The Polaroid Twist
James spent the next week dodging Kacey with the kind of precision he wished he could apply to the rest of his life. He answered texts promptly enough to keep suspicion at bay, picked up phone calls when absolutely necessary, and carefully steered every conversation away from the dreaded topic of moving in together. But it was exhausting. Every message, every forced smile through the phone, felt like another weight pressing him down. The more he avoided it, the more suffocated he felt.
By the end of the week, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed out, needed space, clarity, advice. Preferably from someone who had a clue what they were talking about.
Before he could second-guess himself, James found himself at the nearest bus stop, the destination already set in his mind.
His parents’ house.
It wasn’t often that he went there unannounced, but something about the familiarity of home, felt like the only thing that could ground him right now.
But as soon as he stepped onto the front lawn, he could tell something was off. There was movement around the house, too much movement. A couple of construction workers were gathered near the side, some carrying supplies, others discussing something in low voices. James furrowed his brows, stepping inside with growing curiosity.
The house smelled like sawdust and cement. James found his mother in the middle of the living room, dressed in an old pair of overalls, her hair pulled back tightly. She was holding a measuring tape in one hand, a blueprint of some kind in the other, and the sight of her looking so deep in concentration almost made him forget why he was here in the first place.
Euphemia looked up, surprised. “James! What are you doing here?”
James crossed his arms. “I could ask you the same thing. What’s going on?”
“Oh,” she gestured vaguely around the room. “We’re making some renovations to the house.”
James frowned, glancing at the stacks of wood, paint cans, and scattered tools. “What kind of renovations?”
His mother brightened, flipping the blueprint around to show him. “Well, for starters, your old bedroom...”
Something twisted in James’s stomach. “What about my bedroom?”
Euphemia barely looked up as she pointed out a few details. “We’re knocking down part of the wall to extend the space, turning it into a guest room and a study. We’ll be repainting, changing the flooring, maybe putting in a bigger window to let in more light and...” James’s face must have done something, because she paused, tilting her head. “What’s with that look?”
He swallowed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I just... I thought you’d keep my bedroom. You know. So I could have a place to come back to.”
Euphemia blinked at him. Then, with a deep sigh, she set the blueprint down. “James, you moved out after high school and you never moved back in.”
His jaw tightened. “Yeah, but still—”
She smiled at him, but there was something soft, almost knowing, in her eyes. “I never thought you’d want a place to come back to.”
James exhaled sharply, looking away, stubborn as ever.
Euphemia knew her son very well. “Alright,” she said, crossing her arms. “What happened?”
James hesitated, dragging a hand through his curls before exhaling slowly. “What makes you think something happened?”
She gave him a look, one of those sharp, all-knowing motherly looks that made it clear she wasn’t buying whatever he was selling. “Because you just showed up unannounced, looking like a lost puppy, and you’re suddenly all sentimental about your old bedroom. So tell me, James, what’s going on that made you want a place to come back to?”
James dropped his shoulders, knowing there was no point in dodging the conversation. He’d come here for a reason, and he could trust his mother, he always could.
So he took a breath and said, “Kacey wants to move in with me.”
Euphemia’s eyes widened slightly, eyebrows lifting. “Oh.” A pause. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
James let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, neither was I.”
She studied him for a moment before tilting her head. “And what do you think about it?”
James sighed, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”
Euphemia hummed in thought. “Well, I’d say it’s a bit soon. Then again, rushing into things is very on-brand for you.” She gave him a pointed look before softening. “But that doesn’t mean you have to say yes. Do you think it’s too soon?”
James hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted, and he hated how lost he sounded. “I just... I don’t know what to do.”
Euphemia sighed, rubbing her forehead before straightening up. “This sounds like the kind of conversation that requires tea.”
James huffed a small laugh, grateful for the reprieve, and followed her into the kitchen. She moved with quiet efficiency, filling the kettle, preparing the mugs, and setting out the honey and milk the way she always did when she needed to have a serious talk. James sat at the table, fingers drumming restlessly against the wood, watching as his mother worked.
When the tea was ready, she set a steaming mug in front of James and took the seat across from him. They both took a sip, the silence stretching between them. Then, finally, she asked, “So, why aren’t you sure about moving in with Kacey?”
James exhaled sharply and stared into his tea, watching the steam curl in the air. “I met someone,” he admitted, voice quieter than he intended.
Euphemia’s brows shot up. “You what?”
James winced. He understood her surprise, this wasn’t something he did often. He wasn’t the kind of man who wavered in a relationship. He wasn’t the kind of man who let himself be distracted. But here he was, feeling like an absolute bastard, because all he could think about was someone who wasn’t Kacey.
Euphemia leaned forward slightly. “When did you meet this person?”
James hesitated, heat creeping up his neck as he looked away. “At the hospital,” he mumbled.
His mother’s eyes narrowed. “James.”
He cleared his throat. “When I fainted. Kacey took me there.”
Understanding dawned in her expression, but she said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
“He’s a doctor,” James went on, gripping his mug a little too tightly. “And ever since I met him, I—I can’t get him out of my head.”
Euphemia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers tightening around her mug. She let out a slow, measured breath before speaking. “Does Kacey know about this man?”
James shook his head. “No. I haven’t told him.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Does the doctor know about Kacey?”
James let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, he knows. He made it very clear he knew.”
Euphemia frowned. “What does that mean?”
James hesitated, his stomach twisting. He shouldn’t be telling her this. He shouldn’t have done this. But he had, and now he had to face it.
“On his birthday,” he admitted, voice thick with something he couldn’t quite name, “we were at the same pub.” He swallowed hard, gripping his mug like it could somehow anchor him. “I don’t even know what happened. One second, I was just there, and the next—” He broke off, closing his eyes briefly before forcing himself to look at her. “I was pressing him against a wall, and we were making out.”
Euphemia’s reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened in shock before her expression hardened, jaw tightening. “James,” she said, voice sharp, “are you out of your mind?”
“I know,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s bad, Mum, I do, but I—I couldn’t resist.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “He’s different. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before.”
Euphemia let out a slow breath, closing her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, her gaze was firm and unyielding. “James,” she said, voice calmer now but no less serious, “what the hell are you doing?”
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. James gripped his mug, staring down into the dark liquid as if it held the answers he needed. His mother didn’t press him, but he could feel the weight of her gaze, waiting. Judging.
“There’s more,” he finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Euphemia’s brows shot up, her grip tightening around her mug. “More?” she repeated, incredulous.
James let out a hollow laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “I haven’t been able to... to do anything physical with Kacey. Not since the kiss.” He glanced up, his mother’s face unreadable, before looking away again. “Every time he tries, every time I even think about it, it feels...” He swallowed hard. “It feels like I’d be betraying the other guy. The doctor.”
Euphemia inhaled sharply, but she didn’t speak.
James laughed again, shaking his head. “Which is insane, right? It was just a kiss. Just a kiss. We don’t, we don’t have anything going on. But I can’t stop thinking about him. And it’s not just physical, Mum. It’s...” He hesitated, hands tightening around the ceramic, the words catching in his throat. “It’s everything,” he admitted, his voice almost breaking. “It’s the way he looks at me, like he already knows me. It’s the way he feels, like I’ve known him forever, even though I barely know a damn thing about him. It’s...” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s like he’s been in my life all along, and I just...” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know what to do.”
His mother didn’t answer right away. She only studied him, her expression unreadable. James couldn’t tell if she was disappointed, angry, or just concerned.
Finally, Euphemia placed her mug down with a quiet clink and folded her hands in front of her. “Oh, James,” she murmured. “What a mess.”
James sighed, running a hand through his curls again. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if the right words might be written there.
James leaned forward, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug as he searched for the right words. “He gets under your skin,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s like… once he’s there, you can’t shake him off. He stays with you, whether you want him to or not.”
Euphemia watched him carefully, a knowing look flickering across her face. “And he’s beautiful right?” she prompted gently.
James huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. He is. He’s…” He hesitated, his brow furrowing. “He’s as beautiful as.
“A star,” Euphemia finished for him.
James’s head snapped up, eyes widening. “Yes,” he breathed. “How did you...”
Euphemia just smiled, a touch wistful. “I’ve heard it before. Somewhere.”
James frowned, something tugging at the edges of his mind, but before he could chase the thought, his mother took another sip of tea, the conversation already shifting. “James, you need to talk to Kacey.”
James groaned, letting his head fall against the chair. “I can’t tell Kacey the truth.”
“Why not?”
He dragged a hand down his face. “Because if I do, he’ll break up with me.”
Euphemia studied him for a moment, her gaze sharp yet gentle. She set her mug down with a quiet clink and arched a brow. “If you’re this taken by the doctor, so much so that you can’t even bring yourself to touch Kacey, then wouldn’t that be for the best?”
James stared at her, dumbfounded. “Are you serious?”
She just sipped her tea, waiting.
James scoffed, shaking his head. “Because I don’t want to be alone.”
Euphemia set her mug down, folding her hands neatly on the table. “And what about the doctor?”
James let out a humorless laugh. “He wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”
She studied him carefully. “Are you sure?”
James swallowed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m sure.”
Euphemia exhales slowly, watching her son with a mixture of fondness and concern. “James,” she says gently, “you have a lot to figure out.”
James runs a hand through his curls, frustration tightening his shoulders. “I know,” he mutters. “That’s why I need your help.”
But Euphemia only smiles, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “You don’t need my help, darling. You need to think things through for yourself.” She lets go and leans back in her chair. “And in the meantime, I have a task for you.”
James groans, already sensing where this is going.
“There are a few boxes in the garage with things from your old bedroom,” she continues, ignoring his dramatics. “I need you to go through them, see what you want to keep and what I can toss.”
James sighs, rubbing his temples before nodding. “Fine,” he grumbles. “But if I find any embarrassing baby pictures, I'll throw them away myself.”
Euphemia just chuckles, taking another sip of her tea. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
James stood up and made his way to the garage, hoping the mindless task of sorting through old belongings would help clear the mess in his head.
When he stepped inside, the garage he saw a pile of boxes stacked against the walls, a few of them were labeled with his name in his mother’s neat handwriting.
He exhaled, dragging dragging himself slowly towards the pile. After the accident, he had spent so much time trying to piece together his old life, desperate for any fragment of himself he could cling to that back then, he would have been thrilled to have boxes of memories waiting for him. Now, though, he wasn’t sure he wanted to look at it. But he did anyway.
Pulling the first box closer, he pried it open. It was mostly high school memorabilia. Papers, notebooks, and old trinkets. His hands brushed against something hard, and he pulled out his yearbook. The cover was slightly worn, the spine creased from years of flipping through the pages. He hesitated before opening it, scanning through the familiar faces frozen in time.
There were so many pictures of him and the boys, Remus, Sirius, and Peter, grinning, pulling stupid faces, arms slung around each other like they were invincible. He found the dedication page and let out a laugh as he read through their messages:
"James, you absolute menace. One day, your impulsive ass is going to get you and Pads arrested, and I hope you know I will not be bailing you out. But until then, thanks for the late-night debates, the football bets, and for somehow making studying bearable. Oh well, I guess I should finish it with Mischief Managed. – R.J. Lupin."
"Oi, Prongs. If you ever stop being an insufferable git, I’ll assume you’ve been kidnapped and replaced by an imposter. I’ll come find you don't worry. Also, you owe me five bucks from that time I bet you couldn’t eat an entire pizza in under five minutes. (You tried. You failed. It was embarrassing for us all.) Here’s to causing more chaos in the future. – S. Black (Future Lupin)."
"James, mate, you’re the kind of person people write stories about. Not always good ones, mind you, but stories nonetheless. Don’t let the world tame you. Cheers to whatever comes next. – Peter Pettigrew."
James snorted, shaking his head as warmth bloomed in his chest. He set the yearbook aside in the pile of things to keep.
Next, he pulled out his old football jersey, red and gold, with Potter and the number 18 printed on the back. He ran his fingers over the fabric, memories of late-night practices flashing through his mind. This, too, went into the keep pile.
He dug deeper, pulling out a stack of handwritten notes, mostly old class schedules and reminders scribbled on torn pieces of paper. He found a concert ticket stub, yellowed with age, from a show he barely remembered attending. That went into the discard pile.
Then there was a watch, one he didn’t even remember owning, a sleek, silver thing with a cracked face. He turned it over in his hands, wondering if it had ever meant something to him. He set it aside, unsure.
The last item in the box was an album of photos. James flipped through the pages, his eyes lingering on the familiar faces, his friends, his younger self, and even Lily. He smiled softly at the pictures, the memories rushing back. There were photos from their last summer before graduation, various shots of them all laughing, and one where he and Lily were caught mid-conversation, their expressions serious but you could see their connection. The photo album felt like a treasure trove of old stories, he carefully set it aside with the other items he was keeping.
James grabbed another box, this one a jumble of random odds and ends. An old tennis racket, some textbooks, an assortment of knick-knacks from his teenage years. He shuffled through it all with a kind of detached disinterest. Nothing stood out. Nothing felt worth holding onto.
But then, buried at the very bottom, something caught his eye. A mid-sized Polaroid, face down. James froze for a moment, a slight twinge of curiosity gnawing at him For a long beat, nothing happened. It was just a photo. But something in his gut twisted. Why was it hidden at the bottom of the box, tucked away like it had been forgotten, like it had been purposefully discarded?
He turned it over cautiously, the anticipation was heavy on his chest. His fingers trembled as he lifted the Polaroid to eye level, something felt very odd about it. He wasn’t sure why, but the simple act of turning it over felt like it carried some kind of weight, some kind of secret.
And then, he saw it.
His heart skipped a beat, his breath caught in his chest. The image on the photo was blurry at first, the colors and shapes not quite making sense as his eyes tried to focus. But when they did, it hit him like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t process it fast enough.
James’s fingers tightened around the edges of the Polaroid, his heart racing in his chest. The more he stared at the photo, the more his mind struggled to process what he was seeing. The image was simple enough: two men, side by side, both smiling as though caught in the middle of something joyful, something real. But those weren’t just any men. It was James, yes, but the other... the other man was Regulus. Regulus Black. Doctor Black. His Regulus Black.
But it was the ring that made James’s stomach flip. Regulus was holding up his hand, showcasing a ring that gleamed almost too brightly in the photograph, its presence impossible to ignore. James recognized it instantly, he’d seen that ring before. It was a family heirloom passed down through generations, an unmistakable engagement ring. The very kind that, in the moment captured, James had apparently given to Regulus.
James’s breath caught in his throat. His mind raced to make sense of it, but it felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath him. His hands shook as he studied the photo again. There was no mistaking it. Regulus’s hand was held up proudly, the ring was a statement in his finger. And James... his face, so close to Regulus’s, was lit up with an expression he couldn’t even begin to decipher. It was happy, yes, but something even bigger, some kind of certainty, an unspoken promise in the way he looked at the camera.
But the real kicker was the fact that James didn’t remember. Not at all. He couldn’t recall ever knowing Regulus, before let alone proposing.
Had he really done this? Had he really proposed to Regulus?
The absurdity of it all hit him hard, and for a few seconds, he just stood there, frozen in place, staring at the image as if the photo might somehow explain itself. But it didn’t. It was just there, evidence of something he couldn’t access, something he’d lost.
An engagement.
With Regulus.
How had he forgotten? How was it even possible to forget something so... important?
The world around him felt like it had tilted on its axis, everything moving faster than his mind could keep up. He felt unmoored, disconnected, as if the pieces of his life were slipping away from him, leaving him struggling to put them back together.
All he could think, as the photo weighed heavily in his hands, was: What the hell is going on?