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Regulus Black would never admit it. Not even under Veritaserum or with an Incacerious spell binding his limbs as somebody cast a Crucio over him. But there was a strange comfort in the quiet hum of Grimmauld Place now, a far cry from the cold, oppressive house he grew up in. Sirius’ laughter always echoed in the halls, mingling with the crackling of the fireplace, and somehow, against all odds, it didn’t drive Regulus mad. It was… tolerable. Almost pleasant. Almost. Though he’d sooner hex himself than tell Sirius that.

With Mother and Father gone, it had been Sirius who reached out first. Regulus, just over a year out of Hogwarts, had been perfectly content to keep his estranged brother exactly that…estranged. Sirius had run off to live with James Potter years ago, leaving behind a broken Regulus and a hollow home. At the time, Regulus hated him. He hated Sirius for leaving him there. Sure, they weren’t close, but fuck… He just hated him. Any lingering sense of love or warmth was beaten out of Regulus by Walberga’s Unforgivable curses, leaving only a cold, oppressive void that he had learned to endure in stoic silence.

He graduated Hogwarts with no friends. No family. Even Kreacher, his favourite family house-elf had long since passed on. He remembered graduation day at Hogwarts like it was yesterday. His eyes had washed over the room of the Great Hall, and he watched with fascination as his classmates cheered and celebrated. They threw themselves into their parents’ arms and their parents offered them congratulations in the form of hugs and flowers. He had sat on the cold wood of the bench in the far corner, his hands tucked into his robes. Walberga and Orion Black were still alive at that time, yet nobody had come for him.

He wasn’t worth it. He didn't deserve it.

They had died in the most absurdly meaningless way a few weeks after his graduation: a Portkey mishap. The Portkey, intended to whisk them off to America for some self-important pure-blood gathering, malfunctioned mid-transit. The result was catastrophic. Heads of one of the most noble and ancient families in the wizarding world, splinched so thoroughly upon arrival that they were dead before they could even comprehend what had gone wrong. One second—bam! Gone. Just like that. For all their arrogance and self-importance, their demise was as unceremonious as it was final.

Regulus felt nothing. He could still picture the knock on the door the following day, an American Auror standing stiffly on the threshold to deliver the devastating news. Devastating for whom? Regulus wasn’t sure. The Auror had looked visibly uncomfortable when Regulus had responded with nothing more than a tilt of his head and a disinterested, “Oh, really?” No tears, no outburst, just nothing.

The Auror had handed over his parents' belongings, explained that their will would be reviewed in due course, and offered an assortment of brochures on funeral services. Regulus had thumbed through the brochures with more interest than he’d given to the news of their deaths. Funerals, he’d been told, were meant to celebrate a person’s life. But there was nothing about his parents’ lives he felt inclined to celebrate. If anything, he wanted to celebrate their deaths. The thought had tugged a smirk onto his lips, and in that moment, he conclusively decided that, yes, he would give them a funeral, and it would be a celebration after all.

He had not invited Sirius. He had not invited anyone. Fuck, he had nobody to invite. Regulus planned on sitting in the church, alone, and watching with satisfaction as the priest muttered hollow blessings that he didn’t believe in over their coffins. He would watch as the polished wood was lowered into the ground, their grandeur swallowed by the earth, their legacy reduced to nothing more than rotting flesh and brittle bones. The dirt piled on top would be the final insult; heavy, suffocating, inescapable and forever. It was fitting, he thought, that the weight of their graves would mirror the weight they’d left on him. For the first time in his life, he would be free, and they would be trapped, buried beneath the very dirt they’d once believed themselves well above.

He had been alone in the church that day until, just minutes into the service, someone had slid into the pew beside him. Regulus had stiffened, his gaze snapping toward the intruder, already prepared to tell them to fuck off. This was his celebration. But the words had died in his throat when he saw who it was.

Sirius?

He couldn’t have looked more out of place if he’d tried. Clad in well-worn denim jeans, scuffed biker boots and a frayed David Bowie T-shirt stretched over his chest, Sirius had radiated defiance. Tattoos had curled over his skin like shadows, something their Mother would have hated, while his fingers gleamed with mismatched rings. An upside-down cross had dangled from his neck, swinging faintly as he leaned back in the pew, slouching like it was his personal lounge.

Sirius had let out a low whistle, glancing around the empty church with exaggerated nonchalance. “Well, consider me devastated,” he had drawled, the words dripping with sarcasm. “I mean, look at this turnout. Truly a testament to how beloved they were, right?”

From that day, he and Sirius had reconnected. It wasn’t a dramatic reconciliation, no tearful apologies or heartfelt declarations. Instead, it had happened for one reason: Sirius being an insufferably persistent prick and wearing him down. Sirius had shown up to Grimmauld Place the next day and the day after that, and the day after that, and again and again and again, chipping away at the walls Regulus had carefully constructed. Regulus, for his part, had been as cutting as ever, sharp words delivered with casual mockery in every sentence. He had insulted Sirius’ hair, his tattoos, his mismatched wardrobe, all without sparing a second thought. But Sirius had learned to take it in stride, meeting each insult with a smirk and a shrug. He seemed to understand instinctively that this was Regulus’ shield, his armour against a world that had left him raw and exposed for far too long.

In a way, Regulus thought Sirius’ tattoos were much the same; loud, defiant, and unapologetic declarations of his rejection to their Mother and Father’s values. Now, three months later, they were living together in Grimmauld Place. Friends? Regulus wasn’t sure. Brothers? The word still felt too foreign. But for now, they were something. And he truly did find it almost pleasant.

Almost, because Sirius insisted that his friend, James fucking Potter, had an open invitation to drop by whenever he pleased. It didn’t matter if it was for a drink, a game of exploding snap, or just to loiter in the kitchen like he belonged there… James was always just there. And worse, he always managed to insert himself into Regulus’ space, all wide smiles and infuriating charm, like he believed he could win Regulus over simply by being James fucking Potter.

Regulus had made it painfully clear that he wanted nothing to do with Potter, delivering pointed insults and icy glares. But James never flinched, never took the hint. Instead, he would giggle, actually giggle, like some lovesick schoolboy, and say something utterly ridiculous, like, “only seven insults today? Merlin, you really are warming up to me.”

He wasn’t. He absolutely wasn’t.

And yet, somehow, James Potter always found a way to be there, grating on Regulus’ nerves like a jinx that wouldn’t wear off. If Sirius was a barely sufferable prick, then James Potter was his equally unequivocally insufferable shadow, trailing behind and bringing chaos with him wherever he went.

That’s how he found himself interrupted in his own reading room by none other than James Fleamont Potter. Again.

Regulus didn’t bother looking up from his book. “Do you ever knock, Potter?” he drawled, his tone flat, bored. His eyes remained fixed on the words in front of him, but his grip on the spine of the book tightened just slightly.

James, predictably, grinned like he’d been invited. “Wouldn’t want to give you time to hex me before I get through the door.” He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, as though he hadn’t just barged in uninvited.

Regulus turned a page with deliberate slowness. “Don’t tempt me.”

James only laughed, of course he did, and stepped further into the room, settling into the armchair across from Regulus as though it was his right. “You say that, but I know you’d miss me if I didn’t show up.”

Regulus finally glanced up, fixing him with a cold, unimpressed stare. “I wouldn’t. Really.”

James’ grin only widened, his eyes lighting up in that maddening way they always did when Regulus so much as acknowledged him. “Liar.”

James shifted slightly in the armchair, almost nervously. “You know,” he began, fiddling with his fingers, “the guys, you know Moony, Lilly, the lot, we are all getting together later. Thought you might want to come?” He posed it as an invitation, a question.

Regulus’ gaze, which had been studying James incredulously, flicked back to his book. “No,” he replied, feigning boredom.

James chuckled as if he’d expected the response. “I’ll save you a seat anyway. Leaky Cauldon 6pm.” He said, standing and stretching as though he hadn’t just invited himself into Regulus’ private space moments earlier.

Regulus’ fingers tightened around the book’s spine. Save me a seat? He scoffed. The audacity. His stomach twisted uncomfortably at the implication. What did Potter mean by that? Did he think Regulus would actually show up? Or worse… was this a pity invitation, extended because James felt sorry for him? Did the Gryffindor golden boy think he was lonely? Some lost, pitiable stray Sirius had dragged back into his life?

The thought clawed at Regulus’ pride, igniting a spark of indignation. The idea of James fucking Potter, of all people, pitying him was intolerable. It wasn’t as if James could understand what it meant to be truly alone. James was always surrounded by friends. He had been bloody Head Boy! He was popular! Regulus had always been alone. He told himself it was inevitable; people either left or disappointed you in the end. But still, he didn’t want James to think of him as… well, lonely.

Do I look lonely? His mind raced. Did James see him as some broken thing in need of fixing?

He wouldn’t allow James to think less of him. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Don’t bother,” he said sharply. “I’m not interested in your little Gryffindor gatherings.”

James paused in the doorway, turning back with that same infuriating grin. “Okay Reg,” he said teasingly, before slipping out of the room.

Regulus glared at the now empty doorway.

No, he wouldn’t go.

Absolutely not.

-----

Regulus arrived at the Leaky Cauldron precisely at 6:30pm. Not because he wanted to be there, Merlin no. But because curiosity gnawed at him relentlessly. He’d told himself he was only going to prove a point. James Potter would never expect him to show up, and Regulus would rather hex himself than be predictable.

But as he stepped inside, he immediately second guessed himself. The pub was bustling with familiar faces, all smiles and laughter, it felt suffocatingly foreign to him. Regulus stood near the doorway for a moment too long, scanning the crowd. His eyes found him immediately.

Potter.

He was sitting at a corner table with his friends, waving his arms animatedly as he spoke. James also spotted him almost instantly and froze mid-sentence and his eyes locked onto Regulus as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. For a heartbeat, he just stared, before his expression cracked into a massive grin like his one wish had been granted.

“Reggie!” James called out, standing and waving him over.

Regulus' entire body tensed. Reggie. Merlin, he hated that name. Except when James said it, he didn’t just hate it when James said it, he despised it. Only one other person ever called him that: Sirius. And when Sirius used it, it was always laced with mockery, a careless tease. But James? James had the audacity to say it differently. Softly. Fondly. As though it was a term of endearment, not an insult. As though he had the right.

He hesitated. He could still leave. It wasn’t too late. But James’ gaze was locked on him and Regulus found himself walking toward the table as if an Imperio had cursed his body.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” James said, his lips curled into a deep grin. “But I saved you a seat anyway. Right next to me, see?”

Of fucking course he did.

His eyes sparkled with that irritating, hopeful gleam, like a dog who’d brought back the stick and was waiting to be told he was a good boy.

Regulus slid into the chair next to James without a word. He sat stiffly, his hands folded in his lap as he scanned the table. Lily Evans was there, alongside Remus Lupin and a few others he vaguely recognised. They shared quick hellos before the girl he thought was Dorcas picked up where they’d left off, diving into a new story. The table erupted in laughter, but Regulus sat still, stiff, watching the seamless flow of conversation that had never come easy to him.

James, however, never took his eyes off him. He could feel James watching him even when he wasn’t looking directly at him. It was unbearable.

“Relax,” James said softly, leaning closer so only Regulus could hear. “We don’t bite.”

Regulus shot him a glare. “Don’t patronise me. I will hex you.”

James grinned, again with that fucking grin, and leaned back in his chair, clearly unfazed by Regulus’ coldness.

“Here,” James said, pouring Regulus a glass of firewhisky from their cocktail tower. “You look like you could use it.”

Regulus stared at the glass for a moment.

“I didn’t poison it.” James joked, bumping shoulders with him. Regulus frowned, brushing the spot James’ shoulder had just touched as if it burnt. He pushed the glass back toward James, rejecting it.

“I’m not here to make friends, Potter.”

James hummed. “Well then! Good thing I’ve already decided we’re friends.”

Regulus scoffed. “You’re crazy.”

“I’ve been told,” James said, laughing softly.

He sat quiet and hyper aware of James’ presence for the rest of the evening. Still entirely unsure why he had even come in the first place. Every time James beamed at him, he felt like a Lumos was lit, blinding, and a Fiendfyre raged, burning.

He hated it.

He loved it.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

So he rejected it, and left.

-----

The sitting room of Grimmauld Place glowed warmly under the soft flicker of the fireplace, the flames crackling gently in the hearth. Regulus sat in his usual armchair, legs crossed, a book resting on his knee. Opposite him, Sirius lounged on the sofa, the low buzz of a Muggle tattoo machine filling the quiet as he shaded some obscure design into his skin. Regulus was certain the sitting room was far from a hygienic workspace and had told Sirius so, only to be met with a careless flick of his wrist in dismissal. It wasn’t uncommon for the two of them to sit in silence, and, if he were honest, Regulus quite liked it that way.

Of course, Sirius opened his mouth and ruined it.

“You know,” Sirius said, his voice teasing, “James never shuts up about you.”

Regulus didn’t look up from his book. “I’m sure he talks about plenty of people.”

Sirius grinned. “Not like this, he doesn’t.” He shifted, dipping the needle of his tattoo gun into the small pot of ink, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, he’s obsessed. Honestly, it’s getting embarrassing. I’d tell him to rein it in, but watching you pretend not to notice is far too much fun.”

Regulus finally glanced up, arching an aristocratic brow in boredom. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Sure, sure,” Sirius drawled, waving his hand dismissively. “Keep telling yourself that, Reggie.”

Regulus’ grip on the spine of his book tightened. The temptation to hurl it across the room was strong, and Sirius’ head seemed like an ideal target.

James isn’t obsessed with me, Regulus told himself firmly. He’s just annoyingly persistent. That’s all.

But Sirius’ grin said otherwise. It was the kind of grin that suggested he knew something Regulus didn’t, or perhaps something Regulus refused to acknowledge.

“Anyway,” Sirius continued, stretching lazily as he tossed the tattoo gun onto the table and switched it off. He wiped down his leg with a paper towel in a manner so casual that Regulus was certain it violated every hygiene procedure for tattooing. “When you do hex him, because we both know it’s only a matter of time, try to at least avoid Azkaban for it?”

“No promises,” Regulus rolled his eyes.

Sirius laughed, and with a final wink, he sauntered out of the sitting room, leaving Regulus alone with his thoughts. Except… he wasn’t alone for long. Moments after Sirius’ footsteps faded down the hall, another figure appeared in the doorway. James fucking Potter. His hair was as wild as ever, most would mistake it for bed hair the way it was sticking up in every direction. He wore that same infuriating grin that seemed to be permanently etched on his face. Does Potter know he doesn’t actually live here?

“There you are,” James said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Regulus sighed, slowly closing his book. He had managed to avoid James for the past three days. Well, perhaps "avoid" wasn’t the right word, it was more of a happy coincidence that they hadn’t crossed paths. A coincidence helped along by Regulus spending time in Muggle London, frequenting his favourite bookshops and lingering in places he knew James wouldn’t be caught dead visiting.

“Maybe I was.”

James chuckled, unbothered as ever. He stepped into the room, settling into the spot on the sofa that Sirius had just vacated. “Good thing I’m persistent, then.”

Regulus watched him from the corner of his eye. James always made himself at home, as if he belonged there. It was maddening. The way he lounged comfortably, the way he seemed to fill every room with his presence, as if he were a part of the house itself. And Regulus hated how easily James was always just there. Without permission.

James inspected the tattoo gun on the table with an inquisitive tilt of his head, fingers brushing over its worn handle. He picked it up and pointed it toward Regulus, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“Fancy a tattoo, Reg?” James teased, his tone light but filled with mischief.

Regulus eyed the machine with distaste, folding his arms across his chest. As far as he knew, James didn’t have any tattoos. He certainly didn’t, and he had no intention of letting James Potter be the one to change that.

“If you use Sirius’ machine,” Regulus deadpanned, “I’d say there’s a 75% chance you contract hepatitis.”

James let out a bark of laughter, throwing his head back, the sound echoing through the room. He looked utterly delighted, as though Regulus had cracked the most brilliant joke of the century.

“You’re so funny, Reg.”

Regulus hadn’t meant it as a joke. It was simply a statement of fact. But as James’ laughter softened into a warm smile, one that seemed to stretch impossibly wide, lighting up his entire face, Regulus felt his own expression falter. His eyes widened slightly in response, caught off guard by the sheer brightness of James’ smile.

Holy shit.

The realisation hit him like a bludger to the chest.

Every interaction. Every conversation. Every lingering touch from James over the last three months…It wasn’t just persistence. It wasn’t just James being his usual annoying self. It wasn’t just friendship James wanted.

James Potter was in love with him.

Regulus’ stomach twisted uncomfortably. His pulse quickened, his mind racing. He looked at James again, really looked at him, and it was undeniable. The way James’ eyes softened whenever they landed on him. The way his grin widened at every insult, as if he was privileged that Regulus even acknowledged him. The way he always, always showed up, no matter how much Regulus pushed him away.

Fuck.

James Potter was utterly, hopelessly in love with him.

“You alright, Reggie?” James asked, tilting his head slightly. His voice was softer now, his brow furrowed with concern. “You’ve gone all quiet on me. I never thought I would see the day.”

Regulus snapped out of his thoughts, his expression hardening. “Don’t call me that.”

James blinked, surprised for a moment, before his grin returned, that maddening, dazzling grin. “Whatever you say.”

James Potter is in love with me, he lamented, dragging a hand down his face.

Oh, brilliant. Now I really am going to have to hex him, Regulus grumbled to himself, scowling.

-----

Regulus stepped out of the dimly lit bookshop, his fingers curled around a small paper bag filled with newly acquired volumes. The quiet hum of Diagon Alley in the late afternoon felt comforting. The usual bustle of witches and wizards had dwindled with the colder months, leaving only a few determined shoppers lingering by the storefronts. He appreciated this quieter side of the alley, where the crowds were thinner and… you had to be kidding him!

There he was.

James fucking Potter. Again.

He was standing near a display of enchanted quills, seemingly lost in thought until his gaze flicked up and landed on Regulus. His expression brightened instantly, that infuriatingly cheerful grin spreading across his face as if the sight of Regulus had made his day.

Salazar, seriously?

James practically bounded toward him, his messy hair even more windswept from the sudden movement. “Reggie?! Reg! Oh Hi! Hi Reg. Hi.” He came to a stop in front of Regulus, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, his breath coming out in quick puffs. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, already exasperated. “Don’t you have a job or something, Potter?”

James chuckled and answered with a shrug, “well, I could ask you the same thing.”

Regulus quirked an eyebrow, lips twitching into a barely-there smirk. “I’m filthy rich. I don’t need a job.”

“So am I,” James replied with a grin that only widened. “Wow, you know, Reg, together we’d literally be the richest wizarding family in the world.”

The word hit Regulus like a curse.

Family.

A concept that felt unfamiliar. He and Sirius were fine… mostly. They’d patched things up, sure, but there were cracks that would never really go away. Too much had happened, too much had been said. The Black name? That meant nothing to him now. Just a shadow of something he’d walked away from. And James? James was… annoying. Persistent in a way that made it hard to stay distant. A Gryffindor with a saviour complex who kept showing up, no matter how many times Regulus tried to push him away. They weren’t even friends. Definitely not fucking family.

He narrowed his eyes and unconsciously raised his defences in the only way he knew how. Words. “Is this your latest attempt to propose, Potter?”

James didn’t miss a beat, his grin turning positively mischievous. “Would it work if it was?”

Regulus scoffed, turning on his heel as he began to walk away. “Not in a million years or for a trillion Galleons”

James called after him, “I’ll keep trying, then!”

Regulus paused, casting a glance over his shoulder. There was James, standing there with that same infuriating expression, like he’d just been handed the best challenge of his life.

“What are you up to?” James asked, striding to catch up. “Need any help?”

Regulus tilted his head, and a slow smirk curled at the edges of his lips. If James wanted to play the doting lover boy, Regulus was more than happy to oblige.

“Actually, yes,” Regulus said in mock thoughtfulness. “I need powdered bezoar horn from a Re’em.”

James blinked, processing the request. “Re’em? As in, those rare, giant, golden oxen?”

“The very same,” Regulus replied, deadpan. “Thought you might fancy a trip to the mountains of Tibet.”

There was no way James would actually follow through. It was absurd, completely ridiculous. The demand for powdered bezoar horn far exceeded supply, and obtaining it was extremely difficult, it rarely could be found in the open market.

But James’ eyes lit up, a gleam of excitement sparking in them as if Regulus had just given him the most important quest in the world.

“Right. Re’em. Bezoar horn. Powdered. Got it.”

Regulus watched, incredulous, as James pulled out a notepad from his robe pocket, a fucking notepad, and began scribbling notes, muttering to himself about routes, magical creature permits, and the likelihood of finding it this time of year.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Regulus stared. “You’re not serious.”

James looked up, grinning like a fool. “Of course I am. I want to help.”

For a moment, Regulus said nothing. He just watched James Potter. Shaking his head, he turned on his heel. “You’re crazy, Potter.”

“See you soon, Reg!” James called after him, the cheerfulness in his voice impossible to ignore.

As Regulus walked away, that cursed word lingered in his mind.

Family.

A word that had once meant something, back when he was a boy, before everything fell apart. Before Sirius had left. Before Walburga’s curses had hardened him into someone unrecognisable.

James Potter had no right to throw it around so carelessly.

-----

The late afternoon light filtered through the icy windows of Grimmauld Place, casting a pale, muted glow over the room. The weather had turned colder, and though snow had yet to fall, the air carried a sharp bite that crept through the cracks in the old house. Regulus stood by the window, absently drawing shapes against the fog that frosted the glass. His fingers traced the cold pane, leaving faint streaks where the warmth of his touch melted through the condensation.

Something felt off. Wrong. It took him a moment to realise what it was.

James Potter hadn’t shown up.

One day, two days, three… four… five days! A record. Not that Regulus was keeping count. He frowned, flopping onto a nearby armchair. It wasn’t as if he cared. If anything, it was a relief. The house had been quieter, less chaotic. He could breathe without the constant presence of that insufferable Gryffindor.

Right?

As the fifth day passed and turned into a sixth, the quiet became... boring. Regulus found himself pacing the halls, muttering under his breath, snapping at Sirius for no reason other than his own irritation. Every creak of the floorboards made him glance toward the door. Every distant sound had him turning his head. But the house remained silent.

Where the hell is he?

The question circled his mind, entirely unwanted. He’d convinced himself it didn’t matter. Potter clearly had finally taken the hint. He wasn’t coming back. Good. It’s what Regulus wanted. Needed.

In the afternoon of the sixth day, the front door burst open.

The sudden crash echoed through the house, and Regulus jumped in fright. His book slipped from his fingers, landing on the floor with a thud. He spun around just as James came stumbling into the room, panting, dishevelled, and utterly frantic.

Regulus blinked, taking in the sight before him. James’ hair was more of a mess than usual, he didn’t think that was even possible. He had wild pieces sticking out at odd angles. His clothes were rumpled, dirt smeared across his cheek and shirt. He looked like he hadn’t slept properly in days.

James, breathless and grinning, held up a small pouch triumphantly. “I got it!”

Regulus stared, brow furrowing. “What?”

“The bezoar horn! From the Re’em! Powdered!” James thrust the pouch toward Regulus, his grin widening. “It took a bit longer than I expected, but I got it!”

The pouch felt heavy in Regulus’ hand. He opened the small pouch and glanced inside. Yep, that was powdered bezoar horn all right. He stood frozen, staring at it in shock. He blinked once, twice, as Potter continued to babble.

“I’m sorry it took so long. I thought I could get it faster, but they’re really hard to find, and I almost had half a thought to try to get one from the animal itself, but then I figured you wouldn’t want me mauled by a Re’em. Although, if you do, I can give it a go next time—”

Regulus cut him off, voice quiet, stunned. “Next time?”

James nodded eagerly, completely oblivious to the way Regulus was staring at him. “Yeah! I mean, if you need anything else, just let me know. I’ll get it faster next time, I swear.”

Regulus glanced down at the pouch again, then back at James. Then once more. Had he actually been hit by a bludger to the chest this time?

It felt like it.

James Potter, the James Potter, had just spent six days torturing himself, running around Merlin-knows-where, all to get something Regulus didn’t even need…

Why?

Because he thought Regulus wanted it.

Regulus’ mind raced. He was so fucking right. This wasn’t just persistence. It wasn’t some silly crush. He wasn’t just infatuated.

James Potter was actually was in love.

Completely, utterly, stupidly in love.

Enough to do anything Regulus asked, even chase down an impossible task. Even torture himself for six days to bring back something Regulus hadn’t even cared about.

James was still grinning, dirt smudged across his cheek, eyes bright with excitement. He waited, expectant, like he was ready to run off on another errand the moment Regulus needed something.

Is this what love looks like? He wondered. Someone torturing themselves for you? Running to the ends of the earth for you?

James shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… what do you think? Impressed?”

Regulus exhaled slowly, a smirk curling his lips. He tilted his head, studying James. “You’re actually crazy.”

James grinned. “I think the word is impressive.”

Regulus glanced at the pouch again. “All that effort… for what? To prove something?”

James shrugged, looking almost nervous as he wobbled on his feet. He sounded almost shy as he admitted, “to make you happy obviously.”

And there it was. The truth. So simple. So easy for Potter to admit.

No. No. Nope! Absolutely not. Nope!

His shields went up. He raised an eyebrow, deadpan. “Are you going to stand there grinning at me all day, or are you going to get cleaned up? You’re filthy and you stink.”

James smiled, wiping some of the dirt off his cheek and rubbing it on his pants. “Only if you promise not to send me to Tibet again. If you think London is cold, try Tibet.”

Regulus just stared. “No promises.”

-----

Regulus had taken to sending James on increasingly ridiculous errands. At first, they were practical requests, such as restocking rare potion ingredients or retrieving rare books from Muggle London. He actually appreciated those “errands.” But as the weeks wore on, Regulus' demands became more absurd. For example, he told James to “find a perfectly smooth moonstone” that, according to Regulus, had to be “entirely free of imperfections,” or tasked him with tracking down a rare French wizarding wine only sold once a decade. He even instructed James to hand-pick specific wildflowers from the rugged Scottish Highlands because Regulus wanted to “decorate the sitting room.”

Every time James returned, sweaty, dirty, and out of breath, Regulus barely spared him a glance. Instead, he would inspect whatever item James had procured with boredom before offering a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Barely adequate at best,” he would say, his voice flat and unimpressed, as though James hadn’t just travelled halfway across the wizarding world to fulfill his latest whim.

And yet, James never faltered. He thrived under Regulus’ indifference, grinning like a fool at every insult, hanging on every word as if Regulus was Merlin himself. It was ridiculous, really. James Potter, once the pride of Gryffindor, now reduced to an overly eager lapdog at Regulus Black’s feet.

Sirius, watched from the doorway with crossed arms, and raised a slow, admonishing eyebrow. He’d been observing the peculiar dynamic for weeks, clearly torn between amusement and irritation. But today, as James had handed over a small bundle of moonflowers with a grin that could have lit up the entire street, Sirius couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

“You know,” he began, walking forward, “he’s not actually your pet, Reg.”

Regulus turned his head slowly and he shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me.”

James, standing just behind them, beamed. “Do you need anything else, Reggie?” he asked eagerly, his voice practically vibrating with excitement.

Before Regulus could even think of another absurd task, Sirius grabbed Regulus by the arm, and dragged him from his spot against the wall to the worn couch in the centre of the room. It wasn’t forceful, not really, but it was enough to make Regulus scowl like a petulant child as he was deposited onto the cushions.

Sirius planted himself in front of him, standing with his arms crossed in a way that screamed big brother authority.

“Alright, James,” Sirius said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re done running errands for him for now.”

James blinked, confused. “But—”

“No buts,” Sirius cut him off with a sharp look. “If Regulus wants something, he can do it for himself. I think you’ve done more than enough for him recently, and it’s about time he does something you want instead. Doesn’t that sound fair, Reggie?”

Regulus opened his mouth, ready to snap back, but his words caught in his throat when he saw James’ face. James’ eyes had lit up, wide and hopeful, practically glowing with anticipation. His grin was so bright it made Regulus’ stomach twist… okay maybe he had pushed it a bit far. In his defence, Potter clearly wanted to run his errands and dote on him.

James took a step forward; he looked almost bashful as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “So, uh… does that mean I can take you on a date?” he asked, voice laced with nervous excitement.

Regulus blinked. “A date?” he repeated, as though the concept were utterly foreign to him.

James nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve done a lot of running around for you. Seems fair that you let me take you out in return.”

Regulus scoffed, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”

James' expression faltered for a moment, but his hopeful grin quickly returned. “Why not?”

“Because,” Regulus said coldly, “it’s a ridiculous idea.”

Sirius groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Merlin, you’re insufferable. He’s asking you on a date, not to duel him to the death.”

“Stay out of it, Sirius,” Regulus snapped. “I’d rather duel to the death.”

Sirius ignored his snarky comment. “Stay out of it? You’ve got my best friend fetching rare wines and moonstones, and he’s still here!” Sirius stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward Regulus. “You’re being a coward.”

“I am not a coward.”

“Oh, you are,” Sirius shot back. “You’re terrified because you might actually like him.” 

James shifted awkwardly by the door, looking between the two brothers as if he wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave. Finally, Regulus exhaled sharply. He had stood up during their back and forth, close to actually hexing Sirius in that moment. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced at James, who was still waiting, patient and hopeful.

“One date,” Regulus said begrudgingly. “Just one!”

James lit up again, his grin returning full force. “Brilliant! You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Regulus sighed, flopping back onto the couch as James bounced out of the room, already babbling about potential plans and locations. Regulus watched him pull out that bloody notebook again, scribbling down Merlin knows what.

Sirius dropped down beside his brother with a triumphant smirk. “Oh, I’m so right. Aren’t I Reggie?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Regulus did hex Sirius after that. With a flick of his wand, he cast Langlock, sending the spell straight at his brother.

“I hope you know the counterspell,” Regulus mumbled, watching with mild satisfaction as Sirius’ attempts to speak were reduced to incoherent, muffled noises as his mouth could no longer open.

When it became clear that Sirius, in fact, did not know the counterspell and had begun to chase him in furious silence, Regulus bolted from the room, covering his mouth to hide his laugh, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

It took Sirius an hour to convince Regulus to undo the spell and Regulus enjoyed every minute.

-----

Their date approached quickly. The bistro sat tucked away in a quiet corner of Diagon Alley, its entrance marked by an elegant wrought-iron sign that read Blackthorn Bistro. Gas lamps flickered outside, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone street. Inside, the atmosphere was subdued and sophisticated; just the kind of place that Regulus Black might tolerate without too much complaint.

He’d meant to be on time, but he’d lingered too long at Grimmauld Place, pacing his bedroom, debating whether to go at all. The idea of sitting across from James fucking Potter and exposing himself to whatever strange fascination Potter had with him, especially within an intimate setting, felt overwhelming. And yet, here he was, stepping into the alley, his footsteps echoing softly on the cobblestones.

When he finally rounded the corner and spotted James waiting outside, his stomach twisted with unease. The grin on James’ face was maddening, as though he hadn’t been sure Regulus would show, and by simply deigning to appear, Regulus had somehow made his entire day.

“There you are,” James called out, stepping forward. “Thought you might’ve changed your mind.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, faking nonchalance. “No. Just... delayed.” He refused to let any hint of his earlier hesitation show.

“Glad you made it.” James gestured toward the entrance, and Regulus found himself following, despite the voice in his head whispering that this was a terrible, terrible idea.

The bistro’s interior was warm and inviting, with dark wood panelling and softly glowing chandeliers. The tables were spaced far enough apart to provide privacy, and a gentle hum of conversation filled the air. A waiter led them to a corner table by the window with a view of the street below.

Regulus slid into his seat and folded his hands in his lap. He very rarely felt unsure, but tonight had him unsettled. James shuffled into the seat opposite, smiling in that infuriatingly easy way. Regulus couldn’t meet his eye.

“You look great, by the way,” James said.

Regulus arched an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better about being forced here?”

“It’s supposed to be a compliment.”

Regulus didn’t respond, instead focusing on the menu the waiter had placed in front of him.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Regulus, arms crossed, leaned back slightly. “You do realise this is a complete waste of time, right?”

“Not for me,” James replied without missing a beat.

Regulus wanted to groan. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than waste your Friday night with me. Remember Sirius literally forced me here.”

“There’s absolutely nothing better I could be doing right now.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “You’re crazy.”

“You keep saying, so it must be true.” James giggled. Yes, fucking giggled.

The waiter returned shortly, and they placed their orders. Regulus chose something light, though he barely glanced at the options. The food was irrelevant. What mattered was surviving this evening. The silence stretched again, though James’ brown eyes never left his face.

James shattered the tension with ease. “Did I ever tell you about the time your brother and I jinxed Professor McGonagall’s hat to sing Christmas carols in the middle of July?” Without waiting for a response, he launched into one of his usual tales, some absurd Hogwarts memory featuring Sirius. Regulus listened in silence; arms crossed. But as the story unfolded, without intending to, a soft laugh slipped past his guard. It was quiet, barely there… but James noticed immediately.

“Did you just… laugh?” James asked, a look of astonishment on his face. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you genuinely laugh.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Regulus shot back, like it was a mistake he should have kept hidden.

James, of course, was undeterred. “Too late. Now I know it’s possible I’m going to keep trying.”

Regulus shook his head, turning his attention to his drink. He found himself, wanting to smile at James. With James. He didn’t like that thought. And yet, he didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would either.

The meal continued, and the conversation grew easier. Regulus actually found himself relaxing despite his better judgment. James’ stories were ridiculous, but they had a way of drawing him in. There was something comforting about the way James spoke.

The turning point came when James reached across the table, fingers brushing against Regulus’ wrist as he adjusted the band of his watch so it sat straight. It was such a small gesture, but it sent a jolt through Regulus. He froze, staring at James’ hand. The flutter in his chest was unexpected and entirely unwelcome. Especially when James’ fingers lingered a few moments too long.

“I know you like everything just perfect,” James murmured, finally retracting his hands.

He did. Regulus liked his clothes perfect. He liked everything straight, crisp, and perfectly pressed. He liked his home spotless and minimalist. He liked that each item had a place and there was a place for everything. He liked order. He liked.. He liked… He liked...

No.

Regulus’ voice was barely above a whisper. “T-Thanks.

James’ smile softened. There was no teasing in it, no smugness.

He just looked happy.

-----

After dinner, they stepped back onto the cobblestone street. The night air was cool, and the lamps lining Diagon Alley cast a soft glow. Regulus walked slightly ahead, hands in his pockets, his mind spinning. He’d expected the evening to be unbearable and awkward at best, infuriating at worst. Instead, it had left him feeling unsettled in a completely different way.

James caught up easily, falling into step beside him. “I’ll walk you home,” he offered.

Regulus shot him a sidelong glance. “What, worried I’ll get attacked?”

“Nah. I’m worried you’ll hex someone for looking at you the wrong way and end up in Azkaban, actually.”

Regulus smirked. “It has been known to happen.”

They walked in silence, the sounds of the bustling alley fading as they approached Grimmauld Place. When they reached the doorstep, Regulus hesitated.

“Did you have fun?” James’ voice was quieter now, less sure.

Regulus paused. He didn’t want to admit it, but the truth had settled uncomfortably in his chest. “I guess it wasn’t the worst evening I’ve ever had.”

James’ grin returned, possibly brighter than ever before, if even possible. “That’s practically a declaration of love from you.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Don’t push your luck, Potter.”

He spun on his heel without hesitation, not sparing James so much as a backward glance. There would be no goodnight kiss, absolutely not! This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t real. As he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, he pressed his back against it, lingering for a moment as a slow, measured breath escaped him.

Okay…Maybe I don’t hate him.

Okay… Maybe I actually like him… just a bit.

Oh, Regulus was so fucked and Sirius was so so right.

-----

Grimmauld Place had fallen into an unsettling quiet by the time afternoon crept in a few days later. It was the kind of silence that pressed too heavily against the walls, making the house feel suffocatingly like it had during their childhood. Sirius was off with Remus, his boyfriend, apparently. Regulus wasn’t sure when that had happened. Maybe he was out of the loop. He supposed he should have noticed, but lately, time had blurred, and noticing things hadn't felt like a priority. 

He had been alone in the house for two days now. It reminded him too much of the stretch of years before he and Sirius reconciled, when loneliness had been a constant.

Regulus sat at the far end of his family library, a forgotten book spread open in front of him. He hadn't turned a page in over twenty minutes. His eyes skimmed the same paragraph again and again, never really taking the words in.

He was brooding.

Not that he’d ever admit to it. But his mind kept drifting back to that stupid date with James fucking Potter. It had been too nice, far too easy to get lost in James’ infectious laughter, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and the warmth that radiated off him which felt like sunlight. 

James Potter was lovely... Kind of wonderful, really.

And he deserved someone who could love him properly.

Regulus wasn’t that person. He would never be that person.

He flipped a page of his book without reading a word, gaze skimming over the text like it might pull him back to reality. It didn’t.

The door creaked open, and there he was. James Potter, cheerful and full of energy, as if he had every right to be there. As if Grimmauld Place was his home. Regulus really needed to start placing wards on the house.

James grinned as he strolled in. “There you are. Now, I know I’ve said it countless times before. But this time I actually do think you are seriously avoiding me.”

Regulus didn’t look up from his book, his fingers gripped it tighter “I am.”

James laughed, unfazed, and took a seat across from him, leaning forward with that infuriating grin still plastered on his face. “Lucky me, then.”

Regulus’ heart pounded. He ignored it.

“Do you always have to be this insufferable, Potter?” he asked, deadpan.

James’ grin widened. “Only around you, Reggie.”

It shouldn’t have made Regulus’ chest tighten, but it did. He forced his gaze back to the book, as though the words on the page could drown out the pounding in his ears. James started talking, something about Sirius and Remus being cute, his voice warm and animated. Regulus barely registered the words. His mind was still trapped in that revelation he’d had during their date.

James Potter was lovely. He was warm, funny, attentive. He made Regulus feel like the world wasn’t as bleak as he’d always thought it was.

And James deserved someone equally lovely.

Regulus wasn’t kind. He wasn’t warm. He didn’t do affection or soft words or love. He did cold glares, sharp insults, and walls so high that no one could ever climb them.

But James kept trying.

Why did Potter keep trying?

Regulus snapped the book shut, startling James into silence.

“Why are you still here, Potter?” Regulus asked, his voice colder than he intended.

James blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you keep coming back?” Regulus demanded. “You could be doing anything. Be with anyone. You’re James Potter. You could have someone who actually…” He bit his tongue, cutting himself off before he said it.

James tilted his head, his grin fading slightly. “Someone who actually what?”

Regulus was selfish by nature, Mother had told him so. Aways had been, always would be.

“Forget it,” he muttered, turning his head away.

James didn’t move. He watched him, waiting for an answer that Regulus refused to give.

Finally, James sighed. “You know, for someone who always acts like he wants me to leave, you never actually tell me to go.”

Regulus didn’t respond. He couldn’t. For the first time, James was biting back. And worse, he was seeing straight through him.

James leaned forward again, his voice softer this time. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Pushing me away, trying to scare me off. It’s not going to work.”

“Why?” Regulus asked quietly.

James’ smile returned, gentle and unwavering. “Because you’re worth it.”

Regulus' chest tightened, the ache unfurling into something almost unbearable. He wanted to believe him. Desperately. He wanted to reach across the table, to close the distance, to give in and take what he craved. To be selfish. Because that’s who he was. Just as Mother and Father had always said, always punished him for, year after year.

But he couldn’t. 

Not this time.

“I need another thing,” he said abruptly, standing up.

James raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Another thing?”

“Yes,” Regulus said quickly, seizing the excuse. “We’re out of tea. Sirius drank the last of it this morning.”

James blinked, then let out a laugh. “You’re sending me out for tea?”

“Unless you’d prefer to sit here and be insufferable.”

James shook his head, laughter still woven through his voice. "Alright, alright. I’ll get you tea." He pushed himself up from his seat, making his way toward the door, but paused just before stepping out. Glancing back over his shoulder, a knowing grin tugged at his lips. "But don’t think I haven’t caught on to this little trick, Mr. ‘let’s change the subject.’ I see you, Reg."

I see you, Reg.

Merlin, he felt seen. Truly seen.

Maybe for the first time.

Maybe ever.

And, damn it, James Potter really was kind of lovely.

-----

Gringotts was imposing as ever, towering over Diagon Alley like an ancient guardian of wizarding secrets. The great bronze doors gleamed in the winter light, a silent warning to any who dared approach with devious intent.

Regulus stood at the base of the steps, hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark coat. His gaze lingered on the goblin guards, their sharp eyes watching every passerby with suspicion. Beside him, Sirius looked unbothered, as usual. His hands were stuffed into his leather jacket pockets, his hair a mess of dark, now long, curls, and there was a lazy smirk playing on his lips. Regulus suspected that smirk was mostly for show.

“Think Mother and Father left us anything nice?” Sirius asked, breaking the silence. His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, a bitterness that lingered under every word.

It had taken an absurdly long time for the last will and testament of Walburga and Orion Black to be processed. Only now, six months after their deaths, had Regulus and Sirius finally received their inheritance. It had come as a surprise to both to discover it was an even fifty-fifty split.

Sirius had laughed when they found out, shaking his head in disbelief. “Honestly, I thought Mother would leave it all to you. Figured you’d be the dutiful heir... holed up in Grimmauld Place after I ran off.” He had grinned mischievously. “You’d probably make me your housemaid, wouldn’t you? Scrubbing floors while you showered in our lovely, cursed family wealth.”

He had rolled his eyes at the jab but hadn’t denied it outright.

Regulus barely glanced at Sirius, answering his lingering question. “Curses, probably.”

Sirius chuckled, though it lacked real amusement. “Wouldn’t put it past them.”

Behind them, James Potter bounced up the steps two at a time, entirely out of place as usual. His hair was windswept, his glasses slightly askew, and he wore that infuriatingly cheerful grin that made Regulus want to hex him on principle.

“Ready?” James asked, falling into step beside Regulus, like that was his place in life.

Regulus shot him a withering look. “Why are you here, again?”

James looked confused. “You asked me to come?”

"It’s called sarcasm," Regulus drawled, deadpan. "I was joking. You asked what I was doing today, I answered, and said I was coming here. I threw in ‘wanna come?’ because, well, this is boring as hell. That’s the joke. Sarcasm. Get it?"

Okay, maybe his tone hadn’t been quite as biting as usual, but he stood by his words. It was definitely sarcasm!

James’ grin widened. “Well, too late now.”

Sirius snorted, clearly amused by the exchange. “Oh, come on, Reggie. Let the bloke tag along. Someone has to carry the loot, right?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a treasure hunt, Sirius.”

“Could be,” Sirius quipped, leading the way through the doors.

Inside, the air was cool and heavy with the scent of old parchment and polished stone. Goblins scurried about, their robes brushing the marble floors as they attended to various clients. Regulus straightened his posture, falling into the old habits of pure-blood decorum. He hated how natural it felt. The goblin at the front desk barely glanced at him before turning to James with a nod of acknowledgment. “Mr. Potter, welcome back to Gringotts. How can we assist you today?”

Regulus scoffed. “Excuse me. I’m the one with business here.”

The goblin flicked his gaze toward Regulus with mild disinterest. “Of course. And you are?”

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” he said coldly. “I’m here to access the Black family vault.”

The goblin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Ah. Very well. This way, Mr. Black.”

As they followed the goblin deeper into the bank, Regulus seethed in silence. James, ever the Gryffindor, seemed to sense his mood. He never had liked goblins. Weird pointy-eared bastards the lot of them.

“You alright?” James asked softly, falling into step beside him.

“Fine,” Regulus grumbled.

“You know, I think he was just being polite to me because I’m here so often. Every time I run an errand for you I come here to withdraw some Galleons.” James tried to explain.

“Oh, yes. Everyone’s just dying to please the great James Potter,” Regulus muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

James chuckled. “Not everyone. You seem pretty immune to my charm.”

“I am.”

James leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “Then why do you keep inviting me along again?”

Regulus opened his mouth to respond, to defend his honour and explain that it was sarcasm and he was never actually invited, but Sirius cut in before he could.

“Oi, Prongs. Less flirting, more walking.” Sirius glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “We’re nearly there mate.”

Regulus glared at his brother, cheeks warming slightly. “Shut up, Sirius.”

Soon, they arrived at their family vault. It was as imposing as the rest of Gringotts. The door was wrought iron, carved with ancient runes and protective charms. It loomed before them as a reminder of their blood purity and the values and beliefs that their family name was built upon.

Sirius crossed his arms, staring at the door with a mixture of disdain and amusement. “Well, here we are. Let’s see what horrors Mother and Father left behind, shall we?”

The goblin muttered a spell, and the heavy door groaned open. Inside, the vault stretched deep into the stone, filled with treasures that gleamed in the dim light. Gold, heirlooms, cursed artifacts, all the trappings of a noble family that had fallen from grace. Regulus stepped inside cautiously, his gaze sweeping over the contents. Sirius followed, his expression hardening as he took in the sight.

“Same old shit,” Sirius muttered picking up a handful of Galleons from a large imposing pile before tossing them back. “Jewels, cursed objects, blood-stained history. Nothing ever changes. Boooriiing.”

James lingered near the entrance, letting the brothers have their moment. Regulus watched as Sirius picked up a family crest and tossed it aside with disgust, as if it had burned him, he seemed happy when it landed face-down. Sirius slowly began to pick up a few items, hugging them to his core as his search continued.

Regulus stood stiffly; his hands clenched at his sides. He felt James’ presence before he saw him. James had walked forward, his footsteps echoing softly in the cavernous vault, until he was standing next to Regulus. Turning to James, Regulus fixed him with a sharp look. “Why are you actually here, Potter? What could you possibly get out of this? Here to steal from our vault?”

James met his gaze with a smile. “Your time.”

Another easy answer for him. He always made it seem easy. Easy easy easy.

Sirius, standing a few feet away, glanced between them with a knowing look. “You know, he’s not going to give up Reg. You miight as well give in,” he joked.

Regulus said nothing. He ignored them both and let Sirius pick up the bits and bobs that he wanted. Soon they left the vault, James carried a small chest filled with heirlooms that Sirius had chosen. He walked beside Regulus, and his warmth radiated between them.

"You know," James said casually, a playful glint in his eyes, "I’ll swing by your place tomorrow. Just in case you need a hand carrying any emotional baggage too." 

The comment was a cheeky nod to the fact that he was already hauling around Regulus' (and Sirius') literal baggage from their vault. But the words weren’t teasing, not really. They weren’t meant to be. There was warmth beneath them, a quiet offer of support and understanding, wrapped in James’ ever-present light-heartedness.

It was another reminder that James saw him. Truly saw him.  

While Regulus fought to remain distant, detached, hidden behind carefully constructed walls, James saw through it all. He saw the cracks, the fractures, the pieces Regulus tried to keep buried.  

And somehow, incomprehensibly, James wanted them all.  

Every shattered, unshattered, sharp-edged piece. He wanted everything that made Regulus him. 

For what reason? Regulus couldn’t begin to understand.  

His lips twitched, fighting the urge to smile.

He almost did.

Almost.

-----

The scent of dust and old magic often lingered in the corners of the Grimauld Place, but today, something fresher wafted in. Sirius had thrown open the windows, letting the winter breeze stir the stale air. Regulus stood at the back door, arms crossed, gazing at the well overgrown garden beyond.

It had once been beautiful. Regulus could remember that much. Walburga Black had poured herself into it, weaving spells into the soil to make the roses bloom black and crimson. In the garden, she nurtured life in a way she never did with her sons. Perhaps she saw in it, something she could control without question, something that would obey without rebellion. The roses never talked back, never ran away. But when Sirius left, she let it fall to ruin, as if his absence poisoned the very roots. Regulus imagined she loved her garden because it reflected her own twisted sense of perfection, but once it reminded her of failure, of disobedience, she punished it, and abandoned it to die, like she had with everything else she couldn’t control. Now, weeds choked the flowerbeds, and vines curled around the wrought-iron gate like serpents, as if the garden itself had taken on her bitterness.

"You’re not seriously thinking of fixing that, are you?" Regulus's voice sliced through the silence. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised in disbelief. Sirius, who was on his knees by a neglected flowerbed, glanced up from the oversized bag he was inspecting. Muggle gardening gloves covered his hands, dirt-streaked and ill-fitting, and he looked utterly out of place. Was that a bag of soil he was holding?

“Why not?”

Regulus scoffed. “It’s a waste of time. The house is cursed, and so is the garden. What are we supposed to do, plant daisies and sing Circulus Magorum in a group out here?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You really are insufferable.” He turned back to the garden. “But I’m doing it anyway. The muggle way. And you’re helping.”

“No. I’m not.”

“You are.” Sirius grabbed a rusted trowel from a nearby shelf and tossed it at Regulus, who caught it with a grimace. “It’s symbolic, you see. Restoring something broken, with our own hands. Their officially dead now Regulus, this is ours now, not theirs. I plan to make it feel that way as well.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but walked toward his brother. The garden was truly a mess; years of neglect had turned it wild and untamed. Thorny vines twisted through the hedges, and the stone pathway was cracked and overgrown with moss.

“You’re lucky I’m even entertaining this idea,” Regulus muttered as he crouched near a particularly stubborn vine.

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun,” Sirius teased, kneeling beside him. “Like old times.”

Regulus’ lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Our so-called ‘old times’ weren’t exactly spent gardening, Sirius. In fact, I’ve never gardened a day in my life. Though…” He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I’m fairly certain Mother Crucio’d me out here once or twice. Honestly, I’ve lost track.”

Before Sirius could reply, the gate creaked open. James Potter strolled in, a wide grin on his face and a bottle of Butterbeer in hand.

“Oh! You’re playing gardener,” James said, looking between both brothers before offering the bottle to Sirius. “That’s so cute.”

Sirius stood and clapped him on the back in thanks before he opened the Butterbeer, pouring himself a serving into a conjured glass. “Good timing Prongs. We could use an extra set of hands.”

James’ eyes sparkled. “I’m at your service.”

That was just who James Potter was, a do-gooder to his core. It wasn’t an act, it wasn’t part of some grand effort to win Regulus over. He would fetch ridiculous potion ingredients for Regulus just as easily as he’d pour Butterbeer for Sirius, always stepping in to lend a hand. He was a good friend. A good person. It wasn’t about who he was with; it was simply him. James was forever at the ready to make someone’s life a little easier. Seeing it now, in the way he grinned at Sirius whilst they chatted, was a quiet reminder that his selflessness wasn’t unique to Regulus. It was simply who James had always been.

Regulus, who had been quietly observing, stood and dusted off his hands. “Perfect. Potter, you can start by digging out that patch over there.” He pointed to a particularly cursed section of the garden, where enchanted weeds writhed like snakes.

James grinned. “Challenge accepted.” He grabbed a spade, at least Regulus thought that was a spade, and got to work. Regulus covered his mouth to hide his laugh as the enchanted plants fought back, snapping at James over and over.

Sirius watched with a roll of his eyes, elbowing Regulus. “You know, if you keep giving him impossible tasks, he’ll think you actually like him.”

Regulus didn’t miss a beat. “He already does.”

They worked in silence for a while, and Regulus had to admit, although he wasn’t fond of the dirt, he enjoyed it. It was nice to spend time with his brother. And Potter was... tolerable. Occasionally, James would let out a grunt or a laugh as he battled the stubborn weeds. He would slap it as it tried to bite off his nose or wrap around his neck. Sirius had weeded eight garden beds by the time Regulus had only done three. Regulus’ gaze lingered on James and stole all his attention.

Sirius knelt next to him, taking over the garden bed he had barely touched and started to weed it.

“Why are you still doing this?” Sirius asked quietly, just loud enough for Regulus’ ears.

Regulus frowned, looking up. “Doing what?”

“Pushing him away.” He motioned to James.

Regulus stayed silent for a long moment, his fingers tightening around the trowel. Finally, he muttered, “because he shouldn’t want me.”

Sirius sighed, throwing an arm around his brother’s shoulders, and offering him a sad pat on his back. “Maybe you should let him decide that Reg.”

Regulus shrugged off Sirius’ touch with a muttered complaint about stealing his garden bed and having to find a different patch to weed. Sirius needed to shut up. It wasn’t long before James appeared at Regulus’ side, utterly filthy, hair dusted with dirt, and looking thoroughly ridiculous. In his hands, he held a fistful of wildflowers, slightly tangled, crushed, and plucked straight from the cursed patch, hardly beautiful.

“Here. For you,” he said, grinning as he held them out to Regulus.

Regulus rolled his eyes but took the flowers without comment. He stared at them for a moment, before tucking them into his inside jacket pocket.

“You’re keeping them?” James beamed.

Regulus scowled. “Shut up.”

-----

Regulus sat by the fire in Grimmauld Place, the soft crackling of flames doing little to quiet the storm in his mind. His fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against the armrest, unconscious and relentless, like his thoughts. The errand he’d sent James on had been, even he couldn’t deny it this time, entirely unnecessary. Pointless. Cruel. He had requested a vial of Manticore Venom from an apothecary on the outskirts of Knockturn Alley. Rare, yes, but hardly unobtainable. At least, not for someone familiar with the shadowy corners of wizarding society. 

But James? 

James Potter didn’t belong in that world. He’d never walked through streets where mean eyes lingered too long or where whispered curses followed your every step. James would stand out, loud, radiant, unmistakably Gryffindor, in a place like Knockturn Alley. He’d be torn apart in there, chewed up by sharp words and even sharper curses. 

And Regulus had known that when he sent him. The task was designed to frustrate James, to make him think twice about coming back. Regulus told himself it was necessary, he told himself that James Potter had no business entangling himself with this Black brother and he should stick to Sirius. Sirius did friendship well. Yes, Sirius was good for James, unlike Regulus.

The creak of the front door cut through his thoughts, followed by a loud bang as it slammed shut. Regulus tensed when James’ footsteps, yes, he had them memorised, echoed through the hall, heavier than usual, before he burst into the sitting room. 

He was filthy. His boots tracked dirt across the rug, his robes were torn at the hem, and his hair stuck up in wild tufts. In his hand, he held a carefully wrapped package, clenched tightly. Regulus didn’t move. He kept his expression cool, watching as James crossed the room in a few long strides. 

James stopped in front of him, his jaw tight. “Someone actually tried to kill me. To Avada me! Just because there was only one vial left, and they wanted it. Why the fuck would you make me go there?” 

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “So, did you get it then?” 

James’ lips pressed into a thin line as he tossed the package onto the table with a dull thud. For the first time, after all the errands and demands Regulus had sent him on, he actually looked angry.

“There. Your precious Manticore Venom.” 

The package landed with a dull thud, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. James ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated laugh. “Do you enjoy this Regulus? Sending me on all these ridiculous errands? Watching me come back looking like this?” He waved his hands in front of himself in frustration.

This was so unlike James, the biting words and humourless laugh.

Regulus stood, brushing invisible dust from his robes. “No one forced you to go.” 

James took a step closer, his eyes blazing with frustration. “Oh, come on! You knew I’d go. You knew I’d do it. Just like I’ve done everything else you’ve asked me to do.” 

Regulus held his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “And why is that, James?” 

James. 

James?

When had it stopped being Potter and become James?

“Because I care about you.” James’ voice softened, only a hint of frustration now tainting his tone. “Because no matter how ridiculous these bloody errands are, I do them. Every single one. Just in case… Just in case, one day, it’s something you actually need. Something that actually helps.” 

The words struck Regulus like a curse, rooting him to the spot, as if the air had been pulled from the room.

James shook his head, his expression softening as the tension drained from his shoulders. Whatever anger had simmered beneath the surface seemed to melt away as he dropped onto a nearby couch with a heavy sigh. Reaching into his robes, he pulled out a second package, smaller, carefully wrapped in neat folds of cotton. He turned it over in his hands before holding it out toward Regulus. 

“I saw this in a shop window,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Thought of you. Yes, even after my near-death experience.” 

A faint trace of humour flickered across his face. James placed the package on the table. Regulus stared at it for a moment before reaching out with trembling hands. He unwrapped it slowly, revealing a worn, leather-bound book. The title caught the firelight, its faded silver lettering shimmering. It was a rare collection of essays by his favourite scholar, first editions, centuries old. The pages bore the delicate, uneven script of handwritten notes, as though they were the scholar’s own private reflections, untouched since the ink had dried.

Regulus swallowed hard, the words sticking in his throat. “Why?” 

James stepped closer, his voice so soft. “Because you’re important to me Reg. I remember you told me about how much you enjoyed this author's writing on our first date.” 

Only date. Regulus wanted to correct.

His chest constricted, each breath growing harder to take. Panic clawed at him. 

James had to stop. 

No, seriously. He had to stop. 

James had said it himself; Regulus had nearly gotten him killed. He should be furious. He should be shouting, slamming doors, maybe even hexing him for good measure. 

But instead, here he was. 

Offering Regulus a priceless artifact, something rare and beautiful, something that likely cost a fortune. Something James had no reason to give… except that he cared, except that he wanted to. 

And that terrified Regulus more than anything. “I-I can’t accept it,” he whispered. 

“Why not?” 

Regulus shook his head, unable to meet James’ gaze. “Because I’ll ruin it.”

He wasn’t talking about the book.

James didn’t move. “You won’t.” 

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound filling the room. Regulus wanted to scream. His chest ached, each breath heavy and ragged, as if his heart was straining to break free. 

James Potter had given him everything. 

Not just once, but over and over and for months on end. His wit, his patience, his time, his money, his love.

James had poured all of himself into Regulus, asking for nothing in return. And that made it unbearable. And… what the fuck could Regulus give the James Potter in return?

He didn’t know how to love, not in the way James deserved. Love, to him, was a foreign language he couldn’t speak, couldn’t grasp. Was this what it was supposed to feel like? This unbearable, suffocating desperation pressing against his ribs? He wanted to rip his beating heart from his chest, that cursed, fractured thing, and fall to his knees, and present it to James as an offering.

And even that wouldn’t be enough. It could never be enough.

The weight of it all crushed him. Without warning, Regulus stumbled back, shaking his head.

“I… I have to go.”

His voice was thin, strained, barely audible. He turned sharply on his heel and fled the room, his footsteps pounding through the hollow corridors of Grimmauld Place.

And as he ran, desperate to outrun his own fears, he would never know that for James Potter, his heart, fractured and hesitant as it was, would have been enough.

It was all James had ever wanted.

-----

Regulus had not seen James for five days. Five long, agonising days.

At first, he thought it was a blessing, an escape. James Potter wasn’t loitering in the halls of Grimmauld Place, he wasn’t standing at his door with hopeful eyes and that stupid, stupid grin. For the first two days, Regulus convinced himself he could breathe easier without James around.

But by the third day, he realised he was holding his breath.

By the fourth day, he found himself glancing out the entryway window more than he’d like to admit.

And on the fifth day, the letters started.

Reg,

I get it.

I should have known you’d run. Honestly, I’m surprised you stayed as long as you did. It’s what you do, isn’t it? Push people away before they get too close. But I’m not going anywhere.

I’ve always been stubborn (must be the only child syndrome). You know that better than anyone. So, I’ll wait.

Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here. You can come to me this time.

James x

Regulus stared at the letter for what felt like hours, the words imprinted on his mind long after he set it down. James knew him. He knew his instinct was to retreat, to protect himself from the possibility of hurt. To punish himself for being selfish and underserving. But James wasn’t retreating. How dare he not retreat?

The second letter arrived the following day.

Reg,

I keep thinking about the look on your face when I gave you that gift.

You were scared. Not surprised, you know I like to dote on you. You’ve always known that.

But this was different, wasn’t it? It wasn’t something you had to snap at me to do. It wasn’t something you barked an order for. It was a gesture… just because.

And that’s what scared you.

I think, maybe, you’re not used to someone wanting to give you something without needing a reason. Without expecting anything in return. But that’s what this is. It’s just me wanting to give you something, because you matter to me. Because you deserve it.

I’m not asking you to know everything right now. I’m not asking you to say anything you’re not ready to say.

I’m just asking you to let me in.

I’m not giving up on you. I never have. And I never will.

James x

Regulus clenched his fists as he read. James’ words pressed against his chest, too close, too real. They made his heart race in a way that terrified him. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know how to be ready. The idea of letting someone in, of letting James in, felt like walking into the Forbidden Forest without a wand, unsure what he might face.

The third letter arrived the following day.

Reg,

You asked me why.

Why I keep showing up. Why I care.

There’s no simple answer to that. It’s everything about you. The way you carry more than you should, the way you block out everything and anyone like you’ve convinced yourself you have to. The way your mind works, the way you’re mean. Oh you're so mean, (I love it). The way you pretend not to feel, when I know you do.

I see you, Regulus.

I see the parts of you that you try to hide. The parts you think aren’t worth showing. And I keep showing up because all of it, every bit of you, matters to me and is in fact, worth it.

James x

 Regulus sat with the letter, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. James’ words were too much, too overwhelming. But he read the letter again. And again. Until he knew every line by heart.

The fourth letter arrived the following day.

Reg,

I keep thinking about when it started, when I fell for you.

I don’t think it was one moment. It wasn’t sudden or dramatic. It was quiet and gradual. It crept up on me before I even realised it. But looking back now, I see it’s always been there.

It’s always been you.

Even when we were kids, even when I didn’t fully understand what it was I felt. There was always something about you. I’ve always had a fascination with you, even back at Hogwarts. We barely spoke, but I was always watching.

I watched as you helped the younger Slytherins with their robes when they were too small to reach the clasp. I saw you sneak into the library late at night, tucking a blanket around your shoulders because you always got cold. I noticed the way you stopped to pet the owls in the Owlery, even though you pretended not to care about them. I caught the way your lips twitched, almost smiling, whenever you thought no one was looking.

They were small things, quiet things. But they stayed with me. They told me more about you than you ever let on. And I couldn’t look away.

I see it clearly now. Every step, every moment, it was always leading me here. To you.

It’s always been you.

And it always will be.

James x

Regulus pressed his lips together, his hands trembling as he read the letter once more. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that someone like James Potter had been watching him all that time… seeing the things no one else ever noticed. That night, he hugged the letter to his chest as he curled up beneath a warm blanket. His heart thumped in his ears as he traced the words over and over with his eyes. He read it again. And again. Until, at some point, the weight of exhaustion pulled him under, the letter still clutched tightly against his chest.

The final letter arrived the following day.

Reg,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I’m actually not even sure if you’ve read any of the others. Maybe you’ve thrown them away. Maybe you’ve burnt them. Maybe this one will meet the same fate. It does sound like something you would do.

But none of that really matters. I’ll keep trying. I'll find another way.

Because I’m yours, Regulus. I’ve been yours for longer than I care to admit.

You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to figure it all out, or know exactly how to feel, or know how to love me the way you think you should.

Just let me in. I don’t want much. I just want to hear your laugh, the real one, not the one you hide behind a cough. I want to see you smile without you covering it with your hand. I want to watch you fall asleep knowing, for once, that your mind is finally at peace.

Let me love you. That’s all I’m asking.

Because I do… I fucking love you, Regulus.

James x  

James' words haunted him. They lived in his mind, echoing relentlessly, pulling at the parts of him he didn’t even know existed. He found himself tracing each letter's folds, the parchment worn thin from where his fingers lingered the most. There was a moment, somewhere between midnight and dawn, when the house was too quiet, and the shadows felt like they were closing in, where he realised that staying away hurt more than the fear of going to James.

Merlin, he actually missed James Potter.

Because James had seen him. Truly seen him. And instead of running, James had stayed.

Regulus stared at the final letter, the ink slightly smudged where his thumb pressed over James’ closing words.

I fucking love you, Regulus.

His heart clenched painfully, and he pressed the letter to his lips as if, by some magic, it could tether him to that promise. He folded the letter carefully, slipping it into his coat pocket, and left Grimmauld Place without a word.

-----

Regulus stood at James’ front door, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. His heart was loud, each beat echoing the words from James’ letters. Letters that Regulus had read so many times he practically knew them by heart. They were tucked safely in his coat pocket, creased and worn from restless hands. He never wanted to put them down.

It should have been simple. But nothing about love, or really, even friendship, was simple for Regulus. He wasn’t good at friendship or love. He wasn’t good at romance. He was good at fleeting moments…. Clubs, dancing, meaningless touches. The kind of interactions that didn’t ask anything from him. The kind that let him keep his walls firmly in place. The kind that let him continue to punish himself in self-imposed isolation.

But this? This was terrifying.

And yet, there he stood, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Yes, a fucking bouquet of flowers! Roses and baby's-breath, a splash of colour against his otherwise dark attire. He’d stood in the florist’s shop for nearly half an hour, staring blankly at the arrangements, unsure of what to choose. Was there a procedure when buying flowers? Did different flowers mean different things? Did different colours mean different things? In the end, he’d grabbed the first bouquet that caught his eye, hoping it wasn’t entirely wrong.

His fingers tightened around the stems as he raised his fist and knocked on the door. The sound echoed in the quiet street, and Regulus’ breath caught in his throat. What if this was a mistake? What if James opened the door and realised he deserved better?

The door opened before he could spiral further, and there was James, standing in the doorway, staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Like a bloody dear caught in headlights, he looked shocked. His hair was a wild mess, and his glasses perched slightly askew on his nose. But his eyes, those warm, honey-brown eyes, held a softness that made Regulus’ chest ache.

“Reg,” James whispered, as though afraid to break the moment.

Regulus swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here.”

James’ face lit up with that smile, the one Regulus had missed so damn much it hurt. Ten days had dragged by like a lifetime, and every night he’d closed his eyes just to conjure it, to remember how it softened him and made the ache in his chest bearable. It was the kind of smile that made you feel like the sun had come out, chasing away every shadow. James stepped closer, his gaze never leaving Regulus’ face.

“And are you staying?” James asked, as his hand snaked around Regulus’ waist almost nervously.

James’ touch ignited something deep within Regulus, a spark that spread like Fiendyre. The simple press of his hand at Regulus’ waist seared through the fabric of his shirt, branding him to the bone. Regulus didn’t have words. He was never good with soft words, never good at expressing the whirlwind of emotions inside him. Instead, he held out the flowers with shaking hands, his knuckles white from the pressure of his grip.

James took the bouquet gently, as though it were something precious. His fingers brushed against Regulus’, sending a shiver down his spine.

“I’m not good at this,” Regulus mumbled, his voice barely audible. His gaze dropped to the floor. “But… I’m trying. I promise I will try.”

James’ smile softened; he cradled the flowers to his chest as though holding Regulus’ heart in his hands. Pehaps those flowers were, by extension. With a tenderness Regulus wasn’t sure he deserved, James raised his free hand to tip Regulus’ chin up, forcing their eyes to meet.

“That’s all I need,” James murmured.

And then it happened. James leant forward and closed the aching gap between them and kissed him. The kiss was soft and tender, almost unbearably so. James kissed like he did everything else: with all his heart. There was no urgency, no need to rush. Just warmth, just patience, just James.

As they broke apart, Regulus’ cheeks tinged with a shade of pink so unfamiliar and warm that it almost startled him. He could feel the warmth lingering on his lips and the heavy thrum of his heart beneath his ribs. And he resolutely, then and there, decided that if love was ripping his beating heart out and offering it to James, then he would do so without hesitation. Because for once in his life, he wanted to let himself have something. For once in his life, he decided he deserved this.

Regulus knew there was no coming back from this.

Because James Potter was easy to love.

And he wanted to.

And he did.