Archive of Our Own ^beta

James Potter had always gotten what he wanted.

Top marks—when he bothered. The best broomstick money could buy. A Quidditch captain badge at sixteen. Laughter that echoed down the Hogwarts corridors and admiration that sparkled in every glance tossed his way. People didn’t just like him. They wanted to be him. Or worse, wanted him .

Everyone, that is, except Lily Evans.

Which is exactly why he wanted her.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

She was brilliant, sharp as a blade, with eyes that could set fire to his every arrogance. She made fun of him. She called him a toe-rag. She refused to laugh at his jokes when everyone else nearly passed out from giggling.

He wanted her. No—he needed her.

Or maybe he just needed someone to look.

Because when he strutted through the courtyard, hair perfectly windswept (thanks to magic and a mirror he kept hidden in his bag), arm slung casually over Sirius’s shoulder, there was always one pair of eyes he searched for.

And it wasn’t Lily’s.

It was his .

Severus Snape. A walking shadow with grease-slick hair and eyes darker than any potion James had ever brewed. He was always there, lurking somewhere along the edges. In the library, hunched over parchment. At the back of class, scribbling furious notes. In the dungeons, ghost-pale and whispering to Evan Rosier like they were conspiring to hex the moon.

He was silent , and that drove James mad.

There had been a time when Snape spat back. He used to scowl and fire curses like he couldn’t breathe without hating James. There had been heat, friction, a delicious spark of rivalry.

But now?

Now he didn’t even look up when James passed by.

And it hurt . James didn’t know why it hurt, only that it did. Like an itch under his skin. Like a missing sound in his favorite song.

So he threw himself at Lily harder. Louder. Bigger. Bolder.

“Lily!” he called one morning in the corridor. “Looking lovely as ever. Was that a new charm you used on your hair? Or is it just your natural radiance today?”

She didn’t even stop walking.

“Bugger off, Potter.”

“You say that like it hurts your soul,” he called after her, grinning. “Admit it, you’d miss me if I stopped trying.”

She glanced back with a withering stare. “Try and find out.”

He didn’t.

Because the moment she turned, he saw it—a flicker of movement from the shadows. Snape had been there. Leaning against a wall with a book tucked beneath his arm. Not watching. Not listening. Just present . And yet somehow, James felt like every word he’d spoken had been for him .

He wasn’t even interesting anymore. Not to Snape.

That was the problem. That was always the problem.

It didn’t matter that Lily rolled her eyes. What mattered was that Severus didn’t roll his. Didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked off without a second glance.

James’s grin faltered.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The prank was childish. James knew it.

But childish didn’t mean ineffective.

A subtle little spell woven into Severus’s favorite quill—one he used for letters, especially to Lily. The charm bent language, twisted it just enough to ruin him. To make his letter read like something filthy, hateful, ugly.

When Lily read it, her eyes narrowed. Her jaw clenched. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t storm to his defense.

She crumpled the letter and tossed it in the fire.

“I can't believe you, Snape,” she said coldly.

He stood there, mouth parted like he hadn’t even understood what had happened. But she was already walking away. Her shoulders didn’t so much as tremble.

James stood just down the corridor, hands in his pockets, pretending not to smile.

Two days later, Lily kissed him.

It wasn’t fire. It wasn’t stars. But it was a victory.

James Potter, Gryffindor heartthrob, had finally gotten the girl.

It didn’t feel as good as he expected.

Sure, the kisses were nice. Lily had soft hands and a dry wit and smelled like peppermint. She was everything he said he wanted.

But every time she leaned into him, every time she laughed at something he said, he found himself looking up.

Looking for him .

Severus was always nearby. Not by accident. James always made sure of that.

He dragged Lily down corridors he knew Severus used. Sat with her in the Great Hall so they could face the Slytherin table. He wanted Severus to see . To regret. To burn .

And for a while, it worked.

Severus looked broken. Not the angry kind of broken, the beautiful kind. The soft kind. The kind James couldn’t stop watching.

He cried once, in the library. James hadn’t meant to walk in, but once he saw him—curled over a book, fingers shaking, eyes red—he didn’t leave. He stood there, hidden behind a shelf, heart pounding.

It was almost erotic. The power. The victory.

But then.

It stopped.

Severus stopped.

One day he wasn’t crying anymore. He wasn’t even looking. He brushed past James and Lily in the corridor without so much as a glance. Didn’t blink when James laughed loudly. Didn’t flinch when Lily called him a coward.

He just walked.

Right past them.

Right to Regulus Black.

That, more than anything, made James livid .

He watched, from a distance, as Severus leaned in close to Regulus during breakfast. Whispering something that made the younger boy snort into his pumpkin juice. Evan Rosier was draped across the bench beside them. Barty Crouch Jr. practically sat on the table, smirking.

They looked like a family. A dark , glittering little court.

And Severus…

He looked happy .

“He’s just trying to provoke you,” Sirius muttered one evening in the dorm, watching James stare out the window toward the Slytherin common room.

“He doesn’t even know I’m watching,” James replied flatly.

But that was the problem. That was exactly the problem.

James tried everything.

He started slipping Severus’s name into conversations with Lily. Suggested she talk to him. Forgive him.

She stared at him like he’d grown horns.

“Why in Merlin’s name would I talk to him ?” she asked, brow furrowed. “You’ve been telling me for years to stop.”

“Maybe I was wrong,” he offered. “Maybe he’s… changed.”

“So what? He apologized to get close to me again, and you want to help him? That doesn’t sound like you.”

James forced a smile. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “He’s toxic, James. I don’t want anything to do with him. Neither should you.”

But James did.

He needed to understand. Needed to see him.

So he cornered him one evening outside the Potions classroom.

“Snape.”

The other boy didn’t stop walking.

“Snape,” James repeated, stepping in front of him.

Severus looked up slowly. His eyes were unreadable.

“You don’t talk to me for months and now you want something?” he said quietly.

James swallowed. “Just wondering how you were. That’s all.”

A beat of silence. Then,

“You’ve got what you wanted. She’s yours now. Go play house with your Gryffindor queen.”

James stared at him. “Is that what you think this is?”

Severus leaned in, voice low and flat. “I think you don’t love her.”

James’s jaw clenched. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I think you love being watched ,” Severus continued. “And now that she's watching you all the time, you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Severus stepped back. “Find someone else to orbit you, Potter. I’m done with your bullshit.”

And he walked away.

James didn’t follow.

Instead, A nudge to Professor Slughorn to pair Lily and Severus for a Potions lab “accidentally.” A scribbled note left in Lily’s bag with Severus’s handwriting, inviting her to the Astronomy Tower. A charm over the room to keep them there, locked in awkward silence.

It lasted ten minutes.

Severus walked out without saying a word.

Regulus was waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase, like he’d known exactly where he’d be. He didn’t say anything, just slid his arm around Severus’s waist and led him away.

James watched from the shadows.

He felt sick.

He started noticing more. How Regulus’s fingers lingered on Severus’s wrist when they passed notes. How they disappeared into corners between classes. How they laughed, their heads bent close.

Once, Regulus reached out and brushed hair behind Severus’s ear. Just gently.

James saw red.

The next day in the corridor, James “accidentally” hexed Regulus hard enough to send him into the wall.

Regulus got up, straightened his robes, and didn’t even look at him. Severus walked over, pressed a hand to Regulus’s shoulder, and guided him away without sparing James a glance.

“Mate,” Sirius said, catching up with him. “Chill.”

James didn’t reply.

Because he couldn’t stop staring.

Couldn’t stop needing him to look back.

That night, James stayed up long after the others had gone to sleep. He stared at the map—the Marauder's Map, their proudest creation—and watched Severus’s dot moving slowly along the edge of the Astronomy Tower. Alone. Then joined by Regulus.

They stayed together for an hour.

James clenched his fist so tight the parchment nearly tore.

The next morning, he cornered Remus in the common room. “Have you noticed anything weird about Snape lately?”

Remus looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow. “Besides the fact that you’ve been stalking him like a jilted ex?”

James scowled. “I’m serious.”

“That’s Sirius. You're James,” Remus deadpanned.

“Moony.”

Remus sighed. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. Snape’s been hanging out with his crowd. You’re dating Lily. Everyone’s moved on. Maybe you should too.”

James looked down at the floor.

Moved on.

Then why did he feel so stuck?

He looked out the window, down at the courtyard where Severus sat with Regulus beneath a tree, their heads close together.

James didn’t know what they were saying. But he wanted to.

He needed to.

Because no matter how many kisses Lily gave him, no matter how many compliments he collected like trophies—he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else had already won .

He began walking the halls alone more often. Hoping to run into Severus. Hoping to say something . Anything. He rehearsed words in his head, phrases that would sound casual, like, "You’ve changed," or "That potion essay—you aced it, didn’t you?"

But it never felt right. He was too aware of his own voice. Too aware of his own heart in his throat.

Once, he did catch them.

Regulus had Severus pinned against the wall of the Astronomy corridor, murmuring something into his neck. Severus was laughing— laughing —soft and unguarded. His fingers were in Regulus’s collar.

James turned and left so fast he nearly knocked over a first year.

For the first time in his life, he skipped Quidditch practice. He sat in the library until it closed, face in his arms.

He didn’t know if it was jealousy or grief. All he knew was— he’d never wanted anything so badly in his life.

And it had never wanted him back.

But that didn’t mean James stopped looking.

Severus noticed it more and more—those eyes. Watching him. Clinging like a vine no matter where he went. James would always be at the end of the corridor, just there , like a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

Sometimes it made his stomach twist.

Other times, he barely cared.

There were worse ghosts in his life.

He had Regulus now. 

And Regulus—clever, arrogant, sharp-tongued Regulus—was more than just a refuge. He was a mirror, a match, someone who could throw fire just as easily as comfort. 

And Severus liked that. Needed that.

He found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t before. Letting Regulus see the parts of him that weren’t polished, weren’t impressive—the parts even Lily had never fully understood. The angry child. The bitter son. The boy who still woke at night gasping from dreams that reeked of blood and shame.

Regulus never flinched.

He would sit quietly beside him, arms crossed, gaze steady.

And when Severus couldn’t speak, Regulus didn’t demand it. He just leaned in. Touched his knee. Sometimes just rested his head against Severus’s shoulder until the trembling stopped.

That kind of tenderness made something ache in Severus’s chest. A good ache. A terrifying one.

James, of course, noticed.

The day Regulus reached across the Potions table and brushed a curl from Severus’s face, James nearly dropped his cauldron. He fumbled the stirring rod, burned his fingers on a bubbling edge, and muttered a string of expletives that earned him a raised eyebrow from Slughorn.

Severus saw it. The red creeping into James’s face. The way his jaw clenched. The way he glared at Regulus like he wanted to throw him across the classroom.

Regulus noticed too. Of course he did.

Later, in the corridor, he smirked as they walked.

"You know he’s going to combust eventually," Regulus said casually, brushing Severus’s hand with his fingers. "Best seat in the house when he does, though. Front row to Potter’s collapse."

Severus didn’t smile. Not exactly. But the corner of his mouth twitched.

It came to a head in the courtyard.

Severus and Regulus were seated on a bench beneath one of the flowering trees, books spread across their laps. It was spring, and the breeze was sweet, and everything felt just slightly too peaceful.

Until James appeared.

He didn’t walk over. He stormed . Sirius and Remus jogged after him, both trying to talk him down.

Severus stood, closing his book with deliberate calm. Regulus rose too, slipping slightly in front of him—not shielding, exactly. Just there . Unmovable.

James’s eyes flicked to the space between them and narrowed.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded.

Regulus cocked his head. “Looks like Transfiguration homework. But if you’re jealous, Potter, we can always give you a turn.”

“Regulus,” Sirius hissed.

“Shut up,” James barked, eyes never leaving Severus. “You’re really doing this? With him ?”

Severus tilted his head, voice low. “Doing what, exactly? Sitting on a bench? Reading? Not being publicly humiliated?”

James flinched like he’d been struck.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Severus said coolly. “And I don’t care.”

And then he turned. Just turned. Walked away, shoulder brushing Regulus’s as he passed. Regulus followed, looking pleased .

James didn’t move.

He stood in the middle of the courtyard, breath ragged, fists clenched.

That evening, Severus sat with Regulus beneath the arches outside the library, the stone cool beneath them, the sky bleeding gray. Rain slicked across the courtyard in sheets, the puddles rippling with soft taps like piano keys.

Severus had been quiet for a long time.

Regulus didn’t push. He was drawing something lazily in the margin of a book—some spell design or maybe just a meaningless pattern, something Severus couldn’t quite read without his glasses.

It was almost frustrating, how easily Regulus could exist beside him. Not demanding. Not performative. Just there .

“I hated him,” Severus said suddenly. His voice was low, almost swallowed by the rain.

Regulus didn’t ask who.

Severus ran a finger along the edge of his sleeve.

“He made me feel like I had to earn being looked at. Like I was supposed to be grateful for every scrap of attention. Every insult was a joke. Every silence a punishment.”

“You don’t have to explain it,” Regulus murmured, not looking up.

But Severus kept going.

“And Lily—she said she loved me like a brother, but the second I was inconvenient, she dropped me. Didn’t even hesitate. Not once. Just... left.”

His throat tightened.  “James ruined everything, and somehow he got her, and I got—”

“Me,” Regulus said simply.

Severus blinked.

Regulus finally looked up from his book, eyes dark and unreadable.

“You got me.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. The rain blurred the edges of everything, and the air smelled like petrichor and wet parchment.

“I’m not good at this,” Severus admitted.

“I know,” Regulus replied, lips quirking slightly.  “Neither am I.”

And then—slowly, like neither of them was quite sure it was happening—Regulus leaned in.

It wasn’t a dramatic kiss. There was no music, no fluttering curtains. Just the soft press of lips, gentle and unsure, the kind of kiss that felt more like a question than an answer.

Severus’s heart stuttered.

He didn’t pull away.

   The Slytherin common room was a thundering sea of laughter and gossip by day, but as dusk settled, it transformed into a ghostly cavern filled with shadows and whispered secrets. This was when Severus felt the most restless, the walls closing in tighter, the need to escape almost suffocating.

He found his refuge in the alcove behind the library stacks, where the scent of old parchment mixed with the faint trace of Regulus’s cologne—a sharp, clean scent that lingered like a promise. Regulus was always waiting there, slouching against the cool stone wall, a book cradled in one arm, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk the moment Severus appeared.

Severus’s heart hit a frantic rhythm he’d spent years trying to ignore.

“Did you finish the essay on the Draught of Living Death?” Regulus whispered, his voice barely above the rustling pages of the books around them.

Severus blinked, startled by the gentleness of the question. “I did,” he said softly. “Though I doubt Slughorn’s going to be impressed with my handwriting.”

Regulus chuckled—a low, rich sound that sent unexpected warmth curling through Severus’s chest. “Your handwriting might be a mess, but your Potions are perfect. Better than anyone’s.”

Severus let the compliment settle, a fragile thing he wasn’t sure he deserved.

They sat close on the cold stone floor, backs pressed to the shelves stacked with forgotten knowledge. Every so often, their fingers brushed—accidental at first, then more intentional, a silent dance of connection in a world that often felt like it wanted to tear them apart.

One night, after a particularly brutal day filled with whispered insults and sharp glances, Regulus reached out, his fingers tracing a light path over Severus’s wrist. The contact was electric and grounding all at once.

“Stop pretending you don’t want this,” Regulus teased softly, though there was a tender undercurrent beneath the jest.

Severus bit his lip but didn’t pull away.

“Pretending?” Severus murmured, voice low. “I’m just cautious.”

“Cautious can mean a lot of things,” Regulus said, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “But it doesn’t mean you’re alone.”

They leaned into each other, breaths mingling, the air thick with the scent of rain and old books.

In that quiet alcove, the world outside melted away, leaving just the two of them—a secret universe stitched together with glances and whispered spells.

Later, in a forgotten classroom where dust motes danced in the moonlight, Regulus pressed his hand against Severus’s back, guiding him away from the prying eyes and judgment of their peers.

“You don’t have to carry all this alone,” Regulus said quietly.

Severus met his gaze, the armor around his heart thinning just enough to let a flicker of hope shine through.

And then, without hesitation, Regulus leaned in again—softly, confidently. Their lips met in a kiss that was less about fire and more about warmth, steady and sure. It wasn’t a grand declaration; it was a quiet promise, a beginning.

Meanwhile, James’s world was unraveling. The confident, charming Gryffindor everyone knew was crumbling beneath the weight of unspoken truths and shattered pride.

Every time James saw Severus’s name linked with Regulus’s on the Marauder’s Map, his stomach twisted. Every secret meeting, every whispered conversation between them felt like a dagger twisted deeper.

James’s obsession grew darker, no longer content with mere jealousy. It was a need that consumed him, gnawing away at his sense of self.

One night, fueled by a volatile mix of anger and desperation, James found himself stalking the corridors, searching for Regulus.

He cornered him in a shadowed hallway in the dungeons.

“What do you think you’re doing with him?” James hissed, voice low and dangerous.

Regulus’s smirk didn’t falter. “Taking care of him. Something you obviously can’t do.”

Without thinking, James’s hand shot out, a hex flying from his fingers that sent Regulus staggering back, hitting the cold stone wall hard.

“Don’t touch him,” James spat, eyes blazing with a possessive fire.

Regulus pushed himself up, blood trickling from a split lip, eyes cold and unyielding. “He’s not yours, Potter. Never was.”

James’s chest heaved, breaths coming fast and ragged. The line between love and possession blurred and shattered.

He left without another word.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Sirius watched James’s downward spiral with growing concern.

“Mate, you’re losing it,” Sirius warned gently. “You can’t force someone to want you.”

James laughed, but it was bitter and hollow. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“But you never had him, James,” Sirius said softly.

James clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms, the crushing weight of obsession threatening to break him.

James’s desperate attempts to claw back control only served as a catalyst, pushing Severus and Regulus closer together. 

It was like water finding its way through cracks—the more James tried to dam it, the more relentless the flow.

Severus, once a fortress of cold calculation and sharp edges, began to let the walls crumble bit by bit whenever Regulus was near. It wasn’t a sudden thaw; it was a slow melt—like ice reluctant to give up its form but eventually yielding to steady warmth.

At first, it was in the smallest things. 

A softened glance when Regulus caught his eye across the room, a fleeting smile that lingered longer than expected. 

Then came the rare, precious moments when Severus laughed quietly in the shadows—something so foreign that Regulus swore he caught Severus off guard, too.

Regulus, for his part, was patient but fierce. He knew the cost Severus carried, the weight of bruises not all visible to the eye. He didn’t rush, didn’t push. 

Instead, he became a steady presence—a harbor in a storm of emotions that no one else could calm.

Together, they carved out a small world within the labyrinthine halls of Hogwarts. Quiet dinners in neglected corridors, candlelight flickering against peeling wallpaper; shared books passed between trembling fingers; secret smiles exchanged beneath tables during lessons; and whispered confessions carried on breathless nights. 

Every stolen moment was a lifeline—a testament to what was quietly blossoming in the darkness.

But as Severus grew lighter, James was spiraling deeper. 

His jealousy evolved from mere irritation to something reckless and raw, consuming him from the inside out like a wildfire that refused to be quelled.

James’s temper became a tempest.

One particularly clear afternoon, the sun casting sharp shadows over the courtyard, James saw Severus and Regulus laughing too close together. It was an intimacy James wasn’t ready to accept.

His steps thundered across the stone as he stormed over, fists clenched like he could physically squeeze the pain away.

“What’s so funny?” James demanded, voice low but dangerous.

Severus didn’t even lift his eyes from the book in his lap. The stillness in his expression was a slap to James’s wounded pride.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Regulus replied smoothly, sliding an arm possessively around Severus’s shoulders in a way that spoke volumes.

James’s blood snapped.

Without thinking, fury overtook reason. His hand shot out, shoving Regulus hard against the cold stone wall.

Severus reacted instantly, catching James’s wrist before a hex could be cast, his eyes tired but resolute.

“Stop,” Severus said quietly, voice carrying the weight of every bruise James couldn’t see.

James pulled back, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon, eyes wild with desperation.

“Stay away from him,” James whispered fiercely, a dangerous edge cutting through the words.

But Severus, with quiet strength, shook his head.

“I’m not yours,” he said, voice low but unyielding. “I never was.”

The months that followed became a delicate, sometimes painful dance of closeness and distance, of fragile trust built from shards of past betrayals. 

Severus and Regulus, together, moved through this dance with care—sometimes stepping on toes, sometimes finding perfect harmony.

Regulus remained steadfast, his love steady and sure. He held Severus in a way that made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how many times the past threatened to drag them under.

James, meanwhile, fought his own shadows—his hope mingling with despair in a toxic cocktail that darkened every waking moment.

At times, he was the fiery tormentor, lashing out in jealousy and pain; at others, the broken boy who stared at the ceiling, haunted by a love he refused to let go.

And in the quiet moments, when the castle was still and the world softened into a muted palette, Severus let himself imagine something different.

Maybe love wasn’t about possession, about control, about binding another to your will.

Maybe love was about being seen.

Truly seen.

And finally, being free.

The Slytherin common room was mostly empty at this late hour, the fire reduced to glowing embers, casting soft orange light across the worn green armchairs. Outside, rain pattered steadily against the windows, a gentle rhythm that filled the quiet space.

Severus sat curled up in one of the chairs, knees drawn to his chest, eyes fixed on the dying flames. Regulus perched on the armrest opposite him, twirling a loose strand of his dark hair, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was thick—heavy with things neither dared say aloud.

Finally, Regulus broke the stillness, his voice careful and low.

“You never talk about your family.”

Severus’s jaw tightened. His fingers gripped his knees a little harder, as if the pain behind that simple question dug deeper than Regulus realized.

“There’s not much to say,” Severus replied, his voice flat, guarded.

Regulus shifted, leaning just a little closer, studying Severus’s profile—the way his shoulders curled inward, like he was trying to protect himself from a storm only he could see.

“You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready for,” Regulus said softly, voice gentle but steady.

Severus let out a humorless laugh, bitter and raw. “You don’t understand. No one does.”

Regulus swallowed, the flickering firelight catching the subtle tension in his jaw. He chose his words slowly, careful not to push too hard.

“Maybe you think that. But I want to try. To understand.”

Severus finally turned toward him, his dark eyes sharp but searching. There was a flicker there—hesitation, pain, something aching beneath the surface.

“It’s hard,” Severus admitted after a long pause. “To feel like you’re just a shadow. A disappointment. Like no matter what you do, you’re not the person they wanted.”

Regulus nodded slowly, the weight of his own burdens settling between them like a shared cloak.

“My father… expects perfection. The heir. The Golden Boy. But sometimes, I’m terrified I’ll never be enough.”

The room felt smaller, warmer—the quiet crackle of the fire the only sound besides the rain outside.

Severus uncrossed his arms and shifted in his seat, as if trying to find the right way to say what had long been trapped inside.

“I don’t want to be perfect,” Severus said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to be... seen. For who I really am. Not the image. Not the mistakes.”

Regulus reached out slowly, tentatively, his hand hovering a moment before brushing a few stray hairs away from Severus’s forehead.

“Then I see you,” Regulus said softly. “Every part of you, even the ones you try to hide.”

Severus’s lips twitched, a small, fragile smile breaking through the usual cool mask. It was a smile full of hope, and fear, and the tentative promise of something new.

For the first time in a long time, Severus felt the walls around his heart soften, if only just a little.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against Regulus’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet room.

“No one’s ever looked at me like that,” Severus confessed.

“Maybe that’s because they never really saw you,” Regulus replied, voice warm, sincere.

And in that moment, surrounded by shadows and flickering light, the two boys found a fragile kind of peace—a secret understanding that whatever storms lay ahead, they wouldn’t face them alone.

It was never officially said. No declarations of love, no whispered promises in the dark, no dramatic moments beneath the stars. But something had changed between Severus and Regulus.

Even strangers noticed.

They never walked too close, yet somehow were always near each other. Their fingertips would brush across books and parchment like by accident—but linger just a moment too long. When one entered the room, the other looked up. When one laughed, the other smiled like they’d been waiting for it all day.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just there —constant and quietly blooming.

Slughorn paused once during a group project and glanced between the two. “You two have gotten rather… in sync,” he muttered with a knowing eyebrow.

Neither of them responded.

But Regulus’s foot slid gently against Severus’s under the table.

By the time NEWTs approached, their connection had grown into a rhythm—like they shared a heartbeat. 

They studied together more often, occasionally sharing wordless glances across the table as they scrawled notes. 

Regulus started bringing Severus small things, sweets wrapped in silver paper, a quill with his initials carved into the handle, a dog-eared book on dark potions theory that Severus had mentioned once months ago.

In return, Severus started waiting for Regulus after class. He leaned against cold stone walls with his arms crossed, looking down at the floor until that familiar voice appeared beside him.

They didn’t say it. But they didn’t need to.

They were each other’s.

And James Potter was coming apart at the seams.

He was a mess of broken quills and shattered ink bottles. He missed Quidditch practices and growled arguments with Sirius. He was barely-contained fury wrapped in golden-boy skin. Even Lily had started noticing.

“You’re being weird,” she said one night in the common room.

“I’m fine,” James replied stiffly, eyes locked on the Marauder’s Map like it owed him a life.

“Then why are you staring at him all the time?” she snapped.

James didn’t answer.

He didn’t have one.

That day in the courtyard when Severus let Regulus tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, something in James snapped . The smile on Severus’s face—it was gentle, open in a way James had never seen before. Not even when it was his name on Severus’s lips.

Later that week, James hexed Regulus in front of half the school.

It was meant to be a small sting—just a trip, maybe, a bump of humiliation. But James’s wand slipped, or maybe he didn’t care, and the jinx sent Regulus flying backward into a stone wall with a sickening crack.

The courtyard went dead silent.

Severus was on his feet before anyone else moved, racing to Regulus’s side. His voice was low but trembling, and his hands—usually so steady—were shaking as he checked for blood.

“Are you insane?” Severus hissed, rising to his feet. “You could’ve killed him!”

James was frozen. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“You’re pathetic,” Severus spat. “You want my attention? Here it is. I hate you… Is there a reason you’re still here? Or are you just incapable of reading the room?,”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned and crouched back down beside Regulus, whispering healing spells under his breath, refusing to look at the boy he used to worship.

Regulus winced, but his hand found Severus’s wrist, squeezing once. “You’re really going to get detention for me again?”

“I’d serve a life sentence,” Severus muttered back.

And that was that.

James was suspended from Quidditch for two weeks.

Sirius wouldn’t even look at him.

And somewhere in the middle of the chaos, a new storm began to brew—not from within Hogwarts, but from the ancient, rotting halls of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Regulus got the owl late at night. It was folded with ceremonial precision, sealed with the Black family crest. He didn’t open it until he was alone in the library with Severus, who was cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a book on potion theory.

The moment he read it, his face drained of color.

“What is it?” Severus asked, sitting up straighter.

Regulus didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, “They know. About us.”

Severus blinked. “Who—your parents?”

Regulus nodded. “My mother, for sure. Probably my father too. They’re summoning me home. No explanation. Just a line, ‘You will return immediately. This shame will not continue.’ ”

Severus’s hands curled into fists. “They’ll hurt you.”

“Maybe.” Regulus folded the letter slowly, precisely, like he could undo the words if he just made the right crease. “Or they’ll hurt you .”

“I’m not scared of your family,” Severus said, voice low and sharp.

Regulus looked up then. His eyes were unreadable—but glassy. “You should be.”

Silence stretched between them like a wound.

Finally, Regulus sat beside Severus on the cold floor. “There’s only one way they’ll leave you alone,” he said, barely above a whisper. “If I stay away. If we make them think it’s over.”

Severus stiffened. “Don’t.”

“You know what they’re capable of.”

“So do you,” Severus snapped, voice cracking.

Regulus exhaled, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “I love you,” he whispered. “That’s why I might have to leave.”

Severus pulled back like he’d been burned.

They hadn’t said it before. Not out loud.

And now it felt like a curse.

“If you go,” Severus said, “I don’t know if I’ll forgive you.”

“If I stay,” Regulus whispered, “I don’t know if I can protect you.”

They didn’t cry. Neither of them was that kind of boy. But the silence between them vibrated with every word they couldn’t say.

When Regulus left that night to reply to his mother’s owl, Severus sat alone in the library long after curfew. His eyes were dry. His throat felt like glass.

He had never begged anyone to stay.

But for Regulus, he might.

Because love didn’t need to be loud to be real.

Sometimes, it was just a hand brushing yours in the dark.

Sometimes, it was deciding—together—whether the risk was worth it.

And that was the question now, wasn’t it?

Would they burn for each other?

Or vanish into the smoke?

There were fourteen days until NEWTs.

And everything was heavy.

Not the kind of weight that could be shrugged off with a good night’s sleep or a strong cup of tea—but the kind that sank into bones and breath and made the hours stretch thin.

Severus and Regulus still hadn’t spoken about the owl after that night.

But the silence had shape now. It clung to them like a second skin—thick, ever-present, impossible to ignore. Whatever passed between them wasn’t broken, but it was changing. It had been tenderness, once. Now it was need.

The way Regulus would stare across the library at Severus like he was memorizing the exact place he existed in space. Or how Severus had started walking just half a step behind him in the corridors, close enough to reach for his wand if anyone moved wrong.

They didn’t talk about it, and they didn’t touch in public—not really. But it was in everything.

The way Regulus’s hand hovered near Severus’s back when they walked through the Great Hall. The way Severus angled his body slightly, always between Regulus and danger. Even the professors looked twice, though none dared to comment.

And James… 

Muttered hexes under his breath. An uncharacteristic snappishness toward Peter. A broken ink bottle, thrown hard enough to crack the stone floor beside Remus’s shoes.

Then came the library incident.

Severus and Regulus were seated together, their chairs close—Regulus’s voice low as he leaned in, whispering something about wand movements and potion conversions. Severus answered quietly, corrected a detail, and smiled. Not much. Just enough.

James, two tables down, snapped his quill in half.

The sound echoed.

Every head turned.

Slughorn had them all in Potions the next day, where the same scene repeated—only louder. James was partnered with Sirius, and Severus sat across the room with Regulus. When Slughorn asked a question about monkshood stability, Regulus whispered something—soft, smug—and Severus gave the answer perfectly.

James gritted his teeth. His stirring rod bent in his hand. Then it cracked —loud and sharp—and he stood up so fast his chair toppled.

“Mr.Potter!” Slughorn boomed, alarmed. “That’s quite enough!”

James didn’t speak. He just stared—at Regulus, at Severus. Like if he looked hard enough, he could burn them both.

Slughorn banned him from class for a week.

Sirius tried talking to him later. So did Remus.

“Mate, you’re acting like someone cursed you,” Sirius muttered in the dormitory one night, voice low as James paced back and forth in front of the fire.

“I’m fine,” James said stiffly.

“You’re not. You’re breaking things, you’re not sleeping, and you nearly hexed Wilkes yesterday because he bumped into you.”

“He didn’t bump into me. He shouldered me. On purpose.”

“He’s half your size and dropped his bag when it happened—” Remus cut in. “James. Seriously. This isn’t about Wilkes.”

James didn’t answer.

Sirius exchanged a glance with Remus. “It’s about Snape, isn’t it?”

The silence that followed was long and damning.

Remus sighed. “You can’t force someone to want you, James.”

“I don’t want him,” James snapped. “I— I want him to— I want things to go back to how they were.”

“How were they?” Remus asked quietly.

And James didn’t have an answer.

Lily caught him after Charms class the next morning. Her arms were crossed, expression unreadable.

“You need to stop,” she said flatly.

James blinked. “Stop what?”

“This. All of this. The obsession. The anger. The hexes. The way you look at them.”

James swallowed. “You sound like them.”

“No,” Lily said, voice colder now. “They don’t talk about you at all. That’s what hurts the most, isn’t it?”

He stepped back like she’d slapped him.

“I don’t know what’s happening to you,” she continued. “I used to think I did. I used to think—Merlin, I wanted to believe you were better than this.”

He tried to smile. “You’re just mad I didn’t love you enough.”

Lily didn’t flinch. “No. I’m mad that I ever thought you knew what love was.”

And then she walked away.

Two days before the first NEWT, Regulus got summoned home.

He didn’t tell Severus right away. Just met him in the library, quiet as always, but distracted. His hands trembled slightly when he turned the page of his book. He blinked too much. His smile didn’t come.

Severus didn’t press.

They sat in silence for most of the hour, long past when they should have gone back to their dorms. When Regulus finally stood, Severus followed, close behind.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Regulus said, his voice low.

But he didn’t look at Severus when he said it.

He returned the next evening.

And something was wrong.

He was dressed too formally—his robes crisp, too new, the edges pressed so sharply they looked like they might cut. He didn’t seek Severus out like usual. Instead, Severus found him already in the common room, staring at the fire with something dark in his eyes.

Severus sat beside him slowly.

“What happened?”

Regulus didn’t answer at first.

Then, softly, “They know.”

A pause.

Severus felt the cold grip of dread settle in his gut.

“And?”

Regulus’s mouth twisted. “They didn’t scream. That’s how I know it’s bad. My mother only goes quiet when she’s planning something.”

Silence.

Severus stared at the fire, hands clenched in his lap.

“Do you think—”

“I don’t know,” Regulus cut in. “But if they think hurting you is the best way to fix me …”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

They didn’t speak for a long time after that.

That night, when Severus walked back to his dorm, he could feel the shift in his chest like a stone. The weeks of exams stretched out in front of them like an empty battlefield.

The thought of sitting for NEWTs felt ridiculous now. Meaningless.

He hadn’t even considered that he might lose Regulus in a way no hex could reverse. Not because of a fight. Not because of pride.

But because someone else had already decided what their love was worth—and what it would cost.

The castle was too bright.

Severus blinked against the sunlight streaming through the high windows of the Great Hall. It poured like gold over the long rows of graduates, bathing them in warmth he didn’t feel. His eyes ached. His shoulders were stiff. His robes felt too tight.

It wasn’t nerves. Or exams. Or the weight of seven years bearing down on him.

It was absence.

Regulus’s absence.

It had been thirty-six hours since he’d vanished. Since the black owl with the red wax seal landed at the foot of his bed, almost apologetic, and dropped a single folded letter onto Severus’s blankets.

No one else had seen it.

He’d read the note once, fingers trembling.

He hadn’t read it again.

Hadn’t needed to.

The words were burned into the backs of his eyes, playing like a mantra,

Severus,

I’m expected to marry someone else, and I have no intention of complicating that by holding onto you. You deserve someone more invested. I won’t pretend I am anymore. It’s simpler this way.

Don’t mistake what we had for something lasting. It never was.

Consider this closure. Best of luck in whatever comes next. 

He didn’t sign it.

He didn’t have to.

The parchment curled under his spellfire and turned to ash in his hands, and Severus hadn’t spoken to anyone since.

The rest of Hogwarts had caught up fast. Regulus Black’s name vanished from the roll call, from the dorms, from the whispers of staff. Students speculated in hushed tones between exam breaks.

“The Blacks pulled him.”

“No, his mum’s just crazy possessive—”

The lies crawled like vines. But no one knew the truth.

Only Severus did.

And he wasn’t sharing.

He sat near the end of the Slytherin graduate bench now, back straight, eyes forward, face made of stone. The only hint that anything was wrong was the way his fingers dug crescent moons into the edges of the bench.

Regulus’s seat beside him was empty.

No one dared take it.

Across the hall, James watched.

Watched him not smile . Watched him not move . Watched him sit there like the world had ended and only he noticed.

And James felt like he was starving.

Regulus was gone. Just… gone .

And with him, the last wall between James and Severus had crumbled.

But instead of victory, all James felt was fire under his skin.

The ceremony felt like a joke.

Dumbledore spoke in circles, long-winded and vaguely sentimental. Students applauded, laughed too loudly, hugged, kissed cheeks. House banners flapped from the rafters. There was music. Warmth.

Severus barely blinked.

James watched him the entire time, his own parchment clutched so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

It was unbearable.

And James snapped.

He caught Severus in the aftermath, just as graduates spilled toward the exits and the buzz of celebration hit its peak.

“Snape,” he barked, blocking the path between tables.

Severus looked up.

Tired.

Worn.

But not surprised.

James stepped forward. Too close.

“Guess he finally got tired of you,” he said, voice low, tight. “Took off without a word. Or did he leave a nice little note about how pathetic you are?”

Severus blinked once, but didn’t respond.

That infuriated James.

“You protected him,” James spat, “you chose him. And he still left you.”

Still, Severus said nothing.

James leaned in, sneering. “Does it hurt? Knowing you were just a distraction until his family came calling?”

“James.” Lily’s voice cut through the noise like glass shattering.

He turned.

She stood a few feet behind him, hands clenched at her sides, face pale with fury.

“I told you,” she said coldly, “to leave him alone.”

James stiffened. “He deserves to hear the truth.”

“No,” Lily snapped. “ You want him to hurt because you’re hurting. You want someone to suffer because you can’t have what you wanted.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” James bit back.

Lily stepped closer. “Don’t you? You haven’t stopped watching him for months. You bring me past him on purpose. You say his name in your sleep.”

James went still.

Dead still.

All around them, the hall was listening. Tables quieted. Heads turned. Even Sirius and Remus, standing near the Gryffindor benches, exchanged wary looks.

“You’re obsessed,” Lily continued, her voice trembling now, “with someone who never wanted you. Who never loved you back. And instead of letting him go, you tried to destroy him. And me .”

“Lily, please—”

She cut him off with a whisper. “You don’t love me, James. You never did. You don’t even know what it is!”

His breath hitched.

“You wanted a victory. Not a person.” She looked at him one last time, her expression finally softening—not with affection, but pity. “And you lost.”

Then she turned and walked away.

James didn’t follow.

He couldn’t.

He stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving, while every head in the Great Hall turned away from him like a tide going out.

And Severus?

He had already disappeared into the shadows.

Severus vanished after the ceremony.

Not just from the train. Not just from Spinner’s End. From everywhere .

No one saw him board the Hogwarts Express. No one saw him cross the platform. There was no signature in the Hogwarts exit logs. Even the Slytherins were confused—his trunk never made it back. His wand registration file sat untouched. His room at home remained empty.

It was like he’d evaporated into the shadows he always preferred.

And James?

James lost his mind.

At first, he played it off—scoffed at Sirius when he asked, “You okay?” Shrugged off Remus’s cautious concern. “He’s probably in bloody Albania with Regulus. Playing tragic lovers in a vampire den or whatever.”

But weeks passed.

And then a month.

And then two.

No one had heard from him. Not even the Ministry could track his wand.

The moment James realized no one was actually looking for Severus— really looking—something inside him broke wide open.

And the hunt began.

James stopped sleeping in his own bed. He haunted Knockturn Alley in Disillusionment Charms, tore through forbidden books, interrogated Death Eater sympathizers with a manic gleam in his eye. Every time someone said, “Why would you care?” —he snapped.

“Because he didn’t just vanish. He was taken. Or he ran . And either way, I need to know.”

He sent owls. Bribed goblins. Followed scraps of rumor into forests at night. His wand hand never stopped twitching.

People said he'd lost it.

They were right.

Remus found him in November, standing in the middle of a rain-soaked road in Glasgow, mud on his boots, blood on his collar.

“You need to stop ,” Remus said, grabbing his wrist. “James—this isn’t healthy. He’s gone.”

James yanked free. “Not gone.”

“Then what ?”

James’s eyes were wild. “He’s hiding. Someone made him. Regulus. His family. Something worse.”

“Even if he is—” Remus began.

“I’ll find him.”

“ You don’t love him! ”

James flinched.

Sirius, leaning in the shadows nearby, finally spoke. “Lily was right, You don’t even know what love is, mate.”

James’s mouth opened. Closed.

He turned and Apparated without a word.

By December, James had maps pinned to the walls of an abandoned flat in Hogsmeade. He barely remembered what Lily's voice sounded like. His hair was tangled. He drank too much. Slept too little. Every lead felt like a wire pulling him deeper into madness.

“I just need to see him,” he muttered once to no one. “Just one more time. Then I can stop.”

It happened by accident.

James wasn’t even looking that day. He’d stopped searching two weeks earlier after Remus threatened to tell his parents everything—about the map, the breaking and entering, the illegal spells. James had sworn he’d let it go.

And for a while, he did.

Until he followed a trail of rare potion ingredients to a sleepy village by the coast. Meant to be a distraction. Just a tip from an old contact in Knockturn Alley, “Prince’s kind of brew, if anyone’s still foolish enough to make it.”

So James went.

He didn’t expect anything. Really, he didn’t.

The cottage was crooked and moss-covered, tucked at the edge of a wild garden with herbs growing in impossible directions. There was no name on the gate. No footprints on the gravel. Just the wind through lavender and the faint scent of something brewing.

James stood at the edge of the path, heart suddenly in his throat.

It felt like a dream.

Or worse—like waking up.

He stepped forward.

Up the stone path.

To the door.

Knocked once.

Silence.

His heartbeat sounded too loud in his ears. Then—

The door creaked open.

And there he was.

Severus Snape.

Hair tied back. Sleeves rolled up. A smudge of ash on his wrist and the faint smell of mugwort clinging to his clothes. His face was thinner. Softer. Different.

But his eyes?

Still the same—sharp, heavy, unreadable.

They stared at each other.

Neither of them spoke.

For James, the world narrowed.

Everything else dropped away.

It was him.

The boy who haunted every corridor of his memory. The boy who’d vanished into smoke and silence. The boy who once made James feel like love was war, and he was always losing.

Standing in the threshold like a ghost made flesh. Shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Pale skin dusted with ash. A faint ink stain on one thumb. His eyes were tired, yes—but clear . Not bitter. Not broken. Just… quiet.

James forgot how to breathe.

He looked older. No longer the boy who had scowled behind textbooks and hurled hexes with fury in his blood. He looked like someone who had survived. Someone who had finally stopped being at war with the world.

James stepped back, just half a pace, stunned by how much of his own heart was still tethered to this person—how it hadn’t dulled. How seeing him, standing there in the doorway of a life James wasn’t part of, cracked something deep in his chest.

“Sev—”

The word barely left his lips.

And Severus… Severus looked at him like he was the last storm after a long, hard winter.

Then, without a word, he closed the door.

Quietly.

No slam. No drama. Just the soft click of wood meeting frame. Finality that didn't need a speech.

And that was worse.

James stood there.

The breeze rustled the lavender. A bee hummed past. The air was warm with the promise of rain, thick and electric.

He didn’t knock again.

He didn’t call out.

He stayed for another minute. Two. Ten.

Stillness like grief pressed down on his chest.

He pressed one hand to the door. Just to feel something. The wood was warm from the sun. Alive. But Severus was gone.

Gone in the way that meant don’t come back .

He made it halfway back down the lane before he started crying.

Not the loud, theatrical sobs he used to fake when Lily scolded him. Not the angry tears he’d shed when Sirius said “let it go.” These were the quiet, ragged, humiliating kind.

The kind that meant he finally understood,

It was over.

He had lost.

Not because Severus had chosen Regulus.

Not because the world had taken him.

But because Severus had closed the door himself.

He ended up in a crumbling pub at the edge of the village. Ordered firewhisky. Then another. And another.

The bartender didn’t speak to him. Just slid the glasses forward, one after the next, watching him with the kind of pity reserved for widowers and drunks.

James sat hunched over the table, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched, the taste of burnt honey on his tongue and the ghost of Severus’s face behind his eyelids.

That night, James dreamt of a door.

Wooden. Weathered. Closed.

He knocked.

No one answered.

He woke with tears drying against his cheek and a whisper still on his lips,

“Please.”

Severus sat on the floor inside the cottage, back pressed to the closed door, breath shallow. His teacup had shattered on the floor when he heard the knock. A book lay forgotten beside him, pages soaked in cooling potion.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just stayed there.

Eyes closed. Breathing through the ache. Through the way his body had remembered James before his brain even caught up.

There was no Regulus. Not anymore. Not yet. That pain lived in another room.

But the quiet that followed James’s departure wasn’t relief.

It was a choice.

A boundary. A line drawn in firm, steady ink.

He wasn’t that boy anymore.

Even if it still haunted him.

It should have been easier.

The wind still howled outside the little cliffside cottage. The sea still slapped rhythmically against the rocks below. The tea still went cold before he remembered to drink it.

But every time he blinked, every time silence stretched too long, his face returned.

He hadn’t meant to think about James.

Not anymore.

The war in his chest had quieted. The cottage was silent. No letters. No Regulus. No Gryffindors stomping down corridors with arrogance on their shoulders.

And yet, James Potter lingered like an infection.

Severus sat by the window again. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before that. The wood beneath him had begun to sag beneath the weight of his stillness, like even the house was tired of his haunting.

He hadn’t brewed a potion in weeks. Hadn’t touched a wand unless necessary. Hadn’t done anything except remember.

It always started innocently.

A memory of fourth year—James throwing a paper airplane across the library and hitting McGonagall squarely in the back. The way he laughed—loud, reckless, full of teeth and light. Severus had hated that laugh. He’d also... watched it too long.

Watched James too long.

And James never noticed.

Not when Severus stared across the Potions classroom, chin resting on his hand, wondering what it would feel like to grab him by the collar and shut him up with a kiss.

Not when Severus sat curled in the library with a book he’d long since stopped reading, waiting for James’s voice to echo down the aisle—just to hear it. Just to feel the fizz of it crawling under his skin.

He used to fantasize about James pressing him into a bookshelf.

Never happened.

Instead, James humiliated him.

Every. Single. Year.

He called him names.

He hexed him.

He flipped him upside down in front of Lily.

He let Sirius dangle Severus over a flight of stairs by the ankle and laughed while it happened.

And still— still —Severus would have kissed him if he'd asked.

He didn’t understand it.

Maybe it was self-hatred. Maybe it was something darker.

Maybe it was the way James carried himself like the sun. Untouchable. Untamed. Something
Severus had never been and would never be.

Even with Regulus—even with Regulus , who knew him better than anyone had dared—Severus had thought about James.

During kisses. During sleep. During the soft, careful brushing of fingers.

He’d thought about what it would feel like if it were James.

Rougher. Louder. More dangerous. More alive. More real.

It had shamed him.

Every time.

Regulus had offered sanctuary. Stillness. Something like safety.

But James... James had always made him feel like he was burning from the inside out.

And now?

Now James had stood on his doorstep, dripping wet, eyes wide and searching, and Severus had shut the door.

Final. Absolute.

He didn’t even lock it. He hadn’t needed to.

James hadn’t knocked again.

But even now, days later, his fingers itched with the urge to open it.

To undo it.

To say, Come in. Say what you want to say. Scream at me. Hate me. Want me. I don’t care—just don’t leave.

He would’ve said it.

He would’ve .

But James had turned and left.

And Severus had sat in the quiet afterward, spine pressed to the door, listening to the wind scream in his place.

He told himself it was better this way.

He told himself Regulus deserved more than to be a replacement for someone Severus had never even had.

He told himself James was cruel. Arrogant. Dismissive. A bully. A monster.

And then he remembered the way James looked at him that night at graduation—like the world was ending.

And how, for one sickening second, Severus wished it was.

Because at least then James would’ve meant it.

At least then, the obsession would’ve been mutual.

The eighth night, Severus stood barefoot in the kitchen, the fire flickering behind him, and held an old envelope in his hand. James’s handwriting. From sixth year. Something stupid. Something taunting.

He didn’t burn it.

He pressed it to his chest. Closed his eyes. Pretended—for just a breath—that things could have been different.

That James would come back.

That he wouldn’t close the door this time.

And the worst part?

He didn’t think he would.

Not even now.

Not even after everything.

He hadn’t shaved in days.

Sirius said he looked like he was playing dress-up as his dad.

Remus said he needed sleep.

James didn’t care.

Because he’d seen him.

Severus.

He’d been right there —behind that door. That goddamn door. For months, James had searched every stretch of England that might house a broken soul with a penchant for dusty libraries and potions. He hadn’t slept, barely ate, just walked and walked, fueled on regret and rage and that stupid ache in his chest that only ever had one name.

And then—he’d found him.

And Severus had closed the door in his face.

No words. No explanation. Just… finality.

James had stood in the rain for hours after that. Water soaking through his hair, clothes, skin. Waiting. Hoping. Listening.

He hadn’t come back.

James didn’t go home.

He couldn’t.

Instead, he wandered—ghost-like—through empty streets, through forgotten forests, through everything that wasn’t Potter Manor, because what was the point of going back to a house when the only person he wanted to share it with wasn’t there?

He started muttering to himself.

"Maybe he didn’t see me."

"Maybe he thought I came to gloat."

"Maybe he didn’t mean to close it."

Maybe maybe maybe—

But there were no maybes left.

Until today.

Today James couldn’t take it anymore.

So he showered. Shaved. (Mostly.)

Tugged on his nicest jumper—still smelled like regret. And apparated straight to the edge of the cottage woods.

His fists clenched. His heart thundered.

He wasn’t leaving without Severus.

There was a knock on the door.

Not gentle.

Not polite.

It was the kind of knock that sounded like it demanded.

Severus didn’t move from the table. He didn’t need to look. He knew.

He stood slowly, muscles tight, and opened the door.

James was there.

Wet hair. Wild eyes. Breathless and shaking, like he’d sprinted through a storm even though the skies were clear.

“ You left, ” James said, voice cracking on the first word. “You just fucking left. ”

Severus didn’t answer.

James stepped forward, hands trembling. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me?”

Still, Severus said nothing.

“I looked for you. For months. ” James was pacing now, like he couldn’t contain himself. “I was losing my mind. I thought—I thought something happened. That maybe he— Regulus— ” He couldn’t even say it. “You just disappeared. Like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter—”

“You didn’t,” Severus said quietly.

It was a lie.

James stopped short.

He looked at Severus like he’d been shot.

And then, slowly, his face crumpled. But he didn’t retreat.

“I can’t live without you,” he whispered. “I thought I could. I thought Lily was it. I thought we were the joke. But we weren’t. I was.”

He took a step closer. “You don’t have to forgive me. Just… don’t disappear again. Please.”

Still, Severus said nothing.

He just… looked at him. The way he always did—like James was a puzzle he hated himself for wanting to solve.

James reached for his wrist. Not hard. Not gentle either. “Come with me.”

Severus didn’t move.

James’s voice broke. “Please, Sev. Please.”

And maybe it was the way his voice cracked.

Maybe it was the way he’d always said Sev—like it was a word that only ever belonged to him.

Or maybe Severus was just tired of waiting for someone to choose him.

He nodded.

Didn’t speak.

Just stepped outside and let James take his hand.

The house was quiet. Elegant. Too big.

James’s hand didn’t leave Severus’s for a second—not when they stepped through the door, not when they passed the grand staircase, not even when the portraits whispered curiously.

He led Severus upstairs. Not to a guest room. To his room.

He opened the door.

Severus stepped in.

Still silent.

Still calm.

Still unreadable.

James hovered behind him like a boy afraid of a ghost. “You can stay. As long as you want. Forever, if you want.”

Severus turned, finally. Eyes unreadable. “You kidnapped me.”

“You let me.”

A long pause.

Then Severus looked at the bed. At the shelves. At the cluttered desk, stacked with drawings and drafts—some of which had his name scribbled in the margins.

“You never stopped,” he said.

“No,” James said softly. “I never did.”

Severus didn’t reply.

He sat down on the bed. Tired. Quiet.

And James stood like a man waiting for execution.

Because for all his dramatics—for all the noise he’d made in getting Severus here—he still didn’t know if he’d be forgiven.

But Severus was here.

That had to count for something.

James didn’t let Severus do anything alone.

Not meals. Not walks through the garden. Not reading in the library or brushing his teeth or even going to the bloody owlery.

He always had some excuse.

“I’ll show you around.”

“I was heading there anyway.”

“I don’t mind sitting with you.”

But Severus noticed.

James never took his eyes off him.

Like he thought if he blinked, Severus might vanish.

He hovered—never too close, never far—like a shadow on a leash. Polite. Overly polite. The kind of polite that makes your skin crawl. James Potter, who used to hex people for fun, now asked, “Is it alright if I sit?” before daring to step into a room.

Severus didn’t say yes.

He didn’t say no either.

That was enough.

James didn’t sleep much. He was quieter now. The spark that used to blaze in his every movement had dulled into a low, flickering flame. He wasn’t sulking—not exactly—but he was watching. Constantly. Cautiously.

Like Severus was something rare. Breakable. And maybe he was.

But he wasn’t going to shatter. Not this time.

Still, it made him restless.

So he wandered.

Potter Manor had far too many hallways, and most of them smelled faintly of dust and summer flowers, despite no one ever seeing a house elf. It was strange, all this quiet wealth. Strange, too, how easily his feet memorized the turns.

One evening, he took the long corridor past the music room, not looking for anything in particular.

Just looking.

He didn’t notice James following at first.

It was subtle, this time—quieter than usual. No footsteps. Just a shift in the air, a presence at his back.

Severus didn’t turn. Not until he stopped at the end of the hall, near a window looking out over the rose gardens. The moonlight spilled in, bathing the corridor in soft silver.

He stood there, arms folded, breathing slowly.

“Do you hate me?”

The voice was so quiet he almost missed it.

James.

Severus closed his eyes.

There it was. The question he’d been trying not to answer.

He turned, slowly. James was leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his jumper, face drawn and raw. Unshaven again. Eyes rimmed red. Not from crying, no—James didn’t cry. But from everything else.

Regret was chewing him alive.

“Do you?” James asked again. “Hate me?”

Severus studied him.

How could he hate him?

James had humiliated him. Mocked him. Played with his emotions like a game. He had stolen everything—his dignity, his letters, Lily, and eventually, even his peace.

But Severus had also looked for him when he wasn’t looking.

He had thought about kissing James when Regulus had touched him.

He had wanted him.

Still did.

So he answered honestly.

“I don’t know.”

James exhaled like the words had knocked the wind out of him.

Severus turned back to the window.

“I think about Hogwarts sometimes,” he said after a moment. “The things you said. The way you looked at me. I used to think it was hatred. Then I thought maybe it was... attention. Maybe that was enough.”

James didn’t move.

“I looked for meaning in everything,” Severus continued, voice flat. “Even when you hexed me. Even when you laughed with your friends like I was just another target.”

Severus’s lip curled faintly. “Just enough to matter.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” James said quietly. “Not always.”

Silence stretched between them.

The moonlight moved a little further across the floor.

“I want to fix it,” James said, stepping closer. “But I don’t know how. I don’t know if I even can.”

Severus turned toward him again. “Then stop trying.”

James blinked.

Severus stepped forward, slow, cautious, until they were almost shoulder to shoulder.

“I don’t want apologies. I don’t want flowers or rooms full of gold. I just want…” He paused. “...to exist without being something you chase.”

James nodded. “Okay.”

But the way he looked at Severus made it clear, he still wasn’t ready to stop chasing.

Severus didn’t mean to slam the door behind him, but maybe part of him wanted James to hear it.

He needed space. A minute. A breath. Anything.

The bathroom was fogged with warmth already—the manor’s endless enchantments meant the water had been running before he even touched the knob. Steam curled against the mirrors. The marble floors were cool beneath his feet as he pulled off his jumper, then the shirt beneath it.

He didn’t hear the door open again.

Didn’t notice the quiet shuffle of socks on tile.

Not until he turned, half-bared, his skin glowing faintly in the candlelight—and saw James standing there.

Silent. Unsure. Staring.

Severus didn’t speak. He just sighed—a long, tired exhale like the weight of the world was slipping from his shoulders one bone at a time.

He walked forward, eyes unreadable.

James stepped back on instinct, uncertain, but Severus kept coming—until they were nearly chest to chest.

And then, without a word, Severus took James’s hand.

James blinked. “Sev—?”

He didn’t finish the question. Severus was already pulling him, gently but firmly, toward the closed toilet seat. When they reached it, he gave James a gentle push, and James sat automatically, dazed and blinking like he was dreaming.

“What are you—”

“Be still,” Severus murmured, already reaching for the razor on the counter. He shook the can of shaving cream, foam hissing into his palm.

James opened his mouth again, then closed it when Severus turned back around and—without hesitation—sat on his lap.

Carefully. Lightly. Like a cat curling onto a perch.

Their bodies aligned awkwardly for a moment—James unsure where to place his hands, Severus adjusting his knees around James’s thighs, razor balanced beside them.

He didn’t look up as he lathered the cream onto James’s face. He just worked—slow, precise strokes with his fingertips, spreading the foam along the curve of James’s jaw, the hollow beneath his chin, the skin above his upper lip.

James’s breath hitched.

He didn’t know why it felt like this.

Like something sacred.

Severus reached for the razor, wiping the blade on a cloth. Then he began. Gentle, clean passes across James’s skin, wiping the blade after every stroke. His eyes were focused. His movements exact.

James didn’t dare speak. He only moved when Severus gently tilted his chin.

And slowly—so slowly he didn’t even realize he was doing it—James let his arms circle around Severus’s waist. Tentative at first. Barely there.

Then firmer. Steadier. Like he was anchoring himself.

Severus didn’t stop him.

Didn’t flinch or pull away.

He just kept shaving, the brush of the blade somehow softer than anything James had ever felt.

When Severus finished, he wiped the last of the cream from James’s jaw with a warm cloth. He still hadn’t spoken.

James stared up at him, dazed, lips parted.

“Why did you…?” he asked hoarsely.

Severus finally looked him in the eye.

His voice was low. “Because you looked like hell.”

James huffed a breath. It was almost a laugh. Almost.

“You still look like hell,” Severus added, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed James’s cheek.

James tilted his head, their mouths inches apart.

“Then stay,” he whispered, “and fix it.”

Severus didn’t answer. But he didn’t move either.

Severus pushed off the toilet seat, razor tucked away with care. His eyes locked on James, whose face was still flushed and warm from the shave. Without a word, Severus reached out and tugged James gently by the wrist.

Before James could even think to protest, Severus was leading him, fully clothed, straight into the steaming shower. The door slid shut behind them with a soft click.

Water cascaded down around them—James’s dark curls soaking, clinging to his forehead, Severus’s pale skin gleaming with droplets. 

They stood close, the heat wrapping them like a shared secret. No words. Just the sound of the water and the soft press of their bodies.

James’s hands found Severus’s hips, Severus’s fingers tangled in damp hair. The world shrunk to the warm cascade of water and the quiet comfort of being near.

When the water slowed to a gentle drip, they stepped out, wrapped in towels. Severus’s fingers worked on the knot of damp hair at James’s nape, James’s hands pressed against Severus’s back—steady, grounding.

Back in the bedroom, James pulled on his clothes, still damp in places, the white shirt stretched snug over his chest.

Severus took the Gryffindor jersey from the chair and slipped it over his own head, the sleeves falling long past his wrists. The name Potter sprawled across the back in bold letters. The jersey hung loose on his frame—too big, but perfect somehow.

He didn’t bother with the pants—James’s trousers swallowed his legs, sliding down at the waist and trailing past his ankles. Instead, Severus went barefoot, toes curling on the soft carpet.

James’s eyes never left Severus’s legs as he adjusted the jersey, the fabric brushing against his knees, catching on the slight muscles there. It was a small thing, but it made James’s heart flip.

Severus tugged on James’s sleeve, pulling him gently toward the bed.

James hesitated, just for a moment.

“I want to,” James said quietly, “to return the gesture. Let me brush your hair.”

Severus tilted his head, expression unreadable but inviting. James sat beside him on the edge of the bed, reaching out with careful fingers.

The brush slid through Severus’s damp hair, slow and steady. James watched every strand, every soft sigh that escaped Severus’s lips as the knots untangled beneath his touch.

The room was quiet except for the gentle scrape of bristles.

When James finished, Severus’s hand found James’s wrist and pulled him gently onto the bed.

James froze, the vulnerability hitting him in waves.

“It’s okay,” Severus murmured softly, brushing a stray lock from James’s forehead.

James didn’t need to be told twice. He wrapped his arms around Severus, burying his face in Severus’s shoulder.

Severus held him just as tightly, like they were finally anchoring themselves to something solid and real.

And for a moment—just a moment—the past faded away.

A  beat passes.

Then, quietly, barely a whisper,

“Do you still want to leave?”

Severus doesn’t answer. Not out loud.

Instead, he turns—just a fraction—and presses himself closer . A shoulder against James’s chest, the soft catch of breath shared between them. It’s a wordless no. A shaky, reluctant, dangerous no. James doesn’t ask again.

After a few minutes—maybe seconds, maybe hours, time is strange here—James speaks again, voice even softer.

“Did you love him?”

Severus exhales, slow. He could lie. Could deflect, defuse, joke.

But he’s tired of that.

“Yes.”

The word hangs in the air like smoke. He lets it sit. Then adds—

“But I never looked at him the way I looked at you.”

That’s the truth. Regulus had been warmth, companionship, even safety. But James had always been fire.

James doesn’t reply immediately. Just lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for a long, long time. His arms tighten around Severus—not desperate, not claiming. Just... steady. Grounding.

Severus falls asleep like that.

The room is dim, grey light spilling through the curtains in ribbons. It smells like rain and old wood, like freshly washed clothes and James’s aftershave. 

The bed is warm. Too warm. Severus usually wakes up at dawn—trained into him by necessity and years of paranoia—but this morning, it’s nearly noon.

His body feels heavy— unusually heavy, like it’s been allowed to rest for the first time in months.

He stirs slowly, eyes blinking open to the soft hush of the world outside the duvet. James isn’t there.

He sits up, rubbing a hand over his face, blinking through the sleep haze. He’s still wearing James’s oversized Gryffindor jersey, the sleeves stretched over his knuckles. His legs are bare. The floor is cold. He hates how home it all feels.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed just as the door opens.

James walks in—hair a mess, socks mismatched, holding a chipped mug of tea like it’s the most important thing in the universe.

“You’re awake,” he says, a little breathless, like he jogged up the stairs.

He sets the mug on the nightstand beside Severus and says, “You don’t have to love me, you just have to stay.”

Severus looks at the tea. Then at James.

He doesn’t say anything.

But his throat works like he almost does. Like there’s something caught behind his teeth that hasn’t been spoken aloud in years. He just picks up the tea and takes a sip. It’s overly sweet, barely hot, and definitely made wrong.

But it’s perfect.

They sit in bed together for another hour. No words. Just shared quiet. Their knees touch. Sometimes James glances at him. Sometimes Severus almost smiles.

Eventually, hunger wins.

James declares, very confidently, “I’ll cook.”

Severus watches him leave the room and waits three full minutes before following him into the tiny kitchen— just in time to see James burn scrambled eggs so spectacularly that even the pan seems offended.

“That’s not cooking,” Severus says, arms crossed.

“It’s rustic,” James insists, fanning the smoke with a towel. “Kreacher would cry. In a good way.”

Severus steps in, muttering under his breath, taking over with a resigned sigh. James watches him, leaning against the counter like he’s seeing something sacred.

They move awkwardly around each other—two boys pretending to be men, pretending this isn’t the most human moment either of them has had in months.

And somehow, it's perfect.

The food is edible. They eat on the couch. They don’t talk much.

But the air is lighter. The house feels warmer.

And for once, neither of them is pretending to be anything other than what they are.

The world outside Potter Manor moved on.

But inside, time folded. Like a soft blanket tucked around two people who pretended nothing existed beyond their walls.

Severus cooked breakfast. James watered the plants—badly. They argued over whose turn it was to do laundry, then did it together anyway. They made tea three times a day. Took walks through the garden. Fed the cat James swore they didn’t adopt , but still named.

They played house—too well.

James had never been so at peace. Severus had never been so still.

Gone were the sharp edges. The ghosts. The history. They didn’t talk about the past. Didn’t talk about Hogwarts, or Regulus, or Lily, or anything that cracked the soft veneer of their world.

They didn’t need to.

Not until James started having dreams.

It always started the same, Regulus standing in the doorway. Smirking. Reaching out his hand.

Severus would take it. Without hesitation.

James would wake up gasping.

The third night in a row it happened, he didn’t even pretend to be fine. He shot upright in bed, chest heaving, sweat at his temples.

Severus blinked awake immediately, already leaning over him. “What is it?”

James didn’t answer. Just shook his head. Ran a hand through his curls. He was trembling.

“Was it him again?” Severus asked gently, already knowing.

James nodded. He looked... young. Scared. Unsteady.

Severus shifted into his lap, straddling him easily, knees pressing into the mattress on either side. He cupped James’s face with both hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

“You’re awake,” Severus said quietly. “It’s just us.”

James swallowed hard. He leaned into the touch like a drowning man might lean into air.

“He came back,” James whispered. “He took you. And I just—stood there. I didn’t even fight. You didn’t even hesitate —you smiled at him,” His voice cracked.

Severus leaned in, brushing their foreheads together. “Then dream-you is an absolute idiot. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

James let out a shaky laugh. A disbelieving one. Severus pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“You hear me?” he said, low and serious. “He could show up on the doorstep right now and I still wouldn’t go.”

James still looked unsure. Like maybe he didn’t believe he was allowed to have something this soft. This kind.

So Severus kissed him.

Gently. Steady. The kind of kiss that anchors.

And James calmed under it. His shoulders lowered. His breath slowed.

Until—Knock. Knock. Knock.

At the window.

Severus pulled away slowly. James froze.

Knock. Knock.

Again.

Severus turned, walked barefoot across the cold floor, and unlatched the window.

The owl slipped in like a shadow, shaking rain from its feathers before landing on the nightstand with a thud .

James stared at it like it was a curse.

Severus untied the letter.

It was from Sirius.

He read it once. Then again.

His breath stilled.

Wordlessly, he handed it over to James and sat back on the bed.

James scanned the letter. And everything—the peace, the fantasy, the stillness—shattered.

James—where the hell are you?

You've been gone for months. Lily’s been looking for you. I told her I hadn’t seen you in about a year, and she looked like she was about to hex me.

Also, Snape is missing. Don’t know what happened between you two—if anything—but people are starting to whisper. 

Regulus is back, and it’s weird. He showed up at Grimmauld without a word and then locked himself in his old room. Didn’t speak to anyone for three days.

Anyway. I wrote to your parents and they acted like everything was fine. Which is how I got this address.

Just—write back, alright? Let me know you’re not dead. Lily might show up soon, I think she asked your mum for your address too.

Sirius.

James was moving before he even registered the panic.

He was up, wand in hand, casting wards around the house like a man possessed. Reinforcing old wards. Locking the Floo. Double-checking the anti-Apparition charms.

Severus followed him, quiet, watching.

By the time James finally returned to the bedroom, his breathing was shallow, and his eyes were wild again.

Severus took his hand. James didn’t let go.

He led him to bed. Pulled the covers around them like armor.

James clung to him tightly. Like if he didn’t, the world would snap in and steal him away.

“He’s not going to take you,” James whispered fiercely, like he could bend reality with his words.

Severus didn’t answer this time. Just kissed James’s temple and held him close.

He didn’t mention the way James’s arms tightened too much. Or how he already knew, from this point on, James wasn’t going to let him do anything alone anymore.

Not cook. Not shower. Not go to the garden.

And they never even talked about writing back to Sirius.

Not once.

It was like the letter didn’t exist.

It started with something small.

A glance. A comment. The way James hovered a bit too close while Severus cooked lunch, or how he followed him from room to room like a shadow that wouldn’t let go.

Severus had been patient. Kind. Gentle with the tension curled in James’s chest like a second spine.

But everyone has their breaking point.

“James,” Severus said that morning, voice tight, “you need to stop hovering.”

James looked up from where he was folding Severus’s favourite Gryffindore jersey—again. “I’m not hovering.”

“You’ve followed me to the loo three times today.”

James’s eyes flicked. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine .” Severus’s voice cracked slightly. “But I need to breathe .”

James’s jaw clenched. “So that’s what this is about. You’re sick of me again.”

Severus blinked. “Again?”

“You’ve been distant ever since Sirius’s letter. Ever since he came back.”

A beat of stunned silence.

“Regulus,” James spat, like the name tasted bitter. “You want to leave me for him , don’t you?”

The silence cracked like lightning.

“How dare you,” Severus whispered. His voice didn’t rise—it dropped. Quiet. Cold. Devastating. “After everything I gave up. After everything you did. You think I’d go back to the one person who didn’t come looking?”

James’s mouth opened. Closed. Panic settled behind his ribs.

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“You did,” Severus cut in. 

And now James was the one cracking, reaching for him. “Sev, wait—”

“Don’t,” Severus said, stepping back, eyes shining. “Don’t touch me.”

He sniffed and looked away, biting his trembling lip before whispering, “I just need some air. A walk. I’ll be back.”

James’s heart thudded. “Promise?”

“I said I’ll be back.”

And then he left.

James had barely slept.

The house was too quiet. Every clock tick felt like a scream. Every creak of the floorboards an accusation. He kept pacing, glancing out the window, swearing he’d only wait five more minutes before going after him.

But he didn’t need to.

Because just as the sun started to dip, the door creaked open.

Severus stepped inside, hair damp from mist, face unreadable—but not alone.

Behind him stood Lily Evans.

And in her arms, a whining baby.

James froze. The world tilted.

“Lily?” he croaked, voice hoarse from hours of silence.

Lily looked… tired. Frayed at the edges. Her hair was pulled back in a loose knot, her eyes ringed with sleepless nights.

Severus moved aside silently as she stepped in. She didn’t look around the house. She didn’t even look at James at first. She looked at the baby.

Lily’s voice was hoarse from hours of crying. “He hasn’t stopped. Not for days. I tried, I really did.”

Severus stepped aside silently. His hand lingered at the small of Lily’s back, a rare show of support.

James didn’t know what to say.

Lily looked at him—red-rimmed eyes, chapped lips—and whispered, “He’s yours.”

Harry wailed in her arms, voice hoarse and desperate. James felt like the floor fell out from under him.

“I named him Harry. Harry James Potter .” She sniffed. “I thought… you should have him.”

James couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Severus, meanwhile, gently reached out and took the baby from her.

Harry settled instantly against his chest.

James swore he saw Lily break a little.

“I thought I could do this on my own,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t. Not anymore.”

“I wasn’t going to come to you,” she said softly, rocking the child gently. “I didn’t want to. I really thought I could do it on my own.”

She swallowed.

“I found out I was four months pregnant two months after graduation. You were already gone by then. Running mad trying to find him.”

James opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I thought I could handle it. But Harry cries all the time. My parents won’t support me—they won’t support a fatherless child. Even if it’s mine.”

She looked up, finally meeting James’s eyes.

“I’ve been staying with Pandora. No one wants to hire a single mother. I have no money.”

Her hands trembled slightly. “I can’t do it.”

James took a step forward, helpless. “I—I don’t know anything about babies.”

She looked to Severus now. Not with jealousy. Not even pity.

But something like apology.

Severus said nothing.

But his hand cradled the baby tighter.

And oh, how carefully he held him. Like something precious. Like something he’d dreamed of for far too long.

Lily saw the look on Severus’s face—soft, reverent, a love so quiet it hurt to look at. And then she understood.

“You always wanted a family,” she whispered. “Even back then. Even when we were kids.”

“You used to say… maybe one day. A husband. A home. A child. But you never thought anyone would love you enough for that, did you?”

He looked at her then, something unspeakable flickering in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Lily whispered. “For everything. For how I treated you. For leaving you when you needed me.”

Severus just shook his head once. Then he looked down at Harry, who had settled in his arms like he belonged there. Like he knew.

Severus didn’t ask for anything.

He didn’t need to.

He simply said, “Thank you.”

Lily pressed a kiss to Harry’s head. Her fingers lingered there, just for a moment. Then she turned and walked to the door.

She didn’t look back.

The door closed.

And Harry stayed.

James stood still, blinking like he wasn’t sure any of it had really happened.

Severus didn’t speak.

He just shifted the baby gently in his arms and walked past James—into the heart of the home they’d built together. Their quiet little world that now held one more heartbeat.

James followed.

He sat beside Severus on the couch, afraid to even breathe.

Severus looked at him and held out the baby.

James hesitated—then reached. Hands trembling.

Harry settled into his arms, warm and light and terrifying.

James swallowed hard.

Severus leaned his head on James’s shoulder. “He likes you,” he murmured.

James exhaled, tears stinging behind his eyes.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he whispered.

“Neither do I,” Severus said. “But we’ll figure it out.”

And for the first time in months, maybe longer, James believed him.

They stayed like that for a long while, the three of them curled together in a home that—despite everything—finally felt fuller, heavier, like the weight of that little life Lily had placed in their arms had shifted everything. But it wasn’t loud. Just… still. Like the air itself was watching.

They made their way to the bedroom in near silence, James opening the door while Severus carried the baby—who hadn’t stirred once, even when the latch clicked.

Severus moved carefully, placing the boy down in the middle of their bed. He adjusted a pillow to block the edge, then stood back for a moment, staring.

Harry looked impossibly small on the wide expanse of covers. A little fist curled by his mouth. His breathing steady, his face flushed with sleep.

Severus didn’t even notice James crossing the room—until arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him in tight.

James buried his face in the crook of Severus’s neck and just held him, breathing in like he could anchor himself there.

“I’m sorry,” James whispered, voice rough. “For what I said. About Regulus. That wasn’t fair.”

Severus didn’t respond immediately. His hands reached up, touched James’s forearms where they circled his chest. And then he nodded once, just a breath of motion. “No, it wasn’t.”

“I just—” James tightened his grip. “You’re the only thing that makes sense anymore. And when I feel like I’m losing you, I—I don’t know how to be. I get stupid. I say things I don’t mean.”

“I’m not going to leave you, James,” Severus said quietly, eyes still on the sleeping baby. “Not now. Not ever.”

He turned then, slowly, pressing into James’s chest and wrapping his arms around him. James clung back like he was terrified Sev would vanish between heartbeats.

For a while, they just stood like that. Breathing each other in. Letting the silence smooth the raw edges between them.

Then Severus spoke again, voice quiet but firm. “Regulus was important to me.”

James didn’t flinch. “I know.”

“I did love him.”

James swallowed. “I know that, too.”

Severus looked up, his dark eyes calm but honest. “But it was never like this. It was never… home.”

James blinked, like the words cracked something open in him.

They moved to sit on the bed—careful not to disturb Harry. James’s hand found Severus’s, their fingers lacing automatically.

“And Harry?” James asked softly.

Severus looked down at the baby, who let out a soft sigh in his sleep.

“He’s a chance,” Severus said. “A clean start. A life we never thought we could have.”

James nodded. “I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

They sat like that, hand in hand, hearts still a little bruised but finally steady.

Then James turned, a half-smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s never fight again.”

Severus actually laughed. Quiet. Soft. Honest. “We’re terrible at that.”

James leaned forward, eyes searching his. “Still. Let’s promise.”

“Alright,” Severus murmured. “I promise.”

And then he kissed him. Soft. Unhurried. Not fiery or demanding—just lips brushing lips, a silent affirmation of all the things they didn’t have to say.

James leaned into it like he was starved. Like that kiss was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

Severus pulled back just a little, rested his forehead against James’s. “We’ll be alright,” he said quietly.

James smiled. A real one this time. “We already are.”

Outside, the sky was turning violet, and inside, on a bed no longer meant for just two, they sat together—man, man, and child.

A strange little family.

But a family, still.

The sun was high by the time Severus stirred.

Harry was curled in the crook of his arm, warm and sweet-smelling, still sound asleep. For a moment, Severus just stared—at the tiny eyelashes, the puff of soft breath, the peaceful little furrow between brows that already looked too much like James’s.

A faint bang echoed from somewhere in the house.

Severus blinked.

Another thud . A curse. Something that sounded suspiciously like a Transfiguration spell being muttered and then quickly reversed.

Careful not to jostle the baby, Severus sat up and shifted Harry against his chest. The baby blinked once, let out a soft sigh, and fell right back asleep, fingers fisting into Severus’s shirt.

He padded quietly into the hallway, bare feet silent on the old wood floors, Harry snuggled into him like a second heartbeat.

The living room was chaos.

James was on the floor, surrounded by a mix of spellbooks, empty potion vials, conjured nappies stacked at odd angles, and what appeared to be a lopsided wooden crib that may or may not have once been a bookshelf. 

He was shirtless, sweaty, and deep in concentration, wand gripped like a weapon as he muttered incantations at a floating bottle that had clearly just exploded five minutes ago.

“James,” Severus said, voice hoarse from sleep.

James spun around so fast he nearly tripped over the pile of plush toys he'd conjured. “You’re awake! He’s awake! Merlin—okay—okay, so I tried to sterilize the baby bottle but it caught fire, but I put it out, mostly , and then I thought—what if he rolls off the bed? So I transfigured the bookshelf and then—well—it’s got a wobble, but I can fix it! And nappies, we’ll need so many nappies, you wouldn’t believe how many spells it takes to get the right size—”

Severus stared at him.

Then looked at Harry.

Then back at James.

The man was glowing with frantic energy, hair wild, chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted to Hogsmeade and back.

“Have you slept?” Severus asked.

James blinked. “No time.”

Severus walked forward slowly, sat down beside him, and rested Harry carefully in the makeshift crib. The baby stayed asleep, utterly unfazed by the chaos he’d been born into.

James looked at the crib, then at Severus.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he mumbled.

“It’s crooked,” Severus replied gently.

James deflated. “I know.”

“But it’s perfect anyway,” Severus added, voice softer now.

James exhaled like someone had just popped a balloon in his chest. “I just want him to be okay. I want you to be okay. I don’t know what I’m doing, Sev.”

Severus leaned against him, resting his head on James’s shoulder. “Neither do I. But we’ve got time to figure it out. And apparently, thirty-six nappies.”

James snorted, half-laugh, half-weep. “You counted?”

“I'm not blind, Potter.”

James turned his head, kissed Severus’s temple. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

Severus looked at the sleeping baby, then back at James. “Yes,” he said. “We are.”

Just then, Harry stirred. A soft little whimper.

James panicked. “Oh Merlin—what does that mean? Is that the hungry cry? Or the wet one? Wait, is there a difference—?!”

Severus rolled his eyes, already picking the baby back up. “Relax. He’s fine. He’s just—” he paused as Harry gave a louder squawk, “—grumpy. Probably sensed you were about to start crying.”

“I was not ,” James huffed, holding his arms out to carry Harry as Severus handed him over.

Harry promptly spit up on his shoulder.

Severus laughed.

And for the first time in this new life—this patched-together, lopsided, beautifully messy life—James laughed too.

A knock echoed at the door.

James froze, arms outstretched, still holding a cloth to his spit-up-soaked shirt. “Do you think it’s Regulus?” he hissed, eyes wide like an owl.

“It’s broad daylight, James,” Severus said dryly. “Even Regulus wouldn’t hex a baby before breakfast.”

Another knock—firmer this time—and the sound of shrunken boxes clinking gently against one another.

Severus shifted Harry on his hip and opened the door.

Lily stood there, cheeks flushed from the sun, her red hair pulled into a soft plait over one shoulder. Behind her was Pandora Rosier, quiet as ever, fingers loosely twined behind her back and a half-smile playing on her lips. Above them floated a small procession of tiny boxes labeled Harry in curling script.

“Figured you’d need these,” Lily said, nodding at the boxes. “There’s clothes, bottles, nappies, toys, a blanket or two… and his stuffed dragon.”

James was hovering in the background, still suspicious. “Are those boxes cursed?”

“No, James,” Lily said sweetly, before turning back to Severus.

Lily shook her head, laughing softly. “You poor thing.”

James squinted. “I don’t know if you mean me or him.”

“Yes,” Severus muttered.

Lily stepped inside with Pandora close behind. The boxes followed obediently, floating into a neat pile by the sofa.

Pandora’s eyes were on Lily. She didn’t say much—just wandered quietly through the room, pausing at the crib, at Harry. There was something gentle in her expression when she looked at the baby… but even gentler when her gaze flicked back to Lily.

Severus caught it. Filed it away. Said nothing.

He was too focused on Lily, anyway—how easily they fell into conversation again. Like no time had passed.

She walked with him to the kitchen while James attempted to spoon-feed Harry pureed pears and nearly lost a finger in the process.

“I was worried,” Lily said softly, helping him sort the baby bottles. “When I found out where you were. I thought maybe you’d be angry.”

“I was,” Severus admitted. “But not at you. Not really.”

Lily gave him a small, almost sad smile. “I’m sorry, Sev. For school. For… all of it.”

Severus handed her a bottle cap and said, “You already apologized.”

“I know. But I mean it again.”

He looked at her then—really looked. She seemed tired, yes. But stronger, too. Like someone who’d carried more than her share and kept walking anyway.

“I never hated you,” he said quietly.

Lily blinked fast. “I know.”

They finished the bottles in silence, letting the soft sounds of Harry babbling (and James panicking) fill the space.

From the living room,

“Severus—Sev—his face is wet—what does that mean—is he melting?!”

“He drooled,” Pandora offered serenely. “It’s a baby thing.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “It means he has a mouth, James.”

Pandora laughed softly. Lily looked at her with a fond smile. Severus definitely noticed that.

James was holding Harry at arm’s length now, completely exasperated but still utterly enchanted.

“He tried to eat my hair,” James said, horrified. “ Twice .”

“Better than your wand,” Lily said, reaching out to smooth Harry’s curls as she passed. “Last week he tried to eat a sugar quill whole.”

“I knew he was a menace,” James whispered to Severus.

Severus just rolled his eyes and picked Harry up again, letting the baby snuggle into his chest.

James instantly looked relieved.

Pandora and Lily stood at the door after a while, saying their goodbyes. Lily touched Severus’s arm—just briefly—and said, “He’s lucky to have you.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” Severus murmured, glancing down at the sleeping baby.

They left without much fuss. But Severus caught the look Pandora gave Lily again. It wasn’t subtle.

Later, as he passed by James—who was baby-proofing the window with all the seriousness of a cursebreaker—Severus muttered, “You owe me a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making .”

“Right after I figure out how to conjure non-toxic pacifier,” James replied.

“Priorities.”

“Exactly,” James said, eyeing Harry’s open mouth with dread. “He’s planning something. I can feel it.”

It was strange being outside again.

Stranger still was how natural it felt.

The world was loud and colorful—bright shop signs, enchanted balloons bobbing above prams, little kids dragging their parents toward sweet shops and Quidditch merch stands. Severus thought it might overwhelm him, but instead… it was grounding. Like they’d come up for air after months underwater.

Severus carried Harry close to his chest, one arm tucked securely around the baby’s bottom, the other cupping the back of his small head. Harry was asleep, of course—because apparently the soft rattle of traffic and bustle was his ideal lullaby.

James had an arm slung protectively around Severus’s waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of Severus’s coat every few steps, as if to silently say, You’re still here.

They’d stopped at three shops already.

Severus was efficient—clothes, bottles, a baby sling charmed for warmth. All practical.

James?

James bought everything else.

A tiny Gryffindor onesie with a lion on the bum. A plush snitch that glowed when Harry touched it. A spell-safe broom toy Severus was definitely going to hide. A bib that read Mummy's Little Monster (James winked when he bought that one). A set of alphabet blocks that levitated and spelled POTTER until Severus tapped them twice and they politely rearranged to HARRY .

“James,” Severus deadpanned, holding up a fuzzy crimson baby robe embroidered with Future Head Boy . “He can't even sit up yet.”

“He needs goals,” James replied, tossing it into the pile.

Severus rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

James paid for everything with a casual flick of his wand, charming the dozen floating bags to circle him like loyal satellites. As they stepped out of the shop, Severus leaned slightly into James’s side. James adjusted his hold without thinking—hand shifting from Severus’s waist to the small of his back.

They were just debating between Florean Fortescue’s or that new Muggle-inspired café down Knockturn—Severus had vetoed it already— when it happened.

James spotted him first.

Regulus Black.

Walking down the lane like he owned it, of course, in his immaculate black coat and silver-cuffed boots. A girl clung to his arm—petite, sleek black hair, pale as moonlight, with cheekbones and an expression that looked eerily familiar.

Severus followed James’s gaze, and then he saw it too.

Regulus noticed them almost instantly.

His expression faltered—only for a second—but it was enough. His dark eyes locked onto Severus. And for a moment, the world stilled.

He looked like he was going to say something. Like maybe he wanted to.

But before he could move, Severus gently jostled Harry in his arms, stepped closer to James, and tugged on his sleeve.

“Let’s go,” he said softly.

James blinked. “You—what? Did you just see—”

“I did,” Severus said, gaze still fixed ahead. “Come on.”

And then he walked away.

James followed, bags trailing behind him like confused ducklings, his eyes flicking back once—just once—to see Regulus standing there, still watching.

They didn’t stop walking until they were halfway down the alley, tucked behind a flower cart selling honeysuckle and charmed tulips.

James finally spoke. “Sev…”

But Severus just kept walking, adjusting Harry in his arms, eyes forward.

“I’m fine,” he said. Not cold. Not distant. Just… decided.

James didn’t push.

He caught up to Severus again and this time laced their fingers together.

They ended up at Florean’s after all. Harry woke just in time to try and grab James’s spoon (he failed), and Severus laughed for the first time that day—really laughed. James swore it echoed.

The bags piled at their feet. The sun dipped lower in the sky.

They didn’t talk about Regulus again.

But James didn’t let go of Severus’s hand once—not even when he reached to pay for dessert.

The house was quiet when they got back.

James set the shopping bags down in a cluttered heap by the door, flicked his wand once to close the curtains, and then hesitated—like the silence suddenly weighed more than all the things they bought.

Severus didn’t say anything at first. He was upstairs, settling Harry into the transfigured crib. The baby was already drifting again, one fist curled tight around the edge of Severus’s sleeve.

By the time Severus came back down, James was sitting on the sofa, arms resting on his knees, head bowed like he was still trying to catch up with the day.

Severus sat beside him, their shoulders brushing.

A long, quiet moment passed.

James didn’t look at him when he asked, “Were you okay today?”

Soft. Careful. Like if he spoke too loud, it would shatter the room.

Severus stared ahead at the flickering fireplace. Thought about lying. Then didn’t.

“No,” he said quietly.

James nodded once. Like he’d known. Like it still hurt to hear.

“I didn’t expect to see him,” Severus said, voice steady but low. “Not like that. With someone who looked like me.”

James’s hand twitched on his knee. “She did look like you.”

Severus gave a small, bitter breath of a laugh. “Wonder if that was on purpose.”

Silence again. But not the sharp, painful kind. The sort that waits. Listens.

“I thought I’d feel more,” Severus said eventually. “Anger. Longing. Regret.” He shook his head. “But I just felt… tired.”

James finally looked over at him. “You could’ve gone to him.”

Severus turned his gaze to meet James’s. Calm. Direct. “But I didn’t.”

James didn’t respond right away. His fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

“I wanted to hex him,” James muttered. “If you went.”

“That’s rich,” Severus murmured. “You were worse.”

James huffed. “True.”

They fell into silence again, but this one was warmer. Quieter. Something more forgiving.

Severus leaned into James’s side, resting his temple on James’s shoulder. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”

James swallowed. “I believe you. But I still… worry.”

“You always will,” Severus said softly. “That’s who you are.”

James tilted his head to kiss the top of Severus’s hair. “I just don’t want to lose this.”

Severus closed his eyes. “Then stop looking for reasons you will.”

And for a while, they just sat there. The fire crackled. Upstairs, Harry stirred once in his sleep but settled just as quickly. And in the quiet of their strange, patched-together life, there was something almost whole.

The morning passed in a blur of icing sugar, half-blown balloons, and James getting frosting on everything but the cake . The house smelled like vanilla, rosemary, and slight panic.

Severus had been in the kitchen since sunrise, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, muttering over a bubbling pot and trying to stop a suspiciously aggressive cake from self-levitating. 

Every few minutes, he’d flick his wand to stir something else, the smell of roasted vegetables and honey-glazed something-or-other drifting through the air like a love letter written in spice.

Harry was bouncing in his high chair, face already smeared with buttercream from “taste-testing” the birthday decorations. James was crouched in front of him, wand in one hand, party hat in the other, looking like he was negotiating with a tiny dictator.

The room was decked out in floating candles shaped like snitches, streamers that shifted color depending on Harry’s mood (currently a sunny yellow), and an enormous enchanted banner that kept enthusiastically proclaiming “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY POTTER” in varying fonts—some of which were... deeply aggressive.

Severus wiped his hands on a towel as he walked in, ready to drag James away from whatever chaos he was brewing—but he paused at the doorway, quietly leaning against the frame when he heard it.

Harry giggled at everything. Especially his father’s increasingly unhinged attempts to get him to say one particular word.

“Come on,” James said, grinning down at his son, who was currently trying to chew on his own foot. “Say ‘Mama.’ Maa-ma. You know, the one who cooks and scolds and makes you look less like a feral goblin every morning? Your Mama.”

A soft whap landed on the back of his head.

“Ow—Sev!”

Severus was standing behind him, one brow arched, a wooden spoon in his hand and a distinctly unimpressed look on his face. “Did you seriously try to make him call me that again?”

“He already calls me ‘Dada,’ it’s only fair—”

“I’m not his mother .”

“No, but you’re... you know. You are .” James wiggled his eyebrows like that explained anything.

Severus opened his mouth to retort—only for Harry to clap his tiny hands, wriggle excitedly in James’s arms, and stretch his arms toward Severus.

“Mama!”

James choked on air. Severus froze.

“I hate you,” Severus muttered as he took the child into his arms.

“Mama, mama!” Harry sang, delighted, patting Severus’s cheeks.

“You love me,” James said smugly.

Before Severus could retaliate with a Bat-Bogey Hex Lite, Baby-Safe Edition , the fireplace flared green.

Out stepped Lily first, dressed in soft yellow robes with her hair curled delicately, holding a carefully wrapped box in her arms. Right behind her came Pandora—looking like starlight with a quiet smile—followed by Remus, Sirius, and Peter.

And right as they all landed on the rug, brushing off soot and laughing—

“MAMA!” Harry shouted, pointing at Severus like he was announcing the Messiah.

Everyone froze.

Lily blinked.

Sirius made a noise that could only be described as a choked wheeze.

Pandora looked delighted.

And Remus clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from outright howling.

Severus, ever the image of composure, turned slowly to James.

“ I swear to Merlin, I will hex you into next week. ”

James beamed like he’d just won the lottery.

The rest of the day passed in bursts of magic and mayhem.

The cake turned out stunningly well—though Severus had to fight Sirius off from sticking his fingers in the icing four separate times. 

Remus had brought books as presents (obviously), and Peter gifted a soft, plush Hippogriff that Harry immediately tried to eat. 

Lily watched everything with tired eyes but a soft smile, and when she and Severus exchanged glances, it was no longer heavy with history—just mutual understanding.

Harry was spoiled with cuddles, tickles, toys, and far too much sugar. And when the candles were blown out and the banner changed to “MAMA DESERVES A NAP,” Severus genuinely laughed. Not a quiet, subtle one. A real laugh. He did that quite often lately.

That night, after everyone had left and the dishes had been charmed clean and the house had quieted, James and Severus lay curled in bed, Harry sleeping peacefully between them.

The moonlight spilled across the sheets in slanted silver lines, and James turned his head, brushing a knuckle against Severus’s hand.

“You gave me a family,” he whispered.

Severus looked down at the baby, then over at James, his voice barely above a breath.

“You gave me a home.”

James closed his eyes and leaned in close, his breath steady, lips brushing over Severus’s in a soft kiss—sure, deliberate, and without a trace of doubt.