smiling it’s almost unbearable. Regulus wants to look away, save himself some of the pain, but he can’t. In the end it’s James who breaks eye contact, gaze flickering up to the window behind them.

“Oh shit, I gotta go,” he starts moving towards the side of the bath as Regulus pulls himself upright, shoving wet curls out of his face.

“Oh,” usually they stay a bit later. Usually it’s Regulus who leaves first. He’s not sure why the fact that it’s James this time is making his stomach squirm.

Something about the tone of Regulus’s voice seems to pull James up short, one hand on the side of the tub, chewing on his lower lip. “It’s not that—I want to stay, but—uh—” his eyes go back to the window. “Full moon and all that.”

Regulus has no idea what that means but he nods anyway. “Sure, of course.”

James still doesn’t climb out of the tub though, standing there staring at Regulus, something complicated in his expression that Regulus doesn’t understand. Then, suddenly, he’s pushing back towards him. Regulus isn’t exactly sure what’s happening until James wraps his arms around him.

“I’m proud of you,” James mumbles into the top of his head, which sends something warm running through Regulus’s whole body.

“Thank you,” he manages to murmur, watching as James hops out of the tub, hastily drying his swim trunks with his wand and throwing on a t-shirt, the door echoing when it closes behind him.

December 1977

We’ll be together again soon, oh and I have a gift for you! Such a gift, g if t, gif t.

He thinks James might be seeing the Evans girl. He isn’t certain, but, they’ve been speaking more—at meals, in the corridors. Not that Regulus cares, because he doesn’t, obviously. It’s just an observation. Meaningless. Unimportant. It just gnaws at his bones while he’s sleeping. It’s just burrowing holes into his lungs. It’s just eating up his flesh. Meaningless. Unimportant.

“Are you okay?” James is floating directly in front of Regulus, as he has taken to doing. No longer giving him any space, always pushing in, closer and closer. His swim trunks today have tiny quaffles all over them, his hair sticking up at odd angles because he keeps running his hands through it. He looks ridiculous.

“Regulus?” he’s doing that thing—head tilting to the side, eyes running him up and down. It makes something in Regulus’s chest itch. He looks away.

“I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

James sighs, clearly not believing him but not wanting to push either. Silence falls between them, and Regulus listens to the sounds of James moving around in the water. He can never stay still for long. Always needing to do something, say something, touch something. He’s been touching Regulus more recently, cautious touches. Testing things out. Pushing boundaries. A shove to Regulus’s shoulder, a hand mussing his hair, a foot poking his calf. And Regulus has been letting him because he has no fucking self-preservation instinct to speak of.

“Are you dating Lily Evans?” he snaps his mouth shut almost immediately after the words come out. He doesn’t remember deciding to ask. He knows he shouldn’t have.

The noises stop as James goes suddenly still.

There’s a beat.

“Am I—” Regulus is pretty sure he can feel the drops of water whipping off James’s hair as he shakes his head. “No, no, we’re just friends. New friends, still getting used to it honestly. But uh—yeah. She still hasn’t agreed to go out with me yet.”

Whatever had begun to loosen in Regulus’s chest tightens at that. “Yet,” he repeats, “but she will.”

“No, I—that’s not what I meant. I was just—“

“It’s what I meant,” Regulus pushes further into the side of the tub. “If you keep asking her eventually she’ll say yes.” He can see it in the way she looks at him. He hopes very much that he doesn’t look at James like that. He has more to lose than Lily Evans.

“Oh…” James looks awkward suddenly, which is strange, since James is rarely awkward. “Well, thanks I guess?” hand going to the back of his head, rubbing at his neck. 

“Not a compliment,” Regulus says flatly, “just an observation.” Meaningless. Unimportant.

“Okay, well…” but James doesn’t seem to know how to end that thought. Silence falls around them again, and Regulus has the sudden urge to get up and leave. He doesn’t, of course, because the desire not to cut their time short is always stronger.

“Hey, Regulus?” James swims himself into Regulus’s line of sight, which Regulus resents deeply, but he’s not childish enough to look away again, so he reluctantly meets James’s stare. His face is all scrunched up, like he’s thinking hard. His nose especially wrinkly. It is not at all charming. “Are you—does that bother you?”

Regulus stares at him, trying desperately to get the itching in his chest to cease. “Does what bother me?”

“Me and…me and Lily?”

“No.”

The wrinkling does not stop. A cruel spectacle. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

James frowns. “O-kay, except that…you seem kind of…bothered.”

Regulus doesn’t know what to say to that. He is bothered, but he doesn’t want to be, doesn’t understand why he should be. She’s a mudblood, whispers the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like his mother. An abomination. A monster. She is praying on our destruction. You must save him, save him, save him from her! Regulus closes his eyes briefly, afraid that James will see the words inside his head. That he’ll be able to hear them. They’re so loud. Save him, save him, save him.

“Reg—”

But before James can finish that thought Regulus is dipping below the water, the world suddenly silent, buzzing filling his ears as he makes his way across the tub, popping back up to the surface on the other side.

“I need to go,” he says, pulling himself out of the water, “coursework.” James doesn’t try to stop him, but Regulus can feel his eyes on him the whole time.

His mother sends him twelve letters the next day. They form a pile in front of him at breakfast, drawing eyes from down the table. Regulus just stares at them, hands shaking too much to open them.

He doesn’t eat a single thing.

He hears the bathroom door open behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. He’s sitting fully clothed, trouser pants rolled up to his knees, feet dangling in the water.

“Hey,” James says softly, there is the unmistakable sound of him dropping his bag as he walks toward Regulus, sitting down next to him, legs crossed. “Are you okay? What’s happened?”

Regulus almost smiles. He wonders how James knows—just from the line of his back, the set of his shoulders, the way he’s sitting. My mother is losing her mind, he very nearly says. My father doesn’t care. Or maybe he doesn’t notice, I can’t tell. They are monsters, both of them, in their own ways, and I want their love desperately. So what does that make me?

“Nothing,” is what he actually says. “Just been a long day. I’m too tired to…” he trails off, nodding his head towards the water. The effort it would take, to feel brave enough to undo the buttons of his shirt, his trousers, to stand nearly naked in front of James—he just doesn’t have it in him today.

James doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just keeps sitting there and staring at him until eventually Regulus feels compelled to look back. There is a small furrow between James’s brows, the sun already setting, it’s been getting darker earlier as winter has crept in, the light from the candles reflecting off his glasses.

“But you still came?”

It takes Regulus a few seconds to work out what he means, and once he does his stomach instantly starts to wiggle, cheeks growing red as he looks away again, eyes on his knees. “I—“ he hadn’t even considered not coming, truth be told. Which now that he thinks about it, is extremely strange. He doesn’t know how he’ll explain it when he can’t even explain it to himself.

The room suddenly feels too hot, the steam making Regulus’s skin sticky, his clothes clinging to him, a red flush creeping up his neck. He should go, he should, but he’s a little afraid about how shaky he’ll look when he tries to stand up. He feels suddenly paper thin, ready to be blown over by the slightest breeze.

“Regulus?” his eyes flutter closed. He loves the way James says his name. “Reg, will you—can you look at me?”

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Hazel meets grey. James has turned towards him fully now, no longer facing the water at all, his gaze making a careful inspection of Regulus’s face that has him squirming. James frowns slightly and then, “I’m going to try something, okay?”

No,

No, no, no, no, no.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly. James is still frowning.

“Is it alright if I touch you?”

“You haven’t asked in a while,” because it’s true.

James shrugs. “This just feels like one of those times when I should.”

Regulus ought to have questions, ought to demand some kind of clarification about what he’s agreeing to, but he’s too caught up in James’s eyes, in the growing tension of the moment, that all he does is nod. Biting on his lower lip, James leans forward, hand going tentatively to Regulus’s cheek, eyes squinting, like Regulus is a puzzle he’s attempting to work out. Then his hand slides to the back of Regulus’s neck, his breath catching in his chest as James starts to tug him forward.

He knows what’s happening and he doesn’t.

Because it’s absurd. Impossible. And yet—

At first the kiss is gentle, barely there, a light press of lips. And then James makes a needy noise at the back of his throat, pushing forward, and Regulus lets him. Opens for him. Eyes closing as he melts into James, feeling the other boy’s hand in his hair.

Regulus has never kissed anyone before. He’s not even sure he’s thought about it. But this—this is like nothing else he has ever experienced. His whole body is buzzing under James’s touch, desperate to be swallowed. Yes, he thinks, oh yes, yes, yes, eat me whole. Too soon James is pulling away, though he doesn’t go far, both hands coming up to cradle Regulus’s face, their foreheads pressed together.

After a few seconds James lets out a breath of laughter. “Well, that answers that, then.”

Regulus squints at him. “Answers what?”

“I’ve been wondering,” voice low, quiet, just for Regulus, “what it’d be like to kiss you.”  Which surprises Regulus, though he doesn’t say it.

“And what is it like,” he asks instead, “to kiss me?”

James shakes his head, their foreheads brushing. “It’s—“ kissing Regulus again. “It’s really,” kissing, “really,” kissing, “really fucking good.”

This time it’s Regulus who laughs, and James swallows it all up. James kisses him until his lips are sore and his mouth dry and his world grotesquely bright and warm and soft.

I’ve made up your room. I’ve made the bed again and again. I cannot wait for him to meet you. You will save us all. In the end you will save us all. You, you, you, you, you, you, you , y o u   y  o  u     y   o    u

                              u

                      u

                            u

                                     u     

                             u

                 u

            u

                   u

                                 u      

Regulus barely makes it through the bathroom door before he has James’s hands on his shoulders pushing him up against the wall.

“Hi,” Regulus laughs between kisses, toiletries lost somewhere on the floor.

“Hi,” James’s mouth moves along his jaw, behind his ear, down his neck. “This okay?”

If he still had enough oxygen left he’d laugh again. “Yes—yes, it’s okay.” James’s hands under his shirt, strong and callused from quidditch. Regulus has always hated how sensitive his skin is, but now? Now every touch from James lights him on fire and he’s desperate for it. For more, more, more.

His hands are tangled up in James’s shirt, one of the only times he thinks he’s seen him wear one in this room, somehow it makes this feel more thrilling. Like James completely forgot the pretence for their meeting because he was thinking about this. About Regulus. About kissing Regulus.

James Potter likes kissing me, sings the slightly hysterical voice in his head.

There are a lot of lips and tongues and teeth, a lot of pulling and pushing on one another. Buttons undone, hands roaming. But it doesn’t go much further than that, which is probably good. Since this is already more than Regulus has ever done in his life. They end up on the ground eventually, backs pressed to the wall, leaning on one another. Regulus has the absurd urge to rest his head on James’s shoulder but he refrains. After a few comfortable moments of silence James pulls something out of his pocket and waves it at Regulus.

“You mind?” he asks, though he’s already placing it between his lips.

Regulus squints at him. “Is that a cigarette?”

James smirks, lighting it with the snap of his fingers. “Not quite,” he inhales, tilting his head back and exposing the long line of his throat—which is absolutely obscene. When he exhales the smell hangs in the air. Earthy, almost rotten.

Regulus wrinkles his nose. “I think it’s gone off.”

“It hasn’t, I promise,” sounding vaguely amused as he rolls his head to look at Regulus, it’s the laziness of the gesture that makes it strangely attractive. “It’s not a cigarette, it’s a spliff.”

Regulus just keeps staring at him. “I’m sorry, a what?”

“Weed?” James tries again.

“Which weed?” He knows that certain herbs have magical qualities if you burn them but he’s never heard of anyone smoking them before.

“Which—” James pulls the spliff out of his mouth, dropping his head forward and laughing. “No, Regulus, Reg, Reggie baby,” even though he knows James is trying to tease him his cheeks still get hot at the term of endearment. James Potter just called me baby. “It’s weed, as in, marijuana. You’ve heard of marijuana before, I presume?”

Regulus scowls at him, feeling his cheeks grow redder. “I—yes,” fidgeting. He has heard of it. Or read about it somewhere, he’s almost certain. This causing a second realization to dawn on him. “Are you getting high?” unable to keep the indignation out of his voice.

James only grins at him, wolfish, dangerous. It makes Regulus want to kiss him again. “I sure hope so. You want some?” he holds out the spliff, Regulus eying it warily before shaking his head. “Such a good little Prefect.” James pinches his cheek with his free hand, the younger boy instantly slapping him away. 

“Yes, alright you prick. I can see you are once again taking your position as Head Boy very seriously.”

“Mm,” James hums, exhaling again—a grey screen of smoke making it hard to see his face. “Dunno what you’re talking about, I’m an excellent role model. Ask anyone.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, staring back out at the room for a moment, before: “Does Sirius do this too?”

James’s brows rise. “Smoke, you mean?” Regulus nods. “Oh yeah, I swear to Merlin it’s the only thing that gets him to sleep some nights,” there is something suddenly heavy in his tone that wasn’t there before, something pinched in the corner of his mouth, his eyes.

“Sirius has a hard time sleeping?” Regulus finds himself asking. Me too, he almost adds. I wonder if our nightmares are the same?

James shrugs, rolling the spliff between his fingers. “Sometimes,” he doesn’t elaborate, and Regulus doesn’t ask him to. It doesn’t feel like his place, though he desperately wants to. Is greedy for every little crumb of information about his brother he can get his hands on. Hoarding them all like a dragon hoards treasure.

“You could talk to him, you know?” James says after a long pause, finally looking back at Regulus who finds he cannot hold his gaze.

“No, no I don’t think so,” fidgeting. “He wouldn’t like that.”

James pauses for a second, before: “I dunno, I think he misses you sometimes.”

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh.

Regulus has to squeeze his eyes shut against that pain. He’s not sure what there is for Sirius to miss about him, but he hopes it’s true anyway. Because he misses Sirius. Misses him like crazy. “You haven’t, um, mentioned this to him have you?” he waves his hand between them for clarification.

“No,” James says, once again not elaborating, instead taking another drag.

“Good,” Regulus starts to nod, the movement a little jerky, not quite believable. “That’s probably good, he wouldn’t—it would just cause problems,” he thinks Sirius would probably ask James to stop, and he thinks James probably would. Neither of those two truths make Regulus feel very good. James makes a noncommittal noise beside him, moving his foot to knock against Regulus’s and then leaving it there. Regulus stares at the place where they touch.

“Have you ever…” the words get stuck in his throat and he coughs, trying to force them out, still looking at their feet. It’s easier that way. “You know…with a boy?”

James stubs out his spliff, slipping the remainder into his pocket before turning to Regulus. “No,” he says easily, reaching out and tucking one of Regulus’s curls behind his ear. “You?”

Regulus shakes his head, embarrassed by the way his breath hitches from just that small touch. “I’ve never kissed anyone,” he doesn’t know why he admits that.

“Oh yeah?” James doesn’t sound like he’s bothered by this fact, or even particularly surprised. “Well, you’re very good at it,” voice low, a little gravely from the smoke.

“I—thanks,” desire curling in his stomach, blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Mm,” James hums, leaning forward and kissing the side of his face. “Love how pink you get—”

“Oh fuck off.”

“No, I mean it!” kissing him again in the same spot, and then moving down to the hinge of his jaw. “It’s been driving me mad for weeks.”

“Weeks?” Regulus’s voice a little high-pitched. “You’ve been thinking about kissing me for weeks?”

“Mhm,” kissing along his jaw, a warm hand landing on Regulus’s thigh. His head thunks back against the wall, eyelashes fluttering.

“I—but—why, why would you? If  you’ve never kissed a boy before?” words barely making it out of his mouth as his brain starts going fuzzy from all of James’s attention.

The older boy only shrugs. “I like you,” there it is again. Simple. Honest. Regulus doesn’t understand it at all.

“You like me,” he murmurs, like he needs to hear the words again.

“Yeah.” And then James is straddling Regulus’s hips, his hands dipping into his hair as he tilts his head back and kisses him properly.

He taste like smoke.

Like he’s burning Regulus up.

January 1978 

He’s a bit obsessed with it. The Mark. Rolling his sleeve up every chance he gets—every moment he’s alone—just to stare at it, to run his fingers over it. He’d wanted to know what it would feel like, to be scarred. And now he does.

James is already in the bath when he gets there. His smile gets so big when he see Regulus that it puts the sun to shame.

“Hi,” he says.

Regulus tries to smile back, hopes it look convincing. “Hi,” slipping his shoes and socks off and walking towards him. He considered not coming but…well…he just couldn’t manage it in the end.

James arches his brow. “You gonna take some of those layers off?” nodding to Regulus’s still severely clothed body. He shakes his head, causing James’s eyebrows to rise even higher as he moves towards the edge of the tub. “No? Need me to take them off for you?”

Regulus gives him an unimpressed look but the other boy is already pulling himself out of the water, plastering his body to Regulus’s. “Ugh—James! You’re getting me all wet!” James only grins at him, running his hands up and down his sides.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re getting in that tub, up to you whether you’re going to be fully clothed when it happens or not.”

“James,” he tries again. “I’m just dipping my toes in.”

“Mhm, mhm,” hands gripping his hips. “Fully clothed it is then.”

“No! James Fleamont Potter, don’t you fucking—“

But it’s too late, James is already throwing them both into the water. Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, the bath really is not deep enough for this, and he has a flash of fear that he’s going to hit his head on the bottom or break his leg or get some other horribly painful injury that he will be forced to explain to Madam Pomfrey. But James somehow manages to keep his arms around Regulus the whole time, protecting him from any potential hard surfaces, so that the worst he has to suffer is the water that gets up his nose.

“You prick,” Regulus splutters, both of them returning to the surface. He tries desperately to push the wet curls back off his face. James is laughing, he sounds like a twelve year old, and Regulus splashes him as hard as he can. When that doesn’t have the desired effect he gives him a hard shove in the centre of his chest. He’s going to do it again when James grabs hold of his wrists, bullying him right up against the side of the tub, pressing their bodies together. Regulus does his best to maintain his scowl, but it’s hard when James is leaning into him like this.

“You’re the worst,” he hisses.

James only smiles, water dripping from the tip of his nose. “Missed you,” the words sending shivers all through Regulus. He wants to continue being cross with him, really he does. His clothes are soaked now, and he’s never been much good at domestic spells, so there’s no way he’ll be able to get them dry again tonight, but it’s hard to be annoyed when James is looking at him the way he is now. Eyes big and bright.

“I missed you too,” he finally manages, horrified by the way his voice cracks. James crowds in closer, dipping his head down and pressing their cheeks together.

“Yeah?” he practically whispers in Regulus’s ear, like maybe he wasn’t sure. Regulus pulls his hands free of James’s grip, slipping them around his back and pulling him close, so that the two of them end up holding one another. Regulus isn’t sure if this is normal, if it’s a thing people do—cling to each other—but he likes it. Likes feeling the heat of James pressed against him.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. “Always.”

“Always,” James repeats, like it’s the loveliest thing he’s ever heard. “Good, that’s good,” kissing Regulus’s temple, his cheek, and finally his mouth. Regulus groans into it, he would be embarrassed if it weren’t for the fact that James seems to like it.

“I could kiss you forever,” he murmurs into his mouth.

And Regulus nearly cries. Yes, he wants to say, please. I would like that very much, actually. 

Dear Mother,

I hope all is well at home. I’m just a bit concerned. The gift you got me for Christmas, it’s started to hurt. Is that normal? It’s keeping me up at night. I’m worried something has gone wrong. 

Give father my love,

Regulus

It’s like his body is rejecting it. Or maybe it’s all in his head, he’s not sure. But his forearm is burning hot to the touch. Angry red skin outlining the black lines. And he can feel it…moving. Like something is trapped underneath. Every time he lies down to sleep he feels it squirming. It won’t let him rest. Last night he very nearly took a knife to it at dinner, desperate to cut it out.

“Hey,” James says gently, the next time they see one another. Thankfully this time he’s dressed so Regulus doesn’t have to try to come up with some excuse to keep his shirt on. James had been standing by the stained glass window smoking it looks like, but the second he sees Regulus he’s stubbing out the spliff and moving towards him, face lined with concern. “You okay? You don’t look so good,” his hands instantly come up to Regulus’s face, gently cupping his cheeks.

He isn’t doing well. He’s exhausted. He can feel it like a weight on his shoulders, his chest, every night that’s passed since he got the Mark a bolder he’s being forced to push around. He closes his eyes, swaying into James’s touch.

“I’m just tired,” he manages, it feels nice when James brushes his thumbs over his cheeks, but too soon his hands are gone. Regulus blinks his eyes open just in time to see James with his wand in his hand, casting spells on the floor. “What’re you—” but before his eyes he watches the hard tile turn into a soft, springy mattresses. “Oh, is—you don’t have to—”

But James isn’t having it, taking Regulus’s hand and pulling him gently down onto the newly made bed. “C’mere,” he says kindly, and Regulus wants to protest but he can’t quite manage it, especially when James wraps his arms around him, murmuring a spell into his neck, a blanket appearing over them a moment later.

He doesn’t know why it makes him want to cry.

“This is ridiculous,” he says instead. “We’re in a bathroom.”

James only huffs, kissing the top of his head. “Nah, I like it. Feels like us.”

Regulus has no idea what that even means. But he can’t ask, because being held by James Potter is some kind of magic. And between one second and the next he’s finally able to fall asleep.

There is nothing wrong. Believe my son, all is as it should be. Accept the cause into your heart. The Dark Lord rules for now, but one day all that is his will be yours. The pain is just part of the process.

Regulus isn’t sure if that’s true or not. Sometimes his mother says things that don’t make sense. He’s never certain what is fiction and what is reality. Especially not these days. He’d write his father but he never gets a response from him. Sometimes not even when they’re in the same room.

February 1978

“You set her hair on fire?” Regulus says through his laughter, his legs dangling in the water, James floating in front of him. This time, thankfully, he did not throw Regulus in when he refused to take his clothes off.

“I mean, Remus was standing-by to put her out before anything got too life-threatening,” James says reasonably.

Regulus is shaking his head. “That’s insane, you know that’s insane, right?”

James only grins at him. “All the best things are.”

Regulus isn’t sure he would have agreed with that before. Before this. Before them. Before James. He knows he’s on borrowed time here, but he doesn’t like to think about it. About how delicate this thing between them is. Existing only within the confines of this room, unable to withstand the pressure of the outside world.

“Hey,” James moves closer, hand wrapping around his calf and tugging lightly. “Where’d you go just now?”

Regulus shakes his head, looking down at him, unable to stop himself from reaching out and running his hand through James’s hair. He hums happily. “Nowhere,” Regulus murmurs. “I’m here. I’m always here.” And it’s true. Sometimes the only time he feels solid anymore is in this room. 

His course work is slipping. He still isn’t sleeping well. His arm hurts. A maddening ache that never seems to go away completely, always hovering there in the background. He wants to chew it off. Finds himself running his nails over it when he isn’t paying attention. Breaking the skin. He doesn’t care what his mother said, something is wrong. Something is clearly wrong. He feels sick, can’t keep any food down. He wants his brother.

James takes one look at him and pulls his wand out, charming the floor again. Regulus doesn’t even try to argue this time.

“What’s wrong Reg?” he murmurs into his neck, running his hand up and down his back. If Regulus has ever been comforted like this before he can’t remember it. “Please, tell me what’s wrong?”

But he can’t, of course. So instead, he pretends to be asleep.

Mother, have there been any instances of people dying from these kinds of things? Only, I’m certain it’s getting worse. It hurts almost constantly, and nothing seems to ease it.

With love,

Regulus

“Wolfsbane.”

Regulus looks up from the parchment in front of him, but James has already returned to staring out the window, spliff between his fingers, wrist resting on his knee.

“How do you know that?”

James shrugs. “I’m a genius,” winking at him.

Regulus rolls his eyes, even though he thinks it might be true, quickly scribbling the answer down. He’s sitting on the floor of the bathroom, desperately trying to get his Potions work done. “Sorry about this, I swear I’ll only be a few more minutes,” horribly embarrassed to be taking up James’s time.

“I don’t mind,” he exhales. Regulus’s eyes flick involuntarily towards him. The thing is, James exhaling is practically pornographic, and he just can’t help himself, even though he really needs to focus right now. 

“Please,” he mutters eventually. “I can’t imagine this is how you wanted to spend your evening.”

“I just wanted to spend my evening with you,” like he means it. Like it’s true, “m’not really fussed about the rest.”

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making some kind of embarrassing mooning expression. He knows his face is heating up, but there’s nothing that can be done for it.

It takes several seconds before he’s able to work the words “Thank you” into his mouth. 

James only grins, leaning down and kissing his cheek. “Anytime, baby.”

Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong. Nothing, nothing, nothing. It is you my son. It is you. You, you, you. It is you, you, you. It is you you yo o oo uu uuu   uu  u u u u       u     u  uuu uuu         

He runs into Sirius in the corridor one day. A simple collision, both of them rounding the corner too quickly. For a moment afterwards they freeze, staring at one another, statues. Soldiers on a battlefield. Regulus wants to tell him. Wants to tell him everything. He misses Sirius so badly some days he can’t stand it.

“Sorry,” Sirius says finally, ducking his head and pushing past Regulus without another word.

No, wait.

Come back.

Please come back.

But Regulus doesn’t say any of that. He just stands there and watches him go.

March 1978

James is standing behind him, hands on his hips, kissing his neck. “C’mon, come in with me.”

“James.”

“Just for a little bit,” his fingers slip under the hem of Regulus’s shirt, sliding up his stomach, making him shiver.

“James,” his name comes out as a moan this time.

“Please?”

Regulus’s eyes flutter closed at the sensation of being touched. Skin sensitive as always. It’s dark, the sun setting so early these days, the candles in the room dim. Maybe—Maybe he can get away with it? Just this once.

“Mm, more bubbles.”

James laughs into the crook of his neck. “If bubbles is all it will take to get you semi-naked I’ll give you more bubbles than you know what to do with.”

“Promises, promises,” Regulus hums, turning around in James’s arms so he can kiss his mouth.

“Alright, that’s it, now you’ve questioned my integrity,” he gives Regulus one more kiss before letting him go and marching towards the tub to fiddle with the knobs. A second later the taps start pouring a greasy pink liquid into the water that instantly foams. James turns to Regulus looking rather pleased, arms outstretched.

“What did I tell you?”

“Uh-huh,” Regulus says, biting down on his lip to control his smile. “You get in first.”

“Jeez, someone is feeling bossy tonight,” he gives Regulus a wink. “I like it. Got any other orders for me, baby?”

“Well, since you can’t even seem to follow the first one lets stick with that for now.”

James gives him a two fingered salute. “Aye, aye captain,” before stepping off the ledge and plopping into the tub, water splashing over the sides. The bubbles are already starting to overwhelm the water, James barely visible through the foam.

Regulus turns his back to James, whispering a spell under his breath to dim the lights even more before ridding himself of all his clothes, except for his pants. He slips quickly into the water, bubbles engulfing him. James’s arm slinks immediately around his waist, pulling him in close.

“Hi,” he says, brushing their noses together.

Regulus laughs. “Hi.”

And then they’re kissing. Merlin, he’ll never get tired of kissing James Potter. Of feeling his hands on his body, touching him all over.

“You taste so good,” James mumbles into his mouth.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not, you do. I want to take you in my mouth—“

“James.”

“—I want you to come down my throat—“

“James.”

“—so I can kiss you, so you can taste it.”

“Fuck.”

Hands, and lips, and tongues, and teeth.

James reaches down, grabbing Regulus through his pants and he groans, unable to do anything but push into the touch. James lets go, slipping his hand instead below Regulus’s waistband and taking him in-hand properly.

“Fuck,” Regulus hisses again, forehead thunking against James’s shoulder.

“You’re so hard,” the other boy says, like he’s surprised.

Regulus laughs a little hysterically. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Kissing, and touching, and pulling. James moves his hand at a steady pace, and Regulus feels like he’s losing his mind. It’s too much and not enough and he must be clawing at James’s back but the other boy doesn’t complain, just keeps sucking at the sensitive spot on his neck.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps.

“Good,” James kisses his mouth again, takes his lip between his teeth and bites. It hurts and it doesn’t, all at the same time.

“Fuck.” The feeling rocks through his whole body, pins and needles in his arms and legs, it’s almost overwhelming, and he hears himself whine. He’ll be embarrassed about that later but right now he can’t make himself care.

“You’re so good Reg,” James is muttering, Regulus thinks he might have been talking for a while, Regulus’s brain too fuzzy to pick it up. James nuzzles at his hair. “So good.” And then he pulls away slightly, and Regulus wants to complain but then he watches James pulling his hand out of Regulus’s boxers and bring it up to his mouth, licking it before bending down to kiss him. Wet, and salty, and glorious.

“M-Merlin,” his breath stutters.

“You see?” is all James says, kissing him again. “So good. So fucking good.”

Hands shaking, Regulus scrambles to return the favour. “You have to tell me,” the pair still kissing messily. “Tell me what you like, I’ve never done this before.”

“I like you,” James murmurs, lips trailing away from his mouth to his chin, his neck, his ear.

“Corny,” Regulus groans, making James laugh. “And not helpful.”

James takes his earlobe in his mouth and bites, sending little shockwaves through Regulus. “Tighter,” he murmurs finally, “faster.”

It isn’t ideal, the water is no good, it should feel terrible. Regulus doesn’t know why it doesn’t. Somehow the fact that it’s James, that it’s them, overpowers all the rest of it. An obscene noise coming out of James’s mouth.

“Yes,” he murmurs, leaving lazy, sloppy kisses on Regulus’s neck. “Yes, yes, yes.”

They stay like that, for a long time afterwards. Too long really. Just holding each other. Breathing together.

“Don’t go anywhere Regulus Black,” James slurs at one point. And Regulus doesn’t know if he means just now or ever, but he answers anyway.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Regulus has many faults, but leaving has never been one of them.

Did you see? We killed nearly a hundred, and that is only the beginning. There are so many more. They’ve been allowed to breed and grow for too long. But now we are going to squish them all beneath our heels like the bugs that they are.

His arm still hurts. He checks it constantly, trying to make sure it isn’t getting worse. Never feeling reassured. He tries brewing pain potions, and potions for infections, for inflammation, but none of them seem to do anything. And at night he can feel the snake beneath his skin, worming its way around his bones. He’s terrified that one day it’s going to find its way to his heart. That it’s going to stop it beating. That it’s going to listen to what it’s saying.

Regulus comes to an abrupt halt inside the bathroom door, staring at the red blanket that’s been laid out on the ground, the small wicker basket resting on top, the grinning boy beside it.

“What’s this?” he asks, placing his suff down and walking forward.

“A date,” James says proudly, gesturing to the items in question.

“A date?” Regulus repeats, like the words are foreign to him.

James only nods. “A picnic, to be precise.”

Which is, so incredibly sweet, that Regulus isn’t sure what to do. He’s never been on a date. James steps forward, taking charge the way he does, the way Regulus needs, kissing him before his thoughts can start buzzing too loud. “C’mon,” as he tugs on Regulus’s wrist. “Come sit down.”

James, it turns out, has really come prepared. He pulls out various breads and cheeses, laying them out in front of Regulus on the blanket, the water trickling in the background making it feel very much like they’re sitting beside a river. Last, but not least, he pulls out a bottle of wine, winking at Regulus who laughs because he’s just—he can’t believe this. He never would have expected it. They’re not together, not really. Not dating. They don’t ever talk about how they ignore one another in the corridors, or the Great Hall, or Prefect meetings. Regulus isn’t sure what to say about it. Isn’t sure how else it could be. He expects James feels the same. But this? This feels like…more.

“How did you get all this?” Regulus asks, as James pours him a glass of wine. Regulus has never had wine before. Some firewhiskey once or twice, chugged out of a bottle and nearly immediately thrown back-up. This is different, this is…grown-up.

“I have some pull in the kitchens,” James says, pouring his own glass before placing the bottle off to the side. “The house elves love me,” another wolfish grin that has Regulus rolling his eyes. Then James lifts his glass to him. “A toast.”

“A toast?” Regulus repeats, laughing a little. “To what, exactly?”

James tilts his head, eyes bright behind his glasses. “To scheduling conflicts.” Regulus snorts, lifting his own glass. “And!” James adds quickly, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “To bubbles.”

“Oh of course, don’t forget the bubbles.”

“Exactly!” James’s eyes are staring right into Regulus’s, taking up all the space in his chest. All the air in his lungs. The younger boy finally manages to clear his throat.

“To schedules and bubbles, then.”

James leans forward, clinking their glasses together. “To schedules and bubbles.”

They eat, and they talk about quidditch, and classes. James insists on feeding Regulus a grape at one point, which is ridiculous and both of them giggle the whole time. The wine goes right to Regulus’s head, making him feel warm and fuzzy. Making him reach for James more. Somehow he ends up with his head in James’s lap, James’s hand in his hair. They don’t talk about anything important. They don’t talk about the attack on a group of Muggles that happened last week. They don’t talk about Sirius. They don’t talk about Regulus’s parents. Their conversation dancing around the uglier parts of their lives.

“Hey,” James leans down, brushing their noses together. “You know what we should do?”

Regulus groans. “Stay here like this and not move?”

James only smiles, waggling his eyebrows. “Skinny dipping.”

“No. No way.”

“Come on Regulus,” he kisses his nose. Then his mouth. Hands running down Regulus’s sides, his chest, teasing the waist of his trousers. “Get naked with me.” His voice lower. Huskier. Sending shivers running through Regulus’s whole body.

The wine, he thinks, the wine is the problem. The wine is making him too loose and too comfortable and too desperate to get his hands all over James. He would never normally agree to this. He hates being naked. But the wine.

“Okay,” he says finally, barely believing the word is coming out of his mouth. Somehow, James’s smile manages to get bigger. He kisses Regulus again, this one filthy and messy, with too much tongue and too many teeth, but neither of them seem to mind much. Then in the next second James is pushing Regulus up, his head spinning as he watches James pull his shirt off.

“Lets go baby, keep up,” James winks, starting on his trousers.

Merlin, what has Regulus gotten himself into?

Somewhat less assuredly, Regulus undoes the buttons on his shirt, cuffs getting caught on his wrists, resulting in several seconds of awkward struggling before he’s finally able to get his shirt off.

“You want me to help you with—“ but James’s teasing cuts off abruptly. So abruptly that it has Regulus looking up. James is standing in front of him, down to his boxers, staring at him. His expression frighteningly blank.

“What?” Regulus asks, swaying a bit.

The wine,

The wine,

The wine.

James’s face has drained of colour, and he looks like he’s going to be sick, or pass out. Regulus wonders if maybe he’s feeling the alcohol a little too much.

“James—“

“What is that?” James cuts him off, sounding nothing like himself. Voice too high, almost panicked. Which is making Regulus feel panicked.

“What’s what?” he demands, looking hastily down at himself, terrified about what he’s going to find. Which is when he sees it. Which is when he remembers. The Mark. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. The Mark.  “James—“

But the other boy is already jolting forward, grabbing hold of Regulus’s wrist and yanking his arm out straight, forearm on full display. James has never touched him like this before. Never touched him unkindly. It makes something inside Regulus curl up into a tiny ball.

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is, tell me you didn’t,” his eyes flash up to Regulus’s, full of anger and fear and desperation. Like he’s still hoping there’s another explanation. Like Regulus will be able to say something that will change what he’s seeing.

The truth is, Regulus doesn’t know what to say. His thoughts aren’t moving quickly enough. He wants to lie and he doesn’t. Doesn’t understand why James should care so much. It’s not as though this has anything to do with him. Not really. But he can feel the older boy’s grip growing tighter as his silence stretches on.

“Regulus.”

A warning.

A plea.

Regulus just shakes his head. “I—” eyes blinking frantically. He wishes his thoughts weren’t so fuzzy.

The wine,

The wine,

The wine.

“Did they make you?” James pushes. “Did they force you to get it?” It hurts, how badly James wants this to be something else. How badly he wants Regulus to be someone else. He half expects James to get on his knees. Regulus knew—knew he couldn’t tell James. Knew he couldn’t show him. But he hadn’t realized, not once, how much it would hurt James in the end. He’d thought the pain was all his.

“No,” he finally manages, voice barely there. “They didn’t. They didn’t need to.” Because it’s true. He’d wanted to make his mother happy. He’d liked the way he’d held his father’s attention for the first time in his life. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t normal, but it was the best he was ever going to get. The closest to love. Except that…except that James Potter had just taken him on a date. Just brought him a picnic.

“Oh fuck,” there are genuine tears in James’s eyes as he pulls away, turning his back to Regulus, hands pulling at his hair. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. You had that—you had it when we—when we—and you let me—I think I’m going to be sick.” He folds forward, hands on his knees.

Regulus is shaking, his whole body, it is a horrible, out of control feeling. He wishes he still had his shirt on. Some kind of armour. Something to hold him together. There are tears pressing against the backs of his eyes, his throat. A growing feeling in his stomach. Worse than nausea. More like rotting. And his arm hurts. It hurts so bad he’s certain it’s going to fall off.

“This—this doesn’t have to—to change anything,” he tries, cringing when James lets out a cold laugh. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

Finally, James turns back to him, the look on his face making Regulus recoil. There are tear tracks on his cheeks, but his eyes are all fire. “Nothing to do with me? Because I’m a pureblood you mean?” Regulus doesn’t know what to say to that, is having a hard time conjuring up any words at all. “This might shock you Regulus Black, but I actually do give a shit about people other than myself.”

Regulus looks away, wrapping his arms around his middle. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“It isn’t.”

“They’re hurting us! They’re taking our magic.”

“That’s insane, that’s actually insane. You must know that?”

Regulus only shakes his head. “Our blood is being diluted.”

“Well I can’t see how that’s possible when your lot keep marrying your cousins.”

“This is bigger than my family,” Regulus hisses, even though that isn’t true. Not really. Not for him. For him it’s all family. Love me, love me, love me. “We’re protecting the whole wizarding world.”

“By murdering people? People who don’t even know anything about magic? Who don’t even care? You aren’t protecting shit Regulus.”

“Fuck you.” Pulling his arms more tightly against his stomach, like he can make himself disappear.

“Fuck you right back I can’t—I can’t—I thought you were—“ his voice is choppy, cutting in and out like a radio that keeps losing signal. Regulus makes the mistake of looking back at him. He’s still crying. He cries the way he talks. Unashamed. He doesn’t bother trying to hide it, trying to wipe them away. Regulus never knew you could cry bravely, but he should have figured that if anyone could manage it, it would be James Potter. 

“You thought I was what?” Regulus demands, some of the spite drained from his voice, suddenly desperate to know.

James stares at him for a moment longer before shaking his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now does it? I don’t want—I won’t be any part of this,” he gestures with disgust at Regulus’s arm, sniffling and wiping at his face before his eyes come back to Regulus’s. Pouring into him. Tearing holes in his chest. “Sirius was right about you.”

It’s cruel.

Regulus is almost impressed. He hadn’t thought James was capable of that kind of cruelty.

His ears are buzzing as he stumbles back against the wall, still desperately trying to recover when he hears the door close. James gone.

He’d thought it was the Mark, his first scar. But he was wrong. James Potter might not pucker or pull tight, but he is certain he will find him on his skin for the rest of his life. A reminder, of the time that Regulus Arcturus Black was almost loved.

April 1978

He keeps going back to the bathroom.

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting.

But he knows it’s never there.

My son. My prince. It is all going according to plan. We are winning. Winning, winning, winning.

The highlight of his day is watching James and Sirius in the Great Hall. Is imagining where he would sit if he was at their table. Is imagining that it’s something he’s said that has Sirius throwing his head back and laughing. That it’s him James is smiling at.

The Ministry is ours. The only hope the other side has now is Dumbledore, and he will fall soon, the Dark Lord is certain.

May 1978

He’s failing his classes.

He tries to focus. He can’t. He scratches at his forearm so much that it’s starting to draw blood.

This was all for you. It was always for you. You, you, you.

Sometimes he wonders if his mother remembers that he isn’t Sirius. Wonders if in her mind they have melded into the same person.

He quits the quidditch team.

June 1978

James and Lily Evans are officially a couple. It’s all over the school.

James looks at him for the first time in two months. Regulus thinks it’s by accident. Across the Great Hall, Evans at his side. For a moment there is something sad in his expression. Something sorry. And then it’s gone.

He never takes his shirt off anymore. Not even to shower.

July 1978

He doesn’t fail. But it’s a near thing.

Come home. Come home my son. We have missed you. We have so much to give you. So much to tell you. Your destiny has only just begun.

He watches James and Sirius wrap their arms around the Potters on Platform 9 3/4 from his compartment window. He’s the last student to leave the train.

September 1978

Regulus doesn’t go back to school.

There’s nothing there for him anymore.

April 1979

The inferi are slow. They’ll get him, of course, there’s no way for him to escape. No way for him to fight all of them. He’s not even sure he wants to. Kreacher has the locket. What more is there for him to do?

He wades out into the water, the inferi reaching for him, though not yet quite able to latch on. To pull. Cold fingers grazing his legs, his sides. He lies on his back, arms and legs spread out. If he closes his eyes, the hands scraping at his back could be James’s. His face hovering above him.

Trust me. Relax. Trust me.

Regulus exhales, forcing himself to let go of the tension in his muscles, in his back, his neck. Lets himself just float.

You’re doing it.

He isn’t sure if he came here for James. He doesn’t think so. Doesn’t think he just gave it all up for some boy he hasn’t seen in a year. Maybe he did it for Sirius. Or maybe he did it for himself. This is the first time in years he hasn’t wanted to gnaw his arm off. The aching suspiciously absent. So no, this wasn’t about James Potter, but his voice is still the one he hears when he reaches. Reaches for strength. For something to hold on to.

I’m proud of you.

Regulus feels the hands underneath him finally managing to get a hold of him.

I’m proud of you.

Pulling him under.

I’m proud of you.

Water filling his nose. His lungs.

I’m proud of you.

I’m proud

proud

prou

pro

p r

p

It was an accident, the first time.

Or maybe it was never an accident.

Maybe James Potter knew what he was doing the whole time.

He was always magic like that.