Chapter Text
“How would I even get flowers in the middle of winter?”
“You’re a wizard, Pete,” James reminded him, his voice low.
“Whatever.” Peter waved his hand dismissively. “But isn’t that too cliche, anyway?” Peter asked, staring at their textbook. Pretending to memorize what ingredients they would need for the potion Professor Slughorn was currently doing a lecture on.
“I might not be the best judge on that,” James shrugged. He was half turned in his seat so that he was able to look at Remus and Sirius, who were listening quietly. If they spoke, they were at more risk of being caught.
“At least he’s self aware,” Remus muttered to Sirius, who grinned at James as he mindlessly plucked at the feather on his quill.
“Why is cliche a bad thing?”
“Usually it’s not. You just take it way overboard,” Peter whispered.
“Hey, come on!” James exclaimed, a bit too loud. “I’ve learned my lesson. I know the perfect balance between-”
"Mr. Potter!" Slughorn’s voice cut through the classroom like a lash.
James snapped his head up, his heart dropping. Beside him, Peter instantly went silent, eyes wide. Every head in the room turned toward them. He winced and turned around to face the front of the room, where their professor was staring at him.
Slughorn sighed. "I've told you three times now to stop talking.”
“Sorry, Professor. I’ll stop now. I promise," James insisted, waving his hands in a cutting motion.
Slughorn looked at him, skepticism evident in his features. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, boy.”
James sighed and glanced at Peter with a grimace.
“Let's have you sit next to…" He scanned the room, eyes settling on a student on the opposite side of the room with a satisfied nod. That couldn’t be good. The Slytherins were over there.
"Mr. Black."
James barely managed to keep the horror off his face. He risked a glance at Regulus, who was already staring at him, dark eyes cold and very, very unamused. The golden torchlight softened the sharp angles of his face, but it did nothing to warm his icy expression. James' frowned deepened. It was just his luck to be sat next to the most no-nonsense person in the entire castle.
"I'm sure he'll keep you in line," Slughorn muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
James swallowed his groan and gathered his things, dragging his feet toward Regulus’ table. The chair squeaked against the polished floor as he pulled it out and settled stiffly beside the younger Black.
Once Slughorn resumed his lecture, James found his gaze drifting back to Regulus. His posture was rigid, his hands folded neatly on the desk, like even touching their workspace was beneath him. His nearly colorless gray eyes flickered to James once before returning to his textbook.
James tore his eyes away.
When the professor dismissed them to gather materials, Regulus wasted no time shooting James a glare.
"If you mess this up, I'll hex out your eyes," he hissed before he stood and followed the crowd of students making their way to the ingredients.
James blinked, then scoffed. "What makes you think I'll mess up?" He trailed after Regulus, his brows knitting together in offense. Then, after a beat: "Wait, you can do that?"
Regulus didn't even slow his pace. "It’s wonderful what paying attention can do."
James snorted. "Paying attention wouldn’t teach you that."
"I read between the lines."
"Right…Well, back to my first question. What makes you think I'll mess up?"
This time, Regulus did glance at him, but only to decide if James was even worth the effort. "What’s the first ingredient in the potion?"
James hesitated. "Billywig wings?"
Regulus stopped mid-step, turning slowly to fix him with a look so steeped in disappointment that it actually stung. Wordlessly, he shoved a few glass vials into James’ arms.
"Rose petals," he said coolly. "We learned that years ago, Potter."
"Oh."
Regulus huffed and strode back to their table, meticulously arranging their supplies as James followed behind. He adjusted each bottle with care, ensuring none of them touched.
"Don’t do anything until I say it’s okay," he muttered.
James scowled. "I’m good at potions!"
"Maybe if Lupin is helping."
“He's always too busy with his own to help me.”
“Hence the lackluster potions you and Pettigrew manage to make.”
James huffed and threw a glance across the room. Sure enough, Remus was fully immersed in his own work, preparing ingredients. Meanwhile, Sirius sat beside him, aimlessly twisting herbs between his fingers, though his eyes flicked toward James every few seconds, brow slightly furrowed. When he caught Sirius' eye, he waved and smiled. Sirius only raised his eyebrows, he was obviously uncomfortable with James and Regulus speaking. It made sense, of course. The only time Regulus and James had interacted was right before Regulus got sorted into Slytherin, when the two brothers were still on good terms. It all went to hell after that.
"Did you listen to a word I just said?" Regulus asked, glaring at James.
James exhaled, turning back to his new partner. This was going to be a long lesson.
They worked in silence. “They” being Regulus, who quickly worked on the potion, ordering James around from time to time. At certain points, James hovered uselessly, hands twitching to help but receiving no direction. Regulus refused to explain anything, just snapped commands and insults. saying that if he wanted to help, he should've listened when he was talking earlier.
Every time, James reached for something, Regulus would slap his hand away. It was insulting, frankly. And it was really, really boring. Regulus was all business, only speaking when needed. So James spent most of the class staring longingly at his friends. Peter was alone now, but at least he had Lily and Mary in the desks in front of him to help.
Finally having enough, James frowned at their textbook, scanning the text. It looked easy enough. Add the asphodel to the cauldron and stir 9 times.
"I can do the next part," he announced, grabbing the plant.
He glanced at Regulus, who was watching him very carefully, with an insulting amount suspicion swirling in his eyes.
"Fine," He said after a few beats.
James huffed out a disbelieving laugh as he added the blooming stems. Then, he grabbed his wand to stir. He barely moved his hand an inch before he heard Regulus' sharp intake of breath.
Regulus grabbed his wrist, but the potion was already changing for the worst.
The rose-colored potion darkened into a muddy red.
"Damn it, Potter. Anti-clockwise, not-"
Before James could process his mistake, the cauldron erupted.
A thick, wet explosion rocked the table, drenching James in a spray of crimson goop. The force of it nearly knocked him off his chair. A split second later, a searing pain tore through his body.
He screamed.
It felt like his skin was being ripped apart and sewn back together in an instant, over and over again. His vision blurred, his breath hitched, and the concerned voices around him barely registered.
Through the haze, he saw Sirius’ worried face appear in front of him, saying things he couldn’t make out. The pain was unbearable, curling him inward. He was definitely going to explode. Or at the very least, puke up his lunch, until-
A hand brushed his shoulder.
The relief was instant.
James gasped, his body sagging as the pain vanished. His pulse pounded in his ears as he lifted his head. Every student in the room was frozen, wide-eyed, staring at him in silence.
The hand moved.
James lurched forward with a strangled sound, clutching his stomach as the agony returned in full force.
"Put it back!" Slughorn’s voice cracked with urgency, James could barely hear him over his heartbeat in his ears.
The hand returned, and James collapsed against the desk, sucking in gulps of air. He turned his head sluggishly to see the source of his relief.
Regulus Black.
His hand was firmly placed on James’ shoulder, his usually composed face twisted in a terrified shock.
James barely had time to register the moment before Slughorn barked, "Mr. Black, do not move your hand!"
"What?" James barely managed to gasp out. Regulus tightened his grip in response to Slughorn's outburst.
He turned his gaze back to James, expression a weird mixture of exhaustion, surprise, and panic. "Stand if you can," he instructed, his hand on James’ other shoulder.
James exhaled, shifting experimentally. "I feel fine now," he admitted, attempting to push away from Regulus.
Regulus grip tightened even more, digging into James’ robe. James winced, attempting to pull away from the painful grip to no avail. The bastard was going to leave bruises.
James looked at all of his classmates staring at him. He had to beat down the urge to bolt out of the room.
"That’s because he’s touching you," Slughorn said gravely.
James blinked.
"What?" He said again, shaking his head. Regulus' only tensed from beind him.
Slughorn let out a weary, but also relieved sigh. "Madam Pomfrey will explain better."
James staggered but managed to stay upright as Slughorn guided them toward the door. He turned his head, catching the expressions of his friends. Sirius looked murderous, Remus deeply concerned, and Peter just gawked, clearly torn between horror and curiosity. Everyone else's expressions varied, but they all had a common theme: Horror.
"What did he do wrong?" Slughorn asked Regulus as they stepped into the corridor.
Which, first of all, was rude. James was capable of speaking for himself. But, at the same time James was still in a state of panicked and shock. He was waiting for the pain to come back.
"He stirred the wrong way."
Slughorn nodded, continuing to explain what happened. But James wasn't listening, and it looked as if Regulus wasn't either. They were both too stuck in their heads, trying to process what the hell had just happened.
James barely noticed the pressure at his sleeve at first until it tightened. He glanced down. Regulus' fingers were curled into the fabric of his robe, knuckles pale with tension. He wasn’t sure if Regulus was holding onto him out of necessity or sheer force of will to keep himself from throwing James through a window.
The silence stretched between them. It made James wildly uncomfortable. He needed to do something. It was either rambling, joking, or singing a song, anything that would ease the tension.
Regulus opened his eyes, dark and unreadable. Then, in the same controlled manner, he resumed walking, dragging James along with him.
By the time they reached the hospital wing, Slughorn hurried inside, speaking to Madam Pomfrey in hushed, urgent whispers. James and Regulus remained by the door, neither moving nor speaking.
James shifted on his feet. He could still feel the uncomfortable sensation of lingering pain thrumming through his body.
Finally, Pomfrey turned toward them, expression set in exasperation. "This wouldn’t be happening if you had kept your bloody mouth shut," Regulus muttered, fingers tightening on James' shoulder this time.
James rolled his eyes. "Right, because you’ve never made a mistake before."
"I don’t make this kind of mistake."
"I was trying to help!"
Regulus scoffed, still refusing to meet his eyes. "And I told you not to do anything unless I approved for a reason."
James frowned. That part still bothered him. "You did approve, though."
"Reluctantly."
Regulus never looked at him. Not really. Even now, standing right next to him, fingers fisted in his sleeve, his gaze was focused just past James' shoulder. It was almost a game at this point. A silent, ridiculous challenge: Don't look at James Potter or anyone he associates with.
James hadn't even realized how much it annoyed him until now.
"Yeah, well, I don’t like being ordered around," James muttered, flashing an apologetic grin.
Regulus exhaled sharply, something halfway between a scoff and a laugh, but still he didn't look at James.
The door clicked open again.
James’ stomach plummeted as McGonagall strode in, her sharp eyes flicking between the two of them. She gave a curt nod in acknowledgment before joining Pomfrey and Slughorn’s hushed discussion.
James shifted uncomfortably.
They were still covered in the potion. It had dried on their robes in a sticky, deep red, making them look like they had just barely survived a brutal battle. James definitely felt like had been through one. All he wanted was to sit down.
Then, Madam Pomfrey stepped forward. She exhaled, giving them both a sympathetic smile. "I'm not sure what your professor told you. But usually, in the rare cases that this has happened, it has lasted for at least a month. There is no cure. Because mistakes like this are extraordinarily rare, no one ever saw the need to create one. Also because in those cases, being stuck together wasn’t as much of an issue as I assume it is with you two."
James glanced at Regulus, who was glaring daggers at the floor, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room.
"It will worsen over the course of the month," Pomfrey continued. "Therefore, you must maintain constant physical contact. If not, it could become fatal."
James stiffened. "Fatal?"
A muscle in Regulus’ jaw twitched.
"Yes."
Regulus stayed silent for a long moment. Then, with the same unwavering calm, he said, "Can I cut off a finger and let him carry it around all month?"
James choked on a laugh, then stopped when he realized Regulus was, in fact, not joking.
Pomfrey’s mouth twitched, like she was fighting a smile. "No."
Regulus barely reacted. "A hand, then."
James gaped at him. "You would rather cut off a limb than touch me?"
Regulus shrugged.
Pomfrey cleared her throat, gathering their attention once more. "The worse it gets, the more contact James will require," she explained.
James felt his face flush.
Regulus, meanwhile, remained perfectly composed. "I could give him my leg."
This time, even McGonagall and Slughorn let out soft chuckles.
"You’ll survive a month, Mr. Black," Pomfrey assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Regulus finally, finally turned to look at James, assessing him like a particularly difficult puzzle. "Not if all his classes end like this."
Soft, sympathetic chuckles rippled through the room before Madam Pomfrey clapped her hands together, signaling the conversation’s end. "You’re excused for the rest of the day and tomorrow. No more quidditch, and your class schedules will be changed. Go clean up. Unless you feel you need to stay?"
James hesitated. "Is there really nothing you can do?" He gestured vaguely between himself and Regulus. "You know, in case he just… decides to let go?"
Pomfrey raised a brow. "Other than forcing him to give you a hug? No."
James sighed. "So it doesn't really make a difference, then."
McGonagall regarded them both carefully. "Do you believe Mr. Black will let go, Potter?"
Before James could answer, Regulus spoke first, his voice steady. "I won't.”
James looked back at the professors. “Can we be sure about that, though?”
“Getting charged with murder this young isn't in my best interest, believe it or not.”
McGonagall pursed her lips, eyeing Regulus with an expression that suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced. James, on the other hand, let out a short laugh, unable to help himself.
"Right. So I’m just supposed to trust that self-preservation is what’s keeping me alive? That’s comforting.”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“That's just who I am.”
“Unfortunately.”
Pomfrey cleared her throat, cutting off James' very respectful and mature response. "The pain will get worse, James. More intense. More frequent. Even contact will barely lessen the pain.”
James groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."
“But, you can come here and I'll give you sleeping potions so you're unconscious for most of it.”
James nodded.
"You should wash that potion off," McGonagall said. “Class ends in 10 minutes, you don't want to walk through the halls like that.”
Regulus didn't wait for James to process the order. He tugged at his sleeve, already steering them toward the door with brisk, determined steps.
"Guess we're leaving," James muttered as he stumbled after him.
"Observant as ever."
At one point, He stopped to move his hand. Without lifting his hand from James, he slid his hand around James' shoulder and down his arm so that he could pull James by the wrist.
If James hadn't been worn out from the pain he experienced earlier, he would have been able to repress a small shiver at the touch.
Thankfully, Regulus didn't notice. He was too busy dragging them through the school.
"Where are we going?" James asked, a touch of nervousness creeping into his voice.
"My dorm," Regulus answered shortly.
"Why?"
"So I can change," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
James frowned. "We should go to my dorm first. It's closer, and I’m the one covered in the most potion."
"No."
James scowled. "I'm the one in pain."
"Because of your own actions."
James sighed, letting himself be dragged along, swallowing all of the protests on the tip of his tounge.
"You know," he mused, glancing at Regulus, "this would be a lot easier if you just held my hand."
Regulus turned his head slowly, fixing James with a stare so full of pure, unfiltered disdain that James almost felt impressed.
"I would rather be thrown into the Black Lake with a rock tied to my ankle," he said, voice steady.
James huffed a laugh. "And I'm dramatic?”
When Regulus didn’t respond, James kept blabbering, filling the silence as he stumbled along. Regulus was dragging him at such a pace that James nearly tripped more than once. Somehow, he doubted even face-planting would slow him down.
"Why are we walking so fast?" James asked, breathless.
"Because class is about to end."
"You do realize people are going to see you holding my hand eventually, right?"
"I'm going to delay that for as long as humanly possible."
"You should be honored."
"Honored?" Regulus scoffed.
"Plenty of people would kill to be in your place," James said with a smug grin.
Regulus rolled his eyes. "I hope they kill me."
They descended into the dungeons, the chill of the stone walls seeping into James’ skin, making him shiver. Regulus quickly stated the password to the portrait before slipping inside.
James had been in the Slytherin common room more times than any Gryffindor should have been. It was mostly due to all the pranks he and the Marauders pulled in their early years. But being here alone with Regulus felt... different. More personal.
He knew that Regulus shared a room with Evan Rosier, and only him. Evan's father didn't want to room with anyone that would tarnish his son's reputation.
When they entered, he was met with deep Slytherin green. The room smelled of polished wood and cinnamon. To his suprise, three beds looked like they were being used. One side of the room was messy, books and clothes scattered across the floor and shoved under unmade beds. But the bed they were approaching was immaculately made. On the nightstand, a few moving photographs caught James’ eye, most of them featuring a blonde Ravenclaw girl he often spotted at the Slytherin table.
"Who's your other roommate?" James asked, nodding at the three beds.
"Barty."
James furrowed his eyebrows. "He's a Ravenclaw."
"It's not an official thing," Regulus explained.
James still had a loose grip on Regulus’ wrist as he rifled through his trunk. Unlike his bed, his clothes were a mess, wrinkled and balled up in disarray.
James' eyes widened when Regulus started unbuttoning his shirt. Not that he wasn't used to it. He lived in a dorm with three other boys and he played quidditch. For some reason, it felt a lot different seeing Regulus Black without all of his layers.
Regulus glanced up, catching him staring, and arched a slow, unimpressed eyebrow.
"Oh, sorry," James muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.
Regulus huffed before the soft rustling of fabric filled the cozy room. James let his hand go limp in Regulus' grasp, letting him move it however he needed.
Regulus muttered a quiet, "Done."
When James opened his eyes, Regulus was already turning away—but not fast enough. James caught a fleeting glimpse of pink dusting his cheeks.
Regulus slipped his wand from his pocket and cast a smoothing charm over his shirt, the fabric instantly straightening as if it had just been pressed. Then, with practiced ease, he lifted his wand to his face, muttering another incantation to wipe away the last remnants of potion goop.
James watched, mesmerized, as Regulus confidently aimed his wand at himself without the slightest hesitation, like there was no chance in hell he might misfire and turn his nose purple.
"Can you use that spell on me?" James asked, voice quieter than intended.
Regulus’ hard glare returned, sharp and assessing. But after a brief pause, he relented, flicking his wand toward James. The warmth of magic washed over him as the red potion vanished from his face and hair. The only thing left was the deep stain on his clothes.
"We should go to my dorm now," James said, tugging Regulus toward the door.
"Class ended. People are out there," Regulus countered, planting his feet.
James just started at him, completely baffled that he cared about his appearance that much. He gestured to his ruined shirt. "I can't go to dinner like this."
Regulus glared at him, clearly fighting an internal battle, before sighing in resignation. Without another word, he turned back to his trunk, rummaging through it until he pulled out a fresh shirt and a pair of trousers.
James accepted them with a grateful smile. As he started unbuttoning his own shirt, he caught Regulus immediately looking away, his jaw tightening.
James bit back a grimace. He really hoped it wouldn’t be this awkward the entire month.
It wasn’t exactly easy changing clothes while maintaining constant contact, so it took longer than necessary. By the time he finally pulled the fresh shirt over his head, he was relieved to be in something clean.
Determined not to be outdone, he tried mimicking Regulus’ ironing charm. It took a few tries, but eventually, the wrinkles disappeared, leaving the fabric crisp and neat.
"Are we just going to hide in here until dinner, then?" James raised an eyebrow.
Regulus cracked one eye open, double-checking that James was decent before answering. "Yes. I'm not ready to be humiliated yet."
With a firm but wordless tug, Regulus guided them both toward the bookshelf beside his bed. James expected to find nothing but heavy magical theory books and Pureblood history texts—but to his surprise, nearly 90% of the shelves were filled with classic Muggle literature.
James blinked. "Didn’t take you for a Muggle lit fan, Reg."
Regulus ignored him, eyes scanning the spines until he pulled out a worn book and flipped it open.
Taking the cue that they’d be here a while, James reached for his bag, which he’d carelessly dropped earlier. Digging inside, he fished out his unfinished Defense Against the Dark Arts homework.
When he sat back up, he found Regulus staring at his bed with a blank expression, almost like he was debating something.
James watched him for a moment before deciding to make the first move. He stepped toward the bed and flopped onto it, sighing as the soft mattress melted away the tension of the day.
Regulus hesitated before lowering himself onto the edge, his posture stiff and uncertain. Honestly, James was beginning to think Regulus was a robot from one of those muggle movies the girls had told him about.
It was going to be a very uncomfortable month.
They sat in silence—James attempting to focus on his essay, Regulus absorbed in his book. But exhaustion pulled at James, and before he knew it, the words on the page blurred together. His head grew heavier, and, without meaning to, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep, homework still clutched in his hands.
For the first time in a while, he didn't care about missing an assignment. After everything that had happened, sleep won without a fight.