Consequences

The Marauders- Late November

The Defense Against the Dark Arts class had just concluded, the remaining students packing up their bags. The classroom had been cleared for the most part a few minutes prior. The space was almost silent, save from the rustling of parchment as those left crammed their textbooks into satchels. 

Sirius Black, his eyes alight with a kind of excitement only found on a Friday evening, called out to Remus.

"Bagsy the big chair in the dorm, so prepare to sit on the floor, or budge up!", he said, grinning roguishly- an expression only he could pull off. 

The room was now empty, the last students flocking through the door. The only adolescents left now being the Marauders. Defence Against the Dark arts had finished early- so most students found themselves eager to leave. It was 4pm after all, a Friday no less. So students scattered, the classroom quiet, just begging for somebody to break the silence. This would end up being Peter, who had managed to drop every single item out of his bag, resulting in a sharp bang. Peter tried to fit all of his books into a single backpack, a faint blush dusting his cheeks- though it hardly mattered- only the Marauders had witnessed it. As he did this- the sides almost looked as if it would burst- fabric fraying against the sharp corners of the hardcovers. 

Sirius lounged against the desk- they all were waiting on Peter at this point. He straightened up, watching Remus attempt to sneak out of the room,"I wasn’t joking about taking the big chair, so don’t think you’ll be nicking it Moons!", he yelled running up to Remus, giving them a firm clap on the back. Remus winced, but he didn’t complain.

“So, we’ gonna have a fun night?", Sirius asked, bouncing in enthusiasm. 

It was as if he had fire ants beneath the soles of his feet, dancing along to their bite. Remus wouldn’t be surprised if he did, with the way Snape had been glaring daggers into them throughout class. 

 “Why?”, Remus questioned, continuing to idly walk out of the hallway.

 “It’s Friday” Sirius sang, then winked, “and James has the cloak on him”.

Remus groaned, "Merlin", knowing all too well what Sirius had in mind. "Your idea of fun is going on a 2-day-bender," he said wearily.

Sirius chuckled, "Sounds perfect that- I wish we had two days, I swear I’d-" but before he could finish, Remus interrupted him. "Exactly," he said, looking visibly tired.

Sirius rolled his eyes, "It’s not like I could outdrink you Moony anyway, you absolute degenerate."

Remus yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes, "True, you didn’t even get to round 5 last time." He paused for a moment before adding, "And don't forget, you ended up chatting up the bartender all night."

Sirius smirked, "And succeeding”- of course he was bragging about it.

Sirius looked all too proud of himself.

Remus shook his head and said, "Remind me again why she didn’t ID us?"

"Put on a bit of the gentlemanly charm.", Sirius said, a sly smile creeping onto his lips.

 "You’re hardly a gentleman, Pads."

Sirius chuckled, "Ahh but Moony I am the perfect gentleman. I treat the ladies with both grace and decorum, a bit of the good old toujours pur."

Remus raised an eyebrow, "What is that supposed to mean?"

 "I'll buy them a nice meal before I shag them.", he admitted, letting out a barking laugh, clearly amused with his own joke.

Remus scoffed, "Wow, how gentlemanly."

"That’s not a word Remus."

Remus corrected him, "I think you’ll find that it is. Mate."

Sirius glanced over at James, who was staring intently at the wall, "I’d ask him, but he’s got that ‘Prongs is daydreaming call back later’ look, so maybe not."

Remus mirrored Sirius- twisting his head to the side, "He must’ve talked to Lily I’ll bet, he looks dead pleased with himself- like he won the cup or something."

Sirius smirked, "Godric, you think they’re finally-"

Remus shrugged, "Nah, but maybe she smiled this time, before she hit him with her ponytail."

Sirius’ face contorted devilishly, "What a lucky fella, bet he’s thinking about her like- ‘Oh Lily, the fittest ginger I did ever see’”.

Remus snorted.

James lifted his head up, "I can hear you, you know?"

Remus grinned, "Please do reply to my advances, for my heart aches whenever I see you.". Sirius looked back at Remus- then to James.

"And your balls, oh Merlin, can’t forget the Potter jewels.", he said, nudging James in the side. 

James slapped a palm to his face, clearly embarrassed, he removed one hand to point directly at Sirius, threatening, "Kindly Sirius, zip it, or I’ll make you run an extra lap during Quidditch practice."

Sirius looked at James as if he’d confessed to a murder, protesting, "You wouldn’t!,"

James chuckled, "Definitely would, you beautiful arsehole."

 "So, James- an arse man I see?"

James laughed, "Only yours, babes."

“Good thing I broke up with Macdonald then”, he admitted.

Remus turned his head back to them, mumbling “Is she still mad at you for that?”

Sirius groaned, “Nah, Mary’s chill. I think? She just hooked up with Tilsbury, I think he’s her new bird”

“Can birds have birds?”, James asked, fumbling with the buttons of his blazer to undo them.

Sirius simpered coyly, his face becoming an expression one could only assume was a concoction of embarrassment and pride, “If you’re as bluming powerful as that Mary Macdonald, then yes, yes you can”

Before they could continue, a boy came barrelling down the hall, one shoelace untied. It was Peter again, panting and wiping sweat from his fringe. 

Catching his breath, he stopped a little behind the boys, before he chimed in, "Stop faffing about lads, we’re off the clock!" The Marauders snickered among themselves, James ruffling Peter’s hair as he swot his hands away. They headed back to the dorms, with Sirius leading the way. 

                                                                                          ₊·‧͙⁺˚*･༓⭑-𖤓༺☼༻𖤓-⭑༓･*˚⁺‧͙·₊

James was not thinking about Lily Evans.

Not in the halls, or the dorms. Not even in DADA.

Likely if it had been a year ago, perhaps even a few months. He would’ve. He should’ve. 

But he wasn’t. 

“Bloody Regulus Black”

Regulus invaded his every thought, probed his mind. He felt as if the boy had taken an arrow and shot it to his heel. His weak spot. James couldn’t help but feel vulnerable. 

That was certainly a first. 

James tried to convince himself that it was out of concern, since he was quite frankly, concerned for the boy. 

Though, that didn’t completely explain why he continuously wanted to see him. Well, it did explain it a little bit. But somehow James could feel; it was a little deeper than that. 

Shaking his head- as if to sweep the thought aside- he continued with his friends. A night out would clear things up, clear his head of Regulus.

Later that Friday the Marauders would find themselves royally hammered, laying on the grounds. 

James wheezed, laughing at a joke he couldn’t quite remember. 

The night was hazy, singed at the edges.

Though, through all the blur, one thing was clear. 

His thoughts did not still.

                                                                                             ༶•⋆༺┈✧༺✩༻✧----༻⋆•༶ 

Regulus tried his best to be cold.

Uncaring- he tried with every fibre of his body to sneer at Potter as they passed in the halls. Yet, since their brief conversations. He couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but feign indifference. 

Fate was truly an evil god. If Regulus was a fool. He would be inclined to believe that James was a nymph- sent down to deliver him a kick of divine intervention- reprimand him for his sins. There only to entice him, throttle and shake his thoughts until he could no longer use them. 

But Regulus wasn’t a fool. He knew it was coincidence, not fated retribution. Though coincidence seemed to despise him also.

James Potter had stepped into Regulus’ life by coincidence- all smiles. He talked to him. Asked him about his journal. Related to him.

James had noticed him; that was far too much. 

He felt blinded.

Regulus couldn't help but feel conflicted about James. On one hand, he despised him; despised James for shaking his mind so easily. On the other hand, though Regulus tried, he couldn't deny the strange pull he felt towards him. It was a confusing mix of emotions, and Regulus didn't know what to make of it.

He tried to push James out of his mind, to forget their conversation in the greenhouses, but it was no use. 

The day Regulus sat there, wallowing over cursive words. James had greeted him, dropping to sit on the floor as if he’d already been invited.

The boy had watched James push back the dark strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead. The setting sky casting a warm glow upon James' tanned skin, illuminating chiselled features, shadowing the dimples that contoured a creased smile. Regulus couldn't help but be captivated by James' every move. His unruly hair flowed gently in the evening breeze, like silk in the wind. James' pupils dilated as light slowly left the horizon, darkness deepening his gaze.

James had bickered with Regulus, almost-teasing, milky whites reflecting the lanterns whilst he lay on soft grass. It was as if he were a painting, brought to life by twilight. The wind stilling to flutter through his chest, bubbling in his abdomen. 

Regulus hated the fact that he was attracted to James, that he couldn't control his own desires. A constant reminder of his own inadequacies.

Past his cold stare and withered gaze. Merlin, deep down, he wanted nothing more than to reach to him, push messy hair out of his face. To look into hazel and see the world through his eyes as he spoke.

‘Maybe just because’

But he knew that was but a foolish wish. their lives and expectations were fundamentally different . His head rattled with promises, those which he had been born with, ‘I cannot betray my family, cannot betray my upbringing. I am expected to be the perfect pureblood heir, that I must fulfil. Toujours pur. I must make up for the son Sirius never was.’

James had gotten under his skin, feverishly pouring light through his veins, Regulus’ body setting alight. Sweating as if James had passed him a fever. 

Perhaps James was a fever; Regulus couldn't shake him off.

Though, Regulus found there was nothing to do but attempt to rid his mind of James. So he read- opening one of his favourite poems. He read and annotated the corners in golden ink. 

‘’Gone are the moon and the Pleiades.

And, in the middle of the night, 

Time passes 

And I sleep alone.’’ 

-Sappho

It was a favourite of his. A fragment of her work, sure- most of it had been lost to time. It was thousands of years old, after all. But it didn’t prevent him from reading. It was if Sappho could reach into the depths of his soul- pulling out words that formulated the very essence of his emotions. Bittersweet. Mourning. He too yearns for the moon to return, the Pleiades of youth. When he would stargaze with Sirius- point out their favourite constellations- finishing with their own. 

Sappho would call men ‘equal to a god’. Not because they were strong, brave or even beautiful. But because some could sit, in the presence of the one she desired, and not fall apart.

Regulus understood that. She would compare those she loved to nymphs of the sea, sirens hauling ships. Her beloved could be comparable to the moon- life itself. 

If anybody asked Regulus who to compare James to. He wouldn’t actually answer truthfully. Yet, if he did, he could’ve perhaps said the sun, but that wouldn’t describe the enigma of James Potter well enough. James wasn’t just the sun, he was the heavens.

He was Apollo. 

Regulus felt as if he stood, at his altar, a supplicant. Burning.                                                                                                                                  James was the earth’s personal star, perhaps Helios would’ve been a more appropriate comparison- a physical embodiment of the sun itself.

No, James was far more than that.

James was ‘poetry’, he was ‘art’. He was ‘truth’ in whispered confessions, he would admit only upon paper, tempting Regulus to spill every secret. James was a prophecy, inevitable- a plague upon his senses- though he never felt less sick. 

James was healing- and yes, perhaps, above all of that.

James was the sun. 

Regulus was Daphne, chased, afraid- weak. Arising from the lake, freshwater. Terrified of James’ chase. He ran, as a weak man would. He ran, twisting the arrow of hate further into his heart. But the arrow was a guise, a thinly woven veil- concealing what Regulus truly knew since he had met the boy in first year.

Regulus had harboured these desires within him, for the past five years.

Regulus had avoided James Potter, since that first day on the train.

Regulus had run, he had rather since died than admit James’ truth. The boy could only hope that James would crown himself in Regulus’ laurel, branches twisting, leaves never rotting.

He could only hope that James would remember him, in death..

So he took his journal, and wrote a poem. Feelings spilling to page. 

“I am Dido on the pyre,

Strike a match and set my soul ablaze,

To feel your touch,

More calming than any tinged sword,

I shall throw myself to you,

Strike my temples and pierce my skin,

Let the sensation of crimson ebb within me,

Let me know that I have truly, been alive,

I am Phoebus struck by arrow,

Mind scattered to only one thought,

I search frantically for a glimpse,

Enamoured in your wake,

When you leave, may it be later,

I shall wrap your leaves around my scalp,

A totem of intoxication for what was,

A piece of you, lies upon me,

I am the young consul,

Greedy for the power you give,

Allow me to build walls to guide them,

Preying upon your altar never felt so bittersweet,

Knowing it is but a hymn for what I can never find,

You are the light that strays in glimmer,

Upon the windowsill, I rest,

My blinds block you from vision,

Though I am always aware of the sun that streams,

So I ponder and wait till night,

Open the curtain and,

Mourn your presence,

I am the guilt that rests upon shoulders,

Since it was only but my fault,

That you set.”

-RAB

He huffed, writing the last word in poised cursive. 

Nobody could ever see this.

                                                                                          𓂃⊹ °˖°｡⋆✺༺✴༻✺⋆｡°˖°⊹𓂃

‘Just like the hyacinth on a mountain, Trodden by the feet of the shepherds, And on the ground, a purple flower’- Sappho.