A Dark Corner
James Potter cannot focus. Albeit, he’s never been all that good at keeping his focus. When he was younger, he used to fly on a mini broom his father had gotten him for his first Christmas. He'd fly circles around the little quidditch hoops his parents set up for him, and not once did his mother look outside and feel at all safe about this set up. Euphemia Potter spent many days bandaging scraped knees and nursing a bumped head. James never seemed to be able to look forward. He’d always be distracted, enticed to look away by the call of some distant bird or the timid paws of his neighbor's cat; which used to chase him around on his broom like a more violent version of when he’d seen her chase a light around the house. He used to watch her so intently, or look any which way towards any noticeable sound, he’d run smack into the goal posts. James Potter never struggled to get back up, of course. He’d just give the cat a pat on the head for besting him, and hop right back up for another round. He always had a bump on his head, his mother used to put him in little baby bucket hats, covered in red snitches (always his favorite color).
James Potter, grown and exceptionally drunk, is having a particularly hard time focusing now. He’s sat up on the back of the soft red sofa of the Gryffindor common room, swaying dangerously close to Sirius, who’s stood up on the left arm loudly serenading the whole room with a stunningly painful rendition of David Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust”. Just slightly beneath him, on the actual seat part of the sofa, is Remus. barricaded by James’ thick legs, head leaning lightly on James’ right thigh, talking animatedly to Lily about some muggle author they’re always on about. James thinks he hears mention of a Dorian, and Remus looks at Sirius briefly at the name. Beside Lily is a sated looking Mary Macdonald, warm eyes sparkling up at the falling golden sparks Marlene enchanted to fall from the ceiling. Marlene is sitting on the floor, much in the same position as Remus, but between Mary’s exposed dark legs instead of James’. Everybody else is everywhere else, and James knows he should be watching Sirius, or talking to Remus and Lily about this Dorian fellow, but he just can’t focus.
James’ attention is currently irrevocably centered on the mass of dark black curls in the corner.
Regulus Black knows himself. Regulus Black knows how to focus, he knows how to keep himself in line. Regulus Black grew up in harsh grays and blues, blurring between the two. Regulus Black, as a child, had to focus. He used to always focus on his brother, before he left. Then he only had himself. When his mother grew colder, and angrier, he used to just look at Sirius. With his somehow unfailingly kind eyes, even in their harsh watery colors, like a tumultuous ocean, Regulus always found comfort. He could focus on the waves rising and falling and crashing in Sirius’ eyes and it would make the hurt, hurt a little less. When Sirius left, and it got worse, Regulus Black focused on his heart beat. When his mother invaded his mind, he focused on the soft beating of his heart. He could feel it best in his neck. He'd count the beats every minute, over and over again, and he wouldn’t have to see anything else. One beat, two beats, three beats. It was the only thing that hadn’t yet failed him. Once he went to school it’s how he got through the hallways without listening to anyone mention his “most desirable” and “so bloody fit” brother and his definitely not desirable idiot of a best mate. One beat, two beats, three beats.
Regulus Black, grown and unsettling sober, is having a particularly hard time focusing right now. His heart is beating, he’s sure of it because he isn’t dead on the floor, but he can’t hear even a murmur of it over the pounding sound of some muggle singer being drowned out by his obnoxious older brother. He’s looking down, refusing to give Sirius the attention he’s so clearly begging for, and refusing to even acknowledge he’s there in the first place. You see, Regulus Black doesn’t know why he’s there in the first place. But he knows he’s distracted from trying to figure it out because all he can think about is the way he can feel James Potter's gaze on his skin. It’s hot against him, like a sunburn or a cigarette butt. Nothing pleasant and warm, something harsh and distracting. Regulus Black doesn’t get distracted.
James hasn’t looked away from Regulus since he found his way into his line of sight. James looks almost struck, or shocked, like a deer in the forest crossing paths with a light. startled, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Regulus thinks for a moment that James Potter looks like he has too many teeth. His glasses are annoyingly crooked and despite his hatred, Regulus wants to go over and fix them, not for James, but for everyone else’s comfort when looking at him. Not that Regulus is looking at him. Regulus is leaning, as casually as possible when in the common room of his opposing house and probably the single loudest party ever thrown, against the corner by the stairs to the boys dorms. At least he assumed they’re the boys, they smell it.
James Potter cannot seem to leave Regulus the fuck alone. Regulus Black doesn’t want to be here anymore. Not one bit. Not at this party, and especially not under James Potter's alarmingly uncomfortable stare. You see, Regulus Black wasn’t supposed to come to this party. He really didn’t want to, at least. But Regulus Black has made the terrible decision of befriending a woman who is an absolute hopeless romantic. Although Dorcas is probably the least outwardly romantic person he knows. Nonetheless, Dorcas Meadowes, made of soft brown skin and long braids covered in golden charms to match her rings, has dragged Regulus here as her wingman. Regulus finds, sometimes, he thinks he’s a bit too nice to his friends.
Regulus just isn’t sure why she chose him, of all people. Surely Barty is the best choice, as boisterous and bold as he is he’d have had Marlene Mckinnon in Dorcas’ lap by now. Regulus refuses to go anywhere near Marlene to ask her if she’s “ever thought about dorcas meadowes in a more than friendly manner?” He refuses, not because that’s a ridiculous thing to ask someone you’ve never met, but because Marlene Mckinnon is currently, and if the previous few hours have been any tell, permanently affixed to the elder blacks’ side. He can see the similarities between the two, if he’s honest. Which he won’t be. Because Regulus Black doesn’t think enough about Sirius Black to know anything about why he might be friends with who he’s friends with. Not to mention James potter, who is still gaping at him with all the self awareness of a train. And he’s almost directly behind Marlene McKinnon.
The Sirius problem is, however, a much more pressing matter than James, as annoying as he is. Sirius Black, caught up in the glory of fire whiskey and queen, has failed to realize his brother is even at his party. And it is his party. It's for his birthday. Sirius, the absolutely irrefutably narcissistic prick, literally invited the whole school. Some shit about how they’d just charm the common room to never end. Which they didn’t, but Regulus is quite sure that isn’t even possible, especially at the hands of a group of blubbering 16 year old idiots. Regulus genuinely thought Dorcas was taking the piss when she asked him, but she promised she just needed him for bravery and he’d hardly have to be noticed. He has no idea why he’s her pick for “bravery” but he was bored and sometimes even the quiet ones desire a bit of mischief, so he came. He thought maybe he’d found a good corner to hide him, but somehow James Potter sees him, and does not look away.
James Potter thinks Regulus Black is beautiful. Not in a creepy way, not even in a romantic or friendly way, just in a blatantly obvious way. Nobody, not even Severus Snape, could argue against Regulus Black’s beauty. He's currently standing slouched in the far right corner of the Gryffindor common room, looking very much like he doesn’t want to be looked at. James traces the outline of his jaw behind his fallen curls, again, not in a romantic way, James has just never been one to deny himself simple pleasures. Like admiring something beautiful.
James has always loved museums, and he grew up just outside a city that had the most beautiful museum he’d ever seen. There were lots of paintings of fields and flowers and meadows, which were always James’ favorites. He did always have a particular fondness for statues, though. He always tried to touch the seemingly soft marble curves of the chipped away men in the museum before some invisible alarm would go off and he’d run away. Regulus Black reminds him of a statue. His skin is pale, and smooth, but the lines of him are harsh, and sharp. His hands are thin, and you can see all his veins through his marble skin. James just wants to look though, definitely not willing to set off any of the alarms that would go off if he dared to touch Regulus Black.
To be honest, James hasn’t had a single thought outside of “beautiful.” since regulus black stepped into that corner. He's now wondering why in the hell regulus black is at his brother's 16th birthday party. The brother he hasn’t spoken to for years. The brother he shoves past in the corridors and curses at in the great hall. The brother who has come to James crying at night, behind closed velvet curtains, about how terribly he misses his little brother. His little brother who hates him. And refuses to be near him. Who is at his 16th birthday party. James has never been more curious in his life. Not even when he started wondering about why Remus would disappear every month. That was different, he didn’t seek anything out or want to pry. James Potter had never been anything but respectful. This is the type of curiosity he needs an answer to, now.
He finds himself standing up, rather abruptly unfortunately for Remus, whose chin gets smashed up by James leg, and who’s teeth crunch against one another with the force. “Prongs?! Excuse me?!” he shouts up at him, as James clambers down over his body to stand swaying in front of him, slightly. “My bad mate, want me to kiss it better?” he winks with his whole face towards Remus who simply laughs and leans towards him slightly, extending the bottom half of his right jaw. James slowly leans in to place a chaste kiss upon. Lily laughs and Remus winks back, before forgetting James entirely and turning to continue his even more intense conversation with Lily about some Oscar fellow. James has always loved how Remus refers to authors by first name, as if he knows them personally. James supposes he does, after all a writer reveals more in writing typically than any other form. James supposes Remus must have the most friends of them all then, since he befriends all his books and authors and characters. James wants to listen to Remus talk about books now, but he turns around nonetheless. Unfailingly drawn in by soft black curls and blue gray eyes, which seem to be very pointedly not looking at him.
Regulus hears a rather loud exclamation from Remus and looks up briefly to see James Potter kissing his cheek. Interesting. Regulus abruptly looks away, noting just how intricate these red rugs are. Pointedly not looking as James turns and immediately starts towards him. James Potter has such a specific walk, such an arrogant sort of prance he does like he just knows he’s being looked at all the time. Arsehole. James Potter had never pranced to Regulus before, and for some reason Regulus wants to look. He doesn’t, of course, what can there really be to look at? Is James Potter objectively fucking hot? Regulus would be lying if he said he wasn’t, and Regulus Black does not lie. So yes, James Potter is a handsome looking boy, but his personality just absolutely ruins anything he had to gain from that. At least from Regulus. His footsteps are loud, god he is just begging for someone to look at him isn’t he? Regulus does not look. Well, not fully. Does he maybe peek out from under the light veil of hair he has covering his eyes? The world may never know.
Regulus Black hates James Potter. He always has and he always will. He up and stole his brother away, and nobody likes a brother thief. Regulus has hated James Potter since he first met him. In that little train compartment with 4 boys a year above him and the crushing feeling of loneliness. Sirius smiled at James the way he used to smile at him. Sirius hasn’t smiled at Regulus in 5 years. James Potter is smiling a too-bright too-toothy smile at Regulus when he finally makes his approach. It’s blinding, in a disgusting i-need-my-eyes-checked-now way. A painful way.
“Reggie Black? What’s a pretty boy like you doing in a brothel like this?”
one thing about James Potter is he will flirt. He always does. Never to regulus before, of course, because he’s only ever said one word to regulus before. And it was hi. So, not much you can do with “hi”. Regulus has watched from afar, James Potter flirts shamelessly with everyone. It’s as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but a boy like that always knows what he’s doing. Regulus never watches for long.
“James.” is Regulus’ cold response. Hardly even looking up from behind his curtain of loose curls. James thinks, foolishly for a moment, they’d be rather soft to touch. He needs to cut back on the fire whiskey.
“You didn’t answer my question, baby black.'' James' voice is almost mocking, but also almost genuinely curious, and so unabashed it shocks regulus. James’ is pouting slightly, drunkenness stealing all his discreteness. Nobody has genuinely ever asked regulus something. never without motive. James looks kind, open, he says everything without a thought. He's an exceptionally knowable boy.
“I’m partying.” Regulus dead pans, “Can't you see. Having an absolute bloody blast.” Regulus shakes his fists pitifully in the air as if to reiterate the blast he is having in the most dreadfully sarcastic manner. James Potter does the oddest thing at this. James Potter laughs. An open mouthed bright, loud, laugh. Then he falters slightly, something crossing his eyes, realization of some sort. He closes his mouth.
“Does Sirius know you’re here?”
Regulus blinks. James Potter sounds oddly like he cares, but not only about Sirius, slightly as if he may care a bit about Regulus. But Regulus thinks James Potter is just the type to care about absolutely everyone. He probably helps flies get out his window and picks turtles up to get them places faster.
“Why do you care?” Regulus asks. Mouth a harsh line and eyes guarded. James studies him for a moment, how similar he looked to Sirius when he was younger, in the pictures Sirius had first year. How completely different they look now. Regulus’ eyes are more blue than Sirius's, and look more full somehow. If eyes can even be full? His lips too, are different. They’re closer to a baby pink color than Sirius' darker lips, and Regulus’ top lip is much more full. It looks soft. His skin is unmarred by puberty and his nose is set perfectly between two dark clean eyebrows, sloping around a bump and peeking up at the end before flowing gracefully into the aforementioned soft lips. Regulus is simply staring at James, his eyes seem protected somehow, and he’s slightly biting his bottom lip. He looks annoyed, passive, but something tells James he might just be interested in this conversation. Despite his horrendous conversation skills.
“He's my best mate. you’re his brother. I don't think you’ve even looked at him in years.” James states, “why wouldn’t I care?”
“Because I don't?” Regulus offers. Eyebrow arching sharply above his left eye, lips pursed as he flicks a curl out of his eyes.
“But you’re at his birthday party,” James whispers, seemingly in deep contemplation. Must be hard for a boy like him to understand things, Regulus thinks. Especially things like the black brothers. “So you must care. Because you’re here.” James looks up from his thinking pose, almost excitedly at Regulus, “you know he…”
“I don't know anything about him. And I don’t care too,``Regulus' reply is cold. “I'm here with a friend, so if you wouldn’t mind pissing me off i'm going to go get her, and leave.” he makes a start to pass around James Potter. Who he hopes to genuinely never see again. He is almost willing to die to never see James bloody Potter again.
“Maybe you should tell him you came.” and, oh, James, Regulus thinks. Regulus hasn’t spoken to Sirius in 2 years, the last time they spoke being the last refusal to come home, Regulus could stomach from him. Regulus doesn’t respond to James Potter, still unable to understand just why in the world he decided it was his job to mess around in the lives of people who don’t need him. Regulus and Sirius are hardly even brothers anymore, James took his spot. Regulus thinks he should be content with that. As regulus walks past james’ drunk sad face, he wonders if James even realizes what he did. How he’s really responsible. Regulus assumed, based on the phrasing of James’ last remark, that he will at least keep Regulus’ presence secret for him. At least he has enough courtesy to allow a boy his secrecy. Though he wouldn’t be shocked if James blabbermouth Potter was on his way to point Regulus out to Sirius at this very moment.
He passes many a drunk reveler as the party goes on and on around him, and Dorcas only needs to see one look from him to know it’s time he leaves. She nods towards him, and he makes his exit, looking back only once to see James Potter slouching in his corner. Odd, he thinks. Then he proceeds to never think about James Potter again.
–
“How was the party, little prince?” Barty asks as soon as Regulus opens the door to their dorm. Barty is perched on the edge of his bed, Evan laying sprawled across it face down.
“What's up with Rosier?” Regulus asks back, closing the door swiftly behind him and shaking off his shoes. Barty shrugs at Regulus before scooting back to lay on top of Evan, who makes a disgruntled sort of “hmph” sound but doesn't move.
“Don’t deflect sweet prince,” Barty starts, talking with his hands more so than his mouth, motining at regulus with ridiculous shapes and figures, “we want to know all about the party.” Evan makes a noise of agreement, a muffled “mhm” into Barty’s blankets and wiggles his feet a little in the direction of Regulus. The latter discards his socks into a hamper at the end of his book shelf, and starts to get undressed into his pajamas.
“It was loud.” Regulus slips a soft green pajama shirt on with matching bottoms and sits on the end of his bed. Barty sits up.
“Did you do anything fun? Anything I would've done?” Regulus just shakes his head with a loose smile perched on his lips, “Tell me you at least tripped that Potter guy or got Marlene to make out with Dor?” Barty pleads, eyes excited and happy. His hair is messy, but in a somehow styled way, and he’s wearing what looks like Evan’s sweatshirt and a pair of emerald silk pajama bottoms. His feet are covered in thick wool socks Regulus assumes Pandora knit for him, and he’s topped off with the expression of a begging puppy.
“No, Barty. Nothing fun like that,” Regulus recalls ‘that Potter guy’ crowded in his space not 30 minutes ago. He gets bombarded with images of soft hazel eyes and smooth warm skin. He feels his face get hot. He shakes it out of his head, trying to set his brain back right. Ugly Potter. Mean Potter. Brother stealing Potter. His face is still hot, he wonders if he was poisoned at the party.
“Why are you blushing?” Barty asks. At this Evan promptly spins into a criss-crossed sitting position behind Barty and stares widely at Regulus.
“Oh Merlin,” Evan remarks, “Reg, you've done some drunk kissing, haven't you?” Evan sits up straighter and starts tugging on Barty’s sleeve with a sly smile, “ Was it that pretty ravenclaw boy you beat out for the snitch last game? I could feel the tension from the stand Reggie.” Barty starts to laugh, letting it bubble up and over his dark red lips and tumble onto Regulus’ cold expression, breaking his pursed lips and causing Regulus to slip out a half full smirk.
“I’m not blushing.” Is all Regulus says, before promptly leaving his two babbling fools of friends and softly shutting himself behind the bathroom door.
“No use hiding from us Reggie!” He hears Barty shout from the other side of the door, “we know you better than you do!” He hears one of them stand up and step slightly closer to the bathroom door, it’s Evan’s voice on the other side now when he says, “come back out Reggie, we’re only having a bit of fun.”
Regulus washes his hands for something to do and splashes a bit of water on his still somehow hot face. He catches his own gaze in the mirror, maybe he is blushing. Why would he be blushing? Must be an embarrassment. Regulus has always struggled with social situations, he must have just felt too seen in that room bursting with people. He promptly opens the door and jumps on top of Barty and Evan, who have returned to their sprawled out position on Barty’s bed.
“I wasn’t blushing. I didn't kiss anyone,” Regulus mumbles into what he thinks is Evan’s shoulder, “I don’t think I was that much of a help to Dor either.” The person who’s knee has been lodged under Regulus’ ribs shifts, and pulls him over to their side, as they all start to lay flat side by side on the small bed. Regulus is suddenly very grateful for his friend's excellent hygiene regimens.
“Oh, Reg,” Barty coos, “I’m sure she’ll get some either way.” He lays a hand gently on Regulus' stomach and lifts himself up on one arm to look over him. Evan turns to lay on his side, both boys now facing Regulus between them. “I’m pretty sure she just wanted you to get out honestly,” Evan adds, “don’t worry too much about letting her down. You went, that’s all she probably really wanted.”
Regulus loves his friends. He nods slowly and continues to fight the images of dark messy hair and crooked glasses fighting for his attention. “Thank you, lovers,” Regulus sighs as he cuddles into Barty’s (Evan’s) hoodie, “what would I do without you.” Barty laughs lightly and messes Regulus's hair, “probably struggle with crippling depression and have no friends.” Evan nods his agreement before sprawling back over top of the both of them and announcing quite randomly. “I think I failed my potions exam.”
The night continues, in warmth and green, as Regulus tries his best to share his potion wisdom with Evan while maintaining his brain's pattern of Not Thinking About Potter. He really doesn't know why he can't stop going back to their exchange, hooked on the scent of fire whiskey and something earthy in James’ skin, entranced by the way his eyes never looked away. He hopes he never has to see him again. He hopes he gets to smell it again in his dreams.
–
As soon as the little Black leaves the common room something in James shifts. It’s well passed “late” and slowly but surely people are heading up to their rooms to sleep or… not sleep. James is still in the corner. Sirius has stepped off his stage and is now draped on the couch over Remus and Lily’s legs, head laid softly in Lily’s lap as she absent mindedly braids his hair. James loves watching his friends. Sometimes, even when he's in the scene, he feels a little disconnected. Like he's watching one of those long moving pictures Remus once took them to see. He loves them, he really does.
Sirius’ 16th had been a smashing success, if James did say so himself (which he did, many times.) He’d been planning it with Moony and Wormtail for weeks, trying to master an expansion charm for the entire common room. It did not work, but they did snag plenty of fire whiskey and charm the portraits to sing along to every song they played. The furniture had been charmed to dance if nobody was sitting on it, and Sirius’ old record player was magicked to start and stop on its own, changing out the records quickly and seamlessly when one ended. Not to mention he’d gotten himself and his friends all properly pissed, for the first time. One of them was always sober, or at least more sober than the rest. Typically Remus because he has the tolerance of an adult male rhinoceros. This time though, even he got properly sloshed. James loves drunk Remus.
Drunk Remus gets very passionate about books. Very. Passionate. He went in two 30 minute rants just tonight about the “power of words”. It’s so beautiful to James, how much his friends all care. He loves them. Drunk Sirius is obviously a show off, always dancing and singing and chatting about. He’d let Marlene do his makeup tonight, and his gray eyes were sharper and brighter now surrounded by dark sharp kohl. He’d even done up his hair into a pretty braid on the top of his head, letting his natural curls fan out under it over his shoulders which were adorned, of course, by his beloved leather jacket. James loved that leather jacket almost more than Pads did. It was the first gift Sirius had ever received from a mother. From James’ mother. Effie bought it for Sirius when he was 14, and charmed it to grow with him. Sirius has hardly taken it off since.
Drunk James is watching, as he always does. He feels, even, like he’s watching himself somehow. Like he’s standing up in the rafters, looking down over everything happening to him. His mind can't stop thinking about statues. About marble skin and carved out fingers. He should be joking with his friends on their way up to bed,but he finds himself kissing each of them goodnight on the forehead and heading up on his own. They all sloppily wish him goodnight and blow kisses at him as he turns up the stairs. The stairs right next to where Regulus had been standing just half an hour earlier, where he’d looked at him, where he'd stood just inches away from him. James wonders why he didn't yell at Regulus.
This was the boy that had caused the deepest heartbreak in his best friend, and all he did was ask him what he was doing and stare at his hair? James might need to swear off drinking for a while if these are the things it makes his brain do. He stumbles up the stairs and gracelessly rounds into his room, falling into his bed still in his trousers and shirt. His shoes are untied but still on his feet when he feels himself start to fall asleep.
He hopes he wakes up in time for class tomorrow, he’s not sure he can handle another stern discussion with McGonagall. Curse Sirius for having a birthday on a Sunday this year. Curse Sirius for having a little brother made out of smooth tempting stone. Curse, Curse, Curse.