Chapter 1: Exile
Chapter Text
“Sirius, hurry up.”
Regulus’s voice echoed up the wooded trail with that specific, razor-thin frustration only Sirius could inspire—the tone that meant
I love you deeply, but I am also fully prepared to throw you down this mountain.
Sirius, to his credit, did pick up the pace.
Ilvermorny was the fourth school they’d been to, as Sirius had a penchant for getting them kicked out for stupid stunts. First Hogwarts, then Durmstrang, which is quite difficult to get expelled from; the most recent was Beauxbatons, his personal favorite, and the longest they’d ever stayed.
So now: Ilvermorny.
The last option before full-time homeschooling, which wasn’t an option at all, because their mother would sooner sever her own wand hand with a butter knife than spend uninterrupted hours in Sirius’s company.
And Ilvermorny—well. It had a reputation. A Hogwarts knockoff, some sneered. Full of folk-magic mystics, gentle pacifists, dreamers, and kids who thought Quodpot was a real sport. They’d been told they’d be sorted with the eleven-year-olds, because transfer students “benefit from the full experience” , which was code for we don’t know what to do with you .
They arrived at the top of the stone steps, reaching a decorative gate. The wards hung heavy in the air, designed to repel muggles, or no-majs as the Americans called them, from the top of a popular hiking destination. Ilvermorny boasted its location as a plus, advertising magical wilderness expeditions that Regulus would rather kill himself than join.
He was startled out of his thoughts by an unfamiliar voice. A pretty redhead, with an odd accent, introduced herself as Lily Evans, a fellow seventh year assigned to show them around campus.
Compared to past schools, Ilvermorny’s campus was strange. It wasn’t contained in a singular building, massive castles, fortresses, or palaces, but instead detached brick buildings surrounding grass lawns, where students lay out soaking up the last of the summer sun. It was already late August, and Regulus wasn’t sure what to expect from the weather come September. Luckily, he was a chronic overpacker.
“So, this is the main quad, where the library, dining hall, medical support, and the major classes are located. Since you’re seventh years, you’ll probably be spending more time in the elective quad…” Regulus tuned Lily’s babbling out. He had an efficiently color-coded map.
He was planning on zoning out for the entirety of the tour and letting Sirius do most of the conversation; he owed Regulus that much, until Lily offered a tour of the library.
Regulus elbowed his shorter and older brother out of the way, full attention fixated on Lily. Sirius picked up on this and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “bloody swot” under his breath.
Lily turned around and asked, “What’s a swot?”
Fuck you Sirius , now he’s responsible for techimg people he’ll probably never see again after Yule, Sirius was aiming for a new record, English slang.
“Someone who's really into their studies and books,” Regulus explained, steering Lily away from his annoying brother and towards the grand library.
“Oh, so like a nerd?” Lily asked. Regulus just nodded in assent as he held the door open for her. Was he going to have to learn American diction? He certainly hoped not.
The library was, as Lily promised, exceptionally beautiful. It had a long reading porch facing the green, and the inside had a high ceiling, lined with dark wooden beams. It was blissfully quiet, which Sirius quickly interrupted.
He slung an arm around Regulus, reaching up, as he had been successfully outgrown nearly two years ago, the midget. “Wowee, Reg, I can already tell you’re gonna hide from me forever here. Oi, Lily, are there any secret rooms I should know of? Can’t let my baby brother hide too long.”
If Lily knew of any secret rooms, she did not inform the buffoon Regulus called brother of them. Regulus liked her more every minute. Instead, she asked the question they’d come to expect.
“Are you guys twins?”
“Despite the fact that my brother looks and acts like a child, he’s a year older than me. I went to school early.” Regulus liked handling the explanations of their age before Sirius could spread any outrageous lies, like when he told everyone at Durmstrang that Regulus was made from a potion of Sirius’ blood.
Despite their parents’ magical talent and affinity for dark rituals, Regulus was conceived the normal human way.
Unfortunately, Sirius’s bad behavior can’t be contained, and he gives Lily a completely unnecessary detail. “Reggie threw a massive fit when he heard I was heading to school a year before him. Our parents really had no choice but to send him along, unless they wanted all the fancy silverware stabbing the dinner guests.”
Regulus gives Sirius an unimpressed look before turning to Lily to clear his reputation. “I was ten, you can hardly blame me.”
Their conversation is ever so rudely, and thankfully, interrupted by perhaps the most beautiful boy Regulus has ever laid eyes on, with a mop of jet black hair atop a tan smiling face. His grin widens even more when he lays eyes on Regulus and Sirius, but he doesn't get a chance to introduce himself before Lily turns to him and asks, "Do I want to know what you're doing in the library this early in the year?”
He gives a bashful grin and replies with “probably not."
Mystery boy gives a wave and walks off, leaving them in the company of Lily, who quickly decides the next stop on their tour is the house courts. Lily explained the house system quickly: Horned Serpent for the mind, Wampus for the body, Thunderbird for the soul, Pukwudgie for the heart. Unlike at Hogwarts, students from other houses are allowed in the common areas at all times. Lily explains there are no restrictions on who can go into the dorms, just as long as they're invited.
They're all warded so that nobody with nefarious intentions can get in, and Regulus can see Sirius’s ideas for pranks diminishing immediately. Who knows, maybe they’ll last a little bit longer with this rule.
Once they've completed their private tour, Lily brings them to the Great Hall, where the initial ceremony for First Years and transfer students is performed. It also doubles as the dining hall, likely inspired by the Hogwarts setup. They're shown to a few seats where they wait to be placed in their houses. The ceremony is dreadfully boring, with first-year students walking up to a hall with four statues, one coming forward to claim the student as a member of their house.
Regulus goes before Sirius. Based on the research he did before arriving, Regulus is sure he'll be placed in horned serpent the house designed to represent the mind. He's also certain that Sirius will be placed in Thunderbird, the house designed to represent the soul.
Regulus is, of course, rarely wrong, and his predictions are accurate. Lily, the only person he knows on campus besides his brother, is a Wampus, meaning Regulus is stranded at a table where he knows nobody.
A strange-looking blonde girl, so pale she's almost translucent, waves him over. She introduces herself as Pandora, a fellow Horned Serpent seventh year. They eat dinner, making small talk, and Pandora walks him to the dorms. There are about thirty other Horned Serpent seventh years, and they all live in the same dorm. It's a beautiful red brick building with arched windows and dark wooden accents on the interior. There's a small common room on the first floor, although Regulus’s dorm room is on the second. He's only sharing with one other boy, one of Pandora's friends, who skipped the feast.
Regulus had unpacked half his books and reorganized the wardrobe when a soft knock broke the silence.
He turned slowly. Sirius wouldn’t knock. Neither would his elusive roommate. That left exactly one option: a social encounter he had not prepared for.
Wonderful.
He opens the door to find a brightly smiling Lily Evans, wearing a massive Muggle t-shirt that reads Pink Floyd: The Wall in cracked, faded lettering, the hem brushing her thighs and revealing the striped bikini bottoms underneath. It looked like the kind of shirt someone swiped from a boyfriend’s drawer and never gave back.
Regulus, against his better judgment, thought immediately of the boy from the library. The one who doesn’t frequent libraries. It would figure if the shirt were his.
“Hi Reg, we’re having a little thing in the quarry if you want to join? You can bring Sirius too.” Well great. Sirius would never forgive him if Regulus didn’t bring him to all social events.
“Okay.”
“Great! Put on your swimsuit, and we can get Sirius and go.” Lily is impressively chipper, considering she spent her whole day dealing with Sirius.
She gave him a brief, approving once-over and leaned against the doorframe, at ease in a way Regulus never quite felt around strangers. He retreated into his room, pulling open the top drawer where he’d folded his swim trunks with surgical precision. He chose the forest green ones—cut a little higher on the thigh, snug around the waist. A boy from Beauxbatons had once complimented them during a summer lake trip, murmuring something about how they emphasized the cut of his hips. Regulus wasn’t built like Sirius—he had less muscle, more edges—but if he had to be thin, he might as well be deliberately so.
When he opens the door again, Lily wanders in, taking a look at his book piles. Regulus loves Muggle fiction. They have such creative portrayals of magic, even if inaccurate.
So does Lily apparently, as she starts chatting about how she used to desperately wish she were a witch when she was a child.
“... My older sister and I used to go out on my dad’s scalloping boat and pretend we were sea witches. I didn’t know it at the time, but so many weird things we called magic happened on that boat. One time it broke away from the dock, after it had been fully unloaded, of course, and Petunia, that’s my sister, and I sailed it around the harbor.”
Regulus watched her as she spoke, all loose limbs and windswept hair, and thought—not for the first time—that there were people in this world who glowed in a way no spell could replicate. Lily Evans had the kind of warmth that made people bend toward her without her ever noticing.
He understood, then, why someone might fall in love with her. Why the library boy might grin like that when she walked into a room. He didn’t blame him.
Not that Regulus felt it himself. He was very, very sure of what he liked. But if he had liked girls, he thought Lily might have been the one to ruin him for all the others.
And he gave Sirius a mental countdown before he inevitably made some grand, embarrassing pass at her. Hopefully not tonight. Hopefully not too soon. Ideally, not ever. Sirius really needed to stop pursuing Regulus’ friends.
“I’m surprised you didn’t try to hex your sister,” he said instead.
“Oh, I tried.” Lily grinned. “Didn’t work until I was eleven. Then her eyebrows vanished for a week.”
Regulus chuckled softly, brushing a loose strand of hair from his eyes. Maybe this school wouldn’t be as awful as he thought.
“Come on,” Lily said, already halfway out the door. “The quarry’s best just before sunset. The light hits the cliffs and turns the water gold.”
—
Sirius has decided Ilvermorny is already a bust. Day one, and he’s had zero girls flirt with him. Not even a lingering glance, not a single appreciative once-over. The tragedy of it all.
Back home—or, well, at literally any other school—they’d be fawning by now. He’s charming. He’s got great hair. He’s foreign, for Merlin’s sake. Where’s the intrigue? The mystery?
And what’s worse, Regulus is the one doing well. Regulus, of all people. With his polite nods and unreadable expressions, and love of boring Muggle books. Lily likes him . The mysterious blonde girl in the dining hall waved at him . Even that annoyingly handsome bloke in the library had smiled at him, though, granted, Sirius couldn’t tell who it was meant for. Probably Regulus. Everyone fancies Regulus.
It’s outrageous. Regulus doesn’t even want attention. He probably wants to get married to a pile of books and have ten cats and never speak to a human again. And yet he’s out here, effortlessly racking up admirers.
Sirius, meanwhile, is getting nothing. And he’s trying . He leaned against a tree with what he assumed was a brooding posture. He offered an upperclassman a piece of Drooble’s gum and got ignored . He even flipped his hair. Flipped his hair, and no one gasped.
He’s lying on his back, lamenting the cruel injustice of it all and mentally composing a letter to Beauxbatons—just in case they’ll take him back, since they appreciated his hair—when there’s a knock at the door.
At last. Perhaps his adoring fans have finally come to their senses. A parade of Ilvermorny girls, lined up to apologize for their delayed recognition of his brilliance, no doubt.
He opens the door. It is not a parade.
It is Regulus.
Which is nearly the opposite of a parade. The inverse. The natural predator of parades.
“We’re going swimming with Lily’s friends. Get dressed.”
Regulus’s face is impassive as always, but Sirius knows him too well. There’s judgment in the way he says get dressed. As if Sirius hasn’t already hand-picked his most flattering swim trunks for exactly this kind of spontaneous event.
Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Swimming?”
Regulus doesn’t dignify that with a response. Just turns and walks away, because, of course, he does. Regal little menace.
Sirius sighs dramatically and collapses backward onto the bed, again forgetting the comforter is hideous and smells like institutional soap. He sits back up and rummages through his trunk, pulling out the navy swim trunks. The ones that made a Beauxbatons girl trip over her own feet last spring. He considers going shirtless, then throws on a too-tight tee just in case the Americans are prudish.
He heads out the door after Regulus, mentally preparing to flirt with every girl in a thirty-foot radius. Especially if that boy from the library is there again, grinning like he owns the place.
Not that Sirius cares. Obviously. He’s not worthy competition.
Lily has an alarming number of friends, all of them shockingly attractive. Sirius decides, naturally, that he fits right in.
Some are already in the water, splashing around in the quarry’s sunlit shallows. The air smells like wild mint and lake water, and Sirius feels the first tiny flutter of possibility—maybe Ilvermorny isn’t completely cursed.
That hope is short-lived.
Because then he spots him —the boy from the library. The boy with the grin. The boy who is now, quite rudely, shirtless. Sirius should be the hottest person in a fifteen-mile radius!
Holy mother of Merlin .
No teenage boy should have abs like that. It’s practically indecent . His skin is tanned like he actually goes outside, which is a personal offense, and he’s laughing like he doesn’t even know he’s a Greek statue brought to life. Sirius feels vaguely irritated. Not competitive. Just… aesthetically threatened.
He glances over at Regulus to deliver some kind of biting commentary about American arrogance—but stops short.
Because Regulus is staring.
Not in a subtle way. Not with a passing, appreciative glance. He is laser-focused. Hypnotized. His arms are crossed, and his mouth is doing this horrible little curl that means he’s planning something unspeakable.
Sirius barely has time to prepare for it before Regulus (tall bastard ) leans in—just a bit—and murmurs in his ear:
“I want to lick him.”
Sirius chokes on nothing. Absolutely nothing. He steps back like he’s been slapped.
“What is wrong with you?”
Regulus only raises an eyebrow. “What? I thought we were being honest about our feelings now.”
“No,” Sirius says firmly. “No feelings. Especially not licking ones.”
“Bit late for that rule,” Regulus replies, casual as anything. “Shouldn’t have walked in last spring.”
Sirius glares, betrayed. “I knocked. You said it was fine!”
“I said ‘don’t come in’,’” Regulus says. “If you interpret that as an invitation, that's on you.”
“ There were noises, ” Sirius hisses. “ Weird noises. What was I supposed to think?”
“That I was fucking someone?”
Sirius stares at him, aghast. “Don’t say things like that! You’re my baby brother. You’re not even allowed to know about sex.”
Regulus smiles faintly. “That’s not how that works.”
He wanders off to sit near the fire and ogle shirtless fucker some more. Lily comes back over with two friends, also wearing blessedly little clothing.
She introduces the very, very tall guy as Remus.
It’s a stupidly charming name. Of course it is. Of course, someone who looks like that is named Remus.
He’s shirtless, which Sirius tries very hard not to have an opinion about. It’s fine. Loads of people are shirtless. This is a swimming thing. It’s normal. Nothing to observe here.
Except the scars.
They criss-cross his torso like lightning strikes, pale against his sun-warmed skin. It’s not just one or two, either—his whole back and sides look like they’ve seen things. Done things. Sirius knows better than to ask, but that doesn’t stop his brain from spinning up stories: duels, cursed creatures, maybe some heroic act gone wrong. Regulus would definitely say it’s rude to pry. Sirius just thinks it’s interesting.
He’s also covered in freckles.
There’s a scatter across his nose and cheeks that catches the last of the sun, but if Sirius looks closer— not that he is —they trail down his neck, over his arms and shoulders, barely visible except in this golden light. Nearly as many as Lily.
His smile, when he waves, scrunches his whole face in a way that’s just… absurdly cute . His nose wrinkles, his eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s been smiling his whole life, like everything’s a little bit funny. Sirius feels something strange in his chest, like maybe his ribs just unlatched and forgot how to hold themselves together.
He doesn’t say any of that out loud.
What he does say is: “Hi.”
It comes out a little too casual, a little too bright, but Remus doesn’t seem to notice. He waves again, just as warmly, and then turns to say something to Lily.
Sirius watches, hyper-aware of Regulus drifting in the periphery.
Sirius doesn’t share his friends. Especially not with his overly ambitious, pouty-lipped, heartbreak-in-the-making little brother. If Sirius isn’t allowed to hit on Regulus’ friends (a sacred vow he regrets more and more by the minute), then Regulus cannot have this one.
It’s only fair. It’s not jealousy, it’s equity .
He slides subtly between them, shooting Regulus a look that says, mine , and grins just a bit too wide at Remus.
“So, Remus,” he says.
They end up talking for quite a while, longer than Sirius intended, honestly. Remus is easy to talk to, in that effortlessly disarming way some people have. He smiles a lot, and laughs like he actually means it, and Sirius finds himself chasing that laugh more often than he’d like to admit.
Which is normal . Laughing too loudly? Standard friend-making protocol. Boost the ego. Build rapport. Become irreplaceable. Sirius is very good at this. It's simply strategic.
He may or may not throw subtle glares at people who try to edge in on their conversation. Harmless ones. Territorial. Nothing anyone can prove .
But eventually, a girl makes it past his defenses. She’s bold enough to just plop down next to Remus and flash a bright, dimpled smile. She introduces herself as Mary—pretty name for a pretty girl, with dark curls and eyes like melted chocolate. Objectively, Sirius should be delighted. He loves pretty girls. He hits on them as a sport.
But all he can think, bizarrely, is she’s not as attractive as Remus . And that’s not a helpful thought at all.
He shoves it down, hard, and masks it with charm. He knows how to turn it on like a faucet. Still, he watches Mary a bit too closely. Watches how close she leans, how Remus smiles at her, how his shoulders curve inward when he laughs.
Then, annoyingly, the shirtless boy from earlier arrives.
James. Of course, his name is James.
He’s the kind of handsome that should be illegal in a school setting. Dark hair, sun-gilded skin, and a cocky grin that says he’s well aware of his impact. Sirius can practically feel Regulus vibrating into existence from across the quarry.
Sure enough, the moment James says his name, Regulus is there , appearing like a ghost, hovering with the air of I just happened to be passing through with my best hipbones forward .
James shifts to make room, which is very generous of him, too generous, because it places him uncomfortably close to Remus. Sirius does not approve of this new configuration. He liked it better when it was just him and Remus, vibing in some sort of platonic soul-friendship, not this increasingly crowded circle.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Sirius loses his shirt.
He does it casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—stretch, pull, toss. The air is cool on his skin, but it’s worth it for the flicker of Remus’s eyes. Maybe imagined. Maybe not.
“Want to go for a swim?” he asks Remus, casually, like he hasn’t been plotting this escape for ten minutes.
Remus grins and nods, and Sirius feels a deep, irrational surge of victory.
Then, betrayal.
James stands, brushing the grass off his shorts. “Brilliant idea. Regulus and I’ll come too.”
Sirius wants to hex him into next Tuesday. But he can’t, because Regulus is standing right there, smiling sweetly and already tugging at his shirt hem like the dainty ghost he is. He’s shirtless in seconds, lean and graceful and glowing in the sunset.
And James is looking at him .
Like, looking looking.
Sirius chokes down a groan. Absolutely unacceptable behavior. Regulus is a literal child—well, not technically , but spiritually. Emotionally. That’s his baby brother , and James unknown-last-name, abs-haver and flirt extraordinaire, should know better.
So Sirius does what any older brother with a fragile sense of control would do.
He quickens his pace and dives straight into the lake, hoping the cold water will wash that scene from his mind and the flutters in his stomach away.
Everyone else dives in after him, all shrieking laughter and splashing limbs, and Sirius is smug for a little bit before he realizes something deeply troubling.
He likes James.
Not in the same way he likes Remus—because that is getting increasingly hard to ignore, and he absolutely refuses to acknowledge it. No, James is different. He’s magnetic and stupidly funny and wildly charming, the kind of boy Sirius would absolutely hate if he weren’t so effortlessly likable. It’s infuriating.
James tells story after story—mostly pranks, all increasingly elaborate—and it turns out most of them were Remus’s idea. Which only deepens Sirius’s sense of betrayal, because come on , now he’s cute and clever?
Sirius wants to yell at the universe to pick a struggle.
Still, there’s something comforting in how easy it is to slot into the group. The sun’s going down, casting everything in gold and shadows, and Sirius feels uncharacteristically content . Which is clearly a trap, because James and Sirius make the mistake of noticing that Remus and Regulus are hanging back at the shoreline.
And Sirius can’t have that.
Not only does James have good taste (unfortunate), he also seems to have similar instincts. But where James exercises restraint, Sirius does not.
So he launches himself out of the water, crosses the distance with a predator’s grace, and before Regulus can do more than look suspicious, Sirius grabs him under the arms and chucks him into deeper water.
The shriek Regulus lets out is music to Sirius’s ears.
And then: the face. That pinched, offended little scowl, the one Regulus makes when Sirius does something ridiculous and public. It’s like an angry kitten realizing it’s wet, and Sirius adores it—if only because it always means revenge is imminent.
He gets about three seconds of peace before the ground disappears from beneath his feet. One sharp tug of sand and current, and Sirius goes under with an undignified squawk.
He surfaces coughing and laughing, shoving his hair out of his face, when he hears a war cry.
A shriek—high-pitched and delighted.
He turns just in time to see James, the treacherous golden boy, finally catch Remus in a bridal hold and hurl him directly at Sirius.
They crash together in a blur of water and limbs and breathless swearing. Sirius’s hands instinctively close around Remus’s waist as they flail. One of his legs slides between Remus’s. Their chests knock together, slick with lake water, and Sirius hears himself inhale like he’s just been socked in the ribs.
Regulus chooses this exact moment to strike again, dragging the current beneath them. The lake floor disappears for the second time, and they both go under, tangled and uncoordinated.
When they surface again, gasping and wild-eyed, Sirius is very much aware of the way Remus’s laugh bubbles in his ear, how close they still are. He swears he can feel the heat of Remus’s skin, even in the chill of the water. His heart is racing in a way he’s going to blame entirely on adrenaline.
Totally normal adrenaline.
He glances up, startled, realizing for the first time how tall Remus is. Not absurdly so—just enough to make Sirius feel suddenly smaller, tilted off center. He’s not short. He isn’t . But something about being looked down on just a little—
Nope. No. That’s not a helpful thought either.
He whips around, face flushed, hellbent on revenge. He is absolutely not thinking about how long Remus’s eyelashes are up close. Or how soft his laugh is. Or how Sirius liked being beneath him for just a second too long.
He just wants to find Regulus and drown him. Yes. That’s all. Family bonding.
By the time they all drag themselves out of the lake and stumble back toward the fire pit, every single one of them has attempted to drown someone else at least once. None of the attempts were successful, which is slightly disappointing, but at least Sirius won’t be expelled. Again.
The smaller groups have merged into one large, tangled sprawl of limbs and damp towels around the bonfire. Sirius drops down onto a log and is instantly handed a marshmallow on a stick by a cheerful girl in a Thunderbird hoodie, who introduces herself as Marlene. He’s starting to like this place more.
Introductions go around as the fire crackles and the sun disappears completely. Sirius makes a mental map of who’s who.
James, thank Merlin, is also a Thunderbird. Obviously, this means they are now legally obligated to execute some truly idiotic pranking operations together. It’s fate.
Remus, tragically, is not a Thunderbird. He’s a Wampus, like Lily and Mary, which Sirius tries not to take personally. Wampus house apparently values bravery and loyalty, which Sirius supposes explains the quiet strength humming under Remus’s gentle demeanor. Still. He would’ve looked good in red. Maybe he can wear some of Sirius’ Quidditch jumpers sometime.
There’s a girl with long black braids and silver charms woven through them—Dorcas, a Puckwudgie—and she’s talking animatedly with Mary. She has the air of someone who could and would destroy him in a duel, so Sirius decides they’ll be friends.
Next to her is a boy with round cheeks and honey-blond curls who introduces himself as Peter. Also a Puckwudgie. He seems sweet, allergic to confrontation. Definitely the type Regulus could emotionally kill in six words or less.
And then there’s Evan—tall, dark-skinned, with sharp cheekbones and hair the color of pale ash. He looks like he’s been carved out of cold marble. Another Puckwudgie, though Sirius is struggling to see how this particular brand of haunted fits into the healer house. He doesn’t speak much. He just watches, like he’s memorizing everyone’s blood type for later use.
There’s also Pandora, the waifish blonde girl Regulus sat with at dinner. She’s a Horned Serpent, obviously. She has a dreamy voice and mismatched socks and an unsettling habit of staring into the fire like it’s telling her secrets.
And then there’s Barty.
Barty is also a Horned Serpent. He has spiky hair, high cheekbones, and a look in his eye like he’s trying to figure out if you taste like copper. He’s also, allegedly, Regulus’s roommate , which is a cause for concern. Sirius watches him a bit too closely during introductions, trying to decide if he’s the type to slip his baby brother drugs or the type to invite him to join a cult. Maybe both.
When it’s Regulus’s turn, he only says his name with a vague hand gesture, already curled up between James and Pandora like he owns the place.
Sirius narrows his eyes. James better be admiring the view platonically , or Sirius is going to have to have a long talk with him. Possibly with fists. That is a child , no matter how many languages he speaks or how many people he’s kissed in broom closets (which better not be many).
Remus, meanwhile, is quietly poking the fire with a stick, marshmallow forgotten, profile glowing in the flickering light like a painting.
Sirius looks away before he embarrasses himself. He really, really needs to get a grip. Or maybe a bucket of cold water.
But he smiles anyway, wide and happy.
Maybe Ilvermorny isn’t
entirely
awful.
—
Bizarrely, Regulus finds himself settling into the group. He’s wearing an extra hoodie James brought, and he already knows he’s not giving it back. It smells like spearmint and laundry detergent and sun, and Regulus isn’t sentimental, but he might be about this.
Across the fire, he can see Sirius teetering between desperate friendship and mortal jealousy—clearly torn over whether to clasp James in a brotherly embrace or punch him square in the jaw for the way Regulus is looking at him. Fair enough. Regulus wouldn’t be calm in his shoes, either.
Regrettably, for his long-standing no-feelings rule, James is perfect. He’s funny in a disarming way, the kind that makes Regulus forget to be on edge. The anxious buzz in his chest dissolves around him, which is dangerous. People don’t make Regulus relax. That’s not a thing that happens.
It’s fine, though. He’s definitely not catching feelings. That would be absurd. He just… appreciates James’s scrumptious abs. Purely aesthetic. He’s allowed to look.
Also, James is taller than him, which is novel and infuriating and kind of perfect. Regulus is used to French boys—compact. He’s used to craning his neck to kiss. With James, he would only have to tilt his head. Tragic.
But just as his mind begins building castles in the sky, he drags himself back to earth.
James probably doesn’t even like boys. And even if he does, there’s no way he likes him. Not seriously. Not in a way that matters. From their exchange in the library, he suspects there might be something with Lily, and honestly? Fair play. She’s perfection.
And if— if —James does like Regulus, it’s superficial at best. People like pretty things, and Regulus knows he’s pretty. They don’t want the rest.
Barty and Evan wander over to say hi to Pandora, dragging Regulus out of his spiraling thoughts and into the orbit of their conversation. He scoots a bit farther from James, trying to ignore the chill that seeps into his bones the moment the space between them widens.
They’re comparing timetables. Regulus hadn’t checked his yet—it had arrived while he was holed up in the dorm—but now that he’s looking at it, he’s… impressed. He didn’t get to choose his classes, but someone did an unnervingly good job. Ilvermorny offers subjects no European school would dare—wild, sprawling courses full of theory and legends, with no regard for Ministry approval.
He’s especially intrigued by Astral Studies , apparently a fusion of Astronomy, Astrology, and Centaur Divination. Naturally, it’s with Pandora. Of all the people he’s met so far, she might be his favorite—aside from Lily. Pandora’s strange in a way that feels comforting, like a riddle you don’t need to solve. She always has something strange and shiny to say, and, like Lily, she doesn’t seem to mind when Regulus doesn’t respond right away.
Aside from that, he’s thrilled about his triple-threat block: Potions, Magical Chemistry (whatever that is), and Alchemy. Whoever put this schedule together clearly knew him better than his parents ever have, so he’s certain they had nothing to do with it.
Lily plops down beside Pandora, prompting a soft pink flush to rise up the girl’s neck. Regulus immediately feels for her. Unrequited infatuation is a humiliating little disease, and Lily seems to have a way of infecting even the most careful people.
And then James slides in behind him.
Regulus shivers—too subtle for most, but not for James. And not for Pandora either, apparently. She wraps her arms around Regulus’s shoulders in a sudden, warm hug. Before he can even register it, the surprise sends him stumbling backward—right into James, who catches him without hesitation and wraps both arms around his middle like it’s something they’ve done a hundred times.
Being trapped between people, even kind ones, usually makes Regulus feel like his lungs are filling with ice water. But for some reason, surrounded by Pandora’s gentle hold and James’s steady warmth, the panic doesn’t come. He just… breathes.
James presses his face to Regulus’s hair and murmurs, “Don’t worry, we all cuddle.”
Regulus is momentarily offended—he should be special—but if communal affection is the custom here, and that custom means he gets to be held by James Potter, he’s willing to blend in.
The lovely peace Regulus has found in James’s arms is, of course, shattered by his bitch (literally) of a brother.
Sirius and Remus wander over from the fire, and Sirius—never one for subtlety—shouts, “Cuddle pile!” before launching himself directly onto them and dragging a very unfortunate Remus down with him.
Like the oversized mutt he is, Sirius scrambles across all their laps, limbs everywhere, tail wagging metaphorically if not literally. No one seems to mind. Of course they wouldn’t. Regulus has landed in a group of people who find his brother’s clingiest tendencies endearing.
At least they’re better than Sirius’s last crowd, who did little else besides drink too much and brag about which girls they’d shagged behind pub dumpsters.
Remus, at least, seems to understand boundaries. He keeps his distance from Regulus, something the younger Black is profoundly grateful for. It’s rare—someone picking up on the unspoken rules of his space. Sirius drains every last ounce of Regulus’ tolerance for physical contact. Always has. Even as a child, he didn’t like being held. Not by house-elves, not by nannies, not by anyone.
The few semi-serious flings he’s had always expected to be cuddled after sex, and Regulus never knew how to explain that being touched like that made his skin crawl. That what he needed after was space, not more closeness. He’s grateful that Remus doesn’t grab him.
Still trapped under the ridiculous heap of limbs, Regulus squirms. Sirius, finally sensing the discomfort, rolls off with dramatic flair and immediately latches onto Remus instead, pressing into his side and mumbling something about being cold.
He’s such an idiot. Probably hasn’t even noticed he’s practically in love.
Pandora, perhaps sensing the shift, scoots away and back toward Lily, leaving Regulus nestled awkwardly under James’s arm. The moment she’s gone, James lifts his arm in a casual, polite gesture, offering him a way out.
He slips away, but they stay pressed shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg.
It’s almost enough to make Regulus forget they’re in exile.
Almost.
Chapter 2: The Bolter
Notes:
i forgot to mention that the title of this fic is from fleetwood mac's miles away
Also, I couldn't decide whether I wanted this chapter or the next chapter to be titled 'The Bolter,' but I didn't have any ideas. Anyway, Regulus is the Bolter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Terrifyingly, Regulus quite likes Ilvermorny.
He’s found a solid group—one half made up of people with far too much energy for Sirius to burn through, and the other half content to spend their evenings in quiet study, which suits Regulus just fine.
In the week since their arrival, he’s genuinely enjoyed most of his classes, particularly Magical Chemistry, a fascinating blend of magical and Muggle botanical theory. It's the kind of subject that would never fly at Durmstrang, and definitely not at any of the more rigid European schools.
Even more shockingly, it’s been the longest he’s gone without fighting Sirius in actual years.
They're sharing a friend group, a historic first. Sirius has mellowed considerably, thanks in large part to a certain bespectacled prank partner who channels his chaos into elaborate, barely-legal magical schemes.
Regulus rarely has the energy to argue. Sirius, on the other hand, is a storm trapped in human form—endless restlessness with nowhere to go. Regulus supposes that’s why his brother started pranking in the first place. And then, inevitably, why he started acting like a whore.
Not that Regulus can blame him. Some people (Regulus) cope with structure. Sirius copes with sex.
He hasn’t yet found a conquest, and Regulus is frankly surprised Sirius hasn’t shown up at his dorm complaining that his dick is going to fall off from lack of use. The only plausible explanation is tall, scarred, and freckled—and Regulus does not plan to bring it up.
Sirius has no reluctance sharing his own exploits, even as he refuses to acknowledge Regulus has ever done anything of the sort. Regulus, apparently, sprang fully formed from the family tree and spends his nights staring celibately at the wall.
It’s the second Monday of term, and Regulus is walking to the dining hall with Pandora and Barty, uncharacteristically and unfortunately anticipating the sight of a particular mop of messy black hair. His unfortunate lust (nothing more, absolutely not) for his brother’s new best friend has yet to fade.
As far as queer relationships go, Regulus isn’t sure what to make of Ilvermorny. He knows Barty likes men in some capacity—he walked in on something that burned his retinas, all because Barty forgot to lock the door. Pandora, on the other hand, defies categorization with a level of confidence Regulus envies.
There aren’t any publicly queer couples, but no one seems overtly hostile either. It’s not like Hogwarts or Durmstrang, where silence was laced with threat. But it’s also not like Beauxbatons, where same-sex flings were almost encouraged—less chance of pregnancy, after all—while any emotional connection was taboo.
Hypocrites. Regulus hates hypocrites. Almost as much as he hates himself for feeling anything at all.
He’s pulled out of his peaceful bubble of thoughts by the unmistakable sound of Lily and Barty bickering.
They’re an odd pair. Lily, with her perfectly maintained curls and militant morning routine, and Barty, with his eternally rumpled uniform and an emotional support coffee cup. Apparently, they’ve been friends for years—something about a shared hatred for a former roommate of Barty’s, a seventh-year Horned Serpent named Severus. Regulus remembers hearing that name muttered in disdain once or twice. Barty had only referred to him as “the human oil slick.”
Now, Lily and Barty are currently embroiled in a passionate argument over hot peppers.
“I’m telling you,” Lily snaps, stabbing a finger at Barty’s notebook, “capsaicin's magical resonance is what makes it valuable. It reacts to intent—if you’re angry while brewing, it gets hotter .”
“That’s pure fantasy,” Barty retorts, scandalized. “It’s the chemical structure—vanillyl groups and carbon chains. Potions are science, Evans, not emotional cookery!”
“Tell that to the Pepperup Potion!” she huffs. “It literally smokes . That’s magic.”
“ Because of the methylamine reaction! Merlin’s tits, have you even read Thistlewaite’s ‘Elemental Catalysis and the Emotional Spectrum in Potioneering’?”
Regulus blinks. “You two realize you’re arguing about chili peppers.”
Pandora, beside him, nods solemnly. “Last year, Barty tried to invent one that screamed when chopped. It worked too well.”
“The screams were encouraging,” Barty says proudly.
The conversation is far from productive, but Regulus finds himself enjoying it anyway. Despite what Sirius would say about Barty’s aesthetics (“like if a porcupine and a crime scene had a baby”), he’s undeniably intelligent.
He’s taking eleven classes—the most in their year. He also apparently skipped a year, just like Regulus. It creates an unfortunate sense of camaraderie with his roommate.
They’re just about to sit down for breakfast—usually eating earlier than the rest of the group—when Regulus hears a far-too-chipper, “Hey, Lily!” from behind him.
Three sweaty Thunderbirds, Sirius unfortunately among them, collapse into chairs around their table. James— Potter , Regulus has decided to call him, despite the American aversion to last names—slides in between Lily and Pandora, who both frown at the intrusion. He’s directly across from Regulus, cursing him with a front-row seat to that lopsided grin that makes his stomach squirm.
Absolutely not . He is not catching feelings for a boy clearly infatuated with a certain redhead. Not that Regulus can blame him. Still, he wrenches his eyes away and turns to his brother, who is sitting entirely too close.
“Merlin, you smell.”
“Thanks, Reggie!” Sirius grins, then shovels a horrifying amount of sugary cereal—apparently an American delicacy—into his mouth.
“Don’t chew with your mouth open, it’s rude and disgusting.” Regulus turns back to his own bowl, with a significantly lower appetite now that he’s seen Sirius’ half-digested breakfast.
“Didn’t you take Quidditch as an elective course too?” He continues, “Why would you need to wake up at dawn and disturb my perfectly lovely breakfast?”
“Aww, Reg, but you love me! And, James is the captain, so he wanted us to do extra drills.”
Regulus firmly protests the allegations that he loves his brother; Sirius is nothing more than a nuisance. However, he now has another reason to dislike James Potter. By proxy, he is ruining his morning meal. Nevermind that his smile immediately improves Regulus’ day.
He is not catching feelings. He simply thinks James is hot.
Unfortunately, his exceptionally annoying older brother is also exceptionally perceptive—and of course he notices the small, fleeting glances Regulus has been sneaking at Potter.
With a sharp jab of his bony elbow and a far-too-smug eyebrow wiggle, Sirius leans over and mutters in his ear, “Find some new boy to ogle. James is my friend now.”
Insufferable bastard.
“Maybe I’ll go ogle Remus,” Regulus replies coolly. “I do like a tall man.”
That gets him. Sirius visibly recoils, like Regulus just threatened to hex him. The flash of betrayal on his face is almost too satisfying.
“Fine, fine,” Sirius grumbles. “Ogle James all you want, as long as you leave Remus alone. He’s my friend, and he’s not for you.”
Regulus raises a brow. “Possessive, aren’t we?”
Sirius doesn’t dignify that with a response. He’s too busy glaring daggers at Regulus.
He files that reaction away for later torment. He’s not going to ogle Remus; he has James for that, but it’s always good to know which buttons make Sirius scream.
It is, after all, one of his favorite pastimes, pressing Sirius’s buttons just enough to earn himself a moment of peace. As expected, his brother takes the bait and slinks around the table to bother Ja—Potter.
His new best friend lights up at the interruption, and the two immediately launch into a giddy discussion about some prank involving their Transfiguration professor. Regulus promptly tunes them out. At the rate they’re going, the Ilvermorny faculty will be shipping them off to Castelobruxo by the winter holidays.
Not that Regulus would mind. It’s probably better than going home.
Still, he reminds himself not to get too attached. Not to the people here, not to the way his chest loosens in their company. It’s a lesson he’s learned many times over.
And maybe Sirius needs that reminder, too. For all his charm, his brother’s never been one for closeness. They both avoid it like it burns.
But now, Regulus can see it. Sirius is slipping.
And worse, Regulus can feel it happening to himself, too.
—
Sirius has first period with James, Remus, and Peter. He can absolutely see why Regulus spends so much time eye-fucking James—every one of them is stupidly attractive. Remus with his sandy curls, crooked nose, and freckles. Those freckles might actually kill Sirius. He spends far too much of Charms, where he’s unfortunately seated right next to him, counting the constellations of freckles scattered across his forearms.
Right now, he’s got his chin on the desk, letting his hair fan out around him in what he hopes is a winsomely bored sort of way, eyes turned up to watch Remus’ profile. Remus is chewing on the end of his quill, eyes narrowed slightly as he scribbles something intelligent-looking on his parchment. His brows furrow when he concentrates, and his lips part, just slightly.
Sirius wants to poke him. Just to see what kind of face he’ll make.
Instead, he lets his eyes drift back to those damn forearms. Remus has rolled his sleeves up, and the light from the high windows catches on the pale, freckled skin and the faint shimmer of hair and vein and tendon beneath. Sirius never thought he’d have opinions about veins— veins , for Merlin’s sake—but the ones on Remus’ arms make his stomach swoop with something he’ll blame on jealousy.
Remus isn’t obviously muscular, not like James, who’s built like a bloody Quidditch statue, but Sirius can tell he’s strong. And besides, he much prefers the way Remus laughs—head thrown back, throat bared, completely unguarded.
The girls at Ilvermorny don’t seem to share his enthusiasm for Remus. Sure, he has admirers, Hestia Jones, for one, is constantly trailing him, but he doesn’t draw crowds the way James does.
Sirius is secretly, shamefully pleased by this.
It means more time for him .
Sirius gives in to the temptation gnawing at the edges of his brain and pokes Remus with the Muggle pen clutched in his hand. Ilvermorny isn’t nearly as uptight about quills as Hogwarts was—notes, essays, doodles in the margins, whatever works. Sirius, of course, uses the blue ballpoint he stole from Remus on their very first day. It writes smoother than ink and reminds him, pettily, of his success.
Remus, infuriatingly, is unbothered. Unmoved. Unshakable. It’s a rare skill, one only Regulus shares.
“Remuuu,” Sirius whines, jabbing him again.“Come on, Remuuuuss.”
No reaction. Sirius turns fully in his seat, resting his chin on his hand and angling his face just so—big eyes, long lashes, bottom lip jutted out in a practiced pout. Only Regulus has ever been truly immune to the full force of the Sirius Black charm, and Remus Lupin, despite his best efforts, is not Regulus.
Remus finally glances down at him, and Sirius shivers at the way those golden eyes sweep over him, lazy and fond.
“What’s up, Si?”
Sirius beams, hoping the grin distracts from the fact that his heart is now slamming against his ribcage so hard it could wake a sleeping giantess—and everyone knows they’re notoriously heavy sleepers. He foolishly hopes Remus can’t hear it.
“Nothing,” he singsongs. “You just weren’t giving me enough attention.”
People rarely did. And frankly, Sirius didn’t understand why the world hadn’t collectively agreed that he should be the center of the universe by now.
Remus doesn’t seem impressed. He turns back to his parchment and murmurs, “You’ve got my attention. Don’t waste it.”
Oh no. Sirius really, really needs to keep Remus’ attention. Might actually die without it. Quick, do something stupid, his brain supplies.
So Sirius does the first thing he thinks of. Naturally, he charms the Charms professor’s hair to turn a blinding electric pink and spark with tiny arcs of lightning.
Remus lets out a sigh, the kind Sirius is beginning to suspect means he’s hiding a smile, and turns back with a pointed look that reads “disappointed” but lands more like “you absolute idiot, I can’t believe I like you.”
Which is fine, because Sirius doesn’t believe it either.
Remus might not be as showy as James, but he’s just as much of a troublemaker, only smarter about it. Sirius and James prefer a splash of spectacle. Remus? He likes clean getaways.
But Sirius doesn’t want to get away. He wants to be caught. Especially if it means being caught by Remus.
The way Remus looks at him makes Sirius’ whole body shiver. There’s something in those amber eyes—half amusement, half challenge—that makes Sirius want to lean in and whisper, “This’ll stay our secret, right?” Just to see what Remus would do.
His body betrays him before his brain can catch up. He inches closer, so close their arms are brushing. Sirius wants to slip behind him, press his chest to Remus’ back, and flutter his lashes against the slope of his neck—just to feel like he has even a sliver of the power Remus seems to have over him .
Their professor, now significantly more agitated thanks to the electrified pink thundercloud of a hairstyle, turns toward their corner of the room with narrowed eyes.
Without missing a beat, Remus says smoothly, “Sorry, Professor. That was James.”
In front of them, James lets out an indignant squawk that quickly turns into a splutter as he’s handed a week’s worth of detentions shelving books in the library.
Sirius almost laughs—almost. Instead, he glances at Remus, stunned and a little thrilled. Remus didn’t have to do that. He could’ve let Sirius take the fall, and no one would’ve blamed him.
But he didn’t. He chose Sirius.
And Sirius feels it like a spark under his skin, lightning mirroring their professor.
—
Regulus didn’t have an opportunity to sign up for the Horned Serpent Quidditch team, and to be honest, he’s grateful. He’s done playing for other people’s enjoyment, and is content just to lose himself in the feeling of wind ripping through his hair, and the swoop in his stomach when he looks down at the ground.
It’s not unfamiliar to the swoop he gets when he watches James Potter.
He chased these feelings for years, never finding them outside of flying. Coming down from an orgasm is close, with the sated feelings of bliss, but even that will never rival the calm mixed with the adrenaline boost of doing something people aren’t meant to do.
But even Muggles have learned how to fly. Adrenaline is supposed to be a fear response. Why do people chase it?
Regulus knows Sirius is addicted to it. An adrenaline junkie, some may say. He’s addicted to the rush, doing something you’re not supposed to. He doesn’t particularly care about getting away with it, which is how they’re at their fourth school in seven years.
He does one more high-speed lap around the pitch and flies down to the changing rooms. He resolves to take a quick, hot shower before hitting the library.
It’s a Friday night, so he doesn’t expect it to be busy. He knows Sirius and their friends were planning to have a bonfire, making use of the limited supply of nice nights. Regulus really isn’t in the mood to go.
Sirius’ behavior has been growing increasingly outlandish. On Monday, he hexed a professor. This is how they were sent from the last few schools, so Regulus knows he should be ready to pack his bags come winter break, if not before.
So, yes, he may have been avoiding his ‘friends’ but only so he won’t get hurt. Regulus isn’t entirely sure why they’ve decided to tolerate his presence, but if he doesn’t grow to care for them, he can’t miss them. Easy.
He makes his way into the boy’s changing room, undressing and turning on the shower. It drains out any noises from outside, and Regulus basks in the peace. He rarely gets moments of silence. Barty seems allergic and also dependent on Regulus for survival. Every morning, it’s ‘wake up Barty’ ‘Barty, you have to eat or else you’ll die’ etc etc.
Regulus would never admit it to anyone, but he likes feeling needed.
He massages lavender shampoo into his curls, rinses off, and steps out—barely towel-clad—only to find James bloody Potter sitting casually on the locker room bench.
Regulus yelps. Actually jumps . James looks up, entirely unfazed by his nakedness, and beams. That bloody smile. It’s like staring into the sun. Regulus immediately looks away, hoping his blush doesn’t reach his ears.
“Hi, Reggie!” James chirps, as if this is a perfectly normal place and time for a chat. “I wanted to ask a favor.”
Regulus stares at him in disbelief, but James barrels on.
“Your brother got me detention. And since you seem to be the mature Black brother, I figured you might help me pass the time.”
“Sorry, Potter,” Regulus says coolly. “I’m studying.”
“In the library,” James says, smiling wider. “My detention is in the library.”
Shit.
“Then I’ll study in the common room.”
“Barty’s looking for you there.”
Double shit.
Regulus glares at him. “I suppose I could go to the library.”
A few minutes later, they’re walking the quiet stone path that winds towards said building.
Ilvermorny’s campus really is beautiful—sprawling and open in a way that’s rare for wizarding schools. Most magical architecture trends toward the dramatic: castles perched on cliffs, towers that scrape the clouds, corridors that fold in on themselves. Ilvermorny, by contrast, feels more like a Muggle university—clean, intentional lines, wide quads, trees that arch overhead like gentle guardians. Regulus has heard it resembles several elite Muggle institutions, though he’s never seen one himself.
James walks beside him, a constant stream of chatter bubbling from his mouth, as though he’s in a one-sided competition with the silence. Regulus glances at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering—not for the first time—why James is even here. Regulus is hardly good company on his best days, and today doesn’t come close.
He’s been avoiding the group lately. Avoidance is easier than attachment, and attachment leads to pain. He knows how this goes. It always ends the same way: people leave, people lie, people change. If he lets himself get pulled in, even a little, it will only hurt more when it ends.
So he keeps his distance. Not because he doesn’t feel things, but because he feels too much. He’s much better at suppressing good feelings than bad ones. Neutrality is a safer kind of numb.
But James Bloody Potter doesn’t seem to care. Regulus’s cool silence doesn’t faze him; if anything, it seems to amuse him. Potter moves through the world like everything will go his way eventually, as if no outcome could possibly be worse than not trying.
“So,” James says brightly, breaking Regulus’s thoughts. “My detention’s only two hours tonight, which is honestly kind of a joke. After that, I’ll go meet your brother and the others.”
His tone is light, as if they’re just two friends making plans. Regulus doesn’t respond. He keeps his eyes ahead, trained on the looming library doors. If he says anything, he might say too much.
James turns to look at him, face tilted slightly down, “You’re going too, so do you wanna walk together? After you study and I shelve half the fucking library, of course.”
This makes Regulus pause. Lily begged him to come, giving excuse after excuse about dealing with Barty, which is quite the task for one woman, no matter how formidable. He gave some feeble excuses to her, and later to Barty and Evan.
“Potter, I’m not going.” His tone is firm, leaving no room for arguing. Few are brave enough to contend with the Regulus Black voice, mostly just Sirius.
But James persists. “I heard that from a few little birdies, but I was hoping you’d reconsider,” he looks straight at Regulus, wide brown eyes framed by unfairly thick lashes. His mouth sinks into a sad little frown. Pathetically, Regulus doesn’t think it belongs on a face as beautiful as James’s.
He knows he’s being manipulated, that he’s being charmed into agreeing, and shamefully, it’s working. Regulus knows he’ll say yes.
But he doesn’t go down without a fight. Never. Stubborn is in the Black blood.
“What do I get for it?”
“Why, my dear,” James laughs at the word dear, “you’ll get the absolute pleasure of my company. My undivided attention, even.”
This isn’t satisfactory. Regulus certainly doesn’t want these things.
He scowls. “Oh good,” he deadpans. “Exactly what I didn’t want.”
James laughs.
Why does he laugh so much? And why is it such a beautiful sound—low and clear, sinking straight into Regulus’ stomach, making it flip and flutter like he’s falling off his broom.
It’s unsettling, how hot James Potter is. Regulus is no stranger to lust—he’s a teenage boy, he’s had his fair share of late-night fantasies—but this is different. This is the kind of desire that makes him want to throw himself at James and run a hundred miles in the opposite direction.
The feeling squirms up his throat, tight and unbearable, choking any protest before it can form.
“Aww, Reg,” James drawls, teasing, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you hated me.”
It’s a trap. A classic bait. Sirius uses it all the time. Regulus knows exactly how it ends.
“Well, that would be because I do hate you,” he replies evenly.
James lets out a dramatic moan —an honest-to-Merlin moan—of anguish, dragging a hand through his hair as though physically wounded. Then he turns those big brown eyes on Regulus, eyes that cut through his defenses like they were never there in the first place. Regulus knows he’s caught. James knows it too.
That mouth twists into a pout, a betrayal of how bright his smile usually is. They’ve reached the steps of the library now, and James is standing one stair below, forced to look up at him.
He has a mole under his left eye.
Regulus sighs, “Don’t give me that look.”
“So you’ll come to the party.”
“No.”
“So you do hate me.” James’s eyes start to well with crocodile tears. He hasn’t blinked once, keeping his eyes trained directly on Regulus.
He knows they’re fake, he’s used them himself.
But Regulus still has a base urge to fix any problems James Potter may have. Right now he’s causing those problems.
“Oh for fucks sake. No need to bring out the waterworks, I’ll come.”
The tears clear immediately from those brown eyes that make Regulus weak at the knees. He’s a weak weak man.
James lets out a triumphant noise and steps up, slinging an arm around Regulus’ shoulders like it belongs there. And Regulus—weak, weak man that he is—leans into it without hesitation.
—
People often think Regulus and Sirius are as different from one-another as brothers can be. And sure, Sirius is louder, seems to be more open, more dramatic, more prone to public breakdowns. He wears Muggle boots and leather jackets, makes himself look like he belongs on the cover of one of those records Remus listens to on that weird little cassette machine.
Regulus may only talk to people for academic reasons, never raises his voice in public, may crush all outward displays of vulnerability, and wear robes with such precise tailoring it’s like they were sewn into his skin.
But deep down, if one were to dig far enough, and Sirius has many times, they’re more alike than anyone would guess. They’re both Blacks, after all. Which is to say: they both feel things they aren’t supposed to feel, and they feel them too strongly, in the wrong direction, at the wrong time, toward all the wrong people.
Uncle Alphard went through a Muggle psychology phase once—got very into the human mind for about three months before Walburga hexed his bookshelf into splinters. During that brief window of introspective freedom, he diagnosed the whole family with "addictive personalities." Said they were like cracked vases, spilling all their love and rage and need in uncontrollable floods. Said they all clung to their poisons like lifelines. They all have their vices. Most have alcohol problems, especially Walburga. Bella’s are unforgivable curses, Narcissa’s are hallucinatory potions, Sirius’ is sex.
Sirius has yet to determine what Regulus’ is. He’s never been a drinker, evidence by the fact he’s stone cold sober at this objectively lovely bonfire, looking only slightly miserable about it. Unfortunately, Sirius is unfortunately aware Regulus has had coitial relations, but never at the same scale as himself. He’s never seen Regulus throw himself at someone, never seen him burn with that same reckless hunger that Sirius carries. He’s much too gentle to cast an unforgivable. Drugs are off the table completely, Narcissa would never allow it.
He’s got theories sure, but Regulus is carefully guarded.
They’re more alike than not, so Sirius is sure he has one.
Speaking of their vices, Sirius is going through a dry period. The girls of Ilvermorny have come around on his good looks, even if it’s later than Sirius would’ve liked.
But oddly, he finds himself glad he’s not in their company. It means more time to spend with Remus, James, and Peter.
Sirius can’t remember the last time he had actually friends. Sure, he’s always been well liked, and had a group eating out of his hands at Beauxbatons, but he’s sure their connection never went deeper than convenience. They liked that he was a Black heir.
He doubts anyone here knows of the Blacks, or care who his family is. It’s strange. After Alphard got into Muggle mental stuff, Sirius can’t say he’s an avid blood purist. Neither seem to be any of the Ilvermorny students.
Mary and Lily are both Muggleborns, and nobody’s given them any issues. He knows Remus’ mom is a muggle, and James comes from a wizarding family, but nobody seems to comment.
It’s strange to Sirius, who’s spent his whole life being defined by his family name.
He doesn’t think he’s ever hated it as much as he does right now.
His entire life, Regulus’ entire life, has been and will be ruled by what’s good for the family. Sirius, who was quite spoiled as a child, wishes the family would consider the happiness of it’s members. Who are they to deny their heir anything?
Drinking, and Sirius is quite drunk, always makes him think of his brother. So he wanders over to where Regulus is sitting, with Remus.
Sirius bodily shoves himself in between the boys, half sitting on Remus’ lap.
Remus is not for Regulus to have, despite how tall, freckled, and cute he is. Remus is Sirius’ friend. Sirius.
He’s sitting on Remus’ left leg, almost posessivly staring down his brat of a brother.
“Evening, boys,” Sirius drawls, voice pitched into something casual and affected. “Miss me?”
Remus raises an eyebrow, but smiles simultaneously. Regulus doesn’t blink.
“You’re drunk,” Regulus mutters.
“Not very,” Sirius lies, leaning back and tilting his face toward the firelight. He’s too drunk to be entirely in control of his limbs, and he throws himself off balance, and further into Remus’ chest. Remus doesn’t have issues with this.
SIrius knows some of his past ‘friends’ would’ve been shaken by the contact with a mate. Sirius has hexed several for saying nasty stuff about poofs and queers.
Remus just wraps one frecked arm around Sirius’ waist, keeping him in place. Sirius, muddled and impulsive, feels something flutter sharply in his ribcage. His heart’s always been a dramatic organ.
“You’re sooo nice Remus,” he hiccups, words slurring just slightly, vowels loose in his mouth, “My favorite person here. Did you know you’re really warm? You’re really warm.”
Sirius can feel himself babbling, but he’s powerless against the alcohol in his blood and the fond smile Remus gives him.
He’s forgotten exactly why he came overe here, lulled by constellations of freckles, and warm brown eyes. As established, Sirius has trouble controlling his impulses. There’s a soft smile on his lips that Sirius wishes he could touch, so instead he reaches up, fingers finding one of the pale scars that cross Remus’ face like errant constellations.
Without them, Remus would look sweet, the type of boy you would never expect to be the mastermind behind a prank gang. With them, he looks... not hard, exactly, but sharp in a way that draws the eye. Sirius traces one idly, reverently, like it might spell something if he just followed the right path.
Sirius wants to ask where they come from, but he knows better. He’s seen Remus get cagey with Hestia Jones, his obsessive admirer. Sirius knows the dance: push too hard and the walls come up. He’s not in the mood to be shut out tonight. He’ll control his impulses just this once.
Remus just lets him trace, with a small smile. It does something to Sirius’ insides, makes them squirm and revolt. Maybe he ate something bad for dinner?
He wiggles around on his perch on Remus’ thigh. It only makes things worse—his stomach flips like it’s in open air, like he’s missed a stair in the dark. Trying to steady himself, he ends up sliding further into Remus’ lap, practically curled into him now, legs folded messily beneath him.
Bizarrely, it feels just right. Remus is so warm, radiating heat from beneath his jumper, and so solid that the feeling of him makes him calm down and stop moving.
But it’s weird, isn’t it? Weird to sit in your mate’s lap like that, to make yourself comfortable in someone else’s body. It’s the kind of thing that could ruin a good thing if you let it be seen. Sirius doesn’t want to scare Remus off—not when the air between them feels tenuously balanced, a thread strung tight.
So he slips down, off the lap, landing with a graceless thump in the leaves and grass, back pressed to the log. He can’t bring himself to leave Remus’ orbit completely, so he stays between his legs.
Foolishly, his drunk brain supplies I wouldn’t mind living between his legs.
—
Sirius is stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Regulus wants to hit him. To grab him and shake, to shout, look what you have here, open your eyes.
He does none of those things because he’s controlled.
But Sirius is an idiot, because anyone looking over at him and Remus could see. They could see Sirius leaning contentedly against Remus’ leg, could see long fingers combing through his silken curls.
And they’d be jealous, because normal people don’t get connections like that. They don’t meet people and immediately click. It’s so obvious that Sirius has found something. He might be scared of it, he might simply be unaware.
But Regulus still wants to slap him. To tell him he’s unnecessarily lucky, and should take this chance to be happy.
Because Sirius might be a moron, but he deserves it. If it keeps them in one place just a little longer, well thats an added bonus.
If staying a little longer means Regulus has extra time to watch the greek statue come to life that is Sirius’ new best friend, than so be it. It’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.
For the sake of his brother’s happiness, of course.
Notes:
lowk im too tired for a long honorable mention
anyways here goes
1. Lily Evans, my queen, you can do no wrong. we as a fandom tend to overlook the possibility of her being friends with the Slytherins, but accept a remus friendship. But like pls yall this is the woman who took down voldy with ancient magic, and while i do love a good bit of bartylily, with the personality barty has in this fandom, like them platonically is just tooo good. and pandalily continues to be the best ship, even if they're not heavily featured.2. regulus being like yeah james and lily that makes sense based on like no evidence. he's just making jumps tp support his delusions
3. btw everybody besides wolfstar has clocked wolfstar, and we will see more.
4. also yes i fully believe the entire black family has addictive personalities, and reg's will be revealed later.
Samirak100507 on Chapter 1 Fri 20 Jun 2025 02:16AM UTC
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