the view between villages

james

when james was eleven, he met sirius black. sirius was a small kid, thin and short. his hair was limp, his cheeks sunken, and his arms all bone. he was a malnourished child with a troubled past, but when he met james, he lit up like the star of his namesake. it was a quick friendship, a bond surviving the test of time. james potter met sirius black, and it was like staring in a mirror. two halves of the same soul split down the middle. one heart divided into two chests. 

sirius black is james potter’s soulmate. he’s equally as chaotic, equally devoted, equally twisted. where one is, the other is quick to follow. six years spent attached at the hip, riddled with separation anxiety from even three hours apart. sirius is james’ other half, the only person he knows better than he knows himself. he knows the smallest parts of sirius, the slightest of tells, the slightest changes in tone. he knows what sirius is thinking just by his facial expressions, his subtle body language. it’s a gift learned through years of exposure and lifetimes of connection. one soul, two bodies. past lives of partnership. a friendship lasting millenniums. 

he notices when sirius shuts down. the light in his eyes dies, the corners of his lips go slack, his eyes tighten around the edges. he sees it happen in slow motion. watches the way sirius’ jaw flutters. notices the sharp inhale. and then he’s silent. limp. arms fallen from around harry’s wiggling body, shoulders slumping forward. the moment regulus confesses to murder, a star dies. sirius dies inside, soul snuffed out under his little brother’s heel. 

james knows what comes next. sirius is a loose cannon, a lunatic in his ferocity to protect. sirius has quite a few bolts loose in his head, quite a few pieces missing. he’s one wrong turn from succumbing fully to the genetic madness running in his family. he’s one breath from falling past the point of no return. james knows this better than anyone. he knows sirius better than anyone. and he knows when sirius is about to explode. now would be the time. 

sirius has not stopped staring at pandora since the first words left her mouth. he’s silent, merely staring. watching. studying. and yet, it doesn’t seem like he’s seeing much at all. he’s not. james knows he’s not. sirius had once told him about the shut downs, about the time spent within himself. he doesn’t see, doesn’t hear, merely exists in some inner chasm opened in his head. a dark void, sirius had described it. floating, untethered, unaware. 

the first sparks of magic smell of singed hair and strong spices. james watches sirius transform, watches him from somewhere inside himself. he’s never any better in these sorts of situations. every ounce of pain sirius feels, james feels. sirius shuts down, and so does he. it’s a sympathetic experience, a chain reaction. where sirius goes, james follows. sirius disappears into his void, and james goes with him. sirius straightens, bares his teeth, snarls something nasty at pandora. he lunges, remus catches him by the wrist. there’s a nasty pop, and sirius’ arm goes limp in remus’ grasp, stretched unnaturally from his shoulder. 

and then the faucet in the kitchen explodes. and the faucet in the loo down the hall. and the faucet in the one upstairs. and a faucet from somewhere else in the house. harry screams from sirius’ lap, flinches into his heaving chest. lily grabs him up, holds him close to her bosom. regulus is crying, sobbing, curled in on himself. 

“get the kids out of here,” remus bellows. he’s got a strong grip on sirius, one hand around his wrist and the other flat to his sternum. james is frozen. he can’t move. he’s watching it happen, all of it in slow motion, from somewhere behind himself. sirius is utterly seething, lunging in remus’ grasp toward the body that’s no longer there. pandora has left, likely with little luna in her arms. regulus is wailing loud enough to shatter most windows. and they do shatter. the second the children leave, glass is shattering in the lower floor. dishes are flying in the kitchen. the floor is flooding because of broken faucets. james has never seen magic quite like this, and accidental magic at that. it’s destructive, ripping the house piece by piece. shattered windows, flowing water, flying china. regulus’ home is already a mess and james has a feeling it doesn’t stop here. 

“siri,” regulus hiccups. he’s crawling on his hands and knees, shoulders shaking, body trembling, towards his brother. he’s falling apart, it seems. this is the least composed regulus has ever been in james’ presence and he can’t say that it’s a pleasant experience. 

“prongs, a little help,” remus snaps. this seems to finally draw james back into himself. a sharp breath enters his lungs, and he shakes the fuzziness from his head, and then he’s crawling to sirius as well. sirius lunges upon seeing movement. james accepts it, lets himself be tackled, and promptly rolls the two of them over. he pins sirius to the hardwood and forces his entire body weight down, effectively trapping sirius beneath himself. siri doesn’t go willingly, though. he’s all snapping teeth and rabid growling. 

“pads, you’re losing it,” james grunts. it’s a struggle, keeping sirius on the floor, but james has done it so often that he’s grown used to it. he’s always the one to subdue sirius in the event of his violent outbursts. he’s the strongest, the largest, the least likely to flinch. it’s easier to do it now, with sirius’ shoulder dislocated and his wrist likely snapped. his right arm is practically useless. 

“come back to us, sirius,” remus coaxes. he’s got one hand on sirius’ bicep, the other on his shoulder, and eyes on james. james gives a nod, inhales sharply. and then there’s a pop, and a cry leaving sirius’ mouth. sirius is limp. his head smacks the hardwood loudly enough to make james wince — that one had to hurt — but he’s still gone, mumbling incoherently. 

“is he okay?” regulus whimpers. james startles. in all honestly, he’d completely forgotten about regulus. the man has been utterly silent, not even the slightest breath breaking up the quiet. perhaps it’s a black family trait. sirius has been the same for years, always managing to sneak up on him and scare the shit out of him. trauma-induced, probably. 

“he’ll be alright,” remus mumbles. “he gets like this sometimes. never magic outbursts, though.” this is punctuated by a pointed glance to regulus, who cracks a small sheepish smile through his snotty nose. james, a father at his core, reaches to wipe the mess away with his sleeve over his palm. then blushes, yanks his hand back like he’s been burned, with his heart beating out of his fucking chest. 

“not the time, prongs,” remus sighs. he’s looking at james through his eyelashes, which is a terrible sign, because remus is terrifying when he looks up through his eyelashes. it’s honestly worrying that sirius — on multiple occasions — says that it’s attractive. remus is a scary, unhinged motherfucker with anger issues and the possessiveness of a canine. perhaps that’s why he and sirius work so well. they’re both crazy, possessive cunts with a passion for art and each other. 

not the time, james. right. he lightly smacks a palm to sirius’ cheek, watching the faint flutter of recognition flood silver irises. it stays for a moment, then disappears into granite. james heaves a sigh. 

“sirius, come back to us.” nothing. absolutely no reaction. just another snap of sirius’ jaw and a feral groan. and regulus is crying again, weeping into shaking hands. 

“he’s so stubborn,” moony grumbles under his breath. james huffs his agreement, wrenching his head back from a rather violent attempt at a bite. “c’mon. remember yourself, sirius.” 

recognition. it’s brief, fluttering over sirius’ face. it dissipates, and returns, and sirius sucks in a sharp breath. his head promptly perks up, eyes alert and sweeping over the room. 

“where the fuck is she?” sirius croaks. james finds it within himself to laugh, though he doesn’t dare let sirius up yet. he knows padfoot, and he knows that padfoot would gladly commit a murder in this headspace. 

“pandora’s gone, sirius. she’s not here,” remus utters. sirius visibly deflates. then he catches sight of regulus’ tear stained face and he’s straining again. james sighs, presses harder against his friend. he knows sirius is still on the verge of landing himself in azkaban, aware of himself or not. sirius is unhinged, truly. a violent person by nature. it’s probably the black family madness. 

“you’ve got to get your head on right, pads,” james grunts. he’s honestly having a bit of a hard time keeping sirius subdued, seeing as he’s years out of practice. being a stay at home dad has made him soft, in more ways than one. he’s grown less impulsive, less reckless, less likely to hex without thinking first. and he’s lost muscle. tons of it. he’s more pudgy now, a bit of a tummy rather than his former defined ab muscles. sirius is clearly growing to outmatch him, what with his auror work and all. he’ll have to ease back into his quidditch exercise routine within the next few months if sirius plans to have any more outbursts. 

“you can’t kill her, sirius,” regulus utters. it’s a broken whisper, punctuated by a solemn sigh. “i killed her brother. she had every right.” 

“shut your fucking trap right this instant,” sirius grits. his voice is full of venom, spit flying against james’ chin. “you didn’t kill them, regulus. voldemort did. don’t let a grieving woman determine your actions. what she did was fucking wrong and you know it.” 

regulus is a bawling mess as he whispers, “i didn’t stop him. it’s my fault.” 

“it’s fucking not,” sirius replies fiercely. “you didn’t lift your wand against them. you didn’t strike them dead. that was not your fault. do you hear me regulus? it wasn’t your fault.” 

regulus cradles sirius’ head, fingertips brushing lightning from james’ elbow to his shoulder and wrist. his body gives a small jolt, an action that allows just enough give for sirius to worm out from beneath him and grab regulus into a tight one-armed hug. he shares an exasperated glance with remus, who seems just as overwhelmed, and drags himself onto the couch. 

“your shoulder,” regulus sniffles. james feels his heart shatter in his chest. reg seems so childlike when he’s like this — doe eyed, wobbling lips, snotty nose. he looks like the same kid james had met when he was twelve — shy, unsteady, big eyes swimming with admiration. “i think you dislocated it. i could fix it.” 

“don’t worry about it,” sirius sighs. james winces. from experience, he knows sirius is fully capable of correcting his own joints. he looks away as sirius tugs away and grips his shoulder, then slams himself into the floor. there’s a sickening pop, and regulus’ gagging, and remus’ irritated sigh. james is seconds away from being sick himself. 

“sorry for ruining your birthday party,” regulus mutters. sirius responds with another hushed ‘don’t worry about it,’ then goes right back in for another hug. “i feel bad that this happened because of me. i know how much you love parties.” 

“reg, listen to me very closely,” sirius starts in a low whisper. “i don’t give a singular fuck about a party if you’re hurt in any way, okay?” 

regulus hesitates, but nods. “okay.” 

“let’s get the house fixed up, yeah?” remus interjects softly. james draws his wand. 

a few hours later, the four of them are lounging in regulus’ bed upstairs. it was all by sirius’ insistence, of course. james wouldn’t be here otherwise. he’s got a wife and child waiting at home for him, though he doubts they’re necessarily alone. the girls typically flock together if the men are missing. especially when something serious happens. knowing lily, she and dorcas are probably scolding pandora fiercely. mary will probably stay over after. lily will be fine, surely. 

remus and sirius are snoring away, remus on the edge of the bed with sirius beside him. james is on the other edge of the bed, leaving regulus between him and sirius. he’s nervous, to say the least. he hasn’t yet shared a bed with regulus, which is an honest travesty because this bed is frighteningly comfortable. it seems regulus is in the same boat, laying frigidly beneath the duvet, firmly planted on his back. even in the dark, james can see his eyes wide open. 

“you’re staring,” regulus whispers, head turning to james. james immediately looks away, a guilty grimace on his reddening face. thank godric for the lack of light and surplus of melanin. there’s a moment of awkward silence, and then, “i didn’t say you had to stop.” 

“you didn’t sound too pleased with it,” james breathes. his heart is hammering away in his chest as he shifts his entire body to face regulus. he rests his head against his arm, bending it at the elbow. 

“i’m not used to it, is all,” regulus states awkwardly. he’s wearing a similar grimace to james, white teeth and silver eyes glimmering faintly under the filling moon hanging in the sky. he looks so much like sirius in the dark like this — the same high cheekbones and long lashes and inky curls — and yet, so different. there’s a small mole beneath his left eye, a faint scar glowing silver against his clavicle, a smattering of faint freckles across his shoulders and cheeks. he’s pretty, but not in a feminine way. he’s got a strong jaw, a defined brow bone, a dancer’s body. so similar to sirius, and yet, completely different. 

“do you think you could?” james asks, extending a single finger to trace the shell of regulus’ ear. his heart is hammering in his chest, slamming against ribs and lungs, rattling around in a cage of bone. “get used to it, i mean. i’d like to stare at you more often.” 

it’s quiet for a moment. james drags his finger over the harsh edge of regulus’ jaw, traces the vein along his neck, the height of his cheekbone. he could be sick. he might, actually. he’s never been so nervous around a boy before. the silence is not helping at all. just as he opens his mouth, regulus turns on his side. there’s a small grin on his face, moonlight glimmering in his eyes and whitening his teeth. he’s so pretty. 

“are you sure your wife is alright with you staring at me?” regulus asks. there’s a bite to his words that james isn’t quite fond of. he’s certain lily wouldn’t mind. she’s just as smitten with reg as he is, which is saying a lot, because regulus is just as perfect as lily and james burns with his admiration for her. he’d burn the world for her if it was only to keep her warm, and he’s slowly coming to terms with the fact that he’d do the same for regulus. perfect, pretty regulus with wild magic and an inferiority complex. 

“my wife does her own ogling, as a matter of fact,” james muses. “i think we both remember her groping sirius thinking he was you.” regulus gives a chuckle, eyes alight with humor. his fingertips linger in the distance between them, wavering in their journey to james’ face. he leans forward slowly, pressing a delicate kiss to shaking fingertips. regulus watches intently, eyebrows drawn together in awe. 

“speaking of that night,” regulus finally says, grey eyes stubbornly stuck to the fingers tracing james’ jaw. “you knew it was me, didn’t you?” 

“i didn’t know until after i kissed you,” james responds. upon reg’s raised eyebrow, he continues, “padfoot is a messy kisser, but he’s confident in it. you’re a messy kisser because you’re terrified of messing up.” 

“to be fair, i’d never snogged anyone until lupin that same night. i think i did fair for a novice.” 

james snorts, rolling his eyes. “i’m still surprised padfoot let that happen. he’s insanely possessive over moony.” 

“i think he’s just aware that i have no interest in stealing his precious moonbeam away. he’s a bit more relaxed when it comes to me.” 

james gives a hum. it’s understandable, really. sirius is quite fond of his baby brother, maybe more fond than he is of moony. in a different way, of course, because he’d never kiss reg like he kisses moony. or at all, probably. he can’t remember a time when he’s seen a forehead kiss shared between the two brothers. do they show affection that way? he’s seen them hold hands and hug, cuddle even, but never anything else. 

not the time, james. 

right, there’s a conversation happening. he’s kicking himself internally. have his cheeks always been this hot? how long has he been silently staring at regulus, stroking along his face? god, this is awkward. awkward, awkward james. regulus has an eyebrow raised, cheeks pink, mouth pinched into a thin line. 

“sorry,” james whispers sheepishly. “i don’t remember what we were talking about. got a bit swept up in my head.” a smile dances on the corner of regulus’ mouth. james wants to kiss it. would regulus be upset if he did? such pretty lips. he’d love just a small taste. the last time was lovely. would reg let him do it again? 

god, not the time, james. 

“you’ve got a busy brain, don’t you?” regulus inquires, a bit bashful. james furrows his eyebrows. busy brain? is it that obvious? he can feel the heat of his cheeks just beneath his eyes. “it’s not obvious. i’m a legilimens. you think very loudly.” 

“oh,” james says stupidly, because he’s stupid. of course reg is a legilimens. he’s stupid to have thought anything less. one isn’t raised in the house of black without acquiring mind magic of some sort. sirius is good with memory magic, bellatrix was phenomenal at occlumency from what he’s heard of her, and apparently reg is a legilimens. was walburga as well? it would make sense. but then, where did sirius get his knack for memory charms? 

not the fucking time, james. 

what were they talking about again? regulus is laughing. his laugh is so pretty. he smells good too, like sugar cookies and peppermint. he must have good taste in soap. what kind of shampoo does he use? does he condition? his hair is soft, so he must. 

shut the fuck up, james. 

oh, right, conversation. he’s supposed to be talking. he can’t think around the scent of regulus. lovely, lovely regulus. his presence all-consuming. james can’t focus around it. he never can, never has been able to. regulus is someone who demands attention and refuses to relinquish it, and he’s wholly captured james and lily’s. they speak of him often, whether in passing or after a passionate shag. he’s always present, physically or otherwise. lovely, lovely regulus. 

“you’re quite fond on me, aren’t you?” regulus utters. he’s blushing a dark red, pockets of warmth coloring his cheeks. james wants to kiss them, embarrassment aside. which he is. he’s incredibly embarrassed. how much can regulus hear? “quite a lot, actually. you speak of me with lily?” 

“quite a lot, actually,” james echoes. he offers his best smile, though he’s quite bashful. perhaps he should learn to get his train of thought under control. he’s making a fool out of himself. 

“oh, no, don’t stop on my account. i quite like the way your brain works,” regulus muses, palm flattening over james’ warm cheeks. james heaves a sigh, a smile struggling to break through his pout. 

“i think too much. lils says it’s something called attention deficit disorder, i think? it’s a pretty new concept with muggles, but it matches pretty well. i get lost up in my head a lot.” 

“lupin mentioned that one time, about sirius,” regulus mumbles. james snorts, brushing a stray curl from reg’s forehead. his hair is soft. he definitely uses conditioner. “yes, potter, i use conditioner.” 

“thank god. i was really curious about that.” 

“i’m fully aware. you’ve thought it at least thrice by now.” regulus is lit up with silent laughter, shoulders shaking more than his hands. he looks so pretty when he laughs. there’s a smile fighting its way to the surface and his eyebrows are crinkled and his eyes are dancing with it. regulus laughs with his entire body, and it’s beautiful. “you can stop calling me beautiful, you know. i think i’ve heard it enough for a lifetime.” 

“you’ve got an unfair advantage,” james whines, a pout forming. “how come you get to hear all my thoughts and all i get is your commentary?” 

“learn legilimency,” regulus quips. “we should sleep. you’ve got lily and harry to get home to in the morning.” 

“you’re probably right,” james sighs. it feels late — likely midnight, if not later. he’s going to hate himself in the morning. usually, he’s asleep by ten, and awake by five. his sleep schedule will be rubbish by tomorrow night. he groans at the thought. 

“sleep schedules are easy to fix,” regulus mumbles. “get some sleep and worry about it tomorrow.” 

“night, reg,” james mumbles. he closes his eyes, forces himself to wind down. it’s hard with regulus only a few inches away, but he manages. he’s going to hate himself tomorrow. 

“night, jamie.” 

he barely manages to process the nickname as he dozes off.