Helplessly Anything and Everything
James wasn’t stupid enough to believe that that day on the quidditch field would change anything between him and Regulus but his heart was. His heart thought that maybe just maybe things would change between them. That maybe if they saw each other in the halls they would wave or say hello instead of just walking past each other. That obviously didn’t happen. Regulus was back to ignoring James’ existence.
So of course James did the only reasonable thing to do in that situation: rethink the entirety of their last interaction. He cringes at the remembrance of his own words, at how he just said ‘hey’ after almost hitting Regulus in the face with his bludger. He understands why he acted like he did but he doesn’t understand why ‘hey’ was what he fucking came up with. He regrets it now-acting as he did-but he also knows that he couldn’t really control it. He was having a shit morning and was, frankly, not in the mood to talk to anyone, especially not Regulus, who confuses James more than anything fucking has.
So yes, James wanted Regulus to leave.
Regulus. The boy he had practically tried to run after a mere two weeks before then.
Regulus. The boy he had missed for the past year.
Regulus. The boy who haunted his thoughts often.
It had nothing to do with Regulus, really, but James thought that maybe because he acted the way he did Regulus took offense. His brain quickly reminds him that that isn’t true because Regulus would actually have to care about what James thought of him to take offense to what he said; which he doesn’t. And it’s not like what he said was malicious or rude. No, but it was something James had never really been: nonchalant.
James had been anything but nonchalant since he met Regulus, especially when he began having a crush on the boy near the end of second year. No, then he was all stolen glances and jokes made for the sole purpose of making Regulus laugh. He was pretty sure that for the longest time he lived solely so he could make Regulus laugh. So he could hear the almost angelic noise leave his mouth.
He would give anything to be able to make the boy laugh again. And there he is-Barty Crouch Jr.-across the room just being able to. He watches as Crouch says something in a whispered tone and Regulus lets out a short but-definitely-still-happened laugh. And in that moment James doesn’t care that Regulus is laughing because of someone else, no, he just thinks he looks so beautiful while doing it. Oh, how he looks beautiful while doing it.
In that moment James thinks he’d pine after Regulus for the rest of his life as long as it meant he could see him laugh. It’s quite pathetic and he knows it but oh how helplessly pathetic he is. Helplessly pathetic. Helplessly fond. Helplessly hopeful. Helplessly anything and everything in the world and he couldn’t care less. He wouldn’t rather be anything else.
“James? James,” the voice says, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Hmm?” he says, voice no more than a low hum.
“Look I get that you’re like helplessly in love with Baby Black but we actually need to pass Potions so if you could actually chop up the dung beetles that’d be great,” Marlene, James’ Potions partner and childhood friend says.
James lets out a soft scoff, a small grin etching its way onto his face as he says, “Don’t act like you weren’t doing the same thing with Meadowes last week.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes.
“I’ve known since you were 5 Marls, there’s no need to lie. Frankly, I can read you better than the instructions in this Potions book.”
Marlene laughs and then rolls her eyes. “Godric, I hate when you’re right.”
“You must be a very hateful person then, Marlene McKinnon.”
Marlene rolls her eyes again and then is reaching out to tousle James’ hair.
James ducks out of the way only to end up having his ruffled by Marlene a few seconds later. He lets out a soft shriek and is pulling her hand successfully away a few seconds later. If it was anyone else James would be tempted to hex them but it’s just Marlene. She’s practically his sister or at least that’s what James liked to think on those lonely summer days as a kid. Even now he has this fierce protectiveness you can only have for someone you’ve grown up with. And even if she won’t ever admit it out loud or to James, Marlene feels the same.
↣
“Ease up on the knife, mate. The dung beetles are already dead.”
“What?” Regulus says, his attention snapping away from the Gryffindor boy across the class and onto the boy next to him.
“You’re gripping the knife like the dung beetles are suddenly going to come back to life and attack you,” Barty says, nodding towards Regulus’ hand that holds the knife in a death grip.
Regulus instantly loosens his grip.
“What’s got your knickers in a twist anyway?”
“Nothing,” Regulus says but still steals a quick look across the class again.
Barty seems to have caught the quick look because he says, “Potter and McKinnon? I don’t blame you, those two seem to forget that other people exist and have ear drums when they’re together.”
As if in validation of Barty’s point, the two both burst into a fight of laughter. Regulus’ hand clenches the knife handle harder. “Yeah,” he mutters.
Barty gives a lazy shrug. “Potter’s still good-looking though.”
Regulus clenches the knife so hard his knuckles turn white. “Since when have you found Potter ‘good-lookin’?”
“I’m not blind. Half the bloody school wants a chance with him.”
Regulus clenches and unclenches his jaw. Is he jealous? No, definitely not. Definitely not. He just mildly wants to commit a violent act against his friend and half the school. That’s totally normal, right? Definitely. It’s not like he cares or anything. Definitely not.
Definitely not.
↣
Later, much later, when the suns already set and dinners already been ate in the Great Hall, James is sitting on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. He’s been doing History of Magic homework for the past hour and is still only halfway done. His hand aches from gripping the quill for so long.
James has never cared much for History of Magic and he’s definitely never been exactly good at it either. He much prefers Muggle Studies, which he is ironically good at despite knowing nothing about Muggles. He likes learning about all the little gadgets and devices they have and how, rather than simply casting a spell, they have to do mundane tasks by themselves or with assistance from the things they created for that task. He’s sure he drove Lily up the wall when he figured out what a telephone was and how it let people communicate with each other from far away. He had only known communicating through mirrors or owls before and he was quite excited about the discovery that, somewhere in the world people were casually talking to each other through phone lines.
He had already completed his Muggle Studies homework for the week two days ago, leaving all the work he dreaded doing for the last second. He lets out a frustrated huff. Why does he have to write an essay about how a dead wizard changed the world if everyone already knows that they did? It’s rubbish and frankly, makes James want to beat his head repeatedly against the coffee table in front of him.
With a heavy sigh, James drops his quill and leans fully back on the couch. He stares up at the beige ceiling and suddenly feels the urge to cry. He doesn’t know why or what about, he just feels his eyes gloss over and a knot lodge its way into the back of his throat. He’s sure he would have actually started crying if it wasn’t for the disgruntled noise that comes from his left.
He turns his head to the side where Remus is sitting with a book in his hand. And although the book is open, he doesn’t seem to be reading it. No, instead his gaze is transfixed in front of him. James follows his gaze and realizes instantly what the disgruntled noise was for. In front of them, near the fireplace, Sirius is talking to a girl, so close that their legs are touching. He leans forward with a smirk on his face and whispers something in the girl’s ear, who definitely seems happy about whatever he said.
James has known Remus has had a crush on Sirius since the fifth year. Remus had never directly told him but he could tell by the way he looked at him-like he was the brightest star in the sky on a particularly dark night, a leading light. And well, technically he is.
The two almost bonded over it-their mutual pining for someone they couldn’t have. James would often catch Remus staring off fondly at Sirius and Remus would catch James looking at Regulus. It was a much more common occurrence back when he and Regulus actually talked because even then he was pining after the boy, always helplessly staring at him during class or meals or even when the boy came to visit his older brother in the Gryffindor common room. Back then Remus would have to call out James’ name or hit him in the back of the head to get him to stop or else Sirius would have caught on.
So, for the sake of returning the favor and for the boy’s poor heart, James says, “Remus.”
Remus shoots one last glance forward at Sirius and the girl, who have gotten significantly closer, and then drops his gaze onto the silk red material of the couch. “I know.”
“Do you want me to hit you in the head like you used to do for me?”
Remus sends him a flat look and with a perfectly calm voice says, “Do that and I will shove your quill down your throat.”
James laughs. “There you are. You know it’s quite frightening when you’re not being a sarcastic little shit. Anyway, I think I’ll take you up on your offer. To shove my quill down my throat, I mean. Maybe then I won’t have to finish writing this bloody essay for Professor Binns.”
“See, now that you actually want me to I don’t want to. So, suck it up and finish the essay.”
“But Remus, I will literally cry if I have to look at the piece of parchment again,” James whines. He really does hate History of Magic.
“Don’t be dramatic. Finish the essay, James,” Remus says, instantly going into his ‘parent who wants you to succeed’ mode.
“But Remus-”
“Do you want to fail?”
“No,” James murmurs.
“Then do the essay.”
“Or…” James trails off, a mischievous smile tugging onto his face.
“Or?” Remus asks, unamused.
“Or I could lay my head in your lap and you could read to me,” James says, giving him puppy dog eyes.
“No.”
“Please,” James says, dramatically dragging out the word. “If it wasn’t for me you would still be helplessly staring off at you-know-who.”
“I wouldn’t have even met ‘you-know-who’ if it wasn’t for you, so really this is all your fault.”
James sighs. “Alright, fine,” he says, fixing his gaze back at the ceiling.
A few seconds later a smack lands on his head. “Ow!”
“I didn’t even hit you that hard,” Remus states.
“It still hurt!” James exclaims.
Remus rolls his eyes. “Stop being dramatic and lay down already.”
“Okay,” James says, an all-teeth smile on his face.
And so he lays his head on Remus’ lap and listens as the other boy reads to him. He doesn’t know what the book is called or who any of the characters are but it doesn’t really matter, not to him at least.
He doesn’t mean for it to happen. Didn’t plan for his eyelids to start feeling so heavy. Yet, after a few minutes, the weight of them becomes too much and James’ eyes fall shut.
He falls asleep to Remus’ voice.
↣
On the other side of the castle, Regulus is awake. He’s not being read to and falling asleep on one of his friends laps. No, instead he’s doing what he does best: fucking. It’s kind of like the saying “like father like son” except in this case it’s “like brother like brother” because on the other side of the castle, his brother is doing the same thing and for quite the same reason. Of course, neither of them would really admit why and maybe neither of them really know themselves. It’s hard to register what they’re really feeling under the presence of pleasure because for a second, for 5 blissful seconds, all they feel is pure ecstasy. And well, what is sadness in the presence of pleasure?
It’s complicated in a fucked up way that makes Regulus’ head spin just thinking about it-so he doesn’t. He doesn’t think about it when he flirts with the boy or when he goes back to the boy’s dorm. He doesn’t think about it when he fucks the boy and he certainly doesn’t think about it when those 5 blissful seconds wash over him. Sadness doesn’t really have a place in the presence of pleasure, at least not for those 5 seconds.
He leaves right after, muttering some excuse to the boy. It’s fucked up but he doesn’t really care. Why shouldn’t he be able to have his fun just because someone else’s view on sex might be different? So he leaves and doesn’t feel bad. He doesn’t exactly feel good either but that doesn’t have anything to do with his nonexistent guilt for leaving the boy. Sadness doesn’t have a place in the presence of pleasure but it sure as hell does outside of it. But Regulus doesn’t want to think about that either.
The boy’s dorm hall is lit up by candle sticks charmed to never run out of wax. He walks down the hall, passing door after door. Some of them are decorated with pictures of family members and friends, others with just the name of who lives in the dorm, and others are blank-nothing but the room number displayed. The door he stops in front of is just that-blank. He knocks on the door in a pattern that seems to be some sort of code because the voice inside immediately calls out, “Come in!”
When he walks inside the room is cloudy with smoke, so much so that it almost obscured his ability to see. But as he makes his way closer to the bed in the middle of the room he finds exactly who he thought would be there: Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier. They’re lazily settled on the bed, Barty sitting up against the headboard and Evan with his head on the other boy’s lap. There’s a joint in his hand and smoke intricately releases from his mouth as Regulus stops at the edge of the bed.
“Had a good fuck, did you?” the blonde says once he’s released all the smoke from his mouth.
Regulus feels a weird sense of deja vu at the words. Evan’s said them before, many times, but not for months, almost three specifically.
“Had a good fuck did you?” he says, a playful and in Regulus’ opinion, annoying smile on his face.
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Piss off.”
“Piss off,” he grumbles, crawling onto the edge of the bed and plopping down. “Give me some of that, will you?” he says, nodding towards Barty who has taken the joint from Evan and has just taken a big inhale of it.
Barty doesn’t respond for a few seconds, holding the smoke in his mouth and then exhaling it. “I don’t know where your mouths just been so, no.”
Evan lets out a loud laugh and Regulus glares at him. “What? He has a point.”
Regulus scoffs. “Like you two are such saints. I just saw Barty bring that Leona girl here the other day.”
“Yeah but you see, Leona didn’t have a dick that I could have sucked off unlike whatever bloke you just fucked.”
“You guys are disgusting,” Evan says, voice suddenly tight.
Regulus ignores him. “So what, you’ll share with Evan but not me? I’ve literally known you since we were in diapers.”
“Yeah well, Evan doesn’t have a shit personality like you,” Barty says, shrugging nonchalantly.
Evan’s lips tip up at this but Regulus scowls. “You know who does have a shit personality like me? You.”
Barty smirks at this. “At least you’re self-aware.” And then he shifts forward, towards where Regulus lays on the end of the bed, and sticks the joint between the boy’s lips. “There you go, you dramatic prick.”
“You know I’m still laying on your lap and you’re squishing the shit out of me, right?” Evan grumbles, pushing Barty’s chest back to the backboard.
Barty stares down at him. “You know, if you have a problem you can always just get off my lap.” Evan stops complaining after that, making Barty look particularly smug. “That’s what I thought.”
It’s not till later, much later, when the first joint is gone and Barty’s rolled another and all that’s left of that one is the burnt tip and they’re all contentedly high, does Regulus feel tired. He’s laying on something soft, a cloud he thinks, and he feels quite light, like if he got up off his cloud he could float and fly away. He wants to try but the cloud is so comfy and soft and warm and his eyes feel too heavy to keep open long enough to move.
He decides to stay on his cloud.