where no one ever goes
He’d expected — hoped — that James would miss at least a day, in retrospect.
Walking miracle that he is, James only ends up missing two classes, and manages to return to Regulus’ side in record time.
“So.” He declares his ominous presence by nudging a shoulder into him that noon while Regulus is determinedly speed-walking to Potions.
Regulus flinches, then promptly groans into his books. “Oh, Merlin. No.”
“You left quite hastily last night.”
A passing fifth year does an incredulous double-take after that line.
Regulus sighs, face still buried in his brewery handbook. Almost instinctively, he lets James guide him, a hand on the small of his back, per fucking usual. It’s disconcerting, how not uncomfortable he feels about it.
“Slept well?”
“Not at all. My eyes wouldn’t close.”
Well, that’s just — hilarious. Regulus bursts into a laugh so unexpected that he’s instantaneously horrified of himself. He doesn’t think James has ever heard him laugh before.
It’s all the more confirmed when he sneaks a glance at James, who’s staring at him with unreadably honey-brown eyes and the widest grin.
“Good view of the walls, then?”
“Very — uh… bleak.”
“Adequate company for you.”
“Oi.” James makes an indignant noise, swats at his head. Regulus considers, briefly, taking his wand out again, but — can’t be bothered, really.
“How did you get out so fast?” He asks, matching his stride as they span through the garden colons.
James turns his face toward the sun. “You underestimate me.”
“I believed I was overestimating when I thought you wouldn’t be found for a day.”
James swivels toward him, offended. “A day?”
“I’d hoped for more.”
“Oh, you’re cruel, Reggie.”
“Regulus.”
“Reg.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not my friend.”
James squints his eyes into suspiciously triumphant slits. “We hang out more than your friends.”
“We do not hang out.”
“Well, then, I see you more than your friends do.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
Regulus thinks about it. He really, really thinks about it, and — it’s true. The smirk on James’ face and the fact itself is just… blasphemous. He has to scrape through lunch with Barty and Evan more often than a mere once a week for maintenance.
James catches his eye, glinting in the daylight, as he subtly swerves Regulus to the right. Oh.
It dawns, abruptly. The impromptu garden-stroll, the sunlight. The gentle guiding. Banter just light enough to keep him distracted, keep him from processing visual stimulation.
That clever, snide little shit.
“We’re not going to Potions.”
James smiles, staring straight ahead. “Nope.”
Regulus wants to bash his forehead into a tree trunk for ever letting his guard down in James Potter’s immediate vicinity. One fucking laugh out of him, and James has persuaded himself that it’s acceptable for him to whisk Regulus away for a field trip.
The absolute nerve.
(Still, he does not shake the hand off his back. Regulus knows how to struggle, how to bite back, how to extract what he wants out of someone. A few insults is not a struggle, lest he’s forgotten.)
(He hasn’t forgotten.)
“I’ll have you know, You’re actively withholding me from mandatory participation.”
James huffs. “It’s not like you’ve got anything left to learn. You’re better than Slughorn.”
“I could inform Minerva about this.”
“Well, you won’t.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. He won’t, but. “And why not?”
“Because you’ll like what you see.”
Only then does he think to squint at the density that’s been quietly approaching with every footfall, realizing belatedly: “The Forbidden Forest.”
“Okay.” James smacks his lips like an insolent child. “Keep an open mind—”
Regulus stops dead in his tracks. “Absolutely not.”
“Reggie—“
“No. Nope.” He tugs himself free from James’ increasingly tightening hold, only for James to reach back for him. “James. There is no way.”
He has to wrestle through the opening between James’ arm and side to rip himself away. A hysterical laugh bubbles up from his throat, and James lunges back on him, tackling him to the ground.
Before he can cordially process the sight of James’ face being suddenly buried in his stomach, the fucker grabs for his wand and takes off sprinting towards the forest.
“Hey! What the fuck?”
(He knows he’s being lured. He’s aware. It’s only that he thinks he’ll chase James anywhere, anywhere he likes, so long as it’s not the other side of the war.)
“I’m smaller than you!” He calls after James, giving his all into the frenzied sprint he’s begun. “Which means I’m lighter! And faster!”
“I’ve got longer legs!” James screams back, tripping over himself trying to crane his neck back.
Regulus is about to put him in his place, perhaps distract him by giving a heady statistical statement of his own optimal chances in terms of physical advantage and amplified drive, when, abruptly, James comes to a halt.
Regulus immediately knows something is wrong, just by the tension held up in his shoulders. He’s still running when he yells: “James! What is it?”
James spins around with the optic panic magnitude of a night-wanderer having just heard Mrs. Norris purr. James is green. “Regulus! Stop!”
“What?”
“Stop running!”
Well, that’s not something to say to someone who’s a mere ten feet away and running as fast as the body would allow, is it?
“No, don’t—“
It’s too late. Regulus ends up by James’ side, barely braking himself with scalding heels dug into the soil.
“Fuck.” James exhales, sliding both hands into his hair and yanking.
Regulus doesn’t think he wants to know. “What? James, what?”
“We’re —“ James exhales around the words again. He seems to be trying to soothe himself, worried brows curtaining his eyes, staring at Regulus’ chest and clearly trying to sync his erratic breathing. It’s no use — Regulus is breathing as fast as he is.
Very, exceedingly reluctantly, he places both his palms on either side of James’ shoulders. “Calm down. It’s… okay? Is it okay?”
“It’s really not, Reggie.”
The urge to smack him on the mouth is stronger than is custom, but he has to let it slide, ethically. The boy is evidently in a state.
“James, if you don’t tell me what the fuck is happening right now, I’m going to smack the shit out of you.”
James bounces on his heels — psyching himself? “Smack me right now.”
“James. Don’t fuck with me.”
“No. Just — smack me right now. But you can’t smack me after you hear it.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause I don’t want you to be too angry when you do it. You’re a little angry now. That’s better odds for me.”
Regulus blinks. “You’re serious.”
An incredulous smile tugs at the corner of James’ mouth, and — oh, no.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Ja—“
“We’re stuck here!” James blurts out, then immediately scrunches up his face like he’s expecting to be slapped.
When it doesn’t happen for a considerable while, he tentatively cracks one eye open. Regulus waits, fists on his hips, until James realizes he’s not, in fact, getting slapped, and stops with the pitiful fucking slouching.
“What do you mean, ‘we’re stuck here’?”
“I mean that, I felt Peter’s magic running in. I told him — fuck, I told him I would bring you here this morning. I didn’t tell anyone else.”
Regulus tries to take deep breaths, for the benefit of them both. “In what way are we stuck?”
“He — he probably cast out a time-binding spell to the borders of the forest, the tosser. Can enter, cannot exit. It’s his specialty — he’s way too good at those.”
“No. I don’t believe that.” Regulus grunts, spinning on his heels to pass over the threshold again. He rears back as the points of contact ignite in luminescence, and Peter’s sullied voice reverberates among the trees.
Don’t you dare, Potter, or… Black? Either way, enjoy your frivolous getaway. Gate occupied until Moony arrives. I won’t be doing your homework!
Regulus holds himself eerily still, until the scratchy laughter fades into the rustling of willows. He swivels around, eyes sharp. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“A… harmless prank.” James mutters, glancing around like Regulus’s scrutinizing glare makes him physically itch.
“Harmless?” He quips, poking the border again. A wave of pearly matter extends from around the pinpoint. “Until Moony arrives. What does that mean? For how long is it bound?”
James seems to be doing the math in his head. “Two days.”
“Days?” Regulus exclaims, angrier now that this isn’t as temporary as he’d like it to be. “Two days, James? How will we survive? This territory is forbidden for a reason!”
“Well — uh, I have this.” James mutters, holding a felt piece of fabric in his palms. Where the fuck it even came from, Regulus doesn’t want to know.
“Your invisibility cloak.” He states, blatantly. “You do know that they can smell you, right? Sense your body heat? Detect your fear in raw air?“
James smiles. “Who’s they?”
“Creatures.” Regulus hisses, waving his hands around. Doesn’t this nimwit realize — “You do know this forest is abundant in creatures, right, Potter? That some of them are fatal predators?”
James feigns a glance around the perimeters. “Which would those be?”
Regulus cannot believe him. “The fae population, for one. Stories state that their songs can lure even the most skilled hunters—“
“Oh, that’s alright.” James says, kicking up a dust cloud with the lining of his shoe. “I’m friends with a lot of fairies.”
“The fact that you call them fairies leads me to doubt that excessively.”
“They don’t mind, usually. But they do charge per spectacle, which is quite understandable. I’ve found that they enjoy emeralds the most.”
“You — per spectacle?”
“Mhm.”
“Do you even come here?”
“Oh, of course. Often.”
“Why?” Regulus looks genuinely taken aback.
James sways, from left foot to right. “I like the quiet. The hum of nature. It’s organic — less tantalizing than human chatter, anyway.”
Regulus tries dutifully hard not let his shock bleed unto his face. “You realize you can get expelled, or worse, killed.”
“You’ve yet to name any predators that I should fear, except for fairies. They are quite little things for creatures, if I’m honest. Not that scary.”
Oh, Regulus can name more. In fact, he might just: “Centaurs, acromantulas, hippogriffs—“
James performs the most polite grimace he possibly can. “Well, Firenze is quite fond of me, so the centaurs generally do not bother me much; acromantulas live only in the eastern depths, and can easily be avoided if you don’t directly intervene with their space — and i’ve yet to encounter a live hipogriff, so far.”
Regulus opens his mouth, to retaliate — closes it, opens it again, closes it again. “Of course.” He exhales, walks backwards until he’s leaning on the nearest trunk. Runs a palm across his forehead — his predicament is avid: he’s stuck here with an impulsive idiot.
“Of course you would know that, and have the knowledge through blind experience. You’re an idiot, Potter.”
James follows forward after him. “Am I?”
“Yes,” He quips, eyeing him in admonition. The spark in James’ eyes suggest trouble, and Regulus is not about to be caged against a tree in the Forbidden Forest by James Potter. His nightmares aren’t even that creative.
To his benefit, James ceases his approach a few feet before him.
(The disappointment floods like acrid internal bleeding. Nightmares may not be creative, but they cannot speak for what his brain conjures up in pure daylight.)
He gulps. No room for lust while there’s a crisis at hand. “Where will we sleep, then? Who would assume we’ll be able to survive off of wild berries for two days? At night, without shelter?”
“Well.” James hesitates. “I do have certain advantages to those points, or I — did.”
“Such as?”
“No matter.”
“Yes matter!” Regulus exclaims. They need every last leverage they can get over the unpredictability of natural conditions. “What fucking advantages?”
James takes a look at him, attempts to mumble the start of a sentence, fails. Looks at him again. Then takes a step back, and starts stripping. To Regulus’ complete, utter horror. Because — what?
“James.”
James sighs, fumbling with his belt. His robes are already lain forlorn on the grass. “It’ll make sense in a second. Just — don’t say anything.”
Regulus is fixated on the gliding motion of his hands, wholly against his volition. “I am compelled to say a lot of things.”
James glares at him over the rim of his glasses, proceeds to pull his trousers down. “Well, don’t.”
Regulus frowns, blinks rapidly for a decent five seconds. James takes off his undershirt in the meantime. “I—“
“Not a word.”
He takes off his shoes and socks last, and then it’s just his pants. Regulus feels minutely light in the head, if he’s honest. Just — minutely. Like the soil had his blood suctioned off through the soles of his feet, he might collapse any second — Merlin, he’ll go out staring at James Potter’s abs —
“Hold this?” James asks, extending his glasses with a compassionate smile. Like he knows he’s virtually, mercilessly shoving Regulus halfway into his grave, but it just cannot be helped.
“Turn around,” James quirks a brow, the fucker, “please?”
Actually, Regulus is nearly positive he might be in some sort of debilitating shock.
Unabashedly, James smirks at his lack of coherency. “Just so we’re clear, I’m about to take my pants off. If you’d like to watch…”
“No!” Regulus exclaims, spinning on his heel. He presses his forehead to wood and imagines vehemently that the biting roughness is from the seams of his books. And it’s not Potter, most probably, fully, naked, right behind him, about to do Merlin knows what —
“Count to five, and you’re good.” James mutters. There’s naught else to do but obey, with how absolutely disheveled Regulus’ is feeling at the moment.
Warily, he steps back around, daring to peek, hoping to not find something that’ll scar him for eternity. Wishful thinking.
Because, that’s when he finds a stag in James’ stead.
It’s — a lot. His brain short-circuits into an overheat, jovially shuts off. Wether he’s laughing, or crying out of pure fear… not his to know.
Fact layout to rationalize this in his brain. Yes. James is… not here. A stag stands, gaze eerily humanoid, in his previous position. There was no stag while James was here, and there is no James when the stag is here.
Therefore, the stag must simply be… James.
“You’re a—“ He’s instantly choked off, not having realized his mouth is otherwise occupied by the large mouthfuls of air being hastily gulped down. “Are you even registered?”
The stag shakes its head. His head. James is shaking his head. James is also an animagi.
“Prongs…” Regulus mutters, eyes trailing up the meandering antlers. “I should’ve known you were an impaler.”
Then, he goes very still. “Padfoot,” he points an accusing finger at the stag. “That’s Sirius, isn’t it? What, he’s some dog or something?”
Prongs nods, however sheepish.
“Fuck me.” Regulus mutters. “Fuck. Of course. That bizarre fucking dog that follows me around. I’m going to kill him. I’m so going to kill him for that.”
Prongs makes a huffing noise, trudges forward and nudges the center of Regulus’ chest with his muzzle.
“Easy, Potter.” Regulus breathes, involuntary palm landing on the head lest he needs to push away. He’s surprised to find the fur to be quite soft — an experimental swipe across it, and Prongs makes a noise that can only be interpreted as immense gratitude and encouragement.
So, Regulus pets the fucking stag. “I’m assuming Wormtail and Moony stand for something, as well.” A nod. “Then what, you’re all just unregistered animagi roaming the school grounds, not to mention that it is unheard of in all of the wizarding history to be able to become Animagi this young?”
Prongs preens, pushing into his hand.
Regulus ponders over the mere trouble one would suffer under, just to follow through with the agonizing process of it — he cannot begin to imagine how many tries it would’ve taken, how many months…
He scratches under Prongs’ chin, oddly proud. “Did you even know the risks of the process before you stuffed a leaf in your mouth for a month? How did you manage that?”
Prongs shakes his head again, huffing.
“Fine.” He sighs. “I’ll ask when you’re — back.”
Arguably, this is not how he thought his day would go.