Resolutions
Regulus doesn’t talk to James on Tuesday.
Regulus doesn’t talk to James on Wednesday.
Regulus doesn’t talk to James on Thursday.
That’s how he finds himself in his favorite chair in the Slytherin Common Room, huddled in a tiny ball with his knees tucked up to his chest, book propped open on his legs. It’s late, and the common room is almost empty, moonlight from the full moon filtering in through the tall windows near the ceiling. On the lower walls, moonlight reflected through the water from the Black Lake pressed against aquarium-like viewing panels sends an eerie green glow onto the floor.
Pandora is hunched in a corner, writing in a fancy book, which Regulus suspects is a diary. Dorcas is sprawled on the floor by Regulus’s shins, schoolbooks splayed open before them. Barty is on his prefect rounds tonight, and Evan is dramatically draped backward over the arm of a leather couch by the bookshelves, head dangling upside down as he fiddles with the metal rings on his fingers.
“Reggie?” Pandora interrupts after an hour or so of this same routine, waiting for the common room to empty completely. She snaps the diary shut, and Regulus looks up at her. Her blonde curls hang in loose waves, weighted down by a busy day, but her eyes are just as bright as when she woke this morning. “What’s wrong?”
Regulus shrugs, turning back to his book, but by now, Dorcas is in, and they won’t let up until he talks. “Yeah, you have been kind of distant—” Regulus’s jaw clenches, and he shuts his eyes as his friend realizes their mistake, “—shit, I'm sorry, Reggie, that’s not what I mean—” they rush, eyes widening as they sit up to face him.
Regulus shakes his head, tearing his eyes from the black ink on the pages of his book to stare at their green-tipped braids and round jaw. “It’s fine.”
Pandora huffs, moving to sit on the arm of Regulus’s chair, and he shifts instinctually away from her. “Hey,” she says, almost an accusation. “What’s going on with Potter?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, right,” Evan pipes up as Pandora plucks the book from Regulus’s hands. He scowls and grabs at it, but Dorcas bats his hands down as Pandora tosses the book to Evan, who tucks it behind himself.
“We all know this is about Potter,” Dorcas presses, knowing Regulus won’t talk until he’s been pressed and wrung out, but that he absolutely needs it. “Tell me, Reggie.”
“Love, look at me?” Pandora murmurs, and Regulus feels his heart tugging painfully, the pent-up emotion in his chest bubbling to the top of his being. Tears prick the very back of his eyes, but he pushes them down, practiced, though he knows it’s worthless—if anyone can make him cry, it’s Pandora.
“Reg?” Evan says, and Regulus’s head falls back against the headrest of the chair with a diluted thud.
“Not fair—” punches out of his chest, and Pandora reaches out to touch his shoulder. He recoils, and she stops. “Stop it, enough,” he whispers. Ganging up on him, really—
“Cry, Reggie,” Dorcas prompts slightly hypocritically, because they would never, ever do such a thing. “It’s ok,” they whisper comfortingly.
Evan bolts upright, hands flying to his forehead with a quiet, “Oh, shit!” as the dizziness overtakes him, and a tiny smile pulls at Regulus’s lips. Once he’s regained his balance, and the world has stopped moving, Evan smiles. “Is Potter hurting you?”
They all give Regulus a few moments to collect his words. “He’s being so, so awful,” Regulus admits, though he’s not sure why. “I… I had a panic attack the other day after the—the thestrals….”
Understanding washes over his friends, and Dorcas almost looks humored. To their credit, they don’t laugh. “Did he help you, Love?” Pandora prompts, and Regulus doesn’t move, turning his face away from them so all they can see is his red cheek. “And you’re embarrassed.”
“Aw, hell, Reg!” Evan cuts in, too cheery for the mood, but Regulus is grateful.
Dorcas bites their lip, leaning back on their hands, schoolwork totally forgotten. “If he’s being an ass about it, I'm going to grind his dick—”
Regulus rolled his eyes, the thought of James’s dick going away stirring up a very unwanted emotion with him. “It’s not that, he’s just being so… fucking nice.”
Evan gasps dramatically, throwing one hand over his heart and the other over his mouth, gaping mockingly at everyone. “No!”
“Okay, shut the fuck up?” Dorcas snaps, flinging a green felt pillow at Evan’s face, who’s not cackling manically. “What do you mean?” they ask, turning back to Regulus.
Pandora hasn’t said anything, pouting beside him, mind going in a thousand-and-two directions. “He won’t leave me alone after the attack, no matter how much I ignore him! God, I just…. I think I hate him,” he murmurs, “he’s insufferable, and noisy, and picky, and loud, and ignorant, and selfish—”
Evan squints suspiciously at him, and this time, it’s Regulus who throws the pillow, but Evan is ready, and just catches it. Regulus huffs, crossing his arms, not really caring if he’s sulking. For some reason, when matters come to James Potter, things are different, and things that aren’t usually allowed, are suddenly alright. He can’t explain it.
“He follows me around like a lapdog!” he staples with a frown.
He knows Evan will be zero help, as he’s currently staring out the blackened window with a bemused, slightly spaced-out expression, but Pandora and Dorcas at least look like they might be thinking.
“Reg?” He snaps out of his head, locking eyes with a concerned Pandora, who’s staring at him with worry. “Hey?”
“Fine,” he murmurs, standing and tucking his book under his arm, brushing off imaginary dirt from his trousers. “I'm tired, I'm going to bed. Good night,” he nods to all three of his friends, bee lining for the staircase which leads to the boy’s dormitory. He takes it two steps at a time, leaving Pandora and Dorcas alone to tame a much less somber Evan, but he doesn’t look back. He can’t.
James.
Fucking James.
The door to the dorm slams shut heavily behind him, pulling Regulus out of his mind, and he immediately locks it, leaning his forehead against the hard wood. He squeezes his eyes shut until he sees white spots, wrinkling his nose and pinching his forehead. Fuck.
As he cogs through the motions of his nightly routine, folding his clothes neatly, laying out tomorrow’s outfit, amongst other small necessities, lest he fuck up and taint his perfect reputation and be deemed worthless in any sense whatsoever, his vision is decidedly black and blue, the white haze never leaving his clouded over eyes.
Put on night clothes. I hate how James dresses so nice…. No! Shut the fuck up!
Brush hair. I hate James’s messy hair and how it kind of glows blonde in the sun—what?!
Brush teeth. Why does James have such a nice mouth if it’s so awful?
“Oh my god!” he eventually grits out loud, hands clenching on either side of the porcelain sink, toothbrush still gripped in his fingers, wet and untouched. “Just stop thinking about him!” he commands himself, like that’s going to help, looking up at his reflection, who stares back with slightly sunken, bloodshot eyes.
What is wrong with him? Why the hell can’t he get James Potter, the school asshole, the worst bloodtraitor in the Wizarding World, the most stuck-up jerk in the castle, the most obnoxious student of them all, the absolute epitome of—
Shit.
Shit.
What the actual fuck? Regulus takes a calming breath, setting his toothbrush back on the wall between Barty’s and Evan’s, where it always goes. Both Barty and Evan are very good about managing Regulus’s OCD symptoms, and even better about trying to accommodate them, though Regulus has said on many occasions that he doesn’t want to be a burden. They both won’t hear it.
Regulus steps out of the room, staring at the two neatly made beds—the third is a crumpled mess of sheets and pillows and books and other things that Regulus deems trash—Barty’s bed. Attempting to remove his mind from the boy at hand—shit, why did we think about him again?!—Regulus elects to spend several minutes making Barty’s bed, and when he finally reaches his own four-poster, he settles down into it, pulling the covers back over himself. He curls up in a tiny ball in the corner, one pillow tucked between his legs, another under his head, and closes his eyes, listening to the faint conversation from other dorms filtering though the walls, though the castle is mostly asleep by now.
There has to be something, he thinks, something to be done.
It turns out, there is.
And it comes to him in his sleep.
* * *
“James, for fuck’s sake, would you just tell me what’s wrong so I can make it all go away?” Marlene pouts, for once not in the Slytherin dorms, but in the Marauder’s room, where their friend group has gathered for the night at the summons of James Potter.
James throws himself onto Remus’s bed, where Sirius is sitting idly, staring at the werewolf with googly eyes that James surely would have noticed if he hadn’t been so caught up in his own feelings. “Come on,” Sirius prompts, gaze never wavering from Remus, who is having a telepathic conversation with Lily, sitting on Peter’s bed beside the rat. She keeps raising her eyebrows, and for some reason, Mary, who is sitting on Marlene’s lap on James’s bed, can’t take her eyes off the red-head and her lovely freckles.
James only covers his face and screams into his hands. Wormtail perks up, nose twitching in the air, and Lily smiles at the small creature on her thigh. “Is this about Baby Black?” Mary eventually asks, tearing her eyes from the ginger.
“Oi, that’s my baby brother you’re talking about!” Sirius protests, finally looking away from Remus. On the black-haired boy’s lap, James opens one eye, squinting at his friend.
“He’s awful,” James hears himself admit, and a flurry of emotions cross James’s face. “I just… I don’t like his personality, or how he always has fucking perfect table manners—at least you try to be impolite—and—” Sirius preens, apparently taking this as a compliment— “he’s an asshole!”
“He’s—” Sirius starts to argue, but then stops mid-sentence, shrugging halfheartedly in defeat. “Okay.”
“See?!” James drags his palms up his face until they’re tangled in his already messy hair, an almost psychotic glint in his eye.
Across the small dorm, Marlene looks thoroughly unimpressed with James’s antics. “James, we hear about this every week,” she says, punctuating each word with tap of her left palm into her right. She wraps her arms around the small girl on her lap, and Mary smiles, leaning into the touch.
“Hi,” Mary purrs into Marlene’s ear, and Marlene just smiles. James squints at the pair, mind momentarily torn from his Regulus Black problem.
But Marls has a partner—his mind protests. Lily, some ways away, and her previously soft grip on Wormtail has much tightened that the poor rat’s eyes are nearly popping out. This does nothing for James, but Remus apparently notices the same thing, and he raised his eyebrows (which is an expression that James has learned implies that one is surprised.) he must see something James doesn’t, but his attention quickly returns to Regulus Black, who has yet to leave his mind this week.
“Guys, this is a serious problem!” he whines, and Sirius chaffs, immediately whispering, “No, I'm a serious problem!” and everyone sighs.
“Siri, that joke died in, like, first year,” Marlene says, who is still receiving a death-glare from Lily.
“I mean it!” James complains, voice even more whiney this time, and Remus places a placating hand on his shoulder.
“Jamie, it’s alright, we know. Can you first just tell us what’s going on?”
“He won’t talk to me,” he mutters, and only Remus hears.
“Regulus won’t? Why?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know, Moons!” he agonizes, and this time, the whole room hears. “What if he hates me and I don’t know it just because I'm s—”
“Don’t you fucking dare say stupid, you brilliant boy!” Lily counters, and Mary looks up.
James stops and stares. “I don’t know what I did wrong, Lils,” he whispers, and her hardened face melts, rushing over (Peter falls to the ground with a squeak! where he transforms back into a human, massaging his forehead) to where he’s lying to engulf him in a giant hug, which only lasts a second before James gets a little too overwhelmed and has to pull away. She’s not mad, which makes him smile.
“Listen,” she says, cupping his cheek. “You’re not stupid.”
James only nods, and Sirius cuts into the conversation, inching closer to James. “Is he not talking to you, James?” He nods, and Sirius smiles. “Yeah, he did that to me, too, when I first left. Sucks.”
Suddenly, James sits up, needing everyone to stop touching him. “I don’t like when people are angry with me, and I don’t know what I did.” He looks helplessly to Peter, who’s frowning.
“He used to insult you all the time. When did he stop talking to you?” Mary questions, and James shrugs.
“Monday?”
“Do you remember what happened Monday?” Marlene asks, and receives yet another look of impending doom from Lily “Possessively Jealous” Evans.
James rolls his eyes, backing against the headboard of Remus’s bed. “He… he saw the thestrals, he dropped his book—he cried a little…”
“He cried?” Sirius asks, and James nods, suddenly something clicking.
“He’s angry because I saw him cry,” he says, and Remus shakes his head.
“Angry or embarrassed, or both, I don’t know…”
Embarrassed? “But he wasn’t blushing!” James protests. “Blushing is embarrassed, now I can’t tell apart embarrassed and angry, why are faces so hard?!” he complained, punching his leg. Remus gently took his wrist to prevent him hitting himself again.
“I know, James, but you figured it out, just needed some help is all! Nothing wrong with that, is there?” a murmur of assent crossed the room, all nods and “yes’es.”
“Okay,” James whispers. “But that’s still so fucking rude!”
“Well, he’s my brother,” Sirius scoffs, and James laughs, the sound catching to the rest of the room. By the time they’re all quiet, Marlene is on the floor, Remus as an awful stitch in his side, and Mary can’t stop repeating the word, petty! over and over.
“James?” Lily finally asks, and he looks up from the bed. “You should give him the silent treatment!”
“Oh, that’s so mean!” Mary squeals, smacking the ginger’s arm lightly, making Lily blush deeply.
The idea is quickly dismissed the group, who agrees that is a dick move, really, and the girls eventually left for their dorm, giving each of the boys a goodnight kiss on the cheek on their way out.
Peter went to eat before they all met at the Shrieking Shack, Sirius went down to the Hospital Wing to meet Madam Pomfrey with Remus, and James took a long, long shower. As he let the steaming water drizzle down his back, he closed his eyes. Regulus Black. Mean, egotistical, and altogether rude and a bit of an asshole, really…
But…
But…
James felt the water hitting his shoulders, rolling over his back, and after a moment the droplets felt like fingers… long, thin, cold fingers, sending shivers down his spine, onto his thighs… when he felt a familiar heat pooling in his stomach and that tightening in his groin, his eyes flew open. He’s breathing heavily, brows drawn, shoulders tight, everything wrong but still so right.
His hands snaked over his thigh, fingers ghosting over his skin, and shit… slowly, carefully, softly, he wrapped his hand around himself, the sensation of it combined with water pounding gently against his back and over his stomach, drawing a sharp breath from him. He sucked in a breath between his teeth as he stopped thinking and started delicately stroking himself, fighting a groan.
He squeezes lightly, gasping at the sensation, then tightens his grip, milking everything he can out of this, not really caring anymore how long this lasts. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, almost drawing blood and sending a sharp sting down his jaw, but he barely feels it, and it only ebbs him on.
He’s trying so hard not to make noise, not to wake Peter up, but— “Reg—"
What?
His eyes burst open again—he’s not sure when he closed them—and his cock is throbbing painfully in his hand, but it’s nothing compared to the pure terror shooting through his body at the name that just crossed his lips, spilling into the space before him.
Maybe ignoring Regulus Black was the best course of action….
Either way, Prongs was able to put it out of his mind for the rest of the night, and by the time they all transformed back the next morning, panting, sore, and terribly exhausted, it was almost as if the thoughts never even happened.