eyes and potions
Regulus
It’s not that he doesn't notice it. Generally, Regulus is on pretty high alert when it comes to most things. Maybe that’s simply a trait of his own, maybe it comes from growing up in the Black household, where anything you do, any unforeseen boundary that you could cross would result in punishment.
Regulus’s jumpiness may have been the reason why Sirius bore the brunt of their parents’ anger, especially later- but the last person Regulus wants to think about is Sirius. Sirius, who left last year and has hardly glanced back at what he left behind him. He doesn't want to think about Sirius, but he especially does not want to think about Sirius’s best friend. James Potter.
James, whose presence is irritatingly permanent. His hair is perpetually messy, he is perpetually grinning, perpetually high-energy and joyful. Meanwhile, Regulus feels like he is being eroded slowly by some sort of cosmic eraser. James, who laughs brightly and loudly. James, who is as unerringly and unbelievably handsome as he is irritating. James, who is straight as they come and in love with Lily Evans, another joyful Gryffindor who is, perhaps, slightly less obnoxious. James, who he is probably just a little bit in love with.
James, who keeps fucking looking at him.
Regulus tries to pretend not to notice, but he most definitely does.
The first time, Regulus had just won a Quidditch game against Hufflepuff. It had been exhilarating, the new seeker was quite good and their race for snitch had honestly been neck in neck. With flushed cheeks and windswept hair, he jogged over to Evan, who clapped him on the back and offered him a smile.
“Nice one.”
“Yeah, you weren’t bad yourself, Rosier.” He said, and smiled. Then Evan had cracked some joke that Regulus no longer quite remembers, because as he laughed- (which was rather rare from him in public)- he glanced up at the forlorn Hufflepuff team and the people around them, and locked eyes with James Potter, and the grin slid slowly off his face. His hair was, as usual, a mess, and he wore a strangely quizzical expression, as if Regulus was trying to say something to him from far away and he couldn't quite hear. He tilted his head slightly to the side, a whisper of a smile on his face, and that was when Regulus realized he had been looking back at him for far too long.
He turned back to the Slytherin team, and was glad that he could say his cheeks were flushed from the game.
The next time, he wasn’t even doing anything in particular, slouched over coffee in the dining hall after a night of drinking some strange green drink with Barty that left him with an atrocious hangover. He glanced up for a moment, and there was Potter, sitting next to that Lupin boy, resting his chin on his palm and gazing at him with sleepy eyes, like he would rather be doing nothing else. He quickly looked away, and couldnt get those stupid brown eyes out of his head for the rest of breakfast.
Then after that, it was all the damn time. Every single time Regulus noticed James’s presence, James seemed to have already noticed his. They locked eyes on the stairwell, somehow always going in the opposite directions. Any time they passed in the hallway, James’s eyes were on him. In the dining hall, he would meet James’s eyes at least once a day.
Regulus would not call himself a crazy person. Well, no, he wouldn’t call himself an outwardly crazy person. Inwardly, he was definitely quite fucked up. But James, with his stupid grin and his tousled hair and his searching eyes behind those stupid glasses, was going to make Regulus go crazy. Outwardly.
Because aside from the occasional bouts of intense eye contact that had definitely not been there before, James seemed completely and utterly normal. He was still belligerent and outgoing and mischievous and completely obnoxious, laughing loudly with his three friends, or his arm slung over some blonde girl’s shoulder as he tried to talk to Lily, who Regulus could just tell was half intrigued by him and half wanted him to leave her alone.
Yes, everything was completely normal and exactly the same. Except it wasn’t.
Regulus was, yet again, slumped over a cup of black coffee at breakfast idly wondering if someone would pass him the toast without him having to ask for it, and talking to no-one. Almost out of habit- a nasty habit, one which irked him- he glanced towards James’s usual place at the Gryffindor table. James was already looking at him.
But this time, James didn't just look at him, he smiled, almost as if Reg had just told him something amazing, and it lit up his whole face, and Regulus was suddenly furious. How dare James make him have to look away, how dare James make him blush, how dare James be so, so maddeningly beautiful in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows of the great hall?
He stared into the depths of his coffee cup and was furious as about a million questions reared their ugly heads. Why does he keep looking at me like that? Maybe he and Sirius have some sort of in-joke? Or maybe it's some sort of bet? Maybe I just perpetually have something on my face, and nobody in Slytherin or otherwise ever bothers to tell me?
Regulus was incredibly good at acting unphased, but if James kept looking, soon he would see through the cracks of his unbothered facade. He thought about that for the rest of the day.
Then, one evening, to Regulus’s immense surprise, James spoke to him.
It was late, and he was meandering his way back to the dormitory from the library, vaguely bored and taking his time. It was past curfew, but Reg was quite proficient at silent disillusionment charms by now, which came incredibly in handy when strolling along random castle corridors. Reg was, however, so entirely caught up in the notion of James Potter that he didn't notice the actual James Potter until he literally smashed into him, making his prefect rounds.
James chuckled, and it was bright, and he put both hands on Reg’s shoulders to steady him. They were standing awfully close for one moment, before Reg realized he could feel his heartbeat in his throat and took a step back.
James seemed to be incredibly stunned for all of one second before he smiled and said, “Hey, er, Regulus.”
Reg was so startled that he barely managed to scrape an answer together. “Hello,” he managed. James’s hand still lingered on his shoulder, and it was warm. To Regulus’s horror, he felt a blush begin to creep slowly up his neck.
“I'm just going to- er- pretend I didn't see you out here since uh- y'know,” James continued, eloquently. He ran his hand through his hair self consciously, eyes roving over Regulus’s face so much that it was nearly dizzying.
Reg cocked his head and managed a slight smirk. “What do I know, Potter?” Because I certainly don't know why you keep looking at me.
“Just- er- you're my best friend's brother and all that, so, er-i don't really wanna get you in trouble. That would make me a bit of a poor sport wouldn't it?” James ran a hand through his hair again and chuckled, almost to himself. He glanced at the floor, and then back at Reg.
“Doesn't that basically contradict the entire point of being a prefect?” Reg snorts. Why on earth are you looking at me like that?!
For the third time, James runs a hand through his hair, looks away, looks back at Reg as if his eyes are drawn to him like a magnet to the north. “I mean, you’re just headed back to the dormitory, right? Just uh, try to get down there before Filch - or someone else not quite as nice as yours truly- catches you.” A grin from James. Regulus chose to ignore the way it made his stomach flip, and kept his face impassive.
“Right then. Well you make a pretty shite prefect if I do say so myself,” Reg says. Why do you keep looking at me?
“Thanks!” Says James, then, realizing that may not be the appropriate response to being told you are shit at something, furrows his brow slightly. It makes Regulus melt just a little. “Uh- er- no I’m not! I’ve got to be head boy for a reason haven’t I?”
Regulus just shrugs, and turns to walk around James. This ridiculous, heart-palpitation-inducing conversation has gone on long enough. “‘Night, Potter,” he sighs. What do you keep looking at me for?? The question is nearly bursting out of him at this point, but asking would be admitting that he had noticed in the first place. Although, he supposes, he wasn’t exactly obviously oblivious before, either.
“Oh, um, Goodnight, Regulus! Er- Sleep well!” James says, as Reg turns to leave.
Sleep well. To the estranged brother of your best friend. Why?
Regulus thought about James’s hands on his shoulders and his hair and his eyes all the way back to the dormitory, as he got into bed, and as he fell asleep.
And his dreams were even more treacherous than his waking thoughts. They were full of James’s hands, on other parts of him, and his hands were on James too, carding through his hair, and James was sighing, ever so softly into his ear. Regulus woke feeling unmoored.
The next day, in the hallway, he passed James again, surprisingly walking to class alone. Regulus was fully prepared to play their little eye contact game and then keep walking, but James smiled, waved and said, “Hey,” before walking on. Regulus thought his head was going to combust.
And so, their little game continued. The eye contact, Regulus furiously asking himself why, and the greetings- which Regulus noticed were only offered when James was alone. This was all the more perplexing. Did James’ friends not know about his sudden preoccupation?
It was the weekend of Halloween, and Reg was fairly sure about half the castle was pissed in their respective house common rooms. Reg certainly was. Barty had again produced a bottle of some foul green liquid, and Evan had procured some firewhisky, and Dorcas had bought a flagon of Butterbeer with her Seventh year privileges.
The common room was relatively crowded for a slytherin party, he noticed a couple of Ravenclaws dotted around as well. It would have been nice, had Reg not had quite as much firewhisky, and were this girl- some younger slytherin, maybe by the name of Bulstrode?-not flirting with him so obviously. She had very bright red lips, and a lipstick stain on her teeth. She was also talking quite loudly and was certainly very drunk. He sort of wished she’d leave him to sit by the fire and be drunk by himself, but her hand had just recently been placed on his knee, so that didn't seem like it was happening anytime soon.
“Excuse me,” Reg said, and without another word, stood up and left the common room. Sorry Bulstrode. The halls were blissfully quiet as he sort of stumbled this way and that, vaguely wondering where to go before he decided he was hungry, spun on his heel and headed for the kitchens.
Reg liked the kitchens. They always felt like how he supposed a home should feel, smelling like something cooking or baking, a fire blazing in the hearth, house elves chattering to one another. Plus, Reg quite liked house elves. He tried to treat them kindly, because he figured most wizards didn't really think twice about them, plus they were always kind back. They were always honest and caring, and always scrambled to help him when he did go down to the kitchens.
He stepped inside to the delighted squeals of many friendly elves, only to realize, one moment too late, that he was not the only wizard there. James Potter was sitting in front of the fire, on a small, house-elf sized couch, wearing an angel’s halo, wings and a white shirt. Of course he dressed up as an angel, Reg thought. Bet Sirius is the devil. James also seemed to be visibly drunk, considering he was swaying back and forth and humming what sounded suspiciously like ‘Moonage Daydream’ under his breath.
He also hadn't noticed Reg yet, so for a solid thirty seconds, Reg permitted himself, in his drunk state, to lean against the wall and just, look. At the way James’ dark skin glowed gold in the firelight. At the way he beat his hands against his thighs in time with the song he was humming, and then sent little white stars from the tip of his wand with a concentrated look on his face, like he had just learned the trick. At the one curl that swirled directly out the top of his head like a tiny plant was growing there. At his arms, and his legs, and just- James. Regulus, feeling slightly less of an idiot than he normally would simply because he was drunk, smiled and fought the urge to sigh.
Reg decided he wanted James to look at him then, so he said, “Shouldn’t you be off being the centre of attention somewhere, Potter?” In a voice far too kind for someone that infuriatingly beautiful.
James was violently jolted out of his drunken stupor, and looked incredibly frightened for a moment before realizing who was talking to him. As soon as he did, a huge grin lit up his face.
“Regulus!” He slurred, far more confident than the first time he said Reg’s name, but still running his hands through his hair rather obsessively. “Rrrrregulus!” He said again, laughing. “What are you doing here?”
“Ah, just, er-. Drunk and hungry, suppose.”
“Yes! Us too!” James replied, “All the lads are waiting for me! I was supposed to get food.” He finished with a serious look. “But then I sat down, you see, and it’s rather comfortable next to the fire.”
“Ah,” Regulus said. He was a bit distracted, as he always seemed to be when he was around James, by brown eyes behind glasses. At the moment they were reflecting the flames in the fireplace, so it looked, at least to Regulus, like an angel staring into the fiery pits of hell.
“But also, Regulus, do you know I’m rather glad I sat down here?”
The alcohol in his bloodstream making Regulus a bit more able to keep up with James’s own inebriation, Reg asked, “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because you’re here now!” James said, standing up excitedly, swaying slightly, then realizing something. “Where’s your costume?” He looked Reg up and down.
“Oh- er- um-” Reg blustered, feeling far too warm as James looked at him. Because I’m there? What the fuck does that mean? “I don’t really have a costume, I guess.”
“What?! It’s Halloween!” James looked personally offended.
“Yes, yet not everyone shares your immense enthusiasm for it, Potter.”
James pondered something for a moment, before slipping his angel halo off of his head and placing it on Regulus's. Regulus stiffened slightly as James’s fingers lightly grazed the tops of his ears, he felt his face heat up, and tore his eyes away from James’s.
“There. Now you can be an Angel, like me,” James said, eyes fixed on his halo, and then his hair, and then Regulus’s own. His cheeks were slightly pink. It was probably the alcohol.
“Don't really feel I look the part, to be honest with you,” Reg said, gesturing down at his entirely black outfit and slytherin tie. James was standing quite close. He felt rather dizzy, and leaned back against the wall behind him.
“No,” James said, nearly indignantly, “You do! You’ve got- erm- an angelic face.” He slurred, and Regulus felt like he was dissolving. He wasn’t sure if he could take much more of this. An angelic face?!
James swayed slightly closer, like he was going to say something else, but then suddenly changed his mind and drifted back, chuckling softly, bashfully staring at the floor.
But Reg had had enough. Heart in his throat, he finally, finally asked, “James?”
James’s head snapped up, and his eyes began to search Reg’s face as he said, “Yes?”
“Why do you always look at me like that?”
Hands pushed through already tousled hair, adjusting his glasses, being shoved in his pockets. Crooked angel wings and wide eyes for a moment. “Like what?” James was flushed, and regulus’ heart was beating about a million miles an hour.
For a moment, Reg thought that maybe he was crazy. Maybe James had always just been looking, maybe he stared at everyone like that. Maybe James wasn't looking at him in any way at all, and he was the crazy little brother of the all-powerful Sirius motherfucking Black.
Then James swayed closer again, having difficulties standing upright in his intoxicated state, and leaned towards regulus again, like he had some sort of magnetic pull. “You know what I’m talking about,” Reg says, and then feeling brave, makes a list, stepping ever so slightly closer. “The Great hall, all the time, at that quidditch match, in the hallways.” James’s eyes were locked on his own now, like they had found what they were searching for.That stupid perpetual half-grin still hung off his face. Reg felt like he wasn't breathing. “You never used to look at me like- like that. You never used to look at me at all. Now you do.”
And then it was like someone had flicked a switch. James stepped back, ran a hand through his hair, smiled slightly, almost sadly. He then began to stutter rather fluently. “Oh- er- I dunno- erm-,” he laughed slightly, shoved his hands in his pockets, then took them out again and crossed his arms. Regulus fought the urge to grab hold of James’s hands, to hold them in his own just to stop them from moving quite so much.
“Yes?”
But to Reguls’ disappointment, James took another decisive step back. A small, kindly house elf called Tina skittered up to the two of them, informing James his picnic was ready for him. Perfect timing. “Uh, I guess I should probably go. The others might be wondering where I got off to.” Reg watched James, an angel without his halo, run his hand through his hair again and then turn to pick up a small wicker picnic basket. He felt a bit indignant that he had never received a wicker basket from the house elves. Maybe it was a Gryffindor-privilege thing. Maybe it was just a James-privilege thing.
James hefted the basket and said, “Don't get too drunk, alright? Um, and have a happy Halloween, Regulus.”
“Thanks. You still haven't answered my question.”
James stopped, looking like a deer in headlights, and murmured, like he couldn't quite believe he was saying the words, “I honestly don't know why I can’t stop looking at you.” Brown eyes wide, a question in them. “Should I leave you alone?”
A pause, just for a moment, then, as casually as possible, “No.” I like that you look. I like it when you notice me. Which is, perhaps, an extraordinarily pathetic thought to have about your older brother’s straight best friend. But Regulus has never been above pathetic.
“Bye, Regulus,” James grins, swinging the basket back and forth as he walks away.
“Wait- what about your halo?”
“Keep it, suits you better than me anyways.”
“Um- okay. Goodnight.”
And with a spin, a salute, and a smile, James said, “Goodnight!” and walked away.
Regulus stayed in the kitchen for another five minutes before leaving in a daze to make his way back to the common room. He made it halfway before he realized he never got any food.
During the following week, Regulus realized that James’s stares had shifted from something that surprised him to something he anticipated. And somehow, James’s stares had become more deliberate.
Reg would walk into the dining hall, and feel James’s eyes on him from the moment he stepped through the door until he set down. He would grin, immediately, when Regulus looked up. James would wave at him from his seat at the back of the class, the door open to the hallway as some professor droned on up front.
Then, in the surprising way that only James seemed to possess, he waved to Regulus one day whilst walking down the corridor with Sirius and Lupin and Pettigrew. Regulus had assumed upon first sighting the four of them that they would simply pass him by, perhaps with a glance or a nod from Sirius. No, the four of them, swaggering their way along like they owned the ground they walked on, (Sirius was definitely the best at this feat, with James and that Pettigrew fellow in close second. Lupin looked more like he was renting the ground for a steep price and rather wanted to get some use out of it) had passed him by in the hallway, walking to class with Dorcas, when James noticed him, perked up and waved, saying, “Hey Regulus!”
Sirius was so surprised that he stopped in his tracks and stared at James like he had just sprouted a pair of antlers. Even Lupin looked at him rather curiously, then glanced over at Regulus.
Regulus was so baffled he was only able to raise his hand once in greeting as Dorcas snickered, wondered aloud, “what the fuck is up with Potter?”, flicked her long locs over her shoulder and continued to talk to him about the inadequacies of the History of Magic in its coverage of the witches rights movement.
Regulus had not spoken to any of his friends about James, and his eyes, that were so adept at finding his own. He guessed that he would never hear the end of it if he actually mentioned anything, so he didn't. Barty would sigh in mock heartbreak, Evan would make some dumb joke, Dorcas would just roll her eyes at him, forever unbothered about the affairs of anyone and everyone, in the nicest way possible. They would definitely all tease him.
He thought, just for a fleeting moment, how James’s friends would react if they knew- well. If they knew that James paid a little bit more attention to Regulus than he should. Regulus still wondered- was it for Sirius’s sake that he was doing this? Some nice-boy ploy to win his best friend his brother back by being charming?
Regulus just let him look. He didn't mind. It meant he could look back.
He wondered, though, what it would be like to touch.
James
James Potter is many things. He is kind (or so he thinks), and he’s funny (or so he thinks), he’s captain of the gryffindor quidditch team, he's head boy, he’s in love with lily evans, he has the best friends in the entire world. James Potter has never been an angry person, would never classify himself as one.
But when James leaves the potions classroom, Remus in tow, he is fuming. Except even worse, he can’t talk to anyone about it. Because he should not be this angry over a potion. It’s a love potion, for chrissakes. And you’re gonna tell yourself that this doesn't matter, that you shouldn't get worked up?
You smell around three things, when you smell amortentia. James smells freshly cut grass, oranges, and fucking Regulus.
Not being able to take his eyes off of him was one thing. He’s beautiful, nice to look at in the way a statue is nice to look at. Sure, it’s confusing, and sure, his stomach swooped every time Regulus’s eyes met his, but James figured it was more the embarrassment of being caught staring more than anything else.
But the amortentia was just a bit too fucking much, thanks. What the fuck is wrong with me? Smelling some random bloke in amortentia? Maybe my nose is broken or something?
He didn't need the smell of regulus’s hair, something slightly sweet and soft and green filling up the entire dungeon, making it impossible to concentrate because he kept thinking about that time in the hallway or halloween, when regulus had said his name like it was made for his mouth.
He certainly didn't need this current situation, where inwardly he is panicking but needs to appear fine. James is not good at secrets. Especially not ones about himself, because those are the easiest to tell.
He doesn't realize Remus has asked him a question until he snaps his fingers in front of james’ face, saying, “Oi! James? I asked whether you were alright? You kinda seem to have gone a bit funny since the beginning of that lesson.”
James tried to laugh it off, “Er- yeah, no, I’m totally alright moony.” No I’m fucking not!! I smell Regulus Black’s hair when I smell amortentia! I cannot stop watching him because I think I'm becoming addicted to his face! I am heavily considering the fact that I may have been poisoned!
“Okay…” Remus said, hefting a rather large bag of books up further on his shoulder.
I wonder if it’s normal to smell a random person when you smell amortentia. Maybe it wasn't even really regulus. Maybe the smell just reminded me of him. A bit too late, James realized Remus had said something again. “Er-what?”
“I just asked whether you-um- fancied coming to the library for a bit this evening.”
It was a rather odd question of Remus to ask, all things considered. Most of the time Remus was adamant about studying alone or with Marlene or Lily. “Sure mate, but aren’t you always banging on about how you hate studying with me? I’m too distracting apparently,” James joked, nudging Remus with his elbow.
“Yeah, but I need help with uh, transfiguration,” Remus said, sounding quite a bit unsure of the statement himself, “and you’re always great at it so I figured you could help.”
“Oh,” James said, grinning and feeling rather flattered, “Sirius and I were just going to go have a fly about the quidditch pitch later but I suppose I can just ask him if he fancies coming to the library first-”
“-No, no don’t- um- could you come alone?” Remus interrupted nervously.
Now James was properly perplexed. “What’s going on Moony? You never want my help with anything, mainly ‘cause you don't need it, and now you don't want to hang around with Pads? Are you sure you’re alright? Because now I’m thinking you’re acting a bit funny.”
“I’m fine, James, I just want to- uh- get this conversation- transfiguration! I meant transfiguration- over with. He’ll just distract the both of us-”
“Oi! I can stay focused if I need to, thank you very much,” James said, “Especially if-” He broke off, as they turned a corner to see none other than Regulus Black walking towards them. Regulus was already looking at James, blue eyes fixed on him. James couldn't help himself, and said, “Hi,” as he walked past, stomach flipping.
One would think that after seven years James would be used to the sight of Regulus, all dark curls in his eyes and perfect posture and- well- his general nice-to-look-at-ness. But each time James saw him, there was hope for what was going to come next.
Sometimes when Regulus walked into the Great hall he would be in a good mood and quirk his mouth up slightly when James smiled at him. He knew it was going to happen because Regulus would walk in with a spring in his step. Sometimes he dragged his feet, and would reach straight for the coffee, and be unable to hold eye contact so would continuously keep glancing up at James like he was just a little bit scared of what he would see.
“Hello,” Reg said, face unreadable, but still lovely.
James thought he looked like a Michelangelo painting, or maybe a statue. Strangely, he fought the urge to tell Regulus that he had smelled him in the amortentia he had brewed.
They walked on, Remus now looking at him with incredulity. “What the fuck is that all about anyways? Why d’you keep saying hi to him?”
Usure of how to respond, thinking of Regulus wearing his halo on halloween, asking something similar, James could only shrug. He couldn’t quite wipe the grin off of his face though. Something about seeing how disgruntled his greetings made Regulus made James want to laugh out loud. Remus just rolled his eyes and shook his head, exasperated as per usual.
Later, after a dinner full of the typical tiny bouts of eye contact with a certain someone at the slytherin table, (and the typical gymnastic routine his stomach seemed to perform each damn time,) James realized the extent of what Remus had asked him. He, James Potter, was supposed to ditch Sirius Black somehow, and go help Remus with transfiguration. Sirius, who was currently babbling excitedly to Peter about the new Bowie record he was expecting to receive from Andromeda, and who would almost certainly be at least a little wounded that James was blowing him off.
So James attempted to slowly sidle his way to the corridor off to the right.
“James, where are you going? Common room’s this way?” Sirius laughed, hands shoved into his pockets.
“Oh er- I need to go help Remus with something.”
At the mention of their friend’s name, Sirius perked up in a way that was so distinctly dog-like James had to hold back laughter. “What does he need help with? Is he okay? Can I come?”
Unsure of how to proceed, James replied, slowly, “He-uh-he wanted me to come alone, said you were too distracting.”
“Oh.” James could almost see the ears droop and the tail stop wagging.
“Sorry pads, I’ll come to the pitch after though, yeah?”
“Yeah, suppose so.” Huffily, Sirius flicked his hair over his shoulder. James always found it incredibly amusing when Sirius acted hurt like this, knowing he would forget about it in all of five minutes when the next exciting thing came around. Peter always looked a bit frightened. Remus just got annoyed.
So after another apology, James turned and made his way towards the library, thinking idly of Regulus and where he was and whether it was incredibly strange to pinpoint his whereabouts on the marauders map, a thought which made his stomach flip. He wondered if there was something wrong with him, and then his thoughts cascaded back to what they usually did when he thought too hard: Why did he think about the damn boy so much? Why had he smelled him in the amortentia?
Remus was already sitting at his regular table, sleeves rolled up and scribbling away at a scroll, transfiguration book open in front of him. He only looked up once James plonked himself down in the chair opposite him, a strangely grim look on his face.
“You alright?” James smiled. “Was a proper battle getting away from pads, he got all irritated when I told him you didn't want him to come, promised to not be distracting, et cetera et cetera.”
“Ah. Good on you for not giving into the bloke’s pouting.” A tight smile.
“What’s up Remus? What did you need help with?”
Remus looked confused for a moment. “What?”
“The- the transfiguration. That you said I needed to come help you with.”
Remus looked down at his essay and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Then, coming out almost so garbled, James couldn't understand it, “I don’t really need help with transfiguration.”
“Oh. Bloody well knew you didn’t. You’re better than me at every subject.” Privately, James was a little surprised. “ What’d you bring me here for then?”
“I need to ask you something. Well- er- no- I- I sort of need to tell you something. But also ask you something. But I brought you here because- because I just wanted it to be you, James.”
Remus looked so serious it was starting to worry him, so James joked, “What, you gonna confess your undying love for me or something?” He laughed. “I thought we were already star crossed lovers, my dear moony!”
Remus smiled back, but it was forced. “James- “
“Yes?”
A long pause. Remus looked a bit as though he had stopped breathing, and right as James went to say something, Remus spoke. “What if- what if I liked boys?” Remus’s voice wobbled, and came out very quiet, and he gazed steadfastly down at the parchment, his knee bobbing up and down erratically. James realized, suddenly, what he meant.
“Like- like-”
“Yeah, james. What if I was- y’know- gay?” The words coming out small and full of fear. James’s mind- ever in a million different places, couldn’t help but think about how shite that initial joke had been. What if this really is a love confession?
“Wait- are you about to tell me you’re in love with me? Because Remus you might have to give me a minute. Like, that would be very very cool and all, but I don’t- er- well-” James scrambled for something to say, “I don't know if I’m in love with you mate, I’m sorry but I just- er- I mean- we could kiss and figure it out? I’d kiss you. Well-” Then after thinking about it for a moment, looking at Remus who was now staring at him, “No- yeah I would totally kiss you. I just dont think I’m in love with you, I’m sorry. You know how I feel about Lily, mate. Not that you dont- er- compare, it’s just that like-”
“James!” Remus interrupted, smiling slightly now. “I’m not trying to confess my love for you, you dolt.”
Feeling rather ridiculous, James let out a quiet, “Oh. But- but you’re- er- you’re gay?”
Blushing now, looking back at his essay like he couldn't quite meet James’ eyes again, Remus whispered, “Yeah.” For the smallest moment, he opened his mouth like he was going to say something.
James, mind reeling, realized something. It was hidden in the way Remus looked down at his parchment and blushed, like how he would do now and again when Sirius would lean across him, hands on his shoulders to say something to James in the great hall. It was how, during full moons, Moony just couldn't seem to leave Padfoot alone. It was how whenever Sirius walked into a room Remus’s eyes would get caught on him- it was how Remus did not, under any circumstances, want to have this conversation with Sirius.
“Hey, Moony?”
Remus, still blushing, looked at James. “Yes?”
“That’s cool.”
Remus smiled, and his leg stopped bouncing up and down. James smiled back, and then being unable to resist it, said, “You fancy Sirius, don’t you?” Leaning in, nudging Remus with his elbow.
Remus’s grin promptly vanished, and he went white as a sheet. “Is it that obvious?” He said, quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
James chuckled, but said, “Nah. It’s just after you told me that I thought about it. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.”
“James, you have to swear it. Fucking promise me. I- I know you’re shite at keeping secrets but please, please, don’t tell Sirius. He can’t find out, james-”
Remus looked so distraught that James had to interrupt. “Hey! Moony, trust me, I won't utter a word. Promise.”
A grateful smile from Remus, then, softly, “Thanks, James.”
James gave him a great bear hug at that, heart full for his sweet, tall friend, who laughed but hugged him back. “Doesn’t mean I can’t tease you about it though!” James snickered. “Why on earth would you have the hots for mangy old pads? What on earth is it about him? He’s a wanker!”
“Remus just laughed, softly, and shoved James on the shoulder. “Piss off, I’m trying to study.”
“Nah, mate, you can’t just drop juicy information like that and then pretend nothing’s happened! I have questions! When did you realize that you were- y’know?” James prodded Remus.
Settling his head in his hands, Remus looked over at James. “Look, I just needed to get that off my chest, see how someone reacts, not spill every secret I’ve ever possessed, ok?”
“Cmonnnn Remus, you can’t just drop that kind of information on a bloke and expect him not to demand an explanation! I need answers! When, how, and most importantly, Why the fuck is it Padfoot?!”
Sighing, Remus fiddled with the sleeves of the jumper he always wore. “If I tell you, will you lay off?”
Surprised at that answer, James sat up a bit in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah, yeah.”
“When- I think it was, like, fifth year-”
“-Blimey!” James interrupted. “So it’s been, like, two years?” Then, remembering the events of fifth year, “Wait… was this before-”
With a grimace, Remus nodded, but held up a hand to keep James from speaking. “How? I dunno, I think it was just like- like someone suddenly hit me over the head with it, with the fact that like, I suppose, that I wanted to be more than his friend.”
He heaved a sigh, his cheeks flushing red again, “and as for why, I just- I just think he’s- well-” fighting with the words, Remus finally managed, “he’s beautiful, and- and vibrant, and ridiculous, and I like that I’m the first person he looks for when he walks in the room- and- and I just like looking at him,” He finished. Head in his hands, blushing furiously. “Now piss off.” He said, picking up his pen and staring determinedly down at the parchment.
If he would have been looking at James, he would have seen how at that last sentence, James’s face went very pale, and he went very still. I just like looking at you. Was this why? James suddenly felt like the floor had turned to jelly, like he was dissolving or about to fall. Slowly, he stood and tried to muster a normal sounding voice. “Thanks for telling me all that, Moony. See ya later ya bloody smitten idiot.” He tried for a laugh, but it didn’t quite come out right. “Uh, bye.”
“Bye,” Remus said, sounding light and happy.
James, however, felt nothing of the sort about himself. He was glad Remus trusted him, he vaguely thought Sirius might have also accidentally fallen in love with Remus, but mostly, he was thinking about the why. I just like looking at him. Was that not exactly what James had been telling himself, over and over? It meant nothing, it meant nothing, it meant nothing, he just liked looking. And yet here he stood, in the hallway outside the library feeling unsure. Because what about the amortentia? What about Remus, with his crush, who he liked to look at?
And, to make matters worse, at that exact moment Regulus came walking down the corridor, eyes on him. Suddenly the flip of James’s stomach made a horrifying amount of sense. Suddenly he remembered exactly how he had felt when Lily had looked at him in fourth year, and he had wanted to melt. Suddenly James knew the answer to the question Regulus had asked him in the kitchen, both of them drunk on halloween.
James’s mouth was so dry, he couldn’t manage a greeting. Regulus’s dark eyes drifted away from him as he muttered, “See you around, Potter.” And it was the rasp of his voice, his bobbing curls, that waft of something green and nice that smelled like amortentia, (Or perhaps that amortentia had smelled like) that really threw the quaffle through the hoop.
James was many things, and one of them was a boy who most definitely fancied Regulus black.