Chapter 2
“Who the fuck does that little shit thinks he is?” Sirius spluttered. This rant was the delayed aftermath of bumping into Regulus at 9 ¾. Sirius was now angrily pacing around their dorm room, fire crackling in the background, James lazily lounging on his bed listening.
“How does he do it!? How does he, every time, crawl under my skin like some disgusting, bloody parasite?! I ran into him at the station. At the station, Prongs! Just looking at his smug, little, perfect-pureblood arse standing there was enough to make me want to hurl a bloody hex at him. I could see it in his eyes, James, the disgust. Like I'm scum to him. He is like-like the second coming of Salazar sodding Slytherin himself! I nearly punched him right there in front of the whole station.”
“Did you do anything?” James asked, raising an eyebrow. Coming into 7th year, it was common knowledge in Gryffindor that Sirius had a short fuse. When there were larger stakes he was pretty good about keeping his calm. James was just praying to Merlin this was one of those times.
“No” Sirius said with a roll of his eyes. “But he has no bloody idea—no idea—what it was like, what I went through, growing up in that mausoleum of hatred. The yelling, the sneering, the constant pressure to be their twisted, little ideal son. And him? He just stood there, always their golden boy. Always so bloody perfect. It’s like he’s proud of it, James! Proud of carrying their banner of bigotry and madness!”
“He is younger Sirius, mabe-”
“No! Don’t you bloody dare defend him!” Sirius is now facing James, the erratic pacing abandoned. “He’s not a victim. He’s not some poor, brainwashed little lamb. He’s complicit. He chooses to be like them. He chooses to look at people like you, people like Moony, and think you’re beneath him. He would just fucking stand there James, blank face, cold eyes. I didn’t give a fuck about how they treated me. I would step in and protect him time and time again, but for me? He would just stand there. While they- they…”
Silence followed, the only thing that could be heard was the fire in the background. Sirius didn’t need to say anything more than that. They both remembered that night. James vividly remembers the picture of Sirius collapsing through his fireplace, barely conscious, blood streaming from his face and legs, filling the room with the thick smell of iron and ash. He remembered the weeks after, where Sirius would twitch or stumble as his nerves slowly repaired from the cruciatus curse. As selfish as it made him feel, he hoped one day those memories wouldn’t be so vicious in his mind. He could only imagine what it was like for Sirius.
The sink in the bed next to him brought James back into the moment. James wrapped his arms around Sirius, pulling him in for a hug. One of his famous ‘James Potter’ hugs, as his friends liked to call them.
During their OWLs back in fifth year, the entire common room had been a ticking time bomb of stress and nerves. Books were piled high on every available surface, quills scratched furiously across parchment, and the air was thick with whispered incantations and panicked muttering. It was enough to drive anyone mad. That’s when Marlene took charge."Right, everyone!" she called out, her hands on her hips like she was rallying troops for battle. "Enough of this doom and gloom. Line up.” No one moved. “Now!” Unsurprisingly everyone stood up. Looking pleased, Marlene clasped her hands. “Alright then! Everyone’s getting a hug from James."
James, perched on the arm of the sofa with his glasses slightly askew, simply blinked in surprise. "Wait, what now?"
But Marlene shot him a look that brooked no argument. "You sir, are Gryffindor’s morale officer. Potter, get hugging."
He didn’t protest—of course, he didn’t. James Potter never turned down a chance to cheer someone up, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little pleased to be deemed worthy of the task. So, with his usual crooked grin, he opened his arms.
One by one, students shuffled over, looking sheepish at first, but leaving with slightly lighter shoulders after a quick, firm James Potter hug. It didn’t take long for the awkwardness to melt away. Soon, the room was filled with a mix of chuckles, sniffles, and relieved sighs as Gryffindors took turns in the line. Even Sirius, despite his usual disdain for “sappy nonsense,” joined in with exaggerated theatrics, declaring, "Fine, Potter, but only because I’m clearly your favorite."
By the time everyone had cycled through, the tension in the room had noticeably eased. Students returned to their books and notes, heads held a little higher, breaths coming a little steadier. James, for his part, was just happy to be along for the ride.
But it wasn’t until a few days later that the full impact hit him. As he was heading back to the common room, a tiny first-year approached him, her robes slightly too big and her face blotchy from tears. She tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him with watery eyes.
"Um, excuse me," she sniffled. "Can I have…a hug?"
James froze, utterly caught off guard. But then he crouched down to her level, offering her the warmest smile he could muster. "Of course you can," he said softly, pulling her into a gentle hug.
It was then that he realized how much a simple, solid hug could mean to someone. It wasn’t about fixing their problems or solving their worries. It was about letting them know they weren’t alone, even if just for a moment.
In this moment that is what Sirius needed. To not be alone. “You ok?” James asked after some time had passed. A simple mumble and nod of agreement was all Sirius graced him with. “Alrighty then! Off we go” James said, promptly dragging a protesting Sirius down to the common room.
That night the Gryffindor common room was filled with laughter from the seventh years, some lazily silencing wards had been thrown up to engulf the chaos. Remus with a book in hand, had Sirius sprawled across his lap like a content cat. Lily sat at the other end of the sofa, nose buried in her own book, her quiet presence grounding the energy of the room.
Mary and Marlene were seated on the floor, their laughter ringing out as they joined Peter and James in a game of Exploding Snap, the occasional burst of exploding cards was met with whoops of delight and mock outrage. When James finally declared himself the champion (a claim hotly contested by Peter), he stood and grinned at the room before heading to the record player in the corner.
Putting on CCR's (Creedence Clearwater Revival) Greatest Hits, without hesitation, James held out his hand to Mary, pulling her up into an impromptu dance. Marlene quickly joined, and within moments, nearly everyone, with the expectation of Lily and Remus, were on their feet. James picked Mary up and spun her around, leaning over his shoulder she laughed and protested. Peter was awkwardly shuffling and generally enjoying the music while Marlene and Sirius danced like no one was watching. Except, Sirius knew Remus was watching and put a little extra sway in his hips accordingly. No one noticed that Lily had put down her book and was now just watching her friends in adoration, eyes regularly drifting over to Mary’s smile.
Around 2 am, exhaustion settled over the group, some found their way to armchairs, and others sprawled out on the floor. Sirius simply stretched out on the couch with his head resting on Remus’s knee. It wasn’t unusual for nights like these to end this way—impromptu sleepovers had become something of a tradition for the seventh years, but they knew to be cautious. Waking up too late meant risking the wrath of mischievous second and third years, who never passed up the opportunity to prank the so-called kings of chaos at their most vulnerable. After all, there had been that one memorable morning when McGonagall caught the Marauders wandering around with various, permanent scribbles adorning their faces, courtesy of the underclassmen. She had not been amused.
Once James had laid blankets on everyone, he sat down in front of what was left of the fire, a few glowing embers pulsating. He didn’t sleep much. People often think he did to justify his absurdly early mornings and chipper mood, but truth be told, nighttime was his favorite time of day. As much as he loved the sun, he also cherished the quiet private moments that night gifted him. Right now he was running through Sirius’s rant through his head. Filtering out any details that might give him some new information. While Sirius is very reluctant to talk about Grimmauld place in the first place, outside of calling Regulus names, it’s extraordinarily rare that he talks about him. Or in this case, aggressively rants about him. James thinks deep down, Sirius loves his brother, but he does put a lot of blame on him.
If it was so awful for Sirius, what must it have been like for Regulus? James often found himself wondering about that blank expression Regulus wore, those cold, calculating eyes that never seemed to betray a single emotion. Was this his way of detaching himself from the atrocities he grew up surrounded by? James was no stranger to the concept of wearing a mask, how often had he plastered on a grin or cracked a joke to hide how much something hurt? But thinking about Regulus having to mask among the horrors and atrocities he had witnessed was something else entirely.
How many times had Regulus been forced to sit through those twisted family dinners, listening to his parents’ venomous diatribes, unable to flinch or show a shred of dissent? Did he believe their pure-blood ideology? Or did he secretly loathe the principles like Sirius did? Maybe he just doesn't have the courage to remove himself or stand up to it like Sirius does. How often had he been told that compassion was weakness, that obedience was survival? Oh Merlin, how many times had he seen Sirius defy them, only to bear the brunt of the aftermath once his older brother stormed off?
James hated thinking about it. He hated thinking about Regulus who had to bear witness to all that, likely more than James or hell even Sirius could ever imagine, knowing that showing emotion, even for a split second, might have been his undoing. Regulus must have learned early that the only way to survive in the Black household was to freeze his heart and shut the world out.
But what James hated even more was the thought that maybe, just maybe, there was still something good in Regulus, something desperate to break free from the icy shell he built around himself. And maybe, just maybe, Regulus didn’t know how.