The Amortentia Potion

Regulus Black would like to say he’s a level minded person. He would like to say that he didn’t take an absurd amount of the Amortentia potion so that he would act absurdly and get James Potter in trouble. 

He would also like to say that he did not watch himself put a little Amortentia into the throat of James Potter after not swallowing the whole vial. 

However, he would be lying. 

He saw the small vial that was recommended for testing an Amortentia potion, and he picked up a size nearly twice that amount intentionally. He did have an out of body experience where he watched himself sing and dance to James Potter before smacking their lips together, pause to sing some more, and then shove his throat down James Potter’s mouth. He also saw how James Potter looked after licking his lips after the first kiss, which is when James first swallowed some of the Amortentia potion. 

He also saw how ravenous and lust hungry James looked as he gripped tightly at Regulus’ neck and yanked his hair, causing Regulus to moan involuntarily, even though Regulus had done the exact same thing to James just a second prior. It was during the second kiss, the one with tongue, that Regulus is certain he forced more Amortentia down James’ throat. 

While Regulus could watch what was happening, he could not assist in stopping his own mortifying actions. He could not swerve his head around and tear out the tongues of those who laughed as Regulus sang a muggle song, something his parents would surely punish him for if they ever discovered it. 

Regulus chose to drink the Amortentia potion because it gave him the perfect out if his body did something to get James in trouble, and he gambled on the fact that James was saving himself for Lily Evans, and was terribly touch starved. Since conscious and stable Regulus knew this, certainly Amortentia-effected Regulus would utilise it. 

And he did. 

But that’s all he remembers from that encounter. 

Well, he remembers the feeling of James Potter’s tongue mixing with his, his slightly chapped lips against his own soft ones, the feeling of those rough hands– but he chooses to ignore them. He chooses to ignore the lingering burns of bite marks along his lips, lingering two days after the encounter. 

He chooses to ignore the sensation of someone watching him, someone who has been watching him for the past two days. The very same someone who let Regulus slide his tongue–

No.

He’s not doing this. 

His plan worked. 

He drank the Amortentia potion first, relied succeedingly in the Amortentia version of himself to victimise James Potter and get him in trouble with Sirius. It all went according to plan. 

Minus the fact that it was confirmed and provided information that James was also affected by Amortentia potion, so Sirius forgave him. 

That was not part of Regulus’ plan. Matter-of-fact, it was completely a waste of a plan since Sirius forgave James so quickly. Especially since Regulus had to listen to James be forgiven. Granted, Regulus was still under the effects of Amortentia, and so he doesn’t actually remember caring what anyone but James was saying, but he knows he was there for it. 

He also remembers being really weird. 

Regulus remembers that he couldn’t keep eye contact with anyone except for James. He couldn’t get through his classes, and he continuously begged for James Potter. So, naturally, he was stuck in the infirmary with James, whispering complete nonsense. For example, when he called everyone dirt. 

“All the people are fake. They’re made of dirt,” he’d whispered into James’ ear, giggling. Yes, giggling. Regulus Black giggled. That made his eye twitch even now, something he also didn’t do. 

“But I like you, and that’s not–” he’d hiccupped here, before continuing. “That is not fake.”

Only then did James look at him again with that glimmer he didn’t offer to anyone but Lily Evans in their second year at Hogwarts, when he’d stopped really caring about tarnishing his bloodline. He’d looked at him like he was in love with Regulus, but at that time, James wasn’t under Amortentia anymore, and so it must have just been an illusion caused by Regulus’ dose, which was far stronger. 

It has to be. 

Right?

Because James Potter wasn’t a poof. He wasn’t a faggot, and neither was Regulus, so it wouldn’t matter if Potter was. 

“Reg, are you alright?” Barty Crouch, one of his fondest of friends, was calling him again. That would be because someone poisoned Regulus’ supper the night prior and he was back in the infirmary. There are multiple reasons as to why he could have been poisoned, but he was leaning towards the fact that someone must have thought the smashing of two boys' lips was intentional. It was planned, but it wasn’t actually intentional. A plan that went right but something Regulus would never do if he wasn’t under a potion that made it such.

Because Regulus wasn’t a faggot. 

Even if he still dreamed of James Potter’s lips on his, that hand squeezing at his throat so tightly–

“Yes, I’m alright, Barty. I thank you for your concern, however.” 

“Are you sure? You look even paler than last night?” This time, Dorcas Meadowes was speaking. Her voice was rough this morning, and considering the time – just past dawn, when visitors were allowed in the infirmary, which Regulus shuns because he’d liked to have gotten a little more sleep before the infirmary doors were busted open and the wails of Pandora woke him – he didn’t blame her. She’d not yet had her morning tea, which woke her up and softened her voice naturally. Though, he supposed it couldn’t be considered natural if it wasn’t like that when she avoided her morning tea. 

Pandora cut in before he could respond. “Regulus, James Potter has been requesting to know your state of livelihood.” By that, she means Potter wants to know if he’s okay and if he’s allowed to visit Regulus without Regulus feeding him his flesh. Apparently, Potter actually believed him when he joked about it. 

So, he laughed. It was short and barely even a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. It took Dorcas by surprise, who backed up a little. Barty’s eyes were a tad wide, but he didn’t move. Pandora showed no tell if she was surprised. “No, he is not welcome. However, I am alright. Dorcas, you act like I’ve never been poisoned before.”

He has been poisoned. Hundreds of times. By his parents, no less. Walburga Black, his maman, claimed it was to build his tolerance so that no one would be able to end her perfect heir’s life through such a boring route. So, being poisoned the night before only forced him to vomit a little. It was a small dose. 

His friends only pestered him for a small while that morning before they shuffled off for breakfast. He stayed a little longer, though not through his own choice. Madam Pomfrey insisted on him staying to get more rest, as she knew that he hadn’t gotten much the night prior and that his friends pestering him so close to dawn must have worsened his “condition”. 

He was not sure if she was referring to his previously poisoned self or his insomnia. He did not care to find out. She offered him a potion to help him sleep and he took it encouragingly. 

Instead, when she forced him out just in time for lunch, he left just as encouragingly. The potion helped him a lot more than he’d like to admit, but he was thankful for it and shared his gratitude before leaving. 

On his way to the hall, he bumped into a stiff, sturdy James Potter. Accompanying him was Remus Lupin, who Regulus preferred to identify as his brother’s boyfriend even though they weren’t dating, and Peter Pettigrew, who was a pathetic little thing. The boy had gained a lot over the summer, going from a slightly frail thing to needing to up his uniform size nearly double what it was prior to the summer. Whatever his parents were feeding him, they needed to stop if they wanted their son to be loved. Of this, Regulus was certain. 

Curiously, Sirius was not with them. Subconsciously, the word would be ‘thankfully’ instead. Regulus did not listen to his subconscious. He did not listen to the voice in the back of his head that pleaded for Regulus not to pull his wand on Sirius when Bellatrix told him to, when Walburga watched with amused eyes as Sirius was on the ground, cousins surrounding him with malice. He did not listen to Sirius as his older brother looked at him with betrayal before Regulus did, in fact, use the Cruciatus curse on his brother. 

Regulus doubts that Sirius mentioned that final factor to his friends, even with all the distaste he shares for his younger brother. If he had, the three would not be looking at Regulus with such curiosity as they are now, they would be looking at him with disgust and anger. After all, that’s how Sirius looked at him. He looked at him with blame, with rage, with distrust, and sometimes with pity. Never did he look at him curiously, with slight delight at his appearance in situations that may or may not involve him. Always hate. Never admiration for the boy who gave Sirius a way out of that fucking house. Never admiration or love for the boy who replaced him in order to save him. Never love for the boy who put him through the floo and sent him to the fucking Potter house. Never love for the boy who was constantly beaten and put to shame for not keeping you at that house, for if that boy was lovable, then Sirius would have stayed. If Regulus was enough, Sirius would not have left, maman said. Never–

“Black, how are you?” Lupin’s voice cut through his thoughts. The voice was laced with confusion. How long had he been thinking? Was it not momentarily?

“Why do you ask?” Always suspicious. Never answering. Not trusting. Did Lupin poison him? No, couldn’t have. Wouldn’t have. Wouldn’t he?

“You’ve been staring at James' chest for a good two minutes, for starters,” he laughed at that before stopping himself, Lupin that is. Clearly, it was accidental. 

Two minutes . 

He turns to face Lupin, ignoring the radiating body heat of James Potter directly in front of him. “Apologies. I was lost in thought. I’ll be on my way now, if you’ll excuse me.”

How honest of him. His mother would punish him for that, too. Being honest, truthful to the enemy could lead to death. He couldn’t let his mother down by dying so early in life. He needs to put all that effort he used to get Sirius out of the house into being a successful heir. 

Lupin hummed in acknowledgement and didn’t push for information, although Regulus is certain Lupin must have noticed that Regulus never answered his question. Pettigrew, also, did not budge for information. Regulus can’t even hear the boy breathing. Maybe he isn’t. Obese people tend to not have as strong lungs as those of the healthy. Two minutes, Lupin had said. Maybe he’d topple over and die, doing the world a favour. Pettigrew, that is. Regulus holds nothing against Lupin and his ironically attractive scar that lines his face. 

And no, thinking Lupin’s attractive does not making Regulus a faggot because literally every person in this school has had some pull to the face of Remus Lupin except for those who genuinely have no taste in human beings. Even Regulus can admit that much. 

James does not take the hint to leave Regulus alone, even as Regulus is halfway down the hallway, in the opposite direction of wherever the three were heading. Instead, he calls out to him. “I’m sorry for last night!” 

What? 

Regulus doesn’t remember James existing in his presence the night prior. Was he the one that poisoned Regulus? 

How fashionable; dying by the hands of his sworn enemy. By the hands of the boy who stole his brother away from him, as his mother bore into his head. Though, dying by hands that muscular and strong, gripping around Regulus’ throat, strangling him, Regulus can’t see himself complaining–

NO.

He had to stop thinking about that. 

So, Regulus, calm and collected, responds, “I’d watch your food and skin from now on,” before continuing down the hall without another word. He leaves with a slight smile that no one can see, but only he could feel. And he leaves with the subconscious fact that he knows Potter wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t end the life of Sirius’ younger brother, even if Sirius hates him. He also leaves with the delight that James Potter genuinely thinks that Regulus will be feeding him his flesh. He will not, if it’s any consolation.

“WHAT–!? No– Moony, I thought you said he was kidding!?” 

— 

At supper that night, however, it hits him like a steel fucking truck. Like a bludger to the face. 

Completely not under the effects of Amortentia, James Potter was sitting in a chair next to Regulus’ bed in the infirmary. His face was drowning in sympathy, but also glimmering with an emotion Regulus wasn’t familiar with. Potter’s eyes looked from Regulus’ sleep stricken ones to his lips, which were slightly parted from laying on his side and nodding off before being awoken by the feeling of being watched. 

Potter scooted a tad closer, now barely a foot away from Regulus’ face. Regulus still doesn’t move. He barely blinks. All while a thousand thoughts are running through his mind. 

“Why is James Potter in the infirmary watching me sleep? Why is he still watching me now that I’m awake? Why is his hand on mine? Why haven’t I moved mine? I should probably move my hand. Merlin, but his hand is so nice against mine. It’s so warm. Why is he looking at me like that? What is ‘that’? Why is he moving closer? Oh my Merlin why is he–”

And maybe Regulus died a little too. Maybe his lips were just as stained and tinted as James Potter’s lips were two daylights prior. Because those slightly chapped lips that met his two daylights prior were on his again, just barely, just for a moment. Barely even occurred. 

For four seconds it occurred, actually. For four seconds, James Potter gently pressed his lips into Regulus’. For four seconds, Regulus’ lips were tainted with fireworks and affirming thoughts of torture from his mother if she found out he was, in fact, a poof. Because no heterosexual fifteen year old boy would be loving, accepting a kiss from their sworn enemy who happens to be the same sex as them for four whole seconds. 

And then it ended. It ended and Regulus was alive again. He was alive and okay, and not a poof. No, because he felt absolutely nothing for James Potter but hatred again, and that he could live with. He could live with the hatred. He could live with the boiling rage. 

He could not live with even the idea that it was something else. 

He would not live with the idea that maybe Regulus longed to hold his hand and hug him as much as Sirius did, if not even more. No, because he couldn’t , even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. 

And maybe he died even a little more that night. 

When James fucking Potter pressed another kiss to Regulus’ skin, except this time to his forehead, with a hand gently caressing the back of his head. It was kind, it was caring. It was everything his own mother never gave him, his own father never thought of. It was something only his older brother had done to him, and even then it didn’t feel the same way it felt now. It didn’t feel out of love that wasn’t familial. This time it did. This time it felt like he belonged in that kiss, in those hands. 

And that was something that killed Regulus a little more. 

Because he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t and wouldn’t belong with or to James Potter, who Sirius belonged to. 

No, Regulus Black belonged to the title of “Death Eater” and heir to the Noble House of Black. 

Even so, he drifted off to the feeling of that hand caressing him. 

So now, a whole night later, in the middle of supper, Regulus felt a tear roll down his left eye. He felt another roll down his right before he very quickly took both hands and rubbed them away, and rather violently at that. He looked around the table and as expected, no one was looking or even glancing his way. They commonly didn’t during meal times. After all, Regulus kept to himself. 

He never cried during meal times. And today wouldn’t be the start of that. 

Eyes. 

He feels eyes on him. 

And he knew where they were coming from, so he looked, even if he knew he shouldn’t. He normally wouldn’t. Except he did now, because his barriers were down for some forsaken reason. He meets the eyes of James Potter, who has that same glimmering in his eyes as he did the night prior. He looks slightly tired and Regulus, for a moment, wonders how long James spent caressing his hair the night before. He wonders how long he’d stayed, if he did after the Slytherin let unconsciousness submerge him again. 

Except now he thinks he does know what that look is. It’s not hate. It’s not of pity or anger. It’s fondness, maybe even a four-letter word that begins with ‘L’ and ends with ‘E’, the centre being ‘OV’. He will not combine those letters in his head, even as he thinks it, even as he feels his face heat up. 

They’re like that for a short moment. In that moment, he swears he sees James’ lips turn up into a small smile. Maybe he even feels his own do the same, just to match it. But James looks away, and Regulus knows immediately that they can never do that again. He can never find himself wallowing away in the infirmary, hopeless accepting the fondness of James Potter. 

Even if he wants to.