Work Text:
James Potter would consider himself a professional at handling situations he would never begin to expect, or taming events his measly imagination couldn’t even begin to imagine. Seriously, for some unknown reason, his traitorous luck was always surprising him in bizarre ways, testing what felt like a trial of his charisma and ability to escape situations unscathed.
Being vomited on by a particularly affectionate plant in Herbology, having white mucus stuck in strands of his unruly chocolate waves and getting jabs at being ‘plantsexual’ for the rest of the day? Easy! A piece of cake. James almost recalls the day fondly, with how he handled it with irresistible charm and got away with the embarrassing moment by putting on a facade that, he too, was charmed by the plants lovely, alluring stems.
Accidentally picking up a strangely polished coin off the scuffed-up floor in Care of Magical Creatures and getting stampeded by a gang of rowdy nifflers as they climbed up his school trousers with greedy paws, yearning for the golden galleon? Do you know how many Nifflers there were? Twenty-one. On his legs alone. And do you know he handled it? Like a badass, durable motherfucker. So what if James had scratches on his legs for weeks after? They were war scars, and he told every first year in the Gryffindor common room just that — acting like a shell-shocked soldier. He was pretty sure he was a certified veteran to them now.
Hell— Even when two mangled, familiar brothers from a now-estranged, pureblood family ended up on his living room’s red, intricately designed Axminster carpet? When the pair of beautiful adolescents had told his family about the horrors they experienced in their cold, desolate home and James had to hold the arms of his chair till his knuckles turned white so he wouldn’t impulsively punch a wall? Yeah, he had handled that with delicacy.
He had waited patiently as Sirius ranted to him every night with over-exaggerated hand gestures about Walburga Black’s fuckass lacy dresses which probably match her prudish lingerie — he spoke in contradictions when he was angry — and endured the restless feeling in him that something was infinitely wrong when Regulus only communicated in polite ‘Thank you’’s and light nods for the first week of being in the Potter Manor.
Thankfully, Regulus’ typical sassy, sarcastic demanour returned after he got into a groundbreaking, riveting conversation with Monty about potions and their origins, and James couldn’t have been a happier man when Regulus finally insulted him for falling off his broom in backyard out of his window.
Although, following that insult, came the absolute realisation that hey, Regulus Black is very attractive. And smart. And mean. And mysterious. And oddly thoughtful. And oh my god, he’s on my sofa with my hoodie on reading a book, could he even look more domestic? So, did James really deal with his arrival into his life as well as he’s making it out to be? Probably not. He’s a pining loser now, as Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, Marlene McKinnon, Mary Macdonald.. Well, how everyone tells him.
Yet, one thing he is not too keen on confronting is a sobbing child with curly blonde hair that sits on his head in a messier-than-James’ fashion (which says a lot) and freckles that dot his juvenile face with an almost impressionistic intent, which are amplified from the magnifying tears tracking down his chubby, presumably second-year cheeks.
“Please! Jared—“ The kids weeps, sobs escaping his mouth at an unsteady pace, and wow, James did not act like this when he got caught by a head boy in his second year. If anything, he would’ve tried to charm his way out of it, in the Potter fashion he has honourably adapted into. Then again, maybe this is a smarter tactic, all considering how many house points he’s gotten removed for calling McGonagall ‘Minnie’ and winking at Professor Slughorn.
Also— This kid got his name wrong! Jared?! That’s… a crime? Listen, his ego wasn’t that big, James was genuinely a good guy and lived up to his cheery persona, but the entirety of Hogwarts had at least heard of him — pureblood status, Quidditch God and chaos enforcer and all of that malarkey.
“James. I’m James Potter. I’m the Quidditch Captain of your house? How do you not know that?!” James interrupts, correcting the kid with obvious incredulity written in his voice.
The blonde boy takes a moment to pause, seemingly assessing James with blue, beady, unnaturally large eyes, before he speaks, clipped, “Shut up. I’m distraught. Let me be distraught.” The child waves him off with an irritated look, accompanied by a surprising clarity in his features for a split second compared to the crying he was just doing before he breaks off into delirious wailing once again, “I’m a second year! You’re Head Boy! You know what they say… A good boy was once a bad boy—“
“I am not a good boy.” James denies, frowning and scrunching his face in fear of a… good reputation. He shudders.
“Okay, Mr Head Boy… anyways! Surely you get my situation, you’re experienced in youth—“ Blondie continues with clear scutiny, letting out an annoyed huff when he’s once again cut off.
“I am youth.” James butts in to confirm, his face of mortification only growing larger and he brings a self-conscious hand to his hair, checking for any white strands similar to his father’s salt-and-pepper hair. According to Barty, that specific feature was hot and borderline salivating, but James didn’t want to aquire it yet. Maybe when he was happily married with Regulus with a son and daughter. That’d be perfect.
“Stop interrupting me! Manners, much? Heard of them? They’re free, y’know?” The child juts one hip out, sassily quirking an eyebrow up and once again breaking his faux-devestation act, looking very similar to Lily when she scolds the Marauders for a foolish prank, “Anyways. Surely you’ve been a little over curfew before? I hear you’re a very nice man! A past war soldier! Please excuse my pathetic rule breaking this once!” He resumes his begging, holding his hands out in a dramatic prayer. James thinks he’s seconds away from getting on his knees.
James can only face palm, rubbing his temple as though to diffuse a growing migraine, because this boy was honestly giving him a whirlwind of whiplash, seemingly indecisive as to what personality he should behold tonight. Not able to keep up, James takes control of the conversation, switching the topic in hopes of answers, “Listen, Blue-eyes, What’s your name? And why are you even out this late?”
“Why? So you can give me detention?” Blue-eyes narrows his blue-eyes skeptically, the vision of a once-frightened child completely evaporated and condensing back down from the air to take form into what James can assume is his true, extremely sassy character. Although he’s a pain in the ass, James feels almost distantly paternal. He nabs that feeling in the butt. Must. not. think. child. is. cute.
“No! I’ve done worse than breaking curfew.” James yelps, flapping his arms out in the usual gesture of ‘believe me!’. (Whatever that is, at least.)
“I knew there was a bad boy in you somewhere! You have that gleam in your eye.” The kids fist-pumps, smiling a goofy grin and he uncurls his fist to point an accusing, knowing finger at James. Then, he places a prideful hand on his chest, proclaiming like it’s a declaration of peace, “My names Jared.”
James blinks, “You called me by your own name?” He asks, chuckling a little bit at the stupidity of it, but kind of adoring it. He takes it all back. This kid reminds him exactly of his past self, toothy smile and all. Attempting to master deception and failing miserably? Oh yeah, James can see all the cracks now.
“I thought we could be together in solidarity. Anywho,” He mutters, emphasising the last word to change the topic so assuredly that makes James think it was a blunder of accidental words on his part that he incorrectly called James his own name in a bundle of nerves. James can feel his fondness radiate off of him, though he can’t bask in it for long as Jared begins to wring his sausage fingers together and look at the ground as he nervously mutters, “I just wanted to go and see if there really was a ghost in the Girl’s Bathroom on the second floor.”
“There is.” James confirms easily with a soft smile, watching as Jared immediately jerks his head up with barely-contained wonder floating in his irised.
Jared gasps with glee, “Really?! That’s so cool! Wow. It’s like a horror movie. I think you’d die second.” He says, bouncing on the heels of his feet and ignoring how James immediately does a double-take at his absurd words.
“Thank you?” James guesses, a wry smirk curling his lip up at the oddity of this child. Oh, he’s gonna adopt him.
“You’re welcome!” Jared responds cheerfully, before snapping into a solemn expression, “So, why are you out this late?” Jared ponders, staring James down like it’s an interrogation with a a spark of mischief in his eyes that James has no choice but to retaliate.
“Why, Jared. Do you like chaos? And horses, preferably?”
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
See, the plan was simple.
The Marauders hadn’t caused ruckus in a while, and they couldn’t let people believe they were going soft! Regulus certainly couldn’t believe James was the b-word! (Boring!) So, they collectively planned a motive for chaos, an end goal for a big showdown, and figured out a witty, genius solution to get to their ultimate conclusion.
The motive? Having pure, adrenaline-fueled fun. Listen! They were in their last year, NEWTS were constantly creeping up on them around the corner, and they were found continuously hunched over textbooks in the grand library to cram information into their minds before a pop quiz. So what if James had sat up in his bed one day, all the blush rushing from his head back to the rest of his body to circulate — as he usually sat upside down to brainstorm — and claimed they needed a big break? A hands-on way of performing for practical exams? To be fair, it was genius, even Remus had agreed from how strung out he was. And he’s a swot.
The end goal? Simple! Making the whole school watch, glued to their seat, toes curling in anticipation, as the Marauders jumped off the dock hovering over the Black Lake, making a grand show of their four splashes forming a water version of ‘MARAUDERS!’ and going down in the books as yet another awesome feat for the adolescent boys and their hall of infamous mastery when it comes to mischief being managed. The first years hadn’t yet seen their merriment, and they were sure the rest of Hogwarts was beginning to miss it.
And the solution for the conclusion? Well, James and Jared were working on that right now, in the west wing of the school, in the Potions classrooms. The other Marauders were scattered somewhere, doing their own dirty work. And what the dirty work consisted of you may ask? Well, turning their very own chairs into horses when sat upon, of course. See, it was a basic plan, only requiring a basic transfiguration charm and a slightly more complex disillusionment strings of latin words, but for James Potter — the illegal stag animagus? —, piece of cake! All in all, in complete summary, when pupils would get into their seats the next morning, they would all of a sudden find themselves being towed along by a giant stallion which was only dutifully flowing the concealed sugar-trail on the floor, leading all the way to the Black Lake in a jiffy. Foolproof!
Jared, however cute and strangely quiet as he fascinated himself by kicking his feet against the teacher’s desk he currently sat on, proved to be utterly useless in spells too hard for him to perform at such a novice level. To his credit, he had tried, but James quickly ushered him and lifted him to his current perch when he accidentally accio’d a book into hitting him square on his chubby face. James barely resisted the urge to smack a kiss on his cheek and urge the boo-boo away. What can he say? He yearns for kids! He’s on his male period, okay? Paternal instincts kick in.
Dusting his hands off, James huffs out a lagged breath as though he just completed rigorous physical training, finishing off his last spell on what’s got to be the ninth classroom, “All done!”
“Finally.” Jared rolls his eyes, jumping down from the desk and sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he straightens himself. He’s twelve, for God’s sake James, get a hold of yourself! Not a baby.
“Shut up, lets get back to the common room, eh? It’s late, you youthlings need sleep.” James chortles under his breath, walking past Jared but not before nudging the shorter boy’s backside with the front of his foot, lightly kicking it like a petulant sibling.
Jared scoffs but doesn’t protest as he yawns, following James sluggishly out of the classroom into the open, eerily empty hallway. It appears that the mere mention of sleep has sent a desire for it to Jared’s brain as though his exhaustation is a parasite slowly creeping in at the mention of it, like he just realised the true extent of his sleepiness and now it won’t stop plagueing him. James physically restrains himself from cooing.
Without thinking of it, James ducks down and crouches on his hinges, peeking a glance over his shoulder to see Jared looking tiredly bewildered at the sight.
“Hop on, then.” James adds on, belatedly realising how odd the action was, but Jared seems to get the message as he doesn’t argue but rather speedily climbs on, gripping onto James for dear life as he rises steadily, Quidditch muscles finally becoming useful in mundane life.
Piggybacking the light boy, James makes his way to Gryffindor tower, and it doesn’t take long before soft snores are emulating from the blonde child, his breath fanning haphazardly against James’ neck in steady huffs of uncontrollable breath. James smiles to himself, adjusting the kid on his back and almost getting strangled in the process. It doesn’t deter the soft smirk off his face — his parents had always said he’d be a good father.
Truthfully, James really did want kids. Their freedom, their wonder, their adoration towards the simplest of subjects; it was endearing! If he weren’t so hellbent on Quidditch, he’d certainly end up being a teacher at Hogwarts for all the warm memories that lingers in the old, stone halls and the irrevocable charm of all the awe-struck first-years, fully clad in oversized robes to grow into and freshly polished shoes.
There was some sort of motivation in the way children expressed their emotions so easily, like there was not yet one instance in their life where they had been told not to feel, or to not do what they thought was dutifully right in morality. Kids were raw in their speech, and honest in their actions, and they were practically holding the future in their small palms. They were daydreaming of big, ridiculous fantasies in such small craniums that still held an imagination capable of one-upping the righteous rules of reality.
All in all, they were endearing, okay? James loved them. In a non pedophile way, you freak.
To continue on his little tirade, he also wholeheartedly could picture himself in his own little cozy house with his own little mischievous children. Obviously, adopted, because he wouldn’t be having children if it wasn’t with their very own Regulus Black, and no— He had not been planning this for a long time!
… Just… wouldn’t it be cute if they had brown hair like him and green eyes like Regulus? That’s pretty much the most beautiful child ever. Especially if they had Regulus’ faint freckles and his love for knowledge. And pairing that with James’ goofy demeanour and menacing charm? With James’ partial-knowledge for all things pranks? That child would be the ideal human! And, oh God, they could go out for family Quidditch games with Sirius’ and Remus’ children, and James could settle back into he and Regulus’ Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry and they could compete against eachother like they do in Hogwarts and, oh, oh! He could kiss him, not even caring who wins, and their kid could throw pieces of sandwiches at them whilst yelling how gross it was. And then, they could go home, and have dinner, and maybe adopt another kid. And their kids would walk in on them wrestling, full-on fighting, over the remote and they would jump on the heap of limbs and—
James hadn’t thought about it much, obviously.
Listen. Regulus. Regulus. Just, Regulus. Whilst all of his friends make fun of him for his whippedness, he truly couldn’t help it. The boy was everything he’s ever wanted. He talks potions to his dad and his mother adores him and pinches his ear after he calls her ‘Mrs Potter’ rather than Effie. He hates radish because it reminds him of eating a mandrake, which to him, feels like cannibalism, for some odd reason. He scolded James for not knowing house elves’ names, and now James knows every single one of them. He marinates in hoodies, typically belonging to James, which sends a fuzzy feeling all throughout his body, and he loves Fleetwood Mac. He—
OOF!
He’s right in front of James. In his glory, crowned by moonlight, suddenly, Regulus is drowned by the illumination of the stars coming through a window in the wall, real and directly in front of James.
Jared groans on his back, “Awgh. Big guy… be careful.” He mutters sleepily, burrowing even further into James’ hoodie and patting his chest with a comforting hand as though to say, ‘Watch out more.’
James doesn’t respond though, taken aback by the physical appearance of Regulus he must’ve subconsciously manifested. Here, in his dark green plaid pajama bottoms and maroon sweatshirt — wait, that’s James’? — , Regulus stands before him, looking equally as shocked as though he was also pulled out of his all-consuming thoughts from the sudden collision. His curls are slightly mused in the way that they are after his slender fingers have rucked their way through it for the thousandth time.
Regulus’ green eyes track from one of James’ eyes to the other, rimmed by golden-framed glasses and inevitably landing on James’ lips that are wet from licking them and slightly parted for a split second before he darts his gaze skyward, a pretty pink blush encompassing his cheeks. Then, he appears even more outwardly concerned, as his gorgeous, forest irises latch onto a barely-coherent Jared, who’s watching the interaction with squinted eyes, shielding from some sort of light that James can’t identify.
“James.” Regulus greets, not moving his eyes away from the child on his back, “Why is Jared on your back?” He asks slowly, testing out each word on his tongue in disbelief like he’s hallucinating.
James blinks, before practically yelping in the dead of night, jostling an inhumane growl out of Jared, “You know him?” He exclaims, sounding incredulous even to his own ears.
“Yes! He’s a little shit! I told him to shut up in the library and he kicked my chair.” Regulus hisses, stubbornly crossing his arms together with a death-glare that could kill. It worsens to a look that could hang and quarter James when he accidentally lets out an unprompted chuckle at the visual of Regulus beefing with unsuspecting, rowdy second-years in the library. Territorial, like a cat, he muses in his head with a silent grin.
“Reg, why were you arguing with little children?” James teases, not bothering to hide his amusement at all and only beaming wider when Regulus looks appalled that it’s not socially acceptable to have a verbal dispute with eleven-year-olds. Jared is silently snickering into James’ neck, seemingly recalling the moment and giggling at the chaos he has undoubtedly caused. James feels so fatherly towards him, it’s unbecoming — as a boy who was also once a gremlin of a child, he can relate and sympathise to his instincts for trouble.
“Little children who are way too loud in the library!” Regulus defends, rolling his eyes and looking downright ready to punch a wall at the memory. Merlin, he took reading way too seriously. James loved him. Who else would start a ruckus with children for disturbing his quiet time? Maybe Barty, though he wouldn’t be found in the library-of-wisdom even if it meant getting his right leg chopped off. He claimed it got rid of his ‘street cred.’
“Aw, but Reg, you don’t seem to mind when I’m too loud in the library!” James nags, smiling so hard that his jaw almost hurts, though he’s sort of adapted to it from how often he beams from ear to ear in Regulus’ company. He was ridiculously endearing. And interesting. And unpredictable.
Very unpredictable.
Once, James had walked into Regulus’ dorm to suggest Quidditch training, only to find him mid-seance because he wanted to attempt to get in contact with a dead relative who had dirt on Walburga and Orion Black. Even more insanely? The next day, at breakfast, he came to the Gryffindor table and unloaded books worth of gossip upon Sirius about affairs and numerous political actions, who looked shocked but immeasurably more proud and menacing than anything else. Regulus had gossiped with a ghost. He was the one.
Regulus scoffs, like the idea of getting James to shut up is unimaginable and completely impossible, which fair, but James just can’t help it! His brain goes ten miles an hour, okay? “That’s because you’re unstoppable—“
“Little ol’ me? I’m gonna blush!”
“and irritating.” Regulus finishes off with a deadpanned look, ignoring the interruption. He narrows his eyes viscously and points an accusatory finger at James — It doesn’t hold to the full effect, as James’ jumper is so oversized on him that he has to jolt his hand, once, twice, before his finger is fully revealed.
“You’re so kind to me, love.” James merely grins, all too familiar with the jabs and sinking into the familiar banter like it’s a term of endearment. Speaking of terms of endearment, James revels in how Regulus blushes at the one he had just let slip out of his mouth.
Regulus, despite the rising red on his face, huffs out an exasperated breath, breaking eye contact and smirking slightly as though an idea popped to his mind, cheekily stating, “I’m rebuking your seat at the library next to me.”
James immediately sets into panic mode, frowning almost instantaneously and flailing one arm dramatically, the other hand still curled around Jared’s leg to keep him upright, “What? Reg, no! That’s so unfair! When else am I gonna get to—“ stare at you, his mind fills in, but he can’t exactly say that, so he goes in messily, “… study?”
“Mhm, cause that’s what you do.” Regulus hums, unconvinced, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and quirking a skeptical eyebrow in a graceful fluidity. There’s a soft, knowing smile plastered onto his delicate lips that James wants to bite.
“I’ll have you know I’m a natural genius, and the library just… invokes my photographic memory. I don’t need to study when I’m there.” James shrugs playfully, making excuses up on the spot and defending his unspoken-of-staring. For good measures, he sends a sheepish grin for brownie points towards Regulus, in the hopes that maybe Regulus would be fooled into James’ whims for once, instead of a being a genius all the time.
Regulus has none of it. “So why bother me into tutoring you, Potter?”
Ah, yes. That. Their infamous tutoring sessions that consist of James getting more stare-time in and Regulus snapping annoyed fingers in front of his dazed-out eyes per second. Every single Wednesday evening, the two met at a secluded table in the back of the library and James looked forward to it indubitably, no matter the circumstances. He had probably absentmindedly turned it into one of the highlights of his week, the meetup acting as the shining light in his dark days full of textbook-filled studious hours of cramming in last-minute revision and flashcards that seemed neverending.
Those slight breaks with Regulus were relieving, and fresh, and even if the opposing boy acted irritated whenever they went off topic into a tirade of random nonsense, he never seemed to mind too bad, ultimately succumbing to whatever useless debate James could get his hands onto. Sometimes, he got way more into it than James. Regulus might be quiet and reserved, but the boy had bold, resounding opinions— and James would love to know every single one, thank you very much.
“Uhm. A magician never reveals his secrets.” James cringes awkwardly, widening his beam in a futile attempt to distract Regulus from the blatant lack of further made-up reasons to defend James’ dignity.
“See, that saying just doesn’t work because magicians are a phony in the wizarding world. We’re all magicians.” Regulus says, smiling like he’s pleased with himself, far too smug and prideful, and yet James wants nothing more than for him to keep looking at him like that.
James sighs dreamily, “You’re so smart. And so mean.” He adds on, like it’s the greatest feat ever and not something typically considered a negative trait.
“I could be much meaner, trust me, James.” Regulus breathes out something resembling a faint laugh, a glimmer of mirth sparkling in his mossy irises.
“Oh, do tell.” James leans in, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and whoa, when did they get that close? There’s about three inches between them, and the air hovering in the atmosphere between them is—-
sliced by a grating voice.
“Can you guys stop flirting? Please? I get you’re boyfriends or whatever, but not in front of my innocent eyes.” Jared judges from his perch upon James’ shoulders, blue eyes examining the pair like he’s working out some unseen equation, and James immediately feels his skin heat up at the words.
“We’re not boyfriends!” Two voices squeak in tandem, and James whips his head around to find the second mysterious voice belonging to Regulus, who looks equally as flustered and bewildered as James, appearing as though he had also just darted his head around to find the owner of James’ own words. Or, well, shared words.
With a great sigh that speaks as though many things ail him and he lives the most tiring life ever, Jared grunts as he heaves himself off of James with reluctance written in his movements. His legs make contact with the ground smoothly, and with as much suave a twelve-year-old can muster, the blonde boy begins to walk the rest of the way by himself, no regards or goodbyes to James or anything. Wow, he really thought they’d bonded!
“Jared,” James whisper shouts, still conscious of being out past curfew, “Where are you going, dude?!”
Jared, seemingly not sharing the same sentiment as James and carelessly shouting down the corridor, throws a look over his shoulder, “Back to the tower, idiot! I don’t wanna be on your back when you guys start snogging!” He wrinkles his nose in distaste, shoving his hands in his pockets and making his merry way down the hallway like he didn’t just leave James spluttering like a broken car engine.
With a lingering look and a red face, James turns to look at Regulus, who’s already looking at him with an ‘I told you so’ face. Gesturing with his thumb to where Jared’s retreating silhouette had once been, he speaks, “See? Told you. Little shit.”
James only frowns, probably looking like a kicked puppy with his big doe eyes (or should he say stag eyes?), murmuring a little defeatedly, “I don’t know. I kind of liked him.”
“Really? That little… thing?” Regulus asks judgmentally, eyeing James like he’s just said something proposterous, as though he’d offered to breed with the Giant Squid himself.
“Yeah! He kind of reminded me of myself. Like a cute, younger me.” James defends the spirit of a kid who’s not even here, nodding furiously with a determined gleam in his eyes.
“Please, he’s too mean to be you.” Regulus scoffs, waving the idea off like it’s a superficial snitch and rolling his beautiful eyes. He doesn’t even seem to realise he’s mixed a compliment somewhere in there, speaking the statement blandly like how one would deliver the raw truth; it sort of warms James’ heart.
“Aw, thanks, Reg!” James grins, feeling two dimples indent his cheeks from how cheesy his smile is, and he takes a moment to ponder before agreeing thoughtfully, “True, actually. Maybe a mix of me and you?” He offers.
“Wow. I compliment you and get you insulting me? I see how it is, Potter.” Regulus gapes in faux-offense, having the audacity to look irked, but it doesn’t hold to it’s true effects from the small upturn of the corner of his lips.
“Hey! That’s a compliment! I like him!” James chuckles brightly, tilting his head mischeviously and smirking smugly like being liked by James Potter is something Regulus should celebrate. Well, lucky Regulus, James feels much more than like him.
Regulus doesn’t seem to agree with that concept though, staring at James through his eyebrows pointedly, “You like everyone.”
“Mm. But I like you more than most.” James hums, feeling the words exit his mouth coated in the vulnerable truth of the weight of his sentence, like he’s been voluntarily laced with Veritaserum and regrets nothing.
Regulus blushes, the pink a stark contrast against his pale, fair skin, the smooth opaqueness of it only interrupted by his freckles, murmuring, “You’re insufferable.”
“Sure I am. And that’s why you’re in the corridors with me at Midnight.” James taunts, practically purring the words before he takes on a more genuine tone, “Why are you out here, anyway?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” He mutters, and James’ heart immediately sinks. Sirius had told James about how Walburga’s tendency to burst into their rooms at night and search through all their possessions and James knew damn-well it had left a significant impact on Regulus, leaving him to deal with newfound insomnia independently— despite the Potter’s protests to it, the teenager had decided to handle it on his own.
That didn’t mean James didn’t occasionally enter his room in the dead of night to make sure he was still sleeping. And when he wasn’t, James made sure to stay up with him under the guise of ‘being too excited to sleep’ (excited for what? He never knew. He would just pretend to, hoping Regulus would take his words for it.) and play countless cards games with him, and teach him useless guitar chords and all of the other possibilities he could think up, until Regulus inevitably fell under the spell of slumber once more. And if sometimes he watched him sleep, who’s business was that? Regulus Black was fucking angelic when he had no stress on his surprisingly youthful features.
Instead of commenting on it and ultimately sending Regulus into the pits of embarrassment and making him regret ever sharing vulnerability, James hums his affirmation and understanding, decisively changing the topic, “Well, if we’re already out after curfew, what do you say we extend our trouble-making a little longer?” He puts on his most dazzling smile, secretly begging Merlin that please say yes, please say yes, please, please, please!
“Sure.”
YES!
“A bit enthusiastic there, are we?” Regulus teases, and oh, James had said that aloud.
Trying to play it off despite the flaring blush in his cheeks, James sputters indignantly, “What? Me? No… I mean, it’s cool. Or… whatevs.” He shrugs nonchalantly, not exactly matching the toothy-grin on his face that he can’t seem to deflate no matter what. He’s pretty sure a dead body could drop afront of him right this moment and he’d still be smiling goofily.
“Mhm. Whatever you say, James.” Regulus responds coolly, indifferent, and so goddamn hot that James can’t help but internally fawn like a screaming fangirl. Thank Merlin, there’s not a hex that can reveal his thoughts to the whole school, cause his girlish, mental screams would wake up each house in their separate dormitories and consequently he’d be a laughing stock for the rest of his life till he’s old and grey. Thankfully, impossible… unless someone was really skilled at legilimency… now, that’s a scary thought.
“Do you mind if we pop round to a Potions Classroom really quick? I have to finish a potion.” Regulus asks with big, green eyes, clad domestically in James’ sweater, and James couldn’t say no to him if he tried, so he nods and beams at the responding soft smile he gains from Regulus.
James, who had been unsure only a mere thirty minutes earlier when facing a crying kid, discovers this is yet another success at yet another test the universe has sent him, finding this result way better than convincing first-years he was fighting in a great Wizarding War against some guy named MortVolde. Because this tribulation? This specific trial? It has a better ending than anything he could’ve imagined— that destination being Regulus Black, and his irresistible lips.
“Let’s go, then, love.”
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
They had made their way there hastily, the walk being shorter than a minute considering James was only just there and was slightly lagged from the weight of a child on his back, so it’s in practically no time that James is dutifully, like a good piner, bothering Regulus undoubtedly as the younger boy stirs a cauldron in steady beats, like he’s listening to the rhythm of a melody only he can hear.
They’ve been in back-and-forth banter for about ten minutes, Regulus responding in clipped, irritated huffs of answers as James only smiles wider with each hindrance he’s causing and leaning more heavily onto the table his arms are crossed on, indulging into the time intensely; savouring it like a dessert.
If James Potter could be one thing, it was annoying. The universe knew what it was doing, not giving him a sibling, knowing he’d been too damn powerful as a pro-irritant. He smirks at the thought, before going right back into the conversation, “So, you’re telling me people don’t get insecure about their doors?”
Regulus closes his eyes for a beat, appearing to be regaining his composure, but it works to no avail, as when he opens his irises once more, the skin where his faint eyebags taint his face twitchs ever-so-slightly. Massaging his temples, he replies slowly as to not burst a vocal chord, “No, James. I don’t think people give a fuck about their doors.”
“But, but, what if it was really ugly? Like, a disgusting yellow colour with chipped paint?” James presses on, fully aware of how ridiculous he sounds and completely conscious on how stupid of a topic it is that he’s hellbent on discussing.
Decisively setting his stirring rod down with more force than necessary, Regulus saunters over to where James stands on the side of the station almost dangerously, like a predator prowling on prey, and comes to a pause directly in front of him. James audibly swallows.
Grabbing the front of his hoodie, Regulus pulls James down harshly so their faces are approximately an inch away from eachother, hot breaths mingling and all, and grits out through clenched teeth, “Jamie. For Merlin’s sake, do you ever shut up?”
Unable to help himself, James darts what he hopes is a sly look at Regulus’ lips and back up again, smiling uncertainly and a little awkwardly, “Uh. Not really, no.”
“Course you don’t.” Regulus scoffs, he bites out through strangely heated eyes, letting go James’ hoodie much to his disappointment, yet only backing away by a mere step; still too far, in James’ opinion.
“Hey, what’s that meant to mean?” James asks, genuinely wondering in earnest and tilting his head to the side like a confused dog, which should be Sirius’ job. He stays where he is, leaning cockily against the side of the table, using his hands to hold him up because his knees are scarily weak, and his stomach is a messy myriad of butterflies swirling like fish out of water.
“I mean, you’re infuriating as fuck.” Regulus states simply, like it’s as plain as trees being green and the sky being blue. He even goes as far as to raise an eyebrow, a silent question to James that reads wow, you really don’t know how annoying you are? For the record, James does, and he celebrates it!
“I’m vocal! Merlin forbid I have opinions.” The older boy squawks, sneering and scrunching his face up as he feigns umbrage, clutching his hoodie with one hand with flair, as the other jokingly nudges Regulus’ shoulder. Yet, instead of rebounding and letting go of the solid grip there, James uses it to his advantage to pull Regulus back into his proximity again, the action taking place naturally and sliding into their banter like it’s a daily occurrence; when it very much is not, and he’s internally freaking out when Regulus lets his body go limp and be tugged. He still doesn’t lift his hand off the warm muscle there, even if his mission was a success in pulling the shorter boy back in.
“About doors?” Regulus lifts a dubious eyebrow, looking very much like he’s not buying a word that James says and can see the hidden verity of the situation behind each stupid retort and remark. The boy is too observant for his own good.
“They’re… fascinating.” James strains, at a loss for words and struggling to file through his mental vocabulary, too focused and attentive on the way his fingertips are still curled sharply around the curve of Regulus’ shoulder, which he hasn’t yet shrugged off in a dismissive manner, apparently melting into it judging from the way there’s no tension in his usually very-stiff, uptight shoulders. Sure, James may have initiated the touch, but Regulus is welcoming it.
“Mhm.” Regulus hums, unconvinced. Smarmy bastard. He’s also right there, in front of James, and his head is spinning, because isn’t that insane? James thinks back on a quote: When I watch you sleep, I feel overwhelmed that you exist. And Merlin’s balls, isn’t that right?
“Don’t sound so—“ James begins to start his rebuttal, fully prepared to fight for his new appreciation for doors, when he’s interrupted by a slightly exasperated voice. Godric, James should’ve annoyed Regulus about potions long before this if this is how worked up he gets when disturbed in his work.
“Salazar. James, why do I like you? Regulus sighs, like it’s a great trouble on his part, and like James’ heart didn’t just stop beating in a pure overwhelming sensation of adrenaline rush. Like him? Like, like-like him? What context is Regulus saying this in? What does it mean?! Oh, James is going to have a stroke. Or just stop breathing. Or become brain dead, which seems likely, because he really can’t identify whether or not his heart is beating too fast that it’s pulsing is almost incomprehensible, like the propellers of a helicopter in the swift breeze, or if his heart has just given in on the spot to Regulus Black’s vagueness. His appendix practically plummets in what he can’t differentiate into exhilaration or fear, but aren’t they the same, really?
Realising he’s probably been stunned into silence for a period far too prolonged, James stutters out, managing to form words into some string of coherency, “Uh. My… infatuation for doors? Mayb—“
And yet, he’s cut off a second time. Though, it’s different. Because this time, it’s heat, and soft, plump lips, and the insatiable relief of home sinking into the marrow of James’ bones. Because, here, at some point past Midnight, in a random Potions lab, Regulus Black is surging onto him with a ferocious kiss.
Like his body is reflexing back into memory, probably from the amount of times James has imagined this scenario, he responds immediately, moving his hand from Regulus’ shoulder to his waist, letting his other arm drop in symmetry and he clutches Regulus like a lifeline, like he’s the only thing tethering him to this moment before James floats into the air from glee, or worse, wakes up. The many fantasies James has conjured haphazardly during a boring class don’t compare at all to the real thing, and they have no measure to the way Regulus’ hands tangle into his hair and tugs the unruly mop of curls slightly, fingertips grazing the base of his skull. It doesn’t compete to the manner in which Regulus sighs intimately at the feeling of James’ hands slipping sweetly under his sweater, and how James takes that opportunity as an invite to lick into the shorter boy’s mouth, tasting the faint catch of mint from toothbrush and a trace of sugar from Regulus’ everlasting sweet tooth.
A pleased groan escapes into the kiss, and James is fairly sure it’s from him, but he doesn’t read into it as he finally, finally, trails his hands up from Regulus’ body heat and warm skin to come to a messy meet-up inside Regulus’ mess of obsidian curls. Regulus seems to also be finding his freedom, the initial hesitance from starting the kiss and worrying how James would react soaking and evaporating into the air, as his nimble fingers explore James’ body like a treasure map, each touch full of unspoken passion as he kisses back savagely, seemingly in a similar state of hunger to James, and a hidden want is laced between each moan he lets slip out.
James moves one of his hands from the soft waves, meandering his palm to cup Regulus’ throat, bemused recklessly from the way his large, Chaser hands fit around it perfectly, like a missing puzzle piece. In fact, he’s so captivated by it, he removes his mouth from Regulus’, eliciting a pitiful whine out of Regulus. Quickly, his sorrow is revoked from the way James flips him so he’s the one pinned against the table, evoking a soft gasp out of his thoroughly-kissed, red lips that ends up transforming into a drawn-out groan as James ducks his head down like a man starving, dragging his tongue across the expanse of skin his neck provides. Regulus tilts his head to the side slightly with laboured breathing, giving James more access to the smooth slate of unmarked skin; James plans to change that.
Sucking onto the perfect flesh, Regulus lets out a hitched exhale, “James— fuck. Salazar’s cape on a merlinwanding pole.” He blurts out, breathless, hands coming to clutch James’ scalp as he seemingly finds a sensitive spot beneath his jaw, making godly sounds that go straight to his dick. He snickers against Regulus’ neck, amused at how easily undone he is, and bathing in the fact that he’s the one to unravel the Slytherin, brooding prince into a hot mess.
Fed up, Regulus uses his grip on James’ hair to drag his mouth back up to his own, connecting them in a heated snog that James has no qualms submitting to, using his tongue to lick over the younger boy’s lips devilishly.
Using his Quidditch strength to lift up Regulus by the underside of his thighs, he holds him as Regulus’ legs clamp around his waist, clinging onto him like he’s climbing a tree, weightless in James’ arms from his strength; and that’s not to say Regulus wasn’t muscular in his own right; no, he was lean, with abs you wouldn’t expect from someone his height, nor age, and James enjoys the way they bump under his fingertips, hoping to eventually replace his hands with his tongue.
James clumsily walks with Regulus in his arms, settling the boy down into a chair, and— HOLY FUCK!
Holy fuck, holy fuck, James forgot about that stupid charm he had spent his time meticulously putting on each individual stool beforehand, too wrapped up in the sensation of Regulus to recall the tedious work he was even out for in the first place. The two adolescent’s break apart with a sudden jolt, all of a sudden interrupted by the steady trot of a white stallion beneath them, and the sudden weight placed at their crotch, where the thick, muscular body they’re straddling is, is almost painful to their semi-hard cocks.
They were both on the steady backside of a horse, facing one another as their legs bumped with every gallop. Only in Hogwarts, James muses wistfully, almost subconsciously.
Still in a slight daze from that make-out session, which intense, James looks up to find Regulus bewildered, but not without a gleam of awe in his green irises, appearing infatuated and entertained by the horse they’re riding on. He looks thoroughly snogged, rucked-up hair and blood-pumping lips galore, visibly as wrecked as James feels; because his lips are still tingling, and Merlin, Regulus has ruined him because no new emotion will ever replace the absolute delight of kissing Regulus Black for the first time.
And then, breaking James out of his in-depth admiration, Regulus lets out a breathless laugh, which turns into a giggle, and that giggle turns into chuckling, and it’s not long before it’s morphed entirely into a full-belly laugh, and James can’t help but reciprocate. Regulus looks so young, and free, and wonderful and James could never thank his lucky stars enough that he would be irrevocably his, now. Seriously, Regulus should’ve thought kissing him through because James won’t let him go now — no, no, his heart was fully devoted to Regulus, though that wasn’t anything too new.
Still laughing his head off, Regulus seems to ease slowly, finally coming back down to his wits and descending from his high, to which James can only smile fondly when they make eye contact once again. Regulus gives a shy smile back, realising that James had been watching him the whole time and ducking his head to hide the rising blush on his face — And that just won’t do, so James takes one hand and lifts it to Regulus’ chin, maintaining eye contact and gently ushering his face to remain facing forward.
“So,” James begins, clearing his throat because it’s recked and ruined from being disregarded in favour of snogging the living lights off the boy before him, “I’m infuriating as fuck, hm?” He teases, smirking wryly.
Regulus lets out a disbelieving huff of breath, which translates as laughter, before shaking his head whilst bearing a smile he was evidently trying to muffle, judging from the way he sticks his tongue in his cheek and looks skyward. James grins victoriously, and it only widens when Regulus looks back down to him, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “You’re still infuriating, Potter.”
“Potter, is it? I distinctly recall you calling me James a minute ago, y’know, in the Potions classroom, when we were—“ James starts, tauntingly, chortling underneath Regulus’ palm from where it’s come to be splayed across his mouth to effectively shut him up. James would’ve preferred it if he used his tongue, instead, but you know, small losses and whatnot.
Just to get some tongue action in there, James uses his tongue, licking a long strip of saliva from one end of the soft skin to the other, recklessly enjoying the manner in which Regulus looks disgusted and pulls his hand away with a yelp, almost falling off the horse in the process.
Ever the saviour, James loops an arm around the boy’s waist, holding him upright in a much more intimate manner than the words that spill out of his mouth, “You also didn’t kiss me like I was infuriating.” He wiggles his eyebrows in an inappropriate manner, laughing brightly when Regulus tries to swat him like a pesky fly; barely avoiding the hits with the small spaces he can lean into, since, y’know, they’re still on a horse, and all. The stallion is still making it’s steady way to the lake, seemingly completely unbothered with the two boys on his back.
Regulus scoffs, crossing his arms, contrasting completely to the way he’s leaning into James’ arm with full trust, sneering, “You were talking about doors. How else was I meant to shut you up?”
“I don’t know, hexing me?” James suggests airily, shrugging with the words.
“Would have you have preferred that?” Regulus snorts, raising an eyebrow and going to reach for his wand, like he’s still absolutely open to that amicable option and that it’s never too late to hex James.
“Godric, no.” James laughs breezily, pushing Regulus’ hand back from where it was reaching into the brim of his Pyjama pants, and using the movement to intertwine his own fingers with Regulus’, settling them on his thigh like it’s natural and obsessing over the way their fingers look clasped together.
Regulus, shockingly, is silent for a beat, taking in their hands too, before meeting James eyes with a small upturn to his swelled-up lips, grinning a toothy smile with his next words, “Well, I knew you had the hots for me, James.”
And instead of replying with a following cocky, snarky remark, James responds in earnest, tone quiet and soft with honesty laced into his words like a drink unattended at the club, “Yeah, I do.”
Regulus’ beam widens, like he can’t stop it, and he leans in to press his forehead to James’, “Lucky for you, so do I.” He speaks intimately, matching James’ lower tone.
“Truly, lucky for me.” James agrees before leaning in to close the short distance between their faces, pressing a chaste kiss to Regulus’ lips that isn’t very much of a good kiss considering how hard they’re both smiling.
When they pull back, basking in the glow of happiness, James says with all walls down, expression still delighted but a bit more solemn, “Seriously, Regulus. I like you. A lot.”
Regulus seems to digest the words in their raw truth, because whilst the words had been implied through banter and playful flirting, this was James bearing his soul and heart to Regulus with full clarity, “Same— I mean, I like you a lot, too.” He stumbles slightly over his words, tinging a slight pink.
And James’ chest fucking bursts from how large his heart is growing, feeling like rays of sunlight are escaping from his in between his ribs, “Tell me, is it my hot body? My irresistible Potter charm? My wealth?” James lists playfully, cheeks hurting from his ear-to-ear smile.
“No. No, it’s you. Just you.” Regulus denies quietly, whispering it like it’s a secret only James deserves to know, hair slightly ruffling from the wind now that they’re already outside and approaching the Black Lake’s dock. He looks positively like a love interest from a literary work of art.
“Well, I like you for just you, too.” James smiles softly, and that’s that. It’s the truest thing he’s ever spoke.
Yet, the moment is broken, abruptly so, as all of a sudden he feels a tug of gravity at his navel, instantly cold and he hears the strangled cry of his name fall from Regulus’ lips as he plummets under.
PLOP!
Plummets under where, you may ask? The fucking lake. James, an infamous under-thinker, hadn’t thought much about sitting on the rear end of the horse, but it proves now to be a huge hindrance, from how the ghastly beast has decisively thrown him off his back into the fucking lagoon?!
Breaking through the surface, freezing, considering it’s literally Midnight, James gasps for breath, flinging his hair out of his eyes with flailing movements of his head like a dog, and the first sound to reach his ears is the melodic tune of Regulus wheezing.
Miraculously, James’ glasses stayed on his face, so he’s immediately greeted with the sight of Regulus hunched over himself laughing, appeared to have flung himself off the horse’s back, and the culprit of the crime is stationary next to him, looking at James standoffishly, like this horse has a problem with him personally. What did he do to the horse for it to tip him off his back?!
Treading the water, James splutters out, water exiting his mouth with every word, “What— what the fuck?!”
Regulus wipes a tear from his eye, looking bemused and ready to burst out laughing against in a split second, straightening himself to look at James’ soggy-self with barely-concealed mirth, “Holy Merlin! James, why did that horse throw you in?”
James shrugs animatedly, which is really fucking hard to do in water, yelping, “I don’t know! We were having a moment! It broke our moment!” He complains, practically whining in devastation and slowly swimming so he can cling onto the wooden docking, all of his upper-body strength going into clinging on. Technically, he could pull himself up then and there, but an idea sparks in his mind, and to hell with it all if he doesn’t pull through.
“Oh, Jamie,” Regulus sighs with fond exasperation, moving to where James is dangling to outstretch a hand to him, offering to help him up. Bad decision, Regulus, James thinks menacingly.
Feigning to take his aid, James cups his hand into Regulus’, but instead of pulling himself up, he pulls him in. A strangled gawk escapes Regulus as he’s tugged in, limbs spreading like a starfish as he falls in with a satisfactory splash.
James smirks, “Oops.” He mocks, feigning innocence.
Regulus breaks through the water with a harsh inhale of air, shaking his soaking wet curls out of his eyes and landing James with a deadly glare almost instantly, “James Fleamont Potter. You fucking asshole. Come here!” Regulus scolds, immediately swiping to jump on James and push him under the water, yet James responds with his Chaser reflexes of avoiding bludgers, avoiding him skilfully.
“Catch me if you can!” James sing-songs tauntingly, and so they play a game of cat-and-mouse, swimming lazily through the lake at what’s got to be 1am by now, splashing and laughing boyishly like they wouldn’t be facing detentions for the rest of the year if they were caught. Instead, they just exist.
And when Regulus finally catches him, instead of drowning James like he intended to, he pulls him into a searing, bruising kiss, which makes James think, oh, I should’ve let him catch me sooner.
They don’t go in for a while.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
When they finally get back to Gryffindor tower, because James decided for Regulus that he would undoubtedly be in James’ arms tonight, in his hoodie and his bed, they’re soaked. And sure, they could’ve used a drying spell, but where’s the authenticity in that?
What they don’t expect to find in the common room, however, is the remaining three Marauders, scolding James for not returning to the meeting point secondly, but firstly hammering into James for what is Regulus doing here!? You’re dripping all over our carpets! (like they owned them, possessive gits.)
What they sort of do expect, when the pair tells Sirius about their newfound mutual attraction, is the certain huff of exaggerated dramatics, Sirius wailing all whilst being clad in a dressing robe, a wand threaded through his long hair in a bun, and holding a warm cup of tea to his chest (where did he even get that?) like he’s just experienced the worst betrayal of his life.
And the final thing they don’t expect, is after all three Marauders go to bed, now peacefully aware that James is alive, because that’s what’s most important to them, is when James and Regulus share a tender is kiss in the common room, they break apart to slow clapping in the corner of the room.
And the kid that stays in the corner, looking entirely too smug with himself as he sips hot chocolate?
Jared.