Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE

“I’m not doing another interview.”

Regulus Black’s voice was sharp, final, as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His dark eyes were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, his usual aura of barely contained irritation settling over him like a storm cloud.

Evan Rosier, draped lazily across the plush couch in their shared studio lounge, hummed in agreement. “Mhm. Hard pass. I’d rather staple my tongue to my own forehead.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Sirius Black muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was standing in front of them, their ever-suffering manager, looking like he was five seconds away from throttling all three of them.

“We’ve never had a good interview,” Barty Crouch Jr. pointed out. His voice was lighter than Regulus’ but just as unwilling. He was sprawled out next to Evan, tossing a drumstick in the air and catching it without looking. “I mean, remember that one last year? Where they asked me if I was sleeping with both of you and how that ‘dynamic’ worked?” He air-quoted dramatically.

“Or the one before that?” Evan supplied, kicking his boots up onto the coffee table. “When they asked Regulus if he thought Serpents would’ve been better if he wasn’t in the band? That was fun.”

Regulus’ expression darkened, but he didn’t say anything.

“Or the one where they asked if we hated each other because we don’t do cutesy ‘band bonding’ nonsense?” Barty added.

“Or—”

“ Enough! ” Sirius snapped, glaring at all three of them. “I know interviews are a nightmare for you. I know reporters have been absolute pricks. That’s why I found someone new. ” He pulled out his phone and waved it at them like it was some divine artifact. “James Potter. He’s young, he’s not an asshole, and I did a background check.”

Barty narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying too hard to sell him. I don’t trust it.”

Evan raised a brow. “James Potter, huh? Sounds familiar.”

Regulus finally spoke, voice flat and skeptical. “I still don’t want to do it.”

“You have to do it,” Sirius retorted. “It’s at the Grammys. You’re up for three awards. And before you whine about it, yes, you have to walk the red carpet.”

There was a collective groan.

“You’re killing us, Pads,” Evan sighed, tilting his head back dramatically.

“Yeah, is this punishment for something?” Barty asked, sitting up and flicking his drumstick at Sirius, who didn’t even bother dodging it.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Look, just suffer through the interview, say your piece about Serpents , and move on. It’s five minutes. If you hate James Potter, I’ll personally fire him into the sun. Deal?”

Regulus eyed him suspiciously. “You swear you checked him out?”

“Yes,” Sirius groaned. “He’s clean. No trashy tabloid work, no hit pieces, nothing. I even called in a favor to make sure. Just— please behave. It’s one interview.”

Regulus exhaled slowly, like he was debating stabbing something, then finally muttered, “Fine.”

Evan grinned. “Well, at least it’ll be entertaining.”

Barty smirked. “Yeah. Either it’ll go great, or it’ll be an absolute disaster. Either way, I’m looking forward to it.”

Regulus, Evan, and Barty stepped onto the red carpet like they owned the place. Cameras flashed, voices roared, and yet they walked with the confidence of men who didn’t give a single damn.

The three of them had perfected the art of red-carpet presence over the years—shoulders squared, expressions unreadable, just the right amount of indifference to make them seem untouchable. It was the kind of effortless cool that had become their signature, the same energy they carried in their music.

Their outfits matched the Serpents era perfectly—grunge-inspired, dark, and just the right level of disheveled. Regulus wore an all-black mesh long-sleeve under a sleeveless distressed band tee, silver chains adorning his neck. Evan rocked a fitted, deep green velvet blazer over a half-unbuttoned shirt, his usual rings gleaming under the lights. Barty had gone full chaos mode with ripped plaid pants, an oversized black sweater that hung off one shoulder, and heavy boots that made each step sound deliberate.

But then came the shouting.

“Over here! Regulus, to your left!”

“Barty! Barty, look this way!”

“Evan, give us a smirk! There we go, mate!”

“Serpents! One group shot! One more! Regulus, can you put your arm around Evan?”

The barked orders came at them from every direction, each one grating against their nerves. Barty, in particular, felt his whole body go rigid.

The shouting. The commands. It sent a violent ripple through him, something raw and visceral, something that made his skin crawl like he was fifteen again, flinching at his father’s voice.

Barty, you useless—

No. Not here. Not now.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, but then, before it could spiral, he felt Evan’s hand brush against his own. Just for a second. Just enough.

Regulus moved, too, subtly shifting so that their arms brushed as they walked. No one would notice it—no one but them.

It was grounding. A silent we’re here .

Barty took a breath, rolling his shoulders back, forcing himself to smirk for the cameras even though every inch of him wanted to disappear.

“Fucking hate this,” he muttered under his breath.

Evan chuckled lowly, just enough for him to hear. “I know , love. Just breathe.”

Regulus, on Barty’s other side, glanced toward the nearest photographer, expression sharp enough to slice through bone. “If one more person shouts at us, I’m going to snap their camera in half.”

“Fine by me,” Barty muttered.

Still, they had a job to do. With one last, exasperated glance at each other, the band continued down the carpet, enduring the chaos until they reached the interview deck.

That was when they started scanning the crowd.

The reporters were clustered together, a blur of press passes, microphones, and over-eager expressions. Most of them looked exactly as expected—seasoned industry vultures, just waiting to spin a headline out of thin air.

Then, finally, they spotted movement. Someone was waving them over.

From where they stood, they couldn’t see the reporter’s face clearly, just a flash of messy dark hair and a sharp-shouldered suit.

Regulus exhaled through his nose. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

The Serpents wore their best glares as they stalked toward the interview deck, their presence a storm rolling in. Cameras flashed, voices buzzed, but they moved like they were above it all—untouchable, untamed, uninterested.

Regulus led the way, jaw tight, eyes sharp. Evan walked beside him, hands shoved in his pockets, his usual lazy smirk absent. Barty trailed just a step behind, shoulders tense, his fingers twitching with restrained agitation.

Then, through the sea of reporters, their interviewer stepped forward.

James Potter.

The Serpents stopped.

Regulus actually felt his brain short-circuit for a moment.

James Potter wasn’t what they expected. Not even close.

He was alluring .

Tan skin, flushed under the harsh lights. Fluffy brown curls that looked unbearably soft. Big, warm doe eyes framed by round glasses that sat slightly askew, as if he had a habit of pushing them up too quickly. And that suit— fuck . A deep maroon, perfectly tailored, hugging his frame in a way that made it impossible to ignore how good he looked in it.

And unlike the rest of the reporters, James was young .

About their age, actually.

Regulus internally groaned. Of course Sirius had stuck them with a rookie. He could already predict the disaster ahead—stumbling, inexperienced questioning, the same shallow, predictable nonsense they’d been asked a hundred times before. What inspired your album? Who are your musical influences? What’s your favorite song to perform live? It was always the same dull routine, and now they had to sit through it with some starry-eyed newbie who would probably fumble through his cards and waste their time.

Barty let out a short, exasperated breath beside him. “Brilliant. Just what we fucking need.”

Evan hummed, tilting his head as he appraised James. “Didn’t expect this .”

Regulus didn’t bother responding. Instead, he turned his glare to James, unimpressed, bracing himself for the usual irritation.

But then James smiled .

Warm, genuine, bright. Like he was actually excited to be standing there with them.

It threw them off completely.

None of them moved.

James’ grin faltered slightly when all he got in return were three unrelenting glares. He blinked, shifting awkwardly, clearly expecting a greeting that never came.

“Uh—hi,” he tried, his voice light, hopeful.

Regulus stared at him, silent. Evan crossed his arms. Barty arched a single unimpressed brow.

James hesitated, his smile slipping further, uncertainty creeping into his features. His excitement drained in real time, replaced with something more hesitant, more anxious.

He looked nervous .

No—he looked hurt .

Like a kicked puppy, like someone who had just realized he wasn’t wanted here.

And suddenly, the atmosphere felt wrong .

The Serpents winced internally, a flicker of realization settling in.

They’d been too harsh.

James Potter wasn’t some industry vulture trying to twist their words. He was their age . A rookie . And now he looked like he’d just made a terrible mistake stepping up for this interview.

And worse—he was pretty .

The kind of pretty that made Regulus’ stomach twist uncomfortably, that made Evan’s smirk twitch back into existence, that made Barty roll his shoulders like he suddenly needed to move .

And they’d just crushed him before he even had a chance to speak.

James glanced between them, shifting on his feet. “I, um—I can make this quick,” he offered hurriedly, clearly trying to recover. “If you’d rather just—”

Regulus clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to sigh.

The interview hadn’t even started, and they were already screwing it up.

Fuck.

This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO

The Serpents didn’t know how to fix the damage they’d done.

But they didn’t have to.

Because James adjusted himself instantly.

Like flipping a switch, he transformed—his excitement smoothed into something more professional, his body language became smaller, and his voice lost its warmth, settling into something calm, measured, soothing.

Regulus blinked, caught off guard.

It was like James had just decided not to be a problem.

His smile was still there, but it was different now—polished, practiced, the kind of expression that was meant to put them at ease rather than reflect his own emotions.

And somehow, it worked.

For the first time in their careers, the Serpents felt safe in an interview.

James wasn’t fumbling or stuttering through scripted nonsense. He wasn’t making them uncomfortable. Every mannerism he exhibited screamed experience—which was wrong, because Sirius said this guy was new.

And then James started asking questions.

Not the usual, dull, surface-level bullshit.

Real questions.

Insightful, deep, researched. The kind that actually gave them something to talk about.

“So, Serpents is sonically darker than your previous album,” James began, his voice steady. “It leans heavily into grunge, but there’s also a thread of something orchestral woven into the production. It’s big, but still raw. Was that a conscious decision from the start, or did it evolve naturally during the recording process?”

Regulus blinked again.

That wasn’t a bullshit question.

Barty tilted his head, caught off guard. “It…evolved,” he admitted slowly, testing the waters. “We knew we wanted a heavier sound, but the orchestral layering came later.”

James nodded, not rushing to fill the silence. He let Barty think.

Evan, intrigued, leaned forward slightly. “We worked with a film composer for a few of the tracks,” he added, watching James closely. “It wasn’t planned, but once we heard the first mix, we knew we had to lean into it.”

Regulus, despite himself, was interested.

James hummed in understanding. “That makes sense,” he said, as if this wasn’t the most they’d spoken in an interview in years. “There’s a cinematic quality to it—it feels almost like a score in places. Was there any particular film or visual influence that shaped that?”

The Serpents stared at him.

No one ever asked them about that.

“…Blade Runner,” Regulus admitted, studying James with something close to suspicion. “We watched it a lot in the studio.”

James smiled—genuinely, this time. “That makes so much sense,” he said, nodding as if he had just solved a puzzle. “I can hear it in Bloodline and Ivory Tower. That sort of retro-futuristic bleakness, but with something aching underneath.”

Barty and Evan exchanged a glance, both of them slightly thrown.

Regulus narrowed his eyes.

This was too good.

James wasn’t just competent. He was great at this.

And yet, he barely spoke outside of asking questions.

He facilitated, not participated. He gave them space to talk while making himself as small as possible, never taking up too much air, never letting his presence become anything but digestible.

He was making himself easy.

And it broke them a little.

Because James Potter was the best interviewer they’d ever had.

And they’d made him feel like he wasn’t worth their time.

Halfway through the interview, James’ hands started shaking.

He was subtle about it—his fingers tightening around his mic just a little, his knuckles pressing into the clipboard on his lap—but the Serpents noticed.

Of course, they noticed.

It was small, just the faintest tremor, but it sent something sharp and uncomfortable curling in Regulus’ chest.

James didn’t let it show on his face. He kept his posture relaxed, his tone even, but his breathing had shifted—just slightly. More measured, like he was forcing himself to stay steady.

Why?

Nothing had changed.

The questions had been going smoothly. They weren’t being rude anymore.

So why did James suddenly look like he was barely keeping it together?

Regulus hated it.

Evan hated it.

And Barty, who was still fighting the instinct to flinch at the camera flashes behind them, hated it most of all.

They couldn’t fix it—not without drawing attention—but they tried.

Evan let his body language loosen, leaning forward slightly like he was fully engaged. Regulus tilted his chin in James’ direction, not quite a nod but an acknowledgment, a silent you’re good, you’re fine. Barty made sure his expression wasn’t as sharp as usual, schooling his features into something calmer.

None of it worked.

James’ breathing remained shallow, his fingers still trembling slightly around the mic.

Barty couldn't stand it.

So, he did the only thing he could think of.

"You mentioned Ivory Tower earlier, yeah?" he asked, cutting James off mid-question.

James blinked, momentarily thrown. “…Yes, I did.”

There was something guarded in his expression, like he wasn’t sure if this was a test. Like he thought he’d overstepped by referencing the song in the first place.

Regulus, suddenly determined to fix whatever damage they’d done, jumped in before he could spiral.

"What did you think of it?" he asked, voice uncharacteristically soft.

James froze.

And then, to their horror, his ears went pink.

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

Evan smirked.

Barty leaned in just slightly, watching with interest as James clearly panicked.

"Oh," James said, eyes darting between them. "I—um. Well. That’s not really—this is your interview, not mine."

Regulus frowned. That was the wrong answer.

Evan tilted his head, sensing hesitation. "C'mon," he said, voice easy. Amused. "Please?"

James looked wrecked.

Which was funny, because it was just a simple question.

But it wasn’t simple, not to James.

Because James Potter had clearly analyzed the hell out of that song the second it came out. He had a million thoughts racing behind those big, brown eyes, and yet he looked terrified to share them.

That was unacceptable.

So, Regulus took a different approach.

He gave James a challenge.

"You do have an opinion, don’t you?" he said, tilting his head, voice just a little sharper. Just enough to poke at him.

James’ spine straightened, something defensive flashing across his face. "Of course I do."

Barty grinned. "Then let’s hear it."

And just like that—James Potter had no way out.

James took a breath. Then, like a dam breaking, he spoke.

"Ivory Tower is fascinating because it doesn’t just tell a story—it builds one," he said, voice stronger now, his previous hesitation melting away. “Lyrically, it presents this theme of self-imposed isolation, but the real genius of the song is how the music reflects that.”

The Serpents stilled.

James barely noticed.

He was gone, fully immersed in his own words, eyes bright behind his glasses as he gestured lightly with his free hand.

“The first verse is cold. It’s structured, restrained. The instrumental is bare—just a repeated guitar riff, no backing vocals, no harmonies, just isolation,” he continued. “Then, as the song progresses, the sound expands. By the second verse, the percussion is heavier, and the harmonies creep in. The music gets bigger, but the lyrics get more bitter—which is brilliant, by the way. It creates this push-and-pull of wanting connection but resenting it at the same time.”

Regulus stared.

Barty forgot to breathe.

Evan blinked slowly, absorbing everything.

“The real shift happens at the bridge,” James went on, voice steady, oblivious to the weight of their attention. “It’s the first time the vocals layer fully—Regulus, you’re carrying the melody, but Evan, your harmonies are stacked right underneath, and Barty’s backing vocals come in at the same time, almost like a choir. It’s the musical equivalent of someone who’s been isolated for years suddenly hearing voices all around them—like they’re drowning in it. It’s overwhelming.”

Regulus felt his pulse jump.

He hadn't even thought about it like that.

James continued, unaware of the way the Serpents had collectively stopped breathing. “And then the final chorus—all of it—is just…” James exhaled, shaking his head slightly, a small, awed smile tugging at his lips. “The best part of the song. The drums are at full force, the guitar riff is sharper, and you’re all singing by then, not just layered but in different registers—Regulus’ lead, Evan’s harmonies, Barty’s deep backing vocals—it’s chaos, but it’s intentional chaos. The message of the song completely shifts from ‘I don’t need anyone’ to ‘I hate that I need people, but I do.’”

The Serpents were frozen.

James had no idea.

He had no idea that his voice had dropped into something reverent, or that his analysis was one of the most detailed and articulate evaluations they’d ever heard of their music.

And he definitely had no idea that Regulus’ heart was beating too fast.

Or that Evan was grinning now, sharp and amused, because James had essentially cracked open their creative process and mapped it out perfectly.

Or that Barty was still, uncharacteristically silent, listening.

James paused, seemingly to gather his thoughts, before nodding slightly. “Anyway. That’s why I love Ivory Tower,” he said simply, as if he hadn’t just delivered a full masterclass on the song.

The Serpents stared.

James blinked at them.

The silence stretched.

Then, finally—

“Are you kidding me?” Evan asked, tilting his head.

James furrowed his brows. “What?”

“You just—” Barty gestured vaguely at him, finally finding his voice. “That was the best breakdown of Ivory Tower I’ve ever heard. And you’re acting like it was nothing.”

James’ ears pinked. “Oh—well. I mean. It’s not—I just listen to your music, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Regulus repeated, voice low. “You just deconstructed our entire production process like it was a casual conversation.”

James ducked his head slightly. “I mean. I am a music journalist,” he offered. “It’s sort of my job.”

Regulus exchanged a look with Evan, who looked thoroughly entertained.

Barty just squinted at James, something unreadable flickering across his expression.

James shifted uncomfortably, still oblivious. “Um. Sorry if I went on a bit of a rant.”

“You think that was a rant?” Barty muttered.

James bit his lip.

And the Serpents—all three of them, for the first time in years—felt guilty.

Because James hadn’t been excited about this interview because he was inexperienced.

He’d been excited because he loved their music.

And they had ruined that for him.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THREE

Evan was the first to speak. “You’re a fan .”

James blinked at him before laughing. “Well—yeah,” he admitted easily. “Of course, I am.”

The Serpents just stared at him.

James Potter , their interviewer, their rookie reporter, was a fan .

Regulus finally snapped out of his stupor. “Talk about Bloodline next,” he demanded, voice sharp.

James blinked at him, thrown by the sudden command. Then, to their utter horror, he just laughed again .

And fuck .

The Serpents created music for a living. They worked with sounds, tones, harmonies—they understood the science of it, the rhythm, the way a single note could change the emotional impact of an entire song.

And that sound?

James’ laugh ?

It was the most perfect sound they’d ever heard.

Evan was gripping his thigh under the table.

Barty’s fingers twitched.

Regulus just stared , feeling something deep in his chest that he refused to name.

James, completely unaware of the way they’d all lost function for a full three seconds , shook his head at them, smiling. “This is your interview, silly.”

The Serpents were in shambles .

Because silly .

James had just called them silly .

And he’d said it so casually , like he wasn’t speaking to three of the most intimidating musicians in the industry.

It took a beat for them to catch up, and by the time they did, James had already moved on, as if the moment hadn’t even happened.

“So,” James continued smoothly, ever the professional. “We just hit the five-minute mark, which means we’ve met the minimum requirement for the interview.” He smiled at them. “If you’d like, we can wrap up now.”

Silence.

James tilted his head slightly. “Or—if you’re open to it—we can keep going. We can run overtime if you want.”

He barely had time to finish the sentence before—

“Yes,” Regulus said immediately.

“Yes,” Barty echoed, far too quickly.

“Absolutely,” Evan confirmed.

The Serpents had never said yes so fast in their life .

James exhaled slowly from relief. “If you don’t mind,” he started, carefully, “I have something to show you.”

James reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

The realization hit them all at once.

This —whatever was about to happen—was what he’d been nervous about earlier.

Regulus’ eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

James hesitated for a split second, then unlocked his phone. “It’s—well.” He huffed a small, self-conscious laugh. “You’ll see.”

With a few swipes, he pulled up an app, then turned his phone to face them.

TikTok.

The Serpents blinked .

TikTok?

James must have read the confusion on their faces because he quickly added, “I have permission from the creators to show these clips during the interview.”

Before they could even process that, the first video began playing.

The lyrics to their own song immediately poured through the tiny speaker:

So live on the vine, child.

On-screen, a group of teenagers—clearly very intoxicated—were raising their glasses and screaming the lyrics with pure joy .

The caption at the top read: “The Serpents told us to get wine-drunk, and who are we to deny them?”

The Serpents stared.

The video cut, and the next clip began.

Another group of fans, similarly wasted , were dramatically singing along, one of them fully sprawled across a couch, bottle in hand.

Caption: “Our Gods have spoken.”

The next one started immediately after.

A girl stared deadpan into the camera before downing an entire glass of wine.

Caption: “Wait, I’m literally so obedient. Hold on.”

The next video.

Another group of teens, red-faced and giggling , swayed with their arms around each other, absolutely butchering the melody.

The next video.

And the next .

And the next .

All of them featuring different groups of fans, all of them laughing, all of them drunk, all of them screaming the same exact lyric from their song.

The Serpents did not move.

Not a single muscle.

The realization sank in slowly .

They were watching their own fans participate in a viral trend using their music.

A viral trend that they somehow did not know existed .

Barty was the first to react.

“ How ,” he started, voice strangled, “have we never seen this before?”

James winced like he had expected that reaction. “You guys don’t use social media that much,” he pointed out. “And to be fair, this trend is pretty recent.”

Regulus barely heard him. He was still stuck on the fact that—

“These idiots—” He gestured vaguely at the screen. “—think we’re telling them to get drunk ?”

James bit his lip. “Um.”

Barty let out a disbelieving laugh. “They’re so unserious.”

Evan, who had been utterly silent up until this point, finally leaned in, brows raised.

“Play another one,” he said.

James was shaking with the effort of holding back his laughter. He cleared his throat, just barely managing to keep his voice even as he asked, “Anything to say to your young fans?”

The Serpents froze .

And then, all at once, it dawned on them.

This wasn’t a trap.

This wasn’t an attempt to corner them or make them look bad.

James wasn’t doing what every other reporter did—he wasn’t trying to twist their words or bait them into causing drama .

He was helping them.

The realization sent a shockwave through the group.

James—who they had unfairly brushed off as some inexperienced, overeager rookie —was selflessly handing them one of the best PR moments of their careers.

The tension shattered .

Barty was the first to break, howling with laughter.

Regulus completely lost his composure, practically folding in half as he cackled into his hands.

Evan shook his head, muttering, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” but there was so much fondness in his tone.

Barty, still laughing, reached for James’ phone.

James jerked it away, scandalized . “ Excuse you? ”

Barty ignored him, lunging again. “Let me see more.”

“No! I have to scroll—”

Barty snatched the phone right out of his hands.

James gasped, absolutely betrayed . “ You menace— ”

Barty shushed him with a dramatic wave of his hand, eyes glued to the screen as he started swiping through more TikToks.

“Oh, this one’s even better —” Barty giggled , and James gawked at him.

“Did you just giggle ?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You absolutely —”

Regulus, still wheezing, leaned over to peek at the phone. The moment he read the caption, he completely lost it again.

Evan, the only one who had yet to participate in the absolute circus surrounding him, took a deep breath, sobering up just enough to address the camera.

“Okay,” he said, lifting a hand to get everyone’s attention. “ Okay. ”

The others quieted—except for Barty, who was still snorting to himself over a particularly wild caption.

Evan leveled the camera with the most serious expression imaginable . “I need you all to listen to me.”

James, intrigued, crossed his arms and leaned back.

Evan exhaled sharply, nodding to himself before launching into it.

“Guys,” he said, voice painfully sincere, “I love you. I really do. You’re the reason we get to do what we do, and we are so grateful for you. But, please—” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please, for the love of God , do not underage drink .”

Barty guffawed .

Evan shot him a look . “I’m serious .”

The camera was still rolling, so he turned back, expression desperate . “I get it, okay? I do . You think it’s fun, you think it’s rebellious, but it’s dangerous . And I know I sound like a dad right now—”

“You do ,” Regulus murmured, amused.

“—but I don’t care ,” Evan continued. “I just really need you guys to be safe . We did not tell you to get blackout drunk on red wine , alright?”

James covered his mouth with his hand, hiding his grin.

Evan sighed. “Just—promise me you won’t do it again?”

There was a brief moment of silence.

Then—

Barty, still crying with laughter, turned to face the camera and said, “Do it again.”

Evan whipped around. “ Barty! ”

“What? They’re hilarious.”

Evan looked physically pained . “They’re children .”

“They’re not —” Barty paused, then conceded, “Okay, some of them are. But that’s not our fault.” He gestured at the phone. “This is art .”

Evan groaned .

James had completely given up on keeping a straight face.

Barty, noticing, smirked and slung an arm around James’ shoulders. “I like this one,” he said, nudging him. “Good journalist. Good person .”

James rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

Regulus, finally composed, sighed and rubbed his temples. “We need a new lyric disclaimer.”

Evan deadpanned. “ Clearly. ”

Barty just grinned. “Or, hear me out— we don’t .”

James snorted.

Regulus just shook his head. “God help us.”

“They’re teenagers , Barty! You’re encouraging underage drinking ! Do you have any sense of responsibility?” Evan scolded.

Barty smirked. “Absolutely none .”

Evan exhaled sharply, fixing the camera with another exhausted yet sincere expression. “Ignore him . Please. Do not turn this into a full-blown religion.”

Barty gasped, placing a dramatic hand on his chest. “How dare you?” He turned back to the camera, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ignore him . The cult is real. Keep it alive.”

“ Barty! ” Evan practically screeched .

“ Rosie, you’re no fun .” Barty whined, throwing his head back in exasperation. 

Evan looked murderous .

James, who had very much been planning to keep this professional , had to physically bite his lip to keep from laughing.

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—for once, I actually agree with Evan.”

Evan scoffed. “ Thank you! ”

“Because,” Regulus continued, casting Barty an unimpressed glance, “if their parents start suing us, you’re the one dealing with it.”

Barty gasped again, scandalized. “You would betray me like that?”

Regulus deadpanned. “In an instant.”

James—who, at this point, was barely holding it together—cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “Alright, I think that’s a good place to end.”

Immediately, the playful banter died down.

The Serpents snapped to attention, looking at James with varying degrees of confusion and displeasure.

“Wait,” Barty said, sitting up. “You’re leaving ?”

James laughed, standing and gathering his notes. “Uh, yeah? The interview is over?”

Regulus frowned slightly, his expression unreadable.

Evan looked genuinely put out. “Already?”

James blinked at them. “We’ve been talking for, like, an hour.”

Barty huffed, crossing his arms. “That’s not long enough .”

James bit back a grin. “You guys are nominated for an award . You need to go inside.”

Regulus muttered, “Not nearly as entertaining as this.”

Evan, looking genuinely distressed, asked, “Are you staying for the ceremony?”

James hesitated. “Um—”

“You have to,” Barty interjected, leaning forward.

James blinked, caught off guard. “I—I have other interviews—”

“Boring,” Barty dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Skip them.”

James laughed. “I can’t .”

Evan sighed dramatically. “Tragic.”

Regulus watched James carefully, his sharp gaze studying him in a way that made James’ stomach do something weird .

James cleared his throat, shoving his notes into his bag. “I appreciate you guys taking the time to do this,” he said sincerely.

Barty pouted. “We appreciate you taking the time to be fun .”

James grinned. “I try.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but there was something almost affectionate about it.

James gave them one last nod before stepping away, vanishing into the crowd of reporters.

The Serpents sat in silence for a moment.

And then—

Barty unashamedly turned his head, watching James walk away.

Or, more specifically, watching James’ ass.

Regulus, noticing immediately, smacked his arm.

Barty flinched, rubbing the spot where Regulus had hit him. “Ow! What?”

Regulus glared . “There are cameras everywhere.”

Barty shrugged, completely unfazed. “And?”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are impossible .”

Evan, meanwhile, had also been watching James leave—just in a slightly more subtle way.

Barty smirked at him. “You agree with me.”

Evan didn’t deny it.

Because, well—

James Potter was pretty .

Unfairly pretty.

And so incredibly nice.

Regulus exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “That was the best interview we’ve ever had.”

Evan nodded. “By a landslide .”

And they’d made James so nervous at the start.

His pretty face didn’t deserve to be flushed with anxiety.

Barty sighed, dramatic and dreamy. “I like him.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but he didn’t disagree.

Because, well—

So did he.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR

The Serpents tried not to sulk. They really did.

But it was hard to act normal when the best interview of their entire career had just ended, the kindest—and prettiest—reporter they'd ever met had disappeared into the crowd, and they now had to suffer through the worst part of the night.

The award ceremony itself? Fine.

The forced socialization beforehand? Hell.

They were expected to schmooze, to make small talk with other celebrities, to charm the media and keep up appearances. But none of them could be bothered .

Regulus sighed, letting his head fall onto Evan's shoulder. “I’m exhausted.”

Evan hummed, completely unbothered. “Then sleep, starshine.”

Regulus huffed a quiet laugh at the nickname. “You know that’s not socially acceptable, right?”

Evan shrugged. “Don’t care.”

Barty smirked. “Yeah, Reggie, go ahead. Let the world know how bored we are.”

Regulus peeked up at him. “They’re going to call us disrespectful.”

Barty’s grin widened. “Even better.”

Evan shifted, adjusting so that Regulus could get more comfortable against him. “You’ll wake up when the awards start.”

Regulus hummed in acknowledgment. “Mhm.”

Barty, ever dramatic, stood and whipped off his jacket.

“Here,” he announced, draping it over Regulus’ face like a tent . “Now the lights won’t bother you.”

Regulus huffed but didn’t protest.

Evan smirked. “You just don’t want the paparazzi getting a good picture.”

Barty grinned. “Absolutely not.”

Evan chuckled. “You’re ridiculous.”

Barty plopped back into his seat, kicking his feet up on the table. “I know.”

Several people definitely noticed the insanity of what was happening—the Serpents , arguably the most famous band in the world, just lounging around like they were at home, blatantly ignoring social expectations.

But none of them cared.

Regulus would wake up when he needed to.

The media could deal with it.

James walked fast. Too fast.

He kept his head down, offering quick, polite smiles to anyone who made eye contact, but he didn’t stop. Not until he reached the restroom, locked the door behind him, and fell to his knees over the toilet.

The second he hit the floor, his stomach twisted violently, and he gagged. A choked sob escaped as he threw up, gripping the porcelain so hard his knuckles turned white.

He hated this.

James shuddered as another wave of nausea rolled through him, his entire body trembling with leftover adrenaline and anxiety. His hands clenched into fists against the cold tile as he heaved again, his throat burning, tears streaming down his cheeks.

God, he hated vomiting from anxiety.

He barely had time to catch his breath before another violent shiver wracked his body.

That was so much.

He’d been nervous already—his first livestreamed interview? That was terrifying enough on its own. But then it had been them.

The Serpents.

James had been a die-hard fan since he was thirteen, since their band started. He used to listen to their debut album on repeat, scribbling their lyrics in the margins of his school notes, humming their melodies under his breath during exams.

And he’d just interviewed them.

James squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tremors in his body to settle, but the moment he did, all he could see was their faces.

The way they had glared at him at the start. The pure irritation in their expressions before he had even spoken.

It was burned into his brain.

Never meet your heroes, he supposed.

James sniffled and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning against the cool wall behind him.

To be fair, they’d eased up by the end. He’d even think they had fun, if he wasn’t still convinced they hated him.

They did seem more comfortable.

That was the only thing keeping James from fully spiraling—the hope that, maybe, he’d at least done his job well. That he’d made them comfortable, even if he felt like absolute shit now.

James took a slow, shuddering breath, his stomach finally settling.

He just hoped he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself.

Regulus barely stirred as murmurs filled the room. His head remained nestled against Evan’s shoulder, his dark curls shifting slightly as he breathed.

Evan glanced around, meeting the disapproving glares of several celebrities. He didn’t care. Not even a little.

Barty caught someone whispering behind their hands and smirked. “What? Never seen a bloke take a nap before?” he drawled, voice dripping with amusement.

Evan rolled his eyes. “Let them stare. Not our problem.”

For the most part, it wasn’t a problem. The rich and famous loved to pretend they were above public displays of judgment, despite the way their eyes lingered with irritation. But then—

Severus Snape.

The second he caught sight of them, his expression twisted into pure disdain. His cold, calculating gaze locked onto Regulus, and his nostrils flared as if personally offended by the sight of him resting.

Evan tensed.

Barty’s smirk faltered.

They knew that look.

Snape’s lip curled as he stalked toward them, his footsteps sharp and purposeful. And before Evan could so much as warn him off, Snape reached out—

And shoved Regulus’ head off Evan’s shoulder.

Regulus jolted awake as his head snapped forward, Barty’s jacket slipping to the floor with a soft thud. His body stiffened immediately. His pupils dilated. He wasn’t here anymore.

“Reggie,” Barty said sharply, already reacting, pulling Regulus under his arm, pressing him against his chest.

Regulus didn’t hear him.

He was somewhere else.

Somewhere colder, darker, where his mother’s sharp voice rang through the halls of his childhood home. Where Sirius’ screams split the air. Where he was helpless, hiding under his covers, gripping them tight, hoping—praying—that maybe, just maybe, this time, their mother wouldn’t come for him, too.

“Reg,” Barty murmured, squeezing him tight. “You’re alright. Stay with me.”

Regulus was shaking.

Barty curled around him, protective, shielding him from the world. His normally lighthearted expression was gone, replaced with something sharp, something dangerous.

And then there was Evan.

Evan, who didn’t anger easily. Evan, who usually kept a level head, who was collected.

But now?

Now, Evan was furious.

He turned on Snape slowly, deliberately, his eyes dark and cold. “You’re a bold man,” he said softly. “Or a stupid one.”

Snape sneered. “The disrespect—”

“Disrespect?” Evan cut him off, tilting his head. “You want to talk about disrespect, Snape?” His voice was eerily calm. “You think it’s your place to put your hands on someone sleeping?”

Snape scowled. “He—”

“No, no.” Evan held up a finger, gaze burning into him. “Listen very carefully, because I won’t repeat myself.” His voice never rose. It didn’t need to. “You ever touch him again, I will personally make sure your career rots into nothing.”

Snape’s face paled.

Evan smiled, sharp and cruel. “Apologize.”

Snape hesitated.

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Did we stutter?”

Regulus was still trembling against Barty’s side, and that alone was enough for Evan to step closer, his posture casual but his presence unrelenting.

“Apologize,” Evan repeated, enunciating each syllable.

Snape swallowed. His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he finally grit his teeth and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Evan arched a brow. “Louder.”

Snape’s jaw locked, but when he looked at Evan’s face—at the promise of absolute ruin in his gaze—he exhaled sharply and turned toward Regulus.

“I’m sorry,” he bit out.

Regulus barely reacted. He still wasn’t fully here.

But Evan was satisfied.

“Good,” he said pleasantly. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

Snape practically bolted.

Evan watched him go, then turned back to Barty and Regulus.

Barty was still holding Regulus close, murmuring something in his ear, grounding him, his fingers carding through his hair.

Evan sighed and crouched in front of them, lowering his voice. “Reg?”

Regulus blinked, slowly coming back to himself, his breathing still uneven.

Evan softened. “He’s gone,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

Regulus swallowed, nodding just barely.

Barty pressed a kiss to his temple. “Atta boy.”

Evan exhaled. “Let’s get through this stupid award show, and then we’re going home.”

Regulus closed his eyes and leaned into them both, exhaustion pressing down on him once again.

Yeah.

That sounded good.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE

The cheers were still ringing in their ears when they stepped off the stage, the weight of the golden gramophone in Barty’s hand feeling damn good.

“Album of the Year,” Evan said, grinning as he clapped Barty on the back. “Told you.”

Regulus smirked. “I don’t know how you doubted it.”

“I didn’t doubt it,” Barty corrected, tucking the award under his arm. “I just enjoy the surprise.”

Regulus snorted. “Pretending to be humble now?”

Barty slung an arm over his shoulders. “Never.”

Their team swarmed them, congratulating them, ushering them out, but the only thing on their minds was home .

After what felt like an eternity, they finally slid into their car, all three of them exhaling at once as the door shut. The outside world faded, and they sank into the plush seats.

Regulus leaned his head back. “We are never going to an award show again.”

“You say that every year,” Evan said, amused.

“Because every year, it’s hell ,” Regulus muttered.

“At least this time, we had a highlight,” Barty pointed out.

Regulus cracked an eye open. “Winning?”

Barty smirked. “No. James.”

Evan hummed in agreement. “Best interview we’ve ever had.”

Regulus grunted. “That’s a low bar.”

“Still.” Barty stretched, smirking. “Can’t wait to watch it back.”

Their tradition was sacred.

After every big event, they gathered in their penthouse, drinks in hand, and watched the press coverage. Normally, it was just an excuse to mock the shallow interviews and roll their eyes at the latest gossip.

Tonight, though?

Tonight was different.

Tonight, they had James .

Regulus lounged on the couch, whiskey in hand, scrolling through press clips on his laptop. “Alright, let’s see what bullshit they’ve been saying about us—”

“ Skip to James ,” Barty cut in.

Regulus rolled his eyes but smirked as he searched for the right video. “Impatient.”

Evan, already nursing his drink, smirked. “Just get to it, love.”

The moment James’ face filled the screen, the energy in the room shifted.

His soft curls, his bright eyes, that charming little nervous lip-bite—

Barty let out a groan.

“Can I masturbate to this later?”

Regulus choked on his whiskey.

Evan sighed. “Darling, please shut up and watch the interview.”

Regulus, coughing, wiped his mouth and glared at Barty. “You’re a menace .”

Barty just grinned. “I’m right .”

Regulus huffed and turned back to the screen. James’ voice filled the room, smooth and warm, and Barty shifted in his seat with an appreciative hum.

“I hate you,” Regulus muttered.

“No, you don’t,” Barty said smugly.

Evan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we please make it through one interview without you two being insufferable ?”

Regulus rolled his eyes but settled back. “Fine. Watching now. Happy?”

Evan smirked, sipping his drink. “Ecstatic.”

Barty grinned. “Now shut up and let me enjoy my future material.”

Regulus groaned. “I hate you.”

Barty just winked.

James was already on-screen, fidgeting as he waited, his fingers carding through his curls in nervous anticipation. His teeth caught his bottom lip for a second before he exhaled and forced a relaxed smile, straightening his posture.

Barty hummed. “He looks like a puppy.”

Regulus didn’t respond, too busy staring at the screen.

James did look like a puppy. Excited. Eager. Adorable.

Evan swirled the whiskey in his glass. “We ruined that.”

And then they entered the frame.

The shift was instant.

The three of them stalked toward James like predators, their expressions sharp, their body language tense.

They watched their past selves sit down stiffly, their stares practically cutting into the poor reporter.

James' excitement faded.

It wasn’t instant—he tried to keep it up, but his smile became tight, his fingers tapped anxiously against his thigh, his shoulders lost their confident posture.

Barty exhaled sharply. “Fuck.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. He had forgotten how cold they had been to him.

James had walked into that interview nervous but happy, and the second they sat down, they had crushed that excitement.

All because they assumed he was just another inexperienced journalist asking shallow questions.

All because they didn’t know.

“Look at him,” Evan murmured.

They did.

James adjusted himself to them—his personality dimmed, his energy softened, his smile turned cautious. He did everything he could to make them comfortable.

Regulus’ stomach twisted.

Barty sighed and leaned back against the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were pricks.”

“No shit,” Evan muttered.

Regulus kept his eyes on the screen, jaw tense. “We owe him an apology.”

Evan nodded. “We do.”

Barty exhaled and tilted his head. “Think he'd forgive us?”

Evan smirked slightly. “He looked like he was enjoying himself by the end.”

Regulus nodded. “Yeah, after we let him.”

Barty crossed his arms. “Then I guess we need to make it up to him.”

Evan arched a brow. “How?”

Barty smirked. “Well, first, by watching the rest of this interview. Because he is really fucking cute.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but pressed play.

The screen flickered as the interview continued, James' face still framed in nervous determination.

His hands shook. His breathing wavered.

They had noticed during the interview. The way James' fingers trembled when he adjusted his notes, the way his inhales were just slightly uneven. But watching it now—watching it on screen with the luxury of distance—it was so much worse .

Regulus exhaled through his nose.

“Christ,” Evan murmured, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Barty sighed heavily. “We made him this nervous.”

Then, on the screen, Regulus’ past self asked James a question.

"What do you think of our song Ivory Tower?"

James blinked, lips parting slightly, hesitation clear.

Barty frowned. “Did we intimidate him that much?”

No one responded.

On-screen, James shifted slightly before answering.

And then—fuck .

He talked .

The Serpents had already been impressed with James during the interview, but watching it now? With all their attention on his words?

James fucking knew Ivory Tower.

Not just the lyrics. Not just the surface meaning.

He understood it deeply .

Evan was the first to speak. “How the fuck —”

Regulus didn’t blink. “He got it.”

Barty tilted his head, eyes sharp. “ Perfectly .”

No one had ever talked about their music like that.

They had done so many interviews where journalists asked them what their songs meant, but never like this. Never with understanding . Never with James' confidence .

Barty scoffed, shaking his head. “And we treated him like an idiot.”

Regulus swallowed. “We were wrong .”

Evan exhaled, watching as James continued to analyze their own song better than they ever could .

Then, the interview moved forward.

And James laughed.

The Serpents lit up .

“Oh, fuck ,” Barty muttered, a smirk curling his lips.

Regulus felt something warm bloom in his chest.

Evan smirked. “That’s a good sound.”

James’ laughter was bright, infectious, a little breathless but full of joy.

They had forgotten how much they liked it.

And now? Now they had it recorded .

Regulus immediately grabbed the remote and rewound the video.

James' laugh echoed through the room again.

Barty let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping against the couch. “I love my new ringtone.”

Regulus snorted. “You are not making that your ringtone.”

Barty grinned. “Just watch me.”

Evan shook his head, still watching the screen. James was still there, still smiling, still laughing. And the Serpents?

They were completely, irrevocably , hooked .

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX

On the screen, past-James pulled out his phone.

And fuck .

The Serpents suddenly remembered what was coming next.

Regulus sat up so fast he nearly spilled his whiskey. " Shit. The TikTok segment."

Barty burst into laughter, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Evan, ever the composed one, just smirked and pulled his own phone out. "Social media should be on fire by now."

Regulus was already typing furiously. " Should be? It’s probably in flames ."

The fans were losing their minds .

For once , they had an interview that actually reflected them. The real Serpents. Not the cold, closed-off versions that the media painted, but the ones fans actually knew from tours and meet-and-greets.

And they loved it.

@serpentwh0re: NO BUT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. JAMES POTTER WAS BORN TO INTERVIEW THE SERPENTS. THE CHEMISTRY? UNMATCHED. THE ENERGY? IMMACULATE.

@SerpentSupremacy: We finally got an interview that captured their real personalities. James Potter, you are our favorite.

Evan huffed a laugh. “They’re obsessed with him.”

Barty smirked. “Obviously. He’s adorable.”

Regulus continued,

@ivorytower69: i’m still recovering from the way they looked at james when he analyzed Ivory Tower  like they’d just found god.

Evan hummed. “Accurate.”

@evanrosierfan: Evan is so real for looking at the camera like an exhausted babysitter during this interview. He is one bad decision away from quitting the band.

@bartycrouchjrmarryme: Barty Crouch Jr. is actually the devil on my shoulder. Like, my parents tell me not to drink, my teachers tell me not to drink, and then there’s Barty fucking Crouch going ‘DO IT, BESTIE’.

Barty grinned. “I stand by it.”

Evan sighed. “You were literally encouraging underage drinking on a recorded interview.”

"Encouraging?" Barty scoffed. "More like... gently nudging ."

Evan groaned. “I was trying to be responsible .”

Barty raised a brow. “And I was trying to be fun .”

Regulus laughed. “You’re so lucky you’re hot.”

@serpentbaby: They know about So Live on the Vine, Child. We all need to evacuate . Delete the trend. Delete the app . Leave the country.

Regulus snickered. “They’re mortified .”

Evan smirked. “Good.”

@fangirl420: James Potter making the Serpents comfortable in less than five minutes is actually insane. He deserves a raise and my firstborn child.

The three of them continued reading tweets and comments for hours , laughing at the absolute chaos their fans were unleashing.

James Potter had sent their entire fandom into a meltdown .

And so they continued, reading ungodly amounts of comments to each other, laughing so hard their stomachs hurt, and feeling—perhaps for the first time in a long time—like the world outside their music actually made sense .

The Serpents were so fucking entertained.

The next morning, the internet was still on fire .

Regulus groaned as he rolled over in bed, grabbed his phone, and squinted at the blinding screen.

"Jesus fuck ," he muttered.

Barty, sprawled out next to him, cracked one eye open. " What? "

Regulus waved his phone at him. " Everything is about James."

Evan, already awake and sipping coffee by the window, smirked. "Told you."

Regulus scrolled rapidly through Twitter.

"Oh, fuck ," he muttered. "We've lost control of the fandom."

Barty snickered. "Did we ever have control?"

Regulus ignored him and started reading.

@potterprotectionsquad: We, as a fandom, have one mission now. PROTECT JAMES POTTER AT ALL COSTS.

@bartycrouchjrmarryme: okay but real talk, james potter is ours now . he's part of the fandom. we protect him at all costs.

Barty cackled . “Oh my God .”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “They’ve adopted him.”

Regulus scrolled further. “Oh, it gets worse .”

@serpentsimp: the way james started the interview all bright-eyed and excited, only for the serpents to GLARE him into submission. he looked like a kicked puppy .

@fangirl420: no bc you can see the exact moment james realizes they don’t take him seriously and makes himself smaller . i want to die.

Regulus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We fucked up.”

Barty hummed. “Maybe a little .”

Regulus kept going.

@fangirl420: THE WAY JAMES STARTED SO EXCITED AND THEN IMMEDIATELY SHRANK WHEN THEY GLARED AT HIM??? IM GONNA BE SICK.

@rosier4ever: THE HAND TREMBLE. THE QUIET BREATHING. HE THOUGHT THEY HATED HIM. I’M SOBBING.

Evan sighed, rubbing his temples. " Fuck ."

Regulus kept scrolling and suddenly froze .

"Wait."

Barty sat up. "What?"

Regulus inhaled sharply. "There's a rumor ."

Barty and Evan both immediately leaned in. "What rumor?"

Regulus' voice was grim. " That James threw up after the interview from anxiety. "

Silence.

Evan set his coffee down slowly . “ What ?”

"It was confirmed by several staff members at the Grammys." Regulus informed, devastated.

@potterstan: no bc he was so professional the whole time, and then the second the cameras were off, he got sick from how stressed he was. we don’t deserve him.

@fangirl666: SERPENTS YOU OWE THAT MAN AN APOLOGY.

Barty winced . 

Evan sighed. “We should’ve been nicer .”

Regulus scrolled, eyes sharp. “People are pissed , but not at us. They know our history with reporters, but they just want to protect him.”

@jamespotterdefensesquad: new rule: if you come for james, you come for us .

@whoreforbarty: The entire fandom collectively decided james is our baby now.

Regulus ran a hand through his hair. " We need to talk to him. "

Evan nodded. " Today. "

Because James Potter, the reporter who somehow understood them better than anyone ever had, had thought they hated him .

And that was not okay.

Regulus exhaled sharply, staring at the drafted DM on his phone screen.

“This is so fucking weird ,” he muttered.

Evan, reading over his shoulder, snorted. “We bullied the poor guy into a nervous breakdown, and now we’re in his inbox like ‘hey bestie, sorry about that’ .”

Barty grinned. “We should lead with that .”

Regulus shot him a look. “We should not .”

Barty huffed. “Fine. What do we have so far?”

Regulus cleared his throat and read,

SerpentsOfficial: Hey James, we’ve seen all the stuff going around, and we just wanted to reach out. We’re really sorry if we made you feel uncomfortable or like you weren’t good enough. That wasn’t our intention.

Evan nodded. “That’s good. But maybe explain why we acted that way?”

Regulus typed,

SerpentsOfficial: We’ve had bad experiences with reporters in the past—ones who were rude, invasive, or only cared about getting a reaction out of us. We assumed you’d be the same, and that wasn’t fair.

Barty frowned. “Should we tell him how much we loved the interview?”

Evan nodded. “ Obviously .”

Regulus continued,

SerpentsOfficial: But your interview was the best one we’ve ever done. By a landslide. You actually cared about our music, and it showed. We’d love to work with you again—if you’re interested.

Barty leaned back. “That should soften the blow.”

Regulus hesitated, then sighed. “Now we address the, uh…”

“ Vomiting ?” Evan supplied.

Barty smirked. “Might as well get it over with.”

Regulus grimaced and typed,

SerpentsOfficial: We also wanted to check in because there’s a rumor going around that you got sick after the interview. We hope that’s not true, but if it is, we’re really sorry for making you feel that way.

Evan winced. “ God. We really did stress him out that much.”

Regulus exhaled, staring at the message. “Alright. I’m sending it.”

Barty grinned. “Before we chicken out?”

“Before we chicken out,” Regulus agreed, hitting send .

They all watched the screen in silence.

No response.

Barty huffed. “And now we wait.”

Evan sighed. “This is going to be agony .”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVEN

Regulus’ phone buzzed.

They all snapped their heads toward it.

“ Holy shit, he responded ,” Evan breathed.

Barty practically dove across the couch, shoving his head over Regulus’ shoulder. “ Read it! ”

Regulus hesitated for only a second before opening the message.

JamesPotter: Hey! First off, thanks for reaching out. That really means a lot! I promise the social media stuff isn’t bothering me—it’s actually kind of sweet how much people care.

Barty scoffed. “He promises ? Yeah, okay, sure. That’s exactly what someone totally fine would say.”

Regulus ignored him and kept reading.

JamesPotter: I completely understand why you were skeptical of me at first. I know a lot of reporters don’t have the best intentions, so I don’t blame you at all. I really appreciate the apology, but you don’t owe me one—I wasn’t expecting you to trust me right away.

Evan pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is painfully formal.”

Barty clicked his tongue. “Like he’s writing a fucking customer service email.”

Regulus frowned, scrolling further.

JamesPotter: I’d love to interview you again! Just reach out whenever you need me, and I’ll make it work. Seriously, it was a huge honor.

Barty groaned. “Honor? Oh my god. ”

“Keep reading,” Evan muttered.

JamesPotter: And, uh… yeah. The rumor is true. I did get sick after the interview. But please don’t feel bad about that! It wasn’t your fault at all. I’ve had this issue since I was a kid—when I get anxious, my body just kind of reacts that way. It’s not something you did wrong.

Silence.

The weight of those words settled over them like a fog.

Regulus clenched his jaw. Evan rubbed his temple. Barty was frowning for real now.

“ Jesus Christ ,” Barty muttered. “He really went and took all the blame, huh?”

Evan shook his head. “We made him feel like that. Like his anxiety was his problem instead of something we should’ve handled better.”

Regulus scrolled to the last part of the message.

JamesPotter: I really am sorry if I made you uncomfortable by being so nervous. I promise I’ll work on it so that it won’t be a problem next time!

Regulus exhaled sharply and threw his phone onto the couch like it offended him.

Silence.

Regulus blinked. “ What? ”

Barty’s mouth fell open. “ Fixing it? ”

Evan looked outright murderous. “ Did he just apologize to us for being anxious? ”

Regulus read the sentence again. And again. And again.

Barty ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide. “We—We made this guy so nervous that he threw up , and he’s apologizing for inconveniencing us?”

Regulus muttered, “He doesn’t even think he’s allowed to be anxious.”

Evan exhaled through his nose. “We fucked up.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “We really fucked up.”

Barty groaned. “I—We need to fix this. We need to—”

“ What do we even say? ” Regulus cut in.

Evan sighed, "I don't know, but we've got to make it better."

Regulus drummed his fingers against his phone, rereading James’ message. They had to phrase their response carefully —relaxed, approachable, but also genuine. James was clearly trying to keep things professional, and they weren’t about to push him, but they also weren’t going to let him think he owed them anything.

“Make sure we don’t sound weird, ” Barty instructed. “We need to be… I don’t know. Normal. Friendly. Like people who don’t make reporters throw up.”

Evan snorted. “Tall order.”

Regulus rolled his eyes and started typing.

SerpentsOfficial: Hey, James. First off, you really don’t need to apologize. We get it. Anxiety isn’t something you can just turn off, and it’s definitely not something you should feel bad about. We’re just glad you’re okay.

SerpentsOfficial: Second—since you said you’re up for another interview, we have an offer for you.

Barty smirked. “Time to put him on the spot.”

SerpentsOfficial: We’ve got a nomination at the VMA’s for Best Alternative Music Video, and we need a reporter for our interview at the event. Obviously, you’re our first choice. What do you say?

“Now we wait,” Evan said, stretching his arms over his head.

They didn’t have to wait long. Within seconds , Regulus’ phone buzzed.

“Damn,” Barty muttered. “Did he have that ready? ”

Regulus opened the message.

JamesPotter: Are you serious?

SerpentsOfficial: Dead serious, darling.

They watched the three little dots appear, disappear, then reappear again.

JamesPotter: Yes! I’d absolutely love to interview you for the VMA’s! I’ll contact Sirius so we can get things organized.

Regulus felt some of the tension in his chest ease.

Evan grinned. “Good. Now we’re making progress.”

“He’s excited.” Barty smirked.

But before they could say anything else, another message popped up.

JamesPotter: Also… I got the impression that you enjoyed the TikTok segment. Would you like to do something similarly fun in the next interview?

Barty let out a low whistle. “ Ohhh. He’s giving us options now.”

Evan smirked. “He’s starting to loosen up.”

Regulus, without missing a beat, typed—

SerpentsOfficial: Obviously yes.

SerpentsOfficial: Do we get a hint about what you’re planning, sweetheart?

James’ reply was instant.

JamesPotter: That’s a secret.

The Serpents groaned in unison.

Barty flopped back onto the couch. “This little shit.”

Evan shook his head, smiling. “He’s teasing us now.”

Regulus exhaled through his nose, but there was amusement in his voice when he said, “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

And for the first time since the interview, the tension between them and James finally felt like it was starting to lift.

James sat cross-legged on his bed, his laptop open in front of him and his phone clutched in his hand. He found Sirius Black’s Instagram and fired off a DM.

JamesPotter: Hi, Sirius! Just finished talking to the Serpents, and they asked me to conduct an interview for them at the VMAs. Could we discuss this?

A few seconds later, a reply popped up.

SiriusBlack: Who is this?

James frowned. That was… odd. He knew Sirius wouldn’t forget him that easily. He’d been the one to approve James for the Serpents’ first interview. Hell, he even ran a background check on him before deciding he was trustworthy. And now, Sirius was pretending not to know him?

JamesPotter: James Potter. You facilitated my last interview with the Serpents, correct?

SiriusBlack: No, I know who you are. I’m just confused. The Serpents asked you for another interview?

James’ frown deepened. That was an even stranger response. Why was Sirius so skeptical? Did he think James hadn’t earned it?

JamesPotter: Yes! I’m really excited to work with them again, but I need your help with scheduling.

Sirius read the message but didn’t respond right away. The longer the silence stretched, the more James’ stomach twisted. Then, finally, another message popped up.

SiriusBlack: Sorry, had to confirm with my brother that the band actually asked for another interview.

James barely had time to process that before another message came through.

SiriusBlack: James, you are my savior. My guardian angel. My reason for living.

James blinked.

What the hell?

First, Sirius didn’t believe the Serpents actually wanted another interview with him—something that already made him feel like a fraud. And now, he was… praising him? What was going on?

JamesPotter: Pardon?

SiriusBlack: I need you to understand something. YOU are the only reporter on this godforsaken planet that the Serpents tolerate. Do you have any idea how much easier you’ve made my life?

James wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

JamesPotter: Oh, that’s no problem!

The word tolerate hit like a slap. That was all he was to them? Someone they merely put up with?

SiriusBlack: No, James. No, James. It's not 'no problem.' Your existence is a gift from the gods. I am eternally in your debt. I am seconds away from starting a cult in your honor.

James let out a startled laugh.

JamesPotter: …Are you okay?

SiriusBlack: Do you know how much I have suffered? Do you know what these brats have put me through? They hate the press, James. They avoid them like the plague. And now—NOW—they’re willingly talking to you?

At this point, James was struggling to contain his laughter. He could practically hear the exhaustion in Sirius’ voice, and they hadn’t even met in person.

JamesPotter: Okay, please don’t start a cult. I fear you already have one—the Serpents’ fans. After we work out scheduling, maybe reconnect with nature? Go out to dinner? I’m begging you.

SiriusBlack: I’m planning to get drunk.

James snorted.

JamesPotter: Oh! Live on the Vine, child.

SiriusBlack: Anyway, press deck would be the best option for the interview.

JamesPotter: The press deck is perfect.

SiriusBlack: Of course. And James?

James’ eyes flicked to the typing indicator.

SiriusBlack: You’re a good reporter. Don’t overthink it.

James exhaled, tension melting from his shoulders.

JamesPotter: Thanks, Sirius. I appreciate that.

Sirius left the message on read, but James knew that was just his way of saying you’re welcome.

Now, all that was left to do was prepare.

James spent the next several days watching and rewatching his last interview—not because he was narcissistic, but because he needed to analyze every detail. What worked? What didn’t? What could he improve?

For the most part, he felt confident.

Despite the Serpents’ initial coldness, the interview had gone well. They’d loosened up, even seemed to enjoy themselves. And the fans had gone insane over the TikTok segment. That alone was proof he’d done something right.

But this time, things were different.

This wasn’t an interview where he was walking in already set up to fail. The Serpents had invited him. They wanted him there. That meant they at least tolerated him—maybe even liked him.

He could work with that.

The nerves he felt now weren’t the same as before. Last time, he had no idea what to expect. Now, he had a standard to meet.

The first interview had been great. But now, he had to live up to it.

And he only had a week to prepare.

James raked a hand through his hair and sighed.

No pressure.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHT

James knew he was spiraling.

He just didn’t have time to do anything about it.

The pressure of the upcoming interview sat heavy on his chest, making it hard to breathe, to eat, to exist without the overwhelming fear of failure gnawing at him. Every time he thought about the Serpents, about the expectations, about the fans, his stomach twisted violently.

By Tuesday, he had thrown up twice.

By Thursday, it was four times.

He tried eating. He really did. But the second he put food in his mouth, his body rejected it like it was poison. Even toast— plain, boring toast —made him nauseous. It wasn’t worth it.

So, he stopped eating unless absolutely necessary.

It wasn’t like he was starving himself. He wanted to eat, but he was scared of throwing up again. He drank water, had a couple of crackers when he felt lightheaded, but that was it.

The problem was that took stomach settlers.

And taking medicine on an empty stomach?

Yeah. That didn’t go well.

James barely made it to the bathroom before his body violently rejected the pill. He spent five minutes hunched over the toilet, throwing up nothing but stomach acid, then dry-heaving until his ribs ached.

When it was over, he wiped his mouth, washed his face, and went right back to work.

Despite feeling miserable , James was shockingly productive.

His list of interview questions? Perfected. He had a mix of funny, engaging, and interesting ones lined up, ensuring that the Serpents would actually enjoy themselves.

His outfit? Picked out. He’d spent longer than he cared to admit choosing the right balance between professional and stylish.

His anxiety? Managed. Well— hidden. He’d spent hours in front of the mirror, practicing a confident smile, making sure his hands didn’t tremble, keeping his voice steady. He’d done breathing exercises, forced himself to sit up straight, and trained his mind to block out negative thoughts.

He even came up with a fun segment for the end of the interview.

Overall, he was prepared.

But in his hyper-focus, he didn’t notice how much he’d cut himself off from the world.

He ignored texts, missed calls, and barely registered his surroundings. He didn’t even realize his phone was missing, let alone that the Serpents had DM’d him.

The outside world ceased to exist. All that mattered was the interview.

James finally checked his email at 3 a.m., bleary-eyed and exhausted, expecting nothing but the usual flood of PR nonsense.

Instead, a single subject line caught his attention.

Lunch? - Sirius Black

James sat up, rubbing his eyes as he clicked it open.

Hey, James.
I tried DMing you, but you’re either ignoring me (rude) or drowning in work (concerning). Either way, I need to steal you for lunch before the VMAs. Nothing scary, just a chat about the band. Seriously, don’t freak out. You in?

P.S. We’re going to Five Guys. You’re welcome.

– S.B.

James blinked at the screen.

Five Guys.

Sirius Black, Sirius Black , manager of the Serpents, an industry giant, a living legend, was inviting him to Five Guys for a meeting.

James huffed out a tired laugh. Of course, he was.

Sirius Black was a multi-millionaire music manager with access to the most exclusive restaurants in the world. The media painted Sirius as a reckless, unpredictable, unprofessional manager who somehow still got things done. He thrived on chaos. He was the kind of man to fistfight record executives, fire a reporter over a game of rock-paper-scissors, and who definitely had no problem holding serious business meetings at fast-food chains.

This? This was so Sirius.

James didn’t hesitate.

To: Sirius Black
Subject: Re: Lunch?

I’m in. See you there.

James arrived five minutes early, stomach twisting with nerves. He hadn’t eaten much all week, and the smell of greasy food made his stomach flip in a way he really didn’t like.

Then, he spotted him.

Sirius Black, dressed in a leather jacket and sunglasses indoors , leaning against the counter like he owned the place.

The moment Sirius saw him, his face lit up .

"Ah, my guardian angel!" Sirius greeted, stuffing his phone in his pocket. "James Potter, The Serpent Whisperer. The guy who tamed the untameable and made my job a million times easier. I should be paying you with my soul, but french fries will have to do."

James huffed a laugh. “That’s an aggressive amount of praise for someone who hasn’t even done their second interview yet.”

“Oh, please. You could show up, sit in silence for fifteen minutes, and it would still be better than the last three interviewers I fired.”

James wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh at that.

Sirius gave him a knowing smirk, then gestured toward the counter. “Come on. Order whatever you want. Let’s get you fed. ”

They stepped inside, the scent of burgers and fries filling the air. The line wasn’t long, so they moved forward quickly.

"You have no idea how much you saved me," Sirius continued. "I swear, those assholes love making me suffer. But you? They like you. You took care of my dumbasses. You made me look good. I will never stop singing your praises. Do you know how rare that is?"

James smiled awkwardly. "I mean, they tolerate me—"

"No, no, no." Sirius interrupted, wagging a finger. "They are obsessed with you. The fact that they actually requested you for another interview? That’s a goddamn miracle."

James flushed, unsure how to respond.

Sirius smirked, clearly enjoying James' discomfort. "You’re too modest, Potter."

James rolled his eyes, stepping forward to order.

They grabbed their food and found a table near the back.

Sirius made small talk while they ate, throwing out casual, seemingly harmless questions. James answered, but he wasn’t stupid. He could tell something heavier was coming.

Sirius was too relaxed. Too casual.

Like he was easing James into something.

And, sure enough, after a few minutes of silence, Sirius leaned forward, elbows on the table, expression unreadable.

“So.”

James raised an eyebrow. “So?”

"Despite the location," he said, gesturing vaguely at the Five Guys around them, " this is actually a very important conversation."

James swallowed his bite of fries, meeting Sirius' gaze.

He smiled slightly.

If Sirius did not tell him in the next ten seconds, James would throw up.

"I figured."

James felt the shift in atmosphere immediately. Sirius had been easygoing, charismatic, larger-than-life, but now he was watching James carefully, fingers tapping against the table in a steady rhythm.

And James—James had spent his entire life studying people. He knew when someone was preparing to drop something big .

His stomach twisted.

"First off," Sirius said, voice casual but firm, "you haven’t done anything wrong, so breathe, yeah?"

James blinked. “What?”

Sirius huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Thought I should lead with that before you overthink yourself into a coma.”

James stiffened. “I wasn’t—”

“Mate, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

James hesitated, caught between relief and lingering nerves. “I mean… how can you tell?”

Sirius gave him a look. “Because I know you.”

James frowned. “No, you don’t.”

“I do , actually,” Sirius countered, stealing one of James’ fries. 

That didn’t make sense.

James had spent years mastering the art of appearing fine. He had to. His job depended on it.

“I—” James swallowed. “I don’t understand. I’m good at hiding it.”

“You are ,” Sirius agreed, pointing at him with a fry. “You’re fucking fantastic at it, actually. You’d fool almost anyone.” He popped the fry into his mouth. “But you’re dealing with Regulus, Barty, Evan, and I.” 

James went still, taken aback. "Wait, you’re saying the Serpents can tell ?"

Sirius laughed. "Easily. I guarantee they spotted it the second you walked in." He tilted his head. "Regulus is particularly good at reading people. Don’t even try lying to him, James. It won’t work."

James swallowed. Regulus noticed?

Sirius continued, “They had to get good at reading people. The Serpents don’t trust reporters. Never have. They’re trained to spot the ones who are lying, baiting, or pretending to be something they’re not.”

James swallowed. “And me?”

Sirius’ expression softened. “You were a surprise.”

James looked up. “A surprise ?”

“Yeah.” Sirius sat back, crossing his arms. “They weren’t expecting someone like you. You actually give a shit . You actually care about them.”

James felt his cheeks burn.

Sirius clapped his hands together, jolting James from his thoughts.

"Alright," he said. "Time to get serious."

James nodded, setting his milkshake down.

Sirius’ expression shifted, becoming unreadable. "The reason I wanted to meet up—aside from my burning desire to personally thank the only competent journalist left in this industry—is because I need you to understand something."

James tensed.

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The Serpents like you, James. That’s rare."

James' stomach flipped. " Really? "

Sirius smirked. "Yeah, really . And because of that, you’re gonna work them a lot in the future. You're our first choice."

James’ breath hitched.

Sirius' face was unreadable now, all traces of teasing gone.

“I’m not just their manager,” Sirius continued. “Regulus is my little brother. Barty and Evan are my future brothers-in-law.” He leveled James with a look. “No one messes with my family. Understand?”

James nodded again, feeling the weight of Sirius’ words.

“That’s why we’re here.” Sirius said. “Because you will be working with the Serpents so much, I need to make sure they're comfortable around you.”

The reporter froze. Had they not been comfortable?

"They were plenty comfortable the first interview, I can assure you that." Sirius said softly, "But I need to make sure that you respect their boundaries and are aware of their triggers."

James frowned, "Their triggers?"

"Yes, James. Their triggers." Sirius repeated.

"Oh."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINE

James sat still, giving Sirius his full attention.

"The Serpents only let me tell you this under one condition," Sirius began, twirling a fry between his fingers. "I cannot tell you why these triggers exist. Just that they do exist. That’s non-negotiable."

James nodded immediately. "I understand."

Sirius gave him a sharp look. "No digging, no prying, no trying to piece it together yourself. Their past isn’t your business, James. If they want you to know, they’ll tell you."

"I swear," James said, voice firm. "I won’t ask. I just want to make sure I don’t cross any lines."

Sirius studied him for a beat before nodding in approval.

"Good," he said. "I told them you were smart."

James let out a small breath, then hesitated. "...The Serpents know we’re meeting?"

At that, Sirius laughed. "Are you kidding? They begged me to let them come. It was tragic, really. I told them to stop being clingy, and they told me to go fuck myself . I had to physically ban them from crashing this."

James blinked. " What ?"

"Oh yeah," Sirius smirked. "They were all over me. ‘We wanna see James,’ ‘It’s not fair you get to talk to him first,’ ‘What if you scare him off, you absolute menace—’"

James grinned, his anxiety finally easing. "They wanted to see me ?"

"Obviously," Sirius shrugged, "You’re their reporter, James. Of course they did."

James felt a warmth spread through his chest, but he forced himself to focus. "Okay," he said. "Tell me what I need to know."

Sirius' expression turned serious again. "Alright, let’s get down to it. There are a lot of triggers, but these are the ones you need to know."

The manager leaned forward. "First, Barty. Never raise your voice at him. Doesn’t matter if you’re not angry—just don’t do it."

James nodded. "Got it. No yelling."

"Also, keep your hands visible at all times. Don’t put them in your pockets, don’t put them under the table. Barty needs to see them."

James frowned slightly but didn’t question it. "I can do that."

Sirius nodded approvingly. "Next, Regulus. Never touch him without warning. Anticipated touches are fine—like if you reach for a handshake, or if he sees you coming. But no sudden touches. No unexpected contact."

James' brows furrowed slightly. " Even just— "

"Even just ," Sirius confirmed. "Even a light touch. Even a friendly pat. Just give him warning first."

James filed that away in his mind, determined to remember.

"Last one, Evan."

James relaxed slightly. Evan seemed... easier.

Sirius smirked, like he could hear James' thoughts. " Don’t assume he’s easier."

James sat up straighter.

Sirius’ expression turned unreadable. "Evan’s rule is very specific. Never mumble or say things around the Serpents that you don’t intend for them to hear."

James frowned. "What?"

"If you say something, mean it," Sirius said. "Because if Evan hears even a whisper of something unclear, he will make you repeat it. Again and again and again. Until you say it out loud."

James shivered. "Oh."

Sirius smirked. "Yeah. So, if you don’t want to be interrogated? Speak clearly. No half-comments, no muttering under your breath."

James raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"

Sirius smirked. "No. It’s a warning ."

James nodded quickly. "Got it."

Sirius exhaled, sitting back. "That’s all for now. There’s more, but these are the ones that apply to you ."

James took a breath, nodding. "I won’t mess up."

Sirius studied him, then grinned. "I know you won’t, James. You're trustworthy"

James smiled. "Thank you for telling me."

Sirius clapped a hand on the table, smirking. "Anytime, kid. Welcome to the fucking circus."

James exhaled, shifting in his seat. "Well, that was... a lot."

Sirius chuckled. "Yeah, but now you’re prepared."

James smiled slightly, nodding. He figured that was the end of the conversation. He’d been given his guidelines, and now they could go back to their food.

But then Sirius spoke again.

"So... do you have any triggers the Serpents should know about?"

James choked. His fingers curled around his cup, grip tightening. "What?"

He hadn’t expected that .

James’ chest felt tight. He hadn’t thought about this before. At least—not in a way that mattered. He was always the one adjusting, making sure he didn’t set other people off. He’d never considered that his boundaries might be something other people had to consider.

For a moment, all he could do was stare. His mind screamed, 'No. Absolutely not. Don’t answer that.' But Sirius just watched him expectantly, like it was the most normal question in the world.

Sirius shrugged, like he hadn’t just thrown James completely off balance. "I mean, you’re gonna be around them a lot. They should know what not to do, right?"

"Why would they need to know that?" he asked carefully.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Because they care , James."

James let out a weak laugh. "That’s… not necessary."

Sirius gave him a look . " James. "

James swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. " I’m fine ," he insisted.

Sirius sighed, rubbing his temples. " Look, I get it, alright? No one likes talking about this shit. But I just spent fifteen minutes telling you all the ways you could accidentally hurt them. So don’t you think you deserve the same courtesy?"

James stared at the table. His heart pounded in his chest.

He felt exposed.

Sirius leaned back, expression unreadable. "Look, I’m not forcing you to say anything. You don’t owe me an answer. But if you do have something, and the Serpents don’t know about it? That could cause problems. They don’t want to hurt you. And, frankly, I don’t want them to hurt you either."

James hesitated, then—very quietly—he spoke.

"I don’t like—," he cut off, voice barely above a whisper.

"Take your time." Sirius smiled

James swallowed. "Don't trap me. Like, physically. Don’t block my exits. Don’t corner me."

"Got it."

James licked his lips. "This isn't really a trigger, but I hate being ignored. It really messes with me."

"It bothers you?" The manager asked.

James hesitated, "It makes me nauseous."

Sirius’ expression darkened slightly, but he stayed silent.

James flexed his fingers. He could stop there. That was enough.

But his mouth moved before he could stop himself.

"My neck," he muttered.

Sirius frowned. "Yes?"

James exhaled sharply. "I mean, touches are fine. I love physical contact. But I can’t handle my throat being touched."

Sirius' expression flickered—bemusement, then something softer. Pity.

James peeked up. " That’s it? You’re not gonna ask why?"

Sirius snorted. "Did you ask about Regulus, Barty, or Evan?"

James blinked.

Oh.

James swallowed. "It’s not normally a problem, so the Serpents don't have to know."

Sirius gave him a look . "Do you want Barty throwing an arm around your shoulders and grabbing the back of your neck? Because that’s exactly the type of shit he does when he’s excited."

"God, this is so embarrassing." James groaned, dropping his head into his hands. 

"It’s not embarrassing," Sirius corrected instantly. "It’s called having boundaries . Welcome to the club."

James peeked through his fingers. "I hate it here."

Sirius rolled his eyes but smiled. "Too bad. You’re staying."

James slurped his milkshake.

Sirius leaned back. "Y’know, I could’ve just asked Regulus."

James froze . "What?"

Sirius grinned. "You think he hasn’t noticed? That boy’s been clocking your tells since the day you met."

"He has not. " James’ stomach flipped. 

Sirius laughed. "Oh, Jamie. That's adorable."

"Fuck off. " James groaned, covering his face. 

Sirius chuckled, standing up. "C’mon, kid. Let’s get out of here before the paparazzi start sniffing around."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TEN

James checked the clock. 4:59 PM.

He grinned. Right on time.

The doorbell rang at exactly five o’clock on the dot , and James laughed under his breath. Dorcas was nothing if not punctual. She believed it was good luck, or something.

Dorcas and Marlene started dating in 2018. They were professional photographers, not paparazzi. The two of them were driving to the VMA's with James because one of them was bound to get tipsy. The reporter didn't mind, he needed to know his family got home safe.

James pulled the door open, already smirking.

"Hey, Apollo," Marlene greeted, stepping inside without hesitation.

James rolled his eyes fondly. "Artemis."

Dorcas followed behind her, shaking her head at them both. "Still calling each other that?"

James grinned. "Of course."

Marlene and James had been inseparable since childhood, back when their biggest worries were scraped knees and bedtime. They were both only children, so naturally, they decided that made them siblings. They used to lie to their teachers, swearing up and down that they were twins.

(It helped that they were both mischievous little shits. A matching duo of chaos.)

They looked nothing alike, but they didn’t care. James was Apollo—bright, loud, and impossible to ignore. Marlene was Artemis—fierce, protective, and never far from his side.

Even now, years later, the nicknames had stuck.

James shut the door behind them. "Where’s Nova?"

Marlene groaned dramatically. "Insisting on carrying her own bag like the independent little menace she is."

Dorcas smirked. "She’s five, Marls. She should be carrying her own bag."

Marlene scowled. "She’s tiny. "

Dorcas rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, a small voice interrupted.

"Uncle Jamie!"

James barely had time to brace himself before Nova came barreling toward him, backpack bouncing against her back, dark curls flying.

James caught her easily, lifting her off the ground. "Nova!" he gasped, spinning her once before setting her back down. "I missed you, you little gremlin."

Nova giggled. " I’m not a gremlin! "

"Yes, you are, " James teased, kissing her nose.

Nova beamed.

James swears he’s never loved anyone more.

Marlene and Dorcas went on a two-month trip to Ghana for a documentary at the beginning of 2023. While there, they did service for the community, and met an orphaned and nameless child. Marlene and Dorcas loved the little girl fiercely while visiting the country, and were heartbroken to leave. After much discussion, the couple went back to Ghana, spent four months growing closer to the child, and adopted her. Now, in 2025, Nova has been their child for a year and a half. 

They slowly moved back to California, and named her Nova, which was strikingly appropriate. It's a name for bright stars that suddenly emerge in the sky, emitting intense energy. 

James had been wrapped around her tiny little finger ever since. She was truly the most energetic kid he’d ever met—curious, talkative, and constantly on the move.

They got along great.

When Marlene and Dorcas made James her godfather, he cried. He’d never been more honored.

Nova tugged at his sleeve. "Can we play, Uncle Jamie?"

James gasped. " Right now? "

Nova nodded eagerly.

James made a show of thinking. " Hmm… I was planning on ignoring you and hanging out with your mums instead…"

Nova gasped , horrified. "You wouldn’t! "

James grinned. " Would I? "

"JAMIE!"

"Alright, alright!" James laughed, lifting his hands in surrender. "We can play. But only because you asked so nicely. "

Nova cheered.

Marlene shook her head, amused. "You spoil her, you know."

James scoffed. "Of course, I do. That’s my job. "

Dorcas smirked. "And what about our job, huh?"

James grinned. "Your job is to sit back, relax, and let me be the favorite ."

Marlene rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Dorcas chuckled, wrapping an arm around Marlene’s waist. " Alright, Apollo. Go entertain our child. But we have to leave at 5:30, on the dot!"

James saluted dramatically. "Yes, ma’am ."

Nova giggled, grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the living room.

James followed easily, heart full.

Because this?

This was family.

By the time James finally collapsed onto the couch, utterly exhausted from playing with Nova, it was 5:25 PM.

He barely had a second to catch his breath before Dorcas appeared, eyes sharp, hands already reaching for Nova.

"Alright, gremlin," she announced. "Time to get you dressed."

Nova groaned dramatically, flopping against James. "But I wanna keep playing!"

Dorcas arched an eyebrow. "You also wanted to go to the VMAs, remember?"

Nova perked up instantly. " Oh yeah!"

James snorted. Traitor.

Dorcas wasted no time, scooping Nova into her arms and carrying her away.

James exhaled, rubbing his face.

Marlene, who had been lounging beside him, nudged his shoulder. "You okay?"

James sighed. "No."

Marlene huffed a laugh. "Nervous?"

"Understatement of the year," James muttered.

His interview with the Serpents was soon. The thought made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

Marlene frowned, studying him. "James…"

James shook his head quickly. " Don’t. "

Marlene’s frown deepened. She and Dorcas had watched his first interview with the Serpents. They were not impressed.

To be fair, neither was James.

The band had been cold. Condescending. They had treated him like an outsider, and Marlene had not taken it well.

Dorcas, who was normally calm and collected, had also been livid.

They both loathed how the Serpents had treated him. And now? Now James was willingly going back.

Marlene sighed. "You know I don’t trust them, right?"

James nodded. " I know. "

"And you know Dorcas doesn’t either."

James nodded again.

Marlene crossed her arms. " They are gonna have to prove themselves before we tolerate them again."

James groaned. " Marls— "

" Nope. " Marlene held up a hand. "You already know where I stand. You’re my best friend, James. If they do anything to hurt you again—"

Dorcas strolled back in, perfectly on cue. " We’re sending them a strongly worded Instagram DM."

James snorted despite himself. "Wow. Terrifying."

Dorcas smirked. "They should be scared."

James groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. "Can you please just promise not to embarrass me?"

Marlene and Dorcas shared a look.

" Fine, " Marlene said.

" For now, " Dorcas added.

James sighed. That was probably the best he was going to get.

Dorcas, being Dorcas , had Nova dressed within two minutes.

James barely had time to blink before Nova came running back into the room, now adorned in a gold dress that shimmered under the light. She twirled , making the skirt flare.

"Do I look pretty?" she asked.

James grinned. "Nova, you look like a star. "

Nova beamed. " Like the sun? "

"Even brighter."

Marlene and James wore matching black suits with gold pinstripes, sharp and sleek. Dorcas, ever composed, wore a gold dress that complemented Nova’s, though hers was more mature. 

By 5:30 on the dot , they were ready to leave.

James swallowed.

His stomach felt wrong . Heavy.

This was really happening.

Marlene nudged him lightly. " Breathe, Apollo. "

James exhaled shakily.

Marlene smiled. "We’ve got you."

James nodded, trying to believe it.

Trying to ignore the nausea creeping up his throat.

The ride to the VMAs was smooth, the city lights flickering past the tinted windows of the limo. James leaned back against the plush seat, letting himself relax—at least a little—while Marlene and Dorcas sat across from him, lost in their own little world.

Marlene had not stopped flattering Dorcas since they left the house.

“Seriously, Dorcas, it’s almost rude how good you look tonight,” Marlene said dramatically, one arm draped over the back of the seat.

Dorcas smirked, pretending to check her nails. “Oh? Almost?”

"My humble, stunning, unbelievably perfect fiancée," Marlene continued, reaching for Dorcas’ hand and pressing a theatrical kiss to her knuckles. "How dare you look this good? Do you want me to propose a second time?"

James rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. They were always like this—Marlene with her relentless adoration, and Dorcas pretending not to be affected, even though she was .

" I think Mama looks like a princess," Nova declared, kicking her feet excitedly.

Dorcas smiled, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "Thank you, my love."

Nova was sat on James' lap, her tiny hands fiddling with the gold fabric of her dress. James kept a careful eye on her, making sure not to let her skirt wrinkle too much.

If he did , Dorcas would end him.

Nova shifted, looking up at him with bright, curious eyes. “Uncle Jamie?”

James hummed. “Yeah, angel?”

Nova kicked her little feet against the seat. “Are there gonna be a lot of people at the VMA’s?”

James nodded. “Loads.”

The entire reason Nova was coming to this event was because she was curious. At five years old, she was just beginning to realize that their lives weren’t exactly normal .

Dorcas had tried to explain it to her, but five-year-olds weren’t exactly known for their grasp of the entertainment industry.

And then Marlene, ever the problem solver, had shrugged and said, "People take their kids to work all the time. Why can’t we?"

So now they were taking Nova to the VMAs.

Sure, it wasn’t technically the same as bringing a kid to an office job, but the logic was sound .

There were plenty of reasons why bringing a five-year-old to an event like this would be frowned upon, but Marlene and Dorcas did give a fuck.

Nova was going .

And she would be safe —because she had four adults watching out for her.

The fourth was meeting them at the venue.

Remus Lupin.

James had met him in high school, and despite the years that had passed, they had never drifted apart. Remus was family

The plan was simple: they had two cars in case Nova got tired before the night ended. If she needed to go home early, Dorcas would take her back.

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason Remus was there.

He was head of security for the VMAs, meaning he would be everywhere , subtly keeping things in check.

Still, that didn’t mean he had to look like security.

He would be wearing the same matching black-and-gold suit as James and Marlene—both for camouflage and for the simple fact that Marlene had insisted.

"Security, but make it fashion, " Marlene had said to Remus.

James had just laughed.

By the time they pulled up to the venue, James’ nerves were thrumming.

This was really happening.

Marlene glanced at him, then reached over, squeezing his hand. "You good, Apollo?"

James swallowed, exhaling slowly. "Yeah, Artemis . "

Marlene smirked. " Liar. "

James huffed a laugh. "Shut up . "

Marlene just grinned, squeezing his hand again before letting go.

James forced himself to take another breath.

Then the limo doors opened.

And the night began.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The moment James, Marlene, and Dorcas spotted Remus, they practically shoved Nova at him.

“Remus!” Marlene called, grinning as they approached. “You are a lifesaver.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, easily catching Nova as she launched herself into his arms. “Didn’t realize I was on babysitting duty the second you got here.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “It’s not babysitting. It’s hanging out with your goddaughter.”

“Who is very hungry,” Nova added, already tugging at his sleeve. “There’s a buffet, Uncle Moony!”

Marlene and Dorcas were professional photographers for an empowering magazine, and had appointments with celebrities. James had his interview with the Serpents in twenty minutes, so Nova was with Remus.

Remus sighed, glancing between them. “So, let me guess—Marlene and Dorcas have work, and James is about to throw up from nerves?”

James groaned. “Not helping .”

Dorcas patted his shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

Marlene smirked. “And if you’re not , we’ll fight them.”

Remus gave James a once-over, noting his pale face. “When’s your interview?”

“Twenty minutes,” James mumbled. “Not that I’m counting.”

Remus grinned. “Oh, you’re definitely counting.”

Dorcas, more concerned with their schedule, glanced at the time. “We have to go. We’ll find you after.”

Marlene crouched down, adjusting the hem of Nova’s dress before smoothing down her curls. "Be yourself, baby. Be good."

Nova nodded excitedly. "I will!"

James exchanged a quick look with Remus. " Thank you ," he mouthed.

Remus just shook his head, smiling slightly. "Go," he said. "I’ve got her."

James barely had time to nod before Dorcas and Marlene rushed off to their appointment, leaving him alone.

Nova tugged Remus again. “Buffet, Please. ”

Remus huffed, adjusting his hold on her. “Alright, alright, let’s go.” He turned back to James, giving him a reassuring nod. “You got this, James.”

James smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

And then they were gone.

And James was alone .

The interview deck was a nightmare.

Dozens of reporters crammed into one space, jostling for position, talking over each other, trying to get their cameras and microphones in the perfect spot.

James inserted himself into the swarm, inhaling deeply. He was used to this. It wasn’t new. But the nerves still came—curling, thrumming, making his skin feel too tight.

The Serpents weren’t here yet.

Which gave James a few minutes to go over their triggers. He knew them. He had memorized them. But what if he forgot? What if he did something wrong?

A gasp rose from the crowd, and James snapped his head up just in time to see them.

The Serpents had just stepped off the red carpet, looking exhausted and irritated . 

For a split second, panic flared in James’ chest. He knew how much they hated these events. He knew how draining they could be.

Then they saw him.

And their faces lit up .

Regulus was the first to react. His eyes landed on James, and immediately, the tension in his shoulders eased. His scowl vanished , replaced with something soft.

Barty smirked, nudged Evan, and nodded in James’ direction. Evan, who had looked seconds away from snapping, turned. His face brightened the moment he saw James.

And then they were moving .

Straight for him.

James’ anxiety vanished in an instant.

Because no matter how nervous he had been, one thing was overwhelmingly clear:

The Serpents wanted to see him.

"There he is!" Barty practically shouted. "Our favorite reporter! We missed you, Jamie!"

James laughed, hugging Barty tightly. "Barty—"

"It’s been forever, " Barty continued dramatically. "Do you even care about us anymore? Or have you moved on to bigger, better things?"

James snorted. "It’s been two months."

"Exactly! Two agonizing months," Barty corrected. "I was withering away in your absence!"

Evan rolled his eyes. "You were fine."

"I was not fine," Barty argued, finally setting James down but keeping a firm grip on his shoulders. "I was suffering. Tell him, Reg."

Regulus, standing beside Evan with a lazy smirk, hummed. "He wouldn’t shut up about you."

James snorted. "Yeah? And how did you possibly survive it?"

Barty pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. "Through sheer willpower. But barely. "

Evan stepped up beside them with an amused smirk. "Ignore him. He’s been insufferable all week."

"Have not," Barty shot back.

Regulus hummed, tilting his head in mock consideration. "You have. "

Barty gasped again, looking deeply betrayed. "Et tu, Reggie?"

James grinned. "Alright, alright. I get it. You missed me. I’m honored."

"As you should be," Barty said, placing a dramatic hand over his chest before finally stepping back.

James barely had time to catch his breath before he noticed the way all three Serpents were looking at him— too amused, too smug.

"Something wrong?" James asked warily.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "Did you forget something?"

James blinked. "…No?"

Evan let tsked, shaking his head. "Ignoring our DMs now, Potter? That’s cold."

James froze.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

That was completely possible.

Between preparing for the interview, stressing over every detail, and trying not to let his nerves eat him alive, he had barely checked his phone at all.

His stomach twisted. "I— wait. Did I actually—?"

Regulus smirked. "You tell us."

James quickly pulled out his phone, only to see several unread messages from the Serpents. His eyes widened.

"Oh, fuck, " he muttered. "I’m so sorry—"

"Unacceptable," Evan interrupted, crossing his arms. "Truly heartbreaking."

"I trusted you," Barty added, shaking his head in mock-disappointment. "And this—this is how you repay me?"

Regulus chided, "This will not happen again. Yes?" 

James barked out a laugh. "Yes, sir. I’ll never make such a horrible, unforgivable mistake again."

"Good," Regulus said, as if that settled it.

James adjusted his grip on the microphone, shifting slightly in his seat as the camera crew signaled for the interview to begin. Across from him, the Serpents lounged effortlessly, looking entirely at ease.

"So," James began, tilting the mic toward Regulus. "Your music videos are… kind of insane. Let’s start there."

Regulus smirked, eyes flickering with amusement. "Insane how?"

James huffed. "Why do you insist on nearly killing yourselves for a three-minute video? You do know CGI exists, right?"

Evan scoffed. "CGI looks fake. "

James gaped. "Yes, Evan. That’s kind of the point. It’s supposed to look cool without you actually getting hit by a car ." He turned the mic toward Barty. "And you were lit on fire."

Barty grinned. "Good times."

James pinched the bridge of his nose. "Regulus jumped off a moving train. "

"And it looked sick, didn’t it?" Barty shot back, beaming with pride.

"That’s not the point —"

Regulus leaned in, voice calm. "The point is that it’s real."

James looked at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. Regulus wasn’t joking anymore.

Regulus tapped a ringed finger against his thigh. "You can feel it, can’t you? When you’re watching? The danger, the adrenaline, the fact that it’s not perfectly polished and edited? That’s what makes it hit harder. That’s what makes it art. "

Evan nodded, more serious now. "Anyone can make a music video with flashy effects and big-budget CGI. But we want it to be raw. Unfiltered. Messy. That’s what our music is. "

James tilted his head, considering. " Messy is one way to put it."

Regulus smirked. "You love it."

James sighed, but he didn’t argue.

"Okay, but does Sirius love it?" James asked. "Because I’m pretty sure every single one of your videos has shaved at least five years off his life."

Barty cackled. "Oh, he hates it."

"He threatened to quit last time," Evan added, grinning.

James snorted. "I don’t blame him. He’s your manager, not your babysitter. "

"Could’ve fooled me," Barty said, eyes gleaming. 

James groaned. " Why are you all like this?"

"Commitment," Evan said simply.

"Dedication," Regulus added.

"Chaos," Barty finished, grinning.

James shook his head. "You’re all nightmares."

Regulus smirked. "You love it."

James rolled his eyes and shifted the conversation. "Alright, tell me—what’s something about your career that you’ve never talked about in an interview before?"

Evan leaned back, arms crossed. "You always ask the best questions."

Barty nodded, grinning. "Seriously. Half the time, reporters ask the same recycled stuff over and over again. It’s boring. "

Regulus hummed in agreement. "This is why we like you, James."

James felt his cheeks heat up at the comment, but he forced himself to focus. "So? Something new?"

Regulus exchanged a glance with Evan and Barty before smirking. "Alright. You want something new?"

James nodded eagerly.

Barty leaned in slightly, eyes bright with mischief. " We write some of our lyrics completely drunk. "

James’ mouth dropped open, then he closed it. "Y'know what? I expect that from you."

Regulus shrugged. "It helps. Loosens everything up."

James gaped at them, then let out a disbelieving laugh. "So you’re telling me that some of your most popular songs were written while wasted?"

Barty grinned. "That’s exactly what we’re telling you."

Regulus smirked. "So. Did that count as new information?"

"Oh, definitely. "

The band laughed, the sound warm and familiar. James felt it settle in his chest—the kind of comfort that made interviews fun instead of exhausting. This was so much better than their first one. Back then, there had been nerves, uncertainty, a wall between them. But now?

Now, it was just easy.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWELVE

Regulus was mid-sentence, voice steady as he answered one of James’ questions, when a loud, high-pitched cry rang through the venue.

"JAMIE!"

James’ head snapped up, heart lurching. He barely had a second to react before a tiny figure came barreling toward him at full speed. Nova. Her face blotchy with tears, her little arms reaching desperately for him.

James abandoned the interview instantly.

James barely registered Barty’s confused, "Who the—" before he was crouching down, gathering Nova into his arms and holding her tight.

"Hey, baby. I got you," James soothed, pressing a hand to the back of her head as she sobbed into his shoulder. "What’s wrong, lovebug?"

Nova sniffled, curling into him. "I—I lost Mama," she hiccupped. "I—I wandered ‘way, and then she was gone —"

James rocked her instinctively, rubbing soothing circles into her back. "Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you."

Behind him, the Serpents had definitely been startled. Barty, who had been leaning lazily on James just moments before, was now standing up straight, blinking in surprise. Evan had tilted his head, watching with an expression of mild intrigue. Regulus had gone completely silent.

James paid none of them any mind. His entire focus was on the trembling toddler in his arms.

"Tell me what’s wrong, darling," James murmured, keeping his voice soft. "What happened?"

Nova sniffled and peeked up at him with tearful brown eyes. "I—I lost Mummy," she hiccupped.

James felt something in his chest clench.

"You lost Mummy?" he repeated gently.

Nova nodded, her lip wobbling. "I—I wandereded away—"

James kissed the top of her curls. "Okay, don’t worry, love. We’ll find her, alright?" He pulled back slightly to cup her chubby little cheeks. "You’re not alone, I promise. We’re gonna get you back to Mummy. Yeah?"

Nova hiccupped again. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"That’s my brave girl."

Evan crossed his arms. "Uh. Who is that?"

James ignored him entirely.

He turned slightly, eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Marlene. When he didn’t see her immediately, he shifted his grip on Nova and effortlessly lifted her into the air, placing her on his shoulders.

Nova let out a surprised squeak, then dissolved into giggles.

"Whoa—up high!" she cheered, gripping his curls for balance.

James grinned. Success.

"Alright, lovebug," he said, twirling around dramatically. "You see her, darling?" James asked, spinning in a slow circle so she could get a full view of the venue.

Nova giggled again. "Faster!"

James huffed out a laugh but complied, twirling them around a little quicker. The toddler let out a delighted shriek, the earlier distress melting away.

Nova peered around, her little hands tightening in excitement.

"There! Mama!" she pointed, practically vibrating with joy.

James didn’t even hesitate.

"There she is," James said, adjusting his grip on Nova’s legs. "Alright, darling, let’s get you back to Mummy, yeah?"

Nova patted his head enthusiastically. "Go, Jamie, go!"

James grinned. "Hold on tight, menace."

He took off, weaving through the crowd with ease, completely forgetting about the Serpents and their very-much not finished interview.

Regulus, Barty, and Evan stood frozen in stunned silence.

"Did he just ditch us?" Barty asked, sounding shocked.

"Yep," Evan confirmed, watching James weave through the crowd.

"Without even a word? " Barty continued, eyes wide.

"Mmhm." Evan smirked. "Looks like we lost our reporter."

Regulus was still silent, but there was something strange about his expression. He wasn’t annoyed. In fact, a small smile played on his lips.

"She’s adorable," Evan commented after a moment.

" She just completely stole James from us," Barty pouted.

Regulus finally spoke. "Obviously."  

James maneuvered swiftly through the crowd, Nova still perched on his shoulders, her tiny hands tangled in his curls. The second Marlene came into view, looking utterly frantic, James barely had time to lift Nova off his shoulders before the little girl was wriggling out of his grasp.

"MUMMY!" Nova shrieked, her little arms waving wildly as she sprinted the last few feet toward Marlene.

Marlene’s head snapped up at the sound, eyes widening. "Nova!"

She dropped to her knees immediately, arms open just in time for Nova to throw herself into her chest. Marlene clutched her daughter, holding her tightly as she buried her face in Nova’s curls, her body sagging with sheer relief .

"Oh, my god," Marlene murmured, rocking Nova side to side. "You scared me, sweetheart. I'm so sorry I lost you."

James stood back, watching the scene with a soft expression.

Then, Marlene lifted her gaze, eyes locking onto James.

She mouthed, thank you.

James huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "She’s my niece, Marls. It’s my job to look after her. I didn’t do you any favors."

Marlene exhaled, nodding. "Still," she murmured. "I appreciate it."

Behind them, completely unnoticed by James, the Serpents stood awkwardly at the edge of the scene.

James blinked. "Oh. Right."

Then his signature grin reappeared. "Sorry for completely ditching you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Heat of the moment. My niece comes first."

Barty breathed a sigh of relief. For a second there, he thought James was married . That would be simply unacceptable, and he didn't like being a homewrecker. 

Regulus elbowed Barty in the ribs. "Obviously."

"Tsk, tsk, James," Evan chided, arms crossed. "Abandoning an interview mid-answer? We should be offended."

Barty clutched his chest dramatically. "Deeply wounded," he declared. "Irreparably scarred."

James just laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, shut up."

Nova perked up at the sound and twisted in Marlene’s arms to look at the Serpents. Her big brown eyes blinked curiously before she lifted her tiny hand and waved excitedly.

Barty immediately lit up.

"Well, hello, little one," he cooed, crouching down to her eye level. "And who might you be?"

James snorted. Watching Barty Crouch Jr.— guitarist of the most rebellious band in the music industry—soften in the presence of a toddler was nothing short of hilarious.

Nova giggled, wiggling in Marlene’s hold. "I’m Nova!"

Barty gasped, as if this was incredible news. "No way. You? Nova?"

Nova giggled harder. "Mhm!"

"Well," Barty grinned. "You are way cooler than your uncle, that’s for sure."

"Oi!" James protested, scandalized. "Rude."

Nova beamed at Barty, clearly delighted.

Regulus just sighed, watching the exchange with a mix of fondness and deep resignation. "This is ridiculous."

Evan smirked. " This is fantastic."

"We've got an interview to finish." James urged, "Let's move out!"

James led the Serpents back toward their designated interview spot, weaving smoothly through the crowd. As they arrived, he shot them an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, really. I didn’t mean to just—”

“Oh, shut up,” Barty interrupted immediately, rolling his eyes.

Evan scoffed. “Yeah, James, we definitely hate seeing you take care of a tiny, adorable child. How dare you.”

Regulus waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Nova needed you.”

James huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Just making sure.”

The band settled back into their seats, and James pulled out his laptop, flipping it open.

Immediately, the Serpents perked up.

“Oh?” Barty smirked. “What’s this, then?”

James grinned, fingers dancing over the keys. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Barty’s smirk widened. “I would, actually.”

Regulus sighed. “Can you not flirt for five seconds?”

“Absolutely not,” Barty said easily.

James just grinned, refusing to answer.

Evan let out an impatient groan. “This reminds me of last time.”

Regulus hummed. “Are we getting another TikTok segment?”

James smiled knowingly. “Not quite, but I promise I’ve got something fun planned.”

The reporter turned his laptop so they could all see the screen. “So, your music videos are notorious for being full of Easter eggs. You foreshadow years in advance, and your fans have detectives trying to piece it all together.”

Barty smirked. “Beautiful, isn't it?”

James laughed, “I've brought you three fan-made video essays analyzing down your most popular music videos.”

Regulus raised a brow. “So we’re just watching people theorize about us?”

“Not just that,” James corrected, smirking. “After each video, you’re going to rate how accurate it is on a scale of one to ten.”

The Serpents immediately frowned. Their foreshadowing was an art form at this point. Why would they just give their fans the answers? Where's the fun in that

Evan narrowed his eyes. “So… we’re just going to tell them?”

James held up a hand to cut them off. “ No. ”

Barty crossed his arms. “Then what’s the point?”

James’ smirk widened. “You’re not going to say what’s accurate.”

Regulus, Evan, and Barty all stared.

James grinned.

The realization dawned on them.

“Oh, you evil genius,” Evan breathed.

James shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “Why confirm or deny anything when you can just mess with them?”

Regulus shook his head in awe. " That is brilliant. "

" Diabolical, " Barty whispered, eyes shining. " Cruel. "

James beamed . "I know . "

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Serpents sat in stunned silence as the third and final video wrapped up. The screen faded to black, and for a moment, none of them spoke.

Evan leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “What the fuck did we just watch?”

James grinned, closing his laptop. “Your fans. In their natural habitat.”

Barty let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell.” 

Evan blinked. “Did… did they just—” He gestured vaguely at the laptop, looking downright shaken. “Was that a theory or an FBI investigation?”

Regulus crossed his arms, impressed. “They’ve got too much time . ”

James, who had been watching the band members as much as the videos, cackled. “I told you! Your fans are insane—in the best way possible, obviously.” He gestured at the screen. 

Regulus shook his head, rubbing his temple. “That one girl had an entire crime board.”

“With red string , ” Evan added, sounding personally offended.

“And rich questions and photo evidence and lyric analysis!” James threw his hands in the air. “They had interview quotes from years ago—how do you feel knowing people are archiving every word you’ve ever spoken?”

“Deeply, deeply unsettled,” Regulus muttered.

Barty, however, just leaned back in his seat, looking delighted. “Nah, I think it’s brilliant. They’re obsessed with us.” He grinned. “We drive them insane.”

Evan ran a hand through his hair. “Some of those theories were so wrong, though. Like, completely off.” He frowned, looking genuinely heartbroken. “So much effort, and yet...”

"People lost sleep over that, James." Regulus deadpanned.

Barty waved him off. “That’s what makes it funny.”

"Some of them were close, though." Evan admitted.

James immediately straightened in his chair, eyes sharp.

“ Close? ” he repeated, tone rising with interest. “ How close?”

Regulus smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

James gaped at him. “Oh, you bastard .”

Evan and Barty exchanged a look —one of those silent, telepathic conversations the band seemed to have with alarming frequency. It was infuriating.

James pointed at them. “You just did it again! What the hell are you saying to each other?!”

Barty grinned. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh, fuck off ,” James groaned, slumping back.

Regulus smirked. “Don’t pout, Jamie. It’s not a good look on you.”

James immediately pouted harder out of pure spite.

Barty laughed. “Aww, look at him! He’s adorable .”

Evan grinned. “It’s endearing how invested you are in this.”

James shot him a withering glare. “You made me invested! How can I not care when you lot keep acting all mysterious and cryptic and. And smirking at each other like you’ve got some big secret?”

Regulus raised a brow. “Because we do have a big secret.”

James groaned in frustration, running a hand over his face. “Oh my God, I hate you.”

“You love us,” Barty corrected smugly.

James huffed, crossing his arms. “Alright, let’s rate the videos before I lose my mind.”

Regulus smirked. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

"The first video was a solid 4/10," Evan started, "About 75% of it was wrong, but one specific theory was strikingly accurate."

Barty continued, "And, of course, we will not say which one."

James huffed.

"The second video earns a 7/10." Regulus vaguely stated.

"Oh!" James perked up, "That's high."

The Serpents refused to elaborate. Evan shrugged, Barty smirked, and Regulus looked away.

"I'd say the third video was a 2/10." Barty continued, "Painful to watch, and they put so much effort in, too." 

Evan was quick to cut in, "We are impressed by all three fans, of course. Please don't think we're judging the creators. We could never be this attentive." 

"So, that's it? Not even a small hint?" James pleaded.

"Nope." Barty popped the 'p.'

"No." Regulus deadpanned.

"Nah." Evan teased.

“Bastards,” James mumbled under his breath, shaking his head as a wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He slumped back in his seat, arms crossing over his chest in a poor attempt at looking put out. “You absolute bastards.”

Barty, who was sitting close, snorted and rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by James' theatrics. “Oh, please, don’t act all wounded.” He leaned in, nudging James’ shoulder with his own, a smirk playing on his lips. “You love it. You love the mystery, admit it.”

James shot him a flat look, lips pressing into a firm line. “I hate the mystery.”

“You love the mystery,” Barty corrected smugly, voice dripping with amusement as he arched a brow, daring James to argue.

Before James could retort, Evan, who hadn't been paying much attention to their quiet exchange, suddenly looked over. His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his sharp features.

“What’d you just say?”

James blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“You mumbled something,” Evan said, his voice sharp with an edge of suspicion. “What did you say?”

James hesitated, suddenly feeling very intimidated. “Oh, nothing,” he waved a hand dismissively, forcing a casual chuckle. “Just talking to myself.”

Evan didn’t look convinced. His entire body tensed, his jaw clenched, and his gaze became panicked in a way that sent a cold shiver down James' spine. It was like watching a wire tighten, like a spring coiling back, waiting to snap.

“What did you say?” he repeated, his tone slightly cracking with desperation.

James instinctively looked toward Regulus and Barty, trying to gauge their reactions, to figure out what was going on. Regulus’ expression was unreadable, but his eyebrows were raised in that particular way—a silent warning that made James' stomach drop.

James suddenly remembered.

"Never mumble or say things around the Serpents that you don’t intend for them to hear," Sirius had told him. They had been sitting at Five Guys, half-eaten burgers in front of them, greasy wrappers scattered across the table. Sirius had looked uncharacteristically serious, fingers idly tapping against the table as he spoke. "Because if Evan hears even a whisper of something unclear, he will make you repeat it. Again and again and again. Until you say it out loud."

James had triggered Evan.

Panic clawed its way up James’ throat, creeping into his chest like a vice. His heartbeat stuttered, his hands twitched slightly against his lap, and his stomach twisted painfully, guilt sinking its claws deep.

Evan’s eyes were locked onto him, the anxiousness in his shoulders growing, his fingers twitching as if he was physically restraining himself from reaching out and shaking the words from James’ lips.

“James, please.”

Evan didn’t back down.

His stare was unwavering, unrelenting.

“What did you say?”

James could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His pulse pounded in his ears, his hands clammy against his laptop. He knew that he had to handle this carefully. If he slipped up, if he so much as let a single crack show, the press would pounce.

Evan was too well-known, too scrutinized, too hunted by the media for even a second of vulnerability to go unnoticed. And if they caught wind of this?  They would dig up everything—his childhood, his trauma, every painful moment he had tried to leave behind.

James would not let that happen.

So, he thought fast. He met Evan’s gaze directly, his hazel eyes locking onto stormy blue ones. He leaned forward just slightly, as if letting Evan in on some private joke. Then, he smirked.

“I said, ‘Bastards. You absolute bastards.’”

He made sure his voice was playful , like he was merely poking fun instead of offering reassurance. The last thing Evan would want was pity, and James refused to give him anything other than control over the situation.

Evan exhaled sharply through his nose, his shoulders visibly relaxing , as if those words had physically lifted a weight off his chest.

Barty snorted again, rolling his eyes. “Wow, real original, Potter.”

Regulus scoffed, crossing his arms. “You act like that’s news to you.”

James smirked wider, tilting his chin up. “No, just wanted to make sure you knew how I felt about it. Wouldn’t want any miscommunication. ”

Evan let out something between a laugh and a sigh, running a hand through his hair. His expression settled into something more at ease, no longer tight with stress.

Crisis averted.

Then, Sirius Black himself barged in like he owned the place—which, to be fair, he kind of did. He clapped his hands together, instantly commanding attention.

“The interview’s over,” he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You lot need to get your asses over to the venue. The award ceremony is starting soon.”

The Serpents groaned in unison.

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sirius, it’s our band. Can’t we decide when we leave?”

Sirius shot him a withering look. “You’re nominated for a VMA. You could win. So, no, you cannot just decide to stay here while the rest of the industry actually shows up to the event.”

Barty, ever the dramatic one, threw his head back. “Ugh, but we don’t want to go.”

Evan nodded in agreement. “Can’t we just send a cardboard cutout of us?”

Sirius crossed his arms. “Oh, sure. Let’s send a cutout to accept an award. That won’t be humiliating at all.”

Barty huffed, then suddenly turned to James and latched on to his arm. “Okay, fine. But if we have to suffer through this, can we at least bring our emotional support James with us?”

James blinked. “Wait, what—”

Evan burst into laughter, tilting his head back. “Oh my god. Yes. That’s exactly what he is. Our emotional support reporter.”

James scoffed, half-amused, half-offended. “I am not —”

Barty clutched James’ arm tighter. “Nuh-uh. Hush, Jamie. You totally are.”

James tried (and failed) to wiggle out of Barty’s grasp. “That’s— not the point.”

Sirius, meanwhile, exhaled like a mother at her wit’s end. “No. James is press. You know damn well the seats separate the celebrities from the reporters for a reason. The VMA's are very anti-harassment. ”

Barty pouted. “So? He’s our reporter.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Sirius shot James an apologetic look before turning back to the band. “ If you win—which you might , so act like it—you can see him at the after-party.”

Regulus smirked. “So, basically, we just have to win.”

Sirius gave him a deadpan look. “Or you could go because it’s your job.”

Barty draped himself over James dramatically. “What if we just refuse to leave without him?”

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then I will personally drag you out of here by your hair.”

Evan, still laughing, clapped Barty on the shoulder. “Come on, we should probably go. Besides, you love attention. You’re gonna eat this up.”

Barty sighed as if this was the greatest injustice in the world. “Fine. But only because I want that little moon man for my shelf.”

Sirius clapped his hands again. “Great. Now move.”

The Serpents groaned and whined but ultimately obeyed, filing out of the interview area like children being forced to leave the playground. James watched them go, shaking his head.

Barty turned back at the last second, pointing at James with a mockingly stern expression. “After-party. Be there.”

James rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah.”

And with that, they were gone.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The moment the announcer called their name, the venue erupted into cheers. The Serpents had won. Obviously.

Regulus, Evan, and Barty stood up immediately, their faces a mix of smug satisfaction and genuine excitement. Barty clapped Evan on the back, grinning wildly. Regulus barely reacted outwardly, but James, who had spent enough time around him to recognize the subtleties in his expressions, could see the quiet pride in his smirk.

As they walked up to accept the award, James leaned back in his seat, watching intently. This was always the part that fascinated him. The difference between who the Serpents were in private versus the carefully crafted versions of themselves they presented to the world.

Regulus took the microphone this time.

“First of all,” he started smoothly, voice steady, poised, “thank you to everyone who’s supported us. Our fans, our team, our friends. We wouldn’t be here without you.”

It was a perfect opening, predictable yet necessary. Then, his eyes found James in the crowd.

James stilled.

Regulus held his gaze deliberately, letting the moment stretch just long enough for James to feel the weight of it before continuing. “This band has been everything to us for years. We’ve grown together, pushed each other, and accomplished more than we ever imagined.” Another glance at James. 

James’ heart stuttered.

It was subtle enough that the audience wouldn’t pick up on it, but James knew. He knew.

The Serpents wrapped up their speech, flashing smirks at the cameras before heading offstage. They didn’t linger for the rest of the event. The moment they could, they slipped out, making their way to the limo that was already waiting to take them to the after-party.

James’ phone buzzed.

He glanced down and saw the message.

Serpents Official: You’re coming, right?

Before he could even type out a response, another message came in.

Serpents Official: Don’t even think about backing out, James.

Serpents Official: We expect to see you there.

James huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he quickly typed back: Wouldn’t miss it.

He had barely hit send before a final message popped up.

Serpents Official: Good.

No other words, just that. And yet, James felt the impact of it deep in his chest.

In the limo, the Serpents had already shifted topics.

Regulus had his phone still in his hand, thumb resting against the screen where James’ last message glowed back at him. Wouldn’t miss it. So casual. So James. He exhaled through his nose, staring at the message like it might rearrange itself into something that made sense.

“This thing with James,” he said, voice measured but firm, “it’s different now, isn’t it?”

Evan, who had been gazing out the window, didn’t react immediately. But the slight tightening of his jaw was enough of an answer. After a beat, he finally exhaled, tilting his head back against the seat. “Yeah.”

Barty, sprawled lazily against the seat across from them, smirked. “You sound surprised.”

Regulus shot him a sharp look. “I am surprised.” His fingers curled slightly around his phone. “When did this stop being professional?”

There was a pause. A knowing silence. Because they all knew.

At some point, their casual fascination with James had shifted into something else entirely. They had become greedy.

Evan looked back toward the window, watching the city lights blur past them. He ran a hand through his hair before muttering, “It was never just professional, not really.”

Regulus’ jaw tightened. He hated that he agreed.

James had slipped past their defenses so effortlessly, weaving himself into their lives in a way none of them had been prepared for. They should have seen it coming—should have noticed when their playful banter turned into something more possessive, when their amusement at his flustered reactions became something dangerously close to obsession.

Barty grinned, unbothered by the weight of the conversation. “Oh, come on. This was bound to happen. He’s—” He waved a hand vaguely, like that alone should explain everything. “You see him.”

They did.

The way James lit up when he was passionate about something. The way he argued, sharp and stubborn, refusing to let them push him around even when he was clearly outnumbered. The way he fit into their world, despite how much he pretended he didn’t belong there.

Evan finally turned away from the window, his gaze flickering between Regulus and Barty, dark with something unreadable. “We’ve never felt like this about anyone else.”

Regulus swallowed. He knew what Evan meant. The three of them had been together for years, navigating fame, power, and the chaos that came with it. They had seen and been seen by countless people—admirers, lovers, enemies. Yet, not once had they let someone in like this. Not once had they wanted to.

James was different.

Regulus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “And we can’t afford to feel like this about him now.”

The words dropped between them like a stone, heavy and unconvincing.

Because the truth was, it was already too late.

James Potter was too precious to let go of.

Yet too dangerous to keep.

James hadn’t been to many after parties in his career, but he was certain that this one was bigger than most. The venue was massive, packed with a crowd that felt suffocating. The music pulsed through the walls, vibrating in his bones, while laughter and conversation blended into a steady hum.

This wasn’t just an after party—it was the Serpents’ after party. Which meant everyone here knew them, admired them, wanted something from them.

James had realized, far too late, that he had made a mistake.

What had he expected? That Regulus, Barty, or Evan would find him in this chaos? That they had invited him because they wanted him here?

Pathetic.

He stuck to the corners, a half-empty drink in hand, scanning the crowd while telling himself he was just people-watching —not waiting for anyone. An hour passed. Maybe more. He hadn’t seen the Serpents once.

Of course, he hadn’t.

James sighed, shifting his weight against the wall. The realization settled in his chest like a stone—of course, they had only invited him out of politeness. What had he been thinking ? That they’d make time for him when they had the entire industry at their fingertips tonight?

He needed to leave.

The thought was a relief more than anything. His presence here didn’t matter. No one would notice his absence.

He made his way to the bar, weaving through the crowd as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. The bartender barely looked up as James slid his glass forward.

“I’m heading out,” James said, raising his voice over the music. “Just wanted to return this.”

The bartender nodded, taking the glass without question. James reached for his phone, checking the time. It was late, but not too late to drive home—his drink had been non-alcoholic, just in case.

He turned to leave.

“Hey, pretty thing.”

James froze.

Heat bloomed across his face before he could process it, because only Barty spoke to him like that, only Barty called him that. He exhaled in relief as he turned, already preparing a teasing response.

But it wasn’t Barty.

The man leaning against the bar was unfamiliar—tall, dark-haired, with sharp features and an easy smirk. His posture was casual, confident, like he knew exactly what effect his presence had on people.

James’ stomach twisted.

The stranger’s eyes raked over him, slow and deliberate. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, tilting his head. “Didn’t expect someone as gorgeous as you to be here alone.”

James barely had time to process that the man in front of him wasn’t Barty before a firm hand landed on his shoulder. His body tensed as the stranger pushed him—not hard, but with enough force to make it clear that resistance wasn’t an option. James stumbled slightly as he was guided onto a barstool.

James let out a nervous laugh, attempting to mask his discomfort as he shifted slightly away. "Ah—thanks, but I was actually just leaving—"

"Nah, stay." The stranger waved a hand at the bartender, ordering two drinks without so much as a glance in James’ direction. It was as if he had already decided for the both of them. "Come on now. Just one drink. What’s the harm in that?"

James felt uncomfortable. But, to this man's credit, he was always anxious in social situations. Of course, he didn't want to be rude, so he probably should sit with the man for at least one drink. He was about to disregard his own emotions for the man's comfort, but unease slithered up his spine.

“I appreciate the offer,” James tried again, forcing his voice to remain light, “but I really do need to get going.” He moved to stand, but before he could take a step, fingers wrapped around his wrist—tight enough to stop him in place.

"Not even giving me a chance, huh?" The man's grip didn’t loosen.

James forced a weak chuckle, his throat suddenly dry. His mind raced, searching for a way to defuse the situation without escalating it. He could yank his hand back. He could demand to be let go. But the thought of drawing attention, of eyes turning toward him, of someone filming this, made his stomach churn. He couldn't cause a scene at the Serpents after party. He couldn't ruin the night for them.  

He hated this. Hated the way his instincts screamed at him to listen to himself while his rational brain begged him to just get through it .

James promised himself that he'd just have one drink, then he'd leave.

Slowly, he sank back down into the stool. The man's grip loosened, satisfied.

The man grinned.

“Atta boy.”

Chapter Text

🛑 STOP! READ THE CHAPTER NOTES ABOVE IF YOU SKIPPED THEM! 🛑

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

James had been around flirtatious people before. He knew the signs—the lingering eye contact, the smirks, the casual touches disguised as innocent gestures. But this was different. There was an intensity to the man's gaze that felt invasive, a weight to his touch that made James' skin crawl.

He kept his focus on his drink, determined to finish it quickly and leave. If he could just get through this one drink, he could make his escape without causing a scene.

But the air shifted. What had been persistent but playful flirting turned into something sharper, something predatory. The man's hand found its way to James' wrist again, his knee pressing against James' under the bar. His voice dropped lower, his words laced with something more dangerous than charm.

James' stomach twisted. His fingers clenched around his phone, his last tether to control in the situation. He quickly unlocked it, intending to send a message to Marlene, but before he could type a word, the man moved.

With alarming speed, he snatched the phone from James’ hand and, with a smirk, dropped it to the floor.

“Hey—” James started, his voice caught between shock and irritation.

“Pay attention to me,” the man chided, tone playful, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it.

James' breath stuttered. His body screamed at him to get out, to move, but he forced himself to stay calm. Slowly, he slid off the barstool, crouching to retrieve his phone. He exhaled in relief when he saw the screen was still intact, but before he could straighten fully, the man’s hand was on him again, pulling him back into his seat.

James stiffened as the man continued talking, oblivious—or worse, uncaring—about the rising discomfort radiating off of him.

He took another sip of his drink, then another, his only goal to get out of this situation as soon as possible. But the man's voice droned on, his presence suffocating, and James felt himself growing more and more exhausted.

The surrounding party blurred into meaningless noise. The flashing lights pressed against his temples, the music thudding against his skull. He was so tired.

James shook his head, pushing himself upright. The room swayed. His vision darkened at the edges, and his ears buzzed with static. Something was wrong.

“I—” He cleared his throat. “I’m getting tired. I should— I should go.”

The man’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He leaned in, voice dripping with false reassurance.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he purred.

“I know.”

June 26, 2023.

James had never seen Dorcas cry before. She was steady, unwavering—someone who spoke her mind with confidence, who rarely let emotions get the better of her. But now, as they sat together in her living room, her hands trembling in her lap, her face buried in them, she was crying.

It was the morning after she and Marlene had finalized the adoption process for Nova. James had expected excitement, relief, maybe even disbelief that it was finally happening. But instead, Dorcas had sent him a message, asking him to come over, and when he arrived, she was already breaking apart.

James sat beside her, waiting for Marlene to arrive. He rubbed slow circles into her back as she tried to catch her breath. James wasn’t sure what to say—he couldn’t possibly understand what she was going through—but he could be here. That had to be enough.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Dorcas finally whispered, voice raw.

James frowned, tilting his head. “What do you mean? You and Marlene will be wonderful parents.”

Dorcas let out a shaky breath, swiping at her damp cheeks. “I know. I love Nova. But, James, what if I’m not enough? What if I can’t—” She cut herself off, sucking in a sharp breath.

James squeezed her hand, grounding her. “You will be enough,” he said firmly.

Dorcas swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling, as though looking anywhere but at him would make this easier. “It’s not just that,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

James stayed quiet, waiting. He wouldn't push.

“It was my 2022,” she said. “My twenty-second birthday. I went out with dome friends. Marlene wasn’t there, but it wasn’t like I was looking to meet anyone. Obviously, I was faithful. Always. I  just wanted to have fun. Drink, dance, celebrate.”

James’ stomach twisted. He didn’t know where this was going, but he could feel the shift in her tone.

“I don’t remember leaving,” Dorcas continued. “I don’t remember anything after a certain point. But I woke up outside, in the alleyway behind the club.” She let out a bitter laugh. “My dress was all bunched up, my underwear was missing, and—” She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. 

James’ breath caught in his throat.

“I don’t know what happened,” Dorcas admitted, her voice unsteady. “I assume someone spiked my drink. I never found out who. It didn’t seem to matter anyway. It wasn’t like I could fix it.”

James felt like his body had turned to ice. He wanted to say something, anything, but what words could possibly make this better?

Dorcas shook her head, exhaling slowly. “That’s why I’m scared, James. I’m terrified of raising a daughter in a world like this. In a world where people take and take, where one bad night can change everything.” Her voice cracked. “How am I supposed to protect her from that?”

James’ heart ached. He squeezed her hand tighter, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“You love her,” he said. “And Marlene loves her. Remus and I love her."

Dorcas let out a trembling breath.

“She'll learn to be strong by watching you, Dorcas. And when she’s scared, you’ll be there to hold her.” He paused, searching her expression. “No one could ask for a better mom.”

Dorcas let out a choked laugh, shaking her head. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

James shrugged, offering a small, tentative smile. “Not always. But I meant that.”

She nodded, wiping at her face again, and after a long silence, she whispered, “Thank you.”

James didn’t say anything, just pulled her into a hug, holding her as long as she needed.

James’ mind reeled, spinning between reality and the creeping fog threatening to consume him. He thought of Dorcas. Of how quickly it had happened to her. Of how she’d woken up in an alley with no memory of what had been done to her. James didn’t know how long the drug had been in his system, but he knew he was working against the clock.

He needed to get away. Now.

His first instinct was to stay in public spaces. If he blacked out, he wanted people around. Someone would notice. Someone would step in. He willed his legs to move, forcing himself to navigate through the crowd, though each step felt heavier than the last. His body was already betraying him.

James instinctively searched for the Serpents. He knew it was useless—there were too many people, and they had no reason to be looking for him—but still, his eyes scanned the room in desperation. Nothing. His chest tightened.

Find a woman. That was his safest bet. A woman was more likely to help. Less likely to take advantage. His vision blurred as he tried to focus, searching the sea of faces for someone— anyone —who looked approachable.

Then he saw him.

James’ heart lurched as his gaze locked onto a familiar face, sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes, and blond locks. His stomach twisted at the recognition— Evan. Relief surged through him, so strong it almost knocked him off balance. But then, in the next breath, he realized— not Evan.

A girl.

She looked strikingly like him, though. So much so that for a moment, James thought he might be hallucinating. But she was real, and familiarity was what he craved most. He beelined toward her, legs unsteady, breath shallow.

The second the girl saw him, her face lit up. “Oh! You’re the Serpents reporter!” she exclaimed. Then, with a look of recognition, she added, “They’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

James tried to focus on her words, but his ears were ringing too loudly. He swayed slightly, vision warping at the edges.

“I’m Pandora,” she introduced herself. “Evan’s twin.”

James had heard of her before. Pandora Rosier. An indie solo artist with a rapidly growing fanbase. But at the moment, he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. The fog was closing in too fast.

His headache pounded viciously behind his eyes, his body growing sluggish. His mouth felt heavy, his limbs uncooperative.

James blinked at her, struggling to stay upright.

He needed help.

James grabbed Pandora’s arm, fingers tightening around her wrist with what little strength he had left. His body felt disconnected, as though he were floating just above himself, slipping further and further away. He forced the words out, his voice weak and slurred.

“…drink…spiked…”

Pandora’s expression changed instantly. Her eyes widened, panic flashing across her face as she took in the sight of him—his sluggish movements, the way his body swayed, his unfocused gaze. She knew.

Two hands clamped onto James’ shoulders.

The man.

James stiffened as the familiar grip anchored him in place.

“He’s with me,” the man murmured smoothly, voice laced with reassurance. “It’s okay, love, you’re just a little drunk.”

James’ stomach churned.

The man turned to Pandora, lying with flawless ease. “He’s my boyfriend,” he said, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Had a bit too much to drink. I was just about to take him home.”

For a moment, Pandora just stared. James could barely process what was happening, but he felt the shift in her body language. He saw the way her shoulders tensed, the way her expression darkened.

Then, in one swift motion, she yanked James behind her, shielding him from the man’s touch.

“Yeah?” she said, voice deceptively casual. “That’s funny, because I know for a fact James Potter doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

The man hesitated.

Pandora yanked him behind her, her body a solid barrier between him and the man. She moved fast, whipping out her phone and snapping several pictures of the man’s face before he had time to react.

Then, her voice rang out, sharp and unyielding. “ Security! ”

The response was immediate.

Security arrived in seconds. The man was dragged away, shouting obscenities, cursing and struggling, but he was outnumbered. The last thing James saw before his vision blurred completely was the man’s furious glare, burning with unspoken threats.

Then he was gone.

James’ body grew impossibly heavier. The adrenaline that had kept him standing drained from his system all at once. His knees buckled, and before he could stop himself, he sank toward the floor.

“Shit—” Pandora spun, barely catching him in time. “James, hey —”

His head lolled slightly as he struggled to focus. He was losing the battle to unconsciousness.

Pandora swore under her breath. Then, determination set in her features.

“Alright,” she muttered. “Let’s get you to my brother.”

James didn’t have the strength to respond.

He just let her guide him, barely holding on.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Pandora tightened her grip around James' waist, bearing most of his weight as she maneuvered them through the crowded club. His head lolled slightly against her shoulder, his steps unsteady, but he was still trying —still forcing himself to move forward, to keep going.

Pandora was surprised he'd lasted this long.

Whatever the man had slipped into his drink hadn’t been overwhelmingly strong, but it was still working its way through his system. James was fading. His body grew heavier with each passing second, his legs threatening to give out completely.

Pandora clenched her jaw, her grip firm. Not yet, Potter.

She wove them through the throngs of partygoers, ignoring the flashing cameras, the people too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice James' state. The only reason half these people were here was because the Serpents' PR team needed a spectacle—something shiny to wave in front of the paparazzi while the band actually enjoyed themselves in private.

And Pandora knew exactly where that private space was.

The Serpents had a VIP room tucked away from the main event—exclusive to their closest friends, where they didn’t have to deal with the press or tedious small talk. Pandora knew for a fact James was allowed in. Why he hadn’t gone straight there when he arrived was beyond her, but that wasn’t important right now.

What mattered was getting him inside.

James let out a soft, dazed noise as they approached the guarded entrance. His fingers curled weakly around the fabric of Pandora’s sleeve, as though grasping for stability.

Pandora's lips pressed into a thin line.

She shifted her grip, pulling him closer as they reached the bouncer.

"Pandora Rosier," she said, her voice sharp and steady. Then, with a small tug to James' limp form, she added, "And James Potter."

The bouncer barely hesitated. His gaze flickered over James—glassy-eyed, barely standing, clearly in need of help. Whatever question he might’ve had was swallowed down as he nodded once and stepped aside.

The door swung open.

The moment she stepped into the VIP room, her eyes locked onto her twin.

Evan was perched lazily on one of the plush couches, an arm draped over the backrest, chatting idly with Regulus and Barty. The second she spotted him, she made a beeline in his direction, half-dragging James along with her.

The Serpents' eyes flickered to the entrance as they took in the sight of James. Their initial reaction was pure delight—grins splitting their faces, relief softening their expressions.

"There he is," Barty drawled, lifting his glass in greeting. "Took you long enough, Jamie. What, did you pregame too hard? Are you drunk ?"

It was meant to be teasing.

But Pandora’s patience snapped.

"His drink was spiked," she bit out, sharp and furious.

The reaction was immediate.

Barty choked on his drink, coughing violently as he set his glass down with a clink . Evan’s easygoing demeanor vanished in an instant, his entire body going rigid as he inhaled sharply. And Regulus—Regulus' eyes darkened, his jaw tightening, his fingers curling into the fabric of his trousers.

The atmosphere shifted.

The lighthearted chatter in the VIP room died out as the growing tension became impossible to ignore. One by one, people began filtering out, sensing that something was wrong . It was a good thing, too. They needed privacy.

The second the door clicked shut, the questions started.

"Who?" Evan demanded.

"Where?" Barty growled.

"How bad is it?" Regulus asked, his voice chillingly calm.

But before Pandora could answer, James made a small, pitiful noise. A weak and broken whimper.

It was barely audible, but it was enough.

The Serpents froze.

James wasn’t just exhausted—he was pleading with them, silently begging them to act now and interrogate later. His unfocused eyes searched the room desperately before landing on Evan, his fingers twitching weakly, reaching for him.

Evan was on his feet in an instant.

He crossed the room without hesitation, his arms steady as he relieved Pandora of James' weight. The moment James was in his grasp, his body collapsed against Evan’s, all strength leaving him entirely.

Evan held him tighter.

James let out a shaky exhale, his body too exhausted to think, too sluggish to speak. His mind barely processed the words being exchanged around him.

All he knew was that he was safe.

Regulus cupped James’ face, his cool fingers pressing against the feverish warmth of the reporter’s skin. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding James as his unfocused eyes struggled to meet Regulus’.

“Jamie,” Regulus murmured, his voice steady, composed. “Look at me.”

James blinked sluggishly, his pupils blown wide, but he obeyed.

“Good,” Regulus praised, his thumbs brushing lightly against James’ cheekbones. “Now listen carefully. We’re taking you back to our penthouse.” He spoke slowly, deliberately, making sure James could process every word. “We don’t know where you live, and you’re in no state to go anywhere alone.”

James made a small noise of acknowledgment, his head tipping slightly forward. Regulus tightened his hold, keeping him upright.

“A driver will take us,” Regulus continued, “since we’ve all been drinking.” He nodded toward Barty and Evan, who stood tense beside him. “Once we get home, you’ll sleep in our guest bedroom, and we’ll figure out the rest in the morning. Does that sound okay?”

James exhaled, his eyelids fluttering. His head was heavy, his thoughts thick and sluggish, but he understood. Slowly, he nodded.

Relief flickered across Regulus’ face, but he didn’t let go.

Barty, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, finally spoke. His voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual cocky lilt. “Jamie, do you trust us to do this?”

James' brows twitched faintly, as if concentrating. His body swayed slightly where he stood, his limbs loose and weak. Then, he sighed out a quiet, “Uh-huh.”

That was probably the most coherent response they were going to get.

Without another word, Evan shifted closer, effortlessly hooking James’ arm over his shoulders. James slumped into him instantly, all but melting against Evan’s side as exhaustion fully took hold.

Evan adjusted his grip, his hold careful but unyielding. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low but determined. “Let’s go.”

And with that, they put their plan into action.

The Serpents and Pandora pushed through the crowded bar, James’ barely-conscious form held securely between them. But the moment they stepped outside, they were met with a blinding barrage of camera flashes.

Paparazzi.

They swarmed like vultures, their cameras clicking furiously, voices overlapping in a chaotic mess of shouted questions.

"James! Over here!"
"Is that James Potter? He looks wasted!"
"Serpents, is this your new boy toy?"
"James, are you dating one of them?"
"Regulus, care to comment?"

None of them bothered to answer. The Serpents had far bigger concerns than entertaining speculation. James was their top priority, and they weren’t about to waste time engaging with leeches looking for the next scandal.

But that also meant the narrative was left entirely up to the tabloids. By morning, headlines would be running wild with every possible interpretation of the images taken tonight. James, slumped in their arms, his eyes barely open. Pandora at their side, expression sharp and protective. The Serpents, tense and unresponsive as they ushered James toward the waiting car.

It didn’t matter. They had to keep moving.

Finally, they reached their vehicle. Evan, Barty, and Regulus helped maneuver James into the backseat as Pandora lingered just outside the open door. She was watching closely, assessing, but there was no hesitation in her stance. No doubt. She trusted them.

She adjusted her purse over her shoulder and met Evan’s gaze. “Text me in the morning, let me know how he’s doing.”

Evan nodded, his grip adjusting around James as he stabilized him against the seat. “I will.”

That was all she needed. With one last glance at James, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the night.

The second she was gone, James’ body sagged entirely.

He had passed out.

Evan barely had time to react, already supporting most of his weight, but Regulus and Barty moved quickly to help. Together, they eased James down, carefully laying him across the leather seats. His breathing was steady, but his face was pale, exhaustion weighing heavy on his features.

The three of them exchanged glances, silent but understanding. This was far from over.

Settling into their seats, they gave the chauffeur a single order.

“Drive carefully.”

James lay sprawled across the plush limo seats, his body limp with exhaustion. His head rested in Regulus’ lap, curls spilling over Regulus' thighs in soft, unruly waves. Absentmindedly, Regulus ran his fingers through James’ hair, smoothing it down before curling his fingers into the strands. Every time the car hit a bump, he gripped James a little tighter.

The Serpents sat in silence for a long moment, simply watching him. He looked beautiful in a way that was effortless, his breathing even and soft. But beneath that beauty was something else—vulnerability. Seeing him like this, fragile in a way that made their stomachs twist uncomfortably, sent a shiver of unease through the group.

Barty was the first to break the silence. “If he didn’t find Pandora…” His voice trailed off, like he couldn’t even bring himself to finish the sentence.

“If he ignored his instincts...” Regulus muttered, jaw tightening as his grip in James’ hair grew firm for just a second before relaxing again.

“If he didn’t escape,” Evan added darkly, eyes narrowing as he stared down at James’ peaceful face. “He would’ve been completely helpless.”

No one spoke after that. The weight of what could have happened hung thick in the air.

The car slowed as they neared their penthouse, and as soon as the driver parked, Evan reached for James, effortlessly lifting him into his arms. James made a small, unconscious noise, barely stirring as Evan cradled him close, carrying him through the sleek glass doors of the building. Barty and Regulus followed closely, ensuring that James was never alone for even a second.

The penthouse was quiet when they entered, the city lights spilling through the massive windows, casting long shadows over the modern furniture. Evan carried James straight to the guest bedroom. It was a warm, inviting space, filled with soft fabrics and muted colors, designed for comfort above all else. Evan gently laid James down onto the bed, shifting him carefully so he was settled against the pillows.

Barty knelt at the foot of the bed and began unlacing James’ shoes, sliding them off and setting them aside. Meanwhile, Regulus reached for James’ gold jewelry—rings, bracelets, necklaces. With careful precision, he removed each piece and placed them on the bedside table, his fingers lingering on the necklaces longer than necessary. He didn’t like the idea of James sleeping in them, that could be dangerous.

Evan, who had disappeared for a moment, returned with a damp cloth. “His makeup’s smudged,” he murmured, kneeling beside the bed and gently wiping at the remnants of James’ highlighter and maroon eyeshadow. James barely reacted, only sighing softly as Evan worked with slow, practiced movements.

When they were satisfied that they had done everything they could to make James comfortable, Barty pulled the covers up, tucking them around him with a kind of gentleness that was rare for him. He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair before stepping back.

Regulus, still standing by the bedside, glanced down at James one last time. He was still too pale, his lips parted slightly as he breathed, exhaustion written into every inch of his expression. It didn’t sit right with him—any of them.

“We’re not leaving him alone,” Regulus said quietly, a statement, not a question.

Evan nodded. “I’ll stay with him.”

Barty huffed. “We’re all staying.”

No one argued. Instead, they settled in, sitting on the floor or leaning against the furniture, watching over James as he slept, ensuring that for tonight, at least, nothing could hurt him.

James woke up to a dull throbbing in his skull. Not the sharp pain of a hangover, but the lingering ache that came from whatever drug had been slipped into his drink. He groaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut before slowly cracking them open. The last thing he remembered was being led to the Serpents' limo, and then… nothing.

But he did remember the Serpents explaining to him what was going to happen. We're taking you back to our place. You're safe with us. They made sure he understood before he lost consciousness, before he was too far gone to consent.

James sat up carefully, taking in his surroundings. The room was unfamiliar, but it was warm, comfortable, safe . He wasn’t in some stranger’s apartment or an unfamiliar hotel. He was somewhere he belonged. The realization settled something in his chest.

His gaze drifted across the room, and what he saw made his breath hitch.

Regulus was curled up in an armchair, his arms folded over his chest, legs drawn up slightly like he had been too exhausted to properly situate himself. Evan was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, head tilted to the side in a way that looked anything but comfortable. And Barty—Barty was sprawled out on the floor, completely stretched out, one arm draped over his face as if shielding himself from the morning light.

They stayed with me.

James' throat tightened. They hadn’t just brought him here, dumped him in a bed, and left. They had stayed . They had slept in the most uncomfortable positions possible just to ensure he was safe.

His eyes stung. He blinked quickly, willing the tears away before they could smudge his makeup. Except… he reached up, fingers brushing over his skin. His highlighter was gone. His eyeshadow and eyeliner, too. His rings and bracelets were missing, and his shoes had been taken off.

They had done all of that for him.

A lump formed in his throat, but he swallowed it down, exhaling shakily.

He shifted slightly, the rustling of the sheets loud in the quiet room. The sound was enough to make Regulus stir first. His brows furrowed, and then his eyes opened, groggy but instantly alert. The moment he saw James awake, his entire body tensed, as if bracing for something.

"James," he said, voice hoarse from sleep.

The sound was enough to wake the others. Evan blinked rapidly, rubbing a hand over his face before his eyes locked onto James. Barty groaned, rolling onto his side, but at the mention of James’ name, he sat up abruptly, blinking blearily at him.

James swallowed, voice thick when he spoke. "You stayed."

Barty snorted, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Obviously. What, you think we'd just let you sleep here alone after what happened?"

Regulus exhaled, sitting forward. "How do you feel?"

James hesitated, scanning his body for anything unusual. "Um… headache, mostly. But I'm okay."

Evan gave a slow nod, assessing him carefully. "You sure? No nausea? No dizziness?"

"I'm fine," James reassured, though the tightness in his throat threatened to betray him. His fingers twitched against the blanket, and he glanced down at them, hesitating before speaking again. "You… took off my makeup."

Regulus nodded. "We didn't want it to irritate your skin while you slept."

James’ lips parted slightly. They cared enough to think about that?

"And my jewelry?"

"You move a lot in your sleep," Barty said lazily, but his gaze was sharp with concern. "Didn’t want you strangling yourself with those necklaces of yours."

James let out a laugh, blinking rapidly to keep his emotions in check. "Oh."

The room fell into a brief silence. James could feel their eyes on him, watching him too closely, as if waiting for him to crack. He wasn’t sure why that made him want to cry more.

Regulus stood, moving toward the bed. "Do you want some water?"

James nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Regulus left without another word, and Evan shifted closer, resting his arms on the bed. "Pandora's gonna want an update. She was worried."

James' chest tightened again. "She—she saw me like that?"

Evan nodded. "Yeah. She got you out of there before we even knew what was happening. You can thank her later."

James swallowed hard. He hadn't processed everything yet.

Regulus returned with a glass of water, handing it to him without a word. James took it with slightly shaky hands, murmuring, "Thanks."

Barty sighed, stretching his arms behind his head before giving James a sharp look. "You're not going anywhere alone again, just so we're clear."

James blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Barty’s tone was casual, but there was steel underneath. "You’re with one of us, or Pandora, or someone who can actually make sure that —" he gestured vaguely, but they all knew what he meant, " doesn’t happen again."

James' lips parted, but he couldn't find the words to argue. Not when Regulus and Evan nodded in agreement.

"That's non-negotiable, by the way," Evan added.

Regulus nodded.

And just like that, James' resolve shattered. His fingers tightened around the water glass, his vision blurring, throat aching.

They noticed. Of course, they did.

"You're okay," Regulus murmured, and this time, when he reached out, James didn't flinch. He let Regulus place a steadying hand on his knee, grounding him. "You're safe."

James inhaled shakily, nodding. He wasn’t sure how to say what he was feeling.

So instead, he whispered, "Thank you."

The Serpents didn't respond with words. They didn’t need to. Their presence, their unwavering protection, was answer enough.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Serpents left James alone, assuming he needed space to process everything. They would check on him soon, get him bathed and fed, but for now, they let him be.

Barty stretched his arms as they entered the kitchen, rolling his shoulders. "I need coffee," he muttered, heading straight for the espresso machine.

"You need sleep," Evan corrected, though he didn’t argue when Barty started making a double shot.

Regulus leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand down his face. He wasn’t even remotely surprised when Barty, in his infinite wisdom, pulled out his phone and immediately went to social media.

It took all of three seconds before Barty groaned. "Well, this is a fucking disaster."

Evan frowned. "What?"

Barty turned the phone around, showing them a trending hashtag: #SerpentsScandal .

Regulus exhaled sharply. "Fantastic. What are they saying?"

Barty scrolled through, his lips curling in annoyance. "Take your pick. Some are saying James got drunk and hooked up with all three of us. Some are saying we're dating him. And my personal favorite—some are saying we spiked his drink ."

Regulus' eyes darkened. "You're joking."

"Wish I was," Barty muttered, scrolling. "They're basing it off the pictures the paparazzi got. Here, look."

Regulus and Evan leaned in, looking at the blurry, but damning images plastered all over social media and news sites.

"James Potter’s Wild Night—Caught Leaving With The Serpents!"

"James Potter Hooking Up With All Three Serpents?! Sources Say Yes!"

"Scandal: Did The Serpents Spike James Potter’s Drink?!"

Evan clenched his jaw. "These bastards don’t even try to fact-check."

"They don’t need to," Regulus said coldly. "They just need to make a scene."

Barty continued scrolling, lips pursed. "Thankfully, our fans aren’t that stupid."

Regulus raised a brow. "Are you sure about that?"

Barty ignored him, turning the screen around again. This time, it was filled with tweets defending them.

@MaraudersEraFan : I don’t buy this ‘James was drunk’ story. Look at the pictures. He looks EXHAUSTED, not drunk. And the Serpents? They’re worried. Not exactly the vibe of three men bringing someone home to hook up.

@SnakeBites : People really think the Serpents SPIKED his drink? Are you out of your damn minds? They were literally carrying him like a princess and making sure he was safe. Shut up.

@ReggiesRings : Idk what happened but I do know that Regulus looked like he was about to murder someone. Something went down and I doubt it was what the papers are saying.

@GoldenBoyLover: The way James was barely standing on his own... and Regulus was holding him like he was going to collapse... yeah something’s not adding up.

Evan exhaled through his nose. "At least some people have common sense."

Regulus’ phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and sighed. "PR is furious ."

Barty rolled his eyes. "When are they not?"

Regulus typed out a quick response before putting his phone down. "Sirius is waiting for an explanation."

Evan gave a humorless chuckle. "Brilliant. Just what we needed."

Barty smirked. "Think he’ll actually have the patience to wait?"

Regulus huffed. "Doubtful."

@DarkPrinceRegulus: Barty, Evan, and Regulus watching the media spin lies: 🧍🧍🧍

@Serpents4Life: PR team gonna have a field day with this one 💀

@MarauderHQ: Bet you anything Sirius is losing his mind rn.

@JamesPotterUpdates: Just praying James is okay. He looked so out of it last night. Hope someone gets the truth soon.

As if on cue, Barty’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID before grinning. "And here he is. The brother of the year."

Evan gave him a look. "Put him on speaker."

Barty did, and the second the call connected, Sirius’ voice exploded through the room.

"What the fuck happened?"

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Good morning, Sirius."

"Don't ‘good morning’ me, Regulus! I wake up, I check my phone, and what do I see? My baby brother —who, might I remind you, hates reporters —carrying one out of a club like some kind of dark, brooding prince! What the fuck is going on?"

Evan leaned against the counter. "You actually waited a whole five hours before calling. I’m impressed."

"Don’t push me, Rosier."

Regulus sighed. "We’re handling it, Sirius."

" Handling it? You do realize James’ name is being dragged through every newspaper, right?"

"We know ," Barty said, running a hand through his hair. "But if you’d shut up for two seconds, we’d explain."

There was a pause, then a begrudging, "Fine. Explain."

Regulus exchanged a glance with Evan before answering. "James was drugged last night."

Silence.

Then, softly, " What? "

"He was drugged," Regulus repeated, his voice quieter now. "Pandora noticed it first. Got him out of there, brought him to us. We took him home."

Another silence. This one heavier.

Sirius’ voice, when he spoke again, was low, dangerous. "Who."

Regulus exhaled. "We don’t know yet."

Sirius cursed under his breath. "Is he okay?"

"He’s fine," Evan answered. "Sleeping right now."

"Right." Sirius inhaled sharply. "Alright. I’ll hold off on… making moves until I figure out more."

Regulus smirked slightly. "You mean until we figure out more."

Sirius made a disgruntled noise. "Whatever. Just take care of him."

"We will," Regulus assured.

Sirius was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice softer than before, he murmured, "Thanks."

The call ended.

Barty let out a low whistle. "Well. That went better than expected."

"Mostly because we caught him off guard," Evan muttered.

Regulus exhaled, rubbing his temple. "We need to talk to James. See if he remembers anything about last night."

Evan nodded. "And then?"

Regulus' gaze darkened. "Then we find out who did this."

James padded out of the guest bedroom, a thick blanket wrapped tightly around his frame like a cocoon. His curls were messy, his eyes slightly puffy from sleep, but there was something so soft, so small about him that the Serpents melted instantly.

Regulus, Evan, and Barty watched him from the kitchen, pausing mid-conversation. Precious, delicate, lovely James.

Evan was the first to move, stepping towards him carefully, as if approaching a startled animal. "Morning, love," he said gently. "Did you sleep okay?"

James blinked at him sleepily, shifting the blanket higher on his shoulders. "Yeah," he murmured, voice hoarse from disuse. "Still a little tired."

Regulus’ lips twitched. "That’s because you barely slept."

James hummed, swaying slightly on his feet.

Barty tilted his head, watching him. "Do you wanna shower?" he suggested. "Might help wash yesterday off you."

James visibly perked up, as if the very idea of being clean again lit something in him. "Oh," he said, voice brighter. "Yeah, that’d be—yeah."

Regulus pushed off the counter, stepping forward. "Come on, I’ll show you how to use the shower in the guest bath," he offered, leading James back into the room.

The guest bathroom was spacious and modern, with sleek black tiles and a glass shower that had far too many knobs for its own good. Regulus crouched down by the controls, twisting a few dials to demonstrate. "This one controls the temperature, and this one changes the water pressure. If you turn it too far to the right, it’ll feel like you’re getting pelted with bullets."

James snorted. "Noted."

Regulus handed him a set of toiletries—shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and a loofah—before reaching for a neatly folded towel. "Here," he said. "Take your time."

James took the items, pressing the towel to his chest. "Thanks, Reg."

Regulus softened. "Of course." He hesitated, then reached out, lightly brushing his fingers over James’ wrist before stepping back. "Evan left you some clothes, so you don’t have to put your old ones back on."

James’ face warmed. "Oh. That’s—yeah, thanks," he said, ducking his head.

Regulus gave him one last look before exiting the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

Alone, James turned towards the shower, taking a deep breath. He dropped the blanket, stepping out of his old clothes and into the glass enclosure. The second the warm water hit his skin, he exhaled, eyes fluttering shut.

It was heavenly. The grime from the night before, the lingering weight on his chest—it all washed away under the steady stream. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until now, hadn’t noticed the invisible pressure pressing down on him. But here, under the warm spray, he could breathe again.

James let his head rest against the tiles, letting the water run over his shoulders.

He was safe, yet this safety was fleeting .

As the last of the water drained, he stepped out, bundling himself in a towel and quickly drying off. He slipped into the comfortable sweatpants Evan had lent him, the soft fabric soothing against his skin. But as he reached for the hoodie, his gaze flickered to the mirror—and his stomach plummeted.

Bruises. Dark, ugly splotches blooming across his shoulders.

James inhaled sharply, heart beginning to race. He remembered being grabbed—the rush of adrenaline, the panic, the drug numbing everything. He hadn’t even noticed the pain at the time. But now, looking at the evidence imprinted on his skin, nausea swelled in his stomach.

His breathing quickened. The room felt smaller.

No, no, no.

His body reacted before his mind fully processed what was happening. James barely had time to lurch towards the toilet before he was retching, stomach twisting violently. His throat burned as he dry-heaved, but there was nothing in him to throw up.

Distantly, he heard pounding on the door. "James!" Regulus’ voice was sharp with concern. "Open the door—what’s wrong?"

"James, we’re coming in," Evan warned.

The lock clicked, and the door was thrown open. James barely registered the rush of footsteps before they were kneeling beside him.

"Shit," Barty muttered. "James, what’s going on?"

Regulus was already rubbing circles into his back, voice tight with worry. "Is it the drug? Do we need to call someone?"

James could hardly respond, his body convulsing with another wave of dry-heaving. He clenched his eyes shut, gripping the cold porcelain of the toilet.

"James," Evan said, firm but gentle. "Breathe. You’re okay."

James tried—really, he did—but the anxiety had its claws in him, twisting his insides.

"Is it the drug?" Regulus asked again, more urgent this time. "James, you need to tell me if it’s the drug."

James shook his head weakly, swallowing against the rawness in his throat. His voice was barely a whisper. "Not the drug. Just—" He heaved again, unable to finish.

"Fuck," Barty exhaled, glancing at Regulus. "It’s anxiety."

Relief flickered across Regulus’ face—brief, but there. Anxiety was something they could help with. He let out a slow breath, tightening his grip on James’ shoulder. "Okay," he said, softer now. "Okay, Bambi. We’ve got you."

James curled forward, trying to regulate his breathing. The Serpents stayed with him, grounding him, until the nausea finally began to fade.

James sat at the kitchen table, a glass of water cradled between his trembling hands. His stomach was still twisting unpleasantly, but at least the nausea had faded slightly. Across from him, Evan was watching him closely, arms crossed.

"You need to eat," Evan said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Your stomach’s so empty it didn’t have any food to expel."

James shook his head immediately, the thought of food making his stomach churn all over again. "I— I can’t. It’ll just make me sick again."

Barty let out a sharp exhale and stood behind James, hands gripping the back of his chair. "We’re not letting you decide, Jamie."

James pressed his lips together, hating the idea of being forced. He wasn’t a child. But before he could protest, Regulus was already placing a piece of plain bread in front of him.

"Just eat this," Regulus said, his voice gentler than Barty’s. "It’ll settle your stomach."

James stared at the bread like it was a personal attack. He wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t sure he’d ever feel hungry again. But the three of them were looking at him expectantly, and James knew he wasn’t getting out of this. He hesitated before taking a small bite.

Satisfied, the Serpents grabbed their own food, clearly trying to make the situation feel less awkward. James appreciated the effort, even if it didn’t help much.

For a while, they ate in silence. Then, Regulus cleared his throat, setting his plate down. "We should talk about last night."

James tensed immediately. He knew this conversation was coming, but that didn’t mean he was ready for it.

Regulus, as usual, was direct. "Your memory’s probably hazy, so we’re going to tell you everything that happened."

James clenched his jaw, staring down at the table. His hands tightened around the bread. "Okay."

And so they told him.

They spoke carefully but honestly, filling in the gaps of his fragmented memory. How he found Pandora. How she took him to the Serpents. How the Serpents got him out of the party as quickly as they could. How he blacked out in the car. How they stayed with him all night.

James listened, stomach twisting with each word. It was one thing to know that something awful had almost happened—it was another thing entirely to hear the details laid out so clearly.

When they finished, James’ mind was a mess. He knew he should feel relieved. Nothing had actually happened. He was safe. He had people who looked out for him.

So why did he feel so broken?

James swallowed, struggling to put it into words. "I—" His voice faltered. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel."

Evan kissed his teeth in frustration—not at James, but at the situation. "You don’t have to justify how you feel, Jamie," he said. "Just because the worst didn’t happen doesn’t mean it wasn’t terrifying."

James exhaled shakily, throat tightening. "I just— I was lucky. It could’ve been worse. I shouldn’t be—"

"Don’t," Regulus interrupted, voice firm. "Don’t downplay it."

Silence fell over the kitchen, heavy and suffocating. James shifted in his seat, picking at the sleeve of Evan’s hoodie. He didn’t know what to say, how to respond to everything that had just been laid out in front of him. His thoughts were tangled, knotted too tightly to pull apart.

Across from him, Barty exhaled through his nose, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. “James,” he said, voice unusually serious. “I’m going to tell you something personal, okay?”

James hesitated, his stomach twisting at Barty’s tone. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear whatever was about to be said, but he nodded anyway. “Okay.”

Barty leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the table. “My father was abusive.”

James’ breath caught in his throat. His eyes flickered to Evan and Regulus, but neither of them looked surprised. They already knew. James, on the other hand, had never even considered the possibility.

Barty continued, his voice even, practiced. “He was verbally abusive, mostly. He yelled a lot. Made me feel like I was worthless, like nothing I did would ever be enough. And if he was angry enough, he’d hit me.”

James clenched his fists in his lap, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to say something, to comfort Barty the way the Serpents had comforted him, but Barty didn’t look like he wanted comfort. He looked like he needed James to listen.

“So, I left,” Barty said simply, as if walking away from abuse was an easy thing to do. “I got out. And you know what? It could’ve been so much worse. I know that. My father wasn’t the worst person in the world. He didn’t do half the things I’ve seen other people go through.”

James swallowed, his throat tight.

“But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t bad,” Barty continued. “It doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck me up. It doesn’t mean I don’t still have nightmares about it sometimes. It doesn’t mean I don’t flinch when people yell. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel sick every time people use my whole name because that belongs to him.”

Barty’s gaze locked onto James’, intense and unwavering. “I know you’re sitting there thinking that you shouldn’t be this shaken up. That because the worst didn’t happen, you should be fine. But listen to me, Jamie.” His voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. “You’re supposed to be. If you weren’t, we’d be concerned.”

James inhaled sharply, his vision blurring for a moment.

Barty leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “My childhood could’ve been worse, but it was still bad. What happened last night could’ve been worse, but it was still terrifying. Pain isn’t a competition. Trauma isn’t a scale. What happened to you was real, and you’re allowed to feel like shit about it.”

James’ throat burned, emotions rising in his chest faster than he could control.

Regulus reached out, wrapping a hand around James’ wrist. “You don’t have to justify how you feel,” he murmured. “Not to us. Not to anyone.”

James exhaled shakily, his fingers unclenching. The weight on his chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Became something else. Something a little easier to carry.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

James sat on the couch, his fingers curled tightly around the blanket draped over his lap. The room was quiet except for the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, and the Serpents sat around him, their presence grounding. He had no idea what to expect when Regulus spoke, but nothing could have prepared him for the words that came out of his mouth.

"They arrested him," Regulus said, his voice steady but firm. "The man who drugged you—he's in prison."

James blinked. His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. "What?" His voice came out weaker than he wanted it to.

Barty leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "There's no way he's getting out of this, Jamie. We have too much evidence against him."

James swallowed, his throat dry. "Evidence?"

Evan nodded. "Pandora was an eyewitness. She saw him. And she was smart—she took pictures of him that night. Clear ones, too. And on top of that, we got our hands on the drink you were spiked with. It’s been tested."

Regulus met James' gaze, his expression unreadable. "The drug they found in it—it was designed to take its time. To keep the victim unaware of when they were drugged or by who. But they identified it."

James inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the blanket. He could still remember the strange haze, the slow descent into confusion, the way his body had betrayed him before he could even recognize what was happening.

"The same drug was found on him," Barty continued, his tone laced with barely restrained anger. "And his fingerprints were on the glass."

James exhaled shakily, his mind struggling to process the sheer weight of what he was being told. "So... that’s it? He’s in prison, and that’s the end of it?"

Regulus’ lips pressed into a thin line. "Not quite."

James frowned. "What do you mean?"

Regulus hesitated, then sighed. "You’ll have to see him again."

The words sent a shiver down James’ spine. He felt his stomach twist, a sharp pang of nausea creeping in. "What?"

Evan’s jaw clenched, but his voice was calm when he spoke. "Not for a long time, Jamie. The trial won’t be for a while. You’ll have time to prepare."

James shook his head, his breathing quickening. "I—I don’t want to see him. I don’t—I can’t—"

"James." Barty's voice was gentle but firm. "You won’t be alone. We’ll be right there with you, every step of the way. You won’t have to face him by yourself."

Regulus nodded. "And you won’t have to say anything you’re not ready to. Your lawyer will handle most of it."

James closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. The idea of standing in a courtroom, of being in the same space as the man who had drugged him, made his skin crawl. But… he wouldn’t be alone. The Serpents would be there.

When he opened his eyes, they were all watching him, their expressions filled with something he could only describe as fierce protectiveness. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and forced himself to nod.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

Evan reached over, ruffling James’ hair in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Alright, Jamie, what do you want for dinner? You should eat something proper now. ”

But instead of soothing James, the casual question sent him into a full-body freeze. His heart plummeted, his breath catching in his throat as panic surged through him.

Dinner.

He hadn’t realized how late it was. He had slept most of the day, exhaustion swallowing him whole, but now that he was fully awake, dread pooled in his stomach. His family—Marlene, Dorcas, Remus—they were probably terrified.

His fingers fumbled for his phone, and the second he turned it on, the screen was flooded with notifications. His stomach twisted painfully as he stared at the barrage of missed calls and frantic texts.

Marlene (18 missed calls, 51 messags): JAMES WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!

Dorcas (12 missed calls, 27 messages): James, please answer. We’re freaking out.

Remus (10 missed calls, 34 messages): Mate, if you don’t text back in the next ten minutes, I’m calling the police.

James abruptly stood. “I—I have to go home.”

The Serpents instantly stiffened.

Barty’s expression darkened. “What?”

James shoved his phone into his pocket, already scanning the room for his shoes. “My family has no idea what happened to me. They’re worried sick—I need to go.”

Regulus frowned, his arms crossing over his chest. “James—”

“They don’t know where I am,” James cut in, running a hand through his hair. “I need to see them. I need to tell them I’m okay.”

The Serpents exchanged a silent conversation with their eyes, something unspoken passing between them. James wasn’t oblivious to the way their jaws tightened, their bodies going rigid as they considered his request.

Finally, Regulus let out a slow breath. “You’re obviously allowed to leave, James.” His voice was even, but there was an unmistakable weight behind his words. “But couldn’t you just text them? Ease their concerns without running out the door?”

James shook his head. “No. I need to see them.”

A muscle ticked in Barty’s jaw, and Evan let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Fine,” Evan relented. “We’ll drive you over.”

James exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

“But,” Evan added sharply, leveling James with a look, “you have to eat before we go.”

James opened his mouth to argue, but Barty shot him a pointed look. “Non-negotiable.”

James huffed, but he could see there was no point in fighting them on this. The Serpents weren’t just stubborn—they were immovable forces when it came to him.

“Fine,” he muttered, sitting back down.

The tension in the room eased ever so slightly as Regulus slid a plate toward him. James took a bite, his mind still racing with thoughts of home.

James fidgeted the entire car ride, his knee bouncing restlessly as he stared out the window. His phone was still buzzing in his pocket, but he didn’t check it. The only thing on his mind was getting home—getting to Marlene and Dorcas, making sure they knew he was okay.

Regulus sat beside him, one arm draped loosely around his shoulders, grounding him. The weight of it was steady, reassuring, but James barely noticed. His thoughts were racing too fast.

Evan, sitting across from them, tilted his head slightly. “You’re going to make a hole in the floor if you keep bouncing your leg like that.”

James exhaled sharply but didn’t stop. “I just need to get home.”

“We know,” Barty murmured. His voice lacked its usual sharpness.

James barely lasted another two minutes before he shifted, as if the position would somehow make the driver speed up. When they finally pulled up to Marlene and Dorcas’ house, he didn’t wait for the car to fully stop.

The second they were close enough, James wrenched open the door and shot out, sprinting up the steps.

“James—” Regulus started, but he was already gone.

He fumbled with his spare key, his hands shaking as he shoved it into the lock. The moment the door clicked open, he slipped inside, disappearing into the house.

The Serpents sat in the car in silence.

“He didn’t even say goodbye,” Evan noted after a beat, watching the closed door with an unreadable expression.

Regulus leaned back, sighing. “Not surprised.”

“Not upset either,” Barty added, stretching out his legs.

James had just been through hell. Politeness wasn’t exactly a priority right now.

They waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.

James didn’t come back.

Barty let out a long breath through his nose. “Yeah, he’s not coming back out.”

Regulus tapped his fingers against his knee, then nodded toward the driver. “Let’s go.”

The limo smoothly pulled away from the curb, taking them back toward the penthouse.

Evan pulled out his phone, tapping the screen. “We can DM him later. Just to check in.”

Barty nodded. “And maybe organize a meetup.”

Regulus hummed, staring out the window. “He’ll need space.”

Evan glanced at him. “And he’ll also need us.”

Silence settled over them. They all knew Evan was right.

James burst through the front door, his breath coming out in sharp, uneven pants. “Marlene? Dorcas?” His voice cracked from exhaustion and emotion. “Remus?”

For a split second, there was silence. Then—

“James?”

Footsteps thundered from the kitchen, and before James could brace himself, three bodies crashed into him. Marlene, Dorcas, and Remus wrapped him in a suffocating embrace, arms tightening as if afraid he’d vanish again if they let go.

Marlene let out a choked sob against his shoulder. “Oh my god—you idiot, you absolute idiot—”

James swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut as he melted into the embrace. “I know. I know. I’m so sorry.”

Dorcas clutched at the back of his shirt, her breath shaky. “We thought—we didn’t know if—” She cut herself off, taking a deep breath.

Remus was silent, but the way he held James said enough. They stayed like that for nearly seven minutes, tangled in each other, clinging to James as though touch alone could confirm he was real.

When they finally pulled back, James felt lightheaded. Maybe from the overwhelming emotions. Maybe from exhaustion. Maybe from the sheer relief of being home.

Remus, ever practical, quickly sprang into action. He gripped James’ shoulders, his touch firm but gentle. “Come on, sit down before you collapse.”

James let himself be guided into the living room, feeling like he was moving through molasses. The second he sat down, Dorcas pressed a glass of water into his hands.

“Drink,” she ordered, leaving no room for argument.

James didn’t have the energy to protest. He took a small sip, throat parched. Marlene wiped at her eyes before plopping down beside him, clutching his forearm. She held on so tightly that James was sure she was leaving marks. He didn’t mind.

For a moment, they sat in silence, only the sound of James’ quiet sips and shaky breaths filling the room.

Then Dorcas exhaled and met his eyes. “James, you don’t have to talk about what happened if you’re not ready.”

James shook his head before she even finished speaking. “No,” he said firmly, voice steadier than he felt. “I owe you an explanation.” He swallowed, looking at each of them in turn. “I disappeared for twenty hours. I’m not going to put you through any more torment.”

Marlene’s grip tightened, and Remus’ eyes softened. Dorcas only nodded, giving him the space to continue.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINETEEN

James exhaled shakily, glancing between the expectant faces of his family. His throat felt dry, and his hands wouldn’t stop trembling, but he forced himself to start speaking.

“I couldn’t find them,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “The Serpents. They disappeared at some point during the after-party, and I didn’t know where they went. Turns out, they had a VIP room—one with just their closest friends. I was allowed in, but…” He swallowed. “I didn’t know that.”

Remus frowned, brows furrowing. “So, you were just wandering around alone?”

James nodded. “Yeah. For about an hour.”

Marlene inhaled sharply through her nose, her jaw clenching.

“I didn’t drink anything alcoholic,” James assured them quickly. “I knew better than that. I just walked around, had some soda, and tried to enjoy myself.” His fingers tightened around the glass of water in his hands. “But then, just as I was about to leave, this man grabbed me.”

Dorcas stiffened.

James looked down at his lap. “He forced me into a barstool, kept insisting I have a drink with him. I told him no, but he wouldn’t back off. He just kept pushing.” His voice wavered slightly, and he took a steadying breath. “At first, it was just annoying. Uncomfortable. I figured if I just played along for a few minutes, he’d get bored and leave me alone.”

“But he didn’t,” Remus murmured, already knowing the answer.

James shook his head. “No. His flirting turned… predatory. Aggressive. And at some point, he—” James faltered for half a second before forcing himself to say it. “He spiked my drink.”

Dorcas inhaled sharply, as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Her hand flew over her mouth, eyes wide with horror. “No,” she whispered, as if saying it would make it true.

James rushed to reassure her. “I’m okay,” he said quickly, reaching out to take her trembling hands. “I wasn’t hurt. Nothing happened.”

But Dorcas wasn’t listening. Her eyes brimmed with tears, hands shaking violently.

“Dorcas,” James pleaded, squeezing her hands. “I swear, I’m okay.” He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Because of you.”

Dorcas’ red-rimmed eyes snapped to his.

James offered her the smallest, most fragile smile. “I made it out unharmed because of you.” He let out a humorless laugh. “The drug was designed to take its time, you know? It doesn’t knock the victim out immediately. It lingers, makes you feel dizzy, makes you question when it even happened. That way, when you do collapse, you don’t know who did it or when.” His grip tightened around Dorcas’ shaking hands. “But I knew. I recognized the signs, because you taught me.”

A tear slipped down Dorcas’ cheek.

“You saved me,” James whispered.

Once James was sure Dorcas had calmed down—her breathing no longer shallow, her hands no longer shaking in his—he continued.

“It didn’t take long for the drug to start working,” he admitted, running a hand through his curls. “I started feeling lightheaded first. A little off-balance, like the room was tilting. Then, exhaustion hit me out of nowhere. I knew I had to get away before it got worse.”

Marlene’s fingers dug into his arm where she was still holding onto him, but she didn’t say a word.

“So I did,” James continued. “I forced myself up, stumbled away from the guy as fast as I could.” His lips twitched slightly. “I knew I wasn’t going to make it far by myself. My legs felt like jelly, and I couldn’t think straight. So I found the closest woman I could and told her what happened.”

Remus straightened slightly. “Who?”

“Pandora,” James answered. “Pandora Rosier.”

Dorcas let out a small sound of surprise.

“I was barely making sense at that point,” James admitted. “Slurring my words, barely able to stay standing. But she figured it out. I remember her telling me she had me, that she was going to help.” His eyes softened. “And she did.”

Marlene exhaled, shoulders sagging with relief.

“She took me straight to the VIP room and told the Serpents what happened,” James said. “And after that… they took over.”

“They carried you out?” Remus guessed.

James nodded. “Practically. They asked for my consent first, though. I remember Regulus cupping my face, asking if they could take me home. I think I nodded—maybe I tried to say something, I don’t know. But they must’ve taken it as a yes because next thing I knew, I was being helped into the car.”

Dorcas’ grip on his hand tightened.

James hesitated, fidgeting slightly. “I don’t remember much after that. The drug must’ve fully hit me in the car because I was out before we got to the penthouse.” He gave them a sheepish look. “I woke up the next morning.”

“They took care of you?” Dorcas asked softly.

James nodded, something warm settling in his chest. “Yeah. They—” He huffed a small laugh. “They really did. They must’ve cleaned me up when I was sleeping. My makeup was gone, my jewelry was taken off, my shoes were put away. And they tucked me in.”

Marlene let out an unsteady breath.

“When I woke up, they fed me, let me shower, and then drove me straight here.” James swallowed, glancing between them. “They didn’t have to do all that, but they did.” He paused before adding, “They took care of me.”

For a long moment, no one said anything. Then, Remus leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on James’ shoulder.

"You need to see this," he said, voice laced with caution.

James took the phone hesitantly. The moment his eyes landed on the screen, his stomach twisted.

There were photos—hundreds, maybe thousands—circulating across social media. Each one captured the Serpents walking him out of the party, their expressions set in stone, fury burning in their eyes. Barty led the way, shoving people back. Evan kept a protective arm around James, while Regulus—his face thunderous—was nearly shielding James entirely from the cameras.

James’ breath caught. He didn’t remember the photographers being there. The drug had dazed him so much that the flashes, the shouting, the chaos—it was all a blur.

"How—" James shook his head, gripping the phone tighter. "How did I not notice this?"

"You were barely conscious, love," Dorcas murmured, voice thick with sympathy.

James scrolled down, and his heart dropped at the comments and speculations.

"James Potter leaves with the Serpents after a long night… wonder what happened there 😉"

"They’re definitely hooking up. There’s no other explanation."

"I knew James was in too deep. The Serpents probably drugged him themselves."

James inhaled sharply.

"They think—" He turned horrified eyes to Remus. "They think the Serpents did this to me?"

Remus nodded grimly. "Some people do, yeah."

"But that’s ridiculous!" Marlene snapped, peering over James’ shoulder at the screen. "Anyone with half a brain can see they were helping him!"

"It doesn’t matter," Remus sighed. "Their reputation’s already taking a hit."

James’ stomach churned as he scrolled further. The claims got worse—speculations about why he was with them, conspiracy theories about the Serpents' involvement, accusations that made his skin crawl.

His hands started shaking. "I need to fix this. I need to—"

Dorcas gently took the phone from him. "James, this isn’t your fault."

"But they’re being blamed!" James insisted, eyes wide and frantic. "I have to do something."

Marlene squeezed his arm. "We’ll figure something out. But right now, you need to rest."

James took a deep breath and nodded. "You're right. I need to go home."

His words were met with silence, the weight of them settling over the room like a thick fog. Marlene and Dorcas exchanged uneasy glances, their hands still gripping his, as if letting go would mean losing him all over again.

"Are you sure?" Dorcas asked quietly.

James gave a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. I just... I need some space to process everything."

The thought of him leaving clearly terrified them, but they respected his decision.

"If you need anything—" Marlene started.

"Call," Dorcas finished, squeezing his hand. "I mean it, James. Any time. No matter what."

"I know," James reassured them, his voice soft. "Thank you."

Before he could leave, they insisted on feeding him. James didn’t argue, knowing it would make them feel better. He sat at the table as Marlene piled food onto his plate, and he forced himself to eat despite the exhaustion weighing down his body.

When he finally stood to go, Dorcas and Marlene pulled him into a tight hug. James let himself sink into it, burying his face in Marlene’s shoulder as Dorcas’ arms wrapped around both of them.

"You better take care of yourself," Marlene muttered, her voice thick with emotion.

James let out a small chuckle. "I will. I promise. Give Nova a kiss for me, okay?"

“Of course.” Dorcas smiled.

Remus, who had been quiet through most of the exchange, finally spoke. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

The car ride was silent, and James was grateful for it. No questions, no pressure to talk—just the hum of the engine and the soft music playing from the radio. He leaned his head against the window, watching the city lights blur past.

Remus pulled up in front of James’ house and turned to him. "You sure you’re okay?"

James hesitated, then sighed. "Not really. But I will be."

Remus reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "If you need anything—"

"I know," James said, offering a tired smile. "I’ll call."

They sat there for a moment before Remus pulled him into a quick hug. James melted into it, drawing comfort from the solid warmth of his best friend.

"Get some sleep," Remus murmured as he pulled away.

James nodded and climbed out of the car. He could feel Remus' eyes on him as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Only when James was safely in did Remus drive off.

The moment James shut the door behind him, a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. Comfort settled into his bones as he took in the familiar scent of home, the quiet stillness of his space.

He didn’t even bother changing out of Evan’s clothes. With a heavy sigh, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed. His body sunk into the mattress, the weight of the last twenty-four hours finally catching up to him.

And James was peaceful.

But that peace was fleeting.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Serpents had messaged James early that morning, a simple check-in to see how he was holding up. They didn’t expect an immediate response—James had been through hell and back, and he deserved all the time he needed—but as the hours dragged on, their anxiety gnawed at them.

“Maybe he’s just sleeping,” Evan suggested, though he didn’t sound convinced. His foot tapped against the floor, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.

Regulus frowned, scrolling through his phone. “Maybe.” His tone was clipped, unreadable. “But I don’t like it.”

Barty, who had been staring at his own screen, suddenly stiffened. “Oh, fuck.”

Evan and Regulus’ heads snapped up. “What?” Evan asked, leaning forward.

Barty turned his phone toward them, jaw clenched. On the screen was a video—grainy but unmistakable. A flood of reporters forcing their way into a house. James’ house.

The internet was already exploding with it. The headlines were everywhere.

JOURNALISTS FORCE THEIR WAY INTO JAMES POTTER’S HOME.
UNPROTECTED REPORTER AMBUSHED BY AGGRESSIVE PRESS.
WHERE IS JAMES POTTER NOW?

Regulus barely processed the words before he clicked on a video. The footage was horrifying.

James had opened his front door, expecting—what? A package? A neighbor? It didn’t matter. The moment he did, thirty reporters shoved their way inside.

The flashing lights were relentless, cameras clicking in his face like an assault.

“James! Who were you with that night?”
“Are you dating the Serpents?”
“Did they drug you?”
“Is this a publicity stunt?”

James stumbled back, his hands instinctively raising to shield himself. “Get out—”

Regulus’ stomach turned.

“Stop it. Please, stop.” he pleaded, as if his words would fend off the crowd.

The reporters manhandled him. They yanked his hair and put hands on his neck, forcing his head toward the cameras. James gasped in pain, eyes squeezed shut. He struggled against them, shoving at bodies, his breathing sharp and panicked.

“Jesus Christ,” Evan muttered, his face pale.

James had no security. No bodyguards. No one to pull these vultures off of him. The press knew that. They knew he was just a reporter, not a celebrity with power or influence. That made him an easy target.

It took James nearly two minutes to fight them off, to force them back through the door and lock it. But even then, they didn’t leave. They pounded on the door, shouted his name, camped outside like wild animals.

James was trapped.

And then, suddenly, he wasn’t.

The final update of the day sent a shockwave across the internet.

James Potter had left.

His location was now completely unknown. No paparazzi. No fans. No journalists. Just silence.

Regulus let out a shaky breath, setting his phone down with slow deliberation. His fingers curled into a fist.

“We need to find him,” Barty said, his voice deadly calm.

Evan nodded, already pulling up contacts. “We will.”

Because if there was one thing they knew for sure, it was that James didn’t deserve this. And they weren’t going to let him face it alone.

Sirius sat in the plush leather seat of the Serpents' private jet, his fingers tapping against his knee as he dialed his brother’s number.

The phone barely rang once before Regulus picked up. “Did they find him?”

Sirius exhaled. “No.”

A sharp inhale. Then, “You’re on speaker. Evan and Barty are here.”

“Good,” Sirius muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Because you all need to hear this bullshit.”

There was a brief pause before Barty spoke, voice tense. “What did they say?”

“They called me all the way to Olympia just to tell me we need to stay silent.”

“What?” Evan’s voice was low, furious. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Oh, I wish I was joking.” Sirius leaned back in his seat, glaring at the ceiling. “They don’t know where James is, they don’t care that he was literally assaulted in his own home, and the only reason they dragged me out here was to make sure the Serpents don’t say a word about it.”

Regulus let out a quiet, seething breath. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“It is,” Sirius agreed. “Which is why I told them to go fuck themselves.”

A beat of silence. Then, Barty snorted. “God, I love you.”

Sirius smirked. “I know.”

Evan, still fuming, pressed, “So what now? We’re just supposed to sit on our hands and hope James shows up?”

“Hell no.” Sirius’ expression darkened. “I can’t have you all making any big statements, but you can post something neutral. Enough to let people know you care, but not enough to set off a media firestorm.”

Regulus was already nodding. “We can do that.”

“And,” Sirius added, “you can reach out to James privately. I can’t stop you from doing that.”

A quiet exhale of relief. “Thank you,” Barty murmured.

“Yeah,” Evan agreed. “Really, Sirius. Thank you.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You act like I’m not always on your side.”

Regulus huffed a soft laugh. “We know. We just appreciate you.”

“Well, don’t get sappy on me now,” Sirius said, amused. “Just find James.”

“We will,” Regulus promised.

They ended the call, and the Serpents immediately opened their group chat with James on Instagram.

The last message they had sent was still unread. 

SerpentsOfficial: Hey. We saw what’s going around. Can we talk?

Regulus swallowed, his fingers tightening around his phone. He typed quickly, sending a new message.

SerpentsOfficial: James, are you safe?

And then, all they could do was wait.

Two months passed.

James hadn’t been spotted in public. He hadn’t responded to their DMs, ignored his work email, and wasn’t taking any jobs. At first, the Serpents were concerned—terrified, even. But now, they were just bitter.

“He left us,” Barty muttered, sprawled on the hotel couch, arms crossed. “After everything, he just—he fucking ghosted us.”

Regulus didn’t look up from his phone, scrolling mindlessly. “We trusted him.” His voice was tight, controlled in a way that meant he wasn’t feeling controlled at all.

“We let him in,” Evan agreed, voice quieter. “We told him things we haven’t told anyone.”

And that was the real sting of it. They had been vulnerable with James. They had trusted him with their triggers, their fears, their pain. And in return, James had disappeared off the face of the earth.

At some point, the world had moved on. The paparazzi stopped hounding James’ old home. New scandals, new drama, new faces had taken over. The Serpents were expected to move on too.

Sirius had done what he could, giving them time to process, to heal. But there was only so long he could delay the inevitable.

Eventually, they had to let go.

The PR team had been patient for a while, but that was over now. The demands started pouring in, deadlines they could no longer push back. The Serpents had to return to the horrors of Hollywood.

Photoshoots. Award shows. Social media appearances.

But they drew the line at interviews.

“We’re not doing them,” Regulus told Sirius firmly, when the topic inevitably came up.

Sirius exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Reg—”

“No.” Evan’s voice was sharp. “It’s just—it’s too much. ”

Barty let out a harsh laugh. “Any reporter that isn’t James is just going to disappoint us.”

Sirius looked at them, expression softening. For once, he didn’t argue.

“…Fine,” he said. “No interviews.”

They should’ve felt relieved. But all they felt was empty.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Facing the horrors of Hollywood started with an award show.

The Serpents had no choice but to attend. Their single Catacombs had been nominated, and expectations were high. Sirius had done what he could—ensuring they wouldn’t be doing interviews, keeping their interactions minimal—but it didn’t matter. The event would still be burdensome.

They had spent years perfecting the art of hiding their pain, but tonight, it felt unbearable. Regulus had numbed himself to it, a cold mask of indifference smoothing over his features. Barty, as always, was brimming with unspoken fury, his tension evident in the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. Evan was the opposite—quiet, heavy-eyed, carrying an air of sadness he couldn’t shake.

Still, they played their parts well.

They posed for cameras, offered charming smiles, engaged in mindless small talk. They expertly avoided reporters, keeping their distance from prying questions.

Sirius hovered anxiously nearby, his sharp gaze scanning for anything that might go wrong. And then, disaster struck.

Severus Snape was here.

Regulus stiffened the moment he spotted him, Barty’s eyes narrowed with immediate disdain, and Evan let out a slow, measured exhale, as if bracing himself.

Snape, the homophobic, washed-up actor who had always loathed them, looked particularly eager for a fight tonight.

“I should’ve known he’d show up,” Barty muttered under his breath. “Desperate little rat.”

Regulus’ expression didn’t change. “Ignore him.”

“Easier said than done,” Evan murmured.

Snape wasn’t alone. He was here with his wife, Lily Evans.

The contrast between them was jarring. Lily Evans, the renowned country music star, stood tall beside her husband, looking as breathtaking as ever in a flowing gown. Her presence was captivating, but it was the way she stood—tense, composed, her jaw set—that caught their attention.

The rumors had been circulating for weeks.

The media suspected that Snape was abusing her. And unlike most fabricated gossip, this story had evidence to support it. Bruises, inconsistent statements, distant behavior—there was something dark lurking beneath the surface of their marriage, and everyone knew it.

Snape’s reputation had already begun to crumble. He had lost roles, endorsements, industry support. And tonight, he needed a win.

He was seething with barely contained rage, and he was looking for trouble.

And the Serpents knew exactly who he would take it out on.

Lily Evans had slipped away.

No one could blame her. She had an interview to attend, an excuse to put space between herself and her husband, and she took it. But with her gone, Severus Snape was left to roam unsupervised.

And naturally, he gravitated toward the Serpents.

Regulus saw him first. His jaw tightened, his spine straightened, and though he said nothing, the shift in his demeanor alerted Evan and Barty instantly. They followed his gaze and spotted the scowling figure making his way toward them.

“Of course,” Barty muttered under his breath. “Like a fucking parasite.”

They tried to walk away, but Snape was determined. He maneuvered through the crowd with purpose, slipping past security, ignoring the distant sound of Sirius calling after them. And then—he cornered them.

The Serpents were stuck on the red carpet, the blinding flashes of cameras capturing their every move. There was nowhere to go, no polite way to escape. And Snape knew it.

He stepped into place beside them, standing just close enough that no one would question his presence, just far enough that the cameras wouldn’t catch what he was really doing.

“Look at you,” Snape sneered under his breath. “Parading around like you belong here. Like a group of degenerates deserve to be celebrated.”

Regulus didn’t react. Evan exhaled slowly, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Barty clenched his fists so tightly his nails nearly pierced his skin.

Snape took their silence as an invitation to continue.

“You must be insufferable,” he mused. “I mean, it takes a lot to get James Potter to dislike you. Can’t say I’m surprised, though.”

Evan closed his eyes briefly, inhaling sharply.

Snape tilted his head, amused by their restraint. “Everyone will grow tired of you. And your pathetic songs about your abusive parents. No wonder you lot turned out the way you did.”

Barty twitched. His patience, already fraying, was nearly gone.

Snape smirked. “Nothing to say? No clever little retort?” He clicked his tongue. “I expected more from whores like you.”

Barty snapped.

Not fully —not the way he wanted to—but enough. He exhaled sharply and muttered, “At least we’re the abusers. Huh, Snape?”

Snape’s expression froze.

The red carpet continued flashing, reporters continued calling for their attention, the world continued spinning—

And then, in front of every single flashing camera, Snape swung.

His fist collided with Barty’s face, a sickening crack echoing through the air as his knuckles met Barty’s eye.

Everything happened so fast.

The sound of the impact cracked through the air. A brutal, unforgiving smack of fist against flesh.

Barty staggered, pain blooming across his face, Cameras flashed in a chaotic frenzy, reporters gasping, and somewhere in the mix of it all—Severus started screaming.

The world tilted. Barty hit the ground.

Evan reacted first. He moved instinctively, stepping between Barty and Severus. "Back off," Evan ordered, his usual soft-spoken demeanor replaced by something lethal.

Regulus dropped to his knees beside Barty without hesitation. He didn’t bother looking at Snape. He didn’t need to. Instead, he pressed his hands over Barty’s ears, blocking out the enraged shrieking.

Barty was already trembling. His breaths were shallow, rapid.

Too much noise. Too much yelling. Too much like—

"You are a disgrace to this family!"

Barty’s father.

Regulus pressed his hands firmer against Barty’s ears. Not this. Not now. Breathe, my darling. Breathe.

A split second later, a new sound tore through the chaos.

A thud. A strangled grunt. A body hitting the floor.

The screaming stopped.

Regulus and Evan’s heads snapped up.

Remus Lupin—Head of Security for the event—had tackled Severus to the ground.

“That’s enough,” Remus barked, voice sharp and unwavering.

Severus snarled, thrashing, but it was useless. Remus was stronger, faster, more controlled. He flipped Severus over with practiced ease, yanking his arms behind his back and snapping cuffs onto his wrists.

“Get the fuck off me!” Snape spat.

Remus wrenched him upright. “You’re done,” he said coldly. “Now walk.”

He hauled Severus out of the event in under fifteen seconds. The crowd parted for them, stunned into silence.

And then, just as quickly, Remus returned. Alone.

He exhaled once, gaze flickering over the Serpents, assessing. He didn’t waste time asking if they were okay—they weren’t. Instead, he said firmly, “Come with me.”

The Serpents moved automatically, still running on shock. They followed him off the red carpet, away from the flashing cameras, down a quiet hallway. A private lounge awaited them, quiet and dimly lit, the chaos of the event muffled behind thick walls.

The moment the door shut, the silence swallowed them whole.

Barty sat down on the couch, curled in on himself, hands twitching against his knees. Silent tears streaked his face. His entire body shook as he gasped for air.

Regulus and Evan flanked him instantly.

Regulus wrapped an arm around Barty’s shoulders, pulling him close, murmuring, “You’re safe, Bee.” His fingers carded through Barty’s hair, grounding.

Evan grabbed Barty’s hands, holding them tightly between his own. “Deep breaths,” he coaxed, voice soft. “In, out. We’ve got you.”

Barty’s state didn’t get any better, but he squeezed Evan’s hands back.

Remus stood by the door, arms crossed, watching carefully. He wasn’t just guarding the room. He was guarding them.

The Serpents sat there, wordless, clinging to each other.

The door flew open.

Sirius burst into the room, moving so fast that he didn’t see Remus standing right by the entrance. He collided with him, bouncing off like he’d just slammed into a brick wall.

Remus barely budged. He let out a soft grunt, unimpressed, but Sirius—dramatic as ever—gasped as though he’d been mortally wounded and promptly began to fall.

Before he could face-plant, Remus caught him effortlessly, hands gripping his waist to steady him.

Sirius blinked up at him, stunned.

Remus smirked. “You always this graceful?”

Sirius scowled, cheeks turning bright red. He straightened his jacket, brushing himself off as though that had been the problem. “You’re too sturdy,” he accused, jabbing a finger at Remus’ chest.

Remus chuckled, thoroughly amused. He patted Sirius’ shoulder, then nudged him toward the Serpents. “Go,” he said, teasing but gentle. “Try not to break anything on the way.”

Ignoring the smug look on Remus’ face, Sirius huffed and made his way toward the couch, where the Serpents were still curled together, Barty pressed between Regulus and Evan.

Sirius didn’t say anything—just pressed a cold water bottle into Barty’s shaking hands.

Barty clutched it instantly, twisting off the cap and drinking greedily, as if he hadn’t tasted water in days.

Evan squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. “Good,” he murmured. “You’re doing good, Barty.”

Sirius nodded, satisfied, then slung his bag off his shoulder and dug through it with purpose. A second later, he pulled out a familiar weighted blanket.

Regulus blinked. “You brought that?”

Sirius gave him a look before carefully draping it over Barty’s lap, making sure the weight was evenly distributed. Barty exhaled sharply at the familiar pressure, fingers curling into the fabric as he pulled it tighter around himself.

It worked almost immediately—his tremors steadied, and his frantic breathing started to slow.

Regulus stared at Sirius, still stunned. “You brought his weighted blanket to an award show ?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Of course, I did,” he said, like it was obvious. “I knew something would go wrong.”

Regulus’ throat tightened. He looked at his brother, at the way he hauled pounds of weight around the event just in case Barty needed it, and felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude.

He mouthed a silent, thank you.

Sirius just nodded, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was.

Barty shifted under the blanket, pulling it more snugly around his shoulders. His glassy, exhausted gaze landed on Sirius.

“...‘preciate it,” he mumbled, voice hoarse.

Sirius softened, reaching up to squeeze Barty’s knee. “Yeah, yeah,” he said lightly. “You can pay me back with Chipotle.”

Barty let out the weakest laugh, but it was something.

Evan and Regulus pressed in closer, grounding him, protecting him. And with Sirius kneeling in front of them, Remus standing guard by the door, the world felt a little less broken.

At least, for now.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Remus approached the group carefully, his steps measured and unhurried. He didn’t want to startle anyone, least of all Sirius, who was still kneeling in front of Barty, looking like he never wanted to move.

Gently, he tapped Sirius on the shoulder.

Sirius startled slightly, turning his head. The moment his eyes met Remus’, Remus gave a small tilt of his chin toward the door. It was clear—Regulus, Evan, and Barty needed space. And Sirius needed to be filled in on what had actually happened.

Sirius hesitated, glancing back at his brother, at his friends. Regulus was murmuring something low to Barty, while Evan rubbed slow, soothing circles into his back. They had him. They’d take care of him.

Sirius exhaled through his nose, nodded, and pushed himself to his feet.

He followed Remus out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

The second they were alone, Sirius moved.

He lunged forward, wrapping his arms tight around Remus’ neck.

Caught off guard, Remus staggered back a step before immediately adjusting, arms looping securely around Sirius’ waist.

Sirius buried his face in the crook of Remus’ neck, holding on like he was afraid to let go. His breath was warm against Remus’ skin, shaky, uneven.

"Thank you ," Sirius whispered.

Then again.

And again.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you— "

Remus didn’t say anything—just tightened his hold, grounding Sirius the same way he had grounded Barty earlier.

“It’s alright,” he murmured eventually, voice steady. “I’ve got you.”

Sirius squeezed him tighter, inhaling sharply before finally—reluctantly —pulling back.

The moment he stepped away, he ducked his head, face flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean to—”

Remus cut him off with an amused hum. “You didn’t mean to what?”

Sirius clenched his jaw. “Be… impulsive. ”

Remus huffed a quiet laugh, tipping Sirius’ chin up with two fingers so he’d look at him. “Sirius,” he said patiently, “you care.”

Sirius’ lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to protest.

Remus shook his head. “You care about Regulus. You care about Evan. You care about Barty.” He smiled a little. “And if you’re going to apologize for that, I’m going to have to start listing all the reasons why that’s absolutely ridiculous.”

Sirius’ face turned an even darker shade of red. He scowled. “Shut up. ”

Remus smirked. “No.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. Remus let him suffer for a few seconds before relenting, giving his waist a quick squeeze. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

Remus and Sirius settled into another breakout room, shutting the door behind them. The air was thick with unspoken tension, but neither of them felt the need to rehash what had already happened. Sirius had seen it all unfold—the way Snape had cornered the Serpents, the sneered insults, the moment Barty finally snapped, and then the punch. There was no need for a recap.

But what they did need to discuss was what the hell to do next.

Sirius leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, rubbing at his temples. “Well,” he muttered. “Snape’s career is dead.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah.” His tone was neutral, almost detached, but there was a flicker of something satisfied in his expression. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Even if the punch had happened in private, word would’ve gotten out. But this? On the red carpet? In front of every single camera ?” He let out a low whistle. “No one’s coming back from that.”

Sirius let out a dry laugh. “It’ll be everywhere by morning.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long for him to snap.”

Remus gave a small shrug. “There’ve been rumors about him for years.”

“Yeah, but people were willing to ignore them. Or excuse them. Or bury them.” Sirius frowned. “That’s not an option anymore.”

Remus drummed his fingers against the armrest. “And Lily? She’ll divorce him,” Remus stated. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“Not just divorce,” Sirius said darkly. “This is going to turn into a lawsuit.” He sat back, crossing his arms. 

Remus clenched his jaw but didn’t argue. He agreed. They both knew that Snape had been physically and domestically abusing Lily for years. 

Finally, Remus asked, “And Barty?”

Sirius exhaled through his nose. “I don’t think he should take legal action.”

Remus raised a brow. “No?”

“No,” Sirius said firmly. “Snape’s already done. His career’s in shambles, Lily’s going to end him, and public opinion will be a massacre. Justice will be served without us having to lift a damn finger.”

Remus considered that for a long moment. “That’s fair.”

“Besides,” Sirius added, “if Lily reaches out? If she wants us to testify or help in any way? We’ll support her.”

Remus nodded once, decisive. “Obviously.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Look," he started, "the Serpents don’t need any more publicity. Not right now."

Remus nodded, arms crossed as he listened.

"After everything that happened with James," Sirius continued, "their reputation still needs time to heal. The media twisted the entire situation.” 

Sirius made a sour face, “They said that the Serpents were dating James, that they spiked his drink, that they hooked up with him.” He scoffed, shaking his head. 

"None of that was true, obviously, and the official statement shut down the worst of it, but people love a scandal.” Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair, “They should lie low for a while. No more distractions. No more headlines."

Remus hummed in agreement. "And their PR team?"

"Forcing them to go to events," Sirius muttered bitterly. His jaw tightened." As if their mental health isn’t already in shambles. James ghosted them two months ago, and they’re still recovering from it.”

The bodyguard tensed, waiting for the inevitable. 

“And now, on top of that,” Sirius continued to ramble, “they’re supposed to juggle work and a goddamn lawsuit ? No. I won’t add more to their plate."

Remus sat silently, waiting for— 

Sirius froze, and Remus knew something had clicked.

James ghosted them. The Serpents were left devastated. No one knew where James had gone.

No one except his family.

Sirius turned his head slowly, the shift in his demeanor lethal.

"Where the hell is James?"

Remus’ was cautious, and didn’t answer right away.

Sirius looked him in the eye. " Remus. "

Silence.

Sirius’ voice dropped, low and dangerous. "You know where he is."

Remus didn’t deny it.

Sirius clenched his fists. “Where is he, Remus?”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sirius didn’t wait for an answer. He spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind him so hard that the walls shook.

Remus cringed. "Brilliant. "

But not even a second later, the door was wrenched open again. Sirius stuck his head in. "Stay."

He went to slam the door again, but Remus, already expecting it, caught it effortlessly before it could make impact. With a sigh, he pried Sirius’ hand away from the frame, his grip firm but careful.

"That hand would’ve been crushed, you idiot," Remus muttered.

Sirius scowled, yanking his hand back. "Would not."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Mhm. And while we’re on the subject of reckless behavior—" Before Sirius could pull away, Remus caught his chin between his fingers, tilting it up so their eyes met. Sirius froze. "Do not slam doors. Oi, look at me—" He gave Sirius’ chin a light shake. "Do not slam doors. "

Sirius’ swallowed, blushed, nodded frantically, and then bolted.

Remus barely had time to register what had just happened before Sirius was already gone, the door left wide open in his wake. Remus let out a laugh. "Unbelievable."

With a shake of his head, he left the room, retrieving Barty, Regulus, and Evan. Barty, while still clearly rattled from the earlier incident, looked significantly better—his breathing steady, his eyes clearer, his body relaxed.

The second they were all seated, Sirius planted himself in front of them, expression set in grim determination.

He took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and declared, "Remus knows where James is, and he’s going to tell us. "

Silence.

All eyes turned to Remus.

Remus sighed and leaned back against the wall. "Fuck," he muttered.

Remus watched as Sirius’ fists clenched at his sides, his whole body practically vibrating with barely contained frustration. With a sigh, he reached out and gently pried Sirius’ fingers open, smoothing his thumbs over the tense knuckles.

"I'll tell you everything," Remus said evenly. His voice was steady, reassuring, though the weight of the situation pressed against his spine like a vice. "And I’ll help you get him back."

The room was silent for a long beat. Then, Sirius exhaled sharply and nodded. "Start talking."

"James is in California," Remus continued. "He works for The Daily Prophet —a journalism company that handles interviews and articles. They’ve got thousands of reporters, all competing against each other because their performance determines how many interviews they get to conduct."

Evan’s brows furrowed. "What do you mean by ‘performance’?"

Remus exhaled. "The more engaging, impressive, and approachable they seem, the more interviews they book. There’s no stable salary. They get paid per interview, and if they start underperforming, The Daily Prophet just stops booking them altogether."

Sirius’ lips curled in disgust. "Capitalist bullshit. "

"Exactly," Remus muttered. "James was one of their best reporters, but now? They’re sidelining him. Not because he’s bad at his job, but because he’s too famous. "

Evan’s head snapped up. "That makes no fucking sense."

"It does," Remus countered. "The Daily Prophet realized that if they sent James to conduct interviews, he’d become the story. He’s a literal celebrity now. He’s got more media attention than the people he’s supposed to be interviewing.” 

Regulus was silent so far, which was terrifying, “So what are they doing?”

“They’re cutting him off—refusing to book him, refusing to let him work—but they won’t let him quit, either." Remus admitted.

Regulus narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Remus clenched his jaw. "Because they don’t want him working for their competition."

A tense silence filled the room.

"So what the fuck is he supposed to do?" Evan demanded. "If they won’t book him interviews, and they won’t let him quit—how is he supposed to make any money?"

Remus hesitated. "He’s not. "

Sirius’ breath hitched.

Remus continued, "He can't get a temporary nine-to-five. Paparazzi are still looking for him. He’s been burning through his savings just to survive in L.A. while also dealing with the trauma of being—" Remus cut himself off, his throat tightening.

Nobody spoke.

Evan clenched his fists again, jaw set. "Drugged. Say it."

Remus met his eyes. "While dealing with the trauma of being drugged."

The weight of the words settled over them like a suffocating fog.

"And the worst part? They blocked him from everything." 

"Blocked? " Regulus repeated, eyes narrowing.

"Social media, emails— everything. That’s why he never answered your messages. He never even saw them," Remus explained.

Barty shot up from his chair so fast that it scraped against the floor. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"He's struggling. Financially and mentally." Remus said after a moment, his voice quieter. "Dorcas, Marlene, and I are trying to help, but you know James. He hates being a burden."

Silence.

Regulus didn’t hesitate. The moment Remus finished speaking, he pulled out his phone and started typing with quick, deliberate movements. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw said everything.

Sirius barely spared him a glance. He turned to Remus, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his own phone. "Give me your number," he demanded.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Are we exchanging friendship bracelets next?"

"Just—" Sirius shot him a sharp look. "Please, Remus."

Remus smirked slightly but took Sirius’ phone, quickly punching in his number before handing it back. Sirius immediately sent him a message.

"There. Text me. And send me James' number."

"Understood," Remus said, his amusement fading. He pocketed his phone and then glanced at Regulus, who was still furiously typing. "What the hell are you doing?"

Barty answered before Regulus even had the chance to look up. He didn’t need to see the screen to know. “Writing James a check.”

Remus blinked. “…Excuse me?”

Regulus finally lifted his head, meeting Remus’ gaze with a look of pure determination. “James is struggling, yeah? Burning through his savings? Can’t get work? He doesn’t deserve that, so I’m fixing it.”

“You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can,” Regulus interrupted sharply. “And I will. ” 

Evan looked at the screen, and let out a low whistle. “Oh, you’re just spamming the zero button, aren’t you, Regulus?”

Sirius folded his arms. “Make sure it’s enough.”

Regulus scoffed. “Please. I don’t do bare minimum.”

Remus opened his mouth to argue, but the look in Regulus’ eyes told him it would be a waste of breath. Instead, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You realize James is going to hate this, right?”

Barty smirked. “Yeah, but what’s he gonna do? Send it back?”

Remus blinked. "You can't just throw money at the problem—"

Regulus finally looked up, his sharp gray eyes meeting Remus' with an icy finality. "Watch me."

Sirius smirked. “We get shit done, Remus. About time you realized that.”

With that settled, the Serpents straightened up, "Speaking of which, we have important work to do." Regulus announced, tucking his phone away. 

Barty cracked his knuckles. "Time to ruin some lives."

With that, the Serpents strode out of the lounge, their departure punctuated by the soft click of the door shutting behind them.

Now, it was just Sirius and Remus.

For the first time that evening, the tension seemed to settle—not disappear, but shift into something quieter, something less sharp.

"Let me take you out, huh?"

And the tension was back.

Sirius blinked, startled by the sudden shift. His brows drew together slightly. "What?"

Remus’ leaned in. "Let me take you out."

Sirius stared at him, momentarily thrown off by the offer. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again.

"You’re not really giving me a choice, are you?" Sirius muttered, almost shyly.

Remus grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Nope."

With a barely perceptible huff, Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Okay," he murmured. "Take me out."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sirius glanced at the building, then turned to Remus with a slightly raised brow. "Seriously?" he drawled, though he couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. 

"You’re taking me to Le vignoble d'Eden? Bit over-the-top for a thank-you dinner, don’t you think?"

Remus’ mouth curved into a lopsided smile. "Who said this was a thank-you dinner?" he asked smoothly.

Sirius blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His fingers, which had been fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, stilled.

"You—" he started, but Remus was already opening his door and stepping out.

For a brief second, Sirius sat there, staring at the empty driver's seat. When he finally climbed out, Remus was already waiting for him, leaning casually against the side of the car with his hands tucked into his pockets.

Before Sirius could open his mouth, Remus’ hand slid to the small of his back. He pressed there lightly, guiding Sirius toward the entrance.

He knew he should be annoyed by the unexpected touch—infuriated, even—but instead, his breath caught slightly in his throat.

Remus, apparently oblivious, leaned down slightly and murmured close to his ear, "Come on, Black."

Oh, fuck him.

He scowled slightly to mask the sudden flutter in his chest. "Don't use my last name like you know me," he muttered under his breath.

Remus’ lips twitched in amusement. He leaned down, his voice low and teasing near Sirius’ ear. "But I do know you," he murmured, his breath brushing Sirius’ skin. "I know you slam doors when you’re pissed. I know leather jacket is a staple of yours. And…” 

The next part he said casually, as if it was a completely normal thing to say. 

It wasn’t.

“I know you like it when I touch you."

Sirius’ steps faltered slightly, and he glared at Remus out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks warmed despite himself, and he briefly considered walking into oncoming traffic.

"You’re evil," Sirius muttered.

Remus merely smiled, far too smug, and held the restaurant door open for him. "After you."

Sirius narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, then walked inside. He made a point not to acknowledge the way his chest tightened when Remus’ hand brushed against his lower back again, lightly guiding him toward the reception desk.

The hostess barely glanced at them before offering Remus a polite, professional smile. "Bonsoir, monsieur. Do you have a reservation?"

"Under Lupin," Remus replied smoothly, his voice charming but effortlessly casual, like he came here every week.

"Of course." The hostess checked her ledger and nodded. "Right this way."

Sirius trailed behind as they were led through the restaurant, his gaze darting around the grand interior. The place was pristine—dimly lit chandeliers, white linen tablecloths, and gleaming crystal glasses. The entire room smelled faintly of herbs, wine, and something rich and buttery.

When they reached their table, Sirius barely had time to register it before Remus, the absolute bastard, pulled out his chair for him.

For a second, Sirius simply stared at the chair, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth slightly, then snapped it shut again.

"Are you kidding me?" Sirius gestured vaguely at the chair. 

Remus’ face remained perfectly composed, the picture of gentlemanly decorum. "Just being polite." His voice was innocent, but his eyes glimmered with amusement.

Before Sirius could say anything, Remus walked behind Sirius, lightly took his shoulders, and guided him into the chair. “Can’t do anything yourself, can you?” Remus squeezed his shoulders before letting go. 

Oh, you’re enjoying this, Sirius thought bitterly, his face heating.

Remus took his own seat across from him, moving with that same easy grace. His eyes gleamed with infuriating satisfaction, clearly aware of the effect he was having. 

"Stop that," Sirius muttered before he could stop himself.

Remus tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Stop what?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "You know what."

Remus’ lips curved slowly. "I really don’t."

Remus was being obnoxiously polite . And yet, the bastard still had the audacity to look sinfully good while doing it. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show a sliver of collarbone, and the rolled-up sleeves revealed his forearms.

“Want me to find you a door to slam?”

This absolute bastard.

The waiter arrived before Sirius could respond, offering them both a warm, practiced smile as he handed them menus. "Would you care to start with wine?"

Remus didn’t even look at the menu. "We’ll have a bottle of the Château Margaux."

Sirius blinked, briefly startled by the casual confidence with which Remus ordered a vintage that probably cost more than what was comprehendible.

Once the waiter left, Sirius slowly lowered his menu and eyed Remus. "You are enjoying this way too much."

Remus smiled faintly, folding his hands together and resting his chin on them. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Bullshit," Sirius shot back, barely resisting the urge to point accusingly at him. "You’re being…" He gestured vaguely, struggling to find the right words. "…nice."

Remus’ eyes gleamed with faux innocence. "I’m always nice."

"Not like this, you’re not."

Remus’ lips twitched. "What? " he asked, feigning innocence. "You don’t like it when someone treats you properly?"

Sirius leaned forward slightly, glaring at him suspiciously. "Why are you being so nice?"

Remus’ smile widened, and he tilted his head slightly, regarding Sirius with an expression that made his stomach flip. His voice was low and deliberate.

"Because it’s a date, Sirius."

Sirius’ breath caught slightly. His fingers twitched around the stem of his water glass.

He stared at Remus, momentarily thrown off balance. "What?"

Remus’ lips twitched. "You think I brought you here just to thank you?" He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and steady. "While I am grateful that you’re helping James, I’m not that charming."

Sirius scowled slightly, suddenly very aware of the way his heart was beating too quickly. "You’re a bastard."

Remus grinned, absolutely unrepentant. "And you’re blushing."

Sirius promptly picked up his water glass and took a long, deliberate sip, just to avoid having to look at Remus for a moment. He scowled into the glass, hoping it hid the warmth spreading across his face.

In his defense, Remus was very pretty.

And things were moving quickly. Very quickly.

Thank god for that.

Sirius had never been known for his patience.

The leather-bound menu in Sirius’ hands was undoubtedly full of exquisite dishes, but his focus kept drifting. He hadn’t even made it halfway through the options when he felt Remus’ eyes on him. Slowly, he glanced up, only to catch the faint glimmer of amusement in Remus’ expression.

"You’ve been staring at the same page for five minutes," Remus noted, a teasing lilt in his voice. He reached for his wineglass, swirling the deep red liquid slowly before taking a measured sip. 

"I’m just being thorough,"Sirius muttered, scanning the list with a stubborn frown.

Remus chuckled softly. "Thorough, huh?" He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands loosely together. His amber eyes flicked over Sirius’ face. "So thorough that you’ve looked at the duck confit three times now?"

Sirius scowled slightly, though he could feel his lips twitch. "It looks good," he grumbled, flicking his eyes back down to the menu. "So do the scallops. And the filet. And—"

Remus’ smile widened faintly. "Which one are you leaning toward?" he asked casually, watching the way Sirius’ eyes flitted indecisively over the page.

For once, Sirius didn’t have a decisive opinion. Everything sounded fantastic. Le vignoble d'Eden was an authentic French restaurant. How was Sirius, a Frenchman through and through, supposed to choose one? 

His eyes lingered over the list, and without entirely realizing it, he started listing off the dishes that stood out.

"Mm. The coq au vin, for sure," he murmured, more to himself than anything. "And the scallops sound brilliant. Oh, and the duck confit. That’s a must." His eyes flicked to the side panel. "Maybe the pommes dauphinoise, and—fuck, do you see the truffle risotto?"

Remus watched him fondly, the corners of his mouth twitching. Sirius finally paused, half-scowling at the indecisive mess he’d made of the menu. Remus rested his chin against his hand and asked, far too easily, "Why don’t we just order all of that?"

Sirius’ head snapped up slightly, eyes narrowing faintly. "What?"

Remus shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "We can split everything," he added with a casual gesture. "Try more dishes that way."

For a moment, Sirius stared at him, not quite trusting that he was serious. Then the idea fully clicked, and he blinked. His lips parted slightly.

"That…" He sat up straighter. "That is a fantastic idea."

Remus’ smile widened slightly. “I do have them, sometimes.”

“And since we’re splitting the meal,” Sirius started, “splitting the bill will be easy.”

"I beg your pardon?" Remus' eyes narrowed. "You won’t be paying for any of it."

Sirius’ brow furrowed instantly. "What?"

Remus barely stifled a laugh at the shocked look on his face. He was already reaching for the bottle of Château Margaux, pouring more wine into Sirius’ half-full glass.

"Remus," Sirius warned, shooting him a sharp look.

But Remus just shook his head slowly. "Mm-mm," he murmured, completely unfazed. "Shut up and drink."

And with that, he slid the glass toward Sirius with a charming smile.

Sirius narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He curled his fingers around the stem of the glass, but didn’t drink just yet.

"Remus," he began, lowering his voice slightly, "you are not paying for all of this."

Remus merely arched a brow and gave him a slow, pointed once-over, as if considering whether or not he would even dignify that with a response. Finally, he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table and tilting his head with mock-seriousness.

"Are you under the impression," he asked slowly, "that you’re getting so much as a glimpse of that bill?"

Sirius’ lips parted slightly, and his eyes narrowed further. "I mean it," he muttered, trying for sternness, though he could feel the warmth of the wine seeping into his veins. "We’re splitting."

Remus’ mouth curved into a slow, wicked grin. He reached for his own glass, tilting it slightly toward Sirius’ in a casual, almost playful gesture.

"Hell will freeze over before I let you pay for even half the bill, love."

His voice was low—warm—the final word slipping out so smoothly that Sirius nearly missed it.

Nearly.

Remus called him love.

Oh, Sirius liked that.

Still, he tried once more, if only for the sake of his pride. "Remus—"

Remus reached for the bottle again, topping off Sirius’ glass with a faint smirk before he could finish the sentence.

"I said," he interrupted, his voice low and unreasonably smooth, "hush and drink."

His fingers tightened slightly around the glass, and after a brief moment of petulant hesitation, he finally lifted it to his lips.

Remus’ eyes glimmered with something far too smug.

When the waiter returned, Sirius sat back slightly in his chair, still watching Remus with narrowed eyes. But he didn’t say a word as Remus ordered for the both of them with infuriating ease.

"We’ll have the coq au vin, the scallops, and the duck confit," Remus listed smoothly, his voice measured and charming. "The pommes dauphinoise and truffle risotto as sides." He handed the waiter the menu with a polite, easy smile.

And then, as if completely unbothered by the fact that he was already spending an obscene amount of money, he added, "And could we get a bottle of the 2010 Château Latour to follow the Château Margaux?"

Sirius’ eyes widened slightly. 

Of course he ordered a second bottle of expensive wine. 

When the waiter nodded and left, Sirius turned slowly back to Remus, eyeing him with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Subtle," he drawled.

Remus arched a brow, completely unrepentant. He swirled his wineglass with a faint smirk."I don’t do subtle," he murmured, eyes glinting faintly as they met Sirius’.

And Sirius—fucking hell—felt his breath hitch slightly.

God, he was in trouble.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Every dish was remarkable. Rich, decadent flavors that melted on their tongues, delicate sauces that made their eyes flutter shut in appreciation, and perfectly cooked meats that practically fell apart at the touch of their forks. It was surprising they managed to talk as much as they did, considering how much food they were shoving in their faces.

When they’d first given the waiter their order, the man had blinked at them in disbelief, glancing between the two of them as if assuming they were joking. He’d even tried to talk them into cutting the order down, politely insisting, “You’ll never finish all of that, gentlemen. It’s far too much for two people.”

Remus had simply arched an unimpressed brow and replied flatly, “We’ll be the judge of that.” Then, without sparing the man another glance, he turned back to Sirius, smirking at the delighted glint in his eye.

And they had been the judge of that, because the waiter was wrong. So very wrong. Sirius and Remus didn’t leave a crumb uneaten.

Throughout the meal, their conversation was fluid, uninterrupted by the ridiculous amount of food they were consuming. It was easy—too easy—to fall into a comfortable rhythm, despite only having known each other for a short time. The more wine they drank and the more food they devoured, the more natural the conversation became.

“So, did you always want to be a bodyguard?” Sirius asked, reaching over to stab his fork into the last of the truffle risotto on Remus’ plate before the man could stop him.

Remus smirked but let him steal the bite. He took a sip of wine, tilting his head slightly. “Not exactly,” he admitted, swirling the liquid in his glass. “I knew I wanted to protect people. That much was always clear. Growing up in foster care sort of…shapes you that way. You either turn into someone who wants to shield others from the shit you went through, or you become part of the problem.”

Sirius slowed his chewing slightly, catching the subtle shift in Remus’ voice—the way it dropped just an inch lower, less guarded but still keeping a layer of distance. It wasn’t overly emotional, just factual. Like he was accustomed to talking about it without feeling much of it anymore. Still, Sirius knew better than to push.

“You grew up in foster care?” he asked gently, setting his fork down.

Remus nodded, offering a small, tight-lipped smile. “Yeah. Bounced around a lot as a kid.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was just another fact about himself. “But it wasn’t all bad. I had some decent placements. And it taught me a lot about people—how to read them. It’s part of why I’m good at my job now.”

There was no bitterness in his voice, only matter-of-factness. Sirius could tell he was holding a lot back, but he didn’t pry.

“Explains why you’re so annoyingly perceptive,” Sirius teased lightly, his eyes warm with understanding. He popped the stolen risotto into his mouth with a smug grin, successfully making Remus chuckle.

“Annoyingly?” Remus drawled, feigning offense. “I saved your ass in that parking garage. You’d be in a body bag if I wasn’t annoyingly perceptive.”

Sirius laughed, shaking his head, and topped off both their glasses. “Fair point.” He tipped his glass toward Remus with a playful glint in his eyes. “To your annoyingly perceptive ass, then.”

Remus smirked and clinked his glass against Sirius’. “I’ll drink to that.”

Their laughter was easy and genuine, a quiet hum that blended with the low murmur of the restaurant. The wine only made the atmosphere feel warmer, loosening their tongues enough to drift into more personal territories—though neither was willing to pull back the curtains too far.

Sirius wasn’t comfortable talking about his childhood. He kept that part of himself tightly locked away, like a rusty box with no key. Instead, he leaned into his years in France. It was easier—safer—to talk about. He spoke animatedly about the vineyards he worked on in Bordeaux, the festivals in Lyon, and the lazy summers spent on the rocky beaches of Nice.

“You’re practically a walking travel brochure,” Remus teased, though his eyes were soft as he listened to Sirius talk. There was something about the way Sirius lit up when he spoke of France, the slight shift in his accent, the way his words grew more melodic and his hands more expressive.

Sirius grinned, unfazed by the jab. “I’ll take you one day,” he said, and it slipped out so casually that it startled them both. He wasn’t sure why he said it. The words had just fallen out before he could catch them.

Remus stilled for only a second, but then he smiled—a real smile. “I’d like that,” he murmured, and something in Sirius’ chest gave a dangerous tug.

To lighten the mood, Sirius steered the conversation toward their jobs. Remus described the satisfaction of protecting his clients—the sense of purpose he felt in keeping them safe. Sirius, in turn, spoke of his accidental career.

“I didn’t exactly choose my profession either,” he admitted with a wry smile, slicing into the perfectly seared duck breast. “When the Serpents were starting up, Reg asked me to help manage things. Just until they could find someone permanent.”

“And then you stayed?” Remus asked, quirking a brow.

Sirius chuckled, almost sheepishly. “Yeah, I stayed. We gained popularity so quickly, there wasn’t time to find someone else. It just…became my job.” He shrugged, pausing for a sip of wine. “But I wouldn’t trade it. I love it. The energy, the music, the people. Watching the crowd from the upper level while the lights move over them? It’s almost hypnotic. Makes you feel like you own the whole room.”

Remus watched him closely, resting his chin on his hand. His lips curled into a subtle smile. “You light up when you talk about it,” he noted softly, making Sirius glance at him with mild surprise. “You’re passionate about it, even if it wasn’t the original plan.”

The observation caught Sirius slightly off guard, but he didn’t deflect. He merely smiled, genuine and slightly vulnerable.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes flickering over Remus’ face. “I guess I am.”

As they dug into their meals, the conversation shifted to relationships. It started lightly enough—Remus spoke about his makeshift family, which consisted of James, Marlene, and Dorcas. The way he talked about them was so affectionate that Sirius could practically feel the warmth in his voice. It was clear that Remus was fiercely protective of the people he loved.

“James is my brother in every way that matters,” Remus said, swirling the last of his wine in the glass. “We’ve been through a lot together. I don’t know who I’d be without him.”

Sirius smiled, already fond of James through the stories Remus had shared throughout the night. “He sounds like a pain in the ass,” he teased lightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You two must drive each other mad.”

“Oh, we do,” Remus chuckled. “But it’s more me keeping him out of trouble than the other way around. He’s the reckless one. Though, I think Marlene gives him a run for his money.”

Sirius raised a curious brow. “I haven’t met Marlene or Dorcas yet. What are they like?”

“Intimidating,” Remus replied with a smirk. “But in a good way. Marlene’s sharp as hell, and Dorcas is the one who keeps her grounded. They’ve been married for a while. Total power couple, but they’re also a riot.”

Sirius snorted. “I think I’d get along with her.”

“Oh, you would,” Remus confirmed, grinning. “She’d adore you. Though, Dorcas would probably interrogate you first. She’s a little more reserved—keeps an eye on everyone.”

Sirius liked the sound of them already. It was strange, feeling so drawn into Remus’ life after only one night. He was starting to understand why James was so fond of him. It was easy to want to hold on to someone like Remus.

As the conversation turned, Sirius realized they had more in common than he expected. He had his own makeshift family, though he hadn’t really thought of it that way before. Of course, there was his brother, Regulus. That bond had always been constant, even during the darkest times. But over the years, Regulus’ boyfriends—Evan and Barty—had gradually become part of Sirius’ life too.

“They sort of came as a package deal with my brother,” Sirius explained, leaning back slightly in his chair, his lips quirking into a fond smile. “At first, I didn’t trust them. I mean, Regulus had never dated anyone before. And suddenly, he brings home not one but two boyfriends.”

Remus arched a brow, amused. “Protective older brother mode?”

“Obviously,” Sirius said with mock severity. “I spent months glaring at them and making thinly veiled threats.”

“And now?” Remus prompted, swirling the last sip of wine in his glass.

Sirius’ smile softened. “Now I consider them family. It didn’t take long, really. Evan’s charming—irritatingly so. And Barty… well, he’s a lunatic, but he’d die for my brother without thinking twice. They’re good for Reg. And for me, too.”

There was a gentleness in the way Sirius spoke about them that caught Remus’ attention. It was clear he cared deeply for his strange, mismatched family. It was also clear he didn’t speak about them to many people.

“Sounds like you’re lucky to have them,” Remus murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.

Sirius’ eyes flickered up to meet his, something unspoken passing between them.

“I am,” he agreed softly.

For the next few minutes, they sat in comfortable silence, finishing the last bites of their meal. Their plates were practically spotless, neither having left even a crumb behind. 

The waiter returned with the bill way too soon. Sirius wasn’t ready for the night to end yet. His fingers automatically moved toward his wallet, but before he could even reach for it, the waiter was already setting the check down in front of Remus.

Sirius blinked. “Hey—wait, what the hell?”

Remus smirked. “What?” he asked innocently, retrieving the bill without hesitation.

“You’re not paying for this entire meal,” Sirius protested, already reaching for his wallet. “Split it with me.”

“Too late,” Remus said smugly, casually slipping his card into the holder and handing it back to the waiter before Sirius could blink.

Sirius scowled. “You sneaky bastard.”

The grin Remus gave him was downright sinful. “I told him to put it all on one bill before you could argue. You’re too slow, Black.”

“Unbelievable,” Sirius muttered, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “You think you’re clever, huh?”

“Mm, I know I am.”

The playful banter didn’t stop Sirius from making one last attempt. When the waiter returned with the receipt, Sirius tried to at least cover the tip. His fingers were already digging into his pocket. But before he could pull out his wallet, Remus nonchalantly slapped a thick stack of bills onto the table.

“Don’t even think about it,” Remus warned lightly, smirking as he leaned back in his chair.

Sirius stared at the stack, then back at Remus, stunned. “Remus—”

“I like spoiling you,” Remus admitted, shooting him a roguish grin. 

Sirius shook his head in mock defeat, but he was grinning. “I’m not going out with you again if you keep pulling shit like this.”

“Oh, you absolutely are,” Remus countered smoothly, leaning in slightly, his eyes dark with amusement. “You can’t resist me.”

And just like that, Sirius was left momentarily speechless. Remus was right, of course. The night was over far too soon, but there was no denying it—tonight wouldn’t be their last.

Remus guided Sirius out of the restaurant with a hand pressed gently against the small of his back. The night air was cooler than when they had arrived, carrying a soft breeze that tousled Sirius’ hair and made him shiver faintly. Whether from the cold or the hand on his back, he wasn’t sure.

When they reached the car, Remus moved ahead, opening the passenger door with a small, charming smile. “After you,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth.

Sirius’ lips twitched into a crooked grin. “Chivalry, huh?”

Remus shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, though there was unmistakable warmth in his eyes. “You deserve the royal treatment.”

Rolling his eyes, Sirius slid into the seat. A moment later, Remus was in the driver’s seat, the door closing with a soft click. But instead of starting the car, he remained still, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel for only a second before one drifted down to Sirius’ thigh.

Sirius’ breath caught in his throat. His entire body stilled. His eyes locked on to the lamppost outside. He was simply unable to process anything beyond the firm, steady weight of Remus’ hand on him. 

“Sirius,” Remus’ voice was low. The way he said his name made Sirius’ mind go blank. “I’d like to take you home with me,” Remus continued, his thumb slowly stroking small circles against Sirius’ thigh, “if that’s alright.”

Sirius’ fingers twitched slightly against his knees, but he didn’t respond. He was too still, his breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

Remus didn’t push. His voice remained soft, as though he were coaxing Sirius back to himself. “You can say no,” he added, giving him time, making sure Sirius understood. “You always can with me.”

Still, Sirius didn’t speak.

Remus’ hand tightened slightly on his thigh—not possessively, but reassuringly. He squeezed once. “Breathe, darling,” he murmured, his voice a gentle.

Sirius obeyed without thinking. His lungs expanded, dragging in a slow, shaky breath. Finally, he turned his head toward Remus, his eyes wide with confusion, a little dazed.

The corner of Remus’ mouth quirked upward, his expression soft and fond. “There’s no way you didn’t see this coming,” he teased lightly, a raspy chuckle escaping his throat.

Sirius’ lips parted as though he were going to say something, but no words came. He couldn’t think, couldn’t form coherent thoughts, couldn’t do anything but feel the warmth of Remus’ touch. 

Remus waited a moment longer, searching Sirius’ face. And when Sirius remained silent, Remus smiled softly and pulled back. With a final, lingering squeeze to Sirius’ thigh, he withdrew his hand and started the car.

The low rumble of the engine filled the silence, but Sirius barely heard it. His pulse was still thundering in his ears.

“Where do you live?” Remus asked casually, his eyes flicking toward Sirius, giving him a way out.

But Sirius’ head shook frantically, almost violently, before Remus had even finished the sentence. “No,” he blurted out, a little breathless. His voice was firm, almost pleading. “I—I want to go home with you.”

Remus’ hands stilled momentarily on the wheel, his eyes cutting sideways to meet Sirius’. His brows lifted slightly, as though surprised by the sudden, unyielding certainty in Sirius’ voice.

“Are you sure?” Remus asked softly, his voice low and serious. He wasn’t teasing anymore. His eyes searched Sirius’ face carefully, looking for any hesitation, any trace of doubt.

But Sirius met his gaze head-on. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, and his breathing was still uneven—but there was no hesitation. “Yes,” he said, his voice quiet but unwavering. “I’m sure.”

Then, with a small, barely-there smile, Remus nodded once.

“Alright,” he murmured, and without another word, he pulled away from the curb, driving them toward his house.

The ride was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Neither of them spoke, but the silence wasn’t tense—it was thick with unspoken anticipation. Sirius sat still, his hands resting on his lap, unable to keep entirely still.

Remus’ hand drifted from the wheel once, briefly finding its place on Sirius’ knee, a small touch that sent a jolt of heat through Sirius’ chest. His throat bobbed with a swallow, but he didn’t move away. If anything, he shifted slightly toward Remus.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Remus cut the engine but didn’t move to get out right away. Instead, he glanced over at Sirius, his eyes warm and steady, as if giving him one last chance to change his mind.

But Sirius didn’t.

He reached over, his fingers brushing over Remus’ wrist, wordless but certain. And just like that, Remus gave him the most reassuring smile. He moved his hand from Sirius’ to unbuckle his seatbelt, leaving it hovering in place.

“C’mon, love,” he murmured, his voice low and gravell. He took Sirius’ hovering hand and brushed his lips fleetingly against the knuckles before opening the door.

Sirius’ followed without hesitation, stepping out of the car and letting Remus lead him inside.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sirius woke up feeling wrecked. His limbs were heavy with exhaustion, and every muscle in his body ached in the best way. The dull, lingering soreness served as a physical reminder of the night before.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the soft morning light filtering through the window. It took him a moment to register where he was. The unfamiliar sheets and the large, rumpled duvet weren’t his. The scent clinging to the fabric—rich, warm, and distinctly Remus—was the only reminder he needed.

Remus’ arm was draped heavily over his waist, holding him close with a possessiveness that made Sirius’ stomach flip. His large hand, rough and calloused, was sprawled across Sirius’ bare hip, as if even in sleep, he refused to let him go.

Sirius shifted slightly, and immediately winced. His thighs were trembling with soreness, and there was a deep ache in his core. The bruises on his waist, the perfect outline of Remus’ hands, throbbed faintly. His collarbone, neck, and jawline were littered with hickeys—deep, angry blossoms. Sirius knew he was utterly destroyed. He liked it.

“Morning, darling,” Remus murmured, his voice low and raspy with sleep, sending a shiver down Sirius’ spine. He could go for round two, right?

Sirius let out a breathy hum, barely managing anything close to a response. His throat was raw from the night before, and his body still felt too heavy to function. He turned his face slightly, just enough to nuzzle into the curve of Remus’ neck.

“Mmm, is that all I get?” Remus teased lightly, brushing a kiss against Sirius’ temple. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Sirius properly. His golden-brown eyes scanned him slowly, and then he stilled, his playful expression shifting into something serious.

Remus’ gaze swept over the bruises blooming along Sirius’ throat. His brows drew together slightly, and he reached out, brushing his fingers over the mark on Sirius’ neck.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, wincing slightly. His fingers barely ghosted over the spot, guilt flickering across his features. “Christ, I—did I even take care of you last night?”

Sirius cracked his eyes open, blinking slowly. He shook his head with a sleepy, satisfied smirk, his voice still hoarse. “Oh, you did.”

Remus’ lips tugged upward in a soft smile, but there was still a glimmer of concern in his eyes. “No, I mean properly,” he murmured, his voice a little softer now. “After.” He glanced down at Sirius’ bruised hips and the faint marks on his wrists from where he’d pinned him. He exhaled sharply, clearly annoyed with himself. “I should’ve made sure you were alright. Gotten you water. Helped you clean up. Fuck.”

Before Sirius could stop him, Remus was already moving. He slipped out of bed, the mattress dipping slightly as he stood. Sirius could hear the sound of a cabinet opening and closing, followed by the faint rattle of pills.

When Remus returned, he sat down on the edge of the bed and held out two painkillers and a glass of water. His gaze was tender but firm, leaving no room for argument. “Take these,” he instructed gently, pushing a strand of hair out of Sirius’ face. “Let me clean you up properly.”

Sirius blinked blearily at the offering, then slowly sat up, wincing slightly at the ache in his lower back. 

He took the pills without complaint, swallowing them down with the water. Remus handed him a tube of bruise cream next, his voice low and soothing. “For the marks,” he explained quietly, his thumb brushing over one particularly dark spot on Sirius’ hip.

Sirius’ lips twitched slightly, and he tilted his head up with a lazy grin. “You’re cute when you’re all guilty,” he teased, his voice still raspy.

Remus narrowed his eyes playfully. “Watch it.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss against Sirius’ lips—slow, lazy, and far too tender for how wrecked Sirius felt. When he pulled back, he stood and stretched. “I’m running you a bath,” he announced, already walking back toward the bathroom.

Sirius let himself flop back onto the pillows, too content to argue. He listened to the sound of the faucet running, the water filling the tub. 

A few minutes later, Remus returned. His hair was a little messier now, and he was rolling his shoulders, clearly still a little sore himself. He came to Sirius’ side, tugging the blanket down gently. That action revealed more of the bruises littering his torso. Something deeply pleased replced the guilt in Remus’ eyes.

“Come on, gorgeous,” Remus murmured softly, his lips twitching into a lopsided smirk. “Time to get cleaned up.”

Sirius let out a contented sigh tried to sit up—and immediately regretted it. His legs trembled weakly, and the dull ache in his core intensified into a sharp throb. He sucked in a sharp breath and clutched at the sheets, his face heating in embarrassment.

Remus turned back, clearly noticing the sudden stillness. His brow furrowed slightly, and he arched a curious brow. “What’s wrong?”

Sirius clenched his jaw, feeling thoroughly humiliated, and a flush of pink crept up his cheeks. “I can’t—” he grumbled softly, avoiding Remus’ eyes. “I can’t walk.”

For a moment, there was a beat of silence. And then—fuck. A slow, wicked grin curved at the edges of Remus’ mouth. He laughed with barely contained satisfaction, and his eyes gleamed with that same smugness that had driven Sirius insane the previous night.

“Oh?” Remus drawled slowly, stepping closer. He tilted his head, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Can’t walk, huh?”

Sirius glared at him weakly, but he didn’t protest when Remus slipped an arm beneath his legs and another around his back, lifting him effortlessly. Sirius let out a surprised breath, his arms automatically looping around Remus’ neck.

Remus’ breath was warm against his ear as he murmured, “My poor baby. All sore and shaky, huh?”

“Shut up,” Sirius muttered into his shoulder, his voice muffled.

Remus chuckled lowly, carrying him into the bathroom. The steam from the bath was already curling around the room. With a gentleness that made Sirius’ chest tighten, Remus lowered him carefully into the warm water.

He knelt beside the tub, pulling over the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, along with a loofah and a towel. His fingers brushed over Sirius’ cheek softly. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he murmured, his voice low and affectionate. “I’m gonna make breakfast. You relax, yeah?”

Sirius stared up at him, still breathless and thoroughly ruined, but he managed a lazy, content smile. “You’re so fucking sweet,” he rasped.

Remus winked, leaning in to brush one last lingering kiss against Sirius’ lips before standing. He smirked smugly as he added, “And don’t even think about getting out on your own. I’ll come back and carry you again, if I have to.”

With a playful wink, Remus strolled out of the bathroom, leaving Sirius to soak in the warm water, aching and blissful.

The bath was incredible. The hot water soothed the deep ache in Sirius’ muscles, dulling the soreness in his core. His head lolled back against the edge of the tub. Sirius’ entire body felt relaxed and loose. He was pretty sure that he could walk again.

Probably.

But as he trailed his fingers through the water, he decided he wouldn’t. If playing the part of a helpless, thoroughly wrecked mess meant Remus would carry him again, then Sirius would to limp pathetically into the kitchen on principle.

As he sat back, Sirius absentmindedly reached for the shampoo, only to pause when he caught the familiar scent. He blinked at the bottle, tilting it slightly in his hand. 

The shampoo was Remus’. 

The realization made him grin. He cracked open the bottle, closed his eyes, and inhaled the familiar scent. Remus smelled woodsy, something subtly spiced, and oddly of chocolate. The shampoo smelled like Remus’ sweater, his car, his bed, his clothes. Everything he owned was wrapped in his aroma.

And now, Sirius would smell like him too.

Without hesitation, he squeezed the shampoo into his palm and ran it through his hair. With each scrub of his fingers, it clung to him more and more.

He repeated this process with the conditioner and body wash. Sirius could feel himself smiling like an idiot as he lathered the suds over his arms, neck, and chest, all the way down his legs.

When he finally dragged himself out of the water, the bathroom was thick with steam. His skin was flushed from the heat, his hair damp and curling in loose waves. On the counter, he spotted the clothes Remus had left for him, neatly folded with a towel set beside them. The sight made his stomach flip.

The clothes were Remus’.

Sirius tugged the hoodie over his head first, inhaling deeply the moment the fabric brushed his face. It was entirely too big, practically swallowing him whole, and the sweatpants were just as ridiculous. They hung low on his hips, barely staying up. He had to roll the waistband twice just to keep them from slipping entirely.

Sirius grinned at his reflection, feeling unreasonably pleased. He smelled like Remus. He was dressed in Remus’ clothes. For a man he’d met just yesterday, Sirius found that strangely comforting.

And why the hell should he be worried about moving too fast? He’s been watching Regulus, Evan, and Barty dance around their infatuation with James for months now. It was exhausting. So really, Sirius figured he should be proud of himself for being decisive, or at least self-aware.

As he rubbed his hands over his face, he let out a breathless chuckle. 

“Gods, I’ve lost my mind,” he muttered, smiling despite himself.

The strange thing was, he didn’t even care. It had only been a day, but he already felt more comfortable around Remus than he had around some people he’d known for years. The easy familiarity was intoxicating.

He stretched slightly, testing out his legs. Yep. He could definitely walk. But Remus didn’t have to know that. 

“Not a chance,” he whispered smugly.

Just as Sirius was contemplating how pathetically smitten he was, there was a knock at the bathroom door. His eyes widened slightly, and he jolted upright. Shit. If he wanted Remus to believe he still couldn’t walk, he was going to have to sell it.

Without missing a beat, Sirius quickly lowered himself to the floor with a theatrical little sigh, arranging his legs into a cross-legged position. He slumped slightly, making sure his posture was as lazy and pathetic as possible. When Remus’ voice came through the door, warm and gentle, Sirius was ready.

“Can I come in, love?”

“Yeah,” Sirius called out, like he was utterly helpless and weary.

The door creaked open, and Remus stepped inside. His golden-brown eyes scanned the room until they landed on Sirius.

Remus burst into laughter.

It was sudden and uncontrollable. Laughter that doubled him over instantly. He clutched his stomach as he practically collapsed against the doorframe. His face scrunched up as he struggled to catch his breath.

Sirius blinked, baffled. His eyes narrowed slightly. “What the hell is so funny?” he asked, voice tinged with confusion.

Remus could barely choke out a word. He waved a hand vaguely at Sirius, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “You—” he spluttered between fits of laughter. “You—oh my God—”

And then, with a sudden flash of realization, Sirius got it.

He must look ridiculous—sitting on the floor, swallowed whole by Remus’ enormous hoodie. The sleeves covering his hands entirely, the sweatpants pooled around his ankles. The fabric was so oversized it made him look even smaller than he already was. He probably resembled a lost child. Or a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest.

A blush crept into Sirius’ cheeks. He scowled automatically, pouting before he could stop himself.

Unfortunately, it only made Remus laugh harder.

“Stop—oh my God. Stop pouting! You’re making it worse,” Remus wheezed, tipping his head back against the doorframe and squeezing his eyes shut, as if looking at Sirius was physically painful from how adorable he found him. 

“Holy shit, you look—you look like—” He dissolved into another round of laughter before he could finish.

Sirius scowled. “Like what?” he demanded.

Remus dragged the sleeve of his jumper over his face, wiping at his damp eyes, still breathless with laughter. He gestured vaguely at Sirius again, helpless and practically choking on his words. “A penguin!” he finally blurted out. “You look like a tiny, sad little penguin.”

Sirius’ mouth fell open. “A penguin?” he repeated.

Remus nodded, wiping at his face, still chuckling weakly. “Yeah, because of the way you’re sitting—” He let out a breathless giggle and gestured again. “And the sleeves are flappy like little wings.”

Sirius’ pout deepened. He huffed and folded his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes in offense. He turned his face away from Remus, determined not to indulge him with a smile.

Remus, still breathless, dragged himself back up into a seated position, wiping the tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxed, his voice low and teasing. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, closing the distance between them. “Don’t be like that.”

Sirius stubbornly averted his gaze, refusing to look at him.

“Oh, really? ” Remus’ grin widened as he pulled Sirius onto his lap. “You’re gonna ignore me now?”

Sirius scrunched his nose and turned his head further away. He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms more tightly over his chest.

Remus only smirked, utterly amused. “What if I say I’m sorry?”

Nothing

He leaned in a little closer, his breath warm against Sirius’ ear. “What if I say you look adorable?”

Nothing.

Remus grinned wickedly, speaking right into Sirius’ ear. “What if I say you’re the most precious penguin I’ve ever seen?”

Sirius’ eyes snapped back to him and narrowed. “This can’t be the same Remus from last night.” he deadpanned.

Remus let out a low chuckle, “Oh, I assure you, it is. Do you need proof?”

Sirius scowled at him for a moment longer, but his resolve crumbled when he caught the way Remus was looking at him—like he was the only thing in the entire world worth looking at. 

“That’s better,” Remus murmured softly, brushing a lazy kiss against Sirius’ cheek. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles over Sirius’ hip.

A comfortable silence settled over the two of them. They remained on the floor, limbs tangled together lazily, leaning into each other with no particular urgency to move. 

But as much as Sirius clung to the warmth of the moment, something gnawed at him. A persistent whisper of doubt that refused to be silenced. 

He knew what this was—at least, he thought he did. Things had moved quickly between them. And while Sirius liked that fact, there was a small, nagging part of him that wondered if it meant less to Remus than it did to him.

He was almost sure he was being ridiculous. Almost. But the uncertainty was loud.

Sirius drew in a slow, shaky breath, his fingers clenching slightly in the fabric of Remus’ sweatshirt. His voice came out soft and tentative, barely above a whisper.

“This…this isn’t a casual hookup, right?”

The words were out before he could stop them, and Sirius immediately regretted them. 

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. And then, slowly, Remus pulled back just enough to look at him, brows furrowed slightly in confusion.

His eyes searched Sirius’ face, soft but bewildered, as if the very idea was absurd to him. “What part of this seems casual?” he asked quietly, his voice serious.

Sirius’ throat tightened. He let out a weak, self-conscious little shrug, trying to play it off, but his eyes betrayed him. I don’t know.  

Remus’ eyes softened even further. With a quiet chuckle, he shook his head in disbelief. 

“No,” he murmured softly, his voice steady and sure. “I plan on keeping you.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Lily had seen the rumors. The headlines. The endless online speculation dissecting her marriage piece by piece. Social media had painted Severus Snape as a monster, and for years, she had convinced herself they were wrong.

But they weren’t.

They had been right all along.

She hadn’t realized it at first—hadn’t wanted to realize it. But Mary had. Mary had seen it from the beginning.

"He’s controlling you, Lils."

"You don’t have to stay with him."

"This isn’t love."

Because back then, she still believed in the man she had promised to marry. She still thought love meant enduring. That devotion required sacrifice. That marriage wasn’t always supposed to be easy, and that no one else would understand the complexities of their relationship.

She had walked down the aisle anyway.

And the world had critiqued them.

Every article, every post, every comment dissected their relationship with clinical detachment. 

Why is she with him? 

She could do so much better. 

He’s clearly holding her back.

The comparisons never stopped. She was the golden girl—the beautiful, talented, successful actress with a career that had skyrocketed. He was the dark, brooding husband who never quite fit at her side.

The world had decided she was too good for him. Severus had despised it. He had despised her .

At first, it had been small things—subtle, almost invisible. He would scoff when she got an award, downplay her success, roll his eyes at the adoration she received. They don’t know the real you, he’d sneer. You’re not that special.

Then it got worse.

He overworked her, demanded more from her career while simultaneously trying to sabotage it. He picked fights over nothing. Tore into her confidence, convinced her that no one else would tolerate her. That she was lucky to have him.

Slowly, he cut her off from her friends, her family, making her world smaller and smaller until he was the only thing left inside of it.

And still, she stayed.

Because this was love, wasn’t it?

She had grown up in the South, in a town where traditional households were the norm, where women were expected to endure, where mental health wasn’t taken seriously. Where love wasn’t always kind, but it was forever .

So she endured.

Until the first time he hit her.

It hadn’t even been during one of their worst fights. Just another argument. Another cruel remark. Another wave of frustration that he didn’t know what to do with.

And then his hand had been on her face.

For a second, she had just stood there, stunned, her cheek stinging. Her ears rang, her breath came short, and her mind scrambled for an explanation.

And then, slowly, everything settled.

Her world cracked open, and for the first time, she saw it.

How abusive Severus had been. How right Mary had always been. How much she had lost.

How much of herself she had given away.

And worst of all—how little she had left.

The second Severus hit her, Lily knew exactly where to run.

Mary.

It was an obvious choice—had always been. Mary had fought for her. She had never given up, no matter how many times Lily had pushed her away. When Severus had systematically isolated Lily from her friends and family, most people distanced themselves. It was easier that way. More convenient to let her drift.

But not Mary.

Mary had stayed. She had repeatedly tried to educate Lily on Severus’ abusive behavior, even when Lily was too stubborn—or too blind—to see it.

"Lils, this isn’t love. It’s control."

"You can’t keep making excuses for him."

"You deserve better."

She had begged Lily to leave, over and over. She had offered her a way out, a place to stay, an open door. But when Lily was dead-set on marrying Severus anyway, Mary had bitten her tongue. She had smiled through the heartbreak and the fury and the helplessness. She had been the bridesmaid at Lily’s wedding, standing at her side, wearing a forced smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Lily still didn’t know if Mary had ever forgiven her for that.

But none of it had mattered when she turned up on Mary’s doorstep.

It had been so long since they had seen each other properly. Severus had made sure of that. The moment Mary came out as bisexual, he had cut her from Lily’s life without hesitation.

"I don’t want you hanging around her anymore," Severus had sneered, the word her thick with disgust. "She’s corrupting you."

Lily hadn’t listened, of course. She wasn’t homophobic like her husband. That was the one quality the South hadn’t rubbed off on her. But keeping in touch had become harder. She had learned how to be sneaky—turning her phone on silent, clearing her call log, and making sure to lie if Severus ever asked where she had been. But slowly, inevitably, their friendship had begun to fade.

Lily thought Mary would hate her for it.

But when Mary opened the door and saw Lily standing there—her cheek bruised, her hands trembling—the first thing she did was yank her into her arms. No questions. No hesitation. Just warmth. Just home.

“Jesus, Lils,” Mary whispered into her hair, her voice trembling. “Oh, my God.”

Lily didn’t even remember the last time she had been held like that. She let herself sink into it, clinging to Mary’s shirt, barely breathing.

Mary pulled back only long enough to inspect her face, her eyes darting over Lily’s cheekbone. Her gaze hardened. She ran her thumb over the swelling gently, as though afraid to hurt her, and whispered, “Did he—”

Lily nodded before she could finish. Her breath hitched, and she felt herself crack, right there on the doorstep. She didn’t even register when Mary pulled her inside, closing the door behind them.

The next thing Lily knew, she was sitting at Mary’s kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea she couldn’t quite bring herself to drink. Her fingers trembled slightly against the ceramic.

Mary sat across from her, watching her carefully. She didn’t say anything at first. She just waited, giving Lily time, space, and safety she hadn’t felt in years.

The warmth of it, the simplicity of it, shattered something inside Lily.

And she broke.

She sobbed—loud, ugly, unrestrained sobs she had been holding in for far too long. The sounds wrenched from her throat in broken gasps, in painful shudders.

She cried for everything.

For being so oblivious. For wasting her time. For being free. For tolerating abuse. For losing herself. For falling out of love. 

Mary slid out of her chair without a word and sank to the floor beside her. She wrapped her arms around Lily and held her. Rocked her slightly, smoothing her hands over Lily’s hair, whispering reassurances into her ear.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured softly. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Lily clung to her desperately. She hadn’t realized how touch-starved she had been—how long it had been since anyone had held her without cruelty.

When the sobs finally slowed, Lily pulled back, sniffling, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her palm. She let out a weak, watery laugh.

“God, I’m a mess,” she mumbled hoarsely.

Mary gave her a soft, sad smile. “No,” she said quietly, brushing a lock of hair behind Lily’s ear. “You’re free.”

Lily stared at her, eyes glassy and wide. She hadn’t thought of it that way. She hadn’t let herself.

But she was. She was free.

And she didn’t even know what to do with it.

Mary, however, did know what to do with it.

“You’re moving in with me,” she said firmly. No room for debate. No wiggle room for Lily’s guilt or hesitation.

Lily blinked at her, startled. “I—I can’t ask you to do that,” she stammered, setting her coffee down. Her hands were still unsteady. “I don’t want to be a burden—”

Mary cut her off immediately. “You’re not asking. I’m telling you.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were fierce. “You’re moving in. End of story.”

Lily opened her mouth to argue, but Mary narrowed her eyes, leaning forward slightly, bracing her arms on the table. Her expression was deadly serious.

“Lils, listen to me,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I am not letting you go back there. You will stay here, and you will be safe. Got it?”

Lily’s throat closed up. She stared at her best friend, lips parting slightly, too stunned to respond.

Mary softened slightly, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. She reached across the table, wrapping her hand around Lily’s. She gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Please,” Mary added, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

And Lily, feeling the warmth of her touch, the unwavering determination in her eyes—the raw, unrelenting love—let her.

Mary didn’t just offer Lily a safe place to stay. She took care of everything .

Within twenty-four hours, she had filed for a restraining order against Severus. She contacted a lawyer, filling out the endless paperwork and dealing with the legal logistics. She helped Lily file for divorce, while Lily was too emotionally drained to do much of anything.

Lily would’ve gotten lost in the process without her. She was still mourning her marriage. Still processing everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly. It came in waves. Sometimes, she felt nothing at all. Other times, she was so overwhelmed by it that she had to lock herself in the bathroom and cry silently into a hand towel.

Mary knew. She always knew. She never pried. Never pushed. She simply knocked softly on the door and sat outside, waiting. She’d leave her a glass of water, a snack, or just her presence.

Mary handled all the phone calls, all the legal meetings, and every lawyer consultation. She organized the paperwork for the lawsuit against Severus—evidence of his abuse, records of the emotional, financial, and physical damage he had inflicted.

And all Lily did was rest.

She lounged around Mary’s home—curled up on the plush couch with a blanket. She caught up on books she hadn’t had time to read. She reconnected with her family, calling her sister, crying when she answered with relief instead of anger. She baked on the slow, empty afternoons, her hands dusted with flour, filling Mary’s kitchen with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla.

And she wrote.

God, did she write.

She wrote through the pain, spilling the words onto paper like she was bleeding herself dry. Her guitar became a lifeline, her voice a vessel for all the grief and rage she couldn’t hold in her chest.

Most of her songs were about Severus.

But some of them weren’t.

Some of them were about Mary.

Lily didn’t think much of it at first. Writing was how she processed her emotions, how she untangled the mess in her head. And Mary had been her constant—her rock—her everything these past few weeks. It made sense that she would be in the songs.

But then Lily looked at the lyrics.

Really looked at them.

And she noticed something strange.

The least romantic songs were about Severus.

Which wasn’t surprising.

But the songs about Mary?

They were romantic.

Not just in a deep friendship, unconditional love kind of way. Not in the way she had written about Mary before.

These were different.

The themes weren’t platonic. Not by a long shot.

Just when Lily thought she’d cleaned up her love-life, God decided to hit her with this bullshit.

Fuck. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A week after Severus slapped Lily, Mary had everything organized.

It was surreal.

In the span of seven days, Mary had gotten a restraining order, finalized their divorce papers, and worked with a lawyer to prepare for Severus and Lily’s upcoming trial. She handled it with ruthless efficiency, barely pausing to breathe. And she didn’t let Lily lift a finger.

It seemed impossible to Lily that just a week ago, she had been kissing Severus. She had been calling him husband. She had been telling herself that things would get better, that she just needed to be more patient, more understanding.

And now, in two days, she would be seeing him in court.

Everything had changed so quickly. 

The morning of the trial, Lily sat at the kitchen table, staring into her tea with her hands wrapped around the mug. Her knuckles were pale from how tightly she was gripping it.

Mary exhaled through her nose, brushing her thumb over Lily’s shoulder in a soothing motion. She pulled out a chair and sat beside her. “I know it’s overwhelming,” she said softly. “But you’re going to be okay. The lawyer says we have nothing to worry about.”

They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of Mary’s rings against her mug. It was oddly soothing.

Eventually, Mary pulled her hand away and gave Lily’s knee a light pat. “Come on,” she said, rising to her feet. “Let’s go over everything one more time. It’ll help you feel more prepared.”

Lily groaned softly. “I think I’ve memorized every detail of this case at this point.”

Mary smirked faintly, but there was no amusement in her eyes. “Good. I want you to be ready to tear him apart with nothing but facts.”

Lily’s mouth twitched slightly at the corner, but she still felt hollow. She stood and followed Mary into the living room, where papers were spread across the coffee table. The lawyer had gone over everything with them the night before. 

She sank onto the couch and grabbed one of the case files, skimming over the details she already knew by heart. She barely registered Mary sitting beside her, sorting through the stack.

After a few minutes, Mary let out a long sigh. “You’re quiet,” she noted, her voice softer now.

Lily didn’t look up. “I’m just... thinking.”

Mary eyed her for a moment, but didn’t say anything.

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” Lily said softly. Her voice cracked slightly at the end, but she didn’t care.

Mary’s lips quirked into a faint, crooked smile. “I know,” she teased lightly, though her eyes were brimming with affection.

Lily let out a weak laugh, but it came out shaky. Mary’s hand found hers again, their fingers interlacing.

They sat in silence for a while longer, leaning into each other.

The trial was in two days, and no amount of preparation would make Lily feel ready. But she realized she didn’t have to be. Mary was ready for the both of them.

The trial was a blur.

Lily sat in the courtroom, hands clasped tightly in her lap, barely aware of what was happening around her. The walls felt too white, the fluorescent lights too harsh, and the voices around her too distant. Everything felt like it was happening underwater—muffled, distorted, and slow.

Mary sat beside her, holding her hand the entire time. She squeezed Lily’s fingers whenever her breath hitched, grounding her. She shot withering glares at anyone who dared glance at Lily too long, as if she could protect her from the entire courtroom with nothing but sheer force of will.

Mary had made sure Lily was as detached from the proceedings as possible.

She had found a lawyer so competent, so ruthlessly efficient, that Lily barely had to say a word. The lawyer’s arguments were airtight, her presentation flawless. She laid out the evidence with clinical precision—photos, text messages, medical records—turning them into an unshakable wall of proof.

Lily hardly had to look at Severus.

When it was time for her testimony, she was a ghost in her own skin. She answered the questions automatically, her voice barely above a whisper. She could barely recall what she said—something about the isolation, the manipulation, the first time he hit her.

But whenever Severus’ lawyer tried to rattle her, firing off invasive, inadmissible questions, Mary’s lawyer shut them down before Lily could even open her mouth.

“Objection,” her lawyer snapped coolly more than once, her voice sharp as steel. “Badgering the witness.”

Or, with a cold, dismissive glare, she’d say, “Irrelevant.”

And the judge, firm but fair, would bang the gavel. “Sustained.”

The relief that flooded Lily’s chest every time was almost enough to keep her breathing.

But she was barely holding on.

The trial pressed on without her. It swept over her like a tide, carrying her along without her having to swim.

It was only when Severus took the stand that the haze lifted—just for a moment.

Her stomach knotted the second she heard his voice. That same low, gravelly tone that once whispered promises in her ear, the voice that had once told her he loved her, that now turned her insides to stone.

He sat there with his lawyer, exuding arrogance. At first, he was calm, playing the victim, manipulating the jury with faux sincerity. His words were measured and calculated.

But he hadn’t counted on Mary’s lawyer.

She was merciless.

Her cross-examination was surgical, slicing him open with clinical precision. She asked pointed questions, backed by evidence, each one a strike designed to back him into a corner.

“You stated earlier that you never laid a hand on Mrs. Snape,” she said, her voice calm, cutting. “But we have medical reports, dated the night she came to Miss Macdonald’s residence, documenting clear evidence of physical assault. Are you saying these reports are falsified?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “I never said that—”

“Then you’re admitting to striking her?” she interrupted smoothly, pinning him in place.

Severus’ face darkened. His knuckles turned white where he gripped the edge of the stand. “I—I’m saying that she—”

“Answer the question, Mr. Snape,” the lawyer cut in coldly. “Yes or no.”

Severus’ lips curled into a sneer.

“Yes,” he spat through clenched teeth, venomous and defensive. “I hit her. Once. That hardly makes me—”

“Once is enough.”

Her voice was so calm, so quiet, but it sliced through the courtroom like a blade.

Severus’ jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed with cold fury, and the more the lawyer pressed him, the more his mask slipped.

His voice grew sharper, his tone more condescending. When he snapped at the lawyer for the third time, the judge warned him to compose himself.

But Severus didn’t.

He only grew more frustrated. More venomous. More himself.

The lawyer’s questions were precise and relentless, a needle poking at every exposed wound. Severus' temper began to unravel.

And then he snapped.

He slammed his hand down on the stand with a sharp crack, his face twisting with rage.

“This is a goddamn witch hunt!” he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. His eyes, dark and seething, glared around the room. “I am not a monster! You’re all pathetic—every single one of you! Her! You!” He stabbed a finger at Lily, his voice trembling with fury. “You ungrateful, self-righteous bitch!”

The entire courtroom went still.

Lily’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She barely felt Mary’s grip tighten on her hand. Barely heard the gasps ripple through the room.

The man she once loved—the man who once swore to cherish her—shouting her name with such hatred, with such venom, with such cruelty.

Severus had just doomed himself, really.

Lily’s lawyer argued that Severus had just demonstrated his verbally abusive tendencies, which was correct. 

Severus would lose.

The courtroom was suffocatingly silent as the jury filed back into their seats. Lily sat stiffly, her nails digging into the flesh of her palm. She barely noticed the slight sting. Her heart was pounding in her ears.

Mary’s hand was warm and steady around hers, her thumb tracing soothing circles against Lily’s skin. She glanced over at her friend, who offered her a small, reassuring smile. 

Lily exhaled shakily. She gripped Mary’s hand tighter.

The judge’s voice finally cut through the heavy stillness. “We, the jury, find the defendant, Severus Snape, guilty of financial, emotional, verbal, and physical abuse.”

For a moment, Lily’s entire body stilled. Her breath caught in her throat, as though she couldn’t fully comprehend the words. 

Then, it hit her all at once. The wave of relief was so powerful she almost felt lightheaded. Her eyes blurred slightly, but the tears didn’t fall. She squeezed Mary’s hand so hard her knuckles turned white, and Mary squeezed right back, leaning toward her with a grin that was half relief, half triumph.

Lily didn’t look at Severus. She couldn’t bring herself to. She was afraid that if she did, she might actually laugh. She could feel the anger radiating off him from where she sat. 

But she didn’t need to see him. She didn’t care to see him.

She focused instead on the warmth of Mary’s hand, on the steady breathing that matched hers, and on the faint scent of her perfume—like lavender and honey. It grounded her. Kept her from floating away entirely.

Then the judge spoke again, and Lily’s attention snapped back. “For the crimes committed, the court sentences Mr. Snape to two years in prison and 200 hours of community service.”

The breath left Lily’s lungs in a single sharp exhale. Her eyes widened slightly, and she turned to Mary in disbelief.  

“Two years,” she whispered, voice cracking slightly.

Mary’s grin widened into something almost wicked. She laced her fingers more securely through Lily’s and leaned in close.

“Two years,” she repeated, barely containing her glee. “And 200 hours of community service. Can you imagine? That prick—” she cast a fleeting glance toward Severus, “—having to spend two years in a tiny cell!”

Lily continued. “Oh, this is the best part—being forced to be helpful. Like, genuinely helpful.”

Mary let out a short, disbelieving laugh, covering her mouth as it escaped.
“Severus Snape. Doing community service,” she whispered with mock solemnity, as though the idea itself was too sacred to taint with volume. 

Lily shook her head, eyes gleaming with incredulity. “The same Severus Snape who was too good for tap water. The same Severus Snape who refused to hold a door open for anyone because it was ‘beneath him.’”

Mary’s eyes glimmered with mischief. “Imagine him scrubbing graffiti off park benches or picking up litter on the side of the road,” she murmured, lips twitching into a grin. “In one of those god-awful orange jumpsuits.”

Lily bit down on her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She could already see it—Severus Snape working at a food kitchen. 

He’d stand stiffly behind a counter, face twisted in disgust, as he ladled soup into bowls for people he would normally sneer at. The image was so satisfying she almost felt drunk on it.

Severus was seething, his face mottled with red blotches of fury. He glared at her with such uncontained venom that if looks could kill, she’d be six feet under.

But instead of shrinking back, Lily lifted her chin slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

You lost.

She felt Mary’s hand squeeze hers again, and she turned back toward her friend, blocking Severus out entirely.
“Scratch all the anxiety,” she muttered with a half-laugh, her voice barely above a whisper. “This might actually be the best day of my life.”

Mary’s grin was practically feral. She leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to Lily’s temple, letting her lips linger for a moment longer than necessary. “Damn right it is,” she murmured. “You fucking won.”

And for the first time in years, Lily felt completely, utterly free.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind them, and Lily and Mary froze for half a second, as though they couldn’t quite believe they were finally free of the courtroom. 

The stale, suffocating scent of the courthouse evaporated as they stepped into the crisp afternoon air. The sun was warm on Lily’s face, a sharp contrast to the cool breeze sweeping over her skin.

And then, before Lily knew it, Mary was throwing her arms around her, gripping her so tightly it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. Lily clung to her just as fiercely, burying her face in Mary’s shoulder.

“Oh my God,” Lily choked out, her voice muffled against Mary’s sweater. “It’s over. It’s actually over.”

Mary let out a breathless laugh, rocking them side to side, their bodies swaying slightly in the middle of the courthouse steps. 

“You did it,” she murmured, her voice hoarse with relief. “We did it.”

When Lily finally pulled back, she realized she was crying. She blinked rapidly, confused for a moment when she saw the wet patch she’d left on Mary’s sweater. Her stomach twisted slightly in embarrassment, and she opened her mouth to apologize.

But Mary was already cupping her face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently beneath her eyes, wiping away the stray tears. Her touch was so soft, so warm, that it made Lily’s breath catch.

“Hey,” Mary whispered, her voice almost reverent, as though she were sharing some precious secret. She smiled, her eyes warm and shining. “No crying. We’re celebrating, remember?”

Lily let out a breathless, watery laugh, blinking up at her. “Right. Celebration,” she sniffled, forcing a wobbly smile.

“Speaking of celebration,” she whispered, as though it were some grand secret, “I have a surprise for you.”

Lily blinked, pulling back slightly, her brow furrowing. “Mary,” she groaned softly, already exasperated despite the smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve done so much for me already. You can’t possibly—”

But before she could finish, Mary was already stepping back, her fingers lacing through Lily’s as she tugged her toward the parking lot. “Ah, ah, ah,” Mary chided, flashing her a teasing grin over her shoulder. “No protests. You’ve earned this. Let me spoil you a little.”

Lily let out a reluctant laugh but allowed herself to be pulled along, her fingers still interwoven with Mary’s. She didn’t have the energy to argue, and truthfully, she didn’t want to.

Mary led her to the car, opening the passenger door with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits, my lady,” she teased with a mock bow.

Lily snorted softly, rolling her eyes as she slipped into the seat. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but her voice was warm with affection.

Mary simply smirked, closing the door behind her. She slid into the driver’s seat, tossing her bag into the back and pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes with a dramatic flourish. “Buckle up,” she said lightly, revving the engine. “This might be a long ride.”

Lily arched a brow, glancing at her. “Should I be concerned?”

“Absolutely.”

And with that, she pulled out of the lot, tires crunching over the gravel.

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, Lily watching the scenery blur past her window. The farther they got from the courthouse, the more she felt the tension in her chest ease. The sun poured through the windshield, illuminating Mary’s skin. Skin that holds the afternoon sun. 

Lily’s heart clenched slightly in her chest. She was so beautiful. God, she thought. How did I get so lucky?

She reached over and let her fingers brush lightly over the back of Mary’s hand where it rested on the gear shift. Mary glanced at her briefly, her lips tugging into a soft smile before she turned her eyes back to the road.

“Doing okay over there?” Mary asked softly, squeezing Lily’s hand once.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m good. Better than good, actually.”

Mary’s smile widened just slightly, but she didn’t say anything. She simply kept driving, her thumb idly stroking over the back of Lily’s hand.

Time slipped away as they drove. Lily lost track of the turns they took, of the distance they covered

When Mary finally pulled into the parking lot, Lily squinted out the window in confusion. She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the neat, elegant building in front of her. The soft cream-colored walls, the tall arched windows, and the golden lettering above the entrance didn’t click in her frazzled brain at first. 

It wasn’t until she spotted the modest fountain near the door and the faint scent of lavender and eucalyptus drifting through the air that realization finally struck.

“Wait…” she said suspiciously, dragging out the word as she turned to face Mary. “You didn’t.”

Mary flashed her a dazzling grin, clearly pleased with herself. She undid her seatbelt and leaned across the console, her dark eyes glittering with mischief.

“Oh, but I did,” she said smugly, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

Lily’s mouth fell open slightly, her hands clutching the edge of her seatbelt. “Mary,” she gasped, still trying to process it. “You booked a spa day ?”

Mary shrugged nonchalantly, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. “Mm-hmm,” she hummed casually. “You were stressed. I was stressed. We needed this.”

Lily shook her head, her lips parting slightly in disbelief. She blinked once, twice—and then suddenly she was moving, unbuckling her seatbelt and throwing herself at Mary with an overjoyed squeal.

“Oh my god, I love you!” she cried, practically climbing over the console.

Mary just smiled, leaning in slightly as she lowered her voice. “Well, you deserve it, don’t you?” she murmured softly, her eyes warm with affection.

Lily stared at her for a moment, her smile faltering slightly as something soft and grateful flickered behind her eyes. She exhaled slowly, her hands still resting on Mary’s arms.

“Thank you,” she whispered before pecking Mary on the cheek and practically bolted out of the car.

Lily practically skipped toward the building, clinging to Mary’s arm like an overenthusiastic child. Her feet barely touched the pavement as they made their way inside.

Mary couldn’t hide how relieved she was.

The spark was coming back. 

Lily could only be described as bright. The moment she walked into Mary’s design shop and chose the sharpest colors, Mary knew. Then, Severus Snape spent years dulling that brightness. Wiping out her ambition, creativity, joy. Now, they were rid of him forever. 

The spark was coming back!

The spa was beautiful. The walls were painted a soft sage green, and the room was filled with the calming scent of essential oils. Soft, ambient music drifted through the air, and the gentle trickle of a decorative water fountain added to the serene atmosphere. Everything about the place seemed designed to soothe and calm.

After checking in, they were led to the massage room first. The spa attendant gave them plush robes and slippers, and Lily was already melting at the softness of the fabric before they even made it to their massage tables.

Once they were settled, the massage therapists began working their magic. For the first few minutes, Lily flinched slightly, her body tense and stiff. The therapist's firm, practiced hands pressed into her knotted muscles, and though it hurt a little at first, she quickly realized how much tension she had been carrying. 

The aches slowly unraveled beneath the therapist's skilled touch, and Lily felt herself sinking into the padded table. She let out a contented sigh, her limbs growing heavy as the stress slowly drained from her body.

Mary, lying on the table beside her, glanced over. She caught Lily’s sleepy, blissful expression and let out a soft chuckle.

“Good?” she murmured, her voice barely louder than the soothing background music.

Lily let out a soft hum of agreement, her eyes half-lidded with contentment. 

“Mmm… I’m never moving again,” she mumbled sleepily, her words slightly slurred from relaxation. “You’re gonna have to carry me out of here.”

Mary smirked, her eyes fluttering closed as the therapist’s fingers kneaded into her own sore muscles

“Deal,” she murmured drowsily.

For the next hour, they both drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, completely boneless under the skilled hands of their massage therapists. When the session finally ended, they were practically melting off the tables, so relaxed they could barely keep their eyes open.

Next, they were led to the facial room. Mary was still slightly dazed from the massage, but her excitement returned when she spotted the salon chairs. 

“Now this,” Mary declared with a contented sigh, “is what I’ve been waiting for.”

Lily glanced at her with a curious smile. “Wait—what do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Because,” she drawled, her voice smug, “they’re gonna wash my hair.”

Lily stared at her, momentarily confused.

“Yeah, and?” she prompted, raising a brow.

Mary leaned back in the chair, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. “Best feeling in the entire world,” she declared, her voice dreamy. “You’ll see.”

Sure enough, when the stylist began massaging the shampoo into her scalp, Mary let out the most content sigh Lily had ever heard. Her eyes slipped shut, her lips parting slightly as her entire body practically melted into the chair. 

Lily glanced over at her, bemused. “You look like you’re having a religious experience,” she teased with a soft chuckle.

“I am ,” she mumbled, voice heavy with bliss. “This is what heaven feels like.”

Lily snorted, as if she was being ridiculous. 

“No, I’m right.” Mary defended, “Why do you think I get my hair trimmed so much? Because the stylists wash it.” 

Lily shook her head fondly but soon found herself melting under the same treatment.

Afterwards, they were treated to facials. Lily could feel the stress-induced acne she’d been battling for weeks slowly being purged from her skin. The cool masks, the gentle exfoliation, and the soothing steam left her feeling utterly refreshed.

“You’re glowing.” Mary declared.

Lily rolled her eyes, “You mean I look not half dead?”

“Nope.” Mary popped the ‘p.’

To end their spa experience, Mary and Lily indulged in the sauna. The damp heat pressed against their skin, making every inch of their bodies slick with moisture. 

They sat side by side on the wooden bench, robes loosely wrapped around them. The steam blurred the edges of the room, creating a hazy cocoon that made it feel as though they were the only two people in the world.

Somewhere along the way, Mary had pulled out a bottle of red wine from the spa’s complimentary selection. They tipped their glasses together with a soft clink, giggling at their own self-indulgence. The wine was rich and smooth, spreading warmth through their chests, matching the heat of the room. 

They got drunk, justifying their recklessness with the promise that they’d “sweat it out” anyway.

Lily, giddy and loose-limbed from the wine, rambled with her usual animated passion. Her voice was breathy with laughter, and Mary, half-listening, simply hummed along. She was perfectly content watching Lily in this state—unguarded and carefree.

When Lily exhausted herself, she turned her gaze to Mary. The damp heat had coaxed her hair into tighter curls, framing her face like a crown. Her deep brown skin glistened, each bead of sweat catching the light like scattered stars, as though the sun itself had lingered too long upon her. 

Mary found herself more entranced by Lily. Her head tilted slightly against the wall, her wine-glazed eyes heavy-lidded but still vibrant, sparkling like fresh spring grass. Her skin glistened with sweat, making her freckles even more pronounced, and her copper hair clung in loose curls around her face. She looked effortlessly beautiful. 

Lily looked at Mary with something soft and vulnerable in her eyes—something that made Mary’s throat tighten.

“Thank you, Mary,” Lily murmured softly, her voice thick with emotion. 

“Of course,” Mary replied just as quietly, her lips twitching into a small smile. She wanted to say more, but before she could form the words, Lily closed her eyes again, and Mary felt a sharp pang of disappointment. 

The disappointment didn’t stay long. 

Lily leaned in. Their noses brushed before Lily pressed her lips to Mary’s.

The kiss was sweet with the taste of red wine and lazy with the drunken haze. Lily's hand slid over Mary's thigh, and Mary shivered beneath her touch, her skin sparking with heat that had nothing to do with the steam.

It as perfect—soft, slow, and unhurried. Nothing like Mary had ever imagined it, and she had imagined it. Countless times. Dreamt about it, even. But reality was so much sweeter, so much softer. 

They cast their robes aside, blaming the heat. 

She didn’t care that Lily was drunk, because Lily Evans never did anything she didn’t fully mean. And right now, she was telling Mary she loved her in the most certain way possible.

She stood corrected. This—Lily's skin against hers, Lily's lips on hers, Lily's warmth surrounding her—was the best feeling in the world.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY

Regulus, Barty, and Evan had been busy.

The moment they’d learned what James had been put through, they knew they weren’t going to let The Daily Prophet get away with it. 

No stable salary? Withholding interviews to keep him dependent? Blocking him from his own social media accounts to isolate him from his friends and family? It was appalling. A blatant display of exploitation.

Whether James liked it or not, they were going to sue the company into oblivion. 

The problem was, they still hadn’t been able to reach James. Sirius had vanished immediately after the conversation, and they hadn’t seen him since. He hadn’t sent over James’ phone number yet, which meant they were still cut off. 

The Serpents would’ve been worried, except they had a pretty good idea of where he was.

“Getting absolutely railed by Remus,” Barty said flatly, sprawled on Regulus’ couch, one arm thrown over his eyes.

“Hmm.” Evan, mused. “Lucky bastard.”

Barty cracked a grin, lifting his arm just enough to glance at Evan. “Thoroughly debauched.”

“Positively wrecked.” Evan added with a smirk. 

“Obliterated.”

Regulus didn’t even look up. “You’re both insufferable,” he muttered. 

Barty rolled onto his stomach and rested his chin on his arms, watching Regulus with a mischievous smirk. “You’re just jealous that you’re not the one getting split in half by a hot bodyguard.”

Regulus stilled. Slowly, he turned his head and fixed Barty with a threatening glare. “Would you like to be split in half?” he asked sweetly.

Barty batted his eyelashes. “Only by you, darling.”

“Christ,” Evan muttered, but he was grinning. 

The Serpents had done everything they could, and were now just waiting on Sirius. They’d found a strong lawyer, provided him with information, and paid him out of pocket. The lawyer perfected arguments, defenses, cross-examination questions, even hundreds of what-if scenarios.

So, they fought off their anxiety and waited. 

It didn’t take long for Mary Macdonald’s email to come through, saving them from excessive thinking. She explained that Lily Evans was divorcing and suing Severus Snape for financial, verbal, and physical abuse. 

Mary was aware that the Serpents had been subjected to Severus’ harassment, and wanted statements from them as supporting evidence. 

“Fuck, finally.” Evan muttered, reading over the email. “It’s about time Lily left that greasy-haired bitch.”

Barty sat up, instantly alert. “Do they need us to testify?”

“No, just statements,” Evan said, skimming further. “Looks like they’re using it as supporting evidence against Snape. The more people who come forward, the stronger the case.”

Regulus didn’t need to be asked twice. He was already closing his laptop and grabbing a notepad, eyes dark with focus. “I’ll write them out now.”

The three of them worked in comfortable silence, each jotting down their experiences. It wasn’t hard—they all had enough material to fill a book. 

Years of Snape’s sneering insults. The casual way he’d muttered slurs under his breath, barely bothering to hide it. The few times it had gotten physical.

Barty’s handwriting grew sloppier the angrier he got, pressing his pen too hard into the paper, making the words jagged. 

Evan, ever the composed one, wrote with chilling precision. 

Regulus was utterly silent, his pen gliding over the page in smooth, elegant strokes. He was the only one whose statement read like a death sentence. It was calm, clear, and damning.

When they finished, Evan gathered the papers into a neat stack, slipping them into an envelope. Without a word, he left the room, headed to their lawyer’s office to have the statements sent to Mary.

Barty exhaled sharply and flopped back onto the couch, draping himself dramatically across it. “God, I hope that fucker rots.”

Regulus stared at the papers still on his desk, his expression blank. “He will,” he said quietly, voice soft but lethal. “We’ll make sure of it.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the situation lingered heavily in the room, a shared understanding passing between them.

After a while, Barty rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. “You know,” he mused lightly, eyes glinting with mischief, “if Sirius doesn’t turn up by tomorrow, we should probably send out a search party.”

Regulus arched a brow. “You volunteering?”

Barty’s grin was all teeth. “Only if you’re coming with me.”

Evan strolled back into the room just in time to hear Barty’s flirtation, arching a cool brow. “If you two are done being insufferable, we have a company to destroy.”

Barty smirked at him. “What’s the rush? The Daily Prophet will still be there tomorrow.”

“Exactly,” Evan said dryly, grabbing Regulus’ laptop and reopening their case files. “So we might as well get started.”

For now, they had no way of reaching James. But it didn’t matter. By the time they saw him again, they’d have everything ready. 

Regulus called his bank. 

He noticed something suspicious. One hundred million dollars hadn’t disappeared from his bank account. That was the amount of money they sent James, and he hasn’t claimed it yet.

The bank confirmed that no checks were brought in, so no money had been claimed.

Regulus groaned.

Barty sat up straighter. “What is it?” he asked, eyeing Regulus warily.

Wordlessly, Regulus showed Barty and Evan their bank account. 

“Yeah, so?” Barty questioned, “We’re rich, I know that, Regulus.” 

Evan put the puzzle pieces together quicker, “But we should have one hundred million dollars less.”

The realization settled over the room like a heavy weight.

Regulus’ hand tightened around his phone. 

That selfless idiot.  

Contrary to popular belief, the Serpents sent James money so he could use it. They transferred the money without hesitation. A gift. No strings attached.

But now, the bastard had sent it back.

Barty let out a disbelieving laugh, hollow and sharp. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Evan leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose. His eyes were dark, pensive. “Of course, he didn’t,” he muttered, voice flat.

Because James would. He’d rather struggle alone than accept help. Of course, he’d refuse the money. It was so James it almost hurt.

Guilt was practically etched into his DNA. Taking the money would have made him feel like a burden, like he was taking advantage of them.

Regulus slowly sat down on the edge of the coffee table, still holding his phone loosely in one hand, staring at the screen. His voice was low when he spoke, barely above a whisper.

“He’s such a fucking idiot,” he murmured, but the words were trembling with affection.

Barty dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “God, I wanna shake him.”

Evan’s lips twitched slightly. “You’d probably just kiss him.”

Barty didn’t even pretend to deny it. He stared at the screen with a mix of exasperation and longing, his eyes glassy with something softer, something vulnerable. He let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly, voice raw. “Yeah, I probably would.”

For a moment, none of them spoke. The silence pressed against them, thick and heavy.

It was almost cruel—the sharp ache of missing him. James was everywhere and nowhere all at once. He was here even though he wasn’t. And it hurt.

Barty rubbed a hand over his face again, trying to ease the tension in his jaw. His voice was low, almost bitter when he spoke. “God, I miss him.”

Regulus’ eyes dropped to the floor. His fingers curled around his phone until his knuckles turned white. His throat felt tight.

Evan didn’t say anything. He just reached over and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the table, refilling his glass, and then poured two more. He passed one to Regulus and one to Barty without a word.

They clinked their glasses together quietly, no toast spoken. Just a silent promise.

Regulus took a slow sip, the burn of the alcohol barely registering. He stared down into the amber liquid, his expression unreadable.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Barty asked softly, almost hesitant, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Regulus’ throat bobbed slightly. His voice was steady, but barely.

“I don’t know.”

Evan’s eyes hardened. “He will be.”

The certainty in his voice was so firm, so absolute, that for a moment, both Barty and Regulus believed him.

They sat like that for a while. No words. Just the sound of the occasional clink of glass or the distant hum of the city outside their window. The three of them, lost in their thoughts, in the aching silence of their empty apartment.

And somewhere, across the city, James was alone—still shouldering the weight of the world by himself. Still so unwilling to let them carry it with him.

The Serpents couldn’t stop overthinking.

It didn’t matter how much they drank, how many cigarettes they burned through, or how long they stared at their phones, willing them to ring. The silence still crawled beneath their skin. No message from James. No sign of Sirius. Just the suffocating weight of waiting.

So, they did the only thing they could. They harnessed their emotions and made something from it. If they couldn’t find James, they could at least feel him. Create something from the longing that sat heavy in their chests.

They refused to be useless.

Without speaking, they wordlessly grabbed their jackets and keys. It wasn’t even a conversation. Just a silent understanding that settled. Evan grabbed the car keys. Barty flicked the lights off. And then they were driving.

The studio was cold when they arrived. Industrial and impersonal, washed in dim, artificial light. But the Serpents weren’t looking for warmth. They weren’t looking for comfort. They were looking for release .

And God, did they find it.

The moment the instruments were plugged in, and the soundboard lit up, they started creating. There was no plan, no outline, no concept. Just raw, unfiltered emotion pouring from their veins. It was almost terrifying how quickly it came together.

Within an hour, the Serpents had written an entire song.

It was almost absurd. It usually took them weeks—sometimes months —to fully write and produce a song. They were perfectionists, prone to clashing over conflicting ideas. The process was slow, meticulous, and often frustrating. 

But this time, everything just fell into place . Seamless and fluid. As if the song had always existed somewhere inside them, just waiting for James to carve it out.

Regulus wrote most of the lyrics. He didn’t mean for it to be about James. He wasn’t trying to write about him. It just happened . Every word, every metaphor, every heart-wrenching line was pulled straight from the part of him that was still bleeding. The part of him that James had touched, corrupted, and claimed.

Barty handled the harmonizing and background vocals. His voice rasped over the melody, rough with something raw and aching. There was a sharpness to the way he sang—almost angry. Frustration for being too far away.

Evan layered the instrumentals, weaving the song together with aching precision. Heavy, throbbing drums that felt like a heartbeat. Gritty guitar riffs that almost clawed at the melody. 

It was poetry.

By the time they were done, they were left staring at each other in the dim light of the studio.

They listened back to the recording five times.

It was perfect.

And it was all him .

James was etched into every lyric. Laced through every note. The longing. The devotion. The haunting beauty of him. It was all there, spilling through the speakers, spoken in poetic metaphors.

They didn’t need to name him. They were too sophisticated for that. Too clever to call on him directly. But they knew. And anyone who listened would know. Their fans would hear the song and decipher it immediately.

Because James was everywhere in the song.

He was in the references to the sun. The light they had been orbiting for so long. The golden warmth they were currently missing. The soft glow they were trying desperately to touch again.

The wanted to use metaphors. To compare James to the prettiest of things.

And even if no one else understood, they would. James would.

When the final note faded into silence, the three of them sat back. 

Evan wanted to post the song immediately.

His fingers twitched with impatience, itching to tap into their streaming platforms and upload the song without warning. No PR announcement. No teaser. No promotion. Just throw it into the void and let the fans stumble upon it. Let them wake up to the unexpected gift of it. 

Let James hear it.

Because they needed him to.

The Serpents were running out of ways to communicate with James. Calling and texting was useless. Sirius hadn’t responded. The Serpents had even tried going through contacts in the industry, people who might be able to catch wind of James’ whereabouts. Still nothing. 

The longer the silence stretched, the more desperate they became. And if breaking social media was the only way to reach James, so be it.

Their PR team couldn’t do a thing to stop them.

“We should post it,” Evan said sharply, his voice still rough from singing. His hand was already gripping his phone, fingers tapping impatiently against the screen. His knee bounced restlessly. “Right now.”

Barty and Regulus both glanced at him, brows furrowed slightly.

“Just throw it online,” Evan pushed, eyes flashing with determination. His voice was clipped and final. “No warning. No promo. Just get it out there .”

Regulus didn’t disagree. Not at all. He wanted James to hear it. Needed him to. The thought of James lying somewhere with his phone in his hand, scrolling aimlessly, and suddenly seeing their song on his feed made Regulus’ throat tighten. The possibility of it. 

The hope .

But before Regulus could agree, Barty’s voice cut through the moment, sharp and unyielding.

“It’s not done yet,” Barty said firmly.

Regulus and Evan both turned toward him with identical looks of confusion.

Regulus’ brow creased slightly, his lips parting in disbelief. He stared at Barty, searching his face for some sign of sarcasm.

“Not done?” Evan scoffed incredulously, shaking his head slightly. “Are you serious?” His voice was almost disbelieving. His jaw clenched, frustrated. “It’s perfect .”

And it was. The song had practically created itself. It had slipped from their veins like second nature, pouring from them as if it had been written in their bones. Every note, every lyric, every harmony— perfect . They all knew it. 

It was finished .

But Barty didn’t answer their incredulous looks. His hands were already moving toward the laptop.

Without another word, he grabbed it from the edge of the table plugged in the headphones, ignoring the questioning glances from his boyfriends.

“Barty,” Regulus’ voice was low, almost warning. His hands were clenching slightly at his sides. “What the fuck do you mean it’s not done?”

“You two can release it,” Barty muttered lowly, eyes fixed on the screen as he scrolled through the audio files. His voice was flat, almost disinterested, but his hands were moving with focused determination. “As soon as I’m done with it.”

Regulus opened his mouth to argue. So did Evan.

But before either of them could, Barty was already dragging the headphones over his ears. The soft clink of the metal frame snapping into place felt heavier than it should have. Final.

Then he was gone. Vanished into his work.

Fifteen minutes later, Barty unplugged the headphones.

Without a word, Barty turned toward his boyfriends and handed the laptop over. His expression was almost indifferent.

“ Now it’s finished,” Barty said simply. His voice was flat, matter-of-fact.

Regulus blinked at him before quickly grabbing the laptop. His hands were trembling slightly, and he didn’t care. He set it on the table in front of them with barely controlled urgency and clicked play without hesitation. His breath caught in his throat as the song began again.

Evan and Barty leaned in closer, all three of them crowding around the laptop as the familiar opening filled the room once more.

At first, it sounded exactly the same.

Regulus frowned slightly, brows knitting together. His eyes flicked toward Barty in confusion, but Barty didn’t meet his gaze. He just stared at the screen, face unreadable.

Regulus and Evan’s hearts clenched slightly with disappointment. They didn’t know what to expect. They just assumed there would be something . 

Some tweak, some layer, some subtle addition that they would immediately pick up on. But as the verses drifted into the pre-chorus, it was identical to the version they had recorded earlier.

But then they reached the bridge.

The bridge was brilliant, just as it was before. They knew it was one of their best. The lyrics were painstakingly crafted—sharp and raw. The melody carried them through, steadily building and progressing. With every second, the tension rose. The instruments swelled subtly, slowly pushing toward the inevitable release.

It made the listener wait . Made them want .

And then it came—the end of the bridge.

But instead of breaking into the final chorus, as they expected, the song did something else entirely.

It cut to silence .

Completely.

No sound. No faint instrumentals. No lingering vocals. Just dead, breathless, hollow silence.

It was short—no more than a beat, maybe two—but it was impactful . Like holding your breath. Like the entire song was suspended on the edge of a precipice, hanging in the weightless stillness of that moment.

Then James’ laugh broke through the speakers.

The sound was so sudden, so clear, so achingly familiar that all three of them froze. 

It was that laugh.

The one from their first interview. The one they had been so lucky—so overjoyed —to have caught on tape. The one they fell in love with. The one they had replayed and repeated and memorized. The one that made their hearts feel like they might split open from the sheer force of it.

James’ laugh.

Barty had sampled it.

And he’d used it perfectly .

For those few seconds, James’ laugh was completely alone—no vocals, no instruments, no backing track. Nothing else played.

Because when James laughed, it was the only important thing in the world.

The sound filled the space, bright and full and unrestrained. It was warm and effortless—the kind of laugh that made you feel lighter just by hearing it. 

And then, just as James’ laugh began to fade, feeling like a breath of air, the final chorus hit.

Hard.

It forced through the speakers, crashing into the silence left behind. Overwhelming. Almost too much all at once. The rawness of the vocals, the crashing instrumentals, the desperate power of the lyrics. It was relentless and unyielding. It was heartbreak and hope and longing, all tangled together.

And then it was over.

The song ended.

And the Serpents sat in silence.

The room felt still, heavy with the aftershock of it. Their breathing was the only sound. None of them moved.

Barty was the first to break the stillness.

“You wouldn’t let me make it my ringtone,” Barty muttered, as if he wasn’t a genius. 

Regulus slowly turned his head toward him, still dazed, still breathless. He could still hear James’ laugh ringing in his ears, still feel the ache it left behind. 

His voice was low and uneven when he finally asked, “What do we call it?”

He didn’t know why he was asking. The name didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for the fact that James was in the song now—his laughter could be heard. Again and again.

But Evan didn’t hesitate.

“Sunstarved.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THRITY-ONE: 

Google│「What is Sunstarved?」 X │ 🎤︎︎ [◉"] ⌕ 

The Serpents’ Rawest Release Yet - Rolling Stone

‘Sunstarved’ Just Broke the Internet - NME

The Genius of Sunstarved – The Guardian 

Mystery Behind "Sunstarved" - Billboard

Why Sunstarved Is Everywhere – Vulture

The Sampled Laugh - The Daily Prophet

A New Era in the Serpent’s Music – Pitchfork 

← Twitter│          「#Sunstarved」                   ⋮

@heartsjames: I’M SCREAMING. SOBBING. HYPERVENTILATING. THE BRIDGE. THE SILENCE. THE LAUGH. I AM UNWELL.

@sunstarvedblues: Y’all are sleepwalking through life if you haven’t heard it yet.

@serpentsss4eva: If you’re not sobbing yet, you’re just not listening hard enough.

@frankoceanlovertill1die: i’m in love.

@blackcrouchrosier: No, I don't think you understand. James is THEIR boy.

@definitelynotconcerned: I don’t even listen to the Serpents but I am actually scared of their fans right now.

@DemeterCabin: OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG IM SHOOK

@spineflowerx: James’ laugh is the most important sound in the world and no one can convince me otherwise.

@helpmeplease: The way I’ve just been emotionally manipulated by one (1) laugh. I can’t.

@shamelessmaraudersgirl: SUNSTARVED IS GOODD BRUHHHHHHH. IM CRYING.

@moonscapejames: The way they built the bridge like it was about to break and then made James’ laugh the only thing that mattered in that moment. Like his voice alone is what brought everything back. I can’t breathe.

@definitelynotconcerned: I’ve never been so confused by a fanbase in my life. What are they doing to us???

@Soul_Fire: Shook to my CORE

@serpentsshrine: I’m sorry, THIS is the hill you’re gonna die on?

@obsessedwith15deadwizards: oml this has me on my knees

@regulusblackwifey: IS JAMES OKAY???

@heartsjames: The Serpents left that silence before the laugh on purpose. They wanted us to wait for him because they're waiting for him. I can’t do this.

@cleozzzz: STOPWQKSIISJQD IM FANGIRLING SO HARD RN THIS IS THE BEST SONG EVER

@spineflowerx: I’ve never heard of this band in my life but the entire internet is sobbing over James’ laugh and now I feel personally invested.

@illuminatedbythelightofmylaptop: Literally gave me chills. Definitely unexpected, and oh my sweetness, James' laugh in the song. That's fucking wonderful.

@jamespotterfanclub: I'm throwing my phone into the sea.

@changedmyusernamebczpeoplerecognizemenow: NO BECAUSE MY NOSE DID IN FACT STOP BREATHING, MY JAW DID DROP AND MY HERT DID STOP. THE WORLD CEASED AND NY MIND SNAPPED.

@moonscapejames: James is their sunshine. And they’re STARVED for him. I can’t do this anymore.

@helpmeplease: I made the mistake of asking why everyone is obsessed with this song and now I am in too deep. I fear I will never escape.

@serpentsss4eva: I’ve never seen fans so collectively obsessed with protecting a single person before. James Potter, we will riot for you.

@midnightrunaway: The Serpents just casually releasing one of the most emotionally devastating songs of the decade on a random Tuesday. This is why they’ll always own me.

@Ange_was_here: IT‘S PERFECT. PROUD OF THEM.

@spineflowerx: They made us wait in dead silence and then just dropped James’ laugh into the void.

@violamiamigo: LITERALLY FELL TO MY KNEES WHAT IS THIS PERFECTION

@imjamespotters: I was just brushing my teeth and now I’m on the floor crying.

@blackcrouchrosier: Are we going to talk about how they sampled JAMES’ LAUGH or do I have to scream about it alone???

@WilliamsArchive: THE GASP I GUSPED AT THE BRIDGE

@casualobserver: Can someone explain why half of Twitter is crying over a laugh???

@Havoc_books: My breath it’s gone. I’m crying screaming. Sunstarved. Oh that’s art. 

@hopelessloophole: ITS A MASTERPIECE IM CHOKINGGGG

@serpentsshrine: THIS ISN’T A SONG. THIS IS A FUCKING LOVE LETTER.

@eclipsingdark: The internet is being held hostage by one single laugh and I’m genuinely concerned for our collective mental health.

@midnightrunaway: The Serpents just casually dropped the best song of the year without saying a word. I am NOT OKAY.

@heartsjames: I RECOGNIZED IT. I WENT AND FOUND THE INTERVIEW. IT’S THE SAME LAUGH.

@moon_thestars: OMG SUNSTARVED IS A FUCKING MASTERPIECE I CANT

@casualobserver: I’m never asking about anything on Twitter again. This is terrifying.

@howldarksun: Not to be dramatic but I think the Serpents just rewired my brain chemistry.

@sunstarvedblues: I’m on the floor. I will never emotionally recover. You know why.

@eclipsingdark: This is a declaration and I don’t know how to handle it.

@howldarksun: Sunstarved is my emotional support breakdown song now. Don’t talk to me.

@thesnakeheiress: OMFG IM OBSESSEDDDDD

@heartsjames: The way they worship him in this song. They put his laugh in the spotlight like it was the most important sound in the world. And it IS.

@evanrosiermealready : The Serpents would burn the world down for James. That’s it. That’s the tweet.

James didn’t choose to abandon the Serpents.

Though, he knew that’s exactly what they thought.

He could see it in their faces—the dullness in their eyes. He recognized the tension in their smiles, and the restrained laughter that never quite reached their eyes.

They were mourning him. Mourning the fleeting, fragile relationship—one that had ended far too soon.

And James couldn’t do anything about it.

He had been forced into the shadows, backed into a corner by The Daily Prophet. His company had made the decision without him. They isolated him from the real world.

James hadn’t seen the Serpents in two months, fourteen days, twelve hours, and twenty-six minutes.

He knew because he had counted.

Every night, he stared at the date on his phone screen, trying to make sense of how much time had passed since he last saw them. 

The memories replayed in his head until they became a blur—smiles he could no longer quite picture, voices that began to fade at the edges. He couldn’t tell if he was remembering them properly anymore, or if he was simply recalling the grainy, oversaturated images he had seen in the media.

Because that was the only version of them he had left.

The only connection he had to them was through interviews, performances, and fleeting tabloid photos. He was reduced to observing them through a screen, watching from the outside like a stranger. He tried to be grateful for the small glimpses, but it hurt more than it helped.

They were different now, and James knew why. They were grieving because they think James left them.

The thought gnawed at him every day. The Serpents had no way of knowing the truth. That James wanted them more than anything else. That he would have given anything to stay. But his company had taken that choice from him.

Even if The Daily Prophet hadn’t, James was emotionally wrecked. He was still drowning in the aftermath of the night he had been spiked.

It had been weeks since it happened, but he was still there. It didn’t take much to send him spiraling back. Loud voices in crowded rooms. The clink of ice in a glass. The fleeting press of unfamiliar fingers grazing his wrist.

He still wasn’t sleeping. He still was throwing up.

And in the midst of it all, he was still trying to stay afloat financially.

Without a stable form of income, James was quickly realizing just how fragile his situation was. His bank account was a bleeding wound—every medical bill, every legal fee, and every day he spent unable to work left him scrambling.

He had no choice but to prioritize survival over sentiment.

No matter how much he wanted to run back to the Serpents—to beg them to understand, to explain what had happened—he couldn’t. He was too busy fighting for his future. Too busy scraping together the broken pieces of his life.

And the Serpents didn’t know.

All they could see was his absence.

He couldn’t chase them—not when he was barely able to keep himself standing. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

Oh, he wanted to.

He wanted to show up at their studio unannounced, with no explanation or apology—just to be there. Just to see them again, even if they slammed the door in his face.

He wanted to hear Regulus’ sharp, cutting voice—the one that always softened when he was with James. He wanted to see Evan’s kind smile—to melt under it. He wanted to feel Barty’s wild, reckless energy—the way he was constantly shifting, barely tethered to the ground.

But he was stuck.  

‘Sunstarved’ felt like karma.

One minute, James was refusing the Serpents  one hundred million dollars. The next, ‘Sunstarved’ was spontaneously released. No promotion. No teaser. Just an unexpected drop that left the entire industry reeling.

James hasn’t even listened to the song. He was too scared to.

He had read about it, of course. It was impossible not to. The entire world seemed to be talking about it. His social media feeds were flooded with articles, tweets, and posts declaring it a masterpiece. The critics praised its vulnerability, calling it raw, genuine, heartbreaking, clever. 

Everyone said it was divine.

But James hadn’t listened to it because he didn’t know if he could handle it.

He was already barely holding himself together. The weight of the Serpents’ absence pressed on him daily. It was easier to avoid it. Easier to shut his eyes and pretend that he wasn’t missing them like an open wound.

He convinced himself that hearing ‘Sunstarved’ would only make it worse.

But eventually, he cracked.

The curiosity gnawed at him, too persistent to ignore. No amount of self-preservation could silence the part of him that needed to know.

So, he gave in.

James slipped on his headphones, opened the song, and pressed play. Then, he heard the Serpents. Regulus, Barty, and Evan. His boys.

And they sounded vulnerable. They weren’t performing. They were pleading. It was them—raw, bleeding, and exposed. Every note a confession. Every lyric a scar.

God, they were hurting.

James could hear it in every cracked syllable, in the tremor of Regulus’ voice when he sang the opening verse. The way Barty’s rasp splintered into something ragged on the chorus. The faint, broken tremble in Evan’s harmonies.

They were singing through heartbreak.

And James knew—knew—without a doubt that they were singing to him.

They sang of warmth and sunlight—the kind that slips through the cracks and fills the room. The kind that makes a home out of broken things. They sang of golden laughter and hazel eyes. Of arms that felt like safety. 

They compared him to everything lovely.

The lyrics painted him in metaphors. They called him things too beautiful to exist. They made him sound like poetry. 

James squeezed his eyes shut, tears sliding silently down his cheeks.

But then he heard it.

And his body stopped.

His ears rang for a short moment. His vision blurred with tears. His chest seized, lungs momentarily forgetting how to pull in air. His heart stalled and then flipped violently against his ribs. His stomach twisted, a wave of nausea and longing rolling through him.

Because there it was.

His laugh.

Sampled and stitched into the song.

They had immortalized his laugh.

James’ own voice slipped into the silence of the bridge. A fleeting, genuine laugh—the same one he had thrown at Barty during their first interview.

They had captured it. Preserved it. Turned it into music.

And James broke.

His shoulders shook, but he didn’t make a sound. He simply sat there with his headphones on, staring at nothing, as the music wrapped around him.

Because it wasn’t just a song. It was a cry. A prayer whispered into the dark, hoping he might hear it.

His boys missed him. They missed him so deeply.

And James had never felt so loved, so worshiped, so desired.

They had taken his absence and built a monument to it, and James had no idea how he was supposed to survive that.

When the song ended, James didn’t move. He simply sat there, headphones still on, eyes still wet, staring at the screen like it might offer him a way back to them.

But it didn’t.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

‘Sunstarved’ had been public for twenty-four hours now.

Sirius Black had been missing for seventy-two.

At first, the Serpents were merely irritated by his unexplained disappearance. They didn’t have patience. Not when they needed him to do the one thing he had promised he would.

Pass along James’ phone number.

But Sirius hadn’t.

And for the first day and a half, the Serpents had assumed he was simply forgetful. Sirius had been stolen away by Remus, which would’ve distracted anyone. But by the morning of the third day, the irritation started to change into something heavier. Something closer to concern.

Barty tried to be rational about it. “He’s probably still with Remus,” he reasoned, chewing idly on his thumbnail as he paced the penthouse. “They’re probably just off the grid somewhere, locked in a hotel room, doing unspeakable things to each other.”

Because that was so on brand for Sirius.

Realistically, Remus would never let anything happen to him. The man was a walking weapon. Practically indestructible. A bodyguard with an absurd level of combat training and the calm ruthlessness to match. Sirius was with him—he was fine .

On second thought, maybe Sirius wasn’t fine.

And yet, the Serpents were still agitated because three days was a long time. So, they waited, and grumbled about it.

“How much sex could one man possibly have?” Barty, who definitely knows the answer to that question, wined. 

Even Evan, the most patient of them all, had thrown up his hands in exasperation by the third day. “Remus has had enough time to fuck Sirius into the mattress.”  

“Yeah.” Regulus dryly added, “Kindly return him, please.” 

Still, there was no word until the morning of the third day. That was when everything changed.

Because while the Serpents were sprawled across the penthouse, Sirius Black was laying in Remus Lupin’s bed, still wrapped in the man’s arms—completely unaware of the hurricane he was about to step into.

He was only half-awake, legs intertwined with Remus’, his face pressed sleepily into the warm curve of Remus’ neck. He was still smirking lazily at the faint red crescents his nails had left down the length of Remus’ back. However, that was nothing compared to Remus’ work. 

And then he checked his phone.

And his entire world tilted.

Because ‘Sunstarved’ was everywhere.

It was the first thing he saw. Tweets, articles, reviews, and reactions clogged his screen. YouTube videos with millions of views analyzing the lyrics. TikTok videos of people crying through their first listen.

And Sirius, still half-asleep, was completely baffled. It took him nearly five full minutes to register what he was even looking at. Then, he saw it. The familiar scrawl of the Serpents’ logo.

No.

He sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Remus onto the floor.

Without another word, Sirius pressed play, and by the end of it, he was shaking. He knew exactly who they were singing about. James. Who else could it be?

The Serpents still didn’t have his number because Sirius hadn’t given it to them.

He had been too wrapped up in his own selfish bliss. Too distracted by Remus and their reckless little getaway. Too preoccupied with getting himself fucked into oblivion to even remember that the Serpents were waiting .

Waiting for him to do the one thing they had asked.

Sirius shot out of bed, moving on instinct.

“Get dressed,” he snapped at Remus, already yanking on his jeans with trembling hands. “We’re leaving.”

Remus blinked, still bleary-eyed from sleep, brows furrowing in confusion. “What? What happened?”

But Sirius wasn’t listening.

He was already snatching up his boots, stuffing his feet into them with barely contained aggression. His movements were sharp, jerky, frantic. His hands fumbled clumsily with his belt buckle, his brain short-circuiting with adrenaline.

He had fucked up . And now, he needed to fix it.

“Get your shit,” he barked, already tossing his phone onto the nightstand and dragging his leather jacket over his shoulders. “We’re going.”

“Sirius, wait—”

“ Now, Remus. ”

Remus didn’t argue. He simply threw on his clothes, slipped his shoes on, and snatched his keys from the dresser.

Neither of them said another word.

And less than ten minutes later, Sirius was in the passenger seat of Remus’ car, fingers white-knuckled around the edge of the door.

“Faster,” he hissed out through clenched teeth, barely glancing at Remus.

Remus pressed his lips into a grim line. “I’m already going twenty over.”

“Then go thirty .”

Remus didn’t need to be told twice.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pushed his foot down on the gas pedal.

The car tore down the road, the tires shrieking against the pavement as they took a sharp turn.

The Serpents were going to be livid , and he deserved it.

He had been gone for three days.

They sure had a lot to discuss. 

Sirius Black didn’t knock.

He slammed the penthouse door open with a reckless shove of his shoulder, barely noticing the sharp thud as it ricocheted against the wall.

He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, didn’t glance at the Serpents sprawled across the living room. He stormed inside, boots thudding heavily against the marble floor, eyes sharp with purpose.

Remus Lupin trailed in behind him, calmer but no less imposing. He didn’t say a word, just let the door click shut behind him as he scanned the room, dark eyes flicking between the Serpents’ startled faces.

For a beat, no one moved.

The Serpents stared.

They hadn’t even heard the elevator.

“Sirius.”

The sound of his name barely left Regulus’ lips before he was on his feet, crossing the room in three long strides. Without a word, he slammed into Sirius, wrapping his arms around him so tightly it nearly knocked the air out of him.

And Sirius stilled.

For half a second, he was caught off guard.

He had expected anger. Fury, even. He had expected to be shouted at, shoved away, and met with of accusations. But this—this crushing, desperate relief —he hadn’t been prepared for it.

Regulus clung to him like he was afraid he might disappear again.

And Sirius hated how it made him feel.

The guilt became heavier. Something sour and suffocating. His arms came up stiffly, wrapping around his brother’s back, but he didn’t deserve the affection. Not after three days of silence.

He buried his face in Regulus’ shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut against the weight of it.

“Idiot,” Regulus muttered, his voice rough with irritation, but there was no bite to it. Only relief. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

And Sirius’ throat closed up.

He didn’t say anything. He just held on.

When Regulus finally pulled back, he didn’t let go entirely. He kept his hands on Sirius’ arms, his sharp eyes sweeping over him, inspecting him as if he didn’t trust his own grip.

But then his gaze snagged on Sirius’ throat, and it froze there.

The several dark, bruised hickeys decorating his pale skin were unmistakable.

Regulus’ eyes narrowed. “Seriously.”

The exasperation in his voice was so flat and deadpan that Sirius actually flinched.

Regulus’ glare shifted to Remus, who was still lingering awkwardly by the door. Remus held up both hands in mock surrender, a nervous little half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Don’t look at me,” he said, too light for the tension in the room. “It’s Sirius’ fault. He’s too pale. Marks too easily.”

Sirius’ face flamed.

He could feel the heat blooming in his cheeks, creeping down his neck.

Now knowing that Sirius was safe, the Serpents’ concern evaporated, and was replaced by anger.

The questions came fast and merciless.

“Where the fuck have you been?”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“Do you have any idea what’s been happening?”
“Why didn’t you send us James’ number?”

The last question was the worst because Sirius didn’t have an excuse for it.

He could’ve lied. He could’ve said he didn’t have service or that he’d lost track of time. He could’ve claimed that he meant to send it, but something came up.

But he didn’t. Because none of it was true. So instead, he exhaled sharply, squared his shoulders, and told the truth.

“I forgot.”

There was a heavy pause. Then, a collective groan filled the room.

The Serpents’ frustration exploded all at once—sharp huffs, harsh sighs, and curses muttered under their breath. Barty threw his hands in the air and stomped away from the group, scrubbing a hand down his face. Evan tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling as if pleading with the universe for patience. Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply through his teeth.

And Sirius, feeling increasingly cornered, did what he did best.

He deflected.

He gestured dramatically toward Remus, still hovering awkwardly near the door.

“C’mon. Just look at him.” He exasperated.

As six pairs of venomous eyes snapped toward Remus, he lifted a hand and gave a weak, awkward little wave. “Uh—hi.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Fair.”

The single word was muttered low and absentmindedly under Barty’s breath.

Regulus’ and Evan’s heads whipped around. They stared at Barty in joint, sharp disbelief.

“Barty! ” they snapped in unison.

And Barty, completely unbothered, shrugged with a disinterested look.

“What? ” he drawled, blinking at them with a look of exaggerated innocence. He gestured vaguely toward Remus. “You’ve got eyes.”

And Remus, let out an amused laugh. “Thank you,” he said, utterly serious.

And Evan and Regulus—infuriated by the entire exchange—both wheeled around on Barty again, eyes sharp with exasperation.

“You’re not helping! ” Evan barked in unison.

But Barty was already strolling back toward the couch, unaffected.

And Sirius, despite the storm brewing in the room, felt the corners of his lips twitch upward.

Because, God help him, he really had missed these bastards.

Once the sharp edge of tension dulled to a simmer, the group slowly drifted into the living room. There was still a trace of irritation hanging thick in the air, but the suffocating hostility had bled out.

The Serpents settled into their usual spots. Barty slouched low on the armchair, one leg thrown over the side, his fingers drumming idly against the leather. Evan sprawled out on the longer couch, sinking into the cushions with his head tipped back, eyes half-lidded and far away. Regulus, despite all the comfortable seating, sat on the floor. He liked the floor.

And Sirius?

To the Serpents’ collective surprise, he curled up next to Remus.

Not just next to him—on him.

Without any hesitation, Sirius flopped sideways onto the couch and swung his legs over Remus’ lap. Remus, just as unexpectedly, reacted instinctively. 

He didn’t hesitate.

He simply slid an arm around the smaller man’s back, looping it securely around his waist. His hand came up almost automatically, threading into Sirius’ dark hair.

And just like that, they shamelessly melted into each other.

Unapologetic.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As if they hadn’t met three days ago.

The Serpents stared. It was bizarre .

None of them said anything, but their eyes flicked between the two men, sharp and calculating.

Regulus arched a single unimpressed brow at his brother. He stared at the way Sirius curled into Remus’ side—the easy weight of his head against the bodyguard’s chest, the way he practically purred under the slow drag of Remus’ fingers through his hair—and narrowed his eyes slightly.

Sirius didn’t miss the look, and he was not having it.

With all the bratty defiance he could muster, he shot Regulus a flat look and drawled,  “Don’t care.”

Regulus’ eyes narrowed, and Sirius simply smirked wider.

“You can keep making that face if you want,” he added, tone light and airy, fingers tapping casually against Remus’ forearm, “and I still won’t care about your opinion.”

And yet, Regulus was persistent with his judgmental glare.

“Oh, come off it, Reggie,” he drawled, lips quirking upward with a lazy, wolfish grin. “You’re hardly one to talk.”

The Serpents sat up straighter at Sirius’ accusing tone, ready to defend themselves.

“Because I’ve had to watch you , Evan, and Barty dance around your infatuation with James for months now,” he added breezily, dragging out the word with exaggerated irritation, “and frankly? I’m glad something moved quickly for once.”

The three Serpents went still.

It was so abrupt—so sharp and unexpected—that they didn’t have time to mask their reactions.

“Maybe,” Sirius drawled, voice heavy with smug condescension, “you should focus on your own love disaster before judging mine.”

Evan’s back went rigid, the faintest hint of color creeping up his neck. His sharp features remained perfectly composed, but there was a flicker—a tell—in his eyes. Barty, ever the nonchalant bastard, didn’t flinch. But his lips pursed slightly. Just a twitch. And Regulus’ nostrils flared, and his fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair.

Sirius tilted his head slightly, eyes flashing with knowing mischief. “Oh, what’s the matter?” he crooned, voice syrupy with mock innocence. “Didn’t think I noticed?”

The Serpents stared him down, glaring daggers. But Sirius only leaned further into Remus’ hold, all smugness and satisfaction.

“Honestly, the way you lot hover around him is pathetic,” he continued, letting the words drip off his tongue like poison-coated honey. “Like you’re guarding some fragile, little treasure you’re afraid might break.”

There was a beat of silence.

Barty, still reclining lazily in his chair, lifted a brow and scoffed. “Yeah?” he deadpanned, voice low and slow, like a knife dragging over gravel. “And what does that make you?”

Sirius’ eyes glimmered with predatory delight.

“Faster ,” he replied smoothly, grinning wickedly.

And Barty—damn him—actually let out a low, throaty chuckle.

Evan shot him a sharp, warning look, but it was too late. The tension had been punctured.

And Sirius knew it. Because he was already stretching out again, sighing dramatically as he slumped further into Remus’ chest, letting the bodyguard’s warm, steady hands comb through his hair.

He didn’t miss the way Regulus’ glare faltered slightly. He didn’t miss the way Evan’s hand loosened ever so slightly on his knee. He didn’t miss the briefest flash of amusement in Barty’s eyes.

Smug, lovesick, impatient bastard. 

And then, once he was sure he had their attention again, he exhaled sharply and shifted slightly, finally turning the conversation toward what he’d actually come for.

“Speaking of love disasters,” he drawled casually, glancing around at the three Serpents with an almost too innocent look, “we should probably talk about Sunstarved.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The conversation inevitably turned to Sunstarved , as it was the topic that weighed most heavily on everyone’s mind.

Sirius, who had been lounging with his legs crossed on the armrest, had his attention fully on the group. His body language was a stark contrast to the previous moment; the relaxed ease he had shown moments before with Remus was replaced by a more contemplative stillness.

Evan was the first to speak, his voice cautious, as if treading on dangerous ground. "Are you... angry?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

The question threw Sirius off for a second. He blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. "Angry?" He repeated, tilting his head slightly. "Why the hell would I be angry?"

Evan shifted uncomfortably. He glanced over at Regulus for guidance, but Regulus was already staring at the floor.

Then Barty spoke up, "The PR team is furious," he explained flatly. "We released a song about James without any prior warning or approval. You know, the same James they told us we couldn't talk about."

Sirius’ expression darkened for a moment, but then he leaned back in his seat, almost amused by the revelation. "They’ll live," he said nonchalantly, tapping his fingers on the armrest. "I’m not worried about the PR team. Let them whine and complain."

A light snort of laughter escaped him, and the others blinked at him, confused by his seemingly casual dismissal of the entire situation.

"They're going to make your life hell," Regulus pressed, his tone edging on the anxious side. "You’re going to be drowning in work."

Sirius simply waved a hand dismissively, his lips curving into a smirk. "I’ve dealt with worse."

His expression softened, Sirius’ eyes faraway as he thought about the song again.

"I’m not angry," he said, his voice quieter now. "I actually love the song. Everything about it—" He paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "The metaphors, the lyrics, the way you sang it, the instrumental build-ups. It’s a masterpiece.”

The Serpents exchanged looks, some still skeptical of Sirius' level-headedness.

Barty tilted his head, studying Sirius, but there was an understanding behind his expression now. "So, you're not mad that they did it without any heads-up?"

"No," Sirius answered firmly, shaking his head. "You released it spontaneously. No promotion, no warning—just a blank album cover for fans to find on their own." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes bright with admiration. "That’s powerful. It’s raw, and it’s exactly what you needed to do."

The room grew quiet as his words sunk in, each person processing the weight of what Sirius had just said.

Regulus, who had been silent until now, let out a slow breath. "Really?" he asked, still unable to completely hide his surprise.

"Really." Sirius replied, with a nod of finality. "If the PR team doesn't like it, that’s their problem."

Barty let out a low whistle, impressed. "I didn’t expect you to be this relaxed about it."

Sirius shrugged. "What can I say? The song’s divine, so I can’t be upset." His lips twisted into a wry smile. 

The group seemed to take comfort in Sirius’ words, their collective anxiety softening just a little.

"And since when do you care what the PR team thinks?" Sirius smugly asked. 

“Oh, we don’t.” Barty laughed, “We’re just worried about the mess you’ll have to clean up.”

Sirius shrugged with indifference, “After disappearing for three days, I deserve it.” 

“Yeah,” Evan said snarkily. Then, he suddenly straightened, his eyes lighting up as if he had just remembered something crucial. “Wait,” he said, turning to the group with growing urgency. “We still don’t have James’ number.”

A beat of silence passed before realization dawned on the Serpents. They had been sitting here, discussing Sunstarved , worrying about the PR team, when they could have been reuniting with James. What the hell were they doing?

Before they could launch into a new round of frustration, Remus, who had been mostly quiet throughout the conversation, finally spoke. His voice was calm, as if he were pointing out something painfully obvious. “I could just drive you to his house.”

The Serpents froze.

Regulus, Evan, and Barty turned to look at him with identical expressions of surprise, as if they had collectively forgotten that Remus wasn’t just some random bodyguard who had appeared out of nowhere—he was James’ best friend.

​​“Oh,” Regulus said blankly.

“Right,” Evan murmured.

Barty exhaled, shaking his head at himself. “Yeah, that… makes sense.”

There was a split second of silence, then all three Serpents snapped out of their collective shock, rushing to agree. “Yes. Yes, that— thank you ,” Evan said, already making a beeline for the door.

Barty was right behind him, dragging on his shoes so fast he nearly toppled over, while Regulus practically shoved his arms through the sleeves of his coat mid-stride. They were on a mission now, single-minded in their goal, and nothing was going to slow them down.

Well. Almost nothing.

“Wait—” Sirius blurted out, his voice an octave higher than usual. The Serpents turned to look at him, confused. His face was flushed, and he was shifting awkwardly where he stood.

Remus, already in the driver’s seat, raised an eyebrow at him through the open window. “What’s wrong?”

Sirius hesitated, his gaze darting around, landing everywhere except on Remus. “Did you… uh… clean the backseat?”

Remus’ eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean, darling?”

Sirius’ flush deepened. He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Like… y’know.”

Remus tilted his head. “No, I don’t know. ”

Sirius groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I passed out right after, so I didn’t clean it…” He trailed off, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

There was a beat of silence. Then, realization dawned in Remus’ expression. His eyes widened slightly, before he suddenly burst into laughter.

The Serpents, still confused, glanced between them. “What?” Barty asked.

“Oh, love ,” Remus wheezed between laughs, wiping at his eyes. “This isn’t the car we fucked in. This one’s clean.”

Sirius made a mortified noise and smacked Remus’ arm.

“ Jesus Christ, ” Regulus muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Can we go now?" Evan drawled.

Sirius huffed, waving them off. "Yeah, yeah, go find your boy." 

Barty, still laughing, clapped Sirius on the back. “Let’s go get James before you traumatize us even more.”

Still red-faced, Sirius huffed but climbed into the passenger seat, grumbling under his breath as the Serpents piled into the back. Remus, still chuckling, slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.

Finally, after what felt like far too long, they were on their way.

The car barely rolled to a stop before the Serpents were already unbuckling their seatbelts, scrambling out in a flurry of motion. James’ house stood before them, warm and grand under the early evening light, but they barely spared it a glance in their urgency.

Barty reached the door first, slamming his finger against the doorbell with frantic repetition. Then, when no immediate answer came, he resorted to pounding against the door with his fist. “James! Open up!”

Silence.

A beat passed.

The Serpents exchanged uneasy glances.

“Where the hell is he?” Evan muttered, irritation laced with an edge of worry.

Before the tension could stretch any further, Remus stepped forward, pulling out a small keyring from his pocket. “Alright, move,” he said, already sliding a key into the lock.

Regulus, Evan, and Barty all whipped around at once.

“You have the keys to James’ house?” Evan asked, equal parts shocked and impressed.

Remus shot him a look, as if the question itself was ridiculous. “Of course.”

And actually, that made sense. It was Remus. Of course, he had a key.

With a quiet click, the door swung open, and the Serpents surged forward, practically tumbling inside in their eagerness.

They stopped dead in their tracks.

The house stretched before them, stunning them into silence.

It was lovely.

Not in a minimalist, cold, pristine way. No, James’ home was lived-in, soulful beauty. The kind that wrapped around you the moment you stepped inside.

The architecture was distinctly Spanish-style, rich with history and extravagance, but it was the details that made it remarkable.

Everywhere they looked, something new caught their eye. Tiled archways curled over doorways like open arms. The walls—painted in deep, sun-drenched hues—were adorned with framed photographs of James and his family, each image a captured moment of joy and love. 

There was clutter, but it wasn’t messy. It was alive . Every surface held an assortment of objects, none of them randomly placed. They weren’t just decorations, they were pieces of a life well-lived . 

A record player sat in the corner, surrounded by a collection of vinyls. The Serpents recognized their albums amongst the piles, which made them smirk. Some still out of their sleeves, as if James had been flipping through them just hours before. 

Even the air carried something indescribably James . It smelled like cinnamon and ink, like fresh parchment and old records, like home.

Regulus exhaled, glancing around, taking it all in. “This is…” he trailed off, unable to find the right words.

“Yeah,” Evan murmured, eyes locked on a photo of James carrying Nova on his shoulders. 

Barty, who had been staring at a set of postcards pinned to a cork board, finally turned back to them. “Okay,” he said, shaking off the momentary shock, refocusing. “Where the fuck is he?”

Remus pulled out his phone, quickly tapping through his settings to check James' location. He felt stupid for not doing it earlier. They’d wasted time breaking into his house like a bunch of lunatics instead of checking first. But there was no point dwelling on that now. What mattered was finding him.

His eyes scanned the screen, and when the map finally loaded, his eyebrows furrowed. The bank?

“James is driving to the bank,” Remus announced, glancing up.

The Serpents, who had been wound tight with tension, immediately perked up at his words.

And then, it hit them.

Relief.

A foreign, long-forgotten thing. Something they hadn't let themselves feel in months . It came all at once, crashing over them in a wave so overwhelming that for a brief moment, they weren’t sure how to process it.

James was finally cashing in his check.

Finally, he had swallowed his damn pride and accepted the help he deserved. He wouldn't have to struggle anymore, wouldn't have to worry about rent, food, bills—wouldn’t have to scrape by just to exist .

Regulus exhaled sharply, as if releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Evan let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. Barty ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if trying to ground himself in reality.

The weight that had been pressing against their chests for months—the helplessness, the frustration, the fear —lifted, just a little.

By the time Remus offered, “I can drive us there,” the Serpents were already moving, practically bolting for the door.

They weren’t wasting another second.

“Yeah, I don’t think you get a choice, Remus.” Sirius snarked. Remus only smiled and pulled him closer, kissing the top of his head. 

The bank was nowhere in sight.

Not because it wasn’t there—but because the mass of paparazzi had swallowed it whole, an unrelenting sea of flashing cameras, invasive voices, and suffocating bodies.

The Serpents were furious.

Rage took over their minds, burning through their veins with each intrusive shout, each blinding flash of light. They knew exactly who the vultures were here for.

James.

Barty didn't hesitate. He yanked his hood over his head, his jaw tightening as his hand went to the car door.

Sirius saw it coming and tried to stop him, grabbing his wrist. "Barty, you can not go out there!"

"Watch me," Barty growled, ripping free.

And then he was gone, slipping into the chaos with Regulus and Evan right behind him, their movements sharp and controlled. They moved with purpose, attempting to weave through the horde unnoticed.

“Fuck,” Remus muttered, already throwing his door open.

Sirius moved to do the same. But before he could, a firm hand landed on his chest, shoving him back into his seat. 

"Nope, you're not going," Remus said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“What?” Sirius sputtered, scrambling to sit up. “Like hell I’m—”

Remus—the absolute bastard— actually reached across Sirius and fastened his seatbelt, as if that would keep Sirius in place. Sirius scowled and cheekily unbuckled the seatbelt. But he’d been tricked. The seatbelt was a distraction Remus had slid out of the car, slammed the door shut, and— click.

The lock engaged.

Sirius forgot how smart he was, sometimes.

Normal vehicles let you open the door from the inside, but Remus' wasn't normal. It was reinforced, secured, modified to keep people inside just as much as it kept threats out. It had special features, safety measures—one of which was the ability to lock passengers in until the driver released them.

Realization dawned on Sirius.

He whipped around to glare out the window.

Remus was standing there, hands on his hips, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

Sirius didn’t hesitate. He scrambled over the center console, knees pressing into the leather as he shoved his hands against the window. His palms slapped against the glass, fingers curling desperately as he banged on it.

“ Remus! ”

At first, Remus laughed, shaking his head at Sirius’ antics. He expected a smirk, some snarky remark, a demand to be let out just for the sake of arguing. But then he saw Sirius’ face.

The frantic edge in his wide, stormy eyes. The way his breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.

This wasn’t Sirius throwing a tantrum.

This was Sirius begging to be listened to.

Remus’ stomach twisted. His hand shot out, unlocking the door instantly and crouching down to Sirius’ height the second it swung open.

His hands found Sirius’ arms, rubbing soothing circles into the fabric of his jacket. “Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice was softer now, tinged with worry. “What’s going on?”

But to his surprise, Sirius pushed him away .

Sirius shoved at Remus’ chest, his hands trembling as he tried to force Remus back. “Go—just go —you don’t understand, they have triggers —” His words came fast and sharp, tripping over each other in his panic. “Regulus hates being touched, and Barty—Barty can’t handle loud noises—”

Remus’ stomach dropped.

The realization slammed into him. The flashing cameras. The screaming voices. The endless grabbing hands. Regulus, Evan, and Barty were a breakdown waiting to happen.

Sirius’ hands were still pushing, still trembling against his chest, still pleading with him to move .

Remus caught them in his own, kissing Sirius’ hands quickly.

“Stay here, okay?” His voice was steady.

Then he let go, closing and locking the door behind him with a single click. Effortlessly, Remus shoved his way through the crowed, searching for Regulus, Barty, Evan, James, anyone .

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Remus forced his way through the crowd with ease, his body moving like a blade cutting through water. He was no stranger to aggressive mobs—had dealt with them countless times before—but there was something particularly venomous about paparazzi. 

The flashing lights, the relentless shouting, the shameless grabbing of anything they could reach. He shoved a particularly persistent reporter back without remorse, his sharp eyes scanning the sea of bodies for any sign of the Serpents.

It didn’t take long.

The second his gaze landed on Evan’s blond dreadlocks, Remus beelined for them.

When he finally reached the group, he could see it. The panic.

Evan’s hands were clenched tightly around Regulus’ shoulders, pulling the smaller man to his chest. His body was curled protectively around Regulus, shielding him from the hands that reached out.

Regulus’ face was half-buried in Evan’s jacket, turned away from the flashes. His fingers curled into the fabric like he could somehow make himself smaller.

Barty stood beside them, his jaw clenched so tightly that his molars had to be grinding together. His eyes were squeezed shut, breath coming in heavy bursts as he tried to focus. Remus knew exactly what he was doing—blocking out the noise.

Despite their obvious distress, their expressions remained determined.

They weren’t leaving.

Not without James.

Remus exhaled sharply. That complicated things. But if they refused to go, the most he could do was ensure their comfort and protect them until they got what they came for.

His body moved on instinct. He circled them, shoved back bodies with ruthless efficiency to carve out space. Reporters cursed as they were pushed, but none dared fight against a man who would clearly win.

The moment the Serpents had enough space to breathe, Remus turned to Barty. He was trembling, his fingers twitching restlessly at his sides.

Remus grabbed his wrist.

Barty flinched. His eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused, flickering in every direction.

“ Cover your ears ,” Remus ordered, voice firm but gentle.

Barty blinked at him.