Chapter Text
“Lads, do you think Lily hates me?” James asks no one in particular, throwing the question out into the dorm and hoping someone would humour him.
“You apologised, you spelled all the juice from the parchment, what else could you have done?” comes Peter’s monotone reply. He doesn’t even look up from the essay he’s finishing, shoulders hunched and quill scratching furiously. Clearly he’s heard James spiral about the most minuscule things more times than he could count.
“I could've not spilled it in the first place. Did you see her face?”
“Yeah mate, she smiled and said it was fine. Am I missing something?”
“She’s probably gone back to hating me, just in secret now! What do I do? Just when we were getting close for real.”
“Poor Jamsie, can’t help that he’s the biggest bloody people pleaser that’s ever graced this planet,” Remus snickered as he crossed the room and climbed into bed. James tosses a pillow in his general direction, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, and snorts when he hears a soft ‘oomph’ that indicates he’d struck his target.
“I just need her to like me,” James says, rather pathetically. Absolutely pathetically.
“You need everyone to like you, hence the people pleaser accusations,” Remus said slowly, as if explaining to a child that they can’t have ice cream for dinner. “Don't worry though, you’re doing a bang up job. I can’t name a single person who doesn’t like you,” he continues reassuringly.
“I need everyone to like me,” James wails miserably. “I could name loads of people who dislike me.”
The other three boys sigh. They were used to James’ people pleaser worries resurfacing like clockwork, he goes into crisis mode at least every month over it. They’re always going to reassure him (they’re not evil), it’s just frustrating when he can’t grasp that he’s the literal embodiment of sunshine and people hating him is akin to punting a puppy across the Quidditch pitch.
“Who? Name one person right now,” Sirius prompts, one eyebrow arched when he sits up on his bed and turns to James.
“I dunno,” he thinks for a second, “Snape?”
Sirius and Remus burst out into incredulous laughter and even Peter snorts from his corner of the room, quill still flying across the page.
“Ew, you want Snevillus to like you? What in the everloving fuck for?” Sirius laughs, wiping an imaginary tear from his face. Too bad James didn’t have his glasses on, he always rolls his eyes when Sirius does that. Instead James stayed unmoving in his bed, talking to the boys but looking at the ceiling.
“No, you idiot, you asked for examples,” James points out almost defensively. He takes a split second to think. “Also Regulus. He never speaks to me, like ever, unless you’re there. We’ve known each other—“James points to himself and Sirius “—for the same amount of time. By my logic, he and I should be just as close. I noogie you but I can’t give him a noogie!” He pronounces the last unfamiliar word with a slight giggle. His vocabulary was full to the brim with new muggle terms he’d picked up from films he’d watched in hopes it’ll bring him closer to Lily.
“You've been watching way too many muggle films. Reg would take your head off if you so much as stepped up to him with the thought in mind,” Sirius says, looking clearly amused at the image. “Also, surprise surprise, Reg doesn’t hate you. Far from it. I think he really admires you, though obviously not as much as me.” He bats his eyelashes and curls a lock of hair with his finger to emphasise the point. Sirius’ tone was lighthearted, clearly genuine, but it didn’t help ease the knot in James' stomach at the thought of people disliking him.
Sirius is not usually one to lie to James, so there must be some truth to this claim that Regulus doesn’t hate him.
Able to see he wasn’t helping much, Sirius turned to Remus. “You’re not weighing in?”
“No comment on Snape, even more no comment on Regulus,” he replies evenly, pulling the blanket up over his legs.
“What's that supposed to mean?” James and Sirius ask simultaneously, both looking with matching arched eyebrows in Remus’ direction.
All he does is shrug and turn over, laying down with his back facing the boys, then he starts snoring comically loud.
~
Another month, another letter. Regulus sighs, pulling out a bit of parchment from in between two books. He tells Barty and Evan not to wait for him; after charms they have a free period together and Regulus knows he’s not going to get any writing done with half the other 5th years lounging around the common room. He gathers his things and bids farewell to Flitwick before walking in the opposite direction of the masses towards the library. He taps the parchment and quill with his wand, sending them floating at eye level with the quill poised, ready to start dictating. He clears his throat and looks around before starting to recount his most recent month at Hogwarts in French. If he’s lucky, he’ll wrap this up before reaching the library, allowing him to get some proper work done.
On the first of every month, Walburga and Orion Black demand a letter from Regulus about his going-abouts at school. Regulus unfortunately indulges their demand every single month, despite the fact that he would, quite frankly, rather jump off the astronomy tower wandless than spend another summer in that godforsaken house. It’s only another three years until I can at least semi-escape that house, he thinks. He’s definitely getting more ballsy, though nowhere near the level necessary to fully pull himself out of his parents' orbit. Like Sirius did this recent summer.
Regulus had the whole summer to simmer in his loathing for his parents and their equally crazy friends. He never openly defied them, no, lest he end up lying in a pool of his own blood like Sirius did that fateful day he left for good. Regulus was never as brave as Sirius, no wonder they ended up where they did (A gryffindor in the Black family? Joke of the decade, their ancestors would never believe it). Their coping mechanisms were so diametrically opposed you’d think they were raised on two different planets; Sirius found refuge in doing things on his own terms, lowering expectations to the point where lifting a pinky would exceed them, and Regulus found himself gravitating towards perfection, being the best to stay in everyone's good graces.
There were definitely days he hated himself for it, wondering why he couldn’t just up and leave as Sirius did. He knows they don’t love him, at least not the way actual parents were supposed to, but he couldn’t bring himself to shatter the image he’d perfectly crafted for them over the years. A small, pathetic part of him hoped that he might receive that love and attention he so desperately craved if he kept being perfect, though every rational part of him knew hell would sooner freeze over.
He walks down a corridor, down a flight of stairs and through another corridor until he reaches his regular letter-writing corridor; it was always empty, allowing him to write and pace in peace. Once winter is over, I can start writing by the lake, he thinks, muttering away in French while his parchment and quill obediently tail him, catching every word.
~
James is intimately familiar with the hospital wing due to his frequent visits to Remus during that time of the month. However, today was a nice change as it was Sirius currently being attended to by Madam Pomfrey. He was still seething, sitting on the end of a bed while Madam Pomfrey cast a spell to mend his broken nose.
“That insolent fuck, I better not find him in an empty corridor one of these days or else I’ll—FUCK OW Poppy that hurt like a bitch—“
“Language! If you had stayed still it wouldn’t have hurt so bad,” Pomfrey snaps, trying to sound exasperated but failing. The four of them knew she had a soft spot for them but she would never admit it. “Who or what put you in this state Mr. Black?”
“That Slytherin git Mulciber, over a simple misunderstanding too! Some people really go from zero to a hundred huh?”
From across the bed, Peter rolls his eyes. ‘Misunderstanding’ was a gross understatement. Sirius absolutely did add pearl dust to Mulciber’s potion on purpose, only intending to set back his progress by a few hours. Little did he realise he’s an absolute knob when it comes to potions and added ground silkworm instead, causing the potion to explode. Mulciber, ever the rational one, immediately went for Sirius, managing to land a few good punches (punches and not hexes because Moony disarmed him so quickly). Not many students at Hogwarts were great at Muggle scrapping so Sirius was honestly quite lucky he wasn’t seriously injured.
“Thank Merlin Regulus wasn't there to witness that,” Sirius says, grimacing at the thought.
“Yeah, that would’ve been so embarrassing for you,” Peter chimes in with a chuckle.
“Nonsense, if Reg was there, that tosser Mulciber wouldn’t be alive, have you seen him at the dueling club recently? Phenomenal form and technique,” James points out, earning a weird look from Remus that he couldn’t quite place.
Peter raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you went to the dueling club Prongs, when did that start happening?” He shares a look with Remus and James starts to feel out of the loop.
“Only recently, though, I usually go under the Cloak so I can observe undisturbed. I need to watch everyone's different playing styles to take notes and I don’t want them to see me doing all that.”
“If you say so,” Remus says cryptically. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Peter gets up to leave. “Sorry lads, I’ve a meeting with Professor Vector about my homework, I’ll see you lot at the dorm when I’m done.” He nods towards Pomfrey with a smile. “See you Poppy!”
The door closes as Remus crosses the room and sits on the floor, digging through his messenger bag.
“Oh bugger, I left my case of lacewing flies in class, that was my last one!” He glances at James. “Can you grab it for me Jamsie please?”
“What? Why can’t you do it?”
“‘Cause Padfoot’s head will also need to be checked because he hit the table when he fell—“ Poppy snaps up to look at Remus, oops guess they failed to mention that to her “—I’ll stay with him so he doesn’t go looking for Mulciber on the way back to the dorm after being discharged.”
They have a staring contest for all of two seconds before James caves. It’s not that he doesn’t like doing things for his friends, he just hates to go now when class is about to end, resulting in peak student traffic. Thank Merlin Remus knows him so well he’s basically a mind reader.
“Take the corridor opposite the painting of the hydrangeas, it’s always empty,” Remus says amusedly.
James sighs and rolls his eyes theatrically before getting up to leave, winking at Remus right before the door closes.
~
Regulus usually leaves most things out of his letters; it’s not like his parents actually care about what’s going on in Regulus’ life, no, of course not. They just need frequent confirmation that Regulus is still their perfect little Black spare-turned-heir. He goes through the same mental checklist: no I haven’t been sick recently, no I haven’t failed any tests, no I haven’t killed anyone (yet).
He keeps it as bland and boring as possible, rattling off random things in quick French, the page filling up quickly with words but not information. He unwraps a bar of dark chocolate and takes a bite, savouring the flavour as he thinks. He continued to pace, too deep in thought, trying to recall if his latest Transfiguration test score was 98 or 99 that he didn't even realise the previously empty corridor was now no longer empty.
“Your French sounds so… smooth.”
Regulus startles at the voice, cursing as he swivels around to meet eyes with none other than James Potter. He was way too close for comfort, a few steps away from where Regulus had stopped to recall his test scores, eyes curiously watching the quill fly over the page. Regulus thinks to himself, how long has he been standing there?
Why was this a big deal, you may be asking. Well, Regulus has a rather unfortunate, rather pathetic, schoolgirl-esque infatuation with the boy. In fact, Regulus’ long-standing crush on Potter makes him go out of his way to avoid the poor lad who, frankly, didn't do anything to deserve this. They’re quite cordial, on account of their closeness to Sirius and the frequency at which they cross paths, though he doubts James even considers him a close friend. Regulus treats him as he would any other person; with sarcasm and general distaste. Obviously, he is good at regulating his emotions and not letting them show through his actions, else James would’ve found out about his crush years ago.
“‘Smooth?’ I sure hope my French sounds ‘smooth’ considering it is my mother tongue.” Regulus snipes back. He hopes his tone comes off as incredulous but honestly can’t hear himself over the rush of blood in his ears. This blush better not be fucking visible, he thinks. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Potter?”
“I’m just picking up Remus’ stuff for him.”
“I didn’t realise you were allowed to walk around alone,” Regulus comments sarcastically. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Potter without his three trusty henchmen flanking him on either side.
“Well, we left potions in quite a hurry ‘cause Padfoot accidentally knocked pearl dust or something into Mulciber’s cauldron and made it explode. They pulled out their wands but Moony was quicker and disarmed them both. Didn’t stop Mulciber from giving Pads a shiner though, think he broke his nose too,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “They’re at the infirmary getting it healed up so I was tasked with grabbing all their stuff.”
Thank Merlin I wasn’t the teaching assistant for Slughorn today, Regulus thinks, Mulciber is a real knobhead. He’s obviously worried for Sirius too, though if there’s anything the pair of them are good at, it’s handling pain. One of the few perks of growing up in the Black family, he supposed.
“Anyways, we should hang longer some other time, you seem busy and I gotta go,” James says, accompanied by a megawatt smile.
“Hang?” Regulus echos, furrowing his brows a little.
“It’s Muggle slang for ‘do stuff together’, ya know, ‘hang out’! I could teach you sometime ‘cause I know plenty of Muggle slang and in exchange, you can teach me French!”
Regulus’ retort is quick thanks to so many years of being mean to this poor boy.
“Yeah, like your brain could handle learning a new language. From what I hear out of you, it seems you haven’t quite grasped English yet.” He accompanies it with an eye roll to emphasise his point and tries not to laugh when James looks genuinely affronted.
“What?” He sputters. “I-I’ll have you know my English is stellar! Magnificent even! and I actually already know some française.” He looks a tad smug, like he expects Regulus to offer a handshake and bow to celebrate his wit and talent. Instead, Regulus calls his bluff.
“Go on then, let's hear the great James Potter speak French.” Regulus reasons there were really only two ways this could go; scenario one: James can actually speak French and Regulus gets the gift of hearing it, or scenario two: he doesn’t know shit and Regulus can make fun of him for it. Win win.
As always though, James manages to surprise.
“Um, voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”
Regulus blinks twice, short circuiting. Thoughts flash through his head. Did that just come out of James Potter’s mouth? Directed at ME? What the fuck? Am I dead? Did I die?
He tries to keep his face neutral, blinking a few more times and half hoping James would disappear between blinks, proving this entire interaction had been a figment of Regulus’ hyperactive imagination. He still hopes the blush creeping up his face wasn’t too visible, but then again it was the middle of winter and he was pale as a sheet right now so of-fucking-course it was visible.
“Are you alright Reg?”
Oh right, he’d been staring and blinking silently for a bit too long to be considered normal by typical conversation standards. Quick, do something! he thinks frantically.
“I don’t want to sleep with you, thanks,” Regulus deadpans with unwavering eye contact.
Now it’s James’ turn to go red, squeaking out an incredulous “i-is that what that means?” as Regulus, still dead faced, still blushing, exhales at the audacity. Is he really trying to play it off like that?
“You didn't know what it meant, but still decided to say it? Merlin Potter, are you daft?”
“Well it's from a song!” he says defensively, with an impressive pink tinge that matches Regulus’.
“What kind of song would have that in it? I've certainly never heard of it.”
“You hate fun, of course you don’t know that song! We–” James gestures vaguely, and somewhat frantically, upstairs in the direction of the Gryffindor common room “ –can go up so I can get my record and play it for you.”
“Are you seriously asking me to your dorm right now? After that proposition?” Regulus asks, eyebrow arched, relying on faux confidence to make this less mortifying for him.
Somehow, James blanches further. “Oh my days, don’t even–” he cuts himself off because Regulus starts laughing.
“Yeah yeah, nice try loverboy, go ask someone else to join you. We can ‘hang’ some other day. See you around Potter.”
Regulus gives him a quick smile then walks in the opposite direction with his quill and parchment in tow, leaving a sputtering James behind.
~
Oh fuck why did I say that? Genuinely, why did I think saying a French phrase to a French speaker without knowing what it meant was a good idea?
James continued to stand in the now empty corridor dumbfounded at his own stupidity.
Also, that song is way freakier than I thought it was. Sirius should’ve warned me! Actually, there’s no way he would’ve known I was going to say that to his little brother.
His little brother who is practically my little brother. Weird. He’d never given it proper thought but currently looking at the facts, that must be why he felt so embarrassed hearing “I don’t wanna sleep with you, thanks” come out of his mouth. Right?
Sirius is never going to let him live this down. I’m not gonna tell him about this, I’ll let Reg do that so I have a bit of time before Sirius bullies me to death for it.
James wasn't a prude, definitely not with the weird freaky pick up lines he uses on his friends and the sexual innuendos he had a hard time filtering, but something about talking about sleeping with Regulus was so weird he couldn’t help but cringe. What’s the difference? If he made a mistake this horrendous with anyone else he’d just laugh it off. Why can’t he bring himself to do that now? He tries to rationalise. That was his best friend's brother after all, his brother by extension. That's probably why he felt so weird about it, right?
Sirius has been getting increasingly worried about Regulus’ continued rejections to move in with the Potters and— oh no, is that because he hates me? Sirius always puts the rejections down to Regulus’ complicated relationship to their parents and, sometimes when he’s feeling particularly hopeless and angry, being a coward (he’d never say it to Regulus’ face though). James, ever the simpleton, took it at face value every time. Was James actually the real reason the brothers haven’t reunited in a safe household yet? James didn’t think he could bear the idea. Honestly, as the world's biggest people pleaser, he was terrified Regulus disliked him. They never interact aside from when Sirius makes them, which is odd since both Remus (studying and library things) and Peter (chess club) both spend time with Regulus without Sirius third partying.
With much more on the line than he previously thought, he made a mental vow to make Regulus warm up to him and get comfortable enough to move in with the Potters. He could never live with himself knowing someone's dislike of him was impacting their safeness and wellbeing.
He urges himself to continue walking, finally reaching the potions room with his head still a flurry of thoughts about their interaction earlier. He knocks on the door before entering, to no reply. When he swings the door open, all he sees are empty desks, cleared of everything. Moony’s case was nowhere to be found.
~
Regulus makes it back to the common room in record time, dashing up the stairs, letter clutched in hand. What the fuck was that?
He couldn’t believe he said all that to James of all people. Sure, he’s always making fun of his friends, James especially, but it felt especially wrong to joke about going up to his dorm or sleeping together. He did not need that image floating around his head, or in James’ head for that matter.
He decides to proofread his letter before going up to the owlery, sitting at the edge of his bed and whipping the letter out from between his books — wait, what was that? He squints down at the parchment, eyes wide and mouth agape, horrified. There it was, in small letters, tangible evidence of the utterly baffling conversation he had earlier that day. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?” was scrawled at the bottom of a letter he was about to send to his parents. What was his life?
He had charmed his quill to only pick up French, that way even when he’s walking through crowded corridors or sitting in the common room, it would still fairly accurately dictate Regulus’ words. It had never occurred to him that it would write that down though. Credit where credit’s due, maybe James’ French accent wasn’t that atrocious.
Thank fuck I decided to proofread this. Regulus thinks. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the faces my parents would make reading this.
He hastily tears the parchment off above the line then grabs a book from his bedside table to neatly tear away more parchment, keeping the bottom of the letter a crisp straight line. Merlin forbid his letter is messy in any way, he’ll never hear the end of it.
As he watches the owl fly off into the night, he thinks about what an absolute disaster that could have been. When he gets back to his dorm though, he slips the tiny strip of parchment into his trunk. For no reason whatsoever.