To Find a Home

Freedom. 

Freedom can be described in many different ways. 

Some would say it’s having endless choices, the ability to go anywhere, do anything, without restraint. Others might say it’s a feeling—lightness in the chest, the absence of fear, a life lived without looking over your shoulder.

For James, however, freedom is simple.

Freedom is school being let out for the year.

The internet defines freedom in two ways. The first is the power to act, speak, or think as one wants. The second—which James wholeheartedly agrees with—is the state of not being imprisoned or enslaved.

Because school is, quite literally, his prison.

Not in a dramatic, life-or-death way, obviously. He’s aware there are worse fates, worse sentences, real struggles that make his complaints seem trivial. But to James, school is a sentence in itself—one he has to endure, no matter how much he loathes it.

He knows it’ll get better. At least, that’s what everyone keeps telling him. Year 9 will be different, they say. It gets more interesting the older you get.You just have to find what you love.

James hasn’t found what he loves yet. Not in school, anyway.

But he believes he will. Someday.

Right now, though, none of that matters. Because right now, he’s free. Summer break is here, no more assignments, no more teachers breathing down his neck, no more sitting still for hours when all he wants to do is move.

Everything should feel perfect.

And yet… it doesn’t. 

He knows why, but at the same time, he doesn’t know why. If that makes sense.

James understands what happened—he knows the sequence of events that led up to this feeling. But he doesn’t understand how it happened, how things spiraled the way they did. How they ended up here.

And it all started on the 8th of June.

That was the day when things started feeling off. James wouldn’t necessarily call them weird, but it was the first time he found himself stumbling into Regulus’ problems without warning. Not that he minds —he never minds helping Regulus—but something about it felt different. Unsettling in a way he couldn’t quite place.

James remembers being picked up by his dad after school that day. Alone.

Regulus wasn’t there.

He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Maybe Regulus had an appointment or something. But when he asked, his dad only said, “We’ll talk when we get home.” He looked exhausted. And a little angry.

That’s when James knew something was wrong.

When they pulled into the driveway, his mum’s car door was still open. She wasn’t in the front seat—she was in the back, crouched next to someone. Regulus, James’ brain supplied a second later.

At the time, though, he didn’t dwell on it.

His dad had asked him to go inside.

And James knew better than to argue.

So he went straight up to his room, no questions asked.

But even then, as he sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

The whole thing had been weird.

Looking back on it, James should have realized in that moment what was going on.

But he didn’t.

His friends have told him before—many times, actually—that he’s “ oblivious. ” He doesn’t believe them, of course. He thinks he just focuses on the important things.

Apparently, this should’ve been one of them.

Now, as the bell rings, James walks alongside Peter and the girls, heading from PE to their last class of the day. His mind wanders, as it often does, drifting from one thought to another before he can hold onto any of them.

Sometimes, his brain feels like a single car speeding down an open highway. Other times, it’s like a dozen cars racing through overlapping streets, swerving and crisscrossing in every direction.

It makes his head spin sometimes. But that’s just life with an ADHD brain.

Usually, his thoughts move too fast to linger on any one thing. But this —whatever this feeling is—has been stuck in his head for nearly three weeks.

James can’t stop thinking about it.

About that day.

About what his parents told him that evening.

The memory comes back in pieces. He remembers walking into the kitchen, the scent of dinner cooking on the stove. He remembers his mum standing by the counter, stirring something in a pot.

And then, her voice.

“James, sweetheart, can you come here for a second?”

Her tone was different. He hadn’t noticed at the time, but looking back, he can hear it now—the hesitation, the way she carefully chose her words.

“I need to tell you something about Regulus.”

That got his attention.

She explained it simply—just the facts. Regulus got into trouble at school. A serious kind of trouble. He was suspended.

James remembers standing there, trying to process what she was saying. Trying to make it make sense.

Regulus? Suspended?

It didn’t fit. It didn’t sound like something Regulus would do.

But it had happened.

And later that night, after dinner, after brushing his teeth and getting into bed, James was still thinking about it. He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t push it aside like he usually did with thoughts that refused to sit still.

His dad came in to tuck him in, like he always did. Pulled the blanket up, ruffled his hair, muttered a “Goodnight, kiddo.”

But just as he was about to leave, he hesitated.

And then—

“James?”

James blinked up at him. “Yeah?”

His dad’s expression was unreadable. “Do you know anything about what happened with Regulus?”

James’ stomach twisted. His first instinct was to blurt out no. To insist he didn’t know anything.

But he hesitated.

For just a second.

Because maybe he did know something. Maybe, if he thought hard enough, he could piece it together. But the moment passed, and James shook his head. “No.”

His dad studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Get some sleep.”

The door closed behind him, leaving James alone in the dark. And for the first time in a long time, he found it hard to fall asleep.

Regret.

It gnaws at James, settling like a heavy weight in his stomach, twisting and turning with every thought.

He regrets not saying something to his dad in that moment— anything, really. A question, an admission, some sort of reaction. Instead, he just lay there, letting the silence stretch on, pretending like he didn’t feel that something was off.

As they walk down the hall toward their last class of the day, Peter nudges James lightly with his elbow. “You alright?” he asks, casting James a sideways glance.

James blinks, pulled from his thoughts. “Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.”

Peter doesn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

James forces a grin. “Course I am, Pete. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Peter shrugs. “Dunno. You’ve just been kinda quiet.”

James scoffs. “Me? Quiet? That’s impossible.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Right. Because you totally weren’t spacing out all through lunch.”

James groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I wasn’t spacing out.”

Peter gives him a look.

“Okay, maybe I was spacing out a little,” James admits. “But it’s fine. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

James hesitates for half a second before shrugging. “Nothing important.”

Peter doesn’t push, but James knows he doesn’t buy it either. “Alright,” Peter says finally, though the concern doesn’t leave his face. “Just let me know if you wanna talk, yeah?”

James musters a small smile. “Yeah. I know.”

Peter nods, satisfied enough, and they slip into the classroom just as the bell rings.

He sighs, retreating back into his mind. He feels a little bad for lying to his friends, but what is he supposed to say?

Oh hey, guys, I still feel really guilty and regretful for not telling my parents anything sooner. Can you help me out?

Yeah, no. That’s not happening. He doesn’t want them to deal with that.

But if James is being honest, he still hadn’t fully processed what happened. The whole thing is jumbled in his head, pieces floating around without clicking into place.

Maybe that’s why, after the incident, the next day at lunch, he decides to ask his friends about it. Maybe if he hears it out loud, it’ll all start making sense.

They’re sitting outside in their usual spot on the benches near the courtyard when James finally speaks up.

“ So… I need you guys to clarify something for me, ” he says, poking at his sandwich with little interest.

Peter glances up first. “ Clarify what? ”

James hesitates, glancing between them. “ Yesterday morning. Before classes started. With Regulus and those boys. ”

Marlene and Mary exchange a look. Lily frowns slightly. “ Why? ”

James shrugs, trying to play it off as casual. “I just… I just wanna make sure I didn’t misinterpret anything. ”

Remus, who had been quiet up until now, sighs. “ You didn’t. They were messing with him. ”

Dorcas nods. “ Yeah. They took his bag. ”

James stiffens. “ What? ”

“ They were passing it around, ” Peter adds, frowning. “ Like some stupid game. ”

“ They were teasing him, ” Lily says, crossing her arms. “ Making fun of how he doesn’t talk much. ”

“ They kept calling him a coward, ” Marlene mutters.

James’ jaw tightens.

“ It got worse when he tried to take his bag back, ” Peter continues. “ One of them shoved him. ”

James stares at them, his thoughts racing.

Peter tilts his head. “ Why are you asking about this, anyway? ”

James hesitates. He could brush it off, say it’s nothing—but he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales sharply and says, “ Regulus got suspended. ”

Silence.

Then—

“ What? ” Lily looks at him in disbelief. “ Suspended? For what? ”

James nods. “ Yeah. It happened yesterday. ”

Peter leans back, frowning. “ That’s… kind of ridiculous. ”

“ Kind of? ” Marlene scoffs. “ That’s completely ridiculous. What about the other guys? ”

James shrugs. “ I dunno. Mum didn’t say.”

Marlene shakes her head. “ That’s bullshit. ”

James doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, trying to make sense of it all. Because now, even with the whole picture in front of him, it still doesn’t make sense.

It still doesn’t fully make sense, even two weeks after Regulus’ suspension.

James, Peter, and the girls make their way outside to the oval for the last class of the day—sports club. The late afternoon sun is warm against his skin, and the scent of freshly cut grass lingers in the air. Normally, this is his favorite part of the day. A whole period where they get to play whatever they want? It’s perfect. But today, his mind is elsewhere.

The conversation he had with his friends keeps replaying in his head, looping over and over. He knows he should let it go, but he can’t.

And, worse, the guilt hasn’t gone away.

It still makes him feel sick when he thinks about how he didn’t say anything to his dad that night. He did eventually tell his mum the next morning, whilst waiting for his psychiatrist appointment, but that didn’t erase the hesitation, the moment where he could have said something and didn’t.

“Oi, Potter.”

James blinks, pulled from his thoughts as Marlene jogs up beside him, a soccer ball tucked under one arm. “You playing or what?”

James frowns. “Huh?”

Marlene rolls her eyes. “Soccer, James. You know , the thing you and I are both amazing at? The teacher said we can play whatever we want, and a bunch of us are getting a game going.”

James hesitates, glancing over at Peter and the girls.

Marlene nudges his shoulder. “Come on , you love soccer. Plus, I need someone on my team who actually knows how to pass properly.”

That gets a small smile out of him. “Who’s playing?”

“Me, Dorcas, Peter, some of the Year Sevens… I think some of the boys from the other class, too.” She squints at him. “You in?”

James exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. His brain still feels tangled with thoughts he can’t sort through, but… maybe this will help. Maybe running around for a while will clear his head.

“Yeah,” he says finally, straightening up. “Yeah, I’m in.”

Marlene grins. “Good. Because I already called dibs on you for my team, and I hate losing.”

James snorts, feeling some of the weight in his chest ease just a little. “As if I’d let you down, McKinnon.”

And with that, he jogs onto the field, pushing his thoughts aside.

***

James is finally free.

Free to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Because, right now, it’s summer holidays .

He’s never been more excited or more relieved that school’s over. Don’t get him wrong—he likes school well enough. Well, no, that’s a lie. He likes parts of it. He likes hanging out with his friends, passing notes in class, playing soccer during lunch. But if it were up to him, there’d be way less school and way more of actually hanging out with his friends.

James makes his way down the corridor, weaving through clusters of students saying their final goodbyes for the year. He reaches his locker and starts grabbing his things, shoving books and stray papers into his bag with no real care. He’s not thinking about school anymore.

He’s thinking about Regulus .

Regulus, who has only been living with him and his parents for a month. A full month.

Crazy, isn’t it?

It still feels unreal sometimes, like James is waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to swoop in and say, Oops, mistake! Pack your bags, kid. But that hasn’t happened. And James knows it won’t, because his parents aren’t going to let it happen. 

They had asked James after Regulus’ social worker’s second check-in, whether James was okay with the idea of Regulus living with them permanently. James instantly agreed. 

Regulus made it . He made it through Year 7 .

James pauses for a second, adjusting the strap of his bag.

That’s something to be proud of.

Regulus has been through so much —more than any kid should go through—and yet, somehow, he’s still here . Still standing. Still getting up every morning, dragging himself to school, going through the motions even when it’s hard.

And yeah, maybe Regulus doesn’t love school. Maybe he doesn’t talk much about it. But he’s done it . He’s made it through.

James closes his locker, the metal door slamming shut with a finality that makes something heavy settle in his chest.

Because for all the pride he feels, there’s also guilt .

Guilt for what happened a few weeks ago.

He should’ve done more . Should’ve said something sooner.

Guilt for how Regulus got suspended —and how James didn’t say anything until Wednesday morning .

The memory sits in his stomach like a weight, pressing down on his excitement for the summer. 

James slumped back in his chair, his leg bouncing restlessly against the hospital floor. He glanced around the waiting room, taking in the dull beige walls, the quiet murmur of conversation, the receptionist clicking away at her keyboard. Boring.

Beside him, Mum sighed, her eyes fixed on her phone screen. She pressed her lips together, looking frustrated.

“ Well, ” she said after a moment, tucking her phone back into her bag. “ I got the time wrong. ”

James raised an eyebrow. “ Seriously? ”

“ Unfortunately. ” She let out another sigh, but this one sounded more amused than annoyed. “ Looks like we have an hour to kill. Want to grab some breakfast? ”

James perked up immediately, jumping to his feet. “ Yes, please. I’m starving. ”

They left the waiting area and headed outside, the crisp morning air waking James up a little more. Just outside the hospital was a small café, warm and inviting, the smell of coffee and fresh pastries drifting through the air. It wasn’t too busy, and they found a table near the window, sunlight spilling across the wooden surface.

James barely glanced at the menu before deciding on pancakes with extra syrup. Mum ordered an omelet and tea.

While they waited, James launched into a story about his latest school assignment—an English essay he’d been dreading until he realized he actually had way too much to say.

“ It’s actually kind of fun, ” he admitted, waving his hands for emphasis. “ I mean, I didn’t think I’d care about the themes in Of Mice and Men , but once I got started, I had like… too much to say. Mary and Peter were like, James, it’s not that deep , but it is that deep. And my teacher said I had a lot of enthusiasm, which I think is a good thing? ”

Mum smiled, sipping her tea as she listened. She always did that—listened, even when he was rambling. It was nice.

Their food arrived, and James dug into his pancakes, the sweet taste of syrup making him hum in satisfaction. But as he ate, his mind wandered. His hands slowed. The fork felt weird in his grip.

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything.

It wasn’t really his business, was it? And Regulus hadn’t said anything —maybe he didn’t want him to say anything. But James had seen it. His friends had seen it. Dorcas had practically confirmed it.

And ignoring it wasn’t sitting right with him.

He frowned at his plate, pushing a piece of pancake around with his fork.

“ What’s wrong, love? ”

James hesitated, glancing up at Mum. Her expression was calm, but he knew she knew something was on his mind. He could still back out. Say it was nothing.

But he didn’t.

“ It’s about Regulus, ” he said quietly.

Mum didn’t react much, just tilted her head slightly. “ Okay, ” she said. “ Is there something wrong? ”

James nodded, shifting in his seat. “ I’ve noticed—well, my friends and I have noticed—that some boys have been bothering him. ” He glanced at her, then back down at his plate. “ I asked Dorcas—she sits with Regulus and her other friends. I think they’re friends? I don’t know, I’m not really sure. Anyway, we think he’s being bullied. ”

Mum went very still.

James felt a little uneasy at that. He knew she cared about Regulus, really cared , but there was something about the quiet way she was processing his words that made his stomach twist.

“ But he hasn’t said anything, ” James added quickly. “ And I don’t really know what to do if he won’t say anything. ”

Mum reached across the table, giving his hand a small squeeze. “ Thank you for telling me, ” she said, her voice steady even though James could feel the weight of what he’d just said settling over her. “ Keep an eye on him, alright? If you see anything, try to get him away or find a teacher .”

James exhaled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “ Okay. ”

They went back to eating after that, the conversation shifting to lighter things, but James could tell Mum was still thinking about it.

And, honestly?

So was he.

James shakes the memory away, gripping his bag a little tighter as he starts toward the exit.

Summer holidays are here. Regulus made it through Year 7. And despite everything,  Regulus is still here.

That has to count for something.

And it does count for something.

Or, at least, James thinks it does.

He’s standing in the school courtyard, waiting for his mum to pick him and Regulus up, the summer heat already settling into the air. His backpack hangs lazily off one shoulder, his shirt untucked like it has been since second period, and he’s grinning as his friends chatter around him.

He’s not really paying attention to what they’re saying—at least, not until he gets smacked in the back of the head.

“Oi!” James yelps, spinning around. Peter is standing there, looking completely unbothered, shoving the last bite of a granola bar into his mouth.

“You listening or what?” Peter says, words muffled through his chewing.

“Obviously not,” Marlene snorts, arms crossed.

James rolls his eyes and tugs Peter into a loose headlock, ruffling his hair. “Didn’t realise smacking me was necessary, Petey.”

Peter grumbles, shoving him off, and Lily sighs, exasperated. “ Anyway ,” she says, pointedly ignoring them, “we were talking about summer plans.”

“Oh! Right, yeah,” James says, shifting his bag to his other shoulder. “What’s the verdict? When are we all hanging out?”

Marlene shrugs. “My family’s going on a road trip for a couple weeks, but I’ll be back before August.”

Mary hums, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll be around. Mum’s making me take a painting class, though.”

“A painting class?” James repeats, amused.

Mary huffs. “Yes, Potter , a painting class. It’s called being well-rounded .”

Remus hides a smile behind his hand. “I’ll be here most of the summer,” he says. “Maybe a short trip to my grandparents’ place, but that’s about it.”

Peter shrugs. “Same. Mum’s making me help in the garden, though.”

James groans dramatically. “That’s disgusting .”

“Oh, shut up ,” Peter says, nudging him. “What about you, James?”

James grins. “I’m around. Mum and Dad are probably gonna take Reg and me on a trip somewhere, but nothing major.”

Lily glances toward the parking lot. “We’ll figure something out,” she says. “We always do.”

James nods, satisfied. They linger for a few more minutes, the conversation shifting to nothing in particular, before James notices his mum’s car pulling up.

He sighs and stretches. “Alright, I’m off,” he says, clapping Remus on the back before grinning at Peter. “Try not to kill your mum’s plants, Petey.”

Peter scoffs. “No promises.”

James laughs and turns to go, but then he spots Regulus, standing off to the side. His little brother looks tired, weighed down by the school year finally coming to an end, but James grins at him anyway.

“C’mon, Reg,” he says, nudging his shoulder. “Let’s get outta here .”

Regulus doesn’t say anything, but he walks with him toward the parking lot, falling into step beside him.

Euphemia is waiting in the car, her sunglasses perched on her nose. James slings open the front passenger door, tossing his bag into the footwell before climbing in. Regulus gets in the back, quiet as ever, and buckles up.

The school year is officially over.

Euphemia turns in her seat, glancing between them with a bright smile. “You boys glad to be done with school for the year?”

James groans dramatically, letting his head fall back against the headrest. “You have no idea.”

Euphemia chuckles, putting the car in gear as she pulls out of the parking lot. “That bad, huh?”

“The worst,” James says. “I swear, those last two weeks? Felt like years . I thought I was actually going to die during that maths exam.”

Euphemia raises an eyebrow. “I told you to study.”

James waves a hand. “I did study! Well. Kind of.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean, I looked at my notes! That counts , right?”

Euphemia hums knowingly. “We’ll see when your grades come in.”

James winces. “Yeah, let’s… not talk about that.” He twists in his seat, glancing back at Regulus. “What about you, Reg? You glad to be done?”

Regulus doesn’t answer, but the way he’s curled up against the car door, staring out the window, is enough of an answer.

Euphemia lets the silence sit for a beat before switching topics. “Well,” she says, “I hope you saved some energy because we’re going out for dinner tonight.”

James perks up immediately. “Wait, really?”

“Of course. It’s tradition, isn’t it? Celebrating the end of the school year with a nice dinner out.”

James grins. “Brilliant. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Euphemia says mysteriously.

James squints at her. “Is it somewhere good?”

Euphemia gasps in mock offense. “James Fleamont Potter, do you really think I’d take you somewhere bad ?”

James snickers. “No, no, of course not. Just… hoping for somewhere with chips .”

Euphemia shakes her head fondly. “You and your obsession with chips.”

“They’re a staple of a balanced diet.”

“Not when they’re all you eat.”

James shrugs. “I could eat worse things.”

Euphemia just rolls her eyes before giving him a pointed look. “Anyway, I expect you to look nice tonight.”

James groans. “Mum.”

“None of that,” she says, unwavering. “You will wear something decent. No ripped jeans, no stained t-shirts, and for Merlin’s sake , James, brush your hair.”

James scoffs. “My hair is iconic .”

“It’s a disaster .”

“It’s controlled chaos .”

Euphemia huffs, but there’s a fondness in her expression. “Just… try to look presentable.”

James sighs dramatically. “Fine. But I’m drawing the line at proper shoes. Trainers are non-negotiable .”

Euphemia sighs in defeat. “As long as they’re not falling apart.”

James grins, triumphant. “Deal.”

Euphemia shakes her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I don’t know how I ended up with such a difficult son.”

James places a hand over his heart, looking deeply wounded. “You love me.”

“Debatable.”

James gasps. “Mum!”

She only laughs, and James leans back in his seat, already looking forward to the evening.

***

James was halfway down the hall, about to head downstairs, when movement on the staircase caught his eye.

Regulus.

He was walking up slowly, head down, arms wrapped tightly around himself. But what made James stop in his tracks—what made his stomach twist uncomfortably—was the sight of tear tracks staining Regulus’ face. His eyes were red-rimmed, his expression blank, but James could see the way his lips were pressed together, like he was trying to keep something from spilling out.

James hesitated. He could just keep going, pretend he hadn’t seen anything. Regulus probably wanted to be left alone.

But something about the way he looked—so small, so exhausted—made James’ chest ache.

So instead of turning away, he followed.

Regulus didn’t seem to notice. He just kept moving, slow and deliberate, until he reached his bedroom door. He pushed it open, stepped inside, and left it slightly ajar behind him. James waited a moment, then quietly nudged it open a little more, peering inside.

Regulus was pulling his blanket back, his movements automatic, like this was the only thing he knew how to do. Then, without a word, he climbed into bed, curling up on his side, his arms wrapped around that stuffed black dog he always kept close.

James hesitated again, then stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

“ Reg? ” he asked, keeping his voice quiet. “ What’s wrong? ”

No response.

It was like Regulus hadn’t even heard him. He just buried his face into the stuffed dog’s fur, his fingers gripping it tightly.

James frowned, coming closer. He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching the way Regulus’ shoulders trembled, the way he seemed to be holding himself together by a thread.

“ Reg, ” James tried again, softer this time.

And then Regulus started to cry again.

A sharp, broken inhale. A shuddering breath. And then silent, shaking sobs, muffled against the plush fur of the stuffed dog.

James’ heart clenched.

Without thinking, he shifted closer and wrapped an arm around Regulus, pulling him into his side. Regulus went still for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to accept the comfort.

Then, slowly, he leaned into James’ touch, pressing his face against his shoulder, his small frame shaking.

James tightened his hold.

“ It’s okay, ” he murmured, resting his chin lightly on Regulus’ head. “ Just let it out. ”

And Regulus did.

He cried, quiet and unsteady, his breath hitching against James’ shirt. And James just sat there, holding him, letting him get whatever it was out of his system.

James stands under the spray of hot water, letting it pound against his shoulders as he scrubs at his hair. The steam fills the small bathroom, fogging up the mirror, and for a few blissful moments, he lets his mind go completely blank. No school, no assignments, no waking up at an ungodly hour for the next several weeks. Freedom .

As he rinses the shampoo from his hair, his thoughts inevitably drift—to Regulus.

The next check-in with his social worker is on Sunday. James hates those meetings, even though they aren’t his to deal with. He hates the way Regulus goes all stiff and quiet, the way he won’t look at anyone afterward. The last check-in had been bad . James had watched Regulus break down, clinging to that stuffed black dog of his like a lifeline. 

James still doesn’t know what happened. Regulus wouldn’t—or couldn’t —say.

What could his social worker have said to make him that upset?

James frowns as he shuts off the water, stepping out of the shower and reaching for a towel. He dries off quickly before tugging on a pair of dark jeans and a button-down shirt—acceptable enough to keep his mum off his back but casual enough that he doesn’t feel overdressed . He grabs his toothbrush, running it under the water as his mind keeps circling back to Regulus.

Maybe he should talk to his parents about it. Not that they hadn’t noticed—his mum, especially. But what if there was something more they could do? James knows Regulus won’t talk, but maybe if James sticks close, keeps an eye on him, he’ll figure out why the meetings upset him so much.

He’s mid-brush, toothpaste foaming in his mouth, when there’s a knock on the doorframe.

"Need help with that hair of yours?" his dad asks, arms crossed, a teasing grin on his face.

James spits into the sink. "Absolutely."

Fleamont chuckles and gestures for James to follow him. They head down the hall to his parents’ bathroom, where his dad retrieves a comb and some styling cream. James plops onto the counter, legs swinging as Fleamont stands in front of him, critically eyeing the mess on James’ head.

“You know,” his dad muses, “when you were a baby, your mother and I thought your hair might settle when you got older.”

James snorts. “Yeah, how’d that work out for you?”

“Not well,” Fleamont says, laughing as he runs a comb through James’ damp curls, trying in vain to tame them. “Your mother still holds out hope, though.”

James grins. "Yeah, well, she’s the one who made me brush it for tonight."

"Smart woman," Fleamont says. "Though, between you and me, I think unruly hair is a distinguished trait." He ruffles his own already-thinning hair.

James smirks. "Yeah, yeah, you’d say that. What’s left of yours doesn’t even need brushing."

Fleamont places a hand over his heart, mock-offended. "Ouch. That one hurt, James."

James grins. "You’ll survive, old man."

Fleamont huffs a laugh, smoothing down a particularly stubborn tuft of James' hair.

As they work, James’ can’t help but let his mind flicker back to last Monday. 

James walked into the kitchen, immediately stopping in his tracks.

His parents were standing at the sink, washing dishes, and beaming . Like, ridiculously happy. It was almost unsettling.

His mum passed a plate to his dad, who dried it off with way too much enthusiasm, and they shared a look—one of those stupid, married-people looks—and James had to blink.

He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. “ Alright. What’s up? ”

His mum turned to him, all innocent. “ What do you mean? ”

James scoffed. “ You two are way too happy. And I don’t think the dishes are the ones making you that happy. I get that you’re old, but— ”

“ Woah, woah, woah—ouch, ” his dad cut in, dramatically clutching his chest. “ But no, we aren’t this happy because of the dishes. And we are not that old, young man. ”

He grabbed a tea towel and threw it at James, who easily caught it.

“ Well, you’re older than me, ” James said smugly, tossing the towel onto the counter. “ So you’re old. ”

His mum gasped. “ Wow. Okay. No dessert for you anymore. ”

James clutched his chest in mock horror. “ You wound me. ”

She rolled her eyes fondly, while his dad chuckled beside her.

“ But seriously, ” James said, leaning against the counter. “ What’s got you two in a really good mood? And please don’t say something corny like ‘each other,’ because that’s disgusting. ”

His dad laughed. “ No, although, your mother does make me very happy. ”

James groaned. “ Oh my God . ”

His dad smirked, but then he straightened, glancing at Mum before turning back to James. “ The real reason we’re super duper happy— ”

“ Don’t say it like that, ” James muttered.

“ —is because Regulus got invited to a sleepover birthday party. ”

James blinked. “ What? ”

His mum turned to him, practically glowing. “ I still can’t believe it. He has friends. ”

James just stood there for a second, stunned.

Of all the things he thought they’d say, that wasn’t on the list.

Regulus—quiet, antisocial, avoidant Regulus—had somehow managed to make friends ? Enough to get invited somewhere?

That was… actually really great.

James grinned. “ Well, damn. Good for him. ”

His dad nodded. “ Right? It’s a big deal. ”

His mum sighed happily. “ I knew it would happen eventually. ”

James shook his head, still grinning. He had no clue who these kids were, but whoever they were, they had good taste if they wanted Regulus around.

For once, something really good was happening for Regulus.

And James couldn’t be happier about it.

James remembers his parent’s excitement when they told him Regulus had been invited to a birthday sleepover. His mum had been ecstatic . “He has friends ,” she had said, half in shock, half in joy.

James had been stunned too. Not that he thought Regulus was unlikable or anything, but the kid barely spoke to anyone. For him to not just make a friend, but to be invited to a sleepover ? That was huge.

And it made James proud .

Fleamont gives James' hair a final pat, stepping back to inspect his work. “Well, I did my best. It’ll hold for about twenty minutes before rebelling.”

James grins. “That’s all I need. Thanks, Dad.”

Fleamont smirks. “Anytime. Now, let’s go before your mother starts threatening to leave us behind.”

James hops off the counter, feeling lighter as they head downstairs. Whatever happens next with Regulus, at least tonight is about something good.

***

Dinner is quiet, the clinking of forks against plates the only real sound filling the space. James eats without really tasting his food, his eyes drifting between his parents. It’s different tonight—something about the air around them feels lighter, like the tension that has settled in their shoulders for the past two weeks has finally eased, even if just a little.

Mum’s phone buzzes against the table, vibrating against the wood. She picks it up, glancing at the screen, and James watches as her brows lift slightly in surprise.

“It’s from Marguerite Rosier,” she says, setting her fork down. “Regulus asked her to text us and let us know he’s alright.”

James stills, his grip tightening slightly on his own fork. That… is unexpected. Regulus isn’t great at communicating things like that—at least, not yet. James knows how difficult it is for Regulus to accept that people worry about him, that they care enough to need reassurance. It’s not that he doesn’t care in return, just that it’s unfamiliar territory for him.

Across the table, his dad leans back in his chair, his eyebrows raised. “Well,” he says, a small, pleased smile tugging at his lips. “I’m glad he remembered we wanted an ‘alright’ text.” He pauses, shaking his head slightly. “Wasn’t really expecting that, to be honest.”

James watches as his mum nods, locking her phone and setting it aside. “Yeah, same,” she admits. “I didn’t think he would.”

Dad exhales, thinking about it, his expression thoughtful. James can tell his dad is pleased—not just because Regulus sent a message, but because of what it means. And James gets it, too. It’s not just a text; it’s something bigger than that. A step forward, even if it’s small. A sign that Regulus is trying, in his own way, to meet them halfway.

James shifts slightly in his seat, glancing at his mum. She’s staring at her phone again, like she half-expects another message to come through. There’s something soft in her expression, something warm and fierce all at once. James knows that look. It’s the same one she gives him, the same quiet kind of love she wraps around him without ever needing to say the words aloud. He realizes then—she already sees Regulus as part of the family, no hesitation, no uncertainty.

James swallows, an odd sort of feeling settling in his chest. It’s weird, but in a good way.

“Well,” Dad says, picking up his fork again, his smile still lingering. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

Mum smiles, soft and knowing. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “It really is.”

James doesn’t say anything, just lowers his gaze to his plate. But for the first time that evening, his chest feels a little less tight. It really is something.

Anxiety is an intense, persistent feeling of worry.

James hadn’t realised it in the moment, but thinking back, he sees just how anxious his mum and dad were about Regulus at his first sleepover. The way his mum kept glancing at her phone, setting it down only to pick it back up again a minute later. The way his dad had been quieter than usual, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something more tense, more uncertain.

It makes James wonder, really. Do his parents worry about him at his sleepovers? Do they sit at the kitchen table, anxiously waiting for a text, the way they had with Regulus? He’s never thought about it before, never considered just how much they must care to feel that kind of anxiety, to need that kind of reassurance.

The waitress hands them menus, pulling James from his thoughts. “Would you like something to drink?” she asks.

James doesn’t hesitate. “Coke, please.”

Mum orders something light, and dad gets the same. James barely listens, his mind still half-stuck on the thought of his parents’ worry, the weight of it pressing against his ribs. He wonders if they feel relief when he texts them, the same way they had when Regulus finally did. The same way James had seen the tension leave their shoulders, the quiet sighs they hadn’t even realised they were holding in.

Regulus, however, freezes. James notices it immediately—the slight tensing of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch against his thigh. He hadn’t thought about what to drink. He hadn’t planned for this.

James watches as Regulus reaches into his pocket for his notebook, his safety net—but it isn’t there.

James sees the colour drain from Regulus’ face. 

He can see, no, almost feel the panic clawing at Regulus’ chest, how it must feel slowly creeping up his throat. 

James thinks back to where Regulus must have left it. Could he have left it upstairs? Or, maybe in the car? Or— 

“Regulus?” Euphemia’s voice is gentle, cutting through the fog of panic. “Would you like a lemonade?”

Regulus nods quickly, latching onto the option like a lifeline. Mum orders it for him, and he lets out a slow breath, forcing himself to refocus on the menu.

James sees the way his mum handles it, the way she offers an easy solution without making it a big deal, without drawing attention to the panic creeping into Regulus’ frame. It makes James think, again, about how much his parents truly worry. About how much they notice, how much they care. It’s different from anything Regulus is used to, but James hopes that one day, he’ll understand that it’s okay to be cared for. That it’s okay to be worried about.

The front door swung open, and Regulus stepped inside, his face brighter than James had ever seen it. There was something lighter about him—his shoulders weren’t tense, his movements weren’t careful or measured. He practically radiated warmth, his usual guarded expression replaced by something so open, so unburdened, that James felt it like a spark catching in his own chest.

Mum took his overnight bag, smiling as she smoothed down his slightly rumpled jumper. Regulus didn’t flinch. He didn’t retreat. Instead, he let out a breath, easy and content, before toeing off his shoes and padding further inside.

James grinned, nudging his shoulder as they passed each other. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Regulus was happy.

And James? James felt it too.

That happiness James had felt from when Regulus came home from his sleepover—the kind that was light and rare and real—is the exact same happiness he sees now. It lingers in the air around him, quieter but still there, still noticeable.

It’s hard to believe that just moments ago, his mum had realised Regulus wasn’t with them when they reached the car. James had barely had time to register what was happening before the sheer panic in her expression hit him like a punch to the gut. His dad had gone still beside them, his usual calm stretching thin, but his mum—she’d bolted. James had never seen her run so fast.

James had followed, heart pounding, as they rushed back into the restaurant. That’s when they saw him.

Regulus, sitting at a table with two girls—no, women. One has dark, curly hair and sharp features, the other is blonde, her expression softer but just as intent. James stops in his tracks, confused. They look like Regulus. Not exactly, but enough that James notices it instantly.

"Regulus?"

His mum’s voice cuts through the hum of the restaurant, sharp with worry. James’ stomach twists as he follows her gaze, and—yeah. He gets it now.

Regulus sits a few feet away, looking small beneath the weight of their attention. Well, unfamiliar attention to James. His mum exhales, shoulders relaxing slightly in relief, but she still scans the scene carefully, like she’s checking for any sign of distress. His dad stands beside her, his confusion fading into quiet understanding.

Regulus pushes his chair back, like he’s about to stand, but the dark-haired woman—sharp eyes, sharper voice—waves a hand dismissively. “Relax, we weren’t kidnapping him.”

James doesn’t like her.

His mum exhales again, tension easing, but she doesn’t step forward just yet. The blonde woman does instead, standing smoothly, brushing down her skirt as if preparing for something.

"Mrs. Potter?" she asks, voice carefully polite. "I’m Narcissa Black. This is my sister, Bellatrix. We’re Regulus’ cousins."

James stiffens. Black. He’s heard that name before. It takes him a second to place it—just a passing mention, something about politics and law—but he doesn’t really know what it means. He glances at Regulus, but he stays quiet.

Mum blinks, glancing between them before offering her hand. "Euphemia Potter. This is my husband, Fleamont."

Dad shakes their hands, polite but firm. "We didn’t know Regulus had cousins."

A pause. James watches it unfold, watches the way Regulus’ fingers curl slightly against the table, like he’s bracing himself.

"We—" Narcissa hesitates, exchanging a glance with Bellatrix. "We’d like to see him more often. If he wants to, of course."

James shifts on his feet, uneasy. He doesn’t know these people, doesn’t know what they mean to Regulus. His mum looks at Regulus first, checking him over like she always does, like she’s trying to read what he’s feeling.

When she speaks, her voice is steady. "That’s up to Regulus."

Regulus swallows. His gaze flickers between the two women, searching for something. After a moment, he nods.

Narcissa lets out a breath, like she was holding onto something fragile. Even Bellatrix—rigid and unreadable—seems to ease, just a little. They exchange numbers with mum, quiet promises slipping between them.

Then, it’s time to leave.

Narcissa squeezes Regulus’ arm gently before stepping back, offering a small smile. Bellatrix lingers, watching him, something unreadable in her expression.

James glances at his dad, who has already turned toward the door. He follows, but not before looking back—just once. He doesn’t know how to feel about any of this. But he knows one thing.

Regulus is his brother. And James will always be watching.

The drive home is quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the heavy kind—the kind that feels like grief.

James sits in the backseat, staring out the window as streetlights blur past. His parents don’t speak. Regulus doesn’t speak. The only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional turn signal clicking into place. It makes James’ chest feel tight, like the weight of the silence is pressing down on all of them.

Regulus is tense beside him, fingers curled in his lap, shoulders drawn up like he’s trying to make himself smaller. James doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing.

The moment they pull into the driveway, Regulus is out of the car. He moves fast—too fast—his footsteps nearly stumbling as he makes a mad dash inside. James barely has time to unbuckle before the front door swings shut behind him.

James lingers for a second, watching the door like it might tell him something. He glances at his parents, but they exchange only a brief, knowing look before following inside.

James takes his time. By the time he makes it upstairs, the door to Regulus’ room is cracked open, just enough that James can see inside as he walks past.

His parents are in there with him.

Mum is sitting on the edge of the bed, her voice soft, her expression full of quiet concern. Dad sits in the desk chair nearby, arms crossed, listening. And Regulus—

Regulus is curled in on himself, knees drawn up, hugging his stuffed black dog close to his chest. His face is hidden, buried against the plush fur like he’s trying to disappear. The dim light catches the slight tremble in his shoulders.

James doesn’t stop, doesn’t linger too long in the doorway. He keeps walking, pretending he didn’t see, pretending he doesn’t know. But when he reaches his own room, he hesitates.

Regulus was happy earlier. James saw it—felt it. And now, he looks like he’s falling apart.

James doesn’t know exactly why. He doesn’t know what those women—his cousins—said to make him shut down like this. He doesn’t know what kind of memories they brought back or if it’s something else entirely. But he does know one thing.

Regulus is his brother.

Maybe not by blood, maybe not in the way that would make sense to other people, but James doesn’t care about that. He’s his brother in every way that matters.

And whatever’s hurting Regulus, James would do anything to protect him from it. That, he can promise himself of. 

***

James tugs a shirt over his head, ruffling his hair as he glances at the time on his phone. He still has a few minutes before he has to head downstairs, which means he can probably afford to scroll for a bit—

His phone buzzes in his hand.

Remus:Hey, wanna come over tomorrow? Sleepover?

James grins, already typing before he’s fully thought it through.

James:Yeah, obviously. What time?

He tosses his phone onto the bed, grabbing his socks from the floor and shoving them on as he waits for Remus to reply. A second later, his phone buzzes again.

Remus:After lunch? Whenever really.

James:Sounds good! See you then :D

He pockets his phone, but his excitement dims slightly as his mind drifts—unbidden—to Regulus.

Ever since the birthday sleepover, Regulus has been off . Quieter than usual, which is saying something. He doesn’t get snippy when James tries to joke with him, doesn’t roll his eyes or call him annoying—he just shrugs . Sometimes he doesn’t even answer at all.

James doesn’t know what’s wrong.

But he does know that it started after the sleepover. And James hates it. He hates watching Regulus shrink in on himself, like he’s bracing for something, hates the way he disappears into his room the second he gets home from school, only coming out for dinner.

As James heads downstairs, he can’t help but think about when he truly noticed something was off. It was that Wednesday morning.

“Regulus,” Mum said, her voice warm but firm. “I know yesterday was awful. But hiding in bed isn’t going to change anything.”

No response.

She sighed. “If you get up now, we’ll still have time for tea before we leave.”

Still nothing.

James stepped into the room, dressed in his uniform, bag slung over one shoulder. He took one look at Regulus buried under the covers, then at Mum, and tilted his head.

“What if you just sit in Mum’s car until assembly is over?” he suggested, casual as anything. “Then come into school after.”

Mum blinked, as if to say, that was an excellent idea .

The blankets shifted slightly. Regulus was thinking about it.

A long moment passed before he finally exhaled and pushed the covers back, sitting up.

James grinned. “There we go.”

Mum let out a quiet breath of relief. She turned to James and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, then another to his cheek.

James groaned, pulling away. “Mum—seriously?”

She just smiled, brushing a hand over his curls. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

James huffed but couldn’t quite hide his pleased expression as he slung his bag higher on his shoulder and headed downstairs.

James flops into the armchair, settling in comfortably as he picks up his controller. The game hums to life on the screen, and he relaxes, sinking into the cushions.

Then, footsteps.

He barely registers them at first, too focused on the level he’s playing, but something makes him glance up.

Regulus stands in the doorway, stiff as a board.

James blinks. “You wanna play?”

Regulus doesn’t answer. His eyes dart to the side table—then narrow.

James follows his gaze, confused. He barely has time to react before Regulus’ whole posture goes tense, shoulders rigid, fists clenched.

Then—

“Où est mon livre?” Regulus snaps, his voice sharp.

James frowns. “Umm… what?”

Regulus’ eyes flash. His breathing is quick, his chest rising and falling too fast.

“Vous êtes assis à ma place et maintenant mon livre a disparu?!”

James startles. The words hit him rapid-fire, but he doesn’t understand a single one. “Uh—what?”

Regulus looks like he’s about to combust.

“Où est-il? Je l'ai laissé ici!”

James’ confusion deepens. Regulus is really upset, but James has no idea why.

“Stop yelling at me! I don’t understand you!” he says, putting the controller down and holding his hands up.

Regulus doesn’t stop. His eyes flick around the room like he’s searching for something, and his breathing is all wrong—too fast, too tight.

James is still trying to figure out what’s happening when, suddenly, Regulus throws a pillow at him.

It smacks into his chest with an unimpressive thump .

“Hey!” James yelps, looking up in alarm. “What the hell?”

Regulus is already grabbing another.

James barely has time to react before the second pillow is flying toward him. He jumps up, arms raised.

“Woah, woah, woah!” he shouts. “Calm down! I don’t even know what you want!”

Regulus doesn’t stop. His movements are frantic, every action fueled by something big and overwhelming .

James, on instinct, grabs a pillow—and throws it back.

It bounces off Regulus’ shoulder.

That was a mistake.

Regulus lunges .

James stumbles back, but it’s too late. The next pillow hits him full force, followed by another.

“Oi—Reg!” James protests, blocking as best he can. “Stop it!”

Regulus doesn’t stop.

James, now officially panicking, grabs another pillow and swings it back, desperately trying to defend himself.

The sound of their scuffle fills the room, and James is starting to think he might actually be losing this fight when—

“BOYS!”

James freezes.

Regulus does too, breathing hard.

Mum stands in the doorway, hands on her hips, eyebrows raised. Dad is right behind her. His gaze immediately locks onto Regulus.

James lets the pillow drop like it just caught fire.

Regulus is still standing there, fists clenched, expression caught somewhere between frustration and panic.

Dad steps forward, voice calm but firm. “Alright, enough of that.”

James watches as Dad carefully reaches for Regulus. Regulus stiffens but doesn’t move fast enough to pull away.

Strong arms wrap around Regulus—not forceful, just steady. Solid. Grounding.

James exhales, heart still hammering. His mum’s eyes flick between him and Regulus, unreadable.

He swallows hard. That… escalated quickly.

James barely has time to react before his mum is leading him out of the living room and into the kitchen. Her grip on his shoulder is gentle but firm, the kind that says we need to talk .

He exhales sharply, stuffing his hands into his pockets as she stops by the counter. He can still hear his dad speaking softly to Regulus in the other room, calming him down.

Euphemia turns to face him, her expression unreadable. “Are you alright?”

James shrugs. “Yeah.”

She studies him for a moment. “I want to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me, alright?”

James nods, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Do you still feel safe around Regulus?” she asks gently. “And if you don’t, that’s okay. You can tell me.”

James blinks at her, taken aback. He frowns, trying to wrap his head around the question.

Does he feel safe?

He thinks about what just happened. Regulus got overwhelmed—pissed off, yeah, but not in a real fight kind of way. He wasn’t actually going to hurt him. James knows that.

He looks up at his mum, brow furrowing. “Mum, you told me once that some kids don’t know how to communicate properly, and that’s why you need to teach them.”

Euphemia nods slowly.

James shrugs again. “Regulus just needs a little help. It’s not like he was actually going to hurt me.”

Euphemia exhales, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “Alright,” she says softly, reaching up to brush his hair back.

James ducks away with a half-hearted scowl, and she chuckles, ruffling it instead.

The tightness in the room lifts just a little.

But even as they sit in the kitchen, something gnaws at James, lingering like an itch he can’t scratch. He can’t shake the way Regulus had looked—shoulders tight, fists clenched, breathing all wrong. The way his eyes had darted around, wild and cornered, like he wasn’t even seeing James at all.

It was the same look he’d had when he found out Colin knew.

James’ chest tightens.

He hadn’t understood at first—not when Colin came up to him that morning during first break, all smiles and curiosity.

James rounded a corner too fast—

And crashed straight into someone.

Regulus stumbled back, blinking up at him, and before James could say anything, a sharp voice cut through the hallway.

“Oi—watch where you’re going.”

James’ head snapped toward the voice, his stomach already twisting. Colin. Of course it was Colin.

Regulus stiffened, his whole body going tense. But Colin barely gave him another glance before walking off, laughing with his friends. James watched them go, jaw clenched.

Then he looked back at Regulus. His little brother looked—wrong. Pale, shaken, barely holding himself together.

“Reg,” James said, his voice softer now. “You alright, mate?”

Regulus shook his head.

James didn’t ask anything else. He just tilted his head toward the side hall. “C’mon.”

They walked.

James led them somewhere quieter, somewhere away from the crowd. The staircase at the back of the building—no one ever went there during class.

Regulus sat on the floor, breathing too fast, his hands still trembling. James watched him for a moment, then dug into his bag, pulling out a scrap of paper and a pencil.

“Here,” he said, handing it over. “Write it down.”

Regulus hesitated, then gripped the pencil tight, his hand moving fast. Messy, rushed handwriting filled the page.

James waited as he wrote, but his stomach was already twisting with something uneasy.

Because he knew.

He knew what this was about.

It had started last week, when Colin had come up to him during first break. He’d been weirdly curious, asking a million questions about Regulus—how long he’d been staying with them, if he was actually a foster kid, if it was true his parents were in prison. James had shrugged, confirmed some of it, but hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Colin hadn’t sounded mean—just nosy.

But now—now Regulus shoved the paper toward him, looking at the floor like he already knew what was coming.

James read it.

And his stomach sank.

He swallowed hard, gripping the note tighter. The words felt like a punch to the gut—every cruel taunt, every bit of mockery.

This was his fault.

He sucked in a breath, then, in a voice so quiet it barely reached the space between them, he said, “I told him.”

Regulus’ head snapped up.

James couldn’t meet his eyes. He stared at the paper, at the angry, hurt words written in Regulus’ slanted handwriting. “Colin. I—I was the one who told him.”

Regulus didn’t move.

James ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly. “I thought—I thought he was one of your friends, and I was just trying to help—”

Regulus looked away. His face burned, his sleeves pulled over his hands.

James felt sick. “I’m sorry, Reg,” he said. “I didn’t—I never meant for this to happen.”

Regulus nodded, but it was stiff, mechanical.

James kept talking, kept apologizing, but Regulus didn’t want to hear it. His expression didn’t change. He just stared at the floor, breathing shallowly, as if James wasn’t even there.

Guilt pressed heavy on James’ chest.

The bell rang, breaking the silence.

James stood slowly. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Regulus didn’t answer.

James hesitated, waiting, hoping for something—but Regulus stayed still, unmoving.

Eventually, James turned and walked away.

He didn’t look back.

The guilt of that moment still eats away at something inside James. It’s not like Regulus has forgiven him for anything. Truth be told, Regulus hasn’t said a word about it—not about Colin, not about what happened after—but that almost makes it worse.

James hates not knowing where he stands. If Regulus were still mad, if he yelled or even just told James off, at least James would know. But Regulus is just… quiet. And James doesn’t know how to fix that.

Maybe he should talk about it, James thinks.

But now’s not the time.

James sits at the kitchen table, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He doesn’t know why he’s the one feeling weird about all this—he wasn’t the one throwing things. But still, Mrs. Potter’s expectant smile makes him shift in his seat, and he doesn’t quite meet Regulus’ eyes.

“Alright,” Mr. Potter starts once they’re all settled. “Let’s figure out what we can do better next time.”

James glances at Regulus, who sits stiffly, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Mrs. Potter turns to James first. “James, what do you think you could’ve done differently?”

James pulls a face. “I dunno,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t know Regulus was gonna be mad. He didn’t say anything—he just started yelling at me.”

Regulus frowns, then grabs his notebook and scribbles something down before sliding it over.

It wasn’t just that you were in my spot. I couldn’t find my book.

James sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, but you didn’t even know where your book was. It’s not like I stole it or something.”

Regulus clenches his jaw but nods, looking away.

Mrs. Potter hums thoughtfully. “So maybe next time, Regulus can say something before getting upset, and James can be more mindful of what might bother Regulus?”

James nods. “Yeah, I mean, I would’ve moved if he just told me.”

Regulus stares at the table, gripping his pen so tightly James thinks it might snap. There’s something in his expression—frustration, but also something quieter, something James doesn’t quite understand.

“I know it’s hard,” Mrs. Potter says gently. “But we can work on it. You don’t have to be perfect—you just have to try.”

Regulus swallows and nods once.

Mr. Potter claps his hands together. “Good. And if you two do run into an issue you can’t sort out, what do you do?”

James groans. “Come to you or Mum.”

“Exactly.” Mr. Potter gives them both a pointed look. “No more throwing things at each other. Understood?”

James nods. Regulus hesitates, then picks up his notebook again. After a moment, he writes:

I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m sorry.

He turns the notebook toward James.

James reads it, then shrugs. “It’s alright.”

Regulus watches him like he’s expecting something more—maybe for James to still be angry. But he’s not. It’s over. James doesn’t hold grudges, not over stuff like this.

He pushes himself up from the table and drops onto the couch, grabbing his controller. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Regulus hover for a moment before sitting stiffly in the armchair, book in his lap.

James glances at him. “What language were you speaking?”

Regulus blinks, looking startled.

James frowns. “When you were yelling at me. It wasn’t English.”

Regulus flushes, his face going pink as he quickly scribbles:

French. It’s my first language.

James leans over to read it, then nods. “Oh. Cool.”

Mrs. Potter steps closer, curiosity lighting up her face, but before she can say anything, Mr. Potter clears his throat. “If you two have problems with each other, talk about them. Or come to one of us, and we’ll help you sort it out.”

James nods easily. Regulus hesitates again, but after a moment, he nods too.

The tension in the room fades.

James flops back against the couch, unpausing his game, and Regulus pulls his book closer, curling up slightly in the chair.

Just like that, everything shifts back to normal.

James plays. Regulus reads.

But James’ mind keeps circling back to the guilt gnawing at his ribs.

Because this? This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Regulus like that—so upset, so tangled up in something James couldn’t quite reach. The last time was when Colin found out about Regulus being in foster care. James remembers the way Regulus had looked at him after realizing James was the one who told. The same tight shoulders, the same refusal to meet his eyes, the same cold silence stretching between them.

The same way he’s acting now.

And suddenly, James remembers something else. That Friday afternoon, when he somehow ended up at Remus’ house, sitting on the Lupins’ couch while Hope handed him a cup of hot chocolate. He hadn’t questioned it then, too lost in his own head to wonder why he wasn’t at home.

But now it clicks into place.

Hope had picked him up.

And she wouldn’t have done that unless his parents had sent her.

Because they must’ve known he needed to be somewhere else. That he wasn’t supposed to come home.

Not yet.

The realization slams into James like a truck, knocking the breath from his lungs. Because, really, why wouldn’t it? There’s only one reasonable explanation for why he ended up at Remus’ house that afternoon—something must have happened with Regulus. Something bad enough that his parents didn’t want him to come home right away.

His stomach twists uncomfortably. He thinks back to his mum’s careful words, the way she’d asked him if he still felt safe having Regulus in the house with them. Not just in that patient, let’s-talk-this-through way she always does, but like she already knew. Like she’d seen this before.

And that’s when it really sinks in.

This wasn’t the first time.

Regulus has had outbursts before—maybe not at him , but they’ve happened. James just wasn’t there to see them. Maybe that’s why his mum had been so quick to step in, why his dad had looked so exhausted, why Hope had been the one to pick him up instead of them.

They were handling it.

James swallows hard, guilt curling in his chest. He doesn’t know what, exactly, happened while he was gone. But he knows one thing for certain—he never wants it to happen again.

***

James watches the world blur past the car window, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence between him and his mum. Normally, he’d be buzzing with excitement—he is excited. Sleepovers at Remus’ are always great. But his mind keeps snagging on something else.

Regulus has been acting weird . Not in the usual Regulus way, either. It’s like he can’t decide if he wants to be near James or avoid him entirely. Some days, he hovers in doorways, like he wants to say something but won’t let himself. Other times, he barely looks at James at all. It’s not bad , exactly, but it is... off.

James doesn’t get it.

As they pull up to the Lupins’ house, a new thought worms its way into his mind— how did Regulus feel when he got to his friend’s house for that birthday sleepover?

James remembers how excited Regulus had been, how much he’d wanted to go. But now—now that James is here, about to step into someone else’s home for the night—he wonders if Regulus had felt nervous, too. If he’d hesitated before knocking on the door, if he’d had that split-second moment of what if this is weird? What if I don’t belong here?

The thought doesn’t sit right.

James barely has time to dwell on it before his mum parks the car. He unbuckles quickly, pushing the thought aside as they step out. The front door swings open before they even reach it, and Remus grins at him from the doorway.

“Hey, you made it,” Remus says.

Hope Lupin isn’t far behind, smiling warmly as she steps up beside her son. “Euphemia, lovely to see you,” she greets.

James steps inside as the mums start talking, setting his bag down before Remus nudges him. “C’mon, let’s put your stuff up.”

James follows him upstairs, dropping his bag by Remus’ desk before they head back down. His mum is still chatting with Hope, but when she spots James, she smiles.

“Be good, Jamie,” she says, ruffling his hair.

James ducks away with a half-hearted scowl, swatting at her hand. “I am good,” he insists.

Euphemia just laughs. “Behave, then.”

“I will,” James promises.

She gives him a final look before saying her goodbyes, and James watches her leave, something heavy settling in his chest. He shakes it off quickly when Remus elbows him, already steering him toward the living room.

The feeling lingers anyway.

It still doesn’t go away once they get settled into the living room and start playing video games. The hum of the TV, the soft click of buttons under his fingers—it should help James relax, but it doesn’t.

James knows he’s been acting weird. More so, since Regulus has passed the two-week mark living with them. It’s not like he doesn’t like having Regulus around—because he does, he loves it—but it’s complicated. The fact that Regulus is here, that he’s living with the Potters, makes James feel both grateful and… responsible. It's the responsibility that weighs on him, heavier each day. Regulus' struggles, the things he doesn’t talk about, the anxiety and the confusion that James sees in his younger brother’s eyes, those things—James feels them like they belong to him, like he’s part of the reason for them.

He knows he shouldn’t feel that way. The guilt makes him uncomfortable, unsettled in a way he can’t shake, no matter how much he tries to distract himself. It’s ridiculous, he knows that. The majority of Regulus’ issues aren’t even remotely tied to James. They’re his, his past, his trauma. But James can’t stop thinking that maybe he could have done more, said more, or somehow just been… better. That maybe the things that were hurting Regulus, maybe they could’ve been avoided if James had been more observant or more careful.

Sitting in front of the TV with his controller in hand, James doesn’t feel like playing anymore. He’s been silent for too long, and it’s starting to eat at him, the weight of it. Remus, who has been sitting next to him, doesn’t say anything at first, but James can feel the look in his direction, even if he’s not directly staring at him. The older boy is quiet, too, but there’s something there, an unspoken question lingering between them.

Finally, Remus breaks the silence. “You’ve been off, mate,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “What’s going on? You’re not usually this quiet when we’re playing.”

James stiffens, his grip tightening on the controller. Remus is right. He hasn’t been himself. But the words that are stuck in his throat don’t feel like they want to come out. How does he explain this? How does he tell Remus that he feels like he’s been failing Regulus? That every time Regulus flinches or seems uncomfortable, James feels it like it’s his fault?

Remus waits for him to say something, but after a few moments of hesitation, he just sighs, his voice softening. “James, you know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

James looks at him, his heart racing in his chest, and then he finally gives in. It’s not like he can hold it in forever. “I… I feel like I’ve messed things up with Reg,” he blurts out, his words coming out in a rush. “Like, I’m the reason he’s struggling. I know it's not my fault, but I can’t stop thinking… what if I’ve done something wrong? What if I’ve hurt him in ways I didn’t even realise?”

Remus doesn’t immediately respond. He just looks at James with a furrowed brow, as if weighing his words carefully before speaking.

“I don’t think you’re the reason Regulus is struggling,” Remus says gently. “I know you care about him, and you’ve been trying your best. But there’s a lot about Regulus’ past that you don’t know, James. Things that he hasn’t shared with anyone, not even you. Those things are his to deal with, not yours.”

“But…” James starts, his voice cracking. “I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known something was wrong when he first got here. I—maybe if I’d been more patient, or… I don’t know, I just feel like I should’ve done more.”

Remus places a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Listen to me, James. You can’t blame yourself for things that are out of your control. You’ve done everything you could to help Regulus. And it’s made a difference, trust me. The fact that you noticed something was wrong, that you cared enough to try and help him… that’s more than most people would do. That’s what he needs. Not someone who’ll carry his burdens for him, but someone who’ll be there when he’s ready to talk. And you’ve been that for him.”

James bites his lip, the weight of Remus’ words sinking in. It’s hard to let go of the guilt. It’s so tangled up inside him that he doesn’t know where to start, but Remus is right. He can’t keep blaming himself for everything, especially when he’s only just learning how to navigate this new dynamic with Regulus. He’s trying, and that’s what matters, isn’t it?

“I guess…” James starts, taking a deep breath. “I guess I just don’t want to mess things up for him. I want him to feel like he’s safe here, you know?”

Remus smiles softly, his hand still resting on James’ shoulder. “He does. He feels safe with you. And he’s lucky to have you, James. You’re doing a good job.”

James thinks about Remus’ words as they settle into a comfortable silence, the sound of the game filling the space between them. For the first time in what feels like forever, the tightness in his chest eases, just a little. Maybe he can’t fix everything, but he’s doing his best. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

For a long moment, James doesn’t speak, letting the peaceful silence surround him. Then, finally, something clicks. He exhales slowly, and the knot in his chest that has been there for days, maybe even weeks, loosens. His hands feel lighter, the controller in his lap nothing more than an object now, no longer a symbol of the weight he’s been carrying.

Freedom.

That’s what this feels like—free from the suffocating grip of guilt, free from the ever-present nagging thought that he’s somehow to blame for Regulus' pain. It's like something inside him has unlocked, and for the first time in days, he feels light.

He doesn’t need to carry the weight of Regulus’ past. He can’t fix it. But what he can do is be there for Regulus now, in the present. He’s doing his best. And maybe that’s all that matters.

It feels like a breath of fresh air—freedom, finally.

James lets out a breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding, and a small, genuine smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. His shoulders relax, and the tightness that has consumed him for so long is gone. It’s like a weight has been lifted from him, and he doesn’t have to bear it alone anymore. For the first time in a long time, James feels like he can just… be. He can just be the brother Regulus needs.

Freedom. This is what freedom feels like.