Regulus was only a few steps behind James on the pitch. Their shoes, meant for flying, were getting muddy at a rapid pace.
The McKinnon girl was fighting one of the Slytherin Chasers on the ground, as he’d pulled on her hair at some point during the match. A tight ring of quidditch players was forming around the pair, shielding them from the spectators in the stands, and most importantly, the teachers that were rapidly descending the stairs.
They had been the last to touch the ground; James as a good leader had followed the ‘always last to abandon ship rule’, and Regulus slowly flew over as he realized that catching the snitch in those conditions was probably worse than losing anyways. Dorcas, the stand-in captain for Slytherin, was doing nothing to defuse the fight. She had had her hair pulled before by the same nameless Slytherin Chaser, and Regulus had sided with her when it happened. They hadn't taken either of them seriously that time, but she seemed to be quite happy with the late karma.
The rest of the Stytherins were stupid enough to think the hair-pull guy would win and the Gryffindors were smart enough to not get in Marlene’s way.
Anyone but James that is. He marched right into the circle, pushing his beaters apart to go through. Regulus had half a mind to join him but decided to quietly stand next to Dorcas instead. Clearly, she knew better than to get involved.
“Guys, what’s happening.” James' voice got higher and so did his shoulders with every word spoken “We’re in the middle of a match.” His voice broke at 'match' but he didn’t care much. His eyes were wide and eyebrows furrowed. Why would anyone willingly stop a match to fight someone? He could see the Chaser subs on the side standing up in anticipation. The audacity of some people. As if he’d ever let Marlene get kicked out mid-game as he passively watched.
Marlene, albeit slightly apologetic, smirks at James “This is what’s going the fuck on”. His arrival was the only trigger necessary for Marlene’s fist to make contact. Her phrase hadn’t even made much sense, but it was as much of a heads-up as she was willing to give her adversary. James could’ve said anything, recited the multiplication tables, read some biology, or sing an opera. It would’ve been enough for Marlene. Anything above a ‘No’ would have sufficed and now her right hand had bruised knuckles and surely a big detention was coming her way.
“Oh, Sluggy is coming. James...” James knew Dorcas from their little weird friend group, he knew of her conservative parents, of the fight it took to continue playing each year. What becoming captain had meant to her. What it could mean to her independence.
“Sorry buddy” James throws a fist toward the Slytherin Guy™️, hard enough to make it seem as if he’d delivered the other knockout punches, but soft enough to not cause any more bruising. His punch was enough to make the dizzy bloke topple over and into Regulus, who sidestepped with an eerie calmness. Regulus and James then stood face to face, the younger with an unimpressed resided eyebrow and the captain with a silly apologetic grin.
Slughorn approached the group at a fast pace but with apprehension. He hadn’t seen what had gone down in the last few minutes given he was gliding down the stairs as gracefully as physically possible; the wall of players had been somewhat effective. “What’s going on here? James, my boy, explain it or I’ll just have to give everyone detention!” Not the coolest conversation opener but an effective one. James was running out of ideas and another punch seemed excessive.
“I’m sorry Profesor, Regulus and I got into a bit of a spat.” Regulus' gaze was murderous, James pointed at the unconscious player on the ground “Poor guy got in the way”. If Regulus was any more confrontational he’d throw the punch, James knew that. But he was also aware of Regulus’ friendship with Dorcas and Slughorn's soft spot for the boy. He’d be fine.
“Well,” Slughorn takes a quick look behind to find a waiting McGonagall a few meters away. No one had seen her materialize but there she was. It was enough to scare the students and most definitely the professor too. “Detention tonight boys. The potions classroom, 8pm. Don’t be late or we’ll have to stay all night, please don’t be late.”
Shit.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
James forgot the detention was at Slughorn’s. The trip from the transfiguration classroom to potions was about a five-minute run using all of the known passages, with an add-in of fifteen minutes which had taken him to realize that it was weird that no one had arrived yet to detention but him. This was the very logical reason why James was twenty minutes late to detention. Neither Slughorn nor Regulus agreed.
James was left scrubbing the cauldrons, the ones too grimy or exploded to be fixed by a quick cleaning spell. It would probably take less time to look for a charm that did the job, but James didn't think pitching that would be a good idea. Regulus was left with organizing the ingredients and assisting Slughorn with his potion-making. James constantly caught the boyish victorious grin Regulus sported whenever his back was turned to Slughorn.
As James finished cleaning the younger years' oopsie cauldrons, he moved on to the exposition cauldrons of the class. These less standard cauldrons awaited students of all years at the beginning of the class. The potions would occasionally switch which is what the professor seemed to be preparing.
He started with the shortest but shiniest cauldron. For sure part of Slughorn's personal collection. Though James didn't fully understand why he thought it would be well worth it to bring it over to a bunch of children to show off. It was made of a very durable crystal, with a base metal plate for potion-making as well as display. Had he not seen the ad over the summer on The Daily Prophet, James would've been seriously questioning the teacher’s sanity. But the mental state of his professor had been long settled, and the cauldron was great for smaller batches (or so he read). After cleaning and handing it off, the professor filled it up with a crystal clear liquid, no smells or fumes reached their senses.
“It's Veritaserum, a truth-telling serum*” James had thought so too, a water bowl had been his second option, but Regulus beat him to it ”What class is it for, sir?”
“Oh my boy, don't you remember? It's for the fifth years. I'm afraid I'm a bit behind schedule to show this, it usually is my first class”. His right hand stirs and his left jumps with every word, as if to reassure his students he had not left everything to the last minute as he often reprimanded. “This one I made a long time ago, will only pull up some half-truths at best. But it's for demonstration purposes only as it thins away my older stash” He covered the cauldron with a detailed crystal lid and the potion settled instantly from the illusion of constant movement it had before.
He moved on to a bigger cauldron, round and simple. The finish was matte black and the handle was purely business. The smoke was thick, it permeated the air far quicker as Slughorn turned up the heat gradually. James had read once that reheating potions was just for show after they had fully cured, it was no surprise to see Slughorn turning on almost every burner.
“Polyjuice potion” The marauders had nicked it from the cupboard enough times to know it was well expired and lasted only a few minutes after endless chugging of the substance. He hoped his answer had been delivered as effortlessly as Regulus’. He’d already lost so many times that day and his shenanigans finally led him to important knowledge, or so he’d tell Remus. James did not doubt that a huge part of this conversation would be relayed to his friend, for educational purposes of course “for shapeshifting”.
“It enables the consumer to assume the physical appearance of another person, as long as they have first procured part of that individual's body to add to the brew*” It seemed now to James that Regulus wanted to one-up him.
“When the sample is put in, it changes the color and taste to fit the individual” Malfoy tasted like a piss-stained mattress and Bellatrix like smoked flesh. James could also confirm Sirius was sour candy and Remus chocolate liquor from a series of pranks at last year’s April Fool's eve eve eve.
“What about the next one boys, you're doing as splendidly as I hoped. Some of my best ones you are” He pointed towards the end of the table, at the small empty vial propped by a pair of tongs on a tall stand. He glided towards it, forgetting all about the punishment that the boys had efficiently avoided for the past few minutes, and uncorks the vial. With a ladle, he gathers the golden liquid and fills up the tiny container. No drops are spilled and the boys are entranced. “Liquid luck, boys”
“Felix Felicis!” But neither was satisfied as they had cried it simultaneously. They approached the table rapidly.
“It glimmers”
“It smells of nothing”
“It's shiny”
“There's no reported taste”
“No fumes?”
“It is toxic if consumed in large quantities”
“Everything is, really”
“It ‘glimmers’ and it's ‘shiny’, James?”
“Ok, so not every input has to be a good one, Regulus”
“Ok boys settle down there's one more to go and I'll let you off the hook” Neither boy dared to mention that the detention had not lasted for more than 45 minutes, it was something both were willing to agree on. “This is the freshest one. The luck potion I made about a month ago is very long-lasting. But this one I finished right before the match started. Its smell still lingers in the air. Can you tell what it is?”
The boys were huddled by the covered cauldron, the professor distracted enough to not catch the confused glances they sent at each other. What smell? James could only smell the pitch mud they'd dragged in, dense like it always was after a heavy summer rain. It was the smell of late quidditch practices when it was too late to Lumos, so the two would find each other by accident; always a few feet in the air. The class smelt of textbooks and tea, as if a divination study group had illegally forced their way in, or alternatively, his mother had been tasked to remodel Hogwarts. He couldn't think which was less likely.
But sopping wet and pressing against each other, James mainly smelt Regulus. His hair still smelt of the cinnamon and honey shampoo Euphemia had lent him at the beginning of summer, his clothes smelt of expensive cologne despite having fought against the wind and rain, and he could smell the earthy fresh smell of rain and grass. How could anyone smell anything over the smell of two soaked teenage boys after a hard game of quidditch?
James was only comforted by his seemingly odorless body. At least if Slughorn was to be disgusted it wouldn’t be because of him. He side-eyes Regulus. But Regulus was already looking at him, eyes calculating and brows furrowed. Slowly, his eyebrows unwind and rise. His eyes widened in surprise. His mouth opens up as if to form a sentence, but he can't seem to get past the thought.
“You smell, Regulus.” James feels emboldened by Regulus' reaction. He couldn't show how much Regulus' actions Affected him. James couldn't quite decipher the look in his eyes, was it surprise, confusion, intrigue? Was it disgust, illness, or unsettledness? He didn't want to dwell on it. He didn't want to pause and think about how it made him feel. It seemed as though that was lately how all of their conversations ended. Regulus showing an out-of-character reaction and James responding just as badly.
“No, I don't James”
“You kind of-“
“I don't” Regulus glances behind James’ back, where both know the professor is standing, as if seeking confirmation. James can't see the reply given, but Regulus seemed to have confirmed his thoughts. As if Slughorn could smell from that far, it wasn't fair!
“I don't think you get to say that '' James wasn't into doing the mean charade Regulus regularly pulled, but his confusion was enough to bring up some snark. What was Regulus not telling him? Why was he so affected by his own body odor? But Regulus just shuts up, or more like clams up, and starts collecting his stuff, “Regulus?”
And now James felt awful. He shouldn’t have commented on his smell, maybe he was super self-conscious about it, quidditch game be damned. Maybe that’s why he was packing his parchment sheets so forcefully into his bag, effectively tearing his tidy notes and crumpling his homework. His scarf barely fit when the bag was closed, and his sweater was left behind on the chair.
Before Regulus crossed the door to leave, James could’ve sworn he heard Regulus whisper to Slughorn “Not a word”. Slughorn nodded vehemently. Hopefully, whatever it was, the professor was better at keeping it a secret than being inconspicuous.
With an awkward flushed face, James gives his best excuses and leaves the classroom.
“Mr. Potter” Slughorn poked his face out of the classroom, lightly resting on the frame, an arm straightened before him, his fingers holding onto green and silver yarn. Regulus’ sweater. “Do you mind giving it back? I’m sure you’ll see him before him”
James hadn’t thought to correct him. It was clear he had missed something so better not to comment on it. He was sure the professor would tell Regulus the morning after during sirt period potions that the sweater had been left in his possession.
So James waited for Regulus to approach him, feeling the dire need to apologize and set things straight again. He would make it better and all would be forgiven.
——————
Regulus did not ask for his sweater back. In fact, for the last three weeks, he had worn both the tightly fit and overly loose sweaters and jackets of his closest friends (James’ heart skipped a beat, he doesn’t know why), even going as far as using Marlene’s Gryffindor sweater before one of his quidditch practices (that she’d left at Dorcas’ room) (James’ knees wobbled, he might suspect why). Autumn was slowly turning into winter though, and even his most cold-tolerant friends chose to stay toasty. He was running out of excuses and sweaters.
Every time James approached him to give it back, he would expertly scurry away. James had already served two detentions and gotten three warnings of misconduct for running down the halls chasing him. Regulus didn’t get a singular punishment. As soon as James was able to talk to him he’d ask what his trick was.
His last resource before he’d have to ask for help from his fellow marauders was taking the sweater down to the quidditch pitch. It was cold so James made sure to bundle up in his favorite oversized corduroy jacket over his stained and stretched pajama shirt. He knew the match wouldn’t stretch for too long, so he didn’t bother taking his comfort shirt off. He’d need it when chasing down a Regulus pumped up on Quidditch Adrenalin.
The match started swiftly. Hufflepuff had been training heavily on offense, a move that took everyone by surprise and secured them more goals than expected by anyone. Even Diggory, their own captain, looked visibly shocked from his perch in the air a few meters away from the stands. Everyone was moving quickly through the field, and Hufflepuff kept pushing on those 150 points in favor. Slytherin chasers had fallen back to their cheating tactics, but Hufflepuff seemed more immune than ever and the strategy was discarded as fast as it was introduced.
All anyone had to do was wait. The ball was on the Badgers’ field, but everyone knew the seeker made the game, and Regulus Black was worth ten of Amos Diggory. It was a matter of when, not how, the snitch would be caught.
Amos hadn’t seen the snitch once, or he would’ve caught it long ago, securing a place in the cup's finals. Regulus had openly seen it pass more times than the school's very rudimentary Math had allowed him to count. But it was always when Hufflepuff managed to nudge ahead, and catching the ball would be more detrimental than anything else. The ball had ruffled Amos’ hair once, most of the East stands had silently watched it happen, but the boy thought it was a fly and swatted it away.
After a while, some spectators started to leave, mainly unenthusiastic Ravenclaws and bored Gryffindors. The rest did some trips to the kitchens to pick up snacks and blankets to layer up. James mindlessly pulled on the sweater he had been carrying around and zipped up the jacket over it, the barest hint of green poked through.
When the light rain started, most of the student body moved inside. Some put up tents with their blankets, some brought over umbrellas, but most left to go warm up. Apparently, the important charms like casting an umbrella had not been taught as part of the curriculum. It had been three and a half hours of the match already and James had stood completely alone in the West stands for the past quarter hour. Remus had his sneaky way of convincing Sirius with R-rated promises, and Pettigrew had spotted Marinda complain about being cold two hours ago and followed her offering his jacket loudly.
But at last, Regulus caught the snitch when their weakest chaser finally managed to pass a goal through the center ring. It put them at one hundred and fifty points below. With the snitch, it was a tie. Regulus would not accept complaints, only apologies or offerings from his team. He was exhausted, cold, and sweaty.
The match had no celebration, or the traditional postgame leap. Only a collective sigh and a slow but steady exit of the pre-game expectations (and also the players, they were tired). James however, ran. After many hours his plan to give back the sweater had shifted multiple times, it was edited and rewritten to the point of no recognition. After almost four hours outside and some rain, it was enough to make him forget about why he was looking for Regulus in the first place. So he ran, with drive, but not much purpose.
He reached the Slytherin showers as some of the team members stepped out. James wrinkled his nose, the speedy exit could only mean one thing, and he honestly had higher expectations. He draped the invisibility cloak over his body but stayed outside. It was creepy to go into a locker room uninvited and on top of that invisible. He had better manners than that.
He counted two chasers out first, the beaters were out a bit later, the match had needed a few of the stowaways because of the length and the rain, so he knew to look out for an additional beater and a pair of chasers. They didn’t seem very happy stepping out, Slughorn must not have as good taste as Minnie with her strawberry soaps she’s always replacing. He assumed only Regulus and Dorcas were left, and although curiosity was pinching at his toes, waiting for him to make a move, he couldn’t go in yet in good conscience.
Dorcas came out with a sly grin, heading left towards what James could only assume was his own common room. He was torn between going in or not. Would Regulus even listen to him? He left the cloak outside to keep as much of his morals afloat as he possibly could.
With a deep breath, James knocked. He’d contemplated just going in, but Regulus’ temper made his chances too thin with that technique. So he waited with bated breath. Steps slowly approached, and a shirtless Regulus opened the door as his head poked through the red sweater he was sliding on.
“Dorcas it's not like that-” He ruffles his hair as his head comes through. He looks up. His hand still tangled between his curls. “You're not Dorcas” James wanted his hands tangled between the inky strands too.
“Is that my sweater?” It was dark red with a characteristic J embroidered on the chest, his mother had gifted him the sweater over the summer with the news of him becoming head boy. He’d lost it right from his quidditch bag sometime the week before.
“Well if you insist on not giving mine back…” Both knew that was a stretch. James holds up the Slytherin jumper, it sits right between the two. They both stare at it. James nudges it forward. Regulus frowns.
“Would you like to come in?”
“Yeah”
James brushes past Regulus to go in, but the younger boy doesn't move away from his perch by the doorframe. His body still angled toward the castle’s hallways rather than the changing room. His eyes cast downwards, deep in thought. He gradually snaps out of it, as James senses eventually. There weren't many things about Regulus that happened spontaneously. He’d gladly be the first.
Still, with his back to James, he closes the door, sidestepping away as the door shuts. James can't tell what's going on in Regulus’ mind. If he was reading the situation right or if he was about to be berated. He left the ball in Regulus’ court, dropped the sweater onto a bench, and leaned back on a row of lockers. His arms relaxed by his sides, his posture open and inviting.
Regulus approached slowly, dragging his untied Converse through the stone floors. But step after step, his pace grew faster, more erratic. If he had been doubting, he’d clearly made his choice.
The boys were almost chest to chest, James’ mind was going haywire. Regulus’ breaths were irregular and heavy, his eyes slightly unfocused, trained somewhere on James’ face. Oh, his lips. The younger's hand hovered in the air for a second before splaying out on James’ chest. He hesitated again, maybe he was waiting for a rejection that would never come. His hand clenches the fabric underneath and yanks. James thought Regulus, Regulus, Regulus.
He’d kissed Evans once, her lips tasted of strawberries, her hair like watermelon, her robes like vanilla.
And he’d take the rain any day. Regulus’ lips tasted like spit and sweat. His hair like cinnamon and honey. His clothes smelt of textbooks and tea. And James was overwhelmed. His own clothes, his sweater, now smelt of textbooks and tea.
They pull apart. James was a bit perplexed, his brain functioning at a slower pace than reality. Regulus’ face goes through the seven stages of grief before pulling a neutral, practiced, empty stare to gaze at James’ wide-eyed, slightly alarmed face.
“Potter-”
“James”
“James. Sorry if I-”
“You didn't”
“Oh”
James grounds himself and reacts. His hands circle the boy's hips, pushing them together, their lips slot again, more aggressively than last time. Strong and rushed. Regulus brings his free hand to the nape of James’ neck. James’ hands grip his hips one last time before rising to Regulus’ waist, cold fingertips making their way to Regulus’ middle underneath his sweater. A shirt-lifter, figures. Regulus pulls at James’ hair in retaliation.
James pulls away from the kiss, and Regulus’ lips search for his. He stands on his tippy toes, making it that much easier to spin around and (gently enough) slam Regulus into the lockers. He bends down for Regulus’ benefit and drags the boy by his waist for his own sake.
Regulus pushes toward James. He refuses to completely let go of power
James snakes one hand upwards. Regulus whines, almost inaudible, at the loss of skin-to-skin contact at his waist. With one hand on Regulus' chest and the other at his waist, James pushes him back and steadies his body to block Regulus in. The hand at his chest continues upwards and circles his neck loosely, pushing his palm against the collarbone; keeping his boy steady. Regulus is pleased by the touch.
They slowly separate and pant, their chests moving together. James starts chuckling, developing a full-blown laugh, cackling towards the ceiling and Regulus smirks face down into his chest. He nuzzles there for a moment and hugs James from his neck as soon as he lets his hand fall from his collarbone. Cold nose and prickly eyelashes burrowing deep into his neck. James’ hand go around his waist again, under his sweater, as he was pretty sure by now that Regulus preferred it that way. He let out a sigh of contentment that confirms his appreciation. James’ laughter had died to snickers and then a bright smile.
“What is this?” His tone isn't judgmental. He pulls back slightly to show his pleased smile. Regulus stretches his neck to look at James directly, pouting his lower lip and arching his back pulling closer to James.
“Do we need an answer” His tone is playful too, but his question is genuine. Did they need an answer? A label to whatever this was?
“I'd like there to be”
“How about this. I know you smelt me in you Amortentia, and I know I smelt you. This is not a one-time thing, and we’re very much exclusive. Don't even think to look at Evans’ way” Regulus' hands frame James' face, and he uses the advantage to angle his head perfectly to align their eyes.
“I wouldn't dare” Regulus was close friends with Lily, he knew about the breakup, James did too; both conveniently forgot that fact in favor of bickering.
“I want to go to your common room and hang out with you and your friends. I want to sleep in your bunk when I'm feeling like it. I want to do things too”
“What things?” The smirk was creeping its way back to James’ face.
“Things, Potter, keep up”
“‘I'm sorry baby, go on”
“And we’re getting together eventually, and officially.”
“Yes, I've been hinting at that Regulus”
“But now now, I'm expecting something…more grand”
“I'll serenade you at dinner”
“You will not”
“I will not”
Regulus pulls James closer and hooks his chin over the broad shoulders of his soon-to-be-boyfriend. His whole head jumps at each word as his jaw lays still, but neither minds. James rests his cheek on the boy’s shoulder.
“And we’ll stick together. I think. Your mom loves me more than she does Sirius or you if this summer was of any indication. My friends like you enough, Dorcas is definitely in love with you to some degree. If she didn't have a girlfriend I'd be worried”
“Yeah, figures. Sounds good so far. Is there a but?”
“But…no pet names”
“Oh but honeybunch”
“No, James” He rolls his eyes, but his stance remains unwavering.
“Apple of my eye”
“Really”
“Pudding”
“I just barfed a little”
“Pineapple”
“Pineapple?”
“Baby”
“...”
“Gotcha”
James leans in again and kisses him softly. They're both smiling, and their teeth clink at times. But it's not a factor that weighs in on their happiness, nor is it an obstacle that prevents their kiss from continuing. They stay like that for a while, kissing, hugging, and basking in each other's presence. They'd had a whole summer to learn about each other, and many more left to learn about this new development.
“You're telling Sirius though”
“Oh come on”
BONUS:
“So…I’ve been meaning to ask” Regulus raises an eyebrow, it was way too soon for what he could only assume was a proposal. “How did you manage to not get a singular detention running down the corridors. Was it secret passages? wandless charms? Did you get Mandrakes leaves for-” Regulus walks away.
“Wait, you didn’t answer. Are you showing me right now? Is that why you’re waking away? Oh Merlin this is so exciting I can’t wait to-”
Regulus refuses to share his secrets and goes for plan B. Plan B is rain, and mud, and grass, and expensive cologne and honey with cinnamon. It's also broom wax and hair gel, ink stains and tapestry, sweaters and hot chocolate. Regulus allows himself to melt in his boyfriend's arms and kiss despite the audience. He will never tell James about the black cat that slithers by his legs every time his boyfriend disappears. No, he will not.