James x regulus mini fic - 517 words
The Hogwarts library is very clear about three things:
No loud talking.
No food.
No running.
James Potter is currently violating at least two of them.
He drops into the chair across from Regulus with far too much enthusiasm for a place guarded by Madam Pince.
Regulus doesn’t look up.
“You’re breathing loudly,” he says calmly, turning a page of Advanced Defensive Theory.
“That’s just my natural charm.”
“It sounds like asthma.”
James leans forward on his elbows. “What’re you working on?”
“You,” Regulus says absently.
James freezes. “Pardon?”
Regulus finally glances up, expression perfectly composed. “You asked for help with nonverbal spells. I’m reviewing theory so you stop setting your own sleeves on fire.”
“That happened once.”
“Twice.”
“It was dramatic flair.”
“It was a hazard.”
James grins anyway.
Regulus has ink on his fingers. There’s a faint crease between his brows when he concentrates. The green light from the lamps makes his hair look almost silver-black.
“You’re staring,” Regulus says.
“I’m appreciating.”
“You’re distracting.”
“Is it working?”
“…Unfortunately.”
James beams.
Regulus slides a piece of parchment across the table. “Theory first. Wand movement is secondary. Focus on intent.”
James skims it. “You wrote this out for me?”
“No.”
“It’s in your handwriting.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It has my name at the top.”
Regulus goes very still.
James tilts the page.
Potter — stop overthinking. Magic listens when you mean it.
There’s a faint scratch-out above it, like Regulus rewrote the sentence to sound less soft.
James’s smile fades into something quieter.
“You didn’t have to,” he says gently.
Regulus shrugs, staring stubbornly at his book. “You’re unbearable when you fail.”
“Reg.”
“I prefer you competent.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Regulus’s fingers tighten slightly on his quill.
The silence stretches, warm and fragile.
Then James lowers his voice.
“Show me?”
Regulus hesitates. Then he stands, walking around the table to James’s side.
“Don’t make a spectacle,” he murmurs.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Regulus leans in, close enough that James can feel the brush of his sleeve.
“Wrist looser,” Regulus says quietly, adjusting James’s grip.
His fingers wrap around James’s hand.
It’s purely instructional.
Entirely professional.
James absolutely stops breathing.
“Intent,” Regulus reminds him, voice low near his ear. “Don’t force it. Just decide.”
James swallows.
“Hard to think,” he whispers.
“Why.”
“You’re very close.”
There’s the faintest pause.
Then, softer:
“Focus, Potter.”
But Regulus doesn’t move away.
James closes his eyes, tries again.
The spell works this time — clean, controlled.
A small, perfect burst of magic.
Regulus pulls back just enough to look at him.
“…Good,” he says.
James turns his head slightly.
They are very, very close.
The library is silent except for turning pages and distant scratching quills.
Regulus glances toward Madam Pince.
Then back at James.
“You’re improving,” he murmurs.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Stay and supervise, then.”
Regulus hesitates only a second before sliding into the chair beside him instead of returning across the table.
“Fine,” he says lightly.
Their shoulders brush as they bend over the parchment.
Neither of them move away.
And for once, James keeps his voice low.
