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Regulus Black prided himself on control. It was a skill honed from childhood, a necessity rather than a virtue. In a world that demanded perfection, that watched his every move with judgment disguised as expectation, Regulus had learned to be untouchable.

Which was why James Potter was an absolute menace.

It wasn’t just that he was everywhere—though he was. A year older, Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, Gryffindor’s golden boy in every sense of the word, James Potter was inescapable. He was loud and reckless and utterly shameless in the way he carried himself, as though the entire world existed merely for him to amuse himself with. And worst of all, he had turned that insufferable, unrelenting attention toward Regulus.

It had started last year, in the most irritatingly Gryffindor way imaginable. A casual comment after a Quidditch match—“You fly well, Black. Too bad you’re stuck on the wrong team.” Regulus had barely dignified it with a response, but James had grinned at him like he’d won something, and Regulus had known, with a sinking sort of certainty, that it wouldn’t be the last time.

Now, in his sixth year, Regulus found himself constantly bracing for the next encounter. James was an unavoidable presence, whether on the pitch, in the halls, or at mealtimes when he would catch Regulus’ eye across the Great Hall and smirk like they shared some private joke. It was infuriating.

Worse, it was predictable.

Regulus had spent the last five years ensuring that no one could get close enough to see the cracks beneath the surface. He was a Black, meant to be composed, untouchable, above the chaos that others indulged in. And yet James Potter, with his ridiculous hair and his ever-present grin, had begun to unravel all of it with nothing more than persistence.

The worst part was that Sirius had noticed. His brother, who had once been Regulus’ entire world and now barely spoke to him, had taken one look at James trailing after him at the end of last year and had laughed. Actually laughed.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Sirius had said, eyes alight with amusement and something sharp beneath it. “James? Oh, this is brilliant.”

Regulus had scowled, turned on his heel, and left without another word. But it hadn’t stopped Sirius from watching him differently, as if he had figured something out that Regulus had no intention of acknowledging.

Because there was nothing to acknowledge.

James Potter was a nuisance. An unrelenting, frustrating, utterly ridiculous nuisance.

And Regulus Black was not in love with him.

If he kept repeating it, perhaps one day it would actually be convincing.

Unfortunately, James did not seem to be in on this plan of avoidance and denial. If anything, his pursuit had only escalated. Regulus couldn’t walk down a corridor without Potter conveniently appearing at his side, flashing him a grin and saying something insufferably casual.

“Regulus, mate, you really need to work on your flying form. You’ll never beat me if you keep tensing up like that.”

“I’m not your mate, Potter,” Regulus muttered through clenched teeth, picking up his pace.

But James had no sense of boundaries. He fell into step beside him as if he belonged there, completely unfazed by Regulus’ obvious irritation.

“Not yet,” James said, and Regulus hated the easy confidence in his voice. “Give it time.”

Regulus stopped abruptly, turning to glare at him. “What do you even want from me?”

James blinked at him, surprised, and then his grin softened into something almost genuine. “Dunno,” he admitted. “I just like bothering you, I guess.”

Regulus let out a sharp breath, resisting the urge to hex him. “Go bother someone else.”

James chuckled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Nah, you’re my favorite.”

And then, before Regulus could summon a scathing response, James strolled off like he hadn’t just upended Regulus’ entire sense of balance with a single sentence.

Regulus stood frozen in the corridor, heart hammering against his ribs. He was not in love with James Potter.

But James Potter was certainly making it difficult to remember why.

—

They had been back for a week, and of course, Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain—James Potter, the most insufferable person at Hogwarts—had made it incredibly difficult for Slytherin to get any practice in for the first match of the year. It was hardly surprising. James Potter took pleasure in being a menace, but this year, he had somehow managed to be even worse than usual.

Regulus knew what Potter was up to. The game was in two days, and Slytherin had barely had the pitch to themselves. Every time they scheduled a practice, Gryffindor was already there, flying loops and pretending not to hear when Slughorn or McGonagall tried to mediate. The worst part? Even Sirius had joined in the sabotage.

His own brother.

Not that Regulus was particularly shocked. He and Sirius were not on speaking terms, not since Sirius had firmly planted himself in Gryffindor and refused to acknowledge his own family beyond snide remarks and loud declarations of independence. That was fine. Regulus had learned long ago that Sirius was unpredictable at best and reckless at worst.

Still, it didn’t make it any less irritating to watch him, perched on his broom with his stupid cocky grin, laughing at some joke Potter had made. They were probably plotting another way to keep Slytherin off the pitch—maybe breaking into Madam Hooch’s office and conveniently misplacing all of Slytherin’s brooms. It wasn’t beneath them.

Regulus gritted his teeth as he watched from the stands, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Evan Rosier, sitting beside him, nudged him with his elbow.

“You look like you’re ready to hex them,” Evan observed.

“Maybe I am.”

“Careful, Reg. Don’t want to look like a sore loser before the game’s even started.”

Regulus scoffed, but he forced himself to unclench his jaw. He wasn’t a sore loser. He wasn’t even angry about the game itself. He was angry about the principle of it. Gryffindors always acted like they were so honorable, so noble, and yet here they were, using underhanded tactics to put Slytherin at a disadvantage.

And Sirius—Sirius, who always accused Slytherins of being manipulative and unfair—was right there alongside them.

Regulus watched as his brother tossed the Bludger back to the other beater, clearly enjoying himself. James Potter caught sight of Regulus in the stands and, as if he could sense his annoyance, shot him a bright, obnoxious grin. Then, the idiot had the audacity to wink at him.

Regulus turned away sharply, scowling.

He needed to beat them. Needed to shut them up, wipe those arrogant smirks off their faces, and make it clear that Slytherin was not going to be pushed around.

Two days. He had two days to make sure they were ready.

Regulus inhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down. It wouldn’t do any good to sit here stewing in frustration while Gryffindor flaunted their stolen practice time. He needed to act.

He stood abruptly, causing Evan to raise an eyebrow.

“Where are you going?”

“To fix this,” Regulus muttered, already turning on his heel.

He stormed down the stands, ignoring the shouts and laughter echoing from the pitch. Gryffindor’s practice session—if it could even be called that—was nothing more than an excuse to disrupt Slytherin’s schedule. They weren’t even running proper drills. Potter and Sirius were showboating, looping through the air like they were performing for an audience rather than preparing for a match.

Regulus stalked toward the pitch, his broom in hand. If Gryffindor wasn’t going to leave, then he would make them.

When he stepped onto the field, Potter was in the middle of some elaborate stunt—diving fast before pulling up at the last second, sending a spray of dirt into the air. Sirius cheered obnoxiously from above. Regulus barely spared him a glance, his focus locked on James.

“Potter,” he called sharply.

James, still grinning, turned in midair. “Regulus! Come to admire greatness up close?”

Regulus’ expression didn’t change. “You’re done here. It’s Slytherin’s turn to practice.”

Potter looked around, making an exaggerated show of scanning the sky. “Huh. Pitch looks pretty occupied to me.”

Regulus didn’t flinch. “By Gryffindors who don’t have it reserved.”

Sirius finally drifted closer, his smirk as infuriating as ever. “Relax, Reggie,” he drawled. “We’re just having fun.”

Regulus’ grip tightened around his broom. “Stop calling me that.”

“What, Reggie?” Sirius grinned wider. “C’mon, lighten up. You could do with some fun.”

“I’ll have fun when I see Gryffindor losing by a hundred points,” Regulus shot back.

James laughed. “Oh, you think that’s how this is going to go?”

Regulus ignored him. “You’re leaving,” he said again, this time with more force.

James just twirled on his broom.

Regulus narrowed his eyes. Fine. If Potter wanted to be difficult, Regulus would make him regret it.

Before James could react, Regulus kicked off the ground, soaring into the air so fast that the wind whistled past his ears. He heard a few surprised shouts from below, but he ignored them, aiming straight for James.

James barely had time to pull his broom up before Regulus was on him, stopping so abruptly in midair that their brooms nearly clashed.

“Oh?” James said, clearly amused. “You want to do this now?”

Regulus ignored the smugness in his voice. “A one-on-one,” he said coolly. “You and me, now. First to score three goals wins.”

James tilted his head, eyes gleaming with excitement. “And what do I get when I win?”

Regulus scoffed. “You’re not going to.”

James grinned. “Confident. I like it. Alright, let’s say I win. Then what?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Then you can keep the pitch for another half-hour. But when I win, you leave. No complaints. No arguments.”

Sirius, who had been watching with growing interest, let out a low whistle. “Damn, Reg, putting a lot on the line here.”

Regulus didn’t look at him. He only stared at James, waiting.

For a second, James seemed to consider. Then, without warning, he shot forward, gripping the Quaffle as he went.

Regulus cursed and launched himself after him.

James was fast, but Regulus had spent years training against the best. He was precise, relentless, weaving through the air as he chased James toward the goalposts. James feinted left, then right, trying to shake him, but Regulus anticipated his movements, cutting him off just before he could take a shot.

He lunged, arm outstretched—

His fingers grazed the Quaffle—

And then, James twisted at the last second, tossing the ball with perfect aim through the hoop.

“First point, me!” James called smugly.

Regulus clenched his jaw. Fine. One point meant nothing. He readjusted his grip on his broom and flew back into position.

The next round started, and this time, Regulus got the Quaffle first. He shot forward, angling his body low, using speed over trickery. James was right behind him, but Regulus wasn’t going to let him steal the ball. He dodged, feinted once, then hurled the Quaffle straight through the left hoop.

“One to one,” Regulus said, giving James a pointed look.

James smirked. “Alright, Black. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The next few minutes were nothing but a blur of motion, the wind rushing past Regulus’ ears as they dove and twisted through the sky. James was good, but Regulus was better. His strategy wasn’t about flashy moves or dramatic dives—it was about control. Precision. He knew exactly when to push forward and when to hang back, forcing James into mistakes.

By the time the score reached two to two, James was breathing harder, his overconfidence dimming just slightly.

Regulus, however, was perfectly calm.

The final play began, and James got to the Quaffle first. He shot toward the goal, and for a moment, Regulus thought he might actually make it. But at the last second, Regulus cut him off, yanking the Quaffle from his grip and veering sharply in the other direction.

James swore behind him, but Regulus didn’t slow down.

He reached the goalposts, eyes locked on the hoops—

And threw.

The Quaffle soared cleanly through the center hoop.

Regulus let out a slow breath as the whistle blew from below. A few Slytherins on the ground cheered.

James pulled up beside him, looking only slightly annoyed. “Well,” he admitted, running a hand through his windswept hair, “guess I can’t argue with that.”

Regulus smirked. “No, you can’t.”

With a dramatic sigh, James turned to his team. “Alright, you lot, you heard the little prince—time to clear out.”

Sirius groaned. “Come on, Prongs—”

“A deal’s a deal, Pads.” James threw Regulus a grin before flying back down.

Regulus watched as Gryffindor reluctantly packed up. He didn’t say anything, but inside, he felt something close to satisfaction.

Slytherin would get their practice after all. And when the match came in two days—

He would make sure they won.

As Gryffindor finally cleared the pitch, Regulus descended, landing smoothly on the grass. He swung his leg over his broom and stood tall, watching James and Sirius joke around as they made their way off the field. James was taking the loss well enough—too well, actually, like he had enjoyed the challenge. Regulus didn’t trust that. James Potter was never that agreeable unless he had something up his sleeve.

Sirius, however, was another matter entirely. He lingered behind the rest of the team, spinning his broom lazily in his hands as he turned to face Regulus.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Reggie,” he said, still grinning.

Regulus barely gave him a glance. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Sirius laughed. “You also told me you’d beat us by a hundred points. Bit ambitious, don’t you think?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “I still beat your captain, didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Sirius admitted, tilting his head. “Should I be proud?”

Regulus stiffened. It was a trap of a question, one that Sirius had always been good at setting. If Regulus said yes, it would imply that he cared what Sirius thought. If he said no, it would make it seem like he was trying too hard to prove a point.

So he said nothing.

Instead, he turned on his heel, walking toward the rest of his team. Slytherin was already gathering, stretching, discussing last-minute plays now that they finally had the pitch to themselves.

But Sirius, annoyingly, wasn’t done yet.

“You know, Prongs likes you.”

Regulus stopped in his tracks. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides.

He turned just enough to glance over his shoulder. “I don’t care.”

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s true. But whatever you say, little brother.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Sirius gave him one last lingering look, something unreadable flickering behind his usual mischief. Then he turned, jogging after James and the rest of Gryffindor.

Regulus watched them go, irritation bubbling just beneath his ribs.

He didn’t care what James Potter thought of him. He didn’t care that James had spent the last few years making increasingly obnoxious attempts to talk to him, to act as if they had some sort of familiarity beyond the game of Quidditch and their shared rivalry.

He didn’t care.

And if James thought that a single match would change anything—

Well. Regulus would just have to make sure Gryffindor lost so thoroughly that there wouldn’t be any confusion about where they stood.

—

The day of the match dawned cold and crisp, the autumn air sharp as Regulus stepped onto the pitch. The stands were packed, banners of red and gold clashing against the green and silver of Slytherin. The entire school had turned out for the first game of the season, and the anticipation was electric.

Regulus barely heard the roaring cheers—or the obnoxious chanting of Gryffindor, Gryffindor—as he mounted his broom. His focus was already narrowing, locking onto the only thing that mattered: the Golden Snitch.

Across from him, the Gryffindor Seeker—Marlene McKinnon—grinned at him from her own broom. She was good, fast, and had an irritating ability to anticipate sudden shifts in movement. But Regulus had studied her, the way she played, the way she hesitated when the Snitch flew low but always committed when it went high. He had already planned how to counter her.

Madam Hooch’s whistle cut through the air, and the game began.

Regulus shot into the sky, immediately veering upward while the rest of the players scrambled below. He didn’t need to watch them—didn’t care about the Quaffle or the Bludgers flying past. His only job was to find the Snitch before Marlene did.

Below him, James Potter was already making a spectacle of himself, dodging through Slytherin’s defense with an arrogant ease that made Regulus grind his teeth. But he ignored it, keeping his eyes moving, scanning the field.

Then—

A flicker of gold near the Ravenclaw stands.

Regulus dove without hesitation.

The wind whipped past him as he angled downward, the rest of the game forgotten. He could hear Marlene following, gaining on him, but he pushed his broom harder, faster. The Snitch darted left, then right, twisting unpredictably, but Regulus had already adjusted his course before it even fully changed direction.

He reached out—

A sudden crack of a Bludger slammed the air beside him, forcing him to veer away at the last second.

Sirius.

Regulus caught only a glimpse of his brother, grinning wildly from above, bat still raised. It hadn’t been a direct hit, but it had been enough to throw him off course. Enough for Marlene to catch up.

Regulus swore under his breath and righted himself, scanning for the Snitch again. It had disappeared in the chaos, lost somewhere amid the churning players.

Fine.

He flew higher, circling the pitch, keeping his movements controlled and deliberate. Marlene was searching wildly, zigzagging, hoping for luck. But Regulus didn’t rely on luck. He relied on calculation.

Below, the score was climbing—Gryffindor was up by twenty, but it didn’t matter. The game would end when he caught the Snitch.

And then, he saw it.

Hovering just past the Gryffindor goalposts, low to the ground, flickering like a trick of the light.

Regulus didn’t hesitate.

He shot downward, weaving through the players so quickly that he barely registered the shouts as he passed. Marlene saw his movement and reacted a second too late—he had the advantage.

The Snitch jerked upward at the last second, trying to escape, but Regulus anticipated it. He twisted sharply, cutting off its flight path, and stretched out his fingers—

The cool metal snapped into his palm.

The whistle blew.

For a moment, the world was silent. Then, the stands erupted into noise—half in wild celebration, half in disappointed groans.

Regulus barely heard any of it. He landed smoothly, fingers still curled tightly around the Snitch as the rest of the Slytherin team swarmed him, clapping him on the back, cheering his name.

Across the pitch, James and Sirius were talking, Sirius still holding his bat loosely in one hand. He was watching Regulus with something that wasn’t quite irritation, but wasn’t quite pride either.

James, however, was grinning.

Regulus scowled. Whatever was going through Potter’s head, he didn’t care.

They had won. That was all that mattered.

—

The celebration in the Slytherin common room that night was loud, full of triumphant laughter and the occasional reenactment of Regulus’ final dive. Someone had even managed to smuggle in a few bottles of firewhisky, and while Regulus had no interest in getting drunk, he allowed himself a sip when Evan Rosier shoved a glass into his hand.

“You should’ve seen Potter’s face,” Barty was saying, sprawled across one of the emerald-green couches. “Absolutely gutted.”

“He wasn’t,” Regulus muttered, swirling the liquid in his glass.

Barty blinked. “What?”

“Potter wasn’t upset,” Regulus clarified. He had seen James after the match, still grinning despite the loss, like the entire thing had been a game rather than a battle for dominance.

“Of course he was,” Barty argued. “Gryffindors always pretend they’re good losers, but they hate it.”

Regulus hummed noncommittally, but he knew what he’d seen. James hadn’t been disappointed. If anything, he had looked even more interested.

Regulus shook off the thought and settled deeper into his chair, letting the celebration continue around him. He should have felt satisfied. Slytherin had won. He had done his job.

So why did it feel like something wasn’t finished?

—

The answer came the next morning.

Regulus had been hoping for a quiet breakfast, but the moment he stepped into the Great Hall, his stomach sank.

James Potter was waiting.

He was leaning casually against the Gryffindor table, chatting with Marlene McKinnon, but the moment he spotted Regulus, his face lit up like this was exactly what he had been waiting for.

Regulus considered turning around. But that would be cowardly, and if there was one thing he refused to be, it was that.

So he walked forward, ignoring James entirely, and took his seat at the Slytherin table.

It didn’t matter. James followed.

“Morning, Black,” he greeted, dropping onto the bench beside Regulus as if they were old friends.

Regulus didn’t look up from his plate. “Go away.”

“Brilliant match yesterday,” James continued, unbothered. “Marls is still mad about it. You should probably watch your back.”

Regulus sighed, finally looking up. “Do you have a point, or do you just enjoy being annoying?”

James grinned. “Bit of both, actually.”

Regulus gave him a flat stare.

James leaned in slightly. “You were good yesterday,” he admitted. “Better than I expected.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “What do you want, Potter?”

James tilted his head, considering. Then, far too casually, he said, “You should let me take you out to dinner.”

Regulus froze.

For a moment, he was convinced he had misheard. Because there was no way—absolutely no way—James Potter had just asked him on a date in the middle of the Great Hall like it was a normal thing to do.

Unfortunately, the expectant look on James’ face told him that was exactly what had happened.

Regulus inhaled slowly, willing himself to stay calm. “No.”

James looked delighted. “You didn’t even think about it.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Regulus said coolly. “The answer is no. It will always be no.”

James leaned his chin on his hand. “You know, I don’t believe that.”

Regulus’ fingers twitched around his fork. “I don’t care what you believe.”

James shrugged. “Alright. Guess I’ll just have to try again later.”

And with that, he stood, ruffling Regulus’ hair in an infuriatingly casual way before sauntering off toward his own table.

Regulus sat there, seething.

Barty, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “What the fuck was that?”

Regulus wished he had an answer. Because, for once, he truly had no idea what James Potter was playing at.

—

For the rest of the day, Regulus did his best to pretend the morning’s encounter hadn’t happened.

He ignored Barty’s endless stream of questions, ignored Evan’s snickering, and ignored the speculative glances the rest of Slytherin had been throwing his way after James Potter had—Merlin help him—asked him out in the middle of the Great Hall.

It was absurd. Unbelievable.

And worst of all, it wasn’t going away.

Because James, true to his word, tried again later.

It started small. Passing Regulus in the corridor and saying, See you at dinner, Black, like Regulus had agreed to anything. Sending owls—actual bloody owls—carrying ridiculous, over-the-top invitations that Regulus burned without opening. And, worst of all, appearing everywhere.

Regulus was used to keeping to himself. He had his routine, his places where he could go without being disturbed. But now, James Potter was somehow there before him.

When he arrived early to the library to study, James was already sitting at a table, flipping lazily through a book that Regulus would bet money he wasn’t actually reading.

When he went out to the Quidditch pitch for an evening flight, James was stretching on the sidelines, acting as though it were perfectly normal for him to be there.

Even by the lake—Regulus’ one peaceful escape—James showed up, leaning against a tree and commenting on the weather like he was a normal person and not a menace.

“You’re stalking me,” Regulus accused after the fifth completely coincidental meeting in three days.

James, sprawled comfortably on the grass beside him, grinned. “I prefer to think of it as persistence.”

“I prefer to think of it as harassment.”

James sighed dramatically. “Come on, Black. One dinner. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Regulus gave him a long, unimpressed look. “I would rather fling myself off the Astronomy Tower.”

James laughed. “Bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“No.”

James leaned back on his elbows, studying him. “You know, for someone who says no so quickly, you haven’t actually given me a reason.”

Regulus exhaled slowly, willing himself to stay calm. “Because I don’t like you.”

James’ grin widened, like that was the answer he had wanted. “You don’t know me.”

Regulus frowned. “Unfortunately, I do.”

James hummed, tilting his head. “Not really.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. He was not going to engage in this conversation. He was not going to let James Potter turn this into some ridiculous back-and-forth where they acted like rivals who might secretly be intrigued by one another.

Because Regulus was not intrigued.

He wasn’t.

“You’re wasting your time,” he said instead.

James stretched lazily. “It’s my time to waste.”

Regulus exhaled sharply, standing. “Fine. Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

And he didn’t.

So when James did keep showing up—when he kept smiling at Regulus in the corridors, kept offering to carry his books (which Regulus refused, obviously), kept calling him Reggie just to see the way his eye twitched—Regulus did not care.

Not even a little bit.

—

James Potter did not give up.

Regulus should have expected it—Potter was obnoxious at the best of times, relentless at the worst—but even he hadn’t anticipated the sheer dedication behind the pursuit.

Every morning at breakfast, a cup of tea appeared at his elbow, delivered wordlessly by James before he sauntered off to the Gryffindor table. (“Figured you might like it, since you always make that face when you drink the Great Hall’s coffee,” James had said one morning, far too pleased with himself.)

Every time Regulus entered the library, James was already there, pretending to study, but inevitably dragging Regulus into some infuriating conversation about Quidditch, or Potions, or whatever nonsense he could think of that day.

And then there were the gifts.

It started small—a pack of new quills left at his usual library table, a bar of expensive dark chocolate tucked into his bag. Then it escalated. An actual book (a first edition, no less) appearing on his pillow. A brand-new pair of Seeker gloves replacing his worn-out ones.

Regulus had tried everything to make it stop. He ignored the tea, returned the gifts, refused to engage in James’ increasingly ridiculous attempts at conversation. But it didn’t matter. James kept going, completely undeterred.

Which was how Regulus found himself where he was now, storming into the Gryffindor common room as a very startled first-year yelped and jumped out of his way.

“Where is he?” Regulus demanded.

The room fell silent.

Most of Gryffindor was gathered by the fireplace, clearly in the middle of some loud, chaotic conversation. Sirius was among them, along with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. But Regulus’ attention was focused solely on the idiot who had made his life miserable for the past two weeks.

James Potter grinned at him from where he was lounging in an armchair. “Why, Regulus, what a surprise.”

Regulus marched forward, throwing something at him. James caught it easily, looking down to see—

A golden snitch.

Not just any snitch. The one Regulus had caught during their match.

James blinked. “You’re returning my gift?”

Regulus inhaled sharply. “It is not a gift. It is mine. I caught it. I won the match.”

James leaned his chin on his hand. “Exactly. And now it’s a trophy. From me. To you.”

Regulus clenched his fists. “That’s not how this works.”

“Sure it is.” James tilted his head, studying him with far too much amusement. “Besides, you kept it for two whole days. Didn’t realize you were so sentimental.”

Regulus did not flush.

“I kept it because I didn’t realize it was yours,” he snapped. “I thought it was my own, until I noticed the inscription.”

James brightened. “You read it?”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “It says, To the best Seeker I’ve ever played against. Let me take you to dinner.”

James beamed. “Romantic, right?”

Regulus threw his hands up. “You are insufferable.”

Sirius, from his place on the couch, was openly laughing now. “Merlin, Prongs, you’re actually going to kill him.”

Regulus shot him a glare. “And you—why didn’t you stop this madness?”

Sirius smirked. “And ruin the best entertainment I’ve had all year? Not a chance.”

Regulus inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. I will not commit murder in the Gryffindor common room. I will not commit murder in the Gryffindor common room.

James, still looking far too pleased with himself, stood up. “Look, Reggie—”

“Do not call me that.”

James held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But listen, you’ve got to admit—you’re having fun.”

Regulus stared at him. “I am not having fun.”

James shrugged. “You stormed into Gryffindor tower to yell at me. That’s a pretty strong reaction for someone who doesn’t care.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “I came here to tell you to leave me alone.”

James grinned. “Didn’t work.”

Regulus exhaled sharply. He turned on his heel and started for the exit.

But just before he reached the portrait hole, James called out—

“See you at dinner, Black!”

And if he could still hear Sirius laughing as he walked away, well—

That was just another reason to hate James Potter.

—

Regulus did not go to dinner.

Not in the Great Hall, at least. He had no interest in giving James Potter another opportunity to make a spectacle out of him. Instead, he ate in the Slytherin common room, taking his time with a cup of tea while Barty ranted about Gryffindor arrogance and Evan smirked like he knew something Regulus didn’t.

But it didn’t matter. Because by the time he returned to his dormitory, there was a plate sitting on his bedside table, covered with a warming charm, filled with all his favorite foods.

Regulus stared at it.

Evan, who had just entered the room, whistled. “Merlin. He’s good.”

Regulus’ eye twitched. “It could be from the elves.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “With your exact favorites? Right down to the treacle tart?”

Regulus pursed his lips.

Barty, who had overheard from his own bed, grinned. “Face it, Reg. You’re being courted.”

Regulus turned slowly. “Do not say that word.”

Barty only laughed. “Admit it. He’s wearing you down.”

“He is not.”

Evan hummed. “You did storm into Gryffindor tower for him.”

“That was not for him. That was because he’s unbearable.”

“Sure, sure.” Evan smirked. “But if you really wanted him to stop, you’d have hexed him by now.”

Regulus glared. “Don’t tempt me.”

But later, as he stared at the plate of food that had been left for him, he found himself hesitating.

Because—yes, James Potter was obnoxious. Yes, he was persistent to the point of insanity. But beneath all of that, there was something else.

A sincerity that Regulus didn’t quite know what to do with.

It was unsettling.

And worse—it was working.

—

The next morning, Regulus made a mistake.

He was on his way to breakfast when James fell into step beside him, as he had done far too often in the past two weeks. Normally, Regulus would ignore him. Maybe throw out a sharp remark before walking away.

But today, he was tired. The constant pursuit, the endless attention—it had worn him down, and before he could think better of it, the words slipped out:

“What do I have to do to make this stop?”

James grinned, completely unbothered by Regulus’ exasperation. “One dinner.”

Regulus groaned. “Potter—”

“One,” James interrupted, holding up a finger. “That’s all. One dinner, and if you hate it, I’ll leave you alone.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “You swear?”

James nodded. “On my broomstick.”

Regulus studied him carefully, searching for any sign of deception. But James Potter was, above all things, honest. Infuriating, yes. Persistent to the point of madness, absolutely. But not a liar.

Which meant—

Merlin help him—

He had no choice.

“Fine,” Regulus muttered.

James blinked. Then his entire face lit up. “Wait, really?”

“One dinner,” Regulus clarified. “And then you stop.”

James held a hand to his heart. “Black, I am honored.”

Regulus sighed. “I already regret this.”

James beamed. “Too late now.”

And as Regulus walked into the Great Hall, ignoring the way Barty and Evan were already snickering at him, he realized—

James Potter had won.

And Regulus had no idea what he had just gotten himself into.

Chapter Text

Regulus had barely made it five steps into the Slytherin dormitory before he lost control of his temper.

It wasn’t that he meant to cast a spell—it wasn’t even that he had been consciously thinking about magic at all. But the second he saw the smug, knowing expressions on Barty and Evan’s faces, the second he heard Barty drawl, “So, when’s the big date?”—something inside him snapped.

His wand was in his hand before he could stop himself.

The next thing he knew, a sharp crack echoed through the room. His four-poster bed, previously pristine, now had one of its iron bars broken clean in half, the jagged edges still sparking slightly from the force of the hex.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Barty burst into laughter.

Evan, ever the picture of amusement, leaned casually against his own bedframe. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Regulus inhaled slowly through his nose. Do not commit murder in the dormitory. Do not commit murder in the dormitory.

“It was an accident,” he gritted out.

Barty wiped at his eyes. “An accident? You obliterated part of your bed over a dinner date. What are you going to do when you actually go—set the whole dorm on fire?”

Regulus clenched his jaw. He refused to dignify that with a response.

Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. Within the hour, word had spread that Regulus Black had lost his mind over James Potter, and Professor Slughorn was now standing in front of him, arms crossed, surveying the destroyed bed with a look of mild concern.

“Oh dear, my boy,” Slughorn sighed, rubbing at his mustache. “This is quite the mess.”

Regulus, who was standing stiffly beside him, said nothing.

Slughorn turned to face him, eyes twinkling with something dangerously close to amusement. “Now, I do hope this wasn’t a fit of passion,” he said, his voice rich with unspoken implications.

Regulus gritted his teeth. “It was not.”

Slughorn hummed, clearly unconvinced. “It’s just, well, it’s not every day one of my students hexes their own bed to pieces. And over James Potter, no less.”

Regulus closed his eyes. “I did not hex my bed because of—” He exhaled sharply, barely managing to keep his voice even. “It was a moment of frustration.”

Slughorn chuckled. “Ah, yes, yes. Passionate young love can be quite frustrating.”

Regulus nearly snapped his wand in half.

Slughorn clapped a hand on his shoulder, completely unbothered by Regulus’ visible distress. “Not to worry, my boy. I’ll have the elves mend it in no time.” Then, after a far too knowing pause, he added, “And should you ever need advice on such matters, my office is always open.”

Regulus stared at him in absolute horror.

Barty, from his bed, was shaking with barely contained laughter.

Regulus was going to die.

Not from James Potter.

Not from embarrassment.

No, he was simply going to drop dead on the spot because there was no coming back from this.

Slughorn patted his shoulder again. “Good lad.” Then, with one final amused glance at the ruined bed, he turned and left.

Regulus stood there for a long moment, motionless, before slowly turning toward Barty and Evan.

They were grinning like the absolute menaces they were.

Barty folded his hands behind his head. “So. Passionate young love, huh?”

Regulus hexed his pillow so violently that feathers exploded into the air.

—

Regulus was not going to dinner.

He had already decided. The moment Slughorn had walked out of the dormitory with his insufferable knowing smile, the moment Barty and Evan had started making absolutely vile comments about “passionate young love”—Regulus had made up his mind.

He wasn’t going.

James Potter could wait in the Great Hall until the sun burned out for all he cared.

The next morning at breakfast, James, completely unbothered as always, slid into the seat beside him at the Slytherin table like he belonged there.

Regulus ignored him.

James nudged his elbow. “You never showed.”

Regulus took a slow sip of his tea.

James huffed a laugh. “Cold, Black. Cold.”

Regulus turned a page in his book.

James tilted his head, watching him. “Slughorn gave you a lecture, didn’t he?”

Regulus did not react.

James grinned. “Heard all about it.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “From who?”

James smirked. “Oh, you know. Just the entire school.”

Regulus stabbed a piece of toast with his knife.

James let out a delighted laugh, leaning forward. “Merlin, I should’ve known you’d be the type to break furniture when you’re upset.”

Regulus inhaled sharply. Do not hex him in front of witnesses. Do not hex him in front of witnesses.

James nudged his shoulder again, voice dropping to something far too smug. “You know, if you didn’t want to go to dinner, you could’ve just said so. You didn’t have to destroy half your dorm.”

Regulus slammed his book shut. “Potter—”

James raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Hey, no need to get violent.”

Regulus exhaled sharply. “You said if I agreed to one dinner, you would leave me alone.”

James nodded. “I did.” Then, after a pause, he smirked. “But you never actually went, did you?”

Regulus stared at him.

James looked far too pleased with himself. “That means we’re still even.”

Regulus could not believe the sheer audacity.

He turned to face James fully, lowering his voice so no one else at the table could hear. “You’re a menace.”

James beamed. “A charming one, though.”

Regulus inhaled slowly. I am going to kill him.

James drummed his fingers against the table. “So, what do you say? Try again tonight?”

Regulus clenched his fists.

If he refused, James would just keep going. Keep being relentless, keep showing up, keep pushing until Regulus either hexed him into next year or gave in.

At this point, he wasn’t sure which was more appealing.

But—Merlin help him—he really just wanted this to be over.

He exhaled sharply. “Fine.”

James blinked. “Fine?”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “One dinner. No theatrics. No showing up at my table uninvited. No more gifts.”

James grinned. “I make no promises.”

Regulus glared.

James held up his hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.” Then he leaned back, utterly smug. “But you are finally going out with me.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I already regret this.”

James clapped him on the back like they were friends. “See you at seven, love.”

Regulus choked.

James, the absolute bastard, just winked before sauntering off.

Barty and Evan, who had been eavesdropping shamelessly, were practically vibrating with laughter.

Regulus dropped his head onto the table.

He was never going to live this down.

—

Regulus did not think about it for the rest of the day.

Or, at least, he tried not to.

He threw himself into his studies, read through his Potions notes twice, and even spent an extra hour in the library just to avoid the inevitable. But no matter how much he ignored it, the reality remained the same:

He had agreed to go to dinner with James Potter.

And now it was happening.

By the time seven o’clock rolled around, Regulus was still sitting in the Slytherin common room, staring blankly at the fire, seriously considering just not showing up again.

“He’s going to come down here if you stand him up,” Evan said idly from his chair, flipping through a magazine.

Regulus scowled. “He wouldn’t dare.”

Barty, lying dramatically across the sofa, smirked. “It’s Potter. Of course he would.”

Regulus hated that they were right.

Because that was the thing about James Potter—he had no shame. No hesitation. If Regulus skipped this dinner, James would march down to the Slytherin dungeons, right into their common room, and make a spectacle of it.

And Regulus refused to give him that satisfaction.

With an irritated sigh, he stood. Barty and Evan exchanged amused glances, but thankfully, neither of them said anything as he made his way out.

The walk to the Great Hall felt like a death march.

He wasn’t nervous. Obviously. He just—didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to deal with James’ ridiculous flirting, or the inevitable smugness of winning, or the way the entire school was probably already whispering about it.

But when he reached the bottom of the staircase, James was already there, leaning against the wall, grinning like he had known Regulus would show.

And that—that was what set Regulus’ nerves on edge.

Because it wasn’t just James’ usual arrogance. It was confidence.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Like he had already won.

Regulus inhaled sharply.

James pushed off the wall and clapped his hands together. “You came.”

Regulus crossed his arms. “Unfortunately.”

James grinned. “Don’t sound too excited, now.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

James chuckled, unfazed. “Merlin, you’re cute when you’re grumpy.”

Regulus stiffened. “Do not call me that.”

James just smirked. “Come on, love. Our table awaits.”

Regulus nearly turned around and left on the spot.

James, ever the menace, just laughed and started walking.

And Regulus—Merlin help him—followed.

Because if he had to suffer through this, then at the very least, he would make damn sure that James Potter never wanted to take him out again.

The Great Hall was too loud.

Regulus wasn’t sure if it was just his awareness of the situation making everything feel worse, or if the entire student body truly had nothing better to do than whisper and stare, but either way, it was maddening.

James, of course, was utterly unbothered.

He strode confidently to their table—yes, their table, because apparently, James had somehow managed to conjure a smaller, more secluded table toward the back of the Hall.

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “How did you—”

James grinned. “I have my ways.”

Regulus was not amused.

James pulled out a chair with an obnoxious flourish, gesturing for Regulus to sit.

Regulus did not dignify him with a reaction. He just sat down stiffly, arms crossed as James slid into the seat across from him, still looking far too smug.

“I’m impressed,” James said as he poured himself a drink.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “By what?”

James smirked. “By the sheer force of will it must’ve taken for you to actually show up.”

Regulus scowled. “Don’t make me regret it.”

James laughed, entirely too pleased. “Too late, love.”

Regulus exhaled slowly. Do not hex him in public. Do not hex him in public.

James leaned forward, chin resting on his hand. “So, tell me, Regulus. What does the elusive Black heir enjoy talking about?”

Regulus gave him a flat look. “Silence.”

James grinned. “Shame. I was hoping for something a bit more lively.”

Regulus inhaled sharply. He was already so done with this.

A plate of food appeared in front of him, and he immediately occupied himself with cutting into it—if only so he wouldn’t have to look at James’ insufferably pleased expression.

Unfortunately, James was still watching him.

“So, tell me,” James said, far too casually. “What do I have to do to convince you this isn’t the worst thing in the world?”

Regulus stabbed a piece of chicken. “Stop talking.”

James laughed, like he actually found this fun. “Not happening.”

Regulus gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Then there’s nothing you can do.”

James hummed, clearly not deterred. “I love a challenge.”

Regulus clenched his jaw.

James tilted his head, watching him carefully. “You know, for all your brooding, I think you secretly like the attention.”

Regulus stiffened.

James smirked. “You certainly like pretending you don’t.”

Regulus wanted to hex him. Desperately.

But instead, he just put down his fork, folded his hands neatly in front of him, and leveled James with the iciest glare he could muster.

“You are insufferable,” he said, voice steady.

James just grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

Regulus inhaled slowly.

He was going to get through this dinner.

And when it was over, he was never speaking to James Potter again.

The meal lasted an eternity.

Regulus didn’t know how James could talk so much—about anything, really. Quidditch, classes, ridiculous pranks, even the time he and Sirius got caught charming the suits of armor to serenade McGonagall during breakfast. He was relentless, always smirking, always watching Regulus like he was waiting for him to break.

Regulus did not break.

He ate in silence, offering nothing, keeping his responses clipped and impersonal. He did not give James the satisfaction of rising to his teasing, did not engage with his nonsense, and certainly did not let himself be amused.

James, infuriatingly, did not give up.

And worse—worse—Regulus could tell he was enjoying this.

It was only when dessert appeared that James finally paused, swirling his goblet lazily between his fingers, watching Regulus with that infuriating little smirk.

“You know,” James said, tone far too smug, “this has actually been quite nice.”

Regulus gave him a deadpan look. “For who?”

James grinned. “For me, obviously.”

Regulus should have seen that coming.

James leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You’re even prettier when you’re annoyed, you know.”

Regulus dropped his fork. “You cannot be serious.”

James smirked. “No, that’s my best mate.”

Regulus hated him.

Truly.

Deeply.

With every fiber of his being.

James laughed, utterly unrepentant. “Come on, Reg, admit it. You’ve had some fun.”

Regulus inhaled sharply. Do not hex him in public. Do not hex him in public.

James tilted his head. “No? Not even a little?”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “The only thing I am admitting, Potter, is that this is the most excruciating evening of my life.”

James beamed. “See? That’s the passion I was hoping for.”

Regulus threw his napkin on the table. “I’m leaving.”

James chuckled, leaning back. “Alright, alright. I’ll walk you back.”

Regulus glared. “No, you won’t.”

James put a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

Regulus exhaled sharply. He did not have the patience for this.

He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the stone floor, and turned on his heel, stalking toward the doors without a single glance back.

James called after him, far too delighted. “See you tomorrow, love!”

Regulus did not dignify that with a response.

He was not doing this again.

He had survived dinner. He had tolerated James Potter for a full hour.

And now it was over.

Except.

Regulus stopped dead in his tracks.

James Potter was sitting at the Slytherin table, grinning like he belonged there, chatting with Evan Rosier like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Evan, the traitor, looked highly amused, even offering James a piece of toast like they were old friends.

Regulus inhaled very slowly.

Barty strolled up beside him, eyes gleaming with delight. “I think he likes you.”

Regulus did not dignify that with a response. He just stalked toward the table, bracing himself for whatever fresh hell awaited him.

James noticed him immediately, because of course he did. His smirk widened, as if he’d won something, and he gestured to the empty seat beside him.

“Morning, love.”

Regulus wanted to hex him into the sun.

Instead, he sat stiffly across from him, pointedly ignoring the way Barty and Evan exchanged barely concealed smirks.

“What,” Regulus said coolly, “are you doing here?”

James leaned on his elbow, entirely too at ease. “Having breakfast.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “At the Slytherin table.”

James grinned. “Is that not allowed?”

Regulus scowled.

James just shrugged. “I figured since we had such a lovely dinner last night, we should make it a regular thing.”

Regulus felt his eye twitch.

Evan snickered. “I like him.”

Regulus shot him a murderous glare.

James tilted his head. “See? I’m growing on them.”

Regulus wanted to argue—wanted to tell James to get out, to stop invading his space, to leave him alone—but the problem was, James would never leave if he thought it would get a rise out of him.

And so, with a deep, steadying breath, Regulus picked up his tea and said, with all the grace he could muster—

“I don’t care.”

James blinked, clearly not expecting that.

Regulus took a slow sip. “Sit wherever you like. Do whatever you want. You’re a nuisance, but you’re not my problem.”

James was quiet for a moment, studying him. Then—

A smirk.

Damn it.

“That,” James said, voice warm with amusement, “is the best lie I’ve ever heard.”

Regulus clenched his jaw.

James grinned. “You do care.”

Regulus put down his teacup, slowly, deliberately.

“I hate you.”

James beamed. “I know.”

And the worst part?

Regulus knew James wasn’t going anywhere.

Regulus refused to acknowledge James for the rest of breakfast.

He sat stiffly, drinking his tea in complete silence, while James—unbothered, insufferable James—continued chatting with Evan and Barty like this was all perfectly normal.

It wasn’t.

Regulus was not friends with James Potter. James had no reason to be at the Slytherin table, no business inserting himself into Regulus’ life.

And yet, here he was.

Still.

Even after Regulus ignored him.

Even after Regulus made it abundantly clear that last night was a mistake.

James wasn’t leaving.

And that was… concerning.

By the time breakfast was over, Regulus was barely holding onto his composure. As soon as he stood, James stood too, falling into step beside him like they were going in the same direction.

They weren’t.

Regulus stopped abruptly, turning to glare at him. “Are you following me?”

James grinned. “Obviously.”

Regulus exhaled sharply. “Why?”

James tilted his head. “I like spending time with you.”

Regulus blinked. Stared. “You—” He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

James smirked. “Sure I do.”

Regulus clenched his fists. “We are not friends.”

James shrugged. “Not yet.”

Regulus wanted to scream.

James chuckled. “Come on, love, don’t look so horrified.”

“I am horrified,” Regulus hissed. “You are horrifying.”

James laughed. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Regulus wanted to leave. He should have left.

But somehow, somehow, he was still standing there, letting James talk to him, letting James exist in his space like he belonged there.

Like he wouldn’t leave, no matter how much Regulus tried to push him away.

James smirked. “Admit it, you’d miss me if I stopped bothering you.”

Regulus scowled. “I would throw a celebration.”

James grinned. “Well, now I definitely have to stick around. I want an invite.”

Regulus inhaled sharply. “I hate you.”

James winked. “I know.”

And the worst part?

Regulus wasn’t sure it was a lie anymore.

—

Regulus spent the rest of the day trying to shake James off.

It didn’t work.

No matter where he went, no matter how pointedly he ignored him, James found him. Between classes, in the hallways, even at the library—James Potter, who had never voluntarily spent time in the library before, suddenly had an interest in it.

Regulus considered murder.

By dinner, his patience was hanging on by a thread. He barely sat down before James slid into the seat beside him, grinning like he belonged there.

Regulus exhaled very slowly. “What are you doing.”

James picked up a roll. “Having dinner with my favorite Slytherin.”

Regulus twitched. “I am not your favorite anything.”

James smirked. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Regulus wanted to throw his entire plate at him.

Instead, he very calmly turned to Evan. “Do you have any poison?”

Evan grinned. “Fresh out, unfortunately.”

Barty, the traitor, snickered.

James just looked delighted. “You wound me, Regulus.”

Regulus gritted his teeth. “I could arrange that.”

James laughed. “Merlin, you’re cute when you’re murderous.”

Regulus dropped his fork.

Evan choked on his drink.

Barty howled with laughter.

Regulus hated everything.

James just beamed. “You wanna go for a walk?”

“No,” Regulus said immediately.

James shrugged. “Great, let’s go.”

Before Regulus could protest, James grabbed his wrist, tugging him up without a single ounce of hesitation.

Regulus should have hexed him.

He should have made a scene, pulled away, done anything but let James lead him out of the Great Hall in front of everyone.

But he didn’t.

And that was the real problem.

Because somehow, some way—James Potter was getting under his skin.

And Regulus didn’t know how to stop him.

Regulus should have walked away.

He should have wrenched his wrist free, told James to sod off, and gone back to his dorm where everything made sense.

But instead, he let himself be dragged out of the Great Hall, through the dimly lit corridors, until they stepped outside into the crisp night air.

James finally let go of his wrist, turning to face him with an easy grin. “See? Was that so bad?”

Regulus scowled. “Yes.”

James chuckled. “You’re so dramatic.”

Regulus crossed his arms. “What do you want, Potter?”

James rocked back on his heels. “Maybe I just like your company.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “No, you don’t.”

James smirked. “Sure I do.”

Regulus let out a slow, measured breath. “You have friends for this. You have Sirius, you have Lupin, you have Pettigrew—”

James waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, they’re great. But you are fun.”

Regulus stared at him. “I am not fun.”

James grinned. “You are when you’re mad.”

Regulus closed his eyes. Do not hex him. Do not hex him. Do not hex him.

James nudged him lightly. “Come on, Reg. You don’t really hate me.”

Regulus exhaled sharply. “I do.”

James tilted his head. “Then why are you still here?”

Regulus froze.

James watched him, eyes twinkling behind his glasses, so damn smug.

Regulus should have turned around and walked away.

He should have ended this here and now.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he clenched his jaw, looked James dead in the eye, and said, “I don’t know.”

For the first time all evening, James faltered.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for Regulus to see the flicker of something in his expression—something that wasn’t just amusement, something real.

Then James grinned again, but it wasn’t quite as effortless as before. “Well,” he said, voice slightly softer, “I guess I’ll just have to stick around until you do.”

Regulus did not shiver.

He did not.

He only turned sharply on his heel, stalking back toward the castle, not thinking about the warmth of James’ fingers still lingering on his wrist.

James didn’t follow this time.

But Regulus knew, somehow, deep down, that this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Chapter Text

A week later, James Potter was still everywhere.

Regulus had tried—tried—to ignore him, to shut him out, to make it clear that whatever game James was playing, Regulus wasn’t interested.

But James was relentless.

It wasn’t just breakfast anymore. Or dinner. Or even the occasional run-in between classes.

No, James had somehow, inexplicably, infuriatingly, embedded himself into Regulus’ daily routine.

He walked him to class. Sat beside him in the library. Showed up at Quidditch practice under the guise of “friendly competition” and spent half the time watching Regulus instead of his own team.

And the worst part?

People were starting to notice.

Evan and Barty were no help, thoroughly entertained by the entire ordeal. Barty even had the audacity to suggest that Regulus was “flirting back.”

Regulus nearly hexed him on the spot.

Because he wasn’t.

Obviously.

That would be ridiculous.

And yet—

James was sitting next to him again, all comfortable and pleased with himself like this was just how things were now.

Regulus didn’t look up from his book. “Do you ever go away?”

James hummed. “Do you want me to?”

Regulus refused to take the bait. “Yes.”

James just grinned. “Liar.”

Regulus exhaled slowly, very deliberately turning the page.

James leaned in. “Admit it, you’d miss me.”

Regulus tightened his grip on his book.

James chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Regulus slammed his book shut.

James beamed.

Regulus hated him.

He stood abruptly, shoving the book into his bag. “I’m leaving.”

James shrugged. “I’ll walk with you.”

Regulus whirled around. “No, you won’t.”

James smirked. “You sure?”

Regulus stared at him. “You are the most infuriating person I have ever met.”

James leaned back, smug as ever. “And yet, here you are. Still talking to me.”

Regulus clenched his jaw.

Because, somehow, James was right.

And Regulus didn’t know what to do about it.

—

Another week had gone by, and Regulus wanted—needed—to convince himself that he wasn’t falling for James Potter’s stupid, annoying charm.

It was becoming unbearable.

James was always there. Always grinning at him, always teasing, always making some infuriating comment that Regulus couldn’t stop thinking about.

He was making Regulus feel… things. Things Regulus did not want to name, things that crept into his mind at night, things that made his heart stupidly pick up speed whenever James so much as looked at him.

And it was unacceptable.

So, when James inevitably found him again between classes, striding down the corridor with that smirk, Regulus snapped.

It wasn’t planned. He hadn’t even drawn his wand. The magic just burst out of him, like his own body couldn’t tolerate James’ presence for a second longer.

One second, James was smirking at him—

The next, he was flying backward through the air, arms flailing as he hurtled toward a knight statue.

The entire corridor went silent.

Regulus blinked, chest rising and falling a little too fast, staring as James barely caught himself before colliding with the statue, glasses crooked, hair even messier than usual.

There was a moment—just a beat—where no one moved.

Then—

Sirius howled with laughter.

“Oh, finally!” he cried, doubling over. “Took you long enough, Reggie!”

Remus sighed. “Sirius.”

Peter gasped. “Did you see how far he flew?”

The Gryffindor Quidditch team stood frozen in stunned silence, except for Marlene McKinnon, who murmured, “Honestly, I respect it.”

And Lily Evans—Lily bloody Evans—pressed her fingers to her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

James, meanwhile, was cackling.

The absolute idiot was grinning from ear to ear, delighted beyond reason, as he straightened up, dusted himself off, and strode right back to Regulus like he hadn’t just been launched across the corridor.

Regulus tensed. “Stay away from me.”

James smirked. “Make me.”

Regulus almost hexed him again.

But James was watching him, eyes bright with amusement, something else lingering beneath it, something unsettlingly fond—

And Regulus panicked.

He turned on his heel and stormed away, ignoring Sirius’ continued wheezing laughter, ignoring the whispered murmurs of the crowd, ignoring everything except for the fact that his face felt too hot and his pulse was pounding.

Because James had liked it.

He had liked that Regulus hexed him.

And Regulus didn’t know how to deal with that.

Regulus didn’t stop walking until he was far away from the corridor, from the Gryffindors, from the humiliation of that entire scene.

His heart was still racing, his breathing still uneven, and his hands—Merlin, his hands—were clenched so tightly into fists that his nails dug into his palms.

He needed to calm down.

He needed to forget the way James smirked at him, the way he had laughed, the way he had liked it.

Regulus should have been furious.

Well, no. He was furious.

But it wasn’t just at James anymore.

It was at himself.

Because James had just been thrown backwards through the air, had nearly crashed into a suit of armor, had been humiliated in front of half of Gryffindor—

And yet, Regulus couldn’t shake the image of him standing up, grinning, like he enjoyed every second of it.

And worse—worse—

A part of Regulus had liked seeing James like that, all flustered and wild-eyed and—

Stop.

He was not doing this.

Regulus took a deep breath, forced his fingers to uncurl, and smoothed down the front of his robes, pressing the edges together with a precision he desperately needed right now.

This was fine.

This was fixable.

All he had to do was avoid James for the rest of his life.

That was a reasonable plan.

That was doable.

Regulus exhaled, more determined now. Yes. He would not engage with him anymore. He would not allow James Potter to insert himself into his life, into his thoughts, into his—

The sound of footsteps made him freeze.

He knew who it was before he even turned around.

“Reg,” James said, entirely too casual for someone who had just been hexed into a wall.

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second before forcing himself to turn.

James was standing a few steps away, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, as if being hexed had somehow made his day.

Regulus hated him.

He folded his arms. “Are you incapable of taking a hint?”

James grinned. “Oh, I took the hint.” He tilted his head, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “I just chose to ignore it.”

Regulus inhaled very slowly. “You are insufferable.”

James smirked. “And yet, you haven’t hexed me again.”

Regulus’ fingers itched toward his wand.

James’ grin widened. “See? You like me.”

Regulus did not.

He did not.

He scowled, turned, and walked away without another word.

Because if he stayed there for another second, he might have proven James right.

—

At first, Regulus didn’t notice.

It had been a relief, honestly, when James had stopped hovering around him as much.

For an entire month after the hexing incident, James had continued to be relentless—always there, always smirking at him, always looking at him like he was something worth looking at.

And Regulus had told himself he hated it.

He had told himself that James was irritating, that James was just playing some stupid Gryffindor game, that James would eventually get bored and move on.

And, apparently, he had.

Because now there was the girl.

She was a sixth-year Ravenclaw, all soft smiles and bright laughter, and she had decided—for reasons Regulus could not begin to fathom—that she liked James Potter.

And worse?

James didn’t seem to mind.

Regulus had noticed it first at breakfast—James sitting next to her instead of shoving his way next to him.

Then at lunch—James laughing at something she said, leaning in slightly, engaged in the conversation.

Then again at dinner—James turning his head when she touched his arm, giving her that smile, the one that made people feel like they were the only person in the room.

Regulus had told himself he didn’t care.

But then, at Quidditch practice, James wasn’t watching him anymore.

And that—that—was the moment Regulus realized that something was wrong.

He didn’t want James to watch him. He didn’t care if James was paying attention to him.

But the absence of it—

The way James was pulling away—

It made something in Regulus’ chest tighten, something uncomfortable, something he didn’t want to name.

And the worst part?

He had no right to feel like this.

Because he had spent weeks pushing James away.

Hadn’t he wanted this? Hadn’t he wanted James to finally leave him alone?

So why did it feel like something was slipping through his fingers?

Why did it feel like he was losing something?

And why—why, when James smiled at her like that—did it make Regulus feel like hexing him all over again?

Regulus told himself it didn’t matter.

That James could do whatever he wanted.

That it was good, actually, that James had finally gotten over his stupid, annoying fixation.

But if that was true, then why did Regulus keep noticing it?

Noticing the way James laughed when she was around, how easy it was, how genuine.

Noticing how she leaned into him, playful and bold, tucking her hand around his wrist, pushing at his shoulder like they had inside jokes that Regulus didn’t understand.

Noticing how James let her.

Regulus hated himself for noticing.

Hated himself for the way something burned in his chest whenever he saw them together.

Because what right did he have?

He had spent weeks trying to drive James away. Had told himself—told James—that he didn’t want this.

So why—why—did it feel like James had taken something from him?

Why did it feel like James had given up on him?

Why did it feel like losing?

—

Regulus didn’t realize he was staring until Sirius elbowed him in the side.

“Oh, this is good,” Sirius murmured, leaning in, voice entirely too amused.

Regulus stiffened. “Shut up.”

Sirius smirked. “I knew you liked him.”

Regulus turned to glare at him, sharp and cold, but Sirius didn’t flinch. If anything, he just grinned wider.

“You’re jealous,” Sirius singsonged.

Regulus clenched his jaw. “I am not.”

Sirius tilted his head toward James, who was across the Great Hall, deep in conversation with her.

Sirius hummed. “You know, if you wanted him, you shouldn’t have spent a month hexing him every time he tried to talk to you.”

Regulus’ fingers twitched toward his wand.

Sirius cackled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘Shut up, Sirius.’” He leaned back, looking far too smug for Regulus’ liking. “But seriously, Reg. If you don’t want him, maybe stop looking at him like that.”

Regulus swallowed hard.

Because Sirius was right.

And Regulus had no idea what to do about it.

—

Reg

Regulus stared at the spot where James sat, immersed in that conversation with her, and felt a strange, burning ache tighten in his chest. He tried to force himself to look away, to concentrate on his food or the conversation around him, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on the curve of James’s smile, the gentle way her hand brushed his arm. Every detail felt like a shard of regret.

Later that afternoon, Regulus found himself alone in a quiet corridor, away from the prying eyes of his housemates. His mind was a storm of anger, jealousy, and something else he refused to name. He recalled the memory of the hex—how impulsively it had flown from him, how it had nearly sent James crashing into the cold stone of a knight’s statue—and how, for one brief moment, he’d felt a rush of dark satisfaction at being the one to wound James. But now, that satisfaction was poisoned by the realization that it might have been masking something far more painful: a fear of losing James entirely.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration tangling with regret. “I told myself I’d never want you,” he whispered to the empty corridor. But the truth was less certain. Each time he caught James laughing or sharing a secret smile with her, Regulus felt something inside him shudder.

As if on cue, Sirius’s familiar voice broke through his thoughts. “You look like you’ve been hit by a Bludger, mate,” Sirius said with a low chuckle, appearing at his side.

Regulus glared. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Sirius.”

Sirius shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “Maybe not, but you know what it is? You care too much. I’ve seen you watch him—watch him the moment she touches his arm, the way your face softens when he laughs.”

Regulus’s jaw tightened. “I don’t care. I never cared.”

Sirius’s tone softened, though his grin didn’t entirely vanish. “Then why does it hurt, Reg? Really hurt, when he pulls away?”

The question pierced Regulus, leaving him silent. His heart pounded uncomfortably, as though it were trying to tell him something he’d been denying all along. “Maybe I—” he began, then stopped, words failing him.

Sirius tapped a finger on the cool stone. “You’re not the kind to admit weakness, but maybe this isn’t about him at all. Maybe it’s about you, about not wanting to be alone with your feelings.”

Regulus closed his eyes, trying to shut out Sirius’s words, trying to convince himself that it was all just annoyance—a reaction to James’s constant presence. But deep down, beneath all the irritation and the defensive anger, there was a trembling uncertainty.

“What do I do?” Regulus finally muttered, voice barely above a whisper, “When every time I see him with her, it feels like a part of me is being torn away?”

Sirius’s smile turned sympathetic. “You do what you always do. Fight it, deny it, curse it out loud if you must. But you can’t pretend it’s not there. Sometimes you have to face the truth, mate—even if it’s as bitter as a freshly brewed potion.”

Regulus swallowed, his throat tight. He remembered the look in James’s eyes the last time they were alone—how, for a fleeting second, the smug confidence had given way to something vulnerable. Something that made Regulus’s chest tighten with regret.

Later that evening, Regulus found himself pacing the Slytherin common room, lost in thought. The house was quiet now, the usual chatter stilled by the approaching night. He recalled the gentle way the girl had tried to hide a smile when James laughed with her, and the way James’s hand lingered on her arm a moment longer than was necessary. Every memory stirred something in him—a blend of fury at the intrusion, and a painful longing he refused to name.

He realized with a sinking heart that the hex, the anger, all of it had been a clumsy, desperate attempt to keep James at a distance. Yet here he was, feeling every bit of the distance as a loss. And the more he pushed him away, the more it hurt.

Regulus stopped pacing and ran a trembling hand along the cool marble of the fireplace. “I hate you,” he whispered, as much to himself as to the empty room. But even that familiar condemnation rang hollow now.

The silence of the common room was the only answer he received. And in that silence, Regulus understood that he could no longer pretend that he didn’t care—couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t falling, even if every part of him screamed that it was a mistake he could never afford.

And somewhere deep inside, the fear of losing James, of being left alone with his own heart, began to rival the anger that had once been his shield.

It was a realization Regulus wasn’t ready for, but it was one he could no longer ignore.

—

At first, it was harmless.

A quiet, whispered spell here and there. Nothing too noticeable—just enough to shift her along the bench whenever she leaned too close to James. It was easy, effortless, something that could be passed off as coincidence.

And James never even noticed.

Which, frankly, was insulting.

Regulus didn’t acknowledge why he was doing it. Didn’t let himself think about it. It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself. It wasn’t anything. It was just… irritation. Annoyance at how she always seemed to find a way to be in James’s space, touching him, smiling up at him like he belonged to her.

As if he wasn’t James Potter. As if he wasn’t the most insufferable, frustrating, infuriating person to ever exist.

As if he wasn’t supposed to be Regulus’ problem.

But then he started seeing them.

In the halls.

In the common areas.

Outside in the courtyard, near the Quidditch stands, near the bloody library—

Always close.

Always touching.

And the spell on the bench didn’t work when they weren’t sitting.

Regulus had to watch instead. Had to see the way she wrapped her arms around James’s waist while he was mid-conversation, the way James didn’t pull away, didn’t seem to mind. Had to see her fingers curl into his jumper, her cheek press against his shoulder, her mouth moving softly against his ear as if she had every right to be there.

Had to see James smile at her, warm and easy, as if this was natural, as if this had been inevitable.

Regulus clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.

It was wrong.

It felt wrong.

Like a game where the rules had been rewritten without his permission.

James was supposed to chase him. To annoy him, to bother him, to try and worm his way into Regulus’s space no matter how many times he was hexed for it.

Not… this.

Not with her.

Not with anyone else.

Regulus caught himself staring.

He forced his feet to move, forced himself to turn away, to walk away, to pretend like it didn’t matter.

Because it didn’t.

It shouldn’t.

He had spent months insisting it didn’t. Had spent years making sure James Potter would never be a part of his life in any way that mattered.

So why did it feel like something had been stolen from him?

Why did it feel like losing?

And worse—why did it feel like he had no one to blame but himself?

Chapter Text

Regulus had never been one to let emotions rule him.

He was logical. Controlled. Cold, when he needed to be.

But this—this—was unraveling something in him he didn’t know how to stop.

Because no matter how many times he told himself it didn’t matter, his feet still hesitated when he passed James in the corridors. His stomach still twisted when he saw James smile at her the way he used to smirk at him. And his magic—it crackled in his veins, sharp and restless, like it wanted to lash out.

And maybe that was why, one afternoon, when he caught sight of them again—again—near the Transfiguration courtyard, he didn’t stop himself.

She was leaning against the stone wall, James close beside her, their heads bent together like they were sharing a secret. James’s hand was braced against the wall beside her, his stance lazy, his smile effortless.

Regulus should have walked past.

Should have ignored it.

Should have let it go.

Instead, he flicked his wand, subtle and practiced, and suddenly, the girl jerked—her book flying out of her hands as her legs gave out beneath her.

She let out a surprised yelp, nearly toppling over, only for James to react instantly, hands shooting out to steady her.

Regulus stopped in his tracks.

He hadn’t—he hadn’t thought about that part.

Hadn’t thought about the fact that James would catch her. That James, in all his bloody heroic Gryffindor instincts, wouldn’t just let her fall.

And of course—of course—that only made it worse.

Because now James wasn’t just standing close.

Now he was holding her, his hands firm around her waist, his brows furrowed in concern as she steadied herself against him. “You alright?” he asked, voice low, steady.

Regulus turned sharply on his heel and walked away.

Not because he cared.

Not because it hurt.

But because for the first time in his life, he had the sinking, horrible realization that he might have just lost something he had never even let himself want.

—

Regulus barely made it to the library before Remus caught up with him.

He had known, the moment he turned away from James and her, that someone had seen. He had felt it—a prickle of awareness along the back of his neck, the weight of eyes tracking his retreat.

He should have expected it to be Remus Lupin.

The so-called smart one of whatever ridiculous, codependent mess his brother had going on with his friends.

Regulus didn’t look up as he slid into a chair near the farthest bookshelf, pulling a book toward him with more force than necessary. His hands curled around the edges of the pages, but he wasn’t reading. He could still see it—James’s hands, firm around her waist. His voice, gentle. His concern, immediate.

He gritted his teeth.

The chair across from him scraped against the floor as Remus sat down.

Regulus exhaled slowly through his nose. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

Remus didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watched.

Regulus hated that.

Because Remus didn’t watch people the way James did, with loud, obvious curiosity. Or the way Sirius did, with barely contained amusement.

No, Remus studied people. Quietly, carefully, like he was unraveling a puzzle.

And Regulus had never liked being studied.

After a long pause, Remus said, “That was a particularly childish use of magic.”

Regulus bristled. His fingers curled tighter around the book. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Remus hummed, unconvinced. He leaned forward slightly, voice quiet but sharp. “You know, if you actually wanted his attention, there are less pathetic ways to go about it.”

Regulus’s gaze snapped up, ice-cold and full of venom. “Mind your business, Lupin.”

Remus only smiled. It wasn’t smug, exactly, but it was knowing. “James likes attention,” he said mildly. “You could just talk to him, you know. But I suppose hexing his girlfriend is easier, if you’re too much of a coward for that.”

Regulus saw red. His wand was in his hand before he even thought about it, but Remus didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just raised an eyebrow, as if daring Regulus to go through with it.

And that—that made Regulus even angrier.

Because he could.

He could hex Remus right now, right in the middle of the library, and Remus knew it.

But Remus also knew that it wouldn’t fix anything.

And that was the most infuriating part of all.

Regulus slammed his book shut instead. “You Gryffindors really love to hear yourselves talk.”

Remus shrugged, standing up. “And you Slytherins really love to lie to yourselves.”

Regulus refused to watch him walk away.

Instead, he stared at the table, jaw tight, heart pounding, as Remus’s words settled deep under his skin, unwanted and impossible to ignore.

—

Regulus didn’t leave the library for hours.

Not because he was reading—he hadn’t even opened the book again—but because if he left, it would mean facing the possibility that Remus was right.

And Regulus refused to entertain that.

But the words stuck with him anyway.

“If you actually wanted his attention, there are less pathetic ways to go about it.”

“You could just talk to him.”

“But I suppose hexing his girlfriend is easier.”

The worst part was that Remus hadn’t even sounded cruel. He hadn’t been mocking him, not in the way Sirius or James might have. His voice had been frustratingly neutral, almost like he understood—which was possibly the most unbearable thing of all.

Because that meant he had seen it.

Seen through him.

Regulus had spent years perfecting the art of keeping people at a distance. Making sure no one could see anything he didn’t want them to see. And yet, in a single moment, Remus Lupin had peeled him open like it was easy.

Regulus dug his nails into his palm.

This wasn’t anything. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t about James, and it certainly wasn’t about whatever stupid girl he was wasting his time with.

Regulus didn’t want James Potter’s attention.

He didn’t.

But the next time he saw James in the corridor, laughing loudly with Sirius, his stupid glasses slightly askew, his hair an unmanageable disaster—

Regulus’ stomach still twisted.

And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t entirely sure if it was anger or something else.

—

Regulus avoided James for the next few days.

Not in a way that was obvious—he wasn’t that desperate—but in small, subtle ways. Taking different routes to class. Choosing seats where James wouldn’t be in his direct line of sight. Keeping his focus strictly on his studies and not, say, the way James’s laugh carried across the Great Hall.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Because, as if the universe had some personal grudge against him, James found him.

Regulus had just left the library late in the evening, the halls mostly empty, when he heard the familiar thud of footsteps jogging up behind him. He knew who it was before he even turned around.

“Oi, Black,” James called, his voice far too cheerful.

Regulus considered ignoring him. Truly, deeply considered it.

But James wasn’t exactly the ignoring type.

So he stopped walking and turned slowly, schooling his expression into one of disinterest. “Potter.”

James grinned, as if this was the exact reaction he’d been expecting. “Been lookin’ for you.”

Regulus raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Can’t imagine why.”

James ignored that, rocking back on his heels. “See, I would’ve asked you earlier, but you’ve been scarce. Almost like you were avoiding me.”

Regulus crossed his arms. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

James smirked. “Too late.”

Regulus exhaled slowly through his nose. “Did you have an actual reason for stopping me, or did you just feel like being a general nuisance?”

James beamed like that was a compliment. “A bit of both.” Then, before Regulus could snap at him, he added, “Actually, I wanted to ask—did you hex Marianne?”

Regulus went still.

He kept his expression neutral, tilting his head slightly. “Who?”

James snorted. “Marianne. Sixth-year Ravenclaw. Brown hair. You know, the one who keeps mysteriously losing her balance whenever you’re around.”

Regulus didn’t so much as blink. “Sounds like she has poor coordination. Unfortunate.”

James laughed, and Regulus hated the way his stomach flipped at the sound. “Right,” James said, amusement clear. “Totally coincidental, then.”

Regulus lifted his chin. “If you already decided the answer, why bother asking?”

James studied him for a second, and Regulus hated that, too.

Because it wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t unkind. It was—thoughtful.

“Dunno,” James admitted. “Guess I wanted to see if you’d lie to me.”

Regulus didn’t lie. He just didn’t confirm anything either.

Instead, he rolled his eyes and turned back around, resuming his walk. “Enjoy your coordination-challenged girlfriend, Potter.”

He expected James to let him go.

But James didn’t.

Instead, James fell into step beside him, hands shoved in his pockets, his grin still infuriatingly present. “See, that’s the thing,” he said lightly. “I don’t actually think you hate her. I think you just—”

Regulus cut him off. “You think wrong.”

James grinned. “Sure, sure. But, just for fun—hypothetically speaking—if you did hex her…”

Regulus didn’t take the bait.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t let his fingers twitch toward his wand.

But James wasn’t done.

Because James, as always, had no concept of self-preservation.

So he leaned in slightly, voice lower, teasing. “You could’ve just told me you were jealous, you know.”

Regulus froze.

James didn’t.

Instead, he laughed, as if this was all a joke, as if this wasn’t the single most infuriating thing anyone had ever said to him.

And Regulus—who was not jealous, who did not care, who didn’t want James Potter’s attention in any way that mattered—

Grabbed his wand and hexed him.

James went flying.

Not across the entire corridor—Regulus had more control than that—but enough to send him stumbling backwards, his feet tangling awkwardly beneath him before he landed on the stone floor with a thud.

Regulus stood over him, wand still raised, jaw tight.

James blinked up at him, momentarily stunned. Then, to Regulus’ complete and utter horror, he grinned.

“Alright,” James said, propping himself up on his elbows. “I might have deserved that one.”

Regulus inhaled sharply through his nose. “Might?”

James shrugged, still maddeningly unbothered. “Well, you didn’t deny it.”

Regulus was going to kill him. Right here. In the middle of the corridor. It wouldn’t even be difficult.

“Get up,” he snapped instead. “I’m not getting a detention because you insist on being an idiot.”

James laughed—because of course he did—but he pushed himself up, dusting off his robes as if this was just a normal evening stroll.

“Just say the word, Reg,” he said cheerfully. “If you want me all to yourself, all you have to do is ask.”

Regulus saw red.

He cast another hex—just a small one, barely even a hex really, just enough to make James trip over his own feet again—but James dodged it at the last second, laughing as he ran down the corridor.

Regulus stared after him, wand still in his hand, heart pounding.

This—whatever this was—was getting out of hand.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop.

—

Regulus didn’t sleep that night.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw James grinning up at him from the floor, completely unbothered by the fact that Regulus had just hexed him. Like it was some kind of game. Like Regulus was fun to him.

Like James had already won.

Regulus hated that.

So the next morning, when he spotted James at breakfast, chatting easily with Sirius, Peter, and—of course—Remus bloody Lupin, he did the only thing he could do.

He ignored him.

Not the usual, subtle avoidance he had practiced for the last week. No, this time he made a point of walking past James as if he did not exist.

James noticed.

Regulus could feel his attention shift, could hear the slight dip in conversation as he passed. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t so much as glance in James’s direction as he took his usual seat at the Slytherin table, calmly pouring himself a cup of tea as if nothing had changed.

For a while, it worked.

James didn’t approach him at breakfast. Or after Potions. Or even during the time between classes, when he usually found some excuse to bother Regulus.

And for the first time in weeks, Regulus felt like he had some semblance of control again.

Until later that evening, when James Potter hunted him down in the library.

Regulus barely had time to react before James dropped into the chair across from him, entirely too loud and entirely too present, as if he belonged there.

Regulus tensed. “Do you mind?”

James propped his chin on his hand, utterly unbothered. “Not at all.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “I’m studying.”

James grinned. “Yeah, you look thrilled about it.”

Regulus glared. “Go away, Potter.”

James did not go away.

Instead, he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to something just above a whisper. “So, what’s the deal, then?”

Regulus refused to engage. Kept his eyes fixed on his book. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

James huffed out a laugh. “Come on, Reg. One day, you’re hexing me in the middle of the corridor, the next, you’re pretending I don’t exist? Feels a bit dramatic, even for you.”

Regulus tightened his grip on his quill. “Maybe I just came to my senses.”

James tilted his head. “Did you, though?”

Regulus hated him.

Because James didn’t sound smug. Didn’t sound triumphant. He just sounded—curious. Like he genuinely wanted to know.

Regulus couldn’t give him an answer.

So instead, he did what he did best.

He closed off.

Lifted his chin slightly, expression carefully blank. “Go away, Potter.”

James studied him for a moment longer.

Then, to Regulus’ immense relief—

He stood up.

But before he left, he leaned in slightly, voice quiet. “You don’t have to keep pretending, you know.”

Regulus didn’t look up.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

And after a long moment, James walked away.

Regulus let out a slow, measured breath.

And hated that, for the first time in his life—

He wanted to stop pretending.

—

Regulus had been dreading this match for weeks.

Not because he was nervous—he wasn’t. Slytherin had already won against Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and he knew he could hold his own against any Seeker in the school.

But this wasn’t just any match.

This was Gryffindor.

And worse—this was James Potter.

Regulus had spent the past several weeks trying to ignore him. Avoiding him in the corridors, cutting their conversations short, acting as if their last encounter in the library had never happened. But James had refused to make it easy.

Every time Regulus thought he’d gotten away with it, James would find him again. Flash him an infuriating grin in the hallway. Send a playful hex his way during patrols. Stare at him from across the Great Hall as if he knew.

And Regulus hated him for it.

Hated the way James Potter lingered in his thoughts.

Hated the way his presence gnawed at him, refused to be ignored.

Hated the way he felt something dangerously close to anticipation when he stepped onto the Quidditch pitch that morning, the roar of the crowd already filling the air.

James was already hovering above the Gryffindor team, looking completely at ease on his broom, his hair even messier than usual from the wind. He caught Regulus’ eye and grinned, far too smug, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to him.

Regulus gripped his broom tighter.

Focus.

Madam Hooch’s whistle cut through the stadium, and Regulus shot into the air, pushing everything else out of his mind.

He had one job—catch the Snitch.

Beat James Potter’s team.

Make him lose.

For the first ten minutes, everything was fine. Regulus darted through the sky, eyes scanning for the telltale glint of gold, ignoring the occasional flashes of red and gold jerseys as he weaved through the players.

But then—

A bludger came hurtling his way, and he had to jerk his broom to the side to avoid it, only to find himself directly in James Potter’s path.

James didn’t stop in time.

He crashed into Regulus’ side, their shoulders colliding roughly, and for one horrifying moment, they were both thrown off balance.

Regulus barely managed to steady himself before they both spiraled downwards.

James, however, seemed completely unbothered.

He hovered far too close, his mouth tugging into that infuriating grin. “You alright there, Black?”

Regulus scowled. “Stay out of my way, Potter.”

James just laughed. “Can’t help it if you keep throwing yourself at me.”

Regulus almost lost control of his broom again—but not because of the impact this time.

James’ grin widened.

Regulus’ grip tightened around his broomstick, pulse hammering in his ears. “Try not to get in my way, Potter, unless you want your team to lose.”

James leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as he shot Regulus an annoyingly familiar look. “Oh, Reg—if you wanted to get me alone, you didn’t have to arrange an entire Quidditch match for it.”

Regulus saw red.

He barely resisted the urge to hex James straight off his broom.

Instead, he yanked his broom forward and shot ahead, determined to ignore him, determined to win, determined to beat him into the ground.

But James was laughing behind him.

And Regulus—who was not jealous, who did not care, who didn’t want James Potter’s attention—

Felt his control slipping.

Regulus forced himself to focus.

He had one job—catch the Snitch. Beat Gryffindor. Ignore James Potter.

But James—damn him—was everywhere.

Regulus could hear him shouting plays to his teammates, his voice carrying easily through the stadium. Could see him darting through the air, weaving past Slytherin’s Beaters as if he had been born on a broomstick. Could feel the weight of his presence, always too close, always lingering on the edge of Regulus’ awareness, like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

And worst of all—James was good.

Not that Regulus hadn’t known that already, but watching him play was something else entirely. He was fast, agile, always a step ahead. Every pass was perfectly timed, every feint executed with an ease that made it look effortless.

It was infuriating.

And of course, because the universe hated him, James kept getting in his way.

Not directly—he wasn’t the Seeker, after all—but every time Regulus thought he caught a glimpse of gold, James would cut across his path, forcing him to swerve or pull back, losing precious seconds.

It was not an accident.

James was doing it on purpose.

Regulus knew it.

And the worst part? James had the audacity to grin at him every time.

Regulus wanted to hex him so badly his fingers itched.

But he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Across the pitch, Marlene McKinnon was circling like a hawk, eyes sharp, searching for the Snitch.

Regulus forced himself to move, scanning the field, ignoring the way James was hovering just outside his line of vision, still smirking, still watching him as if this—them—was just some ridiculous game.

Regulus refused to lose.

Then—he saw it.

A glint of gold near the Gryffindor goalposts, hovering just beneath the bleachers.

He didn’t hesitate.

He shot forward, cutting through the air like a blade, the wind whipping against his face as he dove.

But Marlene saw it too.

She was already moving, her body low over her broomstick, gaining speed.

Regulus pushed himself harder, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Faster.

Closer.

He could almost reach it—

Then, out of nowhere, something crashed into him hard.

Regulus barely had time to react before he was spinning, his broom jerking violently beneath him, the world tilting sideways—

And then he was falling.

Regulus barely had time to think.

The ground was rushing up too fast, and for a single terrifying moment, he thought this was it—he was going to crash—

But then, instinct kicked in.

He yanked hard on his broomstick, twisting his body midair, barely managing to regain control before he slammed into the pitch. His feet skidded across the grass, but he stayed upright, chest heaving, hands trembling from the force of the impact.

The crowd was roaring.

Regulus looked up, furious, already searching for whoever had—

James bloody Potter.

Of course.

He was hovering just above, his broom slightly askew, looking far too pleased with himself.

Regulus saw red.

“You idiot,” he snarled, storming toward him.

James landed smoothly, dismounting with infuriating ease, as if he hadn’t just almost killed him. “Alright there, Black?”

Regulus shoved him. Hard.

James barely stumbled back, but his grin widened.

“You did that on purpose,” Regulus seethed.

James had the audacity to shrug, not even trying to deny it. “You were about to catch the Snitch.”

Regulus lunged.

He didn’t care that they were in the middle of a match. Didn’t care that the entire stadium was watching or that the referee was already approaching.

All he cared about was wiping that smug expression off James Potter’s stupid, infuriating, perfect—

No. Not perfect.

Absolutely, unquestionably hateable.

James caught his wrist before he could swing.

Regulus froze.

Because suddenly, they were too close.

Close enough that he could see the sweat dampening James’ collar, the way his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Close enough that he could see the golden flecks in his brown eyes, the way his grip on Regulus’ wrist was firm but not painful, like he wasn’t actually trying to hurt him.

Like he was just stopping him.

Regulus hated him.

James tilted his head, voice lower now. “Didn’t take you for a sore loser, Reg.”

Regulus wrenched his arm free, his pulse a sharp, erratic thing against his ribs.

The referee finally reached them, looking furious. “That was blatant interference, Potter!”

James threw his hands up, all mock innocence. “Didn’t see him.”

Regulus let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Didn’t see me? You practically threw yourself into me!”

James shrugged. “Must’ve been an accident.”

Regulus wanted to kill him.

The referee didn’t look convinced, but before he could call a foul—

A cheer erupted from the Gryffindor stands.

Regulus whipped around, just in time to see Marlene McKinnon soaring through the air—

The Snitch clutched in her hand.

Regulus felt the world tilt.

Gryffindor had won.

James let out a sharp whoop, punching the air, before turning back to Regulus with a grin so bright it was blinding.

Regulus hated him.

Hated him so much it ached.

But the worst part—the absolute worst part—

Was that he wasn’t sure if it was really hate at all.

Chapter Text

Regulus stormed off the pitch before the celebrations even began.

He didn’t wait for the rest of his team. Didn’t acknowledge the Slytherin supporters booing in the stands. Didn’t stop to listen to the announcer declaring Gryffindor’s victory.

He just walked.

Fast.

Head down.

Fingers clenched so tightly around his broomstick that his knuckles burned.

He didn’t even care that they had lost.

Not really.

Slytherin could still recover later in the season. They had time.

But James.

James bloody Potter had cheated.

James had interfered on purpose.

James had touched him.

Regulus’ wrist still felt warm from where James had grabbed him, from where his fingers had pressed into his skin like a silent dare.

He reached the locker room and slammed the door behind him, barely resisting the urge to hex something.

His teammates weren’t back yet. Probably still lingering outside, fuming, processing the loss.

But Regulus didn’t need time to process.

He knew exactly what had happened.

James had stolen that win from him.

James had looked at him in the middle of the match, had grinned, had known—

And worst of all, Regulus had let him get away with it.

He kicked the nearest bench, his foot connecting with a sharp thud.

This was not happening again.

He would not let James Potter get under his skin.

He would not let himself care.

The door swung open behind him.

Regulus didn’t turn, expecting one of his teammates—probably Bole or Wilkes, ready to rant about Gryffindor’s foul play.

But then—

A voice.

His voice.

“Running away so soon, Black?”

Regulus went rigid.

Of course.

Of course James had followed him.

Regulus inhaled slowly, gripping his broom tighter, before turning.

James was leaning casually against the doorframe, still in his Quidditch uniform, sweat-dampened hair falling messily into his eyes. He looked completely at ease, like he had every right to be here, invading Regulus’ space, smiling like he hadn’t just ruined everything.

Regulus scowled. “Haven’t you celebrated enough?”

James shrugged. “Thought I’d check on you first. You seemed… tense.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Tense?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “You cheated.”

James raised an eyebrow. “I saved my team a loss.”

Regulus took a sharp step forward before he could stop himself, before he could think better of it.

James didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Just watched him, as if waiting.

Regulus’ chest was aching with something he didn’t want to name.

He hated him.

He hated the way James lingered.

He hated the way he felt this pull, this impossible, maddening, inexplicable—

Regulus exhaled sharply, stepping back. “Get out, Potter.”

James’ gaze flickered, like he was debating pushing his luck.

Then, finally, he gave a small, knowing smirk.

“See you around, Reg.”

And then he was gone.

Leaving Regulus alone in the locker room, heartbeat still thundering, pulse still traitorously uneven.

This was going to be a problem.

—

Regulus barely remembered the rest of the evening.

He sat through dinner in the Great Hall, barely touching his food, barely listening to the furious rants of his teammates as they tore into Gryffindor’s “blatant disregard for the rules.” He should have been right there with them, cursing James Potter’s name, planning retribution.

But he wasn’t.

Because every time he closed his eyes, he could still feel it.

James’ hand on his wrist.

James’ breath, warm in the cold air.

James’ voice, low and teasing—See you around, Reg.

Regulus hated it.

Hated the way his stomach had twisted, hated the way his skin had burned from that fleeting touch, hated the fact that his mind kept going back to it.

He was losing it.

So he did what he always did when something felt too big, too uncontrollable.

He ignored it.

He spent the next few days burying himself in schoolwork, training harder, shutting out anything that wasn’t strictly necessary. If he saw James in the halls, he turned the other way. If he heard his laugh from across the courtyard, he pretended he hadn’t.

It was working.

Or, at least, it was almost working.

Until the library.

Regulus had been sitting at his usual table near the Restricted Section, surrounded by books, when a shadow fell over his notes.

“Didn’t take you for the type to hide, Black.”

Regulus knew that voice.

He didn’t look up. “I’m studying, Potter. Something you should try sometime.”

James pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.

Regulus finally looked up, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

James grinned. “No, that would be your brother.”

Regulus clenched his jaw.

James, completely unbothered, leaned forward, propping his chin on one hand. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Regulus scoffed. “I have not.”

James raised an eyebrow.

Regulus hated that expression. That knowing, insufferable look, like James could see right through him.

“I haven’t,” he snapped.

James hummed like he didn’t believe him. “Alright. Then you won’t mind if I sit here for a while.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “I do mind.”

James stretched his arms behind his head, looking completely at home. “Too bad.”

Regulus wanted to hex him.

Right there, in the middle of the library.

But more than that—more than the irritation, more than the sharp urge to push James away—

There was something else.

Something dangerous.

Something that made his pulse quicken instead of slow.

Something he wasn’t ready to name.

So instead, he picked up his quill, turned back to his parchment, and ignored James Potter.

Or at least, he tried to.

—

Regulus could handle a lot.

He had spent years perfecting the art of indifference, of maintaining a carefully crafted exterior that let nothing through. He could sit through dinner at the Slytherin table and endure the pointed remarks about Gryffindor’s insufferable arrogance. He could train for hours on the Quidditch pitch without allowing himself to think about why he was training so hard. He could even pretend that James Potter hadn’t wormed his way under his skin like a curse he couldn’t shake.

But this?

This was testing his limits.

The damn Ravenclaw girl was back.

And she was standing right next to James.

Right in front of him.

Regulus had been minding his own business, sitting in the courtyard with a book he wasn’t really reading, when he heard her voice.

“James!”

He didn’t mean to look up. He really didn’t.

But he did.

And of course, there she was, all bright-eyed enthusiasm and effortless confidence, practically glowing as she approached James, flipping her hair over her shoulder like some ridiculous heroine in a romance novel.

And James—James—turned toward her with that easy, infuriating grin of his, like he was pleased to see her.

Regulus clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“I just had to come congratulate you,” she gushed, practically fluttering in place. “That game was incredible—you were incredible.”

Regulus felt his grip tighten around his book, knuckles going white.

James laughed, all warm and casual, like he didn’t even notice—or maybe didn’t mind—the way she reached out, placing a hand on his arm.

Regulus saw red.

She was touching him.

It was stupid. It didn’t matter.

And yet, Regulus’ magic crackled at his fingertips, his wand just within reach.

He could hex her.

He should hex her.

It would be so easy.

Just a subtle spell, something minor. Nothing damaging—just enough to knock her balance off. Just enough to send her tripping over her own feet. Just enough to make her stop touching him.

Before he could make a decision, James shifted slightly—and for the briefest second, his gaze flickered to Regulus.

Like he knew.

Like he had expected this.

Regulus hated him.

Hated him even more when James, instead of indulging the girl’s attention like any normal person would, gave her a polite but uninterested smile.

“Thanks,” he said easily, but he was already taking a small step back.

Regulus watched, pulse unsteady, as James created space.

He wasn’t flirting back.

He wasn’t leaning in.

He wasn’t interested.

Something in Regulus’ chest loosened.

Just slightly.

The girl hesitated, clearly thrown off by the lack of response.

But James—infuriating, insufferable James—just looked at Regulus again, something unreadable in his expression.

Like he was waiting.

Like he was daring him to react.

Regulus met his gaze, pulse thrumming, a silent war raging beneath his skin.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he shut his book, stood up, and walked away.

Because if he didn’t—

If he stayed—

He wasn’t sure what he might do.

—

Regulus didn’t know what was worse: the fact that he had lowered himself to seeking help from a Gryffindor, or the fact that the Gryffindor in question was Remus Lupin.

Of all people.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Which was how he found himself standing stiffly in front of Remus, arms crossed, heart hammering an unsteady rhythm in his chest.

Remus, to his credit, looked only mildly surprised. He had been sitting in the library, half-buried in books, a quill tucked behind his ear, clearly in the middle of something important. But when Regulus had walked up to him—when Regulus had stood there, shifting his weight, forcing himself not to fidget—Remus had merely raised an eyebrow.

And then, because Regulus was losing his mind, he had asked:

“What’s the deal with Potter and that girl?”

Remus blinked.

Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, regarding Regulus with something close to amusement.

Regulus resisted the urge to hex that look off his face.

“Potter?” Remus repeated.

Regulus clenched his jaw. “Yes, Potter. And that girl.”

Remus exhaled, rubbing his temple like he was already exhausted by this conversation.

But then he actually answered, voice casual, like this was a perfectly normal thing to be discussing.

“They’re not together.”

Regulus felt something in his chest shift, but he shoved it down. “Then what are they?”

Remus gave him a look. “She likes him. And James… well, James doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

Regulus stared at him.

That was it?

That was why James hadn’t just told her to leave him alone?

Because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings?

That was ridiculous.

James didn’t have a problem being blunt with him. James had no trouble pushing him, teasing him, pressing into his space like it was his right—

Regulus inhaled sharply, shoving those thoughts aside.

“So he’s just letting her fawn over him?” he demanded, voice sharper than intended.

Remus shrugged. “I think he’s hoping she’ll get over it on her own.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “That’s stupid.”

Remus snorted. “Welcome to James Potter.”

Regulus should have walked away then. Should have accepted the answer, should have turned and left and never had this conversation in the first place.

But instead—

Instead, he hesitated.

And because Remus Lupin was annoyingly perceptive, he noticed.

“You do realize you just asked me about James like you care, right?”

Regulus scowled. “I don’t care.”

Remus smirked.

Regulus hated him.

And then, to make it worse, Remus leaned forward slightly, voice quieter, more knowing.

“If you don’t care,” he murmured, “then why are you asking?”

Regulus had no answer.

So he did what he did best.

He turned on his heel and walked away.

Because if he stayed any longer, he was going to say something he couldn’t take back.

—

Regulus had always considered Peter Pettigrew to be the most tolerable of his brother’s insufferable group of friends. Unlike Sirius, he didn’t go looking for trouble. Unlike James, he wasn’t loud and insufferable. Unlike Remus, he didn’t analyze everything like he could see into your soul.

And yet, here Peter was, cornering him in the courtyard like he had a right to.

Regulus knew exactly why he was here.

Lupin.

That traitorous bastard had clearly wasted no time running to his little group and sharing Regulus’ moment of weakness.

Regulus exhaled sharply, gripping his book a little too tightly as he leveled Peter with a glare. “If you’re here to interrogate me about Potter, save your breath.”

Peter didn’t look remotely intimidated.

Which was annoying.

Instead, he crossed his arms, tilting his head like he was studying Regulus.

“I don’t really need to interrogate you,” Peter said, sounding far too self-satisfied. “You just gave yourself away.”

Regulus scowled.

Peter grinned.

Merlin, why had he ever thought Peter was tolerable?

“What do you want?” Regulus snapped.

Peter rocked back on his heels. “I want to know what your deal is.”

“My deal?”

“Yes, your deal,” Peter repeated, like Regulus was the idiot here. “You’re asking Remus about James. You’re sulking in the courtyard like someone’s kicked your favorite broom. And every time James so much as breathes in your direction, you look like you want to hex him and—” Peter narrowed his eyes. “—something else.”

Regulus stiffened.

He did not like the way Peter was looking at him. Like he was figuring something out.

“I hate James Potter,” Regulus said coldly.

Peter hummed. “Right. And I hate pumpkin pasties, but I still eat three every time we get them for dessert.”

Regulus hated that analogy.

He also hated the way Peter was looking at him, like he had already won.

“Just leave it,” Regulus snapped.

Peter raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave it.”

But then, just as he turned to go, he threw a glance over his shoulder, smirking.

“By the way,” he said, voice irritatingly light, “James is probably going to be in the common room with her tonight.”

Regulus shouldn’t have cared.

He didn’t care.

And yet, the moment Peter walked away, Regulus slammed his book shut and stormed toward the castle, his blood boiling.

—

Regulus had absolutely no reason to be storming toward Gryffindor Tower.

None at all.

And yet, here he was, his robes billowing behind him, his fists clenched, his mind an absolute mess of irritation and something he refused to name.

It was Peter’s fault.

Peter, with his smug little smirk and his infuriating insinuations and his stupid, stupid comment about James being in the common room with her tonight.

Regulus shouldn’t care.

He didn’t care.

Except—

Except the thought of James sitting by the fire, grinning at that Ravenclaw girl, letting her touch him, letting her lean into him—

Regulus’ magic crackled at his fingertips.

No.

Absolutely not.

Which was how he found himself in the corridor leading to Gryffindor Tower, eyes scanning the stragglers heading toward their common room until he spotted exactly what he needed.

A first-year.

Alone.

Perfect.

The boy—tiny, nervous, and clearly not expecting Regulus Black to suddenly loom over him—stumbled to a stop, eyes wide.

Regulus didn’t waste time.

“What’s the password?” he asked, voice low and firm.

The first-year swallowed hard. “I—I can’t—”

Regulus arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

He took a slow step forward, letting his presence do the work, letting the weight of his family name settle between them.

The first-year paled.

Regulus didn’t have to say anything else.

“Mimbulus Mimbletonia!” the boy blurted out, looking like he immediately regretted it.

Regulus smirked.

“Good choice,” he said smoothly, before turning on his heel and striding toward the Fat Lady’s portrait.

The boy, wisely, ran in the opposite direction.

Regulus didn’t hesitate.

He stepped up to the portrait, murmured the password, and barely waited for the entrance to swing open before stepping inside.

The Gryffindor common room was exactly as he expected—warm, loud, filled with groups of students talking and laughing, the fire casting flickering light across the cozy space.

But Regulus didn’t care about any of that.

Because there he was.

James Potter, sprawled in an armchair, laughing at something—

And she was there, sitting much too close, her hand brushing against his knee as she spoke.

Regulus saw red.

And before he could think—before he could stop himself—he was moving.

Chapter Text

Regulus didn’t hesitate. Didn’t second-guess himself. Didn’t stop to consider how utterly insane this was.

He moved through the common room with a purpose, ignoring the stares as people realized that Regulus Black—a Slytherin—had just waltzed into Gryffindor’s sacred space like he belonged there.

But he didn’t belong there.

James Potter, however—James Potter belonged to him.

The thought sent a bolt of something dangerous through his veins, something reckless and possessive and completely irrational.

He reached them in seconds.

The girl barely had time to register his presence before Regulus spoke, voice sharp, cutting through the noise of the room.

“Potter.”

James turned, and the moment their eyes met, Regulus’ pulse roared.

James looked startled—brows furrowing, mouth parting slightly—but then his expression shifted.

Amusement.

Like he enjoyed this.

Like he liked the fact that Regulus had just stormed into enemy territory for him.

Regulus refused to acknowledge the heat creeping up his neck.

James leaned back in his chair, arms draping over the sides, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “Regulus,” he said, voice smooth. “What a surprise.”

Regulus barely contained a sneer. “I need to talk to you.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

The girl—that damn Ravenclaw—shifted beside him, blinking up at Regulus with a mixture of confusion and irritation. “We were in the middle of something.”

Regulus didn’t even look at her.

“You were in the middle of wasting his time,” he corrected coldly. “And now I’m here to fix that.”

The girl gasped.

James’ mouth twitched. “Reg—”

Regulus grabbed his wrist and pulled.

James barely had time to react before he was yanked from his chair, stumbling slightly as Regulus dragged him toward the stairwell leading to the boys’ dormitories.

Murmurs erupted across the room.

The girl called after them, voice indignant, but Regulus didn’t stop.

Didn’t care.

All that mattered was getting James away from her.

The moment they reached the stairwell—out of sight from the rest of the common room—Regulus shoved James against the wall, his heart pounding.

James grinned. “Not that I mind, but you do realize you just manhandled me in front of half of Gryffindor?”

Regulus ignored that.

“What the hell are you doing with her?”

James blinked.

Then, slowly, his grin widened.

“Oh,” he murmured. “That’s what this is about.”

Regulus’ jaw clenched.

James tilted his head, his eyes dark with something infuriatingly knowing.

“Do you want to tell me why you care so much?” he asked, voice infuriatingly light.

Regulus wanted to hex him.

Wanted to shut him up.

Instead, his grip tightened on James’ wrist, his magic crackling just beneath his skin.

He didn’t say anything.

He couldn’t.

James’ expression shifted, amusement giving way to something else—something deeper, something heavier.

His free hand lifted, fingers barely grazing Regulus’ forearm, and Merlin, Regulus hated how it sent a shiver down his spine.

James leaned in slightly, voice softer now, more certain.

“Reg,” he murmured. “Just say it.”

Regulus’ breath caught.

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

So instead—

Instead, he did the only thing he could do.

He kissed him.

Regulus didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t give himself time to process the sheer insanity of what he was doing.

One second, he was glaring at James, heartbeat hammering against his ribs, magic sparking at his fingertips—

And the next, his hands were gripping the front of James’ robes, pulling him down, and—

And fuck.

James made a sound—something surprised, something sharp—before he melted into it, before his hands found Regulus’ waist, before he pressed closer.

Regulus could feel him smiling against his mouth.

Which was infuriating.

So Regulus bit his lip, just to prove a point.

James groaned.

Regulus felt like he might die.

This was a terrible idea.

The worst idea.

And yet, he didn’t stop.

Didn’t want to.

Not when James was tilting his head, deepening the kiss like he had been waiting for this.

Not when his fingers dug into Regulus’ sides, grounding him, keeping him there.

Not when his entire body felt like it was on fire.

But then—

A loud cough shattered the moment.

Regulus ripped himself away, breath ragged, lips tingling, panic surging as he turned to see—

Lupin.

Standing at the top of the stairs.

Looking entirely too amused.

“Well,” he said, arms crossed, head tilted. “I can’t say I’m shocked.”

Regulus wanted to hex him.

James, the absolute menace, just laughed, utterly unbothered.

“Moony,” James greeted, still grinning. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I live here.”

James shrugged. “Details.”

Regulus should have left.

He should have turned on his heel, stalked out of Gryffindor Tower, and never looked back.

But instead—

Instead, he was standing there, burning, with James Potter looking at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world and Remus Lupin watching them like he had just won some kind of private bet with himself.

Regulus scowled, stepping back, shaking James’ hands off his waist like they had tainted him.

“This,” he repeated, voice sharp, pointed, “never happened.”

James smirked. “You kissed me, mate. It definitely happened.”

Regulus clenched his jaw, heat crawling up his neck.

He had not thought this through.

Remus, looking entirely too entertained by the whole thing, pushed off the railing and sighed dramatically. “Should I leave you two to—” he waved a lazy hand between them, “—whatever this is?”

Regulus glared at him.

“No,” he snapped. “Because I’m leaving.”

James hummed. “Shame. I was rather enjoying this little moment of ours.”

Regulus wanted to punch him.

Or hex him.

Or—Merlin forbid—kiss him again.

But he did none of those things.

Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed back down the stairs, the common room’s chatter falling to a hushed whisper the second they saw him return.

He ignored them.

Ignored the curious stares.

Ignored the way his hands shook as he pushed past a cluster of stunned Gryffindors, marched toward the exit, and stepped back into the cool corridor.

The portrait door swung shut behind him, sealing him off from the firelit warmth of the common room, from the absolute disaster of what had just happened.

Regulus exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

What the fuck had he just done?

And worse—

Why did he already want to do it again?

—

Regulus had not been avoiding James Potter.

That would be ridiculous.

He had simply been taking the necessary precautions to ensure he didn’t have to deal with him. There was a difference.

Still, as he strolled through the corridors the next day, his uniform pristine and his expression perfectly composed, he couldn’t help but freeze when he saw her.

The Ravenclaw girl.

Crying.

Regulus wasn’t cruel—not entirely, at least—but he was petty.

And seeing her curled up on a bench, sniffling into her sleeve, sent a sharp thrill of satisfaction through him before he could stop it.

Because he knew what this meant.

James had finally rejected her.

The knowledge settled in his chest like a spark, something bright and insufferably pleased.

He didn’t need to confirm it, but—

“Black.”

Regulus turned, already expecting it.

James stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looked smug.

Regulus hated how effortlessly good he looked in his uniform, tie just loose enough to make him seem effortless, hair a wild mess.

Hated how his brown eyes flickered with amusement, like he knew exactly what Regulus had been thinking.

Regulus lifted his chin. “Potter.”

James pushed off the wall, strolling forward until they were too close, until Regulus could smell the faint scent of parchment and soap and something entirely James.

He shouldn’t have noticed.

James followed his gaze toward the Ravenclaw girl, still sniffling, then back to Regulus with a knowing smile. “See something you like?”

Regulus scoffed.

“On the contrary,” he said coolly. “It’s just a shame she wasted her time.”

James hummed. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Regulus bristled.

James grinned. “Don’t worry, love, you’ve got my full attention now.”

Regulus’ breath hitched.

James must have seen it, because his grin widened, and—fuck, he was doing it again.

Being infuriating.

Being charming.

Being everything Regulus absolutely refused to want.

Regulus exhaled sharply, leveling him with a glare. “Stay away from me, Potter.”

James just tilted his head, considering. “Mmm. No, I don’t think I will.”

Regulus turned on his heel and walked away.

James laughed.

—

Regulus spent the rest of the day pretending James Potter didn’t exist.

It should have been easy.

He had spent years doing exactly that.

But now—

Now, it felt like James was everywhere.

He saw him in the Great Hall at lunch, sprawled out on the bench with an apple in hand, laughing too loudly at something Sirius said.

He saw him in the corridors between classes, leaning against a wall like he belonged there, like he was waiting for something—for him.

He saw him outside after dinner, tossing a Quaffle back and forth with Marlene McKinnon, his sleeves rolled up, golden under the setting sun.

It was infuriating.

Even worse, every time their eyes met—because, of course, James had to look at him—he smirked.

Like he knew.

Like he had already won.

Regulus clenched his jaw and stalked toward the library, determined to clear his head, to focus.

But the universe, apparently, had other plans.

Because the moment he stepped inside, he found himself face-to-face with none other than Remus Lupin.

Who took one look at him and sighed dramatically.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Regulus frowned. “Excuse me?”

Remus gestured toward the chair across from him. “Sit down, Black. Let’s talk.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need to talk.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “No? So you haven’t spent the entire day pretending you don’t care that James finally rejected that Ravenclaw?”

Regulus’ hands fisted at his sides. “That’s not—”

Remus just looked at him.

Calm. Unbothered. Entirely too perceptive.

Regulus hated that about him.

He exhaled sharply and dropped into the chair. “Fine,” he muttered. “Talk.”

Remus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You do realize he’s doing this on purpose, right?”

Regulus scowled. “Doing what?”

“Making sure you see him,” Remus said easily. “Making sure you notice him.”

Regulus scoffed, looking away. “He’s an attention-seeking idiot.”

Remus laughed. “Oh, absolutely. But he’s an attention-seeking idiot who wants you to want him.”

Regulus felt his stomach twist.

He didn’t respond.

Because, deep down—

He already knew.

Regulus should have left.

He should have stood up, sneered something sharp and dismissive, and walked away before Remus could keep talking—before he could make any more annoyingly accurate observations about James Potter and whatever the hell was going on between them.

But before he could move, another voice cut in.

“Blimey, Moony, you work fast.”

Regulus froze.

Because that voice—

That voice belonged to Peter Pettigrew.

And right next to him—

“Oh, brilliant,” Sirius said, dropping into the chair beside Remus, tossing an arm over the backrest like he owned the place. “You finally decided to admit you’re obsessed with James.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “I am not—”

Peter plopped down across from him, grinning. “Oh, you so are.”

Regulus glared.

He turned back to Remus, who looked far too pleased with himself. “You told them?”

Remus shrugged. “They figured it out on their own.”

Sirius snorted. “Mate, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Regulus inhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re all insufferable.”

Peter, ignoring him entirely, leaned forward. “So, what’s your plan?”

Regulus blinked. “My what?”

Peter grinned. “Your plan. To make James suffer a little before you finally give in and snog him properly.”

Regulus’ entire body burned. “That is not—”

“Oh, you should make him suffer,” Sirius said, nodding sagely. “He’s been a pain in the arse about this for ages.”

Regulus stared at him. “You hate the idea of me and James.”

Sirius shrugged. “Yeah, well, you’re both stubborn idiots, so maybe you deserve each other.”

Regulus wanted to hex all three of them.

Peter, seemingly sensing this, held up his hands in surrender. “Look, we’re just saying—James is relentless. He will not stop until you give him an answer.”

Regulus scowled. “My answer is no.”

Peter smirked. “Mmm. Sure.”

Sirius grinned. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Reggie.”

Regulus shot to his feet, chair scraping against the floor. “I hate you all.”

And then he stormed out of the library, leaving them laughing behind him.

Unfortunately, their voices lingered in his head long after he was gone.

—

Regulus stormed through the corridors, furious.

Furious at Peter and his grinning.

Furious at Sirius and his teasing.

Furious at Remus for seeing through him so easily.

And most of all—

Furious at James Potter.

Because they were right.

James wasn’t going to stop.

And the worst part?

Regulus wasn’t sure if he wanted him to.

That was the most infuriating thing of all—that some stupid, idiotic part of him liked the attention.

That he noticed whenever James was near.

That he anticipated the stupid smirks, the fleeting touches, the way James looked at him like he was the only person in the entire castle.

It was maddening.

And now, thanks to those three, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He made it back to the Slytherin common room without looking at anyone, without acknowledging the thoughts swirling in his head, and locked himself in his dormitory.

But no matter how much he tried to focus—on his homework, on Quidditch strategy, on anything else—his mind kept circling back to James.

The way James had been looking at him for weeks.

The way he’d been waiting.

The way Regulus had been waiting, too, without even realizing it.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

He needed to do something about this.

Because if James was going to keep pushing—if he was going to relentlessly pursue him the way everyone seemed to think—

Then Regulus was going to make sure he suffered for it first.

—

The next morning, Regulus woke up with a plan.

If James Potter was going to chase him, he wasn’t going to make it easy.

He wasn’t going to give in.

He was going to make James work for it.

And if James was as persistent as everyone claimed, then Regulus would test just how much he was willing to endure.

So when he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, he didn’t even look at James.

Didn’t acknowledge the way James’ eyes immediately found him.

Didn’t smirk back when James grinned, didn’t roll his eyes when James leaned back like he was waiting for him to react.

Regulus just walked straight to the Slytherin table, sat down, and ignored him entirely.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” came Lily’s amused voice as she slid into the seat beside him.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

Lily smirked. “You’re playing with fire, Black.”

He scoffed, picking at his toast. “I have no idea what you mean.”

She hummed, unconvinced, and nodded toward the Gryffindor table. “You know he’s going to retaliate, right?”

Regulus kept his expression neutral. “Let him.”

Lily just laughed.

And sure enough, the retaliation came quickly.

Because that morning in the corridor, when Regulus was walking to class, James appeared out of nowhere and fell into step beside him.

“Morning, love,” James said cheerfully, grinning.

Regulus didn’t look at him.

James hummed. “No snarky remark? No hex? No glaring?”

Regulus kept walking.

James sighed dramatically. “Alright, what’s your game, Black?”

Still, Regulus said nothing.

James clicked his tongue. “Silent treatment? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

Regulus allowed the faintest smirk to cross his lips—but he still didn’t look at him.

James groaned. “Merlin, this is worse than being hexed.”

Regulus’ smirk widened just slightly.

And then he turned a corner, leaving James standing there, exasperated.

He could feel James’ eyes on his back.

And it thrilled him.

—

The game continued for days.

Regulus ignored James at every possible turn.

In the corridors, at meals, during Quidditch practice, even when James went out of his way to get in his path, all bright-eyed and grinning.

And every single time, Regulus walked right past him without a single word.

It was exhilarating.

Because James was suffering.

Regulus could see it.

Could see the way James’ grin became a little more strained each time he got nothing in return.

Could see the way his frustration built, the way he fidgeted when Regulus refused to give him any reaction.

And Regulus thrived on it.

It wasn’t until the end of the week that James finally snapped.

Regulus was on his way back to the dungeons after dinner when he suddenly found himself being dragged sideways, pulled into an empty classroom before he could even react.

The door slammed shut behind him.

And then—

“Enough,” James groaned, dropping his head back dramatically against the door. “I give up.”

Regulus crossed his arms, tilting his head. “Do you?”

James narrowed his eyes. “You are infuriating.”

Regulus smirked. “So I’ve been told.”

James ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “I mean, seriously, what is this? Are you punishing me?”

Regulus tapped a finger against his chin. “Well, you have been insufferable.”

James gawked at him. “Me? I’ve been insufferable?”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “You relentlessly pursued me.”

James threw his hands up. “You hexed me in front of half the school!”

Regulus shrugged. “You deserved it.”

James let out a strangled laugh. “Oh, Merlin, you’re impossible.”

Regulus grinned.

James exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then he stepped closer—invading Regulus’ space the way he always did, the way that made Regulus’ pulse spike.

And then, softer—

“Are you ever going to stop pretending you don’t like me?”

Regulus held his ground, even as his heartbeat betrayed him.

Even as James was too close, too warm, too much.

Even as his resolve wavered.

“Maybe,” he murmured. “If you earn it.”

James’ eyes flickered with something wicked.

“Oh, now it’s a challenge?”

Regulus smirked. “It’s always been a challenge, Potter.”

James grinned, slow and delighted.

And Regulus knew—

The real game had just begun.

Chapter Text

The only thing Regulus didn’t account for in his plans was James’ obnoxiousness.

He had expected James to keep pursuing him—expected him to double down, to push harder, to get more relentless.

What he hadn’t expected was for James to be so damn loud about it.

Because James Potter, insufferable prankster, could not do things quietly.

And apparently, that included pursuing Regulus Black.

It started the very next morning.

Regulus entered the Great Hall, already prepared to continue his calculated indifference, when he was met with James standing on the Gryffindor table, hands on his hips, grinning wildly.

“GOOD MORNING, REGULUS BLACK,” James announced, voice booming across the hall.

The entire room fell silent.

Regulus froze.

“Oh, Merlin,” Barty muttered beside him, sounding thrilled.

Regulus turned slowly to glare at her before he turned back to James, who was now bowing dramatically.

“I just wanted to personally wish you a wonderful morning, dearest,” James continued, far too pleased with himself. “I hope you slept well. I hope your dreams were filled with me.”

Regulus wanted to hex him into oblivion.

The laughter around the Hall was deafening.

Sirius was practically howling, clutching onto Remus for support.

Peter was wiping tears from his eyes.

Lily Evans looked one second away from hexing James herself.

Regulus took a slow, deep breath, schooling his features into something unbothered.

Then, with as much composure as he could manage, he turned on his heel and walked straight out of the Great Hall.

The last thing he heard was James calling after him—

“I’LL SEE YOU LATER, LOVE!”

Regulus did not slam the door behind him.

That would mean James won.

He made it all the way to the dungeons before he let out a long, frustrated sigh, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

James was going to be insufferable about this, wasn’t he?

Well.

Fine.

Regulus could be worse.

—

The game escalated quickly.

Regulus had expected James to be persistent, but he hadn’t quite grasped the extent of his dramatic tendencies until now.

Because it didn’t stop at the Great Hall.

Oh, no.

James Potter made it his personal mission to be as loud and ridiculous as possible about his affections.

By lunch, there were enchanted notes floating around the castle, all in James’ scrawled handwriting, filled with absurdly grand declarations like:

“REGULUS BLACK, THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, HAS EYES AS DARK AS THE DEPTHS OF THE BLACK LAKE AND A HEART AS COLD AS A DEMENTOR’S KISS—BUT I SHALL THAW IT WITH MY DEVOTION.”

Or, even worse:

“I SHALL NOT REST UNTIL REGULUS BLACK AGREES TO LET ME COURT HIM—OR UNTIL HE HEXES ME INTO THE HOSPITAL WING. WHICHEVER COMES FIRST.”

Regulus had personally incinerated five of them before he even made it to his afternoon classes.

By dinner, James had recruited the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team into his antics.

As soon as Regulus entered the Great Hall, they all stood and burst into a synchronized love ballad, complete with harmonies and dramatic swooning gestures.

Regulus considered murder.

Sirius was crying from laughter.

Remus just looked tired.

Peter gave Regulus a thumbs-up like this was the best thing he’d ever witnessed.

And James—

James stood at the center of it all, beaming, unapologetic, eyes locked onto Regulus like he was the sole purpose of this absurdity.

Regulus, through sheer force of will, kept his face neutral.

Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he walked over to James—who was still grinning, the cocky bastard—and leaned in just slightly.

For a moment, James’ breath hitched, like he thought Regulus was about to give in.

Instead, Regulus whispered, voice cold and even,

“If you ever do this again, I will make you regret it, Potter.”

James’ grin widened. “Oh, Reggie, this is only the beginning.”

Regulus walked away.

Because if he stayed—

If he let James see the way his pulse was racing—

He would lose.

—

The next morning, Regulus woke up to the entire Slytherin dormitory being cursed.

It wasn’t dangerous. No, that would have been too easy—too predictable.

Instead, James had somehow—somehow—charmed all the mirrors in the Slytherin common room and dormitories to whisper romantic poetry about Regulus whenever anyone walked past.

Regulus realized this immediately when he stepped in front of his own mirror and heard,

“Oh, starless night, behold the beauty of Regulus Black, whose cold gaze chills yet enchants the very soul—”

He blasted the mirror apart.

That, however, did not solve the problem.

Because then, from across the room, Evan Rosier shrieked.

“WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!”

Regulus turned just in time to see Evan stumbling away from his own mirror, looking horrified.

A second later, Barty came out of the bathroom, furious.

“If I hear one more sonnet about your glorious cheekbones, I am committing a crime.”

Regulus clenched his jaw, inhaled sharply, and stormed out of the dormitory.

—

James was waiting for him outside the Great Hall.

Grinning.

Smug.

Like he knew exactly what he had done.

Regulus didn’t slow his steps.

He walked right up to James, grabbed him by the collar of his robes, and shoved him against the wall.

James gasped—dramatic, as always—but there was something gleaming in his eyes, something that made Regulus want to both hex him into the floor and—

And do something else entirely.

Something stupid.

“You absolute menace,” Regulus hissed.

James grinned. “Good morning to you too, darling.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Fix it.”

“Hmm.” James pretended to consider. “I don’t know, Reggie, I think the Slytherins could use a little more romance in their lives.”

Regulus shoved him harder.

James only laughed.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded. “I’ll consider it—if you agree to go flying with me tonight.”

Regulus exhaled slowly through his nose.

James tilted his head, grinning wider. “Come on, Black. One night. Just you, me, and the stars.”

Regulus hated how easily those words affected him.

How easily James affected him.

But.

But if it meant ending this absurdity…

“Fine,” he muttered.

James’ eyes lit up. “Brilliant. See you at midnight.”

Regulus let go of him with a final shove and walked away before James could see the way his ears were burning.

—

Midnight came faster than Regulus expected.

He considered not going.

Truly, he did.

He could stay in his dorm, pretend he had never agreed to this, and let James Potter stew in his own idiocy for hours.

But then, the mirrors would still be whispering about his “soulful gaze” and “enchanting wrath” in the morning, and no one in Slytherin would ever let him live it down.

So, begrudgingly, Regulus pulled on his thickest cloak, grabbed his broom, and made his way to the Quidditch pitch.

James was already there, of course.

Hovering lazily on his broom, grinning like he knew Regulus would come.

Regulus hated how predictable he had become.

“Haven’t changed the mirrors yet,” Regulus noted as he reached him.

James tilted his head. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t stand me up first.”

Regulus scoffed. “And if I had?”

James smirked. “Then I suppose your dear housemates would have to endure another day of sonnets about your devastatingly sharp wit.”

Regulus resisted the urge to hex him.

Barely.

“Let’s just fly, Potter.”

James, to his credit, didn’t push further.

Instead, he kicked off higher into the sky, and Regulus followed.

It was quiet up there, above the stadium, where the world felt smaller and the night stretched endlessly around them.

Regulus had always liked flying at night.

It was his.

No teammates. No competition. No expectations.

Just him and the sky.

But now, James was here too.

And, somehow, that didn’t feel as terrible as it should have.

They flew in silence for a while, weaving in and out of each other’s paths, the rush of wind the only sound between them.

Then James spoke, voice softer than Regulus expected.

“You really hate me, don’t you?”

Regulus looked over sharply.

James wasn’t grinning anymore.

He wasn’t smug, or obnoxious, or loud.

He just… looked at Regulus.

Waiting.

Regulus turned his gaze back toward the sky.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

James hummed. “That’s a relief.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “You’re still insufferable.”

James laughed, easy and warm.

“I know.”

They flew for another hour.

James didn’t push, didn’t pry, didn’t try to make him talk.

He just stayed, orbiting around Regulus like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Regulus let him.

—

The next morning, the mirrors were finally silent.

Regulus half-expected James to have left one last message behind—some insufferable remark about their midnight flight or another ridiculous poem about his tragic, brooding demeanor—but no.

They were just… normal again.

Regulus wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Or about the way he caught himself waiting for James to do something else absurd.

Instead, James barely looked at him all day.

No grins across the Great Hall. No exaggerated swooning in the corridors. No enchanted love notes drifting through the air.

It should have been a relief.

But by the time dinner rolled around and James still hadn’t so much as acknowledged him, Regulus was—

Annoyed.

He refused to call it disappointed.

James was at the Gryffindor table, chatting easily with Sirius and Marlene, not sparing a single glance in Regulus’ direction.

Regulus scowled at his plate, pushing his food around without much interest.

Evan nudged him. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Regulus said automatically.

Evan gave him a look like he didn’t quite believe him but let it drop.

Regulus lasted exactly four more minutes before he couldn’t take it anymore.

He stood abruptly, ignoring Barty’s questioning glance, and made his way toward the Gryffindor table.

Several heads turned as he approached, but Regulus only had eyes for James.

James finally looked at him, brow raised, expression entirely too neutral.

Regulus didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed James by the sleeve and pulled him up.

Sirius choked on his pumpkin juice.

Marlene’s eyes widened.

Peter grinned.

Remus just sighed, like he had already predicted this outcome.

James let himself be dragged out of the Great Hall without protest, his usual obnoxious delight notably absent.

Regulus didn’t stop until they were in an empty corridor.

Then he turned, crossing his arms. “What’s your game, Potter?”

James blinked. “Game?”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been harassing me for weeks—and now, suddenly, nothing? Not a single poem? No obnoxious grand gestures? Not even an infuriating smirk?”

James tilted his head, watching him closely. “You miss it?”

Regulus scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

James took a step closer.

Regulus stayed still.

“I just figured you were tired of my antics,” James said, voice softer now. “Didn’t want to push you too far.”

Regulus clenched his jaw.

James was too close.

Too warm.

Too James.

And Regulus—

Regulus was tired.

Tired of pretending he didn’t care.

Tired of convincing himself that James was just annoying and obnoxious and nothing else.

Tired of ignoring the way his pulse always reacted to that damn grin.

Regulus exhaled sharply, then, before he could stop himself—

He grabbed James by the collar and kissed him.

It was quick. Just a brief, sharp press of lips.

But when Regulus pulled away, James was grinning so brightly it was nearly blinding.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Potter.”

James just laughed.

And then kissed him again.

Regulus hadn’t thought this far ahead.

That was the problem.

It had been easy to pretend James was just an irritation—easy to deny that his stupid, relentless attention had gotten to him.

But now, standing in a dimly lit corridor with James Potter’s lips still on his, hands curling into his robes like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon—

Regulus realized he had no idea what to do next.

James pulled back, grinning, eyes practically glowing behind his glasses. “So… what now?”

Regulus hated that James always said exactly what he was thinking.

He scowled, stepping back. “Nothing. This was a mistake.”

James raised a brow. “A mistake, huh?”

Regulus crossed his arms. “Yes.”

James took a step closer again.

Regulus held his ground.

James smirked. “Then I guess you’ll have to hex me the next time I try to kiss you.”

Regulus’ jaw tightened. “You would make a game out of this.”

James shrugged, grinning. “I like winning.”

Regulus inhaled sharply through his nose. “This isn’t a game.”

For once, James didn’t look amused.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

They stood there, locked in silence, neither willing to look away first.

Then James said, quieter, “I meant it, you know.”

Regulus frowned. “Meant what?”

James smiled, but it wasn’t his usual smug, teasing expression. It was something softer.

“All of it.”

Regulus stared.

He wasn’t sure what unnerved him more—the sincerity in James’ voice or the way it did something to him.

A warmth he didn’t know how to handle.

Didn’t want to handle.

Regulus swallowed, then turned on his heel. “I have homework to do.”

James let him go.

Didn’t try to stop him, didn’t push, didn’t call after him.

Regulus almost wanted him to.

But he kept walking.

Because if he stopped now—if he let himself turn around—

He might actually admit that he wanted this.

And Regulus Black did not do things without a plan.

Chapter Text

Regulus barely made it through breakfast without Evan and Barty noticing.

Which was incredibly frustrating, because he had gone out of his way to act completely normal.

But Evan had been his friend for far too long, and Barty thrived on chaos, so naturally, it took less than five minutes before they were both staring at him like he was some kind of puzzle they needed to solve.

“What happened to you?” Evan asked, leaning on one elbow.

“Nothing,” Regulus said flatly, sipping his tea.

Barty squinted at him. “You look—” He tilted his head, then grinned. “You look like you’ve been kissed.”

Regulus choked on his tea.

Barty gasped in delight. “OH. OH, THIS IS GOOD.”

Evan’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously?”

Regulus scowled, wiping his mouth. “Would you keep your voice down?”

But it was too late.

Barty was already buzzing with excitement, practically bouncing in his seat. “WHO? Who was it? Who dared to steal a kiss from the Regulus Black?”

Evan narrowed his eyes. “It’s Potter, isn’t it?”

Regulus hated how quickly Evan got there.

He didn’t answer, which was apparently enough confirmation, because Evan let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Barty, meanwhile, was cackling. “Oh, this is amazing.”

Regulus crossed his arms. “I’m making a plan.”

That only made things worse.

Barty dropped his fork dramatically. “A plan?”

Evan groaned. “Oh, Merlin.”

Regulus raised his chin. “I refuse to act without a proper strategy.”

Barty actually threw a piece of toast at him.

“You can’t plan for love, Regulus!” he cried.

Regulus glared. “I can plan for anything.”

Evan shook his head, looking exhausted. “I hate to agree with Barty, but he’s right. This isn’t one of your Quidditch plays, Reg.”

“I know that,” Regulus said irritably.

Evan gave him a look. “Do you?”

Regulus exhaled sharply, gripping his teacup. “I just—need to think it through.”

“Think what through?” Barty threw his hands up. “You kissed him! It’s already happened! What more is there to think about?”

Regulus hated that he had a point.

But this was James Potter.

James bloody Potter, who was loud and ridiculous and terrifyingly sincere—

Who had spent weeks chasing him, and then, when Regulus finally gave in, hadn’t gloated or teased or made it into a joke.

He had just smiled.

Like he’d been waiting.

Regulus felt his stomach twist.

Barty leaned in, grinning like he was enjoying this far too much. “You like him.”

Regulus shot him a murderous look. “Shut up.”

Evan smirked, shaking his head. “You’re doomed.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “I am not.”

Barty snickered. “You so are.”

Regulus scowled, stabbing at his eggs a little too aggressively.

This was not how today was supposed to go.

Regulus refused to be doomed.

He spent the rest of the day outlining his approach to the situation—mentally, of course, because writing an actual list would be ridiculous.
1. Avoid James Potter.
2. If avoidance fails, be cold and dismissive.
3. If James does not take the hint (which, let’s be honest, he won’t), find a way to shut this down permanently.

It was a solid plan.

It lasted exactly three hours.

Because James found him before lunch.

Regulus had been heading towards the dungeons, planning to eat in the common room to avoid exactly this scenario, but of course, James was already there, leaning against the wall with that infuriatingly easy grin.

“Reg,” James greeted.

Regulus ignored him.

James stepped in front of him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Regulus gave him a flat look. “Away from you.”

James grinned, like he expected that response. “That’s going to be difficult.”

Regulus raised an unimpressed brow. “Because?”

“Because I have something for you,” James said, reaching into his pocket.

Regulus tensed, suddenly wary. “If it’s a prank—”

James rolled his eyes. “I’m not pranking you.”

Then he pulled out— A tiny golden snitch.

Regulus blinked.

James held it out, smirking. “I know you’re impossible to shop for, so I figured I’d get you something you’re good at catching.”

Regulus stared at it.

The little wings fluttered, and it almost looked like it was trembling in James’ palm.

Regulus hated the warmth creeping up his neck.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, snatching it from James before he could think better of it.

James just beamed. “But you’re keeping it.”

Regulus scowled. “Shut up, Potter.”

James laughed, eyes bright, and Regulus hated that it made something in his chest tighten.

His plan was already failing.

—

Regulus should have thrown the snitch away.

That would have been the smart thing to do—the logical thing.

Instead, he spent the rest of the day flipping it between his fingers like some sort of ridiculous sentimental fool.

Barty noticed immediately.

“You absolute disaster,” he said gleefully, watching as Regulus toyed with the snitch during their study session. “You like him.”

Regulus refused to dignify that with a response.

Evan, who had been ignoring the conversation up until now, finally sighed. “You can’t plan your way out of this, Regulus.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “Watch me.”

Evan shook his head. “You’re already losing.”

Barty grinned. “You lost the second you didn’t hex him for kissing you.”

Regulus had hexed James before.

Many times.

And yet, when James kissed him, he hadn’t.

He had let it happen.

Regulus exhaled sharply and shoved the snitch into his pocket. “This isn’t anything.”

Barty smirked. “Then why do you look like you’re about to die over it?”

Regulus glared. “I hate you both.”

Barty patted his shoulder. “Hate me all you want, love, but I’m not the Gryffindor giving you gifts.”

Regulus gritted his teeth.

Fine.

Maybe avoiding James wasn’t working.

Maybe ignoring the problem wasn’t going to fix it.

But if James thought he could win, if he thought Regulus was just going to let this happen—

He had another thing coming.

—

Regulus was going to win.

Because this was a game, and he never lost.

The next morning, he made a point to find James at breakfast. He strode up to the Gryffindor table with all the calm confidence he could muster, ignoring the looks of confusion and curiosity from James’ friends.

James himself blinked up at him, clearly startled—which was exactly what Regulus wanted.

Regulus pulled the snitch out of his pocket, held it between them, and said, “You think this means something?”

James’ lips curled in amusement. “Well, yeah. I gave it to you.”

Regulus hummed, then—before he could think better of it—he dropped the snitch into James’ cup of pumpkin juice.

James blinked. “Reg—”

Regulus leaned in, lowering his voice so only James could hear. “I don’t lose, Potter. If this is a game, I will win.”

James’ eyes lit up.

And that was when Regulus realized his mistake.

James loved a challenge.

“Oh, Reggie,” James said, grinning like he’d been waiting for this. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

Regulus felt his stomach flip.

Because James wasn’t deterred—he was delighted.

And, worse—

So was Regulus.

Regulus had walked into this thinking he had the upper hand. That James was playing his game now.

But as soon as James grinned like that, all sharp delight and barely contained energy, Regulus knew.

He had massively miscalculated.

Because James Potter never backed down from a challenge.

And now he was looking at Regulus like he was something worth chasing.

Regulus turned sharply on his heel before James could say anything else, ignoring the way Sirius, Remus, and Peter were all watching him like he’d just set something unstoppable in motion.

But even as he left the Great Hall, he felt it—James’ eyes on him.

A challenge accepted.

—

It started immediately.

James was everywhere.

Between classes, in the corridors, at meals—he had no shame.

By midday, Regulus was ready to hex him.

“Did you need something, Potter?” he asked coolly when James once again materialized next to him outside the library.

James grinned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Just thought I’d walk you to class.”

Regulus exhaled slowly, reining in his irritation. “You are not my escort.”

James laughed. “Not yet.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “That implies you think you will be.”

James shrugged. “I’m optimistic.”

Regulus clenched his jaw and stalked forward, hoping James would take the hint and leave.

He didn’t.

He fell into step beside him, still smiling.

Regulus refused to let it get to him.

But then James—insufferable, ridiculous James—did something impossible.

He reached out and plucked something from Regulus’ hair.

Regulus froze.

James held up a small leaf between his fingers. “Bit of a mess, aren’t you?”

Regulus stared at him.

His brain short-circuited.

Because it was such a simple, natural thing to do—something intimate, something that people did when they cared.

And James had done it without thinking.

Like it was natural.

Like they were natural.

Regulus’ heart pounded in his chest.

This was not going according to plan.

—

Regulus had not accounted for James getting tired of their game.

Because James didn’t get tired of things. He was loud and relentless and obnoxious in his persistence. He chased what he wanted until he either won or had it yanked away from him.

So when James started pulling back, Regulus didn’t know what to do with himself.

It had started subtly—James still showed up, still looked at him with that same warmth in his eyes, but he wasn’t pushing anymore. Wasn’t teasing, wasn’t finding excuses to invade Regulus’ space. He stopped trying to goad Regulus into responding, stopped pretending that all of this—the back and forth, the tension, the sheer ridiculousness of it—was anything more than what it was.

Christmas had come and gone.

And even Regulus knew this had gone on too long.

But he refused to admit it first.

It wasn’t until James got knocked off his broom during a match against Hufflepuff that Regulus really felt it.

The sharp, startling wrongness of it.

Because James never let himself get distracted in a game. He was too good for that, too focused, too in sync with every movement of the Quaffle and his teammates. But this time, when a Bludger came straight for him, James didn’t move in time.

It was a brutal hit.

Regulus saw it happen from across the pitch, felt something tighten in his chest as James fell.

He was still conscious when he hit the ground—thank Merlin—but he was out of it, dazed and unmoving as Madam Pomfrey rushed onto the field.

Regulus’ hands were shaking.

He didn’t stay for the end of the match. Didn’t even wait for an excuse—he just left, making his way toward the hospital wing before he could think better of it.

By the time he got there, James was awake but lying very still, clearly sore and exhausted, his glasses resting on the bedside table.

Sirius, Remus, and Peter were there, of course. They all glanced up when Regulus entered, exchanging knowing looks, but—blessedly—none of them said anything.

Regulus walked up to the bed, heart pounding.

James turned his head slightly to look at him. “Reggie,” he murmured, voice scratchy but still soft, still fond.

Regulus exhaled sharply, hating how hearing his nickname made his chest ache.

He sat down stiffly at the edge of the bed, eyes darting over James’ face, over the small cut on his cheekbone and the bruise forming on his jaw.

“Idiot,” Regulus muttered.

James huffed a quiet laugh. “Probably.”

Regulus clenched his fists, forcing himself to meet James’ gaze.

He didn’t do apologies.

Didn’t do vulnerability.

But something tight and unfamiliar had settled inside him, something he didn’t think he could keep swallowing down.

He exhaled slowly, then said, very quietly, “I’m sorry.”

James’ brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

Regulus swallowed. “For—” He gestured vaguely. “For the game. For dragging this out. For—” He stopped, feeling stupid, and looked away. “Just. I’m sorry.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then James grinned.

Regulus scowled. “Why are you smiling?”

James shrugged, still grinning, even as he winced slightly. “Just didn’t think you’d actually say it first.”

Regulus glared at him. “I hate you.”

James’ grin softened. “You don’t.”

Regulus huffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t push your luck, Potter.”

James just looked at him, something soft and unwavering in his eyes.

Regulus felt the full weight of it settle over him, and for the first time since this whole thing had started, he realized—

James hadn’t been playing a game at all.

James had been serious this whole time.

And Regulus—stubborn, calculating, terrified Regulus—had spent months convincing himself that this was just a game. That James was only chasing him because it was fun, because it was something to do.

But sitting here, with James still bruised and battered from his fall, looking at Regulus with something real in his eyes—Regulus knew.

He had been the only one playing.

And now, after everything, he hated that he was the one who had to break first.

The words clawed their way up his throat like they had been buried there, like he had been fighting them for so long that they were desperate to escape.

He clenched his fists in his lap, heart hammering. “I—” He swallowed hard. “I don’t hate you.”

James’ eyebrows lifted slightly, amusement flickering across his face. “No?”

Regulus scowled, looking away. “Don’t make me regret this.”

James huffed a quiet laugh. “Alright, alright. Continue.”

Regulus breathed in sharply through his nose. His hands were shaking. He forced himself to look back at James, to hold his gaze even though it burned.

“This was a game,” he said quietly. “At first. It was easier to pretend that’s all it was.” He clenched his jaw. “But you—you don’t stop, do you? You don’t let people ignore you. You don’t let them push you away. And I—I thought I was good at keeping you at arm’s length, but you kept—” His voice caught, and he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

James was watching him so intently, like he wasn’t going to let him run from this, like he was waiting.

Regulus’ throat felt tight.

“I don’t want to like you,” he admitted. The words tasted like defeat. “I don’t want to care about you.” His voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. “But I do.”

James inhaled slowly, his gaze steady, unwavering. “Yeah?”

Regulus glared at him, face burning. “Yes, you insufferable idiot.”

James grinned, wide and bright, like Regulus had just given him everything.

And maybe—horrifyingly—he had.

“I knew it,” James said, smug as hell.

Regulus groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “I take it back. I do hate you.”

James laughed, a delighted, boyish sound that made Regulus’ heart ache.

But then—gentle, careful—James reached out, fingers brushing against Regulus’ wrist, barely there, but enough to make Regulus freeze.

When he peeked up through his fingers, James was still grinning—but it was softer now, something real lingering behind it.

“You took your time,” James murmured.

Regulus’ chest tightened.

He swallowed, exhaling slowly before lowering his hands from his face. “Shut up, Potter.”

James’ grin widened. “Make me.”

And Regulus—blushing furiously—decided that maybe, just this once, he wouldn’t fight him on it.

Chapter Text

Regulus regretted everything.

Not the confession itself, necessarily—though the humiliation of admitting something so raw still made his skin crawl—but the way James had latched onto it.

It had been hours. Hours. And James was still smug.

“I knew you liked me,” James said again, practically beaming, sprawled back against his hospital bed like he was enjoying every second of Regulus’ suffering.

Regulus, who was perched stiffly in the chair beside him, let out a slow breath through his nose. “If you say that one more time, Potter—”

James grinned, far too pleased with himself. “You like me.”

Regulus’ eye twitched. “I will hex you.”

James laughed, throwing his head back against the pillows, and Regulus hated that it made his chest ache, that he liked the sound of it more than he should.

This was an absolute nightmare.

The hospital wing was empty except for them—Sirius, Remus, and Peter had left not long after Regulus arrived, with Sirius ruffling James’ hair and saying something obnoxiously fond before leaving Regulus alone to deal with him.

Which, in hindsight, had been a terrible mistake.

Because James wouldn’t stop looking at him like that.

Like he had been waiting for this. Like he had been waiting for Regulus.

The weight of it made Regulus shift in his chair, his fingers curling into his robes as he stared stubbornly at the floor.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” he muttered.

James hummed, considering. “You could kiss me.”

Regulus choked.

His head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, his entire face burning. “Excuse me?”

James grinned, shameless and impossibly hopeful. “Just a thought.”

Regulus gaped at him, pulse pounding in his ears. “You’re injured.”

James shrugged, unbothered. “My lips still work.”

Regulus groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I hate you.”

James laughed, but this time it was softer, gentler. “You really don’t.”

Regulus exhaled sharply, forcing himself to meet James’ gaze.

He didn’t.

He never had.

James had terrified him. His persistence, his relentlessness, the way he had never wavered despite Regulus’ every attempt to push him away.

But now—after everything—Regulus wasn’t scared anymore.

Not of this. Not of James.

He let out a slow breath. Then, hesitantly, he reached out—lightly, carefully—grasping James’ wrist.

James stilled, eyes widening slightly, breath catching in his throat.

Regulus swallowed hard. His heart was hammering against his ribs, his hands shaking, but—

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted.

James smiled, warm and devastatingly fond. “That’s alright,” he murmured. “I can wait.”

Regulus’ chest ached.

James had been waiting.

And now, finally, finally, Regulus thought—maybe he was ready to let him in.

—

Things didn’t change all at once.

Regulus didn’t wake up the next morning suddenly comfortable with the idea of being with James Potter. He didn’t magically stop overthinking every interaction, didn’t immediately know how to let someone like James in.

But something shifted.

It was in the way James didn’t push—despite how much he loved pushing. He didn’t make Regulus talk about things he wasn’t ready for, didn’t tease him too much when he inevitably got flustered, didn’t demand more than Regulus could give.

It was in the way he was still just James, loud and impossible, but somehow softer with Regulus now, patient in a way that made Regulus’ ribs feel too tight.

And somehow—somehow—it got easier.

He didn’t realize how much until a few weeks later, when they were walking back from the library together, James talking animatedly about some ridiculous prank Sirius had pulled, and Regulus—without thinking—reached out and grabbed James’ sleeve to stop him from tripping over a loose stone.

It was instinctive, effortless.

James blinked at him in surprise, then grinned, wide and obnoxious, and Regulus realized.

He hadn’t hesitated.

Hadn’t second-guessed himself, hadn’t stopped to think about what it meant, hadn’t worried about what people would think.

He had just acted.

And that realization—that maybe, just maybe, he was getting used to this—made something inside him settle.

James must have seen it on his face, because his grin softened into something warm, something that made Regulus’ stomach do an uncomfortable sort of flip.

Regulus swallowed. “What?”

James shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes, but James just reached out, carefully, brushing his fingers against Regulus’ wrist.

Regulus didn’t pull away.

James’ eyes lit up, like he knew. Like he could see that something had changed, that Regulus was letting himself have this.

—

Regulus didn’t expect things to feel natural so quickly.

He still wasn’t good at this—not by any means. He didn’t know how to say the things James probably wanted to hear, didn’t know how to act like this was normal for him. But James never made him feel like he had to be anything more than what he was.

And, somehow, that made it easy.

He found himself falling into the rhythm of it, of James finding him between classes just to talk—about nothing, about everything—of James waiting for him after Quidditch practice, of James dragging him into ridiculous conversations with his equally ridiculous friends.

(“What’s your favorite kind of biscuit?” Peter had asked him once, utterly unprompted.

Regulus had stared at him blankly.

James had just grinned. “Careful, love,” he said, elbowing him lightly. “This is important information.”

Regulus had gone very still at the word love, pulse jumping in his throat, but James didn’t seem to notice he had said it, and Regulus… didn’t hate it. Which was a problem. A big problem.)

Even Sirius, for all his dramatics, had somehow toned down the overprotective older brother act.

Not entirely, obviously—he was still Sirius—but he had stopped hovering every time James and Regulus were in the same room, which Regulus took as a small miracle.

Things were… good.

Which was why it caught him off guard when he woke up one morning and realized he wasn’t waiting for something to go wrong anymore.

He wasn’t constantly overanalyzing everything, wasn’t expecting James to change his mind, wasn’t bracing himself for the moment it all fell apart.

Somewhere along the way, he had just started trusting it.

Trusting James.

And, really, that should have terrified him.

But it didn’t.

And maybe that was how he knew.

Because for the first time in his life—Regulus wasn’t looking for a way out.

—

Regulus wasn’t entirely sure when James had decided that touching him was something he could do all the time, but it had become an undeniable reality.

It started small—James brushing their shoulders together when they walked side by side, knocking his knee against Regulus’ under the table at breakfast, nudging his fingers against Regulus’ wrist when they stood close.

Regulus hadn’t thought much of it at first, assuming it was just James being James. But then it escalated.

James would grab his scarf to pull him closer, slinging an arm over his shoulders in the common areas without any regard for who was watching, resting a hand on the small of his back like it was second nature.

And the worst part?

Regulus didn’t hate it.

Which was infuriating, because James knew.

He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly how to fluster Regulus, how to push without making him retreat.

Like now.

They were in the library, James sitting entirely too close, leaning against Regulus’ shoulder as he pretended to read a book—upside-down, no less.

“You’re not reading,” Regulus muttered, not even looking up from his own book.

James hummed in agreement. “Nope.”

Regulus sighed, flipping a page. “Then why are you here?”

James turned his head, pressing his cheek against Regulus’ shoulder, his entire weight pressing into him. “Because I like you, obviously.”

Regulus’ fingers twitched around the spine of his book.

James said things like that so easily, without hesitation, without expectation.

Regulus still wasn’t sure how to handle it.

“Do you have to say it out loud?” he grumbled.

James laughed, warm and quiet. “Yes.”

Regulus exhaled sharply through his nose, but he didn’t push him away.

James noticed, of course.

James always noticed.

Regulus could feel him grinning against his shoulder, could practically hear the self-satisfaction radiating off of him.

“You’re insufferable,” Regulus muttered.

James just turned his head, pressing a quick kiss to Regulus’ shoulder. “You love it.”

Regulus did not flush.

(He absolutely did.)

—

Regulus had never thought much about time.

It was there, of course—something constant, something inevitable. But he had always been too focused on the present, too wrapped up in his own carefully controlled existence to consider what came next.

But now, with the end of the year creeping closer, time had started to feel suffocating.

Because James was leaving.

It wasn’t as if it was unexpected—James was a seventh year, he was graduating, he had always been leaving.

Regulus just hadn’t thought about it before.

And now, every weekend, as James dragged him off to whatever ridiculous date he had planned—whether it was sneaking into the kitchens for an elaborate dessert spread, or flying out to the Black Lake at night, or spending way too many hours wandering through Hogsmeade—Regulus couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About how these weekends would end. About how soon, James wouldn’t be here.

And the worst part?

They still weren’t officially together.

James had never pushed for it, had never asked for labels, never forced Regulus into something he wasn’t ready for.

But Regulus had gotten comfortable. He had let himself believe that they had time, that there was no rush, that things could continue the way they were forever.

But time was running out.

And Regulus—for once in his life—wasn’t ready.

He realized it fully one evening in late May, when they were sitting by the Black Lake. James had sprawled out on the grass, arms folded behind his head, looking obnoxiously at peace with the world.

Regulus sat beside him, legs tucked under himself, watching the way the fading sunlight caught in James’ hair, turning it golden.

James turned his head slightly, cracking one eye open. “You’re staring, love.”

Regulus scowled on instinct, even as his pulse jumped at the word love. “You’re in my line of vision.”

James snorted, but he didn’t push.

He never did.

And Regulus hated it.

Because James should push.

He should ask for something more, should demand to know where they stood.

But he wasn’t.

Which meant it was up to Regulus.

And the thought of that—of choosing something, of letting himself have something—made his stomach clench.

Because he knew.

If he didn’t do something now, he would lose James.

And for the first time in his life, Regulus wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

Regulus didn’t think.

For once in his life, he didn’t overanalyze, didn’t second-guess, didn’t hesitate.

He just moved.

Leaning down, he caught James’ lips in a kiss—firm, deliberate, his.

James made a soft noise of surprise, but he recovered quickly, tilting his head up, kissing him back like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Regulus wasn’t sure when he had started wanting more, but now that he had James beneath him, warm and solid and his, the need burned through him like an unstoppable force.

So he bit down, just lightly, tugging at James’ bottom lip—just enough to make his breath catch, just enough to test.

James groaned, fingers tightening around Regulus’ waist, pulling him down until their bodies were flush.

It was new—this level of closeness, this feeling of taking instead of waiting for something to be given.

Regulus wanted to chase it, wanted to see how far he could push before James lost the infuriating control he always seemed to have.

But James pulled back, just slightly, pressing his forehead against Regulus’. His breathing was uneven, his fingers still firm on Regulus’ waist.

Regulus could feel him smiling.

“Took you long enough,” James murmured.

Regulus scowled, though it held no real heat. “Shut up.”

James hummed, the sound smug and pleased. “Make me.”

So Regulus did.

He kissed him again, and again, until all thoughts of time, of leaving, of anything but this faded away.

Regulus moved deliberately, taking his time as he pulled his shirt over his head, letting the fabric slip through his fingers before tossing it aside.

He didn’t have to be slow about it.

But James was watching him—really watching him—and Regulus wanted to feel it.

The weight of James’ gaze, the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers twitched against Regulus’ waist like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out.

It was a powerful thing, to have James Potter completely and utterly transfixed.

James was always looking at him—Regulus had known that for a while now. It was in the way James sought him out in crowded corridors, the way he always seemed to find him, like Regulus was the only thing in the room worth noticing.

But this was different.

This wasn’t casual glances or teasing remarks.

This was hunger.

Regulus smirked, rolling his shoulders back just slightly, drawing attention to the sharp lines of his collarbone, the way his skin flushed under James’ gaze.

James swallowed hard, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. “You’re going to kill me.”

Regulus tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Am I?”

James exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into Regulus’ waist, pulling him closer.

“You know what you’re doing,” James muttered, voice rough, reverent.

Regulus did.

And he had never felt stronger.

So he leaned in, lips brushing against the corner of James’ mouth, teasing, taunting—his.

“Then stop talking,” he murmured, “and do something about it.”

Regulus barely had a moment to react before James moved, flipping them effortlessly so that Regulus was suddenly on his back, pressed into the cool grass beneath them.

James hovered over him, and Regulus’ breath caught as he watched him yank his own shirt over his head, ruffling his already-messy hair even more.

Regulus had seen James without a shirt before—on the Quidditch pitch, in the locker rooms, during hot summer days when he couldn’t be bothered to wear anything more than a pair of low-slung shorts.

But this was different.

Because this time, James was doing it for him.

Regulus let his gaze sweep over James’ chest, the toned muscles from years of Quidditch, the faint scars from a lifetime of reckless behavior.

James was strong. Broad.

And—Regulus swallowed—he was waiting.

For him.

James had him pinned, hands braced on either side of his head, but he wasn’t moving—wasn’t taking anything, wasn’t demanding.

He was letting Regulus look. Letting him want.

Regulus clenched his jaw, refusing to let it show how much that did to him.

But James must have sensed it, because his mouth curled into that insufferable, knowing grin, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose.

“Like what you see?” he asked, teasing, but his voice was low, warm.

Regulus narrowed his eyes, forcing himself to look bored even as his heart slammed against his ribs.

“You’re acceptable,” he said airily, though his fingers betrayed him, reaching up to trace the planes of James’ chest.

James shivered under his touch, and Regulus smirked, emboldened, letting his nails scrape lightly over James’ ribs.

James’ breath hitched.

And then—finally—he moved.

Regulus barely had time to think before James kissed him hard, pressing their bodies together, heat coiling between them like something neither of them could control.

Regulus didn’t want control.

Not this time.

So he let go.

Regulus had never been one to beg.

But the way James moved—slow and deliberate, pressing down just right—was driving him absolutely mad.

The rough friction of their trousers, the unbearable heat between them—it was too much and not enough all at once.

A sound slipped from Regulus’ throat before he could stop it—a high, breathy whine that made James pause.

Regulus barely had a moment to feel mortified before James grinned, eyes dark with something dangerously close to satisfaction.

“Oh?” James murmured, rocking against him again, and Regulus’ fingers dug into his back, desperate for something to hold onto. “Did you just—”

“Shut up,” Regulus snapped, his voice coming out far less sharp than he intended.

James laughed, the sound warm and pleased, but he didn’t press his advantage. Instead, he slowed, his movements becoming more purposeful, more teasing.

Regulus let out a sharp breath, trying to think past the way James felt—solid and real above him, his body pressed into every inch of Regulus’ own.

Then—just as Regulus was about to snap at him again—James spoke.

“I’m not shagging you if we’re not dating.”

Regulus froze.

For a second, he wasn’t entirely sure he had heard James correctly.

His mind felt foggy, overwhelmed by the heat, the weight, the want.

James, still grinding against him, had the audacity to look casual.

Regulus blinked up at him, trying to process the words through the haze in his brain.

“What?” he managed, breathless.

James smirked, but there was something gentle in it, something that made Regulus’ stomach flip.

“I’m not shagging anyone I’m not dating,” James repeated, voice steady. “So—” He leaned in, brushing his lips against the shell of Regulus’ ear. “Are we dating, Reggie?”

Regulus’ heart stuttered.

James was giving him the choice.

No teasing, no mocking.

Just an open invitation, offered in the middle of something they both wanted.

Regulus clenched his jaw, forcing himself to sound collected even as his pulse roared in his ears.

“If we weren’t,” he said, tilting his chin up defiantly, “you wouldn’t be on top of me.”

James grinned, pure delight flashing in his eyes.

“Good,” he murmured, kissing him again—deeper this time, possessive in a way that sent a sharp thrill through Regulus’ spine.

Regulus didn’t let himself overthink it.

Didn’t let himself analyze or question.

Because James was his now.

And for once, that was enough.

James didn’t stop smiling—not when he kissed Regulus again, not when he finally pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, and certainly not when he muttered, “So, as your boyfriend—”

Regulus groaned, tipping his head back against the grass. “Don’t.”

James laughed, nipping at his jaw. “As your boyfriend,” he repeated smugly, “I feel like I should take you on a proper date. You know, since we’re not just sneaking around corridors and stealing moments between classes anymore.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “We were not sneaking.”

James raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Regulus pursed his lips, fine.

Maybe they had been.

But that didn’t mean James had to look so pleased about it.

James shifted his weight slightly, pressing Regulus down just enough to make him feel it, and Regulus bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making another sound.

“You’re changing the subject,” James murmured.

Regulus exhaled sharply, pushing at James’ chest—though he didn’t actually want him to move.

James, the menace that he was, felt that hesitation, and instead of moving away, he leaned down, brushing his lips over Regulus’ in something far too soft for what they had been doing moments ago.

Regulus hated that it made his stomach flutter.

He really hated that it made him want to say yes.

James was leaving soon.

The school year was ending.

Regulus had spent months convincing himself that it wouldn’t matter, that it wasn’t real, that they were just playing.

But this—James asking, James waiting for him to answer, James giving him a choice—wasn’t a game.

It never had been.

Regulus swallowed, feeling oddly exposed.

James had always been the reckless one, the impulsive one.

But now, somehow, Regulus was the one standing at the edge of something he couldn’t quite name.

James had stopped moving, stopped pushing.

He was just there, watching, waiting, letting Regulus decide.

And Regulus realized, with a startling clarity, that James had been letting him choose from the beginning.

Regulus took a slow breath.

Then, finally, he muttered, “Fine.”

James grinned. “Fine?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Yes, you can take me on a date, Potter. Happy?”

James beamed.

Regulus was doomed.