toujours pur

Sirius didn't like turning his back. On anyone. 

In the communal showers, while his peers self-consciously averted their gazes, he'd turn his back to the tiled wall, striking a defiant pose. He'd lather up his long, dark hair, cracking jokes about the moles on James' arse.

(He never joked about Moony though).

It was clear Sirius wasn’t ashamed of his body, not in the way James quickly discerned. But the moment you asked him about it, he clammed up. Once, he told James he’d turned his back on a hippogriff as a child, and now it was covered in terrible claw scars.

It rang half-true, and normally James wouldn’t think about it… until he’d caught a glimpse of Sirius’ bare back after Quidditch, quite by accident.

He was darker than a thundercloud for days, and the other Marauders teased him relentlessly. “Oi, Prongs, what’s got your antlers drooping? Evans turn you down again? Cheer up, mate, she’ll come around.”

(Moony gave James a strange look).

But James couldn't shake the image of Sirius' left shoulder blade, a row of small, white scars, not like claw marks from a hippogriff at all...or any creature’s claws, for that matter.

Eventually, the anxiety drove him to the library, to the section on Defense Against the Dark Arts.

For the first few days, he just drifted past the shelves, eyeing the titles and wondering how useful they really were. Because…what sort of charm left scars like that, anyway?

Then, he started making note of certain books, pulling them down, flipping through them. If they were no good, he replaced them; if they sparked his interest, he'd sit at a table and read.

Eventually, it ceased to be about Sirius at all. His Defense scores couldn't have been better. Still, he learned a few interesting spells, mentally cataloging how he might use them the next time he saw greasy Snivellus in the corridor.

And then there was another thing.

Regulus Black haunted the DADA section too.

At first, James simply dismissed him as a bookworm, but they kept running into each other, and James fell into the habit of saying hello. It took Regulus a week to return the greeting, and another before they actually spoke.

They were seated at the same table. James was engrossed in a scroll detailing various jinxes when he heard a snap, and Regulus said, "Potter, could I borrow your quill for a moment?"

James looked up from the scroll. Regulus Black was looking directly at him, eyebrows raised in anticipation. James stared for a moment too long.

"Here," he said, holding out the quill, and when Regulus took it, their fingers brushed for a heartbeat.

Icy, James thought.

Regulus never returned the quill.

James felt compelled to ask something, to speak again, but he had no idea what to say.

So he remained silent. The next two times they saw each other, all James said was “hello” and “see you.” The third time, he dashed into the kitchens before heading to the library.

"Hi," James said, shifting the strap of his brown messenger bag from his shoulder.

Regulus was at the same table as before. Without looking up, he muttered a curt greeting, sighed, and fidgeted in his chair.

Not a good day for conversation, apparently, James thought. Pressing his lips together, he turned to the bookshelf and selected a book. He'd already reached for it, hooked his index finger over the top of the spine, when a quiet voice came from behind him.

"You'd be better off with the new edition."

James turned.

"To the left of it. Newer cover." Regulus nodded left.

James shifted his index finger to the next book over, and Regulus nodded again.

"What's wrong with the old one?" James asked cautiously.

"Same information, but a lot of unnecessary details. Unless, of course, you don't value your time." Regulus stared intently at his fingernails, exuding indifference from every pore.

"I... value it. Thank you," James replied, took the new edition of the book, and sat down opposite him. Before opening it, he carefully examined the cover. It was beautiful, made of dark blue velvet and decorated with golden moons.

It was a book dedicated to spells invented by werewolves. He wondered if Moony had read it.

James immersed himself in reading, and only when Regulus got up from his chair, shaking out his sleeves, did he remember what was lying in the pocket of his own robes.

"Leaving?"

Regulus nodded, about to say goodbye, but James interrupted him:

"Wait a second." He reached into his pocket, stood up, and held out a shiny green apple to Black. "Here. Take it."

Regulus stared at James as if he had offered him a swig of firewhisky straight from the bottle, right there in the library. He raised an eyebrow, looked at the fruit, then back into James' eyes.

"Is it poisoned?"

James couldn't help but chuckle.

"Just take it, my arm's getting tired."

Regulus narrowed his eyes, then huffed and took the apple from James' hand.

"Thank you. See you."

"Yeah."

***

“Jamie? You in here?” Sirius poked his head into their dormitory, and seeing James pulling on his kit, he strolled inside.

“As you can see,” James replied, tugging the laces of his dragonhide bracer tight. “What is it?”

“You won’t believe what’s going on!”

James sighed.

“What is going on?” he enquired, more out of politeness than genuine curiosity.

“This!” Sirius's eyebrows shot up, and his cold blue eyes gleamed with excitement. “Mary Macdonald’s bet Evans that she’ll snog you if our team wins the friendly match against Slytherin.”

Something pinched in James's chest. His hands lost all feeling for the laces. He adjusted his glasses awkwardly.

“And? What did Lily say?”

“Well, first she told Macdonald to go to hell. But then everyone started chanting, ‘Lily, Lily, Lily,’ and she agreed.”

“Hilarious, Padfoot,” James said with a bitter snort. “And why would she agree?”

“Here’s the kicker. On the condition that if we lose, she gets to pick any hex, and you can’t resist.”

“What?” James's voice jumped an octave. “Who even came up with that?”

“Me, mate! Brilliant, right?” Sirius beamed, and James forced a smile in return.

“What if she transfigures me into…,” he adjusted his glasses again, “…I don’t know, a teapot?”

“Prongs, what are you on about? When was the last time we lost to Slytherin? She knows perfectly well she’ll have to…”

The door creaked open, and Peter's head popped into view.

“Prongs, you won't believe...”

James rubbed his forehead with the edge of his bracer. Glancing at Sirius, he shook his head.

“I’m not participating in this.”

“Why not?” Sirius asked, genuinely baffled.

“Don’t want to be kissed on a dare,” James replied, equally honestly, and left the room.

Lily was perfect. And James loved her – truly loved her, deeply and without condition – but he also understood they weren’t right for each other. And just when he was beginning to accept that, someone would throw him this bone, this flicker of hope that maybe, by some twist of fate, they could be together. James had asked the Marauders to drop the Evans topic entirely, but they continued to needle him. It just wasn’t fair.

Holding his broom in his left hand, he walked towards the Quidditch pitch. The frosty November air nipped at his cheeks, and his fingertips were beginning to go numb. Perfect. He’d start by thoroughly freezing his arse off, then push himself to the limit during practice, so his entire body would ache, and he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else.

Regulus was circling the pitch. James stopped by the benches, watching him, then called out.

“Oi!”

Regulus didn’t react, and James shouted again, “Hey! Regulus!”

The flitting figure in green slowed, then dropped closer to the ground.

“Potter,” Regulus nodded. “Where’s the rest of your team?”

“And yours?” James grinned, adjusting his glasses.

Regulus chewed on his lip, looking somewhere over James's shoulder.

“They’re…” He trailed off, instead staring at something behind James. “Never mind.”

James turned. The Gryffindor team was heading towards the pitch, Sirius at the head. Regulus rose higher again, and James didn't have a chance to reply.

He noticed Moony in the stands, and beside him – Lily. They were talking about something, and Lily clutched her books to her chest as if trying to warm them.

The practice was a shambles.

James regretted coming out at all. His broom kept pulling to the right, which irritated him, and the faster he went, the more the broom veered in that direction.

It started to snow; the wind turned the snowflakes into darts that stung his cheeks and plastered themselves to his lenses. He couldn't see a thing. The team kept calling out to him too, and that was beginning to grate on his nerves.

He spotted Regulus shooting upwards, arm outstretched, and he went after him. Within seconds they were level.

James couldn't feel his face or his hands anymore. He couldn't make out the features of the Slytherin Seeker ten inches away, but he could hear the roaring rush of air thrashing his robes. And yet, squinting, he reached forward. What he was hoping for? Merlin only knew.

Hang on, where was Regulus?

James slowed, scraping frozen snowflakes from his glasses with his glove.

Regulus was hanging upside down from his broom, hooked onto the handle with one leg and flailing helplessly in the air with the other. His robes had ridden up, exposing a thin, pale stomach.

A plume of vapour escaped James' mouth. His gaze darted to the goalposts; all the Slytherins were too engrossed in thrashing Gryffindor to notice.

Regulus was frozen. James growled and veered towards him, and the moment his numbed fingers closed around the fabric of young Black’s robes, his broom went completely haywire. Regulus’ body swung and remained suspended, caught in James' death grip.

“Merlin…” James gulped noisily, trying to catch his breath.

Regulus shook his curly hair, revealing a flushed face, and held something out to James. James attempted to adjust his glasses with his shoulder.

Regulus was clutching the Snitch in his pink palm.

The fabric of his robes crackled, and James hastened to lower him down, where his broom was already lying on the frozen sand.

Regulus, once upright, dusted himself off and straightened his robes, then massaged his neck and shoulder. He smiled weakly, about to say something, but before he could, Sirius, appearing from nowhere, launched himself at him, grabbing the collar of his robes.

“Are you an idiot?” Sirius shook his younger brother, who lost his footing, falling onto his back and dragging Sirius down with him. “I see you haven't died, huh? I’ll help you on your way then!”

James tried to pull Sirius off, but he was heavier, and he snagged James' arm.

“Don’t touch me!” Sirius bucked, and James saw Remus running towards them.

Sirius was breathing heavily, staring into Regulus’ eyes and still gripping him by the front of his robes. Regulus grinned and spat in Sirius’s face. He drew back his hand and slapped him hard across the face, and then Moony roared, “Levicorpus!”

Sirius soared into the air, flailing his arms. The curses he bellowed echoed across the pitch.

Regulus was still lying on the sand.

“Do you want to live?” Remus asked, losing his patience. “If you do, I suggest you leg it.”

Regulus laughed, revealing teeth stained red.

Lily wasn't in the stands.