Chapter 4
James Potter has a plan.
Or, well, he did. Until approximately three minutes ago, when he found himself face-to-face with Regulus Black and immediately forgot what words were.
Which is fine. Totally fine. It’s not like James needs words or anything. He can just stand here, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, while Regulus stares at him like he’s the dumbest person on the planet. It’s a solid plan.
“Potter,” Regulus says, after a long moment of silence. “Did you actually need something, or did you just come over here to waste my time?”
James blinks. Right. Words. He needs words.
“I—yes. I mean, no. I mean—” He clears his throat. “I wanted to talk to you.”
Regulus raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “That much was obvious.”
James swallows. This is going so much worse than he imagined. Why did he think this was a good idea again?
Oh, right. Because Remus made him.
Four hours earlier, in the Gryffindor common room, James had been dramatically bemoaning his unrequited feelings when Remus, finally out of patience, slammed his book shut and fixed James with a look that could only be described as deeply unimpressed.
“For Merlin’s sake, just tell him,” Remus had said, exasperated.
“I can’t just tell him,” James had protested. “What if he hexes me?”
“Then you’ll know where you stand,” Remus had replied flatly.
Sirius, lounging across the couch, had smirked. “I think you should do it. If nothing else, it’ll be hilarious.”
Peter had nodded solemnly. “I’ll be sure to write a moving eulogy.”
James had groaned into his hands. “You lot are useless.”
“And you’re hopeless,” Sirius had countered cheerfully. “Now, go make a fool of yourself.”
Which is how James ended up here, standing in front of Regulus Black, rapidly approaching the worst moment of his life.
“Alright,” Regulus says, crossing his arms. “Talk.”
James inhales sharply. He can do this. He’s faced McGonagall’s wrath, and the horror that is Sirius’ morning hair. This is nothing.
“I—” he starts, and then immediately panics. “I really admire your work ethic.”
Regulus blinks. “Excuse me?”
“You’re just so—so dedicated,” James barrels on, ignoring every survival instinct telling him to shut up. “And your ability to focus is, uh, really impressive.”
Regulus stares at him for a long, painful moment. Then, finally, he sighs. “Potter, if you’re trying to ask for my help on an assignment, just say it.”
James nods far too quickly. “Yes! That. Exactly that.”
Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But only because I can’t stand to watch you flail any longer.”
James exhales in relief. He may have completely failed in confessing his absolute love for the other boy, but at least Regulus hasn’t hexed him yet. He’ll take what he can get.
Back at the Marauders’ table, Sirius watches the disaster unfold with barely concealed amusement. “Well,” he says, popping a chocolate frog into his mouth, “that was pathetic.”
Peter shakes his head. “It’s honestly impressive how bad he is at this.”
Remus hums thoughtfully. “Do you think he’ll actually manage to confess before we graduate?”
Sirius smirks. “Oh, definitely. I give him…six months.”
Peter scoffs. “I say a year.”
Remus considers for a moment. “Eight months.”
Sirius grins. “Bet?”
“Bet.”
They shake on it.
Meanwhile, at the other table, James is blissfully unaware of the ongoing wagers regarding his love life. Instead, he’s watching Regulus read over his parchment with an almost reverent look in his eyes.
Regulus, for his part, looks vaguely annoyed but not entirely displeased. “You have the grammatical consistency of a flobberworm,” he mutters, making a note in the margin.
James beams. “You’re so smart.”
Regulus stops writing. Slowly, he lifts his head and gives James a long, incredulous look.
James immediately backtracks. “I mean—not that you weren’t already smart. Obviously, you were. Are. You are smart. Really smart.”
Regulus narrows his eyes. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”
James panics. “What? No! Ha! Definitely... not.”
Regulus eyes him suspiciously before sighing and returning to the parchment. “Merlin help me.”
James lets out a silent breath of relief and decides, firmly, that he is never listening to Remus again.
Back at the Marauders’ table, Peter picks up another Bertie Bott’s bean, examines it critically, and pops it into his mouth. A second later, he gags violently.
“Ugh! Soap and anchovy!”
Sirius smirks. “That’s what you get for betraying me and taking the last cauldron cake.”
Peter glares at him, still coughing. “Oh, please, like you wouldn’t have done the same.”
Remus smirks. “You do have a bit of a history with betrayal, Pete.”
Peter groans. “You’re all terrible.”
Meanwhile, James sighs, watching as Regulus continues critiquing his essay. This is fine. Everything is fine.
He’ll just confess next time.
…Probably.