11-25

by Bossey

Shhsdjssh

1. 11

Chapter 11: The Owlry Roof

Notes:

Hello hello!

Happy Holidays and/or Merry Christmas to all!

LONG chapter that gives you Dorcas - Reg friendship, Reg revenge part II, heart wrenching Progsfoot, another interlude AND Jegulus.

TWs for this chapterSmokingSwearingReferences to past violenceReferences to past child abuse and tortureMild magical violence (duelling)References / mentions of past violence against children (Remus' backstory)If you've got fear of heights, please know someone almost falls off a roof!

I think that's it.

Thank you for kudos and comments - if you have thoughts share them! Genuinely makes my day to read everyone's reactions :D

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Regulus makes it back to his dorm quite late on Friday night, because after his awkward run-in with Lupin in the infirmary, he climbed to the owlry and sat on the roof to smoke. He missed dinner, too, so he had to take a detour into the kitchens to ask the elves for some food. They whipped something up for him quickly, and Regulus ate with them.

He likes it in the kitchen, because house elves are nice, simple creatures. Not simple in that they aren't intelligent—they are extremely capable. Just simple. They have a clear purpose in life and fulfilling it makes them happy. Regulus bets none of the house elves have anxiety over whether a boy that should be their natural nemesis has thought about him in the past day, or break down and shout at a star because he doesn't show up when he goes to smoke some cigarettes.

No.

Regulus is pretty certain the house elves would laugh at him if they knew just how pathetic he's becoming over one James Potter.

Anyway. He's had time to be morose over how out of proportion his crush is getting, and now he needs to get himself ready for bed. The world doesn't stop turning because Regulus is despairing over a messy-haired boy.

Regulus pushes open the door to his room and almost bumps into Slughorn's back. He's tired enough that he doesn't immediately question what his head of house is doing in his dorm.

"I'm sorry, professor," he says, stepping to the side and making his way towards his side of the room.

Slughorn shakes his head. "No worries, boy. I shouldn't stand so close to the door." He has his hands on his waist and is tapping his foot on the floor rather impatiently.

And now Regulus realises how odd this is, because Slughorn hasn't been in his dorm ever before. Regulus glances at Barty and Evan, who are trying very hard to pretend they're not enjoying the show. Barty tilts his head, and Regulus' gaze follows to find Edward Selwyn crying and packing his trunks. Regulus' eyebrows shoot to his hairline. He works hard, but apparently there are times when Horace Slughorn works harder.

"Hurry up, boy. We don't have all night," Slughorn says impatiently to Selwyn.

"I swear I didn't do it," Selwyn cries. Voice hoarse. "It wasn't me. Please, don't do this."

Slughorn's face softens, because he is fucking weak. Regulus thinks a head of house should be firmer. Like McGonagall. Not that he'd ever admit this to anyone.

"It's a temporary suspension, Mr. Selwyn. You'll be back in four weeks."

Selwyn continues to cry, but Regulus ignores him. A temporary suspension? He was hoping for expulsion. Regulus sits on his bed and begins to take his shoes off. The sounds of Selwyn's crying are music to his ears.

Regulus takes a long, hot shower, purposefully wasting time so that Slughorn and Selwyn are both gone when he re-emerges. He succeeds, finding only Barty and Evan in his room.

"How did that happen?" Regulus asks, even though he knows.

Evan, who's lying on the bed, looks up. "Slughorn was inspecting the entire classroom after Snape's cauldron blew up. He found evidence in Selwyn's things that he tampered with it. Some compound that produces a delayed reaction, scribblings for a containment spell so that only Snape got hurt. All pretty premeditated, all in Selwyn's handwritting. A bit stupid of him not to get rid of the evidence, if you ask me."

"He swears he didn't do it," Barty adds. He's sitting on the floor again. Evan's hand is near his hair again. They're pretending it's not happening. Again. "But everyone knows he's got a grudge against Snape."

"He does?" Regulus asks. This is a surprise. It's absolutely brilliant, and he's not above congratulating himself on having good luck as well as a carefully enacted plan. The fact that Selwyn had 'motive' is the cherry on top of a delicious cake.

Evan nods, looks around a little fearfully even though they're alone in their dorm. "Apparently, Selwyn went to Snape and Mulciber bragging about his family being tight with the Dark Lord. Snape wasn't having it. They had a proper fight. Selwyn was humiliated."

"Ah," Regulus says. He runs a hand through wet curls, pulls his pyjamas out. "Well. I'm glad he's gone. Selwyn's…"

Regulus gets hit by a brilliant idea right that moment. Inspired, truly. It doesn't matter what Selwyn is (a stupid waste of space) because Regulus has now more important things to do. The crucial thing here is that Selwyn is gone and that there's going to be an empty space for four weeks.

Regulus turns around, pyjama shirt hanging from his hand. "Barty. Go get Dorcas."

The boys exchange glances. "Why?" Evan asks, even though Barty is already getting on his feet.

"So she doesn't have to sleep in a room full of bitchy queen bee wannabes for the next four weeks," Regulus says, gesturing towards the bed. "She can have Selwyn's bed."

Evan's eyes go wide, matching a smile that splits his face in two. "You are a genius."

Barty's out the door two seconds later, a man on a mission to bring their friend to their safe space. It's only temporary, but it's better than nothing. Regulus finishes putting his clothes on. Evan's humming to himself, looking very pleased and content. A part of Regulus wants to ask. Simply because he… well. Did they work it out? Him and Barty? Are they friends? More? Is something happening?

Regulus knows it's none of his business, but unlike with Dorcas, he cannot let it go. He cannot let it go because he wants to know if it's possible. If two boys can be together that way and keep it hidden. Keep it safe.

Regulus refuses to examine the reasons why he's dying to find out. He will not interrogate this. Not now. Not ever. Especially, because James hasn't show up (we're still ignoring the fact that James simply cannot know where it is that Regulus goes to smoke, because who uses logic when day dreaming about their crush anyway?) and now Regulus has accepted that it's a lost cause. James truly gave him those cigarettes simply because he felt grateful Regulus helped with that last vial of potion. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Welcome to our humble abode," Barty says, opening the door with a dramatic flourish and stepping aside to let Dorcas in. Regulus isn't surprised to see she's carrying a small bag.

"Are you sure you're alright with this?" she asks Regulus and Evan, eyes darting between them.

Regulus nods. Evan's more enthusiastic. "Fuck yeah. It's going to be awesome."

"It was Reg's idea," Barty says softly.

Regulus glares at him, scowling. Dorcas beams, then bounces over to Evan's bed and gives him a hug. "This is for you, Reg."

His friends laugh, and Regulus simply shakes his head. Dorcas arranges her things by her new bed while Barty and Evan go back to their usual positions. Dorcas flops onto her mattress and sighs. "If only Pandora was a Slytherin, right?"

They all nod their agreement. Regulus has thought about it often, because they do see Pandora a little less than they'd like simply because they don't share a common room or a dorm.

"We'll get her in tomorrow," Evan says. "If she wants to stay she can share Dorcas' bed."

"Bold of you to assume I'm up for sharing!" Dorcas says.

Barty looks at her. "It's Pandora."

And Dorcas sighs, lets her head fall back on the mattress again, and says, "Yeah, alright. We can have a sleepover if she wants."

The rest of the evening is nice. His friends gossip and he listens. They ask him about the upcoming Quidditch match, happening next weekend. Regulus is a little shocked that October is almost here. He's been distracted. There's been a lot going on.

When they turn the lights out, Regulus drinks his potion in the privacy of his bed. Behind the curtains. While he waits for it to take effect, he goes through his mental list of things he needs to do.

Find empty classroom to practice curses in.

Get ingredients for Felix Felicis.

Hurt Snape.

Get Selwyn out for blabbing to Sirius first day of school.

Check on his Felix Felicis progress.

Finish reading the third book he took from the restricted section before going back for more.

Figure out what curse Snape used on Sirius and learn to do it.

Begin to go through Hogwarts' student records.

Stop thinking about James Potter.

James hesitates for a moment before sneaking out of his dorm on Friday night. Remus would like to come if James told him where he's going. But James needs this. And he needs to do it alone.

"Sorry, Moony," he whispers before slipping out and closing the door behind him.

He's under his cloak and has the map, so the route to the infirmary is easy. It gives him time to get his thoughts in order. He's been on the verge of a breakdown for the past day, carrying inside of him the guilt of his failure. Honestly? James is a mess.

His brother almost died. James almost used an unforgivable on someone. Remus broke down more thoroughly than James has ever seen at the sight of Sirius' dying. James doesn't blame him at all, he's just rattled because Remus is pretty unshakable. Against all odds, Regulus came to their rescue and that. Well. James doesn't know what do with that because if that's not some solid proof that there's some part of him that cares for Sirius still, he doesn't know what is.

It's all too much, and James hasn't had a moment to breathe and process it yet because he's been busy. He had to give his account of things to the professors, Dumbledore included. This was super awkward because he's just been recruited to the Order and his friends are duelling Alastor on Sunday. The last thing they needed was an altercation.

Fortunately, the one who fucked up big time is Snivellius. The only reason he's not expelled is because he threatened to expose Remus as werewolf. McGonagall almost disembowelled him for it. It was glorious. In the end, however, they couldn't take that risk. So Snivellius stays, but he's on thin ice. Nobody seems to care that Sirius punched him, no matter how many times Snivellius claimed he'd only been defending himself.

Lily was, as per usual, a hero. She explained, quite calmly and firmly, that Snivellius had been harassing her and that Sirius had only punched him because he'd grabbed Lily rather forcefully. Sirius was defending her, and Lily would not stand for him being punished for it. It helped that she had the marks of Snivellius' fingers on her arm.

"Sometimes, it's quite handy to be a delicate flower," she'd joked to James when they'd been dismissed from Dumbledore's office.

James had spent all of Thursday night and all of Friday in the infirmary with Sirius. He'd lost so much blood it took Poppy's entire stash of potion to get him back to a healthy level, which required waking Sirius up every hour to feed him one. It was exhausting, but James and Remus had done it. No complaints.

Peter had snuck them food from the kitchens and stayed with them in rat form, perched on James' shoulder so that Poppy didn't find him out.

All of that to say James is tired. He's sleep deprived, and on edge, but he has to do this before he can rest. He didn't get a chance until now because he hasn't been left alone with Sirius a single moment.

James doesn't spare Snivellius a single glance when he walks past him in the infirmary. Sometimes, Karma intervenes straight away and by some absolute miracle, his cauldron exploded today. James hopes it was painful.

Sirius' bed is as far away from Snivellius as possible, which they all know wasn't a coincidence. He's awake, as James knew he would be. Sirius won't sleep in the infirmary, where he can't put a silencing charm around him or crawl into James' bed if he's having a truly bad night.

"Hey," James says, tugging the cloak off so Sirius can see him. "How are you doing?"

Sirius smiles. Scoots over. James climb onto the bed with him. "I'm bored," Sirius says, pouting. "I feel fine. Don't understand why Poppy wouldn't let me go back to the dorm."

"She needs to check something in your blood," James says. "Like, to make sure it's all properly replenished. Don't ask me. I don't understand any of the medical stuff. That's Remus' job."

Sirius chuckles lightly, watching as James pulls a bag of Bertie Botts from his pocket. They open it and begin to munch on them, hands sometimes bumping into each other when they reach for the beans at the same time.

"Slow down, Prongs. I'm the injured one. I get priority," Sirius whines.

James gives him the bag. Sirius beams. He's stalling. He knows. And James shouldn't stall. He came here to say something, and he has to say it. James is not a coward. He's a Gryffindor, and they're brave and honourable.

James steels himself.

"So," he says. "There's something I need to say to you."

Sirius puts the bag away immediately. He recognises James' tone of voice. How could he not? Everything Sirius is to James, James is to Sirius. Their bond is mutual. It's reciprocal. Sirius can read James just as well as James can read Sirius.

"Is this about last night?" Sirius asks.

James nods. "Yeah."

Sirius drops his head in his hands. "Shit. I know, Prongs. It was… I don't know why, okay? It just. I thought I was going to die, and all I wanted was… I think I was afraid."

James is confused. Like. He has no idea what Sirius is talking about right now. None. "Pads?"

Sirius buries his hands in his hair. "Has he asked you about it? Does he think I'm weird? Is he… he seemed normal today, but there were so many people here. I don't know. I can't tell. James, what do I do?"

"Slow down," James says. He Scoots closer to Sirius so they're touching, side by side. "I don't know what you're talking about, Pads."

Sirius blinks at him. "You don't? But you were there. You didn't… hear?"

"Hear what?"

"What I said!"

"Sirius, in case you haven't noticed, you were dying. I was a little preoccupied. I can't remember what you said," James replies, indignant. Honestly. There are more important things, aren't there? "Wait. What did you say?"

"Nothing," Sirius says immediately. "I think I was delirious. Not important."

James gives him a look. "I can tell when you're lying to me."

"What did you want to talk about?" Sirius counterattacks. "How come it couldn't wait until the morning?"

And it works, because the anxiety worms its way back into James' gut and suddenly he doesn't care that much about what Sirius said, or thinks he said, or why he was low-key panicking about it. Sirius will tell him, eventually, or James will pry it out of him. But this can't wait, because James feels as though it's eating him alive.

He can feel the guilt pushing against his skin, crawling over every inch of his insides. The weight of it is threatening to break him, and James simply can't take it.

James swallows. Takes a fortifying breath. "I wanted to apologise."

Sirius gapes at him, confusion bringing his eyebrows together. "Why?"

And here it is. The horrible truth. James' failure to the one person he swore never to fail. Never to let down. It's painful, and James wish he didn't have to say it, but he does. He knows he does because Sirius deserves better. He deserves to hear it and James owes him at least this much because he has let his brother down.

"Because I hesitated," James says. His voice cracks, splinters under the weight of his failing. A horrible, choked sob wrenches out of him.

And then James starts crying. It all spills like water from a broken dam, endless, unstoppable. James can't do anything but let it, the evidence of his weakness, on display for Sirius to see. And he doesn't mind this, because Sirius has seen him cry before. It's just James never thought the tears streaming down his cheeks would be born of such a thing. That he failed Sirius Black. Brother. Soulmate. And James failed him.

But Sirius, oh, Sirius doesn't hesitate. Not even for a moment. He immediately puts his arms around James and brings him against his chest while James chants over and over, "I'm sorry, Sirius. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

James weeps. Sirius holds him. James doesn't deserve it, but he feels like he'll fall apart if Sirius lets go. "I should have… I tried… I hesitated, Pads. And you were dying. You were dying and I hesitated. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hey," Sirius says, holding him tighter still. He rocks a little, back and forth, like James is a child and Sirius is the older brother comforting him. "James. Prongs. Listen to me very carefully because I'm only going to say this once. Are you listening?"

James sniffles, nods against Sirius' chest.

"I love you because you're the sort of person who hesitates before torturing someone else," Sirius says, and his voice breaks, too. His words come out thick, like the importance of what he's saying is clinging to them and making them heavy. "I don't doubt you wanted to save me more than anything. You would have taken my place, if you could have. Because I would have done it for you. But never, ever, apologise to me because you hesitated to use that curse. Do you hear me? I don't care what the circumstances are."

"But you could have died."

"It would have been worth it," Sirius says viciously. His arms tightening around his best friend. "I'd happily die so you don't become the sort of person that I… that they…" He stops. Swallows. "I love you because you hesitated, Prongs."

James understands. It hits him all of a sudden with the force of a hurricane. What the curse means to Sirius. The times he suffered it himself, at the hands of his own mother. Sirius is afraid of the darkness within. He says it has teeth, and it bites at him like he's dessert. He's told James before that he fights it, every day and every night. He pushes back, and tells it to go away, to stop nibbling. But Sirius has done awful things, even though he's not an awful person. And James understands what he means. That he doesn't want James to fight the teeth, too.

"I need you to be you," Sirius whispers. "Just the way you are, okay? Hesitate every single time, Prongs. Promise me."

He nods. "I love you, Pads," James says. "I'm sorry."

"I love you too," Sirius replies. And they stay like that for a while. Holding each other.

It's what they do, because they need it. James because he doesn't know how to show his love if he can't touch people. Sirius because before he met James he didn't know he could love being touched. So they hug. Often. And when they can't hug, there's an arm over shoulders, or a hand squeezing a forearm. Sometimes it's a bump of a fist, or a nudge with a knee.

They've never grown out of it, and James doesn't think they will. Some people might think it's weird, but James genuinely doesn't care. He cares about popular opinion—he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy his successful Quidditch captain image. The popularity is cool. And he wants to do his part to keep it.

But when it comes to Sirius? He'd destroy his reputation if that's what it took. Nothing will ever come between them. He won't let it. Besides, people are used to them by now. There are jokes, sure, but he doesn't think anyone's stupid enough to mock something so fucking pure.

"Did Poppy tell you when she's letting you out?" James asks when he's so tired he's struggling to keep his eyes open.

Sirius leans back, brings James with him. They rest next to each other, in a bed too small for two seventeen year olds that play Quidditch several times a week.

They don't care.

"Tomorrow," Sirius says through a yawn. "Which is good because there's no way I'm missing that duel with Moody on Sunday."

James nods. Yawns. Sirius does, too. They're tired, and it's late. The infirmary is eerily quiet, broken shards of starlight falling through the windows lining the far wall. The air smells of medicine and disinfectant, and James hates it because coming here means someone he cares about is hurt. Most often, that someone is Remus.

"Should we sleep?" James asks, picking up the map.

Sirius hesitates and James stops what he's doing. He knows. He understands.

"Stay with me?" Sirius asks James. "So I can sleep?"

And James does. He stays. He will never leave Sirius. There is no place he can go that James won't follow.

Interlude: Remus' POV

If Alastor Moody wasn't the most impressive motherfucker alive, Remus Lupin would want to kill him for humiliating him so thoroughly. Like, he handed Remus his ass on a silver platter. Honestly, he thought he was decent at duelling until right now.

Remus picks up his wand from the floor, groaning because his back is killing him after he landed badly on his ass a few minutes ago, and turns to face Moody again, brow set in determination. He has at least managed to hold a few shields that Moody couldn't get past until Remus' stamina ran out. It's not the most impressive, but a win is a win. Remus will take them wherever he can. He's sweating like a roasted chicken, hair plastered to his face.

Remus is doing his damn best, fighting tooth and nail. Because even though he's sure they're going to turn him down, he wants Moody to remember it. He'll do everything he can to ensure that the Order at least hears that one werewolf got fucking close. Because he's bad news, and carries a burden he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, but Remus Lupin can duel like any other wizard. Or try to, at least.

"Enough," Moody says, lifting his wand and nodding towards Remus. He bends over, hands on knees. He's panting, his white t-shirt clinging to his damp skin. Moody steps closer, claps him on the shoulder.

"Good job, Lupin."

Good job? Is Moody okay? Remus looks up, fighting with his pathetic excuse for lungs so they stop acting like little bitches and allow him to speak properly.

"What do you mean?" he wheezes.

Moody looks at him funny. "I mean good job."

Oh, stop it. One of Remus' spells must have hit him in the head, because Remus is pretty fucking sure that he did not do a good job. Still. Remus isn't going to point it out because he wants in badly enough to cheat his way into the Order. He's not above it.

Remus' legs are hurting, because he's still recovering from a jelly-legs jinx, but he walks like they're not bothering him until he joins James. Remus knows pain intimately, and this is mild. His best moons hurt twice as much as this. He doesn't want to even think about the worst. Nah. He's a tough bastard. He has no choice but to be. Remus leans against the wall next to his friends, doing his level best to appear unaffected.

James leans closer, puts a hand on his shoulder. "Moody means you're in," James says. "Good job equals you're in."

Remus can't breathe. He… "are you sure?"

James nods, beaming. "Of course I'm sure. Said the same thing to me and to Pete. Are you alright?"

No. Yes. Remus could fucking fly. Because… well. They're… Alastor Moody is letting him, a werewolf, join his secret club. To fight the bad guys. To protect the innocent, and the vulnerable. He. Him. Remus Lupin.

He just. Wow. Remus thinks he needs to sit down, but he won't. Not here. He can't give them any reason to change their mind. No weakness. Nothing that might make them think he's not in control. Because he is. At all times except on the full moon. It's still days away, so nothing to worry about.

"You've got some moves, Remus," Sirius says, smirking. He takes off his leather jacket. "Don't think I would have recovered so quickly from that jelly-legs jinx."

Remus needs his friends to stop complimenting him. It's making him uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to react. What to say.

"How's Pete?" Remus asks. His gut is dancing a fucking samba, but he manages to keep his voice neutral.

Peter also made it in, but he's gone outside to clear his lungs after he was hit with some sort of asphyxia inducing spell Moody shot at him. He was complimented on his quick reflexes, which doesn't surprise Remus because Peter's smaller than them, but faster. He always has been. Sneaky and strategic.

"Black. Your turn," Moody barks.

Sirius winks at his friends before stepping forward. Remus knows Sirius is nervous. He has been all day, fiddling with his rings and chewing his lip (which Remus hated with a burning passion because couldn't he show his anxiety in a way that didn't make him look even more attractive?).

But Remus gets it. Sirius thinks they might be harder on him because he's a Black, but he's got nothing to worry about. He's the best dueller he's ever met—only topped by himself when James is fighting next to him.

Remus braces himself as Sirius reaches up. He pulls his wand out of his hair and fuck. It happens every single time. Why does he have to do that? Can't he carry his wand in his pocket? Or in a holster, like posh people? No. Sirius must torture Remus by being fucking sexy every time he needs to cast a stupid little spell.

"On three," Moody says.

They raise their wands. Sirius' jacket is on the back of a chair. He's wearing a black shirt rolled up to his elbows. And this, too, is driving Remus insane. The cord of Sirius' muscles. The small leather bracelet on his wrist. He's used to it, in like a general sense. He does share a room with Sirius which means he's learnt to endure it, because Sirius is Sirius and he insists on making even the most mundane things look hot as fuck.

He also loves any excuse to take his shirt off, or simply decides to parade around their dorm in nothing but his pyjama bottoms for literally no reason. Remus has memorized every plane of Sirius' body. Committed every line, and ridge, and dip, every bump, and scar, and small imperfection to memory. In fact, Remus has seen Sirius almost naked so many times that he should be totally immune to it. Numb.

And yet, despite the fact that he's used to it, that he's taught himself to ignore it over the years, Remus is only half-human. It doesn't matter if Sirius is wearing a fucking onesie or if he's butt naked. There are days when Remus thinks he's going to explode. There are days when Remus wants to weep from the sheer, overwhelming awareness of how much he wants his best friend. It hurts. It gnaws at his insides. It makes him feel like he's losing his mind a little.

Today is one of those days, and Sirius in the pose to start a duelling match is making Remus' knees weak.

When the first spell flies, Remus wants to fold over himself. It takes every ounce of his self control to stay quiet when all he wants to do is groan. Sirius is art. He's muscle and elegance. Long lines and edges sharp enough to cut. He wields himself like a weapon, his wand an extension of his arm. He's both quick on his feet and graceful with his wrist movements.

Sirius knows what it is to be on the wrong end of a wand. It's a knowledge only he has. James and Peter can't even imagine it properly, because the only times they've been threatened has been by some stupid Slytherin looking for a fight. Exhibit a: Snivellius. It has never amounted to much. It has never really hurt them.

Remus is a bit different, but he knows he can't understand Sirius' particular brand of trauma. Of pain. Because yes, Remus knows pain. He knows it well. But his comes from the inside. From something a vengeful stranger gave him. It's his lot in life, and it sucks balls, but there's no one to blame but the insane psychopath that did it to him and to many other children.

But Sirius? Fuck. Sirius' pain was given to him by the person meant to protect him. The woman who birthed him, who was supposed to be his safe haven. His own fucking mother. It's sick. It's twisted. Remus is in constant awe at Sirius' strength, because it's a miracle that he functions as well as he does after what he went through in that house. And Sirius being Sirius has worked hard to make sure he's never at anyone's mercy ever again.

Moody is finding this out right now.

They duel for a few minutes, dodging and deflecting. Moody hits Sirius' arm with some fire spell that singes his skin, leaving a brand behind. Remus clenches his jaw. It's hard for him not to heal Sirius immediately. It must hurt like a bitch, but Sirius doesn't slow down. He grits his teeth and pushes through the pain. Mind over matter.

The duel carries on despite the stink of charred skin. James looks a little green, but Remus is fucking proud of how strong Sirius is.

They move around the room, forcing each other to step this way and that because they're firing spells too quickly. And then, it happens. Sirius is the only one of them that lands a hit. It's just a stunning spell, which Alastor blinks off after a few seconds, but he hit him. Remus' mouth is dry, and if it weren't so fucking obvious, he'd adjust his jeans because they've become uncomfortable.

Jesus Christ on a motorbike.

Moody is laughing, and Sirius is grinning. There's a mad glint to his eye. Remus isn't breathing. He thinks if he tries, he'll make an embarrassing noise and everyone will know.

They can't know.

Smile for me, Moony.

You're beautiful, Moony.

He doesn't think that Sirius remembers. But he does. Oh, Remus does. Sirius was dying, and he wanted Remus to smile at him. What's he supposed to do with that? Sirius has no idea what he does to him. He's just… he's Sirius. He's tactile, and open, and has zero concept of personal boundaries so he's constantly in their space. Not just his. James' too.

Remus knows better than to think that Sirius will ever look at him any special way. It's just how Sirius is. Doesn't mean anything other than what he already knows: Sirius loves his friends deeply. Fiercely. And Remus is his friend. That's all he'll ever be. Which is fine. But damn if Remus didn't wish that Sirius gave him a little bit more space, because it's a gargantuan effort not to do something stupid when he's so close to him Remus can hear his heart beating.

The duel is still ongoing. Moody has hit Sirius twice. He's bleeding from a gash on his torso and has a nasty looking boil on his knee. But Sirius—oh, fucking Sirius. The glorious, vicious fucker is giving as good as he's getting. One of Moody's eyes is swollen shut, which is making his aim a little off and Moody's hand is bleeding from a shallow cut near the wrist.

Remus glances at James because if he doesn't take a break from watching Sirius he will pass out. James is beaming, pride and love written all over his face. It warms Remus' heart, how much these two love each other. Deep down, he's jealous. He wishes he could love Sirius the way James does, because that's okay. That's allowed. That's pure and Sirius needs that.

Sirius doesn't need the way Remus feels about him. All encompassing. Consuming. A little dark, because Remus would kill for Sirius. No questions asked. No hesitation. And isn't that fucked up? How's Remus willing to kill, to die, anything for a guy who doesn't like him back that way? Sirius isn't even gay, as far as Remus knows. And Remus would know.

He glances at James again. Lily told him that she suspects James is crushing on a guy. She only said it because she desperately wanted to know who, and the only person she could ask was Remus. She'd never out James to her friends, and Remus knows this is true. But Lily, mistakenly, thought that Remus already knew. It wasn't a big deal. Remus won't tell anyone, and it's also not a surprise. James is so full of love Remus is not shocked to find out he's queer. If Remus had to guess? He'd say James is a person person. Gender doesn't matter to him. It's very on brand for James Potter.

Not for Sirius, though. Sirius likes girls. A lot. Remus knows, against his will and to his dismay. Usually, Sirius goes somewhere else with them, but there'd been a couple of occasions when he's brought them to their dorm. It's the closest Remus has been to crying himself to sleep.

"Enough," Moody bellows, yanking Remus back to this room, and the present, and his best friend who's sweating a little but nowhere near as much as Remus was.

Fuck Sirius Black. Honestly.

Also, yes. Fuck Sirius Black. He wishes.

Remus is insane. Something's wrong with him. He's eternally grateful nobody can hear his thoughts.

Sirius grins at Moody. And he nods. "Good job, Black. Good job." Moody turns to them. "You're all recruits, but you won't be active until you graduate, for obvious reasons. We're not wasting time with logistics to get you in and out of school unless there's a true emergency and we need all hands on deck. But, while you're here, keep your eyes and ears open. We'll be arranging training sessions so you're ready to join us in the field as soon as you graduate."

"What do you mean eyes and ears open, sir?" Remus is startled to find that Peter came back at some point. He was so distracted by Sirius' duelling he missed it.

"You go to school with the children of some notorious Death Eaters," Moody says. "Can't prove anything, because they're sneaky fuckers. But I'm certain of it. See if you can find anything worth while out. Take it to Albus."

They say their goodbyes, and Moody leaves. And all four of them look at each other for a long moment before breaking into howls and yells and victory dances. The Marauders are part of the Order of Phoenix and they're ecstatic about it.

Regulus is running out of cigarettes. He has two left. This is a problem, because over his dead body is he going to humiliate himself by looking for James to ask for more.

He's on the roof again, and it's an overcast night which he's grateful for. He doesn't want to see Sirius shining tonight. He knows his brother was let out of the infirmary yesterday, so he's fully recovered but the rumours are still running wild. Everywhere Regulus has gone this weekend, he's heard people discussing Sirius 'pay attention to me' Black.

Fucking annoying, honestly.

Even Pandora brought Sirius up, insisting that Regulus needed to discuss the incident for his own good. Regulus never lashes out at Pandora because it feels like kicking a puppy, but he was close. He stormed out of the room and hasn't been back since, instead going to check on his potion and burying himself in research in the restricted section of the library.

Regulus puts out the butt of his cigarette against the tiles so aggressively he scratches his fingernail. Swearing, he brings it to his mouth. The metallic taste of blood is hauntingly familiar. Regulus closes his eyes, sees his house. The stairs he's rolled down more than once after being pushed. The carpet he's stained with crimson blood several times.

He opens his eyes again. It's a good thing he's not afraid of bleeding. There'll be a lot of that if he's to get revenge. He's about to light himself another cigarette when he hears muffled steps below him. Someone's in the owlry. Who the hell is in the owlry so late at night on a Sunday?

He stays still, waiting. They'll go away soon enough. Except they don't. The steps get closer, and then someone's climbing out of the window and onto the roof.

Regulus' wand is in his hand immediately. He entertains the idea of pushing them off the roof. One kick to the chest and they'll topple down. He flexes his knee…and discards the idea swiftly. Because if his sense of smell is correct—and it is, one cannot be a good potioner with a faulty nose—then the person climbing onto the roof with him is James Potter.

He crouches where he's hoisted himself up, way too close to the edge. It's giving him anxiety. Regulus wants to reach out and pull James closer by his shirt so he's further in. He's a fool. If he loses his balance he'll fall backwards. It's making Regulus' hands twitch, but it's dark, and he knows the other boy cannot see. In contrast to Regulus' building anxiety, pretty-sure-it's-James is apparently unbothered by the possibility of impending death.

"Hi," he says, carefully. And yes. Regulus would recognise his voice anywhere.

James Potter is on the roof of the owlry with him. Late at night. They're alone.

Regulus is afraid he's going to have an aneurysm.

"Black?"

For someone so full of energy, James being remarkably still and it takes Regulus a moment to realise that James is waiting. He's waiting for him to do something. Say something.

"What are you doing here?" Is what Regulus goes with.

He needs a moment to compose himself. To get his bearings. Because he's been hoping James would show up for days. And that was a safe thing to hope for when it was impossible it would actually happen. An abstract want that would never take shape.

But now James has shown up. He's here. Flesh and bone. Messy hair and glasses and large hands. He's here and Regulus might faint. Which would be catastrophic because they're on a roof on top of a rather huge castle. A fall would be fatal.

"Well," James says. He brings a hand up, cups the back of his neck. "I've been reliable informed that it was likely you were close to running out of cigarettes."

Regulus blinks. It's dark here, so he can just about see the outline of James. His glasses catch on the slivers of light piercing the clouds. He cannot, however, see his expression. Regulus dislikes this because he can't read the situation. He isn't sure if James is here to mock him.

"So?"

James reaches into his jeans. Pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "I have more."

Regulus doesn't know what to say next. It's all just so… surreal. His brain is struggling to understand that James is here, and that he seems to have climbed all the way up here just to… bring him more cigarettes? The absurdity of it makes Regulus want to cackle. It's just. Ludicrous. That's what it is.

"How did you find me?"

James smiles. "Been looking for you for ages," he says. "I was going to give up and get my owl to deliver these to you tomorrow morning when I saw the tracks on the windowsill."

"Tracks," Regulus says flatly. He's no idea what James is on about, but he wants to, because if he's leaving evidence behind he needs to know so he can stop doing it.

"Nobody uses that window. It's usually filthy and covered in dust and feathers and… crap. Owl crap," James says matter-of-factly. "Except I noticed footprints on it, so I decided to check. And here you are."

Regulus hadn't thought about leaving tracks in owl droppings. Good to know. He'll have to be more careful in the future. It's a good tip, he has to admit. And James is… well. That was quite smart of him.

The boy is still crouching at the edge, unmoving. The cigarette pack is on his hand, and he's just… waiting. Regulus is loath to admit that he likes it. James simply waiting for him to dictate what happens next. It's control, and Regulus loves control. Besides, he does want that pack of cigarettes because he is down to his last two.

He brings the one he'd been about to light when James showed up to his lips. Uses the tip of his wand to light it. The small flame illuminates James briefly, giving Regulus a glimpse of the boy's expression. He's guarded, cautious. But also just… earnest. His hair is a mess, because it always is, and Regulus wonders what it would feel like if he ran his hand through it.

"What do you want?" Regulus asks after he's taken a drag of his cigarette.

James goes to shuffle forward, but the tile he steps on gives. He loses his footing. "Shit." The word punches out of James as his hands fly around, trying to help him regain balance. The tile slides off and goes careening over the edge, disappearing into the void.

Regulus is lunging before he's even fully aware of the situation. He's higher up on the roof, and has solid footing. His hand fists on the front of James' shirt and he pulls back, throwing all his weight into it. His shoes drag over the tiles as his body falls backwards, but at least he's bringing James with. Regulus' butt hits the tiles, James toppling on top of him. They slide down together, panicked breaths and feet scrambling for purchase.

They're going to fall off the roof.

Together.

Someone will find their bodies, broken at the foot of the tower. Tangled. Will they think they were lovers?

Regulus' heels find a ridge and he puts every ounce of strength he has into halting their slide down the roof. He grunts from the sheer effort, legs threatening to give under the weight of their combined bodies. James is bigger than him. Heavier.

James' hand is stretched above them, and Regulus can feel when he finds something to hold onto. He grunts, too and then James' body strains, muscles and raw power. The pressure eases off Regulus' legs because James is holding on, and fighting to keep them on the roof.

Together.

James presses himself against Regulus, his free arm hooking awkwardly under his armpit. Regulus doesn't want to die. Not here, not like this. So he abandons all shame, and pride, and everything. Regulus clings to James, hands on his shoulder blades, face buried in the crook of his neck, and James clings to the roof.

"Feet secure?" James asks, breathless.

"Yeah," Regulus replies, equally out of sorts.

"On three, you push and I'll pull us up. Okay?"

"Okay."

James counts to three. Regulus digs his heels and pushes with all his might. James grunts—and it's not the time, it really isn't, but it's sexy and Regulus can't help but notice—as he drags them up by a single arm. Their bodies are pressed so close Regulus would be having a full on gay panic were they not literally fighting for their lives. Inch by inch, grunt by strained grunt, they climb away from the edge of the roof.

The entire thing lasts two minutes, perhaps three. But Regulus is fucking exhausted. As soon as he feels he's safe, his head falls back against the tiles and he pants. The air fills his lungs, which are burning, and he's sweating. His curls cling to his forehead, and he's hot all over because James is a fucking furnace. The adrenaline coursing through him has his brain addled, and it takes him a second to realise that part of the reason he's boiling is that James Potter is lying on top of him. Also panting. Also sweating.

When Regulus had this fantasy, it played out a little differently. Namely, less mortal peril and more nudity. But he'll take what he can get, he guesses.

So, for the moment it takes James to recover from almost falling to his death, Regulus catalogues the feeling of his body. It's heavy, and kind of fits perfectly against his. James still smells glorious—dawn, and grass, and cedarwood—and his heart is hammering against his ribcage so hard Regulus can feel it, too.

Regulus is human, after all. Part of him is, anyway. And this is an aftermath. A liminal moment. And it's dark. The middle of the night, which always has a strange effect on people. This is what he tells himself when he realises that the part of him that has a crush on James Potter heavily outweighs the part of him that hates.

"Fucking hell," James says. His mouth is somewhere near Regulus' neck, so he feels his breath on his skin.

It makes Regulus' blood race south. "Get off," he grunts, because if James notices he'll have to fling himself off the roof after all.

"Sorry. Yes," James mumbles, rolling off Regulus and coming to rest right next to him. "Thank you. That was close."

"You're so fucking dumb, Potter," Regulus snaps. He's lost the cigarette he'd just lit in the whole ordeal, so now he's down to a single last one. He lights it, making a point of being dramatic about his inhalation so James can tell he's pissed off. "What were you thinking? Haven't you been on a roof before?"

"Not really, no," James says, like this is a perfectly normal conversation to be having. "If I want to get close to the sky, I just fly up."

Regulus doesn't really have much to say to that, because fair. It makes sense. James is good at flying. Very good. Better than Regulus is, even though Regulus would sooner hang himself by the balls than say this out loud.

The night breeze whirls around them, catching the smoke drifting up from Regulus' cigarette and tangling his curls. He's still lying on his back on the tiles, and James is next to him, and… yes. This is somehow a thing that is happening. Regulus feels like he's trapped in a dream. A… good? Yes. A good dream. Not that he's ever had one of those before, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't think it matters, anyway.

"Here," James says after a short while. Regulus turns his head and finds James' hand still gripping the pack of cigarettes.

And he just stares. Because they almost fell to their deaths but James fucking Potter held on to those cigarettes… why?

"Do you smoke?" Regulus asks.

"No. I don't like it," James replies. "Makes my head hurt."

Regulus lapses back into silence, but he does reach out and take the pack from James. Their fingers touch and Regulus remembers Barty losing it because he got hard when Evan touched his hand. Honestly? Same. They are pathetic. Him and Barty, two emotionally constipated people losing their collective shit over the touch of a hand.

Regulus should just jump of the roof and save himself the embarrassment of living his life with this knowledge.

"I can get more," James says softly. "I don't mind. It's easy."

"Just tell me how you get them, Potter," Regulus snaps. His entire being rebels against the idea of being at his mercy. Of having to ask for what he needs. That's not control.

James sits up, brings his knees closer to his body and puts his elbows on them. Regulus stares at the curve of his back, the Gryffindor sweater stretching over muscles Regulus knows can pull two bodies at once. Fuck. He's never going to know peace again, is he? Not knowing just how strong James Potter really is.

Salazar have mercy.

"I got these for you because I didn't know how else to get you to talk to me," James says. He's not looking at Regulus, just talking into the night.

Regulus pushes himself up, sitting in a similar position. The half-smoked cigarette dangles from his fingers.

"I don't want to talk to you," Regulus replies.

James nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I get that. I was just… No. But I get it." He looks at Regulus then, twisting his head towards him. They're close enough now that Regulus can see his face despite the darkness, and there's resignation there.

And that. No. Regulus doesn't want that. He doesn't. Fuck.

"I do want more cigarettes," Regulus drawls.

James' eyes narrow. A muscle jumps on his jaw. "You're so confusing. Honestly."

Regulus shrugs. "Sounds like a you problem."

James brings a knee down, twists his whole body so he's fully facing Regulus. Regulus puts out the remains of his cigarette, but doesn't look at James. The other boy is staring. Studying him, Regulus thinks. He allows it, because he enjoys the feeling of having James' attention trained on him.

His gaze is warm, and Regulus swears he can tell where he's looking because it leaves a trail of heat on his skin. This is, objectively, not possible. But Regulus is on a roof alone with James Potter at night, so the boundaries of what should be possible have already been pushed. Don't come at him with logic or facts. Not right now.

"Okay," James says all of a sudden. "So. If I bring you cigarettes here, that's okay? You're… it's not like pushy? And I can sit here with you and just… be?"

Regulus nods, still not looking. It's a shit bargain. James gets literally nothing out of it. So Regulus expects James to laugh it off, tell him he's insane. Perhaps James will come to his senses and leave this roof and never come back. There's no way he'll just accept the role of smoke provider. Not when he could be anywhere else, with anyone else.

"Cool. Yeah. I'd like that," James says instead.

Regulus is shocked into looking at him at last. James is smiling. Beaming. Downright giddy.

"There's something very wrong with you," Regulus tells him. His stomach has just decided to being training for the gymnastics Olympics, but his face remains unchanged. Blank. Empty.

James shrugs, a self-conscious glint to his eye. But his smile is still there, still splitting his beautiful face in two. "Something wrong with everyone," he says affably. "Lot of right, too."

Regulus scoffs. Of course James Potter is an optimist. One only has to look at him to know this. And why wouldn't he? Life has been good to him. He's rich. He's handsome. He's good at school. He's a fucking Quidditch legend. Everything just works for him. Regulus doesn't think James has ever had a bad day.

"How'd you get hooked on those, anyway?" James asks, cocking his head to the side, still watching Regulus.

"Muggle kid," he replies.

James opens his mouth. Closes it. Regulus waits, curious. He's no idea what James will say next and he's intrigued. James' brain seems to operate on a completely different frequency than his.

"Any other muggle things you like?" James asks. And Regulus almost smiles, because never in a million years would he have thought that that was the thing he was going to go for.

Still, it's easy. It's a conversation he can have. Regulus nods. "Do you know what a Rubik's cube is?"

James shakes his head. "No. What is it?"

Regulus leans back, resting on his elbows. "It's this box shaped thing that has different colours. It's a puzzle, basically. And you're supposed to put it together so each side is a block of colour. Like this," Regulus gestures with his hands, mimicking the turning and clicking.

James' scoots closer. "So, you like puzzles?"

"Yeah. I do."

James nods, satisfied. "It makes sense. You're smart. I prefer doing to thinking. Remus likes puzzles, though."

James is still talking, telling him about some puzzle Remus made, he thinks, but Regulus isn't listening because James just casually said 'you're smart' and kept talking like Regulus didn't skip a breath. How can he just… say that? Like. So easy.

"Black?"

Regulus blinks. "What?"

"Will you show me how to solve one of those cubes things?" James is asking him. "If I get one?"

And it strikes Regulus that James truly meant what he said. He's going to come back here. With cigarettes for him. He has to, right? He wouldn't be asking about the cube if he weren't. It's one thing to lie once, get himself off the hook. But this? Seems too elaborate. James could have just let it drop.

Regulus nods again. It seems to him it's all he can do where James Potter is concerned. "Yeah, Potter. I'll show you how to solve a Rubik's cube if you can get your hands on one."

"Oh, I will," James says, smiling. "I will."

Notes:

My babies are clueless but also now they're talking so things can only go upwards from here 3