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Blossoming flowers and dewdrops on freshly cut grass. Stormy nights giving way to longer, warmer days. Animals waking from their extended slumber. Birds chirping, butterflies fluttering, hummingbirds flitting, and bees buzzing. Clouds drifting overhead, some forming their own distinct shapes.
Regulus loved it all.
His fondness for spring was one that initially caught his friends off guard. His cold, reserved demeanor and tendency to dress formally called for the lower temperatures offered by autumn and winter. The appeal of the two seasons was only aided by their consistent downpour of rain and snow, an excuse to stay indoors and avoid others.
But, really, Regulus hated being cooped inside. He liked cold weather well enough, but he always ended up aching with the desire to lounge leisurely in the courtyard, curling beneath the sun with a book in hand or Pandora’s fingers deftly combing through the ebony waves of his hair. He longed for the gentle tapping of rain against window panes, soaking soil and nursing plants. He yearned for the growth of nature around him, the earth beneath his feet, and itched for the rambunctious return of fauna at Hogwarts.
Today was his favorite kind of day. The wind musing his hair made him feel lighter, as if it was carrying the weight off his shoulders and across the rolling fields. The kiss of the sun against his rosy cheeks warmed his core, offering a sense of safety and peace.
It was so easy to close his eyes and lean into the feeling, basking in it and letting his mind blank, a rare occurrence.
The sound of footsteps in the distance pulled him from his heedless state, crescendoing as they grew closer. The rhythm was all too familiar, and Regulus was faintly embarrassed by the way his body instinctively relaxed again, recognizing the slap of trainers against the solid ground. It came to a sudden halt, leaving the gentle whistle of the wind to fill the silence.
Regulus cracked one of his eyes open.
Clad in a pair of trousers and a scarlet Muggle hoodie, James grinned down at him, his hair as wild as ever. He wore a black jacket over the sweater. A small stag, dog, wolf, and rat were stitched into the flap of one of his breast pockets, just over his heart. Blades of grass clung to the rubber of his red sneakers. It was evident he had been running just moments before as he fought to catch his breath, taking deep inhales and releasing them slowly.
Regulus watched the Chaser carefully, and— ah, there they were. That was another thing he loved about spring. The way it darkened the freckles scattered along the bridge of James’ nose, making them more prominent, even as it deepened the copper of his skin.
Humming as if he were unimpressed by James’ unkempt state, Regulus let his eye flutter shut again, and lifted his chin towards the sun. His legs were stretched out, the blanket beneath him serving as a barrier warding him from the grass, and his elbows were bent at his sides, propping him up as he reclined.
Regulus’ lips twitched in amusement. He peeled his eyes open, hair shifting against his brow as he rolled his head to face the Gryffindor. “You’re late.”
Regulus had been teaching James French for two months now. At the time, Regulus thought James just wanted to understand his muttering, but the Chaser had timidly admitted he was doing it for Regulus. Regulus, who loved speaking French, but only got the chance to when he was exchanging secret messages with Sirius, or being publicly admonished by his parents, harsh words veiled by the elegance associated with the other language.
Learning French would give him the opportunity to spend more time with Regulus, James had argued, and partake in something that he enjoyed, something that he was proud of. The Slytherin had kissed him for his thoughtfulness, and immediately agreed.
It was time better spent studying for the seventh years’ upcoming N.E.W.T.S, but Regulus had never been able to deny James anything. Sirius called it sickening. Regulus called it The James Effect.
“Sorry, love,” James offered, still smiling at him with a soft gleam in his eye. He slipped his jacket off his shoulders, leaving it on a corner of the blanket and kicking off his shoes to settle beside Regulus.
“What was it this time?” The Slytherin deadpanned.
James’ grin widened. “Almost got caught planting Dungbombs in Filch’s office with Sirius and Pete. We had to hide until Filch got far enough for us to slip away.”
“Of course, you did,” Regulus huffed, lips curling in a reluctant smile when James hummed, ducking his head to meet Regulus’ mouth with his own.
James kept it chaste, lips gently pressed against lips. Regulus melted into it, anyway. Shifting to sit upright, Regulus brought his hands to James’ hair, combing through the windswept strands before resting behind his ears, holding him in place.
Regulus loved moments like these, the ones where the rest of the world faded away, and it was just him and James, lost in each other. They could simply be sitting next to one another, and Regulus would still find himself enraptured by James, never getting enough.
James pulled away slowly, giving Regulus a dazzling smile when the younger pouted. He pressed his thumb to the Slytherin’s bottom lip, then let his hand fall, fingers fidgeting with the hem of Regulus’ shirt. “I like this.”
“Hmm?” Regulus frowned. “Oh, the sweater vest? I borrowed it from Evan.”
It was made of a fabric dyed a deep cobalt, drawing out the blue in his eyes, and rested over his button-up. The white sleeves had been rolled to a point just below his elbows, exposing the pale skin of his arms. His black trousers were free of wrinkles, and his shoes had been discarded at the edge of the blanket, joined by James’. He had abandoned his usual Oxfords in favor of Barty’s black sneakers: grass stained, scuffed, and seconds away from falling apart at the seams.
It was a simple outfit, something he’d wear lounging around Grimmauld Place (sans Barty’s filthy shoes), but one he knew looked good on him.
James seemed to agree.
“I really like this,” James murmured, nibbling on his lip. “Even if it’s Evan’s.”
Regulus gave a short laugh, shifting to sit cross-legged. “Really, James? This is doing it for you?”
“You do it for me,” he corrected, trailing his fingertips down Regulus’ forearm. He paused for a moment, a mischievous sparkle in his hazel eyes. “But yes.”
The Slytherin huffed, rolling his eyes, even as his lips twitched. The silver rings on his fingers glinted under the sun as he swatted at James, who laughed and dodged the blow. “Come on, Potter. .”
The seventh year complied, their positioning on the blanket forming an L as he moved to lay on his back, his head on Regulus’ thigh. He folded his hands over his torso, wiggling his sock-bound toes. “What’s on the menu for today?”
“Chocolate and strawberries,” Regulus answered, nodding towards the picnic basket in front of him and tsking when James made grabby hands at it in response. “Nuh-uh. You know the deal.”
James pouted, batting his eyelashes. “”
Regulus scowled, even as warmth blossomed in his chest. “That doesn’t count.”
“Why not? It’s French, isn’t it?” He let the silence sit for a moment, sighing when Regulus continued to stare, simply waiting. “Alright, alright. Go on, love.”
“Smart move,” Regulus murmured. “I thought we’d start working on friends, family, and similar relations. Unless you’d like to focus on introductory conversation for a while longer?”
Regulus had spent a solid month just going over the phonetic alphabet, stifling giggles while James got acquainted with the way his lips twisted around the sounds. Regulus started teaching simple conversation starters next: greetings, inquiries about the other person’s day and wellbeing, how to answer such questions, and farewells.
Seeing as James didn’t care to read or write the language, mostly aiming to speak it, they had agreed to only briefly cover spelling, allowing James to better differentiate words with similar or identical sounds. Regulus had been skeptical about such an approach, but James had been doing well as it was, so he left it alone.
James hummed, tanned fingers wrapping around a pale wrist, and rubbed his thumb over the blue trail of Regulus’ vein, right over his pulse. Bringing the Slytherin’s arm closer to his mouth, he pressed a gentle kiss against it, then draped it over his chest, languidly stroking skin. He shook his head. “No, I’m alright.”
“We’ll take it slow today, try to use what you learn today with what you already know. Starting with immediate famille. F-a-m-i-l-l-e,” he began, the words rolling comfortably off his tongue. He translated, “Family.”
“Famille,” James echoed, mimicking Regulus’ accent. Fam-ee.
“Good,” Regulus praised him, tugging his hand away. He tucked it into James’ hair, smoothing it away from his forehead and watching it bounce back into place. “In French, parent is spelled the same way as it is in English, unless it’s feminine, in which case you add an E. Masculine, parent. Feminine, parente. To make it plural, you’d simply add a S to the end of the word.”
“Parent.”
“. This isn’t English. The French accent makes a difference. ,” he stressed, emphasizing the last syllable of each. “When it’s masculine, there’s no E, so the ending is much softer. Pair-huh. When it’s feminine, the E makes it hard. Pair-hunt.”
James nodded, the confused crease between his eyebrows fading as Regulus lightly scratched his scalp. “Famille, parent— no E— when masculine, parente with an E when feminine.”
Regulus gave an approving hum. “Immediate family consists of the parents and their children. We’ll go over their relation to each other another time. Wife, husband, and so on. For now, we’ll go over words in relation to your position in the immediate family, as a son.
“You’ll find father, mother, and brother the easiest to remember,” Regulus continued. “All three have the same ending: an E with a grave, R, and an unaccented E.”
James frowned, eyes shut behind the glare of his glasses. “Grave?”
“The accent mark,” Regulus explained, using his index finger to draw the letter above James’ brow. “A short dash, beginning on the upper left and sloping downward, stopping on the bottom right. It goes above the accented character— I mentioned which ones have which accents when we first started your lessons.”
“Ah, right,” the Gryffindor exclaimed, opening his eyes. “I remember.”
“As I was saying, the ending is the same, but the beginning is different. Père, mère, frère. Father, mother, brother.”
James’ stomach growled. “Pear?”
Regulus smiled, folding forward to press another kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead, just below his hairline. “Focus, James. We’re almost done, promise.”
“Père, mère, frère.”
“And sœur,” Regulus finished. “Sister. It’s not spelled the same— there’s a ligature, a combination of an O and E, forming one character. S, ligature of O and E, U-R”
“Er,” James trailed off.
The Slytherin hesitated, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. He hated making French pronunciation into poorly strung English words, but that was what worked best for James. “It rhymes with hair, I suppose, but at the same time it’s a bit like saying sir. Try slurring sir, maybe. Give it a French accent. Sœur.”
“Sœur.”
“Better,” Regulus allowed. “The last thing you’ll need to know for today is possessive adjectives. There are two sets of three, one masculine and one feminine. My, your, his or her. Really, though, the first letter correlates with the owner, and the rest of the word relies on whether it’s masculine or feminine, so it focuses on the gender or number of the thing owned. Masculine is mon, ton, son. Feminine is ma, ta, sa. My, your, his or her.”
“My, your, his, her,” James repeated, committing it to memory. “Mon, ton, son; ma, ta, sa.”
“To make it plural, you keep the first letter, but use E-S instead of O-N or A.”
“Mes, tes, ses?”
“.” He slipped his hand out of James’ hair, taking care not to jostle the Chaser’s head as he reached for the picnic basket. Flipping it open, he pulled out the container of strawberries, prepared by Hogwarts’ House-elves, and a bag of wrapped squares of chocolate.
Grabbing a strawberry, he plucked off its calyx, holding it by the stem and resting it lightly against James’ mouth. James obediently parted his lips, but lifted his head until they were wrapped around Regulus’ fingers. He flicked the tip of his tongue against the Slytherin’s thumb with a light hum.
Ignoring the flare of heated interest zipping down his spine, Regulus rolled his eyes when James pulled away, biting the fruit and leaving Regulus with the stem. “Prick.”
James silently raised an eyebrow, eyes bright with amusement.
Regulus scowled. “Oh, shove off.”
“Alright, alright.” James smiled, lips pink. “Ask me your questions so I can eat more.”
“Eat dung, you knobhead,” Regulus grumbled, ignoring the delighted laugh James gave in response. “”
“,” James replied, grin widening, “”
“,” he answered. “Chocolate or strawberry?”
“Strawberry.”
He silently held it up to James’ open mouth, watching him bite and dart out his tongue to lick juice from the corner of his lips.
It had been Regulus’ idea, taking into consideration James’ tendency to miss meals, making mischief and landing himself detentions during the free periods between classes. In making a reward system, Regulus got to spoil James a little, bringing small treats that would enable him to pamper the Gryffindor, with the additional benefit of amusing himself when James made mistakes, earning a strong Aguamenti to the face.
“” Using his thumb to swipe a spot James missed, Regulus slid the digit in his own mouth. Speaking around it, he smirked at the pooling heat in James’ eyes, and continued, “Focus, Potter.”
“,” he winked, “and very focused on my professor.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes, ignoring the faint warmth in his cheeks. He shoved another piece of fruit in his boyfriend’s mouth. “Really? ”
“,” he chirped cheekily, eating the tip of the berry while he thought. “. Chocolate, yeah?”
“I’m only giving in because you answered with a full sentence,” he muttered, handing him two of the pieces from the bag. “Translate and spell ‘family.’”
“Famille. F-a-m-i-l-l-e.”
“Same thing with parents, plural.”
“Parents,” he recited, “spelled the same way we spell it in English.”
“Translate ‘brother.’”
“Frère.”
“My.”
“Masculine or feminine?”
“Good,” Regulus praised. Turning a small smile towards the other boy. “Masculine— Are you sneaking chocolate right now?”
“Er,” he hesitated, hands halting halfway to his mouth. “”
Regulus scowled. “Is that your translation or your response to my question?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Mon answer?”
“Aquamenti!”
“Oi!” James sputtered. He turned his face into Regulus’ stomach, shielding himself from the water and getting the Slytherin’s vest damp in the process. “Mon was right!”
“Mon is the masculine possessive adjective for my, yes,” Regulus allowed, “but ‘answer’ in French is ‘réponse,’ so you should have used ma instead.”
“But I haven’t learned that yet, have I?” He argued. “So, really, I deserve chocolate and a kiss for my efforts.”
Regulus stared in silence, unimpressed.
James pouted, batting his eyelashes behind his glasses, and beamed at Regulus’ sigh. Shifting, he tapped James, silently asking him to lift his head, and sat cross-legged again. He twisted, moving so his knees were on either side of James’ head, which fell back into his lap.
When the Seeker bent his head in invitation, James surged upwards, their noses slotting together. His glasses pressed against Regulus’ chin, but the Slytherin ignored it, sliding his hands into James’ hair to take some of the strain off his neck, cupping his head as if he were water threatening to slip through his fingers.
Regulus pulled away, distancing himself just enough to look directly into James’ eyes, and adopted a stern look. “If you keep stealing chocolate, I’m going to start bringing things you don’t like,” he threatened.
“But if we’re getting rid of things I like, you won’t be around, either.”
Regulus pressed a chaste kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead, pleased. “Seeing as I hate you, I have no complaints with that scenario.”
James only smiled in response. “Go on,” he nudged Regulus’ nose with his own with a tilt of his chin, “ask me another question, love.”
He paused, thinking for a moment. “”
“,” he began, a small crease forming between his brows, “.”
Regulus smoothed the skin with the pad of his thumb, trailing the strong bridge of James’ nose with the point of his finger, then nudged the snacks closer to James in invitation. “”
“,” Regulus complimented him. He reached over to take a strawberry from the basket. “You’ve been doing well.”
He tossed a piece of chocolate in his mouth, preening. “.”
“I’ve been practicing with Sirius, actually.”
Regulus groaned. “I don’t even want to ask.”
“Are you sure?” James teased, reaching up to poke at Regulus’ cheek. “I think you’d be rather impressed, actually.”
“I’m always impressed by Sirius’ colorful language and inability to withhold it in public spaces,” Regulus deadpanned. “So, yes, I’m quite sure, James.”
James wailed, clutching at his heart. He curled into himself. “You wound me.”
“You wound yourself with all your dramatics,” Regulus retorted. Waiting for James to relax, sinking back into Regulus’ lap, he gently combed his fingers through the wild locks spilling over his legs, unable to help himself. “You can tell me one thing you’ve learned. How about that?”
The Gryffindor pressed a finger to his lips in thought. “That Sirius has taught me? Any of it?”
Regulus hummed a confirmation. “Anything at all.”
James stared at Regulus steadily, the sudden tension in the air between them growing palpable. Not saying a word, he raised his hand, bringing his palm to Regulus’ cheek. He stared up at him from below.
Suddenly nervous, Regulus furrowed his eyebrows. “James?”
The wind shifted, and Regulus let it comfort him. He had always loved the wind, from its gentle caresses to its harsher bites, and turned to it for guidance whenever possible. Whether he was walking or flying, he’d go in whichever direction it nudged him towards, and try to embrace whatever journey or lesson it offered.
He fought to maintain that mindset as James inhaled, an indiscernible emotion flashing in his eyes.
The wind carried his whisper to Regulus.
“Je t’aime.”
Regulus’ breath hitched and his heart began to race. He cleared his throat, trying for nonchalance, and rolled his eyes. “What’d he tell you that one meant?”
“I know what it means.” James frowned, pulling his hand away. Pushing himself upright, he moved to face Regulus, expression earnest. “Je t’aime.”
“Translate it,” he demanded.
The Gryffindor slowly smiled. “Can I get a strawberry if I do?”
“James,” he scolded exasperatingly, forgetting his nerves for a moment.
“I love you, Regulus.”
The wind moved, and the Seeker let it guide him forward, right into James’ arms. He seemed startled, but didn’t object to Regulus throwing himself, pulling on the front of James’ hoodie.
Despite his frequent remarks about the inelegance and laziness of the Muggle attire, Regulus loved when James wore it. Burying his face in the hood or enlarging it to slip inside, sharing it with their chests flush and his hands pressed to James’ abdomen, was a comfort to him, their own cocoon separating them from the rest of the world.
Though it would’ve been inappropriate to do so in such a public setting, Regulus still found himself glad that James was wearing it, curling the strings around his fingers to pull him closer, slotting their lips with a muted exhale.
And this— this— was spring at its finest. The embrace of the sun, the brush of its warmth against his face, encouraging him to grow, to live. The promise of eternity, even on the rainiest of days. The promise of love.
James pulled away to breathe, smiling against Regulus’ mouth, and pressed their foreheads together, his hands splayed on either side of the Slytherin’s face.
“I love you,” Regulus blurted, chest heaving. He was still clinging to James’ hood with his eyes shut, speaking softly against his lips, which had parted in surprise. “James, I love you.”
It was so easy to say, far easier than he expected, rolling off his tongue like a stream of water over a valley.
“You— what?” James blinked owlishly. Regulus knew he was blushing, despite his complexion. “Reg, you don’t have to say it just because I did. It doesn’t change how I feel or—”
“Jamie,” he interrupted, pressing two fingers against the other’s mouth. He opened his eyes, peering up at the Chaser. “I mean it.”
His voice came out feebly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing and didn’t want to shatter the dream’s illusion. “You love me.”
Regulus nodded, wrapping his fingers around James’ wrists. “I do.”
James smiled radiantly, his delight so contagious that Regulus couldn’t help but return the grin. “You don’t hate me anymore, then?”
“Don’t push it, Potter.”
“Would you still love me if I was a flobberworm?”
Regulus blinked. “A flobberworm?”
“No?” James pouted. “What about a hippogriff? A bowtruckle? A Cr—”
Regulus shoved a strawberry in the Chaser’s mouth, effectively shutting him up, and rolled his eyes in amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’d still love you if you were a flobberworm,” James declared around the fruit, taking a bite and holding the rest towards Regulus, who turned down the offer.
“You’d love just about anyone if they were a flobberworm,” he pointed out.
“Well, yeah, alright,” James allowed, “I would. But I’d love you more than the rest.”
“What about your parents?” Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Sirius? Peter? Or—”
“You really do hate me,” James moped, hanging his head. “But, no, they’re different. That’s a different type of love.”
Regulus hummed. “Alright, I see what you mean.”
“Do you?” James teased, resting his head against Regulus’ shoulder. “Are you choosing not to be difficult?”
Regulus placed his hand in James’ hair, stroking through the thick strands. “I’m choosing to accept what you’re saying, because I trust you, even if you are ridiculous. Because I love you, and you love me, and that’s enough.”
Wind kissing their faces, James hid his smile in Regulus’ neck with a warm peck of his lips, wrapping his arms around his torso and humming deeply when Regulus shuffled into his lap and pulled him closer in response.
Blossoming flowers and dewdrops on freshly cut grass. Stormy nights giving way to longer, warmer days. Animals waking from their extended slumber. Birds chirping, butterflies fluttering, hummingbirds flitting, and bees buzzing. Clouds drifting overhead, some forming their own distinct shapes.
Regulus loved it all.
He loved James most.
Settled beneath the spring sky with his nose buried in his boyfriend’s hair and his heart glowing within the confines of his rib cage, Regulus smiled to himself, and thanked the wind.