First meetings
James woke up again as the cab pulled into the long gravel drive of St. Edmund’s. His cheek stuck slightly to the window, and when he blinked, the world looked like it was shaking.
“Fuck,” he mumbled.
“Yeah,” Marlene agreed, staring up at the looming spires of the old building. “Big fuck.”
St. Edmund’s looked like the kind of place people go to become legends or go mad. Possibly both. It was gothic and sprawling and dramatic as hell. Somewhere between a castle and an asylum. The kind of place where someone definitely died in 1892 and still haunts the third-floor corridor.
James adjusted his blazer.
Marlene chewed her gum with increased intensity.
The cab driver muttered something about good luck and took off like he knew better than to linger.
“Okay,” Marlene said, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “Let’s go ruin lives.”
They didn’t hug or cry or do anything overly sentimental. Just exchanged a look — years of history in it — and then walked toward their separate entrances.
“Bye,” Marlene said, casually.
“Later,” James replied.
And that was that.
The main hall was full of too much stained glass and the faint, lingering scent of incense. James stood near the edge, unsure where to go, until a tall, pale boy in pristine robes and a very polished prefect badge approached him with a clipboard.
“James Potter?” the boy asked, in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer.
“That’s me,” James said, trying to look cooler than he felt.
“I’m Anthony Travers. I’m one of the prefects. I’ll take you to your room.”
James followed him through winding halls, past heavy wood-paneled walls and endless portraits of headmasters who all looked like they hated fun.
“Your roommates are already settled in,” Travers said. “Try not to set anything on fire.”
“Noted,” James muttered.
They reached the room — high ceilings, two tall windows, four beds. One was unmade. One had a guitar on it. One had books stacked with terrifying precision.
And one was empty. James’s.
“You’re with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew,” Travers said, already halfway out the door. “Good luck.”
James stood in the doorway, trying to collect himself. He was still slightly high, though he’d sobered up just enough to feel paranoid about it. His limbs felt floaty, his thoughts soft around the edges, but he was determined to appear normal. Clean. Together.
He stepped inside, quietly.
Sirius Black was lounging on his bed like he was posing for a photo shoot he wasn’t going to admit to. Shirt half-buttoned, hair wild, gaze lazily sliding to James as he walked in.
"You’re Potter," he said. Not a question.
James nodded, gave a small wave. "Yeah. James."
Remus Lupin was sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading a thick book. He looked up, gave James a polite nod, then returned to his page.
Peter Pettigrew was fiddling with a Rubik’s cube and looked vaguely stressed about it.
James hesitated, then made his way to the empty bed and sat down. He kept his expression neutral, his posture easy, like he wasn’t internally spiraling about his tie or the smell of incense or the way Sirius Black had looked directly into his soul.
No one said anything for a moment.
It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... quiet. Like everyone was waiting for something to start.
James glanced around again. This was it. These were his roommates. This was his new life.
He opened his suitcase and began unpacking, methodically folding clothes and placing them in the small dresser beside his bed. His hands shook a little, and he kept pausing to refold the same sweater, trying to make it look like he wasn’t falling apart.
He could hear Marlene’s voice in his head, clear and sharp: “Don’t start smoking again the second you’re alone.”
He stared at the sweater. Then at his backpack. Then at the drawer where he’d stashed the tin.
No joints. Fuck.
He breathed in slowly. He could roll one. Just one. Calm his nerves. Just to get through the day.
Everything he did next was meticulous. He unpacked the tin, found the paper, pulled the weed from the secret pouch sewn into the lining of his jacket. Rolled it clean, tight. Marlene would kill him.
He needed fresh air anyway. That was his excuse.
He slipped out of the room, walked down two floors and found a quiet spot just beyond the stone archway of the side garden. Lit the joint and leaned against the ivy-covered wall.
The first inhale was sharp. His heartbeat slowed.
He closed his eyes, exhaled.
The sunlight was golden in that late-afternoon way that made everything feel a little hazy. He tilted his head back, watching clouds pass overhead.
Footsteps.
He opened one eye.
A girl was standing nearby, peering at him with a curious smile. Platinum blonde hair in a messy braid, rings on every finger, her uniform shirt tied in a knot at the waist.
"You’re James, right?" she said. "Evan’s told me all about you."
James blinked. "I—yeah?"
She walked over without waiting for an answer, dropping down to sit beside him like they’d known each other for years. “I’m Pandora. That’s Barty, and that’s Regulus.”
Two boys followed, both dressed immaculately. Barty had a cigarette hanging from his lips and the kind of smirk that made people nervous. Regulus was quieter, sharper. James’s breath hitched.
He looked like Sirius. Not just in the way all siblings resembled one another — no, this was uncanny. He had the same cheekbones, same impossible hair, same eyes that looked like they’d seen too much too young.
Regulus didn’t say anything. Just tilted his head slightly, watching James with cool detachment.
Barty exhaled smoke and sat on the low stone wall.
Pandora smiled brightly, like she hadn’t just dropped James into a room with an emotional bomb.
James cleared his throat. “Nice to meet you.”
Regulus finally spoke, voice low and clipped. “Smart of you to get high on your first day.”
James stiffened.
“The teachers like to ask questions at dinner,” Regulus continued. “Easy way to see what kind of student you are.”
James didn’t answer. Just flicked the ash off his joint and stared out into the garden.
He didn’t feel high anymore. Not in the nice way.
Regulus leaned against the archway, perfectly composed, unreadable.
And James felt the weight of every wrong decision settle onto his shoulders.
Welcome to St. Edmund’s.
Regulus had just escaped Barty’s latest ploy to sneak into the faculty archives when Pandora intercepted him outside the dining hall, looking far too pleased with herself.
“Guess who’s here,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“No,” Regulus said flatly, not even looking up from the book he wasn’t actually reading.
“Evan’s childhood friend,” she sing-songed. “The one he used to write poems about and pray for or whatever.”
Regulus made a face. “Pray? What the hell?”
“That’s what he said! Like, lit candles and everything. Childhood soulmate type of thing. James something.”
That made him pause.
James… Potter?
He’d heard the name in passing. Evan had mentioned him once or twice, always in that maddeningly wistful tone that made Regulus want to stab a quill through his own eye. Something about summer bike rides and stupid jokes and matching scuffed knees. Gross.
Regulus rolled his eyes. “Sounds tragic.”
But when Pandora tugged him toward the garden, he followed.
He wasn’t expecting much.
And then he saw him.
James Potter. Slouched in the grass, back against the stone wall, one arm thrown over his knee like he was posing for a cigarette ad. Hair wild and sunlit. Shirt wrinkled just so. Mouth red from the joint he was nursing. Eyes half-lidded and stupidly, unfairly pretty.
Regulus’s brain short-circuited for exactly two seconds.
Oh. Oh no. Hot. Disgusting. Marry me. Kill me. Take me now. Immediately.
He clamped down on the thought so hard it hurt.
What came out instead was: “Smart of you to get high on your first day. The teachers like to make examples of new students.”
And James just blinked up at him. Mild. Not intimidated. Not impressed either. Just—cool. Effortless.
Regulus hated him instantly.
And maybe a little forever.
He crossed his arms, let the silence thicken, and tried to ignore the part of his brain that was already writing sonnets about James’s collarbones.
Pandora smiled like she knew everything.
Regulus glared at the grass.
Everything was awful.