Starburned and Unkissed

The Great Hall was still buzzing with energy from the night before. Talk of the Triwizard Tournament had ignited a wildfire of excitement throughout Hogwarts, and this morning, over platters of eggs, toast, and pumpkin juice, students were already debating who might enter.

At the Gryffindor table, James Potter leaned forward, his hazel eyes alight with excitement. "So, what do we think? Are we entering, or are we entering?" He grinned, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"Are those my only options?" Remus Lupin asked dryly, nursing a cup of black coffee.

"Yes."

"Of course we’re entering," Sirius Black cut in, exhaling smoke from the cigarette tucked between his fingers. His dark hair was messily falling into his sharp, aristocratic face, but his usual rebellious smirk was firmly in place. "It’s a chance for eternal glory, and I, for one, deserve nothing less."

"You're not eternal, Sirius," Peter Pettigrew said through a mouthful of toast. "But, if you win, you’ll be in Hogwarts: A History, which is kinda the same thing."

Sirius scoffed. "As if I'd let them put my name in that glorified doorstop. Besides, the whole thing is rigged for the dramatic types—"

"You are the dramatic type," James interrupted.

"—which is why I’ll obviously be chosen."

Remus sighed. "Actually, there’s no guarantee of that. The Goblet of Fire chooses based on merit, skill, and perceived potential, not just confidence. Theoretically, even a fifth-year could be chosen if they were competent enough."

James turned to him, interest piqued. "You read about this, didn’t you?"

Remus took another sip of coffee. "Naturally."

Peter looked up, eyes wide. "Tell us everything."

Remus sighed but relented, setting his mug down and rubbing his temples. "Fine. The Triwizard Tournament was founded centuries ago as a way to unite Europe’s three greatest wizarding schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. But it was discontinued for a reason, well because people died in it."

"Adds to the thrill," Sirius said, grinning.

James raised a brow. "A bit concerning, Pads."

"The tasks are designed to be near-impossible," Remus continued, ignoring them. "Every challenge is meant to test intelligence, magical ability, and sheer determination. Just like what Professor Dumbledore said, the winner receives a thousand Galleons and, of course, eternal glory."

James whistled low. Sirius smirked. "Told you. Eternal glory and riches. It’s got my name written all over it."

James elbowed him. "If you get chosen, I better get chosen too."

"You don’t just get chosen, James," Remus reminded him. "The Goblet has to deem you worthy."

"Well, obviously, it’s going to look at me and think, ‘Damn, that bloke’s bloody fantastic, let’s make him a champion,’" James declared, leaning back smugly.

Sirius barked a laugh. "If arrogance was a determining factor, mate, you’d have won before you even put your name in."

Remus hesitated before speaking again. "...There’s a reason I won’t be entering."

The lighthearted air dimmed slightly. James turned to him, noting the way Remus’ fingers tensed slightly against his mug.

Sirius was the first to say it. "Moony, you could enter." His voice was softer now. "You know that."

"I could," Remus said, voice tight, "but what happens if I make it far into the tournament, and one of the tasks falls on a full moon?"

Silence. The words hung heavy between them.

Remus was powerful. He was smart. He was more than capable. But he was also a werewolf, and that one fact dictated far too much of his life.

James clenched his jaw. It wasn’t fair.

"You don’t know that’ll happen," Sirius said, but it was clear even he didn’t believe it.

"I do know," Remus countered. "And even if I miraculously made it through, do you really think the Ministry would let a werewolf compete? This tournament is too public. I can’t afford the risk."

James saw Sirius' hands twitch, like he wanted to reach for Remus but didn’t know how. Instead, he nudged him with his knee under the table. "I still think you’d wipe the floor with the other competitors."

Remus gave a small smile. "That’s a given."

James caught the way Sirius looked at Remus like he wanted to say something more but didn’t. There was a flicker of something in his expression, something unreadable to most people.

But James wasn’t most people.

He knew Sirius better than anyone. He’d seen the way his gaze lingered on Remus in quiet moments, how he always leaned in just a little closer than necessary.

And Remus. Remus, who was so brilliantly observant about everything else, was completely oblivious when it came to himself. He didn’t seem to realize the way he always turned to Sirius first, the way his sharp wit softened around him.

James exchanged a glance with Peter.

Peter, already chewing on a new piece of toast, raised an eyebrow like You see this too, right?

James sighed.

This had been going on for years.

He’d watched Sirius flirt with girls in a half-hearted way—always grinning, always effortlessly charming, but never invested. Never like how he looked at Remus when he thought no one was paying attention.

And Remus, for all his intelligence, was just as bad.

James sometimes thought about saying something, but what was the point? They'd just deny it, like always.

Instead, he pushed his eggs around his plate, resigned to the fact that he’d probably be waiting for them to figure it out until graduation.

Maybe longer.

Peter, however, kept looking between Sirius and Remus with something mischievous brewing behind his eyes.

James sighed again.

This was going to be a long year.

The Goblet of Fire burned blue and white, casting flickering shadows across the chamber. The fire inside crackled softly but powerfully, its presence almost sentient, waiting.

James Potter stood just outside the golden age line, watching as a cocky-looking fifth-year from Ravenclaw stepped forward, attempting to outwit Dumbledore’s spell.

The boy raised his wand. "Aetate Auctus."

A faint, golden shimmer surrounded him as he aged himself artificially by a few months, or so he thought. With a triumphant smirk, he strode forward, ready to drop his name into the Goblet.

Then—BANG!

The moment his foot crossed the line, the magic backfired spectacularly. His hair turned stark white, his knees buckled, and he tumbled backward, landing on the stone floor in a dazed heap.

The Gryffindors watching howled with laughter.

"Bloody hell," Peter wheezed, gripping James’ arm for support.

James grinned. "I was hoping something like that would happen."

"Think he’s grown a few wrinkles?" Sirius mused, exhaling smoke from his cigarette.

"Serves him right for trying to cheat," Remus muttered, watching as Madam Pomfrey rushed over, already sighing in exasperation.

As the injured student was led away, a group of Beauxbatons students strode into the chamber, dressed in sleek, high-collared robes in varying shades of deep blue and silver. Unlike the excited Hogwarts students, they moved with an air of calculated precision, every step poised, every movement elegant.

And at the center of them all, Regulus Black.

James stiffened immediately.

He hadn’t seen Regulus up close yet. Not properly. Last night had been a fleeting moment, one look across the Great Hall, a flash of sharp grey eyes before Sirius’ insult had dragged his attention away.

Now, there was no distraction.

Regulus walked confidently to the Goblet, his deep blue Ombrelune robes tailored perfectly, the silver accents catching the firelight as he moved. His posture was perfect. His expression? Completely composed.

He carried himself like he had already won.

James barely registered the way the other Beauxbatons students surrounded him, murmuring in low, rolling French.

"C’est évident qu’il sera choisi."

"Bien sûr, il est le meilleur de nous."

Regulus didn’t react to their words, didn’t even acknowledge them. He simply pulled a small slip of parchment from his pocket and, with no hesitation whatsoever, flicked it into the flames.

The Goblet swallowed his name with a burst of blue fire.

Then, Regulus turned slowly, deliberately, and locked eyes with James.

James’ stomach dropped.

For a split second, everything else in the room faded, the laughing Hogwarts students, the flickering firelight, even the lingering scent of Sirius’ cigarette smoke.

It was just him and Regulus, standing several feet apart, separated by distance but connected by something sharper.

Regulus’ gaze was icy, unreadable, but James saw something else beneath the surface.

Challenge.

James’ pulse kicked up.

Regulus held his stare for a second too long before finally turning away, his expression unreadable once more. He said something in French to his classmates, something quick, something smooth, something James couldn’t understand but desperately wanted to.

Sirius, standing stiffly beside him, let out a low scoff.

"Look at him," he muttered, voice full of thinly veiled resentment. "Smug little prick."

James tore his eyes away from Regulus, glancing at Sirius instead.

Sirius' usual reckless grin was nowhere to be found. His grey eyes were stormy, his fingers twitching where they hung by his side. James had seen this look before—Sirius at his most stubborn, most impulsive.

Before James could say anything, Sirius pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket, scrawled his name in bold letters, and strode forward.

"Sirius," Remus started, frowning.

But Sirius was already stepping across the line, confident, defiant, and tossing his name into the Goblet.

The fire flashed brilliantly blue.

Sirius turned immediately, walking back with an expression that dared anyone to say something.

James grinned. "Couldn’t let your little brother show you up, could you?"

Sirius exhaled deeply. "Like hell I was going to let him be the only Black in this tournament."

Remus rubbed his temple. "And now you might actually have to fight an inferni, you idiot."

Sirius only smirked. "Sounds like a great way to spend the year, don’t you think?"

James felt a thrill of excitement buzz through his veins. The thought of competing, of actually being a champion, made his fingers itch.

He turned to the Goblet.

The fire flickered, waiting.

Well, what was he waiting for?

Without hesitation, James grabbed his own parchment, scrawled out his name, and with a rush of adrenaline, flung it into the flames.

The Goblet swallowed it instantly, the blue fire roaring.

Peter stepped up next. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. Then, with only a slight tremble, he dropped his name in too.

The Marauders exchanged glances.

"Well," James said, heart pounding. "Guess we’ll find out if any of us have what it takes."

Sirius huffed a laugh, tossing an arm around James’ shoulder. "Mate, if I get picked and you don’t, you’re never hearing the end of it."

James elbowed him. "Right back at you, Padfoot."

Peter grinned. "I think we’re about to have the most mental year of our lives."

Remus sighed deeply. "I already know we are."

James glanced one last time at Regulus, who was still standing with his Beauxbatons friends, looking entirely unaffected.

But James knew better now.

Regulus Black might look calm, collected, unbothered.

But James had seen it. That glint in his eyes when he dropped his name in. That edge of arrogance. That unspoken challenge.

The chamber had fallen into an uneasy quiet. The only sounds were the occasional murmurs of students lingering near the Goblet of Fire and the steady crackling of its blue-white flames. The air was thick with tension, and James couldn’t quite tell if it was the magic in the room or something else entirely. Groups of students lingered around the pedestal, whispering in excited murmurs, eyes darting between the names already cast into the fire and the next bold soul willing to take their chance.

James, however, was only half-listening.

His heart was still thrumming from the rush of placing his own name inside. There was a strange finality to it, a sense of electric possibility humming beneath his skin. A thrill that hadn’t quite faded.

But the air shifted.

And James felt it before he saw him.

The hair on his arms rose, his pulse skipping.

Regulus Black was walking toward them.

James barely recognized the reaction in himself. It was too visceral, too instinctive. He had no reason to feel like the temperature in the room had just dropped, no reason to think his lungs were suddenly working too hard.

But something about Regulus demanded attention.

It wasn’t just that he was striking, with his sharp cheekbones, pale complexion, and dark curls that framed his face like ink spilled over parchment. It was the way he carried himself, measured, calculated, and perfectly composed. He didn’t stride like he owned the room.

He simply acted like it had always belonged to him.

Sirius tensed beside him.

James flicked his gaze sideways and saw his best friend’s fingers twitch, the cigarette in his hand burning low. He hadn’t taken a drag in a while.

Regulus stopped in front of them. His grey eyes—so much like Sirius’, yet nothing like them at all—scanned the group before settling on his brother.

Regulus took a slow step forward, stopping just short of the Goblet. His gaze swept over Sirius with calculated ease, and then he exhaled softly, his tone carrying an unmistakable edge of mockery.

"Vraiment, Sirius?" (Really, Sirius?)

The words came smooth, effortless. Then, with a tilt of his head, he added, "Toi? Dans ce tournoi?" (You? In this tournament?)

Sirius didn’t answer immediately. His lips parted slightly, as if he hadn’t expected Regulus to speak first. But the brief flicker of surprise vanished in an instant, replaced by a smirk that looked more like a warning than anything else.

"Pourquoi pas, Reggie? Tu pensais que j'allais juste regarder et t'applaudir?" (Why not, Reggie? Did you think I was just going to sit back and cheer for you?)

Regulus didn’t so much as blink.

His eyes flicked toward the Goblet for the briefest moment before returning to Sirius, his expression still unreadable. Then, in a quiet, almost indifferent voice, he replied,

"Non. Je pensais que tu allais perdre." (No. I thought you were going to lose.)

James didn’t understand the words, but he didn’t need to.

He saw the way Sirius’ body went still, the way his breath caught just enough to be noticeable. Whatever Regulus had said, it had hit its mark.

Beside James, Peter shifted uncomfortably, and even Remus, who had been doing his best to stay out of it, stiffened slightly.

Sirius let out a short, humorless laugh, but there was something off about it. Something brittle. "Tais-toi, Regulus." (Shut up, Regulus.)

Regulus raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Déjà irrité? Je ne suis même pas encore méchant." (Irritated already? I haven’t even been mean yet.)

James frowned. He had no idea what was being said, but he knew that tone. He had heard it before from Sirius, right before he lunged at a Slytherin when they were in fourth year.

Sirius scoffed. "Dis ce que tu veux dire, alors." (Say what you mean, then.)

Regulus tilted his head slightly, considering him. And then, without hesitation, he said something else, his voice disturbingly calm.

"J’espère que tu aimes perdre, Sirius.Tu es doué pour ça, après tout." (I hope you like losing, Sirius. You’re good at it, after all.)

James didn’t know what it meant, but he saw the way Sirius reacted.

It wasn’t anger at first.

It was something quieter, heavier, like the words had landed deep, in a place that had already been wounded before.

Whatever Regulus had just said, it wasn’t just an insult.

Sirius sucked in a slow breath through his nose, but his fingers twitched, just barely. "Va te faire foutre." (Go fuck yourself.)

Regulus simply smiled. A small, cold thing that didn’t reach his eyes.

And then, as if he were merely stating a fact, he said,

"Mère aurait été déçue, tu sais." (Mother would have been disappointed, you know.)

Sirius froze.

James felt the shift immediately, like the very air in the room had changed. He might not have understood the words, but he understood the impact.

Regulus’ voice remained perfectly steady. "Je suppose que c’est pour le mieux qu’elle t’ait renié. Regarde-toi." (I suppose it’s for the best that she disowned you. Look at you.)

Sirius let out another laugh, but it was different this time. Shakier. Forced.

Regulus had hit somewhere deep, and they all knew it.

Still, Sirius recovered quickly, curling his lips into a smirk that did nothing to hide the tension in his jaw. "Mieux vaut être renié que d’être un putain de chien de garde pour cette famille de tarés." (Better to be disowned than be a fucking lapdog for that family of lunatics.)

James didn’t miss the way Regulus’ eyes darkened slightly.

"Intéressant." (Interesting.) His gaze flickered over Sirius, assessing him like he was something insignificant. Then, voice light but laced with something dangerous, he said, "Surtout venant d'un traître à son sang." (Especially coming from a blood traitor.)

Sirius’ entire body stiffened.

James didn’t fully grasp the insult, but he knew whatever it was, it had struck Sirius harder than anything else Regulus had said.

Sirius exhaled through his nose, his smirk still there but now more like a shield than anything else. "Tu ferais mieux d’espérer que je ne gagne pas, alors." (You’d better hope I don’t win, then.)

Regulus looked at him for a long moment. Then, his lips curled into something that might have been a smirk if it weren’t so cold.

"J’espère bien. J’aurais honte de perdre contre un traître." (I hope so. I’d be ashamed to lose to a traitor.)

James felt that.

Even without knowing the words, he felt how deep they cut.

The room was too quiet.

Sirius let out one last laugh, bitter and sharp. "Ouais? Tu sais quoi? J’espère que je gagne juste pour que tu doives voir ton propre sang se faire applaudir par tout le monde ici." (Yeah? You know what? I hope I win just so you have to watch your own blood get cheered for by everyone here.)

Regulus didn’t respond.

He simply held Sirius’ gaze for a second longer before turning away. He walked off, his Ombrelune robes sweeping behind him, leaving only silence in his wake.

Sirius stayed where he was, jaw tight, cigarette now burning dangerously close to his fingers. “Putain de merde.”

James glanced at him but didn’t say anything. He knew Sirius wouldn’t talk about it.

But what James couldn’t ignore was the way his own gaze had drifted back to Regulus.

Even after everything.

Even after all of that.

James swallowed hard, exhaling through his nose.

He was in trouble.