Work Text:
At fifteen-years-old, Regulus Black is painfully aware that life is anything but simple.
Running away from home, fleeing the cruelty his parents disguised as dutiful parenting, unchaining himself from the unattainable expectations of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - despite how monumental and all-encompassing the decision felt in the heat of the moment, his newfound freedom did not, nor was it going to, magically solve all of his problems.
Regulus knows that.
(A handful of months away from legal adulthood, his older brother, Sirius, should know that… however, based on recent behavior, Regulus has a sneaking suspicion that his guileless sibling might be operating under false delusions.
Example: a few days after they left home, Regulus silently watched from an open window as Sirius hummed an upbeat tune while skipping merrily through the sprawling gardens of Potter Manor, only pausing his purposeless-prancing to call out warm greetings to the wildlife that inexplicably appeared whenever he was around. With the encouragement of his conniving best mate, the humming soon ‘upgraded’ to full out singing, Sirius performing impromptu concerts for his animal and plant friends every afternoon until the start of term.)
Even now, his brother acts like all of his problems are behind him… Regulus so very much wishes he could relate!
Three weeks into the start of his fifth-year at Hogwarts, exactly two months after he limped out of Grimmauld Place in the dead of night with his half-unconscious brother under his arm, Regulus wonders, for the umpteenth time, if there was a better solution. Don’t misunderstand, it’s not that he regrets speaking out in defense of Mother’s chosen punishment of the Cruciatus Curse because Sirius… well, he’s not precisely sure what his brother did, and in all truthfulness, he'd wager a hefty sum that it was something inane… but was running away from home really the best course of action?
Worse, there’s no one for Regulus to discuss such concerns with. His close friends Evan, Barty, and Pandora wouldn’t understand, and he can’t bring it up to his brother for a multitude of reasons, including:
One: Since meeting his platonic soulmate, James Potter, while boarding the Hogwarts Express at the age of eleven, Sirius has sought to abscond from his duties as the heir to the House of Black. Even if Regulus hadn’t borne witness to every single ‘Summertime Jam Session’ in the gardens of Potter Manor, even if he hadn’t noticed how Sirius’s smiles, much more commonplace these days, finally reached his eyes, even if he hadn’t heard him squealing to Marlene McKinnon about how he was now free to create a ‘world-changing skincare line’ with her, even if Sirius hadn’t all but admitted that for years, he thought about running away from Grimmauld Place, Regulus would never believe his brother possessed even the tiniest bit of misgivings about leaving home.
Two: All his brother would need to say is, ‘Reggie, you’re gay, and we both know Mother will insist on marrying you off to a stuffy Pureblood witch, exactly the same as she tried to do with me. Except, as punishment for running away this summer, she’ll assuredly find you the dullest, most intolerable girl in existence… do you really want to go through all of that?’ (No, no he does not.)
Three: The nosiest git alive, Sirius would demand he explain in intricate detail why he’s having doubts about a choice their pros and cons list decreed was a sound decision (huddled together under a duvet in the guest bedroom they insisted on sharing at Potter Manor, they spent a week writing an exhaustive list detailing every major and minor benefit/drawback of leaving… it’s a shame they decided to burn it afterwards, he could really use it right about now). Regulus would pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower or pick a fight with a nesting mother dragon before admitting to his overprotective sibling that these last few weeks in Slytherin have not been the greatest for him… and ‘not been the greatest’ would be significantly underselling it.
“Bit early for you to be up and out of bed, isn’t it?” James Potter calls from below him, startling Regulus so extensively that if it weren’t for the safety charms he casted earlier on the off-chance he fell asleep, he would have toppled right out of the tree he was perched in. “Thought you were of the opinion that it’s a crime to be awake before noon, unless Quidditch was involved?”
It is a crime of the highest degree to be out of bed before 2pm, but it’s easier for Regulus to avoid the stares, whispers, and outright taunts of his peers this early. Besides, this particular tree is positively sublime for napping; with the large, thick branches so full of leaves, he can neither see nor be seen by anyone (or so he thought).
Regulus is about to tell Potter to piss off and mind his own business, politely, of course, when he hears his brother’s incredulous peal of laughter. “Already climbed a tree and everything, huh, Reg? Who are you and what have you done with my night-owl brother?”
So much for peace and quiet today.
Doing a rough guestimation based on the sound of their voices, Regulus drops into the small open space between the two Gryffindors, narrowly missing landing on his sibling.
“WHAT THE FUCK, REGULUS! You could have squashed one of us!” Sirius shrieks, leaping backwards into the waiting arms of his boyfriend, Remus Lupin. “I climbed that tree once on a dare, I know you can’t see the ground below, at least not until most of the leaves have fallen!”
Potter smirks. “Didn’t you mewl like a scared baby kitten until Remus climbed up and talked you down?” He winks coyly at the younger Slytherin. “I’ll show you the memory one day, Reg, it was hilarious.”
“For the record, a kitten is a baby cat, so saying ‘baby kitten’ is redundant,” Lupin wisely points out, smoothly dodging the punch a disgruntled Potter aims at his arm.
Cuddled into his boyfriend’s side, the taller boy’s arm slung around his shoulders, Sirius’s cheeks pinken. “There’s no need to make up lies now, Jamie, I wasn’t scared… I was just a little gay bloke who had a giant crush on his best mate and took advantage of the situation.”
“How very cunning of you, brother.” The older teen’s eyes narrow, so to avoid getting further off topic, Regulus hastily adds, “I do find it rather curious how you managed to see me up there.”
Unsurprisingly, he spots a familiar folded piece of parchment sticking out of the back pocket of Potter’s trousers, a seemingly-nonsensical item Sirius and his friends frequently carry around with them. Regulus noticed it last year after they found one of his better hiding reading spots, and he thought it fishy how Lupin hurriedly tucked the parchment into the inner pocket of his robe when he caught the younger teen trying to peek at it. He’s still gathering up the courage to nick it, though the curiosity might eat him alive if he doesn’t do it soon.
Shockingly, not, his question goes unanswered.
“What business do you have jumping out of trees anyways, Reggie?” Sirius scolds, placing both hands on his hips. “Do you know how dangerous that is?! What if you twisted your ankle? Or landed on one of us? What if you disrupted a hive of Glumbumbles? You know how petty those buggers are!” He tries to grab his sibling, but Regulus’s Seeker reflexes allow him to smoothly twist out of reach. “Don’t get snippy, let me see your hands, Reg, I bet they’re riddled with splinters!”
Angling his body behind Potter’s bulk, Regulus crosses his arms over his chest and petulantly lifts his nose in the air. “No.”
“Regulus Arcturus, they are, aren’t they!” (He already removed the one splinter in his finger, but if Sirius isn’t going to answer Regulus’s question, then he sure as shit won’t give his brother the satisfaction of checking his palms).
Lupin clears his throat. “Are you really the one who should be lecturing others on engaging in dangerous stunts, Sirius?”
“Thank you!” the Slytherin cries, grateful his brother has the decency to date someone who’s not only intelligent, but is willing to call him out on his hypocrisy.
“Oi! You’re supposed to be on my side, boyfriend.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side.”
“And that’s the problem!”
“How do you reckon?” Lupin asks, genuinely sounding confused.
“Because you SHOULD be on my side!”
“Even when you’re wrong?”
“Especially when I’m wrong!... which I am not in this case.”
"Are you sure about that?"
“As luck would have it,” Potter loudly remarks, cutting off their bickering, thank Merlin, “I looked out of the dormitory window right as you were crossing the grounds, Baby Black.”
Well, isn’t that bloody convenient? And by convenient, Regulus means suspicious, but he doesn’t have the opportunity to voice these skepticisms, because Sirius’s gaze suddenly becomes assessing. “Merlin, Reggie… you look terrible!”
He struggles to avoid fidgeting under his brother’s critical eye - Sirius can smell fear, Regulus swears he can, and if he catches even the faintest whiff, there is no escaping him, not until every problem that is currently, or may soon be, afflicting the younger boy is ‘fixed’ (to clarify, he is not afraid of his brother, he’s afraid of the consequences Sirius will face after the rampage he’ll undoubtedly go on if he learns the full magnitude of what Regulus has endured so far this year in Slytherin... the last time someone looked at Regulus for a moment too long in his brother's presence, their face was swiftly introduced to Sirius's fist).
“You could be more tactful, love,” Lupin softly admonishes.
“Reg doesn’t look terrible, Sirius, don’t be mean. He just looks a little tired, that’s all… nothing a good nap can’t fix.”
Regulus is somewhat mollified when his brother ignores his two companions - at least he wasn't the only one his brother treats this way! “Hang on… what’s that you’re reading?” Attempting to move the book out of his brother’s line of sight isn’t his best idea, because it allows Potter to snatch it from him; he then hands it directly to Sirius, the traitor. “Are you studying this early?”
“It’s never too early -”
His brother scoffs. “Not only is it too early in the year to be studying for your O.W.L.s, it’s too early in the bloody morning for you to be awake and out of bed… Regulus Arcturus, what’s going on? What’s wrong, what happened?”
What’s wrong is that Regulus no longer has an inheritance to fall back on, so he’ll now be required to join the workforce upon graduation, and while he’s always excelled academically, now there’s legitimate pressure on him. What if he doesn’t earn enough O.W.L.s? What if he flunks his N.E.W.T.s in a few years? What if he picks a career that he hates? What if he picks something he’s not good at? What if he picks a field of study that he genuinely enjoys but has dismal career opportunities? What if he chooses something that he has the academic qualifications for, but he’s passed over because of his surname? Fuck, does he even have a surname anymore, or is he just Regulus Arcturus? How is he supposed to run a household without a house elf? With no parents to arrange his marriage, is he going to have to date? Should he just save himself the trouble and accept that he's doomed to die alone?
A quote he read once in a Muggle comic book (having discovered it on the ground in the library, he discreetly read it instead of doing his Charms essay) floats to the forefront of his mind.
“It is the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power. For identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel.”
Freedom is terrifying.
If Mother had been more accepting of her gay sons and less obliged to turn her wand on them whenever the mood struck, Regulus would have stayed. And yeah, that’s awful and cowardly of him, but it’s the truth.
Because what the fuck is he supposed to do now? He’s so unprepared for life in the real world, he’s destined to fail, he knows it, Sirius knows it, fuck, he should just slink back to Grimmauld Place over the next Hogsmeade weekend with his metaphorical tail between his legs and apologize, the Crucio’s will probably be worth it -
“REGGIE!” Someone snaps their finger in his face, and Regulus dazedly realizes he’s on the verge of hyperventilating. “Breathe, little star, you’re okay.”
‘It’s n-not… it’s NOT okay, brother, what am I going to do -”
Sweeping him into a crushing hug, Sirius hums, “How about we talk about it over lunch? Not including the three cups of coffee you downed, you’re operating on an empty stomach, aren’t you?”
Salazar, is Regulus really that predictable? Or is his brother stalking him? (Admittedly, he’s torn over which scenario is worse.)
“How can I even think of food when everything is bloody awful? Without our inheritance and Mother’s puppeteering, I’m going to die alone in a rundown flat in Knockturn Alley, where my carcass will be eaten by my beloved kneazles, the sweet darlings, because who would ever hire a disgraced Black for legitimate work?! Once a member of an ancient and noble house with vaults overflowing with riches, I’m now destined for a life of squalor and pauperism, a life of slumming it on the fringes of the magical community with the dregs of society, and fine, sometimes I can be resourceful, but I only know how to make money in unsavory ways, and I’m not really sure I want to sell -”
His downward spiral of panic comes to an abrupt end when Potter randomly interjects with a loud, ‘Did you know’ and then goes off on a wild tangent about how house elves used to have wings until they gave them up in order to better serve their masters, and the absurdity of such a statement stops Regulus’s brain in its tracks because what.
They never make it to the Great Hall for lunch, because Potter is adamant in the validity of his statement, and Regulus refuses to go anywhere but the kitchens to prove the Gryffindor’s claim is off base. In between the bites of food Sirius shoves into his mouth, Regulus grills nearly every house elf working at Hogwarts about the likelihood of their ancestors ever having wings.
Except… he doesn’t receive the denials he anticipated, just similar statements along the lines of, ‘We is forbidden by a greater force than even our Masters to discuss the First Elves with non-house elves.’
Regulus absolutely cannot stand Potter’s smug face - they haven’t confirmed he’s correct, he probably bribed the house elves to say just enough to support his words without actually lying, the sly bastard. But the Chaser swaggers around the kitchens like he won, which is infuriating. Lupin then decides to involve himself in the debate; he’s staunchly on Regulus’s side, because it’s the correct side, wholeheartedly believing Potter is leading them on. There’s no need to discuss the next step - they immediately leave the kitchens and set course for the library, an amused Potter following behind, while Lupin drags Sirius by the sleeve of his robe, ignoring his grumbles to, ‘Slow down, Rem! Good Godric, I clearly got shafted in the long leg’s department… Reg, you better wipe that smirk off your face! I knew it was a bad idea to encourage you two to spend time together, biggest swots I’ve ever met.’
The rest of the afternoon is spent at a secluded table in the library, Regulus and Lupin pouring over book after book to prove Potter wrong. Sirius and Potter alternate between sitting at their table with their heads bent together, fervently whispering over Merlin-knows-what, and disappearing into the stacks for short periods of time for reasons Regulus refuses to inquire about. In a rather impressive move, Lupin even sweet-talks his way into the Restricted Section without a note from a professor, charming the librarian with a few self-deprecating comments and a bashful grin (at the same time, Potter has to sit on his best mate while Regulus hisses, ‘Get over yourself, you jealous git, she’s old enough to be our grandmother!).
Hours later, Sirius pleads for them to drop the topic for now, adding several well-spoken arguments to bolster his cause; to his obvious surprise, Regulus is the first to agree. It’s nearing dinnertime, and although he is actually hungry, mostly, he can no longer ignore the headache that’s grown increasingly more cumbersome throughout the course of the day.
Something in his easy acquiescence must have tipped Sirius off, though.
“You have a headache, I presume,” his brother remarks - it’s not a question. Sirius knows better than anyone how prone Regulus is to headaches, usually induced by stress or because he read too long without taking a break (he swears someone must have placed an undetectable curse on him as a baby, probably his brother, for some noble, non-malicious-but-still-immensely-frustrating reason). “Fortunately for you, James is an expert at relieving tension headaches for swots.”
Lupin snorts. “Rude, but it’s true.”
Potter, who had been casually tilting his chair back on two legs, drops it back down to all four. “I’d be honored to help.”
Before responding, Slytherin has a furious internal debate; on one hand, that means he has to deal with Potter touching him, but on the other, it is Potter’s fault he has a headache to begin with, and truthfully, he doesn’t think it’s going away on its own, at least not anytime soon.
“Fine,” Regulus grunts, crossing his arms over his chest.
The Chaser leaps from his chair with a grin that makes him tense even further.
“Close your eyes,” Potter instructs softly, standing behind the younger teen. “Lean your head back just a bit.”
At first, he refuses to oblige, but his eyes shut against his will when Potter starts gently massaging his temples. It doesn’t stop there either - Regulus’s forehead, cheeks, jawline, and neck all receive attention. Genuinely, he thinks this might be the greatest he’s ever felt in his life… until Potter starts massaging his shoulders, and Regulus comes to accept his conclusion was so far off base, it might as well have been on a different planet.
At some point, Lupin requests Sirius’s help in finding a book for their Transfiguration homework, and while it’s probably just an excuse to paw at each other in the darkest corner of the library, Regulus is grateful for the silence their departure grants him.
“Does your head feel better?” Potter asks sometime later, continuing to work on a stubborn knot in the Slytherin's trapezius.
Not wanting the glorious, blissful feeling to stop, Regulus mutters, “My hand hurts, too… or are you only good at fixing headaches, but nothing else?”
“Glad to know I made your headache go away.” Even with his eyes shut, he can feel the older boy’s smirk. “But darling, haven’t you realized by now?” Leaning closer, until his mouth is right by Regulus’s ear, Potter purrs, “I’m good at everything.”
A shiver runs down his spine at the words.
Thankfully, the Gryffindor returns to working out the knot in Regulus’s back, though when he finishes minutes later, the younger teen has to bite his cheeks to keep from whining at the loss. But then Potter plops down into Lupin’s vacated chair and scoots closer until their legs touch.
Grabbing the Slytherin’s right hand, peculiar how he didn’t ask which hand hurt… fuck, I need to learn to lie better, Potter begins by using his palm to stroke Regulus’s forearm from the wrist to his elbow and back again; he does so on both sides, several times. Unlike earlier, he quietly explains what he’s doing and why (such as now, the motion is to warm his muscles up), and Regulus nods, not trusting himself to speak. It’s funny, his hand didn’t actually hurt, but bloody hell, maybe he was just used to the pain. Because once Potter moves to Regulus’s left side, his right arm - in a good way - is nothing but jelly.
“How’d you learn how to do this?” Regulus eventually asks. It’s obvious that Potter has some skill in the area.
“When I was younger, I never wanted to wear my glasses,” Potter explains quietly, his eyes focused solely on Regulus’s hand in his lap. It seems totally random and unrelated to the question, but Regulus has heard much worse openers from his brother. “You probably don’t know this since you’re blessed with excellent eyesight, but squinting all day is awful for you. My parents experimented with different headache remedies, and my mum learned this one from her Healer friend, Shelby. As I got older, I realized a lot of people suffer from headaches for various reasons, and after practicing on Remus, I thought massage must surely be good for other ailments too. So, I started researching, and then I used my mates to practice on.”
“Merlin, no wonder they’re so obsessed with you.”
Fuck fuck fuck, he did not mean to say that aloud.
Potter’s hands briefly stop moving until Regulus grumbles under his breath, and then they begin again. “Aw, are you becoming obsessed with me, too?”
“Not to fear, Potter,” Regulus scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not the obsessive-type.” (It’s not totally the truth, but Potter doesn’t need to know that.)
“That’s a pity,” the Gryffindor hums, before digging his knuckles into a particularly tense spot in the middle of Regulus’s forearm, nearly causing him to moan aloud.
They lapse into companionable silence, and Regulus’s eyes drift closed on their own accord. His mind, usually full of worry and agitation, is blessedly quiet for once.
Minutes later, the Slytherin begrudgingly opens his eyes when Potter whispers, “Anything else hurt?”
Regulus isn’t sure what possess him to say what he does next; it might be from the tingly, floaty feeling that started in his head and traveled throughout the rest of his body, or the way Potter’s eyes sparkle behind his glasses, more enchanting than usual at such a close distance.
“My lips hurt.”
Potter swallows roughly, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “Oh.”
“Guess you can’t fix everything, huh?” the Slytherin teases when nothing else is said. He sounds flippant, or at least he hopes, but in reality, his heart is pounding in his chest, thinking he went too far.
Aside from the whole ‘running away from home’ bit, Regulus does not take risks, unless he’s absolutely certain he can predict the outcome based on objective, empirical evidence (and at that point, would it even be considered a risk?). He probably wouldn’t have made the comment if he had all of his wits about him, but it wasn’t entirely baseless.
Regulus isn’t fully sure when it started, but he knows when he started noticing.
It began last year in late October. Seconds after their Captain blew the whistle to end practice, his teammates fled the pitch for the warmth of the castle. Regulus, however, was unbothered by the chilly rain and continued to train, so when he did finally call it quits hours later, he should have been alone in the Slytherin Locker Room. But after finishing his shower, he heard a clatter, like somebody bumping into something; seeing no one, Regulus placed his clothes on the bench, and slowly started to drop his towel, his back facing his locker.
The giant fluffy towel was sitting low on his hips when, like magic, James Potter suddenly appeared only a handful of feet away from him. “Stop, sweet Merlin, what are you doing?!”
Vindicated, I knew at least one of those idiots was under that blasted Invisibility Cloak, Regulus scoffed, “Getting dressed, you dunce. The real question is, what are you doing in the Slytherin Locker Room?”
“I… uhh… erm,” Flushed tomato red, Potter looked like he was about to have a stroke, “I wanted to say hi?”
“Hi,” Regulus deadpanned.
Potter’s eyes, eyes that had yet to stray from the Slytherin’s bare torso, suddenly widened. “Wait a minute… Regulus, is that a tattoo?!”
Following the Gryffindor's gaze to the star-shaped mark on his left hipbone, he felt his own cheeks heating. “No, you oaf, it’s a birthmark, and if you make a single comment about it, I’m going to hex you into next week.” When Potter’s expression turned gleeful, Regulus again shifted like he was going to drop his towel.
“STOP!”
The Slytherin glared at the older boy. “James Potter, a prude? Who would have thought?”
“I’m not, but you’re my best mate’s little brother, you can’t… you can’t be strutting around in the buff, what would Sirius say? Does he know you’re out here stripping in front of blokes?”
Oh, that’s rich.
“What would Sirius say about you ogling me like a piece of meat, hm?”
“I AM NOT OGLING YOU!” Actually, he kinda was, which was intriguing, but Regulus held his tongue. “Merlin, you really are a wicked snake!”
Regulus half-shrugged, certainly been called worse things before by Gryffindor ilk, but thankfully, Potter turned around, putting his back to the younger Slytherin. Hurriedly getting dressed, he grabbed his bag and pettily bumped the Chaser's shoulder as he passed by.
“Oi! Wait, you can’t go outside like that! Your hair is soaking wet, you’ll catch a chill.”
Placing a hand on his arm, Potter tried to spin him around, but Regulus reacted instinctively and shoved the older teen back into the row of lockers.
“Do not touch me,” he growled in the Gryffindor's face.
He held his hands up to his chest. “Sorry, that was on me… forgot about the Black tetchiness in general, but especially with touches they can’t see coming." Weirdly enough, Potter's apology actually sounded sincere. "But hey, let’s move onto why I actually came here, yeah?”
“Spit it out, Potter, I haven’t got all day!” Regulus hissed when nothing else was said.
“Uh, you’re going to eat me if I reach into my pocket, aren’t you?” Regulus bared his teeth in response, and then had to pretend like he didn’t find Potter’s answering smile charming. “Right, figured, okay lemme try this.” Snapping his fingers, a cream-colored envelope appeared in his hands. “Oh nice, that worked.” He waved it in the air. “Voila!”
Regulus peered suspiciously at it. “What is it?”
“An invitation for one Regulus Black to a Seriously Sirius Birthday Extravaganza.” Potter frowned. “Don’t make fun of the name, your brother was very proud.”
The younger teen rolled his eyes. “One, it’s stupid, and I will happily tell my brother that the next time I see him. And two, Slytherins never get invited to Gryffindor parties, myself included, even for my own brother’s birthday. So, why the change?”
Potter snorted. “For the record, Rem, Pete, and I wanted to invite you to all of our parties since you started at Hogwarts, so please don't eat the messenger. Sirius was vehement that you weren't old enough and would hate being surrounded by so many people, so he’d celebrate with you by doing something you wouldn't despise. But I guess fourteen is acceptable to 'start attending rowdy events if he wants, of course, with supervision'... and I think there was mention of you drinking your Uncle Alphard under the table over the summer hols?” Regulus remained silent, despite the obvious probe for more information. “Hey, while you ponder over how scarily overprotective your brother is, how about we move to somewhere more comfortable? I didn’t brush my teeth after lunch, and you, uh, are kind of all in my face.”
Oh bugger, he missed lunch, didn’t he? Pity, the weekend offerings this time of year were always scrumptious. The thought of food sent a wave of hunger crashing over him, and absentmindedly, Regulus licked his lips… he was jolted from his musings when the Gryffindor let out something that could only be described as a squeak.
“Alright, Potter?” Regulus teased, surprised but also not, to find hazel eyes trained almost hungrily on his lips.
“'Course, Baby Black.”
Well, two can play that game.
Letting his tongue peek out to wet his bottom lip, Regulus jutted it out, just a bit. “You sure?”
"Mmhm."
Stubborn Gryffindors.
“Oh really?” He gently gripped Potter’s jaw and forced their gazes to meet. “My eyes are up here, sunshine.”
He could feel the heat emitting from the older teen’s cheeks.
“Sunsh- um, sorry! You just… uh… you have very nice… er -”
Regulus never got to hear what nice attribute he had, because suddenly Sirius’s voice hissed, “Jamie? You in there? Did my brother beat you up? I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into delivering it yourself, Reg inherited the Black Family Trust Issues.”
Snatching the envelope from Potter, Regulus also pressed a quick, featherlight kiss to the Gryffindor’s cheek in one swift movement. “Thanks, Jamie, I'll see you next weekend... save me a dance, yeah?"
Since that moment, things shifted between him and Potter.
There were looks, so many looks; Regulus could pretty much guarantee that if he and Potter were in the same room together, the older boy’s gaze would be on him at any given time (unless Sirius was demanding his best mate's attention). Of his brother's friends, Regulus had always gotten on better with Lupin (who he refuses to call ‘Remus’ on principle, that principle, of course, being that it irks Sirius to no end), and while he and Potter were never contentious, they weren’t all too friendly with each other either. But for the rest of the school year, Potter went out of his way to engage the Slytherin in conversation; he didn’t just talk about himself or his friends (the younger Black did secretly like hearing embarrassing stories about his brother). The Chaser started slowly, by asking Regulus innocuous questions; what he was reading, what his opinions were on hot-topic Quidditch issues, what his favorite subjects were and why.
And then things got weird(er), because then Potter would say things like, “Hey, I finished that book you mentioned. I really enjoyed it, but I didn’t get the bit about -”, and, “Did you hear that Hagrid has a litter of baby Nifflers? Yeah, I know he said people can’t see them yet, but I already talked to him about it, and he agreed we could come down if we keep it quiet,” and, “You have nice handwriting, right? If I bribe you with that fancy French chocolate you like, would you mind helping me address these envelopes for our Christmas party? Sirius is in detention for the next two weeks, so he doesn't have time with the exam prep Remus is making us do, but he gets so fussy if it’s not done to his posh standards.”
Not only did Potter save him a dance at every party the Slytherin attended, but he also visited each of the six days that Regulus was stuck in the Hospital Wing, without Sirius or anyone else accompanying him. The younger teen had been shocked when Potter appeared on the second day, because during the first, he spent nearly the entire two hour visit talking Regulus down from having a panic attack because he couldn’t stop fretting about whether or not he’d be well enough to play in the Slytherin-Hufflepuff match that Saturday. The Gryffindor Chaser even worked with the Slytherin Captain, Justin Fawley, to track down and get revenge on whoever cursed Regulus and landed him in the medical ward in the first place, again without the assistance of Sirius or his other friends (they both refused to tell the Seeker who was behind the attack, claiming it didn't matter because it was ‘handled’... Potter later admitted they were concerned he’d accidentally tell Sirius, which was offensive - Regulus could keep a secret from his sibling, he just usually didn't bother). To cap it off, Potter then hugged him in front of the entire school, after Regulus caught the Snitch from right under the opposing Seeker’s nose, which also secured the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin.
During the summer while the Black brothers were at Potter Manor, the Gryffindor mostly kept his distance, likely sensing that Regulus was in dire need of extra alone time after everything that happened. But even so, he made it a habit of wishing the younger teen ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ every single day. Although, they resided in the same house, it was a difficult feat to accomplish considering Regulus excelled at dodging social interactions. Whenever he didn’t see Regulus in person, Potter would slip pieces of parchment under his door, or send them soaring through his open window, similar to the way Interdepartmental Memos flew around the Ministry of Magic. But occasionally, he’d get creative; the parchment would appear on Regulus’s nightstand folded into the shape of animals, usually some type of bird or cat, and charmed to speak the greetings in silly voices. On Regulus’s fifteenth birthday, a green-and-silver scaled dragon wished him good morning with a puff of purple smoke, and at night, he received an origami bouquet of Black Dahlia’s, his favorite flower, and a comfy dark green jumper wrapped in paper with golden snitches.
Regulus was glad no one could see him (since Sirius was an early riser who lived for breakfast), because even the regular, flat pieces of parchment always brought a sappy smile to his face. Back at Hogwarts, Potter didn't continue their routine, something Regulus hated himself for being disappointed by (and if each origami creation was displayed proudly on the shelf above his nightstand in his dorm, that’s nobody’s business but his own - Evan and Barty can go right on thinking Regulus found a new hobby over the summer).
“Never said I couldn’t fix it,” Potter says thickly, his eyes already trained on the younger’s lips. He leans closer, slowly, way too slowly, so Regulus begins moving forward, his eyes fluttering closed in anticipation.
It isn’t his first kiss by any means (that distinction belongs to Barty, who at the age of twelve, made it his mission to snog every Slytherin in their year - near the end of last term, Regulus was the only one remaining, and he took great joy in making his best friend ‘woo’ him before he’d agree to snog him).
But it’s the first kiss that matters.
When their lips touch, Regulus knows in his heart he’ll never feel contentment like this again. It’s silly - just two people pressing their lips together, why should that be so significant in the scheme of things? It shouldn't be, but it is.
It is significant, because his lips, Regulus Black’s lips, are touching James Potter’s lips, the lips of Gryffindor’s Golden Boy and the Heartthrob of Hogwarts, the lips of his brother’s best mate, the person he was meant to despise for breaking the Black family apart, the person he could never quite muster up the disdain for, even before he was welcomed into the Potter clan with open arms, with Sirius standing proudly by his side.
It’s like nothing he could have ever imagined.
Potter’s calloused hands cup his cheeks, but he’s not controlling or domineering. He’s gentle, like Regulus is something precious, something he’s scared of hurting, something he wants to hold and keep safe no matter the cost. And it does things to Regulus’s heart, of course it does, that type of attentiveness and care, the concern, is not something he’s familiar with. It leaves him feeling rather giddy inside.
His brain, that stubborn ‘ole thing, is less accepting, though. It snidely reminds Regulus that he is neither precious nor delicate, but rather, a force to be reckoned with in his own right. So, the younger Slytherin snakes his hands into Potter’s messy hair and pulls him closer, pressing their lips together with more pressure, more urgency. And the Gryffindor follows his lead for another minute or so, but then he’s pulling away, and Regulus tries to chase his lips, but Potter turns his face to the side.
“You’re so beautiful, Regulus,” the older boy murmurs, one hand still holding Regulus’s cheek, the other brushing some of his curls off his face. “Absolutely breathtaking.”
Flustered, who says that kind of stuff in real life, he huffs, “Shut up, Potter.” The Gryffindor’s lips twitch, like he’s either going to smirk and tease the Slytherin, or frown and pull away. Neither of those options are appealing, so Regulus creates a third. “Kiss me again?”
“For you, always.”
… they end up knocking their heads together when a loud voice booms, “I’m starving gents, who’s ready for dinner?”