Chapter Text
The platform was loud, packed with steam and chatter, and just humid enough to make every robe cling annoyingly to the back of your knees. James Potter had barely stepped through the barrier before he was nearly run over by a small girl with a teetering stack of books and an overexcited terrier on a leash.
“Watch it!” he called after her, grinning.
She didn’t hear him—or didn’t care. Fair enough.
He shifted the broom on his shoulder and dragged his trunk farther into the crowd, scanning for familiar chaos. A flash of dark hair and a half-buttoned shirt gave him what he needed.
“Sirius!” he yelled over the din.
Sirius Black turned, grinning in that sharp, careless way he always did, and raised both arms. “You’re late. Again. What happened—Mum insist on taking another photo with the cat?”
“She cried this time. It was emotional,” James said, dropping his trunk beside him with a thud. “Also, she made me toast three times. I didn’t ask for it. She just… kept handing me slices.”
“You poor thing,” Sirius said dryly. “Come on. We’ve got a compartment. Remus claimed it with his Prefect powers.”
“I still can’t believe they gave him that badge.”
Sirius snorted. “Believe it. He nearly hexed a third-year who tried to take his seat. It was brutal. Beautiful, really.”
The two of them pushed through the crowd, James jostling shoulders with passing students, Sirius lighting a cigarette that immediately got snuffed by the station’s anti-smoking charms.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Every year.”
They boarded quickly, ducking into the middle section of the train. Familiar voices carried through the corridor—Dorcas Meadowes laughing too loudly somewhere up front, Marlene McKinnon already mid-argument about the correct way to pronounce Waddiwasi. Evan Rosier passed them with Barty Crouch Jr. in tow, both of them sneering at nothing in particular.
James shook his head. “Do they ever take a break?”
“Rosier thinks glaring builds jaw muscle,” Sirius said. “Barty just likes feeling important.”
The Marauders’ compartment was near the end of the train. Remus was already inside, of course—uniform crisp, legs stretched out across one seat, a book cracked open on his lap.
Peter sat by the window, eating what looked like his second sandwich of the day.
“Took your time,” Remus said without looking up.
“Wouldn’t be the start of term if we weren’t late,” James said, sliding into the seat across from him. “You’re reading already? Haven’t even left the station.”
“Light reading,” Remus said. “For fun.”
Sirius groaned and collapsed beside James. “That’s not a thing, Moony. Reading isn’t fun. Reading is McGonagall assigning four feet on non-verbal transfiguration.”
“Some of us have goals,” Remus replied.
“I do too,” Sirius said. “My goal is to never write four feet of anything again.”
Peter licked his fingers. “My goal is to not throw up during Astronomy this year.”
James raised his hand. “Seconded.”
The train began to move, slowly at first, then with a soft lurch that pulled them away from King’s Cross and into another year of whatever fresh hell Hogwarts had waiting. Through the window, buildings turned to fields, fields to trees.
The banter continued for a while—new classes, OWL stress, whether or not Slughorn would try and collect James for the Slug Club again (he would). Eventually, Remus took his book back out, and Peter started nodding off.
That’s when Regulus Black passed by.
He was flanked by Evan and Barty, just like always, walking with that smooth, effortless sort of posture that made it look like he didn’t have to think about being composed—he just was. His hair was neat, uniform spotless, every button done up right to the collar.
Regulus glanced inside the compartment as they passed. His eyes lingered for a beat—not on Sirius, but on James.
And then he was gone.
The silence that followed was brief but heavy.
James leaned back. “That was…”
“Don’t,” Sirius muttered.
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
Remus looked up. “He’s taller than last year.”
“Still a prick,” Sirius said sharply. “Doesn’t matter if he’s grown two feet and turned into Merlin himself.”
James said nothing. He was still thinking about the way Regulus had looked at him—curious, maybe. Not cold. Not quite warm either. Like he was measuring something, or trying to remember where he’d seen James before.
“We should hex their compartment later,” Peter said sleepily.
“Absolutely not,” Remus said immediately.
James and Sirius shared a look.
“Later later,” Sirius mouthed, and James smirked.
⸻
Regulus found an empty compartment with Evan and Barty two cars up, far from the Prefects and out of earshot from most of the noise. Evan sprawled immediately, kicking his feet onto the seat, while Barty pulled out a deck of enchanted Exploding Snap cards.
Regulus sat near the window, his hands folded neatly in his lap.
“You see him?” Evan asked, like he already knew the answer.
“See who?”
“Your brother.”
Regulus didn’t blink. “Briefly.”
Barty cracked a card against the seat, grinning. “Potter was watching you.”
Regulus turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch.
Evan nudged him. “I mean, not that I blame him. If I were a Gryffindor, I’d stare too. All that good breeding, and you’ve got cheekbones sharp enough to cut air.”
“Disgusting,” Barty muttered.
Regulus ignored both of them.
The truth was, he had noticed. Not just Sirius, who he always clocked like instinct, but Potter—looking too long, like he’d been caught off guard. Like he wasn’t expecting Regulus to look back.
He wasn’t sure why it mattered.
But it did.
⸻
Later, after the trolley passed and the countryside blurred gold with late-summer light, James found himself zoning out as Remus explained something about their new Charms curriculum.
He wasn’t paying attention.
Not really.
He was thinking about that look again.
The way Regulus hadn’t flinched, hadn’t smirked, hadn’t scowled like Sirius probably expected. Just… looked.
Like he was waiting.
Or daring James to ask a question he didn’t even know how to phrase.
“Earth to James,” Remus said, waving a hand in front of his face.
James blinked. “Huh?”
“You’re hopeless,” Remus said, shaking his head. “It’s the first day and your brain’s already on holiday.”
“Sorry,” James muttered. “Just tired.”
But he wasn’t tired.
He was curious.
And James Potter had never been particularly good at leaving questions alone.