maybe when time is right you will find me again

“This is wrong.” 

Pandora, who was busy writing detailed notes into her Potions notebook, looked up at Regulus. The latter was regarding their shared cauldron with a look of utter disdain, his face twisted into disgust. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was upset about them possibly doing something inaccurate with their assignment. But she’d known her Potions partner and best friend for six years, so she knew the truth:

He was panicking on the inside.

“No. It’s not,” she said, voice soft but light. “It looks exactly like the book says it should. You know that.”

Regulus’s voice was brittle and terrifying. “It’s wrong,” he repeated, staring daggers at her. There was a softness in his eyes, though, that he reserved only for her and a few other select people. She knew he wasn’t mad at her…just the situation.

She also knew the answer to her, but pretended not to. “Why do you say that?” she asked, raising one eyebrow and holding back a grin.

His glare looked like it was intended to kill. “It smells off,” he snarled, like spitting out the words was a form of torture.

Inhaling, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the scent of lilies and something sweet. “It smells just fine to me. What does it smell like to you?”

The Slytherin’s reaction to the question was nearly-rabid. He growled, low and venomous, his eyes flickering away.

She couldn’t help herself. She grinned. “Like…maybe…the Quidditch Pitch?  Eucalyptus? Ocean breeze shampoo?”

“Cedar and vanilla,” Regulus hissed. “Potter uses cedar and vanilla-scented shampoo.”

She smiled in triumph. “So it does smell like Potter, then,” she whispered, gesturing to their perfectly-made Amortentia.

Regulus sighed, his anger dissipating into something akin to distraught acceptance. “No,” he lied.

“My brother?” Barty roared, slamming his palm with a loud smack! on the beautiful countertop of the kitchen. “My brother, Rosie? How could you?” 

Evan scoffed, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. “As if you have the moral high ground, Bartemius! You fucked my mom, what, two months ago? So I don’t regret it!”

“She’s a redhead, you know I have a weakness!”

The crowd forming around them murmured and exchanged glances. Some were obviously entertained while others clearly disgusted. 

“A weakness! You’re about to have a weakness when I kick you in the prick so hard you see stars!” Evan hissed, leaning over the countertop so he was only centimeters away from Barty’s smirk.

“You seem pretty obsessed with my prick for someone who was sucking my brother off not two hours ago!” Barty yelled, so loudly that even people rooms away looked around.

Trying not to break character, both of them glanced around the store, looking for the telltale sign of blue-and-yellow. Noticing nothing, Evan continued with a smirk, “As if you aren’t constantly begging me to slam you into the mattress. God knows why you even when near my mom, s’not like she has anything for you to gag on.”

Barty’s eyes flashed. “Yeah? Gag on this–!” With that, he grabbed Evan’s collar, pulling him into a blistering kiss, causing the now-large crowd in the middle of the Ikea show kitchen to gasp with disgust and delight. 

Without breaking their snogging session, both of them shuffled to the side around the counter and to a nearby bed, tingling around each other in the obnoxiously fluffy and floral sheets, Barty’s leg knocking into the bright-yellow hanging overhead as they got more and more into what they were doing.

They managed to get both of their shirts off, crowd be damned, before a very disgruntled and obviously underpaid employee broke them up and escorted them from the store.

They walked out hand-in-hand, beaming.

“Well, we can check that one off the list,” Barty smirked, crossing the name of the location of the store off a long list of Ikea stores. “We’ve been banned from over 20 locations, now. We should celebrate.”

“We can grab some wine,” Evan suggested. “Nice improv, by the way.”

“Yeah, can’t say the same to you. Your mom?” Barty grimaced.

Regulus *having an alcoholic drink*:

Barty: look reggie if you need to be drunk just to be with him *leans in closer to whisper in his ear* I know a guy who can fake your death and we can run away

Regulus was alone.

Or…he thought he was alone. James’s class wasn’t supposed to get out for another fifteen minutes. So he sat peacefully on the cold, unforgiving stone floor of the corridor, Potions notes spread over his folded knees, drawing in the margins. Sure, he could’ve been studying, but there were other things on his mind.

Other things that had messy hair and ridiculously circular glasses. 

Absentmindedly, he doodled the numbers ‘07’ over and over, mouth completely flat, hunched close to the page. Though it was just a number–it only was a coincidence that Potter wore it on his back during every Quidditch game–Regulus found himself very focused on getting the lines perfect. So focused, actually, that he didn’t even notice the shadow looming overhead.

“Are you…writing my Quidditch number?” James Potter’s voice asked delightedly, making Regulus jump a foot in the air and snap his notebook shut.

“No,” he hissed, giving the older boy a threatening glare. “That would be disgusting.”

But Potter was beaming so brightly, he might as well have been made of sunshine. “You were,” he breathed, eyes sparkling. “Merlin…you like me, don’t you?”

Standing and sending his boyfriend another furious look, Regulus scoffed. “You’ve no evidence of that.”

Teasingly, James pointed to the notebook. “You sure, love?” his smile made Regulus’s knees all wobbly, and Regulus wanted to punch something. 

Instead, though, he opened the notebook, ripped out the offending page, crumpled it up, and tossed it into a nearby standing torch, watching, satisfied, as it lit aflame. “No evidence,” he repeated venomously, turning back to James.

“Prongs, I think…I think we need to talk.” 

Sirius’s sad, slightly-betrayed voice made James’s heart break even before he sat up to look at his friend. But once he caught the confused, horrified, devastated look in those familiar gray eyes?

Merlin, he felt awful.

Because finally, Sirius knew.

“Pads,” he said softly, moving to sit cross-legged on his bed and face the other boy, thankful that the room was empty, save for the two of them. “Pads, I–”

“I didn’t want to think it was true, you know?” Sirius said sadly, face still twisted into a grimace. “All the times you snuck out with the Map, the little marks on your neck…it was obvious, you know? But I thought maybe you and Evans’d finally started something up and you wanted to keep it secret? Even from me? Dunno…” Sirius shook his head, looking away. “And then I realized you smelled like cologne, and I thought, ‘Oh, I guess that makes a little sense. I don’t know why he wouldn’t trust me to share that with, I’m always snogging Moony and we’re best friends, but–’”

“Pads,” James whispered, lip quivering, broken. “It’s not that sim–”

“Obviously, it’s not that simple! Because it’s not just any bloke is it?” Sirius asked a little angrily. “I followed you, James! I know you’ve been meeting in the Potions practice rooms! It’s not like many students have keys there! Did you not think I’d figure it out?”

Torn between being angry at Sirius for following him and guilty for his own betrayal, James looked down. “I was going to tell you..” he murmured.

“Were you? Or were you going to wait until you couldn’t deny it? Until I had so much evidence you had to admit it?” Sirius demanded.

James stayed quiet, tears prickling at his eyes. 

“The sad thing is, mate, if you’d just said something, I would’ve at least heard you out. I care, and I want you to be happy. But Godric, he’s such a prick to all of us, even you! I don’t understand why you’re interested in him,” the shorter boy sighed, face confused, now. 

He bit at his lip, trying not to get defensive. It was true, he was a bit of a prick sometimes, but he wasn’t awful–

“I mean, he hexed me just the other day! He insulted Lily and made her cry! What d’you–” Sirius continued to rant.

But this took James off-guard. “He what?” he asked, shaken.

“C’mon, don’t play dumb. You know what he’s done. Who he is. Who he wants to be. And don’t deny it either,” Sirius snapped, throwing a Slytherin tie towards him. “I found this. I know you’re hooking up with Snape.”

The resulting silence was deafening. James had to take several long moments to process what had just happened, who they were both talking about, before a completely hysterical laugh bubbled through his lips. “No, I’m not,” he said truthfully.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Potter, we’re supposed to be best friends, don’t lie–”

“I’m dating Regulus.”

Sirius’s face twisted and turned into so many different emotions that James was a bit convinced he’d been hit by some sort of spell. Shock, denial, defeat, relief, more shock, disgust… “Regulus.” he repeated flatly, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

“Yeah,” James nodded, smiling nervously. 

“Not Snape.”

“No.”

“I…can’t decide whether to hug you or hex you,” Sirius said stiffly, hands clenched at his sides. 

“That’s…that's fair, mate,” James laughed, wincing. 

But in the end, Sirius sighed, threw himself onto his own bed, and ironed his hand over his face. “Thank Merlin I don’t have to be your best man when you marry Snape. I would’ve died.”