The Unspeakable Sort

«Wormtail, where did you put my hairbrush?» James shouted, banging on the door behind him so the boy could hear. His hands were in his hair, the damp curls twisting around his fingers as he tried to style them.

«I didn't see it, James!» was Peter's sleepy reply, startled awake. He had curled up on the unmade bed about half an hour earlier, claiming he needed a moment of peace before the impending evening, and had fallen asleep instead.

Getting angry at James would have done no good, so he simply compressed his lips in a tired groan, pressing his red cheek into the pillow.

However, his peace was short-lived. «No, I lent it to you this morning!» Potter retorted.

With another kick of his feet, he swung the door open, allowing the dampness from the shower to quickly dissipate.

Peter snorted. «Yeah, but then I gave it to Sirius.»

Sirius, standing to Peter's right, was a slender figure. His shirt, the buttons of which he was now busy undoing, clung to his thin torso, hugging his narrow hips. James could see him shaking his head in the reflection of the mirror.

«I'm pretty sure I put it on the bathroom shelf.» Was the curt reply. He bit the inside of his cheek, struggling with a particularly stubborn button.

James snorted, feeling the surface of the sink with his hands. It was quite difficult to recognize the grainy shapes blurred in his eyes when he wasn't wearing his glasses. He shook his head. «It's not here.»

Remus, who had been sprawled on the bed till that moment, stood up, placing the Ancient Runes tome on the bedside table. «He said the shelf, James. And where are your glasses?» he asked, his lanky figure advancing through the mess, flanking Sirius.

«Leave it to me.» He said, brushing the boy's shirt in a rough caress with his fingertips. Sirius dropped his hands to his sides, biting his cheek and peering at Lupin with two feverish irises.

«In my pocket.» James wiped his damp forehead, answering inattentively.

Remus, brows furrowed and tapered fingers slipping easily over the buttons, let out a low grunt. «And tell me, James -the other nodded even though he couldn't be seen- is your pocket blind?»

James pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose, feeling in the back pocket of his jeans and nodding slowly as if to give concrete form to his thoughts. He grabbed his glasses and reality, at first blurry, revealed itself in sudden, crisp clarity.

Sirius felt a startled intensity in the warmth of Remus's fingers. There was a slowness in his gesture, a reluctant regard, his breath half held in silent rigidity.

His curls, a soft brown, fell lazily around his face. He looked at Sirius with tired eyes, the hazel irises retaining a restlessness that made his movements numb.

A white scar started in a deep furrow just above his left eyebrow, tracing a rough line until it cut the soft curve of his lips. His fingers, tapered and pale, were now discreetly withdrawing from the fabric of Sirius's shirt.

"Thank you," the other murmured, and Remus forced himself not to look at him. The silence between them was broken only by the soft creaking of the floorboards as Sirius shifted, his gaze now turned away, his irises feverish.

Peter, meanwhile, had dozed off in the armchair next to the bed. He awoke, however, with a slight start when James exclaimed triumphantly,
«You were right! It's here, on the shelf.»

He took hold of the brush, combing his hair with careful fingers. Leaving it resting on the edge of the sink, it's teeth pointing down, he grabbed the white tank top hanging on the door and pulled it on. The cotton slid over his tanned skin, clinging to the muscles of his chest and outlining two broad shoulders in an indecency due to the still damp skin. His prominent cheekbones, reddened by the heat and humidity, accentuated his chiseled profile.

He looked at himself in the mirror. James knew he was handsome. Handsome enough to make girls blush in the corridors with the simple gesture of a wink. Handsome enough to make those same girls show up for Quidditch practice just to watch him trudge on his broom.

And yet, it seemed to him like it was  an empty compliment. Because handsome was a flimsy, lifeless adjective. There was nothing interesting about being handsome.

For example, Sirius was a charming boy; there was a magnetism in his figure, charisma in the desolation of his gaze. He could capture people's attention without having to try.

Peter, on the other hand, was good. There was no other adjective to describe him: attentive in a welcome that was inherent in himself.

And then there was Remus... Remus who was intriguing, a word so beautiful. Lively with pain, with a crooked smile and a brusque but at the same time affectionate attitude, he made many people want to get to know him.

James, on the other hand, was only beautiful. Beautiful, but what else? What did he have, besides the insolence of a word so devoid of meaning?

An object hit him on of his backside, distracting him from his thoughts. Sirius had thrown a pillow at him, declaiming his attention in his usual childish way.

James, looking at him with two placid irises, burst out laughing. It was a loud and warm laugh, in stark contrast to Sirius's, bordering on the barking of a dog.

«You're an idiot, Padfoot!» James shouted.

Sirius shrugged, giving him a sly smile. He had changed. Now, he was wearing a pair of black jeans that hung loosely on his hips, therefore held up by a thick silver belt, which glinted in the light of the room.

The shirt slid loosely across his chest, casting the shadow of a silhouette. It was unbuttoned above his navel, revealing the boy's skin in a pearly, ethereal pallor. He had the delicate beauty of a Victorian painting. For a moment, that image reminded James of Regulus, lying on the Quidditch pitch in pained calm just a few weeks ago, before the wind had bitten and the air had become crisp. He looked away.

Peter, now awake and standing next to Sirius, was wearing a blue sweater that showed off his blue eyes. His brown trousers gave him a simple but reassuring look.

Remus, on the other hand, had moved to the far corner of the room. His brown plaid sweater followed his narrow hips with deliberate discretion, while his faded jeans bunched up at the feet of his long legs, right over his black combat boots. He lit a cigarette, clutching the filter in a low sigh. The silver rings on his fingers caught the reflections of the warm light of the room, gleaming like shards of gold melted in the dusk.

James looked at them all for a long moment, a tired affection fading across his face.

Then, Sirius raised his chin in studied theatricality, declaring: «Let's go celebrate my bloody birthday.»

An hour later, the party in the Gryffindor common room was going beautifully. The vibrant red of the curtains stretched like an intimate embrace along the walls, framing the chatter. The fireplace throbbed in the heat of the spells, its thick flames tickling the blackened marble, casting capricious shadows on the stone.

The warm light of the chandelier hanging from the low ceiling enveloped the scene in a liquid atmosphere, an almost dreamlike delirium.

Every corner of the room was filled with a euphoric energy: there were cushions scattered like castaways on the carpet, half-empty glasses and plates full of delicacies stolen from the kitchens to act as witnesses to the cheerfulness of the evening, sealing it in an attempt to hold back the echo of laughter for a little longer.

In the center of the room, James and Sirius moved like two comets. James was sweaty, dark curls stuck to his sweat-beaded forehead, as he danced in frenetic movements. His glasses had slipped down his nose, slightly crooked. Under the soft lights, his face was of a superb boldness, carved in granite. Two high and prominent cheekbones were reddened by the suffocating heat of the room, his lips were red and smiling. His eyes, large and proud, scrutinized the people with two irises blurred by alcohol.

Sirius, beside him, was mesmerizing, his cheeks flushed with wine and his eyes bright and full. He was belting out David Bowie's "Rock 'n Roll Suicide" swaying slightly. His hair, black as a moonless night, reflected bluish gleams, falling softly over his shoulders and clinging to his skin, which was shiny with sweat. His laughter was off-key, sending the room into chaos.

Further away, Peter sat in a red armchair. He was munching on a biscuit with one hand, while the other was gesticulating softly, accompanying the words he was exchanging with a Hufflepuff girl. His face, lit by the glow of the flames, looked relaxed. His blond hair reflected the light like strands of gold, framing his blue eyes.

On the opposite side of the room, Remus stood tall against the stone wall, quiet amidst the tumult. His tapered, ring-studded fingers clutched the worn filter of his cigarette, wisps of smoke dissolving into the thick air around him. His heavy sweater hugged his chest in an involuntary magnetism, accentuating his narrow hips and slightly stooped posture, his face a cathartic caricature of stillness. He bore the marks of an untamed, rugged beauty, wearing his scars like an ornament.

Beside him, Lily Evans shone. Her gray pleated skirt swayed on the edge of her thighs as she moved closer to Lupin. She was wearing a long-sleeved, bottle-green T-shirt that accentuated the curve of her breasts and the soft line of her waist, matching the color of her eyes. Her face was a symphony of detail: rounded, showing the freckles scattered across her red cheeks like a constellation. Her lips, large and full, curved in an inattentive sweetness.

James stopped immediately, eyeing her from the middle of the room.

He tried to push away the bitter knot that nestled in his stomach, a feeling of rejection that twisted thickly in his gut.

He shook his head, deciding to move closer to them.

He interrupted them in his usual casual manner.

«So, Evans,» he began, making her sturtle. «On a scale of one to ten, how bored did Moony get you, with all that talk of books?»

Lily rolled her eyes, but the smile she gave him was genuine. «You know, Potter, you could learn something yourself every now and then. Reading a book wouldn't hurt you...»

James was tempted to argue, to tell her that he did read, sometimes, but he held back.

Remus smiled in an attempt to clear the tension from James's face, a slight and almost indulgent movement. «We were actually talking about something else.»

«About what? Can we mere mortals join in on such discussions?»

Lily looked at him with veiled affection. «We were actually betting on who would get to fetch Sirius before he climbs onto a table shouting that he's the epithet of Ziggy Stardust.»

The other laughed in a clear echo, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose and glancing towards the center of the room where Sirius, oblivious to the people around him, was singing at the top of his lungs. He let out a heated laugh. «I'm afraid it's too late for that. Besides, we all know it's gonna be Remus.» He began, leaning against the wall himself and giving Lily a good-natured smile.

«Let's face it,» he began, his tone a declaration. «If nothing else, Sirius is a natural. Let me tell you, that rendition of 'Rock 'n' Roll Suicide'? It's Gramy-worthy.»

Lily rolled her eyes, but the giggle that escaped her lips gave her away.

Remus, who had been watching Sirius sing with a glass of Firewhisky in his hand, shook his head, «More than Grammy-worthy, James, it's incitement to suicide.»

James scratched the back of his head in mild embarrassment, but managed to shake it off almost immediately. «When did you become so judgmental? I remember when you even liked the school choir.»

«That was before I had my musical education, thank you very much—» but Lily interrupted him: «Hey, I'm in the school choir!»

Remus continued, smiling crookedly. Potter was chuckling. «Now I can barely listen to that magical crap you call music.»

The sly smile on James's face faded, and Evans narrowed her eyes, amused.

«I still can't help but think he might be a singer in another life,» said the other, pausing for a moment. «And I'd be his handsome best friend, star of that Muggle sport you both hate so much. Flootball?»

The redhead shook her head. «Oh, Potter, how can you listen to yourself all day long?»

James shrugged. «Because I'm interesting.»

«No, because you're a hopeless case,»said Lupin, raising an eyebrow in a sceptical smile. So much so, that he didn't immediately notice Sirius, who was approaching them, staggering.

The moment after that, the boy's body tumbled forward, his alcohol-glazed eyes unable to grasp the trajectory. He grabbed the hem of Remus's sweater with a convulsive movement, in a desperate attempt to keep himself from falling to the ground. Lupin, his iris fixed in nothingness to betray his nonchalant attitude, leaned forward slightly, acting as a support, his arms closing around his waist to keep him steady.

The pressure of Sirius's body became oppressive, and Remus, now completely stiff, felt the heat radiating from the tips of his fingers, relaxed in the center of his chest. Peering at him, James noticed his cheeks were red. He assumed it was the alcohol he had ingested earlier and thought no more about it.

Sirius didn't seem to notice anything and leaned fully into the boy beside him.

«You've abandoned me all, it's my birthday!» he whined, his tone bordering on melodrama. The words came out in a whimsical childishness, making the three of them laugh.

«Moony, Moony-Mu, Moo-Moo, Moonbear,» Sirius began in a singsong voice, his tone still like a whine, «Moonster, Muuuu-ny.»

Remus bit the inside of his cheek, his fingers tightening on the fabric of the boy's shirt. «What?» he barked piquedly.

Sirius stared at him for a moment, his irises saddened by the rude response. He frowned, «I missed you. You don't look at me since this morning. Look at me. Why don't you look at me?»

The hum of the room seemed to die away for a moment. Remus stood still, his iris frozen in the reflection of nothingness.

«Maybe it's because you're making a scene, Sirius.» He replied, resolute in explosive desperation, his voice embittered as he tried not to let it shake. Potter looked at them with confused irises.

Lily, who had been silent until then, shook her head in an indulgent smile. «We should get him to bed before he does something really stupid.»

Sirius jerked his torso sharply toward her, and Remus had to grip his waist tighter. «It's my birthday, for Godric's sake! I didn't do anything!» he muttered, pouting.

Lupin finally relaxed his muscles, exhaling in a soft chuckle. He tried to look away from Sirius, but the other boy's eyes were searching him with a stumbling need. «You're still ignoring me, Moony,» Black murmured, his tone rather soft now, tinged with melancholy. He leaned closer, pressing himself against him and breathing a hot breath into his neck. He smelled of firewhisky and cigarettes. «I don't like it.»

Remus, who had been relatively relaxed until now, exhaled sharply, the desperate need to remain still a frenzy swelling in his blood. «I'm not ignoring you» he said, his resolve softened. «I'm just trying to stop you from embarrassing yourself.»

Sirius cocked his head, his gaze suddenly heavy, the frown in the center of his forehead a clear sign of his confusion. «I don't care about that» he mumbled, so quietly that only Remus could hear. «All I care about is that you look at me.»

Remus remained silent.

«Okay,» James began with careful, if uncertain, haste. «I think I'll go and smuggle a few bottles of Firewhisky from the kitchens, since we're running low on alcohol.» His gaze became serious in a moment. «Moony, take care of Pads. I don't want him doing any more foolish things. And you, Evans,» he added, turning sinfully to Lily. «See you later.» He winked at her.

So James walked away, hastily retrieving his invisibility cloak and then exiting for good. Remus stood there for a moment, as if time had decided to slow down to allow him to catch his breath. Then he returned his attention to Sirius.

The stone stairs of Hogwarts wound before James in a messy but solemn maze, an architectural masterpiece. The steps, worn in the center by centuries of footsteps, were smooth and slightly concave. The gray stone darkened in the dampest spots, where the shadow reigned supreme, there where the walls only faintly reflected the flickering light of the torches.
These, arranged in a rigorous order, emanated a warm, yet fine, light. Thus the shadow accumulated high up, far away.

The moon's rays filtered through the opaque glass of the wall, projecting a dance of silhouettes that accompanied James throughout his descent towards the kitchens. Hidden by the shadow, small cracks in the marble betrayed the weight of the castle's years. Despite this, its overall appearance was intact, in a refusal to decay.

The invisibility cloak roughly brushed the floor in a sumptuous yet invisible train.

Then, in the quiet, a sound broke the calm.
James advanced curiously, the cloak concealing his presence.

It was in the shadows that he found Regulus.

His body was bent in a frail posture beneath the stone archway. His face was turned three-quarters, his chin outlined with silvery moonlight. He peered into the darkness in furious wails, hot tears streaking his cheeks, sealing the stillness in a silent prayer.

James frowned at him, his breath held in a vibrating echo in the center of his chest.

The boy's raven hair had fallen over his forehead, mirroring the paleness of the moon. It had drawn him into a frayed caricature of his usual insolence, a pained beauty. For a moment, he was just a boy crying in the dungeons, the echo of his name a weary whisper.

Regulus wore his pain like a jewel.

Potter took off his cloak. Black did not see him at first, though. He barely noticed, a corner of his gaze catching on James in an unwanted reflex.

It was then that he raised her head fully, and his eyes fixed on James, two cold, lifeless irises, yet so heartfelt.

Although lovely, his gaze remained devoid of warmth. It was the distant beauty of someone afraid to be looked at, to look inside themselves.

His eyes widened, and the next moment his voice broke the silence between them in a thin whisper, the tears on his cheeks shining like diamonds on his face.

«If you mention this to anyone,» he began, venomously, «you can be sure of death before you turn 17.»

James didn't move a step away and the the laughter that followed his words was a scorching echo, filling Regulus's quietness with a dissonance that made him shiver. James noticed it, but he didn't think anything of it, attributing it to the cold of the evening.

He did that, because he didn't care about Regulus, not really, not usually, not enough. He had never been more than Sirius's little brother, a pale boy who had no strength in him to hold himself together.

Regulus still wasn't speaking. His eyes were looking at James with a coldness that was uncaring, his pride now relocated to the twitching of his nerves.

«I won't say anything,» Potter began.

Then, in a softer whisper, «Why are you crying?»

Regulus stared at him for a moment, his irises alarmed. Then, his face was emotionless again. «It's none of your business, now go away.» he whispered, and it was a final, definitive statement. It cut off any possibility of conversation.

It was a plea that wore the guise of a threat.

Potter paused for a moment, occluding himself in silence. He peered at Regulus through the shadows of his lashes, uncertain. Unsure whether Sirius would want him to persist for a little longer, or whether he would simply tell him to leave it alone. Not that the boy in question would ever want the two of them to interact, but James meant hypothetically.

So he decided that yes, he had try just one more time.

«I just want to—» But Regulus interrupted him as usual, his eyes two pained irises. «No, not now.»

And James Potter had always been a bold intruder, but never a hostile one. It was for this reason, that he let it go, that he agreed, stepping back.

But then, just as he turned to leave, an echo spread through the silence:

«Potter?» Regulus's voice rang out inertly, hanging in the air in an unprejudiced tone. James stopped, turning, his eyes narrowed to get a better look at him.

Black continued: «Sirius... how is he?» He wasn't looking at James now. The silence had become a voice.

The other didn't answer immediately, taken aback. It took him a moment, a moment long enough for Regulus's gaze to waver, to pull back, just a little.

«He... is fine, yes.» James's hasty reply diluted in the air.

Regulus exhaled a sigh, frozen in immobility. «Good» he said only.

And James didn't know how to answer.

So, without another word, he walked away. It was in the quiet steps and the gasp of air that he realized why Regulus was crying. It was a realization that snaked through his ribs, wrenching an Oh from the back of his throat. It twisted his heart.

It was there, in the thick silence of the night, that he saw him in a different light for the first time.

He tried not to think about it. He headed for the kitchens in a frantic hurry and, without saying hi to the elves, retrieved two cases of Firewhisky from the liquor cabinet.

They were pressing against his palms as he entered the common room.

Marlene spotted him immediately, rising to her feet in a melodramatic cheer, her slender figure outlined by the shadows of the candles. «Finally! I was about to declare you gone missing.»

James strode to the center table and dropped the cases with a dull thud. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips, eyeing the girl. «I was saving the night. You should thank me, McKinnon.»

Marlene grabbed a bottle and popped the cork in one swift motion, not answering. The cork flew off and landed in the chaos. She glanced over her neck at him, her eyes bright with amusement. «Oh, don't worry, Potter. My devotion to you will come in the form of a hangover.»

He sank into a faded armchair by the table. His smile spread across his lips as he watched Marlene distribute the first round of drinks. The room was a charming mess. Sofas had been dragged into unlikely corners to make room, and house crest cushions were strewn across the floor. The record player was blaring a Queen song, accompanied by the student choir.

Marlene returned to him a moment later, a full glass gripped tightly in her slender wrist. He held it out defiantly. «So, how was the mission? Did you do any heroic things? Had to seduce any elves to get all this?»

James took the glass, letting the cool rim touch his fingers. «Seduce? No, that's not my style. I just charmed them with my natural charm. There aren't many who can resist me, you know?»

McKinnon chuckled, dropping onto the arm of the chair next to the boy, her legs crossed with the ease of someone who owns the space they occupy. «If that's how you're going to charm Lily, I think we'd better leave it alone.»

James snorted loudly, hiding a smile behind the rim of his glass. «Evans has nothing to do with the elves, thank you very much.»

She laughed again, the sound low and scratchy, almost drowned out by the din of the room. «Oh, right. That's why every time you walk into a room with her in it you look like a peacock trying to show off.»

James shrugged, scratching the back of his head in a vain attempt to hide his embarrassment. Unfortunately, Marlene knew him too well.

He glanced across the room to where Sirius was standing on a table, trying to lead a few Hufflepuffs into a disastrous dance, singing at the top of his lungs. He stifled a laugh.

«If Evans hasn't noticed my charm by now, it's only because she hasn't looked hard enough.»

She shook her head, narrowing her eyes as she rose to refill another glass. «You're a lost cause.» She said, looking at him briefly before plunging headlong into the chaos.

James didn't follow her with his gaze, the glass levitating beside him. The memory a different girl slid in his thoughts: the Marlene of many years ago, when they were both just children and the world seemed small, confined to the Potters' garden and the fields behind the house.

Back then, Marlene had worn her light brown hair tied in a ponytail that always ended in her face as they flew together on toy brooms. She had been the first of the two to manage to lift herself into the air. «You're slow, Potter!» she had shouted at him with a victorious smile, darting forward while he struggled to keep up.

That same confidence had accompanied her till today, mutating into a different but equally powerful essence. James saw her now, with her leather jackets and the smudged eyeliner under her eyes, and he saw in her the same little girl who had stained her nose with flour while kneading biscuits. Because she was still there, in her ways and gestures, in the captivating smile that always dared him to catch up.

Sirius's voice suddenly erupted from the crowd, bringing him back to the present, and James instinctively turned, his glass still in mid-air. That was when he felt it: a heavy, steady gaze. It snaked between his shoulder blades.

He turned his head just enough to see Peter. He was sitting off in the opposite corner of the room, his hands clasped on his knees, his shoulders soft. His eyes were riveted on him, unmoving,curious.

For a moment, James stood still, wondering what Peter was trying to tell him. Then he looked away, shaking off the feeling. It was a party. There were bottles to drink up and songs to sing. He would think about Peter later.