Grapes
“Dorcas, have you even spoken to her since your second year?” Barty comments through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, chewing with his mouth wide open and spitting little chunks out. Barty has a way of disregarding all table manners and passing it off as a ‘plot to disappoint his father’, even when his father is very much not there. Regulus thinks to remark on this, or perhaps politely request he not spew his lunch all over his friends, but thinks better than to mess up one of Barty’s simple indulgences. It’s bloody nasty though.
Regulus covers his mouth with his hand when he chews, and takes small bites so as to avoid making a show of himself. His napkin is folded in his left hand as he delicately holds his fork in the right, and uses the side of the prongs to cut up his meal. Regulus chances a glance towards the Gryffindor table, for no particular reason, just to have somewhere to look. He can hear, faintly, the sound of James Potter laughing. What a boisterous sound it is, permeating through the whole room through the sunlit sky above them. Regulus notices James’ manner of eating.
James Potter is a pureblood, which would have suggested he be accepted by Regulus’ standards of cordiality, but the Potters don't exactly align with The Most Noble House of Black’s values. Regulus remembers, on the train station as they dropped Sirius off for his first year, hearing his mother warn him, “You best stay away from that Potter boy, and any non-pureblood students,” she went on about how he’d be punished if he failed to please her, but Regulus always chose to tune those ramblings out.
That day, as Sirius boarded the train, Regulus looked through the windows to follow his path. He saw him enter a compartment holding a small round boy, pink in the face and stumbling over his trunk. The other half of that boy's bench was taken up by a lad that appeared to have too-long limbs, folding himself up to fit in the corner, timidly watching the rest of the boys. Across from him, on the bench Sirius ended up sitting on, was a boy with unruly hair and an immovable smile. He had round rimmed glasses perched on his curved nose, and his dark skin made his smile even brighter.
Regulus remembers thinking he looked very nice, like maybe he could be friends with him. He watched as Sirius greeted the bright one with a warmer hello than the goodbye he’d given Regulus (an awkward side hug as his parents watched and tugged Regulus to leave).
Now, as Regulus watches his brother and his friends, much older and recognizable now, he scrutinizes them. James rejects the idea of being pureblood, and you can see it in every mannerism he displays. He talks far too loud, interrupts people, hardly studies, and eats with his elbows on the table, waving his fork wildly as he speaks. Regulus watches carefully as he directs the wild fork towards his older brother, making a show out of brushing his hair with it. Disgusting, Regulus thinks to himself, but he keeps watching.
James Potter is laughing so viciously at something the scarred one has said that he quite literally rolls backwards off his seat. Head first. Idiot, Regulus thinks. James sprawls himself right on the floor, just laying quite literally in the way of absolutely everyone. Arrogant, Regulus deducts. Sirius leans over him, clutching his stomach through a fit of wild laughter Regulus hasn't seen since he was 10. James sits up slightly to say something that Regulus can't make out and then the whole group of them (all four girls Regulus doesn’t quite know the names of, and the “marauders”, as they call themselves) are in throws of violent laughter. Funny? Regulus wonders.
James stands up, pulling himself up with one arm on the table and the other still clutching his stomach as he continues to shake in laughter. Regulus can make that out. It’s loud, and deep, like the sound of the tide from far up the beach. Regulus knows he probably shouldn't be watching anymore, in fact he’s not quite sure why he is.
Then James sees him. And James is watching too, now. His smile doesn't falter but his laughter tapers off as he locks eyes with Regulus across the hall. His hand falls limp at his side and he hesitates slightly before Sirius tugs him to sit back down. James is still staring at Regulus with reckless abandon, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He straightens his glasses where they’d shifted from his fall, and his hand finds its way to scratch subtly at the back of his neck. Oh, and there's the lip bite.
Regulus just raises a single arched eyebrow his way, before returning to his friends. He turns his head in time to watch Evan quite literally hold Barty’s mouth shut as he chews, “for the love of Salazar, Bart if you don’t stop spitting your food at me,” he starts to tousle Barty’s hair as he swallows, “your father isn't even here! It’s us poor pupils that have to suffer!”
“I like to think he can sense when I'm disappointing him,” Barty remarks, pointedly shoveling more food into his mouth to chew with his mouth very open, “I will not be converted to your pure ways,” he pointedly rests his elbows on the table and leans his head toward the ceiling (sky?) to proclaim, “feel that father?!” Evan laughs despite himself and simply nudges the elbow next to him back down to Barty’s side. Regulus spots that Barty is wearing another one of Evan’s shirts, this one a loose white button up, noticeably Evan’s from the embroidered E.R. on the left cuff. Evan fixes the twisted bit of fabric around Barty’s elbow from where he shoved it off the table, straightening the crease from the bend of his elbow to the unbuttoned cuff at his wrist.
Regulus has always been quite observant. He started noticing things in his brother's actions as a kid, vowing to himself to avoid repeating them after seeing how his parents would react. He noticed what volume was “too loud” and what words made his mother scorn Sirius with cleansing charms to the mouth as she recited, “toujour pur” over and over as her child wailed. He noticed when Sirius started hiding things under his bed, and noticed when he’d pace around at night. The different patterns of footsteps all meant different things. Regulus learned them all.
Regulus, once he came to school, always paid conscious mind to everybody. Who not to be seen with, how not to be seen, where the castle will let you hide. He knows almost everybody’s names and houses, knows all his fellow slytherins parents and what they believe in. Regulus has always listened.
Of course, in tandem with his excellent listening skills, Regulus never quite mastered talking. Family dinner was spent silently shoveling soup into his mouth as he tuned into his parents' murmurings of the ministry. He never spoke, only to Sirius when he’d crawl into his bed at night and tell him stories of the stars and the books he’d read. Sirius was always a good listener too, but only ever to Regulus. Sirius couldn't listen to their parents, or maybe he could but refused to actually hear them. Regulus noticed that too, how Sirius' face shifts when the curtain falls. His eyes gloss over with something cold, something Regulus sees in himself when he looks in the mirror. His jaw clenches slightly, and his mouth shrinks in on itself as he bites at the inside of his lips.
Regulus watched many times as his parents received that steely look, watched Sirius wring his hands under the table and slowly raise the ankle of his left foot in and out of the back of his polished dress shoes. Regulus, when he watches as he is now, hasn’t seen Sirius do that to his friends. Except that weird time late in their 5th year (Regulus’ 4th) when nobody seemed to be able to look Sirius straight on. Sirius’ curtain always fell when the scarred one looked at him, which wasn’t often then. Regulus has always wondered what happened, but after the summer, when they came back this year, it all seemed back to normal. Then when Regulus watched he saw a timid version of his boisterous older brother, always making himself small for the tall one in the sweaters. He wonders about that too, now.
Now, he also has his own friends to observe. His friends who seem quite comfortable swapping clothes. His friends who seem to be getting quite a bit closer as puberty gets closer to leaving their bodies. Regulus knows though, that Evan will always need his privacy. Evan always needs a little more time to get close, a little extra space to make himself at home. It was Barty that got Evan to join them one day, from out of their bed curtains about 3 months into their first year. Barty told Evan that if he’d come with them to the kitchen, he could promise him fresh hot chocolate.
Regulus hadn't noticed that about Evan, the way Barty did. Evan used to have a mug of hot chocolate almost every night at dinner, when first year Regulus was too busy watching his brother laugh and smile at his new best friend. Evan begrudgingly took Barty’s extended hand and allowed himself to be led to the kitchen through dark corridors and near misses with Mrs. Norris. Regulus did notice when that became a ritual between his two roommates, and didn’t mind that he stopped being invited. Regulus was always partial to Pandora, so he’d allow his friends their favorites too.
So, since that memory hazed November night Barty and Evan have known more about each other than Regulus ever will either of them. Regulus does know, though, how odd it is that they get along so well. See, Barty is the opposite of private. Barty yells in the great hall about his father and has brought half of the Slytherin house up to the prefect's rooms for “casual fun”. Barty dances on top of his favorite armchair in the common room when he throws parties (he is always the one throwing them, even when he was barely 12). Barty can hold his liquor like no other and always suggests a game of spin the bottle.
This same Barty, this same loud bold boy, always walks Evan up to the room by midnight when the party gets too overwhelming or too loud. Always disappears for half an hour when he does so, and always comes back down a little lighter on his feet. This same dancing dazzling boy, plays chess every wednesday night on their dorm floor with Evan, and always lets him win. He lets Evan sleep in and always shushes Regulus if Evan is still sleeping when they're getting up and ready. Regulus does know these things.
Regulus knows Evan too. Regulus and Evan understand each other in a way Regulus didn’t know he could be understood. He always thought that if the person who should know him best, his very blood and family, didn't understand him, that no other person ever would. Evan, though, is quiet like Regulus, he watches too, and sometimes Regulus will invite Evan to the astronomy tower with him to people watch from up above. Evan is a great story teller, too, and he loves to talk if you’ll listen.
When they go up to the tower, and share lunch on nicer days, Evan always makes up stories about the people they see. He narrates conversations they watch down beneath, and guesses everyone's house and name. Evan never talks around too many people though, if it’s more than just his dorm mates he simply listens. Evan wears clothes too big for him, and hunkers in the corner of the common room, at the dark mahogany desk in the corner.
This same Evan, made of whispers and masks, dances with Barty when he plays music in the dorm. He goes to the parties Barty throws and always wears something of Regulus’, something that hugs his slender waist and stretches over his firm arms. This same subtle Evan laughs loudly at every joke Barty makes, and smiles widely when he does. Evan will tell Barty a story anytime he asks, even in a room full of people.
Regulus loves knowing these things, loves watching and understanding. Regulus, despite his rather cold exterior, is actually quite fond of people. He likes how everyone laughs differently, and when people have slightly crooked smiles. He likes watching the first years make friends, and form their groups. He loves the quidditch tryouts every year, and he loves when the younger members of the team mimic the older ones. He notices it when little Clyde Fletcher mounts his broom the same way he does, and how he’s started to grow out his hair to match Regulus’.
“Reg,” he hears someone say, snapping his head up from Barty’s sleeve to see an emptying room, “lunch is almost over, we need to head down to the dungeons for potions.” It’s Evan who’s talking, standing behind Barty (still seated) and motioning for Regulus and him to stand and leave with him.
“God, I bloody hate Horace,” Barty moans, shuffling out of his seat and hanging himself limply as he walks, “does anyone else think he’s a little creepy?” Evan hides a smile behind his sleeve at Barty’s petulance, swatting him on the back to get him to stand up straight.
“Barty, seriously, your father isn't here, please never call him Horace to his face,” Regulus sighs, standing as well and following quickly behind his already moving friends. Barty simply makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, the one adorned with Evan’s initials just underneath it. Evan starts walking faster, his feet hardly lifting from the stone floor, making an odd sort of shuffling sound.
“Professor Slughorn,” Evan raises an eyebrow at Barty, “is the man’s name. And he will be very upset if his own house’s students are late. Please little prince, I know your legs are shorter than ours, but please pick up the pace.” Regulus scoffs and scowls in Evans’ general direction, but does in fact pick up the pace. Barty and Evan are already several steps ahead of him just from lack of patience as Regulus had gotten up.
“I’m not even that short Rosier, my friends just happen to be abnormal heights,” Regulus remarks as soon as he catches up to them, falling into step as they head down the hall to the stairs. “Or, perhaps, all that inbreeding finally caught up to you,” Barty jokes, head tilting down much further than actually necessary to regard Regulus’ firm frown.
They make it to the dungeons just in time to situate their things as Professor Slughorn enters to stand behind the desk at the front of the room. The room is dank and gloomy, it feels like a perpetually rainy day inside and the stone floor is cold beneath Regulus’ feet. Despite his natural inclination to success in potions class, Regulus could not possibly hate anything more. Except maybe that boy who followed him to the astronomy tower yesterday morning. Regulus pointedly avoided the tower this morning, planning on going tonight instead. He’s always preferred it at night anyway.
Regulus is partnered with some tall blonde Hufflepuff boy in his class; he introduces himself as Amos Diggory. He’s far too happy for Regulus’ liking but Regulus deducts he’s at least competent as they start listing out ingredients for the potion they’ve been assigned to brew. Today's potion is the famous potion of love, Amortentia. Regulus loathes this potion. Every year the 5th years will not shut the bloody hell up about it once they get to brew it. It’s always high pitched squeals and a weirdly romantic week in the middle of November that feels more like valentines day than actual valentines day at Hogwarts.
Luckily Amos doesn't seem the gossip type, and has hardly even spoken to Regulus yet so he doubts he’ll have to tell anyone what he smells. Regulus, despite his hatred for the people who do this, desperately wants to know what Barty and Evan will smell. They’re partnered together at the station directly in front of Regulus, and he’s already seen far too many unexcused hand grazes for his comfort. He’ll let them figure that out on their own.
He opens his mouth, breathing in and out of his lips to avoid the unforgettable knowledge of himself he does not want to learn from this potion.
Regulus delegates chopping and prepping ingredients to Diggory, while he takes over the actual import of them to the cauldron, and makes it clear he’ll be the only one stirring it. Diggory is cordial, if a little nervous around Regulus, but he can't blame the poor guy. Whoever thought pairing Hufflepuff and Slytherin, especially in Slughorn’s class, needs to be evaluated. Regulus is good at potions, he knows he is, he’s never gotten below an exemplary mark. He will not let a stuttering smiling hufflepuff change that.
Regulus, as always, is the first to finish his potion. He knows it's done when quite literally every person in the room turns to stare, their pupils slightly dilated, at his steaming cauldron. Even Diggory seems caught up by whatever scent reaches his wide nostrils. Regulus promptly covers the cauldron and approaches Slughorn to have him come and inspect the potion.
“Regulus, my boy, you never fail to impress me!” Slughorn exclaims as he raises the cauldron lid to look and sniff at the brew within. Diggory positively beams as Slughorn congratulates them, a smile revealing slightly crooked teeth and nerve bitten lips. Regulus thinks he doesn't mind him much at all.
“Do you mind if I ask, boys, what it is you smell?” Professor Slughorn asks as he returns to his place at the front of the classroom. The rest of the class looks at them expectantly, and Diggory appeasingly opens the lid once more to smell the concoction. His cheeks flush and he starts to talk, but Regulus can’t hear him.
Regulus lets himself breathe through his nose for the first time since they’d begun brewing, as his mouth has become slightly dry and even he cannot resist curiosity this strong. It’s warm. A warm scent permeates his nostrils and tangles in his brain. It’s grounding, a sort of smokey Earth filling his lungs, something slightly sweet too, maybe fruit? Raspberries? No, it's a candy, Regulus recognizes it after only a moment of confusion. It's the orange Bertie Botts bean. Odd, he thinks, do I love a jelly bean?
Then the Earthy scent takes over again, like camping and quidditch, the smell of walked on grass and chopped wood. Sweetness and Earth mingle in his nostrils, smells like home, he thinks. But not his home, the idea of home everyone always talks about. Regulus knows nothing of home, of the warmth currently wrapping around his heart. He wonders if he’ll ever go there. He wonders if he’ll ever meet them, whoever it is.
The smell leaves suddenly, the warmth rushing out of Regulus as the lid returns to the top of the cauldron, and Regulus realizes he’s moved to be directly above it. Unaware of all else, he had pushed past Diggory and stuck his face nearly all the way in the cauldron. The whole class is staring at him; Regulus hates being seen.
“Alright there, Regulus?” Diggory asks, resting a hand on Regulus’ cloaked shoulder. He quickly shoves away and requests to leave class early. Slughorn simply nods, something in his eyes revealing a sort of understanding Regulus never wants to touch. He turns as he leaves to see Barty and Evan look at him, faces laced with confusion and concern before he turns out of the classroom and heads swiftly to his room.
–
The 5th years are doing Amortentia. James knows this because as he sneaks down to the kitchens to steal Moony some extra lamb from dinner he hears a gaggle of slightly younger witches giggle and gasp as one of them shares that, “It’s him, I know it is. I smelled his shampoo in it, I swear.”
James simply rolls his eyes and sneaks past a hall to approach the familiar pear painting. He tickles it as he recalls his own Amortentia experience. He’s got absolutely no clue who it smelled like. Not even an inkling. He’d thought it’d be Lily. He expected to smell her sweet flowery perfume and the linen scent of her clothes. He was prepared for the scent of spring she carries on her shoulders. He did not smell spring.
James and Sirius finished their potion third, but the two first successes were far enough across the room he could hardly make out the scent before they covered their cauldrons. When Sirius turned the potion the last time, he quickly removed and dropped the stirrer. He blushed deep and warm, covering his face with the sleeve of Remus’ sweater he’d stolen that morning. He quickly removed said sweater clad hand, put it back, and removed it again before blinking profusely and sitting down. James followed his gaze, quick and fleeting, towards Remus and Peters station a couple desks away.
James wanted to tease, or point this strangeness out, but as soon as Sirius moved and the scent hit him he felt helpless to do anything other than gape and long. It was winter. It was snow, and crisp air, like how wind smells when he flies. It was soothing, minty and cinnamony like a candle James had as a child. It smelled evergreen, like pine trees in December. It danced through his nostrils, soothing his throat like tea as it passed down to his lungs and intoxicated him with the heady scent of someone he’d never met.
His knees buckled when he stepped towards it, and Sirius had to place him on his seat and cover the cauldron. Neither of them teased about it. In fact, none of the marauders even mentioned it once after class. James thinks about it a lot still. The scent of Christmas and comfort and a little bit of danger, like falling from the sky or drowning. He so desperately wants to smell it again, in the crook of somebody's neck, or the soft hair above someone's forehead.
He’s still annoyed by the 5th years, though. Despite his crippling romanticism, James Potter is also exceedingly jealous. Good for her, he thinks as the girl continues to remark on some lad’s shampoo.
The portrait swings open and he’s met quickly by many small shuffling house elves, always very happy to see one of the marauders.
“How can we help you today, sir,” one asks, offering James a seat at the smaller scale version of the tables above them in the great hall. James graciously sits down, responding kindly, “Thank you, Winnie,” he knows them all by name, 6 years of regular visits have familiarized them all, “Just came to see if I could get a little extra of the dinner tonight for Remus?”
The house elves immediately oblige, offering James snacks as they prepare a plate and asking him what he had thought of the meal that night. James loves coming down here, he really does enjoy the company of the house elves, he doubts much anybody else bothers to even think of them. His first trip down here had been in his first year, desperate to rebel and terribly hungry after a long day of detention with Filch. As always, Sirius accompanied him. Sirius wasn’t quite sure how to talk to the elves, almost immediately taking to ordering them around.
James remembers Sirius’ face when James had asked one for their name, how Sirius had seemed oddly stricken, and immediately silent. James talked to them as friends, as equals, and Sirius slowly learned to do the same. They’ve spent hours down here now, gossiping with the elves and learning how to make random dishes.
Winnie returns with a wrapped plate of lamb, potatoes, and assorted greens. “Thank you, Winnie,” James says, “He’ll love this!” Winnie smiles shyly, ducking her small head towards the floor and thanking him for his gratitude. She looks up slowly, nervously, to ask, “How has Master Remus been? Winnie has wanted to gift him more food, but she is sorry could not find extra lamb.”
James smiles, placing the plate on the table and turning to better face her small figure, “first of all, you can just call him Remus,” she looks down again, “and he’s been great, no need to apologize, I meant it when I said he'd love it.” She smiles slightly and looks back up fully, making eye contact with James, his spectacled face reflecting in her large round eyes. “Remus eats a lot, Winnie has noticed,” James laughs at that, biting his lip to keep too much from spilling out, “Remus must be growing.”
James is about to make some sort of snide remark at Remus’ absolutely ridiculous height, when the pear portrait swings open. Almost nobody knows how to open the portrait, Gideon and Fabian Prewett had taught James before they graduated. James immediately swivels around on his bench, spinning sight landing on just about the last person he expected to see.
James had suspected perhaps Sirius had come to join him, perhap getting a late night hunkering for grapes as he sometimes inexplicably does. Who James sees, despite their similarities, is not Sirius. It’s a smaller slimmer version of the same bloodline. A boy who, as soon as he enters, looks rather inclined to leave.
Regulus Black is wearing pajamas. Striped red and green christmas pajama pants and a loose black hoodie James deeply suspects is not his own, given how it hangs off his slim frame and reaches mid thigh. Regulus Black is stood in the kitchens of Hogwarts at 12am in muggle pajamas, gawking openly at James as Winnie approaches him warmly.
“Regulus!” she exclaims, beckoning him in further, “are you wanting the hot chocolate you like? Winnie can make it very quickly for you, sir!” Regulus smiles, full on smiles, as his eyes leave James’ and look down at Winnie. She smiles back, as he nods and thanks her profusely, “you always know what I want, how do you do that?” She laughs, and starts making his hot chocolate as the other house elves simply busy themselves with cleaning and sorting dishes on the other side of the room.
James is attempting to compose his face as he waits for Regulus’ gaze to return to him. Regulus seems to almost completely forget he was there too as soon as the other elves came to greet him. He also knows them all by name. They ask after his friends too. They ask about his classes. He asks about their gossip. What the fuck is happening right now? James’ brain wonders as he sits rather stupidly struck by the display of Regulus Black being everything but what he assumed he was.
Regulus slowly makes his way across the room, blatantly ignoring James to approach Winnie as she tops off a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. James would like to be acknowledged, please. He clears his throat rather abruptly and awkwardly. When did I become awkward? He thinks as Regulus’ gaze finally finds him, say something James literally say anything, his brain suggests. James has no idea what to say.
“Potter.” Regulus declares, as if he’s simply pointing out the weather or remarking on his distaste for a particular brand of shampoo. It’s void of any emotion, and pointedly succinct. James feels very out of place. All of a sudden it feels as if he’s the one that intruded on Regulus’ space (which, when he thinks about it, he has done before).
“Uhm,” he starts, great start James way to go what a conversation starter, he thinks before clearing his throat again to say, “hello Regulus.” James sees a slight twitch at the corner of Regulus’ mouth, and takes that as a good start. “Yes, hello James,” Regulus responds slowly, moving to lean against a counter across from James.
“You know Winnie?” James asks, stupidly.
“Quite obviously, yes. I also clearly know, and this is where one would typically use context clues for deduction, all of the other elves,” Regulus drawls, voice deeper with obvious sleepiness. James smiles, despite his awareness he was just blatantly insulted, and asks, “you come here often?”
Regulus almost smiles, almost. “Do you?” Regulus asks in response. James smiles, beaming towards the side of the kitchen currently occupied by working house elves, “I do, yes! Quite nice company down here, I also love a midnight snack.” James sees a flicker of something cross Regulus’ face, before he decides to actually answer James’ previous question with, “Then we’ve found the only thing we have in common.” Regulus raises a perfect eyebrow at James as he laughs and shakes his head lightly to get some stray hair out of his face.
“I’m sure there's more than just that, little Black,” James says through a smile he can't seem to shake, “tell me, big fan of cocoa?” Regulus looks down at the already half drunk mug in his hand, allowing a half crooked smile to fix itself on his closed lips. He simply hums and takes another sip. “I’m assuming that's a yes,” James says, standing to grab a stem of grapes out of a bowl next to Regulus, “me too.” Regulus’ smile expands, but his lips remain closed.
James, brave as Godric winks at Regulus before popping a round green grape into his mouth. He notices Regulus’ smile falter, he watches as his gaze flicks distractedly down to James mouth as he chews and swallows. “Do you like grapes, Regulus?” James asks. Regulus has regained control of his eyes, and is decidedly not looking at James. His face is stoic and straight, flat with lack of emotion, but his eyes flicker with a hint of the mischief James feels in his own.
“I prefer purple,” he says, flat and void of tone as he mimics James’ earlier act of grabbing a grape (purple and slightly smaller) out of the bowl, and sucking it into his open mouth. Oh. James thinks. Oh.
Regulus quickly vacates his place leaning against the counter, and turns to place his now empty mug by the stack of dirty dinner dishes from that evening. He thanks the elves as James helpelssly traces his form with his gaze, entranced by his familiarity with and mere existence in this room. Regulus starts toward the portrait, making to leave. He brushes past James and with him the soft smell of Christmas passes. James credits this scent to the cocoa.
Just as he pushes the portrait open Regulus turns back, only slightly, just a twist of his shoulders and an incline of his perfect face, “three things in common then,” he says, causing a smile to tear open James lips and warm his cheeks, “I hope Mrs. Norris catches you on your way back to your tower.” James’ smile falls slightly, as he watches Regulus swiftly step out of the portrait hole and turn in the direction of the slytherin common room.
“Do you and Regulus being friends?” Winnie asks as James grabs Remus’ plate and stacks a few grapes for Sirius on top of it. James regards her question for a second, laughing a little to himself before answering, “no, not quite yet.” She nods, and proceeds to walk him to the portrait hole asking, “So you are wanting to be friends?” He pauses at the hole, looking down to make eye contact with the small elf, “Maybe,” he says, honesty slipping out of his loose lips, “Don’t tell Sirius if he comes down here, okay?”
She immediately nods and promises, and he feels a little bad for wording his request as a command, but she seems pleased to please him and waves goodbye as he heads up the stairs away from the kitchen.
The other boys are up and loud when James enters the room, tossing the grapes at Padfoot, who is currently leaning against Remus’ trunk at the end of his bed. Moony immediately stands from his position in the open window as James enters, placing his lit cigarette down to accept the food in James’ hands.
“Thank you, Prongs, I’m feeling quite literally famished,” he says, immediately biting into a soft piece of potato. The full moon is this upcoming weekend, so Remus is eating like an actual animal, which… I mean. “No problem,” James says, Sirius and Peter joining him to chorus, “anything for our Moony.” James lightly ruffles the fluffy hair atop Remus’ head and promptly folds himself down onto the floor beside Sirius.
“Winnie says she wants you to visit soon, by the way,” he says in the direction of Remus, who is perched back on his window, plate precariously placed beside him on the ledge. He smiles, facing the grounds beneath the tower, “I’ll go by after this weekend,” he says quietly. Remus doesn't much like to talk about the moons. Sirius quickly changes the subject, jumping up from the ground to drag Peter out of his bed (he’d been studying, he’s the only one other than Moony who does any of that).
“Oh, Wormy!” Sirius starts, dramatic as always, “please will you play exploding snaps with me please. Moony’s been refusing all night and James wants to play.” James blinks at Sirius, “I literally never said that.” James would very much like to lock himself behind the curtains of his bed and overanalyze every single second of the interaction he just had with the younger Black brother. Sirius simply rolls his eyes and declares, “you didn't have to, Prongsie, don’t you know I can read your mind?” He makes some sort of weird gesture with wiggling fingers between his own head and James’ and James laughs and immediately gives in.
“Ah, of course! You’re right darling soul mate of mine, how could I forget our infamous telepathy skills!” James gasps, standing to help Sirius tug Peter out of bed.
“Honestly, James, shame on you,” Sirius reprimands James as they tug on Peter's legs, “But you need not fret, I will always be here to appease your every want and need.”
James laughs over the disgruntled noises of protest coming from Peter as he gives in and stands, “Thank you dear love of mine,” he says, gripping Sirius’ face between his hands and kissing his forehead loudly, “now, let's play some snaps!”
From above them laughter tumbles from the smoke in Remus’ mouth, and Peter smiles warmly at the display of affection saying, “how do we manage to put up with them?” to Remus’ moonlit figure. Remus just shakes his head and smiles fondly down at the two boys now intertwined on the floor, “I don’t know, Wormy, I really do not know.”
James spends the rest of the night entering the AMs with a loud game of exploding snaps, very much not thinking about a boy in christmas pajamas, or the scent of hot cocoa.