Royally Fucked

Regulus got his wish. The next three weeks occurred in a blur, filled with suit fittings and days spent picking out colour samples with his mother and Narcissa. He tried a million cakes, had his hair styled a million different ways, and pondered a million different flowers for hours. Through it all he played the perfect, obedient son he was. He gushed about wedding details with the many visitors they had in those weeks like he was expected too, emphasising how grateful he was for his match. He didn’t complain when his mother put him on a diet leading to the wedding, or when she brought in someone to start him on an exercise routine. He didn’t blink when his father insisted he resume his piano lessons that had stopped years ago in order to learn a new song to perform at his wedding. All of it felt like it was taking place in a different reality. As if he wasn’t real anymore, just the puppet his parents had raised him to be. Like the real him was watching it all from inside his head, disconnected from it all and apathetic towards his life. 

His vision was blurred even as he focused it, fuzzy around the edges. It wasn’t like he was living among his thoughts, not the same as his normal daydreaming. He just…wasn’t there. Like he was sleepwalking, drifting through his days in a daze. Perfectly responsive but practically comatose. 

Pandora, Barty, and Evan were concerned. He knew they were. They weren’t exactly subtle about it. Pandora had been worried since she’d come into his room the morning after Sirius’ visit to dress him and divulge what she had learned about the lunch from Potter’s handmaiden, and he had brushed her off with a simple ‘I don’t need to know. It is none of my business.’ Barty had become concerned when he’d attempted to chat shit about something Potter had done and Regulus had glared at him, stating ‘It is not my place to criticize my fiance. I would appreciate it if you did not involve me in such conversations.’  And Evan had realised something was wrong when he asked Regulus about a book he’d been reading and he’d just stared at him blankly, as if he was illiterate rather than book obsessed. 

The three of them attempted on several occasions to figure out what was wrong with him, but he regarded all of their attempts with little to no interest. He couldn’t muster up any sort of feelings about his friends’ concern, something he supposed should be concerning in of itself. Or maybe the fact that he couldn’t manage to bring himself to feel much of anything about anything should have been concerning. 

It wasn’t.

In fact, he found himself at the most peace he had been in a long time. It was the sort of acceptance he wished he could have mastered long ago. A calming, numbing sort of acceptance that made falling in line the way he was meant to be easier than it had ever been before. Everything around him faded away, leaving him to live in his mind among the blurred details of his day to day life. No longer did he have to fight himself to stay rational, to be perfect. He had stepped back into his mind and left behind the perfect son his parents had always wanted. 

The only moments he felt as if he truly existed were the brief ones late at night, when he pulled out the little ring box in the dim light of his room, long after everyone else had gone to sleep and stared at the delicate little thing that lay inside. It felt like a secret, the only thing left in the world that existed to him and him alone. The only part of his life that was his to control. That was absurd, he knew it. Potter knew about it, as did Sirius and whichever servant had been so unlucky as to be assigned to pick out the ring in the first place. But those moments in the dead of night, illuminated only by the stars and the moon…those belonged to him. 

There had been a note in the box, he’d discovered later. It was tucked in the top, and he’d only noticed it when it had fallen out one of the many times he’d opened the box. He had only managed to read it once, but it didn’t matter. That was all it had taken for the words that sprawled across it to take up permanent residence in his mind. 

‘Regulus,

I am sorry. May we find some sort of peace. 

Regards,

J.F.P’

That was it. The only thing Potter had thought to say to him regarding their engagement.

 An apology. 

Regulus wasn’t sure what he had expected from it.  What he had wanted. At first, the note had filled him with rage, leaving him to throw a glass across the room in his first show of emotion in a few days. How dare he?! He was ruining Regulus’ life and he was sorry?! If he was so bloody sorry he shouldn’t have convinced his parents to give him his hand! He shouldn’t have come to Vasiliki, strode into Regulus’ ancestral home like he fucking belonged there, like he wasn’t the least welcomed guest to ever cross the threshold. For Fate's sake, he shouldn’t have promised Sirius he’d marry him in the first place! Out of the two of them, he was the only one with a choice in the matter. And he had the gall to apologise? To try to buy Regulus’ forgiveness for the loathsome arrangement he’d forced them both into? It was enough to bring Regulus back to the surface of himself, if only for long enough that he destroyed half the furniture in his room in a fit comparable to one of Barty’s. 

That had pushed Pandora from concerned to distressed. He had never lashed out that way before. When he was upset he resorted to cold words and distant behaviour. Never before had he destroyed things, splintering the wood of his beloved decor, or even so much as yelled. She’d cried as she wrapped his bloodied hands, begging him to tell her what was wrong. 

“Nothing is wrong,” He’d mumbled, eyes as empty as his words. He wanted to be upset she was crying. He wanted to feel the urge to comfort her. But he didn’t. All he felt was the same empty, numb feeling that had wrapped over his mind like fog. 

To his parents' credit, they hadn’t even reprimanded him for his outbreak. His mother only mentioned it once, patting his hand and telling him she’d take him shopping to replace the things damaged in his ‘little accident’. The money was undoubtedly coming from his dowry, the only money that the family really had left. Apparently Potter valued him so little he hadn’t asked for much. He wasn’t aware of how much, it wasn’t something that he needed to know, but he knew it was the only way his family could afford the luxuries they’d begun to order. 

Now he wasn’t sure how he felt about the note. He had spent days going over it from where he resided in his mind, a part of him grateful for something to focus on while his body went about its meaningless tasks. In the end he’d come to feel…Companionship, he supposed. Comfort, maybe. Potter was trapped in this engagement. Not the same way he was, of course. Potter could call it off whenever he wished without any repercussion. He wouldn’t, he was far too noble for such a thing, but even after the wedding he could have his escapes. It would be common, expected even, for him to take on a lover or two after they had been married for some time. Another thing that was a luxury Regulus couldn’t afford, not that he would even if it was an option. So, comfort wasn’t quite right. It was good, in some way, to know he wasn’t alone in it, but he doubted he’d ever find anything to do with Potter comforting. 

Annoyance, maybe. It was far more in line with the emotions Regulus would usually expect to feel. 

Whatever he felt, it was the only thing he felt in the weeks leading up to the wedding. That unnamed feeling that caused tightness in his chest, that made his stomach twist. That made his heart pound in his ribcage like it longed to escape its prison just as much as he did. The thing that caused his face to heat up and made him surface from the back of his mind like he’d been living underwater in the few moments he was alone. 

The only part of him that was real anymore was always sat in his room, staring at the ring that he hadn’t dared put on his finger. No, wearing the ring would be too much. Would tip the lifeboat he’d found in those moments alone, dragging him down into the whirlpool of emotions he hadn’t felt in so long. He didn’t know when it would become real again, when his life would shift back into focus. If it ever would. 

He didn’t know if he wanted it to. It was better this way. There was no more need to fight himself. No more turmoil, no more anxiety over his future. And he was better, wasn’t he? He was precisely the person his family wanted him to be. No more episodes, no more mistakes. Just passive smiles and feigned excitement about his upcoming nuptials. Not too much, of course. Just enough. Everything he did was just enough. 

Three days before the wedding his family, extended and close, along with Pandora, Barty, and Evan, loaded themselves into far too many carriages, one of which held all of his possessions that were deemed important enough to bring with him. It was fitting that all of his life fit into a single overfilled carriage. Twenty one years of existence packed up in one carriage. A life lived so empty it existed in a few easy to move items.

He rode in the carriage that held his friends, but it didn’t matter either way. He would have ridden with his parents, had they expected it, but their carriage was filled with the two of them, Narcissa, and Bellatrix. Lucius would be arriving later, alone, as would Regulus’ more distant relatives and family friends. 

Riding with his parents would have been the same as riding with his friends in the end. He spent the two-day ride in silence, aside from the breaks they took in travel which he spent answering any and all questions his parents had for him, no matter how much his friends tried to coax him into speaking to them. Into telling them what was wrong. 

He wasn’t sure how to explain to them that for once in his life nothing was wrong. He had no issues. No heartache over Sirius’ leaving, no regret about the war, no longing for a life more than the one he’d be allowed to lead. He just felt…nothing. It wasn’t something he could explain without sounding mad. And honestly, he didn’t care to try. It would have worsened their concerns, and at this rate they were likely to try something foolish like hijacking the carriage and running away. 

They arrived in Prongston the day before the wedding. People lined the streets at their arrival, desperate to catch a glimpse of the man who would be marrying their prince. He didn’t allow them too, carefully staying concealed in the carriage as his parents instructed. His friends were far more excited by the treatment. Their arrival somewhere new hadn’t been welcome in many years. Barty nearly fell out of the carriage leaning out the window to see everything he could, and Regulus couldn’t even manage to be annoyed by it. Barty almost seemed disheartened by the lack of scolding, the absence of remarks about his upbringing heavy enough that he seated himself back where he belonged and shut the window of his own accord. 

They stayed overnight in a lovely inn in the capital city, close enough Regulus could see the castle in which his wedding would take place. His parents took great pride in knowing his wedding would be far grander than Narcissa's had been, which seemed to make up for the fact that he wouldn’t be the first of their family to marry into a royal family. The night before the wedding was spent staring at his ceiling, trying to ignore the ring box he had safely stored in his satchel before leaving. 

And now he waited in the palace in an entirely white room, likely more expensive than most of the rooms in the manor added up even with its bland decor. He stood in front of a massive mirror, its three walls bent just enough to show what he looked like from nearly every angle, watching impassively while Pandora fit him into the pristine cream suit that had been carefully tailored to his exact measurements. It was stunning, really. The fabric was covered in intricate silver detailing, depicting constellations. It was fit to his trim waist, shaping it more than it normally was with the corseted vest he wore under his suit jacket. Every part of it was white, down to the knee high heeled boots he wore. The only thing that wasn’t were the twin pieces of silver tool that flowed from his shoulders, embroidered with entire galaxies of constellations. It looked good. He looked good. 

His face was impassive in the mirror. He’d always thought this would be one of those moments in his life that felt more important than the others. The first look at himself in his wedding outfit, everything coming together before he walked down the aisle and swore himself to someone in front of the entire world. 

It didn’t. It felt no different than the million other fittings he had had. It wasn’t even the first time he’d seen himself in his wedding attire. Even as he was adorned in the elaborate silver jewelry his parents had bought for this occasion there was nothing remarkable about the moment. Some of it came from the Potters, he knew. Jewelry that had been handed down their family line to be worn by whomever was marrying in. Still, none of it awoke the slumbering emotions buried deep inside of him. It was almost boring, really.  

The only piece that he felt any significance towards was the ring.

He took it from the box with caution, as if it would bite him or shatter the moment he touched it. It did neither. It acted as a ring was expected to, sliding to fit perfectly onto the ring finger of his left hand. There was no moment of revelation, no great change, which made Regulus realise he had expected something of the sort. Nothing came. Of course it didn’t. It was just a ring. Muted disappointment stirred in him, followed by the only emotion he felt with any clarity anymore. Anger. At himself. At his parents. At Sirius. And most of all, at Potter. Again he was enraged, the main thought behind the feeling being ‘how dare he.’ 

Regulus let his eyes flick to himself in the mirror, and the sight of him, dressed in white and prepared for his life to change, hit him like a wave. The anger was wiped away and the rush of emotions was staggering. He took a deep breath in, feeling like he was surfacing for the first time in weeks. It was dizzying, coming back into himself after living like a spectator for so long. His knees almost gave out from beneath him as his mind was overwhelmed with all the sensations that had been so dulled for so long. 

“You look great, Reg,” Pandora said softly, a sadness in her voice. Regulus felt the urge to comfort her. He bit his lip, before taking her face in his hands and kissing her forehead softly. Her face lit up, her pale green eyes searching his face hopefully for any sign of life. “I’ve missed you,” She whispered, pressing their foreheads together. Regulus felt tears building in his eyes. How had he been so blind to his friends' sadness in it all? How had he allowed their hurt to go unresolved for so long?

“I’m sorry,” He started, but she quieted him gently. She swiped the tears from beneath his eyes, careful to avoid messing up the eyeliner Barty had put on him what felt like hours ago. It might have been. 

“Don’t be. You’ve been going through so much,” She comforted. She pulled away from him, scanning his outfit to make sure every detail was just right. “I am just glad you are back, love,” She smiled, and he knew she meant it. 

“I think you are ready,” Pandora said after a moment. Regulus took another look at himself in the mirror. He looked fantastic, he knew he did. The pinnacle of a groom. Something out of a book. His stomach twisted. He nodded, forcing a smile. 

“I suppose I am,” He agreed. 

-

James wished he had been so lucky as to spend the two weeks from his departure from Grimmauld Place in a haze. No, he was aware of every painful moment. Emphasis on painful. He’d expected most of the wedding planning to be left to Regulus and his mother, and it was. At least, the decor was. James was expected to prepare the castle for guests, pick the staff for the evening, take care of the invitations (after Regulus picked the design he wanted), taste a million different cakes and food (even after he said a thousand times they should just serve whatever Regulus wanted), and attend a million fittings not only for himself, but for Sirius and Remus as well.
Things had been miserable from the moment Sirius had come back to their room after his visit with Regulus. He wasn’t angry anymore, at least. He just seemed ashamed of himself. He wouldn’t look at James, and would hardly speak to him. Yet he insisted they sleep in the same bed. It was confusing. 

In all the time he’d known him, James had rarely been a victim of Sirius’ inability to communicate. He knew him well enough that they hardly needed words to sort out their problems. No, it was usually poor Moony who was left confused by Sirius’ never ending mixed signals. It was part of the reason they hadn’t sorted themselves out, he reckoned. Of course, Sirius was only one half of that problem. Remus wasn’t exactly an expert on sharing feelings himself, and he was quick to assume the worst of any given situation. So James didn’t feel too much pity for him, normally. 

It was entirely unfair, however, that he was now at the receiving end of the Sirius caused confusion. James considered himself good at communicating. Hell, he was bloody fantastic at communicating, thank you very much! Miscommunication was not an issue he dealt with often, let alone lack of communication at all. So Sirius’ silence was infuriating to say the least. But James decided to leave it alone for the time being. He was going through a lot, and he needed time to process. He would talk to James when he was ready. There was no need to pry about it.

James made it until they’d settled into bed before he cracked. 

“Alright, Padfoot?” He asked gently, opening the door for Sirius to talk while being careful enough he could opt not to. See? Expert communicator. 

“Mmph,” Sirius mumbled into his chest. It was unclear whether it was positive or not, but he hadn’t outright turned James’ attempt down. He decided to take it as a sign to continue. 

“Do you want to talk about…Uh. Earlier?” He asked, articulate as ever. Sirius shook his head. “Are you sure? I feel like-” He cut off as Sirius growled at him. Like an actual dog. James made a noise of surprise, and Sirius must’ve taken it as a sign he was going to keep asking because he growled at him again, not bothering to raise his head to do so. 

“What the fuck-” He began, “-Ow! Padfoot, what the hell?!” He yelped. Sirius had bitten him. When had Sirius’ communication skills devolved to an animalistic level? It was hardly the first time he’d been bitten by him, but it was usually a dirty move during a play fight. He’d never been bitten in attempts to get him to stop talking. 

James stayed frozen until he was certain Sirius wouldn’t bite him again, as absurd as that seemed. Only he would have to tiptoe around his best mate, a full grown man, biting him like an upset dog. When he was positive the coast was clear he cautiously brought his hand to Sirius’ hair, running his fingers through the curls there. Sirius relaxed against him, and he switched to scratching gently at his scalp.

 The nickname Padfoot had originated from the discovery that Sirius adored getting his head scratched, to the point that he’d just about dissolve into a puddle if you did it right. It’d been Remus who figured it out, one evening when they were still young teens. Sirius’ head had been in his lap, and it all happened naturally from there. It had been Peter who came up with the nickname, after Remus made a comment about Sirius being just like a spoiled dog when you really thought about it. They’d teased him with it for weeks, pointing out every canine behaviour he displayed. Which, in their defense, were plentiful. The fun lasted until one day he came into the library looking smug and announced he’d decided he liked the nickname and that he thought they should all have one. He’d suggested a few (that were immediately vetoed) and after a long debate Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs came to be. The Marauders. 

James’ heart ached. What had gone wrong? What could he have done differently? He should have noticed something was wrong. He was so caught up in winning the war, on being a good heir, he’d forgotten to be a good friend. And somewhere along the way he’d lost the sweet, nervous, intelligent boy he’d been friends with for most of his life to something dark. Maybe if he’d paid more attention things would have turned out differently.

Sirius was his best mate. More than that, as he’d made more than clear earlier. If Padfoot was his soul, Remus was his heart. But Pete had been the first. They’d been friends his whole life. Before it, even. Mum had met Mrs. Pettigrew in a book club, one of the many events she hosted in attempts to keep things happy when the threat of the war escalating grew too close, and they had been fast friends. They fell pregnant around the same time and did all their baby preparations together. Then Peter’s parents had fallen on hard times, and James’ parents invited them to move in. ‘There are more rooms than we know what to do with. You’d be doing us a favour, really.’ His dad had said. And so they had. James and Peter were born a few months apart, and they’d never known life without each other. Even after Pete’s family had moved into the estate the Potters gave them, the two boys spent most of their time together. They were brothers. They’d never gone more than a few days without seeing each other, even as the war went from political to real, bloody war, and they became different people. 

How long had it been now? How many days had he gone without seeing Peter? How many months? He’d celebrated a birthday without him, the first ever. It pained him to know that one day he’d celebrate more birthdays without him than he had with him. 

What could he have done differently? 

“Alright, Prongs?” Sirius asked, raising his head to rest his chin on James’ chest so he could look at him. His grey eyes were tired, narrowed with sleep, and in the dim light of the room the bags under his eyes were more obvious. James didn’t want to burden him with this. Not after all that he’d gone through today. Especially not after their confrontation earlier. 

“‘M alright,” He confirmed, looking to the ceiling of the canopy on Sirius’ bed. He couldn’t see anything even with the moonlight streaming through the open bed curtains. Even Sirius was slightly blurry, despite how close he was. It was nerve wracking, sleeping without his glasses. At some point during the war he’d picked up the habit of sleeping with them on, breaking more pairs than he’d care to admit, because he couldn’t stand to be unaware like that. It was only recently, and only with Sirius in his bed, that he’d taken to placing them carefully within his reach before settling into bed. Sirius had keen vision, even in the dark, and James trusted him enough to feel some sort of safety when robbed of his vision. 

“Liar,” Sirius huffed, not nearly as delicate as James. James opted not to answer, choosing instead to resume scratching Sirius’ scalp. He must’ve stopped when he’d started thinking of Peter. Sirius batted at his hand, “Oh no you don’t,” He scolded, “You’re not distracting me.” Bloody hypocrite, keeping his own issues all bottled up while insisting James talk about his. It was for his own good James was refusing to talk about it.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” He said, praying that would be the end of it. He should’ve known better. Sirius was nothing if not determined, and nothing drove him insane more than not knowing something. 

“Well I do, so spill,” Sirius insisted. James could feel his gaze, burning into him as if he could read his mind. He honestly might’ve been able to, most of the time. Carding through James’ every thought so easily he might as well be using some sort of magic. “C’mon Jamie. It’ll make you feel better.” He was right, it would. James always felt better after talking about his issues, as if the mere act of voicing them lifted part of the burden off of him. There was no point in resisting further. Sirius wouldn’t soon let it go, and if he had any hope of sleeping tonight he might as well get it over with. 

“I was thinking about Peter,” He mumbled. Trying to say it any louder seemed like an impossible task. “About what I could’ve done differently. What I should’ve done differently…” James’ voice cracked. Tears stung the back of his eyes, which was a surprise. It’d been months since he’d last cried while awake. It was often he found himself waking from nightmares because he was sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe, suffocating in the mix of memories and visions of all the things that could have gone wrong. But when he was awake, it was like that part of him had run dry. Like after so many funerals, so many losses, nothing seemed to reach that part of him. 

“I thought I was going to kill you,” Sirius confessed. “I thought I was going to kill you like I killed him,” He said, his voice hollow. James looked down at him, at the slightly blurred vision of his face, but it wasn’t current Sirius he saw.

It’d been James that had found them. He’d returned to his own bedchambers after yet another war meeting, stopping just outside the door. His hair had stood on end. Something was wrong. He could feel it. He’d drawn his sword and nudged the door open, only to be greeted by the sight of Sirius pining Peter to the ground the same way he had James just a few hours ago. The difference being that they were surrounded by a puddle of crimson, both of them coated in it. The room was disheveled from a fight, the curtains pulled off of the wall letting in the fading sunlight, and Sirius was bleeding, his own blood soaking the front of his night clothes. His dagger was still pressed to Peter’s throat, but there was no need. Peter was dead, James could tell even from across the room. His skin, normally flushed, was pale, almost grey. He had been dead for a while then. Sirius was shaking, his shoulders trembling as he sobbed. James was ashamed to admit that there was a moment that his stomach had dropped, just a brief torturous moment where he was overcome with the fear that Dumbledore had been right. That Sirius had somehow been a traitor, a spy for Voldemort. He  took a few steps into the room and Sirius’ head snapped up. The broken look on his face was enough to convince James of his innocence.
“He tried to kill me,” Sirius had sobbed, “He thought I was you. He was going to…He tried to…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, overcome with hiccuping sobs that racked his whole body. James didn’t need him to finish anyways, he’d put it together before Sirius had even started speaking. Sirius must’ve been asleep in James’ bed, and Peter had mistaken him for James in the dark of the room. Peter was there to kill him. He was going to kill him in his sleep, like a coward. 

“I would have let you,” James admitted, his own confession into the dark of the room. Sirius’ eyebrows knitted together as James’ words drew him from his own memories of that day. “I would have let you kill me,” He clarified, not surprised by the certainty in his own voice. Sirius looked horrified. 

“Is that why you didn’t disarm me?” He demanded, “You were going to just lie there and let me kill you?!” He sat up, pushing himself off of James. James sat up after him, and apparently whatever he saw on James’ face was enough to confirm it for him. “James, I was going to kill you,” He breathed, horrified. 

“I know,” James said, numbly. “I know.” 

“Why?” Sirius asked, his voice losing some of its anger in the face of James’ own calmness. “Why would you let me…I wasn’t myself. I can’t…I don’t know how to explain it. But I wasn’t me, James,” He was almost pleading. 

“I know,” James said a third time. Sirius scoffed. “I do. It happens to me too, sometimes. I’m me, but I’m not. I’m not me now. I’m me then, on the battlefield. I know where I am, and what’s happening, but at the same time…At the same time I feel like I’m in the middle of a fight, like the people around me are a threat. Like I’m possessed by the ghost of me who is still fighting for his life, and I can’t convince him that I’m safe now.” He bit his lip. Sirius was staring at him like he’d grown a second head, from what he could make out, and he was worried for a moment that he was wrong about Sirius having those episodes too. Maybe he was actually mad. Maybe the war had actually broken him, and he was better suited to an asylum than being king. He wondered if Sirius and Remus would accept it if he gave them his throne.

“You knew…You knew I was having an episode and you were still willing to let me kill you?” Sirius asked, barely a whisper. The hurt in his voice nearly broke James’ heart. He had to explain. It likely wouldn’t make it better, but he had to try. 

“Yes…And I am only going to make myself sound more insane, please know I am aware of that. There is no one in the world who knows me as you do. No one in the universe who is so aware of my flaws, of the details of my very being. And I believed…Believe, really,  that out of everyone it is you, more than the fates, more than anything, who knows the contents of my soul well enough to judge whether or not I am worthy of living,” He paused, thankful he couldn’t make out enough of Sirius’ face to determine whether or not he thought him mad. “I think that even when you are not in your right mind I trust you so dearly that if you decided I was irredeemable enough you’d choose to kill me by your own hand I would let you. I do not trust your judgement when it comes to things like literature, or perfumes, or most things pertaining to common sense. But when it comes to me, to the contents of my soul added up and measured…Well, I trust you to be judge, jury, and executioner,” He finished, feeling like there was both a weight lifted from his chest and an entirely new burden placed upon him at the same time.  

“You’re mad,” Sirius scoffed, “You’re utterly insane.” James’ heart dropped. “I have lived in fear that one day something would go too far and I would snap, and kill you like I killed Peter. I have spent countless sleepless nights worrying that I would slip into that trance and come to only to find myself covered in your blood. And you are so demented you would simply let me?” He laughed, a bitter thing. James stayed quiet. 

“I am not fit to be the judge of anything! I am hardly capable of eating most days. I can rarely so much as close my eyes without seeing the life leave Pete’s eyes. And yet you still trust me enough as to put your life in my hands? Why? What have I done to earn such blind trust?” He asked, something shifting in his tone. “During the war, everyone believed I was the traitor. Even…Even Remus, though he’d die before admitting it, had his doubts. Don’t think me naive enough not to have noticed the way he and everyone else pulled away,” He paused, like the memory was painful. James had no doubt it was. He had had more than his fair share of rows with Remus, whispered arguements about how he was cruel and stupid to think Sirius capable of such betrayal. 

 “And I cannot blame them. It doesn’t matter what I do, the very blood in my veins is a brand I can never escape. I was bred to do what Peter did. Raised for it. Their doubt is understandable. And yet, you never doubted me. You never for a moment made me feel as though I wasn’t to be trusted. Why? What have I ever done to earn it? Why did you trust me then, and why do you trust me with something as serious as your life now?” He questioned. 

“I don’t know,” James said, truthfully. “Perhaps I am mad. But…Well, I simply know that you are worthy of it. You needn’t do anything to earn it. You were born for it. You believe the blood in your veins makes you a villain, an evil waiting to be released, but that isn’t true. You weren’t born for evil. You were born to complete me. To step into my empty spaces, to fill my blindspots. Not trusting you would be defying every ounce of Fate’s design,” He shrugged. Sirius gaped at him, and then his shoulders were shaking. It seemed he was crying, but then James heard it. He was laughing, a full body thing. And James was laughing too, following Sirius’ lead like he always would. 

And that had been the end of Sirius’ issues, at the least. James likely wouldn’t have survived the following two weeks if things had stayed strained between them. Their departure the morning after was oddly somber, with Sirius left distressed after his goodbye with Regulus (“something’s wrong with him, I swear”) and James’ own brooding. If the ride there had felt like riding to the trenches, the ride home felt like heading straight for his own funeral. Anxiety settled in his stomach, making its home there and refusing to leave for the entirety of the two weeks leading to his wedding. 

It was boring, mostly. The two weeks of planning were absolutely dreadful. His opinion wasn’t needed on the things he actually had any interest in, like the florals or the design of the cake, and instead he was forced from fitting to meeting to practice to fitting and repeat. His only saving grace was Sirius attending everything with him, as his best man. He was grateful for his ability to find humour in almost any situation, or he likely would have died of boredom long before his funeral. His wedding. Whatever. Same thing. The only ‘noteworthy’ occurrence at any of his millions of fittings was when discussing with the tailor what the embroidery on his suit would be. His tailor was in contact with Regulus’, apparently, and they had decided on a celestial theme, which Sirius found hysterical. 

“-And so, the sun will sit over your heart, partnered by the moon, which will be closest to it to represent your groom, and-” His tailor had been rambling for nearly twenty minutes. Even Sirius had lost interest in making snide comments, instead doodling in a sketchbook he’d found Fates know where. That caught James’ attention. 

“Why’s it gold?” He asked, making a face at the detailed sketch the tailor, Fabien (one of the Prewitt twins, who were part of the Royal family of Conch through their sister Molly, if he remembered right,) was presenting. 

“All of your embroidery is gold, hun, to parallel-” He said slowly, like James was daft. James fought the urge to groan. 

“Yeah, no, I get that. But the moon should be silver. It looks wrong gold,” He frowned. Fabien opened his mouth to answer, but James took the opportunity to voice his other concern, “And it shouldn’t be closest to my heart.”

“Why’s that?” Fabien asked, clearly uninterested in his answer. Normally, James found him at least somewhat likable, but at the moment he wanted to strangle him. 

“Because Leo should be,” James said simply. Fabien made a face. 

“Leo is one of the surrounding constellations, as I was going to say, to represent the lion of your kingdom-” Again, James didn’t let him finish. 

“It’s not about the lion,” He frowned. Fabien raised an eyebrow. “The moon shouldn’t represent Regulus, for one, it should represent Remus. And Leo should be closest to my heart because it represents Reg. Because Regulus, like the star, is in it,” He stood up, walking over to the large sketchpad Fabien was presenting. He took Sirius’ pencil as he walked past, and used it to circle where Regulus was in Leo. “See. That’s Regulus. So it ought to be closest to my heart.” He finished, turning to Fabien. 

“Oh. Right. Well, I suppose that makes sense,” He conceded, though he sounded rather bitter. James paused. 

“And Regulus, the star, should be silver,” He decided. “Regulus wouldn’t be caught dead in gold.” And with that he’d walked out of the room, ignoring both his mother and Fabien’s cries for him to stop. That was enough of that for the day. 

That conversation was just about the most interesting thing that happened over the course of those two weeks. It gave him a lot of time to think, at least. Had he done the right thing leaving that note for Regulus? He meant it. He hoped they would find, at the very least, some sort of peace in their marriage. They wouldn’t find what most people expected when getting married, that much he knew. Regulus was many things, but loveable was not among them. James was…well, he was trying to get over his childhood hatred for him. He hadn’t seen him since they were young teens, surely they had both grown enough to peacefully coexist? 

A part of him doubted it. The Regulus he remembered was not prone to change. He was a spoiled, hard headed snitch who got joy out of getting James and Sirius in trouble. He spent his time sucking up to his parents and learning their skewed views. Surely Sirius leaving only made things worse? Left without a positive influence, he likely grew up to be exactly the kind of son his parents wanted. 

But what did that mean? On first thought, James imagined a vile, demanding person who was as manipulative as his mother and as cruel as his father. But that wasn’t what his parents wanted him to grow up to be. That was the life they’d planned for Sirius. No, if Regulus grew up to be what his parents wanted it was far more likely he would be far from the person James remembered. He’d be quiet and unopinionated. Obedient. The thought made James’ stomach turn. He didn’t want to marry the Regulus he remembered. The Regulus who always managed to leave James feeling like an idiot, who took pleasure in embarrassing him and seemed intent on arguing with him no matter the subject. The boy with a sharp mind and sharper tongue. But to be married to the Regulus his parents wanted him to be…He couldn’t even put into words how much worse it would be.

 It felt like time flew and crawled by at the same time. It felt like months had dragged by, and yet it was only the blink of an eye before he found himself standing in front of a giant three paneled mirror, allowing himself to be moved around like a doll at the hands of his mother, Lily, and Fabien. Regulus and his family had arrived two days ago, though James had thankfully seen little of them. He knew that his parents had suffered through a dinner with Sirius’, but he’d made sure to stay clear of the castle when they’d arrived. 

A part of him wished he’d gotten the chance to see Regulus. He had no idea what he looked like, and he was admittedly a bit worried about it. Was it shallow to be worried about Regulus’ appearance? Probably. He certainly had bigger things to fret over. But still, he’d thought about it. He saw two possibilities, neither of which he liked. Either Regulus looked like his parents, which would be dreadful, or he’d look like Sirius, which might be worse. Sirius was a very attractive bloke, mind you, but it was weird enough to know he was marrying his mate’s little brother. Let alone have to constantly be reminded about it when looking at his husband. 

In the same vein, he’d found himself worrying about his own appearance. Would Regulus find him attractive? Or would he still think him as hideous as he claimed to when they were kids? James wasn’t sure why he cared. He didn’t want Regulus to be attracted to him, not really. But it was normal to want the person you were marrying to find you attractive, right? Even if that person was a maniacal little shit who got joy out of ruining your fun. James was handsome, he knew it from the way people reacted around him, and from being constantly told it, but it wasn’t something he’d often cared about. He had bigger things to worry about most of the time, like winning a war and recovering from the wounds that felt like they’d never heal. Now though? He felt like he could afford to be worried about whether or not his fiance would find him attractive. 

James wasn’t worried about it as he looked in the massive mirror. It may be self-assured of him, but he had no doubts about his attractiveness. Fabien may have been irritating at times, but he was damn good at his job. The cream white of the suit complimented his brown skin in a way traditional ivory wouldn’t, and the gold trim was the warm gold he preferred over the ugly green-gold he often saw in embroidery. And the suit itself fit nicely, showing the muscle he’d been rewarded with after years of hard training. He’d been annoyed about all of the meetings to plan the details, but it really was a beautiful suit. The sheer golden shoulder capes with their sun detailing, the gold hardware, and all of the gold jewelry he was adorned in was less showy than he’d anticipated. His eyebrows had been done, courtesy of Lily holding him down the night before and plucking them. He hadn’t understood her insistence in the moment, but he had to admit it wasn’t the worst look. Everything about him had been curated down to the detail, including the deep red polish on his nails, decorated with golden stars. The only thing he didn’t like was his hair. His mother had insisted it be done, and she’d worked the magic only she had to tame it into neat and precise waves that were pushed out of his face. It looked nice. 

It looked wrong. His messy hair was a very intentional part of his style, thank you. He got it from his father, the Potter genes of three different curl patterns coming together to make a messy-but-attractive style he’d been proud of for years. It was adorable when he was a kid, boyishly charming as a teen, and he liked to think it made him look down to Earth and approachable as an adult. His mum, for the most part, agreed. But apparently a wedding wasn’t the time to look messy. Or, at least his own wasn’t. He disagreed. But she was his mum, what was he to do? She was the only person in the world who was capable of getting his hair to cooperate, so he’d let her with only a few complaints. 

Hair upset aside, he looked good. Which would be a relief, if he didn’t feel like he was going to throw up. He was getting married. He was getting married. To a man that at the very least he didn’t know, and at the worst he absolutely hated! What was wrong with him?! Why had anyone let him agree to this? For Fate's sake, it was clearly a lapse of judgement! Someone should have put a stop to this two weeks ago. He should have put a stop to it. 

Why hadn’t he? 

Well, he supposed it hadn’t seemed as big of a deal. Don’t get him wrong, it had seemed like a terrible, insurmountable deal. But it hadn’t been real, in a way. It was a promise he’d made, a promise to spend the rest of his life with his best mate’s insufferable brother, and that was a big deal. But it wasn’t real. It was just a promise. The consequences of the promise had all seemed very…unfathomable. Unreal. He’d spent weeks worrying about living with Regulus, but it was the way he worried about the war restarting or ruling his kingdom. Hypothetical. Things that he would only have to actually deal with in the distant future.

Looking at himself in the mirror it had become real. It was no longer just another mistake made due to his cluelessness. No, it was a real, solid thing. He was going to sign his life away. He should not have been left alone in the stupid fitting room, because now the only person stopping him from running away was him and he was not doing a good enough job at it. He’d paced the length of the room half a dozen times, practically memorising the subtle floral pattern on the ivory carpet. It was a room he’d never been in before, which there were few of in the castle. He’d been surprised when his mum had led him there before the sun had even risen, opening the door to reveal a pristine, all white room. There was a sofa and a set of chairs around a small table off to the side, a vanity, and a large three walled mirror in the center of one wall. When questioned his mum had explained that there were two rooms like it in the palace, reserved specifically for wedding parties, and he had never discovered it through great effort on behalf of her and the staff. He couldn’t blame them, it was unlikely the room would be nearly as pristine if he’d found it as a kid. 

It was a nice room, really. Very…white. Someone had probably tried very hard to decorate it.

It was the worst room he’d ever been in, and he would like nothing more than to get out. 

The white walls made him think of a padded cell. It hadn’t been that bad when his mum and Lily had been there to distract him with endless styling and quiet conversation, but now that he was alone he felt like destroying the room the way he would have as a child. He was certain he could relearn his long forgotten talent of tracking mud everywhere he went, and find the clumsiness that had been trained out of him during battle training. It would look much better with the mirror shattered on the ground, the colourful powders tucked neatly in the vanity streaking the oppressive white surrounding him. There had never been a worse room in history, he was certain.

 He was staring out an open window trying to figure out if he could safely climb down the wall and make a run for it when the door to the room opened. 

“Alright, Prongs?” Sirius asked from the doorway. James didn’t turn to face him. He wasn’t sure if he could. He wanted to run, but doing that would be leaving Regulus to a fate worse than anything this marriage could lead to. “Y’know, I don’t think you’d survive that fall. You’ve got a thick skull, but I doubt it’s thick enough to survive against a fifty meter drop,” He said conversationally, sounding closer than before. James hadn’t heard his footsteps, but that wasn’t a shock. Padfoot always moved quietly, which was surprising to most considering how loud he was in every other aspect of his life.

“I was thinking about climbing, actually,” James replied, not taking his eyes off the window. Admitting it alone felt like a betrayal of his promise to Sirius. To his surprise, Sirius laughed. 

“I should’ve known. You’ve always been better at escape plans than me.” James could hear the grin in his voice. There was the sound of liquid pouring, and James could only assume Sirius was pouring himself water from the pitcher on the table. Why was he so calm about this? “Do you remember Dad’s birthday ages ago when we put slugs in Petunia's drink, and I almost took out the cake trying to make a run for it?” Sirius asked, amused. James did remember. They’d been about fourteen, and it was right after Sirius had officially run away from home. James had been trying to cheer him up for weeks, and the half-baked prank was his final hope. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t follow me into the kitchens. We were so close to escaping,” James laughed despite himself, finally turning to face Sirius. He looked dashing, as always. His suit was a deeper red than the crimson that James usually associated with Prongston, which Fabien had said was to prevent clashing with Regulus’ groomsmen’s green suits or something. It was a good color on Sirius though, the almost-maroon complementing his dark hair and light eyes. His hair was mostly down, only pulled half up in the back, likely against Mum’s wishes. Of course he got away with it, she’d always been soft on him. James was glad for it, even if he’d failed to get away with the same. He looked good with his hair down, the shoulder length shaggy curls as much a part of what made him Sirius as his watercolour eyes and flare for the dramatics. It was still done nicely, glittery silver star clips pinning it up, keeping all but carefully selected pieces of it out of his face. He was wearing smudged eyeliner, a signature look by now. And he was smiling, a grin that turned softer as he got a good look at James. 

“You’ve always been better at plans than me,” He said again, the meaning different this time. “Aside from Remus, you’re the smartest of us. And you’ve got him beat by a million when it comes to emotional intelligence. You always know how to make people feel better. How to help,” He paused, wetting his lips, “You’re my best mate, Prongs.” He took a sip from the cup he was holding, looking solemn. 

“Save something for the speech, Pads,” James said weakly. Sirius offered him the glass and he took a drink in attempts to fix his dry throat. The drink stung, a hot taste he recognized. Not water, then. He coughed, not expecting the burning of liquor. “Bit early for drinking, isn’t it?” He asked, wincing. He handed the cup back to Sirius without argument. 

“Just something for the nerves,” Sirius brushed off his concern. There was a pause, and Sirius took another drink of his firewhiskey before speaking. “You don’t have to do this,” He said seriously. 

“I know it's common to try to talk your mate out of marriage, but it's a bit unorthodox when he’s marrying your brother, isn’t it?” He attempted to joke. Sirius didn’t break. “I’ve already told you, I’m not backing out. I made a promise,” He said. It felt a bit like putting the final nail in his own coffin. Sirius sighed and placed his free hand on James’ shoulder. 

“James, this is bigger than your promise. This is marriage. Your only opportunity to profess your undying love for someone shouldn’t be given away as a favor,” He grimaced. James couldn’t imagine how painful this conversation must be for him. He knew as well as James did that if James backed out of this it would almost guarantee a worse life for Regulus. If James left him at the altar it would make his already grim marriage prospects completely abysmal. “I just…I don’t want you to give this up for me. You have already done more for me than I could ever thank you for,” He sounded on the verge of tears. It was confirmed when he met James’ eye and there were tears building in his. It did nothing to dull the determination in them, the steely grey lacking its usual mischief. James wanted to tell him he had nothing to thank him for, the way he had a million times, but the look on Sirius’ face was enough to keep him quiet.

 “This time…This is too much. I shouldn’t have asked it of you in the first place.” There was a heavy sadness in his voice. “You, of all people, deserve to marry someone you love. You deserve your happily ever after. You deserve better than this. I can’t let you give this up for me,” He finished, letting his hand slide from James’ shoulder. 

There it was. James’ way out. He had spent most of his life finding the easiest exits in every room, every situation he entered. And now he was more trapped than he’d ever been, and Sirius was offering him his easy escape on a platter. 

“It isn’t for you,” He said quietly. Sirius’ face scrunched in confusion. “I’m not…I’m not doing this for you. At least, not anymore. It’s for Regulus. If I back out…I’d be dooming him to a fate worse than I can even imagine. I don’t want to marry him, in all honesty. But I would rather give up any hope for love than leave him to that.” 

And he meant it. Marrying Regulus would be uncomfortable, and likely miserable. But even if he spent the rest of his life hating him and being hated in return it would be paradise compared to the life awaiting Regulus should he choose to back out now. 

Call it his hero complex, but he couldn’t do that to someone.

Sirius stared at him for a moment, reading his expression. He took a deep breath before nodding. 

“Right, then we ought to head out. Wedding’s due to start any minute.” 

-

James wished he was back in the white room. He would actually give anything to go back. He couldn’t imagine what had been so wrong with him that he wanted to leave the room in the first place. 

The palace was beautiful, truly. Objectively better to look at than the blinding whiteness of the dressing room. Regulus and his planner had done an amazing job with the decor. Red, green, silver, and yellow should clash. They were on opposite ends of the color wheel, and when he’d been informed that they were the colors Regulus had selected for the wedding he’d been picturing something garish. He should have known better than to doubt Regulus. He was many things, but meticulous was one of them. 

Of course, James didn’t feel particularly bad about doubting his decorating skills. It wasn’t as if he’d been presented with color swatches. He had just been told that the color scheme was the colors of Prongston and the Black Family crest. It was understandable that he’d been picturing bright crimson and emerald green clashing against each other, fighting for your attention, with bright yellow and grey acting as an equally unpleasing backdrop. Instead, the color pallet was…well, stunning. Deep cranberry red alongside dark forest green, accented with a warm but subtle gold and an almost white silver. 

The wedding ceremony would take place inside the castle’s ballroom during golden hour. Then the reception would take place outside, optimally starting right after the sunset. The ballroom was, in all honesty, absurdly large. One of the many places in the castle that made him consider how much his family had and how little they needed it. His family had held countless parties there over the years. His mum hosted public events regularly even during the war in hopes to bring some joy to the people. No reason to let a room like that go to waste when it could be used to help people. Public parties had shifted to free meals and shelter as the war got worse, but it was used nevertheless. 

On the far side of the room there was a small set of steps leading to a raised section of the floor that held two thrones, which his parents took to when guests were being introduced. Behind them was a massive arched window that rarely had its curtains drawn. There were smaller, but still large, arched windows along the wall not connected to the interior castle, with a view of the garden. They let in streams of sunlight that were replaced by the light of the three ornate chandeliers when the sun set. Normally there were tables set up with refreshments, as well as places to sit. It was a beautiful room, the envy of many noble families. He had never seen a room that was more stunning. 

But Regulus, and his planner and family of course, had transformed it into something almost magical. Pews lined the hall, with a cranberry red carpet running down the middle. It ran up the steps to the platform where his parents’ thrones usually sat, and in their place was an archway draped in silver and gold stars. Hanging from the high arched ceilings were similar stars that glinted in the sunlight. The window behind his parents’ thrones was uncovered, and by the time the ceremony started the sun would be setting and it’d be golden hour. Regulus had planned it to the minute, apparently. There were tables along the sides of the room, overflowing with different flowers matching the color theme. There was one flower at the center of all of the bouquets, Regulus must’ve planned around it. 

Yellow carnations. 

James snickered to himself, waving off Sirius when he raised an eyebrow at him. Of course Regulus had chosen yellow carnations. James doubted anyone in his circle had even noticed. It wasn’t common to know flower language these days. It was good to know that Regulus seemingly hadn’t succumbed to the personality his parents wanted him to, if the flowers were anything to go by.  He likely had no idea that James understood the meaning of them, let alone that flower arranging was in fact one of his favourite hobbies. It wasn’t exactly one of the common pieces of trivia people brought up when discussing him. ‘Oh there’s Prince James, the war hero. Did you know that he arranges flowers and bakes in his free time?’ He would almost prefer that over the things people did say about him. 

He didn’t have much time to appreciate the humour behind the carnations, or the beauty of  any of the decorations really. Guests were getting settled, and that meant James needed to disappear until his time to walk down the aisle. Sirius dragged him to the hall they’d wait in for the brief time before the wedding started. Remus was there, waiting for them. He wore a suit that matched Sirius’ and…Well, he was stunning. There was a reason he’d been James’ gay awakening. The suit hugged him just right, showing the muscle that was often hidden behind oversized sweaters. And while Sirius had gotten away with his hair, Remus had gotten away with having the top button of his shirt undone, adding an effortlessly sexy air to the whole look. His hair was gelled loosely out of his face, and he was leaning against the wall with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked up as they walked in, and James wished for a moment he’d never gotten over his childish crush. More than that, that Remus and Sirius weren’t so perfectly made for each other. Then he could be marrying Remus, which would certainly be something to brag about. 

“There you are,” He rolled his eyes, “I don’t know what took you so long, but Effie’s been losing her mind,” He stood and crossed the hall towards them. His eyes flicked from James to Sirius and he paused. He ran his eyes down Sirius’ body, wetting his lips. James sucked air in, his lungs not reaching capacity. It was finally happening. This was how he would die. He was going to suffocate in his best mates’ sexual tension. He thought it was a rather funny joke, and he would’ve been keen to share it if either of his friends had been even the slightest bit aware that he still existed.

 “You look…nice,” Remus said slowly, picking his words carefully, dragging his eyes back up Sirius’ body to meet his eyes as he spoke. James looked to Sirius, and found he was nearly as red as his suit. He let out a sound that could only be described as a squeak, his mouth parted slightly. 

James had been waiting since he was thirteen years old for Sirius and Remus to get their act together and figure out they were meant for each other. He’d spent nights awake plotting ways to get it through to them, spent countless hours listening to the two of them rant about how hard it was to have their feelings be unrequited. There were very few things he wouldn’t do for the two of them to finally get together. 

Any other night. He needed them to pull their heads out of their asses any other night. This was the one night he desperately needed them to not shack up. All they had to do was not shag. How hard could that be? They’d been doing it for years now, much to James’ chagrin. He needed them to remain oblivious for a few more hours so he wouldn’t be left totally alone while they stared into each other’s eyes, or whatever people in love did. 

“I- uh…” Sirius said, articulately. James had never seen him rendered speechless so easily. “You too. You look…yeah,” He forced out. It must’ve been hard to speak, with his foot in his mouth and all. Fates this was physically painful to witness. Sirius Black, casanova and smooth talker extraordinaire, rendered completely useless simply by seeing Moony in a suit. If James had known that would be all it took to shut him up, he would’ve gotten married much sooner. 

“Yeah?” Remus prompted, smirking. No no no no no. Remus didn’t flirt back! That was supposed to be his saving grace. Sirius flirted and teased and Remus was largely unaware and unresponsive. Why did he have to be perceptive tonight of all nights? Sirius made another undignified noise, and James thought Remus might eat him whole on the spot. This would not do. James needed all the support he could get, he could not have his best man off in some corner of the palace finally getting laid. 

“Yeah, Moony, you look killer,” James chimed in, in hopes to break some of the tension. It worked, at least a bit, because Remus tore his eyes off of Sirius and looked at him. He reacted like it was his first time actually seeing James, his eyes softening and a mix of emotions crossing his face. James understood them all. For a long time, none of them knew if they’d ever live to see each other get married. The idea of a day like this was a vague hope, at best. Having his closest friends with him on his wedding day was a warmth that was hard to explain. But it was also haunted by a loss that James was feeling more today than he had in a short while. Peter should be here. He should be by James’ side along with the others. There was a bittersweet nostalgia that was hard to process. 

“You look great, Prongs,” Moony said softly. He stepped towards James and adjusted his glasses, brushing a stray bit of hair out of his face and shifting the golden crown he wore. A silent moment, something gentle, the love between them unable to be put into words. Tears built behind James’ eyes, the mix of emotions so overwhelming his body needed a way to physically dispel it. For a moment it didn’t matter who he was marrying. It didn’t matter that just moments ago he felt like he was making the worst mistake of his life. It didn’t matter he was tying himself to someone he genuinely hated. This was the realisation of a dream he had never really had time to have. The blurry idea of having his best friends at his side as he made this commitment sharpening into reality until it would inevitably fade into a memory. 

He knocked Remus’ hands aside to pull him into a fierce hug, undoing his friend’s efforts to straighten his appearance without a second thought. Moony was a good hugger. He was warm and firm, solid beneath James, and he always gave back as good as he got, arms tightening around James like it might be the last time. And he smelled like home, an earthy smell with a hint of tea and old books. James would have laughed at that description had he not known Remus. Who smelled like tea and old books? It wasn’t possible. But it was like Remus consumed so much of both, loved them both so much that they’d claimed a part of him back. The same way Sirius smelled of worn leather, rosemary, and mint from his expensive bath potions. Remus’ breathing was a steady rhythm, comforting James so greatly he felt a part of his very soul relax. 

“This is touching,” An amused voice came from somewhere to his right. Reluctantly, James pulled away from Remus. He was greeted with the sight of Lily, who wore a dress the same shade of red as Remus and Sirius’ suits. The high empire waistline, cap sleeves, and square scooped neckline was so unlike anything James was used to seeing her in. He’d seen her in formal wear, but she rarely opted for something so trendy. Her hair was pinned up in an intricate updo, carefully selected curls cascading down. 

“You look lovely,” He said, a bit breathless. She smiled and crossed the room to him, making quick work of readjusting his outfit. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” He asked quietly, just for her. She stilled with her hands still on his chest, looking up at him. He thought he might have to explain, but he found an understanding in her warm emerald eyes that he hadn’t expected. 

“It is,” She conceded. “I think I spent more of my life believing this would be our wedding than I haven’t.” They fell into a silence, the both of them undoubtedly picturing it. For a moment, looking into her eyes, James believed they could have made it. They could have lived a happy life. They would have been the perfect couple everyone had imagined them to be. And Lily would be a great queen. They would have a marriage full of love and laughter. Mum and Dad would be thrilled to have a few kids with unruly hair and Lily’s eyes running around. They could have been happy. She smiled.

 They wouldn’t have. Not in this life, at least. They weren’t meant to be. Lily pulled away from him, the moment gone, and turned to greet Sirius and Remus. There was an idle chatter, with Lily and Sirius bickering over whether or not James should have been allowed to wear his hair unstyled. At some point Mum arrived, draped in yellow-gold fabric and gold jewelry. 

She took James aside, gently leading him away from his friends as Lily and Sirius both tried to drag Remus into their respective side of the argument. She stopped when they were far enough away to have just a bit of privacy, but she didn’t say anything. Her warm brown eyes that were so much like his own traced his face, shining with tears. They were soon spilling over, running down her face. 

“Oh, Mum,” James said, feeling his own tears tugging at his eyes. He took her face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe the tears away. She smiled and laughed, and then the tears were coming harder. She pulled him in to wrap her arms around him, her grip almost bone-crushing. She sobbed against his chest and he let his own tears fall, the world shrinking to be just the two of them for a short time. In the end she pulled away first. 

“I can’t believe you are getting married already,” She said softly, caressing his cheek. “When did you get so big?” She smiled sadly. James took her hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I love you,” He sniffled, using the palm of his other hand to rub away his own tears. 

“I love you too, my heart,” Mum promised, the way she had when he was a child. She took another second to take in his face, the love on her face almost overwhelming. Then her hand was sliding out of his, and her face turned serious. “This is never how I imagined this going for you. I wanted you to marry for love. And you know how I feel about arranged marriages. You and poor Regulus both deserve better than this,” She sighed. 

“Mum, I-” He began, planning to reassure her for the millionth time that this was what he wanted. She stopped him with a look. 

“I know I cannot change your mind about this, Love. I would have tried much earlier if I believed it possible,” She said, “I think what you are doing is incredibly foolish and shortsighted.” There was a pause. “And I am so proud of you. You are so kind,” She half-smiled, but it was quick to fade, “Too kind. I only hope I did not raise you to believe you must put others happiness above your own,” She brushed a piece of hair out of his face, her expression a mix of emotions. 

“I do not think I need to tell you that if I find out you hurt him, that you were anything but a perfect gentleman to him for the entirety of your marriage, I will kill you myself and instate Lily as my heir,” She deadpanned, face stern. James had no doubts that she meant it. He smiled softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. 

“I know you will, Mama.” She nodded sharply, before smiling at him again. It seemed for a second that she was going to start crying all over again, but she didn’t. Instead she shooed him off, following him back towards where his friends waited. 

 It wasn’t very long at all before he stood beside his mother, Sirius, Remus, and Lily lined up behind them in preparation to meet Regulus’ wedding party as they made their way to the aisle. James had considered for a moment that Regulus’ family would likely take great issue with his choice of party members. Lily was a woman, for one. And even worse, in their minds at least, she and Remus weren’t nobility. He had no doubt they’d have many things to say about standing alongside people below their station, let alone honouring them in the wedding. He’d considered it, and decided he didn’t give a toss. They couldn’t very well make a scene at the wedding, and he doubted they’d have the marriage annulled over such a small thing.  

He didn’t have much time to think about it, as the wedding march started and it was his time. He linked arms with his mum and started the dreaded walk down the aisle. The hall was packed with guests, some familiar and some not. The aisle split the hall in half, and it was as if it represented the divide of the war itself. People he’d fought with during the war, like Kingsley and the Longbottoms, on one side, and people he’d fought against on the other. Bellatrix’s eyes on him made his skin crawl, and the knowledge that half of the people in the room would prefer him dead was not comforting. 

He took his place at the top of the aisle, parting from his mum with a kiss on her forehead and a whispered ‘I love you.’ She joined his father on his side of the hall. Sirius parted from Crouch Jr., who must’ve been Regulus’ man of honour, with a mutual sticking out of tongues where the crowd couldn’t see. Remus and Rosier were much more cordial, going their separate ways without so much as a nod. Lily, who was partnered with the girl with the startling green eyes and stark white braids, seemed to be having a much better time. The pair exchanged hushed words before separating. Regulus’ family must not have been that upset about the station of the party then, and he didn’t feel like questioning the out of character decision. 

Walking up the aisle, the fact that the room held two opposing sides of the war had felt like a threat. But standing there and looking out at them, it was something else entirely. Some of the people in that room had been intent on killing each other less than a year ago, yes, but most of them…Most of them were just people, caught up in something they had no choice in. Regulus’ guests held beliefs James would never understand, but they had never known anything else. Even if he would never understand how, they truly believed themselves to be in the right. They weren’t monsters like Voldemort, just people who were taught wrong from the beginning. And the two sides of the war coming together was something they should strive for, wasn’t it? The only way to move on from it was to let go of the hatred from the past.

Maybe the same was true for him and Regulus. 

The music started up again, and a little girl with tawny hair made her way down the aisle, throwing the yellow petals of the carnations. James would have been amused but he didn’t get the chance. Behind her, Walburga escorted Regulus the same way James’ mum had escorted him. She wore a silver dress, but James hardly processed it. 

He had been so worried that he’d look at Regulus and see Sirius. Or, even more vainly, that he wouldn’t find Regulus attractive at all. He’d rarely found himself attracted to people in the past, uninterested in the people who had thrown themselves at him. It would only make sense that Regulus would fall into that category, especially given their past. It would be understandable, expected even, that he found Regulus unattractive at best. But it was far worse than that.

Regulus was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. 

The soft golden light streaming in from the windows haloed him like a heavenly being, making him look like something straight out of a painting. He wore a white suit that matched James’ own, with silver embroidery instead, but he put James to shame by a mile. His hair was so black it seemed almost blue, lacking the brown undertones Sirius’ had. He was paler, too, porcelain the way Sirius had been before he’d spent years in Prongston’s sun. He kept his head down, staring at the red path as he walked, and James found himself wishing he’d look up if only for a moment so he could see his face. How was it possible that he had yet to see his face but he was so certain he had never seen a more beautiful person in his life? 

Regulus’ head finally lifted and…Oh. James wished he’d never looked up. How was he meant to live the rest of his life married to this man? He’d pondered it a million times before, but the question took an entirely new shape now that he had seen him. How was he meant to live the rest of his life married to this man knowing he hated him, and knowing he would do anything he wanted if he so much as asked? Knowing that he could never ask a thing from him, even if the only thing his heart would ever desire again would be Regulus. His pale green eyes skipped right over James, landing on his own side of the aisle. It was a relief, in a way. James wasn’t certain he would survive being the focus of his gaze. His heart may stop from the ache. And, in all honesty, it allowed him the opportunity to continue his staring. Regulus had high cheekbones and a strong jawline, but the heart shape of his face was still soft. His hair curled neatly just above his brow and below the nape of his neck, laying loose as opposed to the way it was always slicked back in their youth. His face shifted from painstakingly neutral to affectionately annoyed as he took in whatever was taking place on the other side of the altar. 

James didn’t believe in love at first sight. He’d been taught better. Love is work, is blood, sweat, and tears put into being someone deserving of it. Love is a choice. An action. Lust at first sight? That was real, he knew. Lust and attraction didn’t require work. They were just chemical reactions and a high one chases. Love is chemical, sure, but loving someone is an action. It isn’t something that just happens, not when you mean it. Love is built. James knew better than to believe in love at first sight. 

But before Sirius, he also hadn’t believed in soulmates. For some strange reason, it seemed the Black brothers were capable of changing his fundamental views of the universe. Because looking at Regulus then, James was tempted to believe in love at first sight. 

He wasn’t in love with Regulus, he knew that. But for the first time in his life he knew he was willing to spend the rest of it putting in the work to love someone before he even knew them. Just a few minutes ago he would have openly said he despised Regulus. Now? Now he felt like a man seeing the sun for the first time in his life. Witnessing something life changing. It was getting struck by lightning, immediate and brilliant and painful. Something he’d never recover from. It was drowning, his lungs pushing out the last bit of oxygen he had and pulling in Regulus, burning with the knowledge that he was completely at the mercy of a man he should hate. But it was also surfacing, breaking from the cold waves that had been swallowing him and feeling warmth on his skin. 

However you described it, one thing was for certain.

 James was screwed. 

-

The wedding march was a song Regulus had always appreciated. It had simple cords, that was certain, but as a pianist he knew a piece didn’t need to be complex to evoke emotion. The delicate ‘da da duh da, da da duh da’  brought memories to most people's mind, of their own nuptials or others’, and it was iconic in its own right. He’d appreciated its beauty at Narcissa’s wedding, and distant relatives’ before that. 

Now, the song was somber. A death march. Its slow pace contrasted the pounding of his heart as it protested against his walk down the aisle, a dichotomy he might have found poetic had it not been signalling the end of his freedom. 

The first half of his march towards doom he kept his eyes on the ground, as if not seeing what was waiting for him would make it any easier. Petals lined the aisle, just as he had planned with his mother a week ago. They were yellow, whatever flower he had painstakingly selected from a million other identical ones. Daffodils? No, that didn’t seem right. The name of them escaped him, even as he tried his hardest to recall it. It didn’t matter, not really. He doubted anyone in the room had given them any thought beyond appreciating the color. Still, he rummaged through his foggy memories from the wedding planning for the name. It gave him something to focus on as he walked, an escape from the seemingly endless journey, until his mother elbowed him sharply. His fixation on the floor had been noticed, then, and was no longer excusable as nerves. He took a breath and tore his eyes from those yellow petals. 

He wasn’t surprised to see Sirius stood beside Potter, but it hurt nonetheless. He’d obviously known in advance that Sirius was part of Potter’s wedding party. He’d chosen Barty as his own best man for a reason. There was nothing shocking about seeing Sirius on the other side of the altar. And yet he found himself hurt by it, some wound deep in his chest that had never been fully closed reopening at the visual reminder of where Sirius’ priorities lay. Of course Sirius would be Potter’s best man. Of course Sirius would choose to stand with him. Reglus blinked, surprised by the tears that had begun to well in his eyes. 

He flicked his gaze to his side of the altar, skipping over Potter, and found Barty. He stood where some part of Regulus had expected to find Sirius, where his own best man was meant to be. He looked, thankfully, rather nice. Regulus had expected some resistance from him when it came to dressing up. Barty had refused to dress properly even for his own wedding, insisting on an open collar and black suit (to mark the end of his life, he’d said), so it was a welcomed shock when he just shrugged at the outfit Regulus had chosen for him, mumbling something about looking like a stiff. He’d worn it nonetheless, without any last minute modifications to make it more his usual style. The out-of-character cooperation was as much proof as anything that he really did care for Regulus. 

Regulus found he was disappointed by the outfit. It was lovely, of course. Green and silver to represent his family’s colors and contrast Potter’s wedding party, yada yada yada. Yes, it was a nice look. Barty looked handsome. Charming, even. Like a real gentleman, befitting of his station. He looked his status for once, as Regulus always chided him for. But Regulus found himself despising it. He’d been pushing for Barty to dress more respectably for years, what was appropriate for him was a constant point of contention between the two of them. Regulus had finally gotten what he wanted. And he hated it. In the neat suit, his hair done nicely, he didn’t look like Barty at all. He looked like…Well, he looked like Regulus. And it was wrong. 

Barty grinned when his eyes met Regulus’. He tilted his head subtly towards where Regulus knew Potter would be standing and mouthed ‘He’s a stunner, huh?’

Regulus fought the urge to roll his eyes. Looking like a gentleman could never make him behave as one. Instead of following Barty’s gesture, he looked to Evan. He stood beside Barty, where he belonged. They made a stunning picture, the two of them. Evan’s stark white dreads were pulled into an ornate bun, with silver jewelry shining throughout. He wore a matching suit to Barty’s, not quite identical, but similar enough you could tell they were a pair. And Evan was looking at Barty with just as much love as he had since the day they were wed, along with that hunger that never quite left his gaze when Barty was near. Their wedding had been a happy occasion, despite Barty’s original protests, and they’d truly had a fairytale outcome. Regulus wished he believed his own marriage might be the same. Evan met his eye and smiled, a calming thing. 

He returned it despite himself and moved on with his appraisal. Next to Evan stood Pandora. Regulus had been surprised when his mother had suggested she be a part of his wedding party. He’d expected the empty spot to be filled by a random noble of his father’s choosing. Malfoy, maybe. But his mother had suggested Pandora, for reasons unknown to him, and he was not going to question a gift like that. Her white braids were pulled into an intricate hairstyle, and Regulus could only imagine how long it’d taken. She wore a green dress, the same dark forest green as Barty and Evan’s suits, that Regulus’ tailor had taken great pride in. Regulus couldn’t tell you a thing about it. He had about as much knowledge of women’s fashion as he did flowers, which was apparently less than he’d assumed. Pandora smiled at him, taking a deep breath in to prompt him to do the same. 

He did, in through the nose and out through the mouth, filling his lungs as much as the tight corset of his vest would allow. It worked. Regulus relaxed a bit, feeling grounded knowing his friends were there. He adored them, truly. He wouldn’t survive this day without them, and he was grateful they would be by his side. 

That was, until Barty caught his eyes again and mouthed ‘Can we share?’ before tilting his head at where Potter stood again. Regulus felt blood rush to his face. He took it all back. He hated him. He hated that vulgar twit and wished he’d never had the misfortune of meeting him. 

His eyes finally found Potter in spite of himself, if only to have something other than Barty to focus on.

Oh. 

Regulus had seen Potter before the brunch, and the sight of him had made Regulus so distraught he fell ill. He’d been gorgeous, certainly, but there hadn’t been much time to appreciate it when Regulus’ life felt like it was falling apart around him. It didn’t matter that he was handsome, the fact that he was there in the hall of the Manor made it all real. He could have been the most attractive man on the planet and it wouldn’t have mattered a bit. No, the only thing that had mattered then was getting as far away from him, from reality, as possible. Now though? Regulus had nowhere to run, and he found he couldn’t look away from Potter. 

His unruly brown hair had been tamed, and it sat neatly under another golden crown, this one far more elaborate than the one he’d worn to the Manor. Regulus frowned internally, careful to keep it off of his face. Potter’s unruly hair was abhorrent, but it looked wrong like this. Each curl was carefully placed. Unnatural. It didn’t fit him, far too stiff for the mischievous man Regulus remembered. His outfit nearly made up for it though. It was white, like Regulus’ own, but instead of silver the trimming was gold. Regulus was close enough now to make out the patterns weaved across the fabric. Potter had his own constellations, different from the ones Regulus carried. The sun sat just over his heart, and Regulus assumed the important constellations were the ones surrounding it. The moon sat next to it, full and the only silver piece. Canis Major was alongside it, of course. Those two were to be expected. The one that surprised him was Leo. Not because it was there at all, Prongston’s mascot was a lion after all, but because of something else. He’d been wrong before, the moon wasn’t the only silver. All of Leo was gold except for one star. Regulus. The one closest to the sun. Closest to Potter’s heart. 

He had a good tailor. 

Regulus blinked hard, to make up for his staring of course. Certainly not to force another bout of tears from his eyes. He didn’t feel bad about staring, truly, because Potter was staring right back. His brown doe eyes were stuck on Regulus like he was transfixed, like he was enchanted by Regulus’ presence. Like Regulus was something beautiful worth staring at. No one had looked at him that way before. He’d been called beautiful before, obviously. He’d been called a million versions of attractive before, loaded with compliments about his appearance since before he could remember. He had been looked at like a trophy, like the prize buck every hunter was searching for. Like he was an object to be possessed and shown off. He knew he was attractive. He was no stranger to having eyes on him, hot with want that made his skin crawl. He had grown used to feeling like he was nothing more than eye candy for people with more power than him. 

But Potter…Potter was looking at him as if he were something to cherish. Someone to care for. Regulus didn’t feel like prey caught in the gaze of a predator. There was no lust projected onto him, no sexualisation he’d never asked for. Potter was looking at him like he was something wonderful. As if he felt anything for him other than contempt. 

Anger bubbled under Regulus’ skin. Potter was a good actor, he’d give him that much. He had no doubt the people in the crowd would buy his act. But Regulus knew better. He knew the kind of deception Potter was capable of, his ability to charm seemingly everyone into getting what he wanted. Not Regulus. He would have to try far harder than that to fool him. 

Potter was attractive, yes. But seeing him made Regulus just as angry as it had when they were children. The great James Potter, worshipped by everyone around him for simply existing despite his complete and utter mediocrity. An arrogant, self-centered prick who was once again making Regulus’ life worse without any consideration for what he wanted.  

Regulus parted from his mother, taking his place beside Potter at the altar, holding his head high and staring straight out at the audience. Potter’s eyes were still on him, he could feel it, but he ignored it in favour of working the crowd. What was he supposed to be feeling right now? Nervous, he supposed. Excited. He forced a small, sweet smile to spread across his face. He brought his gaze down as if he were flustered by the amount of attention. Timid and innocent was the goal. Bollocks, all of it, but if he showed how he was really feeling he doubted it would go over well. Potter’s side of the room likely wouldn’t take too kindly to him hitting him. 

The vows went by rather quickly. Regulus recited the vows his parents had written him, swearing to obey and love Potter unconditionally until he died. Fat chance, but he was well trained so it sounded like he was really pouring his soul out. Potter’s vows were less traditional. It seemed as though whatever servant had the misfortune of writing them had tried hard to channel the good boy saviour complex Potter toted about. 

“I cannot truly promise you a happy life with me, there is no guarantee of that. But I swear to you that from this day forward I will spend every waking moment doing everything I can to make it happen. I will spend the rest of my life in servitude to your happiness, if you will allow me.”

A promise to keep Regulus safe, to do his best to keep him happy, and to cherish him the way he deserved. As if. It was clearly just as much well rehearsed bullshit as Regulus’ was. The last bit though…He got close to fooling Regulus, even. 

“You are named after a star, but the comparison doesn’t do you justice. You are brighter than all of the stars, more meaningful than every constellation added up, greater than every galaxy in existence. You, Regulus, have shifted my universe on its axis. My world no longer revolves around the sun. You have taken its place. My purpose. My brightest star. And I shall spend the rest of my life worshiping you, bending at your command and rising with your whims, so long as you will have me.”

He seemed so genuine. And, if Sirius’ reaction was anything to go off of, it wasn’t something he’d publicly rehearsed before. Truly, Potter’s manipulation could put Regulus’ family’s to shame. Even if Regulus believed Sirius’ promises about Potter not meaning what he’d said at the lunch, it didn’t change the fact that he was clearly a talented liar. He hated Regulus, the same as Regulus hated him. And yet he managed to profess his love so convincingly even Sirius seemed to believe it. Potter was a formidable competitor, that was certain, but Regulus had yet to meet a match for his talent. He smiled, a surprised but delighted thing, bringing his hand to partially cover his mouth as tears welled in his eyes. He heard coos from the audience. What a pair they would make indeed. 

With the vows over, they were left to exchange rings. Regulus’ was a simple silver band with emerald inlays, and Potter’s was gold with rubies. Nothing ornate. The silver snake ring felt heavy on his left hand as he used it to hold Potter’s hand while he slid the marriage band onto it. Potter noticed it, taking Regulus’ hand in his own in order to look at where it sat. He traced it gently with his thumb, mesmerised by it for a moment. He brought his eyes from Regulus’ hand to his face holding the contact as he oh so slowly dipped to kiss his hand. Regulus felt his face flush, his heart picking up in his chest. Who did he think he was? Potter smiled softly, and Regulus felt a rush of what could only be disgust. The rest of the ring exchange went quickly, a reward for his managing not to yank his hand away from Potter. It was followed by the ‘I do’s’ which only left one thing left. 

The kiss. 

Regulus had never kissed anyone. Ever. Purity was one of the many things he’d been taught he was expected to maintain for his future partner, and he wasn’t exactly known for going against his parents’ wishes. There was a part of him that was pissed his first kiss would be with Potter. The part of him that wished he’d rebelled when he was younger, that wished he’d given in to Barty’s relentless flirting in their teen years. Anything if it meant Potter wouldn’t get to take this from him too. The rest of him knew that if Potter believed any of the things he’d spouted at lunch then his first kiss would be far from the last thing he’d have taken from him by Potter. And, if he didn’t, then Regulus would have to be content with only having one kiss in his entire life. 

“I pronounce you husband and husband,” The officiant said. He paused, then spoke the words Regulus had been dreading. “You may now kiss the groom.” Regulus took a breath, preparing himself for…Well, he wasn’t really sure. Whatever kissing was like. Potter took a step towards him, closing the space between them. Regulus looked up to meet his eye, his heartbeat steadily growing faster. Potter brushed a piece of hair out of his face before cupping it gently. He leaned in and Regulus tensed, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“May I?” Potter asked quietly. Regulus blinked his eyes open to find brown eyes regarding him softly. His stomach stirred, that disgust again rising in him. 

“What?” Regulus whispered back. Why was he asking? What did it matter if Regulus said yes or not? It wasn’t as if he had another choice. There was something sad in Potter’s gaze, as if he knew what Regulus was thinking. 

“May I kiss you, Regulus?” Potter repeated. His thumb stroked gently where it lay on Regulus’ cheek bone. Regulus ignored the way his own breath stuttered. Why was he being so…gentle? So unnecessarily kind? No one would have thought twice if he’d just kissed him without preamble. If anything their exchange was out of the ordinary. Surely he knew this would be whispered about? That this pause would be scrutinised by the people in the crowd? Regulus didn’t understand his angle.

“I…” Regulus hesitated. Why did he hesitate? He only had one option, really. There wasn’t anything to deliberate. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to answer. Instead, he leaned up and ever so gently pressed his lips against Potter’s. Potter made a surprised noise in the back of his throat. It was a chaste thing. Barely even a kiss, really. Their lips only met for a moment. Regulus felt like his heart was going to pound out of his chest. It banged against his ribcage as if it could jump into Potter’s where they were pressed together. Distantly he heard cheering, but he didn’t register it. It was just him, pressed against Potter’s broad chest, their lips barely meeting. That was all that existed. 

Potter pulled away, and it was like the world came crashing back onto him. He opened his eyes, finding Potter farther away than he’d expected, staring at him with disbelief. Idiot. He shouldn’t have taken initiative like that! Potter was meant to lead the kiss. What had he been thinking? People would undoubtedly talk about his mess up. And Potter…Well, he seemed shocked at the very least. Disgusted even. Regulus couldn’t make himself look at him long enough to decipher whatever emotion he was feeling, his own confusing emotions washing over him. 

His eyes landed on Sirius instead. He had one hand dramatically thrown over his eyes and the other was waving about wildly as he muttered to Lupin about something. Regulus was fairly certain he saw him gag. Served him right. He wouldn’t have had to see that had he not set this whole thing up in the first place. Then Regulus wouldn’t be going through this. 

He wasn’t entirely certain what this was, at the moment. A crushing feeling on his chest that made him nauseous and rendered him entirely incapable of looking at Potter at all. A side effect of having to kiss him no doubt. His disdain for him was so strong he was having a physical reaction to it. 

Able to look at him or not, they had things to do. Regulus linked his arm with Potter’s, pointedly ignoring the fact that he could feel the strong muscle of his bicep, and they began their walk back down the aisle. He made a point to wave at people on both sides of the aisle, smiling as if this were the best day of his life rather than the worst. He could feel Potter looking at him occasionally but he did his best to ignore it. They were followed out by their wedding parties, paired up the same way they were on the walk there, and he could hear Barty and Sirius rather loudly complaining about having to see the kiss. At least they were getting along. They stopped in the hall just outside the ballroom, and Regulus was quick to separate himself from Potter. 

“So-” Potter started, rubbing the back of his neck. Fate forgive him for his lack of manners, he couldn’t force himself to make awkward conversation. 

“The reception starts in a half hour. If it pleases his majesty I would like to go freshen up,” Regulus said, careful to keep his annoyance out of his voice. Potter looked startled. 

“I- Yeah. Of course. Whatever you want,” He sounded sincere. He looked like he wanted to say something else but he didn’t get the chance. The others had caught up to them. 

“James Fleamont Potter!” Sirius shouted, stomping over to them. Lovely. Potter looked from Regulus to Sirius and back, eyes wide like he was caught between them. Regulus glanced at his brother and back at Potter, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes as if to say “What now?” Potter snorted, grinning at him. He was again prevented from speaking as Sirius started interrogating him about what exactly was so funny. Regulus gave a small bow to dismiss himself, not eager to stick around for Sirius’ tantrum. 

“You kissed my baby brother!” His voice echoed down the hall. He distantly heard Potter say something akin to “What did you think happens at weddings, Padfoot?’ and Sirius’ screeched reply of, “That's my brother you numpty-,” before he was out of earshot. 

He only had a moment to enjoy finally being alone before he heard familiar footsteps coming up behind him. 

“If you’ve come to make more lewd comments about sharing my husband I recommend turning around before I am forced to ruin this suit,” Regulus drawled. There was a laugh and Barty was at his side, slinging an arm around his shoulders. 

“Can’t a bloke have a chat with his mate without any ulterior motives?” He asked, feigning offence. He put his free hand on his chest and shut his eyes dramatically, leaving Regulus to steer him around a suit of decorative armour. “Besides, based on the way he was looking at you I doubt he’d be up for sharing,” He added, opening one eye and grinning cheekily. Regulus promptly shoved him off of him. He fell to the ground with a solid thud, though it was clearly intentional. He did not shove him with enough force to knock him down. Dramatic prick. 

“Potter is quite the performer, I’ll admit,” Regulus frowned. Barty made a face at him, exaggerated to the point that Regulus wasn’t even sure what emotion it was meant to represent. “You look like you’re attempting to lay an egg,” He said plainly, turning to continue his path to the fitting room he’d spent his morning in. There was the sound of Barty scrambling to his feet and a few jogged steps, scored by his complaining about Regulus being far too fast for someone so short. 

“I’ve seen my fair share of performances, but I think Potter was being genuine,” Barty puffed when he’d finally caught up, only mildly out of breath. Regulus didn’t even dignify that with a response, hooking a left and coming to a stop at the large mahogany door that led to the overwhelmingly white room. He stared at it expectantly for a moment until Barty sighed and opened it for him. “You are capable of opening doors on your own, you know,” He grumbled. 

“I am aware, but as of about ten minutes ago I formally outrank you,” Regulus reminded, barely resisting his own smug grin. He sat at the vanity, taking a glance at Barty in the mirror, “Besides, you ought to get used to opening doors for me if you intend to last long as a member of my court.” He stared at his reflection, watching for his reaction. 

Barty knew he’d be a member of Regulus’ court, of course. It was an understood thing between the lot of them, even if they hadn’t discussed it. He and Evan would serve as his courtiers. They hadn’t needed to at the Manor, not when Regulus and Barty were the same rank in their position as second born heirs to a duke title. Evan had even outranked him there, having already inherited his title and land. But when they’d discussed Regulus getting married in the past, it was always implied they would come with him. Pandora had no other choice, really, but Barty and Evan did. Still, it had never been a question. 

But that was before Regulus knew who he’d be marrying. Before he knew he’d be moving to the opposite end of the continent. Of course it was assumed Barty and Evan would come with him when they’d thought he would be moving elsewhere in Vasiliki, or maybe even Viridis. Prongston was a different story entirely. Regulus couldn’t assume they’d be willing to throw away their entire lives to serve in his court. He wasn’t Sirius. People weren’t willing to lay down everything they knew to make him happy. To throw away their own chances just to please him. It didn’t upset him, not having Sirius’ almost magic levels of charming people, his ability to get whatever he wanted, no matter the cost, simply by asking for it. It was one of the only things Sirius had that he never would that Regulus didn’t want. 

He didn’t want people to throw away their lives for him, or to be so devoted to him that they would do anything he requested. He didn’t want people to sacrifice their happiness for his own. He knew far too well what it was like to do that for someone. Regulus didn’t want anything that someone wouldn’t give freely. Anything that required real, genuine sacrifice without gaining anything in return. He didn’t want the ability to take and take and take so naturally he would never question whether or not it was good for the person to give. 

He didn’t expect Barty to accept his invitation. He was his closest friend, and Regulus didn’t expect this of him. Didn’t expect anything of him, really. He wanted him too, and knew there was a solid chance that he would. But he didn’t expect him to. There was no sure fire assumption in his mind that Barty would sacrifice his home for him without question. And that was a comfort. Because if Barty did make that choice, then it would truly be of his own will. Regulus would have no doubts about whether or not he really wanted it. 

“As if. That’s Evan’s job,” Barty scoffed, but the smile he gave Regulus was soft. He’d be with him, then. And so would Evan. Something in him relaxed. He turned his attention to the myriad of products on the vanity in front of him, intending to fall into a comfortable silence as he focused on touching up his makeup. In the moment of bonding he’d forgotten that he was alone in a room with Barty rather than a normal human being. “Potter fancies you,” He sing-songed as he plopped on one of the loveseats in the room. Regulus grimaced. 

“Or, at the very least, he wants to shag you,” He added. Regulus’ stomach churned. He wanted to shout at Barty to shut up, or to leave and never come back. He wanted to admonish him. To scream at him, to bring him down to nothing with just his words. To make him admit that he was lying to get a rise out of Regulus. He wanted to explain to him just how wrong he was, that Potter would never so much as touch him willingly. 

“Get your shoes off the furniture,” He said, voice lacking the bite it would normally have. Barty frowned, clearly annoyed by his lack of reaction. Good. Maybe he’d shut up then. 

“I know what faking looks like, I’ve been friends with you long enough to see through anyone’s bollocks. That man wants you,” He said, objectively not shutting up. Regulus took a deep breath through his nose. “And I think you want him too.” 

The canister Regulus had been holding clanged to the ground, coating the vanity and carpet with a fine coating of pale powder. 

“That’s quite enough!” He nearly shouted, before continuing in a more restrained tone, “I don’t want to hear about this. I don’t care whether or not Potter wants to shag me because it quite frankly doesn’t matter. I will find out soon enough, and I would prefer to spend my very limited time before that discovery thinking about literally anything else,” He swallowed, fixing Barty with a serious look in the mirror. He simply pouted like a child who had had his fun spoiled. That was likely precisely how he saw it, too. Barty had no understanding of what was and was not an appropriate topic of discussion. 

That was why Regulus’ mind had far too much knowledge on what exactly sleeping with Potter might be like. (He refused to think of it as shagging. Saying that barbaric word once was more than enough.) Regulus himself had zero experience with anything of that nature, and he would have preferred to keep it that way. Unfortunately for him, Barty had no filter and an ability to talk through any attempts on his life Regulus had made thus far. He had heard plenty of graphic details of exactly what Barty and Evan enjoyed doing what was supposed to be very private marital time. Which meant that Barty’s crude remarks kicked Regulus’ brain into hyper drive. For every thought he shut down, another appeared. 

Potter was broad, no doubt all muscle under the layers of clothing. It was terribly unfortunate that he was Regulus’ type. Strong hands, messy hair, all warmth and kindness. All give, if his vows were to be believed. Yes, Potter was exactly the sort of man Regulus had fantasised about guiltily at night when his desires got the better of him. Big doe eyes that made Regulus want to…Well, do things he’d hit Barty for mentioning. 

Regulus’ face burned, tinged red in the mirror. He was grateful Barty had taken to pouting at the ceiling, no doubt in his mind that he would start right back up again if he caught sight of it. Regulus took a few deep breaths in, willing his mind to go blank. He did not want to think those things. He did not want those things. It was simply a reaction to Barty’s words. Physically attractive as Potter was, he was still Potter. A self absorbed, spoilt, fake man who Regulus despised in his entirety. Loathing. That was the feeling responsible for making his skin crawl and his stomach flip at the thought of him, at the memory of the kiss. 

Mind properly set straight, he picked the powder canister up off the floor. He felt bad about leaving a mess, but he couldn’t risk getting it on his suit. Fates knew what his mother would do to him if he did. He had only just started fixing his hair when there was a knock at the door, alerting him to the fact that it was time to rejoin the celebration. 

Great. Time for the reception, and more forced time around Potter. A horrible glimpse at the rest of his life.