Tunes of Love

“Play this one next week, at the soirée,” Walburga says flatly and firm. The woman is holding a cup of tea in her right hand, bringing it close to her mouth. She then takes her leave to the kitchen. Soon, there’s a clear thud of her teacup being set down. She just always needs to be unnecessarily loud with the littlest things. The sound of her heels starts to fade away in the distance as the woman is heading upstairs to her chamber. She must’ve been content with the piece then. Walburga isn’t always so quickly satisfied. It’s clear she is satisfied right now. She didn’t fuss, didn’t interrupt whenever something ‘didn’t sound right’. She didn’t clear her throat an obnoxious amount of times, and she didn’t even once shake her head unapprovingly.

Regulus stands up straight from his seat and closes the piano case. He now strides down to the kitchen himself, his mother already gone to her chamber. He fills the kettle -already on the fire- with water and starts making himself a cup of tea, too. As Regulus waits for the his tea water to boil, he finds his way to the counter. He leans onto it for a bit, and eventually manages to relax a little. Outside, there are children playing. Regulus watches them through the window view. They seem to be very young, probably between the ages of four and five. They’re poorly dressed and playing with the mud in front of the well-kept yard. His mother would be furious if she saw these dirty children make a mess right in front of her property. Well, the poor children will most likely die of starvation soon, anyway. That’s how life works here for the poor, Regulus tries to resonate .

He does try not to think about these situations too often. It’s not hard though, considering he has plenty enough to worry about already, anyway.

The youngest one, a small and thin girl, trips over something and starts pathetically sobbing. Then, the barely older boy reaches out to soothe her and stroke her hair gently. Regulus tenses and it’s at that moment he decides the water has been warming up for quite long enough. He leaves the counter and strides back to the kettle.

He touches up his drink with some tea leaves, and later on ignores the fact he’s drinking cold tea.

Today is one of the good days, the peaceful ones. Walburga is minding her own business in her chamber, probably writing some important letters. Regulus only has to not cause any trouble and practice his new piece. Regulus prefers practicing in his chamber. There are two pianos in the new Black Manor (The Blacks moved back to France after the scandal with Sirius. Regulus likes that they did. Less memories to distract him now); one in his own chamber and the other in the parlor. That’s where he usually demonstrates his new pieces to Walburga, and where he plays for the usual amount of guests. Being in his chamber makes him as comfortable as he can get, to compose -and practice- his pieces. His chamber -or more likely his piano- is actually the closest thing to a home he has, at least the kind of home people describe as, ‘where you feel safe’, or whatever he’s supposed to make out of that.

The young boy sits down at his desk and starts scribbling on his sheet music from yesterday, making adaptations to it. He notes down everything he changed to it this morning. An hour later, when he’s done perfecting his new piece, he strides straight to his piano and places the sheets on the stand. For the remaining hours of the morning, he practices his latest piece.

This week is filled with a lot of pressure for Regulus. He is going to perform at a big gathering in Britain, next Saturday. The most important and wealthy folks from across the world will be attending. They’ll be doing business deals and trades. And as always, Walburga is expecting him to play flawlessly. Regulus has never played for so many significant people all at once. It makes the boy a little nervous.

His father, Orion Black, is already deceased. He had died from a new disease that’s been around. Walburga had wasted thousands on doctors, to find a cure before it was too late.  His father’s death had been a bad period of time for Regulus. It was right after Sirius had left, too. And with Orion, he had at least somewhat of a connection left. The boy had wished it had been his mother instead. He still wishes so. He’s not ashamed of it, either.

His talent for the piano comes with a lot of stress. It’s unendurable, truly- the stress of having to be the best at all times. He already has a reputation to withhold, through all of France, and soon around the whole world. His music is already getting spread in a lot of different countries, at this very moment. Regulus’ music is adored by loads. And when he releases something new, it has to be better than the last, every single time. That’s what Walburga tells him, but it’s also what he tells himself.

This is the only thing you’re good at, don’t mess this up. Don’t disappoint her. Don’t disappoint yourself.

Though,

despite the stress- … Regulus does love playing. When he finishes a piece, he feels so… powerful, playing his self-composed and mesmerising melodies. With just the slightest movements of his fingers, he can create his own tunes. And they do have meaning. His music is everything to him. He creates pieces that resonate with his emotions. Though, his mother usually doesn’t approve of those pieces -the ones he puts his heart and soul into. He’s stopped showing her the pieces he makes that he truly loves. Now, he just creates what he knows his mother adores, what she wants the world to hear. Those pieces do still always have a meaning to him, though. Every piece he writes has some meaning, even if it’s the smallest story. When he has a little of free time, alone, he plays and composes pieces for himself. Those moments are bliss, when he truly feels at peace. Those are the moments he enjoys playing the piano.

The black-haired boy puts a lot of feeling in his music. Well, the music he creates for his own when he’s alone, obviously. It’s a way of coping with his thoughts. It’s the only way he can express his emotion. Though, when he plays for an audience, even if it’s just his mother, he keeps a blank face and perfect posture. No readable emotions visible on his face. His emotions are for him and him alone. He already has trouble exposing his emotions to himself. How could he ever express them to someone else? So, he won’t share his feelings with anyone but himself.

Not anymore, at least. Not after Orion had died.

Regulus still feels powerful though, knowing he literally creates these masterpieces on his own -at even only sixteen years old-, knowing he can make people bend down in front of him at his own will, just to hear him play. This feeling exists too when he plays pieces by other composers, but it’s so much bigger with his own music. Playing for others is the only thing in his life that makes him feel in control. Though, there are enough of times when he doesn’t feel in control at all; mostly when he hasn’t perfected a song and plays a mistake. Those moments are dreadful. He would always need to continue playing, continue being composed, all the while he can just feel Walburga’s eyes burning holes right through his back. Then, he’d go home and the woman would give him uncomfortably long lectures about how much of a disgrace he was that day. Luckily, Walburga doesn’t always notice his mistakes, but she does pay close attention.

So yeah, you could say that Regulus has a complicated love-hate relationship with his instrument.

Writing piano pieces comes naturally to the young boy, he doesn’t remember much of learning how to write -and play. But God, does he remember Sirius teaching him the basics. Regulus was six at the time. Sirius had been getting private lessons. He quit as soon as his younger brother surpassed him, and at that point, Regulus could already continue learning on his own. Sirius had been angry at him for two full weeks, always either ignoring him or scoffing at him. Said he took playing the piano from him? Regulus still doesn’t understand the big deal. Sirius could’ve just practiced more. The older Black didn’t even practice more than fifteen minutes every day. Regulus practiced hours every single day. What did the prat think would happen? Regulus played so much that at one point he just started hearing notes and pieces whenever and wherever he went. And he can say assured that it’s much different than just having some pub song stuck in your head. Actually, this occurrence never really went away at all.

Regulus hates Sirius for getting so angry and jealous at him. Regulus was even very grateful of Sirius’ lessons. The younger boy even liked them. A lot. He liked spending time with his big brother on something they both enjoyed; which was back then the piano. In the end Sirius just became a jealous prick. Jealous of his little brother’s talent. Insufferable, he was. Whenever Regulus was playing and you could hear all the beautiful melodies -the ones Sirius wasn’t able to play- through the walls of Grimmauld Place, Sirius and Regulus would end up fighting. Eventually, when Walburga realised Regulus had talent for this, she had bought him a private teacher. That lasted seven years. Regulus doesn’t need the teacher anymore now. Not since he was fourteen. From that point on, everything just quickly went downhill. Their mother started punishing -hitting- Sirius, every time he would distract Regulus from his precious practice time; which was all the time. Well, at first Sirius did it on purpose. But at one point, he couldn’t even walk by normally without ‘distracting’ Regulus.

Regulus had first started playing the piano because it interested him. Because his big brother Sirius was learning to play. Sooner than later, Walburga started expecting too many of him. His passion slowly started to fade. Though yes, he does still find himself enjoying playing alone in his chamber. He absolutely despises playing for anyone else. He liked playing for Sirius and Orion, though they’re both gone. If he had the choice, he’d never play for anyone else ever again. He’d find another career and play the piano occasionally in his chamber when he’d feel like it. Though, it’s very much too late for that.

He still finds himself missing those moments. The ones where his older brother would teach him how to play. Sirius’ bigger body next to Regulus’ own, while Sirius helped him with the notes and simple rhythms. Sometimes, they would play easy songs together. Their fingers would brush and it had always felt stupidly nice. Sometimes, Sirius would sing the notes while playing. Then, he would look down at his little brother with a soft, proud, -and happy- smile, his eyes lit up at how beautiful they sounded together. ‘That was brilliant, Reggie.’

Regulus doesn’t know how, but he ends up soaked in his own tears, playing Frère Jacques.

He was just a boy with a passion. And look where that got him now. He should’ve never asked Sirius to teach him how to play.

~*~

“Oi, Prongs!”, Sirius calls out. He’s dressed up all fancy in a dark suit that perfectly fits the colour of his long, black hair. His mother would hate his current hair. That’s why he loves it. Sirius has simple, elegant, and black wings of eyeliner next to his eyelids. The eyeliner highlights the sharp features of his face. “Party’s in half an hour. We’re running late,” he says, but not really bothered too much too care. Technically, it’s not even a party, but again, who cares. The Potter family was invited and Euphemia and Fleamont had asked them to come with them. Of course, they’d agree. There’ll be drinks and those expensive, delicious appetizers. Though, Sirius and James don’t really care enough to actually arrive on time. They will just have a few drinks, party, get drunk, cause trouble, and take their leave. They will not use the time to talk to any of the rich snobs there, or make any boring deals with them. It’s a simple plan. It’ll be a fun evening for the two mates.

Remus had also gotten an invitation, but his father didn’t allow him to go. Of course, he wasn’t surprised by it. His father tends to have the habit to pretend he doesn’t exist. Remus doesn’t want that to stop his two friends from going, though. So, he had insisted they could just go party without him. That he’d just be content reading a book at home, anyway.

“Almost there, Pads,” James says as he’s hopping down the hallway, while putting on his left shoe. James has just done his hair -though for some reason it’s still messy?- and applied a little of simple, gold make-up around his eyes. He’s wearing a fancy, dark red suit. It’s longer at the back and has fine, gold details all over it.

Sirius grins, staring down at him from one of the stairs. “Looking good”

“You don’t look bad yourself,” James grins right back at him.

“Yeah? Think there’ll be any fair young ladies?”

James huffs, “Might be. Though, don’t think they’ll be interested, you know. They’re too entitled. ‘s not a pub.”

“Too bad”, Sirius snorts. “I’ll still impress them, anyway”

James laughs shortly. “Course, you will.”

About an hour later, they arrive by carriage, at the manor where the party is held. It’s owned by the Pettigrew family. They are even more wealthy than the Potters. The Pettigrews are the second most rich family in Britain. There’s a massive front garden. The boys ride through it in the carriage. To both their sides, there are a lot of different shaped, and flower-coloured, bushes. “I wanna go back,” James says with a groan. He’s leaning against the wall of the carriage, practically lying down. One of his legs is stretched out over the cushions, and the other lazily hanging off the seat.

Sirius is across from him, sitting up, and staring forward at the other boy with a frown. His legs are spread out a bit. Both of teenagers don’t have proper manners. They don’t sit like they’re supposed to, like they were taught to. They like doing things their own way. Effie and Monty have stopped bothering them about it, at this point. Before, they’d always correct them. But the boys never even listened for more than a minute, anyway. So, James’ parents just let them to do things their own way. “What do you mean? You are the one who wanted to go?,” Sirius crosses his arms.

“Well, I didn’t think, alright?,” James groans again, and now sits up too. “It’s gonna be so boring, Padfoot. Bet there won’t even be proper music”

“Yeah, obviously,” Sirius rolls his eyes. “Like you said, it’s not a pub, Prongs,” Sirius lets out a strangled laugh. “We can still just go and cause trouble, you know. That’ll be fun as hell,” he says smugly.

“Moony’s not even here. It won’t be the same,” James whimpers dramatically as he buries his hands in his face.

Sirius is quiet for a short moment, and then responds again. “Don’t overexaggerate, mate. He told us he’d be happy if we’d have fun,” Sirius says not so convincing.

“It’s his fault, really! He practically demanded we go.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says after a bit, looking outside the carriage window now.

~*~

The conference has already started a few hours ago. Regulus has been doing nothing but rehearsing all night in the practice room. His mom has been busy talking to all these different, wealthy heads of families. He was supposed to do that himself, too, but he convinced Walburga to let him practice some more, here alone. The room is small, with a couch, piano, and some other instruments. Outside, it’s slowly getting darker. It’s late in the evening, but because it’s summer, the sun is still up. Beautiful hues of orange and red are starting to spread through the sky. The last bits of sunshine illuminate the keys of the piano. The past hour, Regulus hasn’t really touched the piano anymore. He’s just been relentlessly staring at the sheet music in front of him, thinking about everyone that’ll watch him play tonight, thinking about today’s importance. This day could -no, will- define his whole future; in a good and bad way.

The black-haired boy knows his new piece by head. He doesn’t need the sheets anymore. Those are for amateurs, he thinks to himself. Regulus is not an amateur. He obviously doesn’t need more time to practice. Days ago, he could already play this piece with his eyes closed. Regulus just asked his mother for more practice time so he could be alone for a bit, so he could breathe. It’s truly for the better, anyway. If he had to socialise with all the wealthy men and ladies here, he’d already be exhausted by the time he had to play. Walburga knew that, most likely. But she agreed, weirdly.

Regulus eventually decides to just sit down on the couch in the corner of the room. He hasn’t been playing for a while, anyway. He should just rest for a bit. Well, as much as he can in this moment. His fingers start incessantly drumming on his knees, playing the keys on thin air.

Regulus wrote this piece after Orion had died. He was going to play it at his funeral. Well, the first part of it. He had quit composing during the midst of it. And at the end, he didn’t even show up at the funeral itself. Last month, he finally started working on the piece again, though. It was hard and emotionally wrecking, but he finished it anyway. His mother found it fantastic. So, now he has to play this stupid piece for at least a hundred people, two hundred maybe. The same piece he tried to bury away two years ago. He wishes he could’ve at least showed this piece to his father. He wishes he had actually shown up at the funeral and performed it. The young boy didn’t even have the bloody show up. Maybe, if he had a second chance today, he would. Just maybe.

Orion would have been so proud if he did play at his funeral, even if it wasn’t an own composed piece. It would’ve been a different kind of proud. Not the same one as when his mother is proud of him, but just… in a fatherly way. Orion always used to listen to Regulus play. He enjoyed it. The old man always requested Regulus to play for him, before he went to bed. Regulus would always roll his eyes, but eventually give in, anyway. The pure smile on Orion’s face was worth it. Those are the memories with him that he likes to remember. Playing the piano was what brought him and his father together, unlike what it did to him and his brother.

“Son, follow up, you have to play now,” Regulus hears his mother call out. The young boy immediately stands up straight and follows after her to the grand hall. Everyone is standing curiously around the small stage, holding expensive glasses of even more expensive wine. They all go silent for a second when Regulus enters, but quickly, people already uninterested continue their conversations while whispering. There are way too many people for Regulus’ liking. When he arrived earlier this evening, there were less men. He wasn’t prepared for this many people, but he quickly brushes it off and climbs the stage. The 17-year-old looks down at the crowd and shivers. Even standing above them all, he feels so small. He can see the people all across the room. Half of them aren’t even really paying attention. Well, that’s a good thing, really. Regulus nervously clears his throat and speaks up just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Greetings everyone- I’m Regulus Black and I’m going to perform for you all my new, self-composed piano piece-… echoes of silence,” Regulus nervously takes a quick glance at his mother. She has a very stern and expecting look on her face. It just makes him even more stressed.

The black-haired boy quickly marches to the piano seat. He looks forward at the sheet holder… Great, he forgot his sheets. Again, it’s not that he needs them but, but they’re sure as hell a good comfort to have. But also, if he pulls this off, it will just be more impressive. Regulus keeps his back straight and sits down on the black cushion of the seat. He takes a few deep breaths, and then starts playing. The first part of the song is quiet. It’s barely audible. The crowd goes silent, trying to take in the sound. Regulus wishes they would just continue talking.

The boy does what he knows is best in this situation; focusing on playing only, tuning out the people. Though, it’s never easy at first. Alone in his room, it’s so easy to tune out everything around him, it’s even an automatism. He tries to imagine as if he’s in his room back at France. The song continues and Regulus makes a crescendo. The tunes and melodies become more audible and fierce. He inhales tensely and continues tapping the keys of the piano.

Suddenly, there’s a big and loud applause. Regulus blinks twice and stares down at the piano and then at the crowd.

Oh. He zoned out… Well, it must’ve been a good performance, otherwise the people here wouldn’t be cheering and clapping this loudly. This isn’t the first time this happened. Sometimes, during performances, Regulus just zones out and his muscle memory takes over. But that makes it a little harder to accent the right moments in the piece. Though, zoning out is honestly better than a lot of other things that can happen while performing; as example when he blacks out, or his fingers start trembling so badly that he misses notes. Regulus sighs half-relieved and stands up and bows neatly before the public. His mother hums and nods pleased at him. The corners of the young boy’s lip twitch up slightly. His mother is proud. His father would be, too.

~*~

“Mm, Prongs, you have to taste this pudding. It’s brilliant!,” Sirius says while he shoves a cup of pudding into James’ free hand. James is standing outside, looking at the stars. Sirius just dashed out of the kitchen, somehow holding four cups of pudding all at once. James raises a brow and takes a cautious bite, not even wondering how Sirius managed to sneak into the kitchen. “oh, bloody hell. You’re right,” the brunette immediately consumes another spoonful and lets out an exaggerated, content sigh.

Sirius and James have been doing exactly this for hours now; trying out pastries, drinks, and snacks. They’ve made a long and specific list of the best things they’ve eaten and drunk. In the meanwhile, they’ve also been annoying this one particular servant by taking everything from their plate and making them have to return to the kitchen every bloody five minutes. And not so long ago, Sirius and James were outside, smoking and just talking for about thirty minutes. By now, the two boys have already tried every single thing they serve here and done pretty much every single thing there is to do. The evening is beginning to get very tedious.

The two teenagers finish their puddings. “Heard that cheering before?”, Sirius asks casually as he darts his gaze to James.

“No?”

Sirius huffs. “Alright then. Well, I was sneaking into the kitchen, soo I was closer by probably,” Sirius explains.

“Yeah? What was it about then, you think? The Pettigrews hired a band or something?”

“Something like that, probably,” Sirius huffs and already forgets about it. He then casually sits down on the floor.

“That’s dirty,” James observes.

“Like I care?,” Sirius says as he pulls James down next to him by his shoulder. James just shakes his head amused and settles in next to Sirius. The long-haired boy is already staring at the stars, his gaze now distant. James scans the stars and immediately recognises what Sirius is focusing on; Regulus, the star. Now, James is the one pulling Sirius closer. The both of them sit there in silence for a while, after that.

“Hey prongs, keep my puddings for a bit. I’m taking these home. Thanks, mate,” Sirius says finally, grinning and fixing his hair. Then, he strolls off to some random young lady. The enticing lady has been eyeing Sirius all night and is now standing in the doorframe, again eyeing Sirius, while she twirls her hair and blushes cutely. Sirius didn’t think he’d find a hookup here, but apparently it’s possible, anyway. James just rolls his eyes and sighs as he’s left alone with a handful of puddings. He must look really ridiculous right now. But well, he’s glad for his best mate, anyway.

James eventually decides to go back inside. The cold is starting to set outside. He’ll just go back and find Sirius later. The brunette enters the building again. He then spots some older men approaching him, probably to talk about his future for the Potters or something else definitely irritating. Hell, no. He isn’t dealing with that right now. James carelessly slips himself through the mass of people, spilling some lady’s drink while grinning, and then ends up in some empty hallway. It’s a little creepy, but whatever. He stares down at his arms, at Sirius’ puddings. Next, he just shrugs and takes one of the puddings for himself as he strolls down the hallway. The puddings all have spoons in them already. The spoons are opulent gold, embellished with elegant, thin, engraved lines.

At one point, during his walk, James starts to perceive the distant sound of piano keys. It immediately reminds him of Sirius and how much he hates pianos. If the older teenager was here, he’d immediately sulk and drag James all the way back home to the Potter manor, or something. But Sirius isn’t present. And James is actually curious. Because of Sirius’ devotion to staying away from every single piano sound as much as possible, James has actually not heard much of pianos since he was around the age of eleven. And he also doesn’t really have much else to do, right now. So he strides after the echoes of piano notes in the hallway.

James is still eating his pudding with one hand and holding two other, not-yet-touched, puddings in his other as he pushes open the door with his elbow. The 18-year-old didn’t know what it was  that he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

James’ hands instantly swoops the spoon right out of his mouth as he almost chokes on the pudding. He stares down at his hands -with three cups of bloody pudding-, then stares at the boy in front of him on the piano seat, and then blushes furiously. Nice one, Sirius.

This whole situation is fully Sirius’ fault. First, he ran off, leaving James alone. And now, James is left in this trap. A trap where he’s suddenly alone in a room with a handsome and young bloke -his age, probably-, looking bloody ridiculous with all these puddings that Sirius also just happened to shove into his possession. -So yes, this is obviously a trap. He doesn’t know what to do with this situation. James’ feels like he can’t breathe, for some peculiar reason. His heart skips a few beats. There’s a boy before him, a beautiful one. James doesn’t recall ever witnessing a more stunning bloke than this one, right in front of him. He has charming, short, and black curls, and grey eyes; like Sirius’. The boy’s face is highlighted by the moonlight.

The black-haired boy stares ahead with a questioning look. The sound of the piano has long ago drained out. Now, James does know where the enchanting sound came from. The boy’s expression looks… neutral? Empty? But also curious? Well, that’s the best of a description the brunette can think of. Anyway, James realises he has also been staring for quite a bit. So, he clears his throat and immediately blushes again, without being aware of it.

“Evening,” he chokes out, his mind going blank. The boy in front of him stays silent, but keeps staring at James mindfully. That makes James even more nervous. And again, why is he even feeling nervous in the first place?

“Er- You play beautifully,” James says deliberately, needing to fill the silence. And he does mean it. The sound lurked him here. It was almost as beautiful as the boy himself.

Silence. Again.

“So I’ve heard,” The boy at the piano speaks, eventually. James lets out a shaky breath. Why of all the times in his life is he suddenly nervous? 

“Can you play more?,” James just blurts out after -yet again- another staring contest. His mouth just opened before his brain could even think. He does really want to hear those lovely melodies again, while also witnessing the beautiful boy create them. And again, he doesn’t even have anything else to do, right now, anyway. “You weren’t there at the performance?,” The boy asks warily and slow.

“Oh, so that was what the cheering was all about,” James notes out loud. “No, I was outside,” He explains. He’s finally able to form proper thoughts again. And now, he’s suddenly very glad he and Sirius weren’t in the grand hall, or Sirius would’ve slumped around all day, pissed at everything.

There’s another period of quiet. “Can I stay here?... While you play more?,” James asks with a foolish expression. The boy in front of him stares up for a little longer and eventually just nods. “Fine, but be quiet,” The black-haired boy says in agreement, eyes narrowed.

The boy at the piano sighs and turns back around and starts playing again, with ease. It’s mesmerising. For some reason, it’s so much better witnessing it first person. He suddenly wishes Sirius didn’t have such a huge problem with pianos. Then, he could hear them a lot more often. James is so used to pub music, and pub music only. This is so different, even better in a way. He doesn’t know how long it lasts, but when it finally stops, he needs more. The boy stands up on his feet, grabbing his stuff, and stops in his halt when he sees James again.

“You’re still here?,” He asks mockingly. James doesn’t know if the boy genuinely forgot he was there, or if he’s just making fun of him.

“Uh- yeah? You allowed me to,” James reminds him sheepishly.

The boy sighs and rolls his eyes. James’ eyes widen a bit and his heart stops beating again. The black-haired boy’s gaze falls down to the puddings still in James’ hold. “Oh uh, these? My- uh- friend gave them to me! -You see, him and I got this thing going on where we were trying out every snack here and we found these very tasty puddings and he had a ton, but then he ran off and-,” James rambles as he tries to explain the situation. He’s blushing again. James never blushes. No, he did; for Lily, but that was years ago, a lifetime really. He doesn’t even know where she is right now. She fled the country or something.

“-Right,” The boy cuts off uninterested.

“…Oh shit uh, sorry- …I didn’t mean to-,” James tries to reason again.

“I do not care,” The boy interrupts, and at that, James shuts up. He stares forward at the black-haired boy. There’s a bit of an uncomfortable silence. Well, it’s uncomfortable to James, in the least. “…Do you want one?,” James asks carefully as he bites down on his lower lip. The boy looks up at him confused. James internally faceplants. Of course he doesn’t want one.

“Fine,” The boy single-wordedly mutters, staring at the floor now, hiding his face. James stops breathing and then smiles as he messily grabs one of the cups and hands them to the boy in front of him. The boy takes the cup and pulls the spoon out. Then, he takes a slow bite and hums appreciatingly as he takes another, quicker bite. “It’s adequate,” The boy says with a huff.

“What?,” James lets out a surprised, genuine laugh, his nerves are starting to settle down and he’s getting back to the version of himself that he’s used to. “Don’t tell me you’ve had better pudding than this before,” James asks bewildered and curious.

“I haven’t, just not really the pudding lover kind of type,” The boy explains, the corners of his lips crooking up. He does take a few more, small bites, before he sets it down on some drawer.

James is just beaming, now that the boy is finally engaging more in this conversation. For some reason, James really wants the boy to speak to him. “Well, I wasn’t either. Not until I had this one,” James smiles too. The boy just softly nods back at him. “So,” James starts more confidently, now. “When did you learn to play like that?,” James asks. The boy’s slightly lifted up face now turns completely neutral again.

“When I was six,” He eventually elucidates. “…Private teacher,” He continues with the same blank expression, staring at the doorway behind James.

“Ah, ‘kay. Cool,” James says awkwardly while he scratches softly at his temple.

“I’m leaving now, excuse me,” The boy says coldly as he pushes past James, holding his bag with his piano sheets. Well, not all of them. James stares at the empty doorway, and then at the piano. There’s still one paper of the sheets left. The boy forgot to pick it up. Echoes of silence, it says. It doesn’t say a name of the composer. James wonders if the boy composed the piece himself. His heart stutters again. He puts his puddings down and takes the sheet. Then, he stuffs it in the jacket of his suit and forgets about the puddings all together when he remembers Sirius has probably been searching for him for a long time, by now. He curses something under his breath and runs out the door.

Secretly, he hopes to come across the boy again. Maybe he can return the sheet, but there’s no sign of the boy left. He didn’t even get his name. Bloody hell.

~*~

“Oi! Prongs!,” Sirius calls out. It’s not hard to spot James. It’s past midnight and all the guests have been gone for a while already. Sirius approaches his best mate, crossing his arms and looking a little angry, relieved, and amused all at once. “Where were you, mate?,” He asks with a huff. James bites his lip, blushes, and lets out an equal huff.

“Oh, uh- you know, just er- nothing important really-,” James stutters. Well, what could he say? He was in this room with this very attractive guy who also happens to be extremely good at the one thing Sirius hates? Well… It doesn’t actually sound that bad, now. It’s not as if Sirius was there with James to witness the piano music. But, for some reason, James finds himself too embarrassed to explain the situation. Sirius eyes him confused.

“Suure-,” Sirius says, eyeing James some more. He seems to be trying to figure out what exactly happened the past few hours. Then, out of nowhere, the black-haired boy gasps loudly and overly dramatic. “James! My puddings!,” Sirius says as if James just did the most traitorous thing possible. James shrieks. “You ate them all!,” Sirius gasps again as he accuses James. He crosses his arms and raises his brows.

“Oh- about that-,” James says, a little small, now. He could honestly go back and try to find the room where he left the puddings, but the hallway leading to it was honestly just a big maze he would like to avoid from now on. So, the brunette starts strategising about ways to convert this conversation into something else. He looks away from Sirius and perks up. “Who is that?,” James asks, grinning, very glad to have found something else to bring up.

It seems to have worked, because Sirius just smiles brightly and wraps his arm around the shorter bloke’s shoulder. “This is Pete. Peter, this is James, my best mate,” Sirius explains brightly. James brightens up at that a little, too.

“Oh, hey Pete. Nice to meet ya,” James says with a smile.

“Hi,” Peter responds while his cheeks softly flush. James’ face softens as he pats Peter’s shoulder.

“So, what are you still doing this late at the party?,” James asks curiously.

Peter shrugs. “Oh, This is my home,” He proclaims casually.

Oh.

“No way, Pettigrew?,” James asks, laughing in a surprised way.

“Mhm, but you can still just call me Pete,” He smiles back cutely.