You can’t understand a pretty face
“Can you, just once, forget that you’re pretending to be completely wretched and just accept a sincere gesture?”
Regulus’ knee-jerk reaction is to say no – absolutely not – he cannot ever in good conscience accept a gift this thoughtful and utterly his taste from James bloody Potter. It’s not happening. Pandora is out of her mind.
“C’mon, Reg. It’s a curated package. What possible nefariousness can come from enjoying your favourite snacks, your preferred pastime and the attention of someone who is clearly adamant about showing he cares for you?” Pandora takes his one hand in hers as she lays out her reasoning, and uses the other to tuck a stray curl gently behind one of his ears.
He wishes he could find it within himself to hate the way she can get into his head and under his skin, but she is his best friend for a reason.
“I appreciate the gift. It’s obviously very thoughtful,” he relents, peering into her eyes with an honesty he can never muster for anyone else. “I just don’t know that I can return his feelings. He hasn’t exactly paid me any mind until the start of this year and I cannot trust that he isn’t simply doing this for Sirius’ sake, to loophole my mother’s rule.”
Dora nods, her mind working. He loves that she always takes the time to listen to him, to truly hear him. No one else does. The world does not deserve Pandora Lovegood, but she deserves the world.
As she comes to her conclusion, her pretty light blue eyes shine like beacons. “Well, you’ve no trouble with being blunt when the need arises. I say, speak with him. Ask him directly, but don’t burn him at the stake. I truly don’t see your brother being keen on you dating his best friend, so it may not be as simple as all that. Give him a chance to explain. Be honest, but fair.”
He considers this for a moment, but only to come up with a game plan of sorts. She’s right, Dora is. She always is. His clever girl. He knows how lucky he is to have her; knows how lucky she insists she feels to have him, though he can’t fathom what a darling creature like her would ever want with a wretch like him.
He pulls her close and presses a delicate kiss to her forehead. “Thank you, darling Dora. Where would I be without you?”
She only pretends to mull this over. “Probably far more unhappy.”
“Probably,” he smiles.
“This is a party,” Dorcas Meadowes makes her appearance as if out of thin air, which wouldn’t surprise Regulus in the slightest. He’s made no secret of how impressed he is at her performance today. “You two are being far too serious. Come. Dance. Drink. Le sérieux et les devoirs peuvent attendre lundi.”
* * *
“Oh, Sirius, you know they’d never let us in!” James protests, Sirius dragging him along the corridor to the dungeons.
“Alright, but if he fancies me, as you claim, and Slytherin adores him – because how could they not? – then he may let us in himself. C’mon, Jamie! Isn’t it at least worth a shot?” Sirius pleads, hopping up and down as he pulls them toward the stairs.
“For the record, this is a terrible plan, and when it inevitably fails, I am not only going to say ‘I told you so’, but also spend the entirety of next week whining about it,” James bargains, concluding nothing he says is going to stop his friend now. “Also, if we run into Regulus—”
“Oh, who cares about Buzzkill Black?” Sirius dismisses, practically sprinting down the steps and almost lodging himself solidly in the disappearing one.
Saying nothing more, James resigns himself to his ‘best friend’ duties of making sure a tipsy Sirius does not harm or otherwise humiliate himself. A feat, he knows, considering they are walking directly into the metaphorical snake pit.
“What—”
“…the fuck…”
“…are you doing here?” Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch take turns asking.
“Beat it, trolls.” Sirius shoves his way through them, eyes scanning the Slytherin common room for any sign of the Durmstrang champion.
“Well, don’t you look like heaven in leather?”
He swings around to come face to face with Remus Lupin, his mouth dropping open as his eyes swivel up. James feels dirty just watching this exchange. Thankfully, he’s saved from any further foreplay by… Pandora Lovegood?
“James! Oh, how wonderful you’re here!”
She takes his hand in hers and leads him daintily, but directly, to a very dim corner of the room lit only by ambient green light emanating from the lake water through the glass back wall. There, they find Dorcas Meadowes having a shot-for-shot match with Regulus, who is apparently drinking her under the table.
“THAT’S FIFTEEN. HOGWARTS WINS!” shouts a Ravenclaw first-year, tabulating scores in a notebook.
“Fiftee— Regulus, what is this?” James glares the first-year away as he steps up to the youngest Black.
Pinning him with a look that’s far more boredom than intoxication, Regulus affects a sarcastic American accent, “I’m getting trashed, man. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at a party?”
“Reggie!” Pandora interjects, spying the annoyance building in James. “Isn’t there something you’d like to say to James? About his lovely gift?”
He glances at Pandora and then attempts to school his features into something resembling pleasantness, but before he can so much as utter a syllable to James, loud music starts blaring and Evan materialises out of thin air to steal Regulus away to the dance floor.
James should leave it alone. He should just drop this whole thing. He’s better off helping Sirius hide his connection with Lupin than pursuing the shrew, Regulus Black. But as Evan pulls him along, Regulus trips over his own feet multiple times, indicating he’s not nearly as sober as he appears.
James finds Dorcas.
“What were you two drinking?” he yells to be heard over the music.
She puts her mouth close to his ear. “Absinthe!”
His blood freezes in his veins. And Regulus had fifteen shots?????
This cannot end well.
* * *
“You, uh… You look amazing, too,” Sirius breathes, utterly staring.
Distantly, Remus notes James disappearing with some blonde girl. Whether this is him blowing their deal or not, Remus is right where he’s wanted to be since the start of the school year. So, for all he cares, James Potter can tail, rail and nail whomsoever he likes.
“Can I get you a drink?” Remus offers, holding out his arm to the other boy.
Sirius takes it without hesitation, allowing himself to be led. As they walk, someone puts on music that sounds like cats wailing down a tunnel, set to a heavy bass beat. Remus notes his companion making a face.
“Not for you?” Remus says near Sirius’ ear, slipping his arm out of their lock and around the boy’s waist to pull him closer.
He stares deep into Remus’ eyes when they part, muttering just loud enough for Remus’ wolf-hearing to pick up, “Bowie would’ve been better.”
Freezing, hand outstretched to a bottle of vodka, Remus takes in all of Sirius Black through wide eyes. “You know Bowie?”
“Why, don’t you?” Sirius seems to shake himself, confidence coming over him like a shroud as he shouts to be heard over the music.
Remus grins, wondering if it’s possible to adore this guy any more. “His best album?”
“Ziggy Stardust, obviously, but my favourite song stays Rebel, Rebel. I don’t care that it’s an overplayed radio hit. That song,” Sirius announces, “is my anthem.”
Handing him a vodka, lime and soda – a muggle drink with some class – Remus twines the fingers of their free hands together to tug Sirius along into a more private corner. It’s slightly quieter a little farther from the dance floor, but the centre of Remus’ affection seems very comfortable with him now, and he hasn’t been doing all this work with Potter not to get at least one night alone with someone as perfect as Sirius Black.
As they make their way over to a secluded spot, Remus grabs ahold of one of his classmates and the two share a short interaction in Russian before parting once again.
“Your anthem, you say?” Remus says, taking a swig of his own drink as he gets comfortable on the base of a pillar.
At that very moment, the music fades smoothly into Rebel, Rebel, getting more people on the dance floor than ever before.
“Tell me, pretty thing,” Remus murmurs between them, having hooked a finger into one of Sirius’ belt loops to tug him much closer, “do you look as stunning in a dress as in those jeans?”
Sirius makes himself comfortable standing between Remus’ outstretched legs, leaving less than two inches of space between them. “I’ll let you be the judge.”
Remus’ mouth goes dry when Sirius presses a light finger into his chest for emphasis, his ring-adorned hand then spidering into the back of Remus’ hair as he takes a long, slow swig of his drink. Remus can’t help it: his eyes catch on the flawless column of Sirius’ throat as it moves to accommodate swallowing, and now his trousers are uncomfortably tight and he has never wanted to kiss someone as badly as he does right then.
As he sets down his glass to reach for Sirius’ sinfully lithe body, Remus loses his chance as Potter reappears, carrying a dazed Regulus Black, bridal style, out of the dungeons.
* * *
In the minute it takes James to reach Evan and Regulus, someone has stuffed another shot into the youngest Black’s hand. As he brings it up to his lips, James’ hand shoots out for it, stopping it just short of tipping onto Regulus’ tongue. Thank fuck for quick quidditch reflexes.
“Reg, why don’t you let me have this one?” James tries to undo Regulus’ grip gently.
Evan pushes toward them, but a group of partygoers has him tangled up in their dancing now.
“No,” Regulus protests, clearly pissed. “This one’s mine!”
He takes his shot back and then downs it neatly, leaving James with his hands in his hair. This boy is going to drink himself to death at this rate!
Just then, the music changes into a dance-y Bowie track and Regulus slips into the crowd, smiling. James has only a moment to wonder where he’s got to before he hoists himself up onto a table, kicks the surface clear and begins dancing, quite stunningly, to the onlooking of the entire common room. A cheer goes up, barely audible over the music, but now everyone on the dance floor is turned to take in Regulus’ impressive catalogue of moves.
Now, James Potter is only human. When a pretty boy with a whip-thin waist dances in front of you, you don’t disrespect him by going for a walk. Truth be told, James had no idea Regulus could move like this. Sirius has some moves, but Regulus is downright talented. Kind of a pity he hates James so much.
Wait, what?
James will have to analyse his feelings later, because Regulus chooses then to throw his head back, rising to his full height – and smacking the back of his skull right into a dangling chandelier. He goes down like a sack of rocks, James only just managing to catch him before he hits the ground.
“Alright?” James says near his ear.
“Fine,” Regulus snaps, pushing James away.
The moment he tries to walk, however, he goes right back down again, leaving James to scramble to keep him upright.
“You’re not fine. C’mon.”
James turns them away from the dancers, herding Regulus toward an open area where he can check for a concussion.
“I just need to lie down,” Regulus slurs, hobbling along.
“You lie down and you go to sleep,” James counters.
He tries again to get an arm around Regulus to help him walk, but gets shoved off. So, he settles for just staying as close behind the boy as possible.
“Sleep is good,” Regulus smiles dazedly.
“Not if you have a concussion!” Pandora Lovegood makes a reappearance.
She manages to get a good grip on Regulus, who reaches up to touch the back of his head. James grabs his hand and pushes it back down to his side. He can’t see if there’s any blood – the room is too dim – but if Regulus freaks out if there is, it can only worsen his condition.
“C’mon, love. Here, sit down.”
Together, Pandora and James deposit Regulus into an overstuffed armchair near the glass wall.
Keeping half an eye on Regulus, Pandora turns to James, a terrifyingly bright smile on her face. “James. A word?”
Regulus slumps forward in his chair and James tilts his chin up, stirring him again to blink in the world around him.
“Can it wait?” James says over his shoulder.
“Only be a moment!” Pandora insists, pulling James away by his sleeve.
“What?” James asks, exasperation growing by the second. He knew coming here tonight would be a mistake.
“Look, I know Reggie can be a bit…tempestuous?” she tries.
“‘Heinous bitch’ would be a more apt descriptor, actually,” James corrects, hands on his hips. “He may want to work on that.”
To her credit, Pandora doesn’t appear to disagree, but they apparently are not through with this conversation.
“Do you like him?” she asks, the picture of earnestness.
James’ immediate answer is no, not in the slightest. But then he once again recalls Regulus sleeping in the corridor because of the bloody password; his frankly jaw-dropping dance moves; the flash of gratitude on his face when James had shut down the Durmstrangs during the Slytherin quidditch practice; his quick and clever – albeit biting – wit.
So, perhaps he could. Perhaps he does.
“He loves your gift!” Pandora adds, face hopeful. “He was so appreciative and said it’s ‘obviously very thoughtful’.”
And, in all honestly, James had enjoyed putting the package together. He’d had an enjoyable free period recalling the little details Sirius had shared about his brother over the years – his favourite snacks, his passions. James had even borrowed some of Sirius’ art supplies to hand-make two bookmarks. If Pandora is being sincere – and James has an awful suspicion she is – then he feels heartened knowing his efforts are appreciated.
“Yes,” James admits, then, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I like him.”
Pandora Lovegood has this magical quality of lighting up an entire room when she smiles. James can’t even feel embarrassed about his budding feelings for Regulus around her.
“He’s actually a sweetheart,” she gushes, shooting him a glance to make sure he isn’t passing out again. “He just has a firm grip on his boundaries and values. Once he realises you aren’t a threat to that, he’ll come around. Just promise you won’t hurt him?”
James snorts. “Trust me, I’m too busy dodging his blows to get in any of my own.”
But Pandora keeps looking at him expectantly, as though she requires direct verbal confirmation.
“I won’t hurt him,” James promises. “At least, not on purpose.”
This pleases her, which is just as well as Regulus chooses then to go pitching forward again and James can only barely stop him this time.
“C’mon.” James is taking him straight to the hospital wing.
Pandora steps aside to let them pass, but then reengages to help James lift Regulus into his arms. This way, James can simply shove his way out of here without worrying about losing Regulus again.
They’ve just gotten out into the corridor when Sirius and Lupin catch up to them.
“What’s going on?” Sirius wants to know, hand clasped very firmly in Remus’.
“Knocked himself out against a chandelier. Reckon he has a concussion,” James surmises. “I’m taking him to hospital.”
In his arms, Regulus gives a queasy groan.
“We’ll come with you,” Sirius offers, speeding up to keep pace with James.
James is in a magnanimous mood this evening, it seems, because he stops to face his friend. “I’ve got this, Siri. You go and enjoy your night. I’ll see you back in the dorm, yeah?”
But now Sirius looks guilty. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” James insists. “Lupin, look after my boy, yeah?”
Remus smiles like the cat who got the cream. “You bet.”
James manages to get up to the right floor with Regulus when he starts squirming to get down.
“This is so patronising,” Regulus complains, fetching up against a bannister.
James smirks, amused. “Leave it to you to use big words when you’re smashed.”
Attempting to get his wits about him, Regulus pins James with an almost coherent look.
“Why are you doing this?” he wants to know.
James frowns. “You probably have a concussion.”
Regulus closes his eyes again, looking way too fragile and, frankly, adorable for an injured person. “You don’t care if I never wake up.”
“Sure, I do!” James can’t wipe the amusement off his face if he tried.
“Why?” Regulus whines.
“Well… Because then I’d have to start taking out people who actually like me.”
Glaring up at him, then, Regulus responds, “As if you could find anyone.”
“Oh, see? That, there.” James goes to help a now sickly pale Regulus back to his feet to push on to Madam Pomfrey’s. “Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?”
“No, let me sit down for a while,” Regulus protests, sliding down against the bannister.
James joins him.
“So… Pandora says you like my gift,” James tries, at the very least, to keep him conscious.
“I do!” Regulus admits, then figures he sounds too enthusiastic and tries again. “I do.”
James forces his feelings of triumph and contentment down, just in case Regulus spots them and decides he prefers James’ misery.
“They’re muggle history books, but, as a queer person with an actively oppressive family, I reckoned you may find them…relatable, maybe.”
“I love them,” Regulus says. “Thank you, James.”
This, James can’t hide. His mouth drops open as he takes in Regulus, wondering just how badly he’d hit his head.
“Alright, c’mon,” he decides, getting them both up and on. “Time to get to the hospital.”
This time, Regulus goes without putting up a fuss – because he’s passed out again.
“No. No.” James stops, patting a hand on Regulus’ cheek. “Stay with me, Reg. Open your eyes!”
When he does, he peers intently up at James, their gazes locked.
“Your eyes have a little green in them,” he says, voice practically tender.
A soft smile tugs at James’ lips.
Seemingly in response, Regulus turns deftly to the side and vomits spectacularly.
“Okay,” James says, lifting Regulus into his arms again.
He lets himself be carried, squirming around until he’s comfortable and blinking up at James sleepily.
“You know, you’re not as vile as I thought you were,” Regulus shares, reaching up to push James’ glasses back in place.
“If you vomit on me, all bets are off,” James puts his foot in his mouth.
Regulus rolls his eyes, tenderness instantly turning to disdain. “Just get me to Pomfrey.”