Warm

“So, you and James, huh?” Pettigrew taunted as he fell into step with Regulus, Lupin slotting in on his other side. Both prats were grinning ear to ear.

Much to his friends’ exasperation, Regulus had been avoiding all of the Marauders for the past week. He pretended that it was because he didn’t want to come on too strong and wanted to make the development of the false friendships seem more real, but he was sure they all saw right through it. In truth, he had been avoiding this conversation.

You know what they say, though: when in doubt; deny, deny, deny.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, you prick.”

“I think you do-o.” Pettigrew replied in a sing-song voice.

“Lay off him a bit Wormy. He’s probably got as much Pureblood guilt as Pads did.” Lupin said, but he was still grinning.

“Ah yes,” Pettigrew said, adopting a reminiscent tone. “The dramatic gay shame-spiral days. What a time.”

“I’m not gay.” Regulus hissed. He had been planning for them to know at some point but he absolutely didn’t want them announcing it in the halls. “And keep your voices down.”

“We’ll keep it to ourselves until you’re ready.” Lupin promised, a knot of tension uncurling in Regulus’s stomach. “And that’s not exactly what we were talking about, anyway.”

“He’s right.” Pettigrew sobered up a bit. “We were talking about James.”

The more serious tone set Regulus on edge. “What about him?”

“He’s been sad since you stood him up on your little Quidditch date.” Pettigrew answered.

Regulus abruptly stopped walking.

“What?” Lupin asked, the two Gryffindors stopping too.

“There is so much to unpack in that sentence that I am unsure where to start.”

The older boys exchanged a look.

“Well go on, then.” Pettigrew said, gesturing to him.

Regulus looked around briefly before spotting an empty abandoned classroom a few paces ahead of them. He strode towards it, absently aware of the other two following. When they got inside, he shot a couple silencing spells and other privacy wards at the door, before finally turning his attention to the Gryffindors.

“Number one, I am not gay.” He reiterated, lying through his teeth to keep up the conflicted façade. Neither of them looked like they believed him in the slightest. Not that it really mattered as long as they kept it to themselves.

“Number two, I am not dating Potter. If I were, I am sure you would already know, because he would no doubt be as insufferable about it as he is everything else.” Pettigrew chuckled a little but the beginnings of a frown crept onto Lupin’s face.

“Number three, we don’t have ‘Quidditch dates’. We both play Quidditch and sometimes our practices overlap. If you don’t believe me, feel free to ask Meadowes or Vance as they most often accompany me. And number three-point-five: I have never scheduled anything with Potter a day in my life.” At this, Lupin frowned deeper and Pettigrew’s grin dropped, confusion colouring his face.

“Number four, I haven’t the faintest idea why you think I would care if Potter is sad. Nor do I even believe that Potter is, in fact, sad, seeing as I know him about as well as I know either of you – which is to say not very well. Subsequently, I can’t see any reason that Potter would be sad in the face of my absence.” His audience exchanged another look, this one far more sombre.

“And finally, I didn’t ‘stand him up’, given the fact that we had no plans in the first place.” Regulus finished cuttingly. “So, I will not apologise for failing to wake up at the arse-crack of dawn on my relaxing weekend, simply to make Potter happy.”

There was a long pause.

“I see.” Lupin said eventually.

“Are we done then?” Regulus asked, unsure why he was being quite so harsh. Sure, he had to play up some resistance to make the whole thing believable but he didn’t have to be quite so… defensive.

“Not quite.” Lupin began. “Are you telling me that ‘Quidditch practice’ wasn’t a euphemism and you were, in fact, practicing on opposite ends of the field for the past month?”

“A euphemism?” Regulus repeated in genuine shock. “Why, in the name of Merlin’s saggy tits, would it be a euphemism?”

“Ah,” he replied. “Definitely not a euphemism, then.”

“So, you’re really not seeing each other?” Pettigrew asked, looking baffled. He didn’t wait for a response from Regulus before turning to his friend. “Then why has Prongs been so…?”

“I’m not sure.” Lupin frowned.

Pettigrew turned back to Regulus. “Why the fuck are you not together when you both clearly like each other?” He asked bluntly.

“Pete!”

“I watched you and Sirius dance around each other for five years, I can’t bloody do it again, Moony. I just can’t.” Pettigrew bemoaned with a haunted look in his eyes.

Lupin hit him lightly on the arm. “Look, Regulus, do what you want, of course, but if you did happen to want to go there with James, just know you’re in for a good chance, yeah? Let’s call it insider information.”

Regulus blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

“Are you… Are you encouraging me to seduce my brother’s – your boyfriend’s – best friend?”

Lupin paused. “Maybe a little.”

“Maybe a lot.” Pettigrew corrected. “Go for it! Do all the seducing! Have at him – he’s easy as fuck! All you have to do is compliment him once and he’ll be down bad, I swear!”

“Peter!” Lupin reprimanded.

“I’m not going to compliment him.” Regulus said dumbly.

“Even better!” Pettigrew exclaimed. “He likes when people are mean to him! I’ve been trying to figure out for years if it’s a psychological thing or a sexual thing. At the moment, I’m leaning towards both.”

“Oh my god.” Lupin muttered, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“And his cock is huge, if that’s something you’re after. I’ve seen it myself!”

“Peter Patrick Pettigrew!”

“What? That’s something people are into, right? Big cocks? I wouldn’t know myself.”

“I regret everything that led to this moment.” Regulus said blankly.

“Me too.” Lupin commiserated. He shot a silencing spell right at Pettigrew. “That’s enough out of you.”

Then he turned back to Regulus. “Just think about what I said, okay?” He glanced at his friend. “And forget everything he said.”

“I’m honestly not sure I can.”

Lupin grimaced. “Me neither.”

A beat.

“His cock is rather big, though.”

*

“How big?” Barty asked interestedly.

“I didn’t ask!” Regulus exclaimed.

Barty frowned, looking put out. “Why didn’t you ask? You can’t tell me you don’t want to know. Even I want to know.”

“Maybe he wants to find out first-hand?” Emmeline suggested.

Barty perked up again. “You’re probably right. Reg already wanted to climb Potter like a tree.”

“Does this mean the plan’s back on, or what?” Dorcas asked from where she was filing her nails.

They all looked at Regulus expectantly.

“…Yes.”

“You do want that big dick!” Barty yelled triumphantly.

“I want revenge on Sirius.” Regulus insisted.

“Sure, sure, that’s all this is about.” Evan smirked at him.

Pandora took pity on him and redirected the conversation. “So, what are our next steps?”

Emmeline shrugged. “Full steam ahead, I say. I reckon now it’s out in the open that you’re friends with that lot, we can start finding excuses for you to hang out with them just casually.”

“And get to climbing Potter ASAP.” Barty added with a sly grin.

Emmeline grinned back. “That too.”

“You’re insufferable.” Regulus glared.

Barty smiled sweetly at him. “I prefer impertinent, sweetheart.”

“Choke.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Right!” Evan interrupted tightly. Regulus shot him a quick look of apology. “Let’s get back to plotting the demise of your brother’s mental stability.”

*

Against his better judgement, Regulus found himself trudging towards the Quidditch pitch once again on an early Saturday morning, though this time, he was alone. His friends had insisted it was time to graduate to one-on-one seduction and Regulus found himself reluctantly agreeing.

He arrived at the pitch at around quarter past five, broom in hand, and was greeted with the now-familiar sight of Potter already practicing away. On this occasion, he appeared to be practicing his shooting as he sent a quaffle flying towards the goal.

He was wearing his obscenely tight quidditch uniform once again, unruly hair whipping in the cold breeze. He shot towards the hoop at breakneck speed, the ball raised high in his right hand as he lobbed it forwards.

For the first time ever, Regulus watched the quaffle bounce off the edge of the hoop as James Potter missed a shot. James Potter missed.

Statistically speaking, he had to miss at least occasionally, Regulus knew that. But in all his years of playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, Potter had yet to miss a shot in a game that hadn’t been saved or intercepted. Even in the practices Regulus had witnessed, every shot Potter took seemed to sail straight through the goal. Except today, apparently.

Potter dived after the falling ball, catching it seamlessly and circling back around for second shot.

He missed again.

It was so immensely disconcerting to watch that simply Regulus couldn’t stand by. He made his way further onto the pitch, hoping to catch the boy’s attention. Sure enough, the movement attracted Potter’s eye and he came sailing over to Regulus without a moment’s hesitation, dropping the quaffle at their feet.

“You’re back!” He exclaimed, practically tripping over himself to dismount his broom.

“By popular demand, apparently.”

The Gryffindor froze, one leg still in the air. “Which one of my friends was it?”

“Pettigrew and Lupin.” Regulus revealed with a smirk.

Potter set his foot down, swearing quietly. “Whatever they said was probably bullshit. They’re both pricks.”

“So, you don’t have a big cock, then?” Regulus wasn’t sure what possessed him to say that but his mouth seemed to run wild around the other boy.

Potter’s eyes widened dramatically and his face paled; Regulus was vaguely reminded of a startled deer. “They did not say that.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Potter swore again. “I’m going to kill Peter!”

“How did you know it was Pettigrew?” Regulus asked curiously.

Potter just raised an eyebrow at him in response.

“That’s fair.” Regulus conceded – it wasn’t hard to guess. “Though technically speaking, Lupin said it too. Just… after the damage was done.”

Potter dramatically tilted his head skyward. “This is it. I’m going to Azkaban for murder. I won’t last two seconds there.”

“Oh please,” Regulus denied. “You don’t have the stomach for murder. You wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone your dearest friends.”

“I’ll have you know I killed a spider in cold blood the other day.” Potter quipped, abruptly calming down.

“What a monster you are.” Regulus deadpanned. “I bet you felt guilty immediately after.”

Potter grinned at him. “We might have had a small funeral ceremony as I flushed Spencer the spider down the toilet.”

“Of course, you did. Only you, Potter.” Was this banter? Regulus felt like it was banter.

Potter chuckled lightly. He looked radiant in the morning sun, brown eyes glinting in the light as they met Regulus’s grey ones. It took a few moments for him to realise he was staring. Luckily, the other boy hadn’t seemed to notice.

“Whatever they said, I mean it when I say it was probably bullshit. They like to fuck with me.” Regulus remembered Pettigrew and Lupin encouraging him to pursue Potter and his heart sunk a little at the notion of that being bullshit. He violently shook the feeling off.

“And here I was hoping that your dick was, in fact, big.”

Regulus expected Potter to laugh it off or make another joke. Afterall, the older boy was hardly a stranger to crude jokes given the fact that he was a Gryffindor. And with half the school lusting after him, it was nowhere near the first time someone had made such a comment. Instead, though, something truly incredible happened.

He blushed.

That’s right. James Potter, Golden Heartthrob, Player, Dick-Joke Extraordinaire blushed. James Potter the arrogant, immature, loudmouthed flirt blushed. James Potter blushed.

It was a sight to see really.

Unlike the stark contrast of a blush on Regulus’ own pale skin, the flood of colour was subtle on Potter. Just a touch of heat warming his already dark skin. The flush kissed the tip of his nose and dusted his cheeks lightly, emphasising his high cheekbones and warm complexion. It was absolutely fascinating to look at and Regulus found himself utterly transfixed.

“I– I mean– That is to say…” He sputtered gracelessly before slumping in defeat. “I’m not going to answer that.” His eyes darted anywhere but Regulus’ face.

“The Great James Potter: embarrassed. I wasn’t sure that was possible.” Regulus remarked in amazement, eyes still glued to the blushing boy in front of him.

“I’m just–”

“Incredibly flustered? Yes, it appears so.” Regulus smirked at him.

His blush deepened. How intriguing.

Potter brought the hand not clutching his broom to his face in a poor attempt to hide his flush. “Kill me now.”

“You’d have to take me to dinner first.” Regulus quipped. He watched in fascination as the tips of Potter’s ears reddened too.

“Wa– Was that an orgasm joke?” Potter stammered. “Le petit mort?” He continued in a truly abominable French accent.

“Yes, was it too much for you?” Regulus asked, his tone sugary sweet. “We can go slow if you’d like.”

“Godric.”

“My name’s Regulus, actually.”

Potter made a small whimpering sound. Regulus wanted to hear it again.

“I should get back to practice!” Potter burst out suddenly, a little too loud. His voice cracked in the middle and he flailed his arms about awkwardly.

“That’s too bad.” Regulus pouted. “I was having so much fun.”

So quickly he almost missed it, Potter’s eyes flicked down to Regulus’s pouting lips. Abruptly, the Gryffindor jerked down to scoop up the quaffle, swiftly swinging his leg over his broom.

“Good talk!” He squeaked before taking off, more clumsily than Regulus had ever seen him on a broom. He rushed straight over to the South hoops, shooting the quaffle once again.

It sailed cleanly through the goal.

*

Regulus barely practiced at all over the next couple of hours, spending most of his time following Potter with his eyes rather than the snitch.

Potter’s practice seemed to be going much better now. The shots he made returned to his usual standard, racking up goal after goal. The only time he fumbled at all was when he glanced in Regulus’s direction and made direct eye contact.

Regulus didn’t bother trying to hide his staring after that.

After some time, Potter moved on to passing drills, charming the quaffle to return to him after he passed it away, as well as casting a strange spell that Regulus had never seen until he began these practices. It was genius really – brightly-coloured balls of light appeared seemingly randomly in the air, and Potter used them as substitutes for other players so that he could practice his aim in passing the ball with no-one there at all. Genius. And given Potter’s propensity for creative spell-use as part of his near constant pranking, Regulus had a sneaking suspicion that he had created the spell himself.

A quick Tempus told Regulus that it was approaching eight ‘o’ clock and Potter did not appear to be slowing down at all. Remembering Pettigrew’s shit-stirring suggestion a couple weeks ago, Regulus pocketed the snitch he hadn’t really been using and guided his broom over to Potter’s half of the pitch.

The Gryffindor’s head turned in Regulus’s direction as he approached, not even looking away to catch the ball as it came sailing over. “What’s up?” He asked, breathlessly, readying himself to send the ball off again.

“It’s breakfast time.” Regulus drawled.

Potter visibly paused, avoiding eye-contact. “I think I’ll stay for a tad longer but you go ahead.”

Regulus gave him a hard look. “Give me the quaffle, Potter.”

“It’s really okay.” Potter tried, a bright smile on his face as he threw the ball again. The grin looked strange to Regulus – just a little too bright. “I promise I’ll grab some food in a bit.”

“Not going to work.” The ball flew back towards Potter who caught it smoothly. “Give me the quaffle.”

Potter hesitated. He stared at Regulus. Regulus stared back at him. Then Potter tossed the ball at a bright pink ball of light that appeared on his left.

“Potter I swear to Merlin.”

He caught it again, then shot it towards a green light.

“Potter!”

The ball sailed towards a red light before returning to his hands.

“James. Now.”

Unexpectedly, the quaffle flew towards Regulus, who scrambled to catch it, barely managing.

Potter’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped in shock. The startled deer look was back.

“… You didn’t mean to do that, did you?”

He opened his mouth then closed it again. It took a second for him to respond. “It was instinct – I mean, you called my name and I just– you… I… It sounded just like in practice! Yeah, that’s it! Well, not this practice. I mean Gryffindor practice. Not that this practice isn’t nice! It’s just different, you know! I mean, I’m sure you know – Slytherin practice is probably different too. But, like, a different different. If that makes sense. I think it does. And speaking of practice – I should get back to that! Pass me the quaffle, would you?”

Regulus blinked. “No.”

Without another word, he flew down to put both the quaffle and his pocketed snitch away. Sighing in defeat, Potter followed his lead. They grabbed their things and headed off in the direction of the castle in a surprisingly companionable silence. Potter was determinedly not looking at him, but emboldened by the other boy’s earlier reactions, Regulus took the opportunity to look his fill (an opportunity the younger boy didn’t often allow himself).

The other boy was taller than him by barely an inch, but far broader, especially at the shoulders. His hair was slightly damp from sweat and Regulus was struck with the desire to curl his fingers in the wind-tossed curls. His brown eyes always seemed so warm to Regulus, but in the early morning sun, they looked sweet like honey. His mouth seemed permanently set in a small, pleasant smile that widened into a full grin at any given opportunity. And his lips were chapped from the wind; Regulus wondered how they’d feel against his own.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Potter said at a whisper for no apparent reason.

“Like what?” Regulus whispered back for the hell of it.

Potter clamped his mouth shut and looked away again, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

It was interesting that Potter was perfectly fine flirting up a storm with Regulus, but the moment he flirted back, the Gryffindor clammed up and aborted altogether.

On silent agreement the two headed straight for the Great Hall even despite still carrying their brooms and bags. It’s not like it was particularly busy at breakfast on a Saturday morning since most students opted to sleep right through it; they would have plenty of space to dump their things. Dorcas, Emmeline and Evan, for instance, were likely still asleep. Meanwhile, Barty, Pandora and Regulus were the early risers of their group. Regulus absently wondered about Potter’s friends – Sirius had always preferred a late start, perhaps the others were the same.

Then, it occurred to Regulus: he was posing as their friend and it would be completely normal of him to just ask.

“Potter.” He began.

“…Yes?” The older boy asked with a small of amount of trepidation.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “You are evidently an early riser. I was wondering whether your friends are the same.”

“You mean, our mutual friends.” Potter said, relaxing a bit.

“Just answer the question, Potter.” He warned.

The Gryffindor sent him a sidelong grin. “Moony likes to sleep a lot so he probably won’t wake up until right before you guys’ study group thing. Pads likes to sleep in at any given opportunity, which I’m sure you already knew. And Wormy tends to sleep in on the weekends but he’s generally an early-ish riser otherwise – I never really have to wake him up like I do the others.”

Regulus processed that for a few moments, nodding in acknowledgement.

“Also, not sure if you’re interested, but Mare and Marls sleep like logs for as long as possible, and Lils is a fairly early riser despite not being a morning person in the slightest.” He continued. “Then there’s Gid and Fab–”

Regulus could not give less of a shit. “–And you?” He interrupted quite rudely. Once again, Potter did not seem bothered by Regulus’s behaviour.

“You already know I’m an early riser.”

“Yes, but surely you don’t awaken this early every day. Elaborate.” He instructed.

Potter’s smile turned into an amused smirk. “My sleep schedule’s a bit… disturbed due to some… activities I partake in.” He began.

“You mean pranks.”

“Possibly.” He said innocently. “But there’s also Quidditch practice in there too. So, it really depends, but widely speaking, I wake up between four and seven, and most often, it’s around five thirty to six. And much to my friends’ annoyance, I am the only true morning person of the group.”

“How much sleep do you get?”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “Between five and seven hours.” Which, honestly was pretty good for a sixteen-year old. “And you?” He shot back, a curious look in his eye.

“I get approximately five to seven hours of sleep also, though I most consistently wake up at six. I consider myself an early riser, though morning person would be a bit of a stretch.”

Potter nodded in understanding. “And your friends?”

Regulus raised an eyebrow this. “And you care because…?”

Potter shrugged. “Just humour me.”

So, Regulus did.

“Huh, I would have thought Crouch and Rosier would be the other way round.”

Regulus allowed himself the faintest of smiles. “I thought so too at first. But it does make sense – Barty has far more energy, and thus, I’m sure you can imagine him bursting out of bed at the crack of dawn. Meanwhile, Evan is more settled and prefers to sleep in.”

Potter chuckled. “Oh yeah, that makes total sense.”

Their conversation came to a halt as they reached the entrance to the Great Hall.

“So which table–?”

“Slytherin.” Regulus answered immediately, not pausing for a second and walking straight over.

“Are you sure? I can just sit over–”

“Come along.” Regulus called, quite certain the Gryffindor was too much of a people pleaser not to follow.

“This feels weird.” Potter muttered as he trailed behind Regulus.

He was clearly not the only one who thought so. A number of heads turned in their direction as they walked, and Regulus spotted a few double-takes as people noticed who exactly the unlikely pair were. Shocked and confused expressions littered the hall, and whispers broke out with every step they took.

Regulus supposed it wasn’t every day you saw Gryffindor’s Golden Boy with Slytherin’s Ice Prince. He could hardly believe it himself.

As they approached the Slytherin table, Regulus spotted Pandora and Barty a little way’s down. They looked as though they had just finished eating and were preparing to go, but upon seeing their friend with Potter, they both settled back into their seats with barely restrained glee. This was certainly going to be interesting.

“Potter.” The nasally, bothersome voice of one Severus Snape spat bitterly as they made their way over. “I wonder, is it your blindness or ineptitude that has you wandering over here like a stray mutt.”

“Snivellus.” Potter greeted back with a nasty smile, coming to a stop which forced Regulus to also. He observed Potter’s expression with interest – that was a new one, much sharper than his usual smiles. “I see no amount of grease in your hair is enough for you slide out of my business.”

Intriguing. Potter could be mean when he really put his mind to it.

“What are you doing with him, Black?” Avery, a thug-like buffoon, called out from beside his friend. “He’s a fucking Blood-traitor.”

“Where is it?” Regulus asked smoothly.

“Where’s what?” The goon replied dumbly.

“Where the fuck I asked for your opinion.” He drawled. Beside him, Potter snorted.

“Let’s keep it moving, Potter.” Regulus prompted, already walking away. Potter followed while snickering quietly. It was rather satisfying to have the Gryffindor obey him unquestioningly.

“Pass me the croissants.” Regulus then said in lieu of a greeting as he dropped into the seat opposite Pandora. He dumped his bag and leaned his broom on one side. Potter gingerly took the open seat opposite Barty, doing the same.

“Reg,” Barty grinned evilly, “it looks like you have a shadow.”

“Yes, now pass me the croissants.”

Barty did not pass him the croissants. Instead, he turned to Potter, a glint in his eye. “What brings a lion cub like you over to the snake pit?”

“Er, Black invited me over.” Potter explained hesitantly. Then he seemed to shake himself off a bit, and his regular swagger returned, a friendly smile appearing on his face. Like a switch had been flipped. “I’m James, by the way, it’s nice to meet you both.”

At this, Pandora raised an eyebrow. “We’ve been going to school together for the past four and a bit years. We know who you are.”

Potter’s easy grin didn’t falter for a second. “Well, yes. But I don’t believe I’ve ever actually had a conversation with either of you, so introductions seemed apt.”

The barest of smiles tugged at her lips. “How sweet.”

Regulus inwardly sighed; he could tell Pandora already found him endearing and it wouldn’t take long for him to win her over.

Barty, on the other hand, was a menace. “That was a rather half-arsed introduction, though I suppose I shouldn’t expect better from a Blood-traitor.”

Potter paused for a second. Then, he turned to Barty and formally held out a hand. “Well met, Heir Bartemius Crouch Junior of the Noble House, Crouch. May Lady Hecate smile upon you. My name is Heir James Potter, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter and to the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell.”

The three Slytherins stared at him in mild surprise for a moment. Potter looked at his hand pointedly. After another second, Barty took the hand and shook it. Potter then held his hand out towards Pandora, palm up as was the proper placement to greet a lady. She dazedly offered her hand and Potter didn’t waste a second before grasping it and bringing it to his lips in a polite kiss.

“And well met Miss Pandora Lestrange of the Ancient and Noble House, Lestrange. May Lady Hecate smile upon you.”

He dropped her hand. Then he reached over by Barty to pick up the plate of croissants and nonchalantly passed it to Regulus before beginning to load up his own plate.

The three Slytherins continued to stare at him in bemusement. Regulus was the first to recover.

“So, you do have manners. You just choose not to use them.” Regulus drawled, secretly surprised that the famously Blood-traitor Potters had taught their son traditional Pureblood greetings.

Potter shrugged inelegantly as he placed some sausages on his plate. “Don’t see the point in all the faff most of the time.”

“Manners aren’t faff.”

Potter grinned lopsidedly, not lifting his attention from filling his plate. “My manners are fine – it’s just the traditional nonsense I have a hard time caring about. Pass me the fried eggs, would you?”

“You’re missing a ‘please’, Mister ‘my manners are fine’.” Regulus drawled.

Potter flicked his eyes up to Regulus, head still tilted down so that his soft brown irises were peering up through his long, thick lashes. “Please.”

Regulus’ pulse jumped excitedly. He forcibly willed down other parts from getting excited.

“Fine, here.” He passed him the eggs, eyeing Potter’s crowded plate. He had practically assembled a Full English by now. “And to think you’ve been skipping breakfast.”

Potter shrugged again, smiling happily as he received the eggs and added them to his plate before digging in.

“Why have you been skipping breakfast?”  Regulus squinted his eyes at Potter.

The Gryffindor held up a finger as he swallowed his mouthful. “No breakfast time means more Quidditch time.”

Regulus frowned. “No breakfast means you’re not fuelling your body properly and likely playing worse.”

Potter studied him for a second before returning to his meal. “If you’re so concerned about the importance of breakfast then eat your croissant.”

Regulus glared at the older boy lightly. Then he took an aggressive bite of his croissant.

Potter turned to Barty and Pandora. “I presume you two have already eaten?”

Regulus started slightly. He had forgotten they were still there and he couldn’t believe that it had taken Potter for him to remember.

“Yes, thank you though James.” Pandora smiled at him sweetly. Potter returned the gesture, sending her a much more genuine and sweeter smile than before. Dammit, she was already calling him James.

Barty, meanwhile, was looking at Potter appraisingly. “I suppose I should have expected you to have some bite.” He lowered his voice so that no-one could overhear them. “It seems Reg has a bit of a type after all. He always did like ‘em feisty.” Barty said with a sharp grin, his tone knowing and full of implication. Regulus resisted the urge to slap him and settled for a glare instead.

Barely perceptible, Potter’s jaw tightened for a split second; it was the only sign the Gryffindor heard at all until he shot Barty a guileless look. “Am I supposed to have a clue what you’re talking about?”

Barty hummed. “He’s a better actor than I thought.” The Slytherin boy said to Regulus. “He definitely has potential.”

“Not when he’s flustered.” Regulus responded, unable to help himself. He was still on a power high from earlier and practically dying to show off his newfound trick.

“Oh?” Pandora asked curiously. Barty made a ‘go on’ gesture.

Quietly, Regulus addressed the Gryffindor in a sweet tone. “James, I find myself thinking you do have a big dick after all.”

Right on cue, a red flush flooded onto the boy’s face as Potter almost choked on his mouthful. He swallowed hastily and dived for some water, raising the glass to cover his face a little. It didn’t help.

“Why– Why would you say that?” The boy whined. Regulus didn’t fully manage to hide his smug smirk.

“Fascinating.” Pandora commented, tilting her head as she observed the older boy.

“Sweet mother of Merlin. Did Potter just blush at a dick joke?” Barty cackled gleefully, his eyes alight. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Me neither.”

“I’m not– I… Godric, fuck, I–”

“Take your time, Potter.” Regulus interrupted in a sugared tone. “I already told you we could go slow.”

Potter put the glass down and buried his face in his hands as the tips of his ears reddened too. “Please stop.” He pleaded in a strangled tone.

“This is the best thing I have ever witnessed.” Barty remarked, still grinning manically. “Do it again.”

“Barty!” Pandora admonished, taking pity on the Gryffindor. “The poor thing looks ready to burst.”

Barty pouted. “You’re no fun.”

She turned to Potter with a gentle smile. “Here, have a cup of tea – that’ll calm you right down. How many sugars?”

“Just one.” He replied in a strained voice, hesitantly bringing his hands down from his still flaming face.

She busied herself fixing him a cup. “So, it’s back to Quidditch practice for you, after this, then?”

“Er yes, we have our first match next week.”

“Against Slytherin, yes I remember.” She nodded. “Any milk?”

“No thanks.”

She nodded and offered him the cup. “So, how are preparations going?”

He took the cup gratefully, his blush already starting to go down. “Thanks for this, Lestrange.” Potter then glanced at Regulus briefly before returning his focus to Pandora. “But, uhm, Black has already seen me practicing and I don’t want to give him much more information.”

Regulus scoffed. “Information or no, we’re still going to beat you.”

The familiar banter seemed to bolster Potter. He grinned cockily even despite the still-fading blush. “Ah yes, just like last year– oh wait, Gryffindor won then. Or was it the year before that? No, no, we beat you then, too. Hmmm. When was the last time Slytherin beat Gryffindor again?”

“You’re such a prick.”

“A big one, apparently.” He smirked.

Regulus frowned, a touch disappointed. “Good recovery.”

“Thank you.” He replied smugly, sipping his tea.

The conversation was a lot smoother after that as Pandora and Potter fell into a light chat about schoolwork and such, Regulus chiming in every once in a while, mostly to tease one of them. Barty, still a little put out, spent half of his time observing Potter and Regulus closely, and the other half attempting to provoke Potter in increasingly ridiculous and overt ways. The Gryffindor did a remarkable job of ignoring him and he seemed primarily focused on charming Pandora.

He succeeded.

By the time Potter’s plate was empty and he was ready to return to the pitch, he had already arranged with Pandora for the two to go looking for Snarkuffles together the following day. Regulus had no idea what a Snarkuffle was and he doubted Potter did either but this did not seem to be an obstacle. A few years ago, Pandora had been getting bullied by some of her housemates for her eccentric interests, and here Potter was not even blinking an eye at the notion of a Snarkuffle hunt. As odd as he found them getting along so well, it warmed Regulus to see.

All too soon, Potter was gone and Regulus was left alone with his friends.

“Date him.” Pandora said as soon as the Gryffindor was out of sight.

“What?” Regulus nearly choked on his pumpkin juice.

“He’s lovely. I want him as my friend.” The Ravenclaw announced. “And he’s practically perfect for you. So, don’t just fuck him. Date him.”

“What?” Regulus repeated incredulously. “He’s not perfect for me.”

“Oh, he definitely is.” Barty jumped in. “As wild as it is to think of you with a Gryffindor – and Potter of all people – he’s basically your perfect match. I mean, he didn’t rise to a single one of my provocations despite that Gryffindor temper of his, but he met you stroke for stroke. It doesn’t take a genius to realise he’s already obsessed with you. And that’s not even to mention the pretty blushing. Your possessive arse is probably thriving under the attention.”

Regulus remembered the intoxicating feeling of being the one to affect Potter so greatly. He could admit to himself that it had been a heady feeling, having a power over the boy that no-one else had.

Then he processed Barty’s wording.

“You think he’s pretty?”

Barty rolled his eyes. “Stand down, I said his blush was pretty.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes in warning. “You don’t get to play with him.”

“Yep, there’s the possessiveness.” Barty muttered to himself. Then to Regulus: “I won’t touch your boytoy, you jealous cunt.”

Regulus nodded in satisfaction. Then, he decided to bring up a thought he had had earlier.

“I think he actually likes me.” Regulus admitted. “You know, with all the blushing and so on.”

The pair stared at him blankly for a second before exchanging incredulous looks. Barty hung his head while Pandora pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Salazar, you’re hopeless.”