“Stay out of it.”
Monday, September 13, 1976 6:45
Hogwarts awakened with a quiet kind of majesty, the early morning sunlight creeping across the spires and turrets, bathing the castle in hues of gold and bronze. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall reflected the gentle transition from night to dawn, while sleepy students shuffled in for breakfast, still wrapped in the last remnants of their dreams. The castle breathed with life—ancient and unyielding, yet ever-changing, shaped by the stories unfolding within its walls.
James Potter, as always, moved with an effortless confidence through the Gryffindor common room, dodging half-dressed students and hurried conversations. His untamed hair, perpetually windswept, looked even more disheveled than usual, and the usual glint of mischief in his hazel eyes was tempered by something quieter today—something that even he didn’t fully understand.
“Oi, Prongs, you’re actually up on time?” Sirius Black drawled from the couch, one leg draped over the armrest as he lazily flipped through a book he very clearly wasn’t reading. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best mate?”
James smirked as he snatched a piece of buttered toast with raspberry jam from a nearby plate, ignoring the disgruntled first-year it belonged to. “Maybe I just enjoy watching you doubt reality this early in the morning.”
Remus Lupin, or Moony to them, was sitting nearby, and merely raised an eyebrow over his book. “Or maybe,” he said in his ever-observant tone, “you didn’t sleep well.”
James hesitated for half a second. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as though anything was actually wrong. But something had been bothering him lately, like an itch at the back of his mind he couldn’t quite reach.
“Also,” Remus started, “it’s the first year’s third week, lay off Prongs. Stop taking the younger people’s food when you could wait 5 minutes to get to the main hall.”
”I’m hungry! Can you judge me?”
”Yes, I can.” Remus responds. “Now you can tell us why your panties are in a twist or you can give back the toast.”
“Hey! That’s not fair. I just… didn’t sleep,” he admitted, taking a bite of toast.
Sirius shot him an intrigued look, swinging his legs down and sitting up properly. “Thinking about something? Or someone?” he teased.
James rolled his eyes but said nothing. He wouldn’t give Sirius the satisfaction.
“Or,” Peter Pettigrew chimed in, “maybe he’s worried about N.E.W.T.s.”
The group collectively burst into laughter at the absurdity of that suggestion. James Potter, worried about exams? Impossible.
“Hell no-“ James said while still laughing, bits of his raspberry toast flying out of the corners of his mouth. “Maybe I was up all night because someone was blasting music all last night.”
“You’d be singing Dancing Queen by ABBA too Prongs, I know you.” Sirius said, with a teasing expression on his face. “I’ve heard you scream from the rooftops how much you like Queen.”
With a stretch, James shook off whatever strange feeling had been lingering in his chest and grabbed his bag. “Come on, you lot, let’s get to breakfast before the food disappears.”
The four of them made their way out of the tower, slipping seamlessly into the current of students heading to the Great Hall. James kept up with Sirius’s ongoing rant about McGonagall’s latest essay assignment (and how he was debating not doing it,) but something—someone—caught his eye as they descended the stairs.
A lone figure, moving through the crowd with an air of practiced silence.
Regulus Black.
Unlike Sirius, whose presence was loud and demanding of attention, Regulus existed in quiet defiance of notice. He was composed, calculated, effortlessly fitting into the fabric of Hogwarts’ ancient halls like he had been carved from the very stone itself. His uniform was pristine, his posture perfect, and his face, though similar to Sirius’s in structure, was unreadable.
James wasn’t sure what made him linger on the sight. Maybe it was curiosity—he knew of Regulus, of course. Knew him as Sirius’s younger brother, as the straight A’s 5th year, as the model Slytherin, and as someone who always seemed to carry the weight of his family name as though it were stitched into his very bones.
But something about the way Regulus moved struck James as odd today. There was a stiffness to his shoulders, a flicker of something in his expression—something not composed.
James barely realized he had slowed his pace until Sirius nudged him.
“What are you staring at?” Sirius followed his gaze and almost scowled the moment he spotted his brother. “Oh. Right.”
Regulus, as if sensing the scrutiny, turned his head ever so slightly. His storm-gray eyes met James’s for the briefest moment—calculated, wary, but… searching, too.
James felt something tighten in his chest.
Then, just as quickly, Regulus turned away, disappearing into the sea of Slytherins making their way toward their own table.
James blinked, feeling strangely…anchored to the spot.
Sirius scoffed beside him. “Don’t bother, Prongs. He’s not worth the effort.”
James hummed noncommittally and resumed walking. But he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was shifting in the air around him.
Something he didn’t yet understand.
The day passed in the usual flurry of classes, half-hearted note-taking, more doodling, and dozing off more than actually listening to his lectures. James found himself unusually restless, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. His friends noticed—Remus, in particular, watching him with the kind of knowing gaze that meant I’ll ask later—but James brushed it off.
It was only later, as he was making his way back from Quidditch practice, that the day took a turn.
The castle was quieter in the evenings, the glow of enchanted torches flickering against the greenery on the old stone walls. James was heading toward the Gryffindor Tower when he heard the unmistakable sound of a hushed argument.
He wasn’t the type to eavesdrop. Well, not usually.
That’s a lie.
But something about the tension in the voices made him pause.
Rounding a corner, he caught sight of two figures in the dim corridor. One was unmistakably Regulus, his posture rigid, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The other—a tall, pissed Slytherin whom James vaguely recognized as a man Padfoot warned him about- a ‘pureblood prick’ as he liked to say. He looked a year or two older than the black haired boy, and he looked quite muscular and honestly, he’d be hot if he wasn’t so mean, James thought, but wait- James isn’t gay. At least, that’s what he’s trying to convince other people. He just has to convince himself first.
“You’re a Black,” the older boy was saying, voice low and sharp. “You don’t get to hesitate.”
Regulus’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”
“Then prove it.”
James couldn’t see what the older Slytherin was referring to, but Regulus’s fingers twitched slightly at his sides, as if resisting some unseen force.
James had the sudden, inexplicable urge to step forward.
He didn’t understand why. He wasn’t close to Regulus. He hated Regulus, actually. He had no real reason to interfere.
But then, before he could act, the moment shattered.
Regulus, with a barely audible breath, turned on his heel and walked away without another word.
The Slytherin boy watched him go, sneering, before heading in the opposite direction.
James stood frozen in place for a moment before his legs moved of their own accord, trailing after Regulus without fully thinking through why.
He caught up just as Regulus reached an empty corridor, the silence stretching between them.
“Hey,” James said, before he could stop himself.
Regulus halted, not turning around immediately. When he did, his expression was unreadable—but his eyes were sharp, guarded. “Potter.”
James took a step closer, unsure of what he was even trying to accomplish. “Are you—” He stopped himself before the words are you alright? could escape, knowing Regulus would probably scoff at them. Instead, he settled on, “What was that about?”
Regulus’s expression barely shifted, but James caught the subtle flicker in his gaze—the briefest hesitation. “Nothing that concerns you.”
James tilted his head, crossing his arms. “Maybe not. But that didn’t look like ‘nothing.’”
Regulus exhaled slowly, his posture still rigid. “You don’t know me, Potter.”
“Maybe not,” James admitted. “But I know when someone’s lying.”
A tense silence stretched between them.
For a second, James thought Regulus might snap at him. He’d be lucky if that was the only thing he’d do. Ever since Sirius had went to stay with the Potter’s, Regulus had been… more cold. More cold than usual, which surprised both Padfoot and Prongs. Usually, when Sirius and James taunted him in the halls, he’d either taunt back or if he was with his friends, laugh. Now, he ignores them and his friends stare at them like they might as well be monsters. But instead of snapping at James, Regulus studied him carefully, as if measuring something unseen.
Then, finally, he spoke—quiet, but firm.
“Stay out of it.”
And with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.
James stood there for a long time, watching the empty space where Regulus had been.
Something about the encounter settled deep in his chest, something unresolved.
He had the distinct feeling that this wasn’t the last time their paths would cross.
And for reasons he couldn’t yet explain…
He wasn’t sure he wanted it to be.