Rule #13

James can’t help it—he really can’t—though he does at least try not to laugh. Lily’s certainly not amused, in fact, she’s got one of her scowliest faces on, the kind of face that screams: Run for your lifeeeee!

He ought to do just that, but James has never been one to hold back his laughter, and despite his valiant attempt to stay quiet, oh, how he laughs. 

“I mean—” James cackles. “This is legendary!”

The entirety of the dining area is covered in toilet paper, shaving cream, and glitter, Pandora’s biodegradable glitter from the looks of it. A soft stream of light glazes over the wreckage as if the sun itself is entertained, and who could blame it? 

Not five minutes ago James felt like a walking zombie, grumbling to Peter that the Camp’s no-coffee policy was Dumbledore’s revenge for their years of mischief, but now that James has seen such fine, wicked art, his body is buzzing . Indeed, the slopes of the toilet paper and the careful brushmarks of the shaving cream are not unlike paintings, the glitter mimicking some of the world’s finest artistry.

“Wow, they’ve outdone themselves!” James clutches his stomach and falls into another fit of laughter. 

Peter sighs and walks around the wooden tables, inspecting the mess the Weasley twins left behind. Though he’s the one that will have to clean up after the twins, again , James can spot a hint of approval in Peter’s eyes—Wormtail’s always been fond of a good prank. 

Sirius hops on one of the benches of the Gryffindor tables with a wide smile. “This one’s got a rendition of Starry Night!” 

James runs over to see, jumping up beside Sirius. “That’s not bad.” The swirl of toiler paper and blue glitter would make van Gogh himself proud. Probably.

They find a few more artistic parodies, one of the Mona Lisa, another with the hands from the Creation of Adam, and James’ personal favorite, the Last Supper featuring the staff as the apostles, and Dumbledore as Jesus. 

“Oh my god, I’m Judas!” Sirius squeals and jumps onto James. 

James laughs, wrapping his arms around Sirius tightly. There are few things better than hugging Padfoot. 

“It seems Fred and George have lived up to the Marauder legacy,” Peter says, swiping a finger through some of the shaving cream. 

James feels the world rumble then, a fuse burning to its final lick of wire, shivering and crackling, until it explodes in the form of one raging Lily Evans. She whirls on James and Sirius, and they both let go of each other quickly, bracing themselves for a lecture. 

“This is your fault!” 

“This again?” Sirius sighs at Lily. 

She ignores them, her voice straining between a wiper and a scream, “You two have been encouraging those boys and their pranks! Do you know how much money they’ve cost the camp? Dumbledore is going to take one look at this and kick Fred and George out just three weeks before the summer is over. Three weeks! Their cabin is going to be crushed—”

“I think Gilderoy will survive—”

Lily cuts Sirius off with a squeak, “And Fred and George will have to leave their last summer at Hogwarts on bad terms, abandoning all their friends. Do you want that for them? Huh?!”

James and Sirius share a look, forever unprepared for their wild Firefly. Sure, the insects are gorgeous when they glow, but the truth is all that luminescence is really poisonous chemicals meant to ward off predators. And right now, James feels thoroughly warded off. 

“Firefly,” Peter begins, reaching a hand to her shoulder. “You know I’m all for blaming Prongs and Padfoot, but I think this is on the twins.”

Lily turns to glare at Peter, and he holds her gaze with a patience and steadiness and love that James has always admired until Lily gives in with a groan. “Yes. Fine. Sorry.” She turns back to Sirius and James and adds sullenly, “But you two are terrible influences.” 

Sirius winks at James. Just two weeks ago they gifted the Weasley twins the Marauders’ camp map, something they wisely decided not to tell Lily about. By the look on Peter’s face, however, he had long since worked that out. 

Lily coughs into her arm and yanks out her water bottle, guzzling down water. 

James frowns, his mind whirring with worry. Lily’s been having a hard time of it ever since her Accidental Smooch, as Sirius has dubbed it, and with the stress of Marlene fainting during the camp excursion and Remus learning about their shared past, James fears that Lily’s on the verge of a breakdown, or at least a common cold. She’s practically unrecognizable these days—grouchy and anxious and perpetually upset. 

The only exceptions are when the campers come and talk to her, Harry especially. 

Sirius comes forward, hands raised as if saying I surrender! “You feeling okay, Firefly?”

“I’ve been screaming too much.” Lily tugs her red hair into a ponytail. “Just losing my voice.”

“Alright, come on.” James claps his hands together. “Lily you rest your voice, Pads can talk for you, I’m sure, and let’s help Wormy clean this up before Dumbledore and the rest of the camp wakes up.”

Lily nods and gets right to work, making a beeline for the table behind. 

They watch her yank down streamers of toilet paper and glare at glitter in silence for a few moments before Peter whispers, “Apparently Mary thinks Dumbledore is retiring.”

James’s glasses slip down his face as his jaw drops. “No way.”

“And whether or not that’s true, Mary thinks that Lily is trying to convince him that she should be his replacement, not Mary.”

“Well, that does sound like Lily,” Sirius says.

Peter tugs on his overall straps. “So now the two of them are back to lashing out and pretending to hate each other.”

“One step forward, three steps back,” James quotes one of his favorites of Sirius’ songs. 

The three of them had been so hopeful for Lily and Mary, had thought that after their kiss they would figure it all out. Even James, with a little help from Sirius, could see that their bickering and rivalry was just a front for something more. Something real. And now they’re throwing that away all for Dumbledore’s approval?

“Are you three going to let the woman do all the work?” Lily practically growls. 

They quickly break apart and start tearing the Weasley mess down. 

It’s when they’re wiping off the last of the glitter, the Last Supper in fact, that Remus walks into the dining area, a mug of tea in hand. 

“Oh.”

James can feel Sirius stiffen beside him, and he discreetly squeezes her hand. 

Remus hovers by the edge of the empty buffet table, his body still, not even his eyes blinking. James almost wants to poke him to bring him back to life. 

“Hi, Remus,” Lily is the first to speak up. 

Peter adds as casually as he can, “We’re handling another Fred and George prank.”

Remus looks down into his tea, nodding. 

That seems to be all there is to say, and James tries to get the others to stop staring, pointing to the spot of shaving cream they still need to wipe up. But Lily’s eyes are squinted at Remus like she’s trying to read his mind—Peter watches him with perhaps the guiltiest face James has ever seen—and Sirius? Well, Sirius never misses a chance to drool over her Moon. 

James is half a second from scolding his friends when Remus speaks up again. 

“It’s been a week,” he says. “I mean—I’ve thought about…about all of this for seven days.”

James thinks ‘all of this’ is quite the understatement for the friendship the five of them shared, but he lets it slide, because Remus, well, Remus doesn’t remember. 

“And I want to know,” Remus finishes. “At least some of it.”

“Anything,” Sirius says hoarsely. 

Unlike his best friend, James has enough wits about him to add, “What Sirius means to say is that we’ll tell you anything you want to know, Remus. Nothing more and nothing less.”

Remus sucks in a breath, his eyes darting back to Sirius, then to Peter and Lily. “Right. Well, how would tonight work?”

“That’s great,” James answers for his friends. 

Remus nods yet again, a poor replacement for the words James expects Remus is holding back. He wishes he could understand what Remus is going through, could empathize with the battle Remus is clearly waging on his own. But while James’ imagination is vast, a life where he can’t remember his best friends is not one he cares to picture. 

It sounds horribly lonely. 

Remus walks away, the steam from his mug fuzzing the air around his head as if he were nothing but a mirage, a figment of the Marauders’ collective imagination. But no, that was very real, James reminds himself. Remus is here and that is real and finally, finally they can tell him just how much he means to them. 

Maybe James will get his friend back. 

And the optimist, die-hard romantic in James can’t help but hope that maybe—maybe Sirius will get their Moon back too.

******

There’s an entire day to get through before the Marauders can talk to Remus, much to James’ dismay. He’s never been a patient person, and though he’s skilled in the art of distraction, and wins every award for the shortest attention span, his mind has never been more fixated. God, if Remus learns the truth, well, it’s entirely possible that things could go back to the way they were all those years ago. 

Not that James particularly wants to be a fifteen-year-old again. He loves Lily, but he much prefers them as a platonic pair, and sure, being a camper was a wild ride, but he rather enjoys the magic-making of the counselor life. No, the only thing he misses from those days—besides the constant joy of Regulus’ letters—is Remus.

The truth is that without Moony, the Marauders are incomplete. 

But although James tries, he can’t fix everything—he can’t bring back Remus’ memories, he can’t bring Lily and Mary together, and he can’t convince Remus to love Sirius. 

Focus on all that you can do, James , his Ammi would say. 

And well, James fails in many things, math and cooking among the worst, but if there’s one thing he can do right, it’s taking care of kids. 

There’s nothing so lovely as helping campers discover their dreams, push themselves, and make life-lasting friendships. Even during the harder moments, like when campers fight or get injured, or when Dumbledore lays down another ridiculous rule—James lives for the chaos of Hogwarts, a promise that every summer he can run to his favorite place hidden in the woods, fool around with his best friends, and change kids’ lives. 

So when James sits Draco and Harry down for a serious talk, he doesn’t dread any of it. He’s happy to be here with them, to be someone they can trust and learn from. At least, he hopes that’s the case.

“Are we in trouble?” Draco drawls before James can begin. 

They’re sitting in Lily’s office, sans Firefly, because she’s still caught up with the Weasley twins. Besides, James offered to talk to Draco and Harry, he adores Harry, and as for Draco—well, the camper reminds him of his two of his favorite people in the world, Sirius and Regulus. 

“You’re not in trouble, I just want to talk about what happened last week with the photo you showed Remus,” James says gently. “Why don’t we start with where you two found it?”

Harry chews on the inside of his cheek, his legs swinging under his chair. Draco, on the other hand, is perfectly still. 

“We happened upon it,” is all Draco says.

“Where?” 

Draco’s eyes slant in annoyance, and Harry fidgets some more. 

“Again, neither of you are in trouble. We’re just confused as to how you found that photo and why you wanted to show it to Nurse Remus.”

“I would like to request an attorney.”

James almost laughs at Draco. “What?”

“This is an interrogation, no? Harry and I reserve the right to an attorney.”

“You’re not under arrest—”

“Pansy Parkison will do.” Draco folds his hands in his laps. “Go and fetch her and we can continue this conversation.”

James smiles, terribly endeared by the way Draco comforts Harry, nudging him with his knee, all the while glaring James down with familiar grey-blue eyes. God, Regulus will be so proud when James tells him about this, and Sirius is going to lose her shit laughing. Because, seriously, an attorney ?! Lucius Malfoy is quite the role model. 

“Draco, I’m not a cop and you’re not under arrest.” James bites back another smile. “I’m just trying to figure out why two of our brightest campers are sneaking around and—”

Then, just as Lily exploded earlier that morning, Harry shakes in his chair, wiggling his fingers and nose, then erupts : “I’m so sorry, Prongs, please don’t get Draco in trouble for this—all of this was my idea okay if anything Draco was forced to help me, to be my friend even, and I suck! I really really suck!”

James leans forward. “You do not suck, Harry. I think you’re super awesome, actually.”

“You did not force me to be your friend or take part in anything I did not want to do,” Draco says to Harry primly, then turns back to James with a flat expression. “If anything, I’m to blame, I’m a horrible influence on Harry.”

“Definitely not, Draco. You and Harry are a great team.”

Draco’s expression remains stiff as stone, but James has loads of practice with indifferent facades—he can spot a slimmer of satisfaction in the way Draco’s eyes, and James takes that as an undeniable win.  

Harry sniffs, his eyes glassy, and James leans forward to squeeze his knee.  

“I’m really sorry,” Harry repeats. He swallows and looks at Draco, the two of them having a silent conversation with their eyes. 

“If you must,” Draco concedes. 

Then Harry begins.

******

James is still laughing over what Harry and Draco confessed to when the night’s Camp Game begins. He has the night off, and he jumps at the chance to get Lily alone and talk about their favorite camper, and hopefully, ease her stress. 

“You can’t be serious.” Lily scoffs, passing James an envelope. 

“No that’s what Harry said word for word.” James smiles. “He’s quite the matchmaker.”

They’re camped in the middle of Dumbledore’s living room, folding papers into envelopes that have to be mailed tomorrow morning. Some of them are for parents, so James handwrites their names and addresses in the sloping cursive Sirius taught him long ago. He’d wanted to impress Regulus in his letters, especially after Reggie called James’ handwriting “obscene.”

“So all this time Harry and Draco have been trying to set up not just Sirius and Remus but also you and Regulus?” Lily repeats, crossing her legs over the cowhide carpet. 

“Wolfstar and Jegulus, as they call it.”

Lily licks an envelope. “Wow. Dumbledore would freak the fuck out if he heard about that.”

The Camp Director is out for the night, hence the reason they’re in his air-conditioned house instead of Lily’s stuffy office. According to Lily, Dumbledore’s handling some mystery business in Hogsmeade. James wanted to pry further, but he could tell from Lily’s storm cloud that she isn’t interested in discussing that cyclone, in fact, James is sure to keep the conversation far away from Dumbledore or the even more tempestuous topic, Mary . 

“Remus and Sirius have never been subtle, but this—this is hilarious.” James shakes his head. “If Harry and Draco noticed god knows who else has.”

“And what about you and Regulus?” 

James looks up at Lily. “Hm?’

“They think you two are romantically involved,” Lily says, something James can’t quite name sharpening her gaze.  

“Come on, Firefly, we’ve already been over this.”

Lily sets down the papers in her hand on the floor. “I know, and I trust that you’re not lying to me, but I just have to say something.”

James nods. “Alright.”

“I was…bitter at the thought of you and Regulus dating for selfish reasons. I didn’t want either of you to get in trouble with Dumbledore and I was worried about our friend group if it ended badly. But those are…frankly, fucking stupid reasons if you two really like each other, or even love each other.”

James feels his stomach and chest swirl with warmth, like a cake with frosting, cinnamon and butter cream. Leave it to Lily to call her worries selfish when she’s only looking out for all of the Marauders, not to mention James and Regulus’ employment. He’s so lucky that he has friends like Lily and Regulus to look out for him. 

“I’m always glad to have your support, Lils, but I’m not—” 

“Interested in Regulus,” Lily finishes for James. “Sure.”

He laughs. “You sound so disappointed.”

“I’m ever the romantic,” Lily says with a small smile. 

James is supposed to be a romantic too, he’s supposed to indulge her daydreams and fuel her idealism, but he’s happy with all the love he has right now. Or rather, he’s happy without the turbulence of dating. It took him a while to figure that bit out—he had been so consumed with dating, so determined to find The One, that he didn’t realize how unhappy the cycle of heartbreak made him. It wasn’t until Peter reminded James that all sorts of love exist, that James isn’t lacking anything if he doesn’t feel the romantic kind. 

Sometimes all James needs is a pep talk from Wormtail to remember that, well, he’s enough, even if he’s single. 

Anything more with Regulus, with anyone would threaten that peace, that contentment James has only just discovered. 

“I don’t want Reggie and I to be anything more, and honestly, even if I wanted to, I would never pursue him like that.”

“Why?” 

James shrugs. “I’ve got a horrible track record with love, Lils. I’m really good at scaring off my partners. And I want Regulus in my life forever.” 

“Just—” Lily struggles to find the words. “Just keep it in mind, yeah?”

“Keep what in mind?”

“You and Regulus.”

James smiles because, yes, Regulus is always somewhere in his head, chiding James for not paying attention or grounding him to the earth, holding him back from floating away in the sky, devoured by his clouds of thoughts. 

“I know you, James.” Lily swallows. “I think it’s possible that the love you feel for Regulus is different than say what you feel for me or Peter. Or even Sirius.”

“Sure, Lils,” he says, mainly to placate her. Because yes, he feels something different for all his friends, love is a lot like a rainbow in that regard, a particular shade for each of his favorite people. Lily is red like lava—Sirius is a dark blue, not unlike the Black lake—Peter is violet, the color and the flower—and Regulus? 

Regulus is green like Hogwarts pine, green like the grass of the football fields James coaches on, green like the Margalla Hills that wrap around Islamabad. Verdant and fresh and the shade of nature, nay, life itself. 

“Can I ask for a quid-pro-quo?” James dares to ask Lily, feeling especially lucky with the thoughts of Regulus’ four-leaf clover green.  

“I already know the question.” Lily flips through papers with a scowl. “The answer is no.”

“No, you don’t feel something different for Mary?”

Lily’s face tightens. “No, it doesn’t matter. No, I won’t risk—” she stops. “Just no .”

“Whatever you want is what I want, Firefly,” James tries to sound supportive. 

“I’ll be fine, Prongs.”

“I know you will.” James grins. “You’re Lily Evans.”

Lily rests her forehead on James’ shoulder for a second then, giving herself just one second to breathe, then returns to work. 

They fold the rest of the letters in silence, James nudging some water and a few cough drops into Lily’s hands around the fifth time she coughs, and by the time they’ve made it to the last pile, Lily nods to the grandfather clock. 

James nearly winces at the time. Only fifteen minutes before the Marauders meet Remus. 

“You go on and start the fire,” Lily says. 

“Right.” 

James stands, hearing the laughter and screams of the campers running outside. The sun is beginning to set, and the the five of them won’t have much time to talk before James and Sirius will have to collect their cabin for Star Chat. 

But it’s a start.

The orange-pink sky greets James when he leaves Dumbledore’s house, and he takes the backdrop of bright colors as a good omen, perhaps even a thumbs up from the camp gods themselves. James hums a happy song, another of Sirius’, as he starts a small fire in the pit behind Peter’s shed, an alcove partially tucked into the Wayward Woods. The shed blocks the rest of the camp from view, making it feel like the woods have consumed you entirely, a cocoon of Sycamores and Willows. 

James is partial to other trees like the Chinaberry, one of the most popular in Pakistan, and as those stodgy botanists call it, “invasive”. But who wouldn’t like all those long leaves and lilac flowers, the marble fruit that ripens in the winter, a contradiction of life within the cold? James loses himself in thoughts of home, missing his cousins, sure, but mostly the food—god, nothing compares to Nihari—until the snap of a twig has him straightening. 

“Hi, Moony!” 

James says the nickname on instinct, a stupid, foolish instinct, and immediately wishes he could turn his watch a couple of seconds back and time travel, tell his former self to keep his damn mouth shut, because Remus is standing frozen again, a statue of shock and scare. 

“Sorry,” James says, rubbing his mouth in case he needs to muffle his own tongue. 

“It’s fine,” Remus says, even though it obviously isn’t. He moves stiffly, sitting across from James, letting the fire between them fill the strained space, strained silence. 

“I’m guessing that Sirius told you about your nickname then?”

Remus grunts, looking at his hands perched on his knees.

“You don’t have to do this, you know—”

“I want to,” Remus says, looking up. “Doesn’t make it any less hard, James.”

James smiles a little. 

“What?”

“You just sound like…well, you.” James chuckles. “Telling me off and all.”

“The Remus you knew, you mean.”

“You two are not actually all that different,” James muses. “I think if anyone’s changed the most it’s Sirius, but we’re all a lot like the kids we used to be. Just a little more put together.”

“I wasn’t…put together?” Remus asks warily. 

James grins. “Oh, you tried , but you were quite the mess. Brilliant, clever, and all over the place. Every summer you tried to get really good at one of the activities and every summer you ended up quitting halfway through, rather dramatically I might add, which was hilarious . I’ll never forget the time you tried rock climbing, you were so goddamn mad that you couldn’t reach the top—which yeah, you had such a temper. Rivaled Lily, honestly. Then there were all the books you had loaded with scribbles. And don’t get me started on you around Sirius—”

At Remus’s stunned expression, James stops talking. He doesn’t seem upset, however, more overwhelmed, his brows furrowed in thought. 

“Sorry, I’m talking too much. You ask and I answer.” James looks around. “Though maybe we should wait for the others?”

“Me and Sirius…” Remus begins. 

James does not get his hopes up—he tells himself that he will not take whatever Remus is about to say as a sign that he is hopelessly in love with Sirius. No, that would be ridiculous. 

But the sound of Remus’s voice, a slight tremble, barely a breath, convinces James of just that. 

“We were happy together?” Remus finally asks. “As happy as a couple of teenagers could be, I mean.”

James is just about to launch into a detailed description of the sappy grin Remus wore whenever Sirius sat next to him, talked to him, hell, so much as looked at him—whenever Remus wasn’t rolling his eyes at him—when Sirius steps out from behind the shed. 

“We were happy.”

It’s all Sirius says, three simple words, but it doesn’t seem insufficient. No, the look on Sirius’s face, the nostalgia in her eyes, contains all the words that even the greatest songwriter ever couldn’t express. 

“Okay,” Remus murmurs, his gaze pinned on Sirius. 

Peter and Lily walk over then, both of them stopping when they see Sirius and Remus staring at each other like there’s no one else in the world. God, James loves that cliche. 

“Just like old times.” Peter shakes his head, coming to sit beside James. 

“What?” Remus blinks, likely forcing himself to look away from Sirius. 

“You and Sirius used to stare at each other a lot,” James informs him happily. 

“We still do.”

James nearly gasps with glee because clearly, Remus didn’t mean to say that, but he did, and Sirius is a second away from passing out—actually, James should probably get over there and hold them steady. 

Then Lily places a hand on Sirius’ back and nudges him forward. She takes the spot next to Remus, and Sirius sits beside Peter and James, giving James the chance to wrap Sirius into a hug and whisper, “Okay?”

“Think so,” Sirius says. 

When they break apart, Lily and Remus have their heads ducked together, an echo of the friends they once were. Or perhaps, James realizes, evidence of the friends they are . They had always been close back in the day, probably whispering about how hot James and Sirius were, or more likely, gushing over Oscar Wilde, the nerds. 

But now they seem to understand each other in a new way—a bond made of something utterly mature. It’s quite the reminder that the five of them are adults now, despite them lurking in their childhood playground. Sometimes James forgets that when he’s with the Marauders, loses himself in the kid he was, but with Remus, it’s easier to appreciate the adults they’ve all become. 

“Alright.” Lily pulls away from Remus with a nod. “Here’s how this is going to go. We only answer what Remus wants to know, and nothing about his family. If there’s anything we’re not sure he’d want to know, then we should warn him and let him decide.”

James and Sirius smile at Firefly. “Yes, sir!” they shout together. 

Peter rolls his eyes. “Fine with me.”

“Okay,” Remus draws out the word, eyes bouncing between all of them. “I guess I’ll start with why the hell you—I mean we came up with the nickname Wormtail for Peter?”

Peter rolls his shoulders back, smirking. “Well, Remus, back in the day we were quite the prankers, you and I the masterminds…”

******

When James wakes up the next day, he feels like a Disney princess. The birds are singing, his sheets are warm, and his mind is warm and gooey like one of Chef Molly’s famous chocolate chip cookies. He had a dream where he and Regulus fought off a three-headed dog and won , thanks to Reggie’s brilliance on the flute. 

James grins at his sleeping campers and slides out of his bed, thinking over last night as he dresses. The band is back together! his thoughts scream. 

Or at least James hopes they’ve sufficiently charmed Remus back into the Marauders; after an hour of sharing camp memories, the good, the embarrassing, but not the bad, Remus had been smiling. Smiling! That’s gotta mean something great, right?

The only person more excited than James was Sirius, who broke into happy tears when they debriefed once their campers were asleep. James expects Sirius didn’t fall asleep at all, her body burning with relief and maybe a touch of hope. After all, Sirius and Remus did look at each other a lot last night. A lot .

That feeling of Disney and delight and reunion only follows James as he leaves his cabin for his morning shower, singing beneath the water’s stream and barely missing a note, dancing as he brushes his teeth and shaves. A butterfly even finds its way through the steam and parks on James’ nose, which makes him go cross-eyed for a good while. 

James memorizes the image so he can tell Regulus—Reggie loathes butterflies, deathly afraid of the beautiful things for some reason. And yet once he saw a garden snake and tried to pick it up . 

“Reggie, thank god!” James finds Regulus in the hammock village, spending the last of the dark morning in the quiet. “I have to tell you something.”

Regulus sits up quickly, the hammock underneath him wobbling. “What is it—are my campers—”

“Fine!” James blurts between breaths. He has to sit down to force air down his lungs, and the hammock wobbles again beneath his weight, nearly throwing Regulus off. 

James quickly grabs Regulus’s ankle to hold him steady, then pulls his hand away. “Your campers are fine, everything’s fine, I just had the craziest thing happen to me.”

When James finishes recounting his story of the butterfly, the same way he would in one of their long letters to each other, Regulus huffs. 

“That’s all you had to say? A Lepidoptera landed on your nose?”

“Ooo say that again.” James leans forward. 

Regulus smirks and draws out the word, “Lepidoptera.”

James braces a hand by Regulus’s head to keep from falling on top of him. “That means butterflies?”

“And moths,” Regulus says. “Includes about 180,000 species.”

“That’s quite a lot of winged insects,” James hums. 

Regulus blinks, and blinks again, then he’s wetting his lips like he needs chapstick. James, unfortunately, is not equipped to help, he ran all the way from Gryffindor without his backpack, without even his shoes. He hadn’t been thinking, really, all his thoughts were on butterflies and Regulus. 

“Can I touch you?” James asks. 

Regulus swallows. “Of course.”

James slumps and falls into Regulus’ chest, snuggling up to his side and sinking into his warmth. Immediately, James’ breathing eases and his lips twist into a smile, greedy for more of Regulus, for more of his utter and total peace. 

“We talked to Remus last night,” James says.

“Oh?”

“It went so well, Reggie.”

“I’m glad you finally told him the truth. And that he was willing to listen.” 

There’s a beat and then Regulus is threading his fingers through James’s hair, making him pur like a goddamn cat. 

“That feels nice.” James snuggles up closer to Regulus, almost laying on top of him. It’s a cocoon of warmth and comfort, and James wants to spend eternity here, wants their bodies to sink into the soil, flowers sprouting from their eyes and lips. 

Regulus makes a choked noise and James whips his head up. “Okay?”

He grunts in confirmation, tipping his head back like he wants to nap. 

Lily’s words from before happen to slip into James’ brain then, like a trail of ants hiking to their colony, scouring for food. James watches Regulus’ eyes flutter, wondering if Regulus has ever thought about them like…well like that . 

Definitely not. It was only this summer that Regulus decided to try dating, and besides, James is certain that he would never be Regulus’ type. Too messy and distracted and not half as smart as Regulus. 

Then again, Regulus is James’ friend, and James is sure he qualifies for that. Actually, lovers shouldn’t be any more qualified than friends, anything else wouldn’t make sense. Friendship is just as intimate as romance, though perhaps less physical, but then again some people date and don’t have sex so really friends can easily be partners—

“You’re staring at me like I’ve grown a head,” Regulus breaks James from his spiral. 

“Just thinking,” James smiles sheepishly. “You know me and my brain, it’s all over the place.”

Regulus sits up, forcing James to do the same. “Can I ask what you’re thinking about?”

“Oh!” James laughs at his own tangle of thoughts and follows the thread back to the source. “I was thinking about you wanting to date.”

Regulus tenses. “Why?”

“I guess I’m curious why you decided to after all these years,” James says easily. “You don’t have to say, of course, I’m just being nosy.”

Regulus tilts his head up, and honestly, he ought to do that more often, it’s a flattering angle for him, and James takes his time watching Regulus’s dark eyelashes dance, his jaw work with tension, his lips shape into something a lot like words. 

Because they are words, James realizes. Regulus is talking. “Guess it’s time.”

“What’d you say?” James leans forward, trying to hear Reggie’s mumbling. 

Then Regulus looks down and James sucks in a breath, confronted with all that sharp beauty.

“Hi.” It’s about the only word James can remember. 

“Yes, Hi, James. I have to tell you something.”

“Sure!” James adjusts himself in the hammock so he’s sitting directly across from him, determined not to get distracted by anything. Regulus deserves nothing less than James’ full attention. 

“You and I have become…” Regulus purses his lips. “Close this summer.”

James frowns. “We’ve always been close.”

“Yes, I know, I guess I mean not in an epistolary way.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Regulus’s lips quirk up and James is glad for it, because Regulus seems worried about this conversation, reluctant to even have it. 

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t—”

“We do,” Regulus cuts James off. “Now that we can spend time with each other in a more regular fashion instead of just occasional holidays and long letters, I’ve—I’ve—” 

As Regulus stammers, he searches James’s face for answers, for words, and James wants to give them to him, so he rambles: 

“Well, yes, now we get to spend much more time together and I get to touch you almost every day which is fantastic and I don’t have to remember the stories I want to tell you for later I can just come and find you right away like with the butterfly.”

“The butterfly,” Regulus repeats, eyes a little dazed.

“Lepidor-something.”

“Lepidoptera,” Regulus corrects, lips fighting another smile. 

James reaches forward, a question in his eyes, and Regulus nods. Then James cups his jaw and whispers, “Come on, smile for me. Don’t hold it back.”

Regulus groans in frustration. “God, Jamie, you’re making this hard.”

“Making what hard?”

“I’m trying to tell you something.”

“And I’m listening!” James whines. 

“You’re distracting me,” Regulus corrects him again, and this time, he doesn’t hold back his smile, his lips turn up and James loses his breath. 

“There it is.”

“Right.” Regulus’ face falls. “I’ll put it bluntly. I love you, James.”

James nods. “I love you too.”

“No—you’re not understanding, I’m in love with you.”

James feels his stomach drop, the hammock sweep from under him, the ground chew and swallow him down, down, down all the way through the earth’s core, popping him out on the other side somewhere in the Indian ocean, California’s antipode, according to Peter. 

Every other thought fades into the air, dissolving into nothing, leaving behind only that sensation of falling and falling, that feeling of Regulus and Regulus.

“You what?” James rasps. 

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“I’m so sorry.” James scrambles away from Regulus, jumping out of the hammock to make sure that he is in fact still on land, that gravity hasn’t ruined him entirely.

The feeling of dry grass beneath his feet doesn’t ground James, however. Not when Regulus looks at him with such utter devastation, as if loving James is painful. As if he’s hurting .

“I’m so so sorry,” James repeats. 

“Not your fault.”

“It is though, I’ve been, fuck, I’ve been leading you on this entire summer!” James grips his hair and pulls. “I didn’t mean—I love you so much Regulus but not—not like that.”

“Yes. I figured.”

James winces at the flatness in Regulus’ voice. He has to hold himself back from rushing to him, from apologizing again; no, he needs to think of something coherent to say, something that will keep Regulus from walking away.  

He can’t lose Regulus. 

“I can’t lose you,” James echoes his own thoughts. 

“You won’t.” Regulus stands from the hammock much more gracefully than James. “We should get ready for Rooster Call, it’s fifteen minutes till wake up.”

“No—no we’re not done with this conversation!” James’s voice is unrecognizable, and he wants to sound calm, he wants to reach into his own throat and scold his vocal chords because now is not the time to panic, now is the time to assure Regulus, to comfort Regulus, to—to—

“What else is there to say, Jamie?” Regulus says simply. “Look, I’ll be fine, I’ll get over it soon, I’m sure. And as for you—you shouldn’t doubt yourself and your worth. You deserve to be loved in every way you want.”

“I don’t need that kind of love.”

“No, but if you want it, you should go for it.” Regulus’ eyes crinkle from his forced smile because James knows when it’s real, he saw it not five minutes ago. “Come on, we’re fine , James. Stop being dramatic.”

James doesn’t manage to say anything before Regulus walks out of the Hammock Village, the metal gate swinging shut behind him, leaving James frozen on the ground, falling and falling. 

Still falling. 

******

One of James’ first memories is in Islamabad, sitting in the summer heat with a house full of chaos, family and food whirling around him like hallucinations, phantoms, maybe even magic.  

He had just sprained his ankle, which kept him from playing with his younger cousins, and even though he was terribly bored and very grumpy, he was by no means interested in hanging out with his lame older cousins who were mature and downright boring. 

So he sat with his Nani at the wide wooden table, glazed with something shiny and gold, and watched her work on an elaborate necklace, placing the pearls and diamonds piece by piece, hand shaking ever so slightly. 

Back then his Urdu was limited to a child’s vocabulary, but he listened to his Nani speak, her words every now and then shifting into songs from the movie Armaan, featuring her not so secret celebrity crush Waheed Murad. And on that hot summer day, she told James the history of the Polki jewelry she made, how she fell in love with the craft at her own wedding when she wore a matching necklace and earrings set in rose gold. 

Jewelry is the adornment of love , she told James in Urdu. Every diamond bears witness to precious history.  

Though James’ Nani passed years ago, the memory of her loving hands carefully setting diamonds for brides across Pakistan always consoled James when he lost his bearings. He even tried to make jewelry with a bead kit, his hands unweaving knots in his hands and head.  

So after James wakes up his cabin, leads Archery and Ultimate Frisbee, and laughs with his cabin at lunch, he finally has a break and takes refuge in Pandora’s craft house. The second the door shuts behind him, his smile falls, falling and falling with the rest of his heart. 

“Shit.” James groans, dragging his hands over his face. 

“Hello, James.”

James jerks back, his head thudding into the door. “Pandora! Sorry, I thought I was alone.”

The blonde sits on the ground amidst an explosion of colored paper and stacks of paint palettes yet to be washed. Her hair is parted into two space buns, camp shirt covered in her own design as well as splatters of tye-dye, probably accidental, though knowing Pandora, it very well could be intentional. 

“Would you like to be alone?” Pandora asks, tilting her head. 

“Um—” James takes a second to think that through, and lands on: “No, actually. I could use your help.”

Pandora’s smile widens, blue eyes sparkling. “You want to craft, don’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

Pandora shrugs and spins around on her butt, pulling forward a bin full of friendship bracelet string. James laughs, stunned that Pandora could read him so well. 

“I would like to make a bracelet,” he starts. “But the only kind of friendship bracelets I know how to make are simple and, honestly, ugly…Will you teach me something a little more intricate?” James remembers himself, realizing that he’s likely budging in on Pandora’s prep time for an Activity. “Unless you can’t right now—”

“I had a feeling someone would need me today so I’ve already finished getting ready for silk painting.” 

Pandora gestures to the floor, the singular spot not covered in crafts supplies, and James settles himself, crisscrossing his legs. 

“Thanks,” he says, accepting the spools of embroidery floss. He doesn’t even realize what colors he’s picking until he has five different shades of green in front of him. 

Immediately the color brings Regulus to mind, and James squeezes his eyes, trying not to fall, and failing . 

“Now the trick to a good friendship bracelet is a lot of tape…” Pandora begins. 

James listens to her patient instructions, untangling the string so that he has five sections, then tying knots from left to right, repeating the pattern over and over until he achieves something like a diagonal. After three rows the bracelet curls from tension, but it already looks much better than anything James has made before. He loses himself in the motions, the sounds of Pandora ripping tape a backdrop to the stretch of string around his fingers. 

By the time he’s halfway down the bracelet, the trance of green takes him away, all the way to Regulus. 

I’m in love with you. 

James isn’t sure why Regulus’ words cut him so deeply, why he feels like an open wound infecting more and more with every minute, poisoning his bloodstream. He doesn’t want to lose Regulus—he can’t lose Regulus—but he fears he already has. 

Tears prick the backs of his eyes and James forces himself to talk to Pandora, forces his brain somewhere safe. “How’s Cormac?”

“Oh!” Pandora ties another knot, twisting her lips in thought. “He’s lovely.”

“There hasn’t been any trouble with him and…you know.” When Pandora and James had switched some campers, Cormac included, James warned her that he would be trouble, especially in the showers. 

“Not at all, Cormac and I had a nice chat and as far as I know, the only thing he’s doing in the showers now is washing. And maybe some singing.”

James chuckles, jealous that Pandora could handle him so easily. But Pandora’s notorious for diffusing tension at Hogwarts—Lily often recruits her when campers are caught in drama. Peter thinks it’s because Pandora can read people well, see past their words, find their truths. Sirius, on the other hand, thinks she’s a witch. James has to agree. 

“You’re falling today, aren’t you?” Pandora breaks James out of his thoughts. 

He jolts. “What?” 

“It really is quite a fall,” Pandora muses, reaching for the tape. “I hope you land on both feet.”

“How—what—” James stammers then gives up. As Lily claims, there’s no point in hiding from Pandora, she’ll always see right through you. 

“Yes, I am falling, at least that’s how it feels. And not falling in love…” James laughs darkly. “It’s more like I’ve lost my grip on a cliffside and I’m waiting to splatter on the ground.”

“That’s quite the image.” Pandora ties a few more knots before she continues, “It always frightened me, the notion of falling in love. As if we’re helpless to it, destined to the plunge. We humans tend to describe love as if there is no agency in it.”

James hums in thought. “I guess I’ve never thought about it that way. I think I was more scared that I didn’t feel helpless. That I had to work so hard to fall in love, to become something better to be in love.”

Pandora’s hand still. “Why not let someone love you as you are?”

“That hasn’t happened before, not romantically,” James says. Every relationship has felt like a climb to him, a race to prove himself worth of his partner, to love them enough so that they might stay. 

They never do. 

“Perhaps you’re so focused on earning love that you’ve dismissed what you already feel.” Pandora looks up at James, and he tenses under her knowing gaze. 

“I—I’ve been in love before, I know what it feels like.” 

In fact, James can pinpoint the feeling exactly: it starts with a knot in his stomach, then his hands tremble, his heart pounds, until the nerves running through his body strike like lightning, making him feel downright divine. 

The high was the same with all his lovers. So when they all inevitably walked away, the come-down fried him senseless. 

“Just because you’ve loved one way doesn’t mean that’s the only way you can.”

James lets go of his strings, frowning at the unfinished bracelet. “Stop talking in riddles, Pandora.” He adds after a second, “ Please .”

Pandora smirks, but before she can say anything else, the door flings open. 

James isn’t sure if he’s relieved or scared that it’s Regulus standing in the doorway. Has he come to say goodbye? This must be it. Regulus is going to walk away from James, he’s going to say that if they can’t be more then they can’t be friends at all, and then—

“Perfect timing.” Pandora claps her hands together, and James jolts back again. 

“Can I have a second alone with James, Pandora?”

James shivers at the intensity of Regulus’s voice, the fervor in his gaze. He hasn’t looked away from James, hasn’t moved from the doorway, and James finds he can’t move either. Can’t breathe either. 

“It would be my pleasure,” Pandora says, pushing past Regulus to leave. 

James tries to move his feet, but they’re fast asleep under him, blood rushing through his ankles and to his toes in a violent tickle. He doesn’t wince, however, he stays there, staring up at Regulus from the ground.

This time it’s the world that’s falling, not James, earth darting through the cosmos like an asteroid, James watching Regulus as the universe burns around them. 

“I mixed up the steps,” Regulus’ voice is low, almost a growl. 

“What steps?” James’ voice wavers. “What are you talking about?”

Regulus steps forward, looking down at James without any of the rejection or hurt from before, but with pure determination. It’s terrifying but beautiful, so very beautiful. 

“I was supposed to tell you I loved you after I kissed you,” Regulus spits like he’s angry. But he is angry, James thinks, though not at him. At himself? 

“I wish I knew what you were talking about—”

“I wasn’t even supposed to tell you the truth! I told myself I’d lie. Say I like you, not fucking love you.” Regulus shakes his head in disgust, but his gaze doesn’t waver from James’. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Stop fucking apologizing, I’m the one who messed up.” Regulus shakes out his hands, cracks his neck, and then crosses over to James. 

When he drops to his knees, James gasps. 

“I—what the hell is happening right now Regulus?”

“Just—let me—” Regulus groans at his own incoherence. “Can I kiss you?”

And that steals everything left in James, rendering him speechless.

James’ silence seems to suggest fear, however, not shock, and Regulus rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. If you don’t like it we’ll never do it again. I’m sure I’m not that bad of a kisser, though to be fair, I’ve never done it before—”

The thing is, James is a tried and true overthinker—and kissing is no exception. Every touch he gives, every move he makes, he doubts and dissects until he hovers somewhere far from his body, watching himself try and fail to please.

But this time James’ body feels before his thoughts can morph into something rational, before he can spoil his own pleasure. So it doesn’t click for him what’s happening until many, many seconds later, perhaps even minutes. 

Slowly, his lips, his hands, his breath catch up with his brain and he realizes…

He’s kissing Regulus. 

“Oh my god.” James pulls away. He blinks at Regulus’ flushed face, at his swollen, wet lips, and shakes his head, searching for the memory—did he pull Regulus forward? Did he kiss Reggie? 

There’s not much time to wonder before his body is moving again, that instinct to press into Regulus and taste him the same urge James has always had to touch him, to write him, to love him. 

His hands make their way into Regulus’ curls, lips folding over Regulus’ like they’re dancing a waltz, perfectly in sync, their steps easy and tender. 

When James, or maybe it’s Regulus, nudges the other’s lips open, their tongues collide and James rocks into Regulus, laying him onto his back as he straddles him. 

It’s not unlike a fire, steady and tame but burning, god , James is burning, and he loves every second of it. Nothing like lightning, not rain nor thunder, but something akin to a campfire under the stars.

When they pull away from each other, James is breathless, but he’s not nervous. He’s…well, he’s quite calm. 

Regulus is pinned beneath him, his hair mussed and tangled, and all James can think is: finally . Finally, that feeling of falling ends—James’ feet meet the sand, a soft landing. 

“I didn’t know it could be like this,” he rasps after a moment. 

“Like what?” 

“Peaceful.” The second James says it, he winces at how cheesy he sounds. 

But Regulus just smiles, his cheeks a little rosy. “So I wasn’t bad then?”

In response, James leans into Regulus for another kiss. It’s slower this time, and James can feel his body and his mind working in tandem for once, wanting Regulus, loving Regulus together. 

Because he does love Regulus, James realizes. He loves him like a pen pal, like a friend, and if the tingle in his lips, the twitch of his dick is anything to go by, then fuck , like a lover. 

James manages to pull himself off of Regulus, sliding to the side with a wide grin. “I love you too.”

“I know, you’ve said.” Regulus licks his lips, his eyes darting around as if only taking in the craft house now. 

“No I mean—I think I’m in love with you.”

“You sound so sure,” Regulus says flatly. 

“It’s a recent development, but Pandora—” James laughs. “Pandora helped me understand that I don’t have to…”

“What?”

“ Earn love.”

Regulus’ gaze softens, and James can almost see his assumptions fall away, clarity resounding in that magnificent brain of his. “Oh, Jamie.”

James takes Regulus’ face in his hands and laughs, scolding himself. “I’ve wasted so much time.”

Regulus frowns, then, as if that wasn’t sufficient, scowls. “None of it was a waste.”

“You’re right.” James kisses him again. Then once more just to bask in the face that he gets to, that he understands now how much he’s wanted to. “You’re always right, Reggie.”