To Find a Home

James has always been told he’s literally the sun. Everything he’s ever know has always revolved around the sun. Everything has always revolved around him. 

He knows, he always will come first, no matter what. James knows that his parents value him in everything they do—every decision, every life lesson, it always circles back to him.

So, when his parents wanted to have another kid, they asked him his input. And do you know what he said? 

Well, he’s not entirely sure what he said, he was only four years old. But, he does remember how excited he was at the prospect of having a younger sibling. Someone he could play with, someone he could spend time with. Someone he could always have with him so he wasn’t so alone. 

Being an only child is lonely… isolating at times. Which, most people with siblings tend to not understand. 

Yes, James always gets his parents attention, their love, their support. And, yes, James can always get whatever he wants. But, being by himself, is boring. 

It’s like he feels sick, being alone. He knows he’s not really alone. He’s got his parents, and his friends… but he’s always wanted secret inside jokes with people that lived in his house, people that were his age. 

So, being ecstatic over getting a younger baby brother or sister, was everything to James. 

When James was around seven, he remembers being sat down by his parents to talk. He was confused, at first, but he remembers what they said very clearly. 

James sits cross-legged on the living room floor, his favorite dragon toy clutched in his hand, its wings flapping as he makes it soar through the air. The dragon lets out a mighty roar—well, as mighty as a seven-year-old can make it sound—when his mother’s voice interrupts.

“James, sweetheart, can you come sit with us for a moment?” Euphemia says, her tone gentle but carrying the weight of something important.

He looks up, noticing the way both his parents are seated on the couch, side by side. His father pats the spot on the floor in front of them, and James frowns slightly, tucking his dragon under his arm as he crawls over.

“Are we having a meeting?” he asks, tilting his head. Meetings are what they call their family discussions, though they’ve never had one this serious-looking before.

His Dad chuckles softly, ruffling James’ unruly hair as he sits down. “Something like that, champ.”

Euphemia leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees so she’s closer to James’ eye level. Her hands are clasped together, and her smile is warm but tinged with the kind of carefulness James has come to associate with big conversations.

“James, there’s something we want to talk to you about,” she begins, her voice soft and measured.

James shifts, sitting up straighter, his dragon forgotten for the moment. “Okay.”

“You know how we’ve talked about being kind and helping others when we can?” Euphemia continues, her gaze steady but gentle.

James nods. “Like when I helped Mrs. Greene carry her bags?” he asks, remembering the neighbour he’d once helped bring in groceries.

“Exactly like that,” Euphemia says with a smile. “But this time, we’re going to help in a different way. Your father and I have decided to open our home to some kids who might need a place to stay for a little while.”

James’ brow furrows, his seven-year-old mind racing to catch up. “Like…a sleepover?”

“Sort of,” Fleamont answers, his tone light but firm. “But a longer one. These kids might stay with us for weeks or even months.”

James blinks, not quite understanding. “Why?”

Euphemia exchanges a glance with Fleamont before turning back to James. “Because they need a safe place, somewhere they can feel at home. Their own homes might not be safe for them right now.”

“Oh.” James thinks about this for a moment. “So…they’ll live here?”

“For a little while,” Fleamont says. “They’ll come and go. Sometimes they’ll only stay for a short time, and other times they might stay longer. We’ll be here for them as long as they need us.”

James looks between his parents, his confusion giving way to curiosity. “Are they my brothers and sisters?”

Euphemia smiles gently. “Not quite, sweetheart. They’ll be like…guests. But we’ll treat them like family while they’re here.”

James considers this, his young mind trying to piece it all together. “Okay…so I’ll have someone to play with?”

Fleamont laughs, a deep, hearty sound. “That’s one way to look at it, yes.”

“And it’s going to make you and Mum happy?” James asks, his gaze narrowing slightly as he tries to gauge their reactions.

“Yes,” Euphemia says, her voice softening further. “It will make us very happy to help these kids. But we also wanted to make sure you’re okay with it, James. This is your home too, and we’ll always make sure you feel comfortable.”

James grins, the idea fully taking root now. “I’m okay with it. If it makes you happy and I get more people to play with, then it sounds fun!”

Euphemia lets out a small laugh, reaching forward to pull James into a hug. “Thank you, sweetheart. That means so much to us.”

Fleamont ruffles James’ hair again as Euphemia releases him. “You’re a good kid, James. We’re proud of you.”

James beams, his chest swelling with pride. His dragon dangles in his hand, momentarily forgotten as he thinks about all the new kids who’ll be staying in his house. More people to play with, more games to invent—it sounds perfect.

He scrambles to his feet, lifting his dragon into the air again. “Can I tell them about my dragons?” he asks eagerly.

Euphemia smiles, her eyes sparkling. “Of course you can, love.”

James nods, satisfied, and bounds off to continue his game. Behind him, his parents share a quiet smile, relief and gratitude etched into their faces.

And that’s how the whole fostering thing came about. James is obviously aware there was more too it. As he got older, more aware, he understood there was more to it. 

At the time, James didn’t understand why his dad came to pick him up from school one day in October. He remembers it was November, because it was a lot colder and it was around the time his parents asked if he’d like a baby brother or sister.

It was odd to James, being picked up from school by his dad instead of his mum. His mum always picked him up from school. 

To say he was confused was an understatement. 

When they got home from school, James remembers his dad saying that his “Mummy was sick”, and that he needed to “leave her alone for a bit”. It made him quite upset. James had tried to sneak into his parents room every now and again, but his dad was too quick. Always one step ahead of him. 

So, one night, when his dad put James to bed, he decided to sneak into his parent’s room. Now, as a four year old, a lot of questions were left unanswered. But one question, that James could answer himself was that his mum was crying.

It broke his heart to see her this upset. So… he did the only thing he could think of. When James was sad, he always got cuddles from his parents to make him feel better. So, James did the exact same thing. 

He knew, the next day it made her feel better. Because she was up and out of being making pancakes. And, if James could make his mum happy again, then well… he knew he did a good thing.  

The kitchen is warm and bright, the overhead light casting a soft glow over everything. James sits cross-legged in his chair at the far end of the table, gesturing animatedly with a half-eaten cookie as he talks. His words come fast, spilling out in an eager rush, his hands moving just as much as his mouth. His parents listen with practiced ease, Euphemia smiling over her mug of tea while Fleamont leans against the counter, occasionally nodding along.

James doesn’t miss the way Fleamont’s attention flickers toward the doorway. A second later, he follows the gaze and spots the small, stiff figure standing just inside the kitchen. Regulus.

The kid is frozen there, hands twisted into the hem of his jumper, eyes darting around like he isn’t sure whether he’s allowed to be here. James stops talking, the last of his words trailing off, and watches as Fleamont straightens, his expression going all soft.

“Ah, there you are,” Fleamont says, his voice warm and easy. “Hungry?”

Regulus nods once, but his shoulders draw up as all three of them turn toward him. He stares at the floor, making himself small. James frowns slightly.

“Come in, love,” Euphemia says, patting the chair beside her. Her voice is gentle, like she’s coaxing a skittish animal closer.

Regulus hesitates, then steps into the kitchen like he’s testing the ground beneath him. His movements are slow, careful, like he’s expecting something to go wrong at any moment. Instead of sitting next to Euphemia, he takes the closest chair—the one across from her—and perches on the edge, hands still twisting his jumper.

“What can we get you?” Fleamont asks, already moving toward the fridge. “Would you like some leftover spaghetti? That’s what we had for dinner.”

Another nod. James catches the way Regulus curls in on himself a second later, his cheeks flushing faintly as his stomach growls.

“Spaghetti it is,” Fleamont says easily, not acknowledging the sound. He pulls out a container and starts dishing food into a bowl. His movements are so natural, so normal, like this happens all the time.

James watches, munching on the rest of his cookie. Thirty whole seconds pass in silence before he tilts his head and says, “Dad, are you gonna heat that up? You can’t give someone cold spaghetti.” He gestures toward the bowl on the counter.

Fleamont pauses, then smiles. “I was just about to, James. You’re very perceptive, as always.”

James grins, pleased, and reaches for another cookie from the plate in the center of the table. “I’m just saying, cold spaghetti’s gross. It’s all stuck together. Not a good first impression.”

Euphemia gives him a look over the rim of her mug. “James.”

“What?” he says around a mouthful of cookie. “I’m helping.”

The microwave hums to life, filling the room with soft white noise. Euphemia stirs her tea. Regulus keeps his head down, hands still twisted in his jumper. James wonders if he even likes spaghetti. Or cookies. Or literally anything.

Euphemia sets her mug down and glances at Regulus. “Regulus,” she says gently. “This is James, our son.”

Regulus doesn’t look up, but James feels his attention shift.

“Hi,” James says brightly, like this isn’t weird at all. “You’re Regulus, right? Mum and Dad said you’re staying with us now. That’s cool. I’ve got this game we could play later—if you want, I mean. Or not. That’s fine, too.”

Euphemia touches his arm, a silent reminder to slow down. James stops mid-thought, then shrugs. “Right. Sorry. Nice to meet you,” he adds quickly.

There’s no awkwardness in his voice, no hesitation. Just a simple statement, like meeting his new almost-brother is the most natural thing in the world.

The microwave dings, the sharp sound breaking the momentary pause. James watches as Fleamont retrieves the bowl, stirring the contents with a fork before setting it carefully in front of Regulus. Steam curls into the air, carrying the faint smell of tomato sauce and garlic.

“There you go,” Fleamont says as he sits down beside Regulus, his voice calm and steady.

James tilts his head again, tempted to say something else, but before he can, Fleamont turns to him. “James, could you give us a little space to talk to Regulus?”

James blinks, caught off guard. He isn’t being scolded, but it’s clear that this is one of those serious adult moments he’s not meant to be part of. He grabs another cookie as he stands. “Yeah, sure.”

Walking over to Euphemia, James leans down and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight, Mum.”

“Goodnight, love,” she replies, brushing a hand over his curls in a brief, affectionate touch.

James turns to Fleamont. “’Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, James,” Fleamont says with a small smile.

James finally glances at Regulus, hesitating for half a second. He doesn’t say anything, but his gaze lingers—curious, thoughtful. Then he turns and heads for the stairs, his footsteps light against the wooden floor. As he disappears down the hall, the house seems to settle, the air shifting in a way James doesn’t quite have words for yet.

***

James is leaning against the car door, watching the steady stream of students spill out of the school gates. He’s tired—tired in a way only school days can make him—but relieved to see his dad’s familiar silver car pull up in front of the school. The car stops with a soft hiss, and Fleamont rolls down the window, giving James a warm smile.

“Hey, bud,” Fleamont calls, his voice light and easy. “How’s school today?”

“Good, I guess,” James says, grinning as he slides into the passenger seat. He tosses his bag into the backseat and buckles up quickly, the routine familiar and comforting. The car starts moving, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Fleamont is humming along to something on the radio, tapping his fingers on the wheel in time to the beat.

The journey home is short, but it’s enough for James’s thoughts to start racing again. Homework, mostly. He’s got so much of it this week—too much, honestly. It’s like the teachers have decided to dump everything on him at once. He can't help but feel the pressure mounting.

As they pull into the driveway, Fleamont glances over at James. "Hey, just a heads-up," he says quietly, tone softening. "Regulus is asleep upstairs, so let's keep it a bit quieter than usual when we get in, alright?"

James nods immediately, a rush of understanding sweeping over him. "Got it, Dad."

They both get out of the car and head toward the house. James’s shoes thud lightly against the gravel path, his thoughts still on the homework, and he’s already planning to tackle the pile as soon as he’s through the door.

Euphemia is in the kitchen when they walk in, looking up from where she’s sorting through the mail. Her warm smile greets them both. “Hello, love,” she says to Fleamont, before turning to James. “How was school today?”

James drops his bag by the door and stretches, letting out a long breath. “It was good, Mum. But I’ve got so much homework. Like, seriously, it’s like they want me to just live in the library at this point.” He starts rattling off everything he has to do, not even bothering to stop for breath.

“I’ve got an essay for History, a project for Science, and don’t get me started on Maths. I’m pretty sure my teacher has a personal vendetta against me, because how else can you explain that much homework for one class?” His words tumble out in a quick, excited rush, the familiar comfort of home making him feel safe to unload everything at once.

Fleamont chuckles, dropping his keys onto the counter. “Well, sounds like you’ll be busy tonight. You’ll get it done, don’t worry.”

James looks up and shrugs. "Yeah, I guess so."

Euphemia stands up from the table and stretches. "Well, I’ll help you with whatever you need. It’s been a bit of a crazy day, but I’ll make time."

James grins, relieved. "Thanks, Mum." He drops into a chair at the kitchen table, opening his bag to pull out his homework. Fleamont looks over at him, still standing by the counter.

"How about something to eat before you dive into all that?" Fleamont asks, his tone still light but carrying that familiar concern.

"Yes, please!" James says immediately, his stomach rumbling at the thought of a snack.

Euphemia pulls out some leftovers from the fridge, placing them on the counter with a knowing smile. James's eyes follow the plate, already planning his escape from his homework in the form of food.

As he starts picking at his meal, Euphemia sits down next to him, opening a notebook and pulling a pen from the pocket of her apron. "Let’s start with History. You can explain the essay to me while I help you out, yeah?"

James sighs contentedly, feeling the weight of the day lift just a little. "Thanks, Mum. You’re the best."

By the time he finished his homework, dinner was ready. 

Dinner is always the best part of the day, at least when everything’s winding down. James leans back in his chair, his plate now empty but his stomach pleasantly full. The burgers had been perfect—crispy hot chips, juicy beef patty, and the best the best tasting cheese he knows his mum loves. He could eat the whole thing again, but instead, he picks up his glass, swirling it around before setting it down, the quiet clink of the glass on the table feeling oddly final.

Fleamont leans back in his own chair, giving a satisfied sigh, his fork resting gently on the edge of his plate. Euphemia is wiping her hands on a dish towel, glancing at James with a smile. “Well, that was lovely, wasn’t it?”

"Yeah, it was great," James agrees, stretching out slightly, feeling the weight of the food sitting comfortably in his stomach. He can't remember the last time he felt this full and content, and it’s probably the reason he can’t stop smiling.

He stands up to help clear the table, his parents busying themselves with putting leftovers away and starting to rinse the dishes. James grabs the empty plates and piles them into his arms, heading over to the sink.

“James,” Fleamont’s voice cuts through the soft noise of clinking dishes. James pauses, looking over his shoulder. His dad is leaning against the counter, one hand rubbing his chin as he watches James carefully.

“You’ve been doing well helping Regulus settle in,” Fleamont continues, his tone lighter but purposeful. “But now that he’s going to be at school with you, we need you to keep an eye on him. Make sure he’s okay.”

James furrows his brow slightly, the weight of his dad’s words sinking in. He’s already been trying to make things easier for Regulus at home, but school? That’s different. He knows how it is to be thrown into a new environment, to not know anyone. He knows how hard it is to adjust when everything’s changing, and he remembers how overwhelming it all felt when he started at his old school.

“I get it,” James replies, his voice steady as he sets down the plate he’s holding and turns to face his parents. “I’ll look out for him. I’ll make sure he’s not left out, or anything.”

Euphemia, still moving around the kitchen, looks up at him and smiles softly. “You’ve been a good brother, James. Just make sure that continues, okay? We know you’re busy, but you can help him feel more at ease. He’s still getting used to everything.”

James nods, feeling that familiar sense of responsibility weighing down on him, but in a good way. “I know. I’ll help him.”

Fleamont places a hand on James’s shoulder, a rare and quiet moment of affection that makes James pause for a moment. “I’m proud of you, James,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Just make sure you’re there for him when he needs it.”

“Okay,” James says again, this time more firmly, a small sense of resolve building in his chest. He won’t let his parents down. He can do this. “I’ll help him. I’ve got it.”

His parents exchange a glance, the quiet trust between them giving James that extra bit of reassurance. They don’t say anything more, trusting him to do what’s right. He might not be the perfect older brother, but he’s going to try. He won’t let Regulus feel alone at school—not if he can help it.

He finishes clearing the table, feeling lighter now, as though the weight of the conversation has given him something new to hold onto. As he walks to the kitchen, he notices Fleamont and Euphemia exchanging a soft, approving look. That’s enough to make James feel like he’s doing something right.

With one last look over his shoulder at them, James goes to finish collecting the last of the dishes from the table, determined to start tomorrow with a new kind of responsibility.

If only he knew, what he’s in for.  

The final bell rings, and James couldn’t be more relieved. He slams his locker shut, slinging his bag over his shoulder as Peter falls into step beside him.

“God, that PSHE lesson was so boring,” Peter groans, rubbing his temples dramatically.

James snorts. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Peter glares at him. “Easy for you to say, you actually understood it.”

“Barely,” James admits with a grin.

They weave through the crowded hallway, dodging students eager to get outside. James is mid-laugh at something Peter says when he suddenly hesitates, a weird, nagging feeling settling in his chest. He slows his pace slightly, frowning.

“Hey, Pete,” James starts, glancing at him, “am I forgetting something?”

Peter shrugs. “Not that I’m aware of.”

James nods, brushing it off. He probably just forgot about some minor homework assignment—not the end of the world.

The feeling doesn’t quite go away, though. It lingers, growing more persistent as they step outside. The cool afternoon air is a welcome change from the stuffy hallways, and they spot the rest of their friends near the front steps.

Remus, Mary, Lily, and Marlene are gathered in their usual spot, chatting about something James doesn’t quite catch. He and Peter make their way over, joining the conversation easily.

James still feels… off. It’s like a little tug at the back of his mind, telling him there’s something important he’s missing.

“Okay, be honest,” James says, cutting into the conversation, “am I forgetting something?”

Marlene tilts her head. “Like what?”

“I dunno. Just—something.”

Mary shrugs. “Nothing I can think of.”

Lily raises an eyebrow. “Did you leave something in a classroom?”

“Doubt it,” James says, still frowning.

Peter laughs, nudging him with his elbow. “Mate, you’re just getting paranoid.”

James huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

Still, the unease sticks to him like gum on his shoe.

They keep talking for a few more minutes, and James is just starting to relax when he spots his mum’s car pulling up to the curb.

“Alright, see you lot tomorrow,” James says, slinging his bag higher onto his shoulder as he waves goodbye.

He jogs toward the car and hops into the passenger seat. “Hey, Mum,” he greets, tossing his bag onto the floor.

“Hey, love,” Euphemia says with a warm smile. “Where’s Regulus?”

James freezes.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

That’s what he was forgetting.

Now, normally, he’s not allowed to swear, but given the circumstances, he should be let off with a warning—a slap on the wrist. 

Before he realises it, James is jumping out of the car and looking around like a madman. Funny, isn’t it. 

He forgets things all the time, he’s just never forgotten an actual human being before. Let’s just blame it on the fact that Regulus has barely lived with them for two days. 

No, James, he thinks, that’s not a good enough excuse. And it’s true, it’s not a good enough excuse. But, now he’s kind of panicking, kind of embarrassed. He shouldn’t have let this happen, but he did. James really needs to start writing things down if he’s going to actually remember things. 

James’s heart is pounding, his breath shallow as he stands frozen for a moment. His mind is still stuck on that horrible realization that he forgot Regulus—his own foster brother, for goodness sake. Regulus is standing there. James thinks he looks more annoyed than anything else, which makes James feel even worse.

He never forgets things like this. Well, not people like this. It’s one thing to forget a book for school, but forgetting a person? He’s better than that. Isn’t he?

“Regulus!” The word bursts out of him before he can think it through, and his voice cracks just slightly. His face turns redder than it’s ever been before, and the guilt hits him like a ton of bricks.

Regulus looks up, brow furrowed, and James feels his stomach churn. There’s a long beat where nothing happens—Regulus just stares at him, probably waiting for some kind of explanation.

And, of course, he has no explanation. Well, nothing that will make sense. Nothing that will undo the mortification spreading across his face like wildfire. All James can think about is how this is going to go down in Regulus’s mental record of him: the idiot who forgot him.

“I—I’m so sorry,” James stammers, rushing over to him, his words tumbling out in a panic. “I didn’t mean to forget you! I just—i got distracted talking to my friends, and I’m not used to picking someone up with me! I swear it won’t happen again.”

He winces as his own voice gets higher in desperation. The excuses sound lame even to him, and he’s starting to feel like he might actually drop through the floor and just—disappear.

“I—um—I mean it, really, I promise,” James continues, flustered, his hands gesturing uselessly in the air. “I—I should’ve checked, and I—I can’t believe I—look, this was stupid, I’m sorry, okay?”

Regulus looks at him with an unreadable expression. James could swear there's a faint trace of disbelief in his eyes, and he’s sure it’s because of how utterly ridiculous this whole thing is.

James is practically floating with the overwhelming urge to crawl into a hole. He's rambling now, trying to make everything right, but it's only making it worse.

“I didn’t—I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, promise! I—look, I didn’t mean to leave you there, I was just... I don’t know, I was distracted and—”

James stops himself and blinks rapidly, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. The look on Regulus’s face isn’t angry, but James can’t shake the feeling it’s a quiet kind of disappointment. And that, somehow, is worse than anything.

He knows he shouldn’t make promises he knows he can’t keep. James knows he’s bound to forget Regulus again, and that thought makes James a little sick to the stomach. 

By the time they get to the car, James has apologized about three more times, and he feels like his cheeks are on fire. He can’t bring himself to meet Regulus’s eyes, instead focusing on the car door like it holds the key to his own salvation.

He feels like such an idoit. He can’t wait for this day to be over.

***

James feels like he could die right then and there. He cannot generally believe he did what he did yesterday. His embarrassment is eating him alive. 

He might puke, if he’s being frankly honest. 

And what’s worse is that he knows he won’t hear the end of it from his Mum until she decides it’s enough. 

“Don’t forget, you have assembly this morning,” Euphemia says as she parks outside the school. “Make sure Regulus knows where the auditorium is.”

“Yes, Mum,” James replies, grinning sheepishly. “I won’t forget this time.”

James is embarrassed about what happened yesterday. He hears Regulus huffing quietly, pushing open the car door. He watches Regulus waves a small, polite goodbye towards his Mum before slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping onto the pavement.

“Come on,” James says, already striding ahead.

Regulus follows, his gaze fixed on the ground as they make their way toward the school entrance. James chatters away, his voice bright and energetic as always, but Regulus doesn’t respond. James isn’t sure if he’s ignoring him or just too lost in his own thoughts. Either way, he’s getting pretty used to the silence.

It’s not like James should, get usd to the silence coming from Regulus that is. He’s trying so hard to help build bridges and connect with Regulus, but the kid won’t put in the effort. It infurrates James. It wasn’t that hard for James to connect with the other kids—although, they were older than him, and James did feel like they did indulge him a bit, simply because their were no other kids in the house. 

But still. 

They step into the building, and the noise of the crowded hallway immediately presses in on them. Lockers slam. Voices echo. The air is thick with the chatter of students catching up after the weekend. James barely notices—he’s been navigating these hallways for years—but Regulus stiffens slightly beside him, his shoulders creeping toward his ears.

James doesn’t comment. He just keeps walking.

“First stop, my locker,” he announces, glancing back at Regulus. “Then to yours.”

Regulus doesn’t reply, just trails after him without complaint.

James reaches his locker and spins the dial, but before he can open it, a familiar figure is already waiting beside him. Remus leans against the neighbouring locker, casual as ever, one hand tucked into the pocket of his pants, the other hanging loosely by his side. He straightens slightly as they approach.

“James,” Remus greets with a small smile, “did you want to—” He stops mid-sentence when his gaze flickers to Regulus.

James doesn’t give him a chance to finish. “Sorry, Remus,” he cuts in quickly, fumbling with the lock. “Not this morning. I have to show Regulus where the auditorium is.”

Remus nods, his expression warm, understanding. “That’s alright. See you after assembly in first period?”

“Yeah,” James mutters, his voice quieter now. He yanks his locker open and shoves a few books inside, grabbing a crumpled paper and a folder before slamming it shut.

James can feel eyes on him. He is clearly, all but aware, that Regulus is watching the exchange in his usual silence, he can feel eyes shifting on him and off him. James doesn’t say anything though, he doubts Regulus even realises he’s doing it. 

“Alright, let’s go,” James says, nodding toward the hall.

Remus gives a small wave before disappearing into the crowd. James doesn’t bother looking back—he already knows Remus will be exactly where he always is after assembly.

They head toward Regulus’ locker next.

“This one’s yours?” James asks when Regulus stops in front of a locker a few rows down.

Regulus nods, spinning the combination lock with precise movements. He barely hesitates before pulling the door open, carefully placing his bag inside and swapping it for the books he needs.

James leans against the locker beside him, watching as Regulus double-checks everything. He’s methodical about it, making sure he has exactly what he needs before shutting the door with a soft click.

“Ready?” James asks.

Regulus nods but still doesn’t look at him.

They walk toward the auditorium in silence. For once, James doesn’t try to fill it. He figures Regulus has enough to deal with already, and he doesn’t need James’ endless talking on top of it.

Regulus keeps his eyes on the floor as they move through the hallways. His fingers tighten around the edges of his notebooks, his knuckles whitening. James isn’t sure if it’s nerves or just habit, but either way, he doesn’t comment.

When they reach the auditorium doors, James stops and glances at him. “This is it,” he says, his tone softer than before.

Regulus nods again, still avoiding his eyes.

James hesitates. “I’ll see you after school,” he adds, before stepping inside.

James feels bad for the kid. He clearly appears to be terrified, but there isn’t much he can do. He’s tried. But giving up is not an option, James knows this. So, he’ll keep trying until he can finally break down at least on of Regulus’ walls.

It’s lunchtime, and the cafeteria is loud, filled with the overlapping voices of students and the clatter of trays against tabletops. James weaves through the crowd with practiced ease, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, his strides easy and unhurried. He knows exactly where he’s going—to the table where he and his friends always sit.

Remus falls into step beside him, his lunch tray balanced in one hand. “So,” he says, glancing sideways at James, “who’s the kid with you this morning?”

James doesn’t answer immediately. He kicks at a stray pebble on the tile floor, watching as it skitters away before finally shrugging. “Regulus. He’s the new foster kid living with us. Temporarily, at least.”

Remus hums, nodding as he processes that. “Is he nice?”

James hesitates. He thinks about Regulus standing stiffly in the kitchen last night, hands twisting in his shirt, barely looking up even when Mum spoke to him. Thinks about how the kid hadn’t said a single word to him yet, only responding with small, hesitant nods.

“I don’t know,” James admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “He never speaks. It’ll take time for him to open up enough to even talk to me, I think.”

Remus nods again, thoughtful. “Must feel weird, having a kid younger than you in the house.”

James blinks at that. He hasn’t really thought about it before—not like that, anyway. It isn’t weird, is it? Just different.

“I guess?” he says after a moment. “I dunno, it’s not that big a deal.”

They walk a few more steps before Remus asks, “Are you okay with him being there?”

James pauses mid-step, caught off guard by the question. Is he? He turns it over in his head, trying to untangle the strange mix of feelings that come with having Regulus in his house now—this quiet, wary kid who doesn’t talk, who barely looks at him, who flinches at sudden sounds but always seems to be listening.

Yeah, he is.

“Yeah,” James says, nodding. “I am.”

They round the last corner and spot their usual table, their friends already seated and mid-conversation. James and Remus are the last to arrive, but James doesn’t mind.

For the first time today, he feels sure of something.

That feeling of clarity doesn’t last long.

Over the next two days, James can’t shake a weird feeling. It’s not like him to feel… off. But he does. And the more he tries to ignore it, the more it lingers.

It all started with James calling Regulus Reg.

Regulus hadn’t even noticed the mistake at first. So, naturally, James kept calling him that. It’s hard not to shorten someone’s name. For instance, he calls Lily Lils—everyone does. Same goes for Marlene, who’s Marls, and Peter, who’s Pete.

For Remus and Mary, however, their names don’t shorten as easily. And even if they did, James would ask. When he first met Remus, he’d asked if he had any nicknames he preferred. Remus had told him no, and James left it at that.

It’s not like it’s his fault he keeps shortening Regulus’ name. He doesn’t mean to do it on purpose. It’s like his brain needs to hear something a few times before it actually sticks.

So when Regulus started writing angry little notes telling James not to call him Reg, James had respected it—at first.

But after a while, the passive-aggressiveness of it all got under his skin. If you don’t want me to call you Reg, just tell me like a normal person, he’d thought more than once. The notes kept appearing, each one sharper than the last, and eventually, James just got so fed up with it that he stopped trying to correct himself.

He doubled down instead.

At some point, Regulus gave up on the notes. Simply resorted to glaring at James instead.

One thing James realizes, somewhere around that point, is that Regulus never actually makes eye contact.

It’s kind of unnerving, in James’ opinion. Not making eye contact is just straight-up rude. But he never voices that thought. He just chalks it up to some sort of defense mechanism and lets it be.

By the time lunchtime rolls around on Friday, James is still thinking about it. 

The feeling only increased when Peter frowned over his sandwich and said, “Hey, James, that kid—you know, Regulus? He’s kinda weird, right?”

James barely looked up from his crisps. “Weird how?”

Peter shrugged. “I dunno. He never talks. And he walks all quiet, like a ghost or something.”

Marlene, sitting across from them, tapped her fork against her tray. “Yeah, and have you noticed he flinches whenever someone calls his name?”

James tilted his head. “What?”

Dorcas, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, sighed. “Barty mentioned something about that.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Crouch?”

Dorcas nodded. “Yeah. Y’know how I sit with them sometimes? He and Evan were saying Regulus barely speaks, even when they try to include him. And he always seems—on edge, I guess? Pandora thinks he gets overwhelmed easily.”

James frowned. “I mean, he’s the new kid. Maybe he’s just nervous.”

Dorcas didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But Barty swears he jumps whenever someone touches him, even by accident. And he never looks anyone in the eye. Evan thought he was just rude at first, but now they’re not sure.”

James blinked, chewing over that information. He knew Regulus wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, but was it really that strange?

Lily, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “And I saw some kids messing with him yesterday.”

James’ stomach tensed slightly. “Messing with him how?”

Lily shrugged. “Dunno. Nothing obvious. They just kept crowding him in the hallway, standing in his way when he tried to leave.”

Remus hummed thoughtfully, chewing on his lip. “Maybe he’s being bullied.”

James snorted. “Bullied? C’mon, Remus. No one even knows him.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Remus replied, giving James a pointed look. “He’s the new kid. He’s quiet. He doesn’t look at people. Some kids love to target people like that.”

James shook his head. “He’d say something if he was.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “Would he?”

James shrugged, grabbing another crisp. “Dunno. Doesn’t seem like it.”

James wishes, now, he never shrugged it off. Because if he hadn’t, Regulus wouldn’t be in this position. 

***

He doesn’t know if he can feel worse than this. Even after everything that’s happened over the past week, James believes what happened on Saturday, their “fun day” is like the icing on the cake. 

He shouldn’t have pushed. James should have realised he was making Regulus uncomfortable all the times he asked Regulus to help him build a sandcastle. 

It truly was an accident, he really hadn’t mean to throw sand Regulus’ way. But, by the time he had realised what he had done, Regulus was breathing funny, and his Mum was comforting him. 

Guilt manages it’s way into James’ heart. He tells his parents it was an accident—they reassure him they know, and that it’s not his fault Regulus responded this way. But it still doesn’t stop the guilt festering up inside.

James does manage to get an apology in whilst being driven to school that fateful Monday morning. He watches as how Regulus just nods, clearly not interested. 

James wishes he could hide away from his shame, from his guilt. But he can’t. He’s done the responsible adult thing and apologised for his actions. So, he shouldn’t still be feeling like this… should he?

He knows he needs to let go of things. This is one of those things he needs to learn to let go of. If he doesn’t, he knows his guilt and shame will continue to eat him alive, until there’s nothing left. 

James waves goodbye to his Mum as she pulls away from the school entrance, then turns and starts heading toward the group of his friends already gathered by the gate. Remus, Mary, and Lily are chatting, their voices carrying over the hum of students filling the yard. 

As James nears his friends, he grins at Mary, who waves back at him enthusiastically. Remus gives him a nod, and Lily, as usual, offers a smile and a raised brow, like she’s trying to figure something out.

“Hey, James!” Lily says, her voice bright, though there’s a note of concern in her tone. “How’s Regulus doing so far? Everything alright with him?”

James shrugs, letting his schoolbag fall to the ground with a soft thud. “Yeah, I think he’s okay. Just... it’s a lot, you know?” He glances over at Regulus, who’s standing by the gate a few yards away, looking out of place. He still hasn’t quite blended in, and James is hoping he will soon.

Lily’s gaze follows his, and her brow furrows. “It looks like... he’s being harassed by those three over there.” She nods toward a group of boys hanging around a few feet away, smirking and laughing as they surround Regulus. James’s stomach tightens, his mind immediately jumping into protective mode.

James doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll be back,” he says quickly, already walking away before the words are fully out of his mouth.

The short walk to where Regulus is standing feels longer than it should, and as James gets closer, he can hear the voices, the teasing, the almost mocking tone of Colin’s laughter. James’s heart picks up speed, his steps firm but casual. When he reaches them, the group of boys still hasn’t noticed him, and Regulus is tense, rigid, like he’s bracing for something worse.

Everything about the scene feels wrong. The way Regulus is standing, like he’s waiting for it all to end. The way the boys are looking at him, their attention focused entirely on the him, like they know something James doesn’t. He watches them for a beat before speaking.

“Everything alright here?” James’s voice cuts through the noise, cool and casual, though his stomach twists when he sees Regulus flinch.

Regulus’s eyes flick to him, but they don’t meet his. They dart quickly, nervously, before Regulus turns his head away, his shoulders stiff. James doesn’t miss it, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he looks at Colin, who has his arm wrapped too tightly around Regulus’s shoulders, squeezing, making Regulus visibly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, everything’s alright!” Colin says with a wide grin, his voice too bright, almost a little too eager. He lets go of Regulus for a moment but only to shove him lightly, like it’s some kind of joke.

James stands taller, his hands in his pockets, but his posture shifts slightly—less casual now, more deliberate. He’s watching them closely, but his gaze never wavers from Colin’s. “Alright, then,” James says, his voice flat, the tension thick in the air. He doesn’t want to cause a scene, but he’s already weighing his options.

Regulus looks like he wants to say something, to protest, but his mouth is tight, his chest rising and falling too quickly. James sees it—sees the way Regulus is bracing, the way his stomach is tied in knots. But he doesn’t say anything, and neither do the others.

James gives them a final glance, an almost imperceptible nod to Regulus before turning on his heel. “See you later, Reg,” he says easily, walking away without another word.

The words feel hollow the second they leave his mouth, but he doesn’t look back. Regulus is standing there, and maybe he doesn’t notice that James can feel him still, maybe he doesn’t realize that James can’t walk away from that unease.

James keeps his pace steady, heart racing faster than it should be. Regulus is still there, still standing, and for a moment, James wonders if he made the right choice walking away. But he’s already gone too far, too many steps away from him to turn back now.

When he joins his friends again, he doesn’t mention it, not yet. Not until later.

It’s not until the second break when he truly sees Regulus. 

James is walking down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the quiet space between classes. He’s running a mental checklist of what he needs to get from his locker: textbooks, notes, the usual. The air around him is buzzing with the noise of students heading to their next class, and he’s in his usual zone, hands stuffed into his pockets, thinking about the upcoming quiz in French.

Then, he notices it.

Regulus. He’s standing by his locker, but there’s something... off about him. His shoulders are slumped, and his back is turned to James, like he’s trying to disappear into the wall. At first, James thinks maybe it’s nothing—maybe he’s just tired, maybe he’s daydreaming—but then he sees it: Regulus’s head is down, his hands hanging limp by his sides, and his shoulders are trembling just the slightest bit.

Regulus doesn’t notice him at first. James hesitates, his feet planted in place. He doesn't want to make a scene, but he’s never seen Regulus like this before. The sudden drop of anxiety in his chest makes him push forward.

“Hey, Reg,” he calls, taking a step closer.

Regulus doesn’t respond. His head doesn’t even twitch. He’s staring blankly at something, but whatever it is, it’s clearly holding his attention.

James stands a little taller, his voice softer this time. “Regulus? What’s wrong?”

No answer. Regulus doesn’t even blink, just stares at the floor in front of him, his gaze fixed and unblinking.

Confused and more than a little concerned, James follows Regulus’s gaze. It’s fixated on the bin in front of him, and James’s stomach drops. There’s something inside it, something mangled.

He takes a few steps closer, not quite sure what he’s seeing. His eyes narrow, and it takes a second for his brain to process what he’s looking at: a small black dog toy, torn apart. Its soft fur is shredded, the stitching undone, the limbs cut in jagged pieces. The little stuffed dog is barely recognizable anymore, its eyes gone, its ears ripped off.

James reaches down, his fingers brushing the edge of the toy. He pulls it out carefully, studying the damage. The tiny dog—once something comforting, maybe, something Regulus had kept close—is now reduced to nothing more than scraps of fabric and stuffing.

His breath catches when he hears it—a sharp breath, like Regulus is holding something back. He looks up, and Regulus’s gaze snaps to him, wide-eyed and glassy. For a moment, James is frozen, unsure of what to say. He watches as Regulus’s hands tremble, reaching for the destroyed toy.

“Hey, don’t snatch,” James says, his voice tight, but Regulus is already grabbing the toy from his hands. His fingers curl around it, shaking, but he doesn’t speak.

Without looking at James, Regulus clutches the mangled dog to his chest like it’s something precious, something fragile. He opens his locker with stiff, robotic movements, shoving the torn remnants inside with a hard shove. The locker door slams shut behind it, the sound too final, too cold.

Regulus doesn’t say anything. He pulls out his PE uniform, his movements slow and deliberate, and then turns without a word, heading toward the locker rooms.

James stands there, frozen, the image of Regulus’s hunched posture and the silence in the hallway weighing heavily on him. He opens his mouth to call after him, but the words just sit there, unsaid.

Instead, James watches him walk away, shoulders tense, his face unreadable. It’s like something’s broken in Regulus, something that James can’t quite reach, something that feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

He stares after him for a moment longer, unsettled and confused. He doesn’t know what just happened, or why it’s bothering him so much, but the feeling of something being off lingers in his chest.

Without another word, James turns away and heads for his locker. The weight in his stomach doesn’t go away, and all he can think of is the black dog toy in the trash and the way Regulus walked away without looking back.

James sits at the lunch table with his friends, but he feels disconnected. His food is untouched, his gaze drifting between the conversations around him, but he’s not really part of them. Remus, Mary, Lily, and Marlene are chatting about some homework, but James’s mind is still on what he saw earlier—Regulus, standing there, crying, staring at that ruined toy in the trash.

Marlene’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “Oi, James, you’re awfully quiet today. What’s up?”

Her tone is casual, but James can tell she’s concerned. She’s leaning slightly toward him, studying him with a raised brow. He forces a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, though it’s clear from the tightness in his voice that he’s not.

Marlene doesn’t buy it. “You sure? You’ve been a bit off all lunch.”

James shrugs, not sure how to explain it. How to explain the heaviness that’s settled in his chest. “I just... I saw something. With Regulus.”

The others stop talking, turning their attention to him. There’s an unspoken understanding in their eyes—everyone knows that Regulus hasn’t exactly been settling in easily. James doesn’t know how to phrase what he saw without making it sound like something bigger than it was. But the image of Regulus, so small and broken in that moment, has been gnawing at him.

“I... I saw him crying earlier,” James says quietly, staring down at his half-eaten sandwich. “He was by the bin, just standing there. And he was staring at this little black dog toy that was all... ruined. Like someone had cut it up or shredded it. I don’t know, I just... I don’t get it.”

There’s a pause as his friends take in what he’s said. Remus, who’s sitting across from him, frowns thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything right away. Lily and Mary exchange glances, but it’s Marlene who speaks first.

“That’s... a lot,” she says, her voice softer now, like she’s trying to be careful. “Maybe it’s something he’s holding onto from home, you know? Like, that toy could’ve meant something to him. But now, with everything going on...” She trails off, shrugging like she doesn’t quite know the answer either.

“Yeah,” Lily chimes in, nodding slowly. “Regulus doesn’t really talk about it, does he? Whatever’s going on with him, he doesn’t let anyone in. It’s not like he’s the type to open up easily.”

James huffs a small breath, not sure how to respond. “I don’t know, I just... I don’t want to push him. But it’s like I don’t know what to do when I see him like that. I don’t know what’s going on in his head.”

Remus looks at him then, his eyes calm and steady. “You don’t have to fix everything, James. Sometimes, just being there—letting him know you see him, that you care—is enough. He might not show it, but... people like him, they notice. They need someone to just be around.”

James chews on that, nodding slowly, trying to understand. He feels a little better hearing Remus’s words, but the knot in his stomach hasn’t quite loosened.

“Yeah, and it’s okay not to have all the answers,” Mary adds with a small, reassuring smile. “Just... don’t stop being his friend, even if he’s acting distant. It’ll make a difference in the long run.”

James nods again, the weight on his chest feeling slightly lighter. He looks at his friends—at their concern, their understanding—and he feels a little more grounded.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and the usual chaos of students moving to their next class fills the air.

“Well, I guess that’s lunch,” Marlene says, standing up and grabbing her bag. “But seriously, James, just don’t overthink it, alright? You’re doing alright.”

James smiles, a bit more genuinely this time. “Thanks, guys.”

He stands up with them, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Regulus, but they still sit in the back of his mind. He hopes that, maybe, the next time he sees him, things will be a little easier.

Oh, how wrong he was. 

James stands outside the school gates, idly chatting with Remus as the last of the students file out of the building. He’s a bit distracted, still thinking about the conversation he had with his friends earlier and wondering if he did the right thing by not saying more to Regulus. He barely registers the sound of a car pulling up until it stops right in front of him.

His Dad.

It’s not unusual for Fleamont to pick him up, but today feels different. James blinks at the car, his stomach flipping in a way he can’t quite place. The first red flag, he thinks, is that his Dad is here so early. James is usually the one who waits for him at the gate, but it’s barely the end of the school day.

Fleamont’s smile is there, but it looks a little tired, the corners of his eyes creased with something James can’t quite read. "Hey, kiddo," his Dad greets him, the usual warmth in his voice, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” James asks, trying to mask the growing unease in his stomach. He’s about to get in the car when he realizes something else is off.

They’re not waiting for Regulus.

He glances around, frowning. It’s not like Regulus to leave the school without anyone. James doesn’t remember seeing him earlier, but he would’ve expected his dad to be picking him up, too.

“Dad... where’s Regulus?” James asks, his voice unconsciously tinged with concern.

Fleamont sighs, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. The smile vanishes, replaced by a more serious expression. “I’ll explain everything when we get home, James,” he says, his voice steady but carrying a weight that immediately puts James on edge.

There’s something in his Dad’s tone—something measured and careful—that makes the hair on the back of James’s neck stand up. This isn’t the casual, easygoing Fleamont James is used to. This is... different. It’s not the kind of answer James was expecting.

James watches his Dad for a long moment, searching his face for any clues, but Fleamont looks resolute, his eyes forward, unwilling to elaborate.

That’s when the second red flag hits him: Whatever it is, it’s not good.

His heart skips a beat, a cold sense of dread settling in his chest. He can’t shake the feeling that something has gone wrong, something he wasn’t prepared for. Something that involves Regulus. He wants to press further, but he knows from the look in his Dad’s eyes that it won’t help.

“Alright,” James mutters, climbing into the car. He buckles his seatbelt, but the unease doesn’t go away. It only deepens, curling in his stomach, as they pull away from the school.

As they drive home, James’s mind races with all the possibilities. What could have happened? Why hadn’t Regulus been picked up, too? His thoughts keep spiraling, each one darker than the last, and he knows whatever his Dad is about to tell him... it’s not going to be good.