Chapter Text
HOW IT IS:
James
It's home. Really, it is. It's everything James ever needed and then some. His family is only a short drive away and he's living in the city he grew up in, the labyrinth of alleyways and traffic-jammed roads imprinted on his heart.
The Marauders had their pick of labels once they took off - L.A., London, Paris. Name the city and it was probably one of their options. But they stayed in London. Because it's home. It's home. It's home, home, homehomehome.
Never mind that his heart is 800 miles away, wanting nothing to do with him. Whoever said 'home is where the heart is' clearly never had their heart plucked from their chest, stolen by a thief of the night and squirrelled away in a foreign country.
But it's fine. It's home. James has everything he needs - gaping chasm in his chest aside. Their label doesn't force them into weird media stunts, it encouraged the band to speak out on social issues, helped Sirius and Remus announce their relationship publicly and has absolutely no qualms with James' lack of romance. Don't get him wrong, he's a rockstar through and through, just without the sex and hard drugs. James doesn't do casual hookups and it's a little difficult to have serious relationships when someone else is hoarding your heart like an anti-social dragon with questionable taste. So yeah, the media doesn't have a clue what to do with James. It's not intentional. James is just a relationship guy. In fact, he's a 'THE relationship' guy. He thought Lily was his 'THE relationship', but they fell out of love within a few years. He thought-
James doesn't think about Regulus anymore. Well, he tries not to. It's the number one rule on Peter's 'Getting Over Regulus After Five Years' list.
The parts of their discography that James wrote are all the necessary proof of how miserably he’s failing.
HOW IT WAS:
James
Would you believe that James has only ever gotten one proper look at Regulus Black before in his life? James can't either as he takes in porcelain skin and iron eyes framed by luscious black waves. God, Regulus could have stepped out of an old photograph. How he managed to look away the first time, James will never know but it's definitely going to be a struggle now.
James has been friends with Sirius Black for almost four years now, and every time the Other Brother was brought up, James' entire focus was on Sirius. Comforting Sirius, escorting Sirius out of Regulus' immediate vicinity, and if Sirius wasn't there, immediately texting Sirius about the sighting. And so James had only ever had one chance to take in long eyelashes caressing what had to be silk-soft skin and small, yet sumptuous lips, constantly twisted in distaste.
James was willing to bet his guitar that they tasted like sea salt and cherries and something slightly smoky. Not that James would imagine how his best friend's little brother's lips tasted. Absurd.
"Will that be a problem, Mr Potter?"
There are scattered snorts around the room. James had definitely not been paying attention to any of the assignment brief. What was recording, labels and copyright class compared to the sweet sight of Regulus Black anyway? He blinks at the professor expectantly.
"Apparently, the only problem you have, Mr. Potter, is an inability to pay attention," the professor sweeps back to the front of the room, "For those also daydreaming, you are to pair up and help each other record an original piece each. Later in the course, we will work on copyright and the legalities of signing or selling the piece to a hypothetical record label. Here comes the pairing list..."
James promptly loses his concentration until...
"...J. Potter and R. Black..."
Regulus
Regulus is quite certain that James Potter is an idiot.
How has he reached his final year of his honours degree in music and he doesn't know how to operate the recording suite? Regulus wants to put his head through a wall. And then James, without having even turned anything on, starts fiddling with dials and buttons and- God, Regulus is going to have a heart attack.
"Potter, move." He shoves James out of the chair before he can set fire to something.
Regulus tries to focus on setting up the recording software and checking the gains, but James is fidgeting and tapping his fingers and humming and Regulus may actually strangle him with a cable and claim he was so stupid he did it to himself.
"Okay, go to the studio while I set things up. Figure out what you want to record or something." He mutters.
"You don't want my help?" Regulus isn't even looking at James but he can just see his eyes widened in earnest. He clenches his jaw.
"James, does it look like you're helping me right now?"
A pause.
"I'll be in the other room." The heavy, soundproofed door slams shut behind him.
"At least he follows instructions," Regulus whispers to himself, rubbing his temples.
He'd wanted to be partnered with Pandora. She is the perfect combination of crazy enough to understand him and sane enough to not get on his nerves. He'll never tell Barty how thankful he is for introducing them on that first day of uni.
"Hey, Reggie! We found more twins!" Barty shouts as Regulus enters the lecture hall, laptop bag slung over his shoulder, rolling his eyes.
"For the last time, it's just Irish twins!" But the girl Barty has slumped next to is alone, sitting on the middle seat of the middle row. A superstition he would later learn all about.
"Pandora Rosier." She smiles as Regulus comes to a stop.
"Regulus Black." He offers a tight smile. "Is your twin around?"
Her eyes flick to the floor and she shakes her head, silvery blonde hair bobbing around like fluffy fairytale clouds.
"He does art instead of music. How about yours?"
"Sirius isn't really my twin -" Regulus kicks Barty's shin "- He's ten months older. You'll probably see him around. We're doing the same degree."
"Ten months older but you're stuck together and he's a giant pain in your ass?" She smirks. Regulus blinks at her.
"How did you guess?"
"I'm psychic." She grins
If only he'd known then, just how messed up things would get with Sirius. If only he'd known how to hold water in his hands.
See, Sirius left Regulus long before he ran away. Neither of them noticed it in the moment, but somewhere along the way playing pretend became pretending the other didn't exist and battleships turned into practising how many shots they could take at each other until one of them broke down or threw a plate.
At some point, being scared of their parents was suddenly being their parents.
Regulus lost Sirius long before Sirius left him.
James’ presence elicits all kinds of similarly unhelpful thoughts and he needs to focus. This final year at Hogwarts University of Expressive Arts, the most unique and prestigious musical education in Europe, is vitally important. This would determine his future. He cannot have that future dangle in the balance between grappling with his issues with Sirius (and his idiotic friends) and the ever-increasing pressure of his family name.
James
"Stop, stop, stop." Regulus' voice is slightly strange through the intercom but it still comes out sharp.
The guitar strings twang off-key as he comes to an abrupt stop. Regulus walks into the recording room now, pinching the bridge of his nose. Whatever has him so high-strung and tightly wound all the time really needs to give this poor boy a break. It's the first day back after the summer for crying out loud.
"What the hell was that?" Regulus demands.
"Uhm... My song?" James really isn't sure how else to answer that, even as Regulus scoffs and snatches the lyrics he scrawled on some ripped notebook paper.
" 'I know you're ready to move on from me' ... 'I want to break this to you honestly'... 'We're too far to fix' James what is this?"
From what James can gather, Regulus is always slightly (utterly) appalled at what everyone else does. Right now, his dark brows knit together as he clucks his tongue and shakes his head. James doesn't quite know how to gain his approval or what he did to lose it in the first place.
"Well... it's a breakup song?" James rubs the back of his neck.
"I gathered that," Regulus rolls his eyes, "I meant why and how and what the fuck."
James is confused. Admittedly, it's not a rare experience for him, but he has literally no idea what Regulus wants from him or how he's supposed to react. He decides the most logical conclusion is that Regulus was not aware of his recent romantic failures.
"Lily and I broke up."
Regulus sighs and sits on the floor. James was not expecting that. He just looks at Regulus from atop his guitar stool in a way that, hopefully, conveys his complete bewilderment. Regulus scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.
"I knew that but that doesn't -" he flaps the page around in exasperation. "- okay talk to me about it." He rests his chin on his hand and looks at James, grey eyes piercing like a sword. James blinks. Regulus blinks back expectantly.
"Uhm.." He clears his throat. "We just kind of... fell out of love, I guess." James glances up to find Regulus' eyes on him, listening intently. "It was hard, y'know, 'cause I guess I kind of thought we'd be together forever. Which, I know is stupid because nothing lasts forever but I just- I wanted to marry her. I wanted us to have a house with a garden and a white picket fence and kids and I wanted us to be happy for the rest of our lives." Regulus looks a little disgusted at the normality of it but, surprisingly, bites his tongue. So James goes on.
"I still love her as a friend 'cause she's great. Like I'm not sad that I've lost her because I know I haven't. I just don't know how I let it all slip away. I've kind of lost my faith in love y'know? Like we had something that was the literal definition of perfect and it just... left us. How do I mourn something when I have no clue how I managed to lose it in the first place? It's weird but I almost wish we'd actually done something to fuck it up. Like argue all the time or cheat or something. It was right there and we lost it."
James doesn't register the tears on his cheeks until Regulus pulls out a fancy cloth handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wordlessly hands it to him. It's pretty. Some expensive fabric like silk or something, which seems wrong given its purpose, with R. A. B. embroidered in fancy curisve in a deep green on the bottom corner.
James mutters his thanks and begins to dry his eyes when the sudden clamour of students in the hall startles them apart. Class is over now.
James stands, painfully aware that in five minutes he has a theory workshop that he really needs to go to if he wants to pass the written exam. But, the computers and equipment need to be tidied up and he was the one who derailed this whole session.
"Go." Regulus shoots him a small smile. "I'll clear up."
James nods and is out the door and on the next floor to his workshop before he sees the handkerchief still clutched in his hand. He'll wash it and give it back next time.
Huh.
Next time.
Regulus
It was an accident. A series of tiny mistakes - thoughtless little slip-ups piling up on top of one another until the stack swayed precariously and toppled onto Regulus' head like divine retribution.
First, he let James rattle him. One look at those sparkling brown eyes - huge and honey-coloured, framed by long eyelashes like a cow - and Regulus was bombarded by foreign thoughts and ideas from all sides.
Then, he let himself think of Sirius, let himself feel the constrictions in his chest and the unmistakable sense of being left behind. Don't misunderstand Regulus - he's made do with what's left. He was abandoned on an uncolonised planet, and he's built himself a kingdom. But that doesn't mean he can't remember that lush ball of blue, twirling around in all its 'what could've been' glory. Regulus is a king of the desert, but, some nights, he dreams of rainfall and trees.
His next blunder? Regulus engaged. He should've just let Potter carry on with his mediocre excuse for a song. Regulus would only be graded on the mixing and editing, after all. But no. He indulged. He endeavoured to get James to write a better song because, for some reason, he had this strange preconceived notion that James was capable of better.
Regulus made his next mistake not even a minute later. He heard a five-word sentence, and then suddenly, he cared. He wanted to offer support, advice, comfort. What a ridiculous thought. Regulus Black and 'comfort' do not belong in the same sentence.
His biggest mistake? Regulus asked. He expressed his interest, and then he listened, absorbed every word as if the meaning of life might slip from between James' lips, and Regulus would miss it if he didn't watch carefully.
Giving James the handkerchief was arguably his most obvious mistake. It was a culmination of all the other missteps folded between layers of silk. It was an olive branch. An offered hand. A promise. An invisible string knitting them together until next time.
Regulus is now sitting in the aftermath of his final error. He should've just deleted the track upon realising he'd accidentally recorded James' entire spiel. Instead, he listened to it again. And again. And again. He was truly enraptured by the memory of James' face, so full of life and emotion. He was so human and he was so perfect. He was everything Regulus didn't allow himself to be. He was unlocking secrets of himself the more he thought about it and-
Well, anyway. Here we are. There's the rubble of Regulus' self-image, in the corner there is the ash of his principles, and there's the debris of his self-restraint. On the desk, among the scattered remains of his perception of music and composition, lies pages upon pages of scrawled melodies, experimental concepts and lyrics filled to the brim with emotion and humanity and truth.
It was an accident. Regulus is now changed irrevocably.
The next class, James sheepishly returns his handkerchief, apologising and swearing up and down that he washed it. Regulus only smiles. How can someone be so good-natured without even trying?
"So, uhm," they're back in the control room, Regulus staring at the keyboard, "I kind of wrote you something."
"What?" Regulus just hands James the page with the few scribbled lyrics and concepts.
"It's kind of based on what you were saying last time." His cheeks are unbearably hot.
"Reg, this is amazing," James murmurs, eyes glued to the page. Reg. James has never called him that before. It feels... okay?
Before he can really decide how he feels, James is in the recording room messing around with chords on the piano and scribbling new lyrics on the page. He calls Regulus in for help and it's actually fun. Not that he would ever admit it. James has a good knack for lyrics when he's in the swing of it and he's amazing at guitar. Regulus does have to help him with the piano though.
It goes on like this for a few weeks until it's time to record James singing the main vocals.
Three years on the same course at the same university and yet Regulus was simply not prepared to hear James Potter sing their lyrics in the way that he does. It's breathtaking. Shiver-inducing. Life-altering. Earth-shattering.
I have never known a silence like the one fallen here
Never watched my future darken in a single tear
I know we want this to go easy by being somebody's fault
But we've gone long enough to know this isn't what we want
And that isn't always bad
All Regulus had to do was consider what James was really saying. He's mourning a future that was just within reach, he's mourning his entire perception of simple love, he's trying to reconcile grief with the love and happiness that's still there but refuses to fit in the box he picked out. The man in the other room is far too optimistic and good to ever lose the mindset he has. Regulus had the strange feeling that he’d regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t help James remain ... himself. But he will literally never tell anyone that.
All things end
All that we intend is scrawled in sand
It slips right through our hands
And just knowing that everything will end
Should not change our plans
When we begin again
Okay, so those last few lines of the chorus were Regulus' handiwork. He just couldn't stand the thought of James losing that infinite hope he seemed to carry everywhere. If he'd decided love was pointless because it ended then he never would have loved again. James Potter is made for loving people, and music, and tiny stupid knickknacks and just the whole damn world and even Regulus can see that. Even Regulus accepts that if he didn't love then he wouldn't be James Potter.
Even Regulus would be a little sad if that fundamental core trait changed.
"Oh my god, Reg. It's amazing!" James nearly strangles himself with the headphone wires as he jumps to wrap him in a hug.
Regulus refuses to let his cheeks heat. He screams at them to behave and makes a point of not memorising the campfire and sea salted summer breeze rolling off James in waves. Just as he doesn't have the perfect shade of James’ eyes playing on repeat in the back of his mind -that golden brown like mixing honey into tea or a clear river where the sun reflects the brown rocks on the bottom. "It's so much better than that other thing you call a song." He smirks, cocking his head to one side.
"All thanks to you." James looks at him so soft and so delicate and- stupid fucking James Potter.
"Yes, you're completely right." Regulus saves the file and sends it to their professor. "Everyone should take my advice. I'm never wrong."
James laughs full and loud, with his whole chest. Regulus would spend his whole life trying to compose a sound as beautiful as that.
"I love it so much, Reg. It just all... works, I don't know." James is grinning ear to ear, the spark in his eyes enough to blind a person.
"I do like that the imperfect cadence informs the overarching themes." Regulus concedes.
"The what?" James blinks at him. He looks like a stupid puppy with no thoughts except seeking attention and approval. Regulus fights the urge to laugh.
"It stops at the end without properly finishing because 'we begin again'. How are you in your final year of a music degree and you don't know what imperfect cadence is?"
"All I know is guitar go twang?" James offers with a crooked grin.
"This is why you need that theory workshop you idiot." He flicks James' forehead.
Regulus, for now, is proud of James. He can tolerate his endless happy attitude, for now. After this, he won't ever have to interact with James. So, for now, he will allow his infectious energy to wash over him and warm his heart. For now.
HOW IT IS:
Regulus
Regulus is failing. Regulus is always failing.
This fact has been the only constant in his cursed life. Talk about Sisyphus and that stupid rock.
It just wasn't supposed to be this way. This is the greatest opportunity of his life and he is fucking it up monumentally.
An apprenticeship in music? Right up Regulus' alley. Said apprenticeship is in classical music composition and conducting? Perfection. It's led by an internationally renowned composer? Regulus literally could not dream of anything better. One more thing. The apprenticeship is in Vienna. His parents, for once in their lives, are mildly satisfied. They are packing his bags for him.
Regulus, at the time, was conflicted. Vienna? Like, Vienna Vienna? He was over the moon. The prettiest place ever to study his passion under a master composer. His mouth went dry at the mere idea.
But, he was leaving behind a lot. It was the hardest decision of his life.
In the end, Regulus left a lot behind.
Now here he is, five years in and with nothing to show for it. The only classical instrumental pieces he has ever composed to a presentable standard, he wrote back in university. This apprenticeship has done nothing for him. Or rather, he has done nothing for this apprenticeship.
This is why Regulus now finds himself waiting outside his mentor's study, desperately trying to control the urge to empty the contents of his stomach all over the floor.
His flat in Vienna is a tiny thing. Room enough for a bed and a kitchen and an en suite. He likes it though. Despite the failures in the career side of things, being in Vienna is amazing. It's so freeing. He lives minimalisitically, the only luxuries he allows himself are in art and music and literature.
Regulus has an original 1920s record player and an entire limited edition vinyl collection along with all the old records he allows himself to play. He still holds them like pieces of a dynasty long forgotten, like glass that could shatter if he breathes too hard. He collects first-edition books, and buys expensive tickets to the opera and the orchestra shows. He visits museums so regularly that he’s on a first-name basis with most of the curators. He scrapes by on stupidly small meals like bread cheese and wine, allowing culture to sustain him. It's bliss.
Now he reaches under his bed and pulls out a dusty box that hasn't been touched in five years, his mentor's words ringing in his ears.
"It's okay that there's nothing to show for this. I see how you've grown and changed. That can be enough, Regulus..."
Scrawled across the lid in black sharpie, his messy 20-year-old self's handwriting reads: "H.E. A. Time to let it go"
"... I wonder if you might want to trace your steps back. This path, while beautiful, may well be a dead end for you..."
He sweeps his hand across the lid, forcing a cloud of dust into the air to swirl around his head. Regulus bites his lip, trying to fight off the flood of memories.
"...You should consider the last crossroads you were at, and what decision you could have made differently..."
Ever so carefully, he takes off the lid, revealing piles of loose sheet music and pages ripped from notebooks, small journals - so full they threaten to burst the seams - and small drawings and tokens with meanings he continues to shove to the back of his mind.
"...You have been a delight to work with. But I want more for you, even if others - or even you - cannot see that..."
It's reassuring now, to know that even if he hasn't been successful, his mentor has grown to like him over these last five years. It's nice that someone supports him, even in his failures.
Well- There were people who used to support him through anything. He's not sure they still do. Going to Barty and Evan's wedding after that first year was so difficult. It takes all his energy just to keep up with his three closest friends, let alone everyone else with all their complications and their ties to Sirius and Ja-
Regulus shakes their faces from his mind and picks up the first sheet of paper. It's from that first project with James. He smiles at the memory.
James
The lights flash around in blue and purple as the music blares. The night is young and the Marauders stand, leaning against the bar and slipping into their easy banter. Peter is making eyes at some guy across the room and Remus has his arm slung over Sirius' shoulder. They are nose to nose, watching each other so intently. James is so happy they got their shit together when they did. Remus and Sirius were made for each other. It warms his heart, but it sinks to his stomach all the same.
He thought he and Regulus were made for each other, which ended well. They clearly weren't if they couldn't get their own shit together. James wishes they'd at least tried. He wishes he could've visited Regulus in Vienna, strolled along the streets and taken in the beauty of the city, went sightseeing and watched as Regulus rambled about all the history and myth behind every building and statue. He wishes he still had Regulus.
James sighs and flags down the bartender for another drink.
"I know I have a jar for every time you bring up Regulus," Peter snaps him out of his lament, "but I think we need one for every time you think about him."
"What?" Did James miss something? Is he more drunk than he thought?
"You order a drink and sip on it happily, and then something reminds you of him, so you put it down while you're lost in memory lane. Then you remember how awful you really feel about the whole situation, so you order another to cope, completely forgetting about the one you abandoned. Then, repeat."
James frowns but Peter only nods his head toward the five open and half-finished beers still sitting waiting for him. The bartender arrives, pretending he doesn't know James isn't in need of another drink. James sighs.
"I'm gonna need a double of whatever is strongest," he says, Peter chuckling behind him.