Baby
It was nine twenty five when James Potter started to get really, really nervous.
Regulus had said to meet him there at nine thirty, but a crippling feeling of doubt started to make its way into James. Had he forgotten? Or regretted ever agreeing to come?
The thought came to a stop as he saw Regulus pacing down the hall towards him. His breath hitched. He was wearing dark brown pants and a black, cashmere sweater that fit him gently, complimenting his frame.
“Regulus,” he smiled, relieved.
“Potter,” he greeted, with that up-and-down look that he did at the party that didn’t fail to make James weak. “Punctual as ever, I see.”
“I’m a man of my word,” he smiled. “So, where do you want to go?” he tried to make himself sound light, hoping that Regulus didn’t notice how scared he actually was as the two started walking.
“I thought you’ve revised a plan? Can’t have you wasting my time, Potter.” His mouth pursed innocently, but he had a wicked grin in his eyes.
James couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you? You know exactly where we’re going. ”
Regulus pulled his shoulders as his lips twisted to a smile. Mischievous and kind at the same time.
“You did look like you were about to have an aneurysm when you saw me. Had to make you crack somehow.”
Fuck.
“Oh, I’m just… You just look really, I mean you’re really…”
“I know,” he said, smirking. “So do you.”
He sighed. “Good.”
“You don’t have to walk on tiptoes around me. You know I don’t bite,” he said innocently.
Liar.
A wicked grin made its way to James’ face.
The two sat down at the three broomsticks and James ordered a butterbeer. When he turned his head to Regulus and asked what he’d be having, he said “make that two.”
“So,” James opened, sheepishly at the thought but confident when the words came out, “Where are you from?”
“You’re kidding, right? you already know that,” Regulus said, smiling.
“I know that from your brother. I want to know you, not to know of you.”
Regulus tilted his head, as if trying to understand a mystery unknown to James. He then leaned more comfortably on his seat. “British, as you know, but mainly French and Russian. I grew up in France for a few years, and the accent got a bit stuck.”
“Which language do you like best?” James asked. Knowing multiple languages seemed like a formidable skill to have. And like everything else about Regulus, he was hungry to know as much as he was allowed to.
“French,” he said, without hesitation. “I know a few. The Blacks love aristocracy more than they love to marry each other,” he said and his lips quivered with a gentle smile, that had just a touch of sadness to it.
“And you?” he added once the butterbeers came, seeming to shake himself off the mention of his family.
“Oh, I doubt I’m half as good as you. British, of course, and mum’s jewish, so it’s all over, really.”
“Interesting. Do you know any Hebrew?”
“Just enough to get by. Dad’s really the pro in the family. He learned it before he married mum, to surprise her at their wedding, said she cried and all. They speak it among themselves at times, like their own secret language. I love that.” James said, grinning softly.
He loved that story.
Being able to make up a new language, or revive an old one from the dead just to love was one of the most entrancing things he’s ever heard. To be known like that must be the peak of human existence.
“Ah, so that’s where you get it from. I’ve been wondering,” Regulus said, smirking as he took a sip of his butterbeer. A single drop lingered on his lips, making James’ stomach flutter.
“Get what?” he smiled, leaning closer to him, putting his elbows on the table, almost leaning, pleading to know and to be known. He felt like a child in a candy store, give me more, more, more..
“The James Potter-iness. The whole noble gentleman bit. You’re a toothache, if you ask me.” James flushed, not knowing what to say. Regulus continued. “I used to think you were an arrogant dick, but you’re just…” he said, staring directly into his eyes.
“Just?”
“You’re James Potter,” he said, smiling. For a moment, he leaned closer.
“All of these languages and no one told you you can’t use the name of the subject to explain the meaning of it?” he said.
Regulus laughed.
“They did. I don’t really give a fuck anymore, though.”
Flutter.
James cleared his throat. “So. What’d you think of the party?” he asked.
“Decent. You did alright.”
“Ah! I know that one. That’s Regulus Black for ‘I had a marvelous time.’”
He laughed again. This time he tilted his head and his eyes crinkled. “I have a whole language for myself now? didn’t know I was that possessive.”
“How else would I figure you out?” James whispered.
“You could ask. If I want you to know, you’ll know.”
“Barty,” he said, almost immediately.
“Jealous?” Regulus asked, grinning, and clearly enjoying himself.
“Yes,” he replied without thinking.
“Good.”
James could die.
Regulus cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?” Regulus said, seeming to drop the playfulness in his voice.
“Always. Whatever you want.”
“Do you… well - did you - with Lily?”
“Well,” he said, “I thought I’d loved her once. Don’t think I really did, though. I mean, I did all of the things I thought I was supposed to do, but I never quite felt it. Felt more like a show than love.”
“How did you know? That it wasn’t love, I mean,” he mused softly, as if he was hungry to understand.
“When I first saw her kissing someone,” he smiled. “Reckon it was my third year. I saw her kissing Mary Mcdonald, and I thought I’d be totally crushed. And I just… wasn’t. I didn’t really think of anything other than the fact that I was really happy for my friends. By my nature, I think I’m a jealous person. Well, I know I am. Can be awful sometimes. And when I saw them kiss, there wasn’t a jealous bone in my body. That’s how I knew,” he smiled.
Regulus seemed to be… relieved, maybe? James wasn’t able to read him.
“Oh.”
“And you?”
“What about me?” he asked.
“Anything about you. Tell me something.”
“Get up,” he said suddenly, his eyes different as if he’s had a sudden awakening. He was much like Sirius in that manner, James thought, as Sirius’ face could be dormant as a doll was, but his eyes seemed to carry storms within them. In this, Regulus was no different.
He put on his coat and got up from his seat. “Let’s go get you that quill, or whatever it was that you wanted. Then you can ask me anything.”
James got up immediately. “Anything?” he asked sheepishly.
“Anything.”
He left a galleon on the table and hurried after Regulus.
The snow outside made the whole world seem different. Regulus’ hands shook as they left the three broomsticks, despite the gloves he wore. James reached his hand to him, not even thinking twice about it. It wasn’t unusual or meant as a gesture when he did it, even though as his hand hovered over the other’s palm, he knew what it seemed. For a moment, he thought Regulus had let out a small gasp, almost inaudible to anyone else, but he heard it. His eyebrows furrowed but he lent out his hand to hold onto James’.
For a moment, he looked at their joint hands, wondering - as if he was trying to decide something important. But he shook his head, ever so slightly, and his jaw locked. He looked up only to see that James was staring at him still, bewildered like a child in a candy store, and if he’s being honest - scared out of his mind.
This only went on for a few seconds, but James was sure it was longer, not a lot - just forever.
A grin came to Regulus' face, half genuine and half full of something horrid, but he took a few steps in the snow, waking James from his longful daydreaming, “Come on, Potter. Haven't got all day, have I?”
James followed, pretty sure now that he’d go anywhere Regulus asked him.
Anywhere.
They went into the bookstore (‘they also have quills now,’ Regulus had said) and Regulus looked different than he ever had. The high bookshelves lit up by magical oil lamps that were enchanted to never stop burning. Lines of golden light flickered on Regulus’ face as he went through the bookcases, walking so lightly you might even forget how he’d looked a few short moments ago. James followed him as he stood beside the muggle books’ stand, so entranced by them that James could stare at him, careless of being caught.
Regulus was… there was no other word for it, pretty. His porcelain-like skin looked almost flushed when met with the golden aura of the oil lamps and his gray and blue eyes (he still couldn’t decide which of the two it was) and he stood now on his tiptoes, trying to get a book from the tallest shelf.
It wasn’t like he was short or anything. Over the last few summers, James had noticed he’s gotten considerably taller, slim build filling and cheekbones becoming sharper, losing the remains of whatever baby-fat was left at the age of eleven, when he saw him for the first time. They had quite different body types, James noted to himself - he had one of a chaser’s, firm and muscular. But Regulus was different. His muscles and frame were defined, but elegant, eyes piercing as if they could see everything around him with miraculous sight that escaped other beings, he was almost like a cat, the way he walked carefully, the glow that rested on his skin. There was something angelic about him, royal, even.
Without another thought, James reached his arm and grabbed the book from the shelf. Regulus turned around, back against the shelves and facing James, who handed him the book. He didn’t rush to grab it and simply stared at him for a few moments, right before he surged forward and kissed him.
It was quick, startling, not even a snog - catching James off his guard, making him drop the book, right before it hit the floor, his hand traveled quickly to James’ hair and tugged.
The book slammed against the floor and Regulus quickly pulled apart, face flushed and lips parted.
“Sorry,” he said.
James could laugh.
“Don’t apologize for doing that. Ever.”
“Shouldn’t ‘ave,” he mumbled as he picked up the book.
“Why?”
Regulus didn’t answer. He only smiled softly at James, the same way you smile at a child who can’t understand something very simple.
“Do you know this one?” he asked suddenly, gesturing to the book.
“Er,” he said, startled by the sudden change of tone, “I think I saw Remus reading it a while ago.”
The book was dark, slytherin-like green, and he could make out the title from beneath Regulus fingertips who clutched the book as if it was a being he needed to protect. The Picture Of Dorian Gray.
“Haven’t read it since I was a kid, but it’s one of my favorites.”
“What’s it about?”
“Well, It’s about a beautiful young man who has his picture drawn by an artist who is in love with him. When he looks at the picture, he is startled by how beautiful he is, and makes a wish that he could stay as beautiful as he is the day it was drawn forever, saying he would go as far as to sell his soul for it. And so his wish comes true, and he remains beautiful, but his soul is trapped inside of the painting, holding all of his sins.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” he smiled.
“I didn’t know you fancied muggle literature.”
“Does it surprise you?”
“Dunno. Guess I assumed you’d hate it,” he said.
“See, James, the fascinating thing about muggle literature is that it actually is magical,” he whispered, as if he was worried the books would hear him.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when muggles say ‘magic’ they don’t mean it like we do. It is something divine, beyond their capability of understanding. And when I read their literature, I understand it. What they mean.” His eyes sparkled when he talked.
“Gone all soft on me now, have you Reg?” he said, a grin stuck on his face.
“Shut up.”
He smiled.
“Well, go on then. Pick a book for me to read. Haven’t read anything muggle yet.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Pick whatever you’d like. I promise I’ll read it. Marauders’ honor.”
“Idiot,” he mumbled to himself, but he smiled as he looked at the book shelf and picked out three books, presenting them to James.
Anna Karenina, The Stranger and Crime and Punishment.
He looked at them for a moment before deciding - “you read Dorian Gray. These are for me, as I don’t have any of my books with me. Took a few with me, but I don’t think I’ll ever get the rest back.”
As they left the bookstore, James carried the books despite Regulus’ seeming displeasure with the fact.
They stood in the cold for a moment, hovering, until James said - “C’mon, I wanna show you something.”
“Bet you say that to all your boys, Potter.”
He went red.
“Just you, so far.”
“That’s what they all say, y’know,” he mused softly.
“Oi! who does?” he said, following Regulus, who started walking ahead of him.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asked.
“I would, yes,” he said as they turned the corner away from the crowded street. For a moment he forgot that he was the one leading Regulus and not the other way around.
“Ask,” he said, simply.
The snow had started falling again and he pulled Regulus hand softly to stop him.
When he turned, he could see the snowflakes on his hat, one landing softly on his nose. He was beautiful, almost frozen in time as he looked at James.
Oh, bugger.
Fuck, he thought.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck -
“Yes?” he asked, curious as to why they stopped.
“First kiss,” he mumbled, drawing himself closer to Regulus. They were now facing one another, snowflakes falling on his dark curls, one falling onto his cheek.
Oh, no.
“I was ten. It was some muggle boy from the neighborhood around the corner from mum’s house. Kissed him and ran away, didn’t even catch his face after I did it,” he replied.
James’ thumb went up to his face and pulled away the snowflake, and Regulus went silent.
Safe to say it now, he thought, as his heart was beating so fast he feared it might actually jump out of his fucking chest.
James Potter was in love with Regulus Black.
Sirius Black’s baby brother.
Sirius, his best friend.
What an idiot, right?
Regulus’ face was still under his touch, and he found that in those few moments of being lost in thought, his thumb had dropped to his lips. He could urge forward, he could lean, and-
He did, carefully, and a moment, a sliver of a second before their lips touched Regulus pulled away so fast, and continued walking.
What the fuck?
James hurried after him, his head foggy from the realization that was so painfully obvious yet hit him like a brick. When he looked around, he saw that they were already there.
The first time he was there was around third year. He’d been thirteen, and the marauders went to Hogsmeade for the first time that year. It had been snowing then, too, and Sirius pulled out a cigarette and sat down on a big rock near the fence, asking Remus to light it for him. Sirius knew how to do it, James had thought then, but probably wanted Remus to do it. Every time they did the cigarette routine, James felt as if he must look away, fearing upon intruding a personal secret between two people.
As Remus fumbled his pockets to find the lighter (they were not allowed to use magic in Hogsmeade, so he used a plastic muggle stick to light it instead, much to James and Sirius’ amazement), he suddenly looked ahead and stopped dead in his tracks.
“We need to go. Right now,” he said.
Upon being asked, he mumbled the explanation. The view to the castle beyond the fence was restricted by a small, torrid shack. ‘It’s where they put me when I… y’know.”
Needless to say, they left immediately.
But the view stuck with James. It was like he could see everything. Like a perfect spot on the Quidditch pitch where you could see all the players, calming and utterly terrifying at the same time. Looking at the castle from afar was like staring into a portrait, and James became fond of the view that he had snuck off to see it every time he came to Hogsmeade. Never with Remus, of course. He never mentioned it to the others. It was something private, and as a fairly public person, it was nice to have a secret to call his own.
Regulus stood by the fence and looked at the castle. He hadn’t looked at him since James tried to kiss him. Had he done something wrong?
James carefully took a few steps and stood beside Regulus. He was quiet for a few minutes. The snow continued to fall, covering the shack with a white veil of beauty, and Regulus’ curls have turned into a work of art underneath the wrath of the clouds.
It was he who spoke first.
“It’s beautiful here.”
“Yeah. Never brought anyone here.”
“I believe you,” he said, softly.
“Have I… done something wrong?” he asked, carefully.
“No,” Regulus said, finally turning to him. “I just… I don’t know.”
“Did you have a good time, Regulus?” he asked, simply.
Regulus turned to him. “Of course I did, you tosser. It’s not that.”
“You don’t have to tell me what it is if you don’t want to,” he leaned on the fence and caught Regulus’ eye,”Just know that I had a good time. Best time I’ve had in a while, if I’m honest with you. And that I want to see you again, whichever way you’d let me. I’m yours, Regulus,” he smiled. It had meant something different to him than it did for Regulus. The thought was bitter, but he meant it.
“Bloody Gryffindor,” Regulus muttered, smiling. Adding, after a while, “Yeah. I’d like that.”
And then his eyes dropped to James’ lips. He never surged forward like he did all of those times before, only staring, as if James was an exhibit in a museum that you were only allowed to see, and never touch. But you can touch me, James thought. He didn’t say it.
They stayed there for a while.