Ghostly Intentions

James spent the next week airing out the house and uncovering the furniture. He constantly had to open doors he swore had already been opened, allowing the dry breeze to continue to waft through the house. Until some door was closed and heat reclaimed the house.

It’s just a broken door. But why would all the doors be broken?

He continued to clean, and sweep, and ignore how all of his dust piles would be scattered to the four corners of the room every time he finished a pile.

It’s just the breeze, he thought.

He cleared out his grandfather's books, (there were some keepers) and replaced them with his own.

~~

Regulus floated through the cool house, closing doors that were allowing the wind to make the house even colder.

The poor bumbling buffoon was going to catch cold, he only wore shorts and a shirt. He was a rather terrible tenant.

It had been a week, and he had only fully cleared out one room.

It became sort of a game to Regulus.

He would sweep his fingers through a dust pile every time James zoned out, staring at some invisible dot in the distance. James would snap to after a while, and stare in confusion at the dirty floor.

Two days later, James had learned to ignore floors.

So, Regulus would replace his pens, and occasionally fold some laundry.

James never noticed, he only got increasingly more and more confused, it was adorable.

Regulus couldn’t help but notice how his brows would crinkle when he looked around for his glasses that had been right there. Or how when he was reading a book he would hold his breath unconsciously when the scene got tense, and smile in relief when something good happened.

He also cried a little in his sleep, and muttered beneath his breath about past deadlines and angry friends.

Regulus always looked away when this happened, or he’d go light a lavender scented candle somewhere in the house.

~~

James would wake up every morning to the smell of lavender swirling through the air.

It made him smile, and think of his mother.

It was the third monday that James had been in his new house, who he had christened [], and he believed that it was finally time to begin exploring the upper levels.

He started on the third floor.

The three bedrooms were cluttered with old trunks and nearly rotten desks covered in old paraphernalia.

He sifted through the piles upon piles of junk and clutter until he practically exploded from a sensory overload. There was simply too much stuff. James decided that once he was fully settled, he was going to host a sale to get rid of everything, and hopefully make bank in the process.

After exploring the other two rooms before moving onto the attic.

It was dark, the flickering bare lightbulb barely illuminating the room at all. Cobwebs hung from the splintered wood of the roof. A halo of blue light was shining through a round glass stained window at the front of the room. Wind-chimes hung from the rafters, but they didn’t make any noise. It was a beautiful scene that almost took his breath away.

James paused, admiring how otherworldly the room was.

After a few moments he spent frozen in place, a gust of wind blew through the room, snapping him out of his daze.

The wind chimes began to sound, lovely little jingles. The wind continued around the room, churning up dust from the boxes. The dust flew around the room, following the wind’s current. James smiled as the dust began to shimmer, almost as if glitter had been mixed in with it. He was in awe, the scene was almost out of a fairy tale- or a Stephen King book.

The bells reached a crescendo, and the dust had formed into a mini tornado dashing around the attic.

James was in shock.

“W-what the fuck?” he whispered under his breath. It was insane, had he inherited a fucking haunted house?

All of a sudden, the bells ceased abruptly and the dust collectively dropped from the air. It didn’t scatter or float to the ground. It just fell. Gravity pulled it down in less than a second.

FUCK.

James frowned and walked over to the area where the dust fell. When he saw what was there, he stumbled back, a silent gasp trapped inside.

A single word had been formed by the fallen dust.

BOO

~~

Regulus was pissed off. The stupid fucking new guy had trespassed into his room. The old man had bad knees, and couldn’t make it up the ladder to the attic. No living being- other than rats and the occasional cockroach- had been in that attic in over 3 decades.

And then. And then this man, James Potter, just waltzed into his house and disrupted the natural flow. He had rearranged boxes, uncovering cold spots that weakened Regulus’s aura. It had taken much effort to get the old man to cover those areas, and it was severely weakening Regulus.

James Potter who looked nothing like the old man, and who wore too tight jeans and see through shirts had come breaking into his life.

It was tiring, having to remember which areas of his house he had to avoid. Everyday that James was here, he would move more of Regulus’ protection.

So, his only option was to place more protection. Hence the lavender. Hence the small collection of James’ stuff that was being placed in the cold spots that were harder to avoid. He took the other man’s shaving kit and placed it in the corner of the kitchen.

The ghost watched as James went a tiny bit rabid trying to find the kit, and he smiled as he realised that the man would look even better with stubble.

And about 80% more attractive with a beard.

Regulus had staged his little scene in the attic simply to freak the man out. It was simple really, all he had done was float around in circles. He had stretched his arms out and channelled just a little bit of his natural magnetism- the bells had rang and the dust had done its thing, plus the glitter he had added shimmered from the light. It had truly been a thing to watch.

James’ eyes had blown up so wide, it almost made Reg want to know what he looked like when he was turned on.

Almost.

Writing using dust had been something he mastered quite soon into his career as a professional ghouls. His father had always said he was bright, and he used his useful little trick to convince the older Potter to do things for him.

The only problem with his trick was that he hadn’t anticipated James’ reaction.

He had expected James to freeze, to panic and to run away. Maybe a little bit of hyperventilating or screaming or even passing out.

What he didn’t expect was the eyes blown wide open, the look of shock, and then the slow chuckle that had made its way out of the young man.

~~

James couldn’t believe it. He actually couldn’t believe it!

He smiled and began to laugh. The absolute absurdness of it all. The bells, and the dust, and the blue light. The drafts he had been feeling for the whole week. It was insane, completely crazy.

James stood up and climbed back down the ladder.

At the last second he saw a small box tucked away behind a chest. It was scratched and slightly dented, but the lid had a red faded sticker on it in the shape of a hammer and sickle.

Surely it couldn’t have been his grandfather's right?

He grabbed the box and continued on his way back to the room he was currently staying in.

~~

Regulus watched as James took his box. He frowned and sighed. His hair fell limply into his eyes and he pushed it back with a chilled hand.

He floated down to James’ room and watched as he opened the small little box.

It was a relic from his childhood, full of unsent love letters that showed how much of a fucking sensitive teen he had been. There were also the death threats he had kept, the scribbled drawing of his classmates imagined deaths. Usually full of blood and lots of knives.

There were other things too. Scraps of fabric from his mothers favourite quilt, a torn picture of his first boyfriend. A bracelet Sirius had given him for his tenth birthday.

He didn’t want James to see these things. Even though James would never see him, he didn’t want himself to be known. He didn’t want the handsome brunette to see the sad, pathetic kid he had been.

It was too late now. Whatever.

~~

James opened the box. The first thing he saw was a beaded bracelet with a wooden elephant as the charm.

"Elephants symbolise strength and good fortune," his father had always said. He smiled.

He picked it up and turned the charm over, a crooked letter R had been carved into the wood. Not his grandfathers then.

The next thing he took out was a small bundle of papers.

“Die you freak!”

“Come to practice again and we will beat your little fairy ass”

James dropped the papers. Fuck. FUCK. fuckfuckfuck. He let out a deep sigh. Whoever these belonged to was just a kid. Probably.

He unfolded the next paper. It was the love confession of an eighth grade boy. Just a boy telling another boy that he loved the colour of his eyes, and the way they lit up when he laughed. He loved the singular dimple on his right cheek, and the small scar below his lip.

R, the boy who wrote the letter, loved his fascination with bugs (bugs!) and dinosaurs. And how he could run faster than any of the other boys while playing football. And how he was the only person who ever smiled at R.

oh. that was rather pathetic.

A rush of cold wind blew through the room and flicked the papers onto the floor. One of them scattered away from the rest.

James picked it up and smiled. It was a photograph of two young boys. Both with curly dark hair and bright green eyes. The older one was caught mid laugh, pure mirth captured on his face. The younger one was frowning into the camera, but his eyes showed his true emotions.

He flipped the photograph over and saw what he had been hoping to see.

Sirius and Reggie - June 1973

Whoever Reggie has been was only a year younger than James. Interesting. So he was out there somewhere.

James continued to look through the box. He found slightly disturbing drawings, obviously the product of a broken sad teenager. It was obvious that whoever Reggie had been, he hadn’t had an easy childhood.

There were letters from his mother telling him that she was ashamed of his behaviour. James didn’t know what she was referencing but it seemed to be something that she had said before. At the bottom of the box were rusted razor blades, crusted blood on them.

fuckedy fuck. Reggie hadn’t been a happy child. It made James sad to see that whoever this boy was, he hadn’t coped with his situation in healthy ways.

~~

Regulus was sat at the end of the bed watching James unpack what was left of his life. He sighed, knowing that he probably wouldn’t be able to hide his shit at this point. James was frowning down at one of the letters his mother had written. It was apparently the one denouncing him from the family.

James threw the letter down on the bed, causing Regulus to startle.

“This is such BULLSHIT,” James said.

Bullshit. It was bullshit?

Of course James was a decent person who didn’t realize how fucking much he had deserved it. 15 year old Reggie had been an asshole to his parents, wearing leather jackets trying to take up his older brother’s style.

Once Sirius had gone, Regulus had tried to be him. But the gayer version. Or the less gay version when Sirius finally sorted his shit out with Lupin. At least he had been the original gay disgrace.

Regulus snapped out of his thoughts to see that James had left the room. He floated into the kitchen to find him lighting a fire on the small stove. James held his mother’s letter over the flame.

The ghost sucked in a sharp breath of air.

“Stop!”

James couldn’t hear him, he was still burning the letter. The last thing that Regulus had that belonged to his mother.

Regulus decided to go out on a limb and do the only thing he could think of. He stepped onto the cold spot next to the oven.

His energy immediately began to drain out of him, getting sucked back into the afterlife.

His image flickered into existence next to James.

“STOP”

James jumped back, dropping the smoking letter onto the ground. Regulus raced to pick it up, patting out the flames.

He looked down at James, who had stumbled to the ground in shock.

His wide eyes were now full of fear. Regulus smiled.

“Hey.”

~~

“What the fuck?”

~~

James’ eyes shut forcefully as he fell to the ground, head hitting the wooden floors with a dry cracking sound.

Shit.