Conversations and realizations
James
“He hugged you,” Sirius says for the third time now.
The fire’s burned low, casting lazy shadows across the sitting room. Sirius tosses a cushion between his hands absently, and James nurses the last of his lukewarm cocoa, both of them too keyed up for sleep.
James doesn’t bother hiding his grin now. “Yeah. He did.”
Sirius turns to look at him, disbelief etched across his face. “Regulus hugged you.”
James shrugs like it’s no big deal, even though it was a bit of a moment. “Trust me, I was just as shocked. He’s been—” he pauses, trying to find the right word, “—closed off. Polite sometimes, but stiff. Okay polite might be an exaggeration, but he was always holding himself back. I figured I’d be lucky if he ever said my name without biting it.” James remembers him doing that. It was nice, hearing Regulus call him by his first name, and so was the hug. James’s heart flutters just thinking about it for some reason.
Sirius snorts, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “That sounds more like him.”
James shifts in his seat. “Honestly, we’ve only talked a handful of times. Since the start of this year, really. Nothing major. Just… moments. Weird ones, mostly. I showed up in the library when I saw him there alone, or in the Astronomy Tower, or in some corridor. He always acted like he hated me being there, but never left either.”
Sirius looks thoughtful, eyes narrowed like he’s sorting through memories. “And you… what? Just decided to befriend my estranged Slytherin brother?”
James laughs under his breath. “Mate, you think I had some grand plan? It was more like—he looked tired. All the time. And I kept thinking… no one talks to him. Not really. No one offered him a place to stay. I just—I dunno. I said something. He snapped back. Eventually, it turned into actual conversations. Ok not actual conversations… I just asked him silly questions and sometimes he answered.”
Sirius turns then, properly looking at him. There’s something wary and a little wounded in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
James is quiet for a moment, jaw working as he searches for the right words. “Because I didn’t know how you’d take it. Because we never got along, not really—he was always cold, always sharp, and I figured if I told you I was trying to talk to him, you’d just…” He sighs. “I dunno. Think I was wasting my time. Or worse, get your hopes up.”
Sirius blinks at him. The defensiveness goes out of his shoulders a little.
James goes on, quieter now. “I wasn’t hiding it to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know what it meant. Reg was always this mystery I couldn’t quite crack, and I didn’t want to say anything until I knew he might actually—want something different. Want out.”
Sirius walks over and drops onto the arm of the sofa. He scrubs a hand down his face. “You got him to leave.”
James shakes his head. “He got himself to leave.”
Sirius looks at him. “Yeah. But you gave him the map.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Sirius adds, softer, “Thank you.”
James blinks. “You don’t have to—”
“I do.” Sirius’s voice is rough. “Because I never thought he’d leave. And I sure as hell never thought you’d be the one to get through to him. Though… maybe I shouldn’t be that surprised. If anyone would get trough to him, it’d be you. You got me out too.”
“I’m collecting them all.”, James jokes. Sirius chuckles.
And then he lets out a quiet breath. “I still can’t believe he hugged you.”
James looks into his mug. “Yeah. Me neither.”
There’s something softer in his voice now. Less amused, more reflective. He glances at Sirius, and for a second, they’re both just quiet.
Sirius swallows, his throat bobbing. “He doesn’t… he never used to hug. Even when we were kids. He flinched more than he leaned in. I always hugged him. He never initiated anything.”
James nods. “Figured.”
They sit with that for a minute.
James thinks back to the hug. He didn’t even flinch tonight. When James got close. Just reached for him. Like he already knew James would catch him. That makes him feel better than it should. Knowing that Regulus feels safe around him. Safe enough to reach out and hug him. It makes him feel oddly smug.
Sirius stares into the fire, eyes glassy but not quite crying. “I don’t know how you did it.”
James tilts his head. “Did what?”
“Got through to him. In months. I couldn’t do it in years.”
James looks at him—really looks at him—and says, simply, “You weren’t the problem, Sirius. You never were. But you were too close. Too… real. He couldn’t face you without facing everything he didn’t want to admit yet.”
Sirius presses his lips together.
“I wasn’t a threat,” James adds. “I wasn’t asking him to be anyone. I just listened. And maybe he needed that more than anything. Sometimes we just sat next to each other in complete silence.”
Sirius exhales slowly and leans back against the cushions. He looks like he’s still unraveling from it all, but there’s something steadier in his posture now. A little less on edge.
“I’m glad it was you,” he says eventually, voice low. “If it had to be anyone.”
James just nudges his foot against Sirius’s and says, “Well, I couldn’t stop my rescue mission after one Black Brother now could I?”
Sirius grins. James grins back.
They don’t say anything after that.
---
The scent of cinnamon rolls wakes him.
James blinks blearily, the soft morning light slipping in around the curtains. His hair’s sticking up worse than usual, and one of his socks is halfway off his foot. Downstairs, something clinks—mugs maybe—and there’s the low hum of voices, followed by Monty’s muffled laugh and the sound of a kettle whistling.
It smells like cinnamon and toast and something lemony, and it smells like home.
He drags himself up, pulls on a jumper that doesn’t quite match his pyjama bottoms, and pads downstairs barefoot. When he hits the hallway, he slows. The kitchen door is slightly ajar. He hears Effie’s voice—gentle, but firm.
“—we did it for Sirius, and we’ll do it again for Regulus. No question.”
Regulus. Right.
It all comes rushing back—the front door opening, the bruises, the tears, the letter, the hug. James swallows and leans quietly against the wall.
Monty’s voice joins hers, softer. “The Ministry might try to make it difficult. With his family’s name, their influence—”
“Let them try,” Effie snaps, the sound of a pan hitting the stove with finality. “He’s not going back there. He’s ours now.”
James’s chest tightens. In the best way.
Regulus is theirs now.
He knocks lightly before pushing open the door.
“Morning,” he says, voice still a little hoarse from sleep.
Effie turns, beaming. “Good morning, darling. There’s tea and toast if you want something before the rolls come out.”
“Tea’s got honey,” Monty adds, already pouring him a mug.
James grins and mumbles his thanks, then looks around.
“Where’s Regulus?”
“Shower,” Monty says. “Used the one upstairs. Said it was the first hot shower he’s had outside of Hogwarts that didn’t come with screaming through the walls.”
Effie makes a pained sound and stirs the pot a bit harder.
James sips his tea and leans against the counter. “So… I couldn’t help overhearing.”
Effie doesn’t look the slightest bit sheepish. “Good. Saves us time.”
“You’re really going to go for guardianship?”
“Of course,” she says, like it’s obvious. “He needs a family. He has a family. He just doesn’t know how to believe in it yet.”
James smiles into his mug. He thinks about last night—how Regulus leaned into every touch like he didn’t quite trust it wouldn’t vanish. And how quickly he’d reached for James, like he’d already decided he was safe there.
Monty claps him on the back gently. “You did something good, Jamie.”
James just shrugs, suddenly flustered. “He did all the hard stuff.”
Before they can argue, there’s the sound of footsteps on the stairs—light, cautious ones.
Regulus pokes his head into the kitchen, curls still damp, one of James’s old hoodies hanging slightly too big on his frame. It’s a Gryffindor one. James tries not to think too hard about it. How warm it makes him feel. Regulus in his clothes.
“Morning,” Regulus says, voice a little unsure. The bruise still visible on his face but mostly healed thanks to his mum.
Effie immediately goes to him. “Come sit, sweetheart. We’ve got warm tea and better manners than your blood relatives.”
Regulus lets out a startled little huff of laughter and sits down. Monty slides a plate in front of him. James catches the way his shoulders ease ever so slightly.
They eat quietly for a while, the kind of easy silence that only happens in kitchens filled with people who like each other.
At some point, Monty heads outside to de-gnome the garden, muttering something about the little buggers undoing his hard work. Effie starts humming as she washes a few dishes.
James and Regulus stay at the table, side by side.
Regulus nudges a crumb around his plate and glances over at him. “You always wake up looking like that?”
James blinks. “Like what?”
“Like someone cursed a hedgehog and gave it a boyish charm complex.”
James chokes on his tea.
Regulus sips his own, entirely unbothered, hiding a smirk behind the rim of his mug. Prick.
“You’re unbelievable,” James manages, coughing.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Regulus says. “You’ve spent half the year tormenting me with that smug Gryffindor smile. I’m allowed one insult.”
“That was an insult? I thought you fancied hedgehogs.”
Regulus hums, clearly amused. “I have a soft spot for the tragic ones.”
James nearly knocks over his tea again. Is that… Flirting? Is Regulus Black flirting or was that really an insult? Probably the latter. But the other boy looks smug. Was that a flirt? Was it?
They sit in that for a second—half-smiling, half-staring—and then Regulus quietly says, “Thank you. Again.”
James looks at him properly this time. “For what?”
Regulus hesitates. “The letter. The talks. Not pushing too hard. You… you saw me. And you didn’t flinch.”
James swallows hard. His voice is gentler when he speaks again. “You didn’t make it easy.”
“No,” Regulus agrees. “I didn’t know how.”
James leans his elbow on the table, his head resting against his hand. He smiles, softer now. “You don’t have to know everything yet. Just… keep showing up. Keep trying. We’ve got time.”
Regulus stares at him. For once, he doesn’t look like he’s preparing to bolt. He looks like he might actually believe him.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “I’ll try.”
James nudges his foot under the table, the same way Sirius did with him the night before.
Regulus nudges back.
It’s a small thing. But it means everything.
---
Regulus finishes the last bite of toast and pushes his plate slightly forward, fingers tapping lightly on the rim of his mug. His sleeves are too long—James’s sleeves—and one of them keeps slipping over his hand whenever he moves. James doesn’t say anything about it. He’s too busy watching, trying not to be caught watching.
Of course, he fails.
“You’re staring,” Regulus says without looking up, voice maddeningly casual.
James startles. “I’m not!”
“You are.” Regulus finally glances up, eyebrow raised, eyes sharp but not unkind. “Do I have jam on my face?”
James sputters. “No, I was—I wasn’t—it’s just weird seeing you in my jumper, alright?”
Regulus blinks at him. Then looks down at himself. He pinches the hem of the hoodie and tugs it slightly. “Why? It’s comfortable.”
“Yeah,” James mutters. “That’s not the issue.”
Regulus hums, clearly enjoying this. “Would you like it back?”
“No!” James says, way too fast. Then, quickly: “I mean. You can wear it. If you want. It looks… fine. On you.”
“Fine,” Regulus echoes, mouth twitching. “High praise.”
James groans and drops his forehead onto the table with a dramatic thunk. “You’re evil.”
“And you’re easily flustered.”
“I am not—”
“James, you turned pink when I said ‘tragic hedgehog.’”
“That’s because you were flirting!”
Regulus blinks innocently. “Was I?”
James narrows his eyes. “You definitely were.”
“No. That was an insult.”
James lets out a strangled sort of noise and throws a napkin at him. Regulus laughs—actually laughs, quiet and bright, and James forgets for a moment how to breathe.
“You know, maybe you’re more golden retriever than hedgehog.”, Regulus tells him after a short pause.
James sputters. “You—! I am not—!”
“You are,” Regulus says easily. “The hair, the energy, the…” He gestures vaguely. “The whole barking when startled thing.”
“I do not bark!”
Regulus raises one delicate eyebrow. “Mm. You don’t bark?”
“I—! That one time I was hexed by Mulciber doesn’t count, and you know it!”
“Oh, I know,” Regulus says, voice all innocence, eyes absolutely not innocent. “But it was still very… charming.”
James, in full defense mode, nearly knocks over his tea as he tries to wave away whatever that insinuation was. “You—you’re doing it again!”
“Doing what?” Regulus asks, and he has the audacity to bat his lashes.
James points at him, scandalized. “That! You’re—you’re being all—you!”
And Regulus, without missing a beat, smiles—actually smiles, and it’s devastating. “You like it when I’m me.”
James makes a sound that can only be described as a strangled wheeze.
But before he can respond—before he can fumble his way through a flustered comeback or possibly just fling himself into the cupboard for safety—Sirius strolls in like the entire kitchen isn’t full of tension so thick it’s practically humming.
He stops, blinking at the two of them. “Alright,” he says slowly. “Why do you both look like you just got caught sneaking out after curfew?”
Regulus, master of composure, immediately leans back with a sip of tea. “We’re just discussing hedgehogs.”
James nods too fast. “Yep. Hedgehogs. Very pointy.”
Sirius narrows his eyes. “Okay…”
There’s a long, suspicious pause.
Then Sirius shrugs, grabs a biscuit off the counter, and leaves with a muttered, “You’re both freaks.”
Once he’s gone, James slumps forward and groans into his arms.
Regulus just sips his tea again, thoroughly pleased with himself. “Golden retrievers do like praise, don’t they?”
James lifts his head just enough to glare at him from between his arms. “You’re evil.”
Regulus smiles again—soft this time. “And you’re sweet.”
And that is when James decides he’s absolutely going to die.
There’s a pause, the kind that feels like a held breath. James sits up a little straighter, trying to get ahold of himself. Regulus is looking at him again, but not teasing now—just thoughtful.
“Do you really think I can stay?” he asks, voice quieter, like he’s afraid the answer might slip through his fingers.
James doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
Regulus frowns slightly. “Even with everything?”
“Especially with everything,” James says. “Mum and dad… they’ve already talked about it. About being your guardians. Like they did with Pads. It’s not just me that wants you here, Reg.”
Regulus stares down at his mug. He grips it tighter, like it might anchor him. “…I don’t know how to be that. A person someone chooses.”
“You don’t have to be anything except you,” James says, and then adds, softer: “And maybe not run away when someone touches your hair.”
Regulus huffs. “I didn’t run, I—retreated.”
“Uh huh.”
“It was a dignified withdrawal.”
James grins. “You tripped in the corridor.” James remembers that. Back when Regulus asked him to lean his head on his shoulder. It makes him feel warm.
Regulus groans and covers his face with one sleeve. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“I always see,” James says smugly. “I have tragic hedgehog radar.”
There’s a beat of silence—and then Regulus peeks out from under his arm and says, deadpan, “You’re the hedgehog.”
“You said I was a retriever!”
“I changed my mind. You’re prickly. And dramatic. And you nearly choked to death over breakfast.”
“I—okay, that last one’s fair.”
Regulus snorts and looks away, but there’s a softness to his features now. Something easier. Like maybe—for just this morning, just this moment—he’s letting himself have peace.
Regulus leans slightly toward James as Sirius clatters around behind them. “We’ll pick this back up later,” he murmurs, low and mischievous. He gets up and leaves.
James stares at his tea and thinks he might be doomed. Regulus Black everyone.
---
James tries to keep busy.
He feeds the cat (who promptly ignores him), tries to help Monty in the garden (gets dirt in his sock and abandons that mission), and attempts to clean his broom (stares at it for fifteen minutes before wandering off again). He’s been aimless since breakfast, and it’s becoming painfully obvious—even to himself—that he’s just avoiding thinking.
Specifically, avoiding thinking about:
- The way Regulus had looked in his hoodie. Like he belonged in it.
- The flirtation. Or the insults. (But they were flirting, right??)
- The smile—that real, rare one. Like Regulus hadn’t smiled like that in a while and decided James was safe enough to do it in front of.
James kicks at the floor and groans into his hands.
He is so doomed.
Just then, he hears a faint laugh float in from the front room. His mum’s. Followed by a quieter one—softer, sharper. Regulus.
He creeps halfway down the stairs before he sees them.
Effie’s in her knitting chair, cup of tea in one hand, wand floating her yarn lazily in the air. Regulus sits on the couch, legs curled up beneath him, one of Effie’s patchwork throws slung over his shoulders. He’s got a book open in his lap, but it’s clearly been forgotten.
Because he’s smiling. At her.
And Effie’s smiling back, eyes crinkled at the corners, one hand absently reaching over to ruffle his curls in a way that looks… practiced. Like she’s already done it a dozen times this morning.
James watches, stunned. It hits him all at once:
Regulus looks comfortable. Not guarded. Not curled in on himself like he’s bracing for a hit. He looks soft. Homey. Happy. Beautiful.
Regulus is beautiful.
James grips the banister.
Oh.
Oh.
Shit.
He’s got a crush on his best friend’s little brother.
He slinks back upstairs like he’s just been hexed.
---
James barely even looks at Regulus for the rest of the day. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act now. How did that happen?!
Regulus finds James again on the back porch. He’s sitting on the steps, knees drawn up to his chest, hoodie sleeves tucked into his palms, watching the stars blink to life in the darkening sky.
Regulus walks up and plops down beside him. James tenses slightly.
“Did I do something?” Regulus asks after a beat.
James blinks. “What? No. Why?”
Regulus side-eyes him, unimpressed. “You’ve been weird since breakfast.”
James opens his mouth. Closes it. “I have not been weird.”
Regulus raises a brow. “You tried to butter your toast with a spoon just now.”
“That was strategic improvisation.”
Regulus huffs out a laugh. “And you tripped over the cat.”
“Twice,” James mutters, defeated. “I tripped twice.”
Regulus turns to him slightly, eyes sharp but not unkind. “So. What’s going on in that tragically fluffy head of yours?”
James makes a pained noise and tips his head back to look at the sky. “I’m fine.”
“You’re flustered.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
“…okay, maybe a little.”
Regulus waits, patient. Just waits. Which is unfair, honestly, because James is absolutely susceptible to that quiet kind of calm. It makes him want to say things.
So he does.
“You looked happy earlier,” James says finally, voice soft.
Regulus is quiet for a second. Then, “I was.”
James glances at him. Oh, Regulus is beautiful.
Regulus shrugs one shoulder. “Your mum’s funny. And kind. She doesn’t treat me like I’m made of glass or poison.” A pause. “I forgot what that feels like.”
James swallows hard.
“I’m glad,” he says. And then, almost without meaning to: “I like seeing you like that.”
Regulus blinks. His voice goes a little quieter. “Like what?”
James doesn’t look at him when he answers. “Like you belong.”
There’s a pause. A long one. Then:
“I like seeing you like this,” Regulus says, almost tentative. “Less Quidditch Captain, more…” His voice drops. “More James.”
James turns to look at him, and—he’s already looking back.
Something shifts between them. Something real. Something full of understanding, but also full of want. At least on James’s side.
James opens his mouth—probably to ruin it—but before he can say anything, Regulus bumps his shoulder lightly against James’s.
“Still flustered?” he asks, teasing.
James grins weakly. “Terminally.”
Regulus hums. “Good.”
James groans, flops dramatically backwards onto the grass, and throws an arm over his face. “I’m never going to survive this. When did you become so confident?”
Regulus just chuckles, soft and fond. “I think you’ll manage.”
And he’s right. James will. Somehow.
But only because Regulus Black, in James’s hoodie, with stars in his eyes, is real—and here—and choosing to stay. And because he’s Sirius’s little brother. James is going to swallow those feelings down. It’s hopeless anyways; Regulus might flirt and tease a little because he’s happy right now and wants to make James suffer. But, surely, not both Black Brothers like guys? Since when does James even like guys?
He glances at Regulus again and he thinks, he knows the answer to that question. Fuck. He needs to talk to someone.