no shade in the shadow

“So, I have some news.” Sirius says, smirking at them as he turns around in the hallway, the yellowish lights flickering on his face.

It’s on very rare occasions they manage to drag him into the library to study, though Sirius never does. Usually Remus studies, Peter panics, and Sirius and he waste their time whispering until the people around them get so annoyed they have no choice but to go back home.

“Please tell me it’s good.” James groans, the new year was supposed to be a fun one, but so far it’s only been filled with Petunia in the hospital, her and the baby fighting for their lives, Lily having a nervous breakdown and the bomb that is Lily’s father continuing to tick down until it will explode, and the family gets into even more shit, as if there’s not enough tragedy already.

“Yes, I expect you to now call me Mr. Black, bow to me, fetch me drinks and massage my feet, because I am officially an artist. Got my first exposition in a couple weeks.” He grins at them, inclining his head as he waits for them to bow.

“No way, mate! Congratulations!” James grabs the back of Sirius’ sweater, pulling him closer and kissing him on the cheek.

Sirius chuckles, pushing James away and moves over, presenting his cheek to Remus, who rolls his eyes at him and claps him on the back instead. “It’s very impressive, Sirius.”

“Where do we buy tickets!” Peter chips in, enthusiastically shaking both of Sirius’ hands.

“I’ll get those for you, don’t worry. VIP, naturally, complimentary champagne and snacks, only the best for the best.” Sirius tells them with a charming wink as they walk through the first level of the library, making their way to the staircase. They prefer to sit on the top floor, at a table hidden away behind countless rows of bookcases. James quickly scans over the heads of everyone in the library, having made a habit out of searching for Regulus. It’s not that he wants to see him, not necessarily. That’s done. He embarrassed himself, Regulus knows too much, he couldn’t bear it. But… he wouldn’t mind to happen to bump into him by chance.

“D’you reckon the girls will want to come?” Sirius asks tentatively. Lily’s stopped reaching out to them, only keeping sporadic contact with James, whenever she can gather the strength and motivation. 

James inhales sharply, giving a small shake with his head. Petunia nearly miscarried, James isn’t too interested in the gross details of the affair, but something went wrong inside, a rupture, maybe. If Lily hadn’t sped her to the hospital she would’ve bled to death, the baby wouldn’t have made it either. The shock of it, especially with all the shit with her father going on, was too much. He doesn’t think Lily will be returning to Edinburgh until after her dad passes, which won’t be long anymore. Mary went on to her own home and family the last bit of their break, stayed for a couple of days, came back to Edinburgh, and left earlier this morning because Lily called and asked her to come back.

“Marlene and Dorcas will.” He says instead.

“We should send her a card.” Remus proposes, hoisting his bag into position on his shoulder. It keeps slipping down, he refuses to invest in a backpack, instead dragging around the old-fashioned leather crossbody thing. Makes him look like a professor or something, Sirius likes to tease him about it.

Sirius scoffs, “A card? What are you, eighty?”

“It’s about the thought, Sirius. Lily will like it.” Remus returns.

“If you say so.” Sirius sighs, rolling his eyes.

James and Peter look at each other, listening as the agitation in the other boy’s voices grows, preparing themselves to listen to the two argue for however long it will last this time. It can range from days to seconds, and the cause can be something as insignificant as Sirius kicking off his dirty shoes on top of Remus’. Anything can set them off.

“I do say so, you rude little man.”

“Little man!” Sirius shrieks, pushing Remus’ shoulder.

“Don’t touch me with your filthy fingers, I don’t know where they’ve been.”

“You’re only… you’re not even taller than me at all, it’s the hair.”

“Oh, of course, it’s my hair that makes me tall. I’m sure everyone believes that.”

“I’ll touch you, I will!” Sirius threatens, pretending to plant his flattened hand in the center of Remus’ face.

James grabs the railing, his and Peter’s sides pressed together as they climb the staircase. It’s one of those really old ones, steep, the ceilings so low they have to stoop a little, and for some reason it’s always so crowded here. James can only just fit his toes on the miniature steps, clinging to the railing in hopes none of the thousands of other people will throw him down. But then again, that’s just Edinburgh, it was him who chose to go here.

Remus jabs his elbow in Sirius’ side so that he’s forced to move out of the way a little. “Maybe if you’d learn to wash your hands every once a while like every decent human being it wouldn’t be such an issue.”

“Who says I’m not decent?”

“Everyone who’s ever looked at you.”

Sirius turns around, eyes wide in that usual excitement, cheeks flushed, those two boys really love to get themselves worked up over nothing. “Didn’t I already tell you that I’m French royalty?”

“You say that every day.” Peter groans.

“Was that not a joke?” James asks.

“What? I’m the product of decades of inbreeding of course it’s not a joke I will show you my family tree the second we get home!” He rambles on.

“Inbreeding?” James mumbles in Peter’s direction.

“I believe that more than the royalty thing.”

Several people are now looking at them weird, James smiles politely and watches them rush out of the staircase, fleeing from the screaming, oh he so wishes he could.

“Sirius, being royalty, or… inbred, doesn’t make your hands less unhygienic.”

“Fuck you Remus, you’re just looking for something to bitch about.” Sirius snarls, there it is again! Every now and then Sirius will do something, say something or pull a face and James just knows he’s reminding him of someone. Months have passed and he still has no clue who. Maybe… maybe the French king? Do they have one?

Sirius lays his hand over Remus’ face, they should’ve expected he’d act out like this. If Remus was smart he wouldn’t engage in these childish discussions so, but it really seems he likes them, so who is James to judge?

An evil laugh comes from Sirius’ mouth, he refuses to remove his hand, and Remus, though he can’t see his face right now, is looking more angry with each passing second.

It sounds like Remus is trying to say something, but the sounds are muffled by Sirius’ hand, and then James hears Peter gasp loudly.

He looks, and sees Remus losing balance.

At once he stretches out his arms, seeing Peter do the same to catch him, they all know Remus’ legs don’t always function properly, and his bones are brittle as an old man’s, falling from the stairs would be pretty bad.

Sirius removes his hand now, face slowly transforming from one of entertainment to a slightly more panicked version.

Remus is seething, he can tell, losing his balance all because of Sirius, actually both of them, but he’d never admit it.

It’s all right, he and Peter will catch him and they can go on with their day.

Except he’s not falling backwards as they hoped he would, instead his knees buckle, he trips over the atom-sized steps and starts flailing his arms through the air.

James thinks he’ll start digging three graves.

In their search for something to steady on, Remus’ hands grab onto the first thing in their reach.

Which conveniently happen to be the pants of the person walking in front of him.

Oh no, James thinks. Three graves won’t do it. Remus will walk all the way to Russia and start raining on the earth with bombs until there’s nothing left of it.

Remus fully trips now, his hands already holding on to the pants of the poor soul in front of him, and there he goes.

He’s pulling them down as he falls.

In millions of years aliens will learn about the destruction of planet earth and they will know the name of Remus John Lupin, the one who did it.

Sirius’ panic is long gone, he’s laughing so hard there’s no sound coming from him.

Remus’ knees hit the steps, the pants are fully down, James rushes forward and shoves Remus out of the way, when the guy looks back it’s James laying at his feet, together with his pants, at least he’ll think it was James, Remus is sort of saved, maybe he’ll only kill all humans and spare the animals, Remus can be quite merciful if he wants to.

“What the fuck!” The guy, oh god, of course it’s a guy, this will be a fun addition to the chlamydia and bisexual rumors, though, no, yeah, definitely would’ve been worse if it was a girl, but the guy, he turns bright red, pulls up his pants, and runs up the last few steps, closing the heavy door behind him.

The rest of the staircase has cleared out too, it’s just the four of them.

“Are you okay, Remus?” Peter’s lips are shaking heavily with how hard he’s trying to hold in his laughter.

Remus gets back on his feet, face unreadable, which is much scarier than anger, and turns to Sirius. “You won’t make it through the night.” Is all he says. James believes him without a doubt. If he was Sirius he’d be in a rocket thousands of lightyears away in space already, but Sirius is careless and unafraid.

Sirius is finally able to breathe again, slapping his knees, doubled over, almost tripping down the stairs himself.

“You mooned someone!” He cries out, tears rolling down his eyes, his entire face crumpled with extreme joy.

“Oh, oh! Remus you just mooned someone!” He screams, wiping the tears from his eyes, he tips his head back, another wave of laughter erupting from him, and means to grab the railing but doesn’t quite make it since he wasn’t looking, his hands grabbing for thin air.

He falls down several steps, sliding down on his butt.

“Hmm.” A muffled chuckle comes from Remus.

“What’s that?” James asks, looking at Remus, shielding his face and hoping the earth will still be here in an hour.

“He fell on his butt.” Remus breaks, laughing. An actual, proper laugh, giddy, gasping for air. James hasn’t seen him laugh like this yet, ever.

“You mooned him!” Sirius keeps repeating, clapping his hands and scrambling to his feet, rushing up the stairs.

“You are a mooner! Moonermoonermooner! Moonermoony! Moony! You are Moony!”

“No no no, don’t do this.” Remus warns, putting a hand on Sirius’ chest so he can push him down whenever he likes.

“I already did, you are now officially Moony.”

“Moony, I like that.” Peter says boldly.

“I don’t! I don’t want to be reminded of this!”

“Why not, Moony?”

“Sirius don’t you dare ever call me that again.” Remus says, turning his back to them and walking up the stairs, he throws the heavy door in Sirius’ face and practically runs to their table, spreading his opened books all over and ignoring Sirius’ pleading and jokes.

Sirius leans back on the chair, crossing his arms over his chest, “I didn’t even call you Moony because you mooned someone I did it because… err, because of your eyes! You have such beautiful eyes they are like two little moons you know!” He tries.

Remus briefly looks up from his books. “Okay Idiotonabike. Girlyhair-“

“Girly hair?”

“Blacklungs-“

“You smoke too!”

“Oh my god can we not do this again?”

“Yeah, okay Moony let’s stop before you moon someone else.”

“Fine, Inbred. That says it all anyway.”

“I’m getting some coffee.” James gets up with a sigh, glad to get out of here before the catfight can continue.

“Oh James-“

“James can you get me-“

“Yes, I’ll get you your drinks.” He promises, going back down the stairs, more carefully this time, and he gets in line at the little café in the library.

It’s busy in the library, more so than usually. Must be all the students with their new year’s resolutions, promising themselves to do better this year. James makes no such stupid promises to himself, it only ends up in disappointment anyway. It’s bad enough that he’s a dreamer, but resolutions? That goes too far.

He used to, he’d tell himself he’d really try in therapy, work on his OCD, his anxiety, be more normal, or the total opposite, be himself. In the end he never does it anyway, he just doesn’t care enough.

His only resolution for the year is to make it through, to keep surviving. Make it from one day to the next. More than that he can’t ask of himself.

Even a simple thing like that, surviving, is getting more difficult. The obligations keep piling up, football, school, groupwork, essays, presentations, mandatory lectures, excursions, exams, competition season, parties, having no privacy, no place where he can be a bitch, even having to be normal at home, going clubbing, dating girls, maintaining his friendships, calling home, finding time to read a book, clean his room, make himself shower and get dressed daily, remember to eat, and he’s beyond overwhelmed.

Too exhausted to care, hoping he can hold off the moment he cracks until summer, when he can do it in the safety of his home. Imagine it happening here? That would be the worst thing ever. No, he can’t have that. Here he has to be sunshine boy James Potter. Just as people expect of him.

“Potter.”

His stomach squirms. No one calls him that. No one except the one person he really, really doesn’t want to see, because he’s seen James when no one was ever supposed to.

He looks to the side, and there he is. How long has it been? A little over two weeks? It feels like an eternity.

Regulus looks the same, maybe just more pale at the lack of sunlight, a little more worn down, but other than that, it’s just him. Haunted eyes, sneering mouth, cheekbones sticking out, his pale skin stretching over them.

“Are you pretending to know me so you can cut in line?” James asks, looking ahead of him again. He has no desire to pretend to be friendly with Regulus.

“I do know you. Aren’t you going to say hi? That’s rude, you said it yourself.” Regulus replies, there’s a searching look in his eyes that James doesn’t appreciate at all. Like he’s trying to read James, figure out if he’s okay, if he’s going to hurt himself or worse. It’s the empathy, the knowledge of what he’s done and who he really is. He no longer has to perform now, with Regulus, it’s all out there anyway. The best he can do is give him the same energy back, scare him away so James can continue to live in peace and surround himself with people that only know him as perfect James Potter.

“Is this a pity conversation?”

“A pity conversation?”

“Yes?”

“No this is not a pity conversation. Why would it be?” Regulus says with a frown. Where are the death treats? He hasn’t tried to make James trip. He hasn’t glared at him, pointed a knife in his direction, made a comment so rude it will haunt him for eternity.

He’s treating him like porcelain, like something fragile that needs to be handled with care.

Where is mean Regulus when he needs him?

“Because you saw… you know. And then I- you know. And you-“ James rambles, his heart has flown up into his throat, beating meanly, almost hurting. He feels sick, overwhelmed and tired and foolish and exposed and he wants to leave but he can’t, he can’t fail the expectations people have of him. He can’t return without drinks, or not return at all, he has to be a good- a perfect friend.

Regulus dismisses his incoherent attempts at a sentence, “How is your arm?” He asks.

“What?”

“How’s your arm?” His tone is normal. Not monotone, angry, cruel, sneering, pitying, like he feels bad or any of the sorts. It’s just normal. Like normal people speak when they have normal conversations.

But neither of them are like normal people, are they? James knows Regulus isn’t, and now Regulus knows James is far from it.

“Fine? Are we not addressing the elephant in the room?”

“Which is?”

James bites on his bottom lip, sucking the blood from the wound he’s made, the metallic taste helps him think. He leans closer to Regulus so that the other people in line can’t hear. “That you saw my scars and fucking held me when I panicked?”

Regulus shrugs, “So what? You’re a human with feelings instead of a creepy, a very creepy robot who can only laugh and smile and be happy. It’s no big deal.” That normal voice, it’s weird. As if nothing happened, as if he doesn’t know anything about James.

“I liked you better when you were mean.” James states, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans to hide how they’re shaking. He’s not understanding any of this. Regulus makes him feel nervous, yet, he feels no pressure. They’re just two people having an honest conversation, and it’s both strange and really nice at the same time.

“And I liked you better when you were annoyingly nice and perfect.”

“Oh, you think I’m perfect?” James shoots back, Regulus is being so normal about everything, making James feel so at ease, he can’t help but make one of his flirty jokes again.

“I take that back, I like you more when you don’t want to talk to me.”

“You’ve already said it now.”

“Is that why you quit, because you don’t want to talk to me?”

James shakes his head, “No I quit because I got set on fire. Why does everyone care so much about why I fucking quit?”

“I think you quit because you don’t like that I saw that you’re more than sunshine and rainbows.”

“And I think you’re mean because you’re afraid you’ll start to like someone and they will hurt you so it’s easier to keep a safe distance.”

Regulus clicks his tongue, a smirk appearing on his face. “Fair enough.”

“Can’t you just go. I don’t really want to talk to you.” James pleads with him, but he knows that he does. He does want to talk to Regulus. He wants to know why he’s being so normal, why James’ scars don’t seem to bother him. He wants to know if Regulus understands it somehow. If he has finally found someone who he can be the real James with, and who won’t look weird at him because they’re the same. Or, if maybe this is all a play. And maybe Regulus really does feel sorry for James and obliged to be friendly, maybe he really is faking this, pitying him, in that case he’ll listen to James, respect him, and leave.

“No I won’t go. I need you so I can cut the line.”

James feels himself smile, “At least buy me a drink. You can make up for locking me in the freezer.”

“You deserved that.”

“How in the world did I deserve that? That was a murder attempt, Reggie!”

Regulus looks to the side, narrowing his eyes, James can almost see the glare crash onto his face but then it shifts, he’s smiling back.

“Ah, there it is. Also, you did deserve it. It’s just too difficult an affair for your little brain to comprehend.”

“You like it when I call you Reggie?”

“No, Potter. It makes me want to slit my wrists but at least it gives me the idea you won’t. If you can fall back into the stupid flirty act you’re probably not so depressed you’ll do something stupid.”

So he does know. He has thought about what he saw, and come to his own conclusions. He’s realized James isn’t doing okay at all. And… and he cares about his health? Three weeks ago Regulus would’ve begged him to slit his wrists, and now he’s worried about that very same thing actually happening? James can’t tell whether that’s a good or bad thing. He no longer knows what he wants to say, how he wants to talk and react, behave around Regulus. Which version of himself will he show? He’s an actor in a play who can no longer remember the essence of his role.

“I’m not depressed.” He says in an attempt to defend his mental state, maybe make Regulus think he’s not doing that bad.

“And I didn’t lock you in the freezer. I’ll buy you that drink by the way, though I don’t feel sorry for locking you up.”

“You’re gonna have to buy four drinks.”

“I said I’d buy one drink, did you just moon someone?”

James throws his head back, cursing at himself for being so heroic and saving Remus from embarrassment as if his own reputation isn’t the most precious thing in the world to him. Well, like the chlamydia thing it might boost his reputation, he’s just the annoying empty-headed popular guy who everyone thinks is paying for his grades. Just as he likes it. “Gossip really does travel fast, doesn’t it? Apparently there’s also this rumor that I gave chlamydia to everyone on campus. Boys and girls.”

Regulus chuckles, suspiciously delighted. “Was that not true?”

“No I think my ex started that to get back at me.”

“Your ex didn’t start it.”

“Well, whatever, just know it’s not true. I don’t have any STD’s.” He feels a very strong urge to let Regulus know.

“No, I know.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, I started that rumor.” Regulus says calmly.

James feels his mouth fall open, “What… Regulus- so first you try to kill me, and then you tell everyone on campus that I spread STD’s to both boys and girls?” Shouldn’t he be feeling anger right now? Punch Regulus in the face? Get revenge somehow? He doesn’t feel it, Regulus is still the mystery of the century to James, but he knows that deep inside Regulus is nowhere near as mean as he wants people to think he is. The way he comforted James after the accident says it all. Why Regulus did it is beyond him, but no, James just can’t find any anger within him.

“Like I said before, the reasonings behind my actions are too complex for your single-cellular brain.” Regulus taps James’ forehead- did he just willingly touch James? Something he’s avoided like death so far?

“Try me.” James is burning with curiosity. A reason. There is a reason, then, for his sudden hatred. So James has done something to upset him? On the other hand, Regulus eventually warmed up to him again, until, you know, and even now he’s being okay, so it can’t really be something James has done, right? Then what the fuck is it?

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day. Potter, I have to say you’re much more fun when you’re like this.”

“Bitter and mean like you?”

“Yeah, it makes your presence more bearable. Of course I still hate you, don’t get it confused.”

“No, I know, it’s pretty obvious.”

“Good.”

They’re at the front of the line now, the girl behind the bar is someone James has spent a night with. He sees her eyes widen in surprise, then she starts to push her hair to the side, tuck it behind her ears, straighten her apron, all while smiling at James and giving him eyes. Regulus notices, James can tell from the thunder in his eyes.

“Hey, James, happy new year, bit late,” She chuckles awkwardly, “What can I get for you?” She asks, directing the question at James,

He’s about to open his mouth, but Regulus steps on his toes, with quite a lot of force, his toes might be broken, and he smiles the fakest smile James has ever seen. “For me a tea please, and…” Regulus turns to the side, waiting for James to complete the order.

“Two coffees and two hot chocolates.”

The girl, James can’t remember her name, makes the drinks, still grinning at James, he smiles back because he doesn’t want to hurt her, but he’s not interested. When she hands the drinks she purposely touches James’ hands, her face going red, and all James can do is smile a little and wonder what in the world he should say now, thankfully Regulus pulls out his card and quickly pays for all five of the drinks, giving the girl one of his rare smiles, and starts to march away.

“You do it too.” James tells him when Regulus sets the drinks down on a table a little away from the counter.

“What do I do?” Regulus asks without looking up, looking for his wallet to return his card to it.

“Pretend to be nice, and smile.”

“It’s human decency, Potter. I’m just being polite.”

“You still do it.”

He looks up now, “Don’t you want to come back to the restaurant? Frank wouldn’t mind.”

“Everyone saw me running around the kitchen while I was on fire and then I was locked in the bathroom with a guy for an hour while there’s rumors circulating that I like boys, so no, don’t have the desire to come back.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow, not impressed. “You’re not embarrassed I saw you anymore?”

“No I’m mortified. And also very angry at you for everything you did. And if you ever tell anyone about any of it-“

“I won’t.”

“I’ll start a rumor that you’re super sweet and… and that you work as a clown in children’s hospitals or something.”

“I’d have to kill myself.” Regulus replies, walking to the exit of the library. James follows him outside, the tray of drinks in his hands.

“Obviously. Hey, Regulus, do you really not mind that I’m not who you thought I was?”

Regulus turns on the top of the steps, walks back to the wall and leans against it, letting his eyes travel over James, thinking what to answer, maybe. “I thought you were shallow, a dickhead, stupid, a player, a bully and a creep. It’s very satisfying to know that even people who present themselves to be as perfect as you can struggle, so no I don’t mind.”

“I knew you’d relish in my pain.”

“I mean, I did try to kill you once.”

“Reggie?” James raises his eyebrows at Regulus in a suggestive way, flirty, cocky, like he did before the burn accident. “Do you like me?”

Regulus holds his index finger and thumb over each other, indicating just how close he was, “I was this close to tolerating you and now you’ve ruined it.” and shakes his head at James, disappointment all over his face, then pretends to walk off. But he stays, he always does, they both know he likes it when James teases him.

“I think you like me. At the very least you’re obsessed with me.”

“You are so delusional, Potter.”

He’s still standing there.

“No, no I think you might have a little crush on me.”

“I could set that other arm on fire.”

“Did you lie every time I asked if you’d written about me?”

Regulus falls silent, turns red, and then speeds away from James.

He runs after him. “Reggie, come on, wait! Regulus!”

Regulus spins on his place, as if by compulsion, and expectantly looks at James.

“I’ll stop teasing you.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“I don’t either. I probably won’t stop teasing you. I just wanted to know if… I have this big essay coming up and you can write-“

“I’ll help you.” Regulus cuts in.

“Great, how can I contact you?”

Regulus points at James’ phone, that he’s balancing on one finger while holding the tray. There’s no mask at all on his face now. Is this the real Regulus? A shy smile, kind eyes, soft voice?

“I know you have my number saved in your phone.”

“What?”

“I broke into your phone once when you left it in the locker room. I know you have it saved.”

James laughs at that, typical Regulus. He turns and opens the door with one hand, looking over his shoulder at Regulus.

“Okay, bye Reggie! It’s a date!” He tells him, unable to keep from smiling.

“It’s not!”

“Oh but it is!”

“I can still change my number and move across the world!”

“Okay, you’re right. It’s not a date. I’m taking you to a pottery workshop for our first date.” James says, letting the door fall closed behind him.

“You’re going on a fucking date with that creature?” Barty spits out. Evan is shaking his head in disapproval, rubbing his hands together to try and get some warmth back into them.

They’re sitting on a bench, their bench, by now, or at least Regulus’. He spends embarrassing amounts of time here, pondering, wallowing in self-pity, more pondering then, oh and of course more feeling sorry for who he is and what choices he’s made. At first he was terrified of going even near this neighborhood, but he’s never been able to win the war against curiosity, he just needed to know. Needed to see the house, see Sirius come and go, listen to the rock music they play, blaring through the street, see them dance and laugh behind the windows. He’s addicted to it.

“It’s not a date.” He snaps at Barty, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his feet on the ground, there’s no longer any feeling in his toes. Sirius used to tell stories of your toes going black and falling off due to the cold, now he knows it’s Sirius, and likely untrue, but he’s never been a champion at shrugging off those childish fears. They stick to him no matter how hard he tries to rid himself of it.

“It sounds like a date.” Evan agrees, full on shivering now. “Is it going to fucking snow again?” He asks, the question not necessarily directed to anyone, eyes cast up to the sky. The small crystals fall onto his white eyelashes, he blinks them out of his eyes and hides his face further in his scarf.

“It’s not a date, he said it himself.”

“He’s been begging you to go on a date with him for months and now suddenly he just wants to be friendly?” Barty gets up and starts circling the bench, Regulus curses at him and pulls him back into his seat, they can’t attract too much attention, uncle Alphard’s house is just down the street. They have a perfect view of it, which means that the people inside that house have a perfect view of them.

If only Sirius looked out the windows from time to time he might’ve seen the boy sitting on the bench, but he’s always been too caught up in his own affairs to mind whatever happens in the outside world.

“It’s different, I guess. He feels embarrassed.” Regulus mumbles, he doesn’t like discussing this. James, his feelings, his feelings towards James, any of it. He’d rather sit by and watch Evan and Barty do all the talking, commenting from time to time. Sadly, they are his friends and massively interested in James, and him, and his stupid feelings, which he doesn’t have, at all. Regulus doesn’t do feelings, those are for regular people, he’d like to think he’s above that childish bullshit, the teenager hormones, the cheesy aspect of being human. It’s just not for him.

Regulus doesn’t fall in love. Never has, never will.

Barty chuckles, this whole James thing is the perfect amusement to him, he can’t stop discussing it. Making up new lyrics about this situation to songs and singing them, doing little plays, jokes, pretending to be James, he even bought glasses to try and piss Regulus off. Picking on him for having this human weakness. “I would feel embarrassed if I was him.” He says, and Regulus can tell he’s about to do a James impression, likely of him running through the kitchen while on fire.

“Barty, don’t be mean.” Regulus says before he can get up, sighing at having to give up precious information he’d have liked to keep to himself just to get those two idiots to shut up. “He still wants to take me on a date, but he wants it to be something else, so.”

“Well, why the fuck did you agree to help him out anyway?” Evan cries out, bent forwards, elbows resting on his knees as he rolls a joint. Barty watches him from the corner of his eyes, smirking at the sight of Evan. Regulus has known the two since they were little boys, their families are strongly intertwined, they grew up together. Ever since they hit puberty something shifted in Barty and Evan’s friendship, and they’ve never outright confirmed it but all three of them know they have an official unofficial relationship.

“I don’t know!”

“First he harasses you-“

“He didn’t-“

Evan shushes him, “I don’t care whatever you want to call it. He harassed you, end of story. And then it turns out he’s not only best friends with Sirius, but Sirius sees him as a brother, so basically he took your place, while being a mean, superficial dickhead, and you still don’t hate him?”

“Oh, I hated him, Ev. But he’s not who everyone thinks he is. I’m just intrigued, that’s all. And if it turns out that he’s still an idiot obviously I won’t go on that date with him. I’d just like to find out who he truly is.” Regulus doesn’t know how to explain it. Not even to himself, truthfully. He can’t stand James, that’s for sure, and yet there is something about him, something hidden, and Regulus wants to find it. He wants to know James, because obviously, no one else does, not really. He’d like to be the first, the only, to hold all of those secrets in his hands and keep them close to his chest, where no one else can reach.

No matter how hard he tries to keep James from his thoughts, he keeps circling right back, more fiercely than ever, it almost feels like a curse, how stubbornly James takes up every last inch in his mind. Penetrating Regulus’ mind in much the same way rays of golden sunlight swirl through the ocean, tangling the waves and the tides of his thoughts. He can’t keep out the sun. There’s no possibility of building a wall over the entire surface of the water on earth. He admits even to himself James has infiltrated, he’s won.

“All because he has some scars?”

“No, all because I observed his behavior for a couple of months and I think he’s a good guy.” James has been nothing but kind, respectful, though he did tease and flirt, to him in all those hours they spent working together. He laid off when Regulus made it clear he was too tired, and never crossed his boundaries. James is just one of those guys, he has a good heart.

“And you’re sure it’s not to get back at Sirius. Get a little revenge. Steal his beloved Potter away from him?”

“Possibly a little. Can’t it be both those? I can get to know him a little while pissing off Sirius because he has less of James if he’s going to be spending time with me. Win win situation, am I right?”

“Messy situation, more like.”

“Yeah, this could go badly, Reg, consider that before you make a mistake.”

“I don’t see it going badly, neither of them will ever find out I’m me.”

“And if you do fall in love with him?”

“I don’t fall in love, we’ll have a little fun together and then I ghost him, I always do.”

Barty and Evan exchange glances, Regulus throws his head back groaning, “He is exactly Reg’s type.” Evan says, putting the joint to his lips and inhaling. He exhales through his nose, the smoke swirls through the air, and Barty holds out his hand.

“It’s almost scary how exact. As if Regulus conjured up his existence from his dreams.” He agrees.

“Do you think Reg likes the idea of fixing him? He does always make us watch those movies where men start to cry.” Oh there he goes, this is where it gets bad, the first hit and Evan turns into a true philosopher, it’s about the only times in his life he actually uses that brain for any good. Though, good, that’s rather subjective, it’s never any good to Regulus.

“There’s not a doubt in my mind, Ev. And to be fair, when we met him I kind of liked him. Such a shame he’s friends with that rat.”

Regulus decides it’s best to stop them here. Especially before they get too worked up about Sirius. Bound by blood, Sirius was Regulus’ brother, but that doesn’t mean that Barty and Evan didn’t look up to him just as much, idolize and praise him, he was like a god to them. Sirius Orion Black, the prince of the family. He behaved like the part, cocky, arrogant, spoiled, they loved him nevertheless. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here, you morons. And don’t call Sirius a rat, if he’d been able to hear you he would’ve broken both your legs.”

“Well, that’s not him anymore, is it?” Barty replies briskly. They loved him too, they loved him like a brother. Never forgave him for leaving.

Regulus never told them what actually happened that night. He only said that Sirius left on his own initiative. They have no idea that it’s because of Regulus that he went at all.

He doesn’t regret what he did, he’d do it over and over again a thousand times to save his brother. He had nothing left to lose. Sirius had everything left to lose. Neither of them hesitated even a moment to make the decisions that ended up bringing them here.

Neither does he regret ignoring Mary’s countless attempts at getting him to move in with them in the months that followed, her pleas to call Sirius and apologize, at the very least.

No one understood that Sirius was only able to get out because Regulus stayed. Mary couldn’t comprehend that both he and Sirius never reached out because it was simply easier like that, less painful.

They hadn’t been true brothers in years at that point, living past each other, ghosts wandering the house, so hopeless attempts at keeping up contact without anyone finding out… Regulus didn’t think it was worth the risk.

Maybe Sirius never came back because of how things went down that night, but at least they’re both free now, that counts more than to be prisoners. Maybe it was the years of piled up resentment, misunderstandings, cold looks, falling out of touch, revenge for all the times Regulus stood by and watched, all the times Sirius took the beatings for him and Regulus let it happen, all the years he spent raising Regulus only to get a shitty brother in return. Truthfully, Sirius has a long, long list of reasons, all justified, for never having come back. Does that mean Regulus doesn’t still hate him for abandoning him so easily and never giving it another attempt? Of course not, he despises Sirius for being a stubborn asshole, but yet giving up on Regulus with such ease.

Anyway, Sirius already resented him for having to stay for Regulus, he preferred being resented for giving Sirius his freedom.

Evan smiles coldly, “I just can’t believe he’s an art student. I thought he’d be a spy, a hitman, drugs dealer perhaps, not this.”

Regulus shrugs, Sirius held true to his reputation as the heir around them, with Regulus he would talk of paintings. For hours he could go on about them, it was rare, to see him like that. He’d invite Regulus into his room, and they’d sit on the floor, Sirius getting all fussy and giving him cushions and blankets. Mary gave him art books which he smuggled inside, and he’d allow Regulus to watch over his shoulder as he spoke about the way the light would fall, the use of colors, the significance of a flower in the background or the look in someone’s eye. He was almost human in those moments.

“Just, for once, Reggie, tell us the truth. Do you like him, James? Even if it’s just a tiny, tiny bit?”

“I don’t think I know yet. I don’t know who James actually is.”

“But you’d like to find out, that right?”

“Correct, yeah.” He says with a nod.

“Do we give him approval?” Evan turns to Barty.

“I think we need a good talk with that Potter guy before we can give our Reggie away like that.”

“Please don’t threaten him.”

“Did we say anything about threatening?”

“I don’t think I actively remember that?”

Regulus rolls his eyes at them, and notices two figures swiftly making their way towards them. “Fuck, get behind the bench.” He hisses, grabbing the back of Barty’s jacket and pulling him behind it.

His heart is beating with nerves, Sirius passes by the bench, he is only the length of an arm away, reach out and he’d touch his brother. Oblivious about Regulus being so close to him. He’ll never know. Regulus can’t think of a single reason why he should reveal himself.

“Who’s the other guy?” Barty whispers in his ear. Regulus pinches his skin, afraid Sirius will hear and see them, and he anxiously follows them with his eyes as the two boys move away, approaching the house and disappearing behind the large front door. The light inside flicker on, only seconds after music starts playing.

“His name’s Remus.” Regulus replies, a little stunned at Sirius’ sudden proximity.

“I thought James was his best friend.” Evan says as he exhales, the strong smell of the weed creeps up to him, Regulus waves a hand in front of his face to have it dissipate.

“Mmh? Oh, no, no I don’t think he and Remus are friends, exactly. I think they’re like you guys.” He mutters, gripping the bench and staring intently at the two figures behind the windows. Idiot that he is, Sirius never closes those curtains, and Regulus can follow them with precision as they get a pot of tea going.

“What’s that mean?” Barty hisses, punching his shoulder.

“Yeah, Reg, what do you mean by that?” Evan talks more kindly, slightly amused, if you’d ask Regulus.

“Nothing! I just think they… that they’re a little more than friends, maybe.”

“Are we more than friends, Ev?”

“I suppose so, Reg’s the smartest of us.” Evan raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“That’s not true, Barty is.” Regulus whispers back, though he’s not sure why he whispers. Sirius couldn’t even hear him speak if they were in the same room, all by themselves, much less now, that there’s a street separating them.

“Why thank you, Regulus. And Ev, we’re just us, aren’t we?”

“Yeah man.”

“Good.”

“You fucking idiots.” Regulus gets up from his knees, cleaning his pants and gets back on the bench. He’ll wait until James gets home from football practice, he likes to see him shuffle through the streets, the exhaustion practically dripping off him, hair all messed up and overall looking like shit. Though, nice looking shit, so nice he’d sit on this bench for another hour, in the freezing cold, just to be able to witness it. He’s not a stalker, nor a creep, just… a journalist? He gathers information and likes to watch people live, that’s not a crime.

“Don’t shit on us, you’re the one going on a date with your enemy. We thought you were fantasizing about ways in which to kill him… but now.” Barty sighs, getting on the bench and stomping his feet against the ground. They don’t have to, not at all, Regulus would never ask, but they still choose to sit with him a lot.

“I’d really rather not discuss James with you guys.”

“Whatever, princess.”

Sirius opens the door of his atelier, it’s a little attic above one of the shops in town. Naturally, he had all the space and rooms he wanted available in the house, but he always dreamt of having a separate workspace. Some place bought with his own money, no connections to his name or heritage, just his.

The slanted roof is mostly taken up by windows, the light falls in from above, as well as through the small windows on the walls. It’s a mess, but an organized one. He knows his can of purple paint is underneath some sheets next to his desk, behind the plant, and he knows his scissors are currently hidden by a pile of chocolates he bought to appease Remus.

He’s on the other side of the door, it’s raining, but it’s still cold enough to turn the rain into dirty and cold wet snow, which is much worse than regular rain. Remus’ hair sticks to his forehead, his new jacket is soaked, the wet snow glistens on his skin, his lashes are droopy with it.

Sirius has to avert his eyes, and he is only just in time before his disobedient body has the chance to turn into a blushing mess.

“Sorry, Moony, just the deadline and all…” Sirius starts his usual rambling, accompanied by that cursed stutter. All of him melts away when Remus is close. You could knock him over with a feather when it’s just the two of them.

“Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t doing anything anyway.” Remus says with that gentle voice of his. James and he, they talk loud, their voices are commanding, like rolling thunder. Remus is the opposite, his voice is low and permanently hoarse from the excessive smoking he does, and yet it sounds soft like clouds.

“I still feel bad, making you do shopping for me…” Sirius starts, stepping away from the door so Remus can walk in. “I still had some chocolates lying around, they’re all yours now.” He says, quickly crossing the room, grabbing some old, crumpled plastic bag and shoving them all inside. He’s got the deadline for his works he wants to show in the exhibition in just a few hours, and just then, perfect timing truly, he ran out of the paint he needs for the last part. Slightly panicked he called Remus, who said he’d get it for him so that Sirius could continue, not having to lose any of his precious little time.

“Here.” He presses the bag in Remus’ hands, Remus is old-fashioned, a true gentleman, he doesn’t really accept gifts unless you force him, give him no window of refusing.

“Right, sorry, I won’t keep you from your work.” Remus says, holding up the bag with a smile, his hair is starting to curl due to the rain, there’s this one strand curling upwards, like a little devil’s horn. Sirius is so mesmerized by him, he barely understands it, but he could stare at Remus forever. Trace the little droplets sliding over his skin, passing freckles, scars, and slowly, as they leave a glistening line on his face, fall onto his sweater. The neckline of his sweater is soaked all the way through, heavy with it, revealing a little more collarbone than Remus might have liked.

Sirius looks out the door, the snowy rain is still full on falling out there.

Maybe it’s the rain, the knowledge that Remus doesn’t like the cold, how it aches his bones, burns his scars. Or maybe it’s because he feels a debt has to be paid off, Remus helped him out, so he’ll return the favor. Maybe he makes the decision based on Remus’ eyes. The pale sunlight of the winter sun bouncing off them, they don’t look quite as golden in this light, even more unnatural than they are already. And maybe, it’s his heart, his soul, magnetic fields, the stars, a god, the atoms in their body or the invisible hand of something no human will ever comprehend, something that keeps on pushing them together no matter how hard they might try to fight it.

Maybe it’s just because he wants to.

“You could stay a little.” The words tumble from his mouth. What will Remus think of such an invitation? Sirius never meant to embarrass him, force him into staying.

But then he smiles and all is good, “Yeah, I think I will.” He says, shrugging off his soaked through coat.

Sirius hurriedly takes it from him and drapes it over one of the heaters, where it will dry faster.

“Tea is over there, I might have some dry clothes somewhere, but I have to continue.” He says, and gets back to his painting. The dried paint on his fingers is cracking in the places where his skin creases, the brush lies in his hand like it was only ever meant to be there, and he dips it in the paint Remus so kindly bought him, making quick strokes over the canvas, not thinking, only feeling.

When he paints his heart leads him, he’s not sure if it’s supposed to be that way. Maybe a better painter will map out his ideas, think them through until he reaches perfection, but Sirius is too impatient for any of that. As soon as he feels the weight of the brush in his hand and the chemical smell of the paint hits his nose, his mind goes dark, and he just paints.

He doesn’t want to conform himself to any one form of art. No matter what, no person will put Sirius Black in a box. He doesn’t paint realism, nor post impressionism, nor modern art, he just paints art. He creates, he mixes colors on a canvas, that’s that. In hundreds of years, he doesn’t want his paintings to hang in a museum, a plaque of ready chewed text next to it, a guide telling the tale. He wants people to go into his art blindly and give whatever meaning to it that feels right. Critical thinking, forming own thoughts, people have forgotten how to do it, Sirius will bring it back to them.

Buildings, people, trees, they bore him to death. He’d rather paint the shadows that dance across the cobble-stoned streets, the way the last of the daylight grasps onto the lowest clouds, the flocks of gold in Remus’ eyes. Feelings, rather than objects.

From the corner of his eyes he can see Remus quietly move through the room. Hands on his hips as he waits for the water to cook, flipping through the bags to find a flavor he likes. He dips the teabag in the hot water, Remus likes his tea strong, so strong it’s unappetizing to most.

A spark of nerves rush through him when he notices Remus getting dangerously close to one of his sketchbooks. One that he just so happens to know might include a drawing he did of Remus. For art purposes only, though that goes without saying. He could’ve picked James just as well.

When Remus opens the book it feels as if his brains are blown clean out of his skull. He clear his throat, awkwardly, “Um, Remus, privacy?” He says quickly, but he can tell from the page Remus is holding that he’s already seen it.

Remus’ hand moves to his neck, he itches at it, just at the base of it where it connects to his spine. Sirius likes to look at the bone peeking out right there, above his shirt, where sometimes, if he’s gone too long without a haircut, his curls will reach. Remus looks a little winded, unsteady on his feet and closes the book with the speed of light.

Avoiding all eye contact, and pretending Sirius isn’t in the room, he walks around the room a little more and looks at some of the paintings and drawings Sirius has done and eventually settles in on the chair in the corner of the attic, tea in his hand, book about the history of art in his lap, ducking because the ceilings are a little too low for him.

Sirius is gnawing on his bottom lip, grinding his teeth, heart beating like he’s on crack. Fuck, isn’t that just the most humiliating thing ever? How will he explain this? Oh, Remus, my friend, just, my casual friend, yeah, I like to make drawings of you when you’re too caught up in your books to notice, or when you’re making your morning tea or when you play chess with Peter and his witty jokes strategically take your mind off the game so he wins. No, that’s just fucking weird. No matter the explanation.

“Just… studies, you know.”

Remus hums, briefly looking up from his book and gestures at the painting. “Yeah, of course, just paint, Sirius.”

The skin around the brush goes white with how hard he’s clutching it, he takes several deep breaths. Everything about their friendship is weird already, there’s always this strange energy in the air, something almost palpable, like he could reach out and grab it, hold it in front of his face and study it so that he might finally know what it means. Anyway, there’s not much he could do to make the situation worse, or better, he should just shrug this off, the deadline is getting dangerously close.

Remus looks at him now, the light falling through the raindrop splattered windows paint crystals, little rainbows on his face, he smiles.

The words, the poetry and prose, the dialogues and descriptions and the books, Sirius never understood any of it. He could write it down on a piece of paper as of now, plainly as it is, Remus smiles. What does it mean? Sirius sees Remus smile and he feels what that calls on in him, in his body, in his brain, his soul, even. He knows the reaction and the thoughts, he knows his heart races and his hands get clammy. He can see the play of the light on Remus’ face, he can see his lopsided grin, which only Sirius recognizes as his smile of endearment. Or the pleading in his eyes, the longing they radiate, which is directed only at him. Will the reader know that? No. The reader will see just this, Remus smiles.

Paint it, however, that he can do. And he can capture the entirety of that smile without having to leave anything out. He can observe Remus and mix colors until he’s got the right one for the gold in his eyes, the hazel outer rings, his dark blonde lashes, and he could grab a brush and recreate it with patience, it could be his life’s work, his Starry Night or his waterlilies, his Remus.

Regulus was a writer, from day one. Coming up with elaborate stories, twists to fairytales, alternative endings to plays, and as he grew older it grew with him. Longer stories, more characters, more depth, more words. He never wrote about himself, though, or anything that could even remotely come close to their lives. Sirius always assumed that he was scared that writing it down, putting the pen to the paper, enclosing the truth in ink might make it real to him. Confirm that, yes, these are their lives.

Sirius doesn’t think Regulus would want to be remembered for his tragic life so he keeps it out of his art, but Sirius is the opposite of that. His tragedy is his legacy, it’s him through and through, though he wishes it wasn’t. It shaped him, and consequently it shaped his art.

When he holds a brush, it has a heart and a soul, and it comes out alive with each stroke, breathing on the canvas. When Regulus writes, the pencil is merely a pencil. But so many years have passed since Sirius has read any of his work, he’s older now, and Sirius is convinced that if Regulus still writes he has crossed that line from talented to genius.

When Sirius is finishes he sits back on his stool, back slouched the moment he realizes he’s sitting rigidly. No more of that, he can slouch as much as he likes. He stares at the painting for several minutes, making sure everything is as he likes, changing some minor things wherever necessary.

“I think I’m done.” Remus closes the book, sets his empty teacup down on the floor and walks over.

“It’s really fucking good, Sirius.”

“I hope so.” He replies, making a picture of it and submitting the picture, only just in time. Minutes before the end of the deadline.

He exhales, slouching as much as his body allows. “Oh, I’m so happy it’s done.” He takes the canvas and places it next to the other paintings he will exhibit. Looking at the finished products when they are all together, seeing how they will appear on the walls of the exhibition next week. He’s nervous about it, the knowledge that people will see his art and judge it, interpret it into their own views of existence. He will no longer be the sole owner of his creations. And what then? What if they hate it? He creates for himself, let that be clear, but doesn’t every human crave validation?

“Do you mind… talking about them.”

“No, it’s all right.” Sirius replies, looking at the dark canvases, the angry strokes of paint, they give him an eerie feeling, so he thinks he did well.

“They just represent my childhood, you know. The dark hallways, the monsters that weren’t under the bed but at the dining table, the parties, the gossip, the fear, all of it. There wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel, I didn’t think there was. I gave up a lot to find it, that light.”

“Your brother?” Remus comes to stand next to him, they both look at the paintings rather than one another, it talks easier like that. Bringing all this heavy shit out in the open while they are close, but safely so.

“Mmh.”

“What happened? Only if you’d like to tell me, of course.”

Sirius shrugs, he hates talking about it. The shame gnaws at him still, Mary never saw him as a villain, but he does see one when he looks in the mirror. He fears others might see him for the monster he is, the one he was brought up and destined, created to be. “My parents were done with my rebellion. They’d finally found a way to shackle me for once and for all, so I had to go before they could. It would’ve been a death sentence. He didn’t want to come with me, I don’t know why. I could never understand.”

Remus is the least judgmental person on the planet. He tells James bits and pieces, but he can tell James can in no possible way imagine what it’s like to have abusers for parents. James’s life is like a summer breeze, so beautiful, light, uncomplicated, absolute magic. He’s sweet and empathetic, but there’s only so much you can understand of experiences you don’t know. Sirius sometimes wonders what it must be like to be James, to be so effortlessly perfect in every way. Whenever Sirius talks he listens and comforts him, and sometimes Sirius feels like he understands more than he lets on, but it’s still James. What could the sun possibly know about the night?

“He might’ve been afraid.”

“I was afraid too, that’s why I left.”

“Were you afraid of your parents?”

“Dad, mostly. Mom wasn’t always a villain, but spend too much time in that house and it’ll turn you into one.”

Sirius’ mom was like him. She had no nice feelings about the family she was born into, and was just as, if not more rebellious than he was. She was a ballerina, and planned to run off to Paris, join the ballet there, live off her dancing, be independent and happy.

But when he knew it was time to leave she made the mistake of hanging around just a bit too long. Before she knew it she was married to his dad, the last glimpses of hope, of fleeing and freedom were extinguished.

She would’ve preferred life to be different, but the house was big and she didn’t have to see much of dad, unless at meals and such. She could still dance, and had promised herself that as soon as Sirius was no longer a newborn she would persist with her original plans still, get out of there, only now with a little friend for life. She could take money, lots of it, get a maid, a nurse. She’d make it. Those dreams kept her going.

Dreams get crushed, they always do. Regulus came too soon. Was never meant to be born at all. It kept her there longer and she grew more bitter by the day. Post partum depression got the best of her. Her body never went back into shape after him, he cried a lot, he didn’t want to eat, needed so much care. Time for dancing was no more.

Sirius remembers her as the sweetest, most loving mom. Never in his life has he felt such love as what she showed him in those early years. Reading bed time stories, kissing his forehead, brushing his hair. Sometimes when they had the house all to their own she’d put on really loud rock music, and let him dance on her feet. They went on walks through the gardens and looked for bugs, they grew vegetables, made drawings together, she’d sew back together his plushies whenever they ripped and when they baked cookies she’d let him lick the spoon, but only a little because of the raw egg.

Regulus never knew that side of her. By the time he was old enough to make lasting memories she was no longer the mom Sirius had loved.

She didn’t want anything to do with them. The two boys that made her a prisoner.

Sirius raised Regulus all on his own.

“I think they’re really good. I’d buy one, if I had any money.” Remus says softly, pulling Sirius out of his mind, the memories, both good and bad.

“You can have one after the exhibition.” Sirius replies, swiftly moving over the wooden floors and grabbing the damned sketchbook, stuffing it away in some drawer and throwing old art supplies on top.

He looks outside, the snow situation has turned into full on rain now, icy cold, likely. He sighs, “Let’s just wait it out a few more minutes.”

“Sure.” Remus gets back in the chair, and Sirius gets the other one, dragging it until it’s next to Remus’.

“So, what about you, Moony.” He changes the tone of his voice, back to clownish, unserious Sirius, who doesn’t much care about anything and might not even possess a heart.

“I told you not to call me that.” Remus grumbles at him.

“I just think it suits you.”

“It brings back a piece of very sensitive trauma, Sirius.”

“If you’d been a little more steady on your legs-“

He stops Sirius, holding up a hand, narrowing his eyes at him, “We both know it was your fault and I should’ve beheaded you as punishment.”

Sirius sighs, curling his body up in the chair, “Okay, enough with the royalty jokes. I showed you my family tree-“

“Family circle more like, you weren’t overexaggerating the inbreeding thing.” Remus chuckles, Sirius can tell it’s taking a lot of him not to burst out laughing at his own joke.

He waves it off, “Whatever, I did mean it, though. What I said about your eyes.” He says with a shrug, as if it’s not a sentence that means anything to him at all. He means the world with it, he hopes it makes Remus see just how much he likes him, but in case he doesn’t he can pretend he is casual about this, all of it, this weird thing going on with them.

“I think I was too furious to really pay attention to any of the bullshit coming from your mouth. Why don’t you repeat it for me?”

Sirius shakes his head, refusing to say that again because it’s exactly what Remus wants. Everyone always thinks that it’s Sirius who plays pranks and is mischievous, but Remus is so much worse, Remus is sneaky on a level Sirius could never even reach if he wanted to.

But, you know, Remus keeps looking at him, with those eyes, the words are spoken before he can find the self-restraint to hold them back. “It’s… I just said something about how beautiful your eyes are. Because they’re hazel, or yellow, I don’t even know what you call that color, I could paint it… but they look like moons. Anyway, I only mentioned something about really liking them and that they could be the reason I call you Moony.”

“You like my eyes?” Remus tries to say it with that sneaky confidence from earlier, but he’s already gone back to shy, awkward Moony. MoonyMoonyMoony. It’s true, Sirius had been calling him just that in his thoughts for weeks, because of his eyes, it’s a stupid coincidence really, what happened, but it’s given him the chance to call Remus that without getting looked at weird. He thought he enjoyed it more to keep that name to himself only, so that Remus would only be his Moony, but saying it out loud is magical, it solidifies everything he feels, he can speak it into the air, and he thrives on that, he really does.

“I fucking love them, Moony, a lot.” Remus’ boldness is infecting, Sirius can feel it rushing to his head and he’s afraid he will do something stupid soon. Something impulsive, as he always does. Like, kissing Remus. Or kissing him a second time. Or a third. Or pretending he doesn’t like boys. Like Remus.

“See, in this context I think I’m starting to like that name.” Remus grins, raising his cup of tea to his lips and blowing on it. The steam travels through the air, catching the light. Remus’ hair has fully dried by now, it’s a complete mess, resembling James’ hair almost, in the way it’s sticking up and curling into every and all directions. His hair is dirty blonde, or maybe light brown, or caramel or sandy, but it’s beautiful.

“That means I can call you it?” He asks, watching as Remus looks through his bag, producing a box of cigarettes and holding them up. Sirius nods, he smokes in here himself, and even if he didn’t, he’d never tell Remus no.

“Yes, Sirius. You can call me Moony all you like.” He gives Sirius a cigarette, and sticks another in between his lips, lighting it and inhaling deeply.

“It’s still hilarious, sometimes I play it in my mind and I just burst out laughing. This morning I was sitting in class and-“

“I could revoke that privilege.”

Sirius laughs, coughing from the smoke, “I was just teasing, Moony. But, what about your family? Any old money? Royalty? Castles and dirty business? Maybe some blood money?”

He shrugs, flicking the ashes into his empty tea cup, setting the art history book down on a little table, full of clutter. “Nothing as interesting as yours. I looked it up, your family, lots of history… not all of it so positive. Did you know you’re related to Anne Boleyn?” His voice shoots up, Sirius can recognize that nerdy excitement miles away and he rolls his eyes before Remus can go on a rant about the entire history of Britain’s kings and queens. Secretly he doesn’t mind to hear him talk all that nonsense, but Sirius Black does, he only talks of music, bikes and girls.

“Yeah, duh. That’s why I prefer not to hear any jokes about beheading. It’s rather insensitive on your part, Mr. Lupin. Now you go.” He smirks, Remus settles down, thinks for a moment. The silence together never bothers either of them. Besides, Remus is a horrible overthinker, even in conversation, he likes to think through every word he says.

“Well, you know my mom died in a car accident.”

“I think that’s about as much as I know about your childhood.”

“Says you.” Remus arches an eyebrow at him, the air between them is getting filled with smoke.

“Okay, I tell you something, you tell me something.” Sirius proposes.

“Like trading secrets?”

“If you like that, sure.” He holds out his hand and waits for Remus to shake it, sealing the deal. Remus chuckles, in that careless way of his, his, ‘fuck it’ way, and moves to the edge of his seat, shaking Sirius’ hand with a smile.

“You first?”

Sirius nods slowly, exhaling until his chest has deflated entirely, he doesn’t know where to start so he just does, he’s willing to give up some of his shit in order to find out more about Remus. “My parents abused us. Physical and mental. We were constantly afraid, of everything. Talking too loud, walking too fast, smiling too broad, curtseying wrong, getting a bad grade, mispronouncing a word, growing my hair too long, holding the cutlery incorrectly, the list goes on. If something had happened I made sure the punishment fell on my shoulders, to save Reggie. It wasn’t very happy.”

Remus frowns, his eyes travel to Sirius’ wrist, he broke it once and had to have this piece of metal put in to help the bone grow back correctly. He always claims it’s because he fell off his bike, or out of a tree, or got in a fight, whichever version of the story suits him best at the moment. In reality his dad punched him so hard he fell to the floor, landed wrong. Had to be taken to the hospital with an open bone fracture and a shattered cheekbone, but money buys silence and child’s services were never contacted. Nor any of the many other times.

There’s a question in Remus’ eyes and Sirius nods to confirm, holding out his arm to show the long scar on his wrist where he was cut open by the surgeon.

“Oh and I fucked up my mom’s life with being born, and then even more when I left. I followed the news and she fell ill from heartbreak, so that’s just great, right? I still feel guilty, for both hurting her and for having to abandon Reggie. There haven’t been any updates on him in the gossip magazines and such since the summer, since his graduation, so either he got out or they killed him. I always wonder what might’ve been if I forced him to come. Keeps me up at night, knowing I didn’t manage to save him. I guess mom feels the same for not having been able to save us.” The guilt he carries with him, brought on by that night, it’s like a jacket of stone. It weighs him down, makes him drag his poor body over the rough floor just to get from one place to the next, painfully, reluctantly.

Even now, all those years later, when he wishes none of it would bother him as much anymore, it does nevertheless. His mother’s voice is in her head. Her humiliating jokes, her belittling words, his dad’s cruelty, Regulus’ coward eyes, downcast as he recedes in the shadows. It never seems to leave him. Each of those thoughts are like bad paintings, ones he’d rather tear into a thousand small pieces until nothing but pathetic scraps are left, scraps on which the original image can no longer be made. Scraps he’d throw into the fire, watch it spur up, crackle, turn into ashes.

He's too weak for that. It hurts so much he finds himself worrying it might be fatal at times, but he can’t forget the past, he can’t burn his memories, or he’d no longer be himself.

Bold, rebellious Sirius, wishing for nothing more but freedom and yet he would never grant it to his own. It’s all a hoax anyway.

“Reggie is Regulus, right? I saw him on the family circle- tree.” Remus corrects himself, smiling a little apologetically.

“Yup, now you.” Sirius points his cigarette at Remus, eager to learn something new about him.

“No, wait, killed him? Would they do such a thing?”

“Without a doubt, go on, I’m curious about you, you mystery of a man.” He ignores the absolute shock on Remus’ face, watches him collect himself and have another drag. “I’ll hardly be able to match your tragedy, mine will sound lame compared to your childhood.” He says with a thoughtful frown plastered to his face. Sometimes Sirius forgets that his normal is someone else’s insanity.

“Luckily it’s not a competition and I just want to know more about you.” Sirius is slamming his foot against the floor, almost nervous with anticipation, that’s how bad he wants something, even if just a scrap, the tiniest bit of information, of Remus’ story.

“Yes, so, that accident that killed my mom? She picked me up from a classmate’s party, but I’d had too much chocolate-“

“Classic Moony.”

“Chocolate is like a medicine for the soul, Sirius don’t underestimate its power. But anyway, I’d eaten way too much and got so sick in the car and I started vomiting all over, so mom undid her seatbelt to reach for a plastic bag to hand me, she didn’t have her eyes on the road for a split-second, but she swerved and ended up on the other lane, collided with a car. I wasn’t too badly hurt, the seatbelt and airbag saved me, but she went right through the window.”

Sirius whistles, when he first heard about the car accident he’d imagined a drunk driver crashing into them. Not this. He knows a thing or two about guilt, almost feels sick when he thinks of the guilt Remus has been carrying around all this time.

“The other car was a family, three children, the car flew off the road but thank god they were able to walk away just fine. I think dad, no I’m certain, that he holds me accountable. He blames me. Wishes it’d been me. You can make another child but no one can replace your wife, right? He never really talked much to me after that, turned into a mean drunk, quit work, we lived off the money I made, got err… got involved with the wrong typa crowd, bad guys, all that. Somehow I still managed to graduate, luckily, enrolled for uni here, and I don’t even know how, it’s truly a miracle, but I got in. I’d have ended up just like him if it wasn’t for this chance.”

“Did you just say you didn’t think this is tragic?” Sirius cries out, sitting up in his chair, unsure whether he should go and give Remus a hug. He’d have hugged James, but Remus is not James. Everything would’ve been so much simpler had he been.

“Not as tragic as yours.” Remus shoots back, visibly amused with Sirius’ reaction.

“It’s tragic still!”

“Meh.” Remus looks very entertained, folding his hands together on his lip and grinning at Sirius.

“And the scars?” Sirius asks, pointing at Remus’ hands, the white lines, thickened skin.

Remus unfolds them, looks, and looks back at Sirius, “The windows shattered, and I had to have a few operations done, had internal bleedings and some other damage. Got infected, so more surgeries… not the best of luck, that’s all.”

“What about that one?” Sirius points at Remus’ face, he has some regular scars, the kind that everyone has, small, almost unnoticeable. From falling down, getting thrown a ball in your face, hitting a wall, that sort of thing. But then there’s the other one, a large scar beginning in the middle of his eyebrow, running down all the way to his nose, as if his skin completely split open. It’s a messy scar, stitched back uncarefully. Didn’t heal very nicely. Sirius thinks it’s the most attractive thing ever.

“Bar fight, like I said, got caught up with some bad guys.”

“Cool.”

Remus shakes his head at him, his fingers find their way to the scar, running over them as Sirius has seen him do many times. “Sirius, can I just ask one more question?”

“Go ahead, sure.”

“What’d your parents want to do to keep you there?”

“Force me to marry this girl, I don’t remember her name, she’s from a similar family, though.”

“But you were sixteen? Were they legally allowed-“

“Money makes you legally allowed to do everything.”

“And then you ran?”

“I knew they’d do whatever to make me marry her, drug me at the altar if they had to, so yeah, thank god it was Christmas eve and the chaos of the party gave me an opening.”

“Sirius.” He hears his dad’s voice, the underlying tones of pure fury. He falters, Andromeda does too. What will they do? Sirius cannot marry that girl. She’s perfect, sure. Long blonde hair, perfectly blue eyes, good nose, decent bone structure, his parents must’ve selected her on beauty, wealth, status and intelligence.

He can’t turn back now. If he turns back he’ll be done for. His dad will catch hold of his arm, drag him, as rough and hardhanded as needed, to the girl’s parents. They’ll settle an arrangement. Before the night is done he’s good as dead. Not actually, just in spirit.

His best option is evading his parents the rest of the night, behave, and hope by tomorrow they’ll have changed their minds. He’ll call Mary, ask if he can spend the rest of the break with her until they’ve cooled down. Surely once they think this through properly they realize how ridiculous it is to marry off their sixteen year old son. Who still does that?

Footsteps follow them. Heavy ones. Angry ones.

Sirius starts to walk faster.

The ballroom is filled to the brim with people that respect them, worship him, as long as he is in this room he is safe.

They cannot hurt him here.

He rounds a corner, leaving the door to the outside for what it is, choosing his own safety over freedom for now, and walks another circle through the room.

Panic rises in him.

Where will he go? He’s trapped.

His heart booms inside of his chest, he feels it drumming in his temples, his vision is blurry as he looks for places of safety, an elderly couple he likes, one of his mom’s old friends, Regulus.

Regulus, where is Regulus?

“What’s the plan here, Sirius?” Andromeda whispers in his ear, he can still hear his father’s footsteps. He will not have Sirius make a fool of him, parade him around the room for too long.

Time is running out.

“I don’t fucking know.” He hisses back, his heart is in his throat. He’s clutching Andromeda’s arm, he can’t think, can’t think, can’t come up with a plan, what to do?

“Sirius.” He feels his dad’s large hand in his neck, squeezing so hard Sirius finds himself gasping for air at the unexpected brutal sparks of pain it shoots through his body.

His body goes limp, he knows better than to rebel. Like a doll he will do what his father says, go wherever he is directed.

“Go.” The order is directed at Andromeda, she shoots Sirius an apologetic glance and lets go off his arm. He wants to scream out, beg on his knees for her to stay, not leave him with his beastly father and all his rage, but she’s already retreating to a corner of the room, joining Narcissa and watching nervously to see what will happen.

As far as Sirius is concerned there is no more oxygen in the room, his lungs feel deflated, his ears are ringing, he’s no longer aware of the presence of any of the hundreds of people in the ballroom.

“You will come with us now.” He can smell his mom’s perfume and knows she’s joined them. Obeying like a dog he walks when his father squeezes his neck relentlessly, seeing the door to one of the private side rooms get closer and closer.

The second they enter through that door he’s in very big trouble.

“Please.” He tries, he holds his spine straightened, shoulders up, chest puffed out, chin raised, gathering every last bit of dignity inside of him so that no one will notice what’s happening. So that when they look, all they’ll see is the heir walking through the room with his parents, having an innocent chat.

He shouldn’t have had all that champagne. He shouldn’t have walked around drunk. He shouldn’t have misbehaved. Sixteen years of rebellion, day after day, and now it seems his parents have had enough.

Next time he can be better. He will politely greet all the guests, he will kiss the hands of the ladies and talk of hunting with the gentlemen, he will dance with the pretty daughters of important men, flirt with their mothers, he will be good, he will be perfect. Give them no cause for harm.

One of the servants rushes to the door, curtseying as he opens it for them, Sirius tries to catch his eyes, someone needs to save him, but the servant keeps his eyes down.

He’s on his own.

Tears are filling up his eyes.

No matter what happens tonight, he will not abandon his morals. He can try being better, he can give them that, but he will not marry this girl. He will not become a prisoner.

“Please.” The door closes with a blast, the room is dark, lifeless, as they all are here at home. Looking more like expositions, museums, than a house generations of families have grown up and lived in.

“I cannot marry that girl.” He wasn’t expecting the first blow, falsely assuming they’d have a somewhat decent conversation at first.

His head snaps to the side, he can feel blood trickle down his cheek where his father’s ring caught on his skin. He doesn’t stumble, at least he has that.

“We are not stupid, son. Preparations started the second you turned sixteen, originally it was going to be a Christmas present, but the secret is out. You have no voice on the matter, the wedding is tomorrow.”

“You just fucking punched me!” Sirius cries out, cradling his cheek.

The second blow he expected, his hands caught the worst of it.

“Don’t use that foul language in this house!” His father booms at him.

“Make-up can cover up anything, dear.” His mom’s voice is calm, Sirius doesn’t understand. He knows she hates him, but he always assumed she would allow him to go. He never imagined she’d do this to him.

“Mom?” His voice comes out small, tears slip down his face, he’s out of options, gets down on his knees before her and looks up. Hoping she will see some of the boy she used to love in him now.

How could she do this to him?

“Mom, why?” He sobs, she doesn’t even grant him a look, sternly looking ahead. It must be costing her a lot to keep calm right now. Doesn’t she remember when she was in this same exact position?

“The wedding is tomorrow, Sirius. If you embarrass us the punishment will be extreme, remember that. Kreacher will take you to your room now, we can’t have you running off again, not now.” His father towers over him, awaiting his response with one hand raised.

“What will everyone think?” He gets back on his feet, fists clenched into balls, his father is a rich man, he has no need for intimidating looks. And Sirius is no longer a boy, he might just be able to beat the crap out of him, have the upper hand.

No blow comes this time.

“Everyone saw you drinking too much wine. Poor Sirius is throwing up in his room right now, terribly sick.” Both his parents turn their back to him, the second they open the door Kreacher enters. The head servant, old and ugly, his family has served the Black family since the beginning of time, it’s a tradition for them to be given hurtful nicknames, a power play, nothing more or less.

“You cannot do this!” He raises his voice as loud as he can, but his parents know him too well, the guests have all cleared out to the tables for dinner, on the other side of the room, close to the orchestra, they will not be able to hear him even if he screams his lungs to scraps.

“What the fuck!” He shouts as Kreacher gets a hold of him. The man has never liked Sirius, calls him a spoiled brat, he favors Regulus only.

“Let fucking go of me!” He kicks, bites, fights back, but Kreacher is big and strong, and this isn’t the first time he’s had to escort Sirius to his room against his will.

All the way through the hallway, up the stairs, down more hallways, Sirius shouts, fights, prays a young couple has gone somewhere to snog, hopes Kreacher’s old age has finally caught up to him, hopes Andromeda is waiting in the shadows somewhere. No one comes to his savior and Kreacher doesn’t budge.

He’s thrown into his room, slams his head on his bedpost, the world goes black for a moment but he fights it, these are crucial moments.

He sprints to his windows, checks them all, but they’re locked. New locks. Double, triple locks. Extra locks. More locks. Locks with keys, locks with bolts, locks outside the door. Panels over the windows from the outside.

Locked in.

He runs back to the door, grabs the edge of it just as Kreacher tries to close it, and pulls with all his might.

Kreacher is taken aback, Sirius slams the door against his head, but before he knows it several more servant rush inside and throw him back into the room.

The door closes.

The lock clicks.

“No fucking way, no fucking way.” Finally the reality of the situation catches up to him.

This is it.

He will marry the girl tomorrow. It will be the end of him. No more school, no more going outside, no more Mary, no more glimpses of freedom. His parents will have total control over him.

He’s a prisoner for life.

With an urgency he’s never felt in his life he rips through the room, shatters the windows from the inside with an ornament, bangs at the panels, but they don’t budge. Metal panels, they are. Attached with bolts, he guesses.

The door it is.

It’s old, made of wood. Splinter it and he’s free.

He finds some scissors, the sharpest thing in his room sadly, and starts to hackle away at the door, but it’s no good.

Days will have to pass before he can manage to make a hole big enough to fit through.

It’s the kind of time he doesn’t have.

Suddenly the lock clicks, Sirius grips the scissors, making up his mind.

Something switches inside of him, and he realizes that if he has to, he’s willing to stab Kreacher in return for his freedom.

Has he turned into a cold blooded murderer?

His mind clears, his chest heaves, he’s never felt this alive before.

Regulus appears, eyes wide in shock when he sees the scissors. He steps back, looking frightened.

Sirius lowers them, drops them, and stares back.

“How did you get in?” Sirius demands.

“I told Kreacher I’d clean up your cheek.” Regulus replies, voice sober and steady as always. Not a hint of humanity to be found.

Sirius loved him more than anything in the world, and yet Regulus morphed into someone he doesn’t recognize at all.

How could he not act out?

He never stands by Sirius’ side.

He never supports him.

They’re on opposite teams of this war they’re fighting.

“I’m not marrying that girl.” Sirius tells him, they haven’t been the best of buddies for a while now, but from time to time they still have fun together, Sirius still loves him and he knows Regulus still loves him. They are brothers, after all. Nothing, no one, can take that away from them.

“I know you’re not.” Regulus opens the door a crack, staring at Sirius with his empty eyes.

“What are you doing?” Sirius chokes out, realizing why Regulus has truly come up here. Is this finally it? Has he changed his mind? Come to his senses?

“Mary is on her way.”

 “Will you come with me?”

“No.” Sirius steps back, heart dropping.

He can’t leave without Regulus, can he?

“They’ll kill you.” He huffs out, Regulus has to come with him, Sirius has been putting funds into his own bank account for years now, they will have enough money to never have to work, they can buy some place in London, keep going to school, live together without the pressures of home, family, they could reconnect. They could be happy together.

Why won’t he come with?

Why doesn’t he realize that they’ll only do the same to him once Sirius is gone? That he will be the center of their aggression. That he will be married off. Controlled like a pawn in the game, played to the pleasing of their family.

“If you’re not outside within a minute you lose your chance. I’m staying.” Regulus opens the door a little further, glances down the hall to ensure it’s still clear, and gestures with his head.

“I’m not leaving without you.” Sirius tells him, if he’d been able to leave without Regulus he would’ve a long time ago. Regulus is the only thing keeping him here, no matter what, he will not abandon him. Sure, at times Sirius despises him, he doesn’t know who Regulus is anymore, they barely talk, and if they do it’s not nice, he can’t understand him, he’s afraid Regulus will turn into them- sometimes, sometimes he’s even afraid of Regulus himself. His cold expressionless face, made of stone, not moving an inch as he stands by watching Sirius’ punishments.

If he leaves now, loses contact with Regulus, the small grasps of control over him he tells himself he still has, he thinks he won’t come back for home.

He thinks that his resentment will break lose, as it’s been wanting to for years.

That can’t happen.

“Don’t be a fucking hero, Sirius. I, unlike you, enjoy my life. I like being rich, I like the parties, the power, I like it all. I’m not trading it away for poverty and normalcy.” Regulus sneers at him. He has the typical Black sneer, the frown, the toxic way of throwing around words.

Sirius swallows with difficulty, has he been too blind to see that Regulus really doesn’t mind all these years? Is that why he lets it all happen? Has he been feeding himself lies all this time?

“I know you’re lying.” He chokes out, his world is falling apart around him. Regulus was always different, but Sirius never thought he liked being a Black.

This changes everything.

Regulus, in a motion so swift Sirius barely has time to register it, bends down and grabs the scissors, holding them against his own throat. “I can call Kreacher right now and tell him you attempted to murder me in order to escape.”

Everything already has changed.

It’s gone so slowly they never noticed it, but it has.

Nothing is even remotely as it used to be, and neither are they.

“What the fuck-“

“Kreacher!” He calls out, Sirius sees his shaking hand holding the scissors.

He stumbles, not understanding anything anymore.

He doesn’t even have his things? No bag packed, no preparations.

He cannot leave now, like this.

Not like this.

“What the fuck are you doing.” Sirius steps forward, attempting to take the scissors away, but Regulus steps back, momentarily pointing them at Sirius.

Sirius is afraid he’ll use them on him.

Does Regulus not see what he’s become?

Sirius gives him space again, he needs time to think things through. He needs to pack clothes. Pictures. Memories. His favorite records and his paintings. His art supplies! Regulus? Can he leave Regulus, now that he sees him for what he truly is?

Regulus moves the scissors back to his own throat, he looks more calm now. “Giving you your freedom while keeping my own life as I like it. Kreacher!” Regulus drags the scissors across his throat, it’s a shallow cut, bleeding very little, they’re used to much worse.

“Go.” He says.

Sirius listens.

Sirius shudders at the memory of that night. He had no choice but to leave, they’d have killed him, but he did have a choice to go back. Never did, however. He could’ve gotten Regulus out. He always believed that maybe, maybe Regulus did actually like that life. That Sirius coming back to disrupt it would only cause more shit, so he never looked back. Should he have gone back? Was it his fear of what they’d do if they returned, or his shame of leaving Regulus that held him back?

Regulus paved the way for his escape with each time he sided with their parents.

Sirius tries not to feel too bad.

His coat smells of smoke, they’ve left behind his atelier, the clouds had a little break in them so they decided it was best to make a run for it and get home before the rain could get any worse than it had been all day.

“You should go out more, Moony, the partying helps push away the bad things.” Sirius tells him, struggling with the umbrella and the wind, it’s already only just hanging on by a thread, but these bursts of strong winds aren’t doing much good. He curses as he tries to reattach some things in the right places, holds it up again, but only seconds after the thing collapses in on itself.

“I’d just rather sit at home.” Remus has been chain smoking since he arrived at the atelier earlier, a tell he’s stressed. Is it Sirius. This sudden honesty? Giving up secrets is hard, he knows that. He throws the umbrella in a trash can.

The streets are slippery, filled with small pools of water and melting snow. The sun has gone as suddenly as it came, everything’s gone back to a depressing gray.

“Next time we go out you join us, yeah? Pinky promise?” Sirius attempts, wanting to bring a little more joy to Remus’ life. What Remus told him, the crash thing, the bad crowd he met, not finishing school, it’s unsettled him. Never before in his life had he realized that he wasn’t the only person dealing with issues.

Is everyone struggling on the inside?

Is it not just him?

“I’m not promising you a single thing.” Remus flicks at Sirius’ pinky with a laugh.

“But you might consider it?”

“I might.”

“Maybe snog a pretty girl?” As soon as he says it he knows he shouldn’t have. Can he not make things weird and awkward for just one time?

“Sirius.” Remus breathes out, and Sirius knows he’s fucked up.

“What? You’re allowed to have a little fun from time to time. You’re young and handsome, it’s no crime.” His best chance is to be super, absolutely completely normal about this, he squints his eyes and imagines he’s talking to James instead of Remus, will it help?

“I’m not like you.” Remus says mockingly, likely hinting at the girls Sirius sometimes takes home over the weekend.

“C’mon don’t get mean about this, I’m just saying, it’s good to have some distraction sometimes.”

“And does kissing every girl in the bar heal you from your past?”

Sirius looks to the side, wondering why Remus sounds so accusatory. Is he not allowed to be young and fun? Enjoy his good looks, his flirting abilities, the way he attracts the prettiest of girls like a magnet? “Okay, first of all, that was a bet with James, and I did win, before you ask, no matter what he tells you,” Sirius says, holding up his finger, James still claims he won, did he not realize Sirius Black never loses? “second, no it doesn’t heal, nothing’s gonna heal it, Moony, but that doesn’t mean you always have to be sad about what happened. Besides, it’s just a kiss.” He pulls up his shoulders, a little indifferently. Kissing girls is so insignificant. It’s fun, but not revolutionary. He kisses them because that’s just what he does, who he is, not because he just loves it so much, he doesn’t. In fact, he finds it rather uninteresting.

“Just a kiss?”

“Yeah, doesn’t mean a single thing.”

“Kissing doesn’t have meaning to you?” Sirius tries to think but his brain feels scrambled. He’s saying the wrong things again isn’t he?

“Nah, not really.”

“It never does?” Remus looks to the side, Sirius finds it too difficult to meet his eyes.

Yes it does, with you it does. When he kisses Remus it’s different. That is revolutionary. That first kiss at Dorcas’ party… he still thinks about it. If he could he’d never stop kissing Remus, but he doesn’t know if Remus wants to kiss him. They were just drunk, tired, stressed, and with New Years, that was different, it’s just a tradition. It’s not like he can force Remus to kiss him. And Remus has never shown any interest like that. It’s probably for the best if he pretends even that was nothing. Not make things any weirder. What if Remus thinks he’s in love with him? He’s not. He just… he was just drunk that night when he thought so!

“It’s just a kiss, Moony, it never means anything.”

“Right.” Remus says briskly, sounding angry with him.

Sirius groans, throwing his hands up in frustration, “What did I do wrong this time?”

“Nothing, nothing. You’re just you. Come on, it looks like it’s gonna snow again soon.” Remus says with a very unconvincing smile, tugging at one of Sirius’ curls.

“Just you doesn’t sound very nice.” Sirius shoots back.

“Let it go, Sirius.”

The horrible wet snows returns, they share a look and start running through the street until they make it home.

James walks through the snow, head down, heavy bag hanging off his shoulder. It’s banging against his hip, there’s something hard poking through the fabric, making the banging even more painful. Maybe his water bottle, or his shoes. Football practice was brutal in the snow, the field was entirely made of mud, slipping and sliding every few steps. Already he can feel the bruises and the scrapes on his skin.

He’s cold, freezing, shaking uncontrollably and his teeth won’t stop clattering, but he doesn’t shower with the rest of the guys, scars and all that, so he always has to go home dirty, wet and cold.

Practice doesn’t fulfill him like it used to. Even in times of absolute desperation, rock bottom, when his depression sucked the pleasure and happiness out of every aspect of his life, there were still things to provide small moments of relief. A good song, a nice book, football. Running over the field, knowing he’s the best on the team, that the fate of the game depends on him. The brotherhood, the depending on one another in the midst of the game, needing each other. United by the goal to win.

He doesn’t feel it anymore.

Marcus and the other boys are still nice to him, and James to them, pretending he likes them as much as he did on day one, but on the inside he’s feeling such a large distance between him and the other boys, an immense gap he will never be able to bridge, it’s hopeless. It feels hopeless, maybe it is not, maybe it only presents as hopeless or it’s just James being dramatic because the depressing gray months after Christmas are always bad and it’s getting harder to bounce back after each exhausting day, or social interaction, or lecture, or literally anything that a normal person wouldn’t think twice about but to him feels like the end of the universe.

Practice sucked, he’s feeling scattered in the head, suffering from brain fog and confusion due to his extreme fatigue. The more tired his brain gets, the easier the body follows. Add to that the cold, and James was falling over constantly, kicking the ball too soft, not running fast, pressing down the urge to vomit as he zigzagged a parkour while holding up a ball. The ball kept falling.

He'd considered calling in sick, but university level football competition isn’t like what he’s used to from back home. The joy of the game is gone, it’s all about winning and being the best. It feels toxic, and no longer like a hobby, more like another chore, obligation. If he calls in sick he’s benched, and if he’s benched he’s just sitting there wasting time. And next time he’ll be even less motivated to pick up himself and go to practice. It’s a vicious cycle, he’s stuck in the performance of it, of being him.

He can no longer recover from things, because life moves at a speed too fast for him to grapple onto, it goes from one moment to the next and there’s never time to stop and take a deep breath.

Masking takes more of him than normally, put on a smile, look in people’s eyes, behave as expected, joke, say the right things, facial expressions, body language, be decent, be nice, be happy, be someone everyone will like.

He wears the mask around him like a suit of armor, the strong material protects him, shielding him from the horrid outside and keeping him safely inside, cocooned, but it’s a heavy burden to carry on your shoulders and drag along each day.

The more he tires, the more the weight increases.

How long until he collapses?

Listless, as if none of this will ever end. Will it ever end?

He can’t get stuck in a mood like this. His friends need him. They need optimistic James Potter who’s not so easily taken down. He needs to congratulate Sirius on finishing his paintings, ask Peter if he wants to play a game, tell off Remus for smoking, check on Marlene, she’s not taking the girl’s absence so well. There’s no time for his own misery.

So he reaches into his bag, takes out the water bottle that was bruising his hip, and walks on steadily, ignoring his thoughts and feelings.

Focus on nice things, he can do that. Compile a list in his head, repeat it endlessly and momentarily forget there’s even anything else going on. Let’s see, Regulus agreed to help him out. James doesn’t really need help with his course work, he’s smart enough, both of them know that, which makes his saying yes even more exciting. Strangely, James sort of likes the idea that Regulus knows he’s not so perfect and happy. It’s one less person to pretend for. A nice break from all the rest. He thinks they recognize a lot more in each other than they could have guessed initially.

Then there’s Sirius’ exhibition, which James is immensely proud of, and he’s still going to practice, getting good grades and keeping up appearances even though it’s getting exhausted, is that a positive or negative? He’s not so sure. A little bit of both, possibly.

At home he throws his dirty and soaked clothes in front of the laundry, he’ll figure that out later, the prospects of having to stuff it inside the washer, fill it up with detergent, click the right program, make sure the temperature and time are all correct- it’s dreadful. A shower first, before he loses his mind.

He walks by the kitchen, says hi to Sirius and Remus, and quickly goes up the stairs before they can manage to persuade him to stay downstairs a little, when he passes Peter’s room he waves to him, and he knocks on Marlene’s door, who tells him to fuck off at first, but then to please come back because she’s working on a difficult exercise. He promises to find her once he’s clean, digs through the piles of clothes on his floor, of which some are clean, some just okay, and some definitely need washing, and finds some that at the very least don’t smell.

Pounding headaches start to form by his temples, kneading their way all to the back of his head again and again and again. Finally when the door of the bathroom is locked he allows his face to go sour, and kicks at some of the mess the others have left with anger rising to his throat. His mood gets worse by the second and when the shower turns on and he can’t find the right temperature to fight his cold without cooking his skin he thinks he’s reached the breaking point.

Not yet not yet not yet.

Tonight when everyone is asleep he can be a baby about the state of his mind.

In his room, hair still dripping, he races to the heater, turning it up all the way, and plops down on his bed, shoving aside the empty candy wrappers, cans of soda and half-eaten dishes. It’s funny, he walks downstairs several times a day, and yet can’t manage to bring any of it down.

Just as he was about to decide he has tinnitus and cut off his ear and paint some stars over a town he realizes it’s actually his phone that’s buzzing somewhere, and looks through the bedsheets, the books, the mail he should respond to but doesn’t want to, and the heaps of other mess until he finds it.

Several missed calls from Lily.

His heart drops.

The headaches increase in severity, no longer moving in intervals but at a continuous brutal speed.

He’s too afraid to pick up.

The edges of his vision get black, bursts of glistening light shoot through the room, has he remembered to eat and drink today? Or will he get hit with the parched tongue, itchy throat, horrible stomach cramps and nausea any moment now? He sits down on his bed and tries to remember when his last meal was, or the last time he slept through the night. With Lily not walking through the house and keeping an eye on him it’s harder to remember to do things. Clean his room brush his teeth, daily tasks.

Still in his hand the phone continuous to vibrate, James doesn’t want to pick up.

Can he just not pick up?

“Hello?” He says when he picks up, because Lily hasn’t called once, only sending short messages once a day to let him know things are still relatively okay. This can only really mean one thing.

He can hear her sob quietly as she, likely, gathers herself to bring the news.

No word yet and he’s already biting on his lip so hard he’s sure he’s gone through it.

“When can you be here?” She asks in a broken voice, quavering, so unlike the Lily he’s only ever known so far. Of course he’s seen her cry, they dated nearly three years, three years in which she was tormented by Petunia, had bad days, bad grades, stress, she fell off her bike once, scraped her knees pretty bad, so there’s been multiple occasions where he’s had to comfort her. But that was different, easier. They were temporary problems, small, fixed in a minute. This is forever.

Lily is his favorite person on the entire planet, well, it’s a shared spot with Sirius, he guesses, but he loves each in their own way. Lily is so ridiculously funny, quick witted, smart, sympathetic, loyal, kind, she makes life so much more colorful and beautiful, he gets her and she him, they grew up together.

Her being in such pain breaks his heart right down the middle.

Him not being able to make it all go away shatters the two sorry halves of it.

“Tomorrow.” He replies, not sure how yet. It’s about to be dinner time, home is far away, but he’ll make it. They all will.

“Okay.” She hangs up, and James is left staring at the wall. Wondering how they will deal with this. He doesn’t like situations he can’t control, manipulate, shape however he likes, he doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like death.

Did he forget to tap his wall with his right hand upon leaving his room this morning?

Is this all his fault?

“Do you want to come over?”

Marlene is on her bed, staring at the ceiling, the countless posters she’s stuck on there. They’re covered in dust, some of them are letting loose in the corners, sometimes at night they fall and she wakes up with one sitting on her face. A spider crawls over her Blondie poster in the corner of her room, she watches it make a web. She’ll let it, the spiders don’t bother her, long as they don’t crawl into her bed. The other day one made a web on her nightlight, and when she tried to grab it to take it outside it fell in between her sheets. Brave as she usually is, she had to get Remus to help her find it and bring it out.

“I’m completely stuck doing this problem, I- sorry Marls, tomorrow?” Dorcas’ voice comes through the phone, Marlene sighs.

“But I’m booored!” She cries out, rolling over on her side and tucking her hands under her head.

“And I’m confused!”

Marlene snickers at the desperation in Dorcas’ voice, “You wanted to study quantum physics.” She returns.

“It’s interesting but it’s also the thing I hate most in this world. Why didn’t you stop me?” She can hear Dorcas turning pages of a book, clicking a pen, panickily typing numbers into her calculator.

“Because you tell such beautiful stories about it.” It’s Dorcas’ passion, the strange unexplored phenomenon of quantum physics, she can talk about it for hours and hours, so excitedly even Marlene is completely captivated by each word she says. Still, the amount of mathematics that’s involved sucks, but she feels the same about studying veterinary medicine.

When her parents went through the brutal divorce and all the fighting and screaming at home finally came to an end they took Marlene to court and battled for her custody. In the end she chose to stay with her mom, her dad already had a new girlfriend, the one he’d cheated with in the first place, and even before the divorce was finalized he moved in with the woman and her children, seemingly perfectly happy, Marlene had no desire to be an intruder in their picture perfect family, neither did her older brothers and they all chose to go with their mom, to Scotland where she’s originally from.

It was tough leaving her life behind so abruptly, all her friends, her favorite spots, the cinema she loved, the sea close to home, dad, of course, but mom bought a farm with lots of animals, and of course she met Dorcas, who lived in town and went to the same school, so the hurt was soon forgotten.

She loves taking care of the animals, sitting with the cows, cuddling the piglets, riding the horses, she prefers animals over people and entertained the thought of getting her own farm for a while, but then she completely fell head over heels in love with the idea of being a vet.

Now she’s here. And in a couple of years, when she’s got all of the degrees she needs, she can drive around in a truck, wearing dirty overalls and rubber boots, cruising the rainy mud of Scotland and going from farm to farm helping all the lovely animals get better, and hopefully, returning home to her own horse, some dogs, a cat or two, ducks would be fun, mini goats for Dorcas, she likes how they hop around. It all sounds perfect.

“I could come over and help.” Marlene offers, she hates mathematics with all her heart, and cannot comprehend why Dorcas loves it so, but she’s relatively good at it, and always got decent grades for physics in school.

“That’d be nice, but I have to figure this out myself, but tomorrow-“

“I haven’t seen you in nearly a week!” Marlene says to the phone, she didn’t want to bring it up today, or at all this week, but it’s been nagging at her.

She knows that Dorcas and she aren’t the type of couple to spend every minute of every day with each other, they’ve never been. Perfectly contented with a few evenings or afternoons enjoying each other’s company, but they’re getting older now, soon enough they’ll have to start building a life together, how can they possibly do that if they never see each other for longer periods of time? They’ve never even been on holiday together, Dorcas refuses to move in here, they have no clue if they are even capable of tolerating each other’s presence for so long.

And then there’s Lily and Mary, and Marlene doesn’t like to compare and everyone is not the same and all that, but those two are together happily all the time, she’s starting to wish she could have that with Dorcas.

“Oh, Marlene, can we not have that discussion now, I’ve got enough to worry about already?” Dorcas pleas with her, Marlene start gnawing on her lip. Is she wrong for asking this? They’ll be twenty this year, they’ve been together since they were twelve, isn’t it the right next step? About time?

“Fine.” She grunts, Dorcas immediately shuts her down every single time Marlene brings it up. There have been a grand total of zero discussions on the matter.

“Don’t get angry with me now, I need to focus, I can’t focus when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry! I’ve been alone all week, with Lily and Mary at home, you studying-“

“But you’ve got the boys.”

She’s grinding her teeth now, “I just miss some female connections. I miss you.” She likes the boys, but she’s not going to crawl in bed with some cookies and cups of tea with them and watch a soppy romcom. She can’t talk with them like she can with the girls. They won’t go on a walk with her. Dance while they’re brushing their teeth, sing pop songs. The house is so quiet without Lily and Mary, and Dorcas… why doesn’t Dorcas want to be with her longer than a few hours? Isn’t Marlene the one who’s supposed to be difficult about that sort of thing? Her parents are the ones who got a nasty divorce, Dorcas’ are happily married.

She’s just not sixteen anymore, or seventeen or eighteen, they’re all growing up and moving on and she’s no longer satisfied living in different houses, she wants to take this to the next level, but how will she manage that if Dorcas doesn’t even want to talk about it?

“I’m coming over tomorrow, I promise.” Dorcas tells her, but Marlene doubts it. She said the same yesterday. And she’s always known Dorcas is very career and goal oriented, it’s not something new, but Marlene plans her schoolwork so that she has plenty of time to see Dorcas, so why can’t the favor be returned?

“Maybe we could do something? Go somewhere?” She suggests, biting on her nails now, Dorcas says it’s her worst habit, Marlene just can’t stop.

“Why would we go somewhere?”

She spits the nail on the ground, it’s time to vacuum anyway. “Because we always just sit at home and watch a movie or something. We never go on dates.” No one would watch a romcom where all they do is sit at home, in the dark, and watch movies or eat pizza. Marlene doesn’t want her relationship to be a bad, boring movie. They’ve been together for so long, it’s easy to be in each other’s presence and be okay with that, but that can’t be it. Some new life, light, purpose, or anything, whatever, needs to be put into this relationship.

“I didn’t know you were the date kinda person?” Dorcas asks. Marlene can judge from the tone of her voice that she’s not excited about the idea. Dorcas likes new, unknown things, discoveries, oddities, why else would she love quantum physics? But when it comes to real life she seems to prefer comfort over all else. And now Marlene feels stupid for even bringing it up, she should’ve known the answer would be no.

“No, I- I just… forget it. I thought it could be fun.”

“Okay I’ll forget it. You’re not upset?”

She sighs, she definitely is. “I’m not upset. I’ll see tomorrow, love you.”

“Love you too, bye.” She clicks the call away, throwing her phone onto the desk and rubbing her hands over her face as if she can rub away her disappointment that easily.

“Are you done sexting?” Sirius yells through her door, she shoots up in bed, glances in the mirror to see whether she hasn’t fucked up her makeup too bad, and lets herself fall back on the bed, pillow over her face, wondering what she’ll do about this.

“Yes!” She yells back, and at once the door bursts open and Sirius comes inside, jumping on her bed and making himself comfortable.

“I’m bored.” He announces to the room. Marlene knows he finished the last of his paintings today, Sirius needs a purpose, something to do and busy himself with at all times, of course he’s bored now that he’s done with the big assignment.

“Me too.” She says, still holding the pillow over her face, she’s tired, pondering whether she should have a nap before dinner or do some extra school work so she’ll have more time to do nothing tomorrow.

“Do you want to do something crazy?” She’s almost tempted to remove the pillow from her face and check Sirius’ expression. Sometimes he gets in these crazy moods, sometimes he takes his pranks a little too far. He gets too impulsive, risky. Scary almost. Just last week he said the same thing, ‘do you want to do something crazy’, and suggested they jump off some of the cliffs into the sea on the beach by where James lives. Thank god Mary was able to talk him out of it, he’d already taken off his shoes and coat and everything, Marlene could see the rocks down in the water, and the currents swirling the large waves in all directions. He thought it was funny.

“Everything you do is crazy.” She says, because it’s true. Sirius seems to be horribly afraid of being boring.

“So?”

“Depends.”

“I don’t know yet. Just crazy.”

“What kind of crazy? Rob a bank? Get a tattoo?” He’s tried to talk her into doing both. The bank she had to decline for legal reasons, but they got matching tattoos. Dinosaurs. It’s okay, she learned from her mistakes, never get a drunk tattoo when Sirius tells her to. Besides, it’s on her ankle, it’s not a face tattoo, or some other obvious place.

“I need some sort of security, in case the artist thing doesn’t work out. I don’t want to have achieved nothing that matters and just die with nothing that will remain. You know, I need some sort of legacy, a legendary one. I can’t be a nobody.” Marlene frowns. He’s saying it with such disgust in his voice. Is that such a bad thing, to live an ordinary, yes, but a fulfilling life? To get married and live on a small farm on the countryside and ride through the dirt from farm to farm as a vet? Nothing will remain of that, no legacy, no legends, stories or myths to be told. It doesn’t make a nobody, does it? She’ll have been someone, in the end everyone dies and is forgotten, her happiness in the moment counts more than what she leaves behind, isn’t that so?

“Well what’re you gonna do about it.”

“Need your help figuring it out.”

“I’m perfectly fine being a nobody, y’know. Not everyone gets to dream as big as you do. Some people work and die, and that’s okay too.” She tries not to sound too bitter. People like Sirius, growing up in wealth people like Marlene cannot even begin to comprehend, they don’t understand that a quiet life matters too. That not everyone has the privilege and the resources to endlessly chase dreams without paying taxes and work to buy food.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.” She snaps, feeling hotheaded. Of course she used to have big dreams, who doesn’t? Princess, astronaut, rockstar, name it and she dreamed it. Part of growing up is facing reality and adapting to what’s possible and what not. She shrugged off the dreams successfully, accepting her bright future as a nobody- no, a somebody, a person who lives as all others do.

The doubt is always at the back of her mind. Throw away her hard work in school and study music? Be a manager, a producer, someone who plays the guitar in the background of songs? Sure, she would’ve loved that, but how many people get to make it come true? How many people end up without education, on the streets because they couldn’t part with their dreams? Marlene will be a great vet.

“You’re not one of them.”

“I am. Does that make me less fun to you?” Dorcas will go on and win Nobel prizes, Lily will shoot documentaries, Mary go to Paris fashion shows, where does that leave her? Inside cows up to her shoulder? Always stinking of farm life?

But it’s who she is. She’s worked her ass off in school to be able to go here and get her education, she wants to be a vet, and have hay in her hair, and wear overalls and rubber boots and cuddle donkeys and cows. She can’t throw it all away for some fictional ideas of a spoiled boy who’s never been told no and has endless heaps of money for grabs.

“Just a bit… doesn’t it scare you, though? That in a couple hundred years there will be no evidence of your existence? All of it’s for nothing?”

Marlene considers it. A little. Just as much as she supposes it scares everyone. Nothing lasts forever. All things end. Life moves on.

“I don’t think it’s for nothing because I’m here now, aren’t I? Tolerating your existential crisis while I was in the middle of having my own.” She says, kicking through the air until she feels her feet connect with some part of Sirius. He chuckles and grabs onto her ankle, holding her still.

“Trouble in paradise, Marls? Just know that my measure of love is your relationship, so a lot depends on your going strong. But, hey, what’s the issue, you know I’m the master of love.”

“Dorcas and I never go on dates.”

“Is that an issue?”

“That’s what I was trying to figure out.”

“You need something to distract you, Marls, I can feel it.”

“Something crazy?”

“Something crazy.” Sirius grabs the pillow away, and starts pacing the room until his eye catches her cherry red electrical guitar, he turns slowly, dramatically, the typical Sirius theatrics they’re all more than used to by now.

“What about a band?” He says, carefully grabbing the guitar and handing it to her, Marlene sits up, something’s stirring inside of her. A band? That sounds exciting. No, not exciting. Something far greater than that. Exhilarating, epic. A legendary legacy in the making.

“What do you play?” She asks him with a frown, as far as she knows Sirius doesn’t play any instruments. There’s a large piano in the attic, but he avoids it like it’s dripping with poison, and the initials engraved in it aren’t his. R… R something and then a B, for Black.

“That’s none of your business, McKinnon, but I can sing, and… James! Pete!” He says in a singsong voice, getting that gleam in his eyes, but nothing about this is dangerous or stupid, he can have this.

“None of my business?” She shoots back, stopping Sirius in his pacing with a smirk, if he doesn’t want to share it must be embarrassing, and she’d love nothing more but to find out. She’s imagining Sirius in a white toga, the silly old thing, playing the harp or something, and giggles at it.

“Sirius not now I’m watching the newest update on Cleopatra’s tomb’s excavations!” Peter yells through the hallway.

Sirius stomps to the door, throws it open and sticks his head outside. “I don’t fucking care, get in here and bring Moony!”

“What do you play, Sirius?” She tries again, but he waves her off, sticking out his tongue and waiting impatiently in the opening of the door.

“What now?” Remus grumbles, dragged inside the room by a very impatient looking Peter.

Sirius looks at them for a moment, he knows how to build up the tension, and finally a smile breaks out on his face and he tells them, “We’re starting a band.”

“Sirius won’t tell me what he plays.” Marlene cries out, her biggest wish in the world right now is to know what he plays. It’s been her one and only dream since… well since a minute ago. She must must must know. She must make fun of him. Endlessly. Brutally. Would she be able to bring him to tears? It’d be immensely funny.

“Sirius plays the violin.” Peter bursts out, and Marlene throws her head back laughing.

“Pete! I told you that in confidence!” Sirius yells at him, Marlene relishes in the chaos that they all are when they’re together.

“You know I can’t keep secrets!” Peter’s turning all red, Remus looks so uninterested Marlene wonders how long it will take for him to walk out of the room.

“Violin? That’s cute.” She snickers, a new hilarious image in her mind. Sirius in a fancy suit, like he would ever wear one, with his silly ripped jeans, band tees and unruly hair, in an orchestra, in a church! Even better, playing so beautifully he manages to bring them all to tears. Doesn’t quite fit the rockstar image he’s created for himself.

Sirius ignores her once more, too excited about his plans to care at the moment, “Pete you play guitar, James drums, doesn’t he? Lily piano, Mary has an angelic voice, Moony what do you bring to the table?” He crosses his arms over his chest, jumps on Marlene’s bed and waits.

“I can sit in the crowd and pretend I don’t know any of you.” Remus proposes, leaning against the desk with his hips, clutching a blanket around himself.

“No, won’t do.” Sirius says stubbornly.

“Fine. I can play a little bit of bass, but it’s been a long time.”

Sirius claps his hands together, jumps up from the bed, starts pacing once more, “Perfect, it’s fucking perfect. We’re forming a band.”

“They say bass players have really big hands.” Marlene says, winking at Remus, who narrows his eyes at her.

“And you know what they say about guys with big hands-“ Sirius adds, falling silent, eyes traveling to Remus’ hands, turning a bright red. Marlene and Peter exchange a glance and break out in laughter.

And then James enters the room. Freshly showered, hair still dripping, phone in his hand, obviously trying very hard to keep the smile on his face. “Guys?” He says softly, Marlene feels a rush of fear wash over her. James and Sirius are the types of guys you hear before you see them, always so awfully loud, he’s never talked so quietly before.

Sirius doesn’t seem to notice James’ somewhat confused state, the strange way in which he stands in the doorway, holding that phone as if it’s a dead animal, quiet. So, so quiet. “James, get in here man, we’re a band now.” Sirius exclaims, pulling him into the room.

James flashes Sirius a smile and then looks at the floor, never looking up at them once when he speaks. “Err, we… we have to go home, soon as possible.” He almost whispers.

The room gets eerily silent.

Everyone stills.

“It happened?” Remus is the first to speak, Marlene is fighting the tears forming in her eyes.

James nods, eyes still glued to the floor, “Yeah, Lily’s dad is gone.”