This is James Potter Villain Origin Story
Regulus sees James standing there in the hallway, and for a moment, the rest of the world blurs.
His heart hammers against his ribs, a forceful, punishing rhythm that only James can summon. It's been a long time since they stood this close, since Regulus let himself look, truly look, at James without the safety of distance or pretense. And God, it’s unbearable. Because James is still James. Still devastating in the way he holds himself, in the way his hazel eyes pierce straight through Regulus, in the way Regulus’s entire body aches to close the space between them.
He wants to touch James.
Wants James to touch him.
Wants to sink into him, press his face into the curve of James’s neck, breathe him in, and forget everything else.
But he can't.
Regulus forces himself to take a slow, steady breath, schooling his expression into something impassive, something distant. He clenches his fists at his sides and asks, "What are you doing here?" His voice is steady, but it costs him everything.
James doesn’t answer right away. There’s a silence between them. A heavy almost suffocating silence . Then, finally, James speaks.
"We need to talk."
Regulus feels a shiver crawl down his spine, his stomach twisting painfully. Those words terrify him. They make him want to run, to disappear, to pretend this moment isn't happening.
He swallows, forcing down the panic rising in his throat. "I'm not your doctor," he says, voice tight. "I can’t help you with anything."
James lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Great. Because I’m not here to talk about being sick."
Regulus’s chest tightens. He doesn’t like where this is going, he doesn’t like the intensity in James’s gaze, the certainty in his stance. Regulus shakes his head, already turning away. "In that case, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go."
James moves.
Steps into his path, blocking the way.
Regulus stops short, his breath catching. James is closer now, too close. Close enough that Regulus can see the way his jaw is clenched, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his chest rises and falls with barely contained emotion.
Regulus forces himself to meet James’s gaze. And what he sees makes his stomach drop.
Anger. Confusion. Pain.
It’s all there, raw and unguarded, and Regulus hates it. Hates that James is hurting, hates that he's the reason for it.
"We need to talk. Right now," James says, his voice low, firm, unyielding.
"Fine," Regulus mutters. "Say whatever you need to say."
James looks around too, then shakes his head. "Not here."
Regulus exhales shakily, eyes darting around the hallway. People are passing by, hospital staff, patients, visitors. This isn’t the place for whatever is about to happen.
Regulus closes his eyes for a brief moment, dreading whatever comes next. Because deep down, he knows, he’s always known, that this conversation was inevitable.
Regulus opens his eyes, forcing himself to focus. “Where do you want to talk?” he asks, voice carefully neutral.
James doesn’t hesitate. “Follow me.”
Regulus nods, and before he can think twice about it, he’s moving, falling into step behind James like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He watches the way James moves, determined and tense, shoulders squared like he’s carrying something too heavy to bear. Regulus wants to reach out, to touch the space between his shoulder blades and press his palm there like he used to, like it might ease some of the tension. But he doesn’t. He keeps his hands to himself, silent as they make their way down the stairs and out into the parking lot.
The air is crisp outside. It's twilight hour. James walks straight to a car and pulls open the passenger door without a word. Regulus hesitates for only a moment before sliding in. The door shuts with a quiet but decisive click, and then James rounds the car to the driver’s side.
It’s muscle memory, Regulus realizes. The way James opened the door for him first, the way he made sure Regulus was inside before getting in himself. He used to do that all the time. It was something small, something Regulus had taken for granted. And now, sitting here, he feels the sharp pang of how much he’s missed it, how much he missed James.
He busies himself with his seatbelt, fingers fumbling slightly before the latch clicks into place. He watches James as he settles into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel tightly. This isn’t James’s car, that much Regulus knows. It feels too unfamiliar, too impersonal.
Regulus swallows. “Where are we going?”
James doesn’t answer.
Instead, he starts the engine, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. The low rumble of the car fills the silence between them, thick with everything left unsaid. And then James drives, his expression unreadable, his jaw set.
Regulus exhales, pressing his head back against the seat, watching the city blur past the window. He should feel nervous. He should feel angry. But all he feels is tired.
And maybe, just maybe, something dangerously close to hope.
Regulus watches as James parks in front of The Dragonfly, and his heart clenches. He knows this place well. They knew this place well. It had been their spot, a place they stumbled upon by accident a couple of years into their relationship. They had spent countless evenings here, squeezed into a booth by the window, their knees knocking together under the table as they shared bowls of pho and made fun of each other’s chopstick skills.
Regulus swallows hard. He had buried this place deep in his memory, along with everything else about their past. But now, sitting in James’s car, watching the neon glow of the sign flicker against the night sky, all of it comes rushing back.
James remembers.
That’s the only explanation for why they’re here. The realization sends a sharp pang through Regulus’s chest. He doesn’t know how to feel about it doesn’t know if he should be relieved or terrified.
He lets out a slow breath. “The Dragonfly.”
James grips the steering wheel for a second longer than necessary, then nods. “Yeah.”
That’s all he says before opening his door and stepping out. Regulus follows, every step feeling heavier than the last.
Inside, the restaurant is exactly the same. The warm, familiar scent of lemongrass and star anise fills the air. The soft hum of conversation, the clinking of dishes, it’s all unchanged, as if time hasn’t moved forward at all.
Without hesitation, James heads to their old table by the window. He slides into the same seat he always took, and for a moment, Regulus just stands there, staring at him. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, maybe more hesitation, more uncertainty. But James looks sure of himself, like he belongs here, like they belong here.
Regulus sits down across from him, hands curling into fists under the table. He has no idea what’s coming next, but he knows, he knows, that whatever it is, it’s going to change everything.
Regulus feels the air shift between them the moment James exhales. The anger is gone from his hazel eyes, replaced by something far worse, he looks lost, tired. It makes something in Regulus’s chest tighten, but he pushes the feeling down.
James watches him carefully. “Do you remember the other night?” His voice is quieter than before, like he’s not sure he wants the answer. “When I kissed you?”
A shiver runs down Regulus’s spine, and he curses his body for reacting so quickly. Of course he remembers. He’s thought about little else since it happened, since James had pushed him against the wall of that pub, his lips feverish, his hands desperate, like he needed Regulus more than air. It had been intoxicating, familiar in a way that left Regulus shaken. It had been his birthday, and for the first time in a year, Regulus had let himself indulge in the fantasy that James could still be his.
He nods, swallowing hard.
James leans forward, bracing his arms on the table. “You remember me telling you I lost my memory in a car accident?”
Regulus nods again, slower this time.
“Great,” James says, but he doesn’t sound relieved. He reaches into his pocket, pulls something out, and slides it across the table. “Then maybe you can help me figure this out.”
Regulus hesitates before looking down.
His breath catches.
It’s a Polaroid. Their Polaroid.
The edges are slightly worn, like it’s been handled too much, carried around too much. In the picture, James is smiling, beaming, really, his glasses slightly askew, his hair even messier than usual. Regulus’s holding up his left hand for the camera, showing off the silver band on his ring finger. They look happy. Radiant. The setting sun paints them in gold, the ocean stretching behind them, waves lapping at the shore.
Greece.
Regulus grips the photo so tightly his knuckles turn white. He remembers everything about that trip, how James had surprised him with tickets for their anniversary, how they’d spent an entire week in a tiny villa by the sea, how they’d gotten drunk on cheap wine and stumbled barefoot through the sand at night, absolutely butchering the Greek language trying to sing.
And then there was that moment.
James had been fidgety all day, weirdly quiet, which should have been Regulus’s first clue. They’d been sitting on the beach at sunset, passing a bottle of wine back and forth, when James had suddenly stood up and dusted off his shorts like a man about to do something profound.
“Alright,” James had said, taking a deep breath. “Don’t freak out.”
Regulus, naturally, immediately freaked out. “Why the fuck would you start with that?”
But then James had dropped to one knee, and Regulus had short-circuited.
“Reg, listen,” James had said, running a hand through his already messy hair. His other hand had been shaking as he fished something out of his pocket. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know I’m a pain in the ass, and I know I drive you insane, but I love you. I want to wake up next to you forever, I want every stupid adventure to be with you, and honestly, I don’t know how to function without you at this point. So...” he had flipped open a tiny velvet box, revealing the ring, “...wanna be stuck with me for life?”
Regulus had stared at him. Stared at the ring. Stared back at James.
Then he had shoved James onto his back in the sand, kissed him breathless, and said, “If you ever scare me like that again, I’m making you eat this ring.”
James had just grinned up at him. “So… is that a yes?”
Regulus had rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”
And now...
Regulus forces himself to look up, meeting James’s eyes. He looks confused, hopeful, desperate for answers. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember proposing, doesn’t remember how they had once planned forever together.
Regulus feels something inside him crack.
Slowly, carefully, he pushes the Polaroid back across the table. “I don’t know what this means.” His voice is steady, even as his hands shake under the table.
James’s face falls. “What?”
Regulus exhales sharply. “I don’t know what to tell you, James.” His heart is pounding, his lungs feel too tight.
James’s jaw clenches. “You’re lying.”
Regulus opens his mouth, about to say something, something final, something that will let him walk away without looking back, but before he can, the waitress approaches with a bright smile and a notepad in hand.
“Y’all ready to order?”
Regulus takes the out, turning to her, ready to refuse, ready to tell her he’s actually leaving, but James beats him to it.
“We’ll have two bowls of pho, the shaking beef, and the caramelized catfish.” James doesn’t even hesitate, his voice calm and assured, like this is just another night, like nothing between them has changed.
Regulus freezes. That’s his order. That’s exactly what they used to get every time they came here, his favorite dish, the caramelized catfish, and James’s shaking beef alongside it.
The waitress nods. “I’ll get that right in.” She walks off, leaving Regulus sitting there, gripping the edge of the table like it might be the only thing keeping him steady.
James remembers this.
He doesn’t remember them, doesn’t remember their love or their engagement, but he remembers this. The way they used to come here, the food they used to share, the little details that should’ve been lost to time but somehow aren’t.
James is watching him now, frowning slightly, his hazel eyes searching Regulus’s face for something Regulus doesn’t know how to give.
“Did we used to come here a lot?” James asks quietly.
Regulus doesn’t answer right away. He exhales slowly, steadying himself, then nods once. “Yeah,” he admits, voice barely above a murmur. “We used to.”
James studies Regulus carefully, his hazel eyes searching, as if trying to piece together a puzzle with missing edges. Finally, he asks, voice quieter than before, “Did we… date?”
Regulus exhales sharply, his grip tightening around his own wrist beneath the table. “Yeah,” he admits, barely above a whisper. The word tastes strange coming out of his mouth, too small for what they were.
James looks down at the Polaroid again, running his thumb over the worn edge. “This ring,” he says, tapping the image where the band glints on Regulus’s finger, “it was a family heirloom. Did you know that?”
Regulus swallows around the lump in his throat and nods. Of course, he knew. James had told him that night on the beach, his hands trembling just slightly as he slipped the ring onto Regulus’s finger.
"It belonged to my grandfather. My parents had it reworked when I was born. My dad wanted me to have it when I found the person I wanted to spend my life with."
Regulus had held onto those words for months, turning them over in his mind, letting them fill up the hollow spaces inside him.
James shifts in his seat, his jaw tensing, and then he looks at Regulus again, something almost hesitant in his expression. “Were we…” He exhales sharply, then just says it. “Were we engaged right?”
Regulus feels something inside him crack wide open. His throat is tight, his chest is too full, and the pressure behind his eyes is unbearable. He grips the edge of the table harder, like it might hold him together. He tries to say something, but nothing comes out. His lips part, but all he can do is nod, a quick, jerky movement as he fights to keep himself from falling apart completely.
James stares at him, his expression unreadable. Regulus wants to look away, wants to run, but he can’t move, trapped under the weight of everything unsaid.
James says his name. Just that. Regulus.
Regulus looks at him, his breath unsteady, his heart slamming against his ribs. The weight of James’s gaze settles over him, heavy and unbearable. Silence stretches between them, thick with everything neither of them knows how to say.
Then James says it again, softer this time, lower, like a plea. "Regulus."
Regulus swallows hard, something twisting violently in his chest. He can’t do this. He can’t sit here, stripped raw in front of James, feeling so exposed, so vulnerable. He thought he was prepared for this, thought he could handle seeing James again, but he was wrong. He was so wrong. He clenches his fists, forcing himself to move, to breathe.
“I have to go,” he says abruptly, pushing his chair back. His voice is tight, barely holding together.
James straightens immediately, his expression shifting into something almost panicked. “What do you mean?” he asks, stepping forward like he might stop Regulus from leaving. “Reg, wait—”
But Regulus shakes his head. “I can’t do this.” His voice cracks. He doesn’t care. “Not anymore.”
And then he turns and walks out.
He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t wait to see James’s reaction because if he does, he might break completely. He pushes through the door, into the cool night air, his vision blurring as fat, heavy tears spill over. He wipes at them furiously, but they keep coming.
By the time he reaches the main avenue, he can barely see. He throws up a hand to hail a taxi, and the moment he slides into the backseat, he gives the driver his address, voice thick with unshed sobs.
He leans his head back against the seat, pressing his trembling fingers to his eyes.
He just wants to go home.
He just wants to forget.
Forget James, the way James forgot him.