Behind the Tapestry

The Gryffindor common room was a disaster zone. Abandoned butterbeer bottles everywhere, party hats crushed underfoot. The fire had burned low, shadows stretching long across overturned armchairs and scattered cushions. Behind the biggest sofa, tucked into the alcove where the tapestry of Godric Gryffindor fighting a troll hung crooked, James Potter had Regulus Black backed against the stone wall.

“They’re all asleep,” James whispered, lips grazing Regulus’s jaw. “We’ve got at least an hour before the hangover brigade surfaces.”

Regulus made a noise—half protest, half surrender. “You said that twenty minutes ago. Evans nearly walked in.”

“Lily went to bed. She’s not coming back.” James kissed the spot just below his ear, and Regulus’s breath hitched. “Stop worrying.”

“One of us has to,” Regulus muttered, but his fingers twisted into James’s shirt and pulled him closer.

The kissing resumed. Enthusiastically. James’s glasses fogged up. Regulus’s usually immaculate hair was a wreck. The world shrank to warm mouths and quick breaths and the scratch of wool against skin.

Then footsteps on the stairs.

They froze. Light, careless footsteps—someone who thought the common room was empty. James pulled back, heart pounding. Regulus’s eyes went wide and dark and panicked.

“Don’t move,” James breathed.

“Brilliant plan,” Regulus hissed.

The footsteps crossed the room. Stopped. Silence stretched—long, incredulous.

“Well,” said Sirius Black, “this is a surprise.”

James turned, still half-shielding Regulus. Sirius stood three feet away, barefoot, just in pyjama trousers, hair a sleep-tangled mess. Hand over his mouth. Shoulders shaking.

“Sirius,” James started, “I can explain—”

Sirius burst out laughing.

It was huge—genuine, wheezing, bent-double laughter echoing off the stone. He clutched his stomach and leaned on an armchair. “You—and—him—oh, this is brilliant—best thing I’ve ever seen—”

“Shut up,” Regulus snapped, stepping out from behind the sofa. His cheeks were flushed, voice venomous. He yanked out his wand. “I’ll hex you into next week, Sirius, I swear—”

“Expelliarmus,” James said quietly. Regulus’s wand flew into his hand. “No hexing. He’s my best friend.”

“He’s laughing at us!”

“Because it’s funny!” Sirius gasped, wiping tears. “My baby brother—my perfect, pure-blood, family-disowning baby brother—snogging my best mate. In Gryffindor Tower. Under a bloody tapestry of Godric Gryffindor.” He dissolved again.

Regulus looked murderous. James rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Sirius, we were going to tell you—”

“Were you?” Sirius straightened, grin sharp. “When? After you finished defiling the common room?”

“We weren’t—it’s not—we’re dating,” James said. Regulus made a choked noise. “For a month. And a half.”

“Two months,” Regulus corrected quietly, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Sirius’s grin softened. Just a fraction. “I know.”

James blinked. “What?”

“I saw you. In the library. Last Tuesday—no, the Tuesday before. Behind the Restricted Section stacks. In flagrante, if you’ll pardon the term.” Sirius crossed his arms. “I was looking for a book on hex deflection. Found you two instead. Left before you came up for air.”

Regulus went white, then red. James gaped.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“And spoil the fun?” Sirius shrugged. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me. Honestly, I thought you’d crack after the third time you snuck out of the dorm at midnight.”

The fire popped. The silence shifted. Regulus’s defensive stance loosened a millimeter.

“So… you’re not angry?” His voice was brittle.

Sirius walked over and, to James’s utter shock, pulled his younger brother into a rough embrace. “Angry? I’m delighted. Best way to annoy Mother is to date a Potter.” He pulled back, eyes suddenly serious. “But if you hurt him, James—”

“I won’t.”

“—I will make your life a living hell. Then I’ll tell Mum.”

“You don’t talk to Mum,” Regulus said flatly.

“I’ll make an exception.”

James laughed, tension cracking. Sirius grinned, clapped them both on the shoulders. “Right then. I’m going back to bed. You two”—he gestured at the sofa—“clean up your mess. And James? You owe me a pair of Quidditch gloves. I came down for those, not for this show.”

He turned, still chuckling, and padded back up the stairs. At the top, he paused. “Oh, and Regulus? Your hair looks like you stuck your finger in a socket. Very romantic.”

The door closed. Regulus smoothed his hair down grimly. James looked at him, firelight catching the sharp edges of his face, and started to smile.

“I can’t believe he knew.”

“I can’t believe he’s not going to tell anyone.”

“He won’t. He’s Sirius.” James took his hand. “Also, he’ll never let us live this down.”

Regulus sighed, but his fingers tightened around James’s. “I suppose that’s the price.”

“Worth it?”

A reluctant, beautiful smile. “Worth it.”