In Vino Veritas

The crisp October air was thick with anticipation as the stands of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch filled to capacity. Students from every house packed into the seats, a sea of colored scarves, banners, and flags waving wildly in support of their teams. It was the first match of the season—Slytherin versus Gryffindor—a rivalry as old as the school itself.

In the Gryffindor locker room, the atmosphere buzzed with nervous energy. James Potter paced back and forth, his broomstick in hand, while Sirius Black casually leaned against the wall, pretending to be calm but unable to mask the excitement flickering in his eyes. As Gryffindor's two Beaters, James and Sirius were a force to be reckoned with on the field. Together, they were known for their brutal precision and unmatched teamwork. Today would be no different—except for one small complication that was silently eating away at James.

On the other side of the pitch, Regulus Black stood with his Slytherin teammates, eyes trained on the horizon, waiting for the match to begin. He was the Seeker for Slytherin, and as far as anyone could tell, his focus was as sharp as ever. But inside, Regulus was anything but calm. He knew the day ahead held more than just a Quidditch match. It held tension, confrontation, and the possibility of disaster.

James had been avoiding Regulus all week, ever since their heated encounter after the party. The two of them had barely spoken since that night, despite the intensity of what had passed between them. The mere thought of facing Regulus on the pitch today filled James with a mix of dread and something else—something he wasn’t ready to admit to himself.

Sirius, on the other hand, had been oblivious to the brewing storm between his brother and his best friend. All he knew was that today was about one thing: victory. Gryffindor had a chance to crush Slytherin, and he planned to do just that. The fact that his brother was on the opposing team only made the challenge sweeter.

As the teams lined up in the center of the pitch, Madame Hooch gave them her usual warning—"clean game, no foul play"—though everyone knew this match would be anything but clean. The tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin had always been palpable, and today was no exception. The captains of both teams, James and Slytherin’s chaser flint, exchanged fierce glares.

“Let’s keep it civil, Potter,” Flint sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

James smirked, though his mind was elsewhere. “You wish, Flint. Try to keep up.”

Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and with a deafening roar from the crowd, the match began.

The Quaffle was immediately thrown into play, and both teams shot into the air with the speed and ferocity that only came from months of preparation and rivalry. James shot off toward the goalposts, his broom weaving effortlessly through the sky. Sirius was at his side, already swinging his bat toward an incoming Bludger.

The Bludger careened toward Slytherin’s chasers, and James watched as Sirius’ strike sent it spiraling toward Flint. He dodged it narrowly, His broom wobbling from the close call, but the momentary distraction allowed Gryffindor to claim the Quaffle. Their chasers, Marlene McKinnon and Alice Fortescue, raced toward the Slytherin goalposts, tossing the Quaffle back and forth between them with stunning speed.

The crowd erupted as Alice launched the Quaffle through one of the Slytherin hoops, scoring the first goal of the match. Gryffindor was up 10-0, and the game had only just begun.

But Regulus wasn’t paying attention to the score. As Seeker, his eyes were locked on the horizon, scanning for the Snitch. He hovered above the chaos of the match, his mind distant. He could feel James’ presence on the pitch, feel the weight of their unresolved tension hanging between them like a storm cloud. It was distracting—dangerously so.

Suddenly, a Bludger whizzed past him, so close that he could feel the wind from its passage ruffle his hair. He turned in time to see Sirius grinning wickedly from across the pitch, his bat still raised. Sirius had always been ruthless when it came to Quidditch, but Regulus knew this attack had been personal.

“Keep your head in the game, little brother!” Sirius yelled, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. Regulus clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on his broom. He wasn’t about to let Sirius—or anyone—distract him. He was here to win. He tore his gaze away from his brother and resumed his search for the Snitch, his sharp eyes scanning the pitch with renewed focus.

he match intensified with every passing minute. Gryffindor and Slytherin traded goals back and forth, the score climbing steadily. Bludgers were sent flying in every direction, and James found himself in the thick of it, knocking one away from his chasers with a powerful swing of his bat. His eyes flickered briefly toward Regulus, hovering above the match, but he quickly pushed the thought away. Now wasn’t the time to be distracted by... whatever that was.

“Potter, heads up!” Sirius’ shout snapped James back to the moment, and he barely dodged a Bludger that came hurtling toward him. Sirius shot him a thumbs-up before diving toward a group of Slytherin chasers, his bat ready to strike again.

As the game raged on, something strange began to happen. The crowd, which had been roaring with every play, suddenly quieted. James, too focused on the match, didn’t notice at first, but slowly the silence became impossible to ignore. He glanced around, frowning.

“What’s going on?” he muttered under his breath.

Then he saw it. High above the pitch, Regulus was diving—straight toward the ground.

For a moment, James thought Regulus had spotted the Snitch. His heart raced, adrenaline surging through his veins. But something was off. Regulus’ dive was too fast, too reckless. And the Snitch was nowhere in sight.

Before James could fully comprehend what was happening, the ground erupted in a burst of light. Regulus’ broom jerked violently, and he was thrown from it, tumbling through the air. A spell—someone had cast a spell on him.

“No!” James shouted, his voice barely audible over the sudden gasps from the crowd. He shot forward on his broom, ignoring the game entirely. Regulus was falling, and he was too far away to catch him.

The world seemed to slow down as Regulus plummeted toward the ground, his body limp. But just before he hit the ground, a second burst of magic exploded from the stands, and he was jerked to a stop, hovering mere feet above the pitch.

James’ heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the stands for the source of the spell. His eyes landed on a group of Slytherin students, their wands raised, faces pale with shock. It was Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr.—Regulus’ closest friends. They had saved him.

But the damage was done. Regulus floated gently to the ground, unconscious, and the entire pitch fell silent.

The infirmary was silent, the only sound the gentle rustling of bed sheets and the occasional creak of a floorboard. It was well past curfew, the castle shrouded in darkness, and every corridor was patrolled by prefects and Filch’s ever-vigilant cat, Mrs. Norris. James Potter should have been back in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the company of his friends. But tonight, his mind wasn’t on Quidditch victories or the latest Marauder prank. It was on Regulus.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about him since the match—since the moment he saw Regulus fall from his broom, tumbling through the air like a broken doll. The image haunted him, gnawed at the back of his mind, and now here he was, sneaking through the shadows of the castle toward the hospital wing. He didn’t know why he was doing it—why he was risking getting caught, risking questions he couldn’t answer—but the pull toward Regulus was stronger than reason.

When he reached the infirmary, James took a deep breath, his hand resting on the cold brass of the door handle. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, before quietly pushing the door open. The room was dimly lit by a few floating candles, their soft light casting long shadows across the rows of empty beds. At the far end, separated from the others by a curtain, was Regulus.

Madame Pomfrey was nowhere in sight, likely in her office or asleep in her quarters, and the other patients—if there were any—were fast asleep. James tiptoed toward Regulus’ bed, his pulse quickening with each step. He knew he shouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t turn back now.

Regulus lay on his back, his face pale but peaceful in sleep. His dark hair was tousled, spilling over the pillow, and the faint rise and fall of his chest told James he was still breathing—still alive. James exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He’d seen Regulus’ friends carry him off the pitch, limp and unconscious, and the sight had sparked something in him—fear, anger, something he wasn’t ready to name.

He stood at the edge of the bed for a long moment, simply watching Regulus. The love bites from their night together were still faintly visible on his neck, and James couldn’t help but stare at them, his stomach twisting with a strange mix of guilt and longing.

“Potter,” came a low voice, barely more than a whisper.

James jumped, startled out of his thoughts. Regulus’ eyes were open, dark and sharp, watching him from the bed. He didn’t look surprised to see James standing there, only tired—wary.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asked, his voice hoarse, as though it hurt him to speak.

James swallowed hard, searching for an answer. “I... I came to see if you were all right.”

Regulus’ lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “You came to see me? Or to see what nearly killed me?”

James felt a flare of defensiveness. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Regulus shifted slightly, wincing as he did. “I’m fine. No permanent damage. You didn’t need to come.”

“Maybe not,” James muttered, running a hand through his hair, his nerves betraying him. “But I couldn’t just leave it.”

Regulus stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. The hospital gown he was wearing slipped slightly, revealing the bruises on his collarbone—the love bites that hadn’t quite faded.

James’ eyes flicked to them, his breath hitching. He hadn’t expected to feel the same pull he had that night, but now, standing here, alone in the quiet infirmary with Regulus, it was impossible to ignore. The tension between them was as thick as it had been at the party, the same charged electricity humming in the air.

“You should go,” Regulus said softly, though his voice lacked conviction.

James took a step closer, his eyes locked on Regulus’ face. “I can’t.”

Regulus’ gaze darkened, but he didn’t move. He didn’t push James away. “This is a mistake,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“Maybe,” James whispered, his heart racing, “but I don’t care.”

Before either of them could say another word, James closed the distance between them, his hands finding their way to Regulus’ waist as he leaned in. Their lips met in a rush of heat and desperation, the kiss as intense as it had been the first time. Regulus hesitated for only a moment before he kissed James back, his fingers curling into the front of James’ shirt, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, and James could feel the tension draining out of Regulus’ body, replaced by something else—something hungry. His hands slid up James’ chest, gripping his shoulders as if to anchor himself, and James’ heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of Regulus’ lips against his, the taste of him, the warmth of his skin.

They broke apart for a brief moment, both breathing hard, their foreheads resting against each other. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Regulus whispered, his voice ragged.

“I know,” James replied, his hand cupping the side of Regulus’ face, his thumb brushing gently across his cheek. “But I can’t stop.”

Neither could. The need between them was overwhelming, impossible to deny. It was like they were drawn to each other by something bigger than both of them, something they didn’t fully understand but couldn’t fight. The pull was too strong, too undeniable.

Regulus’ hands tugged at James’ shirt, pulling him down onto the bed, and James obliged, carefully sliding beside him, their bodies pressed together in the narrow space. His hand slipped beneath the hospital gown, tracing the lines of Regulus’ skin, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

Regulus let out a soft, shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed as James’ fingers danced over his body, exploring the places they had already learned in the dark of the party. It was different now—more intense, more deliberate. There was no alcohol to cloud their judgment, no party to hide behind. It was just them, raw and exposed, with nothing but the silence of the infirmary to witness them.

James kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his lips. Regulus responded in kind, his hands gripping James tightly, as if he were afraid to let go. For once, neither of them spoke—there was no need for words. Everything they couldn’t say to each other was being said in the way their bodies moved together, the way they touched, the way they kissed.

It wasn’t just a hookup this time. It wasn’t just lust or curiosity. It was something more—something they weren’t ready to admit, even to themselves. But in this moment, none of that mattered. They were here, together, and for now, that was enough.

An hour later, they lay tangled together under the sheets, their breathing slow and steady, the heat of the moment finally giving way to the cool reality of the night. James’ arm was draped over Regulus’ chest, his face buried in the crook of Regulus’ neck, his heart still racing from the intensity of it all.

Regulus was silent, staring up at the ceiling, his fingers gently running through James’ hair. He hadn’t said a word since they had finished, and James didn’t push him. He knew better than to break the fragile quiet that had settled between them.

Eventually, Regulus spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “This can’t happen again.”

James didn’t respond at first, his heart sinking at the words. He knew Regulus was right. They couldn’t keep doing this—not in secret, not with everything else going on. But he also knew that, no matter what Regulus said, it would happen again. It was inevitable. The pull between them was too strong to resist.

“We’ll figure it out,” James murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Regulus’ shoulder.

Regulus didn’t reply, but he didn’t push James away either. They lay there in silence, the weight of their unspoken truths hanging between them, knowing that whatever was between them was far from over.