Regulus sits in a quiet nook at the back of the Hogwarts library; parchment, quill, and a stack of books neatly arranged in front of him. A soft glow of light comes in from the arched window, casting warm shadows on the table and shelves, as he taps his foot, looking down at the expensive pocket watch he carries on him at all times. A gift from Sirius for his sixteenth birthday. Of course they’re late, he scoffs, contemplating whether he actually needs this study session, or if he can just wing the Transfiguration exam coming up before the winter holidays. No, he definitely needs the help. Regulus knows he's brilliant; he’s got Outstandings in every class which ranks him top of his year, but he’s only at an Acceptable in Transfiguration, which has been deemed unacceptable by his mother. Professor McGonagall expects nothing short of perfection from her 6th years, which is reflected in her harsh markings. So, he’d swallowed his pride and asked her for help and she had happily assigned him a 7th year to tutor him three times a week for the next month. “He’ll have you perfectly prepared to pass your exam with flying colours, Mr. Black,” McGonagall had said, but didn’t tell him who would be helping him.
“Hi Regulus, ready for our session?”
Regulus’ head snaps up and he meets familiar toffee-brown eyes behind spectacles, a smattering of freckles, golden-brown skin, and a large wide smile. James Potter. He feels his mouth drop open in a way that would have his mother scolding him for manners, but he doesn’t care. James bloody Potter. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“What are you doing here, Potter?” Regulus bites out, clenching his jaw, and then feels a hot blush rise up his neck as he realizes it’s a bit of a stupid question. It’s really unfair, having a crush on your brother’s best mate, who makes you feel a bit flustered, when he only thinks of you as said best mate’s baby brother. James doesn’t wait for an invitation, just slides out a chair and sits across from him, pulling out books from his pack, along with his own quill. He’s wearing a soft, red sweater with a gold stag stitched on the front, and his tie is thrown on haphazardly, making Regulus itch to reach over and fix it.
“I’m tutoring you for N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration, Reggie—”
“—don’t call me that. I think I’m good, actually. I’d rather study by myself,” Regulus cuts in, scowling. He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, hoping the other boy will take the hint and leave him alone. Of course, it isn’t Regulus’ lucky day because James only chuckles and runs a hand through his messy curls, before picking up his quill and running it along his lips.
“I know for a fact you’re the top of your class, but your marks in Minnie’s class—”
“—wait how do you know I’m top of my class?”
James clears his throat, looking a bit sheepish. “I-I asked Sirius of course,” he finishes, lamely. Regulus knows he’s lying, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to get this over with. A full month of seeing James three times a week. He’s going to take a nice long swim in the Great Lake. He doesn’t know how to swim, but it sounds better than being stuck at a table with his unrequited crush.
“Fine, Potter,” he seethes out, sitting up straight and opening his textbook. “Let’s get this over with.”
James winks at him. “That’s the spirit Reg!” He starts the lesson by allowing Regulus to catch him up with what he’s learning in the class, before he jumps right in and quizzes him on a few sample written exam questions, which Regulus succeeds at. James is unsurprisingly, a great teacher. Patient, kind and knowledgeable enough that Regulus relaxes a bit as they get through the first bit. It’s when they get to the practical portion, specifically non-verbal spells, that Regulus starts to get frustrated.
“I’m doing it exactly like that, Potter,” he seethes out as his wand sparks and then dies out, when he tries to do a nonverbal Lumos. He’s taken his robe off at this point and feels a light sheen of sweat on his forehead as he paces up and down the aisle next to their desk.
“You’re just thinking too hard, Reg. Just take a deep breath and try again,” James says, his voice soft and low. Instead of soothing Regulus like James probably intended, it makes him see red and he stalks forward, poking a hard finger into the other boy’s chest. James’ eyes widen, almost comically, his mouth falling open as he stumbles back a bit.
“I’m fucking doing my best Potter, thank you very much. This is stupid and a waste of my time,” he snarls out, stuffing his books into his pack, and stiffly walking out of the quiet library. Leaving a very confused and somewhat flustered James Potter behind him.
***
Regulus knows he’s being childish. He’s been avoiding James the last few days, deciding that he’s too embarrassed to go back for another lesson. He’ll get McGonagall to assign him a new tutor. Anyone else. He practically begs her after his morning class on Friday, but she just lifts her eyebrows, unimpressed, and says he needs to sort this out himself. “You can handle James Potter for another few weeks, Mr. Black. He’s a very capable wizard, particularly in Transfiguration,” she says her eyes softening for a moment. “This is your future on the line, not some silly school feud between Slytherins and Gryffindors,” she continues, before shooting him a look that has him sighing and leaving the classroom with his tail between his legs. It’s laughable that she thinks this is purely a silly rivalry between Houses. He decides he’ll give himself the weekend to come up with an alternative, and then he’ll swallow his pride and meet with James again.
By the time Monday rolls around, he still doesn’t have anyone else to tutor him and he’s going to murder Barty if he suggests, shagging the professor, one more time to up his marks. He allows himself a moment to clear his head and adjusts his tie, before he makes his way towards the table at the back, finding himself disappointed to see it empty. He takes his time setting out his books, quill, and fresh parchment and then sits and waits for James to show. It’s after twenty-five minutes that he realizes James isn’t going to show, which makes him hum with anger. This brings him to the Quidditch pitch as light snow dances from the sky, and he practically falls on his arse as he looks up, watching James make slow, lazy loops in the air. It takes another few moments for James to notice him and then he’s gliding down and jumping off his broom in one smooth motion, landing firmly onto the pitch. Bastard. James tilts his head in confusion and opens his mouth but doesn’t get the chance to speak.
“What the fuck, Potter?” Regulus snarls out, “I show up at our normal time and you leave me sitting there like a complete fool waiting for you while you’re out here galivanting on your fucking broom in the—” Regulus stops and clenches his jaw when James starts laughing. It’s not his normal laugh, a little too sharp, too much bite. His sweat-slicked hair is sticking to his forehead, and his cheeks are bright red from the cold wind, and yet, he’s never looked more beautiful to Regulus.
“You didn’t show up all last week, Reg. I just assumed you were still avoiding me,” James begins, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I wasn’t avoiding yo—”
“Bollocks. You absolutely have been avoiding me,” James cuts in, his mouth set in a hard line. Regulus has never seen him like this before. Anger radiating off him. “Why? Why didn’t you come back, Reg?” James asks, clear frustration tinging his voice. Regulus feels panic set in, trying to come up with any excuse other than that he’s been a bit immature and prideful, but he can’t think straight when James is looking at him. His eyes are warm and bright and intense as he takes a step closer, watching for Regulus’ reaction. “Am I so bad to be around? Regulus, Is that it? Do you really hate me so much that you can’t spend another min—oomph.”
James’ lips are warm, soft and a bit chapped against his. He feels him stiffen momentarily and goes to jump back, a mix of dread and regret pooling in his stomach, but then there’s arms around his waist and he’s being pulled into a solid body. They’re chest to chest, and James smells like salt and broom polish and something citrusy and Regulus feels like dying. James soothes his thumb over Regulus’ bottom lip as he tilts his chin to bring their lips together again. The kiss is tentative at first, just lips moving slowly, familiarizing themselves. Then, Regulus runs his fingers through soft curls, and swipes his tongue over James’ mouth, making the taller boy groan out loud. The sound shoots a sliver of heat down his spine and then their tongues meet and there’s nothing else but the feeling of being close to James. James tastes sweet, just like the tea he drinks for breakfast and Regulus gets lost in the feeling of soft lips on his.
He’s not quite sure how long they stand there kissing, but he’s out of breath when they finally pull away. James’ mouth is swollen and pulls up in a beam as he looks down at him, his eyes bright and full of some unnamed emotion that Regulus doesn’t dare to define yet. He’s expecting some sort of awkwardness, but James simply takes his hand and leads him off the pitch. They don’t discuss the kiss or anything else for that matter, letting the soft crunch of snow underfoot be the only sound between them, simply existing as two celestial beings—the sun and his star.