like a distant diamond sky
He’s forgotten to expect it, should have known they would be there.
Despite it all, he had trouble pulling his gaze away from the threstrals, in awe with their dainty beauty and skeletal body which glistened in the dark as they made their way to the castle. He felt weird, he felt different ,it was as if this summer had taken something out of him, some vital part of who he was, was now gone and he was left as a shell of his old self. he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he was just floating mindlessly in a dark abyss, waiting for some relief, waiting for someone to pull him up from the murky waters he was drowning in.
James Potter would never not be able to see a threstral again, and that realisation broke his heart all over again. His dad had suffered from dragon pox since he had been 12, he had watched his dad grow more tired and more haggared, he had been there to hold him as he coughed his lungs beyond repair, and made the house surrounded by thick wisps of smoke that now chokes James into feeling as if he can't breathe, breathe, breathe.
He doesn't even realise he is moving towards the winged creatures until his outstretched hand feels the leathery skin and a harsh breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob escapes his lips. he's 15 and he can see them and he wants it all to stop, stop, stop.
Sirius' hand on his shoulder is the thing that grounds him, the thing that allows him to just stop for a second, the not think of bright, white lights and hospital beds, and glass keeping him metres away from his father, metres that seemed like miles, like rivers like worlds.
"come on prongs, let's get in one of the carriages" he lets himself be lead blindly, immediate guilt engulfing him as he thinks about Sirius, padfoot, and that he needs to be there for him, his brother needs him too. he's hurting too, so much more so.
It's dark but suddenly, they're all sitting in a carriage, James' head leaning on Sirius', whose hand is holding Remus as he stretches his legs out. It's almost his luck that they end up being in the same one as the girls, with Marlene, Dorcas, Mary and Lily, Lily, Lily.
Lily, the girl that at the age of 12 had somehow woven herself into his heart, whose emerald eyes he could fall into and get lost in, whose smile made him feel as warm as honey, made him want to shed layers and layers of himself and his love for her.
the girl that could not feel more contempt for him if she tried, and yet that didn't stop him from yearning for her in a way that felt as if he would explode with it.
He sort of forgets that they probably saw him stare at the threstral, touch nothing but air by the carriages, but then he sees Marlene look at him, and it's a punch to the gut, because they are friends and he cares about her but she's looking at him with pity, with something so sad and forgiving that he just wants it to stop.
"alright Marley, ready for quidditch tryouts. I'm making sure we start straight away." He tries for a smirk but he knows it looks strained, honestly he doesn't give a shit about quidditch right now, the thought of it makes him feel sick. Everything about quidditch reminds him of his dad, his dad, his dad.
they all talk, about what he doesn't know too wrapped up in his thoughts, but he feels her piecing green eyes watching him, and he turns. it not surprising that she doesn't look away, or flinch merely watches him, assessing if he is ok and he knows he has to apologise. because she is hurting too, she is feeling a loss too and in lots of ways it's his fault. he chokes with the guilt of it.
"Evans i-"
"it's ok" but he knows it isn't, he knows she is only giving him that small forgiving smile because he is broken, because his eyes dont shine the way they did before the summer, because he hasn't made a joke, or looked her way once. because Lily Evans, kind, thoughtful Lily Evans can find it within herself to forgive him when she truly doesn't deserve an ounce of it.
they smile at one another, small smiles that represent a truce, a stop to fights and bickers and pain. a beginning, a sign of friendship. and that, despite unrequited, unrequited, unrequited makes his heart feel just that little bit lighter, and with the comforting sound of Sirius's deep breathing next to him, James can almost kid himself into believing that maybe everything is fine, that maybe, just maybe he isn't as fucked as he thinks.
maybe 6th year won't be so bad.
Regulus Black fucking hates Dumbledore, like honestly despises him with every inch of his being. then again, he fucking hates everything at the moment, hates everything about this summer, hates his brother, more importantly though, he hates himself.
"oi black pass the potatoes" every little thing, every action feels like too much. he's exhausted in every way possible.
"get them your fucking self" he almost feels numb, all the things that used to make him feel, feel, feel and now there is nothing, he just feels hollow. he can hear his brother laughing loudly, barking more like it. He doesn't want to look, he doesn't want to see his wide sparking smile or his loved-up eyes that look at Lupin as if he is the stars, moon and sun. But he looks, he always looks. no matter how much he tries not to, no matter how small of a glance he always looks.
and Severus is watching him, his dull brown eyes searching his, and regulus puts his guard up, thinks about putting every little thing into small boxes and piling them up one by one. Severus looks away shortly after, failing at looking into his mind, Regulus carries on watching him, trying to find what he wanted, needing to know what Severus knows, what we wants.
Dumbledore is rattling on with his stupid speech, and Barty is chucking beside him and Regulus knows, he just knows that at that very moment his brother is looking at him. his brother's eyes are studying him and he feels relief, a sense of relief that he has his attention. its funny a whole summer dreading and anticipating the moment he would see his brother, what his brother would do, what he would say. what would regulus do, would he hug him, tell him to come back or would he do something worse, would he scream, cry, punch him, hex him. ask him why, why, why.
he doesn't look back at Sirius, too worried on what he would do, instead he turns to Barty, he's shovelling food into his mouth as if he has gone years without it. And regulus wonders what it is like for him, despising his father with such a burning passion that he would do anything and everything to destroy his own blood, but where do the roots lie, where does the issue stem from is it years of disappointment, or does it go further?
"I know I'm handsome and all reggie, but this staring is doing too much for my ego" Regulus has always loved that smirk, the one that pulls on both sides of his mouth, where is dark eyes narrow and jump with something akin to challenge and danger.
"fuck off you twat" but there is no real venom in his voice, and he is smiling a thing that feels so different and unnatural now. it feels like he's never smiled before but he wants to, and with Barty laughing next to him, the idea seems possible.
Suddenly there is a commotion on the Gryffindor table, and the guilt of looking is pushed away as everyone else looks to see what has happened. Peter has pumpkin juice all over his shirt and Mary is trying to wipe it off of him. And beside him sits his brother laughing joyously holding onto James Potter for dear life. Potter who is absolutely shining, his smile is small and his eyes are downturned, but even upset he burns brighter that the stars that light the enchanted sky. and Regulus can't stop the jealousy that pulls on him, and threatens to tear himself inside and out because James Potter is golden and blessed and perfect. and he is more like a brother to Sirius, than he is.
And James Potter is just another thing he hates, because he doesn't hate him at all.
Potions is boring and the fumes are making him have a headache and regulus black can't breathe, breathe, breathe. But Barty makes him laugh, messing around with the ingredients and flailing around swearing with how is potion turns orange instead of green. Slughorn comes around, his eyes lighting up at the sight of him, another person that sees him as the black heir, another person that expects something from him that he can't give
and he can't breathe, breathe, breathe.
he excuses himself and goes to the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror and wants to cry because he has his mother's dead eyes, cold, ice, grey with nothing behind but pain and destruction reflected in his irises. But his face, his hair, the pale smooth ,flawless skin and and raven perfect hair that his mother cuts every time, that he lets grow in order to be more like the brother he hates. the brother he loves. He looks at himself and sees the nose of his father, the one that he is looked down over, again and again.
he hates himself. he hates himself.
Barty finds him later, pulls him in for a hug and tells him that it's ok, that he's ok and Regulus tries not to think of his brother, and how he used to do and say the same.
but now he's gone, and Regulus feels the loneliness begin to seep in. he knew his 5th year would be bad, and now he guesses he's right.
James can't sleep. his traitorous mind plays the scenes over and over again. His mother's frail body in his shaky hands trying to keep her up, trying to keep them both up. His father being held down by healers in full body suits. smoke filling the room. him and his mum outside, begging to go in, begging to see him. not allowed in, the same words said over and over again. and then fire, curls of read heat and grow and spread like the dread and pain in James' chest. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for your loss. meaningless words repeated over and over again like a mantra.
his feet touch the cold floor with a hiss. he would wake Sirius, feeling to angsty to try and sleep needing to do something, to get his mind to shut off ,off, off. but Sirius is curled beside Remus, being held so tenderly it hurts James' chest. his friend has had little to no sleep this summer and the thought of waking him when he looks at peace, when he looks at home seems cruel. so he gets out of bed quietly and leaves.
the quidditch pitch is a trek taken so often that the familiarity of it is a comfort. each step he takes both excites and repulses him, however the need to fly outweighs everything else. it always has.
he's thinking about his dad when he spots him, remembering the times his father would show him how to ride properly, the birthday and Christmas gifts that always made him the same enthusiasm as James, sometimes more. He's thinking of the times when they would come and watch his matches and tell him how proud they are. their son. his son. his boy.
It's the startled swear that makes him look up and see Regulus black on a broom whizzing around as if this pitch is his to conquer. If he didn't make it look so elegant, James would laugh at the absurdity of it, of him chasing a tiny golden ball in the dead of night, it's wings invisible in the darkness that envelopes it. Regulus hasn't noticed him and James is glad for it as he is standing there in absolute awe with his mouth wide open like an idiot.
because he may be the best quidditch player, but Regulus has a certain elegance and gracefulness that James could never have. he looks like a fucking shooting star, the way he shines, he looks like Epaphus, a greek god unknown to the rest of the world.
there were many things that could be said about Regulus Black.
ruthless, lost, lonely
broken, impassive, cruel
and yet, one thing that seemed undeniably true to James, through all the uncertainties was that despite who Regulus was, he was beautiful.
and then their eyes met, from across the pitch, across acres and acres of land, across seas and stars, and James wonders what the hell he has gotten himself into.