Chapter 5
5. The Time James Stole Regulus’s Safe Place
(A Gryffindor, A Cat, and a Slytherin’s Worst Nightmare: Company)
The Astronomy Tower was quiet at this hour. Regulus liked it that way.
There was something about the stillness, the way the world seemed to shrink to just him and the sky. Up here, the castle felt distant—its noise, its people, its suffocating expectations nothing more than a faint murmur lost to the wind. The stars stretched endlessly above, sharp and cold, their light indifferent to the trivialities of life below.
It was the only place that didn’t ask anything of him.
He exhaled slowly, pressing his hands against the stone railing, letting the coolness seep into his skin. It was always the same—he would come here, alone, waiting for Cosmo to finish whatever pointless adventure he had embarked on before inevitably returning to curl up at his side. The cat had a habit of wandering, but he always came back.
He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the wind rustling through the trees beyond the castle walls. He should be thinking about the upcoming N.E.W.T.s. He should be thinking about his next steps, about his family, about the life being laid out for him like a carefully curated chessboard.
But instead—
He was thinking about James Potter.
Regulus scowled at himself, fingers tightening against the railing.
It was infuriating, the way Potter occupied space in his mind without permission, lingering there like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
He had spent years pretending he didn’t care—about Potter’s presence, about his laugh that always carried too easily across the Great Hall, about the way his name was spoken with effortless familiarity by nearly everyone who crossed his path. Regulus had spent years pretending Potter didn’t exist beyond the realm of mild irritation, another annoyance to be endured like the rest of the Gryffindor lot.
It had always been easier that way.
Easier than admitting the truth.
That, in the beginning, before he knew better—before he had learned what wanting was supposed to feel like—Regulus had admired him.
It had been subtle at first. The way Potter never hesitated to throw himself into things, reckless and golden, as if he had never once doubted the world would be kind to him. The way he spoke, quick-witted and too clever for his own good, a charisma that shouldn’t have been effortless but was. The way he had taken Sirius from him without even realizing it, slipping into the space Regulus had always thought was his and never once looking back.
Regulus should have hated him for that.
And maybe he did.
But hate and want were so easily tangled, so easily mistaken, that sometimes he could not tell where one ended and the other began.
Because as much as Regulus loathed the sight of him—he had also watched him. More than he cared to admit.
Potter made it impossible not to.
He was always loud, always moving, always there, stealing the attention of every room he walked into. People gravitated toward him, drawn in by some invisible force Regulus had never been able to understand. It was effortless for him. That ease. That warmth.
Regulus had never been warm.
He had never been the kind of person people were drawn to without effort.
And yet, somehow—
Somehow, he had wanted James Potter to look at him.
To see him.
To pay attention to him the way he did Sirius, the way he did anyone who was deemed worthy enough to stand in his orbit. It was a foolish thing, a weak thing, a thought Regulus had long since buried beneath layers of cold indifference.
Because James Potter had never looked at him.
Not the way Regulus wanted him to.
He was nothing more than Sirius’s brother. A name on a Quidditch roster. A Slytherin to mock in the halls. A rivalry that had never really mattered because Potter had never thought of him beyond that.
And Regulus had pretended to be fine with it.
Pretended it didn’t matter.
But sometimes, when Potter’s name slipped into conversations, when Regulus caught glimpses of him laughing with Sirius like it was the easiest thing in the world—he felt something sharp press against his ribs.
A reminder that some people were simply meant to shine, and others were meant to watch from the shadows.
Regulus exhaled sharply, shaking the thought off before it could settle too deeply.
This was pointless.
Wanting things he could not have had never done him any good.
His grip on the railing tightened as the familiar sound of soft pawsteps echoed against the stone.
Finally.
Cosmo.
Regulus turned, expecting to see the familiar silver fur weaving its way toward him, a quiet presence settling beside him like always.
But Cosmo was not alone.
And suddenly, the Astronomy Tower was not quiet anymore.
Because James Potter was standing there, framed by the moonlight, Cosmo perched smugly in his arms.
Regulus’s stomach twisted.
Of course.
James had the audacity to look amused, the barest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he scratched absently behind Cosmo’s ears. The cat—his traitorous, disloyal cat—looked wholly content, resting against James like he belonged there, like he was supposed to be there.
Regulus didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He simply stared, willing this moment out of existence.
James, naturally, took it as an invitation.
"Look who found me,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “Took a little stroll and led me right up here. Thought I was about to be ambushed, actually. Didn’t realize your cat was capable of kidnapping.”
Regulus’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. “Give him to me.”
James tilted his head, his grin widening. “This feels familiar, doesn’t it?”
Regulus’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
James’s smirk turned downright insufferable. “You know—reminds me of that little incident on the train. The one where you accused me of stealing this poor, neglected thing—”
“He was not neglected.”
James grinned. “Well, I tried to return him, but he was very comfortable with me. You nearly hexed me, if I remember correctly.” He stroked Cosmo’s head absentmindedly, his hazel eyes glinting. “This time, though—no bribery involved. No pumpkin pasties, no grand schemes.” He lifted the cat slightly. “He chose me.”
Regulus’s patience, already thin, snapped. “You followed him here, you idiot.”
James chuckled. “Did I?”
Regulus glared.
James huffed a laugh, finally lowering Cosmo to the ground. “Fine, fine. No need to get murderous about it.”
Cosmo stretched luxuriously, flicked his tail, and trotted toward Regulus like he hadn’t just betrayed him completely.
Regulus scooped him up with more force than necessary, muttering under his breath, “Traitor.”
James shoved his hands into his pockets, watching with amusement. “You talk to him like he understands you.”
“He does.”
James snorted. “Right. Well, if he starts talking back, do let me know.”
Regulus turned away sharply, hoping James would take the hint and leave.
He didn’t.
Instead, there was a shuffling noise, and when Regulus glanced over, James had—for some godforsaken reason—sat down beside him.
Regulus stared. “What are you doing?”
James leaned back onto his elbows like he belonged here. Like he had any right to be here. “Well,” he said, “since I’m already here, might as well enjoy the view.”
Regulus should have told him to leave.
He really should have.
But the night air was crisp, cool against his skin, and James—annoyingly, inexcusably—wasn’t ruining it. He wasn’t filling the silence with meaningless chatter, wasn’t being loud the way he always was in the Great Hall, wasn’t making this feel like something it wasn’t.
For once, he was just there.
And that was almost worse.
Regulus exhaled through his nose, absently running his fingers through Cosmo’s fur. He should leave. He should say something sharp enough to make James roll his eyes and disappear down the stairs.
But instead—
James tilted his head back, looking up at the sky. “Orion’s high tonight.”
Regulus blinked. He hadn’t expected James to say anything intelligent, let alone something like that.
“You know constellations?” he asked, unable to hide his skepticism.
James scoffed, his lips twitching upward. “I’m not a complete idiot, Black.”
Regulus didn’t dignify that with an answer.
James didn’t seem to mind. He stretched his legs out, pointing lazily toward the sky. “See? There’s Betelgeuse. Rigel’s bright as ever. The whole belt’s clear tonight.”
Regulus followed his gaze despite himself. “And Bellatrix,” he murmured. His voice came out softer than he intended.
James hummed in agreement. “And Saiph. And Meissa.”
Regulus tilted his head slightly, surprised. “You actually know them.”
James shot him a sideways glance. “What, you think I just say words and hope they sound convincing?”
Regulus gave him a long, unimpressed look.
James grinned. “Okay, fair. But no, I know them. My dad used to show me.”
Regulus didn’t expect that. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t that.
James turned his eyes back to the sky, something distant settling into his expression. “He always said looking at the stars made things feel smaller. Like, no matter how much shite was going on, the universe just—kept going. That it didn’t really care about what was happening down here.” His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful than Regulus had ever heard it. “I used to think that was a bit sad. But I think I get it now.”
Regulus swallowed.
Because, for a moment, just a flicker, he understood.
The way the stars stretched endlessly above them, indifferent and burning and constant—a reminder that nothing down here really mattered, not in the grand scheme of things. That people like them, with their bloodlines and their family names and their wars, were nothing more than dust to something that had existed for thousands of years before them and would continue long after they were gone.
“We’re nothing to them,” Regulus murmured.
James nodded slightly. “Yeah.”
The silence settled again, but it was different now.
Not uncomfortable. Not sharp or biting or tense with the usual antagonism between them.
Just—there.
Regulus traced absent patterns against Cosmo’s fur. “Why Orion?” he asked finally.
James turned to look at him, brows lifting slightly.
Regulus gestured toward the constellation. “You said it first.”
James shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe ‘cause it’s easy to spot. Maybe ‘cause it’s always there, no matter the season.” He smirked slightly. “Or maybe I just like to show off that I know things.”
Regulus huffed a quiet breath, almost—almost—a laugh. “Of course.”
James’s smirk deepened like he’d won something. “Why? Got a favorite?”
Regulus hesitated.
He shouldn’t answer.
Shouldn’t let this become something real, something that felt like more than just an accident, a mistake, a wrong place, wrong time sort of thing.
But—
“Sirius.” The word slipped out before he could stop it.
James blinked. His smirk faded, something shifting in his expression.
Regulus immediately regretted it.
He had no interest in talking about him, especially not with James bloody Potter.
But James didn’t say anything about Sirius. Didn’t poke, didn’t push, didn’t drag the conversation in the direction Regulus knew he wanted to avoid.
Instead—
James looked back up at the sky. “It’s a bright one,” he said simply. “Easy to spot. Hard to miss.”
Regulus exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
The wind curled around them, cold against the warmth of their bodies.
And Regulus—who had spent so long pushing, so long keeping people at arm’s length, so long pretending he didn’t care about anything—found himself sitting beside James Potter, looking at the stars, and letting the silence stretch.
And he didn’t hate it.
Didn’t know what to make of it.
But the world felt a little smaller. The night felt a little quieter.
James let out a slow breath. “This is weird.”
Regulus huffed, shaking his head. “You’re weird.”
James grinned, and God—why did he have to smile like that? Why did it have to be so—so warm?
“Not denying it, though,” James pointed out.
Regulus rolled his eyes. “I regret this conversation.”
James let out a short, amused laugh. “Do you, though?”
Regulus didn’t answer.
Didn’t want to answer.
Because he wasn’t sure what the answer was.
The quiet stretched again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
James exhaled, ruffling his already-messy hair. “You ever think about it?”
Regulus frowned. “About what?”
James’s gaze flickered toward him. “What’s next.”
Regulus’s stomach twisted.
The future.
The war.
The weight pressing against his ribs, the expectations curling around his throat like an iron collar. He could still hear his mother’s voice. Could still feel the looming inevitability of it all.
James Potter, of all people, had no right to sit here and ask him that.
Regulus turned back toward the sky, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know.”
James nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Me neither.”
And wasn’t that the most terrible thing?
That, for all their differences, for all the ways they were supposed to stand on opposite sides, they were both sitting here, staring at the stars, pretending—for just a moment—that they weren’t who they were.
That they weren’t walking toward something inevitable.
That, in another world, in another life—maybe things could have been different.
The wind curled around them, the night stretching on.
James smirked suddenly, shaking his head. “This is definitely weird.”
Regulus sighed. “Go to bed, Potter.”
James shot him a lazy salute, pushing himself up. “If I get another midnight summons from your cat, I’ll be sure to bring snacks next time.”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “There won’t be a next time.”
James grinned like he knew something Regulus didn’t. “Sure, Reg.”
And then—he left.
And Regulus—for some stupid, inexplicable reason—watched him go.
The next night James came back.
Regulus wasn’t sure why that surprised him.
He shouldn’t be surprised. This was James Potter, after all—insufferable, relentless, incapable of leaving things alone. It was infuriating. Predictable, even.
And yet, when the sound of footsteps echoed up the stone stairs, when James stepped onto the tower like he belonged there, like last night hadn’t been some strange anomaly, Regulus still found himself staring.
Because James had come back.
And Regulus—
Regulus didn’t know what to think about that.
He should be annoyed. Should sneer, should throw out some scathing remark that sent James huffing back down the stairs, should make it clear that last night was a mistake.
But—
James wasn’t empty-handed.
Cosmo trotted at his heels like a loyal little guard, tail flicking, eyes bright, not even pretending to be ashamed of the betrayal. And in James’s hand—
A crumpled paper bag.
James waggled it slightly, his smirk already insufferable. “Brought bribes this time.”
Regulus blinked. “Bribes?”
James crouched, pulling out a small handful of treats, and Cosmo—traitorous, unfaithful little beast—immediately wound around his legs, purring.
Regulus narrowed his eyes. “You bribed my cat.”
James had the audacity to look pleased with himself. “Bribed? No. Just… reminded him of my generosity.” He tore off a piece and held it out. Cosmo sniffed once before accepting it, rubbing against James’s leg like he’d belonged there all along. “Turns out, I have a natural gift with animals.”
Regulus scoffed. “Yes, I’m sure creatures of low intelligence do find you charming.”
James gasped dramatically. “Reg, that was so close to a compliment. Are you feeling alright?”
Regulus rolled his eyes and turned back to the sky, pointedly ignoring him.
James didn’t leave.
Of course he didn’t.
Instead, he plopped down onto the cold stone floor like it was normal, like they did this all the time.
Regulus should tell him to go.
But the air was still and crisp, and Cosmo was happily making himself comfortable between them, munching on his ill-gotten snacks. And—worse than all of that—James wasn’t ruining it.
Again.
Regulus exhaled sharply, watching his breath mist in the air. “Why are you here, Potter?”
James tilted his head back, gaze fixed on the stars. “Dunno. Why are you here?”
Regulus frowned. “This is my place.”
James grinned, throwing his arms behind his head. “Guess that makes me your guest, then.”
Regulus gave him a look.
James just laughed.
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Regulus didn’t know why it wasn’t uncomfortable. He should feel on edge. He should want to hex James off the tower.
And yet—
There was something about this, about James being here, that was…
Steadying.
Not safe, never safe, but—familiar.
Regulus hated it.
James stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “Alright,” he said, sounding far too at ease. “Last night was all about your precious stars. It’s only fair we talk about my favorite thing tonight.”
Regulus arched a brow. “Quidditch?”
James beamed. “You do know me.”
Regulus sighed, shaking his head. “It’s not a mystery, Potter. You talk about it constantly.”
James pressed a hand to his chest. “Because it’s the best thing in the world.”
Regulus scoffed. “It’s a game.”
James gasped like Regulus had just insulted his entire family lineage. “It is not just a game.”
Regulus smirked slightly, watching the outrage bloom across James’s face. “Oh?”
James pointed at him. “You play. Don’t act like you don’t love it.”
Regulus leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the stars. “I enjoy winning,” he corrected.
James snorted. “Of course you do.”
Regulus shot him a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
James grinned. “Just that you probably play like you live.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Which is?”
James tilted his head slightly, as if considering. “Controlled. Calculated. You don’t make reckless moves. You don’t take stupid risks. You play like you know you’ll win.”
Regulus stared.
Because—yes.
That was exactly how he played.
James had no business knowing that. No business understanding anything about him, especially not something as insignificant as Quidditch.
He crossed his arms, scowling. “And you play like an idiot.”
James grinned. “Absolutely.”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “It’s a miracle you haven’t cracked your skull open yet.”
James shot him finger guns. “Skill.”
Regulus huffed. “Luck.”
James snickered, then reached into the bag and pulled out a snack—not for Cosmo this time, but for himself.
Regulus hadn’t even noticed him bringing food for himself. It was such a… normal thing. Such a human thing.
James unwrapped the chocolate frog, snapped it in half, and—without thinking—held the other piece out toward Regulus.
Regulus blinked.
Stared.
James frowned slightly, like he wasn’t sure why Regulus was hesitating. “What? Afraid I poisoned it?”
Regulus scowled. “No.”
But he still didn’t take it.
James rolled his eyes and simply tossed it at him. “Relax, Reg. It’s just chocolate.”
Regulus caught it—barely—glancing down at the small broken piece resting in his palm.
It was just chocolate.
But when was the last time someone had handed him something so freely? Without expectation, without calculation, without some underlying strategy?
He hated that it felt—comfortable.
Hated that James was still watching him, waiting, like he expected him to take it.
Like he wasn’t going to mock him for hesitating.
Regulus exhaled sharply, rolled his eyes, and popped the piece into his mouth like it was nothing.
James grinned. “See? Not poisoned.”
Regulus scowled, chewing. “You talk too much.”
James smirked. “And yet, you’re still here.”
Regulus had no response to that.
Didn’t want to have a response to that. Because James had come back.
And Regulus had let him stay.
This was a mistake.
And worse than that—
He knew he was going to make it again.
The night was colder this time.
Regulus felt it in the sharp bite of the wind against his skin, in the way the air stretched thin and brittle around him, in the vast indifference of the sky. The Astronomy Tower had always been quiet—his quiet—but tonight, the silence felt heavier. Less like solitude, more like something pressing against his ribs, waiting to break.
The footsteps came, steady against the worn stone steps.
Regulus didn’t turn.
He didn’t need to.
James Potter had a way of making his presence known. Even when he wasn’t speaking—especially when he wasn’t speaking—he carried himself with an energy that disturbed the stillness, a restless, unyielding thing that Regulus should have found more irritating than he did.
Cosmo trotted at his side, smug as ever, like he had led James here himself. Which, given the cat’s recent betrayal, was entirely possible.
James stepped onto the tower with an ease that should have been infuriating. He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing up at the sky.
"Bloody hell, it’s freezing."
Regulus scowled. “Unbelievable.”
James grinned, crouching to scratch behind Cosmo’s ears. "Told you. He loves me now. You should just accept it."
Regulus let out a slow breath, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue.
James sat down without asking. Without hesitation. Just like before.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
They just sat there, Cosmo purring between them, the quiet something fragile, something that should not have existed between them but did.
And then—James broke the silence.
"You ever think about what’s coming?"
Regulus stiffened. He didn’t turn, but James must have seen the way his shoulders tensed, because his voice softened.
"The war."
Regulus exhaled slowly, tilting his head toward the stars, as if the universe could offer some kind of reprieve.
It didn’t.
He should lie. Should scoff. Should pretend it didn’t matter.
But there was something about this night, about James sitting there, that made the truth slip through the cracks before he could stop it.
"Of course I think about it," Regulus murmured.
James nodded, as if he had expected that. "And?"
Regulus hesitated. "And what?"
James studied him. "And what do you think?"
Regulus let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "That it doesn’t matter what I think."
James frowned. "That’s bullshit."
Regulus turned to him then, his expression colder now, sharper. "Is it?"
James met his gaze, unwavering. "Yeah. It is."
Regulus clenched his jaw, something twisting in his chest. "It’s easy for you to say that."
James tilted his head. "Why?"
Regulus exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to dig his fingers into the stone beneath him. "Because you have choices."
James flinched. Just barely.
Regulus scoffed. "Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true." He turned back to the sky, voice quieter now. "You’re a Gryffindor. A golden boy. You can say whatever you want, do whatever you want, and no one expects anything different from you." He swallowed. "You’re allowed to be reckless. To be good." His fingers curled into fists. "But me?"
James was quiet for a long moment. Then—
"That’s what they told you, isn’t it?"
Regulus went still.
James’s voice was softer now. Not mocking. Not taunting. Just… quiet. Steady. "That you don’t have a choice."
Regulus swallowed.
Because—
Yes.
Yes, that was exactly what they had told him.
That he would serve the Dark Lord. That he would belong to him. That he would follow his family’s path, just like he was meant to.
That he had to.
That anything else—anything less—would be a disgrace.
A betrayal.
He could still hear his mother’s voice. Still feel his father’s expectations pressing against his ribs, suffocating.
Still feel the weight of it all, dragging him under.
James sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. "That’s not true, you know."
Regulus let out a bitter chuckle. "Spare me the heroics, Potter."
James frowned. "I’m not—" He stopped himself. Exhaled sharply. "Look, I’m not saying it’s easy. I know it’s not. But—" He hesitated, then shook his head. "You do have a choice, Regulus."
Regulus turned to him, something dark flickering in his eyes. "And what happens when I make the wrong one?"
James didn’t flinch this time. "Then you fix it."
Regulus let out a short, dry laugh. "You Gryffindors really think everything is that simple, don’t you?"
James’s gaze didn’t waver. "No," he admitted. "I don’t." He exhaled slowly. "But I do know this—if you think you don’t have a choice, then they’ve already won."
Regulus froze.
Something sharp lodged itself in his throat, something that hurt, something that made his fingers curl into his palms until his nails bit into his skin.
Because the worst part was—
He knew James was right.
He hated that.
James shifted beside him, gaze flicking back to the stars. His voice was quieter when he spoke again.
"My parents talk about it, you know."
Regulus turned slightly, surprised by the sudden change in tone.
James didn’t look at him. "The war. What’s coming. What we’ll have to do." His jaw tightened. "They never say it outright, but I know they’re scared."
Regulus frowned.
James let out a breath. "They don’t want me to fight."
Regulus blinked. "Then don’t."
James huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, like that’s an option."
Regulus studied him. James Potter—loud, reckless, foolish James Potter—looked…
Tired.
Like he’d been carrying something too heavy for too long.
Like he did have expectations pressing against his ribs, suffocating.
Regulus had never thought about that before.
Had never considered that James might feel it, too.
It wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. But for the first time, Regulus thought—
Maybe James understood.
Maybe not all of it. Maybe not the weight of being Black, of having loyalty carved into his bones before he was even old enough to understand what it meant.
But the war. The inevitability of it. The way it loomed over them both like an unspoken thing, a force too big for either of them to stop.
Maybe James understood that.
Regulus exhaled slowly. "It’s going to happen…"
James was quiet for a long time.
Then—
"Yeah."
Regulus swallowed.
Neither of them spoke after that.
They just sat there, beneath the stars, beneath the weight of something neither of them could name.
Gryffindor had won.
Regulus had known they would. James Potter had made sure of it.
The match had been vicious—Ravenclaw had fought like hell, but they were never going to take the win from James. He was too quick, too confident, too in control of the pitch, like he had been made for it. Regulus had watched him—had felt the way James moved through the air, reckless and golden, unstoppable.
It was infuriating.
And worse than that—
It was beautiful.
Regulus had tried not to look. He had spent most of the match schooling his expression into something impassive, something that would not betray the fact that his eyes followed James more than the Quaffle, that his stomach clenched every time James grinned, that something in his chest ached every time James’ laughter rang out through the stadium like a spell meant only for him.
James had been alive in a way that Regulus had never learned to be. His hair had been windswept, his face flushed, his whole body humming with energy, and even from a distance, Regulus had felt it—this thing that James carried, this gravity that pulled people toward him like the universe itself had given him permission to shine.
And Regulus had hated it.
Hated that he noticed.
Hated that he cared.
So he told himself it was nothing.
That it was just Quidditch.
That it was just James Potter, and there was no reason for his pulse to race, no reason for him to feel anything at all.
That lie had been easier to believe when the match ended, when the stands roared with Gryffindor’s victory, when James was hoisted onto shoulders, grinning, laughing, winning.
Regulus had left before he could see the celebrations start.
Gryffindor’s victory wasn’t his concern. James Potter wasn’t his concern.
And yet, when he climbed the steps to the Astronomy Tower that night, he wasn’t expecting to find James already there.
James was slumped against the railing, legs sprawled out in front of him, bottle in hand.
Regulus stilled.
James should have been in the common room, drowning in cheers and celebration, letting his team shower him in admiration the way they always did.
But instead—he was here.
Alone.
Regulus hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere letting people praise you?”
James turned his head, eyes a little slow to focus. His lips curled, but it wasn’t quite his usual smirk. “Was.” He lifted the bottle slightly, like it explained everything.
Regulus frowned. “And now?”
James exhaled, rolling the bottle between his fingers. “Got tired of it.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes. “You? Bored of people telling you how great you are?”
James let out a quiet chuckle. “Shocking, I know.” He took another swig, then exhaled slowly. “Turns out, winning isn’t all that satisfying when you’re still losing the things that actually matter.”
Regulus didn’t know what to say to that.
Instead, he sat down beside him.
James didn’t move. Didn’t look at him. Just kept staring at the stars, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against the cool glass of the bottle.
Regulus watched him for a moment. “You’re drunk.”
James snorted. “Only a little.” James sighed, tipping his head back against the stone, eyes still on the stars. “You know, I used to think there was nothing better than winning.”
Regulus arched a brow, gaze flickering to him. “That sounds like something you would think.”
James let out a quiet chuckle, but it lacked its usual warmth. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Guess it does.” He turned the bottle absently in his hand. “But sometimes, you win, and it still doesn’t feel like enough.”
Regulus frowned. “Enough for what?”
James didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, the only sound the occasional rustle of the wind against the tower.
Regulus should let it go. Should ignore the tight pull in his chest at the way James’s expression had shifted, the way his usual easy arrogance had dimmed into something quieter.
But he couldn’t.
Because James Potter was a lot of things—loud, infuriating, reckless beyond reason—but worried was not one of them.
And right now, he looked worried.
Regulus studied him. The way his fingers drummed against the glass. The way his lips pressed into a faint line. The way his eyes, still fixed on the stars, seemed… distant.
He swallowed. “James.”
James inhaled sharply, like he had been pulled from somewhere else. His gaze flickered to Regulus—quick, searching—before dropping back to the bottle in his hand. He was quiet for a beat too long, long enough that Regulus almost repeated his name, but then—
James huffed out a breath, something like a laugh, but softer. “You never call me that.”
Regulus frowned. “What?”
James turned his head slightly, looking at him properly now. “My name,” he murmured. “You always say Potter, like it’s a bloody insult. But just now—” His eyes flickered, something unreadable in them. “You said James.”
Regulus stiffened, his grip tightening against the stone beneath him. He hadn’t even noticed.
James exhaled, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “Caught me off guard, that’s all.” His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smirk. “Almost sounded like you meant it.”
Regulus turned his gaze back to the stars, jaw tightening. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
James didn’t reply right away. But out of the corner of his eye, Regulus saw him watching, like he wasn’t entirely convinced.
Then, after a moment—
“You ever wonder,” James started, voice quieter now, “if you’re supposed to want something different?”
Regulus blinked. “What?”
James’s jaw tightened. His fingers flexed slightly against the glass. “If you’re supposed to be different.”
Regulus exhaled slowly. “Maybe.”
James finally turned to him, hazel eyes dark with something Regulus couldn’t name.
Then—he moved.
Slowly.
Like he was testing something.
Like he wasn’t sure what he was doing until he was already doing it.
Regulus didn’t pull back.
Didn’t stop him when James leaned in, gaze flickering over his face, studying, searching, something unreadable in the way he looked at him.
Regulus’s breath hitched when James reached up, fingers ghosting against his jaw, then pressing more firmly, warm and steady.
James swallowed.
Then—
“Sirius is going to kill me.”
Regulus stiffened.
His heart was hammering now, a dull, traitorous rhythm in his chest. “For what?”
James’s thumb brushed against his cheek, the touch feather-light. His gaze dropped to Regulus’s mouth, just for a second, before he exhaled sharply, his breath warm against the cool night air.
“For wanting what I want,” he whispered.
Regulus felt something crack inside him.
Because James—James looked at him like he meant it. Like this wasn’t just some drunken, fleeting thought. Like this was something he had been holding back for a long, long time.
Regulus’s pulse roared in his ears.
But before he could think—before he could react—James pulled away.
Abruptly.
Like he had realized what he had just said.
What he had just done.
He stepped back, running a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly like he was trying to steady himself.
Regulus could only stare, his skin still burning where James had touched him.
James turned, already moving toward the stairs. “Goodnight, Reg.”
And then he was gone.
Leaving Regulus alone with the stars, the cold, and the ghost of something that could’ve happened.