C'mon, Baby, Let Me Get To You

“You know the family rule: no courting unless it’s your promised suitor. How do you expect me to change your mother’s mind on this?” Orion Black asks, taking a seat across from his sons.

“She won’t,” Regulus insists, not looking up from the book he’s reading.

“Can we focus on me for a moment, please?” Sirius presses, pouting slightly. “Marlene’s pureblood! And she’s gorgeous. Isn’t the point that we ‘grow our ranks’ or something? I am the only boy in school not dating.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” Orion returns. “Your brother doesn’t date.”

“And I have no intention of starting,” comes Regulus’ quick and finite reply.

Orion nods, as though this should be all the convincing Sirius needs. “Remind me why, mon cœur?” 

“Have you seen the unwashed miscreants that go to that school?” he scoffs, finally closing his book.

“How are we related?” Sirius turns on him. “What, is your aloof image so important to you, you can’t even be human?”

“As opposed to you, who aspires to be the Gryffindor bicycle?” Regulus fires back, more exasperated than anything.

“If I may interject,” Walburga lets herself into the room, an unnerving smile on her face that has sent stronger men than her husband and sons running for the hills. “May I propose an amendment: Sirius can date – when Regulus does.”

Sirius is up in arms instantly. “But he’s practically a dementor! What if he never dates?”

Walburga’s smile grows even more menacing, if possible. “Then, you’ll never date. Oh, I quite like that.”

Sirius’ pout intensifies as he crosses his arms petulantly in front of his chest.

“Oh là là!” Orion mutters under his breath.

“And I can rest easy in the knowledge my sons will have excellent wives, who will produce excellent offspring,” Walburga elaborates, her tone making it quite clear she expects and will tolerate no further discussion.

Sirius turns to their father who throws his hands up in surrender and then promptly leaves the parlour, followed by his wife who glares her son into silence as the two adults ascend the stairs together.

This leaves Regulus in his brother’s line of fire, but he doesn’t plan on staying long enough for this discussion to continue, either.

“Can you not take one of your creepy little affiliates to Hogsmeade or something so I can have a modicum of teenage normalcy?”

“So you can attempt to court a raging lesbian, you mean?” Regulus deadpans, taking his book to go read in his room.

“You’re so clueless, it’s laughable!” Sirius snaps, following him to the stairs.

Regulus ignores him. Why should he have to change who he is for someone who decided years ago Regulus wasn’t worth shit as a brother? If he has to make his own way in the world, so can Sirius.

“Merlin, you’re a freak!” Sirius yells after him.

“Decidedly not,” Regulus calls back, conversationally, “or you might be trying to date me, which would certainly make Mother happy!”

* * *

Remus has been here less than a day and he’s already certain this is about to be one of the most tedious years of his life. First, they get in and the Gandalf-looking headmaster of this joke of a school makes their arrival a fucking production, then they get stuffed like sardines into a table full of the most pompous jokes of children he’s ever had the misfortune of meeting, and then they’re told they’re to share sleeping quarters with these rejected recipients of magical ability? Remus had strongly considered simply setting himself on fire, but knowing Karkaroff, he’d have brought Remus back just to compete in this stupid tournament.

“Remus? Remus Lupin?”

Remus looks up into the face of the single softest human being he has ever seen in his life. The boy is blond, cherubic and practically bubbling with excitement at speaking to him.

Remus stares down his proffered hand.

“Hullo. Peter Pettigrew. I’m supposed to show you around,” the boy tucks his outstretched hand into a pocket, smiling as though Christmas has come early.

“Lupin,” Remus returns, wondering what sort of kiss-arse swot they’ve paired him up with.

“Peter, do we have chess practice today?” a girl comes by to ask, giving Remus his answer.

“‘Peter’?” he says, turning Remus towards the Great Hall, leaving the girl – clad in yellow to Pettigrew’s green – to stare after them in confusion.

He takes them over to the table from the previous evening, finding them a relatively comfortable spot to eat in. As far as Remus can tell, the table appears to have been enlarged to accommodate for the extra students. Maybe old Gandalf ain’t so bad.

Peter begins chattering as he loads his plate. “So, Lupin, here’s the breakdown: over there,” he points to the next table over, where everyone appears to be wearing the same yellow-accented robes as the chess girl, “are the Hufflepuffs. Generally good people. They have fantastic weed, if you like that sort of thing. The blue ones,” Pettigrew nods at another enlarged table, this one occupied by blue-accented robes and the throng of stuck-up Beauxbatons brats, “are Ravenclaws. Think they’re smarter than everyone; take homework way too seriously; mostly keep to themselves because they think they’re better than everyone. Who you really need to look out for, though, is Gryffindor,” the table across the Hall, adorned in red. “Holier-than-thou, arrogant pricks, the lot of ‘em. Don’t even bother talking to them. They take ‘god-complex’ to a whole new level, despite most of ‘em never having fought a single person in their entire lives. We,” Peter finishes, “are Slytherin. We have class, connections and decorum. We act the best because we are the best. Dumbledore made the only good decision of his career, bunking Durmstrang with us.”

But Remus has already stopped listening, attention completely overtaken by who just walked into the room: red and black robes tailored flawlessly, shoulder-length dark hair gleaming in the morning light, the single most beautiful face Remus has ever seen emanating a laugh like glacial streams babbling – Remus has been with some pretty boys in his life, but this one? Walking perfection. So transfixed is he, staring at this bloke’s smile, that he only notices too late the coffee he’s pouring down himself.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he cusses, reaching for his wand to clean himself up.

Pettigrew beats him to it and then promptly pours him a fresh cup. Maybe his being such a monumental suck-up ain’t so bad, either.

“Who’s that?” Remus asks, nodding towards the gorgeous boy.

Peter follows his gaze and then immediately drops his eyes to his food, lowering his head. “That’s Sirius Black. Don’t stare. You don’t want to be on the wrong end of his wand, believe me.”

“Dunno, mate. I like me a little danger,” Remus smirks, still staring shamelessly as Sirius flips his hair out of his face, leaving Remus unable to locate his knees right then. “I burn. I pine. I perish.”

“Never would’ve pegged you for a reader,” Pettigrew comments between mouthfuls of food.

“There’s only so much to do in the snow-covered wilderness,” Remus returns.

Across the Hall, the students surrounding Sirius all laugh raucously at something he says. Remus would give absolutely anything to be there right then, instead of being amongst these Slytherin toffs.

“Look, forget him, alright?” Peter hands him a plate of bacon. “He has an incredibly uptight mother, and it’s a well-known fact that the Black brothers aren’t allowed to date.”

But Remus barely hears him, utterly transfixed by the grace with which Sirius eats his meal, those pretty lips looking so horrendously kissable that Remus starts to feel mildly uncomfortable in his seat.

* * *

“James Potter.”

James lets himself into McGonagall’s office, shutting the door before depositing himself comfortably into one of the chairs.

“You asked to see me, Minnie?” He helps himself to a biscuit from the tin on her desk.

“The headmaster requested I speak with you about this year’s activities,” the professor informs, promptly shutting the tin and putting it in her desk drawer.

So, Dumbledore had the same idea as James? The Triwizard Tournament is a big deal, and it’s James’ seventh year, after all. He’s been a high-achieving Gryffindor his entire school career, going on to become a Prefect, Head Boy and Quidditch Captain. It seems only fitting that he be Hogwarts’ champion. 

They had been told the previous evening at the start-of-year feast that entrance was open to anyone, fourth year and older, but it’d also been made quite clear – albeit indirectly – that both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had already chosen their champions. Putting their names into the Goblet of Fire seemed nothing more than a formality.

“So, is he putting my name in for me, or how does this work?” James asks, adjusting his glasses with a single finger.

“Oh, no, Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall says, peering at him over her spectacles. “He’s requested I make it clear to you that you aren’t to participate in the Triwizard Tournament at all.” 

James sits up, outraged. “Well, why the hell not? I’ve been Prefect, Head Boy, and Quidditch Captain – all for Gryffindor! How am I not the top bloody candidate?” 

“Although your extracurricular record is impressive, you have fallen quite behind academically. The headmaster worries that having the added stress of the tournament on your shoulders might negatively impact your NEWTs this year. What would the optics be of a former Head Boy not graduating from school? Additionally, we have discussed this with your parents, and they agree. You are not permitted to enter,” McGonagall rules.

James huffs out a sigh, but he doesn’t kick up a fuss. He knows his marks have been suffering. He just figured that since school’s never really been difficult for him, he’d cram just before NEWTs and pass fine. But if it’s gotten bad enough McGonagall’s had to stage an intervention, perhaps he should start looking into his academics now.

“Oh, and, not to add insult to injury, but if your marks don’t pick up drastically by Christmas break, you’ll also be taken off the quidditch team and stripped of your title as captain,” Minnie throws in. 

Now, James is really depressed. “Yes, Professor.”

She takes her biscuit tin back out and hands him another. “I’m sorry, Potter. If you need any help with your schoolwork, my door is always open.”

He nods, taking his biscuit to go.

* * *

They’re on their way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom when Remus is blessed with not only a glimpse of Sirius Black, but his very presence. It seems he’s joining them in this class.

“…don’t pick up by Christmas, that’s me, off the quidditch team,” some boy with a shock of hair and glasses is whinging Sirius’ ear off.

“That’s rubbish!” Sirius returns, frowning. “They can’t do that. It’s not like you’re failing anything. Whose bloody idea was it anyway that extracurriculars hinge on an ‘acceptable’ average?”

“Yeah, well, they’ve already cleared it with my parents, so…”

Remus attempts to grab Pettigrew’s attention, but someone collides with him quite firmly, losing their footing and dropping notes all over the flagstone floor.

“I know you’re foreign and there isn’t much civilisation in Serbia, but I recommend removing your head from your arse before taking to the corridors. Some of us would prefer getting to class unmaimed.”

A boy, Remus sees then, with a startling resemblance to Sirius. 

“What, are you stupid as well as imperceptive?” the tiny terror snaps, rolling his eyes.

“C’mon, Reg!” his friends call out to him.

“We’re, uh, sorry, Regulus. Won’t happen again,” Peter excuses, pushing Remus along.  When they’ve gone a fair distance, Peter hisses, “That’s him! The reason Sirius can’t date. That’s Sirius’ younger brother.”

Remus shakes himself, feeling downright cold at the interaction, but as they get to class, and he once again sees Sirius with his friend, Remus gets an idea. 

He nods at the boy, asking Peter, “Who’s he?”

Pettigrew rolls his eyes before turning his back on the pair. “James Potter. Sirius’ best friend, Hero of Gryffindor, and the biggest prat in school. Can you believe I used to be friends with him?”

Remus doesn’t respond to that, because he very much can see Pettigrew latching onto some self-important arsehole to up his social standing. Instead, he makes way for the teacher to come unlock his door and pins Peter with another question.

“Run the Black Dating Rule by me again?”

Peter looks exasperated more than anything. “It changed, apparently. I heard some girls talking about it. Sirius is allowed to date if his younger brother, Regulus, does. Look, this makes it even more impossible than before. Regulus famously has no time for anyone but himself, and occasionally the group of thugs and psychos he associates with. So, I don’t know what—”

“You leave that to me, Petey,” Remus smiles, leading them inside. “Just leave it all to me.”