A Very Potter Christmas

After signing in and pinning their numbers to their backs, they caught up with James’s Mum, eventually finding their way over to the Fawley’s tent. Just as James predicted, they were invited to stay, and so the boys found themselves killing time, chatting and picking at the spread of food the Fawleys had at their leisure. Dad continued to occupy Lord Fawley, whilst Mum masterfully entertained Lady Fawley. James just focused on trying to make Regulus laugh. It was an incredibly difficult task — pulling smiles from the boy was tricky enough — but it was worth every second.

“Marshall! Missy! There you are! I nearly thought you two had gotten lost!” Lord Fawley suddenly called out, alerting the tent to two new arrivals.

Melissa Fawley — Missy — was a teenager with a sharp jawline and a straight nose. All harsh angles like so many Purebloods in Britain. Her chestnut hair was braided neatly, the tail flicked over her shoulder, and she wore a set of plain-looking robes — ones with trousers rather than a skirt, James noted. The girl rolled her eyes as she approached. “I was avoiding you,” she stated irately.

In an instant, the Fawley parents blanched.

“Missy!” Lady Fawley hissed. “We have guests!”

“Guests, I was avoiding my parents because they won’t let me fly,” Missy elaborated, entirely uncowed. “They say it’s not proper for a young lady.”

“I was also avoiding them,” her older brother, Marshall, declared. He had hair the same chestnut shade as Missy, though it was short and tousled, and he was clad in riding gear, not looking too pleased about it. “But for the opposite reason. They are forcing me to fly, when I’d rather do anything else. They say it’s proper for a young man.”

Lord Fawley suddenly looked very tired, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, thank you for announcing our private business to everyone.”

Missy threw herself into a seat opposite James and Regulus, turning away from her parents. “You deserve it.”

In solidarity, Marshall sat beside her, also turning away. “What she said.”

Instinctively, James opened his mouth to say that this all seemed dumb, sexist, and easily fixed, but Regulus put a hand on his knee to catch his attention. With warning in his grey eyes, he shook his head. James reluctantly shut his mouth.

“This seems like a family matter. None of our business,” Mum placated, seamlessly sipping from her teacup like nothing was amiss. “Right, honey?”

Dad looked like he was swallowing something sour. “Of course, dear.”

“Right, boys?” Mum continued, a little pointed.

“Certainly, Mrs Potter,” Regulus dutifully agreed. He kicked his foot against James’s, which felt unnecessary.

“If you say so, Mum.” James fought to bite his tongue.

She hummed. “We’ll not speak on it,” she told Lady Fawley. “No harm done.”

The Fawley parents looked inordinately grateful, quickly ignoring their children in favour of sucking up to James’s parents, trying desperately to maintain their goodwill. It made him feel a bit sick to witness. How could his parents just let this go? Casual sexism was not something to be brushed under the rug — they’re the ones who taught him that in the first place.

“Your mother needs more votes on the bill surrounding Veela liberties,” Regulus murmured in his ear. “She’s picking her battles. They’ll most definitely vote in her favour now, and even you can’t deny that the rights of an entire people in this country is more important than which Fawley child gets to race today.”

James blinked, his lips forming an ‘o’ shape. “How do you even know that?”

“Because I pay attention to politics, Potter,” Regulus sniffed haughtily, punctuating his statement by turning towards the Fawley kids and eyeing them like they were a puzzle he wasn’t sure how to solve.

Rapidly attempting to process that information and file it away, James followed suit. Missy was scowling at them, arms crossed over her chest, whilst Marshall simply seemed wary. It was obvious why Regulus wasn’t sure what to say to them after they’d just plainly ignored the two’s plight.

James just sighed and looked Missy in the eye, letting his genuine empathy show. “That sucks. You should be allowed to race.” He let his gaze stray to the boy, or man? James thought the bloke was a year or two older than him, Missy maybe a year or two younger. “And you shouldn’t be forced to.”

“Where was that sentiment a minute ago?” Missy huffed, irritated, her eyes narrowing at him with a fierce glare.

James winced, figuring he probably shouldn’t tell her what Regulus just told him. “I respect my parents enough not to go against them, but you should know that’s not how I feel about things. Whether you can partake in sports or not shouldn’t depend on your gender.”

“I know,” the girl replied, though her voice had lost its bite. She uncrossed her arms and sighed.

Beside her, Marshall softened. “We get that. It’s why we’re going along with this anyway. No-one but my parents could get me onto a broom willingly.”

“He’s afraid of heights,” Missy groused. “I love heights.”

James winced. “I’m sorry.”

She waved a grumpy hand. “Not your fault the country’s a patriarchal nightmare.”

“Thank you for saying so, though,” Marshall smiled at him. “It’s James, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, returning the smile. “James Potter. This is Regulus Black.” He jabbed a thumb towards the boy sitting next to him, who inclined his head politely.

Marshall’s eyes flickered with recognition. “Ah. Adoptive brothers, wasn’t it?”

Immediately, James jumped to correct that, his body pitching forward from where he’d been reclined comfortably in his seat. Simultaneously, Regulus did the same beside him.

“No, no, no—”

“Definitely not!”

“Not brothers at all!”

“Not even a little bit—”

“He’s a ward, you see!”

“Not adopted. There’s a difference,” Regulus told them firmly. “I’m just under legal guardianship of his parents until I’m seventeen. Only six months to go.”

James paused, frowning. “You’re counting down?”

“I’m being aware of my situation,” Regulus countered coolly.

Marshall looked between them, something in his eyes that James couldn’t decipher. “Ah. Didn’t mean to touch on a sore spot.”

“It’s not a sore spot,” Regulus told him primly. “We’re just not brothers.”

“We definitely do not see each other as brothers,” James nodded emphatically, relieved that Regulus felt the same way. It would be an actual nightmare if Regulus saw him as a sibling whilst James had a crush on him.

Missy looked amused. “Betrothed then?”

At this, James sputtered, feeling Regulus go still beside him. “What? No!”

“It’s not unheard of for families to raise their Heir’s future spouse,” the girl shrugged. “Rarer these days, but still.”

Regulus awkwardly cleared his throat. James could tell he was flustered by the tight coil of his body, even though he looked perfectly calm otherwise. “There is currently no betrothal contract between us, no.”

Currently?

Why currently?

If there was one thing James knew about this boy, it was that Regulus was extremely careful with his words. Was… Was Regulus expecting a betrothal contract in their future? Did he think that that was his repayment for the Potters taking him and his brother in? That Regulus would have to marry James, or whoever James’s parents chose, in recompense?

There was a knot in his throat, clogging his airway and making him choke around the word, “Regulu—”

“I am a ward of House Potter,” Regulus interrupted tonelessly, his face impassive, his posture perfect. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Good to know,” was all Marshall said, eyes flicking between them. Then, he smiled at James, a little shyly. “I’m technically betrothed to Lucretia Selwyn, though I keep trying to get out of it.”

James settled down, frowning. “Man, I’m sorry to hear that.” Then he caught himself. “Wait, I’m probably supposed to congratulate you, not commiserate.”

The boy laughed. “I don’t mind. I’m commiserating too, really. I don’t swing her way.”

Missy sent her brother a sharp look, evidently surprised he had revealed that, but Marshall didn’t pay her any mind.

“Ah,” James nodded. “That makes things tricky.”

For a second, Marshall paused, scrutinising him, before he spoke again. “I hear you don’t either,” he pushed on, “swing that way, I mean.”

James stiffened.

“You danced with Heir Crouch at the ball yesterday,” Marshall valiantly ventured. “I was wondering if that was a signal of… things.”

Was James going to hide this? Or go for it? He… well, he’d come out to his family already. What did it matter if anyone else knew?

James reached for a biscuit with faux nonchalance. “Yes, I danced with a man. I also danced with women. Both, you’ll notice.”

Marshall practically lit up, a smile creeping onto his face as his eyes brightened. He stood up and shuffled around the table to grab a biscuit from the same plate James had, settling into the seat next to James. “That, is fascinating. Tell me, if you’re not betrothed to Mr Black, are you betrothed to anyone at all? I find myself curious.”

James blinked. Oh. It looked like Marshall wanted to be friends, wanted to hear more about him. That was nice. James loved making new friends. He smiled warmly and settled in to talk. “No, I’m not betrothed or involved with anyone at all. My parents say I’m free to be with whoever I want.”

“That’s lovely,” Marshall’s eyes gleamed. “Would you mind describing your interests, by any chance?”

James didn’t mind at all. He relayed his love of Quidditch, and pranking, and the outdoors. Marshall didn’t seem particularly keen on the former two, though he did compliment James’s Quidditch physique. The latter sparked them to talk about a common love of nature, Marshall telling James all about a reserve his family owned in Brazil, where he loved to go hiking. James thought it sounded divine and told the other boy as much, which had Marshall beaming.

Regulus and Missy fell into a conversation at the same time, though Regulus kept glancing at James and looking like he wanted to say something. He never did interject though, so James never learned what he wanted to say.

He and Marshall talked for the next hour, getting to know each other a great deal. Marshall asked some strange questions, like what he thought about kids, and how he viewed marriage, and how many properties his family owned, but James supposed he was just curious — the boy had informed James that he was a two-years graduated Ravenclaw, after all, and Ravenclaws were notoriously curious people.

Eventually, the races began, starting with the Junior Groupings. James made sure to cheer loudly for the children competing, his heart melting a little at some of the determined little frowns on their determined little faces.

“Merlin, she’s so cute!” He gushed when a seven-year-old girl won the 5-10 age category, jumping up and down with glee on the podium while her parents cooed.

“Yes,” Regulus agreed with an uncharacteristically soft smile. “She is.”

More races went on, but it wasn’t long until it was their time to step up to bat. After some good lucks and well wishes from their parents, they retrieved their brooms and made their way over to the track.

“You’ll be fine,” Missy fussed at her brother, fastening his gloves tighter for him.  “All you have to do is complete the race. Don’t even try to win.”

Marshall, meanwhile, had gone worryingly pale, and a little tinged with green like he was about to throw up. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m going to vomit.”

James winced sympathetically. “She’s right. Just trail behind everyone. As long as you maintain some speed, it shouldn’t look too bad.”

The poor bloke shook his head, staring with haunted eyes at the track. “There’s loops. I can’t do those loops.”

The wonderful thing about broom travel was that you could go in any direction, and the Fawley’s track made good use of this fact. It was almost like a muggle rollercoaster, some parts of the track low to the ground, others stretching up high, and with bends and twists and loops to make things interesting. To win a race like this, you had to be fast and agile, adept at changing direction quickly. James couldn’t wait.

But Marshall looked like he might faint. Or keel over at any second.

“Hey, you’re good, you’re fine,” he soothed, scuttling forwards to keep the bloke upright when Marshall started to sway dangerously, like he was dizzy. He turned to the man’s sister and ducked to whisper in her ear. “I’m not sure about this.”

She pursed her lips with worry. “If only we could switch.”

And James… well, James was a troublemaker at heart.

“If you do it now, you might be able to get away with it,” he suggested quietly.

The siblings blinked up at him in tandem.

“Switch?” She clarified.

“You’re not serious,” Marshall gaped.

“I know a clothes-swapping spell,” he offered. “Master pranker, remember? I could switch you guys right now and then immediately after the race?”

“I…” Poor Marshall looked incredibly relieved by the mere thought of it. He looked over at his sister, blinking owlishly. “Do you think that could work?”

“I…” She shrugged, thinking hard. “Maybe? Your clothes will definitely be too big on me, and mine will probably be tight on you. But if you stay out of sight while I race, and I tuck my braid in my shirt — or, your shirt, I suppose — it might not be noticeable.”

Marshall thought this over. “You wouldn’t be able to fly properly, Missy. Mum and Dad will know something’s off if I win.”

She sighed but conceded that point. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll come last. Or… second to last?”

“Pushing it, but believable,” Marshall replied.

“Are we doing this then?” James caught sight of the race organisers ushering them over. “Because it’s now or never, I reckon.”

The siblings exchanged one last look.

“Do it.”

“I’m in.”

*

“Missy?” Regulus blinked in surprise as they all began to line up at the starting point.

She smirked mischievously. “No, it’s Marshall. Now shut up, and don’t let a Gryffindor win.”

“Oh, I’m gonna win,” James boasted cockily.

Regulus met his gaze, expression fierce. “You wish, Potter.”

“READY? SET! GO!”

*

The taste of adrenaline on his tongue was a familiar thrill, but no less enthralling for its familiarity. His heart pounded in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears, though he could barely hear it over the din of the wind rushing past him. It bit at his face, burning him as he zipped along the track, his body pressed flat against his broom for maximum speed.

In truth, however, he was only distantly aware of these sensations, all overtaken by the thrum of exhilaration shooting through his veins. The track started low to the ground, practically skimming over the frosted tips of the grass before sharply veering upwards, up and up into the open sky. He nearly laughed as the crisp air hit him, delirious in his jubilation. He darted along the track at top speed, pulling in tight around the corners and absolutely letting loose on the straights, straining to go faster than he’d ever gone before. The dips and the loops and the curves made his stomach spin and tighten and flutter, but he loved every second of it, a smile tucked up against his broom.

Predictably, and entirely unsurprisingly, Regulus was right at his side, the entire time. Unlike Quidditch, racing was supposed to be a fully non-contact sport, but the two of them were practically elbows out trying to force each other wide on the bends, jockeying viciously for the advantage. They’d shot ahead of the pack within the first couple of laps, and James wouldn’t have it any other way. He wasn’t looking at Regulus, too focused on every loop and curve ahead of them, but he relished in the feeling of the boy’s body alongside him, their limbs brushing with every tight turn.

He was panting, energy waning, but still keyed up, nerves absolutely alight like they’d been injected with firewhiskey. This was the final lap. The last stretch. He pressed harder, ignoring the strain of his body, and directed his broom this way and that, almost familiar with the contours of the track by now.

James was ahead of Regulus. 

But then, Regulus forced him wide on the corner.

He was ahead now.

James zoomed down the straight, more determined than ever before.

He just about edged the lead out.

It only lasted a few seconds, Regulus getting the advantageous inside line on the next corner.

But then James had the right angle for the curve into the loop-de-loop. His stomach swooped as he went around, feeling suspended in the air.

He was ahead.

Then Regulus was.

Then him.

Then Regulus.

It was neck and neck. The toss of a coin. It could be either of them, really. They could both taste the chance of victory, tantalisingly close.

They took off down the final straight, curving round the final bend, and…

James had the advantage! He’d snagged the optimal line, skimming right up against the boundary rocks, forcing Regulus wide and edging ever further ahead, millimetre by meagre millimetre.

Closer…

Closer…

Closer…

He dashed across the finish line first.

He won!

HE WON!

“WOO WOO WOO!” James instantly began whooping, yanking up his broom’s nose to slow himself to a stop as cheers filled his ears, showering him from all sides. He skidded to a halt and raised a fist in the air, shaking it victoriously.

Instinctively, his eyes found bright grey ones, pulled to a stop a few feet ahead of him. Regulus rolled said lovely grey eyes. “I’ll get you next year, Potter.”

James beamed. Positively beamed. “In your dreams, Black.” The world fell away, reduced down to one boy who easily stole up all of his focus. James didn’t even register the clamour of the crowd, his whooping parents, the sting of his wind-bitten cheeks, the way his chest heaved with exertion. All he sensed, all he noticed, was the reluctant smirk of unspoken congratulation on Regulus’s face.

“I almost had you,” he groused, though he was still smirking, like he wasn’t too upset about it.

“You almost did,” James agreed giddily. Godric, he’d never had a better challenge. “That was, without a doubt, the best experience of my life.”

The Slytherin arched a manicured brow. “Beating me?”

“Flying with you,” James corrected. A laugh bubbled up and out of him, his elation involuntarily spilling out, too much to house inside his body. “Merlin, that was incredible.”

Regulus’s lip twitched further upwards, very nearly smiling now. “It wasn’t terrible,” was all the boy deigned to concede.

“We should do it again sometime,” James suggested, the words leaving his lips before he could even think to speak them. “Flying together, I mean.”

Regulus’s head tilted adorably to the right; his eyes boring into James as he scrutinised him with a sudden intensity. Like he wanted to crack James’s skull open and sift through his brain. “Just the two of us?”

James shrugged. “I suppose we could invite Sirius if you wanted.”

Regulus abruptly turned his head, shattering their eye contact. James already missed it. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the opportunity to reel it back in as Missy practically crashed into his side, catching his arm.

“Hurry, we need to switch back!” She hissed in his ear, and so James snapped into action, the two of them slipping over to where Marshall was waiting before any race officials could tell them not to. Missy dismounted, collided with her brother in a hug, and the two siblings whirled around, giving James the perfect opening to switch their clothes back whilst they were in an indecipherable flurry.

Once they were back to normal, Missy grinned at him. “We owe you big time for this, Potter.”

“Yes,” Marshall smiled sweetly and placed a hand upon his bicep, “I can’t thank you enough.”

James just smiled back at them, happy to help. “No thanks necessary.” He glanced over to the podium, where officials were looking harried and scanning the crowds for him. “Got to go, though!”

He flitted over on his broom, landing right on the first-place step and dismounting with a smooth roll of his body before hefting his broom high in celebration. The crowd roared in response.

“Show off,” a pinched, teasing drawl jabbed James from the second-place podium step.

James looked down at gleaming grey eyes. He didn’t look away, even when a trophy was pushed into his hands.