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“Potter!” Regulus hissed, resisting the urge to stomp his foot on the cold, unforgiving ground of the dark corridor. “Would you stop being an idiot for five seconds?”
James Potter, who had again gallivanted ahead, wand raised, to conjure a bikini to place on another suit of armor, turned in the shadows and sent Regulus a smile so big it briefly stole his breath right out of his lungs. “Dunno what you’re talking about, Reggie. This is official Head Boy business.”
Swallowing down his heart, which was attempting to anxiously crawl away through his mouth, Regulus grimaced at him. “The fact that Dumbledore made you Head Boy…maybe he is going mad.”
The taller boy just cackled, his joyful humor echoing in the empty halls, a haunting reminder that his laughter was one of Regulus’s favorite sounds…though he’d never admit it. “You’d better be happy he’s barking, then,” he said seriously, walking back to Regulus and crossing his arms. The smirk on his face was far too confident. “If he wasn’t, we’d never get to spend these nights together, strolling through the halls doing Rounds. Imagine? I know it’s your favorite part of the week.”
Internally, Regulus winced, knowing he’d rather die than admit that Potter was far too close to the truth for comfort. No amount of threatening or torture could make him admit that he actually looked forward to Thursday nights. That every time his mind wandered in class to those times where he and Potter walked through the halls looking out for trouble–well… he looked out for trouble, Potter took it in turns to either cause trouble or do his best to make Regulus laugh…both of which were ridiculously similar–his stomach did strange half-flips and dives that he did not approve of or ask for, and he felt himself fighting back an embarrassing smile. That he didn’t hate spending time with Potter. That maybe…he actually….
He cut off his own thoughts, refusing to admit any more, even to himself. “Yes, imagine?” he asked dryly, rolling his eyes. “However could I survive without the sheer thrill of babysitting you once a week?”
James, to his credit, slapped a palm to his chest and made an over-the-top pained expression. “You wound me, Reggie,” he pouted, staggering a bit with the fake blow. “How could you?” Lower lip sticking out, he turned wide, hazel eyes on him that hit something in his gut.
“Pity you keep coming back for more,” Regulus mumbled under his breath, walking off in the normal direction of their Rounds, not allowing the Gryffindor to see him blush.
It took Potter a moment to catch up, but catch up, he did. “I’m a glutton for punishment,” he said in a cheerful voice, running to his side and matching his pace.
“You’re an idiot,” he repeated, but this time he couldn’t stop his tone from sounding fond. Merlin help him.
As they slowly made their way around the sixth floor, Potter dressing the coats of armor in more ridiculous outfits while Regulus admonished him, Regulus allowed himself several minutes to just…observe.
Observe, of course, because ‘staring’ or ‘yearning’ were not what he was doing. At all.
He let himself watch the way James Potter’s eyes twinkled behind his horribly unflattering round-rimmed glasses in the dim light of the corridor every time the Gryffindor said something he thought was funny, even when it wasn’t.
He let himself watch the way James Potter cast spells, his movements sure and effortless, the Quidditch-trained muscles in his bare forearms (he had a habit of rolling up his sleeves, much to Regulus’s brain’s chagrin and his heart’s utter joy) tensing and twitching underneath a small smattering of hair on his tan skin.
He even let himself trail behind Potter just a bit, his whole body rigid with the fear of being caught, as his eyes wandered down just a little, so he could admire the way those school trousers lay perfectly over the Gryffindor’s stupidly-fit arse.
And once–just once–he let himself smile at something James’d said.
That had felt like the most dangerous thing to do of all. Like observing…staring…yearning…was nothing compared to letting Potter see the emotions that he felt when he was around him.
It was in that moment that Regulus felt the very air around them catch. After James had made some stupid joke and Regulus had let his lips quirk upward for just a second. Because then…a shine of pure triumph lit up in the older boy’s eyes, and a heart stopping smile graced his handsome features.
“You…you smiled!” he said gleefully, stepping so close that his very presence became distracting. “You…Reg, that wasn’t even a good joke…and you laughed? ”
Instantly, he felt defensive. Stepping back, he felt himself hit the stone wall of the corridor behind him. “I did not ,” he retorted, heart hammering faster than the wings of a hummingbird. Oh, he knew he was blushing, too. Why was he so pale? “I…I obviously…I sneezed, Potter! It’s polite to tell me–”
“You laughed,” James whispered, stepping forward again, making Regulus’s knees tremble and his palms sweat embarrassingly. “Admit it.” He had a grin on his face that made Regulus want to both slap it off and kiss it off, and the air around them seemed hot and shivery, with less oxygen than normal…because why was Regulus not breathing properly?
“I–” he started heatedly, unsure what he was going to say next, only that he was going to say something very smart and put together that would surely put Potter in his place.
But at that moment, James slapped a hand to his mouth, expression changing.
At first, Regulus thought he was still teasing, and he instantly fought the hold, but the Gryffindor hissed, “Shhhh, I hear something!” and he was still.
Both of them stood quietly for a moment, centimeters away from each other, James’s hand on Regulus’s lips, listening, only to hear–
He pulled the hand from his face and murmured, “Is that… bubbling?” He scrunched his face up, confused.
“Right? I think so,” Potter nodded, stepping back.
Regulus tried to ignore the way his heart shuddered in protest at the newly-created space. Instead, he followed James, who was already stepping hesitantly towards a nearby closed door.
“It’s here,” he whispered, pulling out his wand.
“Wait! Should we–?” Regulus began to ask, wondering if maybe they should consult with a Professor. If someone was brewing a potion without proper supervision, it could be very dangerous, even unstable. Really, they should get Slughorn to come in the room with them and make sure everything was safe.
Before he could finish suggesting this, though, Potter charged through the door.
“Idiot,” Regulus hissed again, rolling his eyes.
But he followed after him.
As soon as he entered the room, it was like being hit by a wall, the aroma was so strong. For a few seconds, his senses were so overwhelmed that all he could do was stagger a bit and inhale, the scents permeating his brain. The frozen woods in the winter, the freshly mown Quidditch Pitch. The pages of old books, and treacle tart. And, of course, a smoky, citrusy spice–the scent of James Potter.
After his head cleared, he looked around the room.
The old, unused classroom was pretty bare, student desks pushed to the side haphazardly, just collecting dust on their surfaces. In the back though, the Professor’s desk held a cauldron, simmering over a blue flame. Approaching less-nervously now, Regulus nodded when he recognized the mother-of-pearl sheen and the spirals of smoke rising from the surface.
It was Amortentia.
He turned to James, who was staring at the cauldron with a look of genuine confusion on his face. The taller boy inhaled little sniffs every once in a while, as if he couldn’t believe what he was smelling.
Regulus tilted his head. Was Potter that surprised by what he smelled?
Trying not to let his burning curiosity about what the older boy was thinking show, Regulus sighed. “We should report this,” he said stiffly, crossing his arms.
His voice seemed to jolt James out of a reverie. “Oh, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud,” he chuckled, pulling out his wand. “I vote we just vanish it and leave it at that. It’s not like it’s dangerous.”
Shocked, Regulus stared. “Not–Potter, it’s absolutely dangerous!” he argued, voice raising in volume and pitch.
The bemused expression on the Gryffindor’s face would have been cute in any other scenario. “Reg…Reg, I get trying to be safe with open flames and ingredients or whatever…but isn’t that a little dramatic?” James asked in a wheedling voice, eyebrows raised.
“Dramatic? Potter, this potion can be terrifying in the wrong hands!” he insisted, feeling truly angry, now. Though Potter was a bit of an arse and definitely obnoxious, he’d never proven to be truly stupid or ignorant. This was the first time Regulus really felt like he had to question the older boy’s character.
It made him simmer with fury when Potter out-and-out laughed. It took everything in Regulus not to punch him.
Until James spoke.
“Reg, it’s just cologne. Your cologne, actually, by the smell of it. I mean, it’s nice cologne, sure, but I wouldn’t say it’s even magical, let alone dangerous,” James laughed again, this time somewhat awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure if he was breaking some unfortunate news to him.
This comment, though, made all of the anger that had been causing Regulus’s chest to puff up suddenly disappear. He deflated like an emptying balloon. “My…my what?” he asked, feeling his whole body go numb, his face tingling a bit.
“Your…cologne,” the Gryffindor repeated, shrugging. “Seems like maybe some first years want to smell nice or something. We should just vanish it and be–”
“Potter, that is not my cologne,” Regulus interrupted, quite unable to control what he was saying.
James sighed. “Fine, whatever cologne. I swear, it smells like you, but maybe–”
“No, it’s not any cologne. It’s…James, do you pay attention in Potions at all?” Regulus asked exasperatedly, because it was easier to say that than to tell James what was happening. What he now knew.
The taller boy scoffed. “Not really. I know you love it, but it’s so boring, Reggie. I mean…I try enough to pass, but…Anyway, why? What is it, then, if it’s not…?”
He could feel his blood pumping through every inch of his body as he bit his lower lip, forcing himself to look Potter in the eye. “That,” he said faintly, “is Amortentia.”
It would’ve been comical if it’d been any other time. The way James went from slightly curious and very relaxed, to suddenly mortified, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed, his eyelids fluttering rapidly as a wheeze shot through his gaping mouth. “Oh,” he muttered, pressing his lips together. “Oh, well, that’s… that happened.”
He turned away, hand pressed to his forehead.
Regulus had never seen James Potter so shaken before. Was it horrible that he liked it a bit? Liked that he now had the upper hand, for once?
Bravely, he stopped forward tapping the taller boy on the shoulder. “James?” he asked softly, holding back a smile.
James turned back just a bit, wincing. “I’m…I’m sorry, Reg,” he muttered, looking down as he spoke. “That wasn’t how I wanted to tell…I mean I wasn’t sure when I was going to…I just really like Rounds with you and I…I…wow, this is fucking embarrassing, really, and–”
This time, Regulus pressed his hand to James’s mouth.
“I’m going to tell you what I smell right now. Alright?” he said, voice authoritative but almost kind. As kind as he could make it, anyway.
The taller boy nodded.
He took a deep breath. “First, I smell the forest in the winter….the scent of…frost in the trees, you know? It’s comforting. Fresh.” He tried to hold James’s eye contact as he spoke, his hand falling back to his side, but it was jarring to be so vulnerable. As his stomach squeezed, his eyes flitted downward to his feet. “Erm, the Quidditch Pitch. Especially when it’s just been trimmed. The grass.”
“Same,” James whispered softly from so close to him, a hint of longing in his voice.
The air was warm again.
“Books,” he murmured, still looking down. “And treacle tart. And…” He trailed off, the last of his confession stuck stubbornly in his tongue. But he heard James’s nervous breathing, the soft bubbling of the potion nearby, and for half a second, he saw the Gryffindor’s left hand twitch, like he wanted to reach for him.
He looked up, feeling himself get snared in hazel eyes. “And the smell of you. Your cologne. It’s…something citrusy, right?”
The pure, shocked delight on James’s face as he nodded made electric currents shoot from Regulus’s bellybutton to his toes.
“Me?” James repeated.
He was closer now, gaze gentle but almost hungry.
And oh.
James’s arms wrapping around his waist felt like the strangest combination of overwhelming and peaceful. Safe and not enough. Regulus sank into the sizzling warmth for only a moment before lips skated over his jaw and he sighed. Fuck. He really fancied James Potter, didn’t he?
“Can I kiss–?”
Not bothering to allow James to finish his question, Regulus groaned and turned, grabbing the taller boy’s tie to pull him close, crashing their lips together.
Heat radiated out of every cell in his body. The static in the air crescendoed into lightning, shooting down Regulus’s spine and pooling at the base. As James pulled him even closer, tangling their tongues together, Regulus whined, wrapping his arms around the back of the taller boy’s neck and pressing himself as possible, biting, sucking, nipping over the older boy’s tongue and lips.
At first, they fought for dominance of the kiss, their hunger obvious and the heat nearly an inferno in Regulus’s chest. But soon, things slowed into a leisurely, filthy dance, both of them enjoying just being with each other. It was the most delicious thing Regulus had ever experienced, exploring James’s mouth with his tongue, two sure arms hugging his waist, his very soul sated and content.
Until Potter, the prat that he was, pulled back, a smirk covering his kiss-bitten lips. “We should report his potion, you know,” he whispered with a chuckle, though his arms around Regulus didn’t even move a fraction. “Get on with Rounds. Be responsible. ”
Regulus gave him a death glare his mother would’ve been proud of. “Potter, if you don’t take advantage of this empty classroom and snog me senseless, you’re even more of an idiot than I th–”
He was cut off by James’s laughing lips.