Forbidden Love

The air in the Gryffindor dormitory was thick with the scent of firewood and the lingering remnants of a late-night Quidditch practice. James Potter sat on his bed, absently twirling his wand between his fingers. He should be with Lily. She had asked him to meet her after rounds, but instead, he was waiting.

Waiting for someone he shouldn’t be waiting for.

The door creaked open, and there he was—Regulus Black. His Slytherin robes were hastily thrown over his shoulders, his tie loose around his neck. He looked out of place in the Gryffindor tower, shadows casting harsh lines across his sharp features.

"You know this is mad, right?" Regulus said, voice hushed but firm.

James smirked. "When have I ever cared about that?"

Regulus exhaled sharply, stepping further into the dimly lit room. The risk was suffocating. If Sirius found out, if Lily found out, if Barty or anyone from the Slytherin common room found out—this would explode into something neither of them could control.

James reached out, curling a finger around Regulus’ tie, pulling him closer. Their breaths mingled in the quiet space between them. "You don’t have to be here," James murmured.

Regulus swallowed. "I know."

And yet, he didn’t move away.

It had started months ago, an argument turned into something else entirely. A drunken confession at a party neither of them should have been at. A glance held too long across the Quidditch pitch. James had always been reckless, always chasing adrenaline, and Regulus—Regulus was supposed to be better than this.

James kissed him first, and Regulus let him.

It was desperate, messy, tinged with the guilt that neither of them ever talked about. James knew he loved Lily, just like Regulus knew he was supposed to love the future that had been carved out for him. But none of that mattered when James’ hands tangled in his hair, when Regulus pressed against him, hungry and reckless in ways he never was around anyone else.

James pulled back just enough to search Regulus’ face. "What are we doing?"

The warmth of James’ body was intoxicating, the kind of comfort Regulus had never known in his life. His fingers traced absent patterns over James' collarbone, his mind a mess of contradictions. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be doing this. But here he was, tangled in Gryffindor-red sheets with a boy who had never belonged to him.

"You're thinking too much," James murmured, his hand sliding over Regulus’ bare back, anchoring him in place.

Regulus let out a quiet breath, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "Of course I am. One of us has to."

James huffed a laugh, propping himself up on his elbow to look at him. "And yet, you keep coming back."

Regulus closed his eyes. He hated how true that was. Every single time he convinced himself to stop, James would pull him back in with nothing more than a look, a smirk, a careless touch in the shadows of the castle.

He was losing himself to James Potter.

"I should go," Regulus whispered.

James sighed, falling back against the pillows. "You always say that."

"This time, I mean it."

James turned his head, brown eyes sharp, challenging. "Then go."

Regulus sat up, reaching for his clothes, but something in James’ voice stopped him. It wasn’t anger. It was resignation.

"Do you want me to?" Regulus asked, barely above a whisper.

James didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing against Regulus’ wrist, hesitant. "No," he admitted. "I never do."

Regulus clenched his jaw. "Then what the hell are we doing, James?"

James exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just—" He hesitated, struggling for words. "I can't stay away from you. Even when I should."

Regulus’ heart ached at the honesty in his voice.

"You're in love with her." It wasn't a question.

James' expression faltered, guilt creeping in. "And you're in love with whatever perfect little future you're supposed to have, aren’t you?"

Regulus flinched. "That’s different."

"Is it?" James asked, sitting up fully now. "We keep pretending like we’re not tearing ourselves apart over this, but we are."

Regulus swallowed hard. James was right. Of course, he was right. But that didn’t change the way his hands still trembled when James touched him, the way his breath hitched every time their eyes met across a crowded room.

"You think this ends with us happy?" Regulus asked, voice quiet, like he already knew the answer.

James reached out again, fingers ghosting over his skin. "No," he admitted. "But that doesn’t mean I want to stop."

Regulus was breaking. He knew it.

But he still let James pull him back into his arms.

Because for just a little longer, he wanted to pretend.

Regulus laughed, breathless. "Ruining everything."

James grinned before pulling him down onto the bed.

And for just a little while, they let the world outside fade away.
Regulus left before sunrise.

He always did.

The Gryffindor tower was too dangerous in the morning—too many opportunities for someone to see him slipping out of James Potter’s bed, for whispers to start, for everything to come crashing down. So he dressed in silence, stealing glances at James, who lay half-asleep, hair messy, lips still kiss-bruised.

Regulus lingered. Just for a moment.

Then he turned, slipping out of the dormitory like a ghost.

Regulus was good at pretending.

He sat at breakfast between Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier, listening to their idle chatter about their next Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. Across the Great Hall, James was next to Lily, laughing at something Sirius had said.

Regulus hated how easy it looked.

He clenched his fingers around his cup, ignoring the sharp glance Barty shot him.

"You look like you want to murder someone," Barty muttered, voice just low enough for only Regulus to hear.

Regulus exhaled sharply, forcing himself to relax. "Just tired."

Barty raised a skeptical brow but didn’t push.

Regulus didn’t eat much after that.

James found him in the library that night.

"You’re avoiding me," James said, sliding into the seat across from Regulus, his voice somewhere between irritation and amusement.

Regulus didn’t look up from his book. "We agreed this was a mistake."

James scoffed. "Since when do I care about mistakes?"

Regulus shut his book with a sharp thud. "You should."

Something flickered in James’ expression—something wounded, something frustrated. "Reg," he started, but Regulus shook his head.

"Don’t."

James stared at him for a long moment before leaning in, voice softer now. "You can say whatever you want, but you still want this."

Regulus hated how easily James could unravel him.

"You have her," Regulus said, voice quieter, rawer. "And I have—" He stopped himself, shaking his head.

James’ jaw clenched. "You don’t love him."

Regulus looked away. "That doesn’t matter."

James exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand through his hair. "It does."

Regulus stood, collecting his books. "It can’t."

James grabbed his wrist before he could walk away. Not tight. Just enough to make him stop.

"Meet me tonight," James said, a plea hidden beneath the command.

Regulus’ fingers curled into fists. He should say no. He should walk away. He should let this end before it destroyed both of them.

Instead, he whispered, "Okay."

James let go, and Regulus disappeared into the shadows of the library, heart pounding like a war drum.

That night, when Regulus snuck back into the Gryffindor dormitory, James was already waiting for him.

Neither of them said a word.

Because words would make it real.

And if it was real, then one day, it would have to end.

But tonight—tonight, they let themselves fall.

Regulus wasn’t sure how they ended up like this again.

It was reckless. Stupid. Dangerous.

But James was pressed against him in the dim candlelight of the Gryffindor dormitory, hands buried in Regulus’ robes, and Regulus wasn’t strong enough to stop him.

James kissed him hard, desperate, like he knew this had to end but refused to let it. Regulus let himself be pulled under, let himself forget that outside this room, James had a life he couldn’t be a part of.

They barely noticed the door creak open.

The sharp intake of breath was the only warning before—

"What the fuck?"

James wrenched away so fast he nearly fell off the bed. Regulus turned, breath caught in his throat, to see Sirius standing frozen in the doorway, eyes wide with disbelief.

Silence.

A terrible, deafening silence.

James, still flushed, still breathless, was the first to move. "Sirius—"

But Sirius was already stepping forward, shaking his head like he was trying to force the image from his mind. His grey eyes were stormy, locked onto his younger brother with something between fury and betrayal.

"You’re joking," Sirius breathed, his voice edged with something sharp, something dangerous. His gaze snapped to James. "Tell me this isn’t real."

James swallowed hard, guilt flickering across his face. "Sirius—"

"How long?" Sirius’ voice was colder now, controlled in a way that was wrong for him.

Regulus forced himself to speak. "It’s not—"

"How long?" Sirius snapped, cutting him off.

James hesitated. And in that hesitation, Sirius knew.

"Merlin," he whispered, dragging a hand through his hair. His laugh was humorless, bitter. "Of all the people, James? Him?" He looked at Regulus like he was something disgusting, something vile.

Regulus clenched his jaw. "I didn’t force him into anything."

Sirius scoffed. "Right, because you’re the picture of self-control." His voice dripped with sarcasm, but beneath it was something else—something broken.

James stepped forward. "Pads, I—"

"No," Sirius snapped, his voice cutting through the room. "You don’t get to explain this, James. You’re my best friend. He’s—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "He’s everything I left behind. You know that."

James flinched. "It’s not like that."

"Isn’t it?" Sirius spat. "You hate everything he stands for—everything he’s tied to. You lecture me about not looking back, about not caring about them, and now you’re—" He gestured wildly between them, eyes burning. "This?"

Regulus stood abruptly, stepping toward his brother. "You don’t get to act like this is about you," he snapped.

Sirius turned on him. "This is exactly about me. Because no matter what I do, no matter how far I try to run, you’re always there, ruining everything."

Regulus’ breath caught in his throat.

James’ voice was tight. "Sirius—"

Sirius ignored him. "What, Regulus? Are you that desperate to tear down everything I have?" He laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. "Does Mother know? Does dear old Father?" He sneered. "Bet they'd love to hear their perfect son crawling into bed with a blood traitor."

Regulus’ entire body went still.

James swore. "Sirius, that’s enough—"

"Is it?" Sirius turned back to James, fury still burning in his eyes. "You’re with him. Him. What do you think happens when he goes crawling back to his Death Eater friends, huh? You think this ends well for you?"

Regulus stiffened. "That’s not—"

Sirius rounded on him again. "Oh, spare me the it’s different speech, Regulus." His voice dripped with venom. "We both know where your loyalties lie."

Something in Regulus cracked.

James stepped between them, jaw tight. "Sirius, if you’re going to be pissed at someone, be pissed at me."

Sirius stared at him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, with a bitter laugh, he shook his head.

"You’re right," he said. "This is your mess."

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

The silence left in his wake was unbearable.

Regulus sat heavily on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. His hands were trembling. "This is going to destroy everything," he whispered.

James ran a hand over his face. "Yeah," he muttered.

Neither of them moved.

Because they both knew—Sirius was never going to keep this secret.

And this?

This was the beginning of the end.

Sirius didn’t tell anyone.

Not yet.

But the silence was worse.

For days, he refused to look at James. He ignored Regulus completely, like he wasn’t even there, like he didn’t exist. At first, James thought he could wait it out—that Sirius just needed time to process.

But time only made it worse.

James knew Sirius. Knew the way his anger built and built until it became something he couldn’t contain. And when Sirius couldn’t contain something, he burned it to the ground.

James just didn’t know which of them he was planning to destroy first.

Regulus felt the change in the air.

It was suffocating. The way Sirius wouldn’t look at him, the way James was constantly on edge, waiting for the explosion. It made everything feel fragile, like the moment Sirius did decide to speak, the whole world would crack apart.

But it wasn’t just Sirius.

Barty had started watching him more closely. Evan had asked him three times if something was wrong. Even Mulciber, who never cared about anything, had started making offhand comments about his distractions.

Regulus knew what they were really asking.

Are you loyal? Are you one of us?

And the worst part was—he didn’t know the answer anymore.

James found Sirius alone in the Gryffindor common room one night, staring into the fire with the kind of blank expression that meant he was thinking too much.

"You gonna talk to me?" James asked, sitting on the arm of the couch.

Sirius didn’t move. "No."

James sighed, rubbing his temples. "Sirius, come on—"

"Do you love him?"

The question hit James like a hex to the chest.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Sirius finally turned to him, eyes sharp. "Do you love him, James?"

James inhaled, his stomach twisting painfully. "It’s—"

"Complicated?" Sirius snapped. "Spare me. You either do, or you don’t."

James clenched his fists. "It’s not that simple."

Sirius let out a humorless laugh. "Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks pretty fucking simple. Either you love him, or you’re using him. Which is it?"

James stood abruptly, jaw tight. "You don’t understand—"

"Of course I don’t!" Sirius shot to his feet. "Because this isn’t you, James! You’re supposed to be the good one! The one who doesn’t lie, who doesn’t sneak around, who doesn’t—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "This—" he gestured wildly, "—this is the kind of shit I do. Not you."

James stared at him. "What?"

Sirius looked away, running a hand through his hair. "I just—" He hesitated, and for the first time, he looked tired. "You don’t know what he is, James. Not really."

James felt his temper snap. "He’s your brother, Sirius."

"Exactly." Sirius’ voice was bitter. "And I know him better than anyone. He’s not—he’s not like you."

James exhaled slowly, trying to stay calm. "I know who he is, Sirius."

Sirius’ gaze was unreadable. "Then why are you still doing this?"

James swallowed hard.

Because when Regulus kissed him, James forgot about the war.

Because when Regulus touched him, James wasn’t James Potter, Order Recruit, Gryffindor Golden Boy, Lily’s Perfect Boyfriend.

Because Regulus needed him in ways no one else ever had.

And because James didn’t want to let that go.

But he couldn’t say that.

So instead, he just said, "I don’t know."

Sirius let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Then I don’t know if I can forgive you for this."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

James sat back down, staring into the fire.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, he realized—

This wasn’t just going to end badly.

It was going to ruin them.

Regulus was waiting for him that night.

James wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him about Sirius, about the fight, about how everything was starting to come apart at the seams.

But when he looked at Regulus—pale and tired, shadows under his eyes from sleepless nights spent fighting battles James couldn’t see—he couldn’t.

So instead, he kissed him.

And for just a little while longer, they let the world disappear.

But they both knew—

It was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down.

Regulus didn’t mean to watch them.

But he did.

Lily Evans laughed at something James said, her green eyes bright, and James—James looked at her the way Regulus had only ever hoped he might look at him.

Like she was the sun, and he had no choice but to orbit around her.

Regulus clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around his quill until it nearly snapped.

He knew James loved her. That was never in question. James Potter belonged to Lily Evans in every way that mattered, and Regulus was nothing more than a secret in the dark.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

"You’re staring," Barty murmured beside him, not looking up from his book.

Regulus inhaled sharply, composing himself. "No, I’m not."

Barty huffed a quiet laugh. "Right. And I’m Minister for Magic." He finally looked up, tilting his head. "You should be careful, you know."

Regulus stiffened. "Careful?"

Barty smirked, leaning in. "You’re making it too obvious."

Regulus’ stomach twisted. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Barty chuckled. "Of course you don’t." He twirled his quill between his fingers, eyes sharp. "It’s funny, though. You glare at Evans like she’s stolen something from you. Makes me wonder—" He tilted his head. "Do you want her place?"

Regulus’ throat tightened.

"I don’t care about Evans," he said flatly.

Barty’s smirk widened. "Oh, I believe you." He tapped his fingers against the table. "But I do wonder how much he cares about you."

Regulus glared at him. "Shut up, Barty."

Barty grinned. "I’m just saying—if it were me, I wouldn’t waste my time chasing something I could never have."

Regulus wanted to hex him.

Instead, he clenched his fists and forced himself to look away from James and Lily.

But the jealousy was already lodged deep in his ribs, festering.

James knew he shouldn’t care.

He shouldn’t.

But he couldn’t stop seeing it.

Barty Crouch Jr. had his arm draped casually over Regulus’ shoulders, whispering something into his ear. Regulus rolled his eyes, but there was something easy in his posture, something comfortable that James hated.

James clenched his jaw so tightly it ached.

"Barty’s been spending a lot of time with your little secret," Sirius murmured beside him, sipping his drink. His tone was casual, but the smirk in his voice was sharp. "That doesn’t bother you, does it?"

James glared at him. "Shove off, Sirius."

Sirius chuckled darkly. "Just saying. Crouch does have a reputation, you know. And Regulus—" He shrugged. "He’s not exactly the loyal type."

James’ hands curled into fists.

He knew what Sirius was doing. He was poking, pushing at the cracks, testing how much James could take before he snapped.

James wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

But Merlin, it did bother him.

James had spent months feeling like he was the only one who saw Regulus for who he really was, the only one who got past the walls, past the cold, perfect Black family mask.

But now Barty Crouch Jr. was getting too close. And Regulus was letting him.

James hated it.

He hated himself for hating it.

Lily slipped her hand into his, and James forced himself to smile at her, ignoring the way his stomach twisted.

This was what was real.

Lily was real.

Regulus was temporary.

So why did it feel like he was slipping through James’ fingers?

That night, when Regulus came to him, James was rougher.

He kissed him harder, hands gripping his wrists like he was staking a claim. Regulus let him, let James push him down into the mattress, let him leave bruises along his throat.

But when James pulled back, breathing heavy, Regulus’ gaze was sharp.

"What is this about?" Regulus asked, voice quiet but dangerous.

James didn’t answer.

Regulus smirked, breathless. "Evans?" he guessed. "Or is this about Crouch?"

James’ jaw tightened. "Shut up."

Regulus laughed. "You’re jealous."

James hated that it was true.

Regulus hummed, tilting his head. "Barty’s been looking at me like he wants something." He dragged a hand down James’ chest, slow, deliberate. "Maybe I should let him have it."

James growled, crashing his lips back against Regulus’, teeth scraping, fingers digging in like he was trying to prove something.

Regulus wanted this.

He wanted James to need him, to hate the idea of him with someone else.

Because every time he saw Lily Evans, he thought he might choke on his own jealousy.

So if this was all they had—bitterness and possession and jealousy burning between them like a war—then so be it.

Because neither of them were willing to let the other go.

Not yet.

Regulus had always known it would end.

But he hadn’t thought it would be like this.

The moment he stepped into the abandoned classroom, he felt it—something was wrong. James stood stiffly by the desk, hands clenched, jaw tight. He didn’t look at him.

Regulus exhaled slowly, closing the door behind him. "What happened?"

James swallowed. His shoulders were tense, his body coiled like a wire stretched too tight.

Regulus took a step closer. "James—"

"She knows."

Regulus froze.

His chest tightened, fingers curling at his sides. "Evans?"

James finally looked at him, and fuck—his eyes were red. "She knows, Regulus." His voice cracked.

Regulus inhaled sharply. "How?"

James let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Because I’m stupid, that’s how. Because she’s smarter than both of us, and I—" He cut himself off, raking a hand through his hair. "She figured it out."

Regulus’ throat was dry. "What did she say?"

James exhaled shakily, and when he spoke again, his voice was raw.

"She asked me if I loved you."

Regulus’ breath caught.

James gave a hollow smile. "And I didn’t know what to say."

Something inside Regulus twisted, sharp and cruel. "And what did you tell her?"

James laughed bitterly. "Nothing. Because what the fuck am I supposed to say, Regulus? That I’m sleeping with you but still want her? That I don’t know if I love you or if I just—" He broke off, shaking his head. "What do you even want me to say?"

Regulus clenched his jaw. "The truth."

James stared at him for a long moment. "The truth?" His voice was quiet. "The truth is that I wish I never fucking met you."

Regulus felt the words like a knife.

James looked away, exhaling harshly. "This was a mistake." His voice was quieter now, like he wasn’t sure he wanted Regulus to hear. "We were a mistake."

Regulus felt his entire body go cold. "Don’t."

James shook his head, taking a step back. "It’s over, Regulus."

Regulus swallowed against the lump in his throat. "You don’t mean that."

James squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then opened them, and fuck—Regulus hated the way he was looking at him.

Like it hurt him.

Like he was sorry.

"I do."

Regulus’ stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat.

Because this—this was what he had always feared. That James would wake up one day and choose her. Choose the world that made sense. Choose the life that was safe.

And Regulus?

Regulus would be nothing more than a regret.

A mistake.

He inhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "Fine."

James’ eyes flickered. "Regulus—"

"No," Regulus cut in, voice sharp. "You made your choice, Potter. Don’t fucking act like you care now."

James flinched. "That’s not—"

"Save it." Regulus turned sharply, heading for the door before James could see the way his hands were shaking.

But just before he left, he hesitated.

He turned slightly, just enough to catch James in his peripheral vision. "I hope she was worth it."

And then he was gone.

James didn’t sleep.

Didn’t eat.

Didn’t breathe.

Lily wouldn’t look at him.

Sirius barely spoke to him.

And Regulus—

Regulus was gone.

Not just avoiding him. Not just looking through him in the halls like he was nothing. No—Regulus had disappeared.

No more late-night meetings. No more hushed whispers. No more stolen touches.

It was like he had never been there at all.

And James felt it.

Felt it in the way his bed felt too cold at night. In the way his hands twitched, reaching for someone who wasn’t there. In the way his lungs felt too tight, like he was drowning in something he couldn’t name.

He had made the right choice.

He had.

Hadn’t he?

"She was worth it, wasn’t she?"

Regulus’ voice echoed in his head, slicing through his ribs like a blade.

James squeezed his eyes shut.

If that was true—

Then why did it feel like he had just lost something he would never get back?

Regulus didn’t feel anything.

He couldn’t.

Barty dragged him out that night, pushing a drink into his hands, laughing too loud, pressing too close.

"Forget about him," Barty whispered, teeth grazing his ear. "You don’t need him."

Regulus let Barty kiss him.

Let Barty take from him.

Because if he closed his eyes, if he let himself go numb, he could almost believe it.

That he didn’t need James Potter.

That he didn’t still taste him in every breath.

That he wasn’t completely, irrevocably ruined.

But when he woke up the next morning, Barty's arm slung over his waist, the taste of firewhisky thick on his tongue, he realized something awful.

James had left first.

But Regulus was the one who was gone.
Regulus stopped feeling anything at all.

He let Barty pull him deeper into the shadows, let himself get lost in the smoke and the firewhisky and the sensation of anyone but James.

It was easy.

He made it easy.

Because if he pretended he didn’t care, maybe one day it would be true.

But the lie cracked every time he saw him.

James Potter, sitting beside Lily Evans in the Great Hall, her hand curled around his, her smile soft, loving.

James Potter, laughing with Sirius in the common room, pretending like nothing had changed, like he hadn’t set fire to something neither of them could ever rebuild.

James Potter, looking at him across the corridor, a split second of something raw in his gaze before he turned away like Regulus was nothing.

Regulus hated him for it.

Hated him for walking away first.

Hated him for looking happy while Regulus was still clawing his way through the wreckage, trying to remember what it felt like to breathe.

And most of all—

He hated himself for still wanting him.

James was losing his mind.

Regulus had moved on.

Barty Crouch Jr. made sure he knew it.

He made sure everyone knew it.

It was a game to him—the way he draped himself over Regulus in the common areas, fingers skimming his waist, lips brushing his ear when he whispered something that made Regulus smirk.

It made James sick.

Because Regulus never let James touch him like that in public.

James had been a secret. A mistake behind locked doors, a sin carved into midnight.

But Barty?

Barty got to be seen.

James had no right to be jealous. He had no claim.

He had Lily.

Lily, who had taken him back even after everything.

Lily, who had cried when she found out but had kissed him anyway, had whispered “Tell me this was just a mistake.”

And James—James had lied.

But Merlin, he couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand watching Barty win.

Couldn’t stand knowing that Regulus had given something to him that he had never given to James.

Couldn’t stand the fact that this was what he had wanted, wasn’t it?

For Regulus to let him go.

So why did it feel like he was bleeding out every time he saw them together?

Regulus wasn’t stupid.

He saw the way James looked at him.

He felt it—anger and jealousy and something dangerously close to regret.

And that should have been enough.

He wanted it to be enough.

But it wasn’t.

Because at the end of the day, Regulus could let Barty kiss him, he could let Barty have him, but it didn’t fix anything.

Because no matter how many times Barty touched him, it never felt like enough.

It never felt like James.

And that was the worst part.

James had ruined him.

And the worst, most pathetic thing?

Regulus thought—just for a second—if James asked, he might let him do it again.

James snapped first.

It was stupid.

A Quidditch match.

Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, the rivalry thick in the air.

James should have been focused, sharp. But all he saw was Regulus.

Regulus, standing beside Barty before the match, Barty’s fingers lingering on his wrist, his lips brushing Regulus’ ear in a way that made James’ vision red.

The game was brutal.

Aggressive.

James played like he was trying to hurt someone.

And then—

Then he saw Barty coming toward Regulus, too fast, too dangerous, and something in him snapped.

James crashed into Barty mid-air, hard, sending both of them spiraling.

They hit the ground with a sickening thud.

James barely felt the pain.

Because the second he looked up, Regulus was standing over him, eyes burning.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Regulus hissed, grabbing the front of his robes and hauling him up before shoving him back down.

James wiped the blood from his mouth, laughing bitterly. "Funny, I was gonna ask you the same thing."

Regulus sneered, but his hands were shaking. "You could’ve fucking killed him."

James’ chest was heaving. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because he’s mine!" Regulus snapped.

James froze.

Regulus’ mouth shut instantly, eyes widening like he had just realized what he had said.

James exhaled slowly, something sharp curling in his chest. "Is that supposed to hurt me?"

Regulus’ throat bobbed. "I don’t—"

"You were mine first," James said, voice quiet but lethal. "Don’t pretend that doesn’t mean something."

Regulus sucked in a breath like James had hit him.

And for a moment, for a split second—James thought Regulus might break.

Might admit it.

But instead, Regulus’ face hardened.

"Not anymore," he said.

And then he turned and walked away.

James watched him go, blood in his mouth and something worse in his chest.

Because Regulus was right.

He wasn’t his anymore.

And the worst part?

James had made it that way.
Regulus didn’t feel anything when he walked away from James.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

But his hands were shaking when he slipped into the Slytherin locker room, when he braced himself against the sink, when he looked up and saw his own reflection—pale, hollow-eyed, cracking.

He gritted his teeth.

Barty appeared behind him in the mirror, his gaze sharp, knowing. "Want me to make you forget?"

Regulus closed his eyes.

He didn’t answer.

Because they both knew the truth.

Regulus never forgot.

Not the way James had looked at him. Not the way James had laughed in the middle of that fight, like none of it mattered but it did, it did, and now it was too late.

Barty’s fingers ghosted over his wrist. "He’s losing his mind, you know."

Regulus exhaled. "I don’t care."

Barty laughed. "Oh, darling. You always were a terrible liar.*"

James was losing his mind.

Sirius had noticed.

Lily had noticed.

But no one said a word until one night, Sirius cornered him in the Gryffindor common room, eyes dark, voice low.

"Fix whatever the fuck is wrong with you, Prongs, before I do it for you."

James just laughed, sharp and bitter. "What are you talking about, Pads?"

Sirius scoffed. "Don’t play dumb. You’ve been a fucking wreck ever since—" He paused, lips pressing into a thin line. "Ever since you let him go."

James’ stomach twisted. "I didn’t let him go."

Sirius tilted his head. "Didn’t you?"

James clenched his jaw. "I had to."

Sirius studied him for a long moment before shaking his head. "No, you didn’t."

James swallowed. "It wouldn’t have worked."

"Then why do you look like you’re dying without him?"

James inhaled sharply.

Sirius didn’t wait for an answer.

He just turned and walked away.

And James—James sat there, staring at the fire, hating himself.

Because Sirius was right.

The breaking point came at a party.

One of those reckless, desperate Gryffindor-Slytherin affairs, where rivalry turned into shots, into laughter that was just too sharp around the edges.

James wasn’t drinking.

But Regulus was.

And he wasn’t drinking alone.

James watched from across the room as Barty pressed a drink into Regulus’ hand, as Regulus let his head fall back against his shoulder, as he smirked when Barty whispered something in his ear.

James snapped.

Before he even thought about it, he was moving, cutting through the crowd, grabbing Regulus’ wrist and yanking him away.

"What the fuck—" Regulus started, but James was already dragging him into an empty corridor, slamming the door behind them.

"What the fuck are you doing?" James hissed.

Regulus yanked his wrist free, sneering. "Having a good time. Something you should try."

James’ jaw clenched. "With him?"

Regulus laughed, low and sharp. "Why do you care, Potter?"

James’ hands curled into fists. "Because he’s using you."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Oh, please—"

"And you’re letting him."

Regulus froze.

Because James wasn’t angry anymore.

He just looked—wrecked.

Like he hated himself for saying it, but he had to anyway.

Regulus inhaled sharply. "I don’t—"

"I know you, Regulus." James’ voice was quiet. "And I know this isn’t you."

Regulus’ throat was dry. "Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think."

James exhaled. "Maybe I know you better than you want me to."

Regulus looked away.

James took a step closer. "Tell me you don’t want me."

Regulus’ breath hitched. "James—"

"Tell me."*

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut.

James reached for him—hesitated—but then his fingers brushed against Regulus’ jaw, tilting his chin up just slightly.

Regulus hated him for it.

Hated him for knowing exactly how to unravel him.

James leaned in, his breath warm against Regulus’ lips. "Tell me, and I’ll walk away."

Regulus’ fingers dug into his sleeves. "I—"

He couldn’t say it.

James exhaled softly. "Yeah. That’s what I thought.*"

And then he kissed him.

And Regulus let him.

Because James had ruined him, and Regulus had let him, and maybe, just maybe—

He wasn’t ready to stop.Regulus should have pushed James away.

He should have walked out of that room and never looked back.

But instead—

He let James devour him.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow.

It was messy, all teeth and desperation, like James was drowning and Regulus was the only thing keeping him afloat.

Regulus felt it—the months of tension, of jealousy, of pretending they weren’t burning for each other.

James’ hands slid into his hair, gripping tight, pulling him closer, like he needed to feel every inch of him, like he needed to remind himself that Regulus was real.

Regulus whimpered into his mouth, and that was all it took for James to lose whatever restraint he had left.

He backed Regulus into the wall, pressing against him, lips trailing from his mouth to his jaw, down the sharp line of his throat.

"Fuck," Regulus gasped, hands fisting in James’ shirt, pulling him closer, needing more.

James groaned, teeth grazing over Regulus’ skin before sucking hard, leaving a bruise that would be impossible to hide.

Regulus shivered, nails digging into James’ back. "You’re such a fucking bastard."

James laughed against his neck, voice low and wrecked. "You love it."

Regulus hated that it was true.

James knew it was true.

He slipped a hand beneath Regulus’ shirt, fingers trailing over bare skin, his touch slow, teasing, cruel.

Regulus whined, his head falling back against the wall. "James—"

"I missed you," James murmured against his collarbone. "Tell me you missed me too."

Regulus hated him.

Hated him for asking.

Hated him for knowing the answer.

But Regulus was tired of lying.

So he tilted James’ face up, meeting his gaze, and whispered:

"I never stopped."

James made a sound somewhere between a growl and a plea before crashing their lips together again, hands gripping Regulus’ hips, pressing harder, closer, like he could make up for every second they had spent apart.

And for a moment—just one fleeting, reckless moment—Regulus let himself believe that maybe this wasn’t a mistake.

Maybe James would choose him this time.

Maybe they weren’t just setting themselves on fire again.

But then—

"What the fuck is this?"

The door slammed open.

Regulus froze.

James stiffened.

And standing in the doorway—

Eyes burning, mouth set in fury—

Was Lily.