Starburned and Unkissed

The week after submitting their names to the Goblet of Fire passed in a blur of excitement, nerves, and the usual Marauder mayhem.

Classes resumed as usual, though "usual" was a stretch when the entire school was buzzing with Triwizard Tournament anticipation. Everywhere, students whispered about the competition, placing unofficial bets and speculating about who might be chosen. The Hogwarts hopefuls were easy enough to predict, but the foreign students remained a mystery, particularly Beauxbatons' Regulus Black.

Even if they didn’t know his name, they had noticed him. The “mysterious Beauxbatons that looks like Sirius Black” had quickly become a topic of conversation, especially among those who had witnessed his icy confrontation with Sirius.

James had noticed him too.

Unfortunately.

Or fortunately. He hadn’t quite decided yet.

Monday morning, the air in the Potions classroom was thick with the stench of burnt ingredients and the even stronger scent of impending failure.

James stirred their cauldron half-heartedly, watching as the liquid inside bubbled in a very threatening, toxic-looking shade of green instead of the pretty purple Slughorn had described.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that,” Peter said, eyeing the potion warily.

“Well spotted, Wormtail,” James drawled, nudging Sirius with his elbow. “You planning to actually help or just sit there writing love letters to yourself?”

Sirius, sprawled lazily over the table, barely looked up from the parchment he was furiously scribbling on.

“Love letters?” he scoffed. “Please, I don’t need to write those. The girls send them to me.”

Remus snorted. “They’d stop if they knew how bloody awful your Potions is.”

“Oi,” Sirius said, pretending to be offended. “This is important business, thank you very much.”

James peered over at the parchment and groaned. “Sirius, this is—this is just an extensive list of demands for your birthday party.”

Sirius finally put down his quill, grinning. “Yes. And?”

“And we’re supposed to be brewing a Sleeping Draught, you absolute menace,” James said. “At least pretend to stir something.”

Sirius reached over, gave the cauldron a single lazy swirl, then smirked. “Happy?”

The potion promptly let out a horrific gurgling sound and released a thick plume of yellow smoke into the air.

Slughorn sighed.

Snape sneered.

And James barely held back the overwhelming urge to hex that look off his greasy face.

By the time they made it to lunch, their disastrous Potions class had already become the latest gossip. A group of Slytherins were still laughing about it when the Marauders walked past.

Sirius, ever the picture of grace, flipped them off.

“Immature,” Remus muttered, though his lips twitched in amusement.

Lily had managed a particularly long-suffering sigh the moment she sat down, which meant she already knew something had happened. Marlene had smirked knowingly, while Mary had simply stirred sugar into her tea with an expression that said she was unimpressed but not at all surprised.

Between bites of roasted chicken and stolen pieces of treacle tart, the Marauders had somehow managed to convince Lily to ignore whatever disaster they had caused that morning and focus instead on Sirius' upcoming birthday.

"Just don’t do anything that gets you expelled," she had warned, though the resigned tone in her voice suggested she had very little hope of them listening.

She was probably right.

Later that evening, the Gryffindor common room was alive with chatter and warmth, the golden glow of the fireplace flickering against the walls. James lounged across the couch, quill in hand, while Sirius paced in front of him, rambling excitedly about his upcoming party.

“The music has to be loud,” Sirius declared. “None of that boring, slow rubbish. I want Bowie. Queen. Maybe even The Clash—”

“We’re in a magical castle, Pads,” James interrupted. “I can’t exactly go out and get a bloody Muggle band.”

“I’m just saying, if we had a Muggle band, it’d be epic,” Sirius said, flopping dramatically into an armchair.

Peter nodded eagerly. “What about firewhisky?”

Sirius lit up. “Yes! Wormy, I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Remus sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m going to regret being here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” James and Sirius said in unison.

Remus shook his head but didn’t actually protest.

“Alright,” James said, pulling out a fresh bit of parchment. “So, we’ll need the Room of Requirement—”

“Ooh,” Sirius waggled his eyebrows. “Now we’re talking.”

“—and we need to make sure no one outside of Gryffindor gets wind of it.”

Marlene, who had snuck into their planning session, smirked. “You do realize half of Hufflepuff will show up regardless, right?”

James groaned. “I know. They’re too bloody friendly.”

“I say let them in,” Sirius said with a wicked grin. “The more, the merrier.”

“You only want to flirt with Hufflepuff girls,” Remus muttered.

Sirius gasped in mock offense. “Moony! That is—okay, yes, but that’s beside the point.”

James barely held back a sigh, glancing between Sirius and Remus. James wasn’t going to tease them about it, he wasn’t that cruel, but Merlin, he hoped they figured it out soon.

Despite the chaos of planning, James wanted this party to be perfect.

Not just because it was Sirius’ 18th birthday.

Not just because they had spent years pulling off the best Gryffindor celebrations.

But because, after everything with Regulus, after the way Sirius had been off lately, quieter than usual, more restless than ever, James wanted to give him a night where nothing else mattered.

A night where Sirius could just be Sirius—loud, reckless, and free.

The Halloween Feast was in full swing, the Great Hall transformed into something straight out of a ghost story. Jack-o’-lanterns hung in midair, casting flickering shadows across the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the stormy night sky outside. The scent of roasted pumpkin, warm cider, and spiced treacle tart filled the room, mingling with the sharp tang of burning wax from the endless rows of floating candles.

Laughter and chatter echoed off the ancient stone walls as students feasted, their excitement for the night’s main event buzzing through the air like electricity.

At the center of it all, the Goblet of Fire stood on its grand pedestal, blue flames licking hungrily at the air, casting eerie, flickering light across the enchanted goblet’s surface.

James sat with the Marauders at the Gryffindor table, elbows deep in a plate of steak and kidney pie, nicking pumpkin pasties off Peter’s plate while Sirius flicked bits of mashed potato at a group of unsuspecting Ravenclaws.

But underneath the easy banter, there was tension. A thrumming anticipation, heavy like the air before a thunderstorm.

Everyone was waiting.

Then, at long last, Dumbledore rose to his feet.

The hall fell into an immediate, expectant silence.

James put down his fork, pulse kicking up a notch.

It was time.

“The Champion for Durmstrang Institute,” Dumbledore announced, his voice calm but commanding. The flames of the Goblet surged, a roaring gust of blue-white fire illuminating his face as a single, charred slip of parchment shot into the air.

The moment stretched.

Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, Dumbledore caught the parchment and unfolded it.

A pause.

“Vassil Ivanov!”

The Durmstrang table erupted in cheers, a chorus of deep, proud voices rising above the rest of the hall. Some of the younger students pounded their fists against the wooden table in excitement, the sound reverberating through the Great Hall like rolling thunder.

James looked toward them just in time to see Vassil Ivanov push back his chair and rise to his feet.

The Durmstrang Champion was tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly composed, his blond hair catching the candlelight like molten gold. He strode forward with the easy confidence of a man who had never known what it was like to doubt himself.

Peter looked seconds away from fainting.

James elbowed him. “Breathe, mate.”

Peter let out a strangled noise that was definitely not breathing. His eyes were wide, glued to Ivanov like he was witnessing Merlin himself in the flesh.

James chuckled but turned his attention back to the front. He didn’t care about Durmstrang.

His interest was elsewhere.

Two seats away from Ivanov.

Regulus Black.

And when the Goblet flared again, sending up another surge of blue flames, James felt his stomach twist with an awful kind of certainty.

“The Champion for Beauxbatons Academy…” Dumbledore reached into the Goblet again, his expression unchanged as he retrieved the second slip of parchment.

Another long pause.

Then

“Regulus Black!”

For a single, stretched-out second, there was absolute silence.

Then the polite, controlled applause of the Beauxbatons students filled the hall—elegant claps, nothing like the roaring cheers from the Durmstrang table. Some of them looked relieved it wasn’t them. Others smiled approvingly, as if they had seen this coming.

James didn’t notice any of them.

Because next to him, Sirius went still.

The kind of stillness that felt dangerous.

James turned his head and saw it, the way Sirius’ jaw ticked, the way his fingers curled into fists on the table, the way his eyes remained locked forward, emotionless.

But James knew him too well.

Sirius was feeling something, something intense, something sharp, something ugly.

Was it anger? Worry? Resentment?

James couldn’t tell.

He barely had time to think before movement caught his eye.

Regulus had stood.

And James, who had never spoken to him, who had only ever seen glimpses of him across crowded hallways, who had only just met his gaze for the first time mere days ago, felt himself freeze.

Regulus walked through the hall like he had already won.

His black Beauxbatons uniform clung to his lean frame, the silk robes draping effortlessly around him, his posture flawless, his expression unreadable. Not a single sign of hesitation. Not a single trace of doubt.

The candlelight caught in his storm-grey eyes, making them flash as he passed James’ table.

And he looked straight at Sirius.

A moment.

A brief flicker of something icy, sharp, and deeply unspoken passed between them.

Then, without a word, Regulus turned away.

James exhaled.

He didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath.

The Goblet flared one last time, flames surging higher than before, casting long, jagged shadows against the stone walls.

James wasn’t ready.

But it didn’t matter.

Because before he could process anything, the final slip of parchment shot into the air. “The Champion for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…”

Dumbledore caught it. Unfolded it.

“James Potter!”

For a brief, horrifying moment, the world lurched sideways.

James’ stomach plummeted.

His brain stalled, refused, rejected.

No.

No, no, no.

No.

That wasn’t right.

That couldn’t be right.

The Great Hall exploded into cheers, Gryffindors the loudest, with Gryffindor banners being waved and students clapping him on the back, but James barely registered any of it.

His heart was pounding, the blood roaring in his ears.

Sirius shook him roughly. “Prongs. Move, for fuck’s sake.”

James blinked. His legs moved on autopilot, carrying him forward, his vision tunneling as he approached the front of the hall.

He felt lightheaded. Unreal.

The applause, the voices, the claps on the back—all of it blurred together into white noise.

And then

He stopped.

He stood beside Regulus.

And

A scoff.

Sharp, unimpressed, laced with immediate disapproval.

James turned just in time to see Regulus rolling his eyes.

Something in James’ brain, a part that had been drowning under panic, jerked awake.

His heart was still hammering, his hands clammy with nerves, but somehow, somehow, that single scoff cut through the noise, grounding him.

Regulus looked at him like he was an inconvenience, like this was something beneath him.

James suddenly felt his nerves shift.

Because now, more than fear, more than confusion, there was something else.

Something stubborn, reckless, and unshakably competitive.

Dumbledore raised his arms, smiling. “And so, we have our champions! A round of applause for our three competitors—may they have courage, wisdom, and good fortune in the tournament ahead.”

Applause thundered through the Great Hall.

James barely heard it.

Because beside him, Regulus Black stood tall, chin lifted, expression smooth, eyes sharp.

And James, who had never once expected this outcome, who had never thought his path would collide with Regulus Black’s, stood beside him, pulse racing, and felt the first spark of something dangerous.

Fascination.

The Great Hall was still humming with the aftershock of the Triwizard selection. Students buzzed with excitement, whispering, pointing, speculating. James Potter, one of Hogwarts’ own, was now a Triwizard Champion.

James, however, felt like someone had hexed his legs into jelly.

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath as he walked out of the Great Hall with the other champions, his skin prickling under the weight of hundreds of eyes still watching him. He could still feel Regulus Black’s sharp, unimpressed scoff from earlier, but James was too stunned to even process it properly.

A Triwizard Champion.

Him.

How the fuck did that happen?

His stomach was still twisting as he stepped into the corridor, his heartbeat a hammering mess of nerves and adrenaline. He barely had time to think before a blur of red and gold barreled into him.

"JAMES!"

Sirius tackled him first, gripping his shoulders. "YOU ABSOLUTE LEGEND!"

Then Peter grabbed his arm, grinning like a madman. "Mate, you’re going to be in the history books for this!"

Remus, standing slightly behind them, was just smirking in amusement. James let out a breathless laugh, still processing everything. "Yeah. I, uh.. wasn’t really expecting this."

"No shit!" Sirius barked out a laugh, gripping James by the collar. "You’re actually doing this. You’re in the bloody tournament!"

Then, suddenly, Sirius’ face shifted. The high of celebration flickered for just a second, something else creeping in.

James watched as Sirius’ excitement dimmed, just slightly. His grin was still there, but his jaw was tight.

James knew why.

Because the last person to be picked before James was Regulus.

His little brother.

James felt the shift immediately.

Sirius had been laughing just seconds ago, but now, there was something almost uncomfortable in his expression. Like he was torn between thrill and frustration, pride and resentment.

"Hey," James nudged him, keeping his voice light. "Don’t go all brooding on me now. We were just celebrating my inevitable and glorious victory."

Sirius snorted at that, rolling his eyes. "Glorious? More like an inevitable disaster."

James gasped dramatically. "How dare you?"

Peter cackled. "He’s not wrong. You’ll probably trip over your own feet in the first task."

"I hate both of you," James declared.

Sirius smirked, but it wasn’t as bright as before. "Seriously, though. You’re really okay with this? The tournament’s dangerous, James."

James hesitated for a moment before grinning, forcing away his nerves. "Eh, how hard can it be?"

"James."

"I’m kidding!" James laughed, running a hand through his curls. "I mean, it’s a bit—yeah, alright, terrifying—but come on. This is once-in-a-lifetime stuff!"

Peter nodded enthusiastically. "You’re gonna smash this. You’re one of the best duelists in school, and you’ve got us backing you up. Plus, imagine the bragging rights!"

James smirked. "That is true. I could definitely use this to impress someone."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Prongs, please, you could fall flat on your face and girls would still swoon over you."

"Can’t help it," James said dramatically. "I’m just that charming."

Remus snorted. "Right. And totally not an arrogant prat."

"Exactly."

The laughter settled for a moment, and James saw Sirius shift uncomfortably again. His fingers twitched like he wanted to light a cigarette but knew now is not the right time to satisfy his addiction.

James nudged him lightly. "You alright, mate?"

Sirius hesitated.

His hands were tightly clenched at his sides, and his usual, easy smirk had faded into something heavier. He was still Sirius—still cocky, still grinning—but there was an underlying tension beneath it all.

James didn’t push.

He already knew what was going through Sirius’ head.

His best friend had barely spoken about Regulus in years. Their relationship was strained at best, non-existent at worst. But now, Regulus Black wasn’t just an abstract thought, a name Sirius could ignore.

He was here.

In Hogwarts.

And he was competing.

Against James.

Against Sirius’ best friend.

James exhaled through his nose. "It’s alright, you know."

Sirius blinked. "What is?"

"You being... I dunno. Whatever it is you’re feeling right now."

Sirius scoffed, looking away. "I don’t feel anything."

James raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Yeah, sure."

Sirius clenched his jaw.

For a second, James thought he might actually say something.

Then

"Come on," Sirius said instead, shaking his head. "Enough of this emotional crap. We’re celebrating, aren’t we? Let’s get back to the common room before someone else tries to steal all the firewhiskey."

James sighed. He’d let it go. For now.

"Race you there?" James challenged.

Peter groaned. "Oh no—"

"You’re on." Sirius bolted.

"OH FOR—" Remus groaned, but he and Peter ran after them anyway, laughing the whole way back.

The days following the Champion selection were a whirlwind. Hogwarts was buzzing with excitement, students whispering about the upcoming tasks, placing bets, and speculating about the champions. James was still adjusting to the idea of competing. Some moments, it felt thrilling, and others, like a boulder in his stomach.

But all of that was temporarily forgotten when Sirius Black’s eighteenth birthday arrived.

And, obviously, that called for the biggest Gryffindor party of the year.

By the time the sun had set, Gryffindor Tower was unrecognizable. Someone (probably Marlene) had charmed the common room to be three times its size, and someone else (definitely Lily) had placed silencing spells on the walls so they wouldn’t be caught.

The enchanted ceiling, an experimental spell courtesy of Mary, now displayed a deep, starry sky, and in the air, Muggle music was blasting from a set of floating speakers.

Laughter, cheers, and the occasional sound of bottles clinking filled the space. A warm glow from the fireplace mixed with the dim, flickering candlelight, casting long, golden shadows across red and gold banners that hung from the walls.

The Marauders were, of course, at the center of it all.

Sirius was sprawled across his usual spot on the couch, one leg thrown over the armrest, a drink in hand, and an infuriatingly pleased expression on his face.

"Say it again," he drawled, grinning at James.

James rolled his eyes. "No."

"Come on, just one more time," Sirius pressed, nudging him with his boot. "I wanna hear it again."

"You’re the worst," James sighed dramatically, then begrudgingly lifted his drink. "To Sirius Black, the star of the night, the man of the hour, the king of Gryffindor Tower."

Sirius beamed, throwing his arms out. "That’s more like it!"

Across from them, Lily snorted, sipping her drink. "I can’t believe you’ve kept him alive for this long, James."

James sighed. "Believe me, it’s a full-time job."

"You love me," Sirius said smugly.

"Regrettably," James deadpanned.

Mary threw an arm around Sirius. "Happy birthday, love! How’s it feel being ancient?"

Sirius groaned. "Don’t say that. You’ll scare Remus."

Remus, currently perched on the armrest beside him, rolled his eyes. "I’m fine, thank you."

"Are you?" Marlene smirked. "Because I saw you inspecting your first grey hair last week."

"That was not a grey hair," Remus muttered.

"It was totally a grey hair," James added unhelpfully.

"You too, James?" Remus sighed.

Peter cackled. "Don’t worry, mate. By next year, you’ll be using one of those wizard canes with a built-in wand."

Sirius gasped. "I’m getting you one for Christmas!"

Remus groaned, rubbing his face. "I hate all of you."

The night was a blur of laughter, music, and ridiculous dares that involved at least two people dancing on the table. Somewhere between the chaos, James finally grabbed his bag and tossed a small box at Sirius.

Sirius caught it effortlessly, blinking down at it. "This better not be one of those prank boxes that explodes ink in my face."

James smirked. "Only one way to find out."

Sirius rolled his eyes but opened it, only for his expression to freeze.

Inside was a single motorbike key.

His fingers curled around it, breath catching slightly. "No. No. You didn’t."

James grinned. "I did."

Sirius’ head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief, excitement, and something dangerously close to pure joy.

"Where—?"

"It’s at my parents’ place," James explained, shrugging casually, but there was an unmistakable warmth in his tone."Waiting for you after we finish school."

Sirius’ mouth opened, then shut, then opened again.

Then, in the next second, he lunged forward and kissed James' cheek.

A loud, exaggerated "Aww!" echoed through the common room.

James groaned, shoving him off. "Get off me, you absolute menace."

Sirius cackled, grinning like a kid who just got away with stealing a dragon. "You love me."

"Yeah, yeah." James tried to look put-upon, but he was genuinely happy.

Peter handed over his gift next which is a sleek, black leather jacket.

Sirius’ face lit up.

"Mate." He pulled it on immediately, stretching his arms to test the fit. "This is sick."

Peter grinned. "Knew you’d love it."

"And I do." Sirius ruffled Peter’s hair. "You’re my favorite, don’t tell James."

James scoffed. "Oi!"

Then, finally, Remus pulled out a carefully wrapped package.

It was thinner than the others, rectangular, wrapped in plain brown paper. Sirius took it with uncharacteristic care, fingers gliding over the surface before peeling it open.

Then he froze.

A single Bowie vinyl. One of his favorites. It looks used, probably one of Remus’ old vinyl that he didn’t want anyone to touch.

For once, Sirius didn’t have a witty remark ready.

He just stared at it, something soft and unreadable flashing across his face.

Then, with zero hesitation, he moved forward.

James actually thought he was going to kiss Remus.

It was so close. His hands hovered for a second, before he changed his mind and pulled Remus into a hug instead.

It lasted just a second too long to be casual.

When they pulled apart, Remus looked away, mildly pink, rubbing the back of his neck.

James glanced at Peter.

Peter was already looking at him.

They both knew.

Because obviously Sirius and Remus had feelings for each other.

The only problem?

Neither of them had figured it out yet.

James sighed, taking a drink. Maybe one day.