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James stared at the paper in front of him like it was an execution notice. A neatly-fonted, stamped-and-sealed fate. Faintly, he was reminded of the day when his beloved, beautiful, genius baby (the marauders map) was stolen away from him while he watched, left forever to rot in some stinky old cabinet.
Yes, he thought. This is just like that. Only this time, he was the map, and Regulus was… well, not Filch. Regulus was too pretty to be Filch, and anyway, the metaphor didn’t really carry…
“You’re being ridiculous,” Lily huffed, interrupting his spiral. “It’s just Regulus.” She was marking off some spreadsheet, counting potions and labeling as she went. Most of them were her own brew. “You’ve known him since twelve years old.”
“He hates me,” James bemoaned, much to Lily’s continued chagrin.
“He is thoroughly behind on his vaccinations.” Turning in her swirly-stool (why didn’t James get a swirly-stool?) to face him. For a moment, James thought she was going to snatch the clipboard out of his hands and bash him over the head with it. It wouldn’t be the first time. Instead, she only snatched it up and rolled her eyes, letting her charmed pens carry on with her work. “Spattergroit, Influenza, Dragonpox… there are more, would you like me to read more?”
“Lils, he’s going to hex me if I look at him the wrong way. Emmeline could do it, or-”
The intensity of Lily Evans’s gaze when she was a bit pissed off was one which could drive a lesser man to flee the country. Luckily, James had built up an immunity. You’ll never guess how.
“This is quite literally your job, James. You told me you did it because you wanted to help people specifically in the realm of vaccinable diseases.”
Well, that was true. He had said that.
Taking his lack of an answer to mean that he’d given up dramatically tossing himself about her office (thank god), Lily promptly shoved the tray of potions into his arms and shut the door. The clock opposite told him in a rather rude tone that he’d spent fifteen minutes complaining (the clock’s exact words, for the record). Chastised on multiple fronts, James sped off to shove some needles in some arms.
“Hey, Reg.” James eased into the room, shutting the door with his foot, playing it cool while trying to mentally draw up one of those probability prediction trees for which actions would be least likely to get him hexed. Or cursed. He didn’t think Regulus was particularly above curses.
“It’s Regulus.”
“Right-o, Regulus,” he agreed easily, inwardly wincing at his slip. The tree wilted and promptly died as Regulus narrowed his eyes slightly, like he could see exactly what was going on in James’s head. He wouldn’t be surprised if Regulus wasn’t particularly above legilimency, either.
“You work here?” he asked, honestly seeming slightly put-out.
James bristled. “What? Why wouldn’t I?”
“I…” Regulus got a look on his face like he thought better of what he was about to say. Maybe because the person he had been about to insult was in charge of shooting potions into his bloodstream. “Nevermind.”
Deciding that this was probably one of those things that was better to just let go, James shrugged and set down his tray next to where Regulus was sitting on the patient’s table. “So,” he started, choosing to skip the eye contact for now, “you’ve got quite a lot of shots to do-”
“I’m aware.” He sounded particularly poisonous, saying this. Like he might really grow fangs and start biting. Once, James had been bitten by a snake in herbology, and he didn’t recall that memory fondly. They never quite figured out what type of snake did it, because the stupid thing slithered away so quickly, but Pommy certainly hadn’t been entertained. Wait, it was venomous things that had to bite, wasn’t it? Poisonous, your mouth had to go onto it, like mushrooms or-
“What’s wrong with your face?” Regulus asked.
James realized that he’d zoned out, staring at the wall. Embarrassing. Well, he could still save this. Possibly.
“What’s wrong with your face?”
Well. There went that.
Regulus barely even looked insulted. Just very, very confused. James could tell, not because of any overt signs like widened eyes or furrowed brows, but because his bottom lip twitched slightly. Now, you might read that and think, that’s insane, and I can only conclude that you’re making things up because you, James Potter, are completely batshit insane. However! After nine years of being Sirius Black’s best friend forever, James knew all of his tells. Luckily, Regulus had many of the same mannerisms, not to mention that they looked nearly identical, so it was an easy thing to spot.
“Potter, are you… okay?” Regulus asked, clearly very close to shoving James out of the way and bolting. Which would be bad. “I would think that you’d have something better than that, if you were trying to insult me.”
James breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, Potter.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s true.”
“You’ve got a very nice face.”
Regulus tilted his head slightly. He looked perfectly indifferent to the comment (as he always did; truthfully, James had always found the ‘pureblood mask’ intensely creepy), but his bottom lip twitched.
“Anyway,” James shook his head (and then had to immediately resituate his glasses), “vaccinations.”
“Pass,” Regulus said, with an air of complete aloof confidence. He eyed the door.
Inwardly, James sighed. Outwardly, he made to stand between Regulus and the door. Here we go. “Not an option, I’m afraid. Which arm d’you want to start with? We’ll probably do both, to dissipate the soreness.”
Regulus stared at him with his stupidly pretty silvery eyes.
“I get the sense that you’re not going to make this easy for me.” Vaguely, James wondered if it was because of all the pranks he pulled on teenaged Regulus. Some kind of divine retribution, as it were. Or maybe it was just the Black’s stubbornness gene. Maybe they were descendants of Nemesis, instead of Circe. Wouldn’t that be funny?
“Well, no,” he agreed.
“Tell me why?”
“Shan’t.” Regulus mostly looked pissed off. A little bit, though, James thought he looked amused.
James steeled himself and tried to internalise Lily, who was very good at dealing with uncooperative patients, as well as Sirius, who would never let Regulus tell him what to do even to save his life. This did not work, because the Lily on one shoulder immediately moved to beat up the Sirius on the other shoulder. They were arguing, it seemed, over which of them was supposed to represent the shoulder-angel and which was the shoulder-devil. James rolled his eyes at the unhelpfulness of the imaginary images of his best friends.
“Right. Well, this is very much my job. Spiteful as you are about it, that won’t change. So. Your arm, Reg? Uh, please?” James held up a cotton swab, dipped in antiseptic.
“It’s Regulus,” he reminded him, but offered up his arm regardless.
(His poncy shirt was unbuttoned at the cuff and rolled up to the shoulder joint with a small wave of James’s wand. It was such a useful little spell. Lily had taught it to him.)
James tried to ignore the flinch when he held Regulus’s wrist in one hand (he had a very small wrist; James figured that was normal, because Regulus generally had a very small body). It was difficult to ignore the larger flinch which happened when the cotton swab was swiped over Reg’s upper arm.
“Y’know, Sirius was dreadfully behind on his shots too. I shouldn’t really be surprised to have you here.”
“Was he now,” Regulus muttered, gazing emptily at the ceiling like a waifish victorian child on his deathbed.
“Yeah, mum had to drag him to Mungo’s… good job on that, by the way. Not kicking and screaming, I mean. I was kind of expecting at least some kicking,” James admitted. Despite his earlier claims that Regulus was being difficult on purpose, he hadn’t actually really done anything besides snark.
James took away the cotton and blinked as Regulus’s tone turned almost pleased. “Well, you have yet to try stabbing me. Rest assured, there’s plenty of time left for kicking.”
Of course, Regulus was slightly-more-pleased-than-usual because he was thinking about kicking James. What did he expect?
While James portioned out the dragonpox vaccine, Regulus kept talking. (Well, he wasn’t expecting that).
“Isn’t there a spell that can do this whole mess? Or a potion?” James heard Regulus’s legs kick into the table, a sure reminder of what was to come. “Even if it does have to be directly into the bloodstream, can’t you just conjure it in, or something of that sort?”
“No, for a few different reasons.” James held out for his arm again. “First, the vaccine-- which is a potion, for the record-- is really very finicky and specific, which is why we can’t conjure it, same as any other potion.”
“Don’t be condescending with me, Potter.”
James nobly resisted the urge to remind him that he had suggested conjuration in the first place. “Second, there’s no magical means yet of popping it directly into the bloodstream that doesn’t immediately cause a blood clot and/or aneurysm. It has to be pushed in slowly, so the vessel doesn’t pop from the pressure.” He shrugged. Well, best he could, with one hand around Regulus’s wrist (who looked rather annoyed at being pulled along with the gesture) and the other hand holding the dragonpox vaccine. “Anyway, there’s no more reliable method than ye old syringe.” He flicked it lightly for emphasis.
“Lovely speech,” Regulus said drily. “Now get that thing away from my arm.”
Feigning hurt, James retracted the hand holding Regulus’s wrist to clamp over his chest.
“The syringe, idiot,” Regulus spat. He spat because he was so very upset. Not because he was trying to hide a smile. In case you were confused.
James put the syringe behind his back. As it was, he didn’t quite want to be kicked, nor hexed, nor cursed. Despite the civility of their conversation so far, James still firmly believed that Regulus was not above any of those things. He had once watched him turn a death eater into a shrunken head with a body that looked like a ginger root. Even after months of prodding, Sirius had refused to tell him anything about the spell, despite admitting quite easily that he knew the exact incantation and mechanism.
“Unfortunately, for you to be able to leave, the syringe is eventually going to have to come out of hiding.”
“If the syringe does that, the syringe might wish it just went into witness protection.”
James got the sense that Regulus was probably talking about more than the syringe. He was having a lot of those lately, senses. Maybe his failed divination OWL had been a fluke. “What reason does the syringe have for fleeing for her life?” he asked carefully.
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “So the syringe is a ‘her’, is she?”
“Yes, and again, she wants to know why she’s fleeing for her life.”
“I suppose she’s just… unwanted.”
“That’s rather mean of you.”
“Potter, if you’re hoping to emotionally attach me to that syringe in an attempt to get myself to allow yourself to stab me, it’s not working.”
James blinked. “What? You know what, it doesn’t matter. This is a greater-good stabbing moment. Surely you can understand the objective benefit of one small stab?”
“Surely, you can understand that it will be many small stabs, and I have a great deal of self-preservation.” Regulus didn’t move his face nor change his tone, but he said this somehow haughtily.
“That’s a lie. You’re a liar.” James moved the syringe back in front of him. “Ow! Fuck, Reg!”
This time he really almost smiled. Looked like a vengeful little angel, he did. “It’s Regulus. And I did tell you I’d kick you.”
James hissed and rubbed his shin. “No, you implied that you’d kick me. I thought you were joking. I thought we were having a moment!”
“A moment of me telling you that I’d kick you, yes.”
James mentally retracted his earlier retraction about Regulus doing nothing more than snark. That kick hurt. Curse tiny Regulus and his surprisingly powerful legs. “As I said earlier, I cannot let you out of this room until you are vaccinated against at least the majority of life-threatening diseases.” He pulled out his wand and conjured a chair to slump down into. Though not before placing the vaccine back in the tray (Lily might actually kill him if he had to ask her for a replacement). “So, why don’t you tell me why you hate me, or at least just let me cast a numbing charm on your arm and then prick it six to eight times.”
Regulus looked startled. James knew because his upper lip twitched.
“I don’t… hate you. Per se.” He shifted, taking a breath. “Frankly, I would appreciate it if you might give me a moment to decide on the lesser of those evils.”
James waved his hand noncommittally. I don’t hate you per se was not what one might call a ringing endorsement, but it was honestly a bit more than he expected.
They sat quietly together for several moments. It was maybe the calmest interaction between them since… ever? Probably ever.
Regulus took a breath and opened his mouth, hovering there for a beat longer than natural. “I’ll let you cast your numbing spell, then,” he decided, back to sounding haughty. “I trust you’re proficient at it.”
Lips ticking up, he snipped back, “I promise I’m qualified to do my job, sweetheart.” (Regulus glared at him for that; it wasn’t enough to make him regret it). Having had some experience with Sirius in the realm of I’m-about-to-cast-a-spell-on-you, James moved slowly and obviously to rest the tip of his wand on Regulus’s upper arm. He whispered an incantation. Abruptly, Regulus lost all feeling in his arm. It was not a comfortable sensation.
Using his wide, silvery stare to full effect, he murmured, “what spell was that? I haven’t- it wasn’t desisenti, Potter, what did you do to me?” He flopped his arm about a little bit while James reached for the tray resting on the table.
“My mum taught it to me. It comes easier than Desisenti, and, well, same effect. Do you want me to count down?”
Abruptly, Regulus realized he had gotten distracted. How stupid of him! Letting his guard down in front of James Potter of all people- a James Potter who was about to stab him, even worse- was not an acceptable occurrence.
James observed him carefully. Almost unnoticeably, he had started shaking. “Can I hold your hand again?”
Regulus sniffed. Maybe it was out of malice, but more likely, it was out of nerves. “If you must. And don’t count, either. Just…”
“Should I distract you?” James asked, in a very genuine way that made Regulus’s heart stretch and curl overwhelmingly. He found he disliked the feeling almost as much as he hated the loss of sensation in his arm.
“Distraction does seem to be a strong suit of yours,” Regulus agreed without really agreeing. Distantly, but clearly, like spotting a brightly-colored flag atop a tall tower, Regulus remembered all the time he’d spent in school watching James play chaser. Not during games, of course- during games he had a job to do. But when he wasn’t playing, it had been something of a guilty pleasure. James was a wonderful player. Admittedly, he looked nice in the uniform. If anyone asked he would say he was watching Sirius. Most people who had asked had the common sense to not touch on that relationship.
He turned his head up to the ceiling, trying valiantly not to shudder or curl up or something equally embarrassing. Walburga was not interested in doctor’s visits. She was of the opinion that any and all maladies her children might suffer were curable with a mix of potions, rest, and house elf magic. Therefore, Regulus had only ever been to a healer twice. One of those times was Andi. The other time was now. He hadn’t gotten shots before, but he had been stabbed, and he really, really wasn’t looking forward to the experience. Even though he knew- logically- that he wouldn’t be able to feel it.
He didn’t like having to trust James Potter. He hadn’t liked it in school, trusting him with his brother and the secrets his brother inevitably spilled. Even now, far past that, he didn’t like it any better. There was something about him that actually made Regulus want to trust him; that was exactly why he was untrustworthy.
James took his hand gently. Stupid James. The whole limb was totally numb, it’s not like he could feel the warmth or the roughness of it. Not that he’d wanted to. Er, anyway. Regulus had been surprised to see him here. He didn’t seem like the type to enjoy stabbing others, even for the greater good. Actually, that was a question, wasn’t it?
“Try to take deep breaths, okay? Nose breaths, preferably,” James said, interrupting his thoughts. He was prepping something at the table next to him.
“James?”
James nearly dropped the syringe (Heaven help that syringe, the poor thing) at the small sound of his own name coming out of Regulus’s mouth. “Yeah?”
“Why did you become a nurse?” He kept his eyes focused on the ceiling. The light was a pretty bronze-and-glass thing. The arm that still held feeling had made its way to wrap around his stomach, which provided kind of a nice pressure.
“Ah, well. You know. A few reasons. First, I knew I wanted to help people.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, his emotionless mask cracking a little bit more.
“Yeah, I know. Very Gryffindor of me. Then, Moony- er, Remus, I mean- had some health issues, and- it just really frustrated me that I couldn’t help him, even with all the spells Pommy was willing to teach me.”
“Pommy,” he echoed, somewhere between amused and indignant.
“Madame Pomfrey, yeah. She’s amazing. Between her and my mum, I had most of the basic healer stuff down before I took my OWLs. Oh, uh, my mum isn’t a healer, by the way. She has a masters in alchemy. But she’s good at healer stuff. Anyway, on top of Moony- Remus, sorry- it was the war.” He said this with more ruefulness than Regulus had ever heard out of him. “People needed healers. More than aurors, or politicians, or even dare I say spies-” Regulus nearly scoffed, that was clearly targeted, “and I knew what I had to do, I guess. Then, even after Dumbles did his whole song and dance with Tom, I guess I found I still liked it.” He went quiet for a moment. “Plus, my dad died of dragonpox last year, which is… I mean, it’s a preventable thing, but the vaccine wasn’t invented until he was already old, so… uhm, at least mum got through it.”
Then he got kind of quiet again, before abruptly remembering he had a job to do.
“So, yeah. That’s basically it. I’m a nurse now because I didn’t take a NEWT in potions, which is required for a full-fledged healer. But I’m working on it, so I should have my own office by next year. Y’know, Pad- Sirius, told me that you took, like, six NEWTS. And I thought your nine OWLs were crazy. Well, they still were. You’re kind of brilliant, Reg.”
“Regulus,” he corrected mindlessly, busy dealing with his internal confliction of stubbornness and melancholy and overwhelming affection.
“Right. You’re done. Good job.” James placed the last syringe back on the tray. While it wasn’t usually advisable to inject every shot into the same arm, he’d figured that it would be less stressful for them both to just get it over with ASAP.
“Sorry about your dad,” Regulus muttered, slowly turning his gaze back to James. “I remember hearing about it. He did good work,” he let go of the breath he’d been holding, “noble.”
James smiled a small smile. “Thanks.”
“Sorry for kicking you too, I guess.” His eyes flicked away in a kind of nervous-calculating mixture. “Though it did make for a nice moment.”
James actually laughed, then. He was an easy laugh. Regulus remembered being annoyed when they were younger, about how seemingly everything amused him. Now, he kind of liked it. How horrific! He liked when James Potter laughed!
Face disgustingly alight, James’s laughter trailed off. His eyes looked terribly dopey when he smiled like that. The slightly down-turned square glasses didn’t help any. Regulus thought he looked kind of like a house-elf.
“Oh!” James breathed out, fumbling around in the side pocket of his scrobes. “Do you want a sticker?”
“I’m an adult.” Regulus raised an eyebrow, putting an uncharacteristic amount of effort into keeping his flat expression.
Solemnly, he was handed two stickers; a sleeping calico cat whose tail flicked occasionally, and a reindeer with little bells tied into his antlers. The bells made kind of a charming noise, but Regulus also thought they might get annoying soon. Definitely soon, he thought, noting how they chimed louder when he swiped his thumb over them. Memories of a fifteen-year-old James Potter prancing about school with half-formed antlers suddenly resurfaced, and really, had Regulus ever had to try this much to do something as simple and intuitive as not smiling?
“Two?”
James winked. “Friendship privileges.” Now, James was really reaching with this one. He knew it himself; the younger Black brother had actively rolled his eyes, glared, and generally regarded him with some amount of contempt for the better part of their lives. But, well… he wanted to try. Maybe it was something in how he really suspected Regulus to be mischievous and loyal, and how he knew him to be brilliant. Maybe he was just breathtakingly pretty.
Regulus looked at him calculatingly, like McGonagall might if she were slightly eviller. The comparison made James slightly uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t place. Then the corner of his mouth ticked up.
It was a right good thing that James had a monumentally good grasp on his magic. Otherwise, it might have run off breaking syringes. As it was, he felt his knees buckle slightly. Regulus Black! Smiling! At him!
He tipped his head, rather cattishly. “What other privileges come with being friends with James Potter?”
James’s mouth opened and closed uselessly.
“Come on, then. I’m Slytherin— charm me with an elevator pitch.”
Fortunately, pressure was a rather effective motivator for James. More so when the pressure was coming from mean, pretty things. “I can cook,” he bleated out. “And I’m a good listener. Um, I’m a healer, and— well, you know that, obviously. My mum is pretty cool.” He winced at that one. “My transfiguration NEWT got the highest score in twenty-four years. At least, that’s what the proctor told me.” That sounded a bit braggy, James. “I’ve been told I’m pretty funny, and unhealthily selfless. The word ‘nonchalant’ means nothing to me, and not because I don’t know what it means.” Then, throwing everything he had to the wind, he tacked on, “and I’m a pretty good kisser, I think.”
Regulus was silent for nine and a half seconds, inspecting the stickers closely. His mouth had twisted into what couldn’t quite be called a grin, but was approaching that territory. “I think,” he said carefully, noticing that James was hanging off of his every word, “that I might need someone to help me take care of my arm tonight.” His eyes flashed. It was horribly, horribly cliche, but they looked like stars. “Maybe someone to distract me?” He sounded like he was really trying to be aloof. It didn’t quite make the jump.
If Regulus had thought James looked stupidly happy before, he was staring into the sun now.
“Oh, Reg,” he dramatically put a hand over his heart. Despite the over-the-top gesture, he replied with nothing short of complete genuinity. “It would be my honor.”
For once, Regulus didn’t correct him.
(Distantly, Sirius Black abruptly sat up, dislodging Remus’s book in the process. When asked what was wrong, he just shook his head, looking bothered but not quite knowing why.)