Chapter Text

PART ONE

Chapter One: June 1975

O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!

Act II, Scene 3, OTHELLO, William Shakespeare.

The Leavers Quidditch Pitch Party of June ’75 would live long in the memories of its attendees for a myriad of reasons. The triple broom flip Ricky Davies pulled off after three consecutive shots of Firewhiskey, concluding with him showering a few poor Hufflepuffs with projectile vomit; Marlene McKinnon’s heartfelt and utterly offkey rendition of teen sensation Celestina Warbeck’s number one single, accompanied by a rebellious choir member’s stolen belching toad; the seventh-year-Slytherins who— drunk on graduating and drunker still on spirits— broke into the quidditch supply closet and liberated brooms and balls alike, engendering many ill-advised, far too tipsy inter-house scrimmages.

Yes, it was to become a memorable night in Hogwart's history.

For most, it was only this general debauchery— utter tomfoolery— some may even go so far as to say chicanery— which made it unforgettable. Set against what came in the following years, who wouldn’t remember such unbridled throes of youthfulness? The party stood out in jaded minds as a last hurrah; a final time where it felt safe to let down the barriers between houses and blood status’ and simply have fun; the last indiscriminatory evening before the war invaded all.

But for two– for these two and for all of the people whose lives they would come to effect– the importance of that night was not in the sweet send-off to teenage malfeasance before the onset of bitter times alone.

For James Potter and Regulus Black the Quidditch Pitch Party of June ’75 would, ever after, be thought of as the night which changed everything between them.

And in doing so– changed their lives.

JAMES POV

James isn’t sure who began the tradition. He knows it must have been recent enough in the history of the school that his parents have never heard of it– old enough that the mystique around it has grown thick. It's meant to be a graduating party for the seventh years, but has grown into a school-wide, end-of-year bacchanalia.

Last year– he heard from the rumour mill– the partygoers created a memorial of butterbeer bottles in the middle of the pitch, towering well over 20 feet tall, and then sent liberated Bludgers rocketing into it from broomtop. Everyone who witnessed the spectacle proclaimed the danger of glass splinters well worth it, and supposedly a group of seventh years had headed down to the pitch the next morning to vanish the evidence away.

Third year and above are allowed to attend, although most of the prefects look down on any of the younger years becoming too drunk, often sending them to bed if they do. Unfortunately, James was taken out by a Bludger last year, just like the Butterbeer bottles. He spent that night of the party in the hospital wing, with the rest of the marauders sneaking down to gather around his bed in companionship.

James was lucky he had friends good enough that they’d sit around his convalescence bed playing card games rather than go to a party. James insisted multiple times that he didn’t mind if they went without him, but Sirius countered that it simply wouldn’t be the same without all four of them there.

“All for one,” Remus joked with one of his sideways smiles.

“And one and all!” Peter blindly cheered, and Remus dissolved into laughter, trying to correct his mistake.

It was a nice night, James reflects now. But finally the time had come around again and James’ head is thankfully un-Bludgered.

“This'll be excellent!” Sirius crows, jumping on his knees and rocking his bed slightly.

They’re gathered in their dorm, getting ready for the party which is supposed to start soon. Sirius insisted, however, that they're to be fashionably late.

‘Getting ready’ mostly means sitting on their beds discussing parties of the past, what they think might happen later that night, and whether Sirius’ leather jacket is too much. “Too much is never even enough,” Sirius insists, checking himself out in the mirror.

“You better not get too drunk,” Remus chides. “Not like—”

“Your birthday,” James and Peter chime in, and the three of them exchange haunted smiles. Sirius scoffs at them all, his reflection doffing them all with a scowl. 

Sirius’ fifteenth birthday was... interesting. Sirius, always an overachiever, chugged a bottle of firewhiskey without understanding its true strength. He promptly fled to the bathroom to throw up— then spent the rest of the evening swearing them all to secrecy, flushed with embarrassment and lingering as drunkenness. 

“You lot have absolutely no faith.”

“We have loads of faith in you, Pads,” James corrects. “We have complete faith in you... to be an idiot.”

Sirius chucks a crimson pillow at him. “Oi, Potter, manage to duck that? Or do you need another night in the hospital wing?”

“Ah, Poppy,” James flutters his eyelashes. “She made my dreams come true in there.”

The boys laugh. Remus shoots James a pointed look, “We know it’s not Madame Pomfrey you dream about, Prongsie.”

“Lily, Lily,” Sirius moans, pretending to embrace himself while Peter provides exaggerated kissing noises. “Ooh, Lilyyy.”

“Alright, alright,” James calls over their teasing, grinning in spite. “I’m not that bad.”

“Only because of the silencing charm Moony put up.”

“Thank god for small mercies,” Remus clutches his heart.

“I’m not that bad!” James repeats. “Not like Sirius with Mary.”

“Yeah,” Peter points out, “but Sirius has actually kissed Mary.”

“Ooo,” Sirius sucks his teeth, delighted. “An absolute blinding stunner from Peter, that was. Think you can ever recover, Prongs?”

“I think I can bloody well stun back,” James grabs the pillow that Sirius had thrown and tosses it over-arm at Peter, who swan dives off his bed attempting to dodge it.

***

They join the tide of students heading down to the pitch; clearly not the only people who decided to be fashionably late. The seventh year Ancient Runes students often use the party as an opportunity to practice their warding, setting up protections around the pitch which keep the events of the night hidden from the castle. The professors are certainly aware of the party, but mostly just leave them to it, perhaps as a concession to the end of year spirit.

James assumes that the terms of this deal are simple; if nobody ends up in the hospital wing, we’ll leave you to it.

James wonders if he and his boys attending might tip those chances dangerously into the negative.

Sirius, arm flung around Remus’ shoulders, sips from a flask of something sweet and dangerously non-disgusting that he got from Mary. “Is that stuff even alcoholic?” Pete asks, when he takes an offered sip and makes an appreciative face.

Sirius nods and Remus raises his eyebrows, “Maybe don’t down it like its pumpkin juice then, yeah Pads?”

“Muggles are so much better at beverages than we are,” Sirius says happily. James exchanges a grin with Pete, nudging the blonde boy with his elbow. They have a bet on whether Sirius passes out. Ten galleons and—more importantly— a pick‘n’mix from Honeydukes. Unlimited weight.

James is betting yes and sweet, loyal Petey is keeping the faith.

“Gerroff,” Remus shrugs Sirius arm away, who’s been leaning more and more weight onto Remus as they walk through the castle. “You’re only trying to show off that you’re taller than me.”

“You’re just such a good height to be my walking stick, Moony,” Sirius says, fluttering his eyelashes.

Moony and Pads have had a sort of competition going for years. In first year, Remus was the shortest of them all and Sirius the tallest. When they came back for second year, James had shot up well past them all, stealing Sirius’ spot and maintaining a steady lead ever since. But Sirius and Remus are now in a constant battle, gaining inches on each other in swift turns, constantly demanding re-measurings so that one of them can reclaim the title from the other. Right now, Sirius has 3/4ths of an inch on Remus, and he hasn’t let it go for weeks.

“James,” Remus sighs dramatically, walking around the group so that he’s positioned next to James now, “I swear to god I’m going to—”

“I know Moony, I know,” James pats Remus on the shoulder, clucking sympathetically. Sirius makes displeased noises, and they spend the rest of the walk happily bickering.

When they get to the pitch entrance, an older kid leads them through the wards and onto the grace. There are people everywhere. James guesses that almost everyone from third year and above has shown up. Some people have erected tables here and there, and James has to laugh when the cacophony of at least four record players— all playing very different music in each ‘corner’ of the oval pitch— hits his ears. There’s dancing, cards, circles of friends playing drinking games, and people sitting in the lower rows of the stands, smoking cigarettes and who knows what else. Someone good at charms work has cast glowing balls of Lumos to hang above them, in a variety of assorted colours.

“This is brilliant!” Peter says, spinning around to take everything in. The rest of them can only agree.

“Come on,” Sirius says, leading them towards a table stacked with cups, bottles spilling out onto the surrounding flour. James reckons that the Hogsmeade merchants have done rather well from tonight’s loot.

Remus and James both pick out bottles of butterbeer, while Peter accepts Sirius’ offer of mixing them both up a stronger drink. After he’s finished creating his concoction, he offers his cup to James to try a sip, but James scrunches his nose up when the smell hits him.  “That’s more potent than one of Moony’s failed potions, Pads.”

“Oi,” Remus huffs.

“Ah, come on Moony. You have to admit, you’ve an explosive talent for potions. James' left eyebrow has only just grown back.”

“I can’t believe Pomfrey wouldn’t just charm it back for me,” James groans, reaching up to smooth over his fresh, newly complete eyebrow.

“She believes in muggle healing times as a form of punishment,” Peter laughs. “Do you remember when—?”

But Peter is cut off by a bundle of blonde hair and sharp elbows. Marlene McKinnon collides with Peter, turning what was clearly a drunken stumble into an enthusiastic bear hug, ignoring Peter's splutter of shock. Peter spits out a piece of Marlene’s long blonde mane which made its way into his mouth. Marlene lets her victim go, turning to the rest of them with a wide smile, arms outstretched. “Boys!”

“McKinnon!” Sirius calls back, all white-teeth grin. “What you been drinking, eh?”

“I was doing shots with the team.” Marlene gestures vaguely in no particular direction. “Frank is finally going to ask Alice out, but he needs the liquid courage.”

“No way,” James cries, straining his neck to try and get a glimpse of his Quidditch captain. “He never told me. Last I heard, he was still dedicated to spending the rest of his life pining for her!"

Frank Longbottom is keeper and captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and has been since James’ second year, his fourth. Frank’s an excellent captain, excellent quidditch player and excellent wizard. Overall, he’s James’ idol, and he tends to hang off every word the older student spoke. His only flaw was his embarrassingly obvious crush on Alice Fortescue, James’ fellow chaser. 

In fact, watching Frank fawn over Alice had finally convinced James to tone down his affections towards Lily. He couldn’t bear acting that foolish, even if it was in the name of true love.

“I thought you kept track of every move Frank makes, Jamsie,” Sirius tuts, “You’re losing your touch as a stalker.”

“I’m not a stalker!” James protests.

“Yeah, he’s totally stopped stalking Lily, lately,” Pete helpfully tries defending him, but James just splutters.

“I never stalked Lily!”

“Thank god for that,” A dry voice says behind him, and James whirls around to find the red head in question grinning slyly, arm intertwined with Mary Macdonald. James flushes. It doesn’t help that Lily is wearing a pretty green dress which matches her eyes and makes her hair glow like tongues of flame. Does she have to always be so bloody pretty?

Marlene flounces over to her roommates, linking her arm through Mary’s spare one. “Regardless of James being a stalker—”

“I’m not!”

“—now that we’re all together, I say we play some games. Truth of dare?”

Mary, thrilled by the suggestion, herds them into some semblance of a circle on the grass, glaring at various students who try to walk across the spot she’s stolen. Mary’s glare is an institution of its own. Being shouted at by her Dundee brogue can bring a grown seventh year to shame.

Even James, who’s spent years working with Mary on chaser plays, is a little scared of her.

“Okay,” she says, clapping her hands together when they’re finally assembled. “What was the game, Marlene? Something about dares?”

“Do we all have drinks? Okay, good,” Marlene claps a hand on Lily’s shoulder, next to her, and Lily chokes on the sip she was taking. When she sees James looking at her, she glares at him, and James can’t resist a teasing wink. “Okay, Lily and I played this over the summer. It’s a muggle game.”

She explains the rules of the game and adds a rule stipulating that they have to drink if they don’t answer, or don’t complete a dare. Mary and Lily gripe a little when they find out that James and Remus only have Butterbeer, and it works in peer pressuring Remus into grabbing a bottle of muggle apple cider, cracking the top off it.

“Only for you, Evans.” Remus says.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our future prefects,” Sirius flourishes his hands at the pair.

“Okay, Potter’s not drinking—” Lily pouts, “He can go first. Truth or Dare, James?”

The game proceeds quickly, with all seven of them talking over each other, shouting across the circle, bursting into chants of encouragement and breaking out into peels of seemingly unending laughter. Peter licks Sirius’ shoe; Marlene admits her boggart is her wearing the communion dress her mum made her wear when she was younger, but actually looking happy about it; Lily charms a seventh year Ravenclaw’s cup to explode in his face and ends up ducking flat to the floor when he looks around for a culprit; Sirius chugs his drink, then sprints up a flight of stairs in the stands without chucking up; James tells the story of his worst bout of accidental magic.

“They never did find that last snake…” He finishes, sadly.

To distract from the horror on Mary’s face from hearing James’ story, James dares her to kiss Sirius, which has everyone groaning and declaring the dare weak. But Mary, coming back up for air, suggests they shift the game.

“Spin the Wand?” She says, and after a moment of silence, she adds, “Or are you all wimps?”

Which is how Peter ends up kissing Lily, Lily ends up kissing Marlene, Marlene ends up kissing Sirius, Sirius ends up kissing Peter, Peter ends up kissing Remus, and Remus ends up kissing Mary.

“Did you charm this bloody thing against me?” James cries, pointing at Mary’s wand in the centre of the circle as Mary goes for her turn and it lands on her smirking boyfriend. “Mary, why does your wand think I’m unkissable?”

“Maybe it has eyes.” A teasing voice says, coming from above them. The group of fourth year Gryffindor’s all look up to see Alice and Frank standing over them, arms around each other’s waists.

“Woo!” James cries, grinning, thrilled into ignoring Frank's dig. The rest of his friends join in, cheering on the older couple. “Finally, Longbottom!”

Alice blushes, looking up at the taller Frank, who’s face is tomato red. “Wow. Did everyone know you liked me?”

“Even the portraits knew,” Sirius insists. “Even the Bloody Baron knew, Alice. You really didn’t?”

“You think it would have taken me this long to make a move if I’d known?” Alice laughed.

“You made a move?” Marlene throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Oh, Frank mate! That is priceless.”

“Yeah, kind of blew the wind out of my sails for a second, before I processed that Alice interrupting my plans of snogging her by snogging me wasn’t actually a loss.” Frank smiles down at his new girlfriend, so obviously chuffed it would be cruel to even mock it.

Of course, they still give it a valiant go.

Eventually, Frank manages to get them all to shut up by announcing, “Wait, wait, you guys. I came over to say that the Slytherins broke into the equipment shed. Any of you up for a not-so-friendly drunken scrimmage?”

Mary and Marlene bow out, but James and Sirius both shoot to their feet, leaving the rest of their friends behind to pick up the game of Truth or Dare.

By now, the sky is dark, and the stars are out. James accepts a random Cleansweep from Wentworth Burke, the Slytherin captain who’s clearly masterminded this whole endeavour as a last attempt to graduate with some Quidditch glory. Hufflepuff, unfortunately, took the cup this year. James can handle the loss, though, because they beat Slytherin to second by 20 points.

Out of the four teams across the school, thirteen players have been dragged into the scrimmage. The Slytherins and Gryffindors obviously go on opposing teams, but the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs mix themselves up to make up the rest. Frank and Burke play a vicious round of Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine which team has to play with only six, and a Ravenclaw chaser reluctantly leaves the Slytherins to join the victorious Gryfindors.

“Okay, rules are: beaters, don’t attempt to actually injure, or we’ll all get into major shit. Seekers, you better find the snitch so we can return it and Madame Hooch can just think it’s faulty when it doesn’t work, aye? Chasers, well.” Burke grins. “We’ll just do our best not to drop the Quaffle on anyone’s unsuspecting head, okay?”

The hap-dash teams give a flurry of whoops and yesses, and with little fanfare they mount their brooms, getting a random party-goer to throw the Quaffle into play for them. James, probably the only entirely sober one, manages to easily snag the red ball out of the evening air.

It’s definitely the sloppiest game of Quidditch James has ever seen any of this Quidditch-mad quadrant of students play, but he as to admit that it has its charms. After securing a rather excellent goal, Ricky Davies retrieves a bottle of Firewhiskey, does three shots and then a broom flip, to the cheers of the crowd below, who every now and then acknowledge the game going on over their heads. Frank dedicates every goal blocked by screaming compliments at Alice across the pitch, who inevitably stops whatever she’s doing to fly over and snog him. Which, James hopes, is not a habit that she plans to continue in their real games next year. Sirius seems to be getting on rather well with the Hufflepuff beater, because James keeps catching them tossing a bottle back and forth through the air, trading sips of something amber that makes them each wince.

The only person who seems even mildly as sober as James is happens to be Regulus Black, surprisingly. The skinny third year is just as dedicated to this farce of a game as he is to every game James has ever seen him play in. Just as clearly talented.

James has never been surer that a student is headed for the leagues, except for himself. Naturally. The younger Black just so obviously has what it takes.

Soon enough, the game begins to fall to shambles. The first casualty is Sirius who, after performing a rather impressive flip to whack a Bludger out of Alice’s path, promptly spews all over a third year, face green. Remus, who's been watching the game for a little while, is clearly caught between laughter and disgust as he volunteers to take their friend back up to the school.

The Hufflepuff beater isn’t far behind, and Burke and Frank both work together to wrangle the Bludgers back into the chest, not wanting them flying around without anyone watching them. Without the Bludgers, some of the fire seems to go out of the game, and one by one the players beg off until its only Frank, Burke, Alice, James and Regulus still in the air.

“Call it off?” Frank says to Burke, smiling down at Alice in a way that suggests he has an ulterior motive for ending the game already.

Burke sighs, declares them all a bunch of sissies, and then flys to the ground to dump his broom with the pile of abandoned equipment, melting into the thinning crowd of students dedicated to partying late into the night.

“But—” James protests, but Frank and Alice are literally two inches away from snogging mid-air, and James doesn’t have the heart to stop the pair from descending to the pitch in a cloud of lovey-dovey nonsense.

James looks over and sees Regulus, looking just as disappointed as James is. “We weren’t finished,” James says to him, dejected.

Regulus looks over, in surprise. The younger boys face is sharp, so like Sirius’, and yet the differences so stark they’re almost jarring. After a short moment, he nods, “Yeah...we were totally going to win.”

“I scored twice as much as your chasers combined!”

Regulus shrugs, “I had my eye on the snitch.”

“Yeah?” James raises an eyebrow. “Then where is it?”

Regulus scowls, which is a familiar sight. Every time James has interacted with Regulus, usually from over Sirius’ shoulder, he’s scowled at James exactly like this.

“Like you could—” Regulus’ face creases, suddenly, and he throws his arms up. “Salazar, I just realised. I’m going to have to still catch the bloody snitch.”

James suck in air through his teeth, “Hadn’t thought of that, but yeah. If Hooch sees it missing, she’ll know for sure something went on tonight. What do you think they’d hit us with for drunken Quidditch? Just point loss?”

“Detentions for sure,” Regulus moans. “Probably until I graduate.”

James glances around the pitch. Seeking is hard enough in low visibility, but with all the distractions from the party—Regulus’ task will be a nightmare, and now a rather boring one. All alone.

“Say, what to you think about going head-to-head for it?”

Regulus’ angular eyebrows rise high on his forehead. “Potter, you’re twice the size of the average seeker. Have you ever even played the position?”

James laughs, “I played it when I was younger, in junior league. Then I started needing glasses and figured out chasing is the best part of the whole game.”

“Lies,” Regulus contradicts. “I’ll beat you in minutes.”

“Only one way to find out,” James says, readjusting his hands on his broom into a proper stance for flying. He watches Regulus do the same, and, with some strange communion of competition, they dart off at the same time.

It’s obvious straight away that Regulus is in his element and James is a too-muscly goldfish out of his bowl, but still. James can’t help enjoying himself.

They both take turns showing off their flying skills, twirling past each other, past the stars, and James is surprised when the delight on Regulus’ pale face, lit by the moon, makes him smile too. He’s never really known Regulus at all—only heard bits and pieces from Sirius, who’s always strangely reluctant to talk about his brother, even to James. But its clear, so clear, that Regulus is just as in love with this game as James is.

The joy James gets from revelling in that shared love is almost enough to soothe the fact that he’s definitely going to lose this competition.

Not that he’s going to let it go without a good fight. The key to playing out of your element against a player who’s much better than you, is to use their strength against them. James tails Regulus through the air, and as soon as Regulus spots the snitch, James is in position to spot it too.

And then it’s just a matter of speed.

James is nowhere near a seeker— too tall, too bulky— but he is competitive. Too competitive, some might say. He’d like to think of himself as a generally not an awful person to know— personable, caring, kind to all those who aren’t named Severus Snape. But whatever Lily may say about him, he isn’t arrogant enough to think he doesn’t have a fatal flaw among all that.

It isn’t even that he loves winning. Winning is nice, yes— but it’s the build-up to it that gets James. The buzz beneath his skin, the way his brain snaps into sharp focus when he knows there’s something to work for right there in front of him. Pushing beside another person— or people— to be the best they can be for just enough time to snatch a win.

Two boys, neck and neck, arms outstretched. The telescope of the universe shrinking down until there is only this moment, caught in scope.

James loves it. He loves it so much his bones might jump out of his body with the thrill. And even as he watches Regulus’ fingertips close on the Snitch a moment before his can reach, he feels a grin curl up the corners of his mouth.

“Yes!” Regulus shouts, letting out a laugh of victory that unfurls something about the younger Black brother in James’ understanding that has always been crouched and furrowed. He can see it now, the ways in which Regulus could be the little brother that Sirius misses so dearly, instead of the surly, blank teen that James always sees around school.

“Good game,” James says, reaching out to Regulus, still only half a foot away on his broom,  hand outstretched.

Regulus looks at James’ hand for a long moment with his eyebrows scrunched tightly, lips pursed, then transfers the Snitch in his hand from left to right and reaches out to grasp James’ fingers firmly. He shakes once, twice, and the thought that James’ exhilaration-drunk brain lands on is his hands are soft. No Quaffle callouses like James has.

James expects to hear cheering from down below, sure that people must have seen that catch, but when he looks down, he sees that the crowd has thinned significantly. There’s only a small scattering of people left at the party, freckled across the dim pitch in groups of two and three. Mostly two’s, James realises with an embarrassed flush. Mostly intertwined.

How long were they in the air, chasing that Snitch? Long enough that nobody is even watching them, anymore.

“Rubbish luck, no one seeing that catch,” James tells Regulus, wincing in sympathy. “You’ll have to embarrass me at breakfast tomorrow by telling everyone you won.”

“I wouldn’t embarrass you,” Regulus says sharply, and James realises that his joking tone has failed. The open glee which had suffused Regulus’ features after his win has melted away, and the stiff mask of nothingness is back. “I’m not a brute, whatever Sirius’ has told you.”

“Sirius doesn’t think you’re a brute.”

“Well,” Regulus begins imperiously, but his lips seem clamp tightly and he adds nothing else. He starts to look at the ground awkwardly, and James realises they’ve been drifting slowly lower in lazy circles. 

“Do you think everyone’s left us?” James asks.

“It’s colder now, they’ve probably gone back somewhere warmer to snog or drink more.”

“Or they’ve gone the way of Sirius.” James laughs, thinking about his friends’ green face.

Regulus shakes his head, “He always thinks he can handle more than he can.”

“Hey,” James protests weakly, out of loyalty, but honestly he barely disagrees, and he can tell Regulus isn’t trying to be mean.

Regulus looks over at him, and James thinks about the way his eyes look in the Lumos light, so much paler than Sirius’ stormy grey. Regulus’ eyes are pearly. Struck silver against the black of his hair.

“How come you’re not as drunk as he is? I thought you did everything as a pair.” Regulus asks.

Because I’m idiotic enough sober, James thinks, shaking himself out of his analysis of another boy’s eyes. “Oh, er,” James says, then flushes slightly. “Well, you’ll have to promise not to laugh, alright?”

Regulus arches an eyebrow. “Why should I? What if it’s funny?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Exactly,” Regulus’s eyes twinkle. He’s messing with me, James realises, another point in favour of him actually being related to Sirius.

“Oh, well, now I feel comfortable telling you.” James laughs a little. “Nah, nothing embarrasses me, not really. It’s actually ‘cos I know my mum wouldn’t like it.”

“You don’t drink at parties because your mum wouldn’t like it?” Regulus looks shocked. “Merlin Potter, you’re a real mummy’s boy, aren’t you?”

James just smiles. “And like I said, not embarrassed.”

“She’s strict?”

“Nah, just sensible. She’s made a pretty compelling argument that it probably isn’t worth it to go at every party the way Sirius does. We’re only young.”

“Smart,” Regulus shrugs. “But how will you know your limits if you never drink?”

“I drank a bit. I’ve had a butterbeer.”

“Ooo, a butterbeer. Well, that changes things,” Regulus mocks.

“Oh, shut up. I’ll have plenty parties to make an idiot of myself at in my life, I’m sure.”

“Why not this one? Specifically?”

“Maybe I predicted I’d be up against you and wanted to stay sharp,” James says, and Regulus rolls his eyes.

“Yet, you still lost.”

“Oh, shove it. No, it’s actually because…” James trails off.

Regulus floats a little closer. “Are you going to tell me another embarrassing secret? Please do.”

“Well,” James shrugs his shoulders, looking up at the sky so that Regulus’ piercing eyes won’t be on him while he admits this, “I sort of had a plan.” He huffs. “There’s a girl I like, and…”

“Lily Evans.” Regulus says promptly, nodding. “Tell me the plan, then.”

“How do you know about Lily?” James gapes. “And you are so pushy.”

“Everyone knows about you and Lily Evans, Potter.” Regulus rolls his eyes.

“There is no me and Lily,” James grumbles. “Not yet.”

“Hence, the plan.”

“Oh, hence,” James laughs. “Yes, hence, my plan. But it didn’t work anyway. Well, wasn’t even much of a plan if I’m honest. More of a… wish. A wish with a lot of direction.”

“Did it involve kidnap?”

“Kidnap?!”

“Well, you’re being very vague about it,” Regulus smiles sharply. “Seems nefarious.”

“Oh merlin, it wasn’t nefarious. I just didn’t want to get drunk on Firewhiskey, or that muggle stuff that tastes like newts’ piss, and embarrass myself in front of her. I thought, you know... if she saw me being the sensible one of the group... she might…”

“Might?”

“She might… want to kiss me.”

Regulus looks at him for a long moment, then he lets out a small laugh and shakes his head. But it doesn’t sound too mean, so James doesn’t let his embarrassment turn into defensiveness quite yet. “That is sickly sweet of you, Potter. You wanted true love’s kiss?”

They’ve reached the ground now, both hovering with their feet trailing upon the turf. James jumps off his broom with a huff, stretching his arms high above him to flex his used muscles. He reaches down to touch his toes, then shakes his hands out. When he looks back up, Regulus is off his broom as well, arms wrapped around his small frame, watching him.

“I’m freezing. Let’s put these back and head up,” James suggests, and Regulus nods. They head towards the exit of the pitch, where the equipment cupboard and the changing rooms are located.

“Did it work?” Regulus asks him as he follows behind James in the dim light. Some of the floating lights that lit the pitch earlier in the night have faded.

“Hm?”

“Your wish with a lot of direction? I saw you all together, earlier.”

James looks over his shoulder and realises the younger boy is actually interested, looking at him intently. “Oh. Oh, no, not really. I mean, she did sit with us, all the girls did. The Gryffindor girls, I mean, but she didn’t sit next to me. She barely said a word and she definitely didn’t kiss me.”

“Shucks,” Regulus drawls.

“Yeah, yeah. She actually kissed Peter, if you can believe.”

“What?” Regulus half-yells, and James grins at him while he opens the doors to the equipment shed for the younger boy to go in first.

“Ha! I know. Just my luck. We played spin the wand and, well, I’m pretty sure that game is cursed for me.”

James puts his broom away quickly, looking around at the equipment in the darkened room, the only light coming in from the open door. With all of the brooms hanging on the wall, it’s almost like being in a thicket of trees. He watches Regulus reach up high to place his stolen Cleansweep on its rack. He has a strange build, really, taller than the usual seeker and rather too skinny to make up for it. Already, he must be taller than Sirius, despite being younger.

“Why do you think it’s cursed?”

“Hm?”

“You said you think that spin the wand is cursed for you,” Regulus is looking at him like he’s trying to figure out if he thinks James is a few gobstones short of a set or not.

“Oh, yeah. Well, it never bloody lands on me. I’ve never kissed anyone.”

“In the game?” Regulus clarifies.

“Oh. Erm. Yep, never kissed anyone in the game.” Oh, for Godric’s sake, James thinks, why can’t he monitor any of what he says? Maybe his mum really is on to something if this is what he’s like on one bloody Butterbeer.

Regulus tilts his head. A lock of his hair has come loose from whatever slick hair spells he has keeping his thick curls all pushed back and orderly. James is familiar with the complex array of hair charms available— namely the fact that not a single one of them works on Potter hair. His father, Fleamont, thinks they must have been cursed at some point. But who would put a blood curse on a family’s hair, of all things, James doesn’t know.

Not even Sleakeasy’s, his father’s own potion, does a thing for James’ nest. He wonders how Regulus gets his hair so silky. Sirius doesn’t bother, he always lets his grow out over the school year, remaining wild and free. James wonders if it would be weird to ask Regulus about his hair routine?

James blinks himself out of his thoughts, realising that Regulus is still staring at him suspiciously. “What?” James asks.

“It’s not, is it?”

“Huh?”

“It’s not just in the game. You’ve never been kissed,” Regulus says the word ‘you’ with deep incredulity, his whole face showing disbelief.

“Ah, well. Okay, yeah. No, I’ve never been kissed.” James admits, shoulders tightening with awkwardness, scratching at his head and not meeting the younger boy’s eyes.

“James Potter has never been kissed?!”

“James Potter has never been kissed,” he confirms.

“How?”  Regulus demands, and James looks at the Slytherin’s face to see that he’s genuinely baffled.

“Well, I think it might be more of a question of how would I have been? I mean, it’s not like I’m that successful.”

“Everyone has a crush on you,” Regulus exclaims. “You don’t even need to try.”

“But- What? No, they don’t.” James blusters, “Not everyone.”

“Are you waiting for Evans?”

“Well, not exactly. It’s just, shouldn’t it be special?”

“My first kiss was Barty,” Regulus says, and James wonders if he would have been so honest if he wasn’t so shocked.

“Barty Crouch??”

“Spin the Wand isn’t exactly my game, either.” Regulus laughs. “Why should it be special?”

“Because it’s… it’s the first!”

“And? I bet there’s been loads of times you could have kissed someone, and you’ve just chickened out.”

“I have not,” James protests, but he thinks, maybe, Regulus might actually be on to something. “I just, well. I’m fifteen. Everyone else has had their first kiss, you know? Even Peter, no offence to Peter, but— Even he’s had his first kiss! With Marlene!”

“Wow. That’s impressive.”

“Exactly! So, now it sort of feels like… that first one is so important that I can’t just... do it. I have to wait for it to be special.”

“Oh, that is so,” Regulus rolls his eyes. He sighs dramatically. “That is so silly.”

“Why does it matter to you so much?”

“It’s just annoying how much of a romantic you are,” Regulus laughs. “So sentimental.”

“Sometimes, sentiment is nice.”

“No. Merlin, no. You’re clearly holding yourself back. Maybe Evans would look your way if you weren’t constantly giving off an air of desperation.”

“Desperation??” Okay, now James is starting to take back his thought that Regulus might not be so bad. He’s a prickly bastard. A ruthless dog with a bone, just like Sirius.

“Like I said, everyone knows about you and Evans. You’re practically obsessive. I bet it’s off putting.”

“I think she just finds my general being off putting, if I’m honest.” James sighs. “Look, I haven’t kissed anyone, alright? What do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know, just get it out of the way?”

“You want me to just walk up to a random stranger in the corridor and kiss them? Or do what you did and kiss one of my friends? No, thanks.” James makes a face.

Regulus cocks his head to the side again, pursing his lips thoughtfully. All this talk of kissing makes James’ eyes linger for a moment too long on Regulus’ lips. They’re pouty, he thinks, like girls' are. James constantly hears everyone talk about how handsome they think Sirius is, and they’re right that Sirius is the more handsome of the two brothers. Regulus isn’t handsome. Regulus is just sort of… pretty.

“So, you don’t want to kiss a stranger, and you don’t want to kiss a friend?” Regulus asks, slowly, like he’s puzzling out some conclusion.

“Not particularly, no.”

“Okay then,” Regulus says, and then he leans forward and pecks James on the lips.

He pecks James on the lips.

James splutters, reeling back slightly. He hadn’t even realised how close they had been standing in the shed, not before Regulus reached forward so smoothly. Lips bloody first.

“You kissed me!” James exclaims.

Regulus smirks, “Yes.”

“Why?” James reaches up to touch his lips. Had Regulus’ lips been soft? Had they been warm, or cold from the night’s air? He can barely tell. It  happened so fast.

“Well, you needed it out of the way, and I’m not a stranger or a friend. Seemed logical.” Regulus shrugs, seeming entirely comfortable with his logic. “Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t look it. “I guess I should have asked you first.”

“No, it’s fine.” James mumbles, still reeling. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“That was barely a kiss.”

“What?!” Regulus looks offended.

“I mean, that was barely a kiss. I’ve kissed my great aunt Gerty for longer than that.”

“Why are you making out with your great aunt, then?” Regulus demands, and James notices that two points of colour have bloomed high on his cheekbones.

“Hm, I’m just saying. If you want to help me get over my hang-ups, or whatever. Well, I’m still hung up. I still don’t really know what a first kiss is like.”

“That’s what bothers you? That you don’t know how it should go?”

James grins, shaking his head slightly, “I have this nightmare where I go to kiss Lily, and it turns out she has tentacles in her mouth. Like, the giant squid, all over my face. I wake up screaming every time, I swear.” Regulus actually laughs a little, and James feels proud of himself. “It was nice of you, though.”

“I… wasn’t doing it to be nice.” Regulus says frowning. “Don’t start going around saying I’m nice. I just wanted to win.”

“Win?” James doesn’t understand.

“Yeah, you know. Now I’m James Potter’s first kiss.” James thinks he’s actually trying to make a joke, a weak one at that, but something about it strikes a chord with James.

Like he said. Competitive.

He feels that old anticipation, arms reaching out for the same prize. The fight for the top. “Well, not really.”

“Yes, I was. I just did.”

James smirks, “Like I said. Barely.”

Regulus scowls, tilting his chin up. “Oh, like you know anything about kissing.”

“I’m just saying.”

“So, do it better.” Regulus demands.

“What?” James asks, realising suddenly that, although he had felt the competitiveness surge, he hadn’t fully considered what he was trying to win. His eyes dart to Regulus’ lips. He thinks they might have been soft. Soft, like his hands.

“You need your first kiss out of the way, we both agree, but clearly you don’t think mine was good enough. Well, I’m your familiar not-friend at your service. Show me what you think a proper first kiss should be like.”

James is— James is frozen. This is ridiculous. This is Sirius’ little brother, a boy, and anyway, he thinks maybe something has been twisted up here with all their talking, he thinks maybe they’ve made a competition out of nothing, he thinks maybe they’re fighting to win for something they shouldn’t want, he thinks—

“Or are you too scared?”

James kisses him. He puts his hand on Regulus’ shoulder and tugs the shorter boy forward, ducking down so that his lips find Regulus’. Their noses bump, and James thinks, this is what I meant. This is what I meant by things going all wrong.

But Regulus just tilts his head to the side slightly, and then they fit. James shuffles his feet, moving closer, and presses his lips into the other boy’s. Regulus’ nose was cold, but his lips are warm, and they aren’t chapped at all, not the way James is fairly sure his are.

They’re soft.

He thinks about Regulus’ taunting, and suddenly all his adrenaline has a goal. He knows what he’s trying to win. He wants to show Regulus that he knows what a good kiss should be.

But he barely does, he doesn’t know anything about kissing, not really. He can’t let himself give in so easily. He thinks, what do I want? What do I want, to make this a good kiss?

He moves closer, and his other hand comes up to the side of Regulus face. His face is smooth beneath James’ palm, no stubble, his jaw sharp as James tilts his face up gently, crowding into him, getting a better angle. James’ lips move, he wants to feel that pout properly, feel the give of Regulus’ lips beneath his.

And Regulus, to his surprise, starts kissing back. His lips move against James’, pushing against James’ pull, opening up beneath him. Their lips slot together, and James can feel the soft heat at the parting of Regulus’ mouth, the promise of more, and, oh. Oh, he wants. He wants to push further, open Regulus’ mouth and steal that warmth from him, press into the other boy until something gives. He wants things he can barely conceptualize. He wants so much, and he doesn’t understand where any of it’s supposed to go. Regulus’ lips move against his and want tugs low in his stomach.

Without meaning to, his hand has slid up Regulus’ jaw. He can feel hair beneath his fingertips. He has a terrible urge to bury his finger in Regulus’ curls.

Maybe this is what he’d really meant. This is what he’d truly feared. Wanting too much. James doesn’t know anything about any of this, hadn’t known what to expect at all. This isn’t anything like he’d thought.

He thought he’d feel more in control, but when Regulus pushes himself right up against James body, searching out deeper kisses, he knows he’s out of his depth. When he feels the younger boy’s chest pressed flush against his, clearly on his tip toes, James let’s out a noise. A groan. A whimper. Something halfway between the two.

He wants to wrap his arms around Regulus’ body, wants more, but—

Regulus pulls away. James chases him blindly, catching his bottom lip in one more soft kiss, before his thoughts catch up with him and he pulls back, too. Not far. They’re still too close for anything ordinary, still breathing in each other’s warm breath.

They stare at each other, brown eyes caught in grey, and James knows that they’re both thinking the same thing. That wasn’t anything like the sort of first kisses James has heard about. Nothing like the kisses he’s seen people share over a spinning wand.

That was too good.

“I guess I meant something like that.” James croaks, his voice a hairsbreadth above a whisper.

Regulus blinks rapidly, and the spell is broken. James pulls his hands away from Regulus’ face and shoulder, Regulus takes two large steps away. They both find somewhere else for their eyes to dart to. Anywhere but each other.

“Well,” Regulus says.

“Yep.” James says, as if Regulus had asked a question.

“We should—”

“Head back.” James finishes.

“Yes. Indeed.”

“Indeed,” James can’t help it, copying Regulus’ clipped vowels.

Regulus rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to say something back with a half-smile. Then he frowns, his smile transforming into a scowl. “Don’t mock me, Potter.”

“I wasn’t—” James begins, but Regulus cuts him off.

“We aren’t friends.” Regulus says, firmly, and sweeps past James to begin the trek up to the school.

James follows. They join a small trickle of people stumbling, giggling up through the darkened grounds. Mostly pairs, James observes again. Regulus stays ahead, elegant legs carrying him just far enough ahead that James can’t ever catch up.

We aren’t friends. Regulus is right, James knows, but as his mind spins the night over and over in his head, it keeps shuddering to an abrupt stop on the feeling of soft lips beneath his.

No, James agrees, only in his head, we aren’t friends.

But how can we consider ourselves strangers, anymore?