Chapter Text
It begins with a text from his brother.
He isn’t even sure how Sirius knows that Regulus has moved out of home, or how he got his number, but within twenty four hours of doing so, his phone pings with a text from an unknown number.
It’s an ad for an apartment in Edinburgh. Right near where Regulus knows Sirius’ own apartment is.
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t ask who the text is from. But Regulus knows it’s brother.
Another day after that text goes unanswered, Sirius sends another ad.
Then another.
By the end of the week, Regulus’ new phone is filled with various listings of apartments, all situated within walking distance of Sirius’ own.
Not that he knows where Sirius lives, of course. He would never look that up. (He had, the minute he’d left Grimmauld Place). To be fair, he doesn’t know the exact location Sirius lives in. Evan’s parent’s real estate login only showed the general area. So it wasn’t that creepy.
A week after he’s moved out, the number calls Regulus’ phone. Thrice.
Regulus ignores it, of course.
The following day, he receives seven (7!) calls in a row.
His brother is a dickhead, basically.
Tired, and admittedly needing a place to stay right now because sharing Barty’s tiny flat is driving him up the walls, Regulus calls back that evening.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist calling me for long, dearest brother,” Sirius’ agitating voice singsongs through the phone.
Regulus hangs up.
A couple of minutes later, he picks up Sirius’ fourth return call.
“Glad to hear you’re still the dickhead you were six years ago.”
“Dejected to hear you’re still as irritating as you were six years ago.” Regulus replies.
Sirius laughs; the familiar loud bark Regulus hasn’t heard since he was much younger.
“You should come to Edinburgh,” Sirius eventually says.
“And stay with you?” Regulus’ lip curls in disgust at the thought.
Another laugh. “Unless you have the money for a hotel, which I very much doubt, then, unfortunately that would be the only option. There’s plenty of room in my flat, though. My flatmate’s away for the summer, and he won’t mind you staying in his room.”
Regulus is just about to decline, but his reply is cut off by the sound of jangling keys outside the front door. Then Barty bustles in, already yapping about one thing or another. Regulus drags his eyes over the tiny flat Barty owns: his only other option. There’s clothes on every surface, dirty dishes stacked in the sink, and the TV is perpetually on no matter how many times Regulus switches it off.
Besides, he’d been meaning to make a trip to Edinburgh anyway to tour the university there.
“Fine,” he reluctantly agrees, “But I want to tour the uni while there.”
“Your wish is my command. I’ll book you a flight.”
Sirius’ flat looks exactly how Regulus expects.
Every surface is covered in pictures and posters. There’s not a single frame in the house, everything instead precariously tacked to the walls with tape and blue-tack. Sirius truly is a landlord’s worst nightmare.
The kitchen is surprisingly clean, though the oven seems suspiciously unused, and instead a microwave and air fryer appear to be the main appliances of the space. The living room is unexpectedly large, located at the back of the house, with big French doors leading out to a small but well-tended garden.
“Do you garden?” Regulus asks, barely able to conceal his shock.
Sirius smirks. “Don’t sound so shocked, Reggie. But no, not particularly. I can look after the place when James is away, but he does most of the maintenance otherwise."
James. That’s a name Regulus has heard nonstop since Sirius picked him up at the airport. Sirius seems borderline codependent on this mysterious man. Apparently, the two had met in high school and been inseparable since. Regulus vaguely remembers hearing the name when Sirius still lived at home, though by that time he and Sirius had grown so far apart he’d never asked for details on his friendships.
Now, he doesn’t even have to ask. Sirius is talking about the guy relentlessly. Regulus hates him already, just on principle.
Sirius leads Regulus upstairs, to a second floor with three doors. He walks to the one on the left.
“This is James’ room,” Regulus supresses an eyeroll at the repeated name, “He says make yourself at home, by the way. Oh, also, I haven’t been in here since he left so I’m not sure what state the room’s in.”
Sirius pushes open the door.
Disrepair, that’s what state the room is in.
There are clothes strewn over every surface of the floor. Papers and notebooks piled on the desk. The desk, which, by the way, has one of those children’s soccer ball lamps on it (is James five?). The bed is made, at least, though Regulus fears for how long it’s been since the sheets were last washed, considering the state of the rest of the room.
Speaking of the rest of the room, Regulus isn’t entirely sure it doesn’t belong to a nine year old. Like the rest of the house, posters are tacked to almost every wall; many of sports, particularly soccer, but some of bands and movies too. One such poster is a Breakfast Club one, which Regulus can appreciate is an acceptable movie, though right beside it is a High School Musical poster, which immediately cancels that out. There’s a bookshelf, but it’s mostly filled with trinkets and picture frames, with the few books being textbooks and novels James likely had to read in school. One wall has a large paned window looking over the street below. There’s another tiny window diagonal to it, with a direct view into the empty room of the house next door.
Regulus sighs.
Sirius barks a laugh, “I’ll help you clean up. It’s just clothes; we’ll chuck them in the laundry, and he can deal with it later,” Sirius looks towards the bed, “Might want to change the sheets, though. Can’t remember the last time Prongs did that.”
“By the look of the rest of the room, they might walk to the washing machine themselves.”
Regulus had arrived late that night, so once the room is cleaned, he excuses himself to sleep.
The following morning, Sirius is sitting at the little four-person dining table when Regulus comes downstairs.
“Good sleep?” Sirius asks, standing up to make Regulus a coffee.
“Surprisingly, yes,” Regulus takes the mug Sirius holds out to him and sits in the chair beside his brother’s.
He sips the coffee, black, how he’s always taken it.
“So, I assume you received my texts over the last couple of weeks.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You know, normal etiquette is to reply to a message when you receive it,” Sirius says, smirking.
“Oh really? I wasn’t aware of that. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Sirius rolls his eyes.
“I just obviously know you need somewhere to live now that you’re out of Grimmauld Place. I don’t know where you’ve been staying-”
“Barty’s”
Sirius face scrunches in something not dissimilar to disgust.
“So you definitely need somewhere to live.”
“Maybe I’m happy staying with Barty.” Regulus says sweetly. Or as sweet as Regulus ever gets.
Sirius raises a brow, “I don’t think staying with your ex is much better than living with our parents, Reg. Especially because your ex is Barty Crouch.”
Sirius has never like Barty. He’s not even sure how Sirius knows they dated – it was long after Sirius moved out. He supposes he and Barty always had a close relationship, though, even as friends.
“Well, all of the flats you sent me looked horrendous,” Regulus eventually concedes.
Sirius chuckles, “You have no money, Reggie. And no job. You’re about to start fulltime uni. Those flats are all you’ll be able to afford.”
Good point.
Maybe Regulus shouldn’t have moved out after all. He wonders, distantly, if his name has already been struck from the family tree, or if there’s still a chance for him to move back.
Sirius suddenly stands, taking their mugs to the sink. “Get dressed.”
“Why?”
An eyeroll. “We’re going apartment hunting.”
The first flat they tour doesn’t even have an indoor toilet.
Regulus walks out of there the minute the real estate agent reluctantly mentions it.
“…Right,” Sirius says once he’s finally finished laughing, bent half over the curb, “Maybe we need to up the budget just a little.”
Regulus manages to actually complete the tour of the next flat, though he’s out of there the minute they circle back to the front door.
“That one wasn’t too bad!” Sirius pronounces with a huff, following close behind him.
“It didn’t even have a dishwasher, Sirius! What am I meant to do, wash dishes?”
The next two flats have dishwashers, though the first has bright pink carpet throughout the entire building, and the second is so run down that when they first arrive, Sirius has to check they’re at the right address, because the building looks positively abandoned.
By their fifth tour, Regulus is feeling deflated, and can’t even look at his older brother, who just bursts into laughter each time he sees the looks of horror Regulus directs at him.
They grab takeaway lunch and head back to Sirius’ soon after.
“Maybe I’ll just have to kick James out, and you can move in with me.” Sirius hums as he eats his fish and chips.
“I would rather live in the apartment with no dishwasher than with you.” Regulus deadpans.
Sirius grins, displaying a mouthful of half-chewed chips. Regulus throws a napkin at him, dejected when it hits Sirius and only makes him laugh harder.
“I could always go to uni somewhere else. Maybe I’ll find a better apartment in a different suburb.”
Sirius sobers at that. “No, I’m finding you a flat in Edinburgh no matter what it takes.”
And it’s not an admittance of wanting Regulus to stick around, but both brothers know that’s as close as either of them will ever get to admitting to wanting to be near the other.
“I’ll have a look as soon as I get home, Reg,” Evan’s voice crackles through the phone, “By the way, you’ll have to let me know how Edinburgh is, I’ve been thinking about transferring.”
Regulus smirks despite knowing Evan can’t see it, “To be closer to me?”
“To be further from Barty, more like.”
Ha.
Evan, Barty, and Regulus had been close friends in school. Evan, because Regulus and Evan’s parents approved of the friendship and constantly pushed them spending time together, and later Barty, for the exact opposite reason. Barty was the exact opposite of the type of person Regulus’ parents wanted him hanging around, but by the time he switched to Regulus’ school, he had already begun to disregard anything his parents wanted of him.
Evan ends up sending Regulus links to three different apartments. One of them is the one with pink carpet that he and Sirius toured the day before. The second is lovely, and Regulus feels his hopes rising, before he looks at the price and they immediately plummet.
The third is average. It has a dishwasher. And a toilet (two, in fact!). It even has a second bedroom, so Regulus could have guests. As he scrolls through the images of it, Sirius knocks at James’ door.
Regulus calls for him to come in.
“What’re you doing? I’m bored,” Sirius whines, falling dramatically onto the bed at Regulus’ feet.
Regulus holds out his phone.
“Ooh, this is nice, Reg,” Sirius taps the screen, scrolling further down the webpage. His eyes widen, “Shit, how’ll you afford it, though?”
“It’s a similar price to the ones we looked at yesterday.”
“Yes, which were also out of your budget, realistically,” Sirius sighs, “I can help with your rent a little, Reg, but most of my income comes from my job. You’ll need to find work too. And a roommate, if you’re going to be so picky about where you live.”
“I didn’t know you had a job,” Regulus says. Then, he takes in Sirius’ words, “A roommate!?”
Sirius chuckles. “It’ll be ok, Reg. I’m sure we can find someone just as pedantic and fussy as you.”
Now it’s Regulus’ turn to fall back dramatically against the pillows behind him.
Sirius taps again at his phone, “Reggie, did you see the address of this place? It must be right next door!”
“Absolutely not. We’ll have to keep looking.”
The flat is, in fact, directly next door to Sirius’.
They step through Sirius’ garish red door, down the two steps and onto the street, then turn right. And they’re there.
It’s not even a step away.
There’s a tiny alley between the two apartments – and Regulus realises as he stands looking down it that said alleyway is exactly where one of the windows in James’ room opens to.
He steps up to the door of the apartment. It’s a lovely shade of green, with a brass handle and letterbox to complement it.
Inside, the flat is admittedly quite charming. Yes, it’s run down and a little smaller than the houses Regulus is used to, but after the apartments Sirius dragged him through the day before, this one seems like a manor.
This time, when they step back out (and take the singular step back to the front of Sirius’ flat), Regulus is feeling much less dejected. He might even be smiling.
Regulus puts a deposit on the flat the next day, and the day after, he and Sirius move his belongings (one suitcase, because his parents refused to let him take anything he hadn’t paid for himself out of Grimmauld Place) into his new home.
“We should go shopping!” Sirius declares once the suitcase is set in the empty room at the front of the house, overlooking the street a storey below.
So, this is how Regulus finds himself being dragged through a furniture store by a much too enthusiastic Sirius. Sirius, who insists on ‘quality testing’ every bed by laying in a starfish position across it, and then calling out to Regulus across the store (earning more than a few disapproving looks at his loud voice), because, of course, Regulus needs to test each bed as well.
“You’re the one who’ll actually be sleeping on it!” Sirius repeats for at least the fifth time as Regulus gingerly sits on yet another mattress. Sirius, lying on his back, rolls over to his side and grabs Regulus, pulling him to lie beside him.
“I hate you,” Regulus states, fixing his hair and pulling down his shirt.
“Love you too, Reggie,” Sirius replies, already halfway to the next bed over.
It’s hours later that Sirius finally lets them leave the shop, both carrying multiple boxes of decorations, cutlery, and furniture, with truckloads of larger items set for delivery the next day.
Regulus is exhausted, to say the least.
The hell only continues the next morning, though, when Regulus is awoken to the beep of a truck reversing, and a second later, Sirius is bounding into his room.
“Your furniture has been delivered!”
Yeah, no shit.
By lunch, the brothers have managed to set up a bedframe and drag the mattress onto it, two bookshelves, a dining table, and a TV cabinet. They’ve also reached a point where neither can look at the other without causing an argument, both absolutely frustrated by each other’s existence.
Yes, many fights were caused by the confusing instructions that came with each piece of furniture.
Regulus walks into the living room, which looks similar to Sirius’ but slightly smaller and with a bay window in the far wall, rather than French doors. Sirius is standing in the middle of the room, hands on hips. He turns at the sound of Regulus entering, brows furrowed.
“We forgot a couch.”
Regulus looks at the bare space. “And a TV.”
That night, they eat dinner sitting on the floor of Regulus’ new, empty living room, both a little excited about the new space.
“Tomorrow we can make some roommate ads,” Sirius says through a mouthful.
Regulus starts to correct him, then feels like his mother. He shuts his mouth.
“Maybe you can wait to buy more furniture until you get one. Get the roommate to pitch in a bit,” Sirius continues.
Regulus nods. “That’s a good idea,” he says when the silence stretches a little too long.
In all the busyness of the days since Regulus arrived, it’s been easy to forget that he and Sirius are still in a rocky part of their relationship. That they haven’t seen each other in six years, and as a result, only know distant parts of each other. In quiet moments like these, those gaps in their relationship are harder to ignore; neither brother knowing what to say, what to talk about, what topics are out of bounds. Neither wanting to upset the precarious balance they’ve managed to construct over the last few days.
“How’d you get my number?” Regulus suddenly asks into the awkward silence.
“Huh?”
“When you messaged me that first apartment. How’d you even know I moved out, actually?”
“Oh, Narcissa sent it to me.”
Regulus’ brows raise of their own accord, “Cissa?”
“Yup. Trust me, I was just as surprised as you are. Out of the blue she sent me a text saying something had happened at Grimmauld Place, and that I should reach out. Then sent your number.”
“Did she say what had happened?” Regulus asks, voice quieter than before.
“Nope,” Sirius gives him a look he can’t decipher, then quickly adds, “And you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”
Regulus is quiet for a moment. “Maybe some other time.”
When he looks up, Sirius has a small smile on his face. “Whenever you’re ready, Reg.”
And Regulus will never admit it, but that sentence alone makes him feel warm after so long feeling freezing cold.
***
It begins with a *ROOMATE WANTED* ad posted on the bookshop notice board.
Remus is an hour into his shift when he notices it, and almost drops his cane in his haste to pull off one of the little phone numbers hanging at the bottom of the page. It leaves a rectangular gap in the poster, which Remus stares fixatedly at for the remainder of his shift, admittedly relieved when no one else takes a number.
You see, Remus is quite desperate for a house.
He’s a third year med student, working three times a week and hobbling around hospital wards like fucking Gregory House the other four. He has no money, half a block of cheese and one egg left in his fridge, and a bright red eviction notice sitting on his kitchen bench.
Basically, he’s fucked.
So, when his shift finishes, Remus immediately dials the number from the ad, rolling his eyes with each ring.
Someone picks up on the final ring.
“Hello?” The voice sounds agitated. Another eyeroll. As if they thought they could advertise their phone number and not receive calls.
“Yeah, hi. My name’s Remus. I saw your ad about needing a roommate, and I am, in fact, looking for a place.”
“Oh, right,” A pause, “So, do you want to come and look at the place? Sorry, I don’t really know how to go about this. I’ve never advertised for a roommate before.”
This is how Remus finds himself standing outside a tiny, admittedly slightly rundown, flat on the outskirts of Edinburgh. It sits amongst a row of similar flats on a tiny cobblestone street just a few minutes’ walk from the university. The house has a dark green door, which would be charming, if not for the bright red door of the flat beside it. The building is a cracked light brick, with ivy running up the walls, and white windowsills holey with age.
Someone opens the door almost immediately after Remus knocks, as if he’d been waiting close by. The boy looks a little younger than Remus, with a mop of black curly hair falling over pale, unblemished skin. He’s tall, though not nearly as tall as Remus, and all sharp edges and angles; one of those Timothee Chalamet skater-that-reads-poetry looking guys.
He holds out a slender hand. Remus rests his cane against his leg before shaking it.
“Hey, I’m Remus.”
“Regulus.”
Remus smirks. “Seems like we both had parents with an interesting taste for names.”
The other boy quirks a side of his lip just slightly. “Oh, you have no idea.”
Inside, the flat is as Remus would have expected. It’s one of those apartments that has clearly been rented by numerous generations of students. The wallpaper is faded, and in some places smoked stained. There’s two bathrooms, though Regulus informs him that the shower currently only works in one. The design of the house is old; tiny hallways and a rickety staircase leading up to two tiny bedrooms: one with a view of the cobblestoned street below, and the other of the overgrown backyard.
“I’ve moved my things into this room,” Regulus says, motioning to the room with a view of the street, “But if you have a preference for either of them, I really don’t mind switching.”
Remus lifts a brow. “Does that mean I got the gig, then?”
Regulus’ eyes widen. “Oh, right. I forgot this was sort of an application. I’ll be honest, no one else has rung to apply, and you seem like someone I could tolerate living with, which really is an achievement,” From the few minutes Remus has spent with Regulus, he believes that, “So if you want it, you’ve got it.”
Regulus eyes Remus’ cane suspiciously, then looks to the narrow staircase behind them.
“Oh, don’t worry. I get around just fine most of the time.”
A small nod. Then Regulus says. “Well, would you like some tea, and we can discuss rent and what not?”
“Sure.”
Downstairs, Remus finds the living room glaringly empty, except for a TV cabinet in one corner.
“Oh, that’s the other thing,” Regulus says, walking in from the adjoining kitchen with two mugs, “I was hoping you could pitch in for a couch.”
“Are you a university student?”
Regulus is carrying Remus’ things upstairs. It’s only two boxes, and Remus had insisted he could manage on his own, but Regulus had just shot him a glare and Remus had immediately stopped complaining.
“Did you do any background checks on me at all before agreeing to let me live with you?”
“Clearly not. You just seemed like someone who didn’t have an agitating personality and knows how to clean up after themselves.”
“Well, I’m honoured to have fit your criteria, then,” Remus says with a chuckle, “And, yes, I am. Are you?”
“No, but I’m looking into enrolling. What do you study?”
“Med. I just transferred here last term.”
A scoff, “Well, I know I won’t be applying for that.”
Remus laughs again. “Not a fan of science?”
“No, medicine is a degree I know my parents would approve of. And I’m going through a bit of a rebel phase at the moment,” Regulus places the boxes down, turning to Remus with a smirk.
“So, what will you be applying for, then? Arts? Or music – that’s a classic parent-disappointer.”
Regulus’ smile turns softer. “Funnily enough, music is what my brother studies. I’m thinking something literature or language related.”
Remus hums, “Well, if you need a tour of the campus, I’d be happy to show you around.”
Regulus doesn’t say anything for a moment, as if hesitant to accept.
“That’d be great, actually.”
They tour the campus the following day.
It’s a bad day for Remus; his joints aching something harsh as he hobbles along the uneven surface of most of the grounds. Regulus says nothing, though Remus notices the way he slows his pace to match Remus’, and holds every door they come across open for him. It’s nice, honestly. Most people fall into two categories when faced with Remus: 1) they overcompensate and try to ‘fix’ him or everything around him, constantly offering help or pointing out his struggle. Or 2) they try to act like they don’t notice his struggle, which eventually ends awkwardly or with them just straight up ending whatever relationship they had with Remus
Regulus is a nice change from that. He doesn’t point out that Remus has problems, but he doesn’t pointedly ignore them, either.
Remus shows him the STEM buildings briefly, then takes him more thoroughly through the English and Literature Building. They walk past the library, Regulus absolutely transfixed by it. On their way out of the campus, they pass the Music and Arts Centre.
“You’ll have to get your brother to show you that one, I’ve got absolutely no experience in the area.”
Regulus huffs a quiet laugh. In the short time he’s known him, Remus has learnt that that’s about the extent of Regulus laughing.
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to show it off, don’t you worry.”
Regulus thankfully suggests they catch the bus back, saving Remus the embarrassment of having to admit he won’t be able to make the short distance back on foot. On their way to the bus stop, they walk past a shop with a dark green couch in the window.
Remus stops, looking up at the ragged sign hanging over the door: Second Hand Furniture.
Regulus has stopped a few strides ahead of him, and whirls around with a raised brow, face stricken.
“Absolutely not!”
“Absolutely yes.”
“It’s the ugliest couch I’ve ever seen, Remus!”
The couch is half off, and even comes with two armchairs of matching velvet fabric: one burgundy, the other navy. Each chair is lined by a dark oak. They are, admittedly a little ugly. And very old fashioned. And yet, when they arrive that afternoon and he and Regulus drag them into the loungeroom, he can’t help but think that they fit the place. They place the navy armchair in the bay window, and the other beside the couch, looking towards the window and the TV cabinet diagonally.
“They don’t even match!” Regulus exclaims in desperation, plopping dramatically onto the red armchair. A puff of dust rises from the chair at the impact. Regulus looks between the cloud of it glittering in the sun, and Remus as he hobbles over to sit on the couch, in horror.
“I think that’s part of their charm.”
Regulus sniffs. “You’re fired as my roommate.”
Remus grins. “You won’t find someone even half as tolerable as me.”
Regulus doesn’t reply, and Remus takes that to mean he’s right.
They sit in silence for a while. Remus has never particularly been a fan of silence. As a kid, he’s been constantly berated for being too quite; too antisocial. His parents were constantly reminding him to make eye contact and speak when spoken to. So, he’d grown to hate silence in conversation, despite loving it in solitude.
With Regulus, however, the silence between them never feels strained. They’re two people just content to be in each other’s presence.
Honestly, he’s sometimes a little scared to break the silence. Regulus seems to enjoy it even more than he does.
“Do I get one of the bookshelves?” Remus eventually says, looking towards the two (not particularly well assembled) bookcases in the hallway.
Regulus shoots him a scathing look. “You can have whatever room is left once I move my books onto them. I assume there won’t be a lot.”
Remus laughs. “You got a lot of books, then? Where are they all?”
Something shifts on Regulus’ face. He turns away from Remus, gazing out the window for a moment.
“You’re right, actually. I suppose you can have one of them. Both, really.”
Remus’ brows furrow, but he doesn’t question it further.
“I work at a second-hand bookshop, you know. If you’re after some to fill up your shelf, I can give you my staff discount if I’m on shift.”
Regulus turns back with a glint in his eye. “Cool job. That’d be great.”
“Trust me, it doesn’t feel cool when you’re working it three days a week. Five, at the moment, because uni’s off for summer.”
Regulus hums. “My brother says I need to get a job.”
“That is usually how one acquires money, yes. Unless you have some secret inheritance I’m unaware of.”
Regulus faces twists in disgust. Remus isn’t sure whether it’s in response to the thought of getting a job, or an inheritance.
“How do you even have time for uni when you work so much?”
“It’s hard, but I make it work.”
Silence for a moment.
Then. “I have a friend that does med. Evan. He mentioned thinking of transferring, actually.”
“Edinburgh does have a great program.”
“So I hear.”
They talk for a while longer, until Regulus jumps up from his chair, cursing at having forgotten he was getting tea with his brother. An hour later, Remus drags his own aching body from the couch. He catches the bus into town, then another to as close to the bookstore as he can get, too sore to make the short walk there.
“Sore today are we?” Frank asks as Remus hobbles into the store, knuckles white where they’re clutched around his cane.
“I’ve definitely had better days.” Remus grimaces, though he forces a smile onto his face as he walks past Frank.
His cane taps against the floorboards as he walks through the history aisle and out to the tiny staffroom at the back of the shop. He’s quick to drop off his bag, then hobbles back to take Frank’s spot by the till.
“Just call me if you have any trouble.” Franks says on his way out. As he does every shift, without fail, despite the fact that Remus has worked here for almost half a year now, and hasn’t called Frank once.
“Will do,” Is all he says, “Have a good night!”
The shop is quiet for the first two hours. Remus serves exactly one customer. Another two come in and stroll the aisles, though they neither greet Remus nor purchase anything. The shift seems to drag on even more so because Remus is in pain. If his body would cooperate, Remus would usually spend a shift like this walking up and down the aisles, choosing a few books for himself, and getting a little exercise in. Instead, Remus is stuck sitting on his little wooden chair behind the counter, twiddling his thumbs and skipping agitatedly through the shop playlist.
Remus whips his head up when the bell above the front door rings for the fourth time this shift.
And promptly drops it back down, grabbing whichever book is in front of him and flipping it open, when he sees who it is.
He’d only glimpsed the customer for a second. And Remus almost wants to look up again and check he’s truly seeing who he thinks he is.
Because, he was sure he’d seen a familiar head of long, dark, silky hair. Hair Remus knows is silky, because he’d run his fingers through It countless times. Pale skin seemingly unmarred by scars as Remus’ was, though Remus knows that the scars lay deeper. Blue-grey eyes like a stormy ocean, tumultuous when caught by their gaze.
It couldn’t be.
Remus stands slowly, taking a tentative a step towards the back of the shop, hiding most of his body behind a tall bookshelf. He turns slightly towards the front, side-eyeing the customer.
He has his back to Remus. A back covered by a tatty leather jacket Remus would recognise anywhere. A leather jacket that he had jokingly stitched his name into just a few years ago.
Sirius.
Sirius Black.
Remus’ heart drops. His blood turns cold as ice. He only hears rushing in his ears as he races for the door at the back of the shop, prior aches forgotten in his haste.
Because he couldn’t face Sirius Black.
Not today. Not any day.
Sirius Black, who Remus had spent his entire teenage years loving. Sirius Black, who has always had his heart, yet never known it. And somehow, had broken it anyway.
Remus hides in the back for half an hour.
He wonders, as he sits on the cold wooden floor in rigid shock, if Sirius is out the front waiting to be served.
If he had tried to buy something, but eventually lost patience and stormed out.
Or if he had simply browsed, then left without buying anything.
Remus convinces himself he doesn’t care.
Doesn’t care which books Sirius had picked up. Doesn’t care who Sirius had been shopping for (because Sirius Black did not read himself). Doesn’t care which aisles Sirius had been in and which he hadn’t.
When his shift finally ends, Remus is still as wound up as he had been the moment Sirius had stepped into the shop. The ride home is a flurry of double takes and near misses. Remus feels as if he’s seeing Sirius in every stranger he passes. And then, as his anxiety rages, he’s seeing all of his classmates. And they’re laughing, and taunting, until Remus is hyperventilating and barely makes it through his green front door before collapsing.
Notes:
Kudos appreciated :)
Chapter Text
“Do you think being a contemporary literature major is sort of presumptuous?” Regulus asks, flicking boredly through the university guidebook.
“One hundred percent,” Remus replies, “But you’re kind of a presumptuous person, so…”
Regulus just shoots him a glare from the corner of his eye. “Remember, I’m technically your landlord. I’d avoid pissing me off.”
Remus smirks. The look is handsome on his flatmate's face - tanned and freckled skin marred by thin white lines. Curly caramel coloured hair falls over his forehead as he tips his head back with a sarcastic sounding laugh.
“I’m not entirely sure that’s how it works, but whatever you say.”
Regulus only grumbles something rude under his breath. Remus laughs despite likely having no idea what Regulus says.
“What about ancient history?”
Remus kisses his teeth. “Also presumptuous.”
“Says the medicine student.” Regulus retorts.
“Yeah, you won’t be complaining when you’re next in hospital and I’m the one saving your life.”
Regulus raises a brow. “I very much will be complaining. I’d rather die than be treated by your incompetent arse.”
Remus barks a laugh, shaking his head. He hobbles into the hallway as Regulus continues to flip through seemingly endless pages of major options. Eventually, too bored to continue (even though he’s only been looking for ten minutes, tops), Regulus stands, following the sound of Remus moving around. When he walks into the entryway, Remus is standing at one of the bookshelves. He has the copy of Little Women Sirius had gifted Regulus when they met the day before. It was likely the only book Sirius remembered that Regulus liked – him having read his copy at Grimmauld at least a hundred times when they were kids. His mother usually confiscated any ‘immature’ books like that, though she’d never found the tattered copy of Little Women hidden under his faulty floorboard.
“Oh, my brother got that for me.” Regulus explains conversationally, walking up beside Remus.
“You a fan?”
Regulus raises a shoulder. “I read it as a kid.”
Remus hums, turning to face Regulus.
“Apparently it was a bit of a journey to get it,” Regulus continues, “He said he went into one shop, and waited like half an hour to be served. But no one ever showed.”
Remus’ brows scrunch. He looks to Regulus with an odd expression, dropping the book back onto the bookshelf as if burned.
“Your…brother.” Remus says under his breath. Regulus is just about to ask if something is wrong when Remus abruptly starts walking to the door.
“I better go,” he says, battling with his coat as he puts it around himself, “Wouldn’t want to be late for work. At a bookshop,” he adds.
“Right,” Regulus responds, nodding slowly. Unsure if he said something wrong, or if Remus is just in a strange mood.
“I’ll see you later,” Remus says, already halfway out their green painted door. He slams it almost dramatically shut behind him.
Regulus sighs, sitting back at the table and reopening the university guide. He flicks back to the literature page, before immediately closing the book once more, instead grabbing his own coat and stepping out the door. He takes the singular step towards Sirius’ house, then walks up to his crimson door, knocking once.
Sirius is grinning as he opens his door. The grin only seems to widen as he sees whose waiting for him. He has his long hair tied behind his head, and is wearing jeans and his usual leather jacket.
“Reggie?”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’m going to enrol. Would you like to come?”
Somehow, Sirius’ smile seems to grow even more. He turns to grab a scarf.
“I was just about to head out, but this is even better!”
“Where were you going?” Regulus asks as they begin the walk to the university.
Sirius waves a hand in front of them as if it’s unimportant. “Are you excited to enrol?” He asks instead of answering. He attempts to throw his arm over Regulus’ shoulders before Regulus roughly pushes him away.
“Seems like I don’t have much of a choice.” Regulus grumbles. He pulls his coat tightly around himself, watching his feet on the uneven path.
Sirius skips ahead on the cobblestone road, turning and walking backwards to address Regulus. “Oh, cheer up. You’ll be even sadder when I take you to apply for a job.”
“I think I can handle applying for jobs myself, Sirius,” Regulus argues, “It probably isn’t a good look if I bring my brother along to interviews.”
“Oh really? And who between the two of us has had a job before?”
Regulus only rolls his eyes, refusing to answer.
“And so who,” Sirius continues as if Regulus hadn’t ignored him, “Would know what they’re talking about?”
“You’ve never known what you’re talking about a day in your life.”
Sirius only barks a laugh, continuing to skip down the road. They make it to the university in what feels like half the time it took Regulus and Remus a few days before (likely because Sirius is skipping the entire time). They walk through the now vaguely familiar grounds, Sirius leading him to the building Remus had pointed out to be one of the libraries. From the outside, the library is a tall, almost medieval-looking building, much like most of the campus. Inside, rows of dark oak bookcases line a cavernous room. Overhead, an intricate design of stained glass and gold engraving covers the roof. Regulus finds himself grinning, walking ahead of Sirius to peer down the many isles, their footsteps loud against the floorboards as they walk through the silent room. When he turns back to Sirius, it’s to find his brother’s face similarly awed – no doubt this is also Sirius’ first time in this library. At the end of the room, large oak doors open into another area, full of desks and sparser shelves. Sirius directs him to an office area labelled ADMIN.
“This place almost makes me want to study.” Sirius chuckles as they walk up to the reception desk.
“You’re an idiot, Sirius. There’s no way in your two years of university you’ve never been in here.”
Sirius only raises his brows at him.
“What can I help you gentlemen with?” A woman asks from behind the desk, eyeing the two brothers.
“My brother’s wanting to enrol for this semester.” Sirius says.
The woman – Irma Pince, supposedly, if her nametag is anything to go by – turns her pinched gaze towards Regulus. She peers at him over her glasses, raising a brow.
“It is a little late to be doing so,” She muses, flicking her fierce gaze between the two of them, “Though if you’ve made your decisions regarding majors and minors, I should be able to expedite the process for you.”
Regulus gives her the kindest smile he can muster, barely suppressing his eyeroll at her entitled tone. “Thank you. I have.”
Irma hums again, licking a finger and filing through a stack of pages. She makes a vague sound of satisfaction, pulling a page from within the stack. She hands it over the desk to Regulus.
“Fill this out. There’re pens over there.” She dismisses them with a wave of her hand and immediately returns to her computer screen. Regulus turns to Sirius, who gives him an amused look; brows raised. Regulus bites back his own smile, instead turning towards the desk Irma had indicated and taking a pen.
Regulus fills out the personal information fields, then moves onto the subject selection. Under MAJOR he writes –
“Contemporary literature, oh you pompous arse,” Sirius exclaims, peering over his shoulder, “Mother would have an aneurysm if she knew her precious Reggie was studying arts.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Shush Sirius, we’re in a library.”
Regulus chooses his minors, then gives the paperwork back to Irma, who hands over a timetable in exchange. Apparently, he’ll be expected at a set of orientation classes in exactly a week, before the semester begins properly the following week.
“Do you want a tour of the music rooms?” Sirius asks as they leave the library, Regulus barely able to tear his gaze from the fascinating room, “Sorry, I’d offer to give you a proper tour, but I really have no idea where anything else is.”
Regulus laughs. “It’s ok, my roommate showed me around a bit. But I’d love to see the arts facilities.”
Sirius grins, immediately quickening his pace as they cross the lawns and head towards where Remus had pointed out the music and arts building. It’s a clay-coloured brick building towards the far side of the grounds. While the outside is as old-looking as the rest of the campus, within, it’s surprisingly modern. There’s a central area surrounded by large white pillars, within which sits a grand piano and orchestra seating. Around the outside of the room are doorways to classrooms, individual practice rooms, a lecture theatre, and an impressive performance space.
Sirius shows Regulus one of the smaller rooms – apparently Sirius’ personal practice room. He has a collection of guitars stashed in there. They walk through the fine art facilities as well, Sirius pointing out a few pieces he did before switching to music in his second year. Regulus refuses to admit it to Sirius, but the pieces are surprisingly impressive.
“How’s having a roommate going, by the way?” Sirius questions as they walk back from the campus, “I’ve been meaning to ask.”
Regulus raises a shoulder. “Surprisingly fine. Ugh, except he made us buy this horrendous couch, Sirius. From a second-hand store!”
Sirius cackles. “Oh no, not second-hand furniture! However will you survive?”
Regulus glares at his brother.
“I’ll have to come over and meet the guy.” Sirius says, finally getting control over his (rather dramatic) laughter.
Regulus nods. “Yeah, definitely. You probably won’t like him – he’s pretty quiet. And has a sense of humour drier than mine. But I’m sure you’ll bump into him eventually.”
Regulus’ first orientation session is for a class called Philosophy 101: Who Are We, and Why Are We Here? The name alone would’ve likely sent his mother into a fit, let alone the fact that Regulus was taking it. The thought is enough to put an almost-grin (because, seriously, Regulus Black doesn’t grin) on his face as he walks into an old lecture theatre and takes a seat towards the middle of the room.
“I’m going to sit next to you.” Someone announces happily, plopping dramatically into the seat beside Regulus. Regulus turns to them with a brow raised. He looks around the many empty seats for a moment, before returning his gaze to the student. It’s a girl – with pale skin and equally fair hair. She’s wearing a flowy shirt that Regulus is half sure is actually meant to be a skirt.
“None of the other seats were good enough for you?” Regulus questions.
The girl grins. “Nope.” She says, popping the ‘p’.
Regulus observes her for a moment longer before turning back to the front of the room.
The lecturer has been droning on about something or another (admittedly, Regulus has slightly zoned out) for what feels like hours when the girl beside him whispers, “Does this guy ever shut up?”
Regulus breathes a laugh. “If every lecture is going to be like this, I might have to drop the class.”
“Trust me,” someone behind Regulus interjects. They lean forwards into the gap between Regulus and the girl beside him, “Every one of his classes are like this. I’ve been taking them for a year now.”
The girl beside Regulus raises a brow. “Why do you keep enrolling in them, then?”
Regulus turns, watching the girl behind him lift a shoulder. “He gives A’s to anyone that bothers to raise their hand and add a meaningless point every now and again. Speaking of –”
The girl leans back, thrusting her hand into the air. She has deep-toned skin and braided hair – the tips dyed a deep red. A piercing runs through her right eyebrow, and multiple others line her earlobes. When the professor calls on her, the girl smiles dryly.
“I would argue Aristotle makes a better point about the significance of hierarchy than Plato ever did,” She starts. The professor hums, indicating for her to go on. As she continues to speak, making a point Regulus thinks to be slightly on the nose, the professor only seems to be more intrigued, leaning forwards and grinning.
“An impressive contribution, Miss –”
“Meadows.”
The professor nods, launching immediately back into his droning. Regulus turns to the girl behind him. “You’ve been taking his classes for a year and he still doesn’t know your name?”
The girl huffs a laugh. “Yeah, look. He’s not a particularly good professor. But, y’know.” She shrugs a shoulder as if that explains anything.
“I’m Pandora.” The girl sitting beside Regulus says, holding out a ring-clad hand. Her bracelets jingle as the girl behind them shakes it.
“Dorcas,” Dorcas flicks her dark eyes over to Regulus, “And you?”
“Regulus.”
Dorcas raises her brows. “What sort of name is that?”
“I think it’s quite pretty.” The girl beside him – Pandora – interjects.
Dorcas laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what your parents were going for. Pretty.”
Regulus can’t help but laugh. “Oh, for sure.”
The lecturer finally begins to wrap up his lesson. It feels as if a weight has been lifted from Regulus’ shoulders as the class is dismissed. He’s not sure he’ll make it through the term if he has to sit through a lesson like that every week.
“Is this your first year?” Pandora asks as they walk out of the hall together, Dorcas not far behind.
“Yeah,” He says with a nod, “Yours, too?”
“Yup,” Pandora turns, beckoning Dorcas over to them, “We should all get lunch together!”
“Oh, I don’t know if –”
“I had plans to –”
“That sounds like a yes to me!” Pandora exclaims, cutting the two of them off. Her face is split by a grin so wide Regulus doesn’t have the heart to say no. He turns to Dorcas, who shrugs, as if feeling similarly.
Despite his hesitancy, Regulus finds himself feeling lighter by the end of lunch. Pandora is an enigma – someone Regulus would usually never interact with, yet he finds himself fascinated by her. She spends half of lunch explaining the hibernation pattern of one particular type of beetle, though speaks with such conviction Regulus isn’t even bored by it. She tells the two of them that she’s an entomology major, and just taking the philosophy class ‘for fun’.
Dorcas, on the other hand, is someone Regulus can imagine he would’ve been friends with in school. She reminds Regulus of Barty, in many ways. She’s quick witted and funny, sarcastic enough to match even Regulus’ dry humour. On their way through the lunch hall, she’s stopped by at least a dozen people – clearly one of those people who knows everyone. Funnily enough, Regulus thinks Sirius would like her.
“We should do this again some time,” Pandora says as they finish their meals, “I’d love to tell you two about the cicada next time!”
“Sounds riveting.” Dorcas drawls sarcastically, though not unkindly.
Regulus taps his phone, checking the time. “I better get to my next intro class,” he says, pushing from the table, “I’ll see you two around?”
Pandora smiles sweetly at him. Dorcas just nods.
Regulus finds himself smiling as he walks across campus.
***
“Well, someone looks miserable,” Alice observes as Remus walks into the bookshop, “Get hit by a bus on the way here, or something?”
Remus groans. “I wish.”
Alice laughs, the sound delicate. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Or – well, I thought I saw an old friend yesterday, but I think it was just someone who looked like them.”
Alice hums. “Hate when that happens. But what are the chances they’re in Edinburgh and you haven’t seen them in the last…how long have you been here?”
“Six months.”
Alice clicks her fingers. “Exactly! You’d think you’d have seen them in the last six months, right?”
Right. Remus had already been questioning whether it truly could’ve been Sirius that he saw. To be fair, he’d only seen the customer from behind. Maybe he’d imagined it was Sirius. Realistically, what were the chances that Remus had been living, working, and studying in Edinburgh for the last six months and hadn’t run into Sirius once? And if Sirius was here, chances were some of their other classmates were as well – James, at the very least. Which would’ve increased the chances of Remus seeing one of them exponentially. The fact he hadn’t in six months, he reasoned with himself, likely meant none of them were living here. The guy in the bookshop must’ve just been a stranger resembling Sirius. Very, very closely resembling him. But still, a stranger, nonetheless.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Remus says, giving Alice a small smile. He walks towards the back of the store, dropping his bag in the staffroom.
“What are your plans for the day?” Remus asks as he joins Alice at the counter.
“Oh, Frank and I are getting lunch.” She says dismissively, gathering her belongings from underneath the till.
“Frank – the owner?”
“Yup.”
Remus’ brows shoot up. “You’re getting lunch with our boss?”
Alice chuckles. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Rem,” Remus rolls his eyes at the nickname, “Frank and I are just friends.”
“If you say so.”
Alice waggles her eyebrows. Remus laughs.
“Oh, that reminds me. Frank said to invite you for drinks at the pub tomorrow night. Apparently, he wants you to meet some of our friends – I think he might think you’re a bit lonely.”
Remus gasps dramatically. “Me? Lonely?”
Alice laughs again. “You’ll come, though?”
“Yeah, my semester doesn’t start until next week, so I should have time.”
Alice nods, a grin spreading across her face. “Why don’t you bring your new roommate?”
“I can’t imagine it’s his scene, but I can definitely ask.”
“Regulus! You home?” Remus calls out as he walks through the door. He rests his cane against the new hat stand in the entryway, walking into the living room.
Regulus is perched on the chair by the window, book open in his lap. “How was work?” He asks.
“Fine. Hey, do you want to go to the pub tonight? A couple of friends from work invited me. Apparently, they think I’m lonely.”
“You? Lonely?” Regulus gasps.
Remus chuckles. “That’s what I said! I’ve got plenty of friends.”
“Right, because you’ve had so many visitors since you moved in here.”
Remus grumbles an insult that Regulus only rolls his eyes at. He closes his book.
“You know, it’s funny you invited me to the pub – my brother texted me just a couple of hours ago asking if I wanted to join him at the pub he works at. Apparently his roommate just got back and they’re celebrating there.”
Remus thinks fleetingly of the story Regulus told him about his brother and the book. Then immediately pushes the thought from his mind. A coincidence.
“Oh, I wonder if they know each other.”
“Edinburgh is surprisingly small.” Regulus muses.
“So, you’ll come?” Remus prompts.
Regulus groans, rubbing a hand across his face. “I’ve done enough socialising today,” he whines, “I already told my brother ‘no’.”
Remus gives Regulus the most pleading smile he can muster – all puppy dog eyes and jutting lower lip. It’s the look that used to work wonders on his mum, when he was a kid. Regulus only glares at him from the corner of his eye. He breathes a deep sigh, turning to look out the window. Remus continues to stand there, waiting Regulus out.
“Fine.” Regulus finally grinds out, “But I’m not staying for long.”
Remus grins, walking over to Regulus. For a moment he wants to go in for a hug, though knows both of them are repulsed by the idea. Instead, he awkwardly pats Regulus’ shoulder. Regulus grimaces up at him, immediately standing and brushing Remus’ hand away.
Remus has never been to the pub they’re walking to. He rarely drinks, so didn’t ever have much reason to visit. And, besides, until he moved in with Regulus, he lived on the opposite side of town – where the best option was a dingy little bar that closed by 11pm every night. Remus had never visited, though had walked by countless times. Just standing outside this pub, Remus can tell it’s much more his environment. The building is old fashioned – timber awnings and log walls. A sign hangs over the door, reading The Black Dog. Warm yellow light spills from the warped windows and out onto the cobblestone footpath. The sound of live guitar drifts towards them from down the street.
“This is nicer than I expected.” Regulus says, echoing Remus’ own thoughts. Inside, there’s a long wooden bar, multiple oak tables and chairs, and numerous tall tables with standing room. There’s a number of booths lining the wall near the door. In the furthest corner, a band of three play upon a small, raised platform, the music a comfortable volume – much less loud than the clubs Remus occasionally visited back home.
“Remus!” Someone calls out from across the room. Remus turns towards the bar to find a grinning Alice barrelling towards him.
“You must be the roommate,” she says as she gets closer, turning her grin towards Regulus, “I’m Alice, Remus’ favourite coworker.”
“Don’t let Frank hear you say that.” Remus says with a grin, though doesn’t correct her.
Regulus holds out a hand. “Regulus. Nice to meet you.”
Alice giggles. “So formal!” She bats Regulus’ hand away, crushing him into a hug instead. Remus barely contains his smirk as he watches Regulus stiffen, hands clenching as Alice hugs him.
“Come over and meet our friends!” Alice exclaims, pulling back from Regulus.
“Frank! Remus is here!”
Frank walks over to greet them. To what looks like Regulus’ relief, he accepts Regulus’ handshake when offered. Frank then turns towards the group of people huddled around the bar.
“That’s Emmaline,” he says, pointing to a red-head, “There’s Gideon, Marlene, and her girlfriend –”
“Dorcas.” Regulus finishes.
“You know her?” Remus asks, brows furrowed.
“We have a class together.”
At the sound of the younger boy’s voice, Dorcas turns from the bar. She spots Regulus and smiles. Remus feels an odd sense of familiarity as he watches the girl Frank had pointed out as Marlene walk over beside Dorcas, though can’t quite place where he knows her from.
“Reg! What’re you doing here?”
Regulus grimaces at the nickname. “Regulus,” he corrects, “My roommate Remus works with Frank and Alice.”
“No way,” she says dryly, “Such a small world, right?” She turns to the blonde beside her, “This is Marlene.”
Marlene’s red-painted lips split into a grin. She winks at Regulus, batting glittery eyelids.
“Cas was telling me all about your crazy classmate.”
Regulus gives a short laugh. “Pandora? Yeah, she’s definitely…unique.”
Dorcas chuckles. “That’s one word for it. Weirdly,” she adds, turning to Frank and Marlene, “I think Mary would like her.”
Remus jolts a little at the sound of his childhood best friend’s name. Not that it’s an uncommon name, but the thought of Mary suddenly makes him realise where he knows Marlene from. She’d been the year above him at school, he’s sure of it. Looking at the back of the guy’s head that Frank had pointed out as Gideon, Remus is suddenly convinced he went to school with him as well. He’s looking around the pub, admittedly in a slight frenzy, when a familiar voice calls out, “Frank!”
The group turns in unison towards an unmistakable face as he walks into the pub. He’s older than he was when Remus last saw him – filled out and musclier than the lanky boy Remus knew in school. His messy brunette hair is slightly longer, tangled curls falling onto a tanned forehead. Despite the changes, Remus knows instantly that he’s looking at his former dormmate: James Potter.
James is pulling back from greeting Frank when he spots Remus. His eyes widen behind round glasses, his mouth parting just slightly.
“Remus?”
“James.” Remus hates how small his voice sounds.
“What are you doing here?”
“I work with Frank and Alice.”
James nods, looking slightly dazed. Then, he’s grinning. He swoops Remus into a hug as if they’ve only been separated for a few hours, rather than years.
“Oh my God, it’s so good to see you! How are you? Where’ve you been?”
Remus can’t help but laugh a bit. He takes a step back from James’ slightly suffocating presence. He’s just about to answer when James’s gaze snaps to Remus’ right. His eyes widen and his lips part. Remus swears he hears James’ breath catch. Beside him, Remus feels Regulus stiffen. He turns to look at his flatmate, finding a similar expression on Regulus’ face. James and Regulus stare at each other for a moment longer before Marlene clears her throat, seemingly snapping the two of them out of – whatever that was.
“I’m James.” James supplies, still staring at Regulus.
Regulus raises a brow. “Regulus.”
James smirks. “Nice to meet you, Regulus,” he flicks his eyes up and down the younger boy, before his brows crease slightly, “You know, that’s my best friend’s br –”
“Everyone, do not fear – your saviour has arrived!”
The rest of James and Regulus’ conversation is lost to Remus. He stiffens, a sick feeling sinking deep into his gut. He feels cold spread from his fingertips to his core. For a moment, Remus can’t turn – as if, if he doesn’t look, the person behind him won’t exist. The person whose voice is unmistakeable. Remus watches James’ face split into a grin. He turns at the same time James does, eyes immediately locking onto familiar grey ones. Sirius’ face is bright – his mouth spread into a familiar smile, though as he meets Remus’ eye, the colour seems to drain from his very skin. His expression flattens, his shoulders drop. The two of them stand there for a moment as if transfixed.
“Sirius?” Marlene questions, taking a step forward.
“Moony?”
The nickname draws Remus from his daze. He tears his eyes from Sirius’, all but running from the pub. He doesn’t even bother using his cane as he races down the street, usual aches forgotten in his haste. He vaguely registers the sound of someone – or someone’s – calling his name, though doesn’t turn. Can’t risk meeting Sirius’ eye again. Can’t bear to have to explain the situation to anyone. When he gets back to the flat, Remus immediately locks himself in his room. Within minutes, Regulus is knocking on his door, asking if he’s ok. If he needs anything. Remus doesn’t respond. Can’t. Not as tears slowly streak down his cheeks. As his breath catches in his throat. As his nails dig crescent moons into his palms. He lies on his bed – clothes and shoes still on – and weeps, hiccupping and sobbing, until, eventually, he falls asleep.
He dreams of leather and stars.
Notes:
Thanks for reading!
Next chapter will be out sometime after next Sunday
Chapter 3: Chapter Three
Chapter Text
“So, let me get this straight,” Evan says through the phone tucked between Regulus’ shoulder and ear. He pulls his bag from the hatstand by the door, slinging it over a shoulder, “Your flatmate – who until now you thought was a total stranger – actually went to school with your brother – who’s also now your neighbour – and they had some sort of falling out neither of them will tell you about before aforementioned flatmate moved schools?”
“Eloquently said.” Regulus deadpans.
Evan huffs something between a laugh and a gasp. “That’s actually insane, Reg. Straight off of Wattpad, that is.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Tell me about it. Also,” he adds, “I don’t think I’ve mentioned to Remus that Sirius lives next door. So he doesn’t even know the neighbour part.”
Evan makes another disbelieving sound, this time definitely closer to a laugh. “Are you gonna tell him?”
“I think he might combust if I tell him right now. He barely managed to explain why he had to leave the pub so quickly. I think he skipped his first day of classes because of it.” Regulus opens his door, stepping out into the brisk morning air. The sun is still low in the sky, white rays barely cresting the rooftops of his street, creating dappled patterns on the cobblestones.
“Shit. Whatever happened must’ve been bad.”
“Yeah, I’m going to force Sirius to tell me about it when I go past his work later this week.”
Evan laughs again. They continue to talk as Regulus makes his way to the university, only ending the call when Regulus walks into a lecture theatre. It’s a philanthropy class, one he doesn’t expect to have any friends in, though he spots Dorcas waving him over as soon as he walks in.
“What are you doing here?” Regulus questions, sitting beside Dorcas.
“Taking the class, obviously.”
Regulus rolls his eyes with a huff. “This is a first year class, is it not?”
Now it’s Dorcas’ turn to roll her eyes. “Yeah, I failed it last year.”
Regulus laughs, nodding. “What’s your major?”
“Psych. Yours?”
“Lit.”
“Ooh, fancy,” Dorcas flips open her laptop, then turns back to Regulus with a gasp, “Oh my God, I’ve been meaning to ask – what happened with your roommate and Sirius on the weekend?”
Regulus sighs. He was sick of talking to Evan about it – how many more people will he need to explain the situation to? He wishes for a moment it was Pandora taking this class instead (although then he’d probably have to hear another story like the one about Christmas beetles she’d been telling him last week).
After a moment of self-consoling silence, Regulus says, “I wish I knew. Remus said they knew each other in school. I haven’t seen Sirius yet to ask him about it, but he didn’t respond to my text.”
“Marls said he wasn’t responding to her, either. I reckon James knows.”
“His housemate?” Regulus asks, feigning ignorance.
(The minute Regulus had gotten home – after trying repeatedly to check on both Remus and Sirius – he had looked up every social media account James Potter had ever had. The guy was infuriatingly gorgeous, though also a total dickhead – sports scholarship jock with a perfect girlfriend and massive friendship group. The type of guy Regulus would have messed around with in school only to have his heart broken a month later – much like Barty, really. The type of guy he had promised himself he’d stay away from when he left home).
Dorcas waggles her eyebrows. “I saw how you two looked at each other. You think he’s hot.”
“Do not.” Regulus retorts.
“Do so.”
“Do not.”
“Do so, infinity.”
Regulus sticks out his tongue, scrunching his face as he sneers at Dorcas.
At that exact moment, the professor walks in – a short man with greying hair and smile-wrinkled eyes. Behind him, none other than James Potter himself follows. His eyes snap straight to Regulus – tongue still sticking out like a five-year-old. He raises a brow, smirk crossing his face. Regulus pulls his tongue back into his mouth, forcing himself to take a breath, unsure why he’d started holding his breath in the first place.
“Good morning. I’m Professor Slughorn,” the professor starts, “This is your TA for the semester, James. He took, and aced, this class last year.”
James gives a crooked smile, chest puffing as if proud. Regulus has to fight the urge to roll his eyes – or gag, either reaction would be justified, honestly. James’ eyes never stray from Regulus’ even as Slughorn sings his praises. Regulus doesn’t look away until he feels Dorcas’ gaze boring into the side of his head. He turns to face her, trying desperately to fight the flush he feels creeping up his neck (for no reason in particular, of course). When they make eye contact, Dorcas waggles her eyebrows again, grinning.
“Shut up.” Regulus grinds out, forcing himself to open his notebook. To focus anywhere else except the front of the room.
The lecture seems to drag on for eternity. The entire time, Regulus swears he can feel James watching him from the front of the room – which can’t possibly be true, yet the feeling is inescapable regardless. It’s an immense relief when the class is finally dismissed. If James tries to get his attention as he bolts out the door, Regulus doesn’t notice. Doesn’t let his pace slow until he’s halfway across the front lawn. Doesn’t even get a chance to properly say goodbye to Dorcas.
The rest of the week passes with little hiccup. Remus slowly begins to leave his room more – never mentioning the incident with Sirius – while Regulus continues to avoid mentioning the identity of their neighbour. Regulus makes it through another droning philosophy lecture – improved (?) only by Pandora’s longwinded story about how cockroaches mate. His ancient history and creative writing classes go smoothly. He and Dorcas spend a lunchtime together, Regulus feeling for the first time since he finished school as if he’s found friendship.
Really, the week is quite good.
That is, of course, until his second philanthropy lecture.
The lecture is bound to be a bore when Regulus gets there only to realise Dorcas isn’t there. They’re even assigned a group task, leaving Regulus to sit alone while the rest of the students work with their partners.
“Missing a friend today?”
Regulus’ eyes snap up to tan ones. James is smirking, leaning over Regulus. A muscled arm is bent against the chair in front of him. It leaves much too little space between them for Regulus’ liking.
Regulus hums, looking away. “She must be sick.”
“Or skipping.” James jokes.
Regulus tips his head. “Perhaps.”
Regulus hopes that’s the end of the conversation. Continues to stare down at his paper as if he can vanish James with willpower alone. He refuses to get caught in James’ seemingly captivating gaze. And refuses to humour James – to give him (whatever it is) he wants. After a minute of what Regulus can only explain as charged silence, James seems to get the message, pushing himself from the chair he was leaning on to walk further into the lecture hall. When Regulus finally allows himself to look over his shoulder at James’ retreating figure, his eyes instead find caramel ones once again – the other man already looking back at him. Regulus holds the stare, refusing to be the first to break it. James raises an eyebrow before finally looking away.
“So, you’re Sirius’ brother.”
Regulus exhales audibly, not stopping or slowing his pace as he leaves the lecture theatre. To his dismay, James is undeterred, instead matching Regulus’ pace; keeping stride with him as they cross the quadrangle at the front of the grounds.
“An astute observation.” Regulus deadpans.
He looks to James from the corner of his eye. The older boy is smirking down at Regulus, a dimple quivering at the corner of perfect lips. Regulus wishes James had a least one flaw – ignoring him would be so much easier, then.
“Where are you headed?” James says after the silence stretches on for a little too long.
“If you keep following me, you’ll find out.”
“Is that an invitation?”
Regulus tilts his head to look at James properly. His face is flat as he says, “A threat, more like.”
James only laughs. Regulus wants to throttle the perfect sound from his throat. He quickens his pace, though James (for some unknown reason) continues his rampage. He follows Regulus as he walks off campus. Keeps pace as Regulus turns away from their street and towards Sirius’ work.
“Ah, visiting Sirius?” James asks as they cross the road towards The Black Dog.
Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised you caught on so quickly, Potter. I expected you to need much more time to figure it out.”
James’ laugh sounds almost startled. “You’re kind of mean, you know?”
“Only to people I don’t like.”
James makes a pathetic sound, and Regulus can’t help but look up at him. He’s pouting – lower lip jutting out like a toddler.
“You don’t even know me!”
“From the amount my brother has spoken about you, I hate you on principle. Also, you have a High School Musical poster in your room.”
James barks a laugh. “Not a fan?”
Regulus just gives him an unamused look. He’s relieved to finally push open the door to Sirius’ work. The pub is quiet so early in the afternoon, though a couple of students sit around the smaller tables. Regulus spots his brother instantly – absentmindedly cleaning glasses behind the bar. He storms over, James hot on his heels.
“Sirius Orion Black.” Regulus hisses.
Sirius’ eyes snap up, a smirk forming on his lips as he takes in his younger brother. “Reggie! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He looks over Regulus’ shoulder, “And James as well! What a visit! Do you two know each other?”
Regulus ignores the question. “You’ve been ignoring my texts.”
Sirius has the sense to look at least partly guilty. “To be fair, you ignore like every single text I send you. Even the cute puppy videos.” He adds the last part with a sullen shake of his head.
Regulus rolls his eyes. “That’s completely different, Sirius. My flatmate literally ran out of here after seeing you, and neither of you will explain what happened!”
Sirius purses his lips. “It’s complicated, Reg. I needed some time to think.”
“Well, you’ve had time. You can explain now.”
Sirius laughs, shaking his head. “I’m at work, Regulus.”
“I can see that, Sirius. But you can clean glasses and talk at the same time, can you not?”
When Sirius continues to offer no explanation, Regulus says, “Jesus, Sirius. Usually I’m begging you to shut up. Now you won’t even talk at all.”
Sirius exhales audibly. He drops the glass he was drying onto a rack, then walks around to Regulus’ side of the bar. Sirius sits on one of the bar stools, resting his elbows on the counter. Regulus takes the seat beside him, and James beside Regulus. Regulus swivels slightly so he’s only looking at his brother, back to James. He hears James huff behind him, and has to work to keep the satisfied smile from his face.
“There’s really not much to the story.” Sirius starts.
Regulus raises an eyebrow. He finds that hard to believe.
“Remus went to school with James and I,” Sirius continues as the silence between them stretches on, “We were best friends – friends in a completely different way than I was with anyone else.
“Then, when we were sixteen, Remus didn’t come to school one day. He never came back. And – well – we’d had a bit of an argument a couple of days before, so…I don’t know – I always wondered if I was the reason why.”
“He just left?”
“Yup. Moved to a school in Wales, of all places. Without a word. I hadn’t seen him again until this weekend.”
“It definitely wasn’t your fault, Pads.” James interjects. Regulus flicks his gaze over his shoulder, shooting James a look that he hopes conveys his annoyance at the disruption. James only winks at Regulus. He whips immediately back around.
Looking at Sirius again, Regulus asks, “What happened between you two?”
Sirius pushes himself up from the chair abruptly. He walks back to the other side of the bar.
“That’s a story for another day.”
“But –”
“No, Regulus. Don’t,” his brother looks up at him, eyes cold in a way Regulus hasn’t seen since they were children, “Please.”
Sirius doesn’t say please – something Regulus learned at a very young age. Not when their parents scolded him, not when Regulus needed him to. Never. So, looking at his brother now, eyes pleading, almost begging, Regulus can’t help but immediately drop the topic. He looks to James from the corner of his eye. He has his lips pursed as he watches Sirius, neither meeting the other’s eye. James looks over to Regulus, and, when their eyes meet, gives the smallest shake of his head. Regulus wants to ignore James’ obvious request to drop the topic, though can tell Sirius doesn’t want to talk about it. So, instead of pushing as he so desperately wants to, Regulus jumps from the barstool.
“Thanks for telling me, Sirius,” Regulus is loath to thank his brother for anything (or anyone, for that matter), though knows he has to make an effort to communicate with Sirius if he wants to avoid them growing apart as they once did, “I’ll see you over the weekend?”
Sirius gives a small smile. “Yep. Of course, Reg.”
Regulus turns to leave. “Hey, can you tell Remus –” Regulus turns back to see his brother’s lips press together – hard, “Never mind.”
Regulus nods, not pushing it. Not wanting to be a conduit between his brother and roommate either. He leaves without another word, eyes rolling as he hears James call out behind him, “See you later, Reggie!”
***
“Mr…Lupin, can you tell me the sympathetic innervation of the stomach?”
The registrar’s eyes are pinned to Remus as he asks the question, finger tapping impatiently against his clipboard. Almost as one, the group of interns and students around him turn to look at Remus; a flurry of white coats and searching eyes. Remus takes a breath, knowing instantly he can’t answer. Just as he couldn’t answer the last five questions the doctor had asked. His ignorance only seemed to make the doctor focus on him even more throughout the day – calling him out repeatedly in front of patients and students. Remus couldn’t tell if it was for the sake of his learning, or the doctor’s enjoyment at watching him struggle to answer every single time.
“I –” two of the interns turn to each other, giggling, as Remus flounders for his words, “I’m not sure, sorry.”
The registrar purses his lips with an agitated sigh. “Anyone else?”
The hand of the student next to him shoots up instantly – Lily, her sticky nametag reads.
“Yes, Miss Evans?”
“The stomach is part of the embryonic foregut, so innervation will stem from the lateral horn of T6 to T9.”
The doctor gives a tight smile. “Correct,” Remus tenses as his gaze is drawn back to him, “You should be taking notes, Mr Lupin. This isn’t the first question you’ve needed to review.”
Remus nods, clumsily taking his notepad from his pocket and jotting down stomach innervation. He knows he won’t bother reviewing it, just as he has no plans to study the five other topics listed above it.
You see, Remus is in a bit of a conundrum at the moment. Before, he’d been alright in university – never a straight A student as he’s sure Lily Evans is, but confidently passing at least most of his assignments and exams. Then, he’d transferred uni’s, moved out of home, and started working three days a week – yet, still maintained an adequate average. Since seeing Sirius, Remus couldn’t quite say the same. Despite his instance to his flatmate and coworkers that he was fine, and him constantly telling himself the same, Remus hadn’t been the same since that night at the pub. Most nights were sleepless – loops of school memories playing in his head if he ever did slip into dreams. Days were waking nightmares – constantly looking over his shoulder as if he’ll run into a schoolfriend at any moment, arthritis flaring as it did when he was stressed, uni work piling up on his desk. Basically, Remus felt quite fucked. And he didn’t know what he could do about it.
He couldn’t transfer universities again. He couldn’t tell anyone how he was feeling – or, worse, ask for help. He especially couldn’t seek Sirius out and try to settle their…differences.
So, again – fucked.
The doctor finally dismisses the students, and Remus is quick to hobble away from the chattering group. He’s almost at the elevator when he hears a set of delicate footsteps tapping behind him.
“Hey! Remus! Wait up.”
Remus turns with an exaggerated exhale, finding none other than Lily Evans walking up to him. Her long copper ponytail swings dramatically behind her as she quickens her pace, smile splitting her freckled face.
“Mind if I take the lift with you?”
Remus is slightly relieved by the question. He’d been expecting Lily to berate him, or, worse, offer help. But the elevator is one reserved for people with disability passes – and he doesn’t mind sharing the few perks of his cane with Lily if it avoids other conversation.
The lift dings and Remus puts a hand against the opening door, ushering Lily in. She grins at him, lab coat swishing behind her as she enters.
“Tough registrar today, huh?” Lily says conversationally as the elevator descends.
“Sure.” Remus replies. A lie – Lily had confidently answered every question she’d been asked, plus most of Remus’ as well.
“You know,” Lily starts, turning to look at Remus, “If you need any h –”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Remus interrupts.
“Right.” Lily sighs. The elevator lapses into silence, and Remus is all too glad to escape its confines as it reaches the bottom floor. He exits first this time, though forces himself to turn to say goodbye to Lily.
“All I’m going to say,” Lily says suddenly as he turns away again, “Is – I hold a little study group in the library on Wednesdays. You should come – or come afterwards, I’m happy to stick around if you don’t want to study with the whole group.”
Remus turns back fleetingly, giving a tight smile. He doesn’t bother responding, or asking further details. The last thing he needs is an entire group of students watching him fail his degree.
“I’ll see you around!” Lily calls after him. Remus can only hope that her wish doesn’t come true.
As it turns out, Lily does see him around – much more than Remus thinks can be coincidental.
Lily Evans, it would appear, is one of those people who cannot take ‘no’ for an answer.
She catches the elevator with him at the end of placement the entire week – mentioning the study group each and every time, despite Remus rarely replying or acknowledging her.
Then, when that doesn’t work, she starts appearing out of nowhere. Remus is walking across the front lawn on the main campus one day when bam – Lily Evans – hair billowing over her pale shoulders, mouth opening to once again invite him to fucking study group. Another day, he’s in the lunch hall with Regulus when she intercepts him. On the weekend, she somehow shows up at the supermarket while he’s there. He’s half sure she’s going to knock on his front door any minute.
He finally breaks when she somehow shows up as his work.
“Remus!”
Remus starts where he’s standing – half in the breakroom door. He looks towards the front of the shop, knowing before he sees her exactly who that voice belongs to. Lily’s wearing bellbottom jeans and a mini red cardigan – almost the exact shade of her plaited hair. She’s grinning at him in that sunshine way of hers.
“What. The. Fuck.” Remus is in half a mind to turn around and walk back into the breakroom.
“How’s your shift going?” Lily takes a step towards him, Remus moving forwards only enough to let the door swing closed behind him, barring his only escape route.
“How do you know where I work, Lily?” Remus’ voice sounds just as shocked as he feels. Lily’s grin widens.
“Oh, Alice and I go way back.”
Remus groans, running a hand over his face. “Of course you do. Does everyone in this town know each other?”
The question is rhetorical, though Lily still answers with a laugh, “Basically, yeah.”
Remus moves forwards, taking a wide berth around Lily as he walks towards his stool behind the counter. He sits on it, stretching out his leg – his knee popping audibly with the action. Lily winces. She walks around the other side of the counter, leaning on the old wooden bench to smile daintily at him.
When Lily seems to have no intention of offering an explanation for her presence, Remus says tiredly, “What are you doing here, Lily?”
“I came to buy a book! Duh.”
Remus rolls his eyes. “And what kind of book are you looking for?”
“You have any medical textbooks? Maybe one on the innervation of the stomach? Or on alcohol metabolism – that’s always a good topic to study up on. As I’m sure you’d know.”
Remus gives her an unimpressed look.
Lily laughs. “Really, Remus, I’m trying to help. Please just come to one study group.”
“I prefer to study alone.”
“What about just studying with me, then? What’s one more person?” Lily gives him a pleading look that Remus is sure works on most other people. He doesn’t budge, though.
“No.”
“I’ll buy you a coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee.” Remus deadpans.
“Tea?”
“Lily! I’m fine. You don’t even know me. I don’t want your pity.” Remus’ words are rushed, his heart half racing as he pushes back.
Lily sighs, defeated. “I’ll get you one day.”
“We’ll see about that.” Remus cocks a brow, unimpressed when Lily only does the same. She turns on the spot, flicking a strand of hair behind her as she strolls from the store.
Turns out, Lily Evans isn’t usually wrong, either.
Of course, it has to be a Wednesday when Remus’ old laptop finally gives out. The poor thing had been on its last leg for months, so it really isn’t a surprise when, as Remus types up his ethics essay – twenty tabs open and laptop fan blasting like a plane preparing for take-off – the screen suddenly blinks into darkness, refusing to turn back on (mid-sentence as well, of course).
Remus is grumbling to himself as he staunches into the library, not even looking where he’s going as he heads straight to the computer section. It’s only the sound of his name being called – by a now unfortunately familiar voice – that makes Remus finally look up.
There’s a group of students surrounding Lily – all packing up books and farewelling each other. She waves to Remus exaggeratedly, beckoning him over. Remus takes a last longing look towards the computer he was headed towards, before defeatedly hobbling over to Lily’s desk instead.
“From the look on your face, I’m going to guess you didn’t come here for study group?” Lily points out as Remus gets closer.
“Believe it or not, no,” Remus sighs. He holds up his laptop – now unsure why he even bothered to bring the thing with him. It definitely has no chance of redemption, “Laptop problems.” He explains.
Lily makes a noise of understanding. She sits, tapping the table in front of the empty chair beside her. “I’ve got a laptop and iPad. You can borrow one.”
Remus sighs, sitting.
“Were you doing the ethics essay?” Remus nods, Lily’s smile growing, ‘We can do it together!”
And so, for the next three hours, Remus sits beside Lily Evans, doing their essays together. The time is spent mostly in surprisingly comfortable silence, though every so often Lily will lean over, asking a question or proofreading Remus’ work. As they both finish, Lily insists they swap devices to go over each other’s essays. Remus, of course, is reluctant, though eventually gives his essay up. Reading Lily’s only reminds him of how inferior his own work is, though as Lily pushes the laptop back to him, a smile on her face, she says, “That’s great! I love the point you made about transplantation. You could mention transfusion as well.”
Remus can’t help but admit that’s a good idea, and as he reads back through his now edited essay, finds it reads much better than it had before. Lily’s editing clearly made a difference.
A week later, he gets his mark back – a B. The best mark he’s gotten all year.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed - please leave kudos or comments if you did!
I'll update again by this time next week
Chapter Text
Remus is almost – almost – able to forget that Sirius Black is living somewhere in the same tiny city as him.
He begins to do better at university – reluctantly grateful to none other than Lily Evans. He attends a singular study group session (never again – what a bunch of nerds). Regulus can even mention his brother without Remus physically flinching and having to leave the room.
Progress, he likes to call it.
“Why do you look like a family member’s just died?”
Remus is standing in the archway between the kitchen and living room. Regulus lies across the (admittedly still slightly dusty) green couch, feet propped against one of the armrests. He has a book in his hands – one Remus had bought home from work the other day – a damaged copy of Fahrenheit 451 (damaged because Remus ‘accidently’ spilt water on it so he could get it for free). His flatmate isn’t reading the book, though, instead staring dejectedly out the window, face even more disdainful than his usual resting expression.
Regulus turns to Remus at the question and gives a tired smirk. “I’d be a lot more joyful if that was the case.”
Remus laughs. He walks further into the room, resting his cane against the couch and sitting on the armchair beside it. “What’s got you moping, then?”
“I don’t mope,” Regulus says petulantly. When Remus only raises a brow, Regulus continues, “I have to get lunch with S- my brother.”
Ah.
Regulus looks as if he instantly regrets bringing Sirius up. Remus forces himself to keep his expression blank.
“And…that’s not a good thing?”
Regulus sighs. “It’s – fine. Sirius and I just don’t always get along, is all. And we haven’t spoken for years until recently, so it can be a bit…strained, at times.”
Remus remembers Sirius mentioning his younger brother, of course. When he’d first met Sirius, he’d talked of Regulus often – of fond memories and the best times when back home. Sirius had stopped mentioning Regulus as they’d gotten older. Now that he thinks about it, Remus isn’t sure he ever thought to ask Sirius why he stopped talking about his brother.
Regulus is giving him a look he can’t read.
“What?”
“I just realised I know basically nothing about your family, or why you transferred uni’s, or…anything.”
Remus waves a hand as if the topic is unimportant – which is it. “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
Regulus sighs, though doesn’t push the conversation. Much to Remus’ relief.
“What are your plans for the day?” Regulus asks eventually.
“Probably meet up with Lily. Study for a bit, maybe.”
“Lily – the new friend from med?” Regulus clarifies. He says Lily’s name with a raised brow, as if he’s hinting at something – Remus doesn’t know what.
“Yep.”
“So, you and Lily are just friends, though?”
Remus gives Regulus a flat look. “You’re the last person I expected to gossip, Regulus.”
Regulus laughs dryly. “You’re right. I actually don’t care. Dorcas was asking.”
“Wait, does Dorcas know Lily?”
“Yeah – through Alice, I think. I’m not sure, actually. This place is way too small for my liking.”
“Tell me about it.” Remus groans, sinking further into the back of his chair. Of course Lily had to be part of that friendship group. Escaping Sirius seemed genuinely impossible.
When he looks back to Regulus, the other boy still has an eyebrow raised –waiting for an answer, it seemed.
“I’m gay, Regulus. So you can tell Dorcas Lily is very much just a friend.”
Regulus laughs. “What a pair we are.”
Remus huffs a laugh.
“Well, I’m off.” Regulus says after another moment of comfortable silence, sitting up from the couch and leaving his book behind.
“See you later,” Remus waves him off, “Have so much fun with – at lunch.”
Regulus laughs as he walks out the door, though Remus knows the joke falls flat. Maybe he isn’t able to totally get over Sirius living in Edinburgh. Yet, anyway.
Remus goes to work. He goes to placement. He meets up with Lily.
Everything is just dandy.
And then, one morning, Remus is looking down at his phone, carry a mug of beautifully steaming tea in his other hand, as he opens his front door. Sunlight hits the green paint of the door in a stunning way; dappling it in shades of emerald and olive. Remus closes his eyes as warmth swathes his face, feeling, for the first time, a little…hopeful (don’t tell Regulus, he’ll never live it down).
There’s a choking sound to his left. Remus turns his head slowly, brows creasing.
Remus read once that when someone is shot, they don’t hear the sound of the gunshot. The bullet reaches its target long before the soundwaves do.
He feels a little like he’s been shot, in this moment.
He’s not sure what happens first – seeing Sirius, dropping his tea all over himself, Sirius falling backwards down next door’s entryway steps, or Remus stepping forwards and landing directly on top of him.
What he is sure of, is that he’s now lying on top of Sirius Black, and the skin on his hands is burning like there’s no tomorrow.
“Fuck, fuck. Oh my God. Are you okay?” Sirius’ words are jumbled and too fast. He seems to be trying to sit up, which, believe it or not, isn’t presently achievable – given Remus’ current position.
Remus groans, trying to push himself up. He hisses as the skin around his fingers contracts, sending shooting pain up his arms.
“What is it?” Sirius insists, “What’s wrong?”
Remus seems to be able to only groan in response. He finally manages to roll off Sirius, landing inelegantly on his back. He brings his hands up to his chin, clutching them to each other.
Remus doesn’t realise his eyes are squeezed shut until he hears Sirius say, “Remus, hey. Look at me.”
He blinks an eye open, the sun dimming his vision. Sirius’ silhouette swims into his field of view. Dark hair frames a statuesque face as he leans over Remus. Remus thinks fleetingly that he looks sort of like an angel – all pale skin and soulful eyes.
“Are you okay?” Sirius asks for what must be the hundredth time. Voice soft. Tender.
Remus exhales shakily. He forces himself into a sitting position, pushing Sirius away from him as he does so. “I’m fine, Sirius. It’s just tea.”
Sirius doesn’t say anything, and Remus tells himself to just get up and walk away. But he can’t – never has been able to resist looking at Sirius Black. So instead, he turns his head slowly. Sirius is staring at him; eyebrows scrunched, grey eyes full of concern. He’s looking not at Remus’ face, but down at his hands. Remus glances down reflexively. He can’t help but gasp as his hands come into view. They’re red-raw, covered in angry looking welts and blisters.
Seeing his hands seems to jolt Remus out of shock. Suddenly, the pain is ten-fold what it had been. He hisses, falling back against the concrete.
“Oh my God! I knew it was bad. What do I do, Moony?”
Remus hisses again, this time not from the pain, but at hearing the now foreign nickname.
“Water,” he manages to croak out, “Running.”
Sirius seems to have to ponder than for a moment (while Remus is in excruciating pain, mind you). After a second, he gasps, “Running water!”
Yes, idiot.
Remus feels himself being lifted from the rocky ground. He must pass out, because next thing he knows, he’s inside his house – no, that’s not quite right. Remus sits up in the kitchen chair he’s precariously lying on. The chair has been pulled over to the counter, one of his hands in the sink, freezing water running over it. He’s in what looks like his own kitchen, though…not. The doorknobs on the cabinets are gold, rather than silver. The dining table is square rather than round. There’s a pile of dirty dishes in the sink – as opposed to the single green mug Regulus left by their own sink this morning. The tiles on the floor are matte and tawny, rather than the shiny marble of his own home.
As Remus tries to decode whether he’s in an alternate reality or not, Sirius comes barrelling into the kitchen. He starts for a moment as they make eye contact, likely surprised Remus is awake, before crossing the distance between them. Sirius holds out a towel.
“You should put the other hand under,” Sirius says as Remus slowly takes the towel with his wet hand, “It was hard to get them both in the sink at once while you were unconscious.”
“Where am I?” Remus questions, obeying the instructions and sighing in relief as water washes over his other hand.
Sirius looks around for a moment as if confused. “Oh, my house.”
Remus raises an eyebrow. “Why’d you take me all the way to your house when we were right outside my own – actually why were you outside my house?”
Sirius’ brows scrunch. “We were outside my house,” he says slowly.
“No, I –”
Sirius is giving Remus a look he doesn’t like the look of – almost guilty.
Remus’ jaw clenches. “Sirius. Are you…my neighbour?” He grinds out, all but praying his assumption is wrong.
Sirius doesn’t immediately respond, though his conflicted expression answers Remus’ question anyway.
“Oh for fuck’s sake! I have to have the worst luck in the world.”
“Regulus didn’t tell you?” Sirius finally says. He’s still leaning half over Remus, and Remus abruptly stands to put distance between them.
“No, Regulus didn’t tell me! Have you been living here the entire time I have been?”
“I actually lived here long before you or Regulus did, just to be clear.”
“Sirius, seriously –”
Sirius smirks. “Siriusly.”
Remus groans, dropping his chin to his chest. “Oh my God I did not miss that.”
“Missed the rest of me though, I bet.”
Remus can only groan again.
Worst luck in the world, seriously.
“Sooo…” Sirius blows out in a breath as the silence drags on – getting tenser by the second. If Remus wasn’t still in so much pain, he’d be out of here already, “Do you need a lift to the hospital, or…?”
Remus throws a cautionary look at his blistered hands. They’re bright red, and an entire layer skin on his right seems to be peeling away. “I think I’ll be fine.”
Sirius chuckles. “In your professional opinion?”
“Well, I am a med student, so…”
Sirius’ jaw drops. “Oh my God M – Remus. That’s great! You always wanted to –” Sirius slowly trails off, seemingly realising who he’s speaking to once more.
“Yeah.” Is all Remus can muster.
Silence constricts the space between them once more – something Remus is unused to experiencing in Sirius’ presence. But, as they stand in this vaguely familiar kitchen, the sound of running water is all that keeps the room from complete silence. Stillness. They’re looking in each other’s general direction, though neither is confident enough to meet the other’s eye.
“So, you’re speaking to Regulus again?” Remus finally says, feeling as if the air in the room is consumed by the sound of silence.
“Yeah,” Sirius says. And then, perhaps realising the silence will creep back in if he doesn’t say more, “He moved out of home, so – well, I guess you gathered that.”
Remus gives a tight smile. “I gathered.”
“How’s your mum?”
Remus sucks in a sharp breath. Dead. No one has asked in so long – not since, well, probably not since Sirius last asked – back when she’d been alive.
“She’s okay.” Remus forces out, working to keep the strained smile on his face. Now isn’t the time to have the dead mum talk. And Sirius isn’t a person he wants to ever have it with, anyway.
Sirius nods slowly. His voice is quiet as he says, “That’s good.”
Silence.
“Well I better –”
“How are your h –”
They both rush to fill the awkward quiet once more. At the sound of their overlapping voices, both men lapse into silence, beginning to laugh awkwardly.
“I was just going to say I should head out. Back – next door.”
“Long trip,” Sirius quips, “Are your hands okay?”
“They’ll be fine.” He definitely should go to an urgent care.
Sirius nods again, looking anywhere but at Remus. He stands slowly, offering to take the towel Remus has been awkwardly holding in his less-burnt hand. Remus stands stock still as Sirius leans around him, reaching behind him to turn off the tap; their bodies closer than they have been in years. The sleeve of Sirius’ shirt grazes the side of Remus’ jumper, and he has to work to keep himself from reacting to the barely-there touch; electric even through fabric.
Sirius leans back, still only a footstep from Remus. Remus has to tilt his head down slightly to meet Sirius’ eye. They’re so close, that, when he does so, he can feel Sirius’ exhalation against his jaw – a warmth that fingers its way over each part of his exposed skin.
“Um. See you around, I guess.” Remus forces out.
Sirius’ eyes dip lower for a moment before he seems to catch himself, shaking his head and taking a jolting step back.
“Right. See you…around.” He says discomposedly.
Remus sidesteps Sirius, taking care to take a wide birth around the shorter man. He hides his wince at the pain in his hands as he opens the red front door and steps back into the morning light.
***
“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Regulus asks as his flatmate walks through the front door. Remus’ face is ashy, and he’s shaking despite the warmth of the day.
Remus doesn’t respond to Regulus’ question, instead walking into the kitchen, blocking himself from Regulus’ field of view. There’s the sound of shuffling for a moment – lacking the usual tap of Remus’ cane – before the faucet is turned on harshly.
“You ok?” Regulus prompts, still in his spot by the window, unsure whether he should bother Remus or let him be, “Why are you back so soon?” Last he heard, Remus was headed off to work – only twenty or so minutes ago.
There’s a mumbled, “I’m fine,” barely audible over the sound of running water. Regulus forces himself to remain sitting by the window.
After what feels like an eternity, the tap is shut off, and silence fills the apartment. There’s some more shuffling before Remus hobbles into view, supporting himself against the wall between the kitchen and living room.
“Where’s your cane?”
Remus looks down, brows scrunching like he hadn’t noticed the lack of it. “I’m not sure, actually.”
Regulus nods slowly, trying to appear interested in the carpet, then the pattern of the wallpaper – sepia patterns on a beige backing. He’s looking over to the tiles in the kitchen when he notices Remus’ hands.
“Remus! What happened?” Regulus is up in an instant, leaning down to inspect the redness of Remus’ hands.
Remus gestures as if his skin isn’t literally melting away (only slightly an exaggeration). “Spilt my tea.”
There’s an awkward lapse of silence before Remus makes to move. Regulus reaches out to steady the taller man, though his hands fall back to his sides almost instantly. He knows Remus hates being helped without asking for it. So, instead, he watches Remus hobble towards the couch, leaning heavily on it when he finally makes it there. Regulus barely suppresses his wince as he watches the struggle.
“Regulus,” Remus says quietly, without emotion, as he lowers himself onto the couch. He doesn’t turn to look at Regulus. “I might need you to go and get my cane for me.”
“Right,” Regulus says, “Where is it?”
Regulus watches the side of Remus’ face as he purses his lips. “I’m not certain, though I think it might be…next door.”
Regulus’ brows shoot towards his hairline against his will. “As in –”
“Yep.”
Regulus is trying to think of a tactful way to ask why Remus’ cane is at his brother’s house when there’s a tense knock at the front door.
“I’ll get it.” He says without thinking.
“Reggie!” Sirius’ smile is too tight, his eyes duller than usual as Regulus opens the door.
Regulus looks instantly down to Sirius’ hand – where none other than Remus’ cane is clasped. When he meets his brother’s uncertain gaze, Regulus raises a brow. He reaches out a hand, all but snatching the cane.
“One of you will be explaining this to me in the very near future.” Regulus states.
Sirius gives an almost guilty look. “Gotta go!”
“Sirius!” But his brother is already halfway down the street, almost sprinting. Regulus turns back towards the living room with an eyeroll.
“Can I help with your hands?” Regulus asks as he rests the cane beside Remus’ chair.
“No, they’ll be right.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Regulus.”
Regulus purses his lips, usure what to do. “But –”
“Ugh, leave it. Please.”
Regulus huffs. “Fine.”
“Fine!”
“How’s Remus?” Regulus can’t resist the eyeroll that James Potter’s voice elicits. He’s sat at a table in the dining hall, across from Dorcas and Pandora. James stands somewhere behind Regulus, though he knows instantly who’s speaking despite being unable to see the man.
Regulus takes a sip of his drink. “Sirius tell you what happened?” He asks, refusing to turn around.
“Only that they ran into each other. And that Remus burnt himself.”
Regulus hums. “That’s about what I heard as well,” He feels rather than sees James’ lingering presence, “Remus is fine. You could probably ask him yourself, it doesn’t seem to be you he has the issue with.”
“Maybe.” James says.
Regulus looks from his food to his two friends across from him. Pandora is watching James with slightly wide eyes, while Dorcas is looking to Regulus – smirking.
“Why don’t you join us, James?” Dorcas says sweetly after a moment, eyes never leaving Regulus’. Regulus suddenly has murderous intentions as he watches the person he previously considered a friend quirk her lips smugly.
“Oh, that’s not –” Regulus starts.
“That sounds like a lovely idea!” Pandora interrupts, gesturing to the seat beside Regulus, “Please do…”
“James,” the man in question supplies, “That’s very kind of you.”
James swings a leg over the bench, sitting with annoying gracefulness beside Regulus. Regulus watches from the corner of his eye as James turns to him, grinning.
“I’m Pandora.” Pandora tells James, voice laced with honey.
James turns his charming smile to Pandora, eyes only flitting momentarily towards her before landing back on the side of Regulus’ face. “Nice to meet you, Pandora. How do you know Regulus?”
“Oh, we all take a philosophy class together.”
“I didn’t know you took philosophy.” James murmurs, voice low enough it can only be directed at Regulus.
Regulus finally turns, giving James a bored look. James just widens his luminous smile. He looks back over to Pandora and Dorcas, as if he’s only been staring at Regulus for the sole purpose of making him turn, and, now that he has, can easily look away. Frustratingly, now that Regulus is looking at James, he can’t seem to turn away quite so easily.
“What’s your major, Pandora?”
Pandora replies before James swiftly turns back to look at Regulus. “And you, Reg?”
“Regulus,” Regulus grinds out, eyes boring into James’ honey-coloured ones, “Surely Sirius told you my major.”
James hums, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Mm, English literature, I hear.”
“What’s yours?” Pandora asks. James looks away again, and Regulus finds himself able to release the breath he was unconsciously holding under James’ attention.
“Social work. I’m hoping to make a difference for kids who need it.” James says with a dazzling look.
Regulus rolls his eyes, murmuring, “Of course you are.”
“What was that, Regulus?” Dorcas pipes up. Regulus glares at her.
“I was just pointing out how noble of an endeavour Potter is undertaking.” Regulus drawls.
James lets out a surprised laugh, giving Regulus a slightly stunned look – not the insulted expression he was hoping to elicit.
“I do think it’s so noble.” Pandora sighs, completely missing Regulus’ sarcasm.
There’s an awkward silence in which James seems to only watch Regulus. After about ten seconds of it (which is really saying something, because, usually, Regulus is remarkably patient), Regulus snaps, “Were you just here to ask about Remus, then, or did you have something else to say? Because we were actually having a quite important conversation before you interrupted.”
“No we weren –” Regulus shoots Pandora a scathing look, her mouth immediately snapping shut.
James laughs under his breath. “Actually, I was also meaning to ask if you wanted a job. Sirius mentioned you were looking for one and –”
“I can find a job on my own, Potter.”
“I’m sure you can, Reg, that doesn’t mean you can’t also accept this one,” James says, jaw clenching, “You’re –”
“Not interested.”
James sighs, giving Regulus a flat look. “It’s at the café down the street. Two days a week. Great pay,” He continues as if Regulus hadn’t interrupted, “I’ve got a friend who works there.”
“You talking about the place Lily works at?” Dorcas asks.
James grins. “Yep! They’ve just had a barista spot open up, so –”
“I’ve never made a proper coffee in my life.”
“Lily says she’ll train you.”
Regulus grinds his teeth, searching for something else to say. For any reason to turn down this job. He’s not sure why he even wants to turn it down – it admittedly sounds perfect. But he’d been so set on finding a job for himself, and accepting one from James Potter of all people is even more aggravating.
“I’ll think about it.” Regulus finally accepts with an exaggerated sigh.
James grins as if triumphant. It makes Regulus want to punch the stupid expression from his face. He watches Regulus for a moment longer – Regulus feeling oddly as if he’s being examined. James’ eyes feel searching as they inspect Regulus’ own. Their stare is broken when Dorcas clears her throat, Regulus immediately tearing his gaze away.
“Well, I better…head off.” James says, slightly stumbling over the words.
Regulus only gives him a look he hopes conveys his pure excitement at the prospect of James leaving. James smirks, shaking his head as if to clear it. He bids goodbye to Dorcas and Pandora, the latter giggling and waving as he walks away.
“He seems so nice.” Pandora sighs wistfully as she turns back to their group.
Dorcas grins smugly. “Regulus sure thinks so.”
Regulus scowls. “James Potter is far from nice.”
“Really? Nice is the first word that came to mind for me.” Pandora says.
“Not infuriating? Annoying? Entitled?”
“Handsome? Charming?” Dorcas interrupts, only stopping as her laughter takes over. Regulus looks towards Pandora, hoping for backup, only to find her happily nodding along with Dorcas’ description.
Regulus needs new friends.
“Hey! You must be Regulus.” Bright red hair and a face full of freckles bounds up to Regulus as he tentatively opens the café door.
It’s a small shop – five tables, a wooden counter with one coffee machine, and a dry pot plant in the corner. The wall opposite the till is lined by windows, intercepted by pillars of old red brick.
Regulus holds out a hand. “And you’re Lily?”
“Yup. Remus told you all about me?”
Regulus says dryly, “A little. Potter had more to say.”
Lily giggles delicately as if at some inside joke. Watching her face crease with laughter, Regulus feels recognition spark. Lily is the girl from James’ social media – his prefect, perfect grade girlfriend.
Because of course she is.
And now Regulus has accepted a job with her.
Lily takes him around the shop. Shows him the basics of the job – coffee making, serving customers, cleaning tables. Tasks Regulus would’ve once thought below him, though the thought of his mother’s face if she knew he was doing them cheers him slightly. The entire shift, Lily talks incessantly. Regulus has to hear all about university and her time spent studying with Remus – who she seems to adore much more than Remus has let on he likes Lily. Lily also speaks of her friends a lot, including his brother, though mostly she mentions Marlene, who Regulus recognises as Dorcas’ girlfriend, and another girl named Mary, who Regulus isn’t sure he's met yet, but apparently also works here. By the end of the shift, Regulus feels as if he knows every drama and event that has happened in his brother’s friendship group in the last three years.
“So, how do you feel about the job?” Lily finally asks after three hours spent yapping and barely working.
Regulus has to work to suppress rolling his eyes. “It seems pretty simple.”
“Yeah, there’s not much to it. We mostly just gossip all shift – you’ll meet Mary at your next shift. She’s great, I reckon you’ll get along.”
Regulus nods, forcing a smile. If Mary is anything like Lily, he highly doubts they’ll have common interests.
“Well, you can head off. Tell Remus I said hi.” Lily grins in the sweet way of hers – the entire shift Regulus hasn’t been able to help but notice all the things about her that James must love. Her bright hair and contagious laugh. Her delicate features covered by an array of perfect freckles. Her kindness, even if Regulus finds it stifling himself.
Regulus gives her a much flatter smile. “Sure.” He takes the roster that Lily hands over – apparently he’ll be working Tuesdays and Thursdays. Then he walks back home.
“When were you going to tell me you’re working with Lily!?” Remus exclaims dramatically the second Regulus walks through the door. He’s leaning against the wall rather than using his cane, and his bandaged hands (Regulus had finally convinced him to get them checked at a doctor the day before) are hanging limply by his sides rather than tucked away in his pockets as Remus had been doing all week.
“You didn’t even tell me you got a job!” Remus adds as Regulus only rolls his eyes at the previous question.
Regulus sighs, hanging his bag by the door. “I didn’t want the job. I just really need the money.”
“How’d you even find out about it?”
“Oh, Potter told me.”
Remus’ eyebrows raise. “James? I didn’t know you two were friends.”
“We’re not.” Regulus grinds out.
Remus smirks in a way not dissimilar to how Dorcas had when Potter had interrupted them a few days before. Like Dorcas, when Regulus glares at Remus, it only seems to increase his amusement.
“Right,” Remus says slowly after a moment, sounding unconvinced, “So, James – that you’re not friends with – gave you a job.”
“Exactly,” Regulus says simply, walking past Remus and into the kitchen, “How’d you know about it?”
“Lily just texted me. Says you were very ‘interesting’”
Regulus sighs. Gossip seemed to travel faster in Edinburgh than it had at his private school. And that’s really saying something.
“Well, how’d it go? Do you like Lily?”
Regulus gives him a look from the corner of his eye. “She’s…fine.”
Remus huffs a laugh. “Yeah. She can be a bit much.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s good that you have a job, though.”
“Yeah, if I save up maybe we can finally buy a new couch.”
Remus gasps, affronted. “What’s wrong with our couch?”
Regulus only gives him another flat look. He glances towards where he can see half of the couch in the living room. The sunbeam hitting it highlights the tiny specks of dust seemingly constantly rising from the tattered cushions. There’s a hole in the back of one the armchairs Regulus is only just noticing now as well.
“Ungrateful, you are,” Remus says petulantly as he watches Regulus look at the disdainful pieces of furniture, “I worked long and hard for those couches.”
“Waste of time.” Regulus remarks, laughing lowly as his flatmate continues his affronted charade.
They speak for a little longer before Remus has to head over to university. Regulus wants to bring up his brother, though generally avoids the topic around Remus. He’s probably more likely to get the story of Remus’ burnt hands from Sirius, anyway. As Remus leaves, Regulus finally feels the sweet relief of freedom.
That is until his phone buzzes – text from Sirius asking him to go shopping with him tomorrow.
Of course it couldn’t last long.
Notes:
Comments and kudos appreciated :)
Chapter 5: Chapter Five
Notes:
Absolutely loved writing this chapter - hope you enjoy reading it just as much!
As always, please feel free to comment - I love getting to talk with you all :)
Chapter Text
“Surprise!”
Regulus is thrown backwards as a shock of blond hair barrels through the doorway and into his body. Arms wrap around his middle, squeezing so hard he feels the air rush from his lungs. Regulus squeaks an embarrassing sound, trying desperately to free himself.
“What..the,” Regulus pushes the body off him slightly, surprised at its sturdiness, “Fuck?” He finishes, out of breath.
When Regulus’ capturer finally releases him, he immediately stumbles backwards. Meanwhile, aforementioned assailant strides forward to follow him, still very much in Regulus’ space. As his face comes into view, Evan’s grin widens almost manically. His bleached hair is slightly mussed, and an almost crazed look glints in Regulus’ best friend’s eyes.
“What are you doing here!?” Regulus questions immediately.
“I told you I was transferring!”
Regulus gives Evan a deadpan look. “No, you told me you were thinking about it. Thinking about something and actually doing it are two very different things. Especially for you.”
“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” Evan whines, pouting. He crosses his arms over his chest as if a petulant child.
Regulus rolls his eyes. “When did you get here? Wait, how’d you know where I live?”
Evan waggles his eyebrows. “I have my ways. I got in this morning. Came straight to you, of course!”
Regulus can’t help but give a small smile. Then has a horrifying thought, instantly questioning, “And you’re planning on living…where?”
Evan’s grin twists in a way Regulus immediately doesn’t like the look of. After years spent around the boy, Regulus knows when he’s plotting something. And as expected, Evan says, “Um, here, of course! I’m sure you can squeeze me in somewhere.”
There’s a moment of horrified silence. Evan smiles innocently. Regulus feels the blood drain from his face, sure his expression must be one of horror. After a strained minute, Evan cackles. “I’m kidding. I’ve got a dorm on campus.”
Regulus blows out a breath of relief. While he’s admittedly glad to see Evan, the thought of sharing his tiny house with yet another person is almost sickening. Evan drops his backpack to the floor, inviting himself further into the house. He walks straight to the living room, peering out the window before turning back to Regulus. Evan looks from the worn-out couch between them and his best friend.
“What the fuck is that?” A pale finger juts towards the couch, which seems to sag further into itself than it already was at the attention.
Regulus looks disdainfully towards the emerald piece of furniture.
“My roommate insisted we get it.”
Evan snorts. “You must’ve hated that.”
“So much!” Regulus exclaims. He steps into the living room and drops onto the couch in emphasis. Evan laughs again, the familiar chortle bringing a reluctant smile to Regulus’ face. He plops onto the red chair beside Regulus, kicking his feet over the armrest.
“So, where is your infamous housemate, then?”
“Work,” Regulus looks over to the clock, “He should be back soon, actually.”
Evan grins. “I can’t wait to meet him. Has he found out Sirius lives next door yet?” Evan lowers his voice with the latter part, whispering conspiratorially.
Regulus hums in affirmation. “They had a run-in last week. Remus ended up spilling tea all over himself. Don’t think they’ve spoken since.”
Just then, there’s the tinkling sound of a key in the door. The increasingly familiar tap of Remus’ cane against the entryway floorboards echoes into the living room. Regulus leans back against the couch in order to look towards the front door. When Remus’ hazel eyes meet his, he gestures for his roommate to join them.
“Hi, Regulus,” Remus says as he shuffles into the living room. He looks appraisingly towards Evan, “Who’s this?”
“This is Evan.” Regulus introduces, standing from the couch (and ignoring the plume of dust that follows him).
“Oh, your friend that does med?” Remus clarifies.
Evan grins. “My reputation precedes me then,” he stretches out a hand towards Remus, “Regulus has been talking all about me, I’m guessing.”
“Oh, all the time.” Remus drawls. He rests his cane against the arm of the couch before clasping Evan’s hand in his own.
Regulus watches as Evan and Remus chat, the two immediately getting along. He steps into the kitchen whilst they talk, flicking on the kettle. The black appliance dings, and Regulus pours hot water into three cups, adding milk to two of them.
“What brings you to Edinburgh?” Remus asks as Regulus walks back into the living room. He places a milky glass in front of Remus, and an even milkier one in front of Evan, before sipping happily on his own black coffee.
“I’ve transferred here!” Evan exclaims. Remus’ eyes light up.
“No way. I’ll have to show you around.”
“That’d be great.”
“Are you first year like Regulus?”
“Second.” Evan corrects. Remus’ eyes stray towards Regulus for a moment before flitting back to Evan. Regulus doesn’t bother to explain the difference in years. After all, plenty of people take gap years, or start courses and transfer later. Being a year behind his peers isn’t particularly absurd – no one needs to know the true reason for it, is all.
Evan, of course, gets on perfectly with Remus. They speak for ages – Regulus happy to sit back and let the two get to know each other. Evan is just asking Regulus if he’d like to come and see the university accommodation he’s moving into when Regulus groans, throwing his phone onto the couch cushion beside him.
“Unless someone has died, absolutely nothing warrants that reaction.” Evan says, barely suppressing the mirth from his voice.
Regulus glares at him. His phone buzzes from where it’s become lost within the couch cushions, and he flops back against the armrest, groaning once more.
Evan laughs. “Who is it? Oh my God, Reg, do you have a secret lover?”
Remus cackles as if that’s entirely unbelievable. Regulus directs his glare towards his roommate before turning back to Evan.
“It’s my brother.”
Evan doesn’t seem particularly surprised by the announcement – which, well Regulus isn’t sure how to feel about that. Sure, Evan had known that Sirius had helped get Regulus a house in Edinburgh, and probably assumed they were talking more because of that. But, well, Evan is the one person in Regulus’ life who was there throughout the entire breakdown of his relationship with his brother. Evan and Regulus met when the two brothers were still the closest of friends, and watched through the years as family and duty drove them further and further apart, until, eventually, Sirius left without a word. Regulus had been a mess in the weeks following – and Evan is the only person who knows that. So, for him to so happily accept that he and Sirius are speaking again – it feels…weird. Like he should be questioning it more.
Regulus places a tentative hand between the couch cushions, fishing his phone from within. It buzzes again as he unlocks it, as if on cue.
Sirius: OMG there’s a party tonight – and you’re coming!
Sirius: Reggie!!!!
Sirius: I know you’re reading this. Reply now or I’m coming over.
Regulus huffs a breath of annoyance. He texts back an excuse about having no clothes to wear, Sirius of course instantly replying that they’ll spend the afternoon shopping (or that he can borrow an outfit from Sirius or James, though he ignores that part – Regulus would rather die, thank you very much). Going and speaking to Sirius seems unavoidable, though, so he reluctantly bids goodbye to his friends, and makes the short journey next door.
The red door of Sirius’ house swings open within seconds of Regulus knocking. Regulus wasn’t sure there could be a face behind it he’d be more loathed to see than that of his brother, though as the James Potter’s messy mop of hair and toothy grin is revealed, Regulus feels himself deflate even further.
James smiles lopsidedly at Regulus, the expression annoyingly charming. His eyes flit across Regulus’ face in that irritating way of his, before his grin widens further – as if amused by Regulus’ disdain.
“Reggie!”
Regulus grinds his teeth, letting out a breath very very slowly.
“Potter.” He greets dryly.
The corners of James’ eyes crinkle as he smiles impossibly wider. “Nice to see you too, Regulus. I assume you’re here for Sirius?”
“No, I’m here for your dashing company.” Regulus deadpans. He feels himself deflate as James seems to only find the comeback funny, rather than insulting.
“Sirius! Reggie’s here!” James calls up the stairs.
“Regulus, to you.”
James rolls his eyes. “Sirius! Regulus is here!” He calls again, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Regulus represses his own eyeroll. He stands in the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently. James leans against the door, muscled arm rippling as he does so.
“Do you want to come in? He might be awhile; I think he just got into the shower.”
“Why the fuck would he do that when he just texted me to come over?”
James raises a shoulder, amused. “I can’t explain the grooming habits of my dearest friend, unfortunately, Regulus.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m fine here.”
James only shrugs again, sinking into his position against the door. “Suit yourself.”
There’s a tiny splatter of something wet against Regulus’ face, and he’s just about to ignore it when another splatters onto his head. Within seconds, the splatters turn to drizzle, then to a full-on downpour. Regulus grinds his teeth as James looks towards the sky, then back down to Regulus’ almost soaked figure.
“Would you like to come in now?” James questions as the rain begins to bucket down.
“Nope.”
James’ huff of laughter is almost inaudible over the sound of rain hitting cobblestone. Regulus suppresses a shiver. Not only is standing in the rain in front of James absolutely mortifying, it’s also inconveniently cold. The thought of standing here in the cold – half in, half out of Sirius’ apartment – making small talk with James, is almost worse than having to make small talk inside the warmth of their house – but not quite. So he braces himself and waits.
“Just come in, Reg. You’re going to catch a cold.”
“I’m fine, Potter. A little rain never killed anyone.”
Now it’s James’ turn to grind his teeth. He looks over Regulus’ drenched figure.
“Are you always this annoyingly stubborn?”
“Perhaps.” Regulus replies petulantly.
Another strained minute ticks by. Regulus’ clothes are entirely soaked through now. He’s almost considering just walking back to his own apartment and forcing Sirius to meet him there. Then he imagines the amused faces of Remus and Evan waiting for him inside – decidedly worse than embarrassing himself in front of James.
“Oh my God, Regulus. Just come inside – this is ridiculous!”
“You’re ridiculous.” Regulus shoots back immediately. A raindrop falls from his hair and down the nape of his neck, evoking an irrepressible shiver. James rolls his eyes, huffing. Within seconds, he’s reaching out, pulling Regulus through the widened doorway and into the warmth of his apartment. Regulus spins around, wet docs squeaking against the floorboards – but too late. James all but slams the door shut, turning to Regulus with a triumphant look.
“Some would consider this kidnapping.”
James laughs loudly. “Barely.”
James sidesteps around Regulus, opening a closet in the wall behind him and pulling out a fluffy-looking towel. He holds it out to Regulus, who reluctantly takes it, immediately drying his hair, then his exposed body.
“I’ll grab you a change of clothes.” James says as Regulus struggles to dry the clothed parts of himself.
Regulus immediately shakes his head. “I have my own clothes right next door, thanks. I’d rather die than wear yours.”
James laughs again, the sound hearty. Loud, like Sirius’, though warmer, where Sirius’ is brash.
“You’re almost as overdramatic as your brother, you know. Just borrow some clothes. You can change into your own when the rain stops.”
Regulus is about to refuse, though as he opens his mouth, the sound of thunder interrupts him. James grins as if proven right by the gods themselves. He zips upstairs without waiting for Regulus’ response, coming back down within seconds, clothes in hand. James directs him to the downstairs bathroom, Regulus reluctantly removing his sopping clothes once within. He refuses to admit the relief he feels as the freezing fabric is peeled from his skin. Doesn’t let himself feel alleviated as he dries himself. But, most importantly, refuses to enjoy a single moment as he dons James’ clothes – warm, soft, dry. James has lent him a hoodie and trackpants. Both are too big on him, though even comfier because of it – not that Regulus acknowledges this.
Regulus pushes the sleeves of the hoodie up to his elbows, the bunched fabric soft against the goose bumped skin of his arms. When he leaves the bathroom, James isn’t where he left him, and over the sound of rain Regulus thinks he can still hear his brother’s shower upstairs, so he peeks around the corner into the kitchen. James is leaning against one of the benches, back facing Regulus. His finger drums against the counter as the kettle boils, the man humming some tune under his breath. At the sound of Regulus entering the room, James turns slowly. He smirks as he runs his eyes over Regulus’ body, clad in his clothes.
“They look even better on you, Regulus.” James’ voice is low. His eyes are pinned to the exposed part of Regulus’ collarbone – the neckline slightly gaping on his smaller frame – as he walks further into the room, sitting at the dining table.
Regulus clears his throat after a moment, James’ eyes snapping up to meet his. Regulus tells himself he imagines the faint pinkness at the crests of James’ caramel cheeks.
“Coffee?” James says after another tense second, voice slightly husky.
“Sure.”
“How do you take it? Wait – let me guess. Black?”
Obviously. Regulus wants to say, but stops himself. James Potter knows decidedly enough about Regulus.
“With milk, actually.”
James’ brows furrow as if the response is unexpected, though he turns to pour milk into both mugs. He sets Regulus’ disgustingly milky coffee in front of him, taking the seat to his left. James opens a container on the table, repeatedly dropping heaped spoonfuls of sugar into his own mug.
“That is a cavity in a cup, Potter.” Regulus states with a grimace.
James guffaws. He drops the lid back onto the sugar bowl, stirring his coffee before leaning back against his chair. He places his arms behind his head, and if Regulus’ eyes stray to the sculptured contours of his biceps for a moment as he does so – well, who can blame him, really?
“You can call me James, you know?” James says, eyes roaming Regulus’ own face in that way of his – as if mentally dissecting and examining him.
“I’ll pass,” Regulus responds, “In fact, I’d prefer if you addressed me as Black.”
“I’ll pass.” James parrots.
Regulus scoffs, forcing himself to take a sip of his drink. The milk is like paint against his tongue, and the coffee too cold besides, though he forces his face to remain impassive.
“What are you and Sirius doing today?” James asks as the silence drags out – as if the silence isn’t blissful compared to the sound of his voice (it is).
“Shopping. He’s insisted I come to some party tonight.”
James laughs again. Regulus refuses to enjoy the sun-dipped sound. “I can’t imagine a party’s really your scene.”
Regulus sighs. “Not at all.”
James’ eyes are alight with interest. “Why go, then?”
Regulus rolls his eyes. He’s surprised the muscles behind them aren’t burning with the amount of eye rolling material he’s had to endure in the last fifteen minutes.
“Well, Sirius asked.”
There’s something assessing in James Potter’s gaze. Something searching. Regulus meets his mahogany eyes as they bore into his own, refusing to be the first to break the stare. Even as it becomes uncomfortable. Even as the warmth of James’ gaze begins to stir something unfamiliar deep in his gut.
Regulus has never been so relieved for his brother’s interruption as he is in that moment. James’ eyes snap up as Sirius struts into the room. There’s an odd expression on James’ face – the man looking almost…caught. Regulus tears his gaze from James, looking instead to his brother. Sirius gives Regulus’ milky drink an odd look, before grinning at the two of them.
“Aw, it’s so nice to see my two favourite people getting along!”
Regulus pretends to gag. James’ eyes widen, basically turning into hearts like in a cartoon.
“Stop it, Pads, I’ll get emotional. Am I really your favourite person?”
“Oh course, my dearest Prongs!” James basically leaps from his chair, the two housemates hugging as if reuniting after years spent apart.
Regulus’ eyeroll is astronomical.
Sirius looks back to Regulus as they break apart. The space between his brows creases as Regulus stands, revealing his odd clothing ensemble.
“Are they your clothes, Prongs?” Sirius says slowly, glancing towards James out of the side of his eye.
Regulus sighs. “I got caught in the rain. Potter lent me some clothes.”
The crease doesn’t leave Sirius’ face. “But you live right next door. This seems like a very unavoidable situation.”
“I said he could borrow some then go back next door when the rain stops.” James explains.
“And you couldn’t just use an umbrella to go back and change at your own house?”
Regulus opens his mouth, though no response comes forth. He looks to James, the other man’s face set in a similar expression. Sirius looks between the two of them for a moment before rolling his eyes.
“You two are idiots. James, I would expect this from, but, seriously, Reg?”
James’ face transforms instantly into a grin. He laughs as he walks into the entryway, returning with an umbrella. He holds it out, Regulus taking it into his own hands.
“For your travels.”
“Thank you,” Regulus says with an eyeroll. He turns to Sirius, “Shall we get going?”
Luckily, Sirius is eager to get out of the house and to their apparently ‘very important’ shopping trip. His eagerness saves Regulus from having to endure a minute longer of James’ company – which has grown increasingly intolerable as the minutes spent with him wear on.
He has to force himself not to roll his eyes as Sirius and James dramatically hug on their way out.
“See you tonight, Reg!” James calls from his red doorway.
“Regulus, you wanker.”
Unfortunately, only the sound of warm laughter follows him out the door.
Sirius grins, trying to link arms with Regulus as they walk back next door under the safety of James’ umbrella. Regulus of course jabs in in between his ribs, pushing him into the rain. He runs up his entryway steps and slams the door behind him, unable to repress his smile at the sound of his brother banging against the door a second later.
“Who is it?” Remus questions, hobbling down the stairs.
“Sirius.” Regulus explains. Remus’ face remains impassive, though he doesn’t move to unlock the door. Regulus basically sprints upstairs, immediately changing his clothes. He doesn’t think about how it feels like a loss to remove the plush clothes and put on his own stiff ones. He also refuses to dwell too long on why he drops James’ clothes into his own cupboard rather than into the washing basket so they can be quickly returned.
Regulus laughs as he comes back downstairs, opening the door to find a drenched Sirius with a stormy expression.
***
Regulus walks into the living room wearing a navy button-down stitched with threads of silver –like lines of smoke curling over the entire silky shirt, and close-fitting slacks. Remus has to admit the man looks even better than he usually does. While Regulus is never unkempt, even within their house, he seems to have styled himself particularly well tonight – curls swept perfectly back on his head, a singular one falling delicately onto his forehead, fingers adorned with rings.
Remus himself is wearing his nicest pair of pants, the ones he usually saves for clinical placements or interviews, and a borrowed top of Regulus’ – a deep green knitted jumper. Regulus had insisted he join him at this stupid party. He’d declined of course, though his flatmate was adamant, eventually giving Remus no choice but to accept. The only thing making the upcoming night bearable was knowing Lily was going to be there. And, besides, he wouldn’t let Sirius being around stop him from doing things.
“Remus! It’s been way too long.” Deep brown skin crinkles around umber eyes as the door to a family home opens. Mary looks much how she did years ago – wild curly hair, styled now in an afro unlike the long braids she wore as a child, framing a heart-shaped face. Her lips are painted a deep red, matching the low-cut dress she’s wearing.
She lets the door swing open and steps forwards, pulling Remus into a hug. Remus laughs awkwardly, snaking his free arm around her waist.
“It has been,” he says as she pulls back, “How have you been?”
“Good, good. Oh my God, how have you been!? Where have you been?”
Remus gives some wayward excuse, asking instead about Mary’s family – Mary had been a close friend in Remus’ childhood – their families living close and attending the same church. At the question she bursts into a tangent about the last five years of her life. She tells stories with her hands, gesturing wildly and reaching out to touch Remus as she speaks. Remus can’t help but feel slowly more relaxed in her presence, even knowing he soon has to step inside and face the rest of the crowd – likely filled with people from his past.
“This is my roommate –”
“Regulus,” Mary finishes, directing her grin to the shorter boy, “We work together. Or, we’re going to. Lily’s told me so much about you!”
Regulus laughs awkwardly, eyeing Remus from the corner of his eye.
“Well, come in!” Mary says, leading them into her home, “My parents are out of town, so the entire house is free!” She shows them to the kitchen, inviting the two of them to grab a drink.
“You still live with your parents?” Remus asks.
“Oh, yeah. We’re super close – well, you know that. So, when I started uni mum got a job here and moved with me.”
Remus smiles. Mary looks towards the living room, waving wildly as she bounds towards a group of girls. Remus turns back to Regulus, finding him pouring himself a drink.
“You better make me one of those.” Remus says, pushing over an extra cup.
Regulus laughs. “By the look of you, you need more than one.”
Just then, someone calls Regulus’ name from across the room. He turns, a small smile splitting his face as he sees whose called. Dorcas – the girl from The Black Dog – waves Regulus over. Beside her, another girl with pale hair gestures and waves dramatically.
Regulus looks almost guiltily back to Remus. Remus ushers the boy away, insisting he’ll be fine. Regulus asks him to keep an eye out for Evan – who he apparently invited here last minute – before tentatively walking further into the house. Remus watches as the fair skinned girl envelopes Regulus in a very one-sided hug before turning to survey the rest of the room with a quiet laugh.
“What’s got you laughing to yourself?”
Remus stiffens at the voice, though immediately forces lightness into his muscles. He takes a dramatic swig from the drink Regulus left on the bench before turning. Sirius’ eyes are lined by dark kohl, basically his entire chest exposed by a half-buttoned shirt. His hair is tied back at the nape of his neck, strands falling to frame his face. He’s leaning against the bench behind Remus, exposed forearm tense against the marble countertop.
“Nothing.” Remus says vaguely, voice only cracking slightly.
Sirius raises a brow. He walks forwards slowly, almost as if asking permission, coming to lean against the bench beside Remus. He looks down to the cane resting against Remus’ leg only briefly before his eyes flick back to Remus’ face.
“How are your hands?” Sirius asks, voice low. He leans in so that, despite the noisiness of the room, Remus can clearly hear each word he says.
Remus looks down to his hands. Admittedly, he’d forgotten about the burns – or, more accurately, had pushed the entire ordeal that caused said burns from his mind.
He holds one up to show Sirius. “All healed.”
“That’s good.
Sirius watches him for a moment longer. There’s something in his eyes Remus can’t read – some dark expression he hasn’t seen before. Sirius opens his mouth as if to speak, though before any words leave it, he’s interrupted. Remus refuses to let himself deflate as Sirius’ mouth snaps shut.
“Pads! Come and play beer pong with me!”
Sirius looks over to the sound of his name at the same time Remus does. James is jumping up at down, excitedly waving a ping pong ball. His eyes widen as they meet Remus’, and he immediately comes running over.
“Remus! You should come and play too!”
James leans against Remus, giving him a tight one-armed hug.
“Where’ve you been all these years, Remus? We missed you.” James’ speech is slurred, the man clearly having been drinking long before Remus arrived.
Remus can’t help but laugh a little at James’ antics. “I’m sorry, Prongs. I’m back now though, aren’t I?”
James nods enthusiastically. “Have you seen Pete? He’ll be so excited! The Marauders are back together, isn’t that right, Pads?”
Sirius gives a much less enthusiastic smile. Suddenly, Remus is being led into the crowd, James pulling at his arm with surprising strength. He leads him to a patio area, bounding over to a short boy with dirty blond hair and dragging him in a similar fashion towards Remus. As the mousy boy comes closer, his face breaks into a smile.
“Remus!”
Remus laughs, accepting Peter’s hug. They catch up for a few minutes, James constantly chiming into the conversation. Remus turns briefly back to look towards the kitchen, though finds it lacking Sirius’ presence. He turns back, forcing himself to focus on the story Peter’s telling.
“What about that game of beer pong, Prongs?” Remus turns to find Sirius has appeared, standing now almost directly behind Remus, only a footstep away.
James nods enthusiastically. He makes to follow Sirius before spinning on the spot, looking back to Remus.
“Remus, did you bring Regulus with you?”
Remus’ brows crease. “Yeah, of course. He’s who brough me along.”
James grins like he’s won a prize. He turns on the spot, looking through the crowd. Remus watches, slightly confused. Regulus hadn’t at all mentioned being close with James. Then again, Regulus rarely mentioned any of his friends unless asked. After surveying the room around him, James’ smile seems to drop slightly, though he’s quick to bound over to Sirius, setting up a game. Remus turns away from the pair, eyes searching the crowd in hopes of seeing a familiar – yet less daunting – face.
“Remus!”
Remus inhales a breath of relief at the sound of the familiar voice. Alice waves enthusiastically from a corner of the room, Lily beaming beside her. Remus makes quick work of bidding goodbye to Peter and crossing the room, hugging both women.
“How’re you finding the party?” Lily asks as she pulls away from Remus’ hug.
“Yeah not too bad, though you haven’t seen Regulus around, have you?” Remus is quickly realising he hasn’t seen his housemate in at least an hour.
Both women shake their heads. The trio catch up for a while longer. By the time Remus excuses himself to get another drink, the party has quietened down significantly. He finds himself swaying slightly as he finds his way back to the kitchen, the drink Regulus made and the one Lily gave him both stronger than he’d anticipated. Despite this, the next drink he makes is likely even stronger. He’s pouring a bottle of cheap vodka as grey eyes meet his across the room. Caught in the stare, the bottle slips, alcohol sloshing into and around the cup.
Remus swears, tearing his gaze from Sirius’ and looking down at the bench. He (mostly unsuccessfully) attempts to wipe the bench with an already damp napkin. His cup is over half filled with vodka, though Remus makes the executive decision to pour a little mixer in and drink it as is rather than pouring any out. His face twists at the taste, though the thought of getting drunker and being able to forget about Sirius’ nearby presence makes it bearable.
By an hour later, Remus is decidedly sloshed. The party is significantly quieter, most guests now lounging on couches or out by the pool. Remus’ steps are uneven and precarious as he walks down a hall in Mary’s house – hoping to find a bathroom before his bladder bursts (the possibility seeming more likely by the second). Luckily, there’s one at the end of the hall, and he’s saved from the embarrassment pissing himself would surely bring. Remus meanders through another hall once finished in the bathroom. He considers finding Regulus, though turns, realising he’s slightly lost in the dark corners of Mary’s kind-of-mansion. Instead, he looks up at the family photos hung on the wall, admiring the familiar face of a child-Mary (and only swaying on the spot slightly as he does so).
“Smiling to yourself again, I see. Did you go crazy in the last five years, Moony?”
Remus turns slowly, only stumbling slightly as the room spins. Sirius seems to reach out to catch him, though stops himself halfway, arms swinging back to his sides. He watches Remus with that odd expression from earlier.
“I got a little lost,” Remus explains. He points up to the pictures of Mary, “And then I found these. So cute.” He turns back to Sirius, grinning.
Sirius smirks, raising a brow. “You got lost? In Mary’s house.”
Remus shrugs. “It’s bigger than you’d think.”
Sirius hums, amused. “How much have you had to drink, Moons?”
Remus huffs, rolling his eyes. He turns away from Sirius’ stare.
“You can’t call me that.” Remus says after a moment, voice quieter.
He doesn’t turn to Sirius. Not even as the silence stretches out between them. Seconds. Then minutes.
“Why?” Sirius’ voice is even quieter, barely more than a whisper. Remus finds himself wanting to lean in to hear the hushed word.
Remus shakes his head. He can’t explain it; the ache that hearing Sirius call him Moony elicits. The hole in his very soul that seems to widen each time the name leaves Sirius’ perfect lips. He’d thought, in high school, that the ache of being Sirius’ best friend but never anything more was the worst it’d ever feel. But, here with Sirius now, as adults – as people who have grown apart from one another as well as together – hearing Sirius utter that name – the feeling is worse than ever. Indescribable. Crushing.
As if having the same vein of thought, Sirius slides down the wall, sitting with his knees bent. He looks up to Remus, expression flat. “We can’t keep this up, M – Remus.”
Remus chews his lip. He slides down the opposite wall, sitting across from Sirius, the toes of their shoes touching just slightly. Remus closes his eyes, leaning his head against the wall.
“What do you mean?”
Sirius sighs. “Obviously we’re going to be around each other a bit – you live with Reg, and we have lots of mutual friends. We need to be able to be – I don’t know…civil.”
“Civil.” Remus repeats dumbly. Civil, with Sirius Black. He never thought their relationship would be civil. All the times it was platonic, and the times he was sure it was more. But never civil. Never acquaintances.
Sirius is nodding when Remus opens his eyes. “I – I don’t know what happened all those years ago, Remus. And –” Sirius continues even as Remus tries to speak, “I don’t need to know – not if you don’t want me to. And – and if it was my fault – then you have to know I’m so so sorry. What happened that week before you left, I –”
“Sirius, don’t.” Remus all but pleads.
Sirius lets out an audible breath, nodding slowly. “Well, all I’m trying to say is…maybe we can…move past it? Be – if not friends, then, at least…civil.”
Remus represses the face that word makes him want to make. Civil. He watches Sirius for a moment. The familiar face etched with unfamiliar markings. A hardness to it Remus never knew. A tiny scar above his eyebrow – insignificant compared to the scars Remus sustained since he last saw Sirius – though Remus finds himself wanting to reach out and touch it anyway. Know it’s story.
There’s an uncertainty in Sirius’ eyes as Remus meets his gaze. A swirling to the storm of his irises. Remus finds himself absorbed in their depth for a moment, having to break the stare and catch his breath. Having to remind himself that he’s not sixteen. That this isn’t the Sirius he loves – that he isn’t the Remus who loved him.
Remus nods as silence envelopes the pair of them, an increasingly familiar occurrence when he’s around Sirius, it seems.
“I can be civil.” Remus says, forcing certainty into his voice.
Sirius’ gives a small smile. “Maybe friends again, in time, even.”
Remus smiles back. “Friends.”
Sirius pushes from the wall, holding a hand to help Remus up. Remus can’t help but groan as his hip bends with his weight, though waves Sirius off as he tries to help further.
“How are you getting home?” Sirius asks, leading him back through the winding hallway, much easier to navigate now that he’s seemed to have sobered up a little.
“Walking with Regulus. Have you seen him?”
Sirius brows crease. “Now that you mention it, no. Have you seen James?”
Chapter 6: Chapter Six
Notes:
Welcome back! I know it's been a while, and I hope that some of my readers have stuck around to read this new chapter. I promise the next one won't take quite so long.
For those wondering where I've been, I moved out of home for my third year of uni recently (med, of course) - into a house just down the street from the guy I like. So basically I am living this story as I write it - having had no idea when I started it I was even going to be moving out this year.
Kind of crazy, right?
Anyway, with the move and uni work and the many parties that come with the start of the semester, I've been putting writing this off a little - but I'm back in business from today - promise!
Hope you enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Regulus watches the colourful lights from inside reflecting off the smooth surface of the pool. He sinks down at its edge, pulling off his shoes and socks and dipping his feet into the cool water. He giggles a little to himself at the icy sensation, leaning back against the paved edge to watch the stars, only tipping slightly in his drunken state at the movement.
He’s not sure how long he’s been lying there when a face blocks his perfect view of the stars. Regulus frowns, squinting up at the silhouette.
“What are you doing out here?”
Regulus huffs at the familiar voice, rolling his eyes. “You’re blocking my view, Potter.”
James grins, the multicolour lights reflecting off his perfect teeth. “I’d argue I am the view.”
Another eyeroll. James giggles at the gesture.
“Of course you would.”
There’s a blissful few seconds of silence, Regulus assuming James has left him alone. He lets his eyes flutter closed – thinking, for a moment, he might just fall asleep right here. Then there’s a shuffling sound beside him. Feeling deflated, Regulus peeks an eye open. He turns his head slowly to his left, blinking both eyes open properly. James gracefully lowers himself beside Regulus. He pulls his converse from his feet, dipping them into the water by Regulus’ own. Ripples lap against his legs, the cool water prickling the skin of his shins. James lies back, looking to Regulus for a moment before glancing up to the sky.
“Whatcha looking at?”
Regulus turns from watching James’ side profile to look to the stars. “Take a guess, Potter.”
James is smirking when Regulus turns back to him. Their eyes meet, and Regulus forces his gaze away. “The stars?”
“Wow. However did you deduce that?” Regulus responds dryly.
James laughs. He never does seem to understand when Regulus is insulting him, not joking.
“Where’re you?” James questions after a moment, turning back to the sky.
“I’m not up there just yet,” Regulus says, copying the action. He raises a hand, “There’s Sirius, though.”
James is silent for a moment. Then he shuffles again, picking himself up and dropping back directly next to Regulus. Suddenly, James is so close that their arms brush with the slightest of movements. James lays his head right beside Regulus’ own. If he turned, Regulus is sure he’d feel James’ breath against his face.
He doesn’t turn.
“Show me again.” James says. The words are quiet, though easy to hear with their proximity.
Regulus raises his hand, pointing towards the brightest star in the sky above. “That one.” He glances at James just briefly, ensuring the man is looking in somewhat the right direction.
The corners of James’ mouth crinkle as he grins. “I think I’m looking at the right one, now.”
“You’d hope those glasses at least had one function.”
James huffs a surprised sounding laugh. Regulus can feel as he shakes his head.
“You’re so mean.” He says, almost petulant. Like a child, Regulus thinks.
“You’ve mentioned. I prefer: realistic. Candid, even.”
Another laugh, James’ face splitting into a lopsided grin. Silence settles over them for a moment, the distant sound of music from within the house drifting into the space surrounding them. James doesn’t move away, leaving instead only the miniscule space between them.
After what could be minutes or hours – Regulus half convinced he’s drifted in and out of a drunken sleep whilst laying there – James sits up. Regulus watches as the other man leans forward to look into the pool. He turns back to Regulus, raising a brow.
“Do you want to get in?”
Regulus cocks his own brow, sitting up and looking from the water and back to James. “Are you joking?”
“Um, no?” James says the words almost as a question.
“What gave you the impression I like swimming?”
James laughs. “Everyone likes swimming! Especially at night – it’s the best time for it, you know.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
James watches Regulus for a moment longer before looking away. He shakes his head to himself, expression still alight with amusement. Then, to Regulus’ horror (but also not horror), James Potter begins undressing. He starts with his glasses, dropping the round frames delicately onto the ground beside Regulus. As he stands again, James pulls his striped shirt from his head, abdominal muscles rippling as he drops it to the ground. Then he bends, pushing his shorts from his legs, leaving his body clothed only in thin red boxers.
Regulus has to force his mouth not to drop open.
James stretches his arms above his head, exposing the entirety of his smooth planes of abdomen. The waistband of his boxers is so low that Regulus can trace his eyes down the deep V running from his sides and down into his pants. (Which he does, multiple times). When Regulus looks back up, it’s to find James’ eyes pinned to him. James raises his brows, lips lifting into a smug smirk.
“Am I still blocking the view?” James asks, voice low and dripping with sarcasm.
Regulus bites his bottom lip – hard, forcing himself to look away. He raises a shoulder as if nonchalant, knowing he must look anything but. Tomorrow, he’ll blame it on the alcohol.
There’s the sound of James’ footsteps disappearing to the left. Regulus turns just in time to see him walk to the edge of the pool, bending almost in half before diving gracefully into the moonlit waters. The surface barely ripples as James’ body slides through, only breaking as he crests it a moment later. He looks towards Regulus, grinning. James pushes his dark hair from his eyes, running a hand over his glistening face. He swims over, splashing water in Regulus’ direction.
“Fuck off, Potter.” Regulus hisses, bringing his knees up to his body in an attempt to protect himself from the splash.
James laughs. “You’re spending too much time with Remus – he’s teaching you bad words.”
Regulus sticks out his tongue like a petulant child. “I’m not five, James.”
James raises a dripping shoulder. “Fooled me.”
Regulus only rolls his eyes. He lies back against the pavement, closing his eyes. There’s the sound of splashing, then silence. Regulus is just about to sit up again – half convinced James has managed to drown in the last ten seconds – when cold fingers clasp around his ankles. Regulus barely has time to cry out before his body is pulled into the icy pool. A small gasp presses through his lips before his head hits the water, submerging him.
Water fills his mouth as Regulus plunges lower, his feet hitting the bottom of the pool as he attempts to kick himself back upwards. He flounders, limbs thrashing against the gripe of the water. He feels his vision dimming as he continues to struggle.
Suddenly, something grips Regulus’ forearms. He’s pulled up to the surface, gasping as his face breaks through the water. Regulus coughs, fluid spewing from his mouth.
When he finally manages to shake the water from his face and orientate himself, Regulus comes face to face with a half bewildered, half amused looking James.
“Please tell me you know how to swim.” James pleads, clearly holding back laughter.
Regulus coughs again, wishing he could push away from James – who’s wet, unclothed body is pressed now hard against the thin fabric covering Regulus’ own.
“Obviously.”
James raises his brows as though in disbelief.
“Just not very…well.” Regulus admits, voice quiet. James’s body shakes against Regulus’ chest as he laughs, his hands tightening where they’re gripping Regulus’ arms. Regulus purses his lips, huffing.
“Want me to swim you back to the edge, then?” James asks sarcastically – once finally recovered from his (rather overdramatic) reaction.
“I think I can manage just fine, P–”
“You two look cozy.”
Regulus whips his head up, horrified to find five startled faces looking back at him – well, really, one startled face (Sirius), and four more amused looking expressions (Remus, Evan, Dorcas, and Pandora). Regulus pushes hard against James’ bare chest (ignoring how hard and smooth the muscles feel beneath his hands), and flounders until he can grip the edge of the pool, pulling himself from the water.
“Potter pushed me in.” Regulus states, sounding only a little petulant.
Sirius laughs. “I’ll believe that. There’s literally no reason you’d go in otherwise. You can’t even swim!”
Regulus feels as if he could stomp his foot. “I can!”
“Didn’t see any evidence of that.” James calls from the water. Regulus doesn’t even bother with a response. He brushes past Sirius, and makes to walk straight past his friends as well, when Evan whips around, linking their arms and refusing to let go even as Regulus quickens his pace.
“Who is that?” Evan demands, pulling Regulus to a stop.
Regulus rolls his eyes, turning to face Evan. Dorcas and Remus follow close behind, both smirking at him.
Regulus yanks his arm away from Evan’s. “That is James Potter.”
“Sirius’ best friend?” Evan clarifies. Regulus nods, “Reg! You didn’t tell me he was this hot.”
Regulus rolls his eyes once again. “He’s a total dickhead.”
“Totally your type both physically and personality wise, then.”
Regulus shakes his head. He looks back towards James and Sirius. James is shaking his wet hair at Sirius, butting his head against his best friend like a juvenile stag. Sirius cackles, beating James into a headlock.
Regulus looks back to Evan with a flat expression. “I’m highly offended you think that’s my type.”
“You dated Barty.” Evan states, just as deadpan. Regulus purses his lips. Really, he can’t rebut that. (Everyone makes mistakes?)
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I hate him. And besides, he’s totally straight. I literally work with his girlfriend.”
Evan sighs, shaking his head. “A shame. Even I’d go for that.”
Regulus only rolls his eyes. He begins walking back towards the house, Evan following close behind. Only as he steps through the glass doors into the dimly lit interior of Mary’s home does Regulus allow himself to look back. One glance. Fleeting.
Grey eyes meet brown, James already watching Regulus from where he stands beside Sirius at the pool’s edge. Regulus rips his gaze away. Missing how James’ own trails down his body – wet, clothes stuck to its curves and edges. Missing how James’ gaze follows him as he walks through the house – as far as the other man can see, up until the very moment Regulus walks out of view.
Regulus wakes to the sound of voices in the kitchen.
It’s a confusing thing to wake to, you see, because Remus doesn’t have visitors. Ever. In the few weeks they’ve lived together, in fact, Regulus has met Remus’ friends only through Sirius’ group – no one ever having been invited to the house.
It fills Regulus with a sort of elation, almost, to hear Remus chatting downstairs. A happiness at his housemate having company outside of his own, for once. That isn’t to say he thinks Remus is lonely, per say…
Well, maybe he thinks that a little bit.
Regulus’ footfalls are quiet as he makes his way down the stairs; each step measured. He pauses at the kitchen entryway, the voices just audible over the sound of the kettle boiling.
“What are you doing?” Remus’ voice is accusatory, and for a moment Regulus feels caught, thinking his roommate has noticed his spying. Then there’s a huff, followed by an oddly familiar voice.
“What even is this?”
Regulus can’t help but jolt a little at the sound of his brother’s voice. Sirius being in his house is still strange in itself – what them having been estranged for the last however-many-years. But to hear Sirius’ voice, not just in his house, but around Remus, is even more shocking. Last Regulus saw, the two of them couldn’t even bare to be in the same room together. The night before they’d seemed slightly more civil – but standing in the kitchen, making tea? That seemed like a rather large jump.
Regulus edges closer, peeking around the corner. Sirius is standing by the counter, turning a dented metal tin over in his hands, expression alight with amusement. The tin is an oddly shaped metal box Remus had brought with him when he moved in. Regulus had to agree with his brother that the thing was unseemly – all dented and barely resembling the house (?) shape it apparently once was. Definitely not the place good tea should be kept. Across the room, Remus leans against the marble bench. His arms are crossed, and he eyes Sirius with an expression Regulus can’t quite place. Caution, maybe, or wariness. Yet Regulus thinks there’s something deeper to the look, too. Something softer.
Sirius’ movements are somewhat stilted as he moves across the kitchen and sets the tin beside Remus. The two move around each other with an air of familiarity, somehow pacing through the small kitchen without getting in the other’s way once – something he and Remus never seem to manage. And yet, there’s obviously calculation in it, too. As if both men are purposefully avoiding being too close to each other. Sirius moves particularly slowly, edging around Remus in an overly cautious manner, the way one might be with an old injury that has mostly healed but still aches in bad weather.
Finally sick of watching their odd and glaringly awkward dance, Regulus clears his throat, stepping properly into the kitchen. He raises a brow as two pairs of eyes swing towards him, both looking equally caught.
“You two are…up early.” Regulus muses slowly. He strolls towards the kettle, taking his time in pouring himself a cup of coffee. The entire time, only the sound of water splashing into his mug fills the room. Setting the kettle back down, Regulus turns towards the pair, directing a pointed gaze at his brother.
Sirius gives an easy smile, as if this situation isn’t totally bizarre. “I was coming over to see you, actually. Just ended up catching up with M – Remus in the process.”
“Right,” Regulus says slowly, dropping his head into a nod, “Catching up...over an ungodly early morning tea party?”
Remus sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. “Regulus –”
“No,” Regulus interrupts, putting up a hand, “I really don’t need to know about whatever this is.” He emphasises aforementioned this by pointing between the two of them with an accusatory finger.
Regulus directs his gaze back to his brother. “So, what did you need to see me so early in the morning for, then?”
Sirius’ mouth drops open as if to answer, though for a second he can’t seem to come up with even a single sound.
“Ah,” Sirius finally supplies, brows creasing, “Well, I just –”
Regulus snorts into his mug as, across the room, Remus groans, head dropping once more into his hands.
Regulus nods slowly, smirking. “I’ll leave you two to it, then. Don’t stop on my account.”
He makes a show of walking past them, throwing an amused glance over his shoulder as he exits the kitchen. Remus’ scarred face is a light shade of red, his eyes directed firmly away from Sirius. Sirius, who seems only amused by the situation, though his gaze never strays from watching Remus. As Regulus rounds the corner and heads back up the stairs, he pauses for just a second – long enough to hear the soft, uncertain lilt in Sirius’ voice when he murmurs something too low to catch. Long enough to hear the quiet, steady way Remus answers back.
No, he really doesn’t want to be involved in whatever is happening between the two of them.
“Has Sirius seemed...off to you since the party?”
Regulus barely supresses a groan at the sound of James’ voice – overly loud in the silent library. He refuses to turn around as he responds sharply, “How do manage to find me everywhere, Potter?”
Regulus’ traitorous eyes flick upwards at the sound of James’ warm laugh. James walks around to lean on the front of Regulus’ desk, winking as he catches his eye.
“Maybe I’m your secret admirer.”
Regulus rolls his eyes, forcing his gaze back to the paper in front of him.
There’s the blissful sound of silence, before James moves around his desk again, dropping ceremoniously into the desk chair beside Regulus’.
“...Soooo, Sirius? Being normal to you?”
Regulus huffs, pushing the paper dramatically away from him as he looks up once again. He really doesn’t have time to nurse James Potter’s ego when he has an ancient history assignment due in a day.
“You know, I’m surprised you managed to find me here,” Regulus says instead of answering, “I never would have guessed you’d know your way around the library.”
James’ slightly concerned expression morphs into one of amusement. “Oh, I really don’t,” He muses, “I just followed my heart...and it led me to...”
Regulus makes a dramatic gagging sound, sending James into a fit of laughter before he can finish his terribly corny sentence. Regulus watches blankly as James continues to be amused by his own joke for far too long. Pointedly not noticing the perfect dip of his dimples as he finally looks back up, absentmindedly flicking a dark lock from his forehead. James just watches Regulus for a moment, still grinning, though his laughter slowly patters out. Until he’s quiet enough that Regulus can hear the intake and exhale of each of their breaths.
“Sirius has been normal,” Regulus says suddenly. James blinks, as if pulled out of a daze. He nods, the centre of his brows creasing. Regulus pinches his thumb with his forefinger hard to stop himself from reaching out and smoothing the dark skin there back into place.
As the awkward silence overwhelms them again, Regulus finds himself blurting out, “Although –”
James’ forehead creases slightly as his eyebrows rise in interest.
“He and Remus seemed to be getting on well yesterday morning, is all.” Regulus supplies.
James’ lips part into an ‘O’ shape. “Sirius was at your house...to see Remus?”
“I suppose.” Regulus says with an (very interested) uninterested shrug of one shoulder.
“And they were...talking?” James continues, clearly as surprised by this as Regulus had been.
Regulus can’t help but show his own interest a little. “You didn’t know they were talking again, either, then?”
James shakes his head dramatically. “Not at all,” he gasps, all but jumping from his seat, “I have to talk to Sirius right now!”
Regulus can’t help but let out an amused huff at his antics.
“I’ll let you know how it goes, my admiree,” James says with a flourish of his hand, already backing up towards the door in his haste.
“I’m not sure that’s a word –”
“Until next time, admiree!”
***
Being civil with Sirius Black turns out to be just as insufferable as Remus imagined.
Being casual. Normal. Acquaintances.
Remus finds himself somehow in Sirius’ presence much more than he can tolerate. Sirius, seeming to take their civility as an invitation of friendship, begins to visit Regulus more often. Invites Remus to join him on outings. Shows up at his and Regulus’ house an increasing amount.
And Remus can’t stand it.
Can’t let himself fall back into friendship with Sirius Black. Can’t let himself fall back in l –
Civil.
That doesn’t have to mean friends. That doesn’t have to mean trust.
Because, no matter what happens. No matter how close he and Sirius become this time around, never will Remus let himself trust Sirius Black again.
“Remusss!” Sirius melodically drags out Remus’ name as he strolls through the bookshop isles and directly up to the counter. Remus purses his lips, forcing himself to finish the sentence he was reading before he looks up. He’s met first with the sight of Sirius’ grin – just as alluring as it was five years ago. Sirius’ hair falls slightly over his face as he peers down at Remus. He has his hands tucked into the pockets of a dark-wash ripped denim jacket, a silver bracelet the only jewellery adorning him. When Remus finally meets his eye, Sirius winks.
“How’d you even know I was working today, Sirius?” Remus asks bluntly.
Sirius’ grin widens. “Frank’s a good mate, y’know.”
Remus lets out a slow breath. He’s going to have to move out of Edinburgh. That truly seems to be his only choice. Far too many people here know each other.
Sirius looks down to his bare wrist as if to check the time. “I hear you’ll be finishing up soon, no?”
Remus’ lips purse even tighter. “Yes.” He confirms curtly.
Sirius grins triumphantly. “And you don’t have plans after, I assume?”
“And why would you assume that?”
Sirius snorts. “Look, it’s not that I don’t think you have friends...” Remus raises a brow. It very much seems that Sirius has made that assumption, “But all the friends you do have either are also my friends – and hence I know you’re not seeing them tonight – or are Regulus, who happily told me you didn’t have plans after work.
“Traitor.” Remus mutters under his breath.
“So, you’re free to hang out, then?”
He really has no reason to turn Sirius down, is the worst part. He shouldn’t, in fact. Really, he should want to hang out with Sirius. They were best friends once, after all. And Remus can’t deny, even to himself, that he missed being around Sirius. No matter the number of years that passed, Remus had continued to long to be in Sirius’ presence.
But, now that he once again had that chance –
Could he just be acquaintances? Friends?
It was bad enough having to see him in group settings.
Not to mention Regulus seems to think the two of them are having some sort of secret affair. Which, obviously, they’re not. And obviously Remus wouldn’t even want that to be happening. They’re just being civil, after all.
Remus opens his mouth to answer, realising he’s left Sirius without one for far too long to seem natural. “I don’t know, Sirius –”
“James and Peter really want to hang out though!” Sirius whines.
Remus can’t explain why knowing the other two will be there makes it easier to accept, but it does. Besides, he’d like to see his other best mates from school.
Sirius waits out the front of the store as Remus closes up, foot wedged in the door so Remus can hear as he whistles a familiar sounding tune. Something by Queen, no doubt. Remus forces himself to close at the rate he normally would – not sure if he wants to get it done quicker, or prolong it – his gut filled with an odd sense of both excitement and nerves. Eventually, he makes his way towards the front of the store, a soft smile tilting at his lips as he hears the song Sirius is humming properly.
“This is ground control to Major Tom...”
“You’ve really made the grade,” Remus joins as Sirius continues to sing.
Sirius’ breath catches for a moment before he turns towards Remus. He grins, though Remus doesn’t miss the tightness around his eyes. Doesn’t miss how Sirius immediately stops singing.
“Glad to hear at least my music taste stayed with you all these years, if nothing else.” Remus jokes half-heartedly as they begin to walk down the road.
Sirius chuckles. “Not sure you can claim Bowie as your music taste. He’s pretty universal.”
Remus gives Sirius a flat look. “He’s mine.”
Sirius laughs, properly this time. The sound familiar in a way that makes Remus’ stomach churn – in nostalgia or regret, he isn’t sure. Remus forces himself to smile at Sirius, feeling as if his own forced expression is reflected straight back at him – by the shadow of the person he once knew. By another he doesn’t know at all.
The city hums with nighttime energy as the sun sets further and they walk closer to its centre. Remus begins to look around, realising suddenly he’s followed Sirius without even thinking to ask where they were going.
So much for not trusting him again.
Remus looks back towards Sirius, finding the other man’s eyes already trained to him. Sirius gives a slightly uncertain smile as his gaze meets Remus’ – so unlike the easy smiles Remus is used to from Sirius.
“Where are you taking me?” Remus asks, breaking the somewhat tense silence between them.
Sirius’ eyes fill with the light of excitement. “Bowling!” Sirius exclaims, throwing his hands up in emphasis. Remus forces himself not to groan at the thought. Already, his joints are aching – as they do after most shifts – the last thing he wanted to do was more exercise. Yet, having their group meet up was clearly important to Sirius, and if the three of them had organised this – then Remus really couldn’t say no.
James and Peter are already at the alley when they arrive. James jumps up from the booth the pair are sitting in as soon as they arrive, as if he’d been watching the door waiting for this very moment. He crushes Remus into an all too familiar feeling hug. Peter is slower on his way over, though just as eager to hug and catch up with Remus. So absorbed in the pair, Remus doesn’t even notice Sirius has walked away until he reappears with an arm load of drinks.
“Ayyyy!” James exclaims, grabbing what looks to be a pint of dark beer from one of Sirius’ hands, “Now this, this is the life!”
Peter grins, taking one of the other drinks. Sirius holds one out to Remus, though Remus is hesitant to take it.
“It’s just coke,” Sirius says hurriedly after a second, catching Remus’ hesitance, “I can buy you a beer as well, but back at school you didn’t drink...so, I thought...y’know. But then again, now that I think about it, you were drinking at Mary’s – so I’ve really made a quite wrong assumption. You know, I’ll just buy you a –”
“No, that’s great, Sirius,” Remus quickly butts in to Sirius’ rambling. The other two boys have meandered over to one of the lanes, and Remus is eager to follow (and leave this awkward conversation behind). He grabs the drink from Sirius’ still outstretched hand, “I drink more than I did at school, but just at parties and stuff, you know? So, this is great. Thanks.” He finishes with a small smile, relived when Sirius just returns it before heading after James and Peter.
“So, Remus, tell us everything you’ve been up to since school!” James exclaims as he walks back over from making yet another strike.
Remus shrugs awkwardly. “There’s really not much to tell,” at the sight of three disbelieving expressions, he continues, “Well, I finished school in Wales, then started med in Wales, too. But – well, I ended up transferring here last semester.”
“That sounds great!” James says a little too enthusiastically as Remus lamely trails off. An awkward silence begins to fill the group again, and Remus is quick to fill it.
“So, what are you doing nowadays, Pete?”
Peter smiles timidly, launching into a story about his gap year and failed first semester of university. His smile grows as he recounts his current day to day – having secured an internship at a health insurance company. Despite having dropped out of Edinburgh University, Peter apparently couldn’t bear to move away from his friends, and so sought out work in the city.
The group warms to each other as they continue their game, and by the time it ends – James whooping in elation as he wins by an impressively large margin, Remus feels almost comfortable. There’s a spark of the group they were in high school, slowly flickering with the promise to ignite. They leave the alley together, James offering the three of them a lift home as Peter makes his way in the opposite direction. The drive is uneventful, the three men making polite conversation for the short trip.
“Do you want to come in for tea?” James asks as they walk up to their flats.
Remus looks longingly towards his door, only a few steps away. “I’m pretty tired, might call it a night.”
James huffs dramatically but nods in understanding. "Your loss, mate. Me and Sirius are gonna have the best tea of our lives."
Sirius rolls his eyes but nudges James in agreement. James gives Remus a crushing one armed hug before bounding up to his door.
“Say hi to Regulus for me!” James calls as he unlocks his door. Remus only raises his brows – he really needs to figure out the dynamic between those two.
James waves Remus off once more before disappearing inside, leaving Sirius and Remus alone on the tiny stretch of footpath between their houses.
Remus shifts uncomfortably, looking once again towards his front door. “Well, goodnight then.”
Sirius hesitates, eyes flicking over Remus’ face like maybe he wants to say something. Remus forces himself not to hold his breath at the thought.
“That was fun, right?” Sirius murmurs after a moment, sounding more unsure than Remus is used to hearing from him.
Remus gives a small smile, taking a step towards Sirius. He places a tentative hand against Sirius’ forearm. “It was great, Pads. Thanks for organising it. It was nice to hang out with the guys again.”
Sirius’ expression softens slightly. His lips part into a more genuine smile. “The Marauders back together again, hey?” Remus huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes at the immature name they once called their group.
“You’ll hang out with us again, then?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Another smile. Sirius’ eyes trail down Remus’ face as if searching for something beneath it. Remus drops his hand suddenly, realising it’s still resting against Sirius’ arm.
A shaky breath. “Goodnight, Moons.”
Remus clenches his teeth. “Goodnight, Sirius.”
Remus doesn’t look back as he walks towards his flat, though he’s sure he feels a lingering gaze on his back. Beside each other on a quiet cobblestoned street, a red and a green door click shut in unison.
Notes:
Kudos and comments much appreciated.
I'm off to start Sunrise on the Reaping, now. Hopefully will have the next chapter of this out in the next couple of weeks :)
Chapter 7: Chapter Seven
Notes:
Welcome back!
I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“So, what’s going on between you and this James guy?”
Regulus whips around to face the till at the same time Mary pops her head up from behind the coffee machine. She looks between a fuming Regulus and innocently faced Evan for a moment, her lips parting in unspoken question.
“Not the James you know,” Regulus is quick to correct. He turns to Evan with a seething look, pointing to a table in the furthest corner of the shop, “Mind if I take fifteen?”
Mary pauses but eventually shakes her head, looking reluctant as she returns to her work.
Regulus storms over to the table he had directed Evan to, untying his apron as he goes. He pulls the remaining chair from beneath the table with excessive force and plonks down in it.
“Everyone in Edinburgh knows each other, Evan. You can’t just go asking question like that, especially at my work! And especially when it’s James Potter you’re asking about!”
Evan raises an eyebrow, looking far too amused. “What? Is this Potter a celebrity or something?”
Regulus sits back in his chair, blowing out a breath. “Here? Basically. Don’t ever say that to him though – his ego is far too large as is.”
Evan laughs. “So, there’s really nothing going on between you two?”
“No! Are you fucking serious?”
“That’s your brother, so you better hope not,” Regulus fake gags, “His best friend, on the other hand...”
There’s a gasp beside them, halting Regulus’ retort. He turns to the left slowly, horrified to find Mary standing there, two coffees in hand.
“You are talking about the James I know!” She whispers with surprising volume, face lighting up as if discovering hidden treasure.
Before Regulus can even collect his thoughts enough to save the situation, Mary is all but throwing the cups in front of Evan and himself, and pulling a third chair towards the table. She drops into it far too happily, placing her elbows on the table and hands under her chin.
“So,” Dark eyelashes sweep her cheeks as she looks to Regulus with a blink, “Tell me all about this! Because Marlene said that Dorcas said that she thought you had a thing for him –”
Regulus opens his mouth, unsure whether he wants to join the conversation and defend himself, or just tune Mary out. He’s not given the choice, however, as Evan chimes in, “I knew I liked Dorcas!”
Regulus hisses an insult basically unintelligible.
Mary, however, continues as if neither of them had spoken.
“And then Lily said that she thought you and James were good friends because he got you this job. And apparently he’s been talking about you like all the time. But then Lily was confused because when she asked you about James, you seemed repulsed by the name.”
“Sounds about right,” Evan says with a nod, only laughing at the look Regulus gives him, “What? It’s true! You always act like you hate the people you like!”
“Generally, I just hate people!”
He turns back to Mary, finding himself unable to resist getting more gossip from her. “Why would Evans care anyway? Surely she hates the fact her boyfriend is apparently talking about me all –”
Regulus is cut off by Mary dissolving into precocious laughter. Rather overdramatic, if you ask him. She laughs loud enough that the students sitting at the next table over throw a dirty look towards their corner of the shop. And for so long, that as she finally gasps for air between giggles, her cheeks are reddened, and she wipes an imaginary tear from beneath her eye.
“Oh, that’s just too good!” Mary giggles, dissolving into laughter once again.
“Her boyfriend! Lily’s going to have a fit when she hears you thought that!”
Regulus looks towards Evan, raising a brow. Evan looks back with an expression that suggests he thinks Regulus’ coworker is clinically insane. Regulus has to admit, he’s inclined to agree.
As Mary recovers from her laughing fit, the door to the coffee shop swings open, revealing a familiar head of auburn hair. Lily is unmistakable in a bright red cardigan and brown skirt, perfectly matching the tones of her hair and skin.
Mary whips around, face lit with glee. Regulus groans, dropping his head into his hands.
“Lily! You have to come and hear what Regulus just said!”
Lily raises her brows, looking between Regulus and Mary in surprise. She walks over almost cautiously, pulling a fourth chair from a nearby table and sitting between Mary and Evan.
“You guys seem to be getting along,” Lily says, expression glad, though tone betraying her shock.
Mary nods. “We were gossiping. About James Potter.”
A corner of Lily’s red-painted lips quirks up. She glances towards Regulus with a mischievous look.
“Were you now?”
Mary nods aggressively.
There’s a moment of tense silence. Regulus is half sure Mary is going to burst beside him.
“...And?” Lily eventually prompts.
Mary basically squeals. “Regulus thought you and James were dating!”
Lily’s face contorts into something akin to disgust, before morphing into amusement. She laughs heartily, though nowhere near to the point of excess that Mary did. Mary – who is now giggling once more.
The shop door opens again, and Regulus is quick to stand.
“Oh no you don’t!” Mary says, pulling Regulus down by the arm and standing herself. Regulus rolls his eyes. Mary jogs towards the counter, stealing the customer before Regulus can use them as an excuse to escape this draining conversation.
“I’m not dating James,” Lily says as Regulus turns back to her with a dejected look.
Regulus raises a shoulder. “I don’t care.”
He ignores the disbelieving look that he can see Evan giving him from the corner of his eye.
“Sure,” Lily says, popping the last syllable, “He’s super annoying anyway.”
Regulus hums. “And egotistical.”
Lily huffs a laugh. “And so loud, all the time,” Regulus nods in agreement, finding himself agreeing with Lily for probably the first time in their lives, “I’ll bet, especially in the bedr–”
“Right!” Regulus says loudly, standing from his chair. The feet of it squeal against the floorboards, effectively cutting the end of Lily’s sentence off. Not that she’d be able to finish it anyway, with how hard she’s laughing.
Regulus pulls his phone from his pocket, checking the time. “I’m off. Hope your shift goes horribly.”
He stalks from the shop, ignoring Mary’s mischievous grin as she waves him off. Evan runs to catch up, pushing through the door behind him.
Outside, the wind nips at their faces, sharp and unwelcome. Regulus zips up his coat, burying his chin in the warmth of its neckline. He doesn’t slow his pace as he continues down the street, letting himself feel a little smug as he hears Evan have to jog to catch up to him.
“So,” Evan says as he finally makes it to Regulus’ side, mischievous glinting in his pale eyes, “They were nice.”
Regulus grumbles, turning away from him to look straight ahead.
“Amusing conversation, I’d say,” Evan continues, completely undeterred by Regulus’ silence, “Some great insights into the availability of a certain football player, right?”
Regulus continues not to look at him. “I hate you.”
“And the look on your face when Lily said he was single. Ah!” Evan throws his hands up, “I couldn’t quite place whether it was excitement or confusion, care to elaborate?”
Regulus just purses his lips.
“Remus is going to die when he hears about this. Ooh, and Dorcas!”
“Evan.” Regulus finally folds, giving the blond a sharp look.
Evan just bites his lip, as if attempting to stop the smile that pushes past it nonetheless. “If they don’t hear it from me, they will from one of their other friends, and you know it. You were right that everyone knows everyone else’s business here.”
Regulus only sighs. That, he can’t deny.
“Would you say you were more excited about hearing Potter is single, or that he’d been talking all about you?”
Regulus groans, running his hands down his face dramatically before turning to Evan. He pushes his friend, Evan stumbling over the ditch and having to catch his footing for a minute.
“Dickhead,” Evan laughs, pushing back, “Just be glad I’m not threatening to tell Barty.”
Regulus glares at him. “You wouldn’t.
Evan just gives him that stupid smile once more. “No promises!” He’s running down the street before Regulus can push him again.
Regulus just yells, “Fuck you!”
“Nah, save yourself for James.” Evan calls back, swinging around to run backwards for a second, smug grin brightening his face.
“Bet you can’t wait for our next class, huh, Reg?”
Regulus places a hand against his face, sighing.
“What do you have next?” Pandora asks as Dorcas swings ceremoniously onto the bench beside Regulus, clearly missing the sarcasm.
“Philanthropy.” Regulus says with an eyeroll, looking back to his book, tucked under the empty metal lunch tray in front of him.
“I thought you didn’t like philanthropy, Cas?” Pandora says, tone questioning.
Regulus feels rather than sees Dorcas wave her hand dramatically. “Oh, I don’t. Failed it last year, actually. Reg, on the other hand – well, he has a special interest in a certain dark-haired TA, so I hear.”
Regulus huffs, attempting to ignore Dorcas. Painfully aware he hasn’t flipped a page the entire conversation.
“Regulus.” He corrects instead of indulging the conversation.
He looks up to see Dorcas roll her eyes. “Well, Regulus, from what I hear through Marlene, you must be so excited to see a certain single man today.” She waggles her eyebrows in emphasis. Regulus scowls. He picks up his book and bag, barely bothering with a goodbye to Pandora before storming towards the classroom. Not even noticing until he’s at the door that he’s half an hour early.
“Bit eager for class today, are we?”
Regulus purses his lips. This has quite possibly been the worst twenty-four hours of his life – and he lived in Grimmauld Place for two decades – so that’s really saying something. And now the culprit of said suffering is standing behind him, wearing that stupid lopsided grin, that only seems to widen as Regulus spins around, seething.
James pushes his stupid glasses up, his mess of hair tangling in the wire frames. He gives Regulus an odd look.
“You ok, Reg?”
“Regulus,” he grinds out, wishing he could just walk away. Knowing he can’t miss this class again, “And I’m fine, Potter.”
James gives him a look that tells Regulus the other man doesn’t believe him. He looks up and down the empty hallway.
“Where’s Dorcas?”
Regulus waves a dismissive hand. “At lunch, I presume.”
James hums as if in understanding. “She why you’re in such a bad mood?”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Like I said, I’m fine.”
James purses his lips, the grin beneath it barely contained. He pauses for a moment, expression contemplative. Regulus looks towards the classroom door forlornly, thinking that perhaps he can just go in and wait there for half an hour. Anything would be better than this conversation.
“Do you want to come back to my office?"
Regulus stutters, head swivelling back towards James with painful velocity. His brows crease, and though his lips drop apart, no sound leaves them. He looks down the hallway the way he came; for help or escape, he isn’t sure.
“You have an office?” He finally manages to sputter out, voice an octave higher than he’d like.
A tanned hand reaches up towards James’ head, getting stuck against his glasses for a moment before he pushes them back onto his face. James runs his hand through his hair properly, this time uninterrupted by the glasses, expression growing somewhat sheepish.
“Ah – yeah. Or, well – it’s like a tiny room in one of the libraries – an old study space, I think. All the TA’s get one.”
Regulus raises a brow. “That why you took the job?”
James laughs. He brings a hand to his chest, saying solemnly, “I do this for the good of those students below me, to whose lives I can bring joy.”
Regulus has to force a smirk from his face. “And they pay you.”
Another laugh, pink lips parting. “And they pay me,” James obliges. He tips his head towards the hall, “Come on, have a tea with me. You’ve got ages ‘til class.”
Regulus hesitates. It's only for a second, but it’s a second too long.
James’ smile widens into something far too pleased with itself. “You’re thinking about it.”
“No, I’m thinking about how long it’d take for someone to find your body if I murdered you here and ran.”
James shakes his head, smirk growing playful. “I’d say a good twenty minutes – this isn’t a busy hallway until there’s a class on – and,” James looks around the roof above them conspiratorially, “As I suspected – not a security camera in sight.”
“A grave oversight, truly.”
James hums solemnly. “By the sound of it, one that may cost a beloved student their life.”
Regulus snorts despite himself, the sound ungraceful in a way that would have his mother scowling had she heard it. “Oh, only you would call yourself beloved. I don’t think I know anyone quite so pompous as you, Potter.”
James tips into a bow. “Then I’m honoured to be the most pompous,” he seems to purposefully ignore Regulus’ eyeroll, “So, tea?”
The “office,” as James had so proudly proclaimed it, turns out to be a dusty little alcove just off the third floor of the oldest library on campus. The door creaks as James cracks it open, revealing one sad desk with a chipped mug of pens and half-eaten croissant atop it. There’s a corkboard with precisely one paper pinned to it: a drawing of James with what appears to be a stag horns and a magic wand, labelled Professor Prongs.
“Courtesy of Sirius,” James explains, setting his bag down and flicking the hat with a fond grin, “Bit of a creative streak, that one.”
Regulus snorts despite himself. “You kept it?”
James gives him a far too earnest look. “Of course!”
Regulus walks closer to the drawing as James pulls a thermos from a drawer in the desk, along with two mugs, filling both.
“What’s with those stupid nicknames, anyway?” Regulus asks, turning around.
James is looking down at both mugs, face contemplative. He looks up, grin growing smug, before sliding a bright pink glittery mug towards Regulus. James lifts his own mug – a black cup with #1 DAD written on it – to his lips, blowing on the steaming contents. He comes around to the other side of his desk once more, hopping to sit upon it, legs swinging. He gestures to the chair in front of him, Regulus reluctantly sitting in it and picking up his bright mug.
James lifts a shoulder. “Just high school nicknames. I had a habit of headbutting people as a kid – not in an aggressive way, or anything, just more like – nuzzling them, I suppose. Apparently, like a deer – hence Prongs.”
Regulus raises a brow. “You nuzzled people?”
Pink tinges the very tips of James cheeks. “When you put it like that, it sounds weird. But yeah. I was an only child and homeschooled until I was eleven – it took me a while to learn social cues, alright?”
“Seems like you’re still learning.”
Laughter bubbles from deep within the other man, James tipping his head back, white teeth glinting in the overhead light. He looks back down, shaking his head as he watches Regulus eye his mug with faux wariness.
“Is this poisoned?”
“Only emotionally,” James says, finally taking a sip of his own, “So. What’d Dorcas do?”
Regulus doesn’t answer. He takes a slow sip, because it buys him time and, also, because the tea’s... weirdly good. Spiced and milky unlike anything he’s had before. He tries not to show how much he enjoys it, though can’t help but immediately take another sip.
“She’s very enthusiastic,” James continues. “Told me once she wants to be a ‘professional meddler.’ Said it’s her calling.”
“Sound about right,” Regulus finally responds, “She’s a good friend, really. I just needed – some time.”
James hums in understanding, though Regulus doubts he truly does understand. James seems like one of those people codependent on the presence of others. Constantly needing the support of his friends. Totally the opposite to Regulus, basically.
Regulus looks towards the clock. Still fifteen minutes, and no good excuse to leave early. He heaves an audible sigh.
When he turns back, James is grinning. “You know, you don’t have to act like every interaction with me is a form of torture.”
“I’m not acting.”
That earns him another laugh; soft and warm. Regulus refuses to acknowledge how his body seems to soak up the sound.
James kicks his feet lightly against the desk; the sound a dull repetitive thud against the silence of the room. He has his mug balanced on one knee, in a way that makes Regulus want to reach out and grab it, placing it somewhere safer. He doesn’t though, instead watching as James tilts his head, seemingly unaware of the way the mug sways precariously on its perch.
“You’re very dramatic for someone who claims to hate drama.”
Regulus scowls into his tea. “I don’t hate drama. I hate you.”
“Ouch.” James clutches at his chest like he’s been shot, the theatricality only accentuated by the way he nearly tips over backwards. “You wound me, Regulus Black.”
Regulus sips again. “Good.”
They fall into a comfortable kind of silence again, broken only by the occasional hum of student conversation from the library beyond the door, and the ticking of the wall clock above James’ corkboard.
“Seriously, though,” James says after a beat, a little softer now, “You alright?”
Regulus doesn’t answer right away. His fingers trace the rim of his mug absently, eyes fixed somewhere over James’ shoulder.
“I’m fine.” He says eventually, finding that he means it.
James looks at him for a long moment, then nods like he’s letting it go. He slides off the desk and leans over to dig around in the bottom drawer. “In that case,” he says, “you’re gonna love this.”
Regulus eyes him warily. “Love what?”
James holds up a plastic container triumphantly. “Croissants. Fresh. Well... fresh-ish.”
“You already had one on the desk,” Regulus points out.
“Yeah, that was yesterday’s. These are today’s.”
“That’s not comforting.”
James shrugs, peeling the lid off. “Your loss.” He takes a bite of one and speaks through a full mouth, crumbs catching in the shadow of stubble along his jaw. “I was gonna share.”
Regulus rolls his eyes, but accepts the offered pastry. He takes a slow bite, refusing to let James see that it’s good.
James leans back in his desk chair once finished, stretching his arms over his head. “You know, if you ever do want to talk about whatever’s got you storming towards classrooms thirty minutes early –”
“I’ll let you know when hell freezes over,” Regulus cuts in smoothly.
James grins like he was expecting nothing less. “I’ll keep an eye on the forecast.”
Regulus shakes his head, finishing his tea. “You really don’t shut up, do you?”
“Never,” James says brightly, tipping back the last of his drink. “But you’re still here.”
Regulus stands, placing the empty mug down on the desk a little too carefully. “Only because leaving would’ve been even more exhausting.”
James’s eyes sparkle with something just shy of mischief. “I’ll take it.”
Regulus doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he brushes past James toward the door – pausing just long enough to say, without looking back, “Thanks for the tea.”
And to hear James respond, “Anytime, Regulus.”
***
Remus truly does maintain that he usually isn’t a drinker.
Or, well, hasn’t been for the last five years, at least.
And, really, he only has Sirius and Regulus to blame for his more recent habits. And the fact that his unrequited childhood sweetheart has just re-entered his life. Along with the entirety of their high school friendship group.
So, really, can he be blamed for having a couple (few) more drinks that usual?
So, when Sirius shows up at his door on a Tuesday night, grinning that nostalgic grin and holding a bottle of red wine up proudly like a kindergartener showing off their artwork – well – who is Remus to deny him?
They end up sprawled out across Remus’ living room, the half-hearted cheese board they put together (which was really just a cracked plate of stale crackers and Regulus’ fancy cheese Sirius insisted he wouldn’t mind them borrowing) shrivelling in the hours that pass. Some 70’s song Remus can’t quite place the name of hums gently from Sirius’ phone on the coffee table. Every now and again, Sirius will sing along, his voice low and melodic, or sit up and gasp when a new song comes on, directing a bright grin back at Remus. When Black Star by Radiohead starts playing, Sirius jumps up, pulling Remus from the couch despite his (weak) protests and twirling the pair of them around the room – not mentioning how he has to hold most of Remus’ weight, his cane long ago left behind.
It must be past midnight when Sirius finally seems to lose some of his energy. Remus watches happily for the hour before as he dances around the room, having been apparently renewed from his tiredness about half an hour ago, and insisting he perform karaoke for Remus. As a more downbeat song begins to play, Sirius splays onto the floor beside where Remus has made himself comfortable propped against the couch, chest rising and falling in the come down of his exhilaration. Strands of Sirius’ hair sprawl across the floor, some dusting Remus’ pant leg. Emboldened by the wine and the energy of their acquaintance, Remus reaches out. He drags a singular finger through one of the midnight strands, drawing it back sharply as Sirius makes a satisfied sounding exhale.
Sirius winks an eye open, looking up at Remus. “Why’d you stop?”
As if without a thought, Sirius raises his shoulders, scooting backwards and plopping his head directly onto Remus’ lap. Remus, of course, obliges, running a tentative hand through the ends of Sirius’ hair. Then placing his fingers against Sirius’ hairline, tracing the curve of his scalp with his nails.
Sirius has his eyes closed, a relaxed smile gracing his lips. The look all too familiar. How many times had they sat like this in high school, Sirius blissfully unaware as Remus grew more and more in love with him? How many times has Remus traced the curve of Sirius’ scalp, more familiar to him at one point then the shape of his own? How many times had he run his fingers through the silky darkness of Sirius’ hair, pleading for that touch to be enough?
As if reading his mind, Sirius looks up to Remus, smile transforming into a grin. “Just like the old days, huh?”
Remus smiles back. “Thought I’d finally escaped having to be your hairdresser.”
“Can’t escape me, Moony.”
Remus is pretty sure Sirius has fallen asleep when he hears the sound of the front door swinging open. Remus isn’t sure what time it is, but is sure it must be well into the early hours of the morning. He untangles his fingers from Sirius’ hair and places both palms flat against the floor, though makes no move to get up, hesitant to wake Sirius.
He hears the sound of Regulus hanging his coat in the entryway before he sees his housemate pop his head into the living room. Regulus’ brows crease as he looks at Remus, likely having expected to find the room empty. He glances down to Sirius only for a second, as if in passing, before his eyes widen and he looks back down more meaningfully
“Where’ve you been?” Remus blurts out, halting the question he can see forming at Regulus’ lips. Regulus glances back up to Remus, eyebrows raised.
“Just with Evan. You two look like you’ve been busy.”
Remus glances around the room at the same time Regulus does. To the empty wine bottle on the floor (bottles, plural, actually, because they of course had walked to the bottle shop within ten minutes of the first one being drained). To the half empty bottle of Regulus’ vodka sitting uncapped on the coffee table, and the remnants of his nice cheese shrivelled on a dirty plate.
“We borrowed some cheese,” Remus states, his words only slightly slurred.
Regulus only inhales audibly, brows still raised. He shakes his head – to clear it perhaps, or maybe in disbelief – before turning and heading back down the hallway.
“Goodnight!” Remus calls out.
“Night, Remus.”
James has flung himself onto his couch within a second of Remus stepping into his and Sirius’ flat. Peter gives him a flat look – one that pleads Remus deal with James – before sneaking into the kitchen. Remus shakes his head, clacking his way through their little entryway and into the living room, afternoon sun casting the space in shades of yellow and orange.
“Sirius home?” Remus asks, attempting to ignore James’ obvious grab at attention.
James sighs. “No, he’s gone to the shops,” James uncovers his eyes – previously covered by his hands. His face is a little sheepish as he says, “We, ah, had a little accident in the kitchen. The good news, though,” James continues as Remus laughs, “is now we’re having spaghetti for dinner!”
Remus nods, laughing quietly. He walks over to the couch, tapping James’ feet with the end of his cane until the man drops them dramatically to the floor. Bending to sit, Remus finally indulges James.
“So, what’s got you in such a rut?”
Peter groans from the kitchen, “You shouldn’t’ve asked, Rem – he’ll never shut up about it now.”
James shakes his head solemnly. “I can’t possibly tell you!” He exclaims, throwing a hand over his face once more, like a damsel fainting in front of her lover.
There’s a familiar bark of laughter from the hallway, and then Sirius is walking into the room; plastic grocery bag clutched in one hand. His hair is tied half-up-half-down, a few strands curling around his face. His cheeks are reddened by the brisk autumn breeze, and a smile plays at his wind chapped lips.
“Is Prongs complaining about his forlorn lover, again?”
Remus chuckles, looking back to James. “You have a lover?”
James groans, peeking through his fingers at Remus. “That’s just the problem, Remus. They hate me!”
Remus can’t help but laugh properly at that. He has no doubt he had a conversation identical to this six or seven years ago; James completely gone for a girl in their year – who did nothing but insult him upon every encounter.
“Oh James.”
“He really does have a type, doesn’t he?” Sirius says as if reading Remus’ mind. He grins at Remus as their eyes meet, leaning against the archway separating the kitchen and living room.
Remus snorts. “And who is it this time?”
“Oh, I can’t say!”
Sirius is shaking his head fondly when Remus looks back to him. “He hasn’t told me or Pete, either. I think maybe they don’t even exist.”
Remus smirks. “An imaginary friend?”
James groans once more, the sound muffled by his hands, now covering his entire face. “My life would be easier if that was so!”
“Why are you speaking like Shakespear?” Peter asks, walking into the room.
“Yeah, you sound like my brother, stop it.”
James makes a pained sound, though doesn’t respond.
“I have a theory,” Peter starts, stage whispering, “that he won’t tell us because it’s Lily Evans again.”
Remus looks back to James, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. “You had a thing for Lily Evans?”
“Yup, and she hated his guts for years, too.” Sirius confirms.
The conversation pauses as there’s a knock on the door, Sirius all but sprinting to answer. The red door swings open to reveal a bored looking Regulus. Remus doesn’t miss the way his expression seems to soften ever so slightly at the sight of his overly excited brother.
“Reggie!”
Regulus’ expression instantly contorts into a scowl. He pushes past Sirius and into the hallway.
“Remus,” Regulus greets.
“Hey, Regulus. How was work?”
“Dreadful. I swear Mary is going to be the death of me.”
James pops his head up from behind the couch, Regulus’ gaze immediately snagging on him, as if snatched away from Remus. “Hey, Regulus. You here for dinner?”
Regulus’ brows scrunch. He looks toward Sirius for a moment, expression troubled.
Sirius gives him a confused look. “What’s up? You’re here for dinner, right?”
“I thought you and I were going out for dinner...” Regulus says slowly, gesturing between the two of them.
“Ah,” Sirius says, “I can see where the confusion came from. Well, even better – all six of us can have dinner together!”
Sirius throws his hands up dramatically, as if presenting the cast of a play rather than his mismatched high school friendship group. Regulus looks thoroughly unimpressed by the development. He heaves a long-suffering sigh, his gaze dragging back to James as if on instinct.
“I’m going to need wine.”
The night goes surprisingly well. Once Regulus has gotten over the horror of having to spend it with Sirius’ group, and then of the discovery that James and Sirius are cooking – that is. Over an hour later – Sirius and James somehow having trouble boiling a pot of water and heating up premade bolognaise sauce – the group settle themselves around the garden table that Peter drags from outside into the living room. There are only three kitchen chairs in the entire house, so Remus finds himself sitting on the coffee table, and across from him, Regulus balances on the arm of once of the armchairs.
James and Sirius parade into the room, displaying a large bowl of pasta and red sauce, grins proud (despite both being twenty something year old men who should definitely be capable of cooking far beyond this very basic dish).
“This is surprisingly good.” Peter says as they begin to eat.
Regulus snorts into his glass of wine. From the head of the table, James gasps, bringing a hand to his chest.
“Why, Regulus – it almost sounded like you disagreed with Peter there.”
Regulus takes a dramatic gulp before replying with an eyeroll, “Oh, don’t start, Potter.”
Before James can respond, Regulus stands, leaving the room and returning with another wine bottle. Sirius raises his eyebrows at him as he pours another start.
“Don’t give me a look, Sirius. You owe me at least three of these bottles with how much of my vodka the two of you stole the other night.”
“I prefer the term borrowed,” Sirius says with a shrug.
“I didn’t know you and Remus had hung out.” Peter pipes up, innocently unaware of the shift in the energy of the table.
James’ brows are furrowed. “Yeah, neither did I.”
Remus shifts uncomfortably in his seat. The morning following, conversation had been somewhat stilted between him and Sirius. As though that dynamic they’d had late that night only existed in the midnight hours – and when clouded by alcohol.
To hear Sirius didn’t mention it to James – his closest friend – leaves a strange feeling settling in Remus’ gut.
Sirius grins easily, though doesn’t meet anyone’s eye. Including Remus’.
“Yeah, we had a couple of drinks. Courtesy of my dearest brother.”
Regulus scoffs. Remus looks up, instantly meeting his housemate’s eye. He gives Remus a look, Remus smiling back in a way that he hopes says I’m all good and not I’m pathetically in love with your brother but can’t even tell if we’re friends right now.
As dinner finishes and conversation quiets, Regulus stands. “I’m going to head off, I’ve got an assignment due on Sunday I want to get done.”
Sirius huffs. “Sweat.”
Regulus only rolls his eyes. He turns to Remus. “I’ll see you at home?”
“Yeah, I won’t be too long.”
Sirius begins to stand, though James practically jumps out of his seat. “I’ll walk you out!” He exclaims, seemingly missing the confused look Sirius gives him before slowly lowering himself back into his seat with a shrug.
Peter stands as the front door clicks shut behind Regulus and James. He stacks the dishes left on the table, disappearing into the kitchen.
Remus finds himself standing, too, though he isn’t sure why. He walks around to the chair beside Sirius, sinking down into it. Sirius just watches him silently, leaning back in his own chair.
“That was nice,” Remus prompts.
Sirius gives a gentle smile. “Yeah, it was. It’s...nice – to have Regulus around all my friends.”
“Yeah, it’s good you two are getting along again.”
Sirius nods. He tips his head to look at Remus properly. “I like that you get along with him, too,” he says, then adds, as if joking, “Better than you and I, sometimes.”
Remus breathes a shallow laugh. “He’s a good friend, yeah.”
Sirius watches him for a moment, eyes flitting to different spots on his face. Remus watches as Sirius’ gaze traces one of his scars, all the way down until it disappears into the collar of his jumper, and then continuing down, as if tracing its course by memory alone. When Sirius’ eye look back up to meet Remus’, he tries to hide the way his breath catches. The way he can’t look away from Sirius.
Sirius leans forward slowly, bringing a hand to Remus’ face. He swipes the pad of a finger down from his nose, tracing the scar literally now.
Remus has never been so still.
“Well,” James’ voice is loud enough to make Remus physically jump, jolting back from Sirius, their knees banging in the process. Sirius drops his hand as if burned, standing from his chair, “that was nice!”
Sirius clears his throat, face a crimson shade he has to feel. “Yeah, it was great. I think I’m gonna head up to bed, though. Had a busy day, y’know.”
James glances quickly between the two of them, then nods. “Right. I’ll help Pete wash up.”
“I better get going, too.” Remus says, clearing the catch in his voice midsentence.
His heart beats hard in his chest the entire walk home, and up the stairs, and to his bedroom.
Notes:
Aghhh they're so cute.
I love just writing from Remus and Regulus' perspectives bc, like, there's literally no way to know what Sirius is thinking. And Regulus is so unobservant when it comes to James I just love that he has absolutely no idea James is obsessed with him.
Anyway, I'm hoping to get a bit of writing done over Easter, so next chapter shouldn't be too far away. I've got an exam on Thursday though lol, so will be trying to stop myself from procrastinating by writing for the next few days.
As always, comments and kudos are really appreciated. I love getting to interact with my readers. Also in a bit of a fic reading slump atm so if you have recommendations lmk!!!
Chapter Text
Remus has always been a night owl. He’s prone to getting caught up in study and finding himself stranded in the library well past midnight. Or reading books until the early hours of the morning; yellow light filtering over the hills as the sun begins to rise. Before he needed his cane, he’d spend whole nights strolling suburban streets, his mum furious when he’d come home at six am, having spent the night out.
As his body grew older than his mind, Remus was only kept awake more often. Aches and pains left him tossing and turning in bed most nights, and Remus found himself plagued by insomnia more nights than not.
Remus is absorbed in a reread of The Secret History on one such night, his left hip aching something terrible. It must be close to midnight, the house quiet except for the occasional groan or whistle brought on by the wind. Remus jolts as his phone buzzes, dropping his novel into his lap.
With a muttered profanity (or multiple, if he’s being honest), Remus begins to dig through the couch cushions, his phone eluding detection. He’s just stood from his cozy spot, pulling one of the cushions from the couch, when it buzzes again. Remus looks down with pursed lips, finding the culprit sitting innocently on the rug below.
Two texts pop up as Remus’ screen clicks on, bright in the dim lighting of the living room. He blinks at the aggressive light until he can read the texts, sitting once more.
I’m bored. Is the first one, under Sirius’ name.
And then, Moony!!!!
Remus rolls his eyes as he unlocks his phone.
Then go to bed.
Can’t, I’m at work :(
Want to come have a drink?
Too bad, Remus replies. And, nah, I’m in my pjs – trying to enjoy my book before I was interrupted
Sirius sends an eyeroll emoji. Then one with its tongue sticking out.
Then, I bet your pjs are sexy ;)
Remus inhales sharply, almost dropping the phone. He lets himself read the message again, well aware Sirius means it as nothing but friendly banter.
Unable not to read into it as more.
Bet you wish you could come and see them, Remus replies, wishing doing so didn’t send his heart rate skyrocketing.
Sirius doesn’t reply for a minute. The little dotted bubble indicating he’s typing finally pops up, before disappearing. Remus purses his lips, dropping his phone to the couch and picking up his book once more, attempting to find his place.
A buzz. Remus is looking down before he even realises what he’s doing.
I do...on or off
Remus drops his phone immediately upon reading the message. Contemplates not picking it up. Leaving it there for eternity and moving to somewhere far away. Perhaps Sweden. Or Australia, maybe – it’d be warmer there, at least.
While he does eventually pick his phone up, he does so only to place it firmly on the coffee table, face down. He attempts to get back into his book for the following half hour, though finds his eyes constantly straying towards where his phone sits. Finds himself imagining Sirius has texted again. Or, for better or worse – he isn’t sure – unsent the message.
Eventually, Remus pushes himself from the couch with a huff, heading upstairs to brush his teeth. He takes his time making his bed, boiling the kettle and placing a mug of steaming tea on the nightstand. He wanders downstairs at snail pace. Picks up his phone gently, as if lifting something delicate, and takes it back upstairs with him, refusing to look at the screen.
In the end, it’s his phone ringing that forces Remus to look at his screen. He does it instinctively, really, flipping the phone over as soon as his familiar ringtone – Blackbird – starts gently playing. When he sees Sirius’ name, Remus pauses for only a moment before answering.
“Remus!”
Remus can’t help but smile at the joy in Sirius’ voice, imagining the grin he’s sure is plastered across his face. Sirius sounds absolutely sloshed, the s at the end of Remus’ name slurring into more of a ‘sh’. There’s the sound of music in the background, and loud chatter – making Sirius’ next sentence basically incomprehensible.
“...come to the bar...” is all Remus catches as Sirius’ words trail off.
“What was that?”
“I said come and meet us at the bar!” Sirius repeats, almost shouting. Remus flinches, holding the phone back from his ear just slightly.
Remus looks down at his pyjama-clad body. “Nah, not tonight, Sirius. I’m heading to bed.”
Sirius makes some pathetic sounding noise. “But I want you to be here!”
Remus laughs, ignoring the butterflies that single sentence sends fluttering in his gut. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sirius. Say hi to the boys for me, hey?”
“I’m not with the boys,” Sirius whines, “And now I’ll have to walk home all by myself!”
Remus bites his lip. He sits down on the edge of his bed, sighing.
“Who are you with?”
“Just a couple’a guys I work with,” Sirius slurs, “They all live in the other direction.”
“You shouldn’t walk back so late and so drunk,” Remus says, ignoring the scoff-sounding response Sirius sends through the phone, “Why don’t you order an uber?”
“Haven’t got any money.”
“I’ll pay when you get here.” Remus insists.
Sirius mumbles something Remus doesn’t quite catch, though he can imagine the eyeroll that goes along with it.
“You’re such a mum, Moony. I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow! Love you!”
This is how Remus finds himself hobbling along his darkened street up towards The Black Dog at three in the morning on a fucking Friday. The wind bites at his cheeks and whips his too-thin jumper around his arms, and his cane taps against the concrete with each stubborn step forward. He’s muttering to himself under his breath – a mix of curses and prayers Sirius has actually stayed put since Remus ended their phone call.
The pub looks mostly closed when he makes it there. Only a few dim lights around the bar remain on, quiet music drifting onto the silent street. Remus peeks into one of the frosted windows, finding all the tables empty. For a moment, he thinks Sirius must have left, until he hears his familiar laugh from near the bar.
Remus steps into the pub. Sirius is sitting at the bar, three people surrounding him. One is Marlene, who Remus has been introduced to once or twice before, though he doesn’t recognise the others.
“Moony!”
Sirius spins in his seat at the sound of Remus hobbling over, grin sparkling in his very eyes. He hops up from his stool as if he’d been waiting for Remus to arrive.
Remus rolls his eyes, though can’t keep the smile from his face as Sirius bounds over, throwing an arm over his shoulder. With their height difference, Remus has to stoop over to accommodate Sirius’ arm, whilst Sirius steps onto the very tips of his toes. It must make for an interesting sight.
Remus waves to the remaining staff, patting Sirius’ hand where it sits on his shoulder. “Right, let’s get you home.”
They walk slowly. Partly because Remus’ hip is acting up, but mostly because Sirius keeps stopping to talk about stars, and pigeons, and the existential implications of traffic cones. At one point, Sirius loops his arm through Remus’, and so they walk most of the way arm in arm, Sirius resting his weight sloppily against Remus’ side.
“I missed this,” Sirius says out of nowhere as they round the corner by their buildings, “you and me.”
Remus turns to look at Sirius, only able to see his side profile in their proximity. The streetlights highlight the high points of his face like stardust. Remus traces each curve and edge with his eyes as if a man starved.
Only when Sirius turns to look at him, lips tilting upwards upon finding Remus’ gaze already on him, does Remus manage to reply, “Me too.”
Sirius grins, tilting his head and nuzzling into Remus’ shoulder – not unlike a horse, really. Remus leads them up the stairs to Sirius’ door, only unlooping their arms when he absolutely has to, holding out his free hand for the key.
Sirius looks confused for a moment, before he pats down his pockets. A guilty look falls over his face, and he bites his lip as he whispers, “Moony...”
Remus’ brows crease. “What?”
“I don’t have my keys.” Sirius admits, still whispering as if that’ll soften the blow.
Remus sighs audibly.
“I must’ve left them in my locker,” Sirius continues, apparently emboldened by Remus’ lack of reply, “or maybe on the bar. Or maybe in my locker and on the bar, in some Schrödinger’s key situation.”
Sirius directs that stupid lopsided grin at Remus – the one he knew in school would get him whatever he wanted – from teachers or friends, or worst of all, Remus.
Remus sighs again. “Well, go on. Call James.”
Sirius winces. “Well, you see. When I said I left my keys...I actually meant my whole bag...”
“So, you don’t have your phone, either?”
Another stupid smile that Remus has to look away from in order to think straight.
Remus pulls out his own phone. He searches James’ name, sighing in relief to find he still has his number saved. He presses it once, the call immediately going to voicemail. The second time, the call rings through, though James doesn’t answer.
“Does James still use the same number as in school?” Remus asks, listening to the dial tone of the third unsuccessful call.
Sirius raises a shoulder. “Er, I think so.”
“Right.” Remus attempts to call once more before dropping his phone back into his pocket.
“He has a game tomorrow,” Sirius says, looking guilty, “Always sleeps with these massive earplugs and his phone on do not disturb the night before. James is very serious about football.”
Remus hums, low in his throat, and tips his head back against the wall beside Sirius’ door. “Of course he is,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face, “And you’ve lost your phone, your keys, and your bag.”
“And my dignity,” Sirius offers helpfully.
Remus doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“Right, you can crash on my couch.” Remus eventually declares, pushing off the wall with a huff. He walks towards his own front door, the promise of his bed beyond its green exterior beckoning him. Sirius makes some sort of petulant sound behind him, and Remus rolls his eyes, only turning to check the other man has followed once he’s unlocking the door.
Sirius stumbles into the entryway, following dutifully behind Remus as he leads him into the loungeroom. Though, as Remus grabs a blanket and directs Sirius to the couch, he makes that petulant noise once more, gazing up at Remus with puppy dog eyes.
“My back will hurt if I sleep on that.” Sirius whines, pushing the blanket back towards Remus.
Remus runs a hand over his face. “Sirius. I already came and picked you up at three in the fucking morning. And now – what? You want to take my bed?”
Sirius continues to pout up at him. “Well I wasn’t suggesting I take it. We could...share?”
Sirius suddenly seems overly interested in the patterns of the carpet as Remus stares at him, jaw slackening. Remus forces his mouth shut. He turns on his heel, heading up the stairs without a word.
“That wasn’t a no!” Sirius says, bounding after him. The sound of scuffling (and possibly Sirius falling – more than once) reminds Remus of just how drunk the other man is. That manages to stop his heart from beating quite so wildly – Sirius would never suggest they share a bed sober, after all. It’s all just drunk antics – nothing to overthink.
“Quiet, or you’ll wake Regulus,” Remus says, walking through his bedroom door. He leaves it ajar enough for Sirius to stumble through behind him, breathless and triumphant like he’s just completed an obstacle course rather than walked up a flight of stairs.
“If you snore, I’ll smother you with a pillow.”
Sirius flops down dramatically onto the bed, splaying his limbs out so he takes up all but a corner of it. “How dare you even suggest I’d do such a thing, Moony. I’m a very delicate sleeper, I’ll have you know.”
Remus raises a brow as he crosses to the other side of the bed, tugging at the doona until Sirius removes his arm enough for Remus to flick a small corner of it back. He eases himself carefully onto the mattress, attempting to cover his wince as his hip protests the movement. He mustn’t do a good job of it, because when he turns to look at Sirius, his face is etched with concern.
“You ok?” Sirius says as Remus moves to sit under the covers, voice quieter. Concerned.
Remus glances at him. He breathes audibly, bracing a hand on the mattress as he leans across Sirius, turning off the lamp on the table beside him. Sirius seems to stiffen at the sudden proximity, and Remus is quick to draw his hand back.
“I’m fine,” he says into the darkness, moving to lie down, “My body’s just getting old.”
There’s the sound of rustling beside him, and then cold air flows under the quilt for a second as Sirius fights (by the sounds of it) to get underneath.
“You’re not old,” Sirius responds once he’s supposedly settled himself. Remus glances at him. Through the darkness, he can only see Sirius’ vague outline; lying on his back facing the ceiling, hands pale against Remus’ dark sheets, midnight hair spilling over the pillow, “You’re just...wise.” Sirius finishes as the silence stretches, white teeth visible through the darkness as a grin breaks across his face.
Remus rolls his eyes, turning to look at the ceiling, mirroring Sirius. “That’s what people say when they don’t want to say old.”
“Well, you are wise,” Sirius insists, and then, all at once, as if rushing to get the words out, “You’re wise and handsome and rugged and terribly, tragically grumpy.”
Remus stares hard at the ceiling. “And you’re very drunk.”
“I’m drunk, but not blind.”
Remus stiffens at the words. His intake of breath is sharp. He glances at Sirius only briefly; not long enough to make out anything in the darkness, though he can tell Sirius isn’t smiling anymore – at least, not with his teeth.
Remus shifts, lying on his side so his back is facing Sirius. “You should sleep,” he instructs, voice feeling too loud in the sudden tenseness, “We have to be up for James’ game tomorrow.”
“Right,” Sirius responds, voice soft. Remus feels the mattress dip as Sirius settles.
“Night, Moony.”
“Goodnight, Padfoot.”
And, if, when they wake, Remus finds Sirius’ arm curled across his abdomen? If his face is buried in the morning mess of Sirius’ hair? If Remus breathes in his scent, deeply, before slipping from beneath the covers?
Well, can you really blame him?
***
Regulus wakes unusually early.
He pulls open his curtains, blinking in the morning light. The sun hangs low across from his flat, leaving Regulus squinting when he returns to sit in his bed. Despite his unusually cheery start, that amount of sun is decidedly too much. Instead, Regulus pushes those curtains closed, pulling up the blinds on the smaller window pointed towards the alleyway between his and Sirius’ flats instead.
He settles himself back into bed; tea in hand as he flips open his laptop. He’s deciding between rewatching Game of Thrones or starting Criminal Minds when something hard clatters against his window. Regulus sits forwards with a start, hissing as hot tea drips onto his leg with the movement. He instinctively looks to his left, rising as he does so.
None other than James Potter stands in the window across from his. He’s in a too-tight white singlet, and checkered pyjama bottoms – the outfit far too simple to look as good as it does on him. Beside him, his window is propped open with what look suspiciously like a wooden spoon, though Regulus makes no move to open his own. James waves, face far too cheery for the early morning. Regulus gives him the finger and turns away.
He sets the tea on his nightstand and climbs back into bed. He ignores the second, then third object that clatters against the glass – some game piece, he thinks, maybe a checker. He refuses to look. He knows James is waiting with that expectant, infuriating grin.
When the fourth object clatters against the glass, Regulus can’t help but look. He sits forwards abruptly. From his perch at the end of the bed, Regulus can only see out the top half of the window – and as such, can only see James’ stupid mess of hair atop his head.
Regulus huffs, standing once again and walking to his window. James’ grin grows as Regulus comes back into view. He makes a motion for Regulus to open his window, though Regulus refuses. Instead, he just leans against the sill, watching as James purses his lips. He holds a finger up – supposedly signalling for Regulus to stay put – before turning away briefly. When he returns, James places a piece of paper against the window. He uncaps a marker with his teeth, the cap still pressed between his lips as he turns the page around for Regulus to see.
YOU COMING TO MY GAME TODAY?
Regulus sighs, shoulders rising and falling with the drama of it. He rolls his eyes, though turns to find his own piece paper.
NO
James pouts as Regulus drops the sheet from where he was holding it for James to see. He can’t help but smirk a little, feeling only slightly triumphant.
PLEASE? James’ next piece of paper reads.
It’s too easy to reply. Regulus doesn’t even need to fetch another piece of paper. He just grabs his previous response from the ground, holding it up once more. James seems to reread the single word a couple of times, as if that might change what it says. Eventually, he turns his gaze to meet Regulus’ eyes. James taps his own page once. Regulus turns his paper towards him, pressing it against the window as he adjusts his reply.
NO!
James seems torn between frowning and grinning, the freak.
He moves from the window once more, and Regulus is in half a mind to close his blinds, though something keeps him waiting by the glass. When James reappears, he has three pieces of paper in his hands. He holds up the first.
IS SIRIUS THERE?
Regulus’ brows crease. He steps away to write his reply.
WHY?
MARLS SAID REMUS PICKED HIM UP FM WRK
Regulus can’t help but raise a brow at that. James grins, clearly catching his interest. On this one thing, at least, they seem to be of one mind.
Regulus raises a finger, much in the same way James had just minutes before. James nods, leaning against his own window as Regulus walks from his room. He’s halfway down the stairs when he hears his brother’s voice, and doesn’t even bother continuing down, instead finding himself turning on the spot and all but sprinting back into his room.
He feels heat in his cheeks as James watches him barrel back into his bedroom, a sly look spreading across the other man’s face. Regulus takes a second to compose himself, brushing imaginary dust from his trackpants.
HE’S HERE. James mirrors the conspiratorial look on Regulus’ face as he holds up the paper.
James’ reply is the third piece of paper he walked to the window with.
I’LL BUY YOU COFFEE IF YOU COME TO MY GAME
“You know, the whole communicating through the window thing is quite romantic.”
Regulus purses his lips, looking up from his phone to find James sliding onto the bench Remus and Sirius just vacated to grab food. It’s halftime – James’ team winning (not that Regulus has been paying attention). He’s only here because Sirius had all but dragged him. And, well – free coffee.
“It’s quite Shakespearean, I’d say,” James continues, completely undeterred by Regulus lack of reply. As usual, “You’re Romeo. I’m Juliet.”
Regulus snorts, attempting immediately to cover the sound with a cough. By the way James’ expression lights up, he’s unsuccessful.
“I’m absolutely Juliet,” Regulus corrects harshly. James opens his mouth, face stricken, as if this has gravely offended him. Regulus can tell James is going to interrupt, and, without thinking, places his hands against the other man’s lips. For the first time, Regulus is able to completely silence James.
“Romeo is stupid. I would never kill myself if I found you fake-dead. I’m much too smart to fall for that, and besides, I’d be rejoicing even if I did.”
James just looks stunned when Regulus drops his hand from his mouth, realising abruptly he’d even placed it there – too taken with his need to correct James’ literary opinion.
“Prongs!”
James seems to snap back into himself, lips splitting into a grin. He swivels on the seat, patting Sirius on the back as he sits beside him.
James and Sirius launch into a conversation, both expressive and far too loud. Separated from Remus by the two of them, Regulus bends to reach into his bag, pulling his book from within. He flips it open, effectively tuning out the noise surrounding him. Only as James gets up to leave – the whistle sounding to signal the beginning of the last half of the game – does he turn back to Regulus.
“You know,” James says, voice hushed now. Just for the two of them, “if you gave me your number, we wouldn’t have to communicate through our windows at all.”
Regulus doesn’t look up from his page. “That would be far less Shakespearean, no?”
Regulus’ eyes betray him by glancing up when James doesn’t immediately reply. James is smiling, softer than the grin he’d directed to Sirius before.
“Sure,” James finally admits, “But –”
“You’re not getting my number, Potter.”
James huffs a laugh. “Window it is, then, Black.”
I OWE YOU A COFFEE
MY OFFICE B4 CLASS!
Regulus struggles to maintain his composure as he bustles into class, ten minutes late. The door to the lecture theatre swings shut behind him with what seems like a deafening bang, though Regulus knows is just overly loud to his own ears. Within a second, James is strolling through behind him, looking far more composed. Regulus glances back, immediately snapping his head forwards again as James grins at him, winking.
His breath comes out huffed and irregular as he takes a seat beside Dorcas, despite his best efforts to appear calm. Natural. He refuses to look in Dorcas’ direction, feeling already her gaze pinned to the side of his face.
After a moment, Regulus finally able to catch his breath, Dorcas clears her throat dramatically. It’s loud enough to make Slughorn pause his sentence for a moment – impressive, since he hadn’t even been deterred by Regulus’ dramatic entrance. As Slughorn continues, Regulus turns slowly to look at his friend.
Dorcas’ lips are pursed, a slender brow arched. She has a sly look on her face, as if she’s caught Regulus committing a crime, rather than turning up to class ten minutes late. Her eyes flit between James, looking now slightly flustered as he readies himself at the front of the room, and the coffee cup Regulus had placed at the corner of his desk, before flicking back to Regulus.
“I can already tell you’re overthinking.” Regulus grinds out, looking towards Slughorn and copying down the notes written across the whiteboard.
Dorcas is wearing an absolutely shit-eating grin when he looks back.
“To me,” Dorcas stage-whispers, leaning forwards so Regulus can’t tune her out, “it looks like you just came from a coffee date with James Potter.”
Regulus doesn’t have to fake the way his face screws up at the implication, even as his stomach betrays his expression by somersaulting at the mere thought.
“I really would hope you don’t think so little of me.”
Dorcas raises her brows, leaning back with her arms crossed. She gestures to the coffee cup. “Explain, then.”
“We just were talking in his office. He owed me a c –”
Dorcas’ eyebrows are in her hairline, now. She gasps dramatically, drawing more than a few stares from surrounding students. Regulus gives them dirty looks before turning back to Dorcas, kicking her ankle below their desks.
“His office?” Dorcas repeats, voice full of delight. “I’ve never been invited to his office.”
Regulus rolls his eyes, refusing to reply. His silence seems to deter Dorcas enough, because she doesn’t bring up Regulus’ supposed coffee date for the remainder of the lesson.
Slughorn begins to erase the board, signalling the end of the session. Dorcas is out of her seat in an instant, and, for one horrifying second, Regulus thinks she’s going to walk down to the front of the room and confront James. Instead (though Regulus isn’t sure whether this is better or worse), she grabs Regulus’ arm. He barely has time to stuff his notebook in his bag before she’s dragging him from the room and across the lawn at the front of the campus.
It's not until they’re halfway there that Regulus realises where they’re headed.
“Why are we going to the science building?” Regulus asks, pulling his arm back a little, though is unable to release it from Dorcas’ iron grip.
“We’re having lunch with Evan today,” Dorcas replies, looking back with a smug expression, “Dora’s meeting us here, too.”
“Oh God.”
Hence the next hour of Regulus’ (pitiful) life is spent being questioned about a date that didn’t happen. Regulus maintains the entire time that he and James were just talking. That Regulus had only gone to his office in the first place for free coffee.
For some reason, his friends seem unable to believe that.
It isn’t even a lie, is the thing. He and James really had just spoken – and lost track of time a little, sure. But is that a crime? Regulus had only been so discomposed at the start of class because he’d run across campus to make it to class on time, James laughing behind him the entire way, finding the matter far too funny.
His friends seem to think more happened.
Regulus can’t think too deeply on why part of him seems to wish more did.
“Just admit that you like him, Reg.” Evan says as they walk out of the science building, Dorcas and Pandora heading to their next class with a wave.
Regulus clenches his jaw. “Wouldn’t want to lie.”
Evan is giving him a look from the corner of his eye. One that’s half disbelief, half contemplation. Like he’s trying to get a read on Regulus. Regulus keeps his face a practiced blank slate. Knows that Evan – his oldest friend – sees right through it.
Nonetheless, it’s a relief to part ways with Evan and let the mask slip.
Notes:
Hope everyone had a great Easter!
Wrote this chapter right after watching the new episode of The Last of Us, so hope too many tears didnt get on my laptop lol :'(
Chapter 9: Chapter Nine
Notes:
I think you guys are going to really like this update!!!
Sirius and Remus are like best mates now, I've been loving writing it
Also, Jegulus angst coming in hooootttt
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As the end of the year draws nearer, the weather begins to turn. Frost coats the cobblestone street outside the flat most mornings, and Regulus finds himself slipping on icy stone more than once. The first day of November brings the first snow of the season; only a soft flurry that’s melted by mid-morning, though a shock to both housemates, Regulus especially. Used to the mild winters of London, Regulus walks to uni bundled in multiple coats and scarves as the weather worsens, wishing only slightly he could return to his home city.
Despite the snow of the previous day, the second of November brings surprisingly warm weather. Regulus opens his curtains to a dry morning, the rising sun promising pleasant conditions.
He decides to leave home early, taking his time enjoying the walk to campus. Once there, the grass outside the library is dry enough to sit, and so Regulus lays in it, turning his face towards the sun, lips tilted upwards at the beckoning of its warmth.
“You look comfortable.”
Regulus sighs, winking open an eye to glare up at his older brother. Sirius only grins at the expression, plopping down beside Regulus.
“It’s nice weather today, right?”
Regulus hums, eyes fluttering shut. The bright sunlight against his eyelids makes colours swirl in his peripheral vision.
“What are you doing out here? Tanning?”
Regulus sighs aggressively as he sits up. He gives his brother a bored look.
“I was trying to relax. Before I was interrupted, at least.”
Sirius laughs. “So sorry to disturb you, then.”
“You should be. What are you even doing here, anyway?”
“Er, going to class?”
“I didn’t know you did that.”
Now it’s Sirius’ turn to shoot Regulus an unimpressed look.
“I have an exam today, actually. Like – a performance.”
“Oh,” Regulus says, “Er...good luck?”
Sirius huffs a laugh, “Thanks, Reggie,” he looks away for a moment, biting at his lower lip, “Would you, um, want to come?”
“And watch your performance?” Regulus clarifies.
“Well, yeah.”
Regulus doesn’t respond for a moment, unsure what to say. Until a few months ago, he hadn’t even known his brother played any instruments. As children, they’d been forced to learn classical instruments, though Sirius had always despised the lessons, and Regulus had never heard him play unless forced. It felt strange, now, to be invited to listen to him play – something obviously so important to Sirius.
Sirius rushes to speak as the silence wears on, words jumbled and hurried. “You probably have class, I didn’t even think about that. It’s totally fine – it’s just a silly p–”
“No. Of course I’ll come, Sirius.”
The performance space is much busier when Sirius and Regulus arrive than it had been during their impromptu tour a few months ago. Students and staff sit in the few rows of tiered seating at one end of the room, whilst more chairs have been arranged in rows surrounding the central stage. There’s a table at the end of the hall closest to the entrance, behind which sits a severe looking woman who Sirius points out as McGonagall, his professor. Her hair is dark, though streaked with grey, and tied back into a tight bun. She wears thin spectacles, which she peers over as she speaks to the students before her, giving the impression she’s looking down on them, even whilst seated. Despite her stern expression, when she spots Sirius, the façade seems to crack a little, and she offers both brothers a polite wave, though doesn’t smile.
Sirius walks Regulus over to one of the first rows of seats before leaving to organise himself. Regulus peers around at the other students in the audience, but doesn’t spot anyone he knows. He expects most are arts students themselves.
It isn’t until the first performance has started; a man named Gilderoy performing a terrible vocal cover of an Adele song – that someone slips into the seat beside Regulus.
“I haven’t missed much, have I?”
James sounds slightly winded as leans over to whisper to Regulus, his breath hot against the skin of Regulus’ cheek. Regulus turns to look at him. James’ cheeks are flushed, and his hair windblown. He tucks his hands under his armpits as if to warm them.
“Be glad you missed most of that,” Regulus replies as Gilderoy finishes his performance with an ear-splitting high note, “Where’ve you been?”
James winces slightly as he turns away from the thankfully finished performance. He grins at Regulus. “Don’t tell Sirius – it’s a surprise – but we’ve ordered this massive cake for his party tomorrow. Peter was meant to pick it up today but got called into work early, so I had to grab it while Sirius was out.”
“Oh, he’ll hate that.”
James’ grin seems to widen. “He’s going to be so excited. I won’t tell you what’s on it – it’ll ruin the surprise. But it’s so funny.”
Regulus turns back to the front, peering at James from the corner of his eye. “I’ll take your word for it, Potter.”
James’ expression seems to twist, and Regulus turns towards him once again, admittedly interested in his suddenly soured expression. He appears almost...conflicted. His lips part as if to speak long before he actually says any words. When James does finally speak, he doesn’t look at Regulus, instead keeping his eyes pinned to the two red-headed brothers performing.
“You can call me James, you know?”
Regulus raises a brow, watching the side of James’ face. “Would you like that?”
Finally, James turns to look at him. Regulus has to pretend the force of his stare doesn’t drive the air from his very lungs.
“Yeah.” James’ voice is soft. Quiet enough that the word is swept immediately from the space between them by the trill of the flute being played.
Regulus bites his lower lip, watching James watch him for a moment before he replies.
“Well, bad luck. I wouldn’t want to dignify you with a first name.”
James’ laugh sounds surprised and airy, as if startled from deep in his chest. He watches Regulus for a moment more, eyes flitting across different points on his face, before he turns to the front with a shake of his head.
Still looking away, James says, “I just don’t understand you, Regulus.”
Sirius’ performance is the last of five. He walks onto the small platform at the centre of the room wearing an oversized leather jacket over his dress shirt and trousers; the most casually dressed of all the performers. As he sits in the centre of the room, he undoes the top few buttons of his shirt, leaving it gaping as he reaches for his instrument. The instrument itself is one Regulus has never seen – some sort of odd-looking guitar. Honestly, Regulus had half expected his brother to get up on stage and belt out an electric guitar solo.
As Sirius tunes the instrument, James stands, hollering out to him. Sirius grins, waving over to the two of them. Behind him, McGonagall rolls her eyes. She clears her throat, signalling for Sirius to play with a simple wave of her hand as he throws a guilty look over his shoulder towards her.
It's not until Sirius begins to play that Regulus realises his instrument isn’t a guitar at all. While it sits across his lap much like a guitar would, he plays it with an oversized violin bow. The music itself is unlike anything Regulus has ever heard; eerie and hollow as the bow slides smoothly across the strings. At some points, Sirius presses against particular strings, causing a vibrato of unfamiliar sound to echo through the hall.
So unfamiliar is the sound of the instrument that Regulus doesn’t realise until halfway through Sirius’ performance that he recognises the piece he’s playing. It’s one he’d learnt as a child, introduced to him by their tutor at the time. It had quickly become one of Regulus’ favourites; with its unconventional notes and sudden rises and falls in pace. When Regulus’ mother had heard him play it – Regulus so proud to have mastered the irregular piece – she’d been livid. Their tutor had been fired the same day, and Regulus instructed to only play classical, old-fashioned pieces.
The way Sirius plays the piece is how Regulus imagines its composer intended. His brother able to trade grace and composure for inelegance and roughness in a way Regulus never could. It gives the piece a jilted quality, which, when combined with the abrasive nature of his instrument, creates an almost addictive composition. The piece feels nostalgic yet completely unfamiliar in equal parts.
Sirius drags the bow across each of the strings in a final hoarse note. The audience is rising to applaud him before the echo of it has even completely silenced. Over the heads of the people sitting in front of them, Regulus watches his brother grin. Sirius looks through the crowd toward where he and James are standing, the two of them clapping louder as he meets their eyes.
After Sirius leaves the stage, the room begins to empty. Regulus and James stay seated for a while as the crowd thins around them.
“That was great,” James eventually says, face flushed and expression full of enthusiasm, “Had you heard him play before?”
Regulus shakes his head. “You?”
James nods, and Regulus forces himself to ignore the tiny pang of jealousy. At the fact that James has seen so many parts of Sirius’ life Regulus wasn’t privy to.
“Never that instrument, though. I don’t even know what that was.”
“A guitarviol,” A stern voice corrects beside them. Regulus turns, finding McGonagall standing beside the two of them. She gestures to the empty seat beside Regulus, sitting as he nods in invitation, “Sirius discovered the instrument, in fact. I hadn’t heard of it before. An American invention, I do believe.”
“Minnie!”
McGonagall purses her lips, though seems unable to completely keep the amusement from her expression as she looks to James.
“Mr Potter. How have you been?”
“Oh, just great. And you? Oh! Have you met Regulus?”
McGonagall turns her sharp eyes back to Regulus. She holds out a hand, her grip firm as he shakes it. “I haven’t, though Sirius was very excited to tell me you’d enrolled here. You’re his younger brother, yes?”
Regulus nods. “It’s nice to meet you,” he looks back to James, “Have you had a class with James before. I though you did –”
“I took a music elective in first year,” James declares proudly, “Was Minnie’s top student and everything.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Because it isn’t true,” McGonagall corrects, lips tilting upwards just slightly. Her gaze flicks between Regulus and James for a moment, expression contemplative. Almost calculated. Looking back to Regulus properly, she continues, “You know, before Mr Potter was in my class, I truly believed all people were musically capable with the right instruction. I was proven wrong.”
Regulus snorts a surprised laugh, looking back to find James grinning beside him. “Glad to go against the grain, then.” He says, far too prideful after being basically insulted.
McGonagall hums. “I do suspect that had you and Mr Black actually put some effort into playing music, rather than planning pranks and skipping class all semester, perhaps your musical career could have flourished.”
“I guess we’ll never know, Minnie.”
Another hum. McGonagall’s eyes draw back to Regulus. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Regulus. Do ever let me know if you need anything.”
Regulus smiles. “Thank you. It was nice to meet you, too.”
The afternoon of Sirius’ birthday party – supposedly the biggest event of the year, if Sirius is to be believed – Regulus absolutely cannot find anything to wear.
Half of Regulus’ closet has ended up on the floor or strewn across his bed. Regulus has stood in front of his mirror dozens of times, groaning and throwing clothing items from his body every time an outfit doesn’t sit quite right. He’s not even sure why what he wears seems to matter so much. Sirius had told him to just wear jeans and a jumper. But not a single combination feels perfect.
Basically, he’s very stressed. Facing a major dilemma. Not overreacting at. all.
Up to at least his twelfth attempt of constructing a suitable outfit, Regulus pulls on a new pair of jeans and drags one of his shirts over his head. He walks over to his mirror again, pace dejected and unhopeful. As his reflection comes into view, Regulus runs a hand over his face.
A dramatic groan leaves him as Regulus drops onto the floor in front of his mirror. He stays there; legs bent and head between his knees, for a while, contemplating his pitiful existence. After a long moment, he reaches blindly into the pile of discarded clothes beside him, retrieving a button up from within. Tearing the t-shirt off, he shrugs into the shirt, not bothering with the buttons – chances are he’ll change at least six more times before he even thinks about leaving the house, anyway.
Regulus is fighting to put one of his jackets back on a coat hanger – having decided to distract himself by cleaning his room – when the hairs on the back of his neck prickle; struck with that odd sensation of being watched. He stuffs to coat back into the cupboard, turning around slowly.
Heat climbs steadily up Regulus’ neck as he turns, his gaze landing on his very much open window.
And, just across the alley, perfectly framed in his own window, stands James Potter.
He leans casually against the side of the frame, the hem of his t-shirt riding up a little with the posture. His face his uncharacteristically blank, only his eyes betraying any emotion as he stands there – just watching.
Regulus looks down at himself abruptly, feeling his face heat as takes in his half-open shirt, still entirely unbuttoned. Mortified, he yanks the front closed, clutching the fabric tight across his chest as he storms over to the window.
He throws it open properly, glaring across the small gap between the two of them.
“What are you doing, Potter?”
James smirks, unbothered. He rights himself, pulling the wooden spoon from where it’s propping his own window open so he can push it out completely. Regulus is sure he must imagine the way James’ gaze slowly tracks up his body. Lingering.
“I was just enjoying the show,” James finally says, voice smooth. His eyes sparkle with that infuriating mischief as they meet Regulus’ stormy gaze.
Regulus purses his lips, knowing full well he’s blushing so hard it must reach his eyes. He attempts to maintain his composure anyway.
“How long have you been there?” He hisses.
James just shrugs, the smirk never budging. “A while.”
“A while?” Regulus repeats, incredulous, “You’re a stalker, Potter.”
James tips his head in mock thought. Almost as if agreeing. As if his actions are perfectly acceptable, nonetheless. Regulus could strangle him.
“I prefer secret admirer. But you can call me whatever you want, Regulus.”
For a beat, Regulus just stares, words completely failing him. Eventually, he pulls window shut with a decisive snap, tearing his gaze from James’ and refusing to look back.
His hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt as he turns from the window, jaw tight, pulse unsteady. That odd feeling tracing up his spine never ceases, and Regulus knows that if he turns back, James will still be watching.
He pulls a random jacket from his cupboard, stuffing the rest of his clothes in the bottom of it, not allowing his eyes to stray back to James the entire time. Only as he’s leaving his room does Regulus finally allow himself a single look back through the window.
James still stands in the exact same spot, eyes glued to Regulus.
Their eyes meet, James’ mouth tipping back up into a smirk. Slowly, deliberately, James pushes himself from the windowsill, stepping into the centre of his room. He moves with an easy confidence that makes Regulus’ breath catch; his eyes unable to leave James’ figure even if they wanted to.
James turns slightly to the side, his hands dropping to the hem of his own shirt. He keeps his own gaze locked on Regulus as his fingers trace the edge of his shirt for a heart-stopping moment. Regulus can’t help the way his own eyes drop to follow the action. Still, James doesn’t look away. Even as he pulls the shirt up, over his head, and lets it fall to the floor with a practiced flourish. The muscles of his back ripple with the motion, sunlight painting his skin gold. And then he turns fully, bare chest on full display, the lines of muscle catching every drop of light like he was sculpted just for this moment.
Regulus’ mouth is completely dry. His jaw drops slightly and he doesn’t even bother trying to stop the action. Instead, his eyes trace every inch of exposed skin, as if with a will of their own; the way his body seems to shimmer in the fading sunlight, the deep cuts of hardened muscle rippling with every movement.
Regulus is dimly aware of the sound of ragged breathing, realising with a start it’s his own chest rising and falling too fast.
He snaps his eyes back to James’, finding James hasn’t stopped watching him the entire time. When their gazes meet once more, James raises a brow. His smug little smirk curls upwards in victory.
Regulus comes back to himself suddenly. He tears himself from the spot on the floor he’s been all but glued to, so fast he has to catch himself from stumbling straight into the floor. He turns on his heel, sprinting from the room. His door slams shut violently behind him.
Regulus’ head knocks hard against the wood of his bedroom door as he leans back against it, though he welcomes the sting. He screws his eyes shut, his breath sharp and uneven. Visions of James’ body burn behind his eyelids like an afterimage. The look on his face unforgettable.
Regulus runs both hands over his face and through his hair. He thumps his head against the door again, softer this time.
He was totally, absolutely, undeniably fucked.
And completely, utterly, incomprehensibly head-over-heels for James fucking Potter.
***
Sirius’ party is, of course, hosted at none other than The Black Dog.
Music is already blaring down half the street as Regulus and Remus hop out of their taxi – slightly late, because Remus had found Regulus having some sort of breakdown ten minutes before they were meant to leave. About an outfit dilemma, if he was to be believed.
(Remus absolutely did not believe him one bit. What sort of outfit dilemma makes someone take six shots before leaving for a party?)
Regulus stumbles a little ahead of Remus up the dim street. He pushes the heavy wooden door open aggressively, holding it ajar for Remus with obvious impatience. As Remus steps into the interior of the pub; the flickering rainbow lights reflecting off an array of disco balls almost blinding him for a second, Regulus lets the door swing shut. He races towards the bar with barely a word to Remus, already ordering another drink in the time it takes Remus to get his bearings.
A band of three play on the raised stage at one side of the pub, a crowd cheering around them. The bar is lined with numerous people, and most of the tables surrounding it are occupied as well. Evidently, Sirius has invited half the population of Edinburgh.
“Hey! Remus!”
Lily waves aggressively from her perch in one of the booths, barrelling over Mary to jump up and hug him. Mary stands as he gets closer, hugging him as well.
“We didn’t know if you’d come.” Mary says as they retake their seats, Remus sitting across from the two girls.
Remus accepts the half-drunk beer Lily slides across the table, taking a sip. “Why’s that?”
Lily’s massive silver hoops swing in her lobes aggressively as she shakes her head, as if she can’t possibly fathom that he’s asked such a question. His friend is quite obviously drunk, leaning into Mary’s side and blinking slowly. As she speaks, she gestures with her hands insistently.
“Well, you and Sirius have your whole situation.”
“Ah,” Remus takes another sip of the beer, looking into the crowd, “Yes, well. We’ve sorted that out.”
He turns back to the girls, sensing further questioning. Mary’s gold-painted lips part as if in question, and Remus stands abruptly, ignoring the twinge in his knee.
“Speaking of, have you seen him? Or James?”
Lily shakes her head, but Mary thankfully points towards the bar. “I think Sirius was serving people last I saw. Probably making drinks that are 50% alcohol, knowing him.”
Remus does find Sirius behind the bar. He has a tea towel hanging through a belt loop of his flared jeans. His hair is out, curled with perspiration around his face. The same perspiration that sheens in the light as he turns to face Remus, smiling broadly.
“Remus!”
Sirius immediately drops the glass he was holding, and Remus shoots forward, catching it before it shatters on the countertop. His ribs bang against the bar with the action, half-winding him. Any breath he manages to regain is immediately knocked from his lungs as Sirius sprints around the bar, barrelling into Remus. The backs of Remus’ thighs hit one of the bar chairs behind him, thankfully stopping them from falling. Sirius seems completely undeterred, hugging Remus tight around his middle.
“Where’ve you been?” Sirius asks, pushing away from Remus just enough that they can see eye to eye.
Remus rolls his eyes. “Regulus had an outfit crisis.”
Sirius’ arms tighten around his waist as he laughs, tipping his head back with it. He steps away from Remus after a moment, the loss of his warmth palpable. Sirius walks back to the other side of the bar, leaning half across it to bring their faces close once again.
“What’re we drinking?”
Remus throws a cautionary look towards the bright-green concoction Sirius had been mixing. “I’ll just take a coke, thanks.”
Sirius pouts. “That’s not very exciting, Moony.”
“Yes, well, I’d prefer not to be poisoned by you tonight, Sirius.”
Sirius scoffs with mock offence. “I’m a professional mixologist, I’ll have you know.”
Remus rolls his eyes, though concedes anyway. “Fine, make me a drink – but only since it’s your birthday.”
The force of Sirius’ grin brightens his entire face. He’s quick to turn away, grabbing numerous mysterious looking liquids and pouring them into a shaker. Remus leans his side against the bar, looking through the crowd. He spots Frank and Alice at a table across the room, though doesn’t recognise any of the other nearby faces.
“Speaking of my birthday,” Sirius drawls, drawing Remus’ attention back to him. Blue eyes flick up to meet his as Sirius strains his drink into a tall glass with practiced ease, “did you get me a present, Moony?”
Remus tips his head to the side. “Maybe I did,” Sirius eyes light up, flicking down Remus’ body as if he’ll find said gift hidden there, “I’ll give it to you later, ok?”
Sirius’ drinks turn out to be more than deadly. Within an hour, Remus is dancing in what feels like a massive crowd (though realistically can’t be that big, considering The Black Dog is a small pub), body slick with sweat, bumping into the people around him. James laughs beside him, throwing an arm over Remus’ shoulders, the other around Peter’s. The band is playing an (honestly sort of awful) rendition of Star Star. James’ off-key voice is loud in Remus’ ear, though he knows he must be singing terribly at a similar level. Out of the four of them, the only one who could ever sing was Sirius. Sirius, who now stands before the trio, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, belting the lyrics to them. Though he knows Sirius is singing to the whole group, it feels to Remus as if he serenades only him; their eyes locked throughout the entire song.
“Yeah, a starfucker, starfucker, starfucker!”
Sirius barrels forwards, landing basically on top of Remus, hands pushing James’ arm from his shoulders so that Sirius’ can take their place. Sirius leans hard into Remus’ front, the side of their faces pressed against one another so that Sirius can sing the words loudly into Remus’ ear. He pulls back as the song finishes, though keeps his hands on Remus’ shoulders.
“Give us a kiss!” Sirius sings, twisting Remus’ side to side. And, oh, how Remus wishes he could.
“Oh with a twist!” The crowd finishes.
The two of them stay like that, eyes locked; silent. Hands resting firmly on Remus’ shoulders. The crowd around them cheers, falling into one another, though the two of them are unaffected; still.
There’s a shout to their right, and Sirius turns, the tearing of his gaze from Remus’ feeling like a physical loss.
Remus shakes his head, coming back to himself. He turns towards James and Peter, falling into James to hug him.
James laughs, tipping his head against Remus’. “Let’s get another drink!”
Remus truly truly did not need another drink.
He blames said drink on how he ends up lying across one of the booth seats, head in Sirius’ lap, feet kicked half over the glass-filled table. A light haze covers the area; a joint being slowly passed back and forth between the group. When Frank passes it to Sirius, he takes a hit, before bringing it down to Remus’ lips. Sirius’ fingers are cold against the warmth of Remus’ lips, and he has to remind himself to inhale; his breath catching at the contact.
“You look like you’re about to fall asleep, mate.” James says across the table, leaning over it to grin at Remus.
Remus smiles lazily, blinking slowly. “Yeah, I should probably head home soon.”
“No, Moony!” Sirius whines, as if gravely offended, “You haven’t even given me my present yet!”
Remus raises his hand, sloppily patting Sirius’ knee; the angle making the movement overly hard. Not to mention, Remus is just slightly disinhibited right now.
“Well, someone should probably find Regulus if you want to go home, right?” James asks.
Remus hums. Fingers begin to comb through his hair, and Remus lets his eyes flutter shut.
“I can look for him.” Remus hears Peter – or maybe it’s Lily – offer somewhere in the distance.
The booth shakes a little, as if someone has jumped up. “No! I’ll find him. Don’t worry about it, guys.” That’s James for sure. The group laughs, beginning to whisper between themselves as James likely bounds away. Remus doesn’t bother tuning into the conversation. Instead, he focuses all of his attention on the fingers carding through his hair; calloused and slightly cool. And on the feel of Sirius’ thigh beneath his head, the seam of his jeans biting into Remus’ scalp just a little. And on the way Sirius’ eyes immediately meet his when Remus blinks them open, as if Sirius had been watching him the entire time.
“Don’t fall asleep, Moons.” Sirius mumbles, quiet enough only the two of them can hear.
Remus shakes his head softly against Sirius’ leg. “I’m just resting.”
Sirius’ laugh is more like a breath of air through his nose. His lips tilt upwards. “D’you want to go somewhere?”
Remus looks to the side, pretending to contemplate (he’d go literally anywhere Sirius asked. No questions).
“Where?” He says, instead of ‘the yes, of course, anything you want, Padfoot’ that almost slips out.
Sirius’ small smile turns into more of a grin. He pats Remus’ head, helping him to sit up. Sirius slides from the booth. As Remus follows, Sirius’ hand grabs his, pulling him towards the back of the pub. Remus follows, of course, hand clasped loosely in Sirius’, heart beating wildly against his sternum.
The staff area of the pub is almost silent. A mellow echo of the band’s music drifts down the stone hall. Sirius pushes through a metal door, leading them into nighttime air. It’s a small courtyard; mostly pavement and surrounded by tin half-walls, though there’s a tiny faux grass area, and a few poorly tended plants. On the overarching trellis, a few vines grow, weaving into a thatched roof.
Sirius raises a finger, stepping backwards and dropping Remus’ hand. Remus waits as Sirius steps to the side, flicking on a switch. Above them, nestled amongst the leaves, golden lights sparkle with sudden grandiosity. Remus is decidedly drunk, and probably a little high, so the lights above him swirl in shimmering constellations that make his head spin.
Remus drops his head to the side to eye Sirius. He smiles softly. “It’s very pretty out here.”
Sirius smiles too. As if magnetised, the two of them seem to drift towards one another; Remus not even realising either of them are walking forwards until they’re chest-to-chest. Sirius brings a hand up, confident in a way Remus never can be, to trace one of the scars on his face, as if fascinated.
“You’re pretty,” Sirius says nonchalantly. He drags his finger down, over Remus’ lips and onto the scar on his neck, trailing down to the collar of Remus’ top. Remus’ breath catches. All he can do is watch Sirius – whose eyes follow his scandalous finger as he traces the jagged pieces of Remus – mouth going dry.
Sirius looks back up abruptly when Remus doesn’t respond. “Hey, you got a smoke?”
Remus breathes out through his nose, hard. He pats his pockets, relieved to find the box James let him borrow still stashed in his jeans.
“You know, between the two of us, it’s usually you who has cigarettes on him.”
Sirius laughs, lifting a shoulder. He drops his finger from where it was hooked in the Remus’ collar, taking a miniscule step back. At that exact moment, the music from inside increases in volume, a familiar baseline echoing through the venue and into the chilly courtyard. One of the singers begins to hum an even more familiar melody, and Sirius’ face lights up as if the very sun itself has risen and lit him from within. He gasps, knocking the box Remus was holding out dumbly from his hands and dropping his forearms onto Remus’ shoulders.
“Moony, we absolutely have to dance!” Sirius proclaims, already bopping his shoulders to the beat.
Remus laughs, though allows himself to be swayed by Sirius’ arms, even singing along as Sirius begins to.
“Pressure, pushing down on me. Pressing down on you. No man ask for.
Under pressure. That burns a building down. Splits a family in two. Puts people on streets”
Sirius twirls away from Remus, making an odd cacophony of noises Remus is sure Freddie Mercury never wrote. He laughs, breath catching as Sirius twirls back, placing a hand on Remus’ waist as if waltzing. Remus doesn’t let himself overthink as he places one hand on Sirius’ shoulder, the other instantly being clasped into Sirius’, fingers intertwined.
Sirius waltzes them around the courtyard, mumbling the lyrics. When Bowie’s part starts, he looks to Remus in question, and Remus exhales, singing along with Sirius.
As the song crescendos, Sirius ends up leaning on Remus’ chest, Remus’ head buried in the night sky depths of his hair. He can feel Sirius’ jaw move against his chest as he sings along quietly, still swaying the two of them aimlessly around the little courtyard. Sirius looks up suddenly, his lips only inches from Remus’ when Remus looks down to meet his eye. He leans his chin on Remus’ sternum, so that even when looking down as much as he can, Remus can only see Sirius’ eyes.
“'Cause love's such an old fashioned word. And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night. And loves dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves. This is our last dance!”
Something’s lurking behind Sirius’ eyes, and Remus doesn’t recognise the expression until it’s too late. Doesn’t capture the retched thought forming before it’s already entangled itself in the depths of Sirius’ mind. Because, one second, Sirius is looking up at him drunkenly, singing Bowie and swaying their bodies in time with the beat, and the next second, he’s pushing upwards onto his toes, drawing their faces unfathomably close. His hands move with deft swiftness to the nape of Remus’ neck, splaying in the hair that curls there. His breath hot against Remus’ mouth for the second that they’re apart, before suddenly Sirius’ lips are crashing into Remus’.
Sirius’ lips are cold, and he tastes of alcohol and cake and something else sickly sweet. And Remus can’t help but open his mouth a little, wanting to absorb the taste. Can’t stop his tongue from darting out, pushing into Sirius’ mouth as if starving. Can’t help but groan at the sound Sirius makes; sweet and utterly indecent all at the same time.
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under pressure
The kiss seems to last both forever and for only a second. Remus isn’t sure which one of them pulls back first, both stepping away from each other almost as if burned. Sirius swivels on his heels, walking further into the courtyard. His back betrays the raggedness of his breathing, his pace matching Remus’ own breath, which he struggles to catch as he numbly watches Sirius collect himself.
Sirius takes what feels like an entire minute to finally turn back to Remus. When he does, he grins – in the way Remus knows is totally fake – the grin he gives baristas and girls he doesn’t like who try to hit on him. Remus forces himself to smile back anyway.
Sirius runs a hand through his hair, closing the space between them slightly. Still, there’s at least a metre between the two of them. So much closer, Remus can hear as Sirius tries to catch his breath. He’s half sure Sirius must be able to hear his racing heart; pounding hard enough it might claw itself right out of his chest and into Sirius’ own.
“I–” Remus begins, needing suddenly, desperately, to fill the silence.
Sirius shakes his head, and Remus immediately clamps his mouth shut. He didn’t know what he was going to say anyway.
He watches as Sirius chews his bottom lip, swollen from just a moment ago. His eyes flick upwards for a moment, surveying the overhead lights.
“We – we’re both pretty drunk, right?” Sirius finally says, gaze dropping back to Remus’ with palpable weight. He licks his lips, “I mean – that was crazy! I dunno what I was thinking – you know I don’t really go for –”
“Guys?”
Sirius pauses. “Er, yeah – I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”
Remus feels as if all the air in his lungs simply dissipates. As if his muscles go loose all at once; the synapses in his brain suddenly ceasing firing.
“Right – yeah. Of course, Pads.”
Sirius smiles again, tipping his head. The corners of his eyes are tight.
He takes another step forwards, running a hand down Remus’ arm.
“Still best mates, right?”
Remus feels his whole world crash down around him with that single sentence. Suddenly, he’s sixteen again, faced by a younger Sirius, hand on his arm as it is now. Remus’ heart dropping from his thoracic cavity and deep into his gut, both in past and present.
Still best mates, right?
Notes:
Did you love it?
If the ending of this chapter made you physically sick, as it did me, just you wait for the next chapter. All I'll say is one word: FLASHBACK
Anyway loving jegulus at the moment i hope nothing bad happens there. We've got to have at least one relatively healthy couple come out of this, right?
Right, guys?Right, well. Hope we're still all best mates after this update. As always, comments and kudos are so so appreciated. Hopefully I'll be able to update again soon :)
Chapter 10: Chapter Ten
Notes:
Sorry this took so long - this is a massive chapter, and also, ao3 curse may slowly be coming for me...but that's a story for another time.
Until then, please enjoy this chapter that caused me actual pain to write :')
Slight content warning: religion, religious guilt, non-graphic depiction of death
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
10 Years Ago
The first time Remus Lupin meets Sirius Black, they’re two year seven boys with starch-stiff blazers and over-gelled hair.
“Don’t mind if I sit here, do ya?”
The boy in the compartment doorway is pale. Dark hair frames a sallow face split by an almost devilish grin. His accent is something posh, and Remus gets the distinct impression the boy is making an effort to shorten his words.
Remus shakes his head over-zealously. “No, go ahead.”
White teeth sparkle through an impossibly wider smile. The boy drops onto the bench across from Remus, kicking his legs up onto the rest of the seat and leaning back carelessly. Remus’ eyes snag on the shiny leather of his school shoes, so different to the scuffed pair Remus has been squeezing his ever-growing feet into for the past two years.
“I’m Sirius,” Sirius says, holding out a hand. Remus leans forward, grasping it awkwardly. He’s not sure he’s ever shaken someone’s hand before. Colleagues of his father, maybe, but definitely never someone his own age.
“I’m Remus,” Remus replies, cringing at the way his half-Welsh, half-Scouse accent sticks out against the smooth sophistication of Sirius’ own.
Remus isn’t sure he’s ever seen a grin quite so beautiful.
Sirius turns out to be unlike anyone Remus has ever known.
The boy seems to have no social limits. Unlike Remus, Sirius never runs out of things to say. They talk for hours about everything and nothing, Sirius somehow seeming to never tire of Remus. Remus, of course, never tiring of Sirius. He crowds Remus’ space in a way no one ever has; kicking his legs over Remus’ own when sitting on the common room couch, or slinging an arm over Remus’ shoulders as they walk between classes. Keeping the two of them awake late at night with scary stories whispered across the small space between their beds.
Sirius Black is distinct. Indescribable.
And, at thirteen, not knowing what it means or why he feels so, Remus cannot get enough.
It doesn’t take long for Remus and Sirius to become inseparable.
By winter, there’s barely a moment they aren’t tangled up in each other’s orbit. It’s not just that Sirius insists on sitting beside him in every class, or that he talks so loudly in the dorm room at night that the poor kid sharing with them throws his pillow through Sirius’ bed curtains. It’s the quiet things, too. The way Sirius saves him a seat without asking. The way he learns Remus’ tells — the twitch of his jaw when he’s uncomfortable, the way he picks at his nails when he’s overthinking — and starts adjusting for them without making a show of it. It’s special treatment in a way Remus has never had it. Not by his father who barely knows him or his mother who, despite her constant affection, never quite sees him as more than a kid.
He had never even dreamed of sneaking out of the school grounds before he met Sirius. But Sirius barely has to ask. One night just before Christmas break, they slip through a gap in the back fence and walk the half-hour into town, breath fogging in the cold air, Sirius humming something tuneless beside him. They end up in the cracked and frost-glazed parking lot behind a tiny supermarket. There’s a battered shopping trolley tipped on its side by the loading dock. Sirius rights it with a triumphant grin.
“You push first,” he says, already climbing in like he’s done this a thousand times.
Remus rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He pushes, and Sirius whoops, loud and echoing, arms flung wide like he’s flying. They trade places eventually, and Sirius runs harder than Remus expects, the trolley picking up speed, skidding over the ice-slick bitumen. They crash, of course. A graceless tumble of limbs and laughter, hands scraped raw, jeans torn at the knees. Remus can’t stop laughing, even as the blood trickles from his palm. Sirius lies beside him on the gravel, hair fanned out, cheeks pink from cold and exhilaration.
“You’re insane,” Remus says breathlessly.
“You love it,” Sirius grins back.
They lie there for a while, the cold seeping through their coats, breathing hard and quiet. The sky above them is navy, bruised with cloud. Their shoulders brush.
Sirius turns his head, eyes still shining. “You’re my favourite, you know.”
Remus goes still. He doesn’t say anything, just nods, throat too tight.
Sirius smiles like it’s the most natural thing in the world to say something like that, and Remus thinks – knows – he’d follow that boy anywhere.
9 Years Ago
The first day of year eight finds Remus mediating a heated argument between Sirius and their headmaster.
“Mr. Black, I won’t ask again. Please lower your voice when speaking to me.”
Sirius rolls his eyes, looking to Remus with annoyance before turning his scathing expression back to the headmaster. Despite Dumbledore being three times Sirius’ height and, in Remus’ opinion, absolutely terrifying, against Sirius’ unflinching stare, they almost appear to be face-to-face.
“You can’t just switch our roommates up without asking us!” Sirius insists, basically stomping a foot, “What happened to Snape, anyway?”
Dumbledore breaths audibly, as if regaining his seemingly never-ending composure. “As I said, Mr. Snape has requested to be separated from the two of you this year. As such,” Remus can’t help but giggle a little as Sirius directs a wink towards him, clearly proud of such an accomplishment. Snape had been a greasy-haired git with no qualms to insulting Remus and Sirius at every available opportunity. Dumbledore pauses, Sirius’ proud expression not going unnoticed. He sighs, continuing, “As such, we have moved two of our transfer students into your dorm.”
Sirius grumbles, turning his back abruptly to Dumbledore so he can look at Remus properly. “These new kids better not suck.”
Remus raises a shoulder. “Maybe you’ll like them.”
Sirius’ arched eyebrow suggests he thinks otherwise.
Turns out, Sirius really does like them.
James Potter has more energy than anyone Remus thinks he’s ever met. He’s like Sirius on steroids. The two of them click instantly, talking over each other with rapid-fire jokes, half-formed schemes, and an endless supply of noise. They become quite the double act – loud, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. Remus watches Sirius change with James around: his edges soften slightly, his voice even louder, his laughs looser. And though there’s a sting of something sharp in Remus’ chest that he doesn’t fully understand, he finds he doesn’t mind being pulled into their gravitational field.
Peter is more like Remus. A family friend to the Potter’s, Peter is quiet, reserved. Remus sometimes will forget Peter’s even around. That is, until he’s cracking a joke that leaves the group in stitches, or coming back to the dorm in the early hours of the morning with an armload of sweets and a sneaky grin on his face.
“What’s this?” Remus looks up tiredly from his book to find Sirius standing over Peter’s bed, a stuffed animal held out between two fingers.
Across the dorm, Peter freezes. His face turns bright red in an instant. He side-eyes Remus, who can barely keep the grin from his face.
Sirius dangles the object mockingly. Walking towards Remus to display it – some sort of mouse toy with a ragged tail and missing an eye – before heading over to James’ bed and dropping it onto his chest.
“Oh, you mean Mousy?” James pipes up. He pushes onto his forearms, glasses slightly crooked, and flicks the toy onto the bed beside him.
Remus snorts an embarrassing-sounding laugh. Sirius meets his eye, visibly struggling not to burst out laughing too.
“Mousy?” Sirius repeats, incredulous.
Peter shoots up, face blazing, and marches across the room to snatch the toy from James’ bed. Remus has to bury his face in his pillow to soften his laughter at the way Peter brings the toy delicately to his chest, its ragged tail snaking out from between his arms. He finally composes himself enough to look up again, only to burst into another fit of laughter at the absolutely appalled look on Sirius’ face. Sirius, who upon looking at Remus, also folds over, guffawing.
“Guys, come off it. Surely you had stuffed toys growing up too?”
“I absolutely did not,” Sirius insists instantly, dropping onto Remus’ bed beside his outstretched legs with drama, “Especially not a mouse.”
Peter looks to Remus imploringly, clearly seeking reassurance. Remus attempts a sympathetic expression, though knows he must fail miserably. He resorts to hiding his smile behind the back of his hand as he says, “Sure, Pete. I had a stuffed toy. When I was three.”
That sends Sirius into another fit of laughter, doubling over until his forehead knocks against Remus’ knee. Even James lets out a laugh he clearly tries to hide from Peter. Peter glowers, arms crossed around the toy.
Sirius eventually clears his throat, sobering. “You know, I actually think it’s sort of sweet,” Peter looks so relieved Remus almost wants to stop Sirius, knowing whatever he’s going to say next is bound to be full of sarcasm, “I think you should have a nickname to match Mousy’s, in fact. How about Ratty?”
Beside them, James snorts. He buries his face in his hands as Peter turns a betrayed look on him. “Sorry Pete, it is sort of funny.”
“Pesty?” Remus suggests.
“Sniffles?” James adds.
Eventually, Sirius sits up, reaching out and tugging gently on Mousy’s limp tail. Peter holds firm for a moment before letting go with a resigned sigh. Sirius lifts the mouse high, victorious.
“Wormtail!” He announces.
There’s a beat of silence, before all three of them collapse into laughter.
Peter looks absolutely appalled.
They’re still laughing when a prefect knocks on the door and threatens detention for noise past curfew. James tries to apologise between hiccupped giggles, while Sirius leans against Remus’ shoulder, still breathless.
8 Years Ago
Sirius comes back from break different.
He’s always a little bit more sober after going home. Sometimes, a little quieter for a day or two. And Remus knows his home life isn’t perfect. But, at the same time, he’d always assumed Sirius’ family was somewhat like Remus’. Slightly ill fitting, but still loving. Still a home.
That is, until Sirius comes back to school with a black eye and his hair cropped so close to his skull it’s the shortest of the group.
“You know, I actually think your hair looks cool as!” Mary declares at the first dinner of the term. Sirius has a beanie over his head despite the evening being uncharacteristically warm. He scratches his neck, uncomfortable, though turns towards Mary with a grin that Remus can tell doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
“It’s rugged, don’t you think?” Sirius says with a wink.
Mary nods furiously, hiding a blushing cheek behind her shoulder as she turns back to her friends.
Sirius is watching Remus when he looks away from Mary, eyes imploring. Remus raises his brows.
“What do you reckon, Remus?”
“Oh yeah, it’s rugged as.”
They don’t speak about what happened to Sirius over summer. Don’t mention the bruises covering his ribs they can’t help but notice when he changes. Don’t talk about the quiet sobs that echo from Sirius’ bed throughout the night, the boy clearly plagued by nightmares none of them can explain.
“I think I’ll stay here over Christmas,” Sirius announces abruptly one morning. James drops the toast he was buttering onto his plate, looking up with clear concern.
“You can’t spend Christmas at school!”
Sirius raises a shoulder, looking down at his plate with feigned apathy. “Sure I can. I’d rather be here than at home, to be honest.”
“You don’t want to spend Christmas with your family?” Peter asks. Remus shoots him a look, the group electing to ignore his comment.
“I’ll stay with you too, then,” Remus says, honestly with far too little thought. It’ll be a few more years before he begins to question why he so readily follows Sirius everywhere. Why it feels like a loss to be apart from his side.
Sirius shakes his head. “Nah, be with your mum for Christmas,” he knocks their shoulders together, “I’ll be fine.”
Remus’ mum isn’t happy to hear he won’t be home for the holidays, though that does little to dissuade him. Remus knows from the second he hears Sirius say he’s staying, that he’ll be doing the same.
They spend the week sneaking through the school halls – many of which are decidedly haunted, mind you – mapping hidden hallways and doorways to passages. They plan pranks months in advance, their new map opening up access to parts of the school yet untouched – common rooms to destroy, dorm rooms to steal from, and pantries to frisk.
Sirius isn’t satisfied by their exploration within the school grounds, of course. So, on their last afternoon alone – Boxing Day – their stomachs full of sweets sent from the Lupin’s and chests warmed by jumpers knitted by Mrs. Potter, they sneak through one of their newfound hallways and out into the icy evening.
Their breaths cloud in front of their faces as they walk, so close their arms brush with each step. The silent air is filled with the sound of whispering and giggles from two red-nosed boys. By the time they make it into town, most of the stores are closing, it being well past dinner time. Sirius is clearly on a mission, though, and marches them through the Hogsmeade streets before stopping abruptly in front of an alleyway.
“Er, what are we doing here, Sirius?”
Stormy eyes sparkle with mischief as Sirius turns his head slowly towards Remus. He holds out a mittened hand, grasping Remus’ firmly and pulling them down the alleyway (which is particularly sketchy looking and definitely the sort of place teenagers get kidnapped, by the way).
Remus doesn’t think twice before following.
The shop they step into is quiet bar a soft whirring sound Remus can’t quite place. The door opens into a tiny lobby of sorts – a wooden bench preventing them from walking further in. Behind it, a row of three beds – cracked leather recliners with the types of metal tray tables in dentists’ offices – are lined up. Wooden floorboards creak under Sirius’ docs as he takes the singular step needed to stand in front of the desk.
A man with dreadlocks bent over a woman lying in the furthest chair looks up briefly upon their entrance, though goes quickly back to his work. Sirius huffs, pressing the metal bell on the counter with impatience. As they wait, Remus turns. The walls are covered in black and white sketches – some intricate works of fine lines, and others dark and bold designs.
“Yeah hi, I’d like to get a tattoo, please.”
Remus turns back to the counter to see a man twice Sirius’ height raise a brow, looking down at the younger boy. He doesn’t look much like someone Remus would expect to work in a tattoo parlour, though, admittedly, he’s not entirely sure what he expected tattoo artists to look like. Covered in ink and with long ragged hair, maybe. Skin full of metal, jeans ripped at the knees. Much like the guy working in the back, he supposes. In contrast, the man in front of them is distinctly clean shaven. His hair is close cropped, and a soft sort of mousy blonde. He has a date tattooed across one wrist, though no other obvious ink. And, most importantly, Remus notices as the man rounds the counter to seemingly assess the two of them, he’s wearing wide legged black trousers that almost brush the floor. Not a rip in sight.
“How old are you two?” The man says, sweeping his severe gaze over Remus. The man mustn’t be much older than them, maybe nineteen, but Remus feels small under his gaze.
“We’re eighteen,” Sirius declares, puffing his chest out.
The guy in the back snorts audibly. The man in front of them – Ted, according to his nametag – only raises the sides of his lips enough the reveal the beginning of a dimple on one side.
“You got ID?”
Sirius rolls his eyes, digging around in his pocket. He pulls out a stash of bills, Remus unable to keep his jaw from falling open.
“No, but we’ve got cash.”
Turns out, Ted is the new apprentice. Desperate for practice and offering a hefty discount because of it. The only condition? Well, he can’t do many designs yet.
“What about this one?” Remus suggests, raising the thin book of designs Ted offers to show Sirius.
Sirius grimaces, taking the book from Remus and flicking the page dramatically.
“This wouldn’t be so bad, I suppose.” Sirius sighs, looking down at a drawing of a blacked-out heart.
“You know, this is gonna be on your body forever, Sirius. Maybe don’t get a tattoo if there’s not a design you like.”
Sirius rolls his eyes as if that’s such a ridiculous notion. He turns another page, a mischievous grin splitting his face. He closes the book abruptly, handing it back to Remus.
“You know what, why don’t we choose for each other?”
Remus eyes his best friend. “I don’t like that expression...”
Sirius huffs a laugh. “Live a little, Remus!”
James is laughing so hard he’s literally on the floor. He clutches his stomach, rolling onto his back. Remus is pretty sure there are tears at the corners of his eyes. James unscruntches his eyes, peering up at Remus for a moment before laughter completely takes over his body once more.
Remus pulls the sleeve of his shirt down with a huff. “It’s not that bad!”
“What’s not that bad?” Peter asks, bustling into the room.
James manages to compose himself for all of one second, pushing into a sitting position and pointing at Remus’ arm before bursting into unhinged laughter yet again. Peter looks from James to Remus, face puzzled.
“You have to see Remus’ new tattoo!”
Peter’s mouth falls open. “You got a tattoo?”
“So did Sirius!”
“Sure did!” Sirius grins proudly, lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal the dark dog paw inked onto his lower back. Peter gasps, bending forwards to inspect it.
“So cool, right?”
“Yeah.” Peter sounds absolutely awed.
“Sure is, Padfoot!” James says from the floor.
Sirius grins. “I kind of like it!” He turns to Remus with a look he doesn’t like, “What nickname can we give Remus for his tattoo?”
Peter looks at him expectantly.
Remus sighs. He shakes his head sullenly as he pushes up the sleeve of his school shirt once more, revealing the words now circling his bicep. To make matters worse, it’d been Ted’s first time tattooing words, so they slope slightly downwards at the end, and there’s noticeable wobbliness to the cursive text.
Peter takes a second to read the words. He collapses beside James once he does, barely able to get a breath in with how hard he’s laughing. The boy’s face goes so red Remus is half-worried he’s going to suffocate himself with laughter. Maybe that would be the best case scenario, Remus thinks fleetingly. If all his friends died and Remus never wore short sleeves again. Then he wouldn’t have to live with the embarrassment sure to follow him for the rest of his life.
Because, written sloppily across his arm, still slightly red with newness, are the words I <3 Sirius.
7 years ago
Sirius’ nightmares somehow worsen after he moves in with the Potter’s.
Remus wakes most nights to the sound of sobs. Occasionally, it’ll be screaming. Or to the sound of Sirius slipping out of the dorm room, not returning until the sun begins to rise.
James attempts to help. Remus hears him wake Sirius a few times, or offer to share the bed. But Sirius always refuses. Any time any of them bring up his night terrors, Sirius’ cheeks flush with shame, and he shuts down the conversation instantly.
Remus is only half asleep the first time Sirius climbs into his bed.
There’s a whispered, “Remus?” Then a slither of moonlight falling across his duvet as Sirius peers through his curtains.
Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Remus whispers back, “You ok?”
Sirius nods, though continues to stand there; curtains pushed awkwardly to the side, half in-half out of the space beside Remus’ bed.
“What’s wrong, Pads?” Remus tries.
Sirius only shakes his head. It’s too dim to see his features, though the crack in his voice as he eventually replies leaves Remus sure that if he could see, Sirius would have tears collecting in the corner of his eyes.
“Are you tired?”
Yes. “No. Do you want to talk?”
Sirius sighs, shoulders sagging as if in relief. He sits tentatively on the edge of Remus’ bed. Remus scoots himself into a sitting position, patting the slither of single bed left beside him. Sirius shuffles backwards, until they’re crammed shoulder-to-shoulder.
Did you have another nightmare? Remus wants to ask. Instead, for some reason terrified Sirius will jump out of his bed at any moment, he says, “What’s keeping you up?”
Sirius shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “Just not tired.”
Remus hums. Sirius looks over, the side of his face bathed momentarily in stark moonlight as he brushes a dark lock from covering his eyes. Remus feels his breath catch, unable to tear his eyes away from where Sirius’ fingers linger in the crevice behind his ear. If Remus wasn’t so tired, wasn’t so ignorant, he’d spend a lot longer questioning why he wants to replace Sirius’ hand with his own.
He'll spend years yet plagued by questions like that.
Remus wakes the next morning to a face full of midnight hair and the misty scent of smoke.
“Have you been sleeping alright, Sirius?”
Remus’ eyes can’t help but trace the dark crescents lining Sirius’ under eyes, darkened still by the dim firelight flickering through the common room. He’s sure his own eyes look much the same. Spending half the night awake talking for two months will do that. Though, Remus finds that despite getting less sleep, he feels more renewed than ever. Quality over quantity, or whatever it is they say, he supposes. It hasn’t escaped his notice that since Sirius started sleeping in his bed, he hasn’t woken screaming or sobbing from a nightmare, either.
Sirius gives James an unreadable look. “Yeah, fine. Why?”
James shrugs, looking back to his and Pete’s card game with feigned casualness. “I just noticed you’re not in your bed when I wake up is all.”
Remus feels Sirius tense where he’s lying across his legs. His eyes seem to flick upwards to Remus for a moment, though it’s so brief Remus is half sure he’s imagined it. His face is impassive as he replies, “Oh, yeah. I’ve been really into early morning runs recently. Making the most of the good weather, and what not.”
Peter cranes his neck to look back at the two of them, murmuring, “It’s winter...”
Remus shuts his book with probably more force than necessary. “Right, well I’m off to bed,” he declares, patting Sirius’ head lightly with the spine of his book until the boy pushes up with a huff.
“I should probably start sleeping in my own bed again.” Sirius mumbles into the darkness that night. His arm is curled around Remus’ stomach, and Remus finds himself working particularly hard not to move. Not to breath, even, for fear Sirius may change positions.
“Who cares?” Remus sighs, eyes fluttering open and shut in fatigue.
Sirius’ chest pushes against Remus’ ribcage as he inhales. He tugs the blanket up to his chin, the fingers of his other hand toying absentmindedly with the fabric of Remus’ shirt.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Sirius pauses, and Remus finally lets his eyes drift shut, feeling the haze of sleep push at the peripheries of his consciousness.
“Besides,” Sirius continues after a moment, barely more than a whisper, “I like how it’s only you and I at night. Just us and the moon.”
6 years ago
The first time Remus gets drunk, its sitting in a circle of students from his year and the two above, breaths hazy in the frigid air. The oval grass is slightly damp where he sits cross-legged. Sirius’ knee skims his just lightly, sending fireworks up Remus’ spine with every feather-light touch. His fingers are stiff and cold in the night air, though with each sip of alcohol, he finds himself warmed from within. Until he’s so warm and fuzzy, he’s leaning into Sirius, not even minding how cold the other boy’s fingers are against his own as they clasp hands, laughing at a joke Remus barely hears.
Remus doesn’t think he’s drunk, per say. Just particularly happy, maybe. And a little more daring. More willing to lean into Sirius’ space, or join group conversations. He finds himself staring at Sirius a little more intensely than he’d usually let himself, too. Though his vision is growing slowly more and more blurry, so that could be contributing.
“Let’s play spin the bottle!” One of the girls across the circle declares. Marlene, Remus thinks her name is. She’s on James’ football team, for sure. He thinks James may have even had a bit of a thing for her, a while back, though he often forgets to pay attention when his friends are talking about girls, so he can’t be sure.
Mary grins, tipping her head back to finish her drink before placing the bottle in the middle of the circle.
“Who wants to go first?”
There’s an awkward shuffling around the group, before finally one of the year twelves leans into the circle and spins the bottle. It lands on another girl across the circle. Everyone giggles as the two girls crawl a little towards each other, leaning in awkwardly until their lips brush, and breaking apart with a laugh.
“Wormy, your turn!” Sirius declares, pushing Peter into the circle. Remus can’t help but laugh, even while feeling a little bad for Peter, as he looks around the group for help, before finally sighing, as if accepting his fate. He spins the bottle dejectedly, sitting back on his heels as it squeaks to a stop in the grass.
Peter looks over to the girl the bottle faces, cheeks darkening with colour. Her friends titter, pushing her towards Peter. She crawls forwards, followed by whispers and giggles. The kiss lasts not even a second, though leaves Peter looking dazed; face flushed and breathing fast. He sits back in the circle, James immediately throwing an arm around him, whilst Remus and Sirius shake his hand mockingly.
“I’d say that means it’s your turn now, Sirius,” Mary calls, dragging their attention from Peter. James whoops, throwing a fist in the air. Sirius puffs his chest out and leans forwards. He doesn’t even look back at Remus before spinning the bottle with a flourish, though Remus isn’t sure why he was expecting him to. Isn’t sure why his stomach turns more now than it has the entire game. How he’s been unfazed at the thought of having to kiss one of the girls in the group, though now finds himself sickened at the thought that the bottle may land on him. That Sirius’ eyes will find his, the cold of his lips brushing Remus’ for the briefest of moments.
Remus is so caught up in this fantasy...illusion? No – dream? Delusion.
Remus is so caught up in this drunken delusion that he doesn’t even notice the bottle has stopped spinning. That the stormy depths of Sirius’ eyes don’t look up to meet his, but instead glide across the circle, slipping over Mary’s body before meeting her gaze. That his boyish smirk isn’t directed to Remus. That his lips don’t part at the thought of kissing him.
No. Instead, Remus is knocked out of his delusions as Sirius shifts beside him, rising onto his knees and scooting into the centre of the circle. Mary meets him halfway, doe-eyed. Red-painted lips parted just slightly, her breath visible as it steams between the two of them. Sirius has to tilt his head down to kiss her. Their lips brush for a second, and just when Remus thinks they’ll finally pull apart, Mary’s hand snakes around Sirius’ neck, pulling him back towards her. His laughter is muffled, swallowed by the mouth against his. They kiss properly now, for the entire circle to see.
And now, Remus is truly sickened.
He sways as he stands. Waves a hand half-heartedly back at his friends, their calls muffled through the ringing in his ears. His vision swims, and he barely makes it off the pitch before he’s throwing up. Gagging until only bile coats his tongue. Remus spits, not bothering to look back as he treks back to campus.
Sirius slips beneath Remus’ covers in the early hours of the morning. A slither of moonlight shines through his shadowy hair. He smells of alcohol and perfume. He lays his head against Remus’ chest and burrows an arm around Remus’ waist.
And so the next two months follow.
The dorm barely sees Sirius during the day. James complains about it relentlessly, and though it leaves a hollow feeling in Remus’ gut to see Sirius so little, he never brings his own objections up. For while the other boys see Sirius only in classes and the brief moments he steals away from Mary, what they don’t know, is that Remus gets all his nights. No matter how little Remus sees of Sirius during the day, he knows, without a doubt, that Sirius will sleep beside him that night. Slipping into bed at all sorts of odd hours, with a whispered, “Moony,” and sometimes even a sleepy smile directed his way, or Sirius brushing the hair from Remus’ face.
And though he knows it shouldn’t be, that’s enough for Remus.
They’re sitting in the common room on a Thursday night; Remus, James, and Peter, and Sirius and Mary snuggled in an armchair obviously designed for one, when Mary abruptly announces:
“We’re having a party tomorrow night!”
There’s no objections, of course. They’re sixteen and itching to be older. Mary commissions some of the older students to get drinks, while the rest of them spend their Friday breaks setting up the common room and spreading the word.
The party is much louder than the night on the lawn. Students pack into the common room, spilling onto the staircases leading up to the dorms, and out into the hallways. Remus had been worried at the beginning of the night that so many students in the corridor would surely get them caught, though with each drink he has, finds himself less and less concerned. Speaking of drinks, Remus looks down with furrowed brows to his now-empty cup. He huffs, excusing himself from the group of students he’d been talking to, and stumbling over to the set of desks set up as a makeshift bar.
He scans the room as he sips from his new drink, eyes snagging on James, huddled amongst a group of football players. His laughter is loud even over the thumping music.
“Remus!” James calls, spotting Remus as he makes his way over. Remus grins, holding out the drink he’s mixed for James. James takes it, gulping dramatically.
And immediately sputtering half of it back out. “Fuck, Remus. What’d you put in that?”
Yeah, Remus probably shouldn’t be mixing drinks right now. He just laughs, slapping James on the back for good measure.
“Hey, you haven’t seen Sirius, have you?”
James shakes his head. “Nah. He’s probably up in the dorm with Mary!” James knocks their shoulders together, as if they’re in on some joke. Remus has to work to stop the disgusted expression he feels contorting his face.
Remus talks to James for a little longer, his eyes flitting over the crowd the entire time. When he finally spots him, Remus finds the conversation around him completely halts. Sirius lies, or sprawls, really, in his usual way on one of the velvet couches. A pale arm drapes lazily around Mary’s shoulders as she chatters beside him. She looks perfect, of course – glossy hair, eyes bright with laughter. Remus can’t help but think Sirius looks bored beside her. Dull. As he watches them, Sirius’ eyes flit up, meeting Remus’ across the room. Remus’ breath catches, finding himself drowning.
Remus looks away for the briefest of seconds.
It happens suddenly. Mary’s voice rises above the crowd, high pitched against the low thrum of the music. “Do you even care?” she snaps, twisting away from Sirius’ arm. The noise around them falters, people turning at the sharpness in her tone.
“Mary –” Sirius starts, low, but she cuts him off.
“No, don’t you dare! You haven’t cared all along! You don’t even look at me half the time, Sirius. You’re not here with me. It’s like you’re always somewhere else.” Her gaze flicks, quick as lightning, towards Remus. He feels it like a slap, forcing himself to look anywhere but the pair.
The crowd shifts, whispers buzzing like bees, but Sirius doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even defend himself. He just stands, jaw tight, and mutters, “I guess we’re done, then.”
Mary’s face crumples, and she storms past him and up the stairs to her dorm, pushing through the throng without apology. In the silence of the crowd, the sound of her door slamming shut is jarringly audible.
The music stutters back on, surprised laughter bubbling up and excited chatter rising as if tidal. Sirius stretches his neck, as if recovering from a physical fight. He stalks up the stairs to their own dorm, shoulders stiff.
Remus looks to James; looking ready to spring into action. He shakes his head, moving towards the stairs himself. James looks as if he might follow for a moment, though reluctantly rejoins his conversation, leaving Remus in peace to follow Sirius up the stairs.
He thinks the dorm room empty at first. Walking in and looking to Sirius’ unmade bed, and then across the room to the bathroom, door open to reveal its emptiness.
“Remus.”
Remus looks to his own bed so fast it jars his neck a little. Sirius is sitting precariously at the end of it, watching Remus with tired eyes. Remus searches his friend’s face for a moment before moving forwards and sitting on the edge of the bed beside him.
“That was...”
“Yeah,” Sirius sighs. He rolls his eyes, “That was overdramatic, even for me!”
Remus smiles. “I feel like people are meant to be sadder after breakups.”
Sirius shrugs a shoulder. He tips his head, watching Remus with a piercing gaze. “Do you want me to be sadder? Did you expect to come up here and find me crying?”
Now it’s Remus’ turn to shrug. “I don’t know, Sirius.”
Sirius huffs a laugh, short and sharp, but there’s no humour in it. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. The silence stretches, broken only by the distant thrum of the party below.
Remus swallows, staring at his friend. At the slope of Sirius’ shoulders. He wants to reach out, to lay a hand against him, but doesn’t.
“It just never felt right with her, you know?”
“Right?”
“Yeah. Right!”
Remus huffs a laugh, turning away from Sirius and looking towards the door. He feels Sirius shift beside him, sliding his legs off the edge of the bed and moving to sit right beside Remus, demanding his attention once more. Remus looks back to him, obliging.
“I mean, you’re sixteen, Sirius. I don’t think you’re meant to find the one right now.”
Sirius doesn’t say anything for a moment. Their both silent, watching each other. Knees brushing like they had that night on the oval. Hands splayed on Remus’ bedsheets, a breath away from touching.
Sirius is the first to break the silence, though doesn’t break their shared gaze. “That’s not what I meant, Moony.”
Remus’ breathing is audible. There’s an odd feeling sitting low in his gut. Somersaulting as Sirius continues to look at him so intensely. A feeling that’s been growing since Remus met Sirius. That stirs each night they share a bed. That grows restless in Sirius’ absence. A feeling Remus knows he should get around girls. Should have had whilst playing spin the bottle, at the thought a girl spinning the bottle and landing on him. A feeling Remus is sure Mary had for Sirius, too. One he’d though Sirius shared in Mary’s presence – but, maybe –
There’s another sensation right beside it, closer to his heart. One that takes form in his father’s voice. The weight of his priest’s sermons. It growls as Sirius leans forwards. Brings bile to the back of Remus’ throat, reminding him of what he’s known for so many years. That this is wrong, that he can’t have what he knows he wants.
That feeling is crushed the moment Sirius brings his lips to Remus’.
It happens in a heartbeat. One minute, Remus is still, eyes locked to Sirius’, breaths tickling each other’s faces.
Remus can’t be sure who moves first. But, undoubtedly, they’re kissing. Sirius Black is kissing Remus Lupin. Sirius’ lips are warm, and taste a little of vodka. His breath his hot inside Remus’ mouth. He smells of woodsmoke and bedtime and Sirius.
As quick as it started, Sirius pulls back.
Or, more like, pushes Remus back.
Sirius’ cheeks are flushed and his hair tousled. His eyes flick over Remus’ face, expression unreadable. And then he’s standing. Bolting through the door without even a glance back at Remus.
Remus sits on his bed, breaths coming hard and fast, His fingers dig painfully into the comforter beneath him. His neck blazes with the heat of embarrassment. His stomach churns with anxiety.
And that feeling. It grows.
They don’t speak. Remus sleeps alone. Sirius doesn’t even look at him.
James and Peter try to fix it, of course. Ask what’s happened, and when their questions fall on deaf ears, try to patch up the unfixable anyway. When days of silence turn to weeks, James and Pete begin to act like nothing’s happened all together; drawing Remus and Sirius into conversations separately, sitting between the two of them at meals as if its totally normal for Sirius and Remus to sit as far from each other as possible.
The holidays can’t come quickly enough. For the first time since starting school, Remus finds himself looking forward to going home. Romanticising his mother’s doting and his father’s droning lectures.
That is, until he actually gets home, of course.
His mother is likely napping when he arrives home. He’d waited at the train station for half an hour before he’d finally realised no one was coming to pick him up. Had hauled his luggage through the two trains and three buses it took to get to the countryside house.
“Ma?”
There’s bustling down the hall, and then Remus’ mother stumbles into the living room. Her hair is untidy with the afterthought of restless sleep, and she smooths the front of her dress down before grabbing Remus and dragging him down so she can kiss both cheeks.
“Oh, Remus! Look at the time! I didn’t know you’d be home so soon.”
Remus looks over to the clock. It’s a quarter past six. His train arrived three hours ago.
“Should I help you with dinner?”
His mother smiles warmly, patting Remus’ arm. “Oh, you’ve always been such a good boy. We better start, hadn’t we – so it’s ready before your pa gets home.”
Where Hope Lupin is all warmth and smiles and forgetfulness Remus is always more than willing to forgive, his father is the opposite. Lyall Lupin is cold, harsh, and blunt. Remus often finds himself wondering how the two of them ever married, though as he’s gotten older, he’s realised neither of them likely had much say in the matter. Both raised in very religious families, Remus expects they were a match set up under the guidance of the church. Much like Remus knows is expected of him.
Dinner is less of a family event and more of an interrogation. His father hounds him with questions about school, and his grades, and the families his consorting with. Meanwhile, Hope sits idly by, playing with her food more than eating it.
“You’ll be ready for church in the morning, boy?” Lyall calls after Remus as he finally sneaks down to his room, exhausted after just an evening spent with his parents.
Remus turns abruptly. “Yes, of course.”
Confession booths are meant to be places of absolute confidentiality.
Remus’ priest had told him when he was training for his first reconciliation that whatever was said within the booth, was between the sinner and God, only. That murderers had confessed within that sacred space and never been exposed. That no matter what was said, the priest would never – could never – share it.
A holy, holy space.
Remus’ knees are aching by the time mass finally ends. Guilt eats away from within him, and as the congregation files out of the chapel, Remus kisses his mother on the cheek, telling her he’ll meet them at home. He moves against the crowd, snaking through the pews and towards the confession booth. Half hoping he’ll make it there before the priest, so he can make his admissions without someone on the other side to hear them.
“It’s been a while since you last confessed, son.”
Remus flinches, caught off guard by the voice. He breathes in, letting the air out slowly as he sits on the rickety wooden chair and squints through the holes beside him. They reveal only an ominous silhouette. Remus looks down to his knees.
“I apologise, Father. I’ve been at school.”
“Ah, yes. It’s not a Catholic school, is it?”
“No, Father. My mother wanted me to attend the school her grandmother went to. She wasn’t Catholic.”
The priest hums disapprovingly. “Well, no matter. As long as you are confessing as often as you can. Tell me now, what brings you to the booth, son?”
Remus closes his eyes, breathing deeply. The priest’s voice is calm – one he’s heard since he was a child. One that’s read him every story in the bible, made him feel so deeply the teachings of God.
Remus knows this is someone he can trust.
“I – I made a...mistake.”
The priest hums, encouraging.
“I drank some alcohol-”
Father sighs. Remus looks up, watching his silhouette raise his head. “Whilst I can’t condone drinking, son, know that this is a minor sin. I’m glad you have confessed –”
“While I was...under the influence,” Remus hurries to continue. Worried that if he stops now, he’ll never find the courage to resume, “I undertook some actions I think the Lord would disagree with, you see.”
“I see. Confess.”
“I kissed one of my friends,” Remus exhales, the words coming out like a rush, “Who is a boy.”
There’s silence for a minute. Remus swears he can hear the beating of his heart.
“For these and all my sins, I am truly sorry.” Remus finishes, aching to fill the quiet.
“Through me may God give you pardon and peace. I absolve you from your sins.” The father finally says.
Remus feels as if a weight lifts from his shoulders. He nods, though knows the priest can’t see. “Thank you, Father.”
That night, Remus goes to sleep feeling lighter than he has in months.
His mother is crying. Remus doesn’t know why.
Silent tears track down her face as she drives. Her hair is a mess, her hands shake against the steering wheel.
“Ma? What’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry, Remus.” The same four words she’s been repeating since she woke him this morning. Told him to pack a bag – clothes and schoolbooks and all. No music. No games.
“Why are you sorry? Where are we going?”
Hope finally looks at him then. Her mouth trembles as she holds it in a thin line, supressing a frown.
“Your –” She hiccups, “Your father has decided you need a...different type of education, is all, Honey.”
Something cold burrows itself in Remus’ gut, right against that feeling he’s buried so deep since the night in the dorm.
“What? What’s wrong with my school?”
“I’m sorry, Remus.”
“No, Ma! All my friends are there! And I get good grades, I don’t ever get in trouble. Please, Ma! Let me go back.”
Hope only sighs, and doesn’t reply.
Remus feels panic now. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes. His muscles burn with the urge to do something – to stop this – but he doesn’t know how. Remus leans forwards, forcing his mother to look at him.
“Remus, sit back. I’m trying to drive!” Hope pushes Remus’ shoulder, though he doesn’t budge.
“Stop the car! Take me back to Hogwarts!” Remus yells. Screams, really. Hope only peers around him, refusing to meet his eyes.
Remus feels helpless. He looks out to the road, then back to his mother. Without thinking, Remus grabs the wheel, steering the car towards the side of the road.
“Remus!” His mother scolds, and it feels good to finally hear her yell. To finally have her fight back. He pushes her hands away as they grab at his.
“Stop the car, Ma!”
“Let go, now!”
They’re screaming at each other, eye to eye. Remus’ mother finally having the guts to look at him. To face her child. Remus stares right back at her.
Stares. Stares.
Stares at her as the car swerves.
Stares as she gasps, grabbing the wheel. Remus isn’t thinking, doesn’t let go. Just wants to go back to Hogwarts. Back to Sirius.
Remus is still staring at his mother as the car hits the tree. As her head slams back against the headrest, then whips forwards at unnatural speed.
He stares as her body slumps. As the front of the car crumbles. Stares. Stares.
As the smell of smoke congests his sinuses. As his legs burn, and crimson crowds his vision.
As flashing lights and sirens move in his periphery, still Remus stares at his mother. At Hope Lupin.
He wakes in a hospital bed, dressed only in a hospital gown. The first person he sees is his father. Lyall is hunched over in a chair beside Remus’ bed, hands clasped by his knees. Remus groans, turning to look forwards. At the end of his bed, the priest stands, eyes solemn. He holds a bible in his right hand.
“Ma?” Is the first word Remus croaks out. His father snaps his head up. His eyes are bloodshot, and he wipes his cheeks angrily, as though rubbing away tears. Which can’t be right, because Remus has never seen his dad cry.
“The doctors say you’ll be right within a fortnight,” Lyall tells Remus, instead of answering his single burning question, “They tell me you’ll need physiotherapists and rehabilitation, but Father here thinks church and the right type of education is far more important. I tend to agree.
“Once you can get out of this bed, you’ll go to the school I’ve selected. You’ll rid yourself of your...childish ways.”
Remus opens his mouth to object, his head throbbing with the slight movement. Lyall only raises a hand, face stern. “I’ll hear no more of it.”
“I’ll read you Leviticus 18:22, now, Remus. As a reminder.” The priest says, still looming over Remus at the end of his bed.
Lyall stands to leave. Remus cranes his neck to look back at him. “And Ma?”
Lyall turns back only for the briefest of seconds. “She was not so lucky as you, Remus.”
Remus’ mum is dead.
“Leviticus –”
Remus’ mum is dead.
“And so it was said: man must not lie with man...”
Remus’ mum is dead.
Remus doesn’t get to go to her funeral. Never is allowed to say goodbye to his mother. Instead, he sits in bible studies classes. Spends the next two years being lectured on the sanctity of marriage and the teachings of the bible. Being reminded what happens to those who stray from those teachings.
When he finally graduates, Remus vows he’ll never let another boy end up like him. Pulled from the hospital before he was healed. Confined to a conversion camp. He’ll heal every kid in the world, if that’s what it takes.
Notes:
If you enjoyed, kudos and comments are really, truly appreciated!
Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven
Notes:
Listened to Wishbone a lot whilst writing this. If you haven't already, definitely give it a listen! It's so wolfstar and jegulus coded
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Happy birthday to Sirius...”
Something that’s definitely cake-shaped swims in Regulus’ vision as the pub sings slightly off-tune. Regulus squints, trying to bring the red blob into better focus. He thinks it might be some sort of paw print, though, as he tilts his head to get a better look, his stomach turns, and he has to unfocus his eyes immediately for fear of throwing up. His brother leans forwards, extinguishing the bright flames atop the probable cake with a single breath, face creased with joy.
“Who wants cake!” James calls out, throwing his arms above his head with a flourish. His t-shirt rides up a little with the movement, Regulus’ eyes immediately dropping to the bronzed slither of skin that seems to peak out just to torture him. He forces his eyes back upwards. The knife in James’ outstretched right hand glints in the pub lights, causing Regulus to flinch. James definitely should not be trusted with knives.
Regulus eyes Sirius’ friends as they crowd around James and he begins cutting the cake. He’s hoping to spot Remus somewhere in there, though doesn’t see his housemate anywhere. Regulus sighs, abandoning his hope of going home anytime soon, and walking towards the bar instead. He gestures to the bartender for another drink before perching on a stool while he waits.
A glass of something that look suspiciously like water is pushed in front of Regulus. He looks up, eyebrows creasing in a mix of disgust and concern.
“Oh, for fucks sake!” Regulus groans, dropping his head into his arms as none other than James Potter is revealed beside him. James laughs heartily. That boy really needs to work on his responses to being insulted. Regulus watches from his peripheral vision as James straddles the barstool beside Regulus. He nods towards the glass.
“I think you need this.”
Regulus looks up, rolling his eyes. “That is definitely not what I ordered.”
James attempts to match his unamused expression, rolling his own eyes behind those stupidly big glasses. Regulus has to turn away, attempting to ignore the way his idiotically perfect face mirrors Regulus’ with so much more grace than he could ever muster himself.
“Just drink the water, Reg.”
“Regulus,” Regulus grumbles. He attempts to push himself from the stool, with the intention of ordering an actual drink further up the bar. His limbs seem to be moving as if through quicksand, though, and before Regulus even has a chance to realise what’s happening, he’s falling –
Straight into James Potter’s fucking arms.
Now Regulus really does need another drink.
“Right,” James sighs, poorly suppressing laughter, “Let’s get you home, hey?”
James’ abdomen is hard under Regulus’ hand as he attempts to push the other man away. Regulus absolutely does not let his fingers linger there for a moment, splayed over the muscles he saw with his own eyes just hours ago. James grips Regulus’ forearms, attempting to twist him towards the door.
“No!” Regulus groans, the word slurred even to his own ears. James smiles softly, though doesn’t let up. Regulus huffs as he’s pushed towards the door, though finds himself doing little to fight it. James half drags, half carries Regulus all the way to the exit. Multiple times along the way he’s stopped by friends trying to grab his attention, though James only politely waves, his long strides never faltering.
The door swings closed behind them. Regulus tears himself from James’ grasp, stumbling down the street. “You can go back inside now, Potter.”
He hears the sound of James’ footsteps behind him, though doesn’t turn. “Let me walk you home, Regulus.”
Regulus shakes his head, eyes rolling so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t give him a headache. “I’m perfectly capable of walking myself, Potter.”
James eyes him with a look of amusement. “While I’m sure that’s true, let me walk you anyway.”
“No.”
James rolls his eyes. “I’m walking in the same direction anyway.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fine!” James declares, throwing his arms up, “Then I’ll just have to follow you home.”
“Whatever, you creep.”
Regulus turns back towards the path, having glanced back to James only briefly to convey his utter disdain at being followed. He focuses hard on the uneven ground beneath his feet, refusing to trip while James trails him. He’s embarrassed himself in front of Potter decidedly enough for one night, thank you very much.
A gust of particularly icy wind blows up the street, and Regulus’ muscles contract against his will. He shakes off the shiver. Regulus crosses his arms over himself, quickening his pace. There’s the sound of hurried steps behind him, and Regulus smirks at the thought of James having to jog to keep up with him. That is, until something warm and soft is draped over Regulus’ back. Regulus finds himself breathing in the woody sent without thinking, nose borrowing in folds of fabric. He whips his head up suddenly and is mortified to find James watching him do so with an almost fascinated expression.
Regulus purses his lips as he looks briefly to the red jacket slung over his shoulders. He really should insist James take it back. Or, better yet, drop it on the path and leave James to pick it up. But – also – it’s really warm, and Regulus is fucking freezing. And surely he’s drunk enough that he can make a couple of stupid decisions.
He pushes his hands through the sleeves, enjoying the feeling of soft corduroy against his bare arms far too much.
“Don’t need to breath it in again, just to be sure you’ll remember this moment?” James teases from beside him. Regulus snaps his eyes up, feeling his neck redden.
“I’d forgotten you were here for a second there, Potter.”
James grins. “Miss me?”
“It was blissful.”
James really needs to stop laughing around Regulus, or he might start to think he’s actually funny. Not to mention that his laughter sounds like a melody to Regulus’ ears. Like the shrill note of a flute or the crescendo of a harp. Like an entire orchestra crafted just to frustrate and soothe Regulus in equal parts.
James begins to whistle as they walk. Regulus huffs, ignoring him. Refusing to even look at him.
They arrive at their doorsteps both far too quickly and after what feels like hours. Regulus isn’t sure why, but he stops at the little alley between their houses, turning to face James. Their eyes meet immediately, as if James had already been watching him. Had been waiting for him to turn.
James smiles, soft. Not the big grin he directs to all his friends. The quiet smile, that, at times like this, Regulus could believe is only ever given to him.
“That was a pretty good party, hey?” James says after a moment. Mostly trying to fill the silence.
Regulus scruffs the edge of his shoe against a stone for a moment before stopping himself. He looks back up to James. “Yeah. I probably should’ve said bye to Sirius before I left, now that I think of it.”
James shrugs, laughing. “I don’t think he’ll mind too much. He was pretty fucked.”
Regulus smiles, looking down immediately to hide the expression. He bites his lip. Unsure why he feels like he can’t even meet James’ eye, let alone speak to him.
“Right, well I better head in.” Regulus says, swivelling towards his house.
James steps forwards, almost as if to follow, though stops himself immediately. He looks a little sheepish as Regulus searches his face, and Regulus thinks maybe the darkness of the night hides a blush. Maybe he’s just far to hopeful, in his drunken state.
Regulus finally turns fully, walking up the steps to his door; cast in shades of pewter and khaki by the dim streetlights. He’s almost entirely through the threshold to his entryway when he hears James call, “Goodnight, Regulus.”
Regulus sighs. He takes the final step into his house before allowing himself to reply, “Goodnight, James.” It’s barely more than a whisper. Regulus isn’t sure whether he hopes James hears it or not. He shuts the door, turning and placing his forehead against the cool wood. Letting his eyes flutter shut.
While, on the other side, James Potter finds himself walking towards an emerald door, hand raising to knock, entirely against his better judgement.
“James?” He hears from down the street.
James screws his eyes shut, his hand dropping instantly. He turns, even as his body screams for him to follow Regulus. As if the boy is a magnet to which he is drawn. Sirius bounds down the street, a laughing Mary looped around his arm. Behind them, Lily Evans follows.
“We’re headed over to that bar downtown, just grabbing a coat first – do you want to come?” Sirius asks, stopping a step away from Regulus’ door. He pats his pockets down before eventually brandishing his keys, only seeming to realise they’re at the wrong door as he goes to unlock it.
“Wait, what are you doing here?”
James looks guiltily over to their own doorstep. “I was just, ah –” It shouldn’t be hard to say. After all, James was only walking Regulus home. He can’t explain why something deep inside him feels guilty. Or worse, he’s worried if he really searches for it, he’ll easily be able to explain the strange feelings Regulus elicits from him.
Sirius’ expression softens suddenly, and he cuts James off before he can think of an excuse. “You were checking on Remus, weren’t you?”
James’ brows furrow. “Re – oh, yeah. Yeah, I was checking on Remus. You guys...”
Sirius sighs. “Look, he’ll be fine, I’m sure. You know how he and I can be sometimes. But we always bounce back, right?”
Sirius’ expression is imploring, and James finds himself nodding, even unsure as he is. Afterall, last time Remus and Sirius had a fight, Remus moved to Wales for six years.
“I’m gonna head in, I think,” James eventually says, realising he’s left it too long without saying anything. He nods to the girls and hugs Sirius goodnight before all but running up to his bedroom.
The blinds of Regulus’ window across the alley are shut tight when James looks through his own window. Helplessly, foolishly, James finds himself writing on a piece of notebook paper discarded on his desk. He tapes it to the window without letting himself overthink the action, half hoping he’ll wake before Regulus does in the morning so Sober James can rip it off.
I’M MISSING A JACKET
Regulus wakes with a splitting headache.
His alarm blares an awful noise at him. Regulus groans, rolling over and pressing at the snooze button with a little too much force. He’s just about to let his eyes flutter shut once more when he properly takes in the time on the bright haze of his phone screen. Regulus gasps, sitting up and checking his phone again.
8:42 AM.
His philanthropy class starts at nine.
Regulus is up in an instant. He basically jumps into a pair of jeans, throwing on a t-shirt from his laundry basket and whatever jacket he’d been wearing last night in record time. He races down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen only long enough to swallow four aspirin tablets, followed by three glasses of water. He pushes his hands through his knotted hair as he runs towards the bus stop, somehow catching a bus just as it’s pulling off the curb.
Regulus is breathless by the time he makes it to class. He can still feel the crust of sleep in his eyes, and his shirt is likely embarrassingly creased (he hasn’t looked down for fear of how his outfit looks). But he made it to class only a minute late, following a group of other late-coming students into the lecture hall.
Slughorn clears his throat to begin the class just as Regulus takes his seat beside Dorcas. He’s so busy organising himself that it’s not until Dorcas taps her hand dramatically on his desk that Regulus looks up. Regulus turns to his left, finding her looking at him imploringly.
“Morning,” Regulus grumbles.
Dorcas raises a thin brow. “You look horrid.”
“Why thank you.”
Dorcas rolls her eyes, glancing back to the front of the room briefly. Apparently finding whatever Slughorn has begun lecturing about unimportant, she turns back to pester Regulus once more.
“Stay out late at Sirius’ party then, did you?”
Regulus suppresses a yawn. He shakes his head. “Just drank way too much. Where were you?”
“Though I’d have a quiet night,” She looks him up and down, “Really appreciating that decision, looking at the state of you.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Regulus replies with an eyeroll.
Dorcas is quiet for a while, and Regulus begins writing notes, attempting to clear the fog clouding his head. He finds himself yawning again, turning to glare at Dorcas as she snorts beside him.
Dorcas looks down for a moment. “I like your jacket, where’d you get it?”. She reaches out, rubbing the burgundy fabric between her fingers. Regulus’ eyebrows crease, looking down to take in his outfit for the first time that morning. Just as a horrible realisation begins to dawn on him, there’s a crashing sound at the front of the hall.
Every student’s head snaps up at the same time. At the front of the room, James barrels through the door – looking just as worse for wear as Regulus feels. He runs a hand through his messy hair, somehow only worsening the tornado of hair sticking up in all directions. James rights his crooked glasses as he shuts the door with an overly-cautioned hand, turning to Slughorn with a reproachful look. Regulus can’t be sure what Slughorn’s reaction is, because his eyes stayed glued to James. James, who immediately looks out to the lecture hall, brown eyes snagging on Regulus. Before dropping down his body. To his jacket. Heat snakes up Regulus’ neck, his cheeks burning a shade akin to that of the jacket he’s wearing.
Regulus groans, dropping his head into his hands and abruptly breaking the searing eye contact.
“Why is Potter staring at you looking like a kid who’s just won a prize?” Dorcas stage whispers.
Regulus inhales audibly, pursing his lips. He peaks out between his thumb and forefinger to look at Dorcas. “No idea.”
Dorcas’ brows raise in obvious disbelief.
Regulus wants to rip the jacket from his body and burn it. But to take it off now would be somehow even more embarrassing, with the way James is watching him from the front of the room – looking, admittedly, quite proud. Accomplished. Like he’s won some sort of unspoken competition. And to take the jacket off now, well, that would just be like Regulus admitting defeat.
So no, Regulus can’t take the jacket off. He has to own this. Pretend he meant to wear James’ annoyingly warm, unbelievably soft, sweet-scented jacket.
Class seems to drag, in part because Regulus can’t bear to look towards the front of the room. As the students finally begin to file out of the lecture hall, Regulus stands, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for Dorcas to pack up her things.
Dorcas looks up, expression amused as she takes in his frustrated stance. “Go on without me, it looks like you’ve got somewhere to be.”
Regulus is just about to take her up on that offer, desperate to be out of the theatre and away from a particular pair of brown eyes, when Slughorn calls up to him.
“Oh, Mr Black. You wouldn’t mind staying back for a moment, would you? I’d like to have a quick chat.”
Regulus purses his lips, shutting his eyes and forcing himself to take a breath before turning towards Slughorn.
“No, of course not.”
Dorcas gives him a sarcastic wave as Regulus drags his feet down the stairs, towards where the spectacled man sits back in his chair, whilst Potter leans the side of one thigh against his desk.
“What can I do for you, Professor?” Regulus asks as he reaches the desk. He looks to James only briefly, at least finding him looking equally as confused about what this could be about as Regulus is.
“Well, Mr Black, I’ve found your work so far this semester to be outstanding.”
Regulus creases his brows, eyes flicking involuntarily over to James again. He forces his gaze back to the professor. “Oh, thank you. I do enjoy this class very much.”
Slughorn nods, continuing. “You’ve excelled so much, Mr Black, that I’d love to offer you the opportunity to study my advance course under Mr Potter’s direction, with the intention of stepping up as TA next year.”
Regulus blinks. Looks to James, who looks even more confused now. James meets his eyes, brows creasing.
“You want Potter to...tutor me?”
Slughorn smiles, clapping his hand together. “Yes, exactly! You don’t mind at all, do you Mr Potter?”
James’ mouth opens for a second before the words seem to come to him. “Um. No, no of course not.”
“It’s settled then! I’ll leave you two to organise your hours.”
Slughorn rises, bustling from the room. The hall becomes suddenly far too silent. Regulus finds himself stepping backwards, as if poached.
James straightens, still leaning against the desk but now clearly fighting the twitch of a grin.
“Well,” he says, drawing the word out. Looking far too smug. Far too happy, as usual, “Looks like we’re stuck with each other.”
Regulus’ presses his lips together. “Absolutely not.”
That stupid grin doesn’t slip for a second. “Sorry, did you miss the part where Slughorn just knighted me your personal guide to higher learning?”
Regulus crosses his arms over the jacket – James’ jacket – and levels him with a glare. “I’m sure there’s someone else who can tutor me. And besides, maybe I don’t want to be TA next year.”
“Oh please,” James laughs, “As if you’d turn down an offer to do extra work. You’re a hundred percent a sweat.”
Regulus looks away. Mostly because James is right. Regulus is nothing if not academically validated.
He sighs audibly. “Fine. We’ll meet once a week.”
“Your house, or mine?”
His eyes are going to start aching if he has to keep rolling them. “The library, obviously. I’m not letting you inside my house, and I hardly need to spend any more time at yours and Sirius’.”
James makes a wounded noise, clutching at his chest as though Regulus has just mortally injured him. “You wound me, Black. I keep a very welcoming home, I’ll have you know. Most people would be honoured to receive an invitation to study there.”
“People without any sense, perhaps,” Regulus mutters, already gathering his bag.
James watches him with open amusement, his grin tugging wider by the second. “Library it is then. I’ll look forward to our first study date. Oh, and you’d better give me your number, just so we can organise the days.”
“Call them study dates again and I’ll never speak to you again, Potter.” Regulus growls, shooting him a scathing look, “And I thought you much preferred leaving signs in your window. Something about it being Shakespearean...”
Regulus turns his back to James’ laughter, heading towards the door. “I’ll just get your number from Sirius if you don’t give it to me, you know?”
“Probably good for you to have to work for something for once in your life.”
That stupid laughter echoes through the hall once more. Regulus finally reaches the door, basically ripping it open.
“Oh, and Regulus?” he hears called from behind him. Regulus almost doesn’t stop. Almost.
He at least has the decency not to turn as Potter continues to his back, “I think you have something of mine.”
Regulus looks down to his jacket with a huff. He gives James the middle finger, forcing himself to continue walking.
“You know what? It looks better on you anyway!” James calls out to Regulus’ retreating figure, “I’ll just grab it back at our study date.”
***
Remus flicks the silver lighter open and shut, the repetitive clicking somewhat soothing. He traces his thumb over the engraved sides. The stupid moon and stars he’d had specially engraved for Sirius. The flame dances as he thumbs the lid open again, wavering in the wake of Remus’ breath.
There’s a knock at his door, and Remus flicks the lighter shut once more. He stuffs it into the back of his bedside drawer before rising from his bed.
Regulus stands outside his bedroom door, hand raised as if he’d been about to knock again. He drops it back to his side dramatically as Remus’ door creaks fully open.
“Hey,” Remus says, voice slightly hoarse from two days of silence.
“Hey. Are you okay? I haven’t seen at all since Sirius’ birthday.” Regulus peaks his head around Remus into his messy room, “Have you even been downstairs to eat?”
No. “Yeah, of course. We must’ve just been missing each other.”
Regulus eyes him suspiciously, and Remus knows his lie hasn’t landed.
“Right, well,” Regulus finally breathes after a moment, breaking the tense silence, “I’m heading down to the pub with Evan – and maybe Dorcas and Pandora – for a couple of drinks if you want to come?”
“The Black Dog?” Remus questions, cringing just at the thought of returning there.
Regulus thankfully shakes his head. “No, some other bar Dorcas recommended. I need to bitch about Potter, so we can’t be around my brother.”
Remus laughs. “What’s he done to you this time?”
Regulus groans, running a hand over his face. “He has to tutor me!”
Remus really laughs now, his facial muscles stretching into a smile for the first time in two days. “James Potter tutoring you?”
Regulus throws his hands up in emphasis, eyebrows raised. “Exactly! Since when is Potter capable of tutoring anyone? And I spend far too much time around him as is!”
Remus leans against the doorframe, fighting back a smile. It feels strange, laughing with Regulus after two days of isolating himself. His chest still aches with the memory of Sirius’ mouth on his, the sharp sting of Sirius’ retreat. But Regulus, standing there, complaining with his usual sharpness, makes something inside him unclench.
“You do realise James is going to enjoy this more than anything in his life, right?” Remus says.
Regulus groans again, tilting his head back as though praying for mercy. “I know. He already called it a study date. I swear he exists just to torment me.”
Remus laughs again. Regulus smiles hopefully. “So? Pub? A pint might even fix whatever’s making you look like death.”
Remus hesitates. He wants to say no, to stay cocooned in his little darkened room where he can nurse his bruised heart in private. But if he refuses, Regulus will only grow more suspicious – and truthfully, the thought of a noisy pub with people who aren’t Sirius feels like it might help.
“Alright,” Remus says finally, tugging a jumper off the back of his desk chair. “But only one drink.”
Regulus smirks. “Sure. One drink. That’s what they all say.”
The bar Dorcas has chosen is tucked into a side street. It’s dimly lit, with peeling wallpaper and a jukebox that seems to favour Queen. Something Remus would usually be excited about, though tonight the familiar songs only stoke the ache Sirius has left.
The four of them crowd into a booth, Dorcas promising that Pandora is on the way. In the mean time, she insists they all order a shot and a pint. And, against his better judgement, because he does have work in the morning, Remus of course obliges. After all, he is a little heartbroken.
“I think I’d rather fail Slughorn’s stupid extension class than sit with Potter in the library for hours every week!” Regulus is groaning, much to Dorcas’ and Evan’s amusement.
“Oh, shut it. We all know you think he’s hot. This is like some freaky fantasy for you, Reg.”
Regulus’ jaw clenches. He looks over to Remus as if for backup, but Remus only raises his hands. “I’m not taking sides here.”
Regulus gives him a cutting look. He turns back to the others, only briefly acknowledging Pandora as she slides into the booth across from him.
“First of all, I absolutely do not.”
Dorcas raises a brow. Evan elbows her, grinning.
“Secondly, even if I did think he was...attractive –”
“Which you do. You definitely fancy him. I’ve seen this film before, Regulus.” Evan cuts in again.
“Are we talking about James?” Pandora asks innocently.
Evan points dramatically towards her, as if her knowing who they’re talking about has proven his point exactly. Which it has, sort of.
“I’m getting another drink,” Remus mumbles as Regulus returns to his ranting. If Remus were in more of a mood for romance, he might point out that it’s plainly obvious James fancies Regulus. That James’ secret crush is undoubtedly his best friend’s brother. But, unfortunately for Regulus’ sanity, Remus is not at all in the mood to gossip about that.
“What’s got you in such a rut, then?” Evan asks as Remus returns, pint in hand.
“I’m not in a rut.”
Beside him, Regulus raises a brow.
“Is it something to do with Sirius?” Dorcas questions.
Remus nearly chokes on his beer. “No. What’d make you think that?”
Dorcas gives him an unreadable look. “Marlene just mentioned he’d skipped class the last couple of days. She thought it was something to do with Mary, though, so –”
Remus can’t help but ask, the words leaving his mouth before he even realises what he’s asking. “What would that have to do with Mary?”
Regulus leans back in his chair. “They slept together that night,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes, “She was gushing about it at work. I almost threw up.”
Remus thinks Dorcas says something, but he doesn’t hear. There’s a static noise clogging his thoughts as conversation continues. And Remus can only sit there, silent.
He knows he’s too quiet on the walk home, but also knows Regulus won’t mind. That ringing hasn’t left his head, now a constant buzzing plaguing every thought from the night of Sirius’ birthday as they twirl through the hurricane wrecking havoc in his head. Regulus walks a little ahead of Remus, hands tucked deep in his pant pockets. Remus kicks at loose stones with his cane as he walks. He feels so stupid. While he’s spent the last two days wallowing over losing his best friend for a second time, Sirius has gone straight back to Mary. Like Remus was nothing.
He supposes, in that way, he always was.
And what now? He couldn’t possibly keep living right next door to Sirius. He’s holed himself up in his room the last two days, but between having to eventually leave for work and uni, he was bound to run into Sirius eventually. Could he bear that?
He didn’t think so.
“Regulus! We have to stop meeting like this!” Remus lifts his head to find James at their doorstep. He leans casually against the green jam, one foot kicked over the other.
“Yes, let’s.”
James has eyes only for Regulus as he storms up to the door, pushing into the house with barely another glance in James’ direction. James isn’t deterred though, eyes following Regulus as he rounds the corner into their living room, before he finally turns back to Remus, a sickeningly adoring expression on his face.
“Hey,” James greets, following Remus into the house.
Remus puts the kettle on before turning to face James properly. “Hi, James.”
James purses his lips. He hums. Remus rolls his eyes.
“Out with it, then.”
James at least has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I’m just not surprised to find you in this mood, is all. Sirius has been the same.”
Remus works to keep his face blank. When he doesn’t respond, James continues, “And he mentioned –”
“He told you what happened?”
James’ mouth snaps shut at the interruption, eyes widening.
“Ah, no. but I’m definitely sensing something has happened, now.”
Remus groans, running a hand over his face. Thankfully, the kettle chooses that moment to chime it’s ascent to boiling point, and he has an excuse to turn away. Remus takes his time choosing two mugs, pouring the water with agonising slowness before glancing briefly back to James.
“Do you still take milk and sugar?”
James looks at is he wants to say more, but thankfully only replies, “Ah, yeah. Thanks.”
Remus passes a mug to James and takes a seat at the table. James pulls out the chair across from him, dropping into it ceremoniously.
“So, what’s happened?”
“I don’t see how this is any of your business, Prongs.” Remus sighs.
James raises his brows. “It very much is my business when the integrity of the Marauders is threatened, thank you very much.”
Remus laughs softly, rolling his eyes. He takes a sip of too-hot tea, looking out the window to the darkened street outside.
“What has Sirius told you?” Remus doesn’t really want to know. Needs to, desperately.
“Nothing, really. But it’s obvious he’s upset. He’s skipped class the last two days and won’t have a proper conversation with me.”
Remus should feel sickened to hear that Sirius is suffering as much as he is. He isn’t. in fact, part of him is relieved.
“Maybe it’s got to do with Mary. I hear they had a good night.”
James shakes his head. He gives Remus a flat look. “I think we both know that’s not it.”
When it comes to his friends, James Potter really can be far too perceptive for his own good.
“Well, you’ll have to talk to him, Prongs,” Remus decides finally, pushing up from his chair, “I’ve got no idea what happened that night – what...he was thinking. And frankly, I don’t care. If you’re worried about Sirius, it’s not my problem. Maybe he can clean up his own mess for once.”
James stands too, attempting to follow Remus as he walks towards the stairs. But Remus stops at the front door, spinning around.
“Leave it, James.”
James opens his mouth as if to say more, Remus honestly one more word from chasing James from the house, cane in hand. Then there’s the clearing of a throat behind them. Both men turn towards the living room at the same time, finding Regulus there, expression stern.
“He said get out, Potter.” Regulus repeats firmly.
James looks to Remus once more, expression conflicted. He nods, more to himself than anyone, before turning to the door.
“I’m just next door if you need anything, Remus.” James says before leaving. Remus sighs, nodding. He should feel bad. Afterall, James is only trying to help.
Remus just cannot be fucked caring right now.
“A pleasure as always, Reg,” James farewells with a wink.
The door shuts with a satisfying click. Remus closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply for the first time in what feels like hours.
He looks over to Regulus, still standing cautiously in the area between the entryway and the living room.
“Thanks,” Remus manages to say. He turns abruptly without waiting for a reply, and storming up the stairs, tea long forgotten in the kitchen.
Notes:
Thanks so much for reading <3
I hopefully will have the next chapter written in about a week or so. See you then!
giulsworld on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Apr 2025 08:11PM UTC
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evieknievil on Chapter 3 Sun 12 Jan 2025 04:39PM UTC
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the_star__parad0x on Chapter 4 Tue 14 Jan 2025 08:36PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 15 Jan 2025 12:17AM UTC
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