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The Astronomy Tower was quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves far below and the occasional call of a night bird somewhere out past the Forbidden Forest. The cold clung to the stone walls like moss, but up high, beneath the open sky, the chill felt different—sharper, cleaner, like it belonged.
Regulus sat cross-legged on one of the wide stone ledges, shoulders wrapped in a thick sweater he had nicked from the laundry earlier that week. (He didn't know who's it was but it didn't really matter to him because he knew it was one of his roommates). He held a joint between his fingers, the ember glowing faintly in the dark, his other hand braced loosely on his knee as he leaned forward, squinting toward the constellations he used to trace with eager, shaking fingers as a child. He used to mesmerize them. Now they just looked… far away.
Remus lay stretched out beside him, using his own rolled-up jacket as a pillow. His legs were crossed at the ankles, socks mismatched, hair a mess of curls against the stone floor. He wasn’t even pretending to follow the stars. His gaze was unfocused, glazed in that dreamy, soft way that came after the third or fourth hit. He was smiling. Not broadly—just that slow, heavy-lidded grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth like the stars were whispering something just for him.
Regulus passed the joint down without looking. Remus’s fingers brushed his as he took it—warm and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.
“You’re really pretty, you know that?” Remus murmured after a drag, voice low and scratchy like he’d forgotten how to speak.
Regulus snorted, rolling his eyes even though the corners of his mouth lifted. “You’re baked out of your mind.”
Remus turned his head lazily, looking up at him with those sun-dazed eyes. “So are you. But I’m still right.”
Regulus didn’t argue. He just hummed under his breath, letting his chin rest on his knee. His dark curls moved slightly in the breeze, his eyes glassy but thoughtful. The stars above blinked like they were in on some secret joke.
“I used to come up here to feel small,” he said, the words drifting out like smoke. “It helped. Everything felt loud back then. The sky made it better.”
Remus let out a soft hum of understanding. “You don’t feel small now?”
Regulus hesitated. “No. Not with you here.”
There was a pause—a delicate, beautiful pause—where nothing needed to be said. Then Remus reached out, grounding him with a hand to his ankle, his fingers curling gently around the cuff of Regulus’s jeans like he needed to be sure he was real.
Regulus passed him the joint again, not meeting his gaze. “My fingers feel like clouds.”
Remus choked on a laugh and coughed a little, shoulders shaking. “That’s because you haven’t moved them in ten minutes.”
“Time is fake.”
“That’s fair,” Remus agreed, voice soft and warm. “You’re very philosophical when you’re stoned.”
“I’m always philosophical,” Regulus said, deadpan. “You’re just not always worthy of hearing it.”
Remus grinned and nudged him with his foot. “Arse.”
“Wolf.”
They lapsed into silence again, the kind of silence that felt more like presence than absence. Somewhere far below, a door creaked in the wind. The joint burned lower and lower until Remus finally flicked it out with a lazy wave of his hand, sending a glowing ember sailing into the night.
Regulus exhaled and let himself tilt sideways, his head gently coming to rest on Remus’s shoulder. It was a small motion, but it made Remus’s breath catch. He didn’t move away. Didn’t even tense. Just shifted a little to let Regulus settle, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I hated you, you know,” Regulus said, voice muffled into wool. “For years.”
“Yeah,” Remus said quietly. “I know.”
“I don’t anymore.”
“I know that too.”
Regulus didn’t say anything for a while. He blinked slowly, lashes brushing his cheeks, body starting to melt into Remus like all the tension was finally starting to give. “You smell like books.”
“You smell like trouble,” Remus replied, chuckling. “And a bit like mint. What is that?”
Regulus mumbled something that sounded like, “stole a bath oil,” before trailing off into unintelligible noises that may have included the word “expensive.”
Remus tilted his head just slightly, letting his cheek rest on the top of Regulus’s curls.
“You ever think about how weird it is that we’re alive?” Regulus asked suddenly, like the thought had been buzzing around in his head for hours and only now decided to escape.
“All the time.”
“And how weird it is that people like us weren’t supposed to be friends?”
Remus smiled into his hair. “Guess we’re really bad at doing what we’re supposed to.”
“Good.”
They sat like that for a long time, arms brushing, the scent of burnt herb still lingering faintly in the air. The Astronomy Tower had never felt warmer. Regulus’s breath had evened out, slow and soft, his body pliant against Remus’s side like all the sharp edges had finally dulled.
“I’m gonna fall asleep on you,” Regulus mumbled, eyes closed now.
“You already are.”
“…’s your fault.”
“Okay,” Remus said, a little smile playing on his lips as he turned just enough to wrap an arm around the smaller boy. “Then I’ll stay here too.”
And he did.
Because the night was clear, and the stars were watching, and for once, everything was exactly where it needed to be.