Look down
The streets of Paris were a living contradiction.
On one side of the Seine, the grand boulevards sparkled with the opulence of the bourgeoisie—carriages with gilded wheels, women in silk dresses, and men in tailored coats who strolled along the streets as if the world belonged to them. On the other side, in the labyrinth of the slums, life was a struggle for survival. Here, children with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes begged for scraps, while mothers cradled infants they could not feed. The divide was not just physical—it was a chasm that cut through the soul of the city.
James stood on the Pont Neuf, his hands gripping the cold stone railing as he stared at the two worlds before him. The wealth of the few was built on the backs of the many. He had seen it with his own eyes. His father, a tailor, worked sixteen hours a day only to see his wages swallowed by rising bread prices. His mother, once vibrant and full of life, had become a shadow of herself, her hands raw from scrubbing the floors of a wealthy merchant’s home.
It was this injustice that had drawn him to the movement. They were nothing more than a group of students, dreamers, united by a shared vision of a world where no child went hungry, where no man was forced to toil for a pittance while others lived in luxury. They met in secret, in the back rooms of the slums and the cellars of abandoned buildings, their voices low but their hearts burning with purpose.
Tonight, they would gather again.
James turned away from the bridge and made his way towards the slums of Bagneux where the alleys twisted like veins through the heart of the city. The narrow streets were a labyrinth of shadows and secrets, where the air hung heavy with the stench of rotting garbage and unwashed humanity. The cobblestones were slick with rain and filth and the flickering light of a lone oil lamp cast jagged patterns on the crumbling walls. James pulled the collar of his threadbare coat up over his chin and wove through the alleys, head down and shoulders hunched forward. His boots splashed through puddles as he headed to the meeting place, his heart pounding not just from exertion but from the weight of what he was about to do. The revolution was no longer just an idea whispered in dark corners - it was alive, pulsing in the veins of every desperate soul in these slums. The time was nearing and Paris knew it.
The Phoenix was tucked away at the end of a long and narrow alley, its windows shuttered tight against prying eyes. As James approached, he paused, breath visible in the cold air before he reached out and pushed the door open before stepping into the dimly lit room. The air inside was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of cheap wine.
“James” a voice called from the corner of the room.
James walked towards the figure who stood next to a man hunched over a table covered in papers.
“Hey Sirius,” he answered and then he nodded towards the man sitting, “Remus”
Remus didn't even look up, he just grunted in vague acknowledgement and continued to concentrate on the papers on the table which appeared to be pamphlets telling the story of a dying official.
“Mcgonagall is getting worse,” Sirius informed James. “The doctors say she might not last the week”
At this James sighed. Mcgonagall was the last good one. The last truly uncorrupted and kind official. The only one who spoke up for the people below. They had planned for a while now that when Mcgonagall goes, that is when they will begin their revolution.
James felt a shiver run down his spine, part fear, part exhilaration. He felt very grown up all of a sudden, like he was part of something bigger in this room. To calm his nerves, he grabbed a wooden goblet filled with dark red wine that sat on the table in front of him and swigged from it, gulping down the earthy liquid and feeling the heat trickle down his throat and settle into his stomach.
Just as he began to raise the goblet to his lips for another swig, he felt a cold pair of hands wrap around his on the cup and pull the goblet away.
“Oi” He said, indignantly. “Reg you can’t just steal a bloke's drink while he’s in the middle of drinking it!”
“Says who” Regulus replied, a small grin curling the corners of his lips as he stared James down, eyes twinkling with mischief as he took a slow and deliberate sip of the wine.
“Says me” Sirius huruffed from the other side of the table where he suddenly stood and leaned across the cluttered surface, reaching out and plucking the goblet from Regulus’ hands. “You’re far too young to drink anyway”
Regulus glared at his brother. His brows furrowed, creating a deep crease above his nose, as if his entire face was recoiling from the sheer audacity of Sirius’ existence in that moment.
“I’m only three years younger Sirius”
“Yeah but those three years are when all the growing up happens petite etoile”
James chuckled as Regulus slumped back in his chair, arms crossed and lips slightly pouted, looking like a child who has been put in timeout.
James often forgot Regulus was so much younger, at only 16 Regulus often acted older than he was, his posture was unnaturally straight, shoulders pulled back as if he were constantly on display, and his chin tilted up just enough to give the impression of confidence - though it sometimes veered into arrogance. But every so often, like now, Regulus slipped, betraying his real age and his childish indignation in being chastised by his older brother and embarrassed in front of his friends.
“Oh don’t be like that Reg” James pleaded. “You know Sirius feels more grown up when he puts you down, take no notice of him”
Regulus tentatively looked up at James, searching his face for any sign of being teased.
“Fine.” he said, a grin spreading across his face before he turned his head to Sirius and poked his tongue out.
“Wow” Sirius muttered, “really mature”
“Oh shut it you lot” Remus interjected suddenly. “This isn’t the time for you two to have one of your silly little spats. We’re trying to do something important here”
Immediately Sirius sat straighter and focused so entirely on Remus that James was quite sure that he must've be giving himself a headache with the sheer intensity with which he was staring.
Remus reached into his coat and pulled out a slightly crumpled pamphlet before unfolding it and sliding it across the table towards James and Regulus. The words written on the page were bold and defiant, a call to arms for the people.
“We’ll distribute these tomorrow” he said lowly, “in the markets, the factories and the streets. Let them see that we’re not afraid”
James nodded, his throat dry.
Tomorrow the slums would buzz with their words, their ideas. And soon, perhaps, the whole of Paris would rise with us too.
“Tomorrow then” Regulus breathed.
Remus raised his goblet, a confident smirk on his face. “To the revolution”
“To the revolution” we echoed.
* * *
The sun shone through the breaks in the clouds onto the crowded streets of Paris the next morning. The streets of the Market Quarter buzzed with the usual chaos of parisian life - vendors hawking their wares, children darting between the carts and the occasional clatter of a horse-drawn carriage. But beneath the surface, there was a tension in the air, a quiet hum of unrest.
Remus adjusted the stack of pamphlets tucked under his arm, their edges frayed from being hastily printed the night before. He could feel the weight of the words he carried, the battle cry they chanted. “A BAS LA MONARCHIE! VIVE LA FRANCE! VIVE LA RÉPUBLIQUE!”. These were the words that would become their mantra as the people of France arrived to support them and their cause.
Through the crowd Remus spotted Regulus already at work, his black curls stuffed beneath a cap as he moved through the crowd with the grace of a street performer, slipping pamphlets into the hands of workers, students and even a few wary shopkeepers, his voice low but urgent, spreading the message
“The time is now” he could see Regulus murmuring, “the day is here and the people must rise”
It made Remus’ chest feel heavy seeing Regulus so excited to share the word. He was only a boy, he couldn’t fully understand what he was getting himself into. Remus knew that Regulus would follow James and Sirius anywhere and that is why he could not stop him from getting all tangled up in it. Even though Regulus was just a kid, he wasn’t easy to scare and Remus was sure that he would be a valuable asset to the revolution, despite his naivety and age.
Remus took a deep breath and stepped into the fray. He handed a pamphlet to a young factory worker whose hands were still stained with dark oils from the morning shift. The boy glanced at the title on the pamphlet, his eyes widening slightly before he nodded and tucked the paper into his coat.
“Careful” he muttered, “the aurors are watching”
Remus’ stomach tightened at this but he pressed on. He moved to a group of students gathered near a cafe, their faces alight with the fervor of youth and idealism.
“Read this” he said, passing out the pamphlets. “The future is ours to seize. Will we let them keep us in chains?”
One of the students, a boy no older than nineteen with dark blonde hair and rounded cheeks, took the pamphlet with trembling hands.
“Do you really think it's possible?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can we really change anything?”
“We have to try,” Remus replied, his voice firm. “Or nothing will ever change.”
As he turned to continue, Remus’ attention was captured by a commotion that erupted nearby. Regulus was being cornered by two tall and bulky men wearing neat navy auror uniforms and identical malicious looks on their faces. As Remus approached, one of the uniformed men snatched a pamphlet from Regulus’ hand, his lip curling in disdain.
“What's this?” he mocked in a gruff voice, “agitating for a rebellion? Like anyone would follow a scroungy little thing like you. Do you know what happens to revolutionaries here?”
Regulus, putting on a truly admirable show of courage, stood his ground and lifted his chin in defiance.
“I know what happens to those who stand by and do nothing” Regulus shot back, “and I’d rather be a troublemaker than a coward like you”
The aurors face turned a startlingly dark shade of red and he reached for Regulus’ arm and swung his other arm with a fist that landed squarely on Regulus’ jaw.
Remus’ heart raced. He glanced around, trying to find some invisible solution to this predicament. Instead, his eyes met James’ across the crowd and he recognised his own fury and fear reflected back to him in James' hazel eyes. James gave a sharp nod and he suddenly disappeared, darting into the crowd shouting “fire, fire in the square!”
Panic rippled through the marketplace. People began to scatter and the hysteria left ringing cries in their wake. The aurors hesitated, distracted by the chaos and Regulus seized the moment to slip away from their grip and take off running down a thin alley behind a cloth vendor.
Remus watched as James slipped into the alley behind Regulus and disappeared.
Figuring that James would be able to handle the situation, Remus turned back to the rapidly dispersing crowd and tried to stuff pamphlets into the pockets of those running away.
* * *
“That was too close” James chastised as he caught up to Regulus in the middle of the dark alley.
He lent against the damp stone wall and tried to catch his breath, gripping the stitch at his side and staring up at the boy in front of him.
Regulus grinned, his eyes alight with adrenaline. “Close is what we do best,” he teased. “Besides, the pamphlets are out there now. The people will read them. They’ll think. And then -” he paused, his grin impossibly widening further. “Then they’ll act”
James nodded, though his hands still trembled.
“How's the jaw?” he asked tentatively.
“Barely feel it” Regulus responded, grin unaffected.
“Are you sure?” James asked, reaching his hand out to touch the bruise blooming on the left side of Regulus’ face.
Regulus’ grin faltered. His eyes became wide and child-like as he flinched backwards from James’ hand.
“Promise” he muttered once James’ hand was safely back by his own side.
James nodded. His head felt light and the adrenaline from the events in the square finally hit him.
The message was out. The risk was immense, but so was the reward.
Somewhere in the city, a spark had been lit. and if they were careful - if they were brave - it might just catch fire.