What's Your Pain?
James used to love Wednesdays.
Something about that halfway point gave him a little more pep in his step, another reason to smile wide, the day not too early, and not too late—the beating, brilliant heart of the week.
Wednesdays meant visits to Morfar for a cup of coffee and a slice of cake. Wednesdays meant dinner at the palace, and if James was feeling lazy, a sleepover too.
Sirius was born on a Wednesday, James long ago discovered in his ever-growing collection of magazines and Buzzfeed quizzes about the hottest prince of Europe. Regulus bought his horse, Maximus, on a Wednesday. The last solar eclipse was on a Wednesday!
It was a day James claimed as his own, an assurance not only that time continued, but that James continued too—despite the fickle throb in his head and the revising that took him double the time as everyone else, he was alright, because Wednesday had come, and next week, it would come again.
Then last year, on another perfect, promising Wednesday, the hospital called him.
Of all the days, his parents had to die on James’ favorite one.
******
“Oi!” Peter throws a pencil at James’ head. “Are you listening to me?”
James shakes his head and immediately bites back a wince. He feels the world do a few cartwheels around him, his very eyeballs trying to flip with it, then he blinks, grounding his vision on Peter’s light blonde buzzcut. “I’m absolutely listening, Wormtail.”
“Mmhm. Just tell me what you got for #6?”
Glancing at his packet, James frowns. He’d spent hours on their summer packet for Calculus, even started it back in May to make sure he got it all right, but beneath the exposing sun his messy scrawl looks like educated guesses at best, elementary mistakes at worst.
“I don’t think I got it right.” James sighs.
“Me either, that’s why I’m asking. My dad’s on my dick again about grades so—” Peter leans forward to look at James’ equations, and James clutches the packet to his chest.
At Peter’s offended expression, James scrambles for an excuse, but there’s a hammer in his head, or maybe it’s an icepick, the blunt blade ripping apart his brain-matter in time to his pulse.
Then like the knight, nay, prince in shining armor that he is, Sirius throws open the Hogwarts’ front doors and runs down the steps. “There you two are!”
“We texted you,” Peter says, attention back on his packet.
Sirius pulls out his phone, a new one, James can’t help but notice, and just like his last victim, also uncased.
“Oops. Well, now that I’ve found you I’ve so much to tell you—”
“First, your Calc packet.” Peter holds out an expectant hand.
It’s a testament to how long Peter’s been copying homework that Sirius doesn’t so much as hesitate to pull it from his bag.
And it’s a testament to how often Sirius breaks his phone that Peter catches it mid-air like a bloody superhero.
“Thanks, Wormie! You’re welcome to borrow my genius too, Prongs,” Sirius tells James.
“Cheers, but no.”
“Your academic integrity will forever confound me,” Peter mumbles, starting to copy Sirius’ answers.
Sirius has always been good at everything school—good at everything point-blank, honestly—and once it made James greener than grass, but now that they’re in their last year, James can’t summon any envy. He’s too tired—or maybe that’s the migraine.
“I’m no cheater, Wormy,” James jokes, forcing a smile.
It’s something of Effie’s he’s held onto, academic morals. Pretty shit replacement for a mother, but James clutches onto any part of her he can.
Sirius sits next to James and glances him over. “How bad is it?” he whispers while Peter continues scribbling.
James isn’t sure what gave him away, and with anyone else the question would upset him, pick at the paint that’s already flaking off and really ought to be left to decay with time and graffiti, but this is Sirius . James’ best friend. The only person left who knows how bad it can get.
James holds up five fingers.
“Really?” Sirius gives him a disbelieving look.
Slowly, James adds two more fingers.
“Thought so.”
“I’ll be fine,” James lies. He’ll probably be bedridden by tonight, head screaming much too loudly to manage sleep, which will knock him out all of tomorrow. “What were you going to tell us?”
Sirius bites his bottom lip. “You text me the minute you need me.”
“If it gets that bad, you know I will,” James agrees because he doesn’t have his parents to call anymore. He doesn’t get to hide in his childhood room and wait until the migraine passes to return to the real world.
He needs Sirius to take care of him. Sometimes .
And it’s not that time yet.
“Is that…” Sirius pushes himself an inch off the stairs, peering over James’ messy hair. “I didn’t know Pandora was friends with Lily Evans?”
James follows Sirius’ gaze to the pair, one with blonde space buns and the other with red-streaked hair. Though both are wearing the Hogwarts uniform, they’ve added their own flair to the boring attire—Pandora with a crochet choker and Lily with bright blue socks full of llamas.
“They’re dating, actually.”
Sirius shoves James. “You’re kidding.”
“No, sirius ly! Pandora told me in gym yesterday.”
It had been quite the laugh because Pandora was one of the few people who knew that Lily was James’ first kiss—a very awkward, and a very brief peck by the water fountain outside of the Great Hall their first year. Needless to say, their romance was short-lived, but Pandora being Pandora had to give James a little shit for it, asking “permission to court his ex-beau.”
“There’s a bro-code, James,” Pandora had insisted with an impish smile.
When James thinks of all those Scandinavian folktales with wicked elves trying to steal mortals away in the forest, Pandora’s face comes to mind.
“I didn’t know Pan even fancied girls,” Peter mutters.
Sirius snorts, shoving Peter lightly. “The lesbian flag in her Instagram bio didn’t tell you enough?”
“I thought it was a witch thing, honestly.”
James and Sirius both burst into laughter.
Pandora had been in their lives for as long as the Marauders' name was baptized. She was part of the LEGO dynasty on her mother’s side and the real dynasty on her father’s, making her another victim of Denmark’s elite. She never faced the same level of scrutiny as they did, but for a while, the paps were certain she and Sirius were a thing.
Then she tweeted “I love cunt” with a rainbow emoji, which promptly shut down those rumors.
Pandora’s the only one in their little circle that has the guts to be openly queer. James adores her for a lot of things—her knack for handmade jewelry, the flips she does into lakes, but most of all, her courage.
It was Pandora who first dragged James outside after his parents passed. Made him sit in the park and cry with the trees. It helped as much as it hurt.
With his chin on his knees, James watches Pandora whisper something into Lily’s ear, making Lily throw her head back and laugh, the sound echoing across all of Hogwarts’ grounds.
“They’re much too pretty a couple.” Sirius huffs. “Moony should date me so we can outdo them.”
“Well, it’s still new so don’t go on and embarrass her—”
James winces as Sirius shouts, “OI! PANDORA!”
Pandora looks over her shoulder, keeping her arm interlocked with Lily’s. “GOOD MORNING, PRINCE OF HELL!”
Sirius salutes her, Peter waves, and James blows a kiss.
Pandora catches it and then offers it to Lily, who mimes chewing it in her mouth, which elicits one of Sirius’ most unprincely laughs.
“BYE!” she sings, pulling Lily away, likely before Sirius gets any ideas.
Sirius shouts a goodbye back, then lets out a content sigh. “Did you know that Lily is Moony’s best friend—” His smile drops at James’ expression. “Sorry, I was yelling, I didn’t even think.”
James nods through the ringing in his ears, like an orchestra that never learned to tune, using their instruments as weapons instead of making music.
“What were you saying before you got distracted?” James shoots Sirius a pleading look to move on. A worried Sirius is one thing, he doesn’t need Peter concerned too.
“Okay, okay.” Sirius stretches out his legs on the steps, crossing his ankles. “Wormtail you better be listening.”
Peter grunts, still focused on his homework.
“So Sluggie gave us our first assignment in literature, which is exactly the excuse I needed to get Moony alone, and…bloody hell, can he get more perfect? He likes iambic pentameter, even compared it to a heartbeat!”
“That’s literally what it is.”
Sirius ignores Peter, “And then I suggested we meet up after his shift and he agreed .”
James matches Sirius’ smile, though the stretch of his lips is more than hard to maintain. “That’s brilliant, Padfoot.”
“I know right? I think it means that he’s warming up to me.”
“You were paired together randomly in class, and now he’s meeting up with you to finish an assignment for class.” Peter finally looks up from his homework, tucking his pencil behind his ear. “I wouldn’t read too much into it.”
At Sirius’ stricken look, Peter reaches forward and squeezes his arm. “You know I’m team Wolfstar all the way, Sirius, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up for nothing.”
“Wolfstar?” James asks.
“Yep, their ship name. All Regulus’ genius.”
This time, the stretch of James’ lips isn’t quite so hard. “‘Course it is.”
“Okay maybe he’s meeting up with me out of obligation, but there’s definitely a new vibe between us,” Sirius says solemnly. “Remus isn’t as grumpy when he talks to me…”
James likes to think that he taught Sirius how to be a romantic—that the Potters helped him grow out of that stiff, stand-offish royal and into the trusting optimist that he is today. But the more Sirius learns to hope, the more James learns to fear.
Because what’s going to happen if it all falls apart, and James’ parents aren’t there to pick up the pieces?
James will have to be enough—and he knows he’s not.
“...and I mean, I know you’ve already seen the texts but Remus is absolutely flirting back. Those semicolons?!” Sirius cups the blush in his cheeks.
“Baby steps,” James tries to sound as supportive as possible, but he expects Sirius catches the pain in his voice.
God, his head hurts. That’s an understatement. It kills , like a parasite eating James from the brain down, swallowing up his serotonin and leaving pain and grief in its wake.
Once upon a time, Fleamont’s hugs used to make the migraines bearable. There was a time when James didn’t work so hard to grin and bear it.
“I’m going to convince him,” Sirius says as if hyping himself up.
It should be James that hypes him up, but his mouth goes dry and his stomach rolls with nausea the moment he opens his mouth.
“Convince Remus of what?” Peter asks while James swallows down bile.
“To love me.”
Peter and James share a glance. The three of them have known each other for most of their lives, their friendship born from pranks, and later, drinking games at the many stuffy events their parents drag them to. While Peter and James aren’t anything royal, their family’s fortune make them stand out in a country that’s practically a small town, where everyone seems to know everyone, seems to judge everyone.
Around the time the press started calling Sirius a rebellious heartthrob instead of an adorable kid, around the time James’ inheritance was publicly questioned on grounds of his mother’s homeland, around the time Peter got fat-shamed by his own dad in a PR event, they made an unspoken pact never to betray each other's confidence. To be the unerring foundation against a palace, a country, built with lies, expectations, and wealth.
This summer, an earthquake in the form of Walburga Black tested that bedrock. The Queen of Denmark wasn’t very pleased to find her heir apparent in bed with a French tourist twice his age, and a man at that.
It was up to James and Peter to visit Sirius in his royal confinement, to entertain and remind him that come September, they would be back at Hogwarts, where only the royal security detail could watch him.
Getting caught, James expected, would deter Sirius from any more flings—instead, he’s shown up to their last year with a plan not to merely sleep with the hottest guy at Hogwarts, but to date him.
James is ecstatic that Sirius hasn’t lost hope.
But he’s equally concerned that soon enough, he will.
“Sirius,” James begins, shedding the childhood nicknames for the moment. “You shouldn’t have to convince anyone to love you. I know you’ve had a crush on Remus for years, but—” James swallows at the wave of pain rattling his skull, his train of thought running far, far away.
“We don’t even know if Lupin is gay,” Peter continues in place of James. “And he sorta hates our lot. Why don’t you try to date someone…I don’t know, easier?”
“No.” Sirius lays back and squints at the sky, his pupils growing small. “It’s Moony or nothing.”
“That seems drastic.”
“I’m fucking tired of it, Wormtail. I’m tired of playing by their rules and being a part of the bloody spectacle. I’m going to be myself no matter what she or Denmark wants.”
Despite his pain, James hums in understanding. There’s a misconception that Sirius gets everything he wants given his title, and sure, he’s spoiled with attention and material by many, but Walburga makes sure his life is limited. Confined to what she deems acceptable.
Ever since Remus showed up at Hogwarts, Sirius has been besotted but distant. He wouldn’t even let himself talk to the guy and yet he doodled Remus’ name in Cyrillic during class. Now, Sirius is trying to go after what he wants, he’s finding the courage to be himself, openly , and James can’t help but be proud.
And worried. Very, very worried.
“Well, I wish you luck tonight then.” Peter snorts.
“Thank you!”
The wind picks up, and Peter throws on a sweatshirt, the bright green clashing with the school uniform beautifully. Despite the fact that his father owns a chain of retail stores across Europe, Peter tends to wear tacky sports sweatshirts with logos of his favorite teams. James thinks it’s partially because he’s obsessed with football, and partially because he loves to piss off his dad.
“Prongs, you believe I can do it, yeah?”
James turns to Sirius, his head whirring with pain. “Sure, Padfoot. You got this.”
Thanks to the throb, he himself isn’t sure if he’s lying.
******
There are quite a few hiding places within Hogwarts, the Benedictine monastery turned boarding school a Gothic maze full of stained-glass windows, dormitories, classrooms, faculty offices, and a ballroom that doubles as a Great Hall for more casual mealtimes.
When classes finish most Hogwarts students, or at least the residential ones, take to the common rooms, or the courtyard if the sun is feeling social. Normally, James would join them or take cover in his dorm with Sirius.
But for now, the school’s cellar is just the right amount of dim and dark, with only the quiet company of junk and old-school artifacts. The glow of James’ phone flashlight illuminates tonight’s Calc homework, and he gives it a solid effort, or as his dad liked to joke, a strong punch in the gut, but his vision blurs from the thump of his heart all the way up his head.
It’s when James has just given up, again, throwing his head back with a groan, that the cellar’s door opens, and footsteps march down the stairs in a balanced rhythm.
“Hello.”
James’ eyes fly open at the sound of Regulus’ voice. He expected it really, set himself up for this moment when he decided to take shelter here, one of three of Regulus’ favorite spots. James has memorized them all, obsessed with knowing where Regulus could be, even if he can’t bring himself to actually see him.
Today, evidently, the migraine has stolen his good sense.
“Hi, Reggie. What are you up to?”
Like a ghost, Regulus is utterly still at the bottom of the staircase, pale skin barely visible in the darkness. Or maybe it’s just James who can’t see right.
His migraines like to do that to him—corrupt each of his senses until he can’t taste, touch, or think without regretting it.
Regulus holds up a book. “I would like to read.”
“I won’t bother you,” James assures him. “I’m trying to do some homework.”
When Regulus doesn’t move, James sits up a little. “Or I can go? I’m happy to leave if you—”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Regulus walks forward and sits beside James, laying his back against the cold wood inch by inch. “It’s a Wednesday.”
James fights a grimace. He knows that already.
“You love Wednesdays.” Regulus turns his head and blinks at James. “So why do you look sad?”
James didn’t always lie to Regulus. Before his parents died, James told Regulus the same secrets he shared with Sirius, spent as much time with the younger brother as he did Sirius, sought him out as incessantly as he did Sirius.
When his parents were alive, James was a better man.
Now, he gives Regulus ample space, a buffer against James’ grief and reckless mistakes—mistake. Hell, James made such a mistake.
One he’ll never be able to make up for.
So James keeps his distance, feeds Regulus white lies, shielding him against the tempest in his head tearing him apart one brutal headache at a time.
“I’m just confused with my Calc homework,” James offers a half-truth because Regulus would spot a real lie. He’s clever and perceptive and god save him, he knows James. Knows him better than he should.
Regulus sets down his book, something with Pedro on the cover. “I’ll help you.”
“No, you came here to read—”
“I’ll help you,” Regulus repeats, holding out his hands for James to pass him the sheet of exercises.
“Only for a few minutes,” James relents.
They study for two hours. Regulus walks him through the tough bits, patient as James works out equations by taking them through, just like his mom used to mutter her thoughts under her breath. It makes so much more sense when Regulus explains it—everything feels a little sharper, a dial brighter when he’s around.
James gets so caught up in that even, lovely voice that time itself slips through his fingers like sand, his migraine nearly getting caught with a tide, nearly relenting to the sea.
“James?”
“Yeah, Reggie?”
“That was the last exercise. I’m going to read now.”
Regulus places his book in his lap and does just that, while James talks himself out of doing something stupid, like laying his head on Regulus’ shoulder and reading with him.
They used to do that too once upon a time.
James rubs his fingers over his worksheet, whatever temporary relief he found with Regulus withering with the advent of another storm. He bites down, bracing himself as the pain winds up, snaking around his head and down to his lungs.
Breathing’s not so effortless when his head’s redefining explosive.
James doesn’t realize Regulus is staring until he says: “I didn’t fix it? You’re still sad.”
He almost laughs because of course he’s bloody upset—his head hates him and instead of dating the boy he’s in love with, he has to be tutored by him. Instead of spending a summer with his parents in the city, he sat in an empty house and ordered take-out. Instead of smiling without thinking, he forces every single one.
The world wants James to breeze through school and marry a good, noble Danish girl like Pandora. The world wants him to carry on the Potter estate after seeing his parents’ disfigured corpses at the morgue. The world wants him to love Regulus, but not like that.
Never like that.
If his parents were still here, James would tell the world to piss off. But in the rash courage of grief, he crossed that line with Regulus and almost lost him for it.
“I’m embarrassed,” James says instead. “You’re a year lower than me and you understand all of this perfectly.”
“I’m naturally intelligent and lack any real social life to deter me. You, on the other hand, are clever, creative, and socially skilled. Math is perhaps the one thing I excel at that you don’t.”
“Oh come off it, you’re brilliant—” But Regulus is back to reading, eyes devouring the pages in front of him.
“You’re brilliant, Regulus,” James whispers. Even if he won’t be heard, the words deserve to be spoken.
He presses his head back against the cold and closes his eyes, letting the pain sweep him away entirely.
******
Prongsie: I need u im so sorry
Padfootsie: it’s ok—your room?
Prongsie: ye
James squeezes his eyes shut and sends the text. He’s not sure how he got to his room, the memory of the walk from the cellar to the dorms fuzzy with the pricks and pins dissecting his head. He’s glad that Regulus left before it got to this point.
To the point of James on the floor, going blind from pain.
He doesn’t hear Sirius arrive, doesn’t quite feel the cold washcloth on his brow, the soothing voice in his ear. His body sweeps away with the pain again, taking him to another Wednesday.
The day of his parents’ funeral.
“I should go back out there,” James says to the stifling air around him, which, rudely, doesn’t respond. “Everyone’s here for my dead parents. I ought to tell them thanks. That’s good breeding. Polite. I’m polite.”
The shelves full of books seem to stare down accusingly at James. When his parents first moved here, all they had was the Lord of the Rings books and a few dictionaries. Now the room’s stocked with everything from Aristotle to Stephen King, a good chunk of the pile on Effie’s desk gifts from Regulus, who, famously, only gives people books for their birthday.
He’s good at that, Regulus. Finding just the story a person needs.
James still reads The Three Musketeers when he needs a laugh.
As if James’ thoughts summoned him, Regulus opens the door to the study, his black suit unfairly stunning.
“You’re not supposed to look pretty at funerals,” James informs him.
“I can’t help it,” Regulus says, absolutely serious.
“No, I know you can’t.”
“Do you need anything?”
James looks up from his position on the brown leather couch, untangling his legs and trying to appear composed. “I need my parents.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
Regulus sits in Fleamont’s armchair, and if it were anyone else, James would hate it, loathe it, but it’s Regulus, and so, it only makes his chest warm. It’s a nice feeling on such a cold day.
“That’s poison.” Regulus gestures to the glass in James’ hand.
“No, it’s brandy.”
“Alcohol is technically a poison, it’s toxic to us. That’s why we have hang-overs following consumption.”
“Poison’s supposed to make you feel bad though.”
“Do you feel good?” Regulus asks.
James laughs darkly. “No. I guess I don’t.”
He’d only picked up the bottle because he’s unoriginal, destined to imitate coping mechanisms he’s seen on TV. “I think I should go back out there, but I can’t bring myself to.”
“Sirius is handling it, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“You know that’s not true.”
Regulus’ nose scrunches. “Funerals are meant for the living, not the dead. If you don’t want to be out there, then you don’t need to be.”
“Sound logic.”
James pats the place beside him on the couch, and Regulus doesn’t hesitate to come sit beside him. It’s a rare thing, Regulus’ affection, and James’ heart always does a little hiccup when Regulus so much as looks at him, much less touches him.
And here Regulus is, pinky brushing James’.
“Can I?” James asks.
“Yes.”
James intertwines their hands, forgetting about the glass of brandy and sinking into the couch cushion. He’s exhausted from crying, voice hoarse from sobs and thank you for comings. But with Regulus here the books aren’t judging and the world waiting outside isn’t so daunting and the pit in his chest, that hole made from his parents’ absence, isn’t quite so debilitating.
“I love you, Reggie.”
Regulus’ hand tenses in James, then slowly loosens. “I love you.”
James swings his head to the side. “I miss them.”
“I know.”
“I can’t believe they’re gone.”
“It’s hard for me to believe too.”
James sinks onto Regulus’ shoulder, a slow sort of fall so that Regulus isn’t startled by it. He doesn’t mean to nuzzle closer, and he certainly doesn’t mean to blink up at Regulus, gaze at his sharp cheekbones and wide pupils.
He doesn’t mean to kiss Regulus when he’s drunk and grieving.
But he does.
Regulus pulls away. “No, James.”
“Why?” James holds his breath, warding off the sob.
“I don’t want that. You don’t want that.”
James pulls away to the other side of the couch, curling into himself. Then he picks up his glass of brandy.
“Regulus?!” James sits up, heavy blankets holding him prisoner to his mattress.
“It’s Sirius, James, and you’re okay. I’m here, yeah? Have some water.”
James blinks, trying to focus on his surroundings, a fuzzy outline of Sirius holding a glass to his lips.
After James sips, Sirius scoots closer to him on the bed. “Prongs, what’s your number now?”
“The same.”
“Can I take you to the hospital—”
“No!” James moves to grab Sirius’ arm but misses, hand fumbling in the air. “ Please don’t.”
“You said you’re at an eight, which is code for ten. I just want you to feel better.”
James fumbles back into a lying position, wincing at what every small motion does to his head. “No hospital.”
Sirius lies down beside him. “Okay.”
This time, James falls into a dreamless sleep, the ache of his migraine lingering on the edges, thrusting him into the barely-living just to throw him back under—an endless cycle of almost rest. A soft ringtone yanks him out of hell, and he turns to find Sirius fast asleep beside him.
“Hello?” James rasps into his phone.
“Are you okay?”
“Regulus?” James bolts upright. Though Regulus has a phone for emergencies, he never uses it—hates the sounds it makes, its taxing blue light, and the feeling of vibrations in his pocket.
“Why—why are you calling?” James stumbles over his words.
“Sirius bailed on Lupin and there’s only one reason why he would do that. I didn’t mean to wake you though.”
James pulls his phone away to look at his screen—Regulus had called him twenty times.
“I should have guessed that was why you and Sirius weren’t responding, because you were trying to sleep off the migraine, but I started imagining the worst and then I couldn’t stop picturing it, you and Sirius somewhere, lost or hurt or maybe being held for ransom, you’re both very valuable on the black market—”
“Reggie,” James cuts him off. “We’re in my dorm. Sleeping.”
“Good.”
“Thank you for worrying about me,” James whispers with a fond smile. “But you don’t have to.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were having another episode?”
“I was fine this afternoon.”
“No, you weren’t. I thought you were sad, but you were in pain.”
“I was sad and in pain,” James admits. He is most of the time.
The line is silent for a moment, and James thinks that Regulus might have accidentally hung up—he’s not the best when it comes to texting and calling since he does it so rarely—then Regulus asks in a flat voice:
“Do you need anything?”
“No, thank you. Sirius is here.”
“Why won’t you let me help you?”
“I—I need to get back to sleep.” James is not in any state to have this conversation, to balance his unreciprocated feelings, to tamper his unwarranted childhood crush that he can’t grow out of, no matter how hard he tries.
For anyone else, a firm rejection would be enough to stomp out the flame. But James is persistent like that, wanting what he can’t have. Missing what he won’t ever get back.
“I hope you feel better,” Regulus says.
“Me too.”
James hangs up knowing he won’t.
******
It’s thanks to Sirius’ overbearing, loving nursing that James can stand to literally stand the next morning. He’s even able to shovel down the rugbrød and cheese that Wormtail brings him from breakfast.
Peter gives James a quick glance over and nods at the two blankets wrapped around his shoulders and the ice wrap around his head. “You’re letting Sirius take care of you?”
“Yeah.”
He peers behind James to shoot a look at Sirius.
“He is, Wormy,” Sirius confirms.
“Right. Then I’ll take notes for you in class.”
“Cheers.”
Though James has had migraines as far back as his memory goes, Peter’s never pushed him to share the messy details. He’s a good friend like that—always there to listen but never to nag.
While James is immensely grateful for Sirius, he can barely handle all those worried, motherly looks. They make him want to cry in Effie’s arms, which is why the moment he can stand on his own, he shoos Sirius out of his dorm.
“I’ll be fine, I’m just going to be napping. Go apologize to Moony.”
“What’s your pain?”
“6.”
James takes Sirius’ shoulders and pushes him towards the door, nearly stumbling from the wave of dizziness stealing his balance.
Sirius catches him, like always, and tuts. “Lay down, Potter.”
“Only if you go to literature.”
Sirius merely gestures to the bed. Once James is horizontal, his head flipping and flopping like a burnt pancake, Sirius runs a hand through his hair. “Wish me luck, Moony hasn’t responded to my texts.”
“I can’t believe you left your phone in the library.”
“I was rushing to get to you!” Sirius fiddles with his tie in the mirror then snaps to look back at James. “And don’t you dare apologize again, I won’t have you feeling guilty for this.”
“I’m just bummed that you had to miss your date.”
Sirius beams at James’ word choice. “I’ll get another one.”
“Yeah, you will.”
******
After another nap and a few hours staring at the ceiling, cursing his brain, James stomachs another meal, a rare package of spicy ramen that Peter had shipped from Japan. Things are almost looking up until Sirius flings James’ dorm open, all of his earlier bravado dead and trodden.
“Remus hates me. Won’t even look at me.”
Peter follows Sirius into James’ room, closing the door on the ever-lurking security detail. “Give him some time, Padfoot.”
James swings his legs off the bed, making room for them both—though puberty has made them each double in size, they still manage to squeeze into twin beds when the need arises. Peter sits with a huff while Sirius stands, arms crossed.
“Did you explain that you were taking care of me?” James asks.
“No, he didn’t,” Peter answers for Sirius. “Doesn’t want to share your business.”
“Pads,” James groans.
Sirius looks up from his chipped nails, fiddling with his ring.
“You know what?” James pushes off his bed to stand, smiling to distract from his wobbling legs. “I’ll talk to Remus and explain what happened.”
“That’s not—”
“Nope. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Prongs, you’re not…” Sirius glances at Peter. “ Well .”
James gives Sirius a sharp look. “I can handle a walk to the library. You took care of me last night, let me do my part now.”
When Sirius moves to stand, face twisting into a scowl, Peter interjects, “Just let him go. You know what Prongs gets like when he’s determined.”
“Thanks, Wormtail!”
“Wasn’t a compliment.”
James salutes Peter nonetheless, leaving his best friends behind in his dorm room.
It’s a little bit like a dream, talking to Moony. Remus has the sort of fluffy hair that James imagines angels boast of, and a stare as intimidating as Regulus’, which makes James all the more nervous when he explains his migraines.
James doesn’t think he’s ever talked to Remus before, though not for lack of trying. Sirius had been obsessed with him for forever and whenever James tried to do something about it—invite Remus to eat with them, or god forbid, say hello—Sirius would shut James down with a sputter: “But what if he talks to me?!”
Luckily, Sirius has learned how to talk to Remus, though, as of yet, not successfully.
Everything’s going just splendidly, Remus’ wary expression shifting into one of understanding, when he asks: “Are you feeling better?”
James shouldn’t hesitate, shouldn’t sow any seeds of doubt, but the question pierces through his skull right into its rotted pit—by now he should be feeling better. By now anyone else would have finished all five stages of grief. By now James should be a better liar.
But James is a slow learner, a slow griever, and a slow thinker. So he hesitates before he can remember to pretend. “I’m brilliant.”
“Right then.”
James feels his feet moving him back, back, and back, his gaze combing through the library looking for the one person he shouldn’t. He didn’t come here for that—for him . Only this is at the top of Regulus’ favorite places, and he’s not at his usual table.
And just as Regulus likes to worry about James, James loves to worry about Regulus. Loves to think about him, really. All the time.
That’s the problem.
“Are you looking for someone?” Remus drawls, pencil posed loosely in hand.
“Yeah, Reggie?”
“He’s in the back.” Remus points behind James. “Follow the signs to the B stacks.”
“Fitting.” James laughs. “See ya, Moony.”
He nearly sprints through the stacks, searching for that short, black hair that curls at the ends, those bright gray eyes that follow him religiously, those long fingers that called him twenty times the night before.
Maybe it should make it harder, Regulus caring so deeply for James, but he’s greedy for anything he can get. It’s a privilege to be loved—and after forty-three Wednesdays as an orphan, he’ll never take it for granted again.
“James!” Regulus drops his pen and shuts his notebook. “You should be in bed.”
He pulls up a chair to the table by the lancet window and smiles through the throb that’s somehow sitting in his teeth. “I’m feeling better!”
“Are you lying to me again?”
James blinks. It’s hard to hear Regulus’ emotions in his tone, but his mouth betrays his secrets—when he bites the inside of his cheek, or licks and chews his lips like he is now. Back then, James would hold Regulus gently and tell him, “Stop that, you’ll bleed.” But James doesn’t dare risk getting so close to Regulus now.
“You’re angry with me?” James asks, uncomprehending. Though Regulus has been upset with Sirius countless times, he’s always saved a special fondness for James, blaming their pranks and general mischief on his idiotic brother while casting James as a fellow victim, and when he’s feeling especially generous, Peter too.
Nothing pissed Sirius off more than Regulus’ love for James. Platonically, of course.
It was part of the reason James fell in love in the first place, all those private glances and relentless affection that Regulus dishes out in his own particular way. If Sirius is loud with his love, Regulus is practically silent—sneaking past Walburga’s watchful eyes to have soft conversations with James in the palace’s alcoves or passing him notes with book quotes dripping with dark, and occasionally, dirty humor.
Regulus is the perfect child, according to Walburga, but only because he knows how to hide himself from her, from the entire nation.
Like he sees Sirius, James is lucky enough to see Regulus too.
“I don’t appreciate being lied to, James,” Regulus informs him matter-of-factly. “I didn’t think that was something you did with me.”
“I didn’t lie—”
“You lied by omission,” Regulus interrupts.
James picks at the engraved initials on the edge of the table, plucking words from his thick brain fog. “I don’t want your pity.”
“When have I ever pitied you?”
“You know what I mean, I’d just prefer that no one knows so that it’s not such a big deal.”
“But I’m not supposed to be no one. I’m your Reggie .”
James’ chest caves a little when he looks up to find blood on Regulus’ bottom lip. He quickly pulls off his jacket and offers it up—a pathetic olive branch for his pathetic crush which makes him a pathetic friend.
When Regulus’ brows furrow in confusion, James dabs away the blood for him, holding back a wince not because of his head, but because of his heart.
How is he supposed to explain to Regulus that he’s had to put space between them for the sake of his sanity? That being in the same room as him, much less sitting with him, touching him, is a special kind of torture after Regulus’ flat rejection.
“I don’t want that. You don’t want that.”
James is trying to respect what Regulus wants, and what he thinks James wants. But in order to do that he has to move on—he needs to move on.
Maybe it’s pointless. Maybe a part of him will always live on that last perfect Wednesday, before he got the call that his parents were splattered on the side of the road, before he knew that Regulus didn’t like him back, not like that, before his world burst into flames and his head started burning with it.
“I don’t understand why Sirius gets to be there for you and I don’t,” Regulus’s voice is barely a whisper as James pulls away from his lip, now free of blood.
“I’m sorry,” is all James can offer him.
“Did I do something wrong?”
When James doesn’t answer, Regulus continues, “...at the funeral, when you—”
“That was my mistake, not yours,” James cuts him off. “Don’t blame yourself, Reggie, I’m just…I’m still grieving. I think I always will be.”
“Of course. I am too.” Regulus turns to look out the window, the afternoon sun spitting golden across his regal nose. “I sit by windows because Fleamont always said I needed more sunlight. I think of Effie’s perfume every time I go outside. They’re the first people I think of when I’m overwhelmed, and the last people I think of before I go to bed.”
James grips the sides of his chair. Fleamont and Effie had become pseudo-parents for Regulus, Sirius, and Peter, hosting them when their real parents let them get away, and watching out for them when Danish society tried to chew them up and spit them out.
They were good people. They didn’t deserve what they got.
“If it’s hard for me, it’s harder for you,” Regulus says. “So let me help.”
James feels the itch to take Regulus’ hands to hold him as close as possible, but that isn’t fair—not when it means something different for each of them.
“I can try,” James croaks.
Regulus’ eyes dip to James’ hands still gripping his chair. Then he reaches out a hand in invitation.
“We’re in public,” James says as an excuse.
“No one’s here.”
“I have to get going anyway.” James stands, throwing his blood-stained jacket over his arm. “Prefect duties, you know?”
Regulus doesn’t answer, watching James with an unreadable expression.
“Bye, Reggie.”
James leaves before Regulus can reply.
*****
For one day, James gets away with his cowardliness—he uses his migraine as an excuse to hide from the world, Sirius included.
Peter and Sirius shoot him texts and James responds when he has to, forcing every ounce of positivity he can when Sirius calls him with news of another “date” with Remus. Regulus doesn’t call again, but he does show up at James’ door, knocking softly.
James feigns sleep all three times.
The migraine has moved on more or less, making room for that hungry black hole that devours James in a droughted darkness, where meaning itself is sucked dry, where nothing seems to matter. Especially not himself.
He uses the bathroom, eats a snack, sips his water, because that’s what he’s supposed to do. That’s how humans live. But none of it feels all that important, and James is left to lie over his covers and close his eyes, trying to remember every inch of his parents’ faces, the sound of their voices. He’d rather die than forget that.
So maybe that’s what matters, James tells himself. Holding on to their memories, pushing forward, graduating Hogwarts, and using the fortune they left behind for something significant. It’s a slippery, shallow reason for James to keep going, making his dead parents proud. He ought to live for himself. He just can’t bring himself to.
No, he’s always been better at living for others.
So when a video of Sirius and Remus blows up online, James doesn’t hesitate. He summons the will to wash his face, change his clothes, and leave his room—to return to reality.
“Padfoot, I know this is scary.”
“This isn’t real. This can’t be happening.” Sirius paces in the Gryffindor common room, locked to the rest of the students thanks to James’ prefect key. “I can’t believe—who the fuck would do this?”
“Why don’t you sit down—”
“It’s illegal, it’s disgusting!”
James’ knee bounces on the couch while he tries and fails to get a word in. Beside him, Peter types furiously on his computer as he tracks down the account that first posted the video. Sirius hasn’t managed to sit since he saw it, making loops across the scattered cushions and couches, the dark red of the wallpaper a strange compliment to his rage.
Regulus, on the other hand, sits perfectly still in an armchair, tracking his brother’s movement as if birdwatching. He hasn’t looked James’ way once.
James would worry if he weren’t so bloody stressed about Sirius.
“There are a lot of people that want to see the monarchy’s reputation ruined,” James reasons in the calmest voice he can manage, but he’s freaking out too—he’s terrified of what this might mean for Sirius. What Walburga might do.
“It has to be someone who lives here, security wouldn’t let outsiders come on campus,” Peter says while he scrolls through Twitter.
“Has Remus answered yet?” James nods to Sirius’ phone.
“No.” Sirius tugs at his roots, shaking his head. “He made it clear that he has no interest in me and now this—oh Moony’s going to hate me forever.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Regulus says evenly.
“Of course it is, It’s only because I’m prince that this ever happened.”
“We didn’t choose to be this.”
“That’s a shit argument and you know it,” Sirius spits.
Regulus just raises a brow at his brother. “We can worry about Remus later. We need to focus on how you’re going to proceed. I think we should call Fie.”
“I don’t want to hear from her, and definitely not from mother.”
“She’s bound to show up here if you don’t call.”
Sirius freezes at that, a look of pure terror falling over his features.
James stands and grabs his hand. “Hey, I know this isn’t how you imagined it…but you were planning on coming out regardless. Maybe this way Walburga can’t pull another cover-up on you?”
Sirius’ hand goes limp in James’. “You didn’t just say that.”
“I’m only trying to look on the bright side—”
“You don’t fucking get it, James! I’m her heir, you don’t understand what she’ll—”
James cradles Sirius’ hand between both of his, pressing it against his frantic heart.
“They’re going to ruin any chance I had with Remus, and then after that, ruin my name entirely. I’ll be the laughingstock of all of Denmark and that—that video will be there forever. People will look at me and picture me shirtless and kissing him—” Sirius yanks his hands from James. “So don’t tell me that this is for the best because I’m ruined, James. I’m fucking ruined.”
“Sirius,” Regulus snaps in a tone akin to Walburga’s. “Do not take this out on James.”
James turns to look at Regulus, but he still won’t meet James’ gaze. Something’s wrong—everything’s wrong and James has to fix it. He needs to fix it.
“Sorry, Prongs.” Sirius rubs his face full of tears. “I’m sorry…I’m bloody scared.”
“I know.” James steps forward and Sirius stumbles into his arms, hiding his face in his chest.
“Got it!” They all turn to Peter, who flips the laptop around to face them. “I found the original account, now I just need to do some…illegal investigation.”
“Illegal?” James asks at the same time as Regulus says, “What do you need?”
Peter’s grin is slow and wicked. “Just give me a few hours.”
******
Thanks to Lily, they manage to contact Remus before the day ends. He refuses to speak to Sirius, but when James takes the phone, thank god, he listens.
“Look, Moony—I mean, Remus ,” James corrects. “We know who posted it and now we need to figure out a plan. You might be angry with Sirius but—”
“I’m more than angry, James,” Remus says in a low voice.
“Well I think that’s ridiculous but that’s beside the point. All of Europe has seen that video, and you two need to agree on how you’re going to handle the press. Your stories have to match or this will all get a hell of a lot worse.”
James' fists clench and uncurl in time to his heart, his body swarming with all the feelings he doesn’t have time to feel, doesn’t have the strength to endure. Sirius needs him. “Take it from someone who faced the press a day after their parents died. This isn’t optional.”
Remus sucks in a breath. “Fine.”
“Good. You need to come to Hogwarts,” James says before Remus can change his mind. “We can’t be caught leaving, there’s press at the front gates. Come around to the gym entrance and Agnes will let you in, she’s one of Reg and Sirius’—”
“Bodyguards, I know,” Remus grunts.
It’s another hour before Remus makes his way into Gryffindor, standing with his hands shoved in his pockets and hood thrown over his head.
“Well, I’m here.”
With a glance down the hallway, James pushes the door all the way open. Lily follows Remus into the common room, giving James a small, weak smile.
“Thanks for coming, both of you.” James gestures to the couch, Regulus scooting to the side to make room for them.
Sirius stands in the corner by a busk of Kierkegaard, looking at his feet, and Remus ignores him, sitting on the far side of the couch, Lily in the middle.
“So who was it?” Remus asks James without preamble.
Peter looks up from his spot on the floor, an empty energy drink beside him, laptop angled on his lap. “Snape.”
Regulus jolts at the name, and James doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why Regulus won’t look at him, why Regulus won’t speak to him, and he can’t ask, not when Sirius is in the corner falling fucking apart.
Not when the Danish monarchy is crumbling as they speak.
“That bastard.” Lily grimaces. “Tell me you have proof?”
Peter closes the laptop, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, and Dumbledore’s already aware. Snape will be suspended at minimum, probably expelled given how high-profile Sirius is.”
Remus snorts. “‘Course, only because it’s the bloody prince does Dumbledore do his job.”
James looks over at Sirius, whose arms are wrapped around his stomach, face curved to hide his tears. The universe has been cruel to Sirius many times, but this? Finally getting the guy he’s wanted for years just to have it blasted everywhere? It’s un-goddamn-acceptable.
And James will do anything and everything to make it right.
“Snape will be dealt with,” he says. “Remus, would you be willing to involve the monarchy’s PR team? They have experience with this kind of scandal.”
“It’s only my face that’s visible,” Remus says. “I’m sure that their plan is to lie and say it wasn’t Sirius.”
Before James can respond, Sirius says, “That’s not happening.”
“It should.”
Slowly, Sirius moves his eyes from the floor to Remus’. James can see the second that Remus realizes how hard Sirius has been crying—the puffy, red-rimmed eyes, the tangled hair in a bun bordering on a knot.
He looks a wreck , worse than James has ever seen his best friend before.
The two of them get caught staring at each other, and the silence in the room pulses like an unhealthy heart, frantic to beat, but unable to find the rhythm.
“I think what Remus is trying to say is that it would be easier for both of you if you say it isn’t you,” Lily tells Sirius, her hand on Remus’ arm. Whether she’s trying to comfort Remus or hold him back, James isn’t sure. He’s glad she’s here regardless.
“We could tell them the truth,” Sirius whispers like a plea.
“What? That we hooked up? It didn’t mean anything, Black.”
James can feel Sirius’ flinch like a knife in the gut.
“Yes, it did , Moony.”
Regulus stands up and crosses over to his brother, a hand hovering in the air as if worried Sirius might collapse. “Remus is right. It will be easier for both of you if you deny that it was you in the video.”
Sirius turns to Regulus. “I’m—I’m so tired of lying, Reg.”
“You need to,” his tone is final. “To protect yourself and Remus. And the crown.”
“Wait. Did you talk to Fie?”
“She’s a professional, Sirius, she knows what to do.”
“I can’t fucking believe you—”
“Both of you stop it!” James didn’t mean to raise his voice like that, he didn’t mean for his voice to crack.
He needs to keep it together.
But that black hole inside doesn’t see sense, all it knows is mom and dad aren’t here—if they were here, things would be okay. Everything would be fine.
It’s a fantasy, of course, but one that feels so real it nearly takes James out.
He shoves his grief down and swallows. “What happened to you two is horrible. It’s more than an invasion of privacy, they’ve forced you to come out, and not on your own terms.” He looks between Remus and Sirius, softening his face the way that Effie always did when James came home crying. “Now is your chance to reclaim the narrative.”
Remus' spine curves as he ducks his head. “My mom didn’t know I was gay.”
It’s the same thing James thought at his parents’ funeral. That he didn’t tell them. That he let them die before they knew who their son really was.
“It’s cruel and unfair,” James says because he knows Remus doesn’t want an apology. He wants his pain to be felt, his voice to be heard. “Unfair to both of you that this happened.”
“Forgive me if I’m not empathetic for the newest addition to their monarchy of colonists. He’s their perfect prince, he’ll be just fine.” Remus’ face twists with disgust. “I, on the other hand, have to change my name if I want so much as to get a job, much less get into college.”
“What are you on about—I’ve never been their perfect prince!” Sirius sputters.
Remus chuckles darkly. “What? Do you really think your clothes and party habits are rebellious? You’re just feeding into their individualist crap while playing their game of political neutrality.”
“I’ve never once agreed with that position.”
“Really? When have you ever spoken up about anything, Sirius? Immigration? Queer rights? Palestine?!”
“I do—or I will .” Sirius’ eyes dart around frantically. “I was waiting to graduate first.”
“Not all of us have the luxury of keeping quiet,” Remus spits.
“They’re saying the same horrible things about me, Remus! All the same slurs, all the—”
It’s James who stops him then. “Sirius, it’s not the same. They think you’re a real Dane but Remus…” He doesn’t even know how to say it, but he certainly understands it. James has had a lifetime of dealing with not-so-subtle questions about his race, his citizenship, his right to his father’s fortune.
He learned from Effie how to cope—how to be proud of his Indian heritage despite the bigots. Though all of that pride feels farther than ever since she left him.
Sirius steps back, mouth opening and closing.
“That didn’t occur to you, did it?” Remus sounds less accusing now, more tired than anything.
“It did, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Those racist assholes. I’m—I’m—” Sirius takes a breath. “To be honest, I haven’t been able to look at what they’re saying about either of us.”
Peter pipes up then. “There’s some support for you as a couple.”
“Which we aren’t,” Remus interjects.
“But,” Peter continues, scrolling through his laptop and wincing. “The loudest voices aren’t saying anything nice, especially not about Remus.”
Sirius’ eyes flutter shut. James grapples with the urge to cross the room and hold him, to hide them both from this awful world, but Sirius has to face this. He has to decide if he’ll hide forever.
“We’ll do it your way, Remus. If you don’t want—” Sirius chokes and James knows he was on the verge of saying “me”. “If you don’t want all of this press, then I’ll go out there and publicly deny it.”
Remus doesn’t say anything, like a statue petrified in a moment of pain—a myth one second away from being forgotten.
“Fie also thinks that Sirius should start dating someone,” Regulus breaks the silence, ignoring the questioning look James shoots him. “If you date a woman in public, the attention will shift away from the video and Remus.”
Sirius’ voice is flat, “Pandora’s not available.”
Lily’s entire body stiffens at the mention of her girlfriend.
“That’s alright. Emmeline has already agreed,” Regulus says.
“How nice of her.”
“She was paid.”
“Oh.” Sirius swallows, still looking at Remus. “This is what you want?”
James wants to run to the couch and shake Remus’ shoulders because this is not what Sirius wants, this is everything he feared, lying to the country about his sexuality, playing Walburga’s courting game—complying, hiding, barely surviving. If he lies about this video, James isn’t sure Sirius will ever be able to date men.
This is his one chance.
But Remus signs Sirius’ death certificate: “Yes. This is what I want.”
******
It would be easy to hate Remus, James thinks to himself. He not only broke Sirius’ heart—he stole any chance Sirius had of being himself in his public role. Of setting a queer precedent for the country, the continent. Of being in love, for real .
Only James knows that Remus has his reasons. He doesn’t want this life full of paparazzi and racist twats online scrutinizing, invading his life. He’s clearly not happy at this school, in Denmark, and he won’t risk his chances for college abroad.
James can hear his dad telling him to be empathetic, he can feel his mom urging him to go give Remus a hug, which…seems like the wrong move. Nevertheless, while Regulus and Sirius draft a statement with Fie on speakerphone, James finds himself sitting in the armchair across from Remus and Lily.
“Hey, Evans.”
Lily blows out a breath. “Hi.”
Remus ignores James, his head angled to the side as if he wants the couch to swallow him up.
“I’m sorry about—Sirius didn't mean anything by mentioning Pandora.”
“I know that the whole world thought they were dating.”
“She’s a great friend, she used to offer to do it to get the press off of Sirius’ back, but that’s it.”
“Well she’s a lesbian and Sirius is gay so I’m sure that is it,” Lily teases.
“Right.” James chuckles. “Don’t tell her I said this, but she likes you a lot. It’s all I hear about in gym.”
Lily’s green eyes brighten. “Oh, the feeling is mutual.”
Their smiles both fade as they glance at Remus, his hand over his face as if he’s hungover and shrinking away from the sun.
James hears Regulus and Sirius mumbling behind them and takes in a steadying breath. “Hey, Remus?”
“I’m not in the mood, Potter.” Remus barely moves his lips.
“I know, and I’ll shut up after this,” James begins. “Sirius hasn’t had the chance to care deeply about many people, and I know you two were barely dating—”
“We weren’t dating.”
“Were barely talking , then,” James corrects. “But he’s cared about you from afar for a long time. He trusts you and—and—”
Lily smiles at James encouragingly.
“I just think it’s a shame because I have a feeling that you care for him too, Remus. Despite his title.”
“He said it himself.” Remus sighs. “You can’t separate him from the crown.”
“Yes, it’s a part of him. Sirius is Sirius because he’s grown up in the spotlight, because he had private tutors instead of playdates, because he’s not allowed to mess up, because of his joke of a mother and bitch of a queen.”
At James’ swearing, Remus drops his hands, eyes widening. “Bitch of a queen?”
“No one’s a fan of Walburga here,” James says with a shrug. It’s an understatement. He isn’t sure if it’s the pressures of the crown that made her so cruel and unforgiving, or if she was born an abusive narcissist, unfit for motherhood—either way, James has spent many, many hours flirting with treason.
Many, many hours wishing it was Walburga in that car instead of Effie and Fleamont.
“I understand that being the prince shaped him. That’s not—the problem isn’t his past, it’s his future. One day, he’ll be King.” Remus leans forward, his eyes almost pleading.
Ironic, that James recognizes the expression. Desperate and wretched and hopeless . Sirius looks just the same after every meeting with his mom. Neither one of them wants Sirius to wear the crown.
But he has to.
“I had to try,” James whispers.
“You’re a good friend,” Lily tells him when Remus goes silent.
No, James can’t help but think. A good friend would have fixed it.
******
After Remus checks the statement, approving it with no more than a nod, Agnes escorts him and Lily out of Gryffindor.
Sirius watches Remus go without a word.
“Hey, Pads, why don’t we go to your dorm and—”
“I want to be alone.”
James and Peter share yet another look. How many times have they done that this week?
Holding back a sigh, James tries again, “We can put on “Flickering Lights” and order in?”
“I won’t be good company,” Sirius says, voice emotionless.
“I don’t care.”
Sirius blinks, looking at James but not really seeing him. “I want to be alone,” he repeats before he throws open the common room door and sets off for his room.
James hears his security team follow, a few staying back for Regulus.
“Should I…”
“I’ll go,” Peter tells James. “You need a break, Prongs.”
“I’m fine.”
This time, it’s Regulus and Peter who share a look. James realizes then that his hands are clenched into shaking fists, and he shoves them beneath his legs, stopping the blood flow entirely.
When he looks up again, Peter is gone—and Regulus is finally staring back. “What were you and Lily talking about?”
James jolts, stunned by the question. “I—I don’t know, Pandora, I guess.”
“Lily was your first kiss.”
“Yes?”
Regulus tilts his head, face blank. “Are you uncertain of that fact?”
James shakes his head, unsettled by Regulus' stare. Reggie’s always had a particular way of talking, his face flat and tone even moreso, but James has always been able to see through it, see right to his shimmering soul.
Right now, it seems duller than ever.
“Are you still mad at me or something?”
“Correct.”
“That’s why you haven’t been looking at me? I—I didn’t imagine it?”
Regulus leans back, chewing on his lip. “You noticed.”
James almost laughs at the idea of not noticing Regulus—wouldn’t that be something? A relief, maybe, but miserable too. He’s at his best when he’s watching his friends, taking care of his loved ones.
“Well, whatever I did, I’m sorry.”
Regulus sits down beside James on the couch. “You and Lily can’t date. Pandora is dating her.”
“I know!” James throws his hands up. “What is with you and Lily? I was only talking to her because we’re friends.”
“Like we’re friends,” Regulus says, and it doesn’t sound like a question but it is.
James opens his mouth to say yes, only he feels like that’s the wrong answer, like Regulus is searching for something else from him. His lungs groan from all his incessant breathing, and without Sirius in the room, all of James’ reasons to be out of bed, to be existing at all, seem shallow.
He wants to lie down and sleep. Maybe forever.
Then Regulus takes James’ hand and his lungs kick back into action. “What are you—”
“We’re not in public so you can’t give that excuse.”
James realizes that Regulus is waiting for him to give a different excuse, a reason for them not to touch, and he tries to think of one, but it’s nice being held—even if only his fingers. And maybe it’s not fair to either of them to pretend, but for a moment, James daydreams.
The two of them in love. His parents hosting them for dinner. Regulus smiling as he calls James his boyfriend.
It’s another fantasy—Regulus is bound by the same chains, the same crown, as Sirius. Even if he weren’t, he doesn’t want James like that.
“I don’t want that. You don’t want that.”
James pulls his hand away and tucks it under his legs. “Please, I can’t…” He trails off. “It’s been a long day.”
“And holding my hand makes it worse.”
In some ways, that’s true, so James can’t find the will to correct Regulus. He can’t find the will to speak at all.
“Can I make it better?”
“What do you mean? I’m fine. You should check on Sirius.” James shakes his head, standing up. “We both should.”
He crosses the room to the door and glances over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Regulus’ answer is barely a whisper. “In a minute.”
******
In all his years at Hogwarts, James can count on one hand how many times the four dorms have managed to plan something together. There’s an unspoken rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and Ravenclaw tends to stick to themselves while Hufflepuff is somewhat terrified of them all.
The boarding school thrives on cliques and secret societies, of which James has worked hard to rattle as a prefect, so the news of a school-wide party the next morning is shocking. Suspicious, even.
“Who the hell is planning this?” Peter glares at the invite on his phone, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “And more importantly, why didn’t they ask us to help?!”
“A Ravenclaw posted it?” James asks when Sirius throws open the door to his dormitory, looking unsurprised to see Peter and James on his bed.
“Where have you been?!” James looks Sirius over head to toe, searching for signs of a hangover. Sometime after Peter and James fell asleep the night before, Sirius had snuck out, evading his security detail too.
Any other night James wouldn’t find it cause for concern—Sirius takes any chance to sneak away from prying eyes—but yesterday was not any other night. Yesterday Sirius lost almost everything.
He shouldn’t have been alone. James shouldn’t have fallen asleep.
“Good, you saw the invite!” Sirius nods to Peter’s phone. “I’m thinking I’ll go as Bowie.”
“What? Halloween’s not until October. Or is it November? No, that's the one with the turkeys--”
“It’s just a costume party.” Sirius rolls his eyes at Peter.
“Hello?” James waves his hands. “Where the hell were you?”
“Oh, you know…Here and there.” Sirius winks.
“I’m so in, we’re going, right?” Peter looks up from his phone, first at James then at Sirius.
“I don’t know if that’s a good—”
“Yes.” Sirius throws his hair back, tying it into a bun. “Emmeline’s coming too. The Angie to my Bowie.”
James frowns at how… eager Sirius sounds. He’s yet to face the school since the video came out and now he wants to go to a party with his fake girlfriend? “You don’t have to do this, Sirius. Didn’t Fie say you should take Emmeline off campus and—”
“This is perfect. Someone will inevitably take a photo and it will seem more real because I’m at Hogwarts and not flaunting it to the press.”
“We’re not supposed to take photos of you and Reg here.”
“Clearly that rule has been broken,” Sirius snorts in a false voice, plopping down into his desk chair.
“Padfoot…are you okay?” Peter asks.
“Perfect.” Sirius spins on his chair, sliding on his rings. “We’ve got a party to go to.”
“Well, we have classes to go to first.”
Sirius’ expression shudders. “Class. Right.”
James picks up the mug of tea he made for himself in the common room and passes it to Sirius.
“Cheers!” When Sirius takes it, James sees a crescent moon drawn on his hand.
His stomach drops, unsettled by Sirius’ disappearance, and wary of whatever plans he has for tonight. James pulls on his uniform, frowning as he tries to think of what Fleamont would say. Tries to think of what he should do.
What am I supposed to do, Far?
“You say something?” Peter nudges James.
“No.”
Somehow, James finds himself in the bathroom, looking at his empty reflection, searching for traces of his parents in his bronze-brown skin, his poor vision, his nest of hair.
“Let’s go, Prongs!” Peter shouts.
“Hey.” Sirius pops his head in the bathroom. “What’s your pain level?”
“I’m not having a migraine,” James mumbles. Not yet, at least. It will come soon enough.
“Then let’s go!”
James’ breath catches at the smile Sirius wears, and he sends his best friend the same one back. He wonders if they both know that they’re fake.
******
On the edge of the forest surrounding Hogwarts, there sits a cross between a shack and a shed, wide enough to fit whatever of Saint Benedict’s junk the monks wanted to store back in the day. Thanks to a rumor James is fairly certain Peter started, the building is known to students as a self-flagellation landmark, supposedly still haunted by devout screams.
Rumor or not, James has stayed far away from the run-down “Shrieking Shack”. The thought of monks in those creepy robes unsettles him. Besides, he’s got enough ghosts haunting his life.
But tonight, armed with a few shots of Akvavit, James sneaks to the Shrieking Shack with Sirius and Peter.
“Wormy, this is your look.” Sirius shoves him playfully.
Peter places his cowboy hat over his heart and clicks his heels. “Why, thank you,” he gives his best attempt at an American Southern drawl.
“Come on.” James snorts. They hurry through the dark trail, Sirius pausing every now and then to place his flashlight under his chin, his Aladdin Sane lightning bolt sparkling.
While Sirius is used to makeup, James barely resists the urge to scratch his face off, his Joker smile making his skin crawl, his lips itch. It was a last-minute idea.
All of this is a last-minute idea.
James runs a hand through his hair. “Padfoot, are you sure that tonight’s the right time to do this?”
“‘Course! Hurry up, Emmeline is waiting.” Sirius grabs Peter and James’ arms and pulls them faster.
The sound of a deep bass leaks from the Shrieking Shack’s old wood, and Sirius slips into the crowded space with an easy expression, James the “un” of uneasy as he follows behind.
“I’m going to take another shot!” Peter yells, marching to the table full of handles.
Sirius blows a kiss to James as he walks backwards into the dancing crowd, searching for his date.
James doesn’t have the energy to babysit Sirius all night. To count his drinks and keep an eye on Emmeline and help Sirius stumble home when he inevitably gets too pissed to function. He’s selfish for it, a shit friend for it, but James wants to curl up in his bed more than anything—he wants to be alone with the hole in his chest until it devours him entirely.
He can’t remember the last party, the last club, the last bar he went to where he had a good time.
That’s a lie, he scoffs to himself. He does know—it was before that Wednesday.
There’s not enough room for all of Hogwarts in this piece-of-crap shack and James grunts as he’s pushed this way and that, bright lights swooping over his skin and eyes. He’s halfway to running back outside when he sees Regulus against the other wall, frowning with his hands covering his ears. His outfit is all black, like usual, but he’s twisted his hair into two small side braids.
James doesn’t think as he shoves people aside to get to Regulus. “What—what are you doing here?” He has to lean close so that Regulus can hear him.
Regulus hates crowds, hates loud music, hates parties in general, and yet, when he turns to James he makes it all seem obvious. “I’m here for Sirius?”
“What?”
“Sirius!” Regulus steps closer. “Moral support.”
James looks around and finds Sirius standing on a table beside Peter, singing “Dancing Queen” to a laughing Emmeline.
“He and Remus had to present the soliloquy project today, and Sirius was a mess after.”
“He was?” James hadn’t known that was today, fuck, he should have known that. No wonder Sirius was so rattled by the thought of classes that morning. No wonder Sirius jumped at the chance to snog Emmeline in front of everyone.
James almost rubs his face, but catches himself before he smears his drawn smile.
Then Regulus places his hands back on his ears, pressing closer to James as Mulciber, Snape, and Avery enter the shack.
“That prick .” James steps forward but Regulus grabs his arm.
He more than grabs—he tugs , yanking James through the crowd and into a side door that opens to the edge of the forest. James gulps down the air, feeling goosebumps raise across his skin. Whether that’s from the night’s chill or Regulus’ touch, he isn’t sure.
“You can’t punch him.”
James grunts. “Why isn’t Snape expelled?”
“He is. This party isn’t sanctioned by the school, I’m sure his friends got him in.”
James scowls and moves to go back inside, but Regulus’ grip is firm. “Come on , Reggie.”
“No,” Regulus says, tone softening. “Sit down and take a breath.”
It’s impossible not to follow Regulus’ wishes when he talks like that, when he holds James’ arm like a leash, unwilling to let him go. So James sits beside Regulus in the dirt and dead leaves. Their spines press into the cold wood and it’s like they’re back in the cellar, hiding away.
James does take a breath, then another, and another. “They’re vultures. Snape and the paps and all those arseholes. Always waiting for their next prey.”
“Vultures have a bad reputation in modern metaphor,” Regulus says. “They’re critical for cleaning up disease-filled carcasses and protecting our ecosystem. Ironic, since we tend to judge all twenty-three species as omens of death when they’re really keeping us safe from anthrax and rabies.”
James looks at Regulus in awe, stunned by his mind, his presence, his attention. “That’s…interesting.”
“Is it? I think I’m rambling.”
“If you are, I’m glad to hear it,” James admits.
Regulus nods, eyes flicking from tree to tree, then landing on the tall sequoia across from them. “I’m a good brother, right? I came here even though I hate parties.”
“I know.” James laughs fondly. “And you’re an incredible brother—you even dressed up. What are you supposed to be?”
“Wednesday Addams.”
James’ breath catches as Regulus adds, “Because it’s your favorite day, and you’ve been sad.”
“I’m not sad.”
Regulus squeezes his eyes shut. “ Please stop lying.”
“Sorry,” James quickly says. “It’s a habit.”
“It shouldn’t be with me. I should be the one you tell the truth to.” Regulus rubs his hands together in a triplet rhythm. The pattern soothes him when he’s stressed, James knows.
But why is he stressed?
“Okay, I’ll be honest with you,” James says, desperate to make it better. “What do you want to know?”
Regulus turns to face James head-on. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
“How can I make it better?”
This time, James lets himself smear the lipstick, rubbing his face to hide his expression. “I wish I knew.”
All he knows is that he misses his parents—that he lies awake in bed at night caving into the earth missing them. He’s so tired of grief, of his cycles of pain, a purgatory of migraines. Why did he have to survive? Why does he have to face this world without them?
Regulus’ hands still as he asks: “Why won’t you touch me anymore? Trust me?”
With a scoff, James drops his hands. He looks at Regulus, silently begging him to piece it together so that he doesn’t have to say it. So that he doesn’t have to be rejected all over again.
“I don’t want that. You don’t want that.”
“What?”
“You’re smarter than all of us. Don’t pretend like you don’t know deep down,” James mumbles.
“I don’t.”
James sighs, bracing his heart for another crack. “Because I’m in love with you.”
He looks away before he can see Regulus’ reaction, focusing on that sequoia watching on. When James was little, Effie helped him climb trees in the park, placing spider-man bandages over his scrapes once he finished.
But there are some cuts that even a mom can’t heal.
“It’s alright, Reggie,” James says, still looking at the dark bark. “You don’t have to say anything, it’s not your problem, it’s mine. I’ll get over it, eventually.”
“Is that another lie?”
James’ entire body stiffens. He forces himself to relax, pulling his knees to his chest.
Then Regulus places a hand on James’ arm. “Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Please.”
James’ breath is ragged as he turns his head and meets those bright gray eyes. He thinks of his parents’ love story, how they met at an art-show of all places, taking turns mocking the modern paintings with inventive, juvenile names. They ended up buying one of those ugly squiggle masterpieces to hang it over their bed, a memento of their first date.
“I’m going to do something that scares me,” Regulus begins.
“Wh—what?”
“I’m going to try something new, and I need you to be very, very still. Don’t move.”
Regulus has never been a fan of change, and James has always helped him through the little and the big things, like trying a new food or moving from the palace to Hogwarts. It’s daunting for Regulus, but he’s always so bloody brave when the time comes to try something new.
Try something new, James repeats in his head. “What are you—”
All words, all worries leave James’ head as Regulus’s face inches forward, his bottom lip wet not with nerves or blood but want. He wants to…James’ brain short circuits as Regulus comes even closer, as he closes his eyes and their lips brush.
James remains very, very still as Regulus instructed, but his whole body lights up with the trust of the touch. Maybe it means nothing, maybe it means everything, but for this moment, James lets himself feel the delight rushing from his head to his heart, Regulus’ lips filling up that hole inside until it’s overflowing.
Then Regulus gasps and breaks the kiss, and James returns to reality.
“Are you okay?” James asks.
“It’s…different.”
“Did you do that for my sake? Was that a—a pity kiss?”
“No.” Even Regulus’ blink is offended.
“You wanted to do that?”
Regulus dips his chin, eyes darting down to James’ lips. “Ever since the funeral I’ve wanted to try again.”
Before James can react, before he can pass out from the realization that Regulus wants him back, the backdoor flings open and Emmeline comes running out.
“James?” She says then looks around, peering into the forest. “Have you seen Sirius?”
Both Regulus and James straighten. “No. Did he leave or—”
“Remus showed up and now they’re both missing.”
James stands, holding out a hand to help Regulus up. He moves to let him go once he’s on his feet but Regulus’ grip is unwavering. “No more excuses,” Regulus says firmly.
It’s a few more seconds before James can remember how to speak, a few more seconds of James being a selfish friend, in love with his best friend’s brother, before he turns back to Emmeline. “Where was the last place you saw them?”