The Winter Takes It All!
Snow was kind of awful in Britain.
It was pretty, sure; staring out the window at a crisp, untouched layer of white blanketing the grounds of Hogwarts was always a breath-taking sight.
But after that, after you actually got out there, after hundreds of kids had trudged through the snow… Well, the reality was cold, grey, wet sludge that seeped in through your boots no matter what and was honestly rather gross to look at. The actual snow tended to come in pretty thin, and ice was a far bigger feature, causing people to slip so frequently that salt was chucked about in nasty clumps — a poor attempt to make the terrain less treacherous.
But James was still a Brit. And he still loved the snow.
When the first snowflakes drifted down during Transfiguration, James’s attention was immediately lost. He spent the next few hours and classes excitedly staring out the window and exchanging giddy looks with his friends, desperate to get out there. At the earliest opportunity, they ran out into the cold with loud and gleeful laughs, diving into the soft white snow, drawing their initials into the blank canvas.
“Let’s make snowmen!” Marlene shouted, eyes shining with childlike wonder despite her being of age and technically an adult by now.
“Godric, yes!” James yelled, immediately on board. He was also an adult. Also full of childish wonderment.
Lily and Remus instantly teamed up, determined to shame the rest of them with a snowman Michelangelo would weep to see. Inevitably, that meant Mary and Sirius joined forces with the sole aim of outshining their respective significant other/crush. An awful lot of snowman-related smack talk ensued.
James was more than happy to fall in with Pete and Marls — it felt like old times, before Hogwarts, when it was just the three of them in Godric’s Hollow, running around and causing trouble. After years of building snowmen together, the trio made quick progress, James and Peter working together to make the base snowball while Marlene got started on the middle.
“What’s the vision, lads?” Marlene asked as she rolled her snowball, patting in the freshly added snow.
Peter removed a stray twig as James prepared to roll again. “I say go big or go home! Let’s make someone iconic!”
James grinned at the thought. “Merlin himself?”
“Oh! Godric Gryffindor!” Marlene lit up.
The boys gasped in unison.
“Yes!”
“You’re a genius!”
Did their snowman end up looking anything like Godric Gryffindor? Well, if you looked at it sideways, squinted, and then looked at a portrait of Godric Gryffindor… still probably not. But it was certainly fun spelling a wizard’s hat red to place atop the snowman’s head and attempting to fashion a sword from sticks.
Remus and Lily’s snowman ended up looking like a masterpiece; a picture-perfect snowman that was exactly what came to mind when one thinks about snowmen.
Meanwhile, Mary and Sirius’s looked like a deformed little swamp monster, strangely listing to one side. James gave it a day before gravity won and the thing collapsed.
James was still laughing with his friends while Sirius and Mary pouted, when he spotted a familiar set of raven-coloured curls out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Regulus out for a stroll with his friends, perhaps off to have some fun in the snow themselves.
Before James knew what he was doing, his hands had fashioned a small snowball. He lifted it, aimed, and launched the projectile through the air, hitting his mark head-on. Right on Regulus’s upper back, making the snow explode up into his hair and down his back.
“What the fuck?!” Regulus whipped around, eyes searching furiously until they landed on James. (The shit-eating grin on his face may have given him away.) “What the fuck, Potter?!”
James couldn’t help himself. He started laughing.
Regulus just looked hilarious to him — all bundled up in his expensive designer winter wear, a few clumps of snow clinging in his hair, a cute little frown on his face. James was probably supposed to be scared — most people were when Regulus Black turned his ire on them — but all he felt was amused. He couldn’t bring himself to regret throwing the snowball, as impulsive and unthinking as it had been.
“Are you an idiot?!” Regulus continued to rage, fully stopped in his tracks. “Are you mentally deficient?!”
James grinned, wide and cocky. “If I was mentally deficient, I would have missed! Check me out: bullseye!”
Regulus’s whole body seemed to alight with fury. “Oh, you little shit!”
His friends were staring at him now, a bit confused but mostly entertained. Sirius was watching the exchange carefully, not that James paid him much attention. Regulus’s friends, meanwhile, were gauging Regulus’s reaction, with the exception of the boy on the left — Crouch, James thought, the Ravenclaw with a penchant for chaos; he was cackling madly, looking like this was the best thing that had happened all day.
James simply stared at Regulus in challenge. “What you gonna do about it?”
There was a moment as the Slytherin just seemed to vibrate with rage. James braced himself to be hexed, still not regretting his actions.
Then, incredibly, Regulus did something unexpected. He stooped down, scooped up a handful of snow, swiftly formed it into a ball and launched it at James. It only hit him lightly on the arm, but it did hit him.
James grinned. “This means war, you realise?”
“Damn right it does!” Regulus was already creating new ammunition.
“Snowball fight!” Marlene declared gleefully.
They all descended into chaos.
Snowballs streaked through the air, crashing against targets intended and unintended alike. Starbursts of cold erupted at every turn. Playful shrieks and guttural war cries filled their ears, and James laughed like a madman as he ruthlessly shot at anyone within range. He had the brief thought that things would end up Gryffindors versus the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, or perhaps even Girls versus Boys, but it ended up as more of a free-for-all until clear personal vendettas began rearing up.
Sirius and Remus pelted each other mercilessly. Marlene rained snowfire down on Peter and Meadowes. Crouch and the Slytherin Rosier seemed utterly lost in battle with each other, whilst Mary, Lily and the Ravenclaw Rosier engaged in a three-way duel to the death.
James, meanwhile, had his sights set on one sour little Slytherin.
“Stay still, will you?” Regulus shrieked in frustration. He may be athletic, but he was a Seeker, not a Chaser. So, despite his vehemence, dedication, and obvious motivation, he didn’t have the best aim in the world.
James, on the other hand, was a Chaser. His aim was fantastic. “Not a chance!”
He socked Regulus right in the chest, cackling when the snow burst up in his face. (He was careful not to aim directly in anyone’s face since he didn’t want anyone getting hurt, but he figured a mouthful of ricocheted snow wouldn’t kill anyone.)
The Slytherin screamed at the assault and closed in on him, chucking handfuls of snow and not even bothering to form proper snowballs at this point. James half-heartedly ran away, cackling too much to get any real distance. Ahead of them, a bank of snow had been gathered in service of clearing a footpath, and Regulus ‘cornered him’ beside it. While he could easily dart away, where was the fun in that? He dramatically pretended to be trapped.
“Any hope of mercy?” He asked cheekily, raising his hands in surrender.
Regulus grinned, a wicked glint in his eye. “Not a chance,” he echoed.
James curled in on himself, still snickering when the snow started hitting him.
“That all you got?” He taunted.
A huge block of snow crashed down on him and James shrieked.
“Oh, sorry! Was that better?” Regulus shot back, looking pleased with himself.
James grabbed a handful of snow and started retaliating, stepping closer.
“Ah! No! Get back!” Regulus yelled, but he sounded amused… joyful even. He had a bright smile on his face, young and carefree, and he devolved into the cutest giggles James had ever heard in his life, even while being pelted with snow. It was the most incredible sound, Regulus Black laughing. James could have listened to it for the rest of time.
He was so distracted that he didn’t realise he was headed for a patch of ice until it was too late. He slipped, squawking and grasping at the nearest thing for help. Unfortunately, the nearest thing happened to be Regulus, and all James succeeded in doing was pulling the Slytherin down with him. They tumbled gracelessly to the ground, crashing down with surprised yelps.
James wheezed as he landed on his back, shuddering with the impact. He wheezed again when Regulus landed on top of him half a second later.
Regulus grunted. “Smooth, Potter.”
“Sorry.” James winced. He looked up and found captivating grey eyes already staring at him.
Suddenly, James became aware of exactly what position they were in. His possibly-maybe-new-crush-that-he-couldn’t-have-because-was-he-even-gay?-and-also-bro-code-would-not-allow-this was lying on top of him, his body covering James’s, those perfect pink lips only inches away.
“You’ve got to stop slamming into me,” Regulus drawled, but his voice sounded strained, like he’d also just realised their position.
“Technically…” James found himself saying. “I think you slammed into me both times.”
“They were both your fault.”
“Granted.”
James stared into those endless grey depths. They were ambiguous, and difficult to read, but James thought he sensed a touch of panic in them.
He had to do something. He had to get Regulus off of him before little Jimmy started rising to the occasion (if you got his meaning).
That’s when he did something stupid. Again.
He reached for a handful of snow and tossed it at Regulus, the wet splatter gently hitting the boy’s face.
Regulus spluttered. “You prick!”
James fully expected him to roll off or rear up in his surprise. He expected him to get away, put distance between them, scramble away from the assault.
Regulus did not do that.
Fire in his eyes, Regulus snatched James’s hands and pinned them firmly above his head, using his weight to keep the Gryffindor in place. “No,” he said, voice domineering and full of authority. “Stay down.”
Yep. There went little Jimmy, rising to the occasion. James hoped to all the gods above that Regulus couldn’t feel it through their layers of clothing.
“Okay,” James managed, meek like the word had been punched out of him.
“I win,” Regulus continued, oblivious to the Gryffindor’s internal struggles. “You lose.”
“Sure,” James agreed, praying that his flushed cheeks would be attributed to the cold. “You win.”
Regulus released his hands, sitting back on his haunches and looking smug. Unfortunately, this meant that Regulus sat back right around where James’s groin was.
Little Jimmy got far too excited. Curse his teenage hormones!
There was no mistaking the moment Regulus felt him. His eyes went wide, and his triumphant expression dropped. Still, he didn’t scramble away.
“Oh.” He stared at James, utterly in disbelief.
James was so mortified he couldn’t manage words. He couldn’t even bring himself to move his arms from where Regulus had put them. He stayed stock-still, hands above his head where the other boy had left them, his face flaming hotter than the sun — which was a miracle considering most of his blood had surely travelled south by now.
“I see,” Regulus said, voice sounding strangled.
James simply didn’t know what to do. “Sorry?” He let out weakly.
Regulus was still wide-eyed while his brain seemed to be moving a million miles per hour. “You—”
“Hey Reggie! Prongs! Wanna come make snow angels?” Sirius’s loud voice called out. It startled both of them out of their reverie.
Regulus smoothly rolled off James and made it to standing. “Coming!”
‘I wish,’ James thought morosely to himself.
The Slytherin held a hand out to him. “Well, stop moping at my victory,” he told James, as if nothing had happened.
James hesitated, staring at the proffered hand.
“Come on.” Regulus was back to his regular antics, his tone cutting and impatient. “Get up, Potter. I don’t have all day.”
James took the hand and let the boy haul him to his feet. Once he was up, Regulus stalked off without another word.
James resolutely did not stare at his arse as he walked away. (But he was tempted. Oh, he was tempted.)
*
“You’re going to a ball every night for two weeks?” Remus asked, fascinated and disgusted at the same time.
It was just the four of them in the train carriage, just like always. The British countryside streaked past them as the train trundled along the tracks.
James sighed. “Not every night. But almost, yes.”
Remus wrinkled his nose. “That sounds awful.”
“It is awful,” Sirius confirmed gleefully. “I’m so glad I don’t have to go this year!”
“S’not all bad.” Peter shrugged. “The food is good — small, but good — and it’s not hard to slip away for an adventure.”
James pouted dramatically. “No adventures for me this year.”
“Heir Potter!” Sirius affected a posh tone (well, somehow even posher than his normal one). “Too good for games! He is a mature member of Society now!”
“Before we know it, he’ll be married off to a posh tart and going on about smart investing.” Remus grinned teasingly.
James groaned, sinking back into his seat.
“Must be nice.” Peter stared out the window, voice a little wistful. “Being Heir to a Lordship. Having people treat you like royalty.”
The atmosphere quickly sobered up.
“It… has its perks,” James admitted carefully.
“It also has its downsides,” Sirius grumbled, gaze falling down to his lap and his arms coming to wrap around himself.
Peter didn’t seem convinced. “Like what?” He scoffed.
“Well, it can be exhausting,” James offered quietly, also staring out the window now. “I’ll never know a moment of peace once I debut.”
There was an awkward moment of silence.
Remus eventually cleared his throat. “Seems like a lot of pressure,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “There’s security in it. And perks, yeah. But… a lot of expectation, and not much room for error.”
Sirius’s brows were furrowed, a troubled, down-turned tilt to his features. He opened his mouth, but the words came slowly to him, as though he had too many thoughts and wasn’t sure where to start. When he spoke, his tone was weighted down.
“James’s got it easier than I did,” he began, “but still not easy. There’s… As the Heir, you can never put a step wrong. When everyone’s looking at you in awe, everyone’s still looking at you. If you fail, you do it publicly. Any scandal, even the whisper of one, never leaves you.” He had a haunted look in his eye. “You become this— this vessel for your family. Your personal wants and needs don’t matter anymore — there’s the family to think of. The family’s reputation. As the Heir, you have to make sacrifices; you have to twist yourself into a shape that fits Society’s mould and pray you don’t lose yourself in the process. Because all there is — all there will ever be — is the noble House that you love, but hate at the same time, and you can’t bloody escape.”
Sirius’s voice went hoarse as he got lost in his own words, the tempo of his speech picking up. “Because it’s your family, it’s everything you’ve ever known, it’s the weight of generations of Blacks on your shoulders and they’re all counting on you. There is no room for error. That can be nothing but perfection. There is only misery, and more misery, and more misery, until it all becomes too much. Until it piles on and on and you can barely function under the pressure of it all! Until you’re too terrified to even breathe in the wrong direction, because it’s life or death now!”
His voice began to rise in volume. “Because there will be no leniency! There will only be pain! And you’re trapped in it! There is no out! There is no reprieve! The only escape is to run! You have to run, and run, and never, ever look back, or they will drag you back into their clutches kicking and screaming, because they don’t care what you want! They never cared!”
Sirius was staring unseeingly at the wall, his chest heaving, his words having gotten away from him. “They never will,” he continued, quiet and broken now. “They’ll never care about you. Not really. The only thing that has ever mattered, is the Ancient and Noble House of Black.”
He scoffed. “Toujours fucking pur.”
Silence hung heavy in the small train compartment for several long minutes. Peter’s shoulders curled inwards as he attempted to make himself look smaller, a contrite expression upon his features, guilty for having triggered Sirius’s spiral. Remus was frowning in concern, always unsure when it came to comforting the object of his affections, always worried that he’d overstep if he did anything.
James just sat still and remained calm. Sirius had been having outbursts like this for years, but they’d gotten less frequent since the Black brothers left Grimmauld Place. He let Sirius wallow in his feelings for a minute or two. Then, before Sirius could burrow too far into his mind to be reachable, James knocked his foot against Sirius’s. Just a gentle tap of his trainer against Sirius’s heavy boot.
The action jolted Sirius into awareness, and he blinked as though suddenly coming back to himself. He coughed slightly, shook his head to clear it, and plastered on a half-hearted smile. “And that’s not even mentioning all the fucking paperwork!” He joked forcibly. “Godric, there was this one time I was looking at the family ledgers, and I was so tired I swear the numbers started dancing off the page! Doing the bloody cancan, I tell you! It was terrible!”
“I am definitely not looking forward to the paperwork,” James agreed, feigning a casual air.
“Sounds boring.” Remus scooted closer to Sirius, attempting to be subtle about it and landing a mile off. None of them called him out on it though, and Sirius seemed to lean into him.
“Oh yeah, if there’s taxes and legal mumbo jumbo and maths involved, then no thank you!” Peter managed to hop on the joke. His tone was awkward, but Sirius clearly appreciated the effort.
“You’re better off without the fuss, Wormtail,” Sirius told him, voice only half-joking. “Life’s less grand, but far happier.”
James certainly hoped that wasn’t the case for him.