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James Potter adored the concept of soulmates. In a world as big and crowded as his, he found comfort in the knowledge that out there, somewhere, there was at least one person whose soul suited his own perfectly. Like slipping on a glove tailored to his precise measurements, right down to the smallest millimetres of his fingernails.
He had already found one of his soulmates. At the sprightly age of eleven, James boarded the train at Platform Nine at Kings Cross Station that would take him from his parents and his home in Cornwall all the way to the boarding school his mother attended in Scotland (the school is called Hogwarts, and James loved his time there. Would he want to go back? No. He’s quite content with his life at the moment, thank you very much.). With a stomach full of butterflies and a bravado steadily slipping from his fingers, James made his way through the crowded train. Every carriage was full of the excited chatter of friends reuniting, and cacophonous laughter ricocheted off the carriage walls like bullets. Everyone looked so old. James was almost certain he must be the only eleven-year-old commencing Hogwarts that year. While this notion was ridiculous, and James can now look back and laugh at the dramatic despair that had coursed through his veins, he can still remember the stomach-churning anxiety with crystal clear clarity. He would never wish that sickening unease upon any other person.
Well.
Not upon any person he likes.
By the time James found himself a compartment that was not full of senior students, a painful lump had lodged itself in his throat. He heaved a relieved sigh, and with trembling hands yanked open the door of the compartment. He slinked inside, slid the door closed, and let his forehead rest against the glass pane of the compartment door with a dull thunk.
“Hello? Can I help you?”
James yelped in shock. He whipped around to find the empty compartment was, in actuality, not empty, and a pale boy with shiny black hair sat inside it. His voice was clear, just on the brink of being pulled down by puberty. His eyes were grey, narrowed slightly in suspicion. A book lay open in his lap, a bookmark sticking out between the pages.
James swallowed nervously. The boy didn’t appear threatening, but the aura around him was so… suave. James adjusted his glasses with a knuckle.
“Sorry, I thought this compartment was empty,” James said. The boy raised an eyebrow. Whether it was in amusement or contempt, James couldn’t be sure. “I can leave, if you want?”
The boy tutted.
“What, and sit all by myself? No, I think I might drive myself mad. Sit, please.”
James felt his nerves dissipating. Who was this boy? His accent was posh. Not that James had an un-posh accent, but this boy was, like, Queen of England posh. Someone who spoke like that couldn’t be intimidating, surely.
Right?
James sat opposite him.
“I’m Sirius,” the boy, Sirius, said. He held out his hand for James to shake. James swallowed the laugh of surprise that leapt up his throat.
“James.” He grinned and shook Sirius’ hand. Sirius leant back in his seat and snapped the book shut. James glanced at the title. “You like Jane Austen?”
Sirius’ face scrunched up. “What? Oh.” He looked down at the book and let out a derisive snort. “Mother insisted I read it. God knows why. It’s dreadfully boring.”
“It can’t be that bad, surely?” James reasoned. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Mr Darcy and Elizabeth are soulmates, but his comments about her looks before they found out they were soulmates got them off on the wrong foot. Against the odds, they fall in love anyway. It’s quite good, actually.”
Sirius’ eyebrows crept towards his hairline.
“Have you read it?”
“No!” James felt his cheeks flush. A shit-eating grin tugged on Sirius’ lips, and James felt his coolness melting like fairy-floss in water. “My mum, she loves the book, and she talks about it quite often. And the film, too, with Keira Knightly, of course, is great! We watch it, together. With my dad, too. He likes it.” The landscape outside was flurrying past them, blurry and inhomogeneous as a Monet landscape. “But I haven’t read it,” he tacks on, as if this statement would be his saving grace. Maybe James could spare himself his last iota of dignity if he flung himself from the window.
“I didn’t take you for a romantic,” is what Sirius responded. He tilted his head to the side, considering James’ words and looking strikingly like a pigeon. His fingers tapped against the novel. “Do you believe in soulmates?”
“Of course.” James crossed his arms, defensive. “We literally have soul marks on our bodies, it’s stupid to believe otherwise.”
“Marks?” Sirius straightened. He clutched the book tightly. “You have more than one?”
“Yes,” James said, as if it were obvious. “Everyone does.”
Sirius frowned. “No, they don’t. My brother only has one. My parents don’t have any.”
James blinked. They sat in silence. In the carriage hallway, a loud thump could be heard, followed by an eruption of laughter.
Not having a soul mark was rare. James had never heard of people not having soul marks before Sirius had told him. When the two decided to look into it, a few weeks down the track, they had discovered that the only known reason people would not have a soul mark is due to a hereditary genetic deformity that prevented the marks from manifesting on the skin. Theoretically, they had a soul mate out there, but the marks never appeared on their skin. James thought it was interesting that both of Sirius’ parents had the same genetic defect. Sirius glared at James and told him to shut up.
“So, why you do you and your brother have soul marks if your parents don’t?”
Sirius shrugged and looked out the window. James fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve, a nervous habit he had picked up from his father.
“Do you like French onion soup?” James asked tentatively. It was his go-to question to break any awkward silence.
Sirius smirked, turning his head to face James.
“For me, it’s just onion soup.”
James froze. His right arm began to heat up, as if someone had injected his blood with warm water. Sirius, too, must have felt something, for his already pale face turned ashen. James tugged the sleeve of his jumper up, revealing the slanting cursive scrawled across his forearm. Without a word, Sirius sat forward and pulled back his own sleeve, where the god-forsaken question that had sprouted from James was written in neat handwriting. James’ handwriting.
Giddiness bubbled under James’ skin like champagne fizz. He made eye contact with Sirius, whose grey eyes were bright with mirth. James wiggled his eyebrows.
“Hello, platonic soup-mate,” James crooned, and Sirius let out a barking laugh.
James met Regulus the following year. They didn’t speak much for the first four years that they knew each other. Regulus was polite to James, but he preferred the company of his own friends (one Barty Crouch Jr., who had a slightly deranged gleam in his eye that James still could not discern was madness or a good sense of fun; one was Evan Rosier, who was the personification of a cappuccino – that is, hot, energetic, and bitter, with an underlying sweet side – Evan and Barty happened to be soulmates after a rather passionate discussion about the chicken noodle soup served at dinner that day; and Pandora Lovegood, who James thought was eccentrically lovely) to hanging around Sirius’ friends, which James supposed was fair enough.
When James was sixteen, though, and Regulus was fifteen, things changed.
Oh, how they changed.
James had been in the library at Hogwarts one afternoon, studying for a Chemistry test he had the next day. From his place at the desk under the window, James could see that dusk was beginning to set outside, the sun low enough on the horizon to paint the pink sky with swirling clouds of purple. Jupiter winked brightly. No other star could be seen.
James tapped his pen against the practice test in front of him. Chemistry was frustrating. His teacher, Professor Slughorn, had the marvellous ability to teach the subject in a way that James could never understand. Whenever James asked a question, Professor Slughorn would smile, give an encouraging, “ah, my boy, I’m glad you asked!” and then proceed to point at a page in James’ textbook and walk away.
James was by no means stupid, but even he could not teach himself the intricacies of ionic bonding or whatever the fuck balancing a chemical equation involved.
James continued to stare at the page, but no epiphany washed over him and magically made him understand the paper before him.
A bag thwumped on to the desk beside him. James yelped and his heart thumped rabbit-quick in shock. Looking up at the culprit, James saw it was Regulus who was pulling out the chair beside James and sinking into it.
James tried to remain calm. If he was to be completely transparent, he’d harboured a… smallish crush on Regulus for the better part of a year. Peter teased him about it incessantly, always commenting on how he’d ‘already got one Black brother as a soulmate!’ and how hilarious he found it that James ‘wanted to complete the set.’ Remus would roll his eyes at Peter’s comments, but never intervened. His eyes did gleam at the irony. Sirius, of course, switched between commending James in having ‘superior taste’ in whom he fancied, and discomfort because ‘come on, that’s my brother, mate.’ While James was almost certain his crush wasn’t reciprocated, he did appreciate the knowledge that his friends weren’t against him liking Regulus.
“God, Reg, give a guy some warning next time,” James mumbled, ears burning. Regulus eyed him in amusement.
“Oh, sorry, did I startle you?” Regulus teased as he opened his bag, and pulled out his pencil case, a notebook, and a novel. James straightened when he saw the novel’s title.
Pride and Prejudice.
“Just a bit,” James murmured, absentmindedly. “Pride and Prejudice, eh? I remember studying that for English last year. How are you liking it?”
Regulus spared James a single glance before he opened his notebook to a blank page. “It’s alright. Well-written. It’s frustrating to hear Barty endlessly bitch about studying a romance novel.”
James chuckled, all thoughts about Chemistry flying out of his brain.
“Typical, I suppose. Most of the boys in my class were like that, too. Do you like romance, Reg?”
Regulus kept his gaze locked on his notebook. His grip on his pen tightened.
“Yeah, it’s alright,” he repeated, his voice even. “Do you?”
“Oh, I love it,” James gushed. Regulus looked at him, surprised, and James coughed into his fist. “I mean, it’s alright, yeah.” He adjusted his glasses and crossed his arms. “Nothing wrong with liking romance. Especially one as timeless as Pride and Prejudice. They’re soul mates who manage to offend each other immediately, it’s a – it’s an original idea. Unconventional. And their differences in class only benefit for what the other lacks. For instance, Mr. Darcy –"
James closes his mouth before he can embarrass himself further. Sometimes, he finds that the universe is rather selfish, because if any deity out there cared about him, they would smite James right there and then so he may preserve some of his pride.
Regulus doesn’t laugh at him, though. He’s looking at James with a pinched expression, and, for some reason he cannot quite put his finger on, James is overcome with the urge to smooth out Regulus’ features.
“Mr. Darcy…?” Regulus prompted. James swallowed.
“Mr. Darcy embodies the quintessential upper-class gentleman, but he’s flawed. He’s arrogant. Elizabeth is, um, she helps bring out a more, er, compassionate side to him.”
Regulus nodded, then turned to his notebook to scribble something down. James blinked, then squinted to see what Regulus was writing.
In neat, slanting, and somewhat familiar cursive across the top line of the notebook, was: Mr. Darcy – quintessential upper class gentleman, arrogant, Liz brings out comp
“Oi!” James plucked the pen from Regulus’ hand. Regulus squawked, outraged.
“Give it back!”
Regulus leaned forward in his chair in a bid to reclaim his pen. James leant backwards, keeping his arm out of Regulus’ reach. After a moment of struggle, Regulus sat back and glared at James. James gingerly straightened. He felt suspicious about why Regulus conceded so quickly. If it were Sirius, he would have tackled James to the floor by now.
No, rather than brawling around like wannabe-wrestlers, Regulus clicked his tongue, tucked his hair behind his ears, and pulled out another pen from his pencil case. His cheeks were slightly pink. Now that James was looking, he noticed the smattering of freckles splashed across Regulus’ cheeks. Like constellations.
Wow, okay, James, he thought to himself. James averted his gaze, hoping Regulus hadn’t noticed him staring. Be cool. Be suave.
James stared at his Chemistry paper without reading any of the equations. He was feeling hot, like, on the brink of sweating, and he forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths. What was wrong with him? It was only Regulus.
He berated himself internally. Only Regulus. He didn’t deserve the insult. Regulus was so many things – witty, charming, handsome, clever… the indignity of referring him to as only Regulus sent a lick of shame down James’ chest.
Regulus, with his eyes that changed depending on the weather, the light, or his mood. They could sparkle in the sun or his mirth, appearing almost blue. They could darken to a deep, slate grey, like furious clouds in a summer thunderstorm.
Regulus, with his inky black hair that feel just so. With his incredible skill on the football pitch that left James staring in awe.
James forced himself to take a breath. While Regulus was all of these lovely things, he was also embodied the spirit of a wet cat. James happened to love cats and found this demeanour endearing.
The pair sat in silence for a few minutes. Regulus was slightly hunched over his notebook, scribbling down tiny dot-points, holding Pride and Prejudice open with his left hand. James squinted and leant closer to Regulus to peek at his novel.
There were annotations in the margins. A lot of them. Words had been circled and underlined, and there were a few sentences running down the page. As well as… circles?
James, as inconspicuously as possible, shifted even closer to peer over Regulus. They weren’t circles.
They were love hearts.
Butterflies fluttered in James’ belly, spreading warm waves of affection throughout his body with their flapping wings.
Regulus had drawn love hearts in the margins of his copy of Pride and Prejudice. Even if he wanted to, James couldn’t suppress the fond smile pulling on his lips. He didn’t know what to do with this information. He wanted to kick his feet and scream into a pillow. He was tempted to ask Regulus to draw hearts on his books. Or to draw a heart on him. Maybe one day, when he was legally allowed to get a tattoo, he might ask Regulus to tattoo a heart on him.
“What are you looking at?”
James looked up to see Regulus eyeing him with caution. James smiled.
“Nothing. You.”
Regulus’ eyebrows scrunched. Again. It was sweet. He was sweet.
“Me?” he asked, sceptical. “Why are you looking at me?”
James shrugged. They stared at each other for a moment. Regulus’ gaze flicked down from James’ eyes to his lips. James swallowed, nervous, and pulled back. His mind began to buzz, like an overcrowded beehive with hundreds of thoughts scrambling on top of one another.
Was he looking at my lips?
No, there was no way.
The hearts in the margins!
What is his favourite soup?
Does he like me, too?
Has he already found his soulmate?
He was definitely looking at my lips.
Was I looking at his lips?
James ruffled a hand through his hair, as if it would help quiet the humming echoing around his skull. The air felt strained. Had James ruined the moment? Were they even having a moment to begin with?
Regulus pulled back, too, and twirled his pen in his fingers. A pink tinge had returned to his cheeks. James found it unfairly attractive.
He felt the need to say something. To diffuse the tension, to quiet the voices rattling around his mind. Unfortunately, James’ critical thinking skills were nowhere to be found – probably having a nice break with his suavity, so the question that tumbled out of James’ mouth was probably the worst question he could have possibly asked.
“So, er, do you like cold soup?”
Regulus squared his shoulders and levelled James with a curious look. He considered James’ question, looking rather similar to a cat who had been given a bowl of dry food instead of the caviar it asked for. James felt like a deer in headlights. He hardly dared to breathe.
He had only asked this question once before, to his past crush, Lily Evans, and her answer did not match the words on his arms, so he’d given up on those feelings rather quickly. But the way Regulus was scowling, his lip curled in contempt, James couldn’t help but feel hopeful.
“Cold soup is evil, and there is a special place in hell for whoever decided to invent it,” Regulus snarked. James felt his heart plummet to the floor.
No. Fucking. Way.
A bubble of laughter burst forth from James’ lips. Regulus grinned. Then, his grin fell. James wanted to cup his hands beneath Regulus’ chin, as if he could catch the smile and put it back where it belonged. But he knew why Regulus’ grin evaporated.
James’ left forearm began to prickle. Regulus’ eyes widened, staring at his own arm as if it might bite him. Slowly, Regulus lifted his eyes to meet James’.
Oh.
Oh.
It’s you.
James tentatively offered a smile.
“Hi, cold soup hater.”
Regulus smiled back. His eyes crinkled in the corners, and his irises sparkled. James had never cared much for stargazing before, but he thinks it just might be his new favourite hobby.
“Hello, fellow cold soup hater.”
Regulus’ words were wrapped in fondness like a blanket, and the sound pulled a chuckle of disbelief from James. Gingerly, Regulus reached for James’ left arm. James let him take it. Regulus’ hands were cool, slightly calloused, and fit against James’ like a glove. He looked down at James’ arm, then back up to meet James’ gaze. A silent question – may I? James nodded.
Regulus drew back James’ sleeve, and there, on his arm, in Regulus’ familiar sprawling cursive: Cold soup is evil, and there is a special place in hell for whoever decided to invent it.
Regulus traced the words with his finger, his touch delicate. James’ heart swooped. He had never been treated like this – with such genuine, tender care. It felt strange, being on the receiving end of affection. Somehow, James always pictured he’d be the one to give it. But he was entranced by Regulus’ assertiveness. Like he was under some sort of spell.
“I didn’t know you had another soulmate,” Regulus whispered, his eyes locked on James’ arm. “I knew about you and Sirius, of course. He wrote to me the night he found out he’d found his platonic mate. He went on and on about how awesome this guy was, how funny your first encounter was, how fortunate it was that he’d found one of his soulmates on his first train ride to school.”
Though he spoke softly, James felt the words pierce his chest like an arrow. He thought of ten-year-old Regulus, reading the letter from his brother, discovering that his brother found someone whose soul was intertwined so intrinsically, so harmoniously, with his own, that the universe deemed them a perfect match, while Regulus himself remained at home, trapped in a house with only his parents for company. Parents who loved him, and loved each other, but scorned the concept of soulmates and soul marks. James wanted to mourn that year of solitude on Regulus’ behalf, even though he knew it was not his place.
Regulus took a deep breath. Subconsciously, James felt himself imitating him. Regulus looked up at James once more, a playful smile on his lips.
“Little did I know, my soulmate was just around the corner.”
Regulus paused, then scrunched his face in disgust. He let go of James’ arm. James startled, blinking rapidly at the sudden shift in mood.
“Wha-”
“I have to share my soulmate with my Brother? Fucking – really?”
James gaped, unsure whether he should be offended or amused. Regulus shook his head as if he could expel the concept from his brain if he bashed it against his skull hard enough.
“What’s wrong with sharing a soulmate? Lots of people do!” James reached out for Regulus’ arm to pull him back towards him. Regulus complied, allowing himself to be pulled from his own chair and onto James’ lap. “It’s not like me and Sirius are romantic soulmates or anything. That’s Remus-”
“Oh my fucking God, James, you’re not helping!”
James laughed as Regulus gently thumped his fists against James’ chest. Not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to convey how unimpressed he was. James grabbed Regulus’ wrists to get him to stop. Regulus glared down at him half-heartedly from his vantage point on James’ lap. The sight made James gasp.
Something about the position must have affected Regulus, too. He faltered, his glare giving way to something more vulnerable. James bit his lip anxiously. Regulus’ eyes tracked the movement. Slowly, Regulus brought his hands up to cup James’ jaw. James’ hands slid down Regulus’ chest and found purchase on his waist. Regulus pulled James’ lip out from his teeth with his thumb with the tenderness one might use on an injured animal.
James wasn’t sure what to do. The desire to kiss Regulus was overwhelming. He looked so soft, so lovely. James almost believed that his affection for Regulus was rendering him paralysed. Luckily for him, Regulus took control of the situation. He tilted James’ head up.
“Is this okay?” Regulus asked, his voice low. Electricity tingled in the places where Regulus’ fingertips were cradling his face.
“It’s so fucking okay,” James gushed. That was all the approval Regulus needed before diving in. James closed his eyes and their lips met in the middle. James had heard all about fireworks and explosions and miracles that people felt when they kissed their soulmate for the first time. But that wasn’t what kissing Regulus was like.
No. Kissing Regulus felt like… it was warm. Sweet. It was difficult to articulate. For lack of a better word, kissing Regulus just felt Right.
James tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss, but his glasses bumped Regulus’ face. They were knocked askew, pushed half-way off of the bridge of his nose. Regulus pulled back with a disgruntled noise.
“It’s so selfish of you to have glasses, you know.” Regulus readjusted James’ glasses. James gave Regulus a goofy grin.
“So selfish of me,” James agreed. Regulus tilted his head to the side and smiled. He ran a hand through James’ hair.
“You’re lucky I like them. They suit you.”
James’ grin broadened. How was he supposed to function when Regulus was so… Regulus? James settled for squeezing Regulus’ waist in response.
Overhead, a bell rang out to signal dinner. Regulus sighed, not moving from his spot on James’ lap.
“Would it be terribly awful of me to suggest skipping dinner, and sneaking out to get food later?” Regulus asked. James opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, James’ stomach gurgled like a dying whale. Regulus snorted. “I guess that answers my question.”
He slid off of James’ lap and stood up. He packed his notebook, book, and pencil case back into his school bag. James stood up, too.
“I would have said no anyway. It’s butternut squash soup night, tonight.”
Regulus perked up.
“Butternut squash soup? That’s my favourite.”
James tucked his chair into the desk and offered out his hand. Regulus shouldered his bag and took it.
“Mine, too.”
James’ practice Chemistry test remained forgotten on the desk.
(James failed the test the following day. But he wasn’t upset about it. He’d found his soulmate, which, in his humble opinion, was far better than getting a good grade.)