The Astronomy Tower
It's far too bright for James this morning. As always, SIrius is far too loud. How Sirius manages to avoid any semblance of a hangover is beyond the simple mind of James Potter right now, and so it seems that of Remus and Peter as well. All three mortal boys promptly shut their curtains and groan at Sirius’ alien form as it dances between their beds.
“First full day of being 16!” He sings-songs as he lazily flicks his wand to open all their curtains again, “Wakey wakey, lovely lovers!” He’s met with much louder groans this time and decides to go about it one at a time. James shoves his pillow over his head quickly as Sirius jumps down onto him and shakes him up and out of his cozy cocoon of covers. “Pads, mate, it’s like bloody 5am,” James grunts as Sirius pulls him up by his armpits and cradles him out of bed.
“Oh my lovely Prongs, it actually is not,” Sirius states too loudly in James’ left ear, “I let you sleep half through breakfast already and you know how Minnie hates a late riser.” Sirius shoves a bundle of clothes into James’ open hands as he stands in bewilderment at the quick series of events, and shoves him swiftly into the open bathroom. James pauses for a moment out of sheer confusion on where or what he is, before turning to watch as Sirius repeats this sequence of motions on a rather perturbed Remus.
Remus lets Sirius do it, lets him waltz him out of bed and tango him to the bathroom with James, with a small smile playing at the corners of his scarred face. James wonders at that, Moony never likes being touched before he’s properly awake, it seems he has an exception to this rule.
“Why does he always have to be so…” James starts, motioning loosely in the direction of Sirius as he clambers onto Peter's bed. Remus just smiles as he shakes his head, and offers James the toothpaste. James takes the tube gratefully as his mouth feels alarmingly grainy this morning, and he can rub his tongue along a film of god knows what covering his front few teeth. He’s still in his shoes from last night too. What a lovely start to a Monday.
“Oh you know Padfoot, young and spry,” Remus says, toothpaste foaming out of the corners of his lips as his toothbrush rests lazily in his mouth. He spits and rinses, and shuffles around James to make use of the toilet. The boys have never been ones for privacy. James brushes, rinses, and spits, and notices himself in the mirror as he rubs the left over minty paste off his chin.
His eyes are sunken and adorned by small purple circles underneath, making his hazel eyes look slightly more green as his face takes on an almost halloweeny complexion. He wonders how he looked last night, in that corner. He wonders whether he looked this exhausted and if-
“Hey Prongs,” Sirius interrupts his train of thought with his endlessly loud presence, “did you see Dorcas Meadowes here last night?” Sirius pads into the full bathroom, perching up on the counter in a position James assumes only he could manage. He hands Remus a sweater as he finishes up his business with the toilet, and blinks at James expectantly.
“The slytherin girl? The one that’s friends with-”
“Regulus. Yes, that one,” Sirius interrupts once again, “I ran into Marlene down in the common room when I first woke up, I left my hair bands down there, and she asked if I’d invited her,” He turns to grab his toothbrush and snatch the toothpaste out of James loose grip before he continues, “I told her that we had indeed invited the entire school, but that I assumed no slytherins would want to come,” he squeezes a thick layer of toothpaste on his concerningly scraggly brush, “she told me she thought she saw her, and I remembered you going off at one point and figured I’d ask you if you’d seen her.”
James scrolls through his memories of last night, which are very few. They consist almost entirely of a different slytherin, one who definitely shouldn’t have been there, one with soft black curls and a confusing smirk. He tries to keep scrolling past those particular images, but finds that’s quite literally all he remembers. “Sorry mate, I never saw her,” he answers, turning to start the shower, “why’s Marlene asking though?”
Sirius rinses out his mouth and hops down from the counter before pausing in the doorway to answer, “I think, my dearest comrades, we have a case of gay panic on our hands.” Remus sputters from his position stuck in his sweater, and roughly yanks it down over his head before starting his inquisition, “you mean you think Marlene likes Dorcas meadowes?”
Remus has always been the closest with the girls, nobody really knows how or why but the stairs let him up to see them without dumping him like they do James every bloody time, and at least twice a week he’ll see Lily and Mary dragging Moony up those stairs talking animatedly about Merlin knows what. If anyone would know whether or not Marlene likes Dorcas Meadowes, it would actually be him. He looks shocked, a little stuck, and more than a little embarrassed. Moony is a great secret keeper, until he gets even a little bit caught.
They saw it when they figured out why he disappeared every full moon, and why random scars seemed to seep into his skin overnight. He’d been so diligent at hiding it, until Pads merely hinted at their suspicions and Moony seemed downright embarrassed. He blushed and stuttered and legitimately ran away. For an entire weekend. Lived with Frank Longbottom for a full 3 days before being promptly back on their doorstep to “please resolve their issues”.
Remus now has that signature blush, spreading over his freckled cheeks and tinting the tips of his ears. “Oh Moony,” Sirius starts, “You know something.” Remus shakes his head minutely and pushes out of the door with all the grace of a Hippogriff in a potions closet. Sirius glances at James for only a split second before they both spin out of the room after him, Peter making use of the shower James abandoned.
“Moony!” James pleads, as he follows Remus around their room to the drawers at the side of his bed. Remus appears to find these drawers endlessly interesting as he refuses to look away from them. He hasn't even opened one. “Prongs,” Remus responds, “I am not at liberty to share my knowledge on this particular topic.”
“Moony!” Sirius starts, “I thought she hated her?! Did she not, was I right?” Sirius tugs lightly on Remus’ sweater and turns him towards himself, having to tilt his chin up to see Remus’ face as close to him as he is. Sirius blushes slightly when Remus looks down; James catalogs that to talk to Pete about later. Remus starts to talk before he realizes how close Sirius is to him, quickly stepping back, actually opening a drawer (socks, it seems), and saying, “I can’t tell you anything and you know that. If Marlene ever wants to discuss it with you, she can have at it. Please bother her instead of me.”
Remus pulls out a pair of wool socks with little leaves on them, wrapping around the sock in a sort of vine. He sits on the edge of his bed to avoid tipping over as he puts them on, laces up those beat up black boots he's been wearing since third year and shuffles out of the room.
James and Sirius exchange a single look, before they're quickly dressing and bolting to the Great Hall. “Going to breakfast, Wormy!” They shout over their shoulders as they leave.
They walk as briskly as possible down the winding corridors and stairs to the great hall, where they quickly spot a clearly hungover pair of girls sharing what looks like a mildly sound meal (toast, Moony’s way). James sympathizes with the slouching girls, as they lean almost all their weight on the table and appear to be gagging at the scent of just about everything. He envies Sirius’ ability to drink and never feel the after effects extremely as he sits down and immediately feels like a giant has taken a club to his head just from the sheer volume of the hall.
“Marls, Mar, my stunning lovely Marlene,” Sirius starts, placing himself delicately across from the blonde slouched head, “how are you this beautiful morning?” She looks up briefly, wincing at the light from the floating candles and sunny sky above them, “Sirius. What is it you want?” James watches as his best mates smile deflates slightly and he angles himself around to be slightly facing the slytherin table, pointing a fork in the direction of one Dorcas Meadowes, “Tell me Marls, why is it you care to know whether Miss Dorcas Meadowes of the Slytherin house was at my party last night?”
Marlene wakes up promptly from her hungover fugue state, blushing madly and blinking quickly between the head of braids at the slytherin table and the man pointing a fork across from her. “No reason,” she mumbles, snatching the piece of toast adorned with only butter and promptly stuffing her mouth with it.
“Oh. My. Merlin,” Sirius says in that specialized dramatic Sirius way, “you have a crush.” Marlene dips her head and hides behind the waves of blond hair falling from it, “no I don’t.” Sirius looks at James and smiles with that mischievous little twink in his eye, “Oh, no? Then you won't mind if I send our trustee flirter Prongsie-pooh over to ask after you? Check in on how that little rivalry you two have is going?”
Marlene scowls at Sirius, “Sirius, just leave it will you?”
James hates awkwardness, absolutely loathes it. He’d need to always be talking just to avoid the type of silence that falls upon them as soon as Marlene snaps at Pads. So he talks.
“Well I know other slytherins were at the party, Marlene, so if you were just wondering if she might have been there for no particular reason, then I’d say it's safe to assume she was.”
Sirius sets the fork down and turns to look at James, skepticism dancing in the line between his eyebrows, “what other slytherins did you see?” James blanches. He can’t tell Sirius his little brother was there, and he didn’t point him out out of… simple selfish curiosity. Sirius would be properly upset, James thinks, so he swivels his head to analyze the slytherin table and says the names of the first people he sees, “Crouch and Rosier were there I think, saw them at the drink table briefly when I went away.”
“Oh, those are Dorcas’ friends,” Marlene supplies, before looking back down at her plate to add, “I think,” following James’ gaze to see none other than Dorcas Meadowes sat right across from Barty and Evan. James moves his gaze slightly and notices the 4th member of their group, crowned by black curls and stabbing violently at an innocent sausage. Regulus Black. It’s as if he can feel James looking at him, because after about three seconds of staring Regulus snaps his head up. His sharp silvery eyes lock with James’ warmer hazel ones, and James sees, if he squints just a little, a slight color to Regulus’ cheeks, and maybe even a small smirk playing in his lips.
For some reason, James wants to go up to him. He wants to continue their conversation from last night and crowd into his space all over again. He has the urge to storm across the great hall and sit right down next to this boy, and ask him question after question about what that look on his face means. About what he meant last night, about the whys and whats and hows of himself. He wants to know what Regulus just whispered to Barty. He wants to follow as Regulus quickly stands up and leaves the hall, shaking his head slightly and not sparing James another glance.
“Well now then Marls, for whatever reasons you wanted to know, perhaps Dorcas Meadoes was indeed at my party.”
__
Regulus hates James bloody Potter. Hates him. Hates his stupid eyes and hates that they seem to be permanently affixed to him. He was just trying to enjoy breakfast, and Evan’s teasing of Dorcas. He was about to eat a sausage, one of his favorite parts of the breakfast meal, when he felt that hot feeling again. The feeling of acid being poured over his scalp and burning all his skin off until he’s only bone. The hot burning sensation of James Potter’s stare.
“James Potter is looking at you,” he hears Dorcas whisper from across the table, “I saw you two talking last night, got a bit of a fight brewing little Reg?” Regulus flicks his head up and sees James immediately. Always easy to spot, tousled messy hair defying gravity atop his head, bulky glasses taking up half his pretty face. His ugly face, he means. Bad terrible face.
He can feel it. He can feel it reach behind his eyes, he can feel it trace over his face and linger along the lines of his face he prefers to keep stoic. He can feel the fire whiskey breath and earthy heady scent for a moment.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Regulus quietly declares, ignoring the fact that he can feel his face doing that heating up thing again, and he can feel his mouth turning up despite his greatest effort to frown. Regulus has always been good at frowning, what in Merlin’s name has happened to him.
As soon as he’s clear of the great hall he heads up the stairs. All the way up the stairs. Up and up and up to the astronomy tower. He feels himself get slowly more and more out of breath as he climbs up the too-steep staircases but immediately sighs a breath of relief as he feels the crisp November air hit his skin. He’s struck, as he always is, by the beauty of the Scottish country, and tries hard not to think of his parents' country house somewhere with a similar view.
The sky is clear, littered with only a few misshapen clouds every now and then but the morning sky is bright with the light of the sun, as it slowly rises. The warmth from the sun can't reach Regulus here, under the stone of Hogwarts and surrounded by safety fences so he doesn't topple right off the side of the building. He admires the light though, grateful for a star so close to home.
Regulus has always loved the stars. Always loved this tower, where at night sometimes he can still see himself up there with his brother. Immortal light. He comes up here rather often, to think. To be alone. To breathe. He hears the door open. Whoever it is takes very slow, hesitant steps around the bend towards where he’s currently standing, leaning over the railing. He feels that heat again.
“Potter,” he says, turning to look and confirm his identification. James Potter is stuffing a blank parchment into his back pocket and staring widely at Regulus, like he’s the one who surprised him. His dark skin is glowing slightly in the soft morning light, and his hair is being ruffled by the wind, Regulus suddenly envies the wind. What the fuck. No. Regulus doesn't want to ruffle James’ hair. Ew.
“Hi,” James says, rather stupidly, as he just hovers awkwardly a couple feet away from Regulus.
“Hello,” Regulus replies, cordially, trying his best to void his tone of any emotion. James shuffles lightly from foot to foot and fidgets with his hands in front of his stomach.
“I didn’t follow you here,” he blurts, looking at Regulus through drooping strands of brown hair. “I never even accused you of that,” Regulus responds, “now though, I’m quite sure you did.”
James frowns slightly, and oh, his lips are quite nice aren't they? They sit perfectly above his smooth jawline, dark and full, his bottom lip chapped from how he bites it. Must be a nervous habit, Regulus observes as he watches James’ perfectly white teeth snag on his bottom lip slightly and tug. Regulus needs to stop looking at James Potter's mouth.
“Well, I didn’t follow you here. I just wanted to uhm, see you?” James phrases his sentence like a question, like maybe he’s not even sure why he’s here. Regulus analyzes him for a moment, the bitten lip, the shuffling feet and scuffed trainers, the fidgeting hands, twirling a gold ring around his right index finger over and over. He’s nervous, Regulus’ brain supplies.
“Why are you nervous?” Regulus has always been blunt. James’ eyebrows furrow and he unlatches his hands and swings them around as he responds, “I’m not sure, uhm,” and there's the lip bite again, “I wanted to check in and ask you about last night, now that I’m sober.”
“It appears then, you're a little less confident sober? Had no problem strutting up to me last night,” Regulus reponds, leaning back casually against the railing of the tower. James steps slightly closer, hands limp at his sides, “Well, Regulus Black isn’t known for being the most approachable lad at Hogwarts,” he says weakly.
“What is it you want to know, Potter,” Regulus demands, desperate for his sought out alone time and tired of the heat seeping into his bones James keeps causing. “I guess I just do really want to know why you were there,” James supplies, leaning against a pillar beside him, crossing his legs and arms as he looks at Regulus expectantly. Regulus is quickly discovering this James Potter bloke is not easily deterred.
“That, Potter, is absolutely none of your business, as I literally said to you last night.”
James sighs, tilts his head to stare at his shoelaces for a second before tracing his eyes up from Regulus’ shoes to his piercing eyes. Nobody has ever looked at Regulus like that before, the heat is burning him. His gaze lingered on his legs a little too long for his comfort, and he watched it flick between his eyes and something lower on his face before James spoke again, “I want to know, though.”
Regulus realizes he’s dealing with a boy who has never been told no. A boy who grew up always receiving, always getting. A boy who gets what he wants. Regulus refuses to give it to him. “Why,” Regulus asks, “why do you want to know so bad?”
“I don’t know. I just do,” is James’ response, tumbling from his perfect lips and mingling with the breeze as it carries it to Regulus' too-hot ears. Nobody wants to know Regulus. Regulus Black has lived a very sufficient life being unknown, in fact. Unnoticed, unbothered, unpunished. He does not wish for that to change.
“Well, I don’t feel like telling you,” Regulus responds, admittedly a little petulantly. James frowns, his unruly eyebrows knitting together above those burning eyes, “If I ask again will you tell me?” James bloody Potter. James bloody infuriating Potter.
“No. I hate you. I do not wish to share my thoughts in any context with you,” Regulus snaps, turning in his heel to abandon all hope of ever getting some peace and quiet in that bloody tower. James, the bold idiot he is, grabs the sleeve of Regulus’ robes, causing Regulus to stop in his tracks and direct a very pointed scowl at James’ annoying face. “Please let go of me,” he grunts, and to his surprise James immediately drops his sleeve.
Regulus watches James face, as he lingers to hear what he so violently needed to say, and watches several emotions skitter across the perfect lines of his face. He sees confusion in the crease of his dimple, he notices a mild hurt skirt under his eyes, and he sees determination bold in his pupils. “What are you doing up here then, will you tell me that?” James asks, quiet desperation flowing from his lovely mouth. Regulus might not be as cold as he thought he was.
“Okay,” Regulus says, and he sees tension seep from James’ broad form, follows it as it slips over the curves of his shoulders and drips down his legs. “I come up here sometimes because I like to be alone,” why is he telling James Potter this? How does he make himself stop? “I like the stars, and I’m sure even you can rub some brain cells together and figure out why.” This makes James smile. Why? Why is James Potter trying to blind him with the sun in his mouth after Regulus quite literally insulted him? What a confusing boy. “I come out here sometimes to just look at them, or talk to them,” now why did Regulus say that?! Does he have no filter?
James is looking at him as open as he always is, thoughts in bold typeface across his eyes, an encouraging and grateful smile on his lips. James is looking at him with a warmth Regulus has only ever known from his friends, and even then it’s never been this intense. James is looking at him like he wants to know more, like he’s interested. Like maybe he even cares. Surely not, Regulus’ brain reminds him. Even the sun cannot reach the darkside of the moon.
“You talk to them?” James asks, unafraid it seems, to be curious. Regulus just nods, getting more and more nervous for some reason. Wishing he had left when he wanted to, some weird part of him refusing to let him move so long as James was right there, looking at him with that look. James just nods back, moving around Regulus towards the door, “Thank you, Regulus, for telling me something.”
James Potter opens the door and leaves as quietly as he came, as Regulus spins around to face the sky again. The sun isn’t nearly as bright now, in comparison to that smile James had. Regulus stares at the sky in silent confusion, in desperate wordlessness. Why does James Potter even care? Why in the world did he agree to that party? Oh Dorcas would never hear the end of this.
__
Jame barely makes it to McGonagall's room on time, sitting down just as she enters the room to start their lesson. He’s had to run, basically sprint, from the astronomy tower to make it here and he's violently gasping for breath as he leans over his desk. He wonders when Regulus’ first class is. He wonders if Regulus is still up in that tower, talking to the sky. He wonders if Regulus gets cold up there, with all the wind and cold of November.
James retraces their conversation in his mind as Minnie starts teaching, absentmindedly twirling his quill around his fingers as his mind tunes out the lesson and he can hear Regulus’ voice in his head. “I come out here sometimes just to look at them, or talk to them.” He wonders about Sirius, he’s woken up sometimes at night, when the moonlight crashes onto him through an open window. An open window that, when he squints due to his lack of glasses at 4am, he can make out Sirius’ figure in, looking up, saying something. He wonders if they're accidentally talking to one another.
James’ mind lingers on the image of Regulus leaning against the ledge, the expanse of his chest as he leaned back and the way his hair brushed against his neck in the wind. He traces the shape of Regulus’ eyes in his mind, and oddly misses looking into them. He twists his hands together under his desk and remembers the warmth of Regulus through his sleeve.
James Potter has always been haunted by helpless curiosity. He asks too many questions, and he knows he talks too much. He has never been as desperate to know someone as he is to know Regulus.
Obviously he knows some things, what he's heard through Sirius and years of friendship with him. But Regulus doesn't seem the way Sirius described him. He seems shy, not cold, and he seems a little closed off but not rude. He seems gentle, in a way Sirius has never mentioned. He has a curiosity to him too, James can tell from the way his head tilts when he listens to James talk, and the way he lingered when James asked him to stay. James wants to know so much more.
Regulus answered his question, genuinely. He was being honest, James watched the guard fall from his eyes and saw blue invade the gray that resides in them when he talked about the stars. Regulus, maybe, would just take a little bit longer for James to crack. James can be patient.
James looks back up to see McGonagall still animatedly lecturing about something that’s probably important, and decides to check the astronomy tower tomorrow morning too.