Chapter Text

“Lads, this summer is absolutely going to change our lives.”

James hopped onto the bus, his two best mates trailing behind.

“You say that every summer,” Peter grumbled as he climbed aboard. Bless his soul—he’d been going to Camp Hogwarts with James since they were kids.

But you couldn’t blame James for getting excited. Camp Hogwarts was the stuff of legend: day-long football sessions, nights packed with music, actual scouts who sometimes turned up on weekends, and food that didn’t come from a microwave. For a guy like James, Camp Hogwarts was the closest he could get to heaven on earth.

Now, Sirius had heard about this elite football camp for years. In fact, he had heard about it within the first 5 minutes of meeting James back in year 6. But Sirirus had never been allowed to go. Immediately after hearing about the camp from James, Sirirus, a lot naiver back in the day, had let his father know at dinner, that he had plans for the next summer. His father had looked up from a file he was reading just to scoff. “a football camp? What do you think we are, heathens?”. Of course his father had forbidden it. And after repeatedly asking for a few weeks,the words Camp Hogwarts were pretty much banned at Grimmauld. Apparently becoming a football player was one of Sirirus childish dreams. As if dreams were only valid if they wore cufflinnks and owned property in Chelsea.

And it hadn’t been easy to get in. Hogwarts only took recruited players.

But Sirius had always been a natural at football. So about a thousand late-night training sessions with James on his schools football putch and a lot of stubborn conidence later, Sirirus had made the cut. Without a shred of support from his father. If anything, the total lack of it had only made him want it more. Not that he was about to thank him for it. This? This was *Sirius’s* doing

“Yes, Wormy,” Sirius said as he dropped his backpack onto the bench, “but this summer has one crucial difference, I’m here to actually get the party going.”

Peter groaned. “Oh brilliant. I’ve got to share a cabin with two twats on a mission.”

James and Sirius cackled and started shoving each other around like Year 8s. The coach hadn’t even pulled off yet, and already they were buzzing.

This summer was going to be awesome.

A hot, sticky bus ride later—full of sing-offs with the younger boys—they finally pulled up to Camp Hogwarts.

Sirius was the last to get off. And as he stepped onto the gravel path, it really hit him. He was standing in front of a place he’d only ever imagined through someone else’s stories. And for a second, his stomach flipped. Not with nerves, but something heavier. The ache of five summers missed. Of being on the outside of something that had always belonged to the people he loved most.

He swallowed it.

The camp looked exactly like James had said. Maybe even better.

Camp Hogwarts stretched across a wide patch of forested countryside. The trees were tall and leafy, but spaced out enough to keep the whole place feeling open and bright.

To the left, you could see the lake, surprisingly clear for being in the middle of nowhere, calm, with a long wooden dock and a few floating platforms bobbing gently in the water. Canoes were stacked neatly on the shore, and a roped-off section marked the swimming area, complete with lifeguard chairs at either end.

On the opposite side of the camp, six full-size football pitches stretched out. Each one was freshly lined and immaculately trimmed. The pitch nearest the entrance even had proper stands, used for big matches and whenever scouts came to watch. Directly across from the entrance, between the pitches and the lake, stood Hogwarts Castle. Not a real castle, obviously, but a Romanesque-Gothic sort of building with high arches, narrow towers, and crooked little windows that made it look like it ought to be haunted. It wasn’t massive, but it was impressive enough to live up to the name.

According to James, who had taken it upon himself to narrate the entire walk there, the castle was mainly used for staff housing, training reviews, and other official bits James didn’t much care about. What *he* cared about was that it also housed the dining hall, which the boys also called the Great Hall. That’s where all the meals happened, along with camp-wide meetings and sign-in on arrival day.

Even though Sirius had seen plenty of halls in his time on earth, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the Great Hall. It wasn’t massive, but it still managed to feel impressive somehow. The walls were lined with wood, and in the middle of the space hung a big chandelier, giving the place that proper castle look. The ceiling was decorated with carved wooden beams that added to the whole effect.

Rows of sturdy wooden tables filled the hall, currently packed with students and their parents, nerves and excitement buzzing between them. A long counter at the back looked as though it served as a buffet and kitchen pass-through. The floors were scuffed from years of boots, giving the space a homey feel and making it less intimidating—like one could actually live and breathe here.

Sirius couldn’t help but think about his father and the reaction he would have to the pristine wooden floors being ruined. Sirius loved it.

After signing into the camp the boys started walking towards their cabin.

The bunkhouses were small wooden cabins, each with painted trim in different colours and screen doors that slammed loudly every time someone came or went. They were scattered around the lake, not far from the castle. Each one had four windows and a small porch with hooks for boots and wet towels. Inside, every room had four metal-framed bunk beds—eight beds total—lined up along the walls with little shelves for the boys personal stuff.

“We usually stay in the Gryffindor hut,” James said as they walked. “You can technically join whichever, but everyone knows to avoid Slytherin. They're absolute wankers. Take it all way too seriously.”

“James, you take football way too seriously” Sirius pointed out.

James just shook his head. “Mate, just wait till you see them. You won’t like it.”

Sirius shrugged. He was excited to be there, but there was also something heavier in his stomach. The thought that James and Peter had shared five years of this place without him stung more than he’d expected. While Sirius spent his summers at his father’s estate in the south of France, attending dinners and being paraded round high society, his mates got *this*.

It wasn’t jealousy, he reckoned. Not exactly. But it was something close. A small, sharp pinch at the thought that his friends had apparently spent the best time of their lives here, and he hadn’t been part of it.

Inside the Gryffindor hut, it was warm and smelled faintly of bug spray and sunblock. Four bunk beds lined the walls, each with thin blue-striped mattresses and a folded wool blanket at the foot. A threadbare rug that looked straight out of the 60s lay in the middle, and a small fan sat buzzing in the corner, already working overtime.

“Dibs on the top bunk!” Sirius shouted, chucking his bag onto the one closest to the loo. Sleeping next to the door was for masochists.

“Same!” James called, slinging his stuff onto the opposite top bunk.

“Oi! James, you said I could have top bunk this year!” Peter whined, walking in last.

“Well, Pete, maybe you should’ve moved quicker. Learn from your mistakes,” Sirius teased, already climbing up. He wasn’t sure why, but for some reason he felt the urge to let out a bit of his annoyance on Pete. Pete, who quite literally had everything, and still managed to be a little pathetic sometimes. Sirius liked Pete—he really did—but he could be annoying.

“Aww, cheer up, Wormy,” James said, attempting sympathy. “Every man for himself when it comes to beds. And it’s Sirius’s first year—he needs me up here.”

“That’s bollocks. Sirius doesn’t *need* you for anything,” Peter grumbled, but he still dropped his bag under James’s bunk and started unpacking.

“Sorry, Wormy,” Sirius said, waggling his eyebrows. “I’ve just got needs you can’t satisfy.”

“Gross,” Peter muttered.

After unpacking four weeks’ worth of footie kits, the lads decided to go explore the camp. James led the way, practically bouncing—giddier than Sirius had seen him in years.

If Sirius was excited, James was off the charts. Having both his best mates here, at his favourite place in the world? That was James’s dream come true. And Sirius was happy to see it. James deserved to be happy. He’d always been one of the happiest, bubbliest people Sirius had known. But the past few months had been hard on him—Sirius knew that. James had worn himself out trying to be there for both Sirius and Pete.

It felt wrong, seeing James Potter’s light dim. Like something was off in the universe. The earth turned, and James Potter was supposed to be his bright, laughing self. That was just how the world worked.

He guided them round like a tour guide, pointing out the different huts—Gryffindor with its windows rimmed in red, next to Hufflepuff in yellow. Across the way was Slytherin, with its slick green-trimmed windows and then Ravenclaw in blue.

They passed a group of boys sitting outside the Hufflepuff cabin, sorting through gear.

“Oi, James! This year I’m getting that Best Goalie award—I can feel it!” one of them shouted.

“I’m sure you will!” James called back. Pete gave the lad a thumbs-up, trying to look encouraging.

“That’s Christopher,” James said to Sirius. “I coached him last year. Decent bloke, but he’s not getting Best Goalie. That’s reserved for our one and only Pete-boy.” He clapped Pete on the back.

Pete turned pink. “Oh, I don’t know, James. Heard there are some solid keepers this year…”

“You’ll be fine, Pete,” Sirius said absently, eyes scanning the camp.

“But,” James said dramatically, halting them with a hand, “you haven’t even met the most important person here.”

“Oh, and who’s that then?” Sirius asked, feigning boredom. He was James’s best mate. Some other lad trying to edge in on that spot? They could do one.

“Remus,” James said with a grin.

“That’s a daft name,” Sirius muttered, though he still followed as James strutted off toward a smaller brick building near the castle.

Apparently, it was the physio hut. It looked fairly plain, stacked goals out front, and a small bench.

Inside, the air smelled like disinfectant and rubber mats. Posters of muscle groups and injury prevention diagrams covered the walls. Behind a desk sat an older man, working on what seemed to be a report.

“Hi Lyall!” James called.

The man looked up and smiled warmly. He had light brown curly hair, with a few grey strands here and there. He was very tanned, as though he spent a lot of time in the sun, which struck Sirius as odd. Shouldn’t a physio be indoors all day, helping people? But the man looked happy. Smile lines creased around his eyes. He looked like someone who was genuinely enjoying life, Sirius concluded.

“James! Pete! Good to see you lads again.” The stood to greet them. “Remus just went out to grab food, but he’ll be thrilled to know you’re back.”

Then his eyes landed on Sirius.

“And who’s this young man?”

“Sirius Black,” Sirius said smoothly, sticking out his hand. For some reason, he wanted this man to like him. To gain his approval. He didn’t know why, give him a break.

Lyall shook his hand and gave him a little smile. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, he glanced toward the door.

“Oh, there he is—Remus.”

Chapter Text

“Kreacher, can we open the windows, please?”

“Of course, Mister Regulus.”

“Thank you.”

Four hours of travelling. Regulus had just spent four hours getting to this place: Camp Hogwarts, the most prestigious training camp for future footballers.

He looked out the window as miles of trees flew by. Kreacher was driving slowly; he knew how much Regulus enjoyed car rides. Regulus wasn’t sure why he liked it so much. He just knew the low thrumming of the engine calmed him and the landscape flying past him kept his mind busy.

Kreacher knew this because, for some reason, he could always read Regulus’s thoughts.

Regulus brought his hands to his mouth. His stomach was getting heavier and heavier the closer they were getting to Camp Hogwarts. He wasn't exactly sure why. Regulus had been looking forward to this training camp for most of the past year. He was excited to meet other boys who were just as ambitious about becoming professional footballers. He wanted to work harder than ever, to improve, to stand out, to make his mother proud. Regulus was going to be the best player at this camp. That was the plan.

But now he wasn’t so sure.

He’d always assumed making friends at Camp Hogwarts would come naturally. After all, he was really good at football. But that hadn’t helped him much at school. Or at his football club. What if he didn’t make a single friend here either? Would he have to eat alone? What if they all assumed he was just too intense, like everyone at home had?

People always assumed he didn’t want friends. Too many times, boys had approached him with the same line: “You’re actually nice. I thought you were kind of mean before we spoke.” So yeah, making friends wasn’t exactly his strong suit. He’d always told himself he was the loner type. But deep down, all he really wanted was just one friend. Someone who’d understand him.

Maybe he’d find someone he already knew, Regulus thought. He’d played against the England Youth League a few times in the past year. Himself having opted to play for France, where he’d grown up. While they’d played against each other on the field, the boys had always been friendly off it. Maybe someone in a similar position would understand his ambitions and realise that Regulus wasn’t mean. He just knew exactly what he wanted.

Lost in thought, Regulus didn’t notice they’d arrived until he heard the tyres crunching on gravel. Camp Hogwarts. This was it.

“We’re here, Mister Regulus.”

Regulus felt a jolt of something, anticipation, maybe? Nervousness? Excitement? It was hard to tell.

Kreacher put the car in park and sat for a moment, staring at the steering wheel.

“I think you’re going to do a fantastic job,” he said.

Regulus gave a small nod, his voice caught in his throat, caught off guard by the sentimentality. Thanks, he thought, but the words didn’t feel right. This wasn’t a big deal, just another summer camp. But he was already overthinking it. Kreacher was just trying to be kind, but Regulus didn’t know how to respond.

He waited a moment, thinking Kreacher might say something else. But the older man just exhaled, got out of the car, and began unloading Regulus’s bags.

Once everything was unloaded, Kreacher walked over.

“Right, shall we go through your mothers list?”

Regulus glanced around, other boys were arriving in waves, shouting and dragging bags, then looked back at Kreacher and nodded.

“Let’s see... football kit?”

“Check.”

“Extra socks?”

“Check.”

“Vitamins?”

“Check.”

“Minerals?”

“Check.”

“List of daily fruit and veg?”

“Check, check, got one for each.”

“Suncream, lip balm, insect spray, Hydralytes...?”

“Think I’ve got it all,” Regulus said, distracted as a nearby kid’s suitcase popped open, spilling clothes everywhere.

The silence that followed sat heavier than usual. Normally Regulus didn’t mind quiet, it was often a relief, but this one felt like it had weight to it, like something hadn’t quite been said yet.

“I got you something,” Kreacher said after a moment, glancing at him.

Regulus looked up, surprised. “You did?” Kreacher didn’t usually give gifts. Not even on his birthday. Regulus had always assumed that was one of Mother’s rules.

Kreacher pulled a brand-new deck of poker cards from his coat.

“Maybe you can actually find someone on this island who can whip your tush at poker” he said with a rare smile.

Regulus smiled down at the deck. Poker had always been their thing. Kreacher had taught him when he was younger, and they’d spent hours over the years refining their technique. At school, when the boys played poker was the only time Regulus ever felt noticed. Kreacher must have known that. He must have brought the cards so Regulus could connect with people. So he wouldn’t be alone.

“Well I doubt it but thanks,” Regulus said, giving him a little smile.

Kreacher gave a quiet chuckle, ruffled Regulus’s hair (Regulus immediately pushed it back down) and headed toward the car.

“See you in four weeks,” he called, rolling up the window.

Regulus stood there, watching as the car turned back down the gravel drive, tyres crunching again as it faded from view.

His chest felt tight.

When he stepped into the dining hall, Regulus couldn’t help but be impressed. The space was grand, with intricate gothic-style architecture that matched his taste exactly. The floors and tables, though, looked like they were overdue for a renovation, Regulus cringed at the idea of someone walking on these beautiful floors in their cleats. He made his way to the sign-in desk.

“Good afternoon,” with a quiet, practiced accent, Kreacher had drilled it into him. His mother had insisted on fluency in both English and French. Always the prodigy.

“Afternoon,” replied the woman at the desk, looking to be in her forties. Her hair was tied into a strict, neat bun, though her face carried a kind expression.

“I’d like to sign in, please.”

“Weren’t you here earlier, lad? Where did your friends go?” she asked, eyeing him curiously.

“No, ma’am, I just arrived,” Regulus said, a little confused. Had she seen him earlier with Kreacher? Most people seemed to arrive with a parent or guardian of some sort. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he?

“For Regulus Black, please,” he added, nodding towards the list in her hand.

“All right then, Mr. Black,” she said, giving him a once-over.

Regulus squirmed under her gaze and glanced down at the white trainers he’d worn for the journey. He didn’t usually travel like this, usually opting for smarter clothes. But he’d had to get up quite early to make it here, and he’d wanted to be comfortable on the plane. Hopefully, she wouldn’t think he was some kind of slob.

“Ah, there you are on the list,” she said, her accent thick and unfamiliar to Regulus.

“First time here?” she asked, giving him a warm smile.

Regulus nodded. “Yes.”

“Welcome to Camp Hogwarts,” she said, offering him a smile. “I’m Miss McGonagall, the head trainer here. I’ll make sure you lads get the best training possible this summer.”

Regulus froze, the name registering just a moment too late. The legendary Minerva McGonagall, Scotland’s best football player.

“Oh! Miss McGonagall! I’m a huge fan!” Regulus blurted out, excited but trying to sound polite. “I didn’t know you’d be head coach.”

McGonagall nodded, smiling a little. “I usually just come in for a session or two each week, but this year Albus asked me to be head coach. How could I say no? It’s a privilege to coach Europe’s best future footballers.”

Regulus smiled back, a little more relaxed. Her neat bun and serious demeanor had made her seem distant, but she was warmer than he’d expected.

“I’m excited,” he said, his voice a little less stiff now.

Before McGonagall could reply, something heavy collided with Regulus’s side. He flinched, rubbing his ribs which had just collided with a heavy bag apparently.

“Sorry!” a boy said, looking sheepish. He had curly blonde hair that framed his face perfectly, like he was straight out of a painting. “I packed too much.”

“No problem” Regulus said, managing a small smile.

The blonde boy’s face lit up when he saw McGonagall.

“McGonagall! My madam! So good to see you again! I’ve heard you’re head coach this year!”, voice filled with enthusiasm

McGonagall raised an eyebrow but smiled at the informal greeting. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rosier. It’s good to see you too, and yes, you’re right, I’m head coach this year.”

“That’s mad” said another boy who appeared from behind Rosier. He had messy, dirty blonde hair and sharp, fox-like eyes that immediately gave him a mischievous air. Then, his gaze fell on Regulus.

“Who’s this?” he asked Rosier, clearly intrigued.

“I dunno. I hit him with my bag” Rosier shrugged.

They synchronously turned their heads to Regulus expectantly, clearly waiting for him to introduce himself.

“Oh, um… I’m Regulus Black” he said, his voice a little stiff.

The fox-eyed boy let out a low whistle. “That’s a fancy ass name.”

Behind him, McGonagall cleared her throat, a little sternly.

“Sorry McGee,” the boy said with a cheeky grin, and then turned back to Regulus.

“I’m Evan,” the blonde boy then said. “That’s Barty,” he added, nodding to the smirking boy in the back. “He’s all right if you ignore half the stuff he says.”

“Nice to meet you,” Regulus said, though he felt a little intimidated by Barty’s unblinking stare. What was he going to say??

“Well, Regulus is new, and since the three of you have met already, I’d say you go into the same hut,” McGonagall said, her voice breaking through the tension.

The three boys looked at her.

“Sure,” Evan said, giving her a nod. “We were gonna go in Slytherin again, you know how we are.”

McGonagall nodded and scribbled something on her clipboard before grinning at all three boys. “Slytherin 3 it is for all of you. Now get out of here and get unpacking. Off you go!”

Regulus followed the boys out of the hall, feeling a flicker of hope in his chest. It was always hardest to meet people, but having already met two seemed like a good sign.

“So, where are you from?” Barty asked, leading them towards the huts by the lake.

“I’m from France, but my mum’s English,” Regulus explained.

“Hah, that explains the accent,” Evan said. “I thought you were the Queen or something - proper fancy, aye?”

“Yeah,” Regulus replied quietly, feeling a little self-conscious.

He racked his brain for something to ask them. There were so many questions, but now they all seemed inappropriate or... off. How could he seem cool—like someone they’d actually want to be friends with?

The two boys fell into conversation, chatting about their parents and how they’d dropped them off. Regulus didn’t mind; he was content just listening. He glanced down at the brochures he’d grabbed from the entrance hall: The Medicine Behind Your Muscles , How to Get the Most Out of Camp Hogwarts , and Scouts at Camp Hogwarts .

He couldn’t wait for training to begin tomorrow.

The boys stopped at a small hut with green-rimmed windows.

“This is Slytherin 3,” Evan said as he opened the door.

“Alright, lads!” Barty yelled into the room and the 3 guys who were already in the room looked up at them.

The one in the middle sat like he knew he was in charge. His pale blond hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck, and he wore a haughty expression as though he owned the place. On his left was a boy with lank, greasy hair and a scowl that said he had no intention of speaking to anyone if he could help it. The third boy looked vaguely confused, staring at Regulus as though trying to place him—then quickly looking away so no one would notice.

The three just stared at Barty, then glanced over at Regulus.

“Fresh meat, huh?” said the blonde boy in a smooth voice. Yep definitely posh.

“Good afternoon,” Regulus said shyly. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to crawl under a rock. Good afternoon? What was he, a teacher? Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why was he so bad at interacting with people his own age? Well, actually, Regulus knew why. Most of his time was spent at events with his mother, where middle-aged women fawned over him. Maybe he was just popular with the over-forties. A win is a win.

The blond boy lifted an eyebrow.

“Good afternoon” the blonde boy repeated, mimicking Regulus’s accent with an exaggerated tilt of his head, while Barty grinned and cackled “Ooh, someone’s got their manners”.

“Maybe that’s just how they do it in France,” Evan chimed in, chucking his duffel bag onto the floor with a thud that echoed through the wooden walls. The sound broke the weird silence.

Then he looked to Regulus.

“That one over there’s Lucius” he said, nodding toward the sleek-haired boy with his entourage. “You can ignore him, he’s a wanker” he said with a casual shrug, not even bothering to lower his voice.

But Lucius didn’t seem to mind. He just gave Evan a nasty smile, like he enjoyed being called that.

“The other two are Severus and Greg” Evan went on, pointing lazily at the other boys. “Greg’s solid—best goalie you’ll ever see.”

Greg nodded curtly, acknowledging the praise, but there was something in his posture that said he wasn’t particularly concerned with being liked. He was solid, but not one for small talk.

Regulus nodded back out of politeness, but he could already feel the way their eyes slid over him. Like he didn’t quite measure up. He turned to Evan, who looked relaxed and open, and offered him a small smile.

“All right” he said, quiet but grateful. Evan seemed nice, kind, even. Maybe they could be friends. Regulus couldn't quite figure out why Evan was being so nice, but he was grateful. He might as well make the most of the chance, whatever it was.

He stepped further into the cabin, glancing around at the bunk beds.

The top bunk beside the one on which Evan just dropped his massive bag seemed empty. Regulus made his way toward it and started climbing up, relieved to have something take the focus off him.

“Don’t even think about it” Lucius’s voice rang out from behind him.

Regulus turned, puzzled. “What?”

How had he messed this up in literally the first five seconds?

Lucius leaned against the ladder like it belonged to him, arms folded lazily. “Top bunks are for people we know, ” he said with a mock-apologetic shrug. The smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes.

A rush of heat surged through Regulus’s chest. He’d known this would happen. Camp Hogwarts had a reputation, of course it would attract boys like Lucius, the kind who thought they were in charge, who walked in already convinced they were better than everyone else.

These kinds of guys lived for moments like this. Subtle power plays. Quiet ways to put you in your place. He’d dealt with them at galas, at team trials, even at school. They didn’t need to yell or fight. All they needed was to make you feel like you were beneath them. And they relished in the control it gave them.

And the thing is, Regulus knew he shouldn’t just give in. He is well aware he should tell Lucius to sod off. He wanted to. But what was the point? Getting into it with someone like Lucius on the first day would only mark him as a problem. And Regulus wasn’t here to challenge egos or stir the pot. He was here for the training. Besides, Lucius seemed to know everyone here. Maybe this was some kind of unwritten tradition?

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, climbing back down and grabbing his bag again. He turned toward the lower bunk.

Before he could set it down, Evan scoffed and snatched it out of his hands.

“Shut up, Lucius” he snapped, his tone sharp, cutting through the room. “You’re being a prat for no reason.” Without even looking at Regulus, Evan took his bag and tossed it back onto the top bunk.

Lucius raised an eyebrow but didn’t move.

Regulus blinked, taken aback.

“It’s fine” Regulus said quickly, voice low, trying to de-escalate.

Evan shook his head and turned to Lucius, eyes hard.

“He’s with us. So you better stay the fuck away from him.”

For a long second, no one moved. The silence buzzed.

Lucius raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, as if Evan had just told a joke in poor taste.

“Touchy” he said, voice slow and mocking. “Who appointed you bunk mother.”

Barty let out a low whistle, clearly thrilled. He leaned back against the wall, arms folded like he was watching a scene on the tv and not like his friend was arguing with someone in real life, someone a lot bigger with more backup, if one might add.

Regulus stood frozen, watching the two guys. He hadn’t expected things to escalate so quickly. He opened his mouth, unsure of what to do next.

“It’s fine” he muttered again, trying to defuse the situation.  Get the attention of him. He felt caught between them but somehow invisible at the same time, like a kid being argued over by adults. “Seriously, I don’t mind—”

Lucius interrupted, “See? The lad says its fine.”

Evan cut him off with a look. “It’s not fine ” he hissed.

Regulus fell silent, unsure what to do with that. He really didn't want to pick a fight. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful to Evan for defending him, or a little annoyed at him for putting a target on his back.

Evan turned back to Lucius, stepping forward just enough to show he wasn’t bluffing.

“He’s with us” he said. “So quit it.”

Lucius gave a cold, humorless laugh. “Careful, Rosier” he said softly, stepping closer. “You’re picking fights above your pay grade.”

Evan’s smile was razor-sharp. “That so?”

Lucius’s gaze flicked from Evan to Regulus and back again. For a long second, it seemed like he might say something more, might push it further.

Then, he smirked. Not the amused kind. The cold, cruel kind. And without another word, he turned and sat back onto his bed like a king reclaiming his throne.

Barty let out a dramatic breath. “Well that was delicious.”

Regulus stood frozen beside Evan, his heart pounding in his chest. No one had ever done that for him, not like that. Not so quickly, so publicly.

He looked at Evan, who was already shrugging, like it had been no big deal, like he hadn’t just stood up to Lucius Malfoy for him . “Lucius is a prick,” the blonde muttered, not looking up. “You’ll get used to it.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Regulus felt seen.

Had he just made a friend?

Chapter Text

Sirirus 

Sirius turned around to look.

A boy stood in the doorway of the physio office holding two paper bags. He was tall and lean, with curly hair and amber eyes. He had that rugged, couldn’t-be-arsed look—like he hadn’t tried to look good but still managed to pull it off. Worn jeans, soft-looking blue jumper, messy hair, and battered trainers.

Something about him immediately got under Sirius’s skin.

“This is my son Remus” Lyall said, stepping towards his son. “Remus, the lads are back. And this one is Sirius Black.”

Remus gave a nod to James and Pete, grinning faintly, like he hadn’t expected it, and then turned to Sirius. “All right” he said, voice quiet but steady, with a hint of roughness at the edges. 

Sirius narrowed his eyes just slightly. “All right” he echoed, deliberately neutral. He didn’t offer a smile.

Remus’s gaze lingered on Sirius, and Sirius couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. It was like Remus was studying him. Judging him. And Sirius hated how aware he was of being looked at.

James, oblivious, bounced forward. “Remus! Finally! I’ve been telling Sirius all about you. I think you guys will get along so well. He's also into the whole music stuff.”

Remus didn’t answer. Just glanced at Sirius again, slower this time. Not impressed, if anything, slightly amused. Sirius felt the instinctive urge to adjust his shirt and run his hand through his hair but forced himself to stay still. People didn’t usually look at him like that. They were usually excited, eager to like him. He got on with almost everyone. 

But Remus felt different. He didn’t give him an easy smile like most people did. If anything, it looked more like a frown on Remus’s face. Like he was seeing straight through Sirius, right to all the annoying and ugly stuff on the inside.

Sirius forced himself to hold the stare, jaw tight. Daring Remus to try to figure him out. There was nothing to see. 

James clapped Sirius on the back. “Remus doesn’t play, if you’re wondering. He’s just here to read and be vaguely mysterious.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Sirius said.

“You could say so” Remus shrugged. 

Pete grinned. “He’s sort of like the camp mascot. He’s been here even longer than me and James have.”

“Not a mascot” Remus muttered.

James leaned in and whispered, just loud enough for Sirius to hear, “He doesn't play, but he still comes every summer. Everyone just likes having him around.”

Sirius nodded, unsure what to say. Not pitying, exactly, just curious. Camp Hogwarts wasn’t the sort of place you came to if you didn’t have a reason or didn't like, or play football for that matter. So why was he here? 

Remus looked up from the sandwich he’d unwrapped like he could feel the question in Sirius’s head. Great. 

“I’m telling you, Remus,” James said in that moment, “this year we’re actually winning that tournament. No more honourable loss speeches. We’ll make you proud, yeah?”

Remus’s gaze shifted from Sirius to James. There was something faintly amused in his expression again, and Sirius hated how easily that came out for James. Why didn’t Remus look at James with that bloody X-ray gaze? Probably because there was nothing ugly about James. Yeah, that sounds about right. 

Sirius brushed a hand through his hair.

“Speak for yourself,” Pete mumbled. “I was class last year.”

“You got sent off for elbowing a lad in the face,” Remus said, eyebrows raised in an amused way. Sirius could see the hint of a smile tugging at the guy's lips. 

“Exactly,” Pete replied proudly. “He was a wanker”

“Well you got me this year so surely you’ll win” Sirius blurted out, still not being able to take his gaze of the guy who just walked into the room. For some reason Sirius really needed Remus to look at him again. He hated it but he loved it at the same time. Maybe he was a masochist, who knew. 

Remus’s eyes fell back on Sirius, eyebrows raised slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether Sirius was being serious or not. Ha ha. Better not make any more jokes if this is the lads reaction. Sirius’s goofy smile dropped when he saw Remus’s serious expression. Sirius held his gaze, arms crossed, as if to say, What? You think you know something I don’t?

James next to him laughs “hell yeah maybe this time we’ll beat the slytherin guys”

“And maybe this time without injuring anyone,” Remus added dryly.

“Yeah, yeah, odds and ends,” James waved him off. “What really matters is that we win.”

“So, Remus, what have you been up to?” Peter asked, always a little more thoughtful than the other two. He stepped aside so Remus could come into the little office and sit down.

“I mean, it’s been a year. So... quite a lot,” Remus said, tone vague.

Why was he so vague? Did Remus just enjoy being mysterious, or was it on purpose? It almost seemed like he didn’t like talking about himself, like he dodged attention every time it circled back to him. Interesting. A bit hypocritical, though, considering how he’d just judged Sirius.

“So where are you from then?” Sirius asked, trying to sound casual. Still more intrigued by this boy than he wanted to admit. 

“Me and Da are from Wales,” Remus said.

“So you chase sheep all day” Sirius said before he could stop himself.

Remus just blinked at him, eyebrows slightly raised.

“It’s a joke,” 

“I know,” Remus said flatly. He didn’t seem impressed.

Sirius bit the inside of his cheek. Why did he always do that? Say the first thing that came to mind?

He’d been like this his whole life. Sirius was Sirius, loud, honest, too much. He never tried to be more palatable. His energy was something he was proud of. He’d learned to embrace that over the years, especially with James and Peter, who never asked him to shrink. 

But now… Now he wondered if maybe he should.

One of Sirius’s most visited memories was from when he was a child, playing pirates with his neighbour. Sirius had gotten so into the roleplay, running around, shouting, sword-fighting, that the other boy had told him to stop. To be less. To be easier.

Sirius had felt ashamed then.

He’d learned to own it since. To be loud and proud and unapologetic.

But Remus, Remus looked at him like he was too much, like he was a bit ridiculous. And somehow, that look made Sirius want to change.

“All right!” James clapped his hands. “The lads have been introduced. Remus, Sirius, you’re going to love each other. Best summer ever!”

“Yeah, you mentioned,” Sirius muttered.

A while later, after finishing their tour of Camp Hogwarts, James, Peter, and Sirius sat on the stands of the larger football field, determined to relax before the chaos of camp officially began the next morning. James had invited Remus to join them, but he’d declined, muttering something about helping his dad.

Sirius had felt... disappointed by that. He wasn’t sure why.

At first, he hadn’t even wanted to meet Remus. Something about the way James and Peter talked about him had made Sirius feel oddly jealous, like Remus was part of something he wasn’t. But now? Now there was something else tangled up in all of it. Remus was different than he’d expected. Quieter. Sharper. Not exactly warm, but not cold, either. Something about him pulled Sirius in.

Sirius was intrigued. And he hated that.

Remus had barely said anything, and yet Sirius couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at him. Not impressed. Not dismissive either Sirius reckoned. Just... curious and a bit judgy. Like he’d seen something Sirius hadn’t meant to show. And not even in a dramatic way, just in that quiet, annoying, unshakable way that left Sirius feeling exposed.

It was... uncomfortable. Sirius didn’t like being uncomfortable. He especially didn’t like being looked at like that. Like someone had spotted the part of him that wasn’t polished. The bit underneath the jokes and noise. The bit he wasn’t even sure he knew himself. 

So naturally Sirirus decided he didn’t like Remus. He made him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he didn’t ever want to be.

He just didn’t fit the group, Sirius reasoned. Too quiet. Too serious. Too unreadable. That wasn’t how Sirius, James, and Peter were. Not at all. 

James was still talking. He never really stopped. Sirius loved him for it. 

“—and I told you, didn’t I? He’s cool. Bit weird, yeah, but once you get used to him, it’s just his thing.

Sirius didn’t reply right away. His mind was still back in the physio room, circling the memory like it owed him an answer.

Pete broke the silence. “So? What’d you think of Remus?”

Sirius shrugged. “Quiet.”

James laughed. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’re oddly quiet. Are you sick or something?”

“I said plenty,” Sirius muttered.

Pete nudged him. “But did you like him?”

Sirius didn’t answer at first. He kicked a stone with his boot, watching it bounce down the steps.

“Dunno,” he said finally, watching the stone disappear in the grass. “He just… wasn’t what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?” James asked, peering at him like he was trying to solve a riddle.

“I don’t know. You talked about him like he’s some kind of camp legend. Thought he’d be taller. Or I don’t know…actually a football player. And maybe a bit more interested in being here.”

James cackled, but Peter, less amused, frowned. “That's a bit harsh, mate. He does play, just not like us. And he just... doesn’t care what people think. That’s kind of the point.”

“And who made you his personal bodyguard?” Sirius snapped, sharper than he meant to. “I’m not slagging him off. I just didn’t expect him to be so…”

He trailed off. He didn’t even know the word.

Disarming?

Irritating?

Intriguing?

Peter was staring at him now, eyebrows drawn together. “You sound like you do mind.”

James, more perceptive than he pretended to be, glanced between them. “I don’t think Sirius meant it like that.”

“I didn't,” Sirius muttered. He really didn't care that Remus didn't play, this was one thing he would never make fun of. Even as a joke. “He just—”

He cut himself off. Truth was, he didn’t know how to finish that sentence without sounding like an idiot.

He just looked at me like he saw something I didn’t know was visible . Yeah that's going to make him sound insane. Sirius was perfectly fine. 

The silence stretched a little too long. Sirius scowled and looked down at the grass.

“Anyway. Doesn’t matter.”

James nudged him lightly. “It does, though. You’ll see. You two are weirdly similar. I reckon you’ll end up thick as thieves.”

Sirius snorted, a little too bitterly. “Or strangling each other.”

“Same thing,” Pete muttered.

Sirius forced a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He leaned back on his elbows and stared at the sky, willing his thoughts to settle.

Regulus

As the evening went on, it was time for the first meal of the camp, arrival night dinner.

Regulus followed Barty and Evan outside. He’d decided it was safest to just stick to the people he already knew, aka Barty and Evan. He knew he had a habit of being a little too loyal, maybe even a little clingy. But honestly, he didn’t see the point in trying to meet new people when he already had someone he liked. Someone who made him feel like he wasn’t completely alone.

Evan jumped down the stairs off the porch, heading across camp toward the great hall. Regulus was just about to follow when a hand caught him by the arm. His body jerked back instinctively, heart leaping in his chest. He did not like being touched. At all. 

“Easy, boy,” Barty said, clearly catching the edge in Regulus’s reaction.

Regulus tried to play it off, but his chest still felt tight. “What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to sound neutral as he eyed the boy with the sharp, amused eyes. 

He wasn’t sure what to think of Barty. Barty seemed to be very close friends with Evan, which made Regulus assume he was nice, because why else would Evan be friends with him? But Barty had also been... kind of odd. He seemed to enjoy his interaction with Lucius the night before, and that struck Regulus as strange because... well, why?

“Light?” Barty asked, patting his coat pockets.

“Nope,” Regulus said. He thought about mentioning how bad smoking was, but decided now wasn’t the time. He’d just sound annoying.

Barty made a sound like, figures , and crouched to strike a match he just fished out of his pocket on the edge of the porch step. The flare lit his face in orange for a second before he stood back up, cigarette between his lips. He didn’t look at Regulus right away, just leaned on the railing and blew smoke out into the cold.

“You always follow people around like a lost puppy?” he asked, casual but sharp.

Regulus didn’t answer right away. He hesitated, unsure of what to say. The words stung, like he was being called out for something he didn't know how to stop doing. He could feel his palms go a little clammy. He did sort of follow people, didn’t he? Was it that obvious?

Regulus was used to people testing him. This felt like one of those moments where whatever he said would be the wrong thing.

“I... I just figured it was better than standing out here with you,” he said eventually, his voice a little quieter than he meant.

Barty barked a laugh.

“See, the thing is, Regulus ,” he emphasized his name as though it was something foreign, “Evan is nice to everyone.” He exhaled smoke lazily. “Especially the ones Lucius decides to chew up. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

Something in Regulus’s stomach dropped, the nerves pooling there. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have. So Evan had helped him out just because he felt bad ? That made him feel small. Embarrassed, even. Was that really how he came off to people?

“I didn’t,” Regulus muttered, but even to his own ears, the words sounded weak.

Barty eyed him like he was waiting for more. When nothing came, he tilted his head. “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” He took another drag. “Look, I’m just saying. He does this a lot. Picks up strays. Gets all moral about it. Makes him feel good, I think.”

Regulus’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t look away. He didn’t need to be rescued. He was very much capable of handling his own problems, well, maybe not handling them, but dealing with them. And if Evan was only nice to him because he pitied him... that hurt. More than he wanted to admit. Did he seem that pathetic? Usually he was better at pretending like everything was alright. That he was fine being on his own. He did not need anyone's pity, thank you very much. 

“You done?” he asked, voice a little sharper than he intended.

Barty gave him a sideways look. “Almost. See, this is the part where I tell you I keep an eye on Evan. Make sure no one screws him over.”

Regulus let out a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. “You think I’m going to hurt him?”

“I think I don’t know you,” Barty said, his tone flat.

There was a pause. While Barty fiddled with his cigarette, Regulus considered his options. He could back off, give in, make sure Barty and Evan were fine and maybe find other friends—or just be alone. Or he could tell Barty to fuck off, but considering how close these two seemed, that probably wouldn’t go over well with Evan. He had to be strategic with this.

“Sounds exhausting,” he said, his words coming out more cautiously than he’d planned.

“Huh?” Barty raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Running around after Evan like a guard dog, barking at everyone he talks to.” Regulus glanced at him, trying to muster some confidence, but the nervousness still lurked under his words. “Evan was just the first person here who didn’t treat me like a problem. That’s it.”

Barty stared at him, lips curling slightly. “Well, I’ll be watching you.”

“Sure.” Regulus forced a nonchalant shrug, but his heart was pounding a little harder than he wanted. 

Barty stared at him for a moment longer, then blew out another cloud of smoke. “I don’t think you’re half as helpless as you look, you know that?”

Regulus scratched his head to mask the awkward feeling tightening in his chest. “Well, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day,” he said, sarcasm coating his voice, though his stomach twisted with a strange unease.

Barty flicked ash off his cigarette, a grin still hovering on the edges of his mouth. “Still think you’re probably a bit of a prick.”

Regulus turned toward the stairs. He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t even mean to come off that way. But fine, let Barty think what he wanted. He’d figure out how wrong he was soon enough.

He turned around and walked off  the porch without waiting. The cool airlingering on his skin, a sharp reminder of the conversation that lingered in his thoughts.

The dining hall was loud in that particular way places always were on the first night. Scraped chairs, someone yelling down the table for ketchup, plates clattering louder than they needed to. The windows were flung wide open, letting in the soft summer air and the fading orange light from the lake.

This was Sirius’s favourite kind of chaos. He lived for it—the noise, the buzz of anticipation, the sense that something was beginning. People were making friends, laughing too loud, maybe even meeting their future best mates right here, right now.

Sirius trailed in behind James and Peter, his tray thudding onto the table.

Once everyone had gotten their food, Albus Dumbledore strolled into the hall. Students whooped and James let out a sharp whistle. Dumbledore looked over and gave him a small, mischievous smile.

Sirius grinned. Dumbledore was a good friend of James’s dad, so Sirius had met him before at a few of those stiff, awkward family parties. He was about sixty, with long greying hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and always dressed in finely tailored suits, usually colourful, often ridiculous. Somehow, they suited him perfectly. He looked like someone who’d never quite given up being a child in his 60 years on earth, and Sirius liked that about him.

“Hello, boys” Dumbledore said with a wink.  “Welcome to a new year at Camp Hogwarts.”

He paused to let the cheers die down.

“I’m so excited to see both new and old faces in the crowd today. For those of you returning—welcome back. And for those here for the first time—welcome to Camp Hogwarts!”

Sirius whooped, genuinely thrilled. He glanced sideways to James, who caught his eye at the same moment. They smiled at each other, and James gave his shoulder a brief shake, warm, encouraging, excited.

Dumbledore carried on, launching into a short speech with information about training schedules, tournament prep, camp rules, and sign-up sheets Sirius knew he’d be ignoring entirely. His focus drifted. And his gaze wandered lazily across the hall—and then froze.

Amber eyes.

Remus Lupin, seated near the back with his dad, was already looking at him. Sirius flinched and quickly turned back to face the front, heat prickling behind his ears.

Across the room, Regulus sat stiffly beside Evan, his shoulders still tight from earlier. He kept sneaking little glances at Barty, but the other boy didn’t return them. He just stared straight ahead, expression unreadable.

Regulus gave up and turned back to Dumbledore, filing away the important bits about where to find training plans and how to sign up for extra sports lessons, rowing, volleyball, one-on-one coaching. Things that might help him stay ahead.

When Dumbledore finished with a cheerful “Dig in!” the room burst back into full volume. Regulus flinched slightly. He had never been good with loud places, they made his thoughts blur at the edges. It was like his brain couldn’t filter out the background noise, and that left very little space for actual conversation.

Evan started chatting to Barty about something Regulus didn’t catch. Barty, on the other side of Evan, was flicking small pieces of bread at the wall behind them with absurd precision. Absolutely unbothered.

So he was mad, Regulus decided. But kind of... honest about it. There was something strangely comforting in how unapologetic Barty was.

Chapter Text

On the morning of the first practice, Regulus walked to the dining hall with Barty and Evan. Despite their earlier conversation, he found himself surprisingly enjoying their company. Even though Barty could be intense at times, throwing him those meaningful glances, he’d been unexpectedly civil. That’s how Regulus found himself trailing behind them toward breakfast, all three already dressed in their Hogwarts football kits.

He wasn’t the type to show it, but he was quietly thrilled to be wearing it. He’d spent an extra five minutes in front of the mirror that morning, adjusting the sleeves, checking the fit of the shorts and smoothing out the socks. He caught himself lingering, just a bit too long, studying his reflection. This was something he’d dreamt of for ages. And it made him feel strangely good about himself. Like he liked himself when he wore his Camp Hogwarts kit. 

He let himself wonder for a second what it might feel like to wear the official kit for his first pro club. Or his country.

All in all, it seemed like it was going to be a good morning

Barty and Evan’s constant banter dragged him out of his thoughts.

“Regulus would know, he’s from France, right?” Evan said, nudging Barty. Both of them looked at him expectantly.

“Sorry, what?” Regulus blinked, a bit confused, glancing between them.

“Do you think you’ve got a shot for ‘98, or are you just hanging around, hoping?” Evan asked, grinning widely.

Regulus was caught off guard. “Honestly? I don’t think we’ve got a chance” he said with a shrug.

Barty raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Regulus for a moment longer than necessary. “Where in France are you from, then?”

“Paris” Regulus replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he met Barty’s.

“Oh, posh” Evan said. “Do you live under the Eiffel Tower?”

“Do you eat croissants every day?” Barty added with a smirk, his tone a little too playful.

“Do they actually speak French there?” Evan asked, with a straight face.

Regulus gave them both a long-suffering look. “What are you two, Lucy and Ethel?”

But then he smirked. “No, I don’t live next to the Eiffel Tower. But I’m not far off. And I haven’t had a croissant in ages we’re athletes, you know?” He shot them a pointed look. “Though I feel like I’m the only one who remembers that part. Et oui, nous parlons français.”

“Oh, wow,” Barty said dramatically, clutching his chest. “He hit us with the French.” “The girls must be all over you, Reggie boy,” he added, his grin a little too sharp for Regulus’s liking as he nudged him in the ribs.

Regulus rolled his eyes “Oh, yeah. They can’t resist," he said sarcastically. He was still trying to figure Barty out. Was this a test?

“Do you have any siblings?” Evan asked, casually, as though trying to keep the conversation moving.

“Nah,” Regulus replied shortly.

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Shame. Would’ve been nice to have someone else to take the piss out of.”

Regulus shot him a wary look, but tried to keep the tone light. “What’s with all the questions today?”

“Oh, come on,” Evan shrugged, grinning. “Blame us for trying to get to know you. You’re so quiet, it feels like we have to pull everything out of you.”

Regulus exhaled, tearing a piece of his scone apart with his fingers. “I just don’t like talking about myself. That’s all.

“I love talking about myself,” Barty said brightly, flashing a grin.

Regulus glanced over, and again, noticed something oddly comforting about Barty’s complete lack of self-consciousness. He didn’t care what people thought about him. He just was. Regulus couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration. He couldn’t imagine what that felt like, to be unbothered, unapologetic.

Evan snorted. “Oh yeah. We’d never have guessed.”

Barty shrugged, grinning. “Someone’s got to keep this bloody camp interesting. I blame my dad, honestly. Man ignored me so thoroughly, I had to get someone’s attention.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. Barty’s complete lack of self-consciousness had spurred him to say something a bit bold as well. “Try having a mother who only notices you when you’ve done something wrong. I was a piece of furniture to her, probably the bloody houseplant”

There was a pause. Barty’s smirk faltered for just a second, something a bit more real flickering in his eyes. Something along the lines of, I see you. Then he barked a short laugh, unpolished, almost surprised, without the usual bite. “Bloody hell. Yeah. We’re both disasters, aren’t we?”

Regulus gave a small shrug. “Miracle I’m not a puddle of resentment by now.”

Barty cackled and threw his head back. “I like you.”

Regulus looked over at him, a little started but not displeased at all. “That right?”

“Yeah,” Barty said, eyes sparkling with something mischievous. “You’re properly messed up. I respect that.”

There was a pause. Regulus looked down at his plate, then back up at Barty. And for the first time, he felt something eased between them, a barely-there shift, like the tension had melted just a touch. Like Barty had decided that maybe, just maybe, Regulus was worth having around. 

***

Sirius: 

The first training of the day was exhausting. The boys had been split into different training groups based on age, skill and position. Luckily Sirius and James were both forwards so they had the morning practice together. They however had to say bye to Peter who trained with the other goalies. They'd checked their timetables last night,  they’d still get to train together a few times and play in some of the mock matches, so that made things feel a bit less like they'd been completely split up.

Their coach for the session was a woman named Madam Hooch. She had sharp eyes, short grey hair, and a real love for putting cocky lads in their place. Within the first ten minutes, she'd already blown the whistle on some kid showing off and made him redo sprints solo.

They started with warm-ups and strength circuits, then moved to cone drills and agility ladders that made Sirius’s legs feel like jelly by the end.

Still, Sirius couldn’t stop grinning.

He was buzzing about the level they trained at. At his football club back home, most of the lads were keen to become decent players, but they definitely weren’t up to the standards of the boys at this camp. It was fun to finally be challenged like this. As naturally gifted players, Sirius and James often got bored and slacked off. Being challenged like this was exciting, like this mattered. 

As they took a short water break, Sirius found James already pouring water over his head like it was the World Cup final. Sirius chuckled, adjusting his headband that had come loose during the last drill. His lucky headband had gotten him through most of his games till this day.

“Enjoying it?” James asked, spitting a bit of water onto the grass.

“Mate, it’s brilliant. Everyone’s so good,” Sirius said, his grin wide even through the sweat and exhaustion.

“I know, right? It’s mad thinking some of us - like, actually us - might end up going pro.” James shook his head in disbelief.

“I know!” Sirius said, lighting up. “The Prewett twins came here every summer, apparently. Now look at them, they played the world cup.”

“This could be us,” James said, voice full of quiet hope.

“Hell yeah.”

“Tom Riddle recruits every summer,” James continued, clearly proud of the information he’d dug up. “Dumbledore told me last year. Apparently, Riddle watches players throughout the season, then brings them into youth programs before moving them up to his main team.”

“Wait you're joking” Sirius said, brows lifting. Tom Riddle was a retired pro football player who had been an absolute legend during his time of playing. He’d brought England the World Cup in 1966 at Wembley, scoring the winning goal in the 86th minute to make it 2-1. After a long career, he’d retired and gone on to start his own football club, along with a bunch of other business including most famously a cigar brand and 2 cookbooks which James' mum loved to cook with. 

His football team, Salazar FC, had clawed its way up from the lower divisions and was now one of the top clubs in the league. Tom Riddle was known to be a bit divisive, he had a knack for spotting young talent but he preferred them to be ruthless, even cutthroat. 

“Nope, I’ve seen him here the last few years, but he tends to always go for the Slytherin guys,” James said, brushing a hand through his messy curls, which were even more unruly from the water.“Which is kind of shit, but I reckon they’re exactly his type. I’d never foul one of my own teammates to the point that they can't walk anymore just to impress a recruiter. A lad did that last year, he’s actually on the Salazar youth team now.”

“That’s horrible,” Sirius said, considering the implications. He’d never been the biggest Salazar FC fan, having always been loyal to Arsenal, but he hadn’t thought Riddle would condone behaviour like that. Things like that could end someone’s career. Sirius knew people could be ruthless, but not like that. He was always down for a rough match on the field, he could even be rought at times, but he could not image hurting someone that bad over football. “Didn’t know they were this bad.”

James just hums in response. Just then, two lads wandered over, both still catching their breath.

“Oi, James! You’re back” said the first, he had short black hair, a round face, and a big grin just like Sirius'. 

“Benji! So good to see you again” James said, stepping forward to slap his hand. The contemplative tone was gone from his voice now. “This is Sirius, my best mate. Forward too.”

“Nice one, good to meet you,” Benji said, giving Sirius a quick nod and a grin.

“You too,” Sirius replied, smiling.

“I’m George,” said the other lad, Irish accent strong and cheerful after having slapped James' hand as well.

“Nice to meet you,” Sirius said and gave him a little smile.

“You lot were flying during those cone drills,” George said, laughing. “I thought I was gonna pass out halfway through.” They all laughed lightheartedly.

“Mate, I was dying,” Benji added. “I tripped over my own foot at one point.”

“I saw that!” James laughed. “Thought you were freestyling”

“Shut it,” Benji said, still grinning. “At least Madam Hooch didn’t make me redo it like she did with that annoying blonde lad.”

“Oh yeah,” George said, laughing. “He looked terrified. I heard him earlier talking big about being one of the best.”

Sirius chuckled, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Still, everyone’s solid, though. Way better than the lot we train with back home.”

Benji nodded and reflected the same thoughts Sirirus and James had earlier “Same here. It’s proper here. Like this is the real deal, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, a bit quieter now. 

He was grateful that he felt like part of the camp. His first day had already cleared away most of the anxiety he'd carried,  about having missed out on six summers of camps like this, about being behind, about not fitting in. 

The sun warmed his face, the exhaustion settled into his bones, and his stomach fluttered in a way that felt… good.

For the first time, Sirius felt like he was doing something for himself. Something real. Something that mattered.

Leaving his father’s house last Christmas hadn’t been easy. Back then, it had all been about following orders and pretending to care about whatever his father was on about and trying not to get caught when meeting his friends. Business in his GCSEs, not art. Shadowing his fathers meetings, not football practice. 

After he left, it was lawyers, meetings, decisions that didn’t feel like his either.

But this? This was solid. And Sirius had made it here on his own.

He looked at James, and James gave him a little knowing smile.

They had each other.

George raised his bottle in mock toast. “To not falling on our arses tomorrow.”

The rest of them raised their bottles as well.

“To not dying in sprints.”

“To making it through cone drills with dignity.”

“To not getting roasted by Madam Hooch.”

***

Regulus

Their third morning of training had been all about tactics. They’d spent hours crowded around the strategy board with McGonagall, breaking down different defensive shapes and how to adapt when the game shifted. It wasn't anything Regulus hadn’t seen before, but McGonnagal had hinted they’d get into more complex tactics later during the camp which had captured his attention.

Breaking the formations down from a centre-backs perspective was a different kind of challenge. They focused on reading the game: when to step up and press, when to fall back and protect the goal, how to shift and cover when the wide defenders pushed forward. 

Regulus already knew the theory. He’d studied it, watched it in matches, analyzed plays until it was second nature. But actually walking through those scenarios on the pitch, reacting in real time to how a formation moved with players just as competent as him? It felt like a new level.

Regulus and Evan were still buzzing at lunch, amped from a morning well spent. They recapped the whole defenders’ session to Barty, who’d been off doing separate training with the attackers. Even though Regulus was tired to the bone, something about the afternoon lineup had him excited. Unlike mornings, which were the same for everyone, the afternoons were open. Strength training, strategy, one-on-ones, fun matches, even trying out different sports if they felt like switching things up.

At lunch, he, Evan, and Barty all agreed to sign up for the one-on-ones.

That’s how Regulus ended up standing on one side of the field, facing another boy on the opposite end. The ball sat in the centre. Once the whistle blew, they’d both sprint for it and try to outplay each other. First to score, wins.

Simple enough

The guy across from him looked way too relaxed. He was laughing with two other boys beside him like this was a joke. Like this didn’t even matter.

Regulus narrowed his eyes.

If there was one thing that rubbed him the wrong way, it was people pretending they didn’t care, especially when it was obvious they did. That fake too-cool attitude didn’t impress him. It just felt dishonest. And pointless.

Regulus actually cared about football. A lot. He wasn’t ashamed of that. Pretending he didn’t, just to seem cooler, would only slow him down.

He turned for a second to glance at Barty and Evan. Evan was already sitting on the bleachers, drinking water after his match. He’d won his 1-on-1 spectacularly, and both Barty and Regulus had cheered like mad. Regulus hadn’t missed the small, shy smile Evan gave him afterward either.

Now it was his turn.

The whistle sounded.

Regulus shot forward with determination. On the other side of the pitch, the other boy jogged a few steps, then broke into a loose sprint.

They met at the ball in the center.

Regulus got there first and began to dribble toward the other side. He threw in a step-over to bait his opponent, then burst forward.  

‘Nice, ' he could hear the other boy say. But Regulus didn't reply, too focussed on absolutely destroying him at football.

He kicked the ball to the left, but the other boy reached out and grabbed his shirt, tugging just enough to throw him off balance. Taking advantage, he cut in sharply and stepped in front of Regulus, using his body to shield the ball and take control.

Now in possession, the boy made a quick turn to switch direction toward Regulus’s goal. The ball bounced a little awkwardly, but he was quick to adjust, meeting it with his chest to bring it under control before it dropped. A clumsy move, but effective enough. He stumbled slightly, then nudged the ball forward with the outside of his foot and kept going.

It was messy, but it worked. 

Regulus clenched his jaw. Who did this guy think he was? He played like he didn’t know what he was doing, no strategy at all. It was pure chaos and Regulus did not enjoy it

He chased after him.

He dribbled further down the pitch, but Regulus stepped in and cut him off.

The other guy used big strides and bold tricks. Most of them didn’t quite work, but they still got him laughter and applause from the crowd. He didn’t seem to care. In fact, he looked like he was loving it, a cocky smirk on his face. Like he was playing for a crowd. 

He pretended to yawn as he dribbled the ball from Regulus by faking his left and then his right. 

Regulus, annoyed, burst towards him. 

The guy tapped the ball right, and they both went after it - straight off the field. Someone yelled that they were out of bounds, but neither of them stopped. Regulus could hear the guys on the bleacher cheering them on but he had no time to think about it.

They chased the ball past the edge of the grass. The ball hit the leg of a bench with a loud clang, bounced off, and rolled right back into play on the concrete next to the pitch. Regulus reached it first. He cut hard to the side, using the inside of his foot. The other guy lunged after him but missed.

Regulus turned sharply, keeping the ball close. The guy tried to recover, but Regulus faked to the left, then took off the other way.

He fell for it.

Too late, he realized Regulus had gone the opposite direction. He lost his balance and stumbled back. For a second, Regulus slowed just enough to glance over. The guy seemed to tip backward in slow motion, eyes drawn wide, clearly not expecting to lose. Not to him.

With a sick sense of satisfaction, Regulus watched as he crashed into the water cooler by the sidelines, water flying everywhere.

But Regulus didn’t stop. He cut left, sprinted forward, and fired. The ball struck the net. Clean. Quiet. The crowd cheered, a few guys whistled. Regulus smiled and looked toward Barty and Evan, who both shouted in support, a bit surprised by his sudden aggression on the field. Then he turned to look at the guy in the water cooler. Still sitting there, soaked and blinking, hair dripping into his eyes and sticking to his face.

Regulus, half out of guilt and half trying to be decent, made his way over. He offered a hand, his face partially hidden behind long, wet hair, still dripping from the chaos.

“Sorry, let me help you.”

The guy pushed his hair back, squinting up through the water, then smirked.

“No, let me help you.”

He took Regulus’s hand, but not to get pulled up. Instead, he yanked Regulus straight down into the freezing puddle with him.

Regulus screeched. The water was freezing, and worse, he hadn’t expected it at all. What the hell? Why would anyone do that? He blinked through the shock, chest heaving from the cold, brain short-circuiting. Had the guy really just dragged him down like a toddler losing a game of tag? Regulus had fought hard for that win but this was a normal one-on-one. Not a final. Not life or death. Who even was this guy? Surely he’d done one-on-ones before at his football club. Was he really that petty?

Regulus turned to glare at him, already plotting several unpleasant things to say, niceness completely forgotten in nhis anger, but then Slughorn strolled over. The teacher was trying not to laugh. Actually holding his stomach. His eyes, annoyingly, twinkled like he'd just watched something delightful.

“Well, gentlemen, that was quite a show. Now I say you shake hands and we’ll send you both on your way?”

Shake hands? Regulus had tried to do that. That’s literally what got him into this mess. He crossed his arms and turned away, absolutely not in the mood.

“Come on, lads,” Slughorn said again, nudging the moment along.

Regulus sighed hard through his nose, his whole body tensing with annoyance, but eventually turned back and held out his hand again.

The other boy turned to face him, and Regulus froze. His stomach dropped.

Because the guy standing in front of him looked exactly like him.

Same black hair, longer, yes and messier, but still his. Same pale skin. Same sharp cheekbones, same grey eyes. Same nose. Same cupid’s bow sitting right above the same shape of mouth.

Regulus just… stared. Mouth slightly open. It was surreal. Like looking in a warped mirror. He realized after a second that he was still standing there, visibly stunned. He snapped his mouth shut, scolding himself for the open-mouthed gawking. The other boy didn’t look any better. His eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth parted, blinking like he couldn’t quite believe it either.

Finally, they both hesitantly reached for a handshake.

Regulus glanced down and his stomach twisted even more. The guy’s hand looked exactly like his. Same fingers. Same nails. Same little birthmark between the index and middle finger. What the hell was this? And now Regulus wasn’t so sure what would happen if he actually touched him. Would he vanish? Would the universe implode? Would he disappear? 

Still, he took the hand.

And the second their palms met, something warm jolted through him, fast and sudden, like heat under his skin.

He quickly pulled his hand away, uncomfortable with that feeling. 

Trying to gather himself, Regulus turned around to look for Barty and Evan, but he just noticed that everyone else was staring too. Great. So he wasn’t going insane. That was good to know. Barty and Evan stood off to the side. Evan looked baffled in a completely innocent way. Barty, though, looked confused and vaguely accusing, like Regulus had hidden this from him on purpose.

Regulus opened his mouth to say something, even though he had no idea what. But the other boy cut in first.

“Why is everyone staring?” he asked, like this was all perfectly normal.

Regulus looked at him, struggling to stay calm.

“Don’t you see it?”

“See what?”

Oh god. Surely he wasnt that daft

“There’s a resemblance,” Regulus said carefully. “Between us.”

The guy blinked like he was still buffering. “Resemblance? Between you and me?”

Regulus nodded once, not trusting himself to speak again without sounding like he was about to scream.

The boy squinted at him, thoughtful, and then smirked—clearly enjoying this a little too much. He placed a hand on his chin like he was doing a very serious analysis.  “Let me see... turn sideways.”

Regulus did. Slowly.

“Now the other way.”

He obliged. He turned back, and the other guy was staring at him with the kind of cocky smirk that made Regulus want to launch him back into the water cooler. He did not enjoy seeing a  smirk like this on his face.

Then he started

“Well, your eyes are much closer together than mine,” he said thoughtfully. “Your ears - don’t worry, you’ll grow into them. Your teeth are a little crooked. Oh, and that nose. Don’t worry, dear, those things can be fixed.”

Regulus immediately covered his nose. He had never been particularly insecure about the way he looked but getting apparent flaws pointed out by someone was never fun. Also his teeth crooked? Please, as if Walburga would have accept crooked teeth. Still, they looked exactly the same. Why was this guy trying to act like they didn’t? It felt less like denial and more like gaslighting. What was this guy's problem? 

“What, want me to deck him for you?” Evan called from the back.

“Hold on, I’m not quite finished yet,” the guy said cheerfully, turning back to Regulus like he was delivering a performance review.

But Regulus had had it. First Lucius then Barty now this guy? He’d won the match. Fair and square. And this was how the guy reacted? Dragging him into a water cooler, insulting his face, and pretending they didn’t look alike when they clearly did?

He stared him down.

 “You want to know the real difference between us?” he said, voice low and steady. He tilted his head like he was genuinely considering it.

 “Let me see… I know how to play football and you don't? Or I have class and you don't. Take your pick” He said and gave him a smile with no teeth

The guy opened his mouth, clearly about to fire back, but Slughorn jumped in before anything else could happen.

He looked between them with wide eyes. “Sirius,” he said, looking at Regulus. Then he blinked and turned. “Regulus.” Then back again. “I mean... Sirius-Regulus-” He gave up.
“I mean... whoa,” he said finally, face twisted into a comically baffled expression.

***

Sirius 

He fell onto his back, soaked, hair in his eyes, chest still burning from running way too hard in a one-on-one. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, and the water cooler behind him looked like a broken dam. Cold water spread underneath him, soaking into his shorts, his socks, even his hair, which was now plastered to his forehead, dripping into his eyes. Sirius was going to have to use the gross Camp showers again to wash it.

What was this guy’s problem? Who played like that at summer camp? He acted like he was fighting for a Premier League contract..

Footsteps approached. Sirius blinked water out of his eyes and looked up.

The other boy, tight jaw, dead serious, walked over and held out a hand.

“Sorry, let me help you.”

His voice was polite. A little quiet. Like he might have actually felt a bit ashamed of how hard he’d gone. Sirius grinned up at him. Time for revenge.

“No,” he said sweetly, “let me help you.”

He grabbed the outstretched hand, and yanked. Hard.

The guy gave a very undignified screech as he lost his balance and toppled right into the puddle beside him, splashing water everywhere. 

Sirius snorted. Petty? Yeah, maybe. But it was so worth it. He wasn’t above being petty. Not when it was this satisfying.

But instead of laughing it off, the boy just sat there like someone had punched his puppy. He looked offended. Personally offended. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Relax, mate. Have a little fun. It’s summer camp, for fuck’s sake.

Before he could say anything else, Sluggy waddled over, chuckling.

“Well, gentlemen, that was quite a show. Now I say you shake hands and we’ll send you both on your way?”

Sirius pushed his hair out of his face, still smirking. But the other boy didn’t even look at him. He folded his arms and turned away like he was above it. Seriously? Sirius wasn't sure what he had done to offend this guy that much.

Slughorn tried again: “Come on, lads.”

The other boy sighed like it physically hurt him to exist in the same space as Sirius. Then, finally, he turned back and reached out his hand again.

Sirius turned too.

And froze.

For a second, his brain just... stopped.

He was looking at himself. Not in a wow, we kind of look a bit alike way. No.

This guy looked exactly like him.

Well, if Sirius ever decided to be an angry, uptight, wanker. His hair was shorter. It was gelled back, so you couldn’t see the curls Sirius loved to embrace. His posture? Way too stiff. But the features?

They were the same. The same eyes. Same nose. Same mouth. Same everything.

Sirius stared.

So did the other guy.

Then, still in some weird daze, they both reached for the handshake.

Sirius glanced down at their hands, a weird feeling rising in his throat. Was this some Back to the Future time travel thing? He’d watched all three, like, six times with James—was this guy him from the future? From another dimension? Should he not touch him? Would the world explode?

But the other boy was already grabbing his hand.

When their hands touched, something warm and familiar shot up Sirius’s arm. Whatever it was, it made him yank his hand back instinctively. He wiped his hands on his drenched shorts, trying to get the feeling off his skin, trying not to look like he was shakenHe stood up and turned around to the others, looking for James who would definitely have a laugh with him about the absurdity of this situation. But he froze, they were all staring. Not talking. Just... staring at him and the uptight guy. Great.

“Why is everyone staring?” Sirius asked, eyebrows raised, like he didn’t already know the answer.

The other boy looked at him, dead serious. “Don’t you see it?”

“See what?”

The guy was clearly trying to stay calm, but his eyes were giving away his panic thing, darting around the whole place. Sirirus liked how easy he was to mess with.

“There’s a resemblance,” the boy said. “Between us.” He had a very overly posh accent, figures.

Sirius tilted his head, playing dumb. He was processing, but no way was he going to show that. It would be a lot easier to just rile up the guy

“Between you and me?” he asked, like the idea was hilarious. 

The other boy nodded. Once. Stiffly.

Sirius studied him. Slowly. Then put a hand on his chin, pretending to think deeply.“Hmm. Turn sideways.”

The boy turned.

“Now the other way.”

He did.

Sirius looked him up and down with a practiced smirk, time to make it fun.

“Well,” he said, “your eyes are much closer together than mine. Your ears- don’t worry, you’ll grow into them. Your teeth are a little crooked. Oh, and that nose. Don’t worry, dear. Those things can be fixed.”

The boy’s hand shot to his nose like he'd been physically struck.

Sirius grinned wider. Too easy.

“Want me to deck him for you?” someone blonde dude called from the background which Sirirus could take with literally his eyes closed. Not a serious threat. 

“Hold on, I’m not quite finished yet,” Sirius said, turning back, ready for one more go. But the boy cut in first. He stared right at Sirius, something sharp in his eyes now. Finally. 

“You want to know the real difference between us?” he asked, voice calm but cold. “Let me see... I know how to play football, and you don’t. Or I have class, and you don’t. Take your pick.”

Sirius’s smirk faltered for the first time.

His mouth opened, ready to hit back with something worse, but Slughorn suddenly shoved himself between them, flapping his arms like some kind of referee-matchmaker.

He looked from one to the other, clearly trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

“Sirius,” he said, pointing at the wrong one. Then corrected. “Regulus.” Pause. “I mean- Sirius... Regulus...” Another pause.
“I mean... whoa.”

Chapter Text

After getting a towel from Slughorn, Sirius walked back toward the Gryffindor hut, dripping wet and barely holding it together. James and Peter were somewhere nearby, probably right at his heels, but Sirius couldn’t be bothered to look. He was too busy trying to make sense of what the actual hell had just happened.

He had never, never , seen someone who looked like him so closely.

People always said he looked like his father. Sometimes even exactly like him. And yeah, sure in old photos, maybe, in the eyes or the shape of the mouth. But this? This was different. This was insane.

This boy looked exactly like him. It wasn’t just similar features. It looked like Sirius' reflection in the mirror had decided to step out and join them at football camp. 

But that wasn’t possible. And he didn’t have a twin. He’d know if he had a twin. Right? Still, the resemblance was haunting.

And the way Regulus had looked at him, full of something like hatred, or maybe disappointment, just before turning and walking off with those two blond boys like the whole thing hadn’t happened at all? That made Sirius’s blood boil.

He was soaked. Standing in a puddle created by that guy . And somehow more emotionally wrecked by it than he wanted to admit.

He could feel his anger surging through his body, sharp and relentless like TV static. He needed to hit something. Yell. Run. Anything. Anything to get rid of the confusion clawing its way up his chest.

"Mate. Sirius," James said, suddenly beside him, voice gentler than usual. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Sirius clenched his jaw. He’d risked a quick glance at his friends after Regulus left, and the look on James and Pete's faces had been... stunned. Completely baffled. They hadn’t said anything at the time, just stood there like their brains had short-circuited. That silence had made him angrier. Why hadn’t they said something? Or pretended it wasn’t a big deal? Why did they just stand there? Why didn't his friends get the hint .

"No," Sirius muttered, pushing past James. He needed to get inside. To disappear. To find an outlet to this energy cursing through him. To put headphones in and drown himself in music or find something to punch or smash or-

But the universe clearly had other plans.

Coming from the opposite path toward the hut was Remus. He had a book under one arm, sunglasses on, and a faint sunburn on his nose. He looked like he’d been lying in the sun reading all afternoon and was now regretting it slightly. He paused when he saw them, taking in the scene.

Sirius, dripping wet and storm-faced. James, awkwardly trailing. Peter, still visibly confused.

Remus frowned and looked between them. "What... happened?"

"For fuck’s sake," Sirius muttered, spinning on his heel, immediately turning the other direction. He was not dealing with this. Not explaining it again. Not standing around while everyone tried to piece his life together like some tragic puzzle.

James, predictably, grabbed his arm. "Sirius, come on . You can't just walk away."

"Watch me," Sirius snapped, tugging, but not very hard.

James didn’t let go. Instead, he held Sirius’s gaze, steady and kind and infuriatingly patient. The way he always was when Sirius got like this. The way Sirius never deserved. "Mate you’re clearly freaking out," James said, his voice quiet but firm. "Just stop for a second."

Sirius exhaled sharply through his nose, fists clenched, every part of him vibrating with the need to not deal with this. But James was still holding him. This was James, lovely, good James, who had talked him down even from the worst mental breakdowns. He didn't deserve Sirius' anger. James pulled him gently back toward Remus and Peter.

"Hey, Remus," James said, forcing a weirdly cheerful smile. "You’re not gonna believe this, but Sirius just lost his first one-on-one. And then, you wont believe this, he met his long-lost evil twin. After crashing into the water cooler."

Remus blinked. "I’m sorry... what?"

"I’m not his twin," Sirius snapped, shooting James a glare. "He’s just some prick who looks like me."

"Like exactly like him," James said. "It’s actually insane."

Peter nodded slowly. "Honestly, I thought I was seeing double."

Remus tilted his head. "And who is this person?"

"His name’s Regulus," James answered before Sirius could say anything. "Total git. Pulled a move that soaked Sirius in water after their 1 on 1 and walked away like he didn’t care. His football skills are class though"

“James” Sirius whined frustrated, scrubbing a hand over his face like he could wipe the moment out of existence. He really did not need his dirty laundry aired out to the Remus bloke

Remus studied him for a second, then looked at James and Peter then back to Sirius.

"So," Remus said carefully, "are you okay?"

Sirius laughed, short and sharp. He wasn't a charity case. "Do I look okay to you?"

"You look like you were tossed into a lake," Remus said dryly.

Sirius didn’t answer. He just gave Remus the nastiest look he could muster. This wasn’t funny. This wasn’t banter. It wasn’t fixable with a dumb joke or a raised eyebrow.

"And now Sirius is grumpy," James chimed in, trying to lighten the mood.

"James, shut the hell up!" Sirius snapped, louder than he meant, the words cutting through the air like glass. Why was James pretending like this wasn't a big deal? He turned away again, tension thrumming in his shoulders. His blood felt like it was made of boiling water. "Seriously," he kept going, "I’m not in the mood to deal with more uptight wankers right now."

There was a pause. Sirius could feel the silence stretch, cold and uncomfortable. He glanced up, briefly, and caught Remus’s expression. It had shifted.

Not quite surprised.  Just... cold and distant and a little hurt. 

Sirius swallowed. The insult had clearly landed. It had been meant for anyone more like everyone, but it hit Remus all the same.

Still, he didn’t apologize. Not now. He didn’t have it in him.

If they wanted to stand around and dissect the weirdest ten minutes of his life, fine. Let them. But he wasn’t about to stick around for it. Everyone knew to leave Sirius alone when he was like this.

He turned sharply and stomped the last few metres to the hut, slamming the door behind him.

Inside, it was blissfully empty. Everyone else was still out at practice.

Practice that had gone so horribly, unbelievably wrong.

***

Inside the hut, Sirius stood in the middle of the room, dripping water onto the wooden floor.

The other guys were still out at practice, which was good and he knew James and Pete would leave him alone. He didn’t think he could survive another well-meaning look or one more stupid comment about “his twin.”

He pulled off his soaked shirt and tossed it into the corner, then rummaged through his drawer for something dry. He found the softest shirt he could find, a gray one with a blue stripe in the middle and pulled it over his head. 

He dropped onto his bed, towel-drying his hair with half-hearted aggression. Then, as if on instinct, he reached under his pillow and pulled out his CD Player. Music always helped. He didn’t know why exactly, maybe because there was something about hearing someone else admit things he couldn’t say out loud. Honest lyrics made him feel less lost, less alone. Less like a walking mess of contradictions. Like he was understood. 

Today, though, even the music was struggling to drown things out.

He could almost stomach the resemblance. People looked like other people all the time. Doppelgängers. Coincidence. Sirius could live with that. So what if someone looked like him? Sirius clearly had the better hair. Probably the better music taste, too.

But the match? Losing. To him . In front of everyone.

No. That sucked.

Worse was that it mattered . That it got to him. That for half a second, when he’d stared into that stranger’s eyes, something inside him had cracked open — and he’d felt a flicker of hope. Hope that maybe he wasn’t as alone in the world as he thought. That maybe there was someone out there who understood . Who was like him.

But then he remembered that someone had just played the most uptight game of football, shoved him into a water cooler, and then turned around and left without saying a word.

Yeah. Even if they were family, if they were twins or whatever, they would not get along. 

At least Sirius had gotten under the guy’s skin too. And that, at least, gave Sirius a small, vicious sense of satisfaction.

And then, of course, there was Remus.

Sirius let out a sharp exhale through his nose and began combing through his damp hair with his fingers, more out of nervous habit than anything else. 

He hadn’t even meant to say it like that. The words had just... come out. Like they always seemed to do with him. All teeth and venom. It was an expression of Sirius anger at the world, not at him, but he knew where it landed. He saw the way Remus’s expression changed, felt that flicker of cold right before he walked off. 

He didn’t mean it. Not at Remus. Not really.

This was what happened when Sirius got mad. He let it out on other people. He knew he shouldn’t. He was ashamed of it. But who could blame him when this was all he’d learned growing up, that anger and resentment needed an exit, and people were the easiest place to put it.

Just like his father

Sirius shuddered. He hated the reminders,  the cracks in the wall between him and them. No matter how far he ran, his family was still in there somewhere, sitting at the root of him like rot. That they still affected him, shaped him, make him act like them.

It made him feel dirty . Like he was betraying everything he wanted to be. Like he was betraying himself

Was that what Remus had seen the first time they met? That Sirius was rotten on the inside? That no matter how fast or far he ran, he couldn’t outrun what he came from, couldn't outrun who he was, angry and broken and dangerous?

Probably. 

But he couldn’t deal with Remus’s judgment today. Not when he already felt like he was barely keeping it together. Not when everything inside him was screaming and cracking open and slipping out in all the wrong directions. And of course he’d failed. Spectacularly .

He screamed into his pillow and started punching it.  What the fuck. James and Pete would probably want him to apologize. He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall. The music played on, track after track of distorted guitars and sharp vocals filling the room with sound — but not answers.

Maybe he’d apologize later. Or maybe he’d just avoid Remus for a while. Until everything stopped spinning. Until he felt like himself again. Whoever that was.

***

Regulus

"What an absolutely, utterly insufferable excuse for a human being," Regulus shouted, yanking off his wet shirt and throwing it on the floor. "I think he's the most unrelentingly obnoxious, self-important little guy I've ever met in my entire life." 

He flinched when the door shut behind him and turned around to see Barty standing there in the doorway.

"You do know you're allowed to cuss around us," said Barty, leaning against the doorframe with an amused smirk.
Why was the guy always leaning on something?

“I’m not in the mood, Barty,” Regulus muttered, shoulders tense as he started digging through his stuff for a towel. He just wanted to get to the shower and not talk. “Just... don’t start, alright?” He really wasn't up for it. 

“I wasn't doing anything,” Barty said, stretching like all of this was vaguely beneath him. “You just looked a bit pathetic, so I thought I’d check in.”

Regulus didn’t even bother replying. He wasn’t in the mood. Not even close.

He'd just completely destroyed the guy in their one-on-one football match and then, of course, Sirius , the annoying, insufferable twat that he was, had to go and ruin it. Humiliate Regulus in front of everyone. And he wasn’t even sorry about it. No, he just started teasing him. So much that Regulus had snapped.

He hadn’t meant to. Usually, he kept it together, especially with the coaches watching. He really hoped what he’d said wouldn't get him into serious trouble. He hadn’t wanted a scene—he’d just wanted the guy to shut up.

Regulus wasn’t sure why Sirius had pretended they didn’t look alike. They clearly did. Everyone could see it. Sirius must have seen it too. But instead of being decent about it, he’d gone and absolutely ruined everything. Regulus wasn’t even sure why . He hadn’t done anything to him. Maybe Sirius was just embarrassed he lost—but if he couldn’t handle losing, maybe he shouldn’t be trying to go pro. Was he going to have a tantrum on the pitch every time a match didn’t go his way?

And why did guys like that always think they could get away with messing with him? Like Regulus was someone easy to knock over. Like he didn’t know how to fight back.

What made it worse was the disappointment. He’d actually been kind of excited to meet someone who looked like him. When Regulus had turned around and looked into his own eyes he had been a bit freaked out but also excited and curious. Regulus had never looked like anyone in his life. He would’ve loved to figure it out. Did Sirius also have a birthmark on his foot? Did he sweat on his nose like Regulus did? Did he also secretly like to sing in the shower? Or was it just... a weird coincidence?

But no. Leave it to his luck to get the worst twat in the world as his doppelgänger.

"Thought you said you didn’t have any siblings," Barty said, pulling Regulus out of his thoughts.

"I don’t," Regulus muttered.

"Well, that lad looks like your twin."

Regulus rolled his eyes and didn’t turn around. Made a face at the floor instead, trying to stop himself from lashing out at Barty. Thanks, captain obvious.

He turned around and tried to look bored. Resigned, maybe. Hopefully bored enough that Barty would get the hint and stop talking.

“Yeah, I know he does. But I don’t have a twin. I’m an only child. I’ve always been.” He paused. “Can we just not talk about it? I’m not in the mood.”

Barty tilted his head at him like he wanted to call bullshit but decided against it.

Suddenly Evan slammed the door open and stormed in.

“Regulus what the actual fuck was that?” he said, way too delighted. “You wrecked that guy in football. And those insults? Bloody hell  you were savage.”

He looked proud, buzzing with mischievous energy.

"Oh... thanks,"  Regulus said, blinking, honestly caught off guard. He wasn’t used to compliments, let alone praise that sounded like genuine admiration.

"Right, Barty?" Evan added, nudging him in the side.

“Yup,” Barty replied lazily, popping the 'p' just to be annoying.

Evan rolled his eyes but continued. "He really did look a lot like you though. Freaked me out, honestly."

"I think we were all freaked out," Barty deadpanned.

Regulus let out a long breath, picking at the skin of one of his fingers which annoyingly stuck  out “Yeah... I was thinking maybe I should talk to him. Just to figure out if we’re... I dunno. Related or something.”

“Absolutely not,” Evan said instantly, like Regulus had just suggested joining priesthood or something. “That guy was an absolute dickhead to you. Don’t be nice to him now.”

Regulus didn’t respond. Just stared at the floor, wishing it would either give him answers or swallow him whole. Or maybe just lend him a bit of a spine so he could fight back properly next time. A guy can dream.

“I dunno,” he muttered. “Feels like there’s something there.” He remembered the way it had felt when he touched the other guy. It felt warm. Familiar, somehow. Not like touching a stranger, more like brushing against a best friend. It was weird. And Regulus was a hundred percent sure the other guy had felt it too, based on the way he’d wiped his hands on his shorts afterwards.

“Maybe,” Evan said, more hesitant this time. “But if he’s anything like he was today, you’re not gonna get anything from him but more attitude.”

“Maybe,” Regulus muttered, done with the conversation but not quite done thinking about it.

He glanced at the two of them standing in the doorway. Evan looked genuinely pissed now, jaw tight, arms crossed like he was ready to square up on Regulus’s behalf like he had suggested during the interaction. Barty, though, was quiet. For once, his usual smirk was gone. He looked thoughtful, like he was still turning something over in his head.

Then, out of nowhere, Barty said, “Well... if you want, I can go find him. Talk to him.”

Regulus blinked. So did Evan. They both turned to stare at him.

“Oh, why?” Regulus asked, trying to figure out what game Barty was playing.

Barty shrugged, looking oddly contemplative, “just think that I would get more information out of him and if he tried to start something I'd deck him”

“Um,” Regulus started, caught between grateful and confused. “Maybe don’t... say anything to him directly. But if you do find anything out about him, that might be good?” He tried to keep his voice casual. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t weirdly touched by the offer. Barty would deck Sirius for him? The other day, the guy had basically told him to stay out of their way. Now he was offering to track someone down and possibly punch them for him? Regulus knew they’d been getting along better the past days, but he didn't know they got along like this . 

Barty didn’t say anything straight away. Just gave a short nod, like the decision had already been made.

Evan glanced at him, eyebrows raised. Still surprised, which confirmed Regulus' assumption that this wasn't something Barty did a lot. But then a little smile came over his face, not smug or teasing, just quietly glad and fond. 

And maybe Barty didn’t even realise he was doing it, he definitely wasn't showing it. But it felt a bit protective, like Barty starting to treat him like someone who mattered. Like someone worth sticking up for.

It wasn’t like they were mates now or anything. Regulus had only known these guys for three days. They didn’t owe him anything. But still. There was something in the way Barty had said it. Like, even if he didn’t quite know why, he meant it. Like maybe, just maybe, he’d decided Regulus wasn’t a total lost cause. And Regulus hadn’t had anyone offer to do something like that for him in a long time. Maybe ever.

He didn’t say thank you. That would’ve made it weird.

But he made sure to never forget it. 

***

Sirius

“Hey, Sirius.”

The door creaked open slowly, and Sirius cracked one eye open to see James slipping inside their hut. 

Sirius didn’t move, but he shifted his eyes to follow James as he padded over. He was still curled under the covers. His portable cd player sat on his chest, wires tangled, one earbud still dangling uselessly from his collar.

“Hi,” Sirius croaked, voice rough from disuse. He’d spent the last hour sulking in bed, half-listening to music and wallowing in the kind of mood he’d rather not explain. 

James gave him a half-smile. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him like he was trying to determine how bad things really were. Sirius, feeling a bit stupid now for how pathetic he must look, shifted and pushed himself up onto his elbows, hastily brushing hair out of his face.

James’s gaze dropped to the empty space beside Sirius on the bed. He raised an eyebrow, silent question obvious. Sirius gave a tiny nod.

“I’m sorry,” James said after a long pause.

Sirius blinked up at the ceiling. “James, you don’t have to say sorry. I was the one being a dick.”

James scratched the back of his neck, clearly not satisfied with that. “No, but like— I shouldn’t have said anything to Remus. I noticed something was off with you, even on the first day, and I still told him. I thought maybe you were just nervous or something. I didn’t know it was… something bigger. And I shouldn’t have shared it. It wasn’t mine to share, and that sucks, and—”

“James.” Sirius cut him off gently. James always got like this when he felt bad,  rambling, earnest, trying to fix things with sheer force of emotion. “You didn’t know. And I was an arse to you. And to the other guys. I’ll apologize to Remus too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I really didn’t mean to insult him, though,” he added, voice quieter.

“I know you didn’t. I think it just hit something he’s already a bit insecure about. Remus can be... sensitive sometimes. That’s why I reckon you two might actually get on. Eventually.”

Sirius didn’t reply. He just gave a low, noncommittal hum, fingers picking at a thread on the duvet cover. The room had gone still, the quiet stretching out between them.

He didn’t deserve James. Not really. James had always been there for him. When Sirius ran away, when he needed someone, when no one else even tried to understand.

The first time they met in Year 6, Sirius had been a nightmare. During the first morning, he’d said something snide and classist, just parroting what he'd always been taught. And James had punched him square in the face. They’d brawled right there in the hallway, scratching, hitting, and kicking each other.

The detention they both got for it had been quiet. But then James had come over, with his wonky glasses (which was Sirius’s fault), and asked why Sirius had said that. That's when they talked. Somehow, James had looked past everything Sirius had said and explained why it wasn’t just wrong — it was cruel. It was the first time anyone had done that. Not shouted. Not punished. Just explained. Showed him that Sirius didn’t have to believe something just because his father did.

Sirius still didn’t really know why James had stuck around after that. Maybe he’d just seen someone who really, really needed a friend. Or maybe they were platonic soulmates. Either way, he had.

James had taught Sirius how to live. How to laugh. How to be his own person, not just a reflection of where he came from. He’d taught Sirius to love himself, how to embrace his quirks and flaws and strengths and dumb jokes and everything else that came with Sirius.

He owed him so much. 

When Sirius moved in with the Potters, James had slept on the floor in his room every night for a month. Sirius had never told anyone what happened the night he left home. But if he ever did, it would be James.

“Do you think he’s still in there?” Sirius asked, barely above a whisper, tapping a finger against his chest.

“Oh, Sirius.” James’s face fell, and Sirius could see the old heaviness settle over his features. The heaviness that had lifted during the first few days of camp, replaced by a bright smile. The heaviness Sirius hated most, especially when he knew he’d put it there. “You’ve never been like him. Not once. You’re funny, and kind, and most of all, you’re good,” James said, voice thick.

Sirius shrugged, not ready to believe it, not yet. But James’s words chipped away at the self-loathing anyway, just a little.

James was quiet for a moment, watching him. “Where’s this coming from?”

Sirius exhaled, shoulders sagging. “I just get so angry, you know?”

“You had every right to be angry,” James said without hesitation. “The guy was a twat, pushed you into a bloody water cooler. And we were kind of insensitive after. That doesn’t make you bad, mate. You’re allowed to feel things.”

“Maybe,” Sirius mumbled. “But I still hurt you lot.”

James snorted. “You didn’t hurt us. We’re fine. Pete’s outside teaching the younger kids how to play Scrabble. Remus is reading again. We’re over it.”

Sirius didn’t say anything back. But for the first time in hours, the heaviness on his chest got a little less

Sirius let the silence sit between them for a while, breathing in time with the rise and fall of James’s chest beside him. The music from the Walkman buzzed faintly through his headphones, one of the earbuds still dangling from his collar, long forgotten. He picked it up and offered it to James who accepted it and put it in his ear. 

They lay side by side, listening. Sirius stretched his arms overhead, joints cracking, then let them fall. His gaze drifted upwards. “I think I just hate that I cared so much.”

“Caring’s not a bad thing. I’d have cared too if I saw someone who looked exactly like me being a complete wanker. It makes you normal. You’re allowed to care. And you’re allowed to feel bad about it.”

“Maybe.”

“Yes,” James said, nudging their knees together.

They laid there a while longer, not talking. The hut creaked around them. Outside, someone shouted about fouls, and someone else laughed. 

Eventually, James sat up and stretched his arms above his head. “Alright, drama queen. You’ve got two choices.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Do I?”

James held up a finger. “Option one: we stay here, wallow in our feelings, and I keep saying emotionally devastating things until you cry.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Tempting.”

“Option two,” James continued, ignoring him, “you get your mopey arse out of bed, and we go party because apparently Ravenclaw 3 is throwing, and trust me parties are one of the best thing about Camp Hogwarts.”

Sirius sat up slowly, feeling a lot lighter than he had before. James tossed him some of his shorts and Sirius disappeared to the bathroom to put on outside clothes. 

Afterwards they headed for the door, bumping shoulders along the way.

As they headed for the door, James nudged his shoulder. “Also, you don’t have to apologize to Remus immediately. Just… when you’re ready.”

“I know.” Sirius paused. 

James smiled, clapping him on the back. “That’s my boy.”

***

When James and Sirius walked into Ravenclaw Hut 3, it was pretty clear the party had already fully kicked off and it was barely 5pm on a Thursday. Not that anyone seemed to care. Friday morning practice always started late anyway, and this kind of felt like the unofficial start of the weekend. The music was loud, people were already laughing a little too hard, and the air smelled like sweat and something vaguely citrusy.

There was a big table right in the middle of the room and it was completely covered in bottles. Vodka, rum, cheap whisky, and a few random mixers: orange juice, Coke, energy drinks, and whatever else people had thrown together. They even had a bowl with crisps which a black haired boy was currently dipping his hands in. 

Sirius wasn’t supposed to be drinking, none of them were, technically. They were on a meal plan for football, and their coach would probably have a heart attack if he knew. But it was summer, they were training every day so Sirius had already decided tonight didn’t count. Everyone else seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

The hut was packed. People were on beds, sitting on the floor, leaning against walls in little groups, talking and laughing way too loudly like they’d already had three or four drinks. 

James grabbed two of the cheap white plastic cups from the stack and made them drinks with way too much vodka and barely a splash of Coke.

“Jesus, James,” Sirius said, wrinkling his nose. “You trying to kill me?”

James just grinned at him, that lopsided look he always got when he was already buzzed or about to be. Sirius took the drink anyway and downed it. The burn in his throat was immediate, but weirdly satisfying. James rolled his eyes and filled him another drink, happy to let sirius indulge in a little bit of alcohol after the day he had had. 

A few minutes later after James and Sirirus had settled in a corner, Pete showed up with a few other guys trailing behind him. James and Sirius whooped at the sight of him and waved him over. One of the guys looked vaguely familiar,  Sirius recognized him from their first day of training. The guy had gone on and on about how he was some kind of football prodigy but then completely flopped during drills. His name was Gilderoy, apparently, and judging by the way he jumped straight into a story about his home team connections, once they had walked over, he still loved to talk about himself.

Sirius tuned him out almost immediately and let his eyes wander around the hut. It was even more crowded now. Some people were crammed onto the beds, others sat cross-legged on the floor, and a group had spilled out onto the porch where they were smoking something that didn’t smell like cigarettes.

Sirius loved parties, he loved the thrill of it. Meeting new people, getting drunk, playing dumb games, making bad decisions. So he soaked in the moment of it, his time at the camp was only starting, he and his friends would have an absolute blast in the next few weeks.

As he looked around the room, he noted that one specific person was absent.

“Hey, where’s Remus?” he asked quietly, leaning toward James while Gilderoy was still rambling about some scout he'd apparently met once at a petrol station.

James made a face. “This just isn’t really his scene,” he said with a shrug. “We always invite him, but he never comes. Says he doesn’t like parties. Or people. Reckon he’s a bit shy.”

Sirius hummed in response, trying to make it sound like he didn't care. He didn’t care whether Remus was there or not.

Actually, it was better this way. If Remus had been there, Sirius would’ve had to talk to him and apologize to him, and he just didn't feel ready to do that. To apologize. Of course he could talk to Remus. He wasn’t weak or anything. He could totally talk to Remus. He just... didn’t want to. Not after everything that had happened today, the meltdown, the way Remus had looked at him like he had genuinely hurt his feelings. That version of himself wasn’t the one he wanted Remus to see. Especially not now. Especially not drunk.

So instead, he muttered something about getting another drink and made his way back to the table. The music had shifted into something bass-heavy, and someone shouted as he refilled his cup. Way too much vodka again, but that was kind of the point. If he was honest, Sirius's favorite part about going to parties was simply to get drunk.

When he turned back around, James had joined the group playing beer pong. Sirius wandered over and dropped down next to him on the floor.

James was already visibly tipsy, glassy-eyed and grinning like an idiot. “We’re playing some version of beer pong!” he yelled way too loud right in Sirius’ ear.

Sirius just smiled and nodded, like, sure, whatever, I’m in.

He didn’t recognize most of the people sitting there, but one guy looked familiar. Ben or Benji or something. From their first day. Sirius gave him a small wave and settled in next to James, watching the game. It looked like they were playing in teams. Every time someone on his team got the ball in the cup, they whooped, and the other team had to drink whatever was in the cup. Based on the faces they made, it was probably straight vodka.

Sirius wasn’t optimistic about his chances, since he could already feel the alcohol working its way through his system. But when the ball got passed to him, he gave it a shot. He threw it way too hard. The ball bounced off the edge of the table and shot across the room, landing in the far corner.

Benji, he was pretty sure, whooped from the other team. “Damn, you suck!”

Sirius flipped him off with a grin and got to his feet to chase down the ball. He could hear the others picking up the game while he was gone. He went to the corner next to someone’s football kit to pick up the ball.

As he stood up, he suddenly felt a little dizzy.

Wow, he said to himself, grabbing the bed to steady himself. He hadn’t realized he’d gotten so drunk. He giggled a little, not feeling any of the worries the day had brought with it. It all suddenly seemed so far away. Why had he been worried again?

He looked over at James, who was still sitting with the other guys, and his heart almost exploded. James was his best friend. He had been by his side since they were eleven years old. He couldn’t believe he was this lucky to have a best friend like that. And James had to know that. Literally right now.

Sirius walked over and sat beside James, who looked up at his arrival and gave him a little smile.

“Jamesss,” Sirius said, a little louder than he meant to.

“Hey, mate,” James replied, equally loud and probably just as drunk. His cheeks were a little red, like they always were when he was at parties.

“Just wanted to say that you’re my best mate ever, and I couldn’t wish for a better one,” Sirius said, and side-hugged his best friend.

James hummed and then started giggling. “You’re so drunk.” Then he considered Sirius’s words and added, more seriously, “You’re also my best mate ever.”

Content with having told his best friend that he was, indeed, his best friend, Sirius got up again and walked outside to get some air.

“Don’t go too far!” James yelled behind him.

​​Sirius nodded and stepped outside, sitting on the steps of the hut. The air was cooler now. Crisp and dark and smelling faintly of pine and leftover cigarette smoke. The sky was turning navy blue, streaked with the last bit of daylight. Somewhere in the distance, someone was still laughing.

He was genuinely happy to be at camp Hogwarts. That thought hit him full force. He didn’t know why he’d been so anxious before. James and Pete had been right. It was absolute fun. Everything felt soft around the edges. Like nothing mattered too much.

But then, out of nowhere, the only thing he could think about was Remus’s face when he had called him uptight. It came back too fast. Sharper than it should’ve been after so much vodka. The way Remus had just stood there, quiet, looking at him like he was genuinely hurt by his words. 

He hadn’t wanted to talk to Remus for a while. Just let it settle. Wait a few days and say sorry then, when it was easier, cleaner. Not when everything was still close to the surface.

But now, sitting alone on the steps, with the night pressing in soft and the alcohol still buzzing through his veins, it felt different. Like maybe the world had gotten quiet enough that he couldn’t ignore the part of him that felt kind of sick knowing Remus might be mad at him. Or worse, not mad at all, just done. That felt weirdly unbearable.

He stood up too fast. The steps tilted and wobbled under his feet, but he caught himself on the railing. He didn’t really have a plan. Just the sudden need to see him.

Remus lived in the physio hut with his dad. James had mentioned it during their first day. Sirius started walking toward it, slow and uneven, trying to think of the apology he was going to give. It didn’t sound great in his head. Kept getting lost in loops.

The hut was dimly lit, quiet, the windows dark. He walked to the side where there was a narrow window just above eye level. He bent down, grabbed a small stone from the path, and tossed it lightly at the glass.

Ping.

Waited.

Nothing.

He picked up another and threw it again. This one made a louder sound.

After a second, the curtain twitched. Then the window cracked open an inch.

“Sirius?”

Remus’s voice was low, annoyed, maybe still half-asleep. His curls were all over the place, yeah, he had definitely been asleep.

“Hi,” Sirius said, smiling up at him. He liked the way Remus’s curls looked.

A pause.

“What are you doing?”

Oh right. He was going to give an apology. “Wanted to see you.”

Another pause. “Are you drunk?”

“Maybe.”

The window shut.

Sirius stared. Oh. Right. Fair enough.

His heart jumped weirdly though. For a second he thought that was it. That he’d blown it, Remus was done, and that was the last time he’d ever see those curls, which felt way more tragic than he could unpack right now.

But then, just when he thought that was it, the front door opened.

Remus stepped out in socks, baggy sweatpants, and a hoodie with the faint lines of a band logo on it which had faded with too many washes. His hair was a mess and he looked unimpressed.

​​“I’m walking you back, you absolute tosser,” he said flatly.

“I haven’t done my apology yet.”

“Then go on.”

Sirius took a breath. “I was a twat earlier. And I was angry at the world and not at you. And I really don’t think you’re uptight or a wanker. I don’t know if I said the wanker thing but I definitely thought it. So sorry for that too.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. Still looked like he was deciding whether it was worth dealing with.

“That’s all I’ve got.”

“And you came here at night to tell me?”

“Yup,” Sirius said, nodding solemnly.

Remus sighed through his nose. “You don’t have to do the drunk apology thing. I’m not mad.”

“I’m not doing it because I’m drunk. Well, I am. But I also mean it. Properly.”

Remus glanced at him, didn’t say anything for a while. Sirius tried to read his face but everything felt a bit fuzzy. His heart was beating stupidly loud in his ears.

“Come on then,” Remus finally said, slipping into some old shoes next to the door. “Let’s walk you back.”

They started walking. The lights from Ravenclaw Hut 3 were visible now in the distance, blurry and warm, but Remus steered him toward the Gryffindor hut instead. Sirius figured James would find him somehow. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Didn’t really matter right now.

They didn’t talk for a bit. Just the sound of footsteps on gravel, and the breeze in the trees.

“Are we okay?” Sirius asked eventually.

Remus didn’t answer right away. Then, “Yeah. I think so.”

Relief hit Sirius like warmth spreading through his ribs. He smiled to himself, small but real.

When they reached the steps, he turned toward Remus one last time.

“You didn’t have to come out,” he said.

Remus shrugged. “You’d have gotten lost. Or fallen in a ditch.”

“Right,” Sirius said, laughing. “Well. Cheers.”

Remus gave a small nod. “Get some water.”

And with that, he turned and walked back down the path. Sirius stood there watching him until he disappeared into the dark.