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There’s no words today.
For a while now, James has been continuously finding little ripped pieces of parchment wherever he goes. He isn’t sure when it started, but by now he kind of expects a little note at least once a day. Most times it’s just poems, —muggle ones, at that— other times it’s a little reminder to eat or rest well, to not strain himself, on rare occasions it’s both, and on even rarer instances this secret person admits to watching him, sort of.
One afternoon after practice James found a note outside the Gryffindor changing rooms that read, Your jumper’s inside out, idiot. He had instantly looked down at himself just to confirm his clothes were, in fact, inside out, and when his brain caught up to the implications of the memo a beat too late, his eyes searched the hallway frantically for someone, anyone, but it was empty. Notes like this had only happened twice.
James is aware this should make him at least a bit wary, it’s not exactly normal to receive random letters —can he even call them that?— from a stranger, but in the grand scheme of things, this is pretty harmless and well, kind of sweet. The chances of this situation potentially becoming his murder case were quite slim, so really, what’s a little secret admirer?
He didn’t realize he’d become attached to the daily offerings. For James the notes were just a constant in his life, until of course, they weren’t.
It’s close to midnight, James’ body craves sleep but at the same time doesn’t want the day to end. It was a pretty normal day, breakfast, classes, running around the castle with his friends, practice, dinner, and back to the dorm again. He didn’t really break away from his usual routine, he frequented the places he always does, met the people he always meets, and yet. No poems, encouraging words, or even sarcastic quips today. Objectively, this shouldn’t bother him as much as it does, of course, the words were kind and it’s always nice to know you’re appreciated, but he has plenty of people in his life ready to coddle him without the need for James to even outwardly say it. His friends, family, hell even professors —although they’d never admit it— were all extensively fond of him, James knows this, they always looked out for his wellbeing. So, for him to feel like this, like he’s just lost something important, it’s just greedy, he thinks.
So, he sleeps. James forces himself to stop think about the stupid notes, to focus on the fact that he still can’t brew that one potion right for class, and forget all about the unexpected dread he felt when he entered his room that night and realized there wouldn’t be a happy coincidence today. For the first time in a while, James sleeps his worries away, and hopes to wake up tomorrow to everything being right again.
James eats breakfast on autopilot the next day, he totters through his lectures on autopilot, walks, talks, and plays on autopilot. He feels off, and it’s making him antsy. James knows it’s probably because of the notes disappearing suddenly, but surely this issue can’t be affecting him like this, it doesn’t make sense. He can’t even remember what he had for lunch, it’s stupid. James stumbles into the library, he’d told Lily he’d get the book she needed and give it later when he returned to their common room. He rounds one of the aisles and accidentally bumps into the sharp corner of a shelf, pain seething through his hip. “Fucking hell,” James rasps, he’s been distracted all day, it’s damn irritating.
James huffs his frustration at the never ending books, searching them in a maybe rougher-than-needed manner, but he didn’t sleep well, there hasn’t been sign of a note today, and he still couldn’t get that potion right in class. Excuse him if he’s acting a little off character. After eventually finding it, he places the book under his arm and marches towards a table, if he’s here he might as well get some of his work done.
It takes him a little over four minutes and his quill literally shrinking inside his palm from the unwarranted force applied on it, to realize he’s not getting any work done. He’s still thinking about the notes, why did they stop? what changed? was it a one time mishap? are they never coming back? If this has stopped for good, can he even reach out to the person and thank them? get to know them?
It’s not like James hasn’t been interested in finding them before. Back when it all started he figured it was just some girl trying to get his attention so they could date, so he’d looked around his circle, the students he shared classes with, the Quidditch team, Prefect group, even the library, and he’s never really here. He spent about a week perpetually keeping an eye out to try and catch even a glimpse of this mysterious person, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary, his friends were still his friends, no shifts with any of the girls, and the people he met outside his house’s common room were civil enough with him, but nothing even remotely deep as to encourage someone sending him strangely comforting words everyday.
Frustrated again, James shuts eyes and massages his temples slowly under his glasses. Clearly, this little library intervention it’s not helpful, so with his eyes still closed, James reaches out for his parchment, quill, and Lily’s book to pack them in his bag. Instead, he finds a tiny, quite familiar, piece of paper.
Sorry about yesterday. O.W.L.s
James’ eyes snapped open the moment he felt the memo, a full grin creeps into his face instantly and without him knowing. He holds the little note and just, stares for a bit. Is it silly that he feels almost relieved? James simply keeps looking at the parchment in his hand, scared it’d vanish if he dares to even blink.
They’re back, the notes are back, he’s holding one and they’re apologizing for missing a day, it says—
Sorry about yesterday. O.W.L.s
Sorry about yesterday. O.W.L.s
Sorry about yesterday.
Sorry about ye— Wait.
O.W.L.s?
James’ not taking O.W.L.s. No one’s taking O.W.L.s, they already did last yea— Oh.
Well, that explains why he couldn’t find them. Jame’s confused, he doesn’t even know that many people from other years, not like this anyway. He decides to wisely ignore the fact that this person is a fifth-year instead of a sixth like him, it doesn’t matter anyways. He’s set into finding them, thanking them, getting to know them, and —if he’s lucky— becoming actual friends who talk to each other, personally. Face to face.
James decides he wants to meet them, that once is in fact too many, and he will not stand for another incident like this ever again. He rises from the table, chin up and determined to discover this mysterious writer’s identity, James swiftly packs his things and heads out the library with a spring in his step that wasn’t there when he came in.
He brings the note to his lips before hiding it away inside his breast pocket, a deep flush coloring his cheeks.
James doesn’t ever like to admit to failure, but he’s failing. The daily memos were back to normal after that one day the writer had exams, and he’s happy about that, ecstatic really, but he’s been on the look out for weeks and still can’t find them, it’s honestly getting ridiculous. His first course of action was to just be really attentive to his surroundings, even if the memo came to him on a spell, the perpetrator had to be at least close for the magic to work, right? Wrong.
James had even resorted to the map to monitor who was with him at all times, as long as it was safe, probably not a great idea going around the castle flashing their magic Hogwarts map for the world to see, but still. After that didn’t work, he tried partially isolating himself, breaking his routine to throw the owner of the notes off and maybe catch them off guard. He would go out for a bit when necessary, but then hide at the dorms. Or he would visit places around Hogwarts he normally wouldn't, he’d explored the other towers, by the forbidden forest, the lake, nothing changed. James was still getting notes, even if he was clueless how.
To be fair, they seemed to realize what he was doing, the messages on the parchments started to sound a lot more amused than anything, the poems were almost mocking him and while the nice words were still coming, James could tell the other person was enjoying the chase.
I won’t lose to you.
One of the memos had said, James stared at it incredulously. After all, he’s just a man —a competitive one— and this was clearly a challenge, so who is James to object? That one note had fired up something strangely intense within him. James can’t comprehend how this person works, and it’s driving him insane, an itch crawling into his skin, demanding him to find the author and rob them of all their secrets.
Sixth year comes to an end for James and the rest fo the Marauders, it was a tough one, to say the least. At the beginning of the term Sirius and Remus had got into a huge fight, Sirius made a mistake —a bad one— and Remus refused to talk to him for months. Things were still rocky between them to this day, but they had started to slowly find each other again. James couldn’t be more grateful, the radio silence following the indecent had strained not only the pair’s friendship, but the four of them as a whole. Peter and James could only do much to try and keep their bond together, but the Marauders needed Sirius and Remus to be complete, it wouldn’t work any other way.
So they struggled, Remus struggled to forgive, —James still thinks he hasn’t, not completely— and Sirius struggled with guilt. Sometimes, James would catch them staring at each other when the other wasn’t looking, they both seemed sad, and angry, and regretful, and then sad again. Is it possible to experience second hand heartbreak? Fortunately, their friendship was steadily coming back to normal as of late, and while Sirius was still hesitant to even raise his voice in Remus’ direction, they could joke around each other, talk comfortably, and just exist within the space of the other. Which was big progress, in James’ record.
“Mary said my hair’s getting too long, is my hair too long? Moony, tell me my hair’s not too long,” Sirius rambles as he sits down at their table.
“Your hair is not too long.”
“Okay but can you mean it? I feel like you don’t mean it, is it ugly long? Should I just cut it off?” He threads his fingers through it, pondering.
Remus finally puts down his book to frown at Sirius, “Don’t cut you hair, you love it.”
“Right, but maybe it is getting too long.”
James decides to help them, “Your hair is perfect, Pads,” smiling as reassuringly as he can.
“The prettiest,” Peter follows, not looking up from his homework.
Their comments go through Sirius like rain breeze, he only looks at Remus, waiting.
James watches as Remus’ eyes soften, he reaches out to pull Sirius’ hand out his hair and trade it with his own, “It’s beautiful.”
“Oh.” Sirius stills, “Yeah— right then. Of course. I knew that,” He sinks back into the chair, completely satisfied, and a little red.
James chuckles, they’ll get there.
Sirius starts pulling out things out his bag and setting them in the table, “What are we doing this summer? Are you guys traveling? You all know we won’t go on that much time without seeing each other.”
Peter titters, “I’ll be gone for a bit, but probably back by August.”
Remus goes back to his book, “I’ll just help out my mom in the shop.”
“But you’ll visit, won’t you?” Sirius presses, “Can we have sleepovers when Wormtail’s back? They can use Regulus’ room,” he continues, turning to James.
At that, James frowns, “He’s not coming home?”
Sirius visibly deflates, “He says he doesn’t want to bother your parents, he’ll stay with a Ravenclaw friend of his.”
“What? No. Tell him to come with you. You’re his brother.”
Sirius smiles a bit sad, “I tried.”
During summer of last year, Sirius and Regulus had managed to get away from their abusive household. One chilly August evening, James’ mother opened the Potter Manor’s doors to the Black set holding onto each other, wrecked and shivering. His parents welcomed them instantly, James had long ago offered to take Sirius in already, since they befriended each other and he realized life at 12 Grimmauld Place wasn’t exactly healthy or safe. Regulus coming along wasn’t really an unforeseen detail, James figured that wherever Sirius went, Regulus followed, although for what he’d heard from Sirius, it was significantly more difficult for the younger to rebel against their family, especially their mother. So it took time, effort, and probably too many traumatic experiences for Regulus to agree to flee with Sirius, nonetheless, the older would have never left without him.
James often wonders what is like to have a bond like this with someone. He’s an only child, so it’s difficult to wrap his mind around how a brothers’ relationship rollercoasters. Sirius and Regulus can fight, hurt, and curse at each other and still be completely secure in their love for one another, ready to do whatever it takes for the other’s wellbeing. James used to think it was a little crazy, but with every year he passes at Hogwarts, he’d started to understand the vast complexity of fraternity.
Since their escape was only in early August, Sirius and Regulus had barely stayed in his family home for a few weeks before they all had to go back to Hogwarts. Despite everyone’s insistence, Regulus had chose to stay in the castle during the winter and spring holidays, with the same excuse of avoiding intrusion. Expect now it’s summer again, and James won’t lie, he thinks it’s kind of rude Regulus keeps blowing them off. It surely can’t be because he still thinks he’ll be a bother, that makes no sense, there must be something else to it.
There’s also the fact Sirius misses him. He won’t say it out loud but James knows him, he sees how he looks when he talks about Regulus, how much he worries whenever he bumps into his brother in the hallways and he’s guarded by Rosier and Crouch, how it bothers him that Regulus won’t let Sirius get too close, and always says I’m fine, even when it’s evident to Sirius —and James, for that matter— that he’s clearly not. His family really wouldn't have any problems with taking care of the both of them, so overall, James is a bit pricked that Regulus just won’t come home.
He isn’t sure what’s going on with him lately, he’s been frustrated about classes, recovering his friendships, Sirius and Remus new weird tension, the annoyingly clever author of the memos, and now Regulus is being a difficult prat. It’s hard to be excited about summer like this.
Despite his better judgment, —or perhaps because of it— James decides to not get involved in the Regulus situation and wait for the brothers to figure it out. He’s got other, more important, issues on his horizon. Like finding out who in the ever loving hell keeps sending him poetic notes everyday. The week’s going fast and they’re taking the train home on Saturday, he needs to hurry up and he needs to do it now.
Sirius and James sit on the floor, leaning against a couch in the middle of their common room. It’s getting late and they’re both kind of drifting off, James’ hand holds the piece of parchment he found on his way back from the Great Hall.
My night shall be remembered for a star, that outshone all the suns of all men’s days.
Jame’s never been necessarily interested in poetry, but with the increasing amount of memos collected inside his bed’s chest, he can’t really escape it anymore. He rather likes it, James can admit to overlooking the beauty in intricate word arrangements before, but now he sees the appeal, he feels it. It’s a foreign concept, how words can make him feel so much with so little, he finds it marvelous.
It’s when his eyelids are just about to close when he sees it. There, in Sirius lap is a memo almost identical to the several James owns, his eyes are glossy with sleep and he can’t read exactly what it says, but he’s studied these notes long enough to recognize their format and hand writing.
James feels his heart drop to his stomach, “You too?”
Sirius —who apparently had fallen asleep already— blinks a few times, disoriented.
“Hmm? What?”
He also gets them? James doesn’t know why it stings the day it does, he’s embarrassed. Of course, why would anyone go writing poems just for him? This gentle, beautiful soul just wanted to make people feel appreciated, so they give notes to everyone, naturally. James should be glad his friends are also getting pick me ups like him, it would be selfish of him to think otherwise. He feels a little stupid, and hurt. He shouldn’t, he knows, but his foolish mind couldn’t stop itself from falling under the illusion that someone was thinking solely about him while writing sweet nothings. How silly of him.
Sirius appears to catch up, “Shit.” he looks down at his lap and scrambles to get up, grabbing the tiny paper and stuffing it inside a book before tucking it under his arm, “I have to meet Reggie. This is his and I promised I’d give it back today.”
James is not really listening to whatever Sirius is saying, he pretty much tuned everything out after realizing the single thing that had made him feel giddy and special for months now is certainly, a shared experience.
Sirius urges him to stand up too, “C’mon, get up. Go sleep in a proper bed.”
James’ eyes feel glossy again, but this time with something different than sleep, “Right. I’ll go.”
Sirius knows James like the back of his hand, he notices.
“Hey— what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired.”
“Are you sure?”
James’ Adam’s apple bops when he swallows, “I’m fine, Sirius.”
His friend looks unsure, but lets him be, “Well then, I’ll be right up,” He grabs James’ face in his hands and drops a loud smooch just below his hair line, “Don’t miss me too much.” he says and rushes out of the room.
James drags himself up the stairs and into his dorm, slips into his bed, and prays for sleep to overtake him. If only to just be done with the day, and forget all about the recent discoveries.
Summer at the Potter’s is never bad, not really. His dad always makes for dinner for them while his mom’s out gardening, James often offers to help but he’s always been rather clueless about it, since Sirius moved in with them it’s him the one Effie takes on her watering runs instead. Thus, James sticks around in the kitchen to help his dad with whatever he may need while cooking. It hasn’t been long since they came back home from Hogwarts, but this summer is going significantly slower than the others, maybe it’s because it’s their last one before graduating and James is trying to hold onto it as much as he can, or the fact that Sirius is here and that makes the days feel —in the best possible way— endless. Even though James would like to think the reason his summer seems to stretch out is something positive, he gets the feeling it’s because he misses certain daily occurrences.
After realizing the memos were not exclusively for him, James was considerably discouraged in his search, he didn’t spend the last days of the term actively trying to uncover the writer’s identity anymore. Nonetheless, notes continued to appear everyday up until the last morning when he took the train. Now James’ home and obviously no one’s gifting him poetic messages, —or Sirius, for that matter— he expected as much, yet he feels oddly hollow, vacant.
“Can you miss something you never even had in the first place?” he voices to the air.
His dad seems intrigued and bites, “What do you mean?”
“I just— I was wondering if it’s possible to miss something that was never really yours.”
Fleamont hums as he rinses a kitchen knife, “It can happen, although I reckon we miss things that initially should belong to us.”
James winces, “I don’t think so.”
“Why? Is it something unattainable?” he raises an eyebrow, “Not many things in this world are, James.”
His dad smiles warmly at him, “Who knows? Perhaps you long for it because it’s meant to be yours.”
James watches Fleamont take a peeled clove of garlic and slice it by the middle. It resists the knife’s edge, springing out of the cutting board and bouncing into the sink beside him.
His dad lets out a low chuckle, “Well, sometimes we can’t persuade the heart into being sensible.”
July is good to James. Sirius and him refuse to stay put for more than half an hour, they’ve raided the house inside out more times James can count, not leaving a singular corner safe from their schemes. They laugh, and cry, and scream, they have fun. So it’s rather strange that James has been feeling off again lately, for lack of a better word. Peter writes regularly, Remus visits often and when he doesn’t, Sirius and him go down to the shop to distract him at work, James’ family eats dinner together every single day as per usual and his summer Quidditch training is keeping his game up, so why does he find himself so restless all the time? It’s ridiculous.
James is thrown off his thoughts when someone makes themselves known at the door, blinking, he stands up from the couch and walks to let Sirius in.
“Did you forget your keys? You never knock,” he says as he unlocks the door and walks aways.
James doesn’t get an immediate response so he frowns and looks back, black curls peek through the slit but— not Sirius then.
“Regulus? What are you doing here?”
The younger scoffs, “So much for you're always welcome.”
James backtracks, “No— I mean, you said you were staying at your friends?”
“I am. I was looking for Sirius, although apparently I’ve wasted my time,” he takes a step back, “Goodbye.”
James' fingers twitch and before he knows it he's reaching for the door, “Wait! Can’t you stay for a little while? Mom and dad are out but they’ll be upset if they find out you came by and missed them.”
Regulus purses his lips.
James opens up the door even more.
“How long will they be?”
He knows damn well his parents left the house about five minutes ago.
“They’re already on their way home, I’m sure.”
“I guess I can spare a few minutes,” Regulus sighs.
James grins, his grip on the handle getting tighter.
“Well?”
“Yes?”
Regulus looks past him, “Can I come in or should I wait for them here?”
“Right! Please, make yourself at home.”
Regulus settles on the couch James himself was just resting, he rounds the armrest and sits on the opposite side, facing the black haired.
“Where is he?”
“Sirius? At Remus’ shop, probably stressing him out.”
“They’re back to normal then?” If James squints, he can make out a barely-there smile on Regulus’ face.
Still, he plays dumb, “Whatever do you mean?”
Regulus looks at him, “I’m not blind. I’m quite sure they had some kind of fallout last year…”
James isn’t sure he should be touching this subject at all, “Well— I don’t know if back to normal, but they’re getting better.”
That seems to appease him, “Right, I suppose I’m glad Sirius didn't ruin this one good thing going for him.”
“I’m sorry?” James startles.
Regulus raises an eyebrow at him, “I know you’re not dumb, Potter.”
He laughs, “Oh. Well if it helps, Remus seems to think of him in the same way…”
Regulus rolls his eyes but his almost-smile softens. “Of course he does.”
James watches as Regulus fidgets with his hands, takes in the tense shoulders, rigid posture, and the ever lasting crease between his eyes.
“Are you okay?” He tries, “What do you need Sirius for? Did your parents reach out?”
“Oh no, I’m fine,” Regulus dismisses quickly, “I just— It’s too hot," he avoids James’ eyes, “I wanted a haircut.”
James tilts his head, “I don’t think I follow.”
“Sirius has been doing my hair since we were kids,” Regulus rushes in a single breath, “He will go absolutely rabid if I let anyone else cut it.”
He doesn’t even mind when a smile stretches his cheeks a bit too wide, “I didn't know that.”
“Obviously. Isn't that me? Marvelous pandora box.”
James laughs out loud, “I don’t know, you could give yourself more credit.”
Regulus looks at him deadpan, “You would think that of a worm.”
He reels back, hand pressed into his chest, “They’re essential beings! The whole food chain falls apart with out them.”
Regulus’ quiet giggle surprises James. For the first time since he arrived, Regulus’ lips form a gentle smile.
“Of course.”
After a while, Regulus seems to notice his parent’s absence more, he looks towards the windows besides the front door.
“So, you wanna read something? James starts, “I don’t know much about it but my parents have a whole library over there,” he gestures vaguely to a couple of large bookshelves filled with all kinds of books, coincidently on the opposite wall from the entrance.
That seems to peek Regulus’ interest, he stands up from the couch and walks further into the house. Still, James can hear a little edge when he asks, “Why am I here, Potter?”
Caught, he thanks Merlin Regulus is currently facing away from him.
“Um, you're waiting on my parents so they’ll make sure you're alive and won’t kill me for letting you go without having tea?”
Regulus turns around, apparently having already picked a book to settle down with, “You didn’t offer me tea.”
“You said it was too hot,” James glances at the book in the younger’s hands, muggle poetry, huh.
Regulus hums and sits back down —if James didn’t know better he could’ve sworn closer this time.
“Here,” he takes a black rubber off his wrist and hands it to Regulus, “I always have one on for Sirius, but I think you need it more right now,” he smiles.
Gray eyes blink from James’ face, to the elastic, to James again before Regulus finally adverts his gaze, a pretty crimson coloring his cheeks, “Thanks.”
James nods, watching as Regulus —for some reason— fumbles with his book, he eventually gets the words to face the right way and opens the volume.
Later that night when James stumbles into bed, worried about his current lack of sleeping — or relaxing even— situation, he realizes he hasn't really been off most day, probably since he let Regulus in. Curious, James thinks of a flushed face hid away behind a hardcover and promptly falls into a peaceful, deep slumber.
Peter comes back from his family trip and the four of them hang at James’ house almost everyday. Padfoot and Moony seem to be getting along, dare he say too along? Sirius is practically glued to Remus’ side and the latter can’t seem to take his eyes from the raven haired. Oh well, just a matter of time.
Regulus doesn’t visit again and James isn’t quite sure if he ever did get the haircut he wanted. Either way, all of them will be back at the castle next week, Sirius is particularly excited about returning to Hogwarts, he says it’s because it’s their last year, but James has a feeling he really just misses his brother.
The last couple of days rush through him fairly quickly. James spends most of his time running around with Sirius or visiting Remus at the shop, he doesn’t let himself think too much about a certain anon writer or how much he misses their notes. It’s weird, how attached he had grown to the daily memos. Even after almost three months of not getting them, he still thinks of them more often than not. He tries to ignore they were not exclusive, after much thought he’d settled on the fact that yes, maybe the notes weren’t as intimate as he had hoped, but that didn’t take away the fact that they were still a quite lovely gesture.
He isn't even sure he’ll get them again once they go back to school, but his goal stands. James will return to Hogwarts and won’t rest until he discovers the identity of his secret poet.