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astranix · 1 year ago

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slytherin sirius black × gryffindor james potter

the most non-angsty sirius and regulus running away fic ever coz we don't have enough of those

"This was, without a doubt," Regulus pants, glancing over his shoulder, "the stupidest thing you've ever done! And that's really saying something."

"This was also, without a doubt," Sirius says, glaring, "the best decision of my whole miserable life."

"We're gonna starve, you fucking idiot—!" Regulus says, smacking him on the back of his head. "We have nowhere to go."

Sirius freezes in his steps.

"Uncle Alphard?" he asks. Regulus smacks him again, and Sirius smacks him back.

"We can't go there, Sirius," Regulus says, wincing and rubbing his head. "Mother would know. She must already know, because it's the only place we could possibly go!"

There's silence for a second.

"Right. Lestrange isn't an option, neither is Dolohov," Sirius says, grimly. "Mulciber is a bitch, Avery's too thick to understand. Snape's probably homeless himself. What about you?"

"Barty's parents never leave him alone," Regulus clenches his jaw. "And Rosier would probably not be home. He's been sending me postcards from France."

"Fuck," Sirius scans where they're standing. "Andromeda hasn't talked to you since she ran, has she?"

"You think she'll talk to me before you?" Regulus scoffs. "She hasn't. And we can't live on the fucking streets, you know that."

"We have money," Sirius says.

"Yeah, but we would have to get it exchanged into muggle money, which, one, we don't know shit about. And two, we would have to walk straight into Gringotts. Anybody could see us."

Regulus tugs at his hair, always the one who worries more, always the one who gives up earlier.

"Well," Sirius, hedges, "if we could find an owl, we wouldn't need to go to Diagon Alley."

"Oh yes, of course," Regulus says, snidely. "All our problems are now completely solved! We just need a goddamn owl!"

The muggles walking past them give them strange looks, and Regulus lowers his tone.

"Look, Sirius," he says, fixing him with a determined expression. Sirius already hates where this is going. "You're sixteen, you're going to be out of Grimmauld in a year or two, anyway. And if you move out, I'll move with you. But we—we can't do anything except go back. It's cold. It's going to rain soon. We haven't eaten in a day."

Sirius stares at him, incredulous.

"If this is about your ego," Regulus starts, angrily, "then—"

"No!" Sirius interrupts, hotly. "Are you insane?! This is about our continued existence. She would kill us, if we went back! She's a fucking psycho! She was just about to curse the shit out of you, for no reason, which is literally why we ran—"

"I can take it," Regulus dismisses. "Besides, you ran out, and dragged me along."

Sirius gapes at him, unable to speak more.

"No," Sirius says, firmly, and looks straight at Regulus, because what he says now is what they do, this is final. "We're not going back."

Regulus's shoulders drop, defeated.

"Right," he mutters, and the sudden resignation that settles on his face, bitter and tired, makes Sirius think that sometimes, he's no better than his mother.

They stand silently, for a tense, uncomfortable moment.

Then, "I have an idea," Sirius says, because he does.

And it's a bad, bad one.

Of course, it's also the only one they have.

That, right then, that's when it starts raining.

Regulus scrambles for shade under the shed of the muggle shop closest to them.

Sirius braces himself, and raises his wand.

It's only a moment before the Knight Bus pops, loud and purple and sharply at contrast with the grey evening.

"Godric's Hollow," he says to the conductor, and hands him a handful of sickles. "And two hot chocolates."

They take a seat, and Regulus looks at him with a dubious expression.

"Godric's Hollow?" he pronounces, slowly. Sirius ignores him, grabbing the two mugs that the conductor gives them.

"Why are we going to Godric's Hollow?" Regulus insists, his teeth chattering in the cold. "Sirius? What the hell? We don't know anyone there."

He's right.

Sort of.

Sirius just hands Regulus the hot chocolate, refusing to answer.

"We're going to die," Regulus mumbles, gloomily. "We're really going to die."

"Shut it," Sirius says, and gives the conductor two sickles more for blankets. "You're not."

(-)

Sirius knows which house they have to go to, the moment he sees it.

It's big, bright, there's green grass surrounding it. It looks like one of those pictures in childrens' books, flowers and fences and whatnot.

It's barely drizzling by the time they reach.

Regulus had settled to just watching Sirius do whatever he wants to, but as soon as he starts walking towards the house, Regulus freezes in his tracks.

"I really need some information, right now," he says, quietly, wary eyes on the house. There's something beautiful about the whole scene, brick-red and cosy, and that's even more suspicious, isn't it.

They don't know anybody so warm.

"It's Potter's house," Sirius admits, finally. Regulus startles, whipping around to stare at him, absolutely shocked.

Anybody would be.

"Potter?" he hisses, like he's never heard the name before. "Potter?! What—! Sirius, he hates you! You hate him back! You hate each other!"

"I know," Sirius says, and rings the doorbell.

"Oh my god," Regulus breathes out, disbelieving. "You're mad. You're actually mad. We spent so much of our money to come here, Sirius. And when Potter, for obvious fucking reasons, turns us away, we won't even—"

The front door opens.

Regulus tugs at Sirius's sleeve.

"We can still run, come on, it won't be as embarrassing then," he says, frantic, "Even Alphard would be better than this. We could hide in his dungeon."

"Alphard has a dungeon?" Sirius asks, curiously, just as James Potter steps out.

He looks at them for a second, blankly, blinking behind thin-wired round frames. His hair is a mess, as usual, he's wearing actual pyjamas. And then, a moment later, his brain seems to catch up with him.

"What," James Potter says, bewildered. "What are you doing here—?"

"We need a place to stay," Sirius says, demands. Do the Potters rent out rooms to guests? That would make so much more sense. "For some days."

"Huh?" Potter's expression says that they do not, in fact, own a guest service. "Wha—?"

Sirius sighs, and pulls Regulus with him, again, not away from the house, like they should be going, but towards, and then he—then he just—

He walks inside Potter's house.

Just. Pushes past him, and walks in.

Like he owns it.

Regulus and Potter stare at each other, Regulus is horrified, Potter is confused.

"Thanks," Sirius's voice comes from inside.

"You're welcome," Potter mutters, automatically, before blinking dumbly, again, and going inside.

Regulus, reluctantly, ridiculously, follows him.

(-)

So.

Sirius has now, in a span of 24 hours, cussed out his mother, thrown cutlery at their father's head, forced his way into someone’s home, and clearly, he has no plans to leave.

James Potter is apparently, and bizarrely, completely okay with this.

"My parents won't be home until late evening," he says, uncertainly, in his own home, while Sirius sits on the couch, comfortable as all hell, reading the last edition of Witch Weekly. "We should eat something."

Yes! Regulus's stomach says.

"We can't cook," he says, aloud, apologetically. "We had elves."

"Well, we don't. And I can cook," Potter says, shrugging. "What would you like?"

What the fuck is even going on, Regulus thinks.

"I'll help," he says, instead. Potter just shrugs again.

(-)

"Why?" Regulus asks, as soon as they reach the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. It's not like the kitchen at Grimmauld. It has a muggle stove, and what Regulus is guessing, other muggle... devices.

"Why what?" Potter says, and the slight grin on his face tells Regulus that he knows exactly what he's talking about.

"Why—" Regulus huffs, "why're you doing all this?"

"I'm hungry," Potter says, with an infuriating smirk, as he opens the shelves, takes out a pan and some plates. "And my mum taught me well."

"You know that's not what I'm asking," Regulus says. "Why did you let us in? Why're you letting us—" stay.

If he is, that is.

"Actually you'll find that I did not, in fact, let you in," he replies, setting the pan on the flame and dropping a unnecessary amount of butter. It sizzles and melts, and Regulus can't bring himself to meet Potter's eyes. "That would imply you asked."

"Okay," Regulus huffs. "Why didn't you kick Sirius and me out then?"

Potter's expression flickers a little, and he looks away, absent-mindedly cutting the tomato he's got on the counter.

Regulus waits.

Chop chop chop.

"Well," James says, finally, quietly, eyes on the thin slices of tomato, "you can't quite say no to Sirius Black, can you?"

"You... could have," Regulus narrows his eyes.

Potter just shakes his head. "He's...he's—"

"Oh, god no," Regulus exhales, because no way. "Not you too."

"'Too?'" Potter repeats.

"You like Sirius, don't you?" Regulus asks, scoffing when Potter gives him a wide-eyed expression.

He's so painfully obvious.

Regulus doesn't want to interpret any of this. He goes on, anyway.

"You know he's using you, right?" he asks, quietly.

Chop chop chop chop.

"He doesn't know anything about that, Black," Potter says, eyes firmly on the pan, as he slides the onion and tomato slices off the board.

"Sirius," Regulus says, slowly, "always knows when someone likes him. He always, always knows what anybody feels about him. My brother's a lot of things, but oblivious or delusional he's not."

"Maybe I just don't mind the company, alright?" Potter replies, curt, and Regulus is just about to reply, when a sudden noise comes from outside, the thud of the door.

"James, honey?" says a woman's voice, sounding mildly confused.

#sirius black #james potter #prongsfoot #pre-prongsfoot #starbucks #regulus black #slytherin sirius black #at this point im not even certain if i wrote this or not???#im clearing out my REALLY old drafts #like #three years #i guess #no clue #but well

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