Chapter Text
Regulus Black - Hogwarts University, Sophomore Year (Fall)
He sits in the front row, so he should be the first one out of the classroom. More often than not he is, but not today. Today, Regulus packs his things at a snail’s pace, trying to time his exit to his TA’s— to James’. James who is busy chatting to Professor Bauer, an easy sort of banter that shouldn’t exist between a teacher and a student. Regulus supposes this is the type of banter reserved for a mentor and their mentee, which fits them better than the teacher/student category. This is how some of Regulus’ classmates look gabbing with Professor Slughorn after one of his film classes. Regulus should really learn to connect with faculty more, especially as a transfer student. He has one year less than everyone else to gain a reputation.
He takes his time closing out each tab on his laptop, slipping it into its case and then into his bag. He rewinds his charger, deliberate fingers twirling the cord into its usual nest shape. Then, he spends a minute fake-checking his phone, answering texts that aren’t there. The last few remaining students sneak past him out the door, and Regulus slides his bag onto his shoulder just as James is wishing Professor Bauer a good rest of his Thursday . Expert timing coupled with plausible deniability. All serendipity is masterminded by someone, Regulus decides as James holds the door for him.
“James,” Regulus says his name like a greeting, even if it feels like a plea. Please look at me, please listen to me, please never stop .
“Regulus.” James smiles, but not with his teeth. It’s the classic polite smile you’re supposed to give someone when you hold open a door or pick up something they dropped, but to Regulus it feels like a personal slight. Why won’t James give him the crescent moon smile? He hasn’t seen it since he’s started having feelings , and somehow he feels like he’ll crumble if he doesn’t, blow away in the wind like dried sand.
“Do you have anything?” Regulus says, walking side by side with James towards the building’s exit.
A different sort of smile, the type that means James is holding in a laugh. “Anything?” He’s wearing a red zip up, likely the one from that day at hospital, and Regulus feels a surge of satisfaction at the reminder that he’s yet to return James’ HU hoodie. He has one of his own just like it, but James’ is more comfortable, the sleeves worn in and soft.
“I meant are you doing anything?” Regulus cringes at himself.
“I’m walking with you,” James says, his shoulders raising in an easy shrug.
“Right.” This is starting to feel like that time in the library at the start of the semester— James his unaffected, confident self, Regulus forgetting the basic steps of being human.
“I’m only joking,” James insists, catching the way Regulus’ expression has fallen over the course of a few fragments of sentences.
“Oh, yeah, alright.” Regulus huffs out some forced laughter. This isn’t even a real conversation yet and he’s freaking out. He’s being weird, isn’t he? He rubs his hands on his pant legs, and the two of them shuffle out of the English building to the courtyard.
The weather is humid and muggy, the cobblestones tracked with mud from the weeklong rainstorm that ended this morning, worms shriveling up on the pavement. There are some residual grey clouds left behind, and Regulus wishes for the lighting to come back and smite him.
“Regulus, were you trying to ask me something?” James is walking backwards, confident strides with his hands in his pockets.
Yes, but I want you to ask. I want you to read my mind like you read my brother’s . “Just making conversation,” Regulus shrugs, the weight of his bag feeling heavy on one shoulder.
James nods, like this makes sense, and falls back into step with Regulus. “What are you thinking about?”
You, your hands, the way you smile and breathe and are . “I’m thinking about how there are still so many buildings on campus I’ve never set foot in,” Regulus says. “Feels like a waste to pay all this money and only ever use the buildings for my major.”
James’ nose crinkles in amusement. “You’re so right. I’ve never even thought of that, getting my money’s worth.”
“I calculated how much each class period costs if you divide the price of tuition by the number of weeks per semester,” Regulus admits, and he feels like a swot just saying it, ears warming.
“Oh my god,” James laughs, loud and bright, like the weather’s a sunny watercolor and not a smeared charcoal drawing, all greyscale and blurry. “That’s one way to ensure perfect attendance.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a pause.
James slides his hands out of his pockets and in again.
Regulus rocks back and forth, shifting his weight in his trainers. Toes, heels, toes, heels .
It’s quiet, no students wanting to stand outside in the muggy weather.
Really, James should turn for the parking lot now, and Regulus should walk towards his dorm, but they stand still, not quite looking at each other, not looking away either. Regulus focuses on a spot at the tip of James’ ear, the place where the arm of his glasses sits, and he wonders if James can still feel his glasses on his face, after wearing them for so many years. Maybe they’ve become second nature now, like a pill in the morning, the watch on his wrist.
“Should we pick a building?” James asks, his eye contact suddenly sure, his gaze fixed on Regulus with such clarity it makes him double down on the wish for lightning. Though, wasn’t he also just wishing for James to look at him?
“What?” Regulus has no choice but to match the eye contact, meeting James’ stare with his own.
“What’s a building you’ve never gone to?” he asks, meandering towards a campus directory, one of those illustrated maps with a red dot that says, you are here .
Regulus trails after him. “You’re not seri—”
“Nope, just James,” he smirks, and even if it’s in a roundabout way, it’s the first time he’s mentioned Sirius in casual conversation.
Regulus fakes a scowl, his insides feeling mushy as he peers over James’ shoulder at the faded directory. He resists the urge to rest his chin on his shoulder, letting out a measured breath instead, his exhale making James shudder when the air hits his neck. James glances at him, sucking in a breath of his own when their eyes meet. Inches apart, Regulus can see the way James’ glasses magnify his glossy eyes. There’s a freckle resting under his left eye, shielded by his bottom lashes, and Regulus suppresses the voices in his head insisting that he count them. One, two, thr—
James blinks, his glasses slipping with the downward tilt of his head.
Regulus can’t stop the itch in his hands, allowing himself the small gesture of sliding James’ glasses up the bridge of his nose for him.
“Reg—”
“Anthropology,” Regulus decides, jerking his head back and turning to face the map of campus. He coughs. “I’ve never been to the Anthropology building.”
James licks his lips. “Alright.” He studies the map for a moment, deciphering where they need to go.
Regulus turns on his heels, glad when James follows behind him since he picked a random direction and started walking— he must have guessed right.
The walk to the Anthropology building is long, and they avoid the remnants of puddles as they walk, a zigzag pattern across the courtyard.
James is quiet, which is unlike him, and the silence is putting Regulus on edge. Should he say something to fill the silence? What would he say? Somehow all rational topics of conversation have left his head, and all Regulus can focus on is the way James’ hands swing as he walks, how he wants those fingers to intertwine with his own.
The Anthropology building turns out to be tucked behind the older science quad, almost unnoticeable behind a wall of shrubbery. Its brick is darker than the others, the windows tall and narrow like it was once something else— a chapel maybe, or a dining hall.
James slows when they approach the steps. “This is already more mysterious than I expected.”
“You were expecting mystery?” Regulus arches an eyebrow.
“I don’t know.” James shrugs, pushing open the door, holding it open like he did the last one. “I was expecting a skeleton in the window. At least a stray skull or something.”
“You’re thinking of Biology,” Regulus says, following James inside.
The entrance hall is rather bare, a common room with a few benches and tables, the room branching off into corridors. Students are hunched over laptops, others are sifting through notecards, flipping them over to test themselves.
“Should we look for a vending machine?” James asks, leaning to peer down a hallway.
Regulus swallows a laugh. That wasn’t funny , he tells himself, that’s just James . He’s light and effortless and carefree. Meanwhile, Regulus is overthinking every breath he’s taking, wondering if his inhales are too loud. His palms are clammy, and Regulus is now glad he didn’t try to slide his hand into James’ because then James would know he has clammy hands. Can he tell just by looking?
“Regulus?” a voice calls from the other end of the lounge, and Regulus turns to see a head of ginger hair, eyes framed by tortoise shell glasses— Arthur, from the diner.
Arthur— or Art, he’d called himself— approaches with a half-lidded smile, an easy sort of confidence that feels odd since they barely know each other.
“Art,” Regulus says, greeting him with a nod. “I didn’t know you were a student here.”
Art smiles, a hand coming up to scrub at the scruff on his face. “First year master’s student.”
“Wow.” Regulus slides his hands into his pockets. “Anthropology?”
Art nods, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I’ve always been interested in how societies develop.”
James’ eyebrows climb, his eyes flitting between Art and Regulus. “Weasley?” he asks, jaw soft as he swallows.
“Potter, good to see you man,” Art says, and that’s when Regulus remembers that they played on the same football team back in high school.
“You—” James stutters, actually stutters, like he’s nervous or something. “You two are friends?” he asks, and Regulus thinks the redness of his cheeks might actually be jealousy. Oh, this is good. Mary used to always say the best way to get a guy is to make them jealous, and Art certainly seems to be surveying Regulus, eyes flitting up and down his body.
“You could say that,” Regulus says, angling his body towards Art, giving him a deliberate once over— he is sort of fit. “Or you could say something else,” he drawls, repeating a move Mary used to pull at pubs in year twelve.
Art’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “I’d like it if we could say something else.”
Regulus hands over his cellphone, letting Art add his number, promising to message him, and he says he’ll see him at the diner sometime soon anyway.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Art says, disappearing down a corridor, heading to a lecture.
His phone feels like a cinder block, anchoring his hand, and Regulus slides it into his bag, feeling it drop like a stone. He’ll decide about actually texting Art later. “We met at Trelawney’s,” Regulus explains. “He works there.”
“You went back to our diner?” James asks, a wrinkle between his brows, a tightness to his expression. Hearing him say that, our diner, makes Regulus feel weak in the knees.
“Yeah,” Regulus says, throat feeling suddenly dry as he watches James run a hand through his hair. “So, should we explore?” he offers, gesturing to one of the hallways.
“I—” James starts. He pulls his phone from his bag, scrolling for a second, before he glances at the door. “I forgot I have to be somewhere,” he decides, typing out a message, tucking his phone away. “But this was fun.”
“Oh,” Regulus says, feeling his shoulders sag.
“See you,” James says, turning over his shoulder, disappearing out the glass door.
Regulus watches him go until his red hoodie is a dot in the distance. “See you,” he murmurs, a punched out sigh escaping his lungs. He allows himself to collapse on a bench, pulling out his phone.
Regulus
It’s Regulus Black
The message gets sent before he can rethink it.