Only the Brave

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/43379187.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/F, F/M, M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Marlene
McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Barty Crouch Jr./Evan Rosier, Pandora
Lovegood/Lily Evans Potter
Character: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Regulus
Black, Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch Jr., Pandora Lovegood, Dorcas
Meadowes, Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon, Mary Macdonald
(Harry Potter), Euphemia Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva
McGonagall, Horace Slughorn, Severus Snape, more characters I'm
forgetting basically the hogwarts gay gang from the 70s, Baby Harry
Potter - Character, Baby Luna Lovegood
Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Minor Character Death, Jegulus, wolfstar,
dorlene, Underage Drinking, Medicinal Drug Use, Everyone Is Gay,
Internalized Homophobia, kinda soft enemies to lovers, Jealousy,
Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Regulus Black
Wants Revenge, james still likes him for some reason, Sirius and
Remus are idiots, everyone still likes them for some reason,
Starchaser/Sunseeker, Rosekiller, A LOT of Angst, there is a happy
ending i promise, Remus Lupin swears a lot, Regulus Black does too,
Child abuse (Walburga Black is Bad News), there's a war going on at
some point, there's some jily in this fic but it's minor, Endgame Jegulus,
but a little bartylus happens too, No cheating, no Lily Evans slander or
bashing in this fic, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Touch-
Starved Sirius Black, Regulus Black Lives, Regulus Black Needs a
Hug, Pansexual James Potter, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, They're all
so messy, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, black brothers angst, BAMF
Regulus Black, Horcrux Hunting, Blood and Violence, Idiots in Love
Language: English
Collections: I Got 99 Problems But Bad Taste Ain't One, Love these stuff UwU, fics i
would die to read for the first time, Ongoing fic, Favoritos variados HP,
peachyunies tbr, The best fics, jegulus fics I read and so should you <3,
certified bangers
Stats: Published: 2022-12-02 Completed: 2023-04-25 Words: 645,942
Chapters: 64/64

Only the Brave

by Solmussa

Summary

Regulus Black is angry. He wants revenge. He wants to watch the world burn for all it's
done to him. He also wants to make out with James Potter, but that's a secret he'll take to the
grave. Vengeance is more important than... whatever it is that chokes him when he lays
 eyes on Potter.

James Potter is confused, because Regulus Black is, all of a sudden, hot. And it's unfair
because Sirius is going to kill him if he doesn't get his impulse control in line.

OR

A fic about two idiots falling in love (x2 because there's wolfstar, too) during a war, and
the sacrifices they'll have to make to survive it.

Notes

Hello hello!

PLEASE DO NOT ADD ONLY THE BRAVE TO GOODREADS OR POST IT

ANYWHERE ELSE. I WOULD LIKE TO EXIST ON AO3 ONLY.

Playlist for this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/19HGnqEibyDvawr2a098pa?

si=5e47d379a9e748ef

And, another one made by a lovely reader (Maeve):

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6YqJv8YHiRhpAmx1v6H0Py?si=dz3WbMTZQ-
iQx9pIxovvvg&dd=1

Enjoy

First chapter TWs

Minor physical altercation (students brawling)

Some swearing
Mentions of child abuse (Sirius' back story)

If you saw a typo... no you didn't.

See the end of the work for more notes

 The Beginning

The day Sirius Black ran away from their family was the day his younger brother, Regulus, learned
what true hatred felt like.

It was ice cold and overwhelming. It spread over every inch of who he was, coating everything
he'd be from that day on. It consumed him, clawing at his heart and squeezing until it stopped
beating. A dead, frozen thing in a cage of bones.

The day Sirius Black ran away from him, Regulus swore to himself he’d get revenge. He would go
to any lengths necessary. He'd do whatever it took. No line was too holy, no limit too hard. He’d
blast through them all if it got him what he wanted.

Vengeance.

“You’re not listening, are you?” Dorcas says, visibly annoyed. She waves a perfectly manicured
hand in front of his face.

Regulus pulls himself out of his own head and scowls at his friend. The train compartment is too
crowded for his liking, but there’s little he can do about it. These people refuse to leave him alone
even for a minute. It’s what friends do, they tell him. Yeah well, when he wants to be alone with
his demons, what it is is annoying.

“No,” he says, because he doesn’t like lying.

Evan chuckles, shakes his head. Barty smirks at Dorcas. “Told you.”

Dorcas rolls her eyes dramatically. “I was asking if you don’t have prefect patrols to do, now that
you are an authority figure.”

Oh, crap. She's right. Groaning, Regulus lets his head fall back against the seat with a soft thud.
Shit. He had forgotten, possibly because he has zero interest in the position. He didn’t want to be a
prefect, but it turns out you can’t simply return the badge in the post.

“It can’t be that bad,” Barty says when he gets a glimpse of Regulus’ face. “You get to knock
points off of people at your leisure.”

Evan nods enthusiastically. Dorcas shrugs, leaning back and closing her eyes. Now that she’s done
her duty and reminded Regulus of his misery, she’ll sleep for the rest of the journey.

Regulus stands. Adjusts his robes. His green tie. “Not on the train.”

“How long does the patrol take?” Evan asks casually.

Regulus could point out to him that attempting subterfuge is futile. Everyone in this carriage knows
how he feels about Barty except for Barty himself. But Regulus doesn’t, because someone in this
dysfunctional friend group should get to be a normal teenager. He's decided it'll be Evan. So,
Regulus keeps his answer vague.

“I’ll be back right before we reach Hogsmeade. See if you can find Pandora in the meantime.”

With that, he leaves the compartment.

The soft swaying of the train forces him to focus on his steps, so his mind can't wander. A few
students hurry past him in the corridors, close enough that his robes rustle at the contact. Regulus
does his best not to flinch.

Annoyingly, the prefect meeting is already underway when he arrives. He's the last one in, and
everyone turns to stare at him when he slips inside the carriage. Regulus endures the unwanted
attention like he does everything else. Stoically. Quietly.

His stomach is churning something fierce, but his face is made of stone.

“There you are Black,” the Head Boy, some seventh year Hufflepuff says. “Punctuality is
important. See that you don’t show up late for patrols again.”

Severus’ dark eyes find his across the space. Regulus holds his stare even as he gives the Head
Boy a curt nod of acknowledgement. The Hufflepuff doesn’t push, going back to assigning sections
of the train to people in pairs. Regulus’ fingers twitch inside his robes as he waits, silently willing
the boy to not pair him with Severus.

He has never liked the hypocrite. In Regulus’ opinion, one can either pontificate about blood purity
or embarrass oneself over their crush on a muggle born. Not both.

“Remus Lupin,” the Head Boy calls, stealing Regulus' attention away from Severus.

Lupin is one of Sirius’ friends. Obviously a Gryffindor, because Sirius doesn't associate himself
with anyone else, and a quiet sort of kid. Intelligent and withdrawn. Lupin looks tired, and a bit
skinny. His cheekbones a tad too hollow and his robes slightly too loose. Like he didn’t eat enough
this summer or he got tall too quickly and the rest of his body hasn’t caught up yet. Maybe both.

“And Regulus Black. You’ve got the carriages at the front.”

Lupin shuffles over to stand near Regulus while they wait to be dismissed for their rounds. Stealing
a sideways glance at him, Regulus wonders how much Lupin knows about him. Does he know
anything at all? Does Sirius talk about him to his friends? Regulus doubts it. Although they must
know about what happened, mustn't they? It's not like it's a secret Sirius Black ran.

But the details... with a shudder that he barely manages to supress, Regulus wonders if Sirius has
scars from what happened to him the night he left.

Regulus isn’t sure whether he wants his brother to carry the evidence of such horrible betrayal on
his body or not. Scars are good reminders. And it wouldn’t hurt for Sirius to have a reminder never
to breathe in the direction of another Black again. But also... well. Regulus knows what it's like to
wish the scars weren't there. To hate looking at oneself in a mirror. To wish... Stop it. This line of
thought makes him want to break something, so he pushes it all away forcefully.

"That's it for now," the Head Boy says. "Off you go. If anything happens during your patrol, report
back to this carriage."

They are dismissed, and before he's had time to formulate any sort of plan, Regulus finds himself
walking next to Lupin towards the front of the train. To Regulus' surprise—a pleasant one—they
patrol in silence. Lupin doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable either, and that is enough for Regulus to
be curious about him. Most teenagers he knows—his friends included—find silence awkward.
There's always someone trying to fill it with whatever they can think of, no matter how innocuous
or uninteresting. More often than not, it leads to comopletely unnecesary and dumb debates like
'who would win in a fight between a Hipogriff and a Basilisk.'

Lupin, however, isn’t even fidgeting. He's one hundred percent not bothered.
In fact, he only speaks when it's actually necessary. “Where do you want to start?” Lupin asks him
when they reach their assigned section, glancing at Regulus before refocusing on his shoes.

Regulus shrugs. “Don’t care.”

Lupin hums, gestures with his head towards the far end of the carriage. “From the top, then.”

A lewd remark flits through his mind, but Regulus’ face doesn’t change. He simply nods once and
takes off in the direction Lupin indicated. It’s up to the other boy to follow. He does.

Silence descends between them again and, Regulus can't help but to relax a little. He's impressed
and mildly confused by how comfortable it is. They patrol the carriages side by side, observant
eyes snagging on details that reveal more than the students they’re watching would want either of
them to know. Or at least Regulus thinks so. He wouldn’t want anyone to know things about him
just by looking. It’s why he’s so careful to keep his face a blank mask at all times.

They're almost halfway through their patrol when it hits him. He's—Salazar's socks. Regulus is
appalled to discover that he’s enjoying himself. This… quiet company thing that’s going on
between him and Lupin is… nice. Perhaps being a prefect isn't so bad, if all he has to do is walk
around in blessed silence glaring at younger students.

Unfortunately for Regulus, no sooner has he had this revelation than someone decides to start a
fight in one of the compartments they’re responsible for.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Lupin groans, eyeing the brawling kids with a suffering roll of his
eyes. Exasperated, Lupin looks at Regulus, clearly expecting something other than the blank stare
he gets, based on the annoyance that crosses Lupin's eyes. “You’re not going to help?”

Regulus blinks, considers the situation. Fine, I'll take care of it. Mentally cursing them for
disturbing his peace, Regulus turns towards the brawling kids and takes a single, measured step.
“You’ve got five seconds to stop whatever this is before I hex your teeth to fall from your mouths.”
His voice is sharp. It cuts through the rage fueling the boys like a scalpel. "One, two..."

Something in his tone makes the other kids pause, hesitate. They stop trying to punch each other
for long enough to glance up at Regulus, who’s taken his wand out and is holding it casually at his
side.

“What he said,” Lupin adds. “And we’re deducting ten points from each of you.”

One of the boys frowns deeply, glancing at Lupin. "No way you can hex another student... can
you?"

"Nah! I bet they're not allowed to hurt us," says the other.

"Ah, but losing your teeth won't hurt at all. They'll just fall off," Regulus replies, an edge to his
voice that makes the kid literally shudder.

“You can’t take off points before we reach school!”

"That's not allowed!"

Despite their protests, both troublemakers are backing away. Neither is certain Regulus won't
actually hex them, as is evident by the fearful glances they're throwing his wand every other
second. Regulus flexes his hand and one of the kids gulps.
Lupin shrugs. “Says who?”

Regulus wants to smirk. Lupin has sass. Instead, Regulus stares the boys down in silence until
they’re sitting on opposite sides of the carriage and peace has been restored. Lupin gives them an
additional warning before he and Regulus retreat back into the corridor to continue their patrol.

Silence falls between them again. Like before, it’s comfortable. Easy. Regulus can’t remember the
last time he felt this at ease around a stranger. Carefully, slowly, he glances sideways and takes him
in. Lupin’s handsome. Objectively. He’s tall, too. Taller than Regulus, so he has to tilt his face up a
little to get a better view. It’s annoying to him that Sirius seems to only have good looking friends.
Like it’s his personal fuck you to Regulus, being friends with attractive people he doesn’t have a
chance in hell of ever touching. Not even by accident, because Regulus is too careful for that.

Lupin blinks and Regulus stares straight ahead so fast he almost gets whiplash. He won’t be caught
staring at this guy. Over his dead body.

He feels rather than sees Lupin’s eyes on his profile. He wants to squirm under the scrutiny, but he
doesn’t allow himself to move. To react.

“You’re quite terrifying,” Lupin says. It strikes Regulus that he sounds impressed, which is odd.
He wouldn't expect a Gryffindor to understand how it's useful to be scary. To be dangerous.

“You sound petrified.”

Lupin chuckles. “I’m tougher than your average Hogwarts student. But those kids back there
almost shat themselves.”

He swears. Remus Lupin swears a lot.

Regulus looks at the other boy. He meets his gaze head on, green on brown. There’s something
akin to curiosity there. Regulus gets the feeling that if gave the smallest opening, Lupin might try
to ask questions. It makes Regulus shut down immediately. A friend of his brother's cannot look at
him twice. For any reason.

He keeps walking without another word. Lupin doesn’t push it and Regulus hates him a little bit
for it. It’d be easier if he’d been annoying about it.

####

The day Sirius Black ran away from home, James Potter discovered he was capable of darkness. It
scared the living daylights out of him, because he’d always been nice. Cheerful and funny.
Easygoing and popular and all the things James Potter should be.

And yet, when Sirius—his literal soulmate—showed up on his doorstep on the brink of death,
James had to actively choose to help him instead of going straight to Grimmauld Place and
murdering everyone in sight.

James has never felt anything like it again. He hopes he never does. It’s not like him to be afraid of
feelings. He’s a big boy, with a big heart, and he’s never been scared of showing it. It’s just that
he’d never had such a negative, violent emotion before or since, and well. It threw him a little.

He’s good now, though. In fact, he’s excellent because the train is about to pull up to Hogsmeade
and his final year at Hogwarts is going to be one for the ages. They’re going to make it memorable.
They being himself and his three best friends.
Sirius is lounging across from him, legs tangled with his. He’s grown this summer, but he’s still
shorter than James and Remus. Peter is reading next to James, his nose so far in the book he could
be snogging it.

The door to the carriage opens and Sirius’ fingers twitch when Remus steps in. James tries to hide
the small smile tugging at his lips.

“How was patrol?” James asks, because Sirius needs a moment to compose himself when Remus
enters a room he’s in these days. James is nothing if not a loyal and supportive brother, so.
“Anything interesting?”

Remus sits down. Looks at Sirius. “I was paired with your brother.”

Sirius sits up straight so fast the couch could have bitten him. “Reg? He’s a prefect?”

Remus nods.

“Did he say anything to you?” Sirius asks, a small muscle ticking on his jaw.

“Nope. He doesn’t talk much,” Remus says, pursing his lips. “Though when he does…” He makes
a face like his impressed and James swears to Merlin Sirius’ eyes might pop out of their sockets
any moment. “He broke up a fight with a single sentence.”

“Why do you sound impressed?” Sirius enquires, leaning forward. “Don’t do that. Don’t sound
impressed. This is my brother. He’s not impressive. He’s a little shit who betrayed me. We don’t
like him.”

Remus nods along to all this. “I only said he was scary, not that I wanted to marry him.”

Sirius scoffs and flops back against his seat. “Not funny, Moony.”

Peter looks up from his book. “It’s a little funny.”

James clears his throat to gather the attention before this can escalate. The subject of Regulus is
unsafe. Even though it’s been a year since he broke free from the despicable waste of air that are
Walburga and Orion Black, Sirius hasn’t fully processed what his running away and Regulus’
staying behind means for them. He’s mourning his brother like he’s dead, except he’s alive and
well and, apparently, terrifying.

“Speaking of things that are truly hilarious,” James says. “I hear Alice met Frank’s mother this
summer.”

They all launch into an enthusiastic discussion about the ways in which Frank’s mother—there’s
someone terrifying for you—could have scared Alice away. The couple graduated last June and
began their auror training at the Ministry already this summer because tensions are rising and more
aurors are needed, but James’ still in touch with Frank.

As his friends discuss the many memorable occassions during which Augusta Longbottom has
made them want to crawl into a hole in the dirt, James' mind drifts. He can't help it, because he’s a
curious person by nature. Last time he saw Regulus, on this very train on the last day of their sixth
year and Regulus’ fifth, the boy was a whisper of a person. Skinny, on the shorter side, and pale
like a wraith. There was absolutely nothing even remotely scary about him. At least not to James,
who’s always been broad shouldered and tall for his age. If anything, Regulus looked like he was
wasting away.
It’s because he’s curious about what Remus told them that when they get off the train and head to
the horse-less carriages, James scans the crowd of students looking for the younger Black. Sirius is
complaining about the rain, oblivious to James’ research. Remus and Peter are a few steps ahead,
merrily discussing the feast that awaits them in the castle.

Annoyingly, James doesn’t spot Regulus so he has to remain curious for a while longer as he piles
into the carriage with his friends.

“You alright there Prongs?” Sirius asks, running a hand through his hair to dislodge the drops of
water clinging to it. Remus shifts on his seat, looking out the window.

James snaps the door closed and shrugs, feeling guilty for literally no reason. “Starving.”

“Same,” says Peter. “That hat better not take too long.”

They murmur their general agreement as the carriage rolls on the cobblestones towards their
school.

The entrance hall is packed, and it smells faintly of rain because it’s absolutely pouring and even
the short sprint up the stairs was enough to drench everyone. Sirius is shaking his head like a dog
—James can't help but to giggle—and Remus is trying and failing to tell him off without smiling.
Peter is much more civilised about the whole thing and is using his wand to dry himself off.
James’ about to do the same when he finally catches a glimpse of Regulus Black.

And well. Shit.

When did he grow up?

James thinks he understands what Remus meant. Regulus is taller now. Still shorter than James, but
not someone to go unnoticed in a crowd. And he’s… filled up? Somehow? He’s still lean. Slim.
Like, he’s not suddenly bulky or anything but he doesn’t look like he's been starved anymore. Even
his skin has a healthier colour. He looks... stronger. Less like he might keel over any second. No
one would describe this Regulus as wraith-like, and James is curious. Was he actually sick last
year? Did he simply have a late growth spurt? What is going on? James is suddenly certain that
he’s done something to his hair, too. It's shinny, and falls quite beautifully over his face, weighed
down by the rainwater. He's scowling at Barty Crouch, but Crouch doesn't seem to mind this.
James understands, because Regulus' scowl is actually quite pretty and—

“James!”

“What?” He blinks, shakes his head. Remembers he was staring at his best friend’s brother.
“Sorry, what did you say?“

Sirius rolls his eyes and cranes his neck to try and see what James was staring at. “Evans? Really?
Again?”

James notices that Lily Evans has been standing with her friends right next to Regulus and his little
gang. He’s so relieved he almost sighs out loud. “Yeah. Sorry, I was distracted.”

Sirius makes a small noise of appreciation and pulls James by his arm towards the Great Hall.
“You can ogle the girls later. Now, we want to eat. Come on.”

It's mildly embarrasing that James has to stop himself from looking over his shoulder. It's silly,
really. His curiosity is satisfied now. There’s nothing else for him to look at.
 Amortentia
Chapter Notes

TW for this chapter

Discussion / mentions of homophobia

Insomnia
Mentions of bullying
Swearing!

I think that's it, but if I left anything out feel free to let me know!

Enjoy :)

Regulus can’t sleep.

This is annoying because sleep is actually quite important. This is one of the things he’s discovered
this summer. If he’s going to carry out his plans and get his revenge, he needs to be as strong as
possible. Not just physically, but mentally as well. To this end, he’s been devoting himself to a
strict exercise routine that his mother believes is solely to help him win the Quidditch Cup for
Slytherin. For once, she approves. It's such a strange feeling Regulus prefers not to acknowledge it
at all. He’s also been eating every meal Kreacher has made for him, which has the added benefit of
making his house elf very happy. And, most importantly, Regulus has been sleeping.

Some nights more successfully than others, but he’s been trying.

He turns in his bed, groaning into his pillow in frustration. It’s not the end of the world if he has a
bad night, but there’s little to do in the castle. And he didn't bring any cigarettes with him so
sneaking out to the astronomy tower to smoke isn't an option. Besides, he can’t be caught out past
curfew—detentions are not a good use of his time, so he’ll avoid them. And his dorm isn’t exactly
conducive to late night entertainment. Barty and Evan are passed out cold, snoring in their beds.
Edward Selwyn is awake, reading behind his curtains but Regulus doesn’t like Edward.

He lays there for a little while, quiet in his bed, contemplating. He thinks of his summer. Early
mornings running through the grounds of their summer manor out in the countryside. The days
slipping away as he tore through his family’s library, reading every book on the Dark Arts he
could find. He thinks of the evenings, sat on the rooftop on his own with a pack of muggle
cigarettes and no one but the stars for company. Thinks of the meetings happening downstairs.
People in dark cloaks and strange masks coming and going. Of the voices discussing plans that
would make any non-broken person’s toes curl in their shoes.

Soon, Regulus’ voice will add to those. He’ll whisper in corners, hide in shadows. Do what must
be done for the betterment of the world.

He will get his revenge.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, he’s just a student with an insomnia problem getting bored out of his
mind.
He slips away from his dorm in silence and pads down the stairs to the common room. It’s
deserted, which isn’t unusual this late at night. It’s one in the morning and the only light is from the
windows facing the lake. Everything is a dark, glowing green that Regulus finds kind of peaceful.
Not that he’d ever say that out loud to anybody.

Just as his back hits the couch, the door to the common room swings open and Dorcas stumbles
inside with a grin on her lips. It strains and disappears as soon as her eyes meet Regulus’.

“What are you doing here?” She asks.

Regulus raises an eyebrow.

Dorcas sighs. “I’m not telling you where I was. It’s none of your business.”

He tilts his head to the side, dark curls bouncing. “I didn’t ask.”

Regulus likes Dorcas as much as he can like anyone. She’s a good friend. A little ruthless, which
he appreciates. She’s brave enough to have been a Gryffindor if not for her cunning mind.

She hesitates for a moment before plopping down on the sofa next to Regulus. “Can’t sleep?”

“No.” No point in denying the obvious. And he could do a lot worse than Dorcas for a late night
chat. Barty would be too loud and obnoxious. Evan would simply not be awake. Ever. Under any
circumstance. And Pandora lives in the Ravenclaw tower so she’s not an option. Regulus doesn’t
have any other friends. He doesn’t want or need them.

The only reason he has these in the first place is that he met them before his heart froze. Before the
cold seeped into every bone in his body, tattooing pain and rage into his marrow.

“What’s bothering you?” Dorcas asks. There’s an edge to her voice, like she’s trying to control the
conversation.

Regulus lets his head fall back on the sofa, eyes trained on the ceiling. “Nothing. I’m just an
insomniac and haven’t had time to brew a potion yet.”

Dorcas’ perfectly plucked eyebrows shoot up. “Is that how you’ve done… this?” Her hands wave
up and down lazily, indicating that ‘this’ is Regulus’ much improved health and, thus, appearance.

“Turns out a solid sleep schedule is almost miraculous.”

Dorcas lets out an impressed sound. “I know Barty and Evan took the piss out of you in the train,
but you do look good Reg. I was getting worried before the summer.”

“Worried?” Regulus knows he was too small for his age. A little too pale. His ribs were showing
and the points of his hipbones kept getting bruised.

But he can’t think of a reason that would be worrying to anyone, least of all Dorcas. It’s not like
she ever saw the purple and yellow marks, or the bones jutting out as though they'd break skin. Or
anything else.

“You looked like you’d keel over any moment.”

Regulus scoffs, affronted. “I did not.”

“You looked like a sickly Victorian child.”

“I’m this close to hexing you, Meadowes.”

Dorcas laughs, and Regulus likes the sound. He doesn’t make people laugh very often. He doesn’t
try. Sirius was always the funny one.

“I was trying to compliment you, and you somehow turned it around,” she says, amused. “I might
make it my project for the year. Teach Reg to accept a compliment challenge of 78.”

Regulus doesn’t acknowledge this. He’s still looking at the ceiling, watching the shadows drift
with the soft movement of the lake outside. Dorcas lets her head fall on her shoulder, looking at
Regulus’ profile.

The silence stretches. Regulus lets it. He can almost feel Dorcas caving. Giving in. Anything to fill
the silence. They all do it, sooner or later.

“I was with someone,” she whispers, surprising him somewhat.

He’s not sure why this would be something to keep secret. It’s not like people in their year don’t
get around. Barty’s always having some affair or other, for example. He nods to let her know he’s
heard her, but he’s not going to comment. Dorcas’ private life is hers. If she wants to share it, he’ll
listen. But he’s not going ask questions.

The silence makes Dorcas comfortable, because after a moment she continues. “I just… I don’t like
sleeping in my dorm. Not since... well. It's just not the best right now.”

At this, Regulus sits up and looks at her. They all know Dorcas had been struggling at the end of
last year, but they thought it was because of the pressure of her approaching NEWTS. They
assumed she was nervous about graduation. It’s not unusual for students to have a bit of a panic at
the end of their sixth or the start of their seventh year.

It hadn’t occurred to Regulus that she might be having issues with the girls in her dorm. He should
have known better. Paid more attention. Doesn’t he pride himself in being observant? How did he
miss this?

His heart is dead. Frozen. But he’s got enough blood still flowing to feel a quiet sort of murderous
fury when his friends are hurt. He has few, and he can’t make more, so Regulus will do the
unspeakable to keep the ones he has with him.

“Tell me,” he says. He’s asking, but also demanding.

Dorcas sighs. “I can’t. But it’s okay. They’ll all be asleep now, so I can sneak in.”

“No,” Regulus says. “Tell me who hurt you.”

Dorcas looks at him, big brown eyes framed with thick lashes. She studies his face, which he
knows shows nothing. His lips are a thin line because he’s clenching his jaw and his eyes are
trained on his friend. Waiting.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she whispers.

Regulus nods. This is fair. “I fully intend to do something horrible to whoever hurt you.”

Dorcas chuckles like she wasn’t expecting this. “That’s not what I mean. I…”

And then, it clicks. In his brain, a few cogs move and the pieces fall together. They wouldn’t have,
he knows, if it weren’t for Regulus himself. Suddenly, he knows. He knows because he’s the same.

“Who?” He asks, a bit more gently this time.

She locks eyes with him, and takes a deep breath. “Blair.”

The word hangs between them, heavy with all that it means. It’s a dangerous thing, for them to talk
about this out loud. Dorcas’ family isn’t as strict as Regulus’ but she’s a Slytherin. She’s in the
viper’s nest. It strikes Regulus that it must have taken an enormous amount of courage for Dorcas
to even do anything that would reveal her feelings to Blair.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Dorcas studies him slowly. Eventually, she says, “You’re not disgusted.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He makes a decision, then. He wants to keep the friends he has because he won’t make more. Not
where he’s going. Not with what he has to do. And he needs allies. He’s going to need some help,
if things are going to go the way he wants them to. He’s good. Regulus is very fucking good. But
he’s not invincible. He depends on sleeping draughts to stay healthy and has a debilitating fear of
locked doors, of all things. He knows it’s irrational. He can’t do anything about it. Anyway, the
point is that he likes Dorcas. And she’s told him something that could completely destroy her.

So, to seal their fate and tie her to him, Regulus reciprocates.

“Why do you think?”

Dorcas’ lips form a perfect O. “You? Really?”

Something inside of him protests this reaction. Is it that shocking? He’s never dated anyone. Not
even to keep up appearances. Never been seen near a girl that wasn’t Dorcas herself or Pandora.
Never commented on a crush, or on who he found attractive. Surely, someone must have wondered
at some point.

She sees something on his face, and hurries to explain. “I just mean… I thought you simply
didn’t… that you didn’t feel that way about people. Of any gender. Because you never said, or
looked at anyone, or…”

“Ah,” he understands. He’s very good at masking his emotions. At keeping himself in check, stoic.
“Well, I do.”

Dorcas smiles and sits up to put her hands on his shoulders. Regulus stiffens, because he doesn’t
like being touched. But he allows it when she whispers, “Regulus, I’m gay. I like girls.”

And in the darkness of the night, in the silence broken only by their quiet breathing, for the first
time ever, Regulus offers someone else a truth that holds some power over him. It’s terrifying, but
he does it anyway. After all, it’s only the first of many terrifying things he’ll do in the coming
months.

“Dorcas, I’m gay. I like boys.”

 ####

James does not like potions. He’s decent at them, but he simply doesn’t enjoy brewing. He’s
known this for years, and yet he’d had no choice but to take them for NEWTS because they were
required for a career as an auror. Like, why? You know? It’s not like aurors have time to lug their
cauldrons around. Surely there are people who make the potions for them?

James isn’t sure. He guesses it doesn’t really matter, because the requirement still exists and he has
to meet it. He will. He’ll find a way.

“Why are you glowering at your cauldron?” asks Lily, who’s working next to him today.

They’re brewing amortentia, which isn’t the hardest potion, but it does give James some trouble.
He’s fairly certain the colour is wrong.

“I think I did something wrong but I’m not sure what. Or if I can fix it,” he replies, running a hand
through his hair.

Lily scoots over and peers at his potion. She’s got very nice, thick red hair. He’s always thought
her very pretty. To the point that he had a very loud crush on her all of fifth year. He asked her out
a million times. She always said no. It was devastating, but he gets it. They’re not very well
matched.

“Hmm,” she says, stirring his potion a little bit.

Lily is kind, and bookish. She’s intimidatingly smart. She also happens to be a potions genius, so
James happily steps back and lets her poke and prod inside his cauldron. If anyone can fix his
potion, it’ll be Lily Evans.

“I think you added more rose thorns than needed but it’s not a big deal. Here,” she reaches for the
next ingredient, pours it in and stirs in a very specific pattern that James has never seen before.
He’s certain it’s not in his book, but he’s never been a fan of rules.

If Lily wants to break them to save his potion, he’ll support it wholeheartedly.

“Do you have the moonstone?” she asks him. James hands it to her promptly. She drops it in and
smiles. “There. It should start smelling like something now. Does it?”

James leans in. “Broom polish,” he says, smiling. He wiggles his eyebrows and Lily laughs.
“And… grass! I love me some grass.” He beams at Lily, who’s still giggling rather prettily. “Oh
and… lavender? What?”

James is genuinely confused. He stands away from the cauldron, waits a moment. Tries again. Yes.
There’s lavender in there. He’s puzzling over this, so it takes him a minute to realise a blush has
spread across Lily’s cheeks. “Lavender? Are you sure?”

James nods. “Well, yes. Our house elf loves it and uses it with laundry. I’d recognise it anywhere,”
he purses his lips, thinking. “Does that mean I’m attracted to people who smell like lavender? I’m
most certainly not into house elves, no offence to them. So what? Is it just the general smell of it?
Or like a specific person that happens to use lavender? A lot of people use it. I’m confused.”

Lily’s still blushing, listening to James’ rant attentively. Like he’s pontificating about something
important and not having a minor crisis over whether he’s suddenly going to fall in love with his
house elf (he’s not. Obviously. But Lily’s still grinning and he kind of likes it.)

“Well, it does bring up things you’re attracted to. But like, not a specific person’s smell. I think.
More like, it's probably someone who somehow encompasses all three? I'm not sure.”

“The broom polish and grass I get,” he declares. “The lavender’s a bit confusing, but I’m open
minded.”

Lily giggles again. James is about to ask what she smells in the potion when a commotion breaks
out behind them.

Sirius is staring at his cauldron like it might bite him, and Remus is trying - and failing - to calm
him down. In fact, every time Remus moves closer, Sirius only freaks out more. Peter is watching
them helplessly, standing in front of Remus so he doesn’t try to reach for Sirius again, since it only
seems to agitate their friend. Peter and James lock eyes, and James shakes his head, amused. He
can guess what’s happening. He also knows it’s going to take more than smelling amortentia for
Sirius to realise he’s falling in love with their friend.

“Excuse me,” James tells Lily, wading through the desks to get to his friend.

James grabs Sirius’ arm and pulls him towards him while Peter distracts Remus. “Pads?”

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, eyes darting from James to the cauldron and back. His hands are
shaking. “It smells weird. It’s broken.”

James shrugs, arm still clamped on Sirius’ shoulder. He knows the contact helps him. Grounds
him. “Mine has lavender in it, can you believe it? Me? Lavender?”

“You hate doing laundry,” Sirius says immediately, supportive even when it doesn’t make sense to
be. “That’s just stupid.”

James nods solemnly. “Maybe we did something wrong. Or the ingredients were too old. What are
you freaking out about? Can’t be worse than lavender.”

“Well,” Sirius says, glancing around surreptitiously. “There’s grass. And, you know when it’s
almost dawn and the air smells like wet and fresh and just crisp?”

James can’t say that he does, but he nods in encouragement regardless because this is his Padfoot
and there’s no other course of action.

Sirius looks around again. Bends his head closer to James, getting all into his personal space. If
James tilted his head down, he’d kiss the tip of Sirius’ nose. That’s how close he is. His friend
whispers, “And then there’s… well. There’s chocolate.”

James has to fight very hard not to smile. He looks down, bending his neck a little so he can make
eye contact without accidentally kissing his friend. “Pads. You love chocolate.”

“I do,” he says. Then, he straightens a little, but remains firmly in James’ orbit. “But I don’t want to
shag it!”

James bursts out laughing. Sirius’ lips twitch like he’s trying to remain solemn. He’s losing the
battle. “Pads, mate, I don’t wanna shag a bush of lavender either and I’m not having a meltdown
over it. You freaking drama queen.”

Sirius smiles, running a hand through his long hair. “I’m an idiot.”
“You’re an idiot,” James confirms. “But you’re my idiot. I love you.”

Sirius immediately pulls James into a hug, arms going around his middle and squeezing like he’s
never going to let go. “I love you too, Prongs.”

####

Regulus is perpetually surrounded by idiots. It’s annoying. He wishes there was some sort of
culling, like if you’re not able to exist in silence or get yourself from one classroom to the next
without sprinting down the corridors, you’re out. If you can’t walk without stomping your feet,
you’re out. If you cannot chew your food without showing it to the rest of the student body, you’re
out. Breathe too noisily? Out. Mutter to yourself while you’re reading a book? Get the fuck out.

Loud, obnoxious people are a nuisance, and as such should be removed from the premises. From
the country, if he had his way.

Alas, this is probably why the fate of the world will never be left in Regulus’ hands. He’d
annihilate half the population if he could. They’re just…

A group of third years scramble past him, jostling him as they squeeze in the space between
Regulus and the wall. It’s all he can do not to take out his wand and hex them into the next century.

Merlin’s balls. These children.

“I’m pretty sure we weren’t that annoying in third year,” says Evan, narrowing his eyes at the
retreating forms of the younger students.

“That’s because Reg’d rather die than be caught looking like a savage,” Barty says. “He’s forced
his aloof, civilised demeanour on us.”

“In appearance only,” Regulus says, because his two friends are heathens who’ll cause chaos if left
unsupervised for more than two minutes.

“Your life would be so boring if you didn’t have us,” Barty insists. “Can you imagine it, Evan?”

“It would be tragic,” he says. “He’d be so melancholic, people would confuse him with a
depressed, quiet ghost haunting the library.”

“A handsome one,” Barty adds, wiggling his eyebrows. “Are the girls all over you yet, Reg?”

“No.”

Evan is notoriously quiet, but Regulus decides he’s not going to think about why. If Evan wants to
discuss it, he’ll have to bring it up with the wall. One over dramatic confession in the middle of the
night is more than enough for Regulus. He’ll never need another one. Ever.

“They will be,” Barty continues. “You’ve always been pretty but now you’re like… you know,
grown up.”

“I’m sixteen,” Regulus reminds him. “We’re not even out of puberty yet.”

“You always says the sexiest things,” Barty replies. Evan snickers and Regulus has to swallow a
groan.

They turn a corner and, to Regulus’ absolute horror, two girls look up and start giggling
immediately. Barty laughs so hard he snorts. “Regulus Black, the new heartthrob of Hogwarts.
Your brother will never recover.”

“You two are insane,” Regulus says.

“It’s your presence. It’s driving us crazy! We cannot contain ourselves any longer,” Barty says, and
they burst into laughter again.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but doesn’t comment. His friend continues to tease him all the way to the
next classroom, where they sit through a truly mind-numbing history of magic lesson. When it’s
over, Evan and Barty head to the Slytherin common room for a game of explosive snap but
Regulus takes a detour to the library. He has a prefect patrol later that afternoon, and he’d rather
kill time amongst his books.

He’s reading through a Charms book, absorbing theory on casting them silently, when he hears it.
A name. The one name that has haunted Regulus for as long as he’s been at this school.

“You mean James Potter?”

Regulus stomach clenches like it’s a fist. At this point, he’s pretty sure it’s a Pavlovian reaction.
Anything and everything that has to do with James Potter will make him incensed.

If hatred had a personification, for Regulus it would be James I’m-obnoxious-and-proud-about-it

Potter. Naturally, this means Regulus can do nothing but strain his ears to listen in on the
conversation the girls are having.

“Of course. There are no other Jameses in our year, Marlene,” a voice replies. “Are you going to let
me finish?”

There’s a noise of surrender from whom Regulus assumes is Marlene. The girl carries on with her
tale.

“He said he smelled broom polish, grass, and… well, and lavender.”

There’s stunned silence for a moment during which Regulus is genuinely confused until another
voice says, “he smelled the main ingredient of your perfume, body lotion, and shampoo in his
amortentia?”

Regulus perks up immediately. Knowledge of the things in James Potter’s amortentia is powerful.
Any knowledge about his enemy is powerful, but this - which has the potential to be truly
humiliating - is golden. Regulus gets up from his chair silently and leans against the bookshelves,
peering through the little gaps in the books.

He recognises all of the girls. There’s Lily Evans, whose hair is so bright it’s practically a beacon.
She’s the one doing the explaining. There’s also Marlene McKinnon, who plays in the Gryffindor
Quidditch team, and MacDonald. Her first name escapes him now, but she’s also loud and a bit
annoying so Regulus knows who she is.

“What did he say?” McKinnon asks.

Evans is blushing. “Well he was confused. Went on a little rant about laundry and house elves. I
don’t think he knows it’s me.”
MacDonald purses her lips, tugging at the curls by her shoulder. “I mean… are we sure? Like, he’s
obviously attracted to things that smell like lavender so, yes. And he did have a crush on you all of
fifth year. That's no secret. But it’s not like Lily spends much time outdoors. And you’ve not been
on a broom since Hooch’s lessons stopped being mandatory in second year.”

Evans groans, folds her arms on the table and drops her forehead on them. Regulus thinks this
display of dramatics is embarrassing but it’s not like he’s going to point it out to her.

“Well. He's clearly into someone. He has to be. James hasn’t dated anyone since he broke up with
Jo after Christmas last year. It's been too long, right?” McKinnon mumbles. “Do you think he likes
someone who doesn’t like him back?”

Evans looks up, downright alarmed. “Who in their right mind would say no to James Potter?”

“A lesbian,” says MacDonald immediately.

Regulus stomach lurches so violently he thinks he might be sick all over the bookstacks. And yet,
the Gryffindor girls don’t even blink. Like it's normal. Like they can talk about it without looking
over their shoulders and whispering.

“Well, yes. But if James liked a lesbian, surely she would have told him she’s not interested and
he’d moved on,” Evans reasons. “Anyone who is attracted to men would not be able to say no to
him. It’s not possible.”

“Maybe he likes a straight guy,” McKinnon supplies.

Regulus thinks he’s going to pass out. How are these girls discussing this so casually? Like it’s no
big deal? His palms are sweaty and he’s pretty sure he’s hyperventilating. And yet, for some
reason, he cannot force himself back into his chair. He wants to hear what the girls say about the
possibility of James Potter - the straightest bloke to ever exist - liking a dude.

“Same scenario as with the lesbian, though. They’d just say no, and James would move on,” Evans,
who is apparently the fucking authority on James Potter now, says.

Regulus is quite annoyed all of a sudden. The whole thing is ridiculous.

“Well. You’ve got two choices Lils. You either ask him out or wait to see if he realises he likes you
on his own. But that could take a while.”

Evans sighs, sounding rather agitated. “I’m going to do it. Ask him out, I mean. I’ll do it on Friday
at the party.”

Regulus retreats from the bookshelf, returning to his chair and bending over his Charms book like
he didn’t spend the last ten minutes spying on a bunch of girls. He is, however, not reading
anymore.
 Quidditch Changing Rooms
Chapter Summary

It was quite a shock to the system to discover that Regulus could have an intense crush
on someone he hated. He’s held both truths in his mind ever since—I hate James
Potter; I have a debilitating crush on James Potter—a complex contradiction that he
wishes would cease to haunt him but that simply will not. Neither of these truths have
got any less significant over time.

Chapter Notes

Hello! This chapter is a little longer, and I'll try to keep them at similar level
throughout but I'm more focused on the content than the wordcount, so I can't
guarantee chapter length :)

TW for this one:

References to Reg's insomnia

Mentions of Reg's dependency on the sleeping draughts
A lot of swearing
References to child abuse (Sirius's backstory)
Brief violence between siblings (someone's shoved against a wall)
Mentions of underage drinking
Mentions of homophobia

I think that's it! Enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James is early for practice because he’s the Captain and it’s his duty to lead by example. He also
likes to change in peace, without the rest of the team bantering around him. It’s the little bit of
alone time he gets, and he savours it.

Nobody would guess that James Potter likes silence. If you asked his friends, he’s happiest in the
middle of a party, capturing attention. Telling jokes and making people laugh. This is correct. But
James also likes moments alone. Quiet. A break from the expectations that come with all eyes on
him.

It’s different for Sirius, because Sirius can’t be left alone. James knows and gets this. Sirius has
demons perched on his shoulder and if he’s alone they whisper in his ear. He’s got better at
fighting them, but James suspects Sirius’ battle with trauma is for life.

He wishes he could erase it all. Protect him from it. Blast Grimmauld place from the earth and all
its inhabitants from existence. But he can’t, so he’s loud with Sirius to keep the demons at bay.

And the few pockets of quiet he gets here and there are nice. A respite. A few moments to put
himself together so he can keep fighting for his friends.

But this is not the thing to be thinking about before their first practice of the final year, so James
redirects his thoughts. Focuses on how he’s going to motivate his team to give it all. He wants to
leave Hogwarts with the Quidditch cup. He’s won it twice, but third time’s the true charm. He
wants to be a legend and his team will get him there. They’ll be legends together.

He takes off his school uniform and drops it into a pile, wasting no time putting his quidditch gear
on. James thinks highly of himself at all times, but when he’s wearing his quidditch stuff he feels
positively invincible. He’s just tying the buttons on the front of his pants when he hears the
unmistakable and frankly disturbing sound of a shower.

There should be no one here. No one at all.

The previous team to have practice finished ages ago. He schedules this on purpose. There’s
absolutely no reason for anyone to still be here. This is his quiet time. Reflection time, prep time.
He’s a Captain, and he needs time to strategize.

Who the hell is disturbing his quiet? Absolutely unacceptable.

Yanking his boots on and tying them takes longer than he’d like, so he’s only just about managed
to take a step forward when the intruder emerges from the showers.

And well.

Fuck.

Like. For real. James can feel his jaw practically hit the floor. His mouth goes dry. It’s a miracle
he’s still standing. How anyone could be confronted with a wet Regulus Black wearing only a
towel slung low across his hips and survive it unscathed is a mystery to James. Because he’s not
and will never again be the same. This image has tattooed itself behind his eyelids forevermore.

Just.

Fuck.

James wants to hit on him. He wants to give him a look and a smile, and flex his muscles to see if
he bites. Because that’s just what James does. He hits on people he likes, and hopes they like him
back enough to see if it can go somewhere. A hookup, or the start of something special. He’s not
picky, and he’s okay with both, though James much prefers commitment. Except he can’t. Not this
time. He absolutely can’t say or do anything. Not to Regulus.

Hell, for all James knows, Regulus doesn’t even like boys. Most people think it’s wrong.
Disgusting. And knowing what he knows about the Black family there’s a high chance Regulus
would curse him for even suggesting that he might find him attractive.

So James simply stands there, a million thoughts running through his head, and unable to move or
breathe or function because there are drops of water clinging to the planes of Regulus’ body and
catching the light and Godric have mercy James is unwell.

Regulus is unbothered and oblivious to James’ frantic thoughts. He pauses for a second, a hand
lodged in his wet curls. Stares at James with mild confusion as though trying to guess why he’s
here early, scowls a little, then walks to a row of lockers without a word.

James is losing his mind. Regulus is fit. He’s lean, and nimble, and has muscles that are long and
just about visible - very much not like James’ which pop out through his skin like they need to be
noticed. His skin is fucking perfect. Unblemished. He’s just… James thinks Regulus is the most
gorgeous human being he’s ever laid eyes upon.

Which is a fucking injustice because James is loyal to Sirius and Sirius hates his brother for staying
with his family. Sirius hates his brother because he hurt him more than all the Cruciatus curses he
endured in that house put together.

Also, because Regulus despises Sirius and all things Sirius-adjacent as well. James is way more
than Sirius-adjacent and proud of it. So.

Basically, James has discovered the forbidden fruit. And he wants a taste, but he’s very much
aware of all the reasons why it’s forbidden. He knows. He understands. He respects.

He’d never risk upsetting Sirius over what is, very obviously to him, a sudden onset of
overwhelming lust.

It still sucks, though. Because James can’t remember the last time he had this big a reaction to
someone. He isn’t sure he ever has reacted this strongly before. Which is frankly a fucking shame.

“Go away,” Regulus snaps, looking over his shoulder.

In the time James has been having an internal crisis, he’s pulled on a pair of black pants. He stops
for a moment, stretches his arms over his head. James’ breath hitches as he arches his back a little,
careless. Like he doesn’t give a damn that James is there. Regulus picks up a shirt.

“I just… I didn’t think anyone would still be in here,” James says, even though he’s not sure why.
He should just turn around. Walk to his corner. Finish gearing up and head out to the pitch. “Why
are you still here?”

Regulus doesn’t bother looking at him this time. “None of your business.”

This, it turns out, was the worst thing Regulus could have said because James is now curious as
well as fascinated by the ways in which Regulus’ skin moves over his body as he dresses himself.
He realises, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he shouldn’t be watching. But also, Regulus
hasn’t really complained. He isn’t bothered at all as far as James can tell.

“I’m curious,” James tells him. Honest. Open. It’s always worked for him. He’s a terrible liar. “It’s
best if you tell me so I can stop being curious and leave you alone. Otherwise, I’ll pester you until I
get an answer.”

Regulus does turn, then. James is glad, because he cannot—and will not—touch but as long as
Regulus continues to allow it, James will continue to look because this boy is an absolute gift from
the deities.

“Potter. You have five seconds to remove yourself from my presence before I start to remove your
limbs from your body,” Regulus says. It’s sharp and cold. Like he means it.

It’s insane. James knows Regulus can’t do something like this. They’re in school, there are rules.
Limits.

Also, he wouldn’t. He just… would he?

His gut twists and it’s both fear and excitement. Something is very wrong with him, but not enough
that he can’t tell when something’s not an empty threat.
A part of him wants to believe Regulus wouldn’t really hurt him but he isn’t sure and that’s… well.
He shouldn’t like that as much as he does, of this he is certain.

Still. He can’t fuck around and find out. Because this is Regulus Black and he is James Potter and
James Potter is loyal to a fault.

James retreats. Regulus goes back to getting dressed.

It takes all of two seconds for his brain to start going off on tangents. Why was Regulus here alone
so late? When did he get this hot? Would he really hurt him?

He’s won this round, but James wasn’t lying when he said curiosity would compel him to keep
digging.

Something clearly happened to Regulus this summer. He grew up—not just physically, but also…
like, he’s a man. In control. Collected. Cool. He’s beautiful in the way dangerous things are.
Knives. Cliffs. Jagged rocks battered by the ocean. A storm. James smiles, though he doesn’t notice
it.

Regulus is gorgeous and terrifying. Moony told him, and James had forgotten until now. He
shouldn’t have forgotten because Remus is never wrong and also very few things scare his
werewolf friend.

And what does it all mean? Could it be that Regulus has also got out? No. He would know,
wouldn’t he? Sirius would have heard if Regulus had ditched his family.

From who? Sirius goes out of his way to avoid any contact with anyone from his life before he ran
away. So, it could be, and they wouldn’t know. James drops his shirt, which he was toying with in
his hands. If Regulus has left his family… if there’s a chance that he might not be the blood purist
Sirius believes him to be… well. James should find out because Sirius should know. Because deep
down he misses his brother.

It’s James’ duty to figure this out because if it can bring the Black brothers close again, well then.
He can’t just not.

Godric’s bollocks. James has half a mind to interrogate Regulus right there in the changing room
until he gets answers, except when he turns around Regulus is gone. James didn’t hear him leave.
The boy is stealthy and quick. Part of the reason he’s such a good Seeker. James doesn’t like the
ease with which Regulus left. How can he be so… unbothered when James is so… the opposite?

It's unfair.

With a sigh, James walks out onto the pitch a bit later. Someone’s playing a prank on him, he’s
sure. Perhaps a cosmic joke to get back at him for all the pranks he pulled over the staff and
student body of this school without mercy or remorse for the past six years. Because the fact that
Regulus Black has become this disturbingly terrifying and aggressively hot person cannot be
anything else than slow torture. And, if he’s to endure it, then James absolutely must know what
happened to Regulus Black to make him like this.

####
Regulus ducks into the first empty classroom he can find and closes the door behind him. He
strolls in casually, elegantly. He glances around, sweeping the entire room with one lazy but
observant gaze. Regulus pulls out his wand and casts a spell to confirm no one is hiding.

He leans back against the wall. Casts a silencing charm powerful enough to shield a torture
chamber—don’t ask how he learnt this. With an affected air of boredom, Regulus waits for a few
seconds and repeats the first spell to reveal human presence. Nothing.

He is alone. Completely, and utterly alone. He puts his wands in its holster and takes a deep
breath. And then, he lets out a long “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck” and folds over himself, dry heaving.

Salazar fucking Slytherin.

What the hell just happened?

James Potter happened, that’s what. He was… just there. Clad in quidditch pants, shirtless and
glorious and… Regulus groans out loud, letting his head fall back against the door with a dull thud.

He feels like his blood is boiling, which is quite alarming. As a person who’s almost always cold,
this rush of heat coursing through him is disconcerting. But he just can’t… James was just standing
there half naked.

“Oh my God,” Regulus pushes his hair back, away from his face. He doesn’t know what to do with
himself.

He’s imagined it, obviously. His mind has conjured a hundred different ways James Potter looks
like under his clothes. One does not have a crush on the despicable guy who stole your brother for
years and not have a fantasy or two hundred. It’s a part of himself he’s kept under lock and key,
because the day Regulus saw James Potter for the first time was the day he understood he was gay.
Extremely, irrevocably, gay.

It was quite a shock to the system to discover that he could have an intense crush on someone he
hated. He’s held both truths in his mind ever since—I hate James Potter; I have a debilitating crush
on James Potter—a complex contradiction that he wishes would cease to haunt him but simply will
not. Neither of these truths have got any less significant over time.

So yes. He has, on occasion, imagined what James looks like naked. He is a teenage boy, despite
everything. So. What else was he supposed to do? And yes. It’d been quite impressive, in his mind.
That body that he wants to both worship and obliterate. Quite good indeed.

And yet.

And yet.

Regulus’ imagination was so fucking wrong, so fucking pathetic, it’s embarrassing because
whatever he could imagine, James in the flesh is a million times better.

It was all Regulus could do not to attack him as soon as they came face to face. Oh, he would have
licked every single one of those ab muscles. Just like. Unfair any one person could have that many.
Honestly.

Regulus takes a deep breath. It’s fine. He’s fine. Everything’s fucking peachy.

It’s not.
He lets out a garbled noise, hitting his head against the back wall again. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Regulus wishes he didn’t need to blink because every time his eyes close he sees him. Standing
there. Soft lines and sharp edges in all the right places, a dusting of hair that Regulus can’t think
about without wanting to pass out. His glasses a little crooked, like he was careless when he took
his shirt off. Regulus wanted to reach out and straighten them so bad.

He was just there. Staring. Staring at him. Why?

James looked truly dumbfounded, like running into the Slytherin Seeker in the Quidditch changing
rooms was so out of the realm of possibility it broke his brain. He’s an idiot.

He’s the hottest idiot to ever idiot, but still. Regulus needs to put this incident out of his mind and
move on. He still hates that James Potter exists, and what he represents. He dislikes his personality
- which as far as Regulus can tell consists of being the Quidditch Captain and wearing glasses.
That’s not enough, Regulus thinks, but he’s clearly in the minority because everyone just happens
to absolutely worship the ground Potter walks on. His own brother included.

Regulus scoffs, wrapping the hatred around himself like a blanket. It helps. Thinking of the way
Potter slid into Sirius’ life and slotted himself in the space that was supposed to be Regulus’. It
doesn’t matter how attracted he is to James. James is still one of the reasons Sirius left.

This is the last moment of weakness Regulus allows himself. One more jagged breath, one more
string of curses falling from his lips.

Enough is enough. He’s got things to do. Potions to brew. Books to read. He’s got research to go
through.

He has a complex and long term vengeance plan to enact.

With that, Regulus composes himself. He straightens his clothes and fixes his hair. Even his
breathing. When he’s ready, he leaves the room towards the potions lab where he spends the next
few hours mixing lavender with asphodel petals and valerian roots for his dreamless sleeping
draught.

After a dinner he avoided—instead going directly to the kitchens to ask the elves for some food—
he catches up with Pandora. Because now that he has spent some time immersed in potion making,
he feels less rattled and much more level headed. Besides, Pandora would never forgive him if he
didn’t find her tonight.

He should have looked for her after dinner yesterday, but he’s seen her chatting to some Gryffindor
girls and he’d just decided he couldn’t be arsed. Not tonight, though. Tonight he needs the
distraction. Pandora is great at those, because she’s always got something or other to talk about.

He finds her at the bottom of the staircase, having just walked out of the Great Hall.

She’s delighted to see him, and let’s him know by squeaking loudly and throwing her hands up in
the air. Regulus rolls his eyes but gives her a small nod. Together, they head away from the tumult
of dinner-leavers and towards a less crowded corridor.

“I had a dream last night,” is the first thing she says to him, and Regulus’ every muscle tenses.
Pandora’s dreams terrify him.

“Do I want to know?”

She collects all of her blond hair over one shoulder and gives him a little shrug. “You don’t. But
you need to,” she says calmly, blue eyes twinkling with wisdom well beyond her sixteen years.
She’s always been this way. An old, eccentric soul in a young body.

Regulus sighs and nods. He knows not to fight this. Pandora is inevitable.

She looks him in the eye, solemn. “You’re in a cave. It’s dark, and wet, and cold, and you’re afraid.
You’re very afraid.”

Regulus scoffs. “Thanks.”

Pandora gives him A Look and he relents, allowing her to finish. “Reg. It was a bad dream,” her
voice wavers and Regulus feels irrationally guilty, even though it’s not his fault that his dream self
did something to upset Pandora.

“What do you mean?”

She takes a fortifying breath. “Well. When things get really rough… You give up.”

“Huh?”

Pandora moves as if to touch him, then thinks better of it. “You give up. In the dream I had, you
just… accept the end and don’t try to fight it. It was heartbreaking, Reg. It wasn’t right.” She wipes
a tear from her cheek that has Regulus reeling, but before he can voice his confusion, Pandora
squares her shoulders and says, “But you can’t give up, Reg. You can’t. I won’t let you.”

“Pan, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She closes her eyes, rubs her temples. “I woke myself up and went back to sleep so I could have
the dream again. And I asked it, how does he not give up? And I saw it, Reg. I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“The cave. You. Giving up. And then… ah, it was glorious Reg. So I need you to promise me.
Swear to me that when you feel like you can’t keep going, you’ll think of the sun. Because in my
dreams, if you think of the sun, you find the strength to keep going. And I need you to always keep
going. No matter what.”

Regulus is baffled, because he’s so much more of a night person. He’d think the stars would be
more inspiring. He doesn’t dislike the sun, he’s not a monster, but… it’s just not that special, is it?
Except Regulus knows better than to dismiss Pandora’s dreams and warnings. She sees everything,
even if half the time they don’t know what it is she is seeing.

With a sigh, Regulus admits defeat and asks. “What do you think it means?”

“No,” Pandora says vehemently. “Promise me.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Sure. Yes, Pan. I promise I’ll think of the sun. But what is the sun? Is it
literal?”

She relaxes, twirls a finger in a blond lock of hair. “I don’t think it’s literal, no. I think it means that
when you think all hope is lost, you need to look for the bright side. The reason you’re doing what
you’re doing. The cave is just you and your feelings because you repress them and act like they
don’t exist.”
Regulus wants to argue, but she doesn’t let him.

“The sun represents something, too, but I’m not sure what yet. Something that makes you happy.
That makes you acknowledge those feelings.”

Ah. So it’s about emotions.

He’s about had enough of those for a day, what with his run in with Potter earlier and everything.
Regulus has to swallow the retort that wants to escape him, because Pandora is too pure for his
vitriol and she genuinely thinks this will help.

Regulus doesn’t know how to tell her that he couldn’t care less about her fluffy, emotion related
dreams. He was hoping for something that would shed light on his revenge plans. Something about
the war, perhaps. About whether he’s got a chance at success. At survival.

Still, he knows better than to dismiss her completely, so he files this information in his brain. He
doubts it will ever happen, but if he’s ever in a dark cave, he’ll remember to think of the sun.

“I can’t think of anything,” he says instead, because she’s still waiting. “Could be literal sun. I do
like it, I suppose.”

“I’ve told you before. None of my dreams are literal,” Pandora insists. “Don’t worry, we’ll find
your sun. Oh, that reminds me, today when I was outside I ran into Marlene McKinnon, lovely girl
that one,” at this, Regulus has to snort. McKinnon isn’t lovely. She’s unhinged. Regulus knows her
because she’s a beater for Gryffindor. She flies like she’s escaping an angry banshee. “And she
invited me to this party at the edge of the Forbidden Forest on Friday. We should go. Dorcas wants
to go.”

Regulus can’t think of anything he’d like less than to crash a Gryffindor party and he’s about to tell
Pandora when she adds, “I hear they’ve smuggled firewhisky. I think it’ll be quite exciting.”

He wrinkles his nose. Pulls at a curl at the back of his hair. Drunk people at the edge of the
forbidden forest sounds like a recipe for disaster. Alcohol is a fantastic excuse for people to do shit
they shouldn’t be doing. A lot of things can happen in the dark.

Hmmm. A little clog goes ping in his brain.

He’s… well. It’s his last year of this. He’s sixteen now. Old enough to join the cause. He won’t be
coming back to Hogwarts a seventh time, which he’s accepted. It’s necessary if he’s to get
everything he wants.

Vengeance requires sacrifice. This, Regulus knows well.

And there is no line too holy to cross. Not in pursuit of revenge.

But he’s still just a teenager. For the last few months of his life he’s… just a student in a school
surrounded by other students. The outside world and all its ugliness seeps in through the cracks, but
it doesn’t encroach yet. That won’t happen until Easter.

Selfishly, Regulus wants to know what it’s like. He wants a few memories. Moments he can just
think back on when the going gets tough. He has never been and will never be a normal kid, but he
feels entitled to some level of… teenage antics. Isn’t he?

Perhaps this is what Pandora’s dream meant. That he needs something… if not fun, then at least
entertaining. Something a normal kid would do. It can’t hurt, can it?
“Reg?” Pandora asks. He barely notices, thinking hard as he is about all the reasons he, against his
better judgement, perhaps should just agree.

Surely, Regulus ought to know what a party feels like. He’s never even been drunk before. He
should know, he reasons. Because knowledge is power.

There’s a good chance he won’t survive what’s coming. Regulus doesn’t want to die without
having been tipsy. Or kissed someone. Ideally, he’d also like to have sex. Just the once. So he
doesn’t wonder anymore.

Regulus wants to know.

Pandora takes his silence for reluctance, and says, “Reg, please. Dorcas and I really wanna go and
Barty and Evan will never agree if you say no. Please.”

She pouts at him and it’s so easy for Regulus to pretend this is about his friends. He’ll do it for
them, not for himself. This is what he holds on to as he nods.

“Fine,” he says, sounding bored.

Pandora beams so widely her eyes wrinkle, almost swallowed by her cheeks. It’s kind of adorable,
and Regulus almost smiles. Almost.

They find an empty alcove and sit down together. Catching up with Pandora is always nice, even
though she’s the only person Regulus bothers to write to when they’re not in school. She knows he
can’t write everything in his letters, because his mother reads his mail, so she always shows up
with a list of questions.

They’re discussing whether it’s healthy for Regulus to have developed a dependency on the
sleeping draught—Pandora argues dependency on anything is bad, no matter what, while Regulus
insists that chronic insomnia is worse as evidenced by the poor state of his physical health towards
the end of their previous year—when four people turn the corner and come strolling down the
corridor in their direction.

Regulus recognises the voice that’s speaking immediately. He’d know it anywhere. No matter
what.

“I told him to go fuck himself, obviously,” Sirius is saying, sounding rather angry. “The audacity. I
mean… am I not… is there any doubt left?”

“Absolutely not. None,” says James immediately. No hesitation.

Regulus has to resist the urge to look over his shoulder. As they’re sitting, the alcove obscures him
and Pandora from view enough that Sirius and his friends won’t see them until they’re upon them.

Regulus thinks it’s Pettigrew who speaks next. “It could have been a test. Maybe you hate your
parents but not the cause. Who knows.”

Sirius scoffs. “Well, now they know. They fucking know.”

Regulus frowns, concern churning in his stomach. If he’s understanding this right, some idiot tried
to… no. No one would be stupid enough. They wouldn’t. Oh, Salazar help him if they are…
Regulus is going to hurt someone very badly. They know they can’t even whisper about it at
Hogwarts unless they’re certain the person they’re speaking to is in on it.
“Did he give you any details?” James again.

“No. I should have played along, shouldn’t I? To try and get some information,” Sirius groans.
“I’m an idiot. I got angry too quickly.”

Lupin’s voice is so soft Regulus has to strain to hear it. “You’re not an idiot, Sirius.”

Regulus does peer over his shoulder now. They’re closer anyway, and they will see him and
Pandora soon enough. And he’s curious, because something in the way Lupin spoke to his brother
is so… different to how Pettigrew and James did that Regulus couldn’t not notice.

Regulus wonders. So he looks.

Sirius’ hands are in his pockets, and he’s hunched over like he’s throwing a tantrum but Regulus
can see from his vantage point that his lips are curled up. Lupin is watching Sirius with a sort of
tender concern that Regulus doesn’t understand but makes him sort of want to curl into a ball and
weep. It’s disturbing.

Pettigrew is unbothered, simply walking next to his friends.

James is also looking at Sirius. At least until Regulus’ eyes drift over to him. As though he can
sense it, James looks up and their gazes lock.

Absolutely fucking not.

Regulus recoils into the alcove so hard he knocks his head on the wall, but he doesn’t even flinch.
The pain is welcome. It helps him keep a grip on the absolutely ridiculous reaction he’s just had
over accidentally making eye contact with James. With Potter.

“Hello,” Pandora says pleasantly when they walk into range.

Regulus’ heart is hammering his ribs with such passion he’s sure they’ll bruise.

He wants them to keep going, to pass them by without further ado. He doesn’t get his wish. Sirius
looks up at Pandora and nods—everyone is nice to Pandora—but his expression freezes when he
finds Regulus.

“You,” he says. There’s no stubble on his chin, which is new. He was attempting to grow a beard
last time he saw his brother.

“So eloquent,” Regulus replies.

Sirius takes a step forward. Potter puts a hand on his shoulder and it’s that small gesture more than
any mental berating that truly helps Regulus get out of his hormone-induced brain-fog and place
him firmly in the ‘stay away from’ category. James Potter doesn’t know how to be anywhere other
than on Sirius Black’s side.

“Was it your idea?” Sirius says. “Did you think it’d be funny?”

Lupin steps up to Sirius, too. “Sirius… I don’t think—”

“Selwyn is your friend,” he says, ignoring Lupin completely.

Regulus should know better than to engage. Sirius is obviously upset about something and looking
for a fight. He should know better. He doesn’t.
“Selwyn is a cretin,” Regulus responds.

Sirius smirks. “Same thing.”

Regulus tilts his head to the side, lets his eyes trail over his brother’s body. Sirius looks good.
Healthy. Strong. It’s clear the Potters treat him well. Regulus wants to hit him. He wants him to
hurt. But he knows better than to act on impulses. That gets him nowhere. He’s not like Sirius,
which is why he’ll succeed everywhere Sirius failed.

“How witty,” Regulus says dryly.

Regulus leans back, turns to face Pandora. As expected, it infuriates Sirius to no end that he’s not
paying him attention anymore. He surges forward, catching everyone by surprise. James included.
He’s a beat too slow and so doesn’t manage to stop Sirius from grabbing Regulus’ robes and
pulling him up to his feet.

“He’s in your dorm. Selwyn. Did you put him up to it? Huh? Did you!?”

Suddenly, Regulus is eye-to-eye with his brother, which seems to disorient Sirius. It’s satisfying,
and Regulus smiles then. A cold, sharp thing. “Careful, brother. I’m not so little anymore.”

Sirius rallies, because that’s what he does. He’d rather go down than admit to having
miscalculated. “If any of your friends ever come near me again with their blood purist bullshit, I
will kill them.”

“How very primitive,” Regulus says, still calm despite the fact that his brother has him by his
collar. “But then again, that’s you Gryffindors, isn’t it? Righteous violence in the name of
bravery.”

He looks down briefly to Sirius’ white-knuckled hands. It works. Sirius releases him like he’s been
burnt, sending Regulus staggering back a step. Regulus simply looks at him, scrunching his nose in
disgust.

“Better that than to be a spineless little shit,” he snarls, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He’s grown
it longer. Their mother would have a fit if she saw him now.

“Is this the part where you call me a snake hoping to offend me?” Regulus glances at his hand,
where one of his rings has twisted a little. He readjusts it.

“No, Reg,” Sirius says, taking a step back to rejoin his friends who’ve watched the whole exchange
while shifting their weight from one foot to the other. Probably waiting for the moment they need
to intervene. “This is the part where I tell you I’m not playing games anymore. If any of you come
near me or those I care about again, I’ll make you regret it.”

“Now, I’m terrified,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. Truth be told, he’s curious. Sirius was itching
for a fight, but he barely gave in to the urge. Regulus isn’t sure what this means.

“You should be,” Sirius replies. “Don’t forget I grew up in the same house you did. Whatever
they’ve taught you, I learnt first.”

Sirius turns and makes a head gesture that his little posey understands as ‘we’re going’ because
they all start walking without another word. Pandora is fussing over him, asking him if he’s okay,
but Regulus’ eyes are glued to the back of his brother’s head.

Something’s changed. Sirius has never been so… mature. So dangerous. Fuck, that’s it, isn’t it?
 It’s as though Sirius has realised he’s not a kid anymore. But why? Up until last year, he was
planning stupid pranks with his lot, causing a ruckus every bloody where they went. He lived for
the attention and the attention only. So why now?

There’s a rustle behind him, then a gentle hand on his arm, so light it could be a feather. “Reg, say
something,” Pandora urges.

“I’m fine,” he says, tearing his eyes away from the head of black waves that’s his older brother
only to find that James has looked over his shoulder before turning the corner.

The eye contact still makes him want to keel over, but he’ll be damned if he lets it show.

Chapter End Notes

I just wanted to say that my favourite thing about these two is the difference between
how they're perceived by the other and their inner thoughts.

James: Regulus is just so unbothered.

Regulus: asjfldsjfhlsdjhguailufhdli`usdhf James was shirtless someone help me

ahsidajshlifucahiludhsihuads

They're so precious. I love them.

 Crush
Chapter Notes

Hello!

This chapter a lil' bit shorter, but that's because next one is nice and long (the party!).
There's some Wolfstar here, too!

TWs

Homophobia
Fire and burns (there's an accident, and something catches on fire)
Insomnia and Reg's dependency on the draught
Lots of swearing
Reference to abusive household and childhood (Walburga is a bad mother)

I hope you enjoy!

James is in trouble.

Normally, he would go to Sirius with his woes, except his woes are currently lean, green eyed and
spiteful. He cannot go to Sirius about the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s developing a crush on his
little brother. Sirius would lose his shit, understandably.

But how is he supposed to not?

Regulus is so… he’s just… he’s so… Regulus. Mean. Arrogant. Unbothered. He didn’t even flinch
when Sirius shoved him against a wall! Who does that? Who keeps their composure when they’re
about to be pummelled by their older brother? It’s just not… it’s intriguing, is what it is.

Just how calm and collected and lovely Regulus is. He wears rings, which like, fine, he guesses,
until Regulus decides to play with them. This, James thinks, should be forbidden. It’s just. James’
brain is broken. Like he can’t process all the ways Regulus is beautiful at once, because there are
too many.

James is in trouble and he can’t go to Sirius about it. This has never happened before. It’s
disconcerting, disorienting. He feels lost. Adrift in the middle of the ocean with no flotation device.

But he cannot bother Sirius with this. Not yet, anyway. He will if it gets critical, but James is
hopeful that he can still save himself.

So, instead of going to Sirius, James does the next best thing which is finding Moony. Remus is
doing well, because the full moon was right before the start of school so he’s on the way up now
and doesn’t have to worry about it for another three or so weeks. James has also stolen a bar of
chocolate from Peter’s trunk, which he fully intends to replace, to help smooth things over with
Remus if needed. By this, James means bribe. He's not above bribing his friend for help.

Remus is in the library with Lily Evans. James doesn’t mind this, because girls are much wiser
than boys and she might take pity on him and share some advice. He just has to be careful so that
they don’t figure out who the object of his… eh… problems is (because he cannot and will not
think of the word desire anywhere near the idea of Regulus lest he passes out).

“Remus,” he says cheerfully. “Evans.”

They both shush him immediately, which only makes him grin as he drops himself into a chair
across from them. “I need your help.”

Remus and Lily look up. Remus narrows his eyes and asks, “our help?”

James nods, trying for his most angelic face. “I need advice. About… well. I have a crush.”

Lily’s eyes - very pretty, very green - almost fall out of their sockets. “I beg your pardon?”

“No need to beg, Evans,” James jokes, smiling. “I have a crush and I don’t know how to get rid of
it. I was hoping you could help.”

“Lily,” she says. The silence that follows is heavy, like something momentous just happened. She
shrugs. “I mean, we’ve been in school together for seven years. You can call me Lily.”

James blinks, surprised. Remus also glances at Lily, but she seems unfazed.

“Are you sure?” James asks.

Lily rolls her eyes. “Of course I’m sure.”

Remus nudges her shoulder with his. A playful smile on his lips that James finds confusing, but
will allow because whilst things improved considerably between himself and Lily during last year,
he never thought they’d get here. Not after he spent all of fifth year trying to get her to go out with
him by doing increasingly stupid and embarrassing shit.

“That’s… nice. Lily,” James says. “Obviously, you should only refer to me as Your Highness from
now on…”

Lily giggles. She giggles. James is equal parts delighted and confused. Remus clears his throat
and stands up. “I think Lily is more than capable of imparting some romantic advice, James, so I’ll
leave you to it. I need to return my books to the dorm before Prefect patrol and I’m running late.”

James wants to argue. He needs Remus. As in, he’s sure Lily gives beautiful advice but he’s just
not as comfortable with her. But Remus is already retreating and he doesn’t want to offend Lily
when she’s just been so nice to him. So he stays.

“You said you have a crush?” Lily asks him gently. James nods. “And you want to get rid of it?”

James sighs. “This person doesn’t like me back, so I’d like this… feeling to go away.”

“How do you know they don’t like you back? Have you told them?”

“No. I can’t tell them. Trust me, Lily, that’s not an option. But I’m positive that they do not like
me back. Not even a little bit,” James says cheerfully, even though voicing this doesn’t feel so
good. “It’s okay. It’s just a crush, and I caught it early. I just want it to go away so I can find the
love of my life.”

Lily is blushing for some reason. Perhaps she’s a romantic. It suits her, James thinks. Lily seems
like the kind of girl to believe in love. He likes this.
She studies him for a moment, then says, “well you’ve got two options. You can either date
someone else, or you try to wait it out and maybe speed the process of getting over it along by
focusing on all the bad things about this person.”

James opens his mouth, but Lily cuts him. “They have bad things. Don’t even. Everyone has flaws.
No one is perfect, nor should they be in order to be worthy of love. Just find what they are and try
to make a big deal of them in your head. Hopefully, it’ll put you off.”

“That’s your recommendation? Not dating someone else?”

Lily shrugs. “It would be unfair to that other person. Unless you told them you’re dating them only
to get over a crush, but I doubt many people would agree to that.”

James nods along. She makes so much sense. “Yeah. I don’t want to do that. Okay, so I’ll focus on
the annoying bits? Yeah? The bad. Like… I mean, the main reason I have a crush is that he’s
gorgeous. Personality-wise I’m not sure there’s anything salvageable. So. Yeah.”

Lily’s sitting very still, big, green eyes attentive. She gives him a small smile. “If you can avoid
them, it should be easy. If the crush is purely physical attraction. You’ll be fine, Your Highness.”

James laughs out loud. Full on chortles. It’s so unexpected, but it feels so good. Lily giggles too.
Unfortunately, this catches the attention of Mrs. Pince, who kicks them both out of the library.
James carries Lily’s books for her because his mother raised a gentleman and they walk back to
Gryffindor Tower together.

“I’m sorry I got you kicked out of the library,” he says after a short, comfortable silence.

“It was my first time,” Lily says, grinning. “Could have been worse. A detention.”

James makes an outraged noise, exaggerating it when Lily giggles again. “Don’t tell me you’ve
gone through six years of Hogwarts and never had a detention.”

Lily simply shrugs. “I’m smart enough not to get caught.”

Oh, she’s cheeky. He likes it. He likes it a lot. He’s been sleeping on Lily Evans as a friend. He
wishes he could go back and tell his fifteen year old self to stop being a twat and trying to woo her
with ridiculous schemes. He should have simply tried being her friend.

“Don’t tempt me,” he says. “We’ve sworn to let go of our old habits this year, but I might have to
pull a prank just to rope you into a detention with me. You know, so you get the full Hogwarts
experience.”

Lily purses her lips like she’s considering, but before she can reply two Prefects turn the corner and
begin walking towards them down the corridor. A pair of eyes so familiar and yet completely alien
to him snag on the books he’s cradling against his chest before meeting his. James’ breath catches
because Regulus is still beautiful. This is fact and nothing James can do will ever change it.

Next to him, a soft noise of distress escapes Lily and it’s enough for him to tear his gaze away from
Regulus and notice that the person walking with him is none other than Snivellius. Honestly.

It hasn’t escaped any of the seventh year Gryffindor’s notices that Lily cut ties with Snivellius
sometime in their sixth year for good. Things had started to go south towards the end of their fifth,
but the true severance of Severus Snape happened last year. Since then, Lily avoids him like the
plague.
Except they’re in a long corridor with no option but to walk past them or turn around and retreat.
This would be humiliating, so James resolutely decides that he won’t allow Lily to run. Lily Evans
doesn’t fucking run. Not on his watch.

“Play along,” James mutters under his breath a second before he shifts the weight of the books
onto his left arm so he can put his right over Lily’s shoulders.

She leans into him comfortably, like they’ve been doing this for years. They keep walking like this,
not caring it’s kind of obvious they’re putting on a bit of a show. Snivellius is so tense there’s a
vein pulsing on his forehead. He’s clenching his jaw so hard James half expects to hear a tooth
crack as they get closer to passing each other in the hallway.

He tries. He really tries very hard not to look at Regulus because he’s supposed to be getting over
his inconvenient bout of horniness where he’s concerned. But James has never had good impulse
control. It’s something he has in common with Sirius, which has led them astray on many
memorable occasions.

So he looks. Of course he looks. Regulus is right there. And he’s scowling which, for some
inexplicable reason, James likes. If he could, he’d press his finger against the wrinkles between his
brows. He’d smooth the frown over with the gentle pads of his fingers and…

Regulus lifts his eyebrows when he catches him looking, a mocking grin flitting across his lips.
Fuck. Regulus’ mouth is most definitely not where he should be focusing. Except… Regulus is
looking back, isn’t he? James almost trips over his feet. They’re within touching distance now, and
he’s… well. Regulus caught him staring but he hasn’t said anything. He’s just… allowing it.

Why?

They pass each other and just like that Regulus is out of James’ field of vision. Lily’s still against
his side—he’d momentarily forgotten about her—and the steps of the two boys are receding.

“Thanks,” Lily mutters, delicately extricating herself from under James’ arm.

He smiles at her, and hopes to Godric that she’s shaken enough about her run in with Snivellius to
notice how fake it is. “Anytime.”

They don’t really say another word until they reach the common room and mutter goodbyes.

####

Regulus’ dorm is too crowded for a Thursday evening. He doesn’t enjoy it, but he understands his
friends do, so he endures it. Personally, he prefers smaller groups. One to one interactions are less
overwhelming for him—Barty and Evan count as one person to him, so he accepts them together—
but he can’t always get his way. Tragic, he knows. But it’s the way of the world and Regulus has
more important things to worry about.

He’s also in a fairly bad mood. He’s been morose for two days, and while he can’t quite put a
finger on why this is, he’s allowing it to pull him down into a place of quiet. He speaks only when
necessary, and spends the rest of the time in his mind. Planning. Thinking. Plotting. Scheming.
Vengeance is hard work.
So. All of that is to say that he’s allowing his friends to invade his space with the suffering air of a
grandmother overwhelmed by her visiting grandchildren because they’ve caught onto the fact that
something’s off and they’ve refused to give him yet another evening of peace and quiet.

Regulus would much rather be sulking, but alas. Company is being forced upon him.

He’s on his bed, legs crossed. Pandora’s perched at the end, looking entirely at home in the
Slytherin boys dorm. Dorcas is sprawled over Evan’s bed, munching on a chocolate frog, because
Evan is star fishing on Barty’s. He’s on the floor, his back against his bedframe. Evan’s hand
brushes the top of Barty’s hair every so often. Neither boy seems to notice. Or they do, and simply
don’t want to acknowledge it.

Regulus has no idea where Edward Selwyn is, which is a good thing because he still wants to
strangle him for being so idiotic as to try and recruit Sirius ‘I’m obsessed with my hair’ Black to
the Dark Lord’s side.

Honestly. Regulus could kill him. He might.

He suspects Selwyn knows this because he’s been avoiding Regulus at all costs.

Barty and Evan are arguing whether it’s true that muggles put small people inside boxes and make
them perform stage plays for their entertainment. Regulus knows this isn’t how a television works
but his friends’ heated discussion is too entertaining. Besides, he’s pretty certain Barty’s brain will
explode if he attempts to explain the concept of electricity to him.

“I think you’re wrong,” says Pandora all of a sudden. “Everyone knows tiny people don’t exist.”

This statement is met with stunned silence. By now, everyone knows better than to jump to hasty
conclusions where Pandora is concerned. Her brain works in mysterious ways, and they need time.
So, everyone simply waits.

“What if what they’re putting inside these boxes are a race of faeries? Obviously, it can’t be pixies
because they’re too unpredictable to expect them to perform an entire play, but there is a race of
small sprites that are gentle, and generally amenable to pretty much anything if you give them
sugar,” Pandora explains.

Barty and Evan consider this, nodding along with solemn expressions. “Well, that would make
sense.”

“Muggles don’t know fairies exist,” Dorcas tells them from the bed. “Sorry, Pandora, it’s a good
theory but the Secrecy Statute renders it unlikely.”

Pandora pouts. “Well, this is why the Secrecy Statute should be abolished!”

Regulus takes a deep breath. When Pandora gets going about this topic, there’s no stopping her.
She’s very passionate about muggles being allowed to know the magical world exists. Regulus
disagrees with her—not because he has anything against muggles. He doesn’t. He thinks they’re
quite ingenious. But because he understands how it feels to want something you can’t have.
Something someone else flaunts, misuses, doesn’t appreciate while you’d kill for it.

If Muggles discovered magic they’d want it for themselves. It’d be a bloodbath.

He doesn’t voice these thoughts, though. Pandora is ranting, and everyone else is nodding along
like they’ve done a million times before. At some point, Pandora gets up on Regulus’ bed and
emphasises her points with vehement hand gestures. Evan gently nudges a pillow towards her,
because she’s toppled off the bed on more than one occasion and it’s nice to have something to
cushion the crash.

Dorcas rolls on her stomach and puts her chin in her hands, staring up at Pandora with a tender
smile. Regulus wonders for a fleeting moment whether Dorcas’ ever had a crush on Pandora, then
dismisses the idea. Just because Dorcas likes girls doesn’t mean she goes around crushing on every
female presenting person, much like he’s never seen Evan that way.

Regulus will never admit out loud that he nursed a secret, painful crush on Barty most of their
fourth year. It was around the time James started to make an ass of himself trying to get Lily Evans
to go out with him, and Regulus finally admitted to himself that the candle he was begrudgingly
and against his will holding for James was never going to catch on fire. That year, Barty had a
growth spurt that sucked the baby fat right out of him, leaving him with cheekbones sharp enough
to cut. And Regulus discovered that he wouldn’t have minded bleeding a little for his friend. Or
with him.

But by then things had started to go south with Sirius at home. It was getting out of hand, Sirius
was acting out in every possible way—at school, too—and Regulus didn’t have bandwidth to even
consider exploring whether Barty might like him. He just didn’t have space to deal with his friend
turning him down or worse, mocking him for liking boys. So he never told.

Fortunately for him, he grew out of it completely. But it happened, and Regulus knows it
happened, and it makes him kind of embarrassed even though there isn’t another soul alive who
knows.

“I think Muggles would go insane with fear if they knew the sort of stuff that’s out there,” says
Evan. “Like, have you ever seen a dragon?”

Barty turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. “Have you?”

Evans sits up straight, trying to look cool. “Well, yes. This summer. We went to Romania on a trip
and we saw some. They’re terrifying.” Evan shudders. “I think it’s best muggles have no idea.”

“Yeah. I can’t see the idea of a basilisk landing well with them,” Dorcas adds, sounding mildly
amused.

Barty twists his body so he’s fully facing Evan. “I want to know more about this dragon situation.
What were they like?”

“Mean,” Evan says.

“So, like Reg?” Barty replies.

Regulus rolls his eyes at them when all eyes fall on him. “Hilarious.”

“No, but, I mean, kinda? It’s like they were pissed off we were there, watching them,” Evan
explains. “The carers have to wear all sort of protective gear and even then, more often than not
they get burnt. But the dragons will also get irritated if like, they don’t get food on time. Or if
they’re not exercised properly. So they want the carers, but they’re also aggressive towards them?
It’s strange, and terrifying. Dragons are mean. Trust.”

“What I’m hearing,” Barty says solemnly. “Is that we share a room with a dragon.”

Dorcas snorts, the traitor. Pandora sits back down and says nothing, but she’s smiling a little bit.
“You too?” Regulus asks her, feigning hurt.

They’re interrupted by Selwyn walking into the dorm. He casts a look around and makes a face
like he’s smelled something rotten. Regulus meets his eyes, daring him without words to say
anything. Despite all evidence to the contrary, it appears Selwyn isn’t a complete idiot and so he
chooses the sit down on his bed and draw the curtains around him without a word. But he’s killed
the mood so Pandora gets up to leave.

Dorcas offers to walk her and after a quick round of goodbyes, both girls leave the dorms. Regulus
gets ready for bed, listening to Barty and Evan resume their television debate in more moderate
whispers. He doesn’t take his sleeping draught, but leaves a vial on his bedside table for later. No
one notices. When they turn the lights out, Regulus lies on top of his covers with his curtains
drown until he can hear three distinct sets of snores.

Slipping out of his dorm without notice is so easy it bores him. He wishes it was harder, more of a
challenge. No matter. He does down the stairs quietly, wand in one hand, broom in the other, then
flies himself up the stairs to the girls’ dorms. He’s been to Dorcas’ room before, so he has no
trouble finding it.

He would have done this sooner, but the potion and charm combination he was working on took
some time. It’s quite inane as far as payback goes, but Regulus can’t take more drastic measures
yet. It’s too early in the year and he doesn’t want to be expelled. It’s annoying enough that he’ll
never officially get N.E.W.T.S—even though Regulus is certain he could take them now and pass
them all—so he’s not about to be the guy who got kicked out of Hogwarts. No matter how much
he wants to really hurt these girls.

Once inside the dorm, he rests his broom against the wall and moves with the stealth of a shadow.
As he expected, Dorcas isn’t here. Her offer to walk Pandora to Ravenclaw Tower wasn’t entirely
altruistic. Regulus approaches each bed and carefully drops a vial of potion over the hairline of
each sleeping girl. He waves his wand immediately after, whispering the charms as quietly as
possible. One of them mutters something in her sleep, but none of them wake up.

As silently as he came, Regulus escapes the room flying down the stairs to wait for Dorcas in the
common room. He sinks into the sofa and lets his mind drift. It goes to strange places. The rooftop
in his summer house—he really misses cigarettes—or the meals Kreacher made for him. He thinks
about Quidditch, because the first game of the season will come around quickly, and it’ll be
against Gryffindor. Regulus hates playing Gryffindor because his brother is on the team, and so is
James. Watching James Potter fly is distracting.

His brain takes this line of thought as an opportunity to remind him of a shirtless James in the
changing room. Regulus can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, but he’s alone and it’s dark, so he
allows it. He hates that James can make him feel this way. Hates himself for this weakness. It’d be
so much easier to hate James and nothing else.

For a brief moment, Regulus’ mind wants to think about Sirius but Regulus shuts it down
viciously. He doesn’t go there. Ever.

He’s about to give up and climb the stairs to his room to down his sleeping potion when the
common room door opens and Dorcas steps inside. She startles when she finds him, then goes to sit
next to him on the sofa.

“Were you waiting for me?” She asks him quietly.

Regulus nods. Dorcas smiles.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’ll be fine. They should be asleep now.”

“They are,” Regulus says.

Dorcas gets up and heads towards the stairs. “Good night, Reg.”

He doesn’t move until she’s out of view. He’ll never admit it out loud to anyone, but if Dorcas had
asked to sleep in his bed he would have said yes. Because Regulus knows what it’s like to try to
rest in a place that doesn’t make you feel safe. It’s why he needs the draughts. It’s why he’ll make
sure Dorcas knows she’s safe with him every day for the rest of the year.

####

James suspects this is one of those ideas that seem brilliant upon conception but turn out to be quite
catastrophic during execution. The evidence is orange, bright, and incredibly hot. Which is a fancy
way of saying that their dorm is on fire.

Most specifically, Remus’ bed is burning.

Remus is going to kill him.

Peter is repeatedly casting an aguamenti charm, but it’s not really helping. Sirius is in the bathroom
frantically wetting towels because he read in a muggle magazine that’s how you put out a fire.
James is regretting his life choices.

“Moony is going to murder us,” he says weakly, pushing open the window before they all die from
smoke inhalation. “Brutally. Mercilessly. He’ll use our blood to put out the fire.”

Peter makes a noise like he’s about to start crying, but continues dutifully sending little squirts of
water over the flames engulfing Remus’ bed. “How did this even happen?” He repeats under his
breath.

“Prongs! A hand? There’s water everywhere!”

James darts into the bathroom to help Sirius. Somehow, he’s caused a minor flood but in the grand
scheme of things, this is the smaller of their problems. Sirius is absolutely drenched, the shirt of his
uniform clinging to his body like a second skin. He thrusts a set of heavy towels towards James,
who hoists them up without complaint. They’re heavier than he expected, but James will lift a
marble statue right now if it’ll help him put out the fire before it spreads. The water seeps through
his clothes, too. Together, they carry out soaking wet towels into their dorm.

“We have to smother it,” Sirius says. “Drown it! Throw the towels over it!”

“This is a disaster!” Peter yells.

“Firefighting first, crying second,” Sirius insists. “The towels over the fire. Come on!”

They attempt to manoeuvre them and get them close to the flames, but it’s futile. Sirius tries to
levitate one, but he’s freaking out too hard and his aim is off. The fire’s climbing the canopy over
Remus’ bed now. If they don’t move quickly, it’ll reach the overhead and then they’ll be really
screwed.
The only way this will work is if someone climbs on the bed and puts the towels from there.
Which means someone’s gonna get hurt before the fire is out. It has to be James, since this was his
idea. He was the one who though enhancing a game of exploding snap with an amplification charm
would make it that much more exciting. And also there’s no way in hell he’s going to stand here
and watch either of his friends get burnt.

“Step back. I’ll do it,” James volunteers.

“Together,” Sirius says dutifully, setting his shoulders back.

James cannot, in good conscience, risk Sirius’ hair catching on fire. His friend will survive literal
torture—this is fact, it has happened—but not the loss of his hair. Besides, selfishly James knows
it’ll hurt him more to watch Sirius get burnt than to burn himself. So.

“Hair’s too long. It’ll burn. You pass me the towels,” James says. “Don’t argue. We’re out of
time.”

And so James climbs on the burning bed and begins lying down wet towels over the flames as
quickly as he possibly can. Surprisingly this works. The fire starts dying out. Unsurprisingly, James
gets burnt in the process because the entire bed and frame and curtains are on fire and he can only
move so quickly. His hands and ankles mostly, a little bit around his chins.

“Peter, the curtain! Save Prongs’ hair!” Sirius yells, wildly gesturing to a curtain that’s still burning
dangerously close to James’ head. “With me!”

“AGUAMENTI!” Both his friends shout at the same time, water raining over James like a tropical
storm. The rest of the flames sputter out and he collapses over the towels, feeling frankly
exhausted.

His hands being to throb, which is alarming. Then, the pain kicks in and James groans.

Sirius is at his side in an instant. “How bad is it?”

James shifts to show his hands, which are violently red and tight and starting to blister. Peter makes
a sound of distress from the back of his throat, like the sight might make him keel over. “It’s not as
—"

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

The door slams against the wall as Remus steps inside, nostrils flaring with anger. His eyes roam
the room, taking in the normal, disorganised chaos. He skips over Peter, then zooms in on James
and Sirius.

Sirius springs to his feet and stares at Remus earnestly. “Thank Merlin you’re here, Moony.
Prongs’ gonna lose his hands!”

The fight seems to leave Remus all at once. Like, quite literally one moment he looks ready for
murder, the next he’s blinking like he doesn’t even know where he is. James is in excruciating
pain, but not so much that he doesn’t notice part of the reason Remus is so out of sorts so suddenly
is that Sirius is still wet, his shirt is still clinging to his body, and he’s making puppy eyes at him.

“Moony!” Sirius insists, gesturing towards James. “Help Prongs!”

With some difficulty, Remus drags his eyes away from Sirius and towards James. And as abruptly
as he was disarmed, he pulls himself together. “I swear to Godric Gryffindor and every wizard
before him that you are the dumbest motherfucker to ever live, James Potter! How the fuck did this
happen?”

He’s swearing up a storm, but he’s also moving, wand in hand. He kneels by James to examine his
hands, still ranting about how they’re going to kill themselves one day and he’ll finally know
peace, even if it’s for the single minute he’ll endure their loss before he joins them voluntarily.

None of them bat an eye at this, because it’s not the first time Remus cusses them out while
cleaning up the mess they’ve made. For them, it’s a regular Thursday.

“These are too bad, and I’m not good with bloody burns,” Remus says, frustrated. He stands up.
“Come on. We’re going to see Poppy.”

“What are we going to tell her?” Peter asks. “We can’t tell her we set Remus’ bed on fire.”

James groans, because he’s in pain and tired and also, he set Remus’ bed on fire.

Sirius is already shrugging off his wet shirt and fishing for a new one. Remus’ eyes glue
themselves to Sirius’ back the entire time it is exposed. James wonders if he’s aware. If Remus
knows that he gravitates towards Sirius like a moth to a flame. If he has realised what it means.

James is one hundred percent certain that Sirius doesn’t know how he feels. If anything’s ever
going to happen between them, it’s going to have to be Remus who starts it. Because Sirius is the
most oblivious, distracted idiot in the entire school.

“Come on, Prongs’ hurting and it’s making me anxious,” he says, giving up on shirts altogether
and casually stealing one of Remus’ jumpers. It’s a little big on him, but not ridiculously. Sirius is,
after all, still beater for the Gryffindor team and one doesn’t bat bludgers for hours on end to not
develop some shoulder muscles.

“I didn’t hear you ask for permission to take that.” Remus asks, eyebrow raised. He seems to regain
his wits as soon as Sirius is properly clothed, which is information James is filing under ‘how to
distract Moony’. For emergencies.

“Were you going to say no?” Sirius asks, batting his eyelashes angelically.

“Guys. Please. I am in pain,” James grunts before his friends can get so wrapped up in each other
they forget they’re in the middle of a medical emergency.

It does the trick. They file out of the room quickly and argue all the way to the infirmary about the
best lie to tell Poppy. In the end, it’s Remus who comes up with a story involving James’ valiantly
rescuing a pile of books from the fire place after some first years toppled over a desk in the
common room. Poppy eats it up, and gets to work on James’ burns.

He has to stay the night, which is just as well because they’re one bed short in their dorm for the
time being. Poppy tells him he’ll miss lessons tomorrow but should be free by the end of the end,
which works a treat because there’s a party happening that James cannot miss. His friends leave
him just as the nurse forces a sleeping potion on him. James is passed out before they’re even out
of the infirmary.
 Rainbows
Chapter Summary

He’s here.

Regulus Black is here.

He doesn’t look happy about it, all scowls and narrowed eyes, but he’s here. Godric
Fucking Gryffindor. He’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him. The bonfire’s flickering
flames cast shadows that dance and catch on the angles of Regulus’ face, throwing the
cut of his jaw or the straight line of his nose into stark contrast.

James’ chest is suddenly tight, like it’s made of rubber stretched too far. His hands are
shaking a little.

Chapter Notes

Hello everyone!

TWs

Homophobia
Infirmary scene so there's talk of medicine and wounds, nothing graphic just... James
burnt his hands in the previous chapter
Underage drinking
Underage smoking (cigarettes)
People joke about murder
Jealousy

I think that's it! Enjoy :)

PS - if you see a typo no you didn't!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus, Evan, Barty and Dorcas walk into the Great Hall for breakfast just like any other
morning. Few people pay them attention, save for a few girls who can’t seem to decide who to
ogle. Evan and Barty have always caught people’s eyes, but Regulus getting this kind of scrutiny is
new. He doesn’t like, and not just because he isn’t interested in girls.

He needs to remain as inconsequential as possible. It’s important to the success of his plan. Of
course, he’s factored in that there’s an element of attention he gets simply by being who he is—
Regulus Black, the only heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black—but other than that,
he tries to go unnoticed. Girls fawning over him is inconvenient.

They find seats towards the end of the table, and its pure chance that it’s near Dorcas’ dorm mates.
Everything seems to be fine, which strikes Regulus as odd. He expected something to have
happened already. Unless… hmm.

He leans towards Dorcas, who’s trying to check someone at another table out. Regulus doesn’t try
to figure out who. That information belongs to Dorcas and Dorcas alone. If she wants to tell him,
she will.

He tilts his head close to hers and whispers. “How early did you wake up today?”

Dorcas looks at him funny, but replies anyway. “Before dawn. I wanted to be out before they woke
up.”

Regulus’ hands curl into fists under the table. “You barely slept, then.”

It’s not a question, but Dorcas answers like it is. “I did. A few hours. I’m fine, Reg.”

Barty and Evan lean closer, wanting to get involved in the conversation. “What’s got him so
irritated so early?” Evan asks, gesturing towards Regulus with his head.

His friends know Regulus isn’t a morning person, which means he doesn’t engage in anything until
at least their third period. The fact that he’s this pissed off at this hour is testament to how much he
cares about what the girls are doing to Dorcas. He won’t allow it.

“Oh, nothing,” Dorcas says. “I’m having a bit of a disagreement with my roommates.”

Barty immediately shoots the girls a few seats up on the opposite side of the table a dirty look and
mumbles under his breath that Dorcas needs only say the word and he’ll create a distraction. One of
them, whose name Regulus doesn’t remember, happens to be looking their way when he does. She
immediately turns to whisper furiously to their friends.

“We’ll hide the body,” Evan comments, also glaring in their direction.

“What body?”

“The one Reg will leave in his wake, of course,” Barty says like it’s the most normal thing.

Regulus almost smiles. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“We could do it together,” Barty muses. “Could be fun. Right Reg?”

The smiles he gives him is a little odd, and Regulus can’t tell if it’s Barty’s brand of insanity or
something else. Either way, he has no time to waste on it because Dorcas is trying (and failing) to
act like she’s not touched by this display of loyalty.

“Nobody is killing anyone. It’s fine,” she says. “They’re just a bit bitchy, that’s all. No need to get
worked up about it.”

Regulus watches the girls. Their cruel smirks as they look at Dorcas, who’s unconsciously moved a
bit closer to Barty. Blair, the girl Dorcas had a crush on, slides out of her seat and walks down. The
others follow her in a pathetic display of sheep-like behaviour.

“Hello Barty,” Blair says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Are you going to the party tonight?”

Barty, who has no idea why there’s drama with Dorcas but will never not be loyal to his friends,
looks at her like she’s an insect. “Don’t talk to me. Not interested.”
For some reason, he glances at Evan first, then at Regulus when he says this. He puts his arm
protectively around Dorcas. “Get lost,” Barty says.

And Regulus sees the moment Blair decides to ruin Dorcas’ life to get back at her because Barty
has just rejected her in public. Regulus sits back so he can watch.

“You’re wasting your time with her, Crouch,” Blair says, savouring the words like she’s enjoying
it. “You see, Meadowes here is a—”

The word gets stuck in her throat, almost like it’s choking her. She tries to breathe past it, visibly
struggling for a few seconds before her eyes widen and her hand flies up to her hair. The first
sound that comes out of her mouth is a cry of pain. Her friends gasp behind her. A streak of bright
purple has shot through her hair, thick and impossible to hide. Blair is shrieking, freaking out.

“What just happened? Why is? What’s…” She then turns murderous eyes on Dorcas. “What did
you do, you disgusting—”

Same thing happens. The word lodges in her throat, choking her, just as a streak of blue shoots
through her hair, perfectly aligned with the purple. Blair cries out, because Regulus made sure it
would burn when the colours sprout from her head. If he got it right, that’s hurting Blair like
someone’s peeling the skin off her scalp.

Dorcas stares, eyes wide. Her face is so genuinely shocked, so horrified, that there is no doubt to
anyone watching the proceedings that she had nothing to do with this. Regulus can confirm,
because this was all him. Blair should be grateful. He would have been a lot crueller if he weren’t
keeping a low profile. Second week of school isn’t the right time to get himself expelled.

“What is this!?” Blair shrieks again. “My hair!”

One of her friends steps forward, valiantly trying to finish what her little Queen Bee started. “I’ll
say it, then. We all know that Meadows is a—”

Chaos ensues. The moment that the rest of the girls see the purple shoot through the second head,
they lose all intention of outing Dorcas or even helping Blair and the other girl. The posey retreats,
leaving Blair and her sidekick. There’s screaming, crying. Dramatic antics that would give Regulus
a headache were he not responsible for this. He’s rather enjoying it.

“What did you do?” Blair insists, careful now not to hint at anything that might make her gasp for
air or give her head a third colour.

Dorcas shakes her head. “I had nothing to do with this.”

Barty looks at Regulus, and he shrugs casually. Understanding, then a hungry glean flash through
Barty’s eyes. He was always one to appreciate vengeance. He smiles at Regulus.

Slughorn, their head of house, approaches them. As soon as he’s in range, the girls begin to cry and
ask him to please turn their hair back to normal and punish Dorcas. It is all very tedious from there.
Dorcas gives her wand to Slughorn to confirm she’s not performed any spells that’s remotely
responsible for this. The girls try to explain to Slughorn why they think it’s Dorcas - which he’s
confused about in the first place - which ends up with Blair’s hair a solid purple, blue, green and
yellow before she gives up. The other girl makes it only to green, which is a shame, but Regulus is
sure they’ll try again in their dorm. He can’t wait to see if they’ll show up to the party tonight or
not.

By the time Slughorn informs the girl he has no idea what has happened or who is responsible, and
that he doesn’t know how their hair was enchanted and so they’ll simply have to wait for it to fade
- it’s not life threatening or painful, he tells them when they protest - they’re all free to go.

They’re walking down the corridor to their first class when Pandora catches up to them. She looks
a little flustered. Evan moves to make room for her, taking the flank. They’re a lot of things, many
of which most people would call unsavoury, but the boys look after their girls at all times.

Pandora adjusts her uniform, then asks, “How long will their hair stay like that?”

“I have no idea. It wasn’t me, I swear,” Dorcas insists, throwing her arms in the air.

“I was asking Reg,” Pandora says simply.

Dorcas stops walking, staring at Regulus with a stunned expression that he can’t read. For a
moment, he panics. Perhaps he shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid. And Dorcas doesn’t appre
—

The hug comes out of nowhere, and Regulus flinches so violently his teeth clash, but Dorcas
doesn’t let him go. She’s warm and surprisingly soft. Smells like coconut. Regulus wishes he was
the kind of person who can enjoy a hug, but despite Dorcas being a true friend, he simply cannot
stand the oppressive feeling of arms around him.

“No,” Regulus says weakly, trying to get out of it because it’s making him hyperventilate. He feels
asphyxiated. Trapped somewhere he didn’t choose to be. “Dorcas, let go.”

Pandora puts her hands on Dorcas’ shoulders and peels her away gently. “You know Reg doesn’t
hug.”

“Sorry,” Dorcas says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Nobody has done anything like
that for me before.”

Barty and Evan are downright confused and they say as much, but it’s up to Dorcas whether she
wants to explain or not. She pats both of them on their shoulders and says she’ll talk to them
another time, when she’s ready. They accept this, and Regulus is reminded of why he became
friends with them in the first place.

Both Barty and Evan have a ton of shit to deal with on their own. It could have made them evil. It
made them understanding instead. Don’t get him wrong. Barty is straight up diabolical when he
wants to be, but it’s a choice he makes simply for his entertainment. It’s not who he is. Same with
Evan, though he, on the other hand, is the quiet sort of smart. Less diabolical and more
Machiavellian. Cunning, like any good Slytherin, just stealthy about it. Barty has a crazy streak;
Evan is more likely to stab someone in the back. Barty you’ll see coming. He’ll want you to know
he’s coming.

It's just that they get it. They know what it’s like when you grow up in a house that doesn’t really
feel like home. They understand the weight of expectations and the pressure. It was easy for eleven
year old Regulus to find comfort in discovering other people’s lives sucked, too. They used to
crawl into bed together, all three of them, and sleep through their nightmares in a tight ball of
friendship. They’ve grown out of that, what with Regulus’ growing dislike of physical touch and
intimacy, and Barty’s need to keep himself busy with sex most nights. Not to mention the
complications of Evan’s crush on Barty—only obvious to Regulus because he had one himself and
can see the signs.

But the friendship remains. It doesn’t matter that they’ve changed. That things have become more
complex and difficult to navigate. Through it all, they’re still friends. Barty, Regulus and Evan.
Regulus clings to this—to them, the idea of them, perhaps—like a drowning man to a lifeline.

“Reg? How long will that last?” Pandora asks again, pulling him out of his own head.

Regulus shrugs, adjusts his tie that got a little crooked when Dorcas hugged him. “Until I feel like
they’ve grovelled enough at Dorcas’ feet.”

Dorcas gasps, covers her mouth for a moment. Then, “I’m going to hug you again,” she announces.

“No,” Regulus warns, going as far as to take a step back. “Hug Evan.”

To everyone’s amusement, she does. Evan returns the hug without complaints. “I’m so confused.”

“Me too, mate,” says Barty, shaking his head. “Me too.”

Regulus’ day falls into a lull after that. He goes to classes, listens, gets bored, then plots in his
head. He needs access to the forbidden section of the library so he has to go talk to Slughorn,
unfortunately. He’ll do that next week, because he needs a few days to fully re-adjust to being at
school. He also needs to find an abandoned classroom where he can practice without getting
caught. And he needs to go down to the forbidden forest and forage for some of the ingredients he
needs for potions. Perhaps on Sunday evening, when most people retreat to their common rooms to
wind down before a new week.

Regulus is going to be busy this year. He’s still the Slytherin Seeker, a position he won’t give up
because he loves flying and it keeps him exercised, which is important for a clear mind and helps
with his sleeping difficulties. But it does mean regular practices. Less time for everything else.
Still. He can do it. He’s meticulous and organised.

And, if he’s honest, it is quite thrilling. Everything he has to do, read, research or practice is in
service of his vengeance plan. It fills him with a sense of purpose that he hasn’t had since… well.
A long time. He’s working towards a goal, and it keeps him steady. There’s no room for anything
else when your brain is full of revenge.

Regulus eats lunch with his friends, quiet while they animatedly discuss the party they’re going to
later that night. Barty keeps talking about some huge bonfire he simply needs to see—don’t ask
Regulus why, he doesn’t understand—and Evan is egging him on. Dorcas is eating with Pandora
today, sitting at the Ravenclaw table. It’s unusual, but nobody ever denies Pandora anything. So
there they both are.

Regulus watches them for a bit while he absent-mindedly shoves mash potato into his mouth. And
then, for no reason, his eyes drift away from his two friends and he finds himself scanning the
Gryffindor table once. Twice. A third time.

He finds Lupin first. He hasn’t been paired with him for patrols again, which is a bit of a shame. If
nothing else, Lupin understands how comforting a good silence can be. It also doesn’t hurt that
he’s nice to look at.

Speaking of which.

Sirius and Pettigrew are there but there’s an empty space around them. A void so large it’s
suddenly insane to Regulus that he didn’t notice it immediately. James isn’t with them. James isn’t
here at all.

Regulus finds Lily Evans. To his embarrassing relief, she’s with McKinnon and MacDonald. No
James.

Where is James?

The question follows him out of the Great Hall and into the potions classroom, the last class before
he’s free for the weekend. He almost messes up his draught of the living dead—a potion so easy he
could do it with his eyes closed—because he’s fucking distracted. By the question. By James.
Honestly, it’s irritating.

So, when Slughorn asks him to deliver some potions to the infirmary, Regulus perks up. The
infirmary. James and his friends spend a truly outstanding amount of time in the infirmary because
they’re always getting hurt. One way or another. It’s actually quite astonishing the myriad of ways
in which they manage to get injured.

So. James might be in the infirmary. And so Regulus takes the potions Slughorn gives him and
slips away, letting Barty and Evan know that he’ll meet them at the dorm before they leave for the
dreaded party later that night.

Regulus grimaces as he pushes open the door to the infirmary whilst balancing the vials and bottles
of potion. He almost drops a bottle as he stumbles inside, a lot less gracefully than he usually does
everything else, but he can’t be blamed. He’s juggling a truly impressive amount of potions on his
arms.

“Mr. Black!” Madame Pomfrey exclaims, rushing to his side as soon as he spots him. “Honestly,
Horace should know to give you a box or something. Last time he sent me these, the poor student
dropped three. Don’t blame her, either. The mess was on Horace.”

Regulus offloads the bottles and vials onto a cart that she rolls over to him. She’s still pottering
about, chatting incessantly while Regulus deposits his cargo. Once he’s done, he gives her a
perfunctory nod and turns around to leave. That’s when he catches a glimpse of a mane of messy
hair on one of the beds.

Ah. He was right, then. He’s here.

He tells himself not to look. There’s nothing here for him. No reason to step closer. Regulus was
wondering where James was, now he knows. He needs to leave.

His feet ignore him, carrying him across the infirmary until he gets an unobstructed view of James
Potter lying on a bed. He’s asleep—thank Salazar for that—but his hands are heavily bandaged and
lying on his lap.

Regulus is gripped by a sudden and one hundred percent unjustified rage. James’ hands. He’s
going to kill whoever did this to him. Slowly. Painfully. He’ll make them suffer. Drag it out.

Fuck.

Regulus is too gone into the depths of his fury to stop and consider how over the top his reaction is.
All he can do is stare at those bandaged hands and plot murder. James is a Chaser. He needs his
hands for Quidditch. Not being able to play the sport will kill him, Regulus knows. The entire
school knows. It’s all James Potter lives for.

But also. Like. James’ hands are nice. They’re big and strong, and Regulus has always suspected
that they’re callused from grabbing onto his broom and catching Quaffles. It’s just… it’s not right
that someone’s hurt them.
James’ hands.

Someone clears her throat behind him and Regulus snaps back into reality. He’s being too obvious.
He needs to get a grip. He feels the blood rush to his cheeks, and hates himself for blushing.
Fortunately, he’s good at control. He forces his body to relax. The blood to flow normally. The
blush is gone as swiftly as it came.

Madame Pomfrey must have caught him staring, because she puts a potion in his hand and says,
“He needs to drink this. Be a dear and take it to him, yes? I’ve got a second year student covered in
supuring pustules that needs urgent care.”

His fingers close around the bottle automatically, before he can even consider what he’s doing or
what it means. Slowly, he approaches James’ bed. He stands by it for an excruciatingly long
moment before he clears his throat once, twice.

“Potter,” he snaps when James doesn’t wake.

It does the trick. James blinks, opens his eyes. His glasses are on the bedside table, so Regulus sees
for the first time ever just how big and devastating they are. Brown and golden like the colours
that make autumn the warmest, cosiest season.

Regulus is disgusted at himself for even thinking that. He’s eternally grateful no one can hear his
thoughts. He’s so fucking embarrassing. Honestly.

“Sirius?” James is still sleepy. “I can’t see. Get me my glasses, will you?”

It takes Regulus a moment to realise that with both hands bandaged, James cannot get his glasses
on his own. And he hesitates. Because James doesn’t know it’s him. And… well. Regulus isn’t an
idiot. He knows an opportunity when he sees one.

James’ skin is warm. That’s the first thing he notices when his fingers graze his jaw. James doesn’t
react beyond a quick blink of his eyes and for once in his life, Regulus is grateful that his brother
has no concept of personal space or boundaries. He has seen Sirius touch James a million times.

Regulus brings the vial to his mouth. His hand is fucking shaking, but James doesn’t seem to
notice.

“Drink,” Regulus says, doing his best impression of his brother. If he keeps it to one or two words,
max., he’s certain he can get away with it.

“This tastes like licking the soles of Peter’s boots,” James complains, but he drinks the whole thing
dutifully.

Regulus has questions. The first one being why on Merlin’s green Earth the soles of Peter’s boots
was the simile James decided to go for. Oddly specific, if you ask Regulus. Disturbingly so. But
James has finished drinking and he’s talking again, which distracts Regulus.

“Vile,” James says, grimacing. “If it weren’t for the party, I’d refuse it and stay here another day.”

The party.

Regulus had forgotten. “Right, the party.”

“Yeah,” James reclines against the pillows. “Poppy said one more vial of that poison and I’d be
good to go. I’ll be a bit late, so make sure the wards are set up properly, yeah? Pete’s in charge of
the distraction for Filch, you know how Mrs. Norris loves to mess with him. And Moony…” James
trails off, purses his lips. Regulus gets the feeling James wants to say something, then decides
against it. “Just don’t let him drink too much. He’s a pain in the ass to drag back to the castle.”

“Sure,” he says. This, apparently, is not what Sirius would have replied because James’ eyes
narrow down to slits.

“Where did he sleep last night?”

“Who?” Regulus knows this is a mistake, because James sits up straight, squinting at him.

“Pads?”

“Hmm?” He can’t bring himself to actually answer, because James is squeezing his eyes at him as
though trying to get a better view and it’s so adorable it’s melting Regulus’ brain.

It’s also dangerous.

Regulus should just bolt. He should leave the infirmary immediately. Save face while he can. But
he’s so close to James. So painfully close. He can see a small scar on his forehead, and the stubble
wanting to grow along the sharp line of his jaw. He can count his eyelashes—the man has way too
fucking many, it’s unnecessary and lovely and Regulus wants to fucking die—and trace the shape
of his lips with his eyes.

He's never been this close to James before and a part of him is grateful, because Regulus is sure
that it would have killed him. A younger version of himself would have keeled over if he’d ever
experienced James Potter up close.

As things stand, Regulus is hanging on by a thread. But he’s hanging on and that’s what counts.

Except the tips of his fingers are on his jaw again. He has to stop. He cannot stop.

“What are you doing?” James asks, and it’s different. His voice. It’s curious, and gentler, like he
knows but doesn’t want to scare him away. But James can’t know. He can’t. “What do you want?”

What do you want?

Regulus retreats, finally regaining control of himself.

“See you at the party,” he says hurriedly, abruptly. And because he’s observant, and smart, and
will die if James ever figures out that it was him in the infirmary, he adds, “Prongs.”

Regulus bolts then. He doesn’t run because James would surely find that odd, but he doesn’t stop
either. He doesn’t stop until he’s in his room and Evan and Barty are telling him off for taking so
long to get there, the sound of their voices loud enough to drown out James’.

What do you want?

Salazar have mercy. If James knew, it’d be the end of Regulus.

####
James walks through the wards set up around the perimeter of the party like a fucking Basilisk is
on his tail. He almost got his head bitten off by Poppy for how damn annoying he was about
leaving the infirmary. He hurt one of his hands again tearing at his bandages too quickly. There’s a
blister on the side of his right hand that’s pulsing and aching but James simply doesn’t care.

He regrets nothing.

James is fairly certain that it wasn’t Sirius in the infirmary earlier and he needs to confirm it. As in,
he can feel the possibility chewing up his insides. Because if it wasn’t Sirius, then it could only be
Regulus.

Which means Regulus Black touched his face.

James can’t fucking breathe if he lets himself consider this option. His lungs seize up and his throat
closes and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Because what does it mean? Why was he
there?

He sees Peter first, because he comes running through the wards and overtakes James before he
notices him. Coming to an abrupt halt, Peter does a U-turn. Hands on knees and panting, he grins
up at James. “Norris is locked up and it’s going to take Filch all night to find her.”

James smiles and claps his friend on the shoulder. “Good job, Wormy. Let’s find the others.”

They walk towards the party together. It’s at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, in a natural semi-
circle where the treeline dips away from the castle and creates a perfect pocket of shadows.

“Moony!” Remus is pouring himself a drink, so James and Peter cut across the crowd towards him.

A few desks have been levitated all the way down from the castle and lined up closest to the trees
—this way, the drinks tables act as a barrier preventing anyone from actually going into the Forest.

Remus has brought down a music player and the beat of some Fleetwood Mac song is drifting
across the clearing mingled with people chatting and laughing. It’s a good turnout, more people
than James was expecting.

“How are your hands?” Remus asks him. “Hey Peter, all good with Filch?”

Peter nods and busies himself with pouring himself some punch. James lifts his hands to show
Remus they’re almost healed. He can’t stretch them fully yet, but Poppy told him it’d be a matter
of hours for the potions to finish working. He’ll be fine.

James grabs a plastic cup and the bottle of firewhiskey. Remus blinks at him. “You okay?”

James shrugs. “It’s a party.”

Remus gives him a strange look, but James cannot be bothered with this right now because he
needs Sirius. “Where’s Padfoot?”

The way Remus’ shoulders tense is his first clue. The second is how tightly Remus is gripping his
cup, almost giving out under the pressure.

“Over there,” Remus says, lifting his chin up towards the far end of the clearing. There’s rage in
those simple two words.

James follows his gaze and sees Sirius shamelessly flirting with a girl from Hufflepuff. He
swallows the groan that wants to crawl up his throat. What even is he doing? James knows for a
fact he doesn’t like this girl because she asked him out the second night back while Remus was on
prefect patrol and Sirius turned her down.

“I’m interrupting that,” he says, pouring a drink for Sirius so he has an excuse. Not that he needs
one. Sirius is his brother and he can go bother him whenever he wants.

“You are?” Remus asks, feigning casualness. It would work if James hadn’t spent six years
watching his friend for tells so they can all anticipate when he starts hurting ahead of a full moon.

Remus is fucking jealous, and he’s doing a terrible job at hiding it from James.

“Need to ask him something,” James says simply. “You coming?”

Remus hesitates, then proceeds to drown his punch in one long go before stepping up next to
James. “Pete?”

“Sure,” Peter tags along with them, too.

A few people try to stop and talk to them as they walk, but some of his anxiousness must be
showing on James’ face because it’s not difficult to get them to leave him alone.

Sirius is listening to whatever the girl is telling him, letting his hair fall forward a bit as he tilts his
head down. He gives her a half grin that tells James exactly how much time he’s got before the
situation tips into catastrophic. James has seen this play out a million times. He’s got maybe ten
seconds before the girl throws caution to the wind and kisses him. When she does, Sirius will kiss
her back and then they’ll have a morose Moony for a week.

He’s not here for this. Not today. Not when there’s a chance that Regulus touched his face. That
one fact has been ricocheting inside his head for about an hour now and it’s James’ number one
priority.

“Sirius,” James says, stepping up to his friend and brutally breaking eye contact between him and
the girl. “I need to talk to you.”

“Potter, Sirius and I are in the middle of a conversation,” the girl protests.

“Yes, James, can’t it wait?” James gives Sirius a look, and he folds. Immediately. Without
question. “Sorry Diana. Maybe later.”

Diana is not happy, but she doesn’t dare interfere when Sirius and his friends crowd into a little
circle a few steps away. It’s dark, the party’s only source of light is the huge bonfire in the middle
and a few orbs of light bobbing overhead. And yet, James can see the relief crossing Remus’ eyes
now that Sirius is no longer about to make out with someone who isn’t him.

Honestly. James swore he’d stay out of it, but he’s reaching his limit.

Now is not the time, though. Now, he’s got more important things to discuss. “Padfoot,” he says
solemnly. “Thank you for stopping by earlier to help with my last vial of potion before the
bandages came off.”

The split second Sirius needs to process information and respond stretches before James like an
eternity. He feels—rather absurdly—that there’s a lot hanging on his answer.

“What?”
James heart fucking soars. He wants to fist pump the air and run around and just scream his lungs
off his chest because it wasn’t Sirius.

“Didn’t you come by earlier?”

“No,” Sirius frowns. “Should I have?”

James can’t breathe. For real. He cannot make himself inhale.

It wasn’t Sirius.

Remus, always too smart for his own good—except where Sirius is concerned apparently—chimes
in. “Why did you think Sirius went to the infirmary?”

James shrugs like it doesn’t matter. Like his heart isn’t pounding so hard he wouldn’t be surprised
to see it jump out of his chest and strut around the clearing. “Someone came by to help Poppy.
They had dark, long-ish hair. I was a bit out of it and not wearing my glasses so I thought it was
Sirius.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Because he’s well known for his spontaneous acts of random kindness.”

James is struggling to stay where he is. His body wants to march right back into the castle and
down into the dungeons to confront Regulus right this second. Except he can’t. He’ll be in
detention for eternity if he tries to break into the Slytherin common room without the proper prep,
which he can’t do tonight because his accomplices are right here next to him. Which means he has
to live with the knowledge that it was him until at least tomorrow, because there’s no way Regulus
Black is showing up to a Forbidden Forest party.

“Ouch, Pete!” Sirius says, bringing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “I’ll have you know there’s
nothing I wouldn’t do for Prongs.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes. We know.” He gives his empty punch cup a little shake, then
points it towards Sirius’ empty one. “Need a refill? You look like you need a refill.”

Sirius beams and basically attaches himself to Remus’ side, draping one arm over his shoulders. “I
love it when you talk dirty to me.”

James thinks Remus is going to pass out. His eyes are bulging, and his face is positively crimson,
but Sirius doesn’t notice because he’s already walking towards the drinks tables and dragging
Remus with him.

“Do you…” Peter starts. Stops. Chews his lip. “You see it too, right? I’m not… imagining things?”

James looks at his friend, surprised that Peter is addressing it. Not because Peter wouldn’t be okay
with it, but because Peter is the type to just let people have their secrets and keep them.

“I do. But they don’t,” he replies carefully, wondering where Peter’s going with this.

He nods, sighs. “I don’t usually… I mean. You know I stay out of people’s business. But… maybe,
just this once?”

“What are you saying Pete?”

And Peter takes a deep breath and shocks the living daylights out of James by saying, “it’s fucking
painful to watch them, Prongs. They’re so into each other and so oblivious about it it’s making me
anxious. Like, I’m stressed out about their sexual tension. How is that even a thing? It’s … not
right. It’s not. We need to do something.”

James laughs. He laughs, because Peter is right and this is ridiculous but he also doesn’t know
what to do because Sirius and Remus are stubborn and traumatised and just…

“I wouldn’t even know where to start, Pete. They’re friends. The stakes are higher. Like what if
they hook up and then it gets awkward?”

Peter splutters. “But… look at them! James it’s been almost two years of this! And you intercepted
that Diana hookup tonight, but you’re not going to be able to keep Sirius from running off to
someone’s bed and Remus from spiralling and it’s just exhausting. Or, worse, what if Remus starts
dating someone? Do I need to remind you of the absolute catastrophe that was Tom?”

James shakes his head. Remus dated the previous Quidditch Captain for Ravenclaw, a truly
gorgeous guy two years ahead of them, for the second half of fifth year. They broke up because
Tom graduated and it was just not sustainable seeing as Remus had two more years of school.
Sirius spent most of the time Tom and Remus were together getting in and out of detention or,
alternatively, at the bottom of a firewhisky bottle. It was messy, and Sirius managed to blame it on
the tensions at home—which Remus bought completely when he then ran away to the Potters that
summer—but James and Peter know better.

“I remember Tom.”

Peter nods sagely. “What I’m saying is that they need to bang. It’s imperative. If they don’t shag
before Christmas I’m locking them in a broom cupboard until they’ve worked it out of their
systems.”

James pulls Pete into a hug, because honestly? Same. It’s quite frustrating to watch their two
friends. “It’ll happen. Eventually.”

He suspects Peter hasn’t got the whole picture and that his friends have something that goes
beyond sexual attraction, but either way, something’s going to give sooner or later. James hopes
against all hope that it works out, because he doesn’t know how he’ll fix it if it doesn’t.

“You know what,” Peter says, stepping back. “I’m going to go spike their punch. Or trick them into
doing too many shots. Excuse me.”

And with that, he takes off towards where Sirius and Remus are talking and drinking, wrapped up
in each other and completely oblivious to everything and everyone else. James shakes his head, a
smile splitting his face in two.

He scans the clearing, eyes skipping over familiar faces like other Quidditch players. Deep down,
he’s looking for him. It’s futile. Pointless. But James can’t lie to himself. He wishes Regulus
would show up because he’s having trouble focusing on the party.

James tries, though. He tries his best to be normal, to act like he’s happy to be here. And so he
keeps glancing around in search of something to do or someone to talk to.

Jo, his ex-girlfriend, is sitting by the bonfire with Beth, her best friend. They make eye contact and
nod to each other. Their break up was super friendly.

Jo’s a seventh year Ravenclaw with an uncanny skill for transfiguration and eyes so blue James
often had trouble looking anywhere else. They were easy. Low maintenance. Meeting when it
suited them, but not going out of their way to make plans. Until suddenly they hadn’t seen each
other for three weeks and they realised they weren’t that into it anymore. Beth called them out on
it, and she was right. They broke up with the same ease they’d done everything else. No tears, no
drama.

Now, James thinks Beth’s dating Jo but he’s not sure. He’s also not prodding. Not everyone is
open minded, and same sex couples tend to keep a low profile. It was the same with Remus and
Tom. Not many people knew they were together. It bothered James then, and it bothers him still,
because they should be able to make out right there by the bonfire if they bloody feel like it. But
they can’t. It’s one of the many things James wishes he could change about the world.

To him, it doesn’t matter. People are people. It’s not boys and girls. It’s just… people he’s
attracted to and people he isn’t attracted to. He’s not shocked that he’s lusting after a dude. He’s
only shocked it’s Sirius’ brother. He might have never been into a guy before—not sure of it, he
suspects he had a small crush on Remus at some point but he’s not interrogating that—but he just
doesn’t feel like it’s anything out of the ordinary. Not for him.

Anyway, it’s frustrating that Jo and Beth cannot just be. That they can’t enjoy the same freedom as
a heterosexual couple. It’s bollocks, it’s what it is.

He's contemplating whether he should go talk to them when a high pitched noise escapes him
without his permission.

He’s here.

Regulus Black is here.

He doesn’t look happy about it, all scowls and narrowed eyes, but he’s here. Godric Fucking
Gryffindor. He’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him. The bonfire’s flickering flames cast shadows
that dance and catch on the angles of Regulus’ face, throwing the cut of his jaw or the straight line
of his nose into stark contrast.

James’ chest is suddenly tight, like it’s made of rubber stretched too far. His hands are shaking a
little.

James is walking. He’s walking, and this is insane because there are people around them, people
who will see that he’s making a beeline straight towards a Slytherin. And not just any Slytherin but
Regulus Black.

And yet, he cannot stop. He needs to know. He has to—

He slams into a body too small to take the impact. The person bounces off him like they’re a
bludger hitting a bat.

“Ah, shit, Lily, sorry,” James stops abruptly, arms shooting out to hold onto Lily before she falls
backwards. He catches her, because he’s got mad reflexes, and brings her upright gently. “I didn’t
see you. Are you hurt? I’m so sorry.”

Lily’s a bit disoriented, but she straightens herself quickly. “It’s okay. It’s a bit dark.”

James blinks down at her, then notices he’s still gripping her arms and lets go. “Are you alright?
I’m sorry.”

McKinnon and MacDonald appear out of nowhere, shaking their heads at James. “Honestly, Cap,”
says Marlene. “You’d think our star Chaser has better reflexes.”
“I did catch her, didn’t I?” James quips.

The girls all smile and exchange glances. Mary points to the cup of firewhisky that flew out of
James’ hand upon impact and is now abandoned on the ground. “Looks like you need a refill. Lily
here was on her way to the drinks table. Make it up to her and escort her, will you?”

James can’t think of a good reason not to. Because he can’t tell them the truth. And now that he’s
been forcefully knocked out of his own idiocy—at least momentarily—he can see that confronting
Regulus in the middle of the party is not a good idea. He’ll have to find another way.

“Don’t you want drinks, too?” Lily asks her friends.

“Nope,” Marlene says cheerfully. “I’ve had three already. The perfect amount.”

“For what?” James asks, curious.

“Liquid courage,” she replies slyly. “Mary here is my wingwoman.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. Good luck, I guess?”

Mary shakes her head. “She’s going to need more than luck for this one. Pray we don’t end up in
the infirmary.”

Lily makes a noise of alarm. “Marlene. Tell me it’s not the Slytherin.”

James’ ears perk up at this. It’s an unwritten rule—Gryffindors don’t hook up with Slytherins. It
just doesn’t happen. And yet, James realises that it’s quite naïve to think no Gryffindor has ever
shagged a Slytherin in the history of Hogwarts. It must have happened. There has to be precedent.

“She looks amaaaazing,” Marlene declares. “And I heard from a source that swore me to secrecy
that she’s into girls, too. Obviously, not public knowledge because Slytherins suck. All except for
her.”

James is all of a sudden majorly invested in the success of McKinnon’s conquest. If someone else
brings a Slytherin into the fold, surely then he can… what? Nothing. He can nothing because it’s
not a normal Slytherin he’s lusting after. It’s Sirius’ brother. Untouchable.

Mary smirks at James, enjoying the opportunity to be a little scandalous totally oblivious to James’
drama. “That means someone she was shagging spilled the beans.”

James covers his ears immediately. “I do not need to know this. I’m going to get a drink. Lily, you
coming?”

Lily follows him across the clearing. She says something to him, but between the crowd, the
music, and the roaring fire he’s having trouble hearing so he indicates they’ll chat when they’re by
the desks. Lily seems content to just walk next to him until they’ve cleared the bulk of the people.

James can see that Sirius and Remus are still talking. They’ve drifted away from the crowd and
they’re close to the forest line, half-obscured by shadows. Somehow, the two of them have created
a pocket that belongs just to them. Honestly, sometimes James wants to smack them over the head
so they get on with it. Sirius is in Remus personal space, but he’s not bothered. As James watches,
Sirius lights a cigarette—he’s been obsessed with those muggle things for months—only to have
Remus pluck it out of his hand and take a drag.

A soft smile finds its way to James’ mouth. He loves those two so much he wouldn’t know what to
do without them.

He can’t find Peter, which means he’s probably off with the Herbology crowd. Peter does love his
plants, and has a group of friends who share the interest. James loves him, and has sat through long
lectures about the properties of a million vegetables, but he’s enormously glad Peter has people to
talk to about this that genuinely care about the topic and not just the person talking about said
topic.

They reach the drinks table, and Lily goes for butter beer. James hesitates. He shouldn’t get drunk
but also… a quick glance confirms Regulus is still here. He’s sitting on a log by the fire with
Crouch and Rosier, and they seem to be watching Pandora and Dorcas Meadowes as they dance.

“Do you want a beer, James?” Lily asks.

The glow of the flames is catching on Regulus’ curls. He looks like a god, young, and beautiful,
and otherworldly.

Untouchable.

“No, thank you.” James pours himself some fire whisky and forces his eyes away from his best
friend’s brother.

“So, how’s that crush of yours going?” Lily asks him casually.

James almost chokes on his drink. He had told her he’d try to focus on the bad things, hadn’t him?
In all honesty, James forgot all about that. In his defence, he was busy with the whole fire
emergency and then Regulus went and touched his face and… what is he supposed to do? He’s
only made of flesh and bone!

“Yeah, not great,” he says, shrugging. “It’s hard to focus on the bad when they’re so fucking lovely
I wanna cry.”

Lily’s mouth makes an O and James realises he’s drunker than he thought. “Sorry, Lily, I’ve had a
bit too much firewhisky. My filter’s off.”

She grins. “I didn’t know you had a filter!”

James laughs. “I don’t need it very often,” he says. It’s the truth. Most of the times, James simply
says whatever he’s thinking because he’s not ashamed. He has nothing to hide, nothing to filter.

His eyes travel across the clearing again, because they’re mean, treacherous things. And he finds
Regulus has stood up and is walking towards the forest. Towards… Remus? Regulus is talking to
Remus now. Where the hell did Sirius go?

James is confused. He’s also… a little irritated. Why does Remus get to talk to Regulus out in the
open? He wants that. He wants to ask. He needs to ask because his jaw is still tingling here Regulus
touched him and he’s desperate to find out if it means Regulus would like to touch him everywhere
else.

When Regulus takes Remus’ cigarette… James decides he doesn’t care. Not now. Not tonight.

“Lily,” he says. He finishes the firewhisky in one long gulp and sets the cup down. “I just need to
go do something real quick. Sorry. See you in a bit.”
Chapter End Notes

Little note to say life is going to get in the way, so the next update will be Wednesday
:)

Also, can you tell I love Wolfstar?

Thanks for reading <3

 Forest Party
Chapter Notes

Hello!!

This chapter has a little bonus 'interlude' with Sirius' POV (Wolfstar focused because I
couldn't not!). Most of the story will be told alternating James and Regulus as has been
the theme for the past 5 chapters, but I will bring in a few POVs here and there to add
a bit of flavour. I hope you like it.

TWs
Underage drinking
Underage people smoking cigarettes
Mentions of past child abuse (Walburgaaaaa is a bad parent, we know)
Mentions of past torture (related to the child abuse)
Lots of swearing
Mentions of possible future death (someone thinks about the fact what they're doing is
dangerous and could result in death)
Mild (very mild) hurt/pain inflicted via a spell
Jealousy
Homophobia
Brief mention of past self-harm
Terrorism is discussed by two Death Eaters (planning an attack on muggles)
Not sure if is needs a TW or not but I want to be safe - there's a moment when
someone mentions considering performing and exorcism to get a very bad idea out of
someone else's brain.

I think that's it! This chapter is longer - enjoy :D

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus doesn’t like being drunk. He remembers wanting to know what it felt like. Now that he
does, he thinks he’ll never do it again.

His limbs feel too loose, and his balance is off. His face has a life of its own and seems to just do
things without permission, which is alarming. Barty keeps making fun of him because apparently
he’s softly grinning at Pandora and Dorcas dancing like idiots.

Alcohol makes him sloppy. He’s already slipped up. A few minutes ago, Evan randomly decided
to hug him and he allowed it for a full two seconds before shoving him away. Honestly, very poor
performance on his part.

He’s scowling. He knows. He’s doing it on purpose because he thinks if he forces his face to do
something specific, it’ll stop misbehaving.

“Reg, come with me,” Pandora shows up, takes his hand, and drags him with her.

Regulus is distressed to discover that his body is also apparently doing things without his consent,
for he’s following Pandora, who’s on her way to Dorcas’ side.
“No,” Regulus says, but he’s already standing there and the girls are dancing around him. He wants
the ground to swallow him whole.

Barty is watching him like he cannot believe his eyes. He’s barely even blinking. Evan’s laughing
so hard he’s in danger of falling backwards into the bonfire.

Pandora throws her arms up. “Dance with us, Reg!”

“I’d rather die.”

“You’re no fun,” Dorcas says, bumping her hips with his.

Regulus glares at her, and she relents. Regulus is aware enough to understand this slip up—as well
as Evan’s hug—are a side effect of his inebriation, hence why he’s sworn he’ll never do it again.
But right now, he’s drunk and a little out of control, and there’s nothing he can do about it but wait
for it to pass.

The problem is that he’s dying for a cigarette. He’d do truly horrible things for one. But he doesn’t
have any and none of his friends smoke.

He purposefully walks away, but not towards the log. No. That’s dangerous because Barty and
Evan have discovered tonight that they just love to try and trick drunk Regulus into doing shit.
Instead, he moves a little away from the bulk of the crowd so he can observe the party and decide
who to bully into giving him a cigarette.

Not many people are smoking, because cigarettes are a muggle thing and they haven’t really
caught on at Hogwarts yet. He sees a couple sharing one, standing so close to each other Regulus
feels awkward just looking. No way he’s asking them.

He considers two Ravenclaws hovering just outside of the main circle of the party. Yes. They will
do. Regulus walks towards them, practicing his request in his head. What to say. How to say it. Not
too mean, not too nice. He’s almost reached them when he notices Lupin. He’s alone, leaning
against a tree at the edge of the forest. And what do you know? He’s smoking a cigarette.

Regulus will blame the alcohol for his feet changing course and heading towards him. Lupin
notices him early, and to Regulus surprise doesn’t react to find the Slytherin coming. Lupin simply
waits, like Regulus approaching him at a party is a normal thing.

Regulus is enormously glad that Lupin isn’t making a big deal of it. The guy gets it, he supposes.
There’s an air of quiet and darkness around Lupin, something simmering just below the surface.
Yes, he’s a Gryffindor through and through but also… Regulus gets the feeling that Lupin hasn’t
had the easiest life.

Regulus kind of likes him, he decides. In another life, they could have been friends. Before the
cold, and the cage of bones, and the breaking of all things that made Regulus a semi-decent kid.
They could have been something. Two quiet kids sitting in the dark letting the silence speak for
them.

When he reaches Lupin’s side, Regulus gives him a perfunctory nod and says, “Do you have
more?”

Somehow, inexplicably, Lupin understands what he means. He shakes his head. “Got this off a
friend. But I can share.”

Regulus hesitates. Sharing a cigarette feels kind of intimate. Isn’t it? But Lupin doesn’t seem to
care. Except… It’s weird, right? He doesn’t know Lupin. They’re not close, they’re never going to
be. They have been on one train patrol rotation together. That’s it.

It’s one thing for Regulus to think they could have been in a life that didn’t tear everything good
about him from his cold hands, and another thing entirely for him to pretend that life is here and
now. It’s not. Never going to be.

“Why?”

Lupin shrugs. “You look a little desperate.”

Regulus recoils. Fuck. He’s too drunk, if he’s letting it show around Lupin. It’s one thing for him
to relax a little with Evan and Barty—they are, after all, fifty percent of all the people he trusts in
the entire world—but here? With Lupin? Fuck no. This is… bad. It’s dangerous. When people can
see what you’re feeling or thinking they can use it against you. Regulus learnt early that hiding is
safe. He’d prefer simply not feeling, but he hasn’t got that down yet. So he settles for hiding.

“Forget it,” Regulus turns to leave, but Lupin reaches out and grabs his arm.

And here’s the thing. Regulus doesn’t like it when people touch him. His friends know, so they
don’t. Not without checking that it’s okay, that he can see it coming. That he can stop it if he wants
to. He almost always says no when they ask anyway.

So when Lupin’s hands closes around his forearm, Regulus’ entire body jerks to a halt so abrupt he
feels it in his teeth. Lupin notices, or perhaps he didn’t mean to reach out in the first place, because
the hand retreats as quickly as it came. The tension leaves Regulus, leaving him a little dizzy.

“Sorry. I… I just mean, you don’t have to go. I meant what I said,” Lupin says. “Just… here.” He
offers him the cigarette again. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

Regulus looks at the cigarette in front of him and well. He’s been wanting one for a week. He
doesn’t know if he’ll get another chance. It’s not like one can buy muggle cigarettes in Hogsmeade.

He takes it, brings it to his lips.

“How did you…” Lupin trails off, watching him inhale.

Regulus returns the fag, exhaling smoke and feeling a little more settled. “Muggle kid in a pub gave
me one this summer.”

“You were in a pub? A muggle one? Whatever for?”

Regulus shrugs. “Errand.”

Lupin gives him a long look that makes Regulus want to squirm. He doesn’t, though. He has
enough control left for that, at least.

The truth is that Regulus was in that pub contemplating whether there was any point to what he was
attempting to do. He’d overheard a Death Eater meeting and he’d felt overwhelmed by the sheer
numbers signing up to join the ranks. The Dark Lord was gaining power fast. That day, Regulus
had felt like a child wanting to sit at the adults table.

His revenge had seemed like child’s play. Impossible. He’d been wallowing. Trying to decide what
to do. Whether he could be bothered to carry on.
Then, a good-looking muggle guy (who happened to look a lot like the Captain of the Gryffindor
Quidditch team just without glasses and with a lot of ink on both his arms) had hit on him. Out of
the blue. He’d slid up to him at the bar and introduced himself, then proceeded to buy him a drink.
Regulus had felt unmoored at first. Baffled.

But then the guy had pressed his leg against Regulus’ and smiled at him like Regulus was someone
worth of a smile. Like this guy genuinely simply wanted to just… sit there and drink with him.
Like his company was good enough reason. It was… strange. Terrifying. It was also a lie, but then
again the guy didn’t know anything about who Regulus was. The things he was preparing to do.
The things he had done.

Bones and blood and cold and pain.

And he’d liked it. He’d felt like maybe yes. He could. He had this. He’d planned, and prepared for
an entire year before even taking the first step. And he was going to keep working on it, because
Regulus knew better than to take anything for granted. Not even his own intelligence, which was
about the only thing he had that was worth a damn. He was going to continue honing his skill,
become the best wizard he could, and join the adults table.

They were going to beg him to join the adults table.

And then, once he was there and he had power and influence and access… then he was going to get
revenge. Balance the scales. Give as hard as he’s been forced to take.

And if survived it—a which was a big if—perhaps he’d try to find a boy to smile at him like this
again. Someone who didn’t know him, his past, his name. Who couldn’t see the shattered parts of
him. Someone who had no idea he was a broken shell of a person, carrying on fuelled solely by
spite, and anger that burnt ice cold in his veins. He’d find someone like that. Another smile.
Perhaps a kiss, one day. When he had space and time to consider whether that was something he
could share with another person.

Regulus had left that pub hooked on cigarettes and imbued with renewed purpose.

Not that he’s gonna tell Lupin any of it.

The Gryffindor passes him the cigarette again. There are two, maybe three drags left. Regulus feels
a pang of longing even as he inhales. It’d been nice of Lupin to share but it isn’t enough. Regulus
regrets for the millionth time not bringing a stash of smokes with him. What an idiotic oversight
for someone who prides himself on being smart. But Walburga does go through his trunk, so
really, it was simply easiest to just not.

He regrets that now. Will regret until Christmas, probably.

“Finish it,” Lupin says. “I’ll get another one.”

Something must flash through Regulus face, because Lupin’s lips twitch with amusement.

“I can ask, if you want,” he says. “But be warned. It’s Sirius.”

Regulus chokes on the smoke, coughs. “What?”

“Your brother. He’s the one who gave that to me,” Lupin explains. “He’s into those and has a
stash.”

“Ah,” Regulus says. Of course he fucking does, because Sirius has everything. Always.
But Regulus is not going to discuss his brother with Lupin. Or with anyone. Ever. Regulus doesn’t
even discuss Sirius with himself.

When it’s obvious the cigarette has nothing left to give, Regulus puts it out and nods towards
Lupin. “See you around.”

Lupin’s eyes go big and round, and he speaks… “Black, wait—”

But Regulus is already turning around as Lupin tries to warn him. He’s too late. Regulus bumps
face first into a chest of hard muscle and who would have guessed? James Potter is just as solid as
he looks.

He smells fucking good, too, which is just. Couldn’t he stink? It would have helped a great deal
with Regulus’ stupid little crush on him. He’s pretty certain he’d be able to get over it if James
simply smelled terrible. But no. Obviously not. This is James I’m-perfect-and-you-aren’t Potter. He
smells so good Regulus wants to bite him.

Regulus steps back swiftly, schooling his face into a mask of contempt. “Potter. What the fuck are
those ugly glasses for?”

Regulus hates that he has to tilt his head back to look at James, but he does. James is tall. It’s
annoying. He’s looking at Regulus intensely, hazel eyes earnest and honest and downright lethal.

“What are you doing here with Remus?” James’ words are a little unsteady, and it serves to remind
Regulus of his own drunkenness.

This is dangerous situation, and Regulus has no intention of getting caught in it. Especially while
he is drunk, too. He needs to get out as quickly as possible, because he will absolutely not lose an
ounce of composure in front of James Potter.

“Get lost,” Regulus says, stepping around James.

Except James steps to the side to intercept him and they’re chest to chest again. Well, Regulus’
eyes are level with James’ chin. Whatever that’s called. Fuck. Regulus can feel the heat radiating
off of James body and it’s criminal. How is he this warm? Is it the muscles? It must be the
muscles. James is like a furnace.

“Prongs?” Lupin calls from somewhere behind Regulus. He sounds uncertain, which Regulus
thinks is fair. This is decidedly strange.

“Padfoots gonna lose it if he gets wind of this. You know I’m right,” James says, clearly speaking
to Remus about his brother. As if Regulus didn’t know the stupid nicknames they have for each
other.

For some reason, James’ statement makes Lupin change his mind. He steps up next to them and
says, “buy me a minute, yes?”

James nods, and he almost hits Regulus’ nose with his chin when he does. Regulus distinctly
remembers what his fingers feel like against that jawline and he almost keels over with the effort
not to touch James again.

He shouldn’t have drunk so much.

Lupin disappears and Regulus remembers he should have stepped back about a century ago. He
does, only to find James taking a step forward.
Regulus is irked and confused. He’s also still drunk, which is why he does it again instead of
saying something. Because he kind of wants to see if James will keep it up. He does.

James seems intent on keeping them as close as possible which just won’t do. It won’t do at all.
Because Regulus is drunk and he won’t risk it. It’s bad enough he acted so recklessly in the
infirmary. He’s not making that mistake again.

Another step back. And James follows.

Salazar Fucking Slytherin. Seriously?

Regulus can’t think, because James is so fucking close to him it’s overwhelming. His brain is short
circuiting, and he can feel himself about to spiral because this is James Potter and he’s so warm,
and he smells so good—like cedarwood and grass and dawn— and Regulus cannot for the life of
him figure out what the fuck is happening.

He’s not in control and that is unacceptable. That’s what snaps him back into his right mind,
alcohol or no alcohol.

Regulus does the only thing he knows to do when he’s losing control.

Take it back.

The wand bites into the underside of James’ jaw, making him inhale sharply. The sound almost
sends Regulus to his knees. By some miracle, he remains upright, his hand steady and gripping the
wand digging into that brown skin he very much wants to lick.

“Are you really going to curse me, Black?” James asks. Regulus’ grip tightens, because James’
voice is a little low and it does things to his stomach.

“Get away from me,” Regulus says clearly and slowly. He’s intensely relieved to hear that he
sounds like his normal, mean self. Thank Salazar for that.

“Are you sure?” James asks.

“I’ll hurt you.” Regulus lungs are going to give out any second now. His knees are shaking and his
mouth is dry.

James steps closer again, and Regulus goes back again, one step so he can—oh. Oh no. There’s a
tree. A tree at his back.

James hesitates. Stays close but gives Regulus a bit of space and he hates him for that. Because
Regulus can see James trying to be respectful even when he’s… he’s what? Intimidating Regulus?
He honestly isn’t sure what’s going on here. His wand is still threatening James, but Regulus
doesn’t feel like he’s in charge of this situation.

James runs a hand through his hair. “Listen, Black, I just need to talk to you for a minute.”

And this has to be a prank. It has to be, and he’s not going to fall for it. He would rather chew glass
than let James Potter humiliate him.

Regulus is about to spew more vitriol, dig his wand in a little harder as a final warning for James to
retreat, when James says, “The infirmary. I know it was you. You gave me my medicine. You
touched my face. Why? I need to know why. Why?”
And fuck. Regulus’ lungs empty so suddenly his ribs ache from the whiplash. James knows it was
him and he wants to know why. But the thing is, Regulus doesn’t know why. He’s been berating
himself since he did it. Stupid. So stupid.

Because he hates James. James is on his revenge list. Sure, he’s not at the very top because
Regulus does on some level want to keep that gorgeous face intact for as long as possible, but he is
on it. A reckoning is coming for James and it will be Regulus’ hand that delivers it.

James is one of the reasons Sirius left. James is everything Regulus despises. James is the antithesis
to him.

James is… looking at him strangely.

The thought registers like an arrow hitting a bullseye. It cracks Regulus in half—want and fear.
James looks like he’s wanting and Regulus cannot attach a subject to that want because that would
mean… It’s just. No. It can’t be. This is a prank. James is pranking him. His friends are going to
jump out of the trees any moment and humiliate Regulus for even entertaining the thought for a
second.

And then, James’ eyes dip to Regulus mouth.

Regulus body reacts like he’s been set on fucking fire. But he won’t fall for it. He’s stronger than
this. He is the master of his body, and it answers to him. And Regulus says no.

No.

James isn’t moving. He’s just… staring. At Regulus. At his face. And Regulus convinces himself
that he’s imagining things. It’s the alcohol. Regulus is drunk and he’s losing his mind. Because it’s
impossible that James is thinking what Regulus thinks he is. Because if… if James Potter is…

No.

This is a prank, and Regulus will not be caught in it.

“Back off,” Regulus says, then sends an electrifying charm through his wand that zaps James’
skin.

He jumps back, swearing. Eyes wide behind his glasses, James brings a hand to his neck and gapes
at Regulus. “That hurt!”

Regulus pushes himself off the tree and looks at him down his nose. “That was just a warning.”

And James. James fucking Potter groans, looks at Regulus like he’s never seen him before, and
says, “Fuck.”

And it’s the tone in that one word that does it. The implication that perhaps this wasn’t a prank,
and James was… James was what?

Impossible. No.

Regulus flees. He simply rushes into the forest, swerving to the side to keep close to the edge so he
doesn’t get lost. It’s not his first time in the Forbidden Forest and it won’t be the last. So long as he
keeps within a reasonable distance of the edge, he knows his way around it. He doesn’t stop
moving until he’s past the party wards, up the hill. Through the entrance hall and down the
dungeons.
He sails through the common room, mostly deserted at this hour, and climbs the stairs so fast his
chest is heaving when he pushes the door to his dorm open. His room is empty, thank Salazar. He
yanks off his clothes as fast as he can and climbs into bed. He shuts the curtains almost violently.
Two silencing charms later, Regulus bites his pillow and screams.

####

Interlude: Sirius POV

Sirius is seriously (haha) considering attempting to use an undetectable extension charm on his
own bladder. Because if he hadn’t been about to burst, he wouldn’t have had to leave Remus
smoking alone. It’s just, well. He was quite literally about to wet himself and that’s obviously not a
good look.

He’s deep in the forest, darkness all around him. As he attends to his body’s stupid physiological
needs, Sirius inhales. He’s always liked the smell of the Forbidden Forest—musky and humid and
alive.

A branch snaps nearby. Sirius doesn’t even flinch. He’s not afraid. It’s not that Sirius is fearless.
There are things that scare him, though he’d never admit them to anyone other than James. It’s just
none of the things he’s afraid of lurk in the Forbidden Forest. The creatures here can inflict
physical pain. Tear his body to shreds. Sirius has been there, done that and survived it. He’s not
afraid of pain.

He finishes his business and heads back the way he came. Remus will have finished the cigarette
by now, but perhaps he wants another one. Sirius likes it when they smoke together. It’s something
that belongs just to them, because James cannot stand the taste of tobacco.

Sirius happens to enjoy it. Remus does, too.

He’s smirking to himself when he reaches the edge of the forest. The party is a wild success. As
the night goes on, more people are dancing—led by Pandora, it seems—and quite a few couples
are making out.

Sirius would like to make out with someone. But he also wants to find Remus and annoy him a
little bit. For fun. Because it’s entertaining to Sirius when Remus is exasperated and looking at him
like he wants to bite his head off.

He glances around the clearing. Peter’s with the herbology crowd. James has disappeared, as has
Remus. Hmm. Did something happen? Sirius’ got the map in his pocket, but to take it out he has to
retreat back into the forest a little bit. He can check if Remus and James had to go somewhere. Oh,
if they’re in trouble Sirius is going to kill someone.

“Pads,” Remus says, emerging from the shadows and coming to stand in front of him.

Sirius adjusts his leather jacket, then checks that his hair is as it should be, held up by his wand. He
owes Marlene for teaching him this trick—helps keep his hair out of his face and make sure he’s
never without his wand. What he calls a win-win.

Remus pushes a drink into his hand that he takes immediately. “Aww, thanks Moony.” He beams
at him. Remus rolls his eyes.
“Where’s Prongs?” Sirius asks, looking around.

Remus steps closer. “Who knows,” he says, then takes a long sip. His Adam’s apple bobs as he
swallows.

“Having fun?” Sirius asks. He finishes his drink, hoping it cools him down. It’s hot here all of a
sudden. They shouldn’t have made the bonfire so fucking huge.

Remus shrugs. “It’s a good party. Are you okay?”

Sirius nods, fishes the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He offers one to Remus. He takes it and
Sirius notices—not for the first time—that Remus has super nice hands. Honestly, he’s a little
jealous. Sirius would like to have hands like that. Like. His hands are amazing, Sirius is very
pleased with his looks overall. He’s hot and he knows it and the entire world knows it.

But Remus has very nice hands and Sirius thinks about them often.

Sirius lights his cigarette first. He always does, because then he can bring the lighter close to
Remus’ face and watch the way the light dances over the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose.
The way his eyes—golden, like they were made by a jeweller with great skill—twinkle and reflect
the tiny flame he holds between them.

“Mind if I have some of that?” he asks, gesturing to Remus’ drink when both their cigarettes are
burning.

Remus passes him the cup and Sirius takes a sip. He needs it, because his mouth has gone dry and
it’s frankly quite uncomfortable. He’s still too warm, but that he can do fuck all about.

“Where do you get these from?” Remus asks, lifting his cigarette.

“There’s this dingy pub at the edge of town in Hogsmeade that stocks them. But I’ve got like six
packs in the dorm,” Sirius says. ”I’ll give you as many as you want. Don’t worry about it.”

Remus smiles, lifts his arm. Sirius ducks under it immediately. It’s one of his favourite places in
the world. Next to Remus. Touching Remus. Remus smells so nice, like chocolate, and the
outdoors. Sirius could bottle Remus’ scent and carry it in his pocket. It makes him feel calm. Helps
him slow down.

Sirius never thought he’d ever find anyone who could make him want to slow down.

“Oh. Wow,” Remus whispers. Sirius looks up. Remus gestures towards the party with his head.
“Beth and Jo.”

Sirius squints. It takes him a moment, but he does find them. They’re across the clearing, at the
very edge of where the wards end. He has no idea how Remus even saw them, because they’re
pretty obscured by shadows. But they are there, standing so close together they could be kissing.

“That’s brave,” Sirius mutters. “If anyone sees…” A full body shudder runs through him and he
knows Remus can feel it because they’re pressed together.

Remus sighs. Nods. “I know, Pads. I know.”

“Don’t sound so sad,” Sirius says, because he cannot stand a sad Remus. It hurts him. Deep inside
him, in places he didn’t know he could hurt. Sirius will go to any lengths necessary to stop Remus
from being sad.
“Well. It’s pretty shit.”

“What is?”

“That I have to hide to be with someone I like.”

And that. Well. Yes. But also. “You like someone?”

Sirius sounds a little panicked. To be honest, he’s feeling a little panicked. His heart is hammering
and he just… he needs to step away.

He does, and Remus looks funny at him. “Don’t do this. Not again.”

“What do you mean again? Who… I mean… Moony!” Sirius is so fucking agitated. His hands
twitch, so he balls them into fists.

“We talked about this. About Tom. Remember?” Remus gives him a look.

“I’m not… you know I don’t care that you…” like boys. He only mouths the next words, because
he’s not risking someone overhearing. That would be very bad for Remus. “It’s just… Tom was an
absolute tool.”

“Merlin’s balls, Sirius. It’s been two years,” Remus says, exasperated. “Tom wasn’t a tool. You
just hated him for no reason.”

“Reason!” Sirius shouts. He’s not making any sense, but it doesn’t matter because Remus hasn’t
told him yet who it is he likes. And Sirius should know. Sirius needs to approve it, because he
cares about Remus and Remus has to have standards. “He was a Ravenclaw. And too tall for you. It
looked ridiculous, honestly. And he went around acting like he owned the fucking school. Tom
was a tool, Moony. You deserve better.”

“Do I, now?” Remus challenges, eyes blazing. Oh, Sirius has pissed him off.

He’s giddy. Angry Remus is so… glorious. It’s just. Sirius could fight him all day every day. He
can’t get enough of it. The fire in his eyes, the way his neck tenses, the vein pulsing on his
forehead. Angry Remus is fucking beautiful.

“Yes, you do,” Sirius insists. “You could have anyone!”

Remus scoffs. “I can’t and you know it. You know why I can’t. I just… fuck. Sirius. You know
what? I’m too drunk for this.”

He turns to leave, and Sirius’ heart sinks. “No. Wait, Moony. Wait!”

He chases him. Just. Runs after him, because he only likes angry Moony if he’s yelling at him. If
he leaves… Sirius can’t. He just can’t. So, he chases his friend. Falls into step next to him.

“You didn’t tell me who it is you like,” he says in a small voice.

Remus gives him a look that makes Sirius want to be reckless. Jump off a cliff, maybe? “You are
fucking unbelievable, Pads.”

Sirius shrugs, because they know him. Him and his issues. Him and his temper. His inability to do
anything right. To exist without pissing people off or breaking something. He’s a walking disaster,
with zero emotional maturity because well. His mother imperioused and crucioed him for years. So
like, what does Remus expect?
“It’s just me, Moony,” Sirius says. And there’s so much in that. All the things Remus knows about
him. Things that should have made him hate him, but for some reason didn’t. Remus has seen the
worst of Sirius and he stayed anyway.

Remus knows. Remus sees. Remus, inexplicably, accepts and stays and cares. It’s almost too much
for Sirius.

Remus stops. Look at him in a way that singes his skin, makes his fingers twitch. And then they’re
hugging and all is well again. Sirius is home. He’s okay and Remus is okay. And nothing else
matters.

####

James gives Remus a day. He thinks this is reasonable, because they did, after all burn down his
bed on Thursday night and it’s not yet fixed. After the party, they had to put all four of their brains
together to find a solution without anyone finding out. They managed Saturday evening, so James
thought perhaps Remus would give him an explanation then.

Instead, he got into an absurd fight with Sirius over jumpers again. A fight that was left unresolved
because Remus folded the moment Sirius whipped out a bar a chocolate and waved it at him. They
then proceeded to curl up on the recently resurrected bed with a book each and read for hours,
Sirius’ head resting on Remus’ lap.

Peter gaped at them like he couldn’t believe his eyes. James simply shrugged.

Still. James waited. He gave Remus Saturday night, and Sunday morning. It’s a lot of time, James
thinks. Time that Remus didn’t use wisely. So. Sunday afternoon has arrived and James has no
choice but to track Remus down in the library.

He left Sirius with Peter, who challenged him to a game of chess. That’ll go on for a while,
because both are very good at it and hate losing. James has time to talk to Remus undisturbed.

His werewolf friend is sitting at a big table, hunched over some books. James notices that Remus is
wearing the jumper that Sirius took Thursday night. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t washed it.

“Remus,” James says by way of hello, dropping into the chair right next to his. He props an elbow
on the table and rests his chin on his hand. “Isn’t there something you want to tell me?”

Remus looks at him for a long moment. Blinks. “Be specific, James.”

“Why were you hanging out with Regulus at the party?”

How’s that for specific? James is anxious for some reason and it’s making it hard to keep himself
in check. His reactions might be a little blow out of proportion. He’s not sure why, though. So he’s
just going with it.

Remus sighs, then shrugs. “He’s a prefect. We had a good patrol on the train and I—”

“Remus.” James can’t believe he’s trying to pull this shit on him.

“Fine,” he says, admitting defeat. “He wanted a cigarette.”

James blinks. He’s somehow both surprised and not to find out that Regulus smokes. Like, he
knew, because he saw it. But also, he thought perhaps it had been Remus’ influence, not that
Regulus has sought it out. It seems both Black brothers have something of an addictive trait to their
personalities. Huh.

“Since when do you smoke with Regulus Black?” James doesn’t mean for it to come out with so
much bite, but it does.

“James, what is this really about?” Remus asks, levelling him with one of his ‘I’m not fucking
around looks.’

What is this really about? James doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. It just feels like Remus was
close to Regulus. Sharing something. And Regulus didn’t threaten to dismembr him. Regulus
didn’t hurt him. Didn’t push him away.

And as much as James finds Regulus’ mean streak attractive for some inexplicable reason (he
almost exploded when he towered over him with his wand in his hand and delivered a rather
ruthless ‘that was a warning’), James would rather the boy let him get close. At least once.

He wants answers, James. He wants to know what happened to Regulus. Whether he ran away from
home. Whether he’s still redeemable. James needs to know why he touched his face in the
infirmary.

Why?

What does it mean?

He can’t ask Remus these. He can’t tell Remus that’s what he’s doing here. Digging for answers
he’s not going to find.

So, he goes down a route he knows will distract his friend.

“You know Sirius will lose it if he finds out you’re getting close to Regulus,” James says.

Remus tilts his head, harshness flashing over his eyes. “Sirius is not the boss of me.”

James snorts. “Come on, Moony. You know that’s not it.”

Remus stays quiet for a while. Longer than James is comfortable with. He wants to break the void
somehow. Say something. But he’s learnt that sometimes Remus needs him to wait. So James
forces himself to be patient. He puts his hands under his thighs so he doesn’t fidget, though his
shoe keeps bouncing on the floor.

“Here’s the thing, James,” Remus says. “Regulus was desperate for that cigarette. It was obvious,
because he was drunk. If I hadn’t given it to him, he would have gone ask someone else and
Regulus Black isn’t the best liked person at this school.”

James nods, because all of this is true. Makes sense. Except. “So you… thought it better you than
someone else? I’m… why?”

“Because he’s Sirius’ little brother, Prongs,” Remus says, like it explains everything.

“We hate Sirius’ brother,” James replies, tentative. “Don’t we?”

“We do, but we also look out for him.”

James opens his mouth. Closes it again. He doesn’t know what to say. This is new information to
him. He’s… well, he’s confused but also curious.

“We do?”

“Yes, James. Because Sirius hates Regulus but he’d die if anything bad happened to him. You
know he cares. Deep down. He still cares. It’s what hurts him.”

And well. Yes. Remus is right. Now that he’s voiced it, James knows it’s true. Like something he
was always aware of, just… out of sight. In the back of his mind.

“Right,” he says, relaxing back into his chair. “So you were nice to him for Sirius.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

James is so relieved he almost giggles. Remus isn’t flirting with Regulus. There’s no secret—wait,
what? Fuck. James almost falls of his chair. Is that what he was worried about?

Apparently yes. Merlin’s balls, James is in so much more trouble than he thought if he’s getting
jealous of Remus. Remus of all people. Remus who orbits Sirius like a planet does its star.

“What I want to know,” Remus says casually, breaking through the fog of James’ brain. “Is why
you were so fucking bothered, James.”

“No reason.”

“James.”

“Huh?”

“You have exactly one minute to tell me that the crush you need getting rid of isn’t on Regulus
Black,” Remus says, leaning back on his chair. “Or I will personally crack open your brain to
exorcise this absolute lunacy out of it.”

James doesn’t know what exorcise means. But he knows Remus isn’t joking. He’s too fucking
smart. Sneaky. He’s observant. It’s because he’s never the one making the noise.

“It’s not that,” James replies. It’s… well, yes. It is that, but also, James thinks there’s something
else going on here. He’s curious about Regulus and for good reason. He thinks Regulus is hiding
something and it could be a something that changes everything.

Remus’ eyebrows touch his hairline.

“Moony,” James says slowly. “If I told you I suspect something has happened to him and that I
want to find out what it is. If I told you I think it’s something that could potentially make Sirius
happy, would you trust me?”

Remus straightens at that, sitting forward. “Go on.”

“I… I don’t want to say anything because if I’m wrong it will only hurt Sirius more. I’m just…
trying to find out. Okay? I need you to trust me. If I’m wrong, then I’m wrong and it’ll go nowhere
and Sirius won’t know. But if I’m right… Moony, if I’m right it might bring them back together.

He hears the sharp breath Remus takes and knows his friend is in. “What do you need?”
“I just need to get Regulus to talk to me,” James says earnestly. “So. Any ideas?”

Remus hums. “Cigarettes.”

That’s how James ends up later that evening under his invisibility cloak, gripping the map, and
sneaking out of the school and into Hogsmeade. Remus knows—because Sirius has told him—that
there’s a dingy pub right by the edge of the village that sells muggle cigarettes. That’s where James
is going.

He knows every corner of Hogsmeade like the back of his hand. During fifth year, the worse year
of Sirius’ life, they spent almost every night sneaking out of the castle together to go drink with
Rosmerta. She knew they were breaking the rules, but she could see that something was wrong
with Sirius. She saw through his flirtatious smiles and easy jokes, and she let them drink with her.
James suspects her thinking was similar to Remus’ with Regulus—better there with her than
somewhere else with unsavoury company. James is eternally grateful to her.

Today, he’s not going to the Three Broomsticks, though. He walks past it, safely hidden under his
invisibility cloak and makes a beeline for the edge of the town.

The pub is dark, so James cannot see what’s making the floor so sticky. It’s better this way,
because James is sure he’d be nauseous if he could see. Hiding in a corner, he pulls the cloak off
and tucks it under his clothes. He’s wearing Sirius’ leather jacket, hoping it makes him look less
like a student.

He sits at the bar and orders a whisky. It’s not ideal to be drinking when he’s got school tomorrow,
but he doubts they even serve butterbeer here. If he sticks to just the one he should be fine.

The man serves him and pockets the coins without a word. James plasters on his most disdainful
smile—which he’s aware isn’t that disdainful at all, but oh well—and says, “I hear you’ve got
cigarettes for sale. Two packs.”

The man pauses, looks at him. James holds his gaze with confidence. That, he can do. And it
works. “Give me a moment.”

He disappears behind the bar. James nurses his whiskey slowly. Shortly after, the bartender comes
back, holding two packs of cigarettes like he’s seen Sirius carry around. The transaction is easy,
and just like that James has what he needs to lure Regulus into a chat.

How ridiculous that he’s had to go to these lengths just to get a boy to talk to him. But James is
enjoying it a little bit. The fact that Regulus isn’t immediately interested. That he has to work for it.

James slides off the stool and heads towards the toilets at the back to put on his invisibility cloak
and leave. On his way out, however, he walks close to a booth where two men are huddled close
and catches their conversation. It stops him in his tracks.

“…hitting Liverpool to send a message. We’re gaining traction. Gaining supporters fast,” one of
them says. “The Dark Lord is gracious to those that help the cause.”

“What does that help look like?”

James moves closer, holding his breath. The man doing the recruitment responds, “the first task is
a test, of course. We can’t have weaklings that can’t stomach some action.”

The other one squirms in his seat. “I’m not going to kill anyone.”
“Eager, are we?” the recruiter laughs. “Relax. No one’s killing anyone. It’s just a scare. Ruffle a
few feathers. What I need is access to Liverpool’s train station. The Ministry has warded places
where muggles converge recently. Take them down.”

“No one will die?”

“People will get hurt,” the recruiter says. “But we’re not killing them. Not yet.”

James feels sick. Bile is climbing up his throat and he knows that if he doesn’t get the fuck out of
this place right now he’ll do something stupid. Something that will get him killed. That’s not the
right thing to do—he needs to alert someone so they can protect the muggles at Liverpool’s train
station.

Trying to fight these two right here, right now will help no one. James is good at duelling. He’s
fucking amazing at it, and he knows it. But he’s also just a kid. And as much as he wants to play
hero, James knows, deep down, that the right thing to do is to stay hidden. That’s how he saves
lives, he tells himself.

Except James doesn’t know when they’re planning on attacking. His knees are shaking, and he’s
sweating profusely, but James forces his body to stay. Listen.

“Fine,” the man being recruited agrees. “When?”

“Rush hour tomorrow afternoon.”

James bolts out of the pub so fast he jostles a few chairs. Someone yelps in surprise, but he doesn’t
stop. He holds onto his cloak as hard as he can and runs.

He doesn’t stop running until he’s reached Honeydukes. Here, he’s forced to slow down so he
doesn’t wake the owner who lives upstairs, above the shop. Heart pounding in his chest, blood
thundering in his ears, James finds the trap door and drops down into the passage back to
Hogwarts. And then he’s running again. Tearing down the tunnel like the devil is on his tail
because, quite frankly, he feels like it is.

He stumbles out of the tunnel. Almost rips the map in half with how quickly he pulls it out of his
pocket.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good,” he says. Then he’s running again, following the map to
avoid patrols as he finds his way to Dumbledore’s office.

The gargoyle stares at him, stony and solemn. James fights for his breaths. His lungs are on fire,
and he feels a little dizzy. The tips of his fingers are tingling with adrenaline.

“I don’t know the password,” he tells the Gargoyle through his panting, his voice barely a wheeze.
“But if you don’t let me in to talk to Dumbledore, people are going to die.” His voice catches, and
a tear escapes his left eye. “Please.”

The Gargoyle moves. James chokes on a sob of relief and is rushing up the staircase before the
stone has even finished moving. His legs are screaming at him to ease up, to give them a break. He
doesn’t, flying up the staircase through the ache in his muscles and the sweat dripping down his
back.

Dumbledore’s office is the same way it always is, though James can’t say he’s been here often.
Yes, he gets in trouble a lot but it’s always McGonagall who deals with them. She calls them to her
office, scolds them, gives them detention. Occasionally, she gives them biscuits instead. The only
time James came here was after Sirius’ ill-advised prank. The one that should have broken them,
but that ended up bringing them closer together.

He remembers sitting here, listening to Sirius break down and sob and tell Dumbledore that he had
been drinking because he didn’t know how else to stop hurting. That he hadn’t been thinking. He’d
been barely even there. He’d said the words, let Snivellius overhear them, but he’d not really meant
to. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d wept, and bitten his nails to the quick.

He remembers Sirius hating himself so hard he couldn’t meet Remus’ eye when the boy arrived to
the office, too.

He remembers Dumbledore telling Sirius he had to go see Poppy after the meeting because he’d
hurt himself when he’d realised what he’d done. Making Snivellius promise he’d never tell.

James remembers Remus, torn between the anger of betrayal and the painful understanding that
Sirius hadn’t done that to hurt him, but to hurt himself because his demons had gotten the best of
him. That something was deeply wrong with their friend, and they’d failed to help him through it,
so he’d spiralled so hard and fast he’d put someone’s life on the line.

Remus had gone to Tom for comfort and advice almost immediately. Leaving Dumbledore’s office
without looking back, and Sirius had fallen apart so thoroughly James had asked for Effie and
Monty to come to Hogwarts to help.

He remembers Sirius begging to be expelled. Sirius kneeling before his parents and telling them he
wasn’t worth their time. Apologizing for having ‘tainted James’ with his friendship. James hadn’t
been able to stand it. He’d been on the floor, too, weeping with Sirius. Begging him to understand
people made mistakes and that was human. What he’d done wasn’t okay, but it was hardly going to
be the end of them. James loved Sirius. All of him. The bad and dark parts, too.

James remembers Remus weeping in James’ bed every late night for a week straight, because he
couldn’t stay with Tom, not in the Ravenclaw tower. And Tom didn’t get it. Not fully. Tom didn’t
know Remus was a werewolf. He couldn’t know. Remus never wanted to tell him. So it was James
who held him as he wept and asked, over and over again, why Sirius had done this to him. Why
him. Why Sirius.

He remembers the months it took to work through it. Slowly, but steadily. James forgave Sirius
immediately, but Remus struggled. James never pushed. Sirius waited. He worked for it. Day after
day after day. In small gestures. In big gestures. Sirius showed Remus that he loved him and that
he’d learned his lesson.

He remembers when Remus finally understood the depths of Sirius’ trauma. How much he was
hurting. How truly horrible the things that happened to him at Grimmauld place were. It didn’t
excuse what he did, but it put it into context. It filled in gaps, and helped Remus see that he wasn’t
the only one who had to deal with something heavy. Sirius might not turn into a wolf every full
moon, but he lived with the constant weight of torture at the hands of his own mother every single
day.

He remembers the day that Remus forgave Sirius, and they talked. It was the first week of sixth
year. He watched them on the map, up in the astronomy tower, for a whole night. They didn’t
come back until dawn. James suspects that’s when things shifted for them, or, at the very least,
when Remus became aware of how he truly felt for their friend, though he’s never asked.

Sirius hasn’t cried since The Prank. Not a single tear. To be perfectly honest, Sirius never truly
cried before that, either. He did with James. In private. But not in front of others. Never in front of
others. It was testament to how wrecked he was that he couldn’t keep it in that day.

Oh. James remembers. He will never forget.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore says, coming into the office through a small door at the back that James
suspects goes to his rooms. “Are you alright?”

And James wants to cry. He wants to break down. But he can’t. Lives are at stake. So he takes a
fortifying breath and looks Dumbledore in the eye. “I was outside the school tonight. Went to a pub
in Hogsmeade. I overheard two men talking about the Dark Lord. They’re planning an attack.”

He has to stop, take a breath. Dumbledore is watching him intently, but he’s waiting. Trusting that
James will give him what he needs. “Liverpool train station. Tomorrow afternoon at rush hour.
One of the men will bring the wards down. They said… he said it’s a scare. A warning. The Dark
Lord is rising, and more people join his cause every day.”

James runs his hands through his hair. “Stop them. Please.”

That’s when he collapses. His body gives up, because he’s fit, and young, and healthy, but he also
just ran all the way from the edge of Hogsmeade into Dumbledore’s office. He’s had actual human
lives in his hands for the very first time and what does he know about being a hero? He’s only
eighteen! It’s terrifying, the knowledge that one mistake on his part could sentence people to their
deaths. He doesn’t want that responsibility. But if not him, then who? Someone has to. Someone
must. This war that’s brewing, that he’s heard his parents whisper about… well. It’s not going to
be won by people who stand by and do nothing.

Still. James is fucking exhausted and overwhelmed, so he stays down on the floor.

Dumbledore moves swiftly, barking orders at his portraits. He takes out his wand and casts a
patronus that he sends to Godric knows where or who. It’s impressive, though. James needs to learn
to do that when he’s not in shock.

James is on the floor, fighting back tears and struggling to breathe normally. Dumbledore moves
around him, opens his floo network and sticks his head in it. James can’t hear what he says, but it
doesn’t matter. Dumbledore is taking charge. He’s doing stuff.

He's going to stop the attack.

James lets the relief wash over him and he manages to calm his breathing a little. He’s wiping the
tears from his face when the door to the office opens and McGonagall steps inside. She sees James
on the floor and does a double take.

“Potter! Are you alright?” she crouches next to him, helps him stand. She guides him to a chair and
starts making tea. “Do you need Madame Pomfrey?”

James shakes his head. “No. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

McGonagall pours him a cup of tea, then turns to face Dumbledore. “Albus! The kid is in shock.
You should have called Poppy.”

“This young man has just saved countless lives, Minerva. He wouldn’t have wanted me to delay,”
he says. Then, he turns blue eyes on James and asks, “Would you?”

He shakes his head vehemently. “No, sir. Of course not. Stopping this attack is the most important
thing.”
McGonagall gives him a strange look, but nods. “Very well. Albus, what do you need?”

Dumbledore walks around his desk and sits on his chair. The Phoenix on its perch is sleeping.
James gets it. He, too, is very tired. Dumbledore asks McGonagall several questions, then gives her
instructions to contact a number of people James has never heard of before.

“Mr. Potter, please drink the tea,” she says. “I’m afraid I need to take fifty points off Gryffindor for
sneaking out of the school in the middle of the night.”

James winces, but nods. This is fair, he supposes. It’s not like Gryffindor has won the house cup a
single time since he started school. People have accepted that while he and his friends are around,
it’s a lost cause. Still, it stings.

That is, until McGonagall smiles a little and adds, “And add a hundred and fifty points to
Gryffindor for the extraordinary resilience and bravery you have shown tonight.”

With that, she disappears down the staircase and leaves him alone with Dumbledore again. James
is grinning. Sirius is going to have a heart attack when he hears that McGonagall smiled at him.
He’s never managed that, though not for lack of trying. Sirius’ crush on their transfigurations
professor is well known.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore says. “James. May I call you James?”

He nods, dumfounded. “Of course, sir.”

“James, you did something quite impressive tonight,” Dumbledore tells him. “Will you walk me
through how it happened?”

James tilts his head. Hesitates. He’s not about to give up the map or his cloak. Or the reason why
he was in that pub to begin with. But he can also tell that Dumbledore is asking to be polite. He can
demand an explanation and James will have no option but to give it.

“Well, I went to this pub…”

James tells him the story, embellishing some areas and keeping the map and the cloak secret. He
says he was in the booth right behind the two men, not standing next to them. Says he used a charm
to enhance his hearing. He says he was there to buy alcohol, but that the bottle broke during his
mad rush to come back. Dumbledore doesn’t question this. He doesn’t seem to care.

When he’s done, Dumbledore regards him for a long time before speaking. “I’m impressed you
knew to stay your hand. Keep calm so that you could gather as much information as possible. You
did the right thing. Like I told Minerva, you have saved many lives tonight, James."

"Thank you sir," he says, a little dazed to have Dumbledore compliment him.

"I understand you wish to join the auror training program when you graduate,” Dumbledore says.

“Yes, sir. I thought of going pro with Quidditch, but I spoke to Frank Longbottom. I understand
things are worse than the general public is led to believe, sir. I want to help,” James says. “So does
Sirius.”

Dumbledore nods. “Very noble. Very brave. But I’m afraid the auror program is compromised.
Mr. Crouch is struggling and lashing out about it. And Alastor Moody has little room to properly
train his people. Voldemort has spies in the Ministry. He has influence there. It’s no longer the best
way to fight back.”
 The words land like a bucket of ice-cold water over him. Because James wants to fight. He wants
to protect muggles and muggle borns. He wants to take a stand against people like the Blacks, who
hurt their own child so much he can’t look at himself in the mirror without flinching.

If being an auror isn’t an option… well, then. There must be an alternative. And James will take it.
Whatever it is.

“What do we do, sir?”

Chapter End Notes

Brief note to say that this is canon divergent so I'm playing with the timeline of things
as I see fit for this story to work. Fully aware that it's unlikely James was recruited into
the Order so early, but also... Dumbledore did send Harry Horcrux hunting at this same
age so it's not that far-fetched. The man doesn't care if his soldiers are too young, so :)

I am also making up a few other things so please don't look for canon accuracy. Canon
is a second cousin that shows up sometimes but most of the year we don't hear from
them at all.

Also, SIRIUS IS DOWN SO BAD AND HE'S SO UNAWARE OF IT OMG <3

Thanks for reading!

 We'll be heroes
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

We get Wolfstar and a little, blink and you miss it, Bartylus here.

TWs for this chapter:

Mentions of violence / evidence of violence
Mentions of past child abuse (Walburga's at it again)
Swearing!
Implied internalized homophobia
Mentions of war

I think that's it! This chapter is a little shorter, but there'll be another update on
Sunday!

Monday morning mail is always chaotic. Loud. Regulus hates it. The owls flap their wings and
make entirely too much noise. Letters and packages flutter and land with dull thuds up and down
the four tables, often overturning cups of tea or making the cutlery clink. It stresses him out.

He is used to it, though, so Regulus remains impassive through it. He carries on eating his
breakfast as a letter drops in Dorcas' lap, smacking the toast she's eating out of her hand in the
process. He doesn't flinch when Evan receives the newspaper and it knocks over his tea, which
spills all over Barty's trousers so he jumps out of his seat cussing Evan's owl out. Regulus doesn't
even look up from his eggs and his black coffe.

Barty's mother's owl drops a letter on Barty's toast. He gives it the evil eye, and doesn't bother
picking it up until he's used his wand to dry his trousers. He sits back down, stares the letter down
like he might set it on fire with his mind.

Regulus never receives mail, so he’s very much not paying attention when the owl drops a package
that hits him over the head before bouncing on the table and knocking over his coffee. He watches
the dark stain spread with mournful eyes before glaring up at the owl, indignant.

He doesn’t recognize the owl. Never seen it before. It’s large, and well cared for. Its feathers are
glossy, full. Intelligent eyes watch him, probably waiting for a treat it is not going to get. Not after
spilling his coffee.

“Whose are you?” He murmurs under his breath, turning the package in his hands. It’s small and
light. Wrapped a little clumsily in simple, brown paper.

He brings it to his ear and gives it a little shake, but nothing rattles inside. Hmm.

Regulus starts peeling the paper wrapping before his brain catches up with his actions and his
hands still. He doesn’t know who sent this, or what it is. It could be a prank of some sort. It could
be… what could it be? The only people he can think of that would want to send him something are
sitting with him, all distracted by their letters or, in Evan’s case, by the Daily Prophet.
It could be from home but that’s unlikely. His mother has never sent him anything before.
Walburga Black isn’t the sort to send him a surprise gift. She does buy him stuff. More stuff than
he needs. Walburga is obsessed with giving Regulus the best of everything—see the collection of
brooms he’s accumulated over the past few years. It’s as though she thinks buying him shit makes
up for the lack of everything else.

It never worked with Sirius—he was so over material stuff. He’d reject it all and throw tantrums
that ended with him getting hurt. Or starved. Or both. It doesn’t really work with Regulus either,
but he’s smarter. He’s always been. So he knows to thank and nod when the gifts are given, and
Walburga stays mostly out of his way. Except her presents always come on a day when it makes
sense. His birthday. Christmas. The day before going back to school. Walburga Black isn’t a
spontaneous woman. And Orion doesn’t breathe without permission from his wife, so obviously
it’s not from him.

Regulus should be more concerned, but the honest truth is that he’s curious. If anyone’s playing a
prank on him, he’ll take great pleasure in trunking it and then planning payback. He's curious and
wants to see what's in this little unexpected gift he's received. Just not here.

Regulus pockets the package without opening it.

“Oh wow,” Barty exclaims all of a sudden. “What the hell happened to him?”

“Huh?” Regulus looks up, follows Barty’s line of sight. The air punches out of his lungs.

James is late for breakfast. This isn’t a big deal. Everyone’s late for breakfast every now and then.
But he… James looks like he had a fight with a banshee and lost it. He’s dishevelled, and walks as
thought his legs can’t carry him properly. There’s a defeated air to him and a bruise starting to
bloom over his jaw. Right where Regulus touched him in the infirmary.

“He looks like shit,” Barty comments, which makes Regulus give him the side eye. “I didn’t know
Potter could look like shit.”

Regulus reminds himself he has to breathe.

Dorcas is looking at Barty with a calculating expression in her eyes. One that Regulus totally
understands because since when does Barty notice what James looks like? Evan has put down the
newspaper and is squinting at Potter, lips pursed with concern, though Regulus suspects it’s not so
much about James’ state but the fact that Barty is noticing James’ state. Barty seems to have picked
up on the weird vibe and is back to reading his mother's letter.

Regulus has managed to inhale and exhale without making a fool of himself. Now, his priority is
getting a grip so he stays where he is instead of interrogating the entire school at wand point to find
out what happened. Something is going on and Regulus hates not knowing what it is.

First his hands, now this. Is someone hurting James? Well, that’s stupid. Someone obviously is
hurting James. And Regulus is going to kill them. Slowly. Painfully. He’s going to drag it out and
he’s going to enjoy it.

Regulus scans the hall. No one looks guilty or pleased. People look a little shocked. Heads turn to
watch as James walks to the Gryffindor table and plops down next to Sirius.

Regulus watches Sirius fuss over James. He takes his face in his hands and turns it this way and
that, talking to James the entire time. James smiles, says something back. Sirius examines the
bruise, getting so close to James’ face they could be kissing. And yet, James is one hundred percent
unbothered by Sirius’ closeness or touch.

Regulus’ gut clenches, a fist squeezing tight. So tight it hurts. He should look away. But James
looks so… tired. Defeated. Like his light has dimmed a little bit. And he hates it. More than he
hates him, and himself for this stupid fucking crush, Regulus hates whatever it is that made James’
light dim.

“You think someone broke up with him?” Dorcas asks.

“No,” Regulus says sharply. “He’s bruised. He got into a fight.”

Dorcas tilts her head, her braids falling over her shoulder. “How do you know?”

Regulus is distracted, and irritated, and frankly a little out of it so he’s careless. He’s careless with
his words. With his expressions. “Bruise on his jaw. Right where Sirius is touching him.”

“Hmm,” Dorcas says.

Evan narrows his eyes at Regulus. “Why do you sound like that?"

Regulus straightens immediately. He does sound a little irritated. Which fair, he is, because
someone is hurting James and it's not him. He doesn't like. Still. His friends can't find out. Fuck.
He can’t do this. Not now. Not ever. He needs to get out of here before someone puts two and two
together. Salazar fucking Slytherin, he’d rather die than be found out.

“I’m enjoying it,” he says, sliding out of the bench to stand. “Pity whoever hit Potter didn’t hit a bit
harder. It’s a shame he’s still standing.”

Barty barks a laugh. “You’re a menace, Reg.”

A late owl arrives, drops a second letter on Barty’s lap. It cleans the smile right off his face
immediately and Regulus knows it’s from his father. Barty won’t react well when he reads it. And
Regulus cannot be here right now, not while his insides are boiling because James was hurt and he
doesn’t know who did it. Evan can help Barty this time. With his father’s letter. Regulus simply
doesn’t have the space.

Regulus stands abruptly, tilts his head towards the exit. “See you in class.”

Dorcas protests, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t look back.

Regulus feels the package burn a hole in his pocket all day, but he has back to back classes and no
time to examine it until the afternoon. He’s also found it hard to concentrate on anything today,
because the entire school is talking about James Potter and the fight he obviously had. Speculation
is running rampant, especially because nobody has claimed credit for bruising Potter’s face.

Regulus is annoyed. He wants to know who did it so he can… so he can hurt them. A part of him is
a little impressed, because James is a great wizard. That is fact and it helps no one to try to deny it.
So, he was either caught off guard, or attacked by an even better wizard. There aren’t many
students who could best him. Sirius could, but Regulus knows Sirius would rather die than hurt
James.

He scoffs, then realises he’s scoffed out loud at his own thoughts in the middle of a charms lesson
and panics. He’s unravelling and it’s ridiculous. He needs to get a fucking grip before someone
notices.
“Hey, what the fuck is up with you?” Barty asks him under his breath. They’re sharing a desk
today. Regulus can’t remember why. Barty usually shares with Evan, but he’s in front of them with
the Greengrass girl.

He scowls at Barty, then looks towards the front of the classroom again. “No,” Barty says. “That’s
not going to work with me, Reg. You’ve been weird all day. Weirder than usual.”

“Have I?” Regulus drawls. He twists the ring on his middle finger for something to do with his
hands.

Barty looks down, then shocks the fuck out of Regulus by putting his hand over his, stilling his
fingers. Regulus is so thrown he doesn’t know what to do. How to react. He stills completely. He’s
barely breathing.

His friends know. They don’t touch him.

What is Barty doing?

Barty leans closer. “I saw you got something in the mail today. Was it Walburga?” He looks at him
intently, earnestly. “You know I get it. Shit parents are my lot, too.”

Regulus can’t respond. He looks down at their hands, then back up at Barty, trying to communicate
to him that his brain isn’t going to stop short-circuiting until Barty stops touching him.

It takes Barty a moment, then he realises what’s causing Regulus so much distress. “Is it because
I’m touching you or is it because a boy is holding your hand?”

Regulus chokes on his own breath. His fingers twitch under Barty’s. What is happening? What is
Barty doing? Help. Regulus cannot. He just… cannot. Not with this, whatever this is. Also, they’re
in the middle of a fucking Charms lesson. Has he lost his mind?

“Barty,” Regulus manages to say through clenched teeth. “What the fuck?”

Barty’s used to Regulus. He’s unfazed by the swearing or the snapping. Regulus could punch him
right now and Barty would laugh it off. “Answer me.” And then Barty says the one thing Regulus
wasn’t expecting. “Please.”

And well. Barty is his friend. He’s been his friends for years. The first friend he made in school,
because the moment the sorting hat shouted Slytherin, Sirius started to distance himself from him.
Barty was there, waiting at the table. He made room for Regulus and introduced himself, full
cheeks and a wide smile.

And most importantly. Barty knows how much Regulus hates being touched. He knows. He
respects it. He has respected it for years. So, if Barty is doing this right now it’s because perhaps
Barty needs it.

Fuck.

What if Barty needs this? Can he give it to him? He doesn’t know. Because there’s the frost, and
the cage of bones, and as much as Regulus wants to be enough for his friends… well. Sometimes
he isn’t. Sometimes he can’t.

Still. He can do something. Give him something. A smidge, because he can’t with the whole thing.
So Regulus swallows and looks at Barty, doing his level best to get past the discomfort of having
someone else’s hand over his. “I don’t like being touched,” Regulus says quietly. “By anyone.”
Barty’s hand retreats immediately, but he stays close. “Cool.”

Regulus holds Barty’s gaze. Now that he’s not touching him, he’s composed again. Collected. He
doesn’t flinch as Barty leans closer still. This is insane, Regulus thinks. Barty has lost his head.
He’s always been a little reckless, a little crazy. But this? Whole new level.

They are at the very back of the Charms classroom, so no one can see them unless they turn around
to look. Still. Regulus isn’t sure what Barty is trying to do. Trying to prove. He just knows their
Charms lesson isn’t the time for it.

It’s then that Regulus notices Barty isn’t breathing.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Regulus asks.

He stays, though. He doesn’t move. He can feel the heat from Barty’s skin, close as he is. It makes
him want to retreat, but Regulus isn’t a coward. He won’t be a coward. He can sense Barty is
testing him somehow. He’ll pass the test. Whatever it takes.

Barty retreats. Just like that. No warning. No explanation. He sits back on his chair, then reaches
inside his pocket and takes out a letter. Regulus recognises the handwriting immediately.

And he understands. Barty’s right that shit parents are a lot they share in life. Because Barty’s
father is even worse than Walburga. Walburga at least tries to pamper Regulus, even if she’s bad at
it. Bartemious Crouch only cares about his public image. Nothing else. His son is either a tool to
further his agenda or an obstacle to move out of the way.

“Read it,” Barty says, sliding the letter across the desk towards Regulus.

He pushes it back. “No.”

Barty scowls at him. “I said read it.”

Regulus shrugs. “I don’t have to. Your father said something stupid, and you want to get back at
him.”

Barty watches him, an eyebrow starting to twitch. It’s a little tell he has, when he’s nervous or
scared. It’s only just now hitting Regulus how much fucking courage it must have taken Barty to
get that close. To touch his hand. Barty isn’t like Dorcas. If he’s discovering something like that
about himself, he’s not going to handle it in a healthy way.

Hence the strange come-on to Regulus in the middle of a fucking charms lesson.

Honestly, Regulus thinks himself intelligent. How it took him this long to put it together is beyond
him.

“He’s not a good enough reason, Barty,” Regulus says.

“What do you mean?”

“If you want to shag a dude, do it for you. Not to get back at him.”

Now, it’s Barty’s turn to choke on his own breath. He starts coughing, and it’s so loud it gets the
attention of Professor Flitwick. He calls the class to attention, asks Barty is he’s okay. Barty
manages to confirm he is. The class resumes.

Evan’s gaze lingers for a moment, but Regulus nods to let him know he’s got this.
Barty takes a deep breath, then pockets his father’s letter. Tapping his fingers on the desk, he gives
Regulus a sidelong glance. “Is that what you do?”

Regulus doesn’t take the bait. “I don’t like to be touched.”

“At all?” There’s a small crack in Barty’s voice. It’s barely there, but Regulus can’t ignore it. He
can’t, because Barty is his friend, and he’s doing his best to reach out towards Regulus about
something that’s scary for him.

Regulus’s heart is frozen. A cage of bones around it. Hard, and dead, and rough. But there was a
time when it wasn’t. And Barty was the first person to show Regulus the meaning of friendship.
Back when Regulus didn’t mind hugs, Barty was the first person other than his own brother to give
him one. And they’ve grown, and things have got more complex because they’re boys and boys
don’t really talk about feelings that much. Certainly not Regulus, anyway.

And yet, here Barty is. Asking for help the best he can. Regulus cannot ignore him. He won’t.

“Well, no,” Regulus admits. “I think I could enjoy it, with the right person.”

Barty lets out a long exhale. He opens his mouth to ask something else. Say something else. But
Flitwick dismisses the lesson. It comes out of nowhere. Regulus didn’t even notice the hour was
up.

They pack their bags in silence and file out of the classroom. Evan catches up with them, but before
Barty goes back to his usual self, he gives Regulus a secret, grateful smile. Just for him.

Regulus commits it to memory.

####

James is fucking aching. Everywhere. He’s sore in places one shouldn’t be sore. It’s a little
embarrassing, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s barely got through the day. The truth is
that he only managed because Sirius hasn’t left his side for a single minute. At one point, James
was being dragged down the corridor by Sirius and Remus because his legs were just not
cooperating. He is that exahusted and beat.

He regrets nothing.

Because by duelling Alastor Moody last night, James has earned a place in the Order of Phoenix.
He’s so pleased with himself he could run a million laps around the lake—once his body recovers
from the ordeal. Alastor Moody is a mean dueller. He’s also James’ new crush, in a platonic,
you’re so impressive I want to be you when I grow up kind of way. The man has moves. He's a
little unhinged, but James doesn't mind crazy. Especially not when it results in such impressive
skills.

“We’re almost there,” Sirius grunts, practically carrying James up the stairs to their dorm all by
himself.

They're alone, half-way up the stairs. Remus has gone to the infirmary to sweet-talk Poppy into
giving him some potions to help James recover faster. Peter is in the greenhouses because he’s got
advanced herbology and the class runs for an extra hour on Monday afternoons.
"I need a moment," James wheezes.

Sirus stops, looks at him. Then he scoops James up bride-style and carries him the rest of the way.
Sirius kicks the door to their dorm open and they stumble inside together. "Fuck, Prongs, you're
heavy," Sirius grunts.

They don’t even make it to one of their beds, instead collapsing on the floor which has so many
discarded clothes it’s practically a mattress.

James groans, and rolls onto his back. “Godric have mercy.”

Sirius shakes his head, rolls onto his back next to James so they’re both side by side, facing the
ceiling. “Tell me everything.”

James smiles, despite the pain. Sirius has been waiting all day to hear the details, because James
couldn't talk openly about the Order where they could be overheard. Knowing his best-friend, his
brother, James has no doubt it's been literal torture for him. And yet, he has dutifully waited, and
helped James get through the day without complaining once. Okay, maybe he's complained a
couple times, but James won't hold that against him.

“I went to Hogsmeade because Remus dared me to,” James says. He feels like absolute garbage
lying to Sirius, but he cannot tell him the real reason he was in the village.

Regulus.

James wonders if he’s smoked a cigarette yet. If he smiled when he saw them and the note. He
wanted to check, but he couldn't look during breakfast without Sirius noticing. Not with how Sirius
was losing it over James' bruises. And then he didn't have a chance at lunchtime because they were
all running late, what with James being half-dead on his feet and all. James wants to think about
Regulus. Except not now. He cannot think about Regulus now.

Sirius hums like this excuse is perfectly plausible, which it is. James has never, ever, not taken
someone up on a dare.

“Anyway, I was there, with my cloak, and in this dingy pub at the edge of town,” James explains.
“And I heard these two talking about an attack on muggles. It was… I wanted to do something
right there and then. But like… I knew it would be stupid. I didn’t know enough, and I thought
other people were involved in this so just by attacking these two I wasn’t really protecting anyone,
you know? So I just… stayed hidden and listened.”

“That is why you’re the Quidditch Captain and I’m a measly beater,” Sirius jokes. “I would have
started throwing hexes left right and centre.”

James chuckles, then groans because it hurts. “I know.”

“So, what did you do?” Sirius prompts.

“I hauled ass back to the castle as soon as I got what I needed and went to Dumbledore. He
believed me immediately and started giving orders to his portraits, then he called Minnie,” James
smirks at Sirius, who’s turned his face towards his friend.

Sirius’ eyebrows shoot up. “You didn’t tell me Minnie was involved!”

“I’m telling you now,” James says, beaming. “It was brilliant, Pads. Dumbledore was so… just so
impressive. He sent a patronus with a message, too. We need to get on that. Learn to do it. Then
McGonagall arrived and she smiled at me!”

“NO.”

“Yes!”

Sirius immediatelly starts rolling on the floor, wailing. “How could you, Prongs? You know how I
feel about her! How could you steal the true love of my life from me?!” He's so dramatic, throwing
a full on tantrum over a single smile.

James laughs, then grunts. “Fuck, Pads. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

Sirius stops, looks at him. He's indignant, and it's so fucking funny James struggles not to chortle
again. “You deserve it! I can’t believe you got her to smile at you.”

Sirius flops onto his back again, dramatically leaving his arms limp at his sides. His hair fans
around his head, black and glossy and frankly outlandish for a dude. Sirius is extremely proud of it.

“Do you want to hear about the duel or not?” James asks, raising both his eyebrows to emphasize
his point.

Sirius crawls over the clothes to get close to James again. He bats his eyelashes at him angelically.
“Go on.”

His eyes are shinning. Sirius loves an adventure. It’s his reckless side, the thrill-seeking side. The
side responsible for many epic nights, more than a fair share of injuries, but always, always, a good
time no matter what.

James props himself up on his elbow, tries to remain solemn. “After Minnie left, Moody arrived.
You know, the second in charge of the Auror department in the ministry.”

Sirius nods. “My parents hate him almost as much as they hate Crouch.”

“Well, he shows up, right? And Dumbledore is all like… ‘James, you’ve saved lives today and
shown skill that we are in need of’ and I’m fucking preening like a peacock Pads. Imagine.
Dumbledore is telling me I have skill!”

Sirius is nodding vigorously.

James continues. “He wants to recruit me, right? Says the auror program is compromised because
Voldemort has spies in the ministry and it’s getting harder and harder to fight back that way.”

Sirius’ eyes are twinkling. He’s so excited his cheeks are a little flush. “Right, so the Order, yes?
That’s what you said.”

“Exactly. The Order of the Phoenix,” James says, and if his voice sounds a little dreamy, who can
blame him? It’s a secret organization fighting against evil. Little kid James Potter would have a
stroke if he knew he’d one day be recruited into his dream. He’s going to save the world! With his
friends!

“And to get in you have to duel Moody?” Sirius asks, eager. Earnest.

“Yes. It’s tough, Sirius. He’s so fucking good. He handed me my ass,” James says, grimacing. “But
you don’t have to beat him. You just have to prove you’ve got skill. That you won’t freeze.”

Sirius sits up, hands fluttering around him excitedly. He wears rings, too. James tries to ignore this
because it reminds him of Regulus. He doesn’t want to think about Regulus when he’s with Sirius.

Sirius looks at the floor, purposely avoiding James’ eyes. He takes of his thumb ring, then puts it
back on, a nervous tick James recognises. “Do you think they’ll let me try?” Sirius asks, chewing
his bottom lip. "They don't have to. Obviously. I wouldn't let me try. I mean, I'm a Black. But
maybe? I would be so good, Prongs. I'd do anything."

James smiles at him from where he’s lying on the floor. “You didn’t think I let them recruit me
into a crime fighting organization without one or two demands, did you?”

Sirius’ eyes go very wide, a wild grin starting to twist his mouth up.

“I said I’d only join if they brought you in, too,” James says earnestly. “Moody will duel you on
Sunday in Hogsmeade. Remus, too. And Pete.”

“Fuck yes!” Sirius launches himself at James. James grunts, because it hurts, but he doesn’t let go.

Sirius hugs him tight. Both boys on the floor, tangled up in each other in a way that makes it hard
to tell where one starts and the other ends. And this is how it should be, because James doesn’t
know who he is without Sirius, and Sirius isn’t without James. They’re brothers. Best friends.
Soulmates.

Actually, James is pretty certain that a word hasn’t been invented for what they share, which is just
as well, because it’s unique. It’s theirs. And it’s forever.

Remus doesn’t bat an eye when he walks in and finds a Sirius and James bundle on the floor in the
middle of the room. He sits down cross-legged next to them and listens attentively as James and
Sirius re-tell the entire thing for him.

Now that Sirius has heard the story, he fills in gaps. There’s another dramatic display of histrionics
when James tells Remus that McGonagall smiled a him, which makes Remus look at Sirius with a
fondness James wants to bottle and keep on his nightstand so he can give it to Sirius when he has
nightmares.

Somehow, during the tale, Sirius has found his way towards Remus and is now resting his head on
Remus’ lap, thought his legs are still very much tangled with James’. They let him, because they
both know Sirius needs this. Proximity. Touch that doesn’t hurt. Warmth and love like he never
knew in the house he could never call home.

“So, get this, Moony,” Sirius says, looking up at Remus from his lap. Remus looks down, smiling
at him. “We’re duelling Moody on Sunday to be recruited into the Order, too.”

Remus’ mouth falls open. He glances at James. “Really? Me too?”

James’ heart bleeds then. For this friend. For the uncertainty on his face. The tentative hope in his
voice, like he cannot believe they’d let him. He bleeds because Remus is always like this. Always
thinking he isn’t good enough. That he’s second choice. Never worthy of the good things that
happen to him.

He’s so much like Sirius in some ways it makes sense to James why they’re struggling to work out
their feelings.

“Yes, Remus. You too,” James says firmly. “They had no issue with it. Believe it or not, Moody
was excited to have a werewolf join the ranks. They think it helps to have different perspectives.
And I told them you’re fucking good at DADA.”
Remus’ cheeks are crimson. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Sirius tugs at the front of his shirt
to get his attention. “Moony? You’re fucking good at DADA.”

James holds his breath, because Remus looks like he’s about to do something. He needs to give
them room. But he’s in pain and just genuinely exhausted.

“Yes?” Remus asks, still looking down at Sirius.

James takes one of the potions Remus brought with him and slowly pushes himself away so he can
sit up and drink it. Neither Sirius nor Remus are paying him attention.

“Yes,” Sirius says. His hand is still tangled in the front of Remus’ shirt. “And the Order of the
Phoenix is going to be fucking lucky to have you. Okay?”

James drinks the potion. His heart is hammering in his chest like he’s the one having a moment
with the guy he likes, but seriously. This is an important moment. James can feel it in the marrow
of his bones. If Remus just… if he closes the distance between them, Sirius is going to let him.
James knows.

“Okay,” Remus says. It’s so soft James barely hears it.

“Good,” Sirius replies. Then, he blinks, looks at the hand still tugging Remus’ shirt and lets go.

James has to bite back a frustrated groan.

“I’m tired, Moony,” Sirius says. “Been dragging Progs around the school all day.”

Remus hums, a small smile on his lips. “Right. And that’s my problem because…?”

Sirius grins up at him, and James has never seen that grin directed at anyone other than Remus.
He’s not surprise Remus folds like a sunchair. Without another word, Remus hand plunges into
Sirius’ hair and he begins to run his fingers over his scalp. It’s something only Remus does. He did
it for the first time one day in third year when Sirius got a nasty letter from his mother and
wouldn’t stop sobbing and Sirius hasn’t let him stop since. Not even James touches Sirius’ hair
like that.

Sirius makes a noise that sounds alarmingly cat-like, especially coming from someone whose
animagus is a dog. But James doesn’t comment. He simply lets his head fall back and closes his
eyes. He’s tired, but he’s home and the people he loves are safe. He can rest for a little while.
 Kiss Me
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Listen, this chapter made me giggle when I wrote it because it's got Bartylus AND
Jegulus in it. Regulus doesn't know what to do with himself, but I say good for him.

A little Wolfstar (more is coming in the next few chapters, I promise!)

TWs

Mentions / discussions of homophobia and internalized homophobia

Discussions of bad parents / child neglect / abuse
Swearing!
Brief mention of gaslighting (not actively seen in chapter, just mentioned that someone
is doing it to someone else)
Mentions of possible future death
Mentions of possible future animal attack
Anxiety
Mentions of being sick (no one is, but they think they might be because they're
nervous)
Cigarettes - though no one is smoking in this chapter!

Enjoy :)

Regulus is elbows deep in his potions prep when Barty shows up in the lab unannounced. For the
first time since they met age eleven, Regulus isn’t too pleased to see Barty. In fact, he’s
inconvenienced. He needs to focus on what he’s doing, and if Barty is here to be all fucking weird
for no reason again, Regulus will kick him out. He’s about to say as much when he hears Pandora
coming in after Barty. Dorcas brings up the rear.

“Where’s Evan?” is the first thing Regulus asks, because his absence is so obvious to Regulus he
wants to smack Barty over the head for the stunt he pulled in the Charms classroom yesterday.

Evan noticed Barty acting strange towards Regulus, and he’s been in a mood since. Last night in
their dorms was awkward, to the point that even Edward fucking Selwyn asked Evan if he was
alright (Selwyn only talks to Evan directly. He avoids Barty and Regulus like the plague).

Barty is trying to pretend nothing happened, gaslighting Evan when he asked if there was
something going on. Barty wasn’t too good at it, so the blond boy could definitely tell Barty was
lying, which is only making Evan more anxious. Regulus is trying to stay out of it because he’s just
not here for drama and also, he’s not entirely sure what Barty was doing or why.

“Sulking somewhere,” Barty says, oblivious. “He won’t say why, but he’s in a foul mood.
Anyway, he’ll get over it.” Regulus stares at Barty, dumbfounded. Is he this unaware, or is he just
trying his best to gaslight himself? Regulus can’t tell.
Barty needs help, Regulus thinks. They all do, if he’s honest, but he’s not looking at that too
closely.

Barty shrugs. Then, “Stop what you’re doing, Reg. You need to listen to this.”

Regulus tenses like a bowstring. This sounds like Pandora had another dream. He sighs, and puts
town the knife and lavender petals he was prepping for his sleeping draught. He makes it in
batches, but the potion can’t sit for too long or it loses the effect so he’s here at least once a week,
brewing lavender and asphodel and about seven other ingredients so that he can get some damn
sleep.

He brings the fire down to let the potion simmer, then steps away from his desk to face his friends.
Dorcas’ uniform has suffered alterations overnight, which makes Regulus mildly suspicious. Not
that he’s ever going to ask.

Dorcas’ skirt is shorter than before, though nothing scandalous enough that someone would put her
in detention for it. She’s sewn two pins to her shirt and added a small silver clip to her Slytherin
tie. Regulus quite likes the clip, because he’s a silver jewellery preacher. Gold has no place on
one’s body.

“Pandora had a dream,” Dorcas announces dramatically.

Here we go. “When?” Regulus asks.

Dorcas smirks. “Just now. She was having a nap on your bed.”

Regulus blinks at this information but that’s all the reaction they get. It’s not the first time Pandora
takes a nap in their room. Does he like she was using his bed? No. Is he going to make a big deal
out of it? Also no. Because this is Pandora, and Pandora is to be protected. Even from himself.

He runs a hand through his hair, then nods. “Well?”

Pandora tilts her head up, as though listening to someone hovering above her. She nods, then fixes
Regulus with a look. “There was a wolf. You were in danger.”

Regulus groans. Not this again. Wasn’t the ominous cave dream enough? Why does Pandora’s
subconscious insist on putting him in peril? Regulus thinks this is unfair. His life is shitty enough
without divine intervention making it worse. Besides, he’s already in peril. Or will be, once he
fully kicks his revenge plans into motion.

“Reg,” Dorcas says, a warning in her voice. “If Pan says you’re in danger, you are. We need to be
ready.”

I am ready. But he doesn’t say, because he hasn’t told them what he plans to do. He’s not sure he
will. There are a few unresolve threads to his plan that he’s struggling to make a decision on, and
thus ignoring for the time being.

Barty crosses his arms over his chest. “Dorcas is right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Fine. A wolf will maul me to death, is that it?”

“No,” Pandora says, twirling one finger in a strand of long, blond hair. “First of all, my dreams
aren’t literal. The wolf represents some danger. Like, just danger as a concept. Not an actual wolf.”
“Makes sense,” Dorcas chimes in. “Reg could take a wolf. It would hardly kill him. He’s fucking
fast and mean.”

“What is it, then?” Barty asks.

“Whatever it is, Regulus is threatened by it. He’s in danger, and he has two choices. To trust the
stag or to go at it alone,” Pandora explains calmly.

Regulus is so startled by a new animal being introduced into this already bonkers scenario that he
almost chuckles. What in Salazar’s nightmares is this? Wasn’t the cave enough? Honestly. He
knows his revenge is dangerous. That what he wants to do will end up with him hurt or dead. But
does Pandora really have to constantly remind him of it? He’s trying to have a semi-normal school
year! The last one he’ll ever have. He could do without the doom and gloom.

Apparently, Pandora isn’t done. Her blue eyes find his and she gets all solemn and serious. “I
couldn’t see past the choice you make, which means it’s important. Also, the Grimm shows up in
the dream, so it truly is a dangerous situation. Life or death.” Her voice wavers a little bit before
she composes herself. Pandora’s always good at leaving her emotions out of her dream
interpretation. That, Regulus can admit.

“I can’t tell you what happens. But I think what you need to do is trust the stag. The stag gave me
like… peaceful, warm vibes. So, trust it. Alright?” Pandora’s eyes are big and earnest and Regulus
wants to make light of this, but feels it would be disrespectful.

Dorcas and Barty both look confused, but worried. It’s… Regulus doesn’t like it. It makes him feel
all weird inside, like worms are crawling in his blood vessels. Besides, they’ve got nothing to
worry about. Dorcas said it. He’s fast and he’s mean. Regulus prides himself in his magical skill.
It’s the only thing that makes him salvageable. The one thing that gives him some worth. His brain.

Regulus shakes his head. “Thank you, Pan. I will keep this in mind.”

He won’t. He respects Pandora’s abilities and he knows for a fact that they are real. It’s just that
it’s too hard to decipher them. He could spend weeks puzzling over what the wolf and the stag
represent and never figure it out. The moment of peril could come and go without him connecting
the dots—this has happened before, where they only realized Pandora had dreamt the situation
after the fact. Not very useful.

“I think we should look into animal imagery and meanings,” Dorcas says, chewing her bottom lip.
“I don’t like that Pan is dreaming about you in peril, Reg. I really don’t.”

“I’ll be fine,” Regulus says. “I’ll trust the stag.”

Barty’s face twitches, but he knows better than to retort to that. Pandora and Dorcas exchange a
glance. “We’re going to the library, just in case. We’ll look into wolves and stags and see what we
find,” Dorcas says.

“The Grimm, too,” Pandora adds.

Dorcas nods, hooks her arm in Pandora’s and glances at Reg again. “You finish your potions. We’ll
see you for dinner, yeah?”

Regulus’ chest gets uncomfortably tight and warm. He wants to crawl under a desk, for some
reason. He doesn’t, obviously. But he wants to. Instead, he shrugs. “You don’t have to do that.”
Pandora smiles at him. “We know. But we want to.”

With that, they leave. And Regulus is… well. He’s floored because this doesn’t happen to him. Not
really. He’s… he’s smart and skilled and ruthless. Nobody defends him. Nobody has to. Deep
down, Regulus has always wondered if anyone ever would.

It’s nice, he realizes. Pandora and Dorcas going to the library to do a bit of reading for him. It’s
nice. He likes it. He’s grateful.

He’s afraid. He’s guilty.

He can’t remember the last time he did something for Pandora. So now he owes her. Which like
fine, because she’s Pandora but also… it makes Regulus a bit nervous.

And Dorcas? Well. Just. He should have hurt Blair more. Stayed up with Dorcas more often. Given
her his bed, maybe? He hasn’t done enough for her, because he’s been so busy with his own shit
and honestly? How can he even call himself a frie—

“Stop that. Don’t do that,” Barty says aggressively. Regulus frowns, glares at him. Barty sits on a
desk. “You’re our friend, Reg. Sometimes, we do things for you. It’s how friendship works.”

Regulus stands still, trying to process. He knows this is true. Like, objectively. Logically. He
understands the concept of friendship. And, to an extent, he does shit for his friends all the time.
Without thinking. Because they’re his friends and he can do a lot of things they can’t. It’s a no
brainer, really.

But why would they do anything for him? He’s... broken. Frozen. Bones and cold and pain and
spite. That’s all he is, all he’ll ever be. Vengeance and anger and bitterness. Who would want to do
anything for someone so filled with ugly shit?

“I want to ask you something,” Barty says suddenly. “No. I need to ask you something.”

Regulus looks at him and the hairs at the base of his neck rise. Barty’s nervous. He can tell
immediately. And Regulus’ mind reacts by focusing on the way Barty’s chewing his lip and
tapping a finger on his knee. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the fact that they’re alone in the potions
lab and that nobody is going to come disturb them, because Slughorn trusts Regulus here and gives
him free reign.

“No.” The word punches out of Regulus like an arrow. Sharp. Deadly. Unstoppable.

Barty’s scoffs. He slides off the desk and takes a step towards Regulus. “You don’t know what I’m
going to ask.”

“It’s a no.”

Regulus is sweating. His head is a little light, dizzy. He’s fiddling with his rings almost
obsessively.

Barty takes another step. Regulus is rooted to the spot. His feet won’t obey him. He should move.
Get out of the way. Tell Barty to fuck off.

He should, so why isn’t he doing it?

“Barty,” he says, and his voice is a little hoarse.

Apparently, Barty thinks that’s a good sign and not an indication that Regulus is one sudden move
from keeling over. He steps all the way up to Regulus, until their shoes are toe-to-toe.

“Please,” Barty says. Weak, and pleading.

Regulus scowls. “What?”

“I just need to figure something out, Reg,” Barty says, eyes searching his face. “And it has to be
you because it can’t be Evan. And there’s no one else. I don’t trust anyone else.”

“It can’t be Evan,” Regulus repeats, pursing his lips to show Barty he doesn’t think this is a good
idea. Not even remotely. Whatever Barty is playing at is going to end badly.

But Barty only nods. He runs a hand through his hair, closes his eyes. Opens them again.
“You’re… well, you’re you. No attachments. No feelings. Evan is… I can’t ask this of Evan. It has
to be you.”

Regulus isn’t breathing. If he was, his chest would graze Barty’s because that’s how fucking close
they are. Barty smells nice. Regulus knew this before, but now he’s like hyperaware of it. It’s
clean and crisp, like lemons. His eyes are blue, and his cheekbones are sharp, and Regulus has
never been this close to a boy before. Not even the muggle in the pub this summer.

It’s doing things to his insides that are not entirely unpleasant.

“I can’t help you…” Regulus has to swallow. “Never done this before. I don’t—”

Barty nods, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips upwards. “Yeah. Yeah, no. Me neither. So
maybe, maybe we can check? Right? That’s what I need. I just… I need to know. To be sure?”

Regulus doesn’t need to check anything. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’s gay. He like boys.
It’s a truth as solid and unmovable as the sun rising every morning. But Barty apparently does.
He’s terrified. Regulus can tell because his breathing is all erratic and Barty is sweating too and his
eyes are a little wild.

Regulus isn’t sure Barty will recover if he rejects him right now. If he rejects this desperate plea
for help.

Is that good enough for his first kiss?

Regulus doesn’t know. What is good enough? Barty is his friend. He’s someone he trusts as much
as Regulus can trust anyone. Barty is insane, but also loyal. His first friend. Barty is someone he
used to fancy. Objectively, Barty is hot as fuck.

Maybe that’s enough? It’s just… Regulus cannot get a first kiss again. There’s only one. Barty is
asking him for it.

Regulus never really thought what his first kiss would look like. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever get
one.

Except… well. There was one moment. Just the one. In the forest, the other night. Friday. Four
days ago, Regulus stood in the shadows of the Forbidden Forest and for one single, wild, terrifying
moment, wondered if James Potter was going to kiss him.

As a prank, obviously. But still. And… a part of him wanted it. Because it was James and Regulus
has always wanted to know what James tastes like. Except James will never look at Regulus that
way. Not for real. Not in any way that counts.

But what if?

And no. Regulus won’t do this to himself. He’s not going to not do something on the off chance
that the impossible might happen. That’s stupid and Regulus is many things but stupid isn’t one of
them.

“Why me?” Regulus asks Barty, tilting his head to the side a little bit.

Barty’s eyes dip to his mouth and he swallows thickly. Tries to smile but he’s shaking so it’s more
of a grimace. “Well, I… I think you’re…”

He stops. Takes a deep breath.

“You’re hot okay? I just can’t stop noticing it. You showed up at school this year and I cannot look
anywhere else and what does that even mean? And then there’s Evan, and have you noticed how
gorgeous he is? Evan! Like… I just… Reg, he touched my hand yesterday and I got hard.” Barty
chokes on the word, cheeks blushing so violently Regulus wonders if it hurt.

Desperation is rolling off Barty in waves, and it’s making Regulus want to do something about it.
His friend is struggling, and for once Regulus can’t fix it by hurting someone. Because the person
causing Barty distress is Barty himself.

He looks terrified. “It’s embarrassing, Reg. I’m confused. I’m so confused. I don’t… I… I like
girls, right? Like, I like them. I swear I like them, they’re gorgeous and soft and tits are… I mean,
have you seen a boob up close? Fucking brilliant. But then, why? What is happening to me? I don’t
understand. Why am I noticing you and Evan? Oh and Lupin. And… and that chaser from
Hufflepuff. Like what the fuck, Reg?”

Barty’s hands are in his hair, and he’s tugging at it like he’s trying to force these thoughts of his
brain.

Regulus is struggling to not react. Barty is one hundred percent correct. The people he’s listed are
good looking people. Attractive. Lupin, specially. But Regulus doesn’t know what to say to all this,
because he’s never… well. Regulus has never had doubts. He’s never liked girls at all.

Barty is still ranting, listing off names that Regulus sometimes doesn’t recognise. That is, until
Barty’s eyes almost fall off his sockets and he says, “And worst of all Potter. Fucking Potter, Reg,
if you can believe it. The guy is hot and I noticed it and I hate myself. It’s disgusting. But he’s just
—”

Absolutely not.

Regulus will not stand here and listen to Barty or anyone else talk about the ways in which James
is hot. He will not.

“Barty, stop. Stop right now,” Regulus snaps, cutting his off. “Is this about your father?”

He recoils then. Stepping back, away from Regulus. Shakes his head. “No.”

Regulus waits. Looks at him, calm and measured and knowing. Barty closes his eyes. Opens them.
And then, “Okay. Maybe?”

Barty looks down, hunches his shoulders a little bit. Ashamed. But Regulus can’t… ah, he won’t
have Barty ashamed of who he likes. Over his dead body. He just needs to figure this out. Regulus
is going to help him, or he’s going to try.

“You want to kiss me so it helps you figure out if you really like boys or if you’re acting out to piss
your dad off?” Regulus asks plainly.

Barty looks on the verge of tears, which is something Regulus doesn’t see very often. It takes a lot
to push Barty this far. If he could, Regulus would kill Bartemius Crouch. He’s thought about it,
long and hard. One day, he will. If Barty doesn’t get there first, that is.

“Do you like boys?” Barty asks him. “I mean I thought you might, after yesterday, but I haven’t
asked you and maybe you think I’m—"

And Regulus looks him dead in the eye and says “Yes.”

Barty lets out a long breath. “How did you know?”

Regulus leans on a desk next to Barty. Fidgets with one of his rings. “I just did. I saw this guy…
and it was like woah. I was too young to have proper… ehm… sexual ideas. But I definitely had a
crush on him. And then, when I was old enough to experience sexual attraction it was always boys.
I just… for me, there was no question. It’s always boys. Only boys.”

“But you said you’ve never kissed anyone,” Barty whispers.

“Well. I don’t know who else might be queer, so I’ve never risked it,” Regulus admits.

Barty nods like this makes all the sense in the world. “Yeah. No, I get it. That could end up real
bad. And once people know, you can’t take it back. But also… that sucks, Reg. You’re sixteen.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I’ve kissed people. I’ve had sex,” Barty says. “A lot of it. With girls, mind you, which
is fucking awesome. It’s just… why am I now thinking about kissing dudes? What is wrong with
me?”

“Nothing,” Regulus says immediately. Zero hesitation. He pushes himself off the desk and comes
to stand in front of Barty. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Barty. You can like both girls and
boys. That’s nobody’s business but your own. And I’m pretty sure you aren’t the only one. People
just don’t advertise it, for obvious reasons.”

Barty looks at him, helpless. Afraid. “I’m so confused, Reg. I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell if
it’s real, or if it’s…”

“That’s okay,” Regulus says. “You’re sixteen, mate. You’re hardly going to have it all figured out
by now.”

“You do,” Barty says, one hundred percent genuine.

Regulus shrugs, runs a hand through his curls. “Special circumstances.”

Barty chuckles, and they fall into a gentle silence. Regulus watches Barty think, emotions flitting
through his face. There’s hate, and pain. There’s a dangerous gleam, too. Regulus wishes he could
take down the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement right now. Kill him painfully.
Practice his curses on him. It might be the only time in his life Bartemius Crouch is genuinely
useful. The man isn’t worthy of the air he breathes.
Barty shifts his weight, purses his lips. He takes a deep breath and look straight at Regulus.

“Can I touch you?” Barty asks, looking down at where Regulus’ fingers are twisting his rings.

Regulus is tense all over again, but also… He’s not a coward. And he’s not stupid. He won’t wait
for James or for anyone else. Barty wants this. Needs this. And Regulus… well. The clock is
ticking, isn’t it? He’s got a few months left of normal.

He says, “Yes. Okay, yes.”

Regulus braces himself as Barty takes his hand. It makes him want to squirm, but less than usual.
He tries to remember he’s chosen this. This is his choice. He’s in control. He can tell Barty to back
off and Barty will.

He’s okay.

Regulus swallows. Barty spreads his legs and tugs. Regulus is standing between them now. Once
again close to Barty. His fourteen year old self would have collapsed from sheer shock. And
excitement.

“You’re mean, and prickly, and scowl way too much,” Barty tells him, quietly. He’s afraid.
They’re both afraid. “But you’re the first person I chose for myself. The first friend my father
didn’t influence. And, in a twisted, fucked up way, we get each other. Because your mother is as
bad as my father.”

Regulus nods. He knows what’s going to happen. This time, he’s not going to stop it because Barty
needs this. And Regulus wants to know what it feels like. A kiss. With someone he trusts.
Someone who’s good looking enough to have made his knees weak when he was younger.

“I can’t trust anyone else with this, Reg,” Barty says. “But it’s your choice.”

Barty looks up, into his eyes. Question. Trust. This is the most vulnerable Regulus has ever seen
Barty.

And Regulus kisses him. He does it a little aggressively, because he’s afraid he’ll chicken out if he
gives himself time. So, he presses his lips against Barty’s hard enough for the boy to rock back a
little.

It’s nice. His world doesn’t shift. The sky doesn’t tear open. But it’s nice, Regulus thinks. He’s not
sure if—

Oh.

Obviously, Barty knows something he doesn’t. His tongue is running over Regulus’ lower lip and
it’s… it’s better than nice.

Regulus sighs, and when his mouth opens, Barty takes charge. His tongue dips into Regulus’
mouth and Regulus head spins. He does his best to keep up. He knows it’s obvious to Barty that he
has no idea what he’s doing, but this is Barty. His friend. It doesn’t matter that Regulus is terrible
at this. Not with Barty.

And suddenly he knows this is a perfect first kiss because he can learn, and test, and make
mistakes and it won’t cripple him with self doubt. Barty knew he’d never done it before. He knew
it would be bad. Awful, maybe. Regulus isn’t sure if he’s got any natural skill for this. He
shouldn’t, because… well. He’s Regulus Black. But despite that, despite everything, Barty still
wanted it to be Reg. And honestly, Barty is good at this which helps a lot, because Reg is a quick
study.

They’re skill kissing. Tongues and teeth and lips. It’s messier than Regulus expected, and if he
thinks about it he wants to step back, but he’s also enjoying it, somehow. So he stays. And pays
attention to what Barty is doing and tries to do the same.

Regulus relaxes, somehow. Despite the fact that he’s kissing someone, and Barty’s hands are
running up his arms towards his shoulders, he relaxes into it. Regulus wanted to know, and now he
knows, and he’s going to have to find ways to get more of this in the next few months because he’s
been missing out.

Kissing is great.

Regulus steps closer and Barty groans. And it goes straight to the base of Regulus’ spine. Salazar
Fucking Slytherin. He’s going to pass out.

They break the kiss, breathing ragged and clumsy. And Regulus forces himself to hold Barty’s
gaze.

“Yeah,” Barty says, grinning. “I one hundred percent like boys.”

And Regulus, despite everything or perhaps because of it, laughs.

“Let’s not do this again, yeah?” Barty asks. “You’re hot and everything, but it would make
everything weird.”

Regulus lets out a shaky breath. Relieved. Because kissing Barty was nice, and he’s glad he did it.
He knows now, and if he ever kisses anyone, he won’t feel like a fumbling idiot.

But Regulus isn’t interested in Barty. Not this way. And he knows Evan is. It’s better they leave
this behind them as a one-off. An experiment. A friend helping a friend.

Regulus nods. “Agreed.”

“Okay,” Barty says, grinning. “Now, I’m gonna give you some tips, alright?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t tell Barty to shut up.

####

James folds the map and groans as quietly as he can. Regulus hasn’t left his dorm all night. It’s
almost midnight, and James can’t help but wonder whether Remus was wrong and Regulus didn’t
want to smoke that badly.

The rest of his friends are fast asleep. There was a bit of a commotion when Peter made it back to
the dorm and James explained everything, but they’ve since calmed down and gone to bed. James
can hear the deep, slow breathing that indicates they’re all asleep. Only he’s awake. Waiting.

Perhaps he should have waited. Not sent the cigarettes so quickly. James still has the second pack
and he’s promised himself he’s going to wait before sending it to him.
He sighs and leans back on his pillow. The aches and bruises are almost gone thanks to the potions
Remus brought him. He’ll get sleep tonight, which James knows he needs. Still. He was hoping
Regulus would have left his dorm to smoke.

James falls asleep, and he dreams of pale, smooth skin. Lips that never smile, dark curls and eyes a
deep green tinged with grey.

James wakes up sweating and aching for entirely different reasons than when he fell asleep.

He’s jittery all the way to breakfast. Sirius notices, but he believes him when James tells him it’s
excitement about the Order. Remus has a pep in his step. He’s had one since he found out the Order
wants him, and that makes James smile. Peter is also excited about Sunday, but he’s less endearing
about it because Peter has never been denied anything simply for existing. Remus has, and now
he’s invited into an exclusive space. He’s thriving.

They walk into the Great Hall together, drawing eyes like they always do. James has an arm thrown
over Sirius shoulder. They both strut by the tables like they own the place. The past two days have
been awesome, and they’re in the best mood. On top of the world. Heroes about to join the secret
ranks that will save everyone.

Sirius smirks at a group of Hufflepuff girls as they walk and James swears one of them swoons. He
thinks he hears Remus scoff behind them, but James is breaming too much to tear his eyes away.

Nobody would ever know that on Monday night Sirius fell asleep purring on Remus’ lap while
having his hair stroked. Not this Sirius. The Sirius everyone gets outside the Marauder’s dorm is
cool, and untouchable. He can be loud—and often is—for the attention, but never soft. A little bit
like Regulus, though with a lot less scowling and a lot more leather.

There’s an open spot next to the girls, who look deep in conversation as they approach. Sirius
slides in next to Marlene, fellow Gryffindor beater. She gives him a smirk and they do a little secret
fist-pump handshake thing they’ve got for pre-game hype.

“Tonight’s practice is going to kick ass,” Marlene says.

James loves how well they get along because they make a killer team. Oh, this year’s Cup is in the
bag!

Sirius puts half his hair up and sticks his wand through it to keep it in place before he winks at
Marlene. Then, he plucks a hash brown off her plate. Marlene rolls her eyes. “There’s a whole tray
literally right there.”

“Tastes better when I’ve stolen it from you,” Sirius says.

Peter slides in next to Mary, who immediately puts a cup of juice in front of him. Peter thanks her,
still half asleep. Mary and Lily look up at James, still standing, and smile.

“Gonna stand there all morning, Cap?” Marlene teases.

James sits across from Sirius. Mary, leans across the table, past Lily and taps James’ arm. “Oi,
Potter,” she says. “What the ever-loving hell happened to you Monday? Didn’t wanna ask
yesterday because Lily insisted we give you space, but I’m dying to know.”

James chuckles, puts on a bit of a show. He runs a hand through his hair, tilt is his head. He may or
may not flex his arm a little so the girls can see his muscles bulge in shit shirt. “Tried too risky a
move on the broom and had a passionate encounter with the grass.”
Sirius barks a laugh, head throw back. Remus, sitting next to Lily, looks away.

James winks at Marlene. “Can’t be the best Quidditch Captain if I’m not willing to take a few
risks.”

Lily shakes her head. “You could have broken a bone or something.”

“That has never stopped him before,” Remus says. He drinks coffee. Black, no sugar. James cannot
stomach even the smell of it.

He pours himself some tea and dumps at least three spoonfuls of honey.

Mail arrives then. James loves it. It’s so exciting, and a little bit chaotic. He looks up to watch the
owls sweep into the hall, dropping letters and packages into eager hands. There’s a letter for him
and one for Sirius from their parents. He passes it over the table without a word. Sirius snatches it
up and puts it in his pocket. He never reads Effie’s letters in public.

James opens his, scans it quickly. No bad news. Nothing is wrong. He can read it properly later,
now that he knows all is well. Pocketing his letter, he takes a bite out of a shortbread biscuit and
watches Peter’s owl struggle with a package larger than she is.

Peter’s parents have sent him some sweets. Remus tries to steal the chocolate, but Peter is ready for
him and keeps it out of his reach with true mastery.

“Wormy,” Remus whines.

“Nope,” Peter says. “Maybe later, if you ask nicely.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at them, but only James’ notices. All in all, it’s a very nice breakfast.
Except. James wants to look. Desperately. But he can’t. Not here. Not surrounded by people.

“So,” Marlene says, putting down her cup of tea a little too violently. “I need a volunteer.”

“What for?” Peter asks.

Lily looks at James, squinting as though examining him for something. “He could work. Look at
his eyelashes.”

James blinks, confused. “My what?”

“Eyelashes,” Mary insists. “They’re perfect. Long. Thick.”

“What do you need James’ lashes for?” Sirius asks, curious.

Marlene smiles. “We need a model to practice something. We need a model with nice eyes and
lashes.”

James is a little bit curious, but he doesn’t have bandwidth. He shakes his head. “Sorry girls, I
don’t have time. The first Quidditch match is in a few weeks. I’ve got a strategy to work on.”

And I have to figure out a way to get Regulus Black to talk to me, James thinks but doesn’t say. He
does his best to keep his eyes firmly on the table. He cannot get caught looking at the Slytherins.

“Sirius has pretty eyes and long lashes,” says Remus casually.

Sirius chokes on his juice, spills all around him. Marlene shoots him a knowing smile that he
misses because he’s too busy fighting for his life. Peter passes him a napkin. “Here.”

Sirius takes it, pats his face. There’s a tear rolling over his cheek, but he’s mostly recovered. He
takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair, then gives the girl a casual smirk. “Sure. I’ll be
your model.”

“Brilliant,” Marlene says, clapping her hands. Mary and Lily exchange satisfied nods that make
James suspect this was what they wanted all along.

Sirius pulls his wand out of his hair and casts a spell to clean the mess he made on the table and
Remus… James wonders whether the vein on his forehead will explode, and if it’ll cause a mess
too or it’ll be internal. Quite frankly, at this point, anything that can trigger either of them to take
action is welcome. Even an aneurysm or whatever.

“Sunday night?” Lily asks Sirius.

He shakes his head, putting his hair up again. “Sunday night’s busy. We can do Monday. Or
Saturday.”

“Monday,” James says. “Monday is best.”

He doesn’t want whatever this is interfering with either Sirius or Remus’ duel with Moody. James
glances at Remus, whose face is buried so deep in his coffee his nose must be submerged.

“Alright. Monday,” Sirius says, unbothered.

James catches Peter’s knowing smile. Eyes twinkling as Lily nods towards him subtly. Ah. So
there’s something happening here that James isn’t privy to. He can guess, though. Whatever the
girls want to do to Sirius is designed to try and provoke Remus into doing something.

Lily is very close with Remus, and James knows there’s no way she has missed how he reacts to
Sirius.

James approves. The girls getting involved can only speed things along. Bring the two of them
closer together faster, which is good because honestly, it’s about time.

If they ask for his help, he will give it. Otherwise, he’ll stay out of it. James has enough to worry
about on his own and he trusts these girls more than he does himself. So.

He’s distracted, and therefore careless. It’s why he forgets he can’t look. He does. Over Sirius’
head and across the hall, all the way to the Slytherin table.

Regulus is there, and the sight of him hits James like a bolt of lightning. He wonders if there’ll ever
be a day when he can look at Regulus without feeling like he’s been punched. He doubts it.
Regulus is so fucking beautiful.

He’s drinking from a cup, quietly going through his breakfast. Meadowes and Crouch are next to
him, discussing something animatedly. Pandora is with them today. As far as James knows, she’s
the only person from a different house the Slytherins allow to sit with them. Some of the seventh
years look her way a few times, but no one says anything to her. James has no doubt Barty Crouch
would have something to say about it if they did. He’s been known to go off the rails and do
reckless shit from time to time. Defending Pandora would be a justified outlet for his tendencies.

Halfway down the table there’s the two girls whose hair turned into a rainbow. James wants to
know who did it, because it was a genius prank. Just… elegant. Perfectly executed. And whoever
did it didn’t get caught. Genius, if you ask him. Outstanding performance. Today, they’re wearing
beanies which tells James nobody has yet figured out how to reverse whatever happened to them.

Regulus looks up from his coffee as Rosier walks in. Crouch glances at Rosier, too, lips tense and
pressed into a thin line. Rosier looks a little rough, like he didn’t sleep well. When he sits down
next to Regulus, he says something to the boy that makes him stiffen. Regulus isn’t very
expressive. He keeps his body coiled and tight most of the time. But every now and then the mask
slips a little bit. Whatever Evan said to him threw Regulus off balance. Meadowes and Pandora
have caught on, and are watching with confused and concerned expressions.

Regulus doesn’t engage. Whatever Rosier is baiting him with, he lets it slide off him. But then,
Rosier must say something really mean because Regulus pushes himself away from the table and
stands. James watches as Crouch calls after him, but Regulus keeps walking away. James is out of
his seat before he knows what he’s doing.

“I left my books in the dorm,” he says hurriedly. “Will see you in class.”

Everyone mutters their agreement, too busy discussing gossip from the Witches Weekly that Mary
just received to really pay attention to James’ fake book drama. Sirius shoots him a look ‘you
okay?’ And James nods ‘yes, don’t worry.’ Sirius accepts this, and goes back to the magazine
gossip with the girls.

James slips away as fast as he can without running. The last thing he needs is to draw attention to
the fact that he’s chasing after Regulus Black.

He catches a glimpse of his cloak turning a corner and hurries after him. Now that he’s out of view,
James dares to run. He goes as fast as he can, trying to control his breathing so he isn’t heaving
when he finally catches up to Regulus.

When he makes the turn, he comes face to face with Regulus’ wand.

“Wha—“ Regulus’ eyebrows shoot up. “Potter?”

James grins. Regulus is so beautiful! He steps forward confidently, despite the wand poking him in
the chest. “We need to stop meeting like this.”

Regulus isn’t impressed. He doesn’t lower the wand. “Go away.”

James is getting a little desperate. He’s not used to people not engaging with him. Regulus is
confusing, and lovely, and James struggles to think straight when he’s threatening him.
Apparently, James is into dangerous people. Who would have known.

“Come on, Black. Don’t I get at least a thank you?” He sounds a little winded. Or wounded. James
isn’t sure.

Regulus blinks. His eyelashes are so long. The girls would have a field day with him for a model,
except James doesn’t want anyone else to realize how gorgeous Regulus is. He likes that he’s the
one with this knowledge, as far as he can tell. Is he the only one?

Regulus tilts his head, scowls. His wand lowers a millimetre. “For what?”

“Oh,” James says, landing back in the immediate here and now. “You didn’t get the cigarettes?”

Regulus stills, drops his wand. “What?”

“I… ehm… did you not get a package yesterday? My owl should have delivered it but I was a bit
distracted so maybe…”

“Oh.” Regulus reaches inside his robes. Extracts the small package James hastily wrapped. It’s still
untouched.

To James’ surprise, Regulus proceeds to open it right there and then. He tears the paper carefully,
and James struggles to breathe as he watches Regulus’ long, nimble fingers work around his poor
packaging skills. He’s wearing three rings today, one on his middle finger on the right hand, and
two on his left - index and ring fingers.

He takes out the pack of cigarettes and turns it around, finding the note James attached to it.

I don’t need to know why.

Thanks for that last vial of potion.

JP.

Regulus scowls at the paper, then looks at James with a frown so deep there are three lines
between his eyebrows. And what wouldn’t he give to step forward and press his fingers to that
frown. Ease that tension away. See what Regulus looks like when he’s not scowling, because
lovely as he is, James thinks Regulus is even lovelier if he’s smiling.

But he doesn’t. Not yet. He can’t. He’ll scare Regulus away and he cannot afford to do that.

“Listen,” James says, because he can see this going south quick. He needs to score a point
somehow. “Remus told me you were out of smokes and I wanted to say thanks for giving me the
last vial. I couldn’t have done it myself. That’s all it is.”

“What happened?” Regulus asks him.

James blinks, confused. It doesn’t help that Regulus’ eyes are so distracting, or that he’s still
gripping the cigarettes with those long, ring clad fingers.

“What?”

“Your hands,” Regulus says.

James blushes. “My own fault. I did something stupid.”

Regulus’ face doesn’t change. But something James can’t parse flits through his eyes. “Stupid
people do stupid shit.”

James smiles, amused. “I know you’ve got better insults than that, Black. Calling me stupid is
hardly original.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” James teases.

He regrets it immediately because what little progress he has made with Regulus vanishes. His face
shuts down completely, one hundred per cent blank.

“What is this, Potter? If you’re attempting to prank me it’ll end badly for you,” Regulus says, like
he’s not even worried about the possibility of being pranked, only inconvenienced. “Very badly.”
James shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. “No pranks, Black. Believe it or not, some
people do things just because. No ulterior motive.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I prank you, Black?” James asks, earnest. “Why here? Why like this?”

“Because you’re an idiot and have an immature idea of fun,” Regulus replies smoothly.

“Oh, come on,” James complains. “First of all, our pranks are hilarious. Second of all, our pranks
are way more creative than whatever this could be. Besides, a prank is only as good as the reaction
you get. There’s no prank without an audience. And no one’s looking.”

Regulus wrinkles his nose like this concept is utterly foreign to him. For a brief moment, James
thinks he’s managed it, but then Regulus’ expression shutters again.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Potter. Find someone else to pester.”

“Black,” James’ hand darts out without his permission. He catches himself just in time, retreats
without touching the other boy. Regulus notices. He stops turning away, eyebrows raised.

“If you need more,” James says, nodding towards the cigarettes, “all you need to do is ask.”

“What’s your price?”

James doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink. He needs Regulus to know this is genuine. “Conversation.
Just a chat. A civil chat.”

“I’d rather stick quills into my eyes,” Regulus says.

“Don’t. They’re too lovely,” James blurts out. Stupid. Careless.

Regulus will mock him now. Insult him for real. There’s no way the heir to the house of Black—if
he’s still that, which James is fervently hoping he’s not—is open minded. He’ll never even
consider that a boy can like another boy. He’s bracing himself for insults. For hate. So he’s
completely caught off guard when Regulus speaks next.

“You shouldn’t go around saying things like that to people you don’t trust,” Regulus says, stiff but
not disgusted. “It’s dangerous.”

And James. Oh. James sees the opening. He thinks he does, anyway. That’s enough. The sliver of
possibility is enough for him to take the leap of faith.

“Ah, Black. You should know I like me a little danger.”

James winks.

Holds his breath. Prays to Godric Gryffindor and Merlin and every other ancient, powerful deity he
knows or has heard of that he didn’t misread that reaction.

And Regulus… Regulus is blushing. It’s barely there, but he’s very pale so it’s not hard for James
to spot it. The pink spreads over his cheeks and it’s so lovely, so beautiful that James’ mouth opens
into an O.

Time stands still. Suspended in this moment as the tectonics plates of their worlds shift and
accommodate. They make space for something to grow here. It’s impossible. It should be. But it’s
happening anyway.

If James is careful, he could plant it. It could grow and exist. Tie them together. If he works on it.
Step by step. Brick by brick.

And he’s willing. James is willing to do the work. Lay foundations. Nurture, and water. Like the
sun shining on a little plant, James will give himself over to this.

Because… fuck. If there’s a chance Regulus is everything they thought he wasn’t… Well. Sirius
will get his brother back and James… what James wants he can’t acknowledge. Not yet. Because
Sirius comes first but maybe. One day. If he does this properly.

“You are an absolute bellend, Potter,” Regulus says, blinking fast. He’s turning around, and
walking away. The blush has almost vanished, but James saw it. He saw it, and that’s all that
matters.

James lets him get away, because this round went a million times better than he thought it would
and he won’t risk messing it up. So he watches as Regulus walks, elegant, and composed, and so
above everyone else he could truly be a god walking amongst mortals.

Ah. James was in trouble before. Struggling in unknown waters, fighting to stop himself from
going in. James was keeping himself afloat with effort and stubborness alone. Now? Now’s he
sinking fast, fully submerged, inevitably under. And he does not want to try to swim.
 Matchmaker Meadowes
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

First of all, thanks to the 110 people who have left kudos! Literally, y'all make my day
:) And to the people who take the time to comment... you're the MVP. Thank you <3

We get an interlude in this chapter and it's the queen herself, Dorcas Meadowes!!

TWs

Anxiety
Internalized homophobia
Smoking / cigarettes
Mentions of cruelty
Mentions of past child abuse and child neglect

I think that's it! I hope you're enjoying the story :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus would very much like to stop needing to hide in empty classrooms to have meltdowns.
This is ridiculous. He doesn’t do this shit. He’s cool, collected. He’s Regulus Fucking Black,
master of his emotions, chairman of his body. He’s a dragon, for fucks sake. His friends said so.

And yet. He’s hiding in a room and hyperventilating.

Again.

Seriously pathetic. He kissed Barty yesterday and didn’t have a breakdown over it. A proper kiss,
with tongues and everything! And he was fine. In fact, it was all very civil. Barty gave him some
pointers for improvements. Regulus thanked him. Barty expressed gratitude that Regulus had
helped him out. They re-confirmed that they had agreed never to do it again. Case closed. No
dramatics. No displays of emotion of any kind.

But James fucking Potter winks at him and he’s on the verge of literal death.

Regulus is overwhelmed. Because James. Did James just? Was he… he said his eyes are lovely.
And he… he implied that he… maybe?

Regulus doesn’t know what to think.

The idea that James might not be straight is outlandish. It goes against everything Regulus knows
about him. James is the typical teenage douchebag. Isn’t he?

Arrogant, because he’s attractive and he knows it. Superficial, because he’s only dated other hot
people. Loud and obnoxious because he loves attention. He’s self-righteous and a hot head.

Regulus knows that none of these things are mutually exclusive with being queer.
It’s just. Well.

James can’t like boys, can he? This has to be an elaborate prank. Except. He said it wasn’t. Regulus
knows better than to simply believe someone’s word, but James does have a point. It doesn’t make
sense. If this was a prank, it would go down differently. Regulus has seen—and been the victim of,
along the rest of Slytherin—a hundred pranks over the years. This is not their modus operandi.

So, then what is happening? Why?

The cigarettes in his pocket are calling him. He wants nothing more than to ditch lessons and go
somewhere to smoke. The fact that it was James Potter of all people who got these to him is
mindboggling. It’s hurting Regulus’ brain to try and work this out.

Because. If James does like boys. Then what? It’s one thing to accept the earth-shattering truth that
James could be queer. It’s another thing entirely that he would like Regulus.

He can’t.

Someone like James Potter doesn’t like someone like Regulus Black.

Loud and obnoxious doesn’t go well with mean and quiet. And yes, Regulus is horrifically
attracted to James but that’s because Regulus is broken. Any normal, sane person would be
repulsed by their opposite. Especially if their opposite is the Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble
House of Black.

But James said—

No.

He’s not going there. Not now. Not ever. He needs to focus. Think about revenge, and everything
he needs to learn and do before it’s time. He needs to figure out how to sort out the mess they’ve
made of things—Barty and Regulus—and fix it with Evan. Because he doesn’t know they kissed
and he’s still giving them the cold shoulder over the Charms lesson situation. If Evan finds out
they made out, he’ll kill them both in their sleep. As much as Regulus sympathises, he can’t die.
Not yet. He’s got a revenge plan to enact.

So. He’s got a lot going on and James Potter will not derail him. He won’t allow it.

Regulus has half a mind to throw the cigarettes away, but he can’t bring himself to doing it. No
matter where they came from, the truth is that he’s been dying to get his hands on some. It would
be fucking stupid to not take advantage of this.

So, he keeps them, and plans to go enjoy his first smoke that night.

***

Dorcas ambushes Regulus as soon as he steps into the library. She’s been waiting for him, he can
tell. A stab of guilt pierces him, because Dorcas must have been here for a while. But he won’t
share the empty classroom he’s commandeered for his practice. That’s one secret he can’t let slip.
The residual dark magic in the air would give him away immediately and Regulus will not risk
Dorcas getting wind of his plans and trying to stop him.

Dorcas has re-braided her hair, and she has added small adornments to it this time. It looks pretty
fucking cool, and Regulus wishes he was the kind of person who could say these things out loud.
He understands girls like it when you compliment them. Too bad Regulus doesn’t know how to do
it.

Dorcas shoots him a sideways glance. “Where have you been?”

She walks with him as he crosses the space towards the table at the very back, between the stacks
of history of magic books. No one ever comes near. It’s Regulus’ favourite spot. Quiet. Secluded.

“Potions lab,” he says, smooth. He’s a good liar, Regulus. Has to be, living with someone like
Walburga Black.

“I checked. You weren’t there.”

They turn the corner. As expected, the desk here is empty. If it weren’t for Regulus, it would be
covered in dust. It’s long, with room for five or six people if Regulus was the kind of person to do
study groups. Which he isn’t. He doesn’t like crowds.

Regulus takes out his books and spreads them over the desk. He’s got a system, and put the books
down according to it. It helps him focus. Helps him keep his thoughts organized.

“I was in Slughorn’s room.”

“Ah,” Dorcas says. She nods, drags a chair away from the desk and sits down, careful not to touch
Regulus’ books or parchments. “What are you making in there?”

“It’s best if you don’t know,” Regulus replies.

It’s not entirely a lie. Regulus has been using Slughorn’s private potions room, just not today. The
potion he’s brewing needs a lot of time to rest, so he doesn’t really need to go check on it yet.

Slughorn thinks he’s simply being ambitious. He has no idea Regulus has actual plans for Felix
Felicis, if it turns out the way it should. The annoying thing about it is that it requires six months
of brewing, so Regulus had no choice but to start it at Hogwarts. Fortunately, Slughorn loved the
idea of Regulus setting himself a challenge. He may or may not have implied that if he manages to
make it right, he’ll be recommending him for a spot in the Great British Brew-Off.

Regulus would rather cuddle a manticore than participate of such stupidity, but whatever lets
Slughorn sleep at night and keep his nose out of his business.

“How’s Slughorn just letting you experiment?” Dorcas asks.

Regulus shrugs. “He’s happy to bend the rules a little for a Black.”

Dorcas hums, but let’s it drop. That’s not what she’s here for. Regulus knows. He thought Pandora
might try to pry it out of him. He would have preferred that. Dorcas is… special to him. Lying is
more difficult, but he’s not above it.

Dorcas puts her elbow on the desk, letting her chin rest on it. Her braids fall over her shoulder, onto
the table. She raises an eyebrow at Regulus.

“Well?”

Regulus stares back. Blank.

“Are you really going to make me ask?” she says, frowning.

Regulus picks up a quill, dips it in his ink bottle. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”
Dorcas reaches past him and slams his notebook shut. “Don’t bullshit me, Reg. There’s something
going on with Evan and I want to know what. Start talking.”

He sighs, rubs his temples. What’s he supposed to say? He can’t tell Dorcas. It’s not his business.
He’s involved because this is just his life now, apparently. Regulus Black is part of some pseudo
romantic drama. It’s like a bad nightmare he can’t wake up from. But also, none of this is his to
share. He’s not about to out Barty to her, and he has seen the signs that point to Evan’s crush on
their friend but that’s also just none of his business.

“Like you’re telling me why you’ve filled your hair with shinny shit?”

Dorcas opens her mouth. Closes it. Purses her lips. “Okay. I have a crush,” Dorcas says. “I’m
hoping she’ll notice me. She came to talk to me during the Forbidden Forest party, but I couldn’t
tell if she’s… you know, like me or not. It was ambiguous.”

Regulus stares at her, lost. He didn’t think Dorcas would actually admit to this. Now that she has,
he’s got no idea how to proceed. What does one say to this sort of confession?

“Ah,” is what comes out of Regulus’ mouth.

Dorcas smirks. “Nice try, Reg. But not everyone is as emotionally constipated as you are. I’ve no
issue admitting I like someone. I’d even tell you who she is, if I weren’t worried that you’d do
something to her.”

“Why? She hasn’t rejected you, has she?” Regulus asks, suspicious.

Dorcas laughs. “No. But she might. And that’s okay.”

“No.”

“Yes, Regulus,” Dorcas says fondly. “It’s okay. I know it’s a possibility and I take the risk.
Because she might reject me, but she might not. And that’s good enough.”

“You’re insane,” Regulus replies, sounding as disgusted as he feels. Why is Dorcas so careless?
This is why he needs to look out for her. Protect her.

“And you’re adorable.”

Regulus recoils. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

She chuckles, shakes her head. Sits back on her chair with a sigh. “She’s gorgeous, Reg. I hope she
notices me.”

“If she doesn’t, I will take her eyes out. It’s not like they’re working anyway.”

Dorcas makes an alarmed noise. “Enough of that. Violence isn’t the answer. Not always, anyway.”
She taps a finger on the desk, studies Regulus for a while.

He goes back to scribbling notes on his parchment, glad that Dorcas seems to be done with talking.
To his dismay, it lasts a whole three minutes. Dorcas nudges him with a very gentle tap of her shoe
against his. He ignores it. She does it again. Regulus has no choice but to put his quill down and
look at his friend.

“What now?”

“What did you do to Evan?” she asks softly.

“Nothing.”

“What did Barty do to Evan that you’re helping cover up?”

“You need to ask Evan,” Regulus says.

Dorcas smiles. “I already did. Pandora and I did.”

Regulus has to give her points for thoroughness. They’ve been friends for years, something had to
rub off on her, and Regulus is glad it’s something useful.

He looks at her, face blank. A mask of contempt. “Then, you know.”

“I know that Evan thinks you’re having a secret, torrid affair with Barty,” Dorcas delivers this like
it’s the most normal thing in the world. She could be telling him that it’s raining outside for all she
cares. Regulus is low-key impressed.

“Except if you were having an affair with Barty, you would tell me.” Dorcas looks at him, and she
hesitates. Regulus feels guilty again. “Wouldn’t you?”

He cannot believe this is happening to him right now. Seriously. Half an hour ago he was in an
empty classroom practicing curses that can kill a person in six different ways and now he’s sitting
here while one of his closest friends asks him about boys.

It’s embarrassing and not what a revenge mastermind should be doing. “Dorcas,” Regulus says.
“There aren’t enough words in the English language for me to explain to you how much I am not
having an affair with Barty.”

“Oh, thank Salazar.”

“Or with anyone,” he adds for good measure.

Regulus picks his quill up again. Opens one of his notebooks. Dorcas isn’t done, apparently. She
puts her hand over the page. He looks at her once, a warning. Dorcas doesn’t move, so he draws on
her hand. He makes a star, because he can’t draw to save his life and isn’t about to embarrass
himself attempting anything else.

“Reg!” Dorcas complains. “That won’t come off for a day!”

“I’m trying to get some studying done,” he deadpans.

Dorcas shakes her head, grimaces. “You’re not having an affair with Barty but something is going
on. What the fuck is going on, Reg? Evan is not happy.”

“Evan needs to tell Barty how he feels,” Regulus says, not looking up from his parchment even
though he’s totally lost his train of thought and isn’t reading any of the words on the page.

“How do you know how Evan feels?” Dorcas' suspicious tone is making him anxious.

“Obvious to anyone with a pair of working eyes.”

“Is it now?”

Regulus is getting a headache. Dorcas is relentless and he loves her for it, except not when he’s on
the receiving end. He leans back on his chair, runs a hand through his curls. “Listen. Barty had a
crisis. And he needed someone to talk to and he came to me. That’s all I can tell you. But really,
Evan and Barty need to talk,” Regulus sounds tired and frankly? He is. This is exhausting.

“Why did Barty go to you and not Evan about his crisis?”

Regulus isn’t the least bit offended by this because he asked Barty the exact same question. And
this, at least, he can answer because it’s not a secret. “We both have shit parents. And Barty… he
just said it couldn’t be Evan.”

Dorcas laughs. An actual chortle. “Oh fuck, this is so messy. So, Barty likes Evan, freaks out about
it, and what, flirts with you?”

She’s not wrong. And Regulus just wants her to go away now, because she is his friend but he
needs peace and quiet to work and Dorcas is taking way too much of his time. So, Regulus nods.
“Basically?”

Dorcas runs a hand over her face. “Boys are such idiots. I swear to Salazar. Alright. Okay. I need to
go talk to Barty now.” She purses her lips, tilts her head and looks at Regulus. “What did it feel
like?”

“What did what feel like?”

“Flirting with someone,” Dorcas says. “A boy. A good looking boy at that.”

And Regulus. Well. Regulus kind of wants to tell her. Because he hasn’t told a soul and he should,
right? A first kiss is the sort of thing you share. Except. He doesn’t know how. He can’t just. Start
giggling and whispering. He doesn’t think he’s physically capable of that.

But he also won’t leave Dorcas hanging. Regulus smirks. “It was nice, I guess.”

“Just nice? Well, I guess so. It’s not like you fancy Barty.” Her eyes go very, very wide. “Do you
fancy Barty?”

“No,” Regulus says. Firmly. Confidently. Because it’s one hundred percent true.

“Alright. Well, when someone you do fancy flirts with you, I want to hear all about it. Okay?” She
gets up. “Now, I’m going to go find Barty and talk some sense into him.”

Regulus isn’t paying attention anymore, though. Because his brain hates him, apparently. His brain
has pulled up the memory of this morning. James, smiling as he pointed his wand at him. James,
telling him his eyes are lovely. James, winking at him.

He can’t tell Dorcas. But in the privacy of this dark corner of the library, Regulus can perhaps for a
single second admit that when someone you fancy flirts with you, it’s fucking mindblowing.

####

Interlude: Dorcas POV

Barty Crouch is not Dorcas’ favourite. She likes him well enough, but there’s a glint to his eye that
makes her nervous sometimes. Barty is dangerous. It sets her on edge, even though Barty has never
directed his particular brand of crazy towards her. Dorcas knows he never will, because they’re
friends, and Barty is loyal.
But it makes Dorcas uncomfortable to know, deep down, the things Barty is capable of. Or,
perhaps, not the things he’s capable of but how little it would take for him to do it.

Dorcas is aware that there’s something slightly hypocritical about this, because she considers
Regulus Black her best friend. She thinks—hopes—that he thinks of her as his best friend, too. It’s
hard to tell with Regulus, because he’s allergic to feelings.

Still. Regulus is mean, and detached, and wears his mask of indifference like armour. But Dorcas
knows, she knows, deep down that Regulus cares. In his own way. He cares about some things. He
cares about her. And about Pandora. Barty and Evan, too.

And Regulus is capable of dark shit. Dorcas is fully aware of the fact that Regulus is very likely
capable of murder. Possibly torture. He’s mean when feels cornered or out of control, and he's
calculating when he wants to be. The difference between Regulus and Barty is that Regulus only
does what he feels needs to be done, and he considers his options. Always. To be horrible, Regulus
needs motive. Reason. Plans and actions. Barty only needs to have a bad day to do something
insane. Something irrevocable.

Still. Barty is her friend, and he hasn’t yet fallen off the cliff. Dorcas is an optimist, and she thinks
that perhaps they can collectively keep Barty from falling. Besides, she does like Evan and Evan is
having a rough time.

Dorcas finds Barty in the Slytherin common room. He’s talking to Mulciber, of all people. Dorcas
is happy to interrupt whatever that is, and Barty doesn’t put up any resistance when she drags him
away to a corner.

“What was that about?” she asks him, gesturing towards Mulciber with her head.

Barty shrugs. “He’s asking sixth years what we want to do when we leave school.”

Oh. Interesting.

“What do you want to do?” This isn’t what Dorcas needs to talk about with Barty, but she’s
curious. She has no idea what she wants to do when she leaves school. Because the world is falling
apart outside of these walls, and it makes Dorcas nervous to think about it. Her family haven’t put
any pressure on her but she knows there’s some level of expectation.

Her cousin has become a Death Eater, and a few people in her family are loudly proud. Not her
parents, for which Dorcas is enormously grateful. Still. Dorcas can’t ignore reality for much
longer.

“Whatever will piss my father off the most,” Barty replies. “He’s the head of crime fighting, so I
think I’m going to do crime.”

Dorcas sighs. “Anything in particular?”

“Smuggling, maybe? I don’t know.” Barty stretches his arms over his head. “What did you want to
talk about anyway?”

Dorcas looks at him carefully. There’s something different about Barty, and she can’t put her
finger on it. Evan noticed it, too. He told her and Pandora. It’s driving him insane, because Evan
asked Barty and he denied everything. Dorcas thinks she knows why, and her little chat with
Regulus helped her confirm it.

“Have you spoken to Evan recently?” she asks casually.

Barty frowns, leans forward. “We share a room. Obviously, I speak to him every day.”

Dorcas shakes her head, gathers her braids over one shoulder. “I mean like, really talk. Has he told
you yet?”

“Told me what?” Barty’s shoulders tense, and Dorcas wants to smile. She doesn’t.

Dorcas looks around, pretending she’s worried about being overheard. Barty’s on the edge of his
seat. Dorcas leans closer, too. Drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s got a crush on
someone.”

The blood drains from Barty’s face. It’s all the proof Dorcas needs that she’s right about Evan and
Barty. And she’s going to meddle because she doesn’t trust them to sort this out by themselves.
And because, honestly, they need her help. These two are useless.

“Who?” Barty asks, voice strained.

Dorcas leans even closer. “I don’t know. Evan won’t tell me.” She makes a point to sound
annoyed, frustrated. “I have a suspect, though. Evan let it slip it’s someone he’s close with, and
he’s not close with a lot of people.”

Barty makes an alarmed sound. “Pandora?”

Dorcas shakes her head. “My money’s on Regulus.”

Barty goes still. Stiff. Dorcas is sure he’s not breathing. “Evan… you think he…” Barty swallows.
“Boys?”

Dorcas narrows her eyes at him. She reaches forward and grabs Barty’s tie, tugging him so close
she can feel his breath on her face. “If you say some homophobic shit, Barty Crouch, I will chop
your dick off.”

Barty laughs. He laughs, then presses his forehead against Dorcas. “Fuck, Meadowes. You too?
We’re one fucked up bunch.”

Dorcas releases him. Barty’s still laughing. She waits it out.

Are they fucked up? Dorcas doesn’t think so, but she can see why Barty does. Barty has grown up
in an environment that doesn’t allow for any deviation from what his father thinks is the ‘right way
to be.’ It’s not his fault, but it’s fucking sad. Still. Dorcas is proud of Barty for the progress he’s
made. It takes courage, and she can respect that.

Dorcas decides to be a little braver herself. Next time she sees Marlene McKinnon, she’s going to
do something. Say something. Find out if she likes girls, too. Because Dorcas hasn’t been able to
stop thinking about her since the party and that means something. Dorcas wants to find out what.

While Dorcas daydreams about McKinnon, Barty calms down, runs a hand over his face. “Fuck,
Dorcas,” he says. “Who would have guessed?”

She shrugs. “It’s a lot more common than you think, Barty. People just keep it quiet.”

“Reg said the same thing,” Barty muses. Then, his brain catches up to the conversation they were
having and all amusement drops off his face.

“So, you think Evan likes Reg?” Barty asks. It’s a whisper, like he’s worried saying it louder will
make it true.

Dorcas shrugs. “Well. Who else?”

Barty drops his head in his hands. Breathes deep. “Fuck. That’s why he’s been so weird lately.
Because he saw… he thinks… Fuck.” He looks up at Dorcas. “But I didn’t mean. I was just… I
didn’t know. And Reg? Evan can’t like Reg. He can’t!”

“Why not?” Dorcas asks, even though she knows the reason for Barty’s distress.

“Because I…” Barty chokes. “Fuck. I’m…” He closes his eyes. “Evan can’t like Reg.”

“Barty…”

“I kissed Regulus.”

The words fall from his lips like stones. They clink between them, feeling the space with surprised
awe.

“You what?!” Dorcas can’t help it. She shouts. It’s… what? She doesn’t know what’s more
shocking. Regulus I can’t stand even accidental touch Black making out with Barty Crouch, or
Barty Crouch admitting something like this to Dorcas. And Regulus... the little shit didn't say
anything! Ah, Dorcas is going to kill him.

He seems to realise this, too, because Barty is now full on panicking. “Shit. Shit. Dorcas, you can’t
tell anyone. I shouldn’t have said that. It just slipped. I wasn’t… Fuck. Evan can’t know, okay?”

Dorcas lets out a long breathe. “Merlin’s balls, Barty. What the fuck? When did this happen?”

“Reg didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Dorcas says, trying to hide the hurt from her voice. “He didn’t tell me.”

Barty rubs his temples with his fingers. Bites his lip. Groans. When he looks at Dorcas again, the
look on his face is raw and a little desperate. “I only… I don’t fancy Reg. I… do you think Evan…
really?”

“Well,” Dorcas says cautiously, because Barty is on the verge of a meltdown and she feels bad for
him. She's still processing the fact that Regulus and Barty kissed, but this is about Evan. She can't
lose focus. “Evan said it was one of his close friends. He let it slip that it was a he, and I thought
Reg because I knew… Reg had told me he liked boys.”

Dorcas lets this sit for a bit. She waits, patient. Barty has to figure this out for himself.

The common room is busy for a Wednesday afternoon, but no one is paying them attention. Snape
is sitting with Mulciber and some of the other Seventh years. They’re whispering and scheming.
Dorcas looks away. Finds the girls from her year. Their hair is still colourful, which makes Dorcas
smile every time she remembers it.

“Evan didn’t tell you it was Reg?” Barty asks, soft. It’s the softest Dorcas has ever heard him.
“Like, specifically?”

“No. I assumed it was. I don’t think Evan realised he let it slip it was a boy at all,” she tells him.
“He only said it was a close friend.”

“I see,” Barty replies. And he does. Dorcas can tell.

Her work here is done. The seed is planted. It’s up to Barty now whether he’ll do something about
it. Dorcas hopes he does. Because she thinks that if this works out, it might be the things that keeps
Barty off the edge. Because happiness like that… it has power. It can soothe and help a person
become better. Barty has a dark, insane side to him, but Dorcas thinks if there’s someone who can
smooth them over… well.

“I’m glad you do,” Dorcas says, standing up. “Good luck.”

Barty stands up, too. He looks at Dorcas. Smirks at her. “You knew the entire time, didn’t you?”

Dorcas shrugs. “Maybe.”

She winks at him, and leaves him. Barty is climbing the stairs to his dorm two at a time before
Dorcas has time to even reach the door to the girls’ staircase.

####

Quidditch practice goes swimmingly. James feels like he could wrestle a Hippogriff and win. His
team is absolutely killing it. They’ve been at it for two hours, but it felt like five minutes. That’s
how much fun they were having. They only stopped because it got too dark for it to be safe,
especially with the rabid bludgers zooming around.

Sirius tackles him as soon as they land. James falls backwards on the grass, Sirius sprawled on top
of him.

“Oi, Black! Stop harassing our Captain. If you injure him before the game, I’ll kill you,” Olive,
one of their chasers, sixth year, shouts.

Sirius gives her the middle finger and Marlene cackles. “Come on, Olive. Leave them to their
bromance. Nothing can come between those two.”

Olive mutters something about James’ safety around a lunatic, but the girls disappear towards the
changing rooms and it’s just him and Sirius, still on the ground. Sirius is humming happily,
completely unbothered that his knee is dangerously close to killing James’ hopes of being a father
one day.

“You’re about to knee my balls,” James warns when Sirius shifts his weight. “If you want to be an
uncle, you’ll remove your leg right now.”

“Ah, shit,” Sirius says, rolling sideways so he’s only half lying on top of James. “Sorry, future little
Jameses.”

James laughs, because how can he not when Sirius is literally talking to his groin? The man is
crazy. James loves him.

“That was some really good Quidditch we played today,” Sirius says. “Third cup for Gryffindor is
in the bag.”

James beams, lets his head hit the ground. “I can’t believe we’re leaving school in…seven months?
Eight? Not long. Not long enough.” He puts his hands behind his head. Sirius snuggles close, head
on his chest. “I’m going to miss this place.”
“Stop talking,” Sirius says. “Don’t talk about sad shit. We don’t do sad shit.”

Sirius pokes James’ stomach, making him flinch with his entire body. They laugh. It’s a clear night,
temperature starting to drop as they get closer to October. The moon is waxing, which makes
James’ sigh. Late next week will be the first full moon of seventh year.

“Oh, look!” Sirius says, pointing up. “It’s me! Hi! Brightest star in the sky, ladies and gentlemen.”

James smiles even though Sirius can’t see it. He lets Sirius ramble on about astronomy for a little
while before they fall into a silence. Comfortable. Intimate. Sirius is the only person in the world
whose silences don’t make James nervous.

Sirius lights a cigarette. Smokes in peace. James wonders if Regulus is smoking tonight, too. He
wants to go and check the map. See if he’s snuck out of the Slytherin dorms for it. Where would
Regulus go? He hopes it’s somewhere quite common, like the astronomy tower. That way, James
could show up, too. Pretend it was a coincidence. Perhaps Regulus would talk to him, then.

“We should go see Rosmerta,” Sirius says, pushing himself up so he can look down at James. “Just
us. Let’s sneak out.”

Concern spreads from James’ gut all the way to his fingers and toes. Sirius hasn’t asked to go see
Rosmerta in a very long time. Sure, they went to have a drink every so often in Sixth year but it
was during Hogsmeade visits or weekend nights. But a random Wednesday? It makes James think
back to fifth year, and that’s bad news.

“Are you okay Pads?” James asks.

Sirius shrugs, attempts nonchalance. But his eyes dart around, not meeting James’ and he’s not
spent the past six years attached at the hip to this guy to not know how to read him.

“Yeah. It’s not… I won’t drink anything other than butter beer. I promise. It’s not like that. I just
need to be out for a bit.” He runs a hand over his face, keeps it around his chin, like he’s holding
something in. Something he wants to say but doesn’t know how.

James sits up, pulls Sirius into a hug. Sirius melts into him immediately. James presses his face
into Sirius' hair. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, you can tell me. You have to tell me, because
we face our shit together, okay?”

“I’m not ready,” he whispers into the crook of James’ neck.

And James understands. Because he’s not ready either, is he? He hasn’t told Sirius about Regulus
yet. Not that there is much to tell, but James knows if it was anyone else he was crushing on, he
would have blabbed already. Sirius would know every little thing, from the way James’ stomach
flutters when he catches a glimpse of Regulus, to his suspicions that he has some sort of danger
kink, to the way his skin breaks into goosebumps when Regulus says something mean to him.

Sirius would know, and he would make fun of James for it, but he’d also be the best wingman. If it
was anyone else, James knows they would have at least talked to him already because Sirius would
have helped make it happen.

Except. He can’t tell Sirius. Not yet, anyway. Not until James knows more. Knows whether
Regulus regrets saying no when Sirius asked him to leave with him that night. Whether Regulus
misses his brother. Whether there’s hope for reconciliation or not.

“So… Three Broomsticks?” Sirius asks, still buried in the space between James’ neck and
 shoulder.

James wanted to try and meet Regulus tonight, but Sirius needs him. So, Regulus has to wait.
Because as intrigued as he is, as much as he wants to lay eyes on that beautiful, mean face again…
Sirius comes first. Always. No matter what or who.

James squeezes his friend and says, “I need a shower first, but yeah. Let’s grab the cloak and the
map. I’m sure Rosmerta’s been missing you.”

Sirius smiles at him and it’s grateful. It’s loving. It’s the best smile James has ever seen. It’s a
smile that James would die for.

“Thanks, Prongs.”

“Anytime.”

The boys leave the Quidditch pitch together. And later that night, they sit in the Three Broomsticks
with Rosmerta and have butter beer and joke around. They make her laugh so hard she has tears on
her rosy cheeks, and Sirius is thriving on the attention, and the warmth of the pub, and the fact that
James is right there with him. Always. Forever.

On the way back, Sirius looks at James and nods to himself. He tells James that he feels better.
And he promises that when he figures out how to say what’s bothering him, he will tell James.
James promises him he loves him, no matter what. He tells him that there’s nothing he could say to
James that would change them. And Sirius’ voice cracks a little when he replies “I know, James. I
know.”

Chapter End Notes

Honorable mention to Dorcas 'matchmaker' Meadowes. She's a queen. I love her so

much.

Solmussa
 Sectusempra
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Here's chapter 10 - this one is long :D

Please, be aware that there's some violence, injuries, and panic in this chapter so mind
the TWs:

Smoking
Physical violence (punches)
Magical violence (Sectusempra)
Bleeding / blood loss
Burns caused by an explosion in the potions lab
Infirmary / medical intervention

I think that's it! I will update again on Christmas Day :)

Thank you for kudos and comments <3

Solmussa

Regulus hates James Potter. It’s a fact. An undeniable truth. He hates James for many reasons,
some more legit than others and sometimes more strongly than others. But in this moment, Regulus
haes James Potter because he’s somehow gone and made Regulus believe that perhaps he’d show
up. Why? Don’t ask Regulus, he doesn’t know. How? Same thing. It’s not like James can know
Regulus has snuck out of his dorm and is sitting on the roof of the owlry.

Regulus inhales. Feels the smoke in his lungs. This can’t be healthy, he thinks. Is it healthy? He’s
never asked a muggle whether it is. And that boy in the pub never mentioned it. Bah. It’s not
important, anyway. He’s most likely than not to die in the next couple of years so, does it matter?
He doesn’t think so.

Regulus exhales. He’s fucking pathetic, that’s what he is. An embarrassment to vengeful people
everywhere. Honestly, after this bout of idiocy Regulus isn’t even sure he can call himself
intelligent anymore. It’s just… He hadn’t realised he was waiting for James to show up until he
finished his third cigarette and found himself reluctant to leave. But he was. To his utter horror, he
still is.

And James hasn’t shown up.

Regulus leans back on the tiles, a fourth cigarette dangling from his fingers. What is happening to
him? Nothing has changed. He’s had a crush on James forever and it has never before interfered
with his life in any way. Granted, until two weeks ago Regulus didn’t know what James looked like
without his shirt on. That does have some impact, he can admit. He also didn’t know what his skin
felt like. So, maybe?

He doesn’t like this. This feeling that he’s careening towards something he can’t see or plan for.
Something he can’t stop, because this is a thing that’s happening to him. It’s not a thing he’s
choosing. It’s James’ fault, obviously. He has to stop showing up and trying to talk to Regulus.
What the fuck do they have to talk about? Absolutely nothing. Nothing because James and Regulus
have only one person in common but their relationship to said person is so fucking opposite it
doesn’t count.

His eyes canvass the sky, and he finds it. He could find it in any sky. Sirius is bright tonight. It
always is, because of course he had to be the fucking brightest. But tonight, it’s like he’s mocking
Regulus. James hasn’t shown up, and he’s probably with Sirius in his dorm doing something
stupid.

James is so stupid.

Regulus’ crush on James is so stupid.

Regulus hates his life.

He groans, runs a hand over his face. Logically, Regulus knows it was impossible for James to
come. There is no reason why Regulus was even hoping for it. Or that James could know. How the
fuck would James know when Regulus has threatened, and hurt him, and insulted him at every
turn? Regulus himself didn’t even know he wanted James to show up until he didn’t. And, let’s
face it, James is good at school but smart? Regulus has his doubts.

And yet. Regulus is struggling. He’s struggling because James is haunting him. He’s seen his body
—made for sin, by the way. Sins Regulus would happily commit. Repeatedly. He’s seen his eyes
up close. Hazel, which would be Regulus favourite if he cared enough to have a favourite of such
thing. Regulus knows what James smells like. And what the rough skin of his jaw, the stubble
there, feels like.

“Fuck my life,” Regulus grunts.

He wants to be rid of this feeling because it complicates everything. Regulus needs to stop lusting
after James Potter. But how? How does one stop?

Focusing on revenge isn’t working. Regulus can multi-task. He’s been making progress the past
few weeks. Practicing curses in the abandoned classroom, brewing Felix Felicis, researching in the
library. He got a pass for the Restricted section a week ago and has already found three tomes to go
through with a fine tooth comb.

He’s kept an eye on Dorcas, too. Her roommates haven’t apologised, but they aren’t stupid enough
to insult Dorcas anymore. Not while their hair is still sprouting rainbow colours whenever they
attempt it. Regulus feels that’s handled, and he has no plans to reverse what he did any time soon.
Possibly never.

There’s the whole mess with Barty and Evan, but that’s honestly not on him. Like. He kissed Barty
once. Evan doesn’t even know about it. The tension is because Barty was stupid enough to flirt
with Regulus in a Charms lesson and Evan saw it. Barty has to come clean. Or Evan has to tell
Barty he’s not being difficult, he’s jealous and those are two very different things. Either way, this
one isn’t one for Regulus. He’s steering clear. Besides, as far as he can tell, things have calmed
down there quite a lot. They were chatting before they fell asleep and Regulus snuck out.

He could, Regulus supposes, read the research Dorcas and Pandora gave him on stags and wolves.
But Regulus isn’t concerned. Not really. The symbolism of Pandora’s dreams is hard to nail down.
And, no matter what she says, some of her dreams have been literal. Basically, there’s no way for
him to know if he should be worried about real animals or not. So, he’s not trying. It’s a waste of
his time.

Regulus finishes his cigarette. Pockets the pack. James isn’t coming and that’s just as well. He
wouldn’t even know what to do if James did show up. Insult him. Threaten him. All the while
hoping James is a masochist and wants to stay a little longer.

He stands up, looks up at the stars. “This is your fault, you know?” he says to the sky. “I’m fucked
up because of you. I’m a mess, and I’m broken, and there’s only bones and cold and hurt and pain
because of you. Because you fucking left.”

And James Potter was the enabler. It’s always James.

Regulus hates James Potter.

Regulus is obsessed with James Potter.

It doesn’t matter how much time passes. The two truths remain. They are. Part of him, of his brain,
of his chemistry. Two sides of the same coin.

Regulus sits in bed later that night, a vial of dreamless sleeping draught in his hand. He stares at it.
Wonders what it would feel like to be able to simply close your eyes and rest. Couldn’t be him. He
hasn’t had natural sleep that wasn’t terrifying since that night. The day that changed everything.
The day he froze, and his bones closed in, and his brain said ‘we hate sleep now.’

Regulus drinks the potion. He despises it every single time, but not sleeping is worse. And it’s
because he has the sleeping draught that he doesn’t dream. If he did, Regulus would have seen
hazel eyes and brown skin and large hands and a smile brighter than the sun.

####

James was having a fantastic day. They’d had another killer Quidditch practice that morning,
despite the fact he was out very late with Sirius the previous night. Honestly, his team is stellar.
They’re so in sync, flying like pros. Everything just works.

And after that, they’d had a very interesting DADA class learning a boundary spell that protects
valuable or secret things rather effectively. Very handy if they capture someone alive to get
information and need to keep bad guys from rescuing them.

All in all, a very nice Thursday.

Until he turns a corner and finds Snivellius harassing Lily. She’s visibly distressed, shaking her
head and keeping her hands out in a gesture that very clearly indicates she does not want Snivellius
any closer. Sirius has his wand out so quickly his hair has tumbled down before James has time to
blink. They exchange a quick glance, then march down the corridor towards the two of them. Lily
is very capable, but James will not be a passive witness to something like this.

“Leave me alone, Severus,” Lily is saying. “I told you. I don’t forgive you. You’ve made your
choice. And it’s not one I can get past.”

“Lily, you’re being ridiculous. This is the best way to—” He steps closer. Lily steps back quickly,
hands outreached, palms towards him.

“I don’t want to hear it! Just leave.”

Snivellius reaches out and puts his hands on her shoulders. Lily stiffens. James hears himself
growl. “Take your filthy hands off her!”

Both Lily and Snivellius look up, surprised. Snivellius sneers, but Lily sighs like she’s relieved.
“Let go, Severus,” she says. “I don’t want you to touch me ever again.”

He does, and that’s a good thing because James would have hexed him if he’d taken even a
moment longer to stop touching her. Lily suffles closer to Sirius and James, and Sirius immediately
moves so that he and James are flanking her. He’s got a dangerous smirk on his face, one that
James knows means he’s waiting for Snivellius to give him an excuse to do something reckless.

“Arrogant as ever. This does not concern you two,” Snivellius hisses, turns his eyes to Lily again.
He lifts his chin, sets his shoulders. “Lily, I deserve a chance to—”

“No,” Lily says, small hands fisting at her sides. James wonders why she doesn’t have her wand
with her, but he doesn’t interrupt to ask. Not when both he and Sirius are armed and ready. “You
don’t get to do that, Severus. You don’t deserve anything. My time is my own and I can give it to
whomever I want for any reason. You’re not entitled to it.”

“I’m your oldest friend!” Snivellius takes a step closer. James and Sirius raise their wands at the
exact same time. He stops moving, but continues to look at Lily like he’s truly expecting her to
fold.

James pities him. Lily is very obviously not going to change her mind. And she shouldn’t, not after
Snivellius called her the m slur. Not after she found out that he’d been hanging out with Mulciber
and his lot in and out of the school. Laughing and bullying other muggle-borns for years. There are
rumours that Snivellius and that gang are joining the Death Eater ranks when they graduate. Ranks
that think people like Lily shouldn’t exist.

It suddenly strikes James that it’s very likely he will meet people he recognises out on the field.
He’s just joined the Order of Phoenix to fight in this war, and he’ll be fighting on the opposite side
of the guy currently standing in front of him.

It makes James feel a little sick.

“You don’t get to call yourself my friend, Severus. Not anymore. Not after you betrayed our
friendship,” Lily replies. She wipes a tear off her cheek, but the set of her brow is determined as
ever. This is a girl who will not break. James admires and respects that.

Lily is, apparently, rallying. Snivellius has struck a chord and she’s not having it. Her voice rises a
few octaves. “You cannot call yourself my friend because you believe people like me are less than.
Unworthy. If it were up to you, I’d have my wand taken away!”

“Not you,” Snivellius tries. “Never you.”

Lily laughs. It’s bitter and cold and James has never heard her sound so spiteful. It’s attractive.
Like. To him, Lily has never been hotter than she is right this moment, and Godric Gryffindor help
him, he’s truly into mean people. Lily is nowhere near as mean as Regulus, but still. This single
moment is enough to reaffirm his suspicion.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Lily is saying, “You can’t have it both ways, you hypocrite!”
But James is distracted because he has somehow gone and summoned Regulus with his mind by
thinking of mean people. Lily is still ranting at Snivellius, Sirius has his wand trained on him and
is watching the scene unfold with an amused half-smile. James is fighting for his breath because
Regulus has just turned the corner and is walking down the corridor towards them.

Regulus is walking next to Remus of all people. For a wild moment, James panics—what if Remus
lied and he is doing something illicit with Regulus? James feels a little sick, betrayed, even though
it’s absurd. But then he remembers they’re patrolling because they’re prefects and that Remus told
them earlier today he’d been paired with Regulus so Sirius didn’t have a fit if he happened to run
into them or see them on the map.

The tension leaves James swiftly, allowing him to regain his wits just as the two prefects come to a
stop behind Snivellius.

“What’s going on?” Remus asks.

Regulus looks bored. Uninterested. He’s very clearly not bothered one bit by whatever drama is
transpiring between the three Gryffindors and Snivellius. His eyes dart around a little, deep green,
long lashes. Lovely.

“None of your business,” Snivellius snaps.

When Regulus looks at Snivellius, his eyebrows draw together a little bit, deepening his permanent
scowl. Oh no. James is tense all over again. Are they friends? James doesn’t know if Regulus gets
along with Snivellius but he suddenly, fiercely, hopes not. He couldn’t stomach it. That would
mean that Regulus is friendly with people they suspect of being future Death Eaters and it’s just…
no.

“Don’t worry, Remus. I’ve got this,” Lily says. Polite and nice, stabbing Snivellius with a look so
sharp it’s a miracle he doesn’t wince. It’s very clear Lily doesn’t appreciate him being rude to
Remus. Not one bit. “Severus was just leaving. He won’t bother me ever again.”

She turns around, smiles at Sirius, then at James because they’re still flanking her. They’ve got her
back.

Snivellius surges forward. He takes Lily by the arm and makes her turn around. Lily gasps, taken
mby surprise. Snivellius steps into Lily’s personal space, so close to her Lily pales.

“You’re hurting me,” she says, tugging on her arm.

“You need to listen to m—”

Sirius’ fist hits him so hard Snivellius’ head snaps back and he stumbles, letting go of Lily’s arm.

Lily recoils, bumps into James who brings up a protective arm around her. Sirius looks at her, and
she nods her thanks. Snivellius is groaning and holding a hand to his eye. That’s going to be pretty
bruised come morning, James thinks.

Sirius gives his hand a little shake, but he’s otherwise unfazed. “Touch her again and you will lose
your hands.”

“Fuck you, Black,” Snivellius whips his hand out and then they’re duelling.

“Protect Lily,” Sirius tells James, dodging a curse sent by Snape. “I’ve got this.”
Sirius is quick, but Snivellius is vicious. There’s shouting, and then Remus is at Sirius’ side. Spells
fly in all directions. Lily is asking Snivellius to stop, but he’s not listening. Regulus is leaning
against the wall, watching the situation unfold with his hands in his pockets. He yawns.

When James looks away from Regulus, his stomach drops. Snape is aiming right at Remus, who
isn’t quick enough to deflect. The curse moves fast. So fucking fast all Remus can do is brace for
impact.

And then Sirius is there, shoving Remus out of the curse’s trajectory and taking it himself. It hits
Sirius on the side of his chest, close to his right shoulder.

“Sirius!” Remus gasps. Even Snivellius is a little shocked, and for a moment there’s quiet in the
corridor.

Angry slashes of red spread over Sirius’ chest and shoulder muscles, down the top of his arm. Into
his abs on the right side. Blood blooms and crimson stains spread over his uniform, dripping at his
feet. It happens fast, too fast. James doesn't like the look of them one bit. Sirius clenches his teeth.
He’s bleeding profusely, but Sirius doesn’t go down.

His spell his Snivellius square in the chest, a stunning spell that knocks him out cold. Only then
Sirius groans, brings a hand to his wounded chest, and curses out loud. He's paling very fast. Too
fast.

James is moving. He’s rushing forward, tripping over his own feet to get to his friend. Remus is
already there, murmuring what James hopes are healing charms. Even Regulus has pushed himself
off the wall and is standing straight. Still as a statue. There's no more yawning.

Snivellius is all but forgotten on the floor, unconscious. Better that way, because if James gives
him a second thought…

“I’m fine, Moony,” Sirius says. “Don’t worry your pretty head. I’m fine."

He’s not fine. His voice sounds slurred, like he’s drunk. Except he isn’t. Fuck. James’ heart is in his
throat. This can’t be happening. James tilts Sirius’ head back and his breath catches. He’s so
fucking pale there are deep dark bruises under his eyes that weren't there a literal minute ago.

“Pads?”

Sirius grunts, then his knees give out and he falls. Remus catches him all the while cursing under
his breath because the healing charms he’s using aren’t working. They go down together, Remus’
arms holding Sirius to him. Sirius is bleeding so profusely it takes less than a heartbeat for Remus
to be drenched in his blood, too. He doesn’t seem to care. James' is gagging on the smell of it.
There's so much blood everywhere.

“Moony, what’s happening?” James asks, his voice so pathetic and weak he’d be embarrassed if
this wasn’t Sirius. His brother, bleeding out in the halls of Hogwarts because he was too busy
protecting Lily.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. Nothing is working. Why is nothing working?” Remus is frantic,
trying everything he knows, one healing spell after the other. There’s a lot of blood. There’s too
much fucking blood.

Sirius looks up. His eyes flutter. “Moony. Don’t look so worried,” Sirius says. He lifts a trembling
hand and presses a finger to the side of Remus’ cheek. “Smile for me, Moony.”
“Shut up, Pads,” Remus hisses, muttering spells under his breath.

James swallows thickly, panic building. He needs to help. Do something. But it’s Remus who
knows the spells. Not him. He’s… he’s useless and that is more terrifying than anything. Sirius is
in peril, and James is fucking useless.

Lily is crying, saying something about not having her wand on her. She’s sobbing so hard she’s
hiccupping, which is fucking distracting, but James doesn’t have the heart to say anything because
honestly. Same. Sirius is not well, and they’re all panicking. Lily is rummaging through her
backpack, looking for something, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re so beautiful, Moony.”

Sirius’ hand drops from Remus’ face. His head lolls. James’ chokes on a sob. “Sirius!” He
crouches next to them. “Fuck. Sirius, wake up.”

And then Remus looks up at James, eyes filled with terror so raw James can’t breathe. Remus’
voice is a broken whisper when he says, “I don’t know what to do. Nothing is working, James.
What do I do? Tell me what to do. Please, save him. James. Save him.”

James doesn’t think Remus has ever asked him for help before. Not like this. Not desperate. And
fuck. It does something to James. This is his best friend, and his brother, and they’re both broken.
It’s up to him to put them together.

This is what James does. He fixes shit. He helps his friends. James saves people and he’s going to
save Sirius if it’s the last thing he does. He’ll walk into the afterlife and trade places with him if
necessary.

He needs to stop panicking and think.

Be the Captain.

Deep breaths. Okay. Right now, they need help. Help.

“Lily, go get Poppy. NOW!” his voice is like thunder, and it pierces through the fog of Lily’s
weeping. She drops her bag, nods, and then she’s running. “Hurry!” She’s already turning the
corner, sprinting faster than James has ever seen anyone run.

Jame's hands are stained with blood but he still runs them through his hair because it helps him
think. What next? Stop the bleeding. They need to stop or slow down the bleeding. James shrugs
off his uniform robe and takes his shirt off so quickly it tears. Doesn’t matter, because he’s going
to ruin it anyway.

Sirius needs to stop bleeding.

“Hold on, Pads,” James says, kneeling beside him and pressing his shirt to his wounds. Blood is
pooling around him, on Remus’ legs, everywhere. Sirius looks ghostly. James wants to throw up,
but he won’t. He’s going to fix this.

Remus immediately catches on and uses everything available—his own shirt, his hands, a
handkerchief he had on him—to help James put pressure on Sirius’ wounds.

“It’s not working,” Remus whispers, but he’s holding on to the hope. James can see it. Remus is
clinging to the fact that James has taken action and that it has to work. It must work. The
alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Just hold on a little longer, Pads. Poppy is coming. You’re going to be fine,” James says,

Suddenly, a voice he’d all but forgotten was also here speaks. “She can’t help him,” Regulus says.
Ah. Regulus. Still here, it seems. James had forgotten, because Sirius is hurt, and it looks so bad.

James looks at Regulus, and James knows that he looks desperate and willing to do just about
anything if it means Sirius gets help. He doesn't care if it's begging, if it's embarrassing, all he can
do is look up at Regulus with the terror he's feeling and ask without speaking.

Do you know what to do?

And Regulus moves. He moves, and James could kiss him for how grateful he is. “Snape knows
the counter spell. This curse is of his own making. Only he knows how to stop it,” Regulus says,
gesturing towards Snivellius. “Get him to tell you. I’ll delay the bleeding. Now, move out of the
way.”

To James’ delight and shock, Regulus kneels next to his brother, takes a bottle out of his pocket,
and begins to methodically drop some sort of potion over the wounds. He's careful, beautiful hands
flying over his brother's body, never touching, but close. The potion hisses, Sirius twitches. And it
works. Sirius is still bleeding, but so so so much less. Remus chokes on a breath, looks at Regulus
like he’s a god.

James is wasting no time. He’ll thank Regulus later, because the bleeding has stopped but Sirius
has already lost way too much blood and the wounds are open, and gaping, and he must be in
unberable pain. Sirius is still not safe.

James trains his wand on Snivellius and brings him back to consciousness. He immediately starts
cursing, raising his wand, but James is ready. “Expelliarmus!” And then he binds him, using
enchanted ropes that tighten around him if he tries anything.

Disarmed and bound, Snivellius is less belligerent. “Heal Sirius,” James says, stepping closer.
“Right now.”

He looks a little unhinged, bare chest covered with blood and all. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t.
All the cares about is his brother bleeding out on the floor and the fact that this despicable piece of
shit is the only one who knows how to save him.

Snivellius smirks at him. The bastard. “And if I don’t? What will you do, Potter? Torture me until I
break? You don’t have the stomach for it.” He scoffs, raises his brows. It’s a clear challenge.

James’ hand is shaking. Snivellius can see it. But Sirius is Sirius. And he’s wheezing on the floor,
dangerously close to permanent damage from severe blood loss or worse.

The thing is that people tend to underestimate his bond with Sirius. They don’t get it, because
some people just… can’t see past blood. Or they simply have never experienced a love so deep it
melts into the marrow of your bones and becomes a fundamental part of who you are.

James only is with Sirius.

Sirius only is with James.

They are brothers. Not by blood, but by choice. They keep no secrets from each other. They hold
no judgement for the other. There’s only love and acceptance and understanding. They’re each
other’s guiding light. Sirius is the star that James follows home and James is the sun that nurtures
Sirius’ broken soul.
There is nothing James wouldn’t do for Sirius.

“If it’d been anyone else,” James says, and his voice sounds like it belongs to a stranger. It’s
unhinged. Wild. He leans into it. Into the pain and the rage and the desperation. “But you hurt
Sirius. So, I’m going to hurt you.”

James raises his wand, brain going through the hexes he knows. He wants to hurt him. He has to.
To save Sirius. But he… fuck. Oh no. Can James do this? He doesn’t think he can but Sirius. Sirius
is bleeding out on the floor in Remus’ arms, and Remus is breaking down and James has to save
them.

James sets his jaw. He has to do this. Hurt someone deliberately. Someone who’s unarmed.

James can’t do it. Sirius is going to die and it’s going to be his fault. James would take his place
without hesitation but he can’t do this and it’s going to break him.

Sirius moans. It’s pain and weakness and something inside of James fractures.

James can do this.

It’s Sirius and there’s nothing he won’t do for him.

“Furnunculus!”

Snivellius screams as his body breaks into painful boils and pimples. James is going to be sick, but
he holds. He holds, because this is Sirius and if he’s going to be expelled it’ll be for saving his
brother’s life.

Snivellius is whimpering. James is panting. “The counter course,” James says.

The Slytherin smirks at him through the pain of the boils on his face. “Is this the best the infamous
Potter can do?”

And James raises his wand. He doesn’t want to do it, but he will. He knows the word for the
unforgivable curse. Can he do it? There’s only one way to find out. And if he goes to Azkaban for
it… well. Better that than losing Sirius. Anything is better than losing Sirius.

“Cru—”

He’s interrupted by pounding steps. And then, Lily turns the corner again, running, panting. She’s
sweating, her hair plastered to her face. Poppy is running behind her. And James knows what to do.

“Lily. Snape knows the counter spell but he refuses to—”

Lily turns on Snivellius, eyes blazing and voice sharp. She completely ignores the boils all over his
face, hands. She’s ruthless. Angry. She’s fucking glorious. “If you want the smallest possibility of
me ever talking to you again to exist, you will heal Sirius Black right this moment. Or God help me
Severus Snape, I will print all your secrets and hand them out as a school newsletter.”

Snape blurts out the counter spell together with instructions for the appropriate wand movements.
James falls to his knees, hitting the floor so hard he thinks he’s cracked a kneecap. It doesn’t
matter. He moves his wand up and down, over the gaping wounds, using the indications Snivellius
just gave him. To his relief, they start to heal. Closing as swiftly as they opened.

Madame Pomfrey is there, too. She brought a blood replenishing potion with her, and James is so
fucking grateful for Lily’s brain. Poppy is feeding it to Sirius while James works on the wounds.

The gashes begin close, and James sits on his heels and watches at Poppy pulls yet another blood
replenishing potion from her robes and feeds it to Sirius again. Remus is heaving, holding Sirius in
his arms and shaking. Sirius looks like shit. He’s not fully conscious.

James looks up, finding Regulus. He watches his brother for a moment, unaware that James is
watching him. He looks young, and… relieved? James won’t mention it, but he’s certain that
Regulus is relieved Sirius is in good hands now. His lips, so perfect they look fucking drawn on his
face, part ever so slightly to let out a shaky breath.

And then, Regulus’ mask slips on and he looks as unbothered as always again. He puts the cork
back on the bottle and pockets it, standing up swiftly.

“You’ve made a mess,” he says, stepping over the puddle of blood. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Remus looks up, staring at him like he’s insane. “Fuck you, Black,” he snaps.

Poppy gasps, but she’s focused on Sirius and will not be distracted from the medical emergency by
foul language. Remus does not give a single fuck that there’s an adult present. Not when he’s
covered in Sirius’ blood.

He glares at Regulus and says, a little petulant, “One hundred points from Slytherin for attempted
murder!”

Regulus shrugs. “Fair.”

And he walks away. This time, James doesn’t watch. He can’t look anywhere that’s not Sirius. If
he had, James would have seen that Regulus hands were shaking. He would have seen his shoulder
hunched up, close to his ears. And if James had followed, he would have found Regulus tearing an
empty classroom apart in a fit of rage.

####

Snape has detention for the rest of the year, and he lost an additional hundred points for Slytherin
when McGonagall and Slughorn got involved. No one is sure how he avoided expulsion, which is
baffling even to Regulus. He wouldn’t have thought that wilfully endangering a fellow students’
life could be forgiven. It has given him some ideas. Had he known this earlier, Dorcas’ dorm mates
wouldn’t have got off so lightly.

Regulus hears the gossip during breakfast. Things like these never stay secret for long, especially
not when they involve one Sirius Black. Also, because everyone is fuming that the hourglass point
counting thing (Regulus has never given a damn about it so he’s not sure it has an actual name?) is
almost empty of greens.

Regulus doesn’t comment. The details flying around are all fabrications. Lies. Every single one
wilder than the previous one. Some say James crucioed Snape. Some say Sirius choked him almost
to death despite his injuries. There’s a version in which Lily Evans threatened to stab him with a
knife. Remus is a valiant hero who carried Sirius’ unconscious body to the infirmary.

The only accurate murmur is that both James and Remus became shirtless—the hows of this vary
depending on the story—and Regulus has heard no less than five groups of girls giggle and sigh
over this part of the tale. It takes actual effort for him not to strangle them.

It's all nuts. None of it comes close to what actually happened. Regulus knows. He was there. The
truth is scarier than fiction. It always is. Regulus knows this too, because he’s fantasized about
hurting his brother a million times. He has. Fantasies about the things he would do to Sirius to
punish him. The ways in which he would enact his revenge. And yet… when he saw him on the
floor, minutes away from death… bleeding. So much fucking blood. Well. He had Dittany in his
pocket. He couldn’t just not.

Regulus tells himself he cannot get his revenge if Sirius is dead. And his brother shouldn’t die at
the hands of the disgusting hypocrite that is Severus Snape. This is just unacceptable. Sirius will
suffer but it will be by Regulus’ hand. No one else’s.

Sirius and his friends aren’t at breakfast. Regulus is sure they’re still in the infirmary, which is fine.
It’s a good thing, because he feels a little raw and confused and just not himself. He doesn’t want to
look at them. At any of them. Because it was too much, what happened yesterday afternoon. Not
just Sirius’ injuries, but Lupin’s despair. James’ distress. Fuck. James tried so hard to hurt Snape
and he just… he couldn’t do it. Not properly. James hesitated, and Regulus hates that but he’s also
impressed. It takes someone made of pure fucking light to hesitate in a moment like that.

Regulus was a second away from torturing Snape for the counter spell himself when Evans showed
up. He would have done it. He half regrets that he didn’t get a chance. Would have been a good test
to see if he can hold it, because he’s been made to practice at home but so far only on animals.
Regulus would rather torture someone who deserves it. Hurting animals makes him sick, because
they’ve done nothing. They're innocent.

“Hey,” Dorcas sits down next to him. Barty takes the space across from him and Evan plops down
on his left. Regulus isn’t sure if they’ve worked something out or if they’re pretending it didn’t
happen. Dorcas hasn’t told him, and he hasn’t asked Barty or Evan. But they seem to be back on
speaking terms.

Evan looks at him and says, “You left early this morning.”

Regulus puts his coffee down. Shrugs. He did leave the room before dawn, well before anyone got
up. He had things to do. He fails to see how this is conversation worthy.

Dorcas rolls her eyes. “Really, Reg?”

There’s a long silence. Regulus has no clue what she’s talking about, so yes. He’s going to make
her ask but not out of cruelty or mockery. He would never do that to Dorcas, of all people. It’s just
because he has no idea what Dorcas wants, and he’s too raw and distracted to try and figure it.

I mean. Regulus did see James shirtless and covered in blood less than twenty-four hours ago. It
was way hotter than it should have been. James looked wild. Angry. He looked like he was capable
of darkness… even if then he failed to go through with it. It was… intriguing. The idea that James
has even a spark of shadow in him. That there’s more to him than a constantly smiling Quidditch
Captain. And a small, twisted part of Regulus wants to explore that. See if he could push James’
buttons. Make him go over to the dark side.

A full body shiver runs through him. Fuck.

Regulus needs to take a sip of coffee or else he’s going to embarrass himself, because his thoughts
are running away with him.
Evan scoffs. Looks at Dorcas. She nods, and Evan says, “Come on, Reg. Are you alright?”

He looks at Evan, frowning. Re-directing his thoughts away from James and whether there’s any
darkness in him or not. Those thoughts are dangerous and Regulus will only have them when he’s
alone at night.

Regulus glances at Dorcas. Barty. Evan again. Why wouldn’t he be alright? As far as Regulus
knows—as far as his friends know—there’s no reason for this question.

“Yes.”

Dorcas shakes her head, gives him a small, cautious smile. “Reg. Come on. For real. Your brother
almost died. You saw it happen. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Oh. Right. That. Regulus holds her eyes to make sure there’s no question. There can be no
question. He hates his brother and he’s not bothered by what happened. He doesn’t care.

He can’t care.

So he looks at Dorcas and says, “Yes.”

Barty, Evan and Dorcas exchange glances, but his friends drop it. No one brings it up again all day.
Dorcas goes away to her classes, and Barty and Evan stay with Regulus. They get through Charms
—Barty is once again sitting with Evan—and then they get through Transfiguration. Regulus
notices McGonagall is in a piss poor mood, so the lesson is unreasonably tough. He doesn’t
mention it to anyone.

It's only that afternoon, when they head towards their potions classroom that things get exciting.
Regulus hurries Barty and Evan along, claiming he needs to ask Slughorn some questions before
their class starts. They complain, but comply anyway. That’s why they’re at the door early.

Just in time.

Regulus is about to knock and interrupt the end of the Seventh year’s class when a loud boom
rocks the room. The door rattles on its hinges. Regulus smiles to himself, steps back and away. He
waits.

The door bangs open. The classroom inside is pure chaos. The sort that would make Regulus turn
and run in the opposite direction. Except today he doesn’t. Today, he’s going to enjoy the noise,
even if it gives him a headache.

There’s screaming and crying. Slughorn is shouting instructions. Mulciber, who’s a giant of a man
—huge in all directions—darts outside carrying an unconscious and badly hurt Severus Snape.
They’re covered in soot and dust and the remains of the potion they were working on. Mulciber’s
cheek is singed, and he’s lost his eyebrows, but he’s otherwise alright. Snape? Not so much. His
skin is melting off his body. It’s disturbing. Gruesome. Regulus hasn’t been this entertained in a
long time. Mulciber tears off towards the infirmary without sparing them a glance.

Dorcas steps outside, coughing. She’s unharmed, but covered in dust and soot, too. She startles to
find Regulus, Barty and Evan there.

“What the fuck just happened?” Barty asks.

Dorcas coughs again, and Regulus offers her a silk handkerchief with the inscription RAB on it.
She cleans her face with it. “Snape’s cauldron exploded.”
Evan swings his bag around and finds a small bottle of water that he offers Dorcas. She drinks from
it after shooting him a grateful smile. “Is everyone okay?”

“Well, Snape isn’t,” Dorcas says. “Mulciber is his partner, so he was a little burnt but really… the
blast was very contained? Only Snape got hurt.”

All three of his friends turn their eyes on Regulus. Regulus blinks at them, shakes his head, and
pushes past them into the utter chaos of the classroom.

Confusion reigns. Soot clings to people’s hair and skin. He walks past a group of girls who are
complaining about their clothes being ruined, which makes Regulus roll his eyes so hard he almost
glimpses his brain.

A few students eye their cauldrons warily, putting on a show of being scared and feeling fragile.
All fires are out and potions have been emptied—presumably by Slughorn—so there’s no way any
more cauldrons will misbehave. And yet, the hysterics continue.

These people are supposed to go out into the world in a few months. Following this display of
idiocy and general incompetence, Regulus will be very surprised if they make it past the summer.

Some people have moved outside so they can breathe clean air, much like Dorcas did straight
away. Regulus thinks those people might survive a little longer, though he’s not certain. It’s not
like they’ll constantly have Dorcas around to copy her. In Regulus’ opinion, Dorcas is the only
smart person in Seventh year.

Slughorn spots him when he’s about halfway inside. He gestures for him to approach and Regulus
does. “Black, thank Salazar you’re here early. Please, take these to Madame Pomfrey, will you?
We’ve just had an accident.”

“Oh no,” he deadpans. “Are you alright, professor?”

Slughorn almost melts at the fake concern in Regulus’ voice. Honestly, Regulus could gag. “Don’t
you worry about me, young man. I’m quite alright, but I need to examine cauldrons in case there’s
another faulty one! Will you take these to the infirmary? Madame Pomfrey will need them to help
Mr. Snape.”

Regulus takes the vials and nods solemnly. “Right away.”

His friends are outside the room. Barty and Evan are helping Dorcas clean her hair to the best of
their ability. It’s not going super well, but they’re trying. Dorcas spots Regulus and mouthes ‘where
are you going?’

“Infirmary. Slughorn needs me to deliver these,” Regulus says, giving the vials his cradling a little
shake. “I’ll see you later.”

The infirmary is bustling with activity. Regulus steps in to find Madame Pomfrey working
frantically to help Snape, while Mulciber broods on a chair. He’s complaining about the minor
burns on his face and hands, apparently unbothered by his friend fighting for his life next to him.

Regulus approaches carefully because Madame Pomfrey is moving a lot and he doesn’t want to
accidentally step in her way.

“Madame Pomfrey,” he says. “Slughorn sent these for you. Where should I put them?”

She whirls on her feet, looks at the vials, and plucks one of them out of Regulus’ arms. “Thank
you. Over there, please.”

Regulus leaves her to pour the contents of the vial over Snape’s burns and goes to arrange the rest
of the potions on the cabinet she indicated. It’s a little further into the infirmary, so Regulus has to
walk closer to the rest of the beds.

He moves a little slower than he needs to, and Regulus tells himself it’s so that none of the
Gryffindors crowding a bed spot him. He reaches the cabinet, opens it. Out of the corner of his eye,
he can see them. As he begins to stack the potions in the cabinet, Regulus watches.

He can’t see Sirius because he is quite literally surrounded by people. Pettigrew and Lupin are
there. Regulus can’t see James, but he’s certain that’s because he’s right next to Sirius. There are
also girls. Evans, and McKinnon, and McDonald. It appears that the foot of the bed is covered in
cards and chocolates and small gifts.

Regulus scoffs, finishes putting the potions in place. Shuts the cabinet door.

He’s almost at the door again when he hears the faint sound of steps behind him. “Black. Wait up.”

It’s Lupin. Regulus doesn’t want to talk to him. He walks faster, but Lupin catches up to him
anyway. He intercepts Regulus as he steps out the door.

“Sirius would be happy if you stopped by his bed,” Lupin says without preamble. “He knows you
helped. He’s grateful.”

“He’s a fool,” Regulus replies.

“How so?” Lupin asks, calmly. Evenly. His gaze holds Regulus’ and he knows it’s a challenge,
despite the collected air Lupin’s trying to project.

“I’m a prefect. I had Dittany in my pocket. It couldn’t let a student bleed to death in the corridor,”
Regulus says. They’re facts. Cold truths. Devoid of feeling. “Any student.”

Lupin purses his lips. His eyes narrow. “I see.”

“Get out of my way,” Regulus says, because he’d rather not have to touch Lupin to walk away from
this.

Lupin does. He moves to the side swiftly, clearing the way for Regulus to leave. He starts walking.

“Thank you,” Lupin says when Regulus is right next to him. Voice low and solemn. “I don’t care
why you did it. You saved him. Thank you. I owe you one. A big one. Come collect that debt
whenever.”

Regulus’ eyes slide sideways to Lupin. “What if I ask for something you don’t want to give?”

“You saved Sirius,” Lupin says. He shrugs. “There’s no price I wouldn’t pay.”

With that, Lupin walks back into the infirmary. Regulus takes a fortifying breath before he marches
in the opposite direction. Remus Lupin owes him a debt. It’s a big deal between wizards. Lupin
knew what he was saying when he did. He understood Regulus can claim it now, and Lupin can’t
refuse. Not all magic is bound by wands.

Regulus can’t think of anything that Lupin could even remotely help him with, and it’s better for
him if the boy is never near him again. The last thing Regulus needs is for Sirius to get wind of his
revenge plans. Still. If he’s in a true pinch, Regulus supposes he could demand help and Lupin
would have no choice but to give it.

There are worse things than having someone indebted to you, Regulus decides.
 The Owlry Roof
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Happy Holidays and/or Merry Christmas to all!

LONG chapter that gives you Dorcas - Reg friendship, Reg revenge part II, heart
wrenching Progsfoot, another interlude AND Jegulus.

TWs for this chapter

Smoking
Swearing
References to past violence
References to past child abuse and torture
Mild magical violence (duelling)
References / mentions of past violence against children (Remus' backstory)
If you've got fear of heights, please know someone almost falls off a roof!

I think that's it.

Thank you for kudos and comments - if you have thoughts share them! Genuinely
makes my day to read everyone's reactions :D

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus makes it back to his dorm quite late on Friday night, because after his awkward run-in
with Lupin in the infirmary, he climbed to the owlry and sat on the roof to smoke. He missed
dinner, too, so he had to take a detour into the kitchens to ask the elves for some food. They
whipped something up for him quickly, and Regulus ate with them.

He likes it in the kitchen, because house elves are nice, simple creatures. Not simple in that they
aren’t intelligent—they are extremely capable. Just simple. They have a clear purpose in life and
fulfilling it makes them happy. Regulus bets none of the house elves have anxiety over whether a
boy that should be their natural nemesis has thought about him in the past day, or break down and
shout at a star because he doesn’t show up when he goes to smoke some cigarettes.

No.

Regulus is pretty certain the house elves would laugh at him if they knew just how pathetic he’s
becoming over one James Potter.

Anyway. He’s had time to be morose over how out of proportion his crush is getting, and now he
needs to get himself ready for bed. The world doesn’t stop turning because Regulus is despairing
over a messy-haired boy.

Regulus pushes open the door to his room and almost bumps into Slughorn’s back. He’s tired
enough that he doesn’t immediately question what his head of house is doing in his dorm.

“I’m sorry, professor,” he says, stepping to the side and making his way towards his side of the
room.

Slughorn shakes his head. “No worries, boy. I shouldn’t stand so close to the door.” He has his
hands on his waist and is tapping his foot on the floor rather impatiently.

And now Regulus realises how odd this is, because Slughorn hasn’t been in his dorm ever before.
Regulus glances at Barty and Evan, who are trying very hard to pretend they’re not enjoying the
show. Barty tilts his head, and Regulus’ gaze follows to find Edward Selwyn crying and packing
his trunks. Regulus’ eyebrows shoot to his hairline. He works hard, but apparently there are times
when Horace Slughorn works harder.

“Hurry up, boy. We don’t have all night,” Slughorn says impatiently to Selwyn.

“I swear I didn’t do it,” Selwyn cries. Voice hoarse. “It wasn’t me. Please, don’t do this.”

Slughorn’s face softens, because he is fucking weak. Regulus thinks a head of house should be
firmer. Like McGonagall. Not that he’d ever admit this to anyone.

“It’s a temporary suspension, Mr. Selwyn. You’ll be back in four weeks.”

Selwyn continues to cry, but Regulus ignores him. A temporary suspension? He was hoping for
expulsion. Regulus sits on his bed and begins to take his shoes off. The sounds of Selwyn’s crying
are music to his ears.

Regulus takes a long, hot shower, purposefully wasting time so that Slughorn and Selwyn are both
gone when he re-emerges. He succeeds, finding only Barty and Evan in his room.

“How did that happen?” Regulus asks, even though he knows.

Evan, who's lying on the bed, looks up. “Slughorn was inspecting the entire classroom after
Snape’s cauldron blew up. He found evidence in Selwyn’s things that he tampered with it. Some
compound that produces a delayed reaction, scribblings for a containment spell so that only Snape
got hurt. All pretty premeditated, all in Selwyn's handwritting. A bit stupid of him not to get rid of
the evidence, if you ask me.”

“He swears he didn’t do it,” Barty adds. He’s sitting on the floor again. Evan’s hand is near his hair
again. They’re pretending it’s not happening. Again. “But everyone knows he’s got a grudge
against Snape.”

“He does?” Regulus asks. This is a surprise. It’s absolutely brilliant, and he’s not above
congratulating himself on having good luck as well as a carefully enacted plan. The fact that
Selwyn had 'motive' is the cherry on top of a delicious cake.

Evan nods, looks around a little fearfully even though they’re alone in their dorm. “Apparently,
Selwyn went to Snape and Mulciber bragging about his family being tight with the Dark Lord.
Snape wasn’t having it. They had a proper fight. Selwyn was humiliated.”

“Ah,” Regulus says. He runs a hand through wet curls, pulls his pyjamas out. “Well. I’m glad he’s
gone. Selwyn’s…”

Regulus gets hit by a brilliant idea right that moment. Inspired, truly. It doesn’t matter what Selwyn
is (a stupid waste of space) because Regulus has now more important things to do. The crucial
thing here is that Selwyn is gone and that there’s going to be an empty space for four weeks.

Regulus turns around, pyjama shirt hanging from his hand. “Barty. Go get Dorcas.”
The boys exchange glances. “Why?” Evan asks, even though Barty is already getting on his feet.

“So she doesn’t have to sleep in a room full of bitchy queen bee wannabes for the next four
weeks,” Regulus says, gesturing towards the bed. “She can have Selwyn’s bed.”

Evan’s eyes go wide, matching a smile that splits his face in two. “You are a genius.”

Barty’s out the door two seconds later, a man on a mission to bring their friend to their safe space.
It’s only temporary, but it’s better than nothing. Regulus finishes putting his clothes on. Evan’s
humming to himself, looking very pleased and content. A part of Regulus wants to ask. Simply
because he… well. Did they work it out? Him and Barty? Are they friends? More? Is something
happening?

Regulus knows it’s none of his business, but unlike with Dorcas, he cannot let it go. He cannot let
it go because he wants to know if it’s possible. If two boys can be together that way and keep it
hidden. Keep it safe.

Regulus refuses to examine the reasons why he’s dying to find out. He will not interrogate this. Not
now. Not ever. Especially, because James hasn’t show up (we’re still ignoring the fact that James
simply cannot know where it is that Regulus goes to smoke, because who uses logic when day
dreaming about their crush anyway?) and now Regulus has accepted that it’s a lost cause. James
truly gave him those cigarettes simply because he felt grateful Regulus helped with that last vial of
potion. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Barty says, opening the door with a dramatic flourish and
stepping aside to let Dorcas in. Regulus isn’t surprised to see she’s carrying a small bag.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” she asks Regulus and Evan, eyes darting between them.

Regulus nods. Evan’s more enthusiastic. “Fuck yeah. It’s going to be awesome.”

“It was Reg’s idea,” Barty says softly.

Regulus glares at him, scowling. Dorcas beams, then bounces over to Evan’s bed and gives him a
hug. “This is for you, Reg.”

His friends laugh, and Regulus simply shakes his head. Dorcas arranges her things by her new bed
while Barty and Evan go back to their usual positions. Dorcas flops onto her mattress and sighs. “If
only Pandora was a Slytherin, right?”

They all nod their agreement. Regulus has thought about it often, because they do see Pandora a
little less than they’d like simply because they don’t share a common room or a dorm.

“We’ll get her in tomorrow,” Evan says. “If she wants to stay she can share Dorcas’ bed.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m up for sharing!” Dorcas says.

Barty looks at her. “It’s Pandora.”

And Dorcas sighs, lets her head fall back on the mattress again, and says, “Yeah, alright. We can
have a sleepover if she wants.”

The rest of the evening is nice. His friends gossip and he listens. They ask him about the upcoming
Quidditch match, happening next weekend. Regulus is a little shocked that October is almost here.
He’s been distracted. There’s been a lot going on.
When they turn the lights out, Regulus drinks his potion in the privacy of his bed. Behind the
curtains. While he waits for it to take effect, he goes through his mental list of things he needs to
do.

Find empty classroom to practice curses in.

Get ingredients for Felix Felicis.

Hurt Snape.

Get Selwyn out for blabbing to Sirius first day of school.

Check on his Felix Felicis progress.

Finish reading the third book he took from the restricted section before going back for more.

Figure out what curse Snape used on Sirius and learn to do it.

Begin to go through Hogwarts’ student records.

Stop thinking about James Potter.

####

James hesitates for a moment before sneaking out of his dorm on Friday night. Remus would like
to come if James told him where he’s going. But James needs this. And he needs to do it alone.

“Sorry, Moony,” he whispers before slipping out and closing the door behind him.

He’s under his cloak and has the map, so the route to the infirmary is easy. It gives him time to get
his thoughts in order. He’s been on the verge of a breakdown for the past day, carrying inside of
him the guilt of his failure. Honestly? James is a mess.

His brother almost died. James almost used an unforgivable on someone. Remus broke down more
thoroughly than James has ever seen at the sight of Sirius’ dying. James doesn’t blame him at all,
he’s just rattled because Remus is pretty unshakable. Against all odds, Regulus came to their
rescue and that. Well. James doesn’t know what do with that because if that’s not some solid proof
that there’s some part of him that cares for Sirius still, he doesn’t know what is.

It's all too much, and James hasn’t had a moment to breathe and process it yet because he’s been
busy. He had to give his account of things to the professors, Dumbledore included. This was super
awkward because he’s just been recruited to the Order and his friends are duelling Alastor on
Sunday. The last thing they needed was an altercation.

Fortunately, the one who fucked up big time is Snivellius. The only reason he’s not expelled is
because he threatened to expose Remus as werewolf. McGonagall almost disembowelled him for
it. It was glorious. In the end, however, they couldn’t take that risk. So Snivellius stays, but he’s on
thin ice. Nobody seems to care that Sirius punched him, no matter how many times Snivellius
claimed he’d only been defending himself.

Lily was, as per usual, a hero. She explained, quite calmly and firmly, that Snivellius had been
harassing her and that Sirius had only punched him because he’d grabbed Lily rather forcefully.
Sirius was defending her, and Lily would not stand for him being punished for it. It helped that she
had the marks of Snivellius’ fingers on her arm.

“Sometimes, it’s quite handy to be a delicate flower,” she’d joked to James when they’d been
dismissed from Dumbledore’s office.

James had spent all of Thursday night and all of Friday in the infirmary with Sirius. He’d lost so
much blood it took Poppy’s entire stash of potion to get him back to a healthy level, which required
waking Sirius up every hour to feed him one. It was exhausting, but James and Remus had done it.
No complaints.

Peter had snuck them food from the kitchens and stayed with them in rat form, perched on James’
shoulder so that Poppy didn’t find him out.

All of that to say James is tired. He’s sleep deprived, and on edge, but he has to do this before he
can rest. He didn’t get a chance until now because he hasn’t been left alone with Sirius a single
moment.

James doesn’t spare Snivellius a single glance when he walks past him in the infirmary.
Sometimes, Karma intervenes straight away and by some absolute miracle, his cauldron exploded
today. James hopes it was painful.

Sirius’ bed is as far away from Snivellius as possible, which they all know wasn’t a coincidence.
He’s awake, as James knew he would be. Sirius won’t sleep in the infirmary, where he can’t put a
silencing charm around him or crawl into James’ bed if he’s having a truly bad night.

“Hey,” James says, tugging the cloak off so Sirius can see him. “How are you doing?”

Sirius smiles. Scoots over. James climb onto the bed with him. “I’m bored,” Sirius says, pouting. “I
feel fine. Don’t understand why Poppy wouldn’t let me go back to the dorm.”

“She needs to check something in your blood,” James says. “Like, to make sure it’s all properly
replenished. Don’t ask me. I don’t understand any of the medical stuff. That’s Remus’ job.”

Sirius chuckles lightly, watching as James pulls a bag of Bertie Botts from his pocket. They open it
and begin to munch on them, hands sometimes bumping into each other when they reach for the
beans at the same time.

“Slow down, Prongs. I’m the injured one. I get priority,” Sirius whines.

James gives him the bag. Sirius beams. He’s stalling. He knows. And James shouldn’t stall. He
came here to say something, and he has to say it. James is not a coward. He’s a Gryffindor, and
they’re brave and honourable.

James steels himself.

“So,” he says. “There’s something I need to say to you.”

Sirius puts the bag away immediately. He recognises James’ tone of voice. How could he not?
Everything Sirius is to James, James is to Sirius. Their bond is mutual. It’s reciprocal. Sirius can
read James just as well as James can read Sirius.

“Is this about last night?” Sirius asks.

James nods. “Yeah.”

Sirius drops his head in his hands. “Shit. I know, Prongs. It was… I don’t know why, okay? It just.
I thought I was going to die, and all I wanted was… I think I was afraid.”

James is confused. Like. He has no idea what Sirius is talking about right now. None. “Pads?”

Sirius buries his hands in his hair. “Has he asked you about it? Does he think I’m weird? Is he… he
seemed normal today, but there were so many people here. I don’t know. I can’t tell. James, what
do I do?”

“Slow down,” James says. He Scoots closer to Sirius so they’re touching, side by side. “I don’t
know what you’re talking about, Pads.”

Sirius blinks at him. “You don’t? But you were there. You didn’t… hear?”

“Hear what?”

“What I said!”

“Sirius, in case you haven’t noticed, you were dying. I was a little preoccupied. I can’t remember
what you said,” James replies, indignant. Honestly. There are more important things, aren’t there?
“Wait. What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Sirius says immediately. “I think I was delirious. Not important.”

James gives him a look. “I can tell when you’re lying to me.”

“What did you want to talk about?” Sirius counterattacks. “How come it couldn’t wait until the
morning?”

And it works, because the anxiety worms its way back into James’ gut and suddenly he doesn’t
care that much about what Sirius said, or thinks he said, or why he was low-key panicking about it.
Sirius will tell him, eventually, or James will pry it out of him. But this can’t wait, because James
feels as though it’s eating him alive.

He can feel the guilt pushing against his skin, crawling over every inch of his insides. The weight
of it is threatening to break him, and James simply can’t take it.

James swallows. Takes a fortifying breath. “I wanted to apologise.”

Sirius gapes at him, confusion bringing his eyebrows together. “Why?”

And here it is. The horrible truth. James’ failure to the one person he swore never to fail. Never to
let down. It’s painful, and James wish he didn’t have to say it, but he does. He knows he does
because Sirius deserves better. He deserves to hear it and James owes him at least this much
because he has let his brother down.

“Because I hesitated,” James says. His voice cracks, splinters under the weight of his failing. A
horrible, choked sob wrenches out of him.

And then James starts crying. It all spills like water from a broken dam, endless, unstoppable.
James can’t do anything but let it, the evidence of his weakness, on display for Sirius to see. And
he doesn’t mind this, because Sirius has seen him cry before. It’s just James never thought the tears
streaming down his cheeks would be born of such a thing. That he failed Sirius Black. Brother.
Soulmate. And James failed him.
But Sirius, oh, Sirius doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a moment. He immediately puts his arms
around James and brings him against his chest while James chants over and over, “I’m sorry,
Sirius. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

James weeps. Sirius holds him. James doesn’t deserve it, but he feels like he’ll fall apart if Sirius
lets go. “I should have… I tried… I hesitated, Pads. And you were dying. You were dying and I
hesitated. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Sirius says, holding him tighter still. He rocks a little, back and forth, like James is a child
and Sirius is the older brother comforting him. “James. Prongs. Listen to me very carefully because
I’m only going to say this once. Are you listening?”

James sniffles, nods against Sirius’ chest.

“I love you because you’re the sort of person who hesitates before torturing someone else,” Sirius
says, and his voice breaks, too. His words come out thick, like the importance of what he’s saying
is clinging to them and making them heavy. “I don’t doubt you wanted to save me more than
anything. You would have taken my place, if you could have. Because I would have done it for
you. But never, ever, apologise to me because you hesitated to use that curse. Do you hear me? I
don’t care what the circumstances are.”

“But you could have died.”

“It would have been worth it,” Sirius says viciously. His arms tightening around his best friend.
“I’d happily die so you don’t become the sort of person that I… that they…” He stops. Swallows.
“I love you because you hesitated, Prongs.”

James understands. It hits him all of a sudden with the force of a hurricane. What the curse means
to Sirius. The times he suffered it himself, at the hands of his own mother. Sirius is afraid of the
darkness within. He says it has teeth, and it bites at him like he’s dessert. He’s told James before
that he fights it, every day and every night. He pushes back, and tells it to go away, to stop
nibbling. But Sirius has done awful things, even though he’s not an awful person. And James
understands what he means. That he doesn’t want James to fight the teeth, too.

“I need you to be you,” Sirius whispers. “Just the way you are, okay? Hesitate every single time,
Prongs. Promise me.”

He nods. “I love you, Pads,” James says. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you too,” Sirius replies. And they stay like that for a while. Holding each other.

It’s what they do, because they need it. James because he doesn’t know how to show his love if he
can’t touch people. Sirius because before he met James he didn’t know he could love being
touched. So they hug. Often. And when they can’t hug, there’s an arm over shoulders, or a hand
squeezing a forearm. Sometimes it’s a bump of a fist, or a nudge with a knee.

They’ve never grown out of it, and James doesn’t think they will. Some people might think it’s
weird, but James genuinely doesn’t care. He cares about popular opinion—he’d be lying if he said
he didn’t enjoy his successful Quidditch captain image. The popularity is cool. And he wants to do
his part to keep it.

But when it comes to Sirius? He’d destroy his reputation if that’s what it took. Nothing will ever
come between them. He won’t let it. Besides, people are used to them by now. There are jokes,
sure, but he doesn’t think anyone’s stupid enough to mock something so fucking pure.
“Did Poppy tell you when she’s letting you out?” James asks when he’s so tired he’s struggling to
keep his eyes open.

Sirius leans back, brings James with him. They rest next to each other, in a bed too small for two
seventeen year olds that play Quidditch several times a week.

They don’t care.

“Tomorrow,” Sirius says through a yawn. “Which is good because there’s no way I’m missing that
duel with Moody on Sunday.”

James nods. Yawns. Sirius does, too. They’re tired, and it’s late. The infirmary is eerily quiet,
broken shards of starlight falling through the windows lining the far wall. The air smells of
medicine and disinfectant, and James hates it because coming here means someone he cares about
is hurt. Most often, that someone is Remus.

“Should we sleep?” James asks, picking up the map.

Sirius hesitates and James stops what he’s doing. He knows. He understands.

“Stay with me?” Sirius asks James. “So I can sleep?”

And James does. He stays. He will never leave Sirius. There is no place he can go that James won’t
follow.

###

Interlude: Remus’ POV

If Alastor Moody wasn’t the most impressive motherfucker alive, Remus Lupin would want to kill
him for humiliating him so thoroughly. Like, he handed Remus his ass on a silver platter.
Honestly, he thought he was decent at duelling until right now.

Remus picks up his wand from the floor, groaning because his back is killing him after he landed
badly on his ass a few minutes ago, and turns to face Moody again, brow set in determination. He
has at least managed to hold a few shields that Moody couldn’t get past until Remus’ stamina ran
out. It’s not the most impressive, but a win is a win. Remus will take them wherever he can. He’s
sweating like a roasted chicken, hair plastered to his face.

Remus is doing his damn best, fighting tooth and nail. Because even though he’s sure they’re going
to turn him down, he wants Moody to remember it. He’ll do everything he can to ensure that the
Order at least hears that one werewolf got fucking close. Because he’s bad news, and carries a
burden he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, but Remus Lupin can duel like any other wizard. Or
try to, at least.

“Enough,” Moody says, lifting his wand and nodding towards Remus. He bends over, hands on
knees. He’s panting, his white t-shirt clinging to his damp skin. Moody steps closer, claps him on
the shoulder.

“Good job, Lupin.”

Good job? Is Moody okay? Remus looks up, fighting with his pathetic excuse for lungs so they
stop acting like little bitches and allow him to speak properly.

“What do you mean?” he wheezes.

Moody looks at him funny. “I mean good job.”

Oh, stop it. One of Remus’ spells must have hit him in the head, because Remus is pretty fucking
sure that he did not do a good job. Still. Remus isn’t going to point it out because he wants in badly
enough to cheat his way into the Order. He’s not above it.

Remus’ legs are hurting, because he’s still recovering from a jelly-legs jinx, but he walks like
they’re not bothering him until he joins James. Remus knows pain intimately, and this is mild. His
best moons hurt twice as much as this. He doesn’t want to even think about the worst. Nah. He’s a
tough bastard. He has no choice but to be. Remus leans against the wall next to his friends, doing
his level best to appear unaffected.

James leans closer, puts a hand on his shoulder. “Moody means you’re in,” James says. “Good job
equals you’re in.”

Remus can’t breathe. He… “are you sure?”

James nods, beaming. “Of course I’m sure. Said the same thing to me and to Pete. Are you
alright?”

No. Yes. Remus could fucking fly. Because… well. They’re… Alastor Moody is letting him, a
werewolf, join his secret club. To fight the bad guys. To protect the innocent, and the vulnerable.
He. Him. Remus Lupin.

He just. Wow. Remus thinks he needs to sit down, but he won’t. Not here. He can’t give them any
reason to change their mind. No weakness. Nothing that might make them think he’s not in control.
Because he is. At all times except on the full moon. It’s still days away, so nothing to worry about.

“You’ve got some moves, Remus,” Sirius says, smirking. He takes off his leather jacket. “Don’t
think I would have recovered so quickly from that jelly-legs jinx.”

Remus needs his friends to stop complimenting him. It’s making him uncomfortable. He doesn’t
know how to react. What to say.

“How’s Pete?” Remus asks. His gut is dancing a fucking samba, but he manages to keep his voice
neutral.

Peter also made it in, but he’s gone outside to clear his lungs after he was hit with some sort of
asphyxia inducing spell Moody shot at him. He was complimented on his quick reflexes, which
doesn’t surprise Remus because Peter’s smaller than them, but faster. He always has been. Sneaky
and strategic.

“Black. Your turn,” Moody barks.

Sirius winks at his friends before stepping forward. Remus knows Sirius is nervous. He has been
all day, fiddling with his rings and chewing his lip (which Remus hated with a burning passion
because couldn’t he show his anxiety in a way that didn’t make him look even more attractive?).

But Remus gets it. Sirius thinks they might be harder on him because he’s a Black, but he’s got
nothing to worry about. He’s the best dueller he’s ever met—only topped by himself when James
is fighting next to him.

Remus braces himself as Sirius reaches up. He pulls his wand out of his hair and fuck. It happens
every single time. Why does he have to do that? Can’t he carry his wand in his pocket? Or in a
holster, like posh people? No. Sirius must torture Remus by being fucking sexy every time he
needs to cast a stupid little spell.

“On three,” Moody says.

They raise their wands. Sirius’ jacket is on the back of a chair. He’s wearing a black shirt rolled up
to his elbows. And this, too, is driving Remus insane. The cord of Sirius’ muscles. The small
leather bracelet on his wrist. He’s used to it, in like a general sense. He does share a room with
Sirius which means he’s learnt to endure it, because Sirius is Sirius and he insists on making even
the most mundane things look hot as fuck.

He also loves any excuse to take his shirt off, or simply decides to parade around their dorm in
nothing but his pyjama bottoms for literally no reason. Remus has memorized every plane of
Sirius’ body. Committed every line, and ridge, and dip, every bump, and scar, and small
imperfection to memory. In fact, Remus has seen Sirius almost naked so many times that he should
be totally immune to it. Numb.

And yet, despite the fact that he’s used to it, that he’s taught himself to ignore it over the years,
Remus is only half-human. It doesn’t matter if Sirius is wearing a fucking onesie or if he’s butt
naked. There are days when Remus thinks he’s going to explode. There are days when Remus
wants to weep from the sheer, overwhelming awareness of how much he wants his best friend. It
hurts. It gnaws at his insides. It makes him feel like he’s losing his mind a little.

Today is one of those days, and Sirius in the pose to start a duelling match is making Remus’ knees
weak.

When the first spell flies, Remus wants to fold over himself. It takes every ounce of his self control
to stay quiet when all he wants to do is groan. Sirius is art. He’s muscle and elegance. Long lines
and edges sharp enough to cut. He wields himself like a weapon, his wand an extension of his arm.
He’s both quick on his feet and graceful with his wrist movements.

Sirius knows what it is to be on the wrong end of a wand. It’s a knowledge only he has. James and
Peter can’t even imagine it properly, because the only times they’ve been threatened has been by
some stupid Slytherin looking for a fight. Exhibit a: Snivellius. It has never amounted to much. It
has never really hurt them.

Remus is a bit different, but he knows he can’t understand Sirius’ particular brand of trauma. Of
pain. Because yes, Remus knows pain. He knows it well. But his comes from the inside. From
something a vengeful stranger gave him. It’s his lot in life, and it sucks balls, but there’s no one to
blame but the insane psychopath that did it to him and to many other children.

But Sirius? Fuck. Sirius’ pain was given to him by the person meant to protect him. The woman
who birthed him, who was supposed to be his safe haven. His own fucking mother. It’s sick. It’s
twisted. Remus is in constant awe at Sirius’ strength, because it’s a miracle that he functions as
well as he does after what he went through in that house. And Sirius being Sirius has worked hard
to make sure he’s never at anyone’s mercy ever again.

Moody is finding this out right now.

They duel for a few minutes, dodging and deflecting. Moody hits Sirius’ arm with some fire spell
that singes his skin, leaving a brand behind. Remus clenches his jaw. It’s hard for him not to heal
Sirius immediately. It must hurt like a bitch, but Sirius doesn’t slow down. He grits his teeth and
pushes through the pain. Mind over matter.

The duel carries on despite the stink of charred skin. James looks a little green, but Remus is
fucking proud of how strong Sirius is.

They move around the room, forcing each other to step this way and that because they’re firing
spells too quickly. And then, it happens. Sirius is the only one of them that lands a hit. It’s just a
stunning spell, which Alastor blinks off after a few seconds, but he hit him. Remus’ mouth is dry,
and if it weren’t so fucking obvious, he’d adjust his jeans because they’ve become uncomfortable.

Jesus Christ on a motorbike.

Moody is laughing, and Sirius is grinning. There’s a mad glint to his eye. Remus isn’t breathing.
He thinks if he tries, he’ll make an embarrassing noise and everyone will know.

They can’t know.

Smile for me, Moony.

You’re beautiful, Moony.

He doesn’t think that Sirius remembers. But he does. Oh, Remus does. Sirius was dying, and he
wanted Remus to smile at him. What’s he supposed to do with that? Sirius has no idea what he
does to him. He’s just… he’s Sirius. He’s tactile, and open, and has zero concept of personal
boundaries so he’s constantly in their space. Not just his. James’ too.

Remus knows better than to think that Sirius will ever look at him any special way. It’s just how
Sirius is. Doesn’t mean anything other than what he already knows: Sirius loves his friends deeply.
Fiercely. And Remus is his friend. That’s all he’ll ever be. Which is fine. But damn if Remus
didn’t wish that Sirius gave him a little bit more space, because it’s a gargantuan effort not to do
something stupid when he’s so close to him Remus can hear his heart beating.

The duel is still ongoing. Moody has hit Sirius twice. He’s bleeding from a gash on his torso and
has a nasty looking boil on his knee. But Sirius—oh, fucking Sirius. The glorious, vicious fucker is
giving as good as he’s getting. One of Moody’s eyes is swollen shut, which is making his aim a
little off and Moody’s hand is bleeding from a shallow cut near the wrist.

Remus glances at James because if he doesn’t take a break from watching Sirius he will pass out.
James is beaming, pride and love written all over his face. It warms Remus’ heart, how much these
two love each other. Deep down, he’s jealous. He wishes he could love Sirius the way James does,
because that’s okay. That’s allowed. That’s pure and Sirius needs that.

Sirius doesn’t need the way Remus feels about him. All encompassing. Consuming. A little dark,
because Remus would kill for Sirius. No questions asked. No hesitation. And isn’t that fucked up?
How’s Remus willing to kill, to die, anything for a guy who doesn’t like him back that way? Sirius
isn’t even gay, as far as Remus knows. And Remus would know.

He glances at James again. Lily told him that she suspects James is crushing on a guy. She only
said it because she desperately wanted to know who, and the only person she could ask was
Remus. She’d never out James to her friends, and Remus knows this is true. But Lily, mistakenly,
thought that Remus already knew. It wasn’t a big deal. Remus won’t tell anyone, and it’s also not a
surprise. James is so full of love Remus is not shocked to find out he’s queer. If Remus had to
guess? He’d say James is a person person. Gender doesn’t matter to him. It’s very on brand for
James Potter.

Not for Sirius, though. Sirius likes girls. A lot. Remus knows, against his will and to his dismay.
Usually, Sirius goes somewhere else with them, but there’d been a couple of occasions when he’s
brought them to their dorm. It’s the closest Remus has been to crying himself to sleep.

“Enough,” Moody bellows, yanking Remus back to this room, and the present, and his best friend
who’s sweating a little but nowhere near as much as Remus was.

Fuck Sirius Black. Honestly.

Also, yes. Fuck Sirius Black. He wishes.

Remus is insane. Something’s wrong with him. He’s eternally grateful nobody can hear his
thoughts.

Sirius grins at Moody. And he nods. “Good job, Black. Good job.” Moody turns to them. “You’re
all recruits, but you won’t be active until you graduate, for obvious reasons. We’re not wasting
time with logistics to get you in and out of school unless there’s a true emergency and we need all
hands on deck. But, while you’re here, keep your eyes and ears open. We’ll be arranging training
sessions so you’re ready to join us in the field as soon as you graduate.”

“What do you mean eyes and ears open, sir?” Remus is startled to find that Peter came back at
some point. He was so distracted by Sirius’ duelling he missed it.

“You go to school with the children of some notorious Death Eaters,” Moody says. “Can’t prove
anything, because they’re sneaky fuckers. But I’m certain of it. See if you can find anything worth
while out. Take it to Albus.”

They say their goodbyes, and Moody leaves. And all four of them look at each other for a long
moment before breaking into howls and yells and victory dances. The Marauders are part of the
Order of Phoenix and they’re ecstatic about it.

####

Regulus is running out of cigarettes. He has two left. This is a problem, because over his dead body
is he going to humiliate himself by looking for James to ask for more.

He’s on the roof again, and it’s an overcast night which he’s grateful for. He doesn’t want to see
Sirius shining tonight. He knows his brother was let out of the infirmary yesterday, so he’s fully
recovered but the rumours are still running wild. Everywhere Regulus has gone this weekend, he’s
heard people discussing Sirius ‘pay attention to me’ Black.

Fucking annoying, honestly.

Even Pandora brought Sirius up, insisting that Regulus needed to discuss the incident for his own
good. Regulus never lashes out at Pandora because it feels like kicking a puppy, but he was close.
He stormed out of the room and hasn’t been back since, instead going to check on his potion and
burying himself in research in the restricted section of the library.
Regulus puts out the butt of his cigarette against the tiles so aggressively he scratches his
fingernail. Swearing, he brings it to his mouth. The metallic taste of blood is hauntingly familiar.
Regulus closes his eyes, sees his house. The stairs he’s rolled down more than once after being
pushed. The carpet he’s stained with crimson blood several times.

He opens his eyes again. It’s a good thing he’s not afraid of bleeding. There’ll be a lot of that if
he’s to get revenge. He’s about to light himself another cigarette when he hears muffled steps
below him. Someone’s in the owlry. Who the hell is in the owlry so late at night on a Sunday?

He stays still, waiting. They’ll go away soon enough. Except they don’t. The steps get closer, and
then someone’s climbing out of the window and onto the roof.

Regulus’ wand is in his hand immediately. He entertains the idea of pushing them off the roof.
One kick to the chest and they’ll topple down. He flexes his knee…and discards the idea swiftly.
Because if his sense of smell is correct—and it is, one cannot be a good potioner with a faulty nose
—then the person climbing onto the roof with him is James Potter.

He crouches where he’s hoisted himself up, way too close to the edge. It's giving him anxiety.
Regulus wants to reach out and pull James closer by his shirt so he's further in. He’s a fool. If he
loses his balance he’ll fall backwards. It’s making Regulus’ hands twitch, but it’s dark, and he
knows the other boy cannot see. In contrast to Regulus’ building anxiety, pretty-sure-it’s-James is
apparently unbothered by the possibility of impending death.

“Hi,” he says, carefully. And yes. Regulus would recognise his voice anywhere.

James Potter is on the roof of the owlry with him. Late at night. They’re alone.

Regulus is afraid he’s going to have an aneurysm.

“Black?”

For someone so full of energy, James being remarkably still and it takes Regulus a moment to
realise that James is waiting. He’s waiting for him to do something. Say something.

“What are you doing here?” Is what Regulus goes with.

He needs a moment to compose himself. To get his bearings. Because he’s been hoping James
would show up for days. And that was a safe thing to hope for when it was impossible it would
actually happen. An abstract want that would never take shape.

But now James has shown up. He’s here. Flesh and bone. Messy hair and glasses and large hands.
He’s here and Regulus might faint. Which would be catastrophic because they’re on a roof on top
of a rather huge castle. A fall would be fatal.

“Well,” James says. He brings a hand up, cups the back of his neck. “I’ve been reliable informed
that it was likely you were close to running out of cigarettes.”

Regulus blinks. It’s dark here, so he can just about see the outline of James. His glasses catch on
the slivers of light piercing the clouds. He cannot, however, see his expression. Regulus dislikes
this because he can’t read the situation. He isn’t sure if James is here to mock him.

“So?”

James reaches into his jeans. Pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “I have more.”
Regulus doesn’t know what to say next. It’s all just so… surreal. His brain is struggling to
understand that James is here, and that he seems to have climbed all the way up here just to…
bring him more cigarettes? The absurdity of it makes Regulus want to cackle. It’s just. Ludicrous.
That’s what it is.

“How did you find me?”

James smiles. “Been looking for you for ages,” he says. “I was going to give up and get my owl to
deliver these to you tomorrow morning when I saw the tracks on the windowsill.”

“Tracks,” Regulus says flatly. He’s no idea what James is on about, but he wants to, because if
he’s leaving evidence behind he needs to know so he can stop doing it.

“Nobody uses that window. It’s usually filthy and covered in dust and feathers and… crap. Owl
crap,” James says matter-of-factly. “Except I noticed footprints on it, so I decided to check. And
here you are.”

Regulus hadn’t thought about leaving tracks in owl droppings. Good to know. He’ll have to be
more careful in the future. It’s a good tip, he has to admit. And James is… well. That was quite
smart of him.

The boy is still crouching at the edge, unmoving. The cigarette pack is on his hand, and he’s just…
waiting. Regulus is loath to admit that he likes it. James simply waiting for him to dictate what
happens next. It’s control, and Regulus loves control. Besides, he does want that pack of cigarettes
because he is down to his last two.

He brings the one he’d been about to light when James showed up to his lips. Uses the tip of his
wand to light it. The small flame illuminates James briefly, giving Regulus a glimpse of the boy’s
expression. He’s guarded, cautious. But also just… earnest. His hair is a mess, because it always is,
and Regulus wonders what it would feel like if he ran his hand through it.

“What do you want?” Regulus asks after he’s taken a drag of his cigarette.

James goes to shuffle forward, but the tile he steps on gives. He loses his footing. “Shit.” The word
punches out of James as his hands fly around, trying to help him regain balance. The tile slides off
and goes careening over the edge, disappearing into the void.

Regulus is lunging before he’s even fully aware of the situation. He’s higher up on the roof, and
has solid footing. His hand fists on the front of James’ shirt and he pulls back, throwing all his
weight into it. His shoes drag over the tiles as his body falls backwards, but at least he’s bringing
James with. Regulus’ butt hits the tiles, James toppling on top of him. They slide down together,
panicked breaths and feet scrambling for purchase.

They’re going to fall off the roof.

Together.

Someone will find their bodies, broken at the foot of the tower. Tangled. Will they think they were
lovers?

Regulus’ heels find a ridge and he puts every ounce of strength he has into halting their slide down
the roof. He grunts from the sheer effort, legs threatening to give under the weight of their
combined bodies. James is bigger than him. Heavier.

James’ hand is stretched above them, and Regulus can feel when he finds something to hold onto.
He grunts, too and then James’ body strains, muscles and raw power. The pressure eases off
Regulus’ legs because James is holding on, and fighting to keep them on the roof.

Together.

James presses himself against Regulus, his free arm hooking awkwardly under his armpit. Regulus
doesn’t want to die. Not here, not like this. So he abandons all shame, and pride, and everything.
Regulus clings to James, hands on his shoulder blades, face buried in the crook of his neck, and
James clings to the roof.

“Feet secure?” James asks, breathless.

“Yeah,” Regulus replies, equally out of sorts.

“On three, you push and I’ll pull us up. Okay?”

“Okay.”

James counts to three. Regulus digs his heels and pushes with all his might. James grunts—and it’s
not the time, it really isn’t, but it’s sexy and Regulus can’t help but notice—as he drags them up by
a single arm. Their bodies are pressed so close Regulus would be having a full on gay panic were
they not literally fighting for their lives. Inch by inch, grunt by strained grunt, they climb away
from the edge of the roof.

The entire thing lasts two minutes, perhaps three. But Regulus is fucking exhausted. As soon as he
feels he’s safe, his head falls back against the tiles and he pants. The air fills his lungs, which are
burning, and he’s sweating. His curls cling to his forehead, and he’s hot all over because James is a
fucking furnace. The adrenaline coursing through him has his brain addled, and it takes him a
second to realise that part of the reason he's boiling is that James Potter is lying on top of him. Also
panting. Also sweating.

When Regulus had this fantasy, it played out a little differently. Namely, less mortal peril and more
nudity. But he’ll take what he can get, he guesses.

So, for the moment it takes James to recover from almost falling to his death, Regulus catalogues
the feeling of his body. It’s heavy, and kind of fits perfectly against his. James still smells glorious
—dawn, and grass, and cedarwood—and his heart is hammering against his ribcage so hard
Regulus can feel it, too.

Regulus is human, after all. Part of him is, anyway. And this is an aftermath. A liminal moment.
And it’s dark. The middle of the night, which always has a strange effect on people. This is what he
tells himself when he realises that the part of him that has a crush on James Potter heavily
outweighs the part of him that hates.

“Fucking hell,” James says. His mouth is somewhere near Regulus’ neck, so he feels his breath on
his skin.

It makes Regulus’ blood race south. “Get off,” he grunts, because if James notices he’ll have to
fling himself off the roof after all.

“Sorry. Yes,” James mumbles, rolling off Regulus and coming to rest right next to him. “Thank
you. That was close.”

“You’re so fucking dumb, Potter,” Regulus snaps. He’s lost the cigarette he’d just lit in the whole
ordeal, so now he’s down to a single last one. He lights it, making a point of being dramatic about
his inhalation so James can tell he’s pissed off. “What were you thinking? Haven’t you been on a
roof before?”

“Not really, no,” James says, like this is a perfectly normal conversation to be having. “If I want to
get close to the sky, I just fly up.”

Regulus doesn’t really have much to say to that, because fair. It makes sense. James is good at
flying. Very good. Better than Regulus is, even though Regulus would sooner hang himself by the
balls than say this out loud.

The night breeze whirls around them, catching the smoke drifting up from Regulus’ cigarette and
tangling his curls. He’s still lying on his back on the tiles, and James is next to him, and… yes.
This is somehow a thing that is happening. Regulus feels like he’s trapped in a dream. A… good?
Yes. A good dream. Not that he’s ever had one of those before, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t
think it matters, anyway.

“Here,” James says after a short while. Regulus turns his head and finds James’ hand still gripping
the pack of cigarettes.

And he just stares. Because they almost fell to their deaths but James fucking Potter held on to
those cigarettes… why?

“Do you smoke?” Regulus asks.

“No. I don’t like it,” James replies. “Makes my head hurt.”

Regulus lapses back into silence, but he does reach out and take the pack from James. Their fingers
touch and Regulus remembers Barty losing it because he got hard when Evan touched his hand.
Honestly? Same. They are pathetic. Him and Barty, two emotionally constipated people losing
their collective shit over the touch of a hand.

Regulus should just jump of the roof and save himself the embarrassment of living his life with this
knowledge.

“I can get more,” James says softly. “I don’t mind. It’s easy.”

“Just tell me how you get them, Potter,” Regulus snaps. His entire being rebels against the idea of
being at his mercy. Of having to ask for what he needs. That’s not control.

James sits up, brings his knees closer to his body and puts his elbows on them. Regulus stares at
the curve of his back, the Gryffindor sweater stretching over muscles Regulus knows can pull two
bodies at once. Fuck. He’s never going to know peace again, is he? Not knowing just how strong
James Potter really is.

Salazar have mercy.

“I got these for you because I didn’t know how else to get you to talk to me,” James says. He’s not
looking at Regulus, just talking into the night.

Regulus pushes himself up, sitting in a similar position. The half-smoked cigarette dangles from
his fingers.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Regulus replies.

James nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that. I was just… No. But I get it.” He looks at Regulus then,
twisting his head towards him. They’re close enough now that Regulus can see his face despite the
darkness, and there's resignation there.

And that. No. Regulus doesn’t want that. He doesn’t. Fuck.

“I do want more cigarettes,” Regulus drawls.

James’ eyes narrow. A muscle jumps on his jaw. “You’re so confusing. Honestly.”

Regulus shrugs. “Sounds like a you problem.”

James brings a knee down, twists his whole body so he’s fully facing Regulus. Regulus puts out the
remains of his cigarette, but doesn’t look at James. The other boy is staring. Studying him, Regulus
thinks. He allows it, because he enjoys the feeling of having James’ attention trained on him.

His gaze is warm, and Regulus swears he can tell where he’s looking because it leaves a trail of
heat on his skin. This is, objectively, not possible. But Regulus is on a roof alone with James Potter
at night, so the boundaries of what should be possible have already been pushed. Don’t come at
him with logic or facts. Not right now.

“Okay,” James says all of a sudden. “So. If I bring you cigarettes here, that’s okay? You’re… it’s
not like pushy? And I can sit here with you and just… be?”

Regulus nods, still not looking. It’s a shit bargain. James gets literally nothing out of it. So Regulus
expects James to laugh it off, tell him he’s insane. Perhaps James will come to his senses and leave
this roof and never come back. There’s no way he’ll just accept the role of smoke provider. Not
when he could be anywhere else, with anyone else.

“Cool. Yeah. I’d like that,” James says instead.

Regulus is shocked into looking at him at last. James is smiling. Beaming. Downright giddy.

“There’s something very wrong with you,” Regulus tells him. His stomach has just decided to
being training for the gymnastics Olympics, but his face remains unchanged. Blank. Empty.

James shrugs, a self-conscious glint to his eye. But his smile is still there, still splitting his beautiful
face in two. “Something wrong with everyone,” he says affably. “Lot of right, too.”

Regulus scoffs. Of course James Potter is an optimist. One only has to look at him to know this.
And why wouldn’t he? Life has been good to him. He’s rich. He’s handsome. He’s good at school.
He’s a fucking Quidditch legend. Everything just works for him. Regulus doesn’t think James has
ever had a bad day.

“How’d you get hooked on those, anyway?” James asks, cocking his head to the side, still
watching Regulus.

“Muggle kid,” he replies.

James opens his mouth. Closes it. Regulus waits, curious. He’s no idea what James will say next
and he’s intrigued. James’ brain seems to operate on a completely different frequency than his.

“Any other muggle things you like?” James asks. And Regulus almost smiles, because never in a
million years would he have thought that that was the thing he was going to go for.

Still, it’s easy. It’s a conversation he can have. Regulus nods. “Do you know what a Rubik’s cube
 is?”

James shakes his head. “No. What is it?”

Regulus leans back, resting on his elbows. “It’s this box shaped thing that has different colours. It’s
a puzzle, basically. And you’re supposed to put it together so each side is a block of colour. Like
this,” Regulus gestures with his hands, mimicking the turning and clicking.

James’ scoots closer. “So, you like puzzles?”

“Yeah. I do.”

James nods, satisfied. “It makes sense. You’re smart. I prefer doing to thinking. Remus likes
puzzles, though.”

James is still talking, telling him about some puzzle Remus made, he thinks, but Regulus isn’t
listening because James just casually said ‘you’re smart’ and kept talking like Regulus didn’t skip a
breath. How can he just… say that? Like. So easy.

“Black?”

Regulus blinks. “What?”

“Will you show me how to solve one of those cubes things?” James is asking him. “If I get one?”

And it strikes Regulus that James truly meant what he said. He’s going to come back here. With
cigarettes for him. He has to, right? He wouldn’t be asking about the cube if he weren’t. It’s one
thing to lie once, get himself off the hook. But this? Seems too elaborate. James could have just let
it drop.

Regulus nods again. It seems to him it’s all he can do where James Potter is concerned. “Yeah,
Potter. I’ll show you how to solve a Rubik’s cube if you can get your hands on one.”

“Oh, I will,” James says, smiling. “I will.”

Chapter End Notes

My babies are clueless but also now they're talking so things can only go upwards
from here <3
 Bohemian Rhapsody
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

TWs for this chapter:

Heights / flying (brooms)
Someone is once again in danger of falling from a considerable height
Smoking
Underage drinking

There are also a couple of songs mentioned in this chapter, with short bursts of lyrics.
These all belong to the singers / songwriters and are all properly identified :)

Monday afternoon James is a man on a mission. His friends have been dragging their feet all day,
tired and battered after their duel with Moody but James? James is on top of the world.

He feels invincible.

He cannot wait to climb to the owlry roof again. Except he must find one of those cubes first. Two
reasons: one, he got the impression Regulus didn’t think he’d be able to get one. Two: it’s a puzzle
one makes with their hands, and James will do just about anything for an excuse to watch Regulus
use his hands.

So. Man on a mission.

“Evans!” James yells across the Gryffindor common room as soon as he steps through the portrait.

Lily is sitting with Marlene and Mary, as per usual. They’re going through homework, or at least
they have books open in front of them. Marlene salutes him. “What’s up Cap?”

“Hello Marlene, Mary,” James says politely. “Lily. I need to ask you for a favour.”

“Sure, James. What do you need?” Lily asks, shooting a quick glance towards her friends. “Is
everything okay?”

James nods vigorously. Things are wonderful. Brilliant. Amazing. The world is beautiful, and he’s
on top of it, and honestly James could break into song.

“I just need to get a raiby cube? Reiban cube? The puzzle thingy. You know? That muggles
invented?” he says, gesturing with his hands as well to get his point across.

Marlene wrinkles her nose, confused. But Mary’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline and she laughs.
“You mean a Rubik’s cube?”

“Oh!” Lily says. “Good one, Mary. I was lost for a moment.”

James beams. “Thank you. Yes. Exactly that. Rubik’s cube. I need one. How do I get one?”
Lily and Mary exchange glances. Marlene sits forward on her chair. “What is this cube you’re on
about?”

“Very popular puzzle. Muggles love it,” Mary replies. “What do you need one for, James?”

He shifts the weight from his heels to his toes, balancing on his feet. There’s more energy coursing
through him today than usual. He’s felt electric since he almost fell to his death and Regulus saved
him.

Regulus saved him.

And James was so close to him. They were… lying there, together. And he… argh. James almost
passed out from sheer want. Regulus fits so well under him. Like he was made to be there. Also, he
smells amazing. Woody. Grass-y. Like the outdoors, which is surprising because as far as James
knows Regulus doesn’t spend much time outside. Except well. James doesn’t really know Regulus
very well, does he.

For example, he had no idea he liked puzzles. It’s adorable, James thinks. He’s so smart. Who
enjoys brain teasers for fun? Well, Regulus Genius Black is who. And James will learn to solve
this cube if it costs him his life.

“I just need one,” James says. “It’s a surprise.”

Lily smiles at him. “I’ll ask my parents to send me one. They’re easy to get for muggles. It should
take a couple of days.”

James tries to hide his disappointment. He knew it wouldn’t be immediate, but if he’s honest, he’s
struggling to be patient about Regulus. James wants it to be night, and he wants to climb to the
owlry again. It’s all he can think about. Regulus at night. Regulus smoking. Regulus looking at him
with a scowl and a frown. Exasperated, but also... a little soft? James thinks Regulus enjoys when
James makes him irritated. And he can't wait to just be there again. Wiht him. So. A couple of days
isn't great. But that’s not Lily’s fault. She's only trying to help.

“How much do I owe you for it?” James asks.

Lily shakes her head. “Nah, don’t worry about—”

“A beer,” Marlene says. “Next Hogsmeade weekend.”

James looks at Lily, then shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you want.” Lily blushes, for some reason. James
thinks it makes her look quite lovely, but not as lovely as Regulus. The only complaint James has
about the rooftop is that it’s dark, and James cannot see if he’s having any effect on Regulus.

He has yet to come up with a solution for that, but small steps. He doesn’t want to get his
permission to sit with him while he smokes revoked. There was a moment last night when James
genuinely thought Regulus was going to tell him to stay away for good, and he would have. He
didn’t want to. But he would have, because Regulus is a Black, and he knows they’ve never had
any boundaries respected at home so James is fucking careful not to make mistakes.

He probably still fucks up every now and then, but James tries.

“Yeah. That’d be nice. A beer next Hogsmeade weekend is great,” Lily says, still blushing. Mary
rolls her eyes, but doesn’t comment.

Marlene gets up of her seat suddenly and waves. “Sirius!”

James looks over his shoulder to find his best friend crossing the common room towards the girls.
He looks tired, but he’s in better shape than Peter and Remus. His wand is in his hair, and he’s got
the uniform robes open to show a loose tie over his shirt.

“James,” Sirius bumps his shoulder against his. “What are you bothering the girls for?”

James smiles, shrugs. “None of your business.”

Sirius immediately gasps. “The betrayal!” he says, though he doesn’t raise his voice. They’re in the
common room, so Sirius keeps his dramatics under control. “Well, we’re busy. So off you go.”

“Busy?”

Mary hooks her arm in Sirius’ and looks at James with an air of superiority that makes him want to
poke her under the ribs to make her laugh. “Sirius is our model today.”

Ah. James had forgotten about the whole thing. He puts his hands up. “Sorry. I forgot. Ehm…
good luck?”

Sirius wiggles his eyebrows and all three girls giggle. Even Marlene. Which is just… Marlene
doesn’t even like boys, so that tells you something about Sirius’ charm. James shakes his head and
waves goodbye, climbing the steps to his dorm and leaving his best friends to endure whatever it is
the girls have planned for him.

Sirius doesn’t come back until two hours later, when James is standing in the middle of his dorm in
his pyjamas trying to cast a patronus. Now that they’re all recruited into the Order, James insists
that they learn to send each other messages this way. The first step is to cast corporeal patronuses.
Easier said than done.

Remus is sitting on the edge of his bed, a book on his lap. Peter is lying on the floor by the end of
his bed, watching James and providing unhelpful commentary.

The door cracks open, and James turns around. His almost-there-but-not-quite patronus vanishes.
Sirius closes the door behind him and lifts his chin.

“What’s that about?”

There’s a choking sound, and then Remus is coughing. Peter sits up. “You okay Moony?”

Remus nods, but he’s coughing still. “Wrong… pipe,” he says between coughs.

Sirius is staring at Remus, a little concerned. James is staring at Sirius. Something’s different.
James notices it immediately, but he can’t tell what. Sirius hair is the same. He’d never let anyone
touch it. So. Is it his clothes? No. He’s still in uniform. Tie hanging loosely around his neck.

“What did the girls need you for?” James asks.

Remus has stopped coughing. The book has fallen, and James’ first indication that something’s up
is that Remus hasn’t picked it up. He’s just… staring. Mouth a little open. Staring at Sirius.

“What do you think?" Sirius asks Remus, totally ignoring James’ question.

Remus stands and moves towards Sirius, who waits for him in the middle of the room, hands on
his hips. Remus’ hands are shaking, and James slowly moves away, until he’s almost stepping on
Peter. He’s quick to his feet.
James and Peter stay very still, side by side. James doesn’t think either of them are breathing.

Remus stops in front of Sirius. Lifts a hand. And grabs Sirius’ chin. James has to slap a hand on
Peter’s mouth to muffle his shocked gasp.

Sirius smirks, seemingly unbothered by Remus’ fingers tilting his face up so he can look at him
from a better angle. “Well?”

James doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t understand it. Can’t even tell what Remus is
looking for. But he’s looking, and there’s something there. Something that Sirius has to see, right?
He has to, because it’s obvious. So Sirius could just… they could…

“Suits you,” Remus says, dropping his hand.

No. No, don’t! James wants to say, but he doesn’t. He can’t. James can’t meddle. They need to
figure it out on their own.

“So you like it?” Sirius asks. And is that? Oh. Oh. James’ hopes soar. That’s Sirius’ flirting voice.
Ladies and gentlemen, Sirius is flirting with Remus.

James has to focus to stop himself from singing hallelujah.

“Yeah,” Remus says, voice hoarse. “I like it.”

Sirius smiles, flicks his hair back a little.

Remus swallows. Nods firmly. “Yeah, you look good Pads. The girls did a good job.” And he steps
back.

James groans out loud. He can’t help it. Both his friends look at him, and James has officially
ruined the moment. Well. In his defence, Remus ruined it first all by himself. How did Remus miss
that? Sirius was flirting. Was it on purpose? James doesn’t know. He doesn’t think it matters. It
doesn’t matter if Sirius knows what he’s doing or not, because James is absolutely, one hundred
percent certain that the moment Remus kisses him, Sirius will have an epiphany.

“What’s that, Prongs?” Sirius asks him.

“I just don’t know what you two are on about.”

Remus laughs. Sirius blinks several times, very fast. And James gets it. “Oh. You’re wearing
make-up!”

“Yup,” Sirius says. “What do you think?”

And honestly, he looks good. It’s very subtle. Just some black eyeliner (James thinks that’s what
it’s called) and… that thing girls put on their lashes to make them thicker. Darker. Jo used to do it
all the time and James quite liked it.

It works on Sirius. James can see why Remus was struggling. Sirius has beautiful eyes. Grey,
almost silver. “Yeah, Pads. You look hot.”

Sirius wiggles his eyebrows again, tosses his hair back for good measure. “I know! The girls are
fucking geniuses. I’m wearing this every day until I die. The world isn’t ready for this!”

Peter laughs, shakes his head. “For Godric’s sake. We didn’t need your head to get any bigger.”
Sirius ignores his, doing a lap around the room while batting his eyelashes. “People are going to
swoon at my feet.”

James chortles. Remus is watching Sirius with a sort of desperate longing on his face that makes
James want to hit his best friend over the head, but he can’t do that. He can’t. Right? Fuck. He
doesn’t know anymore. Obviously, these two need help.

“Right. Well,” Remus says, clearing his throat. “We were in the middle of something.”

“Yes!” James remembers, grabs his wand again. “Sit down, Pads. We’re learning patronuses.”

“Cool!” Sirius sits down, pulls his wand out of his hair. “Pete, is that the book?”

Remus drops his face in his hands, but only James notices. He understands the feeling and even
though he can’t tell him, James stands in silent, secret solidarity with Remus. Having a crush on a
Black brother is fucking painful.

####

Regulus has a strategy. It is very simple. He will not look up from the ground until he’s outside.
There are only advantages to this strategy. On the one hand, he doesn’t have to make eye contact
with anyone on his team. Only a good thing, in Regulus’ opinion, because he’s not a fan of the
majority of his teammates. Why? Because they’re all mindless bullies. They play with no finesse.
Honestly, Regulus thinks that with the exception of the Greengrass girl (a chaser) and Rabastan
Lestrange (their keeper) the rest of his team could be replaced by trolls and they’d play more
gracefully.

The other reason his strategy is stellar is that as long as he keeps his gaze on the ground he won’t
accidentally spot James. Given how absolutely mind-boggling the last week has been, Regulus
cannot, for any reason, lay eyes on James Potter before he’s in the air or he won’t be able to
concentrate. Why? Because James has come to sit with him on the roof of the owlry twice in the
past week. Honestly, Regulus would have preferred that he'd come every night, but let’s not be
greedy.

The first time was Tuesday. James showed up and what do you know? He had a Rubik’s cube.
Regulus smoked while James struggled to solve it. It was endearing. Eventually, Regulus took it
from James and did it himself. James didn’t breathe the entire time.

The second night was only last night. Regulus was a little irked that James didn’t show the rest of
the week, but Regulus did notice that James missed breakfast on Thursday and looked pretty
haggard when he spotted him for dinner. Same with his friends. Something must have happened at
their dorm, Regulus deduced. It’s quite impressive how they manage to get in trouble so frequently.

Still. James showed up last night with bruises under his eyes but a smile as big as usual and
Regulus didn’t ask. He won’t risk James teasing him for paying attention. James brought the cube
again, and resumed his attempts at solving it. Regulus helped him, though he didn’t take it away
this time. James’ look of utter delight when the last piece clicked into place made Regulus want to
kiss him.

That terrified him into standing up abruptly and leaving, claiming he needed sleep ahead of today’s
match. James, despite being the Captain of the opposition, wished him a good game before letting
him go.

They never get off the roof together. They haven’t agreed it, or spoken about it. It’s just… the way
they do it.

Regulus goes through the motions of pre-match prep. He’s in his Quidditch gear already and trying
to warm up while looking at the floor of the changing room. His mind is unhelpfully supplying
him with flashes of what James looked like when he ran into him the first week back to school.

Regulus cannot fucking believe that he’s now had several full conversations with that same James
late at night on a rooftop. It’s insane. It’s also reckless.

His Captain calls the team to get together. Regulus drags his feet. He hovers at the edge of the
circle of players, listening to the Captain rattle a few stupid things that he knows won’t make a
difference. The only person who can win this match is Regulus by catching the snitch as quickly as
possible.

He’s going all out.

If James thinks… oh. Oh no.

Regulus’ stomach drops. It drops through the floor, into the Earth, and pummels all the way to the
core of the planet.

He’s an idiot. Salazar Fucking Slytherin, he cannot believe he fell for this.

It all makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. He’d been wondering. Waiting for the other shoe to
drop because in what universe does James Potter just want to spend his time with Regulus Black?
There’s no way Sirius would allow it, and there’s zero chance James would do anything behind
Sirius’ back. Not to mention that it's just strange. James has better things to do with his time. He's
got better friends. Interesting people who do interesting things and don't struggle to have
conversations because they're fighting with their own emotions.

Why did Regulus not see this sooner? Merlin’s beard on fire. He’s been duped. Regulus has the
horrible feeling that this was a team effort. Sirius must have come up with it.

Regulus feels sick.

He should have known it was no coincidence that James finally showed up on the roof a week
before the first Quidditch game. And Regulus… he was taken in like a child. All it took was for
James to smile. To be all adorable with the Rubik’s cube. James with his earnestness and his
beautiful, big eyes.

They almost had him.

Almost.

His brother and James are in for a treat. Regulus suspects they’re already celebrating their victory.
Thinking that Regulus will be distracted by James, or that he might perhaps not try his hardest.
Possibly both.

Regulus is going to win this game, and then he’s going to disembowel James Potter. Fuck his
carefully laid revenge plans. Fuck the order of events. Fuck absolutely everything and everyone
that made Regulus soften even a smidge and think that James maybe simply wanted to hang out.

Game on.

He steps outside with his team, looking at the grass still. He won't make eye contact. He won't.
They take positions, and he waits for the whistle. When Regulus’ foot hits the ground, the impact
is so harsh it travels up his ankle and into his knee. He shoots up like an arrow, the wind tangling
in his curls. For the first time, Regulus looks around. His team mates are flying into their positions.
The Gryffindor team is in the air, too.

Sirius is twirling his bat in his hand, flying in formation next to McKinnon. Regulus finds their
seeker, a tall and slim girl called Silverwood. She’s a fifth year, Regulus thinks. She’s good, but
not as good as he is. Gryffindor’s only chance is to score enough points before he catches the
snitch. Because he will.

Speaking of scoring… there he is. James, flying to every single player on his team for a quick,
final word, before joining the Slytherin Captain in the centre of the pitch. Regulus grips his broom
so hard his knuckles hurt inside his gloves. What was he thinking?

How did Regulus believe, even for a second, that this guy had any interest in him?

It’s laughable, really. But Regulus needs to leave the self-flagellation for later. Because right now,
he has to find the snitch.

The whistle goes off.

It's show time.

Regulus soars. He’s got the best broom in the market, and it responds to his every whim. He flies
above the game, and immediately begins to search for the snitch. It’s here, somewhere. And he
needs to find it.

He begins a careful lap, eyes darting around the pitch. The game is moving quickly. James and his
chasers are in possession, and they pass the Quaffle between them like the Slytherin players trying
to block aren’t even there. Regulus doesn’t want to be impressed, but he is. He turns, flying in the
opposite direction so he doesn’t have to watch James score the first goal of the game.

The comentator seems to have a crush on James, too. He just won't shut up about how brilliant he
is. It's making Regulus want to stuff cotton in his ears so he's spared the hysterics. James scores,
and the stands go wild. Regulus sighs, then redoubles his efforts.

Find the snitch.

Sirius and McKinnon are doing some strange manoeuvre where Sirius has somehow ended up with
both bats. He hits the two bludgers at the same time, catching the Slytherin beaters by surprise.
One of them is knocked off his broom. Regulus is annoyed, but he forces himself to ignore this.

His priority is the snitch.

Regulus keeps looking. James scores three more goals. Sirius and McKinnon successfully stop
Slytherin chasers from passing the Quaffle by aiming bludgers with deadly precision. Regulus is
getting increasingly angry. The Gryffindor team is too good.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give up. The snitch is here, somewhere. He’ll find it.

He flies, and flies. Searches everywhere.

Where the fuck is it?

Two hours later, Regulus still hasn't found the snitch. This is unprecedented. He’s frustrated. He’s
sweating, and so fucking angry. The game has been going on for so long his legs are cramping on
the broom and he’s exhausted.

The snitch seems to have disappeared. The other seeker hasn’t seen it, either, which doesn’t make
Regulus feel any better about his failure, but it doesn’t make him feel any worse, either.

The Slytherin team gets progressively angrier, which isn’t helping anybody. They’ve already made
two fouls bad enough that Hooch awarded Gryffindor penalties. Penalties that James doesn’t miss.
Obviously.

James is on fire. He’s scored so many goals that Slytherin is never going to catch up. If they score
one more, Regulus cannot catch the snitch without the game going to Gryffindor. This is a
nightmare.

Regulus tries going low, in case the snitch is flying near the ground. He’s never taken this long to
find it. Above him, Greengrass scores a goal for Slytherin. The Gryffindor chasers retaliate. A
player that’s not James scores a goal for Gryffindor following a brilliant pass by James. Regulus
groans, pulls up. The snitch isn’t down here.

Shit.

Finally.

Regulus spots it. After all this time, he gets the first glimpse of the small, golden ball. The little
shit is flying right next to Sirius’s head, who hasn’t seen it because he’s tracking a bludger that’s
following James. Regulus doesn’t hesitate. He flies up, straight towards his brother. He's flying
very fast. He’s going to get it, but it's most likely going to cause him to crash into his brother. Does
he care? Not particularly, not. Regulus hopes it doesn't hurt much.

James Potter scores a goal.

Regulus is hurtling towards Sirius at breakneck speed. Regulus is so fucking angry. If he catches
the snitch now, Gryffindor will win. But if he lets it go after spotting it, James and Sirius will think
that he did it on purpose. Won’t they? They'll think that he gave it up for them, because their ruse
worked and he's crushing on James.

Regulus doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to lose, but he wants James and Sirius to think
their stupid little plan worked even less.

He's still flying faster than he should. Sirius turns his head and sees him. His eyes widen in shock.
Understanding. They're going to crash.

And then, they're not. A Gryffindor chaser that’s not James or the girl cuts in front of him
suddenly, and Regulus' reflexes have him pulling his broom up to avoid the crash. His stomach
complains, but he can't lose focus because he's losing control. Regulus swears out loud, gripping
the broom handle hard. One of his hands fails him, cramping. And he's dangling from his broom,
hanging on with a single arm for a few seconds while his broom spins on itself.

Fucking hell.

Regulus manages to climb back onto his broom, heaving.

The snitch has gone. Regulus breathes in deeply, tries to get his bearings. He feels a little dizzy.

“Black, you okay?” Hooch asks.

He nods, gives her a thumbs up.

There’s shouting somewhere on the pitch, and when Regulus looks he finds James Potter going
absolutely ballistic at the chaser that just fouled Regulus. It’s odd, seeing James having a massive
go at his own team. Regulus can’t make out his exact words, but he’s obviously fuming.

Sirius flies up to him, cutting his line of sight to James and the chaser. They don’t say anything.
Just look at each other. Two brothers on different teams. There’s a question in Sirius’ eyes that
Regulus doesn’t acknowledge.

He flies away and goes back to searching for the snitch. His team have to pull their weight and
score more goals. His job is to find the snitch and catch it. That’s what he’s going to do.

In the time it takes him to find it again, James scores twice more. He missed another two, which is
very rare because James never misses, but at this point it doesn't really matter. Gryffindor is way
ahead.

Regulus dives for the snitch. The Gryffindor seeker has seen it too, so it’s a race for it. She's right
behind him. Her broom isn't as good, so Regulus will win the race. Even if it means Slytherin
loses. Regulus has no choice. His team will lose, but he will not allow Gryffindor to walk away
with the 150 points from the snitch, too. Absolutely fucking not.

Regulus tilts his broom and goes full speed in a vertical drop that makes him feel every inch of his
body. Alive. Glorious. Weightless and powerful and in this one moment he hopes James is
watching because Regulus feels unstoppable. If he could be like this all the time, he’d have no
doubt that James could be attracted to him.

If he could be like this all the time, James would be eating out of the palm of his hand.

Regulus catches the snitch. Ends the game. Gryffindor won. Regulus looks up and finds James’
cheeks flushed and staring at him like he just hung the moon in the sky… And suddenly, Regulus
doesn’t know what to think. He's not sure this was a ruse, but he's not sure it wasn't.

####

The Gryffindor common room is full to bursting. Everyone and their mother is here. Gryffindor
kids have invited close friends from other houses, so there’s a few Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff
students, too.

To James’ shock and secret delight, there’s also one Slytherin. Only one, and she’s allowed here
because Marlene is still twirling her bat in her hand and swinging it threateningly every time
someone so much as breathes wrong in their direction.

Peter and Remus snuck drinks in while the Quidditch team was packing the gear ahead of coming
up for the party, so there’s beer (the muggle kind, with alcohol) and firewhisky flowing. There’s
music, too.

James hasn’t had a moment to catch his breath. Everyone has something to say to him, and he’s
honestly living for the attention. His team did brilliantly, and he’s so proud of them—which he tells
everyone—and this win reaffirms what he already knew. This year, they’re unstoppable.
He shakes hands, recounts particularly good goals, lets people hug him. He cheers, and toasts, and
celebrates. It’s about an hour and a half of that before people are either too drunk to actively come
talk to him, or they already did so won’t come back to James.

Sirius floats around the room, going from group to group to subtly keep the hype up. He also has
his bat with him still, which people love. Right now, he’s got it slung across both his shoulders,
hands up and trapped in it. He’s talking to Remus, who’s leaning against the wall with a bottle of
muggle beer dangling from his fingers. Sirius is a little tipsy by now, and his cheeks are flushed as
he speaks to Remus.

James smiles to himself as Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here beings playing. Remus tilts his head
almost like he’s catching the sound, and when he recognises the music his eyes widen and he
smiles. Sirius immediately drops the bat, puts it against the wall. He braces his arm next to Remus,
leans in closer and James can see him singing.

And then Remus is moving his lips, too. Tracing the words without actually saying them because
Remus insists on telling everyone that he can’t carry a tune in a bucket though James has his
doubts about this being actually true. For his part, James is unfortunately, truly bad at singing. Not
that it matters. He’s shameless and does it anyway. James watches his friends sing to each other
about souls lost like fishes in a swimming bowl and wonders what it will take to bring them
together the way they both want.

He smiles, because it’ll happen. It has to. Eventually.

The bottle of beer is cold in his hand, and tastes wonderful as he takes a sip.

Peter is dancing with Olive, one of James’ chasers. Marlene and Dorcas Meadowes are chatting,
sharing a sofa by the fireplace. Dorcas is wearing muggle clothes, which is smart, because it’s not
immediately obvious she’s a Slytherin. Mary and Lily are nearby, casually talking but also keeping
an eye on them.

James is happy. He’s with the people he loves and everyone is celebrating.

How I wish… how I wish you were here.

James does. But he knows it’s stupid, because Regulus lost today and if it was James he’d be
sulking in his room. Regulus played beautifully. He flies like he does everything else, with grace
and poise. Even when Allan cut him off—Allan insists he thought Regulus was attacking Sirius
because he hadn’t noticed the snitch—Regulus recovered swiftly and elegantly.

James wishes he could be here. He wishes he could do what Marlene is doing with Dorcas. Just…
bring him here. Talk. Share a drink. That’s all James wants, he tells himself.

The music changes, and James remains where he is, watching his people, smiling. Mind drifting
off to places it shouldn’t go. Peter and Olive are still dancing, which bodes well for his friend. He
says something to her and she laughs so hard there’s a tear on the corner of her eye. Sirius and
Remus are now by the bucket of beers, plucking fresh bottles out of the melting ice. Sirius shows
off by popping the cap open with his teeth.

James pushes himself off the wall and goes to join them, because his bottle is empty. He’s almost
by his friends when Bohemian Rhapsody begins playing. Sirius loses his collective shit
immediately. He yelps, thrusts his beer towards Remus, who grabs it without batting an eye, and
jumps up on the nearest table.
Sirius is already mouthing the lyrics when he lands on top of the table. No time to waste.

All eyes turn to him. Sirius knows every word to this song. The backing vocals, too. He starts slow,
swinging his hips because the intro is so dramatic and tantalising. He’s changed out of his
Quidditch gear, because he’s Sirius Black and he will not miss an opportunity to put on his leather
jacket. That’s what he’s sporting—together with jeans hung low and a white t-shirt.

He's singing, perfectly in sync with the music.

“Doesn’t really matter to me…” And Sirius brings his arms over his chest.

The entire room watches. Sirius sings, and you would be forgiven for thinking that he’s the original
performer of this song for how passionately he goes for it. Freddy Mercury is one of Sirius’ idols,
and James honestly doesn’t understand how his friend hasn’t yet realised that he’s queer. But
whatever. Sirius can be a little unaware at times.

“Carry on… carry on…” Sirius hits the notes effortlessly, beautifully.

He’s got the entire room eating out of the palm of his hand. Next to James, two girls sigh so loud
his eyes dart to them for a second. James shakes his head, amused. Then looks for Remus. And
Remus oh. Bless him. Remus is transfixed. He’s frozen. He’s not even blinking, just watching
Sirius launch into an air-guitar solo, knees bent and head thrown back.

Remus’ hands are twitching a little, and James knows the feeling. He has the same reaction when
Regulus is explaining to him how to work the Rubik’s cube. The twitching is from the effort it
takes not to reach out and touch. Take. Feel.

The air guitar solo ends and there are a few seconds of a piano that alert everyone to what’s
coming next.

“Marlene!!!” Sirius shouts. And the blond girl flies through the room to jump on the table with him
just in time to join in and perform together.

Dorcas hurries forward, because she very clearly does not want to miss this. Marlene turns to Sirius,
and they bounce the sentences off each other like they practice this sort of shit.

“I see a little silhouette of a man!” Marlene sings.

“Scaramouch, Scaramouch, will you do the Fandango!” Sirius replies.

“Thunderbolts and lightning, very very frightening me!” This one is together.

Sirius and Marlene crouch on the table and alternate getting up for every Galileo in the song, which
earns them laughs from the crowd. And then Sirius is just a poor boy, and Marlene is the backup
vocals, and James doesn’t know whether to look at them enacting this over the top interpretation or
at Dorcas and Remus who are both seconds away from a heart attack.

The air guitar is back, and Marlene and Sirius are going for it. Hair flying, arms ‘playing,’ knees
bent, and bodies thrown back. And then the song is ending, and nothing really matters, James
knows. Nothing matters but the way Sirius’ eyes find Remus, or how he drops to his knees on the
table and winks at him when it’s all over.

The room erupts into cheers and applause, and Marlene and Sirius—who’s back on his feet—bow
to their audience. Dorcas is beaming so hard she’s lighting up the room, and when Marlene jumps
off the table, she rushes forward and begins gushing about how amazing that was, and how
talented Marlene is, and honestly Gryffindor parties are so much more fun because she doesn’t
know a single Slytherin that would ever do that.

“You alright?” James grabs a bottle of beer and nudges Remus with his elbow.

Remus closes his mouth. Blinks. Looks at him. “Yeah.” He straightens. Frowns a little. “Of course
I’m alright.”

Sirius appears out of nowhere, and tackles James into a hug. He laughs, throws his arms around his
best friend. “What a game! What a party!”

“Moony, come here,” Sirius says, and then he’s hugging Remus and Remus is hugging him back.
Their werewolf friend dips his face a little, hiding in the crook of Sirius’ neck and James sees the
gesture for what it is. A small indulgence that Remus is allowing himself because he just got
through that performance without passing out and that deserves some reward.

James melts into the crowd. Hesitates. He could join Lily and Mary. Or go talk to anyone on his
team. Frankly, with the exception of Pete and Olive, Marlene and Dorcas, or Sirius and Remus,
James could go talk to just about anyone.

But he doesn’t want to. The person James wants to talk to isn’t here. And James… well. The
party’s been on for a while. People are a bit drunk.

He slips away, up the stairs. Into his room. He grabs his broom and zooms out the window without
looking back.

####

Regulus is on the roof because he is one hundred percent certain that James won’t come tonight.
He’s in the Gryffindor common room celebrating the win with his team.

Regulus has been chain-smoking for about two hours now. He’s burnt through his pack way too
quickly. Considering he won’t allow James on this roof again, he’s going to regret this tomorrow.
But what is he supposed to do? The Slytherin Captain had the audacity to have a go at him for
catching the snitch. The fact that the Gryffindor seeker was a few seconds behind Regulus and
would have caught it herself if he’d missed didn’t register, but then again Regulus knows his
Captain is a brainless idiot so he can’t expect actual thoughts from him.

Regulus scoffs. It’s a clear night, the moon beginning to wane. It was full on Thursday, and on that
night Regulus—like the fool he is—had thought that it was a shame James was missing it, because
it was honestly incredibly beautiful.

Regulus finds Sirius in the sky out of habit, or because he’s a masochist. He isn’t sure at this point.
He narrows his eyes at it, channelling all his hurt and rage to that one star. The brightest. Always
best. Always more. Always all the things Regulus will never be. “I hope you’re fucking happy."

“Black?”

He startles so hard the cigarette drops, burning a hole through his pants. “Fuck!” Regulus yelps,
shaking his leg to get the cigarette away. His skin is throbbing a little where the head of the
cigarette burnt him, but he’s had way worse. And he’s sure Dorcas will be able to fix his trousers.
Now, to deal with the intruder. When Regulus looks up, James is staring at him wide-eyed.

Regulus didn’t see him coming because he didn’t climb through the window. James is on his
broom, hovering near Regulus. He’s still in his Quidditch gear, which is criminal. Regulus hates
the way the pants cling to his frankly stupidly thick thighs. Who needs thighs that thick? What are
they for? Honestly. Someone tell him the fucking point of those legs right now so that he can stop
wondering and staring and salivating.

“Are you alright?”

Regulus’ eyes snap up. The audacity of this boy! “You can fuck right off, Potter.”

“Oh,” James says softly. His shoulders hunch a little bit. “I’m sorry?”

Regulus does a double take, then gapes at him. He’s sorry? What?

James shakes his head, but it looks like he’s doing it more in response to himself than to Regulus’
reaction.

“Well, no. I’m not sorry we won. We played very well, and we deserved the win. But I’m sorry
you lost, I guess. This is weird. This has never happened before,” James says, sounding a little
bewildered.

Regulus, who still doesn’t understand absolutely anything, can only scowl. “This?”

Regulus doesn’t know what else to say. He wants Potter to leave him alone. Never to come here to
this roof again. He wants. Regulus doesn’t know what he wants. Or he does, but he’s not willing to
admit it to himself. Not when there’s a good chance James is only here to gloat. Regulus will not
enable this. Not at his expense.

“Potter, genuinely, fuck off,” Regulus says.

“I get it. I do. I’m in a shit mood when we lose, too.” James sighs, runs a hand through his hair.
“This is complicated.”

“Stop saying ‘this’ like it means anything,” Regulus snaps.

“Oh,” James says. “I just mean that I’ve never cared about someone on the opposite team before.”

Regulus feels the world crack open under him. Or maybe it’s just his brain exiting his skull.
Because James didn’t just say that. Except he did. Regulus heard it with own two ears. He’s not…
James just fucking went and said it. Zero hesitation. No self-consciousness.

“You what?” the words fall from Regulus’ lips without his permission. They’re weak, and soft, and
all the things Regulus is not. But Regulus is hanging by a thread, stretched so thin he’s about to
snap and then what?

He needs this to start making sense immediately, or he’s going to do something fucking stupid.

“I said,” James enunciates clearly. Slowly. He even raises his voice a little, like he’s making a
point. “That I care about you and how you feel. And you play for the team that lost today. So, I’m
sorry for that, even though I’m very glad that my team won.”

Regulus gets on his feet, shaking his head. “No.”

“No?”
He’s tearing at the seams. Unravelling. Reguls can feel it in the way his blood is rushing, pounding
in his ears. The way his hands want to twitch but he won’t let them because he can't let James see.
His throat is tight, and his chest is taut like a bowstring and Regulus will just not accept this.

He glares at James, trying to hang on to the hatred. He hates this boy. He likes him, yes, is attracted
to him, also yes. But Regulus hates him.

“No. You don’t care. You can’t care,” Regulus says. His hands are shaking now, he's lost the
battle. So he puts them in his pockets to buy himself time. He needs to get off the roof. Right now.
“And I will not let you fuck with me any longer. This ends right now. Or I will hurt you, Potter.”

He steps forward and James moves his broom to intercept his escape. “Wait. Black, wait.”

He darts sideways, tries to get away. His foot almost slips on the roof, but he clings to his balance.
Takes a step. James moves again, blocking him.

Regulus almost snarls. “Leave me alone.”

“Regulus.”

And that. He has never heard anyone say his name like that. It’s a little desperate but also gentle.
Caring. Like his name is to be savoured. It roots him to the spot. Makes him falter. He turns, faces
James.

I hate James Potter.

I have a crush on James Potter.

“I will leave if that’s what you want,” James says firmly. “But I want to know why. We were
having a good time up here before. So if you’re uspet the team lost, I get that, and I’ll leave you
alone tonight.”

“No. Leave me alone for good,” Regulus bites out.

“I’m going to need some context for that, because I really don’t want to do it,” James says. “So.
Why? What happened?”

Regulus needs to leave. He has to, because he’s forgetting the reasons he hates Potter. He stole his
brother. Didn’t he? But if he was this nice to Sirius, how could Sirius say no? How can anyone say
no to James Potter when he’s this precious?

And yet Regulus has to. He has to say no. Because there’s no world in which he can… what? Be
James’ friend? Impossible. He doesn’t want that, anyway.

And even if he did. Even if he did… Easter is a few months away. The beginning of the end. The
revenge of all revenges. A plan to take down everyone who’s ever hurt Regulus. James is on the
list. So is Sirius.

“Regulus. Please, tell me why,” James says again.

I hate James Potter?

I have a major crush on James Potter.

Regulus lets out a shaky breath. It’s a few months. The last few months. And maybe… he wants to
know. He wants to know so fucking badly. He can do both things. Be James’ pseudo-friend at
night, on the roof, away from the world. And carry on with his revenge the rest of the time. James
will never know. And nobody else has to know that they’re here. This is their place. A small
corner of the world he stole for himself. One that James found and now they share. And here, on
this roof, at night, it’s so easy to pretend.

He can steal this time from the night. From the moon and the stars. Sirius owes him this much,
doesn’t he?

But if Regulus is going to risk this, he has to know. He’s not like Dorcas. He has to be certain that
there’s something happening here. That he’s not taking an uncalculated risk. So, he answers James.

“Because I don’t believe that you give a damn about me,” Regulus deadpans.

James frowns, alarmed. “Why?”

Regulus raises an eyebrow, gives him a pointed look.

And James smiles. “Ah. Well.” He brings a hand up, to the back of his neck. He looks adorable.
Regulus wants to hate it, but he can’t. “You see, the thing is that I shouldn’t care,” James says
softly. “But I’m an idiot, Regulus. I do things I shouldn’t all the time.”

Regulus chokes on his breath. His chest hurts. It’s new, and terrifying. He’s not sure what’s
happening. The only thing he knows for sure is that if James keeps saying his name, he’s going to
have to fling himself off the roof and into the lake because he simply cannot deal with it. With the
things that it does to him.

“What do you want, Potter?”

“Right now?”

Regulus nods. That’s not what he means, but also, he’s terrified of the fact that James seems happy
to answer his questions honestly. He’s not ready for the real answer. The full one. So, he nods.

James extends his hand, still on his broom, hovering over the roof. He says, “Let me take you for a
ride.”

And he’s helpless. Hopeless. Too curious to stay back. Too tempted by the possibility that this
could be happening. And he gets it, a little bit, what Dorcas meant. Because James has told him, to
his face, that he cares. Regulus still doesn’t believe him, but what if?

And that’s… well. What if?

So, he takes James’ hand.

 Do you trust me?
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

TWs for today's chapter:

More heights related scares

Very vague reference to Regulus' sleeping potions use (blink and you miss it's there)
Mentions of past death (vague, not violent, just referenced in a conversation)
Memories of child abuse (Sirius and Regulus' back story)
References to homophobia (as a thing that unfortunately exists in society, but no one is
actively homophobic in this chapter)

I think that's it! Enjoy :D

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus’ hand fits into James’ like someone took moulds and made them to measure purposefully.
He’s cold, but James doesn’t mind because he’s always too warm. See? Again. They’re made to
work together. Opposites that fit to make a balanced... something. James can't look at that too
closely, not yet, but it exists. He can tell because his chest constricts and then expands like it's full
of bubbles when Regulus touches him.

James tugs gently, so gently, like Regulus might get spooked and bolt. But Regulus comes closer.
There’s reluctance and hesitation on every line of his body, but he’s moving, so James is
tentatively hopeful.

James gestures to the back of his broom with his head and Regulus climbs on it without a word.
Regulus is a very good flyer, so he sits on the broom without issue at first, then James can tell
when he comes to the inevitable conclusion of what has to happen next. James did build this entire
plan around the fact that Regulus would have to hold on to him. He’s looking forward to it.

“Actually, no,” Regulus says, and begins to climb off the broom.

James twists his body. “Come on, Regulus. It’s just for your safety.”

“No.”

He’s stubborn, James will give him that. The scowl is back, pulling his eyebrows together. There’s
a determined glint to his eyes. This boy will not agree to this, James can see that clearly.

Alright. Okay. So, his plan isn't working.

James can adapt. He’s smart, or so he’s told. And he’s picked up on the fact that Regulus is a little
particular about physical contact. He only seems to accept it if he’s the one that initiates it. And
this might be for nothing, but James thinks perhaps he’ll agree to a swap. At this point, James has
nothing to lose so he might as well just try.

“What if you go in front of me instead?”

Regulus pauses. He’s standing on the roof again, looking uncertain. He’s scowling even more,
believe it or not, because that’s just his permanent face, apparently. But he’s still here, and he’s not
hexing James, so he’s taking the win.

“And you hold on to me?” Regulus asks, tilting his head to the side like he’s considering it.

James nods. “Yeah.”

“You would have zero control over the broom,” he says. It’s the way his voice snags on the word
that clues James in. Regulus likes to feel like he’s in control of situations. That’s fine, because
James has no problem simply tagging along for a ride.

“Don’t mind that. Well, I did plan a whole route for us, but I don’t mind changing it. You could fly
wherever you want. Or, I can tell you where to go,” James says calmly.

Regulus is fidgeting with his rings, which is distracting. But he takes a tentative step closer. James
waits. Doesn’t push. It has to be his choice. Otherwise, they’re never going to get anywhere.

“Alright,” Regulus says finally, setting his shoulders. “You hold on to me.”

James slides back on the broom, and Regulus climbs in front of him this time. When he’s settled,
James scoots forward, until the other boy is firmly between his legs. James should have thought
this through, because he’s only now realising that he’s basically sentenced himself to literal torture
for the foreseeable future.

Regulus fits. He fits like he’s made for him. To sit right here, between James’ legs. He thinks of a
fireplace, and a pile of books—Regulus seems like the sort of person who just reads a lot of books
—and blankets and cushions. A lush carpet. Hot drinks steaming on a side table nearby. Regulus
sitting between James’ legs, reading. James simply being. Quiet. Peaceful. With this boy against
him, and the fire cracking, and snow swirling outside their window.

“Potter!” Regulus snaps, and James has been a little too lost in his dream and missed what he said
earlier.

“Huh?”

“I’m taking off whether you’re secure or not,” Regulus says.

James smiles. So mean. So beautiful. He puts his arms around Regulus’ middle, rests his chest
against his back. The boy kicks the roof so hard the tiles groan, but James is too distracted by the
smell of Regulus’ skin.

Lavender.

And what a fucking moment to have an epiphany. He’s soaring in the air, holding on to a boy he’s
suddenly pretty certain embodies everything James is attracted to. Everything James could love, if
given the chance.

Grass. The outdoors. Outside. Regulus does spend time in the forbidden forest, he said the other
day. Or in his garden, where he has a little patch to grow things on. He has to, for his potions
ingredients. It’s easier and quicker than having to buy absolutely everything, especially when
certain plants or flowers have to be exposed to things like moonlight on a specific night or whatnot.

Broom polish. Because he’s a seeker. And not just any seeker. He’s the best one in the school.
Regulus loves flying, and he’s good at it. They are currently on a broom, as if to bring the point
home.

And lavender. Which, honestly? James has no idea where it comes from, but it’s there. He’d
recognise it anywhere and it’s right here, on Regulus’ skin. Not on his clothes. On his skin.
Regulus Black smells of lavender. And other things, like parchment, and… well. Boy. He’s a boy
and he smells like one and James is not one bit surprised that he likes it.

But the important thing is that he also smells like lavender.

“Potter?”

“Sorry. What?” James feels dazzled. He knew he was attracted to Regulus. Driving himself insane
with lust and wants that he shouldn’t be having.

But this? This is more dangerous. It’s also better. And if he’s honest with himself, and puts his
feelings about Sirius aside for a moment (frankly, the hardest thing he’s ever done), James can
admit that since he’s actually managed to have real conversations with Regulus, he’s been liking
what he’s finding.

The hotness is just the surface. And yes, on a shallow level James is attracted to what Regulus
Black looks like. Horrifically attracted. Extremely attracted. But that’s just… well. It’s superficial.
It doesn’t mean much, does it?

Except now, James is getting glimpses of what’s under Regulus skin and James likes it all so much
he wants to burrow himself in it, too.

Regulus is smart. He’s wickedly smart. More intelligent than James could ever aspire to be. He’s
also protective of his friends, which James noticed when he made an off-the-cuff comment about
Rosier seeming a little boring and Regulus absolutely tore into him. Regulus also thinks muggles
are interesting—which is so far the most promising discovery because James knows for a fact
blood supremacists do not think muggles are worthy of anything, let alone interesting. Regulus
knows way too much about muggles for it to be coincidental or anecdotal. Like, Regulus has
purposefully researched this stuff. And isn't that proof that he's not like his parents? It has to be.

“Potter, I asked you where we’re going,” Regulus says.

His voice. James likes his voice, too. It’s sharp, like it has edges. And he turns it against James,
sometimes, and he likes that, too. James wonders if Regulus can sing like Sirius. If he’s ever
performed a song.

What music does Regulus like?

“I’m about to kick you off this broom, Potter,” Regulus snaps, shoving an elbow backwards and
directly into James’ stomach.

He grunts from the sting of it, but finds his voice through it. “Right, sorry. Yes. Let’s go down
towards the lake,” James instructs.

James tries to focus. Enjoy the moment. He can feel Regulus’ body under his arms, his hands
splayed over his abdominal muscles. Regulus’ hair tickles James face, which he shouldn’t like but
he does, because it confirms that it’s as soft as it looks.

They fly down, close to the lake until James nudges Regulus to bring them almost to water level.
He does, and James reaches down and breaks the calm surface with the tips of his fingers. It’s
freezing cold, and it tingles his skin, but the ripples he leaves behind are worth it because the lake
reflects the sky and James feels like he’s got the stars under his fingertips. He leans a bit too
eagerly and loses his balance for a second, but regains it quickly.

"Merlin's sake, Potter, what the hell are you doing?" Regulus asks.

"Touching the sky," James replies.

“If you fall off I won't rescue you," Regulus says petulantly.

"Come on, it's pretty cool," James says. He squeezes Regulus a little with his arms and adds, “Go
on. Try it. I won’t let you fall.”

“No.”

"Touch the sky, Regulus," James says.

"It's a lake, Potter."

"Where's your imagination?"

And instead of another retort, Regulus is quiet. He slows down a little, and James slips thorugh the
crack because he's learnt that when Regulus hesitates it's because he wants it, he's just not sure how
to let himself have it. James doesn't mind helping.

“Regulus. Trust me. I’ve got you,” James insists. "Touch the sky."

To his delight, Regulus does. He keeps a hand on the broom handle, knuckles white with how
firmly he’s gripping it. But then his long fingers are grazing the water, and he’s leaving behind a
trail of beautifully symmetric ripples. The stars twinkle, and the moon's reflection blinks at them,
silver on the black surface. Regulus goes a little faster, angles the broom so they follow the path of
moonlight stretched over the water.

James holds him firmly, and he can feel when Regulus relaxes into it, dipping more of his hand in
the lake and wiggling his fingers like he's truly touching the path to the moon. James isn’t sure,
because he can see very little of Regulus’ face, but he thinks he might be almost smiling.

When they're almost at the shore, Regulus sits up straight again and brings the broom higher so
they can hover over the lake. And to James’ absolute ecstasy, Regulus let his head fall back against
James’ shoulder and says, “Okay. That was nice.”

If James could sing, he would burst into song right about now.

James tilts his face, and he’s so close to Regulus he could kiss the underside of his jaw. He doesn’t.
He can’t. He won’t. It’s too soon, and that isn’t the point, no matter how badly James wants it. The
point of this is to find a way in. To save Regulus. To bring him back to Sirius.

What James wants is secondary.

But he wants. And he acknowledges it, because he’s not ashamed. He's a big boy with big feelings
and a big heart and that's okay. Except, well. He isn't sure if this time there's any point to it. Does
Regulus want these things too? He hasn’t asked. There are moments when James thinks maybe
Regulus does, but he hasn’t forgotten Regulus is a Black. There’s a reason Sirius is struggling so
much with his feelings for Remus. A reason he’s in denial, and totally blind to what he really
wants.
James can’t imagine Regulus would just accept something like this, even if it was a part of who he
is. Would he? James hopes to find out someday. His optimism is likely to get him hurt, but James
is willing to risk it.

“Let’s go that way,” he says, pointing towards the mountains past the lake.

“What’s there?” Regulus asks, but he’s already angling the broom and accelerating. He has to lean
forward for this, and James mourns the loss of contact.

“You’ll see.”

And they do. When they soar above the mountains, the small villages scattered over the land
become visible. Twinkling lights dotting the shadowed landscape, like fireflies caught in dark
velvet. It’s pretty beautiful, James thinks. He likes to come see this every now and then because it
reminds him just how big the world is, and how small his problems are when he gets some
perspective.

Regulus murmurs appreciatively, and James smiles to himself. “It’s nicer in the winter. We’ll come
back, and I’ll show you.”

“Show me what?”

“A little trick,” James says, enormously pleased that Regulus didn’t immediately refuse to do this
ever again. “I need snow and ice for it.”

“Ah,” Regulus says. They hover there, watching the land stretch as far as they can see until it
meets the sky. There are so many stars above, and so many little lights below.

James forgets himself for a second, and gives into his impulse to put his chin on Regulus’ shoulder.
He feels the boy stiffen, but he doesn’t say anything, and James thinks perhaps he’s wrong about
Regulus and he’s less of a Black than he thought.

Here’s where things go wrong. Because James waits for Regulus to get tired, to decide when he’s
had enough and wants to leave. James could stay up here all night, feeling Regulus’ breathing
under his hands, and savouring the way he smells and the things it does to him.

The problem is that in simply waiting in silence, he’s giving Regulus time to think. And James
hasn’t figured this out yet, but Regulus having time to think never ends well for him.

James feels the shift before Regulus speaks because he’s quite literally pressed against his body.
It’s like someone’s flicked a switch and the energy coursing through the Slytherin turns from
content and a little curious to angry and cold. James barely has time to brace himself, pulling his
chin away from Regulus’ shoulder.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Regulus says, and his voice sounds detached. Cold. James is
immediately on high alert.

“Ask,” James says. “You can just ask, Regulus. I’ll answer.”

Regulus’ shoulders tense so much they move a few inches up, closer to his ears. “Where is Sirius?
He’s watching, isn’t he? Waiting.”

James is so shocked his arms go a little slack around the other boy. “What?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Regulus says. That’s when James notices that the broom is slowly angling
backwards.

“What are you doing?”

Regulus tilts the broom back even more in answer.

Godric Gryffindor have mercy on his soul, Regulus will drop him. He has no doubt. He’ll drop
him, because he must know James has his wand and he can cushion his fall. But he’s so far from
the castle it’ll take him all night and then some to walk back. James has the map, but he left the
cloak hidden in the owlry so this would be absolutely disastrous for him. He'd be caught coming
back.

Also, there’s no way he could keep it from his friends, which means they would know he’s been
sneaking up to the roof with Regulus.

Absolute disaster.

“Regulus,” James says calmly. “Sirius doesn’t know.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I swear. He doesn’t know.”

“Stop lying to me.”

“I promise you on my mother’s name, which by the way I never do because my mother is precious,
that I’m not lying to you,” James says a little desperately.

“Nice try.”

The broom keeps tilting, but less aggressively now. He’s sliding slightly, because he’s strong but
he cannot defy gravity. Regulus is stiff, staring straight ahead but James thinks he’s making
progress. He has slowed down, at least. But James is running out of time to turn this around
successfully.

“Regulus, I promise you that Sirius doesn’t know. No one knows, okay? Well, Remus suspects.
But Sirius doesn’t. He doesn’t know. He has no idea. I promise.”

They don’t level out, but they stop moving. James scoots forward as best he can, gaining an inch
maybe. It’s not much. He’s definitely sliding backwards still, but he’s hanging on to Regulus, so
he’s fine. So long as Regulus doesn’t do anything to force his hands open, he’s fine.

“Why?” Regulus sounds a little winded, like he’s running but he’s not, he’s just sitting on a broom
and mildly torturing James.

“Because I needed someone to help me source the cigarettes, and I went to Remus. He’s the one
who told me how to get them. He told me you liked smoking them, too. It was after the party,”
James explains in a rush, stumbling over his own words in his rush to make Regulus understand.
“But he doesn’t know… no one knows about the roof. That’s just… no one knows.”

“No one knows,” Regulus says. The broom tilts forward a little, giving James respite. He almost
slumps against Regulus with relief.

Regulus sounds like that was for himself, and not for James. Like he's reassuring himself. And
James just... He has to make sure Regulus understands that he’s not doing this as part of some
strange plan. No prank, no joke. There's no hidden agenda here. He needs Regulus to know this is
just James… just James, really. Stupid shit like this is his particular brand of idiocy. It has always
been.

"I wanted to see you after the game," James says.

"Why?"

"I just did," James says. "So I snuck out of the party and came looking for you. Sirius doesn’t
know." He makes sure his voice is strong, steady. Confident. Regulus has to believe him because
it's the truth. "He has no idea. And honestly, I’m not thrilled about it. I feel like shit for keeping it
from him, and I want to tell him. Eventually. But I wasn’t going to tell him until I figured out
whether I had a chance—”

He screams, because he’s now sliding off the broom completely. He’s falling through the air and
fuck he needs to get his wand to stop his fall, except Regulus must have used a spell on him
somehow because James’ hands are completely numb and useless so he cannot grab it.

His heart pounds in his chest, fighting for space with the rest of James' insides which have taken
residence at the top of his ribs. He's fallen off brooms before, but never been dropped on purpose.
It's... okay. It's terrifying.

James can't use his hands. He can't get his wand.

He's falling.

He’s going to crash.

It’s going to hurt.

James isn’t sure he’s going to survive it. And is Regulus really just going to let him die?

No. He’s not. As abruptly as he bumped James off the broom, Regulus is there again, wand
pointed at him as he flies under him, slowing his fall enough to catch him in his arms.

Honestly. James thought he’d be the one doing the rescuing, but it’s… ehm… nice? Regulus is
stronger than he looks and he is a truly fantastic flier. James has never been saved by anyone
before, and now Regulus has rescued him twice. James could get used to it.

“Merlin’s balls,” James pants, clinging to Regulus who’s expertly balancing on the broom while
holding on to James. “Godric have mercy. Oh my fucking God. I thought I was going to die.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, then helps James climb back on the broom. In front of Regulus this time,
possibly because logistically it’s the only thing that makes sense.

James wraps his hands around the handle and looks over his shoulder. “If you want to kill me,
there are better ways,” is what James says, because his heart is pounding, and his head is spinning,
and Regulus just dropped him a few dozen feet before catching him again.

Regulus looks at him with such preternatural calm James would never know this kid just attempted
murder. He’s so fucking composed. The man is a little insane, he has to admit. It’s a good thing
James doesn’t mind crazy.

“If you tell Sirius about this, I will,” Regulus says. “That was a warning.”
James does his level best to swallow his retort. Regulus can’t forbid him from talking to his best
friend. The fact that he’s his brother complicates things somewhat, but still. James has never lied to
Sirius and he’s not going to start now. But he can choose to withhold some information for a little
longer. And he will.

Especially when he’s being threatened with death at several thousand feet in the air.

“Well,” James says cautiously, still twisted on the broom so he can look at Regulus behind him.
“There’s nothing to tell yet. Is there?”

Their gazes lock, and they wait. His hazel eyes matching green ones. Lovely. So beautiful James
could do this all day. Regulus’ eyebrows are pulled together, and there’s a challenge there. He’s
daring James to break first. To say that there is something. And that something is better than
nothing, and it can grow into anything.

And James has never met a dare he didn’t love, so of course James breaks first. He opens his
mouth, but Regulus looks away swiftly and announces, “We’re going back. Enough stupidity for
one night.”

His arms latch around James’ torso, and he has no choice but to obey. James doesn’t think he has
the ability to deny Regulus Black anything anymore.

####

Regulus knocks on the door and waits for McGonagall to invite him inside. Her office is very
different to Slughorn’s, which doesn’t surprise Regulus one bit. They’re polar opposites, these two.
Regulus prefers the Head of Gryffindor house, though he’d never tell her that.

He gets the feeling that she’s the kind of woman who wouldn’t hesitate when shit hit the fan.
Calm. Cool. Collected. She exudes power, and Regulus respects it. It’s why he’s coming to her
with this first, even if there are better candidates. Deep down, Regulus has wanted an excuse to
properly talk to her outside of a transfiguration lesson for years, though he’s not about to
acknowledge that, either.

He can keep it to the surface. Pretend this is necessary research. That he wants to be meticulous and
not leave any stone unturned, even if Minerva McGonagall is unlikely to give him anything. She’s
too smart for that.

The office is a small room, but it has a big fire that’s crackling already, even though it’s early
October. The walls have a few portraits, but nothing outlandish. It’s simple. Regal. Elegant.
Regulus likes it. It feels cosy and peaceful. He could read a ton of books in here, if he had the time
to read for leisure anymore, which he doesn’t.

“Mister Black, please sit,” McGonagall says, gesturing to a chair across from her desk. Behind her,
there’s a window overlooking the grounds.

“Thank you, professor,” Regulus replies, taking a seat. He pulls a piece of parchment from his bag,
together with an inkwell and a quill.

He clears his throat, looks at the woman calmly waiting for him to speak. He’s got this. He’s
rehearsed it carefully so that she tells him as much as possible without suspecting what he’s really
after.

“I’m doing a project for our History of Magic class, as you know,” Regulus begins.

He’s set the foundations for this by spending an incredibly boring hour with the history teacher
putting forward a proposal. The ghost agreed, seemingly because Regulus is the only person to
ever want extra credit in history. He was so touched his eyes got a little teary, which prompted
Regulus to make an immediate and hasty exit. No matter, he got what he wanted, which was for
Binns to tell all other professors to let Regulus interview them if he asked.

“I’m looking into notable figures and successful wizards that are Hogwarts graduates. There are
many, as we know, but I’m particularly interested in Slytherins because I’m hoping to find some
patterns in behaviours and or traits shared by these truly exceptional individuals,” he says.

She gives him a little nod, acknowledging his opening, which tells Regulus he’s on the right track.
She continues looking at him attentively. Politely listening to him without interrupting. He quite
likes it. “I want to focus on Slytherin because it’s my house, but if the project is successful and
there’s interest, Professor Binns would extend it to the other houses as well.”

“Sounds fascinating, Mr. Black, but I am a Gryffindor,” she says, then takes a sip from her cup of
tea. “And I don’t understand what you’re hoping to achieve through this.”

“Well, if I’m honest with you, professor, it all started because I was wondering how legitimate the
hat’s sorting is,” Regulus says, hoping that his gut feeling that McGonagall is a woman who
respects frankness is correct.

“Is that so?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.

Regulus rallies. “Well, yes. You, for example, were a notable hatstall. Why does that happen?
What does that tell us? You could have been in two houses. Would you have been as successful
had you been placed in Ravenclaw? Perhaps more? We’ll never know, because students are put in
these boxes and they never question it. Very few dare look outside the box,” Regulus is ranting. He
knows he’s ranting, but he needs McGonagall to believe he’s genuine about this.

McGonagall looks at him for a long time. Regulus waits. Endures her scrutiny. “You want to see if
these successful people you’re investigating had traits from other houses? Is that it? What are you
hoping to prove, Mr. Black?”

“I was just curious,” he says vaguely.

She takes the bait. He can see the way her expression softens a little bit, and he knows what she’s
thinking. He knows because he hoped it would happen and help him get something out of her.
She’s thinking this is a younger brother reaching for reasons why his older brother was put in the
wrong house.

Before she opens her mouth again, Regulus knows that she’s going to indulge him. “Very well, Mr.
Black. Ask your questions.”

Regulus begins easy. He asks about her sorting experience with the excuse of wanting to
understand more about how the hat works. He needs to know as much as possible if he’s going to
write a paper that challenges the entire sorting system. McGonagall tells him how she debated with
the hat for over five minutes before she was placed in Gryffindor.

Then, he moves on to her Quidditch team, because Regulus knows McGonagall used to play for
Gryffindor. He asks about her experience playing against Slytherin. Name drops two famous
Quidditch players that are Hogwarts graduates and Slytherins. She only played one of them for a
single year, because they didn’t overlap much, but she tells him what she can.

Then, he brings up the fact that she was head girl. This is a nice segway into discussing other
notable students. He mentions he has noticed there are some students that seem to have stood out
even more than others. He’s gone through the lists of head boys and girls dating back several
generations. They discuss how there doesn’t seem to be any particular house that has more head
students than the others.

They talk about Slytherin having more potions awards than any other house. And Regulus begins
to ask about bloodlines, and traditions. Traits all Slytherins share.

And then he begins to ask the questions he really wants answers to. Everything before that was a
diversion. Cover so McGonagall doesn’t figure out what he wants to know.

“What about house legends, professors?” he asks innocently. “Not Quidditch related, obviously. I
know about those. Everyone does. Is there anyone you’d say was a bit of a Slytherin legend when
you first attended school? A student that was… a favourite, maybe?”

McGonagall looks up, thinking. She’s been relaxed—or as relaxed as Minerva McGonagall can be
—drinking her tea and chatting to him. And then, something shifts. And she nods. “There was a
kid who was popular a few years before I started school, but I can’t remember his name. I never
met him,” she says, and it’s vague. It’s vague on purpose, and Regulus feels like he’s grazing a
clue with the tips of his fingers.

“Anything you remember about him?”

He sees a flash of something cross her eyes. She knows a name. She’s thinking of someone. “No,
not really. He didn’t play Quidditch, and that was all I was interested in back then. If you’re
curious about the Quidditch players names, they’re all on the plaques. You can see them for
yourself.”

He knows this. He’s already been there. Seen all the plaques, the Quidditch, and the non-Quidditch
ones. Read every single name (this is how he found out McGonagall had been on the quidditch
team to begin with). He’s still not sure any of them are what he’s looking for.

Regulus remains impassive. He doesn’t show his frustration. McGonagall thought of someone, but
she didn’t tell him. Why? “Who would you recommend I talk to about this next, professor? I’m
interviewing Professor Slughorn, of course. But anyone else?”

“I suppose you could talk to Professor Flitwick. He’s been here even longer than I have,”
McGonagall replies.

Regulus thanks her, and leaves her office. He sets the parchment with the useless set of notes on
fire and drops it into a bin before heading straight for Flitwick’s office.

***

Professor Flitwick’s interview goes similarly to McGonagall’s with one notable difference. Regulus
steers clear of Quidditch related topics, and instead focuses straight away on students who
displayed brilliance. Regulus goes on and on about Ravenclaw’s being smartest, and wondering if
any Slytherins have come close.

And Flitwick nods. “We still haven’t managed to have a Ravenclaw earn an award for special
services to the school. There was a Gryffindor girl in the 1800s, and more recently, a Slytherin boy.
I believe sometime around 1941,” he says, pursing his lips as he thinks. “We don’t like to talk
about it, because a student died rather tragically, but it’s public information. You’re a smart kid.
Would have found it anyway.”

Regulus isn’t breathing. He knows the plaque. He thinks. He didn’t pay attention before because
what does ‘special services to the school’ even mean? He thought he’d donated some money or
whatever. Clearly not.

A girl died.

A Slytherin boy was given an award.

“I don’t understand, professor,” Regulus says innocently. “If the poor student died, what was the
other kid given an award for? What I mean is, I’d understand if he’d saved her life, of course. But
it’s a little baffling, isn’t it?”

Professor Flitwick nods. “Well, yes. But the award was given to the student for finding the person
responsible for the death of the girl.”

“Thank you, professor,” Regulus says, standing up and gathering his notes. “Your interview has
been most helpful.”

“No problem, Mr. Black. Good luck with your research!”

Regulus waits for the door to close behind him before he hurries down the corridor. It’s late, and
most people will be heading to dinner. He’s hungry himself, but he’s too busy. He’s got more
important things to do. Because if a girl died in the early nineteen forties, and a Slytherin boy got
an award for finding the killer… Regulus is pretty sure the killer could be who he’s looking for.

It's not a lot to go on, but it’s something. It’s a lead, and that’s more than Regulus has had for this
particular strand of his revenge planning. Everything else is going swimmingly: proficient at
duelling, cursing, using dark magic in general – check. Felix Felicis potion to help him survive the
shitshow he’s diving headfirst into – check. Keep up his sleep, exercise and good eating regime so
he has the mental acuity so he can begin to train himself in legilimency and occlumency – check.

He still needs to sort out a few things with his family. And he should, at some point, consider how
his friends play into the whole thing. He doesn’t want them to get hurt. But that’s secondary.

The point is, he’d been trying and failing for months to figure out where the Dark Lord came from.
Regulus has made a few assumptions because he had to start somewhere, and he’s heard him
speak. He does have a British accent, even if it’s a little warped. So he’s operating under the
assumption that he attended Hogwarts at some point. When? Beats him, but the forties seem as
good a decade as any.

The one thing Regulus has no doubt about is that if the Dark Lord did attend Hogwarts as a kid, he
was a Slytherin. No blood supremacist would be anywhere else. And this is what he’s been trying
to find—notable, powerful Slytherins that stood out during school so he can look into them.
Because Voldemort is impressive. He’s powerful. Someone like that had to be a top student.

And now he has a lead. Regulus suspects him to be the killer the other Slytherin student caught so,
naturally, he has to start by finding the awarded person. It would also make sense—if he was
expelled from Hogwarts early, he won’t be a known graduate. It explains why nobody seems to be
able to tell him who the hell Voldemort is. Not even his family knows. As far as everyone he’s
spied on is concerned, Voldemort simply materialized into existence a few years ago as the
dangerous dark wizard he is.

Regulus calls bullshit. He has to have a backstory. Everyone does. Someone was his mother
(Regulus shivers at this thought) and someone was his father and Regulus wants to find out who
they are.

When he finally makes it to the trophy case with the plaque, Regulus is panting lightly. It’s dark,
because it’s dinner time, but Regulus takes out his wand and murmurs ‘Lumos!’

Awarded to Tom Riddle for special services to the school.

Tom Riddle.

Regulus grins to himself. He’s just met his new best friend. He’s going straight to the library so
that he can look up bloodlines. If he was a Slytherin, chances are that Riddle was at the very least
half-blood. Very few muggle-borns get sorted into Slytherin—this, Regulus thinks, is because the
kids have a strong sense of self-preservation and outright refuse the hat’s choice. He simply cannot
believe there are no cunning muggle-borns.

Thinking about it, bullying the hat into placing them somewhere other than where they’re
supposed to be is rather Slytherin of them. So, point made. Regulus is correct. Argue with the wall.

Anyway. He needs to find this Riddle character and ask him about the alleged killer. If he attended
school in the forties he’ll still be around, somewhere. Wizards do live long lives, and this Tom
person can’t be older than fifty something. His memory should still be intact, so all Regulus needs
to do is persuade him to tell him the tale. He’ll come prepared with some potions and curses to help
him, should Riddle not be amenable to his request.

“Reg?!”

He looks up to find himself in a staircase landing. He knows the way to the library so well he can
get there without paying attention, which allows him time to put his thoughts in order. Dorcas steps
off a moving staircase right in front of him and smiles. It takes Regulus a moment for his brain to
process the slightly dishevelled state his friend is in.

And suddenly, he realises he didn’t see her this morning and he should have. Dorcas is now sharing
his dorm. The curtains around her bed were closed, and Regulus simply assumed she was sleeping
in because it is the weekend. But maybe she didn’t sleep there at all.

“Where did you come from?” he asks, frowning as he takes in more details like the smudged make
up (Dorcas’ make up is always on point, so this is highly suspicious) or her creased shirt.

And Dorcas beams. She beams like she’s five and it’s Christmas morning. Regulus is confused, but
in a good way. Dorcas looks happy, and Regulus fully supports it. In fact, Dorcas should be happy
all the time. He would make it so, if he could.

“I have to tell you something,” Dorcas says. She leans forward, and reaches towards him with her
hand before she catches herself and drops it. “Sorry, I’m excited. Can we talk?”

Regulus wants to go to the library and research. But he’s also made progress today. A lot of it.
He’s spent the better part of the day talking to teachers. Regulus supposes he can take a little break,
for his friend’s sake. He can go with Dorcas and do his part for this happiness to continue. She
wants to talk, which means he barely has to do anything. And he’s good at listening, Regulus.

He can continue searching for this Riddle person tomorrow, he decides.

“You’ll miss dinner,” Regulus says.

“Worth it,” Dorcas replies.

Regulus shakes his head. He’s not going to let Dorcas go hungry for the sake of some gossip.
“Come on. Come with me,” he tells her, then turns around and goes back down the stairs with
Dorcas right behind him.

He leads her to the kitchens, coming to a stop in front of a portrait with a pear. Regulus glances at
his friend, fiddles with his ring. “Don’t go telling everyone about this,” he warns her. “If I start
bumping into people in the kitchens, I will hurt you.”

Dorcas nods, eyes wide and curious. “This is where the kitchens are? How did you figure this one
out?”

Regulus likes the awe in her voice. It makes him feel like he’s done something good. Something
impressive.

“Kreacher’s cousin works here,” Regulus says, shrugging. “He told me.”

The house elves welcome him like they always do, in a cacophony of voices and excited hand
gestures. For someone who despises crowds and loud spaces, Regulus is surprisingly at ease with
the house elves for some reason.

He crouches down, chats to some of his favourites for a few moments, including Tappy who is
Kreacher’s cousin. “Everyone, this is my friend Dorcas.”

“Hello miss Dorcas!” a chorus of voices replies. “Welcome, welcome!”

Dorcas smiles and waves, a little self conscious. Regulus stands next to her to address all elves at
once.

“She has to tell me something secret and important, but we didn’t want to go to bed hungry. Can
you help, please?” Regulus asks politely.

Dorcas leans close to him and murmurs, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be that polite before and
I’ve known you for six years.”

There’s a flurry of activity. Literally, a tornado of small people doing a million things at once.
Somehow, in the middle of all this, Regulus is swept off his feet and deposited at a table in a corner
that has an impressive spread of food. Dorcas is deposited right next to him, presumably so they
can talk in quiet tones. The house elves bring a portable screen and place it around them.

“If you need anything, just call!” Tappy, Kreacher’s cousin, tells them. “We isn’t listening through
the screen, we isn’t.”

“Thank you, Tappy,” Regulus says.

Tappy smiles. Bows so low his ears touch the floor, then disappears behind the screen. Regulus
looks at Dorcas, who is gaping at him with her mouth fully open. A memory rises in Regulus’
mind. He was six, maybe seven, and Sirius was eight. Their mother had brought home a kitten and
asked Sirius to torture it for practice. Sirius had refused. Their mother had threatened with breaking
the kitten’s neck. Sirius had volunteered to do it himself, which had made Walburga very pleased.

As soon as Sirius had his hands on the kitten, however, he’d sprinted through the house faster than
should have been possible and full on launched the kitten out their window, into the street. Regulus
had followed, and caught up with him just in time to see the kitten land safely and sprint away.
He’d had his mouth open just like this, and Sirius had put his finger in Regulus’ mouth for the
giggles. Their mother had found them then.

Walburga had broken every single one of Sirius’ fingers for that, and glued Regulus’ mouth shut
for three days. Regulus became Sirius’ hands for a while, but Sirius refused to be Regulus’ voice
for fear that Walburga would punish him further. It was the first time Regulus starved.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dorcas says, looking at the meal laid out in front of them. “So
this is how you get food when you skip meals.”

Regulus shrugs. “Sometimes I just skip meals.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Dorcas says, then helps herself to a bowl of salad.

Regulus picks roasted vegetables instead. He doesn’t like raw food. They eat in silence for a few
minutes before Dorcas takes a sip of water and clears her throat. She looks at Regulus, bites her lip.
Regulus tries to school his face into keen interest, which he thinks is still a scowl, but less
pronounced.

Dorcas sets her shoulders. “Do you remember I told you I have a crush?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it look like an accident,” Regulus says immediately.

Dorcas makes an alarmed noise. “Salazar’s cape on a pole, no. I’m telling you a good thing, not a
bad one. There’s no need to kill anyone.”

A good thing? It takes Regulus a moment to figure out what this might be, but when he gets it, he
relaxes back into his chair. “So, she likes you back?”

Dorcas beams again. Wide and joyful. “She does. Regulus I… well. I’m not entirely sure how
official it is, because we’d both been drinking so I guess I need to like, talk to her about it again
just to make sure, but… I think we’re dating? I think I have a girlfriend.”

This isn’t good. As far as Regulus is concerned, there should be zero ambiguity surrounding these
things, right? Like, it’s a yes or a no. You’re either dating or you aren’t. You can’t… can you?
Regulus feels a little panicked because if normal people like Dorcas can find themselves in this
situation, what hope is there for Regulus?

He still can’t tell for sure if whatever goes on at night on the roof can be considered romantic in
any way. There’s a solid chance James is simply being a platonic friend to him. Regulus wouldn’t
know, but he thought that was just because he’s… well. He’s Regulus Black and broken and cold.
But if Dorcas Meadows can’t tell whether she has a girlfriend or not? This is concerning. Regulus
was hoping that other people knew these things so that when the moment of truth came, they could
help him.

“What do you mean you think you have a girlfriend?”

Dorcas’ smile dims a little. “Well. Just that. I think, but I’m not sure?”
“Isn’t this the sort of thing you should be certain of?” The more he thinks about this, the more
alarmed Regulus becomes. His own confusion about James aside, this whole situation is just not
ideal for Dorcas. Right?

Dorcas said there was no need for murder, but from where he’s standing, it is a very likely
possibility. What sort of person makes another think they’re dating but leaves it so vague they’re
unsure of it?

“Well. Like I said. We were drunk,” Dorcas says, defensively. “She told me she liked me a lot.
And I told her I liked her, too. And we kissed. And then she said we should do it again, like not
again immediately, which yes, we did, too, but again as in, another time.”

“Dorcas,” Regulus says.

“And when I woke up in her bed—No do not look at me like that, Regulus Black. I am seventeen
years old and I can have sex if I want to,” Dorcas says.

Regulus has no idea how he’s looked at Dorcas, because he’s not judging. Not even a little bit. He
is, in fact, mildly jealous because he too would like to be having sex, just not with a girl. With a
very specific person. A person with abs so chiselled Regulus still can’t believe they’re real, and
hair so messy it drives Regulus crazy, and thighs that make him want to faint.

“Anyway,” Dorcas continues, “when I woke up, she was super nice. It wasn’t awkward, and that’s
a miracle because let me tell you that the aftermath of it is usually awkward as fuck. Like, you’re
gathering your clothes and it’s just… but it wasn’t. Not with Marlene.”

Regulus can see Dorcas’ rambling for what it is: denial. She’s trying to convince herself, not
Regulus. And he thinks that it’s his duty as her friend to point it out. Right? He can’t just let her
sprint head first into disaster. He can’t let her get hurt, right?

“Dorcas, listen—” he tries again.

She shakes her head. “No. Don’t. I’ve a good feeling about this. I do.”

Regulus sighs, looks at the ceiling. “Dorcas. Did she use the word girlfriend?”

Dorcas deflates like a popped balloon. “Well, no.” She takes a deep breath. “But in her defense, the
common room was so noisy we couldn’t really talk. It was very crowded so there wasn’t a chance
there and—”

“You kissed a girl in front of other people?” Regulus is halfway out of his chair with shock. Is
Dorcas insane?

She smiles, sighs dreamily. “Well, yes and no. We were in the common room, but two of her
friends were covering for us. So like, they know, and they’re okay with it. They’ve been covering
for Marlene for years, apparently. And they had no issue with us going up to their dorm. And—”

“Wait.”

Regulus’ brain snags on the word. The name. Dorcas’ said it twice now, but the first one didn’t
really register in the shock and chaos of this whole confession. Now though? Regulus feels the
world fracture under him. The sky splits in two, a light shining on him. He thinks he can hear
celestial choirs singing and they’re singing in French. Regulus’ head choir sounds suspiciously like
Edith Piaf but he’s not looking at that too closely.
Dorcas looks at him, hesitant. Regulus cautiously asks, “Marlene… McKinnon?”

Dorcas nods, fighting back another humongous smile.

“The Gryffindor beater?”

She nods again, confusion drawing her eyebrows together.

“Blond? Wears a lot of black eyeliner?”

“Regulus, why are you—”

“You’re dating Marlene McKinnon,” Regulus says again. Just to be sure. There can be no
confusion here. Zero. None.

“Yes. Well, I think I’m dating her. But yes, that Marlene,” Dorcas replies. “Why?”

Regulus puts his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. Merlin’s balls. This is… he can’t
remember the last time he had this much good luck in a single day. First Flitwick sets him on the
right track to finding more about Voldemort’s past. And now, his best friends worms her way into
James’ inner circle.

This is brilliant for several reasons. One, it confirms his suspicion that Gryffindors are way more
liberal and open than Slytherins. Two, chances that James is, in fact, queer and Regulus didn’t
imagine him flirting last night on that broom have increased tenfold. Three, he can, and will, find
out if James was being genuine last night. Regulus thinks so, because James can’t lie to save his
life and also Regulus almost killed him so it would be fucking stupid of James to continue the
charade after that. Four, Dorcas can, and will, get him information so that he can keep James
interested.

“Did you go to the Gryffindor victory party, then?” he asks, keeping his tone controlled. Casual.
Neutral.

Dorcas is looking at him strangely, but she nods. “Yeah. Marlene invited me. I told you I was
going to go talk to her about whether she was interested after that Forbidden Forest party. She is.
She very much is.”

“Well, I like her for you,” Regulus says, sitting up straight.

Dorcas snorts, picks up a roll of bread, puts it down again. “Please, Reg. Have you ever talked to
her?”

He leans forward, body halfway over the table, and looks at Dorcas straight in the eye. “Someone
who’s brave enough to kiss you in a room full of people has my approval. You deserve nothing
less.”

“Oh.”

And now Dorcas is getting teary-eyed and Regulus feels awkward. He slumps back on his chair.
“If you cry, I’ll leave you here alone.”

Dorcas laughs. She dabs at the corner of her eye but thankfully avoids any waterworks. They eat
for a bit in silence, and Regulus stresses over how to ask Dorcas what he wants to know without her
finding out that he has a tragic crush the size of Scotland on James Potter.
Who may or may not like him back.

Does Regulus understand this? No. Is he going to fight it? Also no.

He tried that. He fought him. Electrocuted him. Threatened him. Regulus did his best to push
James away. Alright, perhaps not his best best because selfishly a part of him didn’t want James to
go away. But he did try. He was mean, and a little violent. He did drop him several dozen feet.

And yet, James keeps coming back. Inexplicably. Impossibly. James just… seems to want to be
around him. He promised he’d be on the roof again tonight, and every night until Regulus told him
to stop coming. Those were James’ last words to him last night. The same night he almost killed
him.

James Potter is insane, obviously.

But his crazy is somehow pushing him in Regulus’ direction and at this point Regulus simply
won’t fight it.

He’ll be careful. Oh, he’ll be so fucking careful. But he won’t stop it. Not unless there’s good
reason to. And if he’s going to find these reasons, he needs to ask. Except. He doesn’t know how.
What does one say? He can’t just. You know. He’s not Dorcas. He can’t just announce he’s got a
crush all willy-nilly.

“I… ehm…” Regulus tries. It doesn’t work. Obviously, it doesn’t work. This is ridiculous.

“You what?”

“Who else was at the party?” Regulus asks instead. He keeps his face a mask of stone. No emotion.
Just blank.

Dorcas narrows her eyes at him, chewing around a potato. She’s got that look in her eye that tells
Regulus she’s picked up something else is going on. With any luck, Dorcas will figure this out
herself without Regulus having to actually say anything. That would be brilliant.

“Sirius was there, obviously. Just… drinking beer and having a good time. He mostly sticks to his
friends. Leans against walls a lot, for some reason. People seem to find this attractive. Several girls
approached him but he turned them all down,” Dorcas says all this quickly, like she knows Regulus
is about to tell her he doesn’t care about his brother. Normally, he would. Except well. Where
Sirius is, James goes. So, he’ll endure the update if it leads to Dorcas spilling the beans about
James next.

“Right,” is all Regulus says. “Anything interesting happen?”

“Well, he sang a song. It was impressive. I know we hate him. Actually… he’s never done
anything to me, but you hate him and I hate him in solidarity. Still, I have to give credit where
credit’s due.”

“Was he… with anyone else?” Regulus tries. Can he play this off using the brother card too? He
doubts it, because Dorcas knows him a lot better than McGonagall. But it’s worth a try.

Dorcas lights up. “Well, yes. I mean, I’m not sure, okay? But I think… I think the reason he turned
all those girls down is that your brother has a boyfriend.”

Regulus chokes on his water so hard he falls off the chair.

“Reg?” Dorcas gapes at him in shock. “Are you alright?”

No. He’s not alright. Sirius has a boyfriend? What? That can’t be. It’s impossible. He heard Dorcas
wrong. Or Dorcas has been hit with a confounding spell and her brain isn’t working.

“What did you just say?” Regulus asks, pushing himself to his feet.

“I think Sirius…” Dorcas says, hesitates. “They weren’t kissing or anything, but he was… very
touchy feely, you know? Like all in his space. It just gave me a vibe, you know? Like…”

Regulus sits down, runs a hand through his curls. She’s still rambling, but he’s only half listening.
Dorcas just doesn’t understand, because she hasn’t seen them together as much as Regulus has.
He’s not surprised she thinks there’s something there, but Regulus knows there isn’t.

“And then, when Sirius was singing, just the way he was looking at Sirius? It just felt different to
me. Also, there was this moment…”

Dorcas’ voice comes in and out of focus as Regulus recovers from his shock. She’s got it all
wrong. Sirius replaced him with James. The bond they have is that of brothers. They’d never see
each other that way.

So, he speaks over Dorcas to say, “Yeah, well. Sirius’ always been like that with James. They’ve
no shame, but it’s not romantic.”

“And then they were smoking together, so close—”

“Oh, not James then?” Regulus says. It slips out, because if it’s not James, then who the hell would
get close enough to Sirius for Dorcas to be confused? Maybe Lupin?

Dorcas stops talking abruptly. Regulus is still reeling, and he didn’t think, and he said it and
Dorcas’ face swung around to stare at him, wide eyed.

They lock eyes. And Regulus knows he’s made a mistake. Dorcas puts a hand on the back of
Regulus’ chair and looks at him. “James?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. Dorcas shakes her head. “First of all, how do you know who smokes and
who doesn’t? And second of all, since when is he James?”

Regulus is the master of his own body. He is. At all times. So he physically stops the blush from
blooming, even though the effort makes him a little light headed. He holds Dorcas’ gaze and
yawns.

“Sirius blabbed non stop about him for years before he betrayed us,” he says. “It rubbed off.”

Dorcas holds his gaze for an uncomfortably long moment before she sits back, putting some space
between them. “It wasn’t Potter. It was Lupin.”

Regulus twists the ring on his thumb. “I think Sirius is just his annoying, clingy self,” he says,
shrugging. “He can’t be gay.”

“Why not? You are.”

Regulus scowls. “I don’t want to talk about my brother,” he says brusquely.

And to his shock, Dorcas simply nods. “Well, Potter was there, too. He talked to pretty much
everyone, he’s a bit of a social butterfly, I think? But he didn’t spend too much time with any one
 person.”

Regulus is sitting very still. No fidgeting. No blinking. Barely breathing. He needs to pretend he
doesn’t care. He’s not interested. He’s also not fucking elated that James wasn’t with anyone at this
party. It doesn’t mean much, but it’s something. Right? If James had a girlfriend, she would have
been there. So at the very least it confirms James is single. Doesn’t it?

“Marlene is good friends with him, obviously. He’s her Captain,” Dorcas says casually. “She
would know if he’s interested in anyone.”

“Do I look like I care?” Regulus says, a little too aggressively.

Dorcas smiles. “You don’t. But I have a hunch, and I’m going to run with it.”

Regulus scoffs, pushes his chair back and stands up. “You have more important things to worry
about, like figuring out if Marlene is your girlfriend or not.”

“Ouch!” Dorcas says, standing up, too.

Regulus shrugs. “I’m not sorry. Someone has to keep your feet on the ground for you.”

“There’s a sign of affection in there somewhere,” Dorcas says, waving goodbye to the house elves
as they cross the kitchens.

Regulus doesn't say much else on the way back to their dorms. He's too busy turning Dorcas' words
over in his head, analysing everything she's told him about James. Not much, admittedly, but
Regulus is starved for information so he'll take anything. Any hint that can help him figure out
what is going on, what it means. Whether Regulus has any chance at all with James.

To his absolute horror, Regulus finds that he's hoping he does. And isn't that pathetic? It is. But
Regulus cannot help himself. When it comes to James, Regulus' mastery of himself leaves a lot to
be desired. Surprisingly, it's not half as bad as he thinks it ought to be.

Chapter End Notes

James Potter being a hopeless romantic and going all out with a random date idea for
literally no reason gives me LIFE. Also, special mention to the fact neither of them
knows it's a date. Idiots in love are my brand.
Regulus Black being a little shit and threatening murder because he simply cannot
accept that someone might just be interested in him is so tragic but also I love him,
your honor. Sorry, not sorry?
Dorcas the queen Meadowes picking up on Regulus' vibe but knowing him well
enough to not voice it out loud? SHE'S THE MVP. Also, not her casually picking up
on the Wolfstar disaster while those two are still one hundred percent blind to it.
HELP THEM, they need it :D

Anyway. All that to say my babies are getting there!! Slowly, but surely.

Sorry for the ranting, I've had like four coffees and felt chatty for some reason.

I will try to post again on the 1st of January so HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE :D
 Rubik cubes and Hogsmeade Visits
Chapter Notes

Happy New Year friends!!

THANK YOU for the lovely comments you've been leaving, they give me so much
joy <3

TWs for this chapter

Smoking
Underage drinking

That is it! This chapter is light and fluffy and fun :D

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James keeps his word and shows up to the roof on Monday night. Regulus doesn’t try to kill him
again. They sit, and Regulus smokes. James works on the Rubik’s cube. They don’t talk much that
first day, like they need to let it simmer. James can sense Regulus doesn’t trust him yet, which is
fine. James can be patient. He will earn it. Something in his gut tells him that Regulus is worth it, if
only James can take the time to wiggle through the tiny cracks in his walls.

Tuesday night is better. James asks Regulus about brooms while he works on the Rubik’s cube—
he’s getting better at it, faster—and they spend almost two hours discussing brands, and models,
and specifications. It’s the longest conversation James and Regulus have ever had. Regulus does
insult James, or more specifically, his choice of brand. But James doesn’t mind, because Regulus’
voice has less bite.

A week passes, and they meet on the roof almost every night. Saturday, they agree to skip,
because their friends would catch on if they disappeared without trace. It’s Regulus’ idea, and
James agrees immediately. Sunday, they meet again. And Monday. And Tuesday.

They talk about Quidditch plays and tactics. About muggle TV (where Regulus explains electricity
to James, who realises he’s seen it working but never really got how they managed it). Regulus
tells James about cars, which James find fascinating. He immediately announces that he'll get
himself one as soon as he graduates. James tells Regulus about his father's lab, because he knows
Regulus likes potions and James' father made a ton of money with an innovative beauty potions
brand. They talk about school gossip, because James is friends with Mary MacDonald so he knows
it all. Regulus is shocked to learn that the Arithmancy professor is rumoured to be having an affair
with the Alchemy one, even though everyone suspects she’s in love with the Muggle Music part-
time teacher.

By the second Wednesday, James solves the Rubik’s cube almost without looking at it and
Regulus comments on the fact that he’s mastered it. He says it in a way that leaves it ambiguous
enough that James can't tell whether he's being complimented or insulted, but he likes it nontheless.
James puts it down between them, and they don’t say anything for a while. He realises that it
served as a sort of buffer, because if James was busy solving it while they talked, then there was no
room for anything else. But now that there’s no point to him fiddling with it anymore, well. It feels
a little different, but in a good way.

Thursday night James sits closer to Regulus than before. The other boy doesn’t acknowledge it, but
he also doesn’t move away. James counts it as a win. It’s a heavily overcast night, and the wind is
turning chilly. Mid-October starts to get cold this far up North, and sitting on a roof isn’t the
cosiest of places.

“What happens when it’s too cold to sit here?” James asks. Regulus is lighting a cigarette, one of
the last in his pack. James has already planned to sneak out to Hogsmeade tomorrow to get more
for him.

Regulus cuts him a sideways glance, then exhales the smoke. “Have you forgotten you’re a
wizard?”

James scoffs. “Oh, come on Regulus. Warming charms work only for a little while and they’re
hardly pleasant.”

Regulus shrugs. Takes a drag off his cigarette. James watches him, the way the burning tip reflects
in his eyes, or the elegant curve of his fingers as they hold it. Regulus is the most beautiful person
James has ever seen, and he still can’t believe he gets to spend time with him. Alone. Away from
the rest of the world.

“I’ll come up with something,” James says. “Find somewhere else to go.”

Regulus looks at him, a deep scowl furrowing his brow. James wants to ease it. The urge to press
the pad of his finger against the spot between his eyebrows has never gone away. At this point,
James thinks it never will.

“What?” James asks, shrugging. “When this roof is full of snow it’ll be a death trap. I’ve had
enough nightmares about falling to my death to last me until my sixties. Thank you.”

The corner of Regulus’ lips twitches, and it hits James like a wrecking ball. His lungs constrict, and
his gut tightens. Was that…? Did he almost manage to make him smile?

“Whatever,” Regulus says, then he leans back on the tiles to look up at the sky. It’s dark. No stars
lighting the night.

James watches him. He does it a lot. He knows Regulus notices, but this is another thing they
simply don’t acknowledge. And James tells himself it’s okay. It’s fine. He doesn’t need to know if
Regulus thinks of him that way. In fact, James knows it’s most likely that he doesn’t. Right?
Except there are moments. And James is hanging on to those moments like they’re a lifeline.

“Do you like music?” James asks Regulus, reclining back to mirror the other boy’s position.

Regulus turns his head to look at him, an alarmed expression on his face. “What kind of monster
doesn’t like music?”

James smiles. “Alright, fair.” He puts his hands behind his head, tries to relax, which is difficult
when you’re sharing a roof with the boy that haunts your dreams. “Any favourites?”

“Do you know any muggle music?” Regulus asks.

“Yeah,” James says. “Remus loves Bowie. Sirius is obsessed with Queen and The Clash. Pete likes
a bit of everything.”
Regulus doesn’t react to his brother’s name and James can’t tell if this is a good or a bad thing. He
doesn’t get to ask, though, because Regulus fixes his green eyes on his hazel ones and says, “And
you? What do you like?”

James beams at the sky and shamelessly says, “ABBA.”

And for some reason, this is the thing that makes Regulus laugh. It’s only a surprised chortle at
first, like Regulus was caught unawares and it just escaped without his permission. James sits up so
quickly he slides a few inches down the tiles but he doesn’t care, can’t care, because he stares at
Regulus and then the other boy is losing his battle with himself and starts giggling.

Regulus is laughing.

It’s soft, and quiet. His shoulders are shaking, and he’s hunched over like he wants to hide it, but
James can see the corners of his mouth twisted upwards.

He can hear it.

It's like everything else Regulus does. Elegant. Graceful. Regulus' laugh is musical and James
wants to die from how lovely he is.

James wants Regulus to never stop laughing.

It doesn’t matter that Regulus is laughing at him. All that James cares about is that it’s happening,
and he made it happen, and he feels invincible right now.

“Oi!” he says with more flair than necessary. “Dancing Queen is the greatest song of all time,
alright? I will not accept any ABBA slander.”

Regulus makes a choked sound, like he’s trying to stop giggling but he can’t help it. James’ chest is
full. Full of joy. Full of pride. Full of want. Full of things he can’t name.

“Dancing Queen?” Regulus says, looking up through his lashes. There’s a tear in the corner of his
eye and James’ mouth falls open. He just. He’s too lovely. He’s perfect, and he’s here with James,
and he’s smiling.

“Young and sweet, only seventeen,” he says, and does a little shoulder shimmy for good measure.

Regulus chortles again, buries his face in his hands.

James needs to get a camera immediately. He needs this immortalized for posterity. This moment,
right here. Regulus Black smiling at him. James has spent enough time with Regulus now to know
this is special. This is precious. And it’s for him.

James wants Regulus Black to smile at him every day for the rest of his life, and the enormity of
this thought should scare him, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t because what else is James doing on this
roof if not… he can’t lie to himself. He wants to bring the Black brothers together, but James is not
here just for Sirius.

He’s here for Regulus. He’s here for himself.

“Is that your favourite?” Regulus asks, running a hand through his curls. He’s regained some
control, so he’s not giggling anymore but he is still half smiling and James honestly wants to cry
from how happy that small thing makes him.
He can't be blamed, though. Because Regulus smiling is something else. His face changes, relaxes.
The scowl disappears and it's like someone has lit a light inside of him. James swears his eyes are
greener, his perfect teeth whiter, his curls darker. The angles of his face sharpen, which doesn't
make sense because a smile should soften then, but it is, and James wants to kiss them all and see
if he gets cut.

There's a small dimple on the right side of Regulus' mouth when he's smiling that James would pay
a fortune to be able to kiss.

“No,” James says. “My favourite song isn’t actually by ABBA.”

“The betrayal!” Regulus says, and James gapes at him, mouth open. Regulus Black is… joking?
He can joke? With him. James is starting to worry he’s dreaming this whole thing. Regulus looks
away.

“No,” James blurts out. “Don’t. That was funny. I just… I’m not used to it.”

Regulus is looking at him again, but he’s scowling now. Which honestly? James likes, too. He
thinks he just likes Regulus. Everything about him. “Not used to what?”

“You. Like this,” James says softly. “I like it.”

Regulus pulls out a cigarette and lights it. After a large puff of smoke, he says, “Well? Favourite
song?”

“The Sounds of Silence,” James replies.

Now it’s Regulus turn to stare, genuine surprise coating his features. “You like Simon and
Garfunkel?”

“You know them?”

And Regulus scoots closer to James. Just, moves his butt, dragging it over the tiles so he’s closer to
him, knees almost touching. James’ heart pounds the inside of his chest. Regulus has never done
this before. Never moved closer. Initiated any sort of connection. James doesn’t mind being the
one to take charge all the time, but he had no idea he’d been wishing for Regulus to take the role
from time to time until it happens.

“I love them,” Regulus says. “I just didn’t think you would. They’re not very cheerful.”

James shrugs. “I mean, I wouldn’t play them at a party. But they’re nice to listen to. Something
about the soft guitars and voices… I don’t know,” James says, feeling self-conscious for no reason.

James realises it’s not very on brand for him to like Simon and Garfunkel. He should be a Queen
fan, like Sirius, or perhaps a Fleetwood Mac or The Beatles fan. Which, yes, he likes some of their
music. But The Sound of Silence hits him deeper than anything else.

“I’m glad you like them too,” James tells Regulus. “We could… eh. Listen to them sometime.
What else do you like?”

Regulus looks relaxed. The small smile is back, hanging from the corners of his lips. A cigarette
dangles from his fingers. He’s wearing his rings, all silver, and a large green jumper. James would
like to cuddle him. To ask him to sit between his legs and just… smoke there. In the crook of
James’ body. He doesn’t, of course. But he wants to.
“Leonard Cohen,” Regulus says. “Do you know him?”

“I don’t think so,” James replies. “What does he sound like?”

“Sad,” Regulus says, shrugging. “Listen to Famous Blue Raincoat if you can.”

“Is that your favourite?”

He shakes his head, curls flying. “My favourite is…” He stops. Looks at him. “Never mind. Yes.
That one.”

James smiles. “It can’t be worse than ABBA. I promise not to laugh at you.”

Regulus sighs, turns his eyes up. A drop hits his forehead. James looks up, too. His glasses get hit,
and the world goes blurry. It’s starting to rain, and it looks like it’s going to be heavy.

James feels the irritation crawl in his veins. Is this a joke? He wants to shake his fist at the sky.
Things were going so well. They were having a good time, and Regulus was smiling! Why does the
universe hate him?

Regulus stands up. “Right. Well.”

James jumps to his feet, almost loses his balance. He rectifies last minute, just in time to throw out
a hand and stop Regulus from walking towards the edge, where the window is waiting below.

“Wait!” James sounds a little breathless.

The rain is thickening. His clothes are starting to sag and his hair is sticking to his forehead.
Regulus’ curls are weighing down, too. But he stops, and turns his face to look at James even
though a raindrop is running down his nose.

James has the mad urge to kiss him. Wouldn’t that be something? A kiss in the rain. Fuck. It’s like
one of those romantic novels his mother likes to read.

“What’s your favourite song, Regulus?” James asks.

He looks at James for a long moment, searching his face. Somehow, they get closer, until James
can see the small drops of water clinging to Regulus’ eyelashes. And Regulus is just… looking.
He’s being bold about it, too. Tracing the lines of James’ face with his eyes. James stays still, lets
Regulus do what he will.

James knows if Regulus touched him, or kissed him, he would just let him. In fact, James wants
him to.

Regulus’ eyes drop to James’ mouth and his heart skips a beat. Then another. But Regulus looks up
again, blinks.

“Hymne à l'amour," he replies softly. Then, he turns around and drops down to the window
without looking back.

James stays. He stays long after his clothes are soaking wet and stuck to his skin. He stays even
though he starts to shiver. He stays, because Regulus Black apparently speaks French, and he spoke
some French to him. That’s what it was, right? Does that mean Regulus’ favourite song is in
French? James is going to have to investigate. He’s going to learn French, too. He’s decided.
Because when Regulus said those words it just sounded so good it broke James down and rebuilt
him from scratch.

James thinks as he slides into the owlry, leaving a trail of water everywhere, that he needs to stop
lying to himself. He hasn’t even broached the subject of Sirius with Regulus and it’s not because
he’s forgotten. It’s because James is enjoying getting to know Regulus too much. Does that make
him a bad friend? James honestly can’t tell.

But he can’t keep hiding this from Sirius, can he? It’s… he doesn’t like it. But what would he tell
his friend? That he’s hanging out with his brother on a roof while he smokes and James talks non
stop about stupid shit? It just seems… it’s not big enough yet, is it?

Besides, Sirius hasn’t yet told him what it is that’s been bothering him. So it’s okay to need time.
It’s okay to wait before one says things that could result in big changes. James decides he’s going
to give himself a little more time. A few more nights, at least. Just to see whether something really
is happening.

####

Regulus doesn’t go to the roof on Friday night because James told him he couldn’t make it, and he
doesn’t see the point in going alone. Not anymore. Instead, he stays in his dorm with Barty, Evan,
Dorcas and Pandora.

They’re discussing Hogsmeade, because the first visit is happening the following day, but Regulus
isn’t paying them attention. He’s on his bed, lying face up and staring at the ceiling. Regulus wants
to smile.

He doesn’t, of course. His friends would think he’s having a heart attack or something. But he
wants to. He just… he can’t stop thinking about James. James’ bright smile. His proud voice when
he announced with no shame whatsoever that he likes ABBA. The shoulder shimmy. Salazar’s
cape on a pole, James’ shoulders are something else.

And his favourite song? James Potter has hidden layers. Regulus was a bit dismayed at first,
because it was so easy to tell himself his crush was superficial when he thought James had no
personality. And then, he had to go and be all… sweet. Just fucking adorable. But also, he’s smart.
Maybe not the same way Regulus is, but he’s still smart. And he’s tenacious, which Regulus
respects. The man didn’t stop until he mastered the stupid Rubik’s cube.

He's tenacious about Regulus, too. Patient. And he listens. It’s so dangerous, because Regulus is
slipping. He can feel it. He’s letting himself go bit by bit on that roof. Towards James. Melting into
something that should terrify him but if Regulus is honest with himself—the yearly exception, let’s
call it—makes him curious. Regulus wants to know what happens if he dares.

He wants to touch James. Regulus wants to kiss him. He wants to have him. In every way one can
have another person. Because Regulus is greedy and selfish and James is always giving. Regulus
wants to take it all.

He’s not sure why he hasn’t yet. He’s thought about it. In the rain, last night. He wondered what
would happen if he kissed James.

But the possibility that James would… that he doesn’t want the same things… it would break
Regulus. And he can’t afford that. He cannot be broken because he has a lot of breaking to do
himself. Regulus has to stay mean. He has to stay strong, sharp. He has to file his edges so that he
can leave a trail of blood in his wake when the time comes. The one thing that scares Regulus the
most, even thoug he's trying his level best to ignore it, is that the time is coming faster than he'd
like.

Easter is five months away. That's all he's got. Five months, and then he's raising hell.

“What the fuck is up with you?” Barty asks, standing on Regulus’ bed and looking down at him.

Regulus blinks, shocked to find Barty there. He's in his pijamas—joggers and a white t-shirt—and
looking at Regulus with curiosity. When did he climb his bed?

“Fuck off,” Regulus says.

Dorcas climbs on the bed, too. She sits by Regulus, close enough to touch. “No. Barty’s right.
You’ve been acting strange all week. What’s up?”

Pandora stands behind Dorcas, peering at Regulus over her head. She’s wearing a hat today,
because apparently some of her ideas were flying away. It’s a little crooked right now, and when
she tilts her head, Regulus thinks the hat is going to fall.

“Nothing,” he says. “Barty, get your feet off my bed.”

He rolls his eyes, but jumps off and lands next to Evan. Great. All his friends are circling him now.
Regulus sighs, pushes himself up on his elbows. “Don’t you lot have anything better to do?”

“No,” Pandora replies sweetly. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Dorcas smiles. Evan lifts his chin towards Regulus. “Are you sure you’re… well. Anything you
want to tell us?”

Regulus raises his eyebrows. He looks around at his friends. The people he cares about. The four
that survived the cold and the bones and the pain. In a way, anyway. Because Regulus isn’t sure he
loves them; he isn’t sure he can love anything or anyone. But whatever he’s capable of, these four
are it for him.

And yet, Regulus doesn’t trust them. Can't trust them. Not with this secret. Not with James.
Because James is his, and his alone, and the nights are stolen from time that’s running out for
them. Regulus is on a ticking clock, every day getting him closer to the point of no return. He
doesn’t want to give anything away. A single whisper of it. It’s his, and it’s James’, and Regulus
will keep it that way until the very last second.

He's selfish and possessive, but he's fucked up and messy and a boy that's had to make himself a
man too quickly because there's a war coming and he's going to be in the battlefield. Front line.
Raising hell.

So. Sue him for wanting to keep the one thing he's got that's not dark and twisted and bloody away
from everyone else.

“No.”

They shrug, exchange glances. Accept defeat. “Alright then.” Evan says. He tugs on Barty’s arm
and they go back to lounging around his bed. Together on it, limbs tangled. Regulus wonders, but
he doesn’t ask.

Neither Dorcas nor Pandora bat an eye.

“Are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?” Pandora asks him.

“No. I’m busy,” Regulus replies. “I’ve got a meeting with Slughorn.”

It’s a lie, but his friends don’t doubt him. Well. It's a white lie. He will talk to Slughorn eventually,
but first he wants to keep digging into Riddle on his own. It's best to know what his blind spots are
before approaching Slughorn. So.

Regulus doesn’t like lying, and does it very rarely and only if it’s necessary. These days, it’s
becoming necessary a lot more often than he’s comfortable with but he cannot do anything about
it. His friends can’t know about his research. It would mean telling them about his plans for
revenge. About the sacrifices he’s going to make.

Pandora would tell someone, because she’d want to stop him and protect him and she’d think it to
be the only way. Evan and Barty would offer to help, which Regulus can’t accept either. Too
dangerous. Regulus already suspects Evan is going to be a complication because his father is a
freaking Death Eater. So. He doesn’t need to add fuel to that fire. And Dorcas? Dorcas would find
all the reasons why it’s a bad idea. She’d try to change his mind. And Regulus would have to break
her heart, and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to hurt Dorcas.

Regulus knows he’ll have to plan it carefully when the time comes to protect his friends. He has no
idea how he’ll do it, but he will.

“Do you need anything from the village?” Dorcas asks.

“You’re going?” Barty calls from his place on the floor by Evan’s bed. “You said no earlier?”

“I said no to going with you and Evan,” Dorcas says, a glint in her eye. Ah. Regulus knows.

“Who are you going with then?” Evan asks, sounding mildly offended. “We’re your only friends.”

“That’s a bit mean,” Pandora says gently.

“Doesn’t make it less true,” Barty says, siding with Evan.

Dorcas sighs. Stands up in the middle of the room and throws her shoulders back. Regulus springs
up from his bed immediately, because if Dorcas is doing what he thinks she’s doing, he’s ready to
back her up should Evan or Barty be idiots about it. Which, honestly? They could be. Simply
because Regulus isn’t certain they’re yet comfortable with their own sexuality.

Regulus won’t hesitate to hurt either of them if they so much as look at Dorcas wrong.

“I’m dating someone,” Dorcas says. “And I’m going to Hogsmeade with her.”

Regulus is surprised to see Barty smirk, a knowing glint in his eye like he’s not the least bit
shocked by this news. Evan smiles at Dorcas, and winks at her. Pandora is the one who lets out a
loud whoop and throws herself at Dorcas for a hug.

“You have a girlfriend? And I didn’t know? Dorcas! Honestly! This is amazing. What’s her
name?” Pandora is so excited her words are all coming out together in one unintelligible rush but
they’re all used to her so they make sense of it anyway.

Dorcas blushes. “Ah, well. You’re not allowed to judge.”

Evan scoffs, but there’s a playful smirk dancing across his lips. “Would be a bit hypocritical of me
to judge anyone’s choice of partner.”

Barty turns around, eyes wide. “Oi. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh,” Regulus says before he can stop himself. Evan and Barty both freeze. They turn slowly, like
they’re afraid. And Regulus hates it. He hates whatever has made him like this. So prickly that his
closest friends are visibly weary of him.

They shouldn’t be. Because Barty knows. For Merlin’s sake, Barty knows. And yet, he’s a little
cautious like he’s not sure what Regulus is going to say.

Regulus hates his brother. He hates him, because he left one night and Regulus froze, and
everything that made him semi-decent leaked out of him through the cracks. Empty, except for the
little bit that survived and clings to his friends. These four people. And Regulus stands there in that
room, surrounded by his people, and is reminded of the frost. The cage of bones. Cold and pain and
blood. Fury and hurt and vengeance.

It’s all he is.

It’s all he can be.

It's all his friends see of him.

And yet, there are moments on that roof, when James is beaming at him, that Regulus swears
there’s a trickle of warmth. It’s a sliver, so light it’s barely there but Regulus chooses to believe it
exists. And he holds on to that, and does his very best to ease the mask away from his face.

“About fucking time. Honestly,” Regulus says, and then he gives his friends a half smile and a nod.

“Did he just--?” Evan is gaping at Regulus, mouth hanging open.

“He did,” Barty replies. He’s beaming now, looking at Regulus like he used to when they were
eleven and still thought life might have something good in store for them. "Regulus Black just
smiled, ladies and gentlemen. We should brace for the apocalypse."

Someone sniffles loudly, and it breaks the spell. Regulus looks up, and Pandora is weeping for
some reason. Barty laughs, and then Evan is giggling too. It’s so absurd Regulus has to sigh.

“I’m surrounded by idiots,” he murmurs, but he’s amused, and proud of himself, too.

“Anyway!” Dorcas yells. “Back to my news? Yes?”

Regulus is tense all over again, because it’s one thing for them all to be accepting of each other. It’s
another thing entirely for a group of Slytherins to be okay with one of them dating a Gryffindor.
Barty and Evan look relaxed, curious. Pandora is still softly crying.

“I’m dating Marlene McKinnon,” Dorcas announces. “And before you get any stupid ideas do
remember she’s fucking proficient at swinging a bat, yes?”

“How did you manage that?” Barty asks. “She’s smoking.”

Evan hits him over the head, and Barty winces, but then shrugs. “What? It’s true.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “Watch it, Crouch.”

Regulus stares at his friends, then rubs his fingers on his temples. “Just because we know you two
are a thing now doesn’t mean you can do… that. Don’t do that. Keep it private.”

Barty turns to look at Regulus and wiggles his eyebrows. “Jealous, Black? Maybe you're upset you
missed out on this gloriousness.” He gestures to himself, smriking smugly.

Regulus looks at Evan, fully ignoring Barty. “I think he needs to be taken down a peg.”

"You know what? You're absolutely right," Evan slides off the bed and stalks towards Regulus, a
look of intent on his face so convincing it makes Barty respond by scrambling after his boyfriend
(?). “Wait. Wait. Alright, okay!” Barty grabs the back of Evan’s shirt and hauls him to the bed
again.

“Not funny,” Barty huffs, sitting on the floor again and taking Evan’s hand so it rests on his head.
Evan’s smiling.

“A little funny,” Dorcas says, beaming.

Pandora sighs loudly. “This is so amazing. It was about time love found this group.”

“Half the group, anyway,” Evan says, eyes darting from Pandora to Regulus. “Or?”

Pandora shakes her head. “You know I haven’t met my person yet. He’s waiting for me in the
forest.”

Regulus does his level best not to groan. Pandora had a dream in fourth year about a man with long
blond hair dancing with her in a forest clearing and she’s refused to even look at anyone else since.
That’s her person, she says, and she won’t hear otherwise.

“Salazar’s socks, Pandora,” Dorcas says. “You can’t be still waiting for that mystery dream man?”

“Of course I am,” she says simply. “What about your person, Reg?”

Three heads swivel to look at him with such synchronized precision it’s a little scary. Regulus
lungs squeeze the air out of him, but he fights back. His secret. His. His and James’.

“Ask my mother,” he says, shrugging. “It’s not like I’ll get to choose who to marry or anything.”

“That’s fucking bleak,” Evan says, looking genuinely upset.

Dorcas is eyeing him suspiciously, which Regulus chooses to ignore.

Barty growls. “It’s bullshit. You don’t have to marry who she says.”

Regulus shrugs. Keeps his mask in place. Tightly hiding everything that’s churning inside of him, a
tidal wave of moments on a rooftop that threatens to drown him. His throat is tight like a guitar
string, but he still manages to sound bored when he says, “Not like I care that much.”

####

“Have you seen the map?” James asks Remus. “I left it here last night.”

Through the door to the bathroom, they can hear Sirius taking a shower. He’s singing—London’s
Burning by The Clash, which are one of his new obsessions—which means he’s in a good mood. It
also means the entire room is going to steam up as soon as he opens that door, because Sirius
showers in literal volcanic lava. He hits a high note and Peter snickers.

James smiles fondly. “Why’s he so happy?”

Pete shrugs. “Beats me. He was in the library with Moony all evening.”

James gapes at Remus, who shrugs. “Working on the patronuses. Sirius got a semi-corporeal one.
That’s why.” He tilts his head towards the bathroom just in time to another high note.

They all smile at each other. Happy Padfoot is a good thing.

Peter holds up two shirts and turns to James. “Which one?”

“That one,” James says. He goes back to digging through the absolute chaos that is his side of the
room, completely merged with the chaos of Sirius’ side. If it weren’t for the beds, it’d be
impossible to tell them apart.

“I can’t find the map!”

Remus yawns, looks up from his bed. “What do you need the map for? We’re going to
Hogsmeade.”

“I might not go,” James says casually. “Need to check something on the map. Where—ah!”

He pulls it out from under his clothes, discarded into a pile because he had to undress in the dark to
avoid waking his friends up. He was out late last night buying more cigarettes, which is why he’d
told Regulus he wouldn’t make it to the roof. James noticed on the map (which yes, he was
checking because he’s at that level of infatuation that he seeks the name on the parchment for
literally no good reason) that Regulus decided to not go instead of going alone. It made James feel
all fuzzy inside.

“You can’t do that,” Peter says, serious all of a sudden. “You have to come to the village.”

James looks at him, frowns. “It’s not a big deal, right? You’re going with Olive anyway.”

“But you promised Lily,” Peter says.

Remus nods, getting up from the bed and rummaging through his trunks. “Yeah. You promised her
a drink at the Three Broomsticks, mate. Can’t leave her hanging.”

James blanches. Shit. He had forgotten about this. Like, completely. He’s not surprised, because
he’s been distracted in the best possible way. He’s kept up with this team’s practice, because
Quidditch is sacred and he still very much wants to win the cup. He’s done about half his
homework. The other half he’s copied from Remus.

That’s it.

The rest of his brain power has been devoted to Regulus and Regulus only. His mind replays ever
night they meet on the roof on a loop until it’s time for James to climb up to the owlry and do it all
over again.

It’s all he can think about. Regulus. Regulus’ lovely voice. His ring-clad fingers. The way his hair
curls over his ears. The straight slope of his nose. The shape of his lips. Godric have mercy on him,
James has spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the shape of Regulus’ lips. He’s
obsessed with them. He’s obsessed with Regulus in general.
“What do… I mean,” James tries, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll buy her as many drinks as she
wants, but it’s not a date. That’s not… she’s not expecting a date, right?”

“No,” Remus says. “Can confirm. Not a date.”

James sighs, relieved. “Well then. Can’t I give you money and you can buy Lily as many drinks as
she wants?” The moment he says it, James can tell this is a pretty shitty thing to do.

And, it’s not that he’s against hanging with Lily in Hogsmeade. James likes Lily. She’s fun, and
intelligent, and she did come through for him with that Rubik’s cube. It’s just that James doesn’t
know if Regulus is going to Hogsmeade, and if he is, he’d rather just stare at him. And if he isn’t,
then James would like to stay in the castle, too.

He didn’t see him last night because James had to go buy more cigarettes and it was the only night
he could sneak out. His friends haven’t become suspicious yet, but they will. James knows he’s
been lucky the past few days.

Peter’s distracted because he’s got something going on with Olive. Remus and Sirius have been
busy because they both have been having trouble casting a patronus so they spend every free
moment practicing in a quest to produce a fully corporeal one before Halloween, which is around
the corner. If Sirius managed a half-decent one last evening, this particular brand of distraction is
going to expire very soon and Sirius is going to pick up on James’ strange behaviour.

“Right,” he says, admitting defeat. It’s in his best interest to spend the day in Hogsmeade with his
friends so that they don’t become suspicious of him. “Hogsmeade it is, then.”

***

They decide to walk together, all of them. Which, to James’ pleasant surprise, includes one Dorcas
Meadowes. It hasn’t escaped James’ notice that Dorcas is friends with Regulus and he isn’t above
trying to fish information out of her if the opportunity arises. Namely, whether Regulus is into boys
with brown skin, messy hair, and glasses. James hopes he is, because it’s getting harder and harder
to keep his hands to himself.

It's a cool autumn day, the end of October barrelling towards them quickly. A strong breeze blows
leaves that have begun to fall in orange spirals on both sides of the path towards Hogsmeade, and a
few people in town must have put on their chimneys already because the smell of burning wood
drifts through the air.

James doesn’t much like this time of the year. He prefers Christmas, and the snow, and proper
cold. This in between when he finds it hard to get his layers right is annoying, but Remus loves
Halloween so James tries not to complain. Thinking about it, the next two weeks will be busy for
James, with a full moon and then the traditional Halloween party. They need to get on the planning
for that immediately.

Peter and Olive lead the way, chatting animatedly about Godric knows what. Olive is also a
herbology nerd, but James heard the words ‘electricity’ and ‘actors’ so he thinks Olive is educating
Peter on muggle entertainment. Olive is a half blood. Her dad is a muggle.

Sirius, Remus and James are walking together. His two friends are sharing a cigarette between
them, and they’re all discussing the upcoming Quidditch World cup. Remus isn’t that into
Quidditch, but he does share opinions based on the players he finds good looking. This infuriates
James and amuses Sirius to no end.
The girls bring up the rear. Mary, Lily, Marlene and Dorcas. Marlene and Dorcas are walking a
little closer to each other and in the middle, so that Lily and Mary bring up the flanks. James
recognises this formation because he and Peter did the same thing a few times back in fifth year
when Remus and Tom wanted to go to Hogsmeade together without drawing attention.

When they reach town, Sirius announces he needs to go to Honeydukes. Remus immediately
volunteers to go with him. Peter takes Olive to a small bakery down the road—not Madame
Puddifoot’s, James advised—and says they’ll come join them in the pub later.

“I need to buy some school supplies,” Dorcas says, somewhat shily. She looks at Marlene and it’s
both adoring and hesitant, like Dorcas isn’t one hundred percent sure how to behave around her.
James sympathises because he feels the same with Regulus. “But I can go on my own and catch
you later?”

“I’m coming with you,” Marlene says. “The girls can—"

“No,” Mary says immediately. “We’ll go together. I’ll be your beard. Come on.”

“Lily?” Marlene asks.

Lily hesitates. Mary looks at James pointedly, and he gets the hint. The sooner he’s fulfilled his
promise the better. And Dorcas and Marlene don’t need two chaperones. Besides, the wind’s
picking up and soon everyone will seek refuge in the Three Broomsticks so it’s smart of them to
secure a table early.

“I believe I owe Lily a drink,” James says with an easy smile. “Let’s head to the Broomsticks. We
can get a large booth for when people start to show up.”

Lily beams. “Nice. Yeah.” She turns to her friends and waves. “See you in a bit.”

They walk side by side. Lily’s hair is in a bun, a few stands whipping her face in the wind. She’s
snuggled into a cosy jumper that looks soft enough to wrap a baby in. James thinks of Regulus and
his green jumper. It’s dark, not bright green. Regulus is always in dark colours, which James thinks
is brilliant because they bring out his eyes. Besides, Regulus is quite pale so the darker colours fit
him better. James has never in his life had this many thoughts about fashion choices before, but
he’s discovering that when it comes to Regulus, James has thoughts about a ton of new things. It’s
exciting.

He pushes the door to the pub open and waves Lily in. She whisks past him, smiling, and greets
Rosmerta. They secure a booth and order two butter beers, then slide in to sit face to face.

The pub isn’t very full yet, so the noise levels are manageable. There’s the murmur of
conversation, the clinking of glasses being served or picked up, and every now and then the
scrapping of a stool against the wooden floor. A large chimney against the far wall cracks every
now and then, casting a warm, orange glow over patrons and empty tables alike. The burning wood
mixes with the distinct smell of beer.

“Did you learn to solve the Rubik’s cube, then?” Lily asks him.

James takes a sip of his butter beer before grinning back at her. “I did!”

He’s so proud of himself for it, because it wasn’t easy. He kind of wants to brag to her about the
fact that he learnt to solve it on a rooftop in the dark, but he won’t. Those moments are precious to
him, and he doesn’t want to share them with anyone else. The roof of the owlry has become kind of
their sanctuary. James is under no delusions that if he attempted to talk to Regulus anywhere else,
he’d be met with the end of his wand and the threat of disembowelment.

“Are you going to tell me how you heard about them?”

He shakes his head, still grinning. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Lily chuckles. Takes a sip. She looks pensive for a moment, like she’s weighing some options in
her head. James waits. He’s in no hurry, and he’s happy to let her lead the conversation because all
James wants to talk about is Regulus, and he can’t, so it’s safest he’s not allowed to lead.

“You’re not very subtle, James. My guess? It was that crush you wanted rid of. Wasn’t it?”

James sighs, puts his arms on the table and looks at Lily solemnly. “Lily, I failed so spectacularly
at getting rid of it you have no idea.”

This is fine, he thinks. Because he already told her he had a crush and he wanted rid of it, so really,
it’s nothing new. And it helps him scratch the itch. Makes him feel like he’s telling someone
without really telling.

Her eyes widen, and she leans forward too. “But you said they didn’t like you back? Has that
changed?”

“I’m not sure,” James tells her honestly. “We’re… huh… hanging out. But it’s all very platonic. I
can’t tell if this person likes me that way. Sometimes I think so, but I’m not sure.”

“Do you flirt with them?” Lily asks him gently. She’s gripping her butter beer like she’s afraid it’ll
run away, knuckles a little paler than the rest of her hand.

“I try, but I don’t think I’m very good at it,” James jokes. “It’s fine. I like hanging out with them.
We just chat about stuff and solve Rubik’s cubes. It’s nice.”

Lily cocks her head to the side, a little frown creasing her forehead. “But don’t you want more?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I think if it were me, I’d want more. The whole thing. The… kissing and the touching, you
know?” Lily is blushing something fierce now, and James thinks it’s adorable.

He smiles at her. “Yes. I mean, I want that. I just don’t know if he does.”

James realises he’s slipped up as soon as he says it, but he can’t take it back. Shit. Lily is going to
piece it together now, obviously, because the only ‘he’ in all of Hogwarts is Regulus Black. James
tries to force himself to breathe.

“I… I mean, like, it’s not—”

“Don’t panic,” Lily says, reaching for his hand. She takes it and gives it a little squeeze. “I already
knew it was a boy. I haven’t told anyone, and I’m not going to. That’s your business. You can trust
me, James.”

James’ mouth falls open. He swallows, forcing his heart to slide back down and settle in place. He
nods, takes another breath. “How?”

“You said he in the library that time, too,” Lily says with a shrug. Her hand is still gently covering
his, and James likes the warmth. It’s helping him stay grounded, because honestly? For a moment
there he saw his life flash through his eyes.
“I haven’t told anyone,” James whispers. “Not because… I’m not ashamed of it. But I don’t know
if he… I don’t even know if he likes boys.”

Lily’s eyebrows fly up. “Ah. I see.” She chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “Why don’t you
just ask him?”

There’s something about Lily. About the way her face softens when she’s looking at James. Her
mouth, in an almost permanent gentle smile. The lights of the pub catching on her hair, bright like
a roaring fire. Lily makes him feel safe. Like he’s going to be alright no matter what. Like he
doesn’t have to have the answers to everything.

So James admits it out lout. The fear he’s been carrying inside of him. “What if he says no?”

And it’s that simple, isn’t it? James can’t ask Regulus because if he does, he can’t keep pretending
he’s only doing this for Sirius. Which, let’s be honest, James knew from the beginning. It’s just
easier to tell himself that he only wants to bring the brothers back together. To push his own agenda
to the back of his mind and pretend it’s not happening.

If James asks Regulus and Regulus says no, James doesn’t know if he’ll have the heart to keep
hanging out with him. It’ll hurt too much, knowing he’ll never get to touch him. But if he said yes?
If Regulus said yes, James would be doomed. Irrevocably. He’d know no peace until Regulus gave
him a chance.

“It’s better to know, James,” Lily tells him. “It’s always better to know.”

She sounds sad, and it makes James glance up and truly, genuinely, look at Lily. There’s tension
around her mouth. She’s good at hiding it, but James is looking now, and he can tell something’s
off.

“Are you alright, Lily?” James asks.

And Lily recoils, snatching her hand back almost violently. It’s such a drastic change from a
moment ago that it gives James whiplash. “I’m perfectly fine, James. Why wouldn’t I be?”

James is lost. He is utterly confused. Somehow, he’s offended Lily, but he has zero clue as to what
he’s done. “I’m sorry? I just… I don’t know. You sounded a little sad there. Didn’t mean to upset
you. Whatever it is, you can tell me,” James says, trying his best to fix whatever he’s broken.
“You’ve been so nice to me and so helpful. If there’s anything I can do, I’d like to help you, too.”

Lily shakes her head, sighs. She closes her eyes for a moment, then leans forward again when she
opens them. “It’s okay, James. But thank you.”

Their conversation gets a little stilted after that. Lily doesn’t ask or comment on James’ mysterious
crush again, and James doesn’t bring it up, either. They discuss their charms assignment, of all
things, and it’s a relief when Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas come in and join them at the booth.

Sirius and Remus join a few minutes later, Sirius is rubbing his hands together, complaining about
the wind. Remus rolls his eyes, takes off his scarf and wraps it around Sirius. They slide in next to
Lily, while Mary, Dorcas and Marlene took James’ side.

Rosmerta waltzes over their table, glances around, and clicks her tongue. “You look a little cold,
dear,” she says to Sirius. “Mulled beer?”

“You know the way to a man’s heart, Rosie,” Sirius says, beaming at her.
Rosmerta swoons. Remus rolls his eyes again. “Butter beer,” he says. “Please.” And it’s clear to
James it’s an afterthought.

James wants to laugh, because Remus being jealous of Rosmerta is truly hilarious. He knows for a
fact that Sirius only flirts with her because she’s been letting him drink alcohol since way before he
was old enough to do it legally. Still. James supposes he too would be irked if Regulus went around
winking at pub owners.

He asks for a mulled beer like Sirius, because he’s never had it and he’s curious, then looks around
the pub surreptitiously while the girls place their orders. He spots Crouch and Rosier by the bar,
but Regulus isn’t with them. Pandora isn’t here, as far as James could tell, so they could be
somewhere else together. That’s all of Regulus friends, James thinks. He’s been watching his name
on the map for a while now, and whenever Regulus is with other people, it’s one of these four, or
any combination of them.

“I didn’t know the Three Broomsticks had table service,” Dorcas comments as Rosmerta waltzes
away.

Marlene snorts. “They don’t. You can thank that absolute slut of a man right there.” She tilts her
head towards Sirius and gives him a little salute.

Dorcas stares at Marlene, horrified, but Sirius only chortles. “Come off it, McKinnon. Not my fault
Rosmerta isn’t into girls.”

Marlene pouts. “Do not rub my failure in my face.”

“I’ll rub—” Remus slaps his hand on Sirius’ mouth. “Nope,” Remus says. “You’re not being
obscene in front of polite company.”

Sirius wiggles his eyebrows, then licks Remus’ palm. James can tell, because it’s Sirius and they
share a braincell. It’s what James would do.

Shockingly, or perhaps not so much, Remus doesn’t let go. Sirius’ eyebrows take a nosedive into a
frown, and now James can tell he’s pouting under Remus’ hand.

Dorcas is watching with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. Lily is shaking her head, but she’s
amused by the antics.

Mary rolls her eyes. “Honestly, you two,” she says, pointing a finger at Remus, then Sirius. “Need
professional help.”

Remus lets go of Sirius, who immediately scowls at him, and it reminds James so much of Regulus
he feels a little sick for a moment. Remus wipes his hand on Sirius’ jeans.

“Not cool, Remus,” Sirius says. “Making me look bad in front of the girls.”

“You don’t need my help for that,” Remus deadpans.

Sirius brings his hands to his chest in mock hurt, gasping loudly. “Ouch!”

Dorcas chortles, and both of them look at her. “Sorry,” Dorcas says, but she’s still laughing. Full
on giggling. Marlene watches her, and her kohl-rimmed eyes twinkle with something James has
never seen in Marlene before. He likes it. He’s happy for her.

Dorcas is still laughing. Sirius huffs like he’s offended, even though James knows he isn’t. Remus
is blushing.

“Oh, Salazar’s cape on a pole,” Dorcas says, wiping a tear off her cheek. “I just wasn’t expecting
that.”

“What part?” Mary asks, genuinely curious.

“Cape on a pole?” Lily mutters under her breath. “Never heard that one before.”

“The dramatics? Lupin gently roasting Black? It’s just funny,” Dorcas says, a little bashful now,
like she’s embarrassed by her reaction.

“I’m not dramatic,” Sirius says, putting his elbows on the table. Remus’ scarf looks a little
ridiculous with the rest of Sirius outfit, but he’s not going to point it out.

Marlene scoffs. “Yes, you are.”

“Yes, you are,” Lily adds. Mary, too.

“James!” Sirius says.

“Least dramatic person I’ve ever met,” James says immediately, no hesitation. Perfect delivery,
too. His voice didn’t waver. Not even a little bit.

There’s a chorus of ‘oh, come on!’ around the table, but Sirius is leaning back like he’s got not a
care in the world and smirking. “James’ opinion is the only one that matters,” he says casually.
“So. Case closed.”

Dorcas looks at Marlene. “Are they always like this?”

Marlene shakes her head. “No. They’re usually worse.”

“You get used to it,” Remus says with the air of someone who’s been suffering torture for years.

Lily taps Sirius’ shoulder. “Excuse me for a moment,” she says. And to James’ surprise, Sirius
seems to know exactly what Lily means, because he ducks forward, leaving the way open for Lily
to smack Remus over the head gently. “Don’t even pretend you aren’t worse than both of them
combined.”

James’ mouth opens, staring at Lily with delighted shock. Sirius sits up, throws his head back and
laughs. It’s loud, and one of James’ favourite sounds in the world. Judging by the look on Remus’
face, he shares the sentiment.

When Sirius recovers, he turns to Lily and high-fives her. “Get in Red! That’s what I’m talking
about.”

“I have done nothing to deserve this attack on my character,” Remus complains, though he, too is
smiling.

Rosmerta arrives with their drinks, and they talk, and laugh, and joke the rest of their day away in
the pub. James does, occasionally, wonder what it would feel like if Regulus could be with them,
the way Dorcas is with Marlene. He knows it’ll never happen, because Regulus doesn’t strike him
as the kind of person to enjoy a crowded booth. But it’s a nice thought. It warms James’ chest and
makes him smile into his drink.

Maybe one day, he thinks.

 They've got all the time in the world.

One day.

Chapter End Notes

Little montage of roof moments because I believe in people getting to know each other
a little before they really open up... but that means the first kiss is coming :)
 A Jealous Tantrum
Chapter Summary

The First Kiss

Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

It's taken 100K words, but the First Kiss has arrived. Our favourite idiots in love are
getting there <3

TWs for this chapter

Internalised homophobia
Smoking
Underage drinking
Minor violence
Mentions of past violence and bleeding (the Snape incident)
Mentions of past child abuse

I think that's all of it!

Feel free to scream in the comments about these two finally getting together if you
want - I'm here for it. This has to be one of my favourite chapters <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Interlude: Sirius POV

Sirius is a little tipsy, but he’s warm and happy. He’s leaning on Remus, who has his arm over his
shoulders, as they walk back towards the castle. It’s been a good day. One of those in which Sirius
remembers that there are good people in his life. People who can laugh, and take a joke, and even
disagree with each other without pulling out wands and threatening dismemberment.

Sirius has cigarettes in his pocket, and his best friend right next to him, and everyone else he likes
is walking in front of them. James is at the very front of the group, walking like he’s in a rush to
get back which Sirius doesn’t understand. Why is James in such a hurry when everything that
matters is right here?

He fishes the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and takes one out, then offers it to Remus. He
takes one, too. Sirius lights his first, then Remus’ and gets to watch the flame dance in his eyes.

Remus is beautiful.

Sirius is fucking confused about it.

He remembers the incident with Snivellius only through a sort of haze. There was a ton of pain, but
physical pain has no power over Sirius so he was mostly fine. Until he wasn’t. He felt weak,
lightheaded. Dark spots appeared in his vision. Sirius wound up on the floor, clinging to Remus for
some reason. And then, he started to get cold. So cold.

It felt to Sirius as though death had arrived in the corridor, searching for him. The cold burrowed in
his marrow, spreading through his body so quickly Sirius understood he was a goner. He was going
to die.

He was going to die in Remus’ arms, because Remus was still trying to save him. He was so upset,
frantically casting healing spell after healing spell and Sirius wanted to tell him that it was okay.
That he knew Remus was doing everything he could, and Sirius didn’t blame him.

Remus had looked at him, amber eyes wide and so fucking terrified. And Sirius had become
overwhelmed by a sense of loss so strong he’d momentarily forgotten to be afraid of dying.

And in that moment, that breath when Sirius was hyper aware of Remus and his fear and his pain,
all Sirius could think was He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him.

There was regret. So much regret it coated every drop of blood leaking from Sirius’ mangled body.
Sirius had realised that he wasn’t going to see another day, and the thing that weighed on him was
that he’d never told Remus how beautiful he was.

Sirius glances sideways, to his friend. Walking towards the castle with an arm thrown over Sirius’
shoulders, a jumper that’s too big for him, and a glint in his eye because eventually Remus did have
mulled beer, too.

Beautiful.

He’s so unaware of it. Just. Remus is. He’s cool, and smart, and a little mean sometimes but that’s
okay because he’s so much more intelligent than anyone else he’s allowed to get irritated. He’s
handsome, and sexy, and cheeky, and he acts like he’s not even conscious of it. It makes Sirius a
little frustrated, if he’s honest.

Sirius doesn’t know what any of this means. Or he does, but he can’t. He can’t. It’s not him, is it?
Sirius doesn’t feel that way about Remus because Remus is his friend.

And yet, Sirius has never had the urge to press his lips against James’. He’s never wondered what
would happen if he bit under James’ jaw. He’s never caught himself staring at James’ body, or
losing his breath over the shape of James’ hands.

All of those things have happened to him about Remus. But they’re just intrusive thoughts, right?
It’s normal to have strange urges. To wonder about things that one knows one doesn’t actually
want. Because he doesn’t.

But Sirius almost died, and he was so full of regret. And what does it mean?

It can’t mean anything. Not for him.

Honestly, Sirius thinks it’s been too long since he hooked up with someone. He’s a young man, and
he loves sex, and he hasn’t had it in forever. It’s building up, and he hasn’t had any action. Surely,
it’s normal that he’s getting a little confused and his brain is latching onto the first available
person.

Because Sirius is extremely aware of the fact that Remus likes boys. This is fine. Sirius doesn’t
judge, and he’ll hurt anyone who dares to. It’s just that knowing Remus likes boys makes Sirius a
little nervous, in the sense that… well. Sirius has wondered if Remus has ever looked at him that
way. Has he? Does Remus think Sirius is hot? He hopes so. He’s very good looking, he knows.
Remus must agree, right? But Sirius has never asked.

Anyway. Sirius thinks that because Remus likes boys, his brain has decided to fixate on him
because he’s frustrated. In a… theoretical way only. Because Remus likes boys and Sirius is a boy.
Given how frustrated he’s been lately, it’s not strange that his mind has decided Remus is a
possible outlet. Which he isn’t, not really, but that’s why intrusive thoughts are intrusive, right?

And who can blame him?

Sirius glances sideways at Remus yet again. He can’t help himself. Remus doesn’t notice, because
he’s smoking contentedly, walking next to him. It’s dark now, and Sirius tells himself that’s why
he can stare. No one can see. No one will catch him. Not even Remus.

Remus is so handsome it should be illegal.

Sirius shouldn’t be noticing it. He is. But he shouldn’t. He has to stop. He needs to find an outlet. A
real one. Someone to fool around with for a while.

“You okay?” Remus asks, flicking the butt of his cigarette away.

Sirius nods, finishes his own smoke. “Peachy.”

Remus smiles. His scarf is still wrapped around Sirius’ neck and it smells so nice. Chocolate, and
parchment. And Sirius hopes Remus doesn’t ask for it back so he can keep it for a little while.

“Marlene and Dorcas look good together,” Remus says, looking ahead. The girls are walking with
their hands interlinked, flanked by Mary and Lily. Mary looks a little like a bodyguard on duty,
checking their surroundings at all times just in case they run into people.

Lily, however, is staring at the back of James’ head, who’s walking ahead of them with Peter.
Olive stayed in Hogsmeade a bit longer to catch up with her friends.

“Red’s not told him yet, has she?” Sirius asks, curious.

He doesn’t need to specify. Remus gets his meaning straight away. “No. I think she’s hoping James
will realise it on his own.”

Sirius snickers. “No way. Prongs’ not observant like that.” He runs a hand through his hair, smirks.
“Should we tell him?”

Remus shakes his head. “Lily made me promise I wouldn’t say anything. She doesn’t think James
likes her anymore.”

Sirius sighs, looks ahead and finds the back to James’ head. “Well, it’s too little too late, right? She
rejected him like a million times. Should have thought it through.”

Remus snorts, and Sirius beams up at his friend. “James was insufferable then.”

“Slander!” Sirius says immediately, looking outraged. “I won’t stand for it.”

“You’re biased.”

“So are you,” Sirius counters. “You’re friends with Red and it’s clouding your judgement.”
“I’m also friends with James,” Remus says.

“Yeah, well,” Sirius retorts. “Fifth year was shameful for everyone.”

He’d rather not think about it, thanks. It was the worst year of his life. If Sirius could go back, he’d
do it differently. But he can’t, and he has to live with the knowledge that he betrayed one of his
closest friends. Not his proudest moment.

“Do you want to practice patronuses in the dorm?” Remus asks him, changing topic swiftly. Sirius
is grateful for it.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s do that.”

Sirius likes practicing patronuses because it forces him to think of the good times. The happy
times. And watching a physical manifestation of those good memories is one of the best feelings
ever. It’s proof to him that he’s not all rot. There are good parts inside of him, and if he focuses on
them, he can grow them.

The darkness has teeth, and it wants to bite, but Sirius fights back. Day and night. He fights. And
when he casts patronuses he thinks of his friends and of their best times together. And the light
pours out of him like he’s the star he was named after.

####

Regulus has hit a wall.

There is, as far as he can tell, no record of what happened when Tom Riddle was given the award
for special services to the school. It’s almost like someone wanted to sweep it all under the rug. On
the one hand, this makes Regulus even more curious. On the other, he’s frustrated as fuck because
he’s spent the better part of his Saturday in the library and has literally nothing to show for it.

He hasn’t spoken to Slughorn yet, because the man is annoying and he’s still talking about the
Great British Brew-Off, but Regulus is going to have to. Because he’s not making any progress and
he can’t be wasting any more time.

He's hungry, and annoyed, and tired when he makes his way back to his dorm to dump his books
before going to grab dinner. The only highlight is that James should be on the roof again tonight,
hopefully with more cigarettes. So.

Regulus takes a shower and is getting dressed when Barty, Evan and Dorcas arrive back from their
visit to Hogsmeade.

“Hello Reg!” Barty greets, too loud and cheerful.

Barty is tipsy, which clues Regulus into what they spent all day doing—drinking at the Three
Broomsticks. Rosmerta, the pub owner, cannot resist a handsome face so Barty gets away with
murder. He’s been drinking alcohol there since last year.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Evan, he’s your problem now. Deal with it.”

Evan snickers, but he gently tugs Barty towards their side of the room. “No wait!” Barty protests.
“Reg. Dorcas has to tell you about her date. She wouldn’t shut up about Marleeeeeene!” Barty says
in a singsong voice.

Dorcas sighs, and helps Evan drag Barty towards the bed. Evan proceeds to help Barty out of his
clothes which is nowhere near as sexy as it should be given Barty is mostly just… sitting there.
Limp.

“Well?” Regulus asks Dorcas.

She beams. “It was so nice!” Dorcas does a little twirl in the middle of their room. “Mary came
with us to do some shopping, but she mostly stayed away unless there were people nearby so it felt
like a date. And then we went to the pub with Marlene’s friends.”

Dorcas pauses, frowns. Regulus waits. He wants to hear this, because Marlene’s friends are
Gryffindors. James is a Gryffindor. There’s a chance James was there, and Regulus wants to know.

He’s got it so bad. Regulus can’t even pretend he doesn’t anymore, because most of his brain
power these days is devoted to thinking about James. When he’s not obsessing over his revenge,
James is all he thinks about. Constantly. Wonderfully.

Embarrassingly, too. But no one can read Regulus’ mind so it’s okay. He’s used to disappointing
himself, so this new level of pathetic is nothing to be alarmed by. So long as no one else catches
on, he’s fine.

Regulus needs help. He knows. It’s not… he’s not normal. He’s like, aware of it. He has scars on
his soul and a cage of bones guarding a dead, frozen thing that will never beat again. But also, he’s
a teenage boy accosted by hormones who has a horrific crush on the captain of a sports team. Talk
about a cliché.

So yes. Regulus needs help. He has zero interest in getting it because the James in his head likes
him back and that’s nice. So. He won’t stop. Delusion is a fantastic place to be, in his opinion.

“Your brother was there,” Dorcas says instead. Regulus almost groans out loud. People need to
stop walking on eggshells around him when it comes to Sirius. Regulus is aware Sirius exists. They
hate each other, and that’s fine. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Fascinating,” Regulus says.

Dorcas shrugs. “He’s funny. And him and Potter are scary, I swear.”

Evan looks over his shoulder. “Scary?”

“As in, they read each other’s minds?” Dorcas says. “It’s uncanny, but like in an adorable way? It
was fun to watch.”

“Oi, Dorcas!” Barty says, emerging from behind Evan only half-dressed. “Can you confirm Potter
finally got the redhead to go out with him?”

Regulus stomach drops. What?

“I think so?” Dorcas says cautiously. “I’m not sure what’s going on there. Mary seems to think
they’re a done deal, because apparently Lily likes Potter and they orchestrated some sort of date
today. But Marlene told me that she’s not convinced Potter is into her.”

“Well, they were holding hands in the pub,” Barty says. “I saw it. Evan saw it.”

Regulus can’t breathe.

“Holding hands?” Dorcas asks, gaping. “Are you sure?”

Regulus’ chest is caving in.

“It looked more like they were talking about something serious,” Evan says, shrugging.

“She was making eyes at him, and they were holding hands over the table,” Barty insists.

Bones and frost and stalactites. Ice cracking, breaking. Slicing through Regulus’ insides and
shedding blood. Crimson rivers flooding and washing over the empty tundra of his heart, dragging
away all that made Regulus ever want to smile.

“Are you sure?” Dorcas is asking Barty and Evan, intent and focused, like the answer matters.

“Yes,” Barty says.

“I guess? I don’t know, who cares anyway?” Evan adds.

Regulus. Regulus cares. He cares so much he’s about to be sick. James is seeing someone.
Someone who isn’t Regulus. A girl. Which, like, fair. But also no. Not fair. Because what
happened to the broom ride? And the promise of another one when it snowed? What about the
little looks, or the time he winked at him? What about James’ hitched breaths when Regulus
touched him or the way he put his chin on his shoulder when they were flying?

James said his eyes were lovely, and now he’s making eyes at a girl.

Regulus wants to scream. Sound is crawling up his throat, like the shock and hurt and rage have
legs and they’re making their way up so they can spill out of his mouth. He’s choking on it all,
drowning.

But Regulus can’t. Not right now. He clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together so hard he
wouldn’t be surprised if there was dust.

He needs to leave, go be alone. Except he can’t move.

“Reg?” Dorcas sounds alarmed, so Regulus forces himself to look at her. “Fuck,” Dorcas says. And
then, so softly Regulus reads it on her lips rather than hears it, “I’m sorry.”

No.

No.

“I’m going to dinner,” Regulus says, storming out of their room and ignoring Dorcas calling his
name.

Regulus doesn’t go to dinner. Obviously. He feels as though he’ll never be able to eat again. His
stomach is a churning storm of things he can’t name, all swirling together and making him feel
weak.

He doesn’t go to the roof, either. He’s not going to that fucking roof ever again. He doesn’t want to
see James ever again. Because they were just getting closer, weren’t they? It was happening.
Nights upon nights on that roof. Talking. Sharing. Regulus told him his favourite song, for
Merlin’s sake. And what was it for? It was all for nothing. A waste. A cruel joke of the universe.

Regulus honestly just wants to break something. His chest is hurting, which is preposterous
because his chest is frozen, empty, a tundra of pain and bones and nothing else.

Except.
It hurts.

Regulus needs it to stop hurting. He’ll do anything for it to stop hurting because the cold is safe.
It’s familiar. It’s what allows him to think clearly and focus on what must be done.

So Regulus decides to go to the classroom. The one where he practices. It’s in a corner of the
castle, tucked away behind several broom closets. Judging by the dust covering the corridor,
nobody comes here, let alone use any of them. He shoves the door open aggressively, because he
needs this ache to leave him and he feels as though inflicting it on other shit will help.

Dark magic lingers in the air, trapped and concentrated from many sessions. There are no
windows, so it can’t escape. There’s no relief in this room. No mercy. No quarter. It chokes
Regulus, coats his throat like bitter slush. It reminds him of his house. Shadowed, gloomy.
Oppressive and eerie.

He tears his robes off and rolls his shirtsleeves up. And he begins. Regulus dances through the
classroom casting curse after curse. He’s made targets out of the discarded furniture, transfiguring
the pieces into dummies that are shaped like people. It’s grotesque, because Regulus didn’t spend
much time doing it properly—he couldn’t be bothered—so the proportions aren’t great and some
look more humanoid than others. The creepy collection of silhouettes watches him obliterate them
one by one.

There’s no method to this madness. Regulus is angry, and he’s letting it consume him. He should
have never strayed from this to begin with. He should have held on to his promise to himself, the
one made in the dark of the night as he watched Sirius drag his broken body away alone.

Regulus wants revenge. It’s his driver, his motivation. The thing that keeps him here, focused and
ready. The one goal that keeps him moving even on days when it would be easier to stay still.

Regulus lets the biting ache and the anger spread through him. It’s familiar. It’s known to him. Ice
cold and overwhelming. Frost. Bones and a cage and a dead thing that shouldn't be feeling anything
but somehow is. Unnacceptable. Pathetic.

Regulus dances, and his wand flies, and curses of all sorts hit dummies that tear to pieces, or
explode into flames, or shrivel and die like plants without water. Regulus hates James Potter for
making him like this. And he feeds that. He leans into it. The humiliation of knowing Regulus
thought what they were doing was different to what it really was.

The hatred spreads over every inch of who he is. He shouldn’t have had hope. Hope is for the
weak. Hope is fucking useless, it’s what it is. Because he had a little bit of it for once in his life and
look where it got him.

He’s throwing a jealous tantrum over James Fucking Potter.

Regulus stops, panting. Every muscle screams at him to take a moment. There are no more
dummies in the room. He’s torn through them all, but the ache is still there, clawing at the shell of
his cold heart and squeezing. It’s quite extraordinary that a dead, frozen thing in a cage of bones
can still hurt.

Regulus waves his wand and rebuilds the dummies. They’re even more grotesque than before,
because he did make a mess of them. It’s poetic, he thinks, how the room reflects what’s inside of
him. He’s a mess of a boy in a mess of a room surrounded by darkness and the scars of magic
dangerous enough to make any wizard hesitate.
He sets his shoulders back, tugs his shirt away from his skin. He’s sweating and the fabric has
stuck. Doesn’t matter.

He starts again. The dance. The curses. The blazing fury and the only outlet he knows. The only
one he allows himself because what else can he do? He can’t tell anyone. And he can’t break down
and cry. Not over this. Not over something that didn’t even exist.

“Regul—Oh shit!”

Regulus stops, twirls on his feet, eyes wide. He’s panting, and his wand is raised. James is
crouching by the door, and right above him, where his chest would have been a second ago, the
scorched mark of one of Regulus’ curses.

There’s a moment when Regulus feels happy. He feels… relieved. James came looking for him.
And that’s the problem. This right here is why Regulus is losing his shit. Because James Potter
doesn’t know what he’s doing to him, or he does and he doesn’t care. Either way, it has to stop. He
cannot be friends with him. Regulus doesn’t want to be friends with him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Regulus says.

James looks up, eyes wide behind his glasses. He pushes himself to his feet and takes in the room,
and the state Regulus is in.

“You didn’t go to the roof,” James says like it explains anything.

“Not doing that anymore,” Regulus says. “Now, leave.”

He can see James isn’t fully listening. He seems distracted, though Regulus isn’t sure what exactly
is distracting him. James looks a little bewildered, too. He glances at Regulus.

“Are you alright, Regulus?”

And that. Regulus feels the cracks spreading over the ice. Four words like four spikes chipping
away at the walls he’s made, because James asks with genuine concern. The idiot has no idea this
is all for him. This is all his fault. Regulus wants to tell him. To yell at him to open his fucking
eyes and see what’s right in front of him, that he’s torturing him, and Regulus can’t take it anymore
but also that the idea that he’ll never talk to James again makes him want to crawl into a hole and
let the worms eat him.

“You need to leave,” Regulus says, gripping his wand tightly.

“No,” James says. “Something’s obviously upset you. Let me help.”

“I don’t want your help!” Regulus snaps, raising his wand.

James walks forward. Regulus doesn’t move. Doesn’t back away. And James doesn’t stop until the
tip of the wand is poking his chest. He looks at Regulus, hazel eyes determined and fierce.

“Let’s try this,” James says. “I don’t need to know what happened to help you work it out of your
system. So.”

James draws his wand and turns, pointing at a dummy at random. “Are we blowing them up or
what?”

Regulus stares at him. This guy is fucking unbelievable. He’s… pure. He’s just pure. Fucking light
and warmth and goodness. Regulus doesn’t deserve any of it, and yet here James is, willing to go
along with whatever he was doing for no reason other than he seems to think it’s what Regulus
needs.

Any other circumstances and it would be. Regulus thinks they could have fun. James is a very
good wizard. They could even duel for fun. Hurt each other just a little, enough that they could
then heal each other. Break down into pieces so they can be put back together better.

Except James is dating Lily fucking Evans apparently, which is just… it makes sense, Regulus
thinks. And it’s what James deserves, because he doesn’t have to hide to be near Evans. He can
touch her and kiss her—

“You need to get the fuck out of here right now,” Regulus says through gritted teeth. He shouldn’t
have thought of James kissing Evans. He really shouldn’t have, but he did, and Regulus is a second
away from going on another rampage.

His tone must give him away, because when James turns to look at him, he’s a little wary.
“Regulus, are you mad at me?”

“Yes,” Regulus spits out, because he is. He can’t be. He has no right to be. But he is. “So go away
and leave me alone.”

James’ face turns to one of shock, then confusion, then dismay. It’s quite impressive to Regulus
that he can display so many emotions so clearly on his features. Regulus could never, not even if
he tried. Which he doesn’t. He never will.

“What did I do?” James asks.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Regulus insists.

He can feel his control slipping. It’s all too much. The jealousy, the pain. James being here with
him in this room. He has to feel the dark magic. He must. It’s impossible not to. And he hasn’t even
asked Regulus about it.

James hesitates, then seems to make a decision of some sort and sets his shoulders. “No.”

“No?”

“No, I’m not leaving here until you tell me why you’re mad at me.” There’s a muscle on James’
jaw that’s ticking, and he’s gripping his wand a little too hard. “It’s not fair, and I won’t have it.”

It takes Regulus a moment to realise that James is angry. And… well. Regulus’ mouth is dry now,
so there’s that, too.

James isn’t done. “Last time I saw you, everything was fine. And now it’s not, and I cannot for the
life of me figure out why that might be, so you are going to tell me,” James says, and he looks at
Regulus like he’s challenging him. “So stop being fucking rude, and let’s have it out like grown
ups, or do you only take it out on furniture because it can’t fight back?”

“Oh, you don’t!”

“Yes, I very much fucking do!” James snaps. Harsh. Loud.

Regulus feels hot all over, which is insane, but also… okay. Angry James works for him,
apparently.
“Why are you mad at me, Black?”

“Oh, it’s Black now, is it?”

James’ eyes flash. “What the fuck is your problem!?”

And Regulus hates him so much he can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but rise to the
challenge. He’s helpless, hopeless. He’s a mess of a boy in front of the man he likes and Salazar
Slytherin help him, because he’s going to need it.

“You holding hands with Lily Evans is my problem! You and your stupid fucking face showing up
here like your girlfriend isn’t waiting for you in your dorm! That’s my problem!”

Regulus’ panting is all that can be heard in the silence that follows.

James blinks. Pockets his wand. Regulus wants the ground to open and swallow him. Lightning to
smite him. Anything that will get him away from here and James and the implications of what he
just said.

“I need to be one hundred percent clear about this,” James says carefully. “There can be zero
confusion. So.”

“Leave,” Regulus says, looking down at his feet. He’s mortified enough. James should have the
decency of granting him some privacy now.

But he doesn’t. No. Instead, suddenly, unexpectedly, James’ hand is touching Regulus’ chin and
forcing his face up and Regulus is going to die now. Thank you. Goodbye.

“Regulus, are you jealous? Is that what’s happening?”

Regulus shoves James away, hands on chest, pushing as hard as he can. James is caught by surprise
and stumbles backwards.

“Go on,” Regulus says, practically snarling. “Laugh at me. It’s about fucking time.”

“Regulus,” James replies softly. So softly that Regulus has to look at him. He has no choice.
Because he’s always liked it when James says his name but this one time? James sounds like he’s
worshipping and it’s Regulus on his altar. It’s possibly the best thing Regulus has heard in his
entire life. So, of course he folds. How could he not?

When their eyes meet, James opens his mouth and proceeds to completely, thoroughly obliterate
the world as Regulus understands it.

“As hot as you look when you’re worked up about something, there is zero reason you should be
jealous of Lily or of anyone because there isn’t one fibre of my being that isn’t absolutely and
ridiculously obsessed with you,” James says earnestly.

Regulus’ wand clatters to the floor, and then he’s stepping forward a little, and so is James and
now they’re standing close, so close, their shoes are touching. Regulus tilts his head up and looks
at him and his brain exists his skull because James is staring at his mouth.

“You’re not dating Lily?”

“No,” James says. “If you must know, I bought her a drink because she helped me source the
Rubik’s cube that I wanted so I could bring it to the roof and have an excuse to stare at your
hands.”

“Hands?” Regulus is becoming incoherent.

“Yes. They’re lovely, Regulus. You’re lovely. Beautiful. Smart,” James says, and then, in a softer
tone, “You’re all I think about. All the time. Just you.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” James announces. Regulus thinks he’s going to burst out of his skin.
But James isn’t moving. Why isn’t James moving? He said he was going to kiss him but he isn’t.
And Regulus—ah.

Oh.

“Yes,” Regulus says.

James kisses him like he’s imagined it a million times and knows exactly what he wants. His hands
cradle Regulus’ face, and it should make him uncomfortable but it really, really doesn’t. He tilts
Regulus’ face up to adjust the angle and then James runs the tip of his tongue along Regulus’
lower lip. It’s a fucking miracle Regulus doesn’t pass out from that alone. He opens his mouth, lets
James in, and Merlin’s beard on fire, Barty was an amateur. James is… James is everywhere at
once. Regulus’ entire universe, narrowed down to the point where their tongues are touching, and
their lips are moving, and is that?

Oh, fuck.

James bites Regulus’ lip and he makes the most embarrassing noise he’s ever made in his entire
life. He can feel his cheeks on fire, but he doesn’t want to stop this, whatever this is. And James,
apparently, likes the noise Regulus made because he only kisses him deeper, better, more.

Regulus plunges one hand in James’ hair and it’s James that groans this time, and Regulus’ fingers
tighten. He gets it now. The noise. He was wrong before. This is the best sound he’s heard in his
entire life and all he wants is to make James make it again.

James breaks the kiss, and Regulus braces himself for the inevitable regret. Or whatever it is James
has to say to pretend this didn’t just happen. Which is fine. Regulus will be fine.

But James isn’t interested in commentary. James isn’t interested in anything but Regulus, which
Regulus can’t believe, doesn’t understand, but he’s not questioning it because oh Merlin fuck.

James trails soft kisses and bites under the line of Regulus’ jaw, his fingers tangling in the curls at
the back of his neck. Regulus head falls to the side of its own accord, but he’s on board with this,
because James attacks his neck and Regulus can only hold on for dear life and pray his legs don’t
buckle.

James returns to his mouth at some point—could have been a minute, could have been a lifetime—
Regulus isn’t sure. Regulus doesn’t care. They’re kissing again. And then Regulus is sitting on a
desk and James is standing between his legs, and they’re still kissing. There’s hands running up
arms, and in their hair, and over their chest. And tongues and teeth and lips.

Regulus has died and, against all odds, gone to fucking heaven.

James pulls away suddenly, his hands, which Regulus is only just now realising are on his thighs,
stilling. “We need to stop,” James says. It’s winded, and breathless, and Regulus disagrees.
Vehemently.

“No, we don’t.”

James laughs, cradles his face again and tilts it so he can look at him properly. “We do, because
I’m this close to losing my mind. And you deserve better.”

“I really don’t,” Regulus argues.

“I think you do,” James says gently, putting a little bit of space between them.

Regulus sighs. Shrugs. “Fine. Your loss.”

James smirks. “Really?”

Regulus pushes him back a little, slides off the desk. James catches him by the waist and pulls him
in, close. They’re kissing again, and Regulus can’t help but to smile against James’ mouth. He
notices, but James doesn’t seem to mind.

It’s another lifetime before they do break apart for real, mostly because they need to breathe at
some point. Stupid lungs.

“Regulus,” James says, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the
day I ran into you in the Quidditch changing rooms.”

“Stop it,” he says.

James only smiles. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“You’re making me uncomfortable,” Regulus replies, but he’s smiling, too. He can’t help it.

“I’m sorry?”

“You're an idiot,” Regulus says. And it’s just. They stay that way for a moment, eyes wide and
cheeks flushed. Lips swollen and breathing a little too fast.

James sighs, then steps back. He drops his hands and Regulus feels the loss of contact like a bucket
of iced water. James runs a hand over his face, smacks his lips.

“Alright. Okay,” he says, and he’s making Regulus nervous now which just won’t do. “I need…
you’re not going to like it. But I need to talk to Sirius about this.”

“No,” Regulus says immediately. “You can’t do that.”

“Regulus, he’s my best friend.”

“I don't care if he's the freaking Minister for Magic. You cannot tell him,” Regulus insists.

Sirius can’t find out. He can’t, because this is the best thing that has ever happened to Regulus and
Sirius will ruin it. He’ll take James away. Leave Regulus alone in the cold again. And he knows
warmth now. Knows the feel of it because it's everywhere in James. His lips, his hands, his hair.
His very skin is made of it, and the cold never bothered Regulus before. But now? Now Regulus
wants the heat.

Sirius can't take that away from him. Not again.

James buries both his hands in his hair. He looks distressed, and Regulus kinda hates that it was
him who did that, but also. He cannot tell Sirius.

“I want to kiss you again,” James says, making Regulus’ head spin. He can’t keep track of this guy.

“Seconded,” he says, because what else?

“I cannot do this again until I’ve told Sirius,” James announces.

And Regulus is rolling his eyes. “You did just fine right now.”

James smirks. Regulus raises his eyebrows, a smug look on his face. It’s a good point and he
knows it. James chuckles, sighs. “Listen, I thought I’d have more time. I wasn’t even sure you…”
He gestures vaguely between them. “But the plan was always to tell Sirius if I became sure that this
was something that could happen. Something that you wanted.”

Regulus leans back against a desk so he can look nonchalant but also because hearing James talk
about the fact that he’d made plans around the possibility of them getting together is making him
weak in the knees.

“If you tell Sirius, this will never happen again,” Regulus says, using the same little hand gesture
between them that James did a moment ago.

He frowns. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s a fact,” Regulus counters. “He’ll forbid you from seeing me again.”

James’ expression softens. He walks over to Regulus, still leaning against a desk, and comes to a
stop right in front of him. James lifts a hand and Regulus watches it with trepidation. And James,
fucking James, asks him, “This alright?”

Regulus nods wordlessly, and James’ hand traces his cheekbone before resting there, palm cupping
his face. Regulus relaxes into it. He’s got no choice. James’ hand is so warm, and a little rough
because he’s a chaser, and the feel of it on his skin is delicious.

“Sirius can’t keep me from this,” James says. “He can tell me doesn’t like it. He can tell me he
wants me to stop. I don’t have to listen.”

Regulus scowls. “So much for a best friend.”

“We do shit the other doesn’t like all the time,” James tells him. “That’s okay. We’re not each
other’s keepers. What we don’t do is lie to each other. I’m going to tell Sirius, Regulus. That’s a
fact. And I’ll look for you after I do. It’s up to you whether you want me to find you.”

####

James wakes up to the sound of screaming. He hasn’t slept much, because when he finally made it
to his bed he was too wired to rest. He’s disoriented for a moment, rubbing his eyes with the back
of his hands. When it hits him, it hits him like a strike of lightning.

He kissed Regulus.

Regulus kissed him back.

His entire body tingles with awareness, like there’s light in his blood now and it’s coursing through
him brighter and faster than before. He’s never felt anything like it. Part of him wonders if he
should be a little wary, because it’s not normal, is it? He shouldn’t feel this way. This intensely.
Not yet, anyway.

But James has been in a constant state of elation since it happened. What a fucking kiss. Kisses,
because there were several. Oh, Godric have mercy on him James is doomed. Regulus has ruined
him. It’s only happened the once, and James cannot imagine himself ever wanting to kiss anyone
else again. Why would he when Regulus Black exists?

The smile on James’ face won’t ease. He wants to stay right where he is and replay the kissing in
his mind over and over again.

But there’s screaming in his room, and James has no choice but to check what it’s about. He wants
it on the record that he is not very well pleased about it.

Shoving the curtains aside, James slides off his bed in his pyjamas and is confronted with a
humongous plant that seems to be playing tag with Remus, Sirius, and Peter. James blinks. Cleans
his glasses. Tries again.

Yep. Huge plant—almost reaching the ceiling levels of huge—with purple tentacles trying to catch
his friends who are frantically vaulting over furniture and dodging to the best of their ability.

“What in the name of all that is holy is happening?” James exclaims, slack jawed.

This is a mistake, because the plant clocks that there’s a new participant and a tentacle immediately
darts towards him. James isn’t sure how exactly it happens, but he’s running now. In circles. Over
furniture and beds and discarded clothes and broken bits of things.

It’s too early for this, James thinks as he shoves Remus aside to put him out of range of yet another
tentacle. Honestly, how many does this thing have?

“Sorry!” Peter is shouting. “I forgot to feed it early morning and it got angry.”

James is going to kill Peter for this. Because he should be in bed giggling to himself over Regulus
instead of… whatever it is he’s doing now.

“Enough. I’m going to blast this fucking monstrosity into oblivion!” Remus is saying rather
threateningly. The effect is somewhat diminished by his panting and yelping as his foot gets caught
on the edge of Sirius trunks and he falls down, but still.

“No!” Peter cries. “You can’t hurt her.”

Sirius grabs Remus and they both roll away just in time to avoid tentacles darting towards them.
This plant is relentless, and James is tired and just. Can they please not? Honestly. One week. He
wants one week when something chaotic doesn’t happen to them. Is that too much? Is he asking
for the moon? He doesn’t think so.

“It’s a she?” Sirius asks, ducking under a tentacle then doing a cartwheel (?) to the side to get out
of the way of another one.

“Yes, a she!” Peter says. “She’s just upset. She’s really usually very nice.”

“Pete!” James bellows. “It’s a plant that’s trying to kill us.”

“It likes live bait,” Peter explains, like this isn’t disturbing news.
Remus grunts, one of the tentacles has hit him on the torso and thrown him against a bedpost. He
twirls out of the way before the plant can grab him, but that must have hurt. There’s going to be a
nasty bruise.

“What size is the live bait?” James asks, cursing under his breath when he kicks Peter’s bed with
his pinky toe.

“Usually rodents,” Peter explains. “But she’s too agitated now. I just passed out and forgot to feed
her. Not good.”

Sirius’ hair is a mess, sticking out in all directions and making him look a little mad. He jumps
from James’ bed to his own and points his wand squarely at Peter’s killer plant. “Enough of this
shit!” He yells. “Pete, you either get her to calm the fuck down in the next thirty seconds or I’m
bombarda-ing the hell out of it!”

“You cannot do that!” Peter shouts.

“Watch me!” Sirius raises his wand higher. Peter shrieks.

James ducks under a tentacle and jumps up on the bed next to Sirius, putting a hand on his
shoulder. “Pads. A moment,” James says. “Peter. How do we calm it down?”

“Well,” Peter says, vaulting over Remus’ bed to get away from a tentacle. “I need to go to the
greenhouses and get this potion to give it that will—”

“Not bloody happening,” Remus says. “Can we fix this right now without hurting it?”

Pete looks like he’s about to cry, but he shakes his head no. Remus looks at Sirius and nods. Sirius
doesn’t even blink before he’s making the plant explode in their room. It’s disgusting. Bits of
vegetable fly everywhere mixed with a slimey substance that sticks to their skin.

James can’t see anything because his glasses are covered in it, and now their room smells like a
swamp. This was not how James wanted today to go, if he’s honest. He should have stayed in bed
and fantasised about Regulus.

“Did it have to be so violent?” Peter asks mournfully.

“It was trying to eat us,” Sirius says, wiping his wand in his pyjama pants. He’s shirtless, as per
usual. “And now everything’s a mess.”

Remus sighs, looks up like he’s praying for divine intervention. It obviously doesn’t come, so he
grabs his wand from his bedside table and says, “Right. Well. We were due a clean up of the dorm
anyway.”

It takes them four hours to set everything to rights, because there’s slime and plant bits everywhere
but also because they stop frequently to have snacks. Remus bosses them around, which James
doesn’t mind because he’s kind of useless at domestic stuff anyway. Once their dorm is habitable
again, they take turns in the shower. James goes first, then Peter, then Sirius. When Remus comes
out of the shower, there’s a bruise already blooming over his ribs.

Sirius, who was munching on a shortbread biscuit, springs forward like someone bit his ass. James
thinks Sirius isn’t aware of what he’s doing. He’s simply noticed Remus is injured and reacted.

“That looks like it hurts,” Sirius says, now standing very close to Remus who is still in his towel
and looking extremely flustered. “Are you sure the ribs aren’t broken?”
Remus clears his throat. “I’m fine, Sirius.”

“Are you sure?” Sirius insists. “Stay still.”

Sirius brings his fingers to the blooming bruise gently, resting the pads of his index and middle
finger on Remus’ skin. He inhales sharply, but Sirius only mumbles something about cold hands.
James wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. How can he not see it?

“Does this hurt?” Sirius asks, and then he presses a little harder.

Remus winces. “Not that much. I’m sure they’re not broken. I’m fine.”

Sirius nods, steps back. Looks at Remus. “Okay,” he says simply. “Just making sure.”

Remus smiles, even though James is sure he’s dying inside. He would be, if that had been Regulus
and him. But Remus is so good at just pushing through. Ignoring his own feelings because
obviously Sirius is oblivious and not ready. James thinks Remus needs an award for patience.

Peter catches his eye, a look of ‘do something’ on his face but James shakes his head no. They
can’t meddle. Not with this. Because it’s so delicate, so fragile, that they could break it. That’s not
something James thinks they can come back from.

So he watches Sirius go back to his biscuits, wand in his hair, not a care in the world. And Remus
gets dressed with clumsy fingers, though no one but James can see because Remus’ back is to
them. Peter collects the remains of the clay pot the plant used to live in before it got angry and
tripled its size and leaves to bring it to the greenhouses.

James, Sirius and Remus head to lunch, because they all slept right through breakfast before plant-
gate. James is nervous, which is ridiculous. He’s been to lunch a hundred times before. It’s just any
other Sunday. Late October, almost Halloween. Full moon approaching, too. Nothing out of the
ordinary.

And yet everything is different.

James is different. He feels it pumping through his veins, straight from his heart to every part of
his body. It’s lining his lungs and fuelling his steps. He’s so fucking happy. Regulus likes him. It’s
genuinely blowing his mind. In a good way. In the best way.

As soon as they walk into the Great Hall, James’ eyes dart to the Slytherin table and Merlin’s beard
on fire. Regulus is there, sitting with Crouch and Rosier. Dorcas and Pandora are across from them,
and they’re all chatting, but Regulus is only listening. He looks a little distracted, and James hopes
fiercely that he’s thinking about yesterday.

They’re only by the Hufflepuff table when Regulus looks up and meets James’ eyes. It punches the
breath out of his lungs. Excitement and fear race through him because they’re looking at each other
and James feels like he’s going to spontaneously combust. He doesn’t understand how everyone
else is just… eating their lunch. Can’t they see this? Can’t they feel the way the air is electric
between Regulus and James?

Honestly, James is shocked nobody has noticed the temperature in the room has climbed up by
several degrees,

Regulus’ face is blank, a little scowl-y but not much. James knows this is just how Regulus is. He
wants to smile, but he can’t. He knows he can’t. And he hates it. James immediately decides he’s
going to come up with some sort of code so that he can tell Regulus how lovely, and beautiful, and
also hot as fuck he is without it being obvious.

James is a little breathless by the time he sits next to Sirius, who hasn’t noticed a thing. They
arrange their plates, begin to eat. The girls arrive and sit with them. There’s chatter, and gossip.
James isn’t listening. He wants to see Regulus again. To kiss him and hold him and touch him and
just to look at him and tell him everything he makes James feel.

But he can’t do that until he’s spoken to Sirius. So he has to tell Sirius.

James finds that he’s terrified of telling Sirius.

The whole thing has gotten out of control. It isn’t James’ fault, he thinks. He can’t be held
responsible for the whims of his heart. He had good intentions. He still does. And if he got a little
swept up in the process well.

James is suddenly acutely aware of how thoroughly he’s failed at his original mission. He doesn’t
even know whether Regulus is still aligned with his family. Part of James thinks no, because
Regulus is obviously into boys and that’s just not something the Black family would ever be even
remotely okay with.

But also. James can’t assume. He doesn’t know, and he was supposed to find out, but Regulus is
distracting and James just can’t deal. How is he expected to remember absolutely anything when
he can’t even remember his name if those green eyes are looking at him?

“Halloween,” Marlene says rather aggressively and seemingly out of nowhere, banging her hand on
the table for good measure.

James does a little startled jump that earns him a look from his friends because it’s unusual for him,
but no one comments because Remus—who loves Halloween as much as Marlene—is leaning
forward eagerly.

“Halloween,” he says. “Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are in. I haven’t asked Slytherin and I’m not
going to. No offense to Dorcas, she doesn’t count.”

Marlene nods. “Yeah, I spoke to her. She wants to come and bring some of her friends but it’s best
if we don’t officially try to bring their house into it. They’ll ruin the fun.”

“Do we have a location yet?” Mary asks.

Lily nods. “One of the greenhouses is out of commission, so we can do it there. Peter?”

“He’ll speak to Sprout off the record, but he doesn’t think it’ll be a problem at all,” Remus
confirms.

“And you boys will smuggle us drinks?” Mary asks.

Sirius nods, glances at James and then winks at Mary. “Leave that to James and me. We’ve got you
covered.”

“Can you do it before the Friday? It would be good to have them all stocked in the greenhouse,”
Lily says. “We’re going to set up decorations on Thursday.”

James is about to agree when Sirius shakes his head. “Nope, can’t do. Drinks will arrive on
Saturday and that’s final.”
 He looks at Remus so quickly it’s barely there, but James remembers. Wednesday is a full moon.
Remus will be weak and unwell Thursday and Friday. Sirius refuses to leave his side until he’s
completely recovered so he will not go to Hogsmeade at all. He will be irritable and just generally
unreasonable because he gets that way when Moony is hurting, which makes sense to James but
it’s slightly inconvenient timing if he’s completely honest.

James immediately feels like shit for thinking this, but Godric take pity on him, he can’t help it.
Regulus and his mouth have done something to him.

Because the full moon being so close means that if James wants a chance to kiss Regulus again this
week—he does, desperately; in fact, he wants to go kiss him right now—he has until Wednesday to
tell Sirius about it. James puts down his fork. No point playing with his food when he can’t eat it.
Not with the way his stomach is churning.

Chapter End Notes

Honourable mention to Sirius Confused Black and his complete inability to understand
his own feelings and to Remus Will of Steel Lupin for not pouncing on him after
plant-gate.

Dorcas The Queen Meadowes is onto Regulus. More of that coming later :)

I'm a bit busy the next two days so update most likely coming on Friday.

THANK YOU FOR KUDOS AND COMMENTS!!

 Confessions
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

This chapter has more angst that the previous ones, but it also has some fun, lighter
moments.

TWs for this chapter:

Internalised homophobia
Mentions of blood and murder (brief)
Mentions of past child abuse
Smoking
Mild violence magical and physical (someone gets punched)
Bullying and slur calling (the M slur for muggle borns, towards two random students
we don't know, but it happens)

I think that's it for this chapter! I hope you enjoy :D

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next two days are painful. James cannot describe them any other way. He wakes up aching,
and goes to bed yearning, and the space in between is full of stolen glances and impatience and
longing so fierce James feels lit up from the inside with it.

Every time his eyes catch Regulus’ across the hall at mealtimes or in a random corridor between
lessons, James has to physically retrain himself from walking up to him and saying something,
doing something, James doesn’t even know at this point. It’s not just the kissing. It’s Regulus. All
of him. His scowls, and his silence, and the bite in his voice when he calls James stupid.

James wants to talk to him about muggle things, or about Quidditch, or about music. He wants to
ask again for the name of his favourite song because it’s in French so obviously he didn’t retain it,
but he wants to listen to it until he can repeat every word.

If James was obsessed with Regulus before the kiss, now that he knows what it feels like he’s
absolutely one hundred percent gone on the kid. It’s eating him alive, how much he’s pining.

James sends Regulus a note on Monday morning with his owl and watches Regulus read it. There’s
no outward change, but James notices that Regulus folds the note and pockets it like it’s something
he wants to keep. James chooses to take that as a good sign.

The note is simple:

Can’t come to the roof until I’ve spoken to him. Haven’t had a chance yet.

James hopes it’s enough, because he really, really can’t go to the roof until he has worked up the
courage to talk to Sirius. He’s considered going back on his word and seeking Regulus out even
though he hasn’t told Sirius yet, but that’s a slippery slope. James knows that's the despair talking,
because he's better than this. He can’t do that to his best friend.

He won’t, no matter how much he’s yearning.

James knows he won’t be able to stop himself from kissing Regulus again if they find each other
alone, so it simply can’t happen. He has to stay away because James will endure the aching
longing of the wait, but he will not betray Sirius like that.

It’s hard. There are very few moments when him and Sirius are truly alone, and James—much to
his shame—chickens out. He’s not even sure what it is he’s afraid of, but he’s terrified. Perhaps
because Sirius has never forgiven and will never forgive Regulus for choosing to stay in that house.
Perhaps because Sirius hates himself for not fighting harder. For leaving his brother even though it
was Regulus’ choice. Or maybe, and this is also a possibility, Sirius will get protective and want to
smack James for touching his baby brother. Perhaps all the above. And James is confident in his
relationship with Sirius, but Regulus is Regulus. Sirius has deep, complex feelings James doesn’t
fully understand about his brother.

Still. James will tell him. He has to, because the alternative is that he keeps it secret, and Sirius
finds out later, and that can’t happen because James wouldn’t survive it if Sirius broke up with
him. In a platonic way. Doesn’t matter, what matters is that James won’t risk damaging his bond
with his brother, so he has to be brave and talk to him now. Before it’s too late.

The opportunity to tell him comes by way of a Quidditch practice on Tuesday. James is cutting it
close, what with the full moon the next day and everything. But he’s… well. He’s scared, because
this is so important and there are so many ways in which it can go wrong. James doesn’t want it to
go wrong. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to cope if it does.

Sirius tackles him at the end of their practice Tuesday evening, and the entire team leaves them
there fake-brawling on the grass as they do because they’re boys and they’re idiots and they love
each other beyond comprehension. By the time they make it to the showers, everyone else is long
gone. James knows it’s now or never, but he also feels weird telling Sirius he’s falling head over
heels for his little brother in the Quidditch changing room.

So, they shower in silence, and James finishes before Sirius does because the man spends an
exorbitant amount of time fixing his hair. And then James is dressed and waiting, and Sirius is
yanking his clothes on too.

“Prongs,” Sirius says as they walk out of the changing rooms together. “Can I help?”

James frowns, looks at his friend. “With what?”

“Whatever’s been on your mind for the past two days,” Sirius says simply. “Just… you know. I’m
here.”

James sighs heavily. They’re in the middle of a main corridor and it’s not the place. Anyone could
walk past any moment. But if he doesn’t do it now, he won’t do it at all, and James just cannot
imagine losing Regulus before he’s even had him. Not that Regulus is something to be had, it’s just
that well. James would like to see if they can be a thing. Together. Him and Regulus. A
relationship, James thinks. That’s what he wants, if Regulus wants it too.

“I need to tell you something, but I’ve been freaking out about telling you,” James blurts out. “I
don’t know how to tell you, Pads.”

Sirius frowns, looks away. Looks back at James. “Astronomy Tower?”

James nods. He’s in this now, and he has to see it through. The Astronomy Tower is the place they
go when they need to have serious one-to-ones. Doesn’t happen often. Last two to use it were
Sirius and Remus a whole year ago when they finally sorted it all out after the prank. But it’s
fitting, James thinks.

They climb through the castle in comfortable silence, because Sirius has no idea what James is
going to tell him, and he has blind trust in his best friend. James hopes Sirius can understand him.
He has to, right?

Godric help him. Sirius might push him off the tower.

They get there before James is ready, but he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be ready so it’s just as
well. He has to do this no matter what. They settle down at the edge of the tower, legs dangling
over the abyss. Sirius lights a cigarette and waits.

The forest spreads over the land. Beyond it, James can see the shadows of hills that go into
Scotland. Such a big world. And they’re just two boys in a school that feels like an entire universe.
But really? They’re small people in a big planet, aren’t they? James looks up at the stars. He knows
which one Sirius is. And he wonders where Regulus sits. If he can see him. He’s going to ask him
next time.

For there to be a next time, he has to start talking.

James doesn’t know where to start. How does he explain to Sirius what’s happened? He can’t just
say it. Can he?

James clears his throat. You’re a Gryffindor, James Potter. Act like one, he tells himself.

“Do you remember the day we told each other what our boggarts would be?” James asks. It’s as
good an opening as any, and James hopes to remind Sirius of who they are to each other. He hopes
that their bond is stronger than anything.

“Yeah. Of course I do. Is yours still…?” Sirius trails off, not able to say it.

He’s never managed to voice it, and James has only uttered the words out loud the once. The day
he told Sirius James’ boggart was James himself, covered in blood, standing over Walburga
Black’s corpse. He’s afraid of the darkness he felt the day Sirius ran away. Of what it could mean
for him if he let it in. Sirius understood it perfectly, because his boggart was him in a green tie and
a mean smirk. Standing proud as the heir to a house that hates and hurts and breaks.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s not why I’m bringing it up. I just… we swore we’d never keep important
things from each other,” James says. His heart is pounding, and his chest is tight. “Not even when
they’re... when we know the other might not be too happy about it or whatever.”

Sirius looks alarmed now. Downright worried. It melts James’ heart. “Did you hurt somebody?”
Sirius whispers. Then, without an ounce of hesitation, “It’s okay, Prongs. I’ll fix it. Remus will
help. We’ll destroy the evidence. Nobody—"

James loves him. Deeply. Profoundly. He loves him in a way he doesn’t fully understand because
it’s bigger than him. Bigger than them. He hopes that’s enough. Furiously, fervently, James hopes
that Sirius loves him the way he does. That he’ll understand.

“I haven’t hurt anyone. But I have a crush,” James says, cutting Sirius off. “As in, I fancy someone.
A lot.”
Sirius’ confusion pulls his eyebrows close together. He opens his mouth, then closes it again.
“Why did you start with boggarts to tell me about your crush?”

“Because I didn’t know how else to start,” James says, wringing his fingers together. His palms are
sweaty. “And that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever told you, and you didn’t even blink. I
don’t know, Pads. I’m freaking out.”

“Why?” Sirius asks, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You’ve had crushes before, James.”

“It’s a boy,” James blurts.

He watches Sirius process this. The thing is, James knows Sirius doesn’t have a problem with this
part. But he hadn’t anticipated that it might trigger something in Sirius. Because James can
immediately tell from the expressions crossing his face that Sirius is doing some mental
gymnastics that are taking him in the wrong direction.

Sirius’ shoulders tense, and he looks like he’s bracing to be punched directly in the gut. James is
confused, and honestly a little curious to hear what ridiculous story Sirius has come up with
because he knows whatever it is, it’s not the truth.

And James is rewarded when Sirius finally, finally, says through gritted teeth, “Remus?”

Godric Gryffindor help his best friend because his last braincell is echoing in his head.

James wants to hit him. Smack some sense into him. Honestly. “Godric, no,” James says, rolling
his eyes. “Not Remus.”

“Oh. Thank Merlin,” Sirius says with so much feeling James can only stare at him open mouthed.
This guy is absolutely clueless.

He’s half tempted to redirect the conversation and force Sirius to explore why he panicked so hard
at the idea that James’ crush might have been on Remus, but James can’t do that to himself. He
can’t do that to Regulus. Regulus is waiting for him—or James hopes he is—and he won’t take
Regulus' patience for granted.

Sirius composes himself, then nods at James. “Well, were you worried I wasn’t going to be okay
with it because it’s a dude? I’m not sure what I’ve done to make you think that, but do tell me so I
can rectify it immediately.”

James takes a fortifying breath. “I knew you were going to be fine with him being a boy.” He
hesitates. Has to swallow. “You might not be too happy about this one boy in particular though.”

“It’s not Remus, right?” Sirius confirms, slightly anxious again.

James rolls his eyes again. He can’t help it. “Merlin, Sirius, no. It’s not Remus.”

“Then I do not understand why I wouldn’t be okay with it. I don’t care who you date, James. If
they make you happy, I like them. If they hurt you, I’ll kill them. Simple,” Sirius says.

“Slytherin,” James whispers.

This, admittedly, seems to take Sirius by surprise. He blinks. Processes. Adjusts. “Alright. Not
ideal, obviously, but look at Marls. Dorcas is actually quite cool, and she’s a Slytherin. If we can
make an exception, we can make two.”
“He’s… his family history and stuff is a little complicated,” James says.

Sirius shrugs. “Can’t judge that part. Not me.”

“He plays Quidditch, too,” James adds, hoping Sirius will put it together so James doesn’t have to
actually say it.

“Is he good at school? Don't tell me he's dumb. You're better than dumb.”

“Yes,” James confirms. “Very good at school. Very smart, actually. Makes it look a little
effortless, if I’m honest.”

Sirius nods, pleased by this information. “And I’m guessing he’s handsome, right? You’ve got
standards, James,” Sirius says, teasing. “Blond? Brunet? A ginger, maybe? So long as he's good
looking.”

“Brunet. Yes, he’s very handsome. Too handsome. He’s beautiful,” James says, closing his eyes.
This is it. He’s got to say it.

James takes a fortifying breath. “Sirius,” James whispers, heart beating so hard he can hear the
blood pumping in his ears. “I love you. You know that, right? You are so important to me, and I
—”

And now Sirius full on panics. He yelps, cutting James off. Sirius springs up, landing on his feet
and taking a few steps away. He puts his hands in his hair, paces around the tower. He’s muttering
something under his breath that James can’t catch.

James’ mouth hangs open, wondering what fresh hell of new stupidity is accosting his friend.
When Sirius comes back to James, he looks pale but determined.

“Prongs,” Sirius says carefully, slowly. “I would literally fucking die for you, but I’m not… I
don’t… just. You’re like a brother to me.”

James is absolutely speechless. His best friend is one idiotic dumbass. Absolute lunatic. Did he
miss the part where James said he was a Slytherin? What even is he on about? Godric Gryffindor
on a broom. His best friend needs some help.

James is so shocked by the mental leaps and bounds Sirius has just made that he can’t do anything
other than blurt, “Wrong Black brother, mate.”

Sirius frowns, shakes his head like he’s trying to get water out of his ears. “What?”

And well. It’s done now, isn’t it. James can’t backpedal, and he doesn’t want to anyway. So he
goes full speed ahead. “I have a gigantic crush on your brother. A boy who is a Slytherin. Not on
you, you fucking idiot.”

To Sirius credit, he doesn’t immediately punch James or push him off the Astronomy Tower. He
stands there, frozen and open mouthed, staring at his best friend for what feels like an eternity. The
wind carries clouds that cast shadows on the circle of the Tower landing when they glide past the
moon. Almost full. James has the nonsensical thought that they’re watching this unfold. Curious.
The moon and the stars, judging him for wanting to sleep with his best friend’s brother.

James gets up so he’s on equal footing, and as soon as James is facing Sirius, he seems to recover
enough to say, “You… what?” Sirius blinks. Blinks again.
And his eyes go very wide as he steps closer. “James Fleamont Potter, what did you just say to
me?” Sirius is shouting, which isn’t great, but he still hasn’t punched James so he’s taking the win.
“Did you… My little brother? I heard it wrong. Say it again. I dare you!”

James does. He's a Gryffindor, isn't he? Brave to the point of recklessness. “Regulus. I’m crushing
on Regulus. Hard. I tried to stop it, not happening. I’m sorry, Pads. But I swore I’d never lie to you.
So, here we are.”

Sirius looks a mixture of disgusted and hurt. His hands twitch, and he takes a step back. “You’re…
why? How? When? What the fuck, Prongs?”

Sirius is in shock, that much is obvious. But not enough that he doesn’t add, “Also, I’m a lot hotter
than Reggie, thank you very much.”

James just shrugs, helpless. “I obviously didn’t mean for it to happen, Pads. It’s just I ran into him
the one time, and he was… well. He’s gorgeous.” Sirius scrunches his face, horrified by the idea
that anyone could find his little brother attractive. James rolls his eyes. “Anyway. I didn’t want to
keep it from you.”

“I need a moment,” Sirius says. He walks to the opposite wall, presses his forehead against it.
James waits. Sirius lets out a string of curses so colourful Remus would be proud.

After a long minute or two, Sirius turns. Sighs dramatically, runs a hand through his hair.
“Honestly, James. You’ve got truly terrible taste in men,” he says. “But I’ll help in any way I can.”

This James wasn’t expecting. He was prepared for a lot more hysterics from Sirius. Some shouting.
A punch, even. “You… will?”

“Of course I will,” Sirius says confidently. “I’m not going to let you suffer alone. You’ll get over
it, I promise.”

“I don’t think I want to?”

Sirius looks at him somewhat indulgent which is alarming. Something is not right, but James isn't
sure what. Then, Sirius says gently, “James, you have to. For your own good. You cannot have a
crush on someone who’s never going to like you back.”

James is offended now. Like. “Why wouldn’t he like me back?”

And Sirius looks at him with so much love it almost breaks James’ heart. “Because he’s a blood
supremacist and traditionalist bigot, James. He’ll marry some pure blooded girl that Walburga will
pick for him and have little babies to carry on the name of the Most Noble, Ancient and Fucked up
House of Black.”

Oh. Oh, shit. Sirius thinks… well. This one James does understand, because Sirius hasn’t spoken a
word that wasn’t threatening to his brother in almost two years, so how is he to know? Of course
the Regulus in Sirius' mind would never. Not with a boy. James suspects Sirius is kind of
projecting a little bit. On Regulus. This is not going to go down well.

James thought he’d done the worst of it, but he was wrong. The hardest part comes now. But also,
perhaps it gives Sirius hope, right? The same way it gives James hope. Regulus isn’t what they
thought he was.

“Sirius,” James says carefully. “I’m not hoping for it. I know that Regulus likes me back.”
“Godric have mercy,” Sirius says looking at James like he’s lost his mind. “James, I know you’re
an eternal optimist but I’m not going to let you do that to yourself. The Nile is not just a river in
Egypt. Please.”

James has to chortle, because that was funny. But also. He can feel his gut crawling up his throat as
he says, “We kissed. Regulus and I kissed. I guarantee you that he was into it. Extremely into it.”

Sirius’ expression changes swiftly. Pity and determination are wiped out by shock. Horror.
Disbelief. “Have a day off. Reggie did not kiss you.” Sirius sounds winded, like he just ran up the
stairs to the Astronomy Tower. He fights for his breath, runs a hand through his hair again. Then,
“Did he?”

James can’t help the smile. He doesn't want to, because this is a sensitive topic, and a delicate
discussion and a goofy smile honestly has no place here. But it doesn't matter. He smiles anyway.
It’s like the muscles on his face are pulled by the memory, completely independent to his
intentions. “If you want to get technical, I kissed him, and he kissed back. But yes. It happened. We
kissed.”

Sirius does punch him, then. His fist just flies. No warning. Sirius is fucking fast, always has been,
and James doesn't see it coming until the fist is at his face. It collides with James’ jaw, and James
grunts, but he takes it. It’s fair, he thinks. It’s what an older brother would do. Besides, Sirius
would do a lot worse if he knew just how filthy James’ thoughts about Regulus get sometimes. The
things he wanted to do—would have done—if his brain hadn’t caught up with his body in the
middle of it all. This is very mild, and James won’t complain about it.

“Shit,” Sirius says, shaking out his hand and grimacing. “Sorry, Prongs. I just… you kissed my
little brother!”

“He kissed me back,” James repeats, massaging his jaw to ease the ache. “Are you going to punch
me again?”

“I’m still thinking about it,” Sirius says. “My little brother! Are you for real? Weren’t there any
other boys in the entire school?”

James looks at his best friend with big, helpless eyes. He’s right, but he’s also wrong. This wasn’t
something James chose. It’s something that happened to him. He looked at Regulus in the Great
Hall on the first day and he became curious. He saw him in a towel in the Quidditch changing
rooms and he was gone.

Poof.

Ciao.

Adios.

Here lies James Potter, dead of spontaneous combustion caused by Regulus Black’s hotness.

“I couldn’t help it, Sirius,” James says. Something in his voice must get through to him, because
Sirius’ fist relaxes a little and he shakes his head, looking lost. So lost.

“But he’s… Reggie.” Sirius staggers back a few steps, like this concept is rocking his world so
hard he can’t keep his balance. “Reggie.”

James waits. Gives him time. This is a lot, he knows. And Sirius isn’t the most adept at processing
big emotions. So James stands there in the Astronomy Tower and gives Sirius time to think this
through.

His jaw aches, and he feels a little drained, but all in all this could have gone worse. It could have
gone better, but also worse.

It takes several minutes of silence before Sirius walks to the railing and looks up at the sky. James
knows what this is, because he caught him once in Potter Manor sneaking out to the garden in the
middle of the night. Sirius knows where Regulus is, or would be, even when the sky is overcast.

James comes to stand next to his best friend. He looks up, too. Speaks into the wind. “If I could
choose, if I had any control over it, it wouldn’t be Regulus because I know. I know, Sirius. But I
can’t help it. I tried. Believe me, I tried,” James says, voice thick with fear and hope. “I stayed
away, and it was driving me mad. And then I started to get to know him, and it was worse because
he’s… he’s not what I thought he was.”

“How long?” Sirius asks. It’s dry, raspy.

“We’ve been talking for about three weeks, a little more maybe,” James says. “The kiss only
happened on Saturday night. It was… uh… Regulus threw a bit of a fit because he thought I was
seeing Lily for some reason. And it just happened. But I told him it would not happen again until
I’d had a chance to tell you. I haven’t seen him since.”

Sirius puts his hands on the railing, gripping it hard. James can read the tension on his shoulders
and hates that he put it there.

“He threw a fit?”

“Yeah,” James says, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “He was jealous.”

“Fucking hell, Prongs,” Sirius says, grimacing. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I feel
about this.”

James nods even though Sirius isn’t looking at him. “I thought… well. When I first started talking
to him, I told myself I was trying to find out if maybe he…” He trails off. He doesn’t know if he
can say it. Because what if his hope hurts Sirius?

“He what?”

“If he ran, too,” James whispers.

Sirius does look at him now, eyes wide and… hopeful. And James wants to cry. Because he was
right. Remus was right. Deep down, Sirius wants Regulus back, if Regulus isn’t the blood
supremacist and traditionalist bigot that Sirius thinks he is. He'll deny it all day long, but Sirius
misses his little brother. He hates him, too. But that's okay, James thinks. Because hate and love
are so close to each other they can tip over with the smallest of pushes.

“Just because he’s experimenting doesn’t mean he’s not… you know,” Sirius says, side-eyeing
James.

“He’s not experimenting,” James says immediately. Once again, mildly offended. “And before you
say anything else, Regulus knows a shit ton about muggles, and thinks they’re interesting, and has
not once said anything that made me think he agrees with Walburga on anything. So.”

“Look at you, already defending him,” Sirius drawls. He’s scowling now, which James hates.
Sirius isn’t a scowl-y person. That’s Regulus. “Maybe I will punch you again.”
“Pads, I love you. You’re my best friend. My brother,” James says. “But I like Regulus too much to
give it up before it’s even started. So, if you need to beat the shit out of me, do it. Because I won’t
stop.”

“And if I ask you to?”

“You won’t,” James says firmly.

They lock eyes. Silvery grey and hazel. There are a million things in that look. Sirius is afraid to
hope. He wants to. He’s jealous. Sirius doesn’t like sharing, and James is the one person who has
always been just his. But Sirius loves James too much to actively stand in the way of his happiness.
He’ll be a dick about it. But he won’t stop him. And James… James would do anything for Sirius
precisely because he knows Sirius wouldn’t ask this of him.

Trust. Profound, unbreakable trust.

“I won’t,” Sirius says softly. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I don’t fucking like it, Prongs.
You and my brother don’t make sense. It won’t work. And when he hurts you, then what?”

“You’ll drag me to the Three Broomsticks and we’ll get drunk together,” James says with a shrug,
but he’s smiling. “And you know I won’t hurt him.”

“I don’t care,” Sirius huffs, looking away.

James only smiles wider. “Okay.”

Sirius sits down, lights a cigarette. James sits with him. He feels a million tonnes lighter. The night
brighter, more beautiful. He’s free now to go seek Regulus out. James cannot wait.

“What is it like?” Sirius asks quietly. “Kissing a boy.”

James’ breath hitches, because is this Sirius daring? Is he finally ready to admit to himself that he
wants Remus? James thinks he’ll pass out from sheer joy if they walk out of this Tower and Sirius
goes to find Moony.

“It’s brilliant,” James says. “A kiss is a kiss, Pads. Doesn’t matter if it’s a girl or a boy. What
matters is that you like the person.”

“Reggie has no stubble,” Sirius says, and it catches James by surprise until he remembers out of the
four of them, Remus has the most facial hair. He shaves every other day.

James doesn’t know what the right thing to say is. He doesn’t want to put Sirius off the idea of
kissing a boy, but he’s also not going to lie. Regulus has no stubble. Remus has stubble. Should it
matter? James doesn’t think so. Also, he can’t forget he would have happily kissed Remus in like
fourth year, but he thinks it’s safer to not tell Sirius this.

He can still push him off the tower.

“I wouldn’t mind it if he did,” James says. “I… I mean. When you like a girl, you don’t really care
about whether her hair is shorter, or longer. Blond or brunette or ginger or whatever. If she has… I
don’t know, a dimple when she smiles or doesn’t. There are so many little differences that make
them unique and it doesn’t mean you won’t kiss a dozen of them, right? They’re not the same, but
you like all of them with their differences. Like, you might have a type but once the crush is there
you don’t care. Freckles, no freckles, that sort of thing. It’s all the same to you, isn’t it?”
Sirius is nodding aggressively. “Yeah. Yes.”

“Well, it’s the same with boys. Some boys have stubble, some don’t. Some have long hair,” he
points at Sirius, hoping it inspires something. “Some don’t,” he points at himself, just so it’s not
too aggressive.

James smiles at Sirius’ frown, knowing he’s working through this in his head. He hopes it’s going
in the right direction. “Look, I like Regulus and I just do. And Regulus is a certain way, and for
some reason that works for me,” James says. “And if there’s stubble or not doesn’t make a
difference.”

“But isn’t it… he’s a boy. I just. I can’t fucking believe my little brother is gay,” Sirius says,
sounding agitated.

Oh not this again. Sirius is supposed to be figuring himself out, not fixating on Regulus. Ugh. But
maybe. Wait. Maybe this is it.

“You could talk to him about it,” James says tentatively.

Sirius chortles. “Don’t. Stop that. Just because you like him doesn’t mean I’m going to start to.
He’s an ass. I hate him, and don’t forget I don’t want you with him. I’m tolerating it because you’d
walk around like a lost puppy if I asked you to stop but I have full faith that you'll see reason and
stop this sooner rather than later.”

“Thanks?” James laughs.

Sirius bumps his shoulder into James’. “Don’t thank me yet,” he says, only half-joking. “I’m still
in shock. Might feel less charitable tomorrow.”

James puts his arm over Sirius shoulder. Scoots over so they’re close together. “I’ll follow your
lead, okay? If you don’t want me to bring him up at all, I won’t.”

“That’s physically impossible for you.”

“It’s not.”

“James.”

“What? I haven’t told anyone about him. No one. Only you know.”

Sirius hums, then nods. It’s silence again for a while until Sirius breaks it. “Fair enough. What did
he say?”

“About?”

“You said you told him you were going to tell me,” Sirius explains. He takes yet another cigarette
out and lights it, but James is hardly going to point out his chainsmoking. Not when Sirius is being
so fucking reasonable about this whole thing.

“He thought you’d forbid me from seeing him,” James admits. “He was scared, I think. He asked
me not to tell you. He was adamant about it.”

“But you still did?”

“I always planned to, Pads,” James says. “No secrets. Never. Not between us.”
Sirius is quiet for a long time after that. He stares at the sky, and breathes. Closes his eyes. Opens
them again. Buries his hands in his hair, or puts them down on his lap. Sometimes they shake a
little. Through it all, he is silent. Smoking, mostly. Not a word.

James doesn’t interrupt it. He sits next to his best friend and weathers the storm he’s brought on
them with his choices. He doesn’t regret them. Can’t regret them, because he’s got Regulus now
and James knows it’s the start of something epic. But he does wish it would have been easier.
Someone that Sirius didn’t hate so much it blurred back into love.

But it is what it is, and so James waits. He doesn’t fidget. He doesn’t complain. He sits. And he
waits. And his patience pays off again, because after close to an hour, Sirius turns his face and
buries it in the crook of his neck. “I’m still number one?”

“Always and forever, Sirius.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “I fucking hate this, Prongs. But yeah. Okay.”

####

Regulus has prefect patrol duty with Lupin again. This is slightly nerve wracking because Regulus
is convinced Lupin will take one look at him and know that James kissed him to within an inch of
his life two days ago. Lupin doesn’t, obviously. In fact, he barely looks at him that much. But
Regulus is still a little stressed about it because it seems impossible that something so unbelievable
has happened to him and no one can tell.

Regulus always knew his mask was made of iron, but if he ever doubted his ability to close himself
off from the world, this has convinced him his face is unreadable. Which works for him, because
he’ll need a good poker face for what he’s planning.

Regulus and Lupin walk side by side in silence, as they always do. Comfortable. No stupid
questions to fill the time. No fidgeting. No gossip. Lupin is Regulus’ favourite patrol partner,
which he thinks is a cruel joke of the universe. But Regulus knows the universe hates his guts, so
this is hardly surprising.

The first hour is rather boring. They march down empty corridor after empty corridor, glancing this
way and that in case there are students out of bed after curfew. So far, they haven’t really run into
anyone. It makes the time spent patrolling a bit of a waste, in Regulus’ opinion. He never thought
he’d wish for it, but he kind of wants someone to cause a bit of trouble. Just for something to do.

Suddenly, Miss Norris meowls and darts in front of them from Salazar only knows where before
disappearing down a staircase. They both startle a little but neither Lupin nor Regulus make a fuss
about the scare.

They hear her meowl as the staircase begins to move, trapping her on it until it stops again.
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Stupid cat.”

Lupin lets out a dry chuckle, but doesn’t say anything.

They keep walking. Regulus has noticed that close to two months at Hogwarts have helped Lupin
fill out. He looks less skinny. Less like he grew tall too quickly. It suits him. Regulus thinks, once
again, that this guy is handsome.
But tonight, Lupin looks exhausted. There are deep bruises under his eyes, and the shade of his
skin is more greyish than it should be. Regulus notices that Lupin gets progressively more tired the
longer they patrol together. Two hours in—they’ve got a three hour patrol—and Lupin is kind of
dragging his feet a bit, though he’s doing his best to make sure Regulus doesn’t notice.

They’re near the bridge that runs towards the owlry, and Regulus changes course before he can
second guess himself.

“What are you doing? Route’s this way,” Lupin says. He takes the opportunity to stop walking for
a moment, confirming Regulus’ suspicions.

“Just a minute,” he replies, and keeps going until he’s on the bridge.

He’s not too surprised to hear Lupin’s steps behind him. Regulus stops about one third of the way
onto the bridge, far enough that no smoke will accidentally drift indoors—that would get him
caught—but not so far it’s too much effort to go back and finish their round.

Regulus leans his forearms on the railing and takes a cigarette out, then offers one to Lupin.

“This is against the rules,” Lupin says, hesitating.

“Worried the prefects on patrol will knock points off you?” Regulus asks, raising an eyebrow.

Lupin’s lips twitch, and he takes the cigarette. He leans against the railing next to Regulus and
sighs, glancing up at the expanse of darkness and the lights hanging from it. It’s a nice night. A
few clouds drift across the sky, but they can see the stars and the moon. Almost full.

Sirius blinks down at him, effortless and powerful. The brightest star in the sky. Regulus gut twists.
James hasn’t written to him again, and he’s not on the roof tonight—Regulus checked—so either
Sirius won this war or James hasn’t told him yet. Regulus hates this. Hates it so much because why
couldn’t he have had this with Barty or Evan or even freaking Lupin.

Regulus’ eyes slide sideways and find Lupin staring up at the moon like it has personally offended
him. Regulus goes back to his internal crisis.

If his crush had been on Lupin, not James, it would have been easier. Literally anyone in this entire
fucking castle would have been easier than the guy his brother replaced him with. It’s like Regulus
likes pain. He’s starting to think he might. Why else would he get in this deep with the only guy
who is one hundred percent sure to choose Sirius over him every single time?

He could have had it with anyone. Anyone but James ‘Soulmate to Sirius Black’ Potter. Because
Regulus is certain that Sirius will win. James is never going to choose Regulus. He shouldn’t.
Regulus knows that, objectively, nobody should choose him. He’s a mess, and he’s broken, and so
angry he’s going to raise hell and bring down vengeance so vicious they’ll remember his name for
generations.

But Regulus is selfish, and wants James too much to allow logic to taint his wants. James shouldn’t
choose him. But he would like him to. Regulus would do unspeakable things if it meant James
would come back.

It’s all pointless, though. Because should or shouldn’t don't matter when he knows the outcome.

Sirius—his actual blood, shared, with all its darkness—already chose James over Regulus. Of
course, James is going to choose Sirius, too.
Regulus should be used to it. He’s not.

“You alright?” Lupin asks, startling Regulus.

Regulus scowls at him. “What?”

Lupin glances at his hand pointedly. The hand that’s gripping the railing so hard the wood just
groaned. Regulus releases it. Makes a mental note to keep track of it so he doesn’t give himself
away again.

“Are you in trouble or something?” Lupin asks again.

Regulus’ eyebrows reach his hairline. “What are you doing?”

Lupin shrugs. “Just checking in. Don’t make it weird.”

“Don’t make—” Regulus blinks. “We don’t talk. And now you’re talking. You’re the one making
it fucking weird.”

He puts his cigarette out, rolling his eyes at Lupin. Honestly. What is it with Gryffindors and their
stupid sense of honour and duty? They were having such a good time, quietly smoking so Lupin
could catch a break. This is what Regulus gets for attempting to be nice. It’s his sign that he should
never do it again—clearly, he’s much better at just being a selfish prick.

Regulus begins to walk down the bridge to resume their patrol and end the now very much
awkward situation. What a disappointment. He had such hopes for Lupin and their future patrolling
together. He had to go and ruin it with words. Questions.

“Where do you get cigarettes?” Lupin asks him when he catches up. He’s breathing hard, like the
power walk down the bridge was enough to exhaust him.

It doesn’t make sense, Regulus thinks. Lupin doesn’t play Quidditch, but he’s not that out of shape.
Is he? He realises he has no idea. Except, he used to run around the school with Sirius and his
friends playing pranks on people. They’ve stopped that this year for some reason—touch wood it
continues—but Remus has sprinted down his fair share of corridors over the years to avoid Filch.

“None of your business, Lupin.”

Weirdly, this makes Lupin smirk. He nods to himself, like he’s in on a little secret. Thankfully, he
doesn’t attempt conversation, having finally picked up on Regulus’ very clear signals that he does
not want to talk. After a little while of blessed silence, Regulus decides he’ll forgive tonight’s slip
up if Lupin never tries to enquire after his wellbeing again. Regulus will excuse it as a lapse in
judgment caused by the obvious exhaustion Lupin is battling.

Their three hours are almost up when they find trouble. Regulus sends a silent string of curses up
to whoever or whatever is listening, because of course they had to run into a small group of
Seventh year Slytherins harassing two muggle-born Hufflepuffs five minutes before they’re done
for the evening.

Regulus deeply regrets whining about being bored in his mind for the first two hours.

He hears Lupin sigh like he, too, is regretting the choices that led to him being here tonight, but
then Lupin rallies. Salazar only knows where he finds the strength to stand up to his full height and
take his wand out when a second ago he could barely put one foot in front of the other.
Regulus is impressed, against his will, but he’s impressed.

“Oi!” Lupin says, charging forward. “Leave them alone.”

Dolohov, Lestrange—the younger one, the older one graduated a couple years ago—and Avery
look at him. Snape doesn’t. He’s still smirking at the two Hufflepuffs who are cornered against the
wall and looking on the verge of tears.

“I thought you said they would have walked past here already,” Dolohov snaps at Avery, who
looks downright shocked to see the two prefects.

Fucking typical of this lot to know prefect patrol schedules so they can harass people without
getting caught.

“Snape,” Lupin drawls. “Back off.”

Severus looks up then. He glances at Regulus briefly, then fixes his eyes on Lupin. “Rough night
to be out, isn’t it?”

Lupin’s grip on his wand falters. He brings it down so he’s not pointing at them directly. “I’ll be
taking fifty points off Slytherin for harassing students. Plus ten more from each of you for being
out past curfew,” Lupin says firmly.

The smile that spreads across Dolohov’s face is feral. Regulus would be intimidated if he respected
Dolohov even just a little bit. He doesn’t, because Dolohov is a foot soldier. All muscle, no brain.
Regulus could take him with his eyes closed and a hand tied behind his back.

But the smile is scary. Probably practiced for effect. He’ll give him that.

“I don’t think so, Lupin,” Dolohov says, eyeing the wand Lupin is gripping at his side, not yet
pointed up. “You’re a little outnumbered, aren’t you?”

Lupin glances at Regulus.

Ah. Fuck. This is going to get ugly, isn’t it? Regulus has no love for any of the Slytherins in front
of him. He’s one hundred percent indifferent towards Avery and Dolohov. Lestrange is alright, and
he secretly sympathises with him because Rodolphus is fucking mental and treats Rabastan like
literal shit. Not that Regulus has ever voiced this or ever will. But. Solidarity for terrible older
brothers, you know?

And then there’s Severus Snape, whom Regulus full on despises. He’s a hypocrite. A slimy creep
that’s always lying and manipulating everything and everyone. Regulus thinks it’s quite hilarious
that he’s so bothered with blood purity when he’s only a half-blood, something he would very
much like everyone to forget. Too bad Regulus has convinced Barty to make sure to drop it into
conversations every now and then. Casually, like it’s an accident. But Barty does it, because
Regulus put the idea in his head, and it drives Severus insane that it keeps popping up. He deserves
it, Regulus thinks. And after he cursed Sirius with that bloody spell he created? Regulus is
disgusted to even breathe the same air. There’s something about Severus that makes him want to
commit murder.

“Black’s not going to lift a finger against us,” says Avery. “Not to side with two filthy mudbloods.”

Lupin’s wand flies, and then Avery’s legs give way and he crumbles to the floor with a shriek.
Regulus thinks it’s quite funny how he starts cussing from the floor, unable to get himself back up.
Dolohov, Lestrange and Snape all raise their wands and turn to Lupin, and by extension to Regulus
because he’s still standing next to his fellow prefect.

Regulus adopts a suffering air and rolls his eyes. He takes a step forward, and the Slytherins
hesitate because he is the Heir to the House of Black, and that carries weight. Doesn't Regulus
know it.

“Come on. Get the fuck out of here,” Regulus says to the two Hufflepuff, sneering at them to keep
up appearances. “Twenty points from Hufflepuff for being out after curfew.”

The two kids sprint away so fast you could be forgiven for believing the devil was on their tails.
With them gone, Regulus looks at the Slytherins and tilts his head towards Lupin. “You do know
this is a bad idea,” he says, addressing Lestrange because he likes him most.

“He hexed Avery,” Lestrange replies.

“And I’ll hex the rest of you lot if you don’t fucking scramble. And the points have been taken!”
Lupin insists.

Regulus looks at him. “Three against one. Are you sure?”

And Lupin stares back, shocked. Regulus isn’t sure how he feels about the fact that Lupin had
just… assumed that Regulus would have his back. Why would he do that? “Three against one?”

Regulus shrugs. “I’m not getting involved.”

Dolohov sniggers. “Not so brave now, Lupin. Are you?”

And Lupin. Fucking Remus Lupin, rolls his shoulders back and smirks at them. Regulus is
dismayed to find that he respects this. He’s brave, the idiot. Regulus has to give him that. But he’s
so tired. Exhausted, actually. And he’s putting on a show, but it won’t last long.

The three Slytherins raise their wands again, calculating. Lupin is going to take them on alone.
Regulus cannot help him. He simply can’t. He wants to, kinda, because Lupin has that haggard but
reckless look about him and it’s… attractive, Regulus thinks. Both in a sexual way but also in a
grown up I want to be like when I’m older kind of way.

But he can’t. That’s final.

Regulus braces himself to watch Lupin get absolutely pummelled when, out of nowhere, Peter
Pettigrew comes barrelling down the corridor, wand raised. Running like he’s being chased, even
though he’s not. And he’s smart, because the Slytherins haven’t seen him and he doesn’t announce
himself. He doesn’t shout to Lupin that he’s got him, or makes any sound. He simply rolls up and
takes aim.

And somehow, Lupin and Pettigrew know which one the other’s going to attack so they don’t
double up.

“Petrificus Totalus,” Lupin shouts, taking down Dolohov just as Pettigrew’s stunning spell hits
Lestrange in the back.

Regulus thinks that was clever, and wonders if Lupin knew Pettigrew was coming. His money is
on no. He was one hundred percent going to face them alone, and got lucky at the last second. Very
Gryffindor of him. It’s probably going to get him killed eventually, but whatever. So long as it’s
not in front of Regulus, he’s not that bothered.
Severus pales, glances around at his fallen comrades and takes a sidestep. “You can’t touch me,”
Severus says, though he doesn’t sound too sure of it.

“Says who?”

Lupin takes a step forward, eyes narrowed almost to slits. Regulus notes the tense set of his
shoulders, the vein pulsing on his forehead. Merlin’s beard on fire, Lupin absolutely hates Severus.

“Moony?” Pettigrew asks. Lupin ignores him, but Pettigrew comes to stand next to his friend
anyway. He looks hesitant, but stays where he is.

“You don’t have it in you,” Severus says. “Too worried about proving you’re not the monster we
know you are.”

Regulus blinks. Severus speaks like he knows Lupin… intimately. And that’s just no. Something’s
going on here that Regulus isn’t privy to. And it’s not that. He’s never been more sure of anything
in his life than he is of the fact that Remus Lupin would rather die than touch Severus Snape with a
pole. He doesn’t know why or how. But Regulus knows.

So, whatever has happened between them is darker. And it intrigues Regulus. He adds it to the
mental list of things he wants to know, slightly alarmed at how long it’s getting. But he has no time
to ponder because the scene in front of him continues to unfold.

“Should have thought of that before you almost killed Sirius,” Lupin says, and a shiver runs down
Regulus’ back because that is the voice of someone who’s contemplating murder. Cold, sharp.
With teeth so it can cut through bones. “I had his blood on my hands. He was dying and it was your
doing, Snivellius. I think I’m justified.”

Something happens to his face then. It twists and darkens like he’s genuinely giving into some
deep killer instinct. It’s fascinating to watch. Obviously, Lupin is holding a grudge against Severus
for the attack on Sirius—Regulus secretly supports this, don’t tell anyone—and it’s a heavy grudge.
The hatred of it contorts Lupin’s face, turning his features a little wolfish.

Regulus feels a trickle of concern pierce his gut, and Salazar Slytherin have mercy on Severus’
soul because he’s going to need it. Remus Lupin is a dangerous man under that unbothered
exterior. He’s about to send Severus to his early grave.

Regulus knows a good place behind the greenhouses to bury the body.

“Moony, I don’t think this is a good idea. This isn’t you,” Pettigrew says quietly. He is, once again,
ignored.

Lupin takes a step closer to Severus.

“I will tell!” Severus says. Regulus doesn’t miss the waver in his voice or the fear flashing in his
eyes.

“No, you won’t,” Lupin snarls. “You won’t be able to talk again.”

“Remus, stop it. Don’t do this,” Peter insists. “You’ll regret it.”

“Shut up, Pete!”

Lupin looks crazed.

 And it hits Regulus that Pettigrew is right. Lupin is not all there. He’s a bit out of it and that’s not
the right mindset for one’s first murder. It’s one thing to take a life consciously. Knowingly. For a
reason. Whatever reason, but one you’ve thought through and accepted.

It’s another thing entirely to do it on a violent whim.

Lupin raises his wand, and Regulus hesitates. Severus deserves whatever is coming, but it’ll ruin
Lupin. He knows. Deep down, in his gut. This is not the way to get revenge. Ask him all about it.
He’s an expert. Lupin will regret this to the end of his days, and that’s just shit. No one deserves
that kind of life. So, Regulus stops him.

“Expelliarmus!”

Lupin’s wand goes flying and he whirls on his feet, turning his body towards Regulus. Severus full
on sprints away, leaving his friends behind. What a coward, that one. Good riddance. Lupin takes a
step closer, but Regulus holds his ground, staring down Lupin with his wand trained on him.

“How dare you?!” Lupin growls.

Regulus rolls his eyes, pretends nonchalance. “Honestly, Lupin. Get a grip. You’re embarrassing
yourself.”

Pettigrew narrows his eyes at Regulus, but he’s not concerned about the little one. Regulus is only
focused on Lupin. On whether he’s going to back down or they’re going to have a problem.
Regulus doesn’t want to have a problem with Lupin because he’s James’ friend and somewhere in
his gut Regulus is still hoping James will come looking for him like he promised.

Antagonising one—two, actually—of his closest friends isn’t a smart idea.

“This is it, then,” Lupin says, straightening and glaring at Regulus like he’s a disease. “Your
choice.”

Regulus has no idea what he’s on about, but alright. If it gets him off aggressive mode, he’ll take
it. “Whatever Lupin,” he says, pocketing his wand. He turns and walks a few steps down the
corridor before looking over his shoulder, “Ten points from Gryffindor for being out after curfew,
Pettigrew.”

Lupin lets out a string of curses that follows Regulus almost all the way to the dungeons, ringing in
his ears.

Chapter End Notes

Prongsfoot own my heart. Platonic soulmates of the century. The millennium!!! Sirius
freaking out hard at Regulus being gay because he's projecting? HELP. I love him.
And his biggest fear, that James would steal his precious Remus? UGH. Delicious, if
I'm allowed to say it myself.

Regulus and Remus --> reluctanct besties. Just you wait. These two like to be grumpy
and quiet together, but it'll take time.

I will try to update again on Sunday but there's a chance it'll be Monday because I'm a
bit busy :(
THANK YOU FOR ALL THE AMAZING COMMENTS YOU LEFT IN THE
PREVIOUS CHAPTER. IT MADE ME SO HAPPY.

Also, I promise Jegulus in the next chapter, and in pretty much every chapter after that
for a while. This one just had to happen in between.

THANK YOU AGAIN! :D

 What if I told you I like you?
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

There is some angst in this chapter, but also some fluff, and then more angst because
it's the way life goes :)

TWs for this chapter:

Smoking
Mild violence
Medicinal drug use / abuse (Reg's sleeping potions)
Mentions of murder (off page, but it's discussed quite a bit)
Discussions of war (it is 1977, I'm afraid, blame the Death Eaters)
Internalised homophobia
Brief panic attack (not the POV character)
Depictions of wounds and healing (cuts, a bit of blood, crunched bones)
References to past child abuse

I think that's it!! Enjoy :)

As always - THANK YOU!! I love you all so much <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus is not having a good day. Admittedly, he doesn’t think he’s had a good day in years but
like the past three have been particularly hard. He had more trouble than usual sleeping last night
after the incident with the other Slytherins and Lupin. He had to take extra potion for it to take
effect. His usual dose didn’t work as it should have.

Something tells Regulus he should perhaps look into this, or at least be a little bit concerned, but he
doesn’t have time or headspace for it. He’s busy. He’s stressed. He’s nervous.

The note James sent him is in his pocket, where it’s been since Monday morning.

Regulus has read it approximately a million times. It’s pathetic. He knows. Leave him the fuck
alone. Thank you.

It’s now Wednesday, and James still hasn’t come looking for him. This either means he hasn’t told
Sirius yet, which is unlikely because James is Godric Gryffindor incarnate so cowardice isn’t a
thing he’s ever experienced, or it means Regulus was right. Sirius has convinced James to stay
away from him and Regulus is never going to kiss him again.

Regulus wants to kill his brother.

This isn’t new, but the intensity of the feeling has been enhanced.

Resigned to another day of misery, Regulus follows Barty and Evan into the Great Hall. Dorcas is
already here because she went all the way to the Gryffindor Tower so she could walk with Marlene
to breakfast. This, Regulus thinks, is highly inefficient but whatever floats Dorcas’ boat. He’s not
going to judge. Not when he’s got a note with a single sentence that he takes out every chance he
gets to obsess over the little J signed at the end of it.

Pandora waves at them from where she’s sitting next to Dorcas. Barty and Evan sit next to each
other, and Regulus takes the space by the girls. As soon as the boys are settled, Dorcas motions for
them to lean closer. Regulus hasn’t even had time to pour himself coffee.

“I think Mulciber, Avery and the lot are up to something,” she whispers.

“Why?” Evan asks. Barty is already looking down the table with narrowed eyes.

“They’ve been acting weird since they got here,” Pandora agrees. “Their auras are all wrong. Well,
more wrong than usual.”

Regulus would guess this has something to do with them being hexed last night. Who knows how
long they were in that corridor before a spell wore off or someone found them. Regulus hopes it
was a while.

But he doesn’t mention it because he doesn’t want to explain himself to his friends. Instead,
Regulus scowls. “And this is our problem how?”

“It isn’t,” Dorcas says. “Not yet, anyway. But be alert.”

They’re interrupted by the arrival of the morning mail. Regulus leans back, away from spilt hot
beverages and juice which are always a consequence of the owls’ bad aim. He’s not expecting
anything, so he takes the opportunity to finally pour himself a large cup of coffee, black like his
soul, and then look over at the Gryffindor table.

And he promptly chokes on his coffee because his brother is looking right at him.

He knows.

Regulus coughs a couple of times, sets the cup down. He steels himself, then looks up again and
meets Sirius’ eye. He’s angry. Oh, he’s fucking furious. Sirius is grinding his teeth, and there’s that
little muscle under his left eye that jumps when he’s very mad. They used to make fun of it together
in Grimmauld Place before Sirius ran away.

Ah. What a way to rescue a rapidly declining morning. Sirius absolutely seething with rage has
made Regulus’ day. Honestly, Regulus almost smiles, because it’s so satisfying. And Regulus
knows Sirius well enough to discern that this isn’t about last night with Lupin. He thinks. It could
be… but really, that Regulus would side with the Slytherins is what his brother expects of him.
Isn’t it? He’d never go out of his way to glare daggers at him over something so mundane.

No. This is about James. It has to be about James. He must have told him, and Sirius is losing it.
The best part? He can’t do anything about it because he’d never out his best friend to the entire
school.

Salazar Slytherin on a broom. This is too good. It never occurred to Regulus that his crush on
James could had a positive side effect, but now that he’s staring right at it, he’s smug.

James told Sirius he kissed Regulus and Sirius is fuming.

It’s childish, and petty, but Regulus almost wants to walk over to their table and gloat. If it wasn’t
so dangerous, if it didn’t mean throwing away all the work he’s done on his revenge, Regulus
would walk up to the Gryffindors and kiss James on the mouth right now just to watch Sirius go
berserk.

Sirius thought he’d get to keep James for himself forever, and Regulus has gone and taken a part of
him away. A part that Sirius won’t ever get to touch.

It’s so gratifying to see Sirius quietly seething, stabbing his eggs with such force Marlene reaches
out and holds his wrist, presumably asking him if he’s okay. Sirius nods aggressively, and Marlene
lets it go. But Regulus saw the whole thing and he’s thriving. This is fucking brilliant!

His brother is most likely not just angry at him for corrupting James, he’s probably also disgusted
at Regulus, but that’s secondary. Sirius has been disgusted by Regulus for years, so what’s one
more reason. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t make a difference. Regulus will bask in his brother’s silent
rage and enjoy it.

He skips right over Lupin—who looks like shit, by the way; even worse than he did last night after
the whole ordeal—and finds James. He’s chatting to Evans and MacDonald, a half-eaten toast
dangling from his fingers. He’s so animated, talking passionately about Salazar knows what. He
waves his free hand around to emphasize his points, which only makes him look that much more
attractive. Regulus almost shivers, because he remembers what those hands feel like cradling his
face, or tangled in his hair.

“Holy shit,” Evan whispers, and Regulus has to look away from James to scowl at his friend.

Barty is reading the Daily Prophet Evan is holding over his shoulder, face a mask of surprise.
“That’s sick.”

“What?” Regulus asks, curious. His friends are hard to rattle.

Evan hands him the newspaper wordlessly, and Regulus is met with a gruesome photograph of a
crime scene. A man was ran over by a train coming out of Liverpool station, the headline reads. It
is believed he was Imperioused to walk onto the tracks just as a high-speed train was approaching.
A strange, never-before-pictured mark was floating over the station all morning. A green skull with
a snake darting out of the mouth.

Regulus knew it was coming, but it still hits him like a sledgehammer. This is the mark he’s
chosen, then. The one he’s been told will be offered to him soon. The one he’ll take, because he
made his choice a long time ago.

In all honesty, the thing is tacky. But then again, Regulus cannot expect someone who calls
himself Voldemort to have good taste, can he?

“That’s it,” Evan says as Regulus hands the newspaper to Dorcas so she can read it. “The Dark
Lord’s mark.”

“What do you know about it?” Regulus asks.

Evan glances around, leans closer. “My dad has it. I’ve only seen it the once, because they keep it
covered most of the time. It’s a rule he has, the Dark Lord, so if someone bails they can’t give out
too many names.”

Barty nods. “Smart, I guess.”

“Not everyone gets the mark, either,” Evan adds, pleased to have everyone’s attention even if the
topic is a little grim. “Apparently, now that his numbers have grown, the Dark Lord wants only his
most trusted people to have it. It’s a way to show loyalty and willingness to do whatever it takes.
It’s an honour to be offered the mark.”

Regulus swallows, but Evan doesn’t notice. Barty shrugs. “Does it look like that on the arm? It’s
fucking ugly.”

Evan laughs, looks fondly at his boyfriend (?). “A bit different, but same idea.”

The three of them exchange a glance. It’s not surprising that Evan’s father has the mark. He’s been
aligned with and supportive of Voldemort since Evan was little. The Rosiers pride themselves in
being one of the first families to join the Dark Lord.

Regulus feels cold dread drip in his stomach. He’s ready for it, but seeing it for the first time is still
a shock. It’s one thing to join the ranks when it feels reversible. Having this thing branded on your
skin? Big step. Regulus reminds himself that he’s not likely to live long enough to regret anything,
so he might as well. But Evan? He wonders if he’s going to follow his father’s steps. Regulus
fiercely hopes he doesn’t.

“Why the snakes?” Barty asks.

Evan shrugs. “Beats me.”

Regulus sits back down. The conflict, or war like some people call it, has been going on for years.
The Ministry hasn’t been too successful in fighting back, but Regulus knows everyone’s a bit
nervous about Minchum. He’s been Minister for Magic for about a year and a half now, and he’s
been making changes. He, alongside Barty’s father, has been pushing back. Purging the Ministry of
spies. They’ve even put more Dementors in Azkaban.

But it’s always been in the shadows. Both sides have operated behind the scenes. One because
uncertainty causes fear, and fear sows chaos. The other side because it’s embarrassing how little
headway they’ve been making in fighting back.

So, it has all been kept quiet. The disappearances. Unexplained deaths. Random muggle murders.
Everything has been hushed and under wraps. There have been rumours, half-baked descriptions of
a mark hovering over crime scenes sometimes, but the papers have been banned from picturing it.
Regulus isn’t sure why, because he thinks it’s always better to know. Still. That they are choosing
to share what it looks like now is unsettling.

Regulus doesn’t know what it means that it’s out now. That everyone knows what to look out for.

“This is fucked up,” Dorcas says, throwing the newspaper on the table.

“Does it say why this man was targeted?” Barty asks.

Evan shakes his head. “No. Strangest thing, he’s not a muggle-born. Must have pissed off someone
powerful.”

Dorcas scoffs. “You sound like you think it’s reasonable to kill someone if they piss you off.”

“Depends,” Evan says. “Sometimes, it is.”

Dorcas looks away, a muscle ticking on her jaw. She picks up her juice, but her hand is unsteady.
Regulus wishes the world was as simple as Dorcas wants it to be. But it’s not. He, too, will kill
people when the time comes. And he won’t hesitate.

This makes him look towards the professors’ table for some reason. Dumbledore isn’t here. Not
too odd for breakfast, but enough that Regulus notices. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was
involved in the war efforts—everyone knows he’s powerful enough for Voldemort to be nervous
about him.

Pandora, the last one to read the news, puts the paper down but doesn’t say anything. She’s pale,
and quiet, staring at the mark on the picture like it might leap out and bite her. And then, to
Regulus’ dismay, she turns her head and looks over at Gryffindor table. At the space where James
and his friends are.

Regulus heart drops.

Has Pandora had another dream? What about? Why?

Regulus’ brow is furrowed because he’s realising that when the time comes, it’ll come for
everyone and not just Regulus. Regulus has plans for revenge, a list of names and people he’ll
bring a reckoning to. And it’ll all be against the backdrop of war because that’s what it must be.
But for the first time, it’s truly catching up to Regulus that everyone else leaving Hogwarts will
also be walking into a world that has become dangerous to even just exist in.

And Regulus decides right there, at the breakfast table of Hogwarts in front of half eaten food and
his daily black coffee, that James cannot be involved in the war. He won’t be. Surely, someone
who is that good at Quidditch will go pro and travel the world playing. Right?

He has to be safe. Regulus hadn’t thought about it until now, but it is imperative. James. Safe.

Regulus now knows what he tastes like and that knowledge means he has to make some
adjustments. James has to be safe. He has to. But how is Regulus going to manage that? James is a
dreamer. He’s a Gryffindor through and through. If there’s a person with the profile to be at the
front lines fighting for what they think is right, it’s James.

Regulus is going to be sick all over the breakfast table.

Pandora is still staring at the photograph of the mark and Regulus wants nothing more than to
interrogate her about it, but that’s for later. If Pandora has had a dream about James, Regulus has to
know but he won’t ask in public.

Across the hall, on the Gryffindor table, James is reading the newspaper now. Sirius’s leaning over
one of his shoulders and Marlene over the other. The three of them look distraught, but James?
James looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

It’s a sight that displeases Regulus because James is usually so happy. He’s a person that smiles.
Warm and bright. A presence that lights up a room. Basically, James is the polar opposite of
Regulus except right now there’s a deep frown and a sadness clinging to James’ features that dims
his light and that just won’t do.

Regulus looks away, because he’s going to do something stupid if he doesn’t. He pushes the plate
with his breakfast aside, no longer hungry. Out of the corner of his eye, Regulus catches James
leaving the Hall in a rush. Alone.

There’s no thought process involved in. the decision to get up. Regulus simply does. He stands and
goes after James, throwing a quick, “See you in class,” to his friends.

Then, he’s out the door, too. Regulus is too slow, so he can’t tell in which direction James went.
He’s about to give up when he hears it. A muffled sound. A thwack, like something fell or
someone got hit. Regulus follows the sound down a side corridor and finds a door to a storage
room. He lets himself inside, shutting it closed behind him and casting a silencing spell
immediately. Just in case.

James is curled over himself, and it’s clear to Regulus that he hasn’t heard him come in. His
shoulders are shaking and he’s muttering into the space between his knees but it’s strangled and
completely unintelligible.

The air in the room is heavy. Sad. And it means that Regulus doesn’t walk further in, but rather
stays close to the door. He doesn’t know if James wants him here. Regulus wouldn’t, if roles were
reversed. He has days when he doesn’t want anyone near him. They don’t happen too often, but
they happen and Regulus has learnt how to deal with them.

“Potter?”

James looks up, and when he sees Regulus he immediately straightens, schooling his face into a
small smile. He runs a hand through his hair. Regulus notices he keeps the other behind his back.

“Regulus. What are you doing here?” James asks, but it’s not aggressive. It’s curiosity, like James
can’t think of a reason why Regulus would come after him.

“You’re upset,” Regulus points out. “Why?”

James shrugs, does a truly piss poor attempt at appearing nonchalant. It’s just not one of James’
strong suits. He’s too transparent, at least for someone observant like Regulus. Add to it the fact
that Regulus has been crushing on this guy for years and thus watching him exist and well...
Suffice it to say that Regulus knows how to read James.

“It’s fine. I was just being silly,” James says.

Regulus glances around. The room is small and cluttered. It has old desks piled up against the
walls, broken chairs too. A few boxes covered in dust. Regulus’ eyes snag on a chalkboard hanging
from the wall. On the fist-sized indent on it.

“Tell me,” Regulus insists.

For a moment, James looks like he won’t. Like he’s going to keep up this charade of pretending
he’s being silly or whatever. But then, he blinks, and looks at Regulus, and James crumbles. Like a
freaking pastry. He falls apart so quickly Regulus doesn’t even have time to brace himself.

“It’s my fault,” James whispers, then his eyes get red and...

Salazar have mercy, James is crying. Regulus should have thought this through. He’s not equipped
to deal with tears. Never has been. It’s just… what is he supposed to do now? Regulus is glad he
stayed near the door, because at least he’s got an excuse for why he’s not… eh… touching James
in a comforting way. Not that Regulus would know what that looks like.

Frustratingly, Regulus kind of would like to know. Because he’d very much like to touch James,
but not in the way one needs when crying, Regulus thinks. He’s not… he can’t just… Salazar
Slytherin have mercy on him, this is so awkward.

He swallows, and then tries to get a bit more information so he can understand what the hell is
going on. “What is?”

“The man,” James says, fighting for composure but losing the battle because there are tears on his
cheeks. Thankfully, he’s not sobbing, just quietly crying. Regulus would have no choice but to flee
if James started to actively weep. The noises are where he draws the line.

“The man in Liverpool. It’s my fault.”

And this. Oh. Fuck this shit. Honestly. Just absolutely fucking not. No. Regulus is uncomfortable
with tears, but he’s more uncomfortable by the idea that James thinks he’s responsible for that
atrocity. Regulus is discovering that he positively hates it when James is distraught. He might not
know how to offer comfort, but he knows facts.

“Did you cast the imperius curse?”

James stops his moping to look at Regulus like he’s grown a second head. “Of course not,” James
exclaims, sounding indignant.

Ah. Much better. Indignant Regulus can work with. Much better than crying. “Well then. Not your
fault.”

James looks down, then back up at Regulus and the expression on his face is so raw and
heartbroken it makes Regulus want to hug him, which is frankly terrifying. Regulus hasn’t had the
impulse to just genuinely hug anyone in years.

“He was going to do something bad, and I stopped him,” James says. “And now they’ve killed him
because of it. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Regulus registers that there is something here he doesn’t like, something he should unravel and
examine and put a stop to, possibly. But he can’t fully process it because James starts crying again.
Regulus won’t have it. He just won’t. So, he strides forward and pushes James back a little
violently. “Don’t do that. Stop that.”

“If I hadn’t… he’d be…” James shakes his head.

“No,” Regulus says viciously. “He had a choice. And the person who cursed him had a choice.
People make decisions and have to live with the consequences. Don’t be so fucking arrogant to
think it has anything to do with you.”

James blinks, takes a shuddering breath. “But if I hadn’t stopped him, he wouldn’t have been killed
today.”

“And if his mother hadn’t fucked his father a few decades back he wouldn’t have been killed today
either,” Regulus retorts. “That line of thinking is idiotic. Honestly, James. You can do better.”

James stares at him for a beat, and then laughs. He laughs, and Regulus can’t help the smile on his
own face. It takes a moment, but James does calm down. When he does, he sighs and nods. “Thank
you.”

Regulus shrugs, then lifts his chin towards James’ body. “Show me your hand.”

James winces, but surprisingly doesn’t argue. It’s almost as though he’s decided to let Regulus run
this scenario, possibly because James doesn’t seem to be fully in his right mind at the moment. So,
he shows Regulus, and Regulus wants to smack James over the head for his stupidity. “Merlin’s
balls, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Regulus closes the space between them and takes James’ hand in his. It’s bruised and swollen,
knuckles split open and bleeding. Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if he’d broken a couple of bones.
“I wasn’t thinking,” James says bashfully. “It’s fine. Poppy will fix it.”

Poppy? No. He must ensure that James’ hand is healed properly. Poppy means well but she’s
always too busy. Regulus won’t risk her not giving this hand the attention and care it deserves.

“No.”

“Am I meant to heal the muggle way as punishment or something?” James asks dubiously.

Regulus stares at him. “Sometimes, I really wonder how you’ve kept yourself alive this long.”

James makes a hurrumph kind of noise, but lets Regulus handle his hand this way and that.
Examining it. Regulus goes through a mental list of actions, prodding a little bit with the pads of
his fingers to check the extent of the damage. Regulus really needs James to just stop hurting them.
His hands. He should be more careful, or Regulus is going to attach gloves to him at all times.
Gloves that he can only take off to make out with Regulus.

That’s another thing. Regulus didn’t follow James into an empty room after three days of waiting
to let him leave him wanting. Regulus needs James to kiss him again. He needs his hands in his
hair and their bodies close. For that to happen, James needs two functioning hands.

Regulus takes his wand out and gets to work. He disinfects, cleans. It takes a little while, and
James watches him in silence the entire time. First, Regulus checks the bones, then he eases the
swelling so he can close the wounds. “You’re good a this,” James says.

Regulus begins to stitch muscle and skin back together. “I have to be,” Regulus blurts, because he’s
not paying attention to his own words when he’s working to fix James’ hand.

He feels James stiffen, and curses himself for what he said, but it’s said already and there’s no
point trying to pretend it hasn’t. James is Sirius’ best friend. He knows what their house is like.
Regulus finds that thought somewhat comforting. He’ll never have to tell, because James already
knows. And if Regulus has a bad day, one of those rare ones when everything sets him on edge and
he can barely stand the sound of his own voice… well. James is likely to get it, because Sirius got
out, but not early enough, so surely Sirius is a little bit fucked up, too?

He has to be. Regulus didn’t learn healing charms to use on himself. No. That came later.

The spells are doing their work. Regulus is almost done healing James’ hand, and Regulus is
pleased with himself because when he’s done, there’ll be no trace of the injury. This is a huge
relief, because hands like James’ should never get hurt. They should be preserved at all costs,
namely so they can do wicked things to Regulus.

Alright. Yes. He’ll admit it. Regulus has been thinking a lot about James’ hands. More than is
probably healthy, but that’s kinda Regulus’ theme anyway, so all good.

“I told Sirius,” James says abruptly. “About the kiss.”

The kiss. Regulus likes the sound of it. Possibly more than he should, definitely more than is
appropriate. Still. The way James says it, like it was important. Regulus could whoop. He would
never. But he could. In his head.

“Regulus?”

Regulus looks up at James and smirks. “I know you told him. He’s furious.”
James’ eyebrows fly up. “Don’t look so happy about it.”

“Does it bother you?”

“I… well. I needed him to know and to understand. It would be nice if he was supportive, but it’s
not a requirement,” James says cautiously. He’s watching Regulus for a reaction, but he won’t get
it. Not about Sirius.

Regulus didn’t want him to know, but it was James’ one condition, and he had no choice. Regulus
honestly didn’t even think they’d get to talk like this again. But they are. Talking. Something must
have gone okay, right? But that doesn’t mean he wants anything to do with his brother. Now that’s
out of the way, and James is apparently keeping his word and not stopping whatever this is… well.
Regulus sees no reason to bring up his brother ever again.

Regulus puts his wand back in its holster. James’ hand is good as new. “There. Done,” Regulus
says.

“Thank you,” James says.

Regulus has to let go now, but he doesn’t want to. James’ hand is warm, and bigger than his, and
Regulus kind of wants to just hold it for no reason. Well, no. He’s lying. There’s a reason: James is
here. Back. He told Sirius and Sirius doesn’t want him to be here, but he is.

It’s as though James can read his mind, because he interlaces his fingers with Regulus, twisting his
hand so they fit comfortably. And this is… Regulus is so overwhelmed he can’t process half the
things coursing through his body, running through his brain.

There’s one thought, though. One that barrels to the front of his mind and takes his breath away.

James is choosing Regulus.

Regulus honestly wants to cry.

No one has ever chosen him before for anything.

His throat is thick and he’s crumbling like a house of cards but what is he supposed to do? How is
he supposed to stay composed when James is… he’s…

“I want to kiss you,” James says, tugging a little on their joined hands to bring Regulus closer. He
lets his body move, stepping into James’ personal space and feeling the warmth he radiates. “Can I
kiss you?”

Regulus doesn’t answer. At least not with words. He just. He does it. Because it’s been three days
and he thought he wasn’t going to get to have this again, so he’s going to take it while he can.
Regulus presses his mouth against James’.

James kisses him back immediately, overwhelming Regulus to take control of the kiss. Regulus
likes it. He likes that James takes charge, that he goes after what he wants, because what he wants
Regulus also wants even if he didn’t know it until they’re doing it. Like the lip biting. James bites
Regulus’ lower lip again, like he did the first time, and Regulus’ entire body goes liquid. He feels
like he’ll explode into flames, and Salazar help him, Regulus isn’t even a little bit afraid of
burning.

Regulus puts his arms around James’ neck and presses himself closer to him. James groans quietly,
low and from the back of his throat and Regulus feels it in his soul. James’ hands run over Regulus’
body, coming to stop on the back of his thighs which okay? It’s a bit strange but—

Oh.

Regulus is no longer supporting his own weight because James just. He picked him up. Regulus’
legs wrap themselves around James’ waist, and now James’ hands are literally squeezing Regulus’
ass and it’s. It’s… Merlin fuck help, Regulus is going to faint.

“This okay?” James asks, mouth trailing wet kisses down Regulus’ neck.

Is this okay? Regulus has never been more okay in his life, but he seems to have lost the ability to
speak so instead he runs his lips over the line of James’ jaw, feeling like a god when the other boy
shivers and groans again.

At some point, James finds a wall to press them against and it’s even better. Kissing against the
wall is now one of Regulus’ favourite ways of kissing. Regulus knows James can feel he’s hard,
but Regulus is pretty sure James is, too, so it’s okay. Right? It has to be okay? They wouldn’t be
doing this if it wasn’t. Also, Regulus just cannot help it. James is fucking sexy and he’s doing
things with his tongue that render Regulus a useless mess of panting and groaning.

They only stop making out when they can hear hordes of student thundering down the corridor
outside the room, indicating that they either leave now or they’ll miss their first class. Regulus
would like to just stay here forever, but he also knows he can’t do that.

“James,” he says, tugging a little on his hair so he stops doing whatever he’s doing to his neck and
looks at him. James likes his hair pulled, apparently, because he makes another one of those sinful
sounds and rewards Regulus with a little nip of a particularly sensitive spot that scrambles all his
thoughts. “Oh. Fuck. James.”

Another moan, deep and sinful. A long, languid kiss that makes Regulus forget his own name for a
brief moment. Then, James stops, looks at Regulus. He’s panting, but his eyes are so bright they
could light up the entire world.

“I like that,” he says. “When you call me James.”

Regulus hadn’t even noticed it, if he’s honest. It sort of… slipped. But it’s stupid, isn’t it? He can’t
go around calling him Potter when they’re doing this. So Regulus shrugs like it’s not a big deal.

To be clear: it is a big deal. But Regulus will have a panic about it later. In private.

Now that James’ mouth isn’t attached to Regulus’ skin, he can think. So. “We have to get to class,”
Regulus says.

James pouts. Literally pouts. Regulus hates the way it makes his resolve weaken. “We could just
skip class today.”

Regulus is tempted. He’s so fucking tempted. But he can’t. Someone would notice and that cannot
happen. Regulus’ very life depends on it.

“No, we can’t. No one can find out,” Regulus tells him. He’s trying to be serious about it, which is
somewhat less effective when he’s still clinging to James, legs wrapped around his waist and all.
“You can’t tell anyone. Do you understand?”

To his immense relief, James’ expression sobers. “I do. I won’t tell anyone. I’d never put you at
risk, Reg.”
What is Regulus supposed to do with that other than kiss James again? He knows he catches him
by surprise because of the little breath that escapes him, but James has Chaser reflexes for a reason,
and recovers swiftly. And then they’re kissing again, urgently, and Regulus wonders if maybe yes,
they should just skip class today.

It’s James who breaks the kiss this time. “Fuck. Don’t do that again or I will not let you leave this
room.”

Regulus lets his head fall back against the wall, trying to catch his breath. If James is trying to put
him off, he’s doing a terrible job at it.

The stay there like that for a long moment, breathing, and processing that this is something they do
now. Regulus still feels like he’s half-dreaming and he’s going to wake up any second to find it
was all a fantasy. But it can’t be, because his fantasies have never come close to this. Never been
half as good.

Regulus looks down at James, who’s looking up at him through his lashes. Fuck. Regulus is down
so bad for this idiot.

“I’m going to put you down now,” James tells him. “Okay?”

He nods, and then Regulus’ feet are on solid ground and this just. It won’t do. He hates it. If
Regulus could have his way, he’d have James carry him around at all times. Except. Well.

“Right,” Regulus says, straightening his tie which became loose at some point.

James smiles, steps back to give him some space. “So,” James says. Pauses. He rubs the back of
his neck, which Regulus has noticed he does when he’s nervous.

Regulus raises an eyebrow.

James smiles, bits his lip. “I… eh… we’re going to do this? Like. Again? You… want that?”

Regulus blinks, confused. He stares at James, not knowing what to say. It strikes him that he has
zero experience with… this. People and kissing and whatever happens in between those things. It’s
called hooking up, he knows. Sometimes it develops into relationships. Whatever. He’s never done
it before. But James doesn’t know that. James can’t know that. It’s embarrassing, and Regulus
wants James to think that he’s cool, and that he knows what he’s doing.

He tries to sound casual when he says, “Sure.”

James beams. “Ah, okay. Yes. Good.” He takes a breath. “Listen. I like you. Like. A lot. So, I’d
like to keep doing this and also talking. Getting to know you. So just. Yeah. I wanted you to
know.”

I like you a lot.

I like you.

I like you a lot.

How can James just say shit like that? Regulus can’t breathe in the best way, and he kind of wishes
he could tell James that Regulus likes him too. But he can’t. Doesn’t know how. The words just
won’t come.
But it doesn’t matter because words are just words and they don’t have to be the be all end all.
Regulus looks at James and remembers that he took his place by Sirius’ side, and that he made
Sirius want to fight badly enough that he got out. Regulus hated him for it. Perhaps he hates him
still, a little bit. But it’s lost in the haze of everything else. The warmth of James. The way he looks
at Regulus, and how he can make him laugh with his earnestness and goofiness. How he just won’t
give up. He… James keeps trying. At everything. Getting Regulus to talk to him. Making Regulus
smile. Solving a Rubik’s cube. James doesn’t give up and Regulus is fucking addicted to him.

Oh Merlin help him.

Regulus understands in this moment that he no longer hates James. He can’t. Perhaps he never
truly did and he was just jealous of his brother. Because Sirius always gets everything good. He
was first, and life has always reminded Regulus that he’s second. In every way possible. Except
this time, it’s Regulus first, isn’t it? Because James doesn’t like Sirius this way. James likes
Regulus. James wants to keep kissing Regulus. It’s him. He’s the one who gets the good thing.

And Regulus has never had anything that was just his, that was precious like this in his life so he’s
going to hold on to it with both hands for as long as he can.

Until the time comes for his revenge to happen and he inevitably has to let James go. But that’s far
away, and right now they’re in a room together, alone in the aftermath of their kissing. Regulus
won’t think of vengeance. Not while James is looking at him like this.

They stare at each other for a moment. Regulus has to do something. He wants to do something to
show James what he can’t say. So, he lets his hand lift and reach for James’ face and traces the
shape of his cheek and jaw like he did in the infirmary weeks ago.

James’ face melts. He just. He melts, a small, contented sigh escaping him.

Regulus would like to memorize James’ face. And he will. He’s got a few months, and he’s going
to commit it all to memory so that when he no longer has James, he has that. Perfect recall of him
in every way.

When Regulus drops his hand, James’ cheeks are dark and his eyes are twinkling. He says, “Oh.
Yeah. Okay. Me too.”

And Regulus wants to kiss him again, because James somehow understands. He gets Regulus on a
level that he shouldn’t be able to, but he does. Apparently, achieving the impossible is James
Potter’s particular brand of magic. It’s fucking mind-blowing, and Regulus feels like he’s too big
for his skin. Like he could just expand and burst out of his body with how fucking good it feels to
be able to just… communicate with James on his own terms.

Regulus smiles at him, because there’s no time for kissing again but also James deserves it. And
Regulus tries. He smiles as wide as he can, and his reward is the look of pure awe on James’ face.

And then he nods, and Regulus turns towards the door, because he does have to leave now or
they’ll be in trouble. James stops him.

“Wait,” James says. “It’s just… ehm, I can’t make it to the roof tonight. I want to. I really want to.
But a friend is… well, they’re having a rough time and they need me.”

Regulus is looking at him over his shoulder, and sees the hesitation in James’ face. But he gets it,
and it only makes him like James that much more. Because if Dorcas was having a hard time,
Regulus would be there for her, too. This is something Regulus understands. It’s something he
respects.

“Tomorrow, then?” Regulus asks.

James’ smile lights the room up. “Tomorrow.”

####

It’s a bad moon. James’ heart breaks for Remus, for Moony, as they struggle against their nature.
The wolf and the animagi have spent the night chasing each other, which isn’t unusual. Except
when one of them was caught—usually Padfoot because he is the most reckless and always stays
close to the wolf—Moony was feral. Way more than usual. There’s nothing to do about it. They all
know some moons are better than others and the late October one was horrible.

James had to physically drag Sirius away from the Shack, because he refused to leave Remus there
alone. Shivering and naked. Bruised and wounded, though nothing severe. At least there’s that.
Remus hasn’t hurt himself gravely since they became animagi.

It's over now. Peter is scouting ahead to make sure they can get back to the dorm safely. James and
Sirius are limping through the corridors, helping each other stay upright. They’re bruised and
bloody too, but they’re whole and they got Remus through another moon. That’s all that matters.

Peter helps James to his bed after they’ve both put Sirius on his. The dorm is quiet, sombre. It
always is the dawn of a full moon. Peter fusses around them, going through the motions of a ritual
they perfected a long time ago. He brings water for them, and wet cloth to wipe the grime from the
forest from their skin. Then, Peter goes to the one drawer they’re allowed to open in Remus’ side of
the room and pulls out two vials. He gives one to Sirius and one to James. They drink it
immediately, because it tastes absolutely vile so if they hesitate they won’t drink it.

“Godric’s sword at the bottom of the lake,” Sirius says. “That tastes like the soles of Pete’s boots.”

Peter only snorts, smug that he doesn’t have to take the medicine. “You need to recover. We’ve got
Order training on Sunday.”

Sirius and James nod miserably, finishing off the potion through grimaces and groans. “Did you
notice Dumbledore wasn’t at breakfast or lunch today?”

Sirius flops back on his bed. “He’s probably with Alastor, right? Fighting them off? Making them
pay.”

Alastor has become somewhat of a hero for Sirius. He’s a little obsessed with the man, in a ‘I want
to be you when I grow up’ kind of way. When he found out it wouldn’t be Moody himself coming
to Hogsmeade to train them, he was very disappointed.

“What do you think it will be like?” Peter asks. “When we’re in the Order.”

“We’re already in the Order,” James croaks, coughing through the aftertaste of the medicine.

Sirius grins. “Yes, we are. All of us. It’s so fucking brilliant. We’re going to end this war, Prongs.
You, and me, and Moony, and Wormy.”
Peter beams, but fidgets with his hands a little. “It’ll be dangerous though. Won’t it?”

“It makes it more fun,” Sirius says. “If it were easy everyone would do it. And it’s not going to be
just anyone. It’ll be us. The saviours of the wizarding world.”

“I like the sound of that,” says James, smiling. “We are heroes.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Not yet. But yeah. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

They all drift to their own fantasies, which in James’ case include a standing ovation in a crowded
room. His parents are in the front row. On one side of them is Sirius who has an arm thrown over
Remus—in James’ head these two have been together for years—and Peter who’s with Olive. On
the other, Regulus looks at him with pride and a smile so big and bright he shames the star he’s
named after.

Regulus.

James wants to see him. Desperately. He hopes his day isn’t too busy. Perhaps he can sneak away
at some point? If he sent him a note for an impromptu meeting in the middle of the day, would he
come?

James doesn’t think so, but worth a thought, no?

James also kind of wants to ask Regulus about a small incident he apparently had with Remus
during their prefect patrol. Remus didn’t tell them much about it at all, only that something
happened. A ‘run in’ with a bunch of Slytherins, then Regulus appeared in his capacity as prefect
and put an end to it.

Apparently, Peter was involved, too. He says he saw Remus on the map and went to check it out,
because Sirius and James were in the Astronomy Tower, and he knew that meant serious business.
James and Sirius corralled Peter and interrogated him about it, but Peter also dismissed it as not
important.

So, really, James is reaching. He knows he is. James just wants to see him, really. He wishes he
didn’t have an entire day of lessons ahead of him. Lessons without Regulus because he’s a year
behind.

Ugh.

“Remind me what’s on the schedule for today,” James says, looking towards Peter.

“Transfiguration first thing,” Peter says. “Then I’m off to Herbology and I think you guys have
Alchemy.”

Sirius groans as he pushes himself up on his elbows to look at his friends. “Remus has Advanced
Arithmancy. So, I’ll go to that and you take Alchemy, Prongs.”

James nods in agreement. Remus doesn’t like having to ask people for class notes after the full
moon. He thinks it brings attention to his absences, and lives in constant fear of someone finding
out. So, for the past two years, Sirius and James have worked out a system where they alternate and
go to Remus’ electives so they can write down what the class is about. Half the time, neither of
them have any idea what’s going on, but their note taking is thorough and Remus has never
complained.

The medicine begins to take effect, and James feels a bit better. It’s never perfect, and he’ll ache all
day, but at least he won’t limp. Sirius twists his torso, and his spine makes a cracking noise. Peter
is already discarding his clothes so he can be the first one to shower. He never gets hurt, because
he’s so small, so he’s always taken the role of caregiver once the moon is over. James loves him
for it.

Sirius and James flop back onto their beds when the shower turns on. “I need to sleep for a year,”
Sirius grunts. “How do you think Moony’s feeling?”

“Like shit, most likely. He goes through the absolute worst. But also, Poppy’s got him. So,” James
shrugs even though he’s lying down and there’s no real point to it.

“Thank Godric for Poppy,” Sirius says with feeling.

James agrees. He turns his head to look at his best friend, who’s already looking at him. His
eyebrows furrow like he can read James’ mind and knows what he’s going to say. James grimaces,
then says, “I’m seeing him tonight. Just… just so you know.”

He doesn’t need to tell Sirius who he’s talking about. He knows. Sirius rolls his eyes, covers them
with an arm dramatically thrown over his head. “Godric have mercy on me. How often is that
going to happen now?”

“Ehm… pretty often?”

“Have a day off. How often is often? That's... Prongs. Not every day?” Sirius says, lifting his arm
to glare at James a little before dropping it back onto his face. “You better be just talking. Keep
your hands to yourself. He’s my baby brother and you will not… you know. Him. You will not. I
forbid it.”

“You can’t even say it,” James teases.

This is a bad idea, because Sirius rolls on his side and stares at James threateningly. He caves,
because Sirius is still being reasonable about this and James won’t push his luck. Not about
Regulus. James snorts. “Listen. It’s all very… PG rated. Mostly, he smokes and I talk.”

Sirius’ eyes widen a bit. “Wait. For real?”

“Yeah,” James nods. “I mean. We’ve kissed. Obviously. I told you. But yeah. We talk.”

“What does he talk about?” Sirius asks, biting his lip and scrunching his nose like he doesn’t want
to ask but his curiosity has got the better of him. And then, “Wait, what? Reggie smokes?”

James does a little head gesture that Sirius understands. He nods permission. And so James slides
off his bed and crawls into Sirius’. “He’s got some muggle friend that got him hooked on them.”
Sirius frowns, but James doesn’t give him a chance to interrupt him again. “Sirius, it’s okay to be
curious.”

“It’s not,” he says immediately, almost like it’s a knee-jerk response.

“It is,” James insists. “He’s your brother. And maybe he was stupid the night you ran and made a
mistake. What if he regrets it? Would you not want to forgive him and move forward?”

“He chose them over me, James,” Sirius says, closing his eyes.

“He was a scared child.”

Sirius scoffs. “Has he fed you this sob story? I thought you were smarter than this, Prongs.”

“We haven’t talked about the really deep stuff yet,” James admits. “We’re only just… you know,
getting to know each other. We’ve never talked about you, except when I told him I wasn’t going
to keep this from you.”

Sirius hums. Peter opens the door the bathroom, letting out a cloud of steam. Sirius rolls off the bed
and disappears into the bathroom without another word. James sighs. It’s going to take time, he
knows. But he’s never been very patient so it’s not a surprise he’s struggling.

If James could have his way, he’d force Sirius and Regulus to reconcile right now.

Unfortunately, it’s never that easy. So James has to learn to wait. To give Sirius time and space.

“You alright, Prongs?” Peter asks him.

“Yeah, Pete,” James says. “Just tired. You know.”

Peter runs a comb through his hair. Looks at James. “You don’t have to tell me, but I know
something’s up. Just… well. I’m here, alright? If you need anything.”

James smiles at his friend. His heart grows a little, like it does every time he reminds himself of
how lucky he is. How many people he loves. “Thanks Pete. I… well, something is going on. But I
can’t really talk about it,“ James says. “But thank you.”

“Anytime,” Peter smiles, too.

Rolling on the bed to sit up, James puts his chin on his knee. “How’s Olive?”

Peter’s cheeks flush and he smiles big and bright. And then, he starts to tell James about how
amazing his chaser is. She’s funny, and kind, and apparently likes listening to Peter rant about
plants. She’s into herbology, too.

When Sirius emerges out of the shower, he finds Peter giggling and James hyping him up and
immediately joins in the fun. He teases Peter good naturedly about his girlfriend, despite Peter
insisting that they haven’t yet spoken about whether they’re officially together or not.

By the time James has his shower, they’re all running late so they have to skip breakfast. This sets
them up for a miserable transfiguration double class. But McGonagall knows the full moon is
always hard for them. She has no idea about the animagi part, but she knows they struggle because
it’s hard to watch how it affects Remus. So, despite being strict and a little terrifying at times, the
day after the full McGonagall always gives them a free pass. She looks the other way. She doesn’t
tell them off when Sirius nods off for a few minutes or when James keeps knocking over the cup
they’re supposed to be transfiguring.

James catches Regulus’ eye on the way into the Great Hall for lunch, and once again he wishes
they had a way of telling each other something. Anything. It’s a little bit like torture seeing
Regulus but not being able to talk to him.

Regulus’ face remains blank, a little scowl-y. But he doesn’t break eye contact with James until
Crouch says something to him and Regulus has to look away. James clings to it, to the small
gesture. It’s got to mean something, right?

The three of them eat lunch at record speed, shovelling food into their mouth like they’ve never
seen it before. They’re in and out of the Great Hall in fifteen minutes, which leaves them forty-five
to go see Remus in the infirmary.

Sirius wraps two sweet bread rolls in a large napkin and pockets them, because they all know
Remus loves them and they’re not served very often. Peter gives Olive a quick kiss which makes
James and Sirius whoop and Peter’s cheeks turn red, and then they’re out.

James knows the smells of the infirmary better than he should. Better than he would like to.
They’ve been here too many times, he thinks. But it can’t be helped. Even if they didn’t get hurt
playing pranks on fellow students—which they did, and often—there are at least eight full moons
in a school year. That’s eight too many.

White tiles, white sheets, metal bedframes. It’s all so familiar James can picture it with his eyes
closed. And isn’t that tragic? He was only eleven the first time he wound up here after their first
prank. It went well, but he fell down as he ran to avoid getting caught and broke his ankle. Sirius
carried him all the way to the infirmary later that day.

As his nose tingles through the strong stench of disinfectant and metal, James wonders if they
should have spent their time differently. If they should have caused less chaos. The world is on fire
outside of these walls, and they spent so much time just pranking people for no reason. Well.
Okay. Reason. It was genuinely hilarious and they had so much fucking fun. It was epic, and they
hold no less than three school records—most detentions, longest streak of losing the house cup on
purpose (much to Minnie’s eternal dismay), and voted the coolest kids in Hogwarts for four—this
will be fifth—year in a row in the annual student survey ran by whoever is the gossipmonger that
year.

But what if they’d been getting better at magic instead? What if?

James knows Regulus thinks it’s not his fault, and he appreciated his words so much yesterday. It
honestly helped him a lot. But he carries the guilt anyway. He thinks maybe there was another
way. One that didn’t end up with the man dead in such a horrible way.

He pushes the thoughts away as soon as they reach their friend’s bed. Remus is nestled in a cocoon
of blankets, half-sitting up with a bunch of pillows behind him. He looks tired and a bit haggard,
but on the way up. It’s always like this. The morning is the worst, and then he starts to recover
until a day and half or so later he’s mostly fine. Until the next moon. Over, and over again.

“Hey Moony,” Sirius says softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Hey Pads,” Remus says. He sounds tired, but looks at Sirius with the same mixture of joy,
longing, and protectiveness he always does. “I’m alright. Will be fine tomorrow.”

Sirius takes the buns out of his pocket and shows them to Remus with a proud smile. “Here. Maybe
these help?”

He sounds so earnest, so eager to help. To make it better for Remus. James feels his heart melt a
little. Sirius stares at Remus with a naked expression of pure adoration that makes him look
younger. Softer. The Sirius he could have been if he’d been born to anyone but Walburga Black.

Remus, in turn, fights to hide his reaction. His jaw tenses and his lips become a thin line for a
fraction of a second. His eyes flutter closed. Remus sighs, then recovers and takes the buns off
Sirius. “Thank you, Pads.”

“Anytime, Moony.” Sirius smiles.

Remus’ jaw unclenches, then clenches again, a small muscle ticking there. It’s too much, too soon.
 Remus is always a bit volatile before and after the moon and Sirius is affecting him too much right
now. He’s usually alright at dealing with his emotions, but obviously not today. They need to help
him, because Sirius is one oblivious idiot.

James is going to intervene when Peter beats him to it, also reading the mood-change in his friend.
“Hey,” Peter asks, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

Remus shakes his head, fake-yawns so poorly James doesn’t think anyone’s bought it. “It was just
a hard one. I need rest.”

And James thinks he understands. It has given him a lot of insight, this thing with Regulus.
Because if the boy he likes did something as sweet for him as Sirius just did for Remus and he
wasn’t allowed to show how it made him feel in any way… James would probably want to be left
alone, too.

Shuffling closer, James takes Remus’ hand and gives it a little squeeze. “Hey. It’s okay. We’ll let
you rest.”

Remus looks at him gratefully, but Sirius is frowning. Concerned. “Moony? What’s wrong?”

James lets go of Remus so he can tug on Sirius’ hand and he lets himself be dragged back a little
bit, but he’s still looking at Remus like he doesn’t understand why he’s being told to leave. James
gets this, too. Because Sirius is always there for Remus in the aftermath. Always. Every single
moon since they found out.

It seems Remus has reached his breaking point, however. Because he looks at Sirius with the same
love and longing he always does, but also with a kind of resignation that scares James. Like Remus
is defeated. Like he is, perhaps, giving up on Sirius in that way. James becomes a little agitated.
Remus just can’t be. He can’t be done. Can’t give up. James doesn’t want him to be because
Remus doesn’t know it, but Sirius is just as gone for him as Remus is for Sirius. They just can’t see
it.

James wonders not for the first time if they should just do something about it. But Sirius spooks
easily. And he’s got too much shit to deal with. He could react badly. That would be worse.

So, James holds his tongue, and Remus says, “I just need to be alone for a bit, okay? Thanks for
these Pads. You’re the best friend anyone could wish for.”

Sirius sighs, accepts defeat. He nods. “Alright. Whatever you need.”

He doesn’t speak a word for the rest of the afternoon. James doesn’t push him.

Chapter End Notes

Wolfstar are KILLING ME.

 Horrible Things
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

TWs for this chapter:

Smoking
Mentions of past murder (Liverpool man)
References to past child abuse
References to possible future murder
Mention of possible vomiting (no one is sick, but it's mentioned like they feel like it)
Heavy making out (clothes stay on!) (heavier than we've seen before hence the
warning)
Implied possibility of someone cutting themselves (for a specific purpose, one-off type
thing)
There's a discussion about sex in this chapter, too

I think that's it. If I've missed anything, please do flag and I'll be happy to add it!

I hope you enjoy <3

THANK YOU to all the lovely readers leaving kudos and making me smile and the
amazing, brilliant people leaving comments and making my day!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The wind is biting cold when James makes it up on the roof. He told Regulus he would find an
alternative place for them to meet now that winter is coming, but he’s been distracted. They have
Order training now on Sundays on top of everything else they’re doing. Not to mention Quidditch,
which remains James’ true passion and number objective. He’ll graduate as the only Captain to
have won the Cup every single year of his captaincy. He’ll accept nothing less.

Anyway, he’s been busy and distracted, but he does need to think of somewhere to go with Regulus
if he doesn’t want them both to freeze to death. Not conducive to the sort of thing he wants to be
doing with Regulus. So. James supposes the Astronomy Tower is an option, but it’s a semi-popular
spot for couples. They could be discovered accidentally. Not to mention his friends go there to
have serious talks, which doesn’t happen often but it’s not outside the realm of possibility.

James will have to find a better solution. He knows every corner of this castle. It shouldn’t be too
hard if he applies himself to it, and for the chance of more time with Regulus, he will.

James sits on the cold tiles. Casts a warming spell. Today, he’s arrived before Regulus. He waits
and fidgets with the pack of cigarettes he brought for him. James wants Regulus to arrive quickly,
because he’s not in the best headspace. Being alone with his thoughts isn’t a good idea today. Not
when James is still feeling guilty over the Liverpool man.

He wants to be distracted, and Regulus is excellent at distracting him.

But would he be if he knew what James did? What would Regulus think if he found out James had
a very active part in the events that led to that man being killed?

James isn’t sure Regulus would like him anymore, and that’s terrifying. But James wouldn’t blame
Regulus if that was the case. Because James is supposed to help people. Save them. Protect them.
And he failed. There’s a dead man and his blood is on James’ hands. Or he feels like it, at least.

He hasn’t had a chance to properly talk about it with his friends because the news arrived on the
morning of the Full Moon. They touched on it very briefly, and Sirius, Remus and Peter said
almost the same things Regulus said. They told him not to put this pressure on himself, that he
saved a lot of lives and the choices of this man weren’t James’ responsibility. But it was rushed,
because then Remus had to go to the Shack, and then well. The following day hasn’t been the
easiest.

Sirius hid himself in his bed, curtains drawn, as soon as they finished lessons. He hadn’t emerged
by the time James left to come meet Regulus. So. He hasn’t had a chance to properly hash it out
with his friends, and the words from yesterday have lost their weight.

The guilt remains. It just won’t go away. James doesn’t know how to get rid of it. And it scares
him, because he’s not an idiot. He knows that people die in wars. He’s just joined the ranks, and
he’s willing to fight, isn’t he? That means people will die.

That means James might have to kill.

James doesn’t know if he can. After all, he hesitated when it was Sirius’ life on the line. If that
wasn’t enough for him to give in to his darkness… James doesn’t know if he’ll be much good to
the Order of Phoenix after all.

Dumbledore would have never recruited if he’d known how weak James is.

Very noble. Very brave.

You have skills that would be useful to the efforts.

Dumbledore would have never said that to him if he knew James is about to be sick over himself
with guilt for the death of a man. Does it matter that man was ready to hand over thousands of
muggles? No. Because a life is a life, isn’t it? James can’t… can he? He doesn’t think he can.

“Hey,” Regulus says, and James looks up so fast black spots dot his vision for a second.

Regulus is watching him with narrowed eyes, sitting on the roof next to him. James didn’t feel him
arrive. Didn’t see him. That’s a first.

“You okay?” Regulus asks.

James nods, hands him the pack of cigarettes. “Just lost in thought. Sorry.”

Regulus pockets the pack and takes a cigarette out of his almost finished one. He lights it with his
wand, a small flame flickering at the tip of it, lighting the small space between them. Regulus takes
a long drag, then looks at James as he extinguishes his wand.

“Bad ones,” Regulus says.

It’s not a question, but James answers like it is. “No. Just…” He sighs. Looks at Regulus. Admits
defeat, because apparently he cannot hold his ground with good looking people. ”Fine. Yes. Bad
thoughts.”

“Tell me,” Regulus orders. There’s no mistaking the tone of his voice.

James doesn’t want to, because he already did, and Regulus told him to get over it. If James brings
it up again, he’ll get bored. James isn’t boring. He’s fun and interesting. He’s handsome and good
at kissing and stuff.

That’s what he should be doing.

“It’s nothing,” James says, leaning forward. “Not important.”

Regulus’ gaze drops to his mouth, and James thinks he’s won, but then Regulus shakes his head
and pulls away before they can kiss. James almost whines in protest, only catching himself at the
last minute.

“Tell me,” Regulus repeats. “And then I’ll kiss you.”

“Regulus, it’s not important,” James complains.

“I don’t care. I want to know,” Regulus replies. There’s something in his voice that gives James
pause. It’s like a little waver. A break in the smoothness of Regulus’ usually cool and unbothered
tone that betrays he means it when he asks James to tell him.

He wants to know badly enough for it to make a crack on his façade.

And James learnt the night of the broom ride that he couldn’t deny Regulus Black anything. Not
really. So he sighs, and scoots closer. “This okay?”

Regulus nods. And James takes a deep breath and says, “I’m still thinking about the man in
Liverpool. I know you said it wasn’t my fault. I still feel like it is.”

“Guilt has a way of clinging to the insides of our ribs,” Regulus says quietly. “Don’t let it. It’s not
your fault, James.”

“I know that up here,” James says, tapping his temple. “But in here… well. I feel like I’ve failed.
Like I should have done more and I didn’t.”

Regulus puts his cigarette out against the tiles and turns to face James fully. He brings one hand
over the one James put on his own chest, and the other he takes up to James’ face, cradling it
gently and effectively cutting blood circulation to James’ brain. Regulus can be so fucking gentle
when he wants to be. It’s mind blowing to James. He wants Regulus to never stop being gentle with
him.

“It’s not your job to save everyone,” Regulus says fiercely. His hand is cold on his face, but James
likes it. He likes that he can feel it so distinctly on his skin, proof that Regulus is still here,
touching him even though he’s being annoying and talking about the same topic again.

“But people need help,” James says weakly. “And I can help them. I should. Because I can. And
it’s—”

“You’re a kid, James,” Regulus says, cutting him off. “It’s not your job to save the world.”

He wants to, though. James wants to save everyone so badly. Because the alternative is that some
people he cares about could get hurt and that’s not something James can live with. He can carry his
burdens, and hurt, and bend under the weight of the world, but none of it will ever break him so
long as he knows his people are safe.

And yet. Well. Regulus perhaps has a point.

“Not alone, no. I can’t save everyone alone,” James agrees. “But… We have to fight, right? We
have to.”

“No, you don’t,” Regulus insists, an edge to his voice like he’s thinking about something specific.
For a wild moment, James panics that Regulus somehow knows about the Order but that’s
impossible. He doesn’t. He can’t. He won’t. “Leave the fighting to the adults. The professionals.
It’s not your job.”

James can feel his heart splintering. Is it not his job? Maybe it isn’t. But he needs to do it anyway
because there are too many bad people. There are also too many people who do nothing. And
that’s how innocents end up dead. Isn’t it?

“Regulus, you know what’s happening out there,” James says softly.

Regulus stiffens. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“I think that’s why it’s getting so bad. Too many people think it’s not about them, and they do
nothing. I can’t be like that,” James tells Regulus. “And I… I like helping people.”

Regulus shifts, coming closer. Their knees are touching, and now Regulus is fully cradling James’
face using both hands. His rings are cool against the skin of James’ jaw, his fingers gently digging
into his skin.

“You’re so fucking good, James,” Regulus says. He sounds sad. Like it’s a tragedy.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing?”

“It is,” Regulus replies firmly. “Because it’s going to put you in danger, and I’m going to have to
do horrible shit to keep you safe.”

The brutal possessiveness in his voice when he says that makes James want to kiss him and shove
him away at the same time. “You wouldn’t.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow. “I absolutely will.”

“I don’t want you to do horrible things for me,” James says, alarmed.

But also. Why is this working for him? Godric Gryffindor would be horrified by James. He’s a
little horrified by himself, but… it’s not like he can help it, right? A dangerously possessive
Regulus turns James on. It is what it is. Alarming, but also hot as fuck.

“Will it make you feel better if I tell you I’ve already done horrible things for other people?”

James opens his mouth. Closes it. “I’m… strangely jealous,” he says, because he is and it’s
disorienting.

Regulus smiles. It’s a little softer but the violent edge clings to the corners of his mouth and the
glint in his eye tells James he’s very much still on edge. “Not like this. Not like you. But friends. I
take care of my friends, and I will take care of you.”

“No,” James says. “I’ll take care of you.”

Regulus kisses him. It’s quick but fierce. Like Regulus couldn’t help himself.

When he pulls away, he looks solemn. There’s no smile or smirk. There’s just Regulus Black,
staring at him like he can see all the way through to James’ soul with those piercing green eyes.

“You can’t save me, James. I don’t want you to. I’ve done horrible things and I will do more. You
can’t stop me. I don’t want you to,” Regulus says. The delivery is brutal, like he’s landing blows
and waiting to see which one will be the one to make James crumble. “I’m not a good person and if
you’re only on this roof because you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that I am, then you better
get off it right now. Because I’m not. I don’t want to be.”

James should be getting ready to scramble away. He should he disgusted, or disappointed.

Horrified, maybe. All of the above. He has no idea what bad things Regulus has done, but just the
knowledge that he has done them should be enough. He’s confessed. This is a confession, isn’t it?
So, he should just decide it’s best if he leaves.

And yet, what James is, is alarmingly curious. He wants to know. He wants to see. To discover the
deepest, darkest parts of Regulus and shine a light on them. Regulus has issues. He knew this,
because his brother is his best friend. One doesn’t grow up in Grimmauld place under the iron fist
of Walburga Black to come out all sunshine and rainbows.

James has seen the darkness in Sirius and he doesn’t love him any less for it. So why would it be
different for Regulus? It isn’t. James understands people are complex. They have layers, and
histories, and both darkness and light. Regulus might have done horrible things, but he’s also good
when he wants to be. He cares for his friends. Protects them. That alone is enough. Friendship is
important to James and that’s something Regulus understands. It’s proof that there’s good in him.

And there’s… there’s a softness to Regulus that James has only just begun to discover. Gentleness
like when he touches James’ face. When he gave him a potion to heal his wounds and pretended to
be his brother so he could be close to James in the infirmary. Softness in the way he spoke about
his favourite song, and in the elegant way he showed James to work a Rubik’s cube for the first
time.

So yes. Perhaps Regulus gives in to his darkness easily, but what if it’s simply because he just
hasn’t known light? There isn’t any of that in Grimmauld place.

James isn’t afraid to realise that he only likes Regulus more for his honesty. For his bravery.
Because admitting to things like these isn’t easy. Regulus can be dark, if he needs to be. James has
enough light for both of them. Regulus can be a mess. Chaos. Shadows and hurt. Whatever he
wants to be, whatever he needs to be, James will take it. Cherish it. And maybe they can grow
together. Isn’t that beautiful? James thinks it is.

“I know there’s darkness inside of you, Regulus,” James says. “That’s okay. Believe it or not,
there’s some darkness inside of me too. But you don’t have to let it win.”

“I’m not my brother, James. I’m not the rebel who runs away, leaves everything behind, and then
wants to play hero. I’m not fighting the darkness. I’m embracing it, because I’m not afraid to let it
win if it gets me what I want.”

Of all the things Regulus just said, there’s one that snags on James’ brain. Hopeful, he asks, “Left
behind?”

Regulus looks away, drops his hands. “Don’t go there. Just don’t.”
James wants to cry at what this means. Sirius left, and they’ve always blamed Regulus for not
coming with him, but what if Regulus sees it differently? It had never occurred to him until now.
What if Regulus stayed but he didn’t want to? There are a million reasons for why things happened
the way they did that night. Aren’t there? James has only ever heard one side of the story. And
isn’t that just the problem with the world? There are two sides to everything.

Regulus is not a good person, he says, but he’s here comforting James with the patience of a Saint.
That’s enough. All one needs to be good is a spark, isn’t it? And there is a spark in Regulus. James
just needs to be careful in lighting it.

He could tell him that Sirius believes Regulus stayed by choice, and he’s discovering maybe it
wasn’t that simple. But he doesn’t. He won’t. It’s too soon and too much for a single night. And
James can’t risk ruining it because he needs Regulus to understand that he’s not going to be left
behind this time. James won’t allow it.

“Alright. Okay,” James says.

“Okay,” Regulus says, too.

“So, ehm, what do you want, then?” James asks. That’s what he said, right? He’ll let the darkness
win to get what he wants. It’s a reasonable question. James hopes Regulus won’t shut him down on
this one, too.

Regulus looks at him. Takes a breath, brings his hands back to James’ face and traces James’
cheekbones with his thumbs. “Right now? I want you.”

Regulus kisses him, and James has to kiss him back because his body knows nothing else.

Kissing Regulus is nothing like kissing the other people he’s been with. It’s dangerous and sharp
and thrilling, like he’s walking a tightrope. And the best part is that James wants to fall. Hard and
fast, and splatter himself against the beautiful, sharp, dangerous things Regulus makes him feel.
James wants it all and he wants it with Regulus.

Their tongues meet, and James’ body overheats. Immediately. There’s no build-up. Regulus drives
him crazy, awakening a hunger inside of him he never thought he could experience. It’s
overwhelming, and a little desperate.

Sensation overrides thought and James is acting purely on instinct. Impulse. His body wants, it
dictates, and James follows willingly.

James pushes Regulus back onto the tiles and the boy goes easily, readily, letting James climb over
him so their bodies are pressed together. Regulus’ hands tangle in his hair, fingers tightening and
pulling a little. James didn’t know his scalp was this sensitive, but now he does, and he sincerely
hopes that Regulus never stops tugging at his hair. Ever.

James bites Regulus’ lower lip—soft and plump and the most perfect lip he’s ever seen—and the
boy makes a noise that shoots straight to James’ pants. James has found religion. It’s all right here.
The hymns are Regulus’ soft noises, the ones he tries to hide but can’t and James is committing to
memory. The text is the code of the goosebumps over Regulus’ skin when James’ runs his hands
over it. The creed? Regulus Black himself. A god crafted from the night sky and made for James to
sin. Starlight and darkness made person just for James.

James attacks Regulus’ neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. Regulus
arches his back, pushing himself up, closer to James. It obliterates James’ ability to focus, and that
just. He can’t make Regulus moan if he’s this distracted. So. James grunts, puts a hand on
Regulus’ hip and pushes him back down, against the tiles.

“Behave,” he says. He’s not thinking, not really. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, only that if
Regulus keeps doing that he’ll lose control and they’re on a roof so that’s not a thing that can
happen.

To his shocked delight, Regulus whimpers and James isn’t gone far enough to not register that it
means something. Something that they should explore, maybe? Does Regulus like it when James is
bossy? The idea makes him want to die right there, so he abandons it for the time being for fear of
suffering an aneurysm while they’re making out.

Regulus’ mouth chases his, and they’re kissing again. Bruising. Desperate.

James puts his knee between Regulus legs, and he’s going to ask him if that’s okay, except
Regulus’ legs open and he moves so he’s grinding against James’ thigh. No need for words, then.
James smiles against Regulus mouth.

“Fuck, James,” Regulus pants. His fingers are digging into James’ shoulders, possibly leaving
marks. James doesn’t mind one bit. He likes it, the fact that he’s doing this to Regulus. That he’s
falling apart and it’s James that’s making it happen.

Regulus groans, ups his pace. “Encore,” he says, and James doesn’t know what it means but his
brain has exploded and he’s just a sentient, turned on body now. Regulus speaking French, even
just one word, is his greatest weakness.

James presses his leg up a bit more and is rewarded with another moan, then Regulus’ mouth
finding his again. They’re kissing, and kind of messily seeking as much contact and friction as
possible. There’s teeth and lips and hands everywhere, and Regulus is just moving in a way that’s
making James wild.

“Yes,” James whispers, nibbling at the skin under Regulus’ earlobe. “Yes, Reg. Take whatever you
want.”

Regulus moans, and James realises he’s very likely to lose it and end up staining his pants like he’s
thirteen and waking up in the middle of the night embarrassed, flustered and confused. Except he’s
seventeen, and he’s on a roof with Regulus, and fuck.

James has never lost control like this so quickly.

“I’m… I think I’m…” Regulus gasps. James kisses him, puts more pressure on his leg so it’s good
for Regulus. It’s all he can think about, that he wants Regulus to like this, to want more, to enjoy it
as much as James is. “James.”

“You look so beautiful, Reg,” James says. “So fucking beautiful.”

He knows when Regulus goes over the edge because he makes a noise that sends James over the
edge too, despite the fact that he’s barely had any real action. They’re left there, panting, and
sweating. One of them, James thinks it’s Regulus, cast a quick cleaning spell to fix the mess
they’ve made. And James thinks perhaps he should be ashamed, because he can do better than this.
Except he’s never done anything, never has had sex with a boy before, so he’s really just learning.

And Regulus is so insanely hot, attractive, perfect. He's so glorious that James needs very little to
lose his mind. That complicates matters.
“I’m sorry,” James says, rolling away from Regulus to lie next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

“You’re sorry?” Regulus sounds alarmed.

James hurries to explain, because he won’t have Regulus thinking he regrets this. He doesn’t. Not
one bit. He’d do it again right now. “I… uh… I can do better next time. I’ll make it better.”

Regulus turns his head, looks at him. He’s scowling. “You can do better?”

“I mean,” James says. He’s blushing, he knows. He’s grateful his skin is dark and makes it hard to
tell. “I’ve never had… uh. Never done this with a boy before. Never done anything, really. With a
boy I mean. So I’m… I’m not sure what I’m doing. I was just kinda… feeling it? But I’ll learn,
though. If… eh… we can practice? You can show me?”

Regulus stares at him, shock making his expression go a little slack. James wants to die. Roll of the
roof and just disappear because this is embarrassing. He’s usually so fucking smooth. He likes
taking charge and making his partners fall apart as thoroughly as possible. He knows he’s only
seventeen, and has more to learn, but he’s quite proud of his technique and ability. With Regulus?
It’s not just that he’s inexperienced with boys. It’s that James’ brain disconnects and he forgets
everything he knows.

“James,” Regulus says, and now he’s blushing which is lovely. So lovely. “I’ve never done this
before, either.”

James would think Regulus is messing with him if not for the expression on his face. But it’s so
unbelievable to him, because Regulus is the hottest, most attractive, most perfectly beautiful
human being James has ever seen in his life so what is wrong with the rest of the world? Why isn’t
there a line of people desperate for Regulus’ attention?

“Oh?” It comes out kind of like a question, because well. “But you’re so good at kissing. And I
thought… I… really?”

James thinks this is preposterous, but also he likes that Regulus is his secret. That he’s discovered
the holy grail and gets to keep him, on this roof, just for himself. James is going to worship
Regulus so thoroughly he’ll start thinking he’s a deity for real. That’s all good with James.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’ve kissed people before. But nothing else.”

James wants a list of these people. Just. To know. Who are they? What were they to Regulus?
Where are they now? He hopes far away. But he can’t do that. He can’t ask. That’s weird, and it’s
too early, and James needs to get a grip.

James rolls onto his side so he can look at Regulus properly. He reaches towards him and waits for
Regulus to give him a tiny nod. Then, James pushes a curl off his forehead, watching the blood
pooled in Regulus’ cheekbones. “Was that good for you, then?”

The blush spreads all the way to Regulus’ hairline and down his neck and James wants to kiss him
again so badly it’s a gargantuan effort not to act on it. “Yes.”

James puffs his chest a little. He can’t help it. He’s so fucking proud of himself. “For me too,” he
says. “Though I’d maybe like fewer clothes next time.”

Regulus laughs, then covers his face with his hands. It’s adorable, and James is so fucking gone for
this kid he has no idea how he got here but thank fuck he did because he can’t imagine not finding
him. This side of Regulus that blushes and laughs and is bashful and just for James.
“Come here,” James says, rolling onto his back and opening an arm.

And Regulus does. He pushes himself closer, until his body is fitted against the side of James’.
Regulus’ head rests on James’ chest, and he brings his arm over him so he can keep him there.
Secure. Safe. With him.

“Are you going to the Halloween party on Saturday?” James asks, tangling his fingers in Regulus’
hair.

“Yes,” Regulus replies. “But you can’t talk to me.”

“I know,” James says, then sighs. He hates it, but he understands. “You’ll be with Dorcas, yeah?”

“She wants me to meet Marlene.”

“She’s very cool,” James says. “Marlene. She’s also head over heels for Dorcas, so Dorcas better
not break her heart.”

“Marlene better be careful with Dorcas,” Regulus says in return. “Or they’ll find her body at the
bottom of the lake.”

“That escalated quickly,” James muses. Regulus shrugs, which is a bit weird given he’s cuddling
James.

They lapse into silence. It’s comfortable. Nice. And James realises that there are now two people
whose silences he enjoys. He wonders how much of it is coincidence that they’re brothers.

He wants to ask Regulus about Sirius. About how he feels about his brother. He wants to know if
he believes muggle-borns are less than people. Wants to hear Regulus say he hates his family. But
they just had a heavy conversation earlier, and James doesn’t think it’s smart to pile too much on
Regulus too quickly.

There’s another thing, though. Something else James has been thinking about. And the party
tomorrow is a good excuse to bring it up.

“I was thinking—”

“Did it hurt?” Regulus interrupts.

James chortles. “I like it when you joke, even if it’s always to mock me.”

Regulus is grinning. James can feel it. “Not my fault you’re an idiot, James.”

James laughs again and Regulus gets fussy about it because he’s on James’ chest and the
movement is jostling him. He calms down enough to pick up the conversation again. “Alright.
Listen, I was thinking and it did not hurt even a little bit, that I understand we can’t talk or interact
in public. It’s okay, I get it. But I hate seeing you and acting like it doesn’t matter.”

“James…” Regulus’ tone is warning.

“Just hear me out, okay?”

“Alright. Go on,” Regulus says, sighing.

“What if we agree something, like a gesture, and it means I’m thinking about you. It means I wish
I could talk to you, or kiss you, and I hate that I can’t but I’m thinking about it, and you know it,”
James says, a little rushed, because he’s a little nervous Regulus is going to laugh at him for this. Is
he being silly? Maybe. But he just. He wants to be able to tell Regulus how he feels all the time.

“What kind of gesture?” is all Regulus asks.

James feels emboldened. Regulus is not laughing. He sounds like he’s considering it. That’s all
James needs. “I nicked my arm here the first time on the roof. When we almost fell,” James says,
and shows Regulus the inside of his left forearm where a small, star shaped scar was left behind
when he scratched himself against the tiles. It’s silvery on his brown skin. “It makes me think of
you anyway, because it looks a bit like a star, right? So if I touch it with two fingers, like this, and
you see it, it means I’m thinking about you. What do you think?”

Regulus has gone very still. He’s staring at the scar, James thinks. He can’t tell very well from this
angle because Regulus’ curls obscure his view. James gets worried, because Regulus doesn’t make
a sound, doesn’t move. He’s not sure Regulus is breathing.

So James backpedals very quickly. “It’s stupid. I knew it was. Forget it. As established, I’m an
idiot, so, yeah doesn’t—”

“Shut up,” Regulus snaps.

And oh. His voice. Is… oh Godric have mercy. Regulus is upset? His voice is thick and James
doesn’t know what part of this made him sad but he’ll take it all back. He doesn’t want to upset
Regulus. He didn’t mean to.

“Regulus, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“I told you to shut up,” Regulus says, disentangling himself from James’ arms and chest and sitting
up. James feels the cold of the night bite into him in the void Regulus just left behind.

James is distressed, because he doesn’t understand. But then Regulus is rolling up his sleeve on his
left arm, and then there’s something… is that a potioner’s knife? What is—

“REGULUS!” James yells. Full on shouts, because is he crazy?

Regulus rolls his eyes, but James is quick and he catches the knife before it breaks skin. He cuts
the palm of his hand, but he doesn’t care because he’s not going to allow Regulus to do this.
“James,” Regulus says calmly. “Let go.”

“You can’t just give yourself a matching scar, Reg.”

“Why not?”

James stares at him. “Because I don’t want you to hurt for me. Ever. For any reason. I don’t care if
it’s the tiniest cut. Don’t bleed for me, Regulus. Please.”

“But how will you know I’m thinking about you, too?” His brow is furrowed, and he’s scowling
again. He’s blushing, too.

And James… James feels his darkness spike. The one he has inside of him and, apparently, only
gets triggered by Walburga Black’s cruelty. Because he thinks he understands. Regulus doesn’t
know what it’s like to care. To be cared for. Not without pain and punishment. He only knows
people show him love through wounds and aches. For Regulus, love is bleeding on a carpet at the
bottom of the stairs. An eye swollen shut for a week. Hunger that eats at his insides and makes him
faint so he can’t leave his bed.
It's all he’s known, right? Love to Regulus has to hurt.

Even Sirius’. His brother. The only person who loved Regulus when he was little, loved him in
pain and blood and scars. Because James knows Sirius took punishments so Regulus didn’t have to.
Sirius bled for Regulus more times than either of them could ever count. The only unconditional
love Regulus has ever known was stained crimson, and then he left, and Regulus hasn’t learnt there
are ways to love that don’t hurt.

James is going to show him.

“Regulus,” James says softly, taking the knife from him. “You can just touch the same place even
if there’s no scar there. I will know. Every time. I will know.”

He scowls a little more, considering. “It’s not the same thing.”

James can tell Regulus doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like that James has something that’s visible,
that’s there, and he doesn’t. James doesn’t necessarily understand the depths of the reasons, but he
knows it bothers Regulus. That’s enough.

“What if,” James suggests, taking out his wand, “we make a temporary one. And when it begins to
fade you can just reapply it. One that won’t hurt. Not even a little bit.”

Regulus blinks. Then nods, his brow relaxing into his standard scowl rather than the deeper one he
was sporting a second ago. “Make it match.”

James does. It’s a very simple spell. Something he and Sirius invented because they kept losing
their quills and needed an emergency tool to write with if they had surprise tests or whatever. So
James uses his wand like it’s a pencil, and draws on Regulus’ arm a star to match his scar.

When he’s done, Regulus stares at it for a long time. James waits, giving him space. It breaks his
heart that Regulus’ first instinct was to bleed, but he’s so proud of the boy for listening. For
thinking it through with James.

“How long does it last?”

“Couple weeks?” James says. “I can teach you the spell.”

“No,” Regulus says. Then, looks up and reaches for James, pulling him to whisper against his
mouth. “I like it that you have to put it there.”

Then they kiss, and there isn’t much more talking for a long while.

***

The day before Halloween 1977 starts off a little strange.

James wakes up, goes to breakfast with his friends like any other Friday. Remus is back in the
dorm, and he seems to have got over the bout of melancholy that attacked him in the infirmary
because he’s his usual self. Witty and dry and generally their slightly grumpy Moony.

Sirius, who is very good at ignoring things he doesn’t like, has also decided to skip over the
awkwardness that settled between them in the first two minutes after Remus got back and went
straight back to behaving like nothing ever happened. James is glad, but he’s also frustrated
because honestly? His friends need to sort their shit out.

Peter is equally annoyed, but James has forbidden him from locking Remus and Sirius in a broom
closet until they make out. It’s not the worst idea, but it could go very wrong very quickly and they
can’t risk it. Not with Sirius and Remus.

James has just finished his breakfast and is walking out of the Great Hall with his entourage when
Pandora approaches him.

“James Potter?” she asks gently. Her blond hair cascades down her back, almost to her waist. She
has a sort of angelic look to her face, like she’s pure and innocent and needs to be protected at all
costs.

There isn’t a single Hogwarts student that would purposefully be mean towards Pandora, regardless
of whether they’re friends or not.

“Yes?” he replies, curious but also a little confused. Perhaps Regulus needs something, and he’s
sent Pandora because she’s not immediately obvious? It’s not like he can send Crouch or Rosier
after him. Dorcas could be busy. Maybe.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Pandora asks him.

Sirius frowns, looks at her. Remus and Peter exchange confused glances. James nods. “Yes, sure.”
He turns to his friends. “I’ll catch up.”

Sirius hesitates for a heartbeat, but then nods and heads down the corridor with Remus and Peter.
James watches them go, his brother with his hair up tangled in his wand, and his closest friends
flanking him. One of them shooting covert glances at the two oblivious idiots who even now walk
that little bit closer to each other because they can’t help but gravitate each other’s orbit.

“They will find the way to each other,” Pandora says confidently. “They just need a bit more
time.”

James turns alarmed eyes on her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pandora only smiles. “Sorry. I forget myself. Their secret is safe with me, James Potter. And so is
yours.”

“I don’t really have many secrets,” James says dubiously. He has one, and only one, but Pandora is
close-ish with Regulus as far as he can tell. Perhaps he told her, but James doubts it. Regulus isn’t
the sort of person that can just talk about stuff like that.

Pandora shrugs, then begins walking slowly. James falls into step beside her. “I need to talk to you
about a dream I had. I don’t usually do this, but you’re important. I have to help.”

“A dream?” James is tempted to laugh her off, but this is Pandora. You don’t laugh at Pandora. So
he waits.

“Yes. Sometimes I dream important things. And I had a dream about you,” Pandora tells him.
“You are made of light, James Potter, and it will blind you. You can’t let it. When the time comes,
you have to see. Open your eyes and see. There’s light and darkness in everyone. Everyone. Don’t
forget that.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” James says honestly.

Pandora sighs. “These things are never straightforward. I’m afraid that’s all I can do. Just…
remember that you can’t let your light blind you when it’s important that you see. And that you
can’t focus only on the darkness, because shadows are deceiving.”

James feels weird. Heavy. Like this is somehow important, but he’s not really getting it, and it’s
quite terrifying that he might be responsible for something terrible simply because he’s not smart
enough to understand. But when James thinks about what’s important right now, all that comes to
mind are his friends, and his parents, and Regulus.

He can’t risk it. “Is this about Regulus?”

Pandora tilts her head, like she’s thinking. James waits. After a long minute, she shakes her head,
then nods. “Yes and no. He’s involved, but it’s not about him, I don’t think. He’s got his own
dreams to figure out.”

“You have dreams about Regulus?” James asks, mildly concerned.

He, too, has dreams about Regulus. Dreams that result in his waking up drenched in sweat and
aching. Longing for him, to have him near, to just breath the same air. James hates that he can’t see
Regulus all the time. Every day. He wishes he could sneak him up into the Gryffindor dorms,
cuddle him on a soft bed and not half-lying on a roof made of sharp, cold tiles.

Frankly, James would happily just spend the rest of his time staring at Regulus do anything. He
could watch him read a dictionary and find it interesting. James is very aware that he’s a little too
far gone for how little time they’ve been ‘together’ (?). Are they together? Don’t ask James. He
doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. As far as he’s concerned, there’s only Regulus for him whether
they’ve agreed to exclusivity or not.

Like she can read his mind, Pandora giggles. It’s sweet and gentle. Soft, like everything about
Pandora. Ethereal. “I do, just not like yours, I think. You’re blushing, James Potter.”

“My face is literally brown,” he says. “You cannot tell I’m blushing.” And then, suspicious, “Can
you?”

“You are not very subtle,” Pandora replies. “Blushing is not just about rosy cheeks.”

James shrugs, runs a hand through his hair. He can’t argue with that, he knows. “Alright. What do
you dream about then? With Regulus.”

“Like you, Regulus is also important. Perhaps more. But he knows what he has to do,” Pandora
says.

“What does he have to do?” James asks, his curiosity overwhelming his every other thought.

“Think of the sun,” Pandora says, smiling cryptically at him. “Always think of the sun.”

Pandora leaves him in front of his class, which surprises James because he hadn’t noticed that was
where she was walking him. She glides away, disappearing down the corridor with the air of a
visiting spirit. She’s an odd girl, Pandora. Always day dreaming, seemingly distracted and
absorbed in her own world.

James walks into his class and ponders Pandora’s warning. It was a warning, wasn’t it? He isn’t
sure, either. But he thinks about it all through Charms.

Potions is after lunch-time which is honestly criminal, because nobody wants to spend two hours
brewing random stuff on a Friday afternoon when they could be preparing their costumes for the
Halloween party.

In fact, James and Sirius have to discuss their excursion into Hogsmeade to procure the alcohol for
the party. Remus is recovering well from the Moon, so Sirius should, hopefully, agree to going
tonight. James told Regulus he wouldn’t be able to meet him anyway, which he said was fine
because apparently he, too, was busy with some potion he has to stir for a number of hours this
evening.

James kind of wants to watch Regulus brew a potion one day. He thinks it’d be exciting, because
James like competence, and Regulus is so smart and competent he’s pretty sure watching him work
will do things to James. Good things. Pleasant things.

Things that he needs help with, as per last night.

James is paired with Remus today, which works just fine for him. Because James has questions,
and he fiercely hopes Remus has the answers. He usually does. With a quick glance in Sirius and
Peter’s direction to make sure they’re focused on their own potion, James scoots over as close to
Remus as he can get and looks at him with his best puppy eyes.

“Oh fuck no,” Remus says immediately. “What did you do now?”

James is appalled. “What makes you think I did anything?”

“You only look at me like that when you’ve gone and done some stupid shit,” Remus says. “Or
when Sirius has done stupid shit with you, or any combination of that and you need my help. What
did you do?”

James scoffs, offended. “For your information, I did not do anything stupid or bad or anything. I
just wanted to ask you a question.”

Remus eyes him suspiciously. “About what?”

“About sex,” James says simply.

He can tell Remus was not expecting this, because his eyes go very wide and his cheeks go very
red. For someone that swears like a sailor, Remus is surprisingly shy when it comes to talking
about this stuff. He remembers teasing him endlessly for it, because when James and Sirius first
slept with a girl, circa fifth year—Sirius was first, then James a couple months later—Remus
would turn crimson whenever they discussed the hows and whats of it.

“What about it?” Remus manages to say. He’s a lot less abrasive now, more cautious. Like a
spooked animal.

James leans forward. “Well.” James pauses. How does the phrase this? Should he…? No. Just the
truth. Always the best strategy. “I want to have sex with a boy but I’ve no idea what I’m doing.
Help?”

Remus chokes on his own breath. Or saliva. Or both, James isn’t sure but Remus is coughing
something fierce and beetroot red. The rest of the students turn to look at them, alarmed, but James
waves them off.

Sirius does come over to their desk, however. And this, James thinks, is not ideal. Because Sirius is
dealing more or less well with the news that he’s interested in his brother but if he finds out he’s
asking Remus for sex tips, Sirius will hang James from the Astronomy Tower. By the balls.
“What’s wrong Moony?” Sirius asks, eyes jumping from Remus to James.

“Wrong pipe,” Remus manages to say. He’s recovering now, wiping tears from the corners of his
eyes.

“Huh,” Sirius says. He doesn’t sound too convinced, but he can’t stay away from his potion for
long. “Alright, then.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously at James, then sighs and goes back to where Peter is waiting.
James immediately turns towards Remus and raises an eyebrow. “I’d appreciate it if you could not
make a big deal of this,” he says. “I didn’t make a big deal of you and Tom.”

“Fucking hell, James,” Remus says. “I don’t care if you like boys or not, but you can’t spring that
on me in the middle of a potions lesson.”

“I don’t want Sirius and Peter to know,” James explains. “Besides, it’s not like they can give any
advice. Peter is straighter than a pole, and Sirius so far has only had sex with girls, so again.
Unhelpful.”

Remus blinks. Blinks again. “Wait, what? What do you mean ‘so far’?”

James should have thought his choice of words through better. But also. Maybe a nudge will help?
It can’t hurt. He hopes. Fuck. If he ruins this for his friends he’ll never forgive himself. But it’s too
late now.

“I suspect, though it’s one hundred percent unconfirmed and Sirius is as far as I can tell very much
not aware of this,” James says carefully. “That Sirius might be like me. On some level. You know,
like, girls and boys. Maybe.”

Remus looks like he’s going to cry, for some reason. James is fucking confused. Shouldn’t Remus
be happy about this news? Apparently not. James doesn’t understand his friends.

“Right,” Remus says, swallowing. “Well. If he… that’s his business. What…” Clears his throat
again. “What did you want to ask?”

James sighs in relief. This is what he needs. Alright. “Well. Any tips? Like… I think theoretically I
get the gist of it, you know? But in practice. What do I need to know?”

Remus groans quietly like he cannot believe he’s having this conversation in the middle of a
lesson, but to his credit, he leans closer to James while stirring their potion and drops his voice
down so low James has to stop breathing to hear him.

“What kind of sex are we talking?”

“Well, I hardly need advice on how to suck dick, Remus. I’m pretty sure I can manage that part,
seeing as I’ve had it done to me,” James says, mildly offended.

He thought about it last night, and he knows what to do there. Like, he’s received it so he
understands what feels good and that. So surely, he can do it. He was just caught off guard last
night, but oral sex he understands, so he can do it. He will do it. If Regulus wants it.

James hopes Regulus wants it, because James is low-key obsessed with the idea since it popped up
in his brain in the middle of the night. He blames the hormones. He’s still a teenager, right?
Seventeen, and healthy, and well. Absolutely gone for Regulus so it’s totally normal.
 Remus ‘I’m a prude’ Lupin makes a sound of profound distress and embarrassment, his ears
turning so red James half-expects steam to come out of them. “Godric have mercy. James, please.
I’m begging you.”

“No,” James says. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is healthy, and it’s fantastic, and I will
not be shamed for it.”

“Keep your voice down!” Remus growls.

“Then tell me what I need to know. For… you know. The part I haven’t done. Or haven’t… ehm…
haven’t had it done to me, either,” he says. “You know, the part where…” He makes a little hand
gesture to help his explanation and Remus immediately closes his eyes and drops his head on the
desk.

“I’m going to murder you, Prongs. Slowly. Painfully,” Remus voice is a little muffled, but the
message is clear enough.

“So long as you do it after you tell me what I want to know, it’s all good,” James says.

Remus rolls his eyes. Then whispers, “Have you already done everything else with this guy, then?”

James shakes his head no. “I just want to be prepared. But I don’t think we’re there yet. Like. Not
for a while, I would say. Have other things to do first. Step by step. I don’t want to scare him
away.”

Remus nods, and then to James’ surprise, he smiles. “Then, maybe, come ask me when you’re both
ready? And you’ve discussed it? And for now, just… enjoy whatever it is you’re doing?”

“I don’t know if I’m doing it right, Remus,” James says. “I… Like I want to do stuff. But I don’t
know if I’m going to embarrass myself.”

“James. You’ve gone through this with girls already. It’s the same thing, just different anatomy.
Just communicate. And try things. And see what you’re liking and what you aren’t, and same for
him.”

“Not the advice I wanted,” James says, then smiles at Remus. “But I think maybe the advice I
needed.”

Remus smiles, too. Claps a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Prongs. Just see where it goes. You’ll be
fine.” Then, he frowns and looks up into his eyes. “Are you going to tell me who he is?”

“Not yet,” James says. “He’s… he wants me to keep it secret. That’s okay, isn’t it? You didn’t tell
anyone about Tom for a while, right?”

Remus nods, and James sighs. “I’ll tell you when he’s okay with it, alright? But thanks, Moony.”

“Anytime, Prongs. And, for the record, you look happy. So, I support this. Whoever he is, I like
him for you,” Remus says.

James thinks, I like him for me, too. But he doesn’t say it. Not yet.

Chapter End Notes

Can we please give it up for Remus 'Grow up, James' Lupin? He's so mature? But also,
not him panicking when James drops the bomb that Sirius might not be all that
straight. If you knew the things going through that man's head HELP I LOVE HIM
And James teaching Regulus love doesn't have to hurt? Not gonna lie, I made myself
tear up with that one. Hit me like a wrecking ball!

Additional note:

I wanted to write a quick note at the end of this chapter, it applies to a lot of what
happens for the next several chapters too. Jegulus are starting a relationship now
(they'll figure it out, I promise) and so will - hopefully - other characters soon-ish (side
eyes Wolfstar). As such they'll be exploring their attraction to each other and what that
means for them and how that manifests. They'll discuss it (see James & Remus
discussion in this chapter) with more or less grace, because they're teenagers and
mostly they're boys (Marlene and Dorcas are bossing life, my girls don't need no tips).
I personally believe that teenagers should have a healthy relationship to sex and be free
to explore as much or as little as they want to in a healthy, safe way. So. My characters
will try things, and do things, and have different types of sex BUT for now they're still
in school, so it won't be unnecessarily graphic. That said, you know what's happening,
so if that makes you uncomfortable, I will always tell you where to stop reading and
resume so you can skip it! The focus of the scenes is on the emotions this connection
makes them feel.

Thanks for reading :D

 Halloween
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

The Halloween party is here :) Also, for my rosekiller fans asking for a bit more
insight into Barty and Evan - I did write a little interlude and added it to this chapter,
so it's a bit longer than normal :D Hope you like it!

TWs below:

Underage drinking
Smoking
Referenced homophobia (as a thing that exists in society)
Mild agoraphobia / anxiety at being in a crowd
Magical violence (includes someone being temporarily asphixiated)
Injuries caused by magic and the healing of those injuries also with magic (not graphic
but you know what the injuries are)
A bit of blood, too
Someone is threatened with a knife but they don't get hurt with it
Mentions of sex / implied sex

I think that's it!

I am flabbergasted (in the best way) by the amount of hits, kudos and subscriptions
this fic is getting. When I started this for my friend I was so terrified of even sharing it
with them, and now the fact that there are so many of you all supporting the story... It's
just making me so happy <3 THANK YOU.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Interlude: Dorcas’ POV

Dorcas is nervous. She’s nervous because she’s convinced her friends to come to this party with
her so she can introduce them to Marlene. In her head, this was a brilliant idea. A natural step,
because they’ve been doing this for three weeks and Dorcas has already met Marlene’s friends so.

Except Dorcas apparently forgot her friends are allergic to socialising. She can’t put all the blame
on them, though. Perhaps this party wasn’t the best setting. She should have considered that
they’re three awkward Slytherins in a sea of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Quite literally.
No one else from their house is here because they have their own Halloween tradition in the
dungeons.

Pandora is with her divination crowd, and she’s obviously oblivious to how much Regulus, Barty
and Evan are standing out. They’re near a glass wall (greenhouse for a party is a cool setting,
she’ll give them that!), arms over their chests and sceptical looks on their faces. Regulus is, of
course, scowling. It wasn’t easy to convince him to get into a costume. Dorcas had a hell of a time
with it.
She scans the greenhouse one more time to confirm that Marlene hasn’t arrived yet. None of the
Seventh year Gryffindors have. Fidgeting with the fake sword strapped to the back of her Wonder
Woman costume, she bites her lower lip. Dorcas hopes Marlene likes her fancy dress.

They were all her idea. As in, Dorcas came up with all the costumes for herself and her friends,
based on comics that she sneaks into muggle London to read when she can.

Barty is in a Wolverine outfit which looks a little big on him but is otherwise quite flattering.
Dorcas has caught Evan staring at Barty’s butt eight times already and they’ve literally only just
arrived two minutes ago. Evan is Batman, and he keeps complaining about the mask hurting his
nose. Barty uses this excuse to touch Evan’s face at all times. Honestly, they’re adorable in their
awkwardness. She’s very happy for her friends. Barty and Evan make a good couple, she thinks.
Evan soothes Barty’s roughest edges.

Dorcas is particularly proud of Regulus’s costume because he looks ridiculous in it. Hands down
swoon-worthy. If Dorcas wasn’t gay, she’d hit that. For real. He’s dressed as the Green Arrow,
which was one hundred percent deliberate on her part because the dark greens and black
combination brings out the colour of his eyes.

It took her close to two hours of loud, relentless arguing before Regulus gave in and put it on.
Every single minute was worth it. Dorcas highly suspects Regulus has a crush on James Potter and
she’ll be damned if she’s not going to help him get his attention any way she can.

She tailored the costume so it fits Regulus almost perfectly, and even used her eyeliner to smudge
some kohl around his eyes. Regulus looks dangerous, and it suits him. This made her a little sad,
because Dorcas doesn’t want Regulus to give into the dark side. But it makes him look hot, so for
tonight she’ll ignore that and just hope James agrees Regulus looks like a snack.

“I want a drink,” Barty says. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“I’ll go with you,” Dorcas volunteers. “Reg?”

“Not drinking,” he says.

Barty and Evan roll their eyes. “How are you going to get through this sober?” Evan asks him,
gesturing around.

People are pouring in by the second, crowding the rooms. There’s music blasting, and some kids
are already dancing. Costumes range from the scary and grotesque to the detailed and accurate to
the scandalously scant. There’s a bit of everything, and Dorcas quite likes it. She understands his
friends perhaps do not.

“I am not drinking,” Regulus insists. And then, something catches his eye behind them. A glint
flashes in them, and he does a complete U-turn. “Firewhisky. Get me a firewhisky.”

Dorcas looks over her shoulder and smirks. The Gryffindors have arrived. Mary and Lily are first,
wearing matching Barbie inspired costumes. They look very good, and Dorcas is momentarily
annoyed because if Lily Evans wasn’t so pretty, she would be no competition for Regulus. But she
is beautiful, and Dorcas resents her for it. She wants James for her best friend.

Speaking of, James is with Peter, Sirius and Remus and they’re all in Rome or Greece inspired
costumes. Like warrior style? It’s both very cool and quite hilarious. They’re wearing what Dorcas
can only refer to as skirts with different types of sandals. They also have fake swords strapped to
their waists and armour attached to their torsos. James has a shield.
Marlene brings up the rear, and when she steps to the side in a Black Canary costume Dorcas
speaks over her shoulder because she’s already moving, desperate to get to her girlfriend’s side.
“Evan, help Barty get the drinks, will you? I’m going to say hi to Marlene. Be right back.”

Marlene’s body is wrapped in a black suit that shows off her curves so exquisitely Dorcas might
need to get herself a bib. She’s about to start drooling. Marlene moves with purpose, like she’s not
afraid to take up space in the world and Dorcas thinks that’s sexy. Because too many girls make
themselves small, quiet, pliant. Not Marlene. Marlene is a menace, and she’s proud of it.

Salazar’s cape on a pole. Dorcas is head over heels gone for her.

Marlene’s eyes light up when she sees Dorcas approaching, and Dorcas’ stomach fills with
butterflies. She’s a living cliché, but she simply doesn’t care. Marlene is the most amazing woman
to ever grace the world and she’s Dorcas’ girlfriend. She’s allowed to be cliché about it.

“You shouldn’t have worn that,” Marlene says as soon as Dorcas is within hearing range, catching
her arm and pulling her in close to whisper in her ear. “I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

Marlene smells glorious, like patchouli and wind. Dorcas’ knees go weak.

Sirius looks over at them, then gets his friends’ attention. They must have agreed this beforehand,
because suddenly Dorcas is surrounded by the Greek military. No one bats an eye or asks any
questions. They just cover them, tight formation of fake shields and swords.

“Be quick,” Sirius says. “Someone might notice.”

Marlene kisses Dorcas full on the mouth, and she could fucking fly. It’s a quick kiss, thorough but
urgent, because this is dangerous and reckless and Dorcas loves Marlene because this is just how
she is.

“You look amazing,” Dorcas tells her when they break apart.

Marlene beams, and then looks at the boys and thanks them for their help. Remus salutes them.
Peter winks. James smiles at them, and it strikes Dorcas as a little sad. She wonders why. Remus
and Peter offer to get drinks for them, but Marlene insists she has to get Dorcas’ drink herself as a
good girlfriend, so she follows them to the table, leaving Dorcas with James and Sirius. She has
half a mind to ask James if he’s alright when Sirius makes a strangled noise like he’s choking on
air.

“He’s wearing a costume?”

Dorcas knows who he’s referring to, so instead of following Sirius' line of sight, Dorcas looks right
at James.

The first thing Dorcas thinks is that James needs to work on his poker face, because he’s so
fucking transparent Dorcas can tell his thoughts have taken an instant and abrupt turn to the gutter.
She can’t blame him. Regulus looks fucking delicious, she made sure of it herself. But James?
James looks like he’s been struck by lightning.

Dorcas cannot wait to tell Regulus that his crush on James is very much requited. If that’s not lust
on James’ face, Dorcas will kiss the Giant Squid.

“Prongs, for fuck’s sake,” Sirius says, full on punching him on the shoulder.

James blinks, but doesn’t look away from Regulus. He does, however, close his mouth, so there’s
progress. “He…”

Dorcas doesn’t know ‘he what’, because James is apparently incapable of speech.

This is the most fun she’s had in a long time.

“Are you alright, James?” Dorcas asks him innocently. She looks towards Regulus, pretends she’s
only just clocked who they’re talking about. “Ah. Yeah, Reg looks good, doesn’t he? It took me a
while to persuade him to wear the costume, but I think it was worth it.”

Sirius scowls at Dorcas. “Does he know that’s a muggle character he’s dressed as?”

“Of course he does,” Dorcas replies defensively. “He knows I like comics. That’s not why he
didn’t want to wear the costume.”

“Why didn’t he want to wear it?” James asks. It’s more of a wheeze, but at least he’s formed a full,
coherent sentence so Dorcas won’t get particular about the pitch of it.

“He didn’t want to wear a costume, full stop. Thinks it’s silly,” Dorcas explains.

James tears his gaze away from Regulus for the first time and looks immediately concerned by this
news, big hazel eyes turned on Dorcas. “He thinks costumes are silly?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. Shakes his head. “We do not care what my brother thinks,” he says
threateningly.

James sighs, but nods and accepts defeat. Dorcas gets the sense that Sirius knows James is crushing
on Regulus. If he didn’t, he must have learnt it right now, because James is nothing if not fucking
obvious.

Marlene returns and hands Dorcas a drink. Their fingers touch and linger as long as they can
without it becoming a dead giveaway. It sucks that they have to be careful. To hide behind friends
or closed doors. But Dorcas is genuinely grateful by how amazing Marlene’s friends are about it
all. It would be ten times more difficult if they weren’t willing to help them at all times.

Marlene leans against the wall and tugs on the waistband of Dorcas’ skirt to bring her close. James
and Sirius are talking now with Remus and Peter, the four of them in a little circle while they sip
on their drinks. Dorcas notices James positioned himself so he can still steal glances at Regulus
every now and then.

“I hate this,” Marlene says all of a sudden.

“What?”

“That I can’t kiss you like I want to without needing a wall of boys to protect us,” Marlene
explains.

Dorcas smiles. Nudges her shoulder. “I know. But also, I like that it’s just for us when we do get to
do it.”

Marlene fights the smile on her face and loses. “You, Dorcas Meadowes, are a romantic.”

“And proud of it,” Dorcas says with flair.

Marlene shakes her head, but she’s beaming and blushing a little bit and Dorcas feels like she’s
won a lottery prize.
“Come on,” Marlene says. She takes Dorcas’ hand and interlaces their fingers together. This they
can do, because girls holding hands is something society has always chosen to overlook as simple
friendship. Small wins. “We can’t kiss. But we can dance.”

Dorcas follows her to the dance floor. She’ll follow Marlene anywhere, Dorcas thinks. Anywhere
and everywhere. To the ends of the Earth. Dorcas has never felt anything like this before, and she’s
smart enough to be able to tell when she’s got something special. Marlene is one of a kind, and
she’s decided she likes Dorcas. And Dorcas will do just about anything to keep it that way.

####

Regulus can feel James looking. He can feel it on his skin, heating up like he’s being touched even
though he’s not. It’s a little mean, perhaps, but he purposefully keeps his eyes away for a short
while.

Something inside of Regulus is still in awe that one James Potter is paying attention to him. That
he’s interested. Regulus is kind of half-waiting for James to realise that he could have anyone so
why would he have Regulus, but while he’s got his attention, Regulus will try to keep it. And he’s
already noticed James likes it when he’s a little mean to him.

So. He lets James look at him but doesn’t look back. Not yet.

He focuses on the awareness of James, tuning out everything else. This party is horrible. Honestly,
Regulus’ worst nightmare. There are way too many people. More than at the Forbidden Forest.
They’re dancing aggressively and talking way too loudly which mixed with the music is already
giving Regulus a headache and he hasn’t been here for ten minutes.

Whenever someone new arrives, they run around like a headless chicken until they find their
friends. At this point, there’s a lot of hysterical gesticulating and fake compliments about costumes
that aren’t really worth anything, in Regulus’ opinion.

He can’t tell what it is that most people are wearing, which is mildly infuriating because he thought
he was pretty up to date on muggle culture. Apparently not. He wouldn’t even know his own
costume if Dorcas hadn’t given him a crash course on it. Apparently, Regulus is impersonating a
very rich guy who’s extremely skilled with a bow and arrow in a fictional city with a severe crime
problem. A vigilante sort of character. This, Regulus secretly likes, even though he made sure to
refuse the costume for long enough that no one has any doubt he’s wearing it against his will.

There’s one person dressed as Darth Vader that Regulus thinks deserves hype. Everyone else was
lazy or slutty or both. The amount of boobs he’s already seen is alarming. He’s starting to suspect
some of it hasn’t been accidental, which is frankly terrifying.

When Regulus spots Barty and Evan making their way back to him with the drinks, he finally
glances over at James so he gets time to stare before his friends are close enough to notice it.

It’s a good thing Regulus is leaning against the wall because who the fuck allowed James to show
himself in public with bare legs? As if his thighs weren’t a safety hazard covered by fabric!
There’s no… Regulus just. He can’t do this. They’re just there. Staring at him. All brown skin over
delicious muscles and Regulus remembers last night, and that thigh was… oh, Salazar have mercy
on him he’s going to have a stroke.

“Why do you look disgusted?” Evan asks, handing him his drink.
Regulus takes it by inertia. His brain isn’t functioning. It’s currently scattered over the ceiling
because it exploded the moment Regulus laid eyes on James Potter wearing armour. If he’s not
mistaken, it’s Greek inspired.

“It’s annoying your fucking brother can make a skirt work,” says Barty, following Regulus’ line of
sight but missing his target completely. “Black genes, eh?”

Evan hums appreciatively. “Tragic that someone so hot is such a disgrace.”

Regulus hadn’t even seen Sirius, but now that Barty points it out, he notices that Sirius is wearing
Greek armour too. Same as Lupin and Pettigrew. They don’t hold a candle to James. Honestly, they
should have worn something different. They’re embarrassing themselves by even trying to
compete.

James is a fucking God and everyone else should just go home and leave Regulus alone with him
so they can practice more of what they did on the roof last night.

“It’s not a skirt,” Regulus says, because he has to say something or his friends are going to become
suspicious. “It’s the uniform of a Greek soldier.”

“Calm down, encyclopaedia,” Barty snorts.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but shares a knowing half smirk with Barty.

“Alright boys. On your best behaviour. Dorcas is bringing Marlene over,” Evan announces.

All three of them straighten. This is important. Dorcas wants Marlene to like them, which Regulus
thinks is a lost cause, honestly, because they’re all walking disasters and socially impaired, but
they promised they would try. For Dorcas, he will.

Marlene is wearing some sort of black jumpsuit that fits her body quite well, Regulus thinks. She
did a good job. Neither lazy nor slutty. Points to Marlene.

Dorcas has almost reached them, and Regulus is preparing himself to be polite to the Gryffindor
beater when James turns and they lock eyes. He doesn’t even have to think about it. Regulus hand
lifts, and he puts two fingers over his left arm, where the star James drew rests on his skin. James
has done the same, and even though neither of them can smile, Regulus reads the joy on James’
eyes.

He is a hopeless romantic, and Regulus cannot get enough of it.

Unfortunately, he has to look away to greet his best friend and the girl walking closely behind her,
watching them with wary eyes.

“Everyone,” Dorcas announces. She’s a little nervous, and Regulus hates that they make her feel
this way. She should know they’ll do their best. For her. Because she’s Dorcas, and deserves joy.

“This is Marlene. Marlene, these are Barty, Evan, and Regulus.”

Regulus nods towards the blonde. Everyone mutters a chorus of ‘hi’, shuffles their feet a little.
Evan tries to make small talk about the weather which works for about one whole minute before it
all dies down. There’s awkward silence for a beat before Marlene turns to face Regulus.

She stares at him with her chin raised and the glint of a challenge in her eye, which Regulus isn’t
sure how to take but he’s Regulus Black, and he won’t be out done by a measly beater. So he stares
back head on, haughty look about him, because even though he does his level best to never think
about this fact, he is magical aristocracy and on occasion it comes in handy.

“You’re Dorcas’ best friend,” Marlene says.

“Good. You know who’ll come after you if you hurt her,” Regulus says.

“Reg!” Dorcas protests.

Marlene isn’t bothered. She nods solemnly, lips pursed like this is a serious matter—which it is,
Regulus doesn’t take Dorcas’ emotional wellbeing lightly—and then says, “I understand I’m not
allowed to hug you.”

“Not if you want to keep your arms,” Regulus replies.

Dorcas throws her arms up. “Don’t threaten her!”

Marlene smiles. “I like him,” she says to no one in particular. Then, to Regulus, she adds, “Thank
you for sorting out her roommates before I barged in there with my bat. Saved me a lot of trouble.”

Barty chortles and Evan whistles like he’s impressed. Regulus tilts his head, regarding Marlene
with a calculating look. She meets it and holds it. Marlene is brave and fierce. A little unhinged,
apparently. Regulus isn’t sure if the bat comment is just tough-talk or if she’d do it, but the look in
her eyes makes him think perhaps, for Dorcas, she actually would.

Regulus decides he likes her.

“I prefer more elegant methods,” Regulus says. “But fine. So long as you’re taking good care of
her.”

There’s a solemn sort of pause where Marlene and Regulus seize each other up and acknowledge
that they both just want Dorcas safe. Then, Marlene smiles, turns to Evan and hugs him.

“This is apparently how one hugs Regulus Black,” she says, sounding amused. “So.”

Evan laughs, shaking his head. Dorcas lets out a long breath of relief. After that, things are easier.
They talk about Quidditch because it’s a safe topic. Marlene is a good beater, and all the boys love
the sport. They discuss the Quidditch League and Barty finds out he supports the same team as
Marlene, which leads to them bonding when they start to sing the supporting chants.

Evan looks at Barty, smiling softly at the sight of his boyfriend (?) swaying with Marlene and
absolutely butchering a song because Barty cannot sing to save his life. Dorcas sidles up to
Regulus.

“So,” she says, coming as close as she can without actually touching him. “You’ve caught some
attention tonight.”

Regulus looks at her, blinks very fast twice, then scowls. “What?”

“I’m going to go ahead and skip the various groups of girls who cannot stop staring because we
know you’re not interested,” Dorcas mutters. She’s smiling mischievously, and it makes Regulus a
little nervous. “But there’s a certain boy who almost had an aneurysm when he saw you.”

“What? Who?” Regulus looks around, curious. He’s never caught anyone’s attention before. Not in
the way Dorcas is suggesting.
“Why do you sound so surprised?”

Regulus shrugs.

Dorcas’ smile softens. “Reg? You’re actually really good looking. And you don’t notice it, but
people do stare at you. Specially this year,” she says. “It’s just mostly girls, so I don’t point it out.
But maybe I should?”

“Dorcas, I do not care.”

He doesn’t. Honestly. Regulus has never been vain. Never been concerned with whether he’s
catching attention. He’s always thought it would be nice, in the sense that he’s been curious about
kissing, and sex, and that sort of thing. But he’s not his brother. Regulus doesn’t need—he doesn’t
want—attention. He prefers to go unnoticed. It makes it easier to move the pieces of his revenge
puzzle to position.

“Oh. Well, then, I won’t tell you how James Potter was practically drooling when he saw you,”
Dorcas says, flicking her braids over her shoulder. “Since you’re so not interested.”

Regulus glances over at Barty, Evan and Marlene but they’re not listening. There’s more Quidditch
chanting going on, now aided by shots that someone—Regulus’ money is on Evan—has procured.

“I don’t care,” Regulus hisses.

But Dorcas isn’t having it. She gives Regulus a knowing look and steps closer so she can pitch her
voice down. “Come on, Reg. I know you. You’ve got a crush on that guy and I’m here to give you
the good news that I think he likes you, too.”

Reg wants to tell Dorcas. He wants to because this is something he’s never had before, and he’ll
only have it for a relatively short time, and he thinks that talking about it with your best friend can
only enhance the experience. But. First of all, he doesn’t think a random party full of people is the
right place to say anything. Second of all, the saying part is the problem. He can’t put it into words.

So, Regulus downs the firewhisky in his glass, and then gestures to the drinks table. “Refill?”

Dorcas rolls her eyes, but nods. “Hey, Marls,” she calls to her girlfriend. “I’m getting a refill with
Reg. You alright?”

Marlene beams and nods, throwing her arms over Barty and Evan. “Love your friends.”

Barty and Evan preen. Regulus rolls his eyes, but Dorcas looks so happy it’s all worth it. They
leave the three of them by the wall and venture into the sea of people so they can get to the drinks
table.

Regulus realises immediately that this is a mistake. He’s swallowed by a crowd that feels as though
it has a life of its own. People seem to have lost control of their limbs. There are arms and hands
and legs everywhere, and they keep bumping into Regulus and touching him. He hates it. Hates it.
Hates it.

Regulus lungs are crumbling on themselves, because he’s being touched everywhere by people he
doesn’t know or like or has given permission to. It’s asphyxiating, and he feels trapped, and it’s
making his head dizzy.

The music is too loud and the air is stale and heavy with alcohol and sweat. Regulus forces himself
to push on, because the alternative is to faint in the middle of the dance floor and he will not show
that sort of weakness. He cannot afford to. Regulus Black isn’t weak. Not now, not ever.

It’s a herculean effort, but he manages it. One step after the other, pushing back against the dark
spots in his vision, Regulus cuts through the crowd. By the time he emerges on the other end and
comes to stand next to the table, Regulus is ready to leave this party and never come to another one
again.

“You okay?” Dorcas asks.

“Too many bodies,” Regulus replies.

Dorcas understands. She looks around, then points to a pocket of space near a window. “Wait for
me there? I’ll bring your firewhiskey.”

Regulus is eternally grateful to her. He slips away so quickly he could have apparated. Once he’s
by the glass casing of the greenhouse, in a pocket of empty space with no other people, he feels he
can breathe again. The room still smells pretty awful, and he wishes he could leave, but Regulus
isn’t actively suffering anymore.

He sighs and leans against the smooth glass of the wall, searching the party for James again. It’s
dangerous, because anyone could notice that he’s looking at him, but Regulus is counting on the
alcohol impairing people’s cognitive functions.

He finds Pandora first, dancing with her roommates in Ravenclaw. Her eyes are closed and her face
turned up to the ceiling. He did ask her about her strange reaction to the mark on the paper the
other day, but she only told him to trust her. This did not go down well with Regulus, who harassed
Pandora until she admitted she’d given James a warning about one of her dreams. Regulus insisted
on hearing it, too, but Pandora drew the line at that. She invoked the possibility of James getting
hurt if Regulus meddled with her omens, and he relented. At least, James has been warned. Regulus
hopes that, plus his constant vigilance, are enough.

James is with his friends, talking animatedly about Salazar knows what. Regulus watches him say
something that must be funny, because everyone laughs. Lily Evans harder than the rest. Regulus
suspects she likes James. He heard her gossiping with her friends at the beginning of the year,
right? And she definitely wanted to ask James out. So, she must like him, but he’s trying not to
fixate on that because James told him he shouldn’t be jealous and Regulus believes James.

Except. Well. Lily is beautiful. Objectively. And Regulus knows she’s smart as fuck. She’s a
muggle-born but James doesn’t care about that sort of thing, so genuinely, Lily is the perfect girl
for James. She’s also light. Happy, joyful. Pure.

Regulus doesn’t understand how James isn’t with her. When the choice is Regulus or Lily, Regulus
would pick Lily every time, because she can give James things he can’t.

Lily isn’t on a ticking clock. She isn’t plotting murder and revenge. She can give him children, if
that’s something James wants. Lily gets along with James’ friends. All of them. Sirius wouldn’t
have a problem with her.

Lily is so much better than Regulus for James. And what if James realises this before Easter?
Regulus isn’t sure how he’ll cope. He… he wants these months. Just five of them. For him. With
James. To get everything he ever wanted so when the war swallows him whole he’s at least known
what it’s like.

The spiralling of his thoughts is interrupted by two things. First, Dorcas arrives with the drinks. He
takes it from her and thanks her, taking a sip. Second, the music changes and ABBA’s Dancing
Queen comes on. Regulus’ head whips around to watch as James throws his arms up in the air, lets
out a cry of pure ecstasy, and drags Sirius to the dancefloor.

They’re having so much fun Regulus feels like he’s absorbing some of it by osmosis. Their joy is
so genuine it permeates everything and everyone around them. People turn to watch or to join in
their fun, and it’s like a ripple spreading through the crowd. Everyone is suddenly possessed by the
spirit of ABBA.

Regulus hates dancing. But for some reason, he wants to join. Just. He wishes he could, if bodies
didn’t freak him out and crowds didn’t make him feel like he’s drowning.

A girl Regulus doesn’t recognise shows up and takes Sirius by the waist. She doesn’t even ask, but
Sirius doesn’t seem to mind, and now they’re dancing so close it’s uncomfortable for Regulus to
watch. James rolls his eyes at his friend, then keeps giving his all to this rendition of Dancing
Queen.

And James. Oh. James is singing and dancing and having the time of his life. But he’s also
searching for him. Regulus knows because when James finds him, he stops turning and just sings
and dances on the spot. Facing him across the room. Casually touching the scar on his left arm like
it doesn’t make Regulus’ knees weak every single time.

“Oh wow, that escalated quickly,” Dorcas says suddenly. Regulus snaps back to reality, panicked
that perhaps he was being too obvious. But Dorcas is looking at the dance floor, not at him. “Guess
I was wrong and he doesn’t have a boyfriend, huh?”

Regulus follows her line of sight and finds his brother full on making out with the girl. Like, he’s
pretty sure that was a flash of tongue he just saw. Salazar’s socks. It’s disgusting. They’re
surrounded by people. Does he not have any manners whatsoever? Their mother would be
horrified, which Regulus guesses was always kind of the point to anything Sirius did.

Regulus can feel his face scrunching into a scowl of disgust. He’s surprised, despite everything.
Surprised because deep down he was hoping Dorcas was right and his brother was like him. What
a stupid thing to hope for. It’s not like it would ever change anything for them, because Sirius left
and Regulus stayed behind. Bones and cold and pain.

And yet, somewhere inside of him, Regulus had unknowingly held on to the thought that if his
brother was like him, then here was something that bound them together. Something they didn’t
have to acknowledge, because there would never be that for them again, but the idea of it existing
would be enough.

And now Sirius is obliterating that on the dance floor by sticking his tongue down some girls’
throat, and Regulus feels sick and stupid and pathetic because he should have known better.

Out of the corner of his eye, Regulus sees the moment James notices Regulus hasn’t been paying
him attention for a little while. He glances around and finds Sirius still kissing this girl. Regulus
immediately knows something is up. James frowns, and looks a little concerned, which makes no
sense because surely James shouldn’t give a damn who Sirius fools around with.

His questions are answered when James abandons the dance floor even though his song hasn’t
ended yet. Regulus has just about enough time to go on this tip toes to see him leave the party right
behind Lupin, who’s essentially sprinting away.

And Regulus has to know. He wants to know. So, in a split second he decides he’s going to follow
them.

“I’ll see you later,” Regulus says to Dorcas.

Dorcas puts her half-empty drink down, blinking at Regulus with mild surprise. “Where are you
going?”

Regulus gestures to the exit. “Need to get away from people. Don’t know if I’ll come back.”

Dorcas sighs, drops her shoulders a little bit. “Fine. I guess… well. Thanks for coming with me.”

Regulus is in a hurry, but this is Dorcas. His best friend, he thinks. And this night mattered to her a
lot. So Regulus pauses, looks at her. “I like Marlene. Don’t tell her I said that. I’ll deny it to my last
breath.”

Dorcas laughs, and it’s amazing. With that, he thinks he’s done what a good friend would have.
Dorcas doesn’t stop him when he turns and leaves, and that’s how Regulus finds himself chasing
after James Potter and, in a surprising plot twist, Remus Lupin.

####

James isn’t sure what he’s going to say when he catches up to Remus. All he knows is that the look
on his face when Sirius began sucking face with Adaline—random sixth year Hufflepuff they
don’t know much at all—Remus looked like he wanted to die.

Remus’ reaction is justified, James thinks. Because yes, Sirius has been making out with girls at
parties for years. But it is true that he hadn’t for a while. Sometime towards the end of last year,
Sirius started turning people down more than he agreed to hooking up with them. And James didn’t
think anything of it at the time, because they’re all growing up and maturing.

It's the reason they agreed to no pranks this year, at least no school-wide ones. The reason they’re
practicing their skills a lot more. And James didn’t spare much thought to why Sirius wasn’t
sleeping around because he assumed it was part of their commitment to growing up.

Obviously not.

The thing is, James understands why Remus had to leave the party. Because if he’d had to watch
Regulus kiss anyone else, he would have committed murder. Darkness and light be damned. He
just wouldn’t have been able to control himself.

The fact that Adaline is still in one piece, still attached to Sirius’ face, is testament to the absolute
monster of a willpower Remus Lupin has. In James’ humble opinion.

He catches up to his friend in a corridor that goes nowhere. It’s a dead end, and Remus will have to
turn around and walk back out because there’s no exit. There are a few of those in Hogwarts,
courtesy of the ever evolving magical architecture and additions from different headmasters.
Remus knows better than to end up in one of these, but he is understandably not in his right mind.

“Moony,” James says.

Remus whirls around, looks at James. “Why’d you leave the party?”

The torches on the walls make the shadows in the corridor dance around them. Remus looks
slightly out of sorts, eyes wide and desperate. His jaw is a tight line, like he’s been clenching his
teeth.

James takes a step closer to his friend. “You looked upset. Are you alright?”

Remus sets his shoulders, stands up tall. “I’m fine. Just got overwhelmed. Too many people.”

James shrugs, nods. “Okay. Do you want to sit down here?”

Remus looks around, seems to realise there’s no way out but where he came from. With a sort of
exhausted sigh, he shakes his head. “No. It’s okay. Let’s go back to the party, yeah?”

“You don’t have to,” James says. “If you’d rather not, I mean. I’ll cover for you.”

Remus narrows his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

James is going to tell him. He’s going to tell him that he knows. He’s noticed, because Remus
thinks he’s subtle but it’s honestly obvious to anyone paying attention. Perhaps it’ll help if he
realises that James—and Peter—do not care that he likes their friend. That they’ll support him if he
wants to try to make it happen.

But before he can speak, Remus’ eyes go wide and he lunges forward, grabbing James by the arm
and spinning him around so they’re side by side facing the open end of the corridor.

A curse flies past them, bright red. James pulls his wand out, and then he’s facing Mulciber, Avery
and Dolohov. A quick glance confirms Remus has his wand, too. Two to three. Not bad. They’ve
got this.

“Look what we found,” Avery drawls, smirking.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” Mulciber asks. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “I’d say you can do better, but that might make your last braincell explode
from sheer pressure. I’d rather not have to clean shit off the ceiling.”

James barks a laugh. Remus is funny when he wants to be. Biting. A little mean. The thought
strikes James that Remus and Regulus could be friends, in another life. It would have been nice.

Avery is still taunting them, blabbing literal nonsense that James thinks is meant to upset them.
This is obviously not working, because Avery is an idiot and cannot even insult people properly.

“You think you’re so fucking smart,” Dolohov says. “But you’re just an ugly half-blood who got
lucky to be rescued by his friends.”

“Wouldn’t call falling under the two biggest blood traitors in the country lucky,” Mulciber
snickers. “We should teach them a little lesson.”

“Too bad Black isn’t here,” Avery says. “I bet the little bitch begs if you threaten to hurt his pretty
face.”

“Aw, did you hear that Remus?” James coos. “Avery thinks Sirius is pretty!”

The Slytherin looks positively alarmed. “No! I do not!”

James and Remus roll their eyes at the blatant stupidity of the three boys threatening them. Their
wands are out, but they haven’t made a move against them yet, first curse aimed at the back of
James’ head notwithstanding.

Avery strings together a series of insults that make so little sense they’re actually quite hilarious,
but James isn’t paying attention to him. Remus digs his elbow subtly into James’ ribs. “They’re
stalling,” he whispers. “Something’s not right.”

“Then, we take charge,” James replies.

“No,” Remus says. “They’ll say we started the fight.”

“They tried to curse me behind my back!” James hisses furiously. “Stop thinking like a prefect and
start thinking like a marau—”

They both duck at once, and thank Godric for their good reflexes. Three more Slytherins have
arrived, and Remus was right. Avery, Dolohov and Mulciber were waiting for Snape, Lestrange,
and Goyle.

There’s no more talking after that. Once they are outnumbering James and Remus three to one, the
Slytherins attack viciously. James and Remus split, keeping their backs to the wall and taking half
the corridor each. They’re cornered, but at least they can only be attacked from the front.

The duel gets intense right away, because the Slytherins do not care they’re in a school. The
Gryffindors are holding their ground well, but they’ve been drinking, and there are six opponents
to keep track off. They get cuts and burns all over, but they keep fighting through it. Their blows
land, too, causing the Slytherins similar injuries.

Remus has to duck to avoid a hex and when James looks over to check he’s okay, James is hit by a
sizzling curse that eats a good chunk of the skin on his shoulder.

“Shit,” he cries. It hurts like a bitch.

He has to change the wand to his left hand, which isn’t ideal but his right arm hurts too much for
him to use it properly. Remus hits Goyle with a stunning spell that takes him out, and James
retaliates against Avery’s sizzling curse with a full-body bind.

They’re four to two now, but James’ right arm is useless and Remus is panting. The full moon was
two nights ago, and he’s a lot better but he’s not in peak physical form. James is worried. They
could get badly hurt.

He raises his left arm, wand in hand, but he doesn’t get to attack. The four Slytherins shoot at once,
and James and Remus are forced to join their energy to sustain a shield that can deflect the curses.

Remus is better at shields than James, so his side is a little weaker. It holds, however, which gives
them a moment to breathe.

And then, behind the four death eaters, a fifth figure clad in dark clothes and a hood darts from the
shadows. James is about to curse their bad luck that their opponents keep getting reinforcements
when the newcomer takes down two of them at once instead. He uses a spell James has never seen
before, one that seems to suck the air out of their lungs, because Snape and Dolohov fall to their
knees clawing at their throats like they can’t breathe. James can’t see the person’s face. Their hood
is down very low and there’s a darkness clinging to their features that makes it impossible to
identify them.

Snape and Dolohov pass out from lack of oxygen, and James would be worried if not for the flick
of a wand and then the rising and falling of chests.
It's cruel, James thinks. But it’s effective. Mulciber and Lestrange hesitate, and that’s all the
opening James and Remus need. James stuns Lestrange, while Remus throws Mulciber back so
hard he hits his head on the wall and falls unconscious, too. A little violent, but Remus is angry.

“Fuck,” Remus groans when the Slytherins are all down.

He leans against the wall and brings a hand to his ribs. James’ arm is throbbing. “How bad is it?”

“Your arm looks worse,” Remus replies. Then, he gestures with his head to the dark figure
hovering at the end of the corridor. “Are you going to curse us too?”

“You need to get away from here,” he says, and James feels the words punch the air out of him.
Something’s wrong with his voice, but James would recognise it anywhere no matter what.

Regulus.

James is walking towards him before he’s got time to think, and only remembers himself when
he’s standing close. It helps that he cannot see his face. He’s done something, James realises. Some
sort of spell to obscure his identity.

For some reason, Remus is following, and it takes James a moment to understand that Remus is not
trusting the stranger, but him. And James should hesitate, perhaps, because if they go together
Remus will find out. But Regulus came to their aid of his own free will and is urging them away
from the scene. So, James follows him, Remus at his heels.

They race through the corridors, away from the dead end and the six Slytherins lying on the floor
unconscious. James’ arm is shooting bursts of white-hot pain to the rest of his body with every
step, but he doesn’t dare stop. Remus pants next to him, valiantly fighting his body and pushing
himself to keep going until they’re safe.

Regulus leads them into the potions classroom, of all places. He lets himself in with a key he takes
from his pocket, then locks the door after them. He casts a series of rapid spells that James
recognises—identification, revealing, silencing—then gestures towards two chairs.

“Sit,” he orders before he goes to rummage through cabinets.

James notices Regulus has the keys to a rather large one, and that he goes through the contents like
he knows exactly where everything is. It strikes him as rather privileged, but Regulus is a
renowned potioner. Slughorn tells James’ year all about him all the time, much to Sirius’ endless
irritation.

“James,” Remus whispers. “Do you know who they are?”

James frowns at Remus, because surely he can recognise his voice, too? They are prefects and
have had several patrols together. “You can’t tell?”

“They’re wearing an obscuring spell under the hood, and they’ve cast some sort of distortion spell
on their vocal chords,” Remus says. “I’ve no idea who this is, but they feel dangerous, and we’ve
locked ourselves in a room with them.”

“I can hear you, you know?” Regulus says over his shoulder.

James mutters, “Trust me. I’ve got this, okay?”

Remus nods just as Regulus grabs two bottles from the lowest shelf and turns. Approaches them
and puts the bottles down. Regulus unscrews them, then smells both as though to confirm he’s got
the right stuff.

“Who are you?” Remus asks, hand fluttering over the pocket where his wand is.

“Drink this.” Regulus shoves one of the bottles towards Remus. “Or don’t and be in pain. I don’t
care.”

Then, Regulus turns to James and uncaps the other bottle. “Let me see your arm.” James shows it to
him immediately, and Regulus hisses under his breath. “Fucking Avery. Hold still. This is going to
sting.”

“Hi,” James says softly.

He still can’t see Regulus’ face, but he can tell he looks up because he moves a little. Just a smidge.
He doesn’t say anything though, focuses back on the task at hand.

Regulus tilts the bottle and catches dark purple goo in his hand. James braces himself, and Regulus
spreads the good over the wound. It begins to boil immediately, and James can’t help the cry that
falls from his lips.

“I know,” Regulus says, sounding pained. “But I have to burn the curse away or it won’t heal
properly.”

James grits his teeth, tries to be brave. And he is brave, but there are tears in his eyes despite his
best efforts. He feels like his arm is being eaten by piranhas. Like someone has taken a hot poker to
it and is burning through his flesh. James cannot stop the groans and whimpers that escape him.
This is incredibly painful. There’s sweat running down his back, and pooling in his temples.

Remus is watching in absolute horror, but he’s not intervening which tells James Remus realises
this is necessary.

“How did you know to do that?” Remus asks, and through the blatant distress there’s also a bit of
respect, like he’s impressed.

Regulus shrugs. “I told you to drink that. For the bruise.”

If James could feel anything other than excruciating pain, he would be surprised that Remus does
as told and drinks the whole thing. He makes a face of absolute disgusts and mutters ‘Pete’s boots’
so James has an idea of the sort of potion he was fed.

His arm is still on fire, and he’s rapidly approaching his pain threshold. James might faint, and this
time it’s for real. He’s struggling to keep his breathing steady.

“Fuck, this hurts,” James whimpers. “How much longer?”

Regulus cups his jaw, thumb rubbing up and down over his cheek. “Hold on. Just a few more
moments.”

James isn’t ashamed to admit that Regulus touching him makes it all better. Don’t get him wrong,
his arm still hurts so much he’d rather just cut it off at this point, but he can focus on the cool palm
on his face. Long fingers cradling him with care.

Bringing all his awareness to that point of contact, James lets his head fall back a little bit to look
into the dark hood. Annoyingly, he still can’t see Regulus’ face, because the man is a fucking
charm genius apparently and his spell is watertight, but it doesn’t matter. James knows Regulus’
features by heart.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Remus says all of a sudden.

He jumps to his feet, walking backwards away from James and Regulus, shaking his head no.
James blinks at him, and a tear runs down his cheek, dislodged by the blinking.

“James,” Remus says, voice low and dangerous. Almost growling. “Tell me the person fucking
caressing you right now is not Regulus Black.”

Regulus’ fingers freeze on James’ face, but he doesn’t withdraw. James hears the little sigh of
resignation, and understands Regulus knew this was a risk and took it anyway to help him. To help
them, because he healed Moony, too.

“I could,” James says as calmly as he can while his arm is killing him. Couldn’t Remus wait until
his arm isn’t on fire to do this? Honestly. Disrespectful. James sighs. “But then I would be lying.”

“FUCK,” Remus shouts, bringing his hands to his hair. He’s still backing away like either Regulus
or James might attack him, for some reason.

The good news is that whatever potion Regulus gave him is clearly working, because there’s no
trace of pain on Remus’ face. There’s only panic. Panic and distress. Remus is freaking out big
time and James wants to help him through it but also his arm is pure, raw, undiluted fucking agony.

“Remus?”

“No!” Remus says, backing away even more. He looks positively disgusted. Starts cussing
nonsense like a drunk sailor.

“I thought he was gay, why is he being homophobic?” Regulus deadpans.

This effectively shuts Remus string of cusses up. Abruptly, like someone hit a ‘mute’ button.
Remus stares at Regulus wide-eyed, and he finally takes off his hood. James swoons. It’s not the
moment for it, but he can’t help it. Forget his arm. His entire body goes up in flames as soon as he
sees Regulus in all his glory.

“Ah, fuck,” James says, breathless. “I totally get the make up thing, Remus.”

Because someone put make-up on Regulus and he looks delicious. James wants to eat him.

Remus makes a sound like he’s choking, then stumbles forward. “I… you… what?”

Regulus looks at James, a little smirk at the corner of his lips. He’s one smug bastard, and James
wants to kiss him so bad. But Remus is here, and at this point James has to explain, doesn’t he?
Where does he start?

“How did you know?” James asks.

“The rings,” Remus replies.

James has nothing to say to that, because it makes sense. Remus is observant, and smart and he has
spent a bit of time with Regulus, who is the brother of the person Remus likes. Obviously, Remus
has paid attention to Regulus. Regulus would have known to be more careful if he was aware of
Remus’ feelings for Sirius.
Apparently, Regulus has decided that he doesn’t care Remus is having a crisis. Not even a little bit.
He focuses on James, and James only. This makes it hard for James to process thoughts correctly,
because Regulus is wearing make-up and it’s glorious.

“Hold still,” Regulus says, taking his arm. “This is ready.”

James is incredibly relieved to feel cool water washing the potion off. When he looks down, a good
chunk of his arm is still missing but the skin looks a lot less rotten than before. Regulus begins to
mutter incantations under his breath, regrowing the missing pieces of James’ flesh.

Remus clears his throat, and James has to look away from his beautiful saviour to face his friend.
“What the fuck, James?”

And James knows that Remus isn’t being homophobic. He’s not objecting to James seeing a boy.
He’s objecting to the boy being the little brother of their friend, with whom Remus is in love with.

“Sirius knows,” James says. “I told him. He’s not happy, but he knows.”

Remus mouth opens. Closes. He blinks several times in a row. “He knows?”

James nods, then sighs and runs his not injured hand over his hair. “Yes. But only him. You can’t
tell anyone. Not even Pete.”

Remus slumps down on a chair, blinking a lot, very fast and a little erratic. His hands are on his
lap, turned up. Limp. Like all his energy is going to his brain so he can process this news. “He’s…
not happy. Define not happy.”

“Well, he freaked out at first,” James says, glancing at Regulus. He’s absolutely one hundred
percent not bothered, still focused on healing James. “But well. I didn’t give him much of a choice,
really.”

“Freaked out?” Remus raises an eyebrow.

James grimaces. “He… uh… he punched me.”

Regulus stills. His eyes flick up towards James and James loses track of his surroundings because
there’s violence in Regulus’ expression. Violence and that possessiveness that James shouldn’t like
but does because when it comes to Regulus James apparently likes everything.

Unaware of the silent exchange between them, Remus says rather coldly, “Black.”

Regulus drags his eyes away from James, slowly and reluctantly. He faces Remus with eyebrows
raised, like he cannot believe the audacity of Remus addressing him like he has any right to
demand anything of him.

Remus, who ran out of fucks to give at age four, looks him in the eye and asks, “Does this mean
you’re not a mini Death Eather? Because I remember you defending Snivellius from me. Or are
you going to lie about that, too?”

James tenses. Every muscle in his body becomes taut like Sirius’ guitar strings. When did this
happen? The Snivellius thing? And then he remembers that one night Pete and Remus had a little
incident and that Regulus was involved. James forgot to bring it up with him to find out what had
happened. He’s been distracted.

But since when is Regulus friends with Snivellius? This is hands down unacceptable. James can
overlook a lot of things. Forgive Regulus pretty much anything. But friendship with Snivellius?
Hard no. They’ll have to address this sooner rather than later.

And yet… James doesn’t really want to talk about this. It’s too soon. Too much. James wants to
know, but also he doesn’t because what if Regulus is a blood purist? What is James going to do
then? So long as they don’t talk about, James can pretend it’s not a possibility and that makes him
a coward but James just can’t imagine not seeing Regulus again. It literally makes him feel like
everything would suddenly become meaningless.

“My arm is clean,” is what Regulus replies, eyes trained back on James’ shoulder like Remus’
question doesn’t even warrant that much of his attention.

Regulus flicks his wand, then brings gentle fingers to probe at the freshly grown skin over James’
shoulder. It’s a little sore and tender, but the gaping hole is gone, so James calls this intervention a
success.

“Does it hurt?” Regulus asks him quietly.

James shakes his head, smiles at him. “Thank you.”

Remus’ eyes narrow, watching as Regulus looks after James. “Is it going to remain that way?
You’re only sixteen. I doubt Voldemort goes around marking little boys.”

Regulus’ hand stills on James’ arm, and James closes his eyes. Tired. Defeated. Afraid. He doesn’t
want to hear what Regulus says to that. Not yet. Not when he’s unprepared.

“Remus, now is not the time,” James mutters, avoiding his friend’s eye.

“No. Now is absolutely the time,” Remus says. “Because I know you, and you’re a fucking idiot,
and I’m not going to let you get involved with someone who’s going to turn around and kill you as
soon as we’re out of school.”

Regulus pounces. Like a lion on the hunt. One moment he’s standing next to James, the next he’s
on Remus. He’s not violent. Not like his brother is. Regulus doesn’t use his fists, he uses his wand,
his stealth and his agility, so he’s positioned himself behind Remus and is holding a potions knife
to his throat.

He knicks Remus’ skin, just enough for a little blood to bloom. “If you ever suggest I’d hurt James
again, I’ll kill you.”

Remus scoffs. Unafraid. Fucking hell. James cannot deal with this. With them. Who allowed
Remus and Regulus in the same room?

“James would never forgive you if you killed me.”

Regulus’ head cocks to the side, like he’s only just realising this. He looks up at James, who is
absolutely lost. A little flustered, too, but he hopes Remus can’t tell. “Reg, please. Let him go. He’s
just… he’s my friend.”

Regulus shoves Remus forward, eyes flashing. It brings Remus close to James, and James doesn’t
like it because he feels like there are sides now. Him and Remus on one, Regulus on the other. It’s
James’ worst nightmare, and he’s not ready to face it.

“You should go,” Regulus says, sharp. Cutting. “Both of you.”

James steps closer, but Regulus retreats. “Go.”

And James knows better than to push. Regulus is upset, and honestly? James can’t blame him
because he came to their rescue. He looked after them and healed their wounds. And Remus repaid
him by calling him a Death Eater to his face. James would be pissed, too.

James nods, then gestures to the door. “Remus, I’m right behind you.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Remus says, looking at Regulus. “Because James is my best friend,
and he wants me to keep the secret, so I will. But if you hurt him, I will make your life hell.”

Regulus smirks. It’s not flirty like when he does it with James. This is cruel, and so thorny it makes
James want to wince. Cold and full of teeth. “You know nothing of hell, Lupin.”

The two of them seize each other, and James thinks that Regulus would, perhaps, not be so cavalier
if he knew what Remus’ life is like. But he doesn’t, so in Regulus’ eyes Remus is just an asshole.

With a sharp jerk of his chin, Regulus points to the door again. “Now, fuck off.”

After that, Remus doesn’t dwell. With one warning look towards James, he turns the key to the
potions classroom and slips out, leaving James with Regulus, door ajar behind him.

“I just wanted to tell you that you look glorious tonight,” James whispers hurriedly, before Regulus
kicks him out again. “I’m very, as in, extremely into the make-up thing,” he says, hopeful that
Regulus will wear it again sometime for him. A man can dream, right?

Then, on a more serious tone, James adds, “And I’m sorry this happened. Remus… he doesn’t
know you. He’s just… yeah. I’m sorry. But thank you for coming to help.” A pause. Nerves and
doubt squeeze his throat, but James pushes on, determined. He won’t let this come between him
and Regulus. “I’ll be on the roof tomorrow.”

Regulus doesn’t reply. He stares at James, features hard and cold. James walks to the door, but he
can’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder one last time.

Regulus brings to fingers to the inside of his arm. They hold each other’s gaze for a heartbeat, and
Regulus’ softens a smidge. It’s enough for James to know that he, too, will be on the roof
tomorrow.

James is smiling when he closes the door behind him on the way out.

Interlude: Evan POV

“We’ve got the room to ourselves,” Barty says in a seductive tone as soon as the door closes
behind them.

The first thing Evan does is rip his silly Batman mask off because it’s been hurting his nose
literally all night. Rubbing a finger over the sore skin, he glances around. Barty is right. Dorcas
isn’t here, which isn’t surprising because they all knew she was going to spend the night with
Marlene.

“Where’s Reg?” Evan asks, wary. “He could come back any minute.”
Barty swings his hips, clad in that ridiculous costume that has had Evan’s mouth watering all night,
and closes the distance between them. “We’ve got time.”

Despite his arousal, because he reacts to Barty like oil to a flame, unease spikes through Evan. He
shakes his head. “Too risky.”

Barty frowns, rolls his eyes. “Really? Honestly, Evan, half the time I’m not even sure you want
this.”

He’s being baited. Barty is very good at it. He knows the buttons to push and is an expert at it.
Evan knows this. It’s not enough to keep himself in check. Stupidly, he rises to the challenge in
Barty’s eyes.

“And half the time I feel like you want to get caught!”

Barty blinks, tilts his head. “Why would I do that?”

“To get back at your father,” Evan spits. There it is. The thing that has been hanging over his head
since that evening Barty showed up in the room, took Evan’s face in his hands, and snogged him
like the world was going to end.

Evan, who’d been hopelessly crushing on him for all of sixth year, just went with it. Full on. They
fell into bed, and they’ve kind of been there since. And Evan is happy. He’s happy because have
you seen Barty? He’s hands down the best looking guy in all of Hogwarts, not to mention the
funniest, craziest, most interesting. Evan loved Barty as a friend, and now that he’s also his lover,
he has reached heaven.

But. There’s always a but, isn’t there? Evan can’t shake the feeling that it’s too good. Something’s
got to give. And it’s this, isn’t it? Barty doesn’t actually like him. Not really. It’s common
knowledge that Barty adores girls. Tits and round arses and whatnot. So, what the hell is he doing
with Evan?

“You keep wanting us to take stupid risks because you want us to get caught and for it to reach
your father,” Evan repeats through gritted teeth. “And I can’t do this anymore. Not like this.”

Barty’s eyes narrow, and that glint of viciousness shines in them. Evan braces for it, and then Barty
surprises him by calming down again and sitting on the bed. His hands fall between his knees and
he looks up at Evan with a sort of pleading look is making him want to forget this whole thing and
kiss him until they can’t breathe.

“No. That's not it."

"You're telling me you don't get a kick out of how mad your father will be if he finds out?" Evan
asks sharply.

"I'm saying that I already did that. Went through that,” Barty says. “The… the wondering. I had to
figure out if I really liked boys, liked you, or if I just wanted to piss that asshole off.”

Evan’s mouth opens. Closes. He had no idea. Why didn’t Barty tell him? Salazar’s socks, honestly.
Barty is just. Infuriating.

“And you didn’t think it was a good idea to tell me this? When did this happen? How did you
figure this out?” Evan is bewildered, but there's also hope and relief blooming inside him. Because
if this is true... well. Then.
“What was I supposed to say?” Barty asks, eyes wide.

Evan throws his arms up, desperate to make him understand why he’s so confused, and wary, and a
little bit terrified because Evan is in deep. Barty has the power to really hurt him now, and that’s
scary as fuck.

“I don’t know, anything! You didn’t say a word, Barty. You showed up one day and snogged the
wits out of me and that’s… that’s it, really. Nothing has changed, except we fuck now.”

Barty smirks, lifts an eyebrow. “I thought you liked the fucking.”

Evan groans. “Seriously?”

Barty shakes his head, still smirking but less smugly. “What’s wrong with the way things are now?
You’re my friend. You were my friend before all this,” he gestures towards the bed with his head,
making it clear what he means by ‘this’ and sighs, “I didn’t want to lose that. I like you. I do. But I
didn’t want it to turn into something… you know? I just. I don’t know how to do this.”

Evan sits on Reg’s bed, feeling exhausted. It’s the middle of the night, and they’ve had a few
drinks. Maybe it’s not the best time for this. But they’re in it now, and Evan has to see it through.

"This?"

"I'm better at fucking than I am at talking," Barty says. "I didn't want to fumble it, so I went for it.
You weren't complaining."

Evan smacks his lips, a little thrown. Barty's not wrong, per se. Perhaps he should have said
something sooner.

“How did you figure out you were… bisexual?” Evan checks.

Barty nods. “Yeah. That.” He runs a hand through his hair, then grins at Evan. “I snogged Reg.”

Evan jumps up. Just. Springs up from the bed like it’s on fire. He cannot believe what he just
heard. “What? When? How? Reg? As in, this Reg?” He points at the bed. “The Reg that doesn’t
like to be touched even by accident? You snogged him. Tongue and everything?”

Barty laughs. Throws his head back and full on chortles. And Evan... well. Evan laughs, too. He
can't help it. Can't do anything but laugh and laugh with Barty. Because it’s so insane, but also the
sort of thing that Barty would definitely do. It's also fucking hilarious and Evan can't picture it in
his head. Regulus kissing someone? Stop it.

When they calm down, Evan can’t even find it in himself to be jealous. Not of Reg. If Barty was
going to trust someone with something that dangerous, it makes sense that he went to Regulus. It
was crazy, and fucking dangerous, but Barty and Reg are very close. As close as anyone can be to
Regulus Black, anyway.

“How did you know? I didn’t know he liked boys,” Evan says, curious. The sheepish look in
Barty’s eyes answers him. “Fuck off. You didn’t know either? You just… you gambled on it? Are
you ins… Actually, yes. You are. That could have gone so wrong, Barty.”

“It didn’t,” he says, shrugging. “Reg’s fucking good at kissing.”

“Do I need to be worried?” Evan asks, half-joking.

 Barty scoots over on the bed leaving an empty space beside him in a clear invitation. Evan takes it.
He sits down next to this boy that was his friend first, and has been his lover for a few weeks, and
Evan wants to make something else. Something more. Barty leans into him, like he can’t help it.
Evan basks in the feeling.

“I told Reg it had to be him because it couldn’t be you,” Barty says. “I couldn’t risk trying to figure
my shit out with you, because I felt… I felt things. I still do.”

“What things?” Evan asks.

“How would I know? I’ve never felt them before. Not for any of the girls. That was always… you
know. Fun. Like, brilliant. But just physical. With you I don’t…” Barty trails off, then looks into
Evan’s eyes firmly. “I don’t want to get caught, Evan. I just can’t keep my fucking hands off you
so any chance I see I want to take.”

Evan nods. He can accept this. Barty is and has always been impulsive. And Evan is and has
always been too cautious. They’ll have to learn to meet in the middle. Balance each other. And he
can do that, he thinks. He’s excited, even.

He puts an arm over Barty’s shoulders, tugs him in close. “Alright. Well. If Reg catches us it’s his
problem, I guess,” Evan says, dipping his face to kiss Barty’s neck.

Barty turns, finds his mouth. They kiss, and it robs Evan of breath. Barty claims Reg is good at
kissing, but Evan thinks it’s just that Barty is so amazing at it it’s impossible for anyone to fumble
it. Barty kisses like he fucks—with everything he has every single time. Intent. Dirty, but in the
best way.

They break apart, panting. Clothes begin to fall. They climb in and close the curtains and for a
moment they just look at each other. Naked. Vulnerable.

“Be my boyfriend,” Barty blurts. “You’re my boyfriend, right? That’s what this is?”

Evan’s heart does a little shimmy. He beams, and pushes Barty so he falls backwards on the bed.
“Yes.” Evan kisses him. “Yes.” Again. “And yes.”

Chapter End Notes

Yes, James is dressed as Achilles. No, I will not take questions at this time.

Also, yes. Regulus is dressed as the green arrow because I spent an inordinate amount
of time researching and I thought this was the option that made him look the hottest.
Also, him judging everyone's costumes and being horrified by the girls trying to get
his attention is so funny to me. I LOVE HIM.

Sirius... I mean. SIGH. Listen. We don't talk about Bruno. This is not what you
wanted. I know. It's not what I wanted, either. BUT, Sirius is an idiot and he's got
issues. So.

Dorcas and Marlene though? PERFECTION. I love my sapphic queens with my entire
being, they can do no wrong, they do no wrong ever. They are just untouchable.

Rosekiller. My babes. Ugh, they are so different in their approach to Jegulus, but it
feels so right for them, you know? I love them, too <3

I hope you enjoyed!!!

I'll update again sometime this weekend <3

 Moaning Myrtle
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

I hope you're all having / have had a fantastic weekend!

TWs for this chapter

Mention of Regulus' addiction to his sleeping potions
Discussion of past death
Discussion of past attacks on children (related to the Chamber of Secrets)
Smoking
Sexual content in this chapter!
Discussions about bigotry and discrimination based on blood status
References / mentions of child abuse (Walburga's A+ Parenting)
Discussions about the ongoing magical war

That's it, I think!

I hope you enjoy :D

THANK YOU to everyone who loved Green Arrow Reggie as much as I did :D Your
comments made my weekend <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus should quit while he’s ahead. Honestly. He should. He got what he wanted. He knows
what kissing James Potter feels like. Knows the sounds he makes when Regulus grazes the
underside of his jaw with his teeth.

He knows what James' muscles feel like under his hands, even though there’s always too much
clothing between them. Regulus knows what James sounds like when he’s coming, and the rush of
power and sheer ecstasy that is knowing he’s the one that caused it. That he can make it happen.

Mind-blowing, honestly.

Regulus should quit now, because he’s on a high. He should quit now because there are three
people who know, and that’s three people too many. Sirius. Lupin. Dorcas. Dorcas hasn’t had it
confirmed, but she’s too fucking smart and she picked up on it. Also because apparently James is
obvious when he’s looking at Regulus which, like, fine. Regulus likes it, because who doesn’t? But
it’s fucking stupid and dangerous.

If Dorcas outright asks him again, Regulus won’t be able to lie to her face.

Regulus should quit James now. It’s the safest thing to do. The smart thing to do. It’ll save him
trouble, and possible complications.

But he won’t, because he’s addicted to James. He’s addicted to how he makes him feel. To the way
he looks at him. To the taste of his tongue and the way his lips mould to him. Regulus can’t get
enough, and he doesn’t know how to quit. Part of him doesn’t really want to. Much like his
sleeping potions, he’ll keep taking for as long as he can. Until something or someone comes and
pries them from his cold hands.

Five months isn’t long. This is what Regulus tells himself. He can have five months. He’s earned
five months. Hasn’t he?

The library is deserted today, because it’s Sunday and the day after Halloween so everyone is
sleeping off their hangover. Perfect time for his research. No one will come bother him, and that’s
how Regulus likes it.

Regulus turns the corner and finds the shelf he’s looking for. He stacks the book back where it
belongs and sighs. This Tom Riddle is hard to find. He’s annoyed by it, because how difficult
could it be? Regulus did find the record of his attending Hogwarts, but it was just the entry in the
log, next to the years he attended.

It isn’t enough, and so far he has found little else.

But Regulus doesn’t give up. He’s going through family trees and other historical records, hoping
to find the name Riddle somewhere.

He checks his pocket watch and sighs again. He has one hour before going to the roof to meet
James. He should eat something, but he can’t be bothered with the trip to the kitchens and he’s
most definitely not going to dinner because then he’ll have to lie to his friends about where he’s
going afterwards.

Regulus decides to stay and read some more. He’s putting a pin on the Tom Riddle research for
now because he’s frankly tired of failure. Instead, he looks for obituaries from the years Riddle
was at school. If he can’t find him, perhaps he can find the girl who died. Her family, anyway.

And after a short while of reading, his luck begins to turn.

Myrtle Warren.

Regulus knows her. He thinks. The name. It rings a bell. He sits down, writes it on a piece of paper
and thinks. And thinks. He can’t remember why it sounds familiar, but it does. It does.

Myrtle Warren.

A girl, murdered in school.

Why her? Regulus starts there, hoping it’ll spark something. A memory, perhaps. Anything. He’s a
little desperate, because he’s not used to only finding dead ends. 1943, a dead girl, Myrtle Warren.
There’s got to be something about it somewhere. Even if they swept it under the rug, something
always slips through the cracks and Regulus is going to find it.

He goes through old newspapers. Finds a student run newsletter from the 40s. Reads through
school logs. Anything he can find. And it’s only when he stumbles across a handwritten note on a
very worn copy of Hogwarts a History that he remembers.

Student death needs recording. Girl, Ravenclaw. Second floor bathroom. Chamber of Secrets?

Regulus frowns. Reads the note again. Obviously some wannabe historian making their own
annotations like they matter… but wait.

Bathroom. Second floor.

Moaning Myrtle.

Regulus slumps back on his chair, runs a hand through his hair. This is brilliant. He doesn’t even
have to bother the girls’ family because the girl is still around. Everyone knows to avoid that
particular bathroom because she’s always crying in there. Pandora went in once, thinking it was all
an exaggeration, and came back deeply upset because the ghost didn’t like her cheerful outlook on
life.

Taking a moment to compose his thoughts, Regulus quickly tidies up his things and flees the
library towards the second floor. He’s got a bit of time before he has to go to the owlry, and he’s
done wasting it.

The door to the girls’ bathroom creaks when he walks inside. He waits for a moment, but no one
says anything. Moaning Myrtle is sniffling softly in her stall, so far unconcerned with the new
presence in her bathroom.

Regulus looks around. It’s obvious it’s in disuse, which is fine with him. The bathroom doesn’t
smell, which is all he could ask for. The sinks have rusted, and the mirrors are covered in dust. He
sees several reflections of himself as he walks further in. His hair is getting a little long. He should
consider cutting it before his mother makes a big deal out of it when he’s home for Christmas.

Salazar’s socks, he can’t believe Christmas is only two months away. Two, and then three, and
then it’s Easter. Regulus doesn’t want it to be Christmas. Because that’ll mean he’s closer to the
beginning of the end. But also, he can’t stop time. Unfortunately.

Ah, hell. It’ll be Christmas before he knows it, won’t it?

It’s a very bad time for his brain to ping him with an anxious thought that reads GIFT FOR
JAMES? But Regulus is used to his brain hating him, so he simply forces that to the back of his
head and focuses on the task at hand.

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, make a plan. He wants this ghost to help him, so he’s
got to be cunning. Charming. Regulus fixes his hair, straightens his tie.

“Hello?” he asks, knocking on the door to Myrtle’s stall.

“Who’s there?” she yells.

“I just…” Regulus pauses. This girl is a ghost who died in a bathroom stall alone, and stayed back
to haunt it. Regulus might not be very good with emotions in general, but sadness? He knows it
well. And he’s ready to bet that this ghost is fucking sad.

Regulus clears his throat, then goes for it. “I came in here to be alone, and I heard you. And you
sound… are you alright?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then. “Why did you want to be alone?”

Regulus could smile. It’s in her voice, the longing. The wanting to bond over something. “I’m sad,
too.”

The door to the stall opens and Myrtle looks at him whilst wiping her tears. Regulus doesn’t miss
the way her hands fly to her hair, to fix it, when she sees him. Perhaps Dorcas is right, and he’s a
little handsome. Turns out good looks might be the only thing he has in common with his
embarrassment of a brother.
“Hi,” Regulus says to the ghost.

“Hi,” she says, hovering over the toilet. She died in her school uniform, hair in two pigtails. Round
glasses frame her face, obscuring eyes that are a bit swollen from all the crying. “I’m Myrtle.”

“I’m Regulus.”

“Why are you sad, Regulus?”

He sighs, leans against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “My life is pretty shit.”

Myrtle nods in sympathy, then glides out of her stall. “Do you want to sit?” She gestures to the
floor under the mirrors, where there’s a space of wall without sinks for them to rest their backs
against.

“Sure,” Regulus says, and follows the ghost.

They settle down side by side. Regulus keeps his knees up and puts his arms over them, doing his
best to look relaxed and mildly depressed. First part is a little more challenging than the second.
Sadness he’s got experience with. Relaxation? Don’t know her, sounds fake.

“Do you want to tell me why your life is shit?” Myrtle asks.

Regulus looks away, playing the part of shy. He runs a hand through his curls, then glances at
Myrtle through his eyelashes. The ghost swoons.

“My mother is very difficult,” Regulus says, spinning a fantasy that will make Myrtle take pity on
him. The best lies are always laced with truth, so he uses what he knows. A bit of everything, all
together, to paint himself a victim. “And there’s a lot of pressure on me. Duties and stuff. I’m
struggling to live up to it. And my brother hates me.”

“Your brother is an idiot,” Myrtle says immediately.

Regulus smirks. “You’re not wrong.”

“Why is there pressure on you? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Will you tell me why you’re sad, too?” Regulus asks gently. “Is it… were you sad when you
died? Or did someone upset you today?”

Myrtle lets out a long suffering sigh, then shakes her head. “I was so upset that day, honestly. This
girl, Olive Hornby, she was being so mean to me. It was horrible. I was crying when I died. I’ve
been crying since.”

“Do you want me to hurt Olive, Myrtle? For you?” Regulus offers.

Myrtle stares at him like he’s the King of England. She blushes, which Regulus is very impressed
by because he didn’t know a ghost could blush.

“Aw,” she says, bashful. “She didn’t kill me. She was mean, but I died because of a boy.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Myrtle tells him, noticing his interest and wanting to keep it. His attention. Regulus feels a
little guilty at duping the poor ghost so thoroughly, but not enough to stop himself from leaning a
little closer.
“Well. I was in there crying, in the stall. And I heard this boy say something weird, like in another
language? And then I came out to tell him he had to leave. It’s a girl’s bathroom! And I saw these
huge yellow eyes… and that was it. I was dead.”

Regulus turns her words over in his head. He looks around the bathroom, but fails to see anything
out of the ordinary. “Have you lived in here since?”

“No,” Myrtle replies. “At first, I haunted Olive. She deserved it.”

“Of course she did,” Regulus is quick to add. “I hope you made her life hell for as long as
possible.”

This earns him a smile from Myrtle, who pours more information on him as a reward. “Right. I
did! I haunted her around the castle. It was a difficult year, because muggle-borns kept being
attacked by some creature. And then, someone was expelled for it and it all stopped.”

Regulus’ eyebrows fly up. “Attacked?”

“Petrified,” Myrtle says. “Like a full body bind curse, except it wasn’t a curse. It took the
specialists at St Mungo’s a while to bring them back to normal.”

Regulus’ brain is whirling. He feels this is all important, he just doesn’t know how. What it means.
He sighs, lets his head fall back against the wall. “You know. I love mysteries and puzzles,” he
says casually. “It would help distract me from my shit life if I had something to do. Do you know
anything else about what happened? Maybe I can look into it?”

“There’s no need,” Myrtle says. “They expelled the one responsible. Rubeus Hagrid. Him and his
pet monster were kicked out of the school.”

Regulus is about to blurt that he’s the Gamekeeper, but decides against it at the last minute. He’s
not sure Myrtle is aware, and it is perhaps wise not to upset her. Regulus knows little of Hagrid, but
whenever he’s seen him, dangerous and murderous are not things he’s thought about him. Sure,
he’s huge, but that’s hardly enough evidence of evil.

There’s no doubt that Hagrid isn’t Voldemort. So, his original theory that the murderer might be
him has been dismantled. Unless Hagrid is a scapegoat.

In any case, Regulus has a new name to look into. He’s smart enough to realise he cannot simply
rock up and ask Hagrid about this. Regardless of whether he’s guilty or innocent, this is not
something he’ll want to talk about. So, Regulus is going to have to find another way to get his
information. But a lead is a lead, and this is a win. He’s taking it.

“I see,” he says. He looks at Myrtle, gives her his best half smile. “I’ll have to find something else
to keep me distracted, then. I’m interested in the story of the school. The obscure facts that aren’t
written in books.”

“Perhaps I can help,” Myrtle offers, eager. “I can talk to other ghosts. A lot of us have lived in the
school for a long time.”

Regulus nods. “You’re too nice, Myrtle,” he flatters her. “That would be quite interesting. I know
you weren’t a Slytherin, but since it’s my house, I’m most curious about it. Perhaps you can ask
around about notorious students from my house? Any gossip is welcome.”

Myrtle beams. “Oh this is so much fun,” she says. She glides over, closer to Regulus. “I’ll start
right away. Will you come see me tomorrow?”
Regulus looks at her, does his best to channel some of the softness James brings in him.
“Tomorrow I’ve got tutoring with Slughorn after school, but Tuesday. I will come Tuesday
afternoon.”

Myrtle beams, then quite bravely darts forward and presses a quick and featherlight kiss on
Regulus’ cheek. He’s so startled he doesn’t even have time to react before she’s gliding away,
muttering to herself about which ghosts she’s going to approach first. Regulus isn’t thrown into a
spiral because ghosts don’t feel like people, so Regulus only felt a light brush of cold. He’s used to
the cold, is intimate with it. So, a touch from Myrtle doesn’t set him off, which is good to know.
Perhaps he can use her apparent infatuation with him to his advantage even more.

Rather nonsensically, Regulus wonders if James would feel betrayed. It strikes Regulus that he has
no idea what parameters they’re working under, and he immediately feels the need to discuss it.
Because if James thinks… if James is… he’s not seeing anyone else. Right? Fuck.

Regulus jumps to his feet

####

It’s raining, which is annoying because James can’t see Regulus just sitting in the rain with him for
hours. James would do it, but Regulus won’t. He’s a bit fussy like that. James likes it, but it’s
inconvenient right this second.

He’s nervous, so he’s pacing the owlry while he waits for Regulus to show up. Remus has barely
spoken a word to him all day, shooting him strange glances every now and then. He has kept his
word and not mentioned the incident to anyone. Not even Sirius. This might have something to do
with Adaline rather than James’ request to keep it to himself, but James will take the win.

James wants to know what Remus is thinking, but he doesn’t dare ask. He can’t hear it. He won’t.
Because Remus doesn’t trust Regulus, and very clearly thinks he might be a Death Eater one day.
And James just can’t. His brain refuses to accept this as a possibility, because it would mean the
end. Honestly? James can’t see an end to this. Doesn’t want to, perhaps. He needs Regulus like he
needs air—there’s no good reason for it other than without it he feels like he’s dying.

James doesn’t want to ever be without Regulus. So. Remus has to be wrong. Except Remus is
never wrong, is he?

Fuck. James is losing his mind.

Regulus shows up a few minutes late, and frowns when he finds James in the actual owlry rather
than on the roof. He’s wearing that large green jumper again. Silver rings on his fingers, curls
falling over his ears. James wants to swallow him whole.

This is the problem. James is drawn to Regulus like a moth to a flame, and he knows he can get
burnt, but for some inexplicable reason, James doesn’t care. He’ll burn for Regulus, hot and bright,
and forever.

“Why are you here?” Regulus asks, glancing at the window.

“It’s pouring,” James replies, eyes flicking to the night beyond the window where they climb up to
the roof.

Regulus walks over and sticks his hand out, then back in. He dries his palm against his trousers.
James chuckles. “Couldn’t you just take my word for it?”
“Trust, but verify,” Regulus replies, haughtily. “We can’t stay here. Someone could come.”

James hasn’t come up with a suitable alternative yet, but for a one off, he knows a passage that will
do. It’s wide enough for them to sit face to face, legs tangled. Which works for James. He’s
positive no one but him and his friends know of it, and there’s no reason for the Marauders to go
into Hogsmeade on a Sunday evening, so it won’t be used tonight.

“I know somewhere we can go,” James says. “It’s not a permanent solution, but for today it’ll do.
If you don’t mind sitting on the ground?

Regulus wrinkles his nose like he’d rather not, a glimpse of the standards he has by nature of his
upbringing and name. Apparently, Regulus comes to the independent decision that he prefers
sitting on the ground to not spending time with James tonight, because eventually he nods.

James gives him instructions. “It’s on the fourth floor, near the infirmary. There’s a large mirror on
the corridor. I’m assuming you’d rather we make our separate ways there, so just meet me there in
fifteen minutes?”

Regulus nods. “I’ll go first.”

He disappears the same way he came, moving quietly and stealthily. James gives him a head start,
but not much because Regulus doesn’t know but he’s got an invisibility cloak so it’s not like
anyone will see them together anyway.

Using the map, James tracks Regulus through the castle. He’s sneaky, and seems to know a few
tricks of his own, like the small secret corridor between the tapestry right outside the bridge that
cuts directly to the fifth floor. James follows him through it, then waits at the stop of the stairs as
Regulus descends to the fourth floor.

James checks the map to make sure no one is around, then hides his cloak in the empty space at
the feet of a statue before joining Regulus in front of the mirror.

“Well?” Regulus asks, glancing around with quick eyes. James can tell he’s nervous because
they’re exposed.

He taps his wand against the mirror and it swings outwards, revealing the passage. It’s dark, but
spacious. A little damp, because this is Scotland and humidity is a thing that exists, unfortunately.
But it’s empty, and quiet, and private-ish. Not very romantic, if he’s honest, but it is not raining
inside of it, so. It’ll have to do. Regulus slips inside without a word, and James follows.

The mirror closes behind them, shrouding the passage in darkness. James can hear Regulus’
breathing—a little less calm than it should be. It makes James anxious in turn, because he doesn’t
know why Regulus is nervous. Is it because of what happened with Remus yesterday? Is it simply
because he’s alone in the dark with James? That shouldn’t make him nervous, should it? Perhaps
Regulus thinks James brought him here to do something untoward.

James has had many untoward thoughts about Regulus, but he’d never do anything he didn’t want
to do. He hopes Regulus knows this. But perhaps he hasn’t communicated well enough?

Whatever it is, James doesn’t like it because he doesn’t want Regulus to be nervous around him.
He wants Regulus to feel safe. Happy. The same way James feels with him.

“I’ll get a light on,” James says, raising his wand.

“Don’t,” Regulus replies, softer than James was expecting. “Not yet.”
James lowers the wand and waits. He can’t see anything, because this is a tunnel inside the walls
of a castle. There are no windows, no openings. The air is a little stale, tastes of earth and dust. It
smells a little like moisture, because, you know, Scotland and rain. James imagines water seeps
through the walls when the storms are bad.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on James’ chest and all thoughts of the weather promptly evacuate his
brain.

“Reg?”

A finger finds his mouth and presses against it, asking James to be quiet. James folds. Nods so
Regulus can feel he’s agreeing to whatever this is. Regulus moves closer, the hand on James’ chest
sliding up to his shoulder. Their feet bump into each other, so James shuffles to make room for
Regulus to stand between his legs, and he does.

“How’s the shoulder?” Regulus asks.

James feels his breath on his neck. It makes him swallow hard. “Good as new.”

“That’s good,” Regulus says softly.

“Do you… ehm… we should maybe talk? About Remus?” James tries.

Regulus’ fingers, which were exploring the nape of James’ neck and tangling with his hair, still.
“Later,” Regulus says.

“Okay,” James replies, because he’s hopeless and helpless. Whatever Regulus wants, Regulus gets.
Especially when he’s this close to him. “Later, then.”

Regulus uses the hand on the back of James’ neck to bring him down, crashing their lips together.
Briefly, James thinks that something isn’t as it should be, and that this kiss is bruising and
desperate. Almost like Regulus wants to get it all now. But then Regulus’ tongue is in his mouth,
and James loses the ability to think about anything.

All he can do is feel. Regulus’ mouth, his hands roaming over his body, his curls in James’ fingers.
Regulus shifts his hips and they meet, and they both groan. James can’t help himself, so he presses
his body closer to Regulus and is rewarded with another sound from Regulus’ throat that he
swallows between kisses.

James’ hand travels from Regulus’ hair down his torso, until it’s ghosting the outline of Regulus’
crotch. “Is this okay?” James asks.

Regulus takes the break in kissing as an opportunity to bite him gently, right where his jaw meets
his neck. James’ head spins, and he gasps weakly. Then, Regulus is pushing his hips forward into
James’ waiting hand, and James gets the message.

It’s a good thing that Remus told James to take things as they came. Slow. Step by step. Because
what the fuck was he thinking asking for tips about sex when the feeling of Regulus’ hardness
through his trousers is enough to make James want to come undone? He would be embarrassed if
he wasn’t feeling Regulus’ equally over the top reaction.

And perhaps that’s what makes it so good. Better than anything James has ever done with anyone.
Because he’s on the last threads of control after a few kisses, but Regulus is on the exact same
boat. They react to each other like potion ingredients stirred together. Blending, augmenting,
enhancing the other to produce a reaction powerful enough to heal.
It’s a wonderful thought.

James puts a bit more pressure with his hand and tentatively moves it up and down. Regulus
whimpers, and then he’s kissing James again and pushing him roughly. James’ back hits the wall
and he’s very on board with Regulus taking charge.

Regulus’ fingers find the waistband of James’ trousers and James has to focus to prevent having an
accident way too soon. He’s not sure where this is going, but he is going wherever it is. Regulus
opens James’ belt, then pauses at the button. Waits.

James breaks the kiss and dips his head to trail his tongue over Regulus’ throat. “Yes,” James says.
“Fuck. Yes.”

Regulus growls, dark and from deep in his chest, and it’s the sexiest sound James has ever heard in
his life. His trousers fall to his ankles, and James feels self-conscious for the split second it takes
Regulus to locate him in the dark. What if he’s not enough? What if he’s too much? Perhaps
Regulus doesn’t like this as much as James does. But then Regulus’ fingers are curling around him,
and Regulus is touching him, and James can’t even focus on kissing anymore because he’s become
a mess of incoherence.

His head hits the wall behind him with a thud, and all James can do is let out a string of curses and
encouragement, and some filth, too, because he can’t help himself and when he’s very turned on he
says things he probably shouldn’t.

But Regulus seems to like it. He bites James’ neck, and sucks the skin there in a way that makes
James wonder if there’ll be a mark tomorrow. And he keeps touching James. It is, perhaps, not the
most technically proficient experience, but it is hands down the hottest. The best he’s ever had.

“Reg,” James pants. “I’m going to… I… your hand.”

“I don’t care,” Regulus says, then ups his pace just enough for James to cry out and simply let go.

James’ breathing is erratic, and his body feels boneless. He’s only half-conscious, he thinks, or
perhaps his brain is just blissed out. That was amazing.

Sloppily, James reaches for Regulus in the dark and pulls him in for a kiss. He can’t see anything,
so he accidentally kisses his nose first. Regulus makes a noise of protest, but James finds his
mouth, and then he’s kissing him desperately, hoping it can tell Regulus all the things James can’t
put into words right now.

His trousers are still down by his ankles, and he’s vaguely aware of the hand Regulus keeps out of
reach, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters because they’re here, together, and it’s so fucking
good James doesn’t want to do this with anyone else ever again.

Urgently, importantly, James also wants Regulus to feel as good if not better. James attacks his
neck with his best technique and is rewarded by another whimper from the green eyed boy. It’s not
easy with his pants around his ankles, but James manoeuvres them around until it’s Regulus against
the wall. They’re kissing again, and James’ hand flits down to where it was before.

“You don’t have to,” Regulus says.

“But I want to,” James replies earnest. “I really fucking want to. Is that okay?”

Regulus’ breath hitches. “Oui.”

Merlin’s beard on fire, this kid is going to kill him.

James makes quick work of his belt and button, and then Regulus’ trousers are also down by his
ankles, and James remembers the doubt that crept inside of him earlier, so he doesn’t hesitate for a
single moment. He closes his fist over Regulus and the other boy moans in a way that makes James
get half-hard again.

For a brief second, James has the thought that he isn’t sure how to do this to another person, but
well. He’s a teenage boy and has been doing this to himself for years. So, he tries the things he like
the most, and pays attention to how Regulus reacts. He catalogues every little sound and twitch of
his body, memorizing them for later use. James is determined to make this so good for Regulus he
never wants to do it with anyone else, either.

“James,” Regulus pants, breathing hard and heavy and messy. “Kiss me.”

James does, carefully adjusting his body so he can keep using his hand without disrupting his
rhythm. They kiss, and it’s passionate and a little dirty. Regulus moans into his mouth, and James
ups his pace.

Regulus breaks the kiss abruptly, and James knows he’s going to warn him, but he doesn’t care,
either. So, he says, “Yes, Reg. For me.” And then kisses him again so he can swallow the sounds
Regulus makes as he goes liquid against the wall, pinned there by James’ body.

They stay there for a moment, clinging to each other and breathing. Being. Happy and relaxed in
the aftermath.

“Lumos,” Regulus whispers. The light of his wand blooms between them, and James gets to see his
flushed cheeks, his swollen lips, the twinkle in his eyes.

Regulus is so beautiful looking at him should be a sin.

“Here,” James says, and casts a cleaning spell on his hand, then reaches for Regulus’. He repeats
the spell, and then they’re both clean, but the air in the passage retains a bit of the taste of it all, and
James thinks he could go again right now, if Regulus was up for it.

Their eyes meet, and James can tell Regulus is up for it, but also, he looks resigned. Like he knows
something James doesn’t, and it’s killing the mood. It makes sense, then, why Regulus wanted to
do this first.

Judging from the severe expression overcoming Regulus, James doesn’t think they’ll do it after
they talk, and James hates the idea. He doesn’t want anything to come between them. But also,
Regulus’ face, while still flushed and a little lustful, is determined.

“It’s later,” James says with a resigned sigh.

Regulus nods, then slides down the wall and comes to sit on the ground, knees bent up. James sits
next to him, shoulder to shoulder. Regulus wand is on the ground between them, illuminating their
small bubble.

He lights a cigarette, takes a long drag. And James can’t take the tense silence anymore.

“Look,” James says. “I’m sorry about Remus. He was freaking out, and we’d just been attacked,
and—”

“He only wants to protect you,” Regulus says, cutting him off. “I respect that.”
“Oh. Okay.”

There’s silence again. Regulus smokes and James wishes he could just start a silly conversation
about literally anything. He wants to ask Regulus random stuff like his favourite colour or book.
What he likes to do on Sunday mornings. His favourite song again, because James still hasn’t
figured out which one it is and hasn’t been able to try to listen to it. Not that it’s easy to get a record
player to work in Hogwarts because there’s no electricity, something James knows thanks to
Regulus. Anyway. Point is, James would like to just talk about literally anything but the darkness
now looming over them.

War. And sides. Dark marks and choices.

James doesn’t want to know, but a part of him tells him he has to.

“Go on, James. Ask,” Regulus says, and he sounds bitter. “Just fucking ask.”

James doesn’t want to. He doesn’t, because if he gets the wrong answer he’ll have to leave and he
doesn’t want to do that, either. James wants to do what he was just doing again. With Regulus.
Every day. Several times a day, if possible. That’s all he wants. He doesn’t want to think of wars,
or of sides. Right and wrong.

He knows the world is in a dark place, and that bad things are happening. And he’s doing his part,
isn’t he? He’s joined the Order. He’s training with them—just this morning he was in Hogsmeade
with an auror the Order sent. He’s going to fight as soon as he graduates. Isn’t that enough? He’ll
do whatever he has to. He’ll learn to not hesitate, if it comes to that.

But giving Regulus up?

James isn’t sure he could. He just… doesn’t want to even consider it.

“I don’t think I will,” James says calmly. “Your arm is clean. I’ve seen it. I know you didn’t lie to
Remus. That’s enough.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t want to know,” James says. He sounds childish, but he just doesn’t care. He wants to keep
this, and if he has to overlook a few things… he’s willing.

Godric have mercy on him. What is wrong with James? He shouldn’t be thinking this way. But he
can’t help it. He can’t help it.

Regulus laughs, but it’s not the elegant, graceful sound. This is brittle, like bones. “You don’t want
to know,” he mutters, takes another drag of his cigarette. “But you should know, because I know. I
know what side of the war you’ll be on, and I’m still here. It’s only fair if you know, too.”

James feels cold all over. He wants to scream. No. No. Doesn’t want to hear it. But Regulus has
said it now, and James can’t turn back time. “Does that mean you’re… that you…? You will get
it?” he can’t bring himself to saying it.

Regulus sighs. “It’s complicated. For me.”

And this, oh. James can do complicated. Complicated is his favourite challenge. It’s better than a
resounding yes. Complicated implies doubt, and that’s hope, and James is a fucking expert in
hoping. “How so?”
“Well. I personally don’t think muggle borns should be dealt with in any way. They’re people. No
better, no worse,” Regulus says. “But that’s not all there is to it. So.”

James can’t stop himself. He launches his body to the side, knocking into Regulus, and kisses him.
It’s sloppy, he caught him at a bad angle, and there’s a moment of pure, slippery mess. But James
doesn’t care. Regulus just voiced it out loud. He’s not a blood supremacist. James could punch the
wall and come out the other side from how powerful he feels.

When they break the kiss, Regulus shakes his head. He’s breathless, and his cheeks are pink. So
lovely.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” he says. “I’m still not—"

“You already told me you’re not a good person. I know. Horrible things, blah blah,” James
reminds him. Regulus’ eyebrows shoot up, because James doesn’t usually mock Regulus. Except,
he isn’t mocking him. Not really. He’s just… this is a difficult conversation and James is doing his
best, okay?

James takes a breath. “Look, I’m not an idiot, Regulus. You… ehm. There’s like a vibe about you.
Dangerous, Remus called you last night and he’s right. I can see that. I mean, you did drop me from
a broom, amongst other things,” James says, and Regulus’ lips twitch with amusement. “But if you
have to do bad shit for the right reasons, and not because you’re a bigot who’s prejudiced and
irredeemable, well. I can live with that.”

“I can still do awful shit without being a bigot. And you’ll think my reasons aren’t good enough.”

“Same could happen with me,” James says softly. “War makes people do bad stuff all the time. So,
I can accept that. I don’t have to like it. I don’t. But I can accept it. But if you… I… if you’d been.
You know.”

“Like my family?”

“Yeah,” James says. “Then I don’t think I could have… I would have had to go. But I didn’t want
to. If you were full of hatred for people because of their blood. I’m so glad you aren’t, Reg. I’m so
fucking glad.”

Regulus drops a quick kiss on James’ shoulder, then looks up at him again. “I’m nothing like my
family in a lot of ways,” Regulus says frankly. “But I’m also a lot like them in others.”

James sighs, then runs a hand over his face. “So, you don’t hate muggle borns and you’re gay. Are
those the key ones?”

Regulus chuckles. “Pretty much? I also think blood purity in general is bullshit. It only leads to
inbreeding which weakens the bloodline, rather than strengthening it. It’s a miracle Sirius and I
aren’t cursed with something.”

James starts at Regulus’ casual mention of Sirius. It’s the first time he’s heard him say his name,
and James would like to prod, but he realises that it’s too much. One conversation at a time. This is
an important one. The one about his brother will have to wait.

“It’s nice to hear you say that,” James tells him softly.

Regulus shrugs, puts out his cigarette on the ground. “It still doesn’t make me good, James. You
have to understand that.”
James nods. There’s a lot to unpack there. He knows enough about the Black family to understand
what Regulus is telling him. And James isn't too surprised. He saw Regulus choke Dolohov and
Snape when a simple stunning spell would have sufficed. He’s got a cruel streak. Fine. He’s also
most likely proficient in the dark arts. Not ideal, but at this point James is willing to overlook pretty
much anything.

Regulus also stood by and let Sirius take punishments that were for him. This is harder to swallow,
but also. James knew this, and he still chased Regulus, so it’d be a little hypocritical to pretend like
it matters now. It certainly didn’t matter twenty minutes ago when they were making out in the
dark.

Same about the fact that Regulus said no when Sirius asked him to run away with him. James knew
these things. He’s known all along that there are parts of Regulus that are dark and twisted. Things
James doesn’t know, or share, or could really be on board with. And despite it all, James likes him
anyway.

“You said you knew what side I was going to be on,” James says. “But I haven’t told you. Most
people think I’m going pro in quidditch.”

“So, you won’t fight then?” Regulus challenges him.

“No. I mean, I will. I… you know. It’s the right thing to do.”

The expression on Regulus’ face is hard to read when he says, “and if I asked you to stay away? To
not get involved. Would you?”

“I… Reg,” James hesitates. “You can’t ask that of me.”

“I want to,” Regulus says. He puts his hands on James’ face and brings their foreheads together.
“The thought of you being in danger makes me want to burn the world to ashes.”

James’ breath falters, and he hates himself a little for how it makes him feel. Regulus shouldn’t say
things like that. “That’s wrong, Reg. I’m not worth more than anyone else. My life isn’t worth
more.”

“To me you are.”

James needs to stop Regulus being so fucking earnest in his declarations or he’ll damn it all to hell
and rip their clothes off. Seriously. His heart is a wild thing, beating like a horse against the inside
of his ribs so strongly they’ll be bruised tomorrow. Does Regulus realise what he’s saying to
James? What it means?

It takes more effort than it should, but James finds his voice and says, “You can’t stack my life
against everyone else’s, Reg. You just can’t. It’s wrong. It’s selfish.”

Secretly, frighteningly, James likes it. He wants Regulus to be selfish about him. To choose James
all the time. Above everything and anything else. What does that make him?

“That’s why you are the hero,” Regulus says. “And I’m the villain.”

“What do you mean? You’re not—”

“I would absolutely, one hundred percent without hesitation kill everyone in this castle if it meant
you’d be safe and with me,” Regulus says viciously. “But you? You would sacrifice me if it meant
saving the world.”
“I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Not you,” James protests, breathless. Would he? Could he? He doesn’t
want to think about it. Can’t. Won’t.

Regulus kisses him. James falls into it headfirst, kissing him back with everything he has. When
they break apart, Regulus whispers. “I t’s okay. I always knew you were a hero. I hate you a little
for it, too.”

“Reg…”

“I won’t ask you to stay away,” Regulus says matter-of-factly. “At least not now. But remember
that you can’t ask it of me, either. You have your reasons. And I would like for you to fucking
leave the country until the war is over. If it were up to me, I’d put you in a cage in my basement
and keep you where I could see you. Safe. But I can’t do that. I won’t. So, you can’t do it to me,
either.”

James blinks, surprised by the vehemence of Regulus’ outburst. Once again, his body is
responding to Regulus’ possessiveness in a way that’s wildly inappropriate. James is beginning to
think something’s deeply wrong with him. But the conversation is too important, so he forces
himself to ask, “Does that mean you’re going to fight? With the Death Eaters?”

“I might,” Regulus says.

James holds on to that. Might isn’t will. There’s a chance. Regulus still has a choice. And James
thinks that perhaps he can help him make the right one. Besides, Regulus has another year left of
school and who knows? The war might be over when he graduates. It’s a flimsy hope, but it’s a
hope nonetheless. And James takes it and folds it into his heart to keep it safe.

“Why?”

“I have my reasons,” Regulus says. “I won’t tell you them. But know they’re not bigotry. That, at
least, I can give you.”

“But maybe you don’t have to fight, right? Maybe you can get—"

“Don’t try to save me, James,” Regulus warns him.

“I’m not—”

“You were thinking it,” Regulus says. “And I told you I don’t want you to. I don’t need you to save
me.” There’s a pause, and then Regulus looks at him, smiles sadly. “And you’re going to try
anyway, aren’t you? Because you’re too good.”

“And you’re not, so you’ll do horrible things?” James can’t help himself. He shouldn’t want to
hear it, but he does. He does. Because doesn’t that mean that Regulus will have to be on his side?
How can he keep James safe if he’s the enemy?

Regulus leans forward and presses a kiss against James’ shoulder again. Gentle. Tender. “I will.
And you’ll hate me for it.”

James shakes his head. “Don’t be absurd.” He puts his arm over Regulus shoulders and brings him
closer against him. Regulus allows it. “I could never hate you.”

“Never say never, James,” Regulus says. “There’s a war, and we’ll be pulled in opposite directions
by it whether we want it or not.”
James feels irrationally stubborn. Like. Just no. It’s very simple. He won’t hate Regulus. Ever. No
matter what. Because he’s not a blood supremacist, and that’s enough. He can be a bad person. Be
a bit cruel. He’s had a shit life, alright? Regulus is a product of Grimmauld Place and that’s… well.

“Are you still in Grimmauld Place?” James asks him. “Still with her?”

Regulus looks up at him, through his curls and his lashes. “Yes.”

“And are you… does she… is she hurting you?” James swallows, braces himself for the answer.
He doesn’t know what he will do if he says yes. The idea that someone could hurt Regulus… it
breaks James’ heart.

He remembers Sirius. The day he showed up on his doorstep. The darkness that almost consumed
him. It ate the light in him, coating every inch of his soul in shadows. It pulsed with hatred. With
the need for revenge. He wanted nothing more than to apparate to Grimmauld Place and obliterate
it. Burn it to ashes.

And isn’t that what Regulus just said? Does that mean he could be a villain, too? James doesn’t
know. He doesn’t want to find out because he’s scared of the darkness. That’s the difference
between them, isn’t it. That Regulus embraces, and James is terrified of it.

“Reg? Does she hurt you?” James asks again, and the tone of his voice is low and gravelly.

Regulus smirks like he’s enjoying the fury emanating from James’ every pore. “I like this,”
Regulus says, reaching upwards to bite James’ earlobe. “Angry James.”

James shakes his head. “Tell me. Does she hurt you?”

Regulus relents, sits back. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the perfect son. Why would she hurt the
perfect son?”

“Don’t joke about this, please,” James begs.

“She doesn’t hurt me,” Regulus says, shrugging. “She’s cruel, because that’s all she knows to be.
But she doesn’t hurt me. I’m her only heir. The one who does it all right. She doesn’t touch me.”

The tension eases out of him, leaking out with every exhale and leaving him a little tired. “Come
back here,” he says, opening his arm. Regulus snuggles against his chest again. “The perfect son?”

“Yup.”

James laughs, and Regulus bounces a little on his chest with the strength of it. “Oh, she has no
idea, does she?”

“Sirius always got it wrong,” Regulus says, nuzzling in closer, deeper into James’ chest. “He was
loud in his rebellion. Making a big show of it. Red and gold everywhere, terrible music, posters of
half naked women on his walls. I’m not an idiot like him. I play by her rules, and then move my
pieces when nobody’s watching.”

James smiles against the crown of Regulus’ head. “Why do you stay, if you’re not like them? Why
don’t you just leave?”

Regulus shifts, and sits up. He’s now between James’ legs, torso twisted so he can look at him.

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, and there’s a serious undertone to this statement, like he doesn’t
want James to push him on it. “I’m rich, and have influence. My family is respected and pure
blooded, so we’re not in any danger. I have access to knowledge that I want and need. There’s no
reason to leave. I’m the Heir to the House of Black, James. I like that. It’s mine, and it means
something.”

“We’ll never be able to do this in public if you stay forever,” James says. “Only in the shadows.
Never in the sun.”

It makes James sad, because a part of him wants to be able to just have that cottage with the fire,
and the sofa, and the lush carpet. Regulus reading a book between his legs and James enjoying the
quiet. But if Regulus wants to be the Lord of the House of Black… well. What does that mean for
James? And it’s too soon for James to be thinking about that, because they’ve only just started this.
But he’s so certain of it. So sure of what he feels for Regulus.

“You don’t listen, do you?” Regulus asks, leaning closer until his mouth is pressed against James’.
“Never say never, James.”

####

The night when they meet behind the mirror for the first time Regulus doesn’t get any sleep. None.
He doesn’t take his potion, because he doesn’t have more than one dose and he won’t waste it. He
can tell there’s no way he’ll succumb to sleep with just one dose. It’s not enough. Not with all the
things James said running through his head at one hundred miles per hour.

He tosses and turns in his bed, remembering.

I could never hate you.

Regulus tried. He did. Lupin’s accusation was an opening he couldn’t, in good conscience—
because apparently he’s got one of those when it comes to James now—not try. So, he told James
what he could, tried to make him see that they are doomed. That Regulus is a Black, despite
everything or perhaps because of it.

He’ll rise and claim his house title and wield his power in the name of vengeance and he’ll enjoy it.
He told James the war will put them at odds. That Regulus is who he is and he’s not ashamed
because the only thing he’s got left is embracing his mess.

Regulus has issues. This is a fact, and it’s okay, he thinks. Because the fact that he’s still
functioning, moving forward, pursuing a goal despite all the shit life has thrown at him is
impressive. Regulus chooses to believe it is.

So. Issues. He’s broken. He’s cold. He’s emotionally constipated, if Dorcas is to be believed.
Dorcas is usually right, so Regulus does believe it. He doesn’t trust anyone, possibly because his
older brother left him in a house that they never called a home with a woman whose idea of
parenting involves torture, starvation, and isolation. He’s angry a lot of the time, most of the time.
His fury runs cold, so it keeps him focused and committed, but it’s there.

Regulus is darkness, and James is light. And Regulus tried his best to tell James that he’s not good
for him. Regulus will break James, one way or another. He’ll either taint him with his darkness, or
he’ll hurt him when the clock runs out.

Perhaps both. James is already falling into the dark side a little bit, because Regulus saw that
flicker of meanness in James’ eyes when he got angry. And Regulus isn’t surprised that he finds it
hot as hell, because like calls to like and Regulus is nothing but shadows and fury. Cold and bones
 and pain.

But that’s not James. James is warmth and trust and joy. He’s wholesomeness personified and as
much as Regulus lusts after an angry James, it’s not who he is. And if Regulus keeps doing this…

He tried to tell James. That he’ll end up hurting him. It’s inevitable. It’s coming.

Five months, and it all goes up in flames.

But James. Fucking James. He barrels on, pushes through. He doesn’t care. He found one good
thing about Regulus—that he’s not a blood purist—and ran with that, ignoring everything else. And
yes, perhaps Regulus could try harder. But he’s not an idiot. And the selfish side of him that wants
and wants and wants to the beat of James Potter’s breathing wins every time. Regulus wants to
keep James, even if it corrupts him. Even if it breaks him. Regulus wants James for himself, for as
long as he can, and if James insists on ignoring Regulus’ warnings… well.

Regulus will keep taking for as long as James is giving or until Easter comes. Whichever happens
first.

Chapter End Notes

Very Jegulus centric this chapter and I'm not sorry about it!!

Regulus flirting a little bit with Myrtle to get what he wants? MY LITTLE KING
HEARD DORCAS CALL HIM PRETTY AND SAID "ONE MORE WEAPON IN
MY ARSENAL'

And James? Oh my baby. Regulus already knows him so well: James heard one good
thing and ran with it. YES HE DID. Full pelt ahead. Regulus is waving red flags and
James is just... 'These flags can't stop me because I'm colour blind' HELP HE'S SO
PRECIOUS

I hope you enjoyed!! Updating on Tuesday :D

 Boyfriends
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

This chapter is less cheerful than the previous one (!)

It has Wolfstar and Black brothers angst <3

TWs
Mentions of Regulus' sleeping problems & potion addiction
Internalised homophobia
Discussions of bigotry (related to blood purity)
References to past murder / past attacks on students (Chamber of Secrets related)
Referenecs of past child abuse
Mentions of blood and broken bones

I think that's it's. We get a Remus interlude and he has some... uh... violent thoughts
but they're just thoughts. He doesn't actually act on them.

I hope you enjoy!! <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The first half of November slips by quietly. It’s stolen nights behind the mirror, kisses and hands
and ragged breathing. Not as often as they’d like, but as often as they can make it happen. It’s not
enough, never enough. But it is, and Regulus thinks that’s better than nothing. He complains about
it to James endlessly, for the principle of it all, but he’s loving it. Secretly. Pathetically.
Embarrassingly. But he is.

To their shared dismay, they’re both busier than they’d like, so they don’t meet each other as often.
It’s also harder now it’s by the mirror because it’s close to the infirmary and that corridor tends to
see a lot of foot traffic. Regulus desperately wants to find a new place for them, now that the owlry
roof is a death trap of sleet and rain and biting wind.

All in all, in the first two weeks of November, they see each other only five times. This is not okay
with Regulus, but it can’t be helped.

Those five nights are discovery. Regulus keeps trying to tell himself to be more careful, to hold
more back. He wants this, but it’s got an expiration date and he cannot forget it.

He can’t.

He can’t.

And yet, he does.

Something happens to him when he’s in the presence of James. Like the walls he’s built to protect
himself from the world are no match for the hazel eyes of a boy that doesn’t hesitate to bare his
very soul for Regulus to see.
It’s not balanced—James definitely shares a lot more than Regulus does. But he doesn’t seem to
mind and takes every morsel of information Regulus gives and commits it to memory like it’s
precious. Regulus, despite his reservations, is helpless faced with the relentless shine of James.

Regulus teaches James more about muggles and James shocks the living daylights out of Regulus
by bringing a little list of things he’d like to know more about. James did research. For Regulus. So
they could have more in common. Regulus has to smoke two cigarettes back to back to recover
from the sheer adorable-ness of it all.

James asks about Regulus’ favourite song almost every time they meet, and he gets coy about it.
He’s not ready to tell James what it means. What the song is about. Why he let it slip when James
asked that time on the roof. It’s too much, too soon. A weakness Regulus shouldn’t have admitted
to. And so, it becomes a kind of game where James tries to catch Regulus off guard to get him to
repeat the title, and Regulus simply doesn’t.

They do agree that it’s early days but that they’re not seeing anyone else. James is a little bit
appalled Regulus even has to bring it up, because he thought they’d already kind of agreed it when
Regulus had told him about the horrible things he’d do for him. Secretly, Regulus is fucking elated
about this. James is his, and his alone. For a time, says a voice in his head. Regulus suffocates it
viciously.

If anyone had told his eleven-year-old self this would one day happen to him, he would have
melted into a puddle and never recovered.

Despite all their talking, they don’t touch on anything heavy. The deep, deep stuff that could make
the other go running. Not even on Sirius’ birthday, when James shows up super late and quite
drunk because he insisted he still wanted to kiss Regulus goodnight. Regulus doesn’t tell him he
climbed to the roof alone despite the weather and talked to the star that’s his brother for hours, and
James doesn’t tell him that Sirius went to bed so inebriated he asked James why Regulus didn’t
love him before he passed out.

They simply don’t. Not yet. This is conscious, at least on Regulus’ part because he feels like they
need to take a break from it. What’s the point in doing this insane thing, this beautiful thing he’s
doing with James even though he shouldn’t, if he’s going to spend the entire time being miserable?
No. Time’s limited, and as such they should make the most of it.

Regulus is devoted. They keep learning each other’s bodies, slowly. Kisses and hands, and still
more clothing than Regulus wants between them, but they don’t try anything more. Not yet.
Regulus gets the feeling James wants to master every step before they move on to the next one,
and that’s okay with Regulus.

November is always a month of long nights and short days. Quidditch practices becomes hellish,
because it’s cold and wet outside, and it leaves them both drained. Sirius continues to glare at
Regulus at every opportunity, but he never engages and he seems to be fine with James. According
to Dorcas, who splits her time between her friends and Marlene’s, Sirius is now dating that Adaline
girl. She is not, however, invited to join the group the same way Dorcas is, so Sirius disappears for
a few hours at a time, presumably to have sex with her, then comes back to be an idiot with James
like nothing has happened.

Dorcas is, admittedly, confused by this because she says Sirius never mentions his girlfriend. At
all. If it weren’t for the random escapades—and the fact that everyone saw them making out at the
Halloween party—Dorcas wouldn’t believe she exists. Or, at least, that's what she tells Regulus
during lunch on this grim, deep autumn day.
He hasn't seen her since, because straight after lessons he's got work to do. Regulus is, to nobody's
surprise, fucking busy. It turns out that planning a grandiose revenge plan is quite time consuming.

Regulus will meet James tomorrow night, and he’s looking forward to it. They couldn’t make it
happen today because James has Quidditch practice until late, and then he’s apparently got to write
no less than three papers he’s got due tomorrow. Regulus’ eyebrows flew up when he read this in
the note James sent him, but he’s choosing not to stress over James’ homework. That one he can
deal with on his own. He’s a big boy.

Given his free evening, Regulus has done a round of checks on his potions—he ran out of the
sleeping draught and is brewing more, and had to go stir Felix Felicis—then picked up a few books
from the library to double check a few things he’s been practicing, and he’s now on his way to the
girl’s bathroom on the second floor. He’s in a bit of a mood, but he can’t exactly write back to
James and say ‘Five months from now you’ll wish you hadn’t prioritized homework’ so he has to
suck it up and wait.

“You’re late,” Myrtle complains.

Regulus gives her a look, then sits on the floor. She sighs, sits next to him. “I’m busy, Myrtle.”

“But I talked to the Bloody Baron for you,” she says. It’s a little whiny, but Regulus doesn’t care.

He turns to look at her, eyebrows raised. “You did?”

Regulus has developed a slightly dysfunctional but not entirely unpleasant relationship with
Moaning Myrtle. It’s very much transactional—she brings him gossip from the other ghosts, most
of it unhelpful, and then listens to Regulus while he mulls over the small pieces of information he
has. In return, Regulus doesn’t snap at her for staring at him too long and he lets her kiss his cheek
every time when they part.

Myrtle doesn’t know Regulus, so she doesn’t have any preconceived ideas about him. She thinks
he’s handsome—she’s told him—and that he’s a little too cold in his demeanour, but he’s never
been mean to her so she likes him. Regulus doesn’t really care what she thinks of him, but it’s
helpful to have a ghost on his side, so he just… endures. To be fair to her, Myrtle doesn’t moan all
that much when she has something else to talk about and Regulus keeps getting her to recount the
school lives of any Slytherin whose name the other ghosts remember in the hopes that it’ll shed
some light on the mystery of Voldemort’s identity.

“I did,” she says, proudly. Now that she has Regulus attention, she’s a lot more agreeable. “It
wasn’t easy. I’ve been trying to get him to acknowledge me for a week! He’s so mean. I swear.”
She throws her hands up. “But. I didn’t give up, because I know it’s important to you.”

“Thank you,” Regulus says, and he means it. The Bloody Baron is one mean ghost. Not even
Regulus likes to be near him. “Did he say anything interesting?”

“Well. He said there would be no Slytherin worthy of notoriety until the true heir showed up,”
Myrtle explains.

This makes something click in Regulus’ brain. Something he’d overlooked, because honestly he’s
got too much going on. “Wait. One question,” he says, raising a hand to stop Myrtle. “When you
died… you told me Hagrid was expelled for it, along with his creature, yes?”

Regulus hasn’t yet found a way to get information out of him, but he’s still working on it. There’s a
Quidditch match a bit later this month, Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff, and Regulus thinks that might be
the ideal time to go stalk the Gamekeeper.

“Yes. He was caught with a pet monster. They were responsible,” Myrtle confirms.

“But I read somewhere that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened that year,” Regulus mutters.
“It doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Hagrid isn’t Slytherin’s heir. There’s no way. He wasn’t even in Slytherin, was he?” Regulus
asks.

“No. He was a Gryffindor.”

Regulus sits back, lets his head fall against the wall. Something about this whole thing doesn’t add
up. He sighs, then says, “Myrtle, you’re a Ravenclaw, right?” She nods. “Okay. Let’s solve this
riddle.”

Myrtle preens. Regulus pretends he doesn’t notice because that’s a trickle of pity inside of him and
he won’t allow it. The last thing he needs is to feel bad for a ghost. He’s got enough on as is.
Myrtle’s sad little toilet stall life isn’t his concern.

“You hear a boy speak some language you don’t know in this bathroom and die after coming face
to face with some monster with yellow eyes, yes?”

“Correct.”

“More muggle borns are attacked. They don’t die, but they’re hurt. Petrified,” Regulus says,
running through all the facts to make sure he’s not leaving anything out. “Hagrid is found with a
monster and therefore expelled. Attacks immediately stop, which lends weight to the theory that
Hagrid was, indeed, responsible. The person who finds Hagrid is some Tom Riddle.”

“All of that is correct,” Myrtle says. “What’s the issue?”

“What creature did Hagrid have?” Regulus asks.

“I’m not sure,” Myrtle replies. “By that time, I was already dead and just wanted to haunt Olive for
how awful she’d been to me. I didn’t pay attention.”

Regulus nods. He needs to find out what the creature was. Just to fill in that blank.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Regulus explains to Myrtle. “All Slytherins have heard the story of the
Chamber of Secrets. It’s just house lore. We all know it. Now, according to the legend, only the
true heir of Salazar Slytherin can open the Chamber. Salazar Slytherin was the first blood
supremacist. The Chamber of Secrets was meant to help purge the school. The attacks the year you
died targeted only muggle borns. And, like I said, I saw a note that the Chamber was opened that
year. This may or may not be true, but I’m going with true for a moment here…”

“Hagrid can’t have opened it,” Myrtle says, eyes turned up as she’s thinking. “He’s a Gryffindor.
No way the heir of Slytherin was a Gryffindor.”

“Exactly,” Regulus says. “Something doesn’t add up. Hagrid had a monster, and the attacks
stopped after he was expelled. But then why muggle borns? Why the mentions of the Chamber of
Secrets?”
Myrtle nods along to all of this. She tugs on one of her pigtails, and frowns. “Well. What if there
were two of them?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if Hagrid was working with someone, but only he got caught? Like, if the heir of Slytherin
was in school at that time… maybe that’s where Hagrid got his monster from?”

It’s not the worst theory. Regulus thinks it’s worth exploring. He feels as though he’s holding the
pieces of the puzzle in his hands, and he’s just missing the one small bit that brings them all
together. He has to talk to Hagrid, somehow. It’s the only way forward.

“Thanks Myrtle,” Regulus says, pushing himself to his feet.

“Wait! There was something else the Baron said,” Myrtle tells him, floating up to face Regulus.
“He said the last somewhat interesting Slytherin was Tom Riddle. I said that we knew that,
because he got that school award for catching Hagrid, but the Baron said not just that. He was a
parseltongue. The Baron then ranted for half an hour about the fact that parseltongues are rarer and
rarer every day.”

Regulus’ entire body goes rigid. “Tom Riddle was a parseltongue?”

“Yes.”

A memory flashes through Regulus’ mind. Breakfast. A newspaper. The Dark Mark floating over a
train crash in Liverpool.

“Why the snakes?” Barty asks.

Evan shrugs. “Beats me.”

Fucking hell. He had it all backwards.

Regulus has the mad urge to rush forward and be the one to kiss Myrtle’s cheek. Fortunately, he
remembers himself. He’s Regulus Black. He doesn’t go around kissing people. James is the one
exception. Barty doesn’t even count because that was in service of a friend in need.

Besides, even if he felt sorry for Myrtle—which he doesn’t, Regulus feels sorry only for himself,
ever—he cannot, in fact, touch her because she’s a ghost. So, Regulus stays where he is and
instead stares at her with widening eyes. Why didn’t she tell him this sooner? Honestly, this girl has
zero ability to prioritise information.

Because this. This is the piece of the puzzle he was missing, isn’t it? And it’s so fucking brilliant.

Honestly, Regulus is lowkey impressed. He just… he has to confirm a few things, but his gut
already tells him he’s right.

“Myrtle, that’s… it’s exactly what I need. It’s fantastic.”

Myrtle beams, does a little twirl in the air. “It is?”

“Yes,” Regulus tells her. “I need to go now, but I’ll come back next week.”

Myrtle darts forward and kisses his cheek. He nods at her, then practically sprints out of the
bathroom. It’s later than he thought, so he has to be careful. It’s not the end of the world if he’s
caught out of the dungeons because he’s a prefect, but Regulus does try to stay out of trouble
simply because it helps him keep a low profile and retain privileges like access to the restricted
section or free reign in the potions lab.

He's walking quietly down the corridor, his steps almost soundless against the stone floors of the
castle. It’s a stormy night, and the rain batters the large windows in a smattering of fat drops loud
enough that Regulus is worried he might not hear someone approaching.

Thoughts run through his brain like frantic snitches. He’s made a huge breakthrough tonight. He
can feel it. And it’s powering his steps as he hurries back to his room where he has the research
notes on Tom Riddle.

Regulus is almost around the corner when he hears the unmistakable sound of a door bursting
open, then a sob. He freezes for a second.

“I can’t do this!” a girl cries out. Someone tries to shush her frantically, but she ignores it. “No.
Don’t you shush me, Sirius! Why are you even with me? You never want to do anything that’s not
hooking up.” Another loud sob.

Regulus’ eyebrows fly to his hairline. His brother is a fucking idiot, and he’s going to enjoy
knocking points off him immensely. Regulus strolls around the corner casually and comes into full
view of the scene.

Adaline is crying—predictably—and pleading with Sirius to be a better boyfriend. Sirius looks the
most uncomfortable Regulus has ever seen him outside of Grimmauld place. His hands are darting
around Adaline like he’s trying to figure out how to make her stop crying without touching her. It’s
not going well.

Behind them, the doors to a broom closet hang open, betraying the location of their rendezvous.
Super classy. His brother is so bad at romance he’s making Regulus’ advances with James look
good. At least he has never hooked up with James next to cleaning utensils. The stench of
disinfectant doesn’t strike Regulus as conducive for the sort of thing they like to do.

Sirius and Adaline are so caught up in their little drama that neither of them register the fact that
Regulus is standing right there, watching.

“I just don’t understand,” Adaline says through frankly over the top sobs. Regulus wrinkles his
nose at the display of hysterics. It’s giving him second hand embarrassment. “Why won’t you go
on a date with me?”

Grimacing, Sirius runs a hand through his hair. Way too long, by the way. He looks absolutely
fucking ridiculous. “I just… isn’t this good?”

He has the audacity to gesture towards the broom closet. Regulus cannot fault Adaline for the
dramatic shriek she lets out, which prompts Sirius to try and shush her again. Adaline’s shirt is
open. Regulus can clearly see a bra made of lace and smooth, pale skin. Sirius is in a similar state
of dishevelment, shirt unbuttoned, tie hanging completely untied.

“You won’t even bring me to your dorm,” Adaline cries, throwing her arms up in the air. “It’s like
you’re embarrassed of me or something. Only want to fool around in the dark. I deserve better.”

“I know. I know,” Sirius says, trying his best to sound reconciliatory. Regulus knows that tone. He
used it on Regulus when they fought as little kids all the time. Doesn’t bode well for Adaline that
Sirius is trying older brother soothing techniques on her. Not that she’d ever know it.

“I’m just busy, A. You know. Quidditch practice, and homework. NEWTs coming up.”
Adaline’s lower lip is trembling. Sirius takes a tiny, very subtle step back, but she chases him,
reaching out and grabbing his hands. “Why won’t you take me seriously? What do I need to do?
I’ll do it, Sirius. I want to be with you.”

Sirius’ face pales, and that’s proper panic in his eyes. Which doesn’t make sense. What is Sirius
afraid of? If he doesn’t like the girl, he can just dump her the same way he picked her up. Without
any grace whatsoever.

“Listen, Adaline, it’s not you. It’s me,” Sirius says.

Regulus can’t help it. His brother is such a fucking douchebag. He snorts, rolls his eyes. Sirius and
Adaline freeze and turn towards him. Adaline immediately goes red from her neck all the way to
her hairline. Sirius, confusingly, looks… relieved?

“You’re out after curfew,” Regulus drawls. “Twenty points off Hufflepuff and thirty points off
Gryffindor.”

“Thirty?” Sirius sputters.

“You made the girl cry,” Regulus points out. “Not very Gryffindor-y, is it?”

Adaline sighs dramatically, then flicks her hair over her shoulder. “This is all your fault, Sirius.”
With that pearl of wisdom, she hurries away from them, presumably before another prefect runs
into her and she loses more points for her house.

The silence falls between them, stretching like shadows in the late afternoon sun. Regulus’ gut
twists, then swoops down with the weight of the realisation that follows. Regulus is alone with his
older brother for the first time in almost two years and the memory of that last time barrels into his
head like water pouring out of a broken dam.

Sirius, bleeding profusely from every place it is possible to bleed from—yes, the tear ducts in his
eyes included—and frantically whispering for Regulus to grab anything he absolutely couldn’t do
without because they were leaving.

Sirius choking on his own breath when Regulus looked at him and said no.

Sirius’ hands shaking with the effort it took for him to lift them so he could put them on Regulus’
shoulders. The determined set of Sirius’ broken jaw when he said, “I’ll keep you safe. Don’t be
afraid, Reggie. We’re escaping this hell. Together. You and me. I’ll keep you safe.”

And the look of heartbreak and betrayal when Regulus said no again.

Sirius didn’t dawdle. He left straight away. Not another word was spoken between them. Regulus
stood by the window and watched his brother drag himself across the backyard of Grimmauld
place. A broken leg, a broken arm, smashed ribs, broken jaw. Several rounds of the cruciatus curse.
Sirius had endured all of it without breaking. But Regulus had looked him in the eye and said no
and his brother had had to crawl outside because his good leg had given out.

He was stubborn, though. Sirius made it past the wards and disappeared before he got caught.
Regulus hasn’t been alone with him since.

For a split second he wonders what would have happened if that night had gone differently. If
Walburga hadn’t got to Regulus first. If Sirius hadn’t asked him, so he didn’t have to say no. If it
hadn’t happened at all. What then? Regulus wonders what he would be like if their history had
been less bloody, less painful.
Would he have a beating heart? Warmth and joy and light in place of the cold and bones and pain.
Perhaps. Perhaps not. He doesn’t know and he will never find out because the past is what it is and
they’re here now and…

He can’t do this.

Regulus turns around. Takes a single step away before Sirius says quietly, “James told me.”

This is a trap. He’s being baited. He knows. But Regulus wants to bite anyway. He wants to rub it
in his brother’s face, that he is the one that gets James. All of him. So, Regulus turns again, looks
at Sirius with a smirk on his lips.

“He told me,” Sirius says quickly, like he’s aware this window of opportunity is short. “And I
don’t like it. I… But you make him happy, it seems. So.”

Regulus tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. “When?”

“When did he tell me?” Sirius asks, confused.

“No,” Regulus drawls. “When did I ask for your opinion.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Oh, come off it, Regg—Regulus. Don’t be a dick. If you’re going to date my
best friend the least you can do is be civil towards me.”

Wait. What? Is that what they’re doing? They’re dating? Like. Officially? They’re a couple? Is that
what James has told Sirius?

Regulus blinks to give himself a moment to regain control because he was about to start doing a
shoulder shimmy dangerously similar to James’ when he’s dancing to Dancing Queen. Salazar help
him.

Wait. Does this mean James is his boyfriend?

Regulus understands now why Dorcas was confused by Marlene. These things are confusing.
Difficult to read. Regulus is a genius. He knows it’s conceited but it’s the truth. Argue with the
wall. He’s a revenge mastermind as will become evident to every single person in Britain over the
course of the next few years. And yet.

And yet.

Mastermind and all, he had no idea he was dating his boyfriend.

Which is fantastic news he needs to immediately go celebrate with James. His boyfriend.

Salazar Slytherin on a motorbike. He could giggle. This is a new height of embarrassment. Regulus
won’t be caught dead giggling for any reason. But he wants to.

Because he has a boyfriend now.

His eleven-year-old self is having a field day. Perhaps he can giggle. He’s eleven, and unbroken,
and has a functioning heart still. Also, he’s just been informed James Potter is his boyfriend.

“Say something, Regulus,” Sirius says, pulling him back to this corridor. To this dark night of
November. Regulus deeply resents his brother for interrupting his celebration planning, but fine.
Sirius brought him this news. He’s not entirely useless after all.
“I don’t care what you think, Sirius,” he says coolly. “You are dead to me. As far as I’m
concerned, you don’t exist.”

Sirius snorts, making a show of being unbothered by his little brother’s vitriol. Sirius is the only
person ever to not even flinch at Regulus’ sharp tongue. He used to make a game of it when they
were little. See if he could make Sirius react to insults. Sirius would only laugh him off, tell him he
knew he loved him, despite it all.

Regulus doesn’t love his brother anymore. He doesn’t love anything or anyone, not even himself.
Perhaps Sirius should start taking his poison seriously.

“I bet James loves it when you say that,” Sirius says confidently.

“We don’t talk about you, you arrogant dimwit,” Regulus snaps. The audacity of this guy. He’s
absolutely fucking insufferable.

“Your loss. I’m very interesting in every capacity. Including as a topic of conversation,” Sirius
replies, one hundred percent unironically.

“The infirmary is that way,” Regulus points out.

Sirius’ brow furrows. “What…”

“Clearly, you’ve hit your head. You’re being even more idiotic than usual, which I thought
impossible but here I stand, corrected.”

“Are you admitting to a mistake?” Sirius’ eyes widen.

“I am bored, is what I am,” Regulus says, waving a vague hand around. “I’m talking another ten
points off you, and more every minute you insist on remaining in this corridor.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Watch me,” Regulus drawls.

Sirius scoffs, opens his mouth. Closes it. Regulus turns around and walks away, glad the encounter
is over. To his absolute dismay, Sirius chases him. He runs after Regulus until he’s overtaken him
and then turns, facing him and walking backwards.

“What do you talk about? With James,” Sirius asks.

“None of your fucking business.”

Sirius smirks. Smug bastard. Regulus knows he’s going to be baited again before his brother even
says a word. He’s not wrong. “Are you telling me you’re boring James already?”

Regulus stops walking. Is he for real? He fleetingly considers cursing the shit out of his brother but
James would be upset with Regulus if he did that and Regulus has barely see him recently. He’s not
about to allow Sirius to ruin their reunion tomorrow night.

Instead of hexing his brother, Regulus laughs. Bitter and brittle. That was such a silly mistake for
Sirius to make. Such an easy opening for Regulus, who has always wielded words like blades.

“We talk less and less these days, but James hasn’t complained about it single time.” And now, he
twists the knife. “Because it’s hard to have a conversation when your tongue is otherwise
engaged.”
He makes it sound as lewd, as dirty, as he possibly can. Never mind their mouths have never done
anything but kiss. Above the shoulders only. Regulus is extremely interested in exploring changing
that, but it hasn’t happened yet. Still. Whether they’ve done it or not doesn’t matter, because Sirius
doesn’t know. And Regulus makes it sound convincing. He’s good at that, when he wants to be.

Sirius looks like he’s going to faint.

Regulus relishes it. Smirks. “Do you not want details of that, brother?” He spits the word out like it
burns his tongue. It kind of does, a little. “You were so keen on knowing more. Cat got your tongue
now? Speaking of. James’ tongue. Oh my—”

“Stop!” Sirius yelps.

Regulus looks at him down the tip of his nose, tilting his chin up. “What’s the problem? Don’t tell
me you thought James didn’t—"

“Don’t say it!” Sirius shouts, alarmed. Horrified. “He does not! He absolutely one hundred percent
does not,” Sirius says, which is very much not what Regulus was expecting. At all.

Sirius runs his hands through his hair, stares at Regulus like he cannot believe his own eyes.
“James… I mean. You kiss. Like, lips. Just—Merlin help me. That’s it. Right? Regulus? Just
kissing.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow. “Well, he likes to kiss my—”

“No!” Sirius looks on the verge of a heart attack. “No. No. That’s not a thing. It’s not a thing.
James does not. He cannot. You do not. It’s…”

It’s funny, Regulus thinks, how quickly one shows their true colours when push comes to shove.
Sirius can pretend to be cool and open all he wants, but here it is. Proof. To Sirius, the idea that
Regulus and James could do more than chastely hold hands and brush their lips together is
obscene. Regulus only has to look at him to see the sheer disgust and panic in his eyes.

“Do your friends know you’re a homophobic piece of shit?” Regulus snarls.

Sirius staggers backwards. “No. No. I’m not… it’s just… but James? Just. You… you do? I
can’t…”

Sirius is freaking out and Regulus is disappointed. He didn’t know he could be, not anymore. Not
after Sirius chose to leave. To run away from Regulus. And yet. He’s supposed to be some sort of
punk kid, isn’t he? He struts around in his leather jacket and bracelets, long hair in a stupid little
bun. Regulus swears he’s even seen Sirius wear make up on occasion. So, what’s this? Why is he
so disgusted?

Does James know about this? Regulus doesn’t think so. Is he going to tell him? He has to, right?
But it’s going to hurt James and Regulus doesn’t want to do anything that’ll hurt James. Not yet
anyway. These five months are supposed to be the good ones. The safe ones. The happy ones. And
here Sirius is fucking it all up for him again.

Regulus shakes his head harshly, then pins his brother with his coldest, darkest look. “You know,
Sirius? You might have left the house, but you sure brought mother with you when you left. She’d
be fucking proud.”

This time, when he turns and leaves, Regulus doesn’t look back. Doesn’t stop.
Maybe he should have. And he would have seen Sirius on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest
and rocking back and forth. Muttering nonsense and shivering.

####

Interlude: Remus POV

James sits up on his bed so quickly he makes it bounce. Remus, who’s close to edge attempting to
read his book in peace, has to reach and grab the covers to keep himself from falling. His novel has
fallen to the floor, and he’s lost his page. “Prongs, what the fuck?”

Annoyed, he pushes himself up to check what the fresh hell made James jerk upwards like that. His
stomach promptly plummets to the core of the earth.

James is looking at the map—which he does a lot these days because he hasn’t had much time to
see Regulus recently and he’s being a little bitch about it—and on it, Remus finds him. Always
him. The first name he locates, even when they’re looking at the map together because Remus is
one pathetic sod.

Sirius Black.

In a corridor.

With Regulus Black.

James and Remus look at each other and simultaneously go, “shit.”

A mad rush follows where they yank trousers on and jumpers over their heads. Shoes and socks
are located and frantically attached to their feet. It’s messy, and includes a string of cursing when
they bump into each other in their haste. Thank Godric Peter is with Olive doing things Remus
never wants to hear about.

Throwing James’ invisibility cloak over them, they sprint out of the common room and follow the
map to the corridor. The label with Regulus’ name on it moves and it’s chased by Sirius’. That’s
not good, is it? It can’t be good. James and Remus move faster.

They’re almost there when Remus notices Mrs. Norris getting closer. “Fuck. James, the stupid
cat,” Remus says. “We need to get rid of her.”

James stops, looks at the map then examines their surroundings, giving the parchment to Remus.
With trepidation, Remus watches the label ‘Regulus Black’ move away again. The little shit. This
time, Sirius doesn’t chase him. He’s not moving at all. Worry crawls up Remus’ throat, choking
him. He wants to start running again. To get to him, see him, make sure he’s okay. If Regulus hurt
Sirius, Remus is going to gauge his eyes out. He doesn’t care James is infatuated with the boy. If
he has done anything to Sirius, Remus will repay him tenfold.

Next to him, James slips out from under the cloak and tiptoes to the veranda that separates the
corridor from the staircase area. There is no staircase at the moment, so James drops to all fours
and crawls to the opening with his wand in his hand. Remus watches him take aim, and a moment
later a curse flies across the empty space and knocks an armour over two floors down.

A loud meowl echoes in the distance, and James hurries back to Remus’ side. “She’ll be busy with
that for a while.”

Remus nods, then they’re walking again. No quarter given, not when Sirius could be in trouble.
James notices on the map that Regulus is no longer with Sirius. His eyes widen, and his fingers
shake a little bit. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment. Remus doesn’t think he’d be able to keep his
opinions to himself if James said anything about Regulus right now.

He’s tolerating this because he has no fucking choice, but what the fuck is James thinking? Remus
can’t get over the fact that James decided to hook up with Sirius’ blood purist little brother. It’s
bloody surreal. If anyone had told Remus that James would ever look at Regulus that way, he
would have laughed in their stupid faces. Except he’s not laughing now, is he?

It’s unfair, Remus thinks. A joke of the universe that the queer brother would be the one he doesn’t
like. The one he doesn’t ache for. Remus doesn’t know how to reconcile this. Why does the
universe hate him so fucking much? What did he ever do to deserve it?

You’d think painfully transforming into a literal monster every month is enough punishment for
whatever the hell he did in a previous life, if you believe in that sort of thing. But no. He also had
to develop an unhealthy obsession with his straight best friend and then watch said friend’s bigot
brother get all hot and bothered for a boy. It’s… unfair.

Especially when he has to hold this reality in his head at the same time as he fights to accept the
fact that Sirius and Abigail are a thing now. Because when it rains, it fucking pours, apparently.
These things couldn’t happen to him one at a time. No. It’s a pile on of shit on top of more shit and
honestly Remus is exhausted.

Remus wants to scream. He’s been wanting to scream for two weeks. But he can’t. He’s got no
right.

All his rage evaporates the moment they turn the corner. Based on James’ muffled ‘shit’ he’s
seeing it too.

Sirius is a mess. A bad one. Beautiful, and broken, and all Remus has ever wanted, but a mess
nonetheless. And can’t Sirius just… Remus would take such good care of him. He would. He’d
learn how.

He’s a monster, and a half-blood without a penny to his name, but he’d move heaven and earth if
Sirius asked him. He’d do anything. And he’d be gentle. He can be gentle. He’d put the pieces of
Sirius’ mess together and hold them for the rest of their days.

If only.

But Remus isn’t what Sirius wants. He’s not what he needs. A monster has no business wanting to
touch someone so preciously fragile.

James throws the cloak off him and hurries forward, Remus on his heels. Sirius is on the floor,
rocking back and forth. His knees are bent into his chest and he’s hugging himself like he can
make himself small. Remus hates this. Sirius isn’t small. He shouldn’t want to be.

Sirius is a force of nature. He’s electric. Bright. He’s mesmerizing. His presence captures a room
when he walks in, because people can’t help but to be drawn to him. Sirius is many things, but
small? Never.

James’ knees hit the floor with a painful sounding thwack, but he doesn’t even wince. “Pads?”

Remus crouches next to them. Sirius’ face is hanging down, so they can’t see it. But they can hear
him now, and he’s muttering “He’s right. She’s here. Here. He’s right. She’s here. Here.” over and
over again. He’s hitting his chest with a weak fist, which makes Remus suspect where ‘here’ is. It’s
honestly heartbreaking.

Regulus Black is a dead man walking. Remus is going to kill him.

He didn’t tell his friends about the episode when he defended Snivellius because it would only
bring Sirius more pain, and Remus is against anything that would hurt Sirius. Besides, once he
calmed down, he could see Regulus kind of did him a favour even if he didn’t know it. Remus
was… gone. He would have hurt Snivellius badly. Too badly. He would have got himself expelled.

So, Remus kept his mouth shut and made Peter promise to keep his shut, too. But this? Hell to the
fucking no. Regulus Black is going to pay for hurting Sirius. Remus will see to it.

“Sirius,” James says again, sliding a hand down his back in a comforting way. “Talk to me. What
happened?”

He’s not responsive. Remus isn’t sure that Sirius can hear James. His heart is breaking in his chest,
and outrage is blurring his senses, but Remus won’t go after Regulus until he knows Sirius is okay.
So he focuses. Focuses on the shaking lines of Sirius’ shoulders, and the cords of muscles of his
forearms, tight with the effort he’s making to grip himself and keep his body coiled.

Sirius is breaking apart and the only thing that puts him back together is the one thing he never had
until he met them. It should be James, but Remus can’t bring himself to give up this chance to be
close to Sirius.

Remus looks at James. “Help me move him?”

James waits for further instruction, nodding. It fills Remus with a sense of elation that James is
trusting him with this. Because James and Sirius are something that he can’t name, nor does he
want to try. It feels holy, and if Remus tried to put a name to it, he’d be smitten by the deity on
duty.

“Warmth and contact,” Remus explains. James gets it immediately, and positions himself to help
Remus.

He scoots closer to the wall until he can rest his back there, then Remus opens his legs and gestures
in between. James gently pushes Sirius back, and he allows it. Either because he can tell his friends
are trying to help or because he’s complexly gone. But he allows it, and that’s what matters.

Together, Remus and James manoeuvre Sirius until he’s in the nook of Remus’ body. And then,
Remus slides his arms around Sirius’ torso and gently tries to ease him backwards. Sirius’ back on
Remus’ chest.

To his absolute shock, Sirius complies. He goes limp, lets his arms fall, and then he’s resting on
Remus’ body like that’s what he was waiting for all along. James waits, watching his friends for a
sign that Sirius is coming back to them. Remus brushes Sirius’ hair aside and presses his cheek
against his head, muttering, “I’ve got you, Sirius. It’s okay.”

It takes a few minutes, but the comfort seems to finally get through to him and Sirius blinks. Looks
up. “Prongs?” Sirius asks, looking at James who’s hovering as close to them as he can get.
“Moony?”

“Hey,” James says.

“We’re here,” Remus says softly. His mouth is close to Sirius’ ear.
Sirius relaxes further. James puts his hand on Sirius’ knee, still bent up. “Are you alright?”

Sirius shakes his head. “I…” Remus’ arms tighten at the broken tone of his voice. Sirius snuggles
closer to him. Tries again. “Ran into Regulus.”

James’ jaw twitches. Remus wants to roll his eyes at his stupid friend. Obviously, whatever
happened, the one who was hurt is Sirius. One only has to look at him. He’s still shaking, even in
the warmth of Remus’ arms, and he sounds out of sorts. Regulus clearly did something despicable.

“What happened?” James asks calmly. “Are you hurt? Is he hurt?”

“No.” He lets out a weak chuckle. “We didn’t think to use our wands. Didn’t even take them out.”

Remus feels a bit of tension leak out of his shoulders at this. Whatever happened, Sirius isn’t
physically hurt. Doesn’t make it any better, because not all pain is physical. But at least they don’t
have to factor a visit to the infirmary in all this. James seems to share the sentiment.

He takes off his glasses and runs a hand over his face. Puts them back on. Takes a deep breath.
“What did he say to you?”

This is why they love him, Remus thinks. This is why James Potter is the glue that keeps them
together, always. Through thick and thin. Because James is disgustingly besotted with Regulus, but
he seems to know this was obviously his bloody fault. James is… he’s the definition of good friend
made flesh. Remus feels like literal shit for begrudging him his crush. Obviously, James has no
intention of allowing that crush to get in the way of his friendships.

He even told Sirius about it, which Remus had to admit must have taken balls the size of planets.

“I think this was my fault,” Sirius whispers. “It was my fault.”

“No,” Remus says immediately.

Sirius turns a little, until he can tilt his head up and look at him. Remus is glad for the worry,
because it’s keeping the desire at bay. He doesn’t think he’d be able to withstand Sirius being this
close to him, all dishevelled and looking like a fucking wet dream, if he wasn’t so absolutely
focused on ensuring that he’s okay. Small mercies.

“I picked a fight with him,” Sirius says. Remus can see that he means it. “He wanted to leave.
Didn’t want to engage. I didn’t let him. And then… well.”

“He can be mean,” James says quietly. “He hurt you. Did you hurt him, too?”

Sirius closes his eyes, but Remus is pressed against him so he can still feel the little sob Sirius is
trying to hide. He swallows it, and Remus feels it reverberating all through his gut. James’ fingers
are twitching. His eyes keep darting down the dark end of the corridor. Remus knows James won’t
leave Sirius’ side. But he wants to.

“Prongs,” Remus says reluctantly. “Go. Go check on him.”

James shakes his head immediately, opens his mouth to protest. But Sirius surprises them all by
saying, “Yes. Just. He said something about you… about you two,” Sirius coughs, like the words
burn his throat. “And I was… I was horrible. So yes. James. Go.”

The expression on James’ eyes is so tender it makes Remus want to die. He looks at Sirius like he
can do no wrong. Like he’s the best thing to ever happen to this world, and Remus is reminded that
it is that sort of adoration that Sirius needs. Pure. Light. Bright. The warmth in James’ gaze could
heat up the entire castle during a snowstorm.

That is what Sirius needs. Sirius, who grew up in a house full of darkness and pain, doesn’t need
more of that. There’s no place for all consuming. For overwhelming. Remus’ feelings for Sirius are
all wrong for so many reasons he can’t even name them all, but chief of all is that Sirius needs
what James’ gives him. Nothing less.

“I love you,” James says to Sirius. “And whatever you said, I forgive you. I know you, and I
understand. Okay? I love you.”

Sirius lets out a sound of pure relief, sad and broken, and then he throws himself forward into
James’ arms and they hug. Remus sighs, feeling a bit lighter because Sirius will be okay. There’s a
bit of aftermath to get through, but Remus can take care of him.

James leaves the cloak with them so they can get back to the dorms unseen, and takes the map to
help him both locate Regulus and also avoid Filch and Norris on his own way back. As soon as
James is out of sight, Sirius slumps back into Remus’ chest.

“Moony,” Sirius says. He’s not looking up at him, instead staring straight ahead, at the opposite
wall. “I need to ask you something.”

Remus groans like he’s annoyed, but it’s all for show. “Go on.”

Sirius smacks his lips, runs a hand over his face. “Do you think… I think I am…” To Remus’
absolute horror, Sirius’ voice breaks and then he’s weeping.

Remus doesn’t have an issue with Sirius crying. Or with any of his friends crying. It happens.
They’re tough lads with big reputations and know how to hold themselves together when it counts.
But in the privacy of their dorm, they sometimes need to let it out. James cries most of all. Peter
second. Sirius only cries when things are very dire, but it has happened. He’s seen it. Remus
doesn’t really, though. He can’t remember the last time he cried for any reason.

Anyway. Irrelevant. The point is that he’s seen Sirius cry, but he’s always had backup. James.
James is always there to handle Sirius’ breakdowns like a pro. Like only James can. Except this
time, Sirius… wait.

“Hey,” Remus says, adjusting his posture so that he can gather Sirius against his chest better. “Hey.
It’s okay. Pads. It’s alright.”

Sirius cries more. It’s not loud. It’s quiet and intimate, little sobs and hot tears against Remus’
jumper. His shoulders shake with every one, but Sirius doesn’t wail or give in to dramatics. Not
when it really counts. The dramatics are for show. For attention.

This? This is Sirius hurting for real. Remus takes a breath. “Did you tell James to leave so he
wouldn’t see you cry?”

It’s preposterous, because Sirius only cries with James. The mere idea that he would have held
himself back on purpose is absurd. But…

“Yes,” Sirius croaks. “Remus, I’m… Regulus said… he’s…” He buries his face against Remus’
chest again, and Remus can only hold him.

He presses his face against the crown of Sirius’ head and whispers, “Your brother is a little shit,
Sirius. You’re smarter than to believe anything he says.”
Sirius looks up, abruptly. Tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, clinging to his eyelashes. Fuck.
Only Sirius Black could look this pretty when he’s having a meltdown. Frankly outrageous. Remus
can’t even comfort him in peace without being accosted by his wants. But how can he when Sirius
looks like this?

“But I think he’s right,” Sirius says desperately. “I’m… I’m a bigot.”

Remus jerks violently.

“No,” Sirius says. “Hear me out. I’m… Regulus implied that he and James… you know.” And it
makes Sirius blush so deeply it spreads down his neck. What a fucking moment for Remus to
notice that Sirius’ shirt is undone. Why is his shirt undone?

Remus glances around. Spots the broom closet, doors hanging open. The scene rearranges itself in
his mind. Regulus catching Sirius and Addison making out. Regulus knocking points off them.
Adele running away. Sirius picking a fight with Regulus.

“Moony?”

Remus blinks violently. Sirius needs him, for fuck’s sake. He can’t get distracted. “Listen to me,”
Remus says carefully. “Just because you don’t want to hear about your little brother being sexual
doesn’t mean you’re a bigot.”

“But if it was a girl I’d like to know so I could give him tips,” Sirius insists

It physically hurts Remus to hear this, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Sirius likes girls. This
is no one’s fault. It’s not better or worse. It just is, and Remus has to accept it and move on. Not
bloody likely, seeing as he’s been trying to move on for years now, but oh well.

“I’m the worst friend ever. I’m being homophobic towards James, Remus. What is wrong with
me?”

Another broken sob crawls its way up Sirius’ throat, and Remus feels his chest splinter. Sirius
doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t. He’s got issues, and Remus knows this, but he doesn’t begrudge
him them because Sirius was abused for sixteen years before he got out. He's got scars no one can
see and struggles with emotions and understanding them. It's all quite a lot for him to work
through. If he takes a bit of time to adjust to the idea that his little brother and his best friend are
gone for each other… well. Obviously, it would be best if Sirius needed no adjustment at all. But
he’s trying. That’s enough. For Remus, that’s enough.

“Sirius,” Remus says. “First of all, you don’t know that. You think you do, but you don’t. Second
of all, perhaps if it was a random boy you wouldn’t have freaked out. But James is your brother,
too.”

“It’s incest,” Sirius says, nodding his head vehemently. “Right? It’s so fucked up.”

“You… are wrong but also not,” Remus says. “This is a very fucking weird situation for you.
Reacting badly to it doesn’t make you a bigot.”

Sirius takes a deep breath and puts his head on Remus’ chest again. They stay like that for a while,
in silence. Remus can feel Sirius’ thinking. Going through it all in his head. Working on the ins and
outs. Remus wishes he could tell Sirius that he’s being ridiculous, but he can’t. One’s head has all
the power, and Sirius’ head can be vicious.

Without warning, Sirius sits up again and looks at Remus. “Regulus said I left the house, but I
 brought her with me. I think he’s right, on some level.”

Remus shakes his head, but Sirius brings his hand up and clamps it over his lips. Remus is shocked
into silence and compliance.

“Listen before you start ranting,” Sirius says. Honestly. The audacity. “I think a part of me is
against the idea that my own blood would be... You know, a Black, being queer. Like. I don't have
anything against other people. You know I don't! I'm all for it. But when it's... Reggie. Or... well. I
freak out. I feel like it’s… it’s wrong. It feels wrong. I don’t want to feel this way. I shouldn’t. It’s
stupid. But I think I do. I think I’ve been feeling that way for a while, and I didn’t know it. I think
it’s been messing with my head.”

They hold each other’s gazes for a moment, and Remus’ gut starts practicing cha cha cha. There’s
something in Sirius’ look that’s making Remus hot all over. Hotter than normal. Because he’s
always flustered when it comes to Sirius, even if he’s good at hiding it. But this is different. Remus
doesn’t know if it’s good or bad different, or what it means. It just is.

“If this is true,” Sirius says carefully. “If she’s in my head, and making me… confusing me. How
do I get rid of it, Moony? How do I get rid of her?”

Sirius lowers his hand. Remus looks at his friend. Searches his face. He finds fear but also
determination. And Remus knows, deep down, that it’s important. Sirius is working on something
about himself, and he’s asking Remus for help. It shows a level of trust in him that Remus doesn’t
know he deserves, but he’ll be damned if he’s not going to rise to the occasion.

For Sirius. Anything for Sirius. Because Remus loves him despite everything. In spite of
everything. Remus loves him, and he’ll never have him the way he wants to, but perhaps this is
enough.

“Well. It’s very likely you still have some internalised beliefs. You did grow up in a very
prejudiced place,” Remus says carefully. “But you can break them. I’m not an expert, but
acknowledging them and then… kind of questioning them. You know? Just, talk to yourself about
them. Why would this thing be bad? Most of the time you’ll find you think so because you were
told it is.”

“It sounds so simple,” Sirius says.

“It isn’t,” Remus tells him gently. “It’s fucking hard, Pads. But you’re tough as nails. If anyone can
do it, it’s you.”

Sirius nods once. Then again, more firmly. “Okay. Yes.” He twists fully, bringing himself face to
face with Remus and practically straddling him. Remus goes still as a statue. His entire body is
screaming at him because hasn’t he had this exact fantasy before? Merlin’s beard on fire. Sirius is
going to kill him.

Oblivious, Sirius only looks at him and beams before ducking in for a tight hug. Unaware of the
effect he’s having on his friend. Of how close they are to each other. “Thank you, Moony.”

Remus is going to need one long, long shower after this, but for now, he lets Sirius do as he will
and simply says, “anytime, Pads.”

Chapter End Notes

Regulus getting Myrtle to do his dirty work for him? He's a king. Seriously. He said
'I'm busy, I need to outsource' and went for it. Look at my little champion GO! He's
getting ready for his plan and he won't be stopped!

Also, he will act on his newfound knowledge that James is his 'boyfriend' in the next
chapter and I giggled so much when I wrote that I can't wait to post it <3

REMUS LUPIN REFUSING TO EVEN THINK THE NAME OF THE GIRL SIRIUS
IS SEEING? HELP. He's so bitter. We stan a petty king. Wolfstar are finally, slowly,
getting somewhere. Sirius, my babe, you've found the issue. Now please deal wiht it
<3

Next update on Thursday :D

 The Come & Go Room
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

We continue on with the angst, except there's proper comfort in this chapter too, so it
balances out :)
We also get a little rosekiller in this one <3

TWs for this chapter below:

Sexual content (as always it's not explicit, but there's a relatively long-ish sex scene in
this chapter)
Smoking
Mentions of homophobia
Mentions of child abuse / torture (magical)
Spiders - WARNING if you're afraid of spiders maybe skip the last bit? I'll add a note
at the end in case you want to know what the spider thing is about.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The kitchens are the last place James expected to find Regulus, but alas. He’s here and he looks
surprisingly at home. James kind of bursts in then freezes, watching Regulus sip a steaming drink
from a mug watching the flames in the fireplace in silence.

The house elves go into uproar when James arrives, so Regulus is alerted to his presence almost
immediately. He turns on his chair and goes completely white when he sees James. Not the
reaction one wants to evoke in the person they’re seeing, but alright.

The house elves surround James, jumping up and down in excitement and talking all at once. It’s
loud, and James loves it. They’re chaotic in their eagerness to help, and James finds it adorable. He
loves house elves. They’re his kind of people. Obnoxious, loud, full of joy.

“Mister Potter!”

“Are you hungry?”

“We has some nice buns! The sticky ones you likes!”

James smiles, crouches so he’s face to face with them. He has to wait for a moment for them to
calm down enough that he can speak. “Thank you, everyone. Very kind. But I just had to bring
Black an important message, then I’ll be on my way. I’ll come visit soon.”

“Bring Mister Lupin! We have some Welsh pastry! We makes sweet bread rolls for him, too.”

James chuckles, but he’s nodding enthusiastically and the elves are smiling at him. “We’ll all come
down, alright? All four of us. Soon, I promise.”

There’s a chorus of cheers that makes James beam at the elves with warmth. They’re so nice to
them. Honestly. James and his friends would have gone hungry on more than one detention if not
for their generosity.
Regulus is rising from his chair, the mug with his hot drink abandoned. A house elf James doesn’t
know the name of tugs at his robes, and Regulus bends forward to talk to him. James can’t hear
them, but it’s clear from their interaction that they know each other. James barely catches the
words they’re exchanging. They sound like instructions.

After a few moments, Regulus stands and nods towards the exit. “I know a place we can talk.”

As soon as they’re out of the kitchens, Regulus whirls on his feet and points an accusing finger at
James. “How the fuck do you always find me?”

He should have anticipated this. He really should have. Regulus is smart, and James is not subtle.
It’s just not in his personality. But he cannot tell him about the map, can he? It’s not just his secret.
It’s everyone’s.

“I have my ways,” James says, trying his best to sound mysterious and sexy. It only works
partially, because Regulus’ eyes are still narrowed but he’s now blushing a little. “You said you
knew where we could go? Or do we go back to the mirror?”

Regulus scoffs dramatically, then looks James straight in the eye. “I will not ruin my trousers by
kneeling on the dirt.”

Reasonable, James thinks. Regulus has a fantastic sense of fashion. His clothes are all very
expensive, too. James is nodding absent-mindedly, considering options. “Well, where do you think
we—”

Wait. Kneeling?

James proceeds to catch on fire. Literally. He’s sweating. Everywhere. Did Regulus just say that?
With the meaning… no. It can’t be. James needs to get his mind out of the gutter, because there’s
no way… Why is Regulus looking at him that way?

Godric Gryffindor’s sword at the bottom of the lake.

Regulus meant what he meant.

James is unwell.

The smirk on Regulus’ mouth is making it all worse. Or better. As in, James can’t compute. His
brain has evacuated the premises for the foreseeable future. But his body? Oh Merlin’s beard, he’s
a fraction of a second away from abandoning all caution and climbing Regulus like a tree right
here.

Fortunately for them both, Regulus has not lost his mind, and is capable of rational thought. “Wait
for five minutes, then meet me on the seventh floor,” Regulus gives him some further instructions
that James barely processes because his blood is currently marching steadily south, and south only.

The walk to the seventh floor is a haze. James is on autopilot, not even commanding his feet to
walk. They’re doing it of their own accord which is fortunate because James wants to arrive as
quickly as possible. He’s vibrating with anticipation. He also, somewhere in the back of his mind,
can’t believe it was Regulus that decided it was time for them to move forward, but James is
extremely on board with this. Honestly, Regulus could pretty much do anything to James and he’d
thank him for it.

James finds Regulus standing outside a rather boring looking door. If he wasn’t so painfully
aroused, James would be startled by the fact that this isn’t on his map. But that’s for later. Right
now, he can only think of one thing.

Kneeling.

Fuck. James can’t take it anymore. He reaches for Regulus, grabs him by his shirt, and pulls him
roughly into him.

They crash through the door kissing like they’re waging war. It closes behind them, and it hits
James with the force of a typhoon that they’re in a private space that’s not in danger of caving in
for the first time. No more cold and dangerous roofs. No more humid, uncomfortable patches of
dirt.

He’s crushing Regulus to him with force, but the other boy isn’t complaining. No. He’s giving as
hard as he’s taking, kissing James with fervour. James thinks this is the best kiss he’s ever had in
his life. And the fact that they’re in a private, safe place?

Groaning with anticipation, James opens his eyes to get a quick sense of his surroundings so he
knows where to go, what to do next. He glances about best as he can, because he’s still kissing
Regulus like he wants to devour him. Which, coincidentally, he does. Details.

And then he’s so surprised his mouth goes slack, interrupting the kissing, and Regulus protests.

“James. What the…”

Regulus’ eyes open, too, and he stumbles away from James. Not far, just enough that he can turn
and look at the room they’re in.

“Are we in the Quidditch changing rooms?” James asks him, confused. He gets no answer, which
is mildly concerning so he strides forward to check on Regulus. And finds him crimson from head
to toe. Lovely. Beautiful. But why is he blushing so hard?

“Reg?”

Regulus blinks. Swallows. Takes a breath. “This… ehm. The house elves call it the Come and Go
room. Tappy told me I just had to think of what I wanted, and it would do it for me. It’s a magical
room. Also, so long as we’re in it, no one can find it.”

James’ confusion is only mounting. As in, this makes sense, in a way. It explains why it’s not in the
map, either. If it’s a magical place and ever-changing, James is ready to bet his right arm it’s
unplottable. And it’s quite handy, a room that gives you what you ask of it. What you need or what
you want. It is, in fact, brilliant.

But why are they in the Quidditch—

Ooooh.

And here James thought he was the naughty one of the two.

“What did you ask the room for?” James asks, a small smile creeping onto his face.

Regulus shoots daggers at him from those beautiful green eyes. “Don’t,” he says it sharply, with
bite, but James can see the embarrassment because it’s currently overpowering Regulus’ very good
poker face.

“Oh, I so am,” James teases, beaming. He feels euphoric. “I knew you were staring that day. I knew
it! It’s okay, love, I almost fainted when I saw you. Had half a mind to try and flirt with you just to
see what would happen.”

Regulus is fighting himself. James can see it. He’s mortified that his fantasy is so plainly on display
for James to see. But James doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable about it because it’s working for
him. And Regulus is allowed and entitled to his fantasies, whatever they are. Honestly, if he could
see inside James’ head, he’d realise this is pretty fucking mild.

“Get out. I’ll ask for something else,” Regulus says calmly despite the violent shade of red coating
his entire upper body.

“Absolutely not,” James says firmly. Then, he takes off the jumper he’s wearing in one quick
motion. His t-shirt rides up his torso, then falls down when he throws the jumper on a bench.

Regulus isn’t breathing. He’s staring. All his attention on James. James feels like the king of the
world. “Reg?”

His green eyes flit up to meet James’ hazel ones.

“What do you want?” James asks him softly.

Regulus isn’t very good with words. He never has been. This is okay with James. He’s learning to
read Regulus’ language. His body. His hands. The expressions in his eyes. But best of all are his
kisses. When he doesn’t know how to say what he wants, he simply goes for it. James is a big fan
of the approach.

They’re kissing now, less aggressively than when they crashed into the room but definitely with
vigour. James wants to take over, dominate the situation, make sure he’s doing everything he can
to take Regulus apart and put him back together. But he doesn’t. He needs to listen.

So, he does.

Regulus’ hands fly to the hem of his t-shirt. Hesitate. James closes his own hands over Regulus’
and does a little upwards motion. It’s okay. Do what you want. Regulus does. And then James is
shirtless and Regulus is stepping back to look at him.

James has never felt self conscious before, but now he does. Is he enough? Does Regulus like what
he sees? He must, right? He wouldn’t have thought of the Quidditch changing room if he didn’t.
But well. Regulus is so elegant and beautiful. So well put together. And James is… not. James is
raw power. Muscles that are sometimes too big, too in your face. There’s no grace to James’ lines
and ridges.

“Fuck,” Regulus says, then he’s attacking James’ body with his mouth. He kisses his collarbones,
biting a little and making James groan.

Regulus works his way down, licking and nibbling and kissing. James has to brace against the
lockers behind him to keep steady, because he doesn’t think anyone has ever shown his body this
level of dedication before.

Then, Regulus is on his knees, and his fingers are tugging at James’ trousers.

“Reg,” James chokes out. “You don’t have to. As in. If you want to, yes. But. We don’t have to do
anything.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, pops open the button. “Shut up, James.”
“You’re…” James’ eyes bulge, because Regulus just grabbed him through his underwear, and it’ll
be a miracle if he lasts long enough for them to do anything else.

Regulus stops. Looks up at him through long, dark eyelashes. Hesitation crosses his face. “Do you
not want it?”

James drops down and crouches in front of him so abruptly Regulus blinks, a little disoriented.
James cradles his face. “I want it so bad I’m about to come in my pants like a novice just from
thinking about it,” he says earnestly. “But also, I wanted to do it first. To you.”

“Oh,” Regulus says, eyes very wide, pupils blown.

And James just. Regulus Black, everybody. Having James wrapped around his little finger is still
not enough for him to just assume that James wants him as bad as he apparently wants James. That
he’d want to do something for him to just feel good.

“Come here,” James says, pulling Regulus closer.Then they’re kissing again, on their knees, the
both of them. James tugs at Regulus’ robes and he slides out of them easily. His shirt is another
matter, because it has so many fucking buttons. A crime, honestly. James is this close to just
ripping them all. But Regulus would kill him, and James refuses to die without having had sex with
Regulus.

The blasted shirt eventually does fall off, and James feels the breath be punched out of his lungs at
the sight of him. He’s even more gorgeous than he remembered. Like his brain wasn’t powerful
enough to hold the picture of Regulus Black in all its glory and so he’s been fantasizing about a
half-baked version.

“Fuck, Reg,” James says, running his fingers down Regulus’ chest and marvelling at the little
goosebumps he leaves in his wake. “You’re killing me.”

Regulus hums, kisses James’ neck. “Yes?”

“You’re so beautiful,” James pants. “So beautiful.”

James chases Regulus’ mouth, kissing him again. Their hands explore, skin on skin. James worries
his calluses might be off putting, but Regulus isn’t complaining. Not even a little bit. They get out
of their trousers, which ends up with them on their feet again, pressed against each other, kissing
and touching.

“Alright,” James says when they break for some air, because unfortunately one still needs oxygen
even if they’d rather they didn’t. “I really want to do this. Are you still…?”

“Yes,” Regulus says immediately. “Yes.”

They both glance down at the same time, and James realises they have to decide who goes first. He
swallows, drags his eyes back up to Regulus’ face.

“Did you…” James clears his throat. “Showers. I… ehm… Can we?” James gestures with his head
towards the showers, and Regulus blushes violently again, but he’s nodding, biting his lower lip
and honestly James doesn’t need more than that.

He picks Regulus up with ease, next time his brain connects they’re against the tiles, warm water
raining over them. And this. James thinks this is a fantastic setting for his first time with Regulus,
because as far as he’s concerned, oral sex is sex. So, this is their first time and James wants it to be
amazing. Special. All the things.
James puts Regulus down gently, then drops to his knees before the other boy can fight him for the
honour of going first.

####

Regulus is never going to be able to get ready for a Quidditch match without getting hard again.
Ever. Just not possible. Because Salazar Slytherin have mercy on him, the things James did to him
in that shower.

And the things Regulus did to him afterwards, too.

He can’t decide which he likes more, the giving or the receiving. Because they’re both amazing.
Regulus is a little obsessed with it, now. It’s a good thing Tappy told him about this room, even if
it betrayed him spectacularly. Had he known it was going to take his intrusive thoughts literally
he’d been a lot more careful. But James doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, James seemed thrilled
about the whole Quidditch changing room situation.

“You okay?” James asks gently.

Regulus moves closer, taking advantage of the heat of James’ body next to his. His brain screams
at him that this is a new height of pathetic. They’re snuggling, which isn’t something Regulus ever
thought he’d do. He’s not just doing it, either. He’s enjoying it. Honestly, how the mighty fall.

He’ll kill James if he ever says this out loud or attempts to make it a thing in any way, shape or
form. But okay. So long as they don’t acknowledge it, Regulus can enjoy cuddles with James.
Because he’s warm, and soft in all the right places, and hard enough to support Regulus’ weight.

“Reg?” James asks, his fingers playing with Regulus’ curls.

Regulus sighs. “Stop ruining this with words.”

A chuckle makes his cheek bounce lightly against James’ chest, and Regulus scowls even though
James can’t see his face. They’re still half-naked, but Regulus likes it. James, in all his sculpted,
perfect glory, just for him. He runs a finger over James’ abs, watching it dip in the hard indents
between squares of muscle. Regulus thinks James’ body is a perfect study in male anatomy. He’s
obsessed with it, and still a little shocked that it’s his.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ruin this with words, like you say,” James tells him. “Because
there’s a reason I came looking for you. And you know it. Is that why you distracted me?”

“What? You think I only wanted to distract you?” Regulus is aghast.

But James, sweet, adorable James hurries to explain, words tumbling from his mouth in a mad
rush. “No. No. I know that’s not… you wanted this, right? Independent of what happened,” James
says. “But I meant to talk to you first, and that didn’t happen, which is fine. More than fine.
Amazing, actually. But now, now, I need to talk to you about it.”

Regulus tenses and begins to peel himself away from James only to find James’ arm sliding over
his back and keeping him where he is. Pressed against James, bodies tangled, skin touching skin.
To his dismay, Regulus is unable to fight him. Who would pick the biting cold when James’ heat is
right there, being offered to him like that was the intended purpose all along?

“Let’s try it this way,” James says when Regulus settles back.

“Try what?”
“A hard conversation,” James replies. “Might be easier if we can still feel each other.”

Regulus sighs, which he knows James’ feels as a draft of air over his chest and stomach. He’d
really rather not. It’s the first time they’re together since Regulus was informed that they’re
together. Like, officially. He doesn’t want it to be ruined with talk of his asshole of a brother.

But James loves that asshole, for some reason. And he won’t allow himself to fully relax until he’s
asked Regulus his questions. So, only for the sake of James’ peace of mind, Regulus gives a tiny
nod and waits, dread pooling in his stomach.

“Sirius was a bit of a mess when we found him,” James says. And this was not what Regulus was
expecting at all. What right does Sirius have to be upset when he was the one being unreasonable
and bigoted?

Regulus scoffs. “Did he tell you what he said?”

James swallows, adjusts his body a little so he can bring Regulus closer still. Like he wants them to
merge together into one. Regulus wouldn’t mind it all that much. “He said he picked a fight with
you,” James explains quietly. “He felt pretty shitty about it.”

“He should.”

“Reg. Are you okay?” James asks him.

Regulus has to pull away then. Abruptly, and quickly. He stands with his back to James, who
hasn’t had time to react and is still on the floor amongst the towels and clothes they gathered to
make a little nest.

Regulus’ throat is tight, and he’s struggling to breathe. Because James… are you okay? James
came after him to make sure he was alright? Not to tell him off for upsetting Sirius. Not to yell at
him for having a fight with his best friend. James came to the kitchens to check that Regulus was
okay.

He doesn’t know how to handle this. What is he supposed to do with this?

Things are happening inside of him. Rising like full moon tides, flooding every crevice of his body.
It’s overwhelming, and choking him, and he just. Regulus can’t breathe. He doesn’t want to,
because he feels if he does, he’ll make a sound that he can’t take back.

“Regulus?” James is hovering behind him now. A furnace of gentleness and warmth at his back,
seeping into him and making him want to cry.

Regulus will not cry. He will not.

“Regulus, I can’t read you right now,” James says softly. “Do you want me to go?”

No. He wants James right here, but Regulus’ throat is swollen shut by the sheer number of
emotions he’s feeling right now. If Regulus didn’t know it impossible, he’d think he’s having an
allergic reaction.

Swallowing thickly, Regulus tries his best to get a grip of himself. His shoulders are shaking, and
he’s losing the battle.

James steps away from him. The cold, the void, hits Regulus’ back like a whip and he reacts.
Blindly, purely on despair and instinct, he whirls and reaches for James. It’s clumsy, and
embarrassing, and all the things Regulus is not and doesn’t want to ever be, but he can’t help it.

His fingers slide over James’ naked skin, searching for purchase, but there’s none. He’s smooth
skin, muscle, nowhere to sink his fingers into. But James understands. He gets it, and closes the
space between them quickly so that Regulus can press his face against his chest.

And then Regulus is sobbing.

“Hey,” James mutters softly against the crown of Regulus’ head. “It’s okay. Let it out. You’re safe
here. I’ve got you.”

Regulus hasn’t cried in years. He didn’t cry the day Sirius left. He didn’t cry when his mother took
it out on Regulus. Hasn’t cried when he’s been tortured so he knows what it feels like and can ‘do
it properly to those deserving’ when the time comes. Regulus hasn’t cried in a very long time,
despite having reasons for it. Many.

How embarrassing, that the one thing that tips him over the edge is a three word question from his
boyfriend.

He wants to stop. He can’t stop.

Regulus sobs into James’ chest because is he okay? He doesn’t know. He thinks he is. He wants to
be. He’s the happiest he’s ever been, because his friends are thriving, and he’s dating James
Freaking Potter. He literally just had sex with him.

Why is he crying?

Because it’s overwhelming, for one. Regulus has too much inside, and it’s crashing around,
breaking down the cage of bones and jostling the dead, frozen thing inside of him until he feels it.
Beating. Beating. Beating to a rhythm that Regulus can name.

James. James. James.

Like the sun, he came in and thawed the barren landscape inside Regulus’ chest. Smiles. Warmth.
Joy. Regulus should have known. He thought it early on—that James was a fucking furnace. And
here they are. The tundra, the bones, the pain. The ice cold fury. They were no match for the sun
made flesh. And now Regulus’ heart beats for him. Only for him.

James. James. James.

It shouldn’t be possible. It’s too soon. They’ve been doing this for a month. Is that enough?
Regulus doesn’t know, but it is. Normal or not, it is. And when he thinks about it, which he is now
because he’s got no choice, a month is a long time when he remembers he only had five to begin
with.

It’s four now.

Not enough.

Regulus cries. He wants more. He wants it all. Revenge and happiness. And he can’t have them.
Not both. But his revenge makes him who he is. It’s the fuel driving him forward. The reason he
survived all that he did. And the people on his list? They don’t deserve to be let off easy. He’s not
planning on wreaking havoc for fun.

Regulus reminds himself of the reasons. The plans. He clings to them with both hands, forcing the
anger to the forefront. He can’t give up. He won’t. He’ll get revenge. He always knew it would
break him, and what’s one more way? Regulus has survived unspeakable things. He’ll survive this,
too.

Through it all, James waits it out. He holds Regulus, caresses the back of his hair, whispers
calming words. He has no idea what’s going through Regulus’ head. The things he’s going to do.
The people he’s going to hurt. And Regulus can’t tell him. Won’t tell him. Because he wants this
desperately.

Four months.

Regulus will make the most of them, in any way he can. Fuck school, and homework, and
quidditch. If it were up to him, he’d spend every day for the rest of that time in this room with
James. He can’t, but he’ll do his best to steal as many hours as possible. He’s smart. He’s stealthy.
He’ll find ways.

With a shuddering breath, Regulus pulls back and looks up at James. “Sorry,” he croaks.

James’ thumb wipes a tear off the crest of his cheek. “Never apologise. Not to me,” James says
softly. “It’s okay to not be okay, Reg.”

It’s almost unbearable, the way James is looking at him. Regulus busies himself with wiping
James’ chest, which is wet and glistening with his tears. He’s a fucking mess.

“Leave it. Doesn’t matter,” James says. He tugs Regulus’ hand and then they’re sitting on the
bench, legs pressed together, side by side. “I won’t push. But I’d like it if you talked to me. I want
to help, Reg.”

“It caught me off guard,” Regulus says, choosing which of the things running through his head is
less damning. “That Sirius would be so fucking prejudiced. I thought… he ran away. He couldn’t
be… but he is.”

James hums, shifts in his seat. “He felt pretty shit about it,” James informs Regulus. “Doesn’t
excuse what he said. But… Sirius is going through a bit of a rough time.”

Regulus’ eyebrows fly to his hairline. “Rough time.” It comes out bitter, brittle. What could Sirius
possibly be having a rough time about?

He’s popular. He’s cool. He walks around the school like he owns it. Girls swoon everywhere he
goes. He scored ridiculously well in his OWLS and is predicted to smash his NEWTs. He’s got
friends. Good ones. He’s a beater for the team that’s going to win the Quidditch cup again, because
let’s be honest, everyone knows Gryffindor is going to flatten them all.

James sighs, and Regulus hears the hesitation in that one, shaky breath. “I can’t tell you why.
That’s Sirius’ business. But believe me, please? If I tell you he’s not… he’s not homophobic.
Not… not in the way you think?”

“Oh, so he’s homophobic in a different way? What a relief!”

James grimaces. “That didn’t come out right. Look. I just. Whatever he said… Sirius has
complicated feelings about us. But it’s not because we’re both blokes. It’s because you’re his
brother. His little brother.”

“Like he cares,” Regulus scoffs.

James chuckles, rubs the back of his neck with a hand. “He does. He expressly forbade me from
doing anything with you that wasn’t kissing early on. He said, ‘don’t you dare touch my baby
brother.’”

Regulus turns his face towards James, a dangerous smile hanging from his lips. “He did, did he?”

“What are you—oh,” James stops talking as Regulus crawls over the bench and comes to sit on his
lap, facing him. Straddling him.

Regulus buries his fingers in James’ hair, forcing his head to tilt up. Regulus looks at him, at the
exposed curve of his neck, the shape of his lips. His glasses, a little smudged and spotted with dried
drops of water from earlier, because James didn’t even think to take them off.

He leans forward to kiss him, but James’ hands tighten on his waist. “Wait, Reg.”

Reluctantly, he stops. He’s inches away from James’ face, but he stops. “Hmm?”

“I need to know you’re okay. That you’re not… using this to put your mind off things,” James
says.

Regulus reels back, indignant. He climbs off James and sneers at him. “Right,” he says,
aggressively. “So my boyfriend is now withholding sex to force me to talk? I didn’t sign up for
this.”

Clothes are everywhere, tangled in each other. They make Regulus’ dramatic exit more
complicated than he wanted it to be, because he has to waste precious seconds fishing for his shirt.
When he finds it, he stands up, triumphant, and promptly drops it again because James is on his
feet, right next to him, and yanking him in for a searing kiss.

Honestly, Regulus is on board with this change of heart, but also, what the fuck? He’s getting
motion sickness from the wild swings in James’ mood.

Breathless, Regulus says, “Blackmail is my thing. Don’t do that again.”

James presses his forehead against Regulus’, hands cradling his face. “You did well. I’m sorry for
pushing. You talked to me, and I’m happy you did because I know it’s hard for you.”

“It’s fine,” Regulus replies, chasing James’ mouth. “So. Again?”

James beams like he’s a child on Christmas morning. Regulus isn’t sure what he’s so absolutely
ecstatic about, but it’s brought him back to Regulus and is making his breathing irregular, so by all
means. Carry on.

“If my boyfriend wants to go again, we go again. Whatever my boyfriend wants, he gets,” James
says the word boyfriend like it’s the best idea ever proposed to him.

It strikes Regulus that for someone who’d already claimed this to Sirius, James sounds very winded
and adorably excited about it. And maybe, maybe, Regulus jumped to conclusions from an off-
handed comment by his brainless idiot of a brother.

Except, James seems to be thrilled with the idea. So. Regulus won’t bring it up, just in case.
They’re boyfriends now, and that’s what matters. Regulus would rather bite a brick than discuss
this strange misunderstanding with James. They’re both riding the wave, and that’s it. End of story.

“Well, then,” Regulus says, sliding his hands under James’ arms to grab at his shoulder blades. He
kisses James again. And again.

***

The last weekend of November bursts Regulus’ bubble of secret happiness into a million pieces.
Most specifically, the morning of the Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff Quidditch match. Regulus walks
into his room after breakfast to find Edward Selwyn unpacking. They’re alone in the room,
because Barty and Evan are one hundred percent unbothered by Quidditch if it doesn’t involve
their house team and therefore have taken the opportunity to hide in an empty classroom and do
unspeakable things.

Dorcas is with Marlene, who will go watch the game because James insists everyone in his team
watches every single match. But it’s not on for another hour or so, and thus the girls are also hiding
but in Marlene’s dorm up in Gryffindor tower.

Fuck. Dorcas.

Regulus quickly scans the bed’s surroundings, relieved to notice that her things are safely by
Regulus’ bed. Well. Not relieved, exactly. This is a completely unacceptable turn of events that
he’ll have to remedy sooner rather than later. He doesn’t want Dorcas back in her room—still
housing rainbow-haired people, because the bitches haven’t yet apologised to Dorcas. And he
wants Selwyn here even less.

Barty and Evan aren’t obvious about their relationship. They are very subtle and careful. To the
untrained eye, they’re just friends and nothing has changed. But Regulus, who’s still struggling to
sleep as is the bane of his existence, hears them slide into each other’s beds in the middle of the
night. During the day, he sometimes catches the brush of a hand, or a soft, private smile. They do
enough hiding as is, and the one place they can be themselves is this room. They’re comfortable
here, with the two people they trust to keep their secret safe.

Selwyn is ruining their peaceful oasis and that just won’t do.

“Black,” Selwyn says coolly when he notices Regulus glaring at him. “Did you think I wouldn’t
come back?”

“One can hope,” Regulus says.

Selwyn shrugs, then hangs his robes in his small closet. “Not that it’s any of your business. But I
was unwell and couldn’t return straight away.”

Regulus does notice that Selwyn looks considerably thinner and paler than he did when he was
suspended early October. The boy is clearly waiting for Regulus to ask what ailed him, for some
reason. As if his brush with death suddenly made him interesting. He should sit down to wait. It’ll
be a hard one to do standing.

“Listen,” Selwyn says. “I don’t know what I did, but can we just… We’ve been sharing a room for
years. We should be friends.”

“No.”

“Oi, Black. What the fuck is your issue? I’m trying to be friendly,” Selwyn says, looking rather
wounded by Regulus’ rejection.
“It’s coming across as desperate,” Regulus drawls. “Stop embarrassing yourself, Selwyn.”

Keeping his face and movements neutral, Regulus grabs what he came for. Gloves, a scarf. A thick
black cloak to don over his clothes. It’s a Saturday so he’s not required to wear uniform. It’s also
end of November, so it’s absolutely freezing. Regulus plans to spend a good chunk of his day
outdoors and needs to be prepared.

Checking his pocket watch, Regulus decides he has time to make a small detour. It might scar him
for life, interrupting Barty and Evan, but it’s better than them coming back to the room and getting
caught by Selwyn. For the first time in his entire life, Regulus wishes they were anything but
Slytherins. It seems prejudices run a lot deeper in his house than the others. Dorcas says
Gryffindors genuinely don’t care if you’re gay. It’s why she’s spending so much time with them,
because she can be more affectionate with Marlene when she’s in their common room.

Regulus scowls at himself, appalled about this massive inconvenience. In all his distractions, he’d
forgotten that Selwyn was supposed to come back. Because Regulus has been distracted. First and
foremost, he’s been wrapped up in James. His boyfriend. It’s a thing now, a thing they say to each
other, and smile about. At Regulus insistence that they had to see each other more, they’ve worked
out a schedule that allows them to meet every other night. They go to the Come and Go Room and
take turns asking the room what they want. It was James’ suggestion, and Regulus—who was still
mortified about the Quidditch changing room incident—agreed wholeheartedly.

Apparently, James likes to take Regulus to a variety of places that range from the downright
deliciously naughty, including grandiose bathrooms with seven different pools or rooms with beds
filled with water (tacky, but fun) to the absolutely wholesome and adorable, like a replica of James’
bedroom at home.

Some of James’ penchant for the risqué is rubbing off on Regulus, because his favourite is now to
bring James to his room in Grimmauld place. The idea of how absolutely hysterical Walburga
would get has them giggling together for hours at a time. And James, who is a heathen, likes to
press Regulus up against the door of ‘his room’ and make him scream as loud as possible in his
particular brand of ‘fuck you’ to the Black matriarch.

Regulus isn’t complaining.

But James isn’t the only thing keeping him busy. His Felix Felicis is still brewing and requires
attention, not to mention the copious amounts of sleeping potion he’s making regularly because he
has to drink more of it than before. He’s also still practicing his curses, keeping himself agile and
fit. Quidditch practice happens, too, though he’s a lot less concerned with this part. And, crucially,
he’s started to read up on the theory of legilimency and occlumency. It’s a lot harder than Regulus
would like it to be, and he has discovered that it’s not something he practice on his own. This is a
complication, but he already knows who can teach him.

He’s still visiting Myrtle and discussing his theories with her. By this point, Regulus is almost one
hundred percent certain that Tom Riddle is Voldemort. A parseltongue. Slytherin. Cunning enough
to set Hagrid up to take the fall. He hasn’t told her this, because this information holds power and
Regulus isn’t about to share it with the teenage ghost. But it’s helpful to talk to her, because she can
tap into the ghost network of the school.

“Nearly Headless Nick told me something interesting today about Tom Riddle,” Myrtle told
Regulus yesterday, sitting side by side with him on the floor of the bathroom.

“Huh?”
Smiling, Myrtle made a show of twirling her hair around a finger before replying. “He came back
to school. Some years ago, when Dumbledore had just been made headmaster. He came to ask for
a job.”

Regulus had turned to face her, which had made Myrtle burst with joy, “A job?”

“To teach Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Myrtle said solemnly. “Dumbledore turned him down.
He made a fuss about it, said Nick. Stomped down the corridors for a while.”

Regulus had filed this information away, because his gut told him it was important. He’d let Myrtle
kiss his cheek again, then fled to keep researching.

Today, Regulus hopes to put an end to the investigation into what happened when Hagrid was
expelled by stalking the man, using the Quidditch game and subsequent buzz as cover. After he
warns Barty and Evan about Selwyn.

The room they’re in was provided to his friends by Regulus. It’s one he considered for his curse
practice, but discarded because it was a bit too small. Still. It fulfils the requirements. It’s been
forgotten, fallen into disuse and difficult enough to find that a student won’t accidentally run into it.
Barty and Evan know to ward it when they’re inside, but it was Regulus who taught them most of
the warding spells they know, so he gets past them without difficulty.

Perhaps, he should have thought twice about this before barging in here unannounced. But also,
Evan is a lot hotter than he gave him credit for. Regulus was not expecting that, and it is
knowledge he most definitely didn’t need to have about his friend.

The two thoughts collide in his brain as he walks in on his two best friends very obviously having
sex. The kind of sex Regulus hasn’t had yet, partly because he doesn’t know how to ask James for
it, partly because he doesn’t know if James wants it. It’s not like they need it. They do a lot of other
stuff and it’s all so good Regulus can’t imagine ever getting tired of it. But he’s curious. Terribly
curious.

Over Evan’s shoulder, Barty’s head pops up, “Wanna join?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Evan asks, grabbing his robes and covering himself.

No need, because Regulus has very firmly turned sideways and has his eyes trained on a dark spot
on the wall. He can’t unsee what he’s already seen, but he also doesn’t need any more.

Evan rolls his eyes. “Really, Barty? He walks in on this and that’s your reaction?”

“Well, it’s about the only reaction, right?” Barty grins, then looks at Reg again. “You knew where
we were and what we were doing. So, who has died?”

Regulus rubs two fingers against his temples. “I came to warn you,” Regulus says, still fixating on
the dark spot. “Selwyn is back.”

“Oh fuck,” Evan says.

“We need to get rid of him,” Barty adds. Regulus risks a quick glance and notices they’re standing
side by side, and Barty has tied a scarf over his waist.

Regulus agrees. For once, he might let Barty’s unhinged side take over and run with it. Regulus is
smart enough to cover his tracks and protect his friend. “Yes, actually. If we can think of a good
enough plan. I don’t want Dorcas back in the dorm with those imbeciles, and Selwyn is an
inconvenience.”

“For us,” Evan says, tilting his head. “You shouldn’t care.”

Barty smiles at Regulus, a shared look of understanding passing between them. “He cares about us.
That’s why.”

“I don’t,” Regulus says, because it’s what’s expected.

Evan smiles, too. “You know I know, right?”

Regulus doesn’t react. Neutral mask. Keep it cool. “Know what?”

There is no way they know about James. He’s been so careful. Too careful, to the point where
sometimes he doesn’t even touch the inside of his arm if he thinks it’s too obvious, leaving James
hanging. He hates it, but it must be done. For their safety. James is obvious enough for the both of
them.

“Barty told me you kissed,” Evan informs Regulus.

This surprises Regulus. He feels his eyes widen slightly, then slide to Barty. He shrugs. “He had a
crisis about me not being truly into guys and I explained the whole thing,” he says, gesturing
towards Evan. “I didn’t go through a gay panic for Evan to doubt me.”

“Gay panic is accurate,” Regulus says despite himself, a little smirk on his lips. He glances at
Evan. “Full on freak out, believe it or not.”

Evan laughs and throws his arm over Barty’s shoulders. “Well. Just. Thanks, I guess? For kissing
my boyfriend so he could figure out he wanted to be my boyfriend? That’s so fucking weird, but
also so on brand for Barty.”

“I’m still here!” Barty protests.

“Yes,” Regulus says, taking a step back. “And I’m going to go gauge my eyes out to try and forget
I ever saw this.”

Evan and Barty snigger. Barty smirks at Regulus, wiggles his eyebrows. “You should find yourself
a dude, Reg. You’re missing out.”

Regulus is shaking his head as he closes the doors behind him, reinforcing the wards so nobody
else ever accidentally sees what he did. The worst part? It has made Regulus even more curious.
It’s one thing to think about it in the abstract. Understanding the sort of theory of how that type of
sex would work between him and another guy isn’t the same as seeing—albeit accidentally and not
really seeing—two people who do it. It’s like suddenly, it’s real. Something that Regulus could do,
if James was up for it.

Questions assault him all the way to the pitch and beyond. He walks briskly to keep himself warm.
The wind is biting, making the skin of his cheeks dry and a bit red. He has lost feeling on the tip of
his nose. Regulus casts a warming spell around him and approaches Hagrid’s hut. There’s smoke
coming out of the chimney. Through the window, he sees Hagrid move about, being domestic. It’s
a bit of an odd image, the huge man wearing an apron and being just so peaceful. Regulus rounds
the hut and finds a large bush that looks acceptable. Huddling inside the thick cloak, he sits down
and watches.

It's boring. Extremely boring. So, of course, Regulus turns the questions over in his head. How can
he bring this up to James? He doesn’t want to imply he’s unhappy with their intimacy, because he
is not. He cannot express how mind-boggling-ly, toe-curling-ly good it is.

But Regulus is very painfully conscious of the passing of time and what that means. He’s got to do
everything he wants to do now. Because he won’t have James in under four months. Even if he
survives the entire ordeal—highly unlikely—Regulus won’t have James. And he only wants to do
these things with James.

So. Time is of the essence and Regulus must find a way to build up the courage to tell his
boyfriend he wants to fuck. It’s that simple. It’s also that complicated. Because Regulus hasn’t
gotten any better at using his words for this sort of thing. All his asks are body language. A kiss. A
tug. A hand that goes and waits until James understands and nods. But that’s the thing. James
always nods.

His mind is running away with him, flashing memories of different times James nodded. It’s not
too bad, since he’s literally freezing, and the heat helps. Except when Hagrid leaves his hut rather
abruptly, it catches Regulus by surprise because quite frankly he had forgotten why he was here to
begin with.

He jumps to his feet and hurries to follow the Game keeper into the forest. This is the first red flag
that Regulus ignores. It is daytime, after all. And he has gone into the forest several times to gather
potion ingredients. He’s not a newbie.

Hagrid trudges through the forest like he’s unbothered about the ‘forbidden’ part of the name. He’s
so loud Regulus gets second hand embarrassment from it. Honestly. The man makes more noise
than a steamer train leaving a station.

It gets darker the further into the forest they get, which doesn’t bother Regulus but means he’s got
to watch his step more carefully. This is how he spots a bunch of spiders running alongside him.
Hm. Regulus doesn’t mind spiders terribly, but he’s also not a fan. Like, given the choice between
spiders or no spiders, he goes no spiders every time. But these are small.

Ahead of him, Hagrid breaks through the foliage into a clearing and greets someone loudly.
Regulus slows his approach, then climbs up a tree large enough to curve over the open space. It’s a
lot harder than he’d like, and he’s pretty sure he’s torn his trousers, but he’s determined to find as
much as he can about the Gamekeeper and solve the mystery of what happened when Myrtle died.

He crawls over the thickest tree branch and looks down, to where Hagrid is chatting animatedly
with someone. Regulus proceeds to fit his whole fist in his mouth to muffle the horrified yelp that
escapes him.

Not someone.

A spider.

A humongous spider.

Regulus’ entire body breaks into hives. What the fuck is Hagrid doing? Salazar’s cape on a pole.
The man is a lunatic. He’s just… casually having a chat with the biggest arthropod Regulus has
ever seen. If he’s not mistaken, that is an Acromantula right there. Its poison is a fantastic potions
ingredient, but also, extremely expensive because it’s almost impossible to get it. They are
dangerous, these things.

The conversation is very inane, so Regulus tunes it out. Instead, he fits puzzle pieces together.
Clearly, Hagrid has known this beast for a long time. They talk like they’re old friends. So. Regulus
is ready to bet this was the monster he was caught with. Except Acromantulas kill and eat their
victims. There’s no paralysis. They don’t cause it.

Hagrid leaves as quickly as he came. He says goodbye to the largest spider, then trudges back
through the forest. Regulus hesitates. He wants to know more. To confirm his suspicions. But also.
Acromantulas. Big ones.

“Get down, little boy,” a voice says. “Before my daughters and sons go up.”

Regulus needs not be told twice. He drops down from the tree, using a spell to cushion his landing.
His wand is in his hand, and he’s ready for a fight. But first.

“In 1943, a student died in the castle. A girl. Hagrid was blamed for it,” Regulus says. Straight to
the point. No time to beat around the bush when there’s an entire colony of Acromantulas watching
him.

Regulus’ hand wants to shake, but he doesn’t let it. His grip on himself is ironclad. He is pleased to
discover that despite becoming soft as a fucking marshmallow with James, he can still be this.
Dangerous. Sharp. Master of his body. He says no to the fear taking over, and the fear listens. It
stays there, in the back, alerting him to danger. But it doesn’t make him weak. It doesn’t overcome
him.

“I suspect Hagrid is innocent,” Regulus explains quickly. “And that he was set up. Is this true?”

The Acromantula hums. “It is true,” it says.

Regulus lifts his chin. “I think I know who the real culprit was. But I need to figure out how he did
it. If it wasn’t you, was there another creature?”

The spiders become agitated all at once, and this in itself is a clue that Regulus files into his brain.
Puzzle pieces.

“There was. It was born in the castle. I was brought. Raised by Hagrid,” the large spider says. “I
did not kill.”

“What was it?” Regulus asks.

“We do not speak of it. It’s our enemy, and we do not say its name.”

“But it’s still in the castle?”

“It is. I can sense it, sleeping, waiting to be called again by its master.”

Regulus nods. He knows. He was right all along. Knows what the creature is. Why nobody caught
Tom Riddle—Voldemort—when he opened the Chamber of Secrets. Tom Riddle, who is the heir
of Slytherin but also, at least, a half blood because Regulus hasn’t found him in any of the family
trees of the sacred twenty-eight.

“What will we do with you, little boy?” the spider asks, clicking its pincers. “My sons and
daughters are hungry.”

Tensing, Regulus grips his wand a little tighter. “I will find the monster,” he says. “And I will kill
it. I’m not your enemy.”
 “That bears little weight here, in my lair.”

Regulus raises his chin, proud. “I’m not afraid of you.”

The spiders click, chitter. The noise makes the hairs at the back of Regulus’ neck stand. It’s
disturbing. Terrifying. Regulus would like nothing more than to sprint away from here, but he
knows better. Acromantulas are quick. He’d be caught, and that’s dangerous. Regulus will either
talk his way out of this one, or fight. If he’s to fight, he’ll do it facing his opponent.

“You’re a fool, then. My daughters and sons are hungry. Aragog is hungry.”

Who the fuck is Aragog?

“Surely, your daughters and sons would prefer that I kill the snake in the castle,” Regulus says
confidently.

A ripple goes through the spiders. Fear and awe. Curiosity. “Can you?” the large one asks.

“I’m the best wizard of my generation.”

“That will not be enough,” the spider replies. “And we’re hungry.”

Regulus wants to rolls his eyes. How many times is this spider going to tell him they're hungry?
Like. He got it the first time, thank you.

The spiders click their pincers. There are eyes everywhere. It’s unsettling. Cold sweat is running
down Regulus’ back despite the bite of the freezing cold. He waits, breathing calmly. To keep his
focus, Regulus watches his breath puff into mist in front of his face.

It happens so fast there’s not time to second guess. The spiders surge forward, closing in on
Regulus, and he has a single moment to swing his wand over his head, muttering an incantation.
The ring of fire burns blue, fuelled by the ice inside his veins. It pushes out, keeping him
unharmed in the middle. The first two lines of spiders go up in flames, screaming. The rest of them
skitter backwards as quickly as they came.

The big spider, their leader, cries in range and pain. “My sons! My daughters!”

Regulus fuels the flames, watching them rise. Blue and burning like the quiet rage inside of him.
Standing tall, chin raised, Regulus says, “Let me pass.”

He punctuates his words with a burst of magic that makes the flames flicker.

“Leave,” the spider says. “You’re banished from here. Don’t come back. You are no friend to
Acromantulas.”

It’s only when he’s at the Forest’s border, safe and sound, that Regulus bends over and dry heaves
for a few minutes.

Chapter End Notes

Spoiler per the beginning notes should anyone need it. The spider thing is that Regulus
meets Aragog in this chapter. So, lots of spiders. Big ones.
Also, how sexy is Regulus being a badass and facing down a humongous
Acromantula? HELP I am unwell (I understand James' reactions to him so deeply)

This chapter was a bit sad for me because Regulus is so aware of the passing of time
it's genuinely making me upset. And the fact that James is absolutely clueless? My
man is out here thinking he's on for the long haul. He's got no idea what's coming and
every time Regulus remembers it it breaks my heart :(

Barty being unhinged will never not be funny to me <3

I hope you enjoyed! Next chapter this weeked, probably Sunday :D

THANK YOU FOR COMMENTS AND KUDOS! I love you all so much <3
 Only for the Brave
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Happy Sunday :)

Nice chapter for my Wolfstar girlies!! It also has nice Jegulus in the Room of
Requirement but there's a little sad undertone to it. I wanted to just flag that we've been
having quite nice, fluff-y, happy times and that's by design. Things are going to slowly
get progressively more angsty and sad because, well, we're going to war eventually.
It's not an abrupt tone shift, but it's definitely starting to build up slowly.

TWs
Minor reference to homophobia / homophobic attitudes
Underage drinking
Sex (both people talking about sexual things and then some sexy times happening)
Minor reference to abusive household
Discussion of possible murder
Discussion of past students deaths (nothing explicit or graphic, they're just discussing
that students have died in the past)

I hope you enjoy! <3

Thank you for all the support you're showing this story; it means the world!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The Gryffindor Quidditch team plus Dorcas and Peter barge into the common room like a bunch of
nifflers that spotted a jewellery box. Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff was an excellent match. Hufflepuff
absolutely dominated the entire game, which has put James on high alert, but it was beautiful to
watch. James loves Quidditch. It's his one true calling. And it stings a little, that he won't be able to
go pro when they finish school in the summer, but he refuses to think about it because what sort of
person would he be if he did? When people are in danger, and the conflict--the war--is getting
worse instead of better... well. He cannot even spare a thought for the Quidditch career he's not
going to have.

James Potter will do what's right. And he won't allow himself to feel anything other than staunch
determination.

Sirius and Marlene commandeer a bunch of sofas, shooing some poor second year students away.
Everyone else piles on, finding seating in a semi-circle to one side of the room. James ends up next
to Dorcas, and he won’t complain about it. He’s never asked her about Regulus, but James knows
they’re friends—best friends, according to Marlene who let it slip casually and didn’t notice the
way James’ heart jumped at the mention of his, wait for it, his boyfriend.

Honestly, James has walked around Hogwarts like he bought the place for the past couple of
weeks. He has a boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend. His boyfriend (yes, he will fit the word in
as many times as humanly possible, no he does not care if you find it annoying or repetitive) is
Regulus ‘Perfection’ Black.

And maybe it's because they've been together for just under a couple months, but James feels like
this is the best relationship he's ever had. Don't get him wrong, there are some wrinkles to iron out.
Regulus is a bit fussy about certain things, and gets a little irritated at James if he tries to dig a bit
deeper than he's ready to allow. If James so much as broaches Sirius as a topic of conversation
Regulus shoots him down immediately or threatens to leave altogether. The ongoing conflict is
also another no-go area. After that day behind the mirror when Regulus told him he's not a blood
purist that he hasn't made up his mind about what he's going to do yet, Regulus hasn't allowed any
more discussion about the war, or sides, or choices.

This is fine with James. He's got time. He's going to shower Regulus with so much attention and
happiness, so much warmth and joy, that Regulus won't hesitate to do the right thing. To join their
side. To join James.

On the sofa, on James' other side sits Sirius. In line with his inability to properly judge personal
boundaries, Sirius is sitting so close to him he could be on James’ lap.

“Oi, Moony!” Sirius yells across the common room when Remus descends the stairs.

Sirius has been withdrawn since the incident with Regulus. He’s been thoughtful, which is unusual
for him, and disappears on his own every now and then. James keeps an eye on him on the map
just in case. Mostly, Sirius has been sneaking off to the Astronomy Tower by himself. James has
asked, but Sirius insists he’s okay, just needs time to think about some things. Once, he even used
the words 'self-discovery' which James wasn't sure weren't a joke. But James trusts him, and hasn’t
pushed him on it. If Sirius needs him, he'll let James know.

Curiously, whatever he’s been working on has led to Sirius asking the girls to gift him an eyeliner
permanently, because now he wears it almost every day. It suits him, and James can tell other
people have noticed. Mostly girls. But also Remus. He's been pushing the boundaries of the school
uniform rules to walk around with oversized jumpers more often than not. James feels his pain.
Regulus hasn’t worn make up again, but the memory of it is enough to make James want to faint.

In one of those oversized, cosy jumpers, Remus comes join them, sitting next to Lily who was
sharing a sofa with Peter and Olive—Olive sits on Pete’s lap so there’s space. As the new arrival,
Remus nods his hellos to everyone because he did not come watch the match. He stayed behind
doing homework. Honestly. Boring.

“We should play a game,” says Marlene, a dangerous glint in her eye. James groans, which earns
him a curious look from Dorcas.

“Marlene’s games are always fucking dangerous,” James tells her in a conspiratorial whisper while
Marlene lists off a series of activities each more unhinged than the previous one.

“What do you mean dangerous?” Dorcas asks him, tilting her head to the side.

Sirius reaches over James to insert himself in the conversation. “Do you remember that time
nobody could figure out why a bunch of uniforms was floating on the lake?”

Dorcas’ eyes go very wide. “They were yours?”

Sirius and James nods solemnly. “Froze our balls off running back to the castle butt naked,” Sirius
says.

“What? Naked?” Dorcas looks adorably flustered, which James thinks is at odds with how cool she
looks at all other times. He’s starting to think that Slytherins are just very good at masking their
emotions.

“It was one of Marlene’s ideas,” James says. “She was with us. Naked, too.”

Dorcas’ eyes narrow immediately. “You saw Marlene naked.”

Sirius laughs. It’s a bark, like a dog. Loud and beautiful. “Come off it, Dorcas. There were like
seven of us. Frank Longbottom was there, too. And his girlfriend, Alice.”

“Fiancée now,” James adds happily.

“You people are insane,” Dorcas says, but she’s smiling. She looks over at her girlfriend and sighs
contentedly. “I like that she’s so impulsive. We wouldn’t have happened otherwise.”

James feels the shift in Sirius’ body before he even speaks. There’s energy thrumming through
him.

“What do you mean?” Sirius asks her. “If you don’t mind. Please.”

James’ jaw hangs open, because since when is Sirius that fucking polite about anything? But
neither Sirius nor Dorcas pay him any attention. Apparently, Dorcas has picked up on Sirius’ vibe
and wants to help.

“Well. I liked her a lot, but I was scared. I was a bit afraid of approaching people I didn’t know for
sure were also gay,” Dorcas says. James braces himself, but Sirius doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react to
the word. This, James thinks, is progress.

“How did you know about Marlene?” Sirius asks.

“Marlene came and talked to me,” she replies. “At the Forbidden Forest party. She came and flirted
with me. Like, full on. I was a bit dazed, and afterwards I second guessed myself a little bit, but
then I just decided to go for it, you know? Because what if?”

Sirius is leaning over James so much he’s almost nose to nose with Dorcas, eyes wide and earnest.
“What if what?”

And Dorcas doesn’t mock him. Doesn’t laugh at him. Dorcas smiles, and says, “What if she was
the one, you know?”

Sirius’ breath hitches, and James has the feeling that he’s witnessing a miracle happen. Dorcas
‘Matchmaker’ Meadowes, he’s going to call her from now on. Because if this isn’t opening Sirius’
eyes, James doesn’t know what is.

“The one,” Sirius mutters. His eyes slide sideways and James has to literally grip the sofa to stop
himself from whooping. His heart is hammering in his chest. He’s going to have a heart attack. But
he doesn’t move. Not an inch. He won’t break this, whatever this is. “You mean like love?”

Dorcas nods.

Sirius bites his lower lip, chews on it a little bit. “How do you know, though? I love my friends.
That doesn’t mean… you know.” He gestures towards James with his head. “So how can you tell?”

Dorcas also considers this carefully. Like she can tell how much this fucking matters. James could
kiss her. Honestly. She looks at Sirius serenely and says, “Impulses, I guess? I’m ready to bed
you’ve never had the urge to kiss James.”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius says, aghast. “Ugh!”

“Oi!”

“Sorry mate, but like… incest. You know?”

James and Dorcas laugh. Dorcas nods, “You just… you know. Feel it. Like, for example, I thought
I had a crush on Pandora for the longest time simply because she’s a close friend and I thought she
was so nice. I thought that was enough, you know? That it meant I liked her that way. But I didn’t.
I never once thought of actually kissing her. Turns out I simply was too afraid to find girls who
were available, because I had internalised a lot of ugly feelings about being gay. My family isn’t
great.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“With time. And with a bit of luck, too,” Dorcas says, then she chuckles quietly. “I was out in
Muggle London to escape my family for a bit, and ended up in some underground queer bar. I had
no idea, mind you. Then this girl was hitting on me, and I realised that I could. I could because no
one knew me, and I didn’t know anyone, so it didn’t matter. She was my first kiss. And once I
confirmed to myself that I was very gay, and liked girls, and it was scary but a thing I could do… I
stopped fixating on Pandora.”

Sirius nods. He’s still chewing his lip, eyes a little unfocused like he’s deep in thought. Dorcas
doesn’t push him or interrupt his pondering. But she does meet James’ eyes over Sirius’ head and
winks at him. James raises his eyebrows. And Dorcas’ lips form a single word. “Remus.”

Ah. So she knows. Well. It’s not hard to notice, is it? The only two idiots who haven’t figured it
out are Remus and Sirius themselves. He likes Dorcas, he decides. Likes her a lot. Which is nice,
because she’s his boyfriend’s best friend. He has to get along with her. For the sake of his
boyfriend.

“Dorcas,” Sirius says. “What if—”

“Everyone pay attention!” Marlene roars. “Sirius Black, I will hit you over the head with my bat if
you’re hitting on my girl.”

Sirius pulls back, thoughtful look gone and replaced by a cocky smirk. “You know I would never.”

Dorcas rolls her eyes, winks at Marlene. She folds immediately, smiling at Dorcas before claiming
everyone’s attention again. James settles back on the sofa, pleased. This was good for Sirius, he
knows. He’s getting closer and closer to finally figuring out how he feels about Remus. James
dares to hope it’ll happen by Christmas.

Christmas.

Oh fuck. He needs a present for Regulus. His boyfriend. A Christmas present. For his boyfriend!

HELP.

“Are you alright?” Dorcas asks him. “You look a bit panicked.”

James blinks. Rubs his face with a hand, holding his glasses with the other. “Yes, sorry.”
“You don’t have to play if you don’t want to,” Dorcas tells him gently.

“Fuck that, yes he does!” Sirius bellows even though he’s literally right next to them.

James is so confused. He needs to go away and think. Plan the perfect gift for Regulus. That’s the
most important thing right now. But his friends disagree, because there’s movement happening.
Everyone’s re-arranging the sofas, pushing them away so they can sit on the floor in a circle.

“What are we doing?” James asks when Sirius goes down and pulls James with him.

“Never have I ever,” Marlene announces. “It’s been too long, and I know you heathens have been
up to naughty stuff. I don’t think we’ve played with the boys before, either.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. James groans, lets his face fall forward into his hands. It could be
worse, he supposes. There was that time playing spin the bottle when he had to kiss Mary, Peter,
and Frank. James should have realised he was queer when he was disappointed he didn’t get
Remus. Somehow, it flew right over his head. Sad times.

Anyway. This is safer, he thinks. Because he does not want to witness a spin the bottle in the
current state Remus and Sirius are in. He also doesn’t want to risk their first kiss happening that
way. It’s not fair to them. A first kiss should be epic. Say, in a room so heavy with dark magic the
air chokes you, with a boy who’s so flustered and angry you’re losing your mind just by looking at
him.

“Here we go,” Peter reappears from the stairs brandishing a bottle of firewhisky. Merlin’s pants,
this is going to escalate quickly.

James accepts the glass he’s given, full of the amber liquid. Sirius rubs his hands in anticipation.
He loves this kind of shit, the dramatic idiot. He takes it as a personal challenge to outdo everyone.
To prove he’s the coolest, baddest boy in the school. James thinks it’s adorable.

“Alright,” Marlene says. “No cheating. We’re all friends, and someone will be able to tell if you’re
lying. That’ll get you in trouble. I’ll think about it, but it’ll involve the lake. I’ll remind you it’s
almost December and it’s fucking cold. You do not want to end up in the lake. Don’t cheat.”

Everyone nods their agreement. Dorcas chuckles. She looks like she’s having the time of her life.
James wishes Regulus could be here, too. He’s curious about Regulus and drinks. Does he drink?
He was a bit drunk at that Forest party at the beginning of the year, but James didn’t really get to
experience it properly. And Halloween was a bust.

James wonders if Regulus would agree to getting drunk with him, just for fun. He’ll bring it up
next time.

“Dorcas, would you like to go first?” Marlene asks politely.

Dorcas snorts, shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I have no benchmark and don’t want to come in
too hot or too cold. Someone else goes. Someone who’s played with you lot before.”

Remus nods, impressed. “That’s fair. I like you, Meadowes.”

“You go, then, Remus?” Marlene asks.

“I’ll go,” Lily says. Everyone agrees. Lily sits back, thinking. “Let’s start off easy… Never have I
ever kissed someone in this room. With tongue.”
Sirius immediately beams and knocks it back. Marlene and Dorcas wink at each other and drink,
too. Peter and Olive. James notices Lily hasn’t drunk yet, which is against the rules. You can only
say something you’ve done, so you’re expected to drink. Then, Remus and Lily exchange an
awkward glance and drink.

“What?!” Sirius yells, staring at them with wide eyes. “Why? When? How did I not know this?”

Lily shrugs. “It was an experiment in like fourth year. Not worth getting your knickers in a twist
over it.”

James snorts with laughter and Lily winks at him, smiling.

Remus gives Sirius a pointed look. “Why are you so scandalised? You have snogged Mary and
Marlene.”

“What?!” Dorcas is halfway out of her seat, so James gently brings her back.

“They were drunk, and Marlene was being bullied by someone who was accusing her of being gay.
Sirius snogged in front of everyone to help her save face,” James explains.

Dorcas lets out a little ‘oh’ that sounds more like a sigh, then looks at Sirius. “Thank you.”

Everyone bursts out laughing. Marlene crawls over the space, glances around quickly to make sure
nobody is looking, and gives Dorcas a peck on the lips. When she’s back in her seat, she goes,
“right, Remus, you next, then?”

Remus picks up his glass, purses his lips in thought.

“Say something dirty,” Mary says suddenly. Warning Remus, which to be fair to her is a good
shout, because if he can get away with it, Remus will make it about anything but sex. Which
means it’s not fun. “Don’t be a prude, Remus.”

Remus blushes, rolls his eyes. But he sets his shoulders. “Never have I ever… had an orgasm in a
broom closet.”

Sirius immediately knocks his drink back grinning. Obviously, Remus, too. Then Mary. Marlene.
Dorcas. Peter and Olive, blushing like they’re going to die. Lily and James drink at the same time,
which Mary notices. She wiggles her eyebrows even though it’s obviously unrelated.

“That was everyone!” Marlene exclaims happily. “Broom closets of Hogwarts, the dirtiest places in
all of the school.”

A chorus of chortles and cackles follows. “I’m going next,” Marlene says. “Never have I ever…
gone down on a girl!”

Sirius knocks his drink back so quickly he almost falls. James rolls his eyes, then drinks. Marlene
does, too. And Dorcas. Then Peter goes, and Olive looks so red James is concerned for her. She
looks like she might pass out from mortification.

“Not fair,” Mary says mournfully. She didn’t get to drink. “My turn!” She refills the glasses
quickly, then picks up hers. “Never have I ever sucked a dick!”

Lily and Mary drink. So does Olive. And Remus. Confidently. Without hesitation. With a little
knowing smirk that Lily meets head on, because she used to help Remus get away with sneaking
around with Tom, too. She's a good friend, Lily.
And James, who’s already had three shots--he thinks? maybe four?--forgets himself and drinks,
too. He’s not thinking, not really. He’s just remembering Regulus, and how lovely he is, and how
fucking amazing it is when James makes him feel good.

James puts the empty glass down and the silence is so heavy the ‘click’ is heard all the way to
London.

“Godric Gryffindor have mercy on my soul,” Sirius whines, throwing himself back dramatically.
“This didn’t happen. I didn’t see this. This didn’t happen.”

James looks around, finds seven pairs of eyes trained on him. Only one person is not shocked,
simply… proud? Maybe? It warms something in him that Remus is proud of James for… basically
accidentally outing himself, he guesses? He doesn’t mind. At all. It’s not like he’s embarrassed or
anything. But he promised Regulus he wouldn’t tell.

“Wow,” Marlene says, first to recover. “You fucking go, Cap. Good for you!”

She reaches over the gap in the middle and high fives him. James accepts this a little bewildered,
but okay. Remus laughs. Mary is still staring at him, wide eyed. Peter gives him a nod, mouthes ‘I
get it now’ and turns to murmur something in Olive’s ear that James knows is supportive. Peter is a
good friend.

“I am in hell!” Sirius announces, raising back up to sit upright.

“Why?” Lily asks him, a deep blush over her cheeks.

James’ heart crawls up his throat, but he should have never doubted Sirius because he swiftly,
expertly, recovers and says, “You know I don’t like to lose at anything. My competitive side is
howling right now.”

Lily chortles, shaking her head. And then Sirius proceeds to shock his audience by declaring, “I’m
going to have to find myself some dick to suck, aren’t I?”

Remus makes a little sound of distress that only Peter and James notice, because the girls are all
over Sirius now, cooing and yapping about whether he really means it, ready to find him a suitor.
Honestly. What is with Sirius Black and the way he affects people?

Casually, Dorcas tilts her head to the side, which brings her close to James enough that she can
whisper and he hears it. “Back to that in a moment,” she points at Sirius, then at Remus subtly, “for
now, why didn’t I know that you were shagging my best friend?”

James chokes on air. Splutters. He’s going to deny it, but Dorcas’ eyes are razor sharp. Suddenly,
James is a little scared of her. So, instead, James whispers back, “please ask Regulus.”

“Oh, I will!” Dorcas says viciously. “I fucking will!”

Alarmed, James gets even closer. “Oh Merlin. Don’t hurt my boyfriend, okay?”

“You—” Dorcas gets up. She just. Springs up. “Marlene, I need to get back to Slytherin dorms
immediately. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Marlene looks up from the war council the girls have formed to, apparently, find Sirius a man and
blinks at her girlfriend. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yes,” Dorcas says. “Everything’s fine. Just need to check in on Reg.”
Sirius’ head whips up at that, and he watches Dorcas tear through the common room towards the
portrait hole with a concerned expression. James is overwhelmed. He doesn’t know what to tackle
first.

Remus, who is fighting for his life watching Sirius decide this is the way he wants to come out.

Sirius, who looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely but there’s tension simmering underneath
it all and James is pretty sure he’s the only one who can tell.

Marlene, who is watching him warily, like she can tell it’s his fault Dorcas bolted.

Or Regulus, who isn’t here, but is going to kill James at the earliest opportunity because he
couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

What a fucking disaster.

Eventually, James decides to tackle it all at once by regaining control of the group. He dissipates
the ‘find Sirius a boyfriend’ council, claiming that Sirius is perfectly capable of finding a partner
for himself as evidenced by the hordes of girls he’s defiled over the years. This makes Remus look
a little sick, but the girls acquiesce so small wins. Then, James declares the game over and bosses
his Quidditch team around telling them they need beauty sleep.

It takes a while, and Lily and Mary riot because James isn’t their captain and can’t tell them what
to do. But Marlene wants to have a girls’ night now, because she’s a bit thrown by Dorcas’ abrupt
exit, so they do climb up to their dorm. Peter then quietly asks if it’d be okay if he took Olive to
their dorm for a while, because she now apparently doesn’t want to go into another broom closet
ever again.

The other three marauders accept, because Peter has vacated the premises for them on more than
one occasion. It’s only fair. So, Pete and Olive disappear up the stairs and then it’s just Remus,
James, and Sirius.

“So,” James says. “That happened.”

He rubs a hand over his face, tired and a little concerned by what this will mean for his friends.
Ideally, Remus would just volunteer himself as tribute for Sirius. However, he knows Remus and
that’s just not going to happen. Remus will not accept a casual hook-up situation, and Sirius might
have finally understood he’s attracted to Remus, but James isn’t going to assume Sirius has realised
exactly how deep he’s in. So. Fair that Remus doesn’t want to risk an affair. Not with Sirius. James
understands wholeheartedly. Still.

“That happened?” Sirius says, looking at him a little irate. “I told you to keep your hands to
yourself!”

And Remus. Remus apparently needs an outlet for whatever angst is eating him alive because he
decides this is the fire he wants to fuel. He says, “James said nothing of hands. If I recall, it was his
mouth he was using.”

James could kill him. He won’t. But he could. Because that was just unnecessary and it’s going to
cause James a headache. Sirius can only handle so much at once.

Sirius makes a screeching sound and whirls on Remus aggressively. “Can you just not? He’s my
little brother!”

“You should be thanking him,” Remus says acidly. “He can give you tips now. You know, so you
can go find dicks to suck, which apparently is a thing you want to do.”

“And you have a problem with that why?” Sirius asks, then looks over his shoulder to James. “No
to the tips. I’d rather be shit at it. I do not want to hear anything about how you’ve… sullied my
baby brother!”

This is getting out of hand. James rubs his temples with his fingers. Remus glares at Sirius, angrier
than James has ever seen him. And then, James remembers that the full moon is approaching. Two
nights. The last day of November.

No wonder Remus is ready to pick a fight. James has to diffuse it. He doesn’t know how.

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Remus says, petulantly. “But you could have told me.”

“I didn’t even tell James,” Sirius says defensively. “I was figuring shit out, okay? I still am.”

James puts a hand on Sirius’ shoulder and pulls him back. Sirius goes willingly, allowing James to
bring him into the circle of his arms. James gives Remus a warning look over Sirius’ shoulder, but
Remus is ignoring him.

His eyes are still trained on Sirius. “Figuring what out?”

“Whether I like boys for real or not,” Sirius replies simply. “I think I do. And I was denying myself
because of… her. Regulus was right, after all.”

Horror crosses Remus’ face, swiftly enough that James is sure Sirius didn’t notice it. But James
did. Because he’s seen that once before, the day James insinuated to Remus that he though Sirius
might be like him. And James still doesn’t get it. Because Sirius admitting he thinks he’s queer is a
good thing, isn’t it? For Remus. Because he’s got a chance, right? I mean, not that he needs it.
Sirius is gone for him, but don’t ask too much of him at once. This is a big step, and James is
proud.

Except Remus looks like this is the worst news he’s ever heard. Downright terrified. James is, once
again, deeply confused.

“I’m proud of you,” Remus says, and it sounds thick, like he’s forcing the words through and
they’re sticking to his teeth like glue. “That’s… that can’t have been easy. I’m proud, Sirius.”

Sirius smiles at him, relaxes immediately. “Thanks, Moony.”

James sags against the sofa even as Remus stands, mutters something about a book, and goes to his
preferred reading nook. James half-expects Sirius to follow him, but he doesn’t. No. Instead, Sirius
turns to James and gets very close to him. Extremely close.

“James,” Sirius whispers, forehead against forehead. “How did you know for sure? With
Regulus?”

Oh. Right. So he’s this far along his self-discovery journey, then. Can only be a good thing, right?
James doesn’t hesitate. He delivers and hopes that one day Remus and Sirius have kids and he can
tell them this story.

“Well. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. And I kept… ehm, noticing. Like, how beautiful he is.”
Sirius wrinkles his nose but doesn’t comment. “And then, I kissed him and it was… well. It was
life-changing, that kiss.”
“What if I fuck up?” Sirius asks.

“What if you don’t?”

And Sirius narrows his eyes at James, looks at him… James looks back, eyes intent, trying to send
Sirius brainwaves that say It’s okay. I know you love him.

Sirius laughs. Throws his head back and laughs, loud and proud, and then says, “You know. Fuck.
Of course, you know.”

James shakes his head, pulls him into a hug. “Took you a while, my dude. It’s been fucking painful
to watch. Now. What are you going to do about it?”

Burying his face in the crook of James’ neck, Sirius takes a deep breath in. “I’m afraid of messing
up the friendship. I don’t know if it’s just a temporary crush or what. I’m afraid, James.”

James gets it. He does. This is a fragile thing, which is why he hasn’t dared say anything. But he
also knows Sirius. He’s a Gryffindor, through and through. There’s a thing that they all have in
common.

“Sirius,” James whispers gently into his ear, “what if?”

He pulls back, looks at James. Silver grey on hazel. “What if it goes wrong?”

“What if it goes right?”

Sirius lets out a shaky breath. Looks over at the reading nook. Closes his eyes. “Dorcas has a point,
doesn’t she?”

Sirius bites his lip, chews on it a little bit. James nods encouragingly.

“Listen, Pads. It’s scary, alright? I was terrified of making a move with Regulus, too. But well. If
you don’t try, it’s never going to happen. So, I guess… what’s worse? Wanting and never getting it
or trying and failing? That’s… that’s what you have to decide.”

Silence stretches for a little while between them. Comfortable and intimate. Two best friends who
know everything there is to know about the other, sharing a moment that will possibly shift the
foundations of their lives. Set them on a new path.

Sirius whispers, “Yeah. Okay. I get it.”

“You get what?” James asks, just to be sure.

And Sirius, fucking Sirius Black, looks at his best friend in the whole world and says, “that love is
only for the brave.”

####

"Regulus Arcturus Black!" Dorcas barges into his dorm, then immediately freezes when Selwyn's
head pops out from his bed.

Swiftly, Regulus slides off his and crosses the room, bringing Dorcas back out with him. She hufs,
then storms up the stairs towars the common room. Deeply confused--Regulus doesn't think
Dorcas has ever been mad at him before--he follows.

There are two armchairs near one of the large glass panels overlooking the depths of the lake.
Dorcas perches herself on one, and pointedly looks at the other. Regulus sits, then flicks his wand
to cast a silencing spell. He cocks an eyebrow, because Dorcas might be annoyed, but he's still
Regulus Black and will not be intimiated. Not even by his best friend.

"Why didn't you tell me about James?" Dorcas asks, hurt evident in her voice.

Regulus blinks. His first instinct is to deny it, but well. Didn't he tell himself he'd just... admit it if
Dorcas asked him again? It would be useful to have someone to talk to. Someone to help him
navigate this because yes, they are boyfriends now and Regulus is... elated about it. But the
running clock looms over Regulus like a dark cloud, an omen of doom and pain and tears to come.

"I'm going to kill James," is what Regulus says.

Clearly, he could not keep his mouth shut and went and told Dorcas they’re boyfriends. Strangely,
Regulus finds this kind of endearing because it’s a good sign that James just wants to tell
everybody, right? But also, it’s fucking stupid. On principle. And Regulus told James not to tell
anyone.

"He didn't tell me," Dorcas says quickly. "I guessed and then confronted him about it. He simply
told me to talk to you. Besides, he was drunk on firewhiskey shots. So don't be an ass to him."

It's also kind of nice that Dorcas insists on defending James. And Regulus knows Dorcas. She can
be scary if she really wants to, so it is possible she just bullied James into an admission. Still.
Regulus needs James to hold his ground under torture.

Actually no. Scratch that. If anyone ever dares torture James, Regulus will simply disembowel
them, so it won’t matter what they know.

But Regulus needs James to at least not spill their secrets to other people. "James should know
better than to tell people."

"Oh, people? I'm people?"

"Dorcas," Regulus says, exahusted already by this conversation.

"No. You don't get to 'Dorcas' me. I'm hurt," she tells him, getting up from the armchair. "I just... I
thought you trusted me?"

Regulus wishes he could tell her that he does, as much as he can trust anyone. But the words stay
stuck to the back of his teeth. They simply won't fall from his lips, no matter what. So Dorcas
storms away, hurt and annoyed, and leaves Regulus alone. Beyond the greenish glass pane,
seaweed sways in the water of the lake. He sits back on the armchair, eyes trained on the soothing
movements of the aquatic flora.

Dorcas is being dramatic, which is not very much like her. She's probably doing it for effect,
Regulus decides. To punish him a little for failing to tell her about something this important. He
won't worry about it in excess. Dorcas will be annoyed for a day or two, then she'll come back to
him. Still, it's frustrating. Because now she knows, Regulus could use a proper conversation. He
has questions and he wants Dorcas to help him answer them. Hoefully, this tantrum she's throwing
doesn't last too long.

***

Monday morning and Dorcas is still being irritable around Regulus. He is no longer finding it
acceptable, but he'd never hurt Dorcas and he has no idea how else to deal with it. So he's ignoring
her, too. The only available option, he thinks.

Add to the whole thing the fact that Selwyn is not just back in their dorm, but for some reason
trying to become friends and therefore all in their space, and Regulus is about ready to commit
literal murder. The only time Dorcas has spoken to him--with Barty and Evan, too--was to tell them
how distraught she is to be back in her dorm. Regulus is understandably ready to curse Selwyn into
the next century.

As if this wasn’t enough, Regulus hasn't seen James because he apparently had a horrible hangover
on Sunday because for some unknown reason he decided to get extremely drunk with Sirius and
Rosmerta in the Three Broomsticks Saturday night after spilling their secrets to Dorcas. Regulus
wants to know how they got out of school and back, but the almost indecipherable note James sent
him didn’t include details.

All in all, it’s been a hell of a weekend. Regulus is about ready to start the week.

“Good morning!” Pandora singsongs, sliding into the bench right next to Regulus. Dorcas, Barty
and Evan are still not here.

Regulus nods towards the blonde girl, then takes a long drink of his black coffee. Pandora goes for
tea, adds a dash of milk, a spoonful of sugar. Regulus is watching her stir it gently when James and
his friends walk in for Monday morning breakfast.

James looks edible, like he always does to Regulus. No trace of that horrible hangover he claims
took him to bed all day yesterday. Their eyes meet, and James does the arm thing, which Regulus
wishes didn’t make him weak in the knees, but it does. Reluctantly, he reciprocates and James
beams. Regulus rolls his eyes at him across the Hall.

“Something’s shifted,” Pandora says, tilting her head in the way she does when she’s tapping into
her intuition.

Regulus is immediately tense. He doesn’t want Pandora’s intuition anywhere near James. One
dream—which he still doesn’t know about—is enough. Pandora’s doomsday predictions should
remain focused on Regulus and Regulus alone.

“Can you be a little less cryptic?” Regulus asks, trying to keep his irritation in check. It’s not
Pandora’s fault that she’s got these abilities.

“Your brother,” Pandora says, surprising him. “He’s broken out of his cage.”

Is she joking? Regulus stares at Pandora, eyes wide. “Huh. You’re two years late?”

Pandora shakes her head, smiling gently. “He was trapped in more ways than just the one.”

She’s watching Sirius, so Regulus does too. He sits down next to James, saying something they
can’t hear, and James laughs with his entire body. They fix breakfast together, with an ease that
makes Regulus’ stomach hurt, because he’ll never get to do that. He used to, with Sirius. When
they were kids. Regulus would spread Sirius’ butter because he always broke the toast, and Sirius
would pour Regulus’ hot drinks because his hands shook if they heard noise in the house and he’d
burnt himself before.

And Regulus would like that, he thinks. With James. Some level of… domesticity. Which is
ridiculous, because Regulus isn’t a domestic person. Kreacher does everything for him, because
he’s too busy with the things that really matter. And yet, the thought that he’ll never get to fix
himself breakfast next to James makes him more than a little sad. He’d like to know what James
eats. How he does it. What he doesn’t like and why. Little details that yes, he can ask about, but are
not the same as observing them himself.

In another life, one without dark wizards and betrayals, broken families and runaway brothers,
perhaps they would have had that. A future together. Regulus would love to watch James grow
older. Perhaps be the Quidditch star he could be. In his head, Regulus goes to every one of his
games and cheers for him, and runs onto the pitch to kiss him when he wins, all eyes watching.
And then they go home and fix each other's plates with the intimacy that comes with a life built
together. They have tea by the fire, and kiss and have sex right there because it's their house and
nobody is coming to tell them off for making a mess of the rug in front of the chimney.

His gut clenches painfully, a sharp reminder that this is all a fantasy and that Regulus won't get to
watch James grow old. He won't get to watch him play Quidditch. He won't be there for anything,
big or small, once Easter arrives. It makes Regulus want to destroy every clock in the castle. Stop
time, somehow.

"Reg?" Evan asks gently, bringing him back to their breakfast.

“Have you had any dreams lately?” Regulus asks Pandora, forcing himself to remain focused on
the now.

She shoots him a knowing look. “You know I won’t answer that. I only tell when I feel I must.”
With a little shrug, she picks an apple up and bites into it. Regulus goes back to his coffee.

“Did you read the research on wolves and stags?” Pandora asks when she’s finished eating her
apple.

Truth be told, Regulus had forgotten all about it. And it’s been three months, give or take a few
days, since Pandora told him about this. Clearly, it wasn’t pressing since he hasn’t had any
incidents involving either wolves or stags.

“I skimmed,” Regulus says, which is true. He did. Briefly. “Nothing has happened that has made
me think about it, though.”

“Well, sometimes my dream never come to pass,” Pandora mutters, brow a little furrowed. She
glances over at Gryffindor table again, chews her lip. “But I feel like this one will? Or is
happening? It’s strange.”

“No wolves. No stags,” Regulus says, gesturing around them with his head. The Great Hall is as it
always is. Full of students. Not a wolf in sight. Much less a stag.

Pandora nods, sips her tea. “Just remember to trust the stag, yes?”

He sighs heavily, but Regulus nods and reassures Pandora.

That afternoon, Regulus drags his feet towards Quidditch practice. It’s cold and miserable outside,
raining and windy. But the next match is Slytherin vs Ravenclaw after the Christmas break, and
their Captain won’t let them skip any training.

By the time he’s back in his dorm, Regulus is angry like a wet cat. For good reason. He’s aching
everywhere, and the humidity has burrowed in his bones, making him shiver even though he’s
already stripped off his muddy Quidditch robes. Selwyn isn’t here, which is annoying because if
he was then Regulus could at least take it out on somebody. But no.

He’s only just finished re-dressing when Barty and Evan come in, locking the door behind them.
Regulus’ stomach churns, and he flicks his wand to unlock the door, casting a delaying spell
instead. Barty throws himself on Evan’s bed, but Evan beings to pace.

“We cannot come up with a good enough reason to get Selwyn expelled,” Evan says, sounding as
irritated as Regulus feels.

“If they didn’t expel him for melting’s Snape’s face off, short of him killing someone I don’t see
how we’ll manage,” Evan continues.

“Maybe Dumbledore thought the world was better off without Snape’s ugly face,” Barty chimes in.

Regulus’ mouth twitches. Evan looks fondly at his boyfriend. “The problem remains. We want rid
of Selwyn and are out of ideas.”

“Not entirely,” says Barty, sitting up on the bed. “We can always kill him.”

Evan frowns deeply. “We can’t kill him.” A pause. Then, “Can we?”

Regulus sits on his own bed, facing his friends. He runs a hand through his curls. “It’s risky. If we
get caught, it’s all for nothing and we’re the ones who are out. Besides, they could close the school
for an investigation. Also defeats the point.”

“Right,” Evan says.

Barty, however, rallies. “We make it look like an accident. They can’t investigate an accident! And
it is strange for a student to die, but not unheard of. There’s been a few Quidditch deaths, and at
least two magic malfunctions that have resulted in student casualties.”

Regulus stares at him, mildly impressed. “How do you know all this?”

Barty shrugs. “Well. We want rid of Selwyn, so I did some research.”

Evan sighs heavily, paces across the room again. He stops, shakes his head firmly. “We cannot kill
him. It’s too risky and do you both really want your first kill to be over a sleeping arrangement?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds a bit pathetic,” Barty admits.

“It’s for Dorcas,” Regulus mutters. “And for you.” He gestures between Barty and Evan with his
hand. “But perhaps murder is a little extreme.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Barty challenges him.

Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose, opens his mouth to speak when the door jingles. They have
time to attempt to look casual before it opens and the subject of their discussion walks into the
dorm. As per usual, he ignores the other three boys and goes straight to his bed. Regulus watches
him, racking his brains for something to pin on him that would get him expelled for good.

It’s hard, because Regulus’ plans always come to fruition when he’s getting payback. And yes, he
does have motivation to want to get rid of Selwyn, but he hasn’t actively hurt anyone Regulus cares
about. His inspiration is a little dry.

Selwyn goes about his routine, getting things out of his bag, and changing out of his clothes.
Regulus is only half-paying attention, his mind going through possibilities, when Selwyn turns
around abruptly and glances at all of them with a haughty look.

“I’m bringing someone over tonight,” he says. “Just so you know.”

Barty and Evan snicker, which makes Selwyn blush. Regulus rolls his eyes. He doesn’t care much,
because he’s meeting James in the Come and Go Room.

With a nod towards Barty and Evan, Regulus leaves the dorm. He’s got a couple of hours before
he’s due to meet James, but he’s still busy and can use the time. It’s not like he can hang with his
friends with Selwyn in the room, anyway.

First, Regulus checks on his Felix Felicis. Once he’s satisfied with the progress, he stops by the
library to pick up two books and takes them with him to a small classroom. It’s not the one where
he practices curses. This one isn’t even out of the way, because he’s not doing any illicit for once
and if anyone walks in Regulus will simply wave them off.

Christmas break is three weeks away, and Regulus knows what he wants to get James. He just has
to make it, so he spends the following two hours diligently working on it.

Later, he puts it all safely away and meets James in the Come and Go Room. It’s James’ turn to ask
the room for a place, and he picks the bathroom with the pools, which Regulus knows is one of
James’ ways of making it up to him for telling Dorcas about them.

He’s not complaining.

Regulus is enjoying soaking in a warm bubble bath with his boyfriend, discussing ideas for getting
someone expelled. Regulus painted it as a theorical exercise only, asking James the sort of things
he’s gotten away with in the castle to get a benchmark for what is allowed.

It is a surprising amount, which isn’t doing much to lift Regulus’ spirits. Getting rid of Selwyn is
going to be harder than he thought. They might have to resort to murder after all.

"You know what would be nice?" James asks Regulus as they both float in the huge pool.

"Hmm?"

"Music," James says. "I tried asking the room for a record player but it couldn't do it."

"Electricity," Regulus mutters lazily.

"I know. I have to ask the Prewetts how they did it," James says.

Regulus brings his feet down so he can look at James, curious. "Did what?"

"Oh, the record player in the Gryffindor Common room?"

Regulus gives his boyfriend a flat look that says I have never been to that common room.

"Right," James says, smiling. "There's a record player that works with magic. The Prewett twins
left it for us but we can only use it for parties. It's how we had music for Halloween. Remus has
been trying to figure out how they did it for ages, but hasn't managed it yet."

"Do you get to use it in your dorm?" Regulus asks, slightly jealous.

"No. We've agreed it would cause too many fights so it's locked away by the Gryffindor prefects
and can only be used collectively."

Regulus makes a face of disgust. Trust the fucking Gryffindors so be so stupidly noble. "You know
the Prewetts then?"
"Yeah, they come by the house sometimes. They know my parents," James says.

"What would you play, if you had a record player here now?" Regulus asks, going back to float on
his back.

"Simon and Garfunkel, obviously."

Regulus smiles up towards the ceiling, drifting across the warm water. He feels weightless, liquid.
So close to relaxed it's a little scary. But he embraces it, because he knows one day not too far in
the future he'll miss this. He'll wish he could do it again, just one more time.

The smile falls off his face. It's harder every day. How is he supposed to give this up? How is he
going to do it? When Regulus tries to think of just walking up to James and telling him it's over, he
feels like he's going to be sick. And yet, there's no choice is there? No other option. He'll have to
do it, when the time comes.

Terrifingly, Regulus doesn't know if he can.

“Reg?” James asks, swimming over to get closer to him.

"Hmm?" Regulus asks, allowing James to move him and bring him down against his body.

Running a finger over the curve of his shoulder, up his neck, James mutters. “You look like just
went very far away. And not in a good way.”

Regulus leans back against James’ chest, enjoying the way their wet and soapy skin glides. “Just
thinking.”

“About?”

Heartbreak. The war. Choices I have to make that will destroy the best thing I've ever known.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Regulus says instead, forcing a smirk to pull one corner of his lips
upwards even though James can’t see it. He can't think about the future when he's alone with
James. Can't risk him getting suspicious, asking questions Regulus doesn't know how to answer.

James shifts his position behind Regulus, sliding down just enough that he can run his teeth over
the same line he just traced with the tips of his fingers. Regulus shivers, lets his head fall sideways
to give James access to his neck, should he want it.

He wants it.

Water sloshes everywhere, spilling over the edge of the pool they’re in when James lifts Regulus
and turns him around. Regulus’ knees come to rest on each side of James’ and when he looks
down, he finds James’ hazel eyes almost black.

“Tell me,” James says, dipping forward to plant a kiss on Regulus’ chest. “Tell me what you were
thinking.”

This is a fantastic time for Regulus to ask James for what he wants. For sex. They already got off
together today, but that was a while ago and Regulus can and wants to go again. And he wants to
try. He does.

But he hesitates. For some reason he can’t name, he hesitates. What if James doesn’t want it? What
if he thinks it’s disgusting? What if he laughs at Regulus for having those thoughts?
 To Regulus, it feels like the last line. The last barrier to cross. And he wants to go there with James
more than anything, but now that he’s here, straddling his boyfriend in a bath, naked like the day
he was born, he’s afraid.

Time is ticking. But four months is a while. When you’re sixteen, it feels like a very long time. He
can afford to wait a little. To build up his courage. Perhaps James will ask him, if he’s patient.
Then, Regulus won’t have to find the words to say it. It feels impossible that he ever will. How
does one just… voice that sort of thing?

Regulus decides he likes what he has, so he’s not going to ask for more. Not today. He presses his
hips forwards and is rewarded with a grunt from James when their bodies meet. A wicked glint
crosses James’ eyes.

When Regulus tries to repeat the movement, James’ hands find his hips and keep him in place.
“Behave,” James says. Dark, and delicious. James doesn’t get like this often, but when he does
Regulus goes immediately entirely breathless. He likes it when James gets bossy. Don’t ask him
why. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care.

“Tell me,” James demands, fingers digging into Regulus’ body.

It feels as though Regulus is being struck by little sparks of lightning, touching down where James’
fingers meet his flesh and coursing through him, overwhelming his entire body. He lets out a groan
that would have made him embarrassed two months ago, but not now. Not when James is looking
at him with hooded eyes.

Regulus reaches down between them, hand submerging in the warm, bubbly water. “This,”
Regulus says, closing his fist around James. “I was thinking about this.”

James surges forward, capturing his mouth with his own. Regulus feels his eyes roll into his head
when James’ hand finds him, too, and thinks perhaps they’ll get stuck backwards from how good
he feels. And then there’s no more thinking for a while.

Chapter End Notes

Dorcas Matchmaker Meadowes is at it again! Honestly, so many people are invested

in the success of Wolfstar at this point that it's like a group project LOL

SIRIUS 'ONLY FOR THE BRAVE' BLACK - I LOVE HIM. He's making so much
progress. He's READY to go get what he wants. We stan a king who works on himself
and figures his shit out (he still has issues, I mean, he's a Black, but forward is a pace
and I'm cheering for him!)

Barty, Evan and Regulus casually discussing murder? HELP I LOVE THEM. They're
so unhinged LOL

Regulus getting sad in the pool :( Him hiding it from James? James believing Regulus
lies :( The man is so unaware, and it breaks my heart.

Next chapter on Tuesday :D

 Oh, brother
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

This chapter is heavy and sad :(

Please, read all the warnings!!

TWs
Brief mention of someone having food poisoning (but it's not on the page, we don't see
anyone being sick, it's just referenced)
Blood. A lot of blood.
Brief dissociation (it's not the POV character, but it's implied that someone has kind of
slipped away momentarily)
Mentions of an animal attack (this happened off page, we don't see the attack, but deal
with the aftermath)
Descriptions of wounds (some are quite graphic in the name of healing those wounds)
Descriptions of magical medical stuff that includes detail of the wounds being treated
Death (but then they're brought back with a succesful CPR style technique)
Discussion about sexuality that includes implied homophobia (as a thing that exists,
but no one is homophobic to anyone)
Smoking
Mentions and/or reference to past child abuse
Mentions and references to magical torture
Mentions and references to murder and/or intended murder
Mentions and references of the imperius curse (so someone's will is taken away)

I think that's it!

French translation in the end notes <3

I am a bit nervous about this chapter because it's so raw - hope you enjoy it!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus is patrolling alone. For someone who detests conversation and just people in general, this
is ideal. He didn’t know it was even allowed. Had assumed they always had to go in pairs should
anything happen. It turns out that when one of the prefects comes down with heavy food poisoning
a few hours before he’s due to report in for his shift, there’s no time to cover. So, instead of with
Lupin, Regulus is patrolling on his own.

Regulus and the Head Boy had, admittedly, looked a bit dumbfounded when Madame Pomfrey—
Poppy, James calls her—showed up to inform them that Lupin was in her ward and wouldn’t be fit
for patrol, but whatever.

He’s got a pretty shit shift, too. The one right before dawn, which nobody wants. Ever. It’s the first
time Regulus gets it and isn’t it fitting that Lupin happens to miss this one.

The silver lining is that not even the worst troublemakers of all are out of bed this late. Or this
early, depending on the type of person you are. Regulus has wandered aimlessly through the castle
for a couple of hours, enjoying himself. He smoked a cigarette on the bridge, watching the full
moon light a path over the lake. Listened to wolves howling in the distance and breathed in the
crisp air of the approaching winter.

Myrtle comes to keep him company for a while. It’s rather nice. She tells him all about Rowena
Ravenclaw, the founder of her house, and the stories that circulate amongst them. There’s some
sort of legend about her diadem, a myth that all Ravenclaws know in the same way all Slytherins
know about the Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin’s heir. It’s quite fascinating, Regulus has to
admit.

If the world was different, if he was anyone else, perhaps he’d try to find the diadem. Just to be the
one who managed it.

Eventually, Peeves comes and bullies Myrtle back to her toilet stall, even though Regulus does his
best to fend off the Poltergeist. He’s annoying, and relentless, and Myrtle gives in to her weeping
and floats away leaving Regulus alone.

Regulus has been paying attention to the ghosts of Hogwarts a lot more these days. He knows most
of them by name, courtesy of Myrtle, and knows a bit of gossip about them all. So far, none of it
has been particularly helpful, but Regulus stores the information in his head anyway. You never
know.

It’s the last day of November, which means the nights are long like a day without food, and the
days are short like a drunk night out. Not that Regulus has ever had one of those, mind you. But
he’s been told time goes all funny when you’re properly drunk, so. It is what it is. Days without
food he’s had plenty, so at least that one he can confirm with authority.

He’s coming to the end of his shift, which will leave him just enough time to go shower, get
dressed, and make it to breakfast to start his day. He stops near a window on the ground floor and
looks up through the large glass panes. The moon has just disappeared below the horizon, but there
are stars still twinkling above.

The corridor is empty. Dark. No one around to witness it, so Regulus allows himself a sigh as he
finds Sirius. He’s been wondering what Pandora meant about him and his cage for a while, but
Regulus won’t ask. He has gone out of his way to avoid his brother after the incident they had a
couple of weeks ago. It’s not worth the upset it causes James.

James, who out of nowhere—literally out of nowhere—stumbles into the corridor giving Regulus
the scare of his life. Regulus pivots on his heels, bringing a hand to his chest to calm the frantic
pumping of his lungs… and feels the ground fall from under his feet.

“Sirius?” the word punches out of him without his consent, but he can’t help it.

James looks up, finds Regulus. He sees the moment his boyfriend registers his presence in the
corridor, a mixture of panic and relief. “Reg?”

“What happened?” Regulus is moving. He hasn’t consciously decided on a course of action yet,
but he’s moving. He’s helping James, throwing one of Sirius’ limp arms over his shoulders and
sharing the load.

Sirius is unconscious. He’s also bleeding. Actually no. Bleeding is too mild. Sirius is shredded to
pieces. Torn to bits, flesh and muscle hanging from wounds that look like something with claws
used him as a sharpening tool. It’s grotesque. It’s also a fucking miracle Sirius is still alive.
Regulus’s gut makes a valiant attempt at crawling up his throat. With a shaky hand, Regulus brings
a finger under his brother’s nose and almost sags with relief when he feels him breathing. Weakly,
but breathing.

“James,” Regulus says sharply. “He’s barely alive. We need to get him to the infirmary.”

“No,” James replies, frantic. He’s so pale his skin has turned a dusty hue. He looks like he’s about
to keel over any moment. “We can’t go to the infirmary.”

“He’s dying!”

“No infirmary!” James pleads desperately. “Can you help him? Please?”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Okay. Regulus can do this. He can do this. He’ll interrogate James about it later, but he can do this.
“Fine,” Regulus grinds out. “But we can’t stay here.”

James’ mouth opens, then closes. His lips are trembling. It hits Regulus that James has no idea
what to do. Where to go. He’s barely here, so gripped with panic and fear for Sirius that his brain
has shut down. It’s up to Regulus to save his brother, and Regulus can only think of one place to
go.

The climb up to the Come and Go Room is tough. Sirius is heavy, because he’s been playing
Quidditch for years and swinging a bat at wild bludgers. And James is helping, but he’s shaking
badly and every now and then steps wrong and almost sends them all down to the floor.

Fuelled by sheer desperation, they make it upstairs. Regulus shifts Sirius’ weight onto James and
asks the Come and Go Room for an infirmary. He knows the room won’t provide them with food
or drink, so it’s likely it won’t give him medicine either, but Regulus just needs a clean space to
work.

“James, take Sirius inside,” he says. “I’m right behind you.”

James obeys, either because he trusts Regulus or because he’s a mindless automaton right now.
Doesn’t matter. He does, and then Regulus is waving his wand and summoning every potion he
can think of from his stash down in the dungeons. It’s a good thing the castle is deserted or he’d
have to answer some uncomfortable questions. Fortunately, nobody sees the bottles flying up.

The scene when he walks inside the room makes Regulus want to break down into hysterics. Just
freak the fuck out, because what else can he do when his brother is... Sirius is… and James? James
is a mess, too.

And that’s why Regulus doesn’t. He keeps it together through sheer force of will. Because if he
loses it, then Sirius will die. And Regulus cannot let that happen. He can’t. There’s no reason, no
thinking, no grander plan. All he knows as he approaches the bed where Sirius is sprawled is that
he needs Sirius to survive.

James is hovering by the bed. He’s weeping, trying and failing to get his wand, which keeps
clattering to the floor. Regulus pushes him back. Not roughly, but firmly. “Give me space.”

Sirius is hanging on by a thread. Regulus thought the day of the altercation with Snape had been
bad. He was wrong. This is bad. This is atrocious. “What the fuck did this to him?” Regulus asks,
unscrewing bottles as fast as he can.
“James?” he insists when he’s met with silence. “I need to know so I can save him. Are these
wounds infected with anything? Talk to me!”

A wet wheeze escapes Sirius’ lips. Gurgling from his torn throat. Then silence.

No. No, no, no, no.

“Sirius!” the cry wrenches out of Regulus with such force Regulus doesn’t understand how it
doesn’t punch a hole in the walls.

“James,” Regulus snarls. “Help me or he’s gone. Do you understand me? He’s gone.”

Shaking like a leaf in the wind, James approaches him and whispers. “What do I do?”

Regulus takes two of James’ fingers and plunges them inside Sirius’ throat—because it’s torn open
and this is something they can do, disgustingly and unfortunately—and holds them here, against a
main artery that was spraying blood everywhere.

“Keep them there to stop blood loss.”

James looks green, but he nods and doesn’t move even as Regulus lets go.

A deep breath is all the preparation Regulus allows himself before he starts chanting. Casting
spells that are complex and draining. The magic tugs, demanding his energy, his strength. It’s
unpleasant, and yet he perseveres. He doesn’t stop. Won’t stop. With one hand he bangs on Sirius’
chest, trying to force his heart to start beating again. With the other, he waves his wand. He chants,
and chants. Sweat runs down his back. His muscles cramp, because magic can take a toll and this
is advanced healing.

Regulus doesn’t relent until Sirius begins to breathe again, heart fluttering pathetically inside his
chest. His breath is so wet and weak Regulus knows he’s got minutes, if not less, to save his
brother.

The damage to Sirius’ body is too severe. Regulus doesn’t know where to start. But he has to start
somewhere. James slowing the blood loss from the main artery down will buy them seconds, no
more.

“Tell me what happened,” Regulus demands, opening a bottle of blood replenishing potion and
forcing it past Sirius’ chapped lips.

James makes a sound of fear and distress so profound it breaks Regulus’ heart. A heart that only
beats for him. The boy with the hand inside his best friend’s throat, trying to save his life. Regulus
knows there’s nothing James wouldn’t do for Sirius. So why the hesitation?

“It was hell hounds,” James says finally. “We were messing about in the forest and we were
attacked. A pack of hell hounds.”

In the Forbidden Forest? What where they doing there?

“You two are the stupidest motherfuckers I’ve ever met in my life.”

But this is good news, because hell hounds are aggressive, and have claws and teeth sharper than
knives, but they are mercifully not venomous. He can close wounds fast, without worrying about
cleaning. Sirius will probably get a fever, but that can be healed easily. Magic does have benefits.
Regulus forces a second blood replenishing potion down Sirius’ throat, then begins to
systematically knit the worst of the wounds together, starting with the one James’ hand is in.

“I’m going to close this,” he says. “But don’t move your hand until the last second. He’ll lose too
much blood.”

James makes a valiant effort at nodding which is more like an erratic bob of his head, but it works
for Regulus. He begins the spell, and James watches him intently.

“Now,” Regulus says. James’ hand flies out and Sirius’ wound closes.

There’s no time to waste. Because that was the worst of them, but Sirius is quite literally a mess. It
takes Regulus an entire hour of working non-stop to put his brother back together. He has James
hand him potions, and clean places where there’s blood and mud so he can’t see very well. He asks
James to turn Sirius on his front, and repeats the healing process across his back.

Sirius’ breathing evens out as the potions and spells combined work to connect broken tissue, repair
torn vessels and fuse back bones.

“Is he going to make it?” James asks Regulus when a bit of colour returns to Sirius’ cheeks.

“Yes,” Regulus replies. He sounds winded, because he feels it. “We’re not done, but he’s going to
make it.”

James proceeds to break down. He just crumbles. Falls to his knees and abandons any semblance of
pride or embarrassment. This is a man who thought he’d lost his brother, and he’s relieved, and not
afraid to show just how much. James weeps and thanks Regulus over and over again through soul
wrenching sobs. Regulus cannot comfort him, because he has to make sure all of Sirius’ wounds
are fine and that he didn’t miss anything internally.

Eventually, James recovers enough to be of help again, and he decides that since they had to strip
Sirius of all his clothes earlier, it’s a good idea to cast a warming charm to make sure he doesn’t
get hypothermia while Regulus heals him.

By the time Regulus finishes, he can barely stand. He steps back, away from the bed, and finds a
sofa somewhere to his right. Regulus stumbles to it and collapses.

He’s so fucking tired.

####

Here is a sight James never thought he’d get to see: both Black brothers, fast asleep in the same
room.

Sirius is naked, on the bed where James deposited him and Regulus proceeded to save his life in a
display of healing competence so impressive James thinks he should be made Head of St. Mungos
immediately. He looks whole now. Skin the correct colour, chest rising and falling steadily. His
hair is a mess, and he’s covered in streaks of dried blood and mud. But he’s whole, and there was a
moment when James didn’t know if that would even be possible, so James isn’t complaining.

Regulus is on the couch, passed out from sheer exhaustion. He too is covered in blood, which
really shouldn’t be sexy, but once again it is because James is obviously unwell and something in
his brain goes haywire where Regulus is concerned. His curls are plastered to his head, and there
are bruises under his eyes, the only outward signs that betray that saving Sirius wasn’t effortless.
Regulus did it anyway.
If it were up to him, James would let them both sleep all day. He can’t do that, because the full
moon happened on a Monday and that means it’s Tuesday and there’s class. Regulus will kill him if
he misses lessons.

James looks around at the room and decides there’s no harm in trying. “Do you think you can give
us some showers?”

It shouldn’t work, not with them inside the room, but it does. Magic, huh. One of the corners
moves. Transforms. And then there’s a row of elegant showers, and a myriad of soaps to choose
from. That is one problem solved.

Regulus is, fortunately, in his school uniform. Sirius isn’t, but even if he had been, his clothes have
been torn to shreds.

Shit.

James has to sit down for a moment as the memory of it assaults him. Moony was a bit restless
tonight, so they went into the forest. This shouldn’t have made a difference. They’ve been to the
forest so many times before, what was one more?

It was going well. Moony was fake-fighting with Padfoot, as they often do. Perhaps his howling
was a little more aggressive, his nipping a bit sharper. But it was all very much in hand. And then,
the hell hounds appeared and Moony lost it. Completely. Lost it to a degree they haven’t seen in
years. He was vicious, defending his territory and his pack with such violence the hell hounds
attacked without quarter.

Things got very blurry after that. They managed to force the hounds to retreat—James can’t
remember exactly how—and then they were running out of the forest, herding Moony back to the
Shack.

James thinks it was the leader of the pack. It was definitely the biggest. That one hound followed,
and lunged at the last minute, right at the border of the forest. Moony was its target, but Padfoot
tried to stop it. He just… jumped in. Cut the hound off, preventing it from getting to Moony.

It didn’t go down well.

The hound turned on him, and not even Prongs’ strength and sharp antlers and Moony’s vicious
attack could save Padfoot from the worst of it. Moony was hurt, too. By the time the hound gave
up, Padfoot was a heap on the ground.

Prongs had to make a choice. He hated doing it, but he knew that Poppy would show up to heal
Remus and Sirius… he couldn’t take Sirius to Poppy because they can’t be found out. And yet,
James recognises that if he hadn’t run into Regulus, he would have had no alternative.

Azkaban is better than the morgue. And he would have gone to prison with Sirius rather than let
him die.

James sighs, closes his eyes. He’s so fucking grateful and relieved that Regulus was there. Just.
Waiting, in the shadows. Like a dark, fallen angel coming to his rescue.

He opens his eyes. And finds Sirius staring at him. “Where are we? Why am I naked?” Sirius
pushes himself up, glances around. Finds Regulus. Blanches. “Reggie?”

Sirius stumbles off the bed and takes two clumsy steps towards his brother before James processes
what’s happening and says, “it’s not his blood. He’s fine. Just sleeping.”
And what a sight that is. Sleeping Regulus looks angelical. Just. Soft. All the meanness erased,
leaving behind just a boy so pretty it hurts to look at him. James is obsessed with it and needs to
find ways to convince Regulus to spend a night with him just so he can stare at him while he
sleeps.

He files this in his brain for later, when they’re not bloody and exhausted and still in shock because
Sirius almost died.

Fuck.

James moves by instinct. He crosses the space and pulls Sirius into a hug. Sirius doesn’t hesitate. It
doesn’t matter that he’s stark naked, or that James’ clothes are covered in blood. He lets James hug
him tightly, closing his arms around his friend, too.

“You and Reggie are covered in blood,” Sirius mutters into the crook of James’ neck. “And I’m
naked. What the fuck happened?”

“Hell hounds in the forest,” James whispers.

“Moony?”

“Had to leave him in the shack. Peter stayed to make sure he was alright until Poppy got there,”
James says.

“How bad?” Sirius asks him. James hesitates, and Sirius feels it. “Prongs. Tell me how bad it was
so I know how much Moony’s going to beat himself up over it.”

With a deep sigh, James gives in. “You kinda… it was really bad. Really bad, Pads. I just… There
was so much blood everywhere and you couldn’t breathe and I had to… my hand! Regulus put it
there and I didn’t…”

“Prongs,” Sirius says, hugging him tightly again. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You sort of died on that bed,” James whispers, voice breaking. “There was a moment when your
heart wasn’t beating. I can’t… I.” James buries his face in Sirius’ hair, ignoring the dirt and knots.

He weeps, and Sirius murmurs soothing words to him. Isn’t this stupid? It’s Sirius who should be
upset, but he isn’t. He never is when he gets hurt during a full moon. James is weaker. He wishes
he wasn’t, but he can’t help it. James will take anything, any pain, any injury to his own body. But
the sight of Sirius bleeding? That always gets to him. It always breaks him.

James cries for what feels like a long time. When he finally regains some semblance of control, he
pulls back a little to look at Sirius again. Reassure himself that he’s fine. He’s here. He made it.

“Why is Reggie here?” Sirius asks gently.

“Who the fuck do you think saved you?”

They’re startled apart. Regulus is standing up, glaring daggers at his brother. “You are naked,” he
says. “Do not touch my boyfriend while you are naked or I will cut off your hands. Understood?”

James thinks Sirius is going to fight back, because that’s what he always does. Except, apparently,
he’s shook by the news that Regulus saved his life again.

“Understood,” he says, and takes a tiny step away from James for good measure.
The two brothers seize each other. It doesn’t matter that one is filthy and the other is bare. They fill
the room with their presence, like the regal aristocrats they were raised to be. Regulus’ eyes are
narrowed, defiant.

Sirius dips his head. “I… ehm. Thank you. For this,” Sirius says, gesturing around them. “Also. I,”
he swallows thickly, “I am sorry for how I acted that time. I… well. I broke up with Adaline
because it turns out I…”

“You what?” Regulus asks, impatient, haughty.

“I’m gay,” Sirius says. He just blurts it out. Regulus’ eyes widen, huge and green and beautiful.
James loves how hopeful he looks for a brief second, before he puts his mask back on. “As in, I
like boys, too. Ehm. I’m working on it. I’ve been working on it. Since… yeah. Well, that.”

Regulus regards his brother for a long beat, and James prays to everything there is that he won’t be
mean about this. Because it has taken Sirius a lot of effort and courage to get this far, but a word
from Regulus could set him back immensely.

“Take another step away from my man,” Regulus says, like that’s all he cares about. Perhaps it is,
which is exactly the right thing to say to Sirius. “And put some damn clothes on.”

A bark-like laugh breaks from him, then Sirius is giggling like an idiot and Regulus is watching
him with mild disgust, but also a bit of relief. James sighs, deeply giddy about this turn of events.
Regulus takes out his pocket watch and eyes it warily.

“There are showers there,” James says. “I’ll fix your uniform for you.”

Regulus nods, like James knew he would. He’s fussy and dramatic, but also practical. He cannot
walk through the entire castle to the dungeons in this state without someone finding out what
happened. Regulus begins to strip. He drops his robes, then yanks his shirt over his head, exposing
his smooth back to them. James’ mouth waters. Regulus hands being to work on the button of his
pants, and Sirius yelps, his giggling cut abruptly.

“Not in front of James!”

Wrong reaction. Regulus looks at Sirius straight in the eye, then turns towards James and just…
lets his trousers drop to his ankles. Sirius wails dramatically. James has to exert gargantuan self-
control not to jump in the shower with his boyfriend.

Regulus rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics and finishes stripping before disappearing down the
row of showers. The sound of water running drowns out Sirius hysterics.

Fifteen minutes later they’re all showered and dressed. Regulus’ clothes were magically cleaned,
same as James’. Then, James’ uniform was magically duplicated and that’s what Sirius is wearing.
It’s a bit too long, because James is slightly taller, but Sirius fills it out more or less okay because
he’s a bit less bulky than James but not by much.

The only person who would be able to tell Sirius isn’t wearing his own clothes is Moony, but they
won’t see him until later today. That is one conversation James isn’t looking forward to. It’s not the
first time one of them gets hurt, but it’s never been quite so bad before and James can’t predict how
Remus will react. Well no. That’s a lie. He’ll be a mess for days. Possibly weeks.

James hopes Remus doesn’t decide to change his plans and stay home with his father for Christmas
after all. He is looking forward to having Remus at Potter Manor over the break.
Regulus heads for the door, giving James a little nod of goodbye. James smiles at him, then says,
“absolutely not.”

Two long strides bring him face to face with Regulus, who looks up with a questioning glance.
James kisses him. He doesn’t care Sirius is watching. Not after Regulus saved his life.

When they break apart, Regulus is a little breathless and rather flustered, which makes James feel
like he could fly. “Thank you,” he says, pressing his forehead against Regulus’. “Thank you for
saving him.”

“Yeah,” Sirius calls from behind, voice a little dry. “Thank you.”

Regulus stiffens, steps around James. “I did it for James. Do not make the mistake of thinking that I
wanted to save you for any reason other than my boyfriend wouldn’t have recovered if something
had happened to you.”

It’s a rather long sentence for someone who always talks in short bursts. Regulus is economical
with his words. And that’s how James knows Regulus is convincing himself more than Sirius. He
doesn’t say it. But James knows and that’s enough to send his hopes soaring.

Sirius and Regulus stare at each other defiantly. James hesitates, wondering if he should do
something. Say something. But Sirius beats him to it, surprising him yet again.

“Reggie...” Sirius says. He stops. Breathes. Grabs his chin with a hand and rubs it a little, like he’s
trying to coax the words out. “Tu crois qu'on pourrait parler? Il s'est passé tellement de choses... et
je... Est-ce qu'on pourrait se voir juste une fois ? Pour parler?”

James’ jaw hits the floor. Since when does Sirius speak French? What is this?

“Je n'ai rien à te dire,” Regulus replies. James doesn’t understand a word, but he knows the
temperature of Regulus’ voice. That was cold. Sharp.

Sirius smiles sadly. “Je sais. Mais moi j'ai quelque chose à te dire. Et j'espérais que tu m'écouterais,
ne serait-ce qu'une fois. Juste une fois.”

It’s funny, James thinks, how the language sounds elegant when Sirius speaks it, but absolutely
sinful when it’s Regulus. It’s like they’re speaking completely different tongues. Which James
knows they aren’t, but how do you explain that he’s now all hot and flustered and Regulus has only
said one sentence?

“D’accord,” Regulus says.

James isn’t sure what Regulus has just agreed to, but Sirius’ face lights up. He looks at his brother,
takes a tentative step forward. Regulus doesn’t immediately back away. This brings Sirius close to
tears. And isn’t it absolutely fucking tragic? A brother brought to his knees by the smallest of
gestures. Not even a gesture. Just the absence of outright rejection.

It’s unfair. It’s fucking bullshit, is what it is. Rage flares inside of James’ chest, hot and bright and
righteous. And with it, come the tendrils of darkness, curling around his heart and ready to
squeeze. The same darkness that Sirius says has teeth. The one that wants James to kill Walburga
for destroying Sirius. And Regulus. Because here they are, two brothers who love each other
despite the wounds and the blood, beyond the betrayal and the pain. They love each other and can’t
bring themselves to admit it. Not even when one of them just died for a second.

Walburga will pay for her crimes against her children one day. James prays it’s not by his hand,
because that will ruin him. For Sirius and Regulus, it might be worth it.

“We have to…” Sirius has switched back to English, and James realises it’s for his benefit. “We
have to fix this mess tonight. But tomorrow? In the Astronomy Tower?”

“If I get caught, I will push you off it,” Regulus threatens.

James, who is way more invested in whatever this is than he should be considering he has no idea
what the brothers are agreeing to, says, “I’ll escort you. I’ll come pick you up and walk you to the
Tower. Nobody will see us. I have an invisibility cloak.”

Sirius makes a sound of distress, but respects that the cloak is James’ and thus he can tell
whomever he likes about it. Regulus stares at him, wide-eyed.

“Have you been stalking me around the castle with it?” he asks, and sounds less horrified than
James thinks he should.

“No,” James replies. “I… when I need to find you, we have other ways. The cloak isn’t the only
secret we have, but it’s the only one that’s mine alone. I can’t tell you about the others.”

Regulus seems to accept this, for all his gives James is a little half shrug. Then, he’s turning the
doorknob. “Tomorrow, then.”

He stops. Comes to an independent decision and surprises James by stepping up to give him a
quick kiss.

With that, he’s out of the room for real. James is smiling, because Regulus kissed him, and Sirius
is rolling his eyes so hard he must have got a glimpse of his own brain.

***

Curtains are drawn. Silencing spells are placed and reinforced. The sentinels—aka Lily and Mary
—have been alerted and are in their posts. There’s some chocolate and Bertie Botts. Pillows
arranged and fluffed. All is set for the little war council in the marauder’s room.

“Alright,” James says somberly. Peter and Sirius are on the floor with him. They’re sat in a circle,
all three of them. “We need to get our story straight.”

“Moony doesn’t remember all of it, but he knows we ran into trouble. He remembers fighting
another animal and that Padfoot was hurt,” Peter informs them. He stayed behind that morning to
keep an eye on Moony because he’s the only one that can escape Poppy’s notice. One more rat in
the Shack is hardly worthy of attention. “He was incoherent, but he kept repeating something like
‘I hurt him’ and ‘I’m bad for him’ so I’m pretty sure he knows something’s up.”

“He’s also not an idiot,” Sirius says. “And he’ll be panicking because we haven’t gone to the
infirmary to see him today.”

Sirius threw a fit when James told him they were not going to visit Remus. He only relented when
James explained that if he wanted a chance to ever explore whether Remus saw him that way—
because James can’t tell Sirius he knows Remus already does, that would be disastrous—he had to
handle this situation carefully.

They know their Moony. He carries more guilt inside of him than any of them will ever know and
hates himself for his condition, even though it’s not his fault or even within his control. Which
brings them to this council.
“I don’t want to lie to him,” Sirius complains. “It’ll be worse if he finds out later.”

“If he discovers how badly you got hurt last night, he’ll never touch you again,” Peter says matter-
of-factly. “The guilt won’t let him.”

Sirius pales. The blood just drains from his face like this is the worst news he’s ever heard in his
life. Peter’s eyebrows fly up. “Oh? Have we realised it then?”

James chuckles, he can’t help it. Sirius stares at Peter. “Did everyone know but me?!”

“You’re about as subtle as the Giant Squid,” Peter informs him. “The only idiot who hasn’t noticed
is Remus himself.”

“I had a girlfriend!” Sirius insists, for some reason wanting to press the point.

Peter and James both snort. “Oh, please. If that wasn’t a desperate last attempt to convince yourself
that you were straight, I don’t know what is.”

Sirius flops backwards on the pillows arranged around them for this very purpose. Because Sirius
is a drama queen in this room and they know he will, at some point, flop.

From his position, facing the ceiling, Sirius says, “I can’t believe I ever thought I was straight. I
mean. Godric’s sword at the bottom of the lake. But I am an idiot!”

Peter laughs, but James kind of gets it. His experience was easier. Different. But he knows the
feeling because for the longest time he thought it was just girls, except then it wasn’t. And there’s
that moment. That revelation when you just… like a light goes on in your brain. When you know,
you know. There’s no going back.

“S’okay, mate. The important thing is that you got to terms with it.”

“Am I allowed to ask what… erhm… what you are?” Peter says. “I mean. That sounds horrible.
Merlin’s beard, I’m sorry. I just mean, are you gay? But you like girls, don’t you? It doesn’t
matter. But I’m curious… Oh, Godric, am I being horrible?”

Sirius pats his knee. “You’re not being horrible.”

“It’s called being bisexual,” James informs him. “Liking both men and women. There’s a
newsletter from New York about it.”

Sirius shoots up, blinks at him. “Wait, there are more of us?”

Peter and James both just. Stare. Peter facepalms. James, whose patience is infinite when it comes
to Sirius, gently asks, “Did you think you were the only one?”

“Obviously not,” Sirius says, indignant. “You are, too.” Then, sheepishly, “I may have thought it
was just us, though. Not sure why. Because like. Marlene and Dorcas are lesbians. Regulus is gay,
no?” James nods. As far as he knows, Regulus only likes boys. He’s never asked, because James
doesn’t care. And then, Sirius says, “And Remus is gay.”

Sirius blushes violently. Peter and James exchange an amused look.

“There are a lot of people of all sorts of sexualities,” James says. “I don’t know all the words for it.
But we are not the only ones. Whatever you think you are, there are others like you.”

It warms something inside of James’ chest, how comforted Sirius looks by this thought. He settles
into his pillow, chewing his lip, lost in thought. He’s not wearing his make up today, what with
dying and all there wasn’t time for it, and it makes him look a little softer. Younger.

They are so fucking young, James thinks. Too young to have touched death with the pads of their
fingers. Sirius is only eighteen. The rest of them seventeen. Fuck. His boyfriend is six—

“Sirius, when is Regulus’ birthday?” James asks.

“25th of May,” Sirius replies automatically. He doesn’t even have to think about it. “Why?”

James relaxes. He hasn’t missed it and has plenty of time to think of a present. He already has the
perfect one for Christmas. Pandora, graciously, has agreed to helping him in secret. All is under
control.

“Just wondering,” James says. Peter stares at him, eyebrows furrowing. James remembers, too late,
that Peter doesn’t know. “Anyway. Back to the—”

“Regulus?” Peter asks, jaw falling open. “Are you for real? You… When you said. When you
drank in that game. REGULUS?”

James groans and drops his face in his hands. Peter turns to Sirius. “That’s why you had a proper
panic about it!”

“We’re way off topic,” James says, trying to bring the situation back under control. If Regulus
discovers Peter now knows, too, he’ll chop James’ balls off. “Remus. We need to agree what to do
about Remus.”

Peter climbs to his knees, shaking his head. “Why? How? I mean. Does Remus know too?”

The door opens behind them. “Does Remus know what?” he asks, staring at them suspiciously.
Lily and Mary are right behind him, panting and looking apologetic.

This is a disaster. James takes a page out of Sirius’ book and flops backwards onto the pillows. He
doesn’t like the way today is going. He’d like to get off the ride, please. Try again tomorrow. But
he can’t. He has to help clean up this mess with his friends. With a groan, he pushes himself back
up.

“Thanks girls,” he says, dismissing them.

“Thanks for nothing,” Sirius mutters under his breath.

“Moony,” James says, gesturing to the empty spot on the pillows. “We were waiting for you.”

Remus sits down with a grimace. He’s still hurting, and James feels a little guilty about it because
he did impale him with one of his antlers.

“What do I know?” Remus asks again, calmly.

Peter’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets. “Well, that apparently James is shagging Regulus
Black!”

Remus blinks once. Twice. Sirius is back to dramatic backwards flopping. James just sighs. He’s so
tired.

“Yes. I did know. You can’t tell anyone, Pete,” Remus says sternly. “Not even Olive. Do you
understand?”

Indignant, Peter lifts his chin. “I’m the best at keeping secrets here. No one will know. Not from
me. But James is absolutely fucking useless.”

“Am not!”

“Are, too!”

“Well, can you blame me for wanting to talk about my boyfriend? I’ve done very well
considering.”

“Your boyfriend?” Peter exclaims. “Oh, wow. It’s serious then?”

Remus claps a hand over Peter’s mouth, but it’s too late. Rising from his pillows like he’s been
summoned, Sirius deadpans, “No. I’m Sirius!”

There’s a chorus of groans, but James rallies quickly. He’s been waiting for this. For a day when he
can talk freely about how amazing Regulus is. “Well. Yes, Peter. He’s my boyfriend, and it’s
brilliant and—”

Sirius throws a Bertie Bott at James’ face. “Focus. Stop thinking about Reggie. It makes me want
to die again.”

Remus’ eyes flicker to Sirius, so he sees the moment he realises what he’s said. Sees the panic, and
guilt, and the attempt at covering it all up that fails spectacularly. Peter looks pained, like he’s
about to be sick. James thinks he will be sick. Jury’s still out.

“Again?” Remus asks.

“An exaggeration,” James says smoothly. “You know Pads. Dramatic as fuck at all times.”

“James,” Remus says with such sharpness all three boys snap to attention, like this is a teacher and
not their friend. “What the fuck happened last night?”

The three of them exchange glances. They’re trapped. No way out but through. Sirius shakes his
head almost imperceptibly, but James knows Remus won’t let it go. The longer they drag it out the
worse it’ll be.

James tells him.

He tells him everything.

When he’s done, Remus stands and leaves the room. They all know better than to follow.

####

Interlude: Sirius POV

This is a bad idea. He’s just… it’s a bad idea.

Sirius should have told James to tell Regulus to postpone this. But he’s afraid. He’s afraid this is
the one opportunity he gets and if he blows it because he’s panicking about Remus… Sirius is
certain his brother won’t give him another chance.
So he didn’t tell James to postpone, and now he’s here on the Astronomy Tower watching Regulus
and James move on the map. They’ll be here soon.

Sirius’ eyes drag over the parchment and snag on the label ‘Remus Lupin’ without his permission,
much like they were doing on the boy himself for months and months before Sirius figured the shit
out of what his confusion was about.

It’s kind of fitting, at least to the theme of his fucked up life in general, that things would go this
utterly, horribly wrong when Sirius finally figures out that he wasn’t having intrusive thoughts
(honestly, don’t bring it up. He’s ashamed of himself. How fucking embarrassing).

In hindsight, it’s kind of obvious that he was, and still is, crushing on his friend. Hard. Like, full
on.

Remus is beautiful isn’t a thing people who aren’t having romantic feelings for Remus think. Sirius
understands this now and is proud to have pushed back the voice in his head that tells him it’s
wrong. Impure.

The voice that sounds a lot like his mother’s.

Shivering, Sirius shakes his head as though to get rid of that thought. The fact that it was Regulus,
of all people, the one to call him out on his own bullshit and subsequently cause him to realise the
depth of his stupidity is… startling. Sirius spent so much time protecting his little brother he never
stopped to think that perhaps his little brother could hold his own, too. And he has. Better than
Sirius.

He’s still in that house—James told him—and despite that, Regulus had a lot less trouble letting go
of Walburga’s prejudices than Sirius, the runaway, did. And if that doesn’t prove Regulus is strong
as fuck then what does? Sirius is fucking proud of his baby brother.

The thought makes him choke up a little, and he has to take a deep breath to bring himself back
under control.

It doesn’t erase everything else. The betrayal. The times Regulus hid behind Sirius and did nothing
to fight back. The way he walks around the school with the rest of the Slytherins, like he’s okay
with having been sorted there.

The truth is that Sirius isn’t sure they can fix things between them. Darkness still clings to Sirius,
and he doesn’t need anyone to tell him that it clings to Regulus too. Sirius doesn’t know whether
Regulus fights back like he does, pushing against the teeth that want to bite more of his soul.
Perhaps he does. Most likely he doesn’t. And what does that mean? Where does that leave them?

Sirius thought he’d come to terms with the loss of his brother. Apparently not, because he woke up
and saw him covered in blood and for a terrifying moment, Sirius thought Reggie was gone for
good and it broke something inside of him. It wasn’t until James explained that Sirius’ spirit
stitched itself back together, because Reggie was okay. He was fine. Alive.

That means something, Sirius knows. And so he’s here tonight, waiting. Unsure whether anything
will come of it. But he wants to try. Because someone who makes James that happy can’t be all
bad. Someone who embraces who he is and goes for it with such bravery can’t be all bad.

He’ll be here, soon. And Sirius will say his piece and hope Regulus says something back.

Remus though. That’s another thing. A harder thing. Because Remus hasn’t come back to their
room yet. He slept in the infirmary, telling Poppy he was still feeling weak. It won’t work tonight,
Sirius knows, but Remus is in his reading nook in the common room and hasn’t moved from it for
hours.

Smoke fills his lungs as he takes a drag of his cigarette. Sirius hates that Remus feels this way. He
shouldn’t. There’s no blame to be allocated. No guilt for anyone to carry. They do reckless shit
every full moon. Highly illegal reckless shit. So what if Sirius was hurt? He recovered, and he’d
get hurt a hundred times more if it meant protecting Moony. Making the full moons easier for him.

But Remus? He’ll punish himself. And unfortunately for Sirius, that punishment currently means
Moony won’t go within touching distance of him. Peter was right.

How is Sirius supposed to win Remus over if he won’t even look him in the eye? It’s maddening.
Sirius wants to flirt with Remus and see what happens. Wants to touch him and see if he reacts.
Wants to catch his eye and see if he can make Remus blush. Sirius wants. And wants. And it’s
Remus. All he wants is Remus. But he can’t have, and it’s honestly fucking appalling.

“Sirius,” James calls him from the door. He turns, and finds James and Regulus standing side by
side, the cloak hanging from James’ hand.

Sirius nods. Regulus looks at James, and James says something to him that makes his expression
soften a little. It’s really not the same, because there’s nothing brotherly in the way Regulus looks
at James, but the softening of his features reminds Sirius of when Regulus was small and clung to
his shirt everywhere he went.

James gives Regulus a quick kiss, and Sirius doesn’t even twitch. He still doesn’t like thinking
about his brother as a person who has… erhm… urges. But he’s also not an idiot. And it seems to
him that what James and Regulus have is solid. Real, as far as he can tell. So, he’ll only be
hysterical about it when it gets him attention.

“I’ll keep watch at the bottom of the stairs,” James tells them. Then, he’s out of view.

Regulus approaches the railing a little cautiously. Takes a cigarette out of a packet identical to
Sirius’, who is surprised to discover Regulus must know about the pub in Hogsmeade, and lights it.
Sirius follows his lead, lighting a new one for himself.

They smoke in silence, shoulder to shoulder. Sirius knows he has to say something. Regulus came
here to listen, and the little shit will not say a word if it kills him. He’ll wait it out for Sirius.
Entitled younger brother, thinking he’s got all the time in the world.

But where does Sirius start? What does he say?

Sirius wants to ask him why he stayed. But he doesn’t want to hear the reason. Sirius wants to say
he’s sorry for failing to bring Regulus with him. But he’s not sorry he left.

“You didn’t tell James you spoke French,” Regulus says. It’s a fact, not a question. But Sirius
answers anyway because he was panicking about how to start and Regulus is throwing him a bone,
despite everything. Like he knows time is finite, and this is their one chance to build some sort of
bridge between them, no matter how flimsy.

Once again, Regulus proves he’s stronger than Sirius. And Sirius is proud, despite himself.

“I haven’t spoken a word of French in two years,” Sirius admits. “And before that, I only spoke it
with you. It just didn’t come up, I guess.”
Regulus hums. Takes another drag of his cigarette. Sirius sighs, braces his forearms on the metal
railing. It’s cold, and bites against his skin, but Sirius barely feels it. He digs in, lets the biting iron
clear his head.

“I had no choice,” Sirius says. It’s as good a place to start as any. “They were going to kill me.”

“I know.” Regulus doesn’t look at him, eyes trained on the shadows drifting into the horizon.

“I would have died that night.”

“I know.”

“I had to leave,” Sirius says.

Regulus doesn’t even flinch. “I know.”

Sirius’ throat is thickening and fuck. He doesn’t want to cry. Regulus gets all awkward when
someone cries. Sirius knows. There was that one time Cissy fell down the stairs and began wailing
and Regulus looked so horrified Sirius had to comfort him before he went to their cousin.

But there’s so much. Too much. Sirius doesn’t know what he knows anymore. What he thinks.
Regulus is like his family. Regulus isn’t like his family. Sirius hates his brother. Sirius still loves
his brother.

It’s all jumbled, a mess of emotions he can’t parse, and it’s choking him. Because he shouldn’t
need to be here, doing this. They should have just been. Brothers. Together. Growing up the way
other people do. In a house that was a home and not asphyxiated by fear and evil. It’s not fair.

“I wanted you to come with me.”

Regulus doesn’t react to the affected tone of Sirius’ voice. He’s neutral, calm, when he replies, “I
remember.”

“You said no,” Sirius says, and his voice cracks.

He grinds his teeth, clenching his jaw so hard it aches. Blinks fast, pushing tears back. He won’t
cry. Not over this. He flicks away the butt of his cigarette.

Here it is. The moment it all went wrong for them. Because they had one chance, and Regulus blew
it. Sirius should just accept it. He chose them over his brother. It is what it is. Why then, is Sirius
here? What is he trying to achieve? He doesn’t know.

Sirius just…

He doesn’t know.

“I said no. And you hate me for it,” Regulus says simply. “Did you ask me here to tell me shit I
already knew?”

Sirius turns to look at his brother, clinging to the righteous anger bubbling inside of him. This is
easier, he thinks. To be angry at Regulus. They’re brothers. They know how to quarrel and the
Astronomy Tower is as good a place as any for them to hash it out.

“Oh fuck off, Reggie,” Sirius says sharply. “Why did you stay? If you were… you are gay, for
crying out loud. Why did you stay with a family that is never going to be okay with that?”
Regulus turns, too. He looks at him, eye to eye. They’re almost the same height. Silver grey and
green eyes. Same pale skin. Black hair, fucking glorious on the both of them. Regulus’ is shorter,
curlier. Still. There’s no doubt they’re brothers.

“I came to listen only,” he says, taking a step away.

“Over my dead body are you leaving here without answering me!”

“Fuck off, genuinely,” Regulus says.

Sirius moves without thinking. He’s fast. So fast Regulus sees him coming but doesn’t move out of
the way in time. And then they’re kind off... rolling on the floor together. Just. They are. There are
no punches thrown, but they’re kind of wrestling. Like their bodies are talking because their mouths
can’t.

They learnt to communicate without words when they were little. A touch. A look. The twitch of
an eyebrow. It was the only way to escape Walburga’s notice, the only way to stay connected
when their parents were doing everything possible to tear them apart.

It seems that their bodies remember there are ways to talk that don’t need words, and so here they
are, grabbing and pulling. Anything and everything except letting go.

Sirius doesn’t hurt Regulus. Regulus doesn’t hurt Sirius. They brawl, but it’s… fake. Mostly.
There’s an elbow in ribs, and a tug of hair. Angry snarling and shoving. But neither brings out his
wand. Neither draws blood, though they could. They just roll around, all over the Astronomy
Tower, grunting and cussing the other out.

It goes on for long enough that Sirius is winded when they fall apart, panting and sweating.
Regulus looks appalled, like he honest to Merlin cannot believe he just did that, but he’s still here.
Sirius will take the win.

“Why did you stay?” Sirius wheezes out, sprawled on the floor of the Astronomy Tower. “I would
have looked after you. Fuck. If it was James you wanted, you would have had him sooner.” Sirius
lets out a dry laugh, bitter. Brittle like the bones in his ribs, his leg, his arm. All broken when he
made it to James’ house. “He would have taken you in, too.”

Regulus sits up, looks down at Sirius with absolute disdain. “You’re a fucking idiot, Sirius.”
Panting, Regulus gets to his feet. Sirius scrambles to get up, too.

“Why?”

He doesn’t think Regulus is going to answer, because he’s almost at the door. His hand closes over
the knob.

And Sirius can’t let him. He can’t let him go. Not again. Not when he’s so close.

“Tu me manques, Reggie,” Sirius says, admitting defeat. Taking one for the team.

Because one of them has to break, and it’s never going to be Regulus. So, Sirius accepts the
humiliation. Bows his head. And hopes his brother reaches for the lifeline he’s throwing him.

Regulus’ hand hovers over the doorknob. Falls to his side. Regulus turns slowly.

####
When Regulus thinks of the end, of what he has to do, he realises there’ll be regret. A lot of it.
Some of that he can’t change. But in the time he’s got left, there is perhaps room for a little bit of
selfishness.

That’s why he’s here. In the Tower. Because he watched his brother die on a bed in the Come and
Go Room, and it was just a split second, but Regulus felt the void he’d carry around for the rest of
his days and wanted to die, too.

Because perhaps talking to Sirius like this, at night and alone, is a mistake, but Regulus wants to
make it. Like James. A mistake he doesn’t regret and will keep repeating until the last possible
moment. He’ll take just a little bit of Sirius, too. His brother. He’ll have him here and now for as
long as they’re facing each other.

When the time comes, and Regulus lets James go, it’ll hurt less knowing that they’ll have each
other. Sirius will help James get over Regulus leaving the same way James helped Sirius get over
Regulus staying. It was always meant to be this way.

Sirius doesn’t know it because he’s a hot-headed idiot, but the breaking of their world didn’t
happen the day Sirius ran away. It happened earlier, much earlier. Regulus knew it from the first
letter that arrived, the excited scrawl of Sirius’ normally perfect handwriting.

The breaking of the Black brothers started the day Sirius met James. And Regulus can’t even fault
Sirius for it, because in what universe would Sirius have chosen Regulus over James? James, who
is the fucking sun made person, come to banish the shadows creeping around the corners of Sirius’
mind. Regulus never stood a chance.

“What do you want?” Regulus asks sharply.

“I want to know,” Sirius says simply. “I want to understand.”

For a moment, Regulus is tempted. What if he just told Sirius the truth?

She knew. She knew you were going to try to run. And she said you wouldn’t leave me behind. She
got to me first, made sure I couldn’t go with you. She thought she’d made sure you couldn’t go,
either.

But the truth doesn’t set you free. It shackles you to people, bridges chasms that are safer left
uncrossed. Sirius needs to stay away from Regulus. Regulus needs him to. Because Sirius will have
to comfort James when the time comes, and if he’s blaming himself over Regulus’ choices he
won’t be able to.

So, Regulus tells himself it’s for James’ sake and not his own, that he lies again.

“It doesn’t matter why I said no,” he tells Sirius. “All that matters is that I did.”

“To me, it does,” Sirius insists. “Why Reggie?”

What good will it do Sirius to know the reasons? None. It’ll break him. Because for as long as he’s
been alive, there’s been one fundamental, universal truth between them that has never wavered:
Sirius protects Regulus.

It was a constant for so long that Regulus took it for granted.

So solid was this truth, that on the night it all broke apart, Regulus knew Sirius would stay. The
moment his mother left him alone in that room to wait for his older brother, Regulus knew.
Walburga had seen Sirius’ heart and set the perfect trap.

And so Regulus understood, truly, deeply understood for the first time, what Sirius felt every time
he took a punishment for him. Saw the depths of the love his brother had shown him. Blood on the
carpet, split skin, broken bones.

Sirius loved Regulus more than his own body. More than his own mind. Sirius loved Regulus
beyond his own survival instinct. And Regulus had never repaid that. Never had a chance to. Until
suddenly, he did.

That night, the last night in Grimmauld Place, Regulus understood and accepted, the way a man
walking to the gallows understands and accepts his fate, that he couldn’t let Sirius stay. He’d
decided, alone in the room as he waited for his brother, to be the saviour for once in his life. To
take the pain to spare Sirius, just this time. The one that truly mattered.

This night, in the Astronomy Tower, Regulus makes the same choice again. They might not be the
same they were, but Regulus hasn’t forgotten all Sirius ever did for him. So, he swallows back the
bitter taste of betrayal—because Sirius still left and it hurts—and decides to bite the bullet one
more time. To absorb the pain so his brother doesn’t have to.

“I wanted to stay,” he lies, glare sharp like the edge of a knife. Regulus lifts his chin, daring his
brother to argue again. To challenge him.

“Why are you like this?” Sirius asks, frustrated. “Honestly, Reggie. Why the fuck did you even
come to the Tower, then?”

To see you. To be near you.

“You said you had something to tell me,” Regulus replies petulantly. “So far, all you’ve done is
ask stupid questions.”

“You think it’s stupid that I want to know why you stayed with her? Why you let me go alone? I
begged you, Reggie. I would have brought you with me. We could have been free!”

You fool. You fantasist.

I would have killed you. Out there in our back garden, under the shadow of the Black Manor. I
would have killed you and then walked back inside like it was nothing.

You were too late. She got to me first.

I stayed to save your life.

Regulus tells himself that it’s okay to keep the truths that hurt inside. He can deal with the pain,
absorb it so it doesn’t touch Sirius. It’s better that he hates him. Easier. The truth would break
Sirius and what was the point of it then?

But Sirius is looking at him with such despair in his eyes, such longing and hurt, that it’s hard not
to waver a little. Despite himself, Regulus finds that he wants to give Sirius something.

“Only one of us could make it out,” Regulus says calmly.

Sirius flinches with his entire body. “What does that mean?”

“It means only one of us could make it out.”

They stare at each other, matching wills. Regulus can tell Sirius isn’t satisfied. He wants to know.
And Regulus will not tell him. It’s better this way. It’ll keep Sirius whole. It’ll keep Sirius sharp.

Because Sirius thrives in the knowledge that he broke free from the Blacks and Regulus doesn’t
want to know what would happen if he found out Regulus made it possible. That he didn’t escape,
but that he was broken out.

Running a hand through his hair, Sirius lets that one go and asks, “Did you want to leave? If you
could have, I mean.”

Yes. With you.

I would have walked to the end of the Earth with you because you were my brother and I loved you.

I loved you enough to take your place.

“Not really,” Regulus drawls, tilting his head to the side slightly to give Sirius a haughty look.
“You were the one always messing things up. I’ve been fine on my own.”

Sirius holds his gaze for a long time, silence stretching like tentacles between them. So many lies.
So many secrets. So much pain between two people who once swore to always fight for the other.
Broken promises were never supposed to pile up around them, and yet here they are.

“I don’t believe you,” Sirius tells him, eyes defiant.

“That’s your problem,” Regulus says, shrugging. “You left. I stayed behind. That’s all there is to
it.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Sirius says bitterly.

“It is. I hate your for leaving. You hate me for staying. End of the story.”

Worst of all, Regulus thinks, is that I hate you because I can’t really hate you at all. But it is this
way. We’re messes of men, shattered pieces that don’t fit together no matter how hard we try.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Regulus looks away, past the railing. He stares into the night, cold and dark. The stars above them
blink.

“Cigarette?” Sirius asks Regulus.

He nods quietly, and they both shuffle forward until they’re close to the balustrade and can sit with
their legs dangling. Side by side. Shoulder to shoulder, the same way they started. Like they’re
coming full circle, except Sirius asked questions Regulus couldn’t answer so they’ve really gotten
nowhere at all.

They sit. They smoke. And Regulus thinks. He thinks all the things he wishes he could tell Sirius.

This is what Regulus thinks. What he wishes he could say.

There was a time when you were the only safe place I knew. These days, I don’t know how to look
at you without feeling like I’m breaking.

So I don’t want to spend another minute fighting you as you try to unravel truths that’ll get us
nowhere. My time is running out and I don’t want to waste it. We can’t fix this. We can’t change
the past.

It happened, and it hurt us. We broke and rebuilt. We did it apart. Alone. And now this is how
things are.

The world is cruel and cold and it’s laughing in our faces. It’s all too little, too late. I’m set in my
plan. I’ve chosen my fate.

You can’t stop me. I don’t want you to.

I wish it wasn’t so. I wish I didn’t know how this goes. But I do. And you don’t. And I’m not going
to tell you because despite everything, or maybe because of it, you’re my brother. The only one I
have.

You were always the one who walked behind me and picked me up when I fell. The shield and the
sword. You fought our battles so I didn’t have to. You loved me and it almost killed you.

So, this time, brother, it’ll be the other way around. I’ll keep the secret. Keep the pain. The bones
and the blood and the cold. And I’ll get revenge, on you, for you. For us. For the brothers we
could have been. For the brothers we’ll never be.

You don’t know it, but I love you.

I love you, brother, and that’s what’s going to kill me.

Instead, what he says, is: “This changes nothing.”

“Reggie…”

“No, Sirius,” Regulus says, climbing to his feet. “To me, you’re James’ best friend. No more, no
less. I suggest you act accordingly.”

Sirius hurries to his feet too. “I would hang out with James’ boyfriend,” he says firmly. “Like we
hang out with Dorcas because she’s with Marlene.”

Regulus looks over his shoulder, already at the door, prying it open. “If the situation arises, I won’t
stop it.”

James must have heard the door open, because he’s cautiously walking up the stairs. Regulus
meets him half way, not looking back again. He doesn’t dare, because he’s certain that was a little
hope in Sirius’ face and it’ll hurt Regulus to witness it.

The stairs creak under James’ feet as he waits for Regulus, betraying he’s nervous. Shifting his
weight back and forth. Regulus gives James a little nod, and he looks over Regulus’ head to where
Regulus assumes Sirius is.

Whatever James sees makes him sigh a happy sound, and just for that Regulus is a little bit proud
that he did this. If not for himself, then at least for James.

Together, they duck under the invisibility cloak and walk back to the Slytherin dorms. Regulus
would like to take James to the Come and Go Room, but they agreed beforehand that they weren’t
going to do that tonight. They’re learning to be careful with this thing between them, and James
pointed out Regulus might not be in the best headspace after talking to Sirius.

He’s currently regretting it, but deep down Regulus knows that he’ll be grateful to James for
 protecting Regulus from himself. Now, if only James was half as good at looking after his own
wellbeing… well. That would certainly be something, wouldn’t it?

Chapter End Notes

French translations:

“Reggie...” Sirius says. He stops. Breathes. Grabs his chin with a hand and rubs it a
little, like he’s trying to coax the words out. “"Do you think we could talk? So much
has happened... and I... Would you meet me just once? To talk?"”

James’ jaw hits the floor. Since when does Sirius speak French? What is this?

“I have nothing to say to you,” Regulus replies. James doesn’t understand a word, but
he knows the temperature of Regulus’ voice. That was cold. Sharp.

Sirius smiles sadly. “I know. But I do. And I was hoping you'd listen to me. Just this
once. Just the once.”

***

In the Tower, Sirius tells Regulus "I miss you" to stop him from leaving.

***

OMG THE BLACK BROTHERS IN THIS CHAPTER HURT ME SO MUCH I AM

UNWELL :( How are you all doing? Are we okay? (no we are not, but are we?)

Thank you for reading and commenting <3

 Would you rather...?
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE THAT LEFT A COMMENT IN THE PREVIOUS

CHAPTER - MEANT THE WORLD TO ME :)

After all that angst, we get... more angst LOL Sorry :) But then we get actual fun and
cuteness :D

TWs
References to bullying / prejudiced people (very general, just someone thinking about
it)
Discussions of the upcoming war (also quite general, nothing specific)
References to abusive household / childhood
Underage drinking
Sex (people talk / joke about it and people have sex in this chapter)
References to past animal attack (Sirius' situation in previous chapter is referenced)
Smoking
Some minor anxiety (very minor)
There's a little blood but it's honestly incredibly minor, just a little accident and it gets
one (1) sentence

I think that's it!! Let me know what you think - i love to hang out in the comments
section with you <3

Happy Friday!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Interlude: Dorcas POV

Dorcas has made sure to be fussy about Regulus failing to tell her he’s dating James Potter for
about a week. It’s enough. She misses her best friend and is ready to let this petty game go. That’s
why she’s waiting for him in the common room. That, and Blair is shooting her disgusted glances
every few minutes which doesn’t make for a very cosy dorm. Blair doesn’t dare say anything,
because her hair is still multicoloured, but the looks convey her thoughts well enough.

Dorcas wishes she could just swap houses. Sure, she never before thought anything about being a
Slytherin—she’s fine where she is, and she met Regulus and Barty and Evan. But. There’s always
a but, isn’t there? Gryffindors are just lest fucking prejudiced and, to Dorcas, that’s good enough
reason to want to be one. Not that she’s particularly hot-headed or ready to jump into a fight any
moment. But she’s loyal to her friends. She’d do anything for Regulus. Can’t she just be re-sorted?
For the rest of this year? Then, she could share a dorm with Marlene every night without it being a
game of chicken with teachers and prefects and other Slytherins who might catch on and tell on
her.
It's a nice thought.

It's past midnight, and she’s begun to droop a little when finally the entrance to their common room
parts and Regulus walks inside. He’s very much not drooping despite the late hour. He’s graceful,
slipping inside Slytherin territory like a black cat. There’s a bit of sadness clinging to him, blurring
his edges as he crosses the space looking for all the world as though the night ought to be scared of
him and not the other way around like a normal person.

“Dorcas?” Regulus asks, cocking an eyebrow when he finds her on the sofa in front of the
fireplace.

“Hi Reg,” she says, smiling at him then gesturing to the space right next to her.

“You’re done throwing a tantrum, then?” Regulus asks petulantly, but he’s crossing the space
towards her already, like she knew he would.

Dorcas snorts. “Just had to make you sweat a little.”

“You were being childish,” Regulus replies primly, sitting down on the sofa next to her. “Why are
you here? Blair?”

Ah. This is why Dorcas loves Regulus; he’s unfailingly protective. Fierce, even. She’s never going
to be able to repay him for putting a stop to the slurs from her dormmates, or for immediately
thinking of her when Selwyn was suspended. He goes about in a very particular, slightly unhinged
and dangerous way, but Regulus has never not gone above and beyond to make sure Dorcas is
alright. How can she not love him?

“She hasn’t said a word,” Dorcas replies, waving a hand to dismiss the topic. “I was waiting for
you.”

“Ah.”

“You said you didn’t know how to tell me about James,” Dorcas tries. Regulus tenses next to her,
but he doesn’t interrupt so she continues. “I know you’re mildly allergic to emotions, so I can see
how talking about them would be difficult. But Regulus. I’m… well, I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Regulus replies stiffly.

“To me, you’re my best friend,” Dorcas informs him. “Just thought I should tell you that. So,
there’s no confusion.”

A small muscle twitches on Regulus’ jaw. He nods, swallows. That, for now, is enough of a
confirmation for Dorcas that he thinks of her as his best friend too. It warms her heart.

“Does anyone other than Sirius know?” Dorcas asks him.

Regulus sighs like he’s being punished for his sins. Closing his eyes, he reclines his head back on
the sofa and speaks towards the ceiling. “Lupin found out, too. James has never met subtlety,
apparently.”

Dorcas has to snort at that. “He’s gone for you, you know? It’s all over his face whenever someone
says your name.”

The corners of Regulus’ mouth twist with the effort it takes him not to smile. It makes something
warm and sweet spill inside Dorcas’ chest. Despite knowing him for years and being as close as
one can be to Regulus Black, she’s seen him smile so rarely she could probably count the times
with her fingers.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Dorcas says. “But if you did want to talk about it, I’m here. It’s…
well. I like talking about Marlene, as you know. It’s quite nice to discuss the person you’re with.”

“I… wouldn’t mind telling you about James,” Regulus admits. “I don’t know how. “

Dorcas shifts her weight on the sofa, making herself comfortable. “I’ll ask questions, you can
answer them or not. Alright?”

Regulus nods, still facing the ceiling. And so it begins. Dorcas asks, and Regulus answers any way
he can. She discovers they talked for weeks before anything happened. Learns that James kissed
him when he lost it about the Hogsmeade pub thing with Lily. She’s surprised to hear that James
told Sirius straight away, but not that he came back to Regulus. Dorcas reminds Regulus every
chance she gets that she can see that James is absolutely head over heels gone for him.

When Dorcas has asked all her questions, they fall into a comfortable silence. The greenish flames
in the fireplace have begun to die down, thickening the darkness in the common room. Regulus
doesn’t move for a very long time, lost inside his own head. Dorcas watches him, sees the way his
jaw tightens and the corners of his eyes pinch with tension.

She wonders where he was tonight. There’s too much melancholy in the lines of his face for him to
have been with James, right? But she doesn’t have a chance to ask because Regulus is clearly
working up the courage to tell her something, so she waits.

When he speaks, his voice is a little strained, which is so out of character for the otherwise always
composed and unbothered Regulus Black that Dorcas’ heart starts to pound.

“Have you ever had your heart broken?” Regulus asks her.

Oh fuck. Whatever this is, it isn’t good. It isn’t good at all. “Well. No. I have only truly loved
Marlene and we’re great,” Dorcas says carefully.

Regulus sits up then and stares at Dorcas. “You… Marlene?”

“Yeah. I do,” Dorcas says, smiling shyly. “I haven’t told her yet. Building up to it, you know? But
I do. I really, really do.”

“You’re fucking brave, Dorcas.”

“Careful there,” she teases him. “You almost sound impressed.”

He smirks, and in the dancing shadows from the fireplace Dorcas can see why James is so
obsessed with him. Regulus is beautiful. Not even in a sexual way. He’s like a piece of art. Perfect.
Untouchable. Something you look at but never take home with you, because you could never
afford it. Like a star, she thinks. Very fitting. Gorgeous and distant.

“Why are you worried about heartbreak? I don’t think James will hurt you. That guy would walk
over hot coals for you,” Dorcas says, paying close attention to Regulus’ reactions.

It’s there, in the twitch of his fingers and the fluttering pulse at the base of his neck, that she
understands. “Oh,” she whispers. “You’re going to break his, aren’t you?”

The nod Regulus gives her is almost imperceptible, but it is. Dorcas’s eyes prickle with tears.
“Why? You like him so much, Reg.”

“Not yet. We still have time. I’m… Making the most of it. But then… it’ll be inevitable. It’s…”
Regulus looks away, into the flames.

“Reg,” Dorcas scoots over closer, and her knee bumps into his leg which she knows he doesn’t
like, but she doesn’t care. Can’t care. Her pulse is thundering in her ears. “Is this… are you,” she
clears her throat. “You don’t believe in that blood purity bullshit. So why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it for me. Explain it to me like I’m five,” Dorcas says fiercely. “You have a choice,
Regulus. We all do. And I don’t see why you would make that one, when you don’t even believe in
their crap!”

“Dorcas,” Regulus snaps, cutting her a glance that makes the blood curdle in her veins.

“No,” she says, sitting up straighter. She’s a little bit afraid, which is new. She’s never been afraid
of Regulus before. But this is her Reg. Her best friend. She will not let him push her away. Won’t
let him make a stupid choice for no reason. He’s smarter than this. Regulus is practically a genius.
So why?

Regulus doesn’t do anything impulsively. He’s cold. Careful. Calculating. So why on Earth… oh.
Oh no.

“Fuck, Reg. You have a plan, don’t you? You’re going to do something. Something dangerous.”

Surprise flashes through his eyes, but he nods. “It can only be me.”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap,” Dorcas snaps. “What makes you so damn special, huh? I never
pegged you for a martyr, Reg.”

“It could have been Sirius,” Regulus says pointedly. “But he ran. So now it can only be me.”

The world tilts. Dorcas feels like she’s going to be sick. The rarely talk about it, what it means for
Regulus that he’s the heir to one of the most powerful, most ancient bloodlines in the entire
wizarding world.

Blood purity as a concept is absolute bollocks, but there is still power in legacy. In ties. In family.
Histories and talents that intertwine and flourish. And the House of Black has centuries upon
centuries of it. The inbreeding is a relatively new thing, as pure-blooded families have dwindled.
But for a very, very long time it wasn’t necessary. They did get stronger, producing powerful,
magically gifted witches and wizards.

There’s magical legacy in the name of Black, and Regulus is going to claim it.

Dorcas swallows. “What are you going to do?”

“Can’t tell you,” Regulus replies. “Too dangerous for you and for me.”

“I want to help you, Reg,” Dorcas whispers. “I have… you know my family wants me to make a
decision and I’ve been dragging my feet. They don’t matter enough to me. Well, you know they’ve
never treated me very nicely. But you… you’re my best friend.”

They seize each other for a long moment before Dorcas declares. “So yes. This. This is my
decision. My choice. I want to help you.”

“Dorcas…”

“No,” she says vehemently, reaching for Regulus’ hand and remembering at the last minute that he
doesn’t like touch. She stops herself, curls her hands into fists on her lap instead.

“I understand only you can wield whatever dark magic runs in your blood,” Dorcas whispers.
“Fine. But you still cannot do whatever it is you’re going to do alone. You’re not invincible, Reg.
There must be something I can do to help.”

Regulus runs a hand through his curls, looking a little out of sorts. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You sound like Marlene now,” Dorcas says, annoyed.

This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say, because Regulus scowls. “What do you mean?”

“Ah. Well,” Dorcas hesitates. Sighs. “Marlene wants to fight, obviously. She’s… she’s fierce. Bit
of a menace. Of course she wants to fight. And she wants me to sit it out. To not get involved. As if
I’d ever let her do it alone.”

Dorcas hears her own voice and is surprised at the bitterness in it. She’s very capable. Actually,
she’s a fucking good witch. Maybe not as good as Regulus, or James and Sirius, but she’s smart
and skilled and powerful, too. And she hasn’t yet made up her mind fully, but the fact that Marlene
wants her out and Regulus apparently agrees with her is rubbing her the wrong way.

“Marlene knows you’re fucking good, Dorcas. She just doesn’t want you to be in danger,” Regulus
says softly, shocking her into stunned silence for a moment.

Which, yes. Alright. Dorcas gets, because the idea of Marlene or Regulus in danger makes her feel
sick. But there’s a war out there. Nobody is safe. Not really. And Dorcas may be a cunning
Slytherin but that doesn’t make her a coward.

“What about what I want?”

Regulus snorts. “Now you sound like James.”

Dorcas smiles, but it turns sad very quickly. “Reg?”

“Hm?”

“When?” Dorcas asks quietly.

They’re both staring at the flames when Regulus says, “It’ll begin during Easter break. But the real
deadline is my birthday.”

Dorcas frowns, then remembers Regulus is a year younger than her. It clicks, all at once. “You’ll
be of age,” she whispers. Then starts. “But you won’t be Lord Black yet. Not until…”

And with a cruel twist of his mouth, Regulus tells Dorcas, “Don’t ask, and I won’t have to lie to
you.”

####

The lack of snow is, frankly, appalling. James is deeply offended that the skies haven’t blessed
him with a storm this side of Christmas. He promised Regulus a broom ride in the depth of winter,
and he intends to keep his word but it’ll have to be after the break.

It’s the last Hogsmeade visit before they leave for their homes on Wednesday, and it’s absolutely
freezing, but not a single snowflake in sight. Honestly, outrageous. He has half a mind to raise a fist
upwards to demonstrate his frustration, but thinks better of it because as much as he loves his
friends, he doesn’t want to explain himself.

They’re a large group heading into the village today. All four marauders, plus Olive hanging from
Peter’s arm. Lily and Mary, flanking Marlene and Dorcas. Remus is walking as far away from
Sirius as he possibly can, which has James in a right state. He’s been like this for two weeks, and
it’s infuriating.

No one knows what to do. How to get Remus back to normal. Every time he looks at Sirius, a
haunted look overcomes him and the blood drains from his face, and James knows he’s
remembering James’ words.

It was a very brief moment, but Sirius’ heart stopped beating.

Remus is having nightmares about it. James knows because he comes back to their dorm late after
seeing Regulus and finds Remus sitting up in bed, curtains open, sweating buckets and glaring at
Sirius’ bed like he needs to see him and make sure he’s alive. Breathing. Whole.

Sirius is struggling, too. But in a wicked twist of fate, he’s the one showing most patience.
Something happened in the Tower with Regulus, and Sirius has… calmed down a little. He’s still
Sirius, don’t get James wrong. Coolest kid in school, baddest boy this side of the northern
hemisphere. A veritable drama queen when he wants attention. But he’s less impulsive, somehow.
And he’s determined to wait for Remus to forgive himself for what happened on the full moon.

Sirius hasn’t told James what transpired between him and Regulus on the Tower, and James has
respected this. It’s not a secret between them, because James knows it happened. But some things
have to stay private, and James loves Sirius enough to understand that.

“I’m going to get so sloshed,” Sirius tells James, throwing his arm over his shoulders. The tip of
his nose is pink.

It’s a clear day. Crisp and clean. The sky’s enamel blue and the temperatures below freezing. The
lake is almost solid, which isn’t making the Giant Squid very happy. It looks beautiful, though.

“As opposed to every other time you go to the Broomsticks when you sip tea?” James teases.

Sirius grins, cheeks full and also a bit red. He doesn’t handle the cold well, and now that he can’t
steal Remus’ scarf, he’s suffering a bit. As if he could read James’ thoughts, Sirius glances at
Remus, who’s walking near Lily, lost inside his own head. The dark eyeliner around his eyes
makes the grey in them look closer to silver. It's a very pretty sight.

“Is he still coming to spend the break with us?” Sirius asks.

James nods. “He is but…” James has to take a fortifying breath. “He’s only coming because he has
no choice. He wrote to his dad, and Lyall’s already committed to extra shifts at the Ministry and
couldn’t back out.”

“Right,” Sirius says, chewing on his lower lip. “That’ll be fun, then.”

“If he doesn’t snap out of it by the time we’re home, we’re staging an intervention,” James says.
“Right,” Sirius nods, looking a little overwhelmed all of a sudden, but determined. “Yes. Okay.”

They reach the village and head straight for the pub. No one needs to buy supplies this close to the
break, and it’s genuinely too cold to dwell outside any longer than strictly necessary.

Possibly to make up for the lack of snow, divine intervention smiles upon James because they
arrive at the Three Broomsticks at the exact same time as Regulus, Crouch and Rosier. Lily almost
bumps into Regulus at the door.

There’s an awkward silence, and Marlene and Dorcas jump to action.

“Hello,” she greets her friends. “Let’s find a table, shall we? Marls, I’ll see you in a bit.” Dorcas
leads her friends inside.

A few moments later, Marlene shepherds the Gryffindors in after them. All this for naught, because
to their dismay, the pub is full to the brim. There isn’t a single table available for either group.

Sirius looks at James, winks, and steps forward. Ah. The spotlight. He loves it. With a very casual,
very studied swagger, Sirius wiggles his way through the two groups awkwardly standing there,
including his brother and his friends, and leans his forearms on the bar.

“Rosie?”

The look of pure shock on Regulus’ face is delightful. Most of the group—at least the Gryffindors
—know Madam Rosmerta has a soft spot for Sirius. Regulus, apparently, did not know this. He
looks downright scandalised.

Rosmerta waltzes into the bar, setting down empty mugs before coming to attend to Sirius. He
leans forward a bit, tilting his head so his hair falls a certain way, then smiles at Rosmerta. When
she blushes, Remus turns abruptly so he’s facing the other way.

“Rosie, fairest lady in Hogsmeade. I am distraught,” Sirius tells her, bringing a hand to his
forehead dramatically.

Rosmerta chuckles fondly. “And how can I help?”

“You see, there’s nowhere to sit,” Sirius explains innocently. “And it’s the last visit before the
Christmas break.”

Rosmerta shakes her head, grins at Sirius. “You’ll be the death of me one of these days,” she says,
trying and failing to look like she’s not loving the display Sirius is putting on for her.

“Never!” Sirius says. “You are my favourite landlady in the entire world. You know that.” He
winks, the flirt.

A girlish chuckle bubbles up Rosmerta’s throat before she glances at the large group of students
waiting for somewhere to sit. “Ah, alright. Come on, you lot. There’s the private room at the back.
No one’s booked it today, so you can have it.”

The relief sweeps through them like a wave. Lily, Remus and Mary head towards the door on the
opposite side of the bar, Peter and Olive follow. James, however, hangs back because Regulus,
Crouch and Rosier are in deep, furious, but impossibly quiet conversation with Dorcas. Sirius steps
away from the bar and glances at his brother.

“They either sit with us, or they don’t sit at all,” he says, loud enough that they can hear it, but not
so much they’d assume it was directed at them.

Regulus meets James’ eye. They hold. James wants them to come. He won’t touch him, because
too many people in this group don’t know, and shouldn’t know, but just having him near would
make him so happy.

And it’s reasonable, right? He’s Dorcas’ best friend, and they are Dorcas’ girlfriend’s friends. It’s
not unheard of for this to happen. Granted, the whole house rivalry thing makes it a little awkward,
but they’re open minded people.

“Come on, babe,” Marlene says, tugging on Dorcas’ arm. “Bring your friends, too.”

Marlene looks at the boys pointedly and to James’ surprise, it’s Crouch who breaks first. He rolls
his eyes, smiles, and offers Marlene the crook of his elbow. “Go on, then. For Marls.”

And that’s how it happens. They all pile into the private room, large enough to host parties of
about 30 people. Mary, Lily and Remus have moved the largest round table close to the fire and
are already sitting. Olive is next to Mary, and Peter next to her. An empty seat on his other side.
James and Regulus exchange a quick glance, a silent agreement to be strategic about this.

Crouch and Rosier want to sit with Marlene, so Dorcas takes the free side on Crouch’s left. And
Sirius claims the spot between her and Peter. That leaves two open together—one next to Rosier,
the other next to Lily—for James and Regulus.

It works out too well and too easily, which makes James suspect that his friends were deliberate in
making it happen. He’s eternally grateful. Regulus, who is a lot less emotional about this sort of
thing than James is, sits next to Rosier and makes a face of disgust when James take the seat next
to him. James knows it’s for show because his foot bumps against James’ under the table and stays
there, a light pressure that tells James Regulus is happy to be next to him.

Before the silence can get awkward, Rosmerta comes in to take their orders. Sirius is unwrapping
himself from the layers he’s wearing, and no one misses how Rosmerta’s eyes linger a little too
long on his abs when his t-shirt rides up as he takes off his jumper.

“Mulled beer,” Remus says abruptly, forcing Rosmerta to look at him and away from Sirius.

There’s a chorus of agreements. Marlene asks for something to eat, and ends up ordering chips for
the entire table to nibble on. Sirius, resurfacing from his battle with his many clothes, asks for
firewhisky because ‘it’s almost Christimas’ and he is determined to get himself, and James
suspects Remus, absolutely plastered.

“I think this calls for a game!” Marlene announces.

Dorcas sighs, looks over at her girlfriend. “Maybe we hold games for next time?”

Marlene looks at her like she’s grown a second head. “We don’t know there’ll be a next time. I
mean, look at Black. He’s about to keel over from sheer disgust at sharing a table with
Gryffindors!”

Everyone chuckles. Regulus rolls his eyes. Crouch, who is apparently on the same level of
unhinged as Marlene, says, “What sort of game?”

Marlene beams at her unexpected ally and gets up so she can explain properly. “Well, obviously it
has to be a game where people have to like, talk a bit. Because we don’t know you, and you don’t
know us. Unfortunately, we just did never have I ever the other day.”
“That’s a good one,” Rosier mutters, earning him an appreciative nod from Crouch.

Marlene continues, “Fear not. I have plenty of ideas. We can do Truth or Dare, Would You Rather,
or Two Truths and One Lie.”

People around the table exchange glances, considering. James is nervous. He wants to do this,
badly, but he wants to do this without having to hide that Regulus is his boyfriend. This is already
proving fucking hard, because he’s already caught his hand twice on its way to Regulus’ thigh.
He’s stopped himself in time, but still. They’re in a danger zone.

Regulus looks equally wary. His eyes are narrowed, and he’s watching Marlene like she might
single him out and make him decide.

“Two Truths and One Lie requires too much thinking,” says Lily, putting her hair up in a messy
bun. “I would say Truth or Dare.”

“No,” Sirius says immediately. Abruptly. Everyone turns to look at him, and he shrugs. “Would
You Rather is better.”

Lily frowns at Sirius, because they usually get along and agree on this sort of thing easily. She lets
it go with a quick glance at Remus, like she’s suddenly understood why Sirius is refusing that
specific game.

At the same time, Dorcas, bless her, jumps in to support Sirius’ idea, which prompts Marlene to
declare that’s the game they’re playing. Rosmerta comes with their orders, and there’s a lull in
activity while they all receive drinks and chips that James uses to glance over at Regulus.

He’s so fucking gorgeous.

The tip of his nose is still a tad pink, though he’s clearly warming up inside the pub. When he
arrived, he was wearing a black cloak that’s now draped over the back of his chair. The collar of
his black shirt peaks out from under an elegant jumper, also black. James’ gaze trails down, to
Regulus’ fingers which he’s curled around his pint of mulled beer. Those rings are devilish. James
is addicted to the feeling of them sliding over his skin.

“Right,” Marlene says. “Since they’re outnumbered, we’ll let our Slytherin guests start. Evan?”

Rosier leans forward on the table and looks around. “I’ll ask a question and everyone has to answer
it, right?”

A round of nods. A few people are sipping their drinks a little nervously, Olive, Lily, and Remus
amongst them. Not the Slytherins though. All four of them—Dorcas included—are one hundred
percent unbothered.

“Would you rather never be able to go out during the day or never be able to go out during the
night?” Rosier asks.

James is pleasantly surprised. It’s an interesting question, and one that doesn’t put him in any
danger. He opens his mouth, and is beaten to the first answer by Sirius and Regulus who
simultaneously say, “obviously not go out during the day.”

Silence falls like an axe over the table as everyone registers what just happened. Sirius immediately
looks away and James just won’t have it. Why is everyone making this awkward for them?
They’re not really interacting, but also haven’t made a big deal about being here, together. That’s a
huge step and James will protect this fragile truce with his life.
So, James scoffs, and says rather loudly, “You’re both so wrong it’s embarrassing. No doubt you
want to be out during the day, stay in at night.”

Sirius shoots him a grateful look just as Peter rallies, “Out during the day!”

Everyone else jumps in. Remus prefers the day, obviously. Lily prefers the night, for some reason.
Mary struggles, but goes with day. Dorcas and Marlene agree on the night. Olive wants the day,
possibly because that’s what Peter chose, too.

Rosier leans back, looks at Crouch, and says, “Night.” Crouch nods. “Yeah. Night.”

That’s everyone, and Rosier picks Mary to ask the next question. James winces a little, and
Regulus leans closer and asks, “What?”

Pretending nonchalance, and that this is the first time James has ever spoken to Regulus, he says,
“Mary loves questions about sex. Thinks it’s hilarious.”

“Oh,” Regulus says, straightening back on his chair to look at the Gryffindor girl with concern.

Mary rubs her hands together, flicks her hair back. “Let’s see… ah.” She smiles wickedly. “Would
you rather have sex with a mermaid whose upper body was human and lower body is that of a fish,
or a fishperson whose upper body was fish and lower body was human?”

There’s an appalled round of groans. Mary simply shrugs. “It’s a perfectly valid question. I’ll go
first. Human upper body.”

Lily drops her head back, eyes closed, and says to the ceiling, “Human upper body.”

Olive is quick to follow with the same answer, and surprisingly so do Dorcas and Marlene. It’s
only the boys that are still pondering this. James can’t decide. Because, well. His main problem is
he cannot imagine it. Just. The only person he can imagine having sex with is Regulus and he is
obviously not a merman in any configuration.

So. He tries to force his brain to imagine this. Would he rather Regulus’ lower body and some fish
head? Or… “Upper body,” he blurts out. “I mean human upper body.”

He sees the corner of Regulus’ lip twitch, and then he says, “Lower body.”

James has to physically restrain himself from questioning his boyfriend right there. What is wrong
with James’ face? Why does Regulus want rid of it? Does Regulus think he’s ugly?

He’s so caught up in his internal crisis that he misses everyone else’s answers, but Sirius is drilling
holes in the side of Remus’ head—because Remus is refusing to look at him.

“Dorcas,” Mary says. “Your turn. And make it fun!”

“By fun, she means dirty,” Lily clarifies, like there was any doubt.

Dorcas rolls her eyes. Sirius pours a glass of firewhisky and pushes it across the table towards her.
“Liquid courage!”

She snorts, but takes the shot and downs it. When the empty glass hits the table, she looks up with
a wicked expression. “Alright. Would you rather not be able to use your hands during sex or not be
able to see during sex?”

James is genuinely annoyed by this question. Why would he not want to see Regulus when they’re
having sex? He’s beautiful. Glorious. He likes seeing him. Loves it. But also. James would
possibly go mad if he couldn’t touch him. Like. He’s in pain just by thinking about it.

He risks a glance at his boyfriend and is rewarded with a look of pure distress on his face, like he
too cannot fathom either or. It’s quite refreshing, and James is ready to forgive him for the fish
thing.

Sirius replies first, “I’d rather not use my hands, so I can see.” And he says this staring straight at
Remus, who is stubbornly looking away.

Crouch and Rosier do, though, based on the surprised glance they exchange. James shifts on his
chair. Sirius is making a point, but he’s also putting himself in danger. They have no idea how
Dorcas’ friends would react. As far as they know, they’re fine with Dorcas but that could be the
exception.

“Use hands, not see,” says Remus.

“I’d rather use my hands and not see, if it’s just the once,” says Mary, casually. “Or if the person is
ugly.”

“Yeah. Use hands, not see,” Lily adds.

It strikes James as quite telling that the people choosing not to see are the people without partners.
His brain revolts again the mere thought, but James knows if he was going to sleep with a stranger,
he’d also rather use hands than see. His answers are extremely biased because of how absurdly
gone he is for his boyfriend.

“See, no hands,” Rosier says.

Crouch, who has just got a shot from Sirius, looks at him a little alarmed. “Really?”

Rosier chuckles, then nods. Crouch frowns. “I rather hands no see.”

Dorcas nudges Crouch with her knee, and he seems to snap out of whatever was happening to look
at Sirius. “Another shot, Black.”

He complies. Marlene and Dorcas both want to see, and so does Peter. Regulus is last, and he says,
“No hands. I like to see.”

Sirius wrinkles his nose, looks away like he cannot believe his little brother has the audacity to
have a preference at all. James, who can pick up on the subtle emphasis in Regulus’ voice, a little
note that was just for him, twitches in his trousers. This just won’t do. He cannot get hard here.
Absolutely not. He needs the conversation to move away from sex. Immediately. For the sake of
his sanity.

Fortunately for him, Sirius chooses that moment to pull out his pack of cigarettes. “Anyone?”

Regulus reaches over the table and plucks one out of the pack like everyone in the room isn’t
internally freaking out to see the Black brothers interact. He should get an award for nonchalance,
James thinks. Lily takes one, too, which surprises James but whatever she likes, you know? None
of his business.

There’s a small muscle twitching on Remus’ jaw, and James knows it’s the effort not to take one,
too. Honestly? Remus is being fucking absurd.
Sirius pockets the pack, and then the room is filled with smoke, and it’s Olive’s turn to ask a
question. This works for James, because she asks something inane like would you rather only eat
broccoli or only eat sausage for the rest of our life.

This prompts Crouch and Rosier to start laughing like madmen, which nobody truly gets, but
alright. At least, it has moved on from sex and James can relax.

The rest of the afternoon goes on like that. People get progressively drunk, which ends up with
them abandoning would you rather to sing sea shanties, for some reason.

There’s more smoking, and then people are doing shots aggressively. Three hours in, Sirius has
accomplished his goal of getting hammered and is slurring his words hanging off Lily’s shoulders.
She’s sloshed, too, and hiccupping as she explains something to Sirius that James can’t hear.

Peter and Olive are asleep on a sofa against the wall. Dorcas and Marlene are making out in the
corner and everyone else is pretending it’s not happening. Thankfully, they’re keeping it all very
civilised. No clothes have been discarded. Crouch and Rosier are talking to Remus. Now, this is an
interesting development.

James sits on his chair, playing with an empty shot glass, and watches Remus gesture to a cigarette
that Crouch has half-smoked. Crouch asked to try a cigarette approximately thirty minutes into this
soiree and has declared several times since that he’s been missing out. Anyway. Remus takes
Crouch’s cigarette and inhales. Rosier watches with an amused smirk.

“Don’t turn around. Pretend I’m not here,” Regulus says, sitting behind him and facing the wall.
“Why is Lupin pissed at Sirius?”

This is ridiculous. Honestly. Everyone is drunk, and very much not paying attention to them. James
doesn’t want to talk to the air. He turns, though not completely. Just enough that Regulus can see
his profile. A compromise, James thinks.

“He’s not angry,” James replies quietly. “It’s complicated.”

“Does Lupin know Sirius is obsessed with him?”

James smiles. “No. He’s no idea.”

“He’s an idiot, then,” Regulus declares. “And here I thought he had potential.”

“For what?”

“You know,” Regulus says vaguely.

Something in his tone makes James turn a bit more, shoot Regulus an amused glance. “Godric
Gryffindor on a broom. Is there anyone that hasn’t had a crush on Remus at some point?”

Regulus scowls deeply. “No crush. But I have eyes. He’s attractive.

“Maybe you should tell him,” James says, reclining on his chair. “Perhaps he’ll finally start
believing it.”

“I’m going to bully Barty and Evan into leaving,” Regulus says. “And then I’m going to the Come
and Go Room.”

James groans in relief, drops his head back. Fucking finally. He’s been in pain all day. Thought
Regulus was never going to suggest it.

“Well then,” he looks at Regulus out of the corner of his eye. “What are you waiting for?”

Swiftly, Regulus stands and crosses the space to interrupt his friends’ conversation with Remus.
Two minutes later, they’re out the door. James doesn’t even make it to ten before he’s hurrying out,
too.

###

You’d think the neatly wrapped package in Regulus’ pocket is made of acid from the way it’s
burning a hole in his clothes. He’s pacing, which is unlike him and unbecoming but well. The
alternative is to bite his nails to the quick and that he cannot do. James likes his hands, and Regulus
will not damage them.

Pacing it is.

The Come and Go Room delivered, as it always does, on Regulus’ request for a cosy, winter cabin.
It’s the last night in the castle before Christmas break and he wanted to do something for James,
because it turns out that James loves Christmas.

He’s so freaking excited about Christmas you’d think he’s six.

For the past couple of days, his plans for the holiday are all he’s talked about. He’s going to be so
busy over the break Regulus genuinely feels exhausted just from listening to him. Sirius and Lupin
are spending the break at Potter Manor, too. Well. Obviously, Sirius is, because he lives there now.
But so is Lupin, and Regulus thinks this is interesting.

The night after Hogsmeade, Regulus tried to needle information about the Sirius-Lupin situation
out of James. James, who is so fucking loyal it’s actually a bit scary, didn’t spill a single bean.
Still. Regulus saw what he saw. Sirius likes Lupin, and Lupin is being fucking stupid about it for
some reason.

He wonders if Christmas at the Potters will change things between them.

Personally, Regulus has always been rather impartial to Christmas. This year, he loathes the very
idea because it’s stealing two full weeks of his very limited time with James. Come the second of
January, Regulus will have three months left. A little less, because he realises that he cannot just…
keep things as they are now and then blindside James with a random breakup. He’ll have to build
up to it, somehow.

The thought makes the blood curdle in his veins. Three months isn’t long enough. But three months
is all he has.

A light creak alerts him to the door opening, then James is walking inside.

“Hi,” James says. Regulus is immediately on alert, because James is being shy and James is not
shy. At all. Ever.

Still hovering near the door, James smiles at Regulus, then rubs the back of his neck. Ah. He’s
nervous. Regulus wonders what part is making him uneasy for exactly one second before James,
who has the impulse control of a four year old, crosses the space in three powerful strides and
presents Regulus with a gift, beaming so hard it’s got to be hurting his cheeks.

“I just wanted to get you something for Christmas,” James says quickly, excitedly. “And I know I
can’t mail it to you, so I thought I’d give it to you tonight. I hope that’s okay? I didn’t tell you
because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to get me anything. I still just wanted to give this to
you.”

On James’ upturned palms is a square shaped present wrapped in brilliant red paper and tied with a
golden ribbon. It’s so fucking wholesome Regulus could cry.

He’s received presents before. Plenty of them. He’ll wake up Christmas morning to a collection of
beautifully wrapped gifts under the tree that Kreacher dutifully puts up every December 5th at
Walburga’s instruction.

But it’s all very… cold. Very protocolary. They’re rich and so they’re expected to gift expensive
things to each other. So, they do. There’s no… emotion behind it.

James, on the other hand, is presenting his gift to Regulus and vibrating with excitement. He’s so
earnest in it, so eager, so fucking adorable. Without opening it, Regulus knows this is the best gift
he’s ever been given, and will remain so for the rest of his life.

Careful not to knock the gift out of James’ hand, Regulus leans in and kisses him. Sweet and soft,
because they can do that too. Hungry and desperate happens more often, true, but not always.

“You’re not mad?” James asks hopefully.

“That you got me a present?”

“Yes?”

“Should I be?” Regulus asks, genuinely lost.

James shrugs. “You don’t like surprises.”

Ah. Well. Yes. That is true, but he can make an exception. Regulus adopts a haughty air, lifting his
chin a little bit just to watch James squirm.

Then, he says, “This one time, I’ll live. Also…” Regulus’ lips curl, and he extracts the packet from
his own pocket.

James’ face transforms into an expression of such pure joy Regulus feels it in his soul. Giddy,
James takes the silver-wrapped gift with careful fingers, still holding Regulus’ present out to him.

“You can’t open it until Christmas morning,” Regulus tells him. “I put a spell on it.”

“You did what?” James is aghast.

He immediately attempts to tear the paper only to find that Regulus’ wand work is, in fact,
impeccable and that silver wrapping will not be coming off until December 25th.

James pouts, big hazel eyes round and sad behind his glasses. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s a Christmas present,” Regulus insists. “I shouldn’t be opened until Christmas. That’s how it
works.”

“You like torturing me,” James protests, turning the gift in his hand. He sighs, then smiles at
Regulus. “Thank you. I’m sure I’m going to love it.”
Regulus takes the red gift, feels the weight of it. “I have to leave this here.”

Immediately, James’ face falls. All the joy evaporates and there’s desolation in its place. “Why?”

“My mother periodically goes through my things,” Regulus informs him.

"It's not big," James tells him. “It’s easy to hide. And it’s not… ehm… it’s not obvious that I gave
it to you. Like, it’s not obviously… ehm, romantic.”

This makes Regulus curious. He expected something very over the top and romantic, because
that’s James. To be clear: Regulus likes that James is over the top and romantic. But he cannot
expose them like this in Grimmauld place. Not if he wants to live past Christmas Day.

“If I were to open this in front of my parents,” Regulus says. “What would they think?”

James takes out his wand and taps the package, turning the vibrant colours from red and gold to
green and silver. “That you got it from a school friend. I promise you, it’s not dangerous.”

Regulus considers this, then pockets the present. “Very well. I’ll open it on Christmas Day.” He
looks at James, smiles. “Merci beaucoup.”

Joy is back on James’ face, together with a faint blush. Regulus likes it when James blushes
because it’s not obvious at all. You have to watch for it, the subtle changes that tell him James is
bashful, and shy, and downright adorable.

Regulus sits on the sofa in front of the fireplace and waits for James to have a look around the
place he’s asked the Room to create for today. It’s essentially a hunting cabin. Wood walls and
floors, thick rugs, huge chimney, cosy sofas. It’s less sexy than their usual. There isn’t even a bed
here. That’s deliberate.

Sex is still very much bouncing around in Regulus’ brain. Still very much a thing he wants to do
with James. But they’ve come this far without that part, and Regulus finds that he’d rather wait
until the new year because he does not want James to think that was the goal.

Also, a part of Regulus is a little nervous that once they do that James might… lose interest. And
two weeks is a long time. Regulus thinks perhaps it’s in his best interest to wait until they’re back
from break.

“I like it here,” James says, coming to join Regulus on the sofa. “Is this somewhere you’ve been
before?”

The sofa indents when James sits, and Regulus allows gravity to work, bringing him closer to
James’ body. Regulus shakes his head. “I asked for a winter cabin, this is what we got.”

“I still owe you a ride over the snow,” James tells him.

Regulus’ heart skips a beat, which is frankly so cliché he cannot even think it without wanting to
cringe. But what is he supposed to do? For him, that broom ride was the beginning. Doesn’t matter
that it took them a while to kiss, or to admit they liked each other this way. There’s a before the
broom ride and an after.

“It hasn’t snowed,” Regulus replies.

James rolls his eyes. “I know! Outrageous!” He exclaims. Then, softer, “I just meant I haven’t
forgotten. I will show you what it looks like when it’s all white and beautiful.”
Regulus lies down, head on James’ lap, and stretches on the sofa. James’ hand plunges into his
hair, begins gently massaging his scalp. A happy sigh escapes Regulus, and they stay that way in
silence for a bit. The fire cracks and flickers, sending the shadows skittering around the room.
There are no windows here, which is a shame. Regulus would like to look at the stars.

His thoughts drift to Sirius. Inevitably. They do a lot, these days. Sirius has kept his word and
hasn’t tried to seek him out again after their conversation in the Astronomy Tower.

But Regulus would be lying if he tried to pretend that he didn’t enjoy being in the pub with him
and James the other day. There were too many people for his liking. He’s always preferred smaller
groups. Thrives when it’s just him and one other person, perhaps two.

Still. It was an interesting experience watching his brother with his friends. Witnessing Sirius in his
world. It comes so easy to him. He’s a natural at garnering attention. So cool and collected, yet
funny and dramatic at the same time.

Regulus could never, and not just because he doesn’t like people very much. He’s also just not…
he’s not funny. He’s not a great conversationalist. He’s…

“Stop that,” James says softly, pressing a finger between Regulus’ eyebrows. “Don’t think bad
thoughts.”

Surprised, Regulus blinks up at James. His finger traces the shape of one of Regulus’ eyebrows,
then the other. It feels nice. Regulus’ eyes flutter shut.

“Do you want to tell me what you were thinking?”

Without opening his eyes, Regulus says, “No. I don’t.”

James is smiling, Regulus can feel it. His fingers trace the lines of Regulus’ face, slowly, carefully,
reverently. Regulus doesn’t move, barely even breathes. He lets James explore as he will.

“I’m going to miss you,” James says. Fingertips featherlight on Regulus’ lips. “I hate that I can’t
even write to you.”

Pathetically, Regulus’ heart skips yet another beat. Honestly. Since James woke it up, the thing
won’t behave. It’s wild. Accelerates whenever James is around. Goes absolutely feral if he takes
his clothes off. Regulus has no control of the bloody thing. And yet, he can’t say he preferred the
cage of bones and the cold.

He’ll go back to that soon enough, so he’s trying to embrace the life inside his chest while it’s
there.

“It’s just two weeks,” Regulus says.

“Two weeks and four days,” James tells him primly. “And yes, I’ve counted.”

“Same thing,” Regulus says. “Not long, is it? It’ll be fine.”

“Right, yeah, I guess,” James mutters.

“It’ll be busy, anyway,” Regulus tells him. “You’ve got a million plans. I’ve got… formalities.”

“Oh.” James’ hands withdraw from his skin.

Regulus scowls, opens his eyes. James looks a little hurt and Regulus doesn’t understand why. It’s
all been so nice, hasn’t it? They exchanged gifts, albeit a little awkwardly, and now they’re on the
sofa just enjoying the company.

Sitting up, Regulus picks apart the conversation, wondering where it went wrong. Nervous.

“James?”

“You haven’t told me your plans for Christmas,” James says, a little stiffly.

Alarmed, Regulus jerks back a little. “No, I haven’t.”

“Why?”

Because I don’t want to talk about the boring dinners I’ll have to attend. The stuffy rooms. The
protocol.

“Not everyone loves the holiday the way you do,” Regulus says instead. It comes out a little
snappy, with more bite than he intended.

“But you’ll be busy,” James says.

Shrugging, Regulus runs a hand over his curls. He’s so confused by this conversation. The hostility
simmering under the exchange. It’s… unusual. Regulus has no idea how to navigate it.

“Yes, that’s what I said, James,” Regulus snaps. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” James mutters.

Then, to Regulus’ absolute horror, he gets up a little abruptly, walks away. Not towards the door,
so Regulus isn’t full on panicking yet. But he’s walking away. Towards the wall. And fuck. What
did he do? What is happening?

The thing about James and Regulus is that they haven’t had a fight. Not once in the two months
and change they’ve been together. Some bickering, perhaps. Light disagreements, mostly about
Quidditch teams and banal things like that.

Yes, Regulus is a bit mean to James sometimes. Calls him an idiot more often than not. Gets fussy
about certain things. And even when Regulus is a little moody, James has always indicated that he
likes it. He smiles if Regulus tells him he’s stupid, kisses Regulus deeply when he’s fussy.

James has never walked away first. Never shown the faintest sign of real irritation towards
Regulus. This isn’t Angry James. This is… something else. Because Angry James is flustered and
demanding Regulus’ attention, which is hot as fuck. Now? James is facing the fucking wall,
seemingly lost in thoughts that are pushing him away from Regulus.

Regulus hates this. With a passion. Hates it so much he feels it in the back of his throat. Because
he’s staring at the back of James’ head, and there’s a pit in his stomach that grows and grows every
second James isn’t smiling at him.

Did he mess it up already? So quickly? Regulus is rotten, broken. He knew it was a matter of time
before James got tired of him, but he was counting on that time being a little longer. Just. Three
months. He only needed three more months.

He’s not getting them, obviously. Well, then. It was nice while it lasted, Regulus supposes.

Clearing his throat to push down the ball lodged there, he says, “Have a good Christmas, then.”
Regulus opens the door. Hesitates. Steps through the threshold. Closes the door behind him. The
click of it triggers something inside of his chest. The heart that beats to James’ tune thrashing like
he’s fighting what’s coming. Regulus takes a shuddering breath. He’s going to break. He can’t do
it here.

Fucking fitting, isn’t it? He thought his days of hiding in rooms to have crises about James Potter
were over. Obviously not.

Swallowing thickly, Regulus squares his shoulders. He can make it to the nearest room. Just has to
hold on a little longer. Walk like nothing can touch him. Be the Heir to the House of Black.
Untouchable. Unbreakable because he’s already in pieces inside.

Regulus fits his mask over his face, clinging to the numbness with both hands. It’s armour, and it’s
what he presents to the world, but it also helps him keep his emotions in check. He’s the master of
his body and it—

The door opens, and James appears, looking distraught and relieved at the same time. “Wait. Don’t
go.”

Regulus hears choirs singing hallelujah. James came after him. Thank Merlin and every other
deity, magical or otherwise. But his mask is in place, and he’s reeling. He’s hurt. And he lashes out
despite his relief, or perhaps because of it.

“Bit late,” he drawls.

Turning on his heels, he walks down the corridor. Each step makes him more anxious than the
previous one, but he cannot stop. Will not stop. He’s done this, and now has to see it through.
James isn’t following. Why is James not following?

Regulus reaches the first corner. If he turns, it’s over. He won’t see James until after Christmas
and… fuck. Two weeks, and he’s going to leave it like this? On a fight he doesn’t even understand?

But what is Regulus supposed to do? James started this, and he hasn’t even said why he’s upset. Is
Regulus meant to just take it? He won’t. Never.

And yet… what if James just doesn’t care? What if he’s happy for it to end in this argument and
then Regulus comes back to school in January and James doesn’t want to fix it?

The mere idea makes him feel hollow.

That’s why Regulus swallows a bit of his pride and looks back before he turns the corner, straight
into James’ eyes who’s watching him with a distressed and hesitant expression.

When he’s past the angle of the wall and loses sight of James, Regulus hears pounding steps.
James is running after him. And Regulus stops walking and waits.

James takes the corner at breakneck speed, clearly thinking Regulus had kept walking, and collides
with him brutally. They fall down, tangled limbs and robes. Regulus hits his elbow on the floor and
cusses loudly. James hits his chin, and his face scrunches in pain.

Somewhere in the near distance, a cat meowls. Regulus and James look at each other, panic, and
scramble to their feet. The Room is waiting for them like it knew all along that they’d be back.
They collapse inside, swearing and aching.

Regulus looks up. “You’re bleeding,” he says to James.

The other boy touches his chin. His fingers come away coated in red. It’s running down his neck,
staining his robes. “Ah. Shit.”

“Look up,” Regulus instructs, taking out his wand.

Gash healed and blood cleaned, the two of them stand in front of the other, wary and confused. At
least Regulus. He still doesn’t understand what just happened, but he’d be lying if he said he’s not
glad to be back in here. They can fix it still. Maybe.

“What the fuck, James?” he asks.

“You didn’t say it back,” James mutters. “It’s stupid. I know. But I… you’re so unbothered by it.
And I thought, maybe. You don’t care like I care. And well. That’s okay. That’s fine. But I…”

Bewildered, Regulus interrupts James’ little rant. He needs clarification. “What are you talking
about?”

“I’m going to miss you like crazy,” James says. He swallows thickly, then sets his chin like he’s
determined to be brave about this. “And you are not bothered. And that’s fine. I… I’m sorry I
reacted badly. I just needed a moment to compose myself. I didn’t want to overwhelm you with…
ehm… my emotions.”

Oh.

Oh. Fuck.

Who’s the idiot now? How did Regulus miss this? Salazar’s cape on a pole. He should be put in
boyfriend jail.

“James,” he says, stepping up to him. “I—” The words stick to his tongue. Refuse to leave his lips.
“I’m just—”

“Fuck this shit,” Regulus says, then grabs James by the collar and hauls him in to crash their
mouths together.

James lets out a little ‘oh’ of surprise and delight before his hands curl around Regulus’ neck,
deepening their kiss. Regulus runs his tongue over the seam of James’ lips, and he obliges him,
opening them so their tongues can meet.

How could James think even for a second that Regulus isn’t going to miss him? Merlin’s beard on
fire. Preposterous.

Regulus doesn’t know how to say it. How to form words. But he can show James. He can. He will.
He’s doing it. He’s already missing this even though they’re not yet apart, and he’ll do his damn
best to make sure James knows it.

His hands run over James’ body, worshiping him the way he deserves, because he’s the sun made
flesh and there should be hordes of people bowing at his feet. Regulus leaves James’ mouth so he
can latch his lips to the strong curve of his neck, biting a little, then soothing the place with his
tongue.

James makes a sound of pure ecstasy, so Regulus does it again.

They tumble towards the sofa, but never make it that far. Instead, they go down on the rugs in
front of the fireplace, discarding their clothing as they go. The ochre hues of the flames dance on
James’ skin, turning it bronze, like the statues that represent heroes of old.

Regulus could build him a statue. He deserves one, he thinks.

Usually, James takes control of these things. Not always, but almost. And Regulus, who’s been
firmly against giving up even an ounce of control for as long as he can remember… well, he loves
it. Only with James. Only for James. But he does get lost in the feelings and forgets to be worried
about who’s doing what and why. He likes giving it up for James.

But he likes this, too. Today, James is just letting him dictate what happens. How far they go
tonight. It’s not always the same. Sometimes it’s hands and mouths. Sometimes is just one or the
other. Sometimes it’s neither.

They’ve lost all their clothing now, and it’s skin sliding against skin and dirty kisses that are
driving Regulus mad with want. But what does he want? He wants it all.

Regulus hesitates, pushing himself up on his elbows to look at James, lying on the rug under him.
He wants to have him. In every way a person can have another. It’s not the first time Regulus has
had this thought, but it’s the first time he can make it happen. If he dares. If he wants to.

He’d come here with a pre-made decision not to bring this up. Because of the time apart, and how
nervous it makes him that James might regret it. Regulus gets in his head, and naturally he assumes
that James does too. So. He’d thought it best not to approach it until January.

But now… James is so beautiful. Perfect and strong and naked and right here.

His resolve is crumbling like pastries. Regulus kisses James again, fighting with himself over
whether he’s brave enough to bring it up. To risk James saying no. He’ll die if James says no.

“Reg,” James says, panting. Regulus’ mouth is nibbling at James’ collarbone, distracting him, but
he still manages to form words, somehow. “Would you… Do you… maybe. Want to, ehm. Do you
want to have sex? I mean, like, you know. That.”

Oh, how wrong he was.

He’s going to die now.

From sheer excitement.

Fuck.

James wants it, too.

“Yes,” Regulus says so quickly he’s certain James will think him pathetic and desperate.

Wide-eyed, James takes Regulus’ face between his hands and looks him in the eye. “Thank
Merlin,” he kisses him quickly, then sits up, adjusting Regulus on his lap. “We should… ehm. Talk
about it. Before?”

“No,” Regulus says, mutinous. “We should just do it.”

The chuckle that falls from James’ lips is too delicious for Regulus not to swallow it with a kiss.
When he breaks away again, James’ eyes are dark. The way they get when Regulus touches him or
drops to his knees. It bodes well.

“I’ve never done it before,” James says, cautiously. “And you said you hadn’t either?”
“We’re smart people. We can figure it out.”

James grins. “Oh. I’m smart now?”

The eyeroll he gives James is mighty. Regulus just doesn’t want to be talking. Not right now. He’s
naked, sitting on top of his boyfriend who is also naked. Why aren’t they making out? Honestly.

“You’re still an idiot,” Regulus says, hands snaking down to grab James. “But you’re good with
this, so.”

James groans when Regulus’ fingers close on his hardness. Triumphant, Regulus kisses his jaw.
This will end the talking, surely.

“Reg,” James pants. “Oh fuck.”

Yes. Talking is over. Regulus twists his body, bringing his legs to straddle James’ hips. It gets very
hot very quickly, kisses sloppy and hungry. Regulus’ hand strokes get a little clumsy and he
decides to stop because he does want to have sex and he’s not going to sabotage himself.

This is obviously a mistake because James regains his wits as soon as Regulus isn’t touching him
down there. “Wait. Reg.”

“What now?”

“Well,” James says, pushing back the curls stuck to Regulus’ forehead. “If we can’t talk about it,
we shouldn’t be doing it. So, either we talk about it, or keep doing this. Which, for the record, is
fucking amazing and more than enough for me.”

Regulus leans back, closes his arms over his chest a bit petulantly. “I can talk about it.”

“Can you?” James’ right eyebrow flies up.

To his absolute horror, Regulus feels the blush spreading across his chest, over his face.
Mortifying. Why is this happening? He wants this. He knows he does. Has been obsessed with the
idea for weeks and weeks. He’s sixteen. Old enough to do what he wants to do. He has a boyfriend
he trusts with this. James will be so nice about the whole thing. Caring and gentle. Textbook
perfect person to do this with for the first time ever.

Regulus thinks, logically, he should just be able to do it. Say it.

It’s just. Regulus wants this so fucking bad. Why is he so nervous now?

James softens, and kisses Regulus’ shoulder. “I just… we shouldn’t rush it.”

But they’re not, are they? Nothing about this is rushed. He knows how he feels. James is the right
person. The one he wants. Time is inconsequential when you just know. And Regulus is sure
because he is—

He is—

Ah, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like anyone can hear his thoughts. Regulus lets out a shaky breath that
James reads some other way because he’s back at nibbling at his collarbone. Regulus’ fingers card
through the mess of James’ hair, always sticking up in random directions. His glasses are
somewhere on the floor.

This man. This one. With his obnoxiously loud voice and jokes, over the top passion for Quidditch
and less than ideal fashion sense. With his annoying friends—which include Sirius, unfortunately
—and his unerring loyalty. With his warmth, and joy, and earnestness. Overwhelming, but in the
best way. Relentless, but gentle with boundaries.

James Potter is everything Regulus wanted even before he knew it was what he needed. The sun
that thawed the frozen landscape of his chest and made a broken heart beat again.

Regulus is—

He can’t ignore it any longer. Can’t deny it.

Regulus is in love with James.

There. He thought it. Out loud inside his brain.

The truth. Terrifying and all encompassing. Regulus loves James and he wants James and if he
can’t get his shit together and say that last part, he’s going to regret it.

And Regulus finds that the words for this do come up. It’s uncomfortable, and he’d rather not, but
he doesn’t struggle like with that I’ll miss you too he couldn’t utter. This one, he can do. He takes a
deep breath. He won’t let this get in the way.

Regulus pulls James’ hair so his head falls back and he can look James in the eye to say, “I want us
to fuck.”

James makes a noise of shock, eyes going wide. His pupils eat the hazel colour of his irises. Now
who’s blushing? Regulus looks at him with a smirk.

“Well?”

“Yes,” James says quickly. “Yes. Okay. I…” He fishes around for his wand, then summons a small
bottle. “We need this.”

Regulus has no idea what the bottle is for, but he’s not about to betray how fucking clueless he is
about the entire thing to James. It’s not Regulus’ fault, okay? There aren’t books about this in the
library. He’s checked. And he couldn’t… he thought about asking Barty, but then he’d have to
explain, and Regulus doesn’t want any more people to know about James.

Secrets get harder to keep under control the more ears that hold them.

James unscrews the bottle, and tips it over his hand to show Regulus a transparent, thick substance.
“It’s lube. So it, you know, works. Otherwise, we can get hurt.”

“I knew that,” Regulus says. He did not, but now that James explained it, it makes sense. Okay.
They need this, and they have it. So, they’re good, no?

Amusement flits through James’ face. He puts down the bottle, then gives Regulus a kiss so quick
and unexpected he can’t even kiss back before James is talking again.

“Do you have any idea what you want? How you want to do it?” James asks him.

This, Regulus was expecting. A decision has to be made, right? There’s no way around that. It’s
how it works. What does Regulus want? He has literally no idea. He just wants James. Any way he
can have him.

“Do you?”
 James tilts his head, then bites his lip. He looks away, blushing again, and Regulus wants to crack
his head open and peek inside. What is he thinking? Regulus wants to know. Desperately.

“Tell me,” he demands.

“Can we do both?” James asks, closing his eyes like if he can’t see Regulus, he won’t be
embarrassed about the whole thing. “Obviously, one has to go first. But… I don’t know what I
like. And I thought… I’m curious. I want to try both.”

His boyfriend is a genius. Regulus will have to rethink the whole idiot thing. Genuinely, Regulus
has never been presented with a better proposition in his entire life. He surges forward and kisses
James, catching him off guard.

“Yes,” Regulus says against his lips. “Fuck. Yes.”

James gasps, and then his hands are on Regulus’ waist, and they’re kissing and grinding against
each other to rekindle the passion that dimmed while they sorted out logistics. It roars to life, a fire
fuelled by how much they want each other, which is still a bit unbelievable to Regulus, but it is,
and he’s so fucking grateful.

Chapter End Notes

Just needed to rant a little bit about a few things in this chapter :)

DORCAS MEADOWES is friendship goals. Not gonna lie. I mean, Prongsfoot own
my heart but they're like a platonic soulmates situation. Dorcas? BFF FOREVER.

Not Rosmerta struggling to keep a straight face with Sirius. Like, ma'am.. I get it. But
also, he's taken. Take the hints Remus is not so subtly dropping.

Speaking of - REMUS LUPIN PLEASE STOP THIS. Genuinely, the man has so
much guilt and self hate? Like babe. Get over it. Sirius is DESPERATE. He's out here
making eyes and batting his lashes and wearing make up and you're just being a
stubborn little idiot. PLEASE (I love him)

Regulus messing with James through his answers in Marlene's game is so funny. James
'am I ugly? why does he want a fish?' Potter is CONFUSED. Poor baby. Regulus is
such a little shit for that. Also, he may or may not have been thinking about James'
slutty thighs. Just saying.

And finally.... REGULUS 'I'm in love' BLACK. HELP He's so precious. I'm deceased.
Also, he will NOT voice these feelings LMAO He's so unwell, my poor baby. But he's
like, just so happy he gets to have James for a while <3 UGH. And Regulus putting
himself in boyfriend jail? He's so funny to me. I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOUR.
Also (x2), James getting sad Reg didn't say I'm gonna miss you then running after
him? GIVE THAT MAN A MEDAL.

Anyway, sorry, I had a lot of feels for this chapter because it felt so important coming
after the Black Brothers Angst (tm) chapter. I think it came out quite alright :D

Thanks for reading!

Solmussa
 Christmas Break Part I
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

Hope you're all well and that this week is a good one :)
I bring you Christmas Break Part I. There is a song mentioned in this chapter and I've
added a link to it and to the lyrics in the end notes.
This chapter has both fluff / happiness and dark / angst at once, so please do mind the
TWs!

TWs
Mention of past near-death experience (when Sirius was hurt)
Mentions of the ongoing magical war
Mentions of murder (off page, no one we know, just part of war discussions)
Underage drinking
Smoking
Child abuse / torture (we are going to Grimmauld place in this chapter!)

One other thing - this fic is not canon compliant and I'm changing things as I see fit. I
am aware that Potter Manor isn't in Richmond but I like it and I think Richmond park
is beautiful and I wanted Prongs to run around with the other stags, so here we are :)
Additionally, in this fic Effie and Monty are younger than in canon so they are active
participants in the war efforts.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Potter Manor should feel daunting, because it’s, quite frankly, monstrous in size. It never does. Not
to James and, judging by the delight on Sirius’ face, not to him either. How could it when it’s lined
with a garden full of flowers, and there’s golden, warm light pouring from the windows? Potter
Manor might be huge, but every nook and cranny of it is filled with happy memories.

Remus trails along behind them, talking to James’ dad about an essay recently published and
publicised on the Daily Prophet about why Gringotts should stop importing dragons to guard
vaults. Remus and James’ dad both agree it's inhumane to have the dragons chained underground
for years and years, which as far as James can tell is the point of the essay.

His mum didn’t come to King’s Cross. She stayed home to oversee the preparation of dinner. It's a
Potter family tradition that first dinner back from school should be grand, and James is looking
forward to it.

The house is in Richmond, which used to work well for James because it’s sufficiently far from
North London--where Grimmauld place is located--but now means he’s not going to run into
Regulus. Not even accidentally. This James thinks is rather upsetting, but not much he can do about
it.

“Hi mum!” James shouts when he’s past the door. "We're home."

He drops his trunk against the wall, then moves out of the way for Sirius to do the same. Euphemia
Potter is a beautiful woman. She’s always smiling, and moves with a grace James has only ever
seen in the Black brothers. She appears at the threshold between the receiving room and the
corridor that leads towards the kitchens and opens her arms.

“Come here, the both of you, and give your mother a hug.”

James and Sirius obey. They’re wrapped in her arms as James’ dad and Remus walk in. Without
missing a beat, Effie stretches her arm a little more and says, “You too, Remus. Come on.”

Effie holds Remus’ gaze firmly. In her arms, James can feel Sirius tense, and he’s sure that his
mum notices it too, but she doesn’t relent. Remus has no choice but to approach. As soon as he’s
within range, she’s pulling him, too and they’re doing a group hug now which has Remus squished
against Sirius.

Sirius’ cheeks are pink.

“Welcome home,” Effie says, release the boys. “Drag your suitcases upstairs yourselves. Rolsy is
busy helping me finish dinner.”

Remus steps away swiftly, nervously glancing at Sirius who is doing his best to remain calm.
James, who shares a braincell with him, can tell he’s about to start shouting at Remus that they just
touched and nobody died so stop being ridiculous and get over yourself.

“Right,” James says swiftly, hooking his arm in Sirius’. “Let’s go! Remus, you’re across from me,
as always.”

There’s no need for instructions for Sirius who has lived here since he ran away from his family.
He’s got his own room. The three boys levitate their trunks up the stairs and march up. To James’
delight, the house smells of Christmas already.

Decorations are up, and they are beautiful. There are wreaths attached to the stair railings, garlands
over everyone’s room door. He hasn’t seen the Christmas tree yet, but it’s always in the living
room, by the chimney with their stockings. Rolsy, the house elf of Potter Manor, is very good with
details, and fills the entire house with small, festive touches.

To James, who thrives in the unique atmosphere of this holiday, finding his house so carefully
adorned feels like paradise. He’ll go to the bathroom and find towels embroidered with small trees.
Red soap that smells of cinnamon or nutmeg. Little candles by the windows, and stars hanging
over the glass doors to the gardens. There are even small, decorative trinkets attached to the
doorknobs. The one in his room, which reads James in golden glitter, is a bauble like the ones they
hang from the tree.

“I’m calling a marauder meeting in ten minutes,” James tells the others as they stop in front of their
doors. “It’s not optional.”

Remus shoots him a pained look, but James doesn’t let off. He’s not going to let the last full
moon’s incident ruin Christmas.

Purposefully, he walks into his room and sets about magically unpacking his things as fast as he
can. The present Regulus gave him, still neatly wrapped because there was no way to open it—he
tried, don’t tell Regulus—has a place of honour on his bedside table. It’s the first thing James is
going to do on Christmas Day.

Ten minutes later, having changed into comfortable clothes and washed his hands and face, James
is knocking on Remus’ door, Sirius at his heels. His wand is in his hair, and he’s also in comfy
clothes.

Reluctantly, Remus opens the door. James and Sirius barge in before Remus can protest.

“This is an intervention,” James announces, pointing his wand at the door and locking it with a
spell. “You’re not leaving this room until we’ve hashed out this stupidity that has overcome you,
my friend.”

“This is unnecessary,” Remus says.

“Moony.”

“Everything is fine.”

“Is it?” Sirius asks, raising one eyebrow.

Remus’ eyes dart everywhere but towards Sirius.

James sighs. “Listen, Moony. We gave you the full two moping weeks allowed after an incident
per The Marauder’s Code. Even a bit more, because Christmas break was coming and we thought
we’d wait to be here. But enough is enough.”

“Incident?” Remus asks, eyes flashing up at James. “You’re calling what happened an incident?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Moony. Get over yourself. I’m fine.”

For the first time in over two weeks, Remus looks at Sirius. Properly looks at him. And James feels
as though he shouldn’t be witnessing this, because the pain and regret and guilt clinging to Remus’
features is too raw for an audience.

“You’re fine,” Remus snarls. “You’re fine? You were torn apart! Because of me.”

Sirius rises to his full height—not that impressive when he’s facing Remus, but points for effort—
and says, “It was an accident! We didn’t know about the hounds in the forest. It was no one’s
fault!”

“The only reason you were in the forest was me. You know what that means? That means I killed
you!” Remus says, and his voice cracks. “James said your heart stopped beating. You were dead. I
killed you.”

Remus falls to his knees, head hanging forward. He doesn’t make a sound, but James sees the first
tear hit the polished, wooden floor of the guestroom and feels his stomach lurch. He has known
Remus Lupin since he was eleven. And this is the first time he’s ever seen him cry.

Sirius looks absolutely stricken for a brief second before he recovers and goes to kneel at Remus’
side. James quickly follows, positioning himself on their friend’s other side.

“Remus. I don’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault. We made a choice to be animagi and run around
at night,” Sirius says softly, like he’s afraid Remus might break if he speaks too forcefully.

“It’s a choice I made, and I’d make again in a heartbeat. It wasn’t your fault. And I need you to
forgive yourself because I miss my best friend. In punishing yourself, you’re hurting me more. I
don’t want this. It’s stupid, and senseless, and please just stop it, okay?”

“None of us could have predicted a pack of hounds roaming the forest. That’s not on you,” James
adds. “It really was just an accident.”
Remus looks up at James, eyes glistening with tears. “What if you hadn’t found Regulus in time?
Would you say the same?”

Unwavering, with his heart in a fist and his throat so tight it hurts, James says, “I would still know
and think it wasn’t your fault. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t, Moony.”

“Can we please just like… acknowledge that I didn’t die? I’m here? I’m fine? Hello?” Sirius says,
spreading his arms wide and flicking his hair back. “Sirius Orion Black, still gorgeous, still
whole!”

The corner of Remus’ lips twitch. James smiles, too and pulls Remus into a hug.

“He’s insufferable, Remus. And I’ve been having to deal with him alone for two weeks. Please,
I’m begging you, take some of the babysitting duties back.”

“OI!” Sirius bellows, pretending he’s indignant.

Remus chuckles. Wipes an errant tear from his cheek. With a shaky breath, he looks at Sirius. “I’m
sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Sirius shakes his head, “Stop being stupid. You’re supposed to be the clever one.”

And he pulls Remus into his arms, closing them tightly around him. At first, Remus is a little tense.
Reluctant. But Sirius doesn’t let him go, and eventually he relaxes into it and sort of melts. Like
this is where he was supposed to be all along.

“Thank Merlin,” James says with a deep sigh. “It was getting ridiculous.”

The Christmas break picks up after that initial intervention. They spend their early mornings flying
about the Potter’s large garden (Sirius and James) and reading (Remus) and the late mornings in
town, browsing through shops and eating pastries from the local café.

The afternoons are for music. Sometimes, it’s down in the living room where the Potters have a
record player. Sometimes, it’s in Sirius’ room, with his beloved guitar that he doesn’t bring to
Hogwarts because there isn’t really time for him to play, with Quidditch and pranks and studying.
James makes him play the Sounds of Silence every single day, and fantasies about a future when
he can listen to it with Regulus.

When Effie and Monty aren’t in ‘meetings’ that they all know are Order business—they’re not yet
allowed to attend, despite their loud protests—they enjoy hearty food and carols with their kids,
sitting around the fire and making the most of Christmas. Effie insists on protecting their last
holiday before they’re out in the world. Before they’re forced to grow up too quickly.

One day, they go to the Christmas market the muggles have put up and Sirius insists on stopping at
every single stall to examine every trinket on display. He’s wearing Remus’ scarf, black eyeliner,
and his nose is pink from the cold, but he looks excited like a little child and James and Remus are
helpless in the face of such enthusiasm.

James misses his boyfriend every single day, but there’s so much joy in his house for the season
that he feels okay. Regulus told him he’s treated well at home because he’s the perfect son, so he’s
not worried. Not the way he used to get when Sirius had to go to Grimmauld place over a break.
James wishes he could write to Regulus, but he understands why he can’t. Instead, he tries to save
all the little things in his mind so he can Regulus in January.

To everyone’s intense relief, Remus slowly gets back to normal, until he doesn’t flinch if Sirius
gets in his space. Surprisingly, Sirius doesn’t attempt anything at all. Like he knows his crush on
his friend has to take a backseat until Remus feels confident again. Until he’s fully forgiven himself
for what happened.

So, Sirius acts like nothing is happening during the day, then crawls into James’ bed at night to
complain about how difficult his life is these days because Moony is so gorgeous he can’t breathe
when they’re in the same room.

He's so dramatic.

“Have you seen the way he pouts a little when he’s reading a book?” Sirius asks James one night,
lying on his back next to his friend. Their arms are touching.

“Ehmm…”

“Never mind,” Sirius says dismissively. “Trust me on this. It’s criminal.”

“He is quite handsome,” James admits. “In a rugged sort of way.”

“He looks like he doesn’t give a fuck about anything,” Sirius says, sounding absolutely delighted
for some reason. “It’s so sexy.”

“You, my friend, are unwell.”

Sirius giggles, and James rolls his eyes.

"What am I supposed to do? He's so... he's so beautiful," Sirius sighs before falling asleep in James'
bed.

On Christmas morning, James wakes up and reaches for the gift on his nightstand. He doesn’t even
get out of bed. He’s been desperate to open it. James rips the paper apart. He’s momentarily
assaulted by a sense of guilt for destroying Regulus’ careful wrapping, but that’s swiftly abandoned
in favour of jaw-slackening awe.

He’s holding a Rubik’s cube but unlike anything he’s seen before. The colours are Green, Silver,
Red, Gold, Black and White. It’s not the colours that make his breath hitch, though. There’s a little
note attached to a larger envelope that says ‘solve it, then open this’

James gets to work. It doesn’t take him too long, even though he hasn’t practiced in a while.
Outside his door, he can hear steps. The rest of the house is waking up. They can wait. James
wants to see what happens when he solves it, because he can tell there’s something else about this
cube. Something hidden.

The last piece clicks into place, and James holds his breath. The cube glows briefly, and then
music begins to play. For some reason, James’ eyes got a bit teary. A woman’s voice fills his
room, and James listens. It’s in French.

He scrambles to tear open the envelope and finds the lyrics for the song. Regulus has written it
down both in French and then, next to it, in English.

And James reads, and listens, and feels so overwhelmed by it that he cries. Quietly, in his bed,
clutching the Rubik’s cube to his chest as the song replays, James weeps, overwhelmed by
everything he has inside. The intensity of it. How beautiful it is to love someone this much, this
earnestly.
“Why are you listening to Edith Piaf?” Sirius asks, looking confused as he stands in the doorway of
James’ room. “Is this…? Oh. Reggie’s song.”

“Reg—what,” James has to clear his throat, which brings Sirius’ attention to the fact he’s been
quietly weeping.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius shuts the door behind him and crosses the room quickly, joining James in
his bed.

“Nothing’s wrong.” James breathes out shakily, then lets out a wet chuckle. “I’m…” James smiles,
then. Wide and bright and full of hope for the future. “I love him. I love him, Sirius.”

He braces for a display of hysterics, but gets none. After a moment, Sirius simply smiles back,
shaking his head like he’s resigned himself to this.

“Yeah. I guessed.” Sirius gestures towards the Rubik’s cube James is holding. “That his gift?”

“It’s like a music box in a Rubik’s cube. And it plays this French song.”

“It’s Reggie’s favourite,” Sirius tells him. “I used to take the piss out of him so much for it.”

Indignant, James lifts his chin. “Why? It’s a nice song! It’s a love song.”

“It’s not just a love song,” Sirius says. “It’s the love song. Literally. And Reggie… well. He had
this idea, when he was younger. He was a bit of a dreamer, before it all went to shit. Anyway, he
used to tell me that he’d one day find someone that would make him feel the way Piaf felt when
she wrote it.”

“Regulus. Regulus said that?”

“Well. He was like nine or ten? But yeah,” Sirius chortles. “Sounds like knew what he was talking
about, heh?”

James is speechless. He just. Does it mean Regulus loves him, too? A sound of pure, choked
delight breaks from his throat. He won’t jump to conclusions, because this song… well. It was
Regulus’ favourite song before, wasn’t it? And James made it a thing between them, not Regulus.
So it doesn’t necessarily mean what Sirius is implying. But. Maybe? What—

“Breathe,” Sirius says, chuckling. “Oh Godric. I can’t fucking believe this, Prongs. Of all the
people in the world and you had to fall in love with my brother. What the fuck, genuinely.”

“I haven’t told him,” James says, suddenly panicked. “I didn’t want to scare him away. Oh fuck.
Should I have told him? What do I do? I won’t see him for another week.”

Sirius shrugs. “There’s no rush, is there? You’ve got all the time in the world.”

He gets up from James’ bed and tugs on his arm. “Now, come on. We can’t open presents until
we’re all downstairs.”

James exists in a bubble for the following week. Nothing can touch him. Not the increased traffic
at his home, as more and more people come to discuss dire things with his parents in hushed tones.
Not the couple of muggleborns who were found dead somewhere in Wales. Nothing.

He’s not… he’s aware that it’s happening. The war continues on, despite everything. But in his
house, with Sirius and Remus and his music box that plays a song about love, he can pretend it
doesn’t touch him yet. He’s safe for a little longer. He’s still a kid. Still in training.

There’ll be time for saving the world. Soon enough. And he will fight. He will, to protect people
and the world and to make sure that he and Regulus can have a future together. A peaceful future.
James will fight with everything he’s got.

But for now, this odd week after Christmas, he just floats above everything and everyone, because
he’s in love, and his boyfriend is the most amazing man in the world.

They continue with their routine of music, and books. Cafes and shops. Sirius even plays Hymne a
l’amour for him on the guitar, and James cries again, to Remus’ utter horror.

They eat more food than they can handle, and drink way too much beer in the pub down the road.
The nights between Christmas and New Year’s find the three of them staggering back to Potter
Manor together, laughing and slurring their words, cigarettes dangling from Sirius and Remus’
mouths. Peter joins them twice, because he lives nearby, but his family is a lot stricter and wants
him around most of the break.

Even the Full Moon—two nights before New Year’s Eve—is a good one. Recklessly, because
they’re still kids with a penchant for making bad decisions, they break out of the Potter’s cellar,
where every precaution was taken to set Remus up and sneak out to Richmond Park, which is huge
and full of fellow deer that James likes to run around with. Sirius and James herd Remus so he
doesn’t go near the park boundaries. They don’t see a single human being. Nobody gets hurt.

This, more than anything, helps Remus finally put the Sirius incident behind him.

The next day, to everyone’s surprise and Sirius’ absolute delight, Alastor Moody pays them a visit.
He checks in on Remus first, then hides away with Monty and Effie in their study.

The three boys wait patiently for two hours so they can persuade Moody to do a training session
with them. Perhaps it’s the holiday cheer, or simply Moody’s obsession with ‘constant vigilance’
but he thinks this a good idea and they proceed to have a duel—three vs one—that Moody wins but
only narrowly.

It has been one of the best Christmas breaks he can remember, James thinks to himself as he
adjusts his black tie. The only thing that would have made it better is if he could have shared it
with Regulus.

It’s New Year’s Eve and they’re all going to a party the Ministry of Magic is hosting in town, in
some expensive hotel near Westminster. The Potters are invited, and the kids are coming along
because there’s a muggle party in the same hotel, in the second ballroom. They’re planning on
sneaking into it as soon as the countdown is over.

As he piles into the car—Effie refused to floo or apparate in her evening gown—James wonders
how Regulus is celebrating the New Year and deeply regrets they won’t be together when the
clock strikes midnight, because he’d absolutely love to be able to kiss him.

Then, the car is driving into London, and Sirius is excitedly telling them about his drinking
strategy for the night, and James has no choice but to resign himself to making the most of the
party even though Regulus won’t be there.

He'll have time to kiss him when they’re back at Hogwarts, and James intends to do that and much
more.

####
The Ancestral seat of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black is an imposing townhouse in
North London. To Regulus, Grimmauld Place could be beautiful, if it weren’t so terribly gloomy.
It’s as though Walburga is allergic to light. To anything even remotely cheerful, Regulus thinks as
he steps into the entrance hall. The walls, lined with the portraits of his ancestors, feel like they’re
squeezing in. Trapping him. Asphyxiating him.

“Young master,” Kreacher says, hurrying down from the kitchen. “Welcome home.”

Regulus refrains from pointing out that Grimmauld place is a magnificent house, but it has never
been a home.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” he says politely. “Would you please help take my trunk to my room?”

“Certainly, young master.”

With a perfected flourish, Regulus hangs his cloak neatly from the rack and takes off his gloves
before heading up the staircase at the end of the hall. The chandeliers glow a dim, silvery light that
casts the entire house in a sort of ethereal feel. As though it were permanently suspended in
twilight.

Kreacher takes his trunk to his bedroom with a loud cracking sound.

In the drawing room, Regulus finds his parents. Orion is at a desk, reading through his
correspondence. Walburga is on a chaise-lounge, but she’s not reclining. Her back is ramrod
straight, shoulders thrown back as she turns the page on the book she’s reading. The cover
indicates to Regulus that it’s another murder mystery by a famous Wizard author who writes from
Azkaban, where he’s serving a life sentence for the killing spree of 1958. It’s the only thing she
reads.

A large Christmas tree—the only decoration in the entire house—is set up near the window,
adorned with family heirlooms and snake-shaped motives. It’s better than nothing, Regulus
supposes, but he can’t help but think James would be sorely disappointed if he saw it.

Regulus is prepared to bet the tree at Potter Manor has twinkling lights and everything. Nothing
like this shrine to the morbid and occult. It’s quite impressive how Walburga manages to make
even Christmas a rather depressing and gloomy affair.

“Mother. Father,” Regulus says stiffly.

“Regulus,” Walburga puts her book down. “You look well. I am pleased.”

He tilts his head forward slightly in acknowledgment. Waits to be dismissed or invited inside. He
hopes for dismissed, but he’s not so lucky.

“You’re expected at Madame Malkin’s tomorrow morning at nine am sharp,” says Walburga.
“She’s making you a new set of robes for your cousin’s engagement party.”

“Oh,” Regulus says, feigning interest. “It’s official, then?”

Orion puts down the letter he was reading and nods.

“She’ll be marrying Lucius in the summer. A brilliant match I told Cygnus. Very clever. Better
than Bella’s, in my opinion.”

This is delivered in a way that makes Regulus want to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t. His face
remains neutral. Empty. It’s easier than he thought.

On the train back, Regulus got anxious that now that he’s… well. That. The L word, with James.
That he would be worse at hiding. He’s pleased to discover that he’s not. Apparently, so long as
James isn’t in the room, Regulus has no trouble slipping back into his perfected role.

“When is the party?” he asks, sounding bored.

“Tomorrow evening,” Walburga says. “It’s at Malfoy Manor. We leave promptly at six pm sharp.”

Regulus blinks, the only reaction he allows himself. He doesn’t want to know how much money
his mother has wasted to ensure Madame Malkin can make his robes that fast. It’s absurd, and
unnecessary. Regulus has no less than three sets of dress robes that hasn’t yet used, not to
mentioned the dozens of additional ones he’s only worn once.

“Very well,” he says. He’d like to go to his room now, but he’s not been dismissed yet.

Orion and Walburga exchange a look that makes Regulus’ gut clench uncomfortably, but then his
mother nods towards him and dismisses him.

Regulus walks calmly up the stairs, closes the door to his room with a soft click. Casts silencing
spells and a clever little trick he’s learnt where he’s alerted if someone turns towards his room at
the top of the stairs.

Once the safety measures are in place, he sighs and sits on his bed. The last thing he wants is to
spend an evening in Malfoy Manor. Regulus has things to do. He’s busy. His family has one of the
most complete libraries in all of England, and he has plans to go through it over the next two
weeks. Tomorrow’s party is an inconvenience, but oh well. Little he can do.

Regulus slips a hand inside his clothes to press his fingers to the box James gave him. He’s tempted
to open it early. James didn’t spell it like Regulus did, so in theory he could. And he wants to, so
badly. He’s already missing James, which is so absurd Regulus wants to smack himself over the
head.

He doesn’t, though. It’s not fair. James can’t open his present for a few days still, so it’s only right
that Regulus waits.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor,” a young lady wearing a uniform greets them as soon as they arrive
the following evening.

Walburga barely looks at her as she flings her cloak towards the woman, eyes narrowed so she can
better inspect the grand house.

Malfoy Manor is only marginally better than Grimmauld place. At least they have proper
Christmas decorations, even if they’re all silver and white. Not a speck of gold to be found.

Regulus never thought he’d wish for it, but here he is. Once again, James would be disappointed
by the lack of warmth and seasonal cheer that seems to plague the Blacks’ social circle.

Everyone that’s anyone is here. The house is absolutely bursting with people in fine robes,
gorgeous jewellery, and practiced sneers. Regulus’ own robes hug his body elegantly, falling to the
floor artfully. They’re all black, which he likes. A silver pin with the house crest is attached to his
chest.

With a nod to his parents, Regulus squares his shoulders and plunges into the crowd only to
immediately turn to the side and make a beeline for the closest wall.

Leaning against the wall like he’d rather be anywhere else—which is one hundred percent true—
Regulus spends the following fifteen minutes watching people come up to Narcissa and Lucius to
congratulate them.

“Thank Salazar you’re here,” Evan says, emerging from the crowd and coming to lean against the
wall next to Regulus. “If I have to smile at an old lady while she squeezes my shoulders and
comments how much I’ve grown one more time I will set this fucking house on fire.”

“Barty would be so proud,” Regulus comments.

“Barty would have caused a commotion already,” Evan replies fondly.

Regulus smirks. “Is Dorcas coming?”

Evan shakes his head, leans closer to Regulus. “Some of the Meadowes are here, but not Dorcas. I
overheard one of her cousins saying she’s causing trouble at home.”

Regulus’ spine goes rigid at that. ‘Trouble’ is not something you want to cause in a pureblood
household. His fists clench, and Regulus has to fight his urge to floo to Dorcas’ house and start
cursing the shit out of everybody.

“I know,” Evan says darkly. “I wrote to Barty. He’s going to check in on her. We’ll know
tomorrow if we need to intervene.”

“Good,” Regulus says, relieved that one of them is free to go check on Dorcas. It’s the one good
thing about Barty’s father not being in the same circle as Regulus’ and Evan’s.

“Should we get drunk?” Evan asks him, gesturing to the artfully decorated bar.

Regulus shrugs. They might as well. It’s not like they have anything better to do, and protocol
demands that they stay here for at least two hours.

No one bats an eye at two underage wizards having a drink here. Things are going relatively well
for them—no one has bothered them, and that’s all they can ask for—when Walburga appears at
Regulus’ elbow.

“There you are,” she says sharply. “We must go congratulate your cousin.”

“Yes, mother.”

Handing his empty glass to Evan, who takes it and fades into the background wordlessly, Regulus
follows his mother through the throng of people until he’s standing in front of Narcissa Black and
Lucius Malfoy. He’s got to admit that his cousin looks beautiful. She’s dyed her hair blond, and it
falls in a thick, glossy curtain around her.

“Ah,” Lucius says excitedly. “Regulus! I was wondering where you were.”

This greeting raises Regulus’ hackles. He’s not friends with Lucius. Well, he’s not friends with
anyone other than his little circle, but anyway. Details. The point is that Regulus has barely ever
exchanged a word with Lucius, to be honest. There is no reason for him to be this delighted about
their meeting.

“Hello, Lucius,” he says cautiously. “Narcissa. Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you, cousin,” Narcissa replies, beaming. She puts her hair behind her ear, which is totally
unnecessary but it does flash the humongous diamond on her ring finger.

“Walburga,” Lucius says. “Would you mind keeping Cissy company for a few moments? I have
something to discuss with your son.”

Regulus eyes widen slightly at this, but he keeps an ironclad hold on himself. Walburga nods, a
knowing glint in her eye that tells Regulus whatever this is, she’s in on it. It can’t be good, but that
has hardly mattered before. Regulus doesn’t see why it would start mattering now.

“Let’s dip into my study,” Lucius says. “We don’t want to be overheard.”

“Lead the way,” Regulus replies confidently, as if he had impromptu clandestine meetings with the
heir of the Malfoy line every day.

As they weave through the crowd, Regulus reminds himself that he can do this, whatever this is.
Lucius is simply another pawn in his game. Regulus might not be able to make friends, but he can
manipulate people. Look at Myrtle. Slughorn. Even Flitwick and McGonagall.

It strikes Regulus as rather impressive how far he’s come since the beginning of the year. Partly
thanks to his friends, partly thanks to James. His social skills have improved and that’s going to be
invaluable in the near future.

Lucius’ study is as grand and opulent as the rest of the house. Mahogany furniture polished so well
Regulus can see his reflection on it, rows of books lining the walls. An obnoxiously large
chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Closing the door behind them, Lucius paces for a beat before turning to face Regulus.

“Your parents are very generous supporters of the Dark Lord,” he says, startling Regulus. Alright,
then. That’s what this is about. “But they aren’t inner circle.”

“Father’s health is delicate,” Regulus replies smoothly.

Lucius nods. “We understand, of course. I only mention it because there are certain things they
aren’t privy to, and so the Dark Lord has tasked me with taking on that role. For you.”

There’s something about the way Lucius says ‘role’ that makes Regulus’ skin crawl. He tilts his
head to the side, looks straight into Lucius’ eyes, defiant.

“Why you and not my cousin?”

To be clear: Regulus is secretly thrilled. He doesn’t like Bellatrix. But he’s not about to be
blindsided by some sort of political conflict within the Dark Lord’s ranks.

“Bellatrix doesn’t have the patience. She’s been removed from recruiting duties entirely,” Lucius
says bitterly. “The last initiate she was in charge of was rendered useless because she lost her
temper.”

“I see,” Regulus replies calmly. “Well, then. What is it you need to tell me?”

“You’re to be offered the Mark before your seventeenth birthday. Your mother has agreed it’ll be
during Easter break, since you can hardly leave Hogwarts before then to have it done.”

“I was already aware,” Regulus replies. “It was agreed over the summer.”
“You’ll take it, then?”

Regulus nods, holding his gaze. For a moment, the idea crosses his mind that Lucius knows
legilimency and can read his deeper thoughts. His secrets. His plans. Regulus has been practicing a
little. He’s not good, not yet, but at least he’s begun trying. Instead, somewhat unsettlingly, Lucius
smiles. Pretty disturbing sight, if you ask Regulus, but sincere enough.

“Excellent news!” He exclaims. “But you understand we can’t just have you join… without some
assurances.”

“Assurances?” Regulus’ spine prickles. He doesn’t like this. It’s unexpected, and it’s sure to alter
his carefully laid plans, which is just a massive headache. He thought he didn’t have to do anything
until Easter.

His Felix Felicis potion is still at Hogwarts, brewing. Amongst other things.

“A test, if you will,” Lucius says casually. “Next week. There’s a… a little fun being planned. The
Dark Lord has requested that you join it and prove yourself.”

Ah. Regulus relaxes immediately. This is fine. This he can do. And, all things considered, it’s
pretty mild. Sure, Regulus didn’t plan on having to hurt anybody this early, but as far as
adjustments and curve balls go, this is fine. Doesn’t mess with the grand scheme of things.

In a way, it’ll give him insight into what other Death Eaters can do. Measure himself up against
them.

“I hope there’ll be precautions to keep our identities concealed?” he says, lifting his chin. “I do
want to complete my education. You understand, I’m sure.”

Lucius seems downright delighted that this is Regulus’ primary concern, just as he knew he would.
“Of course. You will be given a mask. Do not worry about that. You are willing, then? To prove
yourself to the Dark Lord.”

“Always,” Regulus replies swiftly, confidently.

Lucius claps him in the shoulder, and Regulus grits his teeth and doesn’t flinch.

“My boy, we are going to do great things. The House of Malfoy and the House of Black, together!
Let me offer you a drink from my private bar.”

He crosses the room—for which he has to release Regulus’ shoulder, to his relief—and promptly
serves two glasses of a drink that’s almost black in colour.

Regulus takes it brazenly, even if the smell of it is making his stomach churn. The taste isn’t any
better, and it has so much alcohol Regulus knows he’s going to be sloshed from this one glass.

“To our houses, and our dark future!” Lucius says.

“Hear, hear,” Regulus replies.

They drink, and it is a true test of Regulus’ self control to stop himself from wincing.

Regulus never thought he’d want to go back to a crowded party, but the silence is getting a little
uncomfortable and he doesn’t like the way Lucius is looking at him. Like there’s something
Regulus can give him. He can guess at it—power, influence. The Malfoys are important and
notorious, but the Blacks? If the Wizarding world had royalty, it’d be the Blacks on the throne.

The door to the studio opens, and a small man wearing butler attire pops his head in. “Mr. Malfoy,
I’m very sorry to interrupt but Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange have arrived and demand to see you to offer
their congratulations.”

“Demand?” Lucius says, an eyebrow raising. “I’m busy at the moment. I will see them when I
decide to, not a moment sooner.”

The butler disappears, shutting the door again, and Regulus smirks. “Bit pretentious, isn’t it? To
give you orders in your own house.”

Lucius looks at him with a mixture of caution and irritation.

“Rabastan was marked last night, so there are three Lestranges in the inner circle now. Rodolphus
is trying to lord that over the rest of us, not that we let him.”

The bitter tone of Lucius’ words delights Regulus. Tilting his head a little for effect, he takes
another sip of the frankly awful drink.

“Never liked him,” Regulus says, adopting conspiratorial tone. “My uncle made a bad match for
Bella there. Obviously knew to do better with Narcissa. Even my father remarked on it.”

Lucius’ chest puffs a little bit at the praise. Takes another sip of his drink.

“I’m going to put the man in his place,” Lucius says, setting down his glass. “Please, do finish your
drink at your leisure. No one will bother you here, if you enjoy the quiet.”

“Thank you,” Regulus says, then goes in with the hook. “Will you visit Grimmauld Place, or shall I
return to your Manor to discuss details for next week?”

Lucius looks exorbitantly pleased by this, and quickly insists he’ll come to Grimmauld Place with
Narcissa for dinner at the earliest opportunity. Regulus knows his mother will be quite happy about
it, too, and agrees a date with Lucius right there and then.

When Lucius closes the door behind him, leaving Regulus alone in his study, Regulus is smirking.

Fucking hell. If they’re all this stupid, he’s going to have no trouble at all rising through the ranks.

Now that he’s alone, Regulus puts down the glass with the foul liquid and decides to have a bit of a
nose about. The Malfoys are renowned for collecting a myriad of dark objects, and it wouldn’t hurt
if Regulus happened to stumble upon one. In any case, it’s better than being back at that party and
running into Bellatrix.

Regulus wanders around the study lazily, eyes trailing over book titles and looking into glass cases.
His mind drifts. Being so close to so many people who are on his revenge list makes him a bit
anxious. They’re all very good witches and wizards. Powerful. Cruel.

Regulus is still just a kid. Only sixteen. He’s quite confident in his abilities, and anyone who has
ever known him would be hard pressed to find a flaw in his magical skills. But still.

The shelves hold very little of interest, so he moves to Lucius’ desk. It’s warded, which gives
Regulus the feeling of challenge he’s looking for. Can he break past Lucius’ wards to snoop around
his desk? He tries.
It goes relatively well. He burns the pads of his fingers when he miscalculates one of the spell’s
intensity and the ward reacts badly, but he pushes past it. It’s not like he’s planning on touching
anybody for the next two weeks.

Gritting his teeth, he works his way through the last of the wards. The final one sends a wave of
pain so intense through his bones Regulus falls to his knees panting and sweating. But he’s been
tortured at home as part of his training so he knows pain. Hates it, but can deal with it.

The first two drawers have nothing interesting. Letters from Narcissa, copies of Ministry papers,
records of the Malfoy fortune. It’s in the third one, the one closest to the bottom, that Regulus finds
something strange. It’s much smaller than the previous two, which alerts Regulus to the existence
of a false bottom.

With his potioner’s knife, he lifts it up and finds a single, black notebook resting there. It’s
unmarked. Regulus picks it up and a prickle of unease travels down his spine. Dark magic. Of what
sort, Regulus isn’t sure yet, but powerful. He opens it and finds the pages blank. Scowling, Regulus
turns it in his hands, and almost drops it.

At the back of it, printed on the lower end of the back cover, it says Tom Marvolo Riddle.

“There you are,” Regulus mutters to himself, a manic grin stretching his face.

Marvolo. Who knew Voldemort had a middle name? And what a middle name! Regulus has pored
over enough lineage books to recognise it as a trademark of the Gaunt family, which he thought
was extinct. Apparently not.

This is why Regulus couldn’t find him. Riddle… he’s ready to bet it’s a muggle a name. It would
explain everything. Why he wants rid of his identity, why Regulus couldn’t find him, why the
name isn’t on any record in the books he’s looked at.

A Gaunt woman fell in love with a muggle man and had Tom. He’s a half-blood, and of the Gaunt
bloodline. Which reinforces Regulus’ theory that Voldemort is the heir of Slytherin because the
Gaunts made sure to flaunt their lineage at every opportunity to the irritation of literally everyone
else. He’s never met one, but one hears things in the pure-blood circles.

Regulus finds a random piece of parchment and sets to carefully transfiguring it to look exactly like
the notebook. Once he’s put it all back in its place, he pockets Riddle’s little black book and
performs a few spells to ensure his movements in the studio can’t be traced. He’d rather go home
straight away to investigate, but he has to endure the party for a while longer. Oh well, he thinks.

Whatever it takes.

***

Christmas Eve is a stuffy affair. Every Black—bar the disowned ones—comes to Grimmauld
Place. Walburga holds court over an opulent eight course dinner, clashing heads with Bellatrix who
thinks being marked gives her authority over the lady of the house.

This results in a magical duel before dessert is even brought out. The entire family gets involved,
because that’s just how things are. Regulus throws himself into it, because trying to go unnoticed
would have only been worse.

In the end, things calm down but Walburga is frustrated and flaunts that Regulus will soon be
joining the ranks. Bellatrix is pleased by this, and after they finish the pudding insists on helping
her little cousin toughen up so he’ll be ready.
Writhing in pain on the carpet of their study under the careful watch of several family members is
not the way Regulus wanted to spend his Christmas Eve. He takes it though. Takes every ounce of
pain, accepts it, struggles through it. He also glares back at Bellatrix in the moments of respite.

He can’t fight back. He’s not expected to. The point of this is to build up his tolerance.

Regulus feels like he’s being skinned alive. Pain like this is all encompassing. It’s consuming,
leaving no room for anything else. Lying on that carpet, all Regulus can think is one single word.

Endure.

By the time he crawls into bed, Regulus’ hands are shaking and his throat is raw from screaming.
He curls himself under the blankets and closes his eyes, but sleep won’t come. With great effort, he
reaches for his sleeping potions, almost spilling them from how hard he’s quavering. He has to
down three vials these days before he’s pulled under and can get some rest.

Christmas Day, Regulus showers and dresses carefully, hiding the marks left behind by Bellatrix’s
demonstration. Everyone was so proud of him last night. He’s a tough wizard, they said. The Dark
Lord will be pleased with him. Regulus’ hands curl into fists. White, ice cold fury spreads inside of
him.

In this place, away from James for so long, his chest has become cold and his heart' beating has
slowed down again. Like the frost knows the sun is not here, and so it fights to take back the
ground it lost.

Every day in this house, Regulus’ heart hardens. It’s not a bad thing. He needs this to happen, and
is pleased to find that all he needs to do is be away from James. Never mind the aching longing he
fights every night when he’s in bed and alone and in silence and all he can think about is James.
James’ mouth. James’ hands. James’ eyes. James kissing him.

Regulus leaves the room without opening the present. He remembers days ago when all he wanted
to do was rip the paper off and discover what James had got him. But now? It’ll have to wait until
after New Year’s Eve, because Regulus cannot afford to go soft.

His parents gift him more things than he could ever need, as though spending money makes up for
the lack of warmth in the house. Regulus is dutifully grateful, accepts them all. The whole thing
lasts for approximately twenty minutes before they each go their own way to occupy themselves.
Christmas is done. Over.

In the library, next to the window, Regulus has commandeered a large desk that is covered in
books. Walburga only came to enquire once, saw all the books were about dark magic, and left
with a pleased expression on her face.

The day after that, taking advantage of the rift in the family and the lingering tension after
Bellatrix’s antics during Christmas Eve, Regulus willingly sought out his mother for the first time.
He wants to learn occlumency and legilimancy. There’s no one better than Walburga Black to teach
him.

All it takes is a carefully dropped hint about other Death Eaters wanting to stay at the top of the
food chain. Walburga, who’ll do anything to see the House of Black elevated, immediately snarls
he needs to become even more powerful.

And there, carefully, Regulus suggests it. Walburga begins his instruction immediately.

Whatever it takes.
 ***

New Year’s Eve arrives with a drop in temperatures but a clear night. Regulus adjusts his black tie,
glances at Lucius sitting on his left. They’re having dinner in Malfoy Manor. Everyone involved in
what comes next. It’s mostly men, Regulus notices. But Bellatrix is here. So is Alecto Carrow.
Narcissa, too, but she won’t be coming later. Regulus isn’t sure whether she bears the mark or not.
Doesn’t really care one way or another.

He's acutely aware of the fact that he’s the youngest person at this table. Not even Evan is here,
much to his father’s annoyance. Mr. Rosier keeps glaring daggers at Regulus, as if it’s his fault that
Evan wasn’t deemed ready for his test yet. Regulus is secretly grateful for it. Evan deserves to stay
soft.

Rabastan Lestrage is here, but he’s a year older and apparently was marked a couple of weeks ago.
Regulus wonders what his test looked like. Perhaps one of the disappearances that have made the
news recently. He looks so eager he’s barely touching his food, downing goblet after goblet of
wine.

Dolohov, Avery and Mulciber are here, too. Regulus wonders how the dynamics will change when
he’s back in school now that they’ve all sat at the same table. He can tell there’s certain respect in
their eyes when they look at him. None of them were here when they were sixteen.

After the Malfoy’s engagement party, they heard from Barty that Dorcas is fine. She has
apparently had enough, and left home, but since she’s of age already, there’s nothing anyone could
do about it. Barty found out that Dorcas went back to Hogwarts and decided to spend her Christmas
there. Regulus had thought she’d go to Marlene’s, but it makes sense why she didn’t. At least not
straight away. That would be a dead giveaway of the nature of their relationship and, possibly, put
Marlene’s family in danger.

Regulus eats and drinks. Elaborate food made with the best ingredients and wine so expensive
you’d think it was unicorn blood in it. The conversation revolves around how much everyone hates
the Minister for Magic, alternating with jibes and cheers about their planned attack tonight. People
are too self absorbed to notice Regulus doesn’t participate. He listens and eats in silence.

It’s all surprisingly pleasant, despite the grating company. Definitely better than Christmas Eve.
Nobody is using him to demonstrate the Cruciatus curse, at least.

“Alright. Gentlemen, ladies,” Lucius says when dessert is cleared away. It’s half an hour before the
countdown. Regulus feels a twinge of nerves. “You know what to do.”

Everyone stands up at once. Regulus is handed a cloak and a mask. He puts them on, sets his
shoulders.

“Since you’re still underage, be sure to stay close to one of us at all times. There'll be enough chaos
and magic that no one will be able to tell an underage wizard broke the rules, but better to be safe
than sorry,” Lucius reminds him. “Now. Are you ready?”

He offers Regulus his arm for side-along apparition, because he can’t do it alone just yet. Stupid
laws.

“I’m ready.” Regulus takes Lucius’ arm, keeps his head held high.

The familiar yank behind his navel is the last thing he feels before Regulus willingly takes the
plunge towards the dark side. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s prepared. He’s come to
 terms with what must happen tonight. A necessary step in the path towards vengeance. Regulus has
been working towards this for a long time. He’ll see it done.

Whatever it takes.

Chapter End Notes

Christmas Break Part I!!

My favourite thing about this chapter is the contrast between James' Christmas
experience and Regulus :( James is all happy and cozy and sparkling and Regulus is
being tortured for literally no reason. HELP :(

Also - Regulus' gift for James? He's THE CUTEST MAN ALIVE!? He's so soft? I
cannot. I am unwell. James is so valid for crying - the man was feeling his emotions.
too real.

You can listen to the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04xjYQfSj-8

Lyrics can be found here: https://genius.com/Edith-piaf-hymne-a-lamour-lyrics

Finally, this chapter is truly the start of the rise of Vengeance Regulus. He is on the
come up and he will not be stopped. From here on out, Regulus is delivering justice
and I am so here for it. Him being all cunning and manipulative and just generally
extremely morally grey is very hot to me.

Thank you for reading and commenting !!! I love you all so much <3
 Christmas Break Part II
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

How are you all? I'm so excited for Christmas Break Part II :D
Please, do mind the warnings for this chapter (all listed below to the best of my
ability).

Thank you so much for all the brilliant comments you've been leaving, you've no idea
how much joy it brings me to discuss this story with you all <3

TWs
Underage drinking
Smoking
Terrorism (there's a terrorist attack by Death Eaters in this chapter and people die)
Magical and non-magical violence (a lot of it)
Deaths / victims of the attack
Explosions
Blood

I think that's it! Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Interlude: Remus POV

When Remus told himself his days of pining over Sirius Black were over, he was clearly drunk. Or
stoned. Or otherwise under the influence. Because how the fuck did Remus ever think that he’d be
able to just… not?

The guilt he felt upon learning what had happened during the last full moon at school before the
holiday was a pretty good distraction. It clawed at his heart and reminded him just how dangerous
he was, how undeserving of someone like Sirius. Someone like James, too, but Remus has long ago
given up on trying to push James Potter away. The guy is relentless and friendship has always felt
safer to Remus than... well. That.

Point is, he almost, almost, got Sirius killed and if that isn’t proof enough that he’s so much better
off without Remus around, then he doesn’t know what is. But Remus is not only a monster, he’s
also a weak, selfish man.

He couldn’t stay away forever, no matter how much he told himself it was the right thing to do.
Add to that James and Sirius’ efforts to bring him back into the fold, and Remus couldn’t stick to
his bloody guns. Not with Sirius’ silvery grey eyes blinking at him with such determination.

For a dark creature, he’s pretty fucking helpless. Brought to his metaphorical knees—because
unfortunately it’ll never be his actual ones—by one look from Sirius Black.

With a deep sigh, Remus knocks the rest of his drink back, then glances towards Sirius and James
who are at the bar getting more.

The party is in full swing. Dinner was served in an elegant dining room by efficient house elves
dressed in neat, dark aprons. About an hour ago, all guests were ushered into a grand ballroom
where people have been drinking and dancing since, waiting for the countdown that will signal the
start of the new year.

Remus has been alternating between having an acceptable time—he prefers parties with less adults
and more rock and roll—and despairing over Sirius, who has been all over Remus all night for no
apparent reason.

Fucking painful.

It was easier when Sirius was bloody straight. At least then, Remus knew why it would never
happen. He had a lifeline. Sirius didn’t like men. Remus is a man. Case closed. Hopeless, and
rather bleak, but that’s just life.

But now? There isn’t a day when Remus doesn’t think about Sirius proudly declaring he’d like
to… that. Remus can’t even think it without getting hard, and he’s wearing relatively tight trousers
tonight so he better not. But still. Fuck his life. Remus has to be the unluckiest son of a bitch in the
entire planet.

Remus feels like he’s drowning these days.

Drowning in guilt. Drowning in want. Drowning in longing. Drowning, because he wishes he was
someone else. Anyone else. A man who could at least try to pull himself together for Sirius.

He’s not. He’ll never be.

“Moony,” Sirius says, all bright eyes and cheeky smiles. He gives Remus a drink. “Tell James
tattoos are cool.”

Remus blinks. “You mean like muggle ones?”

“Yes!” Sirius nods enthusiastically. “I’ve decided I’m getting one. James thinks it’s stupid.”

“Well,” James argues. “What if you regret it? It’s on your skin forever. There’s nothing wrong with
your skin as is. Tell him, Remus!”

Remus very much does not want to think or talk about Sirius’ skin. In any capacity. He takes a long
sip of his drink to buy himself time, but both James and Sirius are waiting for his verdict,
expectant. It’s been like this for a little while, and Remus still hasn’t figured out what the fresh hell
is going on.

Sirius will come up with some stupid idea. James will shoot him down. This is the first oddity.
James never shoots Sirius down. Next, Sirius will come to Remus for support, and James will
make some elaborate point that just makes it impossible for Remus to agree with him without
admitting, some way or another, that Sirius is pretty, smart, funny, excellent at flying, an
impressive dueller, you name it.

If he didn’t know better, Remus would think Sirius is having a confidence crisis and James is
orchestrating this to force Remus to compliment Sirius at least once a day. This is doing nothing to
help Remus’ darkest desires.

Tonight, the whole pretending he isn't obsessed with Sirius thing is particularly difficult because
Sirius is wearing a black tie. They all are, as is the dress code in the muggle hotel, and Remus was
horrified to discover that he likes it just as much as Sirius in his leather jacket. He shouldn’t,
because black ties are posh as hell and very much not rock and roll.

And yet. There’s something about the dark suits’ cut, how they hug people’s waist and shoulders.
The crisp white shirt. Remus doesn’t know what it is, because it shouldn’t work for him, but fuck.
It does.

He’s finding that black ties can make even the most unattractive men look delicious, and Sirius is
the furthest thing from unattractive. So. Suffice it to say it hasn’t been an easy evening for Remus.

Drowning. He’s fucking drowning in his want for Sirius. A want he can’t act upon, because it
would ruin things.

It would ruin Sirius.

“There’s nothing wrong with your skin as is,” Remus says, as calmly as he can manage.

“Nothing wrong?!” Sirius exclaims. “I’ll have you know it’s pristine! Perfect! Delicious.

There’s a glint in his eye when his says this last word, staring straight at Remus. He feels the blush
and can do nothing to stop it. The groan he can swallow, but he’s certain Sirius can see his cheeks
have gone red. If he doesn’t get a grip, he’ll be discovered.

“Countdown is going to start soon,” Remus says brusquely. “Should we?”

“Let’s sneak downstairs, to the muggle party,” Sirius proposes.

Remus shrugs, and James enthusiastically agrees, so they hurry outside and down the stairs, and
slip into the muggle version of their party without any difficult whatsoever. They are, after all, clad
in expensive suits.

“There.” Sirius points across the ballroom to the far wall where there are three large glass doors
that open onto small balconies. “We’ll hear the countdown and see the fireworks at the same time.”

It’s as good a place as any, so all three of them make their way through the thick crowd. Sirius and
James are stopped several times, mostly by girls who keep asking them how they haven’t seen
them before that moment, but they disentangle themselves expertly and carry on.

They smoke a cigarette on the balcony and sip their drinks, waiting for the countdown. James
hovers near the door, looking pointedly at anyone that attempts to join them. He’s claimed this
balcony is ‘Marauders only’ and won’t share. This is fine with Remus who genuinely couldn’t give
a fuck about anyone at this party other than the two people he’s with. Well, and James’ parents, but
they’re not attempting to invade their balcony because they’re a floor above them with the magical
people.

The cool air is helping him clear his head, and the smoking has given him something to do with his
hands. Sirius is next to him, standing closer than he should, but that’s just Sirius for you. The
concept of boundaries and personal space has always been a bit wonky for him.

“It’s a nice night,” Sirius says, looking up. “Can see me. There.”

He points, and Remus has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying that he knows. He’s been
able to locate Sirius—both the star and the boy—at all times since they were thirteen.
“Hm,” is all he says.

“Moony?”

Against his better judgement, he glances at Sirius. He’s so fucking gorgeous. Remus wants to
whimper from the way looking at his friend makes him feel. When is this going to get easier? It
has to. Remus knows it has to because they’re never going to happen. They can’t happen. He’s
dangerous, and Sirius deserves better.

Besides. Sirius is so fucking far out of his league Remus wouldn’t reach him with a rocket
launcher. Not even with that one they used to land on the moon eight years ago.

“Did you know muggles conquered the moon?” Remus asks.

Sirius frowns. “What?”

“Yeah. They built a space rocket and sent two people up there,” Remus explains, pointing up
towards the waning moon. “They made it, and walked on it.”

“Shut up,” Sirius says, mouth hanging open. “Two muggles walked on the moon?”

Remus nods, smiling at his friend’s shock. James is not paying them any attention, watching the
party from the balcony door, his back to them.

“Yeah, they had these bulky white suits and like bubble helmet things with oxygen so they could
breathe.”

“They can’t breathe on the moon?”

“No.”

Sirius tilts his head, luscious locks of black hair falling over his shoulder. “Hmm.”

His eyes trail Remus’ features, and yes, Remus is drowning again. He’s the one who can’t breathe
now. Sirius is looking at him… well. He’s looking at him like he wants something. It’s making
Remus’ body temperature spike.

“Oi!” James calls. “Countdown’s starting.”

Together, they hurry closer to the door, huddling a step or so behind James. This isn’t conscious. It
just happens. Inside, people murmur excitedly.

The countdown begins, and Remus feels Sirius take a tiny step closer to him. Their hands brush.
Remus glances sideways, but Sirius is very pointedly looking at the clock inside.

10

“Moony,” Sirius says quietly.

“Not now, Sirius,” Remus replies as they go past number six.

5

“Yes. Now,” Sirius insists.

“What?”

“Look at me?”

Remus has never been able to say no to Sirius when he uses that voice. So he does. He looks at
him, chest aching.

He’s so beautiful, Remus thinks.

The clock strikes midnight, and Remus sees Sirius’ eyes widen slightly. Smiling, Remus says,
“Happy new y—”

Sirius’ mouth is as soft as it looks, but his kiss is bruising. Remus’s brain fizzles out, disconnecting
from service. He cannot, for the life of him, wrap his head around what’s happening.

Because Sirius is kissing him. Him.

Fortunately for Remus, he hasn't spent the past four years fantasising about this moment to go
mock it up when it finally bloody happens. His brain is out of commission, but his body. Fuck. His
body knows what to do.

With a growl from deep in his throat, he grabs Sirius by the waist and pulls him closer, tongue
darting forward to kiss him back. Sirius allows it, and when their tongues meet, Remus is certain
the world around them has lit the fuck up. He lifts a hand, cupping Sirius’ face to tilt him a bit. A
better angle. A deeper kiss. Sirius complies, hands carding into Remus’ hair.

He’s never had a better kiss.

Sirius tastes like rock and roll, Remus thinks. Cigarettes and whisky. Leather, because it always
lingers on his skin. Even now, under the black tie jacket, he’s wearing his bracelet at his wrist.
And then a taste that’s so distinctly Sirius, the wolf inside of Remus wants to howl like it’s a full
moon.

Finally, his soul bellows. Finally.

He’s kissing Sirius.

Fuck. He’s kissing Sirius.

What a moment for his brain to reconnect. Abruptly, Remus lets go and steps back, staring at Sirius
wide-eyed.

Sirius opens his mouth, a bit red and wet, but he doesn’t get to say anything because James turns
around, face as pale as they’ve ever seen it, and grabs them both by the shirt.
“GET DOWN!”

That’s when the shouting starts.

Debris rains down on the three of them flattened against the cold stone of the balcony. Wood
splinters and glass, which means the doors and windows have exploded. When it stops, Remus
jumps to his feet and helps his friends up, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

“What’s going on?” He asks, voice raspy and dry from the dust he’s just swallowed.

Sirius is frozen, head tilted back. Remus follows his line of sight… and feels a chill run down his
spine. The Dark Mark looms over the hotel.

Remus’ heart begins to pound vigorously against his ribs. The tips of his fingers tingle and he’s
familiar enough with a rush of adrenaline to read the signs.

“Death Eaters,” James says, voice wavering. His breathing is erratic, too. Eyes frantic and wide
behind dust-stained glasses. “Fuck. My parents.”

They look inside, through the empty space on the wall where the glass door just was. A large
group of people in black cloaks and creepy masks are attacking the muggles, who run away
screaming and crying. The floor is already littered with bodies.

Remus can’t breathe. His hands are shaking. He doesn’t want to be here. They have to get away.

“The muggles,” Sirius whispers. “They can’t defend themselves.”

Fuck.

He’s right. And Remus wants to say no. Desperately, humiliatingly. He doesn’t care about the
muggles, not enough to risk Sirius. Remus’ instinct is to snatch his friends away and stow them
somewhere safe.

But he also knows they would never, because his friends are true Gryffindors. Good people ready
to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Remus can’t stop them. He shouldn’t want to. It’s not
right, and he can’t give in to this—the darkness in him that loves Sirius in all the twisted, wrong
ways.

So instead, Remus sets his shoulders and swallows.

“Stay close,” Remus growls, raising his wand.

There’s no other choice.

The three of them exchange a glance. It’s suicide. They know it. They’re good, but there are way
too many Death Eaters and there’s no way of knowing if help is coming or if the magical party
above has also been attacked. And yet, they all nod firmly. Clench their jaws.

Then the three marauders charge together, wands raised.

####

James quickly discovers that all his reservations about whether he’d be able to hurt someone were
for naught. When you’re in the middle of a battle, and there are dead bodies around you, it all stops
mattering. Your consciousness hides deep inside of you, and survival instinct and anger take over.
The Death Eaters quickly notice the three lone wizards charging them. They break into two
groups. One tasked with continuing the slaughter of muggles, the other one trying to take them
down.

James is in it, now. Fighting for his life. The front line, he thinks to himself, half dazed as he
dodges curses and retaliates.

His heart is pounding, and sweat is running in rivulets down his back, over his brow. His breathing
is ragged. It makes him feel a little bit like a particularly hard Quidditch game. All adrenaline and
muscle memory. There’s no time to think, not really. All he can do is fight to stay alive.

It’s different to training. Different to the confrontations with Slytherins in the corridors of the
school. James realises that in the back of his head he’s always felt safe. No matter what. As though
being inside Hogwarts meant the curses wouldn’t really get him.

The air tastes of dust and smoke, and the metallic tang of blood.

They’re not in Hogwarts right now, and the curses flying at them are green more often than not.
It’s terrifying. It’s also what’s keeping him from faltering.

James learns a lot that night. Things that will come in handy later in his life.

He learns that there’s a sort of rhythm to a battle, and that he’s very good at flowing with it.

He learns that he and Sirius are unstoppable together, and that Remus should always be in charge
of protecting people because his shields are so good the muggles behind them become
untouchable.

He learns that the fear can be sharpened and turned into a sort of weapon. One that whets his wit
and improves his aim.

He also learns that one doesn’t really feel his injuries while adrenaline is pumping through one’s
body.

That comes later.

By the time the aurors burst in through the door, the three of them have managed to corner quite a
few of the Death Eaters on one side of the room, whilst keeping the survivors well behind them
and protected by Moony’s shields. Unfortunately, there are too many bodies littering the floor.

They were good. But they weren’t good enough.

Alastor leads the charge, looking so fucking impressed with the three of them that despite his guilt
for all the people they failed, James wants to puff his chest for a fraction of a second. It’s
disorienting to have such conflicting emotions at once.

“Get the muggles out!” he shouts.

James, Sirius and Remus scramble to obey. Fortunately, albeit confused, the muggles have picked
up on the fact that these three boys have been trying to protect them and follow their orders. They
all file out through the fire exit quickly, a throng of people crying and murmuring in shock that
flows down the stairs and bursts out into the night.

More aurors are on the scene, working with a team of obliviators to take care of the muggles
coming out. Most are injured in one way or another, but they’ll be fine, James knows.
“We should go back,” Sirius says once the last muggle exits. “Help Moody.”

Sirius is bleeding from several places, including his chest and chin, and there’s a nasty looking
burn on his left thigh, visible through a hole in his trousers. Remus is faring only marginally better.
His eyebrow is split open and blood pours into his eye.

Pain has begun to throb over James’ ribs from a curse he took to his right side. He’s bleeding from
a cut on his shoulder and has a split lip. His left forearm is a mess of blood and flesh from a curse
that shot thorned ropes at him. He managed to remove the ropes, but the damage is still visible. At
least it’s not his wand arm.

Despite their injuries, they all nod at each other, take a deep breath, and then they are running back
inside to help. At the stair landing, they hesitate.

Remus glances up, then says, “Moody’s going to be fine. I think we should help Effie and Monty.”

James is horrified that he’d forgotten his parents are also here and fighting. He sprints up the
staircase, taking the steps two at a time, and bursts into the room panting but with his wand at the
ready.

The chaos of the battle on the second floor is ten times worse than it was downstairs, because
every person present here is attempting to fight back. Spells, hexes and curses fly in all directions.
Flashes of light that carry pain and death as they cross the room.

Blood rushing in his ears, James feels like he might be sick as he glances around. The bodies on the
floor are from both sides. Anxiously, James steps into the fray, dodging curses but not fighting
back yet. He needs to find Effie and Monty first. As far as he can tell, none of the fallen are his
parents, but he knows better than to be relieved. That he can’t see them immediately doesn’t
guarantee they’re okay.

“We have to find them!”

“I can’t see them!” Sirius replies.

“Over there,” Remus points across the room.

Resolute, the three friends dive into the thick of it, and they’re battling again. There’s no avoiding
it, not if they want to make it across alive.

It’s chaos, and soon James can’t tell what’s happening or who is doing what. All he can do is duck
and sidestep. Dodge and pivot, and aim back, and pray that this will end, somehow, and that the
people he cares about are fine. They have to be.

“Where’s Moony?” Sirius asks, appearing at his side.

His chest is heaving, and he’s bleeding from even more places than before which shouldn’t be
possible but, terrifyingly, it is.

“Moony? He was just—”

James looks around, ducks to avoid a red flash of light, pivots. He shoots back a petrifying spell.
Sirius tugs his arm, and James ducks again to allow his friend to curse someone over his head.
James’ heart is thundering in his chest, a horse galloping against his ribcage. It’s been like this for a
while, and James isn’t sure it won’t give out if the battle goes on much longer. Breathing is hard.
Everything is a blur. James can’t see Remus, but the room is full of dust, there’s a fire climbing up
one of the curtains, and people running and screaming. He could be anywhere.

“I can’t find him, James!” Sirius insists, distressed. He looks half mad with worry and it’s making
him a little sloppy.

“Sirius, focus,” James pleads, yanking him out of the way of a curse in the nick of time.

“I can’t find Moony,” Sirius repeats, like it’s the only thing that matters.

“Let’s go that way,” James says, not knowing what else to do.

The two friends push their way through the fight, looking for Remus. He’s nowhere to be found.
James doesn’t want to add to Sirius’ mounting panic, but he’s starting to be seriously worried now.
Remus is tall and not exactly inconspicuous. They should have caught a glimpse of him already.

Unless he’s down.

No. No, he can’t be down. He’s Moony. He’s got to be okay.

James can taste the bile in the back of his throat when they bump into Monty and Effie. To his
intense relief, his parents look dishevelled and angry but in one piece. At that moment, Alastor
Moody charges into the room with his aurors and the scales of the battle being to tip.

“Good, that means downstairs is handled,” Monty says. “Stay with your mother.”

Then, he’s charging the battle again with the aurors.

James feels a swell of pride in his chest, but it’s not enough to stifle the terror gripping his heart.

Moony is still nowhere in sight.

####

Regulus has never been in active battle before.

It’s fucking horrible.

He’s not cut out for this sort of pandemonium. There’s too much noise. Too many lights—flashes
of colour flying and crashing everywhere. People rush around, bodies pressing against him on all
sides. Careless. Sloppy. There’s screaming and crying; shouts and crashes.

It’s a veritable nightmare, and Regulus wants out immediately.

The mask over his face is heavy and keeps his breath floating trapped between his face and the
plastic material. The scent of wine is making him feel sick. He’s sweating under the heavy black
cloak, hands shaking slightly. Inside his chest, a string is stretched taut and every minute he spends
embedded in the thick of the battle pulls it tighter.

Regulus has no idea what’ll happen to him when it snaps.

Tripping over a fallen body, Regulus does his best to weave through the ebbing crowd until he’s
standing on the sidelines, close to the door. Pressing a hand against the sturdy wall, he catches his
breath in big gulps, struggling to get enough oxygen through the fucking mask he’s wearing.

His issue isn’t with the fighting itself—he’s a rather good dueller. His problem is that this is too
chaotic. Too many bodies, and it freaks him out.

It takes him a full minute or two to regain his bearings before he can pull himself together; then, he
sets his shoulders and gets to work.

Despite the overwhelming chaos of the battle, he still has to prove himself.

With his back to the wall and some more room to move, Regulus finds that he can perform. So
long as he gives himself room to breathe, he’s fine. Two wizards attempt to flee the scene through
the door Regulus is by, and he hexes them both with quick flicks of his wrist. They crumple in a
heap.

Two Death Eaters he can’t identify—the masks make it impossible—nod towards him. From then
on, it becomes his unofficial responsibility to stop people from fleeing and he does a decent job of
it. Regulus doesn’t look at their faces. He focuses on their chests because they all look the same—
black ties or expensive ball gowns. It’s easier if he can’t see their fear when he curses them.

“Move in,” someone shouts. “Moody’s coming.”

Regulus doesn’t have time to decide if he can plunge into the crowd to avoid the fearsome auror.
Moody is at the door in the blink of an eye, wand trained on Regulus. And no. Because Regulus is
good but he’s also not insane. Alastor Moody is a legend and Regulus has no interest in measuring
himself up against him today. He’s not even off age yet.

Heart pounding, Regulus blasts a hole on the wall and jumps blindly out of the ballroom just in
time to avoid the stunning spell Moody shot his way.

“Don’t let him escape!” Moody shouts to someone.

Swearing under his breath, Regulus tears through the cloakroom he’s landed in, yanking the door
open and locking it behind him with a spell. He crashes through a second room—a bathroom. Then
exits onto a corridor by the main staircase. The noise of battle reaches him from down the hall, but
he’s alone for now.

It gives him a moment to breathe; to think. He’s at the top of the staircase and—

No.

Fuck.

His stomach drops.

Regulus knows the line of that jaw, severe and sharp. Knows the shade of brown of those curls.
Remus Lupin is handsome even when he’s terrified and fighting for his life, being dragged away
by a man in a black cloak but wearing no mask.

And Regulus—Regulus suddenly can’t remember why he’s at the top of the stairs and not fighting
in the ballroom. Can’t remember he’s supposed to stay close to Malfoy. He can’t, because he’s
watching Remus Lupin be kidnapped by Fenrir Greyback.

You can’t have him. Sirius wants him. Give him back.

He’s jumping over the balustrade before his brain can process another thought. With feet light like
a cat’s, he lands two floor down, a spell ready to lighten his weight and knees bent to absorb the
rest of the impact.
Then he’s running.

His shoes slap the marble floor of the hotel’s lobby as he crosses it, following the two struggling
men. An auror appears out of a side door and yelps upon spotting Regulus. He doesn’t slow down,
casts a stunning spell so forcefully the auror flies back and hits his head against a column. He
didn’t even have time to raise his wand before he was hit.

Greyback has taken Lupin out through the kitchens, which is a problem because they’re massive. It
takes Regulus excruciatingly long minutes to locate them. When he does, the blood drains from his
face.

They’re in the back alley used for deliveries and rubbish collection. It’s cold out, and it smells like
literal shit out here.

“If you won’t submit, you’re no use to me,” Greyback is saying to the boy.

He’s got Lupin pinned to the wall, hand around his neck. He’s squeezing. Lupin’s wand is on the
ground, and he’s clawing at Greyback’s arm with everything he’s got but Regulus can see Lupin is
injured. He's weak and starting to fade.

“Submit!” Greyback roars.

“Fuck you,” Lupin replies. Then, even though he’s already turning a bit purple from lack of
oxygen, he spits on Greyback’s face.

Regulus knew there was a reason he always liked Lupin.

“Then die.”

He’s Sirius’. Give. Him. Back.

Regulus’ curse hits Greyback’s side hard, sending him flying. Lupin falls to the ground, heaving,
gasping, fighting to get air back into his lungs. He reaches for his wand, but Regulus can’t have
that. Too risky for him. There’s no time for much else, so Regulus stuns Lupin and quickly drags
him away, hiding him between two rubbish bins. He does take a moment to throw Lupin’s wand on
his lap so he doesn’t lose it.

Someone will find him, Regulus hopes.

Moments later, he’s towering over Greyback who he’s hauled around the corner and out of view,
should anyone come to Lupin’s rescue. Slowly, the werewolf is coming back to his senses. Regulus
has barely enough time to prepare a plausible fabrication for what happened before Greyback looks
up from the ground, registers the mask and the cloak and swears.

“Did you get them?” he asks. “Someone attacked me. Did you see them?”

“Aurors. They’re dead,” Regulus replies. “Why the fuck are you out here?”

“What’s it to you?”

“You’re supposed to stick to the plan,” Regulus says, frustrated.

He can’t leave him here alone, not until he knows Lupin is safe. If Greyback finds him again,
stunned, Lupin is gone. And he can’t let that happen.

But he also has zero interest in hanging out with Greyback. He’s disgusting and vicious and
honestly not refined enough for Regulus’ company. Besides, it genuinely smells so bad here
Regulus is a second away from retching.

Greyback gets to his feet, grunting. Regulus’ lie isn’t watertight, but Greyback has no reason to
believe a Death Eater would attack him. He’s also still a little disoriented, so Regulus is fairly
confident he won’t question it further.

“Fuck the plan,” Greyback growls. “Stupid fucking rules. You don’t want me hunting, don’t bring
me to a party.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Got my hands on some prey,” Greyback says with a hungry tilt to his voice. “Fucking aurors.”

“Get back inside,” Regulus snaps.

This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Greyback bares his teeth, anger flashing in his eyes.
Regulus’ gut clenches, a trickle of fear coiling tight. Outwardly, however, Regulus shows no sign
of unease. None at all.

Greyback takes a step closer to Regulus, obviously hoping to intimidate him. Regulus doesn’t back
away. Doesn’t move an inch. He stands a little taller, narrowing his eyes behind the mask.

“I said,” Regulus repeats, calmly and coolly, “get the fuck back inside, Greyback.”

“Who are you to give me orders?”

Regulus doesn’t dignify that with a reply. It doesn’t matter who he is. He’s a Death Eater—as far
as Greyback knows—and any one of them outrank him. He’s just the muscle to intimidate people.
No one expects him to have a brain.

“Fucking Death Eaters. Thinking you’re better than everyone else. If you don’t start treating me
with respect, I’ll tell your Dark Lord where he can stick it. The werewolves are loyal to me!”

“Watch your mouth,” Regulus hisses, like a good little Death Eater. No one would let a slight
against Voldemort slide, so Regulus doesn’t, either.

A vicious glean flashes in Greyback’s eyes. “Or what? What are you going to do?”

The violence in his voice gives Regulus enough pause to raise his wand. Greyback eyes it, then
takes out his own. At this, Regulus snorts. He might have a wand, but there’s a reason he always
uses brute force first.

“It’s cute you think you can best me at magic,” Regulus says, voice dripping with condescension.

“Fuck you!”

Unexpectedly, Greyback swipes at him with his hand. Not the one with the wand, the one Regulus
was eyeing because he’s a wizard, and the wand is the weapon. No. Greyback swipes at him with
his free hand, and because Regulus wasn’t watching, knocks him back.

The impact dislodges the mask, which tumbles to the ground.

Fuck.

“Look at you,” Greyback drawls, suddenly eager. He licks his lips and Regulus has to remind
himself he’s the master of his own body to stop the panic that wants to flare in his chest.

Greyback pounces, cooing, “You’re so young and pretty.”

He moves so fast Regulus can’t stop him. Suddenly, he’s smacked back against the wall, Greyback
on him. The back of his head throbs from the impact but Regulus pushes past it, all his energy and
focus set on not letting go of his wand. If he does, he’s dead.

“I bet you taste fucking delicious,” Greyback says, hooking a finger on the collar of his shirt. He
yanks it aside, then he bites Regulus.

He screams. White hot pain shoots from his shoulder, where Greyback has sunk his teeth. Salazar’s
balls, he’s a maniac. Disgust settles heavily in Regulus’ stomach roiling with the fear and surge of
adrenaline.

It’s not the full moon. Greyback’s got human teeth, albeit a bit sharper. This is sadistic and
pointless, and Regulus…

Regulus has never been angrier in his entire fucking life.

He brings a knee up, hard, connecting directly with Greyback’s groin. Surprised, he lets go and
stumbles back a bit. Enough.

The first curse hits Greyback square in the chest. At this close range, it charrs his skin. The smell
of it makes Regulus gag, but he ignores it. He’s furious, and his shoulder is throbbing, and
Greyback is a dead fucking man.

“Go to hell,” he says, then turns his wrist in his favourite curse, closing Greyback’s windpipes.

It takes several minutes for a man to choke to death. Regulus watches the whole thing. He barely
blinks. The wound on his shoulder is steadily leaking blood, and he can feel his pulse on it, but he
keeps watching as Greyback claws at his own throat. He turns pleading eyes to Regulus, tries to
beg. No words come out. No air goes in.

Greyback dies at Regulus’ feet with his blood still smeared around his mouth.

####

They find Remus in a heap on the ground, lodged between two huge bin containers. He’s passed
out, head resting against the wall. To their surprise, he’s alone.

“Moony,” Sirius goes down immediately, hands checking for pulse. “He’s alive. He’s okay. Oh
shit.”

Sirius chokes out a sob of relief, then he’s scanning Remus for injuries.

“Stay with him, I’m going to check we’re alone out here,” James says. Sirius starts to protest, but
James won’t have it. He protects his friends. “You hurt your leg. And Remus is bleeding. Stay. I’ll
be back in a moment.”

He grips his wand so hard his hand is cramping, steps slow and cautious as James checks their
surroundings. There are signs of a struggle nearby, but James can’t really read much into it. As far
as he can see, whoever took Remus is gone and left him behind.

It doesn’t make sense.

He’s about to return to his friends when he hears voices. Pulse hammering in his throat, James
flattens himself against the wall and creeps closer to the corner, taking a daring peek.

James’ heart drops.

Regulus is panting, hands on his knees. He’s wearing a dark, heavy cloak. On the floor, at his feet,
is a Death Eater mask. Someone whose face James can’t see but that has long, blond, beautiful hair
is talking to him furiously. They nudge a dark lump on the floor with a boot, and James feels his
brain spin with dizziness.

“What the fuck happened, Black?”

Straightening, Regulus pushes the hair back from his face. So lovely. So gorgeous. Even now.
Even here.

“He fucking bit me is what happened,” Regulus says viciously, showing the other man his
shoulder by pulling his cloak and shirt away. “Wasn’t going to let him get away with that, was I?”

“Fucking hell,” the other man swears. “This is not good. Not good.”

Regulus shrugs, the movement indolent but still confident. James is a little bit fascinated by it.

“If the Dark Lord thinks a crazy half-breed can bite the House of Black and walk away, perhaps
we should rethink whether he’s a worthy leader.” Regulus’ voice is detached, cold. He looks at the
other man with a cruel sheen in his eyes, daring and unafraid.

“You can’t say things like that!”

The moonlight catches on Regulus’ hair as he lifts his chin, levelling the other man with a sure
gaze. “I’ll say it to his face.”

Inappropriately, James' mouth goes dry.

“He’s not going to be happy you killed Greyback.”

James has to rear back and use the wall for support. Regulus killed someone? Regulus? His Reg? It
can’t…

Oh fuck. James’ knees are going to give out. What is Regulus doing here? With the Death Eaters!
But then… James glances back, even though he cannot see Sirius and Remus from where he is. Did
he save Remus?

The idea is enough for a ray of hope to pierce through the haze of James’ thoughts. He hangs on to
it desperately, because it’s the only thing he can accept. Regulus, his Regulus, a man who can be so
soft and gentle, whose favourite song is the hymn to love, is not a Death Eater. He refuses to accept
he is.

Peering around the corner again, James sees the blond man waving his wand over the lump he now
understands must be Greyback’s body. It disappears without a trace.

Regulus looks at the ground with disdain, and it strikes James that he has never seen Regulus this
way. Arrogant and detached to an extreme that James cannot reconcile with the boy that kisses him
in the Come and Go Room. It sharpens the lines of his face and makes James want to fall to his
knees in front of him and beg. For what? He’s not sure. Anything he’d want to give him.
Swaggering a little as he takes a step closer, Regulus looks up at the blond man. There’s a word for
this, James knows. For the air of insolent nonchalance that Regulus is exhibiting. Sirius went
through a phase in fourth year where he kept using it to describe himself because he thought it was
cool.

Insouciant.

“Let’s get out of here, Lucius,” Regulus drawls. “The place is crawling with aurors, and there’s
blood on my shirt.”

Lucius? Fuck. Lucius Malfoy? He offers his arm to Regulus, twisting his body a little. He’s still
wearing his mask, so James can’t see his face, but he doesn’t like the ripple that runs through him
when Regulus rests his beautiful, deadly hand in the crook of his elbow.

Then, they’re gone and James is alone.

***

The pain comes all at once. James is, admittedly, not used to pain like this. He’s not like Sirius,
good at pushing it back. It overwhelms him. But stronger than the pain is James’ love for his
friends, so he finds it in him to get back to Sirius and Remus.

Together, James and Sirius drag an unconscious Remus to the first healer they can find. They all
collapse, and are healed methodically by a short man wearing St Mungo robes.

When he’s patched up, James goes to find his parents, leaving Sirius with Remus who was the
most badly wounded of all and is still being tended to.

By the time James is back with Effie and Monty in tow, Remus is awake. He looks exhausted and
battered, but his eyes are clear.

“Oh thank Merlin,” Effie pulls Remus into a hug, then beings to check him for injuries, much to
the healer’s annoyance.

“He’s perfectly fine. All his injuries are healing,” the short man says. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll
carry on helping the other wounded.”

“Are you okay, Moony?” James asks, sitting on the curb next to him. Sirius is on his other side.

“Yeah,” he says. He glances up at the Potters, who are having an intense discussion standing over
them. Remus gestures for them to lean closer, and Sirius and James do. All three of their heads get
so close their nose are almost touching. “Someone came to save me. I couldn’t...”

“It was Reg,” James whispers.

Sirius jerks back, but Remus grabs his shirt and keeps him close. “Not now. Don’t make a scene.”
He glances at James. “Are you sure it was him?”

“I saw him,” James admits quietly. “He… uhm. He killed Greyback.”

A noise of profound, distressed shock escapes Sirius lips. “What?”

“Boys,” Monty says. “Alastor needs to speak with Remus.”

They look up and, sure enough, Alastor Moody is thundering down the road towards them. They
get to their feet to wait for him, and James takes stock of the situation for the first time since
realising Remus was missing.

It was a brutal attack. The place is swarming with law enforcement and St. Mungo emergency
services. People are crying, being led away from the hotel. The fire was quickly put out, but there’s
still smoke coming out of the window. The Dark Mark remains looming, green and imposing, over
the scene.

They hear from Remus what happened as he tells Moody. At some point during the fight in the
second floor, he got separated from Sirius and James. The two Death Eaters he was fighting
corralled him, which Remus now realises was deliberate, and herded him towards the exit. There,
Greyback captured him and took him outside.

Greyback asked Remus to join them. This, Moody was expecting, apparently. At first, Greyback
tried to persuade Remus with promises of prey, freedoms, a better life under the rule of the Dark
Lord.

When it became clear that Remus wasn’t going to accept, Greyback turned violent. Remus was
able to fight him offat first, but Greyback had fangs and claws even though the full moon has
passed. He overpowered Remus and would have ripped Remus’ throat out if not for a mysterious
figure that jumped out from the shadows and knocked him out. Remus didn’t see his face.

In the chaos that ensued, Remus hit his head against the wall and fell unconscious. He woke up
here, following the ministrations of the St. Mungos’ healer, and Sirius told him that he and James
found him and brought him to safety.

To Remus’ utter shock, Moody clamps a hand on his shoulder and praises him for his bravery,
muttering something about ‘true Gryffindor’ before dismissing them.

This is when it’s decided that the boys will apparate back to Potter Manor and wait there for further
news. The adults need to stay behind and take stock of casualties and damages.

For once, James, Sirius and Remus are glad to be considered children.

Once home, Rosly serves them hot drinks and stokes the fire, then disappears to prepare some
snacks. The three of them huddle on the floor in front of the flames, holding steaming mugs but not
really drinking from them. There’s a sort of vacant expression on both his friends’ faces that James
is sure is mirrored in his.

“Why was Reggie there?” Sirius asks after a while.

James has to tell them. But will they understand? He’s not sure he does, yet. But James. James
trusts that there’s a reason. An explanation. There has to be. He refuses to believe there isn’t.

This should, perhaps, give him pause. If he was older, more mature. If he was anything but
irrevocably in love with Regulus Black, James would consider that this unyielding loyalty is
dangerous.

But he doesn’t, because James believes in love conquering all. And he loves Regulus. He does. So
much.

“I think he was forced to come,” James says. “He was with the Death Eaters, but he wasn’t wearing
a mask.” It was on the ground, so not a lie. Technically. “And he can’t apparate yet. I saw another
person take him away after…”

Remus looks at James a bit funny, but he doesn’t say anything. Sirius leans forward. “After what?”
“He killed Greyback,” James whispers. “He was there. Dead. I saw him... His body. The other
person was not happy about it. He kept telling Reg off.”

The mug of hot tea slips from Sirius’ hands, falling on his lap. Immediately, he jumps to his feet,
swearing and trying to get the fabric away from his legs, for it is burning viciously. He ends up just
ripping off his trousers to reveal bright red splotches on his thighs.

“Shit. Fuck,” Sirius says, and James isn’t sure if it’s about his burns or about Regulus.

It says something about the gravity of the situation that, despite their kiss—which James wants to
hear all about, just not now—Remus can look at pantless Sirius without batting an eye and calmly
say, “He saved me, Sirius. I think we should let James talk to him before we jump to conclusions.”

“They’re getting to him,” Sirius argues, burying his hands in his hair. “They’ll make him one of
them.”

“No,” James says firmly. “No. They won’t. Regulus said… he said it’s complicated, alright? But
he doesn’t believe in their bullshit. And he saved Moony. He killed Greyback!”

“Exactly!” Sirius roars. “My little brother is a killer now. It’s all their fucking fault. Should have
got him out. I should have been there for him. He’ll turn. He’ll join them. And then what? What if
—”

Remus rises to his feet and looks Sirius in the eye. Tentatively, he brings trembling hands to his
shoulders.

“Sirius. Greyback was going to kill me. If Regulus hadn’t shown up, I would be dead right now. He
didn’t have to help. If he was taken there with the Death Eaters, he took a massive risk by helping
me.”

Sirius swallows. “I can’t believe he killed him.”

James clambers to his feet, too. Sighs deeply. “Greyback bit him. I think they fought, and it was
Reg’s only option. I don’t know. I need to talk to him. I’ll meet him the first night back.”

“What do you mean he bit him?” Sirius asks, losing what little colour he had left on his cheeks and
turning toward James.

Remus jerks back, but Sirius is panicking and he doesn’t hear the tone of his own voice. Doesn’t
realise how it’s making Remus feel.

“Is he… Oh Godric. No,” Sirius whispers, deeply distraught.

“He’s not… it can only happen on a full moon, right?” James says gently. “Moony?”

Both James and Sirius realise at the same time that Remus is no longer in the room with them. This
brings Sirius back to his senses, and now he’s looking at James with pure horror on his face. James
pulls him into a hug.

“Talk to him tomorrow,” he says. “Tonight’s not the night. We’ve been put through hell. No one is
thinking clearly.”

“You seem to be,” Sirius says bitterly. “Why is it always me who fucks up?”

James lets out a chuckle. “Sirius. You didn’t fuck up, alright? You’re human, and Regulus is your
little brother. Remus’ll come around. It’s okay.”

The fire cracks, and Sirius looks at it with a pensive, serious sort of look for a few minutes. He
wipes tears from his eyes, takes shuddering breaths until he’s a bit calmer.

James doesn’t push him, because he meant what he said. It’s been one hell of a night and he’s
ready to fall asleep and forget what they just went through. For something to do, he takes a sip of
his tea and finds the warm liquid and the honey Rosly put in it help, so he cradles the mug and
drinks the whole thing in silence while Sirius thinks.

Eventually, Sirius squares his shoulders. “I’m going to apologise. Now. I won’t be able to sleep
otherwise, and I don’t want Moony to be feeling bad tonight, either. We’ve had enough shit as is.”

Surprised but pleased by this uncharacteristic display of maturity, James nods. “I’ll stay here and
wait for mum and dad.”

“Actually,” Sirius says, sheepish. “Would you mind coming with me? I… I don’t want Remus to
think that I’m apologising because of the kiss. That I want… I need you as a buffer.”

James’ eyebrows shoot up, but he’s already moving to follow Sirius out of the door.

“That attack was some truly terrible timing, huh.”

The laugh that Sirius barks is filled with bitter resignation. “The worst. I’m not going to bring it up.
I’m not sure he… well. I’m going to wait and see what he says, because I don’t think it’s
something he wants.”

“What?”

“He stopped. Right before the explosion, he pulled away abruptly, like he’d come to his senses
and…” Sirius shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

James groans internally, but since they’re climbing the stairs and Sirius can’t see his face, allows
himself a grimace. Apparently, Sirius isn’t the only idiot. At least he decided to take action once he
realised his feelings!

But Remus? Fucking martyr, honestly. Loves a bit of self-loathing, that guy.

James shakes his head to clear his thoughts so he can support Sirius in his apology, but also firmly
decides that getting Sirius and Remus together is going to require more work than he thought.

It’s time to let Peter try some of his ideas when they’re back in school.

“Moony?” Sirius asks, pushing open the door to his room.

Remus is standing by the window, his back to his friends. He’s cracked it open and is smoking a
cigarette.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Sirius says. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” Remus says, still facing the window. “And it’s okay. I wouldn’t wish this on my
worst fucking enemy.”

“Remus…” James tries.

With a heavy sigh, he finally twists his body to look at them. Exhaustion clings to every line on his
face. “It’s okay. Let’s get some sleep, alright? It’s been one hell of a fucking night.”

James watches Sirius swallow. Notes the little muscle jumping on his jaw. And knows exactly what
his friend needs.

“Will you come to my room?” James asks. “I don’t think I can sleep on my own tonight.”

Remus frowns, glances at Sirius. He hesitates, but in the end, Remus can’t say no to James. They
all file out of the guest room and head to James’. It’s a bit tight with all three of them on the bed,
but they manage.

Before sleep comes to drag him into its claws, James thinks one more time of Regulus in his black
cloak, standing over a dead body and a Death Eater mask, looking for all the world like the Dark
Lord should fear him, and not the other way around.

####

Tom Marvolo Riddle is possibly the most terrifying man Regulus has ever met. He doesn’t even
look completely human. His skin is pale, but not like Regulus’ or Evan's or any other white people
Regulus knows which is a lot.

Riddle’s skin looks like he was built from melted candle wax. He’s gone bald, which shouldn’t
bother Regulus in itself but with the slits of his nose, thinness of lips and general reptilian aura…
well.

Terrified or not, Regulus is still smarter than most people and does realise Riddle's frankly fucked
up appearance is, in itself, a clue. Because one doesn’t simply turn themselves into this easily or
for no reason. He has read history books. Grindewald, also a dark wizard, didn’t look so weird. He
was, by all accounts, quite handsome actually.

Tom Riddle is decidedly not handsome.

The room is dark, even though it’s mid morning on New Year's Day. Regulus suspects Riddle
doesn’t like bright lights. Lucius is standing behind Regulus. Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange
are hovering by the wall. There are a lot of other Death Eaters outside in the hall, waiting.

“My Lord,” Regulus says, tilting is head forward slightly in the smallest hint of a bow as soon as
he’s before Riddle.

“Regulus Black,” he says. His voice, too, sounds a bit altered. Whatever he’s been doing to
himself, it’s taking bits and pieces of his humanity away. “I am told you were an asset during last
night’s excursion.”

Regulus nods. Waits.

“There was also an incident,” Riddle gestures with his head towards the corpse of Fenrir Greyback,
lying on the floor between them. “Explain yourself.”

“Alastor Moody chased me out of the ballroom,” Regulus says calmly.

He’s practiced his version of events in his head enough times that it feels almost like the truth now.
Admittedly, Regulus never expected to have to lie to the Dark Lord so soon, but here he is. Better
to find out whether he can get away with it now than later.

“I fled downstairs, because I cannot yet apparate,” Regulus continues. “I thought it best to go out
the back way. Aurors and St. Mungo healers had begun to arrive, and the front of the hotel was
crawling with them.”

Riddle gives him an almost imperceptible nod, like he can see the logic behind this course of
action.

In a monotone that tips a little into boredom, Regulus says, “I ran into Greyback there. He’d just
killed somebody, I suspect, because he was covered in blood. I ignored his presence.”

Regulus gestures to the body on the floor, to make his point. His clothes are caked with it.

“I sent a quick message to Lucius, and planned to simply wait for him. Greyback, however, had
other ideas. He began ranting about some... rules that had been given to him?" Regulus makes sure
to drop in the hint of a question there.

“The bastard,” Rodolphus Lestrange says. “He’d been complaining about the ban on kidnapping
younger guests. Started a fight with Sting yesterday morning over it, too.”

Riddle looks to Rodolphus and nods. Then turns to Regulus, “Lucius says he attacked you?”

“I made it clear to him I wouldn’t allow him to voice his dissent in my presence,” Regulus says
firmly. “He didn’t like it. We got into an argument and he ripped my mask off. When he saw my
face, he lost it. Said something about me being young and pretty, and then attacked.”

“Show me,” Riddle says.

Regulus pushes his shirt to the side and reveals his shoulder, and the bite mark on it. It’s smaller
than a werewolf bite. The size of a human jaw because it wasn’t the full moon, but it’s deep, and
gruesome, and throbbing. Regulus hasn’t had time to heal it yet.

“I killed him for it,” Regulus tells Riddle without an ounce of remorse.

“Attempting to taint the blood of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black!” Bellatrix shrieks.

“Unforgivable,” Lucius adds albeit more shyly.

Riddle waves a hand, and they fall silent. Regulus keeps his chin up, head held high. There’s a
trickle of sweat running down his back, and his stomach is churning something fierce, but he’s
otherwise composed and collected.

“Rodolphus,” Riddle says. “Find a new leader for the half-breeds. We need a strong alpha, but
someone who understands strategy. Not another brute. Tell everyone Greyback was killed by the
aurors. Lucius, see that the everything is ready for the meeting.”

Both men bow to him and exit the room swiftly, leaving Regulus alone with Riddle and Bellatrix.
Out of all his cousins, Bellatrix is his least favourite. She’s insane, and crueller than even
Walburga.

“The House of Black has been a loyal friend to me,” Riddle says. “A filthy half-breed like
Greyback should have known better than to try to sully one of the purest bloodlines in Britain.”

Bellatrix falls to her knees and begins murmuring gratitude. Regulus remains on his feet, but he
nods his head. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“You have potential,” he tells Regulus, eyeing him pensively. “You’ve shown skill and resilience.
For someone so young… I expect great things from you.”

Oh. You have no idea.

***

His father sits in his study, a glass of liquor next to him on a small side table. He’s on the armchair,
not the desk. Resting. Regulus arrived back to Grimmauld place not two hours ago. He took the
time to shower and tend to his wound, then packed his things for school. He's almost ready to go
back. There's just one more thing he needs.

When Regulus steps inside, Orion looks up at him. “Regulus,” he says. “Your mother is out with
her sister.”

“I was looking for you,” Regulus replies, sweeping into the room casually.

This surprises Orion, and not in a good way. A flash of discomfort crosses his eyes before he
schools his features. Regulus refuses to be bothered by it. He doesn’t need a father. He doesn’t
need anyone.

“What is it?”

“I want to read about legacy,” Regulus tells him.

Orion’s eyebrows move ever so slightly before a pleased smile draws itself on his face.

“That is excellent,” he says, bracing his hands on the sides of the armchair to push himself out of it.
“Come.”

Regulus follows his father through the house. Down the stairs, into the cellar. His father takes out
his wand and uses it to cut himself on the hand, smearing his blood on a stone behind a false crate
of wine.

The stone slips inwards, leaving a hole on the wall. It expands until there’s a wide enough gap for a
grown man to step inside. Both Black men cross the threshold. Stale air hits Regulus, and he
wrinkles his nose in distaste.

As soon as they’re inside, torches light up, illuminating a downwards sloping corridor. Packed dirt
loosens under their shoes as they walk deeper under the bowels of the mansion.

The Black family vaults in Gringotts hold their gold and heirlooms, but the most valuable of their
possessions isn’t something you can touch. It’s something you can only claim.

Deep below the ancestral seat of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is a chamber. Small
and dark; humid and cold. In it, there’s a little altar and a book. This is where Orion and Regulus
go.

“I’m pleased, son,” Orion says, picking up the book and handing it to Regulus. “I never claimed
Legacy. I have come to regret it.”

“You were weak,” Regulus replies with disdain.

It is no secret that Orion’s biggest weakness has always been Walburga. An arranged match only
works if neither party has real feelings. Orion knew to keep his hidden until they were wed. By
then, it was too late. He had the woman he’d always wanted, and nobody could undo it.
When he became Lord Black, the patriarch of the entire clan, he should have claimed Legacy.
Wielded the most ancient and powerful magic, crafted to ensure the head of the family had the
power expected of magical royalty. It is an honour only the heir can claim, so Cygnus couldn't step
in, no matter how badly he wanted to. And he did want to. There's a world of possibilities at the tip
of your fingers when you have magic like that at your disposal.

But the price to pay for such power is steep. To wield the darkness, you must become it. Let go of
your humanity bit by bit, until all that’s left is ruthless ambition. Orion didn’t want it, because he
didn’t want to forget what loving Walburga was like.

He refused to claim Legacy on the grounds that it was unnecessary. And, at the time, it was. There
was no Dark Lord, no war. No threat to the power of the House of Black.

Orion got away with it, and then he grew too old to ever claim the Black Legacy.

“I trust you won’t repeat my mistakes,” he says simply. He gestures to the book Regulus is
clutching. “You’re stronger than I ever was.”

“You have no idea, father,” Regulus says, turning on his heels and stalking out of the room.
Leaving his father behind, a hint of fear in his eyes.

***

The second of January, Regulus wakes up early and opens the drawer on his bedside table. The
present James got for him rests at the back, protected by a series of complicated spells. With careful
movements, Regulus takes it out and sets it on the bedcovers in front of him.

For the longest time, Regulus simply stares at the box, wrapped in green and silver that used to be
red and gold.

He's seeing James today. They’re back to Hogwarts and Regulus is nervous about it. He’s not an
idiot. If Lupin was at that party, it means so were James and Sirius. Regulus is fucking glad he
didn’t cross paths with them, or things could have gone badly.

Lupin was conscious when Regulus attacked Greyback, though. Regulus isn’t sure if Lupin figured
out it was him or not. He was stunned before his mask fell, but Lupin has recognised Regulus
before. He was wearing his rings. Perhaps Lupin saw them.

He supposes he’ll find out tonight when he meets James. He’ll have to explain himself, and there’s
a good chance James will end things. Regulus’ arm is still clean, but not for long. In fact, several
Death Eaters called for him to be marked yesterday following his performance during the attack.
The only reason they didn’t is because it knocks you out for at least a week, and even Voldemort
recognises the value of an education.

Regulus has to go back to school today; any delays would be suspicious.

Fuck. He's going to see James tonight.

Nerves toss his gut around inside him. His fingers trace the edges of the little box. James will have
opened his gift already, and Regulus is regretting it slightly. It was too much. Too vulnerable. But
it’s done, and he can’t take it back.

Before he can change his mind, Regulus opens his present. It’s a small wooden box, and for a brief
moment Regulus wonders if James got him some jewellery. He opens the lid and finds a small,
golden snitch. A small chuckle escapes him. Trust James to make everything about Quidditch. A
 little card flutters down. Regulus picks it up.

Merry Christmas!

Touch the snitch with the hand you caught it with.

J <3

Regulus’ eyes snag on the little heart James drew. He’s impossibly adorable. Smiling, because he’s
alone, Regulus picks up the snitch. He’s only caught one this year, so he’s no doubt which one it is.
How James got his hands on it is a mystery, but trust him to be able to pull off this sort of thing.

As soon as his skin makes contact with the snitch, it opens. Regulus gasps and it’s shaky.

Inside the snitch, there’s a small picture of them. James and Regulus. It’s hand drawn in beautiful
languid strokes that Regulus recognises. Pandora drew this. Which means James spoke to her, and
they conspired together to make it.

Regulus has never been given a better gift in his entire life. A piece of them that he can hide and
that no one will ever find because it’s inside a bloody snitch only he can open. It’s fucking brilliant.

James found a way for Regulus to carry them around safely. And Regulus is so overwhelmed by it
that he cannot do anything but sit and stare at the picture in silence for so long, Kreacher has to
come get him or else he’ll miss the train to school.

Three months. That’s all he’s got. And Regulus hopes against all hope that Lupin didn’t see him,
and that he can keep James just for that little bit of extra time. Three months. Ninety days, give or
take.

And then it’s all over.

Chapter End Notes

So... that happened!!

HOW ARE WE FEELING? That Wolfstar kiss tho? I melted. Sirius planned this
whole thing on his own, okay? Remus and I were both surprised and very much on
board with it. Like yes King go get your man.

Also, I cannot stop thinking about Sirius, James and Remus in black ties fighting to
defend all those muggles. Like. SWOON.

James watching his boyfriend be evil and his brain going like 'we like this' - SIR YOU
ARE SO VALID.

Also Remus defending Regulus? UGH I love those two. Their relationship (Remus &
Regulus) is so messy and complicated and it's only going to get more so but I LOVE
IT. I'm THRIVING.

Regulus? I mean. HELP. He's so hot to me? Like... the man watched Greyback die and
didn't even blink. GOODBYE I'm dead. AND the bit with Voldemort? Only Regulus
would stand in front of him and be like 'at least Grindewald was good looking, what's
wrong with your face sir'? HE'S SO FUNNY TO ME. But also he's very smart. And
that's important ;)

OOoooh and the whole Legacy thing!!! We're getting some answers and some hints as
to some of the things he's got planned :D

Finally, James and Pandora teaming up to make a little portrait of Jegulus :( Like.
That's so cute of James? He's so amazing?

I hope you enjoyed the chapter <3

Next update should hopefully be Friday and we're back at Hogwarts and get Jegulus (a
lot of it)!

THANK YOU FOR READING AND COMMENTING!! You're the best <3
 Love in French Music
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Happy Friday! We are back to school and things are happening!

I hope you enjoy the chapter - little ramblings at the end :)

TWs
Smoking
Discussions of terrorism & deaths (people talk about the attack)
Mentions of murder
Mentions / discussions of war and the realities of it
Sex (we're still in school so it's not explicit)

I think that's all the warnings for this chapter! I hope you enjoy <3

In my quest to continue to deviate from canon, I have given Marlene a sister. She's
mentioned in passing in this chapter but she'll show up later :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus is sure he’s done something to piss a powerful being off. In this life or another. It’s the
only explanation for his bad luck, which finds him patrolling the train back to Hogwarts with none
other than Remus fucking Lupin.

He looks alright, albeit a little tired. A small muscle on his jaw ticks every now and then, which
tells Regulus he’s tense. Whether it’s about Regulus’ proximity or something else, he doesn’t
know.

They patrol in silence for approximately fifteen minutes, which is enough to lead Regulus to
believe that he might just get away with it. Just when he's about to start relaxing, Lupin yanks open
the door to an empty carriage and gestures inside with a stern expression on his face.

Regulus looks at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Shakes his head no and goes to walk away. He
doesn't get to. It turns out that Lupin is a lot stronger than he looks. He full on hauls Regulus inside
the carriage by his clothes, not giving a toss about Regulus' outraged yelp of surprise. Absolutely
appalled, Regulus takes out his wand.

"What the fuck Lupin!"

“Show me your arm,” Lupin says, taking his wand out too. “Show it to me. Right now.”

Ah. So, he did see him. Well, then. That means they all know, because Lupin, James and Sirius are
oversharers. At least he’s giving Regulus a heads-up so he can prepare himself for the inevitable
shitstorm hurtling towards him like a dragon whose egg has been threatened.

That’s what he gets for daring to picture a passionate reunion with James after two weeks apart. He
should know better by now.
“No.”

Lupin’s face hardens. “James knows you were there. He saw you, you know?”

He rubs a hand over his face, looking frustrated and just about fed up with the world.

“And I told him you were there to save me. I stood up for you, because you saved my life,” Lupin
hisses furiously. “But I’m not going to leave you alone with him unless I have proof that you aren’t
a Death Eater. You’d do the same for Dorcas. To protect her.”

Oh. Wait. What?

They’re giving him the benefit of the doubt?

Regulus is so thoroughly shocked that he abandons his stubbornness to comply. Wordlessly, he

rolls up both his sleeves, because he’s nothing if not meticulous. He can practically feel the tension
lifting off Lupin’s shoulders when he’s met with smooth, clean skin. Not even the little star James
draws on him survived the break. He needs James to re-draw it tonight.

Putting his wand away, Lupin slumps down on the seat and takes out a cigarette.

“I don’t bloody get you,” he says, sounding exhausted. “Why the fuck were you with them?”

Regulus takes out a cigarette of his own and sits opposite Lupin. “I have my reasons.”

“They killed people,” Lupin says, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “Dozens of them.”

What does one say to that? Nothing, really. Lupin’s right. People died. It’s true. It also doesn’t
bother Regulus as much as he thinks it probably should. It’s not that he doesn’t understand taking
lives is wrong—he does. But they’re at war, and these things happen.

He’s not responsible for the casualties of an attack mounted by Voldemort any more than the
aurors can be held responsible for the deaths amongst the Death Eater ranks. Both sides must bleed
for it to be a war.

As far as Regulus is concerned, the blame falls to Tom Riddle, and Tom Riddle alone. He won’t
lose any sleep over it. Or he wouldn’t, if sleep was something he could do unaided anyway.

Does it make him heartless? Probably. After all, his heart beats for one reason and one reason only.

“Why’d you do it?” Lupin asks when they’ve finished their cigarettes. “Why’d you save me?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Regulus looks at Lupin. This calls for another fag. He lights it. Lupin does
the same.

“You owe me a debt I haven’t collected yet,” Regulus says.

This, for some reason, makes Lupin smile. It’s sharp, a smile with a bit of bite. Regulus likes it.
He’s a little strange, Remus Lupin. Different to his friends. Equally annoying, and overprotective.
Righteous, which frustrates Regulus to no end. But there’s a darkness that clings to him, blurring
his edges a little. It is, perhaps, why Regulus finds him so attractive.

Sirius does have some taste.

“That all?” Lupin asks, looking out the window.

Regulus scoffs. “What were you hoping to hear?”

“That you did it for James,” Lupin replies, still not meeting his eye.

There’s something here, Regulus notes. A revelation in the admission that Lupin doesn’t think he’s
worth saving for himself, but for what he means to other people. He’s not entirely wrong. Regulus
didn’t save him because he has any feelings towards Lupin.

He remembers it well, the moment he saw Lupin being dragged away by Greyback. How his
stomach had churned and a single thought had crossed his mind.

Sirius wants him. Give him back.

That had been it. Regulus had followed, and he’d stopped Greyback from killing Lupin. No
remorse. No hesitation. His first kill, and it had been for his brother. Sirius will never know it, but
Regulus does. He tries not to think about it.

Instead, Regulus holds on to the falsehood that it was about the debt he was owed, because it
makes him feel better. Less weak. Less vulnerable. He cannot go around saving people just
because he saw Sirius making eyes at them once.

And yet, the first thought he’d had that night, as Greyback pulled a struggling Lupin through a
back door and onto a dark alley behind the hotel, had been about his brother, and the way he’d
looked at Lupin in the Three Broomsticks in December.

“That,” Regulus says lazily. And then, because he’s been curious for ages about whether Lupin is
going to get off his high horse and admit he’ll never do better than Sirius Black, he adds, “Sirius,
too.”

Lupin’s eyes flicker up to meet Regulus’. “Yeah, well. They’re my friends.”

The word is loaded. Charged. Ready to explode. It intrigues Regulus, but not enough to ask again.
He gave Lupin an opening, and he chose not to take it. Regulus needs to stop trying to be nice to
this asshole. He’s almost as bad as Regulus himself.

He’s also fucking deluded if the thinks there’s anyone out there better than Sirius. Well. Regulus is
and so is James, but they’ve unavailable, so genuinely. Lupin not reciprocating Sirius’ feelings is
preposterous.

Putting the cigarette out, Regulus stands and yanks the door open. “Patrol isn’t over.”

Without a word, Lupin follows him out and they resume their walk up and down the train in silence
that’s not exactly comfortable, but is, mercifully, far from awkward.

***

As soon as he’s in school, Regulus goes in search of Dorcas. Barty and Evan protest and ask to
come with him, but Regulus dismisses them with a single look. Grumbling a little, the two boys
decide to find Pandora instead since they didn’t hear from her all break.

Walking through the corridors of Hogwarts again when he was in battle two days ago feels a bit
odd. It blurs the lines between who he’ll be and who he used to be. Because Regulus isn’t sure who
he is right this moment. He’s a boy in love with another boy. He’s a killer. He’s a student enjoying
his sixth year of school. He’s a man with a mission to spill blood. He’s an estranged brother. He’s a
friend. He’s the heir to the House of Black. He’s just Reg.
He’s all of them at once, which makes him none of them at all.

It hurts Regulus’ head to try and sort it all out, so he doesn’t try. He shoves it away and pretends
it’s all fine. Time isn’t running and there’s no blood on his hands.

Dorcas is, to nobody’s surprise, in the Gryffindor common room with Marlene who has just
returned to school. Regulus threatens a younger kid and sends him in. Minutes later, Dorcas climbs
out of the portrait hole, an amused smile on her face.

“Did you have to scare that kid so much?” she asks him.

Regulus shrugs. “Not my fault he's such a baby.”

“Come on Reg,” Dorcas chortles. “You know what you’re doing when you use your frightening
stare.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

They descend the stairs together and find a dark alcove down a smaller side corridor that shouldn’t
see too much traffic right now. People will be busy unpacking and getting ready for dinner.

“Barty said you spent the break here,” Regulus prompts as soon as they’re sat down opposite each
other, knees bent, shoes almost touching.

With a heavy sigh, Dorcas nods.

“I’ve officially cut ties with my family,” she says. “It was fucking messy and dramatic, but I’m off
age, so they can’t stop me. I won’t inherit anything but it’s not like the Meadowes are rich, so I’ll
be fine.”

“What about after school?”

“Marlene and I are thinking about moving in together,” Dorcas says, smiling despite herself. “She
wants to fight, of course. I’ve told her she can’t stop me from helping her.”

Regulus feels dread, thick like honey, coating his insides. “Dorcas, it’ll be dangerous.”

She wrinkles her nose, displeased. Regulus knows what she’s thinking, and he’s proven right when
she speaks.

“Not this again, Reg. I can't have this argument even one more time. I'll lose my mind. Just accept
that I can’t stand by and watch her risk her life,” Dorcas replies, solemn. “I love her.”

The thing is, Regulus understands. He understands Dorcas, which is what makes it all so terrifying.
Isn’t he going to wage a war of his own to get revenge? And isn’t that revenge born of feelings he
used to have before the cage and the bones and the pain?

Feelings that might still be lingering inside, if he looked hard enough. Not that he does. He won't.
But he knows.

Regulus would like to talk Dorcas out of it, but he’s not that much of a hypocrite. He respects his
friend enough to give in. To let her follow her heart. At least one of them gets to.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he says. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you both safe.”

Her eyes, dark and deep and beautiful, widen. A small smile tugs at the corner of her full lips.
There’s gratitude and warmth in that expression, and it makes Regulus want to squirm. He takes it,
though. He’ll need any trickle of warmth he can get. There’ll come a time not too far in the future
when he’ll wish for it.

“How’s that going? Your… plan?” Dorcas asks, fidgeting with the laces of her shoes.

“It’s moving in the right direction.”

Dorcas sighs, then switches positions to sit on her knees so she can be closer to Regulus.

“I meant what I said before the break. I’m going to help you, Reg. Same as Marlene. I can’t stand
by and do nothing. I don’t even need to know what it is you’re doing. Just… let me help.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m going to be fighting anyway!” Dorcas snaps, visibly angry. “You’re my best friend, Reg. I’m
begging you. Let me in.”

Regulus shifts, deeply touched by Dorcas’ vehemence but completely lost at the same time. How
does one just… accept help? And how does he do it without endangering Dorcas even more?

It’s true that she’s going to be in the fight, but she’ll—actually, how exactly is she going to fight?

“Are you going to become an auror?” Regulus asks, suddenly petrified with fear for his friend.

“No,” Dorcas says. “No. Marlene says there’s another way. Her sister mentioned something to her
but she hasn’t given us details. Not until we’re out of school.”

“Another way?”

Regulus doesn’t like the sound of that one bit. But he’s also not that surprised. Dumbledore is
smart. Regulus is prepared to bet he is aware of the fact that half the Ministry is in Riddle’s pocket.
It’s only natural he’d set up his own resistance.

“I’ll tell you when I know,” Dorcas says. “Stop changing the subject. How can I help your plan?
There must be something I can do.”

“Dorcas, you’ll be fighting with Marlene,” Regulus insists. “That’s danger enough.”

And Dorcas’ face lights up with an idea.

“That’s it! Salazar’s socks, of course, that’s it. If I’m on the same side as Marlene… won’t that be
useful to you? If you knew what we’re doing…”

“What—”

“We could coordinate,” Dorcas says. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. You can help us be safe. And I
can make sure you’re not caught, right? It’s brilliant. I’ll be your spy, Reg.”

“No, Dorcas, it’s—”

“If you tell me it’s too dangerous one more time I will hex you, Regulus Black,” Dorcas snaps.

Regulus wants to. He wants to say no. To tell Dorcas to stay out of it. But his brain, treacherous
thing that it is, has latched onto the idea. The implications. How much easier it’d be to keep Dorcas
safe. To keep James safe. To keep Sirius safe. If he knew when and where and how. It’s a brilliant
plan, really.

“How would we even communicate? If we get caught, we’re both dead,” Regulus says reluctantly.

“You’re the genius,” Dorcas replies, shrugging. “You figure that one out.”

Despite himself, Regulus chuckles. Dorcas smiles, pleased with herself.

“We’ve got time, Reg. Six months until I finish my NEWTs. I’m sure we can sort out some secret
means of communication before then.”

Nodding, Regulus runs a hand through his hair. “We’ll have to stage a fight of some sort. There can
be no doubt that we’re not friends anymore. We can give them no reason to watch you closely,
Dorcas. I won’t have it.”

“Are you… getting it?” Dorcas asks quietly. “The… on your arm?”

Regulus breathes in deeply, then nods. “Yes.”

“When? Is that… you said it’ll start during Easter break. Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it, then. We’ll fight over that. Should be easy enough,” Dorcas says sadly. “None of the
Gryffindors—oh fuck. Oh, no. Reg.”

The look of pure distress on Dorcas’ face punches Regulus right in the gut. He can’t take it. Can’t
deal with the pity in the way she’s looking at him right now.

“Don’t,” Regulus says, shoving himself up to his feet. “Don’t.”

“But James... fuck. Oh shit. Oh no." She presses a hand to her mouth, eyes shining with moisture.

Regulus holds it. He keeps his mask in place, harsh and neutral. Like he's not breaking inside.

"I’m sorry, Reg,” Dorcas says softly. “You can still change your mind, you know?”

And Regulus… he doesn’t say anything to that. Because can he? Would he be able to let his
revenge go just so he didn’t have to put himself through the pain of breaking James?

It would mean fighting openly, instead of in the shadows. Switching sides and admitting to so
many things he’s not even sure he can voice. It would mean keeping Dorcas safe. She wouldn’t
have to spy for him. It would mean staying with James.

And fuck. He wants to. But he can’t. He won’t. Regulus made a vow to himself and he will not
break it. What sort of man would be he if he changed his mind now? If he can't be loyal to himself,
then what does he stand for? Who is he?

He's a man with a plan. He's a boy who was broken and put himself back together to deliver justice.

Regulus cannot change his mind.

“No, Dorcas,” Regulus says. “I can’t and I won’t.”

“Well, then,” she says, standing up too. “I guess I’ll just have to do a smashing job at spying so you
can finish your mission and come back to us.”
Something about those words snags in Regulus’ mind, and he whirls on his feet to face Dorcas.
They’re way too close, and he can tell it takes her aback. Some of his ice seeps into his eyes as he
trains them on his friend.

With a voice sharp enough to cut through metal, Regulus says, “Dorcas. You cannot tell anyone.
Swear to me that no matter what happens, no matter how ugly things get, you will not tell James
the truth.”

“Regulus—”

“No,” he snarls. “Do you want his blood on your hands?”

“What?”

“You don’t know James like I do,” Regulus hisses. “If he thinks there’s even a sliver of a chance
that I might not be… a full Death Eater or whatever. If he thinks there’s hope, he’ll try to save me.
He won't stop. It’ll get him killed. Do you understand me?”

Dorcas stands there, looking at him absolutely stunned and terrified. Regulus feels guilty. Hates
himself a little bit for talking to his friend with such ruthlessness. But he can’t risk it. He can’t risk
James.

“I understand,” Dorcas says.

“Swear it to me.”

“I won’t tell them the truth,” Dorcas replies, solemn, keeping eye contact with Regulus. “I swear I
won’t tell them. You will, when it’s all over.”

Satisfied, Regulus nods. Dorcas’ hand reaches out. Hesitates. And Regulus makes himself reach
out, too and meet her in the middle. Their hands touch, fingers link. There’s a squeeze, and then
Regulus lets go.

####

Regulus is late.

James feels like he’s about to crawl up the walls with anxiety. Where is Regulus? Why isn’t he
here? They always meet at the same time to avoid the need for discussions that could get them
caught, so James was outside the Come and Go Room promptly at the usual hour. He asked for his
room back home, because he’s been missing Regulus all through Christmas break and wanted to
share a bit of it with him.

He's been sitting on his bed, alone, for about an hour now. No trace of Regulus.

James clings to the hope that he’s in one piece—he saw him during dinner across the hall—and
that his arm is still clean. Remus told them, to the intense relief of both Sirius and James. So,
whatever the reason for his delay, Regulus is fine. He’s fine, right?

What if something happened?

The door opens and Regulus steps inside. James leaps from the bed and crosses the room—flies
across it more like—until he’s standing right in front of Regulus. That’s when he freezes. His body
locks into place and his hands flutter at his sides, unsure.
They just stand there, staring at each other in silence.

It’s funny how two weeks can undo so much progress. The last time they were here, they were
having sex. Talking about it like adults. Making choices together. It was smooth and good and
natural. Now? James doesn’t even know how to say hello. Why is it awkward? James doesn’t want
it to be awkward. It shouldn’t be.

He’s got to say something. Anything. Just break the ice.

Regulus, who never had much patience to begin with, foregoes the talking altogether and interrupts
James’ panicking by pushing himself up on his toes and smashing their mouths together.

And it’s that easy.

James kisses him back with a relieved sigh, swiping inside Regulus’ mouth with his tongue as he
picks him up and carries him to the bed. Regulus clings to him, fingers carding through James’
hair, legs tightening around his waist.

The bed makes a soft sound as they fall onto it together. James takes a moment to just look at
Regulus as he deposits him on the mattress, curls spread over his head like a halo.

After two weeks, the first words James says to Regulus are, “You’re so beautiful. So lovely.”

Regulus’ cheeks turn pink, and James can’t refrain anymore. They’re kissing again, and clothes are
being tugged at and discarded. James trails a path with his lips from the corner of Regulus’ mouth
to his collarbone, undoing the buttons of his shirt. It falls open, and James pushes it back eagerly.

The mark is red. Angry. It’s healing, but it’s so stark against Regulus’ skin that it makes James
think of blood drops on the snow. James stops. He doesn’t mean to, but he does.

Regulus tenses, drops his hands from where they were tugging at James’ belt. “Forgot about that.”

James’ eyes widen. “You forgot?”

He sits back onto his heels on the bed, running shaking hands over his hair. The change in the
atmosphere is violent, and it leaves them both a little breathless.

“What happened Reg?”

“Didn’t you talk to Lupin?” Regulus asks petulantly. He’s still lounging back, propped up on his
elbows like this conversation isn’t worth him sitting upright.

“I saw you,” James says. “I was there, too. I heard you talking to Malfoy. I know Greyback bit you.
I know you… you killed him.” His voice sounds surprisingly calm when he says this, for which
James is grateful. It allows him to carry on.

“Remus says you saved him. And that your arm is still clean. But I saw the mask at your feet Reg.
I didn’t tell them about it. About the mask. Please. I need to know.”

“You knew I killed Greyback?” Regulus asks, finally sitting up, looking at James with surprise.
“When I… you knew? And you still…” He makes a vague hand gesture that indicates their open
shirts, swollen lips.

“He was a monster,” James says decisively. “And you did it to save Remus and protect yourself.
That’s… well. Killing is not okay, but he was dangerous. And you saved Remus. So.” He clears his
throat. “But why were you there, Reg?”

“I had no choice,” Regulus says flatly. “It was a test. I had to pass it.”

“A test?” James is getting agitated. What are they testing him for? Who’s testing him?

Regulus pulls his shirt on properly, which makes James want to protest, but also… There’s a
churning feeling in the pit of his stomach that’s telling James tonight is not going to go the way he
hoped.

He hates it. The war, and the choices they have to make, and the circumstances that have put them
on opposite sides.

“Yes, James. A test,” Regulus repeats. “Or did you think the Heir to the House of Black was going
to be left alone by Voldemort?”

His throat constricts, cutting airflow to his lungs. Regulus is looking at him with his chin held high,
like a challenge. It makes James think a little bit of the attitude he wore that night when talking to
Malfoy. Confident, indolent, a little bit cruel.

“You’ve met him?” James’ voice is a raspy, flimsy thing, but it’ll have to do because he cannot do
better right now.

“I had to explain why I killed Greyback,” Regulus says calmly.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No. No one knows I saved Lupin.”

That’s the reminder James needed. The only that really matters. Regulus put himself at risk to save
Remus. So, what if he was forced to participate in the attack? He…

“Did you hurt people?” James asks quietly. “At the hotel. Before you saved Remus. Did you hurt
people?”

A flicker of unease crosses Regulus’ eyes, but he’s unyielding. Unapologetic. “Yes. I didn’t kill
anyone other than Greyback. But I hurt people.”

James makes a noise of distress, has to look away. He can’t… Regulus saved Remus. Regulus hurt
people on purpose. How does he accept both these things? James is very good at focusing only on
the positive, but…

Regulus just said he hurt people. Deliberately. And that’s…

There’s a reason. There has to be a reason. Perhaps if he didn’t, the test would have been failed?
And what does it mean it was a test anyway? If Regulus was under duress, then that’s different.
Right? Because he had no choice?

“Muggles?” James chokes out, still looking away.

“No,” Regulus replies. At least he’s being honest about it all, James thinks. Regulus answers his
questions decisively. Doesn’t try to sugar coat it. “I was with the team that went after the Ministry
party.”

“So… you ehm, were duelling? People who had wands on them? Who could fight back?”
Regulus nods.

Oh. Okay. Alright. James can… well. He can work with this, right? The attack would have
happened regardless of whether Regulus went or not. There were dozens of Death Eaters. It’s not
Regulus’ fault if he’s just doing what he must.

Regulus didn’t go after innocent, defenceless people. And he saved Remus. He saved Remus.

Fuck. Is that enough? Can it be enough?

“James,” Regulus says softly. “I told you I would do horrible things.”

James looks at him. Takes in every detail. The curls, a little untidy because James was just running
his hands through them. The perfect line of his jaw. Cheekbones so high they make a wonderful
hollow under them that James wants to lick. And his eyes. Piercing, green, clear. Defiant.

Regulus doesn’t regret it. James can see it. Why, then, is James still here? Why can’t he look
away? Why does he want to just sweep it under the rug and kiss Regulus again until they can’t
breathe?

What sort of person does that make him?

“I don’t… I—” James lets out a frustrated sigh. “People died, Reg.”

“I know.”

Regulus slides off the bed and begins to button his shirt. James watches, struck speechless, as
Regulus calmly rearranges his clothes. Picks up his cloak from where it fell on the floor.

When Regulus turns away to leave the room, James knows. He knows. He’s ashamed of himself.
He isn’t sure how he’ll ever face his own reflection again. How he’ll look at his friends in the eye
like he’s still worthy of them.

He’s not. And terrifyingly, James isn’t sure he cares.

Because yes, James feels terribly for the victims. And James is still certain of his convictions—
he’ll fight. He’ll keep as many innocents as he can safe. It’s not like he doesn’t know that what
happened is horrible. Regulus has hurt people and played an active part in an attack where
innocents died. And yet, James chooses to believe that there’s more to it.

James chooses Regulus because he loves him and that. That is the one thing that matters to James
more than the rest.

“Reg,” James bolts from the bed and catches his wrist, pulling him back, into the circle of James’
arms. Regulus comes willingly, pliantly. He buries his face in James’ chest.

“I’m… explain it to me. Please. I want to understand. I want to be okay with it.”

“I was asked to join the attack to prove that I’m on their side,” Regulus says against James’ chest.
“I had to go. Refusing would have raised suspicion, especially because one Black has already
turned traitor.”

James winces at the off-handed mention of Sirius but forces himself to hear the rest of what
Regulus has to say.

“What do you want me to tell you, James? I know it’s wrong, attacking people who were
unprepared. Unaware. Innocent people. I did it anyway because the alternative was to put my life
on the line.”

Regulus pulls back so he can look at James in the eye. “I don’t have anything against muggles or
muggle borns, but I’m not willing to die for them.”

James’ breath hitches. His arms tighten around Regulus, because yes. He did a horrible thing, but
can he really be blamed for not wanting to die at sixteen?

He’s in a terrible position. James understands that much. Deep in the viper’s nest, watched by
dozens of eyes that are waiting for him to prove himself a traitor like his brother. Walburga lost one
son already. James isn’t stupid enough to think she’d risk losing another.

“Okay,” James says, bringing a hand to cup Regulus’ cheek.

Regulus blinks, his mouth falls open. “Okay?”

“Well, no. None of it is okay. But what were you supposed to do? And you… you said you only
fought people who could fight back,” James says, breathing a little erratically because it’s all so
much. So hard.

Why is this the thing they have to discuss when they finally see each other again?

It’s not fucking fair.

“And you saved Remus! So yes. Okay.”

This wasn’t what Regulus was expecting. James can tell because he has, for once, rendered
Regulus speechless. Carefully, James runs a hand up Regulus’ back, then down again until he
brings it to his waist. That fucking waist. James has been dreaming about putting his hands on it for
two weeks.

“I need a smoke,” Regulus says, stepping back and away from James.

“Oh,” James says, and the disappointment in his voice is so obvious he cringes with his entire
body. Regulus is busy getting a cigarette out and doesn’t notice.

In the back of his mind, James is vaguely aware of the fact that he’s a little bit too deep in. Deeper
than Regulus. And that’s okay, most of the time. James knows it’s not unusual for one person to be
just that tad more invested than the other, right? And it’s him. And he doesn’t mind because
Regulus is just… he’s in love. He can’t help it.

But then something like this will happen, and Regulus will be unbothered, and James will feel it.
The fear. The insecurity. The what if I’m not enough for him and he leaves?

It’s a claw that reaches inside James’ chest and squeezes his heart so tight it hurts. It’s so messed
up, all of it. He feels guilty about finding himself able to just overlook the horrible thing Regulus
has done. He feels relieved to have him here with him. Whole and unharmed. He feels grateful
because Regulus saved Remus. He feels too much all at once and James doesn’t know how to cope
with any of it.

Unaware of James’ internal freak out, Regulus sits on the edge of the bed and smokes in silence,
eyes fixed on a spot on the carpet. James chews the inside of his cheek, unsure what to do or say
next.
“I’m going to leave,” Regulus says when he finishes the cigarette. “Now. I’m going to go.”

Stubbing it out, Regulus gets up elegantly. Gracefully.

“Reg—”

He puts up a hand that very clearly tells James to stop talking and listen. There’s little choice but
for him to comply.

“Two days,” Regulus says. “Then I’ll come back here. If you still feel it’s okay in two days… well.
You know where I’ll be.”

James just stares at him, feeling the anger swell. What is Regulus doing? Is he just going to leave?
Just like that? It’s outrageous.

This whole ‘you’re the hero’ routine has to end. James is no hero. Hasn’t he just proven it? He’s
overlooking a truly heinous thing because he’s gone and fallen in love with the man who did it.

Oh Godric, he’s furious. He’s abandoned his morals—most of them anyway—in the name of love,
only for Regulus to turn around and imply he’s expecting James to change his mind?

Fuck.That.Shit.

“Regulus,” James snarls. It comes out like a command. Regulus’ face whips around to look at
James. “I don’t need two fucking days.”

He can see Regulus’ breath hitching. The blood pooling on his cheeks. Wordlessly, Regulus nods,
brings a hand to the clasp of his cloak, and opens it. It falls to the floor in a heap.

James doesn’t know what comes over him in that moment. Whether it’s the fact that he’s still
traumatised from the attack or confused and raging inside at their messed up situation. He doesn’t
know if it’s fear of what’s to come, or guilt for what he’s decided to forgive.

Whatever it is, it’s savage. They attack each other, clashing in the middle of the room. There’s a
bed, and a sofa. There’s also a nice rug by the fireplace, because yes, James does have a fireplace
in his room.

They are all neglected. Forgotten. They claw at each other right where they collide, in the middle
of the floor. Nails and teeth. Tongues and lips. They sink together, surrounded by clothes that they
won’t be able to wear again until they get repaired, and get lost in each other’s bodies.

It’s angry. Vigorous and fast. There’s no elegance, no finesse. No words, either. They’re both too
busy, too wrapped up in the violence of their bodies coming together to form words.

When it’s over, it leaves them spent, sweaty. A crumble of limbs and haggard breathing. James’
back hits the floor, chest rising and falling rapidly. He’s still wearing his glasses, and they’re
smudged and crooked.

Regulus looks at him, an unspoken question. James lets his arm fall to the side. His unspoken
answer. With a sigh, Regulus crawls into that space and drops his head on James’ chest. Their skin
is dewy, a little sticky. James doesn’t mind, and judging by the way Regulus is tracing lines over
his with his finger, neither does he.

“Did you open your gift?” James asks him. “I wasn’t sure if—”
“It’s been in my pocket the entire time,” Regulus replies.

James smiles. From Regulus, that means he loved it. “Did it make you smile?”

“What do you think?” Regulus snaps, and even though James can’t see his face, he knows Regulus
is blushing. James chuckles.

“Pandora did a great job,” James says.

“She’s very talented,” Regulus agrees. “Did you…” Regulus swallows. Tries again. “Did you like
your present?”

James smiles. Without warning, he rolls so that Regulus is lying on the floor and James is on top of
him, supporting his weight on his forearms. “Did I like your gift?”

Regulus’ lips twitch, too.

“It’s rather appropriate,” James says suddenly. Thinking that yes. It is. “Your favourite song, I
mean.”

“How come?” Regulus asks, scowling a little bit.

James presses a kiss to the spot between his brows. “Well. It turns out that very little matters to me.
I don’t care about the rest of the world,” James says, moving back up so he can look at Regulus.
“Because I’m in love with you. Isn’t that what it says?”

Regulus melts. There’s no other word James can think of. He goes completely soft. Frowns,
scowls, sharpness. It all just melts away as he looks up at James with literal awe. James’ heart
sprout wings and takes flight. This. This look on his face. Right here. This one.

This is why it’s worth it.

The bloodshed. The pain. Whatever awful choices they’ll have to make in the months to come.
They’ll survive it all. They have to. James won’t accept any other outcome. They’ll survive and
find a way. And he’ll get his cottage. They’ll get their cottage.

“James,” Regulus says, voice thick.

He’s still smiling, and he looks young and beautiful. Happy. So fucking elated. Like he cannot
believe James could ever love him. And isn’t that the most ridiculous thing? Because how could
James not?

“Regulus,” he replies. “I—”

But Regulus’ fingers press against his lips, and a sort of terrified look crosses his eyes.

“Don’t say it,” he whispers. “I will ruin it.”

And James hesitates, because he knows Regulus isn’t ready to say it back. It’s okay. James knows.
He knows that Regulus loves him. He told him in his own way.

“You don’t have to say it back,” James mutters against his fingers. “I know. You’ve shown me. So,
it’s okay to not say it back. But I… I’d like you to hear it.”

Slowly, carefully, Regulus drops his hand, eyes intent and fixed on James like he can’t believe this
is happening.
“Regulus, I love you,” James says softly.

The way Regulus lights up when he hears that will forever be one of James’ favourite things in the
entire world. Secretly, James thinks Sirius might be the brightest star in the sky, but Regulus is the
brightest on earth. And he shines here, in his arms. For him. James could burst from the giddiness
he feels.

Regulus answers him. Not with words, because that’s just hard for him. But it’s in the kiss. The
way his lips move and his tongue teases and his hands curl behind James’ neck.

I love you, too.

***

When James sneaks back into his room, there’s light coming from under the curtains around
Remus’ bed. He doesn’t usually do this, but James’ heart feels full—Regulus loves him and he
loves him in French music—and he wants to share some of the joy with his friends. He’s not sure
how long it’ll last because at some point the war will catch up back to him and James will have to
deal with it all. But right now, all he has space for in his heart is love.

He knows Remus and Sirius haven’t talked about the kiss yet, and honestly, he’s getting a bit
impatient. Like, James understands there was an attack and it kind of killed the whole mood Sirius
was going for with that midnight kiss situation, but also, they survived. They’re here, whole, alive.
Isn’t that enough?

So many people died that night. But they didn’t. They survived. Shouldn’t that be reason enough to
go for it? To seize the moment, and make the most of it? He needs to talk some sense into Remus,
he decides.

Carefully, he approaches and tugs at the curtain. “Moony, you alright? Can I come in?”

Remus sighs in defeat, because it’d be truly heartless to turn him away and James knows it. He
nods, putting away the book he was reading. James clambers in and casts a silencing spell for good
measure.

They sit for a beat, knees almost touching. Remus looks tired. He hasn’t shaved today, so there’s
stubble over his jaw. James remembers Sirius asking him about it. About whether it would feel
different to kiss someone who had it. Someone like Remus.

“What’s up with you?” James asks. “Why are you moping?

The look Remus levels him with would make a lesser man quack in his boots.

“Don’t give me that crap,” James says. “You are moping. Have been for two days. I thought you’d
be happy.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Remus replies, crossing his arms.

James blows a raspberry. “Tough luck. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on with
Sirius. Why you’re being so bloody difficult about the whole thing.”

Remus cocks an eyebrow. “Full offense, James. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“You’re my best friends,” James argues, indignant. “So, it is my business.”

“It’s not. I don’t want to talk about it, with you or with anyone. Don’t bring it up. We’re all going
to pretend it didn’t happen, and carry on,” Remus says rather fiercely.

“We’re going to pretend it didn’t happen?” James asks, horrified. “Excuse me? Are you… you
can’t be fucking serious.”

There’s a beat of silence when James has to genuinely concentrate to avoid bursting into stupid
giggles. That was a bad choice of words, but also who the fuck calls their kid Sirius, you know? It
makes situations like these inevitable.

Even Remus can’t hide a flicker of amusement flicking through his eyes.

“I need you to stay out of it,” Remus says. “I mean it, Prongs. Stay the fuck out of this.”

James feels himself deflate slightly, because he doesn’t understand. He thought Remus wanted this.
Wanted Sirius. He was so sure he didn’t stop Sirius when he approached him to help him plan the
whole midnight kiss thing. In fact, James kind of encouraged it a little bit.

Alright, more than a little bit. James was Sirius’ hype man for a week straight. He just… they’d be
good together. They’re obsessed with each other. So why? What is Remus’ problem?

They sit in silence for a little while. James, whose heart is full to bursting with love and hope and
sheer possibility. Yes, there’s war. Yes, things aren’t looking great out there. But he loves Regulus
and Regulus loves him. And that’s got to be enough. It’s going to get them through, both of them,
and they’re going to come out the other side and make something of a life together.

And Remus, who’s… rejecting the one thing he’s always wanted. Because James isn’t the most
observant person around, but he’s also not blind. Remus has been longing for Sirius forever. This
change of heart doesn’t make sense to James. Why doesn’t he just… take it? Sirius gave it to him
with such bravery, without reservation, in a frankly romantic gesture. Why is Remus closing
himself off?

“Won’t you at least talk to him about it? I’ll stay out of it, but Sirius—”

“Don’t,” Remus says, sounding exhausted. “Just don’t. Please.”

And he wants to argue. James wants to shake Remus by the shoulders and demand an explanation.
But his friend never shows weakness, and that please was so raw it sparked something inside of
James’ chest. Whatever Remus’ reasons for this attitude… well. They’re strong enough that Remus
is feeling the strain of them.

James cannot, in good conscience, dismiss something that’s making his friend feel this way.

“You know,” James says, sliding off to go to his own bed and get some sleep. Accepting defeat.
“You deserve to be happy, Remus.”

The look he gets in return is haunted.

####

The start of the year 1978 is marked by bone deep fear. It runs rampant. That they were be able to
ambush a Ministry party and kill close to fifty muggles and six aurors cemented the Death Eaters
as a force to be reckoned with. No more wondering what they’re capable of or how many there are.
No more behind the scenes, hush-hush whispers of disappearances here and there.
The shift in the general atmosphere is felt at all levels. The attack on New Year’s Eve was the most
public, most violent act of war carried out by Voldemort and his supporters yet. A provocation. A
stake in the ground. As such, it marked a clear turning point in the conflict.

It's known now that there are many. Voldemort has a legion and they’re not afraid to kill. The
papers refuse to print his name, calling Voldemort ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’.

Some families withdraw their children from Hogwarts, staying at home or fleeing the country
entirely. Others send them to school because they have faith that Dumbledore will keep them safe.

Within the school, there are two very distinct, very clearly marked factions. The Slytherins, and
everyone else. Skirmishes in the corridors have become commonplace, overstretching the prefects
who have to break up altercations between Slytherins and muggle borns at every turn.

Whenever Dumbledore is at school—not a very common occurrence anymore—he gives a little

speech about unity and collaboration. Teachers do their best to act like everything is fine, but
letters arrive with news of more attacks, disappearances, deaths and students burst into tears in the
middle of lessons.

Hogsmeade visits have been cancelled until further notice and security measures reinforced around
the castle to protect students. There are teachers supervising Quidditch practices now, which
annoys James to no end because it means his can’t overrun. For Regulus, this means sneaking
about is harder. He doesn’t have an invisibility cloak, like James does.

Regulus will think back on the month of January 1978 and find the stark contrast of his own,
private lovesick bubble wildly inappropriate in light of everything else. Not that he cares. The rest
of the world can go up in flames as far as he’s concerned so long as he gets to enjoy the time he’s
got left with James.

In the haze of sombreness that has settled over the castle, James remains the only source of light
for Regulus. Almost nightly they meet in the Come and Go Room and get lost in each other.

Despite the impending doom looming over them, that January will become one of the best months
of Regulus’ life because what else is there after ‘I love you’ but dreamy dates, kisses that turn into
passion, and after-the-deed snuggles by the fire?

Every time he rests his head on James’ chest, or draws figures with a lazy finger on smooth skin
stretched taut over delicious muscles, Regulus feels as though he’s in a parallel reality. Like he’s
been given a gift he didn’t deserve and it’s on him to cherish it as much as possible before it’s
taken away. He’s holding on to that, because yes, he’s happier than he’s ever been, but the
undercurrent of sadness and loss cannot be ignored.

And the clocks, much to his dismay, continue to tick forward.

The war taints everything. It seeps through the cracks, finding its way even into the Come and Go
Room. Regulus is painfully aware of how the events of New Year’s have altered their dynamic.
They are still them, but they have more edges now and it gets harder to manoeuvre around them.

It’s not every day. Sometimes their love is still sweet and gentle. Soft. It’s whispers and giggles
and little jokes. It’s cuddles and sighs. It reminds Regulus of the very beginning.

But it’s hard to stay soft when there’s a barrage of bad news coming in with the owls every
morning, and James is too sensitive to not feel it.

So, other times it’s not gentle at all. It’s dark and desperate. It’s two boys fighting tooth and nail to
stay with each other. Refusing to let the world tear them apart even though it’s getting harder and
harder by the day.

Those days, when James feels the weight of the war and the guilt for the things he’s overlooking to
stay with Regulus, they fight. Argue with each other. Petty words and raised voices that say very
little of what really matters.

Because they can’t talk about what’s simmering under it all. They can’t address the true realities of
the war, or what it means for them. What’s waiting outside of school. So, they dance around it and
get frustrated and end up pushing each other’s buttons in a way that Regulus would have never
considered before Christmas.

Regulus, who in addition to this turmoil is acutely aware of every passing second, has been
committing their every moment to memory. Even the hard ones. He’d rather fight with James than
do anything else with anyone else. So he takes it. He takes the ugly and loves it just as much as he
loves the soft and the beautiful. And does his best to keep James with him, which often means
fighting him until they tip back over into passion.

One of such nights, Regulus arrives to the Come and Go Room after spending a few hours in the
library trying to figure out what Tom Riddle’s little black notebook is to no avail. He’s a irritated
because a gaggle of younger girls ran past him on his way here, knocking his bag off his shoulder.

James is by the chimney, arms crossed over his chest. He’s looking at the flames but turns when he
hears the door open. The expression on his face tells Regulus this is going to be one of the bad
days.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Regulus drops his cloak and bag on the sofa and crosses the space between them.

“Everything okay?” James asks when Regulus is within reach.

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” James nods, then stretches his arm so he can tangle his fingers in Regulus’. He tugs, and
Regulus steps closer. James pulls him into a full hug, burying his face in Regulus’ hair.

“What’s wrong?” Regulus asks, reading the tension in James’ shoulders, feeling the way he shakes
lightly against his body.

“Silverwood.” James clears his throat. Swallows hard. “Silverwood, my seeker. Her cousin is
missing. She got the news when we were out training and I… what am I supposed to say? How do
I comfort her? It’s fucking awful.”

Unsurprisingly, Regulus has nothing to say to that. There’s no comfort he can offer James because
he’s right. There’s nothing to say to someone who’s lost a family member to the war.

“You’re doing your best,” is what Regulus tells James. “It’s all you can do.”

“It’s not enough. Doesn’t feel like enough,” James whispers.

“It’s not your job to shield everyone else from their pain.”

James rears back, searching Regulus’ face. “I care about Silverwood. She’s my seeker. I should… I
don’t know, be able to make her feel better. I’m her Captain. She’s my responsibility.”
“You care about too many people, James,” Regulus tells him with a tired sigh. “You make yourself
responsible for the feelings of way too many people. It’s not healthy.”

It’s not lost on Regulus how fucking ironic it is that he’s lecturing someone else on what’s healthy.
But oh well. He’s always been better at giving advice than at taking it. He sees no reason to break
the pattern at this point in his life.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Silverwood has her own friends. Other family members. Let them worry about comforting her.”

“That’s a bit heartless, Reg,” James says, frowning.

Shrugging, Regulus runs a hand through James’ wild hair. He feels him shiver under his touch,
melting a little bit despite the unease clinging to his face.

“What so you want me to not care about anyone but myself?”

“It would save you a lot of heartache,” Regulus replies calmly. “I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No. I don’t.”

James steps away, forcing Regulus’ hand to fall away from his hair. He turns, beings to pace a
little. He’s agitated, and Regulus hates it. But he won’t take his words back. He can’t.

“What the fuck, Reg? I can’t not care. That’s wrong. I want to care. I want to help people. I want
—”

“Don’t,” Regulus cuts in, rubbing a finger against his temple. These days, they have variations of
this same conversation at least twice a week. He’s exhausted, honestly. “Don’t talk to me about
fighting. Not again.”

“Not again?” James throws his arms up in the air. “There’s a war going on. Silverwood’s cousin
isn’t an isolated incident. It happens every day. We can’t just act like it’s not happening! People
are dying outside these walls!”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, James,” Regulus hisses, taking an involuntary step closer. “I’m fucking aware of what’s
going on and what it means and the danger you are in because of your stupidly noble heart that
wants to save the world.”

“Oh, so I’m stupid because I’m noble?”

“You know you are,” Regulus snaps.

James shakes his head, looks at Regulus with frustration. “How can you be so calm? How can you
just stand there and say those things and not… feel anything?”

“You think I don’t feel anything?” Regulus is suddenly across the room, standing in front of James,
so close their chests are almost touching. “All I do is feel. Because of you. Because you care so
much about everyone else you forget to care about yourself, and I—Fuck! Just fuck this shit,
James. I’m tired of it.”

“Regulus—”

“No! Fuck Silverwood’s aunt, honestly. I don’t give a damn if she’s sad, but I care that you are
sad, and thinking about wars and fighting again and I can’t—”

“Cousin.”

“What?”

“Her cousin, not her aunt.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Regulus turns away abruptly, chest heaving.

“Don’t do that,” James says, voice dipping into its own angry tone. “You don’t get to shout at me
then turn your back on me and leave me alone with it.”

“James—”

“I said look at me.”

“Then stop being so stupid.”

“My feelings aren’t stupid.”

“You’re entitled to your wrong opinions,” Regulus says petulantly, still stubbornly facing the wall.
“We’ve been arguing for ten minutes over your seeker’s bloody cousin when we could have been
fucking. If that’s not stupid, I don’t know what is.”

“What did you just say to me?” James’ tone drops, tips over and Regulus feels a rush of triumph.

The only way to get James out of a funk like this is to make him so angry it overrides the guilt. And
Regulus not so secretly loves it. It’s a little sick, a little wicked. He doesn’t care. Regulus will push
James until he snaps and greedily takes what spills over every single time.

“I’m leaving,” Regulus says, taking a step towards the door.

“No, you’re not!” James growls. “Look at me, Regulus. Look. At. Me.”

Slowly, Regulus turns around again. Looks at James. And twists his mouth into a smirk that he
knows makes James go weak in the knees because Regulus is a horrible, selfish person.

And James bites. He groans and crosses the room in two powerful strides to tangle his fingers in
Regulus’ hair and pull his face back to kiss him fiercely, like he can exorcise the guilt and the
sadness through passion.

“You are so bloody selfish,” James says, biting Regulus’ neck, just below the collar of his shirt.

“You like it.”

“Shut up.” James nips at his skin again.

Regulus presses his hips forward, against James’. “Make me.”

That’s the last of the talking for a very long time.

And after, when James has worked every single bad feeling out of his system through moans and
sweat, he lies there with Regulus in his arms and becomes soft again. He whispers against the
crown of Regulus’ head, says he’s sorry for letting it all get to him. Tells him he loves him, and
that he doesn't want to fight again. Ever again. And Regulus cuddles him, and says it’s okay, and
goes back to drawing shapes on his skin with the pad of his finger. He says they won't fight, even
though it's a lie.

Regulus knows it’ll happen again. Someone will get bad news, and James will be overwhelmed,
and he'll take it out on Regulus. And Regulus doesn’t care. He’ll take it. Greedily, hungrily.
Regulus will take James' pain and anger and guilt and he'll turn it back on him. He’ll make James
angry and kiss it out of his system. As often as he can, until their time runs out.

***

Three and a half weeks into January, Regulus finds himself wondering why Rabastan Lestrange
insists on orbiting Regulus at all times. He’s just there. Constantly. He shows up for meals, sitting
close to Regulus, Barty and Evan. Tries to find them in the common room. Sometimes, he evens
shows up at the library which is highly inconvenient because Regulus isn’t exactly doing
coursework.

And it’s not just Rabastan. It’s also Dolohov, Avery and Mulciber. Severus, too, but only because
the others do.

At first, Regulus is unsure about why they keep bullying people away so they can sit with Regulus
at mealtimes, why they randomly show up to walk with him from one class to another even though
their timetables don’t match or why every time he enters the common room they call him over to
join whatever it is they’re doing.

“It’s because everyone’s talking about how well you did on New Year’s,” Evan tells him one day
in late January while they’re getting ready for bed.

The whole ‘put on pyjamas routine’ is a farce, at least on Regulus’ part, because he’s going to
sneak out as soon as they’re sleeping to go meet James in the Come and Go Room.

But he has to keep up appearances because Selwyn is, frustratingly, still sharing the dorm with
them. The idea of killing him and making it look like an accident has never appealed more to
Regulus, who doesn’t even have the first kill jitters anymore.

He does have a plan to get rid of him, however. One that doesn’t involve murder. Regulus simply
hasn’t found a good enough moment to put it into practice yet. Besides, he needs to finish brewing
an antidote. That takes time.

“Everyone?” Regulus asks.

“Malfoy told my father that you single-handedly kept guard by the door to the ballroom and held
the line,” Evan says.

“And I heard Lestrange tell Severus that you met the Dark Lord himself afterwards,” Barty adds,
shooting a curious glance at Regulus. “Is that true?”

They haven’t spoken about it much. Regulus has been avoiding them for this exact reason. Evan is
a little restless, but not as much as he should be, Regulus thinks. This, in turn, makes Regulus
nervous because he’d been hoping Evan would refuse to join up. That’s looking less and likely
every day.
 Barty will do whatever Evan does. He has zero reservations about joining the Death Eater ranks.
Regulus suspects he wants it more than Evan, simply because it’ll be the final straw. Bartemius
Crouch will drop dead if his son gets marked, and Barty’s one mission in life is to stick it to his
father.

Suffice to say, Regulus hasn’t been in the mood to hang with his friends and the children of Death
Eaters for the past couple of weeks.

When he’s not overseeing his potions brewing or poring over the book about Legacy, Regulus has
been spending time with Pandora, because she knows things without having to be told, and hasn’t
made Regulus feel any particular way about the events of the Christmas break.

“I met him, yes,” Regulus says to Barty.

“Wow,” Evan says, and Regulus’ gut clenches. “Is he as intimidating as he sounds?”

“He’s fucking terrifying,” Regulus replies.

Barty and Evan exchange glances. “Well. You’re a celebrity now. I mean, more than you already
were before by virtue of your noble name,” Evan tells him.

Barty sniggers. Regulus rolls his eyes. Selwyn comes into the room from the bathroom, pyjamas on
and a towel hanging from his hand. He gives Regulus a respectful nod, which only seems to
reinforce Evan’s point, before hiding inside his bed, behind the curtains.

Regulus is a strategist. Smart. Mastermind, he likes to think. And he can see an opportunity when it
presents itself. He may not like Rabastan Lestrange very much, but he’s the less unpleasant of the
lot.

And Regulus has to start working his charm. Sinking his claws in. He’s got Lucius in his pocket.
He’s not stupid enough to try to go after Rodolphus or Bella. They’re fanatics and unstable. Can’t
be trusted. And Regulus dislikes Dolohov, Avery and Mulciber too much to even consider them.
Besides, they are always hanging with Severus, who just disgusts Regulus too much.

But Rabastan? He’s alright, as far as Death Eaters go. And, most importantly, he has a chip on his
shoulder.

Regulus is going to make sure he exploits it.

Chapter End Notes

Can I just say that all your comments make me smile so hard it's genuinely the
highlight of my day when I see them?! THANK YOU TO EVERYONE SO MUCH <3

My favourite moments! Regulus being offended that Remus has the audacity to not
reciprocate Sirius' feelings? LMAO he's so appalled by it? Like does this man know
he's never going to do better? HELP he's such a younger brother like... 'I hate Sirius'
but also 'HOW DARE LUPIN NOT WORSHIP AT MY BIG BROTHER'S FEET?'
He's so valid, honestly.

Dorcas and Regulus teaming up is genuinely just like giving me life. Every time those
two are together on the page I THRIVE. I love them so much <3
JEGULUS REUNION.
I mean... it's so complicated at this point because James is struggling to keep up his
own fabrication that Regulus isn't really going to fight against them. My baby is
grasping at straws here. Just... James 'I ignore the red flags' Potter is at it again. I
mean... he's so valid, honestly. I too will forgive all manner of heinous actions for a
dark haired, green-eyed boy with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. But also, I love
me a little bit of imperfection. Like, James Potter is amazing. He's just very pure. But
nobody is perfect! James can't be perfect! And the way his love for Regulus is warring
with his need to do the honourable thing at all times? UGH DELICIOUS I LOVE
HIM

Remus? I mean... sir? Please? I'm begging you? Could you stop moping for two
seconds and just allow Sirius to love you? PLEASE?

James is struggling my loves. He feels so guilty, like he's not allowed to be happy with
his boyfriend because other people are having a hard time. He's trying, but he's a kid,
really, and this is a difficult situation so we forgive him :D

Regulus is also not approaching the whole thing in the healthiest way, but we knew
that. Regulus and healthy don't go together LOL He's so unwell and I love him so
much for it. My baby refuses to even entertain the idea of giving James space because
he's running out of time. He's like I'll take what I can get and if that's a fight then a
fight it is! They're so messy and I love them so much. UGH.

**

Okay - a lot happens in this chapter. It can feel a little messy at times, like there's a lot
going on and things are happening fast. This is on purpose, I'm afraid. Time will start
to pass more quickly now - this is intentional because time is so cruel and when you're
dreading something it always seems to arrive very quickly... so. Yes. Just that.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter <3 Next update probably Monday!
See you in the comments section :D
Solmussa
 Full Moon
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

I hope you all had a fabulous weekend and a nice week ahead :)

This chapter is a little lighter than previous ones (I think we need that!) but there is
still angst (we hate peace in this fandom).
I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you like it!

TWs
References to the ongoing war and deaths / disappearances
Smoking
References to Regulus' sleeping issues and his self-medication / addiction
Mentions of nightmares
References to Sirius' incident with the hell hounds
Depictions of anxiety and mental breakdowns
Depiction of an animal attack (but nothing actually happens, no one gets hurt)
Brief mention of vomiting (no one actually is, just mentioned)
Bullying and magical violence (duelling)

I think that's it!

Huge thank you to everyone for reading and commenting <3 I love you all!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The Rubik’s cube he gifted James for Christmas rests on a pillow next to them, the voice of Edith
Piaf floating from it, wrapping them in the song. It’s not the same as having a record player and
being able to choose what to listen to, but it’s something.

The maroon throw over the bed is a little creased, tugged up in places from where they gripped it in
their passion earlier. The fireplace burns pleasantly, soft cracking sounds and golden light pouring
from it. Regulus wishes he could bottle this moment and preserve it forever.

Today, things are good. Nobody has been informed of any deaths or disappearances. There have
been no whispers of war. They’re just two students who happen to be in love in a school in
Scotland.

It’s a soft day.

For the past half an hour, James has been trying to memorize the words to Hymne a l’amour. His
French is truly atrocious, and he’s butchering the song, but Regulus simply won’t stop him. He
likes James like this, unguarded, passionate, determined to learn something new. It reminds him of
the early nights on the owlry roof when he kept working on the puzzle until he could solve a cube
without trouble.
“I can’t meet you tomorrow,” James says when the music stops. He seems to have decided he’s
had enough and doesn’t re-activate the cube like he’s been doing until now.

Regulus looks up from where he’s drawing shapes on James’ smooth and muscular back with his
finger. They’re in the replica of his room at home, lying on his bed together. James is facing down,
stomach pressed against the soft covers.

“Why?”

“Need to help Sirius with something,” James replies casually.

Regulus scowls even though James can’t see his face. “Can’t you help him during the day?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Why doesn’t Lupin help him?” Regulus asks. James winces, and Regulus cocks an eyebrow.
“What the fuck is going on?”

James rolls around with a sigh so he can look up at Regulus, who has clambered to his knees so he
can better make his unhappiness known. James works his jaw, like he’s tasting words and
discarding them. Trying to figure out what to say. It makes Regulus anxious.

“Ah. They… it’s complicated,” James says eventually.

“Don’t tell me Sirius is still pining for Lupin?” Regulus asks, appalled. Doesn’t his brother retain
even a shred of dignity?

James’ mouth falls open. “How do you know that?”

“I’m observant,” Regulus replies primly.

He has also been keeping an eye on Sirius, because on more than one occasion Regulus has noticed
Sirius trying to catch him alone. He’s not ready for that, so he’s been paying attention to ensure his
brother can’t ambush him, but that part he’s not going to tell James.

“Can’t we meet for an hour? Surely, he doesn’t need you all night,” Regulus insists.

“Hey. I know. I’ll miss you, too.” James presses a soft kiss to Regulus’ arm, the closest part of his
body to James’ face right now. “But my friends do need me, and it’s just one night. Alright?”

Annoyed, Regulus reaches for a cigarette and sits at the edge of the bed to smoke it. He can’t tell
James that one night matters. Every second matters. Never before in his life has Regulus been more
attuned to the passing of time.

January is almost over. Three months have become barely two. He’s running out of nights, and
Regulus doesn’t know how to cope with this knowledge. This secrets he’s keeping from James
become heavier to carry with every waking moment, dragging him down and making him feel like
he's drowning with no chance of breaking the surface.

“Is everything okay?” James asks, scooting over to sit next to Regulus while he smokes.

Regulus shrugs, takes a drag. “Yeah. Fine.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” James promises, nibbling at the skin of Regulus’ shoulder with his teeth.
“I heard it’s supposed to snow next week.”
With a deep, affected sigh, Regulus looks at his boyfriend and says, “It’s fine, James.” He gets up,
starts fishing for his clothes. “I should get back.”

James reaches out and grabs his wrist gently. He tugs on it. When Regulus turns to look at him, he
finds James making puppy eyes. “What if we stayed the night?”

“Here?”

“Yes,” James says. “We’ll wake up early, sneak away so nobody sees us together. We can make it
work. I have the cloak, too.”

It sounds lovely. Regulus hadn’t considered it, but now that James has brought it up, it’s all he
wants. To share a bed with James, like grown up couples do. Like real ones do. It’s another thing
he’s unlikely to ever get unless he does it right now.

But Regulus can’t sleep without his potions and he didn’t bring any.

“We don’t have to,” says James quickly when Regulus hesitates. “Just an idea. Silly, probably. I
mean—”

“No. I do,” Regulus says. “Want to. I just. I’m not very good at sleeping.”

James’ eyebrows fly up. “How can someone not be good at sleeping? You lie down and close your
eyes, that’s all there is to it?”

“Nightmares,” Regulus says plainly.

It’s better than admitting to the real issues. How Regulus has never felt safe after Sirius left their
house. How every little noise made him jerk up. His muscles tensed when he was supposed to be
relaxing, and his brain ran—it still does—through every horrible thing that has ever been done to
Regulus or that he has ever witnessed be done to someone else.

He didn’t develop an addition to sleeping potions for the giggles. His abuse of the draughts is his
attempt at self-medicating his insomnia, and the root of that insomnia is too embedded in his
trauma for Regulus to even begin to unravel.

So, he blames it on nightmares because he knows James won’t be surprised by this. Sirius has been
having nightmares since he was six. Regulus knows, because he used to crawl into bed with him
and they’d hold each other all night, fighting their demons off together.

“Ah,” James says. “That’s okay. I can hold you through them, if you’d like. Sometimes, I do it for
Sirius.”

“What?”

James chuckles. “Obviously platonic. He’s like a br—” James cringes with his entire body and it’s
so pitiful Regulus can’t even be annoyed.

“I know, James. He’s like your brother. Still, maybe stop sharing a bed with a grown man who
likes men, too?” Regulus says, trying to sound reasonable but managing to be petulant instead.

“I like it when you’re jealous,” James tells him. “Even though you don’t need to be.”

Regulus scowls. James makes the puppy eyes again.

One night won’t kill him, he supposes. Even if he can’t fall asleep, he’ll make the hours of rest up
tomorrow since he’s not seeing James. And if he falls asleep and has his nightmares, perhaps
James will realise just how messed up and broken he is and make things easier for both of them by
deciding to leave him before Regulus has to.

“Alright,” Regulus says, dropping his clothes and approaching the bed again. “We’ll stay the
night.”

When they’re curled under the blankets together, James whispers an I love you into the back of
Regulus’ neck. He’s so warm against Regulus’ body, like a personal hot water bottle that’s human
sized. James’ arms are strong and heavy, keeping Regulus secured in the curve of James’ torso,
hips, and legs. They fit so well it makes Regulus choke up a little, which he viciously pushes
down. He won’t be caught dead tearing up over spooning with his boyfriend. He’s got some pride
left.

Surprisingly, sleep seeps into Regulus’ body and makes his eyelids heavy. His muscles ease up,
and tension lifts off him. He can feel his face going soft, a small smile playing on his lips.

And Regulus realises that if he’s with James, he doesn’t need a potion to fall asleep because he
feels safe. Here, in James’ arms, Regulus feels like nothing can touch him.

Regulus falls asleep on his own for the first time in a very, very long time and it’s to the rhythm of
James’ breathing.

It doesn't last.

The nightmares come. Regulus shakes and thrashes in bed. He whimpers and sweats and makes a
mess. He shouts and cries. Regulus wakes drenched in sweat, heart thrashing inside his ribcage.
His throat hurts, torn from his cries. His chest heaves mightily as he fights to even out his
breathing. It takes a while for him to calm down, but he does. James is there through the whole
thing. With James holding him, and murmuring that he's okay, Regulus regains control of himself.
And when he's ready, James gently cuddles him closer against his chest, and whispers soothing
words in his ear until they drift off back to sleep.

It happens again, barely an hour later. But James doesn’t complain. He doesn’t let Regulus go. Not
once.

Somehow, together, they make it through the night and a grand total of five nightmares.

All in all, despite being a bit groggy when he wakes because of the fitful sleep, Regulus doesn’t
regret staying and vows to do it again as often as he can. James, who looks like he slept a solid ten
hours despite the interruptions, tells him it was the best night of his life.

****

The light of the full moon falls like a beam across the corner of the library he’s working in. Curfew
will start soon, but Regulus is a prefect and he’s not afraid to leverage his badge to get out of
trouble if necessary.

Tom Marvolo Riddle’s notebook lies on the table in front of him. Regulus is careful to touch it as
little as possible, preferably with gloves. One doesn’t grow up in a dark arts household to be
cavalier with objects imbued with so much dark magic. He can feel it rolling off the notebook like
smoke from a pyre. Whatever this is, it's powerful.

Regulus hasn’t yet figured out what makes this little pad so special that Lucius would have it under
lock and key. It also doesn’t make sense why Voldemort gave it to him in the first place. Why
Voldemort kept it. Regulus knows it's hiding something, and is a bit frustrated over the fact he
hasn't yet figured out what.

He has tested everything he knows on it, which hasn’t told him what it is, but it has told him what
it is not. This is helpful, but Regulus is running out of patience.

It has to be important, and Regulus needs to discover why.

There is one thing he hasn’t tried yet, because it’s dangerous. Regulus isn’t afraid, not exactly, but
he’s also not an idiot. If he gets cursed, or hurt, he’ll have to explain himself to someone and that is
the dangerous part. It is imperative that Voldemort doesn’t find out Regulus is digging into his
past. If he slips up and Riddle discovers him, Regulus will be dead before he can do anything about
it.

Clutching the quill a bit harder than necessary, Regulus hesitates. He’s cast as many protective
spells as he could think of on himself, and has vials of several potions in his pockets that he can
take quickly should anything go wrong.

Still. He has no idea what’ll happen if he writes on the thing.

A wolf howls outside. Regulus cocks his head. He puts the quill down, grateful for an excuse to
procrastinate this a little longer. Rubbing his eyes, Regulus listen for the howling. There it is again.
Wolves worshiping the moon. There's a beauty in that, Regulus thinks.

It hasn’t escaped his notice that James is always unavailable on a full moon. Could be a
coincidence, but it's happened enough times now that Regulus is starting to get a little suspicious.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think James is a werewolf. Except that's simply not possible. Regulus
would know if he was. He's certain of it. Besides, James doesn’t show signs of exhaustion, or
weakness, or has any—

Fuck.

Fuck.

No. No. It can’t be. Regulus takes a deep breath. Sirius isn’t a werewolf, either, because the day he
showed up all torn to bits the moon had only just gone down. He would have been transforming
back if he was. Besides, werewolves don’t hurt themselves. Do they? And he would have known if
Sirius had been bitten in the past two years, right? And where would that have happened? How?

It's insane. It can't be. Sirius isn't a werewolf, either. Regulus is being ridiculous.

Except. Regulus has been wondering what the fuck happened for his brother to get so badly
eviscerated. Claws and teeth. James said it was hell hounds. But there aren’t hell hounds in the
forest, are there? Regulus hasn’t heard of them before.

More howling.

Regulus stands and heads to the window. His fingers drift inside his inner pocket, where the snitch
with the picture of him and James rests. It calms him slightly, but he could still use a cigarette.
There’s something here, Regulus can tell. A revelation. He’s observant, he boasted to James. He
should be able to figure it out.

With a quick flick of his wand, Regulus packs up his things into his bag. He can write on the
notebook from hell later. It’s not like he’s in a hurry to get himself cursed.
The way back to Slytherin takes him past the bridge, which is ideal so he can have his smoke. It
helps him think. Process.

He walks past a couple of portraits having an argument. Rolls his eyes at the ruckus they’re
causing. He’ll have his done soon. When he turns of age, as is tradition. A way to immortalise the
Black family.

It’s not the same as living forever, but as close as one can get, Regulus supposes. Better than being
a ghost, which is just an echo. Myrtle will never get past Olive’s bullying. Never stop weeping in
that toilet stall. That’s not living. It’s simply existing.

Regulus leans his forearms against the railing and lights his cigarette. He’s not vain. Not like Sirius
who is always flicking his hair this way and that, or sauntering down the halls like he owns the
place. Still, Regulus thinks he should pick a nice outfit for his portrait. To present his best self for
posterity, he supposes. Whatever that means.

He jerks upright, almost dropping the cigarette.

Posterity.

Living forever.

His heart drops.

“You fucking bastard,” Regulus mutters under his breath. He didn’t. Did he?

The breath hitches in Regulus’ chest. Of course he fucking did. That’s why he looks so weird. So
inhuman. So broken.

Because he is.

Regulus needs to brace his body weight against the railing to stop himself from crumpling down.
This is the worst. It’s… how does he fight this? What does… he doesn’t even know the first thing
about Horcruxes, only that they exist. That they tear a soul apart in exchange for immortality. It’s
magic so dark not even the Blacks practise it. It’s known, but not done.

Merlin's balls. No. No.

This is a disaster.

Regulus feels his chest cave in, his vision blur a little.

He’s in over his head. This? He's not prepared to deal with something like this. He never thought...
But he’s in it, now. He can’t back out. Can he?

Fuck.

Regulus’ hands are trembling. He’s not breathing properly.

He is terrified and he’s alone. Alone at night. Alone in the dark.

Groaning, Regulus sits down on the ground. It’s unbecoming and beneath his station, but he needs
a fucking moment. The wood creaks, cold under him. He doesn't care. Can't care.

With his head between his knees, Regulus forces himself to breathe. In and out. He can do this.
He’ll figure it out. He’s Regulus Black. Master of his own body. Heir to the Most Ancient and
Noble House of wizards in England. He’s a dragon.

It’s a bit pathetic that he clings to a joke his friends made about him months ago, but it does make
him feel better for some reason.

Pitifully, Regulus clings to that. He’s a dragon. Dragons don’t cower.

He tells himself he's stronger than this. He's smarter than Riddle. He can fight this. He can win.

Pulling himself back together is harder than he’d like to admit. Last time this happened, last time
Regulus felt way in over his head and broken down, he went to a muggle pub and a kid flirted with
him and got him his first cigarette.

Tonight, Regulus can’t do that. His choices are limited. Dorcas is with Marlene. Barty and Evan
can’t be trusted with this information. James can’t either, and Regulus can’t even go to him for
comfort or distraction because he’s…

What even is James doing?

The wolf howls again. Regulus rubs the tips of his fingers against his temples. He has to be certain
that his theory about the Horcruxes is correct. Has to find a way to confirm it, somehow. He
doubts there'll be books about it in the library, so it's not going to be easy.

There is one person Regulus hasn’t spoken to yet about Tom Riddle. Slughorn might know
something. It’s worth the try. At this point, Regulus will try pretty much anything. With a heavy
sigh, Regulus resolves to talk to Slughorn the very next day.

Feeling a bit calmer with a plan of action (no matter how flimsy), he quickly gets back to his feet
before anyone finds him moping on the floor. There is one positive thing about the full moon and
it’s that moon flowers will be dripping nectar like crazy. It’s a key ingredient to a considerable
amount of potions and Regulus knows they’re running out because he keeps track of the inventory.
He also used the last bit of it for his own antidote this week.

Resolute, he heads downstairs, keeping to the shadows to avoid running into a prefect on patrol.

Slughorn will be pleased he proactively gathered the ingredient, and it gives him an excuse to visit
his office. If Regulus shows up and straight away asks about Riddle, Slughorn might get spooked.
Does Slughorn even know Riddle is Voldemort? Regulus doubts it, but better to be cautious.

Fortunately for him, the moon flowers grow well away from the path that leads to Aragog’s lair.
Regulus is, nonetheless, rather careful and takes a detour to enter the forest as far from the spiders
as he possibly can. Just in case.

The wolf howls. It sounds far away. Miles away. Regulus is safe.

There’s a clearing not too deep inside the forest where moon flowers grow. He’s seen them before.
It’s not the usual section of the forest where he gathers other ingredients, but he’s not entirely
unfamiliar with it. As long as he’s quiet and respectful, he should be alright. The creatures that care
for the flora shouldn't bother him if he doesn't cause damage.

He’s filled two bottles of nectar and is uncorking the third one when he feels the prickle on the
back of his head.

Something’s wrong. He doesn’t know why, but his gut tells him to leave. Right now.
Shoving the two bottles he managed to collect in his bag, Regulus stands. He hears the howling.
It’s close. So fucking close. How did that happen?

Glancing up, Regulus wonders if he can climb one of the trees. But that might piss off the forest
faeries. Discarding the idea, Regulus resolves to run just as a wolf bursts into the clearing, fangs
bared at him.

For some weird reason, the fading scar Greyback gave him on his shoulder throbs. Not a wolf. A
werewolf. He can see the tail, the snout. Fuck.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Regulus takes his wand out. He can’t run now. If he turns his back on the wolf, he’ll die. They
seize each other, wolf and boy. Regulus is done for. He knows it. Can't do anything about it. The
beast pounces. Regulus braces himself—

And a fucking stag the size of a horse knocks it out of the way, coming to stand in front of
Regulus.

“Fine. A wolf will maul me to death, is that it?”

“No,” Pandora says, twirling one finger in a strand of long, blond hair. “First of all, my dreams
aren’t literal. The wolf represents some danger. Like, just danger as a concept. Not an actual
wolf.”

“Makes sense,” Dorcas chimes in. “Reg could take a wolf. It would hardly kill him. He’s fucking
fast and mean.”

“What is it, then?” Barty asks.

“Whatever it is, Regulus is threatened by it. He’s in danger, and he has two choices. To trust the
stag or to go at it alone,” Pandora explains calmly.

Fucking hell.

Regulus remembers Pandora’s dream. So much for them not being literal, eh? Fortunately, he has
zero interest in going at it alone. Not against a werewolf. Regulus isn't stupid enough to think he
can best one. Pandora told him to trust the stag. He’s happy to oblige.

The wolf turns, growls at the stag. In response, it stomps on the ground with its front legs hard. Its
antlers are truly magnificent. The wolf prowls the clearing, but doesn’t approach. Regulus steps
closer to the larger animal and is about to test whether he can touch it when a humongous black
dog irrupts into the clearing.

The wolf isn’t happy about this new addition. It lounges, and then the dog and the wolf are
fighting. Regulus thinks this is a fantastic moment to leave. Get to safety.

But then the wolf swipes at the dog with a claw, and it gets hurt. Not badly, just a scratch, but
enough that it whimpers. Regulus frowns. The dog is large enough, dangerous enough to hit back.
It doesn’t. It wrestles with the wolf, but it doesn’t bite it. As though it consciously doesn’t want to
hurt it.

The stag is getting anxious, too. It nudges Regulus with its face. Regulus snaps out of it. He doesn’t
care about some random dog. He needs to get out of here. When he moves, the wolf catches his
scent again and seems all too eager to get away from the dog to come after Regulus once more.
The stag and the dog close ranks in front of Regulus. They exchange a look, which should be
fucking impossible. Dogs and stags can’t communicate! But Regulus doesn’t have time to consider
it, because the dog attacks just as the stag kneels in a clear invitation. Regulus clambers on top of
him, and then they’re running.

It’s like flying.

Clinging on as best he can, Regulus flattens himself against the stag’s body. A hysterical giggle
bubbles up in his throat, and Regulus despite everything, finds himself enjoying this wild,
impossible ride across the Forbidden Forest.

They travel so fast Regulus barely has any time to process it before the stag erupts from the treeline
and comes to an abrupt stop near Hagrid’s hut. So quick. So sudden. He kind of wishes they’d run
around a bit more.

Still, Regulus slides off the stag's back respectfully, then runs a gentle hand over its rump. He’s
splendid. One of the most grandiose animals Regulus has ever seen.

The wolf howls, and the stag looks up.

“Go help your friend,” Regulus tells him, stepping away. “Thank you.”

The animal dips his head like it understands, then it’s sprinting back towards the forest and getting
lost in the night. Regulus wonders if he’ll ever get to see him again.

####

Interlude: Sirius POV

If Regulus has the audacity to ever call Sirius an idiot again after the momentous stupidity he
exhibited last night, Sirius will strangle him.

“Pete?” Sirius calls across their room. “Pass me some of that murtlap essence, will you?”

Peter brings it over to his bed, where Sirius is disinfecting the three slashes over his ribs. James,
who’s just come out of the shower, is already covering his own cuts with ointment. They’re all
superficial wounds, nothing they haven’t got before, but they are all Regulus’ fault.

They were having a good night out. One of the best they’ve had in a long while. Moony was
playful, easy-going. They were chasing rabbits and having fun, all of them. Not a trace of violence
or anguish from Moony. Until he caught the scent of a human outside the castle in the dead of the
night.

“What the fuck was he doing in the forest anyway?”

Sirius doesn’t realise he’s spoken aloud until Peter replies.

“He was gathering flower nectar, actually,” he says calmly “He’s brilliant at potions. Could be an
ingredient. I saw him filling a bottle before I went to get you guys.”

It’d been Peter who had saved Regulus’ life. He’d scurried ahead, as usual, to scout for anything
unpleasant and had seen him just as the wind had changed. If Peter hadn’t alerted his friends,
Moony would have caught the scent before they were ready to intervene.

“Fucking hell,” James groans, shaking his head. “If that’s true, it’s a miracle this hasn’t happened
before.”

“Huh?”

“Potions ingredients in the forest? Never even crossed my mind,” James says, looking a little
haunted.

“It wouldn’t have mattered if we hadn’t left the shack,” says Pete. This earns him a glare from both
Sirius and James.

“Do not say shit like that in front of Moony, do you hear me?” Sirius threatens.

Peter nods, paling a little. Sirius should feel bad, probably. But he can’t. He’s agitated, and worried
about Regulus, and just generally in a truly terrible mood. He has been since they got back to
school three and a bit weeks ago because Remus—Remus fucking Lupin—has rejected him.

After a kiss that realigned the galaxies in Sirius’ world. A kiss that he felt in his goddamned soul,
that flayed him open with desire and want and all the things he didn’t know about himself until his
lips touched Remus’. If there was any doubt left in Sirius’ mind about whether his feelings for
Remus were real, that kiss obliterated them.

He’s well and truly gone for Moony.

Sirius would do unspeakable things to be able to kiss him again.

And Remus has the fucking audacity to not feel the same way. He’s just… pretending it didn’t
happen! It’s the most outrageous thing that has ever happened to Sirius.

It is also quite soul destroying, because Sirius is pretty certain that he’s been ruined for anyone else
for the rest of his life. Nothing will ever compare to that one kiss. How’s he supposed to just carry
on?

“You’re grinding your teeth again,” James says, throwing a sock at Sirius.

He blinks, unclenches his jaw. “I’m going to shower.”

Peter and James exchange worried glances. James brought Wormy up to speed about what
happened during the New Year’s Eve party as soon as Remus left for his prefect patrol on the train
and left the three of them alone. Peter was extremely happy for his friends and seemed to assume
that the kiss would naturally lead to them starting something.

Sirius, naïve, stupid, cocky Sirius Black, had agreed with Peter, for once. What else could come
after that kiss but an idyllic relationship? It just made sense. To Sirius at least, it was the natural
way for things to go.

Not bloody happening, is it?

The hot water hits his back pleasantly, but he’s too wound up to even enjoy it. He goes through the
motions of cleaning himself by inertia, mind too busy picking it all apart. Turning over every
moment since they came back to school. Every time Remus has caught him staring and simply
looked away like it was nothing. Every word they’ve exchanged. When they’re all together, Remus
is acting like nothing happened at all.

One week in, it became clear that Remus was actively avoiding being left alone with Sirius, and so
he stopped trying. They haven’t talked about it. Remus hasn’t… just hasn’t even acknowledged
that they kissed. Not once.

And, you know, message received loud and clear, but when you’ve been someone’s best friend for
years and they kiss you like that… doesn’t it warrant at least a conversation?

Clearly not.

When Sirius returns to their room, it’s Peter’s turn to shower. He tells them not to wait for him,
because Olive’s meeting him in the common room so they can go together.

“You alright?” James asks him as they exit the common room.

Sirius shrugs. He’s not, not really, but there’s fuck all he can do about it.

“Just hungry. Let’s go.”

Fortunately for him, the matter of Regulus almost getting mauled by Moony last night is a
distraction from the ache that has settled behind Sirius’ ribs.

If Sirius hadn’t seen Regulus in the forest with his own two eyes, he wouldn’t believe he barely got
any sleep last night. The little shit looks pristine, sitting between Dorcas and Pandora at the
Slytherin table. Across from them, Lestrange, Dolohov, Crouch and Rosier are discussing
something rather animatedly. Snivellius keeps looking over at them from a couple of seats down
the right. The way he’s staring at Regulus makes Sirius’ skin crawl.

“I don’t like that they’re always hanging around him these days,” Sirius mutters to James as they
plop down on the bench at Gryffindor table. “Lestrange and them.”

“I asked him about it,” James replies, voice pitched low. “He doesn’t like it either.”

“Why does he allow it then?” Sirius asks, glancing across the hall again. “It’s not like he’s a people
pleaser.”

James snorts with laughter at that, and Sirius can’t help but to smile, too. They eat quickly and
pocket some food for Remus. If they leave now, they can make it to the hospital wing and leave
the pastries there for when he wakes up later.

Madame Pomfrey tuts at them, but allows them into the infirmary. James busies himself with
arranging the pastries on the small table next to Remus’ bed. He makes a big show of it, which
Sirius knows is James’ way of giving him time to just… stare.

Ever since the kiss, he cannot look at Remus without feeling like he’s going to do something
reckless, so he’s been avoiding it as much as possible. But now Remus is asleep, and he can’t read
Sirius’ face, so he gives himself a moment.

Remus is beautiful.

Sirius should have realised what it meant sooner. Should have been able to read the warm fluttering
in his stomach, or his fixation with Remus’ hands for what it truly was. Perhaps then he’d have a
chance.

If he’d known, back in fifth year, that he didn’t really think Tom was terrible, but realised the truth
—that he was jealous all along. If he’d been able to admit it to himself instead of hooking up with
girl after girl. Perhaps then Remus would think him good enough.
Too late now.

And—oh. Oh no. Fifth year.

Is that why Remus doesn’t want him? The thought punches him square in the jaw, making him
stumble backwards a little. He’s an idiot.

How could Remus ever want him when he did what he did? Merlin’s beard on fire. Remus is
probably disgusted that Sirius even had the audacity to kiss him in the first place.

Sirius is going to be sick.

“You alright?” James asks. Sirius shakes his head no. Bile is crawling up his throat. He can’t form
words.

Sirius gets it now. Why Remus refuses to talk to him. Remus is a good friend, and he won’t tell him
to his face that he’s not good enough. That he’s too dark, too mean, too cruel. Tainted by
Grimmauld Place and just not someone Remus Lupin would settle for.

Moony has been trying to spare him the humiliation, and he’s been too thick to realise it until now.

Swallowing thickly, Sirius forces himself to breathe.

With a firm hand, James squeezes his shoulder. “You should talk to him.”

“Nah,” Sirius replies with a shrug. He’s been shrugging a lot lately. Together, they turn to leave
the infirmary. “He’s clearly uncomfortable about it and wants to pretend it didn’t happen. I’m not
going to force it.”

“Padfoot—”

Regulus is waiting for them right outside, eyes narrowed. As soon as he sees Regulus, James lights
up like a Christmas tree, because he has zero ability to reign in his own emotions. Sirius tilts his
head, waits for Regulus to speak first.

Sirius—who’d been hoping for another chance to talk to his brother—had prepared himself in
advance for what he would do when he got the chance. After much deliberation, Sirius decided that
letting Regulus go first is the best course of action. At the very least, it gives Sirius a chance to
judge what mood his brother is in. So that's what he does. He waits.

With a flick of his wand, Regulus casts a muffliato spell before leaning a bit closer. “Who else
knows about Lupin?”

James makes a sound of distress that, to Sirius’ utter shock, softens the scowl on Regulus’ face a
bit.

“He’s your friend,” Regulus says to James. “But he’s dangerous.”

“He’s not,” Sirius says automatically.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t even start. He almost kill—”

His brother stops himself, purses his lips. Sirius holds his breath as he watches Regulus’ brain
work through this one with a growing sense of dread. Regulus is smart. One of the smartest people
he’s ever met.
He has the memory of an elephant, and the curiosity of a cat. It doesn’t surprise Sirius even a little
bit when, without another word, Regulus reaches for his shirt and lifts it, exposing the three marks
from last night.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Regulus says.

“Reg?” James tries.

“You’re the… You…” Regulus blinks at James, shakes his head in disbelief. “I need a smoke,”
Regulus says, pivoting on his heels and storming down the corridor.

Sirius nudges James. “Come on.” And they break into a jog to keep up with Regulus.

They’re apparently skiving off their first lesson. This isn’t unusual for James and Sirius, but for
Reggie? Unheard of. James must be a bad influence, Sirius thinks wistfully.

Regulus leans against the glass wall of the greenhouse furthest from the school—only place they
won’t be caught at this hour—and lights a cigarette. Sirius follows his lead, inhaling deeply and
letting the smoke calm his nerves a bit.

James begins pacing.

“A fucking stag,” Regulus says, sounding slightly winded. “You’re a stag. With antlers and
everything. Merlin’s beard on fire. I'm. Just. What the fuck.”

“How did you…?” James looks at Regulus sheepishly.

“There’s a bit of blood on Sirius’ shirt,” Regulus says matter-of-factly.

As though that explains anything at all. Not like Sirius is going to admit out loud that he’s not
smart enough to work out Regulus’ thought process. He’d never hear the end of it.

“You can’t tell anyone,” James says. “Reg. Please.”

“I’ve no interest in sending you to Azkaban. You’re hardly of use to me there,” Regulus replies,
cocking an eyebrow.

James relaxes, smiles a little bit. Regulus shakes his head, reaches for James’s arm and tugs him
closer.

Sirius is speechless, watching as James leans against the wall next to Regulus, standing so close his
chest is grazing Regulus’ shoulder. He has never seen them… interact this way. He saw them kiss,
once or twice, but that had been quick and light. A goodbye of sorts, nothing too affectionate.

This, today, is different. In broad daylight, right there. They’re touching, and it’s caring. Gentle.
It’s beautiful, actually. Regulus has never much cared for touch. The only person he’d allow that
close when they were growing up together was Sirius, mostly so they could curl in bed to fend off
their nightmares as a team.

It's been a long time, clearly. Regulus wouldn’t touch Sirius even by accident these days. But here
he is, sliding his fingers into James’ hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him. For
some reason, this makes Sirius’ eyes sting.

And then, in typical Regulus fashion, he says, “What the hell were you two idiots thinking?”

Smiling sheepishly, James looks down at him. “That Remus shouldn’t have to go through that
alone.”

Regulus groans, lets his head fall back against the greenhouse. “You and your fucking hero
complex.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Sirius says, because he wants to be acknowledged. This is his brother
and his… other brother? And he will not be ignored just because they’re… whatever they are.
Boyfriends, according to James.

Agitated, Sirius explains, “Werewolves aren’t meant to be locked up and alone during
transformations. You’ve seen Remus. He’s covered in scars. He’s done those to himself because he
had so frustrated. When we started spending moons with him, he stopped hurting himself.”

“He hurts you now, instead,” Regulus points out.

James tugs on his hand. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Fuck off,” Regulus says. “Don’t lie to me. It wasn’t hell hounds that night, was it?”

“Actually, it was,” Sirius replies, indignant. “And the only reason I got hurt was because I tried to
defend Moony from them. He had nothing to do with it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true,” Sirius replies, shrugging. “I ehm…”

“I know you have a crush on him,” Regulus tells him. “You’re not subtle about it, either.”

Sirius feels his lips twist into a wry smile. “For all the good it’s done me.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “You can do better.”

Ignoring the stab of warmth that pierces his chest pleasantly at this little morsel of brotherly
affection, Sirius shakes his head. “No. I really can’t,” he says softly.

He means it. How could there be better than Moony? There isn’t, and that’s Sirius’ burden to bear.
He reached the peak of his life for the few seconds their kiss lasted, and Sirius will never know
something like that again.

It sucks, but it is what it is.

He’s lucky he even got that much, and he’ll cherish it forever.

Regulus is quiet for a while after that, smoking his cigarette and lighting another one as soon as
he’s done. James, who is normally full of energy and doing something, remains quiet but in a
content, peaceful kind of way. Like Regulus has the power to calm him down.

Sirius would pay money to be able to tell what James is thinking right now, which again strikes
him as odd. He can tell, most of the time.

“Who else knows?” Regulus asks again.

“Just us,” James tells him. “Well, Dumbledore and Minnie. Poppy, too. They know about Remus.
Not about… ehm…”

“That you’ve done something extremely illegal and extremely dangerous?” Regulus says it sharply,
but to Sirius’ absolute shock, there’s the hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

And wow. Just wow. Sirius can't remember the last time he managed to impress his little brother. It
makes him feel invincible.

“You’re impressed,” Sirius blurts out. “Fucking hell, Reggie. You think it’s cool.”

He cuts him a sharp side-ways glare.

“It’s Regulus,” he snarls.

And then, surprisingly Regulus rolls his shoulders back, looks up at Sirius directly for the first time
since they ran into each other. Giving his brother a half shrug, he says, “But yeah. It’s an
impressive bit of magic.”

Sirius beams. The ghost of little Reggie flits through this boy’s eyes. A hint of awe when he looks
at Sirius, like he’s his hero. The older brother who knows everything, who can do anything. Like
he’s all Reggie would ever need. Sirius isn’t stupid enough to think they’ll ever go back to that, but
just the echo of that wonder is enough. He can still amaze his little brother and that. That's precious
to him. Quietly, Sirius smiles at Regulus. He rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth is still
turned upwards.

It heals some of the wounds in Sirius' soul.

####

When they finish that day’s Quidditch practice, Sirius tackles James for the first time that year.
He’s gone straight for the showers all previous team training sessions. Naturally, James is more
than happy to oblige and engages in their usual wrestling on the frozen ground, laughing together.

It lifts James’ spirit, because Sirius has been withdrawn and miserable for weeks. It seems that their
little moment with Regulus that morning has gone some way towards making Sirius feel better.

“Ah, fucking hell,” Sirius says, sprawled on the ground and breathing heavily when they’ve spent
all their nervous energy. “You’re getting too strong.”

James chuckles, sits up. “It’s bloody freezing out here. Come on.”

They trudge into the changing rooms together, eyes bright and hair windswept. Sirius full on
groans when the hot water of the shower hits him, and James—in the adjacent cubicle—snorts with
laughter. He’s so dramatic.

A few minutes later, as they’re putting on their clothes in the otherwise empty room, Sirius looks at
James and softly says, “You ehm…” Clears his throat. “You look good together.”

James smiles at his best friend, chest full of warmth. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t too weird, was it? To
see us… you know. Like that?”

“I thought it’d be worse, to be honest,” Sirius admits. “But it felt… right. I guess. I haven’t seen
Regulus look that soft since he was five.”

“Oi!” James says, indignant. “I do not make him soft.”

Sirius makes a face of pure horror. James is confused for a beat, before he realises what he said.
Normally, he would avoid making Sirius uncomfortable, but he hasn’t seen Sirius act this normal
since that kiss with Remus, and James has missed him. So, he wiggles his eyebrows at his friend,
which makes him yelp dramatically and tackle James again.

“How many times do I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” Sirius wails, wrestling
James again all over the changing room.

“Guys!” Peter barges in, looking frantic. He’s clutching the map. “Help! The girls are in trouble.”

Sirius and James jump to their feet and are out of the door and following Peter in a heartbeat. As
they run through the grounds, Peter fills them in. Apparently, Mary overheard some Slytherins
bullying a bunch of first year Ravenclaws earlier in the week and dealt with them. In retaliation,
and because she’s also muggle born, they’ve just ambushed her behind the greenhouses, where she
was having a smoke with Lily.

James’ heart bangs in his chest as he runs. He’s already got his wand out, same as Sirius and Peter.

The scene makes his blood boil when they arrive. Lily, Mary and Marlene are backed against the
greenhouse wall by a large group of sixth and seventh year Slytherins who are insulting and
taunting them. The three girls are exhibiting true Gryffindor bravery, wands clutched in their hands
and chins raised. There's defiance in their eyes, a clear challenge. They won't just take it. The girls
are ready to fight back.

“Oi!” James bellows. “Back off.”

“Look who it is,” Avery drawls. “Want to get your ass handed to you again?”

“Your fixation with Sirius’ prettiness and my arse is starting to be a little concerning, Avery,”
James replies swiftly. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell us?”

James bats his lashes at him, which makes Avery turn purple with rage. That’s all it takes, really.
The Slytherins charge, splitting in half so they attack the girls and the boys simultaneously.
They’re all here—Dolohov, Lestrange, Mulciber, Goyle, Crabbe, Snivellius, Selwyn—and they’re
being even bolder than normal.

“Prongs! Back to back!” Sirius shouts.

Without hesitation, James slides up to Sirius and then they’re in the centre of a small circle and
battling several Slytherins at once. James loves duelling next to Sirius. It feels right, like this is
what they were supposed to do all along. Them two together against the world.

Peter ducks past the Slytherins attacking the girls to go to their aid, which distracts Lily for a
second. She gets hit with something that makes her left arm burst into blisters. Her yelp of pain
catches Snivellius attention, and James uses the opportunity to stun him. He falls to the ground in a
heap. One down, way too many to go.

It’s chaos. There are too many people fighting at once, on two fronts. James is doing his best, and
has managed to deflect almost everything thrown at him, but his friends aren’t as lucky. Somehow,
they end up right next to the girls and it’s all of them against the Slytherins still standing. Because
the Gryffindors refuse to cause any real harm, there are way too many Slytherins till standing.

“Prongs,” Sirius says. “Enough playing. I’m sick of this.”

Sirius charges forward, a look of anger and determination on his face. James follows. It works to
take the heat off their friends because most Slytherins want to fight them two, instead. James is
deeply grateful for the Order training lessons, which have been happening weekly since
September. Sirius is an absolute menace. He cuts a path through the snakes, forcing them to
scramble and giving everyone else a break. James is at his side, and together they battle their
schoolmates.

It's a little insane, James thinks, that they're duelling this hard while at school.

What has the world come to?

To his surprised satisfaction, it doesn't take too long for James to realise that they are actually
winning. They’re not without harm, but about half the Slytherins are down now, and only Mary
has been stunned on their side. Lily’s arm is still blistered, but it’s not her wand arm and she’s
holding her ground remarkably.

Behind them, there's a shout of alarm. James can't look because Goyle is aiming his wand at him.
He hears Lily cry out, "Marlene! Look out!"

Suddenly, a figure blurs past them, wand raised and shouting, “Oh no you fucking don’t!”

Dorcas whirls in front of Marlene and faces off with Dolohov, who had tried to curse her girlfriend.
James stuns Goyle and turns just in time to see Dorcas raise her wand menacingly.

Her face is like thunder, and James is impressed. Dorcas Meadowes is a force to be reckoned with.

“Blood traitor,” Dolohov says, spitting at Dorcas’ feet.

“Aww, thank you!” Dorcas replies. It confuses Dolohov, who’s apparently unfamiliar with
sarcasm, and Dorcas doesn’t miss her chance.

He crumples to the ground before her.

Marlene is panting, visibly grateful to have some respite because they’ve been fighting for a while,
and she’s just been to Quidditch practice. No wonder she’s tired.

With Dorcas’ help, the Gryffindors make quick work of the rest of the Slytherins.

As soon as they're all down, James lifts Mary in his arms, and together they all march towards the
infirmary. As they walk, Lily fills them in. They were having a smoke when the Slytherins came at
them, taunting Mary and Lily for being muggle borns. The girls tried to de-escalate, but the snakes
had been out for blood the entire time.

“It’s getting so much worse,” Lily says angrily. “They’ve always been awful, but since that attack
on New Year’s, it’s like they’re not even worried about getting in trouble.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asks.

“Like they’re ballsier, somehow,” Marlene explains. “Like they know they’re going to win.”

“They’re not,” Dorcas says rather fiercely. “We won’t let them.”

Sirius nods vigorously. “You know what, Meadowes? You’re right. We’ve got to teach them a
lesson. Push back.”

Lily tilts her head, her bright red hair falling over her shoulder. It’s a little unkempt after the fight,
but pretty as always. “What are you thinking?”

“The problem is that they get away with it,” Sirius says. “Like just now. We took them down, but
they’ll wake up, dust themselves off, then do it all over again. Nothing ever really happens, you
know?”

Dorcas cocks her head, thinking. “You mean like getting them expelled?”

Sirius shrugs. “Good enough for me, no? Imagine if they were gone. No more harassment in the
halls.”

“It’s never going to happen,” Lily muses. “They’re all rich, powerful people. No way
Dumbledore’s going to expel the children of all those families.”

“Lily’s got a point,” James chimes in.

“If we can’t get them expelled, can we knock them out of action for a while?” asks Marlene.
“Come on guys. You pulled the most epic pranks the school’s ever seen in your early years.
Where’s that mischievous streak?”

“We need Moony,” Sirius declares, pushing open the door to the infirmary. “We think best when
we’re together. All four of us.”

They all file in, and Lily goes to get Madame Pomfrey so she can help Mary. James looks down at
the girl in his arms, feels the anger boiling under the surface. It’s so fucking stupid, to attack
someone because of who their parents are. Why does it matter? It doesn’t, and he hates that he
can’t force everyone to understand it.

“Mr. Potter,” Poppy calls him, emerging from her office with Lily right behind her. “On this bed, if
you please.”

There are a few minutes of chaos while Poppy asks questions, sends Peter to fetch McGonagall,
then brings Mary back to her senses.

When Mary is declared healthy and safe, Poppy begins to check everyone else. When McGonagall
walks in, Sirius is arguing with Poppy and insisting he’s fine and doesn’t need to be fussed over.

“What happened?” McGonagall asks.

James opens his mouth, but Lily steps forward and takes charge. James is happy to let her explain.
She’s loved by the teachers, and therefore they’re more likely to take them seriously. Today’s
attack was more ballsy than their usual, not to mention they’re banding together in bigger numbers.
It makes the school’s corridors less safe, and James hates it.

McGonagall seems to share the concern, because she looks as angry as he’s ever seen her. “Thank
you, Miss Evans. Ten points to each of you,” she blinks as her eyes land on Dorcas, and Marlene
puts a protective, defiant arm over her shoulders. McGonagall recovers, “for standing up to
bullying. When Madame Pomfrey discharges you, you are free to go back to your dorms. I will be
bringing this to Dumbledore’s attention.”

The mood is rather sombre as they all climb onto their usual sofas in the Gryffindor Common room
some time later. Not even Marlene feels like calling for a game or some other entertainment.
Dorcas is curled up with her on an armchair with its back to the main area. Lily is sitting next to
James, absently picking on her lower lip. Remus, who was reading in his nook when they arrived
and has by now been filled in on the action, is on her other side, flicking through one of his books.
Peter is on the floor, idly playing with a quill. Sirius has gone up to their dorm to fetch his
cigarettes.
“I’m going to bed,” Mary says. “Still got a headache.”

Lily looks at her worriedly as she disappears up the girls’ staircase. “You okay?” James asks her
gently.

She turns her huge, green eyes on him. “I’m worried about Mary,” she replies quietly so the others
don’t hear. “She’s trying to be strong but it’s getting to her.”

James feels his jaw clench with impotence. “I’m sorry,” he says through gritted teeth. “We’ll think
of something. We’ll make them back off. I promise.”

“I’m sure you will,” Lily says, smiling at him before getting to her feet. “Good night.”

Quietly, to avoid getting too much attention, James whispers, “Guys. Meeting in the dorm.”

Peter drops his quill immediately and gets to his feet, scurrying up the stairs. Remus is a bit slower,
having to look for his bookmark before he’s ready to get up. He and James walk up together, side
by side.

In the dorm, Peter is waiting pacing back and forth. Sirius is on the windowsill, glass cracked open
to let out the smoke from the cigarette dangling between his lips. Remus does a double take, eyes
tracing the elegant fall of Sirius wrist as his hand hangs from his knee, bent up to support his arm.

The urge to roll his eyes at his friend is strong. Honestly. What is Remus even playing at?
Obviously, he’s obsessed with Sirius. The man can barely be in the same room as him without
getting flustered. So why is he being so bloody stubborn about the whole thing?

“Bit early for bed, isn’t it?” Sirius asks, tilting his head.

“Not bed,” James says, gesturing to the pillows Peter has begun to dutifully pile in the middle of
the floor. “Meeting.”

“Ah,” Sirius replies, sliding off the windowsill to come sit down.

Remus makes a noise like an old man as he, too, settles on the pillows. Peter sits between them,
which James thinks is smart. He doesn’t sit at all. Can’t. He’s got too much frustrated energy
coursing through him.

“We have to do something,” James says. “Mary says the Slytherins are out of control, harassing
younger students every day. We can’t let this continue.”

“The prefects are overwhelmed,” Remus explains. “We know it’s an issue, but it’s impossible to be
everywhere all the time. We already have more patrols than the previous term, but people can
barely cope.”

“What do the Slytherin prefects say?” Peter asks.

Sirius makes a noise of disgust, but James shushes him so they can hear Remus. “Well. They say
all the right things in the meetings. But I don’t know whether they’re actively trying to stop anyone
from being an ass.”

“Do they get paired together?”

“Sometimes,” Remus admits. “We can’t always be mixed. I patrol with Lily quite a bit.”

“You also patrol with Regulus, though,” James points out.

Peter smirks a little but stays mercifully silent. It’s not the time to make jokes about James’
relationship. This is a serious matter.

“Regulus is… he doesn’t seem to care much either way,” Remus says. “I don’t think his attitude is
a good benchmark for the others. And I’m never paired with Snivellius, obviously.”

“What does Lily say?” Peter asks.

“She doesn’t get paired with Snivellius either. But she’s patrolled with Greengrass often, and
apparently she’s pretty impartial and fair,” Remus says, shrugging.

“Why are we even discussing prefects?” Sirius says, lighting another cigarette. “They’re not going
to fix this. It’s down to us.”

“Not in the middle of the room, Pads,” James groans.

Huffing, Sirius gets up and perches himself on the windowsill. Remus’ eyes dart towards him
quickly before he looks firmly back at the floor.

“What do you suggest we do?” Peter says, glaring at Sirius. “It’s not like a dungbomb is going to
get them to back off, you know? Pranks are all well and fun when you’re thirteen, but they’re not
going to protect you from a curse.”

Sirius sneers at Peter. “Because you are brimming with ideas, aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying a prank won’t work.”

“Seeing as I’ve been on the receiving end of several curses and you haven’t, I’m better equipped to
evaluate what works and what doesn’t, don’t you think?”

James decides that’s quite enough. “Alright. Okay. Obviously, we’re not going to do a normal
prank because those were fun but they were just to cause chaos for the giggles. What we need is a
way of showing the Slytherins they won’t get away with this bullying malarkey.”

“James,” Remus says, sounding rather tired all of a sudden. “I’m not sure there’s anything we can
do. What’s happening here is just a reflection of what’s happening out there. Those fuckers are
only getting ballsier because the Death Eaters are getting ballsier.”

This declaration is met with stunned silence. It’s not as though James doesn’t know. He’s
extremely aware. It’s impossible not to be, because the news are all bad these days. More people
being kidnapped, or disappearing, or being murdered. The attack on New Year’s Eve seems to
have marked a new, much more violent chapter in the conflict.

It’s just… James wants to do something. And they can’t. Not yet. Sure, they’re training every
Sunday in Hogsmeade still, but what for? They haven’t been involved in any way. Not since…
James swallows. He hates thinking about the Liverpool man. Still feels guilty about it at times.

“What do we do?” he asks, voice small.

“We train, and when we’re allowed to join for good, the first chance we get… well. Then, we
fight,” is what Remus replies.

On the windowsill, Sirius nods. “In the meantime, we keep our eyes open, yeah? And we hit back
every time.”
 There’s a pointed silence between them. No one likes the waiting part. The training part. They
want to be doing something. They are marauders, for crying out loud! And yes, they did agree that
the whole pranking business was a bit immature for a bunch of seventeen and eighteen year olds.
They decided to give it a rest for their final year, and they’ve been busy, so it’s not like they’ve
missed it.

But well. It can’t hurt to have one more go, can it? Better than being idle, James believes. And it
might not stop the Slytherins from being bullies, but if they come up with something good it’ll
certainly take them down a peg or two.

“I’ll have a think about a possible prank anyway,” James informs them. “Just, you know.
Something to keep them busy?”

“Mmm,” Peter says, looking pensive. “No harm in it, I guess? Bit childish by this point, but oh
well.”

Sirius smiles. He flicks the cigarette out the window, then stands.

“Well. If we are going to regress back to early Marauder days, we need snacks. Going to dash to
the kitchens. Any requests?”

Chapter End Notes

Alright, alright, alright!!

Two big reveals in this chapter - REGULUS IS SO SMART I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!
He has figured out the Horcrux secret (part of it) and he's not coping with it very well.
I do not blame him. That poor boy has a humongous task ahead of him.

Also, Regulus riding Prongs? HELP I AM OBSESSED WITH THAT IDEA? And
him being weirdly concerned for Padfoot not knowing it's his brother? UGH. That
sibling connection is powerful <3

Sirius' POV broke my heart tbh. I know Wolfstar are giving us a bit of a headache at
the moment but we're getting there, I promise. They will sort it all out and it'll be
brilliant when they do.

Dorcas coming to Marlene's aid? Girlboss. I love her.

Next chapter Wednesday <3

Let me know what you think in the comments section - see you there!!
Solmussa
 Horcruxes
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

There's a bit of profound angst in this chapter about the future :( And some stressful
situations as well so mind the TWs!

TWs for this chapter:

Depiction of magical violence (through legilimency)
Depiction of anxiety / meltdown / mild panic attack
Brief mention of vomiting (no one does, just feels like it)
Depictions of a skin disease
Depiction of a severe allergic reaction (Someone has a reaction and goes into
anaphylactic shock. They recover, but it's a very close call)
Vague references to past child abuse
References to past altercations that include magical violence (vague)
Sex (not explicit, but it's happening)
Vague reference to homophobia
Mentions of possible future death

I think that's it :) Enjoy!

Also, hopefully this is obvious but Regulus' meeting with Slughorn takes place at the
same time as the fight with the Slytherins in the previous chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Slughorn’s office is stuffy because he’s got a huge fire roaring in the chimney and several
cauldrons boiling with potions on tables around him. Regulus supposes it makes sense, given it’s
absolutely bloody freezing outside. The end of January is finally, finally bringing them some snow.
Regulus is ridiculously excited about this even if he rolls his eyes every time James mentions it.

While the sky darkens outside, the threat of snow and forst hovering over the balcony at the back
of Slughorn’s office, Regulus takes off his cloak and sits on the sofa, accepting tea from his head
of house.

“Mr. Black,” Slughorn says, delighted. “We’ve been missing you at the Slug Club dinners.”

Regulus would rather wrestle a Hipogriff than attend one of those horrid dinners, but Slughorn
certainly doesn't need to know that. Instead, Regulus dips his head forward in a gesture of fake
shame.

“I know, professor. I’m sorry. I’m just finding it hard to fit everything into my schedule.”

Slughorn sits back, a benevolent smile on his face. “I understand, young man. Quidditch practice
alone takes up a lot of hours!”

The next game of the year, Slytherin vs Ravenclaw, is the following week. No one is worried,
because this year’s Ravenclaw team has not been doing very well at all. Still. It’s as good an
excuse as any, and Regulus isn’t about to tell Slughorn what’s really keeping him busy.

“Certainly,” he says smoothly. “I’m also spending more time than ever in the lab. That reminds me
—”

Regulus plucks the two bottles he managed to fill with nectar before Remus fucking Lupin attacked
him and his boyfriend—who is an illegal animagus (!)—had to come to his rescue with his older
brother who is also an illegal animagus (!). Honestly. What the actual fuck. Every time he thinks
about it Regulus feels like his head is about to explode, but that’s also none of Slughorn’s concern.

“I took advantage of the full moon to harvest some of this. Noticed we were running low when I
checked the cabinets.”

Slughorn takes them, visibly pleased. “Ah, thank you. I hadn’t noticed myself, but we’ll be
needing moon flower nectar for the next potion I’m working on with my NEWT classes.”

“What are you making?”

“We’re studying advanced antidotes,” Slughorn says. “We’ll be making Nightingale Drops.”

Interested, Regulus nods. Nightingale Drops are a powerful antidote for any poison containing
charcoal-derived ingredients. It’s hard to make, but nothing Regulus hasn’t managed before. They
discuss some of the intricacies of that antidote, casually sipping tea. Regulus lets the conversation
drift to the Great British Brew-Off for a few minutes, waiting for Slughorn to settle into it and
relax. To lower his guard.

“I would love to win an award of that calibre,” Regulus says, infusing his voice with as much
enthusiasm as he can muster. “It would be an honour.”

“It’ll be no trouble for you, Mr. Black,” Slughorn gushes. “You’re my best potioner. But don’t tell
Severus that.”

Slughorn winks and Regulus has to refrain from rolling his eyes.

“I was wondering,” Regulus mutters. “Are there any awards the school gives out? Apart from the
house and Quidditch cups, of course. I saw this trophy for special services to the school awarded to
some Tom Riddle some years ago. Do you reckon I could win one?”

To Regulus’ immense relief, Slughorn doesn’t find anything suspicious with this question. There’s
no outward change to his demeanour, no concern flashing in his eyes. He seems to simply be
genuinely considering the answer.

“Ah, Tom was exceptional. Not as good at potions as you are, mind. But he was excellent at magic
in general,” Slughorn says. “His award was… a little controversial, I should say.”

“How come?” Regulus remains sat back, the picture of nonchalance. He cannot give away how
excited he is to have Slughorn talking about Riddle.

Casually, he slips his hand in his pocket to touch the snitch. It grounds him. Helps him stay
focused, calm. Control yourself and your mind.

“There was an accident that year. Tom helped a great deal, but a girl sadly passed. You understand
it’s not something we like talking about,” Slughorn says.
“Of course,” Regulus nods solemnly. “Good to hear someone in our house helped with the
situation.”

“Yes,” Slughorn says, preening a little. “Tom was very loyal to Slytherin. He was fascinated with
history, always enquiring after the Hogwarts founders and their lives and deeds, all of that. He used
to muse about finding their heirlooms. Starting a little collection of sorts.”

Regulus can sense that he’s getting somewhere. Slughorn, as far as he can tell, has no idea this boy
is Voldemort. He decides to push his luck a little more, see if he gets more information.

There is one ace up his sleeve he can use, but if he can avoid it, Regulus would prefer it. So, he
tries to simply ask his questions.

“His parents must have been proud,” Regulus muses.

Slughorn grimaces. “Poor boy was an orphan. Lived in a muggle children’s home until he came to
Hogwarts.”

Regulus holds his breath, absolutely shocked by this revelation. His mind is reeling, thoughts
scrambling everywhere. Fortunately, Slughorn hasn’t noticed his surprise or his interest, and keeps
on rambling amicably.

“I wonder what he’s doing these days,” he says. “He had an aptitude for the dark arts. I half hoped
he’d take a position with the ministry but he hasn’t as far as I know.”

“Did he ever say what he’d like to do after school?”

Slughorn shakes his head. “No. He… he became a little troubled towards the end of his school
years. He became a little too… curious.”

Regulus’ heart skips a beat. It’s an odd sensation, because until recently his heart didn’t even
function properly. It’s all James’ fault, but Regulus cannot bring himself to being upset about it.

“My mother says thirst for knowledge is noble,” Regulus says slyly. He’s known for years that
Slughorn has a soft spot for Walburga. Part of the reason why he lets Regulus get away with pretty
much anything. “I am encouraged to peruse our family library in depth, at my leisure. I’ve come
across lots of interesting things.”

Something odd flashes across Slughorn’s face, and Regulus knows he’s struck gold. Clearing his
throat, Slughorn says, “Well. You are the Heir to the House of Black.”

“Indeed.”

The change in atmosphere wasn’t subtle, which is Slughorn’s first mistake. Any idiot would have
picked up on how uncomfortable he’s become all of a sudden. Why would he be nervous about
talk of libraries and dark arts if he hadn’t had a similar conversation before? Say… with a troubled
boy who got a little too curious?

Sipping his tea to buy himself time, Regulus runs through the possibilities. If he was Tom Riddle, a
gifted student, with no parents, and a rather bleak muggle background despite his heritage… there
are things he wouldn’t just know. Secrets about dark magic, artifacts, traditions. Things he’d have
to ask. And their head of house, with his love for gifted people and very obvious favouritism…
well. Regulus is here, isn’t he? Asking Slughorn his questions.

Why wouldn’t Riddle have done the same?

Regulus is almost certain that Riddle came to him about Horcruxes, and Slughorn said something.
He knows something.

And he’s not talking. Based on how swiftly he’s gathering the tea cups, he’s about to ask Regulus
to leave. Which means Regulus has to resort to dirtier methods to get what he wants. He’s not
leaving this office without an answer.

It’s too early, he knows. He practiced during Christmas with his mother, begun his training on it.
But he’s not proficient yet. It’s a hard art, and one can’t learn it in two weeks. Still. The
opportunity is too good to pass it up. He’ll have to take the risk. If he botches this up, he'll be
expelled. Not ideal, but also not the end of the world. He doesn't need a Hogwarts education to
carry out his vengeance. This is more important. Regulus needs to know if he's correct about
Riddle's secret.

“Professor,” Regulus says, standing up. “I had one more question for you before I leave. I’m
interested in learning legilimency. Do you happen to know anything about it?”

This visibly relaxes Slughorn, who stands up too and smiles at Regulus. “Ah. Very useful skill
indeed. I’m afraid I’m no good at it. I've never had a mind for that sort of magic, but you should
speak to Professor Rogerson. I understand he’s rather skilled.”

Regulus swallows, tries to stifle his nerves. He has never managed to break through his mother’s
mental barriers, but Walburga is a renowned legilimens and occlumens. Slughorn has just admitted
to being hopeless. And he's not expecting. He's not prepared for an invasion.

“Thank you, professor,” Regulus says, extending a hand. Slughorn shakes it, and Regulus takes his
chance.

Focusing as hard as he can, Regulus plunges into Slughorn’s mind. It’s as easy as cutting through
butter with a hot knife. Slughorn’s head opens beautifully for him. Regulus has no interest in
Slughorn’s private life, and he knows he can get away with this intrusion only if he’s very quick.
No wasting time, no probbing. He goes straight in for what he wants. In and out, leaving no trace
behind. Fortunately, it’s at the front of his mind, because they’ve been talking about it.

Tom Riddle, in this very office, asking about Horcruxes.

Asking about tearing a soul in seven pieces.

It takes Herculean effort not to break into hysterics right there and then. Regulus pulls back as
quickly as he went in, then fixes Slughorn with a smile. It’s been five seconds, give or take. Quick
enough to get away with it, Regulus hopes.

“Thank you for the tea. Have a good evening professor.”

Slughorn blinks, a little confused but otherwise unaware. He nods. “Yes… Have a good evening,
Mr. Black.”

***

There is a new person making Regulus duck into classrooms to have breakdowns. He much
preferred it when it was all about running into a shirtless Quidditch Captain, or about James having
flirted with him. Ah, weren't those good days? He wishes he was back there. If he could, he'd go
back to September and re-live the beginning of it all over and over again. Things were so much
simpler back then.
Unfortunately, Regulus’ current meltdown is not about anything as pleasant as all that.

Leaning against the closed door, Regulus folds over himself, cursing up a storm.

Tom fucking Riddle made several Horcruxes.

Which means he can’t be killed until they’re destroyed.

And they could be anything.

They could be anywhere.

Fighting for breath, Regulus slides down against the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, head
hanging between his knees. He’s hyperventilating, tugging at his hair a little desperately. His chest
hurts like someone's sticking knives in it.

How the fuck is he going to do this?

A hysterical laugh escapes from his lips. It's garbled and manic and Regulus can't stop it, even as it
mixes with tears.

He’s so fucked.

His mind is whirring with thoughts, running off in a million directions, each more catastrophic than
the next. The air feels thick, as though he’s suddenly trying to breath under water. Except, he’s in a
normal classroom, and the air is fine. It’s Regulus’ lungs that are malfunctioning.

Why did it have to be him? Why did he have to be the one to discover this secret?

It was about time, he thinks. About time the consequences of his actions caught up with him. And
now, he’s staring at them head on and feeling the claws of his fate reach out and choke him.

Regulus lets out a broken, keening sound.

In discovering the Horcrux secret, Regulus has ensured he can’t escape the trap he’s built for
himself. He cannot change his mind now. He’s locked in, shackled himself to his destiny. Built the
cage and thrown away the key.

His fingers twitch as though something is being ripped from them, and in a way, it’s fitting.
Because Regulus knows, right then, sitting alone on the floor of a cold classroom, that right up
until this very moment, he’s always had a choice.

And now he doesn’t anymore.

A part of him wanted that choice, he realises. Deep down, secretly, he liked knowing that he could
change his mind at the last minute. That if he truly couldn’t give James up… he didn’t have to.

Not that he’s ever really considered it… his revenge makes him who he is these days. Doesn’t it?
He doesn’t even know anymore. Regulus didn’t stop to think about who he would be if he wasn’t
holding on to his hate with both hands. And now… well.

Too late.

And it’s terrifying. Despite everything, despite the amount of times he’s told himself this is what
he wants—vengeance, sweet and cruel and cold, delivered by his hand to all those who have
wronged him… here he is now, a mess of a boy crumpled on the floor.
Afraid.

He chokes on his wet, panting breaths, and curls further into himself. Tears streaming down his
face, chest tight and hot and aching.

Regulus is ashamed of his own weakness. Ashamed to realise he wanted to change his mind.
Wanted to have the option to say yes to James when he inevitably asked him again. Because
Regulus knows James will. He'll look him the eye, beautiful and hopeful and earnest, and ask
Regulus to join him.

He wanted to say yes to James. Wanted to choose James and their love and the happiness Regulus
didn't know he'd ever feel.

And now he can't and it hurts.

There’s no choice to be made. Not anymore. Not now, knowing what he knows. Because he
promised Dorcas he’d keep her safe. He promised himself he’d keep James safe. Sirius, too. And
that means staying his course. No weakness. No hesitation. They can’t afford it.

Another laugh bubbles up, bitter and sharp. The irony of it all isn’t lost on Regulus.

In wanting to become the villain, he’s made himself an anti-hero.

Because this isn’t just about revenge anymore. It’s not as simple as personal gratification and
righteous vengeance. The fate of the wizarding world rests on Regulus’ shoulders now, and it’s
fucking heavy.

It doesn’t matter how hard the other side fights. Unless the Horcruxes are dealt with, Voldemort
will win. And the only one who knows about his secret is Regulus. He doesn’t want it, doesn’t
want the responsibility, but if there’s one thing he’s learned in his life is that no one cares about
what he wants.

Still. Fuck. He’s not cut out for this. This is the sort of thing people like James do. People who
want to save the world.

Regulus doesn’t. He wants it to burn for all it’s done to him. And yet, if he doesn’t save it, he
condemns the few people who make getting out of bed every morning worth it.

It’s in that knowledge, in his fierce, desperate need to keep the handful of people he loves safe, that
Regulus finds the strength to get up. He forces himself to his feet, clenches his jaw. He wipes away
the stray tears that fell over his cheeks.

He has to do this.

Not for himself. Not for the world.

But for James. For Dorcas. For Sirius.

He’ll find the Horcruxes. He’ll deal with them. His revenge and the fate of the war have become
one and the same. And Regulus sets his shoulders back and makes another promise. Silently, in a
random classroom in Hogwarts. Heart breaking with the acceptance of what must happen next.

Regulus vows that he won’t give up. He’ll do whatever it takes.

For James. For Dorcas. For Sirius.

 ***

Regulus only stops thinking about Horcruxes when he realises that none of the seventh year
Gryffindors are at dinner. Neither is Dorcas. Pandora’s with the Ravenclaws. She’s alone.

Tired and a little raw from the emotions still churning in his stomach, Regulus forces himself to eat
some food. It goes down like lead, making him feel a little nauseous, but he needs sustenance.

Next to him, Barty and Evan shove dinner into their mouths with the enthusiasm of still growing
teenagers. Under the table, Regulus has noticed that their legs are pressed together. It makes
Regulus ache for what he’s going to give up.

“Barty,” Regulus asks when he’s done with food. “Where is Dorcas?”

“No idea, mate.”

“You haven’t seen her today?”

“Nah,” Barty replies, shrugging. “We found the dorm empty in the afternoon and took advantage.”

He wiggles his eyebrows and Evan laughs, but Regulus only sighs, annoyed.

Where did she go? Why are none of the Gryffindors here? Regulus taps his fingers on the table, the
only outward sign of his irritation he allows.

Unease settles in the pit of Regulus’ stomach. He skips meals regularly, but his friends do not. And
he’s absolutely, one hundred percent certain that James and Sirius have never missed one, either.
They scarf food down like they’ve never seen it before every single time. Regulus sits back.

The usual entourage of annoying Death Eater kids isn’t around, either. He can’t see Dolohov, or
Mulciber. No Avery. No Severus. No Rabastan. Now, this makes Regulus’ hackles rise. He gets
up in a fluid motion.

“Where are you going?” Evan shouts.

“To find Dorcas,” he says.

It doesn’t take him long to make it to the Gryffindor Tower. The portrait won’t let him in without a
password, and Regulus has very little interest in stepping inside the lion’s den.

“You,” Regulus says, startling a little kid—second year, maybe?—who looks at him with wide
eyes. “Go in there and bring me Dorcas Meadowes.”

The kid nods, pale faced, and mutters the password to the portrait, which flings open and lets him
in. Regulus leans against the wall to wait. His fingers want to twitch, but he’s been working on
smoothing those annoying little habits. His clock is ticking, and he has to start tightening up his
act. He might be learning mind tricks from his mother, but he’s not stupid enough to think he can
shield himself from an enemy if they were truly trying to hurt him.

Not yet. That will take a lot of practice.

Since working with Walburga, Regulus has discovered that legilimency and occlumency are even
more dangerous than he originally thought. And inevitably, Regulus is worried. It feels like all he
does these days is worry. But how can he not? He has too many secrets.

In hindsight, Regulus should have, perhaps, considered that allowing himself to fall in love with a
boy who is also on the opposite side of the war months before joining the ranks wasn’t the best
idea.

In his defense, Regulus wasn’t thinking all that much. Specially not after James kissed him
senseless that first time. Still. It presents an issue.

He supposes the imminent—and now completely inevitable—break up will deal with some of it,
but he also needs to fabricate some alternative memories to hang on to, should anyone try to probe.
Realistically, it’s unlikely anyone will be too bothered with his love life, but in falling in love with
James, Regulus has made him his one weakness.

That is something he has to deal with.

His thoughts are interrupted when the portrait opens again. To his immense annoyance, it’s not
Dorcas who comes out, but Sirius. That little kid better hide from Regulus for the rest of his life or
he’ll be hexed into the next century.

“Go away,” Regulus says.

Older brothers never know how to stop pushing, do they? Sirius should know by now that Regulus
doesn't want to be alone with him. Doesn't want to talk to him. Or pretends he doesn't, because
even now, here in the corridor, Regulus longs to reach out. Touch Sirius. Tug on his sleeve and
fold into his arms. A little boy hiding from the world in the invincinble arms of his older brother.

Not gonna happen, though, so Regulus might as well stop being pathetic and sentimental inside his
own head. He will not have a conversation with his brother again. Not so soon. He’s still not had
time to process the fact that he’s, apparently, a dog. It’s kind of fitting and Regulus is, against his
will and to his dismay, fucking impressed. It’s still a lot to deal with, though. Including the part
where he apparently runs around with a werewolf every month.

Sirius looks at him, raises an eyebrow. "Did you want something or do you go around scaring little
kids for fun?"

Insufferable. Genuinely. Just--ugh.

But Regulus does want to see Dorcas, and he's already all the way up here, so he might as well.
Rolling his eyes, Regulus asks, “Where is Dorcas?”

“She’s busy,” Sirius replies casually. “With Marlene.”

Regulus pushes himself off the wall. “What happened? Why’d she miss dinner?”

“We were in the infirmary,” Sirius says, like that’s not immediately sending Regulus into a mild
panic over Dorcas’ wellbeing.

“What?!”

Recognising his mistake, Sirius shrugs. “It’s okay. Dorcas is fine. We had to take Mary. She was
stunned.”

Regulus cocks his head, and Sirius elaborates. “Your little fan club ambushed the girls. Lily, Mary
and Marlene. We went to help. So did Dorcas,” Sirius explains. “She’s pretty good. Took down a
couple of the idiots for daring to threaten Marlene.”

Fucking Death Eaters, Regulus thinks. They’ve been trotting about school like peacocks, which is
stupid. Voldemort was very clear that they shouldn’t be advertising who’s on what side, specially
not while they’re in Dumbledore’s castle. The last thing they need is the old man sticking his
bearded nose where it doesn't belong.

Fighting with the surge of worry spiking through him, Regulus scoffs to hide the quick flicker of
his eyes as he runs them over Sirius’ body to check for any visible injuries. He appears to be
alright.

“Of course she’s fucking good. She’s fine now, but did she get hurt? James?”

“Nah. We’ve been to the infirmary already. Everyone’s okay,” Sirius says, shrugging. “We dealt
with them.”

“Hmm,” Regulus says, mind already whirring. “Tell Dorcas to stay here tonight with Marlene. And
tell James I’m not meeting him later. I’ll be busy.”

“I’m not your errand boy,” Sirius protests, but Regulus is already walking away.

“Oi! Regulus! What are you going to do?”

Looking over his shoulder, Regulus gives his brother a look. The look. They haven’t shared one of
those in years, and Regulus isn’t sure what it is exactly that compels him to do it then. Perhaps the
realisation that he will never get another chance. Perhaps the fear still nesting in his marrow after
what he discovered today.

Whatever the reason, Regulus does and Sirius immediately recognises it. The look they used to
share before they did something stupid and reckless that was certain to land them in trouble with
Walburga.

Sirius smiles back.

“Fuck some shit up, Reggie,” he says proudly.

And Regulus, despite himself, feels a little better as he walks away.

***

Myrtle looks extremely pleased with herself when Regulus ducks into the second floor bathroom
close to curfew. He doesn’t usually visit her so late, almost never after dark. In the light of his
wand—the only illumination in the abandoned space—the shadows of the sinks stretch like
gnarled fingers over the dirty, cold floor.

“Well, hello you,” she says coquettishly, twirling her hair around a finger.

Regulus’ lips twitch with amusement. She’s a bit—fine, a lot—ridiculous, but in an endearing sort
of way. Leaning against the wall, Regulus smirks.

“Hello Myrtle.”

“Do you want to sit down?” she asks, hopeful.

Shaking his head, Regulus looks at her with his best friendly expression. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.
But I need your help.”

“Anything,” she breathes, floating closer. “What do you need?”

“I need to rope Peeves into a… prank.”

Myrtle wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Peeves? He’s insufferable.”

“I know,” Regulus replies, shrugging, “but he’s the only Poltergeist we’ve got and you can’t touch
things. Can you?”

Pouting, she shakes her head. Myrtle is helpful and everything, but she’s a proper ghost. She
cannot affect the physical world, so Regulus needs someone who can. He can’t risk doing this
himself—if he gets caught it could throw doubt on his loyalties and motivations. For all intents and
purposes, he needs to appear just as much a victim as everyone else.

“It’s going to be hard convincing him,” Myrtle mutters.

Regulus cocks a confident eyebrow. “I don’t think so. He’ll love the opportunity to unleash
absolute and utter chaos in the Slytherin dungeons.”

Her eyes widen behind her glasses, then, reluctantly, she nods. If there’s anything Peeves loves it’s
chaos. The promise of it will make him compliant enough. Regulus doesn’t even need him to stick
to any sort of plan, just come in at the right time and deliver. He can add in as many of his own
antics as he wishes.

"What about the Baron?"

"I was hoping you'd distract him."

"Regulus," Myrtle says, a sly smile tugging at her mouth. "Oh. Alright. For you. I'll do it. What do
you need?"

Quickly, and quietly, Regulus explains his plan to Myrtle who looks impressed with his cunning.
A little disturbed, too. He can see it in the small shudders that run through her when he leans
closer. But if she’s uncomfortable with any of it, she doesn’t mention it.

“Why are we doing this?” she asks when Regulus finishes explaining.

“They hurt my friend. This is retribution.”

For some reason, Myrtle finds this attractive. He can tell from the blush that creeps up her cheeks
and the way her lips part a little. It makes Regulus mildly prickly, but he’s used to Myrtle’s crush
by now and can mostly brush it off.

“Will you talk to Peeves for me?”

“Yes,” she says eagerly. “Six fifty five am. We’ll be there. I promise.”

An hour later, Regulus is lying in his bed in his dorm. It’s the middle of the night and he wishes he
could be asleep next to James in the Come and Go Room instead. But Dorcas got hurt today.
Dorcas and James and Sirius.

It cannot, and will not, go unanswered. Besides, Regulus really needs to start distancing himself
from James a little bit. Just a tad. They’ve got two months before Easter break arrives, so it’s not
like he has to be in any hurry. But spending every single night together is unreasonable. It is.

Doesn’t matter how badly he wants it.

Somehow, Regulus has to find ways to sow doubt in James' mind. Easier said than done,
considering that Regulus seems to be completely fucking unable to do anything but swoon
whenever James is around. But he's got to try. He has to make sure James buys it. That when the
time comes, and Regulus looks him in the eye and claims to have fallen out of love, James believes
it. He has to start planting the seeds.

“Fuck,” he groans into his pillow.

Feeling sick, he pounds a closed fist against the mattress in a sort of pathetic, defeated tantrum. It’s
okay. He’s alone, in the dark, in his bed. No one will know.

His plan is all in place. Myrtle is working with Peeves. There’s nothing for Regulus to do but wait,
so here he is, inside the closed curtains of his bed, alone with his thoughts. A truly terrible thing.

When he’s exhausted himself with kicking and punching his pillow and mattress like a feral child,
Regulus flops around onto his back and pinches his eyes closed.

Fuck. Just. Fuck.

Resigned to his predicament, Regulus runs through his mental list of things he’s currently dealing
with in an attempt at distracting himself. Strategizing helps remind him why he's doing it in the
first place. That there's a point to the pain. Plans that are bigger than him now.

The Felix Felicis potion is almost ready. He’ll be able to bottle it before Easter as planned. No
concerns there.

He’s in as good shape as can be. Reasonably strong. Nimble. And he’s kept up his duelling
practice. Yes, he has slipped up a little because when the choice is between cursing dummies and
having sex with James, it’s not really much of a choice, is it? But Regulus has made sure to go to
that room at least three times a week.

Regulus shifts onto his side. Stares at the curtains. He’s met him, now. Tom Riddle. Lord
Voldemort. Regulus met him, looked him in the eye, and didn’t stutter. Regulus is as ready as he’ll
ever be to start climbing the ranks. He’s even got his first kill down. Ideally, this would have been
someone Riddle would have been happy about, but it couldn’t be helped. What’s done is done.

A shiver runs up his spine as he thinks about what his mother has taught him. Legilimency sucks.
Genuinely. He's not happy to have discovered just how easy it would be for Walburga or any other
skilled legilimens to crack his skull open and peer inside. See James. James and the things they do
in the dark. Their love. Regulus' hope. He needs to learn to conceal it. Needs to be stronger, better.
He’s got more to hide than he ever thought he would. No one can find out about James.

And then, there’s the Horcruxes. Regulus needs to raid his library at home and figure out if there’s
a limit. If the damage would become irreparable after a certain number. How is he going to figure
out how many he made? More than one, up to seven. Well. Up to six, Regulus thinks, because the
seventh piece of his soul is the one still in his body. So, between two and six. That’s still more than
Regulus wants to have to deal with.

What are they?

Where are they?

It’s too difficult. Almost impossible. But Regulus must find a way, because he’s the only one who
can do this.

Rays of sun break the darkness in their room, alerting Regulus of the arrival of dawn. It’s almost
time. Silently, he slips off his bed and heads for the showers. He’s about to wreak havoc in the
Slytherin house and he will look his best while he does it.

By the time six fifty-five rolls around, the common room is buzzing with activity. People are
getting ready to head out for breakfast, which starts promptly at seven am. Regulus hovers near the
entrance to the common room, ready to make his escape as soon as he’s been seen by enough
people to avoid suspicion.

“Black,” Rabastan calls, doing a little head tilt sort of greeting thing from the stairs. “Let’s walk to
breakfast together.”

Behind him, the door opens and, to his utter horror, Dorcas steps in. “Hey.”

No. No, no, no.

Dorcas isn’t supposed to be here.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asks, unable to mask the dismay in his voice.

Dorcas is supposed to be in the Gryffindor Tower, going straight to the Great Hall with Marlene.
This is disastrous. Why is she here?

Right on time, Peeves irrupts into the common room with a loud whoop, startling the sleepy
students. The poltergeist usually stays away from the houses, especially the dungeons, but if he’s
here, it means Myrtle is distracting the Baron. All according to plan.

Regulus slips his hand into his pocket just as Peeves starts making his modified dungbombs
explode. This was also part of Regulus’ instructions. He left the ingredients with Myrtle and told
her what Peeves had to do. Looks like it’s all working.

A dusty grey powder like soot but a bit thicker covers the room, falling over the students staring at
the intruder zooming back and forth. When the screaming starts, Regulus shoves the vial into
Dorcas’ hand.

He’s going to have to endure this now because he only prepared one vial of antidote. Barty and
Evan couldn’t be spared, it would have been too obvious if he got them out, too. And it’s not like
they’ll be in danger. It’s itchy and a bit painful, definitely disgusting to look at, but it’s not
grievous.

Still. Fuck.

The whole idea was for him to get out this mess and enjoy the week of freedom. But he cannot let
Dorcas suffer.

“Drink this right now,” he says. “It’ll make you immune.”

Dorcas’ eyes are wide, shocked with disgust as she watches her fellow Slytherins succumb to the
powder. White, milky postules erupt all over exposed skin as soon as it comes into contact with it.

“Dorcas, now!” Regulus says urgently.

She drinks it in one large gulp. The powder reaches them, slightly less quantity because they’re so
close to the exit and Peeves—per Regulus’ instructions—is focused on distributing it so people’s
instinct is to go back downstairs, into their rooms. The whole idea is that nobody leaves the
dungeons.
The back of his hands erupt with postules, and Regulus grits his teeth. It’s itchy and a bit painful
but he’s had worse. The most annoying part is that he’s trapped here now, too. So much for getting
a week free of his entourage.

“Dorcas, get out of here. They’re going to quarantine the dungeons. Don’t get caught inside,” he
says. His voice comes out a bit wonky, and he frowns.

“Reg…” Dorcas’ eyes widen, terrified.

He’s confused for about a second, then he feels it. Something is wrong. Extremely wrong. He can’t
breathe, and… why does his body feel so hot? He’s always cold. This isn’t supposed to happen.

Black spots dot his vision. His chest hurts with lack of oxygen and Regulus is, for the first time in
his life, afraid of dying. It feels like he might. And no. He doesn’t want to go just yet.

There’s so much he has to do still. Too much. He’s got to find the Horcruxes. He has to get
revenge on the people who’ve hurt him. He’s supposed to become Lord Black, with all it means.

He was supposed to have more time with James.

The last thing Regulus thinks is that he wishes his hands weren’t so swollen so he could touch the
snitch in his pocket just once more.

####

“I’m starving!” James insists urgently. Sirius is still bundled in his bed in a burrito of blankets.
“Sirius, for the love of all that is holy, get up!”

He tries to yank on the top cover, but Sirius’ grip is ironclad. Despite his state of sleep slumber, he
doesn’t let go. Not even a little.

“Aargghhh,” is all the response James gets.

Annoyed, James searches through the clothes on the floor for his wand, ready to take drastic action
because he is genuinely about to faint from how hungry he is this morning. It is Sirius’ fault
because he never made it to the kitchens last night after all, so they didn’t get the promised snacks
for their prank brainstorming.

Remus pulls the curtains around his bed open, stumbling out with bleary eyes. “What’s with all this
bloody noise?”

Furtively, Remus looks at Sirius’ bed. Ridiculous, honestly. He’s being so weird. Avoiding Sirius
and just generally acting like their kiss didn’t happen. It’s driving James up the walls, especially
because Sirius won’t talk to Remus about it, either. It’s like they’re being thick on purpose.

James scoffs, impatient. “Sirius is being a baby. We’ll be late for breakfast and I’m starving.”

“You just want to make eyes at Regulus across the hall,” says Peter, struggling with his tie. He
yawns widely, eyes a bit blood shot. They stayed up last night discussing how to best get back at
the Slytherins.

“Potter!”

The banging on their door startles all of them. Remus grunts, deeply irritated, and turns his back on
it to start getting dressed.
“Potter!”

It’s much too early for this. Not even James has that much energy at this hour.

“Potter! Wake up!”

It’s a girl. A girl’s voice. She’s bloody strong, too. Pounding on that door like she’s going to bring
it down. Frowning, James crosses the room and yanks it open.

“Godric’s socks, it’s way—Dorcas?”

“It’s Reg,” she says, looking panicked. Her clothes are rumpled, and her hair is, for once, not
perfect. Dorcas pushes into the room, barging past James aggressively. ”What did you do? What
did you give Peeves?”

Dread is pooling inside his belly. Sirius, who apparently heard Dorcas, is sitting up on his bed
now, still looking more asleep than awake but at least he’s not hibernating anymore.

“What did you guys do?” Dorcas asks again, desperate. “What was it? Tell me so we can reverse it,
please. Peeves has gone into hiding, he won't say.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The prank on Slytherin! We’re not telling anybody, alright? But you have to tell me what you
used,” Dorcas sounds a little unhinged. “Reg… Reg had an allergic reaction to it. It’s very bad.”

James exchanges confused looks with the rest of the marauders.

“We didn’t do anything. Haven’t had bloody time!” James says, frankly quite alarmed by this
point. Is Regulus in danger?

They discussed ideas last night but went to bed without a concrete plan yet. What is Dorcas talking
about? How is Regulus involved?

Wait—allergic reaction?

“Where’s Reg? Dorcas? Where’s Regulus?”

Sirius is shoving the blankets away from him. Remus shrugs on a shirt as fast as he can, shooting
worried glances at their friend.

“He’s in the infirmary,” Dorcas replies, voice shaking. “They don’t know what happened. Some
prank. James,” Dorcas looks into his eyes with raw fear in them, “Madame Pomfrey’s hands were
shaking when I brought him in.”

“Reggie,” Sirius is out of bed and yanking the door open before anyone can process it. James
follows.

And they’re running.

The four marauders and Dorcas, tearing through the castle to the infirmary. They jump over
balustrades, skip over several steps at a time. Anything to get there faster. The slap of feet on stone,
panting breaths, frantic rustle of fabric the only sounds as they swoosh around corners, skidding on
the floor because they’re going so fast it’s hard to keep the turns sharp.

James’ ankle starts throbbing at some point, when he lands badly on it after he jumps an entire set
of steps, but he can’t feel it. Not really. James’ heart is in his throat, and he’s vaguely aware of the
fact that he’s barefoot, but it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.

Regulus is in danger and James won’t stop until he’s made it to his side and saved him.

Madame Pomfrey has tended to Remus every full moon for six years. She’s fixed their broken
bones. Dealt with Quidditch accidents. Accidental poisoning. She even re-grew Snivellius’ face
after it melted off. Not once has James seen her hands shake.

“Wait!” Someone calls after them, but James doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. Regulus is in danger and he
—

“Black! Wait. I can help Regulus!”

That makes them all come to a screeching halt. Sirius pivots on his heels, comes face to face
with… is that Moaning Myrtle? Dorcas looks confused, but hopeful. Anything to save Regulus.

Myrtle wastes no time. “The powder Peeves used has a combination of mushrooms in it with some
potion to make it stick to skin and grow. Mushrooms, Black. Tell Madame Pomfrey, maybe it
helps?”

James has no idea how this is relevant, but understanding dawns on Sirius face, like this makes all
the sense in the world. Without even a word of thanks to Myrtle, he turns and sprints again. Fast.
So fast it’s a struggle to keep up with him.

They barge into the infirmary, Sirius at the front of the group.

And James’ legs give out. Regulus doesn’t look like Regulus. He’s… James doesn’t know what his
eyes are seeing, so he blinks. And blinks again.

Regulus is covered in some sort of fungal growth that’s white and cloudy, but he’s also swollen
from head to toe. James can barely distinguish enough of his features to know that this is the guy
he loves.

Sirius is at his brother’s side the instant they’re through the door. James only half-registers that
he’s in pyjama bottoms and nothing else. He legit sprinted across the castle barely dressed to come
to Regulus’ side. Sirius runs his eyes over Regulus’ form, and looks up, eyes frightened but
determined.

“Poppy,” Sirius says, and James is shocked to hear he sounds calm. “He’s allergic to truffle.
Truffle.”

“Ah!” Madame Pomfrey doesn’t even react to Sirius calling her Poppy. She looks up at him
abruptly, eyes wide, then nods. “This one,” she says, summoning something from her cabinets.
“Everywhere, Sirius. Everywhere. Now.”

“James?” Remus says gently, scooping him up from the floor. James hadn’t even noticed that he’d
fallen.

He allows Remus to get him to his feet and, leaning on his friend for support, watches with relief
so strong it robs him of words how Sirius and Poppy work together to rub a golden looking potion
over Regulus body.

They’re just drenching him. Everywhere. The sheets are pulled back, and James kind of wants to
protest that he’s so exposed but he’s also… he doesn’t even look right. So James grits his teeth,
shoves down every protest bubbling up in his throat, and steps closer.

“Can I help?” he asks in a small voice.

“Actually, yes,” Poppy says, still rubbing golden potion onto Regulus. “As soon as the swelling
here goes down, please feed him that potion.”

James moves to the head of the bed and waits for Regulus’ chest to return a little bit to normal,
anxiously holding the blue vial Poppy has indicated. His hands are shaking.

“Now, Potter,” Poppy says.

Gently, as gently as he can manage, James lifts Regulus’ head and forces his mouth open to pour
the blue liquid in. As soon as he’s done, Poppy asks Sirius and James to help her roll him over.
They do, and then the three of them are slathering Regulus’s back in golden potion, too.

The swelling begins to go down considerably, which helps James’ breathing regulate. When
oxygen starts to flow to his brain properly, he starts to have questions. Apparently, Sirius is on the
same boat.

“Dorcas,” he calls from here he’s soaking Regulus’ curls in the golden liquid. “What happened?
Start from the beginning.”

“I went back to Slytherin to pick up my history book because I’d forgotten it. When I walked in,
Regulus panicked, then made me drink this thing right when Peeves zoomed in.”

James blinks. Peeves in Slytherin? Isn’t he afraid of the Baron?

“Peeves made these things explode and then there was dust everywhere and people were getting
those… those things on their skin,” Dorcas is explaining. “Regulus was fine, getting them too like
everyone else… and then he wasn’t.”

Dorcas’ throat bobs. “I carried him here as quickly as I could. He was... he had a seizure. He
couldn't breathe. I don't...”

“Where’s everyone else?” Peter asks, looking around.

“Everyone in the dungeons is in quarantine,” Madam Pomfrey says without looking up. “We don’t
know if what has infected the Slytherins is contagious.”

James can’t blame Peter for glancing around a little warily. Poppy catches him, and shakes her
head.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Pettigrew. Every precaution was taken after Miss Meadowes brought Mr. Black.
You’re in no danger.”

“Can we turn him around again?” Sirius asks Poppy.

She nods, and they do. Regulus looks like Regulus again, and James is so relieved he could kiss
him, golden goo covering his face and all. He doesn’t, but he could. He wants to. He settles for
gently running his knuckles over his cheekbones. If Madame Pomfrey finds this odd, she doesn’t
say.

“That was some very quick thinking,” she says to Sirius. “You saved your brother. I was at a loss
for what to do. Not too proud to admit it.”
James’ heart squeezes itself in his chest painfully. “How did you know?”

Sirius shrugs. “It runs in the family. We all are allergic to truffle. I took a bite out of one, once,”
Sirius says. “Was curious about what it tasted like. I reacted this same way.”

“Of course you did,” says Remus, rolling his eyes.

Sirius looks at him, and James’ breath hitches for an entirely different reason. He’s pretty certain
Remus and Sirius haven’t directly looked at each other more than once or twice since New Year’s.
Remus has been pretending all is the same, but he’s been fidgety and weird, avoiding spending too
much time around Sirius and never, ever, being alone with him.

Dorcas barges in, determined to diffuse any awkwardness. “Kinda hilarious the Blacks are allergic
to fucking truffle.”

“Karma is a bitch,” Sirius says, eyes sliding off Remus. “You should see how much it annoys the
other rich people when they can’t serve it at dinners for fear of killing my mother.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” James mutters.

Sirius laughs. Madame Pomfrey tuts, “Not funny, gents.”

They all look at each other, then burst into even more hysterical giggles. James thinks it’s the
tension leaving them. It can’t have been more than fifteen, twenty minutes, but he thought he was
going to lose Regulus and he’s not sure he’s ever been more scared in his life.

Madame Pomfrey puts her hands on her hips and stares them all down until they stop laughing.
“Mr. Black will recover, but he needs rest. Now, I need to go deal with the intoxication in the
dungeons.”

“Can’t you use the same golden ointment?” Remus asks.

“Unfortunately not. The alchemy of whatever has infected the students reacted specifically to Mr.
Black’s allergies and created a very dangerous, but very peculiar result. This hasn’t worked on the
other students who aren’t fearing for their lives but simply covered in painful, rather itchy white
postules,” she says, tightening her apron and setting her shoulders like she’s about to walk into
battle.

They all hover, a little unsure. No one wants to leave just yet, still brimming with the adrenaline of
the scare. But the nurse clearly has no time for their hesitation.

“Go on, you can’t be here unsupervised,” Poppy says, ushering them away.

“Poppy…”

“No.”

She gestures for them to file out of the infirmary. James wants to protest, but he does need some
shoes. It’s the middle of winter and the stone floors of the castle are freezing. He’s already lost
feeling on his pinkie toes.

“But Myrtle didn’t mention truffles?” Peter says as they take up the first set of stairs. “How did
you figure it out so quickly?”

“When I… well, that time, I remember the healer who helped me telling me to be careful around
certain types of mushrooms because they share the same protein or whatever. But we don’t like,
eat mushrooms generally because my mother thinks they’re not refined enough, so it’s never really
been top of mind,” Sirius explains, shrugging.

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower is considerably less frantic than their race to the infirmary.
There are also other students on their way to breakfast, most of whom stare at Sirius wide-eyed.
Girls giggle, blushing at his bare torso. He winks at them, flicks his hair. Remus scowls.

“I don’t understand,” Dorcas says as they step into the common room. “Only you lot would do
something so unhinged.”

Peter puts his hands up. “It really wasn’t us. We would have said. To help Regulus.”

“I know. It’s still… it’s a bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s pretty brilliant,” says Remus, shrugging. “Whoever did this managed to quarantine
every single Slytherin for at least a couple days, if not more.”

“They almost killed Regulus!” James protests.

“They couldn’t have possibly known he had an allergy,” Remus reasons. “I think that was an
accident. Besides, it got him out of quarantine since his condition reacted differently. He’ll be fine
by this afternoon.”

“Oh,” Dorcas says, smacking her forehead with her hand. “I’m going to kill him!”

“What?” James asks, startled.

Dorcas sighs in defeat. “He did it. That’s why he had the vial ready. But he only had one, and he
gave it to me.”

“He what now?” Sirius says, jaw tensing so much it’s got to hurt.

“I think he did it. And he must have made a mistake, or not know about the truffle-mushroom
connection,” Dorcas explains. “He had the antidote ready. He was waiting. Why would he have it
unless he knew Peeves was going to come in and do that?”

“But that’s… that’s…”

“Fucking brilliant,” Remus insists. “Also, hats off for giving up his antidote to Dorcas.”

“He almost got himself killed!” Sirius bellows.

“I’m pretty certain he didn’t know he was allergic,” Dorcas says, sounding defensive. “Regulus is
careless, reckless with his own wellbeing but he’s not destructive.”

James is just overwhelmed by the whole exchange. Since when does Regulus prank people? And
his entire house? It’s unhinged. It’s way too big. It’s… it’s something the marauders would do.

“Are you sure he planned this? Worked with… Peeves? Doesn’t sound much like Regulus,” James
says hesitantly.

Dorcas shrugs. “Actually, Regulus is perfectly capable of something like this. He’s just very good
at getting away with it. Nobody expects him to put in the effort, but he does.”

This stings, but James does his best not to react. It’s odd, discovering that there is a side to Regulus
he hasn’t seen yet. That there are things he doesn’t know about him.

Pursing her lips, Dorcas asks, “He found out we had an altercation with the older Slytherins, didn’t
he?”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, sighing. “I told him.”

“He always retaliates.”

“What do you mean?” James asks, curious.

“Who do you think cursed my dormmates to sprout painfully colourful hair whenever they’re
homophobic? And Snape’s face melting off wasn’t an accident.”

“That was Selwyn,” Remus says. “He got suspended for it.”

Dorcas laughs, shakes her head. “Oh, you sweet summer child. That was all Reg. Snape almost
killed Sirius, and Selwyn was a nuisance. I’m not sure what he did, but Reg’s had it out for him
since the start of the year. He just took them both out at once.”

James runs a hand through his hair. He’s impressed, but also a little unsettled. Regulus is an evil
genius. Merlin’s beard. He makes the marauders look like amateurs. Just when he thought he
couldn’t find Regulus any hotter, he goes and does something like this. Honestly, unfair.

Sirius, who is blinking very fast, nods towards the staircase. “Well, then. I need clothes, then I’m
going to yell at him for this.”

“I’m going back to the infirmary in a moment,” Dorcas says. “Let’s go together, yeah?”

Sirius is already halfway up to their dorm, stomping up the stairs like the steps personally offended
him, so James replies for him. “We’ll come with you. Both of us. Wait for us, yeah?”

Dorcas nods, and James stalks up the stairs after Sirius. Remus stays in the common room, holding
Peter back, and James suspects it’s because he knows Sirius well enough to understand what’s
waiting in the dorm.

As soon as they’re in the privacy of their room, Sirius’ shoulders curl forward and before James
has even had time to hug him, he’s quietly weeping.

Closing his arms around his friend, James guides Sirius’ face to his shoulder and holds him while
he cries. It’s not histrionic. There’s no over the top dramatics. It’s quiet and raw. It’s how James
knows just how much Sirius is really hurting right now.

“Shit,” Sirius says after a little while, wiping his face. “I had no idea he went after Snape for me.”

“You’re his brother,” James tells him gently.

“Haven’t really been much of one, have I?”

“Sirius,” James says, squeezing him tighter. “You couldn’t stay.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “I still hate myself for leaving, though. For leaving him.”

"Don't."

"It's my job to protect him," Sirius whispers. "And I've been failing at it for years. I don't... I miss
him so much James and he won't let me... he doesn't..." Sirius hiccups, presses his face against
James' shoulder.

"Hey. He's slowly coming around, isn't he? You can't expect it to happen overnight."

"We're brothers James," Sirius says desperately. "We should have never been torn apart in the first
place."

James sighs, holds on to his best friend. He can't say anything to that because Sirius is right. The
tragedy of Sirius and Regulus is one that should have never happened, but it did and now they have
to pick up the pieces and try to mend it as best they can. Try to mould the pain and betrayal, the
loneliness and the despair, and turn it back into something good. A bond. It's unfair. James hates
Walburga for it. Hates her so much it scares him.

They stay like that for a few moments, just sharing the pain of what Sirius and Regulus have been
forced to go through. Sharing the wounds and the weight of the injustice of it all.

####

Interlude: Dorcas POV

All three of the girls look up from the bags they’re packing for their day as soon as she walks into
their dorm. It’s a bit baffling, how welcoming Lily and Mary are. They’ve not complained once
about Dorcas basically bunking with them every single night since Selwyn returned. She’s been to
her own dorm, because it would be too suspicious if she never slept there, but very rarely.

“Babe?” Marlene asks, looking up. “What happened? You missed breakfast.”

“Regulus,” Dorcas breathes. “There was… There’s… someone pranked the Slytherins with some
powder thing. Regulus had a bad reaction to it. I had to take him to the infirmary.”

“Is he alright?” Marlene asks, reaching for Dorcas and pulling her into a tight hug.

Dorcas takes a moment to breathe Marlene in. Patchouli and wind and the sweet tang of Marlene’s
skin which Dorcas thinks must be the taste of bravery. Her girlfriend is smaller than her, but a hell
of a lot stronger. She’s muscles packed into a short-ish body, a lot of power contained in a
relatively small space. When Marlene holds Dorcas, Dorcas feels like nothing can touch her.

“He’s okay,” Dorcas whispers into the crook of Marlene’s neck. “Oh. Fuck, Marls. It was so bad.”

And Dorcas promptly starts crying. Marlene tugs her hand and brings her to the bed, where Dorcas
sits, still weeping, and is suddenly surrounded by girls. Mary is handing her tissue. Lily is
unwrapping a chocolate frog. And Marlene is simply holding her while murmuring for Dorcas to
‘let it out.’

When Dorcas feels a bit better, she takes the chocolate frog from Lily with a grateful, watery smile.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mary offers.

Dorcas blows her nose, shakes her head. “No. No, he’s fine. It was just a lot. But he’s going to be
fine.”

“Does Sirius know?” Mary asks cautiously.

“Yeah. I… I came to get him. He knows.”

“Is he okay?” Lily asks, surprising Dorcas. She knows Lily and Sirius get along pretty well, but
they don’t have any sort of special relationship, as far as she can tell.

“Yes. It was actually him who saved Reg. They have a family allergy, apparently. When he told
Madame Pomfrey, she immediately knew what to do.”

Lily sighs such deep relief you’d think Regulus was her best friend. Dorcas is deeply confused
until Marlene nudges Lily’s foot. “Stop it. We’ve talked about this.”

“She can’t help it, can she?” Mary intervenes, always in defense of Lily. They’re all close, but Lily
and Mary are attached at the hip. Dorcas thinks it’s because they’re both muggle borns and can
share experiences others can’t relate to.

“I’m confused,” Dorcas says. “Want to fill me in?”

Lily blushes violently, but bravely explains. “If Sirius gets upset, James gets upset.”

“Ah,” Dorcas says, doing her best not to wince.

She hasn’t told Marlene about James and Regulus. Not because she doesn’t trust Marlene. She
does. With her life. But because knowing that Regulus is planning something incredibly dangerous
makes her nervous.

The least Marlene knows about Regulus the safer she’ll be.

“I’ve told her she needs to get over him,” Marlene sighs.

“I think he’ll come around,” Mary says confidently.

Marlene shoots her a look of disbelief which Dorcas cannot help but agree with. It’s not just that
James is head over heels in love with Regulus—obvious to anyone with a bit of intuition, in
Dorcas’ opinion—it’s also the fact that James hasn’t once looked a Lily with anything other than
friendliness in his eyes.

Dorcas isn’t sure he’d be interested even if he wasn’t involved with Regulus.

Mary, who insists on giving Lily false hopes, says, “He was obsessed with you all of fourth and
fifth years. That can’t have just… gone away. Give him time.”

“And I rejected him at every turn,” Lily replies, a resigned sort of look about her. “I told you he
likes someone else. It’s okay. I’ll get over him, I’m sure.”

The thing is, Lily is pretty amazing. Dorcas is certain there are dozens of boys out there waiting for
her to look at them. Or girls, but Dorcas isn't sure if Lily likes girls that way. Anyone would be
lucky to have Lily Evans. She's bright, and beautiful, and kind. Quite fun, too when she's not
stressing over exams. Dorcas has no doubt that she'll find someone to love her the way she
deserves. It's just that it won't be James, because James is Regulus'.

“Well, then,” Dorcas says, smiling at Lily. “We just need to find you someone else, yes?”

The conversation rapidly evolves and becomes a thorough review of every available boy at
Hogwarts. To Dorcas’ relief, Slytherins are automatically off the list of possible suitors by virtue
of being Slytherins, because the last thing she needs is Lily going after Barty or Evan—objectively
the best looking boys in the upper years.
Regulus is so firmly in the 'taken and unavailable' category in Dorcas' mind that he doesn’t even
compute for Dorcas until Mary lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Regulus Black is really hot,” says Mary suddenly. “You know, that whole dangerous and cold-
hearted vibe he's got going on really works. Can you imagine being the one to melt all that ice?"

"Mary!"

"What? You all know it's true, I'm just the one who's bold enough to say it," she declares, smiling.
"I know we don’t do Slytherin, no offense, Dorcas. But well. He’s Sirius’ brother. We could make
an exception.”

“Absolutely not,” Dorcas says. “He’s not available. Not a good idea. Not interested. All the nos.
Regulus is bad news. Stay away.”

“Isn’t he your best friend?” Lily asks, a little surprised.

Marlene laughs. “Yeah, but he’s… Dorcas is right about this one. He doesn’t like people touching
him. How weird is that?”

“Oi!” Dorcas says, offended on Regulus’ behalf. “Don’t make fun of him.”

Marlene smiles sheepishly a Dorcas and pulls her closer. “I wasn’t. It’s perfectly valid. I just meant
to say that he’s obviously a bad choice for Lily, who loves a cuddle and a casual touch more than
anything.”

Slightly mollified, Dorcas nods. She gives Marlene a kiss, then disentangles herself from her
girlfriend.

“I need to shower and get changed. Then I’m going to check in on Reg in the infirmary again. I’ll
probably miss first period.”

“Alright,” Marlene says, hopping off the bed, too.

“Where are you going?” Mary asks, confused.

Lily giggles, blushing violently. “Oh, Mary. As if you didn’t know Marls.”

Dorcas is blushing, too, when they close the bathroom door behind them. Not Marlene. Marlene is
a force of nature. She’s unapologetic and fierce. The moment they’re alone, Marlene turns and
presses Dorcas against the wall, a hand sliding under Dorcas’ skirt to caress the skin of her thigh.

“I don’t like it when you cry,” Marlene says, kissing Dorcas’ neck gently despite the force with
which she’s holding her.

Dorcas sighs happily, lets her head fall back to give Marlene more room to work. “It was really
rough. I wasn’t sure he was going to make it. Every time I blink I see him there, lying on that bed.
He didn’t even look like Reg, Marls.”

“Hmm,” she says, trailing a path over her collarbones with her mouth. “Let’s fix that, shall we?
The only thing you should be seeing when you close your eyes are stars.”

Dorcas thinks, absent mindedly, that Regulus is a star. She doesn’t say it, though. Can’t say
anything else because Marlene is kissing her now like the world might end tonight, and Dorcas is
kissing her back, and what are words? Why would anyone waste time with them when they could
be doing this instead?

Ever since the first time, Dorcas has thought that their bodies know better than they do. Like two
puzzle pieces falling in together. Their hands and their mouths and their legs and their eyes always
know where to go, what to do, how to crack open the heavens and bring miracles down to earth.

Being with Marlene is all the things loving someone should be. It’s passionate and feverish. It’s
also gentle and quiet. It’s the best thing Dorcas has ever had, and as they discard their pyjamas and
get lost in each other, Dorcas thinks, once again, that there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for Marlene.

***

Ahead of Dorcas, James pushes the door to the infirmary open. They were a bit delayed, because
James had to run to get some food. Dorcas was actually quite grateful when he handed her some
toast to munch on on their way to the hospital wing.

Through the open door, a cold, sharp voice floats through and Sirius immediately freezes. Dorcas
bumps into his back accidentally, causing them to fall forward. The door slams, and the tall,
slender woman standing by Regulus’ bed turns around.

Dorcas has never met Walburga Black in person. She’s heard about her. Everyone has. She has
seen her in King’s Cross when they were younger, accompanying Regulus to the Express, but
that’s it.

To her intense relief, Regulus is awake. He looks a lot better than when they left him here, covered
in golden goo. In the clean, hospital issued pyjamas, he looks young and tired, but whole. Healthy.

Given his mother’s presence, Dorcas isn’t surprised to see he’s wearing that expression he uses to
mask his thoughts and feelings. Sitting amongst the pillows, he makes her think of a statue carved
from marble. Unfeeling. Cold. Untouchable.

The quick flicker of his eyes is the only sign he shares with Dorcas. The warning. Dorcas heeds it.
She’s not stupid enough to let Sirius or James near Walburga. It would be disastrous if she caught
even a whiff of what’s going on.

“Guys,” she hisses quietly. “Keep your cool.”

The Black matriarch, for her part, looks at James first. She curls her lips in an expression like she’s
smelled something rotten. James winces.

Walburga looks at Dorcas next. There’s something about her eyes that makes Dorcas want to curl
into herself and disappear. Anything so that Walburga’s attention isn’t on her.

Fortunately, her eyes slide off Dorcas like she’s not worth her time and snag on Sirius.

“You,” she says, spiteful and full of venom.

Sirius’ breath hitches, and Dorcas wants to help, but she doesn’t know how. It says a lot about this
woman that her own son—the best dueller in school and one half of the best beater pair to fly for
Gryffindor in years—is cowering before her. Fortunately, James is ready to come to his friend’s
rescue.

He leans on Sirius heavily and looks around, casually asking, “Where’s Poppy?”

Walburga’s eyes widen a fraction, then they drop to where James is very obviously keeping his
foot off the ground, as though he’s in pain.

James looks around again pointedly. A little whiny, he repeats, “The nurse? Where is she?”

Dorcas’ mouth falls open when she sees Pandora—what is Pandora doing here?—emerge from
behind Walburga. Gently, she says, “She’ll be back in a moment. That bed is empty. You could
wait there?”

Regulus doesn’t move, doesn’t react. Walburga turns her back on them, seemingly satisfied that
this encounter was pure chance. Sirius helps James hop over to the nearby bed to wait for the
nurse. Dorcas hovers, positioning herself so she can eavesdrop on Regulus through the curtains
separating the beds.

“Are you certain you do not wish to come home for a few days?” Walburga is saying.

“Thank you, mother, but I have several projects ongoing that I cannot discard,” Regulus replies.

Dorcas exchanges a curious glance with James, whose mouth is hanging open. Sirius, who has
apparently heard Regulus speak like this before, is simply rolling his eyes.

“Horace mentioned some potions?”

“Yes,” Regulus confirms.

A short silence. Then, “I suppose it’s normal that you’d want to stay.”

The tone of this declaration makes Dorcas take a tiny step back. Enough that she can quickly peer
around the curtains and watch what Regulus is doing. To her utter confusion, she finds Pandora’s
hand tightly holding Regulus’ on the bed.

“I’ll make sure he’s well, Mrs. Black,” Pandora says sweetly. Then, she looks at Regulus with a
very un-Pandora-like expression and, incredibly, impossibly, leans forward and presses her lips to
Regulus’.

Regulus doesn’t even flinch.

Dorcas jerks back behind the curtain, feeling disoriented. What the fuck?

“Pandora, I’d like a word in private with my son,” Walburga says.

“Of course, Mrs. Black. I’ll come see you after lunch, darling,” Pandora says.

The unmistakable sound of another brief kiss makes Sirius’ head snap up. James, who couldn’t see,
but can hear, makes a face like his eyes are going to pop out of his sockets.

“Darling?” he whispers, sounding incredibly confused.

Dorcas shrugs, brings a finger to her mouth to tell him to remain quiet. There has to be a reasonable
explanation. Most likely, a ploly to throw Walburga off any suspicions about the fact Regulus
hasn’t liked a single girl in his entire life.

Credit where credit is due, picking Pandora for the ruse is fucking smart. It’s not like she’s dating
around. She’s set on waiting for her man in the forest, so there’s no reason why she wouldn’t help
Regulus out in a tight spot. No one could tell Walburga that she's been seen with anyone else, and
she spends enough time with Regulus for a romance between them to be credible to anyone who
doesn't know either of them
Pandora leaves the infirmary without even glancing towards Dorcas, and she has to admit their
friend knows how to put on a show. Whatever they’re doing, it’s working.

Walburga’s voice is quiet, so quiet they almost can’t hear, until Sirius flicks his wand and
suddenly they can. “Regulus, I must ask—”

“It’s just a dalliance, mother,” Regulus replies curtly. “Nothing to worry about.”

Walburga hums, then says, “Well. I suppose it was to be expected. You are a young man, after
all.”

At this, James’ expression twists into something dangerously close to mocking. Dorcas struggles
not to giggle.

“She’s pure, then?” Walburga asks Regulus.

Dorcas, Sirius and James all scrunch their noses. Regulus sounds unaffected. “Yes. And clever.
She’s a Ravenclaw.”

“I saw that,” Walburga says a little brusquely. “Regulus, are you certain it’s just a dalliance?”

“Yes, mother. She means nothing to me.”

James cringes with his entire body, and Dorcas feels bad for him. She knows Regulus can make it
sound sincere. He’s so good at this, at hiding who he really is. How he really feels. But perhaps
James has never seen it. Never watched Regulus transform into an entirely different person.

“In that case, you will be pleased to hear I’m putting together a list of suitable candidates,”
Walburga informs Regulus.

This time, it’s Sirius who looks downright horrified. James is grinding his teeth.

“Excellent,” Regulus replies smoothly. “I am not, however, going to marry until I’ve secured my
position. You understand I cannot be distracted.”

“Your cousin Bellatrix married and is rising regardless,” Walburga points out. “And Narcissa will
be celebrating her nuptials this summer. Lucius is doing well for himself.”

“They are also considerably older than me and have had time to prove their worth, mother,”
Regulus says. “Besides, with father’s health, it’s better to wait.”

Sirius frowns, like the news about Orion Black being unwell is a surprise to him. With a start,
Dorcas realises that perhaps it is. It’s not like Walburga writes him letters. Shit. Perhaps she should
have told him when she heard it from Regulus.

“Your father will recover. The best healers are working with him. So, I will draft the list,”
Walburga insists. “We’ll select someone for you. We do not need to act on it just yet, but it pays to
be prepared.”

“Very well,” Regulus says.

Madame Pomfrey returns that moment. She looks exhausted. Walburga doesn’t acknowledge the
nurse, but apparently thinks she’s spent enough time her son because she puts her cloak on over her
shoulders.

“Good. In that case, I’ll leave you to rest. Do continue to write to Orion. Your father has been
enjoying your letters enormously. They lift his spirits.”

Madame Pomfrey approaches James, Sirius and Dorcas. “Mr. Potter, how can I help?

“I hurt my ankle,” he says, loudly enough that Walburga can’t miss it. Dorcas stifles the urge to roll
her eyes. He’s not subtle, this one.

“Let’s have a look,” the nurse says.

Walburga’s high heels click on the stone floor of the infirmary, accompanied by the swish of her
cloak. She gets closer to Regulus’ bed, murmurs something Dorcas can’t hear.

Madame Pomfrey tuts. “Badly sprained. Wait here,” she says to James.

Across the room, there’s some shuffling, then Regulus says, “Goodbye mother.”

Walburga Black glances at Madame Pomfrey, then briefly at the bed where James is, ankle on
display bruised and swollen. Making a face of deep disgust, she leaves the infirmary without
another word.

She doesn’t look at Sirius at all.

Dorcas doesn’t waste another second. While Madame Pomfrey returns and begins to work on
healing James’ ankle, she crosses the infirmary, yanking back the curtains around Regulus’ bed.
He has the audacity to sigh, like he cannot be bothered with this right now.

Heart in her throat, Dorcas stares at her best friend, angry and concerned all together, mingling until
she can’t separate them.

Being friends with Regulus is hard. He’s prickly and reserved. Mysterious. He’s got more secrets
than anyone else she knows. He’s distant, and never tells you the whole truth. He’s cold and mildly
allergic to feelings, which really should make it impossible for Dorcas to care as much as she does.

But then he does something like this to get back at the Slytherins. Turns someone’s head a rainbow
because they were mean to Dorcas, or makes a cauldron explode because they cursed his brother.

She can’t help but to love Regulus. He is her best friend, the only person to ever put her first. To
protect her just because he thinks she’s worth protecting.

“I really want to hug you, but Evan isn’t around,” Dorcas says.

“Please don’t touch me, I’ve had enough for the entire decade,” Regulus replies with a shudder.

A bit inappropriately, she wonders how his relationship with James works. She knows he can
handle some contact, but she has no idea how much or how little. She shouldn’t think about these
things, but it is a bit intriguing. Dorcas can’t imagine being near Marlene and not being able to
touch her. She’d go insane.

To hide her curiosity, she chuckles loudly. “I saw Pandora kiss you. What the fuck was that?”

“Where is James?” Regulus asks instead of answering. “I’m not going to say this more than once.”

Dorcas nods, understanding. “He’s getting his ankle fixed. They’ll be here in a moment.”

Regulus shifts his weight on the bed, runs a hand through his curls. He’s almost fully back to
normal, which is an enormous relief. Dorcas flicks her wand, casting a silencing spell around them.
She doesn’t trust Sirius not to be eavesdropping still.

Regulus, noticing the sudden pop around them, cocks an eyebrow. Dorcas shrugs. “Reg?”

“Hum?”

“You scared the shit out of me, you know that?”

“I miscalculated. It won’t happen again,” he says simply. Like ‘it’ didn’t almost kill him.

Dorcas feels the surge of anger spike inside of her. Leaning forward, she hisses, “You never
miscalculate! What the fuck happened, Reg?”

“Dorcas,” He snaps, meeting her eyes. “I have no desire to die. I’m not trying to get myself killed. I
put the plan together very quickly, with what was available. Besides... I did have an antidote to
hand,” he says pointedly.

“Shit. Okay. Fine,” she says, running a hand over her face. “It’s just not like you to make
mistakes.”

“Don’t remind me,” he says sourly. “I was distracted yesterday.”

“I need you to be more careful. If we’re… you know. This was a prank, but what about when it’s
not?”

“I’m as careful as I can be,” Regulus insists. “And that’s different. That… it’s different. I’ll have
access to my family’s resources. The full might of the Black name. I will not make mistakes.”

Something’s shifted, Dorcas realises with a start. Regulus looks… determined, now. More than
ever. Before, when they talked about his plans, she caught a glimpse of hesitation. Maybe not
hesitation, because Regulus has always been pretty stubborn. But… there was a glimmer of hope
that Dorcas was hanging on to. She didn’t know. Hadn’t realised it until now.

Because it’s gone.

Whatever last shred of caution, of hope, was holding Regulus back, it’s no longer there. He’s given
himself over to his mission wholeheartedly.

And despite how much it scares her, Dorcas doesn’t waver. She’s going to do everything she can to
help him. To make sure he makes it out alive.

“Okay. Okay, I get it. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. I was scared, Reg. I thought I was losing
you.”

“It’s a possibility, Dorcas,” he says without flinching. “It’s war. People die. I could very well not
make it.”

“Don’t say that. Please.”

Regulus meets her eyes, hard and unforgiving. “I know the risks I’m taking. If you can’t stomach
it, then you can still back out.”

Dorcas’ lips twitch. “No. No way. I’m not leaving you alone. I’m still in,” she tells him gently,
quietly. “All the way. With you. Alright? And I’m going to worry about you because I care. But
that doesn’t mean I’m backing out.”
 “I wish you did,” Regulus says earnestly.

And this. His fierce protectiveness of her, even to his own detriment. This is why she loves him.
This is why Dorcas will join the fight and do anything and everything she can to help Regulus on
the other side.

Chapter End Notes

Regulus went full unhinged in this chapter and he's not sorry for it. He made a mistake
(more on that in the next chapter) but he's not sorry!

Also, his breakdown about the Horcruxes broke my heart so much because he's so
valid :( And he's just a kid! And he has to go save the world. And he doesn't want to.
It's unfair but he will because he's in love and he's also angry at everyone who
wronged him. Little King Rising. I love him, and I want to hug him and tell him it's
okay to be sad.

Myrtle saving Regulus' life? Iconic. For some reason, I love their little friendship even
though it's incredibly toxic LOL Not Myrtle crushing on him and having hopes (of
what, I don't know because she's a GHOST) and Regulus using that to his advantage.
He's so mean.

Please can we all appreciate Sirius Black sprinting across Hogwarts in his pyjama
pants and nothing else to rush to his brother's sickbed? He's so hot. Please. UGH I love
him.

DORLENE. My QUEENS. I had missed them. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

Also, surprise visit from the she-devil herself. Walburga Black is rotten. Not her trying
to find a wife for Reg LMAO Ma'am. Stop wasting your time.

Dorcas telling Reg off for ending up in the infirmary? Valid. So valid. He scared the
shit out of her and she was WORRIED. They love each other so much <3

Next chapter on Friday!!

See you in the comments section! Thank you so much for the support and for your
thoughts and encouragement. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH <3
 Drowning
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Happy Friday :)

TWs for this chapter:

Smoking
Underage drinking
Sex
Implied / referenced homophobia
Reference to past childhood abuse / trauma
References to the ongoing war

I think that's it! This chapter has angst in one POV but the others are kind of light, I
think? A little reprieve before things start to really happen!

I hope you like it :D

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Poppy takes longer to fix his ankle than he’d like, but James doesn’t have the heart to complain.
Not with how exhausted the nurse looks. He thinks, rather relieved, that’s it good the full moon
just passed. He wouldn’t want Poppy to have to deal with that right now on top of everything else.

From where he’s standing watch over his bed, Sirius keeps craning his neck to try and get a
glimpse of Regulus and Dorcas, who have very deliberately cast a silencing spell around them.
They look to be deep in conversation, the topic of it making them both frown. Well, making Dorcas
frown because Regulus is, generally speaking, quite a scowl-y person. James thinks it’s adorable.

As soon as he’s cleared by Poppy to put weight on his ankle, James jumps to his feet. But before he
goes to see Regulus, he puts a careful hand on Sirius’ shoulder.

“You alright?”

He’s pretty sure Sirius didn’t know his father is unwell until he heard it just now. And even if
Walburga insists Orion will be fine, well. It’s still his father, right? James has no idea if Sirius feels
any particular way about it, but if he does, he’s here to help.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s okay if you’re not,” James says gently.

Steely resolve hardens the lines of Sirius’ face, which only concerns James more. His father’s
health aside, Sirius hadn’t seen Walburga since the night he ran away, and James knows his friend
well enough to be ready for this to throw him into some sort of spiral. It’s coin-toss with him. You
never know what is going to trigger Sirius. Doesn’t matter though. Not to James. He’s ready for it.
Whatever Sirius needs.
“Reggie first,” Sirius says. And that’s that.

The flick of Dorcas’ wand doesn’t escape James’ notice as he approaches the bed where Regulus
rests. Sound comes back with a light pop in his ears as the silencing charm is dropped. And James
hesitates. He doesn’t know what’s okay. If Regulus even wants him here in the infirmary where
anyone could walk in any moment. They’re not alone so it wouldn't be an obvious giveaway, but
it’s also very unusual for him to be here at all. Even more so to be here with Sirius.

James decides to settle for looking and not touching, letting his eyes roam over every part of
Regulus he can see, drinking him in.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” James says at the same time Sirius snarls, “what the fuck were you
thinking?”

Dorcas’ lips twitch. She sits herself on a stool on the other side of the bed like a spectator about to
watch a sports game, apparently delighted to witness the upcoming spat between the Black
brothers.

With a single, scathing look at Sirius, Regulus lets out a long suffering sigh, before deliberately
choosing to ignore his brother. He looks at James, tilts his head to the side. “What happened to
your ankle?”

“What—What happened?!” Sirius is beside himself with indignation. “He broke it because we had
to run here to save your life this morning!”

“I was asking him,” Regulus points out.

James grimaces, rubs the back of his neck. “Well. That’s kinda it, really.”

He gives Regulus his best apologetic smile, which does very little to soften the look of annoyance
on his boyfriend’s face.

What did Regulus expect? That Dorcas would tell James he’s fighting for his life and James would
not run to his side? If he broke his ankle in the process—or strained it, like Poppy said—that’s a
very small price to pay for having saved Regulus’ life.

Not that he did. It was Sirius. And Moaning Myrtle, which James still doesn’t understand but
alright. He’s not judging.

“What were you thinking, Reggie? You could have died,” Sirius insists, hands fluttering at his
sides. “You’re lucky Dorcas brought you here and got us on time.”

“Don’t do that.” Regulus snaps.

“Do what?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Stop making such a fuss. I’m fine.”

The longer James stands by Regulus’ bed, the harder it gets to keep his hands to himself. And not
even in a sexual way. James simply wants to touch him. To hold him. Anything that’ll reassure him
that it’s true, and Regulus is, indeed, fine. Whole. Here. He didn’t die. He made it, and James
needs to feel the softness of his skin under his fingertips to convince himself that he can stop being
worried.

But they’re in a public place, and his mother was just here, and he was… hmm. Something was
happening with Pandora, thought James isn’t entirely sure what. And then—

“It was bad, Reg,” Dorcas chimes in from her stool, interrupting James’ thoughts. “Don’t be a
dick.”

Regulus shrugs. “I’m fine now.”

Sirius throws his arms up in defeat. “What was the point?”

“To lock the Slytherins in the dungeons for a while, obviously,” Regulus drawls like his brother is
not smart enough to follow. “I had an antidote.” His eyes flick to Dorcas. “Why did you come to
the common room?”

“History book,” Dorcas mutters shamefully.

One of Regulus’ curls is falling right across his forehead. It’s distracting James. He wants to touch
it. Put it back in place.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Sirius says. “If it weren’t for bloody Moaning Myrtle—”

“Yeah, what’s that about?” Dorcas asks.

Bringing his fingers to his temples, Regulus makes a show of them giving him a headache. “Stop it.
Stop fussing over me.”

Sirius bristles, looking away. Dorcas slumps back, shoulders hunching a little and kicking her feet
in front of her in a display of frustration. James stays where he is, staring at Regulus, just… staring,
really. Every detail. Every line. Every curve and angle. Because he’s fine. He’s okay. He’s here,
beautiful, and healthy, and that curl is making his fingers itch.

“What did the old bat want?” Sirius asks after a tense, silent minute.

This earns him a smirk from Regulus. “As if you weren’t eavesdropping.”

Sirius barks a laugh in response. Smiling, because it’s just so nice when Sirius and Regulus find
common ground of any kind, James forces himself to look somewhere that’s not the damned curl
and ends up staring at Regulus lips.

Which, surprisingly, doesn’t make him want to lose his mind immediately for once.

“About that,” James says. “I’m confused. What… ehm… Pandora? Did you… did you kiss
Pandora? Should I be worried?”

Dorcas leans forward on the stool, visibly curious, albeit not even the slightest bit worried. Sirius
shuffles to the side and James steps a little closer to the bed, jamming his hands in his pocket so he
can stop himself from reaching out and touching Regulus.

“I wasn’t expecting her to show up here,” Regulus says.

“Your mother or Pan?” Dorcas asks.

“Either of them,” Regulus replies with a scowl. “Pan came to see me. Mother showed up shortly
after and we had to get creative. It was Pan’s idea.”

Sirius’ eyebrows climb all the way to his hairline. “To pretend you’re together? How does that help
anybody?”
“It was the easiest solution,” Regulus adds. Then, he looks at James and a flicker of doubt crosses
his eyes, like he's not sure James won't go off at him for it.

Apparently, Sirius is even more bothered by this than James himself, because he cannot seem to let
it go. “She couldn’t be just a friend visiting you in the infirmary? She had to pretend to be your
girlfriend?”

“You keep voicing your opinions like I care about them,” Regulus snaps at his brother. “Shut up,
Sirius. You’re fucking insufferable.”

Fuming, Sirius throws his arms up in the air, shaking his head at the same time.

Regulus pointedly ignores Sirius' dramatics and turns cautious eyes to James, fidgeting a little with
the sheet of the bed as he says, "Look, James, I—"

“Hey. It’s okay, I understand.” James glances around, deems it safe enough, and subtly rests his
hand over Regulus’ on the bed.

“It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t,” Regulus says. “My mother can never know the truth.”

“I get it,” James insists.

And he does. Walburga Black is the type of person to think one can… somehow expel the
queerness out of someone else. As if it wasn’t just part of who one is. Embedded in one’s very
being, a fundamental building block of a person. As if it wasn’t a beautiful thing that ought to be
cherished and accepted.

James has never known love more real than what he has with Regulus and it pisses him off that
Regulus’ own mother will never see that. That if she knew, she'd try to kill it, somehow. This, for
some reason, strikes James as hilarious because he's pretty damn sure their love will trascend even
life itself. When he dies, James thinks he'll carry on loving Regulus on the other side, wherever that
is or whatever it looks like.

And yet, to Walburga Black, a love like this is wrong. Anything that deviates even a smidge from
the ideal of perfection she has in her head—however wrong that ideal—can’t be accepted. Muggle
blood. Sexuality. There’s no reasoning with a madwoman. No changing her mind.

James doesn’t even want to think the sort of things she’d do to Regulus if she found out. And
James wants to shout from the rooftops that he’s in love with this boy, but not if it hurts him. Not if
it puts him in danger.

The people that matter know. That’s all James needs. And if Regulus has to get a friend to help
him in a tight spot so Walburga carries on thinking he likes girls… well.

“I really do get it, Reg,” James repeats. “It’s okay. I'm glad you have a friend that cna help you if
you're in a difficult situation with your mother.”

Slowly, Regulus turns his hand so his palm is against James’. It makes James giddy with a rush of
affection so strong he almost sways on his feet.

“I’ll be out of here tonight,” Regulus says pointedly.

“Hmm,” James says, as though it didn’t cause heat to coil in his gut.

Regulus’ lips twitch, and James beams. Sirius is still muttering to himself, shaking his head, but
he’s not being hysterical anymore. Progress, James thinks. Dorcas sighs heavily and gets to her
feet. “I’m going to—"

With a loud bang, the door to the infirmary opens to reveal one frantic Remus Lupin. He casts a
look around, jaw clenched and eyes set like he’s ready for a fight. Finding the infirmary empty of
threats, he crosses the space until he’s next to Sirius, who’s turned to stare at their friend wide-
eyed.

“Where is she?” Remus says savagely.

"What?" Dorcas is the firest to react.

"The she-devil," Remus snarls, scanning the infirmary like he's not convinced Walburga isn't about
to jump out of the shadows. "She was here. Came as quickly as I could.”

Stunned silence follows. James watches Sirius swallow, and Remus’ eyes track the movement.

“For fuck’s sake,” Regulus huffs. “Must you all be so dramatic? I expected better from you,
Lupin.”

Dorcas shoots Regulus a funny look, but his outburst has broken the spell. Sirius puts a hand on
Remus’ shoulder—James is pretty sure it’s the first time he’s touched him deliberately since they
came back to school—and says, “Couldn’t expect him to share a room with me for seven years and
not learn something.”

They laugh. Even Regulus’ lips twitch a little bit, which warms James’ heart.

"Walburga left about half an hour ago," Dorcas says gently. "It's okay, Remus. She only came to
check Regulus was fine. She barely even looked at Sirius."

Stiffly, Remus nods, then looks down, like he's suddenly embarrassed. "Well, then, if you’re all
fine I’ll carry on with my rounds,” Remus says. Sirius’ hand drops from his shoulder.

“Rounds?”

A small smile draws on Remus’ lips. “Classes are cancelled for the day. They’ve asked all prefects
to spread the word.”

Dorcas turns bright, enormously pleased eyes to Regulus. “Reg, you’re my favourite person ever,
did you know that?”

Regulus doesn’t reply, but there’s the ghost of a shy smile on his lips as he watches Dorcas leave
the infirmary muttering something about finding Marlene. The moment the door shuts behind her,
he turns his green eyes on Remus.

Suspicious, he asks, “How did you know my mother was here?”

The breath hitches in James’ lungs. He hasn’t told Regulus about the map. It’s silly, really, because
knowing what he knows about them, what is a piece of parchment with a drawing of the school?

But to James, it’s the symbol of their friendship. The marauders, epic mischief makers of
Hogwarts. It has a bit of each of them in it. Magic so complex it’s incredible they managed it so
young. He’s protective of it, even though he knows it doesn’t make sense to be. He also doesn’t
want Regulus to ask James to stop stalking him on it, so, you know, better he doesn’t know.
“I ran into Pandora,” Remus says simply. “James, I also have to ask you to go McGonagall’s office.
Something about the Quidditch schedule, now that Slytherin can’t play their game next weekend.”

“Alright.” James nods, then hesitates. He looks at Regulus, then at his friends. “Can you check
where Poppy is? Maybe? For a moment?”

Both his friends exchange a suffering glance but dutifully draw the curtains and stand guard so that
James can do what he’s been wanting to do for the past twenty minutes. Before Regulus can
protest that they’re too exposed, James leans in and presses a kiss to his mouth.

Shockingly, but in the best way, Regulus’ hand curls around the back of his neck as he kisses him
back. James thinks he’ll never get used to the way it feels when they kiss. Like the whole world
lights up for them. Because of them.

James is breathless when they break apart. “I’m very glad you’re okay.”

“You said,” Regulus replies, smiling softly.

“I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah.” Regulus presses another kiss to his lips, quickly. “Tonight.”

***

The Quidditch schedule is rearranged as a result of Regulus’ insane poisoning plot. With the
agreement of both captains, Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff is swapped with Slytherin vs Ravenclaw. It’s
the honourable thing to do, James tells himself as he agrees. Even if it means he now has only a
week to rally his team.

Classes are reinstated after the first day, but the whole of Slytherin is still in quarantine so Dorcas
has been attending half of her schedule with Gryffindors and half with Ravenclaws. Regulus, who
has another year before his NEWTS, simply agreed with Slughorn to tag along to Pandora’s
lessons for the week. The rest of their house are being given written assignments to do while
confined to their quarters.

James asked Regulus how long it would last, and he said six days—one for each person the older
Slytherins attacked—plus an additional one because seven is a lucky number in magic. James had
to laugh at that.

With the quickly approaching match, James institutes an even stricter practice and workout
schedule that has him dragging himself out of bed at five am—much to Regulus’ dismay—and
training his team as best he can to ensure they beat Hufflepuff.

James isn't sure if it's the leftover stress from his brush with death, or if something else is
bothering Regulus, but he's been a bit mercurial. And it seems to be a little random, too. Perhaps it's
because James isn't the most observant person, but he hasn't managed to figure out what brings the
mood swings on. They'll come on unexpectedly, a mood change that’ll drag Regulus down and
make him thornier and pricklier than normal. It passes quickly, and James doesn’t mind that it
happens. James minds that he doesn’t know why it does. Sometimes, it scares James a little. Makes
him think that there truly is something Regulus isn’t saying. A secret festering inside of him, in the
places James can’t reach.

They’ve been bickering. Not tremendously, but enough to be of notice. More than James would
like, anyway. Every time James announces he’s off to practice, Regulus gets all moody. When he
comes back, it takes some cajoling and buttering up to get Regulus to let it go. It's like Regulus
wants to spend every waking moment together but he also wants them to fight over the stupidest
things.

It's confusing. Like, sure. James loves that Regulus wants to spend time together, but he just
doesn’t understand the urgency that sometimes coats Regulus’ words. It’s not needy or clingy.
Regulus is too composed for that. Has too much self-respect to be whiny about it. It’s something
else, more raw. More desperate. Dark like kept secrets.

“I just don’t understand why it bothers you so much,” he’d said one day when Regulus had
snapped at him for suggesting he might go for a quick jog around the grounds.

“You already had practice earlier,” Regulus had said. “Bit over top, isn’t it?”

“The match is in three days! I’ll make it up to you afterwards. There won’t be so much training for
a little while.”

“I don’t want you to make it up to me afterwards. I want you to stay here now,” Regulus had said,
eyes wide and jaw clenched.

James had sat down and looked him straight on. “Reg. What is it?”

And Regulus immediately had changed his tune, swiftly and brutally. He had shook his head and
stood up. “Nothing. Go run. I’ll be here when you get back.”

On and on it goes. Almost every day.

Despite their bickering, the general vibe in school has been rather lovely, James has to admit. With
an imminent Quidditch match and no Slytherins around throwing insults or hexes, he’s almost been
able to forget about the war. He feels guilty, of course. The people whose relatives are being
targeted are most certainly not forgetting about the war at all. But James… he’ll be on the front
lines soon enough. June, and then they’re off to fight. It’s alright to have a week of innocent bliss.
Isn’t it?

To make things even better, Remus and Sirius have found a new balance. Whilst they’re still
refusing to have a conversation about their feelings—Remus is avoiding the topic with James, too;
Sirius is simply convinced Remus isn’t interested—Remus is no longer finding excuses to exit a
room after he’s been in it with Sirius for longer than five minutes. They won’t be caught dead
alone together in the same space, but at least as a group they can coexist a bit less awkwardly.

James is hopeful that if they win this weekend’s match, the alcohol at the party might get them
talking. A man can dream. Wildest things have been known to happen at Quidditch victory
celebrations.

“You’re doing it again,” Regulus complains, poking him under the ribs with his finger.

“What?”

“Thinking about Sirius and Lupin,” he says, sounding exasperated.

Today, they haven’t fought at all so James is in an excellent mood. He smiles, then rolls onto his
side so he can look at Regulus. They’re in bed together, and it’s very late or very early. Depending
who you ask.

Another fantastic upside of the quarantine is that Regulus cannot go back to his dorm. The
predicament of where to put his two students made Slughorn scratch his head until Lily suggested
Dorcas could bunk with them. Slughorn, who has a soft spot for Lily, agreed.

The matter of Regulus was more delicate. In the end, it was agreed that he’d stay in the infirmary.
He has not stayed in the infirmary.

Madame Pomfrey says good night to him, then goes off to her own rooms every night, and every
night Regulus gets up, makes his bed, and goes to the Come and Go Room. If Poppy thinks that
Regulus’ early rising is odd, she hasn’t mentioned it once.

“How do you know what I’m thinking about?” James asks him, running a lazy finger up Regulus’
arm.

He drew the star a few hours ago. Loves it every time Regulus asks. It feels more intimate than
having sex, that little moment when he draws the symbol of what they have on the tender, soft skin
of Regulus’ inner arm.

“It’s either the Quidditch match or my idiot brother and the even bigger idiot that doesn’t like him
back.”

“Careful, Reg. You almost sound indignant on Sirius’ behalf,” James chuckles, buries his hand in
Regulus’ curls.

“How dare you.”

Grinning, James quickly kisses the tip of his nose, which makes Regulus rear back with annoyance.
It’s adorable, and the reason James does it in the first place.

“Remus does like Sirius back. Trust me.”

“Got an odd way of showing it,” Regulus mutters.

This only makes James laugh more. Regulus isn’t wrong, exactly, but one could say that he, too,
has an odd way of showing how he feels. “Pot, kettle.”

Regulus gasps, indignant.

“I’ll remind you it took me several weeks, plus a very dramatic tantrum on your part to realise you
liked me,” James points out. “I couldn’t tell. Half the time you were mean, the other half brooding
and mysterious.”

“But you like brooding and mysterious.”

“I also like mean,” James informs him. “I just didn’t know if you liked me.”

“You’re just not very observant,” Regulus says, scowling.

James presses the pad of his finger between his brows gently, and Regulus’ expression smooths
out. His skin is so soft James could easily spend a whole day just mapping his body with his
fingertips.

“Really?” James says, a bit distracted by the way Regulus’ hair curls over his ears.

“Just saying, it was pretty obvious. I wouldn’t have kept coming back to the roof if I didn’t want
you. I wouldn’t have let you bother me there, either.”

“Mmm,” James agrees, now distracted as he trails his finger down his straight nose, over a
cheekbone sharp like a knife. “You’re so beautiful.”

Regulus doesn’t reply, eyes fluttering closed as James’ finger continues a path over his features.

“I’m obsessed with this line,” James tells him, tracing the crest of his cheekbone. “And this one.”
The line of his jaw. “And this one.” The curve of his neck.

Regulus shivers, eyes snapping open to pierce James’ very soul with their intensity. “Carry on,”
Regulus whispers.

“This,” James leans in to nip at his collarbone with his teeth, pad of his finger no longer enough.
“And this.” The hollow at the base of his throat.

There’s a hitch in Regulus’ breathing. All the encouragement James needs.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Reg,” James murmurs, kissing over his chest, down his torso. He
stops at his hips, teeth dragging over its outline, sharp and elegant. “You drive me insane.”

He licks the line of the bone, making Regulus’ hips jerk upwards, a needy noise escaping him.
James smiles to himself, pushes his body up with his arms to hover over his boyfriend.

The smirk he gets from Regulus is wolfish. Downright sinful. It’s all James needs to dive in for a
kiss that promises more. Dawn finds them tangled in each other, sheets rumpled, hair sticking out
in all directions. In James’ opinion, there’s no better way to start the day of a Quidditch match.

####

If it weren’t for the war, Regulus is certain that the name ‘James Potter’ would be whispered with
awe all over the wizarding world. He’s got it all—the drive, the passion, the skill, the dedication.

The best chaser the world has seen in a very, very long time.

“Another ten points to Gryffindor!” Shouts the commentator, voice roaring over the Quidditch
stands as both teams—red and blue—zoom across the pitch in a furious match. “Potter is on fire
today!”

He’s on fire every day, you blathering idiot.

It’s a shame, Regulus thinks, blowing into his hands to keep them warm, that he’s so noble. If he
were less so, he’d go on to become a professional player. He’d leave England, join a team
somewhere far away from Voldemort, and have his likeness printed in posters and magazines so
that Regulus could watch him and secretly relish the thought that he was once someone James
Potter loved.

But James won’t stand by while innocent people are being killed. He’ll be on the front lines, and
short of kidnapping him—Regulus is still considering the cage in the basement idea—there’s no
stopping him.

Which means Regulus has to get his shit together and hurry the fuck up. The longer he takes to
discover and deal with the Horcruxes, the longer the war will go on for. The longer James will be
in danger.

A very annoying side effect of his allergic reaction and the mad dash to get him to the infirmary in
time was that his bag was left behind, and thus Regulus hasn’t been able to study the diary this
week. The quarantine will be lifted tomorrow, and Regulus’ first order of business is writing on it
to see what happens. There’s no other choice. He’s tried everything else. And if the notebook is a
Horcrux, it’s time Regulus started working on it to figure out how to destroy it.

James executes a dangerous dive perfectly, and Dorcas gasps loudly, covering her mouth with her
hands. Regulus smirks, a swell of pride booming inside his chest, despite the gloomy thoughts
accosting him.

It’s been like this recently. The warmth and the joy stained with the darkness encroaching more and
more as the days pass. It’s so hard to find the balance between a bit of distance and making the
most of the time he’s got left. Like he's trying to hold hope in one fist and grief in the other, and
they're pulling him two directions, stretching him too thin.

Is there a balance for such thing? Regulus doesn’t think there is. Probably why he’s struggling so
much. Doing a truly piss poor job of it.

The urgency is like poison, seeping into his every word. His every action. He kisses James like it’s
the last time every time. Touches him with feverish devotion. Even their conversations are a blur,
because Regulus can’t focus properly on what they’re discussing.

Regulus is running out of time, and he’s so aware of it it’s ruining the little bit of it he’s got left.

But he is trying and that has to count for something, right? Trying to grab that happiness with both
hands and squeeze every single drop out of it. Trying to push James away just enough to make sure
he still comes back. When he remembers he’s supposed to be doing that, which doesn’t happen all
that often if he’s honest.

Still, some of his trying must be working because he’s certain James has started to suspect
something’s not right. He keeps asking Regulus, in that gentle way of his, whether he’s okay.
Whether something’s happened.

Regulus is doing his best to show James that it’s not him. That this thing that’s tugging at Regulus
is something else. Something other. He tells James as much as he can—mostly with his kisses and
his hands—that he’s perfect. He’s lovely. So adorable and caring. Hot and sexy and all the things
Regulus ever dreamt he would be for him. But that he’s right and something is festering and it’ll
eventually blow up.

And how does he keep it from tipping over? Because Regulus can’t—he won’t—accept this falling
apart before it has to. But he also can’t simply pretend everything’s fine because James will not
believe him when he wants to end it.

Honestly, nobody prepared Regulus for this. This is, hands down, the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“Black hits a bludger straight towards Andrews, who drops the quaffle in shock—and yes! Folks,
that’s Potter on the attack again!”

Regulus follows James as he flies impossibly fast towards the goal posts. His team is in peak form,
which surprises no one because he’s been making them get out of bed at five am like the little
dictator he is. If Regulus couldn’t count the number of weeks they’ve got left with the fingers of
his hands, he’d have found it funny.

He doesn’t.

Regulus doesn’t laugh very much these days.

“The Ravenclaw seeker has spotted the snitch!” The commentator shouts.
Squinting, Regulus finds the seeker. “He’s not really seen it,” he tells Dorcas. “It’s a feint.”

Dorcas stares at him, mouth open. “How can you tell?”

He simply shrugs, watching as the Gryffindor seeker—Silverwood—picks up on the diversion and

pulls away, going back to search for the real snitch much to the frustration of the Ravenclaw
seeker. James scores two more goals in that time.

“They’re going to win regardless,” Regulus says, twisting his back to the side to crack it. The cold
is getting to his bones. “James’ too good.”

“They’ll have a party,” Dorcas says. “If they win. In their common room. You could come.”

“To the Gryffindor common room?” Regulus looks at her like she’s lost her mind.

Eyes trained on the pitch, Dorcas nods. “The Slytherins are all still locked away thanks to you.
Might as well. You won’t get another chance.”

“People will talk,” Regulus says, sceptical.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to go. Of course he does. He has no special interest in stepping foot
inside Gryffindor Tower, but he cannot ask James to miss his victory party. So, unless Regulus
goes to the party, they won’t see each other tonight.

Every night counts.

“Since when do you care what people think?” Dorcas asks, surprised.

“Since it matters,” Regulus replies swiftly.

James dives, doing a pretty impressive twist, and Sirius flies right over where he just was to smash
a bludger towards the Ravenclaw beater. Marlene, on the other side, hits the second ball towards
the chasers who have to scramble away to avoid it. They’re very good, Marlene and Sirius.

“Their parties are so good,” Dorcas mutters. “I wish you could come.”

“Me too,” Regulus says. “But I can’t think of a good enough reason why I would be there.”

“Your brother?”

Regulus cocks an eyebrow. “He gave me a cigarette in the Three Broomsticks and you lot almost
fainted. No way. Nobody’ll ever believe we’re getting along now.”

“Are you?”

“No,” Regulus scoffs.

Dorcas chuckles. “Oh wow. Look at that!” She breathes, momentarily distracted by her girlfriend
hitting a bludger with enough force to send it to outer space. “Is it super weird that I like it when
Marls is aggressive?”

Regulus smirks, thinking of Angry James. “Nah. Drool all you want over your sexy beater
girlfriend.”

Dorcas bumps their shoulders together. She pretends it’s an accident, but Regulus knows better.
Still, he doesn’t call her out of on it. They sit in silence, watching the match. Regulus tracking
James, Dorcas tracking Marlene.

When the Gryffindor seeker catches the snitch, the stands roar like a lion. The noise is
overwhelming for Regulus, who has to grit his teeth and pinch his eyes closed to stay grounded.
Dorcas, who’s a better friend than he deserves, casts a spell to muffle the sound. He releases a long
breath, half-smiling at Dorcas gratefully.

They wait until the stands are almost empty before making their way down. Dorcas can barely
contain her excitement, but she knows no matter how open the Gryffindors are, it’s still not safe for
them to be too obvious when the entire school is watching.

Regulus catches James’ eye over the crowd. James beams and it’s like being struck by lightning.

“Come with me,” Regulus says to Dorcas, gesturing with his head.

Dorcas is a bit sceptical, but it’s not like she can kiss Marlene in the middle of the pitch, so she
follows Regulus with a little shrug.

He leads her to the equipment room, just off the main changing area.

“Inside,” he says. She obeys, and they wait together.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, James and Marlene come in carrying the chest with the balls.
Dorcas lets out a delighted yelp and jumps at Marlene, who drops the chest with zero regard for
the strained grunt that excapes James as the box hits the ground. Marlene ignores her captain as she
opens her arms to catch her girlfriend and kiss her.

Shaking his head, Regulus takes the box in Marlene’s place and helps James carry it to the back of
the small room.

“Congratulations,” Regulus says, eyes dipping for a moment to stare at James and his ridiculously
sexy thighs in the tight quidditch pants. “Very impressive flying.”

James preens like a peacock, then tilts his head towards Marlene and Dorcas with a smile.

“Are you not gonna…?”

Regulus gives him a look. Then—fuck it.

And he jumps at James, circling his waist with his legs and closing his arms around his neck.
James lets out a grunt of pure delight, hands coming up to hold Regulus in place as he chases his
mouth with his own.

They kiss, deep and leisured. Regulus’ hands card through James’ hair. It’s damp with sweat, but
he doesn’t mind. Can’t mind, not when James smells like the wind, and brooms, and that tang of
maleness that’s sweaty and musky and drives Regulus wild.

“Fuck me,” Marlene says, sounding winded.

Regulus isn’t paying her attention. Dorcas must be doing something wicked with her tongue, he
thinks, mostly because James is lavishing his neck with devotion and that’s all he can process at
the moment. Tongues on skin, the drag of teeth.

“Oh wow,” Dorcas exclaims. “Clearly, James can touch, huh?”

“Wait, you knew?” Marlene asks.

Cracking an eye open, Regulus finds both girls standing side by side, staring. James detaches
himself from Regulus’ neck for a second to look at them, too. He’s grinning, Regulus can feel it.

“I didn’t know if I could tell you,” Dorcas says. She’s speaking to Marlene, but she’s looking at
Regulus.

James turns a little so he can see the girls better, and Regulus tugs at his hair in protest, still very
much clinging to him like a koala. He has zero intention of letting go for the foreseeable future.

“S’okay,” Regulus says. “If you trust her, I trust her, I guess. Just don’t tell anybody else or I’ll
have to drown you in the lake.”

Marlene chortles just as James looks up at Regulus’ face. “Maybe don’t threaten to kill my
beater?”

“Hmm,” Regulus replies non committally.

Dorcas beams, then tugs on Marlene, who goes willingly. “How long before someone in the team
notices you’re both missing?”

Regulus doesn’t hear her answer, because he’s kissing James again.

It’s Sirius who comes looking, because for once his brother used his brain and guessed what he’d
find and volunteered in place of Silverwood who apparently wants to talk to James about some
tactic or other.

Reluctantly, Regulus gets back on his own two feet and smooths his clothes and hair. Marlene and
Dorcas are excitedly talking about the party, and James looks so happy it breaks Regulus’ heart a
little to tug on his sleeve gently to get his attention.

“I’m not going,” Regulus says. Confusion clouds James’ expression for a moment. “To the party.
I’m not coming. I can’t come.”

James immediately pouts.

“Don’t. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t want to celebrate without you,” James whines. It makes Regulus’ chest fill with a pleasant
warmth. Quidditch is James’ passion, and it’s just… nice that he’s visibly upset at Regulus having
to miss the victory party.

“I’ll be in the room waiting,” Regulus says with a little shrug, like it’s not a big deal.

James buries both hands in his hair, lets out a groan.

“You alright Cap?” Marlene asks. She’s looking over at them, and so are Dorcas and Sirius.

“Yeah,” James dismisses them, then focuses on Regulus again. “I could skip it.”

Regulus’ heart flutters in his chest. He wants to ask him to skip it. So fucking badly the words
crowd in his mouth. But he can’t. And not for noble reasons like it’s not fair to James. Fuck that.
Regulus wants to be selfish.

No. The reason he has to make James go to this party is that he has to start getting used to being
alone again.
You need to start planting seeds.

The familiar guilt and dread swirl in his gut, making him feel a little sick. Regulus shakes his head
no, because the words won’t come. Fortunately, James is too much of a Quidditch fanatic to insist.

“I’ll come to bed early, okay? I promise,” he says, kissing him again.

“Just… enjoy your party, James,” Regulus replies, pushing his shoulder a little to indicate he
should go.

Sirius catches his eye as James walks out of the room and Regulus gives him a little nod of
congratulations that his brother returns with a wide smile. Then, they’re all out and Regulus is
alone again. Not even Dorcas stays with him this time.

***

An hour later, Pandora finds Regulus sitting in an alcove staring out the window. He’s got the
snitch in his hand, rolling it with his fingers without really thinking about it. Pandora sits down
across from him, keeping her feet close to her to avoid touching him, and looks at the darkening
sky, too. He's smoking a cigarette, thinking of all the awful things he'll do soon. Of how impossibly
daunting his task feels.

The silence is nice. Regulus knows what Pandora wants to talk about. Knows why she’s here. Why
she came looking for him. Regulus asked her to give him space after the incident with his mother
and Pandora complied. But the time is up.

These days, Regulus feels like time is slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Regulus says, breaking the silence when he can’t stretch it
anymore.

Pandora turns her eyes on him. So gentle. So caring. She’s ethereal, like the dreams she has. To
Regulus, it feels like she’s not entirely from this world.

“You met a wolf, a dog and a stag,” Pandora says. “Which means my dreams can be literal at
times. It is worrying.”

“I’m fine,” Regulus insists.

“Do you remember the dream about the cave?”

Letting his head fall back against the wall, Regulus mutters, “Think of the sun, you said.”

Funnily enough, Regulus thinks he’s got an idea of what that means now. There’ll come a time, in
his near future, when he’ll want to give up. And he’ll think of James and keep going. This isn’t
surprising to him. Not in the slightest.

Because Regulus is going to break James’ heart to ensure he stays safe, but he’s not going to stop
loving him. That, Regulus thinks, is impossible. He’ll sooner stop existing than loving James
Potter.

“What if the cave is literal, too?” Pandora asks, fidgeting.

“No plans to visit any, for now,” Regulus responds. “Pan, you’ve told me about the dreams. That’s
all you can do. Don’t fret.”
“I told you I had another one,” Pandora insists. “Before your mother showed up. And then… when
she was there. Reg, she’s dangerous to you.”

“Hmm?”

“Your mother,” Pandora says quietly. “I felt it in that room. She’s got claws, and if she gets them in
you… you’re not safe with her. And now that your father is unwell…”

A shiver runs down Regulus’ spine. He knows his mother’s claws. Knows them well. He’s asked
her to teach him how to get claws of his own. “Is that why you… you know?”

“Yes,” Pandora says. “It was… a gut feeling?”

Regulus nods. He couldn’t have come up with a better cover up for his secrets. It’s not fool proof,
but if his mother gets a glimpse of romance in his mind, Regulus can now conjure Pandora. Pretend
it’s her he’s thinking about, yearning for. It’s not the same. Nowhere near enough. But it’s better
than nothing.

“Do you want to talk about your father?” Pandora asks gently.

“No. Tell me about your new dream,” he asks Pandora instead.

He recalls her whispering about it to him in the infirmary while he recovered from his stupid
mistake and the allergic reaction he got for it. But his mother had interrupted and they hadn't had
time to go through it properly. Besides, Regulus didn't feel like he had capacity for any more bad
news then. It's why he asked Pandora to give him the week before she brought it up again.

Pandora leans forward, closer to Regulus. “I dreamt of a crown. Actually, not a crown. It looked a
lot like Ravenclaw’s diadem. I think it means wisdom. You’ll need a lot of wisdom in the coming
months.”

Her voice has taken on that whimsical quality that it has when Pandora talks about her dreams. It’s
rather soothing, despite everything.

“You look for it and find it. Wisdom. The diadem. But you have to be careful with it because
there’s… it’s got like a dark aura around it. A bit evil, so I wondered if it was something about the
dark arts. I’m not sure. But this, whatever it represents… It can hurt you or help you. But I didn’t
see how. The dream got very dark and scary, and I woke up before it was finished.”

Regulus isn’t breathing.

“Did you see where I found it?”

Pandora shakes her head. “No. You just did. I’m not even sure you were looking for it. Like on
purpose I mean.”

“Ravenclaw’s diadem,” Regulus mutters, turning his eyes out the window again and thinking.

Remembering.

“Of course,” Regulus nods solemnly. “Good to hear someone in our house helped with the
situation.”

“Yes,” Slughorn says, preening a little. “Tom was very loyal to Slytherin. He was fascinated with
history, always enquiring after the Hogwarts founders and that. He used to muse about finding
their heirlooms. Starting a little collection of sorts.”

Regulus can sense that he’s getting somewhere. Slughorn, as far as he can tell, has no idea this
boy is Voldemort. He decides to push his luck a little more, see if he gets more information.

Always enquiring after the Hogwarts founders. A collection of heirlooms.

Young, overconfident Tom Riddle. The descendant of Slytherin. Someone with enough ambition
to start a war.

The hysterical laugh bubbles up Regulus’ throat. He only manages to swallow it back down last
minute, forcing himself to take a deep breath and not go running to find Myrtle right this second.

Ravenclaw’s diadem.

He’s ready to bet his arm it’s a Horcrux. What else would Riddle be asking about the heirlooms?
And if he found it, what else would he do with it? Riddle is too cocky to even consider needing the
diadem. He thinks himself the smartest man alive.

Vibrating with excitement, Regulus blinks at Pandora, unable to form words as his brain keeps
running at a million miles per hour.

It’s an important, legendary object. Voldemort wouldn’t store his soul just anywhere. He’s… Tom
Riddle was the best wizard of his generation. He knew it. He relished it.

Voldemort thinks himself above everyone else.

He would not make some meaningless object his Horcrux.

“Reg?”

“Yes?” He blinks, forcing himself to refocus on Pandora. “What did you say?”

“Just to be careful. Please,” she asks.

He smiles at her, getting up from the alcove. “I’ll be fine, Pan. Stop worrying. I need to go now.
See you around.”

As soon as he turns the corner, he’s sprinting to find his research buddy who, in a stroke of luck,
happens to be a Ravenclaw. If he and Myrtle can’t find the diadem, he doesn’t know who can.

####

Interlude: Remus POV

Remus is drowning.

He’s been drowning for weeks, pulled underwater by the weight of memory. Sirius Black kissed
him, and it reoriented Remus’ world so fucking hard he’s been struggling to find his footing ever
since.

The only moments Remus feels like he’s close to the surface is when his eyes find Sirius across the
room. For a few seconds, the weight lifts off his chest and Remus, like the sodding idiot he is, lets
himself wonder. Hope. Consider what it would be like.

Then reality sets in—a sledgehammer to his thick head—and slams him back under, and Remus
never got to come up for air. Not even for a second.

The thing is, Remus has wanted Sirius, loved Sirius, since before he was old enough to understand
what love was. He remembers being thirteen, and thinking Sirius was the coolest kid he’d ever
met. Remembers being fourteen and begging Lily to give him a kiss because he suspected and he
had to know. He remembers wishing it was Sirius instead of his ginger friend kissing him.
Remembers the quiet resignation growing in his chest because it would never be.

Loving Sirius became part of who Remus was. Of who he is. Remus loving Sirius was—is—a truth
as simple and unwavering as Remus being tall, or Remus being a werewolf. Some things are just
part of who you are, and Remus loves Sirius in a way so raw and overpowering that it’s blended
with the lines of his identity. Is that normal? He doesn’t think so. Is it healthy? Most definitely not.
Does he care? Not even a little bit.

And that’s why Remus cannot just surrender.

Remus is drowning, and he’ll keep drowning in silence, because there is no plausible alternative.

Sighing in frustration, Remus turns to look at the portrait as it opens to let the Quidditch team in.
As far as party set-ups go, and the very short notice they were given, Remus thinks he and Pete
have done a good job. The Gryffindor common room is well stocked with firewhiskey, beers, and
those funny drinks the girls like. The Prewetts record player is on, currently turning a T-Rex
album, and people have been milling about, waiting for the team to arrive to hail their heroes.

James is beaming, one arm slung over Olive’s shoulders, the other over Silverwood, his seeker. A
little behind them, Sirius and Marlene stumble in together with Dorcas. Sirius looks up, finding
Remus across the room.

Remus is drowning.

Sirius smiles, wicked and a little sharp, and Remus has to curl his hands into fists and dig his nails
into his palms to stop himself from reacting.

Turning to the table with the drinks, Remus pours himself a generous serving of firewhiskey.

Remus can tell Sirius is curious. That he wants more than the one kiss they shared on New Year’s
Eve. And a part of Remus—a very insistent, very demanding part—wants to give in. But deep-
down Remus knows that the minute he does, he won’t be able to hide. Not from Sirius, who’s
always brought out the rawest parts of Remus. The wildest reactions, the most feral responses.

Inevitably, if he gives in to Sirius, Remus will slip. And Sirius will see the depths of Remus’ all-
encompassing feelings for him.

There won’t be any going back after that. No friendship to salvage. Not even rubble to rummage
through.

So, Remus has resolved to not give in, no matter what. Because a temporary fling with Sirius,
tempting as it sounds, will destroy the friendship. And Remus would rather have Sirius as a friend
forever than as a fuck-buddy for a few weeks. His dick disagrees, but his dick has never known
what’s good for it, so Remus is doing his damn best to ignore it.

“Woah, someone’s keen tonight,” Lily observes when she catches Remus knocking back his drink
in one go.

Grimacing, because the whiskey is cheap and burns the back of his throat as it goes down, Remus
refills his glass. “Bad week.”

Lily cocks an eyebrow, but she slides her own glass across the table closer to Remus. They lean
against it, glasses in hand, and sip their whiskey together. Remus watches Sirius give a group of
fourth years a play-by-play of one of his most daring manoeuvres from today’s match, wishing that
he didn’t move like sin made flesh.

“Do you remember when James to ask us for help at the beginning of the year?” Lily asks.

Remus notices her watching the quidditch captain. He’s apparently singing Silverwood’s praises,
swinging his arms around wildly. Watching James talk about Quidditch is one of Remus’ guilty
pleasures. Don’t get him wrong, he has zero interest in the sport. In his opinion, it’s fucking stupid.
Why would a tiny little golden thing be worth so much more than anything else? Anyway. He’s not
a quidditch fan. But when James talks about it he gets so… animated. It’s like watching pure,
unfiltered joy and Remus likes it.

“I remember,” Remus says. “I left you two alone for it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. He wanted to know how to get rid of a crush,” Lily says, twisting the half-empty glass of
whiskey in her hand. “I told him to focus on the negatives and he wanted to protest, you know?
Probably thinking whoever he’s with doesn’t have any negatives.”

“Lily?”

“I just… I told him everyone has flaws. But here I am, watching him, and wishing I could
remember why I hated him so much for so long.” She lets out a sort of bitter chuckle. “I can’t find
any reason not to like him other than the fact he doesn’t like me.”

There’s no resentment in her voice. Lily is too good for that. There’s simple sadness, and a bit of
pain, and the resignation that he knows so well. “I’m sorry Lils.”

She shrugs, downs the rest of her drink and grabs the bottle to re-fill it.

“It is what it is, right? And he’s so happy, Remus. Just… happy. All the time. I mean, James has
always been a smiley sort of person, but now? It’s like he’s been lit up from the inside. Whoever’s
making him feel that way deserves him, so I can’t even hate them a little bit.”

“I wish I could tell you that you’re wrong,” Remus says, also offering her glass to her for his own
refill. “But I can’t. They are happy together, as strange and insane as it is.”

“You know who he’s with, then?”

Remus nods. “But I can’t tell you. I won’t Lily. Don’t ask.”

Lily gives him a sad little smile, then drags her eyes across the room lazily. “I should find someone
else. Nail drives out another and all that. What do you think of Cole?”

That startles a chortle out of Remus, who glances at the sixth year boy briefly before telling Lily,
“You can do so much better.”

“Not really,” she replies with a grin. “You’re gay. James we’ve discussed. And Sirius… well.
Sirius is Sirius.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Remus asks, a prickle of annoyance spiking inside.
“Too handsome to be any good at anything,” Lily says casually.

“What?”

“You know,” Lily says like it’s obvious, even though it’s not obvious at all. “The best looking
people are usually terrible at kissing, sex, that sort of thing. They don’t have to put in any effort, so
they’re—”

“Sirius is phenomenal at kissing,” Remus blurts out.

The triumph in Lily’s face is all Remus needs to see to know he’s been baited. Like a fucking fool.

“I knew it! When? How? What is going on?” Lily scoots over, pressing her side against Remus and
twisting her head to whisper in his ear.

Just then, the familiar notes of Bohemian Rhapsody float through the air and Remus groans. Not
this one. Anything but this one. He wants to die every time this song plays, because Sirius is
downright depraved when he’s performing it and Remus can barely keep himself in check.

Helplessly, Remus watches as Sirius springs up onto the nearest table. He swallows thickly as his
friend flicks his hair back, exposing his throat as he sings. There’s a delirious sort of look to his
face when he’s doing this, like Sirius is not holding on to any of the things he wields as armour. It’s
just him and the music and they’re one and the same. Remus has never seen anything more
shameless in his life.

The throbbing in his trousers has reached painful levels by the time Marlene jumps up to join Sirius
in her part of the song. Muffling a groan, Remus turns his back on the show and reaches for the
bottle of whiskey, taking a swig out of it directly. He decides it doesn’t matter, because he’s not
going to put it down again. This bottle is now his and his alone.

“Remus,” Lily asks, nudging his shoulder. “Why do you look like you’re in pain?”

He shoots a meaningful glance at the boy dancing on the table like he’s made of sin.

Lily rolls her eyes. “Wait, so you kissed… and nothing happened?”

“I can’t give him what he wants,” Remus says brusquely. “You know how I feel about him. I’m
not going to let him use me for fun then ask to go back to being friends.”

“Are you sure that’s what he wants?” Lily says, lips pursed like she’s thinking.

“Sirius is Sirius,” Remus replies. “There’s nothing else with him.”

Mercifully, the Queen song ends, and Remus manages to regain some of his senses. He can feel
Lily tapping her foot on the floor next to him, likely trying to come up with some defence for
Sirius and his reputation as a bit of a player.

And really, there’s no defence needed. Remus doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with his
approach. Sirius likes to keep relationships casual. Likes the physical aspect, but not the emotional
one. And everyone knows it, so it’s not like Sirius is toying with people’s feelings. If girls delude
themselves into thinking they’re going to be the ones to finally change Sirius Black’s heart only to
have theirs broken instead, that’s hardly his fault.

Remus can’t blame Sirius. He’s kinda impressed by how he owns this one truth about himself.
When you have been treated the way he’s been treated in his life, it’s not surprising he’d rather
steer clear of real emotion.

It's valid. Remus will fight anyone that fucking dares to try to make Sirius feel bad for his choices.

But it’s also why Remus knows better than to give in.

“What is this?” Remus asks with absolute horror when the music takes a drastic turn and a chorus
of women sing ‘Honey, Honey how you thrill me, aha!’

Lily yelps happily and grabs his hand. “Dance with me, Remus.”

“You’d have to use the Imperius on me first,” he says fiercely.

Rolling her eyes, Lily abandons him to rush into the crowd. She finds Mary and together they
dance, hands over their heads and faces flushed with joy. If Remus catches the brave soul that
managed to sneak the ABBA record onto the player, he’s going to have words with them.

To nobody’s surprise, James finds his way to the middle of it all and begins to sing and dance with
the girls like he’s having the time of his fucking life. Remus can’t help but to chuckle to himself,
because James is just… he’s so authentic. Zero fucks given. He’s truly amazing. The guy just
scored more goals in a single match than anyone else in the school has all season, and has muscles
that even Remus hasn’t failed to notice. Yet, there he is, arms up in the air and head thrown back,
belting the lyrics to Honey Honey. James doesn't worry about being cool, and that's probably why
everyone thinks he is. The coolest, second only to Sirius.

Shaking his head with amusement, Remus brings his bottle to his lips and freezes. Sirius is staring
at him, eyes blazing, and he’s fucking singing, too. He moving his lips along to the lyrics—since
when does Sirius know the lyrics to bloody ABBA?—and he’s dancing. Hips swaying, arms up
over his head.

“You’re a love machineee… oh you make me dizzy!”

The corner of Sirius’ lips twitch, and the look he gives Remus is positively wanton.

Remus has to roll his eyes, because he’s being ridiculous. He also has to take swig of his bottle and
fish for a cigarette, or else he’ll do something stupid. Because he’s got self-control and the
willpower of a monster, but there are limits to how much he can endure.

His pack of cigarettes is empty, and Remus could turn his eyes to the skies and sing hallelujah.
Without wasting a single second, he pivots on his heels and sneaks through the door to his dorm so
he doesn’t have to witness another second of whatever it is Sirius was doing.

“Moony, wait.” Sirius’ fingers circle his wrist, making Remus freeze on the spot. They’re half-way
up the stairs, and how did Sirius get here so quickly? “Moony, I’ve got cigarettes.”

Dread and whiskey roiling in his stomach, Remus turns to look at Sirius, who climbs an extra step
so they’re level.

Remus is drowning.

“Me too. Just need to grab them,” Remus says. He sounds strained even to himself, but what the
fuck? He hasn’t been alone with Sirius in weeks and his every nerve is on edge after Sirius… did
that. Whatever that was.

“Looked like running away to me,” Sirius points out.

He’s still holding on to Remus’ wrist, and they both seem to realise it at the same time because
Sirius lets go abruptly.

“Overwhelmed by second hand embarrassment,” Remus says, trying desperately to lighten the
mood. To joke his way out of this.

Sirius smirks. “No such thing when Prongs is in the room. Nothing I could do would top his ABBA
related antics.”

Remus chuckles, relieved. This is safe territory. This they can do. They’re still friends, after all.
And if he can’t have a chat with his friend in the stairs, then what’s he putting up a fight for? He
wants to preserve this, so this he has to be able to have. Otherwise, what’s the point?

“The man’s got no shame.”

“It works for him, though,” Sirius comments, shrugging. “Are you sharing that?”

When Sirius tilts his head down, Remus remembers he’s still got the half-empty bottle of
firewhiskey. Mutely, he offers it to him and Sirius takes a long swig. Remus’ eyes—treacherous
little things—follow the bob of Sirius’ Adam’s apple as he drinks.

Fuck.

He needs to get out of here.

“Fags—”

“No.” Sirius puts a hand against the wall, cutting Remus’ escape route. His options are to go back
to the party or stay put.

Remus wishes he was wearing robes, because it’s getting harder and harder to hide how sexy he
finds Sirius caging him into the wall.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of replying, Sirius takes another gulp of whiskey. If Remus didn’t know better, he’d think
Sirius is chasing his courage to the bottom of the bottle. But that’s not—

Sirius’ grey silver eyes snap up, locking onto Remus’ and freezing him in place. “Why?”

Remus blinks. “Why what?”

“Why don’t you want me?” Sirius asks him, biting his lower lip immediately after and can he not
be embarrassed in a different way? Remus is having enough trouble focusing as is.

Sirius’ cheeks are flushed, and he’s breathing a little harder than he should need to.

Remus is drowning.

He’s been drowning for weeks.

And suddenly, he just wants to breathe.

He slams Sirius against the wall at his back hard, and then he’s kissing him like he’s the air he’s
been craving. The bottle falls and rolls down the steps. Neither of them care. Sirius hands are cold,
and they make Remus shiver when they find the edge of his t-shirt so Remus grabs them, tangles
their fingers together, and brings them up, over Sirius’ head. Sirius is strong, but Remus is stronger.
Blame the wolf.

Sirius whimpers, arches off the wall and into Remus’ body. Remus grunts, pushes him back with
his hips and is rewarded with a moan. He didn’t know Sirius sounded like that. He thinks he’ll die
if he doesn’t get to hear it again.

Disentangling their fingers, Remus grips both of Sirius’ wrists with one hand to keep them pinned
overhead and runs his free one up and down the side of Sirius’ torso before burying it in his hair.
So soft. So gorgeous.

Remus drags his mouth over the line of Sirius’ jaw, until he’s right below his earlobe where he
nips at the delicate skin with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.

“Fuck,” Sirius pants. “Remus, please.”

It’s a bad idea. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. Remus knows it. His brain is screaming at him to
stop. To not do this. It’ll be so much fucking worse later.

But Remus can breathe for the first time in forever. Sirius is right here, pliant and panting, and
jerking his hips forward shamelessly.

Remus switches off his brain. Just, off. He doesn’t want to process it. He just wants to do it. To
breathe. To have. To want and to get.

Somehow, they make it up the stairs and into their dorm. They fall into Remus’ bed simply
because it’s closest. Sirius’ hair spills around his head like ink. Dark tendrils framing a face so
achingly beautiful Remus sometimes can’t believe it’s real.

“Remus,” Sirius breathes. “Kiss me?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, simply reaching out to grab Remus by his t-shirt and haul him
closer. Remus goes. Of course, he goes. When Sirius is looking at him with that intensity, like
Remus is someone he wants to keep even though he knows he shouldn’t, he can’t say no.

Their kissing is just as feverish as it was on the stairs. Clothes are discarded at record pace, and
Remus suddenly finds himself naked in bed with Sirius Black.

And he—he has to stop. To take a moment. He’s overwhelmed.

“Wait,” he says, wrenching himself away from Sirius’ mouth. Rolling onto his back to lie next to
Sirius, Remus pinches his eyes closed.

For an excruciating heartbeat, all that can be heard is the sound of two boys, almost men, panting.
And then, “Did I do something wrong?”

Remus laughs. He can’t help it because the idea that Sirius, the most gorgeous, the most perfect,
the sexiest man to ever grace the planet, could do anything wrong in a situation like this is so
absurd Remus can’t react any other way. Honestly, Sirius could punch Remus right now and he’d
thank him, then carry on with what they were doing.

“Remus?” Sirius asks, voice small and embarrassed.

And that—no.
“No,” Remus says, recovering. He doesn't want Sirius to be embarrassed of what he wants. Ever.
“No, it's fine. It's—I just. What the fuck, Sirius? What are we doing?”

Sirius pushes himself up so he can sit. Remus’ eyes trail the curve of his spine. He’d like to kiss a
path up it, licking every little bone until he got to his neck. He’s obsessed with Sirius’ neck.

“Well, I’m obviously not an expert,” Sirius says, trying for light but sounding a bit stiff. “But I
thought we were about to have sex.”

Remus’ dick twitches, because it agrees with Sirius. It always agrees with Sirius.

“Yes, but why?” Remus asks.

This is, apparently, shocking enough that Sirius gets over his bout of shyness and twists to look at
Remus with an appalled expression on his face. “What do you mean why?”

“I… mean exactly that. Why this? Why with me?”

Sirius blinks. Blinks again. “Remus,” he says very carefully, very slowly. “You are hot as fuck.”

Remus feels the weight pulling him under again. He’s going to sink so much further this time. All
the way to the bottom of the ocean.

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Sirius says indignant.

“Is this what you want?”

Sirius’ eyes blaze, intense and devilish. A little wicked, too. “Is that what this is? You just want me
to say it?”

He flips himself onto all fours and crawls slowly over Remus, whose mouth has gone completely
dry at the sight. Hovering over his face, Sirius leans down until his mouth is at Remus’ ear.

“Remus Lupin, I want you.” He pulls away. They lock eyes. “Are you going to let me have it or
not?”

A smarter man would refuse. Would say this isn’t a good idea. They’re friends, and friends
shouldn’t do this—whatever this is. They’ll regret it, eventually. A smarter man would stop now,
while he still can.

Remus is not a smarter man. Remus is just Remus. And he’s weak. Oh, so fucking weak.

So, he reaches for Sirius, and Sirius comes willingly, and then they’re kissing again. This time,
Remus doesn’t stop.

After, when they’re both lying side by side and smoking—James will have their heads for it, but
Remus cannot give a single fuck right now—Remus braces himself for the inevitable. Sirius will
scramble away, possibly be awkward about it. Ask him to not tell anyone.

He feels movement, and his every muscle tenses. He’ll take the punch. He’s ready for it.

“Moony?” Sirius asks.

“Hmm?” Remus won’t look at him. He’ll deal with what’s coming, but don’t ask Remus to look his
 executioner in the eye as he delivers the blow. He’s not that strong.

“Can I pass out here?” is what Sirius asks. “M’too tired to go to my bed.”

Oh.

Fuck.

Please, don’t, Remus thinks desperately. Don’t sleep here with me after we just did that. It’s going
to be hard enough to pretend we’re just friends as it is. Please. Don’t.

“Yeah, Pads,” is what he says, because he’s a fucking masochist. “Yeah, you can sleep here.”

Chapter End Notes

James is a supportive king and if his boyfriend has to get a peck on the lips by Pandora
to not be eviscerated by his mother, he'll stand by it. IT'S TRUE.

Regulus struggling because he doesn't know how to deal with his situation is so valid :
( Breaks my heart. He knows time is running out but he's trying to not get carried away
so James believes him when he breaks up with him and it's just... honestly, he's in an
impossible position. Like, he can't win no matter what he does. I WANT TO GIVE
HIM A HUG :(

Dorcas and Marlene freaking out over how touchy and soft Regulus is with James,
tho? HILARIOUS. They're like... is this the same man who can only receive hugs via
proxy? REALLY!?

And then... more Horcrux revelations! YES LITTLE KING PUT IT TOGETHER!!
He's so smart and I really wanted Pandora to have something to do with it because
Luna helps Harry find the diadem and I thought this was a nice parallel!!

FINALLY. I mean. WOLFSTAR RISING. I just--AAAH. AMAZING. I love them so

much. We're on the way up, my lovelies. After all this time and suffering, things are
HAPPENING. And I didn't blow anything up immediately after they got together this
time!!

Thank you so much for your support as always <3

See you in the comments section!! I love you all!

 Happy Valentine's Day
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

This chapter includes Valentine's Day which is a total coincidence with it being
tomorrow for real (!) but I think works out nicely!!

TWs for this chapter:

Some very minor mentions of health-related issues (it's really extremely minor)
Bullying
Slurs / name calling (m-word for muggle borns)
References to homophobia
Smoking
Grief and loss of a family member (not a POV character or anyone we know, but it
happens)
Discussions of the war and the victims of it
Depiction of anxiety / panic attack
Discussions of sex

I think that's it! This chapter has a mix of fluff and angst and some parts that I think
can be quite sad so just bear that in mind!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Well, you can see what it looks like in the Ravenclaw common room,” Myrtle is explaining,
hovering near Regulus. “There’s a statue of Rowena Ravenclaw there.”

“I’ve seen it,” Regulus recalls. He’s been in there with Pandora once or twice, on the odd occasion.
“And I know what a diadem looks like, Myrtle. I just need to know where it is. What happened to
it.”

“You’ve been to the Ravenclaw Tower?”

“I’m friends with one of them. Pandora,” Regulus says, shrugging. “She doesn’t know anything
about it other than what’s in the history books. Which isn’t much at all.”

“I’m going to have to ask Helena,” Myrtle says mournfully. “It’s the only way.”

“Why do you sound so upset about it?”

The floor of the bathroom is freezing, and Regulus’ butt is a little numb. He’s been here all
afternoon with Myrtle, discussing their options for finding the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.
Regulus has learnt that her daughter, Helena, is the ghost of Ravenclaw tower. This, he thinks,
makes things a lot easier.

Myrtle disagrees, clearly.

"She’s so strange and guarded,” Myrtle complains. “I daresay she’s harder to talk to than the
Baron.”
Regulus shrugs, shoots Myrtle a very calculated look. “I can go talk to her, then.”

“No!” Myrtle blurts out, a bit too quickly.

Holding back the triumphant grin, Regulus nods. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

With a contented sigh, Myrtle floats closer to him and sits on the floor at his side. “I heard from
Peeves they’re releasing the Slytherins today. They finally found the cure to that thing on their
skin.”

Regulus groans, lets his head fall against the wall. “Don’t remind me.”

Myrtle giggles. “You’re so smart, Regulus. I don’t think anyone’s managed to quarantine an entire
house before.”

Regulus will have to go talk to Barty and Evan sooner rather than later. They don’t know it was
him, but he’ll come clean, he thinks. They deserve it. They’re still his friends, and he doesn’t want
to antagonise them unnecessarily. Understandably, Regulus expects that they’ll be pissed, but he
had no choice. He couldn’t exactly spare the only three people he likes and himself. That would
have been a dead giveaway. He risked enough making sure Dorcas was out.

“Let’s see if I’m smart enough to figure out the diadem mystery,” he mutters.

It’s nice, he thinks, to have someone who’s willing to help and can’t be hurt by it. Myrtle is already
dead, so getting her involved—even tangentially, because she has no idea about the Horcruxes—is
safe. A ghost can’t suffer. She can’t die again.

Giggling, Myrtle dares to put a hand on his shoulder. It feels cold, and a bit strange. Definitely not
human, which is the only reason Regulus can stand it. “You’ll find it. I won’t stop until Helena
tells me. I promise.”

“What would I do without you, Myrtle?” Regulus says, only because he knows the effect it’ll have
on her.

As intended, Myrtle dissolves into even more giggles, batting her eyelashes at him. And… yes,
there it is. The twinge of guilt. Regulus wishes he didn’t feel it. He’s not supposed to feel it. But
Myrtle is so… lonely. She lives in her sad little toilet stall, alone all day, crying because that’s
what she was doing when she died. It’s a pretty shitty existence.

Regulus gets up and waits the customary second for Myrtle to dart forward and kiss his cheek.
“See you tomorrow?”

“Probably not,” Regulus says. “Wednesday.”

“Oh. Wednesday?” Myrtle asks in a tone that gives Regulus pause.

He narrows his eyes at the ghost, cocks his head. “Why do you sound so winded?”

Myrtle twirls a strand of hair around her finger and gives him a coy smile that makes all the guilt
he’d felt earlier evaporate instantly. “It’s Valentine’s Day on Wednesday.”

Ah.

Wait, what?

Is he supposed to do something about that? Is Valentine’s Day something James cares about? They
haven’t discussed it. Regulus has never really paid attention to this sort of thing, so he just
assumed… but James is a bloody romantic, isn’t he? Regulus bets James loves the whole situation.
Ah fuck.

“Right,” Regulus says, feeling agitated. “Maybe Wednesday, maybe Thursday. I don’t know. I
don’t care for Valentine’s Day.”

Myrtle wilts visibly but Regulus has bigger things to worry about so with a quick goodbye he exits
the bathroom and heads towards the dungeons. Now that quarantine has been lifted, Dorcas should
be somewhere down there for appearances sake. He needs to talk to her and get some advice on
what to do.

Or does he?

Regulus slows his steps, mind roiling with thoughts. What if he simply… missed Valentine’s Day?
It would send a little signal to James, right? And it’s an easy one because Regulus didn’t even care
about this stupid day to begin with.

The thought of James’ disappointed face flashes in Regulus mind, making his insides curdle.

Salazar’s socks, he’s hopeless. Get it together, Black. But it doesn’t matter how much he scolds
himself; Regulus is very aware of how much he doesn’t want to hurt James even a little bit.

And if he can’t bring himself to disappoint James about something as superfluous as Valentine’s
Day… how is he going to break up with him?

Regulus has worked himself into a truly foul mood by the time he barges into his dorm.

“It fucking stinks in here,” he says as soon as he’s through the door.

Barty and Evan look at him, both in the process of getting dressed, presumably to go to dinner
which will be soon.

“Well, hello to you, too,” says Evan.

“Anything interesting happen while we were in prison?” Barty asks, emerging from the jumper
he’s just put on.

Regulus ignores this, going straight to his bed to check the notebook is where he left it.
Fortunately, his warding spells seem to have held, as the bag with it is untouched. Relieved,
Regulus begins to undress. He’s been wearing the same shirt for a week—laundered by Tappy
every night, of course, but still—and he’s dying to wear something different.

He’s shrugging on a new shirt when the door to their room opens and lets Selwyn and a stern
looking woman in.

“Hurry up, Edward,” the woman is saying, chasing after him with quick steps that click against the
stone floor. “Time is of the essence.”

“Just wait outside, mother,” Selwyn replies irritably. “Can’t you see they’re changing?”

Selwyn’s mother looks around, seemingly noticing there are other people in the room for the first
time. “Oh. Oh, right. Yes.”

As soon as the door is closed, Selwyn begins shoving things into his trunk rather aggressively.
Regulus has never paid much attention to him, but this is definitely the most agitated he’s ever
seen the boy.

“What’s that about?” Trust Barty to ask the awkward questions, Regulus thinks fondly. Bless him.

“I’m leaving,” Selwyn replies bitterly. “Stupid fungus prank spooked mother. She’s home
schooling me from now on.”

Evan has to turn around to hide the downright delighted expression on his face. Barty’s smirk is
crueller. He’s enjoying this, Regulus knows. Can’t blame him, either. Regulus had been hoping for
this outcome, too.

“Spooked?”

Selwyn rolls his eyes. “Told you I had a health scare in the autumn. She doesn’t want me around so
many people anymore. Thinks I could catch something.”

“You didn’t tell us,” Barty replies.

“I told him,” Selwyn says, pointing towards Regulus who’s pretending to be absorbed in his
collection of rings, selecting new jewellery after a week of being stuck with the same one.

“You told Regulus,” Barty muses, a calculating glint in his eyes. “Well. Too bad, huh?”

Selwyn scoffs, waves his wand a little too aggressively and causes his books to fly at his trunk with
too much force. Frustrated, Selwyn decides to manually sort them.

“Please. You lot won’t even notice I’m gone. It’s not like you acknowledge my existence most of
the time.”

“I’m going for dinner,” Regulus says. “You two coming?”

Barty and Evan get up, ready to leave. To Regulus’ surprise, Selwyn calls after him. “See? This is
what I mean. You’re fucking heartless, Black.”

“Why, Selwyn,” Regulus drawls slowly. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

With that, and a mocking wink, Regulus exits the dorm with Barty and Evan. They find Dorcas
waiting for them by the entrance to the common room, and all four of them head to the Great Hall
together.

Dorcas catches Barty and Evan up on recent events which include the Gryffindor Quidditch victory
and a rather hilarious incident in Charms lesson where someone accidentally made every person in
their class speak in song only for a whole day.

“So,” Barty says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Are you going to apologise or what?”

Dorcas and Evan exchange a look, but don’t intervene. Regulus cocks an eyebrow. “I got rid of
him, didn’t I?”

“Oh, so it was you,” Evan exclaims. “Fucking hell, Reg, we were stuck in that dorm for seven
days.”

“I couldn’t exactly spare you without it being bloody obvious,” Regulus replies, scowling.

“You spared yourself!”

“Actually, he almost died,” Dorcas snaps, narrowing her eyes at Barty and Evan. “I think that was
enough punishment.”

Barty’s eyes widen. “What do you mean he almost died?”

Regulus shakes his head, but Dorcas apparently wants to make a point. “He reacted badly to the
powder. Allergic reaction. I barely got him to Madame Pomfrey in time, and that’s the reason he
avoided quarantine.”

“Oh fuck,” Evan says, looking contrite. “Sorry, Reg.”

“Drop it,” he snaps. “Dorcas, Selwyn’s gone for good, by the way.”

A group of third years thunder down the corridor just as they turn the corner. Regulus wrinkles his
nose in distaste. Why can’t people just walk places? They look like a horde of little barbarians,
stomping their feet with no grace whatsoever.

One of them miscalculates as they overtake the Slytherins and jostles Barty. And Barty, who is
still simmering with annoyance but can’t exactly take it out on Regulus after finding out he almost
died, takes his chance.

“Watch this,” Barty says before hitting the boy’s back with a hex that causes his legs to start
dancing uncontrollably.

The boy yelps upon being hit, then stumbles and falls on his hands and knees as he loses his
balance. Evan chortles, but Dorcas whirls around and glares at Barty. “What the fuck, Crouch?”

Concerned, the third year’s friends have stopped their stampeding to help their friend. He’s crying
now, which Regulus thinks is a bit over the top. A simple counter spell will solve the issue in two
seconds flat, there’s no need for hysterics.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” Barty sneers at the boy as they walk past him.

“That’s not cool,” Dorcas hisses. “You can’t just go around hexing—”

“Oi, Crouch!”

They all stop, look over their shoulders. Lily Evans is helping the poor kid to his feet gently, but
her face is like thunder.

“Fifteen points off Slytherin and you’ll be serving detention with Slughorn for hexing younger
students in the corridors.”

Barty’s mouth twists itself into a sneer. “I don’t think so.”

Determined, Evans steps forward, shielding the boys retreating. She’s fierce, this girl. Her
shoulders are thrown back, and she’s gripping her wand like she won’t hesitate to use it. Regulus
takes a step to the side and leans against the wall, curious to watch the scene unfold. Dorcas, on the
other hand, is not having it.

“Barty, that was uncalled for and Lily has a point,” she says. “Let it go and take the detention.”

“Shut up, Dorcas!” Barty snaps.

Regulus straightens, not amused anymore. He gets Barty is in a mood, but that’s not reason to yell
at Dorcas.
Fortunately, Evan seems to agree. Firmly, he puts a hand on Barty’s shoulder. “Hey. Barty, mate,
it’s not worth it.”

“I didn’t spend a whole fucking week locked in a room for this filthy mudblood to give me
detention the minute I’m out!” Barty snarls.

To Evans’ credit, she doesn’t even flinch. Her eyes harden—a pretty shade of green—and she
raises her wand. “That’s another ten points off Slytherin for foul language, Crouch.”

“Barty, for fuck’s sake!” Evan steps in front of him, back turned to the red haired girl so he can
stare his boyfriend down. “Stop making it worse, yeah? I don’t want you in detention when we’ve
just got rid of Selwyn.”

For a long, tense moment, Barty glares at Evan like he’s going to start throwing hexes left, right
and centre. But then Evan puts his hand on Barty’s chest, and Barty just… melts. The fight leaves
him all at once, and he shoves his wand into his pocket.

“Whatever,” he says. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

The two boys start down the corridor. Dorcas looks at Evans apologetically, but the red-haired girl
only shakes her head. Conflicted, Dorcas hesitates for a moment and that seems enough of an
opening for Evans to address Regulus, who stayed with Dorcas.

“You’re supposed to act like a prefect at all times, Black. Not just when it’s convenient,” Evans
says, looking at Regulus with disdain. “Just because they’re your friends doesn’t mean you can just
let them be.”

“If kids don’t want to be hexed, they should learn to walk instead of stomping down the halls like
animals,” he says primly.

Evans makes an exasperated noise, but Regulus has had enough. He starts walking away and is
relieved when Dorcas falls into step next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, Regulus watches her
fidget with her sleeve for about a minute.

“Go on, say it,” he snaps.

Dorcas rolls her eyes. “It’s just… aren’t you worried Lily will tell James?”

“No,” he says. It’s the truth. James should know by now—because Regulus has told him about a
million times—that he is not a good person. He’s not some selfless saint walking around defending
the innocent. Regulus is selfish and cannot be bothered with other people’s drama unless they're
his people.

“Really? Not even a little bit?” Dorcas asks, surprised.

“James knows I’m… me,” Regulus says, shrugging. “But you clearly are worried she’ll tell
Marlene.”

“Marlene is a bit worried about… well, about Barty,” Dorcas tells Regulus quietly. “Evan is too
soft, but Barty… he’s made a few comments here and there that rub Marls off the wrong way. She
thinks he enjoys being cruel.”

“She’s not wrong,” Regulus says simply.

“Right,” Dorcas says, sounding a bit defeated. “It’s just. He’s never cruel to me, so I like him. You
know? He’s my friend. But if he’s cruel to other people, what’s that mean?”

“Dorcas. I’m cruel to other people, too,” Regulus points out.

“Not like he is. Not for your amusement,” Dorcas says. “I just… I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels
like Barty’s cruel for fun and that’s a bit fucked up.”

Regulus has nothing to say to that, because it is, once again, the truth. So he stays silent for a
moment, considering what Dorcas has said. Regulus doesn’t particularly care that Barty is cruel to
other people for fun or for any other reason. He likes Barty. He’s his first friend. And Barty has
had a truly terrible upbringing. Is it his fault if he’s a little off? Regulus thinks that so long as it’s
not against one of theirs, Barty can do whatever he wants. It’s not like Regulus hasn’t done his fair
share of bad shit. He’s in no position to judge anyone else.

“So,” he says when they’ve left the corridor behind, trying to sound casual about it. “Wednesday. I
ehm… are you…?”

Why is it so fucking difficult to say shit? Honestly. You’d think for someone as intelligent and
cultured as Regulus, simple speech would be a piece of cake.

Fortunately, Dorcas knows him well enough to piece his struggle together. “Aw, look at you
having a little gay panic about Valentine’s Day.”

“I will hurt you,” Regulus hisses.

Dorcas laughs. “No, you won’t. What’s the issue?”

Sighing, Regulus runs a hand through his hair. “Am I like… supposed to do something about it?”

They arrive at the Great Hall and are immediately swallowed by the raucous noise. Regulus does
his best to pretend it doesn’t bother him.

“Is Valentine’s Day something James cares about?” Dorcas asks him as they make their way to
Slytherin table.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then. Find out before you work yourself into a state over whether you should be planning
something,” Dorcas advises him.

Regulus rolls his eyes, because she makes it sound so simple. Every single Slytherin in the school
has come for dinner today, eager to be out of the dungeons after a full week being locked inside.

He’ll have time to worry about Valentine’s Day later, Regulus tells himself as he slides into his
seat between Evan and Rabastan Lestrange. For now, he’s got to make sure nobody suspects him
of planning the attack on Slytherin. Deliberately, Regulus sits with his back to the Gryffindor table.
If Lily Evans is going to go crying to James, he doesn’t want to witness it.

Dinner is livened up by Rabastan’s passionate account of the drama that went down in his dorm
during quarantine, which involved a fight between Mulciber and Avery when it came to light
they’d both been sleeping with the same girl. There’s bad blood between them at the moment,
which explains why Avery is on one end of the table with Snape, while Dolohov is with Mulciber
on the other.

When they get up to leave, Dorcas leans in closer to Regulus and whispers, “I’m going to go see
Marlene but I’ll come sleep in your room tonight. Would be too suspicions if I didn’t show in the
common room the first day after quarantine.”

Regulus nods. He already told James he wouldn’t be able to meet him tonight for that exact reason.
After a week in lockdown, the Slytherins are all a bit twitchy and Regulus won’t risk anyone
paying him attention if he does anything unusual.

So, Regulus walks with Rabastan, Evan and Barty back to the common room. He sits with them in
front of the fire and listens as they discuss in hushed tones what they’ve heard from their parents
about the war’s progress. Well, Evan and Rabastan do. Barty’s father is on the other side of the
war.

It’s all very vague and abstract, but Regulus supposes it makes them feel important. Involved in
some way even though they’re still in school.

After proudly declaring that his brother is ‘very close’ with the Dark Lord and practically his best
mate—something Regulus doubts very much because Riddle doesn’t strike him as someone who’d
bother with something as human as friendship—Rabastan turns pensive eyes towards him.

“Is it true you’re getting marked in April?” Rabastan asks, pitching his voice very low.

Barty and Evan’ synchronized intake of breath is very sharp.

“Yes.”

“You’ll want to have some murtlap essence to hand,” he says sympathetically. “The first few days
it hurts like a bitch. Knocks you the fuck out. It’s… not nice.”

This makes Barty’s eyes pop out dramatically. “Wait. You’ve got it already?”

Rabastan preens like a fucking peacock. “Yes.”

Intrigued, both his friends lean closer. Looking around first to make sure they aren’t being
watched, Barty whispers. “Show me.”

Regulus thinks Rabastan is an idiot. They’re not supposed to be flashing it around, not supposed to
be bragging about it. But Rabastan is also still just a kid. If Voldemort doesn’t want his Death
Eaters showing off, he shouldn’t be marking seventeen year olds.

Pulling his sleeve back carefully, Rabastan reveals the mark on his left arm. Barty and Evan
exchange glances, leaning even closer to examine it. There’s a glint in Barty’s eye that Regulus
doesn’t like. The same sort of wild, crazed look he gets when he’s thinking of doing something
that’ll set his father off.

Still, despite his unease, Regulus is very careful not to react in any way. As far as his friends are
concerned, he’s unbothered by this. The mark is hardly something to be impressed by when he’s
been in the presence of Lord Voldemort himself.

Without really thinking about what he’s doing, Regulus runs his fingers up and down his inner left
arm. And it hits him, right there in the common room, with friends who are gushing over
Rabastan’s mark. It hits him that the little star James draws on him is in the same place the mark
will go.

Regulus has to swallow the bile that rises to the back of his mouth. Not even that he gets to keep,
he thinks to himself. When enough time has passed and he’s in the throes of war, fighting tooth and
nail, drenched in blood and lost in the darkness, he’ll try to think of the sun. And Regulus isn’t sure
he’ll be able to remember.

***

Later that night, Regulus spells his curtains shut and adds a protective charm that should,
theoretically, contain any magic inside of it. Dorcas hasn’t returned yet, but Barty and Evan are
together in Evan’s bed under a rather strong silencing charm. Regulus hopes this doesn’t
accidentally backfire and hurt them, but he’s got to stop wasting time.

With a quick glance at the vials lined on his pillow—an assortment of healing and defensive
potions—he rolls his shoulders back and takes a self-inking quill.

The notebook stares back at him. A blank page waiting for words. What should he write? What
sort of notes would Tom Riddle have jotted down? Surely nothing as mundane as to-do lists or
potion ingredients. That seems absurd.

Observations, perhaps? Of what kind? Regulus can’t exactly make notes on his research here. He
has no idea if this book will alert Lord Voldemort of what he writes, so he has to be very cautious.
It has to be something that can’t be traced to him. Something Regulus would never write.

And then, inspiration strikes.

Carefully, Regulus presses the tip of the quill on the page and scribbles:

Ideas to surprise my boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.

1. Charm a portrait to serenade him when he walks past

2. Prepare a picnic and sneak up to the Astronomy Tower at night
3. Buy him a present?

Regulus pauses, thinking. This is something completely inane. He is certain that even if this book
alerted Voldemort of it, he wouldn’t be concerned beyond the fact that it’s in the wrong hands.
There’s no way he’d be able to tell whose hands, either.

With bated breath, Regulus waits.

Before his eyes, the ink seeps into the pages and disappears. Regulus bites his lip in excitement. He
was expecting something to happen. This is a promising start.

And then, new words appear on the page. Words he hasn’t written.

Hello. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?

Regulus feels a surge of exhilaration. A diary! He should have known. Alright. Okay. If this is a
diary, then it expects inner thoughts. Dark magic feeds off emotions often. Fear, most likely.
Vulnerability. Weakness.

Well, then.

I found it in Knockturn Alley. My name is

—What name should he use? A girl, he decides. Because he wrote about a boyfriend and he’s not
going to get grief about being gay from a fucking diary. He also has a feeling that Tom Riddle will
automatically underestimate a girl, because he’s that kind of person.
Evelyn Selwyn.

The ink disappears. Then,

Are you, perhaps, a student at Hogwarts?

Regulus’ eyebrow rises, but he hurries to reply.

Yes. A Slytherin. Did you go to Hogwarts, too?

I did. I, too, was in Slytherin.

Oh, good. I would have had to throw this away if you’d been elsewhere.

Is that so?

Yes. Mother says it’s better to not even touch things that might have been handled by mu—

Regulus dislikes the slur. Thinks it’s… well, he doesn’t want to use it. But this is Voldemort’s
diary. He’s got no choice.

Handled by mudbloods. I agree with her. It’s truly appalling the number of impures they allow into
Hogwarts these days.

Evelyn, how would you like to do something about that?

Regulus does smile then, in the privacy of his bed. He scribbles a response, then another. And
about an hour later, he’s holding his breath as Tom Riddle’s diary tells him how to find, open, and
control the monster in the Chamber of Secrets. And isn’t it hilarious that it’s Voldemort himself
who gives Regulus the means to solve one of his biggest problems?

Because it hadn’t escaped Regulus’ notice that discovering and locating the Horcruxes wasn’t the
hardest part of the task ahead. No. The hardest part was always going to be destroying them.
Regulus doesn’t have a list of things that would effectively ruin Horcruxes—he’s not sure that list
exists anywhere. Because they’re supposed to be near indestructible.

But what he does know, as a renowned potioner and gifted wizard, is that nothing and no one
survives Basilisk venom.

He's willing to bet Horcruxes are not an exception.

####

With all the sneaking around to spend time with Regulus, James has barely hung out in the
Gryffindor common room this year with the exception of actual parties. He’d forgotten how much
he likes it. It’s lively and noisy. People do homework in groups or play explosive snap by the fire.
The air smells of burning wood and parchment, with the sweet undertone of the candy younger
students pass back and forth.

Smiling, he reclines on his armchair and stretches his hands over his head. He’s just finished a
rather long essay on Transfiguration, which was a piece of cake but took the better part of two
hours to write. He’s a bit tired, but he should really get started on the paper for Defence Against
the Dark Arts.

He’s only just pulled out his book and spread the parchment on the table when Lily walks in with
Remus, venting quietly to the boy who looks a little concerned by whatever Lily is telling him.
“Hi,” James waves at them when he catches Remus’ eye.

“Oh, hi James,” Lily says, then points at the armchair opposite him. “Is this chair free?”

Remus goes to perch on the windowsill, cracking it open a tad to light a cigarette. Lily wrinkles her
nose, but doesn’t tell him off.

“What’s got you all worked up?” James asks her, curious.

Remus shoots him a look that says ‘you’ve made a mistake, my dude’ but James can’t take the
question back, so he settles in as Lily takes a deep breath to clearly begin to ramble again. She
starts going on about Slytherins, and their bullying, and how she had to stop Barty bloody Crouch
from terrorising some poor third year students earlier.

James is only half listening, not because he’s not interested, but because Lily is talking really fast
and it’s a bit hard to keep up with everything she’s saying. That is, until the word Regulus falls
from her lips.

“Wait, what?” James sits up.

Lily pauses, frowns. “Sorry?”

“What happened with Re—Black. Sirius’ brother,” James says, leaning forward.

“Ah. Well, he’s a terrible prefect! Can you believe he was there and just… did nothing! Crouch
was hexing this poor kid, and Regulus Black was just standing by. Unbelievable. They give badges
to just about anyone these days,” she says viciously, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Ah,” James says, a bit lost for words. He understands the principle of what Lily is saying, but he’s
also just inclined to forgive Regulus for pretty much anything. And it sounds like he didn’t even do
the hexing, just let it happen.

“Ah? James Potter, just because he’s the little brother of your best friend doesn’t mean he gets a
free pass!”

On the windowsill, Remus coughs a little in a way that tells James he’s stifling a laugh. Traitor.

“Yeah, no. You are right, Lily,” James says solemnly. “Despicable, the lot of them.”

“You’re taking the mick,” Lily says, pouting.

James can’t help it, he starts laughing. It’s Remus’ fault, really. If he hadn’t laughed first and tried
to disguise it with that stupid little cough, James wouldn’t have broken himself.

“Sorry, Lily,” James says between laughs. “Sounds like no one got hurt, yes? And you gave
Crouch detention?”

“Well, yes.”

“It’d be a bit hypocritical of me to act holier than thou when I’ve hexed people in the corridors,
too,” James says, hoping that settles it.

Lily gasps. “You heathen!”

Now Remus is laughing, too. Lily rolls her eyes, but she’s giggling a bit, cheeks blushing prettily.
Tentatively, he nudges her foot with his. “Come on. Not worth ruining your entire evening over
Barty Crouch now, is it?”

“Slytherins are in a shit mood because they’ve been coped up for a week,” Remus muses. “Was
bound to happen. There’ll be worse to come tomorrow.”

“Always so positive our Remus, huh?” Lily says with a small smile.

The conversations drifts towards the homework James is finishing. Lily asks to see his
Transfiguration essay, and James is happy to oblige. She’s going through his work when he notices
that it’s snowing outside again. They got some early snow at the beginning of the month but
nowhere near enough for what he wants.

This, however, is a proper storm. A blizzard! He lets out a delighted yelp that has Remus looking
at him like he’s a lunatic.

“What now?” he asks.

James can only smile. “It’s snowing.”

“Huh?”

James waves a hand dismissively. It’s such perfect timing! If it snows all of tomorrow, it’ll be
perfect for Wednesday. James can barely contain himself—best Valentine’s Day date ever.

For a while, James gets lost in his own head, thinking about where to meet Reg so they can fly out
to the caves he wants to show him. They can’t meet on the roof, like the first time he took him
flying. The room is also not a good place, because they’d have to walk the entire school together to
get out. Which they can manage, under James’ cloak, but seems a bit too complicated. Perhaps he
can ask Regulus to meet him down by the Quidditch rooms. Yes. That’s what he’ll do.

James is feeling very pleased with himself, relaxed into his armchair and enjoying his evening.
Remus is still perched on the windowsill, looking out pensively. Lily is jotting down notes for her
own essay now that she’s checked James’.

It’s all rather peaceful until McGonagall steps in through the portrait, immediately halting every
single conversation. Remus flicks the cigarette he was smoking—has to be the third one tonight, at
least—out the window with such expertise he could be a trickster.

The Head of Gryffindor House doesn’t usually chill in their common room, so her presence makes
James a bit uneasy. Something must have happened. She scans the space, and James feels Remus
tense when her eyes drift towards them, but she carries on. It’s not them, this time.

“Ah, Mr. Thomas, if you could please come with me. There’s something we must discuss,”
McGonagall says, finding the fourth year student she was looking for.

The shift in the atmosphere is immediate. It tips over from curious and a little wary into grieving.
They all know what it means, Thomas most of all. He’s crying before he’s even had a chance to
stand up, shaking his head and muttering ‘no, no, no’ like if he refuses to go with McGonagall it
won’t be true.

James feels bile rise to the back of his throat. This keeps happening more and more. Families torn
apart by the war. Deaths. Disappearances. Attacks. Nobody is safe.

Across from him, Lily’s hands are shaking. She’s lost all colour on her face and is struggling to
breathe. When the shaking moves from just her hands to her entire body, James can’t bear it.
Without thinking too much about it, James moves over and scoops her up, sitting on her armchair
and cradling her against him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

Thomas is still wailing, and McGonagall is patiently waiting while his friends try to coax him to go
with her. It’s heartbreaking. James feels his arms tighten around Lily, desperate to comfort
someone. To do something to help in any way he can.

Lily is not doing well. Her breaths come out shallow and quick and he can feel her heartbeat
galloping inside of her. Remus looks at her with a very concerned expression that tells James if he
wasn’t already here holding her, Remus would do it.

“Lily, you’re okay. You’re safe. You’ve got to breathe.”

“It could be me,” Lily replies, turning her face against James’ chest. “Every time this happens, I
think, it’ll be my turn next. My parents. My sister.”

“I’m sorry, Lily,” James mutters against the crown of her head.

What else can he say? She’s right. As a muggle born, she’s a target more than he is. His parents
might be blood traitors, but at least they can defend themselves. The Evans can’t. Neither could the
Thomases.

James meets Remus’ eye over Lily’s head as she gently sobs into his chest. Remus’ eyes are hard,
determined. They’re thinking the same, James knows. This is why they’ll fight. This is why they
drag themselves to Hogsmeade every Sunday and train until their arms are so sore they can barely
hold their wands up.

This. Right here.

To protect people like Lily’s family. Like the Thomases. And the Claires before them. And the
Kuangs. And the Arzons.

James will be on the front lines. He’ll fight. He’ll save them all.

***

“Prongs? Psst. Prongs? Are you awake?”

Groaning, James pushes the curtains aside and comes face to face with Sirius, who’s crouching by
his bed waiting to be allowed inside.

“Wotcha,” James asks, yawning.

It’s all the invitation Sirius needs to clamber inside and cast a silencing spell. With a start, James
realises it’s been a little while since they’ve done this. Most nights these days James either comes
in late from the Come and Go Room or doesn’t come back at all. A pang of guilt bangs on his
chest, like he’s perhaps been neglecting his friends.

“How’s Red?” Is the first thing Sirius asks.

Lily had calmed down considerably by the time Sirius sauntered into the common room, but he
picked up on her distress enough to put on a bit of a silly show and make her laugh. James didn’t
miss the light shining in Remus’ eyes as he watched their friend do his best to cheer up the red
head.

“Well,” James says, scooting back to make more room for Sirius.

They’ve grown quite a bit since the early days, when they were both scrawny and short enough
they fit side by side and their shoulders didn’t reach the edges of the bed.

“She’s alright, I guess. It just sucks because I can… try to comfort her but there’s nothing I can
really say,” James explains, frustrated. “She’s right that it could be her family next and while we’re
here, we can’t do anything to stop it.”

“I think we should talk to Kingsley,” Sirius says, referring to the very young wizard who’s been
training them in Hogsmeade. “It’s not like we can’t leave the school, you know? We could help.”

James finds himself nodding along to this. They’ve left school for stupider reasons—like getting
sloshed with Rosmerta in the Three Broomsticks—surely Order business can be overlooked by
Dumbledore.

“Yeah, we’re all off age,” James adds, the idea really growing on him the more he thinks about it.
“And it would be better to start now anyway. What’s the point in waiting until June?”

“Exactly,” Sirius says, practically vibrating. “Besides, it’s not like they are waiting for people to
graduate from school.”

James doesn’t want to, but he flinches anyway. Sirius’ excited grin falls off his face. They look at
each other for a long heartbeat in the murky darkness, the soft light of Sirius’ wand between them.

Shame rises in James’ chest, coating his insides like tar. He should have been talking to Regulus
more. Trying to persuade him to renounce his family and the Dark Lord’s side completely. He
hasn’t.

It’s not that James doesn’t want to. He does. More than anything. But Regulus gets so guarded, so
defensive when he brings it up anything even remotely related to the war that it totally ruins their
time together.

And James… he’s usually not on his best judgement when he’s around Regulus. It’s so easy to get
distracted, to get lost in the feelings, the kisses, the inside jokes they have with each other. Most of
the time James simply forgets there’s a war outside, because the world ceases to exist when he’s
looking into the eyes of Regulus Black.

“Is he still…?” Sirius asks tentatively.

“Arm’s clean, yes,” James confirms. “He’s not left the school since Christmas, Sirius. It’s not like
Voldemort’s going to come to the Slytherin dungeons to ask to mark him.”

“Easter break is five weeks away,” Sirius tells James. “I’m worried. I know he’s told you he
doesn’t believe in that purity bullshit, and I get it. He doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean he’ll reject
them, James. There’s more to it, you know? Family is family, and it’s fucking hard to break away
from that.”

“He will,” James replies, fists closing over the sheets. “He has to. He has to, Sirius.”

“When did you ask him last?”

“I haven’t, not really. Not since we spoke about… the attack on New Year’s,” James admits,
hanging his head forward shamefully.

Sirius sighs, puts a hand on James’ shoulder and squeezes gently. “I want him out, James. I fucking
want my little brother back more than anything. And I don’t want to believe he’d join the Death
Eaters… But you have to be prepared for the possibility that he might.”

“No,” James chokes out. “No. Don’t. He won’t. He’ll choose me. He doesn’t believe in that. He’s
good. He’s—”

“My brother is many things, Prongs,” Sirius tells him. “I love him. I don't think I could ever stop if
I wanted to. But I'm not blind. He’s not a monster. But he’s certainly not good. He’s a selfish little
shit.”

“He’ll do the right thing. He’ll choose me,” James repeats weakly, desperately.

The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. And yet.

“I’m not my brother, James. I’m not the rebel who runs away, leaves everything behind, and then
wants to play hero. I’m not fighting the darkness. I’m embracing it, because I’m not afraid to let it
win if it gets me what I want.”

That was months ago, though. Surely… certainly, what Regulus wants now is James? Because
James wants Regulus so much. So, so much he can’t even think straight. People change. Priorities
change. Is it really so far fetched to believe that Regulus has grown over time and that he will want
to stay with James? To join his side?

“He will, Sirius,” he repeats. “I’ve got to believe he wants to.”

“James,” Sirius says gently. “I… I’m just not sure he can.”

James looks up at his best friend. His brother. There’s so much fucking pain in his face, because he
too wants Regulus to just… join them. Fight with them. On their side.

“I don’t know what to do, Sirius,” James confesses. “I love him so much. I thought… I thought
that’d be enough, you know? I hope that’ll be enough.”

“Maybe it will be,” Sirius replies. “Fuck. I hope it is, Prongs. I really do.”

“I feel like there’s a but coming.”

“But I think you should try talking to him again about it. We should… ehm… be prepared, either
way.”

No.

His chest lurches in protest. He will not be prepared. Will never prepare himself for that because
that can’t happen. Because James isn’t sure he’ll survive it, if Regulus… if they…

Something inside of him shrivels up and dies at the thought. Like, no. James won't survive it, so
Regulus better not. It's not happening.

“Right,” James says a bit jerkily.

“James,” Sirius whispers, leaning closer. “If anyone can save him, it’ll be you. I just… I loved him,
too. Once.”
And it wasn’t enough.

Sirius doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to. James was there when Sirius showed up at his door,
broken in so many places his body barely functioned. And yet, the pain of those wounds was
nothing. Nothing compared to the keening, blubbering litany falling from Sirius mouth.

“He said no. He said no. He said no.”

Suddenly, James sees Sirius with a new clarity. Newfound respect. Not that James didn’t respect
him before, he did, enormously, for finding the strength to break free. But he never really
understood what that night did to him. How it broke something foundational inside his spirit.

If he tries to imagine a moment when Regulus says no to him, James feels a primal sort of ache that
cleaves his soul in half until he stops. Until he banishes the idea.

Sirius is the strongest, bravest person James has ever known.

“Hey,” James says, nudging Sirius’ knee with his own. “Let’s talk about something happy, yeah?”

For some reason, this makes Sirius blush from neck to hairline. James’ eyebrows fly up so hard, his
glasses slip down his nose a little. “Pads?”

“Yeah, uh…” Sirius runs a hand through his hair, grabs the back of his neck and makes a little sort
of twisted grimace with his mouth. “I kinda… I mean… Moony and I…”

James’ heart is pounding in his chest. You’d think he’s a part of this relationship with how invested
he is in its success. No wonder Regulus teases him endlessly about it.

“We… you know. I mean, wait. Is it sex if it’s just hands? And kissing, like, a lot of kissing. And
well, we definitely—”

“I’m going to stop you right there!” James says forcefully. “No details. Do not. I don’t want to
know. This is Moony we’re talking about.”

“But I always tell you about the girls,” Sirius says, frowning. “What’s the point in you discovering
gay sex before me if you’re not going to help me out?”

“You don’t need me to help you out, Sirius,” James says. “Because the person you’re having sex
with is the person who told me what I needed to know.”

Sirius rears back dramatically. “Moony talked to you about sex?!”

“Sweeping that one under the rug,” James says hurriedly. “What happened with you and Moony?”

Fortunately for James, this gets Sirius’ attention immediately and he forgets to be dramatic about
James and Regulus’ sex life and Remus’ interference with it. He puts both hands on the mattress in
front of him and leans forward, eyes wide and cheeks pink.

“So. The party yesterday? I uhm… Remus came upstairs looking for cigarettes and I saw him, and
I decided to, you know, check on him…”

“You followed him to the dorm, basically,” James says, highly entertained.

“Eh, yes. And then, well. We… kissed. And kissed some more. And then we fell into his bed…
and stayed there,” Sirius says, fighting the huge grin on his face.
James is so happy there is no other course of action but to fully tackle his best friend. He just
launches himself at Sirius, who’s ready for James, and takes the impact with a soft grunt before
they both topple half out of the bed.

Giggling, they scramble back inside before they accidentally wake Remus or Peter up.

“Fucking finally, mate,” James says, so pleased he could run a lap around the school right now.

Sirius bites his lip. “Yeah. I mean, yes. But also… what do I do now?”

James’ stomach does a little lurch. “What do you mean what do I do now?”

“We didn’t… ah. We didn’t do a lot of talking, you know? I have no idea if Remus thinks it’s a one
time thing,” Sirius admits.

Honestly. These two idiots are going to be the death of James. Of course Remus and Sirius would
fool around and then be too stupid to try and find out what it means. James has, quite frankly, had
enough. He said he wouldn’t meddle, but he’s meddling. Big time. Full on. Up to his fucking
elbows deep in this mess.

“Sirius Orion Black,” he says, clamping both hands on his shoulders firmly. “You are going to talk
to Moony tomorrow and tell him what you want. That you like him and that you want to date him.
Do you hear me?”

The sound that Sirius emits isn’t completely human. It’s more like a sort of pitiful whine that’s
halfway to something Padfoot would make.

“Tell him what now?”

“You heard me,” James says firmly. “You’ll tell him how you feel.”

Sirius looks downright horrified. “Why can’t he do that? Tell him to tell me how he feels. Problem
solved!”

This is, admittedly, not the worst idea Sirius has ever had. Except, well. James is a bit lost, because
both Sirius and Remus have severe difficulties when it comes to verbalising their feelings. One
because of his abusive family and all the baggage that comes with it. The other because not only is
he a fucking werewolf, but he’s also got a massive chip on his shoulder about the fact that he fell in
with three rich boys.

Remus is proud and ridden with guilt. He might be better than Sirius at correctly identifying his
emotions, but Remus cannot bear the thought of showing vulnerability so he’s just as bad at
voicing them.

Sirius is… Sirius is Sirius. Insecure and confident at once—it makes sense when you get to know
him, trust James—and always trying so hard to act like he’s okay that he’s forgotten how to
identify what goes on inside of him.

“Merlin’s beard on fire,” James says, defeated. “I don’t know which one of you is worse.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

James flops back onto his pillow, sighing dramatically at the canopy over his bed. “It means you
either find a way to tell Remus how you feel, or you’re fucked, mate. Because he’s even worse
than you are.”
 ####

Valentine’s Day may yet grow on Regulus, he thinks as he sneaks away from his friends and heads
down to the Quidditch pitch. It turns out that he needn’t have worried. James took charge and made
all preparations. Apparently, he does like Valentine’s Day and wants to make it special for
Regulus.

Regulus is fine with that, because the thought of having to plan a romantic date makes him break
into hives. Thank Salazar James is so good at the boyfriend stuff.

Besides, Regulus has been busy. He’s always busy, but these days he’s added some seriously
dangerous items to his to-do list and that’s inevitably upped the stakes. Since the diary gave him
the instructions for opening the Chamber of Secrets, all he has done is research ways to kill a
Basilisk. Not easy, by the way. Not easy at all.

He has only written on it once more, just to keep up appearances. Pretending to be Evelyn, he told
Tom Riddle he’s nervous about Valentine’s Day and that the opening of the Chamber had to wait a
bit more.

Riddle didn’t like this and tried to… Regulus isn’t sure what it tried to do. It felt dangerously close
to possession, except the diary was attempting to possess a little girl of fourteen, and Regulus is an
evil mastermind boy of sixteen. It didn’t work this time, but he shut it closed quickly and hasn’t
opened it since. Just in case.

Fuck. He’s in way over his head.

Taking a deep breath, Regulus squares his shoulders. He’s not thinking about Tom Riddle or the
Chamber of Secrets or Horcruxes tonight, though. Regulus has made a deal with himself that he’s
going to enjoy this and put all his turmoil about what’s coming soon on hold.

After all, he and James have been waiting for a chance to repeat the broom ride since October. He
deserves—they deserve—for it to be spectacular and Regulus is not going to ruin it by thinking of
their imminent break up.

For tonight, Regulus has chosen to pretend everything is fine and he’s just another student in the
school enjoying a date with his boyfriend.

In the Quidditch equipment room, Regulus takes a moment to secure his scarf firmly around his
neck and to ensure his coat is buttoned all the way up. The temperature is below freezing, and he’s
expecting it to be even worse once they’re up in the air.

A small smile clings to the corners of his mouth. Sometimes, Regulus still has trouble accepting
that this is his life. That James Potter is his boyfriend. He remembers how he used to feel, thirteen
or fourteen years old and hating himself for having a secret, painful crush on James. Remembers
fixating on Barty when James started to make an ass of himself over Lily Evans. Remembers
growing out of his Barty phase but never getting over James.

The past few months have been a gift. Regulus isn’t too proud to recognise that. Someone out there
saw his misery and decided to give him a little respite. They made all of little Regulus’ dreams
come true, until here he is, waiting for James to take him on a date because it’s Valentine’s Day.

“Oh wow,” James breathes, appearing under the threshold of the door. “You look really good.”

Regulus pushes himself off the wall languidly and saunters closer to James, watching his eyes rake
up and down his body and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
“It’s a date, isn’t it?” he asks, a bit teasing.

James beams, grabs Regulus by his coat, and hauls him closer for a kiss. Regulus melts
immediately. James manhandling him always makes Regulus’ brain turn to mush in his skull.

He tangles his fingers in James’ hair, tugging a little to make him grunt in that delicious way of his.
Perhaps they can skip the flying part, Regulus thinks, and go straight to the ripping their clothes off
part.

“Don’t even try,” James whispers, abandoning Regulus’ lips to speak. “I’ve been waiting for
months to show you this.”

“But we can’t do this if we’re flying,” Regulus says, tongue darting out to lick James’ bottom lip.

Predictably, James inhales sharply and then, to Regulus’ delight, they’re kissing again. James
crowds Regulus back, large hands gripping his waist as best he can through the various layers of
clothing Regulus is wearing. Why is he wearing so many clothes? What was he thinking?

They knock over a box of beater bats that clatter all over, startling James back to his senses. He
pulls away and gives Regulus a stern look that he thinks is meant to scold him but is only
succeeding in arousing him more.

“Let’s go, now,” James says, stepping back. “You’ll like it. I promise.”

“I was liking this,” Regulus replies mournfully, but he follows. He is curious enough to put his lust
on hold for a little while.

A few minutes later, James is leading him out onto the grounds, broom in hand. He mounts it and
waits for Regulus to join him. Without hesitation, Regulus mounts behind James and closes his
arms around his torso. It’s a stark reminder of how different things are now. The first time James
asked him to go on a ride, he refused to give up control. He even dropped James several feet in the
air in an attempt at scaring him into admitting it was all a joke. A game.

Now, as they soar up in the air and the freezing wind bites his cheeks, Regulus is grateful. He’s
grateful that James didn’t give up. That he insisted and kept showing up to that roof. Regulus leans
a bit closer, holds James a bit tighter.

He loves him, he thinks as James guides their broom over the frozen lake and towards the hills
glittering with fresh snow. Regulus loves James with an intensity that could break worlds or
remake them.

And isn’t this what he wanted? When he was young and still unaware. Unafraid of dreaming.
Before the blood and the bones, the cage and the cold. There was a time when Regulus would sing
Hymne à l'amour in his room and pretend he’d one day know what it was like to love someone
beyond reason.

He got his wish.

And even though he knows it’s going to break him, Regulus can’t bring himself to regretting it. Not
a single moment of it. He’ll cherish them, the kisses and the words. The nights up on the owlry, the
ones in the Come and Go Room. The feeling of James’ arms holding him in his sleep. The shape of
his body, the glide of skin against skin. He’ll tuck it all away into a safe corner of his mind, all the
good things he’s known packed into a meagre five months, and hold on to them as hard as he can.
They’ll have to keep them going.
When he’s deep in the darkness, the memory of the sun will have to be enough.

“We’re almost there,” James shouts to make himself heard over the wind. “Ready?”

Regulus nods against James’ shoulder, and then he swoops down. His insides do a funny little flip
as they descend, and Regulus finds himself grinning. He’s always loved flying, and he loves James,
and he’s getting both at once.

It occurs to Regulus that he should, perhaps, be a little worried that James seems to be flying
straight at the ground. But he trusts him. He does. More than anyone else. And so Regulus simply
waits, heart pounding in his chest and hands tightening over James’ torso. He waits.

There’s a small gap between two hills that Regulus hadn’t noticed. That’s where James flies,
down, down, and then straight through the little canyon. There’s snow everywhere, twinkling in
the starlight like diamonds scattered over the world.

It’s beautiful. Regulus reaches out and runs his gloved finger over the powder, a smile on his face
as he leaves behind a little mark.

James dives down again, and Regulus lets out a happy yelp.

“Do you have your wand?” James asks.

Regulus takes it out with some difficulty.

“We’re going into a cave,” James tells him, pointing ahead of them. “Can you get us some light
when we’re inside?”

They fly in through the mouth of the cave, stalactites hanging from the ceiling like teeth. Darkness
swallows them whole. James slows down until they’re simply hovering inside the cave, and
Regulus casts his spell, sending orbs of light flying to banish the shadows.

The breath catches in his throat.

It’s like being inside a kaleidoscope. The walls are frozen, long, elegant tears falling from the
ceiling. Claws erupting up from the ground. The ice captures the light and reflects it back like
jewels, a thousand colours glittering around them. A frozen pond stretches below, serpentine and
languid, disappearing further into the cave.

Regulus had never known there could be such raw, natural beauty in the world. Untouched by
human hands—magic or muggle.

“Do you like it?” James asks him shyly, twisting expertly on the broom until they’re facing each
other, knees bumping.

“I…” Regulus is appalled to discover his voice is raspy. He has to clear his throat, swallow. “It’s
the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

James is looking at him, full of unguarded joy, and love, and hope. And Regulus feels like he’s
being flayed open with love and guilt so powerful they’re punching through his defences.

He can’t hold his gaze, so he looks around instead. Watches the colours sparkling on the walls of
the cave. His chest constricts, and he can’t breathe.
He can’t breathe.

The weight of James’ love is crushing him and Regulus can’t take it because he’s going to throw it
back on his face. He’s going to hurt him, to break him, to destroy the one good thing he’s ever
known.

What will James think? Will he look back and believe this was all a trick? Pointless. Meaningless?
Regulus can’t bear it.

James doesn’t deserve this. James deserves better. He deserves someone who can be here in this
cave and not crumble under the overwhelming guilt of knowing he’s lying. He’s been lying the
entire time, letting James fall with no intention of ever catching him.

“Reg?” James asks gently. “What’s wrong?”

Oh shit. Regulus is choking. He can’t do this. Can’t keep lying to him.

And there, a terrifying thought. What if you tell him?

But no. No. James would never let Regulus risk himself like that. He would never stand by and
allow him to do the things he’s going to do. Claiming the Legacy. Worming his way up the Death
Eater ranks. Killing people. Regulus is going to kill a lot of people. There’s no way James would
ever just… allow it.

He can imagine it. James talking him out of it. His whole plan, gone up in the flames of James’
warmth. James would tell Regulus that there’s another way. Fuck. James would volunteer to hunt
Horcruxes together and fine. Imagine they did.

What then? Even if no one found out, which is already a massive if because Riddle is a dangerous
wizard who can read people's minds, they would still have to find a way to get to him. Voldemort
is the most protected man in England. The most powerful, too. Dumbledore hasn’t managed to take
him down yet. Regulus isn’t stupid enough to think it means he hasn’t tried. Neither Regulus nor
James are better wizards than Dumbledore. The problem isn’t in their skill or ability. The problem
is the approach.

The only way to take Riddle out is by standing right in front of him. Being invited in. And Regulus
knows there’s only one way of doing that. The one way James won’t allow, because it’s dangerous.
It’s insane.

If the roles were reversed, Regulus wouldn’t let James do it. He’d rather die. He’d rather risk them
losing the war than allow James to try what he’s planning on doing himself.

So, James can’t know. Ever.

“Reg, I’m getting a bit worried now,” James whispers.

Swallowing, Regulus pinches his eyes closed for a moment. He can’t tell James the truth. None of
it. But he could… he could break up now. Spare James the rest of it. Would it make it any better?
Regulus doesn’t know.

But they still have time, and Regulus is so selfish because he wants it. Every last second of it.
When he opens his eyes, Regulus finds James still watching him with concern.

Biting the tip of a finger, James slides a glove off his hand and brings it against Regulus’ cheek.
His thumb wipes a tear and Regulus blinks. He hadn’t realised... Is he crying?
 “Hey,” James says, fingers oh so gentle on Regulus’ face. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, you can tell
me.”

I don’t deserve you.

You deserve better than me.

But I love you and I’m not ready to let you go.

“I’m… it’s just a lot,” Regulus says sincerely. “Too many emotions.”

And James, oh. James Potter, the purest soul on the planet, thinks Regulus means good things.
Thinks Regulus is simply overwhelmed because he can’t put words to his feelings. James says,
“It’s okay, Reg. I know. I love you, too.”

You shouldn’t.

Please, don’t.

Hate me and make it easy.

Break my heart so I don’t have to break yours.

“Come here,” James says, leaning forward.

Regulus obeys. Helpless. Hopeless. He doesn’t know how many more times he’ll get to do this. To
kiss James. To look at him knowing James doesn’t hate him. So, he kisses him back, softly, like a
love song.

“Happy Valentine’s,” Regulus whispers against James’ lips. He feels the smile, the happy hitch to
James’ breath.

And Regulus hopes that someday, when the anger has faded and the world is a better place, James
will think of this night and remember that no matter what happens next, Regulus was once just a
boy in love with another boy on a broom in a cave.

Chapter End Notes

Barty being pissed off Reg threw them under the bus and taking it out on a little kid!!
Not cool Barty :( But he's a bit insane. We know this.

SELWYN IS GONE!!! Regulus really did think of killing him, but making his mother
panic and take him away was cleaner. My baby is a mastermind that can kill two ducks
with a stone. Efficient Capricorn King (I know he's not a Capricorn in this fic but
you'll allow me this because my headcanon is that he is, it just didn't work for this
story) LOL

On the topic of Regulus - him messing with Riddle's diary pretending he's a little girl
to get one up on Voldemort? HE'S A KING AND I LOVE HIM. Next chapter has
some really badass Regulus that I'm incredibly excited for you to read if I'm allow to
say that!!
James comforting Lily :( She's so scared, and trying so hard. I think the fear of muggle
borns is often overlooked in fics and I wanted to bring a bit of attention to that because
these people are literally walking around with a target on their backs and that's so
fucked up.

Sirius freaking out because he has to talk to Remus? LMAO He's so valid. He's like -
why u telling me this? Tell him to talk to me instead!! And that would work except
this is Remus Lupin we're talking about. The man will not show a weakness even if it
kills him!!

Valentine's Day date :( James was so happy he got to show Regulus his cave, and
Regulus was so overwhelmed... my baby :( He's so sad. I want to give him a hug.

Thank you so much for all the amazing comments and kudos and love you're giving
this story. I genuinely never thought people would enjoy it so much and it's made me
so so so happy during a bit of a difficult time in my life <3 THANK YOU! I hope you
continue to enjoy :D

Next update hopefully Wednesday but it could be Thursday because I'm a little busy.
Will do my best!!

Solmussa
 The Basilisk
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

I am excited for this chapter! There are a few warnings for this one, please read them
all!

TWs
Smoking
Very vague, implied reference to past child abuse
Discussions of murder (as a joke, but also... not?)
Sex
Talk / depictions / thoughts of war and consequences / victims of war
Depictions of violence
Depictions of blood
Depictions of injuries (broken bones, cuts, bruising)
Snakes - if you're afraid of snakes, the last scene of this chapter features a big one so
be warned!

I think that's it! Hope you enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Interlude: Sirius POV

In the most un-Gryffindor-esque display of cowardice ever known to man, Sirius has gone out of
his way to avoid Remus for the past couple of days. This has been, admittedly, rather difficult
because all Sirius wants is to kiss him again. Except, Sirius needs to figure out where they stand
before that can happen and that’s the part he’s struggling with.

Apparently, Remus is on some level attracted to Sirius after all. Despite everything. And Sirius,
who is weak and selfish, took advantage of that because he couldn’t not. Except shagging Remus
was a terrible mistake, because Sirius had only just come to terms with the fact that he’d never
have him again, only for his world to be realigned once more.

Sirius has no idea what to do with any of it. He wants Remus more than he’s ever wanted anything
or anyone. But he’s painfully aware of what he did to him. How he let the darkness win, take a bite
out of him and drive him to betraying his friend.

Remus might be happy to fool around with Sirius from time to time but there’s no way in Merlin’s
green Earth that he could want more. There’s just no way Remus could ever reciprocate Sirius’
feelings after what he did, even if he found it in him to forgive him. Could he?

He’s still ruminating James’ advice—that he simply tell him how he feels—but Sirius couldn’t
possibly act on it on or right around Valentine’s Day. The implications of that would have been too
much to handle for either party.

So, like the imposter he is (because if he were a true Gryffindor he’d be a lot braver) Sirius made
himself scarce on Tuesday, and again on Wednesday (the dreaded date), and on Thursday. He
knows, because James came back to the dorm on Wednesday very late at night smiling like a
besotted idiot, that his date with Regulus was a success. At least one of the Black brothers has
managed to figure out the whole relationship thing.

With a sigh, Sirius glances at the map spread open before him on his bed. Remus is in a prefect
meeting with Lily discussing only Merlin knows what. Peter is with Olive in the library, but
they’re moving which tells Sirius they’ll be here soon. It is close to curfew. James is with
Silverwood out on the Quidditch pitch, running a special session with the seeker because she’s
trying to learn a new move. He knows they got special permission to stay out a little later—Captain
privileges.

Sirius notices that Regulus is in the Astronomy Tower all by himself. Without giving a second
thought to his impulse, he gets up and throws one of Remus’ thick sweaters over himself,
pocketing the map and borrowing James’ cloak.

Why is Regulus all alone in the Tower? People only go there to hook up or have difficult chats,
both of which you need a second person for. This feels a lot like Regulus is brooding.

What the fuck does Regulus have to brood about?

Things are going really well between them, James says. Sirius can’t get rid of the nagging feeling
on the back of his head that tells him to be a bit more cautious, but he gave James his warning.
That’s all he can do, he thinks. Besides, it is possible that James’ relentless optimism and
unwavering loyalty will be what finally gets Regulus to leave for good.

It stings, because Sirius can’t pretend he’s not jealous James seems to be succeeding where he
failed, but if it gets Regulus out, then Sirius won’t be bitter about it.

Sirius only hesitates when he reaches the Tower itself and sees Regulus sitting by the railing, legs
dangling. He’s clutching a black notebook like he can’t decide whether to just throw it into the
night.

Scuffing his feet on the floor on purpose, Sirius takes a step closer. Regulus tucks the notebook
into his robes, then turns to glare at the intruder. When their eyes lock, Sirius glimpses a flicker of
relief in Regulus’ gaze.

It gives him the push he needs to close the distance.

“Smoke?” Sirius asks, sitting down next to Regulus.

“Why are you here?”

Sirius take a cigarette, then offers another to his brother. He takes it, fingers clad with silver rings.
“I saw you were alone.”

“What?”

Belatedly, it occurs to Sirius that perhaps James hasn’t told Regulus about the map. But does it
matter? They’re a couple of months from their NEWTs. They’re never coming back and the map is
only useful to people in Hogwarts. Besides, a not insignificant part of Sirius wants to impress
Regulus again.

“I thought James might have told you about the map,” he says, taking it out of his pocket. “Since
you know everything else.”
Regulus looks at the blank parchment sceptically. “Go on.”

Smirking, Sirius takes out his wand and activates the map. When Regulus reaches for it, he lets
him have it. “You made this?”

“We did. The four of us,” Sirius says proudly.

“Padfoot? Super original,” Regulus scoffs, eyeing their nicknames with a bit of a sneer on his face.
“Prongs? Salazar’s socks. Wait.” His eyes flicker up, surprised. “Pettigrew is an animagus, too?”

Sirius shrugs.

“Moony,” Regulus mutters. “He got the best nickname of the lot.”

“When you’re right, you’re right.”

“So, all the time.”

Reverently, Regulus runs his fingers over the parchment. He lingers over Dorcas’ name, in
Marlene’s dorm with Mary. Then over James’, still in the Quidditch pitch. Sirius notices that
Crouch and Evan are a bit too close in their dorm, but doesn’t comment. It’s really none of his
business, is it?

“You can see the ghosts on this?” Regulus asks, surprised. He immediately tracks The Grey Lady
and releases a little breath when he finds that she’s with Moaning Myrtle. Bit odd, but Sirius is one
hundred percent uninterested in the ghosts of Hogwarts and their gossip.

Peeves is the only fun one.

“You can see everyone,” Sirius replies. “That’s us.”

He’s not sure what compels him to say it. To point at the two labels ‘Sirius Black’ and ‘Regulus
Black’ side by side in the Astronomy Tower. But he does, and then the silence between them
changes a little bit, like it's filled with unspoken words. Things they've both left unsaid. Regulus
stares at the two labels for a very long time.

“Only you lot would come up with magic this advanced and use it exclusively for mucking about
in school,” Regulus says eventually, giving the map back to Sirius and flicking the long-burnt out
butt of his cigarette away.

“Not just mucking about,” Sirius protests, taking out new cigarettes. Regulus accepts the offer.
“How do you think James manages to find you every time?”

This gets him a little hum of appreciation from his brother. Sirius watches Regulus smoke, curling
grey tendrils escaping his lips and vanishing into the clear night sky. It’s pretty cold up here, even
if it’s a windless evening.

Sirius holds the moment in his mind for a little longer. Enjoys how rare it is and gives himself
permission to pretend, for the span of an inhale and exhale, that this is normal. That they’re
brothers and come to smoke and talk up here because they’re sorted into different houses but it
never mattered. Not for them.

And then, he shatters the illusion. “Reg, are you alright?”

As he expected, Regulus reacts like Sirius just punched him in the face. He glares at him, disgust
dripping from the lines of his face. “Don’t do that.”

“I just… you didn’t tell me to fuck off. Haven’t insulted me in the ten minutes I’ve been here,”
Sirius explains. “Something’s wrong, clearly.”

“It upsets James when I’m mean to you for no reason,” Regulus says. “But now I have a reason, so,
by all means, fuck right off.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “You expect me to believe you didn’t kick me out because I’d tell James you
did and it would upset—” Sirius stops himself. Now he’s saying it out loud, it’s not so
preposterous. He does tell James everything.

“I see that lonely braincell got its workout of the month,” Regulus drawls.

“Fine,” Sirius says, scoffing. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re all alone up here.”

“I don’t need to be around people all the time,” Regulus says primly. “That’s your coping
mechanism.”

Outraged, Sirius twists his entire body to face Regulus. “Coping mechanism? What’s that supposed
to mean?”

The look Regulus gives him is so pointed it could pierce through a wall. Right. That’s what he
means.

“What’s yours?” he asks.

Cocking an eyebrow, Regulus stares at him like he’s stupid. “Whatever gave you the impression
that I’d ever share that with you?”

“Godric have mercy, you are impossible,” Sirius groans, running his hands through his hair.

“And you’re a certified idiot,” Regulus replies swiftly. “Who keeps trying to talk to me for some
reason.”

“Some reason?” Sirius asks, outraged yet again. “You’re my brother. How’s that for a reason?”

This is very obviously the wrong thing to say because it makes Regulus clam all the way up. It
happens so quickly Sirius is impressed his muscles aren’t twitching from the sudden tension he’s
forcing them to hold.

“Don’t,” Regulus says, voice pitched low and dangerous.

Sirius has to swallow the disappointment, but he’s not ready to leave—or be kicked out of the
Tower—yet. He knows Regulus won’t have it if he presses the point. So he drops it, reaches for
yet another cigarette. Offers one to him. Regulus takes it.

This one, they smoke in silence. Sirius would very badly like to know what Regulus is thinking,
eyes trained up on the sky. But he doesn’t ask. He looks up, too, and finds Regulus the star, shining
bright. Then he finds his namesake. And then the moon. Always the moon. Beautiful and
mysterious. Far away and yet so fucking close sometimes it seems as though you could reach it
with the tips of your fingers.

“I kissed Remus,” Sirius says into the night.

“Congratulations,” Regulus says, completely deadpan.

“Can you at least try to sound a little bit interested?”

“No.”

“You’re a prick, you know that?”

“I do, which is why I don’t understand why you told me this and expected a different response.”

Pitifully, Sirius admits in a small voice, “Because I don’t know what to do.”

Of all the things to startle a proper response out of Regulus, this is the one that does it. Sirius will
never understand what goes on in Regulus’ head, but whatever. At least he’s looking at him now.

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do?”

“Well. We kissed, and then he ignored me for like several weeks, and then we got a bit drunk and
kissed again,” Sirius explains, sounding admittedly more agitated than he’d like but he can’t help
it. “And now, I don’t know how to… y’know. I want… but I can’t…”

Defeated, Sirius rubs a hand over his face and says, “James thinks I should just tell him. Except—”

“You can’t,” Regulus says, and it’s soft. Possibly the softest thing Regulus has said to him since
the night that tore them apart.

Sirius blinks, stares at his brother. The question must be plain on his face. Regulus shrugs. “I can’t,
either. Say things like that, I mean.”

Oh? Oh. Right. Okay.

“How did you… with James?”

Regulus’ face turns a little wistful, eyes sparkling. “I didn’t, really. It was all James. He just kept
coming back.”

Sirius is fucked. Genuinely. Of course James fucking Potter would make it work even when the
guy he wants is emotionally stunted. It makes sense, because if one person just makes their
intentions clear and has the patience to decipher the other’s… well. That works. Obviously it
works.

This, however, isn’t helpful to Sirius in the slightest. Remus is the furthest thing from James Potter.
No way Remus would just put on a brave face and a smile and try to coax Sirius into a relationship.
Sirius is pretty sure Remus would rather die alone.

“Sirius,” Regulus says. “If you can’t say it, all you’ve got left is showing Remus, you know?”

“I don’t even know if Remus wants me,” Sirius says pathetically.

“Didn’t you just say you made out several times?”

“I mean I don’t know if he wants me for more than that.”

“Well, I suppose he’ll reject you in that case,” Regulus replies. “You can kill him, if that happens. I
know a great place to bury a body. No one has to know.”

That rips a laugh of Sirius so loud they startle an owl that had perched above head. He just. He
laughs, because it’s so unhinged, and Regulus said it so casually. Oh, Godric’s sword. Regulus is a
little insane, Sirius thinks.

“So you won’t let me call you my brother but you’d help me kill Moony in revenge for rejecting
me?” Sirius asks, wheezing through his laughter.

Regulus is smirking. It isn’t a smile, but it’s close enough that it makes Sirius feel like he just won
a prize. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself to his feet. This is the feeling he wants to bring
with him so he has to leave before either of them can ruin it.

“I’m going, then,” Sirius tells Regulus. “To find Remus.”

“Hmm,” is all he gets in response, accompanied by a nod.

Regulus is facing the night. He doesn’t look back. Sirius watches him for another heartbeat. His
younger brother, perched at the edge of the tower, moonlight breaking over a head of curls black
like crow feathers. He looks every bit the little king he was raised to be. And yet, there’s a glint in
his eyes and the corner of a smile on his lips that give Sirius hope.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ll find their way through and come out together on the other end.
Brothers, once again. Perhaps not whole, but less jagged. Softened by the warmth of the one
person who’s managed to bring them a little bit closer.

***

According to the map, Remus is alone in their dorm. Sirius hasn’t walked back to Gryffindor
Tower faster in his life. By the time he steps into the common room, he’s panting a little. James
looks up from the chess set between him and Peter. Sirius gestures upstairs, and James simply
beams and mouths ‘good luck.’

Embarrassingly, Sirius has to take a moment outside the door to collect himself. Deep breath in,
and he opens the door before his courage can fail him.

He should have been more worried about brain failure, because as soon as he steps inside, Sirius is
confronted with Remus fucking Lupin sitting on the windowsill, one leg bent up, arm lazily
propped on it with a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He’s in his pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt so
worn it looks softer than a baby blanket.

Remus is the sexiest person Sirius has ever seen in his life, and how is he supposed to form a
coherent thought when he’s just there?

From his perch on the windowsill, Remus looks at Sirius, a bored expression on his face, and raises
an eyebrow. This would be a fantastic time for Sirius to say something, so he opens his mouth.
Pathetically, what comes out is, “Remus.”

“Sirius.”

And no. Just no. Remus cannot simply say his name and expect nothing to happen. Sirius is losing
his fucking mind right now, and why is Remus still just sitting there on the window? What is
Sirius supposed to do?

He doesn’t know where to look. Remus’ hands. Remus’ jaw. Remus’ stupid, beautiful sandy curls.
Remus. Remus. Remus.

Sirius swallows, feeling like he’s about to simply combust. It’s highly unfair that he’s expected to
be able to function around this man. Like. Has the rest of the world seen this man?
“Are you just going to stand there all night?” Remus asks, bemused.

His voice. This is a new one. The night of the party is to blame. Because Sirius got to hear what
Remus sounds like when he’s… when they’re… Oh, Godric fucking Gryffindor have mercy on
him. He’s dying.

Sirius yanks his jumper off him, because he’s frankly overheating and starting to sweat and he
needs to be doing something or else he’s going to go mad.

“It’s hot in here,” he says a bit angrily.

When Sirius drops the sweater at the end of his bed, he finds Remus watching him intently. All
trace of humour has gone. Sirius wishes he’d had some firewhiskey. It’s so much easier when his
brain is sloshed and he feels no nerves, no shame. Nothing but want.

Sirius wants. And wants. And wants. And it’s all Remus, who’s still on the fucking windowsill
—“Can you just like, I don’t know, get off of there?”

Remus’ eyebrows fly up, but he complies. He slides down lazily, like he’s not making Sirius want
to bloody moan from simply watching him move.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Remus asks, head tilted to the side like he's trying to figure
Sirius out as though he's a puzzle.

That is an excellent question.

“I can’t think when you’re like… like that,” Sirius says desperately, one hand vaguely waving in
Remus’ general direction.

“Like what?” Remus blinks, confused. “On the window?”

“No. Yes. Like… doing that,” Sirius says weakly. "It's..." He swallows thickly, and Remus' eyes
narrow, a new glint in them like he's putting it together.

“Is it the smoking?” Remus asks, and he has the gall to sound genuinely curious.

Panicking, Sirius wonders if Remus is planning on using this information to seduce someone else.
That would be—no. Just. Remus isn’t allowed to be with anyone else. And that’s the whole point,
isn’t it? That’s why Sirius came here, to the dorm, knowing Remus was alone.

“The whole thing,” Sirius says, then runs a hand over his face to try and hide the blush he can feel
settling on his cheeks. “Really doing it for me.”

The flash of wickedness that crosses Remus’ eyes makes Sirius want to fall to his knees.

“What’s going on, Sirius?” Remus asks him carefully, but he’s stepping closer so Sirius thinks
Remus knows exactly what’s going on. Right?

Heart pounding in his chest, Sirius stays still as a statue as Remus crosses the distance between
them. His hand comes up and then his thumb is pressing down on Sirius’ lower lip, the rest of
Remus' fingers curled right under his chin, holding him in place. The noise that he makes is need.
Raw and unashamed. Because Sirius needs Remus like he needs oxygen, and he’s so close, so
close.

Sirius can’t say what he came here to say. Lewd? He’s got it. Sexy and flirty? No problem. But
now that he’s actually feeling the feelings? He doesn’t know how. He has never. Part of the reason
things never went well with girls, though it wasn’t so concerning at the time. Sirius can’t say it, but
he can show Remus.

Eyes trained on his, amber and a little dark with desire now, Sirius presses the tip of his tongue
against the thumb still on his lip, then nips at it with his teeth.

Remus’ hand is snake fast, sliding to the back of his neck. He pulls Sirius closer roughly, and then
they’re kissing. They’re kissing and Sirius could die from how good it feels. Remus kisses like the
night he belongs to—unforgiving, unrelenting. Sirius loves it. It’s a dance, and it’s a battle, and
they’re both out for blood.

Together, they fall into Sirius’ bed, Remus on top of him. He’s so tall Sirius’ feet are tangled with
his calves. When his head hits the pillow, Sirius tries to reach up and kiss him again, but Moony
puts a hand on the curve of his throat and holds him down. Sirius growls in response, and Remus
bucks his hips against him.

“Fuck, Remus,” Sirius whines, and Remus attacks the line of his jaw with his lips.

Nobody has ever touched him like this. Sirius has been with many people—none of whom he can
currently remember—but no one has ever made him feel like he’s seeing the stars up close. Remus
is glorious. He’s strong, and demanding, and a little rough.

Sirius tugs at Remus’ t-shirt, and it slides up effortlessly. He runs his hands up and down the sides
of Remus’ body, tracing the scars that tell the story of his ordeal.

“You’re so beautiful, Moony,” Sirius whispers, pads of his fingers following a particularly long
line.

“Shut up,” Remus says, twisting so Sirius can’t touch that scar anymore.

“No,” Sirius replies, defiant, looking up into eyes that are amber and gold but black with desire.

“No?”

A delicious shiver runs down Sirius’ spine at the tone in Remus’ voice. Dangerous. Commanding.
A little cruel. Sharp, like the edges of the darkness that lives inside of Sirius and wakes up when
called upon.

“You’ll have to make me,” Sirius says.

Remus smirks, gorgeous and merciless, and dips his face to bite down over Sirius’ collarbone.
Sirius makes a noise that’s half moan half whimper, jerking his hips upwards as the mix of pain
and pleasure shoots down his spine.

“That’s going to leave a mark,” Remus observes when he straightens, glancing at the place his
teeth have just been.

And this is his chance, Sirius thinks. To say without saying that he wants it. To belong to Remus
and no one else.

He looks at Remus, eyes intent and unafraid, and says, “Do it again.”

Remus complies.
After, they lie in bed passing a cigarette back and forth between them. There’s a bruising mark on
Sirius’ neck that’ll be hard to hide, not that he’s bothered. He was as enthusiastic about getting
them as Remus was to give them. Deep down, Sirius hopes someone asks so he can show off.

“Sirius,” Remus says, pulling him out of his head.

“Hmm?”

“We can’t do this again,” Remus says.

Immediately, Sirius sits up in alarm. “What? Why?” He twists to look at his friend, lying naked on
his bed. He’s so beautiful Sirius could cry or write him a song. Both. “Did you not like it?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Of course I fucking liked it,” he says aggressively. “But this is a bad idea.”

“No, it’s not,” Sirius insists.

“We’re friends, Sirius. Friends don’t shag.”

I don’t want to be friends.

Sirius brings his knees up and rests his elbows on them, his back to Remus. It’s easier when Sirius
can’t see his face. Can’t get distracted with how achingly gorgeous he is.

What is he supposed to do? If Remus doesn’t want this, he won’t force it. Of course not. It’s just…
to Sirius, it seems impossible that they could kiss like that, shag like that, and it be meaningless. He
just refuses to believe it.

But Remus… ah. Remus never shows weakness, does he? Sirius told James love was only for the
brave, and here he is. A coward.

If he wants this, Sirius is going to have to put on his big boy pants and go get it. Fuck. What if
Remus says no? Regulus might have to hide a body after all, not because Sirius would ever hurt
Remus but because he’ll probably die of mortification.

Anyway.

Only for the brave.

“Moony,” he says shakily, but determined. “If that’s what you want, then that’s fine. I won’t… I
won’t try again. But I thought you should know it’s not what I want.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then Remus is sitting up, next to Sirius. “What?”

Here goes nothing. “I don’t want to be friends,” Sirius says valiantly.

“What?”

“I mean I don’t want to be just friends,” he whispers. “Not anymore. It’s not enough.”

“Oh.”

It’s a wonderful sound. Sweet and surprised, and so unlike Remus that Sirius has to turn to look at
him. The expression on his face makes hope spread its wings inside Sirius’ chest. Remus is
blushing, and he looks a bit lost.
“But I don’t… I am,” Remus clears his throat. He cracks his jaw, takes a shuddering breath. “It’s a
bad idea.”

“Fuck’s sake, Remus. You say that as if I’ve ever met a bad idea I didn’t love.”

Remus’ lips twitch. He shakes his head, sighs deeply again. There’s a lot of sighing going on right
now and Sirius isn’t sure if it’s a good or a bad sign.

“Sirius,” Remus says. “I’m a… I’m dangerous. I’m—”

“You’re my Moony,” Sirius cuts in. “That’s all. My Moony. Just… Moony.”

Remus looks like he might cry, which is alarming because Remus never cries. Fuck. Did he get it
all wrong?

“Remus?”

“Yes,” he whispers, rocking forward to press their foreheads together. “Okay. Yes, Sirius. Yes.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Sirius says, and it comes out with so much feeling they both blink, then dissolve
into laughter.

They’re still smiling when they press their lips together.

James and Peter come in to find Remus and Sirius sitting on the floor. Remus’ back is against the
bed, and Sirius’ back is on Remus’ chest. They’re smoking. There’s a book on their lap and a half
munched on chocolate bar. Sirius’ eyes are closed, and one of Remus’ hands is in his hair.

Immediately, both their friends proceed to lose their collective shit. James is gasping, clapping,
making strange overexcited noises.

“Can I get a hallelujah!” Peter yells, arms up in the air like he's just won a big prize. “Fucking
finally!”

Sirius cracks an eye open to peer at his two friends, then twists his lips up in a lazy, happy grin.
“James, are you crying?”

“Maybe?” he says, sniffling lightly and taking his glasses off to wipe his eyes.

“You’re embarrassing yourself, Prongs,” Remus says casually, one hundred percent unbothered by
the whole situation.

“Oh shut up Moony. Don’t try to act all tough now,” Peter says, defending James.

“Yeah,” James says, delighted. “This has been years in the making. I’m allowed to get emotional.”

“Years?” Sirius asks, twisting to look at Remus.

“I don’t know what they’re talking about,” he says primly.

“The fuck you don’t,” Peter exclaims. “He’s been pining over you since fourth year.”

“I have not!”

“You have? Moony!” Sirius is fucking ecstatic. This is the best news he’s ever had. Feeling his
excitement, James beams, then tugs on their arms to force them to move into a group hug.
“Come on,” he says, forcing them to their feet. “This calls for a proper Marauder celebration. If
Peter turns and climbs in my pocket, we can just about manage to fit under the cloak.”

“Hogsmeade?”

“Yup,” James says, beaming.

####

James has reached peak happiness.

Remus and Sirius are finally, finally, together. He was so overwhelmed by positive emotions that
he cried a little bit when he walked into the room to find them all snuggly and romantic on the
floor. Fucking brilliant, if you ask him.

Everything is just… perfect for James. And that is the problem.

Because what right does he have to be so fucking ecstatic when people are dying every day? When
there’s a war on outside these walls and it’s taking lives without mercy?

Even Regulus, who is possibly the most selfish person James has ever known (which James adores
because he’s never learnt to be selfish himself), has a bit of melancholy clinging to him constantly
these days. Like he’s aware of what’s going on, and it blurs the sharpness of his smiles a little.

So why is James just… why is he so full of joy? He feels like a traitor. Like his happiness is
disrespectful to the people who are mourning and suffering. But he can’t help it. He’ll glance at his
friends and feel warmth in his chest. He’ll look across the Great Hall and find Regulus’ eyes and
sprout fucking wings on his back. Here, at Hogwarts, it’s easy to forget what’s waiting for them on
the other side.

James is absorbed in his conflicting thoughts when he arrives at the Come and Go Room. It’s the
day before the full moon of February, so he’s staying the night here with Regulus because they
won’t see each other tomorrow. It helps considerably that it’s a Saturday, so they can have a
cheeky lie in tomorrow morning.

Remus wasn’t too pleased to find out Regulus had put it all together, but he had no choice but to
accept it. If anything, it makes life easier for James because he doesn’t have to come up with
random lies for why he’s unavailable on these nights.

There’s no door on the wall, which tells James Regulus hasn’t arrived yet. What should he ask for?
Somewhere with a bed, because they’re supposed to sleep here. But James doesn’t want his room
at home today. He feels too guilty for it, like he’s tempting fate. His parents are involved in the
war, and his house is a bit of a bastion of the resistance. He doesn’t want to think about that when
he’s with Regulus.

Not yet, anyway.

The baths room with the pools is well nice, but they can’t exactly sleep there. So, not good. Biting
his lip, James shifts his weight onto his toes. There’s… well. It doesn’t exist, exactly. But James
has imagined it so many times. Perhaps… Yes.

He thinks of a cottage. Sturdy, cosy. Thick stone walls and wooden floors. A bedroom with a large
bed, and a fireplace, and a huge wardrobe because Regulus feels like the kind of person who’d
have a lot of clothes. He thinks of thick rugs on the floor—superfluous, because wood retains
warmth—but he likes the idea anyway. A nice reading nook in one corner, because James knows
Regulus loves his books.

A bit anxiously, he opens the door when it appears. The breath catches in his throat. It’s so perfect
James can almost taste the future. This is what he’d like it to look like. A cottage somewhere
outside of London. Close enough to be part of the action, far enough to be surrounded by green.

“New place?” Regulus asks, slipping inside after James. He places a quick kiss on James’ lips
before turning to scan the room.

James watches him closely as Regulus glances around curiously, humming appreciatively.

“Do you like it?” James asks cautiously.

“I do,” he says simply, unhook his cloak and draping it over the armchair closest to the fire. “Very
cosy.”

Relieved, James beams. He’s not going to tell Regulus what this place is yet, because despite
James’ enthusiasm, he realises it’s a bit fast. They’ve been together for about four months. Not
long enough in any universe. It doesn’t matter that James knows. That he’s certain he doesn’t want
this with anyone else.

He can’t scare Regulus away with plans for a future. A house, family. The boy is only sixteen. He
might run away screaming and James can't have that.

“I know you know, but it’s a full moon tomorrow,” James says, joining Regulus by the fire and
sitting down on the sofa.

“Yes,” Regulus says, stretching so his head is on James’ lap. There’s that hint of sadness again,
clinging to edges of his eyes, to the sharp cut of his cheekbones.

As though he can hear James’ thoughts, Regulus blinks, banishes the melancholy, and says, “Can’t
believe you’re an animagus. Honestly. Only you lot.”

There’s silence for a beat. Then, “I think I would be a cat.”

James laughs. “You know what? I agree. It suits you.” He digs his fingers a bit deeper into his
skull and Regulus purrs. James thinks it’s not entirely a joke.

“Is your patronus the same as your animagus form?” Regulus asks, curious.

“Yeah. A stag. Yours?”

“Don’t know,” Regulus admits. “Haven’t cast a corporeal one yet. It’s supposed to be NEWT level
stuff, anyway.”

“As if that’s ever stopped you before,” James replies. He’s well aware of how advanced Regulus’
magic is. He’s seen him heal people better than trained professionals. “Do you want to know what
my happy thought is?”

“No,” Regulus says immediately. Too quickly.

The melancholy is back, dampening the shine of the green in his eyes. James feels terribly guilty
again, wondering if they should perhaps be talking about the newest family to have been attacked,
or the war in general. It’s just… Regulus reacts really badly whenever he brings it up. So, what is
James supposed to do?
When the silence turns a little uncomfortable, Regulus sighs. “You’re going to say something
unbearably romantic that’ll make me go all soft and pathetic. You know I hate that.”

Ah. Alright, then. This one he can deal with. He doesn’t mind at all. James knows that Regulus
struggles with strong emotions, like it happened on Valentine’s Day, or the first time James said ‘I
love you’ to him. That’s okay. Not everyone operates the same way, and James doesn’t mind it one
bit.

Smiling, he tells Regulus. “You are right about that. My happy thought is about you.”

“Soppy git,” Regulus says, but he’s smiling, too. The melancholy hasn’t gone, not fully, but it’s
less pronounced as he mutters, “My happy thought would be about you, too.”

It makes James’ heart jolt in his chest. He leans forward to press a kiss to Regulus’ forehead, the
only place he can reach in their current position without breaking his back. His fingers are still
running through Regulus’ hair, and James can feel the boy relaxing with every passing minute.
Closing his eyes, James enjoys the moment. The smells of the outdoors and broom and lavender
that cling to Regulus’ skin.

“Have you ever brewed amortentia?” James asks, suddenly curious.

“Obviously,” Regulus replies, affronted. “Piece of cake.”

“What does it smell like to you?”

“Ah,” Regulus says, catching on to what James is really asking. He hesitates, trapping his lower lip
between his forefinger and thumb in a gesture so childish James wants to dissolve into a puddle
right there.

“I’ll go first,” James says, trying to put Regulus at ease. “Mine smells like you.”

Regulus snorts. “No shit.”

James laughs, too. “I mean. I smell the outdoors, and broom polish, and… well. Lavender. You
smell a bit like lavender.”

“That’ll be the sleeping draughts,” Regulus says casually. “For the nightmares.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I take sleeping draughts to help with the nightmares,” Regulus explains. “The family healer
prescribed them.”

Oh. So that’s what it is. James nods, happy to have figured that one out. He wishes Regulus didn’t
need any help for something as simple as sleeping, but who is he to judge? And if his doctor has
prescribed it, it must be all in hand. The draughts exist for a reason.

“You don’t drink it here,” James observes.

“I don’t need it,” Regulus says, a faint blush back on his cheeks. James smiles, fucking pleased that
this is something he can do for Regulus. To fend off the nightmares. “Mine smells like the wind,
and brooms, and… well. You.”

“Me?”

“You smell like boy,” Regulus says simply. “A bit musky, and like… I don’t know. I like it, that’s
all you need to know.”

Regulus pushes himself up and slides his legs under him to sit next to James with his knees tucked.
He looks at James for a long moment before leaning in for a kiss. James is happy to reciprocate.

They kiss for ages. Lazy and languid and just so, so nice. Sometimes, it’s like this. Soft and caring
and not necessarily chasing anything else. Just kissing because they can. Because it’s amazing.
More than once, James has felt as though Regulus is purposefully savouring every single bit of it.
Every stroke of tongue, every brush of lips. He’s so devoted, so careful when it’s like this that
James can’t help but to feel a bit fragile. Like Regulus is afraid of breaking him.

Eventually, Regulus leans back against the sofa and stretches his limbs, groaning and mumbling
about the gruelling Quidditch practice he had to endure today. This, as always, catches James’
attention.

“Sore?” He twists on his seat, one knee bent on the sofa.

Regulus nods. James tugs him closer and begins to knead his shoulders with his hands, making
Regulus groan in delight. “So, good practice?”

“Fucking miserable. It’s way too cold. Genuinely, fucking torture. The wind hurts my face. Why
do we live in a place where the air hurts? Seems pretty stupid to me.”

Amused, James bites back a chuckle. Regulus won’t appreciate him laughing at his little rant.
“That’s Scotland for you.”

“I think we shouldn’t be made to fly when it’s freezing outside.”

This time, James can’t help the giggle but he makes up for it by applying a bit more pressure to the
gentle massage on Regulus’ shoulders. He hums appreciatively.

“The game’s next weekend. I would make my team train too, no matter the weather.”

“I would hate you so much if you were my Quidditch captain,” Regulus muses.

“I thought you liked me in Quidditch gear? What is that thing you say… hmm,” James taps his
chin as though he’s thinking hard.

Regulus twists to look at him, and James finds himself enjoying the way Regulus’ eyes narrow
angrily even as a blush spreads over his cheeks.

“Ah, yes. Those fucking thighs.”

“They’re a hazard,” Regulus says primly.

Lazily, James lets his fingers trail down the side of Regulus’ throat to dip under his shirt and trace
the shape of his collarbone. Regulus’ breath catches, lips parting a little.

“Go on,” James says, devilishly amused. “Tell me more about how much you’d hate me bossing
you around the pitch.”

“I would have none of it.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie.”

Regulus turns around quickly and climbs on top of James to straddle him. They hold each other’s
gazes for a moment, testing, teasing. Then, Regulus dips his face to run his lips up the curve of
James’ neck. When he’s right below his earlobe, he says, “The only place you can boss me around
is that one.”

He nips James’ skin as he points towards the bed.

Merlin have mercy, James thinks. This boy is going to be the death of me.

The noise that escapes the back of his throat is strangled, helpless. Regulus smirks against his skin,
bites him a little, then presses his tongue against the teeth marks.

“Nothing to say to that?” Regulus teases. “Thought you wanted to boss me around?”

And really, that’s all James needs. He stands up in one swift, fluid motion, bringing Regulus’ with
him. The other boy lets out a little yelp, clinging to James as he crosses the room in quick strides.

Unceremoniously, James throws Regulus on the bed and looks down at him, an eyebrow raised. If
he wants bossy, James will give him bossy.

“Clothes off. Now.”

The smile Regulus gives him in return—as he quickly yanks his sweater off—is positively sinful.

####

Regulus stands outside the girls’ bathroom on the second floor and takes a deep breath. His hands
are shaking, but he’s shoved them in his pockets so he can pretend he’s not afraid. There are no
windows here, so the light of the full moon can’t reach him. Better this way, he won’t be distracted
thinking about James.

He’s chosen tonight for a reason.

Of all the things Regulus accepted he’d have to do to get his revenge—getting the mark, killing
people, torture, breaking his heart in a million jagged pieces—facing off with a Basilisk didn’t
even cross his mind.

But here he is. He’s as prepared as he’ll ever be. There’s a rooster trapped in the bag with the
undetectable extension charm he’s attached to his belt, and he’s perfected the spell to conjure a rain
cloud. He cannot risk the basilisk looking at the rooster and killing it before it can crow.

If all goes well, he’ll be returning the rooster to Hagrid’s garden and no one will even notice it was
stolen in the first place. If it doesn’t go well… it won’t matter, will it?

Stepping into the bathroom feels like falling off a cliff. He hasn’t even opened the Chamber yet,
but his body is reacting as though he’s taken the leap. His palms are sweaty, and his breathing is
shallow.

Fortunately, Myrtle isn’t here. She’s with Helena Ravenclaw—The Grey Lady—trying to persuade
her to give up what she knows about the diadem. Regulus is grateful. He thinks if Myrtle was here,
she’d ask him not to risk his life, and he’d listen. He wants someone to barge in and tell him he
doesn’t have to do this. That someone else will come in a deal with it all.

He knows better. No one is coming. He’s got to do this.

Besides, Regulus doesn’t trust anyone to do what needs to be done. Who else would risk their lives
like this? Who would willingly step into the snakes’ nest, compromising their soul in the process,
just to get poetic justice for all the wrong that’s been done?

Regulus learnt at a very young age that there was only one person in the whole world he could
trust, and even Sirius let him down from time to time. There were secrets Sirius used even though
they weren’t his to tell.

Like the time Regulus confessed to having stolen a book from a muggle in the park and Sirius later
used that secret to distract their mother. Regulus had been spared a beating for spilling his juice all
over the table—the beating went to Sirius for reading muggle literature—but Regulus lost his book
anyway.

The intention was good, Regulus realises that. But intentions matter little when harm is done. He
knows this. It’s why he’s so painfully aware of the price he’s going to pay for his revenge.

Speaking of, he needs to get going. He doesn’t have all night. If this is to be his last, Regulus is at
least comforted by the fact that he didn’t have to break James’ heart after all. Without really
meaning to, Regulus’ fingers find their way to the inside of his left forearm, where the little star
rests, drawn in black magical ink by James’ wand.

He kneels in front of the sink and locates the little snake engraving on it. The diary feels heavy in
his pocket. Regulus isn’t a parseltongue, but Riddle told Evelyn what the word for ‘open’ was. The
difficulty is that ‘word’ is too generous for the convoluted amalgamate of s and z. It takes Regulus
almost fifteen minutes of trying different variations before he gets it right. He knows because
suddenly here is a sound, and then the sink begins to move.

Heart in his throat, Regulus wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers as he watches the sink… well,
sink out of sight leaving a large pipe exposed. Swallowing, Regulus takes a step inside, then
another.

The corridor he’s in—the inside of a pipe—is dark and long. Regulus walks slowly, silently. He’s
extremely grateful for all the sneaking around he had to learn to do in Grimmauld Place that has
made him stealthy.

His main concern is the fact that he cannot look at the basilisk. One wrong glance and he’ll be
dead. It’s part of the reason it took him several weeks to find the courage to do this. How does one
fight a monster one can’t look at? Regulus has a plan for it, but it’s not watertight. There is a good
chance he’ll die down here.

At the end of the corridor, he comes to another door. It’s circular, and has more snakes engraved on
it. Perhaps because of how nervous he is, a little giggle escapes him when he thinks of how
unsubtle and tacky the whole serpent motif decoration is. Genuinely, someone should teach Dark
Lords about style.

Distantly, Regulus is aware that this is a coping mechanism for the fear crawling inside his veins.
He is the master of his body, but he is also a sixteen-year-old wizard about to face a fucking
basilisk. There’s a limit to his own control.

According to Tom Riddle’s diary, the only way to control the basilisk is to allow it (the diary) to
take over Evelyn’s body for a little bit. Tom made a very compelling case the last time Regulus
wrote on it, right before Sirius showed up to the Astronomy Tower. Regulus knows that if he’d
truly been Evelyn, there’s a good chance Tom would have succeeded in his attempt at possession.
He’s persuasive and manipulative, Regulus has to give him credit where credit is due.
Unfortunately for Tom, Regulus has zero intention of allowing himself to be possessed, even
temporarily. He has also been lying to the diary, which he suspects is the reason it hasn’t been able
to simply… take what he (it?) wanted. Regulus knows enough dark magic to understand that an
innocent person pouring their soul into this diary would have no way of fighting back. Emotions
make people vulnerable. Another reason he’s against them as a general concept.

“Stop stalling,” he whispers to himself, taking a shuddering breath. “Alright. You can do this.”

For James. For Dorcas. For Sirius.

Regulus rolls his shoulders back and curls his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Staring
firmly at the ground to avoid accidentally coming face to face with the basilisk should it be
waiting, he hisses out the word for ‘open’ in parseltongue.

The snakes on the door clank and begin to slide back, the mechanism sounding a little rusted from
disuse. Regulus takes his wand out before the door finishes opening. As soon as there’s enough
space for him to slide inside, he does, not wanting to wait at the threshold. He thinks it leaves him
exposed.

Pulse thundering in his ears, Regulus presses himself against the wall to his right and tries to calm
his breathing enough to listen for the snake. The silence is deafening, so Regulus looks a bit further
ahead, always keeping his line of sight low.

The floor of the chamber is stone, covered in dust and little bones.

Regulus’ shoulders ache from the tension built up on them. His throat is dry, and his knees are a bit
weak. He hates this. The anticipation. The waiting. The not knowing. But he can’t risk a look and
that’s the main problem. It’s making his gut churn.

What does he do now? For all he knows, the basilisk could be staring at him, waiting for him to
give up and look. Try to find it and meet his death instead.

He won’t. He won’t succumb to the weakness of his own fear. With a trembling hand, Regulus
casts a wordless spell that enhances his hearing for a few minutes. Closing his eyes, he tilts his
head and listens.

The slithering sound makes the hairs on his arms and at the back of his neck stand.

It’s moving. The basilisk is here and it is moving.

Oh fuck.

There is a good chance he’ll be sick from fear, but Regulus does his best to push down the terror
and use it to help him focus, instead.

Dropping to a crouch, Regulus unties the bag with the rooster so it’s ready, but doesn’t dare take it
out yet. He’s only got the one, and if it dies too early then it’s his funeral.

Regulus listens. The snake is getting closer. He can now hear the flicking of its tongue, which
makes Regulus shiver in revulsion. Merlin’s beard on fire. This is the most terrifying thing he’s
ever done in his life.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Regulus drops the bag with the rooster next to him and
shifts his weight, pointing his wand in the general direction the sounds are coming form. Then, in
very quick succession, he removes his hearing enhancing spell and casts ‘Avis’ immediately
followed by ‘Oppugno’.

There’s a shrieking sound, and for the first time Regulus risks a glance. Bad idea. The basilisk is
enormous. It towers over Regulus, reaching almost all the way to the ceiling of the Chamber. For
an excruciating moment, Regulus is painfully aware of how small he is, how fragile his body.

The birds are flocking about its head, keeping it distracted and engaged with the flock for a second.
Not long. The birds are already dropping like flies around the snake from eye contact.

Before he can succumb to his own fear, Regulus springs up and casts a spell to create a stormcloud.
It’s precise wandwork, very difficult, but if he gets it right it’ll save him. The cloud begins to form
around the basilisk’s head, and Regulus immediately casts a modified version of the permanent
sticking charm that his brother perfected to annoy Walburga. To his immense relief, it works. The
cloud sticks to the basilisk's head, obscuring its eyes and allowing Regulus to look.

Relieved, he hurries to take the bag with the rooster. His fingers fumble with the rope tying it close,
tugging at it desperately.

“Come on, come on,” he whispers to himself, shaking violently with fear and desperation. “Come
on.”

He’s almost got it, but before he can release the rooster, he’s smacked by the snake’s tail. Shit. He
shouldn't have talked to himself. Stupid mistake that's going to cost him. Regulus goes flying
across the Chamber, and crashes back first into a pillar on the other side.

The breath is punched out of him by the impact. He crumbles to the ground, a heap of pain.
Something’s broken, is the first thing he thinks. Pain explodes behind his eyelids, hot white and
searing and Regulus wants to cry, but he can’t because he’s still in the Chamber of Secrets and
there’s a basilisk trying to kill him.

Breathing is painful, and he can taste blood in his mouth as he struggles to his feet. The snake gives
him no quarter. Before he’s even upright, it’s darting forward, attempting to bite him. Regulus rolls
to the side clumsily, whimpering as his crushed bones protest the movement.

What was he thinking? He was never going to be good enough to fight this thing and win! Why did
he think he could do it?

The snake attacks him again, and Regulus has to scramble away, tears streaming down his face
because he’s in so much pain and he wants to rest but the monster is relentless.

He needs cover. Urgently. Somewhere he can catch his breath and gather his thoughts or else he's
not going to make it because his brain is fuzzy and his thoughts too sluggish for him to be able to
continue dodging the basilisk.

A plan forms in his head. Not ideal, but the best he's got. It’s dangerous, and could possibly lock
him inside, but he’s out of options and it’s hard to think through the agony of his body. He casts a
bombarda against one of the pillars, and watches it collapse. It distracts the snake for a moment, so
Regulus crawls into a small hole between the fallen pieces of debris.

Heaving, Regulus tries to regulate his breathing, but it hurts and it’s sounding wetter and wetter by
the minute. He’s punctured a lung, he realises. Which means he broke a rib or more when he
crashed against the pillar.

Fuck.
Pressing himself against the piece of stone at his back, Regulus tries to think. He cannot heal
himself, not matter how skilled he is. Superficial wounds? Yes. But internal bleeding on this scale?
It doesn’t work that way. His only chance is to kill this basilisk in the next ten minutes and find the
strength to get back to the school so he can get help or he’s dead.

Regulus doesn’t want to die yet.

He wants to kiss James one more time. Wants to make Dorcas smile one more time. Wants to
smoke another cigarette with Sirius. Wants to tease Barty and Evan for how smitten they are with
each other.

Regulus wants to live. He wants to make it out of this Chamber. He wants his revenge.

The snake brings its tail down against the debris, making dust and small rocks rain on Regulus. He
coughs, which is a whole new level of agony. Tears stream down his face, and blood pools in his
mouth, but he’s determined. He’s going to make it. Raising his wand with an unsteady hand, he
summons the bag. It flies across the Chamber towards him, and he catches it.

Another thunderous hit from the snake makes a large rock dislodge and fall. Regulus isn’t quick
enough and it crushes his leg. He cries out, whimpering, but he doesn’t let go of the bag, fingers
locked in a tight grip that's purely instinctual at this point.

No more waiting. No more strategizing. He's got to kill this snake right now or he won't make it.
Regulus tears the bag open savagely and yanks out the rooster.

Immediately, the basilisk stops attacking the debris. Regulus grabs a rock and bangs it as hard as he
can on the ground, startling the disoriented rooster into a crow.

When there’s a sound like a large body smacking the cold, stone floor of the Chamber, Regulus
releases a breath and drops his arms. For the longest moment, he lies there on the ground, half
buried under the mountain of debris. His body feels heavy and sleep sinks its claws into him, trying
to drag him under.

Don’t close your eyes. Don’t fall asleep. You’ll die down here. They’ll never find your body.

Dragging himself away from his little alcove is a struggle, but Regulus forces himself to keep
going. The pain is unbearable, making him whimper and gasp with every little movement. Black
dots crowd his vision, and he has to actively fight against losing consciousness. Tears and snot run
down his face, but he can’t care. Can’t spare a thought for anything that’s not getting out of here
before his strength deserts him.

Snatching the bag up, Regulus finds two potions he packed for this and swallows them in large,
desperate gulps.

The pain eases back a little, enough that he can move clumsily about. His head clears. It's a
temporary reprieve, and a false one. Nothing has been healed. The pain has simply been muted. He
has ten minutes before the numbness wears off and he’s in agony again. Ten minutes to collect the
venom and get the fuck out of here.

Stunning the rooster and shoving it back in his bag takes but a moment, and then Regulus is
kneeling by the head of the basilisk. He doesn’t vanish the cloud, for he isn’t sure if the yellow
eyes are still dangerous after its death. The head is large enough that he can work on its fangs
regardless.

With his reliable potioner’s knife, Regulus works the biggest of the basilisk fangs out of its mouth
and packs them up in a box he brought for this purpose. It’s charmed to be resistant to impact so it
doesn’t break.

Next, Regulus takes a collection of vials—also charmed to be unbreakable—and proceeds to burst

the little glands containing the venom along the basilisk’ jaws. He fills all the vials he brought,
stoppering them and sealing them shut.

The potion he’s taken is starting to wear off, but Regulus wants to do this right now. He's not
risking it. With shaky hands, he takes the diary out and drops it onto the floor. Carefully, he takes
one of the fangs and grips it. His knuckles are white, his hands covered in dust and blood from the
various cuts he suffered.

With baited breath, Regulus flicks the notebook open and perhaps it’s the Chamber, or the fact that
it senses the danger, but unexpectedly, the notebook fights back. A looming, slightly blurry
projection of what Regulus immediately identifies as a young Tom Riddle, hovers over him. At
first, he looks like he’s getting ready to sweet-talk him until Tom realises in place of a mean girl
from Slytherin, is a mean boy who’s just defeated the monster of the Chamber of Secrets.

“You are not Evelyn,” Tom says, sounding surprised.

“No,” Regulus replies. “I’m Regulus Black.”

“Why--?”

Regulus doesn’t let him finish. Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t stop. Because he can feel the darkness
reaching for him from the notebook, trying to sink its teeth in. Trying to get to Regulus and bend
him to its will.

But Regulus knows darkness. It’s in his blood, it’s in his upbringing. He’s intimate with the teeth
that want to bite and taste. He’s got enough darkness on his own. Doesn’t need this diary giving
him any more.

The basilisk fang pierces one half of the diary easily. Ink sprouts from it like blood from an open
wound. In front of him, the projection of the young Tom Riddle cries out. Regulus stabs the
notebook again, and again. And again.

He stabs it robotically until the only sound in the Chamber is his wet, broken breathing and the
smacking noise of the fang puncturing the torn little book.

When Regulus comes back to himself, he drops the tooth and sits back on his butt. The pain is
stronger than before, now that the potion has lost its effect. And yet Regulus feels lighter. He made
it through his first ordeal.

He faced off against the basilisk of Salazar Slytherin and he defeated it. And he’s certain now the
notebook was a Horcurx. That was a piece of young Riddle’s soul he just sent back to hell.

One Horcrux down. It was worth it.

Slowly, Regulus gets to his feet. He’s shaking and his legs are barely keeping him upright. The
crushed one cannot hold his weight properly, so he ends up hopping awkwardly and dragging his
injured leg across the Chamber. Regulus has to lean against the wall and use it for support as he
starts the agonisingly slow climb back to the bathroom.

Regulus falls onto his hands and knees the moment he’s out of the tunnel. Behind him, the sink
slides back into place, locking the Chamber closed forever, Regulus hopes. He heaves, pain
 coursing through him in waves that want to pull him under. He can’t allow it. He needs medical
attention immediately.

Still, despite the urgency of his state and the white-hot agony tearing through him, Regulus has
enough of his wits left to realise he can’t exactly go to Pomfrey. How is he going to explain the
sorry state he’s in?

“Regulus?” Myrtle cries, floating into the bathroom through the opposite wall. She looks
immediately horrified, hovering near him in distress. “What happened to you? You’re hurt. Oh, I’ll
alert Madame Pomfrey right away.”

“No,” Regulus croaks. “Not Pomfrey. Go to the kitchens, Myrtle, and get me a house elf called
Tappy.”

“A house elf?”

“Myrtle,” Regulus says. He’s overcome by a coughing fit that fills his mouth his blood. He spits it
on the tiles, and Myrtle whimpers when she sees the red splat. “Tappy. Please.”

Myrtle zooms away through the pipes, the fastest way.

While he waits, Regulus drags himself over to the wall so he can rest. There’s blood and dust
smeared over the floor where he crawled. It takes only a couple of minutes for the house elf to
apparate in the bathroom with a loud crack.

“Master Black,” Tappy says, sounding horrified. “You are hurt.”

“Tappy,” Regulus says quickly. “I need your help, please. I need to you to do exactly what I tell
you to do. Can you do it?”

Tappy’s lower lip wavers. “I am no healer, Master Black.”

“I am,” Regulus says. “I’ll guide you through it. But you need to be my hands.”

Tappy takes a shuddering breath, then sets his shoulders. “Yes, Master. What do we do?”

Myrtle arrives half way through the procedure, and to her credit, she doesn’t interrupt. She doesn’t
say anything, doesn’t cry. She simply watches as Regulus has Tappy set his ribs back in place.
Then his dislocated shoulder. Then his leg. It's done the muggle way, just making sure the bones
are aligned where they should be. Tappy looks distraught, but he’s good at following orders and
does things precisely as Regulus tells him.

Once the elf has done as much as he can possibly do to help Regulus—he cannot ask Tappy to
perform healing spells—and he is certain he’s not in mortal peril anymore, Regulus allows his eyes
to drift closed. He’s so fucking tired.

“Tappy,” Myrtle says gently. “Do you think you can take Regulus to his dorm?”

He doesn’t hear the reply, finally, finally succumbing to the sweet oblivion of rest.

Chapter End Notes

Opening the chapter right after the Love Cave with Black Brothers? Why not!? I love
them <3

WOFLSTAR RISING! YES KINGS FINALLY. We've made significant progress

today and I'm so happy for you my babes. Sirius, you deserve a medal. ONLY FOR
THE BRAVE, you got your man, I'm so proud <3

Jegulus fluff, anyone? They're so cute? HELP I CAN'T. Not them talking normal,
casual stuff like animagi or amortentia? They're so precious <3

And then... Unhinged Regulus ATE THAT CHAMBER OF SECRETS AND LEFT
NO CRUMBS!! The man suffered, because it wasn't going to be easy, but he fought
and he WON. We bow to you, King.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter - more coming Sunday if I can, maybe Monday
morning. Sorry, some stuff going on in my life and I've been a bit busier than normal.

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS AND SUPPORT AND
THOUGHTS!! It means the world to me!

Also, some of you have found me on TikTok - if you do, say hi :D I'm truly terrible at
edits so I don't attempt them LMAO but I post snippets of the fic :)

See you around! Love you all <3

Solmussa
 Monster
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

I hope you're all having a good weekend wherever you are :)

TWs for this chapter:

Discussions about the war
Smoking
Wounds (leftover from previous chapter)
Underage drinking
Discussions of murder

I think that's it!

Thank you so much to everyone leaving kudos and comments and supporting this
story in any way <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James is exhausted but can’t complain—won’t complain—because the moon was a rather good
one. A little tiredness is nothing, specially not in the face of what Remus actually goes through. So,
James ignores the slight pounding in his temples and the itchiness of his tired eyes and plasters a
smile on his face.

Moony was relaxed, playing with them inside the Shack and causing very little trouble. The night
slipped away rather quickly, considering they stayed confined inside the haunted house. After the
scare with Regulus in the Forbidden Forest, and the earlier incident with the hell hounds before
Christmas, they all agreed it would be best to keep it indoors for this one.

The shower is warm and unknots some of the tired muscles on James’ back. He hopes he’ll be able
to steal at least an hour of sleep during his free period later today, otherwise he’ll be a terrible
boyfriend and pass out on Regulus as soon as he meets him in the Come and Go Room tonight. At
least Reg knows why now. Makes life easier.

Yawning, James exits the bathroom when he’s done with his shower and sleepily nods towards
Peter and Sirius who are waiting for him. Together, the three of them drag their feet through the
castle to the Great Hall for breakfast, all yawns and quiet sighs of exahustion.

“You lot look like death,” Mary points out when they slump together on the bench.

Sirius grunts, reaches for a cup of coffee. Peter leans against James' shoulder and promptly falls
asleep. James, who is just as tired as the others but understands someone has to act normal, smiles
at Mary.

“Got a bit carried away last night with our prank planning,” he says, shrugging. “Barely got any
sleep.”

“Where’s Remus?” Marlene asks, putting down her cup of tea to glance around like she's expecting
Remus to materialise out of thin air.

“We were experimenting with dung bombs. One of them exploded and he singed his face. He’s in
the infirmary,” James explains casually. “He’ll be out in a couple hours.”

“Honestly, you lot,” Mary laughs.

Lily, sitting to her right, narrows her eyes at James but doesn’t comment. Instead, she sips her tea
and asks, “I thought your prankster days were over?”

Sirius, who has now chugged almost a pint of black, bitter coffee, leans forward. “We’re making
an exception. You know, to put the fear of Godric in the Slytherins.”

Delighted, Mary claps her hands. “Love it! Let me know if I can help.”

“Leave Dorcas out of it,” Marlene warns. "She's off limits. No pranking my girlfriend."

James and Sirius both make affronted expressions. “We would never! Dorcas doesn’t count as a
Slytherin anyway,” says Sirius, sounding genuinely offended. "Come on, Marls. You know me
better than that."

Nodding, James adds, “She’ll be safe, don’t worry. We’ll give you a heads up.”

He should, perhaps, also warn Regulus. But James knows him well enough to understand he’ll just
take the prank anyway, whenever they get around to actually doing it. They haven’t even agreed on
what it’ll be. But anyway, point is, Regulus wouldn’t risk anyone noticing that they’re giving him
special treatment. He’s fussy about how he’s perceived, James has realised.

Scanning the Slytherin table across the hall, James frowns. Regulus isn’t there. He finds Crouch
and Evan sitting with Lestrange—that kid is always in their orbit these days.

“Marls,” James asks. “Where’s Dorcas this morning?”

Twisting her body, Marlene scans the Slytherin table quickly. “Oh. She slept in her dorm last night,
something about people noticing she’s been missing too much? I thought she’d be down for
breakfast already.”

“Regulus isn't here either,” Sirius comments.

“Hmm,” Marlene says, narrowing her eyes. She looks at James, a question. James shakes his head.
He’s no idea where they are, either.

James doesn’t get a chance to check the map until they’re in transfiguration. Fortunately, they’re
going through the theory and history of animagi, something James doesn’t need to listen to. They
did all the research years ago. Successfully, too.

Quietly, James spreads the parchment over his thighs under the desk and mutters the words to
activate the map. Next to him, Sirius keeps an eye on McGonagall.

“Oh, he’s in his dorm?” James whispers, confused. “Dorcas is with him.”

Sirius glances at the map, too. “That’s odd. Reggie never misses classes.”

“Do you think something happened?”

Shrugging, Sirius says, “not like you can do anything about it now, mate. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s
not as accident prone as we are. Besides, if he was in bad shape Dorcas would take him to the
infirmary. She's quite sensible like that.”

Logically, he knows Sirius is right. Still, it’s hard for James to focus the rest of his morning. He
goes through the million reasons why Regulus would still be in his dorm, skipping his lessons, and
keeps coming up with progressively more unhinged scenarios that do nothing but compound
James’ anxiety.

The only upside is that Regulus isn’t alone. James trusts Dorcas. She was, after all, Regulus’ best
friend long before James came along. And yet, a part of him is a little bothered. He feels as though
he should know what’s up. As though he should be there to help.

He can’t be, and James doesn’t know how to deal with that, so he’s a bit lost inside his own head
for the next couple of hours.

To James’ immense relief, Regulus is out and about by the time lunchtime rolls around. When
James walks into the Great Hall, he spots Regulus immediately, sitting at the Slytherin table with
his friends and eating like nothing’s amiss. There are purple shadows under his eyes and he does
look a little tense, but otherwise, Regulus is his regal, infuriatingly beautiful self. Next to him,
Dorcas is also acting normal, which helps James further relax.

Quidditch practice is a breeze. Gryffindor is well in the lead for the Cup, and they don’t have
another match until late May because they swapped the games around due to the Slytherin fungus
infestation. The snakes will have two games in a row. The first one is next weekend against
Ravenclaw, which will be easy for Slytherin to win. Ravenclaw haven't been in very good shape
this yeare. The second one will be after the Easter break vs Hufflepuff and that one will prove
trickier. Slytherin will struggle to score enough points to be a threat to Gryffindor.

Unless something goes horribly wrong, Gryffindor is guaranteed the cup so long as they beat
Ravenclaw in the last match of the season. Given how badly Ravenclaw have played this year,
James is confident he’s going to graduate as a legend. Three Quidditch Cups for his team is not a
bad legacy to leave behind. Still, he trains his team like they're last on the table and need to climb
back to the top. Taking a Cup for granted is how you lose it.

“I am dead on my feet!” Marlene groans, throwing herself on a bench in the Quidditch changing
rooms as the team trudges inside.

James is dripping mud—courtesy of his post-practice wrestling match with Sirius—and still in full
gear.

“Crybaby,” Sirius teases her.

“Oi!” Marlene throws a sock at his head, which makes Sirius yelp in disgust.

“Can’t believe we’ve only got the one game left,” Olive comments.

She’s a shy girl, but in the Quidditch changing rooms she comes to life a little bit. James likes to
think it’s because she trusts her team. Something that makes him very proud.

“I know,” Silverwood adds. “Whatever are we going to do next year without Cap?”

There’s a chorus of groans for the team members not finishing school in June. James rubs the back
of his neck self-consciously. “You’ll be fine,” he says. “Just make sure you find a pair of beaters
that trust each other, yeah?”
“We’re losing both our beaters and our Captain,” Olive mutters. “Disastrous.”

“Believe me,” Marlene says, still sprawled on her bench. “I’d return to Hogwarts if I could. Not
looking forward to what’s waiting for us out there.”

It takes everything James has not to flinch. The mood immediately takes a turn for the sombre, like
someone doused the entire team in cold water without warning. Even Sirius, who’s always ready to
crack a joke if required, holds his tongue. Silverwood shuffles forward, looks at James.

“I heard… I mean, there’s a rumour that you’re not going to go pro, after all?”

Sighing, James nods. “I want to help.” He can’t tell them about the Order, so he fabricates the first
lie that comes to mind, “I’m looking at auror applications instead.”

“Me too,” says Marlene, surprising James. “They need all the hands they can get. I’ve heard
they’re barely coping.”

“The aurors?” Sirius asks.

“Yeah,” Marlene nods, but there’s a glint in her eye that makes James’ gut squirm. She knows
something, Marlene. “They’re stretched too thin.”

“I think you’ll be a great auror,” Olive says kindly. “And maybe when things are better you can
still go pro. Who knows, maybe the war is over by this time next year.”

There’s a chorus of agreements, but it’s subdued. James has no idea what to say to that. Will the
war be over quickly? There’s no way to tell. As members in training, James, Sirius, Remus and
Peter get no information about the inner workings of the Order or even about the progress of the
war efforts in general.

They don’t know why the conflict has been going on for as long as it has. Don’t know why it feels
as though the other side is always a step ahead. All they know, is that the news get grimmer and
more soul-crushing with each passing day, and that Kingsley trains them with such vigour they all
know things are very dire.

The conversation dwindles after that. People shuffle around, showering and getting dressed. James
is lost in his own thoughts about what it will be like to fight. Inevitably, it leads to him thinking
about Regulus.

James has to talk to him. He can’t keep putting it off.

Except—what if? If Regulus chooses wrong. If he’s too afraid to do the right thing, or he feels like
he can’t, like he’s trapped. There are so many reasons why Regulus could think he can’t say no to
them. And what then?

If he decides to join the Death Eaters, what will James do? He can’t fathom the idea of… of…
giving it up. Of not being with Regulus. But he also cannot fathom the idea of just… if he…

Sighing, James presses his forehead against his locker. The cool metal helps dispel the headache
he’s given himself. It’s always like this. He tries to conjure up scenarios in his mind and ends up
miserable and afraid.

He loves Regulus too much.

And he hopes that’s enough.

If it isn’t, James doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“You alright?” Sirius asks.

James opens his eyes and looks around to find them alone in the changing room. Sirius’ hair is wet,
drops of water dripping onto the open collar of his shirt.

“Yeah,” James sighs. “It’s just. Y’know.”

With a solemn expression, Sirius puts his hands on James’ shoulders and looks straight at him.
“We’re going to win this war. We’re going to save the world, you and me. With Moony and Peter.
The Order is going to win.”

“Oh, I know that,” James says easily, his own confidence rising to match Sirius’ enthusiasm. He’s
still excited about it, even if he’s more aware of the dangers now than he was before. Even if he
understands the guilt that comes with losing people, and the fear of being in the middle of a battle,
James knows he’s doing the right thing.

He’s going to be there on the front lines, protecting people. Making a difference.

“That’s not… I’m not having doubts about that at all,” he says confidently. Then, in a more
subdued voice, “But I’m worried about Regulus.”

Understanding flickers in Sirius’ eyes. He drops his hands, runs one through his wet hair. “You
need to talk to him,” Sirius says gently.

“I know. I know.”

“Are you seeing him tonight?” Sirius asks casually.

James lifts an eyebrow. “You know I am. What’s up?”

“Just… wondering if you’ll…” Sirius chuckles to himself. “Fucking hell. I’m embarrassing myself.
Is the dorm going to be free all night?”

“What do you—Oh,” James starts. “Pads. He’s supposed to rest after a full moon.”

“Don’t worry,” Sirius replies primly. “I plan on doing all the work. He won’t move a muscle.”

“Godric have mercy,” James says, dramatically covering his eyes with his hands before dropping
them to grin at Sirius. “You’re a heathen. I feel like I created a monster.”

“It was all Remus,” Sirius replies, wiggling his eyebrows.

James chortles, claps his best friend on the back. “Lucky bastard.”

“So, empty dorm?”

James snorts with yet more laughter. Sirius looks so happy, but also so bashful it’s kind of
adorable. “Yes. It will be, so long as Pete’s staying with Olive.”

“He is,” Sirius says, looking extremely pleased with himself. “I already asked.”

Throwing his bag over his shoulder, James heads out with Sirius, both boys sniggering together. It
feels nice. Normal. As though everything will be alright so long as he can keep joking with his best
friend. When Sirius smiles, James feels like all will be well no matter what.
 ***

As soon as James approaches, the door to the Come and Go Room draws itself on the wall, which
tells him Regulus is already inside. It's extra nice when he's here early. Makes James feel wanted.
Cared for. Because Regulus values his time a lot, and the fact that he's using it to wait for James?
He knows it matters. James has a pep in his step as he crosses the threshold, eager to see his Reg.
He walks into the wooden winter cabin Regulus chose the day before Christmas, which only makes
James smile wider. He’s got such good memories of this one.

The boy who holds his heart in his ring-clad hands is sitting in front of the fire, watching the
flames crack. He’s on the thick rug… and something is off. Regulus has impeccable posture at all
times, but even for a boy like him, the way he’s sitting now is way too stiff. That can’t be
comfortable. The ombre glow of the fire dances on his hair, a halo of golden light that makes it
look as if the sun was shining on his black curls.

“Hey,” James says, dumping his cloak on the nearest chair and walking over to sit with Regulus.

He tilts his head, looks up at James. Tiredness clings to the corners of Regulus’ eyes, but he smiles
softly anyway. “Hey.”

Something tightens inside James’ chest. Lowering himself to the floor, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Rough day.”

James immediately wants to go fight whoever or whatever has made Regulus sad like this. He hates
it, hates that he wasn’t there to make it better. Hates that Regulus keeps secrets, even if he
understands not everyone is an oversharer like him. But perhaps he can make it better now, so he
tries.

“Can I help? Let me help.”

Regulus just looks at the fire, not answering. James feels the thing in his chest squeeze tighter. He
scoots a bit closer. “Can I touch you?”

Surprise flickers across Regulus’ face, and James realises it has been a while since he’s had to ask
that. They’ve had such a good run since the early days that James hasn’t had a doubt. Most of the
time, it’s Regulus himself who initiates contact.

“Yes,” Regulus says quickly. “Actually.” He tugs on James’ arm, and James obeys. Turns out what
Regulus wants is to put his head on James’ shoulder and continue watching the fire burn.

Feeling slightly less worried, James threads his fingers with Regulus’. He notices a few scabbed
over cuts on the back of his hand. What happened? How did he hurt himself? James debates
whether he can ask. Whether he should ask. He’s been so worried all day but Regulus is… distant.
James is getting a different vibe from him today and it’s making him hesitate.

Biting his tongue, James tries to let it go. The cuts do look very minor and almost healed. Perhaps
he scratched himself against a wall or something.

And then, mentally, he smacks himself. His boyfriend is Regulus Black. There isn’t a more
composed, collected, elegant person in the entire school. Regulus doesn’t go around accidentally
bumping into walls.

“What happened here?” James asks softly.

“Bad quidditch practice,” he mutters.

James frowns. Regulus is a seeker. What’s he getting hurt for? “What the fuck did you guys do?”

“Leave it,” Regulus says. “Please? I’m tired. I just… can we just be for a while?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” James replies.

And so they do. They sit by the fire for a while in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. It
should be nice. But James can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. He doesn’t know how
he knows, he just does. There’s this… energy about Regulus that is making James anxious. Like
he’s missing something obvious, something he should be able to see.

But Regulus has very clearly established a boundary—he doesn’t want to talk tonight. And James
loves him too much to disrespect that, even if it’s eating him from the inside out.

Eventually, they get up from the floor because their bodies are complaining from bad posture on a
hard surface and the fire has been dwindling to cinders for a while because neither of them moved
to rekindle it.

Regulus stands by the bed, looking down at it with a scowl on his face, like it has personally
offended him. This time, James can’t stop himself from asking straight away.

“Do you still want to sleep here?”

“Yes,” Regulus replies, looking at him. The scowl eases a little, but it doesn’t disappear. “I just…
ah. I’m not really in the mood for…”

“Oh,” James says, eyes going wide. “That’s fine. Totally fine. I’m not… that’s not why I'm here,
Reg. It's not the end goal or even a goal at all. It’s a nice bonus, but it’s not the reason I like
spending time with you.”

The tension bleeds from Regulus’ shoulders at that. There’s even the hint of a smile on his face.
James meant what he said. He loves Regulus for who he is. For how he makes him feel. Loves him
for his wit and his earnestness. His passion for muggle inventions and his quick reflexes that make
him the best seeker James has ever met. Loves him for the way his eyes go soft when James smiles
at him, and for the way his fingers cradle James’ face like it’s precious. And yes, James is terribly,
deeply, overwhelmingly attracted to Regulus and would very much like to be naked with him all
day every day. But if he couldn’t have sex with Regulus ever again James would still love him just
as fiercely. Without a doubt.

So why is there a small, nagging feeling in the back of his head now?

It takes James a moment to realise that the issue isn’t that Regulus doesn’t want to do anything
today. The issue is that… it feels to James like Regulus’ weird and rather awkward statement (‘not
in the mood’? really?) is hiding something else. Because of the whole vibe of tonight in general,
even before Regulus said anything. Something is off.

It’s just… they’ve always been quite physical. The moment they discovered what it felt like to get
lost in each other’s skin, they haven’t stopped. Even when they fight, they make up in bed. It’s…
it’s part of how their relationship works.

But if this is what Regulus needs, this is what James will give him. And he'll be patient until
Regulus tells him what's truly bothering him.
Regulus doesn’t even so much as kiss him on the lips for the rest of their evening. They chat, not
much because apparently Regulus isn’t in a talkative mood, either. It’s still relatively early when
Regulus asks the room to dim the lights so they can prepare for sleep. It’s nice. It’s quiet and calm.
And James wants to enjoy it so badly.

He tries with everything he has.

But as he slides into bed with Regulus and puts a careful arm around the boy who sets his head on
his chest, James can’t help but wonder for a brief moment if he’s done something wrong.

The insecurity he’s been harbouring takes root in the back of his brain, like a vine crawling up a
wall. It whispers to James that he’s in too deep, and that Regulus isn’t. That he’s too much. Too
intense. He wants too strongly.

What if Regulus is starting to become overwhelmed?

If, perhaps, it’s not that Regulus isn’t in the mood today. Maybe, the voice in the back of James’
head says, he’s just not in the mood for you.

When he wakes up, James is ashamed of his thoughts. He’s being self-centred. Regulus is entitled
to a night off, or two, or whatever he needs. And it’s not healthy for James to start doubting himself
at the first sign of Regulus having a bad day. He cannot immediately assume it’s something he’s
done. Can he? He shouldn’t. He doesn’t think he should. So, he smiles as Regulus bids him good
day and watches him slip out of the Come and Go Room to go about his lessons.

During the day, he touches his arm, and Regulus responds in kind, so James feels better and tells
himself he’s being an idiot. He’s always known Regulus sometimes has a hard time—with words,
with sleep, with life. If he’s having a hard time now, James cannot make it about himself.

The second night Regulus refuses all physical contact except when it's time to curl up and fall
asleep, James firmly shoves his insecurities away. Something is clearly going on with Regulus, and
he has to be a supportive boyfriend and just be there for him.

Again, whenever he catches Regulus’ eye in the halls during the day, everything seems fine.
Regulus doesn’t smile, because he’s Regulus and his face is usually set in a permanent scowl, but
James can read the fondness in his expression.

On the third night, Regulus does kiss James on the lips quickly but shrinks away the moment
James’ hands flit towards his torso. And that... ah. It stings. It really does. James is hurt because he
wasn’t even going to try to slide them under Regulus’ shirt. James has been so respectful. Hasn't
even tried anything, and he will not try anything. Not until Regulus tells him it's okay again. So
why doesn't Regulus trust him to continue to respect his boundaries?

James just… he just wanted to hold Regulus. Chastely. Prudishly. Just hold him, light hands on his
waist over his clothes. It’s all James wants. He doesn’t get to do it and it's fine, except James can't
help but wonder what he's done to make Regulus think James can't be trusted.

When he asks Regulus again what’s wrong, Regulus shrugs it off, says he’s just having a bad
week, then picks up a book to read with his head on James’ lap.

It's fucking confusing. The rejection eats at James, because… well. None of this makes sense to
him. Like, yes. James gets that Regulus doesn’t want sex or anything of the sort right now. No
being naked. No making out. No touching. But he doesn’t understand where the boundaries are.
How is Regulus’ head on his lap or curling up to sleep against him okay, but James can’t place a
gentle hand on his hip while they kiss with their mouths closed? A kiss that Regulus initiated, by
the way. Because James has been dutifully keeping his mouth to himself.

Doesn't matter how many times he turns this over in his head, James can't figure it out, so he's just
confused, sitting there, while Regulus reads on his lap like nothing out of the ordinary is
happening. And James isn’t sure how to handle it. So he sulks in silence for the rest of the night,
not even bothering to say goodnight to Regulus when they get into bed together. The worst part?
Regulus doesn’t seem to even notice. Doesn't seem to care.

The fourth night that week, James can’t stand the strange silence and the distance Regulus has put
between them any longer. He tries to ask what’s wrong again, more firmly this time, and Regulus
shakes his head and says ‘nothing’ again, then challenges him to a game of chess. James plays
chess and loses horribly because he cannot focus.

Chess? He wants to ask. We’re playing chess now? Since when? What’s wrong? Why don’t you
want me anymore?

The fifth night, James keeps his hands in his pockets the entire time. Like he's striking. Sending a
message. It's fucking uncomfortable, but he does it because he's getting angry now. He's still
confused and frustrated. So. Hands in pockets for hours, and Regulus doesn’t comment on it. So
when they curl up in bed to sleep, James tells Regulus he can’t meet him again the next day. It’s
not true. James could, he doesn’t have any plans. But he cannot lock himself in the Come and Go
room with his boyfriend one more time and be rejected again.

He just can’t take it.

James appreciates Regulus needs this—whatever this is—and James will give it to him. But right
now, James also needs space to sort his own thoughts out. He needs to examine his feelings and
find a way to be okay with Regulus pulling away from him. Has to find a way to bring him back,
closer. To his absolute dismay, Regulus doesn’t fight him on it. He agrees, saying he’ll probably
have to attend the Slytherin party after they beat Ravenclaw anyway, and bids him goodnight.

James doesn’t get a wink of sleep.

“What’s wrong with you?” Peter asks James that Saturday morning when he shows up to breakfast
with huge bags under his eyes and feeling quite sorry for himself.

Regulus left the Come and Go Room at the crack of dawn to prepare himself for the Quidditch
match. James stayed there, lying in bed, wondering where he went wrong. When his boyfriend
stopped wanting him.

“Nothing,” James mumbles, dragging his spoon through his porridge.

Peter nudges his shoulder. “Hey. I’ve known you since you were five. If you’re going to lie to me,
try harder.”

That does get a small smile out of James. He glances at Peter, runs a hand over his face,
accidentally dislodging his glasses. “Something’s wrong with… you know.” He leans closer and
whispers, “my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Peter’s eyebrows fly up. “How wrong are we taking about?”

“Well, I don’t know,” James says, frustrated. “He won’t talk to me about it.”

“Who won’t talk to you about what?” Sirius asks, plopping down on the bench across from James
and Peter. Remus slides in much more maturely next to Sirius.

James drops his face in his hands.

“Marital problems,” Peter says to Sirius and Remus, who are watching James with confused
expressions.

“Huh?” Sirius frowns.

Remus twists in his seat to glance over at the Slytherin table. James kicks him, “Don’t look! I don’t
want him to think I’m pathetic.”

“But you are,” Remus points out. “You look like shit.”

“I didn’t sleep.”

Sirius scratches his head. “I’m confused. What exactly is the problem?”

“I don’t know!” James says, and it comes out a bit louder than he means to, because a few people
turn their heads to look at him.

James is not a person that gets embarrassed easily, but he doesn’t want anyone catching wind of
this, so he does lean closer to his friends and lowers his voice considerably.

“Something’s bothering him, but he won’t tell me. He’s just… distant. Like, cold?”

“Hate to break it to you,” says Remus. “But your boyfriend is Regulus Black. Distant and cold are
his default.”

“Not with Prongs,” Sirius jumps in. Remus glances at him, surprised. “Have you never seen him
around James? He turns into a fucking marshmallow. It’s insane.”

“He does not,” Peter says, jaw hanging open in shock. Sirius nods vigorously, hair flying wildly
around his shoulders.

“Can you please stop?” James intervenes irritably. “Something’s wrong, and he won’t tell me what
it is. And I’m… what if it’s me?”

His three friends exchange confused glances. Sirius takes his wand out and puts his hair in a half
bun. James doesn’t miss the way Remus’ eyes linger on the curve of his neck. Honestly. These
two.

“Listen. I’m not… an expert,” Remus says calmly. “But all evidence points to the fact that he’s as
obsessed with you as you are with him.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agrees. “I mean, I’m not loving it, but he’s obviously very into you.”

“Oi!” James protests.

“What we mean is that perhaps something else is going on,” Remus says.

James sighs, drops his elbows on the table so he can support his head with his hands. His friends
are making sense. He knows these things, knows that it’s okay for Regulus to have problems and
issues and things going on. It’s not that. It’s just… why isn’t he talking to James about it?

He says this much out loud, and Sirius winces before replying, “Not everyone is as comfortable
voicing their emotions as you are, mate.”

“You could always ask Dorcas,” Peter suggests. James had forgotten for a moment that he was
here, too, which is truly terrible of him. And that’s actually not a bad idea at all.

“You know what, Pete, I think I might,” James says, feeling a bit better. “She’s going to come
watch the match with Marlene. I’ll see if she knows what’s up.”

“Figure it out, so we can go back to prank planning,” Peter says. “We still haven’t come up with
anything good and it’s been weeks.”

“Hear, hear,” says Sirius.

Nothing has been resolved, and he's still a mess of insecurities and confusion, but the thick knot in
his throat has eased a bit. At least enough that James can force porridge down and smile a bit when
his friends start to make ridiculous predictions about how the Quidditch match is going to go.

Having a plan of action does help considerably, and James is determined to fish information out
Dorcas if it costs him life. By the time they slide into the Quidditch stands, he's ready to beg if
that's what it takes. His entire team is here, because James has made it mandatory to watch the
other houses play. They’re bundled up in several layers of clothing and have cast warming spells to
ward of the chill. It’s the first weekend of March but winter is being clingy this year. There isn’t a
single hint of spring in the air yet.

“Dorcas,” James calls. “Sit with me for a bit?”

Shrugging, Dorcas swaps places with Silverwood and settles next to James on the stands as the
teams walk onto the pitch. James finds Regulus immediately. He looks glorious in his Quidditch
gear, eyes bright with anticipation, cheeks rosy from the biting cold.

“Is Reg okay?” James asks quietly.

Dorcas jolts. “What do you mean?”

“I mean is he okay,” James says, looking at her quickly before refocusing on the pitch. “He’s been
super odd this week. Won’t talk to me about whatever it is that’s bothering him.”

“James, you can’t ask me to betray his confidence like that,” Dorcas admonishes him.

“Ah. So, something is going on,” James presses.

The teams mount their brooms. Hooch blows her whistle.

“Well, yes.”

“Did I do something?” James asks. “Just tell me that. He won’t let me touch him. I don’t
understand what—”

James stops talking abruptly. Dorcas is replying to him, saying something that he’s not hearing
because James has suddenly, all at once, figured out what is wrong with Regulus.

Regulus is in pain.

What the fuck? James is pretty sure no one else can tell. But James isn’t the best Quidditch Captain
this school has seen in generations for nothing. He knows peoples’ flying styles. Knows how to
read body language when people are on their brooms. And Regulus isn’t just his boyfriend. He’s
also the seeker of their biggest rival.

James can read Regulus on a broom like he was born for it.

And Regulus is struggling.

“What the fuck happened to him?” James hisses, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his
legs. He’s addressing Dorcas, but his eyes are tracking Regulus as he flies lazily over the game.

His body language is all wrong. Tense, and awkward. “Where is he hurting? Looks like it’s bad.”

Slytherin chasers are in possession, the commentator shouts. James is, for once, uninterested in the
development of the match. His heart is in his throat, and he can’t look anywhere but at Regulus.

“For what’s worth, I told him to sit out the game,” Dorcas replies.

“That’s why he won’t let me… the little shit,” James swears, agitated. “How did he get hurt? Why
hasn’t he gone to Poppy?”

“He won’t tell me how it happened,” Dorcas says, sounding as frustrated as James feels. “I suspect
he got into a fight with someone.”

“How bad?”

“Couple of broken ribs. Smashed leg. Some cuts here and there. It’s not terrible, but there’s a large,
purple-ish bruise all over his side.” Dorcas shakes her head. “I managed to heal his leg, but the
ribs? Too delicate. He’s waiting it out muggle style.”

This information reframes the past week in James’ mind in an instant. And well. Points for
powerful boyfriend intuition. He was right that Regulus was rejecting him, just not for the reasons
James feared. Regulus didn’t want James to see. Didn’t want James to find out he's hurt.

James is going to kill somebody.

“Cracked ribs? He shouldn’t be flying,” James says, coming half out of his seat before Dorcas tugs
him back down.

“You can’t do anything about it. Not without coming out to the entire school. And Regulus doesn’t
want anyone to know.”

“But he’s hurt!”

“I know that!” Dorcas snaps. “Do you think I like this shit? But if you’re going to love Regulus,
you’ve got to love him when he gets like this, too.”

“Fuck!”

There’s a commotion next to them, then Marlene and Sirius are asking people to move so they can
sit with Dorcas and James. On the pitch, Slytherin have scored three goals already. Ravenclaw only
one. Regulus is still circling the game, eyes quickly darting back and forth.

“What in Merlin’s good name are you two fighting about?” Sirius asks.

Dorcas shakes her head. “We’re not fighting.”

James opens his mouth, but Dorcas shoots him a look that makes him hesitate. He hates this.
Fucking hates it. But the silent command is clear. Regulus doesn’t want people to know. Dorcas
tried to respect his privacy. James should do the same.

“Just having an animated discussion,” James grits out. “About the game. Let’s watch, yes?”

Marlene and Sirius exchange a glance, but they don’t push it. James doesn’t breathe again until
Regulus catches the snitch twenty minutes later.

####

Despite the chilly air, sweat makes Regulus’ clothes stick to his torso as he closes his fingers
around the elusive snitch. The whistle goes off, and relief washes over him in a wave. Doing his
level best not to pass out from sheer agony, Regulus lands and dismounts.

His ribs are killing him.

Tappy did a great job at resetting them, but without a wand he couldn’t mend the bones
completely. And Regulus has been taking pain and strengthening potions, but the internal bruising
the basilisk caused him can only be cured with healing charms. The kind that one can’t perform on
oneself, unfortunately.

Dorcas tried, but healing magic is really not her competence, and it didn’t work. Not for the ribs.
She managed to mend his broken leg, because a straight bone like that is easier to reset. But the
rest of him is still pretty cracked up. Barty and Evan couldn’t help, so Regulus didn’t bother telling
them.

Out of all his friends, Regulus is the only one to have ever taken an interest in medicinal magic. So,
he essentially just has to suck it up and wait for them to heal naturally.

Shockingly, Regulus has developed a new appreciation for muggles. If this is how they heal from
everything, he’s begrudgingly impressed. They are some resilient motherfuckers, because Regulus
is in pain and he’s been a miserable little shit about it for six days straight.

Oblivious to his ordeal, the rest of the team lands around him to congratulate him. This had to be
the shortest match of the season. Regulus made sure of it. There was no way he could have flown
for much longer in his state.

Fortunately, it’s well known that one shouldn’t touch Regulus Black for risk of losing a limb, so
nobody tries to throw their arm over his shoulders or any of the other Quidditch celebratory
malarkey that normal players engage in. It’s barbaric.

Even if he wasn’t hurt, Regulus simply doesn’t see the point in demonstrating… whatever it is they
think they’re demonstrating by banging against each other’s bodies. He cannot comprehend how
people find it pleasant to be smashed against someone else unless that someone else is James
Potter. The exception the rule. There always has to be one.

Students are flooding the pitch now, shouting and cheering.

“That was fantastic!” one of their chasers tells Regulus.

“Very smooth, Black!”

“Best seeker in the school!”

The urge to roll his eyes is strong. Of course he’s the best fucking seeker in the school. He’s the
fastest, and the smartest. Regulus understands the magic that powers snitches and has developed a
keen sense for tracking it. Not to mention he’s got the best broom money can buy. There is literally
no one who can catch up to him if he’s sprinting.

Forcing himself to look at least mildly flattered—which he isn’t, he’d need to care about the
opinions of these people to be flattered by them—he nods in response.

Slowly, Regulus allows the flow of the crowd to carry him towards the Quidditch changing rooms.
Rabastan finds his way to his side, and then they’re walking together. He’s the only one on the
team that Regulus is vaguely friendly with, so they’ve been hanging out during practice.

Before they reach the changing rooms, however, Remus Lupin pushes his way through the mass of
bodies and comes to stand before him.

Regulus isn’t surprised to notice people move a bit out of Lupin’s way. He’s got a slightly
intimidating air about him. At least Sirius exhibits better taste in men than he did in women.
Regulus cannot fault his brother for lusting after Lupin.

“Black,” he says, looking straight at him.

“Lupin.”

Rabastan, the team’s keeper, takes a step closer to Regulus and glares at Lupin who proceeds to
ignore him completely.

“The patrol rotas have changed, need to give you the update,” Lupin says, gesturing back, away
from the crowd. “It’ll be a minute.”

“What’s he talking about?” Rabastan asks Regulus.

There’s nothing in his expression to suggest even a little bit that this isn’t about prefect duties, and
Regulus respects that. Lupin is a good liar, and that’s a skill Regulus appreciates.

“Prefect stuff,” he says, sounding bored. “Lupin and I get paired together often.”

“Right,” Rabastan says, relaxing slightly.

“It’s fine,” Regulus says to the other boy, keeping his expression completely neutral and his voice
detached. “I’ll meet you in the common room. Find Barty and Evan.”

Narrowing his eyes towards Lupin, Rabastan nods. “You got your wand?”

Regulus flicks it out of its holster in a flashy flourish that seems to satisfy Rabastan. He trudges
away, and Regulus follows Lupin to the back of the stands. The other boy takes out a cigarette,
then offers his pack to Regulus. Wordlessly, he takes one.

“What’s this really about?” Regulus asks Lupin.

“James is freaking the fuck out,” Lupin replies.

Frowning, Regulus walks with Lupin around the stands, inhaling the smoke and doing his best to
hide the grimace of pain from the strain his lungs are putting on his cracked ribs. When they turn
the corner, Regulus finds James pacing like a caged animal. With him are Sirius, Dorcas, Marlene,
and Lily Evans.

“James says you’re hurt,” Lupin tells him under his breath. “And he told Sirius and they’re having
a meltdown over it.”

The cold early March air smells crisply of grass and wind. It tugs at Regulus’ quidditch robes,
tangling them a little around his knees when he comes to a stop and glares at James. Ideally,
Regulus would cross his arms for effect, but he can’t do that without it being excruciating so he
settles for a deep scowl.

“Regulus!” James exclaims as soon as he sees him.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Regulus doesn’t have time for this.

Lily looks a bit startled, but Sirius immediately starts towards Regulus, throwing his arms up in the
air and diverting attention from James.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Regulus hisses. “I can’t be here with you.”

“I’m worried about you,” Sirius declares loudly, then, pitching his voice low, says, “Prongs is this
close to doing something stupid. What the fuck is going on? How did you get hurt?”

Over Sirius’ shoulder, Regulus can see James struggling to stay put. It’s written on every line in his
body, how badly he wants to cross the distance between them.

Salazar fucking Slytherin, his boyfriend needs to chill the fuck out. This is dangerous and stupid
and reckless and a list of things so long Regulus doesn’t have time to go through them right now. If
anyone happens to find him standing here with a bunch of random Gryffindors including Lily
Evans… fuck.

“I’m leaving right now,” he says, glaring at his brother. “Don’t ever do something like this again.”

“Regulus, if you’re hurt, James isn’t going to stop until he knows you’re fine,” Sirius says
imploringly. “And I’m worried too. What happened?”

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Regulus says petulantly. He turns, determined to leave
before this situation becomes unsalvageable.

Without warning, Sirius’ hand darts forward. He presses a fingertip to the side of Regulus that’s
badly bruised, gently. It’s barely a brush, but Regulus flinches nonetheless.

“Let’s try this again,” Sirius says, firmly. “Lily is pretty good at healing charms. She’s offered to
help you.”

Ah. So that’s what she’s doing here. Well, Regulus isn’t letting her wand anywhere near him. He
doesn’t care how good she is at magic—very good, from what he’s heard and seen—she is still the
girl James made an ass of himself over for two years. No way Regulus is accepting her help. It’s
just the principle of it all.

“I don’t need help.”

“You very clearly do,” Sirius insists, getting more frustrated by the minute. Regulus thinks this is
fucking rich, specially coming from a guy who got himself mauled to near-death by a pack of
hounds and had to be healed in secret in a magical room in the castle.

Anyway, Regulus didn’t ask for any of this. For them to make a scene. The whole thing is... Sirius
is being ridiculous.
And how did they find out he’s hurt?

“Dorcas,” Regulus snarls, spotting her hovering behind James with Marlene.

Dorcas looks up, a concerned frown on her brow. Marlene is whispering something to her, but
she’s shaking her head. Regulus refocuses on Sirius. He can have a go at Dorcas later, these people
don’t need to witness him arguing with his best friend. That's private.

“No,” Sirius snaps. “She didn’t say anything. Don’t take it out on her.”

This is insane. Regulus is just floored. What are these people doing? What right do they have to
summon him here when he should be with his team celebrating the win? Why are they acting like
it matters? Like they care.

And even if they did—which they don’t—they have no right to interfere! If Regulus hasn’t asked
anybody to get involved, then they shouldn’t be.

“I’m late for the party,” Regulus says, pivoting on his feet to stride away.

“Wait!” James calls out. “Wait, Regulus. Please.”

He wants to turn around so badly he knows he can’t. This is getting out of hand. James can’t just
send his friend after him because he’s seen Regulus wince a little while flying a game. He’s getting
careless and that’s dangerous. Especially this close to the end.

So, Regulus keeps walking, ignoring both James and Sirius as they call after him. His ribs aren’t
happy he turned down a chance to get them healed, but it had to be this way. He’s got a bit over
three weeks left before the Easter break, and he cannot allow James to expose them.

***

Three hours later, Regulus has drunk enough firewhiskey that even the pain in his ribs is numb.
Much like the only other time he’s ever been properly drunk, Regulus feels his body taking a life of
its own. He’s schooled his face into a scowl because it’s safer than allowing it to just go with the
flow, but every now and then he’ll find himself glancing at the door and wondering if he could get
away with sneaking all the way to Gryffindor Tower to see James.

Fucking alcohol, honestly. It’s a safety hazard.

The Slytherin common room is full of people. Someone has charmed a series of instruments to
play themselves and they’re going through instrumental versions of popular songs. Secretly,
Regulus longs for the record player in the Gryffindors’ possession. This party could use livelier
music, but it is what it is. At least, Regulus is pleased to confirm, he’s not tempted to sway to the
music when the music doesn’t have a beat.

He's also safe from ABBA, which would be disastrous. Regulus is too drunk to stop himself from
grinning if Dancing Queen came on.

“Black, mate,” says Rabastan, emerging from the crowd with two shot glasses. “Here.”

Regulus takes it.

“To a very dark future,” Rabastan exclaims, raising his glass.

Perhaps it’s the alcohol coursing through his veins, or the rattling of his heart in his chest, banging
against his bruised ribs like it knows what’s coming. Or maybe it’s just that, even drunk, Regulus
is cunning and understand he has to pull strings.

He raises his glass, clinks it against Rabastan’s and says, “Ours for the taking.”

They knock the drinks back and Rabastan lets out a loud cackle before banging his empty tumbler
on the nearest surface.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Black.” He sways on his feet, visibly drunk. “You and I are going
to do great things. We’re going to rise to the fucking top!”

Smirking, Regulus nods lightly. “The House of Black and the House of Lestrange,” he mutters.

Rabastan cheers like he’s possessed by the spirit of a banshee, roaring over the noise of the crowd
and the music. When he brings his arms down, he looks at Regulus with a hungry glint in his eye.

He claps Regulus on the back, and it’s a testament to how drunk he is that he only flinches a little.

Rabastan pulls away and says, “I’ll get more drinks.”

“You do that.”

As soon as Rabastan has disappeared into the crowd again, Regulus slips away to the corner where
Evan and Barty are leaning against the wall. Barty has a cigarette in his hand, and Regulus
suddenly really wants one. He lights his own smoke, then leans next to Evan.

The drunker he gets, the harder it is for Regulus to not sneak away and go searching for James. It’s
all he wants. James.

He hasn’t touched him in almost a week and it’s been fucking hard. James isn’t oblivious to it,
either. He hasn’t pushed Regulus, which is just such a James thing to do Regulus can’t help but to
be even more in love with him. But he’s noticed the distance between them, and Regulus has seen
the doubt creeping behind James’ eyes.

That’s why he can’t go looking for him, no matter how much he wants to. Because James can’t
find out how he got hurt. He can’t start worrying. He can’t try to save Regulus.

Because in trying to save Regulus, all James will accomplish is to get himself killed. And that is
not an acceptable outcome.

“You alright?” Evan asks.

“Fucking drunk,” he mutters, forcing thoughts of James to the back of his mind as best he can
given his intoxicated state. “It’s not even a good party.”

“Music sucks,” Barty comments. “Can’t dance to a bloody string quartet, can you?”

“You can,” Evan says primly. “Just not the way you like to dance.”

“Excuse me if I wasn’t raised waltzing around my manor,” Barty teases, his foot nudging Evan’s.

Both he and Regulus roll their eyes. This, Regulus quickly discovers, is a bad idea because it makes
him a little dizzy.

“Don’t fucking mention it,” Evan says. “Keep your back straight, Evan! Chin up, Evan!”
“Watch your step, Regulus!” he chimes in, not really sure why. He’s drunk. That’s why.

Barty is roaring with laughter. “Watch your step? Don’t tell me you weren’t a natural.”

“I was four,” he deadpans. “My legs were still chubby.”

This has Evan and Barty in stitches, and Regulus’ face decides it’s a good time to smile. Taking a
new cigarette out of his pack, Regulus glances about. Dorcas isn’t here and neither is Pandora. It
was, after all, Ravenclaw that got absolutely nailed today in the game so it would have been a bit
treacherous for her to come to the victory party.

“Honestly, Reg,” Barty says, wiping tears off his eyes and lighting himself another cigarette. “The
things you say sometimes.”

“Not my fault your tiny brain finds the most basic statements so hilarious,” he says, petulant. He’s
not sure why it bothers him that his friends think he’s funny, but it does.

“Nothing about Barty is tiny,” Evan says, smirking.

“Can you just not?” Regulus groans.

“Down the stairs you go,” Barty says, glancing towards the steps leading down to their rooms. Still
smirking like the git he is, Evan gives Regulus a look of triumph and disappears towards their
dorm.

Barty pushes himself off the wall. “I’m still annoyed we were quarantined for a whole week, but
you did get rid of Selwyn and the dorm is free for me to go fuck Evan. So.”

Regulus chortles, and Barty smiles. “Silencing spells are your friend,” Regulus says, shaking his
head.

Laughing, Barty winks at Regulus. Then, he gives him a little salute and follows after his
boyfriend. Regulus cannot go back to their dorm for at least an hour, better make it two to be safe.
He’s counting on the alcohol eventually knocking his friends out.

In the meantime, Regulus decides he shouldn’t drink any more which means he has to avoid
Rabastan. This proves to be difficult. The moment he steps away from the wall, the Lestrange boy
is on him again, shoving another shot glass into his hand.

He has enough presence of mind to tell Rabastan he won’t be caught dead in the middle of the rush
of bodies, making it sound like he’s above those things. Rabastan, who very much wants to
impress the heir to the House of Black, immediately agrees that they are too important, too noble to
lower themselves to that level.

Instead, they stick to the edges of the crowd, keeping themselves closer to the walls which allows
Regulus to breathe a bit better. The party isn’t as overwhelming as Halloween was because it’s
darker, and the music is softer, but there are still more people than Regulus could ever be
comfortable with. Hoping it’ll help, Regulus accepts yet another shot from Rabastan when it’s
pressed into his hand.

Somehow, Regulus ends up leaning against a wall near the exit of the common room. The top three
buttons of his shirt are open—can’t remember how that happened—and he’s listening to a girl
whose name he can’t recall as she rambles on about how much she’d like an apprenticeship in the
potions department of the Ministry.
“I could use some help,” she says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger and leaning closer to
Regulus. “And everyone knows you’re the best at potions.”

Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes a little glazed over. She’s as drunk as Regulus is, which
explains why she’s standing so fucking close.

Would James get jealous if he saw Regulus now? James doesn’t seem like the type to get jealous.
He’s… he’s pure. He always thinks the best about people. Sees the good things.

Not that there’s anything James should be jealous of. Regulus’ skin is crawling with how much he
wants to get away from this girl. He just can’t. Not yet. The reason for this is unclear, but Regulus
is aware that it exists.

“Slughorn does tutoring sessions,” Regulus says, scowling.

He needs this girl to leave him alone. He can’t exactly figure out how he ended up here or what
made her think he wanted to listen to her rambling, but he’s had enough now.

“Rabastan suggested you might want to help,” she says, pouting.

Ah. Regulus remembers now. Rabastan fucking Lestrange. Yes, there he is, sucking face with
some other girl on the sofa. Well, he’s no longer paying attention, is he? The only reason Regulus
entertained this girl was to get Rabastan off his back. He’d began to ask questions about why
Regulus never dated anyone.

“Listen,” he says, a little more sharply than strictly necessary. “I’m not interested.”

“Oh,” the girls’ face falls. Then, quickly, she rallies. “Are you sure? I’ll let you shag me.”

Regulus blinks. What the actual fuck? The girl mistakes his shock for consideration, and suddenly
her body is pressed up against his. He can feel her boobs squished against his chest. He supposes
that people who are into boobs would find this attractive—would they, really? Desperation is never
attractive, in his opinion—but he cannot for the life of him, bring himself to pretend he’s not
appalled.

Hastily, he retreats. “Not interested.”

To his absolute shock, the girl still doesn’t give up. “Not just handsome, but also a gentleman. You
know, there aren’t many boys like you.”

“Still not interested,” he snaps. “Get out of my way.”

Despite her pronounced pouting, the girl does obey and takes a wobbly step to the side to let him
pass. Agitated, Regulus slips through the entrance and leaves the Slytherin common room behind.
The silence is like a balm on his distress. Walking swiftly through the dark and quiet corridors,
Regulus becomes more aware of himself again.

It’s cool in the dungeons, and it helps him clear his head a little bit. He’s still drunk enough that his
thought process isn’t one hundred percent as sharp as it should be, but he’s at least not feeling
overwhelmed anymore. At the bottom of the stairs, Regulus hesitates.

He wants James.

In his state, however, it would be fucking stupid to go looking for him.

Regulus isn’t stupid, so instead of the main staircase, he takes the one to the side, wincing as his
ribs protest the climb up the steps.

“Regulus!” Myrtle exclaims happily when he slides into the bathroom on the second floor.

“Hey, Myrtle,” he says, and doesn’t fight the small smile on his face, because he’s drunk, and
because Myrtle is always so genuinely pleased to see him. It’s nice. Also, she kind of saved his life
twice now, so she gets a smile.

“Oh, are you a little tipsy?” she asks, giggling.

Regulus chuckles, which hurts, so then he winces and the giggles are wiped off by a look of
concern. “You never went to the infirmary, did you?”

“I couldn’t exactly tell Pomfrey how I got hurt, could I?”

“You’d be hailed a hero,” Myrtle says.

She knows Regulus found the Chamber of Secrets and slayed the monster that killed her. She
doesn’t know about the Horcruxes, obviously, but there was no way he could explain the state he
was in and why he happened to emerge from a sink in this very bathroom. It is how she died, so
Myrtle was quick to put it together while Tappy healed him. Myrtle was a Ravenclaw, after all.

Carefully, Regulus sits down and rests his back against the wall. “You know why nobody can find
out about that.”

They’ve talked about it. Myrtle, fortunately, is too besotted with him to think past any request
Regulus makes of her. She wants to impress him. Besides, she’s an imprint of her former self. She's
still fucking smart, but fortunately as a ghost she doesn’t have enough presence of mind to
independently decide to seek out another living person and share any information Regulus has told
her.

“I just don’t like it that you’re hurt,” she says, hovering.

“You’re sweet,” Regulus blurts out, then grimaces at the careless slip.

Myrtle sighs, delighted. “I wish I was alive,” she says coquettishly. “We’d make one power
couple.”

Regulus doesn’t correct her. Doesn’t tell her that he’s never in his life seen any girl that way.
There’s no point in hurting her feelings, not when she’s a ghost haunting a toilet stall. Honestly.
Every time Regulus remembers how bleak Myrtle’s existence is, he feels such overwhelming pity
he can’t bring himself to be mean to her.

“I’m tired, Myrtle,” he says instead, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“Talk to me,” she urges him, coming to sit by his side.

“Do you ever wish you were someone else?” Regulus asks her.

“All the time,” Myrtle replies earnestly. “When I was alive. I wished I was one of the girls who
stood up for themselves. Or one of the prettier ones. But why would you want to be anyone else?
You’re brilliant. You’re… well. There’s no one better.”

That makes Regulus scoff, but he’s drunk so it comes out as a little hiccup. Myrtle giggles again.
“I wish I was the sort of person who didn’t… who wasn’t…” He swallows, his throat suddenly
thick. “I like it, Myrtle. And I don’t think I should.”

“You like what?”

“The power,” Regulus admits quietly. “I like knowing I can do things other people can’t. I like the
feeling of control. The rush of winning. I like it and I want more of it. And I’m going to get it.”

“You’re ambitious. That’s not a bad thing,” Myrtle says, set on defending him no matter what.

“How much ambition is too much, though?” Regulus asks, playing with the ring on his forefinger.
“If it makes me do bad things and I don’t care. What does that mean?”

“How bad?” Myrtle asks, always looking for the practical. The logical. The reasonable
explanation.

“I would kill someone to get what I want,” Regulus says. “Does that make me a monster?”

The words hang in the air between him and the ghost. Regulus doesn’t look at Myrtle. He doesn’t
want to see disappointment in her face. He’s not sure why he’s having this conversation with her.
It’s not her opinion he cares about. It’s Dorcas’. It’s James’. Even Sirius’.

Perhaps it’s because he knows what they’ll say. That taking a life is a line that shouldn’t be
crossed. But who draws that line?

Regulus killed Greyback to save Lupin and James found a way to look past it. Regulus has zero
doubt that Sirius has no problem with it whatsoever. Sirius would have killed for Remus, too. For
James as well. Regulus knows his brother well enough to know that. And Dorcas… well. She
labelled Greyback a monster and brushed it off.

Except, next time, it will not be a monster. A bad person, yes. Because Regulus already knows
who’s dying by his hand next. The plan is in motion. And maybe they’d forgive this one, too. If
they found out, which they won’t. But what about the next? And the next? It won’t always be a
monster. And does that make Regulus a monster himself?

“Regulus?” Myrtle asks gently. “Killing someone is always a terrible thing. It’s not your place to
take someone else’s life.”

“I know that,” Regulus says. “And yet, if it was the only way, I would still do it.”

“Well. If it’s the only way implies you’ve tried all other ways,” Myrtle says, her voice tilting into
the pragmatism of a Ravenclaw. “Still pretty bad to kill someone, but it’s not like you wanted to,
right? You don’t… want to?”

“No,” Regulus replies. It's a lie, though. Some people he wants to kill. He does. “Maybe yes? I
don’t know, Myrtle. Some of the people I’d consider killing are pretty bad people. They’ve hurt
me or people who I care about.”

“So, is it like a revenge thing?”

“Yes.”

“I still don’t think you’re a monster,” Myrtle says after a long, considering pause. “Because
monsters don’t worry about whether they are one. They just are.”
 “Myrtle…”

“No,” she says vigorously, floating so she can position herself in front of Regulus. “Do you know
how long I’ve been here alone? You have been my friend when I had no one. I’m just a sad little
ghost in a bathroom. You could have stopped coming when we figured out the Riddle thing. But
you still visit me.”

“That’s not—”

“You are not a monster, Regulus. Monsters don’t befriend sad little toilet stall ghosts.”

Defeated, Regulus sighs and lets it go. He’s not even sure where this came from. Just that… time’s
running out, and the closer he gets to the dreaded Easter break, the harder it gets. He’s conflicted,
and it’s uncomfortable.

On the one hand, Regulus is itching to get started. Specially after he killed a fucking basilisk. He’s
still bruised and aching but there’s an energy simmering in his veins. There’s nothing he can’t do,
and he wants to just go out there and begin delivering sweet, cruel justice.

On the other, there’s James. And that’s it, really. James. Regulus wishes he didn’t have to give him
up to save his life, but he has to. There’s no other option. And Regulus, understandably, doesn’t
want to.

It’s a fucking mess, honestly.

“Thanks Myrtle,” Regulus says, pushing himself up onto his feet. He's not going to solve anything
tonight, and his head is starting to pound as the alcohol works its way out of his system. Barty and
Evan better be done by now.

“I should go to bed.”

Myrtle smiles at him, presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Good night, Regulus.”

Chapter End Notes

James being a respectful king but sensing something else is going on and panicking
about it? He's so valid and I love him so much <3

Dorcas 'I won't betray Reg's confidence' Meadowes is genuinely the BFF of my
dreams. They are so powerful together. I'm so excited for the Regulus & Dorcas
content coming in the next few chapters <3

Regulus, babe, just please make up some excuse and go see Pomfrey? Like...
genuinely. You're not okay.
Barty and Evan deliver the laughs, as always. They are so unhinged and also so...
teenage-y? I love that they're kinda of just vibing in school, which is important
because they don't feel threatened by the war so they're just... chilling and being
boyfriends and in love. I LOVE THEM. Rosekiller <3

Also... Reg's little moment with Myrtle? "Am I a Monster?" "No my love, you're not.
You're a little evil but it's okay. We forgive and forget."
HONESTLY MYRTLE IS SO VALID. She supports Regulus' rights and his wrongs
always. IT'S TRUE.

Also (x2) - James being able to 'read' Regulus on a broom is important

See you in the comments section <3

Thank you for reading!!
 To dance at a party
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Okay, first of all can I just say that I am in absolute AWE of all the people who are
supporting this story!? 1K kudos? I genuinely cannot believe my eyes. THANK YOU
SO MUCH. Every bookmark, kudos, or comment fills my heart with so much joy <3
You are all the best THANK YOU!

Alright, this chapter is... the calm before the storm It's quite happy and nice and
fluffy with very few TWs! I hope you like it :)

TWs
Discussion / depiction of healing wounds / broken bones
Smoking
Underage drinking
Some spice / sex

That is it!! French translation in the end notes. Also, if any of my readers are French /
know French, I am sorry. I'm pretty sure French people wouldn't say things this way,
but I do not know French so I've no idea what a realistic French conversation would be
like and have to go with what Google gives me, so I apologise if it makes you cringe
<3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

In a truly impressive display of pettiness and stubbornness that James has only ever seen matched
by one other person in his life (Sirius Black), Regulus doesn’t leave his dorm all of Sunday.
Monday after class, when James sees in the map that Regulus is making a beeline straight for
Slytherin again and that there's no way he'll ever catch up, James decides that his only choice is to
beg Dorcas for help.

Deep down, James understands he shouldn’t have made such a fuss at the Slytherin game, nor
should he have involved other people. But he also thinks it’s reasonable for him to be fucking
worried about the fact that his boyfriend apparently took a beating of some sort and is badly hurt.
Cracked ribs level of hurt. Definitely severe enough to warrant James’ concern.

They need to talk about it, whether Regulus likes it or not. And this whole avoidance situation is
not going to work. James is not going to allow his little shit of a boyfriend to get away with it.

“What do you want the password for?” Dorcas asks him, frowning. “It’s not like you can waltz in
through the common room. Someone will assault you. I guarantee you that.”

“Your house peers sound truly lovely, Dorcas,” James points out. “Just tell me. Please. Leave the
logistics to me.”

“It’s a bad idea, James,” Dorcas warns him. “Regulus is dealing with some stuff.”
“I just… Dorcas, please,” James begs. “If you don’t tell me the password, I’ll stalk the dungeons
until I find it out. I’m getting in, one way or another. If you help, it’ll be quicker.”

“You never give up, do you?”

“No. When it comes to Regulus, I don’t.”

Reluctantly, Dorcas tells him the password, muttering about how insane he is under her breath.
There is, however, a small smile on her lips that he chooses to read as encouragement to never give
up on Regulus.

Satisfied, James takes his invisibility cloak with him to Quidditch practice so he can go sneak up
on Regulus immediately after.

Practice goes well, as always, and Sirius doesn’t tackle him at the end of it because he knows
James is in a hurry to go find Regulus. In a very strange, unsettling role reversal, Sirius has been
less histrionic about it than James, but he too is worried about his brother.

“Moony has a prefect patrol with Lily and I’ll be annoying them the entire time,” Sirius tells him
with a cheeky grin. “Do you have the mirror?”

“Yes, Pads, calm down. I’ll call you if I get into trouble.”

They very, very rarely need to use the mirror in Hogwarts. Since James gave it to Sirius last
summer, they’ve used it maybe once. They spend most of their time together anyway. It does,
however, come in handy now that James is going to brave the dungeons to talk to his boyfriend.

Safely hidden under his invisibility cloak, James finds his way inside the Slytherin common room.
It’s late afternoon, just over an hour before dinner. Most students are either here or in the library.

Manoeuvring through the crowded spaces is complicated, and James almost bumps into people a
few times. Fortunately, he manages to make it to the staircase leading down to the boys’
dormitories without any serious hiccups.

He’s not entirely unfamiliar with the Slytherin lair, having snuck inside a couple times in previous
years to prank them. However, James doesn’t know which room is Regulus’ so he has to try two
doors before he gets it right on the third go.

Regulus looks up from his bed, where he’s sitting amongst a series of books and pieces of
parchment, as soon as the door opens. His beautiful, distrustful green eyes narrow for a split
second, then he sighs.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, pointedly looking back down at the book on his lap.

His curls fall forward, framing his face. James is momentarily mesmerized by the lines of his
shoulders, the elegance of his hands as they gently hold the tome he’s reading. James would have a
lot less trouble thinking clearly around Regulus if he wasn’t so damn gorgeous.

When he doesn’t say anything, Regulus looks up and cocks an eyebrow.

Closing the door behind him, James yanks the cloak off and crosses the room. “Well, I wouldn’t
have had to sneak in here if you weren’t hiding from me.”

“I’m mad at you,” Regulus points out.

“I’m mad at you, too,” James says with a shrug. “Which means we need to talk about it and sort it
out.”

Scowling, Regulus puts aside the book. He looks at James, the challenge plain on the angles of his
face. It’s frankly quite unfair that defiance looks so damn good on Regulus. If he continues to stare
at him like that, James will forget what he was mad about in the first place.

“I don’t like talking.”

“I know,” James says. “And I don’t care. We’re doing it.”

“Salazar have mercy,” Regulus says dramatically, turning his eyes up towards the ceiling.

James sees his window of opportunity and takes it. Regulus not looking at him means his
braincells can connect to put forward a well-reasoned argument.

“Look. I get that you… it’s hard for you to talk about things sometimes. And that’s fine. But I’ve
been going insane for the past week thinking you didn’t want me anymore,” James says, forcing
the words out because one of them has to voice their feelings or else this will never work.

James wants it to work really badly, so he tries.

“You could have told me you were hurt, and I would have understood. But you didn’t say
anything, just became all distant and I thought… you know.”

Regulus blinks at him, something warring in his eyes. Something James can’t read. It makes his
heart pound harder in his chest, because why isn’t Regulus immediately reassuring him that he
wants him? Why isn't he telling James that it was all just because he was hurt and of course
Regulus wants him and to just swipe it all under the rug?

“That’s not a good enough reason to ambush me after a Quidditch game,” is what Regulus says.

James thinks he might be sick. What is happening?

“What else was I supposed to do, Reg?” James asks, quickly losing his grip on himself. This isn’t
going at all the way James thought it would. “You won’t talk to me!”

“I’m entitled to my privacy!”

“Merlin’s beard, is that what you’re going with? Really?”

James is getting angry. He doesn’t want to be. He wanted to come here and tell Regulus he’s been
worried, and to please go to the infirmary, and then make up.

Instead, Regulus is putting even more distance between them which is sending James into a spiral
of pure panic that’s making him lash out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Regulus asks, sliding off the bed for the first time since James
got here.

“This isn’t about your privacy,” James says, desperately trying to make him understand. “It’s about
you being hurt, and not telling me, and then acting like you don’t want this anymore. It’s about me
trying, and you shoving my efforts back in my face!”

“You did something stupid!”

“I’m only trying to fix things!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard!” Regulus snaps.

It hits James square in the chest, like a curse. He freezes, unsure what to do. What to say to that.
Inside his ribcage, something vicious claws at the space where his pulse beats. The claw squeezes.
Hurting. Drawing blood. James feels like he’s being skined alive. This can’t be… Regulus doesn’t
mean… he—

“Fuck,” Regulus says suddenly, burying his hands in his curls, then wincing and dropping his arms
back down. “I didn’t mean that. Fuck.”

Looking at James with huge, sad, green eyes, Regulus adds in a half-whisper, “I’m… That
wasn’t… I didn’t mean it. I’m just having a hard time.”

Regulus’ distress is so palpable, so genuine, that it eases the knot behind James’ ribs a little bit.
Heart in his throat, he takes a tentative step closer. When Regulus doesn’t back away, James
crosses the distance between them.

“Can I touch you?” James asks quietly.

To his immense relief, Regulus nods. James cradles his face gently, tilts it up so he can look into
those green eyes that have been holding him prisoner since the first time he stared directly at them.

“What is going on, Reg?”

“I got into a fight, alright?” he says sounding more exhausted than James has ever heard him sound
before. “I won’t give you details. Don’t press me for them. I got into a fight, and I got hurt and I’m
in pain and it’s just shit.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not…” Regulus swallows. “It’s easier not to.”

Carefully, James tugs Regulus towards his bed. They sit down together. Intertwining their fingers,
James speaks. “I love you the way you are. And I understand talking about things is hard for you.
But sometimes, I need you to give me something, Reg. I’m pretty good at staying positive, but I’m
not…”

James has to take a pause to swallow the emotion in the back of his mouth. The prickling in the
corners of his eyes. He’s so afraid. Because for a moment there he thought Regulus truly didn’t
want this anymore and it tore James apart so thoroughly he thought he’d disintegrate in this dorm
in the dungeons and never make it out again.

“This may come as a surprise to you,” James continues when he’s got a better grip on his
emotions. “But I do get insecure, too.”

Regulus’ mouth twitches. “The great James Potter, insecure? You’re having a laugh.”

Chuckling, James squeezes his hand. “I know. Ridiculous. But I do.”

“I would show you that I still... you know. I want to show you,” Regulus says carefully. It’s how he
communicates with James most often, through touch and body language, so James gets it. Gets
what Regulus is trying to convey. “But it hurts.”
“Let me see,” James asks. “Please.”

Hesitating only for a moment, Regulus scoots back before lifting his shirt up. James inhales
sharply. The bruise is more yellow and green now, but it’s huge. Mottled. He doesn’t want to
imagine what it looked like days ago, when it was fresh. There are small scars that James can tell
were cuts, too. Those have healed, but shit. What the hell happened to Regulus? How is he even
walking around school?

“How the fuck did you fly on Saturday like that? Are you sure the ribs aren’t broken?”

“They’re a bit splintered, but not broken,” Regulus informs him, like this is totally alright and not
sending James into another spiral of worry.

“Why haven’t you healed them?”

“I can’t cast the spell on myself,” Regulus replies, shrugging. “Doesn’t work like that.”

"Dorcas?"

"She managed to fix my leg, but the ribs are too delicate. She did her best."

“Your leg? What the fu--Alright. Okay." James takes a deep breath. "Show me the spell for the
ribs. I’ll do it for you.”

“It’s too complicated.”

James levels Regulus with a look. “I succesfully turned myself into a stag in fifth year with no help
from any adults whatsoever. I’m pretty bloody certain I can do a healing charm if you teach it to
me.”

“That… is a fair point, actually,” Regulus concedes.

And so, he shows James how to perform the charm. They practice it for close to an hour, going
over the right enunciation and wand movements painstakingly. James puts every ounce of magical
ability and intuition he’s got into learning this, and it pays off.

When Regulus is confident James can do it, he nods and says, “Alright. Let’s try.”

Wincing, Regulus stretches himself back on his bed, shirt open to expose the large bruise over his
side. James crawls on the bed with him, settling on his knees so he can easily wave his wand over
the affected area.

“Ready?” he asks.

Regulus nods. Carefully, with all the focus in the world, James performs the spell. He pours
everything he’s got into it, because Regulus is in pain and James wants nothing more than to make
it better for him.

For the span of breath, James isn’t sure if it worked. And then, Regulus lets out a relieved sigh so
heartfelt, James smiles.

“Do it again,” Regulus says, eyes bright with relief.

It takes two more goes before the bruise is gone and Regulus’ skin is once more smooth and pale.
He sits up, twists his body this way and that, then throws his arms around James’ neck.
“Thank you,” he says fervently, pressing a kiss to James’ jaw. “Oh my God, genuinely. Thank you.
I’ve been so fucking miserable.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t go to Poppy,” James tells him, switching his position to sit
down properly.

“I had my reasons,” Regulus says dismissively. Without warning, he climbs onto James’ lap and
straddles him. A wicked glean crosses his eyes. “Now, about showing you…”

He buries his hands in James’ hair and tugs it back, asking James to expose his throat. He does,
immediately, without hesitation. Regulus kisses the line of his jaw, then the spot under his earlobe,
before trailing down to his neck.

And this is… well. James has been yearning to be this close to Regulus for a week, and now he is,
and he’s so relieved he could cry.

“Regulus,” he says reverently. “Fuck. I’ve missed you.”

The younger boy flicks his tongue over the hollow of James’ collarbone, sending a spark of heat
down James’ spine. His hands grip Regulus’ thighs on either side of his waist, and in a powerful,
fluid move, James twists them around to have Regulus lying on his back.

Curls spread over his pillow, Regulus’ mouth parts with a little gasp at the unexpected change in
position and James takes the opportunity to kiss him. Their tongues meet, sliding against each
other. Regulus tastes of smoke and he smells of lavender, and James wants to crawl out of his body
and bury himself in Regulus’ skin so he never has to go without it again.

They kiss with a week’s worth of pent up tension. They kiss away the fight they just had, and the
doubts, and the distance. Their hands map each other’s body, discarding clothing as they go.

When Regulus tries to wiggle his way out from under James—Godric only knows why because as
far as James is concerned this is the only place Regulus should ever be—he pins him to the bed
with his hips.

“Stay,” James grunts, biting his lower lip.

“Fuck,” Regulus pants, body jerking upwards.

The friction is almost unbearably good, and it would be better if they were fully naked. James’
brain, which has been blissfully disconnected since they started kissing, catches on to this.

“Ah,” he says, sitting up to release Regulus. That’s why he was wriggling.

They discard their underwear in frantic yanks, mortally offended by the fabric still clinging to
them. Keeping them from dissolving the last of the distance between their bodies.

Regulus surges forward, and then he’s latching on to James, legs circling his waist as they kiss.
With a sure hand, Regulus reaches down between them, and James’ eyes roll back into his head
from sheer relief. The cool metal of the rings is sending him to orbit.

“Reg, fuck, I—”

The doorknob rattles, and James’ heart jumps to his throat. With chaser reflexes, he grabs the
invisibility cloak and launches himself off the bed to roll under it, doing his best to become one
with the cloak.
“Why the fuck are you in bed? It’s not even dinner time yet,” Rosier says, walking into the room.

James can only guess that Regulus slid under the covers to hide his nakedness. He’s so fucking
cold all of a sudden, because the floor is made of stone and it’s freezing and he’s naked and his
skin is oversensitive and genuinely Rosier has to fuck off right this second.

“I’m skipping dinner,” Regulus says, voice dripping with contempt.

A new set of shoes comes into view, closing the door behind them. “Hey—why are you in bed?”
Ah. It’s Crouch.

“I’m—none of your fucking business,” Regulus replies, irritated. Wholeheartedly, James agrees.

“Someone’s in a mood,” Rosier mutters.

To James’ horror, one of the two boys walks over to Regulus’ bed. He can see the shoes through
the small gap between the floor and the fabric of the runner. James is starting to shiver from the
cold and the lack of Regulus against his naked body.

“Fuck me,” Crouch exclaims, sounding absolutely delighted.

“What?”

Suddenly, the runner around the lower part of the bed lifts up and James comes face to face with
Barty Crouch. Even though he knows he’s invisible, James rears back a little, caught off guard.

“Hmm,” Crouch says, dropping the runner and straightening back up. “Where did you hide him?”

“Fuck off, Barty,” Regulus snarls.

“Wait, what?”

Oh great, now Rosier is involved, too. Why are they so fucking nosy? Genuinely—wait. Oh fuck.
Wait. How do they know it’s a he? Do Crouch and Rosier know Regulus likes boys? James is
pleasantly surprised by this.

“I’m this close to cursing you both,” Regulus says.

Crouch only laughs, loud and carefree. “No fucking way. I’m ready to bet you’re naked under
those covers.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Rosier sniffs.

“I hate you two,” Regulus says.

“No. No, no. You’ve got to tell us. Come on, Reg,” Crouch insists. “Who is it?”

“Please, tell me it’s not Rabastan,” Rosier says, sounding deeply alarmed.

James is confused. He’s also agitated. This isn’t—he’s naked, under his boyfriends’ bed. It’s cold,
and he was just about to have glorious sex and why are these two still here?

“Rabastan? Really?” Regulus sounds affronted. “I’ve got impeccable taste. Obviously not fucking
Rabastan.”

“Well? Then who?” Rosier asks at the same time Crouch says, “Is this a red tie?”
Shit.

Panic crawls up James’ windpipes. What is he supposed to do? Should he make himself known?
No. No, obviously not. He’s naked, for Merlin’s sake. But he doesn’t feel like staying hidden and
leaving Reg to fend for himself is very chivalrous.

What a fucking mess.

“A red tie?” Rosier scrambles to the other side of the bed. James watches two pairs of shoes stand
close together, the end of the tie dangling just by the edge of his line of sight.

“A Gryffindor?” Rosier exclaims. “You sneaky fucker.”

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” Crouch says, sounding deeply amused. “Which one is it? It's got to be a
seventh year, right?”

“Wait, are they here?” Rosier says, then he’s moving.

“What are you—” Regulus sounds impossibly exasperated. “Evan, if you have any regard for your
physical integrity you’ll stop that at once.”

James can see shoes crossing the room and yanking open wardrobe doors, one after the other. The
bed above him creaks, which tells him the boy not inspecting the closets has sat down.

“Your threats are a little less intimidating when I can see your collarbones,” Rosier replies merrily.

“Fuck off.”

“It’s Lupin, isn’t it?” Crouch, then. “That’s where you get the fags from.”

Rosier yelps, claps his hands. “I swear to Salazar, if you’re shagging Remus Lupin, I will build you
a statue.”

“What?” Regulus asks, momentarily forgetting to sound outraged and sounding curious instead.

“He’s so hot,” Crouch says wistfully.

“He’s unavailable,” Regulus says primly.

“Slytherin have mercy on us, Black, how the fuck did you—”

“He’s shagging Sirius, not me,” Regulus replies, cutting Rosier off. “He’s with Sirius.”

“I didn’t think it was possible,” Crouch muses. “But that somehow makes Lupin instantly hotter.”

Regulus makes a retching sound that prompts both Crouch and Rosier to start laughing hysterically.
It takes a little while for them to calm down, which James doesn’t appreciate because his back is
beginning to cramp from lying on the cold, hard stone floor.

“Well, if it’s not Lupin, then who are you shagging, Reg?” Crouch asks when he’s finally stopped
cackling like a madman.

“It’s none of your fucking business, Barty,” Regulus snaps. “Fuck off already.”

“You know we’re going to find out sooner or later,” Evan teases.
“We’ll make it our life goal,” Barty adds rather solemnly.

“Good luck with that,” Regulus replies, but there’s no bite in his tone.

“Right, then,” Evan says. “Dinner? I’m starving.”

“Go get Lestrange and them lot,” Crouch says. “I’m right behind you.”

Even though he can’t see, James can feel the hesitation hanging in the air for a second before
Rosier leaves, closing the door on his way with a soft click.

“Reg?” Crouch says. To James’ surprise, he sounds immensely patient. A bit soft.

A pause. Then, quietly, Regulus says, “Why does it matter?”

“Because we’re your friends,” Crouch replies. “And half the time it feels as though you don’t trust
us. Fuck, Reg, I came to you with my biggest secret, and you can’t even tell me whose tie this is?
It’s a bit messed up, you know.”

“I didn’t even tell Dorcas,” Regulus says.

“But she knows?”

“She figured it out. He’s shit at keeping secrets.”

James wants to protest, but he swallows the indignant noise that wants to crawl up his throat and
waits, instead. Regulus knows James is under the bed. He knows he can hear them. If there was
something he didn’t want James to know, he wouldn’t say it.

“Is he good at kissing, at least?” Crouch asks, teasing.

Regulus chortles, and, impossibly, just from that one sound, James can tell he’s blushing a little. It
makes his heart skip a beat.

“He’s better at it than you,” Regulus says.

Yes!

Wait, what?

“Fuck off,” Crouch says, sounding affronted. “Surely not. You’re only saying that because he’s
obviously here hiding somewhere and can hear this.”

Barty and Regulus? What the fuck?

Exasperated, Regulus says, “Aren’t you going to after Evan? You’ll be late for dinner.”

Standing up, Crouch mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘delusional’
and ‘has no idea what he’s on about.’ James can barely contain himself. He needs an explanation.
He had no idea Regulus and Barty had been together.

“I will find out who you’re shagging, Reg,” Crouch says. “That’s a promise and a threat, both.”

“I’m terrified,” Regulus deadpans.

Laughing, Crouch walks to the door. “Remember your silencing charms!” he says gleefully before
leaving the room.

The moment they’re alone again, James rolls out from under the bed and tears the cloak off of him.
Towering over the side of the bed where Regulus is still under the covers, he stares at him with
wide eyes.

“You and Barty Crouch?”

The wicked smirk Regulus gives him in return is devastating. “Are you jealous?”

“Extremely,” James replies, even though he isn’t, not really. A little bit, maybe.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Without hesitation, James immediately crawls onto the bed to capture Regulus’ mouth in a searing
kiss. When the other boy is thoroughly flustered, he pulls back just enough that he can talk against
his lips.

“I’m going to kiss you until you can’t remember what he was like.”

“Okay,” Regulus says, breathless, hooking his hand behind James’ neck and pulling him again.

Things are getting good again when there’s a loud bang, then immediately—

“Holy shit!”

“No fucking way!”

“Potter? Fuck me.”

Startled, James and Regulus jump apart. This time, there’s no hiding. James quickly scrunches the
covers over himself for some level of modesty and twists to stare open mouthed at the intruders.
On the threshold, looking both very pleased with themselves and quite shocked, stand Rosier and
Crouch.

For a moment, no one says anything. They just stare at each other until Regulus wordlessly reaches
for his wand.

“Oh shit,” Crouch yelps, then both he and Rosier are scrambling away, shutting the door behind
them.

James flops backwards on the bed, defeated. The mood has been thoroughly, effectively killed and
he’s in pain.

“It’s not happening, is it?”

“No,” Regulus says icily. “I’ve got to go commit murder.”

“Alright,” James accepts, pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder. “Come and Go Room
tonight?”

Regulus nods, then slides off the bed to fish for his clothes. James follows, draping the cloak
around him when they’re ready and scurrying out after Regulus.

At least they’re not fighting anymore, James thinks morosely.

 ####

Lupin’s birthday is, as it turns out, on the 10th of March. Regulus finds this out because the day
before that, he’s patrolling with the werewolf when he casually brings it up and says he’s invited to
join the party, along with Barty and Evan.

Regulus is so surprised he forgets to snap at Lupin for ruining their patrol with talking.

“Barty and Evan?”

“Yeah. They’re your friends, no?”

Well. Unfortunately, yes. They are his friends. Regulus hexed the shit out of both of them three
days ago after they ambushed him and James in bed, but after some serious grovelling on their part,
he has already forgiven them for their stupidity. Still carrying a small grudge, though.

“They are. But I don’t get why you’re inviting us.”

Shrugging, Lupin gestures sideways. They’re by the bridge, and as has become sort of routine for
them, they deviate from the patrol route to go have a smoke there. Lupin leans against the banister,
arms clad in a thick jumper, and lights a cigarette.

“It’s a small thing,” Lupin tells him. “Just us, the girls and Dorcas. Like the Hogsmeade day before
Christmas.”

“But why do you want us there?” Regulus asks, suspicious.

“You don’t have to come,” he snaps instead of answering.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he lights his cigarette and smokes next to the older boy in blissful quiet.
It’s raining, so they can’t see the stars that evening. Regulus realises that he hasn’t been alone with
Lupin since he found out about his condition.

Carefully, to avoid getting caught, he steals a glance at him. The scar on his face, which Regulus
has always thought makes him look a little dangerous and dark and greatly adds to his allure, makes
sense now.

He doesn’t mention it, though. What would he say? Being a werewolf actually makes you hotter?
Over his dead body. Nah. Regulus turns his thoughts away from the boy next to him and back to
what’s been circling his mind all patrol.

Lucius Malfoy sent him a letter this morning to confirm that a formal dinner has been arranged in
Grimmauld place the day he arrives for Easter break. To anyone reading the missive, it would
sound like any other overly formal and boring pure blood event.

Regulus understands it for what it is. Voldemort will mark him then. The very first night. Fuck.

His gut has been churning all day. He’s not sure why, because he knew this was happening. The
pieces are in place, all spread on the board. It’s time for him to start playing. He’s even destroyed
one of the Horcruxes already.

And yet, he finds his hand drifting to the inside of his left arm, where the star James draws on him
rests.

“It’ll make Sirius happy if you come,” Lupin says into the night, exhaling smoke that puffs like a
little cloud in front of his face.

It snaps Regulus back to the right here and right now. There’s a little over three weeks left of the
term.

“Ah,” Regulus says, a smirk on his lips. “Sirius, huh.”

“Got a problem with that?”

Regulus chuckles bitterly. “I don’t give a fuck who my brother’s shagging. That’s his thing.”

The moonlight breaks on Lupin’s hair, casting him in a silvery halo. Lupin turns, leaning against
the railing to look at Regulus head on. He runs a hand through his hair, and it seems to Regulus as
though he’s dislodging stardust from his curls. There’s a cigarette dangling from his other hand.

“You don’t care I’m… you know.”

“I like dangerous people,” is what Regulus replies. If he’s completely honest, Regulus gets now
why he’s always found Lupin so damn attractive. He’s ready to bet the darkness in Sirius responds
to him, too. Part of the reason his brother is obsessed with this guy.

Lupin’s eyebrows fly up, even as his mouth twists in an appreciative smirk. There’s silence for a
beat.

“It’ll make James happy, too.”

“Careful there, Lupin. Almost sounds like you’re invested.”

“Remus,” he says. “I don’t… just Remus.”

“Hmm.”

They finish smoking in their usual silence, then head back to their patrol route. The castle is quiet
tonight, which is just as well. Regulus doesn’t particularly want to deal with people, not with the
mood he’s in since he read Lucius’ letter.

Like grains of sand, time has slipped through his fingers. He’s at the end of the road and isn’t sure
how he got here so quickly. To him, it feels as though he blinked, and January and February were
gone. It’s March, and he can see the finish line. Taunting him with its closeness.

Bitterly, Regulus thinks that’s what happens when you discover the extent of Voldemort’s lunacy
and have to hunt for dark objects every spare second you get. Regret coats the back of his throat,
and he has to clear it to swallow. Remus’ eyes slide sideways, but he doesn’t comment. Doesn’t
ask.

Sometime between now and the first of April, Regulus has to find it in him to break up with James.
This, Regulus knows, will be difficult.

If the ordeal with the basilisk wounds taught Regulus anything, is that James doesn’t give up. He
just doesn’t. He’ll get sad, and insecure, and fret for a bit. But then he’ll pull himself together and
charge back in, ready to fight for them.

Regulus cannot let that happen, because that’ll be a death sentence for James.

Once the ink seeps into his arm, Regulus has to make sure James Potter stays the hell away from
him. He has to make sure he stops trying.
Because he’s going to make some enemies, and he’s already gathering allies. And it all hinges on
Regulus’ ability to lie. To be the implacable, dangerous, unfeeling man he’s taught himself to be.

James is Regulus’ weakness, and that puts a target on his back. So, Regulus will have to make sure
nobody knows how much he cares. He’ll have to make it convincing.

He’ll have to make it hurt.

Fuck. Regulus loves James so much sometimes he feels he’s going to burst out of his body with it.
He doesn’t deserve someone like James, and he cannot even begin to comprehend what he sees in
him. But James does. Against all odds, James loves him.

And Regulus is going to break him for it.

Fuck.

Selfishly, Regulus wants to steal the last few moments for himself. Reach out and grab any chance
they have at touching happiness with both hands. So, casually, as unbothered as he can make
himself look, he turns his head to his patrol partner.

“We’ll come,” Regulus says to Remus. “Tomorrow.”

“Cool. Dorcas will tell you where when we know. We’re still figuring that out.”

“Not your common room?”

Remus shakes his head. “Nah. Don’t want the whole house involved this year.”

Regulus doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t have to. If he had to guess, Regulus would say Remus doesn’t
want to have to hide that he’s with Sirius during his own birthday celebration. It makes sense, and
it is incredibly sweet. Sweeter than he thought Remus could be, though why Regulus had any
preconceived notions about Remus in the first place is a mystery to him.

“What sort of place?” Regulus asks.

“Huh?”

“What sort of place do you want for your birthday?” Regulus repeats, rolling his eyes to convey his
annoyance.

“Anything. We’re thinking of commandeering an old classroom.”

“Fat chance of Norris leaving us alone,” Regulus scoffs. “I’m not going to land myself in detention
over your fucking birthday. Tell James I said to use the room.”

“What room?”

“He’ll know what I mean.”

***

Smartly, James asked the room to produce the entrance around the corner to where it usually is.
They haven’t told anyone how to conjure it. Not that it matters. They’ve got three weeks left, so it’s
just as well.

Regulus shakes his head to dispel the dark thoughts. He can’t be thinking about this tonight. Every
second counts and he shouldn’t fucking ruin them with his depressing thoughts. They’re here for a
party.

“I am so excited,” Pandora declares. Dorcas asked Remus if she could come, and he said yes.

“Not as excited as Reg,” Barty teases, grinning.

He’s been impossible since he caught James in Regulus’ bed. It’s driving Regulus up the walls, but
there’s little he can do about it. Barty is his friend, for better or worse, and given Regulus’ inability
to make any new ones, he’s got to make do with what he already has. Even if that means putting up
with lewd jokes about James every five minutes.

“I swear to Salazar if you so much as say anything to James, I will chop your balls off,” Regulus
says.

“Please, don’t,” Evan says promptly.

Disgusting. Just. Regulus grimaces, horrified. “Ugh. Just stay away from him.”

As far as Barty and Evan know, James is just a fling. Regulus is sleeping with him, but it’s not
serious. Dorcas has been alerted of this, and she has unfailingly supported this fabrication whenever
Barty has asked her about it.

“I’ll never forgive you for claiming Potter is better at kissing than I am,” Barty replies, mutinous.
He took that to heart, apparently.

Ignoring him, Regulus turns the corner and finds the door waiting for them. With one final,
warning glance towards his friends, he pushes it open and they all step inside.

They’re the last ones to arrive. Regulus is momentarily disoriented as he looks around. He’s seen
the room turn into many different things, but never a copy of what seems to be an underground
tunnel?

A curved ceiling stretches over them, with muggle lamps hanging from it. There’s a bar on one
side, behind which Marlene and Sirius are making a mess of pouring drinks. James and Peter are
sitting directly in front of them, cheering every time either Sirius or Marlene shake the silver
cocktail makers.

High tables and stool are scattered around, leaving an empty space in the middle that Regulus
thinks is meant to be a dance floor. McDonald is perched on one with the small Gryffindor chaser
whose name Regulus doesn’t know, talking animatedly. Across from the bar, there’s a sort of
cushion circle situation large enough for most of them to sit together on different puffs and low
stools.

Remus is leaning against the wall, watching Sirius muck about with the drinks. A cigarette hangs
from his lips. Birthday boy looks good, Regulus thinks. Based on the appreciative glances from
Barty and Evan, they agree.

“Reg!” Dorcas calls him from where she’s fiddling with a record player. She says something to
Evans, who takes over the fiddling, and crosses the room to greet them.

This alerts James of Regulus’ presence. He turns to look at him, and promptly falls off the stool to
the shock and delight of Pettigrew who starts laughing so hard he ends up falling off, too.

Honestly, they’re so embarrassing.

“We should say happy birthday,” Regulus mutters. Without waiting to see if his friends are
following, he approaches Remus.

The older boy’s eyes widen ever so slightly when they land on Regulus. An eyebrow twitches,
before Remus smirks to himself like he’s in on a little secret.

“Hey,” he says, tracking Regulus’ movements as he takes out a cigarette. “You made it.”

Shrugging, Regulus lights it. “Told you we would.”

“Hello Remus!” Barty says happily. “Happy birthday, mate.”

“Happy birthday!” Evan echoes.

Remus takes out two cigarettes and gives one to Barty. “Thanks.”

Music starts to play then. Regulus catches a glimpse of Evans’ triumphant smile as she leaves the
record player spinning and heads to the bar. She crosses paths with James, and Regulus really
shouldn’t be so cruelly delighted when she tries to say something to him, and he completely
ignores her because he’s got eyes for Regulus only.

Truth be told, Regulus is pretty sure James didn’t do that on purpose at all. He’s too noble for it.
Most likely, he didn’t even register it happening. Still feels good, though.

“Hi, James,” Regulus says when James is near enough.

“Hey there Potter,” Barty says, looking absolutely delighted. “What brings you to this corner?”

“Oh… I just. You know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Barty teases. “Do tell!”

James shoves his hands in his pockets, bites his lip like he’s struggling. This is unacceptable. It’s
his best friend’s birthday party and Regulus will not allow Barty fucking Crouch to make him
uncomfortable.

“Barty,” Regulus warns in a low tone.

His friend shrinks down a little, correctly reading the danger in Regulus’ tone. Remus glances at
him, slightly impressed.

Taking a step closer, Regulus pitches his voice low. “He won’t say anything.”

A nervous sound escapes James, then he says, “it’s not Barty.”

Regulus tilts his head, blinking as he takes in James’ blown pupils and the hunger clinging to his
normally cheerful face. “Oh?”

“You’re wearing make-up,” James whispers desperately, like it’s physically hurting him.

Ah.

Well, yes. He is. On purpose.

“You can thank Pandora,” Regulus says, gesturing to the blond girl who’s made her way to the bar
and is chatting animatedly to Evans.
“Regulus,” James whines. It’s a little too loud, and Barty, Evan and Remus exchange entertained
glances.

“I need a drink,” Regulus replies casually, like he’s not enjoying watching James fall to pieces over
a little bit of black ink smudged around his eyes.

This statement is met with overwhelming agreement from everyone, so they all head to the bar
together. James keeps stealing pained glances at Regulus every two seconds, which is doing
wonders for his confidence levels.

“Alright there Regulus?” Marlene asks when he approaches the bar. “What can I get you?”

“Whose bad idea was it to put you behind the bar?” Regulus asks, watching as Marlene expertly
throws a bottle of firewhisky in the air, spinning it before catching it again.

“Firewhisky?” she asks him, ignoring his jab. He nods, and she puts a glass on the table. “Two
fingers?”

“Please. I don't respect anyone who can't handle at least three,” he says, and watches James
promptly choke on his drink next to them.

Marlene makes a sound of wicked delight and turns to Dorcas, who’s also leaning against the bar a
little bit further down.

“You didn’t tell me he had a sense of humour! He’s devious, this one. I love it! Oh, it's a shame
Mary missed that one.”

This elicits laughter from the Slytherins and a deep, deeply distressed groan from James, who’s
hovering a bit. Unsure of how close to Regulus he can get.

Even Remus chuckles lightly, before he leans against the bar with his forearms next to Regulus and
tilts his head to look at Sirius. Impossibly, Sirius feels it. He glances up from where he’s pouring
Evans and Pandora’s drinks and meets Remus’ eyes.

He’s right in front of them in two seconds flat, nudging Marlene out of the way. “I’ve got this side
covered.”

“We’re doing shots all around! This party needs to start getting lively!” Marlene announces.

Barty cheers, then he climbs over the bar and drops down on the other side. “This is pretty cool,”
he says, immediately busying himself with helping Marlene ply everyone with alcohol.

Without any subtlety whatsoever, James slides into the space Barty left vacant on Regulus’ other
side. Sirius, who’s putting out tumblers on the bar in a neat row, doesn’t even blink. He’s
extremely focused on his task, cheeks pink possibly because Remus hasn’t looked anywhere else
since his gaze first latched onto Sirius.

“Reg?” James asks quietly, lowering his head so only Regulus will hear his voice. “I’m fucking
dying here.”

“There are too many people here, James,” Regulus replies, not unkindly.

“You should have thought of that before you decided to show up here looking like that.”

“Like what?”
“Like… like!” James throws his arms up in frustration, catching the attention of everyone in the
vicinity.

Caught in-flagrant, James hedges by loudly declaring, “Remus would like to enter his eighteenth
year of life by getting everyone thoroughly sloshed. How are those shots coming along?”

“Nineteenth,” Regulus says, unable to help himself.

“What?” Sirius asks, looking up from where’s just finished serving a truly magnificent row of
shots.

“He’s just finished living his eighteenth year of life. Now, it’s his nineteenth,” Regulus says.

“That’s not—”

“Actually, that’s exactly how it works,” Remus confirms.

He exchanges a look with Regulus that makes an invisible string pull at the corner of his lips, while
Sirius and James look at each other and roll their eyes.

“Right! That’s a shot for everybody,” Marlene says. “Mary, Olive, get over here!”

The girls hurry to join the rest of the party at the bar. Everyone reaches for a small tumbler, raising
it in the air.

“To the birthday boy!” Pettigrew shouts.

“Happy birthday Remus!”

Heat burns Regulus’ throat as he knocks back the alcohol. After that first shot, things start to get
into a nice rhythm. The three enthusiastic bartenders make sure everyone’s got something to drink
at all times, which is just as well.

Resigned to his fate, James has become engaged in an animated Quidditch discussion with his
chaser—the small girl—and Pettigrew who Regulus thinks is dating her, but he’s not sure. Doesn’t
care, really.

Dorcas and Evans are by the far end of the bar, where Marlene is making some disgusting looking
concoction that involves a lot of shaking and stirring. McDonald has dragged Pandora to the record
player and they’re sorting through the stack of records in search of something that Regulus suspects
will make him cringe with his entire body when it plays.

“So, what is this place anyway?” Evan asks Remus.

“No idea,” Remus replies, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket. “James made it happen.”

“James made what happen?” Sirius asks, setting a bottle on the bar and knocking back yet another
drink.

“This place,” Remus says, waving a lazy hand around.

“Mmm,” Sirius replies. His eyes slide towards Regulus and for the first time that night, they make
eye contact.

Regulus’ whisky-filled stomach twists a little. He knows Sirius is remembering the only time he
was here before. The one time he almost died. For something to do, Regulus lights a cigarette.
“Here,” Sirius pushes a shot towards Remus, another one towards Regulus. “Want another one,
Rosier?”

Evan nods, reaches past the two boys to pick it up. “How’d get all this alcohol?” Evan asks.

“That’s for us to know and for you to wonder,” Sirius replies, planting both his hands on the bar to
propel himself up to sit on it, crossing his legs under him.

Regulus snorts, rolling his eyes. Sirius shoots him an offended look, opens his mouth to say
something and—

“Black! Get your boots off the bar!” Marlene shouts from the other end.

Predictably, this doesn’t have the intended effect. In fact, as if on purpose, the music changes that
moment and Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog starts playing. Sirius whoops, jumps to his feet on the bar--
shooting Marlene an insolent smirk--and begins singing into his hand like it’s a mic.

Regulus is momentarily flabbergasted, no less because he’s good at it. Like. Regulus wants to be
embarrassed by this display, but he cannot because Sirius honest to Merlin looks like he belongs on
a stage.

Next to him, Remus is watching with an expression that makes Regulus reconsider his policy of not
allowing James near him while in the company of all these people. Nothing James could say or do
would be as obvious as the hunger in Remus’ face.

Evan and Barty are mesmerized, too. Watching Sirius with a mixture of respect, awe, and
wickedness. Then, to everyone’s shock, Pandora climbs onto the bar and begins to play air guitar
with him. Sirius has enough spotlight for two, it seems, because he seamlessly adapts his
performance to bring Pandora into it and it shouldn’t, but it works.

Also, since when is Pandora into Led Zeppelin?

Regulus is dumbfounded.

It all spirals from that point on. The music keeps playing, louder than when they first arrived.
Alcohol runs like rivers down a mountain, loosening inhibitions and clouding judgements.

Barty climbs onto the bar, too, determined to learn the magic of rock and roll. Pandora is happy to
teach him, making him sway his hips and put his arms up. This leads to Evan basically keeling
over as he stares with his mouth hanging slightly open.

When All the Young Dudes comes on, James who had been until that point nursing a drink and
watching his friend with an amused expression, joins the bar situation, throwing his arm around
Sirius and swaying dangerously together. Regulus can’t help but lick his lips as James’ t-shirt rides
up a little, exposing a strip of skin and the strong lines of muscle that disappear under his jeans.

Remus is leaning against one of the nearby high tables, cigarette in one hand, glass of whisky next
to him, and watching the show with a lazy grin.

Dorcas sidles up to Regulus, pointing at the bunch of boys plus Pandora acting out on the bar.
“They know a thing or two about parties,” she says, chuckling.

Regulus has to agree. He takes another sip of his drink, even though he told himself he’d stop
drinking about three songs ago.
There’s a bit of a commotion, and they look to the side to find that Pettigrew and the small chaser
have knocked over a stool while passionately making out. Blushing lightly, Pettigrew puts it back
upright before retreating to a corner with the girl.

“You know what?” Dorcas says, glancing around with a determined set of her brow. “It’s just
friends here.”

“Dorcas, what are—”

Purposefully, Dorcas strides across the room. Marlene is by the record player now, setting down a
new album on the machine to play a new song. When Smoke on the Water starts, Dorcas yanks
Marlene’s arm and drags her to the bar.

Marlene, who’s already banging her head to the beat of the music with a hand thrown up like she’s
at a muggle rock concert, complies. And then, to Regulus’ absolute astonishment, Dorcas climbs
onto the bar with Marlene.

No sooner is Marlene up there with her that Dorcas grabs her face with her hands and kisses her
full on the mouth.

Tensing, Regulus quickly scans the room, but people’s faces are pure delight. Sirius whoops, and
then James is cheering, and Barty joins in and Evan is shouting and Lily, Pandora and Mary begin
to clap. It’s fucking glorious.

Regulus catches the look that passes between Barty and Evan. A question. Do we dare? Barty
jumps off the bar, and Evan approaches it. They’re on opposite sides of it, watching each other like
they’re hoping the other will make the choice.

And Regulus gets it. Because they’ve grown up surrounded by bigotry. There’s no way Dorcas
would have ever been able to kiss her girlfriend at a party anywhere else than with this bunch of
Gryffindors. Dorcas has had time to get to know them. To trust them. To know that no one would
react badly to this.

Barty and Evan don’t know these people well enough. There's no trust. No assurances. It breaks
Regulus’ heart a little to watch them come to this conclusion. To decide that even though they’re
dying to touch, to kiss, they can’t do it here. Not surrounded by people. It’s a risk neither of them is
prepared to take.

When Dorcas and Marlene let go, breaking their kiss, they’re giggling breathlessly. It tugs at his
chest, fills him with warmth. Dorcas and Marlene look so fucking happy and it's all Regulus wants
for Dorcas. She deserves this.

Mary and Lily hurry to pour a round of shots to celebrate love, so Regulus approaches the bar
again to take his. James jumps off, stands next to him pressing his shoulder against Regulus’.

“Hi,” he says, breathless.

They drink the shot, and Regulus smirks up at James, tilting his head. “Hello.”

“On a scale of one to they found my body buried six feet under,” James asks. “How badly would
you react if I did that?”

Regulus chuckles, takes a cigarette out and lights it. “Bold of you to assume I’d let you get close
enough to even try.”
“Oh, is that how it is?”

“Hmm.”

“You’re being mean.”

“You like it.”

“Not when I can’t do anything about it!” James protests.

Entertained, Regulus looks up at James through his lashes, purposefully twisting his mouth into
the smirk he knows makes James’ knees go weak.

James leans in close, so close his breath tickles the shell of Regulus’ ear. “Regulus, behave.”

And fuck.

Just that. Fuck. Regulus lights up like a spark landing on gasoline. His entire body reacts to the
way James says his name, low and growling, and demanding. It’s a good thing he’s facing the bar,
because he’s stiff as a rod now.

His fingers curls around the glass tightly. He has reasons. A lot of them. Reasons for why he
cannot be doing anything stupid. Why he can’t touch James in public.

But he can’t remember any of them right now. He just can’t. Possibly because all his blood is
below the waistline of his pants.

“Tout va bien?” Sirius’ voice snaps Regulus out of his crisis.

He cannot, and will not, give in just because James caught him in a moment of weakness.
Knocking back the rest of his drink, Regulus straightens his shoulders and glares at his brother,
who’s just climbed down from the bar.

“Oui.”

Next to him, Regulus feels James’ snap to attention. And a sweet, evil idea unfurls in his mind.

“Tu ne devrais pas être avec ton petit ami ?” Regulus asks Sirius.

Barking a laugh, he replies, “Je ne pourrai pas m'empêcher de le toucher si je m'approche de lui.”

“Et ce serait un problème?”

Sirius considers this, tilting his head. He glances over at Remus, who’s talking to Evans now, both
smoking cigarettes and sipping drinks.

James clears his throat, and Sirius remembers his friend is right here. “Sorry, mate. You alright?”

“Yes,” James replies, and Regulus is fucking delighted by how strained he sounds.

With a smug grin, Regulus looks at James and says, “Il voulait jouer à un jeu. Je suis en train de
gagner.”

The way James’ eyes widen, and his gaze drops to Regulus’ mouth makes Sirius yelp. “Absolutely
the fuck not. I’m out of here.”
He takes off in Remus’ direction without looking back, looking for all the world like he’s being
chased by a demon. Regulus is smirking, pleased with himself, when James’ finger hooks in the
belt loop of his jeans and he’s tugged forward, straight into James’ arms.

“What are you doing?” Regulus hisses, tense but also dangerously aroused by the way James is
staring at him.

“At risk of sounding repetitive, if you didn’t want me lose my composure, you shouldn’t have done
that,” James says.

Regulus glances around them quickly, heart pounding. Dorcas and Marlene are making out against
a wall by the record player. Pettigrew and his chaser are still in the corner where they were last
seen. Barty and Evan are, apparently, playing never have I ever with Pandora and McDonald,
sitting on the floor with a bottle of whisky and tumbler glasses between them.

Sirius has joined Remus and Evans and is being dramatic about something and making them laugh.

Nobody is watching them. Not even close. Rocking onto his toes, Regulus presses his mouth
against James’ quickly, letting the momentum rock him back and away.

“That’s all you get until we’re alone,” Regulus says.

“You are so beautiful,” James replies, beaming so brightly he could power up a city.

Not long after that, everyone’s made their way back to the bar and the energy has picked up again
to a thrumming, vibrant thing that’s pulling them all like they’re one large, alcohol riddled entity.

Bohemian Rhapsody begins to play and Sirius and Marlene do a rendition of it so passionate no
one can do anything but watch. As soon as it’s over, McDonald declares Remus is drunk enough to
allow the girls to play ABBA and puts the record on.

She’s met with enthusiastic cheers from the girls plus James, and only mildly exasperated eye rolls
from Remus, which is apparently as good as his blessing.

As soon as Mamma Mia starts, James proceeds to lose his mind completely. It makes Regulus
think back to the Halloween party as he watches him dance and sing with all the girls. Sirius is
there, too. Even Pettigrew is doing his best to keep up, dancing with his girlfriend a little clumsily,
but determined.

“You know what?” Barty says when Honey, Honey starts playing. “This is a fucking fun song.”

Grabbing Evan’s hand, Barty drags him towards the others and then they’re both imitating the
dancing of the Gryffindors. It doesn’t escape Regulus’ notice that the only two people not currently
swaying to the music are Remus and himself.

They exchange an appalled look. Honest to Merlin, I cannot believe I’m about to do this.

“No one will know,” Remus mutters, putting out his cigarette.

“It never happened,” Regulus agrees. “And, I will murder you in cold blood if you tell anyone.”

“They’ll find you at the bottom of the lake.”

And then, Regulus is there, too. He sticks to the edge of the circle, because even though this crowd
is very small, he will not subject himself of the feel of other bodies. But he’s there, and he closes
 his eyes and decides if he doesn’t do it now, he never will.

Time is running out.

Dancing at a party is an experience he’s owed.

It’s a lot more fun than he expected it to be. It’s also quite liberating. Nobody is watching him.
Actually, scratch that. James is watching him and shoving people aside so he can come dance with
Regulus.

Behind James, Sirius is jumping up and down in pure ecstasy because Remus has also joined the
fray. Adopting an air of eternal suffering, Remus allows Sirius to grab his hips and guide him
through the beat, but Regulus is ready to bet he’s secretly liking it.

As soon as James is at his side, showing Regulus how one ought to dance to ABBA—it’s Dancing
Queen now—he stops paying attention to Sirius and Remus and anything and anyone that’s not
James and what they’re doing.

It’s hours later, when they’re all drunk out of their minds, collapsed around the bar in various states
of stupor, that Regulus realises this night will be one of the memories he keeps. One of the
moments he’ll hang on to.

Barty and Evan’s delight at being able to dance with each other freely without fearing insults
hurled at them. They haven’t touched or kissed, but they’re dancing and that’s more than they’ll
ever get to do at a Slytherin party.

Dorcas and Marlene kissing with as much freedom as any boy-girl couple in this room. Hands in
hair, bodies pressed closed together. They smile at each other in between kisses, and Regulus feels
a surge of love and protectiveness so strong for Dorcas’ happiness that it almost makes him double
over.

Sirius and Remus quietly whispering to each other as they swayed in the middle of the dancefloor,
arms around one another. They make a striking couple, Regulus thinks. The aristocrat and the
stray. Kind of like a fairy-tale, he thinks, then is appalled at himself for how fucking cheesy that
thought was.

Pandora holding Evans’ and McDonalds’ hands as she led them through some folkloric dance that
neither understand but find fascinating anyway because that’s just Pandora’s magnetic pull.

And James. Regulus and James, here, together. Like two normal boys on the edge of adulthood at a
party. Touching more than Regulus would ever dare to in any other sort of public setting. Flirting.
Sharing the fun and the joy with friends. Dancing because they can.

Regulus doesn’t have Pandora’s sight, but he doesn’t need it to know that when the darkness
comes, this will be one of the memories that will hold some of the light.

Chapter End Notes

French translation:

Sirius: "Are you ok?"

Regulus: "Yes."
"Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend?" Regulus asks Sirius
Sirius: "I wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself if I got close to him."
Regulus: "Is that so bad?"

And then Regulus says to Sirius about James: "He wanted to play a game, and I'm
winning." (Referring to their teasing each other, because Reg knows James loses it
when he speaks French)

****

James under the bed freaking out was so funny to me. HELP
Okay but BARTY AND EVAN AMBUSHING REG TO FIND OUT WHO HE'S
SLEEPING WITH? They are unhinged and I love them <3

Remus inviting Reg and his friends to his birthday because he knows it'll make Sirius
happy? MY HEART

And Remus' whole birthday situation... just. DORLENE LIVING THEIR BEST LIFE!
Dancing! People Remus and Regulus were DANCING. Are we okay!?

I love this chapter because it has a lot of happy... and there isn't a lot of happy left in
this fic for a while...

Updating again Thursday or Friday absolute latest. Thank you so much for the love -
see you in the comments section <3
 Grains of sand
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

I am so nervous about this chapter I hope you like it <3

TWs
References to / discussions of war and war victims
Smoking
Sex
Depictions of vomiting (one person is sick once due to extreme distress)

The warnings aren't many but this chapter has some serious angst

A million thanks for the support - I love you all

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Interlude: Dorcas POV

Pandora finds her just as she steps out of the Gryffindor common room. It’s Monday afternoon, and
Marlene is getting ready for a Quidditch practice, so Dorcas is heading to the library to do some
cramming. The NEWTs are hurtling towards her at terrifying speed.

“Hey Dorcas,” Pandora says gently. “I was looking for you.”

Immediately, Dorcas’ gut clenches. “What did you see? Marlene?”

Her heart is in the back of her mouth, blood rushing in her ears. She didn’t use to get so terrified
when Pandora came to tell her about a new dream. When they were younger, it was like an
adventure. A puzzle they had to solve. It was exciting.

These days, while the wizarding world plunges deeper into a war that’s already taken too many
lives to count, Dorcas cannot look at Pandora without fearing she’ll deliver the worst news.

“Not Marlene. Let’s walk outside,” Pandora suggests, a knowing glint in her eyes like she can read
Dorcas' mind.

Dorcas lets her blonde friend lead her through the castle. They walk side by side, arms brushing
with every other step. Pandora seems quite relaxed, but Dorcas knows better than to let that soothe
her. It takes a special kind of person to deal with a gift as terrifying as Pandora’s without losing
one’s head.

If it weren’t for her ability to stay calm at all times no matter what, Dorcas is certain Pandora
would have already spiralled into madness.

Outside, the air is crisp but less biting than it’s been before. They’re half way through March, and
spring is slowly but steadily pushing its way through. Winter clings to the early morning and the
nights, but the afternoon sun warms their skin enough that Dorcas smiles as they cross the grass.
“It’s about Regulus,” Pandora says when they’re far enough from the castle to be safe from prying
ears.

Dorcas’ breath hitches. “Another dream about him?”

With a solemn nod, Pandora turns sad eyes towards the lake, as though she can’t bear to look
Dorcas in the eye for this conversation.

“Why are you telling me?” Dorcas asks.

Pandora is very particular about who and how she tells about her dreams. She insists that
interference from the wrong person could be catastrophic. This is highly unusual.

“Because I can’t do it myself,” she replies. “You know I can’t involve myself directly in the war. If
I were caught…”

A shudder runs through Dorcas. They’ve always known that Pandora can’t fall into the hands of
Voldemort. Someone with her gift… it would be catastrophic. It’s why she has to stay on the
sildelines, doing what she can from behind the scenes, but never in plain sight.

“Do what?” Dorcas asks.

“Regulus needs an anchor,” Pandora declares. “He’s going to dip into the darkness. He needs an
anchor so he can come back from it.”

“Why not stop him altogether?”

“It’s already started. He can’t be stopped. All we can do now is try to make sure he can make it
back.”

They stop walking at the lake’s shore. Its mirror-like surface reflects the scattered clouds drifting
overhead, pushed by the light breeze. Biting her lip, Dorcas considers how much she can tell
Pandora. In the end, she decides it’s safe enough. Pandora always knows more than she lets on,
anyway.

“I’m going to help him,” she says quietly. “We’ve agreed.”

“I know,” Pandora confirms Dorcas’ suspicions. “It’s not enough.”

This, Dorcas thinks, is a bit unfair. “I’ll do anything her asks! I'm going to spy for him. So long as
it doesn't risk Marlene's life, there's pretty much nothing I won't do. What do you mean it’s not
enough?”

"Enough that there's a good chance he'll end this war," Pandora explains. "But not enough for him
to come back from where he needs to go."

"You're not making sense."

"Regulus will tap into a power that we can only dream of. But the price to pay is steep. He will
lose himself. I want you to help him find his way back."

Dorcas' blood runs cold. She has the sneaking suspicion that this might be about whatever Regulus
meant when he told her 'it can only be me. It could have been Sirius, but he ran. So it can only be
me.'

"How?" Dorcas asks Pandora.

“You have to make it matter to him,” Pandora insists. “When he can’t remember why he cares
about anything, you have to make sure he remembers he cares about you.”

“Make it matter…” Dorcas mumbles, mind racing in a million directions. Her heart trips over
itself. Surely not?

“What about James?” Dorcas asks. “He loves James more than he loves me.”

“It can’t be James,” Pandora says firmly. “Regulus won’t let it happen. And results are unclear
when it comes to James.”

Swallowing, Dorcas blinks rapidly. She’s afraid. She doesn’t want to be, but she is. “But he’ll let
me?”

“You won’t give him a choice. He listens to you.”

A long, heavy pause. Silence thick and charged with implications. With all the things that could go
wrong. “Marlene will never forgive me.”

“Marlene doesn’t have to know,” Pandora says. “For Reg, Dorcas. It’s the only way.”

The Giant Squid breaks the surface, a lone tentacle rising lazily before it plunges back under the
surface. Its ripples spread across the water, little waves coming to crash near Dorcas and Pandora’s
feet.

Her hand is suddenly squeezed by Pandora’s long, slender fingers. Standing side by side, both girls
look out over the lake. Dorcas is shaking. Gently, Pandora whispers. “Will you do it?”

“Yes,” Dorcas says, voice barely audible. “Yes. I will.”

***

That night, Dorcas doesn’t go to the Gryffindor common room for the first time in a while. Instead,
she and Pandora go to the Slytherin dorms, to the room Regulus shares with Barty and Evan.

The boys are surprised to see them there, but it lasts barely a moment before Barty is announcing
it’s been too long since they were all together like this. Promtly, a sleep over is declared and
everyone makes themselves comfortable. Dorcas sits on the bed that used to be Selwyn’s, and
should be hers but she hasn’t really used for a while.

Pandora perches on the edge of Regulus’ bed. He’s standing up, leaning against a bed post with his
arms crossed over his chest and a lazy smile on his lips. Barty is sprawled over his bed, Evan on
the floor, back to the frame.

If Dorcas blinks fast, she can almost pretend they’re at the beginning of the year and nothing has
changed. Except things have. Barty and Evan are together. Dorcas has found the love of her life.
Pandora has withdrawn into her Ravenclaw crews in preparation for the distance she’ll have to put
between her and the Slytherins when things get very bad.

And Regulus… Regulus has grown up too much too quickly. Like he’s racing to live an entire life
in the span of a few months. It strikes Dorcas that this is quite possibly what he’s doing. And it
breaks her heart.

“I wish we had a record player,” Evan is saying, pouting slightly. “How did the Gryffindors get it
to work?”
“It was the Prewetts,” Dorcas tells them.

“I’m fucking jealous,” Barty chimes in. “Such a good party.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Pandora says, a soft smile on her lips. "I had the best time."

Barty throws a cushion at her. “Not you too with a crush on a bloody Gryffindor!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dorcas asks, indignant.

Evan chortles. “Didn’t you see Pan and Evans? Making eyes at each other on the dance floor all
night.”

Dorcas’s eyebrows fly up. Regulus, who’d been uninterested until then, moves to sit on the bed and
lights a cigarette, staring at Pandora the entire time.

With an airy laugh, Pandora shakes her head. “It’s not like that.”

But there’s a little blush on her cheeks, and Dorcas has never seen Pandora blush before. Oh,
Salazar have mercy on them. This is really bad. Biting her lip, Dorcas debates whether she should
tell them that Lily is pining for James. It won't help anybody is Pandora does develop a crush on a
girl Dorcas knows for certain isn't interested...

A quick glance towards Regulus dissuades her of the idea. Dorcas likes Lily, and she doesn’t want
Regulus to do anything dangerous. Dorcas isn’t sure he wouldn’t threaten her.

“You know,” Evan says casually. “You’re allowed to date other people while you wait for your
man in the forest, Pan. Literally, there's nothing wrong with it. Chances are he's also dating others,
because he doesn't have your gift so he doesn't know about you yet.”

“I’m not interested. I mean... He's my destiny,” she says firmly. “And Lily is just a friend. She’s
nice and smart. And pretty, yes, but like in a platonic way. We get along. That’s all.”

“She’s not just pretty. She's beautiful,” Barty adds with a shrug.

“It’s really fucking preposterous,” Evan says, sitting up a little. “Have you noticed how good
looking they all are? So fucking annoying. Like... how?”

“Right?” Dorcas finds herself agreeing. “Obviously Marlene is the hottest, but like… they’re such
a good looking bunch?”

“Lupin’s the hottest,” Barty sniffs.

“It’s actually Sirius,” Pandora chimes in.

Regulus look downright affronted by this, and snarls, “You’re all fucking blind.”

“Aaawww, look at Black, all offended on behalf of Potter,” Barty laughs.

The look Regulus cuts him could pierce through metal, but Barty doesn’t even flinch, laughing
harder instead.

“Do you think it’s because they’re always together and it like… rubs off on each other?” Evan
asks, a wistful expression on his face. “I mean… just. Annoying.”

“We’re all pretty hot, too,” Barty says casually. “Pandora’s like a fucking fairy queen. We’ve got
our dark and dangerous prince of shadows, Reg. Look at that jawline. And Dorcas? I mean,
absolute queen of high cheekbones right here. And obviously Evan, though I’m not telling you
what I think of what Evan looks like. That’s not something you need to hear.”

This is met with stunned silence, and Dorcas has to shake her head and smile. She’s about to say
something when Regulus shocks the absolute daylights out of everybody by saying, “You left
yourself out.”

Barty shrugs, but Regulus won’t have it. “The whole blue eyes, dark hair, mean smirk works. It
really works.”

“Regulus, did you just compliment Barty?” Evan asks, eyes wide with pure delight.

Casually, Regulus pulls out another cigarette. Barty does a little head gesture, and Regulus takes
out another one and throws it at him. He catches it, and Dorcas doesn’t miss the look of shy
pleasure on Barty’s face.

“Do you think I would have kissed him if I didn’t think he was hot?” Regulus asks, lighting his
cigarette.

“I knew I was friends with you for a reason,” Barty declares, making everyone laugh.

Dorcas watches Regulus for a little bit after that. The conversation drifts back to the party, to how
much they drank, and some of the new muggle songs they discovered, because the Slytherins
aren’t very versed in muggle music. Dorcas pays little attention. She’s too busy watching Regulus.

It makes her chest ache, the way Regulus seems to be drinking in every moment. Like he… he
knows, doesn’t he? He knows this won’t last much longer. Regulus is painfully aware that every
time he’s here with his friends could be the last.

The tragedy of it makes tears spring to Dorcas’ eyes, and she’s grateful for the fact that Pandora
has stood up on the bed to pontificate about something. No one is watching her, so they don’t
notice her emotional outburst.

It’s just… Regulus is so young. And this is fucking unfair. He should be allowed to be a kid for
quite a while still.

Dorcas had already resolved to do what Pandora was asking of her, but the way Regulus is clinging
to his friends’ every word and trying to hide it only makes Dorcas more certain.

She’s going to fight for Regulus so that when he’s done fighting for everyone else, he can find his
way back to himself.

One day, the war will be over, and Dorcas is going to make damn sure Regulus can sit in a room
with them and joke about his first kiss and call his friends hot and mean it.

####

It’s been quite a while since someone accidentally unleashed utter chaos in the marauders’ dorm.
Naturally, the universe has realigned itself and there is, right this moment, complete pandemonium
happening in his room.

James ducks to avoid one of the two bludgers furiously flying across the small space, bouncing off
the walls, the wardrobes, the beds. The damage is rather severe. There are wood splinters all over
the floor. One of the mirrors is smashed to pieces. Dust particles float everywhere, catching the
sunlight pouring in through one of the broken windows. Peter's wardrobe has crumpled and his
clothes are a messy pile underneath a little mountain of wood.

Disaster.

He shouldn’t have brought them here. That much James can admit. It was a tactical error. But what
was he supposed to do? He’s meant to meet Regulus later in the Come and Go Room and he was
strapped for time.

In hindsight, he should have just sucked it up and dealt with the balls in the Quidditch equipment
room.

The door opens and James frantically shouts, “Get down!”

Not quick enough. A bludger zooms past and hits Sirius’ square in the stomach, making him grunt
and double over. Remus, directly behind Sirius, yanks him to the floor to prevent further injury.

Sirius is wheezing. Remus looks at him with concern before pinning James with a murderous glare.

“What the fuck, Prongs?”

“They are malfunctioning,” James explains, crawling over the debris to join his friends. “Hooch
asked me to take a look.”

“You thought that bringing two malfunctioning bludgers to our dorm was a sensible idea?” Remus
asks, voice like thunder. He swears when one of the balls flies to close to his head and ducks for
cover.

“I was in a hurry!” James replies defensively. He reaches for Sirius. “Pads, you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, only a little winded. Rolling on his back, Sirius tracks the zooming balls with his
eyes. “Not the first time that happens.”

Remus shakes his head, then is forced to duck again, flattening his cheek to the floor when another
bludger flies right over them, smashing itself against the wall and bouncing back across the room.

“Do something!” Remus growls. “They’re destroying the room!”

Rolling onto all fours, Sirius reaches for his wand, tucked in his half bun. “I’ve got this.”

With an expression James thinks should be rated AA, Remus watches Sirius’ hair tumble down,
eyes widening a little bit. James can’t help but to smile. He’s just… he’s so fucking happy for
them.

Dodging the bludgers, Sirius summons his beater’s bat from where it rests next to his bed. This
immediately alarms Remus, but James puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait. Watch. You can thank me later.”

They stay down on the floor, furious balls flying back and forth across the room. Gripping his bat
with both hands, Sirius pivots, sets his shoulders. The first bludger comes at him, and he sidesteps
it before smashing it with all his strength, sending it clean through the broken window and out of
the room.

James hears Remus’ sharp inhale of breath and struggles not to giggle.
Sirius’ shoulders strain his shirt, stretching the fabric tight as he flexes his muscles, eyes tracking
the second bludger keenly. It smashes clean through one of the posts on James’ bed, then comes at
Sirius.

He whirls at the last minute, positioning himself at just the right angle to hit it with a loud smack. It
flies straight out the window, too. Chest heaving a little, Sirius puts the bat down and runs his
hands through his hair before sticking his wand in it to support his half bun.

“There,” Sirius says, oblivious. “Problem solved.”

Roughly, Remus shoves himself to his feet and crosses the room to stand in front of Sirius, fisting a
hand in his shirt. Sirius’ breath hitches as Remus hauls him closer.

“James,” Remus says without looking his way. “Get out.”

Sirius’ cheeks are crimson, and his eyes are glazed over. He’s staring at Moony like he could step
on him and Sirius would say thank you. It’s hilarious, honestly. Chortling to himself, James grabs
his cloak and the map and yanks open the door.

“Make sure you scourgify the bed first, it’s covered in wood splinters,” he says cheerfully before
stepping out and leaving his two friends to their passions.

They’re kissing before James has even closed the door behind him.

He’s got some time to kill. It’s too early to head to the Come and Go Room. Curious, he pauses in
the staircase and takes out the map. A tap of his wand later, he’s searching it for Regulus’ name.

Unsurprisingly, Regulus is in the potions lab. He’s alone, and James is tempted to go bother him
but then he spots something that makes his blood run cold, distracting him. The label ‘Lily Evans’
is walking down a large corridor on the third floor, and she’s heading directly towards Snape,
Mulciber and Dolohov.

“Fuck,” James throws the cloak over his head and sprints out of the common room, shoving the
map in his back pocket hastily.

Fortunately, he knows a shortcut. James’ lungs are on literal fire from how fast he’s been running
when he shoves open the potrtait that hides the passage just in time to reach out and grab Lily’s
arm before she turns the corner and comes face to face with the Slytherins.

“What—” Lily yelps, blood draining from her face as she’s wrenched into the passage, darkness
swallowing them whole as the portrait slams shut again.

Lily freaks the fuck out, understandably. Jerking away from James as hard as she can, Lily fights
for her life. She begins to thrash violently, trying to hit James with any part of her body she can use
—hands, elbows, feet, knees. James takes a hit to his sternum, grunts.

Hastily, James steps back, hands out in case she attacks him again.

“Hey, Lily, it’s me. James,” he says hurriedly. “It’s James Potter. You’re fine. It’s just me.”

“James?” Her voice is tentative, a little afraid but mostly relieved.

He shoves his cloak under his clothes as quickly as he can, just in time for Lily to conjure some
light inside the pitch-black passage.
“Lumos!”

Lily’s green eyes meet his and her mouth falls open. “What the… James? What just happened?”

Relieved, James lets out a sigh and leans against the wall to catch his breath, still a bit erratic.
“You’ve got a mean elbow,” he jokes. “Stronger than you look.”

Her cheeks catch on fire, which is kind of adorable. “Sorry,” she says, looking mortified. “I just…
why did you kidnap me?”

“You were about to run into a bunch of little Death Eaters,” he explains. “Sorry I scared you, didn’t
have much time.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking in rapid succession. “Thank you. I’m sorry I hit you.”

“No problem,” James replies. “Where were you going?”

“Just to the Library. I’m behind on my Arithmancy essay.”

“Come on,” James says, gesturing with his heads further down into the passage. “I’ll walk you.”

To her credit, Lily doesn’t hesitate. She smiles at James and falls into step next to him. The light
from her wand lights the way as James leads her through the tunnel, casting funny shadows that
skitter away from them as they cover more distance. To make it to the library, they have to step out
of it and take the stairs down.

“Give me a moment,” James asks when they reach the end of the passage. He takes out the map,
which he thankfully hadn’t deactivated, and angles it away from Lily so she can’t see what’s on it.

A quick glance confirms the coast is clear. Shoving it back in his pocket, still activated to prevent
Lily from getting suspicious, James nods.

“Alright, let’s go,” he pushes aside the tapestry and does a little flourish to let Lily go out first.

“Such a gentleman,” she jokes.

The library is busy, which is a very unwelcome reminder that the NEWTs are quite literally around
the corner. James hasn’t been doing much studying, even though he knows he probably should. It’s
just… school stuff has always come easily to him, so he struggles to force himself to sit down and
go through stuff.

He’s going to have to, he reasons. He’s certain he can pass his NEWTs even if he doesn’t, but he
won’t satisfied with mediocre grades. His parents will be disappointed if he brings low grades
home. And he wants to introduce Regulus to his parents at some point. Surely, it won't help his
case if they put it together and realise the reason James' grades dropped the year when they
mattered the most was because he was distracted with Reg.

Except… do grades really matter? He’s already in the Order. James highly doubts Dumbledore or
Moody will check his report card before sending him out on a mission. There’s a war going on, so
genuinely… who cares about exams?

Still. James hopes against all hope that the war will be over soon. They’ll fight, and they’ll win,
and then James will need to do something with his life. It never hurts to have solid NEWTs results.

“Thank you,” Lily says when she finds a table and starts taking books and parchments out of her
bag. “I really appreciate you saving me a nasty run-in.”

“Anytime,” James replies, considering. It’s still early. “Actually, do you mind if I stay here? I
could do some revising.”

“Are you alright?” Lily asks, reaching to press her hand against his forehead.

“Oi.” James playfully bats her hand away. “Not funny, Evans. I study sometimes.”

“Sometimes being the operative word here,” she says, sitting down with a smile. “Go on, then. I’ll
never discourage anyone from a revision session.”

Shamelessly, James reaches for Lily’s potions book. “I’m going to need to borrow this.”

Rolling her eyes, Lily passes him a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill. “There you go. Now be
quiet.”

It’s quite pleasant, James finds. He’d much rather be reading about Quidditch, or any of the muggle
stuff Regulus has taught him—James is lowkey obsessed with flying motorised vehicles called
airplanes these days—but it could be worse.

Before he knows it, close to two hours have passed and he’s successfully memorised enough about
NEWT level potions to not feel like a complete fraud next time he walks into Slughorn’s
classroom. Satisfied that he’s done enough studying for his whole week, James folds his notes into
his pocket and slides the book and quill back towards Lily.

“Thanks Lily,” he says. “I’ve got to go now. Will you be alright on the way back to Gryffindor
Tower?”

“Where are you going?” she asks, still eyeing her Arithmancy book.

James hesitates. “I’m… meeting someone.”

“Ah,” Lily says, looking up from her studies. Her eyes soften with understanding and a little bit of
sadness. “You look good together, you know?”

“What? Who? What are you—”

“Relax,” Lily tells him gently. “You’re fine. But I have eyes, James. I saw the way you looked at
Regulus on Remus’ birthday.”

“It was supposed to be a secret,” he says mournfully. “I’ve done a truly terrible job of it.”

“No, you haven’t,” Lily reassures him. “I was just paying attention. You’ve got nothing to worry
about.”

Feeling slightly better, James smiles at his friend. “Thanks, Lily. You sure you’ll be alright?”

Waving a dismissive hand, she says, “I’ll wait for the prefects on patrol. They’re due to walk past
here in thirty minutes. Their route takes them close enough to Gryffindor Tower. I’ll be fine.”

Relieved, James nods and bids his goodbye. As he pulls the cloak over himself to make his way to
the Come and Go Room, James finds himself wondering what Lily will do when they finish
school. He knows her parents are muggles, so it’s unlikely she’ll live with them for much longer.
It’s dangerous, and Lily isn’t supposed to do magic around them unless strictly necessary so it just
doesn’t make sense for her to stay home too long.
Marlene is pretty solid with Dorcas, and they haven’t told anyone, but James expects them to get a
place together. Specially after Dorcas basically pulled a Sirius and ditched her entire family to be
with Marlene and join their side.

He already knows Peter plans to stay with his mother for a year to wait for Olive. If all goes well,
he’ll be getting a place with her when she graduates. Peter is so excited about it it’s genuinely heart
warming.

Biting his lip, James ponders his options. He knows what he wants, but he isn’t sure how feasible it
is. Originally, the marauders were going to get a place together, but then. Well. Peter is with Olive.
And Sirius and Remus… they’re an item now. They told James they could find a place big enough
for three, but does he really want that? James doesn’t fancy third wheeling his two best friends.
Besides, Remus and Sirius honest to Merlin cannot keep their hands to themselves most of the
time. James has no interest in being privy to their intimacy.

Ugh. Leaving school is a faff.

Fortunately, James can stay with his parents for as long as he wants. Potter Manor is huge, so it’s
not like they’re in each other’s space. In fact, Sirius and Remus will be staying with him until they
find somewhere and James expects that'll take at least the summer months, so he won't be alone.

But… well. James deep down knows what he wants, doesn’t he? He’s just afraid to admit it to
himself because he doesn’t know if it’s too much. Too soon. Too intense. But what he wants is to
get Regulus away from the Blacks.

To a place of their own, if he could.

Can he? He doesn’t know.

And unless he starts trying to talk to Regulus about it, he won’t find out.

Somehow, by the time he reaches the door to the Come and Go Room, James has talked himself
into discussing the future with Regulus. Is this a good idea? Probably not. But James cannot
continue to skirt around it.

Regulus is waiting for him in a room they haven’t been to before. It’s dark, and it takes James a
moment to realise they’re surrounded by tall bookshelves. A library of sorts. It’s a bit odd,
admittedly, and there’s no bed that James can see which doesn’t bode too well.

Slightly apprehensive, James drops the cloak and the map on the small armchair next to the door
and walks down the aisle towards where Regulus is, perched on a chair, smoking. There’s a round,
polished table next to him with a crystal ashtray that holds two cigarette butts.

“Hey,” James says, leaning against the nearest bookshelf.

“Had a good afternoon?” Regulus asks casually, lazy eyes running up and down James’ body.

The way Regulus’ mouth twists makes James’ throat go dry. He can sense the danger but isn’t sure
where it’s coming from. And his body, which has zero regard for its own wellbeing, likes it. He’s
already responding to the undertone of wickedness in Regulus’ carefully modulated voice.

“Yes?”

“Hmm.”
“Is something wrong?” James asks after a moment.

“I don’t know,” Regulus says, eyes snapping up to James’. “You tell me.”

He puts the cigarette out on the ashtray, then pushes himself up to his feet. Saunter is an
appropriate word to describe the way Regulus moves from his chair to stand in front of James, so
close he can smell the lavender on his skin, broom polish, outdoors. And today, also mixed with
tobacco and parchment.

Regulus runs a finger up James’ torso, starting at around his navel and trailing all the way up to his
neck, where Regulus buries his hand in James’ hair and, surprisingly but not unpleasantly, yanks
his head back to expose the curve of his throat.

“James,” Regulus whispers, pressing his lips to James’ skin. “Were you flirting with Lily Evans in
the library this afternoon?”

Oh.

Oh.

James isn’t even a little bit ashamed of the rush of excitement that fizzles in his veins when he
realises what’s happening. Regulus is jealous. And he’s not happy about it. He’s fuming, in fact.
And this can only mean good things for James.

“We were studying,” James says, sounding a little breathless.

Regulus’ teeth sink in, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make James gasp and buck his
hips forward.

A ring-clad hand curls around James’ waist, pushing him back against the bookshelves. “Why were
you studying alone with Evans?”

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to be able to string a sentence together, because all James
can think about is Regulus’ mouth on his neck, that hand digging into his hip, and the feel of
Regulus’ lean muscles under his own hands. Don’t ask James when he started running them up and
down Regulus’ back, he can’t remember.

“I’m behind on my NEWTs,” James whispers. “Why are we still talking?”

“Did you know Evans has a crush on you?” Regulus asks, then proceeds to suck on James’ neck
with intent.

“I… what? No.”

“She touched your face, James,” Regulus says, licking a path up the curve of James’ throat until
he’s at his earlobe.

“Fuck,” James moans when Regulus closes his lips on it. “Regulus.”

“I don’t like it when other people touch you,” Regulus informs him.

Enough teasing, James thinks. If Regulus wants reassurances that James is only interested in his
boyfriend, all he has to do is look down.

Swiftly, James slides his hands along to the back of Regulus’ thighs and hauls him up. Regulus
yelps, startled, and pulls away from James’ neck enough to look at him with blown pupils. A bit
more aggressively than is strictly necessary, James walks forward until it’s Regulus pinned against
the bookshelf across the aisle.

Regulus gasps softly when his back hits the wood. Heat flares inside of James’ chest, a beast that
only Regulus can coax out of the cage and calm back down.

“You’re being ridiculous,” James growls, grinding his hips upwards so Regulus can feel him. “I
don’t want Lily.”

“What do you want, James?” Regulus asks, voice breathy and triumphant. His hands are around
James’ neck now, and he’s looking down at him with dark, eager eyes.

“You’re a little shit,” James replies, one hand sneaking up Regulus’ back to fist in his hair.

“Tell me what you want,” Regulus whines when James runs his tongue over the line of his jaw.

And James gives in. Because he can’t deny him. Not anything. Regulus could ask him to walk
barefoot over a bed of broken glass and James would do it.

“I want you, Reg,” James says. “Only you.”

Regulus tilts his head down to kiss James. It’s preposterous that Regulus would ever be jealous of
anyone, James thinks as their tongues meet. Because there isn’t a person alive that could ever
compete. Not when it feels like this.

James and Regulus kiss, and tug at clothes. They fall around them, but James doesn’t let Regulus
down, not once. He’s strong, and he puts his muscles to the very important use of keeping his
boyfriend pinned to the bookshelves.

It all moves very quickly, and James is only half aware of it because when it’s this hot, he cannot
keep track of things. He can only feel them. The heat. The pleasure. Skin sliding on skin. Tongues
and teeth and lips. Moans and gasps, growls when Regulus tries to turn the tables and take back
control.

“James,” Regulus whimpers, jerking his hips forward. “Please.”

He knows what Regulus wants, what he’s asking for, but James has other ideas. Somewhere in the
back of his mind, he’s not too pleased with the fact that Regulus is still insecure enough to get
angsty because he was studying with Lily. Studying in a public place! It's not like there was
anything even remotely untoward happening.

James wants Regulus to understand James wants him and only him and a bloody Veela could come
onto him, and James would fucking say no because she’s not Regulus.

Carefully, he brings Regulus down on his feet and drops to his knees. Regulus head hits the
bookshelf with a loud thud when James takes him in his mouth.

“Putain.”

Gleefully, James gets to work with the single goal of making Regulus swear in French as many
times as possible.

After, Regulus sits on his chair only in his boxers and lights a cigarette. James is on the floor, still
naked, panting but feeling so content his entire body is made of liquid. He loves it when it’s like
this between them.
Actually, he loves it any way he can get it, if he’s honest with himself. But there’s something about
the messiness of a desperate race to the finish that he enjoys immensely. A little violence, a little
impatience.

“Fuck, Reg,” he says wistfully. “That was so good.”

Regulus chuckles, inhaling the smoke of his cigarette. He looks so thoroughly debauched James is
struggling to remain calm even though they literally just finished. From this angle, he looks a little
bit like a dark angel. James cannot believe his own fucking luck.

####

“Why a library?” James asks, sitting up and scavenging for his boxers.

“So you think of me next time you feel the need to study,” he replies primly.

Regulus watches James find his clothes, rummage through them. He’s desperately trying to tattoo
the shape of James’ back, the way his muscles shift under his skin, into his eyelids. Two and a half
weeks. Seventeen fucking days.

How did time run out so quickly?

Their nights together are grains of sand slipping through his fingers.

“You do know I have to pass my NEWTs, don’t you?” James teases, yanking his underwear on.
Regulus is extremely grateful that James shows no intention of putting on any more clothes.

To hide his growing distress, fuelled by the ever present awareness of how little time he has left,
Regulus shrugs like he couldn’t care any less about James’ NEWTs.

Getting to his feet, James takes a chair and spins it around, sitting on it with his arms on the back of
it and legs straddling it. Regulus doesn’t even blink, watching the whole thing with keen interest.
The man is a fucking menace, so hot it makes it impossible to exist in his proximity without
wanting to take a bite out of him.

“Speaking of NEWTs,” James says tentatively. “I’m finishing school in a couple months.”

No.

Regulus feels like he’s been dunked in cold water. His eyes, previously tracing the lines of James’
thighs, snap up. The passing of time is a claw, and it’s reaching for Regulus’ throat, squeezing it so
tight he can’t even swallow.

Why the fuck is James bringing this up now?

“I’m aware,” Regulus replies, all trace of amusement erased from his voice. He doesn’t think
James notices it’s a little raspy, because he’s fighting for air right now.

“Right,” James says. He starts fidgeting a little, visibly nervous. “I was thinking about that.
About… after.”

Regulus can’t fucking breathe.

“After?”

“You know.”
“No, I don’t. After what?” Regulus grits out. His jaw hurts, but he can’t unclench it.

There’s about a million things he’d rather be doing than having this conversation. His own body is
rebelling against it—stomach churning, teeth grinding, lungs shrivelling. Regulus isn’t sure he can
make it through without having a meltdown.

How does he sit here and let James ramble on about a future Regulus knows they won’t get to
have?

It’s cruel, isn’t it? Which isn’t a problem. Or it shouldn’t be. Regulus doesn’t have an issue with
cruelty. It’s a powerful tool when one’s going headfirst into a war. But to hone it against James?
The mere thought makes Regulus want to cut his own tongue out so he can’t use it to hurt him.

“After school,” James says. “I was thinking about us. After school. The… uhm… future.”

“I’ve got another year,” Regulus replies, grasping at straws. Why is this happening? Why is he
bringing this up now?

Stop. Stop before it's too late. Before I say something I can't take back.

“Yes, I know. But that’s not… I mean. It doesn’t change anything for me.” James clears his throat.
“I wondered if you’d be interested in… I mean, if all goes well, which it will, right? With us, I
mean. I think so anyway. When you finish school, perhaps, we could—”

Regulus can’t do this. He can’t stand it another moment.

The realisation is violent, it jerks him out of his chair in one savage motion, putting space between
him and James as though that’ll make it easier.

“James, what the fuck are you on about?”

The look of hurt that crosses James’ face is like a knife to Regulus’ heart, but he can’t just… he
can’t take it. He can’t let James talk about what? About what they will do? There is no question.
They’ll be fighting a war on opposite sides.

Regulus turns his back on James, braces a hand against a bookshelf.

“Reg? Look, I know you mentioned you had no interest in leaving your family,” James says
carefully. “But you… will you not move out on your own at some point? You know. I just thought,
perhaps…”

“You thought wrong,” Regulus snaps. “Stop thinking. It’s not your forte.”

“What the fuck, Reg?” There’s hurt in James' voice, and Regulus hates himself for putting it there
but what choice does he have?

“Why are you talking about this? What are you trying to achieve?” Regulu snarls.

There’s a bit of sputtering, then the scraping of a chair against the floor. James’ bare feet slap the
stones as he walks over to Regulus, leaning against the bookshelf on one shoulder, arms crossed
over his naked chest.

“We had to talk about it at some point,” James says. “Outside. Actual, real life. What we will do.
So.”

“I already told you,” Regulus says, face turned down so his curls half-obscure his expression. “I
told you and you didn’t fucking listen, did you?”

“But—”

“No buts, James. I was there on New Year’s. What question do you even have at this point about
what I’ll be doing?”

James inhales sharply, runs a hand over his face. “You still have a choice. You can still leave.”

“Why? Because there’s no mark on my arm?” Regulus asks, tilting his head so James can see his
smirk. “You’re so fucking naïve.”

“I’m not naïve. I am hopeful. They’re different things,” James insists, growing more distressed by
the second. “Come with me. Be with me, Reg. Please. You don’t have to stay with them.”

“I told you I wanted to!”

“I don’t understand why!”

“Well, that’s your issue, not mine!”

James tugs at his hair, breathing coming out in rapid, shallow puffs. “What… okay, so tell me how
this plays out then. You and I after Hogwarts. What does that look like? We fight a war on opposite
sides during the day and sneak out to fuck at night? Is that it?”

“James—”

“No,” he roars, and Regulus jerks upright immediately. He can’t help it. That’s Angry James’
voice, and this time he’s very much fucking raging. “No. Don’t you fucking dare suggest this can’t
go on after Hogwarts. I refuse to believe that. I love you, Regulus.”

The words slide in like blades, making a mess of Regulus’ chest. His heart thrashes inside, angry at
him because it wants this. It wants James, and only James. It wants to say yes, to leave it all behind.

But Regulus can’t do that. He can’t, because if he doesn’t find the Horcruxes and destroy them,
James will die. And Dorcas. And Sirius. And Pandora. And Remus. And every single person who
opposes a Dark Lord that is, right this very moment, fucking immortal.

It won’t matter how hard they fight. How brave they are. Talent and skill and power don’t matter
when your enemy cannot be killed.

Regulus has no choice.

“We can’t be together outside of school,” Regulus says, softly despite everything. This, at least he
can give James. Let him down slowly. Gently. “I told you. I told you I would—”

“Do horrible things. Yes, I remember,” James snaps. “And you did, and I don’t care. I don’t care,
Regulus. You killed someone and I don’t care. So don’t tell me we can’t make this work because
that’s bullshit.”

They’re standing very close, but Regulus feels James so far away he’s sure he’ll never reach him
again. He didn’t want to do this now. He was supposed to have two more weeks. But James… he
can’t tell James yes now and then turn it around. James would never, ever, buy that. He would
fight tooth and nail.

And Regulus needs James to believe him when he breaks his heart. It’s the only way he’ll be safe.
“I don’t know if I want it to work,” Regulus whispers, feeling like he’s ripping out his own heart
and crushing it in his hand, all for James’ sake. “I don’t know, okay?”

James deflates like a balloon, all fire gone in one single breath. He blinks, lost. Like the words
don’t make sense to him. “What do you mean?”

Regulus swallows hard, looks away. If there’s ever been a time in his life when he has to perform,
it’s now. He has to be convincing. It has to be impeccable.

Running his hands through his hair, Regulus looks at James with what he hopes is helpless despair.
“I’m sixteen, James. I don’t know what I want. I don’t think I’m ready for how fast this is going.”

If he’d been hit, James would look less stunned. He staggers one step backwards, then braces
against the bookshelf. His eyes, big and beautiful, turn so sad Regulus has to bite his tongue to stop
himself from taking it back. He tastes blood, and disturbingly, it’s what keeps him grounded.

“You don’t know if you’re ready to talk about a future with me but you’re ready to kill for the
Death Eaters?”

“I didn’t kill for them,” Regulus replies coldly. “I killed because Greyback bit me.”

“Alright. Okay,” James says, starting to hyperventilate a little bit. He looks away, then back at
Regulus. Rubs the back of his neck.

“I’m not asking for your hand in marriage, Reg. I’m only asking you to talk to me about how we
could give this a go.”

“And I don’t know if that’s something I want,” Regulus lies and it burns his tongue, his throat. It
tastes like chewing broken glass.

“What about…” James gestures around them helplessly. “Everything. I’m your boyfriend. Doesn't
that mean anyhting?”

“I still… you know,” Regulus says, and this at least is true. “I want to do this with you. I like us
together. But you’re my boyfriend in here. And I can’t think about what happens after, James. Not
yet.”

“Well, I can’t just not!”

Regulus hates himself for the insolent shrug. For the way James watches his shoulder move up and
down. What it does to his face, shattering him.

“What does that mean?” James asks, voice thick with hurt.

“This whole thing seems like a you problem,” Regulus says, donning on his shirt and yanking up
his trousers. “I like the way things are now. In school. One day at a time. But if that’s not enough
for you… well.”

“Well? Well?”

James is crumbling. Behind his glasses, Regulus can see red lining his eyes. He finishes dressing,
James standing there in his boxers just staring. Swallowing thickly, blinking too fast.

“You know how to find me,” Regulus says, crossing the room. “You always do. So, it’s up to you.
It’s either like this or not at all.”
It’s not lost on Regulus that they’ve had variations of this situation a few times now. Regulus
walking away, putting the ball on James’ court. And James always, always comes for him.
Unfailingly.

James tries. For them, for their love, for everything they could be. He tries. And doesn’t give up.
And as Regulus closes the door behind him and walks down the corridor, he knows, deep down,
that James will try again.

And Regulus is weak, and desperate, and he’ll take it. He’ll let James try one more time even
though he shouldn’t. Because there are a meagre two and a half weeks left and he wants every
single one of those nights even if it kills him.

The thought makes him falter. Makes him stop at the end of the corridor, look back. The door to
the Come and Go Room remains shut. Regret coats the walls of his throat. His eyes sting and
Regulus is so spent, so fucking tired, that he doesn’t wipe the tears away.

Dropping his head forward, Regulus walks away. For the first time, James doesn’t come after him.

####

His friends are all sleeping when he slides into his dorm later that night. James drapes the
invisibility cloak over the end of his bed and puts the map on his bedside table. Takes off his
clothes methodically, hands shaking.

“I’m sixteen, James. I don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready for how fast this is going.”

Jamming a fist into his mouth to stop himself from making a sound, James scrambles into his bed
and shuts the curtains. He can’t remember if he has ever had to use a silencing spell to hide from
his friends before. He doesn't think so. James is open, and transparent. He shares himself with the
others gladly. Tonight, he doesn't want to be seen. To be heard. Perceived, even. Tonight, James is
misery and he can't put that on his friends. They can't know.

Once he’s certain his friends can’t hear him, he takes a pillow and presses it over his face. James
screams. He screams until his throat is raw, until he can taste blood, until his chest is heaving and
there are black spots at the edge of his vision.

Exhausted, he drops the pillow.

He ruined it. James had it all. He had everything. And he fucking ruined it because he couldn’t
keep himself in check. He had to go in, all big feelings and overexcited plans, and scare Regulus
away.

What was he thinking?

James just… he took it for granted, didn’t he? He just thought that Regulus had to feel the same
way. Be as deep in as he is. He failed to account for the fact that most people aren’t as fucking
extra as he is. Over the top, always. He’s intense, and he knows it.

But he forgot. With Regulus, James forgot to check himself. To hold back. To give him room to
breathe.

There’s no one to blame but himself. James should have been more careful. Should have
considered that normal people don’t make life plans when they’re still teenagers. War or no war.

Except there is a war. And James isn’t sure what’s going to happen, does he? So what if he wants
to live every day like it’s his last? Is that truly so awful?

He can’t tell. James doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what’s too much and what’s too little.

James doesn’t like doing things halfway. Mediocrity isn’t in his vocabulary. He has never met
moderation. Temperance? Don’t know her.

When he’s in, he’s in, all the way. He thought when it came to love there could never be too much
of it. For him, love has always been a good thing. Safe. Warm. Happy. Who wouldn’t want always
more of that?

Regulus, apparently.

Fuck.

It’s his choice, Regulus said. But James can’t make it. Because he doesn’t know how to love
Regulus moderately. He doesn’t know how to look at him and not want to save him. How to be
with him and not beg for Regulus to choose them. To choose James.

Did he muck it up? Did he tip Regulus definitely towards the other side?

James yanks the curtains back and sprints across the room to the bathroom. He makes it to the
toilet bowl in the nick of time, emptying the contents of his stomach into it in violent shudders.

Someone wakes. James is still clinging to the bowl when a pair of feet appear in his line of vision.
“Prongs?”

It’s Remus.

“I’m fine,” he says, flushing the toilet and crawling over to the sink, where he climbs to his feet to
brush his teeth.

Remus closes the door behind them, staying in the bathroom with James. “Do you need to go see
Poppy?”

“No,” James replies through a mouthful of toothpaste. “I’m not sick.”

“You’re not drunk, either,” Remus points out. “So, what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

It’s in the concern drawing Remus’ eyebrows together that James resolve crumbles. He spits out
the toothpaste, rinses his mouth, and then he’s crying. Alarmed, Remus blinks at him.

“James?”

He cries, trying and failing to get words out.

“Should I get Sirius?”

“NO!” James throws a hand out, accidentally slapping Remus’ chest.

Understanding softens the horror in Remus’ face to mild discomfort. “Did you have a fight with
Regulus?”

And that. His name. Fuck, it hurts.

“I think we broke up?” James hiccups.

“What?” Remus sounds truly dumbfounded by this, which does nothing to comfort James.

“I fucked up,” James says, splashing water on his face to try and get himself back under control. “I
fucked up, Moony.”

“Hey,” Remus finally reacts, reaching for James and tucking him for a hug.

His arms close around James and it’s not like hugging Sirius, but it’s comforting anyway. Remus is
strong, and tall, and he’s a friend. James realises that he really needs a friend right now.

“You’ll work it out, alright?” Remus says. “The kid’s fucking obsessed with you, James. Anyone
with eyes can see it.”

“He won’t leave them,” James whispers. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t think we… that we can work
outside of school. Because of them. It’s because of them, Remus. What do I do?”

“Oh shit,” Remus says. It sounds so defeated James can only cry harder.

Remus lets him. For long, agonising minutes, Remus holds James and does his best to comfort him.
James is grateful, because he knows his friend. Knows Remus struggles with this sort of thing, and
he’s still here. Still holding James, letting him cry on his shoulder because his heart is breaking
and James doesn’t know how to put it back together.

“I don’t think I can fix this.”

Remus disentangles himself from James gently, putting his hands on his shoulders to look at his
friend. There’s so much sadness in his eyes James wants to shout at him. Lash out. Tell him he’s
wrong. Don’t look sad. Don’t. They’ll figure it out.

“If he won’t leave them, there’s nothing you can do, James,” Remus says instead. He says it firmly,
but infinitely gently, like he’s aware of the effect his words have.

No.

No.

You’re supposed to tell me it’ll be okay. Sirius would tell me it’ll be okay. I would tell you it'll be
okay if it was the other way around!

Oh Godric. He’s losing Regulus, isn’t he? And that’s… Merlin help him, James can’t breathe. He
can’t process. He can’t. He can’t.

James staggers backwards, shaking his head. “I’ll talk to him again. We’ll find a way. It’ll be
okay.”

“If he’s joining them, it can’t be okay. It can’t be, James,” Remus says. He’s talking to him like
he’s a scared child. Perhaps he is. But can they blame him? He’s… he can’t lose Regulus.

He won’t. James refuses to let this be the end.

“It took years for Sirius to leave,” James insists, setting his shoulders. He’ll fight. He won’t give
up. He won’t. He can’t.

“I’ve only been with Reg for a few months. I’ll talk to him. We’ll fix it. He just needs to
understand we can keep him safe.”

“Can we?” Remus asks.

“Stop. Stop that. Don’t do that. Don’t bring your fucking pessimism to me. That’s your thing, not
mine,” James says, desperately.

“James…”

“No,” he says, yanking the door open. “I’m going to sleep. Good night, Remus.”

He can feel the other boy’s eyes on him as he scurries to his bed and closes his curtains shut. The
silencing spell settles heavily around him. James crawls under the covers.

He doesn’t get any sleep. Not a wink.

####

Somehow, Regulus ends up on the roof of the owlry. He thought of going to Myrtle’s bathroom,
but the idea of company, even that of a ghost, made him want to crawl out of his skin. Besides,
Myrtle finally got Helena to confirm to her that she told Riddle about the diadem, but she has no
idea if he ever found it and Myrtle has been wanting to theorise.

Let’s be clear. Regulus is in no shape to theorise about anything right now. Not even his all-
important mission.

Instead, he’s braving the still chilly air of mid-March to sit up here, his wand at his side from the
warming charm he cast.

Smoke fills his lungs, and Regulus holds it for as long as he can before it starts hurting. It masks
the ache of his heart. He finishes the cigarette, flicks the butt away.

Fuck.

The first sob wrenches out of him violently. The second follows more easily, and then he’s
weeping and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He’s making a mess, tears and snot and face
contorted into a grimace of despair that would be embarrassing is Regulus had space for anything
other than bone deep agony.

And this might be the only time he can safely give into it, so Regulus does.

Curling on his side on the downwards sloping roof, Regulus sobs. He cries for James. Cries for
himself. For how much they love each other. Cries because love isn’t enough. They can’t be
together and it’s something Regulus has known since the beginning, but it doesn’t make it hurt any
less.

Regulus cries and it’s ugly. It’s broken half-sounds that are trying to be words. It’s wails and
moans. His hands snake into his hair and he tugs at it, rocking a little over the tiles.

He was supposed to have more time. Seventeen days. Two weeks and change.

He was supposed to do it on his own terms. To choose his words. To dismantle the love James has
for him carefully, picking it apart until there was nothing left.

Fuck.
Regulus was supposed to have time to talk to Sirius just once more.

With a truly horrible keening sound that Regulus didn’t even know he could make, he rolls onto his
back and finds Sirius through blurry, swollen eyes. The star shines above, bright and beautiful.
Powerful. Eternal.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Regulus whispers, spit and tears mingling together. “I didn’t get to
say goodbye.”

Heaving, Regulus stares at Sirius. “Don’t hate me any more than you already do, please. Don’t hate
me for this. For hurting him. I already hate myself.”

Regulus weeps. Brings his knees up and puts his head between them. Sobs shake his shoulders.
He’s crying so hard Regulus worries for a moment if he’s going to make himself sick.

Fighting for breath, he looks up again. “I was selfish. I knew it was going to end this way and I did
it anyway because I’ve loved him since I was eleven. I couldn’t… I had to know,” Regulus says,
his voice barely a whisper in the wind.

“And the worst part is that I don’t regret it. I would do it again. I would put myself through this
pain again just to have James. To have you like I did. For a little while, I did. I had you. Both of
you. And I don’t regret it."

Once the words have poured out of him, Regulus weeps for what feels like an eternity. He weeps
for what has been and what could have been but won’t.

The stars shift above him. The moon rises and begins to fall on the other side of the sky. It is a very
long time for a boy to sit on a roof and cry, and yet, Regulus has so much inside when he finally
starts to regain some semblance of control, he feels he’s barely scratched the surface.

Inside his pocket sits the snitch with the little picture of him and James that Pandora drew for him.
He takes it out with shaking hands, cradling the painting like it’s the most precious thing he owns.
It might be.

Regulus stares at it for an eternity, tears streaming down his face, but sobs subsiding. There’s only
so much pain one can exorcise. The rest, one has to carry. And Regulus knows he’ll carry this one
forever.

If there’s one thing Regulus is certain of, it’s that he’ll never love another person. Not the way he
loves James.

This is going to hurt him for as long as he’s alive.

Fortunately, Regulus doesn’t think that’ll be long at all.

Small mercies.

****

It would be quite handy, Regulus thinks as he makes his way back through the castle, to have that
map Sirius and his friends made. But he doesn’t, and he has to rely on his stealth to avoid being
detected by Filch and Mrs. Norris. It’s not an easy feat. Regulus has to double back twice before he
finally makes it to the corridor where the Come and Go Room is waiting.

James isn’t here. Why would he?

If he’s completely honest, Regulus isn’t sure why he’s here either. Selwyn is gone, his dorm is a
safe space once again. Barty and Evan should be asleep by now, and Dorcas is with Marlene. And
yet, here he is.

Regulus stares at the wall, pondering what he wants. He doesn’t want one of the places he goes to
with James. That’ll just make him sad. He also doesn’t want just a place to sleep. He can go to his
dorm for that.

With a start, Regulus realises that what he really wants is somewhere he can hide from the world.
Just for a little bit. Somewhere he can get distracted and forget the goddam awful fight they just
had.

A hiding place where no one, not even his own demons, will find him.

The door that draws itself on the wall is smaller than usual, but Regulus trusts the room. He enters
without a second thought then does a double take.

What the fuck?

Piles and piles of random shit surround him. He’s in a storage room of some sort and judging by
the eclectic collection of items scattered everywhere, it’s a common hiding place. Regulus suspects
many students have stumbled upon this without knowing the true nature of the room, simply
shoving whatever it is they’re hiding here, and forgetting about it. It explains why none of them
seem to have been recovered, either.

The air is heavy with dust, and there’s no real light. Some of the trinkets stored here emit glows of
different kinds, but it’s not enough to see. Regulus fumbles for his wand and casts a lumos.

Well. He asked to be distracted and hidden from the world. Once again, the room delivers.

For the next half hour or so, Regulus wanders aimlessly up and down the aisles. His mind wants to
accost him with thoughts of revenge, and power, and heartbreak. Regulus forces himself to explore
the shelves and cabinets around him instead.

And it’s in that room, completely by accident, that Regulus finds the second Horcrux.

Isn't it neat? The universe is rewarding him for shredding his heart to pieces, it seems. Lose James,
you find a horcrux. Talk about divine intervention.

As soon as he lays eyes on the tiara stuck on a mannequin’s head, over a very ugly wig, Regulus
feels the pulse of dark magic around it. His breath hitches, and he freezes in place, just staring at it.

The temptation to put it on is strong.

But Regulus is the master of his own body. He’s a dragon, according to his friends. He’s the slayer
of the Slytherin basilisk. He’s in control. And this Horcrux won’t best him. Not after he’s proven
what he can do.

Unfortunately, Regulus doesn’t have any basilisk venom on his person at this time. He just didn’t
this it would be a good idea for him to walk around the school with a poisonous tooth in his pocket.
He hesitates, unwilling to touch the diadem with his bare hands.

Can he leave it here and come back tomorrow?

 As far as he knows, this has been untouched since Tom Riddle stuck here (he must have, Regulus
reasons, thought that no one else would find this room. Because he's conceited like that). It’s
been… twenty years? Give or take? Doesn’t matter. It’s been a while. He could just leave it and
come back tomorrow.

Except the thought of this thing being here, in the same magical room where he and James have
built their love story… no. He won’t have it. Absolutely unacceptable.

So Regulus takes off his shoes, and his socks. Puts his shoes back on on bare feet and shoves his
hands into his socks. It’s not the most graceful solution, but he’s working with what he’s got.
Gripping the diadem carefully, he puts it in his pocket and scurries out of the room.

Regulus doesn’t breathe normally again until he’s in the dungeons. More specifically, in the
classroom where he practices curses. Placing the diadem on a desk, he hurries to the wall and
nudges one of the stones away to reveal his stash. From it, he takes the same fang he used on the
diary and a vial of poison. He’s not sure of the practicalities of stabbing a diadem, so he’s also
going to sprinkle it with venom. To be sure.

When he picks it up (still using his socks as gloves), Regulus’ hands are shaking a little bit.
Something inside of him doesn’t want to destroy a relic like this. The lost diadem of Ravenclaw.

Fuck Tom Riddle, honestly.

Regulus is appalled at the disrespect he’s showing the founders of Hogwarts.

Fuelled by this righteous anger, Regulus stabs the diadem with the fang right in the jewel in its
middle. The effects are so immediate, he doesn’t have to open the vial of venom. The diadem, as
though wanting to be destroyed, crumbles to pieces immediately. A shiver runs through Regulus,
and he could have sworn he heard a woman’s voice whispering thank you for a second before it all
went quiet again.

Two down.

Unknown number of Horcruxes (but up to four) to go.

Chapter End Notes

Okay... Ehm... from the top?

Dorcas, absolute queen of this fic, really said 'I'll do anything for Reg' and she's
delivering. I'm so excited for the storyline with Reg & Dorcas as we get closer to and
into the war. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

Reg calling Barty hot? Iconic. Also... Pandalily hints are dropping

Remus watching Sirius be all sexy and strong with his bat and losing his mind over it
is the most valid moment of this entire chapter. I will not take questions at this time

Jily but like in a platonic way LILY KNOWS ABOUT REGULUS she has
accepted her fate. She saw them together and thought - yeah, I never stood a chance.
My poor baby girl
JEALOUS REGULUS HAS TO BE ONE OF MY FAVS (who am I kidding Regulus
in all his versions is my fav). Him asking for a library? HE'S SO PETTY HELP I
LOVE HIM

And then ehm... well. Yeah. That happened. Sorry but like... these two are very
ready to tear the world down for the other so their breaking apart was never going to
be clean? But Reg on the roof where it all started crying his little eyes out and talking
to Sirius BROKE ME. Like for real ☹️ And James not wanting to 'bother' his friends
with his sadness but then absolutely clinging to Remus because he needs support so
badly? STOP IT I AM IN PAIN

I have an extremely busy weekend so I think the next update will be Monday
Let me know what you think in the comments!

***

Also - a few of you have found me on TiKTok (@itssolmussa) and I LOVE SAYING
HI TO YOU Also (x2), I saw an edit inspired by Only the Brave recently and I
don't think I've ever been that excited in my life, so thank you so much
If you make one, please let me know or tag it maybe? I'd love to see it
 Unbreakable Vow
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

Alright, okay, so... ups and downs, you know? Because break ups between people who
are so in love are never straightforward... so! Enjoy (I hope?)

TWs
Smoking
Mentions of vomiting (from previous chapter / feeling like it but it doesn't happen in
this one)
Implied homophobia (vague)
Discussions of war, future death, etc.
Depictions of blood, broken bones
Depictions of violence
Depictions of fainting / passing out
Sex

French translation in the end notes!!

Thank you so much to everyone who's supporting this story. I LOVE YOU ALL SO
MUCH

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It takes Sirius all of one second to figure out something is horribly wrong with James. Not even
Remus attempting to distract him by putting on his shirt way too slowly works. With a frown to
rival one of Regulus’ bests, Sirius crosses their room to stand in front of James and puts his hands
on his shoulders.

“Who am I punching today?” Sirius asks one hundred percent seriously.

“It’s fine, Pads,” James says, voice a little raspy from the crying, screaming and throwing up. “I’m
fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Sirius insists. “You look like a bee stung your eyeballs!”

“What’s going on?” Peter asks, emerging from the bathroom with a yawn. “Oh. What happened
James? You alright?”

“I am fine,” James insists, knocking Sirius’ hands off his shoulders.

Sirius and Peter exchange glances. Making the most of the momentary reprieve, James begins to
yank on his clothes. He has a plan. A plan to get Regulus back. He’s going to find him, and
apologise for being so intense, and tell Regulus that he likes it like this, too. There’s no need to talk
about the future just yet. He can take things slow. One day at a time. Easy. Like normal people do.

Will Regulus see through this very blatant lie? It’s a coin toss.

But James cannot go down without a fight. It feels like the future, and the Black family, and the
war are a storm gathering over him and Regulus and James is ready for it. He’s fucking ready to go
up against the elements. He’ll stay on their ship and battle with the wind and the waves for as long
as he’s breathing. If there is one thing James knows for certain, it’s that he’d rather go down and
sink all the way to the bottom of the pit of despair currently nesting in his gut than to abandon this
love just to stay afloat.

That’s a coward’s way out.

James will either sail the ship to safe harbour or die trying. Metaphorically speaking.

“Prongs?” Sirius asks, and James realises that his friends have been having a sort of silent
conversation with each other while he's been busy trying to get himself dressed.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says without looking up from his socks. His socks are dirty. He
can’t wear these socks. He needs clean socks.

Turning to his trunk, because James never fully unpacks, much to Remus’ eternal annoyance, he
shuffles over to find clean socks and stubs his toe on the corner of it.

“Fuck!” James shouts.

That’s it. That’s all it takes for him to start crying again. It’s so pathetic. Why is he crying over a
stubbed toe? For Merlin’s sake. James wipes his face furiously and ends up knocking off his
glasses. He cries harder.

“Prongs.” Sirius is next to him, cleaning his glasses with the t-shirt under his school shirt. “Let me,
okay?”

“So—socks,” James keens, pitifully, embarrassingly. He feels like a child.

Gently, Sirius rummages through James’ trunk and finds him a pair of clean socks. He then
carefully pushes James back to sit on his bed, places his glasses back on his face, and kneels by
James’ feet. James is still softly weeping as Sirius puts on his socks for him with so much care,
James feels like he’s breaking in half.

“Go on,” Sirius says to Remus and Peter, who are watching the scene with concerned expressions.
“We’ll catch up.”

“We’ll save you a seat,” Peter tells them before leading a hesitant Remus out of the room.

“I’m sorry,” James says when they’re alone. “I don’t… this is so stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Come on,” Sirius replies, moving to sit next to James on the bed. “How many times have you
dressed or undressed me? About time I got to repay the favour.”

James drops his face in his hands. “I had a fight with Reg.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Sirius says. “Do you want to tell me about it? Or do you want to talk about how
you’re going to fix it?”

A wet chuckle bubbles up James’ throat. Sniffling, he sits up straight so he can look at his best
friend. Brother. Soulmate. There’s no judgement on Sirius’ face. No hesitation, no disgust. No
pity, either. There’s only love and determination.

“What if I can’t fix it?” James asks him in a shy voice. Afraid of the question as much as he is of
the answer.

“Mate. Regulus is gone for you,” Sirius says. “I mean… fuck. I know him, okay? I know Reggie.
He loves you, James.”

“I mean... I think so,” James says, breaths shuddering. “I hope he does. But...It’s not--that’s not the
problem, Sirius. I know he loves me. I think. I just don’t know if it’s going to be enough.”

“Oh.”

Silence falls like an axe. Heavy, sharp. Unstoppable. And James regrets stopping Remus from
getting Sirius last night because if there is one person who understands what it feels like to love
Regulus and it not be enough to save him, it’s Sirius.

They sit there together. The two people who love Regulus most in the world and hold in their
hearts the terrifying reality that they might fail.

And James can’t let that happen. It’s not just him who’ll suffer. It’s Sirius, too. Sirius, who just
about got a little bit of his brother back. He doesn’t deserve to lose him again. And didn’t he set out
on this whole thing because he hoped he could give this to Sirius? That he could pull Regulus out
of the darkness and deliver him to his brother again?

James finds that it’s in the combined weight of his own heart and Sirius’ that his strength lies. He
pulls himself together, wrapping his fear and insecurity in a wall of resolve so steely it will not
come down.

“I’m going to fix it,” James says, voice steady. All traces of his little breakdown gone. “I’m going
to fix it, Sirius.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“I have about a hundred million half-baked ones,” James admits with a soft chuckle. “Couldn’t
sleep.”

Sirius leans back on the bed on his elbows, looking up at the canopy with a pensive face. After a
moment or two, he asks, “Do you think he’ll refuse to talk to you? Like, do we have to corner
him?”

“Corner him?”

“You know what I mean,” Sirius says dismissively, waving a hand. James notices an ink stain on
his wrist and frowns. Instinctively, because this is Sirius and there’s never been a time in his life
when James couldn’t just do whatever he wanted around him, he reaches for it.

Blushing, Sirius freezes when James looks down at what’s not just an ink stain, but a crescent
moon. It’s deliberate. Drawn there on purpose.

The first genuine smile on his face since the absolutely catastrophic fight with Regulus is put there
by Sirius. “What’s this?”

“As if you don’t know,” Sirius says a little defensively.

James only smiles harder. “Is it official official then? Are you boyfriends?”

“Is now the time?” Sirius asks, looking away to try and hide his own smile.
“Fuck yes,” James says. “It’s the perfect time. Come on, one of us deserves to not be in deep shit.”

Laughing, Sirius rubs a hand over his face. He bites his lip, then looks up at James with genuine
delight.

“We haven’t like… said it, you know? I haven’t—how do you do it? Just, ‘hey, Remus, do you
want to be my boyfriend?’ It sounds so fucking stupid,” Sirius says, then he starts giggling.

James laughs, too. It’s soft at first, a little shy. But every time their eyes meet, Sirius just laughs
harder and it makes James chortle, and then they’re a mess on James’ bed, laughing so hard there
are tears in their eyes and they have to hold their bellies.

“Oh, Merlin’s balls,” James says, wiping his eyes. “Can you imagine Remus’ face?”

“Prongs, he’s so bad at it. The soft stuff. You’ve no idea. Like, the feelings part. He’s like allergic
to them. The other stuff he’s very good at.” Sirius wiggles his eyebrows and James rolls his eyes,
but he’s still giggling softly.

“He’ll get better at it,” James says confidently. “And you don’t need to put a name to it, you know?
Just because other people do doesn’t mean it’s the only way.”

“I kind of want to, though,” Sirius muses. “I just can’t… I can’t ask him. He’d freak out, I think?”

“You could just inform him of it,” James replies. “Regulus never asked me. He just… said it one
day. Just went for it.”

“Shut up,” Sirius gasps.

James smiles at his friend, feeling a lot better after a good laugh. The world is brighter, and he’s
much more confident in his ability to fix the situation with Regulus. They love each other. That’ll
be enough. It has to be.

“Come on,” James says, yanking Sirius off the bed. “If I miss breakfast, I’ll be grumpy all day.”

“Wait! You haven’t told me your plan yet,” Sirius says, following James out the door.

Inspired, James looks at Sirius. “Do you think you can convince Moony to steal the record player
for me? Just this once?”

“Consider it done,” Sirius says solemnly.

It takes them most of the day to set everything up, so James ends up skipping lunch which is just as
well. Regulus didn’t come for breakfast, and James can’t tell if that’s bad sign or simply a
coincidence. Regulus has been known to skip meals, so he’s firmly told himself not to panic just
yet.

Halfway through the afternoon Sirius, as promised, shows up with the record player and helps
James carry it into the Come and Go Room. He gives him a few pointers for the décor, and then
together they go on a little trip to the kitchens to get some snacks and drinks, because they’re the
one thing the room won’t provide.

All in all, James’ Friday is a busy one but he’s proud. He feels good. He’s going to woo his
boyfriend (?) and win him back. It’s all going to work out.

By the time dinner rolls around, James has everything set up in the Come and Go Room. All he
needs is for Regulus to show up to the Come and Go Room.

And then, James will fix it.

####

The day after The Great Fight, Regulus has breakfast in the kitchens. He’s not hiding, because that
would be pathetic, and Regulus is not that. He’s simply having a hard day and the noise of the
Great Hall is too much to deal with.

So, he’s slips away to the kitchens and Tappy serves him some breakfast in the same table against
the wall where he once sat with Dorcas and listened to her tell him she had a crush.

It's rather alarming how anything can be a trigger if you think about it enough.

Somehow, that stupid little table almost brings Regulus to tears. He chokes on his black coffee, and
has to bite down on the tip of his tongue until the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth to stop
tears from brimming in his eyes.

He needs to get a grip. Last night’s meltdown on the roof was supposed to purge him of this…
thing inside of him. He was supposed to be back in control. A simple table cannot bring him to the
verge of breaking down.

The food stays practically untouched, because Regulus has no appetite whatsoever. But he forces
down a piece a toast and enough coffee to power a hippogriff before thanking Tappy and leaving
the kitchens behind.

Fortunately, he’s not in the same year as James so Regulus can avoid him with ease. They don’t
share classes, and their schedules shouldn’t align even in the slightest. So long as Regulus avoids
the Great Hall, he’ll be fine. He skips lunch, hiding away in the potions lab instead.

His Felix Felicis has finally, finally, finished brewing. He spends the lunch hour putting the very
last touches on it, and leaves the lab satisfied that the potion is ready to be bottled that very night,
which Regulus thinks is a brilliant stroke of luck. He’ll be too busy to have another bout of pathetic
weeping over James.

Keeping himself distracted and away from the Great Hall works surprisingly well. So well, in fact,
that by the time Regulus steps into the Slytherin common room that Friday afternoon he wants to
crawl into his bed and cry because he hasn’t seen James once. Not a single time.

“Black!” Rabastan Lestrange calls for him from across the room.

He’s sitting with his little cadre of Death Eater wannabes and Regulus would rather make out with
the Giant Squid than sit with them, but he can’t give in to his sadness. The whole point of breaking
up with James was to be able to enact his revenge properly.

With a little tilt of his head—the most acknowledgement they’re going to get from him—Regulus
sits down on the armchair next to Rabastan, leaning back elegantly.

The conversation picks up again. Very quickly, Regulus gathers that the others are asking
Rabastan how he managed to get marked so young. So early. It takes about two minutes for
Regulus to find out that Dolohov, Mulciber and Avery have been allowed to attend a few meetings,
and were included in the New Year’s Eve test same as he was. None of them, however, have been
given solid dates for when they’ll be marked. Severus has been to exactly one meeting and the
Dark Lord wasn’t present that time. He’s struggling to get an in and to be considered for a test.
“The Dark Lord values skill,” Rabastan is saying with an air of superiority that makes Regulus
want to roll his eyes. “I’m sure when he hears about your ability as a potioner, you’ll be initiated.”

“Why would he need Severus?” Dolohov asks, snickering. “He’ll have Black.”

Regulus tilts his head again in a gesture of acknowledgment at the attempt at boot licking. Severus
grimaces.

“Surely the Dark Lord will need more than a single potioner,” he says primly. “I understand his
ambitions are vast, as they should be.”

“Oh, come off it, Severus,” Regulus snaps, irritated with the boy for no reason other than he’s
hating his entire life today. “Grovelling in front of us won’t get you anywhere.”

“Don’t you have his ear?” he asks pointedly.

Chuckling, Regulus crosses one leg over the other. “No one has the Dark Lord’s ear. I’m not
arrogant enough to claim I do. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.”

“Regulus is right,” says Rabastan, the only one who dares call him by his first name. Regulus
allows it because of the ink etched onto Rabastan’s arm. “The Dark Lord has favourites, but no one
has his ear. Not even my brother.”

“And are you a favourite?” Dolohov asks, looking at Regulus with greedy eyes.

“He’s certainly working on it,” says Mulciber. “One single mission and everyone’s been talking
about him. I should have thought of standing by the door.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. We all know thinking is difficult for you,” Avery says.

Regulus’ lips curl in a mocking grin. There’s still bad blood between Avery and Mulciber over
some girl, and it’s quite entertaining to watch them throw not so subtle jibes at each other. Severus
rolls his eyes, like he’s tired of their antics.

“Shut up,” is Mulciber’s super eloquent response to Avery.

“Don’t start again,” Rabastan says, a warning undertone to his voice that makes both Mulciber and
Avery reluctantly look away from each other and cross their arms like grouchy little children.

“Do you already know what you’re doing over Easter?” Severus asks Rabastan, bringing the
conversation back to the business that interests him.

This piques Regulus’ attention. He thought all seventh year students were staying over the Easter
break as is tradition. Their NEWTs exams start not to long after, so they always use the break to
double down on their revision. Regulus knows James is staying. It came up in passing once, and
Regulus dismissed the whole Easter thing very quickly for obvious reasons. But he remembers.

“No,” Rabastan replies. “They’re not giving out information until a day or two before the hit. It’s
safer that way.”

“Surely the Dark Lord doesn’t suspect leaks?” Severus asks, eyebrows lifted.

Rabastan shakes his head. “You can never be too careful,” he says with an air of superiority that
Regulus thinks is unjustified.

The only reason Rabastan managed to get himself marked so early is because his brother and Bella
made a case for it. He hasn’t earnt it. Not really. Still, he’s Regulus’ ally now so he’s not about to
go pointing it out to anybody.

“Regulus Black?”

All four boys turn to look at a little girl hovering near. She can’t be older than twelve or thirteen,
thick brown curls falling almost to her elbows. The nervous way she’s fidgeting makes Regulus a
bit wary, though he’s not sure why.

“Yes?”

"I'm... there's someone—" The girl's breath hitches when his eyes fall on her, and the other boys
snicker.

Regulus for his part is too busy making sure his heart doesn't shoot itself out of his chest. Surely
James isn’t stupid enough to be waiting for him outside the Slytherin common room, is he?

Salazar’s cape on a pole. He is. This is absolutely the sort of idiotic thing James would do.

Regulus has to swallow a hysterical giggle, forcing every muscle on his face to remain impassive
even as giddiness rushes through his veins like hope has replaced blood. James came back. He’s
still trying and Regulus—

Finding her courage, the little girl says, “There’s a Ravenclaw girl waiting for you outside. She
asked if I could come get you.”

Oh.

It’s not James.

Blinking more than he needs to, Regulus clears his throat. Pushes down the immense
disappointment. The fresh wave of pure pain that washes over him, because it’s not James.

“Pandora?” Regulus asks, already rising from his armchair.

He needs to leave his present company behind immediately, because his control is fraying and he
cannot afford to show weakness to these people.

“The pretty one with blue eyes and blond hair,” the girl says, then blushes like she realised what
she just said.

Rabastan makes a rude noise, but it’s Mulciber who says, “Spending a lot of time with the
Ravenclaw girl, aren’t you Black?”

“Not a word,” Regulus says, cutting them the look Dorcas says is terrifying.

Satisfyingly, it seems to work because they all fall silent. Regulus crosses the common room
quickly, fidgeting with his rings inside one of his pockets so no one notices. The snitch is still
there. He doesn’t go anywhere without it. Embarrassing, but he can’t bring himself to leaving it
behind.

The last thing he needs right now is one of Pandora’s dreams. Regulus isn’t sure he can take any
more crap today. Even he has limits.

Pandora is waiting for him in the cold, dark corridor. As soon as Regulus steps out of the common
room, she comes closer and bends her head forward, “It’s Dorcas. Come with me.”
That’s all it takes, really. Regulus doesn’t ask. Doesn’t question it. He follows Pandora like a sort
of automaton, his brain still fighting itself over the fact that he dared to hope it was James and it
wasn’t and that hurt almost as much as the fight they had last night.

The room Pandora leads him to is nondescript. Just a classroom. It could still be in use or it could
not, Regulus can’t tell. The door opens easily, with a soft groan and the scrape of wood against
stone. Dorcas is inside.

“I won’t lock the door, because I know you don’t like it,” Pandora says softly. “But I’m setting up
a ward.”

“What’s wrong?” Regulus asks Dorcas, coming to lean against the desk right in front of her.

Dorcas is wearing muggle clothes, because it’s Friday evening and the weekend has just started.
She should be mucking about with Marlene and the other Gryffindors. Why is she here?

“Did Pandora have another dream?”

“Well, she—” Dorcas starts, but Pandora cuts in. “I did.”

Tension gathers in Regulus’ shoulders, the back of his neck. His lungs press into his ribs, like they
need more space to cope with all the things that are going catastrophically wrong in his life this
week.

“Alright,” Regulus says, trying to force himself to remain calm. “Let’s hear it.”

“I can’t give you details,” Pandora says, immediately pissing Regulus off.

“You can’t… Pan. If Dorcas is in danger, you are going to give me all the fucking ins and outs of
it so I can fix it,” he says. He knows he sounds a little unhinged. That he’s gone from zero to a
hundred in a single breath.

But he’s… James. Yesterday. And he’s still wading through the grief of that. He’s mourning them,
the tragedy of having been doomed from the beginning and trying anyway because love like that
comes once in a lifetime.

So, excuse him if he’s running on a shorter fuse than usual. Regulus thinks he’s entirely justified.

“It’s not Dorcas who’s in danger,” Pandora says. “But Dorcas is the only one who can help.”

“Ah,” Regulus says, shoulders dropping down a little. “Me again?”

The two girls exchange glances, then Dorcas clears her throat. “Yes. You again. But this time
Pandora knows what to do. And that’s why we’re here.”

“What to do about what?”

“How to bring you back,” Pandora explains. “When you’ve gone too far. Dorcas is the only one
who can bring you back.”

Regulus narrows his eyes at his friends. The nervous energy thrumming through the two girls is
setting him on edge. He doesn’t like it. He can tell that whatever they’re planning they know he’s
going to try to refuse them. He’s going to refuse them.

No way he’s going to put Dorcas in any more danger. “How?”

“I’m making an unbreakable vow,” Dorcas declares, eyes levelling Regulus with a look of defiance
so powerful he suddenly gets why Marlene is gone for her.

“Absolutely not,” Regulus says firmly.

“You don’t get to refuse this,” Dorcas snaps.

“Watch me.”

Pandora lifts a hand, long delicate fingers almost ethereal between them. With a flourish, she
captures their attention. “Reg. The only other person who would have a chance at bringing you
back is James, but Dorcas says you’ll never agree to that because you’d have to tell him about the
things you’re going to do. So. It has to be Dorcas.”

“No,” Regulus says again. “No one is making any unbreakable vows. Are you two mad?”

“Can you stop making a martyr of yourself for one second and fucking listen?” Dorcas snaps
angrily, throwing her arms up in the air. “I swear to Salazar, Regulus, half the time it’s like you
want to die.”

“I don’t want to die,” Regulus says quickly. “But I’d rather it be me than you.”

“No one is dying,” Pandora says calmly. “I won’t have it. Regulus, listen to me. This isn’t about
death. It’s about losing yourself. They’re different things.”

“How?” He asks with an affected sigh.

This whole thing is ridiculous. He can’t let Dorcas make an unbreakable vow. They’re dangerous.
It’s just—he can’t.

“There’s a book. And the book has teeth and claws and... it whispers things to you. And you let it
bite. You listen to it. You let it draw your blood,” Pandora says. “It helps you, so I can’t ask you
not to do that. But then, after, when all is done, the book doesn’t let go. You don’t let go, either.
Because you can’t remember why you would want to. This,” Pandora gestures to Dorcas, “is your
reason. This is how we get you back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Regulus says. “This is fucking insane. We’re not doing this.”

“Yes, you are. You’re going somewhere we can’t follow you. And we’ve accepted that,” Pandora
insists, flicking her long blond hair over her shoulder. “But as your friends, we won’t let you go
without assurances you can find your way back.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Regulus forces himself to breathe. Sometimes, he wishes Pandora
didn’t have such a powerful gift. It’s hard to fight against providence. He knows what Pandora has
seen. The book with the teeth and the voices. It’s not the book itself that will bite, it’s the darkness
within it. But that’s a technicality.

What Pandora has seen is the weight of Legacy, and Regulus getting lost in it. In the darkness that
will whisper to him and give him power the likes he can only dream about. The darkness that will
eat his soul and fill the void with shadow.

Right now, Regulus can’t think of why he wouldn’t simply let go and dwell in that place of power
and darkness and numbness. He is hurting, and he’s going to be hurting for a long time. His heart is
battered, still fighting, still hoping James will come back. But when he doesn’t, it’ll slow down.
It’ll freeze over again and Regulus will be pain and blood and bones. Cold that burns and aches
that burrow in his marrow and chew on his insides.

Why would he want to find his way back to that? Why wouldn’t he just stay in the dark where the
sun never shone and thus one can’t miss it?

“What if I don’t want to come back?” Regulus asks, looking Dorcas in the eye.

“But what if you do?” Dorcas whispers.

That gives him pause. It seems impossible he’d ever want to feel again. If he could just turn it off
right now, he would. Because he’s so sad, and so empty, and it has barely been a day but he already
misses James so fucking much.

But what if… what if he survives? If he does everything right and the war is won and James…
what if against all odds Regulus makes it through and James finally, finally, learns the truth of it all
along?

Swallowing thickly, Regulus asks, “What would you… the vow. What is it?”

Relief flashes across both girls’ faces. Regulus immediately puts his hands up. “I’m not agreeing to
this. I just want all the details.”

Dorcas sets her shoulders. “I’ll vow to help you with your mission and to bring you back when it’s
done. I’m going to help you anyway, so that changes nothing. The bringing you back is the
important part.”

“Pandora,” Regulus says, turning to her. “What have you seen of Dorcas’ future?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Pandora replies. “But I haven’t seen any scenario where the vow is a danger
to her except for the one where you refuse it.”

Regulus stomach tumbles all the way down to his ankles. “What?”

“If you refuse to come back when she asks you to, Dorcas fails. The vow is broken. She dies.”

How is Pandora so fucking nonchalant about this? Dorcas cannot die. Regulus will have no part in
this.

“Absolutely not,” Regulus says immediately. “Fucking forget it. There’s absolutely no way you’re
convincing me to do this. I will not risk Dorcas’ life. Not for anything in the world.”

Dorcas smiles at him, awfully calm all things considered. “That’s exactly why it’ll work, Reg.
Because you’ll never let me die. You would do anything to save me. And so when I ask you to
come back you will.”

“You can’t take that risk. I won’t take that risk.”

“It’s my decision! I’m the one taking the risk,” Dorcas snarls. “I’m not really giving you a choice
here, Regulus. I’m your best friend. I want to save you. And you’re going to let me.”

“There has to be another way,” Regulus insists.

“This is the only way. Pandora is certain of it,” Dorcas says fiercely. “Regulus, I trust you to love
me more than you’ll love the darkness. You have to let me do this.”

Love me more than you love the darkness.

Fuck.

Regulus feels like he’s been punched. The breath comes out in a shuddering exhale, leaving him
shaky and frail. What are they doing? This is insane.

And yet, selfishly, in the midst of all his self-loathing, Regulus wants to try. Dorcas believes in him
more than he believes in himself, and isn’t that beautiful and tragic at the same time? She thinks
he’s worth it. She wants him to keep fighting for himself. She’s going to put her life on the line
because she’s convinced Regulus has it in him to care.

And he does. Fuck. He cares so much. About Dorcas. About James. About Sirius. Pandora, too.
And Barty, and Evan. Even Remus Lupin, if you’ll believe it.

Regulus cares, and he’s going to raise hell to make sure they have a future. That they can win the
great war that’s coming.

Regulus doesn’t think he’ll survive it. Too many things can go wrong. He’s got to take too many
risks. Do dangerous things and do them alone. So, what if he lets Dorcas make this vow? Chances
are he’ll die before it can ever hurt her. And if he doesn’t… if he gets his vengeance and the war is
over and all his people are ready to rebuild… fuck. Regulus wants that chance. That one in a
million shot at rebuilding. With James. With Sirius. With Dorcas.

“Okay,” he says, voice thick with fear and hope he doesn’t want to feel. “Okay.”

“Yes?” Dorcas asks.

“Yes.”

The girls move quickly, almost like they don’t want to give him a chance to change his mind.
Honestly, that’s smart of them, because Regulus is already re-thinking his decision. It’s dangerous,
and Dorcas deserves better but—

She takes his hand.

Regulus flinches but doesn’t pull away. Together, they kneel. The stone floor is cold, and it bites
against Regulus’ skin through his trousers.

Pandora’s wand comes to rest against their joined hands.

“You’ll repeat after me, Reg,” Pandora indicates. “The wording has to be precise. Do you
understand?”

Regulus grist his teeth. “Yes.”

“Good. Then,” Pandora clears her throat, and they begin.

“Will you, to the best of your ability, help me in my mission by passing along any information I
might require from the other side?” Regulus asks, following Pandora’s lead.

“I will,” Dorcas replies without hesitation.

A tendril of light like fire coils around their joined hands. Regulus’ heartbeat accelerates. His
breathing thins.

“Will you keep my secret and not speak a word of the true nature of my plans to anyone not already
aware without my express permission?” Regulus asks.
“I will,” Dorcas says.

Another ring of light curls around their hands.

“And will you, when it’s all done and the war is over, will you bring me back from the depths of
darkness?” Regulus asks, voice hitching.

“I will,” Dorcas says, so fiercely she sounds like divine intervention.

The thing ring closes around their hands, and Pandora completes the incantation. Silvery light
travels over their hands, closing around their wrists in an invisible brand that they can’t see but can
feel.

“It’s done,” Pandora declares.

Regulus looks at Dorcas, kneeling in the classroom, eyes defiant and sure. She’s done something
momentous, something terribly dangerous and reckless, and it’s all for him. To make sure he has a
chance at happiness once the war ends. Dorcas Meadowes, Regulus understands in that moment, is
the best friend one could ever wish for. And she has chosen Regulus.

Overwhelmed with warmth and gratitude for this one girl who made it past the walls and thorns
and the edges that cut down everyone else, Regulus reaches out, scuffing his knees over the stone,
and pulls her into his arms for a tight hug.

“Oh,” Dorcas says, bringing her arms around Regulus carefully. She buries her face against his
neck, and he feels the trickle of a tear against his skin. “This is so much better,” she whispers. And
then, after a short pause, “Don’t tell Evan.”

Together, they laugh. Wet and weepy and full of hope. And Regulus feels a little bit better.

####

The first hour, James fiddles with the flowers. Rearranges the picnic. Sets and re-sets the plates
and the spreads and the basket filled with cuts of bread.

The second hour, James puts a record on. He hums to Leonard Cohen, because he doesn’t know
any lyrics but it’s not unpleasant to listen to. It’s sad, like Regulus warned him it’d be, but James
likes it because Regulus likes it.

The third hour, James asks the room to make some modifications because he thinks that wall is a
bit too bright, and that sofa is a little too small, and the rug isn’t the exact texture he wants it to be.

It’s three in the morning when James crumbles.

Regulus isn’t coming.

It hits him out of nowhere, although really he should have been prepared for it. Regulus is never
late, and the one time he was late—the first night after Christmas—he was delayed by one hour.
Not two, not three. Certainly not four.

Regulus isn’t coming.

Turns out James has more tears to cry. And he does. Sitting on the rug next to a frankly outlandish
assortment of food and drinks, he cries. The Leonard Cohen record spins, the low, gravelly voice
floating through the room, and James cries. Above him, the sky he asked for—a copy of the Great
Hall’s so they could see the stars—blinks and watches. James cries.

Regulus isn’t coming.

Dawn breaks, spears of pink and orange piercing the indigo of the night and banishing the stars.
Sunrise finds James curled in on himself on the floor. Cold. Alone.

Regulus didn’t come.

“James?”

Someone’s at the door. James blinks, pushes himself up. Everything hurts but for a split second,
James’ heart soars. No one can find this room unless he wants them to.

“Reg?” he asks, voice dry and raspy.

The door opens, and a boy stands there. A boy with dark hair, and beautiful eyes. High cheekbones
and a sharp jaw. Sirius and Regulus look alike. They’re not identical, but close enough.

James mistook them once. When he was in the haze of medicines and pain. Or did he? James
thinks he knew, even then. Sirius and Regulus. Their differences and similarities. It was early days,
but even then, deep down, he knew. He hadn’t fallen in love yet. Didn’t know the taste of Regulus
or the shape of his body or the feel of his hands. And yet his soul recognised the touch of those
fingers, the gentleness of that one gesture.

James doesn’t think he could mistake them if he wanted to. And he doesn’t. The boy by the door is
not Regulus.

“Pads,” James says, a pitiful sound. Sad and broken.

“He didn’t show?” Sirius asks, crossing the room to get to James.

Sirius helps him to his feet, and James lets him. What else can he do? He’s got to get up. He’s got
to keep trying.

“Maybe he didn’t think I’d come,” James says. “I didn’t see him at dinner. I couldn’t… maybe he
thinks I’m still mad at him. He probably thought there was no point coming. Thought I wouldn’t
be here. Right?”

Mercifully, Sirius doesn’t pop his bubble. James understands he’s in denial, but he’s going to stay
here. It’s better than the alternative.

“Okay. Yes,” Sirius says gently. “He doesn’t have a map to check where you are, huh?”

“Yeah,” James replies, a little gasp that wants to be a sob but can’t because James has genuinely
cried himself dry escapes him. Then, “He didn’t know to come. I should just find him instead. I’ll
go find him. Yes.”

“Not right now. It’ll have to wait until this evening. Sorry, Prongs,” Sirius says. “That’s why I
came to get you. Kingsley has a mission tomorrow, so he’s moved up our training to today. We’ve
got to go now.”

“What?”

“Hogsmeade. Training with Kingsley. We’ve got to go.”

Distantly, James wonders if he’s fit to be holding a wand and firing offensive spells at other people
in his current state. But he doesn’t know how to explain this to Sirius. Doesn’t know how to say no
to the Order.

So, James goes. He follows Sirius out of the room, and up to his dorm. He puts on muggle clothes.
Lets Peter climb into his pocket as a rat. The cloak covers him and Sirius. Remus walks next to
them carrying books, pretending he’s on his way to the library. The passage is dark and humid. It
smells faintly of chocolate because Honeydukes waits on the other side. They leave the cloak
hidden in a nook, and Peter turns back, and all four boys make their way to the village.

Normally, James enjoys this. He feels like he’s doing something. Like he’s actively contributing to
making the world a better place. It’s just training, but it’s training to join the ranks. To be one of
the heroes. To save people.

It makes him giddy, fuels his body with excitement and his head with dreams of a future where
they’ve won the war and they can all be happy. Sometimes, when he’s having a particularly good
day, James likes to compare the feeling of walking into the training room in the Hogsmeade
safehouse of the Order to walking onto the pitch for a Quidditch game. He feels invincible.

Today, all James feels is silly.

No amount of training in the world could help him save the one person he wants to save above all
others. Just one. One boy with a careful smile and dark green eyes that glitter brighter than the star
he’s named after. Sixteen years old. And James can’t save him.

What the fuck is he doing here? What is this all for?

“Thank you for coming at short notice, boys,” Kingsley says. “We’re conscious of time, and didn’t
want to cancel a session. You’ll be out of school in three months.”

“What… what will happen then?” Peter asks, fidgeting nervously.

“You’ll receive instructions to join the first official meeting,” Kingsley explains. “From there,
depending on the situation, you’ll start getting assigned to tasks.”

“What sort of tasks?” Remus asks. He doesn’t sound fidgety at all. He sounds calm, a little keen,
even.

“Like I said, it depends on the situation. You’re not going to be sent out on the most dangerous
missions straight away, kid. Sorry to break it to you, but you’ll probably run errands for a little
while,” Kingsley says. “We can’t afford to turn you away, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to send
teenagers to the front line.”

“We’ve already been on the front line,” Sirius points out. “Where’s this coming from Kingsley?
SInce when are you so cautious?”

With a bone weary sigh, Kingsley looks at all of them in turn. “We lost one of the Abbots two days
ago. She was twenty. Twenty. Too fucking young.”

James swallows and looks away. When people are dying, it seems a bit silly that he’s throwing a
tantrum because his boyfriend broke his heart, doesn’t it? It just… it hurts. It hurts so much.

And yet, the world doesn’t stop turning.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says to Kingsley.

Running a hand over his head, the young auror gives them a little shrug. “It’s what it is. War is
ugly and unfair and it takes people every day.”

“Well, then,” Remus says, taking out his wand. “Let’s make sure it takes more people on the other
side than it does ours, yes?”

That earns him a smirk from Kingsley, who takes out his wand. “Well said, boy. Let’s start.”

As is custom, they start with defence first. They practice shields, and Kingsley lets Remus take the
lead because he’s truly very good at them. James’ focus is not all there, so his keep breaking.
Shattering when the auror sends something stronger than a hex his way.

When his sixth shield breaks into a million jagged bits of light and James is thrown back against
the wall with the force of the stunning spell, Kingsley halts the session.

“Where are you, Potter?” Kingsley asks him harshly.

“What do you mean?”

Struggling to his feet, James meets Kingsley’s angry stare. The back of his head throbs from where
he hit it. He’ll have a bump there by this evening, he’s sure.

“You’re not here,” Kingsley says. “And if this was a real battle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“It’s not a real battle, though, is it?” James says with more bite than he means to.

Sirius, Remus and Peter exchange worried glances. Kingsley doesn’t react, taking a step closer to
James but keeping his voice controlled. “It doesn’t matter. You train as though you are or you
don’t train at all,” he says. “This isn’t a game, Potter.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because you’re awfully distracted. And distractions mean death on the battlefield. Yours
and your friends’.”

James flinches at that, glances over at Sirius, Remus and Peter. Shame burns through him, coating
the walls of his throat and making his cheeks burn. What Kingsley is saying makes sense. He
knows this.

“Again,” Kingsley says. “Shield up.”

Trying his best, James conjures it. Attempts to stay here, present. Tethered. It’s no use. James can’t
stop his mind from wandering back to the castle. To Regulus. What is he doing? Is he alright? Is he
as upset as James is or does he not care?

Kingsley attacks. James’ shield breaks, and he’s thrown across the room again. This time, however,
James is unlucky and he falls at a bad angle. He tries to break the fall, throws his hand out
carelessly. It’s a mistake.

The sound of bone snapping is quite distinct. A little bit like a fire cracking. Wood expanding and
burning under a flame.

It shouldn’t have happened, because James has enough muscle to support twice his own weight.
He’s strong, and healthy, and has crashed on his broom several times with three times the force and
walked away. But sometimes, it’s not a matter of strength. A gentle tap in just the right place can
ripple out and shatter the most solid structure.

The bones that connect his arm to his hand, just above his wrist, give out, snapping clean in half
and jutting out through his skin. For a shocked moment, no one speaks. Then, Peter throws up and
Remus and Sirius are moving.

“Shit,” James pants, white hot pain crawling up his arm in waves.

“Don’t look at it,” Remus says firmly.

James promptly looks at it, sees the white of his bones protruding from his flesh, blood flowing
freely. And faints.

***

When he comes back to himself, James is being carried by Remus and Sirius across the Quidditch
pitch. Peter is running ahead of them, a small figure disappearing into the castle.

Confused, James tries to ask what’s going on but all he manages is garbled groan of pain. At this
point, he’d prefer someone just chopped off his entire arm so he didn’t have to endure the searing
agony of the broken bones and pierced flesh.

“It’s alright,” Sirius says soothingly. “We’re telling Poppy you had an accident flying. Had to
come from this direction to sell the story. Kingsley’s instructions.”

Ah. Well, that makes sense, James thinks. He’s not sure of anything right now, because his brain
feels like it’s been plunged under mud and it’s wading fruitlessly through it. Distantly, James is
aware of the fact that it’s probably the blood loss.

It’s a Saturday just before lunch so the halls are mostly empty. People are either studying or in
their common rooms enjoying their free time. James is grateful for it, because the last thing he
needs is a ruckus right now. Sirius and Remus haul him up the first flight of stairs and come face to
face with a group of boys. James hears Sirius swear under his breath.

“What the fuck happened to him?”

James blinks, trying to force his eyes to focus on the person speaking. It takes him a moment to
place the blond hair and full lips. It’s Evan Rosier.

“Move out of the way,” Remus says calmly. “We’re on our way to the infirmary.”

And Rosier does. Immediately. He moves, tugging Barty Crouch with him. But there’s also
Dolohov and Mulciber. Not only do they not move aside, they stand to block the corridor.

“How about no?” says Dolohov.

His eyes find the arm James’ has cradled against his chest, his hand hanging uselessly from a
broken wrist. There’s so much blood dripping from the jagged wound where his bones are jutting
out James’ jumper is soaked.

“Come on, Anto,” Crouch jumps in. “That looks fucking awful. Let them go.”

“You don’t get a say in this, Crouch.”

“Fuck this, we’re out of here,” Rosier tugs on Crouch, and then they’re both fleeing down the
stairs.
“Cowards,” Dolohov spits, taking out his wand. “Let’s play a little, shall we?”

“Can you stand on your own?” Sirius whispers into James’ ear.

Pathetically, James shakes his head no. His legs are barely holding the little weight Sirius is letting
him carry. If he lets go, James will crumple.

"I've got this," Remus murmurs, sliding his wand out of his pocket.

Dolohov’s curse smashes against Remus’ shield harmlessly. He blinks, confused as to why it didn’t
work and that’s enough of an opening for Remus to wreak havoc.

Turning to face the two assholes blocking the way to the infirmary, Remus says, “I’m reporting
this to Dumbledore himself. I'm also knocking one hundred points off Slytherin from each of you
for exorbitant cruelty and denying aid to a fellow student who is very clearly in need of medical
attention. And,” Remus adds with a flash of teeth in what should have been a smile but is too
terrifying to be classed as one, “I’m also going to enjoy this.”

The curse hits Dolohov first. Remus hit him with a leg-binding hex, then immediately with a
powerful conjunctivitis curse. Mulciber fumbles for his wand, but Remus disarms him, then
conjures a set of ropes to tie him up. He, too, receives conjunctivitis to top it all off.

Pocketing his wand, Remus helps Sirius redistribute the weight of James’ body before looking
down at the two struggling Slytherins.

“The infirmary is that way. I believe you need it,” he says, stepping over the two fallen bodies and
not-so-accidentally bringing the heel of his boot down on Dolohov’s hand.

James is in and out of consciousness for the following minutes. They’re up some stairs. Then
they’re in front of the infirmary door. Then he’s lying in bed and Poppy is tutting at the state of his
arm. “Drink this, Mr. Potter,” she says to him, giving him a bottle of potion. His good hand is
shaking, so Sirius takes it and helps him with it.

It tastes vile, like most medicines do, but his brain seems to come out of the haze when he finishes
swallowing the liquid. James blinks, vision clearing a little. Poppy has set up a little screen around
his elbow, like a white umbrella attached to his arm, that obscures what she’s doing to his wrist so
he can’t see it. He can’t feel a thing either, probably because she’s numbed it completely.

Remus, who is on the other side of the little umbrella-like screen, looks green about the gills.
Despite his queasiness, he stubbornly watches whatever it is Poppy is doing. James suspects Remus
wants to learn the basics of healing before they’re thrown into the thick of the war. It’s not a bad
idea.

“How are you feeling?” Sirius asks him, dragging a chair to sit with James while the nurse re-sets
the mess of blood and bones of his arm.

“Much better now,” James says. “I can’t feel a thing anymore.”

“That’s good.”

"Where's Peter?"

"He came in first to alert Poppy you were on your way," Sirius says. "Then went to take a mesasge
to Dumbledore. From King."
“What did you tell Kingsley?” James asks, grimacing.

Now that he’s not in agony anymore, the shame is bubbling up again. He shouldn’t have been so
stupid. So childish. He should have told Kingsley that he wasn’t in the right state of mind to train
today. But when they’re out there, the war won’t care, will it? The Death Eaters won’t stop just
because James is a bit too sad or distracted.

“Just that you had a very rough night. He said it’s fine. It happens,” Sirius tells him. “He also said
we need to toughen up. A mistake like that in the field will get us killed. But we knew that.”

Do they? James wonders. Do they really know? It’s different being aware of it in a theorical sense
than actually finding yourself in battle. James remembers the terror of the attack in New Year’s,
the bodies, the adrenaline pumping and the instinct taking over. He supposes if they did it once
they can do it again, right?

“I’ll do better,” James says firmly.

Sirius opens his mouth to reply, but the door to the infirmary bangs open loudly, startling them all.
Even Poppy looks up from James’ arm.

“Mr. Snape!” she yelps. “What is… oh Merlin’s socks! What happened to them?”

Snivellius walks into the infirmary looking paler than usual, wand hovering in front of him where
he’s levitating Mulciber and Dolohov, both of whom have been put through literal hell. Somehow,
between Remus leaving them both in the corridor and now, Dolohov and Mulciber have been
mangled mercilessly.

Whatever has happened to them, the two boys won’t be leaving the infirmary any time soon.
Dolohov’s ears seem to have… shrivelled? It’s very disturbing. Mulciber’s nose appears to be
broken, because it’s dripping a steady stream of blood. James’ eyes trail over Dolohov’s body, and
he has to turn away to keep his breakfast down. His leg is broken, and the bone is jutting out just
like James’ was. Mulciber’s foot is facing the wrong way.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius breathes.

“Mr. Snape!”

“I don’t know,” he says, eyes wide. “I found them like this at the bottom of the stairs as I was
coming out of the dungeons. They might have got into an altercation, perhaps fell down the stairs?
I don’t know, Madame Pomfrey, but they need help.”

“Please, place them on those beds,” Poppy says. She looks down at James’ arm, then at Remus.
“Mr. Lupin, do you think you can finish knitting this skin together?”

Remus hesitates, so James speaks for him. “Yes. Remus will do it. I trust him. Go help them.”

Poppy looks at James with a hint of pride in her gaze before nodding and scurrying down the
infirmary to go tend to the Slytherins. Godric knows they need it more than James in this moment.

About an hour later, Poppy takes a break from putting the mangled boys back together and comes
to check on James. Satisfied with the job Remus has done, she declares him free to go, but gives
him another bottle of the disgusting potion—blood replenishing it turns out—and asks him to drink
it with dinner.

When the umbrella screen thing is removed and James gets a glimpse of his arm again, it’s good as
new. Relieved, James slides off the bed and thanks Poppy before he’s out of the infirmary with his
friends.

To his delight, Peter is waiting by the door with an armload of food and candy that he has very
obviously pilfered from the kitchens.

“I’m so sorry about Mulciber and Dolohov,” Peter says immediately. “They weren’t in the corridor
when I ran past on my way to the infirmary.”

“It’s okay, Pete,” James tells him, reaching to grab a liquorice wand. “Remus dealt with them.”

“Not just Remus,” Sirius mutters.

James looks at him and finds Remus watching Sirius with a pensive expression too. Before James
can speak, Remus nods. "Yeah, I think so too.”

“What do you think?” James asks, confused.

“Pete, do you have the map?” Sirius asks.

Wordlessly, he passes it over to their long-haired friend. All four marauders find the nearest alcove
and sit down, passing food back and forth as Sirius taps the map and goes about looking for
someone.

When he finds them, Sirius passes the map to James. “Stairs leading up to the seventh floor.”

Even if Sirius hadn’t spoken, James would have found Regulus on the map. He always does.
Unfailingly. Like his eyes can’t process anything else until he’s checked that one label first.

And it hits James all at once. “You think he… Mulciber and Dolohov?”

Remus nods, looking slightly impressed. “Pretty sure, yeah. Barty and Evan are his friends, and
they know about you two, don’t they? I bet they ran to get Regulus.”

“He went a bit overboard,” Sirius mutters, shuddering. “Not that they didn’t deserve it.”

Remus looks at him for a long beat. There’s a fierce protectiveness in that look, and something
else. Something distinctly dangerous. A flash of the damage Remus would inflict in someone if
they hurt Sirius. Not for the first time, James thinks Remus and Regulus could have been friends in
another life. Another universe, perhaps.

“I’m going to find him,” James says, looking at the map again to find the label gone.

For a moment, James panics, scanning it again. Lily and Pandora are sitting together in an alcove
on the fourth floor, he notices absently. But Regulus isn’t anywhere. And then James quickly
realises Regulus must have gone inside the Come and Go Room. It doesn’t show on the map, so
it’s the only explanation. He gets to his feet, gives the map back to Peter.

“Can you do me a favour, Pete? Tell Olive to get the team round up for an extra session tomorrow
since I’ve got a free day,” James says. “Nobody trains on Sundays, so we’ll get the pitch to
ourselves.”

“Sure,” Pete nods. “What time? And if you say anything earlier than nine I will send you back to
the infirmary.”

Sirius and Remus snigger. James rolls his eyes, but says, “Ten is fine.”
Leaving his friends behind, James makes his way through the castle. He can’t remember ever
meeting Regulus during the day. It’s the middle of the afternoon, barely after lunchtime. Light
pours in through the windows as he walks down corridors and up staircases, all the way to the
seventh floor.

The door to the Come and Go Room draws itself on the wall as soon as James is within range, and
he feels his breath hitching in his lungs. His heart rioting with anticipation. Is Regulus here for a
fight or a reconciliation? Perhaps both? James will take it. Whatever Regulus wants to give him,
he’ll take it. He’d rather have Regulus shouting at him than the empty silence of the previous night.
Insults are better than indifference. At least to insult him, Regulus has to be near.

Feeling unreasonably nervous, James twists the knob and enters the room.

Inside, nothing has changed from last night. James catches the soft guitars of The Boxer by Simon
and Garfunkel playing and his chest tightens. The fire is cackling with low, lazy flames. Regulus is
sitting in front of it, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.

He’s dressed all in black, watching the wood burn intently. James walks closer to him, unsure of
what to do. The glow of the fire throws the angles of his face into stark contrast, and James is
struck speechless for a moment. Regulus is beautiful and James doesn’t think there’ll ever be a day
when he looks at him and isn’t shocked by just how much. You’d think after kissing every inch of
that face the novelty of it would have worn off.

It hasn’t and as James watches the golden warmth of the light glide over the crest of his
cheekbones, James understands it never will. When someone is as tragically handsome as Regulus,
there’s no getting used to it. There’s simply admiring it. Adoring it. Worshiping, if you’re lucky
enough that he lets you.

Flicking his fingers, Regulus throws the butt of his cigarette into the fire and rises to his feet,
turning to look at James for the first time since he walked into the room.

“I need you to stop hurting your hands,” Regulus says. “I’m forced to do some truly reckless shit
when you hurt your hands. So, stop it.”

“You’re forced? By who?” James asks, confused.

“Me. I can’t help it,” Regulus replies.

“So, it was you who hurt Mulciber and Dolohov.”

It is alarming how hot James finds the fact that Regulus got violent because someone hurt him.
Downright concerning, really. But James cannot do anything about it. He does.

“Is this really what you want to talk about?” Regulus asks him, an eyebrow raised.

James slides his fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes. “Well, no. I don’t know. You… you
didn’t come last night.”

The edges of Regulus’ face soften. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah… I should have maybe let you know,” James says, bashful now. He’s too used to them
having the map. It’s easy to forget normal people can’t simply know where others are at all times.

“Why were you here?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Why?” Regulus insists.

And James gets it. Regulus needs to know that James won’t start talking about their future again.
That he won’t push. Because Regulus made it clear that he’s not ready yet, and now that he’s
calmed down a little bit, James can understand that. He’s a whole year younger, and when you’re a
kid that’s a long time. Regulus is returning to Hogwarts in September, so it’s not as pressing for
him.

“I thought about what you said,” James starts. “About not being ready. And I… well. I get that, I
think. I’m not going to lie to you and pretend I don’t think about it, because I do. But I won’t push
you. I would… I hated this past day, Reg. Worst day of my life. I missed you so much. I don’t want
to miss you.”

“I didn't enjoy it, either,” Regulus says softly.

“Ah. Good. Well, then. What about we just… carry on? And see what happens? And then we just
talk about it when we have to? When I’ve done my NEWTs and all? When you've done your
NEWTs?”

Something impossibly sad flickers through Regulus’ eyes. One second, then gone. James isn’t even
sure he saw it.

“I’m not leaving my family,” Regulus says firmly. "Not now, not ever. If you can't handle that then
we're better off like this."

"No. We're not better off like this," James insists. "There's nothing better about us not being
together."

"James."

"It's... Listen, I understand. They're your family. Got it," he says, heart pounding. Because there
was a time when Sirius would have refused to consider leaving, too, and then he changed his mind.
James believes all he has to do is be patient. Show Regulus how good life can be away from the
Blacks. That takes time.

"I'm... I don't know, James," Regulus whispers, looking lost.

"Hey," James says, taking a step closer. Just one, because he doesn't want to spook Regulus. "It's
okay. We can figure it out together. I promise I won't push. One day at a time, alright? If you... if
you still want to be together in here? We don't have to worry about out there yet. So, we won't."

There's a long pause. Regulus looks at him, green eyes wide and beautiful. James can tell Regulus
is thinking, but he cannot for the life of him read the small things flickering over Regulus' face.
He's too good at masking them, and James can do nothing but wait. Wait and hope.

“Alright,” Regulus replies eventually. The tension lifts off James' shoulders all at once. Thank
Godric. Regulus tilts his head, like he can read how relieved James is, and adds, “Alright. We’ll do
that, James. One day at a time. But I’m not making any promises.”

“That’s okay. No promises. Just us, in here. One day at a time.”

Regulus crosses the space between them, walking so elegantly James can’t help but to watch
hungrily the way his legs stretch to carry him forward. The curve of his waist—honestly, that waist
is made for fucking sin—and the rhythm of his every step.

As soon as he’s in reach, James’ hands just dart forward, fingers curling themselves over the black
fabric of Regulus’ shirt. Right on that waist.

James pulls him closer, presses his forehead against Regulus’.

“Let’s not do that again. Ever,” he whispers feverishly. “Turns out I don’t know how to function if
you don’t love me.”

Regulus’ fingers tangle in his hair, gently scraping over his scalp. “James,” he says solemnly,
“Even when we’re fighting, even when I’m acting like I don’t, I—” Regulus swallows.

James presses their lips together briefly. “It’s okay. I know. You don’t have to—”

“Un jour, je trouverai les mots pour te dire ce que je ressens. Tu ne seras pas là pour les entendre,
mais je le dirai à la nuit et ferai comme si tu étais toujours avec moi,” Regulus blurts out.

“What does that mean?” James asks, knees weak and control thinning by the second.

The way Regulus’ mouth works around the French sounds makes James want to die. It’s too sexy
for James to do anything other than press himself against Regulus’ body, hands holding him tight
and blood rushing in his ears. “It means thank you for understanding that just because I can’t say it,
it doesn’t mean it’s not there,” Regulus tells him, smiling even as he presses their mouths together
again.

They kiss slowly, savouring every slide of lips, every touch of tongue. James wasn’t sure if he’d
get to do this again, and now he’s doing it, and he’ll make damn sure to cherish it as thoroughly as
it deserves.

Music floats around them, and the fire continues to burn. James kisses Regulus and Regulus kisses
James and for the longest time that’s all they do. Eyes closed, mouths together, hands caressing
every space, every curve.

Regulus breaks away first to breathe. Then, he runs the bridge of his nose along James’ jaw which
brings his lips to that devilish spot just under James’ ear. He nips at it with his teeth and James
gasps, fingers tightening where they’re holding on to Regulus—one hand buried in his hair, the
other cupping the curve of his buttock.

With a soft tug, Regulus requests better access so James lets his head fall to the side. His eyes
flutter closed as Regulus licks and bites his neck. It doesn’t take long before James grows a little
desperate.

The next kiss is less gentle. Less slow. It hungrier and demanding, and with it go hands that
quickly get to work discarding clothes. James takes Regulus’ hand in his and leads him to the bed.
They sink down on it together, Regulus and then James.

Mesmerized, James runs a hand over Regulus’ skin. So smooth, so perfect. There are a few scars,
but James doesn’t ask. Doesn’t see them as anything other than parts of the boy he loves. He
knows where they came from. Knows he can’t undo the past. But he can love Regulus now and
every day after today and show him that it doesn’t have to hurt.

“You’re so beautiful when I first walked into the room, I was struck speechless,” James tells him,
running his fingers over Regulus’ ribs and watching the goosebumps break in his wake.
 Regulus catches James’ hand in his and brings it to his mouth. When he licks the finer James was
just running up his torso, James makes a truly obscene sound.

“Stop talking,” Regulus says, releasing his hand and surging forward to kiss him.

James bites Regulus’ lower lip and the boy responds with a jerk of his hips. They both groan
together. Regulus tugs at James’ hair, just as he licks a path from his mouth to his collarbone,
dipping his tongue in the hollow of it.

They touch, and moan, and slide. It gets sweaty and hot, but they don’t let go. A silent agreement
seems to exist between them tonight, that they’re drawing this out for as long as they can. Neither
of them wants it to end. Never mind that they’ve got all evening and night and can do it again as
much as they want.

They thought they lost each other, and in their relief, they don’t want to let go.

James kisses Regulus again, and he surges forward to wrap his legs around James’ torso. James sits
on the bed, Regulus clinging to him.

Chest heaving, James rears back a little, just enough so that he can look his boyfriend in the eye.
The green is almost gone, blown dark by desire. “What do you want, Reg?”

“You,” he replies without hesitation, a little delirious, like he’s not in full possession of his wits.
“Just you, James. Always you.”

Chapter End Notes

WHERE DO WE BEGIN?

Prongsfoot being soulmates and giggling because Wolfstar cannot communicate I

LOVE THEM

But, truth be told, the absolute QUEEN of this chaptper (the entire fic, really) is
DORCAS BEST FRIEND OF ALL TIME MEADOWES. Hello? This woman really
said 'Regulus will either come back or I will die' and went for it. An unbreakable
vow??? I'M UNWELL

James being distracted and getting hurt is so valid☹️

Barty and Evan immediately going to find Regulus to tell him Dolohov was being
mean to James They're so funny to me. Also, Regulus breaking them to absolute
pieces!! He's so unhinged??? GO KING

And then... RECONCILIATION!!! I mean... these two people are so in love in my

mind there was no WAY they would just break up in one go. Like, one fight and be
done? NEVER. Pls. These two would tear the world apart with their bare hands for
the other. It's going to take more than one (1) bad fight

French sentence translation: One day, I'll find the words to tell you how I feel. You
won't be there to hear them, but I'll tell the night and pretend you're still with me.

THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THE LOVE, KUDOS, COMMENTS I genuinely feel
like I have the best readers in the fandom. You are the BEST
 James' birthday
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

A quick note
I have changed the rating of this fic to explicit because I am writing ahead and I'm
already in the war chapters and I wasn't sure where the line between mature and
explicit was (particularly for the violent bits) so I wanted to be safe. I will continue to
do my best to provide specific TWs for the chapters in the beginning notes regardles.

TWs for this chapter:

Smoking
Implied internalised homophobia
Discussions about sex and depictions of people having sex (quite a bit of it in this
chapter, you know what they're doing but it's not explicit as per usual)
References to past child abuse
Brief mentions of war
Death of a parent
Depictions of grief
Murder and mentions of past murder

French translation in the end notes

I think that's it! THANK YOU for all the love (kudos, comments, hits). You're all the
best!!
I hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus wakes up in James’ arms.

The fire died some time during the night, but neither of them wanted to leave the bed to rekindle it.
Embers smoulder in the chimney, an orange-y glow that barely reaches the rug spread in front of it.
Regulus’ pocket watch, on the bedside table, tells him it’s very early morning. It’s Sunday, so
they’re not in a rush.

Carefully, Regulus props himself up on one elbow and gazes down at James. He looks young in his
sleep, smooth brown skin, small grin on his lips. Thick, dark eyelashes resting gently against the
curve of his cheekbones. His hair, as unruly as ever, sticks up in places where Regulus tangled his
fingers and tugged to make James growl from deep in his throat in that way that makes Regulus’
toes curl.

One of James’ arms is thrown over Regulus’ waist, pinning him to the bed, keeping him close.
Lightly so as to not wake him up, Regulus runs the tips of his fingers over the curve of James’
bicep, his shoulder. There’s something about the shape of his muscles that never fails to make
Regulus’ mouth water.

He’s got favourites. Of course, he does. James’ thighs. James’ hands. His eyes and his smile and
the strong lines of his neck. James’ mouth. Salazar have mercy on him, James’ mouth and the
wicked things this man can do with his tongue will be the death of Regulus.

But despite having a list of favourite things, there isn’t a part of James Regulus doesn’t love. If
someone had asked Regulus what the perfect man looked like, he would have asked for James with
his little flaws and all his beautiful goodness.

James might not be perfect in the strictest sense of the word, but to Regulus he is. James is perfect
for Regulus. And in this moment, in bed on a Sunday morning while he watches him sleep,
Regulus wishes so hard for time to stop that he feels he might crack with it.

But it won’t. It never does. And yet… Regulus knows he’d do it all again, just to have this. He’ll
go through hell again for the memory of what being loved by James feels like.

Because for the span of a few months, he has known happy. Held it in his hands. Kissed it on the
lips. Regulus knows what it feels like to lose James now. He’s ready. And he’s a little bit afraid,
but he wouldn’t change a thing. Not even if it kills him. And it might. It probably will.

The hand that’s splayed against Regulus’ lower back twitches before James’ fingers slide up to
spread in the space between the wings of his shoulder blades. He’s waking up.

“Mmm,” James says, eyes still shut and pulling Regulus closer. Smiling, Regulus lies back down
and allows James to bury his face in the crook of his neck. “Good morning,” James murmurs there

“Good mo—oh,” Regulus gasps because James’ tongue is suddenly gently lapping at the sensitive
spot near his earlobe. “James?”

In response, he gets a bit of teeth. Regulus’ body reacts immediately. He knows that James can feel
him hardening against his stomach, and he bites Regulus again in encouragement.

Regulus moans, one hand clutching James’ neck, the other sliding up his arm to grasp at his
shoulder. James trails a path of wicked, open mouthed kisses from Regulus’ throat to his jaw, then
to his mouth. They kiss, languid and wanton. James’ hand fleets featherlight down Regulus’ back,
over the curve of his buttock and hooks under his thigh to bring his leg up and over James’ waist.

“We never have morning sex,” James says against Regulus’ mouth. “And that’s simply not
acceptable.”

Delirious with how much he fucking wants this, Regulus makes a noise of agreement that gets
swallowed up by another kiss. He snakes a hand between their bodies and closes his fingers around
James, making him growl into his mouth. They’re pressed so close Regulus can feel the vibration
of it in James’ chest.

Swiftly, James rolls them over until he’s on his back and Regulus is on top of him, legs straddling
James’ body. James’ hands run up Regulus’ thighs as they kiss again.

Regulus pushes himself up a little and leans in, caging James’ head between his arms. Looking
down at him, Regulus simply has to smile. James is so vexingly gorgeous.

“How do you want it?” Regulus asks, running his tongue over James’ lower lip.

“Ah, fuck,” James gasps, jerking his hips upwards. “Slow. I want it slow.”

“Tes désirs sont des ordres,” Regulus says, then proceeds to deliciously torture James for the better
part of an hour.
 ***

“Godric Gryffindor on a broom,” James pants, rolling onto his back, eyes wide and chest heaving.
“Fuck me.”

“Again?” Regulus asks, terribly smug and pleased with himself.

James turns his head to look at him as they lie side by side on the bed. There’s adoration on his
face, like he cannot believe they’re here, together. Sweat has plastered some of his hair to his
forehead, and his lips are wet and swollen still. Regulus thinks there are very few things in the
world he likes more than the way James looks after sex.

“You are a menace,” James says, but he looks delighted by it.

With an awkward half shrug that doesn’t really work because he is lying down, Regulus replies,
“you asked for it.”

“Oh, I did. I did. And I want it again,” James informs him vehemently. “It’ll make for a brilliant
birthday present.”

Regulus jolts up like he’s been stung. “What?”

Blinking up at him, James stretches his arms over his head. “My birthday is next Monday,
unfortunately. So, we’ll celebrate on Saturday. I’d like to wake up to this again after. If that’s oka
—”

“Next Monday?” Regulus asks, panic seeping into his veins.

“27th of March,” James says, then realising he’s never told Regulus his birthday before, he
chuckles. “Sorry. I guess I never mentioned it.”

“James,” Regulus says, feeling extremely cross with his boyfriend all of a sudden. “You didn’t
think to mention that your birthday is next week? Twenty-seventh… that’s in eight days?! What—I
mean. Salazar’s cape on a pole, I need to go.”

Regulus scrambles out of the bed like a madman, heart thundering in his chest. Fuck. This is a
disaster. James’ birthday is five days before Easter break. Five days before Regulus gets on a train
to London taking him to a fate he can’t escape.

“Wait, Reg?”

Frantically, Regulus fishes for his clothes around the room. He has very little time if he’s going to
do something special for James. And he should, right? James deserves it. Regulus will do
something nice for him, one last gift, and five days later he’ll break his heart.

You win some, you lose some.

“I’m so mad at you right now,” Regulus says, shrugging his shirt on and working on the buttons.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

“I forgot,” James replies. “But it’s not a big deal. I just want us to come here and be together.
That’s all I need.”

“Very funny,” Regulus says in a voice that is meant to convey he doesn’t find it funny in the
slightest.
“I mean it.” James slides off the bed, completely, one hundred percent naked, and walks towards
Regulus.

Despite his growing anxiety, Regulus is momentarily distracted by the sight. Salazar, Merlin and
his uncle Alphard, James is a god.

His involuntary gaping gives James the time he needs to catch Regulus by the waist and pull him
closer. To Regulus’ astonishment and delight, James remains completely unbothered by his
nakedness. If he had a smidge of the confidence of this man, he’d be fucking invincible.

Then again, if Regulus looked like James, perhaps he’d be that confident. One can’t fault him for
it. He is distressingly hot.

“Please, stop freaking out about my birthday,” James asks, cradling Regulus’ face to tilt it up so he
can kiss him.

Against his will, Regulus finds himself melting into it for way too long. It takes him a gigantic
amount of effort to pull away.

“I will find a perfect birthday present for you if it’s the last thing I do,” Regulus informs James
primly, taking a firm step away from his glorious body for the sake of his sanity. “And thanks to
you, I have little time to do it. So. I’m going.”

“Will you come back tonight?” James asks him, smiling as though he isn’t standing stark naked in
the middle of the room.

Pointedly, Regulus dips his eyes below James’ waist. “What do you think?”

James’ laughter chases him out of the room.

####

A couple of hours later, James leads his team back into the Quidditch changing rooms after a
gruelling practice. It was amazing. He’s got so much energy coursing through him. He can feel it
in his bones. Victory is nigh. There’s one more match in May, and they’ll take the Cup home.
James is going to leave school a legend of Quidditch.

When he comes out of his shower, James finds Sirius is standing in front of the mirror in the
changing rooms rolling his arm back and forth. He’s in his clean trousers, bare torso reflected on
the glass. A bruise is already blooming over his hips.

“Do you need to go see Poppy?” James asks, coming up behind him.

It wasn’t a bad hit. James saw it happen and flew over to check on him. Both Marlene and Sirius
dismissed him quickly, saying they’ve both certainly had worse. Still, James hates it when Sirius
gets hurt.

Today, the manoeuvre he was perfecting with Marlene was a bit too daring, and they both ended up
slightly battered.

“I do,” Marlene calls from across the room, where the other mirror is. She’s in a similar position to
Sirius, stripped down to her bra and her trousers and examining the circular bruise on her ribs. “I’m
not sure this rib here isn’t splintered.”

“I’ll walk you,” Olive offers. “You can’t leave that untreated if the rib is bothering you.”
“Let me know what Poppy says,” James calls. “If we need to reschedule tomorrow’s practice it’s
all good.”

The two girls nod their agreement and leave the rooms. Twisting his neck to work out a small knot
in his trap, James glances back at Sirius who is rolling his eyes fondly.

“So, it went well?”

Memories of last night assault James without warning, and he’s suddenly smiling goofily at Sirius
through the mirror. “It did. We… sorted it out, I think? We still need to talk about what happens
after, but he’s not ready and I’m trying to respect that.”

“Well, you didn’t come back to the dorm, so...”

“That part has never been an issue for us,” James replies, feeling immensely pleased with himself
and fully ignoring the horrified look on Sirius’ face. Then, he adds, “Looks like we both had a
good night.”

“What?” Sirius follows James’ line of sight and chortles as though it’s nothing—the violent blush
on his cheeks betrays it’s definitely not nothing.

James is staring at the bite mark on his shoulder. The love bite a little bit to the left of it. And
another one by his collarbone. For all that he acts like a prude when someone brings up the topic of
sex in conversation, Remus Lupin has turned out be a bit kinky, judging by the marks he’s been
leaving all over Sirius.

This is, objectively, absolutely fucking hilarious.

“Blimey, Moony really goes for it, huh?” James teases, nudging Sirius’ hip with his.

“Stop making it weird,” Sirius huffs, but he’s smiling too.

It makes James so happy to see his friends like this. Every time he catches them whispering, or
sneaking in a quick kiss when they think nobody’s watching, he could break into song. They
deserve this joy, this beautiful thing that James can see blooming between them.

Remus and Sirius have had a lot of bad hands dealt to them in their lives. James feels very strongly
that it was about time they were given a good thing. The fact that it’s together just makes it all the
more perfect.

James is rummaging through his bag, small smile clinging to his lips, when Sirius clears his throat,
reclaiming his attention. When he looks up, he finds Sirius still facing the mirror, fidgeting with
the ring on his middle finger.

“So, I…” He starts. Stops. Swallows. “Is it weird if I ask you something?”

Blinking, James looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Why would it—ah. About sex?”

Mutely, Sirius nods.

“You can ask whatever you want,” James says, shrugging. “That’s what friends are for. But I
obviously will not give you details. If we discuss it, it’s on a purely educational level.”

“No shit,” Sirius scoffs. “I don’t want to hear about Reggie in that… ehm… like that.”

“And I don’t want to tell you, so we’re good,” James replies firmly.
Kissing his teeth, Sirius turns so he’s really looking at James and not talking to him through a
mirror. They’ve got an actual, magical pair of them for that that they barely use because they’re
always together.

“So. I haven’t… I ehm… Obviously, I’ve never been with another dude,” Sirius starts. “And I… I
mean, it’s amazing. You know. But I feel like Remus wants to do more and I don’t know what that
looks like.”

“Have you asked him?”

“What? Obviously not!” Sirius replies, indignant. “And expose myself as an inexperienced idiot?
No way.”

“Sirius, you are inexperienced. And there’s nothing wrong with that at all.”

“No, I’m not!” he replies, offended. “I’ve shagged more people than you two combined.”

“None of them had a dick, though,” James replies crassly. “Did they?”

“Can’t you just tell me?” he asks, a tad desperately.

“You know, I asked Remus about sex,” James says, shocking the living daylights out of Sirius.
“When I first… I asked him. And he told me to talk to Regulus and take it slow. And I did. And it
was the best advice. I think you should just talk to him.”

“Wait. What? Remus gave you advice for how to… my baby brother?!”

“No. He told me to talk to Regulus,” James insists. Then, looking a little bashful, “and well,
eventually he did tell me a few things I needed to know but my point is—”

“I cannot believe Remus equipped you with the knowledge necessary to defile Reggie!”

It takes effort for James not to roll his eyes. Regulus is perfectly capable of defiling on his own, not
that he’ll ever tell Sirius that. There’s no need for him to ever know about the things they get up to
in the privacy of the Come and Go Room.

Patiently, he waits for Sirius’ ranting to die down a little before sighing dramatically. “I thought
you didn’t want to hear about Regulus,” James replies with a pointed look.

Sirius shakes his head, runs a hand over his hair. “James, please. Just. What else is there after
you’ve touched and you’ve used your mouth on them? What comes next?”

Oh. James wishes it were that easy. But it’s not, and James… well. He’s not an expert. He knows
what he likes when he’s with Regulus, but it’s all very intuitive. Their bodies operate on a
frequency that not even their brains can reach. Like a secret language that only their skins speak.

James doesn’t know how to explain to Sirius that no amount of information shared in this quidditch
room will ever be enough to convey what it’s like. Sirius needs to find that language with Remus,
and that’s not something James or anyone else can do for him.

“Mate, there isn’t a rulebook for this,” James tells him gently. “There are so many things you can
do and things you can try. And some of them you will like and some you won’t, and that’s going to
be unique to you and Remus. It’s not some sort of obstacle race you go through.”

Sirius worries at his bottom lip, cheeks crimson. He’s working up the courage to say something,
James knows. And so, he waits. Patiently, he gives Sirius space to sort through whatever is
happening in his brain.

“Sometimes I want things that scare me,” Sirius confesses. “With Remus. And I can’t tell if he
might want them too, or not, and I don’t know what’s normal, James. I don’t know and I’m
worried I’ll scare him away. You know I... like, some days I still feel... like something's wrong
with me. And I can't tell if I should want these things. It's... ah. I don't know.”

James’ eyebrows go up. He’s never going to shame anybody for liking whatever they like, but he’s
not sure he needs to know the ins and outs of whatever fantasies his best friend has or doesn't have.
But Sirius looks so small and afraid that James just... if he has to hear something he'd rather not
know to help him out, well. There's nothing he wouldn't do for Sirius. So.

Cautiously, James says, “What do you mean you don’t know what’s normal? What sort of... uhm,
things are we talking about?”

“Well, do men have sex?” Sirius asks, and he looks so red right now James wonders if it hurts.
“Like, you know. Sex.” And he makes a crude hand gesture to drive the point home.

“Ah,” James says, relaxing immediately. He wants to laugh, but he won’t, because Sirius is
freaking out about this and James won’t make him feel awkward about it. “Yes. We do—I mean
yes. It’s completely normal, you have nothing to worry about. Like, one hundred percent normal. I
bet Remus is thinking about it, too.”

And Sirius looks so relieved for a second James' heart constricts in his chest, before something else
occurs to Sirius and he blinks at James, the blush deepening even more. “How does it work? How
do you… decide?”

“Talk to Remus,” James says firmly.

“I hate it,” Sirius admits. “I hate that he knows and I don’t. I feel like he’s going to realise I’m
terrible at this whole thing and just… go find someone else. Someone better.”

And James. Oh. James can see right through Sirius. They’re brothers, after all. Soulmates. Each
other’s better half. Sirius is doubting himself, because he was taught to. Because he wasn’t loved as
a kid and he thinks, inevitably, that it’s because something was wrong with him. That he wasn’t
enough. That it was his fault he didn’t evoke the normal emotions in his parents.

Fuck that shit. Genuinely. Fuck the Blacks.

Swallowing the rage and the darkness that bubbles inside his chest whenever he’s reminded of
what Walburga Black did to her sons, James puts his hands on Sirius’ shoulders and gives him a
little shake.

“None of that,” he says fiercely. “Fuck. Sirius, honestly, Remus is head over heels for you. He has
been for ages. And he knows this is new to you. You’ve got to trust him. And it’s a beautiful thing
to discover this for the first time. Let Remus do that for you.”

“I…”

“No. No,” James insists. “You are going to march up to the dorm and lock yourself in with Remus
and not leave until you’ve found religion. Am I clear?”

There’s a pause, and a million things shift behind Sirius’ eyes, but James can tell when his wanting
outweighs everything else.
“Right,” Sirius says a bit robotically. James immediately lets go of his shoulders, smirking. “Right.
Okay. I’m… yes.”

Sirius finds his shirt, tugs it on. Looks about for his things.

“Leave it. I’ll bring your bag. You’ve got two hours,” James informs him, taking the map out of
his own bag and tapping it. “And Remus is in the library, so if I were you, I’d leave now.”

Sirius bolts for the door.

####

Interlude: Remus POV

Remus is alone, sitting at a desk under one of the large windows of the library. Sunlight streams
through, scattering itself against dust particles floating in the air. There’s a half eaten chocolate bar
on the table in front of him, and an ink stain on Remus’ thumb. He's just finished an arithmancy
essay and is pondering whether he can be bothered starting with the DADA paper on banshees
when he feels it. Like a hook under his navel, Remus can feel the moment Sirius finds him. He’s
trying to be coy, quietly coming to a stop a few feet behind him. But Remus can feel the weight of
his gaze on him like a caress.

It’s been weeks since Sirius told him he wanted to be more than friends. Weeks. Remus still can’t
believe his own fucking luck.

Truth be told, Remus hasn’t fully bought it. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Sirius to
get bored of him, which will happen inevitably. Sirius is Sirius, and attachment isn’t something he
does.

Perhaps he should have been firmer. Said no. Refuse to give in when Sirius showed up and looked
at him with those grey eyes, wide and wanting. But Remus was simply tired of fighting. Tired of
refusing the one thing he’s always desired.

He said yes. Sirius asked, and Remus said yes, and now they’re something and that’s already more
than anything Remus ever thought he’d get.

Sometimes, Remus dares to believe that Sirius is in as deep. There are times when they’re in bed
and Remus will do something new and Sirius will gasp and look at him like he’s a miracle. Those
times, Remus lets himself believe for a moment that this could be forever. It never lasts long,
because Remus knows better than to think life will ever give him something that good. But it
happens, and when it does, Remus forgets all the misery he’s been through.

Sirius’ eyes on him have the ability to make him forget all the reasons he ever hated himself.

Like now, for example. He knows Sirius is watching, so Remus shifts on his chair, and deliberately
reaches for a book further down the table. His jumper gets pulled up, showing Sirius a glimpse of
skin.

Remus hears his breath hitch.

“Moony,” Sirius whispers, stepping out of the shadows.

With a knowing grin, Remus looks over his shoulder, “Took you a while.”

“You knew I was there?” Sirius asks, coming to stand right by his side.
“Hmm,” Remus replies, glancing around quickly.

Satisfied they’re away from prying eyes, he reaches out and curls his hand over Sirius’ hip, giving
him a little squeeze before withdrawing it again.

Sirius’ fingers flutter helplessly at his sides.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice raspy and affected.

The affected tone of Sirius’ voice sends a jolt of awareness down Remus’ spine. Carefully, like
he’s one hundred percent unbothered, Remus says, “Studying.”

Without warning, Sirius puts a hand on the book Remus was reading and another on the back of his
chair, leaning forward to bring his face close to Remus’. He responds to Sirius’ closeness like
kindling to a spark. Every single one of his nerve endings stands alert, begging for a touch.

This close, Remus can see the shadow of facial hair along Sirius’ jaw, a small red dot where he
must have picked at a little spot, the way the light catches on the crest of his cheekbone.

Fucking hell.

Mouth dry, Remus’ jaw clenches.

“I’m here to distract you,” Sirius says, dropping his voice to a sultry tone that makes Remus
lightheaded. Remus’ eyes snap up to meet Sirius, trying to figure out how far Sirius is going to take
this.

They’re in the fucking library for crying out loud. If he doesn’t stop, Remus is going to disgrace
himself and Sirius right here on this desk. Seemingly unbothered by their location, Sirius proceeds
to bite his lower lip and watches Remus’ gaze drop to his mouth.

Merlin’s fucking balls, Remus is this close to snapping.

“You’re succeeding,” Remus tells him, still fixated on Sirius’ mouth.

He sounds odd to his own ears, distant. Like he’s having an outer body experience. Not surprising,
considering every single ounce of his willpower is currently clamping down hard on the urge to
tear Sirius’ clothes off.

Darting his tongue forward to wet his lips, Sirius watches as Remus’ hands curl into fists. He
brings his face down, and whispers in Remus’ ear, “The dorm is empty for the next two hours.”

Godric help me.

“How do you know?”

“I may have arranged for it,” Sirius says, straightening a bit so Remus can see him smile.

“Did you now?” Remus asks, tilting his head to the side.

The race to the dorms is a blur. Remus honest to Gryffindor cannot remember it. He even left his
books behind, a quick and frankly sloppy spell on them to prevent tampering. They walk past
Mary, Pandora and Lily who try to get their attention, but Remus simply cannot look anywhere but
at the back of Sirius’ head as they march to Gryffindor Tower.

Every step of the way makes Remus’ desires coil tighter inside of him, building a storm that batters
against his chest, getting stronger the closer they get to their destination.

Sirius is first in through the door, but Remus doesn’t give him a single moment to do anything.
Kicking the door behind him with his foot, he pounces on Sirius like the animal he is. If Sirius
didn’t want this, he shouldn’t have wound him up so thoroughly.

Fortunately, Sirius very much wants this.

Remus lifts him clean off his feet and carries him to the bed, legs wrapped around his waist. Sirius’
head falls back, and Remus’ mouth latches to his Adam’s apple. Skilfully, Remus climbs onto the
bed with Sirius still clinging to him.

His hands run up from the back of Sirius’ thigh to his waist, tangling in his t-shirt and carrying up
and over Sirius’ head. Gasping, Sirius ducks to kiss Remus before discarding his jumper and t-shirt,
too. Chest to chest, Remus can’t help himself. He darts forward and licks a path from Sirius’
sternum to his mouth, where Sirius just waits for him, lips parted like he knows that’s what Remus
wants.

They’re kissing, tongues tangled, lips bruising. Sirius rocks his hips forward into Remus’ torso and
the sound he makes is needy and whiny and Remus thinks he might genuinely pass away from
sheer wanting.

With a truly aggressive growl, Remus launches himself up on his knees and brings Sirius down on
the bed on his back. And Sirius, fucking Sirius Black, doesn’t even blink. Remus is losing it, but
Sirius is matching him pound for pound. Every kiss, every tug, every growl and if Remus didn’t
know better, he’d believe that Sirius has a beast inside of him, too.

Moaning, Sirius rakes his hands down Remus’ back, legs still holding him firmly, and twists his
head to expose his neck because he knows Remus likes it. To bite and leave behind a mark that
says Sirius is mine now.

Remus can’t help himself. While he’s busy with the curve of Sirius’ throat, his fingers fumble with
his belt, yanking at it a little desperately.

Somehow, they manage to get rid of the rest of their clothes while simultaneously not allowing
more than an inch of space to get between them. A truly miraculous feat. One that Remus is
eternally grateful for.

Something is happening, Remus realises distantly. It’s always intense with them, but this is
somehow more than anything that has happened before. Like Sirius has… let go. Of what, Remus
has no idea. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters because Sirius is driving him crazy. He’s
demanding and needy and pliant at the same time and Remus is beyond himself with raw joy. He
could weep from how good it feels.

When Remus’ fingers trail down his torso, Sirius’ breath hitches, but his hand darts to wrap itself
around Remus’ wrist. Stopping him.

“Wait,” he says, panting. Remus immediately stops, despite the throbbing pain of his arousal.

Sirius takes a steadying breath that sends Remus into an absolute panic because is he going to tell
him that he’s changed his mind? Remus will respect it, of course, no doubt about that but Godric
fucking Gryffindor he’s going to explode if they don’t—

“I want to have sex with you,” Sirius says.

For a second, Remus is so confused he forgets all about his imminent death by desire.

“Isn’t that… aren’t we?” Remus asks.

Blushing the pretties shade of pink Remus has ever seen in his entire life, Sirius says, “I mean I
want…” He clears his throat. “I want you to show me. I mean… you can, if you want to, maybe—
oh for Merlin’s sake, this is embarrassing. Get it together, Black.”

And then Sirius rolls his eyes at himself, sets his jaw firmly, pins Remus with a look that’s pure
determination and hunger and a little bit of defiance and declares, “I want you to fuck me, Moony.”

Goodbye.

Remus immediately proceeds to astral project. Like. Out. He’s reached the sky. Nothing will ever
bring him back down.

He cannot believe this is happening to him.

The noise that crawls out of his chest is a primal grunt of pure longing that he had no idea he could
make. Sirius’ eyes widen, black eating away at the silvery grey of his irises. Remus is throbbing.

“Is that a yes?” Sirius asks, hopeful.

There is no name for the amount of willpower that takes for Remus to reign himself in and not
debauch Sirius without further questioning right there and then. But he does it. He pulls himself
together and props his body up on his elbows so he can look down at the man who has consistently
dominated his dreams since he was fourteen.

“Are you sure about this?” Remus asks, because he wants this more than he thought he could ever
want anything, but it will destroy him if Sirius ever regrets it.

Remus has to be sure Sirius isn’t just letting his current arousal run away with him. It wouldn’t be
the first time Sirius lets his dick make bad decisions for him.

“I am absolutely certain,” Sirius says, no hesitation. Making eye contact and holding it so Remus
can read the truth in his eyes. “I have no idea how it works but James said you do so, y’know.”

Have a day off.

“You told James about this?”

“I wanted to know how to make it good for you,” Sirius tells him, blush deepening to a slightly
alarming shade of red. “I wanted to make sure you’d like it. Because I haven’t done it before.”

And Remus… well. He just—fuck. Remus wants to cradle Sirius gently in his hands and tell him
he’s being stupid.

The idea that Sirius could ever think that anything he does isn’t sending Remus to outer fucking
space is insane. All Sirius needs to do is exist and Remus is already on his knees.

“Sirius,” Remus says slowly. “Everything you do feels good for me. Everything. All the time.
Okay? I can’t think of a thing you’d want to do that I’d say no to.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ breathing has taken a turn for the erratic, and Remus genuinely wants to learn
legilimancy just so he can see what sort of lewd thoughts he’s having right now. Too bad it doesn't
work for werewolves.
Turns out he doesn’t need to read any minds, because Sirius wants to share.

“Well, I like it when you’re bossy,” Sirius whispers, biting his lower lip. “So, you know... maybe
you can… uh... give me instructions?”

And Remus does.

***

Tendrils of smoke coil over them lazily, like they, too, are exhausted. Remus is on his back on the
bed, sheets twisted into an unsalvageable knot at his feet. Sirius is on his stomach, propped up on
his elbows right next to him.

“Tell me again,” Sirius asks, inhaling smoke from his cigarette.

“Best fucking shag I’ve ever had,” Remus replies for the third time in the past ten minutes. “Until
we do it again, I reckon.”

Sirius smirks the smuggest smirk to ever smirk, and Remus chuckles. He watches Sirius smoke,
traces the lines of his shoulders, the mark he left there. They’re in bed. Naked. Together. Remus
Lupin and Sirius Black.

It’s the most unbelievably miraculous thing to ever happen to him.

He should be at least a little bit used to it by now, Remus has been in Sirius’ bed quite frequently
for the past month or so. He’s not. Not even a smidge. It hits him like a ton of bricks every time.

“Moony,” Sirius says, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray they stole from Rosmerta the night
they first talked about giving this thing a proper go and went to celebrate with James and Peter.

“Hmm.”

“You know I like you for more than the shagging, right?”

His heart lurches in his chest. Remus turns his face to look up at Sirius, expecting a teasing smile or
a cocky eyebrow perched close to his hairline. Instead, he finds a very solemn, slightly afraid
Sirius.

“What?”

“I just… we haven’t talked much since that day. And it’s hard. I’m not good at this. But I want… I
just need you to know I like you,” he says earnestly. “I like you, Moony. I like you a lot.”

Remus doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t just like Sirius. He’s head over heels in love with
him. But he can’t say that, can he? It’s insane.

But Sirius is visibly panicking now, because Remus is taking frankly too long to reply. And it tugs
at something in his soul to watch the light in Sirius’ eyes dim. To see him retreat into himself,
suddenly self-conscious

“It’s okay,” Sirius says, eyes darting around them like he’s looking for a place to hide. He sits
himself up and begins to slide off the bed, muttering, “It’s fine. This is good. We don’t have too—”

Remus grabs his wrist, delicate and perfect and fucking beautiful, and yanks him back to the bed.
Sirius looks at him, a little alarmed but hopeful.
“I like you, too,” Remus says harshly. “I mean… you’re…” Remus clears his throat. For fuck’s
sake. This really shouldn’t be so bloody difficult. Not after what they’ve just done.

How can Remus take Sirius apart piece by piece and put him back together but not say a few,
stupid little words?

“I’m what?” Sirius asks, narrowing his eyes. “What am I?”

“You know,” Remus says, looking away. Merlin have mercy on him, he’s pathetic.

“Oh,” Sirius says, suddenly delighted for some unfathomable reason. “I know. I know! You’re
just… you’re just saying it. Right? Like, you’re informing me? James said this was an option.”

Why the fuck is James having so many opinions about his relationship with Sirius?

“I’m confused,” Remus declares, because he is. But Sirius looks genuinely so excited it’s doing
things to his insides so, tentatively, Remus adds, “But like… I’m on board. With… whatever this
is.”

“So, we’re boyfriends now,” Sirius declares, and he’s absolutely ecstatic about it. “Right? That’s…
we’re boyfriends.”

And Remus, once his brain catches up and processes what Sirius has just said, is so fucking elated
he could run a lap around the entire bloody world and not break a sweat. Scratch that. He could cry.
In fact, he might. Oh shit. He really is. Fuck. No.

Help, Remus thinks, panicking.

He cannot cry in bed naked with Sirius. He would never recover from the mortification of it. So,
before he’s betrayed by his tear ducts, he surges forward to catch Sirius in a kiss.

When they break apart, he says against his mouth, “yeah. Boyfriends.”

Sirius smiles, and Remus thinks it’s brighter than any star. His very own light, right here, in bed
with him. He doesn’t deserve it, but he’s made a deal with himself to accept this for as long as
Sirius wants to give it.

####

To Regulus’ dismay and unbridled annoyance, James’ birthday cannot be a private affair like
Remus’ was. This is absolutely appalling. So much so, that Regulus has spent the past two days
raging over it and threatening blood murder. Unfortunately, much to his chagrin, neither Regulus
nor James were able to find a plausible excuse to change it.

In all honesty, as upset as he is about it, Regulus understands. He should have seen it coming.
James is fucking popular, so of course his entire Quidditch team insists on throwing him an epic
party for his birthday. Naturally, this spiralled and pretty much every Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and
Hufflepuff wants to help James Potter celebrate turning eighteen.

Regulus wants to slaughter them all for ruining his chances of being an active participant of James’
party five days before it all goes to shit.

Fleetingly, he flirted with the idea of poisoning the entire team bar the captain last night. But then
he would have had to let Marlene off the hook, and he supposes Sirius, too. It would have been
immediately obvious he did it and Regulus didn’t think James would have appreciated it.
So, here he is. Saturday night, perched on the window of the Transfiguration classroom because it
overlooks the Quidditch training grounds where the party is taking place. McGonagall gave them
special permission to throw it, with a couple of rules including a cut-off time of one am.

Music floats up to him, carried in the wind. Regulus can hear the tunes. He can see James in the
middle of it all, dancing and smiling. Sirius is at his side, practically attached to his hip. Remus
isn’t dancing, but he’s circling the drinks table alternating between chatting to Lily Evans—
Regulus can see the bright red of her hair from here—and simply watching Sirius be ridiculous
with James.

Regulus inhales smoke, holds it in. Lets it out. Six days. Six days between now and the last Friday
of March, when he’s meant to board the Express back to London.

Fuck.

With a dull thud, Regulus lets his head hit the wall behind him. He’s resolved to doing it at the last
possible minute. Thursday night, he’ll go to the Come and Go Room and tell James he can’t do this
anymore. He’ll lie through his teeth and pretend he doesn’t love James with everything he’s got.

It's going to be difficult, Regulus knows. They tried to break up once already and lasted all of one
day. He wasn't strong enough to resist, and he knows he should have. But all he could think about
were these two weeks and how he wanted them so badly it made him feel like he was splintering
into a million pieces. This time, however, there'll be no excuse. No more time. It really has run out
on them, and Regulus can't put it off any more.

Every time he thinks about it, Regulus wants to punch a hole in his chest and yank out his heart. It
hurts. He hasn’t done it yet and it’s already hurting.

Below, on the grounds, the music changes again. Regulus checks his pocket watch. Midnight. It’s
Sunday now. One more hour. Sighing, he adjusts his position. His butt is numb from sitting on the
windowsill.

He’s about to light a new cigarette when he sees James break away from the dancing crowd. Sirius
doesn’t follow him. Leaning forward, Regulus watches James simply walk away. He leaves his
party, even though it’s not over. People seem to be drunk enough to not notice it.

Scrambling to his feet, Regulus half-hangs out of the window so he can make sure this is
happening. James is coming early. When he walks up the steps to the entrance, Regulus bolts for
the Come and Go Room, where he was supposed to be waiting all along instead of spying on
James from the windows like a deranged stalker.

Regulus slips into the room and hurries to prepare everything. With a flick of his wand, he lights
the fire and the lamps, casting the room in a soft glow. He spent an embarrassingly long time
thinking about what to ask the Room for and ended up settling for something a bit unusual, but that
he hopes James will like.

The place he asked for looks and feels like the outdoors. Like they’re on a patio of sorts in a warm
country. Stone floors stretching under him, trees lining the edges of the room. A circular firepit in
the middle, surrounded by logs and pelts to make it comfortable.

To one side, there’s a wooden pergola with lamps hanging from it. Under it, there’s a table that
Regulus doesn’t expect they’ll use but it adds to the atmosphere. The stars shine above them—he
noticed James had asked for that after their big fight and loved the idea—and on the opposite side
of the room, a luxurious tent where they can pretend they’re sleeping out in the open.
Regulus has barely had enough time to throw himself by the firepit and pretend he’s been here all
along when James opens the door and steps inside.

“Whoa,” he says, looking around. “This is wonderful.”

Pleased with himself, Regulus watches James throw his jacket over the table under the pergola and
cross the room to come sit with him by the fire.

“How was your party?” Regulus asks.

The golden light catches on James’ skin, making him look like he’s glowing.

“It was okay,” James says, reclining against a log and reaching out to tug Regulus closer. “I didn’t
like that you weren’t there.”

Regulus folds into James, breathing in the scent of the outdoors. The faint smell of alcohol clings to
him, as well as cigarette smoke from other people smoking around him, and the taste of boy that’s
so distinctly James it makes Regulus’ mouth water.

“Are you hungry?” Regulus asks James.

“Hmm,” James shifts, picking Regulus up with those insanely strong arms of his and sitting him on
his lap. “Very.”

James kisses Regulus. Slowly at first, lips on lips, soft pressure. Regulus opens his mouth to James,
feels his tongue coil around his and sighs. James’ hands slide up Regulus’ back to card through his
curls. Regulus deepens the kiss, sinking his teeth into James’ lip before soothing the sting with his
tongue.

They break apart to breathe and Regulus says, “I got you a present.”

“Later,” James says, reaching to kiss him again.

Chuckling, Regulus shakes his head no. “Now.”

They look at each other for a moment, green eyes on amber ones. James groans, rolls his eyes.
“Not fair. I can’t say no to you.”

Triumphant, Regulus slides off James’ lap and goes to get the present. It took him all week to put it
together, and he had to call in a few favours leveraging his family name. He may or may not have
made a few threats, too. Gingerly, he gives the two packets to James. One large and rectangular
shaped, the other small.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” James says as Regulus settles back down next to him. “But
thank you.”

Regulus shrugs. “Let’s see what you think.”

James goes for the big present first. He tears the wrapping with no finesse whatsoever, which
makes Regulus snort. Shameless, James flings the shredded paper away and looks at the book.
Curiously, he opens the nondescript cover and promptly loses his mind.

“You didn’t!” he exclaims, staring at the first page unblinking. With shaking hands, James turns
the thick pages, breath going more erratic with each new note he reads. “Godric Gryffindor on a
broom. I—Regulus,” he breathes.
A thread of desire unfurls in his gut at the way James says his name. Like it’s holy. It makes
Regulus feel so wanted it makes him a little dizzy.

“Do you like it?”

“Do I—are you mental? How did you even—I just,” James blinks at the book, then at Regulus,
then back at the book.

Regulus thinks that rendering him incoherent is proof enough that his gift was a success. It was
quite hard to get it done in such a short time, but he managed. He got every single player and the
coach of James’ favourite Quidditch team to write him a personalised birthday note and made a
book of it, complete with pictures of their best plays.

When James recovers enough of his wits, he stands and carries the book to the table where he put
his jacket, placing it there reverently. Regulus stands, too and waits for him with a small smile on
his face. By the time James comes back to Regulus’ side, he’s looking at him with glassy eyes.

“I don’t understand how you managed that, but the fact that you did. That you thought about it and
did it and gave it to me. I—” James chokes, then reaches for Regulus and pulls him roughly against
his chest, placing kisses against his hair, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. “I love you so fucking
much. Thank you. Thank you. You’re amazing.”

“Hmm,” Regulus says, happily allowing James to kiss every inch of his face.

Their mouths meet, and Regulus curls his hand on the back of James’ neck to keep him there.
James complies, happily, aggressively. He kisses Regulus with feverish fervour, like he can
demonstrate his gratefulness by kissing him senseless.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are the cracking of the fire, the rustling of fabrics, and
jagged breathing. Then, James is on his knees and Regulus’ eyes are rolling into his head. He has
to reach behind him for support, finding the pole of the pergola. It’ll have to do, Regulus thinks
before his brain goes completely blank.

James is thorough and dedicated and Regulus falls apart embarrassingly quickly. It doesn’t matter,
because that means he can take his time worshiping James right back. Except this is a bit sloppy
and the stone floor is cold, and James deserves better, so Regulus tugs his hand and gets him on his
feet.

Somehow—don’t ask Regulus, he doesn’t know—they find themselves in the tent. They pause
several times to kiss on the way, but they make it, and crawl inside and then Regulus is licking
every single one of James’ abs.

“Reg,” James pants, hands tugging at his hair. “Come here.”

Regulus goes. Whatever James wants, James gets. When he’s like this, Regulus doesn’t know how
to say no. Doesn’t want to say no.

James kisses him, dirty and thorough, and Regulus can tell when James feels him hardening against
his leg again. With an appreciative grunt, James manhandles Regulus to turn him around, his back
against his chest.

“Okay?” James asks before carrying on.

Regulus smiles, delirious. “Not okay,” he says with feeling. “Amazing.”

When they’re done, Regulus presses a kiss to the hollow of James’ throat before crawling outside
and grabbing the second package. The small one that was forgotten because James is a Quidditch
fanatic and lost his ability to process reality for a bit there.

“Ah,” he says when Regulus gives it to him. “I forgot.”

“I know,” Regulus replies, smiling.

He settles down on the blankets next to James, watching him work the wrapping. James’ hands,
Regulus thinks, enraptured by the strength and dexterity of them. I’m going to miss his hands.
Thankfully, James is busy examining the little bottle to notice the little gasp that escapes Regulus
when the thought hits him like a punch. He’s got just about enough time to recover before James
turns his head and looks at him.

“A potion?”

“Felix Felicis,” Regulus explains.

“You brew this? Doesn’t it take like… forever?”

“Six months,” Regulus says promptly. “I didn’t brew it for you. But I had it, and I thought it
wouldn’t hurt for you to have some.”

The unsaid part of that sentence hangs in the air between them. The war. The future Regulus has
refused to talk about with James. His heart shrivels in his chest, hiding, trying to escape the agony
it knows is coming for it.

Five more nights of this. Well, four, because on Thursday Regulus doesn’t think James will hold
him or kiss him or do any of the other things they’ve done tonight. Not after Regulus tells him it’s
over.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, James lets out a deep breath and pulls Regulus in closer.
“Thank you,” he says. “For everything. Best birthday ever.”

Regulus smiles against James’ chest. They fall asleep like that, tangled together. Skin on skin and
nothing else.

****

Per James’ request, Sunday starts with morning sex. It’s slow and languid, but no less mind
blowing for it. They kiss for ages, touch for an eternity. Regulus teases James endlessly, dragging
it out the way he likes it. Sleep clings to them, makes them pliant and sensitive. Regulus loves it
this way, because he feels like all their emotions are blooming on their skin.

He loves James so much, he thinks with every touch. So fucking much. It stays with him through
the whole thing, that one thought.

I love him. I love him.

And when they’re in the thick of it, it becomes so overwhelming that Regulus has to pause for a
second to just look at James, lying under him, looking up with wide eyes that are dark with desire
and filled with love.

“Reg?” James asks, hands digging into the flesh of his lower back. “Why’d you stop? Are you
okay?”
Regulus knows full well he doesn’t deserve this. This love. This concern. Even now, even here,
James thinks of him first. It is almost too much.

“You’re beautiful,” Regulus croaks, stealing James’ favourite line.

“Oh?” James smiles, rolls his hips a little.

The feeling of it makes Regulus thrust. It’s almost involuntary. A natural response. James moves,
and Regulus adjusts for him.

Pleasure makes James’ eyes fall shut. “Please,” he begs. “Reg. Please.”

Regulus moves again, picks it up where he left off when he stopped to look at his boyfriend. James
is loud. He’s shameless. He’s everything.

Merlin, I love him.

I love him so much it’s going to break me.

Please, forgive me. Don’t hate me. I couldn’t bear it if you hated me.

They reach the peak together, coming apart in each other’s arms. James is smiling, blissed out. He
doesn’t notice that when Regulus buries his face in the crook of his neck it’s to hide the red lining
his eyes.

***

On the way to the Slytherin common room, Regulus finds himself thinking that he should give a
bottle of Felix to Dorcas. He had six to begin with. One for James. If he gives one to Dorcas, he’ll
have four. It should be enough to hunt down the rest of the Horcruxes. He might not need it for all
of them, even. It'll depend on what they are. Where they are.

It makes sense, he supposes, to share it. And he'll feel better knowing Dorcas has a bottle to use in
a pinch. Besides, Felix is a dangerous potion to drink. If he takes too much, he’ll become reckless
and stupid. With what he’s got planned, that’s as good as a death sentence.

Stepping into the common room, Regulus glares at a group of second years playing explosive snap
opposite the fire. It’s ten in the morning on a Sunday. Anyone making this much noise this early on
a weekend can’t be trusted to make judicious decisions.

Muttering under his breath against loud and obnoxious people—his boyfriend is the only exception
to the rule—he pushes open the door to his bedroom.

“If you’re doing—” Abruptly, he falls silent, eyes going wide. His stomach drops, dread clawing
up his spine with icy fingers.

“Regulus,” his mother says, turning to look at him from where she’d been standing next to his bed.
“Where have you been?”

Evan and Barty—both in their separate beds—look pale and distressed. But Regulus dons his mask,
sets his shoulders, and says, “With Pandora.”

Barty and Evan’s jaws drop open, but they stay mercifully silent. Walburga wrinkles her nose with
distaste. “Pack your things. We need to go.”

“What?”
“Your father’s health has taken a turn for the worse,” Walburga tells him, and there’s the barest
hint of emotion in the way her jaw clenches. “He wants to say goodbye. We are leaving now.
Slughorn has approved it.”

No.

Don’t do this.

There are four more nights before the break.

Not again. Please.

He remembers that his mother is a skilled legilimens. Remembers that she has no qualms about
prodding his mind if she suspects anything. Regulus forces himself to move. He gathers his things
quickly, packing them into his trunk with practiced movements. His hands don’t shake. His face
shows no emotion.

In his chest, his heart is breaking.

When he’s done, Regulus stands up straight, nods at his mother.

“Kreacher will pick up your trunk,” she says, striding from the room with sure steps, her skirts
bustling around her.

Regulus looks desperately at Evan and Barty. He’s got one second. One sentence. No more.

“Tell him I’m sorry I missed his actual birthday,” Regulus says.

Evan’s eyes widen, but Barty only nods solemnly. With that, and nothing else, Regulus follows his
mother out of the room. They don’t speak as they cross the Slytherin dungeons, don’t discuss
anything. Not his father’s health, not how strange it is for his mother to have come pick him up
personally.

In his office, Slughorn fusses over Walburga, reassuring her that leaving five days early won’t
affect Regulus’ academic performance in any way. As if either of them was worried about his
grades. Before Regulus has time to fully process what’s happening, he’s stepping into the fireplace
in Slughorn’s office—momentarily connected to the floo network—and calling out Grimmauld
place.

When he stumbles out onto the receiving room of his house and he comes face to face with
Bellatrix, it finally hits him. Like a wave crashing onto shore, realisation of what this means
washes over him, pulling under.

Struggling for breath, Regulus builds up his walls as fast as he can, hiding the desolation in his
soul from Bellatrix and his mother, who’s just stepped out of the fireplace behind him.

“Your father is in the master bedroom,” Bellatrix says. “Go say goodbye.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Regulus disappears up the stairs. He can hear his mother and
Bellatrix discuss something as he climbs the steps, but he doesn’t have the capacity to process that.
Most of his energy is currently going to pretending he’s not one wrong word away from a
breakdown.

Swallowing hard, Regulus pushes the door to the master bedroom open. His father is in bed,
looking ghostly pale. So thin the skin stretches over his bones like rubber.
“Father,” Regulus says, closing the door behind him and casting a quick, wordless spell.

Orion looks up at him, a weak smile on his lips. “You came.”

Regulus extracts the envelope he hastily packed in his room from his pocket and hands it to his
father, who opens it and takes out the letter. It was meant to come to him the next day. The last
letter before the Easter break.

“You’ve finished the apparition training,” Orion comments, pleased. “I’m afraid I might not be
around to see you come of age.”

“No,” Regulus says. “No. I don’t think you will.”

It’s heartless. Cold. And it feels good. He can do this, he realises. Channel the pain and hurt of the
days he was robbed of into reaping the fruits of his labour.

“Regulus?” Orion asks.

“I’m disappointed,” he says casually, “that you didn’t think it odd how quickly you were
deteriorating.”

“I have a food taster for poison,” Orion replies, still clutching the letter. “Your mother supervises
everything I eat or drink. We’ve taken every precaution. The best healers in the world have been on
my case. My decline is natural.”

“Are you certain?”

He flashes his father a smile that’s all teeth, and Orion shrinks into his pillows. “What are you
saying boy?”

Regulus shrugs. “Do you remember when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor? That one year I was
home and he was not?”

“What are you—”

“Do you remember what you did?” Regulus asks, voice cold and cutting.

Orion begins to panic. He can sense the danger and he wants to fight for himself. Unfortunately for
him, he can’t. If Regulus is honest, he didn’t expect his father to fall so quickly. He thought he had
calculated the doses for it to happen closer to May. To his own birthday.

Not like it matters, the world won’t miss Orion Black.

“I…” Orion’s eyes widen with understanding. “We confiscated the letters.”

He drops the parchment he’s holding like it burns him.

“And you made me think Sirius hadn’t written to me at all,” Regulus says. “You made me think
he’d forgotten about me. You tried to break us. Almost succeeded, too.”

Orion’s hand, blistered and shaking, tries to reach for the little bell on his bedside table. Regulus
laughs.

“You didn’t think I’d walk in here and taunt you without taking precautions, did you? You wound
me, father. I thought you knew I’m smarter than that.”
 “Are you going to kill me?” Orion asks. “For confiscating the letters six years ago?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Regulus says.

Relieved, Orion sags against the pillows. That is, until Regulus smirks and adds, “You’re already
dead.”

As if on cue, Orion’s heart gives out. In his weak state, another dose of poison was too much.
Absorbed through his fingertips with every letter Regulus sent him, without fail, every single week
of this year, Orion has been slowly decaying without knowing it. By the time he realised he was
unwell, it was too late.

A clever toxin of Regulus' own development—those hours in the potions lab had to deliver some
results—it looks like a normal degenerative disease. Like one’s own body is fighting itself. No
healer would have found the cause. Regulus made sure of it. Tested on himself during his fifth
year—part of the reason he looked so bloody unhealthy by the end of it. Enough that even his
friends have remarked upon it.

It is done now. Killing Greyback was an impulse. It was reckless and emotional. Killing his father
was not.

He has a list of names. Orion has been on it since Regulus was eleven. His reckoning has been a
long time coming.

Regulus waits until his father stops breathing to call for help. Walburga and Bellatrix find him on
his feet, standing vigil over the corpse of his father. He’s wearing his mask, the face that hides all
feeling. Stoic. Strong. Unfeeling. The perfect Black heir.

Walburga doesn’t give in to hysterics, but she does collapse on a chair, face in her hands for a few
minutes before she composes herself and simply sits and stares at her husband. Bellatrix, one
hundred percent unbothered, calls for Kreacher to make preparations.

Orion would be proud of how cold he’s being about the whole thing, which is quite ironic, Regulus
thinks as he watches the ministry officials lift the body and certify the death due to natural causes.

When the body has been taken away to be prepared for the funeral, Walburga takes a deep breath
and stands to face her son.

“It’s your turn,” she says, voice steady despite the red rimming her eyes. Unsplit tears. “You’re
Lord Black now.”

Because Orion Black is dead, and Regulus Black has to rise and take his place.

Chapter End Notes

French: 'Your wish is my command'

Okaaaaaayyyyyyyy so. That happened

Jegulus get all the fluff in this chapter because they're not getting fluff again for ...
ehem... a LONG TIME You guessed it, next chapter is called Easter Break and it's
exactly that. Not pretty. I'm sorry
Prongsfoot being adorable AGAIN!? I can't. My heart. I love them. ALSO James
picking up on Sirius' real issues and being all supportive? Like it was a chat about sex
but IT WASN'T not really, it was Sirius freaking out because he's still got internalised
shit that sometimes makes him doubt himself and JAMES IS A KING AND HELPED
HIM THROUGH IT. I love them so much your honor

WOLFSTAR!! They're BOYFRIENDS NOW!? I promise that even when Jegulus are
Not Doing Well, we'll get Dorlene and Wolfstar happiness sprinkled throughout
because it can't all be sad all the time

Regulus is the best gift giver in this entire fic. IT'S TRUE

And finally!!! Unhinged Regulus fully said 'this man tried to mess with my love for
Sirius so he's dead' and DID IT! His own father. REGULUS MY KING I LOVE YOU.
Also, I dont know if anyone remembers but at the start of the fic people kept noticing
that by the end of his fifth year he looked very sickly and just generally not good
(Dorcas told him he looked like a sickly Victorian child lmao). THERE WAS A
REASON - that wasn't just a 'he's suddenly hot' type of trope, he was TESTING
POISONS ON HIMSELF because he's absolutely deranged!

Next chapter will be Friday morning :D Let me know what you think - see you in the
comments section
 Easter Break
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Happy Friday!

Easter break chapter is here... enjoy (maybe?)! I've made up that the Blacks have a
manor somewhere in the country in addition to Grimmauld Place. As you know, canon
is just a random second cousin that shows up every now and then but we don't really
like so we mostly ignore them.

There's more emphasis on the war on this chapter and it gets a bit heavy and sad
towards the end so take care of yourselves!

TWs
Death of a parent mentioned
References to past child abuse
Depictions of bigotry and general all-round awful behaviour (Death Eaters)
Torture (magical)
Depictions of violence
Smoking
Underage drinking
References to a terrorist attack like situation (Death Eater attack in a place where
there's a crowd gathered for a sporting event)
Death (as a result of the above)
Depictions of grief

I think that's it re TWs. If I've missed anything, let me know!

ALSO OMG SOME OF YOUR COMMENTS IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER

GAVE ME LIFE. I adore how we are all obsessed with unhinged, murder-y Regulus.
I've said before but I'll say it again - I feel like I've got the best readers in the fandom

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The morning of his eighteenth birthday James is intercepted on his way to breakfast by Evan
Rosier and Barty Crouch. They catch his eye as he’s about to enter the Great Hall and gesture for
him to meet them in a side corridor.

Normally, James would know better than to have a clandestine huddle with two Slytherins, but
they are Regulus’ friends and Regulus didn’t come back to the Come and Go Room last night. In
fact, James checked the map thoroughly and couldn’t see him anywhere.

Naturally, the first thing he asks when he’s face to face with the two boys is, “Where is Regulus?”

Crouch looks away, blue eyes trained on a spot on the wall behind James. A bit braver, Rosier
meets James’ gaze and grimaces. “His mother showed up yesterday and took him home. His father
is very unwell.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Crouch says, apparently finding his spine. “He asked us to tell you he’s sorry he missed
your actual birthday.”

A pang of fondness blooms in his chest. It means something that Regulus would be notified of his
father dying and he thought of James’ birthday instead.

“Does that mean he’s not coming back until after break?” James asks, feeling suddenly very
deflated. He knows it’s irrational. Orion Black is his father, after all. And if he’s is very poorly, it’s
only natural for Regulus to go be by his side. And yet, selfishly, absurdly, James wishes he hadn’t
had to leave early. He's going to miss Regulus.

Rosier and Crouch exchange a look that he can’t read but that makes the hairs on the back of
James’ neck stand up.

“That’s right,” Rosier says. “He’ll be back after the break.”

“Right. Well. That’s done, then,” Crouch adds, looking distinctly uncomfortable even though
James is pretty sure he hasn’t done or said anything to make this awkward. “See you around,
Potter.”

It takes a minute for James to process the news. Hung up on the fact of Regulus leaving, he doesn’t
fully grasp the meaning of what he’s been told for the span of another heartbeat. And then, it clicks
and he swears under his breath.

The Great Hall is as noisy as always, swallowing James whole when he walks in. He turns a few
heads as he crosses the room towards his friends, already shoving food into their mouths like
they’re never going to be fed again.

Once upon a time, he enjoyed it. He liked knowing that people would turn to stare at him as he
walked through the castle with Sirius. He felt important. Like he mattered. How stupid young
James was, he thinks to himself now.

Mattering isn’t this. It’s not measured in sly looks across a hall from people who know nothing
about him except for what he looks like or how many goals he scored in the last game. It's not
popularity or detentions accrued for the sake of a reputation.

Mattering is the way Regulus’ eyes light up when James tells him he loves him. It’s the little gasps
and moans that escape him when James kisses him. It’s silly conversations about muggle
inventions and deep discussions about the music they like and why it resonates. It’s sharing every
day details like they’re special. Building a routine in a room that’s shielded from the world and
finding happiness in simply being with another person.

That is what matters. That is what James wishes everybody could find. And that's why James will
risk his life to fight in the war. To give all the people around him a chance to learn what’s
important. How love can shape you and change you in the best ways. He’ll fight for that. Nothing
else is worth it.

Just as he’s sliding into his seat next to Sirius, the owls arrive. The Daily Prophet lands against
Peter’s pumpkin juice, splattering it everywhere. Olive yelps, scurrying away to avoid getting wet.

“Merlin’s balls,” Peter mutters, waving his wand to clean up the mess. “You’d think they’d be a bit
better at this seeing as it’s literally their only job.”

“Pete, you’ve got a bit of juice here,” Olive says, reaching with a napkin to wipe a splash off his
cheek.

“Thanks,” he says, shaking his head. His ears are a little pink.

“Oh fuck.”

They all turn to Remus, who’d reached for the newspaper as soon as it landed. He’s gripping the
paper, staring at it with a hard slant to his mouth and narrowed eyes.

“What now?” Sirius asks in a tired tone.

It feels as though nobody’s breathing. These days, it’s like the newspaper is coming from hell
itself, so riddled with awful news that very few people are brave enough to just pick it up and read
it like Remus does.

Wordlessly, Remus looks up over Sirius’ head and meets James’ eye. And he knows.

He scoots closer to Sirius, making sure his leg is pressed up against his. Sirius frowns at his best
friend but doesn’t move away. He’s never one to refuse comforting touch, even when he has no
idea why it’s being offered to him. That is, until Remus hands him the newspaper.

Together, they read the headline.

IN MEMORIAM: ORION BLACK 1929 – 1978

The article is a very pompous, borderline ridiculous ode to the life of Orion Black. James doesn’t
read it, he’s not bothered. Instead, he watches Sirius’ face as he scans through the page. When he
reads that Orion Black leaves behind a son and a wife, Sirius grimaces.

Sliding his arm over Sirius’ shoulders, James whispers, “You alright?”

“Where’s Reggie?” Sirius puts down the paper and looks at the Slytherin table, where clusters of
students are bent over their own copies of the newspaper.

“Walburga was here yesterday,” James tells him, keeping his voice low so only he can hear. “He
went home early.”

“Ah,” Sirius says, blinking a bit too fast. “Okay. Well. He knows, then.”

It’s my job to protect him, Sirius has told James before. He’s my little brother.

And here he is, learning of their father’s death and worried not for himself, but for Regulus.

James opens his mouth to say something else when Sirius shoots to his feet. He runs a hand over
his face, cupping his own chin as he looks around him a little bewildered. Without another word,
Sirius walks away from the table.

"You should go," Remus tells James. "Go with him.”

“No,” James replies. “It should be you. I make him think of Reg right now, and that’s not helping.
He deserves a chance to grieve his father for himself, if he wants to. It should be you.”

Remus looks lost for a second, like he can’t imagine being the source of comfort for anyone. But
then he pulls himself together and nods firmly towards James before standing up and chasing after
Sirius with a determined expression, like instead of going to give his boyfriend a cuddle, he’s
marching into battle.

James is munching on a piece of toast, thoughts whirling with worry for Regulus, when Lily takes
the seat Sirius vacated. With her come Dorcas and Marlene, sitting around him. Lily smiles shyly
at him, then sees the newspaper and gasps.

“Oh no,” she says softly. “Is he…”

“What?” Marlene asks, reading over her shoulder. “Oh. Shit. Dorcas, Reg.”

Dorcas reads the article, swallows hard. “He’s gone home, then?”

“Yeah,” James confirms. “Crouch and Rosier told me earlier. He left yesterday. I don’t know if he
made it back in time to say goodbye.”

“That’s… very sad,” Lily mutters, blinking fast.

“He’s going to be alright,” Dorcas says confidently, though there’s a sadness in her eyes that wasn’t
there before. “Reg’s tougher than he looks.”

Marlene makes a face that clearly shows she thinks Regulus looks plenty tough but doesn’t say
anything. James tends to forget that most people don’t know how soft he can be. How gentle.

“Did he… I’m not sure how close he was to Orion,” James whispers, worrying about being
overheard. “How hard this will hit him, I mean.”

“Not the closest. Still his dad, though,” Dorcas says. “But he’ll be fine. Orion’s been sick for a
while. Reg knew it was coming.”

“I hate that I can’t be with him through this,” James confesses to the girls, throat closing with the
emotions he’s trying to supress. “I should be there, right? To hold his hand or whatever.”

“Hey,” Lily says gently, putting a delicate hand on his arm. “He knows you would be there if you
could.”

“We’ll have to throw a party when he’s back,” Marlene declares. “To cheer him up, I mean.”

For some reason, this makes Dorcas flinch with her entire body. Odd, because James thinks this is
actually a rather good idea. He knows some cultures actually do something like that. Get drunk and
celebrate the life of the person who has passed instead of solemn, depressing services. Perhaps
Regulus would like it, he thinks. Not that Orion has ever done anything worth celebrating in his
life, but anyway. A party never hurts. James could use a drink right about now.

Dorcas sighs and rubs her temples with her fingers, dramatically look up at the ceiling. “You say
that like NEWTs won’t be breathing down our necks!”

Ah. Oh, fuck. James groans. “You had to bring NEWTs up, didn’t you?”

Lily immediately gets fidgety, biting her lip and tapping her fingers on the table. It’s like a switch
is flicked inside all of them. Any mention of the upcoming exams makes the seventh years spiral
into a panic because it’s been easy to pretend that the NEWTs were some nebulous entity waiting
for them in the far future.
Not so far now.

Bitterly, James thinks that he should be grateful Regulus is away this week and for the whole of
Easter break. It’s the only way he’ll get any studying done.

Besides, it’ll be good for him. If he makes himself busy, time will go faster and Regulus will be
back. The worst thing James can do is be idle, moping about because his boyfriend is away and he
can’t reach him.

“Lily,” he says with an affected sigh. “I heard you’re running a NEWT study group over Easter.
Where do I sign up?”

####

His father’s funeral is an affair of much pomp and little sentiment. Everyone that’s anyone in the
wizarding world shows up to pay their respects to a man that had none to give back anyway. The
heads of almost all the Sacred Twenty Eight families are here, crisp, tailored robes of mourning
swishing about their feet as they move around the ballroom of Black Manor.

The last time he was here, Regulus snuck out and went to the pub down the road where a muggle
kid told him he was pretty and got him hooked on cigarettes. Fervently, Regulus wishes he could
step out for a smoke. But he can’t. It’s not forbidden, but it’s frowned upon because cigarettes are a
muggle invention.

Black Manor is in the countryside. Sprawling over acres and acres of land that nobody uses.
Regulus never asked why Walburga preferred Grimmauld place, why she wanted a townhouse
when she could have had a mansion. But she did, and they live in London instead of out here where
there’s nothing and no one. Except for the little pub down the road.

It takes hours. Hours of smiling politely, nodding his head. Shaking hands. Regulus is made of
stone the entire time. He’s exactly what they expect him to be. Stoic. Tragically beautiful in his
black mourning robes, standing guard by his father’s casket while Walburga weeps quietly and
delicately. Regulus suspects the weeping is for show, but he doesn’t say.

There are a lot of things he doesn’t say as he meets and greets men and women who have no idea
what’s coming. A lot of the Sacred Twenty Eight have joined Tom Riddle’s ranks. Most of them
have brands on their arms. Regulus thinks of his father’s funeral like a visit to the zoo. He watches,
and he learns. Notes tight jaws and fake smiles. Finds the genuine ones. In his head, he maps who
is allied with who and the lengths they go to hide it.

By the time his father is put to rest and he’s back at Grimmauld place, Regulus is exhausted. His
back aches from how straight he’s been standing all day, and the polished, fancy shoes have been
digging into the crests of his feet for the past hour or two.

“Kreacher,” Regulus says as he steps out of the fireplace ahead of his mother. “I will have dinner in
my room, please. I won’t be dining with mother today.”

Not that she’ll care. They eat at the same table, but not together. One would have to acknowledge
the other’s presence for that. Make conversation even.

“Yes, young master,” Kreacher replies, bowing down so low his ears swipe the floor.

Behind Regulus, Walburga steps out of the fireplace. To Regulus’ dismay, she doesn’t come alone.
Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrage walk out after her. And then so do Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa
—still Black for a few months.
“Mother,” Regulus says stiffly. “I didn’t realise we were to entertain guests this evening.”

Bellatrix lets out a piercing shrill of laughter. “Isn’t he a dear? Too polite for your own good,” she
says, patting his shoulder. It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to flinch away. “Just say
you don’t want us here.”

“Very well. I don’t want you here. Leave.”

Lucius’ mouth twitches, and Regulus forces himself to find his eyes and exchange a passing
glimpse of understanding. Oblivious and completely unbothered, Bella strides past him towards
their drawing room, her skirts rustling as she goes.

Walburga disappears towards the kitchen without a word, but Regulus can hear her barking orders
at Kreacher slightly desperately. Rodolphus is simply watching with an amused expression, but
Narcissa is fidgeting.

Cissy doesn’t fidget.

Swallowing the ball of anxiety that has suddenly lodged itself in his throat, Regulus steels himself.

“Bella,” Regulus calls after her. “I said leave.”

“Oh, little cousin,” she replies, looking over her shoulder. It is then that Regulus realises she
wasn’t on her way to the drawing room, but to the front door. “That is not your order to give.”

“This is my house,” Regulus snaps, dread crawling up his windpipes like a rodent out of a burrow.
"It is my order to give."

Lucius comes to stand next to him. He leans closer, enough that Regulus can smell his perfume—
something expensive, a little sweet and cloying—and whispers, “He’s here.”

No.

He can’t be.

It’s too soon.

Regulus can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t tell Bella to stop. To leave that door alone. Locked. Shut.

Bellatrix opens the door to Grimmauld Place and throws herself on the floor with a cry of ecstasy.
“My Lord! Welcome.”

In the threshold, in robes that are black but not for mourning, stands Tom Riddle. He steps over
Bella’s prone form on the ground, hissing at her to rise when he’s already passed her, and comes to
a stop by the staircase.

His eyes—dark and uncanny—trail the mounted heads of the house elves that have served the
House of Black. Silence is thick around them as they wait for Riddle to say something. Do
something.

Regulus is going to be sick.

Why are they ambushing him like this?

It’s not like he’s going to change his mind. Regulus said he’d do it. Get the mark. He proved
himself. Why move the date? What is this? He was supposed to have a few days to prepare
himself. To come to terms with it.

Is this another test? Catching him unawares to see if he fails? Perhaps it is. And Regulus can’t fail
it. There’s too much hinging on this. On him.

“Regulus Black,” Tom Riddle says, finally looking at him.

Cold dread drips down his spine, seeping into him and making him want to shiver. He doesn’t. He
fights back. He’s the master of his own body and fear won’t control him. He controls it.

So Regulus drags his eyes up lazily, like he cannot be bothered, and meets him head on. “My
Lord.”

Riddle moves a hand in a sort of sweeping gesture that, somehow, Bella understands to be a
question, for she answers it. “In here, my Lord. The drawing room has been readied.”

“I will speak to young Regulus first,” Riddle says, walking into the room. Assuming—correctly—
that Regulus will follow.

No one protests. No one asks why. Regulus wonders if the others were interviewed by the Dark
Lord before they were marked. Something in the way Rodolphus seems to be bristling and trying to
hide it tells him they didn’t.

The faint light coming through the windows of the drawing room reflects on the crown of Riddle’s
bald head. Regulus fixates on that. On his odd appearance. How ugly he is. It helps with the fear
turning his veins to ice and his knees to jelly.

“I am told you are the best potioner Slughorn has had in his career,” Riddle says flatly. He’s not
praising Regulus. He’s stating facts. “And you showed skill beyond my expectations during your
test.”

Regulus doesn’t say anything. He knows enough about how those with power and hungry for more
operate. Riddle doesn’t want Regulus’ opinions. He wants Regulus’ fear and devotion. He wants a
puppet whose strings he can hold from those gnarled fingers of his. But Regulus has other ideas. If
he is to rise, and he is to rise quickly, he cannot let Tom Riddle think him a spineless child.

“Tell me,” Riddle says, circling Regulus like he’s a vulture that’s spotted carrion. “What do you
want, Regulus Black?”

“Well,” he replies, careful to toy the line between insolent and daring. “I’ve been on my feet all
day. Taking off these shoes is quite high on my priorities list.”

Riddle is stunned speechless. Regulus holds his breath. It’s a dangerous gamble, but he’s taken it
now. He’s got to see it through.

“You’re too smart for that to have been born of idiocy,” Riddle observes, coming to stand before
Regulus again, looking at his face. “So are you defiant or are you ambitious?”

“Ambitious, my lord,” Regulus says, and he bows properly to Voldemort for the first time.

A pleased hmm, then his feet walk away as Riddle circles him again. Regulus straightens. After a
long moment, Riddle asks, “tell me the truth before I rip it from your head, boy. What do you
want?”

“I want what is rightfully mine,” Regulus replies. “The House of Black. And a wizarding world in
which that still holds meaning. Purity of lineage, and the order and balance that has been disturbed
by those who seek to taint magic.”

“I don’t think that’s all you want,” Riddle snarls, training his wand on Regulus. “Are you lying to
me boy? Do you know what I do to those who disappoint me?”

It takes a truly terrifying amount of self-control to keep his body in check. Regulus is so petrified
his fingers want to twitch. His throat wants to close. The air feels thin as he pulls it into his lungs
with effort, but he keeps himself steady.

Control yourself.

“I’m not lying, my Lord,” Regulus says, meeting Riddle’s eyes head on when he’s around again. “I
want those things, but it is true there is more. I also want power. I want glory. I want my name to
be remembered.”

A flash of triumph and recognition glints in Riddle’s eyes. He stops circling him, lowers his wand.
There’s a harsh but pleased expression on his inhumane face.

“I wonder, boy, whether you’re going to be a problem for me,” Riddle muses. “Young and
ambitious. Talented. Clever. Whatever shall we do for it to not get to your head?”

Voldemort’s eyes are cold, but not yet empty. He wants things, and wanting requires a spark. I’s
twisted, but it’s there. Ambition and desires. And Regulus knows better than to delude himself into
thinking he can manipulate Tom Riddle. He can’t. He doesn’t try.

But he can fool him. And that, he does.

“Too late for that,” Regulus replies flatly. “But you already knew it, my Lord. I could never hope
to best you, nor do I want to. I simply want to stand at your side.”

“At my side?” Riddle asks, and to Regulus’ relief, it’s intrigued and not angry. “Do you know how
many would kill for that honour?”

“Yes. But I would die for it, my Lord. Would they?”

Riddle’s intake of breath is sharp.

Gotcha.

He can see the shift in Riddle when he looks at Regulus again. The perception, changing. Before
Voldemort stands not a threat, but a young man he can mould. Not a threat, but an asset. It’s
tempting, he knows. Riddle has been alone his entire life. An orphan. Regulus understands
abandonment issues and he’s not above turning them against the Dark Lord himself.

“Every master needs an apprentice of sorts,” Regulus says softly. “I can think of no higher honour
than to serve and learn from you, my Lord.”

And then, he kneels but not like Bellatrix does, dramatic and with flair. He kneels like a knight of
old would to a king. Solemnly. Quietly. This is not for show.

“Rise,” Riddle says, an excited tilt to his voice. “Rise, young Lord Black.”

Regulus stands. Riddle waves his hand and the doors to the drawing room open. Bellatrix,
Rodolphus, Lucuis, Narcissa and his mother walk in. Bellatrix looks between her Lord and Regulus
with suspicion. She’s dying to know what transpired between them, Regulus is certain.

“Is he ready, my Lord?” asks Walburga, hopeful and cautious at the same time.

If Tom Riddle could smile, the thing on his face now would be it. He’s so ugly, Regulus tells
himself. He’s broken, and I’m going to finish him off.

Careful to keep his face neutral, the mask of coldness he mastered long ago, Regulus waits for
Riddle to reply.

“He is. Your arm, Regulus,” Riddle confirms, raising his wand again.

Even his wand is ugly.

It’s childish, Regulus knows. But he’s hanging on by a thread and he will do anything to keep
himself together. To get through this, no matter how unexpected.

Dutifully, Regulus rolls his sleeve up, baring his left arm. His mouth is dry, and his stomach has
long ago clenched like a closed fist. Thankfully, his hand doesn’t shake as he peels back the fabric
to expose his skin.

“What is that?” Rodolphus asks.

Regulus feels his control slip. The star. It’s faded considerably, but it’s there. James drew it earlier
that week.

“It’s just…” Horrifyingly, Regulus has to clear his throat. Bella’s, Walburga’s and Riddle’s eyes all
narrow at him. Swallowing hard, Regulus digs as deep as he can.

He’s the master of his own body. He commands it and it responds. There’s no fear. There’s no
sadness. There’s nothing but ambition.

Forgive me, he thinks.

Remember me, he wishes.

Love me still, he hopes.

He’s a fool. Nothing has the destructive power of hope. And yet, to it, Regulus clings even as he
puts on a show.

“My girlfriend drew it. I had forgotten. It’s insignificant,” Regulus says with a shrug.

Bella lets out a delighted little yelp. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend!”

“Bellatrix,” Riddle snaps.

“Apologies, my Lord,” she says, bowing deeply. When she straightens, she winks at Regulus,
clearly delighted.

Regulus extends his arm. Riddle takes it, claw like fingers closing around his wrist. He hasn’t filed
his nails in years, Regulus thinks, disgusted. And his touch is cold. Reptilian. Still, Regulus doesn’t
wince. Doesn’t shiver.

He holds his ground and watches Riddle raise his wand and bring the tip of it against Regulus’
skin. So close to James’ star.
Strangely, Regulus feels a little bit like he’s being buried alive. Putting all that he loves in a box,
lowering it to the ground. Throwing dirt on it. Hiding it. Deep. Deep. Deep where no one can find
it.

There’s no air six feet under. His lungs begin to ache as his chest fragments. Bones. Blood. Cold.
So cold. Pain, freezing and biting like ice spreading.

This is what he signed up for. The pain. Regulus saw it coming from the very beginning, from the
first time James showed up on the owlry roof and Regulus didn’t kick him off it. Regulus looked at
the pain in the eye and said ‘yes, hit me as hard as you can.’ And now, he can’t dodge it.

Would he, if he could? Regulus doesn’t think so. If it hurts, it’s because it mattered. Because it was
wonderful and reckless and magical and all the things true love should be. The kind of love that
takes centuries to build. And he had it. He's known it. It's got to be enough.

“Do you swear yourself into my service, Regulus Black?”

I’m sorry.

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you vow to uphold the sacred laws of purity passed down to us by Salazar Slytherin?”

I love you.

“Yes, I do.”

“And do you accept this brand on your skin so that it may tie you to me for all eternity?”

This is for you. For you. For Dorcas. For Sirius.

“Yes,” Regulus says, the final nail on the coffin. “I do, my Lord.”

The wand jabs his skin suddenly, forcefully. It hurts. Riddle casts a spell, but Regulus doesn’t hear
it because immediately his arm is in agony. It’s all encompassing, like being swept away by the
ocean during a storm. He can’t fight it. He can’t overcome it. There is nothing to do but feel it all
and try to survive it.

Regulus withstands it. His legs try to give out. His skin feels like it’s melting. Everything hurts.

Endure.

Regulus does. He endures, holds Riddle’s gaze as he watches him suffer, the ink crawling inside
his skin, branding him forever. The black tendrils cover the star, and Regulus watches it disappear
under an ugly skull. A snake. James is gone from his skin and in his place is the evil Regulus will
consort with to make sure the people he loves are safe.

Impossibly, the pain gets worse. Regulus bites his tongue, tastes blood. Tears cling to his
eyelashes, but Regulus doesn’t blink. Doesn’t let them fall.

Endure.

Riddle lets go. His wand withdraws, but the pain remains. All Regulus allows himself is a
shuddering breath before he sets his shoulders and drops his arm to his side, pretending it doesn’t
feel like his skin is being peeled away layer by layer with a scalpel.
“My Lord,” Regulus grinds out.

“I will be in touch,” Riddle says, and then he’s out the door and gone before anyone can say or do
anything else.

The silence that falls is charged for a moment, until everyone is certain that Voldemort is gone
from Grimmauld Place. Regulus is the first to move. He would have liked to keep his composure
until he was alone, but it is simply not possible.

Sagging against the armchair, he lets out a small gasp of pain that seems to delight Bellatrix.

“He didn’t faint,” Bellatrix says, and she puts her hand out as if she was a teacher explaining a
basic concept and not a madwoman who just watched—and enjoyed—someone be branded. “I told
you my baby cousin has what it takes.”

“Congratulations,” Rodolphus says.

“Regulus, a drink!” Lucius says.

“What do you mean I didn’t faint?” Regulus asks, wincing from the agony emanating from his
arm.

“Lucius and Rodolphus both did,” Bella replies. “I didn’t, of course. Black blood runs thicker and
stronger.”

Salazar’s cape on a pole. If Regulus had known he was allowed to pass out he would have.
Struggling to right himself, he refuses the drink that Lucius has just poured him. He’s reached his
limit and can stand to be in the presence of other people no longer.

Enough is enough.

“The Dark Lord is gone. This is my house,” he says, pointedly looking at Bellatrix who is already
pouting, anticipating where he’s going with this. “Get the fuck out.”

And to his relief, they do.

####

Easter break is rather dull. All the seventh years stay in the castle, camping out in the library to
cram for the upcoming exams. The marauders fall into a sort of routine. It goes like this:

Wake up. Have breakfast. Complain loudly about the misery of their lives on the way to the
library. Study. Whine some more on the way to lunch. Eat lunch. Annoy the shit out of everybody
by wailing about how unfair it is that they should need to study on the way back to the library.
Engage in said studying again. Crack terrible but relieved jokes over the fact that revision is done
for the day on the way back to the Hall. Eat dinner. Cause chaos in the common room until
someone threatens bloody murder. Sleep.

Repeat.

Sirius recovered quickly from his bout of family-induced melancholy. Whatever Remus did—and
James doesn’t want to know anything about it—it worked. Much like James, Sirius came to the
conclusion that there’s nothing he can do for Regulus while he’s away, so they’ll wait for him to
return. The actual death of his father didn’t really bother him. All of Sirius’ concern was for his
little brother.
James’ only outlet is Quidditch. With the final matches of the year coming up in May and the Cup
up for grabs, James has the members of his team that didn’t leave the school for the break running
drills and working out every other day.

Marlene, who is hating the revision as much as the marauders are, is grateful for the excuse to
blow off some steam. She tried to persuade people to have a party the first Friday of the break and
was shot down by Lily, who’s become a sort of evil librarian and insists on ruining the fun for
everybody at all times.

On the Tuesday of the second week of break, the marauders routine is disrupted by none other than
Dumbledore himself. To James’ shock and secret delight, he receives a message during breakfast
asking him and his friends to meet with the headmaster in his office promptly.

None of them even finish eating.

As they step into Dumbledore’s office, James wonders if it’s awkward for Remus and Sirius. They
haven’t been here since that time Sirius… well. When he did what he did. James doesn’t like to
think about it, because when something is forgiven, it has to also be forgotten. Otherwise, there’s
no point. If they hold his mistake over his head for the rest of Sirius’ life, they might as well never
have forgiven him to begin with.

Resolutely, James greets Dumbledore with a cheerful smile. “Professor,” he says. “We came as
soon as we got your message.”

Behind his impressive beard, Dumbledore smiles, too. “I appreciate the urgency, gentlemen. I’m
afraid I must ask a favour of you. It is early still and you are but junior members of the Order, but
we find ourselves a little stretched and could use some help.”

James’ spine goes ramrod straight, even as his stomach twists itself into knots. He wants to look at
Sirius but he doesn’t dare. They weren’t supposed to be sent out to the field yet. Kingsley said so.
But… what difference does it make? They’ll still be young in the summer. Young when Christmas
comes around. Young next summer, too.

They’ll be young for too long a time for it to stop them now. The way this is going, the war will
reach its peak before they’re in their early twenties.

No. James decides, right there and then. There’s no point waiting. War has come knocking on the
door and James knows if he doesn’t answer there’s very little hope for anyone else.

“What do you need, sir?” he asks, and behind him, his three best friends stand at attention like the
little soldiers they’ve become.

***

They are in Brighton.

In one of the widest Lanes, nestled between an antiques store and a vinyl store, there’s a pub. It’s
set in a beautiful building, white walls and wooden structures, bustling with activity on a Thursday
evening. The White Rabbit is their destination, and the four boys hover outside of it in the
shadows. Sirius and Remus are smoking, shoulders hunched forward to ward off the chilly breeze
that runs through the Lanes. James’ cloak is tucked into a backpack, together with some quick
healing potions as a precaution.

It’s a recon mission. Dumbledore instructed them not to engage unless absolutely necessary to save
their own lives. Still, James’ hands are itching to take out his wand. His heart has been pumping
since they left the school through the fireplace in Dumbledore’s office, arriving in the house of
another Order member before apparating to Brighton—three times, to throw off any tracing.

“Alright,” Remus says, throwing his cigarette butt on the ground and putting it out with the tip of
his boot. “Let’s go in there separately and mingle. See if we can spot anything or anyone that looks
suspicious.”

“How will we know?” Peter asks, wringing his hands together. He looks a little green around the
gills.

“With these,” James says, taking four small stones out of his pocket. “Dumbledore says they’ll
heat up if they pick up traces of magic. It’s a muggle pub, so anyone who sets them off we should
watch closely.”

“Won’t we set them off?” Sirius asks, taking the stone.

“That’s why I need to link them to you,” James explains, taking out his wand. “Here.”

He taps his friends’ hands and their stones in turn, quickly muttering the incantation Dumbledore
taught him. When he’s done, he pockets the wand again and rolls his shoulders back.

“It won’t alert you of the presence of vampires so we still have to be alert,” James insists, repeating
what Dumbledore already told them.

“Constant vigilance!” Sirius says in a passingly good imitation of Moody.

They all giggle. James thinks it’s got something to do with the nerves. A few moments later,
they’re breathing deeply, chasing their courage in the sea breeze that travels up and down the
Lanes of Brighton. James wishes he could see the sea from here.

“Should we do one walk around first just to get a feel for the place?” Sirius suggests. “We can meet
at the bar and check in before we decide what to do next. We can pretend to be ordering drinks.”

“What do muggles drink?”

“Beer, I think?” James says.

“Ask for a pint and you’ll be fine,” says Remus.

“I’ll take the garden,” Peter offers. “Any of you will struggle to get to the back quickly anyway.”

Sensible, given Peter is the shortest and smallest of the four. The back garden is across the main
pub area which is absolutely packed. Out front there are a few tables with long benches. Men sit
with their hands curled around large glasses full of beer, cigarettes dangling from their mouths. The
ashtrays on the tables are overflowing.

“Be careful,” James urges Pete. With a nod and only a minimal amount of shaking, Peter slips
away first.

“I’ll take the left side,” Remus says. “Sirius, take the right. James, you’ve got the bar at the front.”

It quickly becomes apparent to James that there are no wizards in the area of the pub he’s been
assigned to watch over. Everyone is getting thoroughly sloshed, conversing loudly and laughing
like there isn’t a war going on. For them, James thinks, there isn’t.

His stone doesn’t react as he brushes past people, muttering empty apologies here and there. A
woman stops him, batting her lashes at him. She asks if he wants to buy her a drink. Politely, he
declines and, shockingly, the man standing next to her immediately leans closer to ask if he can
buy James a drink.

Disoriented, James blinks. As far as he knows, muggles are no less prejudiced than wizards when
it comes to these things. Distantly, he wonders if this pub is a safe haven, but quickly dismisses the
idea. No way a Death Eater would arrange a meeting with the vampires in a queer bar.

“Thank you, but no,” James says firmly. The man shrugs, and he and the woman disappear into the
crowd, presumably to find someone else to seduce.

Peter is at the bar first, shaking his head as soon as James sidles up next to him. Fortunately,
they’ve spent six years marauding Hogwarts and learning to communicate without words to avoid
getting caught. James hears Peter’s silent message loud and clear: no wizards. No vampires.

They don’t look at each other in more than passing, pretending they’re strangers queuing up for a
drink. Remus is next. He stands right behind them, hovering with an annoyed sort of expression on
his face, as though he can’t be arsed queueing to get his order in.

“Nothing,” he mutters under his breath. “Where’s Pads?”

“Not back yet,” James says just as the bartender approaches him.

James asks for a pint of larger because it’s what the person on his other side ordered a moment
ago. Sounds very muggle to him. The man nods, picks up the pint glass. It turns out it’s just beer.
Not butterbeer, but normal beer. In a large pint glass. Could be worse, James thinks as he takes a
sip.

When the bartender asks him, Peter orders the same thing.

Turning to lean on the bar, James glances at Remus. “Can you see him?”

It shouldn’t be taking this long for Sirius to get back. But it hasn’t been long enough to warrant the
level of panic that James is experiencing. It’s just that they’re out on their first mission and it feels
real, and James is quite frankly shitting himself. He has been since Dumbledore asked them if
they’d do it.

A couple more minutes pass, enough for him to chuck half his beer down for lack of a better
distraction. Next to him, Peter looks like he’s about to faint.

Where is Sirius?

James is losing it already, eyes darting around him as fast as he can make them move. Remus,
tallest of the lot, is also searching over the crowd.

And there—Remus has seen something.

Whatever he finds, Remus doesn’t like. He goes still, mouth tightening into a severe line on his
face. The amber of his eyes flashes with the promise of pain and violence. Immediately, James puts
the pint down and reaches for his wand.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, stepping closer to Remus.

There’s a gap in the crowd in the direction Remus is staring. It’s barely a moment but it’s enough.
A glimpse. James finds Sirius through it. To his absolute shock, Sirius appears to be flirting with a
woman. Oh fuck. What the hell?

Quickly, before Remus can cause a scene, James ducks past him, making his way through the
crowd. He feels Remus behind him. It’s stupid for Remus to be so blatantly following James,
calling attention to the fact that they’re here together when they took such pains to pretend they
weren’t. But James knows better than to ask him to stay back.

Emerging from the worst of the mass of bodies, James leans against a pillar and catches his breath.
He trusts Sirius, and he knows Sirius is very much solid with Remus. So, whatever is happening,
there’s a reason.

With trepidation, James watches the scene, trying to make sense of what Sirius is doing. Sirius
being Sirius is laying it on thick. He’s braced a hand against the wall, over the woman’s head, and
is looking down at her with an expression that makes James want to look away.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Remus hisses, vibrating with barely contained fury. James has never
his friend so animated in his life. “Who is that—”

And then, the woman smiles up at Sirius and bites her lower lip, baring her fangs.

“Shit,” James whispers. “He found the vampire.”

Remus’ entire body tenses next to James. He goes absolutely still, like if he moves even one inch
he’ll explode and cause a scene. But Remus’ stance is too threatening for it go unnoticed. He’s just
there, at the edge of the throng, fists curled, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with rage and jealousy as
the vampire woman licks her lips and shuffles a little closer to Sirius.

Fuck. If anyone looks at them, they’ll know something’s not right. Remus is being too obvious.
Too emotional about this whole thing. And Sirius is toying with a fucking vampire. If they get
caught, it’s Sirius who’ll be in immediate danger.

“Remus, you’re not being subtle mate,” James says, tugging his arm. “Stand closer, turn
sideways.”

“What?”

“Do you want her to realise what’s happening and kill Sirius?”

Immediately, Remus complies. Together, they watch as the woman hooks a finger under the
waistband of Sirius’ jeans. Remus makes a strangled noise of distress.

Then, Sirius smiles at her, hungry and bold about it.

“I’m going to kill her,” Remus mutters calmly, like he’s declaring he’s going to order another pint
and not planning murder.

“No, you’re not,” James says firmly. “That’s barbaric and you’re better than that. You know Sirius
is just pretending.”

A little tug from the vampire’s finger on his jeans brings her body flush against Sirius’. She tilts
her face up, so close that if Sirius moves even just a little bit, they’ll be kissing. Remus growls low
in his throat. It’s distinctly predatorial and James wishes he’d never heard his friend make that
noise.

Throwing out an arm to stop him from storming towards them, James whispers, “Wait. Remus.
Wait.”

Remus turns thunderous eyes on him, “Would you? If it was Regulus?”

Considering that Regulus doesn’t even know how to flirt with his own boyfriend at the best of
times, it’s highly unlikely he’d ever resort to seduction as a spying tactic. Still, not the answer
Remus needs right now.

“Sirius knows what he’s doing,” James insists. “Trust him.”

Reluctantly, Remus grunts but stands down. Sirius’ face is bent low, and they can see he’s talking
to her. Whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle. Whatever he said, it seems to tip her
into a decision. When he stands back, she pushes herself off the wall and grabs Sirius’ hand. She
leads him through the bar, straight for the door.

They follow.

Peter appears out of nowhere when they’re almost outside, looking pale. “Two wizards just left the
pub,” he says. “The stone reacted and I caught them just as they were exiting.”

Together, they slip outside just in time to see the two wizards turn down one of the Lanes, and the
vampire woman duck into a dark alley behind the pub with Sirius.

“Shit,” James mutters.

“I’ll turn and go spy on the wizards,” Peter offers. “They won’t notice me in the dark. I can listen
to what they say, Dumbledore can watch my memory after so we know I don’t miss anything.”

“Good plan.”

Preening, Peter nods. “You go make sure Sirius doesn’t die.”

Quickly, James takes out his cloak. “Remus, with me. Peter, do not engage. Do not turn back to
yourself no matter what. You stay a rat and keep yourself safe.”

“Got it,” Peter says, then he ducks under a table pretending he dropped something and doesn’t
resurface.

Remus and James hurry towards the alley where the vampire and Sirius went. With a practiced
flick of his hands, James throws the cloak over them just as they turn the corner. Careful to remain
silent, they walk further down. Remus is a tad too tall for the cloak these days, so he has to walk
hunched over with his knees a little bent.

Sirius is pinned to the wall by the woman, but he doesn’t seem to be in any danger. He looks like
he doesn’t have a care in the world, hair flicked to the side and leather jacket open to reveal his
white t-shirt underneath. He’s lazily running a ringed finger up and down the vampire’s arm. She’s
talking.

Just. Talking.

Fucking hell. He’s good.

Whatever she’s telling him, James can read on Sirius’ face that it’s valuable. It’s what they want to
know. Cheeky bastard. James is, against his will, impressed. Leave it to Sirius Black to flirt the
Dark Lord’s plans out of a vampire.
A quick glance to Remus and they silently agree to get a little closer, see if they can hear her, too.
Sirius will at some point have to find a way to disengage and they don’t know how she’ll react.
Vampires are notorious for their mercurial mood swings.

“So, you see, it’s rather brilliant,” she’s saying, coy and seductive. “The world at your fingertips, if
you want to reach out and grab it. What do you say?”

Sirius licks his lips, cocks an eyebrow. “I’m eighty percent convinced.”

“Only eighty percent?” she asks, twirling a strand of hair around a finger.

Is she pouting? Godric Gryffindor’s sword at the bottom of the lake.

Shameless, Sirius’ finger hooks on the collar of the vampire’s t-shirt.

“Show me this house of yours. Take me there,” Sirius says, sultry.

It strikes James that this is very strange. He has never heard Sirius sound like that in his life and
until this moment he had no idea how blessed that ignorance was. It feels wrong, to know what
Sirius sounds like when he’s flirty. Something James didn’t want to ever hear, he’s just discovered.
He’s extremely appalled to have this new and disturbing knowledge.

“Not for free,” she says, tugging on the belt hoops of Sirius’ trousers.

It is at that moment that James registers that Remus isn’t breathing. But James cannot turn to check
on him because Sirius is tilting his head and the woman looks delighted. Mouth open, fangs
glistening, she cranes her neck and—oh no. No. Fuck that.

James lunges forward.

No need.

The woman shrieks, fangs an inch away from Sirius’ skin. Remus’ hand tightens in her hair. He
yanks her back with such force her screaming is cut off abruptly. Vampires are stronger than your
average wizard, physically speaking. Neither James nor Sirius would have been able to simply lift
the woman off her feet by her hair and fling her across the alley like a ragdoll.

With a loud thud and the distinct sound of bone hitting bricks, she crashes against the wall and falls
unconscious.

“Merlin’s beard, Moony.” Sirius blinks in shock.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Remus growls.

“I was gathering information!”

“She was going to bite you,” James says, inserting himself in the conversation. “Are you mental?”

“James,” Remus says, never once taking his eyes off Sirius. “Secure the vampire before she wakes
up.”

Afraid isn’t a word that James would normally attach to his relationship with Remus. But he’d be
lying if he said a trickle of apprehension didn’t run down his spine at the sheer danger brimming
just under Remus’ tone.

Scoffing, James conjures a set of ropes and goes about securing the vampire. He’ll have to gag her,
he thinks. Unpleasant business.

“She wouldn’t take me to their house unless I let her bite me,” Sirius is saying to Remus. “We need
to know the location! It was a good opportunity.”

Out of the corner of his eye, James catches a flash a movement. When he looks up, Remus has
pinned Sirius against the wall and is bent forward like he’s whispering to him. James can’t see
what’s happening, but a moment later Sirius makes a disturbing sound that’s way too close to a
moan for James’ comfort as Remus straightens back up.

“No one else,” Remus snarls. “For any reason, Sirius.”

Sirius is breathless, staring up at Remus with stars in his eyes. Remus shifts to check on the
vampire, and James sees a bite mark on Sirius’ neck.

Fucking hell.

Remus is definitely a kinky bastard.

James giggles. He can’t help himself. There’s an unconscious vampire at his feet, bound in magical
rope, and his best friend was just bitten by his werewolf boyfriend for flirting as part of a recon
mission. The whole thing is so bonkers James feels like he’s losing his mind a little bit.

Oblivious, Sirius reaches for Remus, muttering apologies until he caves and then they’re kissing.
Just like that. In the alley behind the pub they came to on Order business.

The whole situation is insane. Just. What are they even doing? They’re kids! They’re emotional
wrecks. Unstable at the best of times. Remus almost botched a mission because Sirius doesn’t
know how to get people to do what he wants if he’s not flirting with them, and James had no idea
what he was doing and Peter—

“We need to check on Peter,” James says, suddenly.

They’re still kissing.

“I’m this close to hexing you,” James shouts, tapping Sirius on the shoulder because he doesn’t
dare touch Remus right now. “Oi!”

Finally, mercifully, his friends break apart and James proceeds to swiftly step in between them.

“I’m finding you very annoying right now,” Remus comments, eyes dark and still trained on Sirius
who is blushing painfully. “Extremely annoying.”

“Oh, you’re finding me annoying? We’re on a mission. This is a fucking vampire, Moony,” James
says, irritated. “So, I would appreciate it if you could keep it in your pants long enough for us to
find Peter and return to Hogsmeade so Moody and Dumbledore can interrogate the vampire.”

Sheepishly, his friends take the admonishment and busy themselves with wrapping their prisoner in
the invisibility cloak. When she’s secured, they all walk out of the alley trying to look like nothing
untoward just happened.

We probably look suspicious as hell. Like a drug deal just went down in the alley or something.
He’s okay with that, he thinks. Better than what actually went down.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take him long to find Peter. He’s sitting at one of the outside tables of the
pub holding a pint glass. It’s practically full, so James guesses he ordered it to keep up
appearances.

“Alright, Pete?” James asks.

“They’re planning something big,” he whispers, voice a little shaky. He looks green about the
gills. “We need to tell Dumbledore immediately.”

***

Dumbledore and Moody meet them in Hogsmeade, in a small safe house on the outskirts of the
little village. As soon as they walk into the room, Moody’s wand is pointed at their faces. Frankly,
James thinks this is a bit over the top, but he answers when Moody asks him a random question. So
do his friends.

“All right,” Moody says, settling back onto a chair. “Debrief.”

“We brought you a present,” Sirius says immediately, unable to contain himself. His crush on
Moody tends to get the best of him.

Both Moody and Dumbledore look downright impressed when James yanks the invisibility cloak
off the vampire woman to reveal her, still unconscious—Remus very gleefully used a stunning
spell on her at the first sign of her waking—and tied up.

“She told me all sorts of interesting things,” Sirius says.

“Sir,” Peter interrupts. “There’s something else. It’s important. I heard… there were these two
Death Eaters. They’re planning something. An attack, I believe. They were discussing the regional
final in Doncaster. There’s a team from Burnley that’s almost exclusively made of muggle-born
players. They’re proud of it, you know? I think it’s their target.”

“A quidditch match?” Moody asks.

“Yes, sir,” Peter nods, looking frankly relieved that Moody is paying him attention.

“When is it?”

“How did you get her to talk to you?” Dumbledore asks, piercing blue eyes trained on Sirius.

It doesn’t sit too well with James that Dumbledore seems to be ignoring Peter entirely, but then
again, Moody is still talking to him. Surely, they simply divide and conquer. It makes sense,
especially if they’re stretched thin, which James knows they are.

Sirius tells Dumbledore. He’s shameless about it, too. Turns out he bumped into her when he was
doing his round and noticed she didn’t even flinch. Didn’t stumble, and she should have because
Sirius is considerably bigger and much more muscular than she is.

So when she’d looked up, seen his face, and smiled with blatant interest, he’d decided to flirt with
her. It had taken all of two seconds for Sirius to discover she was a vampire, and from there it was
a game of pretending to be interested enough that she’d consider bringing him with her.

Vampires love a human a thrall, after all. It’s not a secret.

To his credit, the old man doesn’t bat an eye at Sirius seducing an undead woman. He seems
delighted about his quick thinking and even more ecstatic over the fact that they managed to
capture her without making any fuss whatsoever.

“If the Death Eaters saw them, they would have thought they left together,” Remus says, stiffly.
“Sirius was very convincing. I don’t think anyone will be looking for her for a little while.”

“You have done truly outstanding work tonight, gentlemen,” Dumbledore praises them. James
feels his chest feel with warmth and expand a little to accommodate. “We’ll get our people on the
vampires immediately.”

“Are you worried sir?” James asks him.

“Yes,” Dumbledore says bluntly. “Dark creatures have been mistreated and discriminated against
by the ministry for far too long. It’s not surprising Voldemort is finding it so easy to bring them
into the fold. It gives him numbers and abilities we don’t have.”

“Albus,” Moody calls, straightening up from where he was huddled with Peter. “The kid’s right
this sounds major. I’m taking off to Doncaster now, will round a team—”

“Alastor,” Dumbledore cuts him. “We have little time before they notice this woman missing. I
need you to interrogate her. Send someone else to Doncaster.”

Moody looks at the prone vampire on the floor, then at Peter, finally back at Dumbledore. There’s
a new line around his mouth, one that wasn’t there in October when James first met him. The stress
of the war, James realises with a start. It’s taking a toll on him.

“The Longbottoms are in Inverness,” Moody says to Dumbledore. “I can’t reach them in time.”

“Send the Prewetts.”

“They’re in Spain chasing one of my leads.”

“Alastor,” Dumbledore says, and suddenly he sounds out of patience. Like he cannot be bothered
with this. “Send anyone you want. But we need to move in on the vampires before it’s too late.”

“Leave it with me,” Moody says, and that’s that.

####

Regulus suffers.

The brand on his arm burns. It’s relentless. A constant ache that he can’t shake, can’t stop, can’t
outrun. It’s there every waking moment. Scorching and itchy and sucking his strength for an entire
week, reminding him of what he’s done. The choice he’s made.

Annoyingly, Rabastan’s advice is solid. Slathering murtlap essence over the mark helps
considerably. It’s all Regulus does. The first week, he has no energy for anything else, like
accepting this mark has zapped his body of its vitality. And when things get a bit better, and he can
stand on his own even if his arm still hurts, Regulus simmers in misery.

For two weeks, all Regulus does is suffer.

Suffer from the brand. Suffer from the pain in his chest. Suffer from the legilimency lessons with
his mother that he insisted he pick up again the moment he could stand on his own, albeit a bit
wobblily.

Hell weeks, Regulus dubs them. Truly some of the worst of his entire life.
And then Evan comes.

The knock on his door startles him, because Walburga doesn’t bother and Kreacher knows better
than to disturb him if he hasn’t called. He’s about to shout at the intruder to fuck off when the door
opens and Evan’s blond head pokes inside.

“You alive?”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus sits up on his bed. “Not funny. It fucking hurts.”

Evan slides inside, shutting the door behind him. Gingerly, he sits on the chair against the wall,
right by the window. “You did it.”

Regulus shrugs.

“Can I see it?” Evan asks.

Absurdly, Regulus wants to say no. No, you can’t see it because then it’ll be real and I won’t be
able to pretend it’s not happening. But it is happening, and Regulus knows it. He can’t pretend
regardless of whether Evan sees it or not.

Regulus extends his arm. Evan does a double take, leaving the chair to come hover next to
Regulus’ bed. A sharp intake of breath is all the warning Regulus gets before Evan starts crying.

“What the fuck?” Regulus asks, alarmed.

“I’m—oh shit. Oh shit. I’m sorry,” Evan says, furiously wiping his tears which seems rather
pointless to Regulus because more keep coming.

For an excruciatingly long and very awkward moment, Evan fights to compose himself. He sniffs,
and uses his sleeve to dry his face, blinking very fast like that’ll prevent new tears from forming.

“What the fuck was that?” Regulus asks when he’s somewhat confident Evan won’t start bawling
again.

“I’m afraid, Reg,” he whispers, like it’s a secret. “I’m terrified. My father acts like it’s a done deal.
That I’m getting it. That I’m joining him. And then there’s Barty… he’s like obsessed with the
idea. He wants it so bad, Reg. To get back at his dad. And I love him and I don’t want to let him
down but I’m seventeen. I don’t—I don’t know if I want this.”

I don’t know if I want this.

The words land dangerously close to home, piercing Regulus’ chest like darts on a target. He
doesn’t blame Evan for being scared. Doesn’t blame him for feeling hopeless. But he does hate
him for bringing it to him.

Because Evan might be terrified of the mark and what it means, but he can take it with the guy he
loves. He can take it and share it with his father. He can go home and pretend Barty is just a friend
without fear that his mother will crack his skull open and peer inside. Evan will take the mark, and
he’ll like it more or less, but he’ll keep his happy next to him the entire time.

Regulus would trade places with him without hesitation.

“What would you do if you didn’t get it?” Regulus asks for something to say, caught of guard by
the whole thing.
“I don’t know. But that’s why I’m overwhelmed. I want to have time to think about it. To stress
over my NEWTs and check if my scores are good enough for whatever. There are a million things I
could do. It… fuck.” Taking a shuddering breath, Evan runs a hand over his face. “I probably
sound like a child to you.”

“You do,” Regulus says, deadpan.

Evan grimaces, then shakes his head like he can erase the moment he just had. “I’m sorry. I meant
to ask, how are you holding up? My father told me the funeral was perfect.”

Regulus doesn’t think funerals should ever be perfect, by the very nature of what funerals are, but
Mr. Rosier is who he is and he’s not going to start demonstrating any level of emotional sensibility
at his old age.

“It’s fine,” Regulus says. “He was sick for a while. It’s better this way.”

Solemnly, Evan nods like this makes sense to him. Regulus doesn’t add anything else. His dead
father is almost worse a topic of conversation than his friend’s existential crisis. Shifting on his
bed, Regulus gestures to the jacket hanging from a peg behind his door.

“Get me a cigarette, will you?”

He’ll blame the smoke on Evan if his mother barges in. Not that she has been doing that much
recently. It seems that Regulus taking the mark was all Walburga wanted. The moment Regulus
passed the test, held his ground, she backed off. She’s still his mother—insufferable and cruel and
just an annoying old hag—but she’s not going through his things or invading his privacy anymore.

And he’s getting so much better at Occlumency and Legilimency that he’s throwing her out of his
mind faster and faster these days and glimpsing some of her thoughts more and more often. It’s
satisfying.

“Ugh, I miss Barty,” Evan says. “He’s always smoking these days. It’s Remus fault.”

Barty has been dragged to Norway by his mother who wanted a proper holiday away from his
father, who is always working these days. They have family there, apparently. As much as Barty
hates his father, he’s always had a soft spot for his mum, so he didn’t put up much of a fight and
went with her.

“It’s fucking weird you call him Remus,” Regulus observes.

Because it is. Genuinely, what the fuck. He’s not sure how that’s happened, or why Remus even
entertains it, but on occasion one will find the three of them hanging out by the greenhouses and
smoking together. It’s bizarre.

“We’re friends.”

“Are you?”

Evan gasps in mock hurt. “What? You thought you were the only one who could ingratiate himself
to the Gryffindors?”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus lets a puff of smoke out. “Hardly ingratiating myself. I’m just sleeping
with one.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Evan mutters.

Regulus cuts him a harsh sideways glance. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, come on, Reg. We know it’s way more than you’re letting on. You’re not just sleeping with
him,” Evan says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You like him.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s just. Why won’t you tell us? Why lie to us? It’s not like Barty and I don’t get it, you
know?”

“Evan—”

“No, how are we supposed to trust you when you don’t even trust us with this?! It’s okay to like
someone, Reg. To love them, even,” Evan says, eyes narrowed in a challenge.

And no. Fuck that shit. Not right now. Not when his arm is branded, and the skull and the snake
have obliterated the star that James used to draw.

Evan can go fuck himself.

“I liked it better when you were crying like a child,” Regulus snaps.

Who does Evan think he is coming here to his room to talk about James of all things? Evan is
Evan. He’s not Pandora, who has the excuse of her dreams. He’s not Barty, who is insane but
Regulus’ first friend and gets a free pass because of it. And he’s most certainly not Dorcas, the
only one who’ll ever know the truth of this.

“Come on, Reg.”

“Fuck off, Evan,” Regulus says.

Sighing, Evan gets to his feet. “You know, if you keep pushing everyone away you will end up
alone, Regulus.”

The door clicks shut behind his blond friend, leaving Regulus in bed, with an arm that’s throbbing
something fierce, and an ache in his chest he has no idea how to dull. It’s already started to peel,
the mark. Like the first layer of his skin couldn’t withstand the darkness. Morbidly, Regulus picks
at it with two fingers and strips a thin line off. Like a snake, he thinks, faintly amused by how
twisted it all is.

Ah. Fuck.

Regulus lies back down on his pillows and reaches for a vial of sleeping draught. He’s gone
through his entire stash since he got the mark. As soon as it stops hurting, he’ll have to brew
several cauldrons of it. He also has to go through family heirlooms before he’s back in school,
because he recalls there being something that might help him and Dorcas with their communication
problem and he needs to find it. Not to mention, he has to continue researching because there is an
unknown number of Horcruxes left that Regulus has to find and destroy. He’s so fucking busy.

For today, though, Regulus just wants to sleep and forget.

And he does.

####

It’s unfair, James thinks as he knocks on McGonagall’s office, how one’s visceral reaction to a
person can change so drastically through no fault of their own.

Because of the war and her position as their head of house, McGonagall has the unpleasant task of
delivering bad news to her students. This means people no longer look at her with respect and a bit
of fear, but with mistrust and dread, like she’s the one deciding whose family gets destroyed next.

A couple of months ago, James wouldn’t have thought anything of being summoned to
McGonagall’s office on a Sunday morning. He would have assumed it had to do with Quidditch
and happily skipped over to visit Minnie.

Today, as hard as James tries to remain positive, he can’t shake the feeling that this is very much
not about Quidditch.

The door swings inwards, and James steps into her office. He likes McGonagall. Their Minnie.
She’s stern and strict but has let the marauders get away with bloody murder. She has even, on
occasion, given them biscuits instead of an admonishment though that has only happened when
they’ve landed themselves in detention over defending another student.

“Potter,” she says, and it hits James just how tired she looks.

His heart thuds dully behind his ribcage. James’ first thought is for his mother. Effie. Warm,
lovely, professional hug-giver, Effie Potter. She can’t be gone. If she was, James would know.
There’d be a shift in the world. He’d be able to feel it. His father, then? Fleamont. Monty, like his
friends call him. James’ hero. The person who taught him to ride a broom and that to be a true man
is to love and to feel and to never shy from it. He can’t be gone, either. James refuses to believe it.

Steeling himself, he meets Minnie’s eyes.

“Professor?”

“Your parents are perfectly fine, James,” McGonagall says, and James is so grateful that he slumps
down onto a chair. “I know that’s what on everyone’s mind these days.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, relieved beyond measure. He’s not even a little bit embarrassed to admit it.
“I’m sorry. I just—you bring the bad news.”

The fire is low, glowing in the chimney and sending skittish shadows over the stone floor of the
room, over the plush rug. He likes McGonagall’s office. Has some fond memories here with his
friends. It sucks that it has now become a place so deeply associated with grief.

Nodding sadly, McGonagall says, “I’m afraid I do have bad news. Just… well. I don’t really know
how to say this.”

James doesn’t think he’s ever seen Minerva McGonagall lose her composure. And yet, here, with
James, she seems at a loss for words. She blinks behind her glasses, hands clasped together over
her desk. Taking a fortifying breath, she tries again.

“There was an attack yesterday evening,” she begins, and James tenses so much the muscle on his
back that has been giving him trouble since Friday’s practice sends a spark of pain up to his neck.

“The regional match in Doncaster?” James whispers.

Visibly shocked, McGonagall stares at him. “How do you know that, Potter?”

“Dumbledore…”
“Ah,” McGonagall says, and she looks so disapproving James blinks twice to make sure he’s not
hallucinating her expression. “Well. Then. The attack was partially thwarted, ministry officials
were alerted and the perpetrators were caught, but unfortunately not before damage was caused.
There were casualties.”

“Casualties?” His voice is paper thin, but it’s all he’s got. He can’t, for the life of him, think of
anyone he might have known at that game. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You always thinks it’s not
you or yours, until it is.

“Miss Bates and her family,” McGonagall says, swallowing and clearing her throat. “I’ll be sharing
the news with the rest of the house but I thought you, as her Captain and friend, might want to give
the team a more private word.”

It takes James a terrifyingly long moment to piece it all together. He calls his team mates by name,
because they’re a family. They work as one, in perfect sync. Bates. Bates.

When it hits him, James has to grip the chair to stop himself from scrambling away from
McGongall like putting distance between him and the professor will fix it.

Olive.

His chaser.

Olive.

Peter’s girlfriend.

Fuck.

Later, James won’t remember saying goodbye to McGonagall. He won’t remember walking to the
Gryffindor Tower, crossing the common room and climbing the steps up to his dorm. Distantly,
he’ll have a blurry visual of his hand hovering over the doorknob for way too long before he found
it in him to push it open.

To James, it feels like one moment he’s being told Olive is dead, and the next he’s standing in his
dorm, looking at Peter and struggling to find words.

“James?” Peter sits up from where he was reading on his bed, a concerned expression on his face.

The curtains of Remus’ bed are drawn back, and then Sirius is sliding off it—fully clothed,
mercifully—and standing there, also looking at James with concern.

He has no idea what he looks like. Doesn’t know if there’s grief on his face, or pain, or anguish, or
a combination of all of them. James wishes he could go back and do it differently. Wishes he’d
forced his team to stay over the break for training. Wishes he’d never encouraged his players to
watch games so they can learn from others.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. James can wish all he wants. Olive Bates is still dead and he’s the one
who has to tell his best friend.

“Peter,” he says, clearing his throat. His hands are shaking. “I have to… I—something happened.”

“Are you okay?”

Immediately, James is surrounded by his three friends who can clearly hear the distress in his
voice. He loves them so much. All three of them—Remus, with his rough edges and the chip on his
shoulder. Peter—with his keen eye for detail and gentle but constant support for everyone else.
And Sirius.

Fuck. James is, selfishly and horrifyingly, very glad that it’s not Sirius he has to break this news to.
James isn’t sure he could ever break Sirius’ heart, not even by proxy.

It makes him feel so guilty James wants to scratch at his skin, like he’ll be able to wash off the
shame of his relief at being about to destroy Peter’s life, and not Sirius’. It’s horrible, but it is. And
James will have to live with that.

“Something happened,” James says, voice thick and sticky. “The—ah. The attack happened. And,
uhm, McGonagall called me to her office just now because, well. I’m—”

Pinching his eyes closed, James takes a breath. Then another. He has to say it.

Trembling, he forces the words out. “I’m so sorry, Pete. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” Peter says slowly. “My parents wrote to me this morning. They’ve been in
Cornwall. Nowhere near the attack.”

“It’s… fuck. Peter, I—Olive,” he chokes out. “Olive and her family were at the game. They didn’t
make it out in time.”

“Shit,” Sirius says, immediately shuffling closer to James and no. It’s not James’ grief that matters,
it’s Peter’s but Sirius can’t process that, or he can and doesn’t care, but he’s moved to comfort
James first.

And Peter notices.

Remus, who is a lot smarter than his boyfriend, has reached towards their shorter friend first
though, so the blow is less harsh. Terrifyingly, however, Peter still hasn’t reacted. He’s just
standing there, exactly where he’s been the entire time. Eyes a little unfocused but otherwise just…
still.

“Did anyone—” Peter starts. He has to stop, swallow. His eyes are now starting to get brighter.
Glassier. “What do you mean ‘in time’?”

“McGonagall told me that the attack was thwarted, and the perpetrators caught. But not quickly
enough to avoid casualties,” James repeats flatly.

Nodding, Peter presses his lips into a thin line. He swallows again, then takes a jagged breath. He’s
still nodding, like he’s perhaps talking to himself in his head. James waits. People grieve
differently, and this is Peter’s girlfriend they just lost.

James cannot allow his own grief to become bigger than Peter’s. He has no right. He was Olive’s
captain, and he cares a lot. But not more than Peter. And just because he feels things so thoroughly,
with such rawness it flays him open every time, doesn’t give him a right to overshadow Peter.
James is louder. More expressive. Never afraid to show his emotions. That’s not what Peter needs
right now, so James holds. He holds it all in and waits.

“You know,” Peter says, looking away, blinking fast. He’s lost the battle with his tears, and they
fall now over his cheeks, down his chin. “I’m pretty sure I told Dumbledore that it was important.
That lives were at stake.”
 “They did send someone,” Sirius tries. It’s the wrong thing to say.

“They sent the back up for the back up,” Peter snarls. “Dumbledore wants vampire allies and that’s
what he prioritized. Never fucking mind that I told them loads of people were going to go to this
game. Dumbledore knew lives could be lost, and he didn’t care!”

“Peter, I can’t imagine what you must feel right now,” Remus says firmly. “And your grief is valid.
But Dumbledore doesn’t have enough people to save everyone. It’s not his fault. The blame is with
the Death Eaters who did this.”

“But I told them!” Peter insists, curling into himself like if he becomes smaller, the pain will also
diminish. “I told them. I told them.”

And then he’s sobbing. Fully sobbing, breaking down.

He falls to his knees, face in his hands, sobs wrenching out of his throat. “I’m so sorry Olive.
Please. No. I told them. I told them.”

James goes down, too. He sits by Peter and brings him against his chest. Holds him there as he
rocks, and sobs. Remus and Sirius awkwardly arrange their legs the best they can to be as close as
possible.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” James whispers, over and over.

It takes a long time for Peter to exhaust himself. When he does, James picks him up and carries
him to his bed. Goes in with him, holding him because that’s what James would like if it was him,
and so he does.

Remus goes to the kitchens to bring back food, because no way they’re making it to dinner that
night, and Sirius offers to inform the rest of the Quidditch team on James’ behalf.

It’s a small thing, really, but James is so grateful. Because he, too, is mourning Olive. Not the same
way that Peter does, but he mourns. He knew her. Picked her as chaser. Nurtured her and taught her
tricks and cheered her every goal. But James hasn’t really had a chance to process it yet, too busy
helping Peter carry his grief.

The idea of telling the rest of the team feels daunting, and Sirius. Sirius knows. Sirius steps up.
Takes the weight off James’ shoulders so he can continue to keep Peter up.

Later that night, they all crowd on Peter’s bed and munch on food and talk about Olive. Peter cries
more than he talks, but he wants to listen. It was his idea. He wanted them to talk about her, and
James gets it. He thinks Peter wants to make sure Olive is remembered not just by him, but by
everyone.

People mourn in different ways and every way is valid. And Peter mourns Olive by sharing her
memory with his friends.

They stay up all night.

Chapter End Notes

Alright... so... minor character death tag is there for a reason ☹️

From the top - Barty and Evan being awkward AF around James because they know
Reg will come back with the mark

Sirius wanting to protect his little brother from grief and immediately wanting to find
him upon learning his father is dead?

And then, Regulus MF Black looking Riddle in the eye and pretending to be a loyal
little servant when he's planning bloody murder? UGH I LOVE HIM. But he got the
mark now. It's done. And the star was overtaken Sad Times.

SIRIUS BLACK FLIRTING INFORMATION OUT OF A VAMPIRE IS SO ON

BRAND FOR HIM? Like... genuinely. That man. No one can resist him. Like, the
only person he's ever been shy and awkward around is Remus LOL people who don't
matter? He turns on his charm and it's FUN TIMES

And James being the best friend ever to Peter and like... making his own grief and
guilt less so he can support him? MY BABY

Alright, this chapter was sad and heavy. I'm sorry! I promise most chapters moving
forward into war have a combination of sad/angst, action/fighting and tender/happy-
ish/good moments and some Wolfstar or Dorlene fluff. To balance things

How are we feeling!? See you in the comments section!!

Solmussa
 Believe this
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

I'm SO nervous about this chapter because things Happen and it's Sad and I'm sorry
but also, we knew this was coming so hopefully we're ready (I'm not, who am I
kidding)

TWs for this chapter:

Brief mentions of vomiting (no one is, they just feel like it due to stress)
Depictions of grief
Smoking
Sex (very brief, very not explicit, but it happens)

There aren't many warnings for this chapter but it's a heavy, angsty one so please take
care of yourselves!

French translation in the end notes.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Six years ago, Regulus got off the train in Hogsmeade and thought he might, perhaps, be sick all
over his shiny new Hogwarts robes. His eleven-year-old self was incredibly nervous—wishing to
be sorted into Slytherin but hoping for Gryffindor—and afraid. Regulus remembers wishing he
could cling to his brother’s sleeve for longer, wishing Sirius could stay with him until the hat was
placed upon his head. Hoping, small and afraid, that he'd be sent to the same house as his brother
and that Sirius would never leave his side again.

Today, Regulus steps off the train and climbs a carriage pulled by Thestrals—he’s been able to see
them since Christmas—and knows that the only reason he’s not been sick all over himself is that
he’s got unparalleled self-control, because his insides are a riot. Next to him, Evan is rigid and
Barty keeps throwing careful glances at Regulus, possibly half-expecting him to start shooting
curses left, right and centre. He’s in a foul mood, and his friends have picked up on it.

Through the carriage window, Regulus gets a glimpse of Hogwarts and tastes bile in the back of
his mouth. James is in the castle, waiting. Unaware.

The brand on the inside of Regulus’ arm stopped hurting a few days ago, blending into his skin and
going to sleep unless woken up by Riddle himself. And yet, as the Thestrals pull and they get
closer to school, Regulus swears he can feel it itching.

“I can’t fucking stand this,” Barty blurts all of a sudden. Evan looks at him, blinking in confusion.
Regulus, for his part, has a good idea of what’s coming. He knows Barty well enough.

Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, Barty looks at Regulus first. “Reg, you were a right dick to
Evan.” Then at his boyfriend, sitting next to him in the carriage. “Evan, you probably should have
known better than to visit Reg when he was in pain. He’s mean at the best of times, what the fuck
were you expecting? Now, please, let’s just… move on? This is awkward and I hate it.”
The truth is, Regulus isn’t even annoyed at Evan anymore. He’s not even being difficult on
purpose, for a change. He’s just fucking stressed because he’s going to break up with his boyfriend
as soon as dinner is over, and then shortly after, he’s going to pretend to break up with his best
friend, too.

Excuse him if Evan’s feelings are not top of mind for Regulus right now. But he does understand,
albeit a bit distantly at the moment, that once he cuts Dorcas off, he’ll wish he had Barty and Evan.
Because yes, the fight with Dorcas is going to be fake, but it will mean Regulus cannot be seen
with her anymore which reduces quite drastically their options for spending time together.

Besides, James and his friends have that fucking map and Regulus can't risk it. Genuinely, Regulus
hates them and their freaking genius.

“I don’t have a problem if he doesn’t have a problem,” Regulus says coolly.

Evan rolls his eyes. “It’s not very nice being your friend, you know?”

“We’re not friends with him for the warmth and cuddles though,” Barty points out, nudging Evan
with his elbow. “That’s your job, not his.”

“What’s my job?” Regulus asks, momentarily distracted from his impending doom. Trust Barty to
mange that.

“To take down our enemies and drown them in their own blood, obviously,” Barty says primly.
“And to help us with the shit no one else can help with.”

Despite himself, Regulus finds a small smile reaches his lips. For Barty. Because Regulus gets it.
Barty would never come to Regulus about a mundane issue. A fight with Evan or stress about
exams? Not a chance. He’d never expect Regulus to listen to a minor rant about daily woes or to
even help Barty with homework. Those things are for Barty to deal with and Regulus never to hear
about.

But when it truly counts—when Barty can’t figure out if he likes boys, or when his father has hurt
him so fucking much Barty can’t breathe—that’s when Regulus is there. That’s when Barty shows
up and bullies Regulus into helping, not knowing Regulus doesn’t need to be bullied into it at all.

“And what is your job?” Evan asks, curious.

“Fun. I’m in charge of making sure we have fun from time to time,” Barty declares.

Evan chortles, and bumps his shoulder against Barty’s fondly. Regulus watches, feeling the
jealousy bubble up inside of him. It’s going to be hard, he thinks. Being around Barty and Evan and
knowing they have what he wants but had to give up. Still, it’s not their fault. Regulus supposes so
long as they continue to keep it pretty much to the privacy of their beds, he’ll be alright. It’s not
like Barty and Evan make out in the corridors.

“Ah, fine,” Evan says, looking at Regulus. “You’re a dick, but you’re my friend. And I was pushy,
and I cried, but I’m your friend. So. We good?”

“We’re good,” Regulus confirms with a nod.

Before he’s ready for it, the carriage has deposited them in front of the steps of the school and
they’re walking up. They’re through the doors and crossing the entrance lobby towards the Great
Hall. And then Regulus is standing by the Slytherin table, and Rabastan Lestrange is welcoming
him back to school with bright, hungry eyes.
Regulus sits down between Barty and Dolohov, Rabastan across from him. Mulciber and Avery
are with him. So is Severus, who keeps stealing not-so-subtle glances at his left arm like he’s
expecting Regulus to roll back his sleeve and flash the mark to everyone.

Dinner is fantastic. A true feast. Regulus doesn’t touch it. He cannot bring himself to eating
anything. His stomach is a mass of knots and his throat is thick with the anticipation of pain. When
his friends tuck into their plates, Regulus takes the opportunity to look over Rabastan’s head
towards the Gryffindor table.

He finds Dorcas first. She’s with Marlene, who looks pale and red-eyed. With a pang, Regulus
squeezes his brain trying to remember if he heard any mention of the McKinnons having been
targeted. He can’t come up with anything, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Regulus has the
mark now, but he’s still far from being trusted with the inner workings of Riddle’s plans.

Like she can sense him, Dorcas looks across the hall and meets his eye. There’s sadness there, and
pain. She gives Regulus a small nod—they’ll talk later. Right now, Dorcas is with Marlene and
Regulus can read in their body language that Marlene really, really needs her girlfriend by her side.

Lily Evans and Mary McDonald are with Pandora a few seats further down. They also look quite
sad, which only confuses Regulus further.

After scanning the Gryffindor table twice, Regulus finally accepts that James isn’t here. Actually,
neither are his friends. This only makes Regulus feel worse. He would have liked to be able to see
James from a distance first to get himself used to it. Because every time Regulus looks at James his
breath hitches and his heart goes a little funny. His face wants to smile and his chest fills with
warmth.

Standing in front of James is looking directly at the sun and being grateful for the burn. It always
makes Regulus forget about the rest of the world. Nothing matters but the almond shape of James’
hazel eyes. The strength of his hands, so large and firm on Regulus’ waist. The way his wild hair
sticks up in all directions, ready and waiting for Regulus’ fingers to tangle in it and make it worse.
The way James’ voice drops low when he whispers sweet nothings in Regulus’ ear, or how he
smiles when Regulus tells him a new fact about muggle inventions that James simply must put to
the test immediately, no matter how absurd.

Fuck.

Regulus shoves himself to his feet without warning. Barty shoots him an alarmed look.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got something I need to do,” Regulus replies sharply.

“You haven’t touched your food,” Rabastan notices, frowning. “Are you alright?”

It’s strange that Rabastan cares enough to notice. Regulus knows it’s not born of anything even
remotely close to friendship, it’s all a power play. But still. Whatever the reason for Rabastan’s
interest in Regulus, it’s jarring that there’s a new person bugging him about skipping meals every
now and then.

“I ate too much crap on the train,” Regulus lies.

Barty and Evan exchange a glance, because they know this is categorically untrue, but they don’t
say anything, loyally keeping their mouths shut.
“Ah. Fair enough.”

With a stiff nod, Regulus leaves the Great Hall. He climbs the stairs through the empty castle until
he reaches the seventh floor. The door doesn’t appear when he approaches, so James isn’t here.
Regulus isn’t sure if this is better or worse. All he knows is that as he steps into the Come and Go
Room—asking it for his room in Grimmauld Place because it seems fitting—his gut is a clenched
fist.

Regulus waits.

It’s a peculiar kind of torture, this waiting. Like a man sentenced to death being asked to kick his
own stool under the noose, except he doesn’t get to decide when he does it. Get the signal, break
your own heart. Regulus knows what’s coming. He’s chosen this, and he has no doubts that it’s the
only way forward, but it won’t make it any easier. It won’t make it any less painful.

Time bends and twists itself around Regulus, choking him as he sits in the room and watches the
door, begging it open, yet dreading it at the same time. He feels as though the minutes are passing
both very quickly and very slowly all at once.

James doesn’t come.

Regulus stands. He paces the room. Smokes cigarette after cigarette. Plays with the snitch in his
pocket. Sits down again only to spring back up because he’s got too much anxious energy inside of
him to be still.

Does James know already? Is that why he isn’t coming?

Impossible. How would he know? But what if he could somehow sense it? No. It can’t be.

There must be another reason James isn’t coming. Why James didn’t go to dinner either. But what?
What could have happened? Perhaps Regulus should go to the Gryffindor Tower and get someone
to ask James or Sirius or even Remus to come out. Just to make sure James is alright?

Fuck, where is he—

The click of the door sends Regulus’ stomach hurtling all the way to his mouth, and he has to press
the back of his hand to his lips because he’s otherwise going to spill over his shoes.

James is here.

And Regulus wishes he weren’t.

“Hey,” James says quietly. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

The ink in his arm feels like it weighs a million pounds. Regulus can’t speak. He can’t breathe.
James is here. He’s here. For the last time. After tonight, James will never look at Regulus the
same way again and that’s—

“Reg?”

“Hi,” he says, barely a whisper.

Stepping closer, James seems to realise for the first time that they’re in Grimmauld Place. He
scrunches his nose, then looks down. “I’m… something happened, and I’m… I don’t—” A pause.
James clears his throat. “Can I just hold you? I don’t—I’m not sure I can do much else tonight.”
Say no. Show him the mark. Get it over and done with.

But Regulus is weak, and his love for James is strong. Stronger than he is. Before he knows it, he’s
crossing the space, finding James waiting, putting his arms around him. “What happened?”

James breaks. He takes a sharp inhale, then beings to weep, burying his face in Regulus’ curls.
Alarmed, Regulus pulls back so he can look at James’ face, but he’s a bit out of it, just shivering
and crying and completely incoherent.

Gingerly, Regulus leads James to the bed. James sits down, then reaches for Regulus and pulls him
onto his lap, crying against his chest. James clings to him like it’s the only thing he ever wanted,
like he's the one thing keeping him together, and Regulus can’t do anything but let James have this.
What he needs.

“Olive is gone,” James whispers in between sobs. “She’s gone. And I… Peter is so devastated. And
I don’t know how to make it better. And it hurts because she was so young and bright and had so
much potential. I can’t—it’s fucking horrible, Reg. It hurts. It hurts.”

It takes Regulus an embarrassing amount of time to figure out who Olive is. In the end, it’s the
mention of Peter that does it. Olive is the girl chaser in James’ team, the one who’s dating
Pettigrew. Personally, Regulus couldn’t care any less that something has happened to her, but
James is grieving and it’s so raw and desolated that Regulus knows he can’t tell him tonight.

He's not sure what that would do to James, and Regulus wants to break his heart, not him. The
whole point is to ensure James is safe. That he can pick up the pieces and have a better life. One
past the war and the death and the pain. The kind of life Regulus could never give him. If Regulus
kicks him while he’s down, he’s not sure James would recover. He feels too much. It’s a beautiful
thing, but it’s also dangerous.

“Hey,” Regulus whispers. “Let’s lie down, okay?”

James lets him lead him further up on the bed. Regulus makes him lie down, then takes off his
shoes. James is quietly crying, hugging a pillow to his chest, eyes staring at the wall. Carefully,
Regulus puts James’ shoes down and takes his own off before joining him on the bed.

“Turn around,” Regulus says gently. “I’ll hold you.”

It’s a bit awkward because James is bigger than him on all accounts, so Regulus wrapping himself
over his back isn’t as smooth as he’d like. He does his best, curving his body to fit the gentle slope
of James’ spine and putting his arms around him.

“Reg?” James mutters.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

You’ll hate me soon enough. You’ll forget me, and find someone new, someone better. You’ll be
happy and build a life. You’ll look back and think of me as some boy you dated for a while, the one
who hurt you and betrayed you and doesn’t deserve you wasting any brainpower on him.

But it’s okay, because I’ll love you anyway. I’ll love you forever. Even when you love someone
else, I’ll still love you.

Je t’aimerai toujours.
“Get some sleep, James,” Regulus says, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

***

Regulus waits.

He doesn’t tell James about the mark, doesn’t break up with him. Doesn’t do anything but hold
him all night. James sleeps, Regulus doesn't.

In the morning, James barely manages to force himself out the room to go face the day, and
Regulus stays behind for a moment because he still can't breathe.

It’s eating him alive, this thing he’s got inside. The knowledge of what he’s done, of what he’s
about to do, gnaws at him. It chews on his soul, taking a little bit more with each day that passes.
But Regulus can’t tell James. Not yet.

Not when James is hanging on by a thread.

So the first day goes by, and James doesn't know, and Regulus does, and this extra time is both a
gift and a slow torture.

Later that afternoon, Regulus is once again waiting. The smoke of his cigarette bounces off the
glass before escaping through the small crack he’s opened to let fresh air in. Barty and Evan are
off somewhere with Rabastan, and Regulus is waiting for Dorcas in their dorm.

He hears her before he sees her, soft steps on the stone floor, the click of the door shutting behind
her.

“Hey,” Dorcas says softly, voice dangerously close to breaking on just that one, simple word.
“Good break?”

“Dorcas…”

“I kept telling myself I was ready. I don’t think I am ready,” Dorcas says slightly desperately. Her
eyes are big and frantic, and her hands are shaking a little bit. “Fuck. Reg. Did you do it?”

“Yes.”

Dorcas swallows, nods stiffly. She blinks very fast, looks away, then at Regulus again. He can see
her struggling to find the words to say next. And Regulus wants to help, but he doesn’t know how
either. He told Dorcas it would be dangerous. That it would be too much. That he didn’t really
deserve anyone going out of their way to help him.

She did it anyway, and now here she is, regretting it less than a month later.

“I’m sorry you had to do this,” Dorcas says, surprising Regulus so much he almost drops his
cigarette. “I wish you hadn’t needed to. I’m just… I understand you’ve got a plan, and this is part
of it. And honestly, Reg you’re the smartest person I know so I trust whatever it is you’re
preparing yourself to do, but I—”

“You don’ t look like you do,” Regulus points out.

Shaking her head, Dorcas steps closer. “It's not that. It's just... Fuck. It’s unfair. You’re a kid. I’m
not… I’m not having doubts about being in it with you. Never. You’re my best friend and I’ll
follow you over a cliff. I’m just raging that you are in this position. It’s unfair, Reg. You deserve
better. Happiness and all the things a kid of sixteen should get to have. That's why I'm...” She
chokes on the words, looks away, tears in her eyes.

Oh.

Well. He can’t argue with her on that, can he? She’s right. But it also won’t change anything. Still,
a trickle of warmth spreads from the centre of Regulus’ chest, wrapping around his ribcage and
holding him together like a hug from the inside. Dorcas understands, and he loves her for it.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he says, looking out the window.

“Always.”

“I wish it weren’t up to me,” he whispers. “I don’t want to give up James. I don’t want to pretend-
fight with you. I don’t want this fucking thing on my arm. But it has to be me, Dorcas. It can only
be me. So here we are.”

“You’re not alone, okay?” she says quietly, shuffling closer until he can smell the sweet oil she
uses for her hair. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Regulus repeats. He’s told her a million times, and he knows Dorcas
doesn’t care, but he has to remind her anyway.

She shrugs, looks out the window. “I know. You’ve said. I’m doing it anyway. Did you have any
time to think about how we might communicate once we can’t be seen together anymore?”

“Actually yes,” Regulus says, twisting on the windowsill to point his wand at his truck. He
summons the small velvet pouch he packed with his things and catches it out of the air. “I was
knocked out for about a week after I got the mark, but I had a couple of days to go through the
heirloom collection. There were a few things that could have worked, but I settled on these.”

Dorcas watches with interest as Regulus pours the contents of the velvet pouch onto his palm. Two
rings. Silver snakes with two small stones for eyes—emeralds—that stretch over the finger when
you wear them. They’re quite beautiful, which is lucky because Regulus would have hated to wear
ugly jewellery for the sake of his mission.

“You’re giving me a ring?” Dorcas asks, examining them curiously. “However will I explain to
Marlene?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he chuckles lightly. “Here. Put it on.”

Dorcas does. The ring fits her middle finger nicely, the snake spread from knuckle to knuckle. The
emeralds are a little dull at the moment, but they still look great against her dark skin.

“Alright, so,” Regulus says, putting the other ring on his index finger. When the rings have settled,
Regulus gestures for Dorcas to bring her hand closer to his. “These rings are connected to each
other. They used to belong to a married couple somewhere in my family who apparently spent their
time being disgustingly romantic.”

Dorcas huffs a laugh.

“Yeah. Anyway. The point is the rings should help us communicate with each other. They’ve been
deactivated for years, but the spell didn’t seem too complicated. I’m going to re-kindle the link
now. Ready?”
“Go on.”

Both hands hovering in the air next to each other, Regulus casts the spell to activate the magic of
the ring. He focuses on Dorcas, on how he feels about her. His best friend. The one person who’s
chosen him no matter what. Dorcas is risking her life to help Regulus and he is gifting her this ring.

The magic takes hold, making the snakes glow in a faint green light for a moment before it settles.

“What’s that?” Dorcas gasps.

“That’s the link between the two rings. It’s established now,” Regulus explains. “The theory is that
you should be able to sense me and I should be able to sense you as long as we’re wearing them.
Better yet, we should be able to talk through them, too. Like in our heads.”

“You’re going to be in my head? Wait. You’re letting me be in your head?”

“No,” Regulus replies. “Obviously not. It’s not that you can see what I’m thinking. It’s more of…
you know what a telephone is?”

“The muggle thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Lily explained it to me,” Dorcas says.

“Well, it’s kind of like a telephone. Mind to mind. So, you have to ask me, mentally, and if I want
to let you in, then I say yes and we can talk. And you can sense like… general emotional state, but
not so specific you’d know exactly what’s going on.”

“That’s amazing.”

“If something really bad or really good happens we might get like a pang of strong emotion,”
Regulus says. “So, if you’re going to… you know, with Marlene. Take it off, maybe? Don’t
traumatise me.”

Dorcas laughs wickedly. “Alright. Noted.”

The look of admiration on Dorcas’ face makes Regulus feel a little giddy. He thought this was the
best option of all the ones presented to him, especially because the rings were the only artifacts that
were made with love. The others were all dark objects meant to subjugate one person to another.
Regulus couldn’t imagine using any of them on Dorcas.

“How does it work? What do I need to do?” Dorcas asks, turning her hand this way and that to look
at her new ring.

Sighing, Regulus admits, “It’s a bit tricky at first. Apparently, it takes practice. You have to focus
very hard. You’ll know it’s working because the eyes will glow a little.”

“Do they work inside the school?”

“No reason why they shouldn’t,” Regulus says casually. “I wanted to give this to you now because
I don’t know when we’ll be able to see each other like this again, and because we have to
practice.”

Twisting it a little on her finger to better adjust the fit, Dorcas observes the ring with a thoughtful
expression before looking up at Regulus again, smiling. “Alright, then. Let’s practice.”
The next hour is spent with heads bent over their rings and eyes pinched in concentration. Regulus
wasn’t lying. Establishing the link between the two rings is easy, but learning to hone in on it, to
use it properly, it takes a lot of effort and focus. The feeling is like an invisible cord stretching from
one ring to another.

That first hour, neither of them manage to feel anything at all through the rings but Regulus insists
that they’re making progress, and that all it takes is focus and patience. Through sheer
stubbornness and refusal to give up, by the second hour they manage to activate their connection
and Dorcas get incredibly excited when she can feel Regulus through it, before immediately
frowning at him.

“Salazar’s socks, you are drowning in anxiety.”

“I didn’t give you this for you to spy on my anxiety levels. I gave it to you so we can talk when
we’re apart,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes.

“It’s because of James, isn’t it?” Dorcas asks softly.

And well. Yes. “I haven’t told him yet.”

“I know. I’m pretty sure the entire castle will find out when you do,” Dorcas points out. “James
isn’t subtle. And Sirius isn’t going to take it well, either. Is it because it’s hard to tell him or why
haven’t you?”

It takes enormous self-control not to flinch at the mention of Sirius, because Regulus has been
pretending that upon hearing the news, his brother will simply fade quietly into the background
where he’s been for the past two years. One can dream.

Instead, he scowls at Dorcas for suggesting he’d be so weak as to not do this simply because it’s
hard.

“James was a mess last night. Barely got a word in. He’s grieving that chaser girl that died,”
Regulus says, shrugging. “It would be like kicking a puppy.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good.”

“What’s good?”

“Well, around his friends James is acting like he’s not grieving, too. He’s so gentle with Peter, just
being there for him all the time. And he’s also supporting his team. Marlene says he offered to talk
to anyone who needs it, as though he isn’t upset too. I was a bit worried, but if he’s letting it out
with you, then that’s much better,” Dorcas says.

“Fucking saviour complex,” Regulus mutters, shaking his head.

Against his will, Regulus feels himself softening a little over the thought of James. He’s too pure,
too good for this world. He wonders with a pang whether the war will make him tougher, file away
the warm glow of his presence until he’s another dull soldier. Perhaps James will get to keep his
spirit. Regulus hopes he does, because the world is a better place for having James Potter in it. And
what’s the point of surviving the war if it kills all the good things of the people who you fought it
for in the first place?

“I’ll tell him as soon as he stops falling to pieces the minute he sees me. I don’t know how long
that’ll take.”
“We’ll fight immediately after,” Dorcas tells him, wrinkling her nose in distaste. She doesn’t want
to stage a friendship breakup any more than he does, but it’s necessary. “I’ll come here. I don’t
want to do a big public thing.”

“Alright. How will you… ehm find out?”

“The Gryffindors will all know as soon as it happens. James… I’ve no doubt I will hear about it
immediately, so it’ll make sense for me to come looking for you and then... Yeah. I’ll tell them
we’re through.”

It’ll work, Regulus knows. There’s no way anyone will not immediately hate him for breaking
James’ heart. Regulus will hate himself. Already does. No one will question that Dorcas, who’s
practically been adopted by the Gryffindors, would side with them. Especially those who learn
Regulus has been marked.

The other side might be harder, he thinks.

“Barty and Evan will try to talk to you,” Regulus says, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it
with his wand.

Dorcas looks pensive for a moment, emotions churning in her eyes. The topic of Barty and Evan is
a tricky one, because Dorcas has a better moral compass than Regulus does. For her, someone who
can make new friends easily, a bond forged in childhood isn’t enough. Not if the people she forged
it with have changed and turned down a path she doesn’t approve of.

He doesn’t mind, not really. Barty and Evan are his friends, and that’s enough for him. Sure,
Regulus would prefer that they weren’t so keen on joining the Death Eaters, but he can hardly
judge their choices. So he doesn’t.

After a long pause, Dorcas glances at Regulus. “You’re not going to tell them truth, are you?”

“No. It’s too risky. Barty looks at Rabastan with that wild glean in his eye that makes me want to
punch him. I can’t tell them,” Regulus admits with a shrug.

“They wouldn’t betray you,” Dorcas says.

“The Dark Lord can read people’s minds, Dorcas.” Regulus sighs, leans back. He’s tired. “Them
not knowing is the only way we’re all safe.”

Dorcas bites her lip, visibly uncomfortable. She fidgets with the brand new ring on her finger.

“Go on. Just say it,” Regulus snaps.

“If Barty and Evan take the mark willingly and not for… not to help you or whatever… I can’t…
not even after the war is over,” Dorcas says quietly. “If they take it, they won’t be doing it like
you. They’ll be doing it—”

“They’ll take it because they want to,” Regulus says, nodding. “I know.”

“I’m not okay with that,” Dorcas says firmly, even though she looks pained. Regulus admires her
for this, for sticking to her convictions even if it costs her good friends. “So, I can’t… My fight
with them won’t be fake, Regulus. I need you to know that because if we all survive the war, and
come out the other side, I won’t be friends with Barty and Evan anymore. I can’t.”

“That’s up to you, Dorcas,” Regulus replies. “They’re my friends. You’re my friend. I don’t give a
fuck if you are friends with each other or not.”

Looking down at the snake on her hand, Dorcas nods. “I get to hang out with you until it happens,
right?”

“Probably best if you don’t spend too much time around me,” Regulus replies. “Easier to sell you’d
just give up on a friend you didn’t care that much about in the first place.”

“Okay. But Regulus? I care. Just… remember that. Remember I care,” she whispers, fingers
circling her wrist where the unbreakable vow rests, invisible to anyone but to Dorcas and Regulus,
the subjects of it.

####

It takes a while for James to feel like himself again. First, he’s forced to relive the pain of losing
Olive when he has to hold an extraordinary try-outs session to find a new chaser. Then, he has to
force himself to find a replacement, which hurts more than he’d like to admit to the new girl—
Lucie. It’s not her fault what happened, and she’s really good.

But she’s not Olive.

Peter spirals downward, and it’s so heart wrenching that James can barely breathe around him.
He’s withdrawn into himself and goes from lesson to lesson with his eyes down, shoulders hunched
forward. Despite how painful it is, James tries. He tries every day. Barely leaves Peter’s side.
Makes jokes, and offers to do Peter’s homework, and plays chess with him in the common room
until Peter asks him to stop because he’s just really bad at it and it’s not helping anyway.

Sirius and Remus try, too. So hard. Sirius is carrying the Quidditch team on his back, with help
from Marlene. Together, the two beaters step up to keep the spirits high, supporting James’
decisions and cajoling everyone into doing their best on the pitch during training.

When they’re at practice, Remus takes the shift with Peter. They raid the kitchens together for
Peter’s favourite foods, and, sometimes, they come to watch the team train because it makes Peter
feel closer to Olive’s memory. She really loved Quidditch.

The rest of the time, all three of them do their best to come up with absurd ideas for entertainment
that more often than not end up with a minor fire somewhere in their room. James wishes it made
Peter smile, but it never does. They keep trying.

The worst part is that it’s not just Peter. Other members of his team haven taken to finding James
between lessons or after practice and asking him for a moment, which he never refuses. They want
to talk about Olive. Ask how James is coping so well. Beg for some sort of trick to move past the
grief of losing their teammate, their friend.

And James lies to them. He tells them Olive wouldn’t want their lives to stop because hers did.
That she’d want them to remember her but move on. Find ways to be happy again. He tells them
the best thing they can do to honour Olive’s memory is to cherish the good parts, to remember who
she was in a positive light without letting the loss bring them down.

The truth is that James isn’t doing well at all. He’s only pretending. He’s good at it, it turns out.
Smiles and warmth, jokes and kind words are easy to fabricate. He understands other people need
him to be strong. To be their happy. And he is, for them. For everyone.

No matter how heavy the weight of that responsibility is. James bears it.
And at night, in the Come and Go Room, he crumbles under it.

Part of him is worried Regulus will get tired of it. Tired of the crying, and senseless mumbling.
They haven’t had a proper conversation since Regulus got back, because James breaks under the
weight he’s carrying as soon as he’s with him.

And that voice in the back of his head tells James that there’s only so much Regulus will endure.
Every night, James expects Regulus to tell him that it’s enough. That he has to pull himself
together.

But every night Regulus simply curls in bed with him and holds him while James cries. They
haven’t so much as kissed since Regulus came back from Easter break. James can’t stop weeping
long enough to manage it. And Regulus doesn’t seem to mind it one bit.

In hindsight, James will think that should have perhaps been his first clue.

Eventually, things fall back into place. The shift is gradual, almost subtle. But it happens, and
before James knows it, life is kind of carrying on and people stop coming to him to unload their
own grief.

Olive isn’t the only victim of war, and the pain of her absence dulls when letters continue to arrive
and people keep losing family members. The Gryffindors find the strength to move on, to mourn
her but not allow that to drag them down into despair. They've got to keep moving. Keep living.

Quidditch practices stop being a sombre affair and slowly return to normal. Lucie proves herself a
fantastic chaser, and everyone works hard to find a new rhythm. Olive is gone, but they’re all still
here. Still breathing. And they have to keep moving.

The first night that Peter doesn’t shut himself behind the curtains of his bed, James feels like he
can breathe a little easier. Like the weight he was carrying lightens. He doesn’t go see Regulus that
night—sending him a note instead that he’s spending some time with his friends.

They play explosive snap, and then they sneak out to Hogsmeade and get drunk, toasting to Olive’s
memory until Peter dissolves into tears. It’s a good thing, James thinks. Staring the grief in the face
and allowing it to hurt. Being brave enough to acknowledge it and work through it. Peter feels
better afterwards, and when they all go to bed, he tells his friends he’s going to be okay. Not
immediately, but he will be.

Sleep has almost claimed him when there’s a soft rustling sound and then the curtains of his bed
part open to reveal Sirius.

“Can I come in?” he whispers.

“I’m asleep,” James mutters.

“No, you’re not.”

Without further ado, Sirius crawls into James’ bed, smelling of firewhiskey and cigarettes. He casts
a silencing spell and settles next to James, who groans and turns so he can face Sirius.

“What’s up?” James asks gruffily.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” Sirius says with a small smile. “Are you going to be okay?”

“What?”
Sirius gives him a pointed look. “You didn’t think you were fooling me with that act you've been
putting on, did you?”

“I’m—what?” James blinks, staring at his best friend with confusion.

“James. I’m your best friend. I know you better than I know myself,” Sirius says solemnly.
“You’ve been putting on a brave face for everyone else, but you’ve not been okay. So, I’m asking
you now. Are you going to be okay?”

James is struck speechless. He thought… well. He doesn’t know what he thought. Perhaps that
Sirius was too wrapped up in his new relationship with Remus to pay attention to him. Or that he’d
been avoiding looking at it too closely because James knows Sirius has been feeling a little guilty
over Olive because it was him who found the vampire, and if he hadn’t, Dumbledore would have
focused on the attack instead.

“Why didn’t you ask sooner?” James whispers.

“Because if I had, you would have spiralled, and we didn’t think that would have been good,”
Sirius replies simply. “You… fuck, James. You feel this responsibility for other people’s feelings
and it’s absurd and insane but it’s also what makes you you. I couldn’t force you to let it go.
Believe me, I wanted to. Remus stopped me, though. He said it would have been worse, piling on
guilt to the grief. So, we let you be for a little while.”

“You—what? I’m… I don’t know what to say.”

He genuinely doesn’t. Has no idea what one says to that, the care his friends showed in knowing
him well enough that even if it wasn’t the healthiest approach, it was what James needed. What he
had to do. And they let him do it.

Slightly taken aback by the whole thing, James asks, “Wait. You talked to Remus about me?”

“Of course I did,” Sirius says indignant. “I’ve been worried. But we also noticed you’ve been
sleeping away every night, so we figured Reggie was helping you. That you had an outlet for your
own grief. Were we wrong?”

“No. No, you’re not wrong. Reg’s been really good.”

James sighs deeply, mind reeling. He had no idea anyone had been paying attention to how he was
coping this entire time. Regulus, obviously, but he didn’t count because he didn’t know Olive. He
wasn’t grieving at all, so it was alright for James to let go with him.

But Sirius and Remus? They noticed, and they kept an eye on him, and they saw through his mask.
And they respected that James needed to help his people first. Fuck. He loves his friends so
fucking much it makes tears spring to James’ eyes.

“I just… my team was falling apart, Pads. I had to keep them together. And Peter… I—I was the
one who told him.”

“Hey. Fuck, I wish I could have done it for you.” Sirius pulls him in closer, wrapping himself
around James like he can absorb his pain through touch. It’s a very Sirius thing to do.

James clings to Sirius shamelessly, feeling like he can finally, finally, let go of the weight he’s
been carrying. Like he can share it with Sirius, because Sirius wants it, and it’s so much easier. In
bed, with Sirius’ arms around him, James feels like he can stand straight for the first time in weeks.
“I was so worried about everyone,” James whispers.

“It’s okay. You did an amazing job, James. But now you need to take care of yourself, alright? The
team is fine. Peter is going to be fine. Now, I need you to be fine.”

James nods, breathing deeply. His cheeks are wet, but he’s not crying anymore. There’s an ache in
his chest over Olive’s loss, but he knows he’ll be alright. And that thought scares him, because to
James it feels so… impossible. A person who was loved and cherished is gone from the world and
the fact that it can just carry on…

“It’s going to be like this for a long time, isn’t it?” James asks. “With the war. We’ll keep losing
people, and we’ll have to just move on and keep fighting.”

“But that’s exactly why we have to fight,” Sirius replies fiercely. “The harder we fight, the sooner
we’ll win. And then it’ll all be okay. Everyone will be safe. We’ll save people, James. I think…
instead of focusing on the ones we lose, we need to think of all the ones we save.”

And that… that is a beautiful thought. James knows they saved a lot of lives. Yes, Olive and her
family didn’t make it but there were dozens who did. Dozens who would have died if the attack
hadn’t been thwarted but who are alive today because Peter alerted Moody and Dumbledore.

“I like that,” James says. “Saving people.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says. “It’s kind of your thing.”

For the first time in two weeks, James chuckles.

****

The Come and Go Room is empty when James arrives. This isn’t surprising in the slightest because
James checked the map to make sure Regulus hadn’t beaten him to it. For the past two weeks, he’s
always got here first because James stayed in the dorm until late, hovering by Peter’s closed bed
curtains, waiting until he heard him fall asleep.

Just in case Peter needed him.

But Peter is better now. And so is his team. For James, that means room to breathe. To feel alright
again. He misses Olive, and doesn’t think he’ll ever truly stop feeling a little bit achey over the loss
of a girl so young with so much promise. But he’s ready to move on.

The cottage waits for him, warm and cosy and quiet. They haven’t been in it for a long time,
because Regulus has been asking for Grimmauld Place every night for some reason. James was too
consumed with grief and exhaustion to pay it much attention. Perhaps it was simply easier for
Regulus to keep it consistent. Maybe he thought it helped James.

While he waits, James fusses over the room. He fluffs the cushions, stokes the fire. Runs a hand
over the bed coverlet. He’s excited to see Regulus tonight, because James is conscious of the fact
that for the past two weeks he’s been a shell of himself. Regulus never complained. Not once. But
James thinks he must be tired of it by now. Surely.

They haven’t kissed. They have barely touched. And they haven’t talked, either. James feels a pang
of guilt when he remembers that Regulus’ father died before Easter and he hasn’t yet asked him if
he’s alright.

Shit. He’s been a terrible boyfriend.

“Oh.”

James turns to face the door, finds Regulus standing there staring at the room with wary eyes an
expression of surprise on his face.

In three quick strides, James is in front of Regulus, hands cradling his face. “Hey. Hi.”

Regulus’ eyes trace his face, searching. And James, who hasn’t really allowed himself the simple
pleasures for a while, looks back. Regulus is beautiful. James knows this, and yet it never ceases to
amaze him. The soft fall of his black curls, the smooth curve of his lips, the sharp line of his
cheekbones.

Unable to help himself, James runs his thumb over the line of Regulus’ jaw. His breath hitches, and
James can stand it no more.

James kisses Regulus and it feels like coming home. Their lips slide together, soft and warm. For a
heartbeat, it’s just that, and then Regulus’ tongue runs along the seam of James’ lips and he opens
for him.

The change in tone is so abrupt it gives James whiplash. As soon as Regulus’ tongue is in his
mouth, the kiss turns desperate. There’s no other word for it. Regulus’s hands tangle in James’
hair, holding on like he’s expecting someone to come and try to wrench James away. He presses
his body flush against James’, mouth moving relentlessly.

James’ brain evacuates the premises when Regulus’ hand slides down the front of his torso and
dips under the waistband of his trousers. James groans, and then he’s somehow pinned against the
wall and Regulus is on his knees.

When it’s over, Regulus rocks back on his heels and looks up at James for a moment before
standing. His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are flushed, lips swollen and red. There's spit on his
chin and fuck. Regulus has never looked more beautiful. James is a little delirious still, leaning
against the wall for support because that was possibly the best head he’s ever had. Regulus really
outdid himself.

But James’ got enough of his wits about him to reach for Regulus with the intention of tugging him
in. James wants to reciprocate.

And then Regulus steps back, out of reach.

“Reg?” James asks, blinking fast to dispel the fog of the aftermath.

“We need to talk.”

“Don’t you want to…” James gestures vaguely in the direction of the bulge in Regulus’ trousers.
“We can talk after.”

“No,” Regulus says firmly. “Now.”

There’s an edge to Regulus’ tone that makes James stand up straight, no longer leaning against the
wall. Quickly, he fixes his trousers, hands fumbling a little with the buttons. James shouldn’t be
nervous. There’s no reason for it, really. They have a lot to talk about, he knows.

And yet, he can’t shake the growing feeling of foreboding encroaching on him.

“Alright,” James says when he’s presentable. “Let’s talk. Is this about your father?”
It is very obviously not about his father based on the look of confusion, then shock that crosses
Regulus’ face. If James didn’t know better, he’d think Regulus had forgotten that his father died a
few weeks ago.

“Well,” Regulus says carefully. “I guess yes, in a way it is about my father. He died.”

“I know,” James replies. “I’m so sorry I didn’t ask you sooner. It was shitty of me. I was just—”

“James, it’s fine. I don’t care. My father died, there was a funeral,” he recites flatly. “That means
I’m Lord Black now.”

He’s—what? What does that mean? Lord Black. James doesn’t like the sound of it. He hates it, in
fact, because for so long Lord Black was Orion, the man who hurt Sirius. The father who stood by
when Walburga tortured their son and simply watched. It’s… it’s not a good thing, being Lord
Black.

But Regulus wanted this, didn’t he? To claim his title, he said. With all that it meant. And what is
that? James doesn’t know, but the way Regulus is holding himself—distant, out of reach,
guarded… doesn’t bode well.

Oh fuck.

“You’re sixteen,” James blurts, because he’s panicking and doesn’t know what this means or why
Regulus is telling him right now.

“It doesn’t matter. With Sirius disowned, I’m the Heir. My father died. I've inherited. That’s how it
works,” Regulus says slightly flippantly.

James feels the blood curdle in his veins. He can sense something bad is coming, but he can’t see
it. Like walking around in the dark. You know there’s danger in there, somewhere, but you have no
idea where it’s coming from or what it’ll do when it reaches you.

“Regulus,” he says carefully, “what are you saying?”

Over the past five odd months, James has practically memorized Regulus. Everything about him.
The way he moves. The way he speaks. The way he stands. And that’s perhaps why he knows
whatever Regulus is about to say is going to hurt. Because he stands tall and proud, chin raised
defiantly and not in the way that ends with them in bed.

“I’m saying that things have changed. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore, James,” Regulus says
without flinching.

“This?” James says faintly, heart pounding in his chest. “This?”

“You know. This,” Regulus repeats, looking at James like he’s not sure what the fuss is about.

And that—oh fuck that shit, honestly. James knows Regulus. It’s not the first time he’s tried to
push James away for some reason or other. If Regulus wants rid of James, he’s going to have to try
a lot harder than that.

“Whatever you think you have to do because you’re now the head of your house, I’m pleased to
inform you that you are fucking wrong,” James says, deadpan. “You can do what you want. We
can do what we want. We can make it work, Reg.”

“It’s not about what I can or can’t do,” Regulus replies, calm despite the angry glint in his eye. “I
told you I liked the way things were in here. And that I couldn’t think about what came after.”

“And I said that was okay,” James whispers, dread rising like a full moon tide inside of him.

Oh. They already fell apart over this once. And James… he thought he had time to coax Regulus
out of his fears. To show him that they could make it work together. That James would wait for
him while he finished school, coming to visit in Hogsmeade if possible, writing to him every day.
James had a plan for it.

He thought… well. Rather pathetically, James thought that if he loved Regulus hard enough, it
would inevitably lead to him changing his mind. Because how could he not? When James loves
him more than anything in the world. How could Regulus not want that? Love like that moves
mountains. It’s the kind of love that breaks empires and makes worlds.

James read once a story about a man who went to the underworld and took his beloved back from
the claws of death itself. He would do that for Regulus. He would do anything for Regulus.

Transcendental love. More powerful than any magic, any spell, any curse.

How could Regulus not want it?

But now, as he looks at him in this cottage that James never told him but hoped would one day be
theirs, James is beginning to realise that perhaps he was wrong.

“And then my father died, and things changed,” Regulus says.

“How? What—what does that mean?”

“It means I can’t do this anymore, James. You and me. It’s over.”

It doesn’t make sense, James thinks desperately. He’s missing something. Some crucial piece of
information.

“Why… you kissed me,” James whines. “And then you—I don’t understand.”

Regulus shrugs, like this isn’t tearing James to pieces. How he can stand there and discuss the
breaking of their world like it’s a change in the weather, James doesn’t understand. Regulus is so
fucking composed. So stoic.

“I didn’t say I’ve stopped wanting you. Objectively, you are still just as hot as you were when we
started, so I won’t pretend I’ve stopped being attracted to you. It’s just that it doesn’t matter
anymore, because it has to be over. Consider it a goodbye present.”

“A goodbye present?”

“It won’t be happening again,” Regulus says primly. “Ever.”

“But I love you,” James says. Like it matters. Like it’s enough. It should be, right? But Regulus is
looking at him like it’s not, and James doesn’t know what to do. What to say.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening. He feels blindsided. Should he have seen this coming?

“I told you we couldn’t be together once you left school,” Regulus says. “It was always going to
end this way. My father dying has simply moved up the timeline.”

A flicker of anger licks up James’ spine. “What—” He has to stop, take a breath. Because the
implications of that… fuck. James is shaking. “Are you trying to tell me you never had any
intention of even trying? When you said… what about—But you love me. Doesn’t that… doesn’t
that matter?”

“I feel stuff for you,” Regulus replies vaguely. “But I’ve had time to think over Easter break and
I’m not certain I… well. If I did, I think I should have been able to say it. I’m not sure it was that.”

“You’re… not sure?”

“I’ve never done this before. Never been with anyone this way. I got carried away,” Regulus says
calmly. “We’re kids, James. It happens. Things spiral and get intense, and then… well. We’re
hardly the first teenage couple to ever be a little over the top to then break up soon after. You’ll
move on before you know it.”

James feels like he’s about to crawl out of his own skin. He can’t contain the things that are
starting to wake inside of him, banging against the boundaries of body. There’s pain. There’s
despair. There’s fear. There’s anger.

Rationally, James knows he cannot be angry at Regulus for not loving him back. It’s not his fault.
Love isn’t something one can force. But that’s not the worst part. Because James, as much as it
hurts, could accept that Regulus simply didn’t feel things as intensely as James. Wouldn’t be the
first time—loving Lily Evans for two years didn’t magically make her love him back.

But Regulus, even if he didn’t love him the same way, planned to end this all along. It was
premeditated. He made that decision from the start and James had no idea. And that. That is the
part James can’t get over. He can’t process it. Can’t—

“You… you let me fall in love with you knowing you were going to end it? That’s… That’s so
fucking cruel, Regulus. Why?”

“You kept coming back,” Regulus says flatly. “And I wanted you too much to ask you to stop. I
told you, the attraction was always there. I could only push back so many times.”

Pain. Despair. Fear. Anger.

Of all the things, it’s the fury that wins. It roars to life, a monster in his chest that spreads its talons
and sinks them into the edges of James’ soul. It pulls, stretching it until he thinks it’s going to tear
open.

"Are you saying this is my fault?”

Regulus’ silence is answer enough.

James' voice spills out of him, booming like thunder. He’s so angry, and James doesn’t know how
to dial it down but he doesn’t want to because being angry is easier than hurting. “You used me!
You knew it was a temporary thing and you didn’t tell me. You made it look like it wasn’t. Like
you cared. All those things... gifts and dates and... fuck. Regulus, how could you just let it get so
out of control if you didn't... How? And I told you… Fuck—”

And James stops.

He stops, and swallows, and fights the fury. Looks at Regulus. Really looks at him. James knows
this boy. Knows what he looks like when he’s having a nightmare and clinging to James’ arms.
Knows what he looks like in the aftermath of killing someone.
James knows Regulus wears masks with ease of a circus performer. They fall over his face
naturally, perfectly. He hides the things he doesn’t want anyone else to see. But James isn’t just
anyone.

“I don’t believe you,” he says softly. “You’re good. I almost… fuck, Reg. You’re a manipulative
little shit. I almost bought it. But I don’t. You love me, and I love you, and whatever is going on,
we can figure it out.”

Something flickers behind Regulus’ eyes. An echo of the boy he loves, the one without this careful
mask of indifference that he’s wearing now. It’s there, then it’s gone.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No,” James says firmly. “I know how you feel. Regulus, you looked me in the eye and told me
you’d burn the entire castle to keep me. You may not have been able to say it in three words and
eight letters, but you’ve told me enough times you love me.”

“I also told you that I would do horrible things. And that I wasn’t a good person. And that I might
make choices you didn’t like,” Regulus points out.

“Horrible things to keep me safe,” James whispers. “That’s what you said. You’d do horrible
things to keep me safe.”

Tentatively, James takes a step closer because he hates the distance Regulus has put between them.
Hope rises when Regulus doesn’t back away. He’s staring at James, a calculating look in his eye.
But James won’t give up. He won’t let Regulus push him away, no matter what.

“James,” Regulus says firmly. “You can’t stop me from breaking up with you. I don’t care if you
believe me or not. I said a lot of things, and you said a lot of things. Some of them we meant, some
we didn’t. That’s how relationships go. You can’t hold me to something I said when I got carried
away in the dark months ago. Even if I meant it then, people change.”

Regulus takes off his jacket and flings it over a nearby chair, eyes still trained on James. “Did you
hear that? I got carried away. I’ve made no effort to hide that I did have feelings for you. That’s a
fact. The extent of those feelings is debatable, but you can believe whatever you want.”

Carefully, almost with painstaking care, Regulus unhooks the button of the cuff of his shirt on his
left arm.

James stops breathing.

“I always told you I wanted to stay where I was. I like being a Black. I wanted to take my place.
We both knew that meant this could never not be a temporary thing. If you deluded yourself into
thinking otherwise, that’s not my problem.”

Regulus rolls his sleeve up.

“And you know. You can continue lying to yourself if you’d like. But if you don’t believe any of
that,” Regulus says simply. “Then believe this.”

The ink on Regulus’ arm is ugly. It’s vicious. James can almost feel the evil rolling of it, coating
the back of his throat. He can’t breathe. He can’t see. Can’t think. His eyes blur and it takes James
a moment to realise it’s because they’re filled with tears.

James falls to his knees.

“No,” he says. “Regulus, no.”

“It’s over, James. It was good while it lasted,” Regulus says, picking up his coat and shrugging it
on, not bothering to unroll his left sleeve.

It hits James like a ton of bricks. This time, if Regulus walks out that door, James can’t follow.
He’s going somewhere James can’t find him. And James isn’t sure what he’s doing. He has no
plan, no speech. Nothing. All he knows is that James doesn’t want Regulus to leave.

He loves him. Despite everything. There’s a mark on his arm in the place where James used to
draw a star and it should make James hate Regulus, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t. Godric have mercy on
him, he’s a fraud. His morals are paper thin, as it turns out, because when it comes to this boy
there’s nothing he won’t overlook. What sort of person does that make James?

He doesn’t know. Doesn’t particularly care right now.

All James knows is that can’t just let him go. He can’t.

“Regulus,” James chokes as he walks towards the door. “Regulus, wait!”

He stills, hand hovering over the doorknob. Regulus doesn’t turn around, but James doesn’t care.

“Tell me you had no choice. Tell me you did it to survive. That they would have killed you. Tell
me you didn’t want it. I’ll understand. We’ll… we’ll figure it out. Regulus, oh fuck. You don’t
believe in blood supremacy. You’re not like them. Tell me that. I’ll forgive you. I forgive you
already.”

Regulus stills, body so tense he looks like he might break. And then, he grabs the door knob.

“No, James,” Regulus says coolly. “I’m not like them. Because I could have left. I could have said
no. I’m not bothered by blood purity, that’s true, but I want other things they can give me. I looked
the Dark Lord in the eye and chose him because I like power. I chose this. I wanted this, James.”

He looks over his shoulder then. Eyes like ice. “I could have stayed with you if I’d wanted to. But I
didn’t. I don’t. I don’t regret the mark. I don’t regret leaving you. So, no, James. I’m not like them.
I’m so much worse.”

With that, Regulus turns the knob. It seems to take him an eternity to cross the threshold. On the
floor, kneeling over the rug that James once thought might be in their future cottage, James watches
him.

Look back. Just once. Look at me. Please. Look at me.

Regulus doesn’t.

James loved him. And it wasn’t enough.

The door shuts, the sound like an axe falling. The bond that James had felt between him and
Regulus severed harshly, snapping back into James’ chest with a loud band that hit his heart right
in the middle, breaking it into pieces.

Pain is a curious thing. He felt so much of it when Regulus was talking to him. But now that he’s
simply sitting here on the floor, alone in the cottage of his dreams—dreams he now understands
Regulus never had—he doesn’t really feel anything.
 Jerkily, James gets to his feet. His movements are robotic, like his body is aware it ought to be
doing something, but he can’t fully remember what. Does he stay here? James can’t bear it. No.
He’ll never set foot in this room again.

Later, James won’t be able to recall how he made his way back to his room. He had the cloak, and
perhaps out of habit, he threw it over himself so he didn’t get caught. Other than that, James let his
feet make their way back on their own. His brain was static. Just white noise, buzzing where
thoughts of what just happened ought to have been.

It’s dark and quiet in his room. James crawls into bed, shuts the curtains. Rests his head on his
pillow, not bothering to change out of his clothes. He waits, and thinks this is when the crying
happens. Except it doesn’t.

James lies in bed, wondering how it’s possible that a month ago when they had the worst fight
they’d ever had, he threw up from the sheer agony of it all and now, when it’s final, over for good,
he’s… just there. Lying. Unmoving.

And he thinks, then, that perhaps that’s why. Because a fight born of anger felt, deep down, like
something they could solve. Like a blip, not an end. But there was no shouting today. No fighting.
Regulus was cold, calculated. Certain. Like a doctor amputating a dead limb.

The limb wasn’t a limb, but an organ, for Regulus walked away with James’ heart without even
wanting it.

Isn’t that fucked up? Regulus doesn’t want James’ heart. Perhaps he never really did. And he has it
anyway.

And maybe that’s why James falls asleep, still numb, not really feeling it. For how can his heart
hurt him if it’s not in his chest?

Chapter End Notes

French; "I will always love you"

***

I don't even know what to say

This chapter was so hard to write because there's the grief from losing Olive, and
processing that. And there's Regulus' anxiety and heartbreak while he waits for James
to be better. And then... yeah. That.

I spent a lot of time thinking of how it would go down, and in the end the scene almost
wrote itself. Regulus was absolutely stone-cold (because this is James POV) but if it
had been from Regulus' POV it would have gone similar to the previous fight. His
thoughts and his words/actions were not aligned

Only saving grace in this chapter is Dorcas. As always, the queen is there to support
and love Reg unconditionally. We love that for them. Regulus really needed to hear
that 'you're not alone'

From here on, the fic is a little more angsty in general but as promised we still have
lighter, fluffier moments. If you're curious, there are two more chapters that happen at
while they're at Hogwarts, and then it's war

See you (cry with you, maybe?) in the comments section. I love you all so much
 Heartbreak
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

This chapter is SAD (tm). There's no way around it. Regulus has some pretty bad
thoughts about himself and thinks about his backstory so it's a bit heavy. It's the
aftermath of the break up on all sides, so please do take care of yourselves!

TWs
Smoking
Mentions of past child abuse in various forms
References to sex (as in Reg thinks about the 'goodbye present' so it's just a memory
but his thoughts are a bit explicit)
References to terrorism / murder (Death Eaters)
A bit of magical violence (very brief)
Self-harm (one character punches something solid in a rage and repeats the motion
several times because he's having a hard time)

Not a lot of TWs but the chapter is definitely heavy so bear that in mind

See the end of the chapter for more notes

For someone who has been tortured and branded, starved as a child and locked in closets with no
light for hours on end, the threshold of bearable pain is pretty high. Higher than most people,
Regulus reckons. After all, he didn’t faint when Riddle marked him, and that was impressive
enough that even Bellatrix made a fuss.

Regulus is pretty sure he’s going to faint now.

The door to the Come and Go Room shuts closed behind him, and Regulus leans against it, letting
his head fall back. He knows James won’t come after him. Not this time. Not after what he said to
him.

That’s so fucking cruel, Reg. Why?

If James knew exactly how cruel, how selfish Regulus has been. Because James is right. Regulus
knew this had to end and he did it anyway, because he’s loved James since before he understood
what love was, and he was weak. A better man, a stronger one, would have refused him when he
first showed up. Would have said no. Stayed away. Regulus wasn’t strong or good. He was just
Regulus, and James was looking at him, listening to him, taking him on fucking broom rides. How
was he supposed to say no?

You used me.

That one hurt. It hurt because Regulus didn’t, not really. Not in the sense James meant. Regulus is
fucking choking on how much he loves James. He fell just as hard, if not harder. He fell first. So,
yes, he didn’t say it was temporary, and he was fine letting it get out of control, but that never, for a
second, meant it wasn’t going to break him, too. Regulus let James take a hit but never one Regulus
wasn’t taking himself.

I forgive you already.

Fuck.

Regulus knew he was bad for James. That he’d ruin him. But he never truly understood just how
much until he said that. Until James Potter, hero-extraordinaire, looked a Death Eater in the eye
and forgave him without hesitation. Regulus hates that he did that. That he corrupted James that
fucking much. James always deserved better than Regulus. He needs a person who won’t taint his
soul, drag him into the darkness. James deserves another sun, not twisted shadows.

He'll be safer, happier, without Regulus.

That’s why he had to do it like this. Why he had to make sure James will never chase after him
again. And yet… Regulus wants to take it back. He can’t. But he wants to.

It was the hardest thing he’s ever done. Looking at James and telling him he didn’t love him, not
really. That it was all just teenage infatuation blown out of proportion. That it didn’t matter as
much as he thought it did.

Regulus stood in that room and watched the sun fade. Every blow that Regulus delivered made its
blazing warmth flicker a little more. Until the ink from the mark on his arm reached out and
snuffed it out completely. The look in James’ eyes when he saw the brand will be forever etched on
the inside of Regulus’ eyelids.

That was the moment Regulus knew. When he saw the light go out behind James’ glasses. Hazel
eyes, dulled by shock and pain and sadness so deep, so thick it could flood the entire world. And it
was Regulus who did it.

He stood there, and snuffed out the sun, and then Regulus gave himself over to the shadows. Cold.
Pain. The cage opening inside his chest, welcoming him back. Bones and blood and silence in the
endless darkness. Because what is left when one’s turned off the sun?

It has to be this way, Regulus tells himself. He’s been over this. There’s no other way. He has to do
this, keep James safe. Find the Horcruxes and destroy them so Riddle can die. End the war. Give
his people a chance at a life.

For James. For Dorcas. For Sirius.

Regulus goes into his cage willingly. He steps inside, breathes the cold in. Ice like spiderwebs
spreading over his skin, seeping into his flesh. Pain is known to him. Comforting even though it
shouldn’t be. He’s here now, and he thinks, yes. I know you. I know this. Emptiness and jagged
shards of things that used to be and aren’t anymore.

It takes little effort for Regulus to lock the door and throw away the key. Bones and cold and pain.
Did you miss me? He wants to ask. I didn’t miss you, but I am back anyway because I don’t know
how to belong anywhere else.

And then he’s walking down the corridor, leaving his heart behind in a magical room that’ll never
see him again because he’s a murderer and why would he return to the scene of the crime? Regulus
slayed the sun, and he did it knowingly. Did it even though the sun held his heart in his hand, so it
would die with him.

Crime and punishment. Regulus deserves every ounce of the pain he carries now. He won’t shy
from it. Regulus accepts the hurt, the penitence for what he’s done. He’ll carry it, use it as his
shield, as the whetstone to sharpen his focus. The agony that bleeds from his heart with every step
he takes.

Each word he said to James tonight was a blade slicing through his ribs like a misericorde. And the
wounds pour blood, crimson and warm, thicker than water but just as wet. Regulus chokes on it,
gags on it until tears have sprung to his eyes and he finds himself on the floor of Myrtle’s
bathroom, head between his knees, and a ghost hovering over him while he weeps.

And if Myrtle is confused by his mumblings, if she wonders what he means by the sun and
shadows and the cage and the bones… well, she doesn’t ask. She stays with him, like she can sense
his pain and read it as true. She hovers, and simply keeps him company. A presence that can’t
touch him, but that he can feel anyway.

Regulus hugs himself and cries. His sip bones ache, and his back hurts from holding the position
for so long. His lungs complain about the humid cold around him. Fingers stiff and slightly blue.
Regulus doesn’t get up. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t change positions.

The boy who killed the sun deserves no better than the dirty floor of an abandoned bathroom
anyway.

***

Regulus has always hated himself a little bit. At times, more than that. It comes and goes, really.
For periods of time, Regulus didn’t really think he was worth much at all. Immediately after Sirius
left, he wondered if there was a point to him existing beyond that night. He’d done the one good
thing he’d ever be capable of doing. He’d got Sirius out. Sirius had left—both the best and worst
thing that ever happened to Regulus.

And Regulus stayed. In a house that was cold and empty, dark and broken under the veneer of
perfection. Alone at night, waiting for the nightmares to come and knowing he’d never again have
anyone to fight them off with. A younger brother without his older sibling. His hero, his saviour.
Gone. Never coming back. What did that make him?

Nothing. Less than nothing.

Regulus hated himself then. Thought he’d never amount to anything. Too weak to stand up to his
parents the way Sirius did, too weak to be selfish and keep his brother with him. Strong enough to
help him leave him, though. If that counted for anything. At the end of the day, Regulus always
loved Sirius more than he ever loved himself.

Unexpectedly, Barty helped. And Evan. And Pandora and Dorcas. They helped even though they
had no idea they were doing it, and for a while Regulus hated himself a little less. Still did, because
he was a boy crushing on other boys and that wasn’t right. It was, and Regulus didn’t fight it
because he knew better than to think he’d ever win. But he hated it. Hated that he only wanted that
which he shouldn’t have. Couldn’t have.

And then along came James. James and his warmth and his smiles and the way he looks at you
like you make flower blooms just for him. For a while, Regulus forgot to hate himself most of the
time. He couldn’t, not when James Potter was holding him like he mattered. Like he was precious.

James made Regulus like himself a little more, because if someone like James could look at him
like that… it had to mean something, right? Regulus was never entirely sure what, but something.
And that was more than nothing, and for Regulus that was everything.
What comes after everything?

Nothing, Regulus thinks. He’s back to square one. Except this time, he cannot give in and despair.
Time waits for no one, and Regulus is keenly aware of how crucial swift action is. He’s got things
to do. A plan, a vengeance. He can’t spiral into self-loathing.

Noise rises and falls in the Great Hall like tides. It swells, then quiets, then swells again. An ebb
and flow that follows no pattern or rhythm, only the whims of the hundreds of students gathered
under the charmed roof.

Regulus has always hated himself at least a little bit. Today, Regulus hates himself so fervently it’s
poisoning the food he’s trying to force down. Breakfast shouldn’t taste like grief, yet here he is. At
least coffee has always been bitter, so that’s close enough.

Across the hall, sitting at Gryffindor table, are a lot of people Regulus doesn’t care about. The one
he’s hoping to see hasn’t shown yet. Regulus isn’t sure he will. Part of him hopes James doesn’t
show up. But part of him wants to see him so desperately it hurts.

“Regulus,” Rabastan says, sliding into the bench next to him. “You’re up early.”

A half-hearted shrug is the best Rabastan is getting today. Barty settles in on Regulus’ other side,
and next to him Evan. Across from them, Mulciber, Avery, Dolohov and Snape sit down and being
to gather their breakfast.

The conversation is bearable today, at least. Regulus is grateful for the small mercy. He’s not sure
he’d be able to sit there and pretend everything’s alright if they were talking about their plans to
join the ranks again, like they do almost every morning.

Never mind that half these idiots aren’t smart enough to tell their right hand from their left. They’re
cannon fodder at best. It’s sad that they think they’ll ever be more than that. Regulus isn’t even
sure all of them will get the mark. Severus might, he thinks, stealing a glance at the boy. He’s
smart enough, and he invented that curse that almost killed Sirius.

The rest of them? No way. Mulciber is a brute. Avery gets flustered if the wrong person smiles at
him. Dolohov… well, alright. Dolohov might actually be a bit useful on occasion. He’s vicious
enough.

Having lost whatever dredges of appetite he had left, Regulus curls his ringed fingers around his
coffee mug. The snake stares at him, nestled neatly amongst his collection. He looks at it, the
beautiful shape of it, the emeralds it has for eyes.

And feels it.

Sharp.

A stab of worry so intense he coughs, startled. Barty turns to him, and he’s saying something, but
Regulus can’t hear him. There’s a strange buzzing in his ears, and that worry. It’s too intense, too
—

Oh. Fuck.

Are the eyes of the snake glowing a little? Or is he imagining it? Could it be?

Dorcas, he thinks forcefully.

To his shock, in his mind, a voice—her voice—floats, “Regulus?”

“Can you hear me?” he thinks, excited despite himself. He thought it would take them longer to
learn to use them. These things don’t exactly come with instructions.

“I can. How did we get it to work?”

“I’m not sure. I felt you—why are you so worried?”

“You told James.”

“Ah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t ask me stupid questions, Dorcas.”

“We’re coming to the Hall now.”

“James?”

“No. He’s not coming. Sirius stayed with him. I haven't seen James yet. Heard the news from
Remus.”

“Right. We’ll fight tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Regulus!” Barty puts a hand on his shoulder, gives him a little shake. It’s jarring enough that
Regulus slams back into his own body.

The connection with Dorcas snaps. Regulus can feel it go out. His emotions are his own again, and
her voice isn’t in his head anymore.

“What?” he huffs at Barty.

Barty gestures with his head, a pointed look of alarm on his face. When Regulus looks, it becomes
clear why. Remus Lupin is standing at the entrance of the Hall, staring at him with the promise of
murder in his eyes.

“What the fuck is his problem?” Rabastan asks.

For a moment, it looks like Remus might actually come over and confront him right here. But he
knows better than to do something stupid like that. He’d have to expose James, and there’s no way
Remus would do that to him. Not to a table full of bigoted Slytherins.

Face like thunder, Remus walks over to Gryffindor table to sit with Pettigrew, who looks a bit
worse for wear but seems to be doing better than he’d been before. Regulus guesses that’s why
James was okay last night. Why he came in first and looked at Regulus with a smile when he
arrived.

Truth be told, it caught Regulus by surprise. He had been ready for more sobbing, grieving James.
He was unprepared for a James that wanted to kiss and touch and be. He knows he shouldn’t have
got carried away, shouldn't have gone on his fucking knees, but oh well. It’s done, and deep down
Regulus doesn’t regret it. One last hurrah, if you will, because Regulus didn't know how to keep
his hands, his mouth, to himself when James was right there. Was it a bit selfish? Yes. But also,
does it matter at this point? Of all the shitty things he's done, sucking James' dick before breaking
up with him doesn't even make the top five. Regulus knew it was the last time, and he made sure it
was fucking good for James. Pettily, Regulus thinks it'll be hard for anyone to ever top that head,
and he likes the thought.

And then he wonders, distantly, if he’ll ever kiss anyone ever again. Something tells him that’s
highly unlikely.

“Are you going to let him stare at you like that?” Mulciber asks, twisting back to face the table
after shooting a look at Remus.

“No,” Regulus drawls.

“Well, then?” Avery adds, eager.

“This is exactly your problem. You’ve no patience. No finesse. I will catch Lupin by surprise. And
it will be when they’re not looking.” Regulus points at the table where all their teaches, including
Dumbledore today, are eating breakfast.

Barty and Evan huff a laugh at the sheepish looks on Mulciber and Avery’s faces. Rabastan is
smiling, too. He claps a hand on Regulus back, curling his fingers over his shoulder.

And no. Absolutely the fuck not.

Regulus looks at Rabastan, a sideways glare that he was clearly not expecting. It cleans the smile
right off his face.

“Touch me again, Rabastan, and I will chop off your hand,” Regulus hisses.

The hand drops off his shoulder faster than Regulus can blink again.

“Mate,” Barty says, gleeful, “why the fuck did you think you could touch Reg?”

Next to him, Evan is shaking his head, muttering something that sounds a lot like ‘fucking idiot.’

“You did!” Rabastan protests.

Grinning, Barty wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ve known Reg since the first ride to school. You’ve got a
lot of catching up to do.”

Regulus looks up at his friend and finds him looking back. Barty knows something happened, and
he’s helping Regulus cover it. But he’ll want to know. And this one time, Regulus thinks bitterly,
he can tell them. Because soon enough Dorcas will make a scene and walk out of his life for good.

Thank Salazar that she’s still safely tucked away in his mind, just a magic ring away.

####

The morning after is a million times worse than the night of.

Naively, James thought perhaps having your heart broken wasn’t so bad, after all. When sleep
came, and he fell into Morpheus' arms feeling nothing at all, James thought he was going to make
it.

It’s when he blinks in the morning sunlight, blearily looking around, and it all comes rushing back
that James realises he was in shock. His own brain pushed it all back, held the flood, to give him a
moment to catch his breath.

With the rising sun, the dam has broken, and the downpour is relentless. In the light of day, James
begins to understand that’s it over. It’s truly over. For real. He’ll never hold Regulus again. Never
kiss him again. Never touch his skin, breathe in the scent of lavender, and broom polish, and
outdoors that cling to him. He won't get to listen to Edith Piaf, or the Sounds of Silence, or Leonard
Cohen one more time with him. They’ll never fly together again. No more nights on the rug by the
fire or floating in different pools filled with warm water because Regulus is almost always cold.

Never feels like a very long time, and when James tries to wrap his head around it, he starts to cry.

It’s startled. A sob that he hadn’t known was coming until it falls from his lips. And it’s loud. It’s
loud, and so is the keening sound that escapes him immediately after as he curls onto his side and
holds his knees to his chest.

This is how Sirius finds him when he—alerted by the noise—yanks the curtains of his bed back.
And Sirius doesn’t hesitate. He climbs into bed, shuts the curtains again, and curls behind James to
hold him through it.

“What happened?”

“Regulus,” James wheezes, wet and desperate. Fuck. Even saying his name hurts. “Regulus broke
up with me.”

“What?”

“He… he chose them, Sirius. He was always going to. I wasn't good enough. He knew, and he
didn’t care, and oh fuck, I can’t breathe,” James cries. “Pads. I can't breathe.”

And then James is sobbing too hard to be coherent, so Sirius doesn’t push, doesn’t ask what he
means. He doesn’t need to, James knows. Sirius can feel James’ pain like it’s his own. So, he stays.
And he holds James, helping him get air in and out in between all the weeping. It's messy and wet
and snotty and James thinks he's going to drown in his own tears.

Time becomes a bit of an abstract. Don’t ask James how long he’s lying in bed for. He’s there for a
minute. There for a whole year. He’s no idea. Too long, he knows, because Remus and Peter leave,
and come back. Leave again. Come back again. And with them comes Dorcas. Is it the afternoon?
He thinks so.

By this time, James has exhausted himself to the point where he isn’t even weeping anymore. He’s
just lying there, feeling everything so hard his body can’t move. It holds him down, presses him
against the mattress like the weight of his pain is so enormous James will never be able to raise
again. He hasn’t said a word. He isn’t sure he can. And, unfailingly, Sirius has simply held him,
face buried against the back of James’ neck. A constant presence. A reminder that even though he
doesn’t feel like it right now, James is loved. Sirius loves him. And that’s the one thing keeping
him from completely losing his mind.

“James,” Dorcas asks him with a trembling voice. “I need to know. Did he break up with you just
because or did he… does he…” Dorcas clears her throat. “His arm?”

There’s a collective sharp intake of breath. Sirius jerks away from James to look at Dorcas. “What
are you—that’s not possible. Reggie wouldn’t... Not now. Surely, this is just a stupid—”

“He did,” James croaks. “Sirius. He did.”

“James,” Dorcas insists, coming closer. “Did he tell you or did you see it? Regulus is a good liar.”

He hates her then. In that moment. James hates Dorcas because he can see the hope that crowds in
Sirius’ eyes, waiting for James to say Regulus told him so he can cling to the illusion that it was a
lie. James doesn’t want to break Sirius’ heart. Not when he’s not in any shape to help him through
the pain of it.

But he made a promise long ago to never lie to his best friend. And James won’t break his promise.
Not now. Not ever.

“I saw it,” James says, defeated. “I saw it on his arm. Ugly and black and evil. And he looked me
in the eye and told me he’d chosen it. For the power it gave him. He said he doesn’t regret it.”

Dorcas is crying, he thinks, but he pays her no attention because Sirius has gone very, very still on
the bed next to James. They look at each other. Brothers. Best friends. Soulmates. James’ pain is
mirrored in Sirius’ eyes. They’ve both lost Regulus today. But Sirius has lost him for the second
time.

Without another word, James slides the curtains closed. He reaches for Sirius, and he comes
willingly. Quietly.

They lie face to face, legs tangled with each other and hands clinging to the other’s t-shirt. They
press their foreheads together, and they cry. Their tears mix and wet the pillow. Neither of them
care. They can’t. Their hearts have always done everything in sync. Grow up. Make other friends.
Learn to fly. Strengthen their magic. Play Quidditch. Take up arms. Two hearts, always beating on
the same rhythm. Laughing together. Living. Loving. And today, they are breaking together.

****

When a heart breaks, each piece holds a different kind of pain. In one of them, is the pain of
wondering whether any of it was real. Did the person you gave your everything to ever loved you
back? Or was it all less for them, somehow? It seems impossible that one can love another person
so much, so desperately, for them not to feel it, too. But James guesses it can happen. It does
happen. He just never thought it would happen to him. Regulus was always going to end it, and
James didn’t see that coming, and that’s… did it mean anything at all to him? What was the point?
Why did Regulus do this to James? Why?

Another piece holds the pain of despair. The raw, endless agony of wanting and not having.
Because a broken heart doesn’t stop loving. It’s just that the love now hurts. The knowledge that
next time you see that person—your person—they won’t look back. You’ll want, but you’ll never
get again. And that's enough to drive a man insane. The longing. The yearning. James thinks he's
going to spend the rest of his life wanting something he can't have.

Another piece holds the pain of the uncertainty. The one that asks—what now? Where do we go
from here? What do we do now with the hours we spent thinking of him? The time we devoted to
memorising the shape of his lines, the sound of his voice, the smell of skin. What do we focus on
now? Where do we put all that we feel? All the love that hasn’t gone away? There's too much of it
and carrying it is too hard. So what now? And James doesn't know.

Another piece holds the pain of the memories. Dulled, blunted by the new awareness that tells you
it wasn’t as perfect as you thought. But they’re still there. And they haunt you. Everywhere you go
there’s something that tugs at that broken piece. Like an echo. This is where we looked at each
other and smiled. This is where he brushed hands as we walked past each other. This is where I
saw him laugh and thought the world was brighter for having that sound in it. James has no idea
how he’ll walk the corridors of Hogwarts for the next two months and not fall apart with every
step. They’ve left their mark all over the castle in one way or another. It'll be impossible to escape.

And yet, for James, the worst of it is the last piece. The piece that shrivels and straight up dies. It
says—we weren’t enough. We loved with everything we had, and got nothing back, so we should
stop. We’ll never love again because what is the point? We thought we were the one for him, but
we weren’t even runner ups. James… ah. James is an idiot. He kissed Regulus and thought he was
coming home. In the end, it turned out for Regulus James was just an obstacle to move out of the
way. James isn’t, and was never, home for Regulus, so why would he ever be for anyone else?

That last piece of his broken heart tells James: we were good. We were just not good enough.

So, we will stop trying.

####

Regulus is pretty certain he’s read the same page five times in a row, but he can’t concentrate
enough to process the words on it. The book he’s going through is a historical record of pureblood
families. Specifically, he’s reading the chapter about the Gaunt lineage hoping it gives him some
inspiration for where to look for Horcruxes next. Regulus isn’t naïve enough to think there are any
more in Hogwarts. Riddle would have scattered them around, reducing the chances of them being
found.

He figures that important places to the family through which he’s related to Salazar Slytherin is a
good place to start, because Riddle does care about that sort of thing. So, he’s painstakingly
attempting to write down any locations that he might want to check out when he’s out of school.

And yet, despite how important his task is, he cannot focus. He’s waiting. Waiting for the door to
open and for his best friend to walk in and rip him a new one. They’ve agreed. They’ve discussed
—through the rings connection—what Dorcas will say (more or less). Regulus is ready and knows
it’s all fake. He knows Dorcas doesn’t particularly want to do this.

She doesn’t want to hurt him and has told him as much. Doesn’t make it any easier. Not when the
pain of losing James—for good this time—is still so raw Regulus feels like he’s drunk a pot of
liquid cold that’s scorching his insides with its white-hot fury. Everything hurts. All the time.
Relentless. All-consuming.

If Regulus didn’t know better, he’d be worried he’s about to die of sadness. And perhaps, if so
much didn’t rest on his shoulders, he would simply lie in bed and waste away. Except, if so much
didn’t rest on his shoulders he wouldn’t have pretended he doesn’t care about James. So. Moot
point.

Regulus' life sucks. Royally. He’d like to trade it for a new one, please.

Dorcas walks into the dorm and finds Regulus curled on his bed. Barty and Evan are here, too.
Barty is smoking by the window and Evan is reading a magazine. It’s a Friday night. Lazy.
Unhurried.

Heartbreaking.

“Regulus,” Dorcas says as soon as she’s in the room. Barty and Evan look up, frowning. “James
told me—” She stops, clears her throat. “Is it true?”

Show time.
“Does it matter?” Regulus asks, petulantly. He closes the book he’d been failing to read and sets
his chin. Defiant. Insolent.

Agitated, Dorcas spreads her arms wide. “Of course it matters! You—they’re killing innocent
people. I just—is it true?”

“Yes,” Regulus says. “It is.”

Barty slides off the window and comes to stand near him, Evan hovering at his back, too. A divide.
The boys and Dorcas.

“But that’s—” Dorcas clears her throat again, looks away. Back at them. “I thought you were better
than this. Stronger than this. I can't believe you're joining them. What about... Salazar's cape on a
pole, you're gay. That alone is enough of a reason not to do this. Not to mention that they're killing
innocent people. Fuck. Reg, really? I... Who even are you?”

Silence falls. An axe, slicing through the room. Dorcas on one side. The boys on another. It feels
so fundamentally wrong it takes effort for Regulus to stay where he is. This is not real. The ring on
his hand is real. The vow Dorcas made is real.

“Hey, Dorcas,” Barty says. “That’s not fair. Regulus is Lord Black now. He’s got… expectations
and shit. You know his life isn’t as simple as black and white. What did you expect?”

“So, you think this is okay? Joining the Death Eaters? Hurting people?”

“He did what he had to do,” Barty insists. Regulus is lowkey surprised, and he’d be lying if he said
it’s not making him feel better to have Barty on his side. Unconditionally.

Dorcas grimaces, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “We’re not talking about pranking someone or
cheating on a test, Barty,” she says, agitated. “We’re talking about joining a group of murderers.
People who discriminate against others. That’s not right. Do you honestly think muggle borns
deserve to be slaughtered?”

“Well, not necessarily more than anyone else,” Evan says, frowning. His hands are shaking, though
he’s trying to hide it. “But, like, if we don’t join we’ll be in trouble. You know my father expects
me to. I can’t just… not everyone hates their family, Dorcas. I don’t want to get myself
disinherited.”

“So you’d sell out for money?”

“It’s not about money,” Barty snarls, eyes wide and face a little wild. “Don’t make it about money.
It’s about family and shit. Deep stuff. You don’t fucking get it.”

“It’s true,” Regulus says sharply. Hating himself a little bit, even though Dorcas knows he doesn’t
mean any of this. “Your family never paid you much attention one way or another. You sided with
the Gryffindors for Marlene, but you lost very little. It didn’t really cost you anything. We have a
lot more to lose.”

Throwing her arms up over her head, Dorcas shouts, “But the people they’re killing are innocent!”

“They’ll keep dying regardless,” Regulus snarls. “Us three joining or not isn’t going to make or
break the war.”

“And they’re not going to win, Dorcas,” Evan whispers. “It’s not looking good for them. Refusing
the Dark Lord is as death sentence. I don’t want to die. I don’t want Barty or Regulus to die. I don’t
want you to die, either. But you won’t listen to me, so.”

“You’re selling out,” she says, disgusted. She takes a step back, like distance will make this easier
to handle. “You’re joining the ranks of the evil people to save your own skin.”

“Something like that,” says Evan, and he grimaces a little bit, like he wishes it weren’t so, but he’s
accepted that this is the way things must go, and so he’s charging forward.

"Do you have it, too?" Dorcas asks, narrowing her eyes at Barty and Evan.

Evan looks away, but Barty meets her eyes. "Not yet. But it's a matter of time."

“I’m… fuck. I really thought you were better than this!” Dorcas groans, and then she’s crying.
"Why?"

"There aren't many other options for us," Evan mutters. "Not everyone has a Marlene that'll take
them in or a family that will simply let them go. My father would hunt me to the ends of the
fucking world, Dorcas. You're not being fair about this."

Shaking her head, she pulls her trunk which had been abandoned by Selwyn’s old bed, and begins
to shove her things into it, weeping quietly. Regulus is lowkey impressed. She’s good at this. Very
good. She’ll make an excellent spy. There's a moment of awkward silence, punctuated by Dorcas'
soft sniffling.

“Listen,” Barty tries. “We would never hurt you, of course. But you should… stay out of it. Evan
is right that the war is getting ugly. Please, stay out of it, Dorcas. You’re… we care about you no
matter what.”

“Fuck off, Barty,” Dorcas says, cutting him a sharp look. “You of all people could be on the right
side of this, and you’re choosing the murderers simply to piss off your father. You more than them
disgust me.”

Barty looks genuinely dejected. Hurt. It does something funny to the liquid cold scorching the
insides of Regulus. Makes it twitch a little bit and what do you know? He has room for more hurt.
More aches.

“It’s not that easy,” Barty mutters. "He's ruined my fucking life. Ruined my mother's."

"So you'll go kill people to get back at him? Real nice, Barty."

"You don't get it, okay? You don't know what it's like!" he shouts, red rimming his eyes now.

“What I know is that you’re a fucking coward,” she snarls at him.

Barty flinches and Regulus can’t stand it. Because this is real. Dorcas is this angry at Barty. And
she’s hurting him, and Regulus just can’t have any more pain of any kind. So, he steps closer and
hisses, “Dorcas, let off him.”

Dropping a book on top of the clothes she’s finished packing, Dorcas looks up, straight at him.
Brown eyes big and framed with long, beautiful lashes. She’s so fierce. So beautiful. So powerful.
His best friend in the entire world.

“Show me,” she says viciously as she closes the lid of her trunk with a loud and aggressive thunk.
“Show it to me.”
Regulus does, rolling up his sleeve and exposing the black ink etched onto his skin. Dorcas stares
at it, tears streaming down her face. With a shuddering breath, she looks up and says, “you better
pray we don’t run into each other out of school. Because I won’t take mercy on any of you just
because we used to be friends.”

And with that, Dorcas walks out of their lives, dragging her trunk behind her.

####

Two days. Their friends give James and Sirius the weekend. They make excuses for them missing
Order training. Remus finds their homework and does it for them with Lily’s help. Marlene runs
the Saturday Quidditch practice, tells the team James and Sirius are both sick.

But once Monday morning rolls around and they’re expected in lessons, all of their friends pile into
the marauders room to coax James and Sirius out of bed. They’re all here. Even Dorcas, which
James thinks is strange until he sees the bruises under her eyes and deduces she must have also
broken up with Regulus in her own way.

James understands, distantly, that life goes on. He has to find a way to move forwards. He just
doesn’t know how. But his friends do. When Peter tugs him towards the bathroom and makes him
stand in the shower, under hot water, he allows it. And from there, it feels normal to peel off his
pyjama, because it’s getting wet. And then James is finding some soap, because he’s in the shower
and that’s what he does.

Emerging from the steam once he’s clean, James finds Marlene waiting for him with his uniform.
Immediately, Remus locks himself in the bathroom with Sirius, who latched onto his boyfriend the
moment he was forced out of bed and apparently hasn’t let go.

“We’re not asking you to be okay,” Marlene tells James. “We’re just asking you to try. You need to
keep moving, James.”

“Is it going to stop hurting?” he asks, voice rough from three days of intermittent crying and little
else.

“Yes,” Lily says firmly. “It will. People survive break ups all the time. You just need time and
friends.”

“And when you feel you need to have yourself a little cry, just find one of us, alright? It’s good to
let it out,” Mary adds gently.

James is grateful, because it does feel doable if he’s with these people. If he’s not alone, he thinks
he can manage it. He’ll go to lessons and try to pay attention. He’ll eat—suddenly he realises he’s
quite hungry—and he’ll play Quidditch. And when he misses Regulus so much he can’t breathe,
he’ll ask one of them to distract him.

“Thank you,” he says, blinking fast to stop tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Peter gives him a sad smile. “You’ve done this for us a million times without even knowing it.
About time we could repay the favour.”

“We’ve got your back, Cap,” Marlene says.

Dorcas is quietly standing by the door, a faraway look on her face. She’s fidgeting with her hands,
playing with a ring on her middle finger. James feels like he should say something to her, but what?
If he’s honest with himself, James wants to ask if they’ve seen Regulus. But what good would that
do? James needs to find a way to stop thinking about him. To stop wanting to see him.

Suddenly, Dorcas’ eyes snap to James and she catches him looking. With a sad smile, she nods. “I
miss him, too.”

Marlene crosses the room quickly to stand next to Dorcas, like she can lend her strength to her
girlfriend just by being close to her. Dorcas presses a kiss to Marlene’s mouth, relaxes into it, like
all is well because Marlene is here, with her. James thinks it’s sweet. He knows what it’s like to
feel invincible simply because your person is in the room with you. And then his splintered heart
rattles, because he’ll never have that again.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat before he starts crying again. “Breakfast?”

“What about Sirius and Remus?” Mary asks.

Shaking his head, James says, “They’ll come when they’re ready.”

####

Interlude: Sirius’ POV

When the door closes behind him, Sirius doesn’t waste another second before he has turned to
Remus with blazing eyes. Chest heaving, he says, “I want to talk to him.”

They’re in the bathroom, and Sirius is aware that he probably smells pretty bad and looks worse
because he’s been in bed with James all weekend doing nothing but breaking down in turns and
holding the other through it.

And for Sirius, that’s enough. He’s worked the sadness out of his system, and now there’s only
anger. He’s fucking fuming because Regulus didn’t have to do any of this. Sirius was perfectly fine
before. He left, and he hated himself over it, but he’d accepted it. He was managing.

He most certainly didn’t need Regulus to insert himself back into his life. The fact that he had the
audacity to do it via James, to then go and break his heart? Fuck that shit. Genuinely, Sirius is so
bloody angry at his little brother he can’t think past that one sentence.

I want to talk to him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get up to do just that,” Remus says, surprising Sirius into stopping his
agitated pacing to look at him.

“You were?”

“I can’t confront him alone,” Remus tells Sirius. “I’d hurt him.”

Oh.

Sirius is pretty certain that he shouldn’t find Remus threatening his brother attractive, but well.
Remus being protective is sexy. This is a fact and Sirius can’t ignore it. He doesn’t. Promptly,
Sirius comes to stand right in from of Remus, offering him his best smile, and pressing a quick,
close-mouthed kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“I’m going to make myself hot again,” Sirius announces. “And then we’re going to find the lying,
dirty little snake that is Regulus.”
“What are you going to do when you find him?” Remus asks, watching as Sirius strips off his
pyjamas.

That, Sirius thinks, is a very good question. Because lying on that bed with James, Sirius came to
the conclusion that he’s done. He has to be done. Sirius ran away from home, and he’s spent so
long blaming himself for leaving Regulus behind. Wondering if things would have been different if
he’d insisted more. If he’d kidnapped his own brother just to get him out.

But isn’t this proof that Regulus always wanted the things Sirius was running away from? He could
have got out now. James was ready to save him. Regulus said no again, and then he went and said
yes to fucking Voldemort.

Sirius is angry beyond reason. He’s angry at the world for being such a shitty place. He’s angry at
his family because they’re evil and corrupt and they rot everything they touch. He’s angry at
himself for letting his guard down. For thinking Regulus cared about him, after all. He’s angry at
James for falling in love with Regulus. For believing whatever sweet lies Regulus whispered in his
ear.

Above all, however, Sirius is angry with Regulus because nothing makes sense. He’s seen, with his
own two eyes, the way Regulus melts around James. No one can fake that. No one is that good.
Regulus wanted to be with James. So why? What can Voldemort offer him that’s stronger than
that?

“I want to ask him why,” Sirius says, finally. The hot water of the shower runs over him, and it
feels good. It feels like he’s washing away the heartbreak. Turning to face Remus while the water
hits the back of his head, Sirius explains, “I want him to look at me and tell me what Voldemort
offered him that he thought was worth this. What he thought was worth breaking James.”

To his credit, Remus keeps his eyes firmly on Sirius’ face. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll come with you.
Let you do the talking. I’m not sure I won’t take a swing at him, though.”

“You can hurt him. But only… just a little,” Sirius says, working shampoo into his hair. “Is that
wrong of me?”

“Which part?”

“That I still feel like I should protect him, even though he obviously doesn’t deserve it.”

Running a hand over his face, Remus lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t have any siblings. I’ve no idea
what it’s like. But I don’t think it’s wrong, Sirius. James wouldn’t let me hurt him even a little bit.”

“True that,” Sirius says, rinsing out his hair.

“I have a patrol with him tomorrow night,” Remus says. “We can ambush him. He’s been very
careful not to go anywhere alone. Almost like—”

“He knows about the map,” Sirius admits, deeply regretting ever showing it to Regulus. That’s
what he gets for daring to hope. “And he’s too smart to have forgotten we can see where he is. He
won’t make it easy, so the prefect patrol might be the only chance we get.”

“Well, then. Tomorrow.”

Sirius sits with that for a moment while he dries his hair. A part of him had been expecting guilt,
because the last time he lost his brother he was consumed by it for weeks and weeks. It’s a bit
strange for Sirius to realise that this time, he’s not the one leaving. He’s the one being left.
This time around, the choice was entirely with Regulus. Because James would have moved heaven
and earth to keep him safe. Sirius has no doubt that there’s nothing James wouldn’t have done to
get Regulus out if Regulus had so much as hinted at that being something he wanted.

And yet, Regulus walked away and didn’t look back. He’s walked away from a lot of people all at
once, and all for what? Power? Glory? Regulus must know that they can’t win. Evil never prevails.

Fuck.

“Do you know what happened with Dorcas?” Sirius asks, wrapping the towel around his waist.

“Yes,” Remus replies, twisting a little to lean with his shoulder against the door, arms crossed over
his chest. “She went to talk to him after James told her about the mark. She went to their dorm,
y’know how she sometimes stays with them so she doesn’t have to be with the rainbow haired
homophobic bitches.”

“Ah. Yeah,” Sirius nods. He’d forgotten about it because Dorcas is so often with Marlene and the
Gryffindor girls in their dorm that he simply assumes she lives there now.

“When she came back she told Marlene she was never speaking to Regulus, Barty or Evan again,”
Remus says flatly.

Sirius remembers then that Remus kind of got along with Crouch and Rosier. They’d gone out back
by the greenhouses a few times to have a smoke together. "What about you?"

"I don't think they're stupid enough to come near me again," Remus says. "Dorcas says Barty and
Evan aren't marked but they will be eventually. So. They can go fuck themselves."

“Did she see it coming?” Sirius asks, reaching for his toothbrush.

Remus shakes his head no, looking a little tense around the eyes. Sirius wonders if Remus has been
forced to comfort people all weekend in lieu of their official comforter, James, who was out of
commission.

Through his toothpaste, Sirius makes a noise that means ‘elaborate’ and by some miracle, Remus
understands because with a long suffering sigh like he cannot believe he’s being made to repeat
this again (Sirius has no idea who else he might have told, but fine. If Remus wants to be dramatic
about it he won’t stop him) he tells Sirius.

“Marlene told Lily that Dorcas had deluded herself into thinking that despite their friends being a
bit mean,” he gives Sirius a look that indicates he thinks ‘a bit mean’ is the understatement of the
century, “Regulus was different. And then, when the whole thing with James started, Dorcas
thought being with James would give Regulus the push he needed to break away from his family
and make better choices.”

Remus runs a hand through his sandy curls, yawning widely before meeting Sirius’ eyes through
the mirror as he rinses his mouth of toothpaste. And even though everything is going to shit right
now—which really isn’t that big a difference from Sirius’ life any other day—and even though his
brother just broke his heart again… well.

Secretly, Sirius loves this a little bit. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking about it, not with every
else. But he is. Thinking about it. There’s something about the way he and Remus can just be here,
in the bathroom just… talking. It’s something he can imagine them doing in their flat. One that
they own, where they live together.
It turns out that falling in love with your best friend only has upsides, because there’s no
awkwardness to get through. They know each other. Have known each other for years and it’s not
the first time Remus is there while Sirius brushes his teeth but it’s the first time that it makes Sirius
long for domesticity. And isn’t that weird and beautiful at the same time?

“Sirius,” Remus says.

“What?”

“Where’d you go?” Remus steps closer, reaches out.

And the moment his hand curls on Sirius’ shoulder, it’s like he’s been lit the fuck up. Immediately,
all that matters in the entire world is Remus’ hand on his skin and how much Sirius wants it
everywhere else. Without even processing what he’s doing, he twists around lightning fast and
pulls Remus in by the shirt of his uniform for a kiss.

“I missed you,” Sirius says against Remus’ mouth. “Fuck. Don’t let me go two days without
touching you again.”

“That can be arranged.”

They kiss again and get so lost in each other they miss breakfast entirely and have to suffer through
their morning lessons on empty stomachs. Sirius doesn’t mind it one bit. It was completely,
undoubtedly worth it.

***

When they were very little, Regulus went through a phase where he didn’t fully understand that he
was a separate person from Sirius. He was just under two, chubby and small, and clumsy like no
other. Barely able to walk five steps before falling flat on his butt.

Sirius was three and a half, and he shouldn’t be able to remember this but he does. Perhaps because
even though they were tiny, Sirius was already protecting Regulus. Perhaps because the
environment they grew up in made it so that they had to become very strong very fast. Grow up at
record speed. Whatever the reason, Sirius remembers.

Regulus would only say ‘we’ and never ‘I’. He didn’t seem to be able to understand that they were
separate bodies. Wherever Sirius went, Regulus followed. Ate the same things. Repeated the same
words. He couldn’t sleep in his crib, because he felt alone and distressed, and so Sirius would
climb into it and cuddle Regulus, and sleep in the baby bed instead of his own because he didn’t
have the heart to leave Reggie alone.

They met another kid one of those days. Their nanny would take them to a nice, green park to let
them run around while she sat and read some novel or other. And one of those times, they met a
kid.

The kid wanted to play with Sirius but not Regulus, because Regulus was too small and had zero
coordination. Sirius had looked him in the eye—the first chance at a friend he ever got—and said
that it was either both of them, or neither. They were a package deal, Sirius and Regulus.

It was neither, in the end. The kid left and went to find someone else to play with. And Sirius didn’t
mind it. He didn’t, because he had Reggie, and that was all he needed.

Sirius is not sure why he’s thinking about that right now. There’s no point to it, really. The past is
what it is, and reminiscing won’t change what has happened. And yet, here he is, on the bridge to
the owlry draped in James’ cloak waiting for Regulus and Remus and thinking about the time
Sirius turned down a friend out of loyalty to Regulus.

He’s not sure Regulus has ever turned down anything or anyone out of loyalty to Sirius.

Sucks being an older brother.

You end up doing things like this one. Waiting for Regulus to ask him why even though the answer
won’t change the outcome. Even though Sirius knows it’s only going to hurt more. And yet, he
can’t imagine not doing it. Not looking him in the eye and demanding an explanation.

Remus and Regulus turn the corner together, walking stiffly next to each other. Remus is staring
stoically ahead, refusing to make eye contact. The tension around his eyes and mouth is so strong
Sirius wonders if his jaw is hurting from how hard he’s clenching it.

For his part, Regulus keeps stealing glances at Remus out of the corner of his eye. This show of
vulnerability catches Sirius off guard. He’s not sure how to read it. Doesn’t matter, anyway. The
ink on his arm won’t dissolve just because Regulus looks young and afraid walking next to Remus
Lupin.

The two boys stop on the bridge and lean with their arms braced against the railing. They light
their cigarettes and smoke in silence. Sirius knew this was a thing they did. Remus had told him.
Still, it’s a bit weird witnessing it. He wonders whether they’re quiet today because of what has
happened. Did they talk all the other times?

Admittedly, Sirius has some trouble imagining what a conversation between Remus and Regulus
would be like. But whatever. Not like it matters anymore.

With a fortifying breath, Sirius takes off the cloak and steps forward. “Regulus.”

Predictably, his brother whirls around lightning fast, wand raised and eyes narrowed. He glances at
Remus, who has also taken out his wand and stepped away from Regulus.

“What the fuck do you want?” Regulus snarls.

“Hello to you, too,” Sirius says, shoving his hands in his pockets. He’s not going to take out his
wand. If his brother wants to hex him, he’ll have to do while Sirius is unarmed like the coward he
is.

“I don’t have time for this,” Regulus says, flicking away his cigarette and starting down the bridge
towards the castle proper.

Remus steps in front of him. “Not so fast, Black.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Regulus mutters, then he’s stepping back and shooting a curse
towards Remus.

They’d prepared for this, so Remus had a shield up beforehand and Regulus’ curse bounces off it
harmlessly. With a flick of his wrist, Remus conjures a set of ropes and attempts to tie Regulus up
with them, but he’s too quick, slashing them with magic before they can wrap around him.

In the time he took to slice through the ropes, however, Remus hits him with something that makes
a cut across Regulus’ cheek.

“You fucker!” Regulus snaps. “You’ll pay for that—"

“Stop,” Sirius says when Regulus raises his wand again. Heart pounding in his chest, Sirius steps
closer to his brother, hands up to show he’s still unarmed. “Two minutes, and you’ll never see me
again.”

“No.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Sirius says harshly.

Regulus glares at him, keeps the wand trained on Remus but doesn’t attack. A drop of blood runs
down his cheek. Regulus doesn’t even blink. “Que veux-tu?”

“In English,” Sirius snarls. “You don’t get to do that anymore.”

If his words hurt Regulus, he doesn’t show it. He simply shrugs. “Same question.”

“I want to know why,” he says, blood rushing in his ears. “I want you to look at me in the fucking
eye and tell me why you chose them. Why you chose Voldemort over James. Over us.”

There’s a catch in his voice, and then the back of his mouth feels heavy as his eyes begin to sting.
Sirius clenches his jaw—he will not cry in front of Regulus.

Cocking his head to the side, Regulus looks at him with a calculating expression. “Why does it
matter?”

“Because I know you love James. So, I want to know what your fucking Dark Lord could offer you
that would be worth breaking his heart,” Sirius replies steadily despite the emotion choking him.
“Why you’d hurt someone like him so much. He didn’t fucking deserve that, Regulus.”

It’s gathering under his ears, in the place where his jaw meets his neck. A building ache that he
knows means he’ll break as soon as he can. And Sirius is so fucking grateful he’s with Remus,
because someone’s going to have to peel him off the floor in a couple of minutes.

He just has to hold it until Regulus is gone. Stay strong. Hide it. Control yourself.

“Is that it?” Regulus asks.

“You could have had it all,” Sirius answers roughly. “James would have given you the fucking
world. So why? What can they possibly offer you that would top being loved by James Potter?”

For some reason, this is the thing that makes Regulus lower his wand. Truth be told, Sirius had
forgotten he was pointing it at him. No part of him ever thought Regulus would actually curse him.

There’s no need, Sirius thinks. Why would he resort to curses when his voice is that much more
lethal a weapon? Sirius knows Regulus is going to break him with a few words anyway. His little
brother. The one he raised. Protected. It was all for nothing.

Sirius said that James would have given him the world, but the truth is that Sirius would have, too.
All Regulus had to do was ask.

Regulus looks at Sirius for a long moment, all sharp angles and narrowed eyes, and Sirius meets his
gaze. He looks so haughty. Regal. Dangerous, like the night around them. A creature that belongs
to the dead hours. To the dark and the terrors that dwell in it. When did Regulus start looking so
threatening? Or is it just that Sirius had been blind to it?

There’s an ocean of feeling rising up inside of him, but Sirius learnt a long time ago how to hide
from another Black. It was the only way to survive Walburga. So, he meets Regulus gaze knowing
his brother can’t see what’s inside of him. And for the briefest of moments, Sirius could have
sworn a flicker of pain crosses Regulus’ face. There and gone. So quick he might have imagined it.
But if he didn’t… what was it for?

“The Dark Lord offers me a place at his side,” Regulus says, voice ice cold and clear. “Power.
Glory for the name of Black. I’m restoring my house to its rightful place at the top of the world.”

“Your house?”

“Surely you know father is dead,” Regulus replies casually, like he didn’t bury his parent a few
weeks ago. Like it doesn’t matter. Fuck. When did Regulus get so cold? What happened to him
over Easter? “I’m Lord Black now. And your two minutes are up.”

Regulus shoves past Remus forcefully.

In the end, it doesn’t matter that Sirius wanted to be dignified about this. It doesn’t matter that he
swore to himself he’d only ask why, and leave. The moment Regulus starts to walk away, all Sirius
wants is to make him stay.

Stay with me, brother. Please.

Stay.

“Wait! Reggie, please,” Sirius calls after him. “Just… you had a choice. We… You didn’t have to
do this.”

Regulus stops, looks over his shoulder.

“You should be fucking pleased I got bored of James,” he hisses. “Did you know he said he
forgave me? I showed him this,” Regulus yanks his sleeve back, wielding the ugly mark on his arm
like a blade, “and he said he’d forgive me. The honourable James Potter. You should be thanking
me for throwing him away before I ruined him completely.”

Sirius can’t tear his eyes off the mark. It stares at him, laughing in his face. He knew. He knew it
was there and yet… seeing it on Regulus’ pale skin makes Sirius want to die. The part of him that
has always wanted to protect Regulus roars in pain because he can’t. Not this time. He’s too late.
Regulus can’t be saved, not by Sirius, not by James.

Choking on a sob, Sirius has to brace himself against the bridge railing because his legs are going
to give out.

Regulus sneers, covers his mark. “Goodbye, Sirius.”

“If you ever come close to Sirius or James again, I will kill you,” Remus whispers as Regulus starts
to walk away. He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t have to. There’s only silence now, and it carries
the dangerous edge to Remus’ words across the bridge.

It’s a promise and a threat, and Sirius has never heard Remus sound this menacing before. Regulus
pauses for a second, tilts his head like he’s going to retort. But then he must think better of it,
because he simply walks away.

And then Sirius does fall down, a heap of a broken body.

“Sirius?” Remus asks, crouching by him.

His hair flies around as he shakes his head. Once. Forcefully. He needs a minute. Sirius can’t
breathe. Can’t speak. All he can do is kneel on the bridge and stare into the darkness that
swallowed his brother. Like a fucking metaphor for their lives.

All Sirius ever wanted was for his brother to be different. To choose him. To follow him. And
that’s twice now that Regulus says no to him. Sirius has done the leaving, and the being left
behind. Both hurt just as much.

So much so, that he curls over, holding himself with his arms, and whimpers, “Moony.”

Sirius was right. Remus does have to peel him off the floor and carry him in his arms, sobbing
quietly into Remus’ chest, all the way back to Gryffindor Tower because Sirius can’t carry himself.

####

Regulus doesn’t finish his prefect patrol. Instead, he practically flies down the stairs, taking them
as fast as he can without running (just in case he runs into someone, because sprinting away from
his brother would be undignified). Unlikely, given the hour, but Regulus won’t be caught dead
making a scene.

The room is just as he left it the last time he was here, and yet, it feels different. Dark magic hangs
in the air, thick and choking. It cloys the back of Regulus’ mouth until he feels like he can’t
breathe. It’s too hot in here.

Shrugging off his uniform robe aggressively, Regulus takes out his wand and blasts the first
dummy he finds into tiny pieces.

“Fuck,” he shouts.

Another blast, another dummy exploding into a million shards.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Regulus doesn’t feel like the cursing of the dummies is helping, so instead he walks up to one and
just punches it. Muggle style. It hurts like a bitch. Regulus has never punched anything or anyone
in his life, and his hand doesn’t like it. But the pain of his knuckles dims a little the pain in his
chest, so he does it again.

One of his knuckles hits the material funny, and the skin splits. Now he’s bleeding from his hand
and his face. Great.

But it hurts better than his chest. So he does it again.

And again.

When he finally stops, both of Regulus’ hands are bruised. One is a lot worse than the other,
though, dripping blood onto the stone floor. Grimacing, he pushes damp hair away from his
forehead. His chest is heaving, sweat making his shirt stick to his back uncomfortably. Cradling his
hand to his chest, Regulus leans against the nearest wall for support.

The look on Sirius’ face when he saw the mark is going to haunt him for the rest of his days.

Regulus didn’t think he could hurt his older brother any more than he already had. Truly, he just
thought that Regulus refusing to go with him the night he left was the height of betrayal. Nothing
was ever going to outdo that one, so he’d never hurt Sirius as badly. He’d already done his worst.
 He was wrong.

Tonight, Sirius fucking crumbled. Like a house of cards. And it’s a sight Regulus didn’t know how
much he’d hate until he was staring right at it. His older brother. His hero. The one person Regulus
used to think could do anything.

Regulus broke him. It was horrible.

I’m sorry, he wanted to say when Sirius had to support himself on the railing, like his body was
failing him.

I’m still your brother, even if I’ll never tell you that.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. Your little brother.

I’m doing this for you. And for James. And for Dorcas.

I still love you, even though I can never show it.

I’m sorry, Sirius.

I’m sorry.

It hardens something inside of him. Helps him resolve to do what must be done. Because there has
to be a point to all of this. A point to James’ broken heart, and Sirius’ broken love for his little
brother. To Dorcas pretending they hate each other now, and to Pandora’s sad eyes across the hall
when she looks his way. There has to be a point.

Regulus has to see this through more than ever—the Horcruxes, destroyed; the list of people, all
dead; the war, over.

Swearing up a storm, because why the fuck did he think that breaking his hand was a good way to
process his emotional distress? Regulus pushes himself away from the wall.

It’s all done. Everyone he had to push away is properly scarred. They’ll never want to see his face
again. Dorcas has the ring. And he’s got the mark.

The real work begins now.

Chapter End Notes

I don't even know what to write in the end notes for this one. It's so... sad?

The rings are amazing - Dorcas and Regulus' chats mind-to-mind are so much fun to
write and I'm excited for you to see that in the coming chapters. But her 'fake' fight
with Reg and her 'real' fight with Barty and Evan? It's so heartbreaking because
she's kinda right, but also they feel like they've got no choices so it's just complicated
all around

James and Sirius in bed for an entire weekend I can't deal. They're so sad

And then the Black Brothers just... ARGH I am unwell. They love each other so much
and have so many secrets between them

I just don't really know what else to say this was very sad and I'm sad

BUT - next chapter still has angst but it picks up a little bit so it's less heavy and sad
and there's some Spicy Times

I love all your comments, so see you down in the crying / screaming section
Have I told you you are the best readers in the fandom? YOU ARE
 Mistakes were made
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

This chapter is more cheerful than the previous ones! There is still angst and sadness,
but it's balanced with fluff and actual plot and things moving along

There is a time skip and it should be obvious in the narrative but just in case - this
chapter happens about a month after the break up

TWs
Smoking
Sex
Implied bigotry (Death Eater related)
Underage drinking
Brief depiction of grief
References to war and victims of war

I think that's it - if I've missed any, please let me know

Also, I owe replies to a lot of comments but I'm super sick and have been for a couple
days. I wanted to get the chapter up for you, but I'll wait until I feel better to reply
because I'm Struggling . Sorry about that but please know I read EVERY SINGLE
ONE and I LOVE YOU ALL

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The last Quidditch game of the season for Slytherin sneaks up on Regulus. To him, it feels as
though he ended things with James only yesterday, and yet here they are. Second weekend of May
and he’s making his way from the dungeons to the pitch to get ready. He's been mostly existing,
hardly living, but it gets easier with every week that passes. And they're passing quickly. Too
quickly.

Next to him, Rabastan is mumbling about something related to the Hufflepuff chasers being in
good form, but Regulus isn’t paying him any attention. He’s too busy freaking out over how fast
time is moving and how that means he'll be out of school in a few weeks. Where did the weeks go?

In his defence, he’s been busy. Just because he’s not on a ticking clock anymore it doesn’t mean
that his mission is any less urgent. In fact, he’s keenly aware of the fact that everyone he cares
about—a grand total of three people—will be leaving school soon and not coming back. They’ll be
fighting in the war. A war that only Regulus can end.

Besides, keeping himself buried in his work is the only way to not crumble with the weight of how
fucking much he misses James.

Understandably, he’s been holed up in the library most of the time, with the occasional visit to
Myrtle’s bathroom. Rabastan and the rest of the seventh years are studying for the NEWTs, and
even though they still have a year to go, even Barty and Evan have accepted that May is late
enough in the year for them to do some revision. They do have to pass their final exams.

With a bit of clever transfiguration work, Regulus has made his Legacy book look like a potions
manual and the historical accounts he's going through like charms textbooks, so no one has noticed
that he’s not really been revising all that much. He’s been poring over the records of pureblood
families trying to find other heirlooms of the Hogwarts founders, or reading through the accounts
left by his ancestors, readying himself to claim their magic as soon as he’s back home.

As far as he can tell, there is one heirloom for each founder—a cup for Hufflepuff, a locket for
Slytherin, and the sword of Gryffindor. Regulus hasn’t yet figured out how he’ll go about finding
the sword, because apparently it only presents itself to true Gryffindors. He wonders if Riddle ever
got his hands on it. Perhaps he didn’t.

The cup and the locket should be easier to find because they’ve never been lost. There are records
of them being bought by collectors over the years. Regulus hasn’t yet traced them back to modern
times, because it’s painstaking work, but he’s on it. He’ll find them, and if they’re Horcruxes, he’ll
destroy them.

“Black,” the Slytherin captain calls him as soon as he in the changing rooms. “A word.”

“What does he want now,” he mutters under his breath, making Rabastan laugh like it was the
funniest joke he’s ever heard. Embarrassing, honestly.

Since he got marked, Rabastan has been working hard to be seen as Regulus’ right hand. And he
gets it, he does. But it’s annoying. Rabastan wants power. He wants to be important. And he’ll
never get it if he’s only Rodolphus Lestrange’s little brother, so he has to create an allyship of his
own. And he’s chosen Regulus because he’s Lord Black, and dangerous, and popular with the
Death Eaters.

Groaning, Regulus joins the captain near the showers, which is a huge problem because now
Regulus can’t focus on anything he’s saying. He’s too busy remembering. And fuck. They should
have known better than to have sex in an exact replica of this place several times. He can't imagine
James finds it easy to be in the Quidditch changing rooms either. He hopes he doesn't. He better
not.

“Are you listening to me?” the captain snaps.

“No,” Regulus replies, blinking. “I’m visualizing. You do want me to catch the snitch, don’t you?”

“Not until we’ve scored enough points. Gryffindor are in the lead, if you win the game too quickly,
we won’t have a chance at the cup.”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus says, “Fine. Fine. But if the other seeker spots it, I’m not letting them get
to it.”

“You’re fast enough to get there in time to let the snitch go away.”

“Fuck that. I’m not pretending to miss.”

“You will if you want us to win the cup.”

“We’re not winning anyway,” Regulus says lazily. “Potter’s too good a captain and they’re playing
Ravenclaw. The cup is theirs. This game is pointless.”

“Just do as your told.”

“Hmm…” Regulus says noncommittally. He does hate taking orders from anyone but one
spectacled boy who will never boss him around again, unfortunately.

“I fucking hate your guts, Black,” the boy says, visibly worked up. “You’re impossible to work
with.”

“But I’m the best seeker in school, so. Sucks to be you.”

With a shrug, Regulus heads back to his locker to get his gear, leaving a very annoyed captain
spluttering in indignation behind him.

The roar of the crowd makes Regulus’ hand curl tighter around the handle of his broom as the
teams walk onto the pitch. He really shouldn’t look, but Regulus can’t help himself. Trying his best
not to be obvious about it, he scans the stands until he finds the Gryffindor team, here to watch as
they do every game.

No matter how much he prepares himself mentally for it, seeing James hurts every time. It’s been
fucking torture existing in the same castle as him for the past few weeks. They don’t run into each
other very often—Regulus goes to painful lengths to ensure this—but meal times are inevitable.

And James… he’s surprisingly okay, which rubs Regulus off the wrong way. Like, sure. He
wanted James to move on and not put himself in stupid danger over Regulus. And he knew,
Regulus knew that James would eventually find someone else. Someone who could give him the
life Regulus can’t.

What he didn’t expect was for James to be okay so quickly. What happened to the ‘I love you’s and
the tears and the desperate ‘I’ll forgive you’ that broke Regulus’ heart clean in two? It’s quite petty
and wrong of him, he knows, but Regulus wanted to see James be in pain. He wanted to know he’s
missed. He wanted to see evidence of their love, of their heartbreak.

It’s not there. It hasn’t been there. James hid for the span of a weekend, and then re-emerged like
everything was fine. He chats with his friends, plays quidditch, studies a lot because he’s a seventh
year and facing NEWTs.

And isn’t their love worth more than two days? Apparently not.

There he is, Regulus thinks now, as he finds him in the stands. There he is looking hot as ever and
like Regulus never mattered to him at all. He’s sitting next to Sirius and Marlene, gesturing wildly
with his hands as he explains something to them. And Regulus is offended.

He kicks the ground hard, rocketing upwards immediately, faster than the rest of his team because
his broom is that much better. Like a warming charm, he can feel the moment James looks at him.
And Regulus really shouldn’t do anything stupid, because nothing can come from it. But if James
really forgot about him so quickly, then it won’t make a difference, right?

James can read Regulus on a broom. He can read anyone, Regulus knows, but James has told
Regulus before how much he enjoys watching him fly. And like the little shit he is, Regulus makes
sure to torture James as much as he possibly can for the next hour and a half.

Flying is a language of its own. It’s graceful arches and daring twists. Pirouettes and dives. And
Regulus tells James to look at him. Watch me. Remember how much you used to want me. You
can’t forget. Not yet. Not while I’m still here. Not while I still want you so much I feel like I’m
going to crack from it.

When the game is over and the snitch is safe in Regulus’ hand, it takes everything in him to not
look at the stands. Because it’s one thing to taunt him while flying, and another to meet his eye.
Regulus hasn’t looked James in the eye since the night he broke him, and he won’t ever again.
Regulus is not sure he wouldn’t do something insane like kiss him desperately if he found himself
staring into the eyes of James Potter. Instead, he lands with his team, and pretends to be happy, and
lets Rabastan pour praise on him and takes it.

####

Of all the truly terrible ideas James has ever had, this is by far the worst, but he’s committed now
so he can’t—he won’t—back out. He’s going to see it through if it’s the last thing he does.

Sneaking away from his friends wasn’t easy. He appreciates the support they’ve shown him the
past month, but truth be told he’s a little overwhelmed. He hasn’t had a moment of quiet since
Regulus broke up with him. And yes, it’s been good for him because he’s been able to distract
himself, but also, he misses the silence. The peace. The pockets of time when he could just be.

He misses a lot of things. That is, most likely, why his friends are fussing over him. But James
needs to do this. He needs to know.

The waiting is the worst part. James has never been a particularly patient person, so for the past
forty-five minutes, he’s been fidgeting like crazy, watching the Slytherin and Hufflepuff players
leave the quidditch changing rooms in small groups. There are only two left—Rabastan Lestrange
and Regulus.

If Lestrange doesn’t leave soon, James will barge in regardless. He is a Captain and has a bunch of
excuses ranging from having forgotten something in his locker to simply wanting to change into
his quidditch gear to fly a few laps now that the pitch is clear. He’d rather not have to do that,
because he’s certain Regulus will run away. But he’s running out—

Lestrange exits, and he’s alone. James could sing hallelujah.

As soon as Lestrange has turned the corner, James slides into the changing rooms and casts a subtle
silencing spell behind him. If he’s going to yell at Regulus, he doesn’t want anyone overhearing.

Steam is rising from one of the showers, the only one still running. And James has been here
before. It started like this, didn’t it? Except that time, it was a complete and total accident and
today he’s full on ambushing his ex-boyfriend.

It’s a little stalker-ish, James will admit. But if Regulus didn’t want to be confronted, he shouldn’t
have flown like that.

The water stops, and James holds his breath.

Regulus steps out of the shower with his towel hung low over his hips, running his hands over his
hair. He’s so fucking beautiful it makes James angry. This guy broke his heart, and here he is
looking like a dream. Unfair, honestly.

Distracted by checking the shower behind him Merlin knows what for, Regulus hasn’t seen James
yet. Hasn’t noticed he’s there, staring. And it’s a good thing, because James needs a moment to
compose himself.

He hasn’t seen Regulus in weeks. A few glimpses here and there at mealtimes don’t count,
especially because his friends have made a point of forcing him to sit with his back towards the
Slytherin table. James should have, perhaps, considered that after weeks of being starved of the
sight of Regulus, ambushing him after a shower wasn’t the smartest idea. But James has no
impulse control and he’s here now, so.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Regulus starts when he looks up and finds James standing
there, eyes wide.

Probably closer than he should be, but oh well. Can’t be helped.

Regulus drops his arms from his hair, and the ugly black mark on the inside of his left forearm
feels like a punch to the gut. James focuses on that, and not on the way water drops cling to the
planes of Regulus’ body, so that he can form a coherent sentence.

“No. What the fuck were you doing out there?” James asks him, doing his best to scowl.

“I am certain I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t—” James looks away, clenches his jaw. He hates this. “Fuck. Don’t talk to me like I’m a
stranger.”

“You need to leave,” Regulus says.

“Not until you explain yourself,” James replies, setting his shoulders back. “Why did you do that?
What was the point?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Fuck. He’s so fucking petulant. So bratty. James could hit him or kiss him or both. He doesn’t
know what he was expecting. Regulus has always been a bit mean and James is only now realising
that just because James liked the meanness it never guaranteed it wouldn’t end up hurting him, too.

What was he expecting? This boy told him in no unclear terms that he was nothing to him. A good
time that was over now. James should have known it’d go like this.

It helps a little that Regulus is being so infuriating, because it angers James and diffuses the
overwhelming lust coiling in his gut. Looking at Regulus makes him furious in the best and the
worst ways. Hot all over and like he’s about to crawl out of his skin. So, James tries to use the bad
part, the hurt pulsing inside of him, demanding that Regulus be hurt, too. If James has to suffer the
worst heartache he’s ever known, he wants Regulus down in hell with him.

“You were taunting me. And frankly, it’s unfair and I won’t let you get away with it,” James says.
“You left me. You broke us. So, you don’t get to fly like that when you know I’m watching.”

“Oh? And how is that?” Regulus cocks a teasing eyebrow, putting an arm over his head to lean
sideways against the wall of the shower.

Godric Gryffindor give James patience because if he gives him strength, he will sweep Regulus
clean of his feet and have his way with him. Which is a terrible idea. Terrible. Definitely not
something James should do.

“You’re an asshole.”

“What else is new?” Regulus smirks and shrugs a little, which makes the light catch on the
waterdrops scattered over his collarbone. “I can fly any way I want to. And you have no right to
come here and lecture me about it. Don’t like it, don’t look. Simple as that.”
One of the drops slides down, over his chest. James’ mouth goes dry because he can’t stop himself
from tracing its journey along his torso. Over Regulus’ ribs, and to that fucking waist that James
would commit crimes to get to hold again.

James needs to look away now. Needs to look at Regulus’ face or the ground or anywhere that’s
not that waist. He’s failing. Spectacularly.

“You’re staring,” Regulus says, and the low smugness in his tone makes James look up. Thank
Merlin.

“Yeah, well,” James says, swallowing. “It’s your fucking fault for flying like that. Don’t do it
again.”

“You didn’t have to watch.”

“Tell me why,” James presses, doing his best to look and sound as pissed off as he’s certain he was
feeling a few minutes ago. Before Regulus decided to adopt the sexiest fucking posture ever to
have an argument with an ex-boyfriend.

“I still don’t know what it is you think I did,” Regulus says, but his eyes have widened a little bit,
and unless James is seeing things now, they’re a shade darker than they should be.

And James can play this game, too. Six or seven months ago, he wouldn’t have known how. But
being with Regulus has taught him a thing or two. He knows what buttons to push. If Regulus
wants to taunt him, James will pay him back in kind.

Resolute, James crosses the space between them until he’s towering over Regulus, face bent down
to look at him. They’re so close their noses are almost touching. Ignoring every instinct in him
that’s telling him to just kiss him, touch him, have him, James narrows his eyes, sets his mouth in a
harsh line.

“I’m not going to let you mess with me, Regulus,” he hisses.

James doesn’t know what he was expecting. It is certainly not Regulus’ hand hooking on the back
of his neck to pull him in for a kiss. It’s brutal. Punishing—though James can’t tell if the
punishment is for him or for Regulus.

He should stop this. Shouldn’t kiss Regulus back. Shouldn’t push him into the shower, getting his
shoes all wet and his socks soggy. Shouldn’t slide his hands down Regulus’ torso. But he’s doing it
anyway, curling his fingers on that waist that has been haunting James’ dreams for weeks.

Regulus slides his tongue inside James’ mouth and his brain turns to mush. Fuck. He’s like a man
starved tasting food after a very long time. James crowds Regulus against the wall of the shower,
sliding his knee between Regulus’ legs. His towel falls off, leaving him naked, exposed, vulnerable
even though James is fully clothed still.

A man with a penchant for revenge would pull away now. Leave Regulus panting and regretting
his choices. James isn’t that man.

James is a boy with a broken heart who feels alright for the first time in almost a month. And he
knows, he knows, this is only going to make it hurt more later. Because Regulus’ arm is still
sporting that ugly mark, and they’re still broken up, and nothing has changed but they’re here now,
kissing, clinging to each other desperately.

When Regulus reaches for James’ belt, James doesn’t stop him. His trousers fall down around his
ankles, and Regulus curls his hand around James’ hardness, and he groans. From deep in his throat,
a sound of pure, raw need.

They break the kiss, gasping for air, and Regulus full on attacks James’ neck like it’s inconceivable
to him that they’d be this close and his mouth would be idle. James is helpless. He can do nothing
but to give himself over to it. To Regulus and his lips and tongue and hands.

It’s incredibly messy. The whole thing, from start to finish, it’s rushed and urgent and desperate
and not at all like they used to do this. James doesn’t care. Can’t care. Not when Regulus is falling
apart in his arms, moaning and downright needy, grabbing at every available stretch of James’ skin
he can find like he can’t get enough of him.

But then it’s over, and James’ forehead hits the wall behind Regulus as he catches his breath, and
Regulus gingerly disentangles himself, legs unfurling from around James’ hips and sliding down to
stand on his own.

There’s a moment, right there in the immediate aftermath, when they don’t react. There’s panting,
and hands that are still lingering, and the glorious, blissed-out state they know so well.

Until James remembers himself. And the mark on Regulus’ arm. And his words.

I don’t regret the mark. I don’t regret leaving you.

Stepping back with his trousers around his ankles is less than dignified, but James does it anyway.
Hastily, he yanks his pants back up, fumbling with his button and his belt. Regulus doesn’t move.
Not one inch.

“That was a mistake,” James croaks. He’s shaking his head, running a hand over his face. Fuck.
Why did he do that? “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“Relax, Potter,” Regulus says, looking at him with a hint of amusement that’s breaking James’
heart. “A quick shag in the quidditch showers is hardly worth the hysterics.”

Regulus could have slapped him across the face and it would have stung less. How is he so…
doesn’t he care? Doesn’t this hurt him?

“Right,” James says, feeling extremely pathetic all of a sudden. “Right. Well.”

James adjusts his shirt, which is wet now, so not great, and steps back. The more distance he puts
between himself and Regulus, the clearer his thoughts become. Shame burns through him, bright
and hot. He’s so fucking pathetic James wants to cry.

Before Regulus gets even a whiff of James’ mess of an emotional state, he turns around and flees
the quidditch changing rooms, not once looking back.

####

The moment James sprints from the changing rooms, Regulus crouches down right where he is and
jams a fist in his mouth to muffle the cry that tears from his throat.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit.

He shouldn’t have done that. Really shouldn’t have. But he doesn’t regret it. He can’t. Regulus
thought he’d never get to kiss James again. To touch him again. And then he did, and it was
glorious. For the span of fifteen or so minutes, because it was so quick and dirty it didn’t last more
than that, Regulus forgot the war. The Horcruxes. The revenge and the plans and the pain. He
forgot the world existed outside of the places where James was touching him.

And now that it’s all rushed back in, he feels like he’s breaking all over again. Pathetic.
Embarrassing. He folded so quickly. All James had to do was stand within touching distance, and
Regulus fucking crumbled.

He’s a disgrace. He’s a mistake. James said it perfectly.

The worst part was how much it stung. James didn’t even try to ask Regulus to fix it. Not that he
would have. They can’t. But James used to always go after him, and now he doesn’t, he didn’t. He
was standing there, and Regulus was naked, and James called him a mistake.

He swallows the sob that wants to spill from his lips, shaking his head at himself rather violently.

No. He won’t cry. Not over James. Not again.

“Fuck,” Regulus growls. “Get it together.”

This is exactly why he needs to claim his family’s Legacy. The darkness is a safe place to be. It’ll
mute his feelings, dampen everything that makes him human. Take away the pain. Regulus can’t
fucking wait to be back in Grimmauld Place and do it. Let the dark magic swallow him whole.

Running his hands through his hair, Regulus pushes himself back up and steps out of the shower.
The fucking showers in the quidditch changing rooms. If Regulus doesn’t see them ever again it’ll
be too soon.

By the time Regulus walks into the Slytherin common room, most people are well on their way to
being sloshed. The string quartet that plays music is going for it, attempting to make itself heard
over the rush of voices. It’s quite dark, which isn’t unusual for the Slytherin dungeons anyway, but
it makes it a bit harder to Regulus to spot anyone he might be able to tolerate for a short while. If it
were up to him, he’d go straight to his room, but he’s the team’s Seeker and this is a victory party.
He can’t not be here. It would raise questions.

Appallingly, the first person Regulus runs into that he recognises is Severus. He’s leaning against
the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the students milling about with a sneer of
disgust. When he sees Regulus approaching—because he’s walking around the room to avoid the
thick of the crowd—Severus nods his head in a sort of greeting thing.

“Black, we were wondering where you were,” he says pointedly.

“You lot need a hobby,” Regulus replies. “Where are Barty and Evan?”

“Over there doing shots with Rabastan.”

Without another word, Regulus starts towards his friends when Severus steps forward to intercept
him. Regulus looks at him, eyebrows raised. The fucking audacity of this kid, honestly.

“What do you want?” Regulus asks, making himself sound bored.

“I want to join,” Severus says, lowering his voice to whisper fervently. “I want to serve. I need
someone to vouch for me with the Dark Lord.”

“I don’t like you,” Regulus tells him. “Ask Rabastan.”

“Rabastan won’t do it. Says he’s not sure I’m as skilled as I need to be to make up for…” Severus
sentence trails off, and he looks away uncomfortably. Hilarious that he thinks there’s anyone left
who doesn’t know he’s a half blood.

Again, Regulus couldn’t care less who Severus’ parents are, but it’s funny to torture him by
reminding everyone because it bothers him enormously.

Regulus tilts his head to the side, evaluating. He doesn’t like Severus because he’s a hypocrite, and
a bit creepy in general, always lurking in dark corners and watching others with greedy eyes. And
he did almost kill Sirius, which means Regulus is going to kill him at some point. However, in the
meantime, it would perhaps not hurt to have another person owe him one.

“What’s in it for me?” Regulus asks casually.

“I’ll owe you,” Severus says immediately. “I’ll owe you a debt if you get me in. I understand one
must pass a test. I will. Rabastan is an idiot, but you are clever, Black. You know how good I am.”

“Hmm… You’ll teach me that curse,” Regulus says. “The bloody one.”

“Sectusempra,” Severus says, nodding.

“And you still owe me.”

Severus nods again, eager. “You’ll tell the Dark Lord of my ability with potions? I can help. I’ll do
anything.”

Regulus stares at Severus for a beat longer. Allies. Pawns. Pieces on the board for him to move
around as he needs to. And Severus is a fucking good wizard, annoying as it is to admit. He’s
probably better than Rabastan.

“Very well,” Regulus replies. “Expect to be contacted as soon as school is over.”

“Thank you,” Severus says solemnly, stepping away and melting into the shadows again.

Finding Barty and Evan isn’t hard once Regulus approaches the drinks table. His two friends are
engaged in some sort of barbaric competition that involves drinking shots while doing handstands,
or something of the sort. It looks truly uncomfortable, and Regulus has absolutely no desire to
attempt it.

While it’s Barty’s turn, Evan shoves a glass of firewhiskey in Regulus’ hand and happily
gesticulates while he tells Regulus how good Barty is at upside-down shot-drinking like it’s a
useful skill for the future.

It’s all frankly quite ridiculous, but Regulus is grateful, deep down. He stands there and watches
his friends make assess of themselves while sipping his whiskey and all is well. People have seen
him here. Nobody suspects a thing. And he can almost, almost, forget the taste of James and the
ghost of his touch lingering on his skin.

Later that night, when he’s finally found his way to his bed, Regulus is about to tip the vial of
sleeping draught into his mouth when he feels the tingle of awareness in the back of his mind. A
quick glance at his hand lets him know the emerald eyes of the snake ring are glowing faintly.
Dorcas, trying to communicate with him. Sure enough, a moment later he hears her voice in his
mind.

“Reg? Are you there?”

He puts the vial down, stoppering it. “Dorcas?”

“Yes, can you talk?”

“Yes. Are you okay?”

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?”

“What?”

“James? Really? You had to go and fuck him? What happened to breaking his heart so he didn’t
follow you into danger?”

Regulus is, admittedly, completely flabbergasted. How does Dorcas even know this? Judging from
her tone, she’s understandably rather annoyed with him.

“It was an accident,” Regulus thinks forcefully. “Bad impulse control. Also, if we’re being fussy,
technically he fucked me.”

“Salazar’s cape on a pole. Really, Reg?”

He does his best to send the mental equivalent of a shrug through their connection, and knows it
worked when he gets back the equivalent of an eye roll.

“I expect this sort of stupidity from James but you? You should have sent him away.”

“He ambushed me in the fucking shower, Dorcas!”

Regulus is flattered that Dorcas thinks so highly of him, but really he’s just a man. What was he
supposed to when confronted with Angry James right in the place where they’ve had some of the
best sex of their lives before? Nobody has that much self control.

“I know. He told me.”

“Why you? Full offense, he’s not your friend. You’re not allowed to be his friend. You’re mine.”

“He couldn’t tell anyone else, Reg. The others are, understandably, not your biggest fans.”

“You’re supposed to be agreeing with them.”

“And I do, but I’m allowed to miss my ex-best friend and James gets that. Besides, he can’t tell his
best friend about it because Sirius goes ballistic every time someone so much as hints at the fact
that you exist.”

Regulus flinches because he’s in bed and no one can see him. He’s trying not to think of Sirius at
all. It hurts too much. Not more or less than James. Just different. But deep and excruciating
anyway.

“Fine,” Regulus thinks, slightly petulantly. “Is he okay?”

“No. He’s not. But he’s trying and you’ve got to let him go or this was all for nothing.”

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s not happening again. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Dorcas.”

“Right.”

“I need to sleep,” he thinks with finality, signalling this conversation is over.

Dorcas gets it. “Well, Marlene is here now, so I better go.”

Regulus nods before he remembers Dorcas can’t actually see him, and then the connection is
severed. Pinching his eyes closed, Regulus allows himself a moment of weakness to remember, in
vivid detail, his slip up with James in the shower.

Then, decidedly, he unstoppers the vial of potion and drinks it. Then another. And another.
Regulus is knocked out before his head even hits the pillow.

####

Interlude: Dorcas POV

True to their name, the NEWTs are nastily exhausting. Dorcas feels like all she does these days is
study. Even their lessons are revision sessions now. Professors go through the materials, quiz
them, and do their best to help them prepare for their NEWTs. Today, the last Thursday in May,
Dorcas has been in the library with the girls for close to four hours. The sun is setting. Dinner will
start soon, and Dorcas hasn’t stood up since she got here. Suffice it to say, Dorcas is exhausted.

She can’t complain, though. It helps to be this busy. Makes it easier to pretend she’s not worried
about Regulus, and missing Barty and Evan. Naively, she’d thought it would be easier. Dorcas
should have known better than to underestimate years of friendship. Evan, specially. He’s always
been soft and quite gentle. It tears Dorcas apart that he’s been sucked into the darkness with no
way out.

Barty is a different issue. She’s always known there’s a mean, dangerous streak to him but for a
while there, especially once he fell for Evan, she thought he might soften. That Evan would smooth
his edges. And perhaps he has, but not enough. Of the two, Barty is the one who’s actually eager to
get that horrible brand on his arm.

With a sigh, she drops her head on her hands, elbows on the table over her book. Across from her,
Lily looks up from her own revision with a questioning glance. Shaking her head to indicate she’s
just tired, Dorcas stifles a yawn and cracks her neck.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Mary suggests, stretching her arms over her head. “We’ve been
here for hours.”

“I promised Marlene I’d finish copying these notes over for her,” Lily says. “I’m almost done. Five
more minutes.”

If it’s for Marlene, Dorcas can’t complain. She nods and settles back to wait until Lily has finished.
Despite how close their NEWTs are, the Quidditch team still has regular practices because the final
match of the year is this weekend.

“I’m actually quite excited for the victory party,” Mary comments, rolling up her parchments in
preparation to leave when Lily is done. “We need a break. I feel like we’ve done nothing but study
since before Easter.”

“It’ll be good for James to win the Cup,” Lily mutters, lips pouting slightly as she copies a
complicated looking diagram. “He’s been doing reasonably well, but he’s not himself. I don’t think
I’ve seen him smile since it happened.”

“Getting dumped sucks,” Mary says sympathetically. “Though I’ll say I never thought they made
any sense together.”

“You’re not supposed to know,” Dorcas mutters. “And they did make sense. They were great
together.”

Mary shrugs. Remus’ party made it pretty obvious to everyone there who had stolen James’ heart,
and Mary, being the gossip she is, didn’t stop until someone confirmed it for her. She did
absolutely nothing with the information, because that’s just not Mary. She doesn’t have a bad bone
in her body. She simply wanted to know because she’s nosy.

“That may well be true,” Mary says. “But it’s over now. And I’m not above saying what everyone
else is thinking.”

“Which is?” Dorcas asks, frowning.

“Well, now Lils might finally have a shot. James and Lily would make a beautiful couple.”

“No way,” Lily replies forcefully. “I have enough self-respect to stay the hell away from that. I’m
not going to be anyone’s rebound. No matter what.”

“He’s not going to be hung up on… ehm, him forever,” Mary points out. “Not saying you should
jump James right now, but in a few months… you know.”

Lily blushes violently, shaking her head and muttering under her breath that she really needs to
finish copying the notes so Marlene can keep up with them despite having Quidditch practices.

Dorcas shifts her weight on her chair. She hates this. Hates knowing that Regulus is still very much
in love with James and that this whole thing is not his choice. Well, it is, but for good reasons. If
she could, she’d keep James available for when everything is resolved—because Dorcas refuses to
believe in any other outcome—so that Regulus could win him back.

But that’s unfair to James. This could take years, though Dorcas really hopes it doesn’t. She
doesn’t know the details, because Regulus insists on keeping her in the semi-dark for her own
protection. And she gets that. The big bad—Voldemort—is rumoured to be an expert at
legilimency. It’s not too far-fetched to think he’d be teaching his Death Eaters to read minds.

The point is, she has no idea how long it’ll take Regulus to set his plan in motion and see it
through. Besides, he’s a year behind her in school so surely—oh. Oh.

Checking quickly that Mary and Lily aren’t looking, she focuses on her ring to activate it. When
the eyes are glowing, she sends a mental ping to Regulus.

“You there?”

While she waits for a reply, Dorcas struggles to keep a smile off her face. She absolutely loves the
fact that she can communicate with Regulus anytime now. It’s so easy. So smooth. She knows
she’s annoying him a little bit with how often she sends him a mental wave just to chat, or to ask
him a stupid question, but he hasn’t told her to stop yet, which makes Dorcas think Regulus is a
little lonely.

“I’m busy right now, what is it? Are you okay?”

“Busy with what? It’s your birthday. You should be having a day off.”

“No rest for the wicked. What do you want?”

“You’re always so charming. Are you coming back to school next year?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“And this was the all important question that couldn’t wait?”

“You’re hedging. Which means you aren’t. Fuck. Reg. Really?”

“I can’t waste a whole fucking year stuck in here while you are out there. It’s not like I need the
NEWTs anyway.”

Dorcas doesn’t think it, keeps it away from her connection with Regulus, but she knows ‘you’ is
not just her. It includes James. Possibly Sirius. Regulus wants to get things done as quickly as
possible so the war doesn’t drag, because every day there’s fighting is a day that someone that
matters to him could get hurt.

And she gets it. She gets it so deeply because she wants Regulus to succeed more than anything.
Marlene is going to be in the thick of it, and it makes Dorcas want to hurl every time she thinks
about it.

“Alright. Okay. Are you sure I can’t see you tonight? We could sneak away to the Astronomy
Tower?”

“I told you James and them would find us out. We can’t risk it. It’s fine, Dorcas. I don’t care about
birthdays.”

“You’re a very good liar. But I’m a very good friend and I know that’s not true. We’ll celebrate
when this is over.”

“Sure. I’m busy. Bye.”

The connection goes out. In the time she was mentally talking to Regulus, Lily finished with
Marlene’s notes, so she passes them to Dorcas, who puts them in her bag to give to her girlfriend
later.

Together, the three of them leave the library and head to the Great Hall for dinner. They look a
little bedraggled and tired, but so does every other seventh year student in this school.

Well, except for Sirius Black, apparently.

Dorcas slides in next to him at the Gryffindor table, gaping at the boy. How is he so fresh?
Honestly, fucking unfair. On Sirius’ other side, Remus looks as dishevelled as the girls do so
clearly it’s not a boy thing. It’s a Sirius thing.

“How are you so refreshed?” Mary asks, seemingly reading Dorcas’ mind.

“Well, I took a shower just now after practice,” Sirius replies, blinking in confusion.

“No, I mean… you should be tired. Like everyone else. More than everyone else because you have
practice on top of studying!” Mary cries, outraged. “And you look fucking good!”
“Are you flirting with me Macdonald?” Sirius asks, wiggling with eyebrows.

Remus rolls his eyes and gently slaps Sirius over the head. “Stop that,” he says, then he looks at
Mary. “I share your outrage over the lack of physical evidence of his exhaustion. Fucking
ridiculous.”

“Wait till you see Prongs,” Sirius says, smiling happily.

As though summoned, James walks in with Marlene, both of them with wet hair and flushed cheeks
from their very recent hot showers. Marlene looks a bit tired, though no less gorgeous for it.
Enraptured, Dorcas watches as she reaches the table and sits down across from her, leaving the
space between herself and Lily for James.

It’s an unspoken agreement that James now sits with his back to the Slytherin table. Always.

“Hello gorgeous,” Marlene says, bumping Dorcas’ foot with hers under the table. Dorcas’ heart
does a little flutter in her chest when her girlfriend smiles at her.

Feeling her cheeks getting hot, and secretly grateful for her dark skin that hides her blushes, Dorcas
tries to look cool despite how tired she is. Tries to channel her inner Sirius Black to impress her
girlfriend.

“Hey, there.” Dorcas smiles. “Good practice?”

Beaming in return, Marlene nods as she piles food onto her plate. “We’re so ready for Saturday.
Can’t believe it’s the last game ever.” Marlene pouts, then wrinkles her nose. “The party is going
to go off!”

“We have to win first,” James says casually.

“Come on, Cap,” Marlene replies, nudging his shoulder with hers. “You know it’s in the bag.”

“What’s in the bag?” Peter asks, joining them. There are streaks of dirt on his robes which tell
Dorcas he’s come straight from the greenhouses. He’s been spending a lot of time there since Olive
died.

“Quidditch cup,” Remus replies from the other side.

“Ah,” Peter says, looking down at the table and blinking very fast for a moment. There’s a bit of a
tense silence that makes Dorcas want to reach out and squeeze Peter’s hand, but she doesn’t know
him well enough for that. It would be weird.

“I’ve asked McGonagall to write Olive’s name on it if we do win it,” James says gently. Peter
looks up, eyes wide. “We wouldn’t be so close to victory without her. That cup is hers, too.
McGonagall agreed, of course.”

Peter swallows, eyes rimmed with red. “Thank you,” he croaks, voice breaking. “That… it would
have meant a lot to her. Thank you.”

Dorcas thinks, as she does her best to eat some dinner, that it’s fucking horrible that this is their
life. They’re kids. All of them. Eighteen-year-olds that should be worried about exams and sports
games only, and here they are. Thinking about ways to honour their dead, because they have them
already. And there’ll be more.

Heart in her throat, Dorcas looks past Marlene to the Slytherin table where Regulus is eating his
dinner with Barty, Evan, Lestrange and Snape—since when does Reg hang out with Snape?—and
wishes with her entire heart that Regulus succeeds. And that he does it quickly.

****

Happiness, Dorcas thinks as she turns over in bed and comes face to face with Marlene, is this.
Right here. It’s Marlene’s cheek smashed against her pillow, and the bit of drool on her chin. It’s
her blond hair sticking up in all directions, and the peaceful set of her brow. Marlene only looks
peaceful when she’s sleeping, and Dorcas thinks that’s beautiful. She’s incredibly glad that only
she gets to see this side of Marlene. That only Dorcas gets to hold her when she’s vulnerable like
this.

Selfishly, Dorcas steals a few more minutes of this quiet happiness. Carefully, she snuggles closer
and simply basks in the feeling of Marlene’s breathing and the warmth of their blanket cocoon.
This little bubble when it’s just her, and Marlene, and she gets to just be with her girlfriend before
the rest of the world barges in.

“Are you watching me sleep?” Marlene asks, eyes still closed and a lazy smile on her lips.

“I can’t watch you sleep if you’re not sleeping,” Dorcas points out.

“Hmm,” Marlene snuggles closer, burying her face in the crook of Dorcas’ neck. “What time is it?”

“It’s still early,” Dorcas replies, sliding her arm around to cradle Marlene against her body. “You
can go back to sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” Marlene mutters from where her mouth is pressed against Dorcas’ neck, “I
would rather do this.”

“Ah,” Dorcas gasps, pleasantly surprised. Marlene isn’t a morning person, so she doesn’t usually
wake up feeling in the mood for anything but barking at people and demanding coffee.

“Yes?” Marlene asks, dragging her tongue up Dorcas’ neck.

“Yes,” Dorcas whispers, hands sliding down to curl around Marlene’s waist so she can hoist her up
on top of her. “Always yes.”

It’s slow and careful. Marlene takes her time exploring every inch of skin on Dorcas’ body,
worshipping with devotion. Marlene doesn’t talk when they’re doing this. She sees no need for
words when they’re bodies are speaking for them. But she knows Dorcas likes it, so every now and
then Marlene will remember to say something like, “You’re a queen, Dorcas. My queen.”

Understandably, Dorcas melts every time.

Her thoughts scatter, leaving her head empty. Dorcas is only feeling. Awareness of Marlene’s
fingers as they dip and curl. Her tongue as she finds sensitive spots all over. Her teeth when they
drag over a hipbone or the inside of her thigh.

“Fuck, Marls,” Dorcas whispers, tightening her grip on Marlene’s hair when she dips between her
legs.

“Shhh,” Marlene says, looking up at Dorcas with mischief. “Don’t wake the others up.”

After, when they have to stop not because they can’t keep going but because Lily and Mary are up
and about and Marlene is at risk of being late for her pre-game meet-up, Dorcas kisses her three
times in quick succession.

“Good luck today,” she whispers against Marlene’s lips. “Go win that cup.”

“You do remember you’re not technically a Gryffindor, yes?” she says, smiling back. Always
teasing, Marlene.

“I’m an honorary member of your house. Argue with the wall,” Dorcas replies. “Go. Before James
barges in here looking for you, or worse he sends Sirius.”

A few minutes later, Marlene is rushing out the room with her bat under one arm and her boots on
the other. She normally leaves her gear in her locker, but she wanted to clean and polish her boots
for today’s game. Big mistake, she said right before she left, because now she has to carry them
back down in a hurry.

Laughing, Dorcas stretches her arms over her head and glances at Lily and Mary, getting ready to
go support their team.

“It should be a quick one,” Lily is saying. “Because Ravenclaw has been truly abysmal this year. If
Silverwood finds the snitch quickly, they’re in.”

“How many points do they need to beat Slytherin?”

“Not many. And James will score a few goals right off the bat. He always does.”

“You’ve got a bit of drool there,” Dorcas jokes, pointing to Lily’s chin.

She blushes violently, but chuckles good-naturedly. “As if you didn’t come with us to watch this
game with the sole purpose of lusting after Marlene for the entire duration.”

“You are absolutely correct, and I am not ashamed about it in the slightest,” Dorcas replies.

They all laugh together, then carry on chatting animatedly while they get ready. It strikes Dorcas
quite suddenly that yes, she misses the friends she had to leave behind, but she’s made new ones.
Good ones. Lily and Mary are truly wonderful people and they’ve welcomed Dorcas with open
arms. And not just as Marlene’s girlfriend, but as her own person. Dorcas likes these girls. Cares
about them. They’re her friends now.

It’s a warming thought, but also two more reasons to make sure Regulus does whatever it is he has
to do, and that he helps them win the war sooner rather than later.

####

Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup.

James is happy. He hits the ground, and jumps off his broom, hoisting it with two hands like he’s
some sort of ancient warrior raising the sword of his slain enemy. The crowd goes wild. James is
happy. His team rally around him, chanting and jumping, smiling and shouting. There’s a lot of
noise, and James is right in the middle of it. Marlene is on Sirius’ shoulders, bat raised over her
head and chanting victory, and Silverwood is being thrown up and down by the rest of the team.
James is happy.

The common room is absolute pandemonium when they walk in, carrying the cup with them.
Dorcas hugs Marlene and Sirius not-so-subtly tackles Remus down so he can sneak a kiss while
they’re obscured by the sofa they fell behind. James is happy. Lily finds him and puts a glass in his
hand. Firewhiskey, hot and a bit smokey. He drinks it, and the music starts playing. James is
happy.

Alcohol makes everything feel warm and fuzzy. He loves his team. His friends. Loves the way
Lily’s hand fits in his as they dance, and the smoothness of Mary’s hair when it brushes against
him. Loves Dorcas’s smile and the wicked glint in Marlene’s eye. Loves how Peter is doing his
best to dance even though the last time he danced—no. James isn’t thinking sad thoughts tonight.
He loves the way Remus is scowling because he doesn’t like the music, but he won’t interrupt
because Sirius is having a blast.

James is drunk. James is happy.

Sirius finds him by the drinks table and hugs him. Whispers in his ear that they’re going to be okay.
This is the start of the good things. They’re going to keep winning, together. They’ll be okay. Just
them. Brothers. Soulmates. They don’t need anyone else. More firewhiskey.

James is happy.

Somehow, he’s in the middle of the crowd again, and ABBA is playing, and he’s dancing and
singing. The room is spinning but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. They won the Cup, and
James has been working so hard for it. It’s a perfect night. James is happy. The party goes on, and
he talks to people, celebrates, dances, drinks. And drinks. And drinks.

James tells himself he is happy. Over and over again.

And if the part of his brain that remembers actions have consequences has gone to sleep by the
time the party dies down… well. If James happens to find himself alone near the exit, because it’s
only the older students left—because they have the highest alcohol tolerance—and they’re all
starting to doze off… well.

Nobody notices when he slips out of the common room under his loyal cloak. He doesn’t run into
anyone as he climbs staircase after staircase. It feels like the castle is holding its breath, watching
James go where he shouldn’t.

James was supposed to be happy. And to a certain extent he was. He is, he tells himself.
Stubbornly. He is happy. Quidditch means the world to him. He loves it with everything he’s got.
So, yes. He is happy.

Except if he’s happy why hasn’t he smiled? He’s shouted and gesticulated and repeated a play-by-
play of his best goals. He’s cheered and toasted and danced and sung. But he hasn’t smiled. Not a
single time. He doesn’t think anyone has noticed, but he has. He knows.

He should be happy, but there’s a hole in the middle of his chest where his heart should be so how
can he be? Where does one hold happy when there’s no heart? The black hole that grew in his
chest the day Regulus chose the Death Eaters simply eats it all up, leaving nothing behind.

Alcohol has a funny effect on people, James thinks through a bit of a haze as he turns the corner
and walks down the seventh floor corridor. He knows—but only distantly, like he’s watching
someone else make bad choices—that all the whiskey he’s drunk is responsible for him doing this.
His head feels like it’s full of cotton. Doesn’t matter. He’s fine.

Oops. Nope. Maybe not so fine, because he definitely just stumbled into the wall. Alright. Okay.
He can do this.

Except now he’s standing in front of where the door to the room will open and he doesn’t know.
 Doesn’t know what he wants. That’s a lie, actually. He wants Regulus. He wants to go back in time
and find where exactly he went wrong. What it was that made Regulus feel like James wasn’t
enough. He wants to change it. Change himself to be better. Be perfect for Regulus the way
Regulus was perfect for him.

It doesn’t matter, James thinks, practically begging the room with his mind. Just give him back to
me. Give me him. I don’t care where. Just him. Please.

Impossibly, the door to the room appears and James thinks he’s going to be sick. But he can’t. Not
now. Because does it mean… is Regulus here? James didn’t dare hope. But oh. Oh, if Regulus is
here James is going to tell him how much he still loves him. That it doesn’t matter what he’s done.
If Regulus wants any part of him, James will give it. No matter how much or how little.

His hand is shaking as he turns the knob and steps inside. Grimmauld Place. Regulus’ room. But
Regulus isn’t here. And isn’t that just… James breaks down. Right there by the door. James hasn’t
cried since the first weekend. He’s been doing okay. Thought he was perhaps starting to move on
—stupid blip in the quidditch changing rooms notwithstanding—but he was just pretending, wasn’t
he? He’s not okay.

James doesn’t know if he’ll ever be okay again. And so he begins to sob and doesn’t stop. He’s
extremely drunk, and it’s making him overly emotional. And he’s alone in a replica of Regulus’
room. The room where he made the choice that broke James’ heart. James weeps. And weeps.

For some reason, suddenly, James feels like he really needs to curl up on the bed. It’s Regulus’
bed, and if he can’t have Regulus, then he’ll have this. The closest he can get. James crawls across
the room until he’s by the bed, and then he crawls onto the bed and pulls all the covers and sheets
against him in a sort of messy knot. He buries his face in the pillow and what do you know? It
smells like Regulus. Broom polish and the outdoors and lavender. Cigarette smoke and heart break.

And there, curled into a ball on a bed that’s not his, James can admit to himself that he’s not happy.
He hasn’t been since that day Regulus walked away from him. And James panics, because it’s been
like a month and a half since then and this isn’t normal, is it? He should definitely be better. But he
isn’t.

Before alcohol and exhaustion drag him down to a fitful sleep, James’ last thought is that he needs
to change tactics, because what he’s been doing clearly hasn’t been working. And the war is
waging, and it won’t wait for James to not be heartbroken anymore. Unless he gets his shit
together, he’s going to be a liability on the field.

Chapter End Notes

We got Spicy Times

Honestly, these two cannot keep their hands to each other. Don't blame them for it,
either

Dorcas' POV!! It'd been a while since we got some Dorlene, so I wanted to have a bit
of a girls interlude. I hope you liked it

And then James He's so sad. Poor boy.

Next chapter we leave Hogwarts
War is almost here. Are we ready?

Let me know what you think Thank you to everyone for the love and the absolutely
brilliant comments

I am now going to disappear back into a blanket burrito and hope I get better soon.
Love you all
 Near the end, where it all begins
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Thanks for all the well-wishes. I have emerged from my blanket burrito and I'm
feeling a bit better, so here's another chapter!

TWs for this one:

Smoking
Brief mentions of vomiting (no one is sick but they feel like it)
Brief mention of addiction (it's a metaphor only)
Underage drinking
War (discussions, plans, references to victims of war)
Sex (very brief, not explicit, but it happens)
Bit of blood
Cutting (but not in a self-harm way, it's in a ritual way like someone cuts their hand to
get some blood to perform some magic thing)

As always, if I've missed anything please flag!

Thank you for your lovely words and amazing comments

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Piece of cake,” Sirius says, throwing an arm over James’ shoulders as he walks out of the practical
portion of their DADA exam. It’s the very last NEWT before they leave Hogwarts for the final
time tomorrow.

“You have literally said that about every exam this week,” James points out to Sirius.

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “As if. You’ve got this in the bag, and then we’re done. We’re free,
Prongs!”

“Yeah, free to march straight to the front lines of a war,” James says under his breath to avoid
being overheard.

Sirius flinches but refuses to drop the smile on his face. “I know it’s not ideal, but we’re still us,
Prongs. We’re going to be fine. We’re going to win. Save the world, you and I. Remember?”

“I do,” James says, and he offers Sirius the closest thing to a smile he can manage these days. It’s
enough to fool most people. Not Sirius.

James knows he has noticed. It would be impossible for Sirius not to, considering how attuned they
are to each other. But Sirius has, mercifully, not said anything to him just yet. Like he’s giving
James a sort of grace period. And James has no idea how long Sirius considers appropriate, but
he’s worried it won’t be long enough.

Some days, James feels mostly alright. Others, he thinks he’ll never be fine again.
Today, thanks to the distraction of exams, he’s leaning towards ‘it’ll pass, eventually’ and he can
only hope that’s true. He thinks that leaving Hogwarts will be good for him. Regulus once said to
him ‘you’re my boyfriend in here’ and James didn’t really think much of it then, but now it makes
sense. Out there, there’s a whole world where James can exist without the memory of Regulus.

Perhaps he’ll find his smile beyond the walls of Hogwarts.

“Remus,” Sirius breathes as their friend exits the classroom, gesturing wildly for his boyfriend to
come join them.

Marlene is next one in, and she marches towards the classroom with her wand gripped in her hand
and her chin raised in defiance, like instead of an examination she’s facing the gallows. Dorcas
watches her go with a fond expression softening the corners of her mouth.

“How did it go?” Sirius asks Remus, slyly linking their hands together in their robes so they can’t
be seen.

“Pretty good, I reckon,” Remus replies. “You alright, James? Sucks being last.”

James shrugs. Nothing he can do about it, but yeah. Not ideal. The anticipation is a bit hard to
manage but he’s got practice with Quidditch games. Peter walks down the corridor where they’re
waiting and comes to join them from his fourth trip to the bathroom. His stomach hasn’t been
coping very well with NEWTs stress.

Behind him, the girls approach, too. Lily, Mary and Dorcas. Fretting a bit, Lily calls to Remus,
“Hey, Remus. Was it alright?”

“Yeah, yours?”

Both Mary and Lily nod, though Lily does a lot more confidently than Mary. “I messed up one of
the shields,” Mary groans. “But I think the rest was alright? We’ll see.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lily says supportingly.

Dorcas groans. “It’s my turn next. Right after Marls.”

“Good luck, Meadowes,” James says.

They’ve grown closer, him and Dorcas. There are things only she understands. Things James can’t
tell Sirius because the person who broke James’ heart is Sirius’ little brother, and that means
Sirius’ heart broke too. In a different way. A harsher way. But broken still.

Sirius went to talk to Regulus one night, and when he came back he made it clear in no uncertain
terms that nobody was ever to bring up the subject of his brother to him. There was a harshness to
his face James had very rarely seen before, pain masked as rage. Sirius built himself a wall around
all things Regulus and he won’t let anyone in. Not James. Not Remus. And James won’t try,
because Sirius deserves to find peace any way he can.

But Dorcas… well. She gets it. Dorcas misses Regulus, too. Wishes he’d chosen differently. So,
when James feels like he can’t breathe, sometimes he talks to her, and they find ways to move on
together. It’s not… it’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing. It is perhaps a horribly selfish thing
to think, but James is so fucking glad he’s not alone in his heartbreak.

Marlene and Dorcas come out of their tests feeling confident. And then James has to wait for a few
more students to go, including Peter, before it’s his turn. He’s the last of his friends, so the girls
have gone ahead to set up a picnic by the lake. James and the boys will join them as soon as he’s
done.

“Mr. Potter, come in!” This year’s professor for Defence has a soft spot for him. Possibly because
he was the first one to cast a fully corporeal patronus in their entire year. “I think you’ll find this
exam a breeze. Nothing I haven’t seen you do in class before.”

“Thank you, professor,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and getting ready.

They go through a series of counter courses, shielding spells, and offensive spells that aim to
disarm and knock out but never grievously harm the opponent. James aces all of them. He’s
relaxed, convinced that O is in the bag when the professor says, “Last one is your favourite. A
patronus, if you please. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that beautiful stag of yours running around
my classroom.”

Oh no. No.

“A patronus, sir?”

“Yes, Potter. A patronus, please. Go on.”

James tries. He really, really does. He wants that O in DADA, and it’s truly shameful that he’s not
going to get it because he’s not in the right headspace to cast a patronus.

It’s not that he doesn’t have happy memories. He does. So many. From his childhood alone—
playing with his parents; trips to the beach; running around the manor driving Rosly insane—he’s
got more than enough. And there’s other memories. Later ones. Better ones. Early Hogwarts years,
pranking people left, right and centre with his friends. Sirius in his bed, telling him of his
adventures or romantic escapades. Sirius hugging him and calling him best friend. Sirius tearing up
when his parents took him in. Sirius calling James brother for the first time. The night they showed
Remus they’d become animagi. The day they finished the map.

James has had a happy life. And perhaps that’s why it’s so hard now. Because how does he
choose? His patronus thought when he managed it for the first time had been the night he
completed a Rubik’s cube on his own and Regulus looked at him like he was precious. Since then,
he’s always picked a memory with Regulus because they’ve stood out in stark contrast. The love of
his life, shinning brighter than anything else.

That star has blinked out. Snuffed out of James’ particular sky. So, James tries. But he fails. None
of his happy memories stay. They slip through his fingers like grains of sand. Water seeping
through cracks, because his heart is broken and right this moment, it can’t hold happy in it.

“I’m sorry, professor,” James says after the third failed attempt. He’s produced a silvery mist, but
nothing remotely close to a stag.

“James,” the professor says, approaching him tentatively. “May I call you James?”

“Sure.”

“Are you alright? I’ve seen you cast a fully corporeal patronus maybe twenty, thirty times this
year,” the professor says, surprising James who was kind of expecting an admonishment for lack of
focus or whatever.

“I’m… I really am very sorry. I’m having a hard time right now and happy is just not happening,”
James says earnestly. “I just can’t manage it.”
The professor looks at him with a lot of compassion and understanding. More than James thinks he
deserves. Surely, if the professor knew what’s ailing him is a boy with green eyes and a mean
smirk, he wouldn’t be so nice about it. Fortunately for everyone, James isn’t going to tell him.

“It seems hardly fair that you wouldn’t get top marks just because you had a bad day,” the
professor says after a moment. “Not when I’ve seen you do this before, many times.”

“What do you—”

“You cast a patronus,” the professor says. “That’s all anyone needs to know. But James? Get your
happy back. And if you need help, ask for it. The world needs happy these days more than ever.”

James is so shocked he can only nod and thank the professor a bit numbly, then he’s out of the
classroom. Reeling from the strange turn of events, he doesn’t see Sirius until he’s tackled him and
because he wasn’t ready, they both tumble down to the ground. They’re a mess of limbs and
cussing. Sirius’ long hair gets in James’ mouth, making him sputter.

“Ouch,” Sirius complains, pushing himself off James. “What was that? Why didn’t you catch me?”

“Sorry,” James says, rubbing the back of his head and wincing. There’s going to be a bruise there,
he’s sure. “I was distracted.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he whispers, not wanting the rest of the students to overhear.

“Are you okay?” Sirius asks, dropping his voice down low.

“Been better,” James admits. “But I’ll live.”

Sirius gets up, and then helps James by hauling him to his feet by the hand. Remus is shaking his
head at the two idiots he’s got for best friends. Well. Best friend and boyfriend, James knows.
Apparently, they made it official through a rather strange conversation where Sirius is certain
Remus said it first, but Remus insists it was all Sirius.

Doesn’t matter to James. He’s not asking for clarifications.

“Come on, you two,” Remus says, gesturing with his head towards the end of the corridor. “The
girls are by the lake and I’m dying for a fag.”

It’s quite crazy, James thinks as he lies back on the grass and stares at a sky so blue it’s hard to
believe they’re in Scotland, just how fast life changes. He remembers it well, the first time he saw
Sirius on the train to Hogwarts. Eleven years old and haughty like no one James had ever met. And
yet, there’d been something in his eyes, a love of mischief that James had seen straight away.

Now, Sirius is lying right next to him, flicking through a muggle magazine of motorcycles of all
things that he begged Lily to procure for him after he heard a muggle born in fourth year tell
another about his uncle’s bike. He’s eighteen, the best dueller James has ever met. His soulmate.
Brother. Best friend. Still haughty but also fiercely loyal to his friends and in love with Remus
Lupin.

He remembers it well, the first time he saw Remus. Brooding on the train, huddled in a corner
against a window and pretending to be asleep so no one would talk to him. James had seen bruises
on his knuckles, and scars all over him, and he’d through: he needs a friend. And I want to be it for
him.
Now, Remus is sitting up, knees bumping against Lily’s. He’s smoking a cigarette and listening to
her tell him about this fish she’s apparently charmed for professor Slughorn (?). The scars are still
on Remus, but his knuckles aren’t bruised anymore. His full moons are still an ordeal, but they’re
shared with friends. Remus isn’t alone anymore. He’s got friends, and the love of Sirius Black.

He knew Peter before Hogwarts, so it’s less emotional. James has always associated Peter with
summer picnics in Richmond park and Christmas parties in their houses. They came to Hogwarts
together, and they’re leaving it together. But still. James remembers how easily Peter fit in with
Sirius and Remus, accepting them as friends, too. And so, they became four. And the marauders
were born, and seven years of mischief ensued.

So much has happened. They’ve gone through pranks and detentions. Exams and Hogsmeade
visits. Honeydukes raids, and midnight expeditions to the Slytherin dungeons to get back at the
snakes. Quidditch and chess. Exploding snap. Apparition tests. Full moons in the shack and out of
it. Heartbreak and happiness. Loss and grief. Hope and joy.

Those seven years end tomorrow. And James can’t believe it. But deep down, he’s ready. He’s
going to miss Hogwarts, and he’s not exactly looking forward to the front lines—that would be
weird, wouldn’t it?—but he and Regulus never existed out there. So, James thinks, leaving the
school will help him heal.

“Is everything ready for tonight?” Peter asks from where he’s lying on a blanket with his head on
Mary’s lap.

She’s leaning on Lily’s shoulder, eyes drooping a bit. Post-exam exhaustion has settled and they’re
all a bit doozy. Remus finished smoking some time ago and moved to lie down next to Sirius.
They’re both full on napping right now. James can hear Sirius’ light snoring.

“Yes,” James replies excitedly. One last prank. “We just need to make sure we’re in the Great Hall
before anyone else.”

They knew there was no topping Regulus’ fungus attack on his entire house. The marauders can
recognise fellow mischief genius when presented with it. So, they decided not to try. Instead of
launching a full scale prank targeting the dungeons, they’ve settled for sending the Slytherins off
with a parting gift. It’ll be particularly satisfying to for the older students. Those who are planning
on joining the Death Eater ranks this summer better find a solution to the little problem the
marauders are sending their way. Something tells James that Voldemort isn’t a big fan of the
colour pink.

“Are we safe?” Marlene asks.

James hums. “Yes. Only Slytherin table should be affected.”

Dorcas doesn’t react. She hasn’t been near any of them since she had her fight with Regulus. If it
hadn’t been so close to the end of her education, James wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d asked
to be re-sorted. He doesn’t even know if this is an option, but well.

“Excellent.” Marlene claps her hands.

There’s another lull. James watches shreds of clouds drift by. Mary yawns, and it goes around the
entire group. James has to blink an errant tear from his eye from how hard he goes for it.

“I’m going to miss school,” Peter says a little wistfully, pouting a little.

“Do you think we’ll ever come back?” Lily asks.

The sun catches in her red hair, setting it ablaze. Distantly, James wonders if he’d be happier if
he’d never chased Regulus. If he’d listened to Lily’s advice in the library last September and not
tried so hard.

“I don’t even know if they do alumni reunions,” Marlene mutters. “Are those a thing here?”

“Well,” Dorcas says, sitting up from where she was lying next to Marlene. “If any of us becomes a
professor then they’ll be back.”

James almost shudders. He cannot imagine teaching. He loves kids. Absolutely adores them, and
well. He thinks he wants to be a father some day. But teaching? Hell to the no.

For some reason, he thinks Regulus would be good at it. Then, immediately, he dismisses the
thought because Regulus has joined the ranks of an evil person and shouldn’t be allowed near
children.

He has to fake a coughing fit to hide the sad sigh that escapes his lungs. Fortunately, Lily is
actually considering this and she’s got everyone’s attention, so no one notices.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” Lily says. “Teaching, I mean. I think I would be good at Charms.”

“Please,” Mary says, giggling. “Those children would not learn a thing. They’d be too busy having
a major crush on their teacher.”

“Oi!” Lily protests, but she’s laughing too.

“Anyone ever had a crush on a professor?” Marlene asks.

“James had a crush on Minnie,” says Sirius suddenly.

James turns around, eyes wide. Wasn’t he napping? What a traitor. “What happened to ‘don’t tell
anyone’?” James asks, indignant.

The girls are all laughing so hard they’re gasping for air. Offended on behalf of McGonagall,
James decides to double down. “She’s very impressive. And she’s nice. She used to give me
biscuits!”

“What?” Mary stops giggling abruptly. “So, all those times we thought you were collecting
detentions like chocolate frog cards you were actually getting biscuits?”

“Not every time,” James says, a bit bashful. “But enough times. Anyway. I will not stand for
Minnie slander.”

“Seconded,” Remus mutters from where he’s lying down a little bit to the side.

“Yeah,” Lily agrees. “She’s amazing. I had a crush on the third year Defence teacher. Do you
remember him? Professor Khan."

"Ah, yes! He had glasses, didn’t he?” James nods along. He was quite cool. James liked him, too.
They don’t have a lot of dark skinned professors on staff, so it’s always nice when there’s one.

For some reason, this sends the girls into a fit of hysterical giggles. James doesn’t get it, but he
shrugs anyway. It’s good to see his friends laughing. They need more laughter in the world these
days. Godric knows he can’t be relied upon to provide it, so it’ll have to be the girls.

“We’ll all stay in touch after school, right?” Mary asks when they’ve calmed down a little bit.
Remus, who’s just lit a cigarette, nods. “We should do like a pub night. Every other week or
something.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Dorcas says, excited. “Somewhere in London. Central. We can all
apparate, right?”

There’s a chorus of agreements, then the conversation goes down a rabbit hole of dates and places
and when people think the best time is and why. James lies back down, arms behind his head and
elbows poking out.

One more night. And then they’re off.

“Hey,” Sirius says, crawling up a bit until his face is right next to James’. Close enough that he can
whisper and not be overheard. “If you want to say goodbye… I wouldn’t hold it against you. I
wouldn’t stop you.”

James closes his eyes. “He’s not interested. There’s no point.” And then, a thought in the back of
his head. Unfurling like flower petals. “But there is something I’d like to do. For closure. Will you
come with me to the seventh floor after the prank?”

“I’ll go with you anywhere,” Sirius says firmly. “Anywhere. Anytime. To the end of the world,
Prongs.”

####

Interlude: Lily’s POV

Professor Slughorn’s office is more cluttered than usual, possibly due to the boxes he’s packing
with the things he’s taking home for the summer. It’s a bit of an odd thought, trying to imagine
Slughorn outside of Hogwarts, but Lily supposes that professors are people, too. They have lives
outside of the castle walls.

“Lily!” he says, smiling widely when she steps in through the open door. “What can I do for you?”

“Hello, professor. I just… well. I wanted to give you this,” Lily tells him, setting the fishbowl
she’s carrying down on his desk. “As a token of appreciation. I’ve learnt a lot from you the past
seven years so I just wanted to say thank you for being an excellent teacher.”

Slughorn approaches the fishbowl and peers inside of it. When he looks up again, he’s tearing up a
little which Lily thinks is quite adorable. “Oh, Lily. You didn’t need to.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” she replies, smiling. “Muggle kids do it all the time, did you know? I
used to bring some chocolate at the end of the year for my favourite teachers in primary school.”

“Sounds like a nice tradition,” Slughorn says. “Thank you, Lily. Teaching you has been a pleasure.
You’re one of the brightest witches of your generation.”

Cheeks heating up at the praise, Lily nods her thanks and steps towards the door. “Have a nice
summer, professor.”

“Lily…” Slughorn starts. Stops. Frowns deeply. “Be careful, alright? Things aren’t looking too
good out there.”

For a muggle born.

Slughorn doesn’t say it, of course. But Lily knows he’s thinking it. “I will be. Take care. Goodbye,
professor.”

There’s a bitter taste in the back of her mouth as she makes her way towards Gryffindor Tower.
She’s afraid. Not so much for herself—although she’s afraid for herself, too—but for her family.
Muggle parents of witches and wizards are one of the Death Eater’s primary targets and Lily is
constantly terrified that McGonagall will show up and call her name and tell her she’s all alone in
the world now.

Marlene says there’s a resistance group. A rebellion of sorts, because the Ministry is not doing
enough. Sam, Marlene’s sister, is part of it and has promised to bring them to a meeting in the
summer so they can decide whether they want to join or not.

Lily wants to join.

She’s not sure how good she’ll be at fighting—she’s not bad at DADA but her strengths lie more
towards Charms and Potions—but she’ll do it. She has to, because if she doesn’t fight for herself,
who will?

“Lily!”

Looking up from her clenched fists, Lily finds Pandora gliding down the corridor towards her. Her
robes billow around her feet, bracelets dangling from her delicate wrists. Through a few tresses of
her blond, waist length hair, she’s threaded coloured crystal beads that catch the light when she
moves. Today, Pandora has also done make-up differently for each of her eyes, which should look
silly but on her it simply looks intriguing. Lily adores how unapologetically Pandora is herself,
with all her marvellous quirks. It takes enormous courage to be oneself so authentically.

“Hi,” Lily greets back, smiling. Pandora is with two of her Ravenclaw friends, who wave politely
at Lily.

“Go on, I’ll catch up,” Pandora tells her friends, stopping next to Lily when they cross paths. The
other two simply nod and carry on, leaving the two girls behind. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yes, of course,” Lily answers quickly. Perhaps too quickly.

“Lily Evans, I thought we established I can tell when you’re lying,” Pandora says to her. Threading
their fingers together, Pandora tugs on Lily’s hand and leads her towards one of the alcoves.

They sit by the windows, watching the sun crawl down the sky towards the horizon. It’ll be sunset
in a couple of hours, and then Lily’s last night at Hogwarts.

“I’m feeling a bit melancholic,” Lily admits. “It’s weird to be leaving this place.”

“It’ll be weird not seeing you around in it,” Pandora says. “But life carries on, Lils. And there’s a
whole future waiting for you.”

Closing her eyes, Lily lets her head rest against the wall at her back. “There’s a whole war waiting
for me, you mean.”

When Pandora doesn’t reply, Lily opens her eyes and finds her friend looking a little distressed.
This is so unusual for Pandora, that Lily’s heart ricochets inside her chest. “Dora?”

“You’re the only one who calls me that,” she says, smiling at Lily. “Everyone else is Pan, or
Pandora. I like it.”
“What’s bothering you?” Lily presses. Pandora loves helping people, but she very rarely admits
things about herself. Lily doesn’t think this is fair, because Pandora deserves to be cared for, too.

“Do you remember I told you sometimes I have dreams about people?” Pandora whispers, two slim
fingers tugging at a thread on her skirt.

Lily nods. “Yeah. I remember.”

“I’ve never had a dream about you,” Pandora confesses, blue eyes looking into Lily’s green. “And
I don’t like not knowing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I have no idea what the future has in store for you,” Pandora says, biting her lower lip.
Lily looks away. “I don’t like it.”

“Hey,” Lily says, shuffling to get closer to her friends. “That’s okay. I don’t… you know I believe
we write our own stories. If you told me you had a dream about me, I would probably do
everything in my power to change it just to prove I’m the driving force in my life, not some divine
intervention.”

Pandora laughs, shaking her head. “Nothing is set in stone. That’s not how it works. But I… I’ve
seen pretty much everyone. At least a glimpse, you know? Sirius and Remus. James. Dorcas. Evan
and Barty, too. Regulus.”

There’s a sadness there, an undertone of loss that Lily hates. “How are you coping with that?”

“I hate it. I miss him,” Pandora admits. “But when you’ve got the sight… well. I can’t risk it. I
have to distance myself from him. From anyone that will join that side.”

“Do you think Regulus would tell… Voldemort?” Lily whispers, a hand reach to squeeze
Pandora’s.

“No,” she says firmly. “He’s a lot of things, and not necessarily good ones, but Regulus honours
friendship. We were friends for years. To him, that carries weight. Same with Dorcas. She’s
broken up with him, as it were, but he won’t betray her. It’s not his way.”

Their hands remain linked together, resting between them. Lily’s freckled fingers threaded through
Pandora’s pale ones. The blue nail polish on Lily’s nails is chipped. Pandora’s nails are all
different colours, perfectly smooth and fresh.

“But someone else might?”

“Or he could sense it,” Pandora says. “Powerful wizards and witches can sense abilities like mine.
Dumbledore knew the moment I walked into the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony. That’s why I
have to stay clear.”

“I’m so glad you’ll be back here for another year,” Lily whispers. “You’ll be safe in school.”

She’s beautiful, Pandora. Full of light and grace. Delicate and ethereal but also determined and
strong. There’s steel behind her blue eyes, and Lily has no doubt that if she sets her mind to it,
there’s nothing Pandora cannot do.

“Will you write to me?” Pandora asks, looking down at their joined hands with a little frown
between her brows.
Lily lets out a dramatic gasp of mock offense. “You wound me, Dora. Of course, I’ll write to you.
But we’re still meeting over the summer, yes? I’ve already picked where we’re going for the first
lunch.”

“Muggle place?”

“Yup.”

Pandora lets out a delighted squeal and claps her hands, which is adorable, but Lily resents ever so
slightly because it means they’re no longer touching. And that’s… Lily isn’t sure how closely she
wants to examine that. Or the way her eyes seem to independently want to trace the curve of
Pandora’s rosy lips when Lily gets distracted. Or how Lily already knows she’ll miss the sweet
scent of the floral perfume Pandora uses.

Lily knows because Lily isn’t an idiot. She is, in fact, extremely smart. And she knows what the
early trickles of warmth that bloom into a full on crush feel like. She's been on the precipice
before, and fallen head first many times. Lily Evans has experience in falling for people. Of all
genders.

She’s never told anyone, because it’s no one’s business, but Lily has always known that she likes
girls, too. Part of the reason she rejected James in fifth year—she doesn’t like thinking about fourth
year because James was genuinely insufferable then—is because Lily had a horrible, bone deep
crush on Mary. One that would never go anywhere, because Mary has never been that interested in
dating in general. She told Mary, and Mary let her down gently, and that was that. Their secret.
One of the anchors of their friendship. No more. No less.

So, this thing happening to her isn't exactly... a surprise. At least not on account of Pandora being a
girl. The problem, Lily is painfully aware, is that Pandora is spoken for, she told Lily and Mary
during Remus’ birthday. They’ve no idea who—Pandora refers to him as her man in the forest—
but he exists and Pandora is, apparently, in love with him. And Lily will not do this to herself
again.

Lily could very easily form a crush on this beautiful, etheral blond girl. She might be halfway there
already. But Lily can’t. She won’t. Because pining for James has been hard enough. She’s not over
him, not yet. Not fully. Lily still catches herself watching James, noticing when he looks up from
his textbooks into nothing and his eyes get sad. Sometimes, she indulges the fantasy that he’ll fall
for her now that Regulus is a Death Eater. And then she hates herself because she doesn’t want
that. She doesn’t want to be second choice. She won’t be.

But the more she works on it, the more she discovers that being around James hurts less and less.
She’s training herself to see him as a friend, and he’s very good at being one, she has to admit.
Progress is slow, but it’s definitely getting better.

Annoyingly, Lily suspects Pandora has a lot to do with that and isn’t that frustrating? Why can’t
Lily like someone who’s available for once?

Lifting her eyes, Lily watches Pandora looking out the window. She’s probably searching for
shapes in the clouds or watching the wind. That’s another thing Lily loves about Pandora. The
beauty she sees in nature. In the world as it exists.

“Dora,” Lily says. Her blue eyes flicker to meet Lily’s. Open. Gentle. Beautiful. “I’m very glad we
became friends.”

“Me too, Lily,” she says, reaching for her hand again. “Me too.”
 ####

Myrtle cries when Regulus says goodbye.

To her credit, she does try to put on a brave face and keep it together, but she fails. Myrtle might be
the only person other than Dorcas that knows Regulus isn’t coming back, and it’s only because
Regulus couldn’t find it in his heart to lie to her. The thought of Myrtle waiting for him come
September was too much. Regulus knows what the pain of feeling left behind is like. He couldn’t
let Myrtle think he’d abandoned her.

“Maybe I’ll come back one day,” Regulus says, even though they both know it’s a lie. “You’ll
make a new friend.”

“Maybe,” she says, sniffling. “But I’ll miss you for the rest of my days.”

“You know what, Myrtle,” Regulus says with a sad little smile. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to miss
you, too.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll have a great life. Maybe one day someone will come in here talking about
Minister for Magic Regulus Black,” Myrtle tells him. “And I’ll tell them I knew him. He was the
prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, and the cleverest, too. And he was my friend.”

For some stupid fucking reason, Regulus’ eyes are stinging. So, he nods rather stiffly and says,
“Well. Maybe. Alright, I’ve got to go. Thank you, Myrtle. For everything.”

“One last kiss?”

Regulus nods, turns his face. Myrtle darts forward and presses a cold brush of something against
Regulus’ cheek. With that, Regulus leaves the bathroom on the second floor, and the ghost that
should have never been more than a means to an end but somehow ended up becoming a sort of
comforting presence in Regulus’ life.

Because he spent so much time with Myrtle, Regulus is very late for dinner. Clearly, he’s missed
something major because pandemonium reigns supreme in the Great Hall. For some inexplicable
reason, the entire space is full of pink bubbles.

“What the fuck is going on?” Regulus asks Barty, the first person he finds.

“Tell me this wasn’t you,” Barty says. “I’ll fucking—ah!”

When Barty swears, he projectile… ehm… ejects (?) a stream of pink bubbles from his mouth.
Just, straight up shoots them out in a steady flow.

“Not me, no,” Regulus says, curious. “Does it only happen when you swear?”

“And if anyone says anything mean in general. As far as we can tell, it’s not triggered but a
specific word, but rather by intention,” Barty explains, looking equal parts amused and frustrated.
"You should see Rabastan,” Barty adds, cackling now a bit maniacally. “The man is struggling so
much. It’s hilarious.”

Regulus sighs, rubs his temples with two fingers. There go his plans for a quiet train ride back to
London. Evaporated in a cloud of pink bubbles.

“There’s something I need to do tonight, but I’ll figure out how to cure you of this on the train
tomorrow. Your father won’t be happy if you show up like this.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” Barty says, and because he means no one ill with this one, no bubbles come out.
It’s truly quite ingenious, Regulus thinks.

Against his better judgement, he glances at the Gryffindor table. Sure enough, his brother and his
friends are in stitches. Well. So is pretty much the rest of the school, but Regulus knows. They did
this. This sort of totally harmless but annoying magic reeks of ‘marauders’ from a mile away.

“Right, well. I’m not touching that food, so I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Regulus says.

“You’re… where are you going?” Barty asks.

“Are you trying to police me, Barty?”

His friend rolls his eyes. “Fuck off. Never. But I… well. We know you ended things with Potter
and just… Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, I guess.”

“That is quite possibly the worst advice you could ever give anyone,” Regulus says, amused
despite himself.

Shrugging, Barty winks at him then turns around to go find Evan in the bubble chaos. Taking
advantage of the shenanigans, Regulus also makes a hasty exit. The last thing he needs is for
someone else to start asking him questions.

Before he heads upstairs, however, Regulus needs some food. He spends a bit of time in the
kitchens with Tappy, who has not stopped fussing over him since the night of the basilisk ordeal.
Regulus says goodbye to the elf, though there are no dramatics this time around. Thank Merlin for
that.

Curfew isn’t enforced as strictly on the last night, but there isn’t a single soul about. Everyone is in
their common rooms, having one last get-together before they’re off for the summer. Regulus likes
the castle like this. Quiet. Empty. It feels a little bit like he’s the only one here.

Until he turns the corner on the corridor on the seventh floor and finds James and Sirius standing
right by the door of the room he was heading to.

Fuck his life. Genuinely.

“What are you doing here?” Sirius asks rather aggressively.

Regulus can’t think of a good enough lie. There’s little else on this floor, let alone on this corridor.
And why should he lie? As far as James and Sirius know, Regulus could use this room for a
number of things.

“I need to use the room,” Regulus says. Neutral. Devoid of any emotion. He’s not going to let either
of them bait him. He won’t engage. He’s above this.

“Well, you can’t,” Sirius says petulantly.

Salazar give him strength.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asks, sliding his eyes off his brothers to meet James’, whose
hand is frozen over the knob of the still closed door.

Something hardens behind James’ eyes. Regulus watches it happen in real time, and his stomach
drops. Because he’s not sure what’s happening, but it feels to Regulus like he’s witnessing James
pulling away. Giving up.

“I’m saying goodbye,” James says calmly.

And well, fuck. Regulus shouldn’t be surprised. Shouldn’t be upset. This is what he wanted. This is
good. This is necessary to keep James safe.

Regulus hates it.

“Right,” he says, rather robotically. And then, because his insides are screaming like they’ve been
dropped in acid, he asks, “To an empty room?”

“Come in with me,” James offers, finally turning the knob.

“What? No,” Sirius says. “Absolutely not.”

“Sirius,” James’ voice is soft. So soft. Like it used to be when he said I love you to Regulus. “It’s
okay. It’ll be a minute. Wait for me here?”

There’s no fight. No hysterics. Nothing. Sirius simply looks at James, and folds. With a nod, he
goes to lean against the wall directly opposite the door, one shoe up against it behind him. He’s
fishing for his cigarettes before Regulus has had time to even walk into the Come and Go Room.

It’s the little cottage. The one James sometimes asks for, with the nice sofa, and the wooden floors
and rugs. Regulus loves it. He has no idea where it came from, but it’s one of his favourites.

James stands in the middle of it, looking around him, too. The expression on his face is so
unbearably sad Regulus could break down and cry right there. He won’t. But he could.

“I made this place up,” James says, eyes turned towards the chimney. “It doesn’t exist. Only in my
head.”

“It’s nice,” Regulus replies cautiously.

“It was supposed to be ours,” James informs him casually, like this hasn’t just made Regulus want
to throw up.

Ours? Does he mean… James thought that far ahead? Regulus knew James wanted to make some
plans for the future. They fought about it. But this? It’s so… detailed. Fuck.

Regulus can’t stop himself from walking around the room, running a finger over every bookcase.
Every chair. The bed. The fucking walls. It’s all done with so much care. A perfect mix of their
favourite colours makes the entire space feel homey. Alive. Balanced not tacky. Clean lines with
small carvings in subtle places. Books. Lots of books. Some of them in French, Regulus notices for
the first time.

Fuck.

“I came here to say goodbye to it,” James carries on. “And what it represents. Because this will
never happen.”

And when James says that, forcefully, like he’s punishing Regulus, the rooms starts to crumble.
Not really, just… metaphorically. Mould grows over the walls. Cracks crisscross the windows. The
furniture breaks and falls to pieces. Dust covers every surface. The fire in the chimney goes out,
and cold, years old ashes remain behind. Frayed sheets on a bed that looks one breath away from
falling to the floor.

Regulus can’t breathe.

This is… it’s such a fucking horrible thing to do. Such a horrible thing to witness.

“Were you going to do this to yourself alone?” he asks, because he can’t help himself.

He’s hanging on by a fucking thread, and James is just standing there. Unbothered. Like destroying
their future together isn’t tearing him apart.

“Sirius came with me,” James replies.

“Still… it’s…” Regulus can’t put it into words. The way it feels to watch James destroy their place.
“Why?”

And James still knows Regulus well enough to understand the question. To answer it. “Because
you and I were in here. And now I’m leaving, and I want a chance at love out there. Some people
call it closure.”

“Right,” Regulus says, then swallows hard to force the lump in his throat back down again. “Well,
then.”

This is good. This is what has to happen.

“Right,” James echoes. “Right. Yes. Well.”

Their eyes lock across the room. Time stills. Around them, their future is falling to pieces. Regulus
doesn’t know what James is thinking, but the cage of bones in his chest is rattling with the shards
of his heart. Broken. Frozen. Digging into the soft flesh inside of him like slow, neverending
torture.

James has always had the most beautiful eyes Regulus has ever seen. He used to think he could get
lost in them for an eternity, and it passes right there. Forever. A single minute. Regulus doesn’t
know. It doesn’t matter. He stands, and he endures, because he doesn't know if he'll ever see James
again after tonight.

“James?” Regulus asks, softly.

All the righteous anger, the cold, the hardness bleeds out of James' face with his next exhale. Like
it was all he could muster. Like he really tried, but he's not made for that sort of cruelty and he's
already lost the battle.

And then James whispers, “I really want to kiss you.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Regulus replies.

A step. They both take it, surprising the other. Still far enough that it’s safe, but close enough that
possibility sprouts between them. Tentative.

“I know I shouldn’t,” James says simply. “I’m going to hate myself for it. But I want to.”

“It’s a terrible idea.”

Another step. Regulus entire body is vibrating with anticipation. He cannot believe he gets to have
this again. He wants it so fucking desperately he’s about to crawl out of his own skin.
“How bad can it really be?” James asks. “Just once. One more. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s how addicts think.”

Another step. One each, and they’re within touching distance.

“Did you know that withdrawal can kill a man?”

“Ah,” Regulus says, and he already knows he’s going to give in. He can’t remember all the reasons
he shouldn’t. He can only think of James, so close, right here. “Well. Just one, then.”

James’ hands cradle his face, tilting it up. And then he covers Regulus’ mouth with his own.
Regulus sighs into the kiss, like a man arriving home after a long, arduous journey. His hands find
their way up James’ arms, and then he’s gripping his shoulders as they slide their mouths together
and their tongues meet.

That’s when the door opens. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Stop that right now.”

No. Wait. Not yet. Too soon. Wait. Wait. Wait.

Please.

Like he’s been pinched, James jerks away, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “Sirius. Hi.
Yes. We’re done here.”

“Oh, you’re done?” Sirius asks, voice borderline murderous. “Regulus, I thought we’d made it
clear that you were never to come close to my brother again. Leave James the fuck alone.”

Regulus is glad that the fire went out earlier. All it takes is a careful tilt of his head and neither
James nor Sirius can see the red rimming his eyes. His brother. Yes, Sirius would know how to hit
and make it hurt. Regulus didn’t think Sirius would ever be that cruel, not to him. Turns out he can
be wrong, too. In Sirius’ defence, Regulus did tattoo the symbol of everything Sirius hates on the
inside of his arm, so, all things considered, he supposes it could have been worse.

With shaking hands, Regulus finds a cigarette and lights it. Takes a drag to calm himself.

“Goodbye, James,” he says, turning just enough to see him but not so much they can see the full
expression on his face.

“Goodbye, Regulus.”

####

Early summer feels like an extension of their childhood. Like they’ve been granted a couple of
extra weeks to be kids. James strongly suspects this is Effie’s doing. The moment he arrived in
King’s Cross, she was there, whisking him and his friends away to Potter Manor without a second
thought.

They barely had time to say bye to the girls and promise to meet up soon before they were all piling
into a magically extended car. Effie drove them away so fast James didn’t even see Regulus get off
the train. Fitting, he thought in the car, watching London go by through the window, that the last
time he ever saw Regulus truly was in the Come and Go Room. As she drove, Effie told them that
she’d spoken to Peter’s mother and he was allowed to stay with them for a few days.

She also spoke to Llyal, who has accepted Remus has no intention of living with him again. It
works out. Remus and Llyal are civil, but not close. Not since Hope died years ago. And Llyal
doesn’t know Remus and Sirius are a couple, but he knows his son will be living with friends now
that he’s off age.

And so the first two weeks of summer, they’ve been just kids. They’ve spent most days playing
Quidditch or wasting time in Richmond proper. A couple of times, they’ve gone to central London
to record stores or to simply explore muggle areas. Sirius has been nagging everyone about how
much he wants to get a tattoo, but hasn’t actually gone through with it so far. Remus seems partial
to the idea, though, so James has no doubt sooner or later it will happen.

They’ve seen the girls a couple times, too. At Potter Manor, with mojitos or pimms and Sirius and
his guitar entertaining them. Or in a pub near where Mary is living with her muggle parents still.

It’s been nice, James thinks as he sits at a table in a busy muggle pub in West London. But it’s been
a lie. And real life starts tomorrow. That’s why they’re here, in this pub tonight, determined to get
sloshed. Their unofficial send-off for the childhood they’re letting go.

Tomorrow, they have their first Order meeting as full members. No more training. No more
waiting. No more play-pretend. Tomorrow, they’re soldiers.

Tonight, they’re still kids.

Next to him, Peter’s fingers are tapping nervously on the table. He’s been fidgety all day, and
James doesn’t have the heart to ask him to stop. Yes, it’s annoying. But he gets it. Across from
them, Remus and Sirius are nursing pints of beer, staring at them like they’ve offended them.
Sirius doesn’t fidget, he’s too composed for that, but there’s tension tugging at the corners of his
eyes that betray his nerves. Remus has shut down. Just, down. No emotion coming off him. The
exception is when he looks at Sirius. His eyes soften, then flash with protectiveness and
determination. And James wouldn’t be surprised if Remus confessed to them he’s only doing this
to keep Sirius safe.

Inside of him, jealousy rears its head. He would have done it for Regulus. He doesn’t get to, now.
James still doesn’t know how to think about it—about him—without it ripping his heart out. So he
doesn’t. Tries not to.

Fuck. He fails, most of the time.

He’s still miserable most of the time.

Happy hasn’t come back, but at this point James would settle for numb. For forgetting. Anything
so he’s not in constant pain. He wants a reprieve. A break.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks him.

Sirius and Remus look up from their beers. James shrugs. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

And he might be okay. He is, right? Because he functions. He goes about his day. Gets up. Eats.
Showers. Plays Quidditch and jokes with his friends. But he’s not fine. Is he? No. Not at all. He
doesn’t smile. He sleeps badly. He misses Regulus all the fucking time.

So much for leaving ‘them’ in school. What a truckload of bullshit.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Sirius says, looking at him with concern.

James takes a long drink from his beer, finishes it. “Refill.”
His friends exchange wary glances but let him go. James finds an opening on the bar on the
opposite side of the pub and goes to brace himself on it, waiting for the bartender to notice him.

Standing up has made him realise that he’s drunker than he thought, which is just as well. Alcohol
does help a little with the suffering, but he has to be careful. If he drinks too much—like it
happened three days ago—he tips over into full on hysterics. He legit cried for two hours straight,
unable to stop.

Remus explained something about alcohol being a depressant that flew right over James’ head, but
he did make a mental note not to drink so much again. It’s not even a matter of pride. That shit’s
broken now. It’s been broken since he begged Regulus for a last kiss like an idiot. It’s just that he
knows it hurts Sirius to see him that way. So, James tries to avoid it.

There’s a commotion to his left, and then someone’s hand is on his bicep and pushing him away.
“Careful!”

The spilt liquid spreads over the bar, and it would have soaked James’ shirt if the stranger hadn’t
alerted him.

“Sorry,” she says. “My friend is so clumsy.”

The girl looks up and starts. She’s very pretty. Dark hair, down past her shoulders in waves, and
perfect pale skin. Her eyes widen, and James finds himself leaning closer. Just a little. He wants a
better look because those eyes really are something. Bright blue, framed with thick lashes that she
bats at him.

“Hi.” A smile. Her hand is still on his bicep, James realises. “I’m Maisie.”

“James,” he says, because it would be rude not to.

He’s not sure what’s happening. Something, that’s for sure. But what? And then Maisie’s friend
giggles behind her and says something that makes Maisie blush, and her hand finally leaves James’
bicep and he remembers. This used to happen quite a bit. Before.

“Are you on your own?” Maisie asks, a coy smile curling the corners of her mouth.

A lock of hair is trapped in her finger, and she’s twirling it slowly. Teasing. Maisie is trying to flirt
with him. And James realises with a start that he kind of likes it. He’s flattered. Maisie is gorgeous.
Objectively.

“My friends are over there,” James says, gesturing lazily with his head. “What are you having?”

The smile Maisie gives him is hopeful, and ecstatic. And isn’t that something? James feels good,
all of a sudden.

“White wine.”

“Let me get it for you,” James says, and then he gives her his best approximation of a smile and
because this girl didn’t know James Potter before, she buys it.

Perhaps he’s not completely broken, after all. If someone can still look at him and want him. James
wants to be wanted.

That’s why an hour later he’s outside with Maisie, who’s smoking a cigarette. They’ve had two
more beers and wines. Remus came looking for him at one point, but promptly left again when he
saw he was talking to Maisie and the way Maisie was clinging to his arm like it was the only thing
keeping her grounded. James trusts him to tell the others James isn’t to be bothered right now. He’s
too busy being wanted.

So, when Maisie puts out the cigarette butt and leans against the wall, looking at James through
her eyelashes, James braces an arm next to her. And when she tilts her head up in clear invitation,
James kisses her.

And what do you know? She tastes of smoke.

James doesn’t stop kissing her until he has to come up for air. Maisie immediately asks him to go
back to her place with her. Her roommate is out tonight, she tells him as they walk down the road.
Walking is bad. It gives James time to come back to himself, to his head, to the void in the middle
of his chest. Thoughts are starting to form in James’ brain.

So, he picks up the pace and Maisie laughs, delighted that he’s so eager. They stumble into her flat
—a tiny place that has seen better days—and fall straight onto the couch. James kisses her again,
and the thoughts that had started to form go away. All at once.

It’s a bit strange at first. James hasn’t been with a girl in so long. He’s so used to… no. No. Don’t
think that. Don’t remember that. They carry on, drunk and awkward because they’re strangers and
don’t know each other’s bodies.

James doesn’t care. Can’t care. All that matters is that he’s all feeling, no thoughts. There’s no
room in him right now for anything that’s not chasing release. His body knows this. Knows to
blindly follow the slide of skin and the feeling of hands and mouths. James is wanted. That’s
enough.

But she tastes like smoke, and when James is lost in Maisie, chasing, chasing the end, he can’t help
but close his eyes. She tastes like smoke.

He leaves the flat about an hour after that. In his hand, he’s clutching a paper note Maisie hastily
wrote with her home phone number on it. She even drew a little heart that made James feel slightly
sick when he saw it, but he graciously took the note and bid Maisie good night. It’s not her fault
James isn’t going to call her. She’s great. But she deserves someone who doesn’t picture someone
else when they’re having sex.

James takes a moment in the alley behind the building to set the note on fire before apparating back
to Potter Manor.

Maisie never sees him again.

****

They shouldn’t be here.

That’s the thought James has--a bit hazy through the remnants of his hangover--when he walks
into the room for his very first Order meeting and finds Marlene, Dorcas and Lily talking by the far
wall. Behind him, Sirius mutters a curse under his breath when he sees the girls.

Crossing the room quickly, James gestures with his head towards the corner. Marlene rolls her
eyes, but all three girls follow.

“What—”
“Careful, Cap,” Marlene cuts in. “You don’t get to give me orders anymore.”

“Marls,” Sirius says, crowding into the corner, too. “It’s too dangerous.”

“We know,” Lily says. “We know. But we want to be here. We need to be here. It’s the right thing
to do.”

"Where's Mary?" Remus asks.

"Still unsure about whether she's joining," Lily says without judgment. "But we are sure."

James hates it. He gets it. He really does. He’s here, too. But these girls are… they’re precious.
They’re amazing. They should be out there building careers, not in here waiting for instructions on
a first mission that may or may not be their last.

“Fuck,” James says, bringing his hands up to push his hair back.

Lily turns concerned eyes on him. So bright. So big. So beautiful. The idea that they might be
snuffed out too soon makes him want to vomit.

“Hey. It’s alright. We’ll be alright,” Lily says gently.

“You don’t know that,” Sirius says, because James can’t talk right now. If he does, he’s going to
start screaming.

“I find it a bit offensive that you think we shouldn’t be here but you’re fine with your boys all
marching in looking ready to fight,” Marlene says.

“That’s not it,” says Dorcas, who until now had stayed out of the conversation. “James and Sirius
don’t think we’re any less capable. They’d just rather risk themselves.”

“That,” James croaks. “You’re… Lily, you wanted to be a professor. Charms, no? And Marlene?
Didn’t you have an offer from the Chudley Cannons? You should get to follow your dreams.”

Marlene’s expression softens immediately. She slides her hand down the side of her jeans and finds
Dorcas’ hand, linking their fingers together. Dorcas leans closer to her girlfriend so naturally James
thinks she doesn’t know she’s doing it.

“Well,” Marlene says. “How about we’re all fighting for each other’s dreams? The more of us that
join, the sooner we can win this war and get back to living. Yeah?”

“No,” Lily says rather forcefully, making everyone turn to look at her. “I mean, yes. But also, no.
We have to live while we’re fighting. We can’t forget. We won’t. I won’t let us. We’ll fight, and
then we’ll go to the pub, and laugh. We’ll still do stuff. We’ll find reasons to be happy, and to
enjoy the breaks. We will live. So, we can carry on living after we win, too.”

It’s a beautiful sentiment. And probably the bravest thing he’s ever heard Lily say. There’s a
moment of solemn silence when they all let Lily’s words sink in. And then, they all look at each
other and nod. A silent pact.

To live and fight so they can carry on living.

“You know, Red,” Sirius says, throwing an arm over her shoulders and pulling her in closer. “You
may become my favourite person yet.”

“Don’t lie to me, Black. Everyone knows your favourite people are Remus and James,” she replies,
smiling. “Tied for first spot, because you’d rather die than choose one.”

Sirius beams, looks briefly at James with that glint in his eye he saves just for him. James does his
best to smile back and almost manages it. He’s getting better at it.

“Well, then. My favourite girl,” Sirius tells Lily. She giggles.

“I take offense to that,” Marlene says.

“You’re my favourite beater.”

They’re still arguing back and forth, and James is content to watch. His friends are happy, and
that’s as close as he gets to it these days. It’s got to be enough. Behind them, the room is slowly
filling up with people.

James’ parents are here. So is his father’s friend Edgar Bones. And his mother’s friend Manon
Vance. Next to her is a young girl—James’ age, maybe a bit older—who he guesses is Manon’s
daughter. There are others he doesn’t recognise.

He’s puzzling over the identities of two men talking animatedly across the room when the door
opens and the Prewett brothers walk in. Immediately, James feels like he’s in the presence of
celebrities.

Dorcas shuffles up to him, nudges his shoulder. “Got a crush on the Prewetts?”

“Mmm… maybe? And I didn’t know it?” James says, wondering. “They’re legends.”

“How are you doing, James?” Dorcas asks him gently.

“Would you mind terribly not asking me that?” he whispers.

To his immense relief, Dorcas nods. “Alright. I won’t. Would you like to hear instead about the flat
Marlene and I have found?”

“You’re moving in together already? As in, away from her family?”

Right that moment, a tall, slender girl with white-blond hair dyed pink at the ends walks into the
room. She’s got more piercings on her ears than James can count, another one on her eyebrow and
unless James is very much mistaken, that’s a tattoo peaking out from under the collar of her t-shirt.
She's wearing black boots even though it's summer, and a black skirt with a slightly too big t-shirt
over it.

“Marlene!” she cries, walking over.

“That’s Marls’ sister, Sam,” Dorcas says. “Eight years older than us, so we missed her at school.
She’s in a band.”

“Sirius is about to lose his shit,” James mutters.

As if on cue, when Sirius lays eyes on the girl and processes the piercings, tattoos, black skirt and
dyed hair, he immediately lets go of Lily and adopts the posture James like to call ‘Pay Attention
To Me’. To everyone’s amusement, it works.

“Who is this?” Sam asks, looking Sirius up and down. “He’s gorgeous.”

Sirius preens like a peacock. James can tell he’s deeply regretting leaving his leather jacket behind.
Sam looks like the kind of girl to be impressed by a leather jacket as cool as Sirius’, and he can
read his best friend’s mind like he was made for it. But it’s early July, and way too bloody hot for
jackets, no matter how cool.

“This is my boyfriend,” Remus says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere like he can smell Sirius
was about to flirt his way into the good graces of Sam McKinnon. “And I’m Remus Lupin.”

Remus stands a bit too close to Sirius but doesn’t actually touch him. They’re still in a room full of
other people, even if they’ve claimed this little corner for themselves for now. James wonders if
Remus thought this through or if he simply let his jealousy get the best of him.

Sam looks downright delighted. “Love it. So, everyone knows about…” She gestures between and
Marlene and Dorcas, still standing with James, “and is cool?”

“These are my friends. Everyone but Lily is gay,” Marlene replies. Then, she looks at Lily. “And
the jury’s still out on this one.”

Lily laughs, shaking her head. Sam claps her hands together. “What did I tell you Marls? Queer
people are like wolves.”

“We always travel in packs,” Marlene replies, bumping her fist with her sister.

“I am in love,” Sirius declares dramatically. Sam looks at him, smiling, and Sirius fully ignores
Remus’ raised eyebrows to say, “Sirius Black.”

“Ah. You’re the other beater. Yes, I’ve heard about you. Marlene says you’re bloody good on a
broom.”

“You’ve heard about me?” Sirius asks, delighted. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name…”

“That’s because I haven’t told you,” Sam replies, huffing a laugh. “Sam McKinnon.”

“This is your sister?” Sirius turns to look at Marlene, positively outraged. “You didn’t tell me you
had a cool sister!”

Marlene waves a dismissive hand, then points at James. “That’s James Potter. He was my
Captain.”

“Potter? Ah. You’re Effie and Monty’s kid, right?”

James nods. And then, things click. He gets it now. “You got the girls in,” he says, and he sounds
slightly accusatory despite himself.

Marlene and Lily narrow their eyes at him, but Sam looks unaffected. “We need all the help we can
get,” she tells James. “Meeting’s about to start. Do you know what to expect?”

It turns out it’s a good thing they have Sam to guide them through. As soon as Moody walks into
the room, everyone falls silent. Moody goes through a series of safety measures that include
complicated spells to prevent any spying. Sam takes that time to point at the rest of the members
present today.

The two men James didn’t know from earlier are Caradoc Dearborn and Benjy Fenwick. There’s
also Elphias Doge, who is often seen with Dedalus Diggle but he’s not here today because he’s on
a mission, Sam explains. The girl with Manon Vance is Emmeline, her daughter. She was in school
with Sam, so they know each other. There’s also Sturgis Podmore.
“Where are Frank and Alice?” James whispers.

“On a mission,” Sam replies. “They’re aurors with the Ministry, so they’re usually too busy to
make the meetings. Alastor debriefs them separately.”

“Anyone else missing?”

It feels to James as though there aren’t enough people here. Shouldn’t there be… hundreds? He
doesn’t know how many Death Eaters there are, but to him it feels as though a war ought to involve
more people. Right?

“Molly Weasley—previously Prewett—is out on a mission, too. She’s with Arthur, her husband.
They were at Hogwarts with me,” Sam explains. “Dumbledore doesn’t come to meetings unless
something major has happened.”

“Where’s Kingsley?” Sirius asks, shuffling closer to Sam much to Remus’ annoyance. James has to
admit—secretly—that it’s quite funny watching Remus be jealous when he has zero reason for it.
Sirius might think Sam is the coolest witch to ever live, but he’s absolutely gone for Remus. No
coming back, James thinks.

He’s pretty sure Remus is it for Sirius.

“Ministry,” Sam replies. “Also an auror. How do you know King?”

“He trained us,” Sirius replies.

“Ah. You’re good, then,” Sam says, impressed.

“Who else?” James asks before Sirius can start showing off to Sam.

“That’s it, kid,” Sam says. “I mean, there’s a couple others. The Abbotts, and Langlock. But…
well. We are pretty much it. I meant it when I said we need all the help we can get.”

James is speechless for long enough that Moody is done with his protection spells, and starts the
meeting proper. The kids are introduced as the newest recruits, and sworn into service. Peter,
who’d been hanging out close to Monty and Effie like the presence of parent figures comforted
him, shakes a little while he takes the oath.

It’s symbolic, because the order would never do anything as barbaric as branding their members.
Or subjecting them to unbreakable vows. Still, it feels like an important occasion. The beginning of
the end of the war.

And then, Moody is running through things that need doing, people that need protecting, cargo that
needs shipping. Everyone is assigned something to do. Information is shared, analysed.

James does notice that Moody is very clever in how he doles out information and missions. He
gives enough of an overview that people have a vague idea of what’s going on, but keeps the detail
to himself, to be shared only with those carrying out the actual mission.

When Moody asks if anyone feels competent enough to brew a batch of a complex antidote (no
name or specifics said out loud), Lily raises her hand. James is extremely relieved that her first
assignment doesn’t require her to leave the safety of her home.

Or? Wait. Hold up. Her parents are muggles, right?

“Lily,” he whispers. “Are you still living with your parents?”

“Yes,” she replies, frowning. “Why?”

“Come stay at mine. You can’t brew in a muggle house. It’s too dangerous. Stay with us until
you’re done,” James says.

Moddy assigns Marlene and Dorcas as runners for a couple of documents that need moving from
the Ministry of Magic to an undisclosed location in London.

“Are you sure?” Lily asks him, eyes wide.

“I’m certain. Sirius and Remus are staying with me, too,” James says, just in case Lily feels weird
about being invited to Potter Manor alone. “It’s safer. My house has every protection spell known
to man.”

Sam is assigned to go with Emmeline on a recon mission somewhere in the north of England,
staking out a possible location for dark artifact trade. They’re advised not to engage, just gather
intel. The glint in Sam’s eyes tells James she will engage if she gets the chance, and he prays to
Merlin that she doesn’t.

“Thank you, James,” Lily says. “That would actually make me feel a lot better. I’m worried about
my family.”

“We’ll come ‘round the house, if you want,” James offers. “Set up some protections?”

“I’ve done what I can and Remus stopped by the other day,” she replies quietly. “But I wouldn’t
mind you and Sirius having a look. If that’s okay”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” James offers. “Help you pick up your things and move in to my house.”

Lily smiles at him, grateful and warm. It’s nice, James thinks, to have friends he can help even
when he can’t help himself. He’s going to make sure Lily feels welcome and safe in Potter Manor.
There’s a conservatory he thinks is perfect for setting up a potions lab of sorts.

James’ mother is with some of the other adults on a supply run. The Order’s stocks of undisclosed
key potion ingredients are dwindling, and some of them are hard to get. They’ll be gone for an
entire week, which makes James curl his hands into fists when he hears it. He wishes Effie was
closer to home. Safe.

“Lupin,” Moody says. “I need you on a security detail.”

“You do?” Remus asks, sounding baffled. A few members exchange amused glances.

“You’ve got some of the best shields I’ve ever seen,” Moody replies gruffly. “So. Security. We’ve
got three allies coming in from abroad. I need you with Monty, Alice, Frank, and…” Looking
around, Moody settles on Peter, “Pettigrew. You up for this? You’ve got to receive them and bring
them to a safe location.”

“Do you expect trouble?” Monty asks.

“No,” Moody says. “But we can’t be sure. I’ll give you the safe words and the details of the three
people you’re meeting so you can verify it’s them. They’re excellent wizards and witches, so the
moment they’re down you’re up three people. Should get you out of a tough spot if you find
yourselves in it.”
“I want to go,” Sirius says.

Moody shakes his head. “No. I need you and Potter somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“You’ll receive instructions tomorrow,” Moody says cryptically.

Next to him, James feels Dorcas stiffen. She’s playing with her rings, and James looks away
quickly. They remind him of Regulus. Regulus always wore rings.

Regulus.

James wonders as the meeting comes to a close and people start to break out into smaller groups
what Regulus is doing with his summer. It’s a relief knowing he’ll be back in school for another
year. At least until next June, James doesn’t have to worry about running into him when he’s out
there fighting.

####

Magic has a cost.

This is a fact every witch and wizard learns from a very young age. Performing spells of any kind
is taxing. It demands energy and focus. More powerful people can sustain the effort for longer,
pour more of themselves into more complex enchantments. But there are limits to what any one
person can do, because exhaustion will always set in, sooner or later.

The particular type of obscure, ancient magic Regulus is about to acquire for himself is no
different. There is always a cost. And the more powerful the magic, the steeper the price to pay.

Regulus finds himself wanting to pay it, because he’d do anything to stop feeling as miserable as he
does now. The ice in his chest aches. Constantly. Like the cage is broken and the bones are jagged
and they bite into his flesh from the inside. Every time he moves, Regulus feels like he’s bleeding,
and it’s love for James, turned poison now because James will never look at him with anything but
contempt again.

Relief can’t come soon enough, Regulus thinks as he opens the secret passageway in the cellar of
his house.

The entire Black clan is upstairs in the drawing room, drinking and waiting for him. They like to
make a party of it, but no one can go into the crypt under the house with Regulus. The ritual of the
Legacy is for the patriarch and the patriarch alone.

Dressed in expensive, tailored all-black ceremonial robes, Regulus walks down the corridor,
torches flickering on both sides. Stale and dusty air tickles his nose. He’s surprisingly calm. Part of
him wondered if he’d be afraid. If he’d chicken out at the last minute. So far, all he feels is
determined.

If things were different, perhaps, he would refuse this. Like his father did, out of love for
Walburga. But Regulus can’t save himself for a boy who’ll never love him again. And he has to
trust that if he ever wants to come back from this (highly unlikely anyway), Dorcas can manage it.
She will. Pandora said she would, and Regulus has no choice but trusts his friends.

The chamber is as he left it the day he came with his father to collect the book now tucked under
his arm. Dirt floors, stone walls. An altar in the middle. The ceiling is arched, and in the corners of
it gather shadows that seem to be waiting. Watching.

Regulus puts the book on the altar and opens it to the last page with any writing on it. It’s his turn
to fill in his name.

Slowly, he pulls out the ceremonial dagger with the Black crest emblazoned on the hilt and makes
a clean cut over his left palm. Dipping a quill directly into the wound, Regulus bends over the book
and writes his name in blood.

Regulus Arcturus Black, Lord of the House of Black, 1978.

The blood seeps into the page. Regulus sets the quill down, picks up the dagger again, and cuts
himself across his right palm. With the matching wounds, he brings both hands down on the altar.

Light erupts from the stone, piercing through the Legacy book, straight up. It singes Regulus’ skin
but he holds. Doesn’t move. Around him, the shadows in the chamber begin to move. Tendrils of
darkness reach for him, getting closer when he doesn’t fight them. Doesn’t resist them.

It whispers. And Regulus can hear it.

The silvery light is the beacon, Regulus’ blood is his consent. And the darkness crawls over the
ceiling and the floor, until it reaches its new vessel. When the first tentacles of shadow curl around
his legs and seep into him, Regulus’ eyes fall shut.

He hears them. The voices in his head. All of the Lord Blacks, dating back centuries, whisper to
him now. Their power is settling inside of him, bit by bit, as more and more shadows gather on his
skin and burrow under it.

“Welcome, son of the House of Black. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“You know what you have to do.”

Regulus does. Legacy is a very obscure, dark type of magic. It requires two things—blood,
willingly given, and a drop of your own magic. Over centuries, the Legacy spell in this crypt has
gathered magic from every wizard to hold the title of Lord Black. Swelling and growing. It’s power
unlike any other. It lives in shadow, because it’s dark, and dangerous, and ruthless.

“Here is a drop of my magic,” Regulus thinks, visualizing it in his mind. “Take it.”

The monsters in his mind grow excited. A shadowed hand darts forward and curls around the shiny
little drop of magic Regulus has offered. When it’s taken, Regulus gasps out loud which is a strange
experience. He’s almost forgotten he has a body, absorbed as he is in merging with the darkness
pooling inside of him.

“You understand the price to pay,” the voices whisper to him in his head. “Your humanity, in
exchange for power.”

“I understand.”

“Every time you call upon Legacy, you’ll lose a bit of yourself.”

“I understand.”

“Then, are you willing?”

“Yes. I am willing.”

Darkness expands inside of him, like it’s trying to coat every single inch of his body.

It hurts.

Regulus isn’t surprised, because of course it does. His family is sadistic. Why would they devise a
ritual that didn’t involve agonising pain?

His knees buckle, but Regulus is braced against the altar and holds on to it. He has to endure it, he
knows. It’s a test. Like everything with his family, pain endurance is the measure of a man.
Regulus won’t show weakness to his ancestors, no matter what. He's grinding his teeth so hard he’s
pretty certain he’s going to pulverise them, but as he endures the torture, he can tell his body is
changing. To make way for this magic, it’s hardening. Erasing any softness that might still cling to
him.

The pain begins to subside, allowing Regulus to breathe a little easier. He’s almost done, he knows.
He can feel the magic settling, his body adjusting. Accepting it. Becoming one with the darkness.

And then, the inner changes begin to take place. The cage of bones is rebuilt, and the edges
smoothed out. Ice spreads, tangled, dyed with black. It crawls through his veins, muting everything
but his ambition and focus. Legacies give up part of their humanity in exchange for the power to
wield this magic, and that means their ability to feel emotions becomes other.

Emotions don’t go away—they can’t. Magic needs emotional roots, after all. You have to feel it.
Mean it. But there’s a certain layer of… removal. Not entirely human. Regulus hasn’t called upon
the power yet. Hasn’t used it. So, the effects are subdued. He can see his own feelings like he’s
looking at a picture. They’re there, and he recognises them, but they’re not as piercing.

Relief washes over him, because his heartache hasn’t disappeared, but it’s not overwhelming
anymore. And for the first time in weeks, Regulus feels like his chest isn’t filled with broken glass.
His head is clear.

Regulus can think. And his first thought is that he wants his revenge, and nothing will get in the
way of him getting it now. For all the hurt the world has inflicted on him, Regulus will hit back.

He made a promise once. He’d get vengeance. Go to any lengths necessary. No line is too holy. No
limit too hard. He’s crossing them all to get what he wants.

Retribution.

With a deep breath, Regulus lifts his hands off the altar. The wounds on his hands have healed, his
skin smooth and unmarred. He closes the book, snuffing out the light. The voices fade back into
the corners of the chamber, and Regulus knows his is with them now. When a new Lord Black
comes to claim Legacy, Regulus’ voice will be here, waiting for him with the rest of their
ancestors.

Stretching a hand out, Regulus looks at it, curious. He focuses and calls the Legacy forward,
though he doesn’t use it. There’s no need for it. Not yet. And there, on his wrist, his veins darken
until he can see them through his pale skin. A web of black spreading up his arm, over his body.

A satisfied smile draws itself on his face. It’s done. He’s ready. All that matters to him now is his
revenge. There’s a list of names he’s itching to cross. And now that he has the power and might of
his house at his fingertips… Regulus can’t wait to draw blood.
Chapter End Notes

Alright so! How are we feeling? This chapter was a lot less sad, right? RIGHT?

From the top - I mean... leaving school (when you've had a good experience in it) is
always a bitter sweet thing. You'll miss it, but you also feel kind of ready for it. Ready
to be grown up. Except they're going to war. It's so messed up

James not being able to cast a patronus? Help

PANDALILY MY LOVES!!! The girls are rising and I'm so ready for it It is
HARD to orchestrate the beginnings of a budding romance when one of them is going
back to school, but I am fighting for these girls

Moaning 'one last kiss' Myrtle? PLS she's so valid. That girl is going to miss Regulus
for eterninty. I'm so sad for her

And then the cottage. I'm... ehm. Sorry. Like yeah. That was foul. James was feeling
some way and he really thought it would help... but then Regulus showed up and our
man immediately forgot why he was doing it in the first place and went back to please
Reg just kiss me

Also SIRIUS ORION BLACK THAT WAS SO NASTY "my brother" to your little
brother like HELP That was MEAN. But he is a Black. He's got it in him. We know he
does. Still hurts tho

Now, remember I mentioned James was going to have some unhealthy coping
mechanisms? Sorry about that Maisie. Not personal.

and then SAM MCKINNON!! You have no idea how excited I've been to introduce
you to Sam. I LOVE HER so much. I hope you do, too. More of Sam in the coming
chapters

Finally... legacy has been claimed. This is not a drill. Regulus has effectively muted
his emotions. There'll be no more panic attacks or Sad Boy Breakdowns on roofs for
him. He has said 'feelings? inconvenient. have them removed' PLS he's so
unhinged and I love him.

I know you all want to see Reg killing some people. Next chapter he gets bloody, so
y'know, almost there

Thank you SO MUCH for the love, kudos, support, comments! EVERYTHING. I'm
so lucky that all the readers of this fic have been so nice so far. Means the world to me
how supportive you are. LOVE YOU. Thank you
 Of Summer Weddings
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

TWs for this chapter:

Brief mentions of choking / strangling

Brief mention of vomiting (no one does)
Underage drinking (Reg is still 17)
Smoking
References to bigotry (Death Eaters, purebloods in general)
References to past torture
References to past child-abuse
Blood
Death (two people are murdered)
Sex (brief, and not explicit at all)

I think that's it! Let me know if I missed anything.

This chapter is easier than the previous ones (I think by a lot? Let me know if you
agree). It's a bit violent, though, so take care of yourselves! We've taken the foot of the
'angst gas' for this one, so hopefully you find a few things to giggle and feel good
about in this chapter

As promised, you get murder-y Reg

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Weddings are ridiculous, Regulus thinks as he takes a seat on the front row, kicking his legs out in
front of him. On the chair to his right, Walburga wrinkles her nose, but she doesn’t say anything.

Not anymore.

Walburga tried, of course. Oh, how she tried to remind Regulus that she's his mother. Older. The
one who birthed him and raised him (debatable, Regulus is convinced he raised himself and Sirius
helped where he could). That she's a proper lady, and a good pureblood witch. Oh. Walburga tried
to lord her status over his head. As though the fact that she married her cousin and spawned two
children means Regulus ought to listen to her. To respect her.

Regulus had no choice but to teach the old hag a lesson. It was two days ago when it happened. She
tried to shout at him for having sent Kreacher on an errand when she wanted him to prepare her
tea. Regulus used his strangling curse on her until she was on her knees in the library of
Grimmauld Place. When he let her go, he reminded her that she was a guest in his house now. He
was Lord Black, and she was a leftover from the previous generation. Out of sheer pettiness,
Regulus moved her to a guest room, claiming the master bedroom for himself. And she was
appalled by it but accepted it anyway.
It was rather interesting to see how proud his mother was of him for having hurt her. For a moment
that night, Regulus distantly wondered if she would have liked Sirius better if he’d hit her back
when he was still around. Guess he’ll never know.

Now, Walburga knows her place.

The wedding ceremony is taking place in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. It’s been decorated rather
elegantly, Regulus will admit. There’s a raised platform where Lucius and Narcissa will exchange
vows, adorned with flowers and silk garlands. The chairs are all lined up in two neat columns,
leaving a large aisle in the middle for the bride and groom to walk down. After, the guests will be
led inside to the ballroom where a meal will be served, followed by the traditional waltz and party.

Bored out of his mind, Regulus watches people find their seats. So many rich people. Idly, Regulus
considers the fact that if something happened to every guest at this wedding, the GDP equivalent
of wizarding Britain would diminish by like 25%. And isn’t that hilarious.

Except that would include him, and Regulus has no interest in dying any time soon. He’s only just
begun to have fun with his new magic.

Absently, he pulls the sleeve of his robes back and watches his veins darken. He’s becoming rather
fond of the visual. Like a reminder that he’s strong. Unbreakable. Untouchable.

That in turn reminds him to take out the little flask in his pocket and take a small sip. Water laced
with veritaserum and two other common poisons. Just a drop of each, for now. Regulus has decided
to build up a tolerance to all of them, just in case, but the veritaserum is the most pressing one. His
legilimency and occlumency lessons with his mother are progressing well. Now that he has the
magic of Legacy in his veins, he’s advancing at a rate so astonishing even Walburga had to be
impressed.

It's not enough.

Regulus has too many secrets. He can’t risk it. So, he’s making himself as immune as he can to the
truth serum and common poisons he would use if he were to torture someone to try to force them to
give information.

Miserable business, mithridatism. He aches and shakes at night, but he has to take his sleeping
draughts anyway. So. Could be worse, he supposes.

“Regulus!” Bellatrix calls, marching down the aisle with the air of importance that comes with
being the sister of the bride. “There you are.”

“What?” he asks, tilting his head to look at his cousin from his chair.

She’s wearing a pretty, dark green dress that brings out the blackness of her long hair. She’s quite
beautiful, Bellatrix. Objectively. The glint of madness in her eyes only makes her more interesting,
Regulus thinks. He’s always liked sharp and dangerous things.

“You need to hand Narcissa off to Lucius,” Bellatrix says.

“No, I do not,” Regulus replies. “She has a father and that is his job. He is back from Lithuania,
isn’t he?”

Cygnus—who used to hold a position with the Foreign Affairs branch of the Ministry—has a lot of
connections abroad. He’s been travelling on behalf of Riddle to try and recruit supporters from
other countries. He’s not always successful; he came from his trip to Spain badly injured.
“Cygnus isn’t the head of the House of Black,” Bellatrix replies with a sneer. “He’s an old man
who squandered his chance at Lordship by marrying a Rosier.”

Regulus blinks, then chuckles. “Who would you have had your father marry?”

“Lucretia, of course,” Bellatrix replies promptly.

It occurs to Regulus that his family’s obsession with inbreeding may very well be the end of them.
There are no more Black women for him to marry—not that he has any interest, but as a
hypothetical—so he has no choice but to marry outside the family. And yet, per Bellatrix’s little
rant, that is seen as a dilution of blood.

“Well, he didn’t,” Regulus says. “He married your mother. I don’t see why I should be punished
for Cygnus’ mistakes.”

“Oh, come on, Regulus,” Bellatrix replies, nudging his foot with her heeled salon. “It’s hardly a
punishment. Cissy looks ethereal.”

“Fine,” he says, standing up.

Regulus doesn’t particularly care one way or another. But he knows it’ll make Lucius feel
important that Regulus himself gives Narcissa away, and his alliance with Lucius is valuable to
him. Tom Riddle spends a lot of time in Malfoy Manor, second only to Lestrange Castle. Regulus
would be a fool not to exploit Lucius’ proximity to Riddle.

Bellatrix leads him through the gardens into a foyer and bids him wait there for Cissy to finish
getting ready. The ceremony will start soon. As Bellatrix disappears up a set of stairs, music begins
to play and Lucius and his mother walk down the aisle.

“Regulus,” Cygnus says, descending the stairs and coming to a stop before him.

“Uncle,” Regulus replies, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall.

For a moment, it seems as though Cygnus will simply pass him by without further conversation.
The ceremony is, after all, starting. However, at the last minute he seems to decide he’d rather
antagonise Regulus.

“You should have refused,” he says, looking at Regulus with a scowl. “Narcissa is my daughter.
You have no right.”

“You should have been a better father,” Regulus replies with a pointed look. “Then, she wouldn’t
have asked me.”

“How dare you!”

Regulus shrugs. Cygnus steps closer, agitated. “Don’t look so haughty boy,” Cygnus says. “You
were never meant for this title and you know it.”

“Careful, uncle.”

“Or what? Everyone knows you’re the soft one,” Cygnus hisses. “Or do you think I’ve forgotten
how many times you hid behind your brother? If he hadn’t turned out such a traitor, you wouldn’t
have ever been more than the spare.”

At the top of the stairs, they hear a door open and then female voices float down. The bride is on
her way. With a quick glance up, Cygnus shakes his head and storms from the foyer without
another word to Regulus.

It must run in the blood, Regulus thinks. The penchant for dramatics. It’s the one thing all Blacks
seem to have in common.

Bellatrix descends the stairs with her mother Druella. She’s Evan’s aunt, and Regulus can see a bit
of the resemblance. Evan should be here, somewhere. He saw him arrive, but Regulus didn’t have
a chance to talk to him. There’ll be time for that during the party. If he’s going to drink with
anyone, it’ll be Evan.

Behind them comes Narcissa, and Regulus has to give it to her. Credit where credit is due. Narcissa
looks like a dream. She’s so gorgeous Regulus briefly thinks she should be put inside a glass cage.
Petrified, perhaps. Preserved for posterity like a piece of art.

“You look stunning, cousin,” he says when she reaches the ground floor. Regulus offers her his
arm, and Narcissa smiles weakly at him.

“I feel like I might be sick,” she whispers to him, like a secret.

“Turn to the right, if you must,” Regulus replies primly. “I’m rather fond of these robes.”

They wait at the threshold for Bellatrix and Druella to make their way down the aisle first.
Narcissa is shaking a little, which Regulus understands is normal. He doesn’t get it, but he’s aware
that wedding day jitters happen.

Narcissa’s dress is white like snow. It’s made of silk, and has long sleeves that hug her wrists
delicately, closed with a series of buttons Regulus is not sure can be unfastened without ripping the
fabric. It hugs her body without frills, taking advantage of Narcissa’s natural, slender figure, and
then cascades down her back in a train. Simple, but elegant. Regulus approves of it.

“I love him, you know?” Narcissa says out of the blue.

“And you’re telling me… why?”

“Not sure. I just felt like telling someone. Most people think this is a loveless marriage because it’s
arranged,” Narcissa explains in a hushed voice. “But I love him. And he loves me. I think that’s
special. I’m lucky.”

Fortunately, he’s spared having to think of a response because it’s their turn to walk down the
aisle. Regulus keeps his pace even, allowing Narcissa to walk gracefully, unhurriedly. They must
make a striking image, he thinks. They are beautiful people, in a beautiful setting, marching down
the aisle together.

Distantly, Regulus realises this newfound vanity of his must be a side effect of the Legacy. There
are some unexpected results he’s still discovering, and this appreciation for beauty—including his
own—is definitely new. Not unpleasant. Only unexpected.

He wonders, as he hands Narcissa to Lucius and gives him a sharp nod that makes Lucius look
downright delighted, if it’s because there’s power in beauty. Why else would Legacy rob him of
his humanity but give him a new appreciation for pleasant aesthetics? That must be it, he reasons.
Just another weapon in his arsenal.

The ceremony is a drag. Regulus pays very little attention to it, instead turning his thoughts inward.
He’s been busy the past couple of weeks. Riddle has come visit him in Grimmauld Place twice
already. The first time, they discussed potion requirements. The second time, Riddle came with
Lucius to discuss some Ministry Affairs and bills that they’re pushing through, which Regulus
should support as the new Lord Black. Towards the end of the meeting, Lucius asked for Regulus’
opinion on a new batch of recruits fresh out of Hogwarts.

Mulciber, Avery, Dolohov. They’re all being offered a test in the coming month. And, because
Regulus hadn’t forgotten a deal he made at a party in the dungeons, he’d suggested Severus Snape.
It would help, Regulus told Riddle, to have a second skilled potioner with him. It would make
things move faster. And so, Snape has been invited to the test, too.

Whatever the test is. Regulus isn’t bothered.

Setting up a potions lab big enough to deliver on Riddle's expectations proved to be a bit of a
challenge. Grimmauld Place doesn’t have the ventilation required for it. The risk for accidental
poisoning through fumes was too high. The solution came to Regulus by way of Rabastan only two
days ago.

They’d been sent to Borgin and Burkes to collect some package or other. It’d been a rather
straightforward, boring transaction and Rabastan had suggested they grab a drink in the dingy pub
nestled at the end of Knockturn Alley before heading back.

“You should come ‘round the castle,” he’d said. “Have you ever been?”

“No. Can’t say I have.”

“Well, then. Come for dinner? After the Malfoy wedding, of course. I know you’re busy at the
moment,” Rabastan had offered. “It’s enormous. You could even stay the night if you don’t fancy
apparating after drinking. Half the rooms are empty.”

Regulus had tentatively agreed, then left Rabastan with the package and gone straight to Black
Manor. He should have thought of it earlier. The house has been sitting empty for almost two
decades, but it has everything he needs.

And so that’s where Regulus is setting up the potions lab that will supply Riddle’s entire war
efforts. Grimmauld Place will remain his primary residence, but Regulus won’t mind one bit
spending some time in the manor. Walburga hates it there, which is a good thing. Means Regulus
has an entire house where to go about his business uninterrupted.

Including continuing his research of the Horcruxes.

The officiant pronounces Lucius and Narcissa husband and wife, and they kiss chastely on the lips.
Applause ensues, and shortly after Regulus is sitting on a different chair, inside the ballroom,
poking at an entrée with a silver fork.

A prickling in the back of his head alerts him of the incoming connection. The emeralds on his
snake ring glow faintly, and then Dorcas’ voice is in his head.

“Regulus?”

“Are you in danger?”

“No.”

“Then, I can’t talk. I’m at a wedding.”

“Whose?”

“Narcissa’s.”

“Ah. Is Evan there?”

“Dorcas, I said I can’t talk.”

“Right. Well. Just thought you’d want to know Moody is sending James and Sirius out of the
country.”

“Where?”

“France. I don’t have more details than that, but they’ll be gone for at least three weeks, maybe
four.”

“What about you?”

“I’m fine. We have some people who’ve come in from abroad and I’m helping them settle.
Thrilling.”

People from abroad? Hmm. Interesting. Very interesting. It's good, he supposes, that Moody is
bringing in more allies. It means Dorcas is safer.

“Alright. Wedding dance is about to being. I’ll be in touch in a couple of days.”

“Reg? Are you sure you’re okay? You feel a bit odd?”

That’ll be the Legacy, Regulus thinks. Doesn’t say. Doesn’t project it to Dorcas through their
connection. Instead, he sends her the mental equivalent of a shrug.

“This wedding is fucking boring.”

Dorcas laughs, and then she’s gone, and Regulus is alone in his head again which is just as well
because to his profound annoyance, Bellatrix comes to insist that he dance with her seeing as
Rodolphus apparently has two left feet.

Regulus is about to refuse when he notices a group of young women looking their way, very
obviously waiting to see whether Regulus will dance with his cousin or not. The last thing he wants
is to endure giggling, blushing women. Bellatrix might be insane, but at least she’s entertaining.

Dancing with Bella is pleasant, because her upbringing was impeccable, and she’s had as many
dancing lessons as he. They move over the dancefloor gracefully, steps in perfect sync. Out of the
corner of his eye, Regulus sees Rabastan and Evan head to the drinks table now that the party
portion of the event has officially begun.

“The Dark Lord is very pleased with you,” Bellatrix says, smiling at him as he twirls her under his
arm.

“I have hardly had a chance to prove myself yet,” Regulus replies. He knows better than to fall prey
to flattery.

“He can see potential, Regulus,” she says. “You show promise. Are you brewing the potions he
asked for?”

“Kreacher is finishing setting up the potions lab. I’m starting tomorrow. Would have started today,
but I was expected at some event,” he says. “You might have heard.”

Bellatrix laughs, then her eyes flash with wicked madness. “It will be glorious, cousin. When he
rises to power and cleanses the wizarding world of muggle scum.”

“Glorious indeed,” Regulus replies. “Now, I’m going to go get drunk before any of those girls try
to talk to me. Excuse me.”

“Ah, you can’t avoid marriage forever,” Bella says, but she steps away and releases Regulus. “You
need an heir.”

“I’m seventeen,” Regulus replies dismissively. “Not in any hurry to become a father just yet.”

“I forget sometimes,” Bella tells him, walking with him away from the dancefloor and towards the
bar, where Rodolphus has joined his brother and Evan. “You don’t feel like you’re seventeen.”

“Careful, Bella. That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”

“Deliver those potions to the Dark Lord, and it will be one,” she says with a wink. “But Regulus?
Walburga is concerned you’re hung up on that girl you had a Hogwarts. Prove her wrong.”

A cold chill runs down his spine, and it takes everything in him not to lash out at Bellatrix. She’s
not threatening him, only giving him what she thinks is good advice. And Bellatrix is, without a
doubt, Riddle’s favourite. Regulus can’t touch her. Not yet.

“I’ll take that into consideration,” he says rather stiffly as they reach the bar.

Rodolphus allows Bellatrix to drag him away and then Regulus is blessedly alone with Rabastan
and Evan, who are very happy to chat amongst themselves while Regulus simply stands next to
them and nods his head every now and then, pretending to be listening.

Patiently, Regulus sips his firewhiskey, thinking. There are quite a few people present that he’d
like to get rid of. Looking around the room, Regulus feels the beginnings of a plan forming. He
could kill two birds with one stone. It won’t hurt him if people think he’s snuck upstairs with a
woman; and if he plays his cards right, he can cross another name off his list.

One that he wasn’t planning on prioritizing, but oh well. Some people should think before they
speak.

When Rabastan excuses himself to go to the bathroom, Regulus leans closer to Evan. “I need a
favour,” he says. “A discreet favour.”

“What’s up?” Evan asks.

Regulus has a strange sense of Deja-vu as he whispers instructions to Evan, who seems to accept
them with no concerns whatsoever. Briefly, he remembers fondly the time he whispered
instructions to Myrtle and ended up quarantining the entire Slytherin house of a full week.

That was in February. It is now July. To Regulus, it feels as though an entire lifetime has passed.

“You need to be subtle about this, Evan,” Regulus warns him.

“Are you at least going to tell me why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“No,” Evan says, shrugging. “But I’m curious anyway.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“You’re so friendly, Reg,” Evan says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve got you covered. Don’t worry.”

With that settled, Regulus knocks back the rest of his firewhiskey and sets his shoulders. The most
unpleasant part of his hastily put together plan begins now. It requires Regulus to mingle. Skin
crawling with disgust, Regulus thinks vehemently that he would much rather cuddle a manticore
than do this, but he must.

Fortunately, he finds Narcissa first and she happens to be alone. Quickly, he steps in to dance with
her, and she’s happy to allow it. They dance together, which gives Regulus time to look around and
evaluate his options.

After long and careful consideration, he settles for a girl with rich brown hair and dark eyes. She’s
quite short, and slim, but graceful in the way she moves. None of this things matter to Regulus,
who picks her simply because she’s the least desperate-looking of them all.

“Oh, my parents are leaving,” Narcissa says, letting go of Regulus. “I must go say goodbye.”

“Of course,” he says. “I’ve already found my new dance partner. Excuse me.”

Narcissa shoots him an amused glance, and watches as he crosses the floor towards the petite girl.

Her name, she informs Regulus promptly, is Adalyn Greengrass. This is fantastic news. Not that
Regulus expected anyone not pure-blooded to be in attendance, but it’s good to confirm that he
didn’t accidentally pick someone his mother would bother him about.

Regulus needs no introduction. Adalyn wastes no time telling him how brilliant he is—how she’d
have any idea of his brilliance is a mystery to him—and how handsome she thinks he is. This,
Regulus accepts. He does look dashing.

When they start dancing, it occurs to Regulus that his issues with touch seem to have taken a
backseat as a result of the Legacy, too. He wouldn’t be caught dead hugging anyone, but Adalyn’s
hand on his shoulder as they dance isn’t making him want to pass out. Neither did Bella’s or
Narcissa’s. This is good news, he thinks. Makes life a little easier.

“Adalyn,” Regulus says after the third dance. “Would you join me in the study, perhaps?”

It’s embarrassing how quick she is to agree. Regulus leads her away from the dance floor, feeling
the eyes of his mother on him. It takes effort not to sigh in annoyance. The woman thinks too
highly of herself.

Adalyn walks into the studio first, and Evan—bless him—right on time appears wearing Regulus’
face. Regulus shrugs off his outer robes and hands them to Evan, who puts them on quickly. He
doesn’t move with the same feline grace Regulus himself does, but Adalyn has known him for a
grand total of forty-five minutes so there’s no way she’ll be able to tell she’s being duped.

“One hour,” Evan whispers. “I’m trusting you, Reg. Don’t get me in trouble.”

“I’ll be back before the potion wears off. Don’t let her leave. You’re supposed to talk to her only.
Do not touch her.”

“What if she touches me?”

“Shrug her off,” Regulus says. “It’s what I would do anyway.”

“Barty’s either going to find this hilarious or he's going to have my head for it,” Evan hisses.

“Don’t tell him then,” Regulus says. “Now. Go keep her busy.”

Evan goes inside the study, locking the door behind him, and Regulus slips towards the back of the
house. He must be back before the Polyjuice potion wears off and Adalyn realises she’s been alone
with Evan Rosier the entire time. It goes strongly against Regulus’ policy to involve one of his
friends, but this is as safe and harmless as it gets, and he does need an alibi.

The wards around Malfoy Manor are some of the most powerful there are, but Regulus has been
keyed into them. He only has to step outside the Manor proper to apparate away. And he does.

Regulus doesn’t bother sneaking in. He walks up the front steps and knocks. Druella opens the
door, surprise flickering in her eyes before she steps aside to let him in. Lord Black can’t be refused
in a family residency.

“I’m sorry,” she says, closing her dressing gown more firmly. “We were readying for bed.”

“Where is my uncle?” he asks.

“Upstairs,” Druella replies. “Is anything the matter?”

“I need to speak to him urgently,” Regulus says, striding through the corridor and taking the steps
two at a time. He stops on the landing, turns around. Druella is at the bottom of the stairs,
hesitating. “Do come along. You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

Seemingly relieved, Druella hurries up after him. Cygnus is so startled when Regulus barges into
his room that he drops the cup of tea he was holding. He’s in his pyjamas, and it’s truly a sight
Regulus could have gone without, but oh well.

Behind him, Druella hurries into the room and goes to stand next to Cygnus, looking between
Regulus and his uncle with curiosity.

“Have you ever seen it be used?” Regulus asks, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Without his
outer robes, he’s only in a white button up.

Cygnus’ expression turns hungry, though no less cautious for it. “What are you doing here,
Regulus?”

“Well,” he says, clenching and unclenching his fists as he calls upon the magic of the Legacy.
“You pissed me off earlier, uncle. This is what you’d call a consequence.”

His veins turn dark, stark against his pale skin. Cygnus inhales sharply, and Regulus smirks
cruelly. Druella gasps, watching the shadows at Regulus’ feet elongate unnaturally, reaching
towards them.

Inside of him, Regulus feels a little stab. A piece of him, gone. There’s a flash of laughter in it, but
Regulus can’t remember what that was like. Why he would be laughing if it’s not in triumph over
getting what he wants.

Within his mind, he gives the order and the shadows at his feet latch onto his uncle and his wife,
locking them in place. Dark fingers curling around their bodies, pinning them where they stand.
Druella’s lower lip is wobbling, but Cygnus is stoically holding Regulus’ gaze.
Annoying.

“I see you are not sufficiently frightened,” Regulus says. “Have you not yet realised you’re about
to die?”

Cygnus inhales sharply. Next to him, Druella gasps and begins to silently weep. Regulus ignores
her.

“You can’t kill us,” Cygnus says.

“I can. I’m going to,” Regulus says, stepping closer.

“Why? Is your ego so fragile you’d kill me over a bitter truth you don’t like? You were the spare.
That’s not on me,” Cygnus snarls.

“Oh, please,” Regulus says, waving a hand to dismiss the matter. “That was nothing. I mean, you
shouldn’t have antagonised me, but no. You signed your death sentence two years ago. Do you
remember it? The night Sirius escaped?”

“What do you…” Horror crosses Cygnus’ eyes. Payback is a bitch, Regulus thinks as he watches
Cygnus terror grow. He tortured Sirius that night, trying to break him. He tortured him for hours.
Him, and Orion. And Walburga, Bellatrix and Rodolphus.

Regulus has a list of names. Cygnus’ has been on it for years.

“No,” Cygnus says, shaking his head. “You can’t. You—”

“We’ve been over this. I can,” Regulus says, unsheathing the ceremonial dagger he never gave
back after the Legacy ritual.

Cygnus looks at it, and Regulus sees the understanding seeping into his eyes. He used a knife that
night. They wanted to make Sirius bleed. To humiliate him. The Cruciatus curse wasn’t enough on
its own, no. Cygnus stabbed Sirius straight through his right palm, pinning it to the hardwood
floor, hoping to ruin his hand so he’d never hold a wand deftly again. Sirius healed, of course, Effie
Potter made sure of it, but Regulus hasn’t forgotten. Apparently, neither has Cygnus.

“Regulus, you can’t—” Cygnus starts.

But Regulus ignores him, turning to Druella, who is still weeping softly, holding on to her husband.
“You weren’t there that night. Your name means little to me. I would have spared you, but you
opened the door, so you’re a loose end. Unlucky.”

Regulus has no need to be cruel to her. For Evan, he makes her death smooth. Immediate. Almost
painless. The knife slashes easily. Regulus must catch some artery, because blood sprays. He feels
its warmth on his face.

Cygnus begins to struggle against the shadows restraining him. He realises very quickly that it’s
futile. To his credit, he straightens and sets his shoulders. Ready to meet death with all the dignity
of a Black.

“Kill me with your wand,” he says. “You are a wizard, not a muggle butcher.”

“And ruin the poetic justice of killing you with the same blade you used on Sirius?” Regulus says,
throwing the dagger up and catching it again by the hilt. “I don’t think so. There’s beauty in it
coming full circle, don’t you think? Besides, muggles are very ingenious. They’ve been killing
each other without magic for centuries. And you know what I like about knives? No one can tell
who was wielding it.”

Cygnus Black dies on his feet, but he dies the muggle way. A knife to the throat, from side to side.
It’s gruesome and bloody and Regulus has to yank hard to retrieve his dagger from his uncle’s
neck. But he does, wiping the blood on Cygnus’ pyjama. It's quickly pooling under their feet,
crimson and hot. Sticky.

Rubbing his face with his hand to get rid of the blood on his cheek, Regulus hatches a quick plan to
cover the murders. Once he has it, Regulus doesn’t waste any time. Snatching Cyngus’ wand from
where it rested on his bedside table, he proceeds to set everything in his path on fire as he flees the
house. Fortunately, the house elf is with Narcissa tonight, helping with the wedding. A nice bonus.
Regulus would have loathed to kill an elf.

The last thing he does before he apparates back to Malfoy Manor to swap places with Evan again is
chuck Cygnus’ wand back into the house to be consumed by the flames.

####

“James! Sirius! Remus!” Lily cries from the entrance hall to Potter Manor. “We’re going to be
late!”

“Sorry,” James calls, running down the steps, jumping them two at a time. “It’s this bloody tie.
Can’t get it to sit right.”

James lands at the bottom of the stairs and raises his arm to show Lily the tie in question, clutched
in his hand. You’d think after seven years of wearing one with his uniform, he’d be proficient at
tying them. Except the particular knot that has been requested of him for Frank and Alice’s
wedding is complicated as fuck.

When he looks up, he has to blink for a moment, brain going blank. Lily looks gorgeous. It’s late
July, and very hot outside, so the dress she’s wearing is light and airy. Her hair is up in a do held
together by pins with green stones that bring out her eyes. Her dress is also green. The shade of
olives.

“James?” Lily asks.

“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “You look gorgeous. I was distracted there for a second.”

“Oh,” Lily says, blushing. “Well. Thank you. You look rather dapper, too. Let me help with that
tie.”

Grateful, James hands it to her and stands still while she attempts to make the damned knot sit
straight over his shirt. She’s still fumbling with it when Sirius and Remus come rushing down,
looking a little out of sorts.

“Red!” Sirius bellows. “Please do me, too.”

Remus shakes his head, rolling his eyes. James chortles, and Lily rolls her eyes. “Honestly. You
guys are helpless.”

It’s been nice having Lily live in Potter Manor. She set up her potions lab in the conservatory,
which gives her access to the garden whenever she needs it. For the past month, Lily has been
brewing almost non stop for the Order and everything she makes works like a charm. Moody
cannot stop singing her praises.
It’s also been good for Remus to have company. Especially when James and Sirius were sent to
France to negotiate with the French vampires. After Sirius’ success with the woman in Brighton,
Moody refused to send anyone else. Besides, Sirius is one of the few order members—bar Manon
and Emmeline Vance—who speaks French fluently.

They got back two days ago, and Remus and Sirius have pretty much been locked in their room the
entire time, coming out only to eat and shower. Suffice to say, Remus had a hard time while they
were away with no contact, and James is glad Lily was here for him.

A shrill sound rings through the entrance hall, and James goes to the door to find Peter standing
there, his tie in his hand and a sheepish look on his face.

“I thought Lily might be able to help,” he says, smiling.

“Hi Pete,” Lily says, looking up from Remus’ tie. “Sure. Give me a second.”

Two minutes later all four ties are properly knotted and they’re finally ready to go. Lily is being
showered in dramatic praise by all four marauders, which is making her blush and giggle. It’s
rather nice. Feels normal. Like they're young and it's summer and they're about to go to a party to
celebrate their friends' love. James wishes he could bottle this feeling for when the going gets
tough later. It always does, these days.

“Marlene and Dorcas?” James asks.

“They’ll meet us there with Mary,” Lily replies. “They went to pick her up.”

Mary was the last of them to join the Order. She was on the fence about it for a little while, but
Lily convinced her. James offered Mary a place in his house, too, but she refused. She wants to live
at home with her parents for a while longer. It’s the only thing that makes her feel like a kid and
she wants to hold on to that.

James gets it. He doesn’t share the sentiment—he stopped being a kid sometime between enlisting
for the war and getting his heart smashed to pieces—but he gets it.

Alice and Frank get married on a beautiful August afternoon in a classy pub in Nottingham. It’s a
clear day, the sky enamel blue and the grass emerald green. The back garden of the pub is arranged
with long tables adorned with flowers and a tent is raised over them to provide some shade.

It's truly lovely. Perfect. The definition of a good wedding. There’s so much love in this garden,
that James feels full to bursting. When Alice and Frank are declared husband and wife, he cheers
with everyone else. Sirius looks over at him, throws an arm over his shoulder and whispers, “it’s
the first time you smile in months.”

James chokes up. Pretends he’s crying because he’s at a wedding and he’s a romantic, and not
because Sirius is right. It hurts. It still hurts more than James thinks it should. But he’s learning to
live with it. He doesn’t think it’ll ever go away, not really. James is pretty sure Regulus was it for
him.

But he’s managing. At least, he can smile now. Just the one, but he’s got to start somewhere.

They eat pies and drink beer. Sam McKinnon and her band play for them the first couple of hours
before a record player is set up and the volume amplified with magic. After the meal, Alice kicks
off her heels and dances a traditional Irish dance with Frank, who’s terrible at it but very
passionate. When they’re done, they kiss and James and his friends wolf whistle. The Prewett
brothers set off some fireworks as a surprise, and that marks the start of the party.
It's one of the nicest weddings James has ever been to. He hasn’t been to many, truth be told,
because his parents are blood traitors and they don’t get invited to pure-blood ceremonies anymore.
But he did go to the Abbott’s wedding when he was little.

“James!” Gideon Prewett calls him over to the bar, and James goes happily.

A beer is thrust into his hand, ice-cold which is welcome because even though the sun is getting
low, it’s still pretty warm. James feels a little sticky.

“Nice wedding, huh?” Fabian says.

“Yeah,” James agrees. “Loved the fireworks. Did you make them yourselves?”

“We did!” Gideon says proudly. “We’ve got a plan to commercialise them once the war is over,
you know? Have a little shop, maybe.”

“It’s a nice plan,” James says. “I’d definitely buy some of your fireworks.”

“You’ll go pro, right? We heard there are a couple of teams trying to get you?” Fabian asks.

James shrugs, feeling a little out of his depth. These two people are his idols. Hogwarts best
pranksters, and they’re looking at him like he’s someone worthy of their attention. It’s a surreal
feeling.

“Well, if the war ends before I’m too old to play, yes,” James admits. “I’d love that. Quidditch is
the love of my life.”

“Oh? No ladies for you, then?” Fabian asks.

And then, to James’ surprise, Gideon elbows his brother and says, “Or dudes. If that’s your thing.”

Gideon says it in a way that leaves absolutely zero doubt in James’ mind that he’s gay, too. It’s
defiant, like he’s daring James to say anything about it. And if James thought he was a legend
before, he’s about to melt into a puddle right now. Whoever said don’t meet your heroes had no
idea what they were on about.

It is also, to James’ alarm, very hot. Gideon is tall. Taller than James. And broad. Dark haired and
blue eyed. He’s definitely not James’ usual type—lean and shorter and elegant and mean and stop
it. Stop thinking about him.

Clearing his throat, James refocuses. The point is that Gideon is attractive. Very attractive.

“It used to be,” James says softly, doing his level best not to stare at Gideon any longer than strictly
appropriate. “But he broke my heart so I’m not really doing the whole romance thing anymore.”

“Oh?” Gideon immediately reaches over the bar and pours two glasses of firewhiskey. “Tell me
more.”

“Right,” Fabian says. “That is my cue. I’m going dancing.”

James chuckles, takes a sip of whiskey. It burns his throat. Whatever this is, it’s stronger than his
usual brand. Gideon doesn’t push, simply rests against the bar and waits. And James wonders if he
can do this. If he can tell Gideon about Regulus.

Turns out he can’t. The words won’t come out.

“I’m sorry. I can’t really talk about it, yet,” James says. “I still… I feel like… I don’t want to start
crying like a child at Frank’s wedding.”

“I’m sorry, James,” Gideon says with sympathy. “It sucks. But, you know, if you ever want to talk
about it, I’m a friend.”

“Thanks,” James says. “So… ehm… does everyone know?”

“Kind of? I don’t advertise it but I also don’t want to hide. I’m risking my neck every day for these
people, the least they can do is accept I like dudes,” Gideon says rather brusquely.

“Has anyone given you trouble?”

“Nah. The Order is pretty good about it. They’ve got to be, what with Sam, and Emmeline,”
Gideon says. “I think Sam’s sister, too.”

Both James and Gideon turn to look at where Marlene and Dorcas are dancing. It’s not excessively
obvious but it’s not subtle either. And close to them, Remus is smoking and Sirius is pouting,
presumably trying to persuade him to dance.

James notices Gideon’s eyes lingering, but he doesn’t say anything. He gets it. Sirius and Remus
are very good at toying the line between ‘grew up together and we have no boundaries’ and ‘we are
a couple’ so it’s not easy to tell.

“Do you dance?” Gideon asks.

“If it’s ABBA playing,” James replies.

“That can be arranged.”

Two hours later James is sweating buckets, but he’s having a genuinely good time. He’s also
drunk. Like, completely sloshed. Fortunately, there’s been no crying so far. Only dancing, and
singing, and wild swaying about with Gideon and Sirius and Remus. Lily comes and goes, also off
her face. Marlene and Dorcas disappeared some time ago, and no one has gone looking for them.

James has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, and when he comes back to the garden he finds
Gideon waiting for him right by the door, strategically placed in the corner so that they’re hidden
from view from anyone that’s not exiting the bathrooms, too.

To James’ dismay, he’s smoking a cigarette.

Oh fuck.

“James,” Gideon says. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Hm?”

Why is Gideon leaning against the wall like that? It’s really making that huge bicep of his bulge
and James could do without it. It’s distracting. Because Gideon is hot, and he’s someone James has
always admired, so the combination is dangerous.

“You said romance is off the table,” Gideon says. “Which is fine because I’m not looking for
anything serious. There’s a war going on, so y’know. Not really the time. But how do you feel
about one night stands?”

Godric have mercy on him.

“Like… with you? Me and… you?” James asks, voice all strangled.

“Yes.”

James likes being wanted. It’s like a drug. It’s why he slept with half of France while he was away.
Girls and boys. Doesn’t matter. If they smoke—James won’t look into why he likes the taste of it
—and they want him, James is game.

Is it a healthy coping mechanism? No. Is he going to stop? Also no.

“Let’s get out of here,” James says, gesturing with his head towards the pub exit.

Gideon grins, then his hand darts out to catch James’ by the wrist and pull him in. “In a moment. I
just don’t want to wait any longer to do this.”

And then Gideon Prewett is kissing James, and James is kissing him back and it’s good. It’s very
good. Gideon knows what he’s doing. He’s older than James, and he supposes that means he’s got
more experience. More confidence, maybe? Whatever it is, it’s fucking good. Gideon kisses like
you’re the only person he’s ever wanted, and it’s an art, really, to make a one-time thing feel that
good.

James’ fingers curl on the back of Gideon’s neck. Gideon’s hands tighten on James’ hips. Their
kissing turns aggressive quickly, and that’s when Gideon pulls away and drags James out of the
pub so they can apparate to his flat.

It’s the first time that James genuinely can’t find anything awkward about a one-night stand. He
thinks the trick is to establish that beforehand, which he hasn’t been doing. He hasn’t promised
anything to his partners, but he’s also not been one hundred percent transparent with them. Not out
of malice, but simply because it always happens when he’s drunk, and things escalate quickly. It
seems Maisie started a pattern.

But with Gideon, they both know where they stand, and they know there’s no learning each other.
That takes time, and it’s not something they have an abundance of. So, Gideon just tells James
what he wants. What he likes and how. And James, emboldened by all the whiskey he’s had, tells
Gideon what he likes, too.

It’s not intimate. It’s not loving. It’s not caring. There are no emotions attached to it. But it’s
fucking good. James comes undone twice, once standing with his back against the wall, and once
more with his face buried in Gideon's pillows. He’s so exhausted by the end of it that Gideon gets
up to bring some water.

“PRONGS?!”

James jerks upright on Gideon’s bed, alarmed. What the fuck— “Prongs? Are you there? Are you
okay?”

Blinking to dispel the haze of drunkenness, James scrambles off the bed and finds his jacket. In the
pocket, there’s the mirror. They’ve been carrying it around with them since they left school as a
precaution, but they don’t use it enough for James to actively remember it’s there. Sirius is still
living in Potter Manor with him and Remus and Lily, so they don't really need it.

When he picks it up, he finds Sirius’ frantic face staring back at him. “Where the hell are you?
Have you any idea how worried we all—are you naked?”

“I’m fine,” James whispers quickly. “I’m safe. I’ll be back soon. I’m just—”
“Here,” Gideon says, walking back into his room. He startles when he finds James not on the bed
but standing with a piece of glass on his hand. Shrugging, Gideon offers him the glass. “Water.”

“Is that Gideon Prewett?” Sirius asks, eyes opening so much James half-expects them to pop out of
their sockets.

“No way,” James hears Peter’s voice through the mirror too. “Gideon Prewett?”

Embarrased, James shakes his head quickly, trying to hide the blush creeping up his face. “I’ll see
you tomorrow,” James says, shoving the mirror back into the pocket of his jacket. Rubbing the
back of his neck, he turns to Gideon. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Gideon says, sitting on the bed. “We probably should have told someone we were going.
It’s not good to disappear without warning these days. Sirius was right to check in on you.”

“You don’t mind he knows?”

“Do you?”

“No,” James says. “Not at all.”

“Are you leaving or do you want to stay the night?” Gideon asks, reclining on the bed and rubbing
his eyes like he’s too tired to keep talking.

“Ehm…”

“If you stay, you get morning sex,” Gideon says, eyes closed and a small smile on his lips. “And
breakfast.”

James chuckles and makes his way back to the bed. “You drive a hard bargain.”

In the morning, after sex, they have tea and some toast, and talk about Order missions coming up.
James is actually quite impressed by all the stuff Gideon and Fabian have been up to, and learns a
lot about the Order’s back alley deals with some vampire clans as well as the ongoing attempts to
keep the giants out of the conflict altogether.

There’s more to the war than duelling Death Eaters, James learns from Gideon. There are politics,
too. Ministry bills that are being pushed and that Order members are trying to block. Informants
that aren’t active fighters but risk their lives spying and relying intel back to them. A lot of effort
goes into diplomatic relations, too. James and Sirius’ trip to France wasn’t a one off, but something
the Order has been doing for years to try and stop Voldemort from recruiting allies abroad.

James also learns about the people they’ve lost. Names he doesn’t recognise, and some he does.
One of the Bones died not too long ago during a raid. Two sisters—the Gilling siblings—died after
being captured and tortured for information. One of them took her secrets to the grave, but the
other revealed the location of a safe house and it cost Edwin Langlock his left arm and the Order
an entire crate of bezoars.

“How often does that happen?” James asks, nursing his tea. “That people get captured alive.”

“Not often, thank Merlin,” Gideon replies. “But if it does… Fabian and I made a pact. We’ll die
rather than be tortured for information.”

“Would the Order not arrange a rescue mission?”

“We don’t have the resources,” Gideon explains. “When the Gilling girls were taken, we asked
Dumbledore to let us try but there was no way we could find a way.”

“Did you know where they were taken?”

“Lestrange Castle, most of the time,” Gideon says. “It’s in the middle of nowhere and crawling
with Death Eaters at all times. It would take the entire Order to try and break in.”

“And we don’t have anyone on the inside?”

“No,” Gideon says. “Voldemort can read people’s minds. No one dares play double agent.”

His chat with Gideon is very refreshing. James is glad to know their little tryst didn’t make things
awkward. Yes, they slept together. But they’re still Order members, and yes, they’re attracted to
each other but that’s that. If it happens again, they won’t necessarily stop it, but neither is too keen
to look for it, either.

And as James closes the door of Gideon’s building and turns down the side alley to apparate back
to his house, he realises that this, for some reason, feels better than any other morning after he’s
had. Not enough to make him smile, but better. And that has to count for something.

By the time James is walking towards his own front door, however, the endorphines have worn off
and he has started to feel a little disheartened. He can't stop replaying some of what Gideon told
him in his head. No resources. Not enough people. Their dead and injuried.

The Order is doing everything they can… but is it enough? James isn’t sure. He feels like there
should be more people, more resources. And James wonders what else he can do to help. He’ll do
anything. He wants to win this war, no matter what.

But what if he falls short again? What if he's good, just not good enough?

####

Dusk paints the clear sky purple, like a fresh bruise. Regulus smokes, leaning against the wall with
a leg propped up behind him. He’s in his muggle clothes for the first time since he left school, a
shirt with sleeves rolled up just to mid-arm to hide enough of the mark that it can pass for a muggle
tattoo if anyone looks.

And people are looking.

Regulus has been at this pub for exactly fifteen minutes and he’s been propositioned by three
people already. Two girls. One boy. He’s said no to everyone. He’s not here to for that. The
thought of touching, kissing, having sex with anyone makes him want to throw up with disgust.

Distantly, Regulus wonders if he’ll ever feel the desire to actually fuck a person again. Legacy
takes away his humanity, but not necessarily his physiological needs. He still has to eat food, drink
water. Sleep. Use the toilet. Those annoyingly mundane things. And yes, he does feel lust build up,
but so far he’s been perfectly happy to take care of it himself. Clinically. Just a bodily need he has
to tend to. Nothing more.

Adalyn has been around to Grimmauld Place for dinner twice since the Malfoy wedding, which is
getting frankly very annoying. The fact that he hasn’t so much as touched her arm by accident
should clue her into the fact that he’s not interested, but so far she seems unbothered. According to
Evan, who spent an hour with her, she’s quite self-absorbed. He barely had to talk to her at all. She
was more than happy to talk at him for the entire duration of their ruse.
He'll have to do something about it, Regulus thinks. For now, it’s working in his favour. The
Greengrasses are respected, and his involvement with the beautiful girl dispels any doubts that he
might still be hung up on Pandora (at this, Regulus has to chuckle to himself because of how
absurd the whole thing is. Anyway.) It will keep Pandora safe and under zero scrutiny when she
goes back to school tomorrow. That’s all that matters.

Lucius—who is a gossip, to nobody’s surprise—keeps telling Regulus that his quickly solidifying
status as one of Riddle’s trusted few is making a few people angsty. Rodolphus Lestrange included,
which makes Lucius delighted.

That reminds him, he’s meant to attend yet another dinner in Lestrange castle in two days. Fuck his
life. Genuinely. If he has to eat another piece of sourdough with Russian caviar on it he’ll gag. Just
because it’s expensive doesn’t mean they need to eat it every single time.

Flicking the cigarette butt away, Regulus checks the wristwatch he acquired when he was shopping
for the clothes he’s wearing. Barty and Evan should be here any minute. He should find a table.

Two minutes later, he’s sitting down in the pub beer garden with a pint between his hands, cool
against the humid heat weighing down on him. The last day of August hasn’t let up the horrible
weather. Regulus cannot wait for winter.

“Hey,” Evan greets, coming up behind Regulus and rounding the table to sit opposite him, Barty at
his heels. “You okay?”

Regulus looks at his friend, scowling. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“In almost seven years we’ve known you, you haven’t once contacted us during summer break,”
Barty says. “We’re worried.”

“Ah,” Regulus says, taking a sip of cold beer.

Evan signals to the bartender, and Regulus holds his tongue until they’ve ordered and been served.
Barty looks sunkissed, like he’s been outdoors a lot. Evan doesn’t, but that could be because he’s
like Regulus. Too pale for the sun to kiss them in any meaningful way.

Pints on the table, Regulus leans on his elbows casually. “I’m not going back to school tomorrow.”

To their credit, Barty and Evan’s reaction is a surprised glance, and a long sip of beer.
Unsurprisingly, Barty is the one to talk first. He’s closes to Regulus, he supposes, though the lines
of that are blurry for him these days.

In the back of his mind, Regulus knows he cares about these two people. But sitting in front of
them now, he can’t really pinpoint why. Or what that’s like. He knows he kissed Barty once, and it
was quite pleasant. But there’s no warmth to it.

Bones and pain and blood. Ice. Darkness that whispers in the corners of his mind.

Regulus settles for the knowledge that he doesn’t want Barty or Evan dead and would actually be
inclined to put effort into keeping them alive. Their safety matters to him and that's a fact. If
anything happened to them, Regulus would be irritated, and he'd seek revenge. Perhaps that's what
it means. Seems like good enough for Regulus.

“Is it your choice?” Barty asks.

“Yes,” Regulus replies. “Hogwarts can’t teach me anything else.”

“Are you… do you need help?” Barty asks, narrowing his eyes and watching Regulus closely.

“Not unless you can make my potions brew any faster,” Regulus replies offhandedly. “I’m busy
running the lab. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Barty says. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll miss you. But we get it.”

“Can’t say we’ll be sad to have an entire dorm just for us two,” Evan adds, grinning to hide the
concern still shining in his eyes.

“Have you spoken to Dorcas?” Barty asks. “Does she know?”

Regulus shakes his head, taps his fingers on the pint glass. The snake ring clicks against it. “No.
She doesn’t. We don’t talk anymore.”

“She’s moved in with Marlene,” Evan tells him. “Pandora wrote to me. She’s in touch with her.”

“Does Pandora know?” Barty with the questions, again.

“I don’t talk to Pandora either,” Regulus says. “And neither should you after you’re called in for
your test. It’s not safe for her. You know that.”

Evan nods solemnly, but Barty leans in, closer. Eyes suddenly overtaken by that wild glean in them
and yes. This Regulus likes. He responds to it, to the wickedness in Barty’s expression. Regulus
leans closer, too.

“Is it happening for sure, then?” Barty whispers, voice low to avoid being overhead.

They’re in the muggle pub down the road from Black Manor and Regulus has never seen another
wizard here, but it pays to be careful. He appreciates Barty’s slyness.

“Yes. The Dark Lord came to visit the lab yesterday and asked me about you.”

“He did?” Barty’s leaning forward so much Regulus could kiss him over the table if he wanted to.

“Your father has put in a word. Asked that you be recruited,” Regulus explains, gesturing towards
Evan. “The Dark Lord wanted my opinion, because we were in the same year.”

“And you told him we’re brilliant, right?” Barty asks.

“Your test will be during Christmas. If you pass it, you’ll get marked during Easter break,”
Regulus tells them, which is confirmation enough that he did, indeed, tell Riddle Barty and Evan
would be valuable assets. “I’ve asked Lucius to be your recruiter, like he was mine. He has
agreed.”

“Why can’t it be you?” Evan asks, frowning.

“I’m too busy. Like I said, I’m running a full fucking potions lab in the Manor,” Regulus says
dismissively. “And I run some errands for the Dark Lord himself.”

Barty’s eyes go wide and Regulus finds himself smiling at him. They light cigarettes, and smoke.
Evan drinks in silence. Regulus wonders if he’s still having doubts about joining. It’s a bit late for
that. Might cost Evan his life if he tries to change his mind now.

“There’s something else,” Barty says when they’ve finished their drinks and they’re making their
way out of the pub.
Regulus lights another cigarette, then offers one to Barty who takes it gratefully. Standing a bit to
the side so as to not block the entrance to the pub, Regulus looks at his friend and waits for him to
elaborate what ‘something else’ means.

“After school,” Barty says. “Next summer. I… well. I don’t know where to go.”

Ah. Right, yes. Barty can’t exactly live at home with his father, one of the only people left in the
Ministry actively fighting against Riddle. Crouch and his Law Enforcement initiatives are giving
Riddle a bit of a headache, if the last rant he went on during the inner circle meeting is anything to
go by.

Bartemius Crouch is doing his best to fill every cell in Azkaban with Death Eaters. Never mind
they get out again. The whole thing is just annoying because it delays plans, and Riddle hates
delays. He hates a lot of things, Regulus has discovered. Interruptions. Incompetence. Weakness of
any sort.

“Where’s your mother?” Regulus asks.

“In Norway. My father won’t let her come back, says it’s safer for her to be there with her extended
family,” Barty replies, shrugging. “Works for me. I don’t want her caught in the crossfire.”

“But it means you’ve nowhere to live once you take the mark.”

Evan bits his lip, looks away. Regulus does appreciate how fucked up it is that they can’t move in
together like a straight couple. The other Death Eaters would kill them for it. Queerness isn’t
accepted in the circles they run in.

“You can move into Black Manor,” Regulus says. “It’s practically a hotel these days. All capable
potioners have moved in, but I still have spare rooms.”

Barty looks at him, grateful and relieved. “See? I told you. You’re the friend we go to when we’ve
ran out of options.”

“It’s just a room in a house, Barty,” Regulus says dismissively. “Don’t get all emotional over it. If
you do, I’ll make you live with the Lestranges. They’re also taking in strays.”

Barty cackles, and Evan looks at him with a small smile on his lips before glancing at Regulus.
“Who else is living in Black Manor?”

“That matters? Only Severus,” Regulus replies. “And he’s too busy licking the Dark Lords’ boots.
But you can’t move in, Evan.”

“Why not?”

“Too obvious,” Regulus says simply. “You’ve got your own manor. And your father is a Death
Eater. There’s no reason why you’d move out so quickly, specially not to my house.”

Evan frowns but doesn’t argue the point further. It’s futile, and they all know it. There isn’t a good
enough reason for Evan to move into Black Manor, so he’ll have to find other ways to spend time
with Barty. Not that they’ll have much of that, anyway.

Time is not your own when you serve the Dark Lord. Regulus himself has been struggling to find
pockets of the day or the night during which he can carry on with his research. Now that he has
discovered Tom Riddle used to work at Borgin and Burkes, he has to find a chance to go to the
store and dig more. But it’s difficult to get away from his potions. Even more so to do it without
 anyone getting suspicious.

“Right, well,” he says, putting out his cigarette. “I’m busy. So.”

“Is there any point in us writing to you from school?” Evan asks, tilting his head.

“Not really, no,” Regulus says. “I’ll see you for Christmas break."

“Charming as ever, Reg,” Barty mutters, shaking his head. “I swear to Salazar you get colder and
meaner every day. Better looking too, which is just fucking annoying.”

If only you knew, Regulus thinks. But doesn’t say. Evan chuckles, and Barty winks at Regulus. He
simply nods towards his friends, then walks away, up the road and towards Black Manor where the
lab is brewing, and poisons are simmering, and a small army of potioners are waiting for his
orders.

Chapter End Notes

Regulus wielding a ceremonial dagger and casually killing his uncle with it has to be
one of the hottest things in this fic. Argue with the wall. OMG You've got a bit of
blood on that cheekbone, king. PLS. He's so sexy

Evan being an absolute champion and stepping in to help without questions? We love
supportive friends

The Longbottom wedding!! It was so much fun! They all had a good time and were
happy and I loved writing it And then James, of course, with his little escapades...!!
He's so unhealthy but it's helping him (is it really?) so we allow it. Also, I quite like
Gideon Prewett. That took me by surprise lmao

And then Barty and Evan are going back to school alone the gang is separated and
I'm Sad(tm)

Thank you so much for all the love!! Means the world to me Best readers
 Friends
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

How is everyone? I'm excited for this chapter because it's got some of my favourite
Wolfstar lines in the entire fic I know we're here for Jegulus, but the boys can't be
together right now so I'm living for Wolfstar and Dorlene until we get Jegulus back

TWs for this chapter:

Depictions of violence (magical and physical violence)
Blood and injuries
References to death (no one we know)
Murder (discussed and also depictions of someone being murdered)
References to torture (not on page but it's implied it happens)
Smoking
Anxiety
Sex (this is more explicit than we've had before. If that's not your thing, it's the third
scene in Remus' POV and you should stop reading when Sirius says 'what took you so
long?' and then you can resume at 'we should start looking at flats').
References to past child abuse (this one is pretty heavy, be careful)
References to torture

I think that's it!

On the subject of canon - I know Sirius got his bike in like 1977 but from this point on
canon simply doesn't apply. Like, if something resembles canon is because I liked it
and took it because it served the narrative in a way I enjoyed writing, but we're
chasing that HEA my friends, so I'm throwing canon out the window for obvious
reasons and not sticking to dates or order of events or anything like that

Enjoy

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Interlude: Remus’ POV

Sweat sticks his shirt to his back as Remus crawls over the floor, trying to get to where Dorcas and
Sam are cornered by three Death Eaters. Spells fly in both directions, flashes of colour carrying
hurt and death and all manner of awful things Remus very much wants to inflict upon his enemies
but wants to shield his friends from. The girls are putting up a good fight. They’re both
magnificent, but Dorcas is just a tad… feral. Like she’s fuelled by a passion that runs deeper in her
than it does the rest of them. She’s fighting tooth and nail and has taken a couple of hits, but she
simply will not stay down.

Sam, who is a force to be reckoned with too, has been distracted because Sturgis Podmore is
unconscious and she’s trying to keep him out of harm’s way. The Death Eaters have picked up on
it, and they’re backing her into the wall. Dorcas, who also noticed, has joined her in the fight but
there’s very little room for them to manoeuvre.
Remus needs to get to them and help, if his arms will stop being pathetic and complaining with
every crawl. There are shards of glass all over the floor, digging into his palms, but Remus knows
pain. He hones his mind with it. Whets his anger.

He’s bleeding and he’s hurting.

It helps him stay focused.

Blood drips into his eye from a cut on his eyebrow, which is fucking annoying because half the
world appears pink at the moment. But he can’t get distracted. He needs to get Dorcas and Sam out
of here before it’s too late.

Crouching up behind a fallen bookshelf, Remus hisses from the pain in his leg. He took a hit from
a nasty curse earlier and his thigh is protesting every movement. Fuck. He’s hurting in way more
places than he’d like.

Stop being a little bitch. Help Dorcas and Sam.

Gripping his wand, Remus hauls himself up and jumps over the shelf, shooting a stunning spell
that catches one of the Death Eaters by surprise. He crumples down, and Sam takes the small
window the distraction grants her to take down the other. The third Death Eater abandons Dorcas
—because she’s just become wandless, having been disarmed a second before Remus jumped in—
and turns towards Remus and Sam.

Big mistake, underestimating Dorcas Meadowes. The moment the Death Eater looks away from
her, she reaches down and picks up the broken leg of a chair from the floor. She swings it like a bat
savagely. It connects with the side of the Death Eater’s head with a sickening crunch. He crumples
to the ground in a boneless heap.

“Fuck,” Dorcas says, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “That felt good.”

“That was pretty fucking awesome,” Sam pants, looking around to double check all the hostiles are
down.

Remus snatches Dorcas’ wand from the floor and throws it across the room to her. She catches it
smoothly. “Are you alright?” Remus asks, blinking to clear the blood dripping into his eye.

“We need patching up, but we’ll live,” Sam says. She crouches next to the fourth Order member
who came with them on this mission, Sturgis Podmore. He’s unconscious, but still alive. When the
Death Eaters first attacked, he took the brunt of the blast and hit his head when he fell. Dorcas was
fast enough to get out of the way. He wasn’t.

“Someone needs to get Sturgis to St Mungo’s immediately, though.”

“You take him,” Remus says. “Dorcas and I can secure these three before they wake up.”

“No,” Sam replies. “Dorcas, you take Sturgis. I’ll help Remus.”

Dorcas looks like she’s going to protest, but Sam gives her a look. There’s a tense moment, and
then… she simply acquiesces. Remus would have expected Dorcas to argue a bit more, but then
again he supposes that it’s been drilled into them, how crucial the chain of command is.

It’s an important rule in the Order. You obey the senior members no matter what. If they tell you to
run, you run. If they tell you to leave them, you do. It’s pretty rough—and Remus is still mildly
scarred from when Fabian and Gideon Prewett showed up haunted by the death of Alexia
Quindlen who ordered them to leave her and save themselves after they were ambushed in Bath
two weeks ago—but it’s the only way the Order can carry on.

He naturally rebels against it, because how can they just leave people behind? But he’s doing his
best to be mature about the whole thing. They’re at war, and his issues with authority and penchant
for mischief won’t help anybody, so he’s trying.

“Where are we debriefing?” Dorcas asks. “Where do I go after I drop Sturgis off?”

Remus helps her lift the man, carefully putting his arm over Dorcas’ shoulders so she can apparate
away with the unconscious wizard. Dorcas grunts under the weight, but she’s stronger than she
looks. She holds.

“Alastor will send you instructions. Head home to Marlene after St. Mungo’s and wait there.”

Dorcas nods, gives Remus an exhausted smile, then disappears with Sturgis, leaving Remus and
Sam alone in the middle of the destruction.

It should have been a no risk mission. The four of them were supposed to meet with Malcom
Danetti—owner of the house they’re in—to receive two crates of dragon livers sent to the Order all
the way from Bulgaria. Malcom isn’t an active member, but he’s close friends with the Vances and
was helping them source potion ingredients.

They had arrived at the agreed time, but Malcom hadn’t come to meet them. Some intense
discussion later, Dorcas had without warning or prompting stormed towards the house on her own,
determined to check it. Her recklessness might have saved their lives because there’s another rule
—don’t get separated if you can help it—and of course the other three felt compelled to follow her
inside a minute before the Death Eaters arrived.

If they’d been caught outside, exposed in the middle of the garden, they would have been easy
pickings.

“What’s the procedure?” Remus asks now, looking at Sam. With Sturgis knocked out, Sam became
the most senior member present, and both Remus and Dorcas heeded her orders as they fought
together. Two Death Eaters got away, but these three…

“What do we do with them?” Remus gathered the fallen wands, and is holding all three of them in
his hand, clutching them hard.

“I’m not sure,” Sam says, biting her lip. “We don’t usually have… erm… prisoners?”

“We can’t just let them go,” Remus says, outraged.

“We don’t have the resources to hold them anywhere.”

Then we kill them.

Remus bites his tongue so he doesn’t say it, but it must flash on his face because Sam’s eyes
narrow. She inhales sharply, looks at the three unconscious bodies.

“If we kill them, we’re no better than them,” she whispers. Then, she looks up at Remus with fear.
“But I want to. I want to. They killed Alexia. And so many others. And I—fuck.”

“Do you think they’d be having this discussion if it was us on the floor?”
“We’d be long dead,” Sam says with a sigh.

This is so fucked up. Remus gets they’re the good guys. They’re not supposed to go around killing
people. But what else? They can’t hand them over to the Ministry, not when they’re getting reports
that the Ministry is doing fuck all to keep Death Eaters in check.

Dumbledore has heard rumours that the dementors of Azkaban might have sided with Voldemort
already, so not even prison is a safe option anymore. Only last week, early September, three people
were mysteriously exonerated and released from Azkaban. People who Moody insists are Death
Eaters.

It’s just—What are they supposed to do? Just let these fuckers go?

Sam rubs a dirty hand over her face, smearing a bit of blood on her nose. “We’re not supposed to
use lethal force. Not unless absolutely necessary.”

“Help me,” Remus says brusquely, crouching to pick up one of the unconscious Death Eaters and
dragging them to dump them next to another.

“What are we doing?” Sam asks, but she’s bringing the third body anyway.

“We don’t know what happened to Malcom,” Remus says. “So. I’m good with magical bindings.
I’m going to tie them up and wake one of them.”

“I don’t… Remus, I’m not sure how good I’ll be at that,” Sam admits, looking away.

And Remus is, for once in his life, glad for the growling beast that lives inside of him. The one that
wants to slaughter anyone that comes near his loved ones. It’s impulsive, and it’s angry, and it
knows how to hurt people. And perhaps Remus should be ashamed, but he can’t find it in him to
be. This is war, and he’s fighting for his people.

“I will do it,” Remus says firmly. “I just need you to not judge me for it.”

Sam meets his eyes, and there’s respect there. Respect and awe and a little bit of jealousy. It occurs
to Remus that Sam wants to be able to do it and hates that she isn’t. Because Sam loves people, too.
People who are at risk because of this war.

“You do what you have to do,” Sam replies, jaw set. “No one will know.”

“Okay, then,” Remus gestures to the prisoners. “Which one?”

“When they’re tied up, we’ll take off their masks,” Sam says. “Just in case one of them is too
young or something.”

Remus nods, raising his wand. He combines three different spells, ropes and petrifying curses so
that they can’t get away. “Now.”

Sam rips all three of them off their faces, and Remus swears under his breath. He hadn’t realised
he’d been panicking about this until he can see that none of them is Regulus. Thank Merlin for that.
Remus would have been sick if he’d been confronted with his boyfriend’s little brother.

“Oh,” Sam says. “I know this one. Carrow, right? What’s his name?”

“Amycus,” Remus replies. “I don’t know the other two. Do you?”

“No. I don’t. Which one do you want to question?”

“This one,” he says, pointing his wand at Amycus Carrow. “Enervate.”

***

It’s almost two am when he makes it back to Potter Manor. The late September heat—almost like a
second summer bout of warmth that took them by surprise—clings to the air, charged with
humidity that makes Remus feels like he’s permanently damp. It’s disgusting. He can’t wait for
autumn to come for good and drop the temperature.

His stomach growls as he walks past the kitchen, but Remus doesn’t feel comfortable enough to fix
himself something and he’s not going to wake Rosly up at this hour. Besides, he’s so fucking tired
he’s pretty certain he’s going to pass out as soon as he hits the bed.

Flicking the light on in the bathroom, Remus catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and swears
under his breath. He looks like literal shit. No way he can crawl into bed like this. Sirius would
probably die from fright at the sight. Sighing, he peels off his dust and blood crusted clothes and
steps into the shower, hissing when the water hits the open cuts on his arms and leg.

You’d think he’d be less of a little bitch about injuries, what with having torn himself to pieces
every month since he was five, but well. Remus isn’t as tough as he likes to think he is. He wasn’t
tough enough to kill the Death Eaters, and even though Moody told him it was the right call,
Remus can’t shake the feeling that he should have. He was, however, tough enough to hurt Carrow
in just the right so that he broke and told them about Voldemort’s efforts to recruit foreign factions
as well as the location of a safehouse and a supplies stash.

By the time Alice and Frank came to take the three Death Eaters to the Ministry under auror
jurisdiction, Remus was sweating, and feeling a little sick with himself, but also fucking proud. He
got information for the Order. Information that will help them.

They also learnt that Malcom isn’t dead, but he’s been captured, which is pretty much the same
thing. The Order doesn’t mount rescue missions, so they’ve essentially sentenced Malcom to death.
He’ll be killed as soon as Voldemort realises he doesn’t know anything valuable—because Moody
was always too careful to share important stuff.

Rubbing furiously at his skin to clean the grime away, Remus feels a pang of resentment towards
him. Towards Dumbledore, too. How are they so comfortable deciding who lives and who dies?
Like, sure. There’s the whole greater good thing going on. But what if it was one of his friends?

Remus wants to think if James or Sirius or Peter were captured, they’d do something. Likes to
think a rescue mission would be put together for Marlene or Dorcas. For Lily. But he knows he’s
kidding himself. They’re disposable. Soldiers. Fodder for the front lines.

And it’s… well. He supposes someone has to do it. But when he really thinks about it, he wonders
why Dumbledore isn’t the one out there fighting. He’s practically untouchable. So powerful his
magic can do things other people don’t even dream about. And yet, he’s always in the background.
Moving people like they’re pawns.

Shaking his head, Remus turns the water off. He’s not arrogant enough to think he knows better.
There are probably things Dumbledore is doing he doesn’t know about. Important things, he hopes.
Still. It’s hard to keep a level head when people you love are at risk.

“You’re late,” Sirius whispers as soon as Remus closes the door to their room behind them.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Remus whispers back, padding over to the bed.
“I was awake,” Sirius replies. He sounds mildly offended. “Do you think I can sleep knowing
you’re still out there?”

In the darkness, Remus can’t help the smile. He shouldn’t like it so much, he knows. He should tell
Sirius to rest. To not let the worry eat at him. But well. He’s a selfish man, and he loves Sirius so
much sometimes he feels like it’s choking him, so it’s nice to know Sirius cares.

“It was an ambush,” Remus says, sitting on the bed.

Immediately, Sirius pulls him in, wrapping his arms and legs around him. His hands find Remus’
face, and then Sirius is kissing him. Desperately. “Are you hurt?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked that before you tackled me?” Remus mutters, amused.

“Maybe,” Sirius replies. “Are you?”

“Few cuts and bruises. Nothing major.”

Sirius kisses him again, tongue sliding into Remus’ mouth greedily. Remus groans, adjusts Sirius
on top of him so they’re pressed together. His hands run up his back to find their way into Sirius’
hair, fingers tangling in it and pulling. Sirius feeds him a whiny moan and Remus tugs his head
back, breaking their kiss.

“Don’t you have to get up at dawn for your shift at the shop?” Remus asks, mouthing at the strong
curve of Sirius’ neck.

“Yes,” Sirius says, gasping when Remus bites him.

“We should sleep, then,” Remus mutters, but he’s running his tongue over Sirius’ collarbone as he
says it and Sirius is pressing his hips downwards.

“We’ll sleep when we’re dead,” Sirius replies. “Now, we fuck.”

Remus chuckles and kisses him again as Sirius tugs his pyjama pants off with frantic hands and
jerky movements.

****

Sirius is late.

Remus feels like he doesn’t fit within his own body, filled to the brim and overflowing with worry.
He should have been back hours ago. Fear is a horrible thing. It twists and bends inside of you,
seeping into every pore until you’re consumed by it.

Potter Manor is quiet. It’s the middle of the night. Effie is out on Order business and Monty is
locked in his study. Whether he’s still working or has passed out on his desk is a coin toss. Most
days, if Effie is out he doesn’t make it to their bedroom.

They’ve been so fucking busy all summer. Remus wondered if it’d stop, but September came and
it’s almost gone, and it hasn’t let up. They’re all going somewhere or arriving back constantly. In
and out, passing each other like ships in the night.

Remus hasn’t seen Dorcas and Marlene in days. Ran into Mary in one of the safehouses as she was
coming out of a debrief and Remus going in to prep a mission for the first time in a fortnight. Peter
has been in Ireland for about two weeks with Caradoc Dearborn on some secret business.
They thought they’d have it easy because they’re the young ones, but the Order doesn’t have the
resources. They’re losing people week in and week out, so Kingsley’s idea of keeping them out of
the most dangerous missions went out in smoke pretty early on. Everyone does everything. And
Remus hates knowing that when his friends are out there, they could not come back. So far,
they’ve been lucky, but what happens when their luck runs out?

Groaning, Remus drops his face in his hands.

“Remus?”

Lily pads into the kitchen of Potter Manor, eyes blinking away the sleepiness clinging to her
features. “Are you okay? What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” he replies, shrugging. The tea in his mug has long gone cold, but he hasn’t bothered
making more. He’s not here for tea.

Sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, Lily puts her head on her hands, propped up on her
elbows. “Sirius not back yet?”

Shaking his head, Remus sighs and tears his eyes away from the door to look at his friend for a
moment. She’s in her pyjamas, red hair up in a bun on the top of her hair. There are dark bruises
under her eyes. Evidence of how hard she’s been working on potion making for the Order. They
have two other reasonably skilled people who come and help Lily every day, but the demand for
salves, healing potions, veritaserum and a myriad of other draughts is through the roof. Lily is
pretty much brewing around the clock, always holed up in the conservatory.

“He’ll be fine,” Lily says confidently. “He’s Sirius Black. Anyone else, I’d have my doubts. But
Sirius is… well. He’s Sirius.”

That does get a small smile out of Remus. “I know. Can’t help it, though.”

“Sucks being in love during a war, huh?”

Remus jerks up so violently he overturns his mug of cold tea. “I—what?”

“Oh, please,” Lily says, smiling. “You know you’re in love with him. Don’t even.”

“Well, I—but you?”

The kitchen towel soaks up the liquid as Remus clumsily does his best to clean up the mess he
made. Chuckling, Lily watches his efforts.

“I’m perceptive,” Lily says. “Pandora says my intuition is powerful.”

“Did you see her at all over the summer?” Remus asks.

Pandora and Lily hit it off during Remus’ birthday party and have become a curious pair of friends.
Lily finds Pandora’s view of the world fascinating. She says she’s never met anyone who’s so
attuned to nature, to the flow of energy in the world.

“I did,” Lily replies, smiling.

Unless Remus is very much mistaken, that’s a faint blush on Lily’s cheeks, but he’ll be damned if
he’s going to bring it up and spook Lily. He knows from experience people need to come to grips
with these things on their own time and their own terms.
“The suspense is killing me,” Remus deadpans.

With a girly giggle, Lily looks up the ceiling dreamily and says, “We had this standing lunch date
thing once a week, so yes, I saw her a lot. It was lovely, actually. She’s… well. You know she was
friends with Regulus, right? She told me she misses him, so I’ve been trying to cheer her up.”

“Does she know what he’s been up to?” Remus asks carefully.

The topic of Regulus is taboo in this house. Sirius loses his shit any time there’s a reminder, no
matter how flimsy, of the fact that he has a little brother. And James is pretending he’s fine and has
moved on, hooking up with anyone who so much as breathes in his direction on a night out, but
he’s not fooling anybody.

So, they don’t ask. They don’t talk about him. But Remus wants to know, because there’ll be a day
when they’ll run into him out there. And Remus has to be ready.

“No,” Lily replies, shaking her head. “She has no idea what he’s doing. Neither does Dorcas.”

“You’ve asked her?”

“Of course I asked her,” Lily says, sounding appalled. “I was worried James or Sirius would have a
run in with him out on a mission. But the school year has started, so there’s that. Pandora back at
Hogwarts now. No more lunch dates for a while.”

Remus is about to reply when the door opens and Sirius walks in, covered in soot but as far as
Remus can tell, otherwise unharmed. He waves a hand but doesn’t walk further in. Remus and Lily
watch as he scourgifies himself the best he can, then takes off his shoes and socks and leaves them
on a pile by the door.

Confident that he won’t make too much of a mess, Sirius pads into the kitchen on bare feet. “Hey,”
he says, going to the sink and pouring himself a glass of water. “Why are you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Lily replies. “Not with you and James both out.”

“He’s not due back until dawn,” Sirius says, frowning. “Anything happen?”

“No,” Remus says. “But we can’t help it.”

Understanding fills Sirius’ eyes, silvery grey and beautiful and wary. They’re all so tired these
days. All the time. It’s been almost three months since they left Hogwarts, and yet it feels to Remus
like an entire lifetime has gone by.

Sirius finds his way to Remus, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. He mutters something about a
shower and disappears upstairs. Remus wants to go after him, but he can’t leave Lily alone. As
though she can read his mind, she says, “Go on. Go be with your boyfriend.”

“Are you not going to try to sleep?”

“I’m going to write a letter to Pandora first,” Lily says, getting up from the stool. “Then yes. I
might try to sleep.”

Giving her a quick shoulder squeeze, Remus leaves her with parchment and quill, penning her
letter. He drags his feet up the stairs. He’s so fucking tired, and the full moon is approaching which
is a problem.
Moody knows about his furry little problem, and he wants to lock Remus up himself. So far, Effie
and Monty have firmly refused, but he keeps bringing it up. Remus doesn’t know how much longer
it’ll be until they give up and allow Moody to put him in a cell instead of in the Potter basement.

Remus supposes that it makes sense. He can’t tell Moody his friends keep him company, because
they haven’t yet disclosed their unregistered animagi status to any—fuck.

His brain exits his skull like it’s exploded and scattered itself on the ceiling as soon as he pushes
the door to his room open. Sirius is standing in the middle of it in only a towel slung low over his
hips.

It should be illegal for someone to be this fucking hot. Genuinely. He has no right. The man has
been out on a mission for hours, and he looks… he looks delicious. Remus wants to eat him.
Consume him whole, merge them together. Swallow Sirius and have him live inside his chest,
where he's safe, and Remus can feel him at all times. This is probably not a sane thing to think,
Remus recognises, but oh well. He doesn’t even know what he’s thinking, only that Sirius is there,
and he’s looking at Remus, and Remus is about to pounce on him.

“What took you so long?” Sirius asks, tilting his head and giving Remus what he can only describe
as come-hither eyes.

Every single fibre of his body reacts to it, and Remus doesn’t fight it. In two rather impressive
strides, Remus is on Sirius, hands curling over his waist to shove him back roughly. The back of
Sirius’ knees hit the bed, and he falls. The towel opens and Remus’ mouth goes dry.

Fuck.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing to me,” Sirius says, smirking wickedly. “It’s a yes.”

A part of Remus is embarrassed of his reaction. Because the way he attacks Sirius is truly,
genuinely, a bit terrifying. Remus isn’t sure how, exactly, he does, but he throws Sirius up so he’s
fully lying on the bed and then he’s on top of him and he’s kissing him so hard their teeth are
smashing together.

His hand pins Sirius’ wrists over his head, his knee lodging itself between Sirius’ legs. By some
miracle, Sirius is hard already and Remus is losing his fucking mind. Remus’ free hand digs into
the soft flesh of Sirius’ hip so hard he’s certain there’ll be a bruise there tomorrow. He can’t find it
in him to care, especially not when Sirius arches off the bed and bucks, seeking friction.

A growl that belongs more to the wolf than the man crawls up his throat, and then Remus does bite
Sirius and it hurts, he knows it does because he can see the mark he’s leaving behind, but Sirius
only arches his back off the bed even more, eyes rolling into his head as he begs Remus to do it
again.

It’s not enough. Never enough. He wants more. More of Sirius. All of Sirius. He wants, and wants,
and he doesn’t know how to get, because Sirius is already here, naked, vulnerable, moaning and
begging in his hands, under his teeth, and it’s not enough.

Remus lets go of Sirius abruptly to start yanking at his clothes. He needs to feel Sirius’ skin on his.
Everywhere, all at once. Sirius immediately scrambles up to help with such enthusiasm he
accidentally rips Remus’ tattered t-shirt. And Sirius blushes but doesn’t stop. Like he’s refusing to
be embarrassed by how desperate they both are for the other.

Divested of his clothing, Remus reaches for Sirius only to find that he’s already climbing onto his
lap, legs hooking around his waist. They kiss, hard and fast, and Sirius closes a hand over both of
their dicks, together. Remus hisses at the feeling of Sirius’ rings, cool where the rest of him is hot.
So hot. Too hot. Remus feels like he’s burning, and he’s not going to be satisfied until he’s nothing
but embers in the ashes.

Sirius twists his wrist and Remus' eyes roll into his head. There's a grunt, but Remus doesn't know
if it's him or Sirius. Doesn't care. They're kissing, and Sirius is touching them, and it's slick and
sticky because they're both running at a million miles per hours.

Without warning, Sirius lets go and Remus groans in protest but then Sirius is reaching for their
bedside table, pulling the drawer open to find the lube and Remus is immediately on board with
this, so he takes the small bottle Sirius hands him. He keeps Sirius on his lap, because Remus feels
like this is the optimal position for the most amount of skin being in touch, and reaches behind
Sirius with his hand.

Sirius kisses him, feeding him little gasps of pleasure as Remus works diligently to prepare him. It's
quite difficult to stay focused, given the things Sirius is doing with his tongue on Remus' neck.
Remus does his best, but he's consumed, desperate. Perhaps he hurries it along a bit, and he's not
sure if that's okay but then Sirius is scrambling for purchase, just as desperate if not more.

“I’m ready,” Sirius gasps against Remus’ neck, where he’s been doing something truly wicked for
the past minute or so. “Fuck. Remus. Now. Now.”

Not wanting to wait for Remus, Sirius takes charge of the situation, still clinging to his boyfriend,
arms around his neck and legs around his torso. He lifts himself up, finds the angle, and proceeds
to lower himself back down directly onto Remus, who just about manages to not pass out from how
overwhelmed he is with it all. It's so good. And it's Sirius. His and here and around him, warm and
wonderful and trusting Remus to take him apart in the most intimate way possible.

“Fuck,” Remus groans, and Sirius smirks like the little devil he is.

“Tu vas me laisser faire tout le travail ?” Sirius asks.

And Remus has no idea what it means, but he doesn’t need to. Because it’s like a fucking
aphrodisiac when Sirius speaks French to him, and so he goes absolutely feral in the best way.

Remus is moving, and Sirius is meeting him pound for pound, head thrown back and hair falling
like a waterfall over his shoulders. It's aggressive. Hard and fast and the slap of skin on skin way
too loud considering they're in a house with other people in it. Remus doesn't care. Can't care. Can't
think. Sirius' chest glistens with sweat, and Remus shamelessly licks it, because it’s Sirius’ and
there’s nothing of Sirius’ Remus doesn’t want.

He wants it all. Everything.

"I'm close," Sirius moans. "Moony. Please."

Sirius could ask for anything right now and Remus would give it. He closes his hand over Sirius'
length and does the thing with his thumb that Sirius likes and that's it, really. Sirius breaks into a
million piece in Remus' arms, and he catches them all and puts them back together, cradling him
with all the gentleness a monster like him is capable of. Which, when it comes to Sirius, it turns
out is a lot.

And then, Sirius has recovered enough to whisper a few words in Remus' ear in French, possibly
very lewd or perhaps a simple 'good morning' Remus has no idea. It doesn't matter. He doesn't
need to understand to fall apart, too.

Panting, Remus rolls off Sirius to avoid crushing him. That was fucking good, Remus thinks,
exhausted but so happy he could take on the world and win. There’s a long, drawn out silence
during which they both catch their breath, and then Sirius reaches for a cigarette, passing another to
Remus.

“We should start looking at flats,” Sirius says into the darkness, exhaling smoke.

Remus hums. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“We don’t have to,” Remus says. “You like it here.”

In fact, Sirius hasn’t brought it up once since they left school. Remus had assumed he’d changed
his mind and no longer wanted them to get their own place. It bugged him, but Remus couldn’t
complain. The only reason they could even consider getting their own place to begin with is
because Sirius has money. Remus could never afford it. His father makes a pretty shit salary at the
Ministry, and it’s barely enough to pay the rent of his place, let alone help Remus pay for another.

“I can still come visit whenever I want,” Sirius says. “And I think James will be fine. I was just
waiting to make sure he… you know. But he’s getting there.”

“Right. But I mean, we can wait. There’s no rush,” Remus mutters.

“Have you changed your mind?” Sirius asks, rolling onto his side to face Remus. “About living
together?”

“What? No,” Remus replies. “But if you have, that’s okay.”

“Moony,” Sirius says, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray on the bedside table. “Look at me.”

Remus can never refuse Sirius. Especially not when he uses that voice. That voice that’s only for
Remus. Intimate and soft and caring. It makes Remus want to cry.

“I like you a lot,” Sirius whispers. “I like you so much you’re all I think about. All the time. I
haven’t changed my mind. We should start looking at flats. We’ll start tomorrow.”

And Remus feels something ignite in his chest. A roar. A riot. Sirius likes him? What? The
darkness inside of Remus, the one that wants to consume Sirius whole, rises like a wave. That’s
bullshit, it says. Not enough. Never enough.

If Remus is going to do this, and move in with Sirius, and give in to the enormity of everything that
this boy with the silver eyes means to him. Remus… he needs to know. He needs Sirius to know,
too.

Because Remus is dangerous. Didn’t he just show it? The way he had Sirius tonight was violent.
Aggressive. It’s not for the faint of heart.

“Remus?” Sirius says.

He’s been quiet for too long, Remus knows. But what—how? He swallows. He doesn’t know how
to be weak. Vulnerable. But perhaps… well. He does know how to be angry at Sirius. That’s easy,
because Sirius is perennially a little bit infuriating. So, he clings to the irritation, and looks at Sirius
with narrowed eyes.

“You like me?” he bites out.

Sirius blinks. “Well, yes. I thought we’d established that?”

“What the fuck, Sirius?”

“I’m… confused,” Sirius says, looking alarmed. “Why are you mad?”

Tell him. Tell him the truth. Let him see. See if he can take it.

“Like me? Fuck that,” Remus snarls, sitting up to better look down at Sirius. “Like? Really?”

“Well, don’t you like me?” Sirius asks, and the tone of his voice is now hurt. Insecure.

That does it. Remus throws caution to the wind, and for once in his life embraces the all-
consuming, dangerous, twisted feelings that he’s harboured for his best friend for years. And he
throws them at him, to see if Sirius will recoil.

The beast inside of him punches the words out of his throat.

“No. I don’t like you, Sirius. Genuinely, what the fuck? I’m in love with you. It’s a lot scarier and a
lot uglier. It’s not something you should want.”

Immediately, Sirius climbs onto Remus. He just sits there, straddling him, looking down at him
like he’s never seen Remus before. Naked and sticky with sweat and other things. All of him.

Everything.

“Say it again,” Sirius asks, hands cradling Remus’ face. Eyes wide, pupils blown. “Fuck. Moony.
Say it again.”

“I love you,” he snarls, and it comes out like a threat. Sharp and lined with thorns. He’ll make
Sirius bleed, Remus knows. Because he doesn’t know how to do this like a normal person, so he’ll
do it like the monster he is. “Don’t look so delighted. I’m dangerous, Sirius. You don’t want this
from me.”

Sirius’ hands tangle in his curls and he tugs hard. Remus grunts, surprisingly into this strange role-
reversal. It’s usually him who manhandles Sirius. “You’re being absurd.”

“I’m not. I’m warning you. If you let me, I’m going to ruin you,” Remus confesses, heart pounding
in his chest. “You should find yourself someone who can love you nicely.”

An appalled gasp falls from Sirius’ lips. “Absolutely the fuck not,” he says, aghast. “I don’t want
anyone else. Fuck nice. Have you met me? I’m a Black. We only love in blood and pain, Moony.
Are you sure you want mine?”

And Remus really shouldn’t find this sexy in the slightest. But he does. Fuck, he does. He’s
unhinged, and so gone for the boy on his lap, pulling his hair roughly, baring the ugly truth of his
own darkness for him.

“I do,” Remus says. “I do. I want it.”

“I want it, too, Remus,” Sirius says, holding his head in place so Remus has no choice but to look
at him. “All of it. I’m not afraid of you or your darkness. Are you afraid of mine?”
“No,” Remus says.

“My darkness has teeth,” Sirius whispers, bringing their faces so close together his breath ghosts
over Remus’ lips. “And it wants to bite you.”

“That’s okay,” Remus replies, hands digging into Sirius’ waist. “I’ll bite it back.”

Triumph and wicked glee flash over Sirius’ eyes before he smashes their mouths together again. “I
love you,” he says, and Remus swears he feels the entire world tilt and readjust as it falls on its
axis. Perfectly balanced, like it was waiting for them two before it could settle.

####

Borgin and Burkes has never been a place Regulus likes to visit. He recognises how useful they are
when tracking and procuring dark artifacts, but the shop is, quite frankly, musty. It smells like
something died in here a century ago and it hasn’t been dealt with appropriately.

“Wait outside,” Regulus says brusquely to the Death Eater accompanying him today. He’s a low-
ranking one. No mark on his arm.

The man nods and stands guard on the door as Regulus ducks inside. As soon as he breathes the
stale air, a sneeze tickles Regulus’ nose. He’s so irritated he could kill someone for looking at him
the wrong way, though that might be the lack of sleep.

August and September have been a bitch. The moment his potions lab was set up, Riddle
demanded that every capable potioner in his service move in. So, Regulus has been hosting a bunch
of frankly annoying people for two months now. There are no signs of it stopping any time soon.
Even Severus fucking Snape is there. He’s not marked yet, but he passed his test. Took off
someone’s arm, too with that Sectusempra curse. Riddle likes Severus, and so Regulus is careful to
keep him on his side.

The upside to his Manor invasion is that Riddle made it very clear they all answer to Regulus, and
he enjoys bossing them around immensely. The downsides are many. He’s in a perennial bad mood
because his daily ingestion of poison is giving him random bursts of shaking and aches. So, his
patience is on an even shorter fuse than usual, which has already caused him to hurt a few people
for being incompetent.

Most concerning, however, is that it’s not safe for Regulus to conduct his research in the Manor, so
he has to keep moving things back and forth between there and Grimmauld Place. This is fine,
albeit a bit time consuming, except he’s been so busy making potions that he hasn’t made as much
progress as he’d like. There are still an unknown number of Horcruxes around, and he’s got to find
them.

That’s why he’s here, in Borgin and Burkes. Well, officially, he’s here to retrieve yet another
package for Riddle. Infuriating as it is, he does seem to have taken Regulus under his wing, in a
manner of speaking. And if he has to run annoying errands every now and then, he’ll do it. He’ll be
a little shit about it in his head, though.

Unofficially, Regulus did manage to track two of Hogwarts founders’ heirlooms to this very shop
through a series of complicated cross-referencing of purchasing records. He needs to find out what
happened to them. Who bought them. Regulus doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that Tom Riddle got
a job in the same shop that held receipts for the heirlooms, either. He’s certain he’s on the right
track here.
“Mr. Black,” says Borgin, he thinks. He can never tell who is who. Not that it matters. “Welcome.
I have your package right here.”

“Excellent,” he says, sounding bored. Which he is. “I was also looking for a new addition to the
Black family collection. We recently gifted one of our artifacts to my cousin for her wedding to
Lucius. I find myself with an empty space on my shelf.”

“Ah,” the man says, rubbing his hands together. “Well, then. What sort of thing are you looking
for? Any ideas?”

“I want something that makes a statement.”

Borgin nods, pensive. “I have a few things in the back, if you’ll follow me.”

Regulus does, sweeping in behind Borgin with measured steps. His eyes dart around, looking for
the other owner of the store, but he seems to be absent. Still, Regulus needs to be certain before he
acts.

Borgin begins to show him a series of artifacts, making wild claims like ‘belonged to the last Tsar
of Russia, cursed by Rasputin himself’ or ‘Cleopatra charmed this herself.’ Regulus looks at them
with disdain, shaking his head slightly with each trinket he’s shown.

“You’re wasting my time with trinkets,” he says coolly. “I have Ann Boleyn’s necklace, William
Wallace’s dirk and a piece of the rock rumoured to hold Excalibur in my house. I’m not impressed
by these.”

“Burke is currently in Italy in an excavation,” the man says quickly. “He’ll be bringing back some
interesting things.”

“He left you alone to man the store?” Regulus asks, feigning shock.

“We always take turn when it’s time to travel to gather new items,” Borgin replies. “It’s not the
first time.”

And that, really, is all Regulus needs. Confirmation that they’re alone in the back of the shop.
Without warning, Regulus hands shoot forward and he grabs Borgin’s head in between them, hard.

Regulus plunges into his mind, searching. Searching. And finding.

When he lets go, he does it violently. It’s a technique his mother taught him, one that disturbs the
victims so hard half the time they can’t even remember what happened to them. If they can, the
details are murky. Both options work for Regulus, who only needs this man breathing for another
fifteen minutes or so.

Borgin is so disoriented he doesn’t put up a fight as Regulus tips a potion into his mouth. The man
swallows, blinking absently. Regulus waits long enough for him to get his bearing just a little.

“What have you done?” he asks, confused. “What’s happening? Did something happen?”

Regulus smirks. “You sold my mother a cilice seven or eight years ago. Do you remember it?”

“What?”

“Do you remember the cilice?” Regulus presses.

Borgin nods, though Regulus isn’t sure he’s being truthful. He’s starting to shake a little from the
potion he gave him. Annoyed, Regulus rolls his eyes.

“She made him wear it for an entire summer,” Regulus says, casually. “I changed his sheets every
night for two months so he wouldn’t have to sleep in his own blood. Kreacher was told not to
change the bedding, but he could do laundry so long as I took them off and re-made the bed. I was
nine, I think?”

“I don’t understand.”

“He couldn’t take it off, you see. The cilice. You had assured my mother that it was cursed to be
unremovable except by the one who put it there.”

Borgin is not a name on his list. The man never warranted that much attention. However, he was
unlucky enough to have information Regulus needed and well. It’s been a little while since he
killed somebody, so. Regulus wasn’t about to pass up on the opportunity to make him pay for the
hand he had in Sirius’ torment, even if it was second-hand.

“Oh,” Borgin says. “Yes. I remember.”

“Good. Now, the package.”

Even more confused by the abrupt change in topic, the man leads him back into the shop. Regulus
takes the package. Bids goodbye to Borgin and steps outside. It’s too hot for this, Regulus thinks
irritably. He should be in his manor, in the cool shade.

“The old man isn’t feeling well, Moray,” Regulus says, gesturing back into the shop with his head.
“We should send word to a healer. I’ll go. Stay here and make sure he’s alright.”

“Yes, Mr. Black,” Moray replies, stepping inside the shop.

The shouting begins before Regulus even has had time to apparate away. Through the window
glass, he sees Borgin collapsing, and Moray panicking, trying to help and failing. Too late. Way
too late. The potion is working through his system, ready to give him a heart attack. Natural
causes, it’ll look like. And not a trace of magic left behind to pin it on Regulus.

In Borgin’s head, he confirmed what he already suspected. Tom Riddle did work here when he left
school. And interestingly, he met with a collector called Hepzibah Smith who happened to
mysteriously die right around the same time Riddle vanished into thin air never to be heard of
again… A collector who happened to own the two heirlooms from Hogwarts founders that Regulus
has been tracking.

Regulus is now certain the cup of Helga Hufflepuff and the locket of Salazar Slytherin are
horcruxes. It is progress, but Regulus still has no idea where they could be. It seems unlikely
they’d be at Hogwarts. Riddle wouldn’t be stupid enough to hide more than one horcrux in the
same place.

But Regulus has been reviewing other options already. Places where Riddle might have hidden
stuff. It’s a very long list, and it’ll take time to go through it, but it’s the best he’s got.

Satisfied with another job well done—the murder of Cygnus and Druella was explained through a
faulty cursed candle that caused the house fire—he leaves Moray to deal with this. Regulus is busy,
already planning his next move.

####
Muggles are a little bit insane, James thinks, which is probably why Sirius is obsessed with their
culture.

That’s what’s going through James’ mind as he watches Sirius recline on a chair and the muggle
woman who is, right this moment, using a terrifying looking machine to punch ink into his skin.
Remus is leaning against the wall, watching with a hungry expression that James can’t decide if it’s
caused by Sirius’ chest being bare, or by the fact that Sirius is getting two wolf paws tattooed on
his left pectoral.

Insanity, if you ask James, but he’s nothing if not a supportive brother so here he is, dutifully
accompanying Sirius on this adventure.

Sirius is also getting a tattoo of the constellation his star lives in on the inside of his left bicep.
And, he told James as they arrived at the parlour, possibly more. Apparently, tattoos are kind of
addictive—the woman who’s currently branding Sirius is covered in them head-to-toe.

“Can I smoke in here?” Remus asks.

“Stand by the window,” the woman says, not looking up. Thank Merlin for that.

Remus goes and lights his cigarette once he’s cracked the frame open enough to let some air in. It’s
very early October, still warm but definitely not oppressing anymore. And the evenings bring a
slight drop that allows them to wear jackets comfortably. James wrinkles his nose. It’s not his
friends’ fault, but the smoke makes him think of Regulus.

Regulus who should be safely back in Hogwarts. It’s truly embarrassing how much that thought
has comforted James for the past month. All summer, he’d been tense like one of Sirius’ guitar
strings. Every mission he went on stretching him so taut with tension and fear he thought he’d
snap. But he never ran into Regulus. He ran into Mulciber once. Dolohov another time. He even
suspects he caught sight of Rabastan Lestrange, but he can’t be sure. Those masks they wear are
sturdy and they don’t fall off often.

But he hasn’t seen Regulus. Never Regulus.

And thank Godric for that.

It’s been a busy first four months as active Order members. They’ve had some small wins—like
the French vampire clans that agreed a sort of truce-alliance thing with Dumbledore. Or the
successful raid they ran on a Death Eater storage location which allowed them to recover three
different dark artifacts that would have been dangerous in the wrong hands.

But they’ve also had loses. Malcom was never rescued, and his body turned up floating on the
Thames two weeks after Remus and Dorcas’ mission. They also lost two safehouses, and another
Abbott. They’re falling like flies. If they’re not careful, the entire family will be wiped out.

Emmeline’s mother Manon is in St. Mungo’s, being treated for a very nasty curse that has put her
in a sort of stasis state. No one knows if she’ll wake up. Emmeline has been staying with Sam
since. She’s not doing too well.

In between missions, James and his friends have done their best to hold on to what they’ve got left
of their youth. Very early in the summer, Marlene and Dorcas moved into a nice little flat in
Chelsea in London and they threw a house warming party that ended with Sirius and James both
being sick in the toilet in turns from the frankly obscene amount of shots they did.

It was entirely Marlene’s new game fault—some drinking game where they had to follow some
rules and pay attention to people putting their thumbs on the table. It was odd, and it required
focus. Neither Sirius nor James had any focus to spare, and so they drank way more than either of
them could handle.

They go to the pub at least once a week, too. The day of the week changes, both to avoid
establishing a pattern should anyone be out to get them, but also because it is impossible to stick to
routine with the amount of missions they get sent out on. The only one of them who hasn’t been in
the field is Lily, and it’s only because she’s brewing so many potions so quickly and so potently
that Moody won’t risk her safety.

Tonight, if the woman tattooing Sirius finishes before they die of old age, they’re going to watch
Sam play with her band in a sort of underground rock bar in Soho. After that, they’re heading to
Sirius and Remus’ new flat which Sirius bought last week. James is very proud of his friends for
taking this step. Like two grownups in love, building a life together.

A beautiful thing, really. For those who get to have it, at least. Biting his tongue so hard he tastes
blood, James looks away, blinking fast.

“Prongs,” Sirius calls from the chair. “Is that a bike I hear?”

James looks out the window and sees a motorcycle drive past. “It is, indeed.”

Sirius sighs like a wife waiting for her man to return from the war, which is ridiculous, over the
top, and also a bit funny. Remus rolls his eyes at his boyfriend. He’s been obsessed with bikes
since that magazine Lily got him. If they weren’t so busy with the war, James is certain Sirius
would have attempted to procure one. What he would do with it, seeing as he can’t drive, is a
mystery. But Sirius definitely wants one.

“You should get a tattoo,” Sirius says, wiggling his eyebrows at James.

“Who, me?” James asks.

“Yeah. Moony’s already getting one,” Sirius informs him casually.

James turns to their friend, who’s leaning against the window lazily. “You are?”

Shrugging, Remus nods. “Yeah.”

“Not tonight, though?” James asks, appalled. How long is he expected to stand here for?

“Nah,” Remus says. “Sam will be pissed if we’re late to her gig.”

Sam was, in fact, pissed because they were late to her gig. It was all Sirius’ fault, though, and when
he lifted his t-shirt to show her his new tattoo, Sam immediately forgave the offense. Truly
ridiculous, if you ask James.

It was a great gig. Sirius may or may not have drooled, which made Remus jealous and moody
until Sirius reminded him he literally just got a tattoo to represent him on his chest. Mollified,
Remus begrudgingly admitted that Sam and her band are, indeed, very good.

They are now in the boys’ flat, which is a one bedroom apartment in Covent Garden. It’s very
muggle, the whole thing, and Lily described it as a typical British flat. Whatever that means. The
bathroom is small, but the living room is grand. The windows overlook the street, which is nice but
noisy. James wonders how muggles who can’t cast silencing charms manage to get any sleep at all
here.
Sirius and Remus haven’t finished moving in properly yet, and they have a grand total of one sofa
and three chairs. Lily, Marlene and Dorcas are on the sofa. Sam claimed one of the chairs, and
Emmaline the other. To no one’s surprise, the third chair went to Sirius who is sitting on it
backwards, much to Remus’ delight who keeps stealing glances at his boyfriend like the rest of
them aren’t noticing.

Mary is on the floor, her back against Lily’s legs. Peter is next to her, nursing a drink. James is
leaning against the wall, drinking whiskey from a tea mug. They had only five glasses, so there was
also some negotiating when it was time to pour drinks. Music is playing, because the very first
thing Remus and Sirius did was acquire a record player—to the shock of literally no one.

Lily, who has been drinking at an alarming pace tonight for some reason, has been begging Sirius
to play his guitar for at least ten minutes straight, but Sirius insists he will not. Not when they’ve
just come back from Sam’s gig. James suspects Sirius doesn’t want Sam to critique his musical
skill.

Peter is arguing with Mary over whether Sirius and Remus ought to install a telephone in the flat or
not. Nobody knows why. Marlene and Dorcas are alternatively chiming into the conversations
happening around them or making out on the sofa, completely ignoring the rest of them.

The whole thing is very chaotic, which suits them, James thinks. It feels almost like he’s back in
school, in the Gryffindor common room. The thought makes his chest ache. It’s a nice evening.
And they’ve been overdue for one of these. They have to make more of an effort, James tells
himself. To meet. To celebrate things. Like Lily said, they have to keep living so they can carry on
when they win the war.

“Feels a bit weird that it’s October and we’re not at Hogwarts,” Sirius mutters, looking at James
across the room.

“Yeah…” James says. “This feels a bit like a common room party, though. Some things don’t
change.”

“Right?” Lily interjects. “I was thinking the same.”

“Ah, the good old school days,” Sam says with a smile. “I remember when Gid and Fab arrived in
school. I was in third?”

“Fourth,” Emmeline says. “Fourth year.”

“Right. They were menaces, both of them. Charming portraits to sing when you walked past them,
throwing dungbombs everywhere. They even got Peeves to help them out with a prank one time
during our last year,” Sam explains, and she sounds equal parts exasperated and fond.

“Oh, we know! We heard about it,” Peter pipes up. “You’d left school already, but we took on the
Prewett’s mantle. We got quite a few good pranks in.”

“And detentions!” Mary says. “I swear to Godric Sirius and James must have some sort of record.”

“I might have heard a story or two,” Sam says, grinning. “The Marauders?”

All four of them beam, making Lily giggle uncontrollably. “Oh my God, Sam. Listen to this—”

And so for about an hour, even Marlene and Dorcas stop kissing to listen and to share their own
stories from their school days. It’s nice and wholesome and something they need. A reminder that
there’s a reason for all the exhaustion and grief they’re accumulating.
They’re fighting for a better world. To keep people safe. To make sure that the generations of
students coming in after them have a chance to prank people and snog each other and sneak out to
Hogsmeade without worrying about their parents disappearing, or them being ambushed in the
corridors for their blood status.

“Right,” James says, pushing himself of the wall unsteadily some time later. Fuck, he’s drunker
than he thought. “I better get going. I’m on a security detail tomorrow.”

“Merlin,” Emmaline says. “Are you sure you’ll be in any condition to be of any help to anyone?”

James blinks, offended. “It’s in the evening. I’ll be fine.”

“Proooongs,” Sirius calls from his chair, making grabby hands at his friend. “Don’t go.”

Setting his mug down, James wobbles over to Sirius, who wraps his arms around James’ thighs and
buries his face in his stomach. Sam and Emmeline, blink, exchanging glances.

“I thought…” Emmeline says, clearing her throat and furtively looking over at Remus.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Remus confirms with a sigh. “They are… I don’t even know what they are. I
don’t ask. This is normal for them.”

“Also entire platonic, believe it or not,” Peter says. Or rather slurs. He’s quite drunk, leaning
against the sofa half on Mary’s shoulder and struggling to stay awake.

Sam laughs, watching James pat the back of Sirius’ head good-naturedly before peeling Sirius’
arms off him to crouch down and face him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” James says, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re on the security
detail with me. Remember?”

“Oh, fuck no,” Sirius says with feeling. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, Dorcas detaches her face from Marlene’s and turns narrowed eyes on James. She’s the
least drunk of all people present, possibly because it’s quite difficult to drink anything when you’ve
been making out with your girlfriend on and off all evening.

“James,” Dorcas asks. “Who are you guarding tomorrow? Ministry officials again?”

“Dorcas,” Sam admonishes. “We’re not supposed to ask about mission details.”

“Oh come on, Sam,” Lily says, pushing herself up on wobbly feet, too. “We’re all friends here. If
we can’t trust each other, what the fuck are we doing this for?”

“It’s protocol, and it’s there for a reason,” Sam insists. “We’ve had turncoats before. People who
get spooked and trade information for safety. Not even maliciously, you know? Just… out of fear.
It happens. It’s better to not know.”

“None of us would ever,” Marlene says fiercely. “I’d rather die.”

Emmeline bites her lower lip. “Right. Leaks are a risk, like Sam said. And it has happened. So
those of us who have been around for longer are hyper aware of it.”

They exchange a glance that tells James they’ve been betrayed by someone they trusted, and it
makes his stomach churn. He can’t even imagine it.

Emmeline is still talking. “But it’s also a matter of… well. There’s no easy way to say this. But
what happens if you’re caught? It’s not about trust. It’s about not having information to give up.”

“I trust everyone in this room,” says James firmly. “I do. You’re my friends. I trust you.”

“Yeah,” Lily says valiantly. “We’re brave people. We’d rather die than betray each other. Like
Marlene said.”

“Have you ever been tortured?” Emmeline asks gently. “Everyone’s brave until they’re in throes of
it.”

This effectively shuts everyone up, until Sirius tilts his head and says rather coolly, “Actually, yes.
I have. Probably more times than all current members of the Order combined.”

Everyone but the marauders turns to look at Sirius with absolute shock on their faces. He holds,
chin up and eyes narrowed even though he’s drunk and up until a second ago was still making
grabby hands in James’ direction.

Immediately, Remus gets up from the floor and comes to stand by Sirius, placing a gentle hand on
his shoulder. James, who’s been crouching by his best friend the entire time, puts a hand on his
knee.

“I never broke. I was in the throes of it, as you say, time and time again. I was thirteen. Fourteen.
Fifteen. I was a kid, and I didn’t break. Didn’t do what they wanted me to do, even though it would
have made it stop,” Sirius says, voice wavering a little bit. “And Marlene, and Dorcas, and Lily.
Mary. Peter. They’re all stronger than me. They’re better people than I am. I trust them not to
break, either.”

Lily chokes on a sob, and then she’s flinging herself across the living room to hug Sirius
awkwardly—because he’s still sitting backwards on that chair—weeping into his hair.

“Careful, Red,” Sirius says, grimacing, but he’s hugging her back. “Tat’s still sore.”

“Sorry,” she says, pulling back and wiping her face. “I just… I’m so sorry that happened to you.
And I’m so… it had nothing to do with me. But I’m so proud of you for getting out.”

“Me too,” says Marlene.

Dorcas’ mouth is a thin line. All she can offer is a nod, and James knows. He knows what she’s
thinking. Why she can’t open her mouth for fear of what will come out. Because she’s thinking
about Regulus, and about the times he must have been tortured, too.

That he didn’t get out at all.

“I think this is a good time for this little party to come to a close,” Sam says tactfully. “Thank you
for having us, boys.”

Goodbyes are a bit muted. Peter and Mary are both passed out against the sofa, so they all
unanimously decide to bundle them up and let them sleep it off here. It’s safe, and Remus and
Sirius are staying in the room, so if anything happens they’re not alone. No one is sober enough to
do side-along apparition safely, anyway.

When Dorcas hugs him goodbye, James whispers, “We’re going to the border with Scotland to
escort back two allies coming from Iceland. Flying mission, that’s why we’re on it. Sirius and I are
some of the best flyers the Order has.”

Dorcas’ eyes widen as she meets his, then she nods. James gets it. He likes knowing where his
friends are going, too. It makes him feel safer, somehow. Like if something went wrong James
could do something about it. And he trusts Dorcas. She’s one of them now. That’s enough for
James. They’re friends. And that’s the only thing he’s got left.

****

When they stumble into Potter Manor together, Lily shushes James then bursts into drunken
giggles.

“Oh my God,” Lily says, trying to shush herself and only succeeding in giggling more.

She leans against the wall, laughing hysterically and James smiles. Fuck. He’s smiling again. It
happens more and more these days. Like he’s relearning. He doesn’t feel happy. Not yet. But at
least he can smile now without thinking about it. And it’s good. It’s progress.

“My parents aren’t home,” James says casually, taking off his shoes. “Don’t worry about the
noise.”

“Ah, phew,” Lily says, closing her eyes then immediately opening them again. “I need water.”

They wobble their way to the kitchen and sit at the counter on tall stools side by side, knees
bumping together. They drink two glasses of water each in silence. It’s nice. Not awkward. Lily has
been living here for several months now and the Manor feels warmer for it. Effie and Monty are
delighted, and James has caught them more than once giving him looks that he can read but
chooses not to.

His parents mean well, but they don’t know James’ heart isn’t here. It was stolen and he doesn’t
think he’s ever getting it back.

Still. He thinks, looking at Lily as she pours them another glass of water, then fishes a cigarette out
of her purse, that Lily is beautiful. And she’s a friend. And she’s, as far as James knows, single and
not currently interested in anyone.

And the thought takes root. Would it be so bad? If he told her he only wants… like an informal
thing. She knows about Regulus. If it works with Gideon—whom James has slept with twice now
—why not Lily?

“James?” Lily asks, voice laced with unease all of a sudden. “Why are you looking at me like
that?”

James is drunk. And Lily is here. And she’s beautiful.

He leans closer. “Can I kiss you?”

Lily’s eyes drop to his mouth and he’s about to surge forward, to capture her lips with his, when
she looks back up and says, “No.”

And fuck. It stings. James doesn’t think he’s been rejected before. He’s either been approached
first or he’s flirted his way into someone’s bed successfully. What is this, then? Why? Can Lily see
that he’s not… that something’s off with him?
Swallowing, James pulls back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t—” He stumbles off the stool with no grace
whatsoever, ready to flee to his room and hurl himself out the window to escape this mortification.

“James,” Lily says, reaching to grab his arm. He freezes. “Wait.”

“It’s okay, Lily. Sorry. I’m not… I shouldn’t have asked you that,” James says.

“I’m very flattered that you did,” Lily replies, kind green eyes meeting his. “And I want to kiss you
so badly it’s making me dizzy.”

This is, admittedly, not what James was expecting. He turns, frowning. “Then why did you say
no?”

Lily drops her hand, and sighs. “Because you’re still hung up on Regulus, and there’s nothing
wrong with that, or with casual hook ups. But it would ruin me, I think. Did you not know I’ve
spent the better part of a year pining for you?”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Lily says, and it’s resigned and a little sad. James suddenly wants to cry. “I was a bit late,
though. Regulus beat me to the punch. So, you see. I can’t kiss you now, because I’m just about
truly getting over you and if I did, it would probably set me back.”

“Why are you telling me this?” James asks, awed. “I mean… thank you. Like. Thank you but…
why tell me something so… ehm… vulnerable?”

“Because the worst part of heartbreak is the doubt. The wondering what part of you wasn’t enough.
And I didn’t want you to think that there’s anything about you that’s not good enough for me,”
Lily tells him very seriously. "It's just that it wouldn't be a good idea precisely because of how
much I like you."

There’s a very suspicious pain in the back of James’ throat that tells him he’s very close to
breaking down and sobbing right here in his kitchen with Lily Evans for a witness. Doing his level
best to pull himself together—he has embarrassed himself enough for a night, he thinks—James
reaches for the glass of water and takes a large gulp.

“Ah,” James says when he’s put the glass down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well. Thank you,
Lily. And ehm… for what is worth, I think you’re amazing and anyone would be lucky to have
you. I… you do remember I was obsessed with you for two years straight?”

Lily laughs, and James smiles, leaning on the counter, no longer feeling like he needs to flee the
kitchen. “I remember.”

“We’ve got terrible timing, don’t we?” he says, and it’s only half a joke.

“Maybe we’re just meant to be friends,” Lily replies. “I quite like this, you know? And you’re not
half bad as a roommate. I’d take you over Sirius and Remus any day. They’re heathens.”

“Why, thank you,” James says, sketching a silly bow. “You are a great roommate, too. Specially
tomorrow when you give me one of those hangover cures you make.”

Punching him on the shoulder, Lily jumps off from her stool. “Come on, Potter. We should get
some sleep.”

And that’s what they do. They walk up the stairs together—James has to help Lily when she
 misses a step and almost tumbles down—and say goodnight on the landing. They go their separate
ways, but James feels closer to her than ever before.

Maybe she’s right, and they were meant to be just friends.

Chapter End Notes

French translation: "are you going to let me do all the work?"

Dorcas Meadowes bashing someone's head in with a chair leg is one of the top ten
sexy moments of this fic. I will not take any criticism

THE WOLFSTAR IN THIS CHAPTER HAS MY ENTIRE HEART They're so in

love? And so unwell? But like, it works for them? YOU GO MY BABES

Regulus on his little rampage being an efficient king? He really said 'find the
horcruxes AND avenge Sirius' CHECK DONE he's so hot I'm dying PLS SIR
STOP KILLING PEOPLE AND MAKING IT LOOK SEXY

The little scene in the Wolfstar flat? UGH. Happy times, even if they are a little
tainted with war talk. They're trying, okay? They're doing their best to hang on to
happiness

And then. I mean. JILY?! HELLO!? LILY EVANS IS A QUEEN AND I BOW
BEFORE HER. I've had this scene in my head since I started this fic and I knew I had
to write it because Lily is so MUCH MORE THAN PINING FOR JAMES. She's
badass, and she has self-respect, and she's not going to throw herself at a drunk James
just so he can think about Regulus instead. QUEEN you dropped this

How are we feeling my loves? I've been absolutely LOVING the comments. They
make my day! My week!! Come hang out in the comments section with me

I know we miss Jegulus. Fear not there's some Jegulus drama in the next chapter
 Stalemate
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

How is everyone doing? This chapter has some scenes that are a bit violent and dark
so please take care of yourselves!

TWs
Depictions of torture (magical and non-magical)
Depictions of violence and injuries
Strangling / choking
Blood
Drug use (medicinal)
Mentions of vomiting
Death / murder
Brief, very vague implied reference to SA (It doesn't happen - it won't happen in this
fic - but a character who is taken prisoner thinks about it for a second before it's made
clear to them that this isn't a threat to them)
Depictions of grief
References to victims of war
References to bigotry
Smoking & drinking (I don't think anyone is underage anymore so I might stop putting
TWs for smoking and drinking, let's just be aware this happens regularly, yes?)

I think that's it, let me know if I missed anything!

Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support. As always, best readers in
the fandom I love you all so much!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tom Riddle used to be quite handsome, Regulus learnt when he saw him inside Mr. Borgin’s head.
Young, and ambitious, he had nice black hair—wouldn’t have guessed—and sparkling eyes with
that glint of dangerous wickedness Regulus tends to like in people.

It was a strange realisation, made stranger still by the fact that had he not broken himself into
pieces, he might be handsome still. Disturbing, to say the least, to have this knowledge.

What would it be like to look upon the man and not feel repulsed, Regulus wonders as he watches
Riddle walk about the potions lab in Black Manor. He stops to ask a few questions here and there,
enquiring about progress, and why things aren’t moving faster, and where the bottlenecks are.

Severus is trailing him like a lapdog, which is embarrassing. Boot licking will only get you so far.
Like any good Dark Lord, Riddle does enjoy flattery and empty worship, but there’s a reason
Regulus is favoured. A reason why he’s the boss of this lab, and the one Riddle calls to his side
when he needs some errand or task completed that he trusts few others with.

Bellatrix is still the top woman, much to Regulus’ annoyance. Riddle tells her more than he tells
anyone else. If there was such a thing as being Voldemort’s confidant, it would be Bella. Regulus
isn’t sure if he can ever compare, but perhaps he doesn’t need to. Perhaps being the second most
favoured is enough. After all, he needs to keep some level of autonomy if he’s going to keep up
with his research. The only reason he wants to be close to Riddle at all is to take him down and
have him not see it coming.

“My Lord,” Moray, the same lackey that went to Borgin and Burkes with Regulus, calls from the
door. “The Lestranges have arrived.”

With a rustle of robes, Riddle crosses the lab towards the exit, where Regulus has been standing
the entire time. Their eyes meet, and Regulus holds his gaze for a moment longer than he should
before bowing his head in mock deference.

“My Lord,” Regulus says. “I’ve arranged for the games room to be readied, as requested.”

“Good,” Riddle replies, then he’s walking away, Regulus following.

The games room is like any other room, except it’s a bit more spacious. There are no bookshelves
here, only a large fireplace, a circular table ideal for cards, and comfortable looking armchairs.
None of them are in use at the moment.

Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan are standing in the middle of the room with an air of self-
importance that makes Regulus want to roll his eyes. On the floor at their feet are two people. One
man and one woman—girl. The man is shaking, face pressed against the carpet and hands covering
his head. The girl is not. She looks up from where she’s been made to kneel, defiant. Regulus
respects her bravery. They’re both gagged.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix says, throwing herself on the ground at his feet. It’s getting old, Regulus
thinks. Surely Riddle can’t possibly enjoy her dramatics? Every single time. It’s quite repetitive.

Rodolphus and Rabastan bow deeply, but do not succumb to hysterics. Thank Salazar for that. Just
then, Regulus feels an oncoming bout of aches and twitching. Lovely. Regulus puts his hands in his
pockets to hide the shaking of his fingers, praying no one notices. He doesn’t fancy explaining to
the people present that he’s poisoning himself on a regular basis.

“Rise, Bellatrix,” he says. “What do we have here?”

Rodolphus puffs his chest out a little with an air of importance that Regulus thinks is frankly
unwarranted. The only reason Riddle looks at him twice is that he’s the husband of Bellatrix.
Already bored out of his mind, Regulus goes to lean against the table, and it’s only partially to
support himself while the wave of weakness from the poison passes.

“We caught these two lurking outside one of our meeting locations,” Rodolphus says. “Selina and
her clan were due to come in. Lucius is still with them, doing damage control. They’re spooked.”

“It’s the third time these bastards interfere with the vampire deals,” Bellatrix snarls. “We’ve lost
support from France, too.”

“These mindless creatures can’t be trusted,” says Riddle idly. “I suspect a traitor in their midst.”

“It would explain how Dumbledore always knows where to find them,” Rodolphus says. “First
Brighton, then France. Now this.”

“Tell Lucius to kill Selina’s clan but keep her alive. I want her to watch, then be brought to me,”
Riddle orders. “Make sure the other clans know what happens when they let me down. I do not
tolerate disappointment.”

“I’ll leak it to the werewolves, too,” says Rodolphus. “There’s unrest with the packs again. Not a
single alpha has been able to keep them under control since Greyback.”

Riddle glances at Regulus at that, and he uses every ounce of his self-control to keep his body
language unbothered and neutral. He’s aware that his killing Greyback has caused enormous
trouble for Riddle. In the nine months since New Year’s, the packs have had five different alphas
and all of them have so far failed to unite them the way Greyback did.

“Go. See it done,” Riddle says to Rodolphus, who leaves the room immediately without looking
back.

The girl on the floor is watching him, Regulus realises when Riddle finally looks away and
releases him from the hold of his stare. Her eyes are narrowed, and there’s something in them that
seems a bit familiar. Tilting his head to the side, Regulus examines her. He’s pretty certain he’s
never met her before. So why does he feel like he has?

Her white-blond hair is in a high ponytail, streaked with dirt and blood. Still, it is very clearly dyed
pink at the ends, which Regulus thinks is an interesting choice. Kind of works for her, though.
She’s got an eyebrow piercing and through her torn t-shirt he can see a muggle tattoo on her chest.

“Have they been questioned yet?” Riddle asks.

“No, my Lord,” Bellatrix replies. “We alerted you as soon as we arrived.”

“Regulus,” Riddle drawls. “If you please.”

“My Lord—” Bellatrix tries. She loves a good interrogation, but Riddle shakes his head once and
she falls silent.

“Regulus has spent all his time in the potions laboratory,” Riddle says. “Let him have some fun. I
want to see him work.”

The man looks up from the rug, tears in his eyes. He’s weak. He’ll break, Regulus knows. The girl
won’t, and that’ll only make her suffer for longer. Riddle would prefer it, he thinks. Which is why
he goes for the man first. He’s not here for Riddle’s entertainment.

With a well aimed cutting spell, the gag around the man’s mouth falls to the ground. He’s bound,
hands behind his back, and injured. Looks like he and the girl put up a fight before they were
captured by Bella and the Lestrange brothers.

“Name?” Regulus asks, walking around to stand in front of the prisoners.

Stuttering, the man tries twice before he manages to croak, “Elphias Dodge. I’m a nobody. I don’t
know anything. I’m just a foot soldier. I—”

Regulus flicks his wand, cutting off his access to air. The man’s eyes go wide with terror as he
feels himself choking, trying to breath but failing. Regulus holds it for long enough that Dodge’s
face becomes a little purple-ish before easing up.

“Let’s try this again,” Regulus says. “You answer my questions. Nothing else. Don’t yap away. I
can’t stand noise.”

Bellatrix cackles, clapping her hands together. “Ah, little cousin. You’re making me proud.”
Dodge is still chugging air in desperately when Regulus puts a polished boot against his chest and
pushes him back so he falls from where he’s kneeling back onto his butt. Towering over him,
Regulus sneers.

“How did you know about the meeting with the vampires?”

“We… we have—” He licks his lips, looks at the girl. The girls’ eyes are like ice. Regulus has no
doubt that if she could move, she’d kill Dodge so he couldn’t betray his people.

“Elphias,” Regulus coos. “That’s your name, no? That’s what you said. Elphias—” Regulus
crouches in front of him, jabbing the point of his wand against his neck. “Did you know a man can
survive being torn to little pieces? I can take out your eyes, remove your fingers. Even a whole
limb. You’d feel it but you wouldn’t die. Isn’t that interesting?”

“What—”

It’s quite handy, that Sectusempra curse Severus taught him. It slices through Dodge’s left ear
cleanly, and it falls to the floor next to him as he begins to howl in pain. Fortunately for him,
Regulus’ hands have steadied, and the cut is precise.

“You can survive without your ears, too,” Regulus says casually. “But if you bleed out… well.”

Bellatrix is laughing hysterically, chanting something or other about the pride of the House of
Black. Regulus tunes her out.

“Fucking hell, Reg,” Rabastan says from somewhere behind him.

“Silence,” Riddle barks. Regulus doesn’t need to look to know Riddle is enjoying this as much as
Bella is.

It’s a test, Regulus knows. This whole thing, bringing the prisoners to his Manor instead of
Lestrange Castle. It’s a set up. Because Regulus hasn’t been in the field much and Riddle wants to
know if he has the stomach. If he’s got what it takes.

Regulus takes out a small vial of potion and forces it down Dodge’s throat. He coughs but has no
choice but to drink it. It’s a numbing agent. Enough for Dodge not to lose his shit with the pain, but
not enough to dull it completely. He can still very much feel his missing ear.

“Every time I ask you something and you don’t answer me to my satisfaction, you lose another
bit,” Regulus says flatly.

“N-No,” Dodge splutters. “Please. Don’t. I—I tell you. I… two kids. They went to France. They’re
good with vampires.”

Next to them, the girl is struggling against her binds, shaking her head no. Rabastan steps forward,
kicks her on the ribs. She grunts, eyes filling with tears.

“Back off,” Regulus says. “This is my playground.”

More laughter and clapping from Bellatrix. Rabastan does step back, letting Regulus work. He’s
extremely aware of Riddle’s eyes on him. Of his expectations. And Regulus will be damned if he’s
not going to deliver. He might not have anything against this Elphias person, but he’s not going to
risk his own plans for some random man. If he didn’t want to get hurt, he shouldn’t have got
himself captured.
“Good with vampires?” Regulus asks.

“I swear I don’t know how they do it, but they charm them. Somehow. Specially the women. They
tell them shit all the time,” Dodge says through shuddering breaths. “They’re pretty and young and
like... I don’t know. They’ve got this thing about them, okay? Like they’re attractive. The ladies are
always fawning over them. I think that’s why. Black and Potter. They—”

Regulus blinks and discovers he’s stabbed Dodge in the eye with his potioner’s knife, which he had
in his pocket from earlier. He doesn’t recall consciously deciding to do it. He just reacted to the
names, instinctually, without thinking. And Dodge is once again howling in pain. Shit

He shouldn’t have done that. Think. Quick.

“You expect me to believe Dumbledore is getting his intel on the vampire clans by sending two
teenagers fresh out of school to flirt with them?” Regulus snarls, yanking the knife out. With it
comes the eye, and it’s truly disgusting.

Dodge falls forward, and it takes a moment for Regulus to realise he’s fainted. Rabastan retches,
and Bellatrix shrieks at him to not make a mess in here. The door opens and closes, and that’s
Rabastan gone.

The girl with the blond and pink hair has turned a little green around the gills, but she’s holding her
ground remarkably well. Regulus likes defiant people. Dangerous people. He is lowkey impressed
by this young woman’s guts.

Riddle walks closer, circles Dodge. Regulus looks at him, waiting to see if he’ll get any
instructions. He knows Riddle likes it when Regulus defers to him, even in his own manor.

“I had heard whispers you might be a tad too soft. Too young,” Riddle says. “But I’m pleased to
see they were wrong. Good work, Regulus. Now, try the girl.”

Her eyes flash with rebelliousness. She’s afraid, Regulus can tell from the way her lips wobble a
little and her breath has shallowed. But she’s strong, this one. She’s not going to fold easily.

Taking off her gag, Regulus looks at her long and hard. “Name?”

“Fuck you,” she says, then she spits at him.

“How dare you!” Bellatrix is shouting, but Regulus lifts a hand, palm out and she stays where she
is.

Without the gag, the girl feels even more familiar. It’s a bit disorienting, but Regulus simply can’t
place her. Perhaps he saw her in school? She’s definitely older than him, but young still. It’s
possible they crossed paths. Perhaps she was in the final years when Regulus started? Doesn’t
matter.

“You are either very brave or very stupid,” Regulus says, tilting his head.

“I’m not going to talk,” she snarls. “So, kill me and be done with it.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Regulus drawls, smirking at her.

He pushes himself up, standing over her. Riddle is watching with interest, seemingly enjoying
Regulus’ approach to the whole thing. Bellatrix does a fake yawn, and says, “Go on, little cousin.
Show us that you mean it.”
There’s a glint of approval and expectation in Riddle’s eyes, so Regulus points his wand at the
prisoner and means it.

“Crucio,” Regulus says, and then the girl starts screaming.

Riddle does that thing with his face that Regulus now knows is meant to be a smile but really,
honest to Salazar doesn’t look like one. Bellatrix is giggling. Regulus doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move.
He simply stands there and does what they expect him to do, even though he hates this particular
curse for the memories it dredges up. He’d much rather torture someone the muggle way but alas.
Not his choice.

After a few minutes, Regulus has had enough and lifts the curse without checking with Riddle first.
Fortunately, he doesn’t comment. The girl pants, tears streaming down her face, spit gathered in
the corners of her mouth. She’s a mess.

“Name,” Regulus asks.

“Fuck. You.”

You’re an idiot. “Crucio.”

Bellatrix claps again. She’s getting annoying. Rolling his eyes at his cousin, Regulus look at
Riddle whilst maintaining his wand on the prisoner, who’s crying and screaming at his feet.

“My Lord, what do we want to know? She’s not going to be easy to break. We’ll have to choose
our questions.”

“Oh,” Riddle says, sneering. “I didn’t expect them to know anything of value. This was just an
exercise. You’ve exceeded expectations, Regulus. Do with them what you will.”

Regulus lifts the curse from the girl, who crumples down, panting.

“Kill them,” Bellatrix says immediately. “Kill them both.”

“No,” Regulus says, looking at Riddle for approval. “I need test subjects for my poisons.”

“You want to keep them alive?” Riddle asks, an edge to his tone that Regulus doesn’t like one bit.

Compromise, Regulus thinks. He nudges Elphias with his boot. “He’s too weak now from blood
loss. Can’t be bothered. He wouldn’t survive testing anyway. But the girl is still strong. I’ll keep
her. It’ll help us progress faster, my Lord.”

Satisfied, Riddle nods. “Kill the man. Keep the girl.”

The flash of green light from Regulus’ wand hits Elphias in the back. He was unconscious anyway,
so he didn’t have time to be afraid of dying. Elphias Dodge has the misfortune of becoming the first
collateral damage in Regulus’ quest. And thanks to the Legacy burrowing in his bones, Regulus
doesn’t feel any particular way about it other than annoyed at the mess his blood has made on the
carpet.

“You continue to make me proud, little cousin,” Bellatrix coos, giving him a wild smile, hands
over her chest like Regulus just did something truly wholesome.

“My Lord,” Regulus says, bowing to Riddle. “I’ll take the girl to the cells in the basement.”

“I expect a progress report on the poisons you’re brewing in three days. Come to Lestrange castle.”
“Yes, my Lord.”

“Come, Bellatrix,” Riddle says, swiping from the room. “Lucius should be bringing Selina to me
soon.”

The moment they’re alone, Regulus crouches down and looks at the girl, who’s stayed quiet and
curled up on the floor. There are tears in her eyes, most likely for Dodge, who’s dead beside her.
Regulus watches her until she finds the courage to look at him.

Black tracks run from her eyes over her cheeks, dragging make up all the way to her chin. A bruise
is blooming on the left side of her face. Still, she takes a fortifying breath and meets Regulus’ stare
steadily.

“You’re a monster.”

“If I were you, I’d be nicer to me,” Regulus says casually. “You’re my prisoner as of right now. I
can kill you any time I want to. For any reason.”

“Do it.”

“Not until you tell me what I want to know—”

Regulus is used to their connection by now. He and Dorcas have been checking in on each other
through the rings for months and Regulus knows better than to react. Still, this time, the pang of
fear and concern pulsing through the bond is so strong it makes him jerk upright. The girl frowns,
looking up at him.

Turning his back on her, Regulus tries to focus. What would make Dorcas react so strongly that
it’d spill over through the bond?

“Are you in danger?”

“Regulus! Oh. Fuck. Reg, listen, something happened and I need you to help me. Please.”

“Are you in danger, Dorcas?”

“No. But Marlene… her sister is missing.”

Salazar’s cape on a pole. Really? Regulus turns around again, looks at the girl on his carpet. Yes.
He can see the resemblance now. Of all the people to be brought to this castle, it had to be
Marlene’s sister. Regulus rolls his eyes at the universe and its perverse sense of humour. Fuck.

“She’s alive.”

“How do—are you with her?”

“Does she have pink hair?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I’m with her.”

“Oh. Oh my. Thank fuck for that. Oh, fuck. We were all so worried.”

“You can’t tell them. You’re not supposed to know.”

“Can you get her home?”

“No.”

“Fuck! Fuck. Do you know what happened?”

“They were careless and got caught. It’s a coincidence they were brought here. Elphias Dodge is
dead, by the way.” He pauses. Hesitates.

“Shit. Are we going to find his body?”

“Yes. I’ll send someone to dump it somewhere. Will tell you where to look.”

“Thank you.” A pause. “This is going to be a blow. Everyone loves Sam McKinnon. Shit. Shit.
We’ve lost too many people recently.”

“Who?”

“Ah, no. Don’t worry. Sirius and James are fine. James is in Iceland. He’s been gone for a couple
of days. Sirius is off duty tonight. He’s moved in with Remus by the way. We had a party last
week.”

“Only you people would be having a party while there’s a war on.”

“Gotta keep morale up. Like I said, we’ve been losing a lot of people. We’ve got to find joy where
we can.” Dorcas sends him the equivalent of a mental sigh. “Is Sam going to stay alive?”

“She’s the luckiest person I’ve ever met. She’s been given to me to do as I please.”

“Did you hurt her?”

“Yes.”

“Badly?”

“Define badly.”

Awkward pause, then Dorcas seems to think better of it and changes direction. “Is she going to be
okay?”

“She’s whole. Battered. But whole. I’ll keep her that way.”

“This is going to destroy Marlene. She’ll think her sister is dead. Fuck. I wish I hadn’t asked you.”

“Dorcas, if Marlene or anyone shows up here, I’ll have to kill them. I won’t blow my cover for this
girl. Do you understand me?”

“That’s not happening. The Order doesn’t do rescue missions.”

“Isn’t Dumbledore supposed to be a good guy?”

“Can’t put any individual lives above the greater good,” Dorcas thinks, and Regulus can almost
taste the bitterness through their connection.

“Fucking heroes. I’ve got to go.”

He shuts down the bond with Dorcas and whirls on his feet, looking at the girl—Sam—with new
eyes. She truly is one lucky woman to have ended up here.

In the time Regulus was speaking to Dorcas, Sam seems to have gathered herself a little bit. She’s
clambered to her knees and is staring at him with that raging defiance he now recognises. The
McKinnons did produce two absolute units of warrior girls. Quite impressive, Regulus has to
admit. Too bad this one got herself caught. This is fucking inconvenient. He has no time to play
jailer to Marlene’s sister.

“Do you know where you are?” he asks her.

“Yeah, they gave me a map and everything.”

He ignores her sass. “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Regulus Black,” she says. “You look like your brother.”

“I don’t have a brother,” Regulus says dismissively. “But yes. Good. I want you to understand your
situation. You’re a prisoner in my house. There’s no escaping here. It’s simply not possible. Do not
try, or I will have to kill you.”

“Why won’t you kill me now?”

“Because you’re one of them. And I’m hoping more will come rescue you,” Regulus says,
sneering.

And he knows she knows the Order doesn’t mount rescue missions. But he’s not supposed to
know, so she buys that he wants her alive as leverage. And she holds that. The hope that as long as
Regulus thinks her a bargaining chip, he won’t kill her. Regulus can almost see her arriving at this
conclusion, the flickering of her eyes the only indication she’s considering her options.

“So, I’m your prisoner. Indefinitely,” she says warily. And then, after a moment, the blood drains
from her face. “What are you… you’re not going to—If you touch me, I will kill you.”

“Good luck trying,” he says. But then, because that’s just too horrible a threat to hold over her and
it’s possibly the one line he’ll never cross for any reason, he adds, “I wouldn’t touch you with a
stick. That’s not going to happen to you here. Now, get up. Your cell is this way.”

####

Iceland, while incredibly beautiful, is not James’ favourite place.

Especially not this late in October. The skin of his cheeks is absolutely battered from the biting
cold he’s endured the past three days. By the time he makes it back to Potter Manor via portkey,
James wonders if he’ll ever feel warm again.

Four days he spent there, flying from one corner of the small country to the other escorting allies
coming in from Canada via Greenland. It’s convoluted, but Moody has reason to believe apparating
is being tracked since the head of the relevant department in the Ministry was replaced without
warning last week. Allies from abroad are now coming in through a combination of flying and
portkeys. James, as the best flyer in the entire Order, has been appointed the unofficial leader of
any missions that involve brooms.

He's tired and starving, so when he walks into his house and smells food—something with garlic
and butter—his stomach grumbles mightily. Calling a greeting from the foyer, he takes a moment
to shuck off his shoes so he doesn’t trail mud into the kitchen.

“James, darling, welcome back,” his mother greets him with a smile, but it’s tight around the eyes
and it immediately makes him worried.

Effie hasn’t had time to make dinner all summer, so this is slightly suspicious. Narrowing his eyes,
James gives her a quick hug.

“Everything okay?” he murmurs.

“I’m finishing up some things with your father in the study. We will eat in a bit,” Effie says before
disappearing down the corridor to lock herself in with Monty.

Fleamont Potter is one of the main political players in the war. He has sway with the Wizengamot
and is pushing back on the bills the Death Eaters are trying to pass, which works for James
because it means Monty isn’t out too often—so he’s safe—but it also means he’s almost always
hunched over papers in his study. Sometimes, he doesn’t come out for days.

Shaking his head, James turns to the kitchen to meet his friends.

And his stomach drops.

Everyone is here. And they all look miserable. Marlene most of all.

“What happened?” he asks, marching into the kitchen with his heart in his throat. He finds Sirius
first. Always Sirius first. And he’s here, and he’s whole. Remus is with him. And Peter next to
them. Dorcas has an arm around Marlene, and Lily is next to them.

James’ heart does a slow sort of thud thing in his chest when he notices who’s missing.

“Where’s Mary?” His voice trembles, a knot forming itself in his throat until Lily’s eyes widen and
she shakes her head vigorously.

“Oh, no. Mary is fine,” Lily says quickly.

“Hey, James,” Mary says, coming up behind him. “I was just in the loo.”

James lets out a heartfelt sigh of relief and comes to stand between Sirius and Remus. Immediately,
Sirius puts an arm around James’ waist. It’s Dorcas who looks up, meets his eye, and delivers the
news.

“Sam is missing.”

The sob that wrenches from Marlene is so horrible James feels his eyes fill with tears for her
heartbreak. Fuck. How? Why? When? Sam? But Sam is one of the best the Order has. She’s so
strong and brave and smart.

“What—” He has to clear his throat. Feels Sirius’ fingers digging into his side. It grounds him.
They’re here. His people. The Marauders.

We’re going to save the world.

Maybe not the whole world. Not yet. But James sets his shoulders and looks at Marlene, and says,
“We need a plan. We’re going to get her back.”

Immediately, the kitchen erupts into chaos. There’s shouting, and waving hands, and it’s a mess.
Effie, alerted by the ruckus, comes in and looks at the young group with concern. James waves her
off. This is not something she wants her to hear. As a senior member of the Order, she would have
to report it to Moody and from the way people are shouting and cursing Alastor’s name, James gets
the feeling that isn’t something they want.

Flicking his wand, he casts a muffliato spell around them and when people feel it settle, the
shouting is cut abruptly. They all turn to look at James again.

“Slowly. From the beginning, please,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

It’s Lily who explains. Sam has been missing for two days, and of course they all wanted to rescue
her. They went to Dumbledore and he refused. Flat out refused. He said Sam is a valued member,
but they cannot make exceptions. The Order doesn’t do rescue missions.

Marlene spat at him, apparently, but there were no consequences because Dumbledore said he
understood sibling grief. Dorcas had to drag her away kicking and screaming at the man. Sirius
tried next. Remus had to drag him kicking and screaming before he punched Dumbledore in the
face.

When it was clear they were going to get zero help from the people they’re supposed to be fighting
side by side with, they came to Potter Manor and here they have been for a whole day trying to
come up with a solution.

So far, they’ve got nothing.

“Where was Sam when she disappeared?”

“She was with Elphias Dodge spying on a vampire meeting,” Mary says, shaking her head. “They
never came back. Elphias’ body was discovered just this morning in Epping Woods. No trace of
Sam.”

Dorcas shifts her weight uncomfortably, rubs a hand over her eyes.

James swallows and Marlene sniffles before wiping her tears away aggressively. “She’s alive,”
Marlene says. “I know she is. I can feel it.”

“Do we have any idea where she might be?”

“None,” Remus says, he looks knackered, leaning against Sirius like he’s all that’s keeping him
upright. “There’s no way to know. That’s the problem. We tried a locating spell but it didn’t work.
We don’t even know who captured them.”

“We know sometimes they take prisoners to Lestrange Castle but not always,” Peter says. “It’s a
guessing game.”

“We can’t storm Lestrange Castle. They’d kill Sam before we ever got near, and we’d die, too. It’s
one of their strongholds. Impenetrable,” says Mary, dropping her face in her hands like she, too, is
losing it.

“Fuck,” James says, rubbing a hand over his face and dislodging his glasses in the process. “Fuck.
I can’t believe Dumbledore refused. I’m—” He straightens. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“What?” Peter turns. “He’s in Hogwarts.”

“So? I’ll apparate to Hogsmeade and walk.”

“No offense, James,” says Marlene. “But if he refused me, and Sam is my sister, what makes you
think he’ll agree to helping if you ask?”

James swallows, hands shaking. “I just… I can’t not try.”

And that’s the thing, right? Everyone gets it. They all tried, and James was away, and now he’s
here and he has to try, too. It’s the least he can do. It won’t work. They know it. Dumbledore has
failed them already. He failed Olive. And now he’s failing Sam. But if they don’t believe in him,
what are they fighting for? What have they got left?

They have to hang on to the idea that if they can just make him see… if they try hard enough,
Dumbledore will fight for them the same way they’re fighting for him. It’s all they’ve got. All they
can hope for.

So, they nod, and James grabs his wand, and climbs the stairs to go get the marauders’ map, and
then heads for the door.

Dumbledore doesn’t budge. Not even a little bit. He meets James’ eyes, and says he understands
their grief, but that no life can be put above the greater good. Not one. Not even his, he says.

And James thinks it’s rich of him to claim he’d lay down his life for the cause when he’s always in
the background. Always behind the scenes. It’s not his life that’s being risked. He says as much,
and Dumbledore doesn’t even flinch. He admits that’s true, and claims he’s got reasons and things
he’s doing no one else can do.

It’s a pointless and infuriating meeting, and James is so angry when he walks out of Dumbledore’s
office he’s not thinking. He’s just—he’s hurting. And it hits him that he’s back in school. He’s
back here. And Regulus…

The map unfurls and James feels a pang of nostalgia in his chest as he whispers the words to
activate it. It’s late at night, so everyone is in their dorms. Heart pounding in his chest, he finds
Crouch and Evan quickly in the Slytherin dungeons. No Regulus.

There is no Regulus Black label on the map. Which means… ah.

Can it be?

James is running before he has time to second guess himself. He has no idea what he’ll say, what
he’ll do. But Regulus… fuck. It’s been months. And James has missed him every single second. He
just wants to see him. One more time. Just the once.

But when he turns the corner on the seventh floor and approaches the wall, the room doesn’t wake.
There’s no door waiting. Shaking, James asks for it. Insides churning and breathing shallow. If
Regulus is inside but doesn’t want to be found, the door will refuse to appear—

Except it does. And James steps inside and finds it empty.

For a second, James just stands. He’s back here, and he didn’t think he would ever be, and for a
moment he thought Regulus might be waiting. But he’s not. He’s not here, and he’s not on the
map.

Regulus is not at Hogwarts.

A jagged breath escapes James, but he clamps his lips shut. He won’t cry. Not now. Not anymore.
He’s done enough of that. The wound on his heart has scabbed and it hurts and throbs but if
doesn’t bleed anymore. It’s dry.

So, James falls to his knees and looks around him, desolate. Desperate. His cheeks are not wet and
his breathing is whiny but not weepy. He ran out of tears sometime during the summer, like his
body just couldn’t produce any more in the name of Regulus Black.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t ache, though. James heaves, hands on the floor. Fuck. He’s not here. Not
here. He didn’t come back.

The realisation hits, and James finds himself reviewing every mission he’s been on all summer.
Was Regulus there? Did he cross paths with him without knowing?

No. No, he hasn’t. James would know. He doesn’t know how, but he would sense it. Mask or no
mask. He would definitely recognise Regulus if they ran into each other. And they haven’t.

And where is he? What has he been doing?

James hates that he doesn’t know. That he can’t know. He used to be able to look at the map on his
lap and find him, even when they weren’t together anymore. But they’ve left Hogwarts behind and
there’s no map to show him the world. Regulus could be anywhere. He could be doing anything.

Anything.

Suddenly, James has the horrible realisation that something could happen to Regulus and he
wouldn’t know. It punches through his chest, forcing a rough exhale from him. Fuck. He likes to
think he would be able to tell. To sense a shift in the sky if his star fell off it.

But what if he can’t? What if one day something happens to Regulus and James… doesn’t notice?

It’s a fear he didn’t need. But one he’ll carry with him now anyway. On every mission. Every time
he lifts his wand to stun a Death Eater, to protect himself, to attack back. James doesn’t know if
next time he’s out there he wants to run into Regulus or not.

Most terrifying of all, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to let him go.

***

Sam has been missing for a month.

Her body hasn’t shown up anywhere, which is unusual. Even Moody is puzzled by this, because
Death Eaters have captured some of theirs before, and kept them alive for a short while, but never
this long. Marlene insists she knows her sister is still alive. Hanging on. Waiting.

She begs at every meeting for them to consider rescuing her. The problem is, even if they wanted
to, which Moody and Dumbledore do not, nobody has any idea where to even begin to look for
Sam. The mood is charged. Everyone is sad. They keep losing people. Most days, it feels hopeless.

But time continues to pass, and they go on more missions—patrols, stake-outs, smuggling of
valuable ingredients, high-level guard duty, spying, all sorts—because the war doesn’t stop
because Sam McKinnon is gone.

Sirius refused to celebrate his birthday. He said he couldn’t, not when Sam is being held prisoner
somewhere and so many people keep dying. In the end, he went with Remus to get fresh tattoos—
Sirius got a sort of skull with a hat and some roses on his right shoulder and Remus got dog paws
over his hip and the word ‘Padfoot’ in small letters on his left pectoral—then they went out to
dinner to a small Italian place in London. And that was that. No gifts. No shenanigans. Sirius
turned nineteen and it was bleak as fuck because of the war.

Tonight, James stumbles into his living room at dawn, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. He’s been
flying an inordinate amount these past few weeks, doing patrols from the air, providing air cover
for raids on Death Eater locations. Every single muscle of his hurts.

He had to fight on his broom tonight, which is terrifying and not something he thought he’d have to
do. Duelling in the air is different to duelling on land, and no matter how good James is at flying,
the awareness that one mistake could make him fall and splatter himself against the ground below
gripped his lungs with fear the entire time.

Gid and Fab were with him, and all three of them made it back, but not without injuries. James took
a nasty curse to his back that has given him a horrible rash all the way from his shoulder to his hip.
It’s itchy but non-lethal. He has to wait it out, Gid said when he had a look at it once they made it
to safety.

Groaning, James collapses on the sofa in the living room, not bothering to climb up the stairs.
Fuck. He’s so tired. Debating whether he has the energy to take off his boots or not, James doesn’t
notice Lily until she’s hovering by his side, a vial of potion held out to him.

“Drink this,” she says. “For the soreness.”

“Thank you,” he grunts, reaching for it with a shaky hand. He tips it back, drinks the whole thing in
one go and grimaces, because it tastes awful. Like licking Pete’s boots, he thinks distantly.

“Are you alright?” Lily asks him.

“Yes,” he says immediately. Because he has to be. Strong and motivated. He’s the leader of the air
force and he can’t crumble.

“James,” Lily says gently. “You don’t have to be strong for me. I’m not in the field. You not being
okay won’t put me in danger.”

James feels his lungs deflate. The strength bleeds out of him immediately. Fuck. Lily knows him
well. She knows what buttons to push. And she’s right, isn’t she? He needs an outlet. Needs
someone to talk to before he explodes.

“It’s just…” he says, running a hand over his face. “It’s been months. Christmas is what… five
weeks away? Time is fucking flying. We keep killing ourselves out there and nothing’s really
happening. Where’s our progress? What are we achieving?”

“Hey. Scoot over,” she says. He does, and she climbs onto the sofa next to him. She’s warm and
soft. “We knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”

“I don’t need it to be easy,” James replies. “I just… I don’t even know if we’re going about it the
right way. Where is Dumbledore? What is he doing? We’re out here losing people day in and day
out and he’s at Hogwarts playing classrooms!”

“What would you do differently?” Lily asks him.

James hesitates. He’s not sure. Not really. Very little of the Order’s approach makes sense to him.
Why it’s so scattered. So hit and miss. Why they won’t stick together or fight for their own.

But could he do it better? James has no idea. He’s not arrogant enough to think he knows better
than everyone else. But sometimes, James feels like not even they know what they’re doing. And
then what? Aren’t the adults supposed to have the answers? Isn’t that what makes them the adults?

“I… Well. One of the problems is that most people don’t understand the gravity of the situation.
It’s all… hush hush. And the fear—fuck. Everyone’s so afraid. I think Dumbledore should be more
vocal. Just challenge Voldemort out in the open. We could take him, Lily. Dumbledore and Moody
and King and Sirius and me. We could.”

“I don’t—I mean. None of us are very happy with Dumbledore right now,” Lily says carefully.
“But the man is old and wise. And powerful. Don’t you think if he could simply challenge
Voldemort and end him, he would have by now?”

James doesn’t reply. He’s just tired and grumpy, he knows. When he’s up tomorrow after a good
sleep, he’ll feel fine. Invincible again. He’ll find Sirius and they’ll confidently declare they’re
going to win. They’ll keep fighting. They always do. But tonight, he’s tired.

“We haven’t had a win in a while,” James says, hedging.

Lily shifts, rests her head on James’ chest. “We also haven’t lost anyone since Elphias and Sam.”

“Sam isn’t lost,” James says automatically. “Just missing.”

St. Mungo’s is full of wounded Order members, but Lily is right that they haven’t had to bury
anyone since Elphias, which is a longer respite than they’d had in a while.

“I know. I know,” Lily replies. “I asked Pandora, you know? I wrote to her. Asked if she’s seen
Sam in her dreams. If she knew anything at all, because sometimes she just has these feelings.”

“And?”

“She hasn’t,” Lily says, and then she tenses and James feels it because they’re pressed together.
“But Pandora’s dreams don’t work like that. She can’t… it’s not like an on-demand thing. She
wants to help, but she hasn’t managed to see Sam yet.”

“She had a dream about me, once,” James remembers idly. “About light and darkness. I think she
was warning me not to trust Regulus.” The laugh that escapes him is bitter. Broken. “Fuck. I was
such an idiot.”

“Hey,” Lily says, nudging him with her knuckles. “You have a pure heart. He shouldn’t have… he
—” She clears her throat, pushes herself off James. “You’ll get over him. You just need time.”

“How much time?” James asks, because it’s been months. Six months, almost the same amount of
time they were together and James doesn’t miss him any less.

When he’s alone in his bed, he wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares, crying and
aching and desperate, reaching for a body that’s never there. And when he’s in someone else’s
bed… well. That’s almost worse. Because James has become very good at pretending the smell of
smoke is tinged with lavender, and that the skin he’s touching is smoother than it really is. And
he’s despicable for it, but he can’t stop.

“I don’t know,” Lily says sadly. “There’s no rule book for these things.”

“I’m fine, you know. Like. Over him. I’m just not… I don’t know how to trust someone again,”
James lies. He has to, because his friends have enough to worry about. They don’t need to continue
worrying about his broken heart, too.
“You’ll learn,” Lily says confidently. “Someone will come along and swipe you off your feet.”

“It’s usually me who does the swiping,” James jokes, smiling at her through a yawn.

“Well, perhaps it’s time you let someone else take a shot at it.” She gets up, tugs on his arm.
“Come on. You need to sleep.”

“Lily?” James asks when they’re at the top of the stairs. “I’m glad you moved in here.”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “Me too.”

****

Sam has been missing for two months.

Some days, it feels like she’s been gone forever. They talk about her like she’s dead, and she might
be, but her body hasn’t shown up anywhere which gives Marlene hollow hope. It’s eating her alive.
They can all see it. Most of all Dorcas, who is literally the only reason Marlene hasn’t crumbled to
dust. It’s a lot of pressure to put on someone, but Dorcas is one of the strongest people James
knows. She’s handling it, and she’s handling it well.

Bad news continue to plague them. Skirmishes are becoming more frequent. People get hurt all the
time. They lost two informants, though their names were known to Moody only so James can’t
even figure out if he’s supposed to grieve these faceless people or not. He feels like he should. And
he’s carrying so much sadness with him all the time that he kind of is, anyway.

It’s terrifying. James is trying his best to reassure the group whenever they come around to Potter
Manor, which is often. He tells his friends they’ll be alright. They’ll win this war. They’ll make a
breakthrough and tip the scales, and the world will be better for it.

He smiles as much as he can, and if he doesn’t truly mean it, nobody but Sirius can tell. And Sirius
never calls him out on it, because he understands the others need it. They need James and his
endless optimism. So, he gives it to them.

And on the nights when he can’t deal with it, he goes out and finds someone who will want him.
He forgets for a few hours, finds reprieve, respite in the feel of skin and the taste of smoke. And
then he comes back and continues to carry everyone’s hopes on his shoulders because he’s James
Potter and that’s what he does.

Tonight is one such night, except he’s not alone. He’s out with Sirius and Peter. The marauders,
bar one. Remus is in a meeting with Moody, so he’s running late. They’re in the Leaky Cauldron of
all places, because they had patrol duties most of the day around London and it seemed easy to
meet up here.

Even though it’s a bit over two weeks before Christmas, the festive cheer is a bit dampened, and
James can’t really blame people for it. How are they expected to celebrate Christmas like any other
year when there’s so much loss everywhere they look?

Peter looks drained, clinging to his pint of beer like it’s a lifeline. Yawning widely, he says,
“We’re killing ourselves day in and day out. I’m so fucking tired.”

“Hear, hear,” says Sirius, leaning back on the booth they’ve claimed for themselves. “But we’re
the young ones. We’ve got the stamina. We’ll be alright.”

“Will we?” Peter asks, a bitter edge to his voice. “Fabian’s in the hospital again. It could have
been me.”

“Hey,” James says, nudging Peter with his shoulder. “It’s okay to be scared. So long as we
acknowledge it and don’t let it stop us.”

“Easy for you to say,” Peter mutters. In the noise of the pub, it almost gets lost. Almost. But Sirius
hears him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius asks, glaring at Peter.

“Only that he’s always flying,” Peter protests. “He’s not gonna get hurt in the air, is he?”

“You’d be flying, too, if you knew the handle from the brush,” Sirius snaps.

“Oi,” James says, putting his empty glass down on the table forcefully. “No fighting. Peter, I get
you’re tired and stressed. It’s okay.”

“Where are Dorcas and Marlene tonight?” Peter asks. His peace offering in the form of a change in
topic.

“Dorcas is with Gideon out on guard duty. Marlene, Emmeline, and Kingsley are somewhere in
Manchester. Recruitment, I think, though I’m not sure,” James says, sliding out of the booth.
“Refill?”

Both Sirius and Peter nod.

Carrying three pints of beer through a crowded pub is a feat of balance, but James does a fairly
good job of it. All in all, he only spills about the top half inch of each pint. Neither Sirius nor Peter
complain about it when he sets the glasses down and re-joins them at the table.

Immediately, James senses that something happened while he was gone. Peter looks pale and
shaky, and Sirius’ jaw is clenched tight. James hates this. The discord. The doubt. The stress that
bleeds into normal conversations and casual nights at the pub. Everyone’s fighting everyone these
days. Nobody trusts anybody. James wonders how they’re supposed to win a war when they’re
making enemies of each other in their heads.

He's weighing the pros and cons of forcing his friends to tell him what transpired while he was
gone when Remus pushes his way through the crowd and comes to sit with them, his own pint of
beer in hand.

“Hey,” he says, sitting next to Sirius who looks up at him and smiles, effectively banishing the
tension he’d been carrying until then.

“Hello,” Sirius breathes, and James can see in the way his shoulders hunch a little bit that he’s
physically holding himself back from kissing Remus.

“How was the meeting with Moody?” Peter asks, bracing his arms on the table with a sigh, like he,
too, is letting go whatever his grievance with Sirius was.

“Not here,” Remus says, and that makes James sit up straight and Sirius’ eyes narrow.

“We’re going, then,” Sirius says immediately. “We can drink beer in our flat.”

And that’s what they do. They chug down their pints in record time, put their glasses down with a
thud, and file out of the pub in five minutes flat. They make a pit stop in a Tesco supermarket to
buy muggle beer and chocolate bars, and then they’re climbing up the stairs to Remus and Sirius’
flat in Covent Garden. It overlooks the Royal Opera House if you look out the bedroom window to
the left.

Remus and Sirius sit on the sofa, and James and Peter take chairs. The beers are opened, and
cigarettes are lit.

Bracing his arms on his knees, bottle of beer dangling from one hand and cigarette from the other,
Remus says, “Right. Well. This is obviously secret. But Moody wants me to join one of the rogue
packs for the next full moon.”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius says immediately. No hesitation. “Is he crazy? No.”

“Sirius,” Remus snaps, cutting him a hard sideways glance.

“No,” Sirius replies, equally aggressively. “It’s too risky. Too dangerous. They can’t ask you to do
that.”

Rubbing a hand over his face, Remus seems to take a moment to find his patience. When he
replies, he’s making a commendable effort to be reasonable despite the way Sirius’ fingers are
tapping the table erratically.

“They’re not asking me to infiltrate the Death Eater ranks or anything like that. Just find one of the
lesser packs for the full moon. Run around with them.”

“What’s the point of that?” James asks, concern bubbling up inside of him. They knew this would
happen. Remus is the only werewolf on their side. Still, it doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

“Well, the end goal is for me to eventually become a spy,” Remus says. Sirius opens his mouth to
protest but Remus whacks his leg, and he closes his mouth with a huff. “But we all agreed nobody
would believe I had a random change of heart. So, we’re playing the long game. I’m supposed to
start easy, make it seem I just want to avoid the Ministry holding cells for the full moon. Which
should be my only option as far as most people are concerned.”

They all squirm at bit at this, but no one comments.

“So, it makes sense I want to run around free. And wolves are pack animals,” Remus says. Takes a
sip of beer, a drag of his cigarette. “I’m not even pretending to not be loyal to Dumbledore at this
point. Simply saying I want a pack for the full moons to see how they respond.”

“What pack?” Peter asks, frowning. “This sounds dangerous Remus.”

“It is,” he admits. “But only I can do it. And we need a win. Moody says we’re at a stalemate, and
he’s right. I know you can feel it, too. We do shit, patrol and raid and guard and risk our lives every
fucking day and nothing is happening. It’s been months of the same crap over and over. We need a
win.”

“How is you running around with a pack of rogue werewolves going to help change that in any
way?” Sirius explodes, jumping up from the sofa to stand. “Fuck, Moony. No. You—what if they
decide to simply kill you?”

“I can hold my own, Sirius,” Remus replies, narrowing his eyes. “I’m a wizard first, wolf second.
Most of the rogues don’t even have wands. Yes, it’s dangerous, but it’s not suicidal.”

“I don’t like this,” Sirius says, pacing.

“Which pack are you joining?” James insists. “Do you know?”

“It’s a small one, mostly young wolves like me,” Remus explains. “None of them have direct
contact with Death Eaters as far as we can tell. They’re friendly to the cause, because Voldemort is
promising them freedoms and shit, but they’re not active. I’m not going near an active pack until
we have some guarantees I can make it, so really, it’s not that bad.”

“I really don’t like this,” Sirius repeats, shaking his head.

Remus shrugs, takes a large swig of his beer bottle. “Too bad. I’m doing it. You can’t stop me.”
Remus gets up, too. Puts out his cigarette on an ashtray that’s overflowing, but nobody seems to
remember to clean. “It’s no more dangerous than any other mission, Sirius. Any of us could die
every single time we walk out that door.”

The silence is like honey. Sticky. It clings to them, because they know Remus is right. It’s a war,
and the other side seems to be a step ahead of them all the time. There are no risk-free missions.
Sirius was in St. Mungos two weeks ago after having been hit with a curse that made his liver rot,
for some reason. James had a concussion after he was knocked off his broom during a hasty
landing. Remus himself has a new scar on the small of his back from the time he fell through a
shop window and a shard of glass cut him there.

“I just…” Sirius looks at his boyfriend desperately. Swallows thickly. “I wish I could go in your
place.”

“I know,” Remus reaches for Sirius, and Sirius goes and tucks his face against Remus’ chest, and
he whispers, “but you can’t. So, you’ve got to let me go and trust I’ll come back to you. Okay?”

“I—”

“Sirius. Please.”

James knows Sirius can tell Remus really wants to do this. To prove himself. So even though Sirius
is freaking out a lot harder than he’s letting on—James knows Sirius too well to miss it—he
swallows and nods. James’ heart breaks with the fear in Sirius’ voice when he says, “Okay.”

And that’s that, really.

####

Grimmauld Place feels like a tomb, Regulus thinks as he walks down the stairs towards the
drawing room, where the guests are waiting. It’s still the seat of the Most Ancient and Noble
House of Black, but Regulus has been busy with running the potions lab. Too busy, if you ask him.

He has spent most of the autumn holed up in Black Manor, bent over cauldrons, barking
instructions at less competent potioners than him, or testing their results on Sam McKinnon. She
has been in his dungeons for two months now. Still defiant as the first day, but considerably
wearier. Regulus doesn’t blame her. December has arrived, and with it cold that seeps in through
the stone.

Severus is like an annoying spectre constantly haunting him. Regulus never thought he’d find
himself missing Myrtle, but here he is. At least she didn’t want any more from him than a kiss on
the cheek. Severus is always hovering, always watching, always hoping to catch a morsel of
something that’ll help him climb the ranks.

And he’s noticed that sometimes Regulus’ hands start to shake for seemingly no reason. He went
as far as to comment on it the other day, which resulted in Regulus cursing him with a tongue
twisting hex that involves some elaborate wand movements and saying, “That felt rather steady,
didn’t it?”

Severus couldn’t answer, obviously, but at least he hasn’t brought it up again.

Regulus hates him.

It’s been hard to carry out his research when there’s a pair of black eyes over his shoulder
constantly. But he has managed. Regulus is Lord Black after all, and he is entitled to certain
privileges others aren’t. So, when he announces he’s spending a night dinning in Grimmauld Place,
nobody dares say anything. Especially, when every pureblood family knows Walburga Black is
looking for a suitable match for her son.

Regulus has stripped away most of her privileges, but he hasn’t yet forced away from her social
life, simply because that would raise too many eyebrows and Regulus doesn’t need the additional
scrutiny right now. And so, she’s made it her mission to find him a wife.

Setting his shoulders back, Regulus walks into the drawing room and watches with some
amusement how Walburga stands up, immediately followed by a couple of around her same age
and a girl that can’t be more than two or three years older than Regulus. She’s the spitting image of
her mother, and rather beautiful. They’re both golden-haired and have green eyes the shade of grass
in spring. The girl is curvier than her mother, who is a little too thin, and she’s wearing a dress that
Regulus knows Barty wouldn’t be able to help but comment on. He does, after all, think boobs are
brilliant (his own words).

Regulus should know her name, because he’s seen her before. But he can’t remember it.

“Lord Black,” the man—the girl’s father—says, stepping forward and offering his hand. Regulus
knows him. They exchanged some words during Cygnus and Druella’s funeral.

It takes him a moment, but by the time he’s closing his hand around the man’s, Regulus
remembers. “Aristotle Fawley,” he says. “Welcome to Grimmauld Place.”

“It’s an honour,” Aristotle replies. He sweeps a hand behind him and his wife and daughter step
forward. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Felicia and my daughter, Elspeth.”

“Welcome,” Regulus says, taking the women’s hands in his and lifting it to his face. No kiss,
though. Regulus Black doesn’t kiss just about anyone and he’s important enough to get away with
it.

“Please, follow me,” Walburga says. “Dinner is ready.”

It’s quite jarring, Regulus thinks as he takes his seat at the head of the table, that these people are
here to try and convince him to marry his daughter while he has a prisoner in his dungeons and
only yesterday killed a man because he overturned a cauldron and spilled potion on his shoes.

Riddle found that perfectly valid and didn’t even blink when Severus brought up the altercation
beyond requiring Regulus to find a replacement.

Do these people know who he is? He doesn’t think so. Many of the Sacred Twenty Eight families
are basking in purposeful ignorance. Turning a blind eye to the horrors that are being committed in
the name of the future they want. One that sees magic and magical education in the hands of a
select few only.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Felicia says when they’re halfway through the second course. The
early conversation was all very inane and he tuned it out in favour of thinking about his plans.

“Felicia,” Aristotle warns, but his wife simply sets her chin and continues.

“There were rumours Lord Black had his mind set on Adalyn Greengrass. They were seen dancing
more than three songs together during the Malfoy wedding in the summer and Adalyn has told
Elspeth that she has visited here several times this autumn,” Felicia says. “So, I can’t help but
wonder why you’ve invited us tonight?”

Clearing his throat, Regulus says, “Adalyn and I were not well suited, after all. Our understanding
is no more.”

That’s the understatement of the century. Last time Adalyn was here, about a week ago, she threw
herself at Regulus claiming they’d talked enough and it was time for them to get to know each
other beyond words. She was quick, and took Regulus completely by surprise, so she got as far as
to press her mouth against his.

Regulus panicked. His body just panicked and shoved her away so forcefully she hit her head and
developed a rather large bump on the back of it. There was no time for Regulus to even think about
it. That kiss was repulsive to him, not to mention unwanted. There was no other reasonable
response, really.

When Adalyn got to her feet, there was blood on her dress. Suffice to say, that effectively put an
abrupt end to any ideas she had for marrying into the House of Black.

Walburga had been furious. And Regulus had been very ready to lock her back in the attic and
ignore her completely, but he had remembered himself. Regulus needs a reason to leave the Manor.
He needs an excuse to disappear every now and then, and a courtship is the easiest one.

Which brought them back to this dinner with the Fawleys.

“May I ask what about Adalyn wasn’t to your liking?” Elspeth asks, eyes glinting with mischief
and curiosity.

“She talked too much,” Regulus says.

Elspeth’s face falls, but Aristotle barks a laugh so loud it startles two of the portraits on the walls.
“Ah, Lord Black. Well said.”

Felicia tactfully steers the conversation back to trivial matters, and Regulus eats his food in silence,
pretending that he’s listening when he’s really not.

He wishes he could just come to Grimmauld Place whenever he wants without having to arrange
some excuse or other every time, because most of his research is here. The moment Black Manor
was overrun with people, he took it all back here as a precaution. Regulus can’t risk anyone finding
out he’s looking into the Gaunt property records or that he’s collected old newspaper clippings
about the death of Hepzibah Smith.

By this point, Regulus is pretty certain it was Riddle who killed the witch and ran away with the
two heirlooms. That anyone really believed a house elf made a mistake and killed her mistress is
ridiculous, first of all. Second of all, the timing of it all is fucking suspicious. How did no one think
it odd that Riddle disappeared literally the same night Hepzibah was killed?

That was the last time anyone heard the name Tom Riddle, too. From then on, Riddle made
himself known only as Voldemort. The first account Regulus has been able to find about
Voldemort dates to only a few years after the death of the antiques collector. And Regulus knows
better than to believe in coincidences.

He’s certain the cup and the locket are horcruxes. The problem is he has no idea where Riddle hid
them. They could be literally anywhere, and it’s driving Regulus insane trying to figure out where.
Once again, he wishes he had Myrtle. Talking things out with her always helped him get his
thoughts in order and see things more clearly. But he doesn’t have Myrtle. He’s on his own, so he’s
got to work it out alone.

“Lord Black,” Elspeth says, demanding his attention across the dinner table. Desserts are served
now, though Regulus doesn’t remember Kreacher bringing them out. “I was wondering if you’d
like to go to the opera, perhaps, next week?”

“The opera?” Regulus asks, blinking.

“We have a box,” Elspeth tells him with a smug little smile. “And there is a production of Carmen
that I’m dying to see. I thought, perhaps, you might enjoy it. You do speak fluent French, don’t
you?”

“That is an excellent idea,” Walburga says, sounding more animated than Regulus has heard her in
years.

Regulus ponders this for a minute. A night at the opera is a good excuse for him to be out and
about without anyone second guessing his motives. He could visit one of the Gaunt locations,
perhaps two if he’s very quick. Carmen has a running time of approximately three hours, but he
would have to be seen in the box with Elspeth for a bit at the beginning and a bit at the end. He’d
have two hours, give or take, provided he can think of a reason to leave Elspeth.

And it strikes him that Elspeth isn’t a Death Eater. She’s a supporter, but she’s not involved.
Regulus could simply tell her he has to run an errand for the Dark Lord and she would believe it.
And if he manages to somehow woo her, make her believe he might be interested in her, she’d have
incentive to keep quiet. To not make enquiries. Perhaps he can buy her silence with the promise of
marriage. She never needs to know he has no intention of seeing it through.

“I’d like that,” Regulus says, looking at Elspeth. “I’d like to go see Carmen with you.”

“Wonderful,” Elspeth replies, a smile of genuine delight on her face. “I’ll make arrangements. Is
Tuesday alright?”

They have an attacked planned for that day. So no. Not really. “Thursday would work better.”

“Thursday it is, then. I look forward to it.”

####

James is leading a team out again. They’re air cover for a midnight raid in Blackburn, of all places.
It’s too run down a town for any of Voldemort’s supporters to be here by choice, which is how the
Order picked up on the fact something fishy was going on.

On the ground, Peter is with Kingsley, Dorcas, Molly Weasley, Dedalus Diggle and Emmeline
Vance. Marlene is in the air with him, and so is Sirius. Gryffindor Quidditch team reunion, they
joked before kicking the packed dirt under their boots and soaring in the air.

It’s a risky mission, which is why there’s so many of them. The house they’re storming has had
very unusual spikes of dark magic coming out of it as well as hordes of people going in and out in
the past week or so. They’ve been watching it on rotation the entire time, noting the times when
it’s busiest, when the flare ups in magic happen, and trying to establish a pattern.

James gestures for Sirius and Marlene to split up and circle the house. They’re disillusioned, and if
they fly fast they should look like a shadowy blur to anyone watching, but they still have to be
careful. They are air cover. Support for when things go wrong. The team that’s carrying out the
bulk of the mission is on the ground.

It’s nerve wracking watching as people you care about storm a house you know to be full of Death
Eaters. They’re out in the outskirts of the town, and there’s plenty of open space. The plan is to
flush the Death Eaters out and force a duel outdoors where air cover is waiting. Once the battle is
on outside, Molly is in charge of searching the house as fast as she can to figure out what they’re
doing inside of it.

And it works.

James lets out the breath he’d been holding when there’s an explosion, and then the Death Eaters
pour out of the house, running for the field behind it. They’re chased by the Order members, and
spells are already flying from both groups. Gesturing to Sirius and Marlene, the three of them fly in
formation, ready to engage.

The ground team is outnumbered, but their enemies are caught unaware by James, Sirius and
Marlene, who curse everyone that gets in their line of sight from the air. They move too quickly
and fly too well for any of the ground people to be able to hit them. Soon, they’ve levelled the
playing field and James is feeling good. They can win this one.

“Prongs!” Sirius shouts.

“We’ve got incoming!” Marlene shrieks.

They come out of nowhere. One minute they’re alone in the air, zooming around the battle and
protecting their people, the next there are Death Eaters flying at them. Three of them, all masked.

Swearing under his breath, James dives to avoid a curse. They split, one to one. James twirls in the
air, then pulls his broom up almost vertically and climbs as high as he can before the air thins so
much breathing hurts.

The Death Eater chasing him, obviously not as versed in the art of flying as he is, isn’t expecting
the impact of such an abrupt altitude change. They lose control, their broom wobbling dangerously.
The Death Eater shouts, and James thinks with a pang that he recognises Rabastan Lestrange’s
voice.

James could kill him. If he stunned him, he’d fall. They’re high enough that there’s no way he’d
survive it. And yet, James can’t do it. Can’t bring himself to murdering someone like that. Instead,
he dives again, flying past the disoriented Death Eater he’s certain is Rabastan so he can use the
precious moments he’s won to help someone who might need it on the ground.

Immediately, he spots Peter. He’s duelling with a tall person, and he’s struggling from having been
hit on a leg. His limp is pronounced and it’s making his footwork clumsy. James aims his broom,
ready to go help Pete, before he glances to check Sirius and Marlene are okay.

And the world falls away.

James can read Regulus on a broom like he was born for it. Fuck. James has flown together with
 Regulus. He knows his style. Knows his body language. The elegance of his arches. The way his
broom responds to his every whim. His hands, slender and sure gripping the handle of the broom.

The Death Eater chasing Sirius is Regulus. And it takes James only a second to realise that Regulus
is holding back. He’s chasing Sirius, and shooting at him, but he’s missing and James knows
Regulus has better aim than that. He’s the best seeker Hogwarts has had in generations for a
reason.

Heart in his throat, James watches Sirius do a complicated loop to try and throw his pursuer off,
unaware that it’s his brother and that he’s not really trying to catch him. Or, at least, not trying too
hard.

“James!” Marlene’s shriek breaks through the haze, and James looks up just in time to see the
Death Eater he’d left in the clouds charging at him.

Shit.

Swearing, he swerves to the side to avoid him, broom wobbling a little because he’s shaking and
distracted and his control is a little off.

Below him, Peter is still in trouble. Someone should really help him. But James’s eyes are starved
for the sight of Regulus. He hasn’t seen him in so long. Not a glimpse. And he’s here now, and
James doesn’t know how to reconcile the fact that his worst nightmare is unfolding.

They’re fighting on opposite sides of the war.

Sirius shoots a curse at Regulus that he avoids easily, then he makes a perfect loop over to position
himself where he can see the rest of the battle. When he rights his broom, Regulus looks over at
James.

They lock eyes and James can’t see his expression because of that damned mask he’s wearing, but
it’s him. He knows it in his bones. In his soul. And James is suddenly certain that Regulus knows
James knows.

“Regulus,” he whispers, so softly nobody can hear him.

James never sees the stunning spell that hits him. He should have, because Rabastan Lestrange has
been chasing him for a while now. But he forgot. He forgot everything that wasn’t Regulus. The
light is red, and it hits James sideways, knocking him off his broom.

The last thought James has before losing consciousness as he plummets to the ground is how he
wishes the Death Eaters didn’t wear masks. He would have liked to see Regulus’ face one last
time.

Chapter End Notes

Alright!! This chapter was long

A lot of things happening so let's have a quick recap!!

Regulus being tested by Voldemort!? FOUL. But it was going to happen. Riddle is
smart and manipulative and it wasn't going to be easy for Reg to climb to the top. He
had to get his hands dirty. Poor Elphias. BUT SAM MCKINNON EVERYONE!!
She's so badass even Reg is impressed

Dorcas and Reg talking through the rings will never not be amazing. I love writing
those bits of dialogue because they're stripped of environment and body language - it's
mind-to-mind so it has to be quick fire and direct and I THINK THAT'S COOL (am I
allowed to say that? I hope so!)

Then James. He's having A Time James is just trying to be a leader but he's a kid
and he's sad and afraid and frustrated and I want to give him a hug.

Sirius and Remus getting more tattoos for Sirius birthday? HELP I LOVE THEM SO
MUCH

The werewolf plotline with Remus had to make an appearance because even though
we're not following canon it just makes too much sense for it to be ignored. Like, he's
literally the only one on that side of the war, so there's no avoiding it. We have things
in store for Remus

Regulus being pressured by Walburga to find a bride is so funny to me like ma'am The
Nile is a River in Egypt your son is GAY

AND THEN WE HAD THE FLYING MISSION!!! HOW ARE WE FEELING?

James got hurt and we are sad (tm) but I can assure you that Regulus was watching
and he's very aware of who it was that hit James and this will be addressed and
explored in the next chapter

I hope you enjoyed! I'll try to update Wednesday again. See you in the comments
section friends
 To prove a point
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

This chapter is... unhinged. I do not know how else to describe it. A lot happens, so
fasten your seatbelts and hold on, it's an insane ride

TWs
Injuries and recovery
Internalised homophobia
Discussions / depictions of war and battle-wounds / injuries
Drugs used for medicinal purposes
Depictions of anxiety
Someone's drink is spiked with a drug (veritaserum) in this chapter
Death and grief (victims of war)
Depictions of violence (magical and physical)
Stabbing
Choking / strangling (through magic)
Murder

Also, Sirius has some bad thoughts about himself in this chapter so parts of his POV
can be a bit rough to read. Look after yourselves!

As always, let me know if I've missed anything.

ENJOY

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Interlude: Sirius’ POV

It’s wrong of him, Sirius knows, that he hasn’t even been to see Peter. He feels vaguely bad about
it, but not enough to make him move away from the side of James’ bed. Nothing will make him
move until James opens his eyes.

He’s been unconscious for three days. Three days that Sirius has stood vigil at the side of his bed.
He hasn’t even showered. Hasn’t changed out of the clothes he wore for the mission. If anyone has
a problem with it, they can argue with the wall.

Sirius isn’t leaving until James is walking right next to him out that door.

They’ve been told he will recover. He will wake up. He just needs time for his brain to heal from
the severe concussion he suffered from the fall.

A miracle, they’ve called it. James fell off his broom from way higher than, say, a Quidditch match
and yes, he broke more than a few bones and got a bad concussion but didn’t die. Nobody
understands how it happened.

Sirius remembers it like he’s watching it happen right now. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees
it again. James, distracted, staring at the Death Eater that had been until that moment chasing
Sirius. James’ lips whispering something Sirius couldn’t make out. The way James’ eyes widened
when the red light caught him. How his body slid sideways.

A single thought in Sirius’ mind: not James.

Then Sirius was gripped by a feeling of panic so strong it robbed him of breath as he flattened
himself against his broom and dove for James as fast as he possibly could. Faster. Faster. Almost
vertical. An insane dive. An impossible dive.

He didn’t make it.

Sirius watched from his broom how James was swallowed by shadows. A dip in the ground, right
below where James crashed. Sirius was too late to catch him. He didn’t make it, but he heard the
thud with which James hit the ground, swallowed by darkness for a moment.

When he landed, Sirius’ knee popped with an ugly sound, but he paid it no mind. What is physical
pain when your soulmate is lying unconscious and broken on the ground? Sirius skid over the wet
grass, his knee screaming at him in agony, and came to a stop right next to James. And found, with
profound relief, that he was alive. Impossibly alive.

Things after that are a bit of a blur. Molly shot the sparks that indicated she’d canvassed the house
and they could flee and people started to apparate away. Marlene landed heavily next to them, and
then Sirius took James’ body and left. He didn’t look back. Didn’t think of anyone or anything else.

“Sirius?” Effie asks, walking into the room in the hospital with a steaming cup of coffee in her
hand. “Here. Have this.”

Sirius takes it, and Effie squeezes his shoulder affectionately. She’s been here with him the entire
time, too. Monty comes and goes, spending as much time as he can with James. Unfortunately,
things at the Ministry are worse than ever so he can’t take a break. He’s away right now, in some
Wizengamot meeting or other. Sirius doesn’t know. Doesn’t care.

There is no war outside these walls. It’s all in Sirius’ chest. Because something happened when
they were flying. Something distracted James, and Sirius needs to know what it is so he can make
sure it never happens again. It’s grating against the corners of his mind. Could he have done
anything differently? Saved James this pain?

“Stop that,” Effie says firmly. “It’s not healthy. What happened happened. You can’t change it, and
replaying it in your mind helps no one.”

“How do you know that’s what I was doing?”

“I’m your mother,” she replies, and Sirius feels his breath hitch. She’s said it many times before.
Enough that Sirius doesn’t burst into tears whenever she does. But still. “James made a mistake.
He’s not perfect. But he’s going to be okay. None of it is your fault.”

“Something distracted him,” Sirius says, voice raspy and hoarse. “James never gets distracted
when he’s flying.”

“Then we wait for him to wake up, and we ask him,” Effie says firmly. “But you stop torturing
yourself right now, or I’ll send you out of this room. Where is Remus?”

“He’s with Peter,” Sirius replies, looking away. “He’ll be back soon.”
Effie’s face softens. “Peter hasn’t woken up yet, either. You being here or there doesn’t make a
difference to him.”

Sirius is grateful to her for the effort, but he knows it’s wrong of him that his other best friend also
almost died and Sirius hasn’t so much as popped in to see how he’s doing. He did, of course, ask if
he was going to make it and was immensely relieved when they confirmed he would. But Sirius
just… doesn’t care. Not the way he does James. As long as James is on this bed, eyes closed and
expression vacant of all the things that make James James, he won’t move. Come hell or high
water.

“James would have gone to check on Peter,” Sirius whispers. “If it was me and him. He would
have found time to go check on him.”

“I think you underestimate how much James loves you,” Effie replies.

“And you underestimate how much he loves Peter. And the rest of our friends.”

Effie smiles, seems to consider this, then nods. “That might be true. But it doesn’t make you bad,
Sirius. That’s just James’ gift. He has an abundance of love and gives it to people so freely. It’s
beautiful.”

Then there’s a pause. Effie brushes some hair out of James’ face. “Sirius… I shouldn’t ask. But I’m
worried. Is everything okay with James? I don’t mean… this. I mean… he got his heart broken,
didn’t he?”

Sirius’ throat closes, but he forces a single word out for Effie’s sake. “Yes.”

“He won’t talk to me about it,” Effie mutters. “I asked him. He said it was nothing. But I know
him, and I know it’s not nothing. He was very hurt. He’s been very hurt for a long time now, Sirius.
I’m worried.”

It takes effort to push past the ball in the back of his throat. Sirius doesn’t talk about Regulus.
Doesn’t think about Regulus. He can’t. If he does, he’ll crumble. But he can see how worried Effie
is. And she has given him everything. This is the least Sirius can do for her.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you what happened. But yes. You are right. James was very hurt. He got his
heart broken. It was pretty fucking horrible,” he chokes out.

“Language.”

“Sorry,” Sirius says sheepishly. “He’s doing better, but don’t expect him to bring someone home
any time soon. He needs to… like… he needs time, I think. Before he’s ready to find someone else.
And it’s not going to be easy. He really loved this person.”

“It was a boy, wasn’t it?”

Sirius hesitates.

Effie and Monty both know Sirius and Remus are a couple. Hilariously, Sirius tried to come out to
them and was met with confused glances and the question “wait, when do you say this happened?”

Turns out Effie and Monty had thought Remus and Sirius have been together for years. They
simply didn’t mention it because it was none of their business and they genuinely don’t care. As in,
they care Sirius is happy, but not that it’s with Remus, who is a dude and a werewolf. Yes, Monty
and Effie know he’s a werewolf, too, because he couldn’t spend most holidays in their house and
ask to be locked away in the basement ‘for the giggles’ every full moon.

They haven’t yet come out to Lyall, but that’s different. Remus and his father have a fragile
relationship. They love each other, but in the distance. Sirius told Remus they can tell him
whenever he’s ready. Remus still hasn’t suggested that they do, so Sirius is leaving it alone.

But just because Effie and Monty are okay with Sirius being with Remus doesn’t mean they won’t
freak out about James. Right? James is their blood. It’s different. Sirius would know. They took
Sirius in already broken. What’s one more thing? But James is theirs. Blood of their blood. And
that makes it… harder to accept.

“Sirius,” Effie says gently. “I don’t care if it was a boy or a girl or a mountain troll. I’m just trying
to figure out why James won’t talk to me about it when he always has in the past. You know he
wrote to me about his crush on Lily every week for two years.”

“Ah,” Sirius breathes. “Well. Effie, it really is his business. But I think… it’s not about their
gender. It’s about the betrayal. I think it hurts James too much to talk about it.”

And James is ashamed. Sirius knows. James hasn’t told him, and Sirius hasn’t confessed that he
knows what he said to Regulus. That James was willing to forgive the mark on his arm simply
because he loved Regulus too much. And he understands why James thinks he can’t tell anyone.

A part of him, the part that’s darkness and has teeth that bite and chew and spit out horrible
thoughts, is grateful. Because if James told Sirius to forgive the mark on Regulus’ arm, Sirius isn’t
sure he’d fight him on it.

****

“You stink,” James says to Sirius when he pulls him in for a hug so tight it puts all his pieces back
together.

He’s opened his eyes maybe a second ago, all the time it took Sirius to lose his shit and throw
himself on James’ bed in a fit of relief so strong he isn’t sure how to contain it in his body.

“Sirius, I mean it. When was the last time you showered?” James wrinkles his nose dramatically.

“Shut up,” he growls into the crook of James’ bed. “Shut up, Prongs. You almost died on me and
you think I was thinking about showering?”

“Hey,” James says, pulling back, meeting his eyes. “I’m okay. I’m okay, right?”

James glances over Sirius’ shoulders and must find his mother’s eyes, because Effie says. “Yes.
You’re okay. No missions for another week, and you need to take this potion every night before
bed. But you’re okay. We were so worried, darling.”

“Did everyone else make it?” James asks.

“Yes,” Remus answers. Sirius blinks, looks over his shoulder. Remus is at the door, smiling. He
must have come in right when James woke up. “Peter is also here, a couple of rooms over. He got
hit pretty bad, but he’s healing up nicely. He’s been awake for a few hours now.”

Sirius flinches, and James feels it, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, James simply holds him.
And if it bothers him that Sirius smells terrible, he doesn’t say anything else about it. Sirius takes
an embarrassingly long time to let go of James, but when he does, he feels like a million pounds
have been lifted off his shoulders.
When James is allowed off his bed and given his clothes after discharge papers are signed, James
insists on stopping by Peter’s room. Sirius goes with him. It’s very awkward. Peter is… not angry,
but also not happy. As soon as James steps up to his bed, Peter narrows his eyes.

“I thought you had my back,” is the first thing Peter says.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” James says. “I’m so sorry. I was distracted in the air and then I—”

“You were supposed to provide us with cover,” Peter insists, his hands shaking. “And you knew.
You saw me. I know you did. What the hell could distract you from helping your best friend? I
almost died.”

“So did he,” Sirius snaps. “What the fuck, Pete? James did his best. You got hurt. Tough luck. It
happens. It’s war.”

“Sirius,” James says gently. Huffing, Sirius steps back, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m sorry
Peter."

"Yeah," he says, looking away. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever. I need to rest.”

Which is code for ‘get the fuck out.’ So, they do. James has been looking strangely haunted since,
and Sirius is itching to ask him about it, but he doesn’t want to do it in front of Effie and Monty.
So, he puts it on hold, and helps with the logistics of getting home.

Eventually, they make it to Potter Manor where James, Remus, Sirius and Lily sit in the living
room in front of the fire (after Sirius goes and showers and changes clothes) while Effie helps
Rosly in the kitchen with dinner and Monty dips into his study to tidy up a few ‘bits and bobs’.

“What have I missed?” James asks.

“Not much,” says Lily. “None of the missions in the past four days have been noteworthy. We
haven’t lost anyone, thank Godric.”

“What did Molly find in the house?”

Sirius looks at Remus—sitting right next to him—because he went to the debrief in Sirius’ place
even though he wasn’t even involved in the mission to begin with. He got a major bollocking from
Moody for it, but Sirius genuinely did not give a fuck.

“Experiments,” Remus says, grimacing. “They’d kidnapped some muggles and were
experimenting on them. Molly gave her memory to Dumbledore to visit in the pensive. She wanted
rid of it, which tells you how horrible what she saw was.”

“Merlin’s socks,” James whispers, shaking his head. “They’re sick.”

“They shut it down,” Lily explains. “Moody and Dumbledore went there personally and found the
house had been burnt to the ground. They think this is positive. It’ll take them a while to rebuild so
at the very least he disrupted their plans.”

There’s a lull for a bit while it seems James is processing the information. Remus moves his leg
slightly so his thigh is pressed against Sirius’, and he looks at him and smiles. It is still rather mind
blowing to Sirius that he gets to say I love you to Remus every day and hear it back. Possibly the
second best thing to ever happen to him. The first being finding James Potter on the train at age
eleven.
With a sharp inhale of breath, James runs a hand through his messy hair and says, “There’s
something I have to tell you. And you’re not going to like it.”

“Who is not going to like it?” Remus asks, echoing Sirius’ thoughts.

“None of you,” James says. Then, he looks straight at Sirius. “But specially you.”

No.

Don’t do this. Don’t say it. Don’t.

Sirius knows. Deep down. He knows. James never gets distracted when he’s flying. Ever. There is
only one person who could scramble his brain like that while he’s up in the air. But he’s supposed
to be in school. Safe. Away. They had a whole year without having to worry about finding him in
the field. Sirius isn’t ready for that peace of mind to be taken away.

“What is it?” Lily asks, frowning in confusion.

James hangs his head forward and says, “I got distracted because Regulus was there.”

“No,” Sirius blurts, without any previous knowledge that he was going to speak. Not only that, but
he’s also sprang up to his feet for some reason. “He’s in school.”

“It’s Christmas Break,” Remus reasons. “So, he could have been there just the once. School ended
the day before the mission. Doesn’t mean—"

“I’m sorry,” James says, looking pained and a little desperate. “I should have told you. I knew… I
didn’t tell you sooner because I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to go on missions
thinking about him. I thought I was keeping you safe.”

“What didn’t you tell me?” Sirius asks, eyes wide.

“I knew he didn’t go back to Hogwarts. I’ve known for a while,” James admits, hanging his head
forward in shame.

Sirius gasps like James just punched him in the face.

“How did you know?” Remus asks sharply. “James? You haven’t been…”

“No!” James says vehemently. “No. But when I went to talk to Dumbledore about rescuing Sam, I
took the map. Remember? And Dumbledore said no, and I was upset. I checked the map. Regulus
wasn’t on it. He wasn’t in the Come and Go Room, either. There was only one explanation.”

“He could have been out that night only,” Lily supplies, though the tone of her voice says she
doesn’t really believe that. “Are you certain?”

“I wrote to Pandora after that,” James confesses. “She told me he never came back for seventh
year. Regulus hasn’t been in school at all.”

Sirius feels like he’s stuck in a nightmare. He wants someone to wake him up and tell him this isn’t
happening. Regulus is in Hogwarts. He’s not actively… fuck. What if he has killed some of the
people they’ve lost?

He’s just a kid. Only seventeen. But Sirius is kind of just a kid, too. He’s nineteen now, but he
doesn’t feel… particularly grown up. Yes, he’s got his own flat with his boyfriend but they survive
on the food Effie sends them via Rosly who comes to help clean once a week so they aren’t
overcome by mess.

Neither of them should be fighting in this war. But they are. On opposite sides. And Sirius had
made peace with it, had he not? He looked Regulus in the eye, and asked why, and Regulus had
said for power. And Sirius had decided to let it go.

He has one brother, and one brother only. And that’s James Potter.

“It can’t happen again,” Sirius says, voice a little raspy but otherwise stable. “You almost died,
James. You can’t let him get to you.”

“I know,” he replies, eyes pinched shut. “I just… it was the first time, okay? I wasn’t expecting it.
But now I know. It won’t happen again.”

Sirius and Remus exchange glances. Everyone knows James can’t promise that. Regulus is his
Achilles heel. He has been from the beginning. The one person who disarms James to his very
core, much to Sirius’ utter dismay.

But what can Sirius say? Tell Moody James shouldn’t be sent on any more missions because of the
chance of running into Regulus? That’s absurd. James won’t have it, and neither will Moody. And
they’ve been at this for months and have only just run into Regulus.

So, Sirius takes a deep breath and crosses the room to put a hand on James’ shoulder. With a
squeeze, he says, “I know. We know.”

****

Sirius has always known there’s something wrong with him.

He’s a Black, and the product of literal incest—he tries not to think about that because it makes
him want to peel off his own skin—so of course there’s something wrong with him. Except this is
worse.

Remus is away. Full moon night. The last of the year, right before Christmas. Sirius thinks it’s
Thursday, but he’s not sure. Doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is that Moony is away. He’s
with the pack for the second time. The first attempt was successful in that nobody attacked him. He
was invited to come back. And so, he has. Sirius is alone in their flat and he’s certain that the way
he’s feeling about it is not right.

James asked him to come over to Potter Manor, but he refused. Last month, the first time Remus
went away, Sirius was such a mess James and Lily forced him to drink a sleeping draught the third
time made himself sick with worry. Like, literally. He threw up three times because of how worked
up he made himself over Remus.

He doesn’t want to put that on James again. He’s got enough on as is. So, Sirius stayed in his flat
and here he has been all night on the sofa unmoving. Well, that’s not true. He’s been rocking a bit
back and forth.

Sirius feels like he’s missing his soul. Like his body is here, in this apartment that smells of them,
and tastes of them, and is full of little pieces of them, but his essence is somewhere else.

Out of reach. Away. With him.

There’s no room for anything that’s not pure, undiluted worry. Questions spiral in his brain, one
after the other. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he gets hurt? What if he calls for you and
you don’t know and don’t come? What if? What if? What if?

Surely, he should be able to function. James goes on missions all the time, and Sirius goes on his,
and they’re fine. He didn’t use to get this way when Remus was on normal missions, either. So,
what is it about the fucking werewolf pack that makes Sirius want to go out and get bit so he can be
with Remus too?

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Shame washes over him, making him feel small. Pathetic. Darkness with teeth and claws, dragging
them down his spine. He’s broken. He’s twisted. There’s something wrong with him.

“Sirius?”

His heart jolts in his chest, sending a powerful spark through his entire body. Sirius looks up, and
realises it’s morning, and Remus is here. He’s here. Whole.

“Moony,” he breathes, and then he’s up and he’s kind of power walking because he can’t run in the
flat, not big enough, but he also won’t simply stroll because Remus is back. Back. Back.

They collide by the door, and Sirius feels like his soul has been returned to him. Like everything is
right again in the world, and it will be, so long as they’re here, like this. Two bodies, one soul.

“I love you so fucking much,” Sirius says against Remus’ mouth before he kisses him.

Remus kisses him back, hands tangling in Sirius’ hair. “Are you okay? I thought you’d be at the
Potters.”

“I’m fine. I’m good. I’m fantastic,” Sirius breathes, pulling back to look at Remus’ eyes. He smiles,
and then yawns.

“Sorry,” he says, bashful. “Haven’t slept.”

Sirius slides his hand into Remus’ and tugs him towards the bedroom. “Neither have I. Come on.”

They curl up on the bed together, Remus’s chest pressed against Sirius’ back, and fall asleep as the
sun rises. Two bodies. One soul. Sirius thinks, as his consciousness begins to slip away, that there’s
something wrong with him. But by some fucking miracle, Moony seems to want him anyway.

And if that’s not a good enough reason for Sirius to try to fix himself every day until he’s whole
and good and all the things he’s not but perhaps he could be, then he doesn’t know what is.

####

London’s Royal Opera House is in Covent Garden. After a gloomy, rather wet day, it has cleared
out for a nice, cloudless December night, crips and chilly. The full moon casts a its glow over the
still rain-soaked pavement, making the cobblestones shine like silver. Regulus stands outside, right
by the pillars holding up the magnificent entrance to the building, dutifully waiting for his date.

One would be forgiven for believing that being one of the most powerful people in all Wizarding
England would give Regulus freedom to do as he pleased. Unfortunately, reality is that power
comes with expectations and eyes that are always watching. This ruse with Elspeth is necessary.

To her credit, the girl has not bothered Regulus once since the dinner. This has worked out in
Regulus’ favour because he was rather distracted finding a replacement for the man he killed,
testing a variation of the new poison they’re trying to perfect with Severus, who is the most
irritating man alive, but is a damn good potioner, too, and perhaps most importantly, plotting
Rabastan Lestrange’s demise. Regulus has to be careful about that one, make sure it looks like an
accident.

The extent of Elspeth’s contact was the single note she sent to confirm the box had been booked
and to say she’d make her own way to the Opera house and left it at that. Regulus already likes her
more than Adalyn, who sent him letters almost every day. He never read any of them.

Regulus hears the unmistakable pop of someone apparating nearby and straightens his shoulders. A
moment later, Elspeth turns the corner and smiles at him. She looks glorious in a gown of velvet
black fabric that enhances her curves and contrasts nicely with her pale skin. It occurs to Regulus
that she’s so good looking nobody should pay him any mind, which works for him.

“Elspeth,” Regulus says, offering her his arm. He’s wearing a suit and a coat and can thus
withstand the light contact in the name of gentlemanly manners. “You look dashing.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “So do you.”

As they walk into the Opera house, Elspeth asks him if he has seen Carmen before. He has, but he
says he hasn’t, and she beings to give him an overview of the composer’s history and the
background to the storyline. He nods at the appropriate times and adds a word or two here and
there to give the impression that he’s listening.

By the time they are taking their seats in the box, Elspeth has deluded herself into thinking Regulus
is actually interested in her. She leaves him for a moment to request drinks be brought to them,
then sits on her chair, smiling at him. Regulus tucks his hands under his arms, crossing them to
hide he’s started to shake again. Mithridatism really is a bitch.

“So, Lord Black,” she says, smoothing her skirt over her legs with flat hands. “I must admit that I
spoke with Adalyn recently and I…” She clears her throat. “I believe that we can help each other.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow. “Bold. Alright. I’m listening.”

“Adalyn said you were wonderful right until the moment she tried to kiss you,” Elspeth states. “At
which point you decided you didn’t want to see her anymore.”

Regulus wouldn’t use the word ‘wonderful’ to describe himself even by accident. But fine. If
Adalyn wants to stretch the illusion that Regulus was anything other than detached and cold, he
won’t stop her.

“I’m a gentleman,” Regulus says, absolutely one hundred percent deadpan. “And I want to marry a
lady, not a harlot. Adalyn was indecent in her approach.”

“That’s what her parents believe as well,” Elspeth explains. “Adalyn has a history, you see.”

“It’s not my concern anymore.”

“Right,” Elspeth says. “Except I thought, perhaps, you’d like to know I don’t… I don’t like
intimacy. It’s the reason my parents have struggled to find me a match.”

Against his will, Regulus is intrigued. He leans closer, but then is interrupted by a man stepping
into their box with a tray carrying flutes of champagne. He takes one, passes another to Elspeth,
and tells the man to get lost and not interrupt them again. Elspeth smiles.
“I see you’re interested,” Elspeth breathes. “Which is a more positive reaction than I’ve ever had
before.”

“You tell this to all your suitors?”

“Well, yes. I would be loath to get close to someone who would want something I can’t give him,”
she says firmly. “I have enough self-respect to think that’s a bad bargain. No matter the surname
I’m marrying into.”

The bubbles of the champagne burst over his tongue pleasantly as Regulus drinks and studies
Elspeth Fawley. She is not what he was expecting, and that in itself is a feat. Very few people have
the ability to surprise Regulus Black these days.

And then he feels it. The little tug at the centre of his chest that tells him his drink has been dosed
with veritaserum. Elspeth Fawley becomes immediately much more interesting to him. That she’d
dare to drug him is fucking bold. Regulus is delighted and a little bit impressed.

“What would your ideal arrangement look like?” Regulus asks her after a moment. He’s going to
play this out, he decides. She doesn’t know he’s built up a tolerance. That the veritaserum can’t
pull truth from him easily.

“This,” Elspeth says. “No touching. Conversation. Enjoying the arts. The company.”

“No touching,” Regulus mutters, tilting his head to the side. “I can see why that would make
finding a suitor complicated.”

“Most men don’t want to wait until marriage, much less tie themselves to a woman who has no
interest in sex at all,” Elspeth says earnestly. “I understand producing an heir is a requirement, and
I think I could do it. For a baby. I would commit to that, for the right husband. But I simply don’t
find pleasure in… you know. Well, maybe you don’t, but you know what I mean.”

“I see,” Regulus says vaguely.

Elspeth looks at him levelly, and asks, “Why did you really distance yourself from Adalyn?”

“I don’t like touching people,” Regulus says. “At all. Offering you my arm earlier took effort.”

“Oh,” Elspeth gasps, surprised. She believes him, because she thinks him under the influence.
After a moment, she composes herself. “I see. Well, you don’t have to. I won’t be offended. So,
you don’t… you’re like me?”

“In a way,” he replies.

“Do you have any real intention to marry, Lord Black?” she asks him.

Regulus curls his lips into a cruel smile. “I could be persuaded to marry the right person, but it’s
not a priority.”

And Elspeth smiles, too. Wide and triumphant. “And what does the right person look like?”

“The right person is cunning enough to attempt to dose me with veritaserum,” Regulus replies
smoothly. “But not clever enough to anticipate that I would never fall for such a ploy.”

All the blood drains from Elspeth’s face at once. Her hands begin to shake, and she clears her
throat. “I don’t—”
“No hysterics. I can’t stand them,” Regulus says.

“Lord Black, I—”

He lifts a hand to silence her. “Elspeth, I think you are right that we can help each other.”

“Oh?”

“I need my mother off my back, and I need freedom to run certain activities in the background,” he
says carefully, weighing his options. “And you need… what do you need, Elspeth? Answer me
honestly, because I can still turn you in for attempting to drug me.”

Closing her eyes and swallowing hard, she leans forward. “I need a husband so my parents don’t
disown me and send me to America. But I don’t want a husband at all.”

“What do you want?”

“To go to Greece,” she replies quietly. “There’s someone in Greece. Someone I love.”

And this, Regulus knows, is his ticket to freedom. Leverage over a woman who’s desperate enough
to do what he needs her to do without asking for anything in return.

If he is perceived as being committed to Elspeth Fawley, he’ll get even more opportunities to sneak
away without raising suspicions. A courtship with someone who won’t attempt to kiss him or
touch him is much better than he could have hoped for. He’d be a fool not to take this chance.

Leaning back on his chair, Regulus looks at Elspeth boldly. “I would make our courtship official
on the condition that it’ll be a long one. We’ll say I’m busy and I have no intention of marrying
until the Dark Lord has risen to power.”

“What happens after?” Elspeth asks.

“If I haven’t found someone I want to marry,” Regulus says, thinking on his feet for something that
sounds plausible and that doesn’t give away the fact he’s planning to kill the Dark Lord. “I’ll
marry you and then ship you off to Greece. I wouldn’t be the first husband to do something like
that.”

“You… you would do that?” Elspeth asks him. “Why?”

“I have my reasons. But I need your word,” Regulus tells her. “I need proof that you will not betray
our deal.”

“Of course,” she breathes, eyes bright with hope. “I’d be willing to help. Anything you need. Lord
Black, I’ve been shunned by friends and family alike for the past two years for failing to secure a
suitor. And I have no way of ever being able to get to Greece on my own. My father would hunt
me down. A long courtship and engagement to Lord Black would make them eat their words. It
would protect me. I’d do anything in return.”

“Very well, Elspeth,” he says, smiling at her. “I believe we have ourselves a deal.”

“We do, my Lord.”

“One more thing.” He takes his glass of champagne and passes it to her. He doses it—in front of
her—with an additional vial of veritaserum from his pocket. “Drink this.”

And to his surprise, she doesn’t hesitate. She snatches it and drinks it, grimacing. Regulus tilts his
head. She won’t notice him probing into her mind while he questions her. Regulus knows better
than to trust the veritaserum alone.

“What made you think I might be open to this deal?”

“Adalyn described your reaction to her kiss. I thought you might be like me, because she’s a
beauty, and men never reject her,” Elspeth says, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “It was a gamble.
But I’m out of options. I’m truly quite desperate, Lord Black.”

“What do you want from me, Elspeth?”

“The means and the freedom to finally get to Greece.”

“Why?”

“To be with Irene,” she says, then covers her mouth with her hands.

“Who is Irene?”

“The love of my life,” Elspeth whispers, tears springing to her eyes.

“Wonderful,” Regulus says.

And it is. Elspeth is not lying to him. She’s desperate, and cunning, and ready to do whatever she
can to find herself in Greece with Irene—a beautiful woman with chocolate coloured hair, Regulus
saw in her mind. Elspeth couldn’t care less about Riddle or the war or her parents. She wants out.
All she wants is Irene.

Elspeth looks equal parts relieved and delighted by how well this evening has gone for her, and the
opera hasn’t even started yet. Regulus gets up and leaves the box momentarily to go to the bar and
procure two more flutes of champagne. They toast to their agreement.

“I have an errand to run tonight,” Regulus tells her with a pointed look.

“Oh?”

“I planned on lying to you about it and sneaking away, but well. That’s not a very courteous thing
to do to the future Lady Black.”

Elspeth cackles wickedly, and Regulus smirks back.

“I must go somewhere undetected, and there are Ministry Officials in that box there,” Regulus
points at them, “I need you to cover for me during my absence. I’ll be gone only for acts two and
three.”

“No one will know you weren’t here the entire time,” Elspeth tells him decidedly. “I’ve got this,
Lord Black.”

And Regulus, for once, has no doubt that she does. Because desperation is a dangerous weapon,
and Elspeth Fawley has honed hers carefully, ready for Regulus to wield.

####

On the morning of Christmas Eve, James wakes up a little disoriented, his dream still clinging to
him like cobwebs. It takes him a moment to remember he’s not in his own bed and that the body
next to his belongs to Gideon Prewett. With a sigh, James pinches his eyes closed again. Pretends
he’s still asleep.

For the first time in his life, James isn’t actually looking forward to Christmas. It has arrived
almost stealthily. Caught him by surprise. After his head injury and the seven days he spent holed
up at home, James had lost track of time. And now, Christmas is tomorrow and James wishes he
could just skip it.

How are they supposed to celebrate anything when Sam has been gone for months? When so many
members of the Order are dead, Manon is still in the hospital in a coma, and the war keeps eating
away at all they hold dear? How is James expected to smile and drink and be merry when... fuck.
Regulus is out there, somewhere. On the field. Fighting. It makes James feel sick every time he
thinks about it.

Careful not to wake Gideon, James slips out of the bedroom and goes to wash his face and rinse his
mouth. He hadn’t meant to end up here, but they were assigned on a mission together (James’ first
mission after his injury). It had gone so horribly wrong that they’d decided to get drunk afterwards.

Dorcas and Marlene were there, too. Clearly, at some point during their heavy drinking in the pub,
they started to make out and that lead to James and Gideon deciding it was a good idea to do the
same.

It's only the third time they do this, but that’s already twice too many. They’d agreed during the
Longbottom wedding that it was meant to be a one-time thing, and James… James doesn’t know if
Gideon will get the wrong idea from the fact that James has ended up here thrice already. He hopes
not, because even though it’s been like seven months since they broke up, James isn’t anywhere
near over Regulus. The fact that he almost got himself killed because they had a run-in is proof
enough of that.

Groaning, James checks the bruises scattered over his body. Nothing feels broken. The aches are
just a result of his hungover. He should have known better than to drink the day before Christmas,
but well. It’s war. People are dying. James is struggling. He’ll drink tonight again and that’ll be it.

The mirror in front of him looks back at him, eyes big and sad because he’s alone with himself and
he always hates the morning after a little bit. Hates the way he keeps chasing Regulus in the taste of
smoke on other people’s mouths. It’s wrong, but he doesn’t know how to stop.

When he walks back to the room with two glasses of water, he finds Gideon is awake. Blue eyes
blinking away the sleepiness, he points at one of the glasses. “For me?”

“Yeah,” James passes it to him.

“You’re a hero, Potter,” Gideon says with feeling before chugging down the entire thing.

James sits heavily on the bed, running a hand over his face, and mutters, “For all the good it did
Steph.”

“Hey,” Gideon tugs James by the arm, and James hates himself for being weak enough to go.
Gideon’s warm and strong. He’s huge, actually, and so James feels small in his arms. “It wasn’t
your fault.”

“She’s dead, Gid,” James croaks, and then he’s crying. He wasn’t even close to Steph. She was one
of the people who’ve come over from America to help the war efforts. Friends of Moody and
Kingsley, who apparently has family over there. Still, it hurts to lose one of theirs. “Fuck. Fuck.
She’s dead, and we were there, and we couldn’t—she’s dead.”
“I know,” Gideon says, holding him like they’re more than friends who occasionally fall into bed
together. “It still wasn’t your fault. There was nothing we could have done.”

“I hate it,” James says, wiping his tears with the back of his hand and taking a shuddering breath.
“We’re falling like fucking flies. And they’re only getting stronger.”

“Don’t give up on me, James,” Gideon says. “Not you.”

“I’m not giving up,” James replies fiercely. “I’m just saying we need to change the approach. This
is obviously not working!”

“Do you have any ideas?”

Gideon shifts them so they can look at each other, and it suddenly strikes James how ridiculous the
whole situation is. He’s naked, and so is Gideon, and he’s crying, and they’re talking about war
because they lost someone last night and their reaction was to fuck their grief away.

Godric Gryffindor’s sword at the bottom of the lake.

James is a mess. Gideon isn’t faring much better. “I’m… I’m eighteen years old. I don’t know how
to fight a war. I’m not… I’m not a general. I’m a soldier. But I—we keep dying. And I don’t
know…”

“None of us do, James,” Gideon tells him gently. “I’m twenty-one and just as clueless. But you’re
a good leader. The people you take out flying always come back. That’s not nothing.”

That’s true, and surprisingly, it works to comfort James. He hasn’t lost anyone in the air. There
have been injuries, of course, but no one has died on his watch. And that’s something. Something
that’s better than nothing and that has to do because it’s war and when you’re at war you’re risking
everything.

***

War doesn’t care that it’s Christmas. They celebrate to the best of their ability. Effie and Monty
invite everyone to Potter Manor, and they have a feast. There’s mulled wine and spiced something
or other that the girls love. A few half-arsed attempts at carolling. Then just lots of standing about
and chatting in subdued voices, because who feels like celebrating when they’re watching their
friends die every week?

James remembers last year. Exchanging gifts in the Come and Go Room and waking up on
Christmas morning to open a package that held a Rubik’s cube with a song about love. He
remembers thinking Regulus loved him in French music. And he has to hide in a bathroom to have
a little cry unseen, because Regulus doesn’t love him anymore. They’re on opposite sides of a war
that’s tearing them apart.

Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, James forces himself to stop. For two weeks he's
been doing his damned best to not think about Regulus. It's been hard work, because James is
confused. Hurt. Pining. Seeing Regulus flying on that mission has set him back months whilst
simultaneously propelling him forward into a whole new host of unknowns. It makes James' head
hurt even though he's recovered from his injury. His mind gets all scrambled when he thinks of
him, of that botched mission, of falling from his broom. His memory of it is a bit fuzzy around the
edges and James isn't sure what to believe. He hasn't dared voice it, either for fear of what the
others will say. But... sometimes, James thinks that perhaps Regulus is hiding something from
them. For a second there, James really thought Regulus was letting Sirius get away. That he was
holding back. But that can’t be, can it? Someone else would have noticed. Someone would have
said something by now. James saw what he wanted to see because he’s in love with a Death Eater
and it almost got him killed.

And so, James washes his face and goes back to the living room and drinks eggnog and pretends
he’s okay even though he’s really not. He clings to Sirius’ side, jokes with Remus, shares a few
sad, melancholic looks with Dorcas. Watches Lily and Pandora whisper to each other by the fire
and sip their drinks.

It’s nice. It’s quiet. It’s Christmas during a war.

####

The wine he drank through the traditional Christmas dinner in Grimmauld Place—while he sweet
talked people with Lucius to sway them to support his policies and look to him instead of Bellatrix
for leadership within the ranks—has got to his head and it’s making him a little dizzy and clouding
his judgement.

It’s why he’s grabbed a bottle of whiskey from his cellar as is now pushing open the door to the
dungeon. He shouldn’t be here, but then again, it’s his house. He can go where he well damn wants
to.

Sam McKinnon isn’t sleeping, or if she was, she woke up the moment she heard the door scrapping
against the floor.

“What do you want?” she asks.

Regulus has to smirk. She’s brave. Hasn’t broken yet. Regulus respects that. Strength and
determination are good traits to have when you’re fighting a war.

“It’s Christmas,” Regulus tells her. He drags a chair across and sits down by her cell before taking
out a wooden cup and filling it with whiskey before putting it on the ground next to the bars.
“Merry Christmas.”

“Is this a joke?” Sam asks, eyes bewildered.

Pausing to light a cigarette, Regulus raises an eyebrow and gives her a pointed look. “Do I look like
I’m joking?”

Tilting her head, Sam considers him for a long moment before she drags herself over the ground
and snatches up the cup. Regulus takes a swig out of the bottle. Slow and deliberate. Sam downs
her drink and grimaces.

“So, is this like a Christmas miracle?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Let’s just say you’re standing in for the person I’d rather be drinking with,” Regulus says with a
shrug.

He spoke to Dorcas through the ring earlier. She’s at James’ house, celebrating with them. And
Regulus can’t feel it as sharply as he should, but it’s still there. A pang of longing for his best
friend. Dorcas, ruthless and beautiful and loyal Dorcas. He wishes he was drinking with her, but
she can’t be here, so Sam will have to do.

Evan is at the stuffy Rosier dinner and Barty is being tortured—aka coddled—by his father’s
family. They’re all separate, but all suffering. There’s some poetic shit about that, Regulus thinks,
but he’s drank too much to think of it now.

“You have friends?” Sam says, attempting to mock him.

“Don’t be absurd,” Regulus replies. “I have people I dislike less than the rest.”

He did see Barty and Evan when they came back from school for the Christmas break. Arranged a
meeting with Lucius, who has been advocating on their behalf to join the ranks at Regulus’
request. And, while it has been agreed that Barty and Evan will be joining a small raid team down
in Kent next week as part of their test, it won’t be enough.

Tests have to be something significant, and Riddle isn’t doing a big, statement attack during the
festive period this year. It would be predictable, and the last thing he wants is for people to think
they’ve grown complacent. Instead, they’re plotting a much larger scale event for the spring. This
means Barty and Evan won’t get a chance to prove themselves until at least Easter.

“You were friends with Dorcas,” Sam mutters. “I heard about it.”

“Yes, well. That was in school. We’re not in school anymore.”

Sam nudges her drink closer to him and Regulus refills it again before pushing it back. Sam downs
it again, closing her eyes like she’s enjoying feeling the alcohol hit. “If it’s Christmas, it means
I’ve been here for just over two months.”

“Correct,” Regulus replies.

“When are you going to kill me?”

“When you are no longer of use to me,” Regulus says. He gestures towards the empty cup on the
ground by Sam. She nods, and he refills it.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m fucking bored, Black,” Sam tells him, slurring her words a
little by now. “I haven’t seen or spoken to another human being in two weeks.”

“Are you asking me to come hurt you more often?” Regulus asks, raising his eyebrows.

Rolling her eyes, Sam scoffs. “Obviously not. I just don’t get it. Why am I here? Kill me or let me
go but what am I doing down here?”

“You’re a prisoner of war. Be grateful I’m too busy to visit you regularly,” Regulus snarls, showing
her a bit of teeth to drive the point.

They drink in silence for a bit, and then Sam takes a deep breath like she’s been working up the
courage to ask her next question. Regulus wonders if it’ll be a plea for help. If she’ll beg to be
released.

And he doesn’t want to hear it, so he gets up and shakes the bottle. “Last orders.”

Sam rolls her eyes but pushes her cup closer. “Oh, so he has been to a bar before.”

“Of course, I have,” Regulus says, offended. “Who hasn’t?”

Shrugging, Sam knocks back the entire drink. “Listen, I just thought you’d have it all done for you
at home. Why knock elbows with peasants, right? Lord Black?” Sam giggles, then looks at him
again with wide, mocking eyes. “Just saying it’s a bit odd. Do people like give you a wide berth
when you walk into a pub?”
Right. That’s enough of that, Regulus thinks. “Sleep it off, McKinnon.”

The last thing he hears before he closes the door to the dungeons is Sam’s hysterical laughter.

****

Shadows gather in the corners of the room, watching. Waiting. Regulus looks down, at the three
veins he can see on the inside of his wrist and calls his power forward just to feel it. They darken,
and the shadows in the corners come closer.

Regulus. Regulus. Regulus.

They’re growing stronger, he knows. He feels them more these days. More than when he first
claimed the magic that courses through him, dying his insides black like his name. And yet, he
doesn’t mind it. The things the shadows can do for him, other people could only dream of. And so,
he seeks them when he can. Gives himself to them. A reminder that they’re his and he’s theirs and
together they wield the power of darkness.

That’s why Regulus is here in the whispering dark that tells him he can do anything. Invincible.
Untouchable. Power like this is intoxicating.

Rising the glass to his lips with a slightly shaky hand, he takes a sip and lets go of the legacy
magic. The shadows melt back into the walls just as Elspeth pokes her head in through the door.

“Regulus?” she asks, scanning the small waiting room he’s claimed for himself. “Ah, there you
are. The Malfoys are here.”

Nodding, he straightens and crosses the room. He offers his arm to Elspeth, and together they go to
the grandiose entrance hall to greet Lucius and Narcissa, who have just arrived.

It’s another dinner in Lestrange Castle. Early January, a ‘welcome to the new year’ sort of thing.
As if they need an excuse when they hold one of this silly gatherings every other week anyway. A
stupid waste of time, if you ask Regulus. Not that anybody does. They all think he loves these
things, probably because most guests fall over themselves to fawn over him.

Regulus has lost count of the times he’s been here in the past few months. He wishes he didn’t
have to attend, but appearances are important. Especially now that he’s evaluating the ideal time to
officially announce he’s courting Elspeth with intentions of marriage. He was fucking horrified to
discover that for it to be really official, he has to do an announcement in the Daily Prophet.
Apparently, it’s tradition.

“Elspeth,” he says, slowing his pace a bit. “I need you to distract Narcissa. I must speak with
Lucius alone.”

“Of course,” she replies, nodding.

Truth be told, Regulus doesn’t actually mind Elspeth. She’s easy to be around, because she doesn’t
bother him. When she comes visit Grimmauld place, she doesn’t talk to him and he doesn’t talk to
her. Most importantly, she has never once in the few weeks they’ve been doing this weird courtship
thing touched him. Not even by accident. And Regulus is embarrassingly grateful for it.

They usually just read their books in companionable silence, and then she departs or sits down for
dinner if her parents are also coming. The Fawleys are pressuring the Blacks to make the whole
thing official, but Regulus is trying to stall. He’s insisted on waiting until the spring. The moment
that thing gets put in the paper, everyone will know.
For some stupid fucking reason, that thought bugs him. So, he’s buying himself time. Saying he
needs to see how Elspeth does when in his social circle, which basically means she comes to these
dinners in Lestrange Castle with him. They also go to the opera, the ballet or the theatre once a
week.

Fortunately, Elspeth doesn’t mind one bit that he disappears every time, coming back to catch only
the final act. She has no idea where he goes, but Regulus has been hunting horcruxes. So far, he
hasn’t found any, but he’s steadily going through possible locations, scouring them one week at a
time. It’s slow progress, but it is progress.

“Lucius, Narcissa, glad you could make it,” Regulus says with a tilt of his head.

“Regulus,” the blond man breathes, immediately dismissing the poor sod trying to get his attention
to come stand next to Lord Black. He tilts his head towards Elspeth. “Elspeth, you look radiant.”

“Thank you, Lucius,” Elspeth says, and then, just like Regulus asked her to do, she whisks Narcissa
away so he can talk to Lucius unbothered.

Hooking her elbow in the blonde’s, Elspeth turns to the other woman with the air of someone about
to say something of great importance. “Narcissa, darling, you must tell me where you bought this
gown.”

Lucius and Regulus watch them go before turning to look at each other again.

“How is your mother?” Lucius asks politely. “She wasn’t at the New Year’s party at the Zabini
residence, I hear. She usually attends. Is she well?”

“She’s well,” Regulus replies. “Has some bad days. My family has suffered greatly this year. It’s
taken a toll on her health. She’s spending more time at home now. Resting and reading those
heinous novels she likes.”

“Truly terrible stuff the death of Cygnus so close to Orion’s,” Lucius says, shaking his head. He
looks over his shoulder at Narcissa, who’s now engaged in deep conversation with Elspeth. “The
loss of her parents hit Cissy badly. She has only recently begun to act like herself. You remember
she didn’t leave the manor for weeks after the funeral. Christmas was good for her, I think. The
festivities cheered her up.”

Regulus does remember. No one saw Narcissa Malfoy for about a month and a half after the
funeral of Cygnus and Druella. Bellatrix liked to comment on what a display of weakness that was.
She, for one, was completely unbothered by the death of her parents in a horrible house fire
suspected to have been caused by a faulty cursed candle. Their bodies had burnt too badly so the
funeral was closed casket.

“She was always closest to Cygnus and Druella,” Regulus comments. “They favoured her, as
evident in the choices they made for her.”

As expected, Lucius preens like a peacock. He glances around the room, finds Rodolphus holding
court with a few of the younger Death Eaters. “You know Mulciber, Avery and Dolohov, don’t
you?”

“Form Hogwarts.”

“And?” Lucius asks. “You asked me to mentor Crouch and Rosier personally, but not them. Why?”

“Do you have any complaints about Barty or Evan?” Regulus asks. They’re both back in school
now, and when he saw them briefly before their break was over, they both told Regulus their
meetings with Lucius had gone well.

“None,” Lucius says. “They did brilliantly in Kent. It’s a shame the test wasn’t big enough to
warrant the mark. I tried to push the Dark Lord for it, but you know he’s not easy to sway.”

“Hmm,” Regulus agrees.

Lucius tilts his head towards the small group with Rodolphus again. “I was just wondering about
the others. Why you didn’t tell me you knew them, too.”

“The others are not worth your time,” Regulus says primly. “Mulciber and Avery are brute muscle.
Cannon fodder, as you will. Dolohov is… smart enough to tell his left hand from his right, so only
marginally less embarrassing.”

Lucius laughs, putting a hand on Regulus’ shoulder and squeezing. It takes effort for Regulus not
to snap his wrist.

“Rodolphus can keep them, then,” Lucius says, dropping his hand much to Regulus’ relief. “It
truly was a shame the Dark Lord didn’t accept the stint in Kent. We could have had them marked
by Easter. No matter. I’m sure they’ll be ready for the spring event.”

“They are. I’m hosting them in Grimmauld place when they break out from school to give them
space to prepare. Especially Barty. If his father catches wind of what he’s planning, there’ll be hell
to pay.”

“How did he get away with it for Christmas?” Lucius asks, curious.

“Crouch was barely home. The Ministry was on overdrive preparing for an attack that never
came,” Regulus says. “And Barty’a good at sneaking around. He’s a Slytherin, after all. But I’d
rather keep him away from his family once things really get going. It’s all the same to me. My
Manor is big enough.”

“He’s a brave one,” Lucius comments. “I’m impressed. The son of Bartemius Crouch himself,
joining our ranks. It’s absolutely brilliant.”

“Barty is brilliant,” Regulus confirms. “I knew you’d like him.”

“I do.”

Behind Lucius, the large window on the wall rattles lightly on its hinges a moment before it starts
to rain heavily. A few people look up, the noise borderline thunderous. January has brought storms
of wind, sleet and ice to London. Fortunately, no snow. Regulus doesn’t want it to snow. Not one
flake.

“Why do you not host dinners, Lucius?” Regulus asks him after a pause during which both of them
observe the people gathered in the room. “I’m sick of coming to this musty old castle.”

The unmistakable glimmer of cunning and hunger crosses Lucius’ eyes as he swipes them around
the hall once more before turning them on Regulus again. The collar of his shirt is crisp and stiff,
like it’s been starched. Looks uncomfortable.

“I’ll arrange one,” he says. “But only for the elite. You, of course. The Rosiers. The Fawleys,
absolutely. Your future in-laws are always welcome in my house.”
“You should invite the Greengrasses, and the Rowles and the Notts,” Regulus says, smirking.

Lucius’ eyes flash, cutting him a sideways glance. “The Greengrasses? Bold. I like it.”

“If they can’t get over a broken understanding, they’re not worth our time. But worth testing the
waters,” Regulus says.

Approvingly, Lucius nods as he sips from his drink. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Rabastan Lestrange, too,” Regulus suggests after another moment’s thought. He’s got a bone to
pick with Rabastan, and Regulus isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be alive but in the meantime,
he's a good ally for Lucius to cultivate, Regulus supposes. “He’ll love the opportunity to upstage
his brother.”

“Interesting,” Lucius says. “Where is he tonight?”

“Out. We had word the Order are receiving a shipment of Graphorn horns and he’s been tasked
with intercepting it,” Regulus says casually. Then, because Lucius knows close to nothing about
potion making, he adds, “if they get the horns, they can make an antidote that would negate the
effects of our most recent development.”

“Ah,” Lucius says. “The one you’ve been testing on the girl?”

“Precisely.”

“And they’re making an antidote for it? Specifically?” Lucius asks, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s not a single-use antidote. We have no reason to believe they know about our toxin. Graphorn
horns are used in a general antidote to uncommon poisons. They are probably just being careful.”

They are not just being careful. The Order wishes they were that smart. Now that they are close to
being ready and Riddle has asked Regulus to explore distribution avenues for this poison, Regulus
gave Dorcas very specific instructions, but Lucius doesn’t need to know that.

Regulus still hasn’t figured out how the fuck the Death Eaters found out about the crate of horns.
He and Dorcas were so careful setting it up. Still, they should be long gone by the time Rabastan
makes it there, so no harm done. Regulus will investigate where the tip came from when he’s got
the time.

“Who do they have who’s skilled at potions? I thought most of the good potioners under Slughorn
were Slytherins.”

“I don’t know,” Regulus lies, then wonders why. He doesn’t care about Lily Evans at all. He cares
about very little these days, in fact.

However, Dorcas has told Regulus that the Order’s main potions lab is in Potter Manor, of all
places, and Regulus remembers enough of himself to know he doesn’t want Riddle to attack James’
house.

James.

It was inevitable that they’d run into each other at some point. Especially with how much the
Death Eaters had been complaining about the kid who’s flying circles around all of them. Potter.
The one who should have gone pro in the league but chose to take up arms with the Order instead.
Regulus knew the moment he was asked to fly in Blackburn—someone told Riddle he used to be
the Seeker for Slytherin—that he was going to be going up against James.

It was still shocking.

That was a couple of weeks ago. Regulus should have known that James would recognise him. But
he thought enough time had passed. Thought it wouldn’t matter. That James wouldn’t pay enough
attention. It was clearly a mistake because James recognised him straight away. It almost got him
killed. If it weren’t for Regulus’ freakish shadow magic, James would be dead right now.

It cost him. Breaking James’ fall cost Regulus a chunk of his soul. But he gave it, because even
though he can’t feel it, Regulus remembers enough of himself to know that he once would have
died for the chance to stand in the sun with James. Regulus may not have the ability to have actual
emotions about anything too strongly these days, but he knows with unmoving certainty he doesn’t
want James dead. It’s a driving force behind a lot of the things he’s doing.

For James. For Dorcas. For Sirius.

Completely oblivious to the moment Regulus is having with himself, Lucius sniff with distaste and
says, “Well. Rabastan better intercept that crate.”

A moment later, Rodolphus and Bellatrix urge the guests to step into the dining room. Regulus and
Lucius are not sat near each other. In fact, Regulus is right next to Bellatrix (Elspeth is on his other
side), which is annoying but not surprising. There’s a tug of war for power within Riddle’s ranks.
Lucius on one side. Rodolphus on the other.

Dinner is good food and terrible conversation. All these people can discuss is how much they
despise muggles and muggle borns. It’s grating. And repetitive. Just boring.

Until the doors to the dining room bang open and Severus fucking Snape—who wasn’t invited—
appears drenched in rainwater and splattered with mud.

“What is the meaning of this?” Bellatrix roars, standing up from her chair so aggressively it
tumbles back.

“It was an ambush,” Severus says, panting. “We need reinforcements.”

Fuck.

Regulus stands up immediately. An ambush? He doesn’t like this. This shouldn’t have happened.
The Order were supposed to get the crate with the horns before Rabastan ever made it.

“How many?” Rodolphus asks, also standing. He looks mildly concerned, possibly about his
brother.

“Too many,” Severus snarls, then he looks at Regulus. “Your brother is there.”

Elspeth takes a sharp inhale of breath next to him and Regulus shoots her an annoyed glare.
Immediately, Elspeth regains control of herself. Thank Salazar for that.

Fuck. Genuinely. Sirius is a reckless idiot. He was there in Blackburn, too. Flying with James. It’s
a good thing Regulus is too busy running the potions lab to be asked to go out in the field too often.
He has no doubt he would have run into Sirius a lot if he had. If there’s a commotion, Sirius Black
is there. Possibly causing it himself.

It’s risky, Regulus knows. But no way he’s letting his cousin go deal with this ambush without
him. She’s already licking her lips with excitement. Everyone knows that Bellatrix wants to kill
Sirius Black personally.

So, Regulus smirks, lets violence shine in his eyes, and says, “Elspeth, I trust you and Narcissa can
find your way home on your own. If you excuse me, I’ve got to go kill my brother.”

***

It becomes apparent very quickly that the Order knew a team of Death Eaters was going to show up
to try and intercept their crate of horns and prepared for it. For once, they’re out in force. So
fucking many of them.

They’re on a field, flat and green. In the distance, the lights of a village twinkle in the late dusk
darkness. There’s a small cottage a few hundred feet to the north of the battle, possibly where the
crate was to be delivered, but Regulus doesn’t know. The pick up was Dorcas’ part of the
operation.

The mask sits heavy on Regulus’ face, uncomfortable and hot. Immediately upon apparating to the
scene, Regulus calls up his Legacy magic and shrouds himself in shadows. He needs a moment to
assess the situation.

Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Lucius and Severus do not stop to think. They simply plunge into the fray as
soon as they arrive. Mulciber, Dolohov and Avery join them a few moments later, though it
appears as though Avery has splinched himself so he’s struggling a bit as he charges.

Regulus does a quick scan of the battlefield, looking for familiar faces. He finds Remus first,
standing by the crate of horns and very obviously in charge of protecting it. So far, he’s done a
good job because it’s intact and still right behind him. Dorcas is here, too, which is a problem.
Regulus immediately feels a tug in his belly, like he should be standing between her and the Death
Eater she’s duelling. This is, however, unnecessary because Dorcas takes him down before
Regulus has time to form another thought. An absolute menace, that one. Under the mask, Regulus
finds himself smirking.

He's always liked dangerous people.

Marlene isn’t here, as far as he can see, which is good. One less thing to worry about. And he can’t
find James, either. There’s Pettigrew, running around the battlefield and attacking people from the
back—sneaky bastard—and a girl with black hair and a lip piercing that Regulus has never met
before but kind of likes immediately because she has a dangerous-in-a-fun-way vibe.

And then, there’s Sirius. Sirius is a fucking heathen on the battlefield. He’s fast, and clever, and
ruthless. He moves likes he’s dancing, shooting hexes and curses from the end of his wand so fast
his adversaries barely have any time to react. He takes down two Death Eaters, and when he looks
up, smirking and eyes gleaming, there’s a little circle around him like no one else wants to engage
him directly. No one, except for Bellatrix who goes straight for him.

“Hello, cousin,” Sirius says with a mock smile. “Long time no see.”

And then, they’re fighting.

Pulling back the shadows, Regulus darts into the fray, wand raised and ready. He hits a red-haired
man in the back with a curse that knocks him out immediately, then steps over him towards where
Sirius and Bellatrix are duelling only to be cut off by a tall, burly guy with short, dark hair and blue
eyes. It’s abrupt, and Regulus didn’t see him because he was focused on Sirius and Bella, so he
almost walks straight into his chest.

They’re close, too close to have space for wands. Lucky for him, he’s got other weapons at his
disposal. He’s busy calling up his power to bend the shadows, and, quite frankly, most wizards
don’t resort to physical violence, so Regulus is fucking shocked when the guy simply throws a
punch hard enough that the mask cracks, and Regulus’ nose under it.

“Motherfucker!” Regulus snarls, ripping off the mask so he can wipe off the blood pooling over his
lip.

The man throws another punch, but Regulus is ready for it this time and dodges, taking out the
ceremonial dagger he’s been carrying around. It’s handy to have a weapon that Riddle can’t force
to betray Regulus. He’s very aware of how dangerous Priori incantatem is, and thus takes care to
use his wand to kill sparingly. Only when he’s killing someone Riddle would approve of.

Swiping out in a wide arch, he catches the man’s cheek with the blade, cutting him from his nose to
his hairline. He staggers back, and Regulus gets enough space to use his wand and choke him.
He’ll die for the broken nose. The guy falls to his knees, clearing Regulus’ field of vision of the
rest of the battle.

What he says makes the breath stutter in his lungs. “Fuck,” he says.

He watches as Bellatrix’s curse hits Sirius on the chest, and he stumbles back, directly into Remus’
arms who has abandoned the crate to come to his boyfriend’s rescue. Immediately, Regulus drops
the man, not bothering to wait until he’s dead anymore, and takes off towards Sirius and Remus,
who are so focused on Bellatrix they haven’t seen Rodolphus creeping on them from behind.

Someone slams into Regulus sideways, knocking him off-course. He twirls, wand raised in one
hand, dagger in the other, and comes face to face with Dorcas.

“What the fuck?” she says, then she recognises him and her eyes go wide. “Reg? You’re bleeding!”

“Sirius and Remus,” Regulus hisses. “Go. Now.”

Dorcas looks up, spots Rodolphus about to ambush them, and sprints away. She gets to him just in
time, and then they’re duelling and Remus and Sirius are fighting Bella together. Sirius is hurt, and
he’s getting sloppy, but Remus is glorious. He’s deadly. Murderous. Still hot, Regulus thinks
distantly as he curses someone he doesn’t recognise who was about to seriously hurt Lucius. The
blond man nods in thanks, then turns to carry on with the battle.

The girl with the lip piercing shrieks, catching Regulus attention. She’s got Rabastan pinned to the
ground under her, her wand at his throat, and she’s shouting.

“Where is Sam!? What have you done with her? Give her body back to us!”

“What would you give me in return for her?” Rabastan asks, sneering up at her cruelly despite his
disadvantage.

And Regulus sees in the flash of her eyes that she’s willing to sacrifice something valuable for the
McKinnon girl. Which is not good. Not good at all. But then she hardens, and says, “A painless
death instead of a horrible one.”

Rabastan laughs in her face. “You people never kill anyone. That’s why you’ll never, ever beat us.
You’re all going to die, and I’ll dance on your gra—”
She screams, anguished, and scrambles up, yanking him with her like she doesn’t know what to do
with him. Doesn’t know if she can go through with her threat, even though she wants to. Holding
him up with rather impressive strength, she jabs her wand into his neck, but her hand is shaking.

“You can’t win,” Rabastan teases her, and Regulus realises he’s stalling for time. Rabastan hisses,
“Your reinforcements aren’t coming. What? You thought we didn’t know about your little
airforce?”

His blood runs cold.

Then, he’s searching around him. Someone’s got to have dropped a fucking wand, right?

“What did you do? Where are they?” the girl asks Rabastan, whole body shaking now, looking up
like it’ll conjure her friends from thin air.

“Oh, I didn’t do anything,” Rabastan says. “But my friends? Well…”

Rabastan is laughing. Laughing maniacally like he knows he’s won. And the girl lets him go,
stumbling back with horror on her face. She doesn’t react, too shocked to move when he crouches
down to pick up his wand. Rabastan takes aim, she looks at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The girl’s mouth moves, though no words come out. And Regulus can read the names. The first
two he doesn’t recognise—Edgar and Caradoc. But the second two? He feels them drop like stones
in his stomach.

Marlene.

James.

And well. He did have a score to settle, and what better moment than an ongoing battle? Talk about
making it look like an accident.

The green light hits Rabastan square on the back. He dies laughing.

Immediately, before Rabastan’s body has even hit the grass, Regulus is moving and calling the
shadows to him. He throws the spare wand on the ground, as far as it’ll go, and keeps moving. It’s
a lot of magic very quickly, but he needs to make himself a blur. He can’t get caught. His veins run
black, carrying the Legacy magic and the ability to do what he does next. Shrouded in darkness no
one notices he has even near Rabastan when he was hit.

Then, Regulus crosses the battlefield doing his best to be flashy as he curses any Order members in
range so a few Death Eaters can see him clearly well away from the crime scene and fighting their
enemy.

The girl is shrieking now, and someone has gone to her aid, and she’s muttering that she didn’t
mean to kill him. That’s handy, Regulus thinks. If she takes the blame, he’s off the hook for good.

Regulus reaches the crate, unguarded because Remus is still fighting Bellatrix to protect Sirius, and
takes aim. This is going to suck royally for the Order, but they should have simply taken the crate
and ran. This is what they get for trying to ambush the Death Eaters.

The blast when the crate explodes is so strong it throws everyone off. Bellatrix flies, and so do
Remus and Sirius. Dorcas and Rodolphus. The battle halts momentarily as people stumble to their
feet, disoriented. Regulus taps his ring, focuses on it forcefully.
“Dorcas, get the fuck away from here right now.”

“Marlene’s on her way.”

“She’s not. Get away. I’ll find Marlene and James.”

“Reg—”

“GO AWAY NOW! I can’t find Marlene if I’m protecting you.”

Dorcas apparates with a pop, and it sort of causes a chain reaction where people on both sides
realise the crate is gone, and they’ve no reason to be here anymore, and they start to apparate
away, too.

Groaning, because his ears are ringing from the blast, Regulus focuses on his Legacy magic again
and pulls. Shadows gather, waiting, listening. Regulus pushes the darkness towards the
unconscious forms of Remus and Sirius, manipulating it to become a sort of blanket to cover them
and conceal them from view. Bellatrix is still out cold, too—she was closest to the crate.

Panting from the effort, Regulus throws himself on the ground and drops the shadows covering
him, letting go of a part of the magic to give himself a respite. His body doesn’t like it when he
overuses the darkness. It’s like a poison and the natural response is to want it out.

Still, his hold on it is strong enough that even though he’s not actively bending it, Remus and
Sirius remain concealed. Blinking as he stands to get his bearings, Regulus finds Lucius first.

“Regulus! You alright?” he asks.

Regulus grimaces, struggles to his feet. “Nose is broken. Might have a concussion. You?”

“My hand,” Lucius says, cradling his left arm against his chest. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Are we done?” Regulus asks, looking around.

They watch as Rodolphus gets Bellatrix, and they apparate away together. That’s when Lucius
spots Severus, standing over Rabastan with an ashen face. He’s favouring his left leg considerably,
betraying an injury that they can’t see but is clearly troubling him.

“Shit,” Regulus says as he approaches Severus, adopting an air of distress. “Shit. Fuck. Rabastan.”

“Emmeline Vance,” Severus snarls. “She killed him. I was too late. She got away.”

Lucius swears under his breath. “We need to get out of here. You’re bleeding, Severus. Come to
Malfoy Manor, we have a nurse on staff.”

“I need to alert Rosier and Wilkes first,” he says, wincing as he moves and puts weight on his bad
leg. “They should be in the safehouse in Corse.”

“What the fuck are they doing there?” Regulus asks. “Why weren’t they here? Could have saved
Rabastan’s life.”

Severus takes the bait, turning troubled eyes down towards the corpse of Rabastan Lestrange. “We
knew they had a team coming in by air. Wilkes and Rosier went to intercept them. If they captured
anyone alive, they were to take them to the safehouse and wait for instructions.”

“I’ll go,” Regulus says. “A broken nose is hardly incapacitating. If there’s trouble, I’m the only one
of us who’s in any shape to fight.”

“Meet us in Malfoy Manor when you’re done,” Lucius tells him, nodding his agreement. He looks
at Severus then, “Can you apparate?”

Severus looks mortally offended by this question, and to prove a point, disappears into thin air
without another word. Regulus rolls his eyes, which makes Lucius’ mouth twitch with amusement,
and then the blond man is gone, too and Regulus is alone of a battlefield littered with bodies.

Exhaling sharply, he pulls the shadows off Remus and Sirius, who are coming to and looking
disoriented as fuck. Regulus doesn’t wait around. He’s done what he could for them. His veins
burn as he apparates to the village two hills over. He doesn’t think he’s ever held his control over
the shadows for that long before, and he can feel the havoc it’s wreaking on him.

A piece of him, for every time he uses the magic. A trickle of his self. Of his humanity. His
feelings. Distantly, Regulus is still aware of the fact that it’s happening. Losing himself slowly,
forgetting reasons why he cared about things. About people.

There’s enough of him left still to remember the important bits. He still wants things, but they’re all
self-serving. Pieces of a puzzle he’s solving. A game he’s playing. He feels things, but not the
same way he used to. Like when he looked at his brother tonight and didn’t feel like crumbling.
There was some interest in the way he fought, and some protectiveness that compelled him to keep
him safe. But not the raw and wild despair he remembers feeling on a tower in Hogwarts one night
they spoke of what had been.

Regulus wonders, as he kicks open the door to the safehouse, whether there’ll come a day when he
forgets everything that used to be. What will become of him then?

Something else. Something new. Something powerful, the darkness in him whispers against the
corners of his mind.

Rosier—Evan’s father—whirls around, training his wand on Regulus when he appears in the
threshold of the safehouse. Wilkes isn’t here, which Regulus supposes is a win. One less loose end
to tie up. He’s had to get creative already too much for his liking tonight.

“Black,” Rosier says. “What are you doing here?”

Lowering his wand, Rosier moves towards him and that’s when Regulus sees him. James. He’s on
the floor, kneeling. In his arms, he’s cradling Marlene who appears to be unconscious. But he’s
looking up. Looking at Regulus.

James’ eyes are wide and shocked, but not afraid. Brave as ever. He’s still beautiful, even bruised
and exhausted. Regulus can tell James put up a fight, but he was overpowered in the end.

When he looks at James, there’s a muted ache still in his chest. Regulus knows it used to be sharp,
cutting. It used to draw blood. Now, it’s dulled like a sparring sword. Able to bruise, but not to
slice. It’s fading, though. Every time he uses the Legacy magic it fades a little more. Makes it a
little less hard to carry.

Regulus holds his gaze for another moment before scanning the rest of the space. There’s another
body here, but Regulus can’t tell if the man is out or dead.

“Raid was successful. The crate is destroyed,” Regulus says.

“Right. Well. The Dark Lord wants this one,” Rosier says, kicking James’ on the side like he’s
nothing. A toy. A doll. James grunts, holding Marlene tighter. Of course he would protect her first.
Fucking hero. It’s going to get him killed.

“He’s been giving us trouble all over the country on that fucking broom of his,” Rosier says. “He’s
too good and pureblood. The Dark Lord heard of it. He wants him turned to our side.”

“That’s not happening,” Regulus says softly.

“Well, we’re working a few leads for potential ins. I hear some people are close to cracking,”
Rosier mutters. “Fear makes people do stupid things.”

Regulus narrows his eyes. A spy? James looks like he’s about to be sick, too. Regulus will have to
find them out. Fuck. As if he needs more things to worry about.

“Well, not this one,” he drawls. “Loyalty is James Potter’s middle name.”

“You know him?” Rosier asks.

“Oh, do I know him,” Regulus says, smirking. He glances at James, who’s staring at him like he
doesn’t recognise Regulus. He supposes that is, in part, quite accurate.

It’s difficult to focus when he’s exhausted and having to maintain a conversation with Rosier, but
Regulus has managed to coax the shadows to pool around the Death Eater’s feet without him
noticing it. Crawling up. Keeping him in place without his knowing. Just in case.

“Well, then. If you’re sure he can’t be turned, we kill them,” Rosier says.

“I think, I’d rather say they killed you.”

Regulus plunges the dagger into the side of Rosier’s neck so fast he doesn’t have time to be
confused by what’s happening. James lets out a shocked gasp, mouth falling open. Wiping the
blade on Rosier’s robes, Regulus lets the shadows dissolve. He shouldn’t be using them any more
tonight. His bones are aching and his veins feels like they’re made of sandpaper.

“Regulus?” James asks, looking up at him with a mixture of so many emotions on his face Regulus
has to look away because it’s giving him second hand embarrassment. “Are you… what are you
doing?”

“Shut up,” he snarls, crossing the space to stand near them.

“Shut up? I don’t see you in months and then you’re in fucking Blackburn and flying after Sirius
and holding back and I…” James clears his throat. “And now you… you show up here and save me
from your own people. You kill one of yours like it’s nothing, and you want me to shut up?”

“Yes,” Regulus says, then nudges the man with his boot. “Is he alive?”

“No,” James whispers. “He died. Took down Wilkes with him. Caradoc was his name. Edgar was
killed, too. He fell of his broom. I don’t know where he is.”

“You’re talking too much,” Regulus replies. “Where’s your wand?”

“Rosier had it.”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus goes back to search the body. He finds James’ and Marlene’s wands in
his pocket. With a flick of his own wand, the bindings holding James’ legs in place vanish.
Regulus throws his wand at him, then Marlene’s. James catches both, standing up after gently
setting Marlene down. She’s still unconscious.

“Is she alive?”

“Yes,” James says. “She needs help, but she’s alive. What are you doing, Reg? This doesn’t make
any sense.”

“I made a promise to Dorcas a long time ago,” he replies simply, gesturing to Marlene with his
head. “I’m making good on it. Leave. I need to deal with this.”

By this, Regulus means Rosier’s body. He’s already putting together a good story in his head—a
fight, James and Marlene getting away. Caradoc dying. It can work.

The Death Eaters would never suspect Regulus of using a knife, but he can sell James having one
hidden. He’s a muggle lover, he’ll say. And he knew he’d be disarmed upon capture. Rosier got
careless, and by the time Regulus arrived it was too late. He got Caradoc, but James and Marlene
escaped.

James moves to drag Caradoc’s body, and Regulus tuts. “I can’t let you do that. I need that body.”

“Absolutely not,” James says, appalled. “He deserves a proper burial.”

“You either leave him here, or you don’t leave at all,” Regulus says, stalking closer to James.
Closer, closer, until James has to take a step back.

There was a time when Regulus wouldn’t have been able to crowd James against a wall without his
braincells misfiring. Now, he can appreciate his beauty, and feel how attracted his body is to
James’, but he’s in control. He’s not overwhelmed. Not despairing with want and emotions. It’s
rather refreshing to have regained his ability to function around James, Regulus thinks. He’s
grateful for the darkness coating his insides and muting all the things that would have made this
impossible around this time last year.

“What have they done to you?” James asks, voice low and soft. He’s searching, searching his face,
drinking him in, scanning every detail. James won’t find what he’s looking for, Regulus knows.
“You look different.”

“That’ll be the fact I’m no longer in love with you,” Regulus replies, cold. There’s blood on his
hands and a dead body to tend to. He doesn’t have time for this.

James’ breath hitches, and those hazel eyes of his shutter with a sadness so deep, it makes a trickle
of something pierce through the cage of bones and blood and pain. It catches Regulus by surprise,
and so he lets out a sharp exhale that James feels, because they’re close. So close.

For a long moment, James watches him intently. And he must see something that makes him rally,
because there’s the hint of a smile in the corner of his eye as he says, “I thought you said you never
loved me?”

“I said I wasn’t sure,” Regulus replies deadpan. Then, he shakes his head. “I don’t have time for
this.”

Regulus takes a step back. Pinching his eyes closed briefly, James mutters more to himself than to
Regulus. “Shadows are deceiving.”

“What the fuck are you on about? Did you hit your head?” Regulus asks, blinking.
“You still care.”

“You’re pathetic, James Potter,” Regulus sneers, stepping back again, leaving enough space
between them that James can move sideways to get away. “I’m busy. Leave. Without the corpse.”

“You killed Evan’s dad for me,” James whispers, not moving an inch. “Horrible things, you said.
You told me you didn’t mean it. But I think you did. I think you still do.”

“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Regulus says, twirling the dagger in his hand. “For many reasons.
Rosier was for Dorcas. I need you to take Marlene away. I do not care about you James. I haven’t
for a while.”

“You’re a good liar,” James says. And then he’s pressing forward, taking Regulus by surprise as he
walks right into his personal space and leans in so that his next words ghost over Regulus’ mouth.
“Prove you don’t care. Kiss me and don’t mean it.”

“Salazar’s cape on a pole,” Regulus hisses. “You’re fucking annoying.”

And then James kisses him, and Regulus kisses him back to prove a point.

It’s a mistake. A big one.

James is warm, and Regulus is cold. Their mouths are open, and their tongues are sliding together,
and James tastes like he used to. Familiar. Delicious. Regulus feels every nerve ending firing all at
once. Desire flooding him like he's been dunked in a warm bath. James makes a sound. His teeth
graze Regulus' bottom lip and it's like a needle sliding over a record. A screeching sound that
momentarily drowns out the voices in his head. Silences the darkness until Regulus isn't sure where
to go to find it because he's in James' mouth and that's the only place he wants to be.

And he could. Fuck. He could get lost in this, because his emotions are muted but his body? It’s
desire and want and lust and Regulus could take James apart right here right now.

He wants to.

James’ hands cradle his face, tilting up for a better angle and the kiss deepens and something in
Regulus melts a little bit. In response, the darkness in his veins hisses. Angry.

Stop this at once, it whispers to him. Regulus. You are ours. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Regulus realises with a jolt that the monsters in his head are scared of James. They’re retreating
back into the corners of his mind because there’s heat where they’re touching and it’s gaining
ground. Light to banish shadows.

Letting go would be so easy. Right here, in James. With James. The sun that he snuffed out but is
still somehow shining, warm and powerful, and so beautiful it makes Regulus release a soft sigh
into his mouth. James eats it, kisses him deeper.

Regulus has no idea what would happen to the darkness if James tried to scorch it away. It’d
probably hurt like hell. Regulus can feel it fighting back. Clinging to him, refusing to give ground.

For the span of a kiss, Regulus stands on the edge. Shadows and light. Ice and fire. There’s cold
and there’s warmth and Regulus is caught in the middle as the essence of himself tries to surface
from where the darkness of his Legacy has trapped it.

But Regulus can’t entertain this. Can’t risk re-igniting the sun. Because Lucius is waiting for him.
 Because he has much to do. People to kill. Horcruxes to find. There’s a war and people are dying
and Regulus has sacrificed too much to throw it all away now. He’s going to rise and he’s going to
kill the people on his list. Vengeance and power and glory. Blood and bones in the name of
retribution. Regulus is going to end Tom Riddle. End the war.

And for that, he needs his powers intact. Which means James has to stay far, far, far, away.

The blade slides in so cleanly James doesn’t even feel it at first. Regulus knows this because
they’re still kissing, tongues curled together. James’ hands are in his hair, tugging a little, and
Regulus likes it so much there’s a pang of regret when they fall away.

“What—” James staggers back, breaking the kiss, looking down. Blood pools over his shirt. “What
the—”

“By my estimates, you have ten minutes before the blood loss becomes fatal,” Regulus says,
wiping the bloodied dagger on the leg of his trousers. “Get out. And take Marlene with you.”

"You stabbed me?"

"I told you to get out."

This time, James doesn’t argue. He stumbles around, pulling Marlene up with a grunt. The effort
makes blood bubble from his wound, falling to the floor. And then James is staggering out the
door, far enough that the wards will let him apparate.

Regulus watches him the entire time. James vanishes into thin air with Marlene in tow, a hand
pressed over his abdomen, blood leaking through his fingers. Before he goes, he looks at Regulus
one more time, a promise or a threat, Regulus doesn’t know.

Chapter End Notes

I am once again not even sure where to start

Sirius' POV!? That moment with Effie!? MY HEART BE STILL Also, I know
you're all going to come at Sirius for being a bad friend to Pete. He's aware. He knows
he's awful. He's allowed. I'm a Sirius Black stan and I support his rights and his
wrongs. Actually, scratch that. He can do no wrong

WOLFSTAR They're having a bit of a rough time and it kills me. Sirius is so
worried about Remus and the wolves. UGH. This will be explored more in coming
chapters

Alright, then. ELSPETH FAWLEY!? Ma'am you've got some audacity trying to drug
Regulus Mithridatism Black like that. But he's so unhinged he thought that was kinda
cool? HE'S SO INSANE! But he has a new ally! I love the Elspeth storyline, ngl. She's
quite helpful to have around. I just love women who know what they want and aren't
afraid to go get it

James... James. James. James. Stop sleeping with Gideon for the love of all that is holy

Also, he's so confused? My baby doesn't know what's what and he's so sad about the
whole thing and so worried about running into Reg again? UGH

Regulus & Sam? He's so lonely. It's so sad. He can't fully feel it but there's like an
echo inside of him and he's like... mmm it's Christmas why do I want to be with
someone who isn't awful? Let's go visit my prisoner. And Sam is CONFUSED

OKAY. And then. WHAT DO I EVEN SAY ABOUT THE FINAL SCENE OF THIS
CHAPTER SO MUCH HAPPENED!? Gideon breaking Reg's nose!? HELP I
guarantee if Regulus knew Gideon has been sleeping with James he wouldn't have
been so quick to abandon him in favour of going to help Sirius.

WE GOT A MICRO INTERACTION BETWEEN DORCAS AND REG

Rabastan got what was coming to him. Regulus is just so quick on his feet? Like.
Finding someone else's wand? Then being all flashy so he's seen elsewhere and
nobody thinks to link him to Rabastan's death!? HE'S SO SMART

Reg saved Sirius and Remus (!)

Also. I mean. Jegulus kiss It was so interesting to write that because up until now
Regulus has had the funnniest, most distressed inner monologue when he's that close
to James and now he... was just chill? And it was such a strange experience writing it
but also made it so interesting to me AND THEN HE STABBED HIM. PLS I am
UNWELL

I hope you liked this chapter - it's a long one and a lot happens Also, things that
aren't addressed here will be addressed in coming chapters, too. There's more
exploration of James' confusion, and reactions to the kiss & the stabbing, etc. etc. etc. I
just can't fit everything into a single chapter so just because something isn't shown
immediately doesn't mean it's forgotten or won't be addressed in due course

See you in the comments section to scream together

 Secrets
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

I absolutely ADORED reading all the comments in the previous chapter. It was a wild
one Thank you so much for your love and support for this story, means the world

TWs for this chapter:

Depictions of injuries (including the stabbing!)
Blood
Discussions about the war / victims of war
Vague references to a future terrorist attack (Death Eaters)
References to bigotry
References to suicide in the context of a mission someone is accepting being very
dangerous and their friends asking them to reconsider doing it

I think that's it? I'm squinting at the TW list suspiciously but this chapter is much
lighter on the violence so I think that covers it!
There's some angst here in various POVs - people are going through it. I don't think it's
too heavy but I do have a high tolerance for pain so do take care of yourselves

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

St. Mungo’s hospital is, quite possibly, the only neutral ground in all of Britain. The reason for this
is simple: Voldemort has ambitions to become some sort of ruler and he needs popular support. Not
even the purebloods would stand for the decimation of their main hospital.

It’s why, despite the climate of unrest, the fear, the paranoia that generally plagues all Order
members, James feels safe to apparate here directly, stumbling into the arms of a surprised nurse in
training who yelps as James shoves Marlene at him.

“Help her,” he says, stepping back. He sounds a little deranged, but he suspects the nurses are used
to it. They do, after all, deal with magical medical emergencies. Not a job for the faint of heart.

“You’re bleeding!” the nurse exclaims, but he’s lifting Marlene up in his arms. “I’ll find someone
to help you.”

He’s correct that James is bleeding, and he’s doing so quite profusely. However, James is also
fucking confused and that seems, for whatever reason, much more pressing at the moment.

Regulus saved his life. Regulus kissed (!) him. Regulus stabbed (!) him. Regulus let him go.

It doesn’t make sense.

Doesn’t it really? Or are you just desperate enough that you’re grasping at straws?
It’s the voice in the back of his head. The one that latched onto the last piece of James’ broken
heart and has been whispering to him to get in bed with every person who wants him. Because
being wanted for a few hours is better than nothing, and nothing is all they going to get for the rest
of their days. It’s all they’re good for.

Doesn’t it make sense? It whispers now. If you take what he told you at face value. That he wanted
power and glory, but that he also wanted you alive. He cared, to some extent, and as a courtesy
he’s letting you live. No more. No less.

Staggering on his feet and dizzy from blood loss, James tries his best to straighten his thoughts.
Did Regulus really hold back in Blackburn? Or was James just… hoping for it? Did Regulus save
him today or was he just honouring whatever promise he made Dorcas? What does it mean if he
did? What does it mean if he didn’t?

“I don’t understand,” James whispers to himself, desperate. He’s pressed the tips of his fingers
against his mouth, like he can hold the feeling of that kiss against them if he tries hard enough.

Even the way he kissed was different. And that… fuck. Regulus used to speak to James with his
body. The things he couldn’t say with words, he’d tell him in lips and tongue and teeth. And that
kiss was… it was unreadable. It was Regulus, but not. Desire and lust and mild desperation laced
with spite and anger and bitterness.

It was as confusing as the rest of it, but no less mind-blowing for it. And James should hate
himself. He does, at least a little bit. How can he not? Regulus killed someone right there in front of
him and James still couldn’t resist the urge to bait him into a kiss.

He tasted like smoke and lavender. Like blood and heartbreak. James would have kissed him to the
end of his days right there, next to the aftermath of war and violence. He would probably still be
there, kissing Regulus with every fibre of his being, if he hadn’t stabbed him.

Honestly. It’s not that James finds it… hot. He doesn’t. He can’t. Because it was violent and James
is slowly bleeding out so definitely less than ideal. But it was… so strangely intimate? James didn’t
even feel the blade go in at first. How is that even possible? What the fuck is wrong with James
that he was stabbed and all he can think about is the man who did it and how lovely he looked?

James’ mind is going to explode. Regulus is the most infuriatingly confusing person he’s ever met.

Why?

Why did Regulus kiss him back?

Why did Regulus stab him?

Why did Regulus kill one of his own to save them?

Why did Regulus simply let James and Marlene go?

Too many questions and zero answers. James’ head is hurting now, though that could be the blood
loss. James supposes that Regulus can perfectly well support Voldemort for his own selfish
reasons while simultaneously wanting to keep James and Marlene alive.

People are never all white or all black. There are grey areas, right? So, it could be that he’s just…
acting on some lingering moral code stemming from the fact that they used to be important to each
other. It’s not like Regulus has pretended he never cared for James. He said it, clearly and proudly.
Regulus did care. He just didn’t care enough.
Or did he?

Does it matter?

It was clear that Regulus let them go for Dorcas first and foremost. Regulus loves Dorcas. His best
friend. He’s sacrificed things for her before. James wonders if he’d been alone in that safehouse
whether Regulus would have saved him at all. If he hadn’t needed James to carry an unconscious
Marlene to safety, would he had stabbed him deeper? Harder? Straight into the heart?

“Hello? Oh, Salazar. James? Are you alright?”

“I’ve been stabbed,” he says to the girl that appears in his field of vision. She feels familiar, but he
can’t see her properly. He’s feeling rather dizzy. “But he kissed me, too, and I don’t know what
that means.”

James collapses onto the arms of the extremely bewildered woman and passes out.

####

Interlude: Dorcas POV

Regulus stabbed James.

Dorcas cannot fucking believe it. She knows why he did it, because of course James would find a
way to coax a kiss out of Regulus fucking Black when he’s covered in the blood of their enemies
and there’s a dead body next to them. Two, from what she’s gathered. Honestly, James needs
professional help.

So. Alright. Regulus had to do it, to push James away before he got any ideas in his head. But still.

Stabbing him? A little extreme.

The healer that Dorcas took James to was surprised to note that the blade didn’t hit any organs. A
perfect cut, in and out, drawing blood but causing very little actual damage. She told James he was
very lucky. Dorcas knows better.

It’s the day after the botched mission and she’s in the Order safehouse for the debrief, waiting for
Alastor and Dumbledore to arrive. For once, the old man is showing up, too. This was his cock-up.

If they’d stuck to the original plan—get the crate and run—they wouldn’t have lost Caradoc
Dearborne or Edgar Bones. Gideon’s face wouldn’t be scarred. Fabian wouldn’t have a concussion
that will keep him out of action for days. Sirius took a curse from Bellatrix that very nearly cost
him a lung. The healers managed to save it at the last minute, and yes, he’ll be good as new now,
but he could have not been.

And they lost the crate. Regulus blew it up.

Marlene is still in the hospital, same as Sirius and James. The fight with Rosier when they got
caught was pretty brutal, James said, and Marlene got hit by a series of hexes that ended up
messing her up on the inside so it took the healers a good while to heal her. Marlene was still
unconscious when Dorcas had to leave. She would have stayed, but too many people who
participated in the ambush are out of commission. Dorcas had no choice but to come.

Remus is here, talking to Emmeline and Peter. Mary is by herself on a chair, looking as exhausted
as Dorcas feels. Emmeline looks a little haunted, but Dorcas hasn’t had time to go talk to her about
it. Aside from Marlene, she’s the one who’s struggled most with Sam’s disappearance.

The patronus lands in the middle of the room, startling them with the booming voice of Alastor
Moody, who announces they’re ten minutes out.

Rolling her eyes, Dorcas lets her head fall back against the wall and pretends she’s taking a quick
power nap as she digs into herself and finds her bond to Regulus, established through the magic
rings.

“Regulus? Can you talk?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you? Are you safe?”

“Grimmauld Place. Day off. I’m a hero, didn’t you hear? Blew up your crate.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

A pause, and then through the bond she feels fury pulsing ice-cold and throbbing as Regulus snarls
in her head.

“What the fuck, Dorcas? What the fuck was that?” and it hits her that Regulus is not happy. Oh
fuck. Well. He has a right to be angry, but still. It’s not Dorcas’ fault, is it?

“Moody decided to go on the offensive. What was I supposed to do? Tell them you told me to take
the crate and run?”

Uncomfortable moment of silence while she can picture Regulus’ face perfectly as he begrudgingly
accepts that he can’t very well expect Dorcas to keep everything secret and then tell her off for
doing exactly that.

“Something doesn’t add up. How did Moody know the Death Eaters had caught wind of the crate
delivery?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t confide in me.”

“The whole thing was a mess. And Rosier suggested they’re close to cracking someone in the
Order. You might soon have a spy, if you don’t already.”

Dorcas’ heart drops. “What?”

“He could have been bragging. I haven’t heard anything about it yet, but you have to be careful
just in case.”

“Fuck. Reg. Do you really think there could be a traitor?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. Fear is a powerful motivator.”

This is bad. Very bad. Who the fuck would betray these people? Dorcas looks around the room,
hating the way her eyes linger on pretty much everyone. They’re all so scared. So exhausted. It
could be anyone.

Well. Anyone but James, Sirius and Remus. Obviously not Marlene, either. Or Emmeline Vance.
Dorcas would bet her right hand they’re loyal. The rest of the Order? Who knows.
Shaking these thoughts—for now—she turns back to her conversation with Regulus. “James told
me Rosier is dead.”

“He is.”

“And Evan?”

“Haven’t seen him yet. I was at Rabastan’s funeral this morning. Rosier’s funeral is tomorrow.
Evan will be alright. He thinks it was James in self-defence,” Regulus tells her. “Everyone does.
No one suspects a thing.”

“Thank you,” Dorcas projects into his mind with as much feeling as she can. “Thank you for
saving Marlene. Thank you.”

“You have to be more careful.”

“I know. But people are getting desperate. We’re not making much progress. Moody just wanted a
win.”

“How many fucking people did his win cost him? And you don’t have the horns now. Fuck. The
poison is lethal.”

“Are you sure?”

“I made it. Of course, I’m sure.” The mental equivalent of a weary sigh, and then, “What did…
James. James knows it was me.”

“He hasn’t told anyone. Only me. He’s confused and distressed. You fucking stabbed him, Reg.”

“He’s fine, isn’t he? Stop fussing. You need to convince him not to tell anyone. If it leaks that I did
that, I’m dead, and so are all of you.”

“You could have obliviated him!”

“There was no time.”

“Should I do it? I’m pretty sure I’m good enough—”

“No. No one is messing with James’ memories. Convince him to keep his mouth shut but do not
mess with his head.”

Dorcas sighs. She gets it. Tampering with memories is so dangerous. One wrong move and James
could forget all about Regulus. He’ll never admit it, but Dorcas knows that’s why he didn’t attempt
it. Regulus doesn’t want to risk James forgetting him completely. And she can’t blame him. If she
were in his shoes, she would feel the same.

“Alright. I’ll talk to him. No one is obliviating anyone, don’t worry. How’s… your plan going?”

“Slower than I want it to, but moving nonetheless. Those files you found on the Gaunts are helpful.
I’m not expected at the Manor today, so I should have time to make progress.” There’s a pause,
then Regulus speaks again. “I saw Sirius get hit.”

“He’s fine. Everyone’s fine, except for Caradoc and Edgar. Both dead. Well, and Gideon’s face
will be scarred but that’s—”

“Oh, he survived? I wasn’t sure,” Regulus thinks casually.

“What?”

“He broke my nose.”

“Oh.” And strangely, she thinks that Gideon is so fucking lucky to be alive after hurting Regulus.
And then, hilariously, that if Regulus knew Gideon has been sleeping with James he wouldn’t have
taken any chances and Gideon would be dead for sure.

He might be the luckiest man alive.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Dorcas almost smacks herself. She’s not as good as Regulus is at keeping the thoughts
she means to send to him separate from the ones she doesn’t. That could have been catastrophic.
“How’s Sam? She’s been in your basement for months, Reg. Please, tell me—”

“She’s still alive.”

“Regulus.”

“She’s fine. A pain in the ass. Hisses like a feral animal every time I go to her cell.”

“She’s in a cell?”

“Where the fuck did you want me to put her?”

“Three months!”

“If you want her alive, she’s got to be in a cell.”

“Right.” Dorcas tries to calm herself. Regulus is doing what he can for Sam. She’s alive. She’s
safe. Her comfort levels are not a priority, Dorcas supposes.

“Where are you now?” Regulus asks.

“I’m at the debrief. They’ll give us further instructions for what comes next. I’ll contact you
tonight or tomorrow and let you know what’s happening.”

“You need to make them understand they have to prioritise getting some of those horns, Dorcas.
We’re planning an attack as soon as spring comes. Big one. Anyone who goes to deal with it will
die unless you have the antidote. So, either you make sure you don’t go, or you find horns.”

“I’ll do my best. Moody and Dumbledore are here now.”

The connection goes dead, and Dorcas is alone in her head again. Regulus is right. They should
have never tried to ambush the Death Eaters. And if people die because of that poison, that’s on
Alastor and not on Regulus for brewing it. Well. On Alastor and the spy, if it’s true there is one.

Fuck.

Exhausted. Dorcas is knackered. Her fingers curl around her wrist, where her unbreakable vow sits
and she lets out a long sigh. She doesn’t regret it, but she wishes it wasn’t quite so hard. It’s a
constant battle every time she has to bite her tongue. Measure her words. A part of her feels like a
traitor, even though all she does is to help. To save lives.

And this is what she signed up for. She signed up for helping Regulus, not the other way around
even though he’s been really good at giving her heads up on most things. He doesn’t have to, but he
still looks out for them. His intel has helped Dorcas save Order members so often they should give
Regulus a fucking medal.

Rubbing her temples with her fingers, Dorcas does her level best to calm herself down. She has to
focus on the positives. She knows she’s been helping. Her access to Order records and Ministry
rooms when she’s assigned for guard duties are invaluable. She’s been doing some research for
Regulus and sending him what she finds, which Regulus says has been crucial for his progress.

Only last week she dug up an address record for some Gaunt person from the Ministry archives
during a guard patrol she was assigned for some dignitary or other. For what, Dorcas doesn’t know.
Regulus doesn’t share details, which is just as well.

But still. She’s helping him, which is good, she supposes, except in the meantime she’s stuck here
trying her best to keep as many people out of harm’s way as possible without being able to tell
them how she knows or why she knows.

Like the secret about Sam.

It’s tearing her up from the inside. Marlene is so sad all the time. A shell of her usual self. Taking
reckless risks like nothing matters anymore. And Dorcas wishes she could tell her Sam is fine.
Safe. Regulus has her, and that’s the safest place for anyone to be. Because Regulus is many things,
but above all he’s protective. And Dorcas made sure he knew how important Sam is. She has no
doubt no one will touch a hair on her head.

She just wishes she could tell Marlene.

The debrief is chaos. Everyone shouts, and points fingers, and blames each other. Moody
admonishes Emmeline for killing someone—Dorcas knows it to be Rabastan Lestrange—but she
simply shakes her head and says she doesn’t remember it clearly. She’s not sure if she killed him,
or someone else, or if it was a stray curse across the battlefield.

Dorcas learns that Moody knew the Death Eaters had found out about the crate through Alice
Longbottom, who overheard Rabastan himself at the Ministry while he was doing some errand or
other. How the Death Eaters knew about the crate isn’t addressed, which only makes Dorcas more
worried. Does Moody suspect a traitor?

It takes far too long for people to calm down and Moody does take responsibility for the fiasco, but
he does remind them that Lestrange, Wilkes, Rosier and Avery are all dead. Dorcas has no idea
who killed Avery. It seems no one does. The battle was pandemonium. For all they know, he could
have been hit by accident.

What matters is that the four dead Death Eaters were all close enough to Voldemort to be marked,
so it’s a win. Taking out four of theirs is a win. Dorcas winces when she hears Moody emphasize
that because Rabastan and Avery were her age. Way too fucking young.

She doesn’t participate of the debrief except to confirm that she saw Bellatrix duelling Sirius and
Remus—Bellatrix never wears a mask—and that Regulus Black was seen destroying their cargo.

For the rest of it, Dorcas simply sits and listens. When it’s over she gets up. There’s no new
information. At least not shared with everyone. Dorcas walks over to Remus because they’re
supposed to go to the hospital together to get their better halves and James. Lily is making a hearty
dinner at Potter Manor with Effie for everyone to get together. It’s a sort of tradition now, after
close calls.
“Remus? Let’s go,” Dorcas says to Remus.

Emmeline looks up from her chair and gives Dorcas a little nod as Remus gets to his feet, groaning
like a grandpa. Frowning, Dorcas looks him over quickly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Remus says, shrugging it off. “Bad joints.”

“You’re eighteen. You’re not supposed to have bad joints yet,” Dorcas remarks, frowning.

“I’m just an unlucky bastard,” Remus replies, with a self-deprecating smirk that would make
Regulus jealous.

“We’re off to the hospital. Are you sure you don’t want to come by for dinner, Em?” Dorcas asks
Emmeline.

She shakes her head, her black hair swishing around from her ponytail. “Nah.” She bites her lip
ring. “I’m going to spend the night with mum.”

Dorcas and Remus exchange a glance, but don’t comment. Manon is still in a sort of weird magical
coma, so completely unresponsive. Even though she hasn’t shown any signs of improvement in
months, Emmeline spends the night sitting next to her bed every now and then. More since Sam
went missing.

“Alright. See you around.”

They’re almost at the door, Remus sliding his pack of cigarettes from his pocket to have one before
they get to the hospital, when Moody barks, “Lupin! A word.”

“What did you do?” Dorcas whispers, shooting Remus a sideways glance.

Judging by the deep scowl scrunching his entire face with confusion, Remus has no idea. Honestly,
Moody should know better. He should give them a day, considering the hell they just went through
because of his stupidity. If Regulus hadn’t secretly been on their side, they could all be dead.

Dorcas can’t tell him this, of course, but she wishes she could. One day, she hopes she will.

“Wait for me?” Remus asks.

Dorcas nods. She waits. And waits. Everyone files out eventually, one by one. Dorcas waits.
Remus is still in the room with Moody and Dumbledore.

When there’s no one left in the safe house, Dorcas gets fed up with waiting and tiptoes over to the
door of the room. Technically, there should be no additional wards here since the whole place is
heavily protected and only the people directly keyed into the wards can find it. So, Dorcas hopes
her little eavesdropping spell—courtesy of one mischievous Sirius Black—works.

To her delight, it does.

“We’re going around in circles,” Remus is saying. “It’s a bad idea. They will never believe me.”

“We have to try,” Moody insists. There’s a loud bang that Dorcas suspects are his hands slamming
the table. “Damn it, kid. You could be our edge. Our secret weapon. The push we need to get out of
this stalemate.”

“I’m not saying no,” Remus says bitterly. “I’m just saying not yet. I’ve only been out with them
twice, and they’re not even one of the loyal packs. They’re considered friendlies, but they don’t
have direct contact with the Death Eaters.”

“We want to send you to a different pack this time,” Moody says.

“They’ll kill me. They won’t believe I’ve switched sides.”

“We don’t know that!” Moody explodes. “The only way to know is to try.”

“I could die,” Remus deadpans. “And y’know, I’d rather not. So, forgive me if I’m not too keen on
going on a suicide mission on my own with no backup and no way of getting out if things go
south.”

“What if—” Dumbledore says. He speaks quietly, calmly. But both Moody and Remus stop their
arguing to listen. “What if you claim to be tired of the bigotry? Everyone knows werewolves aren’t
treated very well. I wish things weren’t so, but they are. Perhaps we can use that to our advantage.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Death Eaters don’t have to know the rest of the Order is unaware of your condition. You
could convincingly argue that you’ve been found out and that you’re discriminated against. It
wouldn’t be too difficult to sell that you are tired of it.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Remus says in a tone that makes Dorcas thinks he has zero respect for
these two people right about now. “Voldemort isn’t an idiot. He’s not going to believe it.”

“No. He’s not an idiot. But,” Dumbledore continues, calm and measured. It’s why he’s a good
leader, Dorcas thinks. He’s got his faults, and she personally doesn’t trust him as far as she can
throw him, but he’s wise and level-headed. Dorcas supposes those are things you want when
you’ve got to use people like chess pieces on a board. “Wolves are pack creatures. Are they not?”

“We’re supposed to be.”

It is at this point that Dorcas’ brain fits the pieces together and she realises, all of a sudden and
rather violently, that Remus Lupin is a werewolf. Salazar’s beard on fire. That’s why Remus has all
those scars. That’s where he goes when he randomly disappears every month. Fuck, she thinks with
a shrill of amusement, it even explains his ‘bad joints’.

“Voldemort tends to underestimate those he thinks are beneath him,” Dumbledore says. “He won’t
know enough about packs and bonds between wolves to understand what’s real. You can long for a
pack, Remus. It’s natural. And if you sell it well that you have been mistreated here… I think it
could work.”

“We have to try,” Moody insists. He’s more aggressive in his approach than Dumbledore.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus asks, “What exactly is your plan?”

“Infiltrate them. Join them. Don’t come back after the moon. See if you can gain their trust more
fully,” Moody explains. “Don’t rush it. Don’t take unnecessary risks. You don’t even have to
contact us until you’re certain it’s safe. Take however long you think you need to take for it to
believable.”

“That could be long,” Remus says. “Too long.”

“It’s the best we’ve got. And we don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t care how long it takes. A war
isn’t won in a day, Remus. And even though it might not always come across that way, I do want to
keep everyone safe as much as possible. So, you do what you have to. Take your time. We trust
you,” Dumbledore says firmly.

“We need an in, Remus. They’re always a step ahead. We need to level the playing field,” Moody
says.

There’s a long, drawn out pause that makes Dorcas bite her lip. She knows what Remus is going to
say. Remus is always keen to prove himself. He’s a marauder, he says. Like James and Sirius and
Peter. First out, last in. They’re all recklessly brave. True Gryffindors, Dorcas supposes. Marlene’s
a little bit like that, even if she has better self-preservation instincts.

“Okay,” Remus says, confirming Dorcas’ suspicions. “I’ll do it.”

****

Marlene’s smile could power up entire cities, Dorcas thinks. It’s the most beautiful smile in the
entire world. Her eyes squint and turn upwards, the apples of her cheeks become full, and her lips
part to show her teeth. Marlene says her smile is too big. Dorcas thinks there’s no such thing.

Jumping up from her chair in the waiting room of St. Mungo’s hospital, Marlene rushes to greet
Dorcas, and Dorcas genuinely feels like she’s melting into a puddle the moment her arms close
around her neck.

“Hi,” Marlene says against her mouth.

“Don’t do that again,” Dorcas says savagely. “Don’t fucking scare me like that again. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Dorcas pulls away so she can stare into Marlene’s eyes. She was unconscious for a whole day. The
healers told Dorcas and Marlene’s parents she’d be alright, just needed to recover from her injuries,
but it was hands down the worst twenty-four hours of Dorcas’ life.

“I love you so fucking much, Marlene,” Dorcas says fiercely.

They kiss, and Dorcas’ hand slides into Marlene’s hair. Her fingers graze a small bump, and
Marlene winces. Dorcas pulls away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Marlene says, going in for another kiss. “I’m not.”

Hands firmly on Marlene’s waist this time, Dorcas kisses her girlfriend with need born of relief and
fear. Relief because she’s here. Whole. Healthy and alive when so many others are not. Fear
because Marlene will go back out on a mission too soon. Again. And again. And Dorcas has an
edge no one else has, but that doesn’t guarantee Marlene’s safety. Regulus can only do so much.

Remus, Sirius and James are whispering to each other in the corner of the room, and Dorcas is very
happy to continue ignoring them until Sirius clears his throat and says, “Dorcas. We need to talk.”

Groaning, she puts a hand over Marlene’s shoulders and tugs her in closer against her chest. “Not
here, surely?”

“No,” James says. He looks haggard. “Let’s go. We’ll talk over dinner.”

“Can you apparate?” Dorcas asks Marlene as they walk behind the boys out of the hospital. She’s
still tucked against the side of Dorcas’ body.
Blinking against the chilly air of January, Marlene nods. “I’m fine now. Back to full health. See
you at the Potters in a second.”

A quick kiss and a spell later, they’re all in the Potter’s dining room. Lily is fussing, which is not
entirely unexpected. She’s close to Sirius and James and they were both injured. Not to mention
Lily has been one of Marlene’s best friends for years. Dorcas knows that Lily hates being the one
who stays behind every time. It’s not that she particularly wants to risk her own life, but she feels
guilty that she’s safe when the people she loves are not.

And yet, Lily’s potions have already saved lives and helped the Order in more ways than they can
count. Moody continues to call her his best asset, much to Lily’s dismay whenever she can get
away from the cauldrons to join meetings. It doesn’t happen often. Lily is pretty much the only
good potioner they have.

Effie hugs James when he walks in, then ushers them into the dining room. Peter and Mary are
here already, sitting at the table with Monty, who is surprisingly out of his study for once, dark
purple rings under his eyes betraying how overworked he is.

Rosly comes out to ask Effie something, and when she’s distracted, James walks back out, giving
Dorcas a pointed look.

“Dorcas,” James says. “Can you come here for a second?”

Marlene frowns as she sits at the table next to Monty, but Dorcas gives her a reassuring smile. “I’ll
be right back.”

There’s unease in her eyes, but she doesn’t argue. Marlene trusts Dorcas, and sometimes Dorcas
wonders if she’s worthy of it. Her girlfriend has no idea she has signed her life away to one
Regulus Black. If he doesn’t come back from where he’s going… Dorcas will die. She’s certain
Marlene would hate her for it if she knew.

Remus, Sirius and James are waiting for her in the entrance hall. Wishing she didn’t have to do
this, Dorcas steps close to them.

“What is the deal with Regulus?” James asks without preamble.

Dorcas meets his eyes head on. “There’s no deal. He’s a Death Eater, but he was my best friend for
years. He knows Marlene is all I’ve got left.”

“So, you haven’t been in contact with him at all?” Remus asks, scowling. “Since school?”

“Not once,” Dorcas replies confidently. “But that… I mean. I still care about him. And he cares
about me. He didn’t want us to stop being friends just because he got marked. It was me who said I
couldn’t stand it.”

“Moody wants to talk to me,” James tells her carefully, measuredly. “He wants to hear what
happened in the safehouse directly from me.”

Fuck. She was expecting this, but still. It’s a risk she’s going to have to take because fucking
Moody couldn’t pass up on the chance to try to ambush the Death Eaters. Bloody men in charge.
Genuinely. They’re so aggravating.

“What are you asking me, James?”

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t tell Moody everything that happened?” James asks.
And Dorcas bites her lip and looks at James with the most innocent eyes she can make. “Do you
want him to know everything that happened?”

James looks away. Clears his throat. Perhaps he doesn’t remember confessing to Dorcas in his
frantic state while he was bleeding out that he kissed Reg. But he did. And Dorcas isn’t above
using it.

“Dorcas…”

“Don’t tell him it was Reg. James, please. Don’t tell Moody the truth. Don’t tell him he was there.”

“What?” Sirius snarls, speaking for the first time. He looks haunted. “Not tell him at all? Why?”

“They’ll kill him. If they find out he killed one of theirs… or that he let Marlene go for me…”
Dorcas swallows, tries her best to look distressed and worried and sad. “They’ll kill him. He
shouldn’t have helped you, but he did anyway. If you tell Moody that you didn’t kill Rosier, there’s
a good chance it’ll leak. Voldemort will kill Regulus for it.”

“Fuck,” James says, shoving his hands in his hair and pulling it back in a way that stretches the
skin of his face comically. “Fuck.”

“Please, James,” Dorcas says. “It’ll be the death of him.”

There’s a tense pause. And then Sirius breathes, “Alright. Don’t tell Moody. Don’t. Dorcas is right.
That’s how they think. If they believe even for a second Regg—that he’s not all in, they’ll kill
him.”

“Is he not all in?” Remus asks, slightly aggressively. “Just because he saved his best friend’s
girlfriend in a one off random act of kindness doesn’t mean he’s good. He stabbed James, for
fuck’s sake! Blew up that crate right next to us. It’s a miracle we didn’t die from it.”

“I’m not asking you to protect him because he’s good,” Dorcas says furiously. “If he were, I’d still
be his best friend. I’m asking you because even though he’s not, I still love him. I don’t want him
dead. Can you understand that?”

She sees her words land. How Sirius and Remus look at each other. Dorcas knows. She can see it in
their eyes. Remus would love Sirius into darkness, and Sirius… well. Sirius loves Remus even
though he’s a werewolf. They know what it’s like to overlook someone else’s ugliness out of love.

And she sees how James winces with his entire body. Dorcas has the sneaking suspicion that James
hasn’t told anyone else about the fact that he kissed Regulus. He’s kept that from his friends and
she understands why, too. She’s certain Sirius would lose his shit over it.

“Alright,” James says. “We won’t tell.”

Dorcas lets out a shuddering breath, closing her eyes for a long moment. “Thank you,” she
whispers, and her fingers curl around her wrist where the vow sits.

####

Moments of quiet are few and far between these days. James understands why. He’s not
complaining. But he misses the feeling of standing alone in a quidditch changing room,
methodically going through the routine of putting on his gear and running that days’ practice
session in his head.
It’s been months since he has played. He misses that, too. Flying to catch a quaffle and score a goal
instead of flying to provide air cover and fight off enemies. Misses the thrill of the crowd clapping
and cheering for him.

He steps into a puddle—it’s been raining cats and dogs for three days straight—and swears under
his breath. The water seeps into his shoe, soaking his sock, and James is thrown back to an after
game mistake in a shower. His gut clenches. The back of his eyes sting. Shaking his head to dispel
the memory, he glances around to make sure he’s alone on this small road and casts a drying spell.

The water evaporates but the memory stays. It clings to the insides of his chest like tar. Coating the
walls of his ribcage and making him feel like his heart is wading through mud. Every little thought
he has, every memory that assaults him feels like that these days. Since Regulus kissed him, then
stabbed him.

Absently, James touches the small scar on his ribs. It’s pathetic, he knows. The nurse could have
made it so there was no scar at all. But James wanted it. The reminder. Regulus doesn’t love him.
He probably never did. And if they run into each other again, it’s likely Regulus won’t hesitate to
kill him.

And yet, impossibly, James still loves him.

He remembers it well, the moment when Regulus walked into the safe house where he was
prisoner. The way his heart, all the pieces of it, rattled in his chest. How he thought ‘I’m going to
be fine’ simply because Regulus was there. There was blood on his face, and his nose was crooked
—which James learnt later from a very proud Gideon had been his fault—and yet James had
thought he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

After months of not seeing each other. No contact. Nothing. Months of sleeping around. Of
pretending he was okay. Days and nights shoving his feelings to the back of his mind and doing his
best to fool everyone and himself were for nothing.

It didn’t matter. The moment James laid eyes on Regulus he knew he still loved him as much as the
very first time. More, perhaps, for the months of longing and missing him and wishing things were
different.

Something’s wrong with Regulus, and James is worried. He shouldn’t be. It’s not his place. Not
anymore. But James knows every line of that vexingly gorgeous face. Knows the glimmer of his
eyes and the fall of every curl. The Regulus that walked into that safehouse was the same boy
James loves, but also not. James can’t explain it. He doesn’t really know what it is. He just knows
there’s something and it’s not good.

And yet, there’s nothing he can do. Regulus made his choice. James now has a little scar under his
ribs to prove it. Sighing, James pushes open the small fence door and walks up the gravel path and
the three steps to the front door of the Pettigrew house.

He’s been trying to spend a bit more time with Peter to make up for his mistake. It’s not been easy,
but James is determined. Giving up hasn’t ever come easily to him.

Peter lives at the end of a small road a seven minute walk away from Potter Manor. He’s lived here
his entire life, part of the reason he and James were friends growing up. It’s a muggle town,
Richmond, so the magical people who live here band together.

“Good morning, James,” Mrs. Pettigrew says, opening the door for him less than a minute after
he’s rang the bell. “I’m afraid Peter isn’t home.”
“Oh,” James says, blinking. “Do you know where he went?”

“As if he’d tell me,” she says good naturedly. “He left at the crack of dawn. You’re welcome to
come in and wait, but I don’t know when he’ll come back. I’ve shortbread.”

Ah. James does love Mrs. Pettigrew’s shortbread. He smiles fondly at the memories of the many
times he sat in the Pettigrew’s kitchen chomping down on shortbread and drinking tea after a tiring
day adventuring in Richmond Park with Peter.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pettigrew, but I’m on my way to Sirius’,” James says. “I just thought Peter might
have wanted to come with.”

She smiles, wide and kind. “I’ll be sure to let him know you came by. Should I tell him to go to
Sirius’?”

“If he’s back before three, yes,” James replies, also smiling. “Thank you, Mrs. Pettigrew. Have a
lovely day.”

“Wait,” she says. “Give me a minute.”

James steps into the hall, curiously glancing around. He hasn’t been in this house since his first
year at Hogwarts, he realises. Not much has changed, except that Peter’s shoes on the rack to the
left of the door are much larger than they were back then.

Mrs. Pettigrew returns with a small Tupperware filled with shortbread that she hands to James with
a smile. “For you and the boys.”

“Thank you,” James replies, beaming. “Actually, are you still connected to the Floo network?”

During the latest Order meeting, James learnt that there’s a new bill being pushed through the
Ministry to allow certain officials to spy on and use the Floo network without restraints—certain
officials being people in Voldemort’s pocket—and many households have decided to disconnect
altogether rather than risk it.

“We are,” Mrs. Pettigrew says. “But not for long. We’re disconnecting at the end of this week. I’m
just waiting for my sister to decide if she’s going to come stay with us for a while or not.”

Glancing out the window to the sheets of rain pounding the garden outside, James asks, “Would
you mind if I used it, then? Apparating with an umbrella is so tricky.”

“By all means,” Mrs. Pettigrew.

A few minutes later, James is stepping out of the chimney in Sirius and Remus’ apartment in
Covent Garden, Tupperware of shortbreads in one hand, closed umbrella in the other. The lingering
smell of smoke makes his chest ache, and James takes a moment to simply breathe before he
catches himself and steps further into the living room, trying to ignore the pang of sadness in his
chest.

Setting the umbrella down against the wall, James clears his throat and loudly declares, “I’m
coming into the bedroom. Make yourselves decent.”

The door opens, and a very sleepy looking Sirius pokes his head through it. “Prongs? What time is
it?”

Sirius rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, yawning widely as he comes into the living room in
his pyjama bottoms. The wolf paws tattoo on his chest stands out against Sirius’ pale skin. “How’d
you get here?”

“I floo’ed,” James says, then he gives a little shake of the Tupperware. “Peter’s mom sends
shortbread.”

“Ah,” Sirius exclaims, grinning through another yawn. “Moony’s on his way. He said he’d get
some breakfast. Where’s Pete?”

James walks into the kitchen, Sirius on his heels. “No idea. Did he have an assignment this
morning?”

Sirius shrugs, fills the kettle with water and clicks it on, then leans against the counter to wait for
the water to boil. “Don’t know, mate.”

The chair scraps against the floor as James pulls it out and sits heavily on it. The kettle clicks, and
Sirius pours boiling water into two mugs, dumping a tea bag in each and bringing them to the table
before getting some milk and sugar.

Sitting at the kitchen table across from his best friend shouldn’t feel this gloomy, James thinks as
he sips his sweetened tea. Sleep stills clings to Sirius, softening the steel of his gaze and easing
some of the tension that seems to have permanently settled around his mouth. Very little daylight
pours in through the window due to the heavy rain. In the yellow-ish glow of the electrical lamp
hanging from the ceiling, the bruises under Sirius’ eyes look darker than they are. But they
shouldn’t be there at all.

“You haven’t slept, have you?” Sirius asks, looking up from his mug.

James grimaces, then shrugs. “It’ll mess up my schedule.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“It is! If I sleep all day, I won’t be tired tonight, and then how am I going to re-set? I’m not a
fucking vampire.”

Rolling his eyes, Sirius opens the Tupperware and gets a piece of shortbread out. “You can’t just
not sleep when you have all-nighters, Prongs. You need to rest.”

“Says the guy sneaking out to muggle tattoo parlours in the dead of the night when he should be
resting,” James points out, gesturing with his chin to the two new tattoos he can see on Sirius’
torso, in addition to the several adorning his arms already. “The bags under your eyes could have
carried your books if we were still in school.”

“Sleeping isn’t very punk rock, is it?” Sirius replies, grinning, then opening his mouth again for
another yawn. “You’re free for the day, yes?”

“Yeah,” James replies, stretching his neck to one side, then the other.

“We’ll nap,” Sirius decides. “After breakfast.”

“When are you next out?” James asks him, running a hand through his hair.

“Tonight for a few hours,” he replies. “I’m with Dorcas and Gideon.”

Immediately, James braces himself. And sure enough, a cheeky glint sparks in Sirius’ grey eyes as
he casually sets his mug down, braces his arms on the table, and raises an eyebrow at James. If it
were anyone other than Sirius, James would make an excuse to get out of the kitchen right about
now, but Sirius will just follow him wherever he goes.

“Pads,” James groans. “Can we just not?”

“You’ve been sleeping with him a lot.

“No, I have not. Four times isn’t a lot,” James points out.

“You stay the night when you do. I’d say that warrants some questioning,” Sirius says, cheeky
smirk on his face.

“Why are you teasing me about Gid?”

“Because I don’t know the name of any of the other people whose beds you’ve been visiting,”
Sirius says airily. “There’s literally nothing wrong with sleeping around. I’m not judging you. I’m
just… it’s not a very James Potter thing to do.”

“Says who?”

“Me,” Sirius replies firmly. “The authority on James Potter.”

“Sirius…”

“No. Don’t do that. Not to me.” Sirius’ eyes find and hold James’. “Talk to me.”

But James can’t, because it’ll hurt Sirius. The truth is that James knows he should be a lot better by
now, if not over Regulus completely. They broke up in May. It’s February. Almost a whole fucking
year. More than enough time for a relationship that lasted just around six months to become a
memory, nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, here he is, still hung up on his ex. Unable to move on. To feel anything for anyone that’s
not physical lust and even that is James chasing down the taste of Regulus in other people’s
mouths.

It’s not normal. It’s not okay. It’s not healthy.

Telling this to Sirius will only make him worry. It’ll make him think about Regulus, too. And
James doesn’t want to do that to his best friend. Sirius deserves to live his life and be happy
without constantly being reminded that his little brother betrayed them.

“I just haven’t felt… that way about anyone,” James says, shrugging. “I mean, Gideon’s hot and
everything but it’s just… a good time. I think I was too… intense. Before. I’m trying a more casual
approach.”

“Prongs—”

“I’m fine, Sirius,” he insists. “There’s a war going on. People we know keep dying. I’m just not
really feeling the whole romance thing. That’s all it is.”

They hold each other’s gazes in a sort of staring contest that tells James Sirius doesn’t believe him,
and tells Sirius James knows but he won’t crack. It’s a stalemate of sorts, and James hates it. It’s
not like this between them. It shouldn’t be.

And then, something shifts in Sirius’ eyes. “I miss him,” Sirius whispers. “I miss him and I’m so
angry at him for choosing their side. I don’t want to miss him, because he’s a fucking Death Eater,
but I do. I do. He’s my little brother. Despite everything.”

James swallows, looks away. “Yeah. I miss him, too.”

“James, I wouldn’t—”

The lock turns with a loud click, and then the door is opening and Remus is walking into the flat
with a supermarket bag, dropping his keys in a little bowl that Mary bought for them as a
housewarming present.

Conversation effectively killed, both James and Sirius get up to help Remus. James takes the bag
and brings it to the kitchen while Sirius helps his boyfriend out of his raincoat. It’s blue, and a little
worn, and James finds his throat closing up because it suddenly reminds him of one of Regulus’
songs.

Sirius kisses Remus softly, and James hears a few whispered words he can’t make out and smiles to
himself. It warms his heart that his friends are so in love, keeping it alive through a literal war. It’s
hard, James knows. They both struggle with the knowledge that the other is at risk at all times.
Remus is, however, better at dealing with it than Sirius is.

Take away boxes on the table and more tea brewed, they sit around it again. Sirius still hasn’t put
on any more clothes and James immediately realises that something’s up with Remus because he’s
not stealing glances at Sirius’ bare chest.

“Moony? Everything alright with your assignment?” Sirius asks, having picked up on his vibe, too.

Munching on the slightly soggy toast in his fry-up box, James watches Remus clench and unclench
his jaw. He knows no one has died. Remus would have told them already—bad news like that have
to be delivered like ripping off a plaster. But something definitely went down.

“Assignment was fine,” he says. “Standard guard duty in Diagon Alley. Nothing happened. But I…
I had a meeting with Moody.”

“Debrief, no?” Sirius asks.

“Yes and no,” Remus replies, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m going on another mission. A
proper one. It’ll… I’ll be away for some time.”

“Where are you going?” Sirius asks, turning in his seat to look at Remus. His cheeks have lost
what little colour they had to begin with, and concern is rapidly filling his eyes. “Who are you
going with?”

“It’s a solo mission,” Remus says, and James thinks fuck.

Sirius goes preternaturally still, hand gripping his fork so hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t snapped clean
in two. Remus is stubbornly staring at the scrambled eggs in his breakfast box, speaking into the
fry-up rather than facing his friends.

“I’m going to infiltrate one of the active packs,” he says firmly. “There’s a power vacuum.
Moody’s sources confirmed they’ve just lost their alpha. It’s the best time for me to join.”

“An active pack?” Sirius whispers. “Moony, please, don’t—”

“We’ve been over this,” Remus says forcefully, still talking to his eggs. “I’ve already decided. I’m
doing it, Sirius. It’s important. It could tip the scales.”

“You could die.”

“If it wins the war, then it’s worth it,” Remus mutters.

Oh. Shit. No.

Sirius shoves his chair back forcefully and walks away, hands balled into fists at his sides. James
watches him disappear into the bedroom, stomach wound so tightly there’s no way he can eat
anything else. Setting down his fork, James sighs. He wants to go after Sirius, but it’ll do little
good right now.

Understandably, Sirius struggles a lot with this side of Remus’ contribution to the war efforts. It’s
different from going on normal missions, though he worries himself sick when Remus is out on
those, too. The wolves are savage. And Remus isn’t used to being around them. As a wizard,
fighting other wizards, Remus has no more or less chance of getting hurt than the rest of them.
With the wolves… well. The odds aren’t really in his favour.

“Remus, Sirius is right. It’s a suicide mission,” James whispers. “You can’t possibly think they’ll
just let you…”

“Why not?” Remus asks, finally looking up from his food to meet James’ eye. “We’ve worked
with Moody on my backstory for the past month or so. My reasons for turning. They’re pretty
solid.”

“Voldemort is rumoured to be one of the best legilimens of our time,” James says. “Doesn’t matter
how good your story is, he’ll see right through you.”

“I’m a werewolf. Legilimency doesn’t work on me,” Remus snarls. “And what if that’s—"

There’s a loud bang, and then Sirius is storming back into the kitchen, wearing proper clothes. His
face is like thunder. Cold and hard, shut down except for the fury burning in his eyes. He stops
behind James’ chair and looks down at Remus, who meets his boyfriend’s gaze calmly.

“I’m going to see Moody,” Sirius says.

“No, you are not,” Remus replies, springing up from his chair. “I’m not supposed to even tell you
about this. But I couldn’t just… I couldn’t just disappear on you.”

“What?” Sirius’ eyes go wide.

James gets up from his chair, comes to stand next to Sirius. He can feel him trembling, from fear
and fury.

“I’m leaving at dawn,” Remus says. “It’ll take time to track them down and make my case and
there’s only a week before the next full moon. Moody didn’t even want me to come round the flat
again, but I refused. I had to see you. I insisted on one more night.”

“Wait at dawn? Like tonight?” James asks, heart plummeting to his feet, at the same time Sirius
explodes, “Oh, so I’m supposed to thank you?”

“You’re supposed to support me!” Remus yells back.

Sirius laughs. Cruel and bitter. It reminds James of Regulus, the day he showed James the mark on
his arm. The day he broke James and stole his heart from his chest.

“Sirius…” Remus tries.

“No, fuck you Moony,” Sirius shouts. “Fuck you. You want to go off and get yourself killed?
Don’t ask me to support that.”

“Sirius—” James tries, too. He understands why he’s so upset, but when Remus is gone, and time
starts to tick by, Sirius will wish he hadn’t spent the last few hours angry at him.

“Stay out of this, Prongs,” Sirius snaps before turning towards Remus again. “You’re… I just—
why are you so keen to die?”

“I’m not! I don’t want to die,” Remus shouts back. “I can do this. Have some fucking faith in me
for once, is that so hard?”

“Have some—” Sirius pushes his hands into his hair, tugging on it desperately. He turns around,
his back to Remus, breathing hard.

For a long moment, James can do nothing but watch as his closest friends in the world fill the room
with silence so loud it rings in his ears. There’s so much fear in the air James can taste in the back
of his mouth. Fervently, he wishes he could help. That he could go in Remus’ place. That they
didn’t need to infiltrate the ranks at all.

“If you love me,” Sirius says softly, so cold it makes James thinks of the blade that slid in through
his own ribs, turning again to look at Remus in the eye. “If you love me, you won’t go. You’ll tell
Moody it’s a bad idea, and that you can’t do it.”

“Sirius—” James tries and is cut off by Remus. “That’s fucking unfair and you know it. Don’t pull
that shit with me.”

“Do you have any idea what it’ll do to me if you don’t come back?” Sirius asks deadpan.

He’s manipulating Remus, and they all know it, but that won’t stop him. Sirius Black is not above
crossing lines to get his way when it really matters to him.

“That’s—”

“Answer me, Moony,” Sirius snarls. “You’re happy to throw away your life. Are you happy to end
mine, too?”

Remus’ eyes are glassy now, and there’s so much tension in his jaw he must be hurting. He shakes
his head jerkily, like it’s hard for him to move even that little bit.

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that,” Sirius says. “I go where you go.”

Remus swallows and for the first time since he broke the news, James sees a flicker of doubt in his
eyes. “You can’t. Sirius, you can’t ask me to sit this one out.”

“I can,” Sirius replies. “I am. Don’t do it. We’ll win the war another way.”

“No, we will not!” Remus snaps. “We are losing, Sirius. People are dying faster than we can
recruit them. We’re not making any progress in the Ministry. The aurors are overwhelmed and
overworked. Akzaban is a fucking joke. We are losing. And we’re out of options.”
“That’s for Dumbledore to figure out!”

“And he’s asked me to do this and I’ve said yes,” Remus replies, throwing his arms up in
frustration. “It’s dangerous, but we’ve taken every precaution we can take.”

“Dumbledore doesn’t care if you come back or not,” Sirius spits out, voice like venom. “He’ll
sacrifice you to the greater good and call it a day. And then what? What about me? What do I do
then?”

“Sirius, that’s enough,” James says. “You’re not being fair.”

“Fair? My boyfriend is hellbent on killing himself and you want me to be fucking fair about it?”
Sirius says, volume raising again from that deadly, cold tone it had dropped to.

“I’m not—” Remus sighs, looks away. When he glances back at them, he’s shut himself down. “I
don’t know how long I’ll be gone for. You can’t tell anyone where I am. You know Moody
suspects a leak, so keep it to yourselves.”

Frozen in the middle of the kitchen, James and Sirius watch Remus cross over into the living room,
pick up a small bag neither of them had noticed from a corner and slung it over his shoulder. Keys
in hand, Remus turns the knob and yanks the door open.

James thinks Sirius will react. That he’ll say goodbye to Remus. That he’ll do something. But he
doesn’t. He watches Remus walk out in stony silence. The door closes behind him. They hear the
crack of someone apparating.

Sirius walks over to the window and lights a cigarette, watching the rain like he didn’t just send the
love of his life to war without a goodbye.

“What the fuck, Pads?” James asks. “What—you didn’t say goodbye to him! You didn’t. And if
something happens…”

“He’s coming back,” Sirius says confidently.

“What?”

“He won’t do it,” Sirius replies. “He just needs to cool off, then he’ll come back.”

“Sirius, I don’t think—”

“Moony won’t hurt me like that,” Sirius tells him. “He knows… we know. It’s… we’re like…
we’ve talked about it. How we feel. It’s… different than other people. He understands. Trust me.
He’s coming back. He’s not doing this mission.”

James feels like he’s missing something. Like there’s a piece that’s not clicking for him. But Sirius
just continues to smoke, and their breakfast goes cold on the kitchen table, so James packs it up and
puts it in the fridge for later.

And when Sirius finishes smoking, he drags James to the sofa and they curl on it together, bodies
warm and eyelids heavy even though it’s barely eleven am. Because they’re both toy soldiers in a
war that’s taking, taking, taking everything they love from them. And they’re tired and afraid and
young.

Too fucking young for it all.

 ****

The inside of the conservatory in Potter Manor has been so thoroughly transformed in the past
several months that James is hard pressed to even recognise it as part of their family property. It’s
an intricate structure of glass and white-painted metal. Old fashioned, but it works beautifully.

When he was little, he used to come in here to hide from his parents and make disgusting mixes
using soil, fertilizer and whatever nectar or otherwise gooey sticky liquid he could squeeze out of
the plants growing in here.

While the outside remains the same, it’s the inside that has been changed to the point James feels a
little bit like an intruder in his own property. The entire space is lined with long tables where at
least a dozen cauldrons are set up and constantly brewing under the careful watch of Lily Evans.

“Hey, James,” Lily says, looking up from where she’s stirring some potion or other. There are
purple bruises under her eyes, but she smiles anyway. She never lets her exhaustion get in the way
of her duty. “Need anything?”

“I know it’s way earlier than your usual dinner break, but Peter’s just come round for food. Do you
want to join?”

The sun is setting outside. Through the glass ceiling of the conservatory, James can see the sky
tilting to purple. Like a bruise. Like someone’s thrown a punch and it’s hit it square in the jaw.
Dusks, James thinks, look like hurt.

“That’d be nice,” Lily says, wiping her hands on the apron she’s wearing before untying it from
around her waist and hanging it from a peg. “What are we having?”

“Rosly’s made a pasta bake thing,” James tells her, walking with her out of the glass structure and
towards the Manor proper. “It’s very nice. One of my favourites growing up.”

“My mother makes a very nice bake with chicken and celery,” Lily muses.

Holding the door open so she can go in first, James asks, “How are they doing? Have you seen
them lately?”

“Petunia is apparently trying for a baby,” Lily informs him. “So, my parents are very happy about
becoming grandparents in the near future.”

“Wait, when did your sister get married?” James asks her, a little shocked. “Isn’t she… like
nineteen or something?”

“People can have babies without being married, James."

"No, I know that..."

Lily laughs, waving a hand to dismiss James' sudden panic about having potentially said the wrong
thing. "You're right though. They are married. And she’s actually three years older than us. So,
twenty-one. A bit young, but not crazy. The wedding was in June. We were still in school.” Lily
looks away. “She didn’t want me to come and I thought it would perhaps be dangerous. So, I didn’t
push it.”

“I’m sorry,” James says, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “That sucks.”

“It’s okay,” Lily replies, shrugging. “Marlene’s making me her maid of honour when she marries
Dorcas, so.”

“What?! Dorcas and Marlene? But I didn't hear... When is their wedding? How did I miss—”

Lily laughs. “It’s a joke, James.”

“Right,” James says, heart pounding in his chest. “Right. Godric, I thought I'd somehow missed
that and Marlene was going to kill me. Well. I guess congratulations are in order, no? If she’s
having a kid? Or not yet?”

“Who’s having a kid?” Peter asks, looking up from the kitchen table where he’d been helping
Rosly with dessert, sprinkling chocolate over the brownie.

“My sister,” Lily says. “Well, she’s trying. Not pregnant yet. My mother told me. Petunia doesn’t
talk to me anymore.”

Lily doesn’t add anything, but both Peter and James exchange a glance. They know. It’s never been
a secret that Lily has a difficult relationship with her sister. Apparently, Petunia has never forgiven
Lily for being a witch. As if she could help it.

Wanting to change the topic before Lily gets sad, James turns to Peter with the brightest smile he
can conjure. “How are you doing Pete? It’s been a minute.”

“Yeah,” he says, fidgeting with a napkin. “I’ve actually been applying for jobs.”

“Oh?” Lily asks, leaning forward on the counter. “Do tell!”

“Well. We all hope this damn war will be over at some point, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have
some experience,” he mutters. “I talked to Mary a bit and she pointed out I’ve always loved
herbology. She helped me look around and I’ve been interviewing for a part-time job in a research
facility for plants with magical properties.”

James’ heart swells with pride. “Oh wow. Peter, that’s amazing. I’m sure you’ll get it. You’re so
good with plants.”

Blushing furiously, Peter smiles. “Thank you. I should hear in the next couple of days. But enough
about me. What do you want to do after the war, Lily? Still thinking of teaching?”

“Nah. I’m actually enjoying the potion brewing a lot,” she says, tilting her head like she’s thinking
hard. A few strands of hair fall of her messy bun, caressing her cheek. “Maybe I could brew potions
for St. Mungo’s or something.”

The conversation flows for a little bit, easy. The three of them set the table. Rosly informs them
that neither Effie nor Monty are joining tonight. James can’t help but to look out the window, as
though he could see them from here and keep them safe. His parents are giving so much to this
war. And they’ve been so lucky so far. But what happens if they’re not?

James is used to nightmares these days. Most of them are about Regulus. But sometimes—more
and more frequently—they’re about the war. About the people who he loves that he could lose to
it. There are too many.

And it’s not even just his… closest friends. Or his parents. He cares about the Prewetts. About
Molly and Arthur Weasley, who have two kids at home. About Emmeline Vance. Sam McKinnon,
if she’s even still alive. Even Moody and Kingsley.
“James?” Lily asks him, coming up to stand behind him by the window. “Food is ready. Are you
okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Just… it feels odd to say it, but we haven’t… we haven’t really lost anyone for
a while.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

James winces. “No. Obviously not. But I feel like something’s coming and I worry that we are not
read—”

“JAMES! PRONGS!”

His heart leaps into his mouth and before he’s even processed what’s happening, James is sprinting
from the kitchen to the entrance hall where he finds Sirius shaking uncontrollably. It punches a
breath out of his lungs, the fear that seizes is chest and squeezes. Immediately, James reaches for
Sirius and runs his hands all over, but there’s no blood. No injuries.

“What happened?” James asks, heart thrashing like a feral animal inside his ribcage. Sirius has
been out on patrol duty all afternoon, so chances are someone is hurt.

“He’s not home,” Sirius whispers. “Remus. He’s not—patrol was called off early. I went to the flat.
I made dinner, like, as a peace offering type thing. He’s not… he didn’t come back. James. He
hasn’t come back.”

“Okay,” James says, forcing himself to breathe. He cannot panic because that will only add to
Sirius’ panic, and that’s already out of control. “He could be… with friends? He was mad at you,
Pads. Maybe that’s why?”

Sirius’ breathing is way too shallow, so James tugs him into a hug and holds his tight. Through his
winter coat, James can feel Sirius’ heart beating frantically against his chest. And fuck. James
knows, deep down, that Remus went through with it. He knows, because every one of them would
have done the same thing.

“He’s not with Dorcas or Marlene,” Sirius says. “Marlene was on patrol with me. She told me
Dorcas is with Emmeline scouting a safehouse. They’re looking for more horns. So, Remus can’t
be with them. Where is he, Prongs? Did he do it? Did he go?”

“Let’s go talk to Moody, alright?” James suggests. “If Remus went through with it, Moody will
know. He wasn’t meant to leave until dawn, so there’s still time. Come on. Let’s not panic until
we’ve checked with him.”

“Check what with Moody?” Peter asks, coming from the kitchen. “Pads? You alright?”

“Peter, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to skip dinner,” James says. “Can you keep Lils company?
Call Mary if you want, she’s always welcome here. I need to go.”

“Can I help? What’s happening?”

Sirius shakes his head, clinging to James like he’s a lifeline. “Let’s go. Let’s go. Maybe we can
stop him before it’s too late.”

“Stop who?” Peter is getting agitated, but James has no capacity to focus on him right now.

Lily appears in the hall, too. She takes one look at Sirius and nods firmly. “I’ll save you some food
for later.”

Grateful, James picks up his coat from the coatrack and shrugs it on, which is a bit difficult
because Sirius hasn’t yet let go of him. With one last look at a mildly irritated Peter and a very
concerned Lily, James leads Sirius out the door and they disappear into the night.

####

Little Hangleton is a small village nestled between two steep hills somewhere in the middle of
England. February weather hasn’t been kind to it. The wind sweeps down the valley, lifting flurries
of a light covering of snow. It catches on Regulus’ hair, melting into his skull and making him feel
a bit colder than usual. In front of his face, his breath puffs in a silvery mist.

Tendrils of shadow curl up from the ground, caressing his legs, sliding up and around him. He feels
it so much more these days. The darkness is closer to the surface. Its whispers much clearer for
Regulus to hear. He twirls his fingers around a bit of shadow, like he’s caressing a pet, and looks
around him to take in the scene.

Like most English villages, Little Hangleton has a church and a graveyard, one high street where
most of the shops are lined up, and little else. Regulus pauses outside the church, where he showed
up after a long and complicated series of apparations all around the country to throw off any
possible tracking. Visiting the place where Riddle was born is, perhaps, the riskiest move he’s yet
made, but recent discoveries in his research meant he couldn’t not come.

Thanks to Dorcas’ handy patrols in the Ministry, she managed to retrieve some records of the last
living Gaunts and share the information with Regulus through their magic rings. It turns out that,
contrary to what his previous reading led him to believe, there is one person with the name Gaunt
who is still breathing.

It had been intriguing to discover that Morfin Gaunt is in Azkaban for the murder of three muggles.
He confessed to the crime, according to the records, and is in prison for life. Regulus briefly
wondered if he could get away with visiting him, but quickly discarded the idea. There is no way
he could pull that off without Riddle finding out.

So, instead, he arranged a fake date with Elspeth—who is currently in Grimmauld Place, locked
inside a drawing room and keeping up the pretence that she’s having a torrid night with Regulus—
and came to Little Hangleton.

In the darkness, it’s hard to make out any details but across the valley from where he’s standing
Regulus can see the outline of an old manor. That is his destination. The scene of the murder,
where Regulus suspects Riddle killed his muggle family and then went on to pin it on his uncle
Morfin. It makes sense, Regulus thinks, that Riddle might have hidden a horcrux there. Perhaps the
locket, considering he’s a direct descendant of Slytherin.

Checking that he’s still alone by the graveyard, Regulus takes out a bottle from one of his pockets
and unstoppers it. Felix Felicis tastes like sunlight, he thinks as he drinks about half. It should give
him six hours of good luck, give or take. He doesn’t need any more than that, he hopes. Drinking
the potion in excess is extremely dangerous, and Regulus already has enough tremors and aches
building in his body from the sleeping draught and other poisons to add recklessness or other stupid
side effects from overusing Felix.

The effects of the potion are almost immediate. A feeling of mild euphoria rises inside of him, and
Regulus gasps at the warmth that spreads through his chest. It feels strange, and the darkness
pooling inside of him doesn’t like it, but the voices don’t rouse. It’s just a potion, after all. It’ll
wear off.

Regulus is horrified to discover that there’s a mild pep in his step, but he allows it as he starts
walking towards the manor. He descends into the valley with a steady pace, glancing around with
curiosity. It’s a mostly muggle village, he thinks.

He reaches the bottom of the valley, and spots a sort of ruined house nearby, covered by
overgrown flora and very clearly left to rot for years and years. Regulus starts up at the hill,
towards the manor, when he feels a tug in his gut. Like… an instinct. He stops, swivels around.
The village is almost completely dark, most of its inhabitants clearly tucked in for the night. With
narrowed eyes, Regulus sweeps around him until his eyes fall on the ruin again. Felix wants him to
check it out.

Hesitating for a moment, Regulus glances back up to the manor. It’s a place of importance. Grand.
Elegant. The sort of place Riddle would hide one of his precious horcruxes. But Felix is very
clearly suggesting to him that he’d be better off exploring the abandoned little shack.

Regulus does. He didn’t drink the potion to ignore it, after all.

With an annoyed sigh, he alters his course and walks along a small path towards the ruined little
house. He’s about six feet from the edge of the ruins when he feels all the hairs on the back of his
neck stand up.

Cautious now, Regulus slows his pace, tracing every shape in the darkness. The wind changes, and
Regulus tastes the air. Magic. The dark kind.

“Why did you put it here?” he mutters to himself as he withdraws his wand.

Focusing on the shadows pooling around him, Regulus watches his vein turn black as he
commands it to slither along ahead of him, testing the protections placed around the ruins. There
are many. Some of them he can pierce with the shards of darkness granted to him through the
Legacy magic. Others, he has to take apart painstakingly, through charms and spells.

It takes him the better part of two hours, and he singes the back of his hand and his left wrist when
he gets too close to one of the barriers. By the time he’s broken them all down, he’s sweating, and
tired. In a foul mood.

Satisfied he’s removed all protective curses, Regulus walks through the overgrowth and reaches a
fallen wall. Stepping over the piled stones, he walks on what he imagines was the floor of this
house once upon a time. There’s a creak, then a groan, and then his foot has sunk clean through the
wood. Fucking hell. The floorboards are rotten.

Yanking his foot back up, Regulus groans. And there he finds it. A golden box, clean of dust and
rot and untouched by the elements or the flora growing wild around him. Regulus crouches down
and reaches for it, lifting it through the hole his boot made carefully.

The third horcrux isn’t the cup or the locket. It’s a ring.

For a long moment, Regulus simply stares at it. Overhead, the clouds are churning, threatening to
start raining or sleeting on him again. It’s the middle of the night, close to one am if he had to
guess. And Regulus Black is one step closer to removing Riddle from power.

Technically, he doesn’t need the Legacy magic with him to do this, but Regulus feels stronger
when he calls upon it, so he does. His veins darken again, ink stains on his pale skin, and he
reaches inside his pocket for a basilisk fang and a vial of poison.
Felix tells him to use the vial, and so he does. Unstoppering it, Regulus douses the ring and the box
in venom and watches as the ring starts to bubble and melt. There’s a sudden scream, like someone
being tortured—long and anguished and in pain—and Regulus is thrown back on his butt with the
force of something rushing out of the ring and melting into the stormy night. Then, silence.

It was a bit anticlimactic, Regulus will admit. He much prefers stabbing the horcruxes with the
fangs.

“Three down,” he mutters to himself, getting to his feet. “And he’s got the cup and the locket. That
makes five. Where are they?”

Once he’s out of the ruins, Regulus looks up to the clouds. He wants to take some time to gather
himself. To plan his next move. There are two other horcruxes he’s certain of, and then he has to
figure out if Riddle made one more or not. Seven pieces of a soul. That’s what he was after, was it
not? But perhaps he didn’t have time to make a sixth one?

Regulus wants to sit down and ponder this a bit, but Felix tugs at him. It’s relentless. The moment
the horcrux is destroyed, Regulus feels the almost incontrollable urge to apparate back to
Grimmauld Place. It’s odd enough that Regulus does it, allowing the potion to guide him. He
apparates on the open windowsill that he left prepared in advance with Elspeth.

She’s in the drawing room, reading comfortably, but stands up when she sees him at the window.
“You’re back early,” she says. “Everything alright?”

Felix hurries him inside, and then Regulus has the mad urge to pin Elspeth against the wall. And he
understands.

“Make it look real,” he says roughly before wrapping a hand around her wrist and pulling her
around him to press her back against the nearest tapestry.

To her credit, Elspeth immediately puts her arms around his neck and allows him to lift her, legs
curling behind his back as he shoves her skirts up over her hips. Regulus presses his mouth to her
throat and Elspeth makes a truly obscene sound just in time for the door of the room to open.

“I’m busy,” Regulus growls over his shoulder. He can feel Elspeth’s heartbeat speed up with the
adrenaline. If he’d been just a minute later, they would have been caught in their lie.

“We can see that,” Lucius says, sounding amused.

“Oh baby cousin! You’re so naughty!” The shrill voice of Bellatrix makes him grind his teeth
together. He feels Elspeth tense, and he can’t blame her for disliking the other woman.

Then, a third voice. Cold. Grating. Inhuman. “Regulus.”

A trickle of cold drips down his spine. He sets Elspeth down, steps back and pretends to be
adjusting his clothing before he turns and comes face to face with Riddle. He’s with Lucius and
Bellatrix, who is smirking at him.

“My Lord,” Regulus says, bowing his head. “Apologies. I wasn’t expecting your visit tonight.”

Elspeth, having arranged her dress, comes to stand next to him and shyly bows her head. “My
Lord,” she whispers.

“You must come with me,” Riddle says. “I’m sure you carry on with… this another night.”
 Regulus nods. “I’ll be a minute.”

Riddle walks out, back towards the entrance hall, but Lucius and Bellatrix linger, amusement in
their eyes.

Turning to Elspeth, Regulus brings his mouth close to her ear. “Look in love.”

She’s a very good actress, he has to admit. She sighs dreamily, then giggles and presses a hand
against Regulus’ chest, batting her lashes coquettishly. Then, Elspeth lifts herself up on her tiptoes
and whispers, “I’m about to be sick from all this giggling. Get rid of them.”

Straightening, Regulus winks at her and says loud enough for his two unwelcome guests to hear,
“I’ll make it up to you after the theatre on Thursday.”

He walks out of the room, leaving Elspeth alone once more to compose herself and find her own
way home, Lucius and Bellatrix at his heels. Felix purrs in his chest, happy to have led him out of
what could have been serious trouble if he’d been caught.

Still, it occurs to Regulus that he has no idea what is going on, and suddenly, he’s worried. What
prompted Riddle to come to his house unannounced on the same night Regulus destroyed one of
his horcruxes?

The paranoia sets in immediately, making his hands clammy. Did he feel it? Is he going to question
Regulus about it? Is he going to tell Regulus someone is hunting his horcruxes? That would be
disastrous. If he moves the other two before Regulus can find them… or worse, if he makes
more…

“What’s happening?” Regulus asks Lucius in a quiet voice.

There’s still enough Felix in him to guide his questions and modulate his tone, but the effects will
run out in an hour or so. Regulus wishes he’d taken more. He would have, if he’d known Riddle
was going to show up to Grimmauld Place. He’s never done that before unannounced, and Regulus
doesn’t like it. It makes sneaking out that much more dangerous.

“Caught a spy,” Lucius says, looking extremely pleased. “Or we think so. Opinions are divided.”

“A spy?”

“One of the Order,” Lucius explains quickly. “He claims to have turned, but we can’t be certain.
The Dark Lord wishes to interrogate him personally.”

As soon as the three of them approach, Riddle opens the front door and steps out into the night.

“My Lord,” Regulus asks, letting Felix guide the words on his tongue. “Where are we going?”

“Black Manor,” Riddle replies. “I need veritaserum.”

Chapter End Notes

Alright! From the top, then

JAMES SIMPING FOR MURDERER REGULUS IS ALL OF US He's so valid.

He's also so confused. My poor baby. TRUST YOUR GUT DUDE

Dorcas being iconic is just chef's kiss. Her thinking James needs help? ON POINT.
Her telling Reg off for stabbing James? YOU TELL HIM QUEEN.
But she's also having a rough time and it's so sad because she's out there DOING THE
MOST and nobody knows and she's keeping secrets and they're so heavy on her
Dorcas needs a hug for real

Also, everyone agreeing they don't want Regulus to die so they're going to lie to
Moody? ICONIC. And James not telling anyone he kissed Regulus is so real LMAO
he knows people would freak out if they found out

Wolfstar in this chapter broke my heart to pieces so I'm going to just skip over that
whole thing and pretend they're happy in their little Covent Garden flat and nothing is
wrong at all

THE RING IS DESTROYED I mean the devil works hard but Regulus works harder.
He's doing so much?! Like my dude maybe sleep for a bit? He's on FIRE and we love
to see it. And that cliffhanger?? WHO DO YOU THINK THE VERITASERUM IS
FOR

I know I'm late replying to a lot of comments from the previous chapter - I am sorry
but I had to choose between replying to those OR posting this today and I think you all
wanted an update so I went with this. I will try to carve out time to reply later today or
tomorrow but know I READ EVERY SINGLE COMMENT AND I GIGGLE AND
KICK MY FEET AND I ABSOLUTELY ADORE YOUR REACTIONS AND
THEORIES AND I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH
 Wolves
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

So, surprise? Something's come up and I realised I'm not going to be able to update on
Friday, so I thought I'd shift the schedule up by a day. That means you get a chapter
today (Sunday) and then on Tuesday and Thursday this week. Alright, without further
ado, let's get into it:

TWs for this chapter

Depictions of torture
Blood
Bigotry and homophobia (some pretty nasty homophobic comments are made in this
chapter, please take care of yourselves)
Depictions of drugging someone (truth serum) against their will
Depictions of violence
Discussions about war / victims of war / war-related deaths
Depictions of grief and anxiety
Depictions / discussions of terrorism (the Death Eaters are planning an attack on a
large-scale)

Once again, I am squinting at this list suspiciously. If I've missed anything, please let
me know!

Enjoy!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Nothing in the entire world could have prepared Regulus for the shock that was walking into his
Manor to find Remus fucking Lupin on his knees in the middle of the entrance hall. The first
thought Regulus registers is that Remus looks like he needs a good bath and a shave. A medical kit,
too. Regulus much prefers him clean—he’s not into the rugged vagabond look.

The second thought is that someone, somewhere, has made a huge mistake and Regulus is going to
have to clean it up. He’s deeply vexed by this whole thing. Genuinely. What the fuck is Remus
Lupin doing in his Manor?

“Regulus,” Riddle says, stepping up to look down at Remus, who is gagged and bound and staring
at the ground. Sweat is making the curls on the back of his neck stick to his skin. “Bring the
veritaserum to the drawing room. Lucius, have this creature moved there. Bellatrix, with me.”

Riddle sweeps down the corridor towards the room he seems to prefer for torturing people, the one
where Regulus killed Elphias Dodge and saved Sam McKinnon’s life. Without giving himself time
to hesitate, Regulus steps over Remus. He has a large stash of various potions in his private rooms,
so Regulus strides up the stairs hastily and slips through a door that can only be opened with a drop
of his blood. One can never be too cautious.

Inside, Regulus reaches for the vials of veritaserum, pocketing a few. Then, Felix prompts him to
take a few other things. Just in case. Regulus does. He’s learning to listen to Felix, and he has less
than three quarters of an hour left of it. He better make the most of his luck.

The whole thing takes him five minutes or less, but by the time he’s back in the drawing room,
Remus is already bleeding.

“Bellatrix,” Regulus drawls, making her look up from where she’s carving something with the tip
of her knife on Remus’ arm. “Not on the Persian rug, please. Move him over there.”

Cackling, Bellatrix drags Remus closer to the fire, away from the rug. It is not Persian. In fact,
Regulus has no idea where it’s from, but Felix wants Remus closer to the crackling flames for some
reason, and Regulus complies.

“My Lord,” Regulus nods his head towards him. “We are ready.”

“Excellent,” Riddle steps forward and Bellatrix immediately falls back. Remus looks up and if
Regulus thought Sam McKinnon was brave and defiant, Remus Lupin is a fucking menace. Very
few people can withstand the direct stare of Tom Riddle without flinching like Remus is doing.

Regulus is impressed.

“Remus Lupin,” Riddle says. “I hear you were looking for us.” He spreads his arms wide and
Bellatrix laughs maniacally. Lucius rolls his eyes, exchanging a quick glance with Regulus.

“Well, here we are,” Riddle taunts Remus.

Gagged, Remus is unable to respond, so he waits. He doesn’t fight. Doesn’t strain against his
bonds. He’s covered in bruises. His sandy curls are matted, tangled. There’s dried blood splattered
on the side of his neck, and Regulus can’t tell if it’s his or not. All in all, Remus looks like he’s had
a rough night.

Riddle begins to pace, circling him. It’s a thing he does, always. Regulus isn’t sure if he does it to
unsettle people or because he can’t help it. Either way, it’s fucking annoying.

“You understand why we do not believe you,” Riddle says calmly. “You’re the only half-breed
ever to attend Hogwarts. For that alone, one would assume you’d show unwavering loyalty to the
blood traitors that put you there.”

Interesting, Regulus thinks, that Riddle doesn’t like saying Dumbledore’s name. He continues
pacing, rambling on about the reasons Remus is likely to be lying to them. His friendships. The
fact that he’s been seen fighting for the other side. Blah. Blah. Blah.

What Regulus is wondering is why Riddle wanted him to bring veritaserum. As one of the most
skilled legilimens in the entire world—key reason why Regulus hasn’t told a fucking soul what
he’s doing, lest they get captured and Riddle finds out—he should be able to simply look into
Remus’ mind.

“Unfortunately for you,” Riddle is saying. “Half-breed minds don’t allow for legilimency spells.
One of nature’s little tricks, making animals impervious to it. So, we’ll have to test your loyalties
the painful way.”

Bellatrix claps her hands hysterically, like this is the best news she’s had all week. Regulus blinks.
Blinks again. He stares at Remus on the floor, on his knees, head thrown back and defiance in his
amber eyes.
And fuck. Regulus didn’t know. This entire time, there was someone who is immune to
legilimency, and he had no idea. Not that it would have changed anything, because there was no
way Remus would have kept any secrets from Sirius, not on behalf of Regulus. But—

“Bellatrix, all yours,” Riddle says smugly.

With a flourish, like she’s about to start ballroom dancing and not torturing an eighteen-year-old
kid, Bellatrix takes out her wand and points it at Remus.

“Crucio.”

Remus is gagged rather tightly, but still he screams. It's incoherent and broken, but a scream.
Awful, really. It's the sound of anguish. Bellatrix laughs and puts her boot on the back of Remus’
shoulder, pushing him down until he’s fallen over himself on the floor, hands bound behind his
back. His cheek is pressed against the wood, pinned there by Bellatrix while the curse continues to
run its course. He’s still screaming, incoherent through the gag. Agony. Searing and all
encompassing. Regulus is familiar with it.

Riddle lifts a hand, and Bellatrix stops immediately.

“This is but a taste should you get any ideas,” Riddle tells Remus. He’s panting, tears gathering in
his eyes. Gulping air and steeling himself for the next round, because they all know it's coming.

Bellatrix rounds him, crouching in front of Remus. She yanks him back by his hair roughly and
cuts off the gag with her knife, nicking the skin on Remus’ cheek in the process. On purpose.
Blood drips from it. Remus doesn’t flinch when he’s cut. Instead, he tilts back a little and then he
headbutts Bellatrix, his forehead hitting her nose hard. She drops the knife, crying out in pain and
scrambling back, hands covering her bleeding face.

“The pup bites,” Lucius comments, amused.

“Crucio!” Riddle shouts, and Remus is the first person that Regulus watches be tortured by the
Dark Lord himself.

It’s not something easily stomached. Bellatrix is vicious, but Riddle? Riddle is the spawn of evil
and it shows in the way his magic twists and bites, making Remus practically convulse on the
floor. Even with the darkness of the Black family Legacy magic curling inside of him, Regulus has
to focus to stop himself from looking away. Remus screams until his throat is raw. Until his face is
so red from the effort he looks like he might pass out from it. The veins on his forehead bulge, spit
drools from his mouth. Remus is past caring, past decency, past dignity. He's so far gone into pain
Regulus worried if Riddle doesn't let up soon it'll drive him mad.

“Regulus, the serum,” Riddle says, lifting his wand just when Regulus thinks Remus won't be able
to take any more.

"Yes, my Lord," Regulus says, stepping closer.

And then, instead of extending his hand for Regulus to give it to him, Riddle simply steps back and
gestures Regulus should force it down Remus throat himself.

His fingers slip into his pocket. And Felix tells him which one to pick. Adrenaline builds inside of
Regulus, and sweat pools in the back of his neck, but he goes for it. If he’s going to take a risk like
this, he’ll do it under the influence of liquid luck. So far, it hasn’t failed him tonight. Let’s face it,
there’s no way in hell Regulus would have acted so quickly with Elspeth without the inspiration
from Felix.
With a flick of his thumb, he uncorks the vial of clear liquid and approaches Remus, who looks up
at him with hard, steely eyes. In that moment, Regulus has no doubt that Remus would rather die
than betray his friends. He sees Remus’ eyes dart towards the knife on the floor. Regulus kicks it
away before Remus does something Regulus can’t change.

Gripping him by the back of his hair, Regulus pulls Remus’ head back. He struggles, and Regulus
uses the excuse of their little brawl to brush a quick whisper in Remus’ ear. The violent crackling
of the flames helps hide his voice so he's not overheard. “Be convincing or we’re both dead.”

He feels the jolt of surprise that runs through Remus’ body, and then the struggling is less violent,
more defeated. When he pushes the vial to Remus’ lips, he stills just enough that Regulus can tip it
in. All of it.

Regulus steps back, pocketing the empty vial. Riddle beings his pacing again. Bellatrix, whose
mouth is covered in blood, looks more unhinged than usual and Regulus would find it amusing if
not for how much more difficult she’s going to make it for Regulus to persuade Riddle not to kill
Remus.

“Why are you here?” Riddle asks.

“The alpha of my new pack turned me in,” Remus replies.

“What did you say to him to prompt that?” Lucius asks. Riddle nods his agreement with this
question.

Remus looks like he’s trying to resist before the words tumble from his mouth. “I said I wanted to
meet the Dark Lord. He said only the alpha gets to do that. I said then I'd have to take his place. He
didn't like that.”

“You want to be the alpha of the werewolf packs?” Regulus asks, eyebrow raised. “Why?”

“To get your attention.”

“Oh, look at him,” Bellatrix coos cruelly. “Do you want a master to teach you new tricks, pup?”

“I don’t want a master,” Remus says, and his eyes flash. “But I want to join your ranks.”

“Why?” Riddle asks.

Remus swallows. Bites his lips. Lucius and Bellatrix smirk. He does a good job of fighting the pull
of the serum, but in the end, he spills. “To get back at Sirius.”

This makes Bellatrix lean forward, curious. Even Riddle blinks twice. There’s silence for a
moment, and Regulus knows from the way the air settles around him that Remus is doing a very
good job. They're buying this. All of it. Regulus is, once again, impressed.

Bellatrix asks, “Sirius Black?”

“Yes.”

“What has he done to you?” Riddle says, cocking his head to the side.

Remus visibly panics. He struggles, tries not to say it. But he’s under veritaserum—the others think
—and can’t help it. And it’s truly brilliant, Regulus realises, because Remus is offering a secret
deep enough, dark enough, embarrassing enough that not even Tom Riddle will realise he’s doing
it voluntarily.

“He broke my heart,” Remus whispers, defeated. “I told him I loved him. He told me I was
disgusting.”

Stunned silence follows. This is, quite frankly, genius. By making it so personal, Remus has
planted enough doubt in their minds that they can’t dismiss him as a fraud straight away. Remus
isn't claiming to hate Dumbledore, or to hate muggle-borns. He's not even claiming he wants to
serve the Dark Lord. Instead, in their eyes, the serum has pulled something they think Remus
would rather die than admit out loud, because their bigotry won't let them imagine a world in which
Remus isn't ashamed of his feelings. And that. That is fucking brilliant.

Remus has made it about a personal slight. About hurt so deep he’d burn the world to get back at it.
About abandonment, and the hatred that builds from knowing you’ve been rejected by those who
were supposed to love you.

And Regulus, who knows more about Riddle’s past than anyone else in the room, has no doubt he
understands how deep that hatred can run. Tom Riddle doesn’t understand love, because he feels
none of it. But revenge? Self-righteous vengeance? That is a language he speaks.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I agree with my traitor cousin,” Bellatrix says. “It is disgusting.”

“You want to get revenge on Sirius Black?” Riddle asks Remus.

“I do.”

“And what are you willing to do for it?”

“Anything,” Remus says, wincing before he looks down, like he’s ashamed of himself. The man’s
performance is really stellar.

“You have other friends,” Lucius points out. “Would you be ready to betray them, too?”

“My friends turned from me when Sirius told them about… me. They called me… names,” Remus
says, grimacing. “They’re no longer my friends. I’m alone and I need a pack.”

Regulus looks away to hide the small smile on his lips as silence settles in the room while they all
process the revelations.

After a short while, Riddle beings pacing again, thinking. And Felix tugs at Regulus’ gut, guiding
him as he says, “My Lord?”

“Yes, Regulus?”

“The werewolves have been causing quite a bit of trouble for us since… well, since I lost my
temper and killed Greyback,” Regulus says smoothly. “Lupin is a direct descendant of his, and he’s
a trained wizard. We have few werewolves who can use a wand properly. I think he’d be useful.”

Remus cuts Regulus the nastiest side-eye of all time at the word ‘descendant’ but Regulus simply
doesn’t care about offending his delicate sensibilities. This situation is already precarious as is, so
Remus is going to just have to suck it up.

“We can’t be certain of his loyalty,” Bellatrix snarls. “He could turn on us. We should kill him and
be done with it.”
“If we kill every single person we capture, we’re never going to get a mole in Dumbledore’s
organisation,” Lucius points out. “Surely even you can see that, Bellatrix?”

“He’s not going to be a mole either way. This one is—”

“My Lord,” Regulus cuts Bellatrix before she starts ranting again. “Lupin owes me a life debt.
There was an incident in school, and I saved him. He swore the debt to me. Since it was my killing
Greyback that has caused so much trouble with the packs, I suggest I collect the debt to ensure his
loyalty. Leave the packs to me. I’ll use Lupin to control them.”

Riddle looks at Remus, narrowing his eyes. “Do you owe Regulus Black a life debt?”

“I do.”

Clearing his throat, Lucius says, “Regulus is right, my Lord. The werewolves have been causing
too much trouble recently. There’s unrest amongst the Death Eater ranks that have to deal with
them.”

“I’m aware, Lucius,” Riddle replies coolly. He turns calculating eyes on Remus, then on Regulus.

Without warning, he advances, and then his fingers are gripping Regulus’ face and he’s plunging
into Regulus’ head for the first time.

Don’t panic. Control yourself. You’ve trained for this.

Occlumency is an art of deception. It’s about shielding the parts you want to keep secret by
offering other parts as a distraction. Regulus feels Riddle looking for the true nature of Regulus’
relationship with Remus, and so Regulus offers glimpses.

The time he stopped Remus from attacking Snape—without betraying he did it to spare Remus
from himself.

Remus shaking Regulus’ hand, sealing the life debt—hiding that it was for Sirius in the first place.

Regulus’ potioner knife against Remus’ throat—cut quickly so James didn’t show in the memory.

Remus and Regulus having a cigarette in silence on the bridge during their prefect patrols. A bit of
banter, careful to keep it superficial.

It’s hard work, mixing the memories so James isn’t in any of them. So that Riddle can’t tell
Regulus knew the truth about Remus and Sirius. It’s exhausting. But the darkness in his blood
wakes at the intrusion and lends him strength. The voices in his head hiss, because they are
Blacks, they are royalty, Regulus’ head is theirs, and nobody should ever dare to trespass here.

They fight back.

They help.

They win.

When Riddle lets go, Regulus quickly tugs his sleeves down to hide the black veins visible through
his pale skin on his wrists. There’s sweat on his brow, and his fingers are twitching a little bit, but
he got through it.

“Very well,” Riddle says, stepping back. “I’m putting you in charge of the werewolf packs. Bind
Lupin to you and do as you see fit. If there’s any sign of insurrection, I expect you to kill him.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Regulus replies, bowing his head.

“Do it now,” Riddle orders. “I want to see it.”

Regulus steps forward, stands in front of Remus. He looks up, amber eyes flashing. There’s
mistrust there, but also a bit of hope. Either way, Remus knows he has no choice. He either goes
through with this, or Bellatrix will kill him. She’s very clearly upset over the fact Remus is still
breathing after making her bleed.

There’s silence for a moment, and Regulus remembers them standing outside the infirmary. His
question to Remus. What if I ask for something you don’t want to give me? Here they are now. No
refusing. No running. No avoiding it.

“Remus Lupin,” Regulus says, smirking at him. “It’s time for me to claim the debt you owe me.”

****

His hands are shaking again, and not just because of his mithridatism this time, but because he
wasn’t sure he was going to get away with helping Remus and that was terrifying. Regulus can tell
Remus notices when he stabs his finger with the tip of his dagger and uses the drop of blood to
open the door to his study. Still, Remus is too clever to say anything until he’s certain it’s safe, so
they both walk into the room quietly.

The door closes with a click that feels loud in the charged silence between them. Regulus waves his
wand around twice to ensure no one has somehow broken through his many protections. When he
confirms they’re alone, Regulus leans against his desk and takes out two cigarettes, offering one to
Remus.

They look at each other for a long moment, suspended in the knowledge that they came within
touching distance of literal death and barely escaped it. And then, Remus lets out a heavy breath
and says, “Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck. What the hell just happened?”

Regulus surprises himself by chuckling, possibly a left over from the nerves. “What were you
thinking? Like. Seriously, Lupin, are you that fucking stupid to think you could fool the Dark
Lord?”

Remus lights the cigarette Regulus gave him with his wand, which was returned to him when the
debt settled and he became bound to be loyal to Regulus no matter what. Taking a long drag, he
looks around the study, eyes settling on the neat table with whiskey bottles lined on it.

“I need a drink,” he says roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought I was gone. Dead. Done
for. Shit. Fuck.”

A few minutes later, they both are holding tumblers with amber coloured whiskey in them, leaning
against the desk side by side. It’s very odd, Regulus thinks, but not entirely unpleasant.

“Alright,” Remus says, taking a large gulp. “Godric’s balls. I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”

“He’s got that effect on people,” Regulus replies casually. The alcohol burns his throat. He hasn’t
drunk in a while and had forgotten how scorching firewhiskey feels when it slides down the back
of his mouth.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Remus croaks, and Regulus glances sideways at him to see just
how shaken he truly is.
The same guy that used to threaten him in school like he had never met fear looks small and
uncertain. There’s none of the rough, dangerous Remus Regulus remembers. Just a boy who
thought wasn’t going to see another sunrise and is shaken to his core to find himself with a second
chance at life.

“Just ask,” Regulus says, finishing his drink and pushing himself off the desk to go get a refill. He
thinks this conversation will be easier if they’re sloshed, and he’s just had Riddle inside his head.
He’s allowed to let a bit loose for a couple hours, he reasons.

The whispering dark in his head doesn’t seem to mind alcohol, so he goes for it. Remus shuffles to
his side, asking for a refill, too.

When he looks at Remus again, he’s frowning deeply, tension bleeding from the corners of his
eyes to pull at his entire face. “Are you or are you not a fucking Death Eater?”

“Depends on your definition of Death Eater,” Regulus replies.

“What—Regulus,” Remus says, visibly frustrated.

“No dramatics,” Regulus snaps, waving a hand to tell Remus to calm down. The whiskey in his
tumbler sloshes a little from the movement, catching the light from the fireplace. “If you want to
talk, we do it like civilised people.”

“Fucking hell.”

Regulus smirks, amused. The shadows in the corners of the room purr. He ignores them, focuses
on Remus. “First things first. You understand how the life debt works, don’t you?”

“Yes. Like an unbreakable vow. If I try to double cross you, I die,” Remus says flatly.

He walks further in and leans against a bookshelf, crossing one arm over his chest loosely, the
tumbler hanging from the other precariously. He’s still pretty battered, and needs a shower
urgently, but the flickering light from the fireplace is catching on his curls nicely.

“But do you understand that you swore fealty to me and not to Voldemort?” Regulus raises an
eyebrow at Remus, paired with a rather pointed look.

Remus’ eyes narrow, but there’s a small smirk twitching in the corner of his mouth. “I did notice
your wording was very careful, yes. And you didn’t give me veritaserum. What the hell did you
give me?”

“Water,” Regulus replies with a shrug. “Looks the same as truth serum.”

“What the fuck? What if they’d tested it?” Remus looks shocked, which Regulus finds is
satisfying. “I don’t understand what’s going on. I’m so bloody mad at you for… everything. James.
And Sirius. And… and then you fucking save me again. I hate you.”

“You don't say.”

Remus chuckles, shaking his head. He goes for his third refill and takes Regulus’ glass without
asking. At this rate, they’ll be on the floor within the hour.

“Tell me about this whole immunity to legilimancy thing. How does it work? Is it foul proof?”

“It’s a consequence of the way a werewolf’s brain is altered by the condition,” Remus says,
looking away like this makes him uncomfortable. “When we turn, we don’t think fully like we do
the rest of the time. There’s something… beastly, I guess, about our brains. And that means
legilimency doesn’t work. Because it doesn’t work on animals.”

“Hmmm,” Regulus says.

He watches Remus for the span of a breath, weighing his options. How much is he going to tell
him? It’ll be useful to have an ally. Someone who can’t betray him, and who can’t be mind-read by
Riddle.

The liquid luck potion has run out by now, so Regulus has no Felix to help him guess what the
right choice is. He’s always felt a sort of kinship with Remus. Dangerous people, he thought once.
Like calls to like. And he’s here already, in so much trouble that nothing Regulus tells him can
make it worse. Remus’ only chance at surviving is to work with him. For that, Regulus understands
he’ll have to reveal at least some of his hand.

“You need to start dosing yourself with veritaserum,” Regulus tells him, lighting another cigarette.
Remus approaches him to get his own. “Build a tolerance to it. To be safe.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Remus says. “But yes. Is… do you? How did you… Voldemort
looked into your mind and he didn’t see me and Sirius or he wouldn’t have allowed this. How?”

“I’ve been training for that exact scenario since last Christmas,” Regulus says, shrugging.
“Occlumency is hard, but not impossible. And yes. I do dose myself with veritaserum daily,
amongst other things.”

“That’s why you’re shaking?” Remus asks, nodding towards Regulus’ hands.

“Side effects of poison,” he replies. “I’m not going to tell you everything. At least not until I’m
certain you won’t crack under pressure. I’m not going to put my life in your hands.”

“But you asked me to put mine in yours,” Remus remarks, clenching his jaw.

“You did something fucking stupid,” Regulus replies. “This is not on me.”

“Why didn’t you just let them kill me?” Remus asks, immediately finishing his third glass of
whiskey. When he puts it down, he’s a bit unsteady.

Regulus isn’t faring much better himself. His head has started to feel like it’s full of cotton, and his
face is slowly melting into that sensation of lack of control that makes it do things of its own
volition.

Distantly, Regulus remembers the feeling of being drunk at a party on the edge of the Forbidden
Forest and seeking Remus out to get a cigarette. Remembers James cornering him against a tree.
His wand on James’ neck, and the way James’ eyes went wide and dark like he was enjoying it.

When Regulus doesn’t reply, Remus scoffs. “Not to come across as an ungrateful git, but
genuinely, Regulus, what the fuck are you playing at? What… what is your endgame?”

“Revenge.”

“On who?”

“There's a list.”
“Is Sirius on it?” Remus asks. “Is James?”

“No,” Regulus says. “It’s a short list.”

"Voldemort?"

"Maybe."

"Stop being so vague," Remus protests. "I don't... so, you're saying you've never wanted to get back
at Sirius for leaving you? Because that night on that bridge it felt personal. Like you wanted to hurt
him. And you did. I hate you for it."

And Regulus pauses. Remus isn’t wrong, not exactly. Regulus did want to get back at Sirius a little
bit. Despite everything. Because of everything, perhaps. Sirius, his… his brother. The one who left.
It hurt, and Regulus loved him still, but he can admit that he also wanted to make him feel it.

It’s always been complicated. And Regulus can’t pinpoint the feeling right now, because darkness
clings to the inside of his head like a weighted blanket, but he remembers that he did once love and
hate Sirius all together, mixed and mangled. Twisted. Brothers torn apart who never quite figured
out how to get back together. Messes of men. Jagged edges and sharp angles.

So yes. A part of Regulus wanted to get back at Sirius for that, for leaving him behind and making
a life that had happiness in it without Regulus. And Regulus got what he wanted, didn’t he? He hurt
Sirius. Not physically, never that. But he made him feel the sting of being left behind. He got that
mark and showed it to his brother and watched him crumble.

James, too. The brother Sirius chose despite the fact he already had one. The loud, obnoxious boy
from the train that Regulus couldn’t stop staring at when was a kid, thinking ‘this is why Sirius
doesn’t love me anymore’. Ah, Regulus got back a James, too. Made him feel the pain of not being
chosen. Of being the one who’s discarded in favour of better things.

“In a way, I guess I wanted Sirius to know what it’s like. He left, and I hated him for it,” Regulus
replies vaguely. “But I’m not and have never been interested in killing Sirius. Or James. Quite the
opposite.”

“What do you want then? What is your… what are we doing here?”

“I’m not telling you yet,” Regulus says. “Not until you’re immune to truth serum. It’s too
dangerous.”

“Give me something, Regulus,” Remus snarls. “I need something.”

“I saved your life. Sam McKinnon is alive but don't ask to see her, I won't allow it. James and
Marlene didn’t make it out of that safehouse by accident. And you and Sirius survived the
explosion because I willed it so,” Regulus snaps, annoyed and drunk and unsteady. “How’s that for
something?”

Eyes wide, cheeks a little red, Remus blinks twice at him before swallowing. “Right.”

They smoke in silence for a few moments before Remus shakes his head and says, “No. Not right.
Fuck. I just don’t get it. I don’t get you.”

“That’s because you’re trying to figure out whose side I’m on, and I’m on no one’s side but my
own,” Regulus says simply. “We’ve got work to do and you’re bound to me. So, stop whinging. I
need you to take leadership of the werewolf packs. Can you do that?”
“I think so,” Remus replies. He sounds tired. Regulus doesn’t blame him. The man looks like he
was hit by a train. “My worry was always that my loyalty would be questioned, not my strength.
Greyback himself bit me. That means I’m more dangerous than your average wolf.”

“Silver linings,” Regulus mutters.

And perhaps it’s the alcohol, or the lingering adrenaline. Perhaps it’s that they are so young and
thrust in the middle of a war that’s too big for them. Whatever it is, Remus starts laughing and it’s
fucking contagious.

Somehow, they end up sliding down to the floor, laughing, laughing. It’s rather hysterical and
desperate. A bit pathetic, too. Regulus thought he was beyond pathetic now. Turns out enough
firewhiskey will do this to you.

When they eventually calm down a little, Remus groans. “Fuck. This is insane.”

“You need a shower,” Regulus says, wrinkling his nose. “And sleep. And some healing charms.”

“And then what?” Remus asks, letting his head fall back to hit the desk behind them.

“Earn the loyalty of the wolves. It’s going to take you some time, which is just as well,” Regulus
mutters. Then, he looks up, straight into Remus’ eyes. “You’re going to have to fight with us.
Possibly bite people. You do realise that, don’t you?”

Remus tenses like a bow string. His jaw clenches hard, the muscles of his face tugging at the
corners of his eyes and mouth. “I—”

“Tell me right now that you can do it, Remus,” Regulus hisses. “Because if you can’t there’s no
point to this. Veritaserum or no. Legilimancy or no. If you don’t have the stomach to maintain your
cover, you’re useless to me.”

“How will they know? They don’t come out on the full moons with us,” Remus says, grimacing.
“I… I need to see what the packs think first. There are some of them that don’t necessarily want to
go around biting people.”

“It’s literally the only reason Voldemort keeps you around,” Regulus points out. “If you don’t have
the guts, you’re as good as dead. I’m not going to risk my neck for you.”

“Again, you mean,” Remus points out. “Because from where I’m standing you already did.”

Annoyed, Regulus rolls his eyes. It’s dark outside and overcast. There’s not a single speck of
starlight piercing the thick blanket of clouds in the sky. He runs a hand through his curls. He’s
tired, and drunk, and it’s frankly not the moment to get into it with Remus.

“I’m going to sleep,” Regulus says, shoving himself up to his feet. “You should do the same.”

Remus follows him out of the study down a long corridor, then up a set of stairs. Regulus is giving
Remus a room near his own so that he can keep an eye on him. It’s spacious, and Remus looks
impressed against his will when he walks in. Roughly, Regulus sets down a vial of veritaserum on
the bedside table and gestures to it.

“Five drops per day until I tell you to up the dose,” he says. “Take them in the morning as soon as
you wake so the lingering effects pass before you’re out. Be careful for the first few hours,
especially the first few days.”
“Do you sleep here now? What about Grimmauld Place?” Remus asks, stumbling a little as he
steps further into the room.

“I don’t see how my sleeping arrangements are any of your business,” Regulus says, heading
towards the door. “I’ll meet you tomorrow to discuss your plan of action with the werewolf packs.”

The door opens smoothly, and Regulus steps out. Just before it closes behind him, Remus calls for
him again. “Regulus?”

He pauses. Looks over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

####

“Pads? Hey, Pads, come on. You need to eat something,” James says softly, coaxing Sirius out of
the burrito of blankets he made for himself the moment they got back to Potter Manor after talking
to Moody.

Sirius shouted and broke a chair—James stopped him before he got to a second one—and then
proceeded to collapse and go completely non-verbal when Moody confirmed their fears. Remus left
to go join the pack straight from their flat. Didn’t waste another second.

That was about fifteen hours ago.

Which means by now Remus will have made contact at the very least. If it’s gone wrong, he could
be dead already. James doesn’t know how to function if he holds that thought in his head for more
than a second, so he doesn’t. He has to believe Remus is alive so he can focus on taking care of
Sirius instead.

“Don’t feel like it,” Sirius mumbles, shaking his head mutinously.

James feels for him. He really does. But they’re not in school anymore. They have to put on their
big boy pants and deal even when it hurts. And oh, how James wishes that he could make it stop
hurting for Sirius. He’d do anything to find Remus. Bring him back. But he can’t.

“You still have to,” James insists. “You’re on a stakeout with King and Fabian this evening. You
can’t go on an empty stomach.”

Sirius makes a pitiful sort of sad noise but, to James’ surprise, emerges from his blankets. He looks
like shit. There’s dried drool on his chin and his hair is tangled like a bird’s nest. His eyes are
bloodshot and haunted.

Heart clenching with worry for Sirius, James reaches out and finds his hand. “Hey. Remus is out on
a mission, okay? That’s what you need to focus on. We always worry, but not like this.”

“It’s not just a mission,” Sirius says. “It’s not.”

“What exactly are you afraid of?” James ask gently, carefully.

Anyone else would think this a stupid question. Not Sirius. Sirius can tell James has picked up on
whatever is going on in his head, and just needs an in. Sirius can tell James wants to understand so
he can help better. And because it’s James, Sirius lets him.

Leaning forward with fearful eyes, Sirius whispers, “The wolves. It’s not just that it’s dangerous. I
know that. Every single mission is dangerous. He could die. I could die tonight on the stake-out.
It’s how it is.”

“Right,” James says. “But there’s something else about this. Something that’s freaking you out
more than normal. Why?”

Sirius swallows, pinches his eyes closed. “What if… what if it all goes well? What if they let him
into the pack and he’s just…” Sirius stops, makes a sound of profound distress. “What if he likes it
better with them? What if he finds someone who’s like him? Who gets what it’s like for real? I
could never do that for him. I’ll never understand what it’s like to be a wolf. And what if that’s
what he needs? What if… what if he’s better off with someone like him?”

“Oh, Sirius,” James pulls him in for a hug. Sirius comes. He always does. His face buries in the
crook of James’ neck and James holds him tight. “Listen to me. Remus might benefit from meeting
other werewolves, that is true. And he might make friends, or he might not. We don’t know.”

“Right, and that—that’s good for him. But I hate it!” Sirius whines.

“Listen,” James insists. “He might make friends. But Remus has been in love with you since he
was fourteen years old, Sirius. He’s your boyfriend and your best friend. No one can change that.
You need to trust in what you have. Trust him.”

“I trust him,” Sirius says immediately. “I just—”

“No. Trust him fully. Trust him for real,” James tells him. “Trust him to do this mission and come
back to you. And don’t let him find out you’ve been hiding in a blanket fort the entire time when he
does or he’ll be pissed.”

“He could already be dead,” Sirius whispers.

“But he could not, and we’re going to hold on to that, okay?” James says firmly. “We’re going to
go on like he’s coming back. We owe him that.”

Sirius gives James a little shove, pushing himself back to look at his friend in the eye. He’s smiling
a bit, which is progress. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“Someone has to when Moony is busy,” James replies.

With a deep breath, Sirius nods. “Okay. Alright. I still fucking hate this and I’m so worried my
stomach feels like it’s caving in on itself. But fine. I can do this. I can function.”

“Good. Now, let’s go get you some food.”

Sirius asks James to stay in the room while he goes and showers so he’s not alone when he comes
back. James complies. Happily. He sits on Sirius’ bed and simply waits while he fights with his
clothes to get them on, then aggressively attacks his hair with a comb.

Through it all, he glances towards James every so often like he needs to reassure himself that he’s
there. Still there. With him. James is. James will always be.

Then, they go down to the kitchen together and Sirius forces himself to eat some porridge. It’s a
struggle, and James can see he doesn’t really have an appetite, but Sirius is trying and that’s all
James will ever ask for.

“I don’t want to go back to the flat,” Sirius says after taking a sip of coffee. “Is it alright if I crash
here until he’s back?”

“Pads, your room is still as you left it,” James tells him with a shrug. “It’s yours any time you want
it. You don't have to ask.”

“Thank you,” he says.

James watches him finish his breakfast. The quiet tension in the corners of his eyes and on his
shoulders. The way his hands a rough now, scarred from fighting and falling. They all are these
days. James has accumulated more scars in the span of eight months than in the eighteen years
prior.

Eighteen.

Fuck. Most of the time, James doesn’t feel that young. He feels weary and achey. Grief-stricken
and sick with worry. And he doesn’t regret selling his youth to defend innocent lives, but that
doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish it weren’t so. Sometimes, James wishes he was a normal kid, making
normal choices with his normal friends.

“Let’s go into town,” James says abruptly, getting up from the kitchen table.

Sirius looks at him with a sceptical tilt to his eyebrow. “To town? What for?”

“We’ve nothing to do until this evening,” James says. “Let’s just go hang out. We’ll go to the
record store. We can even sit by the station and watch the main road for motorbikes if you’d like.”

“It’s February, Prongs,” Sirius points out, but he’s getting up, too. “It’s too cold to just sit outside.”

“Says the wizard.”

Sirius chuckles, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

And they do. And Sirius was right that it is too cold. And it starts raining not an hour after they get
to town. But they laugh about it and seek refuge in a small coffee shop where they order hot
chocolate and listen to two girls sitting on the table next to theirs gossip about their friends.

And then Sirius convinces James to go with him to a tattoo shop and well. James isn’t sure how he
feels about how permanent the ink on his body is, but he’s got it now. And it made Sirius smile, so
it was worth it. Sirius got piercings on his ears, and tried to persuade James into piercing
something, anything, but James took one look at the needles and said no thank you.

It is incredibly normal. Muggle-ish. For a little while, James and Sirius are just two friends hanging
out in Richmond for a few hours on a random weekday in February. No more. No less.

****

“Morning Lily,” James mutters, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and blindly reaching for
the kettle.

It’s bright in the kitchen. A beautiful, clear early March day in London. Not a cloud in the sky and
frost over the garden, turning the grass a little white on top. If James wasn’t so knackered, he’d
appreciate it. As it stands, the best he can do is squint at Lily and ask, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she yawns. “Sleepy. I got back late.”

“Pub?” James asks.

“No,” Lily says. “Just went ‘round to Marlene’s and Dorcas’ with Mary. Girls’ night. We watched
a movie.”

“The girls have a television?”

Lily beams, nodding. She looks very pleased with herself, and James quickly learns why.

“We installed it last night! That’s why we went over to their flat. Marlene quite likes this film,
Grease. We thought it couldn’t hurt for her to have something to keep her mind off things. You
know, for when she’s alone at home waiting for Dorcas.”

“She can always come here,” James says softly. “Marlene and any of the girls. They’re welcome.”

“Too stubborn,” Lily mutters. “Marlene is pretending to be okay. She’s not. I think… it’s the
uncertainty. If there was a body, at least she could put Sam to rest, you know?”

James knows. He hates that he does, though. But it makes sense. It’s easier to get closure when you
can say goodbye to the person you love. When you have tangible proof that they’re no longer here
with you. In Marlene’s case, and somewhat in Sirius’, not knowing what has happened to them is
almost worse than the certainty of an early death.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, James says, “She could still be alive.”

Lily nods, but it’s half-hearted. They both know it’s unlikely. It’s been too long. Four months is
way too long. They’ve hurt too many Death Eaters. Busted too many dodgy deals and experiment
sites. The Order isn’t actively tipping the scales of war yet, but they’re definitely more than a
nuisance. If the Death Eaters had one of theirs in captivity, they’d have a million reasons to kill
them just to get back at them. And no one can come up with a good enough motive for them to still
have Sam alive.

It's fucking bleak. But it’s their reality these days. Seeping into everything they do. Everything
they think. Death and blood. Wounds that sometimes are healed, and sometimes leave scars.
Missions that go well, or don’t. Nights given up to the front lines over and over and over again.
Stretched too thin. Always just a tad too tired. Never enough time to recover.

“Sorry,” James whispers after a while. “I didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“It’s not you, James,” Lily says sadly. “It’s just the way things are. There’s no mood to kill
anymore.”

“We should do something about that,” James tries, nudging Lily’s foot with his own. “What do
you think? Will the girls be up for a pub night?”

“Maybe,” Lily agrees. “It’s been a while.”

Pub nights with friends have become far and few between. When they do meet, they drink in
silence. Jokes are stilted and laughs are forced. Marlene looks hardened, like she’s aged years in
the span of a season. Dorcas is tired from carrying the weight of her girlfriend’s grief—unfailing,
because that’s just Dorcas for you, but tired. Mary tries to cheer people up with James, and he
appreciates her efforts, always. But it’s so hard, even she ends up elapsing back into silence. Peter
is running himself rugged with his new job and the Order. Lily has lost weight because she forgets
to eat most days, tied to her cauldrons like she’ll save everybody if she brews one more potion.

And then, there’s Sirius.

As though she can read his thoughts, Lily asks, “How’s Sirius doing?”

Sighing heavily, James puts his cup of tea down and buries his hands in his hair. “Not good. He’s
trying. Fucking hell, Lils, he’s trying so hard. But…”

James doesn’t know how to explain it. Sirius kept his word. He functions, because he has no
choice. He fights. All day and all night. And when he’s not fighting, he’s with James. He tries, but
some days the trying is more heartfelt than others.

It’s been weeks and no one has heard anything about Remus. James can’t even begrudge Sirius his
state, because if he wasn’t so busy keeping Sirius together, James himself would be a mess. Remus
is missing. Whether that’s his choice or not, they don’t know. It’s terrifying.

Most nights, when he’s not out on assignment, Sirius sits in James’ room by the window staring
out at the night. There was a full moon a couple of days ago, and Sirius turned himself into a dog
and howled from dusk until dawn. James sat in the steps of his house, by the front door, and stood
vigil to his grief. Through thick and thin. Brothers. Soulmates.

Broken together. Rebuilding together. Or trying to. Because James carries his own grief, but he’s
had time to learn to deal. Sirius’ is raw and new and different. And so, the light in his eyes is still
gone. Dulled to a matte sheen that makes James gut clench like a fist every time he looks at his
friend.

“What Sirius and Remus have is precious, Lils. It’s rare. It’s powerful,” James says. “And perhaps
not entirely healthy. But, you know. Is any of us actually healthy about anything? I don’t think
Sirius knows how to… how to be Sirius. Not on his own. Not like this.”

“I hate this,” Lily says violently. “I fucking hate it, James. I hate it. Why is this happening to us?
Why now? I just—”

With a sort of desperate half-whine, Lily makes a fist and bangs it on the counter hard. She winces,
bringing her hand to her chest but eyes the counter like she’s considering doing it again.

James raises an eyebrow. “Lily? If you really need to hit something, then come here.”

“What?”

“Come here,” James says again, tugging her closer by her wrist. She comes. Stands in front of him.
“Hit me right here. Not the sternum, that’ll hurt. But here.”

Lily stares at the place James is pointing at, lips slightly parted. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You won’t hurt me. And, most importantly, you won’t hurt your hand.” Solemnly, he looks at her,
straight into her eyes. “Just because you work the cauldrons doesn’t mean this war isn’t messing
you up, too. So. Go for it. You won’t hurt me. I promise you.”

And Lily decides to go with it. She trusts James. That he knows what he’s doing. And she closes
her fist again and pounds on his chest. And pounds again. And again. He was right that she’s not
strong enough to hurt him. Her hands are small and James is big and full of muscles. He grunts a
little, but he can take it. There’s not even going to be a bruise, he doesn’t think.

Lily hits him. Over and over. At some point, she starts to cry, and James gets a bit worried for a
second, but Lily just keeps hitting him. So, James stands there and lets her, because she needs it.
Because Lily doesn’t go out in the field and so she behaves like she’s not allowed to hurt, but she is
suffering, too. She deserves to have an outlet as much as the ones who are out there fighting.
When she’s tired, she falls forward, face straight into James’ chest, and mumbles, “That felt
amazing. I’m sorry I hit you repeatedly. But it was so therapeutic.”

James laughs and brings his arms around her. “Anytime.”

“James?”

“Yes?”

“I think you should know that you’re helping a lot of people,” Lily says softly. “I don’t think
anyone remembers to tell you, but you’re keeping us together. Your house is always open for us.
You’re always there to cheer us up. People trust you unfailingly because you’re just so good. You
keep trying. It’s like you’re the embodiment of resilience, and that’s beautiful and powerful.”

“You’re exaggerating,” James says, trying to swallow through the lump in his throat.

“No. You know I’m not,” Lily insists. “I don’t go out myself, chained as I am to the cauldrons, but
I’ve heard the others talking. Everyone wants to be on a mission with you because they know
you’ll always do the most to make sure they come back. You’re important to the Order. You’re
important to us.”

“Lily, I—”

“Don’t. Just… accept it. Just hear what I’m saying, and accept it, James. You don’t even realise
you’re doing it, but you’re keeping us all going. And I just wanted to make sure someone
acknowledged it. Things are pretty shit right now but they would be a hell of a lot worse if we
didn’t have James Potter on our side.”

Throat thick and eyes stinging, James buries his face in the crown of Lily’s hair and mutters,
“Thank you. Thank you for saying that.”

****

“It’s fucking freezing,” Sirius hisses, wiggling a bit and making the few twigs trapped under his
body creak in protest. “Why is it so cold? It’s March. Where the fuck is spring?”

“Shut up, Pads,” James whispers back, glancing around frantically.

Groaning, Sirius shuffles his body where he’s lying under a bush with James. Now, truth be told,
Sirius is absolutely correct that it is freezing. They’ve been here for about two hours and James is
certain he’s going to have to have his toes amputated. But they cannot be found out. That’s the
whole point of a stake-out.

“Nobody is here,” Sirius replies. “Who’s going to hear us?”

“Well, what if they show?”

“Then, I’ll shut up!”

This has to be the most uncomfortable assignment James has been given yet. When Peter made a
dig at him about always being sent out flying—something that James does enjoy, admittedly, even
if it’s somewhat less pleasant when he’s being shot at—James didn’t really give it much thought.
But now? Bloody hell. If this is the sort of thing his friends do on the regular James won’t
complain about his air force ever again.
He wants off the cold ground and up in the sky, thank you.

“Complaining about the cold isn’t going to make you any warmer,” James mutters.

“My dick’s going to fall off,” Sirius whines. “It’s like... retracted. Like. Back into my body. That’s
how fucking cold I am.”

“I really didn’t need that visual,” James tells him honestly. “Like. At all.”

“Sucks to be you,” Sirius grins at him, lopsided and a bit wicked and it’s so similar to the old Sirius
that James can’t even tell him off.

It’s Remus’ birthday today, which is why James made sure he’d be assigned a low-risk, easy
mission with Sirius. For once, Moody didn’t fight him on it and simply did what James asked.
Whether Sirius knows this was all planned or not, it’s working. It’s been a relatively good day,
frozen underbrush stake-out position notwithstanding.

Earlier in the morning they went to London together. Sirius and James. Just them. They walked
around and talked about some of the good memories from school. They bought some records. Then
they had lunch with King, who was on his way back from a mission. Early afternoon, Sirius and
James went back to Potter Manor to prepare for this stake-out.

And Sirius did mope about a bit and get a little sad when he saw the Ziggy Stardust album in the
store. He did have to wipe tears away when they walked past a bakery with a window full of fancy
cakes. And yes, James held him while he got yet another tattoo on a whim—one that says Moony
on the inside of his wrist—and cried while doing it. The tattoo artists was bewildered, but carried
on anyway. Muggles are odd.

Still all in all Sirius has been doing well.

James is fucking proud of him for it because honestly? If roles were reversed… James would have
done something stupid by now. And he knows Sirius wants to go out there and look for Remus
more than anything, but he’s staying put. He’s staying put because on the odd-chance that Remus is
alive, Sirius looking for him could be the thing that reveals him to the Death Eaters and Sirius
won’t take that chance.

“Prongs,” Sirius says, nudging him lightly.

Looking through the bushes, James sees the front of the house they’ve been watching open. Four
people walk out. Three women, one man. They don’t recognise any of them, but that’s not
important. They share memories like these with Moody so others can identify the people in them.
Pensieves are handy like that.

The four people don’t leave straight away, which alerts James and Sirius something else is
happening. Inching forward a little, both of them take their wands and wait. Nobody is
complaining about the cold now.

“Can you do that eavesdropping spell?” James asks. “Do you think they’d notice?”

“It’s risky,” Sirius says, then shrugs. “But I bet we’re faster than them. They won’t catch us.”

James nods. Just as Sirius is casting the spell, the door opens again, and two more people come out.
And these ones, James recognises. Snivellius and Lucius Malfoy. Heart in his throat, James does
his best not to move as Sirius finishes his clever bit of magic.
When it falls into place, James can hear Lucius, “We have an agreement, then.”

“Yes, sir,” says one of the women. “No Graphorn horns. Won’t be a problem.”

“Excellent. You’ll be rewarded handsomely for your services.”

The four people nod politely, then hurry down the road, presumably to apparate away from the
house. Malfoy and Snivellius head in the opposite direction. James and Sirius look at each other.
They’re not supposed to chase after them. Not supposed to engage.

But it’s fucking Malfoy, right there. The man responsible for a ridiculous number of new bills that
are making everyone’s lives a nightmare. And when have they ever needed a reason to attack
Snivellius?

In perfect sync, James and Sirius scramble up and take off at a run after the two Death Eaters,
wands raised, and a wicked glean in their eyes. They don’t even have to talk. As always, when
they’re fighting together, Sirius and James just know.

It would have been too easy to catch them by surprise, so of course they don’t. The slapping sound
of their shoes on the road give them away before they’re at range, but it still takes Lucius and
Snape a moment to get their bearings. James goes straight for Snivellius. It’s the principle of the
whole thing. And the fact that James hasn’t forgotten the time he almost killed Sirius.

Duelling is a sort of dance. And James has always loved to dance. It’s energetic, and dynamic, and
he thrives in it. He’s a physical person, what can he say. Moving, sweating, using his body gets
him out of his head. It’s when he’s at his best. Fighting. Flying. Fucking, too, for better or worse.

James is on peak form, and he’s absolutely hammering Snivellius with a barrage of spells that he’s
barely keeping up with. And it’s fucking glorious. Amazing. Brilliant. All the words.

“Stupefy!” James’ spell is well timed and well-aimed and it hits Snivellius just as he’s moving his
arm from having deflected the previous curse. He goes flying backwards, and lands on his back in
the middle of the road.

“Nice one, Prongs!” Sirius shouts.

He’s engaged with Lucius, who looks very put out over the fact that Sirius is giving him a run for
his money. Sirius is grinning, and James is living because he hasn’t seen Sirius smile like that since
Remus left.

James steps up next to Sirius, wand raised. “Want a hand?”

Sirius laughs, hitting Lucius with a combination of spells that has him physically stepping back to
dodge some of them because his wandwork alone isn’t enough. And then James is there, and
they’re laughing, and Lucius looks appalled that James and Sirius are having this much fun while
handing him his ass.

The stunning spell knocks him back and out. It’s just them again, standing in the road, looking over
Snivellius and Lucius Malfoy. James whistles, rubs the back of his neck.

“We can’t bring them in, can we?” Sirius says.

James smacks his lips. “No. They weren’t doing anything illegal, so if anything, the aurors would
have to take us in for assaulting civilians.”
“Alice and Frank would never,” Sirius protests.

“They have to follow the rules,” James says. He’s starting to regret their choices. Not fully,
because it was fucking fun and it felt good to beat Malfoy and Snivellius but they could get in
trouble for it.

Sirius lets out a long, dramatic sigh and says, “Fine. Let’s go, then. Before they wake up.”

“What are we going to tell Moody?” James asks, following Sirius down the road and back towards
the bushes where they’d been hiding.

Crouching behind the plants, Sirius swipes his wand over the area to erase any trace of them
having been there. Then, he and James walk further into the public garden until they’re standing in
the shadow of a large tree.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Sirius says with a small smile.

James chuckles and nods. “Did it make you feel better?”

“Fuck, yes,” Sirius replies with so much feeling James has to supress a giggle.

“Then, that’s all I care about. Come on. The sooner we debrief, the sooner we can go get a pint at
the pub.”

Sirius throws his arm over his shoulder. “Look at you. You sound like a muggle. Next thing I
know, you’ll be driving a car or something.”

Rolling his eyes, James shoves him away. “No way. Metal death-traps those things. Almost as bad
as those motorbikes you’re obsessed with.”

“Oi, they’re—”

But James doesn’t hear the rest of Sirius’ sentences because he’s apparating away. And he knows
his brother is right behind him and will continue to try to change his mind about motorised vehicles
all night.

Things aren’t well. Not by far. But they could also be worse. And James reminds himself again
that as long as he and Sirius are okay and together, the world can crumble, and they’ll survive.

####

If looks could kill, Regulus would be dead ten times over.

“Come on, Bellatrix,” Regulus drawls, leaning back on the rigid mahogany chair. “Be a good sport.
Severus is right that the poison shouldn’t be bottled for so long. Your plan won’t work. It’s not
personal.”

“And how do you propose we do it then?” Bellatrix snarls at him, eyes darting between Regulus,
Severus, and Riddle.

Across from him, sat on the chair to Riddle’s right, Bellatrix has been staring daggers in his
direction since they started the meeting. She’s upset for a number of reasons. First, they’re
gathered in Malfoy Manor which she never likes because she feels it’s a slight against her and
Rodolphus.

Second, Bellatrix is still hung up on the fact that she couldn’t kill Remus. For some reason, she’s
angry with Regulus that the werewolf survived. Regulus suspects it’s got something to do with her
personal vendetta against Sirius, but he’s not bothered. Remus is his now. Bellatrix can’t do fuck
all about it.

And, finally, she doesn’t like that her plan for the big attack they’re working on has just been shot
down by Regulus and Severus together.

“My Lord,” Regulus says, turning towards Riddle. “What is the goal of this attack? Do we just
want to cause chaos? Are we targeting a specific individual within the group?”

“The press,” Riddle replies. “I want control of the Daily Prophet but the editor-in-chief is a
moralist. I want him and his team wiped out.”

Regulus nods, thinking. Bellatrix begins ranting again. “My Lord, we should ambush them in the
atrium at the start. We’ve got the numbers—”

“We can’t guarantee success that way,” Regulus cuts her off. “We need the aurors and any possible
Order members to be engaged and distracted. I suggest two teams. One offensive, one stealth.”

Riddle looks at him, nods lightly. “Go on.”

“The offensive team can do what Bellatrix wants. Attack, draw them out. Create chaos,” Regulus
explains, his mind working through how it would play out in his mind. It can work. It’s a good
plan. “The stealth team has to be precise, and it has to include either myself or Severus. This team
will wait for the right time to slip past the defences and activate the poison. It’ll take out that
editor-in-chief, sir.”

“You can’t set off the poison if we’re fighting in there, too,” Rodolphus points out. “It’d kill us as
well.”

“I have the antidote,” Regulus says. “But you’re right. A fight in the atrium would be too
unpredictable. We need to draw them out.”

Bellatrix scoffs, bangs a hand flat against the table. “Then the ones fighting could avoid the
poison!”

“But the goal of this whole thing is to frighten the public and to kill the editor-in-chief of the Daily
Prophet,” Regulus drawls, rolling his eyes to illustrate his annoyance. “We either guarantee that, or
we attack blindly and hope for the best. You can’t have both.”

“Outrageous!” Bellatrix roars, getting out from her chair. “We are stronger. More powerful. We
could take them all. Your way is cowardly!”

“My way is smart,” Regulus hisses.

“Enough,” Riddle says. Everyone settles back against their chairs. A few people nervously clear
their throats. Regulus meets Riddle’s gaze brazenly. He’s not afraid. “Regulus, draw me a detailed
plan of attack. I want to know all the ins and outs of it.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He will do it carefully, because Barty and Evan will be taking part of this attack and Regulus isn’t
going to get sloppy with it. And he knows Dorcas will be there. So will Sirius and James. It’s
inevitable. Regulus needs to orchestrate this in a way that gives them the best chance at survival
when things get ugly. And they will.
“Bellatrix, I admire your fervour but on this occasion Regulus is right. We must be patient.”

Through a few of her black curls, Regulus catches a glimpse of the glare of pure fury she’s
directing at him but pretends not to notice. Nonchalantly, he reaches for the cup in front of him and
takes a sip.

Bellatrix’s look is unmistakable. Game on, little cousin.

And Regulus can only smirk. Because he’s been wanting to play with Bellatrix for a very long
time.

At the head of the table, Riddle waves a vague hand to indicate the topic is now closed and calls
for the Malfoy house elf to bring refreshments. A break of sorts. They happen relatively frequently
during meetings these days because they’re winning. The people fighting against them can’t keep
up with Riddle’s numbers or his ruthlessness.

It’s only a matter of time before Riddle makes his power play to position himself as Minister for
Magic. He hasn’t said as much to Regulus, but it’s what he would do. The logical next step. Riddle
wants to rule the world, starting with England. And there’s no higher power than Minister for
Magic.

There’s a slow round of murmuring as people take sips from their cups and munch on the
refreshments brought out. Regulus doesn’t touch anything. Not the food, not the drinks. He very
much wants to go home now. These meetings always drag unnecessarily because Riddle loves the
sound of his own voice and the Death Eaters are always trying to impress him so it’s just terribly
tedious.

Regulus is out of luck, though. The meeting is called back to the table, and they all sit again, and
he has to suffer through three accounts of random raids or similar events across England led by less
competent people than him. No one mentions the spy within the Order, which raises Regulus
hackles. He still doesn’t know if there is one or not.

Sure, there have been some suspicious situations where Riddle has sent Death Eaters to the perfect
place at exactly the right time but that’s been happening for a long time. It doesn’t confirm that
there’s an actual traitor in the Order as far as Regulus can tell, but it doesn’t rule it out either. And
who? Most importantly, why is Riddle keeping them under such secrecy? Perhaps there isn’t a spy
after all. If there was, surely he’d tell Regulus? He tells Regulus pretty much everything else these
days, so why not this?

Turning this over in his head, Regulus zones out of the meeting completely, entertaining himself by
stretching the shadows in the far corner until Riddle turns his eyes to the very last seat at the table.

It’s not a seat of privilege. It holds little weight, and no power. But it is a seat at the table
nonetheless. A seat that has been vacant for over a year and that, today, has an occupant for the
first time.

“Lupin,” Riddle says. “Report on your wolves.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Remus says, flashing a quick, cunning glance towards Regulus. “As you know,
there are ten active packs in your service. I’ve sworn six of them. The remaining four shouldn’t be
a problem at all. I expect to have them under my leadership within three weeks. A month,
perhaps.”

“What of the rumours there’s a pack loyal to Dumbledore in the Midlands?” Lucius asks. Regulus
 bites back a smile.

“I’m heading out with five of my trusted people tonight,” Remus replies smoothly. “I suspect it’s
just gossip, but I want to confirm it.”

“Someone’s keen,” Bellatrix mutters, but she can’t argue that Remus’ track record so far has been
pristine. Perfect. Outstanding.

Lucius smiles as a wave of approval runs through the table. But Remus isn’t done. “My Lord,” he
says, turning to Riddle once more, “what would you have me do if the rumours happen to be true?”

“Slaughter them all,” Riddle says without missing a beat. “Sends a message. Anyone who shows
support for Dumbledore forfeits their life. No exceptions.”

And Remus Lupin smirks a truly terrifying thing, eyes flashing with hunger, and says, “yes, my
Lord.”

Chapter End Notes

Okay! Here we are! Things are moving

So, it was REMUS! He's on Reg's side now! How are we feeling about that? Regulus
was pissed lmao He was like 'whose stupid idea was this that I have to clean up now'
PLS

Not going to lie, I hated writing Remus be tortured. It was so sad. But he's so
STRONG. He endured that like the king he is. Also, Remus weaponising the Death
Eater's bigotry against them? DELICIOUS. Remus, you dropped this my man

Also - that was one bombastic side-eye he shot Regulus when he called him 'a
descendant of Greyback's' LMAO

I had so much fun writing the scene where they get drunk and have their little tete-a-
tete. Regulus is finally telling someone something and boy am I glad! We're making
progress!!

Sirius is not doing well. He needs a hug and Moony to come back to him. I am Sad
because when Sirius is suffering, I am suffering

James and Lily? Help they're such good friends these days? I am obsessed with
platonic Jily

That little stake-out scene on Remus' birthday? HELP PRONGSFOOT ARE THE
ABSOLUTE BEST Also.. James got a tattoo don't ask me what it is you will find
out when Regulus finds out and that's final you're welcome to guess, tho

Finally - there's a big attack coming. It's BIG (bigger than last year's NYE attack, so
prepare yourselves) and it spans the next two chapters. Did you catch that Barty and
Evan are coming back!? How excited are we? I've missed Rosekiller a lot

LOVE YOU ALL WITH MY ENTIRE HEART Thank you for supporting my story.
See you in the comments section to scream about the rising Regulus-Remus alliance
and anything else you want to scream about lmao
 State of the Nation
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

I have had the best two days reading all the comments of you going feral for the
moonwater alliance Those two are so fun to write together. I love them and I'm
glad you love them, too

This chapter covers the bulk of the Death Eaters attack so please do keep that in mind
as you go in. There's violence and fighting and death in this one, so look after
yourselves!

TWs
Depictions of injuries (lots of them, of all sorts, some a bit gruesome)
Blood (a lot)
References to deaths (happen off page, but it's mentioned someone we know has been
killing people)
References to past terrorist attacks at large scale (off page but we get a brief
description of what happened)
Depictions of terrorism (as per the note, the big attack is in this chapter and you see
the whole thing as it happens)
Depictions of violence
Poisonings
Death of a family member
Just quite a bit of death and grief in this one
Depictions of anxiety
Emergency rooms / hospitals
Stitching of wounds (muggle way)
References to vomiting (several people think about it throughout the chapter)
Depictions / descriptions of dead bodies

I think that should cover everything!

Enjoy (?) This one is a bit rough but it does have a super cute moment in it that I love

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“You’re bleeding on my desk,” Regulus points out, giving Remus a look that indicates he better
clean himself up or else.

Huffing an indignant breath, Remus shrugs his t-shirt off—or what remains of it—and uses it to
wipe at the blood on the desk before holding it against the wound on his shoulder. Regulus notices
with keen interest that he’s got ink, too. What is it with Order people and muggle tattoos?

He has half a mind to ask Remus how, exactly, they work and how one goes about getting them
when Remus speaks and derails that train of thought.

“I still think you should let me come tomorrow,” Remus says, not for the first time this week.
“No,” Regulus says, also not for the first time. “Stop asking, it’s annoying and not going to change
my mind so, really, just a waste of time.”

“It’s been seven weeks. Almost two months, Regulus. We should be thinking about me contacting
the Order at some point,” Remus insists, scowling at the wound that simply will not stop bleeding.

“You’re a smart lad,” Regulus says somewhat patronisingly. “I’m sure if you think about it, you
can see how you showing your face during a fucking battle that the Dark Lord himself is going to
join isn’t a good idea.”

Remus clenches his jaw, but yes. They’ve talked about it. Why it’s dangerous for Remus to go.
He’s distracting and Regulus cannot afford for anyone to get distracted tomorrow. The plans are
set. Things are in motion. And thanks to his cunning and despite Bellatrix's protests, Regulus has
managed to get himself put with the attack team not the stealth team. Severus will take care of that
instead.

“I just—I don’t like it,” Remus grunts, then swears under his breath, the remains of his t-shirt
soaked through on his wound. “It won’t stop fucking bleeding.”

Shoving his chair back rather roughly for someone who usually moves with grace, Regulus stands
and rounds the desk to come hover near Remus. “Move that rag out of the way,” he says, taking out
his wand. “This is pissing me off.”

Remus complies, exposing a bite mark in the shape of perfectly human teeth. Regulus gets to work
healing it. He’s still brilliant at it. It takes all of five minutes to get it to stop bleeding and close up.
On his forearm, there’s a word carved into skin that Remus will carry forever. ‘Beast’ as written by
Bellatrix with her knife. Neither of them acknowledge it. Remus clenches and unclenches his
bruised fists the entire time, but he doesn’t ask Regulus to heal his knuckles. Regulus doesn’t offer
to.

“I still think you should let me tell Moody I’ve made it in, at least,” Remus mutters through a new
cigarette, lighting it with the tip of his wand.

“No point,” Regulus replies. “You can’t give them any information they can use anyway and them
thinking you’ve turned to Riddle’s side for real will only send them into a panic.”

“You have very little faith in them,” Remus observes. He doesn’t comment on the name ‘Riddle’
because Regulus has been slowly feeding him information over the past weeks.

Remus has proven himself to be a good ally to have. He’s fucking smart, which Regulus
appreciates, and ruthless when he has to be. Since Regulus saved his life, Remus has wrangled
control of almost all the packs sworn to Riddle’s service.

“What was it today? Ninth kill?” Regulus asks, gesturing to Remus’ bloodied hands.

“Yes,” Remus confirms, his jaw tightening a little bit. Regulus knows he doesn’t like it, but there’s
no way to claim leadership of a pack of wolves other than challenging the alpha to a fight. The
fight is to the death. Every time. “One more, then we’ll have all ten.”

“What about the others?”

“In for the ride,” Remus says, smirking wickedly. “Not hard when we have something they want.”

“Good. That’s what I want you focused on,” Regulus tells him. “Stop asking to contact the Order.
I’m not going to say yes.”
“Regulus—”

“Your silly little feelings for Sirius are getting in the way, Remus,” Regulus warns him, a slightly
sharper tone in his voice now. “Watch it.”

Rolling his eyes, Remus brings the cigarette to his mouth and inhales, dropping the topic. When
he’s done smoking, he straightens and runs a hand through dirty curls, tangled with dried blood.

“Lovely chat, as always,” Remus says dryly. “I’m going to shower.”

“Barty and Evan will be here any minute, don’t let them see you until after tomorrow,” Regulus
says. “I don’t want them distracted or asking questions. They’ll be nervous enough about the attack
without freaking out that you’re around.”

“Whatever you say,” Remus replies in a tone that makes Regulus wonder how he didn’t get himself
expelled from school. If that’s how Remus talks to authority figures, it’s a miracle he made it to his
NEWTs.

####

James fastens his holster to his wrist tightly and glances over at Sirius, who’s also fitting himself
with gear. They’re in Potter Manor, getting ready for their first mission together since the stake-out
on the day of Remus’ birthday.

Stomach churning something fierce, James tries to focus on double checking he’s got everything
he needs but it’s hard. He’d rather not admit it out loud, but James is a little nervous about this one.
He’s more comfortable in the air, but he can’t fly tonight. There’s no way air support would be
helpful. Not when they’re going to the Ministry of Magic itself.

Things have been getting progressively worse for a while. They lost an entire team of witches and
wizards coming in from Germany—an ambush as they flew into British airspace—and a muggle
factory that was rumoured to be cooperating with local wizards was blown up.

Sixty-three casualties and the Dark Mark looming over it were a nightmare to do damage control
for. The fact that it happened on James’ birthday was a bit of a blow. It’s not like James was going
to have a party, but well. How do you accept even well-wishes when sixty-three people are dead?
You don’t. So, James turned nineteen and hid in his house so the only four people who could say
anything about it were Effie and Monty, Sirius and Lily. It’s just the way things are now.

It's war. What was he expecting?

In the Order, things aren’t much better. The entire Abbott family has been wiped out. Sam is still
missing—presumed dead by now—and they haven’t heard a peep from Remus. Nobody knows if
he’s dead, if he’s captive, or if by some miracle he has actually managed to infiltrate the Death
Eater ranks.

None of the options make James or Sirius happy in the slightest. Moody has been trying to get intel
on whether the werewolf packs have a new leader, but they’ve always been slippery—the reason
they needed Remus in the first place—and so far he has found out very little. There are rumours
that more wolves are joining the Death Eater ranks than before, but how that could be possibly
related to Remus they don’t know. There was, apparently, a lead somewhere in the Midlands but
that trail has gone completely cold. The wolves friendly-ish to Moody have disappeared without a
trace. It's infuriating and confusing. It’s downright terrifying.

They’ve also lost two relatively new recruits in the last few raids. One was killed by a killing curse,
the other by an explosion. There was nothing anyone could have done to save them. That was a
hard blow because James couldn’t stop thinking that not so long ago, he and his friends were the
new recruits.

Suffice to say, things are bad. They’re getting worse. They’re losing the war.

That’s why, after some of the younger members, including James, became very vocal about the
need to do something different, something more, they finally got Dumbledore to listen. They had a
meeting, and James took it upon himself to explain that morale is down, the entire country is
afraid, and they need to rally. They need proper leadership, James said, because their government
is putting its head in the sand and it’s not helping anybody.

Surprisingly, James’ impassioned speech seemed to get through to Dumbledore, who then
proceeded to persuade the Ministry of Magic to issue a statement about the war. A state of the
nation sort of address. The idea is to get people to rally. To fight back somehow. Be alert and push
back. Don’t let fear win.

“Do you think this was a mistake?” Marlene asks, checking her own holster. “Pushing Dumbledore
so hard?”

“I thought it was long overdue,” Mary says firmly. “James did a great job. This was necessary.”

“I just don’t know why it has to be so public,” Dorcas mutters. “But I agree it was overdue.”

“No going back now, I guess,” James says, trying to keep his voice confident and steady.
“Hopefully people will listen and things will get better.”

James isn’t sure how much it’ll help, but it’s better than nothing. He feels a little lighter, knowing
that he spoke up and Dumbledore listened. Perhaps he hasn’t lost his touch from his day as
Quidditch Captain. Perhaps it’s true what Gideon and Lily and Sirius say. Perhaps he’s a good
leader, or at least has the makings of one. It’s a nice thought.

Still, he’s fucking nervous because this is a big deal. He’s going out there to do his duty as a
member of the Order. Protect the people attending the event. Be a good little soldier. At least, for
once, Dumbledore is attending as a guest. The school broke up for Easter break yesterday, and so
he had no reason not to be here.

Moody has put the Order’s best on guard duty. They have reason to believe Voldemort might make
a move. A statement, like the attack on last year’s New Year’s Eve party. Everyone expected
something to happen at Christmas and when it didn’t, it sent the aurors (and the Order a little bit)
into a spiral of panic trying to guess when the next big attack would be.

Sirius insists it’ll be tonight. And it makes sense. They all agree with him, even if few dare to say it
out loud. Attacking the Ministry and killing the minister would create a power vacuum that can
only benefit the Death Eaters, who are already controlling several ministry departments.

They’re all on edge. Marlene and Dorcas came to get ready with them because Marlene had a
meltdown earlier and Dorcas needed Lily to help. Mary came, too. The only one not here is Peter,
because he’s going straight to the Ministry from his job in the herbarium.

“I’ve a bad feeling about this one,” Marlene mutters, buttoning her jacket. “Dorcas is right it
shouldn’t be so public. They should have just released a statement to the papers. No guests. No
event. What the fuck are they thinking?”

Mary sighs, shaking her head. “They’re desperately trying to cling to some level of normalcy.”
“The man is going to do a cry to arms after a factory with sixty people was blown up and he wants
normalcy?”

James makes a face. Marlene is right in her outrage, but he can also see the need to give people
something to hold on to. Hope is powerful, and this is what this is about. People are losing hope
and they have to give it back to them or might as well give up now and submit to Voldemort.

“Well, we know Dumbledore is forcing his hand,” Mary says, tilting her head towards James in
acknowledgment that he helped make it happen. “If it were up to the Minister, he’d still be
pretending things are under control. It’s a miracle he’s even doing this, so let’s not get picky about
the hows of it.”

Lily, whose hands have been shaking for close to an hour, sighs heavily. “I should come with you.
This is ridiculous. You’ve been fighting this war for months and months and I’ve been in here with
my little cauldrons and potions.”

“You’ve been saving lives,” Marlene says.

“I’ve been hiding!”

“No,” says Mary, sharply. She puts a small hand on Lily’s shoulder, squeezing affectionately.
“Don’t say that. Don’t make it seem like other jobs aren’t important. You think nurses aren’t
essential during wars? You’re smarter than that, Lils.”

“I just wish I could be out there with you. Helping.”

Mary shrugs, twists her face into a bit of a grimace. “You haven’t been on the field. You’re out of
duelling practice. And we need you here making the potions for when we’re all on the brink of
death.”

“Mary!” James says.

“What? We’re all thinking it. I’m just the one saying it.”

Dorcas clears her throat. “No one is going to get hurt tonight.”

“You can’t promise that,” Marlene says sadly.

“Fine. No one is dying tonight. That I can promise. I won’t let it happen,” Dorcas says fiercely.
“We don’t mind a bit of blood, but there’ll be no funerals from this one.”

There’s so much conviction in her voice that James can almost believe it. Sirius hasn’t said a word,
bent over his boots tying them tightly. His hair is in that half-bun he used to do in school, and his
jaw is set in a determined slant.

“Dorcas is right,” James says, infusing his voice with as much confidence he can. “We’re not going
to one of the highest risk rated missions expecting the worst. We just aren’t. We’re a team. A
powerhouse. Marlene has the reflexes of a fucking cat. Dorcas packs so much punch into her spells
she throws people across a room. Mary has picked up shields like—”

His voice falters. He can’t bring himself to saying it. Remus. Moony. The one member missing
from their team. Everyone stills, eyes sliding to Sirius whose fingers have tightened so hard on the
laces of his boots that there’s no blood reaching them.

“And you and Sirius are the best duelling team in the Order,” Dorcas says with finality. “Come on.
I know it’s tough. But we’ve got to pull ourselves together.”

“Do you?” Sirius asks, voice raspy because he doesn’t use it much these days except when he’s
alone with James. “Do you know?”

“Well, I do,” Marlene mutters. “I do, Sirius. Because Sam’s missing, too. She’s been missing for
six months and I’m still here. Fighting.”

“I’m fighting,” Sirius says savagely.

“You are fighting out there,” Marlene tells him, meeting his eye. “But you’re not fighting for
yourself. And we want you to because we care. You can’t give up on yourself, Sirius. You’ve got
to keep trying to find ways to be okay.”

And James flinches because it’s unfair. He knows Sirius is trying. It’s just hard for him. The girls
don’t get it. They can’t. They don’t understand the depths of Sirius’ wounds. The demons he
carries with him. The things they whisper into his ear and scars that have festered on his soul.

As the shield between his brother and a world that can’t see the true depths of Sirius Black, James
does. He knows how hard Sirius is doing what Marlene wants him to do. Sirius has been trying
every single day for the two months that Remus has been gone.

Day in and day out, Sirius keeps himself from spiralling into true darkness. Just because Marlene
and the others can’t see it, it doesn’t mean Sirius isn’t constantly fighting his inner battle. And
James is going to help him keep trying.

Crouching by his best friend, James looks up at him. Into eyes that are silver and dulled. Eyes that
used to contain the light of the stars and now only show despair and loneliness. Puts a hand on
Sirius’ knee.

“Hey,” he whispers. And Sirius’ eyes are full of tears, but he holds James’ gaze valiantly. “I love
you.”

Sirius swallows thickly. Nods. “I love you, too,” he says, looks up at the rest of their friends.
“You’re right. I just—I don’t.” He stops, voice breaking. “I fucking miss him so much. All the
time.”

“And that’s okay,” Marlene says, crouching next to James. “I miss Sam, too. But, you know, the
sooner we win this war the sooner we can get them both back. Because they’re alive. Sam and
Remus. They’re alive. And we’re going to get them back.”

James nods, frantically. “Marls is right. So, let’s go win this thing. Let’s go prove to those Death
Eaters that if they dare show up, we’re not going to let them get away with it.”

****

Something’s not right.

The thought pounds against the front of James’ skull as he stands guard on his allocated section of
the Ministry’s atrium, watching the minister deliver his state of the nation address with wary eyes.
Security has been heightened to the point the start of event was late because the aurors didn’t have
enough time to do all they wanted to.

A few feet to his right, Sirius stands guard by another section. One that leads out of the atrium and
towards an adjacent building where more Ministry offices are. Dorcas is across from him, but
James can’t see her at the moment because of the large crowd gathered in between. Peter is upstairs
with Mary, both patrolling the arrival lobby with several other senior members of the Order,
including James’ parents. Marlene is at the back of the atrium near the elevators with Emmeline.
They’re all here. All ready. Not to mention the aurors who, led by Bartemious Crouch and Alastor
Moody, are on peak form and looking fucking menacing from their assigned spots. So many
fucking aurors.

It makes sense, James thinks desperately, that the Death Eaters decided not to show up. It would be
too hard to orchestrate. People have pored over blueprints for weeks, chosen the best possible
approach to ensure security.

All entry points—even implausible ones like airducts or larger-than-normal pipes—are guarded
and protected. There are too many good fighters here. All the aurors in one place. Even
Dumbledore is in attendance, watching the minister from a cordoned off section where select
guests are being pampered.

It makes sense that Voldemort decided to leave this one alone.

And yet, James can’t help but to feel like they’re missing something. It eats at him, the feeling of
unease churning low in his gut. Shifting his weight from one foot to the next, James tries to distract
himself by watching the people listening to the minister. Journalists take photographs and write
down quotes, while other—James guesses—important people simply listen with a benevolent
smile. Like they’re only here to be seen.

A yawn pushes against the joints of his jaw, asking James to open his mouth to let it out.
Embarrassed, he turns his head a little to try and hide it. When he looks up, he sees Sirius is also
struggling. They exchange a bemused look, and then Sirius winks at James and his heart soars.
Looks like their little pep talk did him some good.

The sound of sudden applause tears through the quiet, reverberating inside the atrium walls
decidedly too loud. James blinks, realising that the address has finished. No one interrupted it.

The Death Eaters didn’t come.

It doesn’t mean they’re out of the woods yet, though. For another two hours, James and his friends
stand watch around the room as people mingle and have drinks and canapes. It’s all very… normal.
There’s music playing in the background, and people are having a good time. It’s a little jarring,
but James supposes they have to cherish and protect this, too.

Sometimes, he forgets that there are still reasons to be happy. When he’s alone at night and he’s in
his own bed, shivering and breaking under the weight of memories, he feels like he doesn’t
remember happy.

James’ heart still hasn’t healed, even if the ache has dulled to a constant throb rather than vibrant
piercing pain, but it doesn’t beat the same. James is worried it never will again. But it’s a good
reminder, he supposes, to watch other people smile and enjoy themselves. He hasn’t run into
Regulus again. Not since the kiss and the knife in his ribs. It’s been three months since that night.
Too long. Not long enough.

Glancing around again, James reminds himself that this is what he’s fighting for. What he should
strive for. Back to happy, someday when the war is over and they get their youth back. He’ll find
it. His happy. He hopes.

Shaking his head, James chastises himself. He’s letting the worry drag him down. He’s been doing
better. He’s less sombre in his thoughts. James can’t let the fear and nervousness swirling in his
stomach make him sour. So, he sets his shoulders and stares ahead, at the people, and does his
level best not to think about anything.

****

“I can’t fucking believe that went as well as it did,” mutters Emmeline as they gather in the entry
lobby.

Marlene is smiling, but Dorcas looks as wary as James feels. She scrunches her face, pursing her
lips, “Not done yet, though. Let’s be careful. Keep your eyes open.”

The event is about to wrap up completely, and guests will be leaving soon. The Order is tasked
with sweeping the exit routes to ensure there are no ambushes waiting for anyone outside. A
perimeter has been set around the Ministry grounds to prevent apparition, so they have to canvas a
one-kilometre radius before the guests make their way to the borders of the security line to
apparate.

“Who’s got the pairings?” Mary asks, putting her hair up in a ponytail and fastening the buttons of
her coat tightly.

Spring has brought better weather, but it’s getting late and nights are still chilly enough that James
feels a shiver run down his spine. Following Mary’s lead, he burrows further into his jacket, too.

Moody walks past them, barking orders to the rest of the Order members and aurors milling about,
getting ready to go out and ensure the perimeter is clear. James is momentarily relieved. Having
Moody in the field with them is a luxury and it makes him feel a tad bit safer.

“I do,” Emmeline says. “Sirius, you’re with Dorcas heading South East. Mary, you’re with Pete
going North. I’m with Kingsley, South. Marlene, you’re with James going East.”

“Who’s taking the West side?”

“Gid and Fab are on one route, Molly and Arthur on another. Sturgis and Dedalus, then Monty and
Effie,” she says, ticking her fingers as she runs through the teams.

James looks over his shoulder to where his mum and dad are talking to Alice and Frank
Longbottom, who are here on official auror capacity but are also Order members. They look
relaxed, like they believe the worst is over and this is just the final titbit. It infuses James with a bit
of confidence, even if that feeling of wrongness is still churning inside of him.

It’s rare that James is here with all of them. Usually, he’s somewhere else rallying his team before
taking them up in the air. He’s a bit unsettled to be in the ground and not flying. It makes him feel
like he can’t keep watch over everyone and that scares him. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s
been on the field with the others. For him, it never gets easier. It doesn’t matter if they’re older
than him or more experienced. James feels responsible for them every single time.

Tonight, however, there’s no flying. He’s on the ground like everyone else. Just a foot soldier,
ready to fight if the need arises. He really, really hopes that it doesn’t. He’s afraid. For himself. For
Sirius, who is standing at his side and looking straight ahead stoically, not saying much.

“You good?” James asks Sirius under his breath as everyone spreads out, ready to go.

Sirius meets his eyes and nods. “Yes. Let’s do this and go home. Red said she’d make dinner.”
After hesitating for only a moment, James reaches for Sirius, and Sirius comes. They hug, faces
pressed closed together. James smells Sirius’ shampoo, and the distinct scent of leather and
cigarettes that cling to him.

“Be careful,” James whispers. “Don’t make me have to come save your ass.”

Sirius chuckles, hugs him a bit tighter. “I’ll see you at home.”

“I love you,” James says, pulling back enough to meet his eyes again.

The smile on Sirius face is a bit sad, and less bright than it should be, but it’s there and that’s
progress. It’s better than nothing. “I love you, too, Prongs.”

With that, they break away and go find their partners. Marlene is fidgeting by the elevator, tugging
at the sleeve of her coat. She looks at James and seems to relax. He smiles at her, gives her a
confident nod.

“Ready, Marls?”

“Lead the way, Cap,” she says, and together they jump on the elevator and head out into the night.

It’s cold outside. Raining, because of course it is. London in April is wet and grey and tonight is no
exception. The clouds above them are thick, and visibility is terrible. James and Marlene walk in
silence, shoulders tense and eyes scanning the street they have to march down. The rained-on
asphalt glimmers like silver in the streetlights. Every few steps one of them casts a revealing
charm, holding their breath with the fear of it alerting them to a presence.

“Almost there,” Marlene whispers. There’s hope in her voice. Hope that this one has gone their
way and that they’re not going to have to fight tonight.

James is about to reply when they feel it. The change in the air. The pop of apparitions. James’ gut
clenches, as he watches four Death Eaters step out of the shadows right ahead of them. Exactly
where the border of the protection line is.

And fuck. How did they know?

It’s too precise to be a coincidence, and James doesn’t know what to do with that information.

“Shit,” Marlene says, slipping her wand out of her holster. James follows suit.

There’s a second when they’re suspended in time. The Death Eaters and them. One moment of
quiet, of anticipation. A threat, perhaps. And James isn’t about to let these fuckers intimidate him.

James attacks first, and he doesn’t miss. One of the Death Eaters shouts as he’s hit by James’
powerful stunning spell. He’s out cold within seconds, and then all hell breaks loose.

Curses fly up and down the street, lighting the night in shades of red, purple and, terrifyingly,
green. Marlene jumps to one side, James to the other. Quidditch instincts. It forces the Death Eaters
to split their formation and aim in opposite directions.

Three against two isn’t bad odds, and James likes his chances fighting besides Marlene. But he
knows—knew the minute the Death Eaters appeared—that they aren’t the only ones under attack.
And so, his heart is pounding, because he has to sort this out so he can get to Sirius.

Sirius and Dorcas and Pete and Mary and Effie and Monty and Emmeline and Fabian and Gideon.
So many names. Too many. People he loves and cares about.

But above them all, Sirius.

“Marlene!” James shouts, ducking to avoid a curse flying right over his head. “Double Zs!”

It’s a Quidditch play, and Marlene understands him immediately. They’ve got no time to lose. No
time to be on the defensive. They’re attacking and taking these Death Eaters down so they can go
help the people they love.

Marlene and James charge at the same time, zigzagging down the street, crossing each other in the
middle as they go. Marlene lets out a battle cry that James has heard before, right before she hits a
bludger with her bat so hard splinters fly. The Death Eaters are caught unaware, and James is so
fucking proud to watch them cower under the advance of one Marlene McKinnon.

The stunning spell she fires when she’s at close range is so powerful the Death Eater flies
backwards, hitting the wall of the nearest building with a sickening crunch. James is already on the
other two—one, he binds and stuns. The other is disarmed, and to James’ annoyance, decides to
fight him the muggle way. He jumps on top of James, too fast for him to cast another spell, and
then fists are flying.

It’s a nasty brawl, rolling around on the floor. James keeps his wand out of reach, worried it’ll
snap, and dodges punches as best he can. Not well enough, though. A few land. His jaw is aching
and he’s going to have a black eye tomorrow. His back aches from digging into the asphalt, and
he’s scrapped the heel of his left hand, which is bleeding and dirty with black.

“Get off me!” James roars, headbutting the man over him straight on the mask. It hurts a lot,
because the mask is hard, but the Death Eater cries out and falls sideways.

The mask falls, and James feels sick because it’s Dolohov, and they were in school together nine
months ago, and now he’s here and it’s all so fucking wrong.

Marlene appears, having bound the other two Death Eaters so they can’t escape, and full-on kicks
Dolohov in the ribs. It’s vicious, and angry, and James doesn’t begrudge her a single moment of it.
She kicks him, again and again, and James realises she’s crying and shouting “this is for Sam.”

Scrambling to his feet, James grabs Marlene by her arms as Dolohov coughs and spits blood on the
road.

“It’s okay. Marls. That’s enough,” he says, pointing his wand at Dolohov. “We need to go find
Sirius and Dorcas.”

A name is all it takes, as is often the case. The name. The person. Marlene’s person. As soon as
she hears Dorcas, Marlene’s eyes clear, and she nods. James stuns Dolohov and they take a
moment to tie him up with the others so he can’t escape, then they’re running. Marlene and James,
running down the road back towards the Ministry, wands in hand, panting breaths, aches and cuts,
and desperation.

The scene they run into is absolutely desolating. Death Eaters seem to have come down every
single exit route, from all directions, pushing Order members back towards the Ministry where the
bulk of the battle is concentrating.

It doesn’t make sense, James thinks. What do they want? Why are they corralling us here?

Shaking his head, he leaves questions for later. Right now, what he needs is to find Sirius first, and
everyone else second.

The main patch of road in front of the Ministry is utter chaos. There are Order members, and
aurors, and some of the guests who’d started to come out as they thought the coast was clear. A
contingent of aurors is trying to get them back inside, but they’re being shot at, so it’s difficult.

James’ chest is heaving, and he’s sweating, his palms so fucking clammy he’ll lose his wand if
he’s not careful. There’s only space for concern for one thing at the moment in James’ brain,
though, and it’s Sirius.

Sirius.

Sirius.

Frantically, almost stumbling into other people’s duels, James scans the battle, searching,
searching—there.

Sirius is glorious. He’s a whirlwind of graceful movement and curses shooting out of his wand
without pause. No hesitation. No remorse. He’s dancing, the road is his stage, and the Death Eaters
that dare approach him don’t stand a fucking chance. James’ heart squeezes, then expands his
pride. That’s his brother, right there. The best fighter in the Order, if anyone asks James.

Dorcas is by Sirius’ side, also fighting, and James can admit that she’s majestic. Eyes blazing, face
set in determination, she is a powerhouse. Her braids fly around her as she twirls, ducks and side-
steps, wand slashing through the air as she takes aim and fires. She almost never misses, either.

James and Marlene exchange a glance of pride. Just one. A second to breathe before they launch
themselves headfirst into chaos.

And then they’re in. Together. Sirius’ eye meets James for a brief moment. They nod to each other
—I see you; you are here with me; all is well—and then they’re fighting side by side. It’s one of
James’ favourite things in the entire world, and perhaps it’s wrong because he shouldn’t like
duelling. But he does. He and Sirius know each other so well they don’t need to communicate.
They move and fill the gap left by the other. There are shields and offensive curses, and they fall
and come back up as needed without stopping to check.

While he’s fighting, James tries to keep tabs on the battle. Peter is further down, Alice and Frank
Longbottom close to him. Moody is near the Ministry entrance, barking directions. His parents and
Gideon and Fabian are nowhere in sight, but James knows they were heading in the opposite
direction and there are too many people fighting for him to be able to check.

It quickly becomes impossible to keep track of people’s movements as they scramble around,
avoiding curses and engaging in duels. And so, James has to hope that they’re all okay and that
they’ll make it and focus on what’s right in front of him. His wand and his opponents, nothing else.

“Prongs, on your left!” Sirius shouts.

James pivots on his heels and raises a shield just in time to stop an orange curse from hitting him.
His stomach churns when he sees who’s cast it.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

The only Death Eater who never wears a mask.

She’s grinning at him something vicious. Wicked and horrible and, quite frankly, terrifying. James
swallows, and then he’s duelling his best friend’s cousin. And James hadn’t quite grasped how
afraid he is of dying until that moment. Because Bellatrix is good. Too good. Better than him. And
James knows it, and he’s afraid.

It’s making him a little sloppy.

“I want to see you bleed!” she says cheerfully.

James dodges the first curse, and the second, but he’s not fast enough to avoid the third. He feels it
hit, grunts in pain as it explodes in his leg, spreading up like fire. He doesn’t have time to look
down, but he knows it’s bad. It’s searing pain, the debilitating kind, and his leg is unsteady.

“Pads!” James cries, stumbling a little. It hurts, hurts, hurts.

“Hello cousin,” Sirius snarls, coming to James’ side, raising his wand, pushing her back. “Lovely
night for a family reunion.”

It buys James a moment to evaluate the damage. Dragging his coat back, James looks and
immediately wishes he hadn’t. His thigh is gushing blood from a wound that looks like he’s been
shot with a projectile. It’s ugly and round and the edges of it are gnarly. There’s a bit of white
James is pretty sure is bone peaking in the hole in his leg, and James thinks he’s going to be sick.

Covering his mouth with his hand, James forces himself to look away. Look up. Keep fighting. He
puts most of his weight on his good leg, and spots Sirius and Bellatrix duelling a bit further down.
Dorcas and Marlene are back-to-back, holding their own.

Grunting, James gets back into the fray. He fights, and he falls because his leg can’t support him,
and gets back up. He hits someone with a stunning hex and sends them flying back, knocking over
a Death Eater that was about to get the best of Frank Longbottom. There’s a shout of thanks, then
Frank is rushing to Alice’s side.

Sirius is still battling Bellatrix. It’s pretty even, but James won’t risk it. Won’t leave him alone with
her. Dragging his injured leg, James tries to find his way to his brother when there’s a change in
the air. A ripple. Something that runs through the atmosphere and makes the sweat on his back
freeze.

Bellatrix laughs maniacally, even as Sirius lands a curse that cuts her across the forehead. With
unhinged eyes, she turns to look down the main road—the widest one leading to the Ministry—and
James feels the ground fall from under his feet.

Lord Voldemort is here.

And next to him is Regulus.

Beautiful and sharp. Cold and deadly. Like the knife that he slid into James’ ribs. Fuck. He’s not
even wearing a mask, James thinks, despair choking his windpipes. Like he doesn’t care to be seen.
To be recognised.

I am Lord Black and you will bow to me, his face seems to say.

Unforgiving but so achingly pretty it makes James want to scream. A fallen angel. The devil
himself, dark and dangerous, gorgeous like all tragically doomed stories are.

Bellatrix shoots a quick curse towards Sirius, making him stumble back and away from her and
then she just skips over to join her Dark Lord, abandoning her fight. Sirius is staring at Regulus,
too shocked to even move. And that’s dangerous because Voldemort is now close enough that
James can see him clearly even in the dark.

Blood rushing in his ears and drowning out the sounds of the battle still going on in the
background, James limps over to Sirius as fast as he can, shouting at Marlene and Dorcas for cover.
Not everyone has stopped what they’re doing to see this dramatic entrance and the bulk of the
fighting is still going on. Dorcas swears under her breath when she sees Regulus, then all three of
them are with Sirius, facing Voldemort and his prodigal son as they approach.

With a shrill voice that’s grating against his eardrums, James hears Bellatrix shout something to
Regulus, but Regulus isn’t really paying her attention. He’s scanning the field, evaluating. Always
strategizing. And it shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t make James yearn. Here Regulus is, a man who
looks ready to kill everyone James cares about and not think twice about it. James shouldn’t feel a
thing other than hatred.

But he does.

Godric forgive him. James looks at Regulus, clad in all black and staring down a battlefield with a
severe, stoic expression and thinks I wish he’d kiss me again.

Disgusted with himself, James pinches his eyes shut. Next to him, Sirius has snapped out of his
shock and he’s now swearing up a storm. When James blinks again, he finds Regulus’ eyes on him.
More specifically, on the gaping wound on his thigh.

And James isn’t sure what it is. How he knows. What it is exactly that he’s seeing. But the
darkness of the night seems to cling to Regulus a little bit harder, closer, thicker. Curl around his
feet and make his edges a little harsher, more dangerous. Shadows slither over his lines, but that
can’t be, can it? It’s too… it’s strange and terrifying. Like Regulus has just stepped from a demon
realm and is carrying with him the darkness where the horrors live.

“What do we do?” Marlene asks, voice high pitched and panicky. “We can’t fight Voldemort.
We’ll die if we try.”

“Marlene is right,” Dorcas says. “Fuck.”

James and Sirius look at each other. They know it’s suicide. But they’ve got to try, don’t they?
They’re the first line of defence. Bad luck, perhaps, but they are closest to where Voldemort
appeared. They don’t know who else has noticed that he’s here. They can’t let him join the battle
without trying to stop him.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dorcas snarls when she notices their silent conversation. “You won’t
survive.”

“We’ve got to try,” Sirius says firmly.

And so, James and Sirius stand together, square their shoulders and raise their wands.

“So brave,” Voldemort says, having stopped close enough that his voice is clear to them over the
sounds of battle in the background.

The grimace on his face is an attempt of a smile, James thinks, but failed so epically it doesn’t even
qualify. Godric, the man is one evil motherfucker. “So pointless. You’re on the wrong side of this.
What a waste of magical talent.”

“You sound like my mother,” Sirius sniffs. “That’s not a compliment.”

James lets out a nervous cackle, weight on his good leg as he braces for Voldemort to attack. He
hasn’t moved yet. Hasn’t even taken his wand out.

“Out of my way,” Voldemort says. “I’ll only ask the once.”

James and Sirius don’t move. Not even an inch. And then Marlene and Dorcas join them. Marlene
at Sirius’ side, Dorcas at James’. The four of them, a wall between evil and their friends. Wands
raised, chests heaving with fear and adrenaline. They’re ready to do this. To lay down their lives to
settle a score that has been off balance for too long.

“Make way! Move! Move!” Moody roars over the noise, sprinting towards them with Alice and
Frank Longbottom in tow. Kingsley is with him. And behind them comes Dumbledore.

James almost crumbles to the ground with relief.

“Regulus,” Voldemort drawls, gesturing at them as he glances over at Dumbledore approaching.

“You deal with this.”

James’ lungs seize up.

No.

But yes. It’s happening. Bellatrix cackles. Voldemort has turned away from them and is giving
Bellatrix quick instructions. Whatever it is, Bellatrix bows and promptly disappears in the opposite
direction—away from the battle.

Eyes wide with awe, James watches Dumbledore and Voldemort clash in the middle of the main
road, doing magic James has never even heard of.

For a brief minute, James simply watches before coming back to himself and gripping his wand a
bit tighter. Just because Voldemort and Dumbledore are duelling doesn’t mean the rest of the battle
has stopped.

In fact, Regulus is staring at them like they’re not even a credible threat. Like he cannot be
bothered with this shit. With them.

James wants to scream. To shake him by the shoulders and ask him to come back to him. To be the
boy who solved Rubik cubes on a roof under the stars and complained about having Quidditch
practice in the rain. His ribs are cracking, caving in because this is Regulus in front of him and
James doesn’t know if he can fight—

The first curse is aimed at Dorcas, which James thinks is an odd choice, but alright. Dorcas ducks
just in time and the curse flies overhead. There’s no more stalling now. Regulus started it. And
now they have no choice but to fight.

And fight they do.

Four versus one should be easy, but Regulus has the advantage that none of them want to hurt him
badly. Well, Marlene cares a lot less than the rest, but even she isn’t as vicious as she could be.
Despite everything, James can tell they’re all holding back. Regulus meant so much to all three of
them—Sirius, James, Dorcas—and how do you just ignore it and aim to hurt?James can’t do it.
Regulus, clearly, can.

Two minutes in and Dorcas is bleeding from a hit and Sirius has a foul-smelling burn on his
forearm already. James’ leg is giving him trouble, making him move too slowly. He’s been lucky
that Dorcas and Sirius have kept Regulus’ focus mostly away from him.

Marlene shouts, then dodges a curse and miraculously lands a blow on Regulus. It hits his waist,
right above where the curve of his hipbone ends—James would know—and he stumbles back a
little, grunting.

And James doesn’t think he was meant to see this. But he does, because he’s been watching
Regulus so intently the entire time that there’s nothing he could miss. So, James sees the moment
when Regulus looks at Dorcas for the span of half a heartbeat. Something flashes in his eyes, and
then he turns away from Marlene to engage Sirius again.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense. James can’t—

A flash of light flies so close to his head it singes his ear, and James has to duck and roll around
which tears his eyes away from Regulus and gives him a new angle on the rest of the battle.
Groaning and clenching his jaw through the pain in his leg, James raises his wand and aims it at a
Death Eater who’s about to hit Molly Weasley’s back because she hasn’t seen him. She’s alone,
sweaty and flustered, but she’s determined and has very good wand-work.

It seems like they’re being herded here, James thinks with a growing sense of panic. Deliberately.
They’ve been pushed back until the fight is all happening in the same area. Why? What is
happening? What is their goal?

No time to ponder, though, because the Death Eater that had been going for Molly is down, but two
others are coming straight at James from his right. Like they’ve noticed he’s injured and is easy
pickings.

James holds a shield, hand shaking with the effort, and takes the brunt of the first barrage of curses.
He’s losing too much blood, and he’s starting to be dizzy. This could end badly for him.

“I’ve got you,” Sirius says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and quite literally saving James’
ass. He ducks under James’ arm to take most of his weight, wand moving all the while to deal with
the Death Eaters closing in.

Out of the corner of his eye, James sees Dumbledore still facing off with Voldemort. Their spells
are too complex for James to wrap his head around. But what’s very clear is that they’re evenly
matched. Neither is landing a blow on the other. Locked in a stalemate, like they have been for
almost a decade.

“Regulus?” James asks Sirius, squinting when one of Dumbledore’s spells flashes with light so
bright it hurts his eyes.

“Moody,” Sirius says, helping James turn around so he can see.

And fuck. Like. James shouldn’t feel anything watching this other than hatred. Disgust. And yet,
what he feels is guilt. Overwhelming, dirty and sticky guilt. Because Regulus is duelling Alastor
Moody and he’s holding his own. It’s impressive. It’s hot. And James is ashamed of himself.

“I didn’t know he was this good,” Sirius mutters, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He’s
watching the fight like it pains him, and James understands.

They should want Moody to win. But neither of them wants Regulus to die. Perhaps they should.
But they just don’t. They can’t. The best James can hope for is that one of them gets distracted by
something else, or that another Death Eater gets involved in the duel. Anything to break the fierce
battle between Moody and Regulus.
James flinches when Moody lands a blow that makes Regulus hiss. Blood drips over his arm,
coating the back of his hand and his rings. It must be a bad hit, because Regulus doesn’t move that
arm again, leaving it to hang limply at his side. But he’s angry, and he retaliates, and Moody
doesn’t see his double attack coming until it’s too late.

Focused on counteracting a blood-boiling curse, Moody misses the slashing one. It hits him
straight on the face. Over his eye.

The scream that tears from Moody’s throat is soul-splintering. James and Sirius look at each other,
and then they’re moving. Going as fast as James’ leg will allow. Dodging and ducking to avoid
errant curses, they are back in the middle of the battle and desperate to help Moody before it’s too
late.

“Fall back! Fall back!”

James freezes. No. He cannot believe they’re folding. Giving up now? Why? What for? What
about the guests?

“Fall back!”

They can’t just stop fighting. There are close to a hundred people inside who need to make it home
safely! Bewildered, James looks around, and then his mouth drops open.

The order to fall back is for the Death Eaters, not the aurors. Not the Order. And James watches
with his heart in his throat as Regulus, who was poised over Moody with his wand aimed at his
head, simply steps back, turns and walks away as the cries to retreat spread through the throng of
masked people. He didn’t finish the job, even though he could have. Why? What does it mean?
What is Regulus doing?

“Shit,” Sirius mutters under his breath. “Alastor… Prongs, can you stand?”

“Yes,” James says. “Go.”

A bit wobbly, James adjusts his weight on his legs, keeping most of it on the good one and watches
Sirius sprint towards Moody, still on the floor, bleeding way too much.

“James! Help!” Marlene calls for him. James turns, finds her, and does his best to move as quickly
as he can to go help Frank, who is injured but conscious.

“Frank, you alright?” James asks, throwing one of Frank’s arms over his shoulders to help him
stand.

“Yes,” Frank says, coughing. “Your leg looks awful, mate. You shouldn’t be standing on it, let
alone taking my weight.”

“I’m fine,” James grunts, forcing Frank to stay where he is. They both sag against the other a little
bit. “Where’s Alice?”

“With Moody,” Frank replies, wheezing wetly. “She’s alright.”

Together, they limp over to where everyone is regrouping. Wondering why the Death Eaters
decided to retreat so suddenly. The horrible feeling in the pit of James’ stomach hasn’t left him yet.

Sirius is on his knees, working with Alice. They’re both helping Moody, who is bleeding from
several bad slashes including the one on his face. When he hears James approaching, Sirius looks
up at him to say something, but the words die on his lips as a flash of green light illuminates the
night sky. The Dark Mark looming over the Ministry, freshly cast.

And James understands. Immediately. Terrifyingly.

“They’re inside!” James shouts, catching the attention of a few aurors and Order members. “It was
a distraction. They’re inside! Civilians. The guests. They’re all still inside!”

A few people, those closest to the entrance, dart in straight away. James is about to follow them
when Dorcas begins shouting for everyone to stop, that it’s a trap, please stop! Some people hear
her, some don’t and keep running, and there’s chaos, and everyone is a bit frantic until Dumbledore
raises his voice and demands silence.

Blue eyes narrowed with concern behind his glasses, he looks at Dorcas who is on her feet and
holding a Death Eater by the collar of his shirt. The mask has fallen, and James recognises him as
Mulciber. Dorcas’ wand is jabbed under his chin.

“Repeat what you just told me,” she snarls, eyes feral. Blood drips over her chin, making her look
like a vampire that just had dinner. “Tell them!”

Mulciber only laughs at Dorcas. “You won’t kill me. You can’t.”

And then Sirius is there, and he’s punching Mulciber so hard they all hear the crack of his teeth
before they see two of them flying. One hand around his neck, the other holding his wand, Sirius
snarls, “You tell us right now or so help me Merlin I will paint this fucking road with your entrails.
Do you know what that means or should I use a smaller word, Mulciber?”

It’s the chill in his voice and the madness in his eyes. James knows when Mulciber looks at Sirius,
he has no doubt he’ll do it. There’s darkness inside his best friend, and he keeps it under wraps at
all times, but Remus is missing, and Sirius just duelled his own brother. Tonight, there’s no lid.
Tonight, Sirius is a Black through and through.

And that is what saves everyone’s lives, because Mulciber shrinks back in fear and says, “Poison
in the atrium. They’re all dead already. You’re too late.”

Dumbledore stills, glancing over at the people who are waiting, unsure of what to do, and gives a
firm order to stay where you are. Don’t go inside yet.

“You’re lying,” Frank Longbottom says, still clinging to James. “We kept security too tight. It’s
impossible.”

“Your security was out here fighting, you idiot,” Mulciber says, laughing. “Slipping inside during
the battle was so easy. Go on. Go check. Go try to save them.”

A few people make to move, like they want to do just that, when Dumbledore shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “No one is to go inside until we have a team from the poison’s unit at St. Mungo’s.
Alice?”

“Yes, sir,” Alice Longbottom takes off at a run towards the edge of the protective line so she can
disapparate away.

“Sir,” Dorcas says, looking at Dumbledore wearily. “We should prepare for the worst. We had
intel the Death Eaters were working on a gaseous poison. It’s why we tried to get the crate of horns
for the antidote. Anyone who walks in there unprotected won’t make it back out.”
“I suspect the same thing,” Dumbledore agrees.

James hears a shout. Familiar. Torn. And before he knows what’s he’s doing, James is limping as
fast as he can to catch Gideon Prewett before he makes it inside. His arms come around him, and
fuck. Gideo is strong and heavy. But James is determined and desperate. He doesn’t let go.

“Gid!” James shouts. “Gid. Stop. Stop.”

He’s not listening. Gideon struggles against James’ hold, fighting, screaming. And James can’t
make out what he’s saying, because he’s howling. Gideon is big. Bigger than James and stronger.
It takes everything James has to hold on to him. To keep him where they are. He hits James’ ribs
with an elbow and James grunts in pain, but he still doesn’t let go.

“Gideon,” James tries again, gently. “You can’t go in. You’ll die.”

And then Gideon breaks. He stops fighting, goes limp in James’ arms. A sob that’s a name torn
from his throat. “Fabian!” he says, tears streaming down his face. “No. No. Please, no. Fab.
Fabian, come back.”

And it finally hits James. What Gideon has been screaming the entire time. Fabian. His brother.
Because he was with the first few people who went in. Gideon’s words register with the rest of the
crowd. There’s stunned silence, and then Molly screams, falling to pieces against Arthur’s chest.

“I’m so sorry, Gid,” James whispers, holding him as tight as he can. “I’m so sorry.”

And while James tries to comfort his on-and-off lover, who’s most likely just lost his twin brother,
Sirius punches Mulciber again, hard enough that he’s knocked out, and cusses up a storm.

Dropping the unconscious body down, Sirius turns to Dumbledore. “What do we do now, sir?”

####

Interlude: Lily’s POV

When the wards around Potter Manor alert Lily that there’s someone trying to get inside—albeit
peacefully, not by force—she considers ignoring it. It’s late, and all her friends plus Effie and
Monty are out on a high-risk mission. She doesn’t want to deal with guests, and she’s alone.

But her intuition tells her to check. Just briefly. From a distance. Check carefully and if it’s no one
important, go back inside and carry on waiting for everyone to come back. Sometimes, Lily feels
as though her brain power is the only thing keeping her friends safe, so she sits and wishes really
hard for everyone to be okay and doesn’t stop, doesn’t do anything else until they return. It’s silly,
perhaps. But she can’t help it.

Tonight, though, her gut keeps nagging her. Whoever is outside might need help or have
information. So, she sighs, wiping her hands on a tea towel in the kitchen and tiptoeing out the
back door to go check through the garden. Safer that way.

Her heart picks up when she peers across the lawn and spots the figure standing by the edge of the
property. Lily would know the shape of her anywhere. It's been a while since they saw each other
for the Christmas break, but Lily has spent enough time daydreaming about Pandora to have her
memorised. It’s too overcast for the moonlight to filter through, but the streetlight breaks on the
crown of her platinum blond head and bathes Pandora in a golden glow that makes Lily think of
Aphrodite. Goddess of love and beauty.
Fucking hell.

Goddess of love and beauty? Really? Get a handle on yourself, Lily Evans.

Crossing the grass, Lily pushes past the wards to appear in front of her friend, wishing she was
wearing something nicer than faded jeans and an oversized hoodie she stole from Sirius when he
moved into Potter Manor.

He hasn’t been able to go back to their flat since Remus went missing, and Lily doesn’t blame him
for it. She can’t imagine what that must feel like for Sirius.

“Dora!” Lily breathes, rushing up the gravel path to stand in front of the blond girl.

Smiling, Pandora meets her halfway. “Hello Lily. Sorry to appear unannounced like this,” she says,
taking her hands. “I just felt I needed to be with you.”

“What?” Lily asks, her heart doing a funny little flip thing in her chest. “What do you mean?”

Pandora’s eyes soften, taking in Lily’s tired face. She knows there are bags under her eyes, and that
her hands are a bit too dry from chopping ingredients all day long. Her hair is in a messy bun, and
it hasn’t been washed in a bit too long. Still, Pandora only looks at Lily with… something akin to a
caress. If one could caress another person with their eyes.

“I just felt it,” Pandora replies. “I arrived home from school and I just felt this tug in my gut that
said ‘you need to go be with Lily’ and here I am.”

And Lily knows Pandora enough to be wary about this. The beating of her heart slows down as
worry overtakes whatever feelings Lily usually has towards the blond girl standing in front of her.

“Dreams?”

“No,” Pandora says. “But I can’t shake this sense of foreboding. Like something’s about to
happen.”

Lily glances back towards the house, biting her lower lip. She wants to invite Pandora in, but this
isn’t her house. She doesn’t know if it’s appropriate to allow someone past the wards without the
express permission of a Potter. But it’s kind of cold outside. The wind is chilly, and the road is
eerily empty and quiet in the dark. Lily shivers in her hoodie, eyes snagging on Pandora’s nose,
turning pink.

“Perhaps we should—”

The pop of an apparition makes Lily turn around lightning fast. She blinks, then blinks again
before she’s running towards Sirius, who’s swearing because he apparated right over a deep puddle
and his trousers are soaked now.

“Sirius!” she calls out before he can go past the wards.

“Red?” he looks up at her, then his eyes slide over her shoulder and narrow. “Pandora?”

Panting, Lily catches up to Sirius, Pandora a moment behind her. “What happened? Where is
everybody?”

Running a hand over his jaw, Sirius kisses his teeth. “It was bad, Red. It was very fucking bad. I
need some of your potions,” he says. “St. Mungo’s stock is low on skin re-growth and on
stabilizing draughts. Moody thinks you might have some.”

Immediately, Lily is all business. This is what she does for the Order. This is how she fights back,
because she’s the only one who can. And it feels fucking good to be able to look at Sirius and say,
“yes, I do. Come on.”

“I’ll wait here,” Pandora says.

Hesitating, Lily looks at Sirius, whose eyes are cold and set. “Sorry Pandora. But I can’t invite you
in. I’m not willing to risk the Potter’s safety.”

“I understand,” she says, taking it well. “I will wait here.”

And for some reason, that makes Lily’s heart stutter again. Because Pandora is so practical, even
though she lives in a world of her own. She’s so understanding. Unrattled. Sirius has basically told
her he doesn’t fully trust her, and Pandora isn’t upset. She can see where it comes from—Sirius’
love for James—and accepts it for what it is.

Fuck. Lily needs to stop thinking about Pandora so much. It’s going to get her hurt again, Lily
knows. But Pandora isn’t making it easy, is she?

“It’ll be just a moment,” Lily tells Pandora before hurrying inside with Sirius.

They run. There’s no concern for tracking mud or sleet inside the house. No worries about the way
the door bangs when Sirius pushes it open a bit too forcefully. Not a single fuck is given about the
coat rack that Sirius knocks over in his haste.

Lily’s stock is in the conservatory, so they have to exit through the sliding doors at the back of the
living room to the garden and then go inside. It takes a minute for her to unlock the glass doors of
the conservatory, then she’s packing as many vials as they can carry.

“What else do we need?” Lily asks. “Who is injured? Tell me.”

“James’ leg is a fucking mess,” Sirius says. “It’s like a projectile wound. A hole. I could see his
bone. Moody’s eye is gone. Can you re-grow an eye?”

“I’m not sure,” Lily says, swallowing. She grabs a potion from the cabinet. “We’ll try this.”

“King has lost two fingers. Dorcas has lost a couple of teeth but she’s sure they’ll be fine.
Marlene’s mostly okay, just battered,” Sirius breathes. “I don’t know about anyone else. I haven’t
found Peter and Mary, they could be with the team still taking care of the battle ground or waiting
for the report on the people inside the Ministry.”

“Alright. Okay,” Lily closes the backpack and hangs it over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Sirius says. “We never got those horns, but do you have poison antidote?”

“Which poison?”

Sirius grimaces, and in the light of the conservatory, Lily notices for the first time that the inside of
his lips is crimson. He’s bleeding from a cut in his mouth. There’s also a bruise on his jaw, and a
nasty looking burn on his arm.

“We don’t know yet. The specialist team arrived at the Ministry a bit before we started moving the
injured to the hospital. Dumbledore stayed with them.”
There’s a wild glean to his eyes, like Sirius is here but not quite. Like he’s not in full control of
himself. Lily bites her lip, steps closer to him and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. Silver grey
eyes meet hers, wide and scared and a bit lost.

“Are you okay?” Lily asks.

“I’m not sure,” Sirius whispers. “I duelled my brother tonight, Lily.”

His voice breaks, and he pinches his eyes closed, willing himself to stay strong. To not break
down.

Lily knows what it’s like to have a sibling that makes you feel like this. She knows, because
Petunia got married and Lily wasn’t even invited. She hasn’t seen her sister in over a year. Phone
calls go unanswered. Letters get returned unopened. Fuck, for all Lily knows, Petunia could be
pregnant by now and she wouldn’t have heard about it.

Putting her arms around Sirius, Lily whispers in his ear. “Let’s go make sure everybody’s okay.
And then we’ll come back here and get roaring drunk.”

A wet chuckle bubbles up from where Sirius’ face is pressed against her shoulder. “Alright, Red.
That sounds good to me.”

****

St. Mungo’s is absolute chaos.

Lily, Sirius and Pandora apparate right outside and are met with people running, shouting, carrying
stretchers with the wounded collected from the attack on the Ministry. With her heart in her throat,
Lily follows Sirius who is apparently unfazed by the groans of pain and the stench of blood.

Pandora is on her heels, not saying a word, just a comforting presence behind Lily as they navigate
the overcrowded halls.

“How many people were hurt?” Lily says, a hand on her throat.

“Too many,” Sirius replies. “But it wasn’t just ours. There’s an entire corridor that way full of
injured Death Eaters. They’re under guard. Prisoners of war, now.”

“I thought we didn’t keep prisoners,” Lily says, sidestepping to let a nurse pass as he runs with a
handful of gauze.

“But then they attacked the Ministry, and the aurors have no choice but to intervene for good,”
Sirius replies. “Dumbledore is negotiating what to do with them. Azkaban isn’t safe, he says.”

“He’s right,” Pandora mutters. “I have seen it in a dream. The dementors are on the Dark Lord’s
side.”

Lily tries not to let that chill her to the bone and fails. They knew. Or suspected at the very least.
But to hear it confirmed from someone she trusts… it’s sobering. They’re losing ground. They’re
losing the war. And Lily doesn’t know what that means for her, because she’s muggle born. She’s
the very thing the Death Eaters want to eradicate.

They reach the ward where the Order members are being tended to a moment later, so Lily puts her
sombre thoughts on hold and steps forward to meet the healer in charge. Sliding her backpack off
her shoulder, she says, “I’ve got the potions.”
“Can you help administer them? We’re stretched too thin,” the healer asks, digging in Lily’s pack
for what he needs.

Nodding, Lily sets her chin. “I can help.”

“The least critical patients are through there,” the healer explains. “A nurse will direct you. It’s
mostly blood replenishing and skin re-growth. There’s a nasty leg injury. Not lethal but needs
attention quick if the boy’s going to walk normally again.”

“James,” Sirius breathes, and then he’s tugging Lily by the arm through the doors.

Sirius doesn’t let go until Lily is standing next to the bed where James is sitting, leg stretched out
in front of him. In the same room, Kingsley is being looked at by an actual nurse. Dorcas is also
sitting down, but on a chair not a bed, and Marlene is making her laugh which shows to everybody
she’s missing three teeth on the top row to the right. Marlene is dirty and covered in bruises, but
there’s no blood so Lily isn’t worried.

“Hey,” James says, looking up at Lily. “I got the prettiest nurse.”

Lily chuckles, then takes out the potions she needs from her pack. Pandora comes to stand on her
other side. “Can I help?”

“Yes,” Lily says. “We need to cut off the leg of his trousers.”

“Why, Evans,” James jokes. “If you wanted me out of my pants all you had to do was ask.”

Sirius barks a laugh, and Pandora giggles. Lily rolls her eyes, then takes out her wand and with
Pandora’s help, cuts through the fabric covering James’ leg. It falls off, allowing her to better clean
the wound.

“Rowena’s locks,” Pandora whispers, voice a bit shaky now that she's confronted with the ghastly
looking injury. “How did this happen?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” James replies, grimacing at Lily pokes at his wound. “Can you fix it?”

“Yes,” Lily replies. “It’ll be painful, but you’ll be fine when we're done. Sirius, hold him still.”

It takes the better part of an hour for Lily to work James’ wound back to health, but they manage it.
She has to add a couple of stitches the muggle way to close the last of it, because the amount of
potions is limited and James refuses to have it all used on him when there are so many other people
who need help, too.

And Lily finds that her hands are a lot steadier than she would have thought as she places one flat
over James’ thigh to help her saw his wound closed with the other. James has always had very nice
thighs. The Lily from barely a year ago would have lost her mind at touching James like this. Right
now, she’s vaguely aware of how nice it feels, how strong his muscle, but in a ‘I can objectively
appreciate your hotness’ kind of way rather than a ‘I have a debilitating crush on you’ kind of way.

Lily strongly suspects this has to do with Pandora standing on her other side, holding gauze and
antibacterial spray to clean the wound as Lily works on it. Pandora, who has been writing her
letters that make Lily giggle, smile to herself, and kick her feet the entire year. Pandora, who had a
hunch things were going to get bad and went looking for Lily without thinking twice about it.
Pandora, who’s right here, helping her look after her friends for no reason other than she’s just a
good person.
How could Lily not like her?

“Thank you,” James says as soon as she’s done. He swings his legs around and comes to a stand,
lifting a hand when Lily opens her mouth to protest. “We need to go back to the Ministry. My leg
will have to cope.”

“Why?”

Sadness and grief cloud James’ eyes as he nods. “We’re still missing some people and we need to
know what’s happening inside the Ministry.”

The breath punches out of Lily. “Missing who?”

Pandora comes to stand closer to Lily, sliding her hand into hers, fingers twisting together. Neither
James nor Sirius bat an eye at the intimate gesture.

Lily doesn’t want to admit it, but her presence is comforting. Worry is swirling inside her stomach,
making her feel lightheaded and off kilter, but Pandora’s fingers tangled in hers are keeping her
grounded. Lily isn’t sure how she’d be coping with the uncertainty if she wasn’t here.

Sirius runs his hands through his hair, glancing around. “Fabian Prewett is missing. And…” He
clears his throat. “We still don’t know where Peter and Mary are. Or my parents.”

“We’re coming, too,” Marlene says, approaching them with Dorcas in tow. “Dorcas’ teeth are back
on, so we’re good.”

“Did you get checked for internal bleeding?” James asks Marlene, looking at her with his Captain
expression.

She salutes him, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Cap. I did. I’m good. Let’s fucking go. We need to find
Mary.”

“And the Potters and Peter,” Sirius mutters, wincing like he’s guilty of something.

They all file out of the hospital together and agree to apparate at the border of the protection line
by the Ministry of Magic, ready to help in any way they can. Lily is warned that there’ll be bodies,
because they haven’t had time to take care of their dead. The priority was saving the lives of the
injured.

It’s sobering, to think she’s going to see a dead body for the first time. Not something Lily is
looking forward to. Swallowing hard, she nods her agreement and her friends start disapparating
one by one.

Pandora and Lily are the last ones to go. And Lily is suddenly gripped with a sense of fear and loss
that she can’t shake. What if something has happened to the Potters? The people that have taken in
when she had nowhere else to go and treated her like she's family. She couldn't bear it. Or Mary.
Her best friend. Full of life and energy. Peter, small and hopeful and so happy about his new job in
the herbarium. Oh God, Lily can't do this.

Gasping, she brings a hand to her chest.

“Are you alright?” Pandora asks Lily.

Blue eyes and blond hair. Freckles and pale skin. Elegant lines and soft curves. Ethereal, like a
fairy queen. Pandora is the most beautiful girl Lily has ever seen. She’s kind and interesting and
caring and so intuitive.

And suddenly, Lily doesn’t want to wait or be cautious. So what if she’s spoken for? It’s up to
Pandora to stop Lily, she decides. It’s insane. It’s bold. It’s reckless, and they’re standing outside a
hospital, about to go looking for their friends in a battleground. There’s a war on. People are dying
every day. It could be her next.

And Lily doesn’t want to die without knowing what it feels like.

“Dora,” she whispers, tugging her closer by her coat. “I know you’re spoken for, whatever that
means, but I feel like if I don’t kiss you right now, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life,
however long or short that may be. So, stop me or don’t. Up to you. But I’ve got to try.”

“Oh,” Pandora says softly.

Heart pounding in her chest, Lily gives her a moment for her to say no. To stop her. But Pandora’s
breath hitches, and she doesn’t say anything. So, Lily just goes for it.

Lily kisses Pandora and melts when she gasps delicately before kissing her back and honestly, Lily
feels like she can touch the sky. It’s here, in Pandora’s lips. In the sweet sugar taste of her tongue
and the little, surprised sounds she’s making. Lily’s hand slips around the back of Pandora’s head,
and her hair is like threaded gold under her fingertips. Soft and glorious and precious.

The kiss makes her head spin, and Lily wants more. She wants to hold Pandora closer, merge into
her skin and never let her go. She wishes they could just kiss forever, a fire endless burning away
the sadness and darkness that’s been pressing down on them for so long. But she has to let go, at
least for now. Because their friends are hurt, and they have to go help.

Stepping back, chest heaving and cheeks flushed, Lily looks at Pandora and says, “Hold that until
we can talk about it, okay? Please?”

“Yes,” Pandora says, nodding. She looks a little dazed, and Lily is secretly pleased with herself that
she did that. “Alright. Okay.”

They link their hands again, sharing a quick, tender glance before setting their shoulders. Pandora
doesn’t let go of Lily’s hand, not even to apparate. They end up doing side-along. And Lily’s palm
and her lips tingle with her warmth. Pandora is so sweet. The sweetest thing Lily has ever tasted.

Walking down the main road towards the Ministry is heart breaking. There’s debris from where
chunks of buildings have fallen, likely from the impact of explosive curses. Blood stains on the
asphalt, large enough to be visible even in the darkness. Lily is grateful there are no bodies until
they arrive in front of the Ministry and she realises that’s because they’ve all been put in a neat row
to be identified and dealt with in a dignified manner.

Choking on a sob, Lily points towards them, unable to form words. Marlene lets out a shuddering
breath, then says, “I can’t look. I can’t. Please. Someone else check Mary isn’t there.”

"Can anyone see my parents?" James asks, a little hysterical.

“I’ll look,” Sirius says. “Prongs, find Dumbledore. He'll know where your parents are. Go.”

Lily can tell Sirius isn't sure at all, but James nods like he's relieved to have been given something
to do. Without another word, James jogs a little wonkily towards the large group of people standing
by the entrance to the Ministry. Through the crowd, Lily can see a few men and women wearing
isolation suits—a mixture of muggle technology and magic—and talking to Dumbledore, who
 stands taller than most.

As Sirius begins the gruesome task of looking at every dead body on the ground, Lily squeezes
Pandora’s hand. Marlene has curled into Dorcas, weeping silently against her chest and whispering
something along the lines of ‘please, please, please.’

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Lily whispers to the blond girl. “Thank you for coming.”

“Any time,” Pandora replies gently. She brings a hand up and tucks a stray lock of hair behind
Lily’s ear.

Her breath stutters a little, and she’s certain Pandora can feel it, too. “Will you come for dinner this
weekend?” Lily asks. “We’re doing just like a friends get together down the road from the Potters
at this nice pub. I thought—”

“Lily!” Sirius calls. “Marlene!”

“I’d love to,” Pandora says, smiling at Lily. “I’ll come for dinner.”

There’s warmth in that smile. And kindness. And something else Lily doesn’t dare look at closely
because Pandora told her she was spoken for and they probably have to address that, right? Still, it
makes Lily’s own mouth grin in response. How could she not when Pandora is looking at her like
that?

So, Lily is smiling when she turns around to look at Sirius. She’s smiling when she finds him, jaw
clenched and eyes lined with red. She’s smiling still when she notices the body at his feet. Cold
and still. Too still.

And then, Lily thinks she’s never going to smile ever again because that’s a friend there. On the
ground, eyes looking at the overcast night sky but not really seeing. Arms crossed gently over her
chest, where there’s a gaping hole that’s threatening to swallow Lily whole.

The world stops spinning. Slows down, air thickening in her lungs. Someone’s shouting. A raw,
torn cry that has to be hurting that throat. It takes Lily a moment to realise it’s Marlene, who’s
fallen to her knees and is crawling over the asphalt on her way to the body. Marlene’s incoherent,
screaming and crying. Dorcas is doing her best to help her up, but Marlene isn’t having it. She’s
just… dragging herself towards the body that Sirius is looking at with a desolated expression.

Lily feels her legs give out, and it’s only Pandora that’s holding her upright. Pandora that’s
whispering in Lily’s ear, trying to soothe something that cannot be soothed.

Because the broken body at Sirius’ feet is Mary. And Mary is dead.

Chapter End Notes

That Minor Character Death tag exists for a reason and I am sorry but it's a war and
some people have to die

From the top?

Remus & Regulus bickering and being all sassy to each other but then Regulus healing
Remus' wound? Help I love them Remus being absolutely ruthless and fighting to
the death with the wolves to become their leader? He's so hot

LONG JAMES POV in this one. He was so nervous, my baby, he just knew something
was going to go down and he was right and then it happened AND OMG? Him and
Marlene being a badass team was I love to think that their years playing Quidditch
together help them in the battlefield so I wanted to show a bit of that

Sirius is always stealing the show in fights as HE SHOULD because he's the BEST
and the prettiest
Bellatrix Lestrange is foul, that's all I'll say about her today

And then Regulus being terrifying and fighting them? HELP James was so
conflicted like 'I don't wanna hurt him' but 'he's shooting at us' and 'he's still hot
someone help me' POOR BABY WAS IN CRISIS Regulus noticed the thigh and
didn't retaliate against Marlene for that hit she landed

Gideon I cannot imagine what losing a twin brother is like but boy I was so sad for
him we see more of his grief soon.

LILY'S POV!! Our potions queen is back, and she's crushing so hard on Pandora we
love it. They've been writing to each other for months, every single week? STOP
THAT'S SO CUTE

And then KISS because Lily has been hit hard by the reality of the war !!! and she
really went 'there's no time like the present' and OMG I LOVE THAT FOR HER YES
QUEEN GET YOUR GIRL I'm excited for Pandora to be around a bit more now and
for us to see them develop this little Pandalily agenda

But then... Mary We will see the aftermath of this in the next chapter, too.

Final note, the next chapter picks up where this finishes and gives you different POVs
so you can see what's happening / has happened to different characters during the
attack and also how the immediate aftermath is handled from different angles. I know
we're all keen to see Regulus, Remus and Rosekiller and you get them in all their glory
in the next chapter. I just couldn't fit everything into a single one

Do we want to scream about this one? Or just curl into a blanket burrito a la Sirius and
cry?

Best readers in the fandom I've said it before, will say it again! THANK YOU SO
MUCH
 Broken bodies, broken hearts
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

We pick up where we left off

This chapter has some parts that are a bit heavy and sad, so please take care of
yourselves!! I will also kindly point you to the endgame Jegulus and happy ending
tags

TWs for this one:

References to the terrorist attack and to the victims of it
References to wounds / injuries
References to vomiting (people feel like it throught the chapter)
Blood
Discussions of murder / planning murders
Homophobia (we again have someone be pretty nasty in this chapter) and homophobic
slurs
Depictions of violence
Depictions of murder
Death (quite a bit of it) and death of a family member
Depictions of grief / people grieving
Sex (not super super explicit but enough you definitely know what's going on)

Enjoy!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The smoke fills his lungs and makes them ache, and Regulus wonders not for the first time, if he
should perhaps stop smoking. Except he’s a bit on edge, and it helps. So, he ignores the raspy
cough in his throat and takes another inhale.

Across from him is Remus, also smoking and looking like he’s going to be sick any second. He’s in
a pair of jeans and a sweater, which is apparently his uniform. He’s a man of simple tastes.
Cigarettes. Whiskey. Muggle music. And sweaters.

Regulus absently thinks they look good on him.

They’re waiting to be called to the meeting to review the attack. It was successful in that they
managed to sneak Severus and a few of the potioners inside, and they let loose the poison so the
editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet is dead along with quite a lot of other people unlucky enough
to have attended the event.

But they also took some heavy loses. Riddle isn’t too bothered by this—for him, the only life that
matters is his own—but the other Death Eaters are rattled. The Order in full force was more of a
challenge than anyone was prepared to deal with.

“You’re certain Sirius is alive,” Remus asks him not for the first time. “And James.”
“Yes, Remus,” Regulus replies, rolling his eyes. “They are fine. They didn’t make it inside the
Ministry.”

It had been tricky to plan that part with Dorcas. They needed to make it real enough that she
wouldn’t be suspected, but also, they had to act fast enough that no one they cared about would be
tempted to go inside to help the victims.

Fucking heroes.

It’s part of the reason he decided to forego a mask. He had to make sure he was seen and found by
those who matter. That they would fight him at the edge of the line and not close to the Ministry so
they didn’t have time to be the first ones inside.

The other reason was that Bellatrix never wears a mask and Regulus will be damned if she thinks
that gives her some sort of status. It’s not like people don’t know Lord Black is aligned with
Voldemort anyway.

That whole battle was some of the most stressful work he’s done. Fighting while giving Dorcas
instructions for what to do and how much of it through their ring connection was tough. Not to
mention it pissed him off that Marlene landed a hit on him. Not a big deal, he’s already healed all
his wounds, but still. If he hadn’t been stretched so thin and so distracted, she wouldn’t have hit
him.

Doesn’t matter. Marlene is Dorcas’ and he won’t touch her. He owes Dorcas that little bit of
decency, at least. When he last spoke to her through the ring, she confirmed they were at the
hospital because James was being treated for his leg, and Dorcas for her knocked out teeth and
some internal bleeding. Sirius had to be checked out, too, because he had that nasty burn on his arm
and also internal bleeding, but they were well on their way to being okay.

“You should have let me come with you,” Remus says with badly contained anger. He’s been
fuming since Regulus got back with a limp arm dripping blood on the hardwood floors. “I could
have helped.”

“You would have distracted the people we’re trying to keep alive,” Regulus retorts. “And I need
you focused on the wolves. This was not one for you. We’ve talked about this.”

“I can’t fucking believe you duelled Sirius,” Remus says, groaning.

“Better me than Riddle,” Regulus says, raising an eyebrow. “I only hurt him a little.”

The look Remus shoots him is dark. “You didn’t touch James, though. Hypocrite.”

“James was already hurt,” Regulus replies, holding his gaze. “Bellatrix took a chunk off his thigh.”

“I’m sure that’s what it was,” Remus mutters, putting out his cigarette and immediately lighting a
new one.

Regulus scoffs. He remembers the moment. The gaping hole on that thigh that used to make his
mouth water. It’s still a very attractive thigh, but as soon as Regulus’ eyes landed on the lines of
James and his gut tightened, the voices in his head reminded him of what he was there to do. His
mission. His climb to the top. To power.

“Are you going to kill Bellatrix for hurting James?” Remus asks him, tilting his head.

Regulus smirks, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m going to kill her for a lot of reasons. We can
add that to the list if it makes you feel better about it.”

“Bellatrix is on your list, then?”

“Always has been.”

Chuckling wickedly, Remus shakes his head. “Barty and Evan?”

“They should have followed protocol and gone to their exit point,” Regulus says. He tried to keep
tabs on them, but they were fighting on the other end of the road, too far for Regulus to see them,
so he doesn’t yet know how things went for them.

Regulus adds, “They’re not marked, so they’re not expected at the meeting. This was just their big
test. They need to report back to Lucius.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then Remus tilts his head. “They don’t know that you’ve
gone rogue, do they?”

“No,” Regulus says. “The Dark Lord can read minds. I can’t risk it.”

“Do you think they’d pick you over him, if they knew?”

Frowning, Regulus looks at Remus carefully. He asked about Barty and Evan a couple of weeks
ago, like he’d suddenly remembered they used to be friendly. Regulus explained they are joining
for lack of other choices. Remus pointed out that Evan’s father dying made things easier, but
Regulus disagreed. Sure, if Evan really wanted to, he could defect, but he’d never leave Barty
alone. And he can’t be in the middle. Evan is now the next in line for the Rosier lineage, and that
has too much weight. So, if he’s not fully defecting, he has to join. In a way, his father dying
limited Evan’s choices even more.

“Yes,” Regulus says. “Barty and Evan aren’t… your conventional Death Eater. They’ve got
reasons to join but not really reasons to be loyal. They’re not blood purists. Not like the others.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Barty’s father is fucking abusive and Barty wants to get back at him. What better way to do
that than to join us? His father is the head of Law Enforcement and the leading voice against
Riddle. Barty getting marked is the biggest fuck you he can think of,” Regulus says, shrugging.
“Evan goes where Barty goes. And he’s got family shit going on. He’s the heir and his father is
dead, so like expectations and stuff. But really, for Evan it’s about Barty.”

Remus nods, like he can see this. He runs a hand over his hair. “It’s fucking tragic that so many
young people are caught up in this war.”

“You say that like you’re not young yourself,” Regulus points out.

Scoffing, Remus puts out his cigarette. “I’m nineteen now. You missed my birthday. Didn’t even
get me a card.”

“You’ll live,” Regulus says. He’d completely forgotten about it. Birthdays are such insignificant
things. He’s got better things to care about.

“Anyway. Point is, I’m young, but I’m also a werewolf. I was fucked either way. The rest of you
not so much.”
“I’m a Black,” Regulus says, smirking darkly.

Remus opens his mouth like he’s about to retort when there’s a loud knocking on the door. Regulus
frowns. People in Black Manor know not to bother him when he’s in his study.

He considers ignoring it when there’s more knocking, and it’s insistent. Then, a voice floats
through, “Regulus!”

Pushing off the desk, he crosses the room quickly and yanks the door open to find one of the
nobodies that work in the lab and double as household help and Evan. The man bows his head,
hands shaking. “I’m so sorry, Lord Black. I told him that you weren’t to be dist—”

“Leave,” Regulus says. “Evan, come in.”

The man’s eyes widen, and he looks at Evan like he’s regretting whatever he said to him before
scurrying off down the hall. Evan steps into Regulus’ study and immediately turns to face him.
He’s pale and sweaty. There’s blood on his hands but Regulus can’t figure out if it’s his.

“You need to help us,” Evan says, and his voice is shaky and weak. “Regulus. Please. Barty is in
trouble.”

“Where?” Regulus asks, striding to his desk to snatch up his wand and placing it in his holster. His
coat comes on next, then he’s ready to go.

“Waterloo Bridge,” Evan breathes. “It’s… it’s his father, Reg.”

“Shit,” Remus says, and Evan looks startled for a moment before he locates Remus in the room.

His mouth drops open. “Remus?”

“Evan, focus,” Regulus snaps. “Where on Waterloo Bridge?”

“I’ll show you. I’m not staying behind,” he says earnestly.

“I’m coming, too,” Remus declares.

Regulus has no time to waste, so he doesn’t argue. It doesn’t bother him whether they want to come
or not. He’s going to go help Barty. The rest they can deal with later.

As they sprint down the stairs, Regulus thinks through possible scenarios and outcomes, but he
doesn’t have enough information about the situation to make an educated guess. He’s going to have
to improvise, which isn’t his preferred approach, but it’ll have to do.

Following Evan’s instructions, they apparate right by the massive roundabout on the northern side
of the river Thames. It’s a rather bleak area. Concrete planters are scattered around the central
space, and several tunnels march off in different directions so pedestrians don’t have to cross any
roads above.

Evan leads them down one of the tunnels, taking off at a run. Regulus and Remus follow. They
hear them before they see them. When Regulus turns the corner, he finds Barty crumpled on the
ground, bleeding from a busted lip. His father is towering over him, wand pointed at his son. The
knuckles of his right hand are bruised.

Mr. Crouch sees Evan first, and the look of sheer disgust on his face gives Regulus an inkling that
this is a lot more personal than he originally thought.
“Do not come near my son again you deviant!” Crouch shouts, moving his wand from where it’s
pointing at Barty to threaten Evan. “I will kill you for corrupting him!”

“Expelliarmus!” Remus shouts aggressively. He catches Mr. Crouch’s wand with his free hand.
“Step away from Barty.”

Evan chokes on a sob, staring at Barty who blinks and turns his face up. Regulus feels the fury
spread over his skin like ice over a lake in the dead of winter. Barty’s face is mangled. Swollen to
the point Regulus can just about recognise him and only because he's known Barty for so long.

Regulus feels the darkness inside his mind lick at his edges. Make him pay for it, the voices in his
head say. Show him what happens when they cross us. How strong we are. Show them. Show them.
Show them.

Oh, Regulus will. Consequences be damned.

“Who are you?” Crouch asks Remus, but then his eyes slide to Regulus and he all but forgets about
the man who disarmed him. “Regulus Black,” Crouch sneers. “This is none of your business. This
is a family matter.”

“Barty is mine,” Regulus says.

It comes so naturally to him after months of practice that he barely has to think. He extends a hand
gracefully, coaxing the darkness in the tunnel to move forward. It does, and then Mr. Crouch is
screaming as he finds himself trapped in place, unable to move. Shadows curl around his legs, up
his arms, over his neck. Panic builds in his eyes.

“What magic is this? What are you doing? How?” Crouch is shouting.

“Remus, you’re good with healing charms,” Regulus says, stepping a bit closer to Crouch and
entirely ignoring his shouts. “Help Barty. I want him to be able to witness this.”

Without hesitation, Remus kneels by Barty and sets to mending him as best he can. Evan coughs,
bringing a hand to his mouth. Regulus only vaguely registers it. He’s busy keeping the shadows
tight around Crouch. Squeezing him more than strictly necessary, because Regulus is angry and the
darkness can tell.

“Evan, what happened?” Regulus asks.

“When the retreat was called, we came past the Embankment. It was our agreed route with our
mentor,” Evan says, careful not to give names. Regulus appreciates the effort, but it’s irrelevant
because Crouch isn’t making it out of this tunnel alive.

“You dirty—” Crouch starts, but Regulus twists his fingers a little bit at the shadows gag him,
cutting him off.

Regulus will not hear another homophobic slur from this man.

Evan coughs again, wipes his mouth, then carries on with his explanation. “We didn’t notice we
were being followed. When we made it into the tunnels, we took a moment to catch our breaths.
Barty was high on the adrenaline. We kissed, and it escalated a bit. That’s when Crouch arrived.”

Grimacing, Evan wipes his mouth after another bout of coughing interrupts him. Fighting for
breath, he pushes his hair away from his forehead and clears his throat to keep talking.
“He lost it. Threw me against the wall and attacked Barty. I’m not sure if he was more offended
we’d just participated of the attack or that we were making out. It was… bad. I came to get you
immediately. I couldn’t take him on my own, and Barty…”

Regulus glances at Barty, whose face is starting to look like Barty’s again. Remus is prodding at
the cut on his lip, making Barty hiss. Muttering an incantation, Remus brings the tip of his wand
close to the wound, and the swelling goes down. Remus is focused, staring at Barty’s face up
close. He lets a sigh of relief out when everything begins to heal.

The moment he’s able to function again, Barty shoots a wicked look at his father, struggling
against the shadows keeping him bound.

“It’s not Evan’s fault I like men,” Barty declares loud and proud. Crouch’s eyes widen in shock and
disgust. Then, when he’s certain his father is looking, Barty leans forward and full-on licks inside
Remus’ partially open mouth. He just… well. Regulus supposes it’s a kiss, albeit a rather
unorthodox one. Remus very clearly did not see it coming and did not react in time to avoid it.

Alarmed, Remus springs backwards, eyes wide. “What the fuck, Barty? You can’t do that!”

Regulus chortles. Barty is fucking insane, and he hopes Sirius never finds out because he does not
want to mediate between the two of them.

And then, like Remus’ brain is catching up, he tilts his head and looks at Crouch. “For the record,
he can’t do that because my boyfriend would lose his shit. He’s a bit possessive. You know us
deviants and our evil ways.”

And he winks at Bartemius Crouch with a smirk that makes Evan swallow. Honestly, Regulus gets
it. Remus Lupin is one hot motherfucker.

Grinning like the maniac he is, Barty gets to his feet with some difficulty.

“I just wanted to be able to look my father in the eye and tell him I’ve had my tongue down the
throats of all three of you,” Barty deadpans, gesturing to them with a wild hand. “So he
understands Evan didn’t corrupt me. I’m perfectly capable of corruption on my own.”

Evan giggles, then starts coughing. Regulus narrows his eyes at him, but Remus is already on his
way to check him. Barty limps a little, betraying even more injuries as he shuffles closer to
Regulus, which only serves to make Regulus angrier.

Looking Barty in the eye, he says, “Do you want to kill him or should I?”

“I’ll do it,” Barty says, wicked smile twisting his split lip up. A drop of blood wells on it.

With a flourish, Barty takes out his wand and trains it on his father. Regulus stands at his side,
watching. “Do you want me to remove the gag?”

“No,” Barty replies. “He’s said enough.”

Regulus nods, then shoots a quick glance to where Remus is talking to Evan quietly and waving his
wand. Frowning, Regulus looks at Barty again. And finds his hand shaking.

Barty is hesitating. Staring at his father, bound and gagged and at their mercy, and then back at
Regulus. Barty is nervous. Afraid.

Dropping his wand, he looks at Regulus with that vulnerable glint in his blue eyes. The one
Regulus knows very few people get to see. Evan, he imagines. Regulus himself, because he’s the
first person Barty chose for himself.

His first friend.

“Does this make a monster?” Barty asks Regulus, voice low and trembling a little bit. "Does
wanting to kill my own father make a monster, Reg?"

“Do you think I’m a monster?” Regulus asks him in return, a pointed look in his eye. He can’t tell
Barty what he’s done for fear of Riddle finding out, but Barty knows him. Understands enough to
get that there’s always more to Regulus than he’s letting on.

Sure enough, after a moment, Barty’s eyes sharpen, a sly decision bleeding into the blue in them.
His mouth parts, and an eyebrow raises a little bit.

And then Barty smiles at Regulus, turns towards his father, and says, “Avada Kedavra.”

Regulus pulls the shadows back as soon as the green light hits Mr. Crouch. Barty watches the
tendrils of darkness skitter away and glances at Regulus with curiosity, noticing the black veins on
the inside of his wrist.

“Do you wanna tell me what the fuck that was?” Barty asks him, clearing his throat.

“Not particularly,” Regulus replies with another pointed look.

The smirk on Barty’s face is feral. “We just killed my dad. Fuck. He’s gone. I’m free.” There’s a
moment of silence, shared between the two. And then Barty steps closer to Regulus. “Can I touch
you?”

“If you try to kiss me, I will kill you,” Regulus warns.

Barty laughs, then steps in and hugs Regulus. He tenses immediately. It’s odd, and unsettling.
Nobody has hugged Regulus since he claimed Legacy and he’s not sure the darkness in his mind
likes it. There’s a screeching feeling against his skull, like the hug is grating on the shadows. But
Barty just killed his own father, and he’s the first friend Regulus ever made.

So, Regulus lets him hug him for another moment before stepping back. “Enough. Never do that
again.”

“Guys,” Remus calls them. “Something’s wrong with Evan.”

Regulus looks over just in time to see Evan’s eyes roll back and his body go limp.

####

Mary’s funeral is a whole week after the battle of the Ministry because it’s Easter, and that means
something to Muggles, and funerals are delayed, for some reason.

It’s been a busy couple of days. They buried Fabian Prewett two days before. Wizards do not
observe Easter except to take a little break from school and separate the spring term to the summer
term.

As far as funerals go, Fabian’s was a beautiful service. Very crowded, because Fabian was very
well liked. James didn’t cry a single tear, because Gideon was crying them all. He is a shell of a
man, and James has taken it upon himself to help him through it. So, even though he’s breaking,
too, James put on a brave face and shared the burden of Gideon’s loss.

Dedalus Diggle’s funeral was the same day as Fabian’s, just a few hours after. James didn’t make it
to that one, instead staying with Gideon as he got so drunk he couldn’t stand.

This morning, James has to leave to attend Mary’s funeral, so he can’t stay and babysit Gideon
again. It doesn’t matter, because Gid is out cold. So, James tucks him into bed in one of the guest
rooms in the Manor and tells Rosly to prepare some soup for when he wakes up with a debilitating
hangover.

In the lobby, James finds Lily and Pandora waiting for him. Effie and Monty are there, too. James
isn’t ashamed to admit that when he finally found his parents after the battle, he threw himself at
them and sobbed in relief. He doesn’t know how he’d function if anything had happened to them,
and he’s got to function. People are counting on him for support. He cannot crumble now.

Mary was a member of the Order and one of his friends, so his parents have insisted on
accompanying them to the funeral. James is quietly grateful, because it helps to know they’re with
him. Once again, his parents fought and came back while so many did not.

James is lucky, and he knows it. He feels guilty about it, too.

It’s part of the reason why he did the de-brief alone. He stood there, in a room with Dumbedore
and Moody, and answered questions about Regulus for a solid hour. About how much or how little
they knew each other (James lied through his teeth because they did not need to know James loved
him once. Still does, but that's beside the point). About his Quidditch ability. About his skills.
James had to admit Regulus had always been a great potioner—which Dumbledore knew anyway
as his headmaster—and that it was likely he made the poison. He was questioned about Regulus'
relationship with Sirius, which was probably the easiest part because everyone knows they hate
each other (James conveniently forgot to mention Regulus saving Sirius' life or the few times he
saw them interact while they were together, oops).

It tore him apart to talk about him so casually. To face two people who think Regulus is just
another Death Eater and feed that lie. Because it's a lie. It has to be. The more shit they go through,
the more James is convinced that there's something going on he can't see. There's something
happening with or to Regulus but until James figures it out, he's not going to bring it up to anyone.
Just in case. Still, it was painful to let Dumbledore and Moody think Regulus is just a lost boy who
was recruited because he didn't know better and is now another pawn in Voldemort's game.

James did it anyway, because he thought it better him than Sirius. Moody wanted to interrogate
him about his brother, but James refused. Dumbledore, for some reason, agreed that it wasn’t a
good idea.

Today, ahead of Mary’s funeral, Sirius has gone to collect Peter from St. Mungo’s. He was found
under some debris near one of the collapsed buildings, half buried. It was rather impressive that he
survived. A miracle, some say. James is so fucking grateful to Peter’s guardian angel he also wept
with relief when he heard, because he doesn’t know how he would have coped if he’d lost another
friend.

Too many people died at the Ministry. Friends and strangers. James feels every single loss. There
were eighty-seven victims in total, counting the guests poisoned inside and the Order members and
aurors who didn’t survive the attack. Mary, Fabian and Dedalus among them.

Moody survived, but he’s lost his eye forever. James tries not to think about that. About how he
saw the moment it happened, Regulus slashing through the air with his wand, hurting Moody like it
was nothing. Moody isn't all that bothered. He wears his battle wounds with pride. But James feels
like he'll throw up every time he remembers it.

“Hey,” Pandora says, putting a gentle hand on James’ arm and taking him out of his own head.
“Are you ready?”

No.

James isn’t ready.

But that’s not going to bring Mary back, is it?

“Sure,” he croaks. His throat is dry. James can’t remember the last time he ate or drank something.

“Let’s go,” Effie says gently, clicking the door open.

His eyes meet Lily’s and his heart squeezes itself in his chest. Lily looks the way he feels. Empty.
Broken. So fucking sad that James wants to cradle her in his arms and nurse her back to happiness.
If only he knew how. What to say. What to do. How to make it better.

How does one make it better?

James knows it’s not possible. Lily feels the way he would if it’d been Sirius and that. James has to
look away in shame, because there’s relief every time he remembers he’s the lucky one. He’s lost
people, and he’s grieving. But Sirius is with him, alive and whole, and as long as that’s the case,
James will be alright.

It makes him hate himself a little bit. James finds this happening more and more these days.

The funeral is beautiful and all the more heart breaking for it. Mary’s family is torn. Her mother
can’t bring herself to articulate a single sentence, crying so much James worries for her health.
There’s a muggle brother, too. He looks older, but Lily told him he’s younger than Mary. He’s not
crying. He stares ahead, straight at the casket, and nothing else. James thinks he’s only blinking
because it’s automatic and not conscious.

Lily and Marlene cling to each other, weeping quietly during the service. Afterwards, they both
stand over the coffin, looking at Mary with the grief of a thousand souls. James sees them and
thinks about broken bodies and the broken hearts they leave behind. War and loss. Pain. Blood and
bones and grief and despair.

When it’s time to take the casket away, Marlene clings to it, knuckles white from how tightly she’s
gripping it. Dorcas is the only one who can coax her away from it, much the same way that
Pandora is holding Lily.

James cries, but only a little. Peter weeps openly, clutching James’ sleeve like it’s the only thing
keeping him grounded. Sirius doesn’t. He looks angry. Downright furious. He’s grinding his teeth
the entire time, fists clenched at his sides and grey eyes blazing. James knows him well enough to
understand Sirius wants revenge. For Mary and for everyone else they’ve lost.

For Remus, who is still missing.

They huddle in Potter Manor that night. All of them. Effie and Monty make them drinks—too
sweet and full of alcohol—and they drink to Mary. There’s no music. Sirius’ guitar is against the
wall, untouched since the day he moved to the manor because he can’t stand being alone in the flat
he bought with Remus.
James remembers a year ago, when Olive died, and they talked about her with Peter for an entire
night. It’s a horrible sort of re-enactment, but it helps. They know it does because they’ve been
here before.

They've been here before.

They will be here again.

James wonders if it'll ever end and if any of them will be alive to see it. Wishes it wasn't up to them
to sell their youths to take up arms. That it wasn't their broken bodies and their broken hearts
sacrificed to this war. But thinking about, wishing for something else, to have been born in a
different decade... well, it doesn't help. Being angry doesn't help. They are here and they've got no
choice. This is the time they've been given, and as much as it hurts, they have to find a way to
make the most of it. To carry on living for as long as they're able.

And so, they drink and they talk about Mary, and when Gideon stumbles down the stairs (where
he’s been hiding for a week but everyone has been too gracious to bat an eye at it), they talk about
Fabian, too. They remember them. The things that made them special. Their quirks and their flaws
and the light they brought into the world.

People cry and comfort each other. They drink. And it’s not the kind of weekend James thought
he’d have at nineteen during Easter break, but it’s the one they’ve been given because there’s a war
and they’re soldiers. They signed up for this. James wishes they hadn’t.

####

Evan is still unconscious.

Whatever Crouch hit him with when he found him and Barty kissing caused some serious internal
damage that they haven’t managed to reverse yet. Regulus did everything he could think of, and
when that didn’t work he set him up in Black Manor and used his influence as Lord Black to get
the best healers on call on the case. That's where Evan has been since, in a bed in an airy room,
being monitored by professionals who still haven't managed to wake him up.

Barty is refusing to go back to school until Evan is awake, and nobody has really pushed him on it.
With his father dead and his mother in Norway, Barty who is legally an adult can do what he
wants.

Besides, Barty is being hailed a hero for killing his father. With Regulus’ help, they made it look
as though it happened during the attack itself, dragging the body back closer to the Ministry. Barty
Crouch has quickly become a Death Eater favourite, and it’s not a bad thing that he’s very
obviously close to Regulus.

More allies. More political weight.

“I’m meeting with the Dark Lord downstairs,” Regulus tells Barty. “Don’t leave the room until I
come back. He doesn’t know you’re here.”

“Would he care?”

“That you’re in love with Evan?” Regulus asks. “Yes. He would care. So don’t get caught.”

“Where’s Remus?” Barty asks.

There were lots of questions once they got here. Barty didn’t believe Remus had simply given up
on his friends. On Sirius. Because Barty had seen them together, and he knows the Gryffindors.
There was no way he'd ever believe everyone had suddenly become bigoted. So, Regulus had no
choice but to tell him that Remus is working with him on something secret and that they needed a
cover. Then, Regulus explained very carefully that Riddle can read minds and that it’s fucking
dangerous for Barty to get any more of his attention.

Despite being a little unhinged, Barty has always been smart. And he got it. He understood that
there’s a lot Regulus isn’t saying. Understands what's at stake. So, he simply nodded, and told
Regulus he was on his side first and foremost, and that all Regulus needed to do was ask for
Barty’s help, and he’d have it. For now, Barty is staying out of sight as much as possible, only
showing himself when Riddle isn't around.

As a precaution, Barty is now also dosing himself with veritaserum, which helps, but Barty doesn’t
know Occlumency so he’s a weak spot. It makes Regulus nervous.

“With the packs,” Regulus replies. “He’s fighting today.”

“Oh, fuck,” Barty groans. “He’ll be in a shit mood when he gets back.”

“You can get drunk,” Regulus says, shrugging. “Worked wonders for me last time.”

Since he was recruited a few months ago, Remus has been systematically fighting the pack alphas
for dominance. He’s won every fight, but like Barty says, it puts him in a foul mood. They know
because Remus has been angsty for two days simply from the anticipation of the fight. Barty,
who’s been relying on Remus for company while he stands vigil by the side of Evan’s bed, doesn’t
like that.

Regulus doesn't care one way or another. Remus is doing his job. If he wants to be annoying about
it, by all means.

Tonight, if all goes well, all ten packs will be under Remus’ control. It should be the last fight for
Remus.

“Are you going to dinner in Malfoy Manor?” Barty asks him.

Regulus nods. “Yes. And I’ll stay in Grimmauld after.”

“Visiting mommy dearest?” Barty scoffs.

Shrugging, Regulus looks at his wristwatch and heads towards the door. Meeting will start soon.
“See you tomorrow.”

The main point of today's meeting is to discuss the fall-out from the Ministry attack. People are
nervous about the prisoners. The Order and the aurors captured a good number of Death Eaters,
including Dolohov, Mulciber, Yaxley, and Rodolphus Lestrange. Bellatrix wants him rescued—
Regulus was surprised about this because he’s always thought Bellatrix didn’t care one bit about
her husband—but a lot of people oppose it. There is no clean way to get them back. Not when
they’re not in Azkaban.

The Order leaders apparently know the dementors are easily swayed, so they’ve finally joined
forces with the Ministry and put the prisoners in the holding cells below the Ministry itself. They're
not a permanent solution, but they're guarded by aurors and complex spells instead of dementors,
so they're much more secure these days. Regulus thinks Riddle should have considered that an
open attack like this would alienate a lot of people and make things harder, but he wanted a
statement. And Regulus wasn’t going to point out a flaw in his idea to Riddle now, was he?
Besides, his plan did deliver on the one main goal Riddle was after. He’s successfully put trusted
people in all newspapers and now controls the narrative across the country. Regulus himself is
making the announcement of his engagement to Elspeth sometime in the next couple of days in a
profiling piece about the upcoming nuptials of the head of the House of Black. It’s going to be
splashed all over the front cover of the Daily Prophet. He’s not thrilled about it, but whatever.
Elspeth is just happy Irene doesn't get the Daily Prophet in Greece.

Schooling his face, Regulus opens the door to the drawing room. Lucius is here, and so is
Bellatrix. “Good evening. Bellatrix, Lucius,” Regulus says. “Where’s the Dark Lord?”

He hears the rustling of robes behind him. Enough of an answer.

Turning, he bows his head in greeting as Riddle walks into the room. “I want a solution to the
prisoner problem.”

Lucius clears his throat, but Bellatrix is faster. “We storm the cells. Break them out. We need
Rodolphus out of there.”

“I agree,” Riddle says. “Rodolphus must be rescued or killed. He cannot be allowed to remain a
prisoner.”

“Surely, we could wait a little?” Lucius tries.

Something dangerous flashes in Riddle’s eyes. “No. Rodolphus is a problem and it must be dealt
with immediately.”

Regulus perks up at this. It’s highly unusual. Riddle plans things carefully, methodically. He’s
manipulative and controlled. What does Rodolphus know that Riddle is so afraid he could tell his
captors? What could be important enough for him to lose his temper?

They don’t plan attacks in advance, rather just one at a time for this reason. So nobody can leak
anything of importance. And it’s not like the names of other Death Eaters are that big a secret.
Everyone has an idea of which houses support Riddle. There’s enough corruption in the Ministry
now that it doesn’t matter.

So, what could he possibly—no. Oh fuck. Ah. Regulus swallows the gasps that crawls up his
throat with the realisation. It has to be a horcrux. It has to be. It’s the only thing important enough
for Riddle to risk it. The only thing that would rattle him this badly.

And it makes sense, he supposes. He did give Malfoy the diary. Why wouldn’t he give the
Lestranges, his most loyal supporters, another one? Of course, he would. Bellatrix would rather die
than let it be taken. And perhaps they know what it is. Riddle is afraid his secret will be found out
if Rodolphus talks.

“Regulus?” Riddle asks him.

He blinks, forcing himself back to the present. “Sir, I have an idea but I’m not sure how well
received it will be.”

“Let’s hear it,” Lucius says. “It was, after all, your suggestion we draw out the Order and the
aurors that ensured our victory at the Ministry. I daresay your ideas tend to be good ones, Black.”

Bellatrix sneers, but Riddle nods. “I agree. Go on.”

“I still have the Order prisoner,” he says, calmly. “The girl I’ve been testing my poisons on. She’s
weak. Won’t last much longer, but they don’t know that. We could set up a prisoner exchange. Do
it quietly. The girl for Rodolphus.”

“I like it,” Lucius says.

Riddle looks at Regulus directly, and he feels a trickle of apprehension run down his spine. Those
eyes will never not be terrifying, no matter how much darkness Regulus has churning inside his
head.

“Does she know anything of worth?” he asks.

“No,” Regulus replies. “She was aware we were preparing a poison, because I kept testing it on
her. But that’s irrelevant now the attack has been carried out. She’s been locked in my dungeons
for months. The girl is a wisp of a thing. No threat at all.”

“How do we know they’ll want her back?” Bellatrix asks.

It’s testament to how desperate they are to get Rodolphus back that she hasn’t shot down Regulus’
suggestion, which she normally does just for the hell of it. They’ve been escalating their little tug of
war recently. Bellatrix is upset Regulus took out Moody’s eye, because it’s made him even more
popular with the Death Eaters.

“We don’t,” Regulus says, shrugging. “But there’s no harm in suggesting it. If they refuse the
exchange, we kill the girl and storm the cells.”

“Very well,” Riddle says. “Set it up. Find a small team, people you trust." He stops, then changes
his mind. "No. Just you and one other person. I don't want this being public knowledge and I want
Rodolphus back with us or dead. If the exchange goes wrong, kill him.”

“My Lord,” Bellatrix coos. “I’d like to go with Regulus.”

“No,” he replies. “You know what I need you to do.”

The look they exchange makes the hairs on the back of Regulus’ neck rise. He suspects rather
strongly Bellatrix has been instructed to move the horcrux just in case Rodolphus talks. And
Regulus needs to know where she’s taking it, but he doesn’t know how to find out.

Still, this is better than nothing. It’s a lead. The Lestranges have one. There’s another one missing.
And a possible final one he’s uncertain about.

And Regulus has just formulated a plan for how he’s going to get the information he needs and
cross another name off his list in one single hit.

****

Dinner is in forty-five minutes and Regulus hasn’t even picked up Elspeth yet. But before he can
go get his fake-fiancée to go to his political ally’s manor to continue plotting to give him even
more leverage over Riddle’s inner circle, Regulus has to speak to his best friend.

Stepping outside, Regulus hides in a cluster of shadows between two buildings, lighting a cigarette
because he won’t be able to smoke all through dinner and it gets on his nerves.

Breathing in the smoke, Regulus focuses on his ring. It takes him a moment, and he wasn’t sure it
would work because it’s late, and Dorcas should be sleeping, but it does.
“Dorcas?”

“Reg, hi. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Can you talk?”

“Not really. I’m at the Potter’s. We’ve… Mary Macdonald died during the attack. Her funeral was
on Thursday. Marlene is not doing so well. It helps her to be with Lily.”

“Hmm. Right. You’ll like this, then.”

“Like what?”

“I’m sending a message to Moody tomorrow to arrange for a prisoner exchange. Rodolphus for
Sam. I need you to make sure they agree,” Regulus explains.

He feels the emotion flooding Dorcas. Relief and joy so intense it makes Regulus feel a little dizzy.

“Control yourself. You’re making me want to smile and it’s disturbing.”

“Sam’s coming back!”

“If you get Moody to agree to the exchange. If not, I’ll have to kill her. I can’t justify keeping her
here any longer.”

“He’ll agree. Sam is loved by everyone. No way he’ll refuse.”

“Good. I’m doing the exchange myself and I’ll pick one other person. The Order can also bring
two people only.”

“Moody will go for sure. Who are you bringing with you?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“What if you bring Remus?” Dorcas asks hesitantly.

Regulus frowns, stops walking the stairs. “Remus?”

“Sirius is… he’s been struggling, Reg. No one knows where Remus went or if he’s alive. It would
go a long way if Sirius and Moody could see Remus.”

“Remus is on my side now.”

“I have a feeling Sirius won’t care. He just wants to know Remus is alive and I can’t tell him,
because you won’t let me. So, if you bring Remus to the exchange, and I suggest Sirius go with
Moody…”

“I’ll consider it,” Regulus thinks through the bond.

It’s not actually a bad idea. Remus is immune to Riddle’s legilimency and he’s loyal to Regulus—
he has no choice—so it’s perfect for what he’s planned. Regulus doesn’t particularly care about
easing Sirius’ worries, but Remus is a good choice for his plan. It’ll make him happy and even
more compliant if Regulus allows him to see Sirius for a moment, and the life-debt ensures Remus
can’t get any stupid ideas in his head. Besides, he’s less irritating than anyone else. There’s
absolutely no way Regulus is voluntarily going on a mission with Severus, for example.
“Alright, yes. I’ll take Remus.”

“When did you say you’re contacting Moody?”

“Tomorrow.”

####

It’s almost three in the morning. Sunday. If he were still in school, James would have returned
tonight to resume lessons the next day after the break. But James isn’t in school. He fucking wishes
he was. Life was so much simpler then.

Instead, James is in his bed in the Manor, but he can’t sleep. He’s a little tipsy, but not enough to
drag him into a stupor and forget. He can’t stop thinking about Fabian. About Mary. About Remus.
About Sam.

About Regulus.

Death and heart break. Grief in all its shapes and forms. Dead people. Missing people. And
Regulus, who is alive and well but gone from James’ side and perhaps that’s why he hurts more
than the others. Because they could be together, but they aren’t. It’s Regulus’ choice, and it makes
James feel like he’s dying every time he remembers it.

It’s coming up to a year since they broke up. And it’s fucking insane that James is still so hung up
on him, but he has no idea how to change it. Nothing seems to help. You’d think that distance
would at least put a damper on his feelings but no. He’s seen Regulus a grand total of three times
since they left school last June. Has it made a difference? Fuck no. Not a smidge.

“Fuck my life,” James groans upwards into the empty ceiling of his room.

Gideon left on Friday to go to Molly’s house. After way more days than were appropriate holed up
in Potter Manor, he decided to share his grief with his sister, and with a heartfelt thank you James
and a hug that lingered a bit too long, he took off to the Weasley’s.

Marlene and Dorcas are in their flat now, but they stayed the night of Mary’s funeral and the day
after that, too. Marlene and Lily stuck together almost the entire time. Pandora has come and gone,
but also has been here more than not. She’s been by Lily’s side, so gentle with her that it almost
made James smile. He isn’t sure if anything romantic is going on there or not, but whatever they
have, it’s good for Lily. And he’s always liked Pandora. It's a shame she's gone back to school
today.

Turning in his bed, James pushes the blankets back. He’s hot and uncomfortable. Too wired. He
can’t sleep. Sighing, he gets up.

Maybe Sirius has come back already. He was called to a meeting with Moody earlier today, and
he’s been gone the entire day. The house is silent as he pads down the corridor towards Sirius’
room. When he opens the door, James swallows a groan. There’s no one in here. Sirius must still
be with Moody.

Defeated, James closes the door and walks back to his room. The bed creaks a little when he sits on
in, dropping his head in his hands. Distantly, he remembers Regulus telling him about sleeping
potions. Perhaps he could ask Lily to make him one.

As though summoned, the door opens and Lily pokes her head in. James looks up and almost
gasps. Lily has been crying.
“Sorry,” she says, blushing a bit. “I saw you come in. Saw you were awake. I… I don’t want to be
alone right now.”

“What happened?” James asks, getting up as Lily slips into the room and closes the door behind
her.

Clearing her throat, Lily looks at the floor and says, “Pandora. We… ehm, I kissed her the other
day. Before we found… before Mary.” Her voice breaks, and Lily has to take a moment to
compose herself.

“We kissed and it was brilliant. But then Mary died, and I was… well, you know. Pandora was
amazing through it, and I really thought… I thought that was it. Stupid. Fuck. The thing is, we
didn’t talk about it until last night. Pandora didn’t want to hurt me while I was grieving, she said.
But then she couldn’t wait any longer because she went back to school today. So, we talked.”

There’s a pause, and James gets the feeling he shouldn’t interrupt. So, he waits for Lily to continue.
To tell him what he already knows is coming, because what else would make Lily cry so much her
eyes are still red and swollen? She may not be weeping now, but James would wager anything that
she was until very recently.

“Pandora said she can’t be with me,” Lily whispers. “She says she’s waiting for someone she saw
in a dream, James. A fucking dream. Can you believe it? I’m here. I’m real. We kissed and it was…
and she’s rejecting me for someone who may or may not exist because she had a dream once.”

She sounds so... angry it takes him aback a little, but in all fairness... she has a right to be. That's
one of the most ridiculous excuses for a rejection he's ever heard.

“Oh, Lily,” James says, opening his arms. "I'm sorry."

Lily comes and lets James hug her against his chest. She’s shaking with fury, but she's not weeping
or making a sound. Like Lily cried all she had to, and now there’s only room for the ugly feelings.

“Do it,” James whispers into the crown of her head. “You know I can take a hit. Go on. You’ll feel
better after.”

To his surprise, Lily doesn’t even hesitate this time, which tells James how truly wrecked she is
over Pandora. She closes her fist and pounds it against James’ chest. Lily lets out a strangled
chuckle and looks at James. He nods. It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt. So, Lily hits him again. James
simply grunts a little, and then nods to let Lily know he’s still okay. She does it again. And again.
Until she’s tired and just leans against him limply.

“What is wrong with me that she’d prefer to wait for the idea of someone than give it a go? I’m
here. I’m real. How can some idea that my or may not exist be better than that? Better than me? I
don’t understand,” Lily whispers, defeated. “I really thought… we’ve been writing to each other
every week this year. I bought her a Christmas gift. She was here when Mary—Fuck. I don’t get
it.”

James sighs. He sits on the bed and tugs her to sit next to him. “Nothing is wrong with you, Lils.
You’re amazing. I… have no idea what Pandora is thinking. From where I’m standing, she’s
missing out. She’s going to regret it.”

“I’m so tired of hurting,” Lily says, dropping her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I’m hurting
about this war. And about Mary. Fuck I miss Mary so much. And now about Pandora. And I’m
still hurting about Sam and Remus. I fucking hate this.”
“That makes two of us.”

“Well,” Lily says with a bitter chuckle. “Misery loves company.”

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, James takes a deep breath. Everything is a mess
these days. Nobody is happy, and it sucks. What are they even fighting for? What are they doing?
How do they carry on? He’s not equipped to deal with this much pain.

He’d like to numb it. To stop feeling it. If he could, he’d go out and drink and find someone to
distract him for a bit. To help him forget the aches inside of him. The losses and the regrets and the
longing. But it’s way too late, so that’s not an option. Maybe tomorrow.

“What would Mary say?” James asks Lily.

“Huh?”

“If she was still here. What would she tell you to do? To cheer you up?”

And for some reason that makes Lily giggle. She giggles, and then she’s laughing slightly
hysterically and James looks at her with alarm. “You okay?”

It takes a moment, but eventually, Lily nods. “Oh. Oh fuck. Mary…” Lily looks at him again,
smiling. And then the smile drops off her face and she looks considering. Serious and solemn.
“James?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

Do I what now?

James feels like someone’s slammed the breaks on him without warning and he’s going to go
flying over a broom handle and splatter himself against the ground.

“What?”

“Do you still want to kiss me?” Lily asks him patiently.

And James… doesn't. Not really. But also... he does. He thinks he does. Right? Maybe? Fuck. He
doesn’t know.

Lily is beautiful, and brilliant, and quite attractive. But she made a very good case for them being
just friends and James has seen her only that way since. It hasn’t crossed his mind again to want
her. This whole time, she’s just become a really close friend. And would he ruin that for a… a kiss?
A one time thing?

Nah. He realises with a jolt that no. He won’t ruin it. James likes the way things are now. They
make a good team and he’s not about to go mess that up for anything.

Besides, Lily deserves better than to be a stand-in for who James really wants.

But he doesn’t want to reject her harshly. She was very gentle with him when she said no. He has to
do the same. Explain it properly so Lily understands where he’s coming from.

“I thought you said that’d be bad for you,” James replies cautiously. “You said we should be
friends. And I agree. About the friends part, I mean. I don’t want mess it up. I think we work really
well like this. I care about you a lot. Platonically.”

“Yeah, well. I said that before I fell for Pandora and got myself rejected for a ghost or whatever the
fuck he is,” Lily says with a wry smirk. “I’m not crushing on you anymore. It hasn’t been like that
for a while for me, either. I don’t want to be anything other than friends with you. Not anymore.”

“I’m not sure I’m following,” James tells her. “Why are you asking, then?”

“I just want to not think for a while,” Lily says simply. “To forget. That’s why you do it, isn’t it?
Why you’re sleeping around so much?”

And well, yes. That’s exactly why he does it. Because feeling wanted is better than feeling like
he’s not good enough. It’s a temporary reprieve, and James would do just about anything for a
break from his pain.

Shifting his weight and bringing a knee up on the bed, he looks at Lily. She’s lovely. Red hair and
green eyes and full lips. Curves that he can see holding in his hands. Creamy skin and freckles and
a smile that can melt an ice cube. And she looks so soft. James could want her. He has wanted her
in the past, and it wouldn’t take much for him to want her again. But she’s his friend now. And
what if she gets hurt? What if blurs lines?

“I don’t think… Lily, I get what you’re saying. But you should know that I’ve… the truth is, I’m
not over him,” James whispers in defeat. “Not even a little bit. I still miss him every fucking day. I
dream about him. I wish he was here every night.”

“I know that, James,” Lily says. “You’ve never known how to love someone subtly or quietly. I
know you still love him. That’s okay, because I don’t want your love. I just want a distraction.”

“But that’s… Hmm. Are you sure? I don’t want it to—”

“Oh, please. I came here because Pandora doesn’t want me, and it hurts and I want to forget about
it. I’m totally using you and I’m giving you permission to use me, if you want,” Lily replies, a little
brusquely now.

James doesn’t know what to say to that, because well. Yes. Alright. So, he gives Lily a small nod,
and then she’s shuffling even closer. Her hands are warm and soft, like he thought they would be.
She’s so very soft. She leans in, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

She smells like lavender and cigarettes.

And James loses his mind.

Lily gasps as his hands come up to either side of her head, tilting her up to deepen the kiss. She
opens her mouth, and James’ tongue swipes in. And fuck. Lily is a good kisser. She catches up
quickly, one hand fisting on the front of James’ t-shirt, the other hooking around his neck.

James sits fully on the bed, knees bent outwards, and she climbs on top to straddle him. It’s fucking
sexy, and James can only grunt in approval. Lily’s hair is long, and it cascades down her back
when he tugs at her hair tie. It’s like silk between his fingers.

“James,” Lily says, breaking the kiss for air. “Off. Take this off.”

She leans back as James reaches behind him with a hand and pulls of his t-shirt with a smooth
movement. Then, Lily is staring at him with a wicked smirk.
“Fuck,” she says, grinning. “You’ve got some serious abs, Potter.”

“I’m the quidditch captain,” he replies, also smiling. “Comes with the territory.”

“Is this… holy shit,” Lily says, tracing the lines of his tattoo with her fingers. It’s over his hip.
“What does it mean?”

“It’s a secret,” he says.

Lily yelps and then giggles as James hooks his arm around her waist and swings her around until
she’s flat on her back on the bed. She looks up at him with hungry eyes, and fuck. She smells like
cigarettes and lavender.

James is done for.

She fits in his hands beautifully. Pale, freckled skin, soft and pliant in all the right places. James
runs a featherlight hand between her legs and she lets out a breathy gasp that makes James smile.
She hooks a leg around his waist, pulling him closer, and drags her teeth over his collarbone and
down the lines of his chest, where she was pounding her fists not long ago.

“Fuck,” James groans when she closes her fingers around his length.

“Good?” Lily asks.

“Yeah,” James breathes, then shifts a little to the side to give himself more room to move his hand
and dips a finger inside of her. “Good?”

Lily doesn’t reply, just nods, eyes wide and lips parted. James curls forward and finds one of her
boobs with his mouth. She arches off the bed in response, and her breathing switches up a notch.

“James,” Lily pants, removing her hand from his dick in a sort of little involuntary movement. “Oh
fuck. James.”

And all bets are off, because really, she sounds sinful, and her skin smells of lavender, and her
mouth tastes like cigarettes.

It’s intense. It’s moaning and grunting and sweating. Hands and legs and tongues and Lily’s hair
that’s too long and gets in the way. James is a little wild, but Lily is matching him with every
stroke, every thrust. Her nails break his skin, raking down his shoulders, heels digging into his
lower back as she asks for more, faster, harder.

He remembers enough of himself to make sure she falls apart first, one hand pressed between their
bodies to help her through it before James lets go and chases his own pleasure. Normally, he closes
his eyes as the last image he sees is him. But Lily deserves better. She's his friend. So, James forces
himself to look at her, at how beautiful she is, and how her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes glazed
over. And when James comes, it’s to the smell of lavender and cigarettes, but red hair and freckles
on his pillow.

****

His bed is empty when he wakes up, and he’s not sure if this is a good sign or a bad one. Groaning,
James slides out from under the covers and yanks his pyjama pants on before padding out of the
room.

Lily is in the kitchen making tea. James hesitates at the threshold, wondering if things are going to
be awkward now. Perhaps he shouldn’t have slept with her. Things always feel different in the
morning. Shit. Did he fuck it all up? He shouldn't have let her convince him. This was a bad idea.

But then she turns, and sees him, and she smiles and reaches for another mug to pour him some tea
like every other morning before today. She's not panicking, not awkward. She's just Lily, in the
kitchen, making tea. Sighing, James goes to lean against the kitchen counter.

“Morning,” he says. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she replies calmly. “Sirius came back. He’s in the shower. I’m making breakfast.”

“What? He only just came back?” James asks, frowning into his tea. Hot and sweet, exactly how
he likes it.

Lily nods, setting plates on the counter. It’s only then that James notices she’s been making
pancakes.

“Oh, pancakes,” James breathes. “I think I’m in love.”

To his immense relief, Lily laughs. Just giggles and turns to give him a playful shove on the
shoulder. Normal. Easy. Friendly. Still, James needs to check. Needs to ask. Because yes, he’s been
sleeping around, but it’s been mostly strangers. Or Gideon, but Gideon wasn’t a friend before.

Lily is different. She matters. She’s a friend, and James does love her, just not like that. Suddenly,
he needs to make sure he hasn’t ruined everything. It’s imperative, right this moment, that he
confirms that they’re fine. Friends. That last night didn’t matter.

“Lily?”

“Stop panicking,” she says, shrugging. “It was great and it helped me sleep. We don’t need to talk
about it again, do we?”

“I don’t know,” James says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do we?”

“Well, do you feel weird about it?”

James pauses. Thinks about it. Like, he really does. Turns it all over in his head and examines how
it all makes him feel. And then he says, “not really? I’m panicking about whether you feel weird
about it. But I don’t. Nothing has changed for me.”

“Same,” Lily tells him, smiling. “So, we’re good?”

“Why wouldn’t you be good?” Sirius asks, walking into the kitchen that moment. “Are those
pancakes? Red, you’re such brilliant wife material. I swear to Merlin.”

Scoffing, Lily rolls her eyes and begins to serve the pancakes on the plates. Sirius slides onto a
stool next to James, fluffing his hair, still wet from the shower. He looks tired, but… excited.
There’s an air of optimism clinging to Sirius this morning and James cannot for the life of him
figure out what might have caused it.

Unless… “Did you hear from Remus?” James asks.

With a deep sigh, Sirius shakes his head. “I wish. No. Nothing on Moony yet, but I do have good
news.”

Lily puts the plates in front of them and leans closer, eyes wide. “Go on! We could do with good
news.”

“The Death Eaters want Rodolphus Lestrange back,” Sirius says. “And they’re giving us Sam
McKinnon in exchange.”

“Oh my God,” Lily breathes out, bringing a hand to her throat. Her mouth parts, and her cheeks
flush, and then there are tears in her eyes. “Oh my God. We have to tell Marlene that Sam is alive.”

Sirius is grinning. James feels relief wash over him, making him almost sway on the kitchen stool.
He grips the counter, knuckles white from the strength of it.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agrees, knocking their shoulders together. “About time something went our way.”

Breakfast feels almost celebratory after that. They eat their pancakes, dousing them in way too
much syrup, and drink tea clinking their mugs together like they’re toasting at a party. They’re all
smiling, and it’s a small miracle, James thinks. A reprieve from life, because they’ve lost a lot
recently, and for once it feels like they’re getting a bit of good back.

Sirius tells them about the plan, because of course Moody is going to try to turn the exchange into
a raid, and James volunteers to go. Anything to get Sam back. They’re discussing the location of
the exchange—only two people are allowed to go per the conditions the Death Eaters have given
them—and how the others will ambush the trade, when the morning post arrives.

Lazily, James tugs the Daily Prophet off the owl’s beak while Lily feeds it a small bit of pancake.
He’s got half a mind to ignore it, because he doesn’t want bad news to kill the mood, so he throws
the paper on the counter and reaches for his mug.

And freezes.

“Is that Regulus on the cover?” Lily asks, opening the paper.

When James reads the headline, he chokes on his tea. Alarmed, Sirius hits him on the back to help
him through it, and James coughs and coughs but he can’t tear his eyes away from the paper.

Sure enough, on the very front page of the Daily Prophet there’s a picture. And in that picture,
sitting on a chair that’s way too ornate to be comfortable, is Regulus. And standing next to him is a
beautiful, blond woman. Elspeth Fawley, according to the headline. Not just a woman, though. His
fiancée.

“He’s getting married?” James chokes out when he’s stopped coughing. “What the fuck?”

“Hold on,” Lily says, tugging the paper closer so they can read the article in full.

Lord Black and Elspeth Fawley engaged to be married later this year

It is with great pride that the House of Black and the House of Fawley announce the upcoming
nuptials of Regulus Arcturus Black, head of House of Black, and Elspeth Fawley, only daughter of
Aristotle and Felicia Fawley and heiress to the Fawley fortune.

The wedding is scheduled to take place in summer of this year (1979) in an undisclosed location. It
is expected to be a grand ceremony attended by the most illustrious names. Sources close to the
bride and groom have confirmed that the guestlist will include, amongst others, the Malfoys,
Lestranges, Greengrasses and Rosiers.
 Regulus Black shared his excitement for the nuptials when he sat down briefly—he’s a very busy
man—to chat to the author of this note in his residence in London. With him was a radiant and
very clearly besotted Lady Fawley, who could not stop smiling. Lord Black confirmed that he fell in
love in with his bride-to-be the moment he laid eyes on her several months ago, shortly after he
broke a rumoured agreement with one of the Greengrass Ladies. Lady Fawley, who blushed
prettily when asked about this, didn’t confirm nor deny whether she was the reason behind the
broken understanding.

Lord Black and Lady Fawley have enjoyed a fruitful courtship that has included several trips to the
Opera in Covent Garden, where they have often been seen being affectionate with each other in the
private box the Fawleys have traditionally held.

Walburga Black wasn’t available for comment due to poor health. However, Felicia Fawley,
mother of the bride, spent some time with the author. Turn to page six for an in-depth interview
and further details about what is set to be the wedding of the year!

Rita Skeeter

“He fell in love,” James repeats, reading that one line over and over again like it will start making
sense if he just reads it one more time. “Affectionate.”

It can’t be. Regulus can’t even fucking say it. James would know. Would he? Or could he not say it
because he didn’t love James?

Fuck.

James thinks he’s going to be sick.

Lily reaches for his hand, squeezing it in hers. “I’m sorry.”

No.

This isn’t real.

Regulus doesn’t even like women. Does he? Did James ever actually ask? He can’t remember.
Doesn’t know. His brain isn’t working properly. All it can do is replay those words over and over.
Printed on paper forevermore.

He fell in love.

Regulus fell in love with someone who isn’t James.

James can’t breathe.

“I feel sorry for her,” Sirius scoffs, dropping the paper and breaking James out of his spiral of
panic. “That’s going to be one shitty marriage. I bet Walburga arranged it for him.”

Shaking his head, James pushes himself away from the counter, slides off the stool and storms out
of the kitchen. It shouldn’t hurt. He should be over him by now. It’s been too long.

But James hasn’t managed to stop thinking about him. He still misses him. Worse, James still
hopes Regulus will change his mind and come back to them. And isn’t that the most pathetic thing
you’ve ever heard?
 “Prongs?” Sirius calls after him.

“Not now,” James grunts, letting the door slam behind him.

James wants to scream. To break something. Break himself, perhaps. To cut his own chest open so
this horrible, burning feeling can leak out of his chest and stop hurting him.

Regulus is getting married.

Desperate, James looks around before he decides to march out to the garden. At least there, if he
succumbs to his rage, he won’t destroy his furniture. That’d be a bit hard to explain to his parents.

His broom is in the shed, and James thinks that’s as good as it’s going to get so he heads for it. As
he grabs his broom to go fly some laps in his backyard—exhausting himself with exercise is the
only functional way he can think of right now to work this out of his system—James wonders if
this is going to be his life forever.

If Regulus ruined him so thoroughly that he’ll never love another person.

Chapter End Notes

I'm so scared about this one

From the top!

Remus calling Reg a hipocrite? HELP THOSE TWO

Rosekiller are back and boy did they bring the DRAMA with them. Crouch is gone
The world is better without that man in it, what can I say. NOT BARTY KISSING
REMUS? I swear to you that wasn't planned, Barty just did it and I sat and stared at
my laptop screen for a solid two minutes in shock before accepting I have no control
over this story and the characters are running the show, so why not HE'S SO
INSANE I LOVE HIM

Mary's funeral I am unwell Also, you may have noticed but I want to point out
that the title of this chapter as well as some of the lines in Mary's funeral scene are
references to Chloe Ament's music. I love her. Go give her a listen - my fav is Until
The End (I cannot listen to that without sobbing tho, so you've been warned)

Then we get Regulus being a mastermind again and figuring out (finally) a way to get
SAM MCKINNON BACK TO THE ORDER I'm so excited for that plotline because
the DOMINOS ARE GOING TO CASCADE IN A LINE!!!

Alright and then... we finally saw Jily happen. Listen, this is a Jegulus fic. We're here
for Jegulus. But also, there's a little tag there that told you this was coming. I promised
no cheating, and no Lily bashing because I LOVE LILY. They are friends and they
were sad and they banged it out. That's VALID and I support them I will also confirm
that this won't happen again, so you all can breathe and keep staring at the Endgame
Jegulus tag to manifest it into a reality (it's coming I promise!)

AND THEN THE WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENT That was so foul. James can't
catch a break, poor man He's so sad. Someone give him a hug
How are we feeling? Did you catch the total chapter # update I am super close to
having written the whole thing, so I felt like it was time to give a total number of
chapters. I might end up one up or down but any variations won't be significant so
that's a solid guide

Next chapter will be coming on Sunday if I can make it happen, absolute, absolute
latest Monday. I LOVE YOU ALL! Thank you for being so AWESOME! See you in
the comments section
 Trust
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Happy Sunday! I'm excited for this one because it's got both Wolfstar and Jegulus
goodness in it so without further ado...

TWs for this chapter:

References to violence
Vague references to bigotry
Depictions of cutting (Reg has a knife!)
Depictions of murder
Depictions of injuries
Blood
References to past torture and child abuse
References to abusive parents
Discussions about past torture and imprisonment
Depictions of torture (magical)
References to casualties of war

I think that's it, but as always let me know if I missed anything!!

Enjoy

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Rain falls in sheets over Surry Hills.

Under his boots, Regulus feels the ground soaking up the water, turning muddy and slippery. It’ll
be saturated very soon, which will make for unpleasant running back to their apparition point but it
can’t be helped. He's pretty powerful, but controlling the weather is a bit much even for him. On
Regulus' right, Remus is smoking (he’s charmed his cigarette to be water repellent).

Sam is between them, hands bound, and a cloak thrown haphazardly over her head. Regulus had to
rough her up a bit for the transfer, so she’s a little out of it, but this girl remains the luckiest woman
alive. No one else can say they’ve been captured by Riddle and made it back to tell the tale.

One single light orb floats before them, casting a low glow over their silhouettes as they wait. The
details were agreed and locked via traditional owl letter delivery (good luck to the Order trying to
track anything of Regulus). Moody should be here soon with Rodolphus. Kissing his teeth, Regulus
checks the dagger is in place at his belt for the third time, then glances at Remus, who’s looking at
him, too. A small nod. He’s ready.

They hear them apparate before they can see them. Three figures trudging up the hill through the
rain. Moody, slightly hunched over, Rodolphus, bound and gagged, and—

“Sirius,” Remus whispers.

Regulus shoots him a warning glance, but Remus isn’t looking at him. He’s got eyes only for the
man running a hand through his hair to push it back from where it’s sticking to his forehead with
rainwater.

If he didn’t know that he’s been struggling, Regulus wouldn’t be able to tell by simply looking at
Sirius. He’s impressed, but perhaps he shouldn’t be. Sirius is a Black, after all. And he was taught a
lot before he went and got himself disinherited. Sirius may not be as good as Regulus is, but he’s
still better than most at masking his true emotions.

“Lupin,” Moody says, looking at him appraisingly. “So, you’re alive.”

Remus smirks, cruel and edgy. “Moody,” he replies, then he looks at Sirius. “Black.”

“Gone a bit too far, haven’t you?” Moody asks, raising an eyebrow.

Regulus almost rolls his eyes. His attempt at sussing out whether Remus is still on their side is so
fucking transparent it's giving Regulus second hand embarrasment. Honestly.

Remus shrugs, then says, “They treat me better.”

The light from the orb catches on Sirius’ eyes as he slides them quickly towards Regulus, then back
to fixate on Remus. There’s little wind tonight, but the clouds are churning overhead rather
threateningly. Regulus is uninterested in Moody, his attention caught by Sirius and his little stand-
off with Remus. If he does something stupid, Regulus is going to be pissed.

But it seems Sirius just wants to look. To take Remus in. He’s standing there, immobile, eyes
trained on the werewolf at Regulus’ side. Sirius looks older these days, like the war is stealing
years off his life. Rain weighs his long hair down, water dripping from his straight nose.

Sirius is staring at Remus with such intensity Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if he burnt a hole in
Remus' head. The tension in the air is thick and heavy.

After the longest minute of Regulus’ life, Sirius swallows, then purses his lips in an insolent
grimace and gestures towards Sam. “Are we doing this or what?”

Regulus rolls his eyes just for the dramatics of it all. Stepping forward, he says, “Rodolphus first.”

“No way,” Sirius retorts. “Sam first.”

Moody grunts, then steps forward. He grabs Rodolphus by the arm and forces him to move. “Same
time. Go on, Black. We don’t have all night.”

Closing his fingers around Sam’s arm, Regulus tugs her forward. She comes willingly and eagerly.
Regulus didn’t bother gagging her. Sam has been extremely cooperative the entire time, like she
understands how lucky she is to be going back home and won’t risk jeopardising that no matter
what.

They meet in the middle of the field, Moody and Regulus. Sirius and Remus are still staring at each
other across the dark stretch of wet grass, having a silent conversation through little looks and
tilted heads. Regulus pretends he doesn’t notice.

As soon as Rodolphus is within reach, Regulus shoves Sam into Moody and yanks the Death Eater
closer. As practiced, Remus throws up one of his shields, and then they’re retreating into the night.

“Are they following yet?” Regulus asks, tugging Rodolphus along roughly.
“Yes,” Remus replies.

“Good. Into the trees,” Regulus says, darting past the tree line at the base of the hill.

They know the Order has set up an anti-apparition perimeter, hoping to trap the Death Eaters in it.
Suggestion of Dorcas, who has helped Regulus get this whole thing up and running. It didn’t hurt
that Moody was so eager to try and spring a trap on them. As if Regulus would ever walk into a
trap unknowingly. Please.

Rain has seeped into his boots, wetting Regulus’ socks. His clothes hang from his frame heavy
with water, weighing him down, making his movements slower. The whole thing is aggravating.
Regulus hates rain.

Darkness crawls through the forest. The trees are thick and overgrown with foliage, so there’s no
light to be found anywhere. It’s a bit hard to see enough to judge Rodolphus’ reactions properly,
but there’s not time for lights. It would give their location up too quickly, and they need a bit of
time for this before the Order catches up to them.

“We’ve got a few minutes,” Remus says, trekking through the bushes towards Regulus.

It's as good a place as any, Regulus decides before coming to abrupt stop. Bewildered, Rodolphus
tries to mumble something through the gag, which Regulus hasn’t bothered removing yet. When
Regulus pushes him against the trunk of the nearest tree, Rodolphus makes a sound like he’s
outraged right before Remus steps in to shove his arm roughly against his chest to keep him
secured. Pinned down, gagged, and faced with Regulus and Remus looking less than friendly,
Rodolphus beings to get agitated.

“Three minutes,” Remus informs Regulus. “Then, they’ll be on us.”

Rodolphus looks between them, eyes blazing and irate. Unsheathing the dagger, Regulus cuts
through the gag and the Death Eater begins to sputter almost immediately. “What are you doing?
What is the meaning of this? Release me!”

“I don’t think so,” Regulus says, pressing the tip of the dagger against his neck. “Not until you
answer some questions.”

“The Dark Lord won’t stand for this!”

Regulus smiles condescendingly at him, sharp and with too much teeth. “Who do you think wanted
to make sure you haven’t run your mouth?”

The words land with the intended effect, making Rodolphus cease his struggling immediately. He
breathes in, a bit shakily, then looks at Regulus with pleading eyes. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

“We’ll see about that,” Regulus says.

And then, he plunges into Rodolphus' head. It’s a dark place, full of cruelty and pain. Only an
insanely twisted man would stomach marriage to someone like Bellatrix, so Regulus isn’t surprised
one bit. Regulus navigates through Rodolphus’ thoughts, memories, and knowledge as quickly as
he can, looking for the one secret that matters. Sifting the contents of his minds like they’re grains
of sand and he’s looking for ore. It’s tedious, and Regulus knows he’s being too rough, but he
doesn’t have the time to do this gently. Not that Rodolphus deserves gentle anyway.

Regulus looks, looks, looks… and when he finds his answer, he almost lets out a triumphant
whoop.
Helga Hufflepuff’s cup.

It’s in the Lestrange vault in Gringotts. Or at least it was until Rodolphus was caught. Regulus feels
confident that Riddle will have asked Bellatrix to move it. So, he’ll have to search for its new
location, but it’s still a victory. He knows now the Lestranges have a horcrux and that it’s the cup.
Progress.

Pulling out, Regulus blinks at Rodolphus who looks downright terrified. “I didn’t tell them. I swear
it.”

“Good,” Regulus replies.

“Regulus,” Remus warns. “They’re coming.”

Behind him, Regulus can hear the cracking of twigs and the rustling of bushes. The Order
members have entered the forest and are looking for them. They’re out of time.

“I need to run, so I’ll make this brief,” Regulus hisses at Rodolphus. “I want you to know I’m
killing you for the part you played in torturing my brother the night he was disowned. I also just
really don’t like you, but that’s secondary.”

“What—"

The dagger slides in, and Regulus jerks his hand so it cuts across Rodolphus’ throat. He dies
slumped against the tree, blood gushing down and over his clothes. Regulus’ hands are stained
crimson. Quickly, Remus helps Regulus bring him down.

“Fucking hell, couldn’t you use a killing curse like a normal person?”

“It’s more satisfying this way,” Regulus says, wiping the dagger clean on his cloak and sliding it
into the sheath at his hip.

Originally, Regulus wanted to torture Rodolphus a little bit. Drag it out, make him beg. Poetic
justice and all that. Regulus wanted to draw out Rodolphus' suffering for the hours he laughed
while Sirius was beaten and punished without mercy. Oh well. Regulus isn’t not above adjusting to
the circumstances. They’re in a hurry, so a clean and quick death it was. Better than he deserved.

“Who else was there that night?” Remus asks Regulus.

With a flick of his wand, Regulus sends the body ahead to a hold he prepared in Black Manor
before they both left. He’s got his story construed, the pieces in place. And the tale he will spin is
watertight, which is also why he likes the dagger.

The only magical blow Regulus needs to be careful with is the one that kills. Anything else, and
priory incantatem will only show what curse was cast, but not on who or to what effect. So, as long
as he doesn’t kill with it—which would cause the charm to spew an echo of the soul of the dead
person—he’s fine should Regulus’ wand be checked.

“My father. My mother. My uncle. Rodolphus and Bellatrix,” Regulus lists, sliding his wand into
his holster.

“Your father. Your uncle. Rod—” Remus’ eyes widen. “Fucking hell. Regulus,” Remus says,
coming to stand beside him and raising his wand as the members of the Order of Phoenix close in
on them. “Did you kill your father? Your uncle?”
“Make a guess, Lupin,” he replies, smirking. “See you in Back Manor. Don’t take too long. Don’t
get caught. And don’t forget the debt.”

And Regulus takes off, running through the forest despite his heavy clothes and his squelching
boots. A few paces behind him, Remus swears and then he’s running too. Soon, Regulus has lost
Remus in the darkness, but that was agreed. Remus gets half an hour of time to with it what he
wants.

For his part, Regulus just runs. He’s darting around nimbly, avoiding the Order members searching
for them. It's not hard, because Regulus studied the forest beforehand and knows his way through
it.

Ahead of him, he can make out the tree line at the other end of the forest. If Dorcas’ intel is right—
and it will be because Dorcas hasn’t let him down yet—he’ll be able to apparate once he’s there.
That’s as far as the Order managed to ward off. Regulus is so close. Commanding his legs to run
faster, he pushes on.

Almost there.

Almost.

Regulus smacks right into a solid wall of muscle that grunts with the impact.

Disoriented for a second, Regulus blinks, grappling with himself to get his bearings. It’s a second,
perhaps two, but enough time for the person he’s ran into to crowd him aggressively against a tree.
The rough bark bites into his back through his cloak. Immediately, shadows curl around his hands,
waiting for Regulus to give the order to strike.

Except he won’t.

“Fuck,” Regulus wheezes, fighting for breath. James’ wand jabs the underside of his jaw, and
Regulus finds himself smirking up at him. “Hello, James.”

“Don’t,” James says and oh. He’s angry. It’s hot, Regulus remembers. He used to like it a lot, and
apparently his body still does, judging by the rush of blood he’s experiencing.

Raising an eyebrow, Regulus looks down at the wand at his throat. “What are you going to do?”

“Shut up!” James hisses. His hair is sticking to his forehead where the rainwater is dragging it
down. A drop runs over the tip of his nose, and Regulus finds himself distracted by the way it falls
onto his lips, then disappears in the seam of them.

“That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?” Regulus says, still staring at James’ mouth.

“Shut up and let me think!”

“That’s not really in my best interests,” Regulus mocks him, dragging his gaze up again. “So, I
don’t think I will. Tell me. Did it scar?”

“What?” James frowns, thrown by the seemingly random question.

“The stab wound,” Regulus says, eyes dipping to the general area where he slid his blade in. “Did
it leave a scar?”

James’ eyes widen, and then he closes his free hand around Regulus throat. Steps closer. “Be quiet
or I swear to Godric.”

Two things happen at once. First, the darkness in Regulus’ head hisses like a cat, ready to attack.
Second, Regulus’ body catches on fucking fire. And perhaps it’s because it’s been months since
he’s had any sort of release. Or because he always thought Angry James was the sexiest. But the
heat trumps the shadows momentarily, and Regulus licks his lips.

James notices.

Regulus tilts his head up and their noses graze each other.

“We both know you’re not going to kill me,” Regulus says, aiming for cocky. It comes out a little
strangled, because, well, hand on throat and all.

“I’m not going to let you go, either,” James replies, clenching his jaw. Regulus can feel him
practically vibrating with badly contained want. Pinching his eyes closed, James mutters, “Fuck.”

His fingers tighten around Regulus’ throat and Regulus’ breath hitches.

James notices.

His eyes drop to Regulus’ mouth and for a moment Regulus thinks he’s going to kiss him. But
then, James speaks instead.

“You didn’t kill Sam. Why didn’t you kill Sam?” James asks him, voice a little raspy.

“She was useful to me,” Regulus replies.

Frustrated, James draws back a smidge, enough that the thought crosses Regulus' mind perhaps
James is going to hit him. James doesn’t. His hand stays at Regulus' throat, the wand digging into
his jaw. Regulus looks at him through his eyelashes, wondering if James is still as weak as he used
to be when it came to Regulus. Their feelings might be muted, jumbled. Destroyed by the lies and
the betrayal and all the things Regulus did to make sure James would never love him again.

But lust? Lust prevails. Always.

They wouldn’t be the first enemies to hate-fuck, and Regulus finds as it fleets into his brain that he
isn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

“Stop that,” James croaks. “Fucking stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Regulus replies, amused. Then, he drops his eyes to James’ mouth and
bites his lower lip.

“Fuck,” James groans. He looks away. Takes a deep breath. They’re so close. So dangerously,
deliciously close. “What will your fiancée think, huh?”

“Ah,” Regulus says, tilting his head to the side. It makes his Adam’s apple rub against the palm of
James’ hand, and he coughs a little. “I forgot the announcement came out today. Why, James, are
you jealous?”

Something dark flashes in his eyes as he says, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Oh, he is.

For some reason, this delights Regulus. Bold with desire and the knowledge that James is raging at
the stupid announcement, Regulus lifts his hand, closing his fingers around James’ wrist. Adding
some pressure, he jabs himself a bit harder with James’ wand.

He meets his eyes, hazel and beautiful as ever, and says, “You've got one minute to decide. Kill me
or let me go."

"I'm not going to do either," James grunts.

"Well, unless you’re going to start ripping my clothes off, I’m not going to let you continue to
waste my time here.”

And it’s such a rush when James’ eyes darken like he wants this.

He does, despite everything.

“There’s blood on your hands,” James mutters, swallowing hard.

Regulus shrugs, raises an eyebrow. “I’m the bad guy. What did you expect?”

“Whose blood is it?”

“No one you care about,” Regulus replies. Then, he cocks his head to the left just a touch, lips
ghosting close to James’ mouth. “Your minute is up, James.”

“I fucking hate you,” James says with feeling.

“I know,” Regulus replies. “I made sure of it.”

They meet in the middle. Regulus pushes himself up and James tilts his face down and they’re
kissing. Bruising. Dirty. Teeth clicking and fingers digging into flesh. Regulus growls and James
presses his hips forward, into his. The tree at his back hurts but it’s delicious because it’s James’
body against his and through the wet clothes and the cold, there’s warmth. Always running hot like
a furnace.

James bites him hard enough to draw blood, and Regulus feels his eyes roll into his skull from
pleasure. The taste is metallic and Regulus can't get enough of it. Dizzy with how good it all feels
after so much time with any real contact with another person, Regulus forgets himself for a
moment. His brain disconnects, abandoning itself to the feelings through his body.

That’s when the darkness in his head roars and takes control.

Get away from him.

Too late, Regulus remembers that the monsters in his head are scared of James. They’re not going
to let him just have this, hate-fuck or not.

And he has pissed them off.

Inside his mind, darkness rises in spikes. They hurt him. Curling against his insides and dragging
claws that draw blood and make him want to scream. The shadows grate against the corners of his
skull. Screeching and fighting.

Get rid of him.

They want Regulus to kill James. End the temptation. Remove him from the game. Regulus knows
if he'd been holding the dagger, this time he would have aimed to kill and that thought is rather
sobering.

It’s hard to fight back, but Regulus has enough of himself left to push James away. Hard.

That catches James by surprise, and it’s all Regulus needs to slip away from his slackened grip.
And then he’s running again. Running because his every nerve ending is on fire, and the monsters
in his head are roaring, demanding blood and death. James’.

The only one Regulus won’t give.

So, Regulus wraps himself in darkness, and calls the shadows to him, exerting his will as much as
he can. He sacrifices another bit of his soul instead to placate the magic.

Take this instead.

Bursting through the tree line, Regulus feels the anti-apparition barrier dissipate and wastes not
another minute. He apparates to the steps of Black Manor and stumbles when he arrives. Panting,
Regulus bends over, hands on his knees. He’s got to wait for Remus before they can do anything,
and that’ll take a minute. Resigned to the wait, he huddles in the darkness outside his Manor and
tries very hard to not think about James’ hand on his throat.

####

Interlude: Remus’ POV

Remus is loath to admit it, but having spent time with other werewolves has helped him understand
himself better. There are things he can do now that he had no idea were even a possibility before.
Like tapping into his enhanced sense of smell.

It’s dark as fuck, and Order members are canvassing the forest in their attempt at catching them,
but Remus pinpoints Sirius’ location almost immediately. He’s always known where Sirius is at all
times, both the man and the star, since he was a kid. From there, it’s rather easy for Remus to find a
copse of trees thick enough to provide cover and wait.

When Sirius runs past him, Remus darts out and grabs him, clasping a hand over his mouth to
muffle his shout and dragging him back into the trees. Sirius’ strains in his grasp, fighting to get
himself free, but Remus is stronger. He always has been. Because of the wolf.

“It’s me, Pads,” he whispers in his ear. Sirius still smells like leather and cigarettes. Like Rock and
Roll. Remus wants to bite him. “Stop fighting.”

Immediately, Sirius goes limp and lets Remus do what he will. His heart could burst from it. The
trust that Sirius has for him. Trust he doesn’t deserve, but that Sirius gives him anyway.

“There’s a small clearing past the thick of the trees,” Remus tells him, voice low and measured.
His lips ghost the shell of Sirius’ ear, and he shivers in Remus’ arms. “I’ll let you go, and we walk
there, alright?”

Nodding, Sirius waits for Remus to release him and then they’re walking together. It takes a
minute, perhaps less, before they emerge onto a very small space surrounded by very thick
vegetation on all sides. It’s the most privacy they’re going to get, and Remus is on borrowed time,
so he doesn’t want to waste any of it.

“Right, okay. Pads, listen, I—”

Sirius is not interested in listening, it turns out. Like, not even a little bit. He cuts Remus off with a
kiss, throwing his arms around his neck and covering Remus’ mouth with his own. And Remus,
who is a weak, weak man, forgets all about his explanations and kisses him back.

It’s been months. Remus has missed Sirius every single minute of every single day. Like a man
starved, he drinks in the feeling of having Sirius back in his arms, pressed against him, tongue in
his mouth and sharing breath.

There’s a soft thud when Remus’ back hits a tree trunk, then Sirius’ knee is between Remus’
thighs, making him grunt into their kiss. Sirius’ hands—one in Remus’ hair, the other fumbling
with the button of his jeans—are a bit shaky but determined. Remus breaks the kiss to run his lips
over the line of Sirius’ jaw, then dips to his neck and bites.

Mine.

Sirius moans, sinful, and delicious, and all Remus has ever wanted. It’s hard to force himself to
stay in control. Every instinct in Remus is screaming at him to take Sirius right here and tell the
entire world to fuck off. But he can’t. There are people surrounding them, and Regulus is waiting,
and a war is waging, and Remus has important things he needs Sirius to know.

“We don’t have time,” Remus mutters, dragging his teeth over Sirius’ collarbone. It’s a bit difficult
with the leather jacket he’s wearing, but he manages. “I have to go back.”

“Fuck no,” Sirius says vehemently. “I’ve spent months losing my mind, Moony. I didn’t know if
you were alive or dead or where and what and the last thing I said to you was—”

“Hey,” Remus says, bringing his hands to cradle Sirius’ face. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I’m so mad at you,” Sirius tells him, eyes wild. Crazed. “But I’m also so fucking glad you’re
alive. Fuck. What the fuck, Moony?”

“Sirius, I need you to put all of that aside and listen to me,” Remus says urgently, pressing their
foreheads together. “I know it’s been hard. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But we do not have much time
and I really need you to listen.”

Whimpering, Sirius closes his eyes. “You’ve no idea what it’s been like.”

Remus tilts Sirius’ face up and kisses him. With purpose. With love. Gentle. Not dirty and lustful,
but tender and caring. Sirius melts into it, hands fluttering up to Remus’ shoulders where he holds
on like he might fall off a cliff if he doesn’t.

He’s so beautiful, Remus thinks. How the fuck did he get so lucky? He’ll never know. But he is.
Sirius loves him, and Remus doesn’t understand it, but he’ll take it. Because when he’s looking at
him with those silver grey eyes, wide and desperate, and that red mouth parted and still a bit
swollen from their kissing… how could he not?

“Moony,” Sirius whispers. “I’m afraid you’ll like being with the wolves more than you like being
with me. Because I can’t… I’m not—I’m worried you won’t come back to me. Are you still with
me? Are you still mine?”

And well no. Fuck that.

“Sirius,” Remus says harshly, looking at him in that way he knows makes Sirius pay attention.
“There is nothing in this world that could keep me from you. The sky could fall, and the planet
could crack in fucking half leaving us on different sides, and that’d still not be enough to keep me
from you. I love you. Now, and always, and for the rest of my days. I am yours. Forever.”

Sirius’ breath hitches. He presses his forehead against Remus’ again, noses touching, and
whispers, “I’m so afraid for you. All the time. And I’m—I’m angry that I asked you not to leave
and you did it anyway. And I—I love you so much I can’t function.”

“I need you to trust me. I know it’s hard. But I’m okay,” Remus whispers against Sirius’ mouth. “I
have to go back. I know you hate it, but it’s important that I go back. And I’m fine. Nothing’s
going to happen to me. I’m relatively safe.”

“How? Even Moody thought they might have just killed you,” Sirius says, clinging to his coat with
both hands. “It’s been so long. How did you even manage to get them to take you in? How are you
alive, Moony?”

“Regulus,” Remus says, and he feels the shock hit Sirius like a lightning bolt. “We were wrong
about him. I can’t—I don’t know the details, and what little I know I can’t tell you. I wish I could,
but I really can’t. But he’s not what we thought he was.”

Remus watches emotions play out on Sirius’ face. Confusion. Distrust. Regret. Guilt. And,
underneath it all, hope. Always hope for his little brother. Always that thread of wishful thinking
where Sirius never gives up on the idea that Regulus might see the light someday. That he might
come back to him and want to be a brother again.

“What does that mean?” Sirius whispers.

“He saved my life,” Remus explains urgently. “But Voldemort really can read people’s minds,
Sirius. I’ve seen it. It’s terrifying. So, Regulus has been keeping his cards close to his chest. I don’t
even know everything yet about what he’s doing, or why. He won’t tell me much, and Voldemort
can’t read my mind.”

“I don’t understand anything,” Sirius says, breathing hard. “What—Are you sure?”

“He’s rogue,” Remus whispers. “Whatever he’s doing, he’s not loyal to Voldemort. At all. He’s got
his own game going. His own scheme. And… well. He’s been protecting you.”

“What? He took off Moody’s eye. Cut it clean off. It was savage,” Sirius hisses, eyebrows drawn
together in a deep scowl.

Oh fuck. Remus didn’t know about the eye. He knew Regulus fought Moody, though, so that’s on
him for not guessing something gruesome had happened. But alright. Okay.

Nodding, he says, “Exactly. Moody’s. Not yours. Not James’. I’m not saying Regulus is a saint.
He’s fucking mental. Downright terrifying. Like, I’m sorry, but your brother is a bit unhinged. No
way around that one.”

Sirius just looks absolutely baffled by this. Remus doesn’t think Sirius has ever been speechless
before, so he takes his opportunity to keep talking. Get it all out as much as he can without
triggering the life-debt that prevents him from betraying Regulus.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that something is going on. Regulus is… doing something. He could
have let Bellatrix kill me, but he risked his neck for me. He could have told Voldemort you’re all
animagi, and he hasn’t. He could have just killed Sam, and he didn’t. It was his idea to give her
back in exchange for Lestrange. It just…”

“He let James go,” Sirius mutters. “He stabbed him, mind you. But it was too clean a wound. It's
been bothering me since. And then, he let him go. With Marlene.”

“Exactly,” Remus nods.

“But I don’t understand,” Sirius says desperately. “What is he doing?”

Remus really hopes he’s not wrong about this. About Regulus.

“I don’t know yet. But we’re working together. He’s got me doing some stuff for him that I can’t
tell you about. I hope I’ll find out more details eventually. Trust me. Please,” Remus breathes,
pressing another kiss to Sirius’ mouth. “I’m where I need to be.”

Sirius pinches his eyes closed before nodding. “Alright. Okay. I hate it. But okay,” he says.
“There’s no way for us to communicate, is there?”

Remus shakes his head. “This was already risky enough. And it was also Regulus’ idea,” Remus
says. “He knows we’re talking right now. He said it was fine, but to make it quick. I'm almost out
of time. I've told you all that I can. You can tell Prongs, but no one else Pads. It's not safe.”

Nodding, Sirius bites his lip. “Wait. Prongs won’t forgive me if I don’t ask. Is he really getting
married?”

The question catches Remus off guard. He blinks, blinks again. Confused and more than a little
surprised. “Married?”

“It was in the paper this morning,” Sirius explains. “James almost had a heart attack.”

“I don’t get the papers in the Manor,” Remus mutters, mind reeling for the absurdity of this whole
thing.

Regulus having a wedding? Have a day off.

It can’t be.

“Who the fuck is he pretending to marry? Because I guarantee you that Regulus hasn’t been near
another human being in ages,” Remus says, almost scoffing at the ridiculousness of it all. “He
doesn’t have the time for dating. Most of his free time, which isn’t a lot to begin with, he’s with me
smoking and being cryptic and annoying.”

“Well, he is. It was on the front page.”

“Something’s not right,” Remus says. “And not just… even if he had the time, Regulus is…
There’s something off about him. He’s colder than he used to be. Definitely not husband material.
And isn’t your brother gay? And I mean that as in, I though the didn’t like women at all?”

“I’m not sure, but according to the paper it’s some blond woman. Elspeth Fawley,” Sirius says,
sounding frustrated. “It’s probably a farce, but if he goes through with it, it’ll destroy James. He
thinks he’s doing a good job of pretending. He isn’t. It broke his heart when he saw the news.”

Remus remembers having seen a blond woman, a rather beautiful one, come to Manor a few times.
He remembers her talking to Regulus briefly and yes, they’ve been kind of left alone, but he has not
once seen them be affectionate with each other. Not even remotely.

“Well, the Death Eaters are a bunch of bigots, so he’s probably just covering his tracks,” Remus
agrees. “I’ll be surprised if he goes through with it, but I really don’t know anything about it.”
Sighing, Sirius brings his cheek to rest against Remus’ chest, hugging his arms around him. Remus
buries his nose in the crown of Sirius’ head. They hold each other for a moment. One stolen
moment late at night in a forest in Surry Hills before they’re apart away for Merlin knows how
long. Remus wishes he didn’t have to break it, but he does. He’s already running late and he’s not
about to push his luck. So, with the strength of a thousand giants, he gently disentangles Sirius’
from him.

“I’ve got to go,” Remus says firmly. “I love you.”

And Sirius, Sirius fucking Black, sets his chin in a gesture that makes him look a lot like Regulus,
and nods firmly. “I trust you. Always. Be careful. I love you, Moony. Come back to me, okay?”

It’s a lot better than the last time. Like Sirius has finally acknowledged that Remus can hold his
own. And yes, he’s scared. And yes, it’s dangerous. But Sirius is trusting Remus to find his way
back to him. Back home.

“I will, Pads,” he says. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

Surging forward, Remus steals one last kiss. Searing and bruising. And then he’s running towards
the edge of the forest, leaving his heart behind dangling from Sirius’ elegant fingers.

****

Regulus is waiting for him on the steps of Black Manor. They don’t speak, because there’s no
need. They know what they’re doing. They agreed beforehand.

As they work together, Remus steals a few glimpses at Regulus. He’s all darkness all the time.
Even when he’s in his study with Remus, relaxed with a cigarette trapped between his fingers,
there’s an air of wickedness that clings to him. Sharp angles and inky curls.

He’s very handsome, Remus can admit that. He’s not blind. But Regulus’ beauty is harsh. Cold.
It’s fucking threatening. Otherworldly. Something untouchable. Unreachable by mundane hands. A
little bit like a star, Remus supposes. But where Sirius is bright, a beacon calling Remus home,
Regulus is an icy glow always distant and glorious. You can look at him, but don’t you dare try to
get close because it’ll be the death of you and he won’t even notice.

Remus would be afraid of him if he wasn’t so certain that Regulus needs him for something. He
thinks anyone with any shred of self-preservation should be afraid of Regulus. Of the hard slant to
his mouth, the cold glint in his eye, the way he moves. A predator lurking in the shadows waiting
to strike.

It takes a bit of work, but they prepare Rodolphus body to look like he was caught in the crossfire
of a duel, using that slashing curse to mask the gash on his neck. When they’re ready, Regulus
carries him into the house and demands that someone alert Bellatrix and Riddle that he’s back.

He’s a bloody good actor, Remus thinks when he watches Regulus face his cousin and the Dark
Lord and regale them with a tale of the ambush. Bellatrix looks furious, but not at all like she’s
grieving, which is interesting. It tells Remus all he needs to know about the kind of marriage she
had with Rodolphus.

When Voldemort steps forward and grabs Regulus’ head with his hands, Remus feels the breath
die in his lungs. His heart picks up the pace, ricocheting inside his ribcage like a fucking bullet.
The first time he saw this happen, he’d accepted that he was about to die, so he didn’t pay much
attention. Tonight, however, he sees Regulus hand clench, and the veins on the back of it darken.
Remus isn’t an idiot. He is, in fact, rather smart. And he knows that veins turning black isn’t
normal. It’s also not any kind of magic he’s heard of before. Regulus has done something to
himself, and Remus doesn’t know what, but he can deduce that it helps him keep Voldemort out of
his mind. It helps him protect his secrets, somehow.

As though on cue, Voldemort steps back, releasing Regulus face, and nods. “Your wand, Regulus,”
he asks.

With a steady hand, Regulus takes out his wand and offers it to the Dark Lord. Remus is painfully
aware of the fact that he isn’t breathing. Bellatrix watches with narrowed eyes. Suspicious eyes.

Do they suspect Regulus isn’t as loyal as he’s pretending to be?

Remus isn’t sure what he’d do if it all unravelled. He’s deep in the viper’s nest, and the only reason
he’s even here is because Voldemort knows he’s tied to Regulus. If Regulus’ loyalties are brought
into question, Remus is done for.

Priory incantatem demonstrates that Regulus cast a few spells, but none of them are damning.
There is that Sectusempra curse that almost killed Sirius over a year ago in school, carefully cast in
preparation for this. It’s quickly dismissed because it’s something the Death Eaters who have learnt
it love to use in duels all the time. Regulus is smart. He’s methodical. There’s nothing in his wand
to indicate he hasn’t been truthful.

Satisfied, Voldemort gives it back. “You confirmed Rodolphus didn’t tell them anything. I’m
pleased.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Regulus says, and he sounds only a little breathless as he bows.

“There are some urgent matters I need to attend to abroad. I leave tomorrow,” Riddle adds, almost
like it’s a second thought. “Bellatrix’s word is mine while I am gone. See that everyone knows I
expect obedience.”

Hmm. This isn’t ideal, but fine. Bella wins this round, but Regulus isn’t done playing. “Yes, my
Lord.”

“Oh, and Regulus?” Voldemort asks, a small grimace that Remus realises too late is meant to be a
smile on his face. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Regulus says swiftly, plastering a truly creepy smile on his face.

Ten minutes later, Remus is walking up the stairs next to Regulus, biting his tongue so hard he’s
tasting blood. He’s stressed out. If he’s truthful with himself, Remus is afraid. And he doesn’t want
to be, because his position is precarious enough without him being worried about whether
Voldemort is suspecting Regulus or not. He promised Sirius he’d find his way back and he meant
it. Remus doesn’t want to die here.

When they push open the door to the room where Evan and Barty are—Evan still unconscious,
Barty hovering by the bed with a haunted expression—Remus can take it no more.

“Regulus,” he hisses under his breath. “What the fuck?”

Raising one eyebrow at him, Regulus blinks. “What now?”

“Aren’t you worried?” Remus insists.

Barty looks up from where he’d been holding Evan’s hand and frowns. “Worried about what?”

Then, like he can sense the mood is heavy, he gently puts Evan’s hand on the bed before standing
and crossing the space to come hover near the other two boys. Regulus runs a hand through his
hair. “Yes, Remus. Worried about what?”

“That didn’t feel like they trust you to me,” Remus breathes. “What if they suspect?”

“Of course they do,” Regulus says, shrugging. “The Dark Lord doesn’t trust anyone. I’d be a fool
to think he trusted me.”

Remus is stunned into silence for a moment before he finds his voice again. “So, you’re not
worried?”

“No. I planned for this,” Regulus replies impatiently. He fishes inside his clothes for a pack of
cigarettes and takes one, walking towards the window to look outside. “Your concern is neither
needed nor appreciated. Keep it to yourself.”

Barty and Remus exchange an exasperated glance. Barty has confided in Remus a little bit. Told
him that he can sense that Regulus is still himself, but also not. More distant. Barty and Remus
suspect it’s got to do with the darkening veins malarkey.

“Fine,” Remus scoffs. “Then when were you going to tell us about the wedding? Are we invited?”

Barty blinks at them, frowning. “What wedding?”

“Regulus is apparently getting married,” Remus says, contempt dripping from his voice. “To a
woman.”

“Fuck off. Regulus wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she told him,” Barty says so
earnestly it makes Regulus shoot him a nasty look.

“I’m not joking,” Remus deadpans. “There was an announcement in the newspaper. Very
pompous. Very straight.”

Barty chortles so loud he startles Remus. Then he’s giggling. Just laughing so fucking hard Remus
can do nothing but laugh, too. Doubling over, Barty fights for his life as he tries to breathe through
the hysterics. Remus has tears in his eyes.

Regulus simply carries on smoking, watching them with an expression that very clearly says he
thinks they are idiots.

“Salazar’s cape on a pole,” Barty says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “That’s the funniest
shit I’ve heard in a long time.”

“It’s a bit cruel, isn’t it?” Remus asks. Barty's reaction told him all he needed to know. There is no
way this wedding is real. He wishes he could have confirmed as much for Sirius, to help ease
James' pain. “For her, I mean.”

Regulus doesn’t even flinch. Like he couldn’t care less. But then, he surprises Remus by admitting,
“She knows. We have an arrangement.”

“Oh?” Barty asks, eyebrows climbing to his hairline.

“She’s gay, too,” Regulus explains with the air of someone who’d rather be literally anywhere else.
Remus thinks his discomfort makes everything even more hilarious. “I’m not actually going to
marry her. Just need people to think I will for long enough.”

“And you thought putting it on the fucking paper was the way to go?” Remus asks, mockingly. “I
heard James threw a fit.”

The corner of Regulus’ lips twitches. Barty narrows his eyes. “Alright. Okay. How did Remus
know the truth but I didn’t?”

“What?” Remus asks.

Barty pouts dramatically, turning to Remus with an indignant expression on his face. “Evan and I
suspected James wasn’t just a fuck buddy, but Reg insisted on it. He refused to accept that there
were feelings involved. Clearly, we were right all along.”

“We aren’t talking about this,” Regulus says, and the shift in tone is so abrupt that both Barty and
Remus can feel it.

The air around them gets heavier. Darker. And Remus would have sworn that the shadows in the
room grow thicker. It doesn’t make sense. But Remus can’t shake the nagging thought that
something is going on. Something he doesn’t understand.

“Fine,” Barty says, sighing. “I did want to talk to you about something else.”

Remus lights a cigarette and goes to sit on a chair at the foot of Evan’s bed. Barty looks at him, and
Remus smirks, taking another fag from his pack and throwing it to him. Barty nods his thanks, then
turns to Regulus again, cigarette lit and dangling from his lips.

“I don’t want the mark anymore,” Barty declares in a rushed, slightly breathless voice.

The words ring in the space between the three of them. Dangerous and hopeful. Remus watches
Regulus carefully for a reaction. It’s minimal, because he’s Regulus Black, but he does tilt his
head, inviting Barty to continue.

Barty’s hands are shaking a bit, but he looks determined. He looks certain. “I wanted to mess with
my dad. Get back at him. Make him suffer. But my dad is dead now. And Evan didn’t want it to
begin with. He felt he had no choice, because of his dad, and me… and well. His dad is dead, too. I
know he’d take it if I said I wanted it, but I… I don’t want him to be in danger like this again. I
can’t do this. I can’t lose him. Nothing is worth risking that.”

Tension coils in between Remus’ shoulder blades, because he fully expects Regulus to tell Barty
that it’s too late. That he has no choice. To call him a traitor or whatever and demand that he takes
the mark. Remus is, for some reason, ready to defend Barty. Life debt be damned.

But Regulus simply nods. He takes out another cigarette and lights it, taking a drag before replying.
His jaw is sharp as ever and his curls a little tousled.

“I can’t get you out now,” he says calmly. “One doesn’t simply hand in their resignation to the
Dark Lord. But I can talk to Lucius. Get him to delay the marking long enough that it won’t
happen.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can’t tell you,” Regulus says firmly.

“Right,” Barty says. Remus is surprised to see that Barty simply looks at Regulus, and then nods.
Just like that. It’s strange, Remus thinks, because Barty isn’t a trusting person. He’s a little crazy,
and quite selfish, and a gossip. But not someone who’d willingly put his future in someone else’s
hands, Remus would have thought. And yet. “So, what do I do?”

“Do you trust me?” Regulus asks him.

Turns out that the bond between Barty and Regulus goes deeper than Remus would have ever
thought when Barty doesn’t hesitate. Not even for half a second. “With my life.”

“Then you just sit tight and wait.”

####

The silence in the safehouse is deafening. Moody is pissed that Regulus and Remus got away with
Rodolphus, and he’s been lecturing the team for about twenty minutes while Lily fed Sam potions
to bring her back to consciousness.

Apparently, she passed out the moment she was with Molly Weasley, who’d been charged with
bringing her back to the safehouse. This is, they’ve been told, quite normal. When someone has
been hanging on for a long time and they reach the finish line, their body just releases the tension
all at once and it can be overwhelming.

Fortunately, Sam is now awake, and she looks like a wraith but she’s here.

James can’t remember the last time he felt this good about anything. This hopeful. Like they’ve
really, truly won something.

“Sam,” Marlene whispers. She has been impatiently waiting for her sister to wake up, not allowed
to touch her yet.

Moody cuts her off. “We need to make sure it’s her,” Moody says, then looks at Sirius.

Nodding, Sirius raises his wand. “Step away,” he tells the others.

And James hates that they do. They have to. Because if this isn’t Sam, or if she is under the
Imperius curse, the only one with the stomach to do what needs to be done is Sirius Black. Or
Moody himself, but he’s too busy restraining Marlene.

Sam blinks several times, seemingly getting her bearings. She looks at Sirius, and promptly beings
to sob.

James is ready to go comfort her, which is probably why it’s good it’s Sirius who’s closest. Dorcas,
surprisingly, holds James back. “Wait. We really have to be sure,” she mutters grimacing.

“Sirius,” Sam whispers. “It’s me. It’s Sam.”

“Prove it,” Sirius says sharply. “What was your housewarming gift for me and Remus?”

And Sam giggles. She giggles and then says, “Handcuffs. Muggle handcuffs.”

“Shut up,” Dorcas says next to James, dropping his arm and covering her mouth with her hand.

Then, Dorcas is laughing, too. Sirius is crimson red all over, ears and neck and face, but he’s
satisfied that this is, in fact, Sam McKinnon so he lowers his wand. Moody lets go of Marlene, and
then she’s across the room and hugging her sister and weeping with her.
Discreetly, James wipes away a small tear because something about the way Sam and Marlene are
holding each other is tugging at his heart strings. Stealthily, while everyone is focused on the
sibling reunion, Sirius comes to stand next to James and throws and arm over his shoulders. At
first, James thinks Sirius is just trying to be comforting. But then James realises that Sirius is using
the commotion as cover to tell him something when he tilts his head closer and whispers, “I saw
Moony.”

“Okay?” James whispers back. “Is he…?”

“Still our Moony. He’s fine, but had to go back,” Sirius replies, then grins brightly and James feels
like a massive weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “I’ll explain more later, just wanted you to
know he’s okay.”

Swallowing, James bites his lip then confesses. “I saw Regulus.”

“Okay?” Sirius asks with a pointed look.

“He said something… he said he’d made me hate him? Like on purpose? I might be overthinking
it, but it just… it felt—” James cuts off abruptly, because Moody has had enough of the McKinnon
antics and is demanding order so they can hear Sam’s account of the past few months.

"We'll talk later," Sirius says.

As they all settle to talk to Sam, the door to the safehouse opens and Peter rushes in, hands streaked
with dirt. “Sorry,” he says, huffing and puffing a bit. “I was at work.”

Nobody bats an eye, because Peter running in covered in soil and, sometimes, even bits of
greenery, is rather normal. What’s surprising is that behind Peter comes Dumbledore. James hasn’t
seen the man since the Ministry attack—granted, it’s been a bit over a week only—but it’s just
unusual for him to come to meetings.

A murmur spreads through the small crowd gathered, but Dumbledore simply nods and takes a
seat, letting Moody direct the situation.

“Alright,” Moody says. “Sam. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Yes,” she says. She clears her throat, takes a deep breath. “Elphias died about two hours after we
were captured,” she explains, wringing her hands. “Did you find his body?”

“Yes,” Moody confirms.

Nodding, Sam continues, “We were taken to Black Manor. Voldemort was there. With Bellatrix
Lestrange, her husband and his brother.”

“He’s dead now,” Moody says. “Rabastan. Emmeline killed him.”

Sam’s eyes sparkle at that, and she scans the room once quickly like she isn’t entirely sure she
hasn’t missed some of the people present. “Emmeline. Where is she?”

“Sam,” Moody says sharply. “Focus. Emmeline is on assignment.”

“Right. Well. Regulus Black was there, too. Obviously. It was his fucking house. He tortured
Elphias.”

James has to swallow. The idea that Regulus would be capable of torture is… disturbing to say the
least. He’s so gentle when he wants to be. How can hands that feather over your skin like a summer
breeze inflict so much pain on others? But then again, tonight his hands were covered in blood. Not
that it stopped James from kissing him. Again.

Godric Gryffindor would skewer James through with his sword for his sins.

“Elphias passed out. But he gave you up,” Sam says, pointing at James and Sirius. “Told
Voldemort you have an in with the vampires. Not that it matters now. It was too long ago for it to
make a difference, but he did tell Voldemort your names. And then the strangest thing… Black
stabbed him in the eye. Just… did it. And then he said he didn’t believe him. Apparently, Black
didn’t think you two are smart enough to do what Elphias was saying you were doing. He thought
Elphias was lying.”

Sirius and James exchange a glance, but they don’t dare interrupt Sam. Dorcas is looking at her
with narrowed eyes, twisting one of her rings around her finger. Moody is pacing and listening.
Lily is shaking.

“He passed out from that, and then Voldemort told Black to torture me.”

James gets up. He springs up from his chair and turns away. He can’t bear it. It’s—fuck. Fuck.
Regulus, why? Not Sam.

“Potter,” Moody admonishes. “Control yourself.”

“Sorry,” James croaks, forcing his body to sit back down on the chair.

He can’t look at Sam in the eye, though. Not knowing he kissed the same boy who tortured her. He
kissed him, and he liked it. It was just last night. Godric Gryffindor’s sword at the bottom of the
lake. He was so terrifyingly close to just damning it all to shit and fucking Regulus against that tree
in the forest.

“Voldemort got bored, eventually. I didn’t give them anything. I spat at him, actually.”

“Fuck yes,” Sirius exclaims, then reaches out to high five Sam.

Dorcas smiles and Marlene whoops loudly. “That’s my sister!”

Moody rolls his eyes and Sam tries to look sheepish.

“Bellatrix Lestrange wanted to kill us both, but Black killed Elphias only. He said he needed me to
test a poison,” Sam explains, holding her arms to her chest like she’s become very cold all of a
sudden.

“I have been in Black Manor this entire time, in a cell in his basement. No one came to bother me
except for Black himself. And even then… most of the time I was left alone.” Sam pauses, takes a
breath. She looks exhausted and like she needs to eat and sleep for a week straight.

But she’s fierce and brave and she pushes on, determined. “Black brought food once or twice a
day, seemingly at random. Sometimes he forgot and I wouldn't eat for a day, but never more than
that. He didn't starve me. And he made me drink or touch some poisons some times but... I think
he did that maybe once a month? It was hard to keep track of time, but I keep thinking it was so odd
that I was bothered so infrequently. Like I said, I was mostly just left alone.”

“Hmm,” Moody says, frowning.

Sam shrugs, clears her throat. “When he did give me poison he would watch the effects, then
immediately give me the antidote.”

James is going to be sick.

“On Christmas Eve, he came and… he just… drank with me? It was very strange,” Sam explains,
running her hands up and down her arms as though warming herself. “He brought some firehiskey,
and we drank it. He even said Merry Christmas. He knew my name, too. I don’t remember if I told
him myself or not. The torture bit from the beginning is a bit hazy.”

Sirius and James exchange glances. None of this makes sense, and he’s certain everyone can tell.
Why did Regulus keep Sam alive this entire time? She was hurt, yes, but nowhere near as much as
she could have been. She’s just told them she was mostly left alone the entire time. Why? It’s just
—

“Did he tell you anything about their plans? Maybe he let it slip if you were drinking?”
Dumbledore asks, speaking for the first time since he got here.

Sam shakes her head. “No. No way. He’s too controlled for that. Regulus Black doesn’t strike me
as someone who’s ever made a mistake in his life. He’s almost more terrifying than Voldemort
himself.”

There’s silence for a beat, and then, to James’ surprise, it’s Peter who speaks. “Doesn’t anyone else
think it’s bloody weird? I’m extremely glad Sam is back and fine, but why? It doesn’t make sense.”

“They wanted Rodolphus back,” Marlene says, frowning.

“But they didn’t know we were going to capture Rodolphus,” Peter insists. “They’ve kept Sam in
Black Manor for six months and, again, I’m glad, but they’ve never kept anyone else alive for
more than a week or two.”

There’s a general sound of outrage from the people who think being in a dungeon for months is
bad enough, but James gets what Peter is saying. Death Eaters are cruel. Vicious. It could have
been so much worse.

“Black insisted I was not to be harmed,” Sam says, shrugging. “He wanted the poison testing to be
conclusive. He said he couldn’t trust the results if I was too much of a mess. And I always got the
sense he was busy. He did tell me he sometimes just forgot about me because I wasn’t important to
him. I don’t know. I wasn’t going to ask him to come torture me more often, was I?”

Peter frowns, purses his lips. Then he shakes his head and says nothing else. Dumbledore asks Sam
if she saw anyone else in Black Manor during her time there, and Sam has to tell them again no one
ever came to dungeons except for Black himself. They make her repeate everything twice over.
Her story doesn’t change. James can tell Sam is telling the truth. Every ounce of it.

And that’s somehow worse than if she’d confirmed Regulus got off on torturing her for fun. If
she’d told them he was awful and evil and the worst person ever. Because this? This strange in-
between where Regulus shows up and takes Moody’s eye off but then kisses James and runs away
without doing any harm? Where he keeps Sam in a cell and barely hurts her but murders Elphias
without a second thought?

What is this?

James’ head is spinning with it all. Next to him, he can see Sirius overthinking it, too. There is no
doubt now that there’s something going on. Something they have missed. James just has no idea
what and doesn’t know how to find out.

####

Lestrange Castle is as imposing as always. A huge structure of solid stone that could have
belonged to any medieval king with a penchant for overspending. Regulus climbs the steps
resolutely, pushing open the gate. He’s keyed in to the wards, so they offer him no resistance as he
steps into the hall.

The darkness inside of him is tempering his unease, but it’s there. He wasn’t expecting a summons
at dawn. Especially not when Riddle is about to leave for whatever ‘matters’ he has to attend to
abroad. Truth be told, Regulus didn’t expect to see him at all until he came back.

A house elf is waiting for him. He leads Regulus through the lobby, down a corridor, and into a
room he hasn’t been to before. Riddle is waiting for him alone.

“My Lord,” Regulus says, bowing his head.

“Regulus,” Riddle replies, and there’s a frosty edge to his voice that makes the darkness in
Regulus’ head stand at attention. Something’s not right.

There’s no one else in the room. Not Bellatrix. No one. And Riddle has his wand in his hands,
caressing it like it’s some treasured possession. It’s a bit creepy. Regulus feels apprehension coil
around his spine but forces his face to remain neutral. Impassive. He won’t let Riddle rattle him, no
matter what.

“Is something the matter?” he asks, feigning boredom.

Riddle does that thing that’s supposed to be a smile but really looks nothing like one. “It’s been
brought to my attention that you’re softening.”

“Softening, my Lord?”

“I’ve been reliably informed that you’ve been more lenient than you should have been,” Riddle
insists. “And I wonder why. Should I be worried about your loyalties, Regulus Black?”

What the fuck?

Regulus feels his gut clench. Darkness slithers through his chest, tightening against the edges of his
cage of bones. If he had a heart, it’d be beating fast right now.

Control yourself.

“I’m as loyal as the day you marked me, my Lord,” Regulus says cautiously.

Tapping his wand against one finger, Riddle evaluates him. “I want to believe that.”

“It’s the truth.”

Riddle paces. Regulus wishes he didn’t, but he’s used to it by now, so he endures the unsettling
feeling of Riddle circling him, like a predator a prey.

“You show so much potential,” Riddle drawls. “Your kill count is impressive. Eighty seven in the
Ministry alone. You have served me well.”

“It is my pleasure, my Lord,” Regulus repeats, bowing his head a little for effect. He’s not sure
where this is going.

“You’ve given me no reason to doubt you,” Riddle says, coming to a stop in front of him. “And
yet, I hear some unsettling things.”

“My Lord?”

“Your treatment of the prisoner you had in the dungeons of Black Manor left a lot to be desired,”
Riddle says. “Too soft. Why?”

And fuck. Regulus is in trouble. For several reasons. One, he knows Riddle is going to punish him
for having been too easy on Sam McKinnon. Two, if he wasn’t certain before, he is certain now
that there’s a spy in the Order. There’s no way for Riddle to know this otherwise. And three, he’s
probably going to be asked to do something absurd to prove he isn’t soft, and Regulus really hopes
it doesn’t create complications for him.

Shit. Genuinely. Fuck this.

“If she was too hurt,” Regulus says carefully. “I wouldn’t have been able to confirm the true
effects of the poison. I couldn’t risk weakening her too much.”

“Is that so?” Riddle asks.

“Yes, my Lord. I was simply being practical.”

“And yet now she’s back with her people, and spinning tales of a lenient Lord Black,” Riddle
hisses. “The same Lord Black that allowed two prisoners to escape from a safehouse some time
ago. And what a coincidence that one of them was her sister.”

“My Lord,” Regulus says. “You know that I—"

“Quiet!” Riddle snarls. “Crucio!”

The spell hits him square in the chest. It’s been a while since Regulus felt the pain of the Cruiciatus
curse. He had, unfortunately, forgotten just how excruciating it can be. A shout tears from his
throat, and he falls to his knees.

Let us out.

Darkness crowds his vision. Regulus can feel his veins darkening. But he cannot fight back. Riddle
is already annoyed enough at him. The last thing Regulus needs is for him to question his loyalties,
too. Writhing on the floor, Regulus keeps a hold of the Legacy and takes it.

Pain overwhelms him, and he’s sobbing. It’s undignified and embarrassing. But he can’t help it. It
hurts. Hurts. Hurts.

Let us out. We can end him.

Let us out.

But he doesn't. He takes the torture, endures, and tells the shadows to wait because it’s too soon.
There are more Horcruxes to hunt and destroy. He can’t risk Riddle’s trust on him. Regulus thinks
his skull is going to split in half. He bites his tongue, and tastes blood, and it mixes with the salt of
his tears.

When Riddle lifts his wand, Regulus is dry heaving. He’s a mess of snot and sweat. Drooling on
the floor, he blinks up.

“I have been too doting on you,” Riddle says. “And I wonder if that has made you think that I’ll
tolerate weakness.”

“My Lord, I—”

“Crucio!”

Regulus screams. He doesn’t want to, but he has no choice. Pain becomes him. He forgets his body,
its boundaries. The edges of him blur. Regulus is pain, and pain is him. Agony, now and forever.
He thinks he won’t survive it. How could he?

He doesn’t know how long it goes on for. Too long. His thoughts are splintering, his brain cracking
from the agony of it all. It’s too much pain, from the most powerful wizard in the world. Regulus
wants to endure it stoically. To face this like a man. To be the master of his body. He’s trying, but
he’s overwhelmed.

Let us out.

Let us out.

Letusoutletusoutletusout.

The darkness pushes against his head, angry. Hissing. It wants to fight back. But Regulus can’t not
yet. Not yet. He succumbs to the curse, the pain of it. Lets himself go and drown in the
excruciating agony numbing every thought. Every feeling.

And then it lets up, again.

Regulus gasps, tears on his face. “My Lord,” he says weakly. He will not beg. He’d rather die.

“If I hear even a whisper of weakness about you again, I will kill you,” Riddle says harshly. “Am I
understood?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Regulus replies, wiping the blood and spit from his mouth with the back of his
sleeve.

Riddle looks at him with disdain and steps over him like Regulus is but a bug he could crush with
his heel if he wanted to. The dark magic in his veins is seething. Fuming with rage at the audacity
of this man to treat Lord Black this way. But Regulus is smarter. More cunning. He bids his time.
Riddle has no idea what’s coming for him.

####

Getting Sam McKinnon back throws the Order into a kind of frenzy. It’s like they’re all high on the
ecstasy of recovering one of their own when they all thought it impossible. Meetings are more
cheerful than they’ve been for ages. And even though they’re still mourning some of the losses,
like Fabian and Mary, the Order members cling to the good with both hands.

May slips by in a blur of spring showers, warmer nights, and midnight raids. Flying missions and
patrol cover. Skirmishes that sometimes turn to all out battles and sometimes die out before anyone
really knows what’s happening.

It’s a blur of a month. Everything moving too quickly. Too much adrenaline pumping through his
veins. James thinks May 1979 could be summarised as flashes of light that sometimes hit him, and
sometimes don’t. For his injuries, James visits St. Mungo’s three times that month, but he can’t
complain.

Not when they keep losing people. Not when he and his close ones always come back.

Effie gets hurt during a mission, but it’s not critical. Her hip heals a bit wrong, and she walks with a
slight limp after that. James isn’t sure if it’ll go away, but it doesn’t matter. His mother is well.
She’s alive.

So is his father, who loses the ring finger on his right hand during the same mission Effie’s hip
breaks. All Effie has to say about that is that it’s a good thing it wasn’t the left, because she doesn’t
want him to have an excuse not to wear the wedding band.

A couple of days after that, Sturgis Podmore dies defending a muggle family caught in the
crossfire of a surprise attack gone wrong in the residential streets of Guildford. It’s futile, because
the muggle family dies, too.

The dwindling number of resources means that Moody has already tasked Kingsley with doing
some training with Lily. As a precaution. Nobody wants their only potioner out in the field. They
rely on her too much. But, well. They’re running out of people.

Through it all, James keeps hoping that he'll run into Regulus again. James needs to talk to him
desperately. He's been working himself up into a frenzy almost daily since Sirius told him about
his conversation with Moony in the forest--that he's okay, and most importantly, that Regulus is
apparently gone a little rogue. From what Sirius understood, he has some sort of personal end goal
that he's pursuing but Sirius wasn't clear on whether that goal clashes with his duties as Death Eater
or not. The whole thing is murky.

Which is why James wants to look Regulus in the eye and demand answers.

Until he gets them, James won't allow himself to think about what the ramifications of Regulus
potentially hustling on the side unbeknown to Voldemort might mean because if he does, he'll go
insane. So what if Regulus has some selfish quest he's working on? It doesn't undo or justify what
he's done. Doesn't mean Regulus didn't make the wrong choices. It doesn't erase the words Regulus
said to James in that room when he left him.

But what if it does? What if there was a good reason for why Regulus did what he did?

That line of thinking is dangerous. Poisonous. It's hope, and James shouldn't have any left, but he's
helpless. A weak man hoping and dreading both in equal measure the day he'll run into Regulus
again so that he can ask him, point blank, what's going on. Until then, all James has left is
hearteache and the feeble whisper of that ever haunting question 'what if?'

****

Tonight (well, tonight is generous, it’s almost dawn now so really, today), James is waiting for
Sirius to come back from a raid on one of the supply depots for the Death Eaters. It was uncovered
by the Longbottoms two days ago, and apparently has some rare medicinal sprouts that they could
really use.

He sighs, hands curled around the steaming cup of tea. Looks out the window to the pink spears
shredding the sky. The sunlight starting to claim back its place from the dark of the night. Dawn is
breaking. They should be back soon.
James wasn’t assigned to this mission because he’s taken on too many high risk ones recently. And
they need him, because he’s the best flyer, Moody says. Air cover is still crucial and one of their
main advantages. The Death Eaters have a lot of powerful wizards and witches, but not so many
excellent flyers.

Regulus is an excellent flyer, James always thinks when that comes up, but he never says it. And
James hasn’t ran into him in the air again. So there’s that.

So here James is, sitting in his kitchen, waiting for Sirius to come back. He’s out with Dorcas and
Marlene. Emmeline Vance. The Longbottoms. Gideon Prewett, too. A lot of people James wants to
see come back.

Checking the clock on the wall makes James' gut churn. He's worried. It's impossible not to be.

They lost Benjy only last week. James was there, and so was Dorcas. It was guard and pick up duty
in a shop in Nottingham that was receiving a shipment of murtlaps for the Order. They aren’t
particularly rare, but the Ministry—at the behest of Lucius fucking Malfoy—has just passed a bill
to regulate the trade, meaning the Order can’t procure them as easily anymore. The mission was
risky but not classified at the highest alert level.

Five Death Eaters ambushed them, and it turned nasty quickly. Dorcas was a hurricane, tearing
through the Death Eaters in a blur of curses and fury. She fought hard. She probably saved James’
life, because he’d been caught with the murtlap box on his hands when the ambush happened and
took a few precious moments to put it down and get his wand.

The duel was going well. Three against five isn’t terrible odds. But then something happened.
James isn’t sure what. Dorcas got… distracted? It was for the span of a heartbeat, but she did, and
in the time it took James to push her out of the way of a curse, Benjy was faced with two Death
Eaters at once. It was the same curse that Snape had hit Sirius with last year. Deep, red gashes
bloomed all over him.

With a mighty shout, Dorcas had scrambled to her feet and blown up the corner of the shop’s
ceiling, right above their enemies. It had been a good plan as a distraction, but Dorcas had used
way too much force. The entire thing had collapsed. Three Death Eaters had managed to get away,
but two of them were crushed by the debris.

In the end, they got the murtlap, and took Benjy to St. Mungo’s. He didn’t make it. Dorcas was
made to see some sort of mind healer for a week for having killed two people. James didn’t think
for a second that Dorcas felt bad about it. Terrifyingly, neither did he.

The sound of the door opening propels James out of his chair. He’s in the entrance hall as Sirius
stumbles inside, covered in grime and blood.

“Shit. Pads?”

“Not mine,” he says quickly, before James has time to spiral into a proper panic. “I’m fine. The
blood isn’t mine.”

James breathes, forcing himself to calm down as Sirius peels a jumper off him and throws in on the
floor. It’s unsalvageable, drenched as it is in blood.

“What happened?” James asks him, following Sirius into the bathroom where he begins to strip the
rest of his clothes.

“The raid got nasty,” Sirius says. When he takes off his shirt, James sees a large gash over his hip.
“Ah. That was fucking Snivellius. Can you believe it?”

“Snivellius?”

“Yup,” Sirius says. “Little shit was shooting that cutting curse left, right and centre.”

James’ heart is pounding. “Is everyone else okay? Whose blood are you covered in?”

“Gideon’s,” Sirius says with a grimace.

James yelps and is about to march out the door when Sirius stops him, grabbing his arm. “He’s in
St. Mungo’s. He’s fine. He’s going to make it. It was bad, but it happened towards the end. We had
time to take him to the hospital. Peter’s with him now, so I could come and change. We can go
visit him when I’ve made myself presentable.”

“Oh, thank Godric,” James says, sitting down heavily on the toilet. And then. “Wait, Pete? I didn’t
realise he was meant to be out tonight?”

“Last minute swap,” Sirius says. “Marlene stayed with Sam instead. She’s been having nightmares
again.”

Sirius takes off his trousers, and James looks down at the floor to give him privacy but doesn’t
leave the bathroom. There’s no time to waste these days, and neither Sirius nor James are bothered
by the other’s nakedness at any given time.

“There’s something else, Prongs,” Sirius says, and the tone of his voice makes James’ eyes flicker
up to his face. He takes his wand and casts a silencing spell.

“What is it?”

“We didn’t get the medical supplies,” he explains. “They weren’t there. Almost like… Moody
thinks they were moved earlier. Like they knew we were coming and let us come, to ambush us,
but moved them so we wouldn’t get them.”

James sits with this for a moment. Blinks. Smacks his lips. “What are you saying?”

“You know Moody suspects we have a rat. He has for a while and well,” Sirius says solemnly. “It
just seems pretty obvious now that someone’s switched sides.”

It’s not the first time they hear this. It’s not even the first time it’s happened. They’ve been told
some Order members in the past have tried to sell information to protect their families and that’s
why Moody is so paranoid about what he tells whom. But still. It’s… terrifying.

“Does he suspect anyone?” James asks.

Sirius shakes his head. “Everyone and no one. For now, it’s impossible to tell.”

And there, in the corner of Sirius’ mouth, James sees something. So, he asks, “But you do. You
have a suspect.”

Sighing, Sirius nods. Then, he hesitates, steps into the shower and turns the water on, gesturing for
James to get closer. He gets up and stands so close he’s getting splashed, but Sirius doesn’t give
him a chance to complain.

“Get in the shower,” Sirius says.

“My clothes,” James protests.

“Prongs.”

“Fine,” James says, huffing and puffing as he does.

When he’s in, Sirius shuffles close to him, positioning them both practically under the water. “We
can’t risk being overheard,” Sirius explains. “If anyone gets through the silencing spell, water
works to mask voices.”

“How do you know that?”

“I had to talk to Regulus somehow when I still lived with them. When things got very bad.”

“Right,” James says jerkily. “So, go on.”

“Well. Haven’t you noticed that Dorcas seems to… know best? Better than Moody? It’s almost…
creepy.”

“No.”

“Prongs,” Sirius sighs. “Listen—”

“It’s not Dorcas. She wouldn’t. It’s not her,” James insists, clenching his fists. Why is Sirius saying
these things? Dorcas is their friend.

“Well, if it’s not her then there’s no harm in listening to me! Just fucking listen, Prongs,” Sirius
scoffs. His eyes are hard and determined, so James relents. He’ll listen to this only so that he can
prove to Sirius how fucking wrong he is.

“Fine.”

The water is making his glasses wet, which is annoying. James takes them off. He’s close enough
to Sirius that he can still see him anyway.

Satisfied, Sirius clears his throat. “There have been several instances where Dorcas has either made
the right decision at the right time or just… seemed to know what to do. And Dorcas gets hurt, but
never gravely. And she got Marlene back.”

“Sirius,” James says. “You haven’t been badly hurt. And you always get me back. By that logic,
they could suspect you and me.”

“And I’m sure they do because I’m a Black,” Sirius snaps so quickly James understands that he’s
already considered this. Perhaps Moody has even questioned him. If he has, James is going to have
some words with him. “Prongs, listen.”

Eyes widening with disbelief at the insistence of his best friend, James shakes his head—which
sends water droplets everywhere—and says, “Go on.”

“What if they are working together, but not… y’know. Not like the worst. Just.”

“You’re not making any sense,” James says, frowning.

“Dorcas. What if she’s helping him?” Sirius asks.

James feels like he’s swallowed liquid ice. Cold spreads over his chest, his gut. Sirius doesn’t have
to say who ‘he’ is. James knows. He always does.

“It can’t be,” James whispers, voice hoarse.

“I think it’s possible,” Sirius mutters. “Do you remember that Malcom raid last September? The
one Moony went on with Dorcas?”

“Yes?”

“Remus told me the only reason they survived is that Dorcas seemingly out of nowhere broke
protocol and forced them all inside,” Sirius explains. “At the time, Remus didn’t think anything of
it. It saved his fucking life. But now… once, I get. Twice? Coincidence. But it’s a pattern, James.
Dorcas more often than not knows exactly what to do.”

“Sirius, you’re grasping at straws,” James says, appalled. “She knows what to do to save people. If
she was a spy, wouldn’t she be doing the exact opposite? How is it fair that just because she’s
keeping people safe you’re doubting her? She’s smart and cunning and powerful. Of course, she
makes the right call. So do I! Do you want people to think I’m the spy because I never lose anyone
on flying missions?”

“Well, no but—”

“We can’t think like this,” James insists. He’s shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s anger or fear or
both combined. He cannot let Sirius go down this route. It’ll end nowhere good. He’ll start
doubting everyone.

“Unless we have concrete, irrefutable proof that someone is doing something they shouldn’t, we
can’t start throwing accusations around. It’s what they want,” James tells him, a pleading look in
his eyes.

Sirius groans, pushing his wet hair out of his face. He’s a bit desperate, James can tell. And James
doesn’t blame him. But that’s not a good enough reason to turn on their friends. They’re better than
this. They have to be.

After a long silence broken only by the water splashing in the shower, Sirius smacks his lips.
“What if I’m right, though? What if she’s passing them information in exchange for hers and
Marlene’s safety?”

“But—”

“It’s a good motive. You can’t say it’s not. Dorcas loves Marlene so fucking much,” Sirius says
vehemently. “Can’t you see that happening? In the name of love?”

And James hates himself, because he can see it. He understands how that would happen. Love can
grow thorns and twist itself into something that chokes you until you can’t breathe. Until you can’t
remember who you’re supposed to be.

Who is he to judge Dorcas when he knelt on the floor and told Regulus he forgave the mark if only
he stayed with him? Who is he to doubt the lengths one would go to for love when he watched
Regulus kill a man in cold blood and still kissed him not two minutes later? Bloody hands cradled
his face and James’ only thought was more.

“Moony told you Regulus has gone rogue,” James whispers, which is probably overkill
considering they’re in the shower and have cast a silencing spell, but oh well. James is nothing if
not committed. “So maybe… alright, say Dorcas is working with him. That doesn’t mean she’s
 helping Voldemort. Maybe she’s helping with whatever he’s doing? She could just… they were
best friends. It doesn’t mean she’s a traitor.”

“True,” Sirius admits. “Still think we should explore this. Look, if Dorcas is working with Regulus
and Moony is right and he’s somehow not the evil bastard we thought he was… well. It won’t
matter, right? And if she’s not…”

“What if the spy is someone else?” James asks, heart pounding. “And we’re chasing stupid
hunches.”

“We have no leads on anyone else,” Sirius says, frustrated. “So. We start here, I think. And then
see what happens. For now, we keep an eye on Dorcas.”

Chapter End Notes

Alright friends!!

THE DOMINOES ARE CASCADING!! Can you see where we're going?

From the top:

Remus and Regulus being besties in crime? Remus is an accessory to murder and his
only complaint is that there was too much mess? WHAT A KING But also, Remus,
Reg and his knife is hot so...

Reg knows the Lestranges have the cup (!) and he's ready to go find it (!) and I'm so
excited

JEGULUS REUNION!!! Angry James is back and Regulus is once again weak for
him. I DO NOT BLAME HIM ANGRY JAMES IS SOMETHING ELSE That kiss
was very short, I know, I'm sorry, but the shadows aren't going to let Regulus fool
around with the sun. No way. At least this time Reg didn't have a knife in his hand ♀️

WOLFSTAR REUNION!!! They are the BLUEPRINT! Soulmates! Remus and Sirius
invented love don't @ me I do not make the rules. Their kissing? Remus explaining as
best as he can (I know he wasn't very clear, that was on purpose, he cannot risk
triggering that debt and getting himself killed if he accidentally betrays Regulus trust,
sorry not sorry). BUT SIRIUS AND JAMES NOW KNOW REG ISN'T 'ALL BAD'
I am so excited. That scene is SO IMPORTANT for what's coming!!
Also, Sirius being all mature and doing his best to trust Remus and let him go? HELP I
WAS CRYING HE'S GROWN SO MUCH!

Barty laughing hysterically when he hears about the wedding? He's the best And
then him changing his mind and asking Reg for help STOP IT I LOVE
BARTYLUS SO MUCH (Platonic)

We do not talk about Regulus being tortured That wasn't me. I don't know who
wrote that. We don't like them. We ignore it
No but in all seriousness, Regulus is brilliant and pretty overpowered and just all
around a veritable BAMF but it was not going to be that easy. It never is. He's got to
contend with Bellatrix clawing power for herself, a spy (!) telling Voldy he's been too
nice to the Order, and now Voldy's watching him closely Regulus is about to be
stressed

Finally - SIRIUS DRAGGING JAMES INTO THE SHOWER TO TALK!? That was
so funny to me because those two have absolutely no boundaries so yes, that
absolutely happened. Also, James very very absently and like distantly registers that
Sirius is naked all of one (1) time because that's how little he cares. TRUE
PLATONIC SOULMATES IN ACTION HERE.

BUT ALSO DORCAS (!) IS BEING SUSPECTED (!)

Sirius has some valid points. James is so loyal it's adorable. They're both right, and
they don't know it

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS, KUDOS AND HITS!! I
AM SO MINDBLOWN WITH YOUR SUPPORT. I LOVE YOU
 Alone
Chapter Notes

Hello hello....!

Today's chapter is rough. Be warned. Please, keep your eyes on the Regulus lives tag
at all times

TWs for this one

References to death and murders
References to past torture
References to past child abuse
References to starving
References to drug addiction (sleeping draughts)
Depictions of blood and injuries
Depictions of anxiety
Depictions of panic attacks
Depictions of vomiting
Depictions of torture
Drowning
Dead bodies

I think that's it?

Enjoy? Maybe?

Also, I had some pretty shitty personal news yesterday and I was having an awful day
and your comments kept me going so thank you so much. I genuinely get so happy
when I read your love and support for this little story

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Salazar’s beard. Remus, take Barty to a pub or something,” Regulus snaps at Remus one very late
May evening. They can hear Barty making noise in the room above the lab, pacing back and forth
and moving things around. It’s driving Regulus up the walls. “He’s distracting.”

Severus, who is also bent over the cauldron where they’re working, grunts his agreement.

The potions laboratory is quiet, most cauldrons simply stewing for the rest of the evening.
Following the attack on the Ministry, May has been a busy month, and with the losses they’ve
suffered, there’s been some re-shuffling of resources. While Regulus still has a small army of
potioners at his disposal, it’s not as overwhelming at it was last summer.

“Why am I stuck babysitting?” Remus asks, scowling.

“Because I say so,” Regulus replies, not bothering to look up.

The aconite he’s pouring into the cauldron hisses as it merges with the rest of the potion. Severus
stirs it almost immediately, following a rhythm that’s not in the manual but Regulus knows is the
optimal pattern. Severus brews potions almost as well as he does.

A couple of weeks ago and at the behest of Regulus, Remus moved on to recruiting new packs
once he got all ten actively allied ones under his thumb. To Regulus’ delight, he’s been doing a
brilliant job. There are now twelve packs working for Remus, and they respect him enough that
there are no skirmishes to deal with.

Even Lucius is singing Remus’ praises, especially after Remus helped him carry out a task Riddle
assigned to him before leaving. Lucius had been wracking his brains trying to figure out how to do
it when Remus simply volunteered his entire army to help him. Three days later, Remus and his
wolves had successfully raided one of the Ministry’s warehouses where the Muggle Artifacts
department experiments. They burnt the whole thing down, much to Lucius’ satisfaction.

When he’s not busy with his packs, Remus spends a lot of time with Barty in the room where Evan
is still unconscious. This concerns Regulus, admittedly. He has had some of the best healers in the
country visit Black Manor to examine Evan, but they don’t seem to have yet found the reason for
his coma. He’s otherwise alright, just… asleep, as it were. And while no one is worried for his life,
nobody seems to know how to wake him up. Barty isn’t handling it very well, especially because
he’s staying out of sight and being idle isn’t good for him.

“Fine,” Remus says, shoving to his feet. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

It’s a farce. They’ve been playing this game all month because Regulus can’t be too careful. He
knows Severus is always desperate to gain more favour with the Dark Lord, and Regulus wouldn’t
put it past him to bring gossip. So, he’s been pretending to have a fraught, push-pull type
relationship with the new leader of the werewolf packs. So far, Severus seems to have bought it.

“The Dark Lord will be pleased Lupin has made all the packs fall in line,” Severus comments as he
chops the next ingredient. “Progress has been made in his absence. You’re sure to be rewarded.”

Regulus doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead grinding beetle eyes with a pestle and mortar.
Severus has no idea Riddle isn’t Regulus’ biggest fan at the moment, which tells Regulus the
information he’s getting isn’t widespread. That’s a small mercy, because it means his political
allies aren’t about to turn on him just yet. Not at all, if Regulus can help it.

Riddle has been gone all of May. In that time, Bellatrix has thoroughly annoyed the fuck out of
everybody. She insists on calling meetings for no reason, just to parade herself and the power she
holds. It’s a waste of time, but it does give Regulus ammunition to turn his allies against her.

Carefully, he’s been making barbed quips about Bellatrix when talking to the people he knows
don’t like her already. And he’s been conspiring with Lucius to strengthen their faction within the
Death Eaters.

It's easy, because Bellatrix doesn’t do much to ingratiate herself to anyone. She has power because
Riddle likes her, but no one else does. And now that she’s lost her husband, she’s got even less
leverage.

Not even the women—both those who are marked and those who are not but attend meetings and
dinners with their husbands—like Bellatrix. And Elspeth has been brilliant at gathering gossip and
stoking the fire at Regulus’ instruction. She hates Bellatrix almost as much as he does, so it takes
very little convincing for her to drop in subtle barbs that make the ladies raise their eyebrows.

Additionally, all those visits to Lestrange castle give Regulus time to search for the cup. Him and
Elspeth keep slipping away, pretending to be caught in moments of passion when, in reality, he’s
searching. Looking at every shelf, every nook and cranny he can find.

He hasn’t yet spotted the cup, but Lestrange Castle is huge and he’s being careful. Elspeth, always
practical, doesn’t question him. She simply comes with him and pretends they’ve been making out
when she has to.

“I just mean many people didn’t think it possible,” Severus adds when the silence stretches for too
long. “But you seem to have managed to break him.”

“Severus, it’s hardly a secret Lupin owed me a life debt. Whoever had doubts about my ability to
control him needs to go back to school and re-learn how debts work,” Regulus says flatly.

Something flashes in Severus’ eyes, and it takes Regulus a moment to remember that he owes
Regulus one, too. It’s not a life debt, so nothing as powerful as Remus’, but a debt is a debt. And
magic is very particular about fulfilling them.

“You haven’t yet collected,” Severus says. There’s a strange tilt in the inflection of his voice that
gives Regulus pause.

Looking up from the ingredients, Regulus finds Severus’ eyes already on him. “Is this the part
where you tell me you’ve got something I want?”

“No. This is the part where I give you a warning,” Severus says. Regulus’ eyes narrow at the
arrogance. Who the fuck does Severus Snape think he is?”

“A warning?”

“Yes. Bellatrix wants rid of you,” Severus tells him. “She knows what you’re doing with Lucius,
and she won’t stand for it.”

“Everyone knows what I’m doing with Lucius,” Regulus replies, unbothered. “It’s political
manoeuvring. It’s not a secret. Lucius has the Wizengamot in his pocket now, and Bellatrix
doesn’t. That’s also not a secret.”

Leaning away from the cauldron after pouring the roots in to let the fumes evaporate, Severus
gives Regulus a raised eyebrow. “You’d be a fool to underestimate Bellatrix. She’s coming for
you, and not just your standing with the Death Eaters. She wants you dead, Black.”

“I’m shaking in my boots.”

“You’ve antagonised her too much, too often. Everyone knows she didn’t want Lupin as head of
the packs. She didn’t agree with your plan for the attack on the Ministry. And she’s fuming you’ve
openly aligned yourself with Malfoy,” Severus lists in a bored tone. “Bellatrix has killed people for
less than a tenth of all that.”

Keeping his expression void of any emotion whatsoever, Regulus looks at Severus and says, “Are
you saying I’m ‘people’?”

“Like I said. Just passing on a warning,” Severus explains calmly. “She’s not going to come at you
where you can see her.”

Regulus smiles to himself. He knows why Severus is trying to stay in his good graces. Regulus
holds all the aces on his hand. Always.

Still, this is a bit inconvenient. He’d been counting on Bellatrix openly challenging him. It was a
matter of time before Bellatrix retaliated and he was looking forward to it. An all-out war between
him and Bellatrix would have given him a great excuse to challenge her to a duel. Hopefully kill
her like that.

But if she’s pulling strings in the background, that’s a little concerning. Regulus has been careful,
but he’s got skeletons in the closet. And he is still a bit unsettled about Riddle’s punishment and
admonishment.

Regulus knows better than to think Riddle will simply let it go. He’ll be watched for a while.
Possibly made to do some shit to prove himself. And Regulus must deliver because he cannot be
perceived as soft, or be suspected of any foul play. What if Bellatrix has access to Riddle’s spy and
is specifically asking for dirt on Regulus?

The thought makes him want to shudder.

“I don’t particularly like you,” Severus says. “But I like Bellatrix even less. And we understand
each other.”

“You still owe me one,” Regulus replies, standing up. He’s got to go somewhere quiet and think.

Severus only nods before he turns back to the cauldron to finish the potion they were working on.

****

The day before Riddle comes back, Bellatrix finds herself with a duel in her living room. Regulus
started it with a few pointed comments under his breath, incensing the right people until they
thought it was their own idea to have a fight. A few drinks, insults thrown about, and boom. And
while it’s not unusual for duels to happen at pureblood dinners, it is unusual that they end up with a
casualty.

Amused, Regulus glances at the body on the ground, then back up at his cousin. “You sure know
how to keep dinner guests entertained, Bella.”

“Shut up,” Bellatrix snarls, all teeth. “Everyone out! Out!”

Elspeth hooks her arm in Regulus’ and they both dip their heads towards Bellatrix in a gesture of
fake deference. She barely notices, already shouting orders to her servants.

“She’s going to have a hard time with that, isn’t she?” Elspeth whispers to Regulus.

Happily, he nods. “Correct. The Dark Lord won’t like she’s lost control like that. He won’t care
someone’s dead, but he demands order. He’ll punish her for the lack of discipline.”

He couldn’t have wished for a better outcome. This will keep Bellatrix too busy to enact whatever
plan she may have been concocting against Regulus, if Severus is to be believed. Which Regulus
kind of does, because Severus is smart and cunning, and has a lot to gain if Regulus comes out of
this little civil war with Bellatrix on top.

“How sad,” Elspeth comments sardonically. Regulus’ mouth twitches with the beginnings of a
smile. “Black Manor or Grimmauld Place?”

“Black Manor,” Regulus says. “I’ll stay in Grimmauld tomorrow after dinner with the Malfoys. Do
you want to stay, too?”

“No,” Elspeth replies easily. “My parents are out of the country on vacation. No one is monitoring
where I sleep.”

“Good.”

Once safely away from Lestrange Castle, Elspeth and Regulus go their separate ways, agreeing to
meet in Grimmauld Place the following evening to receive the Malfoys for dinner.

The next day, Regulus spends most of his time in the lab finishing that potion they’ve been making
with Severus—a willpower bending draught that is meant to act like the Imperius curse but in
liquid form. It’s a new creation, and they aren’t sure it works yet. The discussion on how to test it
and on who is a thorny one.

By the time the evening rolls around, Regulus is a bit irritated, but at least Riddle hasn’t come
knocking on his door yet. Too busy dealing with Bellatrix, he’d wager. And that’s good. Because
anything that distracts Riddle from his suspicions that Regulus might be hiding stuff from him is
welcome.

“Cousin,” Narcissa says, kissing his cheek when she arrives in Grimmauld Place with Lucius.
“Happy Birthday.”

“Happy Birthday, Regulus,” Lucius chips in, too.

Appalled, Regulus looks at Elspeth. “I said not to tell them.”

Elspeth simply laughs. “Narcissa knew already.”

“Relax,” she says, patting his arm. “We won’t mention it again.”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus takes Elspeth’s arm and leads the Malfoys to his dining room. Kreacher
asks him a few questions about the menu while the other three sip from their drinks, then Regulus
joins the conversation. To his relief, no one mentions his birthday again.

Eighteen years old. He feels fucking ancient.

“The Dark Lord has been in Lestrange Castle all day,” Lucius informs him over dinner. “Bella tried
to blame the insubordination on us, but it went nowhere. The Lord is too pleased with the recent
murtlap bill. He sees how valuable my hold on the Wizengamot is.”

“Bella is insane,” Regulus mutters, feigning boredom. “Too volatile. Even the Dark Lord can see
she can’t keep control of any situation.”

“She can barely keep control of herself,” Narcissa quips. Elspeth gasps in delight, smiling at
Narcissa widely.

“Cissy! I love it. I wish you gossiped more with me,” she says with a pout.

Lucius and Regulus exchange an indulgent glance. They’ve had first course and mains and are now
waiting for Kreacher to serve dessert. Conversation has been rather pleasant, mostly led by the
women. Lucius is in high spirits.

It’s when the crème Brulé is served that Lucius picks up a glass and raises it as it to toast. Clearing
his throat, he says, “We have some news. We are extremely happy to share that a Malfoy heir is on
the way. Narcissa is expecting.”

Regulus gives himself a single moment to be mildly horrified by what must have had to happen for
this news to come about before he snatches a glass from the table and enthusiastically raises it.
“Congratulations! Wonderful news, dear cousin. Are you feeling well?”

Narcissa blushes, nodding. “Yes. It’s all going swimmingly.”

“Oh, what lovely news,” Elspeth says, cooing and grinning like this is the best thing she’s heard all
year.

After a few rounds of toasting, they settle back and eat their dessert while Elspeth and Narcissa
discuss names. If it’s a boy, he’ll be called Draco. Regulus does his best not to grimace. Poor kid.

“It’s the best feeling in the world,” Lucius tells Regulus, leaning closer like they’re conspiring,
instead of discussing an unborn baby. “It’s… I can’t explain it. But it’s rather shifted my perception
of things.”

Hmm. Regulus takes a sip of his drink, glances at Narcissa. “Your priorities, you mean.”

Lucius nods solemnly. “I have to keep them safe.”

There’s something in his eyes, in the way they dart to his wife and to her stomach, that makes
Regulus get it. Lucius is no longer blindly loyal to Riddle, because he’s now blindly loyal to
Narcissa and their son. And that is good information to have, because if push comes to shove,
Lucius will choose his family over his Dark Lord. Regulus can work with that.

The rest of the evening goes by relatively nicely. Narcissa gets tired early, and Regulus is delighted
when Lucius offers his apologies and they leave. Pregnant women are rapidly becoming a
favourite of his. So far, Narcissa’s baby has only brought him advantages.

Elspeth yawns, covering her mouth with her hand, and sets down the glass of champagne she was
nursing. “I’m going, too. I’m tired and I’m expected in Lestrange Castle tomorrow.”

“You are?” Regulus sits up straight.

A bitter taste settles in the back of his throat. He doesn’t like this. Regulus knows Riddle well
enough to expect some sort of additional punishment. The torture was the warning. Now that
Riddle has had time to cool off and plot, he’ll do something more… lasting. Take something away
from Regulus just to prove that he can and Regulus can’t stop him or refuse him. Ensure Regulus
never goes soft again.

But to take Elspeth? It seems… well. This is Tom Riddle. Nothing is beyond him. Still, Regulus
doesn’t think the offense of being a bit soft warrants Riddle hurting his fiancée. Seems a bit much.

“It’s the monthly ladies’ tea. All the wives go,” Elspeth says, completely unaware of Regulus’ train
of thought. “Tradition.”

“Ah,” Regulus replies, relaxing. “So, this is a standing thing?”

“Yes. Once a month. I’ve been invited twice already, once the ladies saw me hanging from your
arm enough times,” she sniffs, rolling her eyes for good measure. “It’s a bit boring, but good for
gossip. It’s held on the third floor, in the antiques room. Very stuffy. A bit dark.”

Regulus sits up again, staring at Elspeth. “Antiques room?”

“That’s what I said,” Elspeth says, frowning. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I need you to do something for me,” Regulus says carefully. “When you walk into that room
tomorrow, make sure you look everywhere. Just look around. Every corner. Every crevice.
Everything.”

“Why?”

“The Lestranges have something I want,” Regulus says. “They’ve moved it into the Castle, but I
haven’t managed to find it yet. That room sounds like a place where it might be hidden.”

Elspeth scoffs, appalled. Bringing a hand to her throat, she pins Regulus down with a hard look.
“I’m not going to let you in my head.”

“I have a pensieve,” Regulus says, waving a hand to dismiss her concerns. “We can do it the nice
way.”

“Fine,” she says, getting up and smoothing her skirts. “But I want those earrings we saw at the
jewellers in return.”

Amused, Regulus offers her a wry smile. “Isn’t that rock enough?”

The ring on Elspeth’s finger is truly ridiculous. The most outlandish, absurdly overpriced and
gigantic diamond they could find. It’s a statement, and Elspeth both hates and loves it. Regulus has
told her she can keep it when she goes to Greece. His thanks for the help she’s given him. It
doesn’t stop her from trying to needle more expensive shit out of him, though. Regulus has to
admire her hustle.

“Do you want to know what’s in that room or not?” Elspeth asks, grinning at him triumphantly.

Regulus doesn’t tell her that he could just dig into her head right now and take it by force. There’s
no need. And he has more money than he could ever spend. So, he shakes his head, rolls his eyes,
and says, “Fine. Bring me a good enough memory and I’ll take you to the jeweller.”

“Goodnight, Regulus,” she says brightly. She’s still smiling when she leaves the room. A moment
later, he hears the front door closing after her.

Taking out his pack of cigarettes, Regulus leans back on the sofa. He’s fucking exhausted. And still
a bit rattled. Too many things going on and he hasn’t had a moment’s rest in forever.

The search for the cup has stalled. He hopes Elspeth can find it in that antiques room. The locket,
Regulus has no idea where to even begin to search for it. And that’s not all. Carefully, he’s been
trying to ask around to see if anyone in the Death Eater ranks knows about this supposed spy in the
Order of Phoenix.

From what he has gathered, whoever is spying for Riddle is some sort of personal agent. They’re
not known to the rest of the Death Eaters. Not even the inner circle. Lucius has no idea. Bellatrix
might, but she would never tell Regulus if she did.

Who the fuck is bringing information to Riddle directly? And why? What’s the motivation? People
in the Order are supposed to be loyal. It’s like their defining characteristic. Most of them are
bloody Gryffindors.

Groaning, Regulus rubs his temples. He doesn’t have time for this. He has to find the cup, and then
the locket, and then figure out if there’s another one. He’s been out of school for eleven months
and only has manged to track and destroy one horcrux. He’s moving too slowly. If someone is
starting to unravel his cover… well. Regulus has to hurry up because he can’t risk losing Riddle’s
trust. Can’t risk him starting to doubt—

Someone’s at the door.

Cursing under his breath, Regulus gets up. He’s ready to tell Elspeth off for whatever she’s
forgotten. He doesn’t bother putting out the cigarette. She knows he smokes.

“What now—”

The words die on his lips. Riddle looks at him, cruel and unbothered. He glances at the cigarette
dangling from his fingers and grimaces, then steps past him into his house.

“My Lord,” Regulus says. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I have need of your house elf,” Riddle says brusquely. “Bring him to me.”

Guilt twists in Regulus’ stomach. Right. So, this is the punishment. Riddle is going to take
Kreacher away from him because he was too soft on Sam. It’s also a test. Because if Regulus tries
to intercede on behalf of Kreacher, it’ll confirm to Riddle that he really is soft.

So, even though he’d rather not, Regulus marches into the kitchen and finds Kreacher. He has a
second, perhaps less. He doesn’t waste it. Leaning close to Kreacher, the only thing Regulus has
time to whisper is, “Kreacher. Whatever happens. Whatever he asks you to do, when you do it, you
come back to me. That’s your order. Come back to me.”

****

Regulus has been pacing for a while. He doesn’t want to be, but he’s worried about Kreacher. His
house elf is innocent, and yet he’s being punished for Regulus’ weakness. It’s unfair, and Regulus
detests it.

Grimmauld Place is quiet as a tomb. Dark as one, too. His mother is in the room he put her in the
moment he made his deal with Elspeth and she wasn’t necessary to keep around anymore. Locked
away in the attic, where Kreacher is forbidden to go. He wonders if she would have let Riddle take
Kreacher. She did always rather like the elf.

Perhaps he should be sleeping. He will still be busy come morning. It’s not like he stops having
things to do because Riddle decided to teach him a lesson. But knocking himself out with sleeping
draughts feels like leaving Kreacher to fend on his own and that doesn’t sit well with Regulus. Not
when house elves have helped him in the past. If it weren’t for Tappy, Kreacher’s cousin, he would
have died on the floor of Myrtle’s bathroom.

So, Regulus paces and waits. It’s been a few hours. Two or so. Definitely no more than three.
Regulus doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know how precarious his situation is. How much
does Riddle know? Is this still about Sam? Or has he somehow found out he killed Rosier and truly
let James and Marlene go instead of having made a mistake?

Is it something else? More dangerous?

Fuck. Regulus hates not being in control. It’s an itch on his skin, making him want to peel it off
him. He knew forming attachments was a weakness. If it weren’t for… James and Sirius and
Dorcas he wouldn’t have made these stupid mistakes. Keeping Sam alive was a mistake. And now
he’s paying for it.

Riddle has outmanoeuvred him and Regulus is afraid. He doesn’t like it. But he is. Frustrated, he
feels the shadows curl around his ankles, slither up his legs. He’s got enough power to take him on,
but with two or three horcruxes still out there… it’d be futile. Regulus could take down Riddle
now, but it’d be a matter of time before he came back and Regulus would have lost all leverage.

He can’t show his hand until the horcruxes are dealt with, but Regulus is fucking angry. What does
Riddle want with Kreacher? And why in the middle of—

The possibility unfurls in Regulus’ brain, making him stand straighter. What if?

It could be. If Rodolphus’ capture and death spooked Riddle enough, he could be moving not just
the cup that the Lestranges have, but also the locket. Wherever that is. And the third one which
may or may not exist. But how does Kreacher play into this?

Crack.

Regulus twirls around lightning fast, wand raised and shadows at his fingertips, and finds Kreacher
on the floor behind him.

“Kreacher!”

“Young Master Regulus,” he croaks. Then, he starts coughing something fierce and Regulus
frowns. “I am sorry. I am sorry. It is not proper for an elf to be—” More coughing cuts him off,
and Kreacher looks around with panicked eyes. He’s soaking wet.

“Kreacher, it’s okay,” Regulus tries.

But he’s shaking. He looks terrified, which is a bit disorienting. Kreacher has never been afraid of
anything in his life. He’s never had reason to. The Blacks may be horrible people, but Kreacher has
always served them so well he’s a bit of a favourite, even with his mother.

“I apologise, Master,” Kreacher wheezes. “Kreacher is a bit—"

“Here,” he says, catching Kreacher as he sways dangerously and leading him to an armchair. “Sit
down. Don’t move. That’s an order.”

It takes but a few minutes for Regulus to grab a few potions from his stash. He doesn’t have a lot in
Grimmauld Place, because he hasn’t been spending time here. But he couldn’t call himself a
potioner if he didn’t have an emergency pepper up potion everywhere he goes.

Kreacher has, indeed, not moved an inch. Regulus kneels in front of him, which makes him squirm.
Dismissing the elf’s concerns, Regulus gives him the potion.

“Feel better?”

“Yes, master,” Kreacher replies, a bit of colour returning to him. “Oh, Kreacher is ashamed! This
is untoward. Kreacher is a disgrace—”

“You are not,” Regulus says firmly. “I don’t want you to apologise to me anymore. Okay?”

“Yes, master,” Kreacher croaks.

Nodding, Regulus looks up at him with his most solemn expression. “What happened? Where did
you go? What did he do?”

Kreacher’s hands shake as he swallows. For a moment, Regulus thinks Kreacher won’t reply, but
then he closes his eyes and sets his chin like he’s determined to be brave about this. “Kreacher was
taken to… to a cave, sir. And in the cave was a potion. Kreacher drank potion. It hurt.”

Regulus remains very still, only nodding to let Kreacher he wants him to continue. The darkness in
his head is grating against the corners of his mind. Whispering to him. This is important, he knows.
This has to be one of the horcruxes.

“How did it hurt?” Regulus asks, wondering about what sort of potion it is.

Still trembling, Kreacher brings a hand to his throat. “Everywhere. And here. Kreacher was in
pain. Water. Kreacher needed water.”

“What was the purpose of drinking this potion?” Regulus asks carefully.

“The Dark Lord put a locket in the basin,” Kreacher explains. “And then he left.”

Shooting to his feet, Regulus buries his hands in his hair. This is it. He’s found another one. The
locket of Salazar Slytherin is in that cave, and Regulus is going to go get it. His mind going a
millions miles per hour, Regulus considers his options. What his plan should be. Does he go now?
Does he recruit some support? Remus could probably come with him. He’s not allowed to betray
him—the life debt bond won’t let him—and his mind is safe from Riddle’s.

But that would mean going to Black Manor and orchestrating some sort of mission together. A
solid reason for why Regulus and Remus have to go somewhere alone in the middle of the night.
This night in particular. It’s risky. Riddle is watching him now, angry with him over his benevolent
treatment of Sam McKinnon. And—Regulus stops, looks at the house elf on the armchair.

“Kreacher,” Regulus says. “How did you get back?”

The fear in Kreacher’s face is enough of an answer. Regulus understands immediately that
Kreacher wasn’t supposed to leave that cave. That is a problem. He’s going to have to hide
Kreacher. Riddle can’t know he came back.

This puts them on a very tight timeline. Checking his wristwatch, Regulus finds himself nodding.
One am, give or take. It’s as covert as it’s going to get, and he can’t wait. Besides, if Riddle has
just been there, he’s not going to immediately come back. It has to be right now.

Resolutely, Regulus looks at Kreacher. “Can you take me to that cave?”

Immediately, the elf dissolves into hysterics. “No! No! Master Regulus, it is too dangerous! No!”

“Kreacher,” Regulus insists, crouching in front of his elf. “I need you to take me to that cave. I will
fetch something from my room, then we will go. That is an order.”

Sniffling, Kreacher nods. He has no choice, Regulus knows.

Hurriedly, Regulus barges into his room. Not the master bedroom where he’s slept on the odd
night he’s stayed in Grimmauld place, but his old room. Under a floorboard, protected with every
charm and ward he knows, is his little box with the key things he doesn’t dare have anywhere else.
Including the destroyed diary, the ring, and the diadem of Ravenclaw.

From it, Regulus fetches two basilisk fangs from his box and one bottle of Felix. On his way out,
he grabs some more of that pepper up potion, just in case. He’s got his wand, basilisk venom, his
dagger, liquid luck, and his Legacy magic.

Summoning it to the forefront, Regulus watches his veins darken. It’s just a cave and a potion. He’s
done worse. He survived worse and with less. This should be easy pickings.

“Kreacher,” he says, arriving back on the lobby where the elf is waiting. “To the cave.”

####

Blood seeps through the piece of gauze James is holding against Marlene’s skin. It’s red now,
where before it had tinges of green, so James thinks this is a good sign. Marlene is haphazardly
attempting to figure out the antibacterial kit in the muggle first aid box they’ve spread all over the
Potter’s kitchen table, cursing under her breath when she drops the bottle.

“If you guys would just wait a moment,” Effie says from the stove, sounding frustrated. “I’ll fix
that for Marlene. I just can’t leave this alone for the next five minutes. Just be patient.”

“She’s bleeding all over, mum!” James protests.

James had really thought that today was going to go down as a rare no-injuries day. He was out
most of the afternoon and evening on a supply run with his mother, which was interesting and quite
thrilling. They ran into a bit of trouble, a quick skirmish but miraculously, everyone made it out
unscathed, for once. James had never duelled next to his mother, and it’s not something he’d ever
thought he’d enjoy, but well. Effie is a powerful witch.

And then, when James really thought they’d broken some sort of record, Marlene barrelled in
bleeding all over from where a piece of glass had pierced her shoulder. So much for no-injuries
day.

“Marls? Godric’s socks, let me,” Lily says, walking into the kitchen with purpose. Her hair is wet
and up in a bun on top of her head. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

“Overrun,” Marlene mutters.

“Merlin,” Lily whispers, glancing at James who nods. Things are that bad that the Order members
have agreed to not to go the hospital unless it’s truly life threatening. It’s the only way they can
help the already too-stretched medical personnel.

“Where’s Dorcas?” James asks to distract Marlene while Lily looks at the wound.

“She was assigned somewhere with Gideon today,” Marlene says calmly. “She’s not due back until
at least two am. I left a note at home, so if I’m still here, she’ll know to come.”

“Good.”

“Give me that,” Lily says to Marlene.

Sheepishly, she hands over the muggle kit and remains stoic when Lily begins to sew her wound
together with actual, literal thread. James gags and looks away.

“Where’s Monty?” Marlene asks, rubbing her face with a dirty hand. She’s tired. They all are.

“He’s out with Moody tonight. Nothing dangerous, just looking for some options for his missing
eye,” Effie replies casually. If it weren’t for the lines of tension around her mouth, James would
truly believe she isn’t the least bit concerned for her husband.

But she is. They all are, for everyone.

“Sirius?”
“Out with Emmeline,” James says. “He should be back in an hour or two, I think. Patrol duty.”

After dinner, Effie goes to get some much needed sleep but the James and the girls stay in the
living room, sitting by the fire with cups of tea. Outside, rain begins to fall in fat, steady drops,
hitting the window with a steady rhythm. Inside, the crackling of the fire and the distant sounds of
Rosly clearing the dinner table are lulling the friends into a mild stupor.

“Do you think Sirius would mind if I fiddled with that?” Marlene asks, getting to her feet and
crossing the room to the far wall, where his guitar has been untouched for months.

Lily and James exchange a glance. James is the only one who knows that Sirius spoke to Remus, so
he understands why he’s been coping so much better recently. Sirius knows Moony is fine and as
safe as any of them can be given the circumstances. But the others are confused. They’re too polite
to ask, though, and James is glad. He doesn’t know how Sirius or him would explain the situation.

There are too many moving pieces. Too many things that don’t make sense.

When James explained what Regulus told him—that he’d made sure James would hate him—
Sirius’ eyes narrowed in concentration. Like he was putting puzzle pieces together. But they’re still
missing details. And it’s frustrating them both to no end.

“I’m sure he won’t mind,” James says. “He hasn’t played it in ages.”

“I’m not very good,” Marlene admits. “But Sam’s taught me a bit over the years. I can manage a
few songs.”

Marlene comes back to sit on the sofa, guitar in tow. She braces it on one knee and begins working
on tunning it, humming quietly to herself.

After a few moments of fiddling, Marlene looks up. “Well? Any requests?”

“Don’t look at me,” Lily says. “I’m in my sad girl phase thanks to Pandora. All I listen to these
days is depressing heartbreak songs.”

“We don’t mind depressing,” Marlene says. “Go on. Name a song.”

“The way we were,” Lily replies, grimacing.

James snorts. “Wow. That is sad.”

“I told—”

All three of them go very still at the feeling of someone at the wards. The first thing James
registers is that the person isn’t trying to get in. Not aggressively. They’re just… there. Gently.
Almost like knocking on the door.

“Who could it be?” James asks, frowning.

But Lily is already on her feet. “It’s Pandora,” she says, and James is proud of her because her
voice only wavers a tiny bit. “Fuck. The last time she came here like this Mary died.”

That makes Marlene and James spring to their feet. Grabbing their wands, they run out of the house
and up the gravel path to the edge of the wards, where Pandora is, in fact, waiting for them. As
soon as they’re past the protections and Pandora can see them, she takes a deep breath but Lily is
faster.
“Dora,” she says warily, approaching carefully and stopping before she’s too close.

“Lily,” Pandora breathes, and it sounds to James like it’s tinged with regret. Someone’s less sure
about that mystery dream now, are they? He thinks Pandora should stop being stupid and romance
the fuck out of Lily, but that’s just him. What does he know?

“Dora? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I was, but this couldn’t wait,” Pandora says, shifting her stance. The nearest streetlight hits her
face then, and James realises she looks afraid. It’s quite jarring, because Pandora is almost
impossible to rattle.

“What is it?” James asks.

And Pandora looks at him and says, “I have a bad feeling about Regulus. A really bad one.”

####

Few things are as unyielding as the ocean in a storm.

Regulus looks out over the horizon for a moment, letting the wind tangle in his hair and whip his
cloak about his feet. They’re on a large, dark rock. A jagged piece of the earth that dared to jut out
from the depths and has been harshly punished by the elements for it since. All around him there is
water. Foam, sea spray. Waves that crash and splash Regulus boots where he stands.

It's dark. Dark enough that Regulus can’t really make out the shapes of the waves, only hear them
rising and falling. Battering the rock beneath his feet. With a deep inhale, he gives himself a
moment to enjoy this. Salt and moss. Fresh air. The freshest he’s tasted in a long time.

Next to him, Kreacher shivers and it’s the fear gripping his otherwise normally unfazed elf that
prompts Regulus to stop wasting time admiring the stormy night and get on with it.

“Where is it?” he asks, crouching so Kreacher can hear him over the roaring winds and violent
waves.

“It’s inside the cliff, master Regulus,” Kreacher says. “I tried to apparate there but it wouldn’t let
me.”

Nodding, Regulus takes out his wand. He’s not surprised that Riddle would put anti-apparition
wards around his cave. He’s even less surprised that he’d forget elves can apparate through
standard wizard wards. Riddle always underestimates those he doesn’t consider equals. How
fucking stupid, Regulus thinks.

Regulus himself will never be too proud to refuse admitting he wouldn’t have got as far as he has
without Myrtle or Tappy. He’s found help in unusual places, and he’s not bothered by it.

“I will take us there. Guide me to the cave,” Regulus tells Kreacher. “Take my hand.”

“Master, it’s dangerous. Please—”

“I need to go inside the cave, Kreacher,” Regulus insists. “Help me.”

Kreacher sets his shoulders, and nods.

The cave opening is a sliver of a space. Easy to miss on the face of the cliff facing the ocean.
Carefully—more for Kreacher’s sake than his own—Regulus walks inside. It’s dark. Darker than it
was outside, so he casts a Lumos spell and checks his surroundings before continuing on.

Too soon, he reaches a dead end. The shadows in here feel odd. Cold, somehow. They’re not…
friendly to him. To his Legacy magic. It unsettles Regulus, but before he can think about it,
Kreacher is speaking to him again.

“There’s a door, master,” Kreacher says.

“On the wall?”

“Yes.”

Regulus puts his hands against the rock and closes his eyes. He can feel magic in it, a low thrum
vibrating under his fingertips. With a sigh, he pushes himself back.

“It requires something, doesn’t it?”

To his shock, Kreacher unfurls his left hand and shows Regulus a fresh wound. “I can help,
master.”

“Kreacher. No.”

The elf stops, obedient as always. And protests endlessly and vehemently when Regulus takes his
dagger and cuts his own palm, then presses it against the rock. A moment later, it cracks open to
reveal an entryway. Rolling his shoulders back, Regulus steps inside indicating to Kreacher that he
should stay behind him at all times.

Inside the cave, the darkness is like a canvas. Thick and impenetrable. And it’s cold. Detached. It’s
made not of magic but of death. Regulus can feel it. His own shadows, the ones that cling to him
and whisper in his head, don’t like it here. They don’t like it at all.

Regulus decides to take the Felix potion then. Whatever is hidden in this darkness is making him
feel some sort of way, and he won’t risk it. Balancing his wand—the only source of light—in one
hand and the bottle of potion on the other, Regulus pulls out the stopper with his teeth. It pops out a
bit too violently, and Regulus staggers back, slipping on the wet rock underfoot.

His hand is bloody, and the bottle is smooth. And Regulus isn’t fast enough to stop it from sliding
out of his palm and crashing at his feet.

“Fuck!”

Immediately, he forces his mouth shut. He doesn’t know if someone or something is listening. But
fuck. That’s an entire bottle of Felix wasted. Shit.

“Master?” Kreacher asks. “You have seen the cave. We should turn back now. It is not safe.”

“No,” Regulus says, determined. He killed a basilisk with no liquid luck. He can do this, too.
“What happens next?”

“There’s a boat,” Kreacher says mournfully.

Regulus blinks. A boat indicates water. But he can’t see… well, he can’t see anything. Clearing his
throat, Regulus casts an enhanced light spell that sends several orbs flying overhead, finally
illuminating the space.

It’s a huge cave. Much bigger than he would have guessed. And sure enough, they’re standing on a
stretch of shore, on a thin strip of packed earth that dips into an ink-black lake that stretches as far
as Regulus can see. Above them, the ceiling is rather high but not enough that Regulus can’t make
out the shapes of rock stalactites hanging from it at intervals. Turning his attention back to the
lake, Regulus contemplates whether the locket will be submerged somewhere—not ideal, he wasn’t
planning on getting wet—when he spots the small, rocky island right in the middle of it.

“It’s there, isn’t it?” Regulus asks, a bit annoyed.

Riddle sure went to some lengths to protect this one fucking locket. Couldn’t he have left it under
some floorboards with a protective curse like he did the ring? He’s getting paranoid, Regulus
knows. Rodolphus being captured really did spook him and he decided to go all out with protection
for this one.

Regulus has to hurry up, before Riddle decides to check on his other horcruxes. If he figures out
they’re being hunted, he’ll move them or worse, make more.

“I don’t see a boat,” Regulus points out after a moment of contemplation.

Kreacher grimaces, wringing his hands nervously in front of him. “It’s in the water, master. I do
not know how he gets it.”

Crouching by the lake, but careful not to touch the water yet, Regulus closes his eyes and calls his
Legacy forward. A little reluctantly, because they really, really don’t like this cave, the shadows
slither along, covering the shore, searching it for him. They spread thin, covering the waterline
from side side, then slither into the lake slowly. And there. He finds it. Traces of magic.

Standing up and pulling the shadows back to him, Regulus walks over to the right place and
concentrates. It’s in the air, much like it was in the ruined shack where he found the ring. It tastes
bitter, a bit like rot. Remnants of magic cast with ill intent.

Once he’s found the enchantment, it’s easy for Regulus to latch onto it. Call it to manifest.

A chain shoots up out of the water. “There we go.”

With Kreacher’s help, he pulls on the chain until a small boat bobs out of the lake. There are ice
burns on his palms where he grabbed the enchanted metal, which doesn’t fill Regulus with
confidence, but he’s not backing out now. He’s Lord Black. Powerful and cunning. A few blisters
on his hands aren’t going to stop him.

Turning to his elf, Regulus asks, “what happens when we reach the island?”

“The potion, master. The potion and the locket.”

“Very well. You can stay here,” Regulus says.

But Kreacher shakes his head. “I follow master Regulus.”

Balancing a bit precariously, Regulus and Kreacher board the small boat. As soon as they’re on it,
the boat sails smoothly across the lake, carrying them both without difficulty through mirror-like
waters. The surface is black like liquid onyx, and Regulus cannot see anything underneath. That,
more than anything, worries him. If this was his cave, he’d put something terrifying in the water. A
monster or creature of some sort. A guardian.

So, why haven’t they been attacked yet?

Despite his suspicions, they reach the island without problems. Almost too easily, he’s stepping off
the boat and peering into a basin set up on top of a sort of... almost like a natural altar. It’s made of
rocks, mineral-based, protruding from the ground in spiked crystals that could be beautiful if the
general setting and ambience wasn’t screaming ‘evil’ from every angle. The altar of sorts is almost
tall as he is.

Climbing up, Regulus peers into the basin and finds the locket of Salazar Slytherin submerged in a
clear potion. “Is this it?”

“Yes, master,” Kreacher replies.

“Tell me again,” Regulus says, noticing a small shell placed near the basin. Almost tempting one
to drink. “What happened when you drank?”

“It hurt.”

Regulus nods, even though that’s not helpful at all. He could have guessed on his own that this
wasn’t a tea party. Regardless, he refocuses on the basin and decides to try to dip his fingers into
the liquid just to check. He’s not expecting to be able to grab the locket, so it’s not surprising when
he can’t break the surface. Still, it’s always good to be certain. And now he is. Regulus has to drink
the potion to get to the locket.

Well, then.

“Kreacher,” Regulus says. “You will make sure I don’t stop drinking until we can retrieve the
locket. And when I’m done, you will swap the real locket for this.”

Quickly, Regulus takes off one of his rings and transfigures it into an exact copy of the real
horcrux. Fortunately, Regulus has spent enough time researching the locket of Salazar Slytherin
that he knows exactly what it looks like even though he can’t check the real thing yet. When he’s
done, he hands the fake to Kreacher, who stares at him with fear and a bit of awe.

And then he begins to drink.

The shell breaks the surface easily. Eagerly. Like it was waiting for him all along. The first taste is
pretty mild—sour and ice-cold but not disgusting.

Most people would be tempted to wait to see what the effects are, but Regulus isn’t most people.
He knows the more he drinks before it kicks in, the less of it he has to deal with once he’s affected.
He takes two shell-fulls in quick succession, spilling a little in his haste.

Regulus is no stranger to pain. He’s a Black. Endurance to torture is the measure of a man in his
family. He’s felt all kinds of it. He has also inflicted it on others. Brutally. Ruthlessly. So, when his
body begins to seize up in agony, Regulus clenches his jaw and endures.

Suffers through it.

Feels it all.

It starts in the pit of his stomach, spreading through his body faster than he can take a breath to
brace himself. Agony. Ice-hot. Searing and all-encompassing. It’s debilitating and makes drinking
hard. But Regulus is the master of his own body and the whispering darkness in his head helps him
through it.

Regulus drinks. And he hurts. Doesn’t stop drinking. The hurting gets worse.
He’s vaguely aware of Kreacher hovering nearby and has half a mind to tell the elf to step away
when something happens. The pain… shifts. It retreats from his limbs, from his head, from his
chest. Almost like the agony lifts itself from the physical plane.

For a single moment, Regulus is bewildered. That can’t have been it. It was too easy—

That’s when the hallucinations begin.

Pain of the soul has always been harder for Regulus to deal with than pain of the body. Whatever
this potion is made of, it digs deep into the crevices of Regulus’s mind. It sinks deeper than it
should have been able to. Past the barriers of the darkness and the shadows and into the recess of
his mind where there are things Regulus hasn’t looked at in a long time. Into his very core. The
things that he keeps hidden even from himself.

Flashes overcome him, and then Regulus is lost.

Where is he?

He’s in the cave, but he’s not.

Somehow—Kreacher must be helping—he’s still drinking.

His mind comes in and out of focus.

Water. Rocks.

Stacks of books. A roaring fire.

Water. Rocks.

Books. Fire.

Sirius screams. Bellatrix laughs. His mother watches, a satisfied smile on her mouth. Cygnus takes
a knife and stabs it clean through the palm of Sirius’ hand. Regulus throws up over his shoes and
prays no one notices.

Water. Rocks.

More potion.

A dark room. An open window.

Walburga looks at him, lowering her wand. He’s under her curse now. When Sirius comes,
Regulus will follow him out and kill him unless he can somehow overpower his mother.

But Regulus has never been able to.

He’s going to kill his brother.

Water. Rocks.

A voice. “I’m sorry, master.”

Potion. Pain.

Water. Rocks.
He’s in the cave.

Ice and snow.

A broom.

A different cave.

James is looking at him, full of unguarded joy, and love, and hope. And Regulus feels like he’s
being flayed open with love and guilt so powerful they’re punching through his defences.

He can’t hold his gaze, so he looks around instead. Watches the colours sparkling on the walls of
the cave. His chest constricts, and he can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

His knees hit something, and it takes Regulus a second to process he’s fallen. Crumpled like a
house of cards. Kreacher appears in his vision. He’s in the cave. The cave. The locket. This is
where he is, what he needs to do. Endure. Survive this. Keep going.

Regulus forces himself to open his mouth. Kreacher helps. He’s holding a shell. Regulus drinks
more potion. He’s in the cave, still. Drinking, still.

And then he’s not. Again.

A room. A bed, untouched.

James on his knees. Begging for Regulus to stay. Forgiving the unforgivable. Regulus’ heart
breaking. Pain and bones and cold. A cage in his chest. A key that he threw away.

Water. Rocks.

A bridge.

A cigarette.

Sirius fucking crumbled. And Regulus did that. His brother. His hero.

“Master Regulus!” Kreacher calls. “Master Regulus!”

He’s in a cave. Potion. Water. Rocks.

Blinking Regulus forces himself to focus. Kreacher’s voice helps. He has the feeling that it’s not
the first time Kreacher calls his name but it’s the first time he can hear it. Regulus’ mind is
spinning, but his house elf is here. With him. Kreacher is still calling for him, and Regulus makes
his brain hook on that sound and follow it.

“What—what, Kreacher? Why’d you stop?” his voice is like sandpaper and he’s not entirely
certain he won’t throw up.

Slowly, piece by piece, he gets his vision back which allows him to take stock of his situation.
He’s on all fours on the rock, feet precariously close to the dark waters. Coughing, he drags
himself away from the edge. Kreacher shakes his head.

“No more, master. It’s done. It’s all gone,” Kreacher says. “You drank it all.”
With a groan, Regulus lets his eyes flutter closed. He feels incredibly strange. Sad and weighed
down and it’s freaking him out because it should be impossible for him to feel anything at all, but
here he is.

“Did you switch the lockets?” he croaks.

“Doing it now, master,” Kreacher replies.

Fuck. He’s tired. Something happened to him. That potion did something that shouldn’t have
happened. Those… memories shouldn’t have been accessible to him with the Legacy. There are
pieces of his soul he’s given away to the darkness in payment for power. In exchange for faster
access, stronger abilities so he could do things no one else is capable of.

Alarmed, Regulus finds that he can’t immediately locate his shadows. Not the way he could before
he drank that foul liquid. What is this? Why is the magic retreating?

Regulus looks down at his hands. At his normal veins. If this potion somehow fucked up his
Legacy magic and the powers it gives him, he’s going to be pissed. But that’s for later. Right now,
he’s knackered, and aching, and… oh. Sad.

He’s sad. Impossibly sad.

Coughing again, Regulus dips a hand into the water, cupping it to bring some to his cracked lips.
He’s parched. But wait—didn’t he just drag himself away from the water? Disoriented, Regulus
blinks. How did he get—

“What the fuck?” Regulus shouts and scrambles backwards, lungs in his throat and eyes wide.

That’s a hand. An honest to fucking Salazar hand just shot out of the water and grabbed him, ice
cold and slimy, and—oh no.

No.

Please, no.

“Kreacher,” Regulus says, sounding just as worried as he’s feeling. Right this moment, Regulus
has no control over himself. “We need to get out of here. Right now.”

“Master touched the water!” Kreacher shouts, and then he’s shaking and as scared as Regulus has
ever seen him.

Fuck. Think, Regulus. Think.

He is cut off from accessing his Legacy magic at the moment, courtesy of that potion. But he’s still
the boy who slayed a Basilisk. He destroyed two horcruxes on his own before he ever had power
over the shadows. Regulus can do this. He will do this.

Because he remembers. Remembers James and Dorcas and Sirius. Remembers what it’s like to love
them. And he knows he’s not dying in this cave. Not like this. Not alone, with them thinking he’s
just another one of Riddle’s lackeys.

Regulus deserves better than that.

Forcing himself to his feet, Regulus takes out his wand and his dagger and surveys his situation.
It’s pretty fucking dire.
Tom Riddle filled the lake with inferi of all things.

“You sick bastard,” Regulus mutters.

The creatures are slow, but they’re relentless. It was a clever trap, Regulus will admit. Making a
victim so thirsty they won’t resist the water and having the inferi crawl out of it when the lake is
disturbed. It’s twisted. It’s smart.

It’s also a big fucking problem because there are too many of them and Regulus’ knowledge of
inferi is rusty at best. Undead corpses aren’t something one comes across while going on about
their business in London. Mastermind and all, Regulus is in a pinch. He doesn’t know what to do.
How to get out of this cave.

Gently bobbing against the island edge is the boat, but it’s no longer an option because it’s overrun
with inferi. Crawling over it like ants, dragging themselves towards Regulus and Kreacher. Biting
his lip to keep himself form making an embarrassing sound, Regulus tries to keep himself together.

Think. Think. Think.

Swimming is out of the question. No doubt. Apparating won’t be possible, but he tries it anyway. It
doesn’t work, which confirms his suspicions. The cave is inaccessible through magical means.

“Kreacher, how did you get out of here the first time?”

“Master Regulus ordered me to come back,” Kreacher says. He’s shaking now, clutching the
horcrux in his hands against his chest, eyes darting all over the inferi. The poor elf looks like he’s
about to start crying.

Regulus can’t blame him. He’s close to tears himself.

He’s a genius. Always has been the smartest person in the room. And yet, Regulus doesn’t know
how to get out of here. Terrifyingly, he isn’t sure he can. The trap was too well laid, and Regulus
stepped into it like an idiot, thinking he’d outmanoeuvre Riddle again. Not this time.

Switching gears, Regulus abandons attempting to escape and focuses on what to do to ensure
Riddle doesn’t win. If Regulus has to die here, there are things that have to happen so that James,
Sirius and Dorcas can still win the war. Find peace. Be happy.

With a deep breath to steel his resolve, Regulus crouches in front of Kreacher. “Listen to me. This
is an order. You must get out of here. Go to Hogwarts, hide in the kitchens. The Dark Lord must
never discover you are alive. Find a way to destroy the locket at the earliest opportunity.”

“Master—”

“Kreacher,” Regulus says firmly. “Those are orders. Get out of here. Make sure Voldemort never
finds you. He can never know you made it out of the cave. Destroy the locket by any means
necessary.”

“I want to help you, Master, please!” Kreacher shouts, sobbing now. “Let me help, Master.”

“You can’t help. Everyone I know is in line with the Dark Lord. The most important thing is that
he doesn’t find out what we’ve done,” Regulus says, more than a little sadly. “Now, go. You have
your orders.”

There are more protests ready to fall from Kreacher’s lips, but he can only fight against so much.
House elf magic forces them to carry out direct orders, and Kreacher has always been impeccably
obedient. A strangled cry is all he leaves behind as Kreacher loses the battle and disappears with a
loud crack that resonates in Regulus’ ears.

One eye on the inferi to monitor their progress, Regulus turns to his next task.

“Dorcas,” Regulus thinks forcefully. He punches a good dose of panic into it, too. That’ll be sure
to make her pay attention. “Wake the fuck up. Dorcas!”

“Reg?! I wasn't sleeping. What--”

“Listen to me very carefully,” he thinks, trying to convey how important this is. “In Grimmauld
Place, in my old room, behind the bed in the wall there’s a hole. In the hole, there’s a box. If you
hear news of my death, you need to get it. Barty and Remus can help. There are a ton of curses and
wards protecting that box so be careful. I took no chances with it, but you know me. You can work
them out. Do whatever you must, but get that box. It has notes on what I’ve been doing and why it
matters. If I die, you have to finish it. Do you understand me?”

“What? What do you mean if you die? Regulus? Where are you?”

“No time. Dorcas. In my room in Grimmauld Place. The box in the wall behind the bed. I trust
you. I believe in you.”

“Regulus? Regulus, where are you? What are you saying?! I’m coming to help. Where are you?”

“I love you, Dorcas.”

“REGUL—"

The connection cuts of as he yanks the ring off his finger. There’s an indentation on his skin where
the ring has sat for more than a year. Regulus has never taken it off since he got it, not once, but he
does now. He doesn’t want Dorcas to feel whatever happens next. Slipping it into his pocket, he
swallows and sets his shoulders.

And then he’s alone in a cave full of inferi, and Regulus is all too aware that there really isn’t a
way out. But if he’s going to die here, then he’ll die on his feet. He’ll die fighting. Regulus Black
will meet Death with a smirk on his lips and an insolent glint in his eye no matter fucking what.

With a desperate shout, Regulus conjures the strongest fire he can. He doesn’t dare to call on
fyendyfire. It’s not something he’s ever attempted. He’s a man of shadows, not of light. And he’s
not sure he’s desperate enough to risk burning to death. If it comes to that, Regulus would rather
drown than burn.

The fire roars to life, a ring around him like he used when he fought Aragog in the forest. It works,
but only just. To his absolute dismay, the inferi rear back a little but the fucking cave seems
enchanted to snuff out flames rather quickly.

And so, Regulus falls into a pattern of casting fire, taking a breath, and having to re-cast it straight
away. It’s a stalemate, but it isn’t, because the inferi are getting closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Until a hand closes around his ankle and Regulus yelps in disgust before he slashes down with his
dagger. To his utter horror, the severed hand continues to cling to his ankle even as the rest of the
body rears back.

It’s so cold. Hands like ice. Gripping him harshly, fingers digging into his flesh.

Regulus is going to be sick. His Legacy magic is still dormant. And he’s fucking thirsty.

There’s a pounding in his skull. A growing headache behind his temples. His tongue feels heavy
and thick. And it takes him a moment to realise that the thirst is not just so that he had to disturb
the water. Soon, he won’t have enough of a voice to cast spells any longer.

“Fuck,” he says, scrambling away.

Regulus is nimble and lean. He’s not too tall, which he resents a little bit except when he’s with
James, because he likes looking up at him. No. Don’t. If he starts thinking about James he’s going
to break down and then it’ll be over.

Heart thundering, Regulus climbs the rocks altar, comes to stand in a half crouch on top of the
basin. It’s precarious, but it gives him a moment. And it’s at that moment that Regulus accepts he’s
going to die in this cave.

It was all for nothing. Everything he’s done. The people he’s killed. The people he’s hurt.

Giving up isn’t something Regulus knows how to do, but even he can see that this fucking potion
was too well engineered. He shouldn’t have come alone. If he’d brought Remus, or literally anyone
else with him, he would have had a chance. But no. He had to do it alone.

Always alone.

Always in the shadows.

Regulus misses the sun.

It strikes him then, what Pandora said to him. So long ago he’d forgotten. But he’s in the cave now,
and she said to think of the sun. And Regulus understands he was never meant to make it out of
here alive. That wasn’t the point. The point was that Regulus wouldn’t die afraid. Wouldn’t die
miserable, perhaps. He’s not sure.

But the inferi are almost on him, and he’s tired, and he hasn’t been able to think about James for so
long. Too long. But now the Legacy is dormant and Regulus has access to some of what he’s lost
along the way. Memories. So, Regulus gives that to himself. His one gift to the boy he used to be.
The boy who loved and laughed and found happiness in a magical room on the seventh floor of
Hogwarts.

When the hands come to drag him down, Regulus fights. He tries. He doesn’t want to go. But he’s
exhausted, and parched, and his mouth isn’t working anymore well enough to cast spells. He hits
his head as he’s pulled off the altar, and Regulus thinks there’s blood dripping now but it doesn’t
matter. Not really.

There are ice-cold hands everywhere. Grabbing him. Bruising and violent.

Regulus has barely enough presence of mind to take one large gulp of air before he’s dragged off
the rocks.

The water is also cold. Everything in this cave is like the dead of winter. Frozen and dark. Dead
and desolate. Regulus goes under pretty quickly, bodies pressing in close, clinging to him. Slimy
skin finds his, sliding over planes that only James has ever touched as his clothes get torn to
shreds. Dragging him to the depths.

Regulus thinks of the sun. Tries to swim. He can’t. An inferi is giving him a sort of grotesque hug
from behind, pinning his arms in place. His lungs hurt. And he doesn’t want to open his mouth, but
his body isn’t listening. With a convulsion that helps him release one arm, Regulus breathes, but
it’s water, and he’s choking.

He’s drowning.

It’s the end, he knows. This is as far as his story stretches. And in those moments when he’s certain
he’s gone, Regulus closes his eyes one final time and thinks not of the sun—the sun has kept him
trying, always trying, always wanting to be better than he is.

Except right now, at the very end, he can’t be better. There’s no more time. Only regrets and
darkness and the one person who Regulus will always, always, look for in the dead of the night.
The brightest star in the sky, guiding him home. His brother. His hero.

I’m sorry Sirius.

I tried.

I really did want to live and win and finish what I started.

Maybe, someday, Dorcas will be able to tell you that and you’ll be proud of me.

I love you.

Hands. Water. Darkness. Regulus’ conscience flickers in and out.

Hands. Water. Darkness.

Cold.

Cold.

Cold.

And then, something warm. It can’t be. Shouldn’t be. But it is. And Regulus is being dragged
upwards and it’s a fucking miracle, but he really doesn’t want to die. So, he dredges up the very
last bit of strength. The last of his energy. Every single scrap of instinct he has left.

Regulus kicks.

He fights, fights with everything he’s got. Desperate and clumsy. He fights. Whatever is
happening, he’s running with it. Perhaps it’s Dorcas. Perhaps it’s Tom Riddle himself. Regulus
doesn’t actually care. He just doesn’t want to drown. Doesn’t want to die.

The surface breaks, and Regulus is on the rocks again. A heap of a boy, wet and shivering and
throwing up. Regulus doesn’t know what’s happening with the inferi. Doesn’t know who saved
him. All he can do is expel lake water from his lungs and heave in air. Sweet, dry air.

But after a few moments, when he’s cleared the tears away and there’s no more water to throw up,
Regulus rolls onto his back, desperate to meet his saviour. Is he still in danger? Is he safe? He must
know.
 Coughing. Heaving. Everything hurts, and he can’t see—wait. He blinks. Blinks again.

And sobs. He can’t help it. He isn’t sure he wants to. Regulus sobs in relief so overwhelming he
fears he’ll crack from the sheer force of it.

Because on those rocks with him—wand in one hand sprouting fire and the sword of Godric
Gryffindor in the other—standing over the inferi like a fucking avenging angel, is his brother.

Chapter End Notes

Oh my God friends. That happened. We went to the cave. Was that very stressful? I
was very stressed when I was writing it

Severus picking sides

Regulus messing with Bellatrix is so funny to me lmao

Voldemort showing up to get Kreacher We knew where that was going the moment
Riddle showed up and I am sorry

Regulus doing everything on his own like PLS MY MAN JUST GET SOME
HELP?

He remembered James our baby is so in love and he fought so hard

And then he was saved by Sirius I've had that image of Sirius with the sword in the
cave saving Regulus in my head since the day I sat down to write the first word of this
fic

I don't know what else to say about this chapter I am sorry? But also we're gonna be
okay? UGH I'm well nervous about you reading this one lmao sorry for the rambling

See you in the comments section?

 Messes of Men
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

I was literally blown away by all your love in the last chapter. Genuinely, you guys
made my life (!) THANK YOU FOR BEING SO WONDERFUL

Today's chapter has some heavy scenes, so please look after yourselves and check out
the TWs. There is one scene in particular in the second half of the chapter that's quite
rough.

TWs for this one:

Depictions and references to anxiety and panic attacks
References to dead bodies
References to near-drowning
References / discussions of past child abuse
Depictions of violence (including magical violence and explosions)
Depictions of injuries (graphic)
Depictions of limb amputation
Depictions of vomiting
Character death (minor, but we know them)
References to torture
Depictions of grief
References to forced starvation

I think that covers it but please know the chapter is a bit heavy in general so be
prepared!

French translations in the end notes

Enjoy!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

He’s losing his mind.

James glances around his living room, at the tired faces and drawn mouths—all tension and no
words—and thinks he’s going to finally break. The silence is oppressive. It coats every inch of this
room, thick and sticky like tree resin. Silence like this is dangerous. Poisonous. It gives James
space to think, and he doesn’t want that because the panic in his head is scratching at the insides of
his skull and setting his every nerve on edge.

His lungs shrivelled up and died about two hours ago. His gut is a ball of nerves ricocheting inside
his torso, bouncing around with nausea, a thing made of heavy lead. Sweat plasters his hair to his
neck and runs down his back. He’s certain he stinks. No one has said anything or complained,
though.

A part of him wants to start laughing hysterically, because this is crazy. Another part of him wants
to do something. Anything. He keeps getting up and pacing, sitting back down and bouncing his
knee, wriggling his hands together. Since Pandora left the manor as abruptly as she arrived,
claiming she was going to look for Sirius, James has stress-cleaned the kitchen and re-arranged the
three bookshelves in the living room.

He wants to feel helpful. Wants to take action.

Most of all, James just wants answers.

There are none.

Putting a tentative hand on Dorcas’ shoulder, Marlene says gently, “Should you try to get some
sleep?” It’s said carefully. Slowly and quietly. Because Dorcas has been a little feral since she
arrived at Potter Manor several hours ago. “It’s almost dawn. Maybe just a power nap, babe?”

Shaking her head minutely Dorcas stays where she is. Where she has been since around two am,
give or take. On the sofa, sitting down with her hands clasped one her lap, back ramrod straight.
She hasn’t moved, like she thinks her focus can help fix whatever the hell is happening that James
doesn’t know about.

James knows very little.

This is what he has so far:

1. Pandora had a very bad feeling about Regulus and came to the Manor looking for James and
Sirius. When she didn’t find Sirius, she left again, promising to be back as soon as possible.
Before she left, she asked that Dorcas be informed something is wrong and called to the
Manor.
2. Dorcas came to the Manor, curious but relaxed, and then suddenly, without warning,
proceeded to break the fuck down. Just lost her shit. Completely and loudly. On her knees,
screaming and crying incoherently. James is pretty sure she cried Regulus’ name at some
point, but he hasn’t dared approach the subject. A little while after her breakdown, Dorcas
moved to the sofa and went non-verbal. Nobody understands why or what happened. Dorcas
won’t tell. She hasn’t moved an inch since.
3. It’s almost dawn and neither Pandora nor Sirius have come back or made contact with any of
them.

That’s it. That’s the extent of the information James has and he’s not coping well with it. With the
uncertainty. Did something happen to Regulus? If so, why wouldn’t Pandora recruit more people
instead of less? Where are they? Did she find Sirius?

“Hey,” Lily says, pushing herself up from the armchair and coming to stand close to James. “I
know you’re worried, but you’ve been up all night. If you don’t rest, you won’t be able to go out
on assignment this evening.”

“There’s no way I’m going to manage to sleep,” James admits, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes.
“And I can’t take a potion. I need to be alert in case they need me.”

“Where are they? What is happening?” Marlene asks, groaning. “I’m so confused.”

The three of them glance at Dorcas to see if she has any reaction or insight to offer, but she doesn’t.
She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t speak. All she does is wait in silence, eyes on the wall, intent and
fierce. James is, admittedly, a little creeped out by this. He has never seen Dorcas so still. So
solemn.
“I’m going to try the mirror again,” James says, walking to the coatrack and reaching inside his
pocket for it. “Maybe they—”

All at once, the three of them scramble to get to the entrance as fast as humanly possible, following
the sound of the door opening. James’ heart is in his throat, and his hands are clammy. His mouth
is dry and he’s a little dizzy from pent up tension and lack of sleep, but he doesn’t care. Can’t care.

“Dora?” Lily gets there first. Speaks firsts. Greets the lone visitor first. “Where’s Sirius?”

James has to brace against the nearest piece of furniture—a shoe cabinet—to stay upright.

“I don’t know,” Pandora says in that soothing, gentle voice of hers. “We must wait.”

“Wait?!” James’ voice booms across the entrance hall, startling all three girls who jump a little and
turn to start at him. “You want me to wait?”

“James—”

“No! Where did you take him? Where is Sirius?”

He’s shaking, and he vaguely registers the thought that he’s shouting at Pandora who doesn’t really
deserve it, but she took Sirius somewhere, and returned without him, and there’s a war, and they’re
all in constant danger, and James honestly cannot stand this anymore.

In her infinite understanding and gentleness, Pandora simply steps forward and takes James’
violently jerky hand in hers. “I didn’t find him. Emmeline says they finished the mission and then
they went their separate ways. I’ve been looking for him, but I couldn’t find him.”

“What?” James asks through shuddering breaths.

Yanking the mirror out of his coat, James desperately shouts into it. Padfoot doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t appear on it. James is going to faint, he thinks. He’s going to pass out and wake up and
find this was all a nightmare.

“We have to wait,” Pandora says firmly. “Something happened while I was looking for Sirius. I can
feel it. Something good. I know you’re worried, James, but I need you to trust me on this. Please.
We need to wait and let it play out. I know it’s hard, but I—”

James blinks at her. His brain makes a sound like when a needle scratches a record. Screeching and
jarring. In his chest, something is caving. Crumbling to dust and choking him like ash on his
tongue when he tries to speak. All he manages is a single, raspy word, “Hard?”

And Pandora looks ready to make her case, to plead with James, to explain why she’s asking the
impossible of him. But then she looks over James’ shoulder, and her eyes grow soft. Confused, and
more than a little out of it, James checks behind him and finds Dorcas hovering in the threshold.

She looks at Pandora, eyes as terrified as they’ve ever seen them, and Pandora forgets that James is
having a crisis, and that Sirius is somewhere, lost in action, maybe. It seems to James that Pandora
cares very little for his feelings, but she obviously cares about Dorcas’.

“We need to talk,” Dorcas croaks and they’re the first words she’s said in a couple of hours, so
Marlene lets out a sigh of relief.

“Where can we talk?” Pandora asks, glancing at Lily.

Stoically, Lily suggests the conservatory. Dorcas and Pandora link hands and move, followed by
Marlene. But then Dorcas pauses, and looks at her girlfriend, and to everyone’s uncomfortable
shock, says, “No. Marls, please. Just Pan.”

Marlene looks dumbfounded, and hurt, but she nods. And then James, Lily and Marlene are once
again left in limbo confused, and worried. James is also fucking angry. Furious. Ready to break the
world down with his bare hands. Crack it open and find the answers at its core. Because if
something has happened to Sirius James will absolutely raze England to the ground to find him.

It doesn’t help his ire that James feels distinctly like he’s being kept in the dark on purpose. Like
some of these people are in on something that concerns Sirius or Regulus or both, and they’re
refusing to share with James. And perhaps it’s conceited of him. Perhaps it’s because he’s always
been a leader and not a follower. But it stings.

It drives him to call out to the two girls almost across the house now, in a loud, powerful voice. He
says, “If anything happens to Sirius that I could have stopped if you’d only told me the truth, I will
never forgive you. No. I will kill you. And I mean that.”

****

“Prongs?”

James jerks upright from where he’s being dozing off on the sofa. Blinks the sleep from his eyes.
Strains his ears to listen. Did he dream it? Or was Sirius really—

“Prongs? Are you there?”

Yes. Definitely Sirius’ voice.

Vaulting over the back of the sofa like an Olympic gymnast, James slides with his socks on the
wooden floor of his living room in his haste to get to the coatrack. He plucks the mirror from the
pocket of his jacket and finds himself looking at the very tired but very alive grey eyes of his best
friend. James could fucking cry.

“Pads? Oh, thank Godric. Where are you? I’m coming to get you,” James says into the mirror as
soon as he’s got it.

Sirius blinks at him. “No. No, stay where you are. Something’s happened, but I’m okay. I’m safe.
But you can’t come get me,” Sirius says quickly, urgently. “You need to act like everything is fine.
Just for a few hours, alright?”

“I don’t understand,” James says. He’s fucking relieved that Sirius is whole and healthy and not
bleeding. He’s also clearly somewhere where he felt safe enough to take out the mirror and call
James. But why is everyone being so fishy?

“I know,” Sirius replies, sighing. “I can’t explain just yet. But I need you to trust me, Prongs.
Please.”

And James does. Blindly. Unfailingly. He trusts Sirius with his life. If his best friend needs him to
pretend things are fine and normal, then that’s what he’ll do. He's certain Sirius will tell him what's
going on as soon as he can. And even though it hurts, and it makes him feel a certain kind of way,
James can be patient. He can. He'll prove that he's not as impulsive and reckless as he knows the
others think he is. So, James sets his shoulders, nods at Sirius through the mirror.

“Alright. I trust you. You know I do,” James says. He’s a bit tired of this. Of secrets and vague
answers, but whatever Sirius needs, James gives. “I was so worried. Godric’s socks. Just…
Pandora showed up here looking for you, and talking about Regulus and... Did you… is this about
Regulus?”

“I can’t talk now,” Sirius says, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want you to worry. I wanted to let
you know I’m okay. I’m safe. I'll explain when I see you, okay?”

“Is this about Moony?” James whispers.

Sirius’ eyes flash, and then he’s nodding his head. It occurs to James that Sirius is holding the
mirror very close to himself. His face fills the entire frame so completely James cannot see where
Sirius is. Not even a little bit. James has no doubt this is deliberate, because Sirius is a dramatic
king who will wave that mirror around when he’s talking through it like it’s not giving James
motion sickness.

“Yes,” Sirius says. “It’s… kind of about Moony. Okay? I’ve got to go. But I’m safe. I should be
home in time to see you at the Manor tonight after your patrol. I’m not on assignment today so
Moody won’t get suspicious. Alright?”

“Alright,” James replies, taking a deep breath in. “You’ll call me if anything goes wrong? If you
need me?”

“Always.”

“I love you, Pads.”

“I love you, Prongs.”

####

Interlude: Sirius’ POV

He lied to James.

Fuck.

Sirius has no idea what he’s doing. Has no idea if this is a huge mistake that’s going to cost him his
life. And, deep down, Sirius knows he’s alright with that. If saving Regulus from that infernal cave
ends up being his demise, then so be it. He’s an older brother, it’s what they do, right?

But James getting involved? Sirius couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk him.

So, he lied. And now he’s alone in the only place he could think to go hide in. It was a spur of the
moment decision. A hasty retreat, as it were. Sirius knows they can’t stay here too long, but until
Regulus wakes up and answers some questions, he has no better ideas.

Fuck.

Dropping his face in his hands, Sirius forces himself to breathe. They made it out. They’re both in
one piece. Traumatised, because what the ever loving hell was that place? But alive. Breathing.
And that’s—

Sirius gets up jerkily and walks over to the bed—his bed, Moony’s bed—and checks that Regulus
is, in fact, breathing. The soft, warm air hits his finger as he holds them under his nose, and Sirius
nods to himself. Alright. Yes. They’re fine. Both of them.
But are they? What the hell happened? What was Regulus doing there?

Cigarettes. He needs a cigarette, Sirius decides. His shaky fingers struggle to open the pack, but he
manages it after a few tries. The flame to light it triggers Sirius, and he stumbles back a few steps.

He conjured fire in that cave. Fire that licked along the blade of the sword he wielded. Like a
knight of old, Sirius fought his way through dozens of undead, using the flaming blade to cut down
the inferi clinging to the boat until it was clear and he could clamber onto it with Regulus slung
over his shoulder. The sword that’s resting on his kitchen table, rubies glinting on the hilt like
Sirius didn’t chop off hands and heads and arms and legs with it on a small rock island in the
middle of a dark lake in a cave by the coast.

Fuck. Fuck.

Sirius can’t breathe. He’s—it’s too much. He’s never been so scared in his life and—

“Sirius? C'est toi?”

And oh.

Oh.

Sirius hasn’t heard Regulus sound that soft since he was a child.

It dislodges something in his chest. Something thorny and scratchy but big and desperate, too. And
then Sirius is on his knees by the bed, looking into green eyes and pale skin, curls that are matted
and tangled but black like a raven and spread over his pillow.

“Reggie? Je suis là. Tu vas bien. Nous sommes en sécurité.”

Regulus’ hand darts out from under the blankets and grabs Sirius’ shirt, fisting it like he’s afraid to
let go. “Je pensais que j'étais fichu.”

There’s so much fear in those words. So much regret, and pain, and guilt. Sirius wants to take all of
that away. Shield his brother from it. Desperately, Sirius wishes he could make it so that Regulus
was never hurt again.

“You’re safe now,” Sirius says gently, switching to English because if they keep speaking French
he’s going to break down and that’s not really helpful right now. With trembling fingers, he dares
to push some of Regulus' hair back from his forehead because Regulus reached for him first.
“You’re safe. We’re in London. In my flat.”

“How did you find me?” Regulus asks, eyes wild and trained on Sirius’. He won’t look anywhere
else, as though afraid Sirius will vanish if he stops looking for even a second.

“Kreacher came to get me,” Sirius explains. It was the most surreal thing. “I was on my way back
to Potter Manor, alone in an alley ready to apparate away when Kreacher just… showed up. He
was in a right state. Practically incoherent. He was so un-Kreacher like that it worried me enough
to listen to him.”

Regulus frowns. Blinks. His eyes begin to clear a little bit, like he’s regaining his wits. Possibly
remembering. Putting pieces together and whatnot. “What did he say?”

“That you were going to die and he wanted me to save you,” Sirius says. “He was adamant the
Dark Lord couldn’t find out, and I was a traitor, so I would never tell him. I’m not sure what that
was about. But well. He said you were dying, and that was all it took, really.”

Silence blooms between them for a bit after that. It’s a curious thing. Not awkward. Not
uncomfortable. But not easy, either. Sirius watches as Regulus processes. Gradually, like the more
time he has to fully wake from the claws of sleep the more he becomes himself. Sirius witnesses
with a pang of regret Regulus build up his walls and retreats behind them.

Bit by bit. Until there’s nothing of that softness or that panicked desperation that first overcame
him when Regulus woke up. Sirius isn’t surprised when Regulus releases the hold he has on Sirius’
shirt and looks away, like he’s embarrassed by that display of weakness.

Clearing his throat, Regulus eases himself out of the blankets that Sirius wrapped him in. He was
so cold when they got here. Like that lake had stolen every bit of warmth that Regulus ever felt
right off his skin.

Sirius moves to sit on the edge of the bed, watching his brother carefully. Regulus winces when he
pushes himself up, and Sirius’ eyebrow flies up in question. “Sore. Everywhere. Those fucking
hands.”

It says something about how messed up, how broken they are that both Sirius and Regulus freeze
for a second at that statement, and then they’re both fighting a twisted smile. They’re so fucked up
in the head. Godric have mercy on their souls.

Godric, who sent Sirius his sword so he could save his brother. Sirius had never known how much
he’d doubted whether he truly belonged in Gryffindor until the moment he saw the hilt magically
appear in front of him, the blade stuck in the rock outside the cave. Waiting for him to pull it out in
a weird re-enactment of the legend of Excalibur. It’s embarrassing how proud he was of himself to
have been deemed a true Gryffindor. To have been chosen by the enchanted blade. Found worthy
of its help in his time of dire need.

“How did you get to the island?” Regulus mutters.

“I swam. I turned into a dog and swam,” Sirius explains. He held the sword between his jaws,
heavy and dragging despite the strength of his animal muscles. It was hard work. “The… those
things didn’t bother me while I was an animal. They only attacked me when I arrived and turned
back into myself.”

“You didn’t know that, though,” Regulus points out, eyes narrowing. “Didn’t know they would
leave you alone as a dog.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Silence again. Two boys, half-way to being men, sitting side by side and processing the risk Sirius
took. How much he gambled in his desperation to get to Regulus and pull him out of the lake.

Sirius arrived at the cave just in time to see Regulus being dragged down by the inferi. He watched
his little brother hit his head on the rocks as he was being pulled into the lake and didn’t think.
There was no other way for him to get there, so he jumped in the water and swam, only
remembering to turn into a dog because he can swim faster that way. He thought if the inferi came
for him, then maybe they’d forget Regulus and he’d have a chance to save himself. It would have
been worth it. Sirius had been ready to meet his fate if it meant saving Reggie.

After a drawn-out moment, Regulus asks, “How long was I out?”

Pushing his matted curls out of his eyes, Regulus glances around for the first time, taking in the
small bedroom where Sirius and Remus have made a home.

“Not long. It’s mid-afternoon, same day,” Sirius replies. Then, because he has an inkling, he adds,
“Nobody should have had time to notice you’re missing.”

This is, apparently, great news because Regulus immediately relaxes a little bit. Nodding towards
the cigarette Sirius left to consume itself on the ashtray, he asks, “Have more?”

Sirius does, and so they smoke together. More than a year since the last time that they did this, and
under much more confusing circumstances, but they are here. And Regulus is alive. And Sirius has
questions that need answers but not yet. He wants this for a little longer.

Suddenly, like he’s remembered something very important, Regulus gets all anxious. He looks
around, then at Sirius. “There was a ring in my pocket. Did you find it?”

“This?” Sirius retrieves the incredibly ugly snake from his own pocket and passes it to Regulus.

“Oh. Thank fuck,” Regulus slips it into his finger and relaxes back against the pillows, taking
another drag of his cigarette.

Sirius waits for him to explain. To say anything at all. Regulus doesn’t. He closes his eyes and
finishes his cigarette in silence, seemingly lost in his head and completely content to ignore Sirius
who is just sitting there on the bed and watching his brother, wondering how the hell they ended
up here.

Without warning, Regulus opens his eyes and fixes them on Sirius. “Kreacher,” Regulus says,
tilting his head to the side. “He didn’t come back to the cave with you?”

“He couldn’t,” Sirius replies. “He was really struggling with the whole thing. Kept muttering and
trying to hit himself. I don’t know. He was out of it, and I wasn’t bothered. I just wanted to get to
you.”

“It was probably hard for him to fight a direct order,” Regulus muses. Then, as though coming to
an independent decision, he throws the blankets off him and stands up. And immediately wobbles
so hard Sirius jumps up to steady him so he doesn’t keel over.

“Easy,” Sirius says. “You’re not well. I did my best, but Moony was always better at healing.
Besides, not to be dramatic, but you almost died. I think a day of bed rest, maybe?”

“Stop it.”

“Reggie. Just... take a fucking moment, alright? You almost died. Did you hear that? No one is
going to think you’re any less terrifying and mean or whatever you like people thinking you are if
you take a moment to recover from near-death.”

Scoffing, Regulus shakes his head, like he can make himself recover by sheer power of will. It
seems to work, to Sirius’ surprise. Leave it to Regulus to force his body to overcome trauma simply
because he wants it to. Regulus steps away from Sirius, who lets his hands fall, and looks down at
himself.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Torn to shreds,” Sirius replies callously. “You’ll have to borrow something of mine.”

Wrinkling his nose, Regulus nods. “Fine. Give me something, then. I’m in a hurry.”
Gaping at his brother, Sirius lets out a bitter laugh that’s really more like a scoff. If Regulus thinks
Sirius is going to just let him leave, he’s got another thing coming. Is he mental?

“Regulus,” Sirius starts, but he simply shakes his head and crosses the room, throwing open Sirius
and Remus’ closet and rummaging through it for something to wear.

“Regulus!” Sirius repeats, annoyed now.

He has found a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt, and doesn’t even look at Sirius as he barks,
“What?” while putting them on.

And well. Yes. What? Sirius isn’t sure where to start. Because he’s been angry for so long it’s hard
not to be now, but he’s also confused because Regulus is an infuriating enigma and he just pulled
him from a lake full of fucking inferi and what is Sirius meant to do with that?

There are too many questions that need answers, but Sirius decides to start with a simple one.
Because he’s with his brother in a room for the first time in longer than he cares to admit, and
they’re not fighting, and Sirius will tread very carefully to protect that. If he starts bringing feelings
into this, Regulus will bail like a spooked cat.

“Why were you in that cave?” Sirius asks calmly.

“I needed to retrieve something from it,” Regulus replies matter-of-factly.

“What?”

“None of your business.”

And that’s… it just makes Sirius’ anger rise. He’s willing to let a lot of things slide, willing to give
Regulus the benefit of the doubt, but he needs something. Regulus has to give him something. He
deserves that much, Sirius thinks, for having lied to his friends and for harbouring a Death Eater in
his flat.

“No,” Sirius says, stepping closer.

His voice is low and charged with years of push and pull. Of not knowing. Of feeling Regulus slip
away, and coming back, and leave again. Years of abandonment and tears and hurt and pain
because they’re messes of men that should have been brothers but don’t know how to behave like
they are anymore.

Sirius is tired. He is done. And he’s not going to let Regulus keep doing whatever the fuck this is.
Not on his watch.

So, with steely determination and clenched fists, Sirius looks his little brother in the eye and growls
again. “No.”

“What do you—”

“That’s not going to work today, Regulus. Something is going on. I know it is. Remus told me as
much, but he owes you a debt and apparently can’t betray your secrets without dying, so he left me
in the dark. Me. His soulmate.”

Sirius gives Regulus a dark, dangerous look here to convey just how fucking pleased he is not
about that development.
“I have lied to James, trusted Kreacher of all people, pulled a mystical sword from a rock in the
middle of the ocean, and fought my way through an army of the undead to save your ass. So, when
I ask you what you were doing in that cave, you will answer me and be specific about it or so help
me Godric.”

“You lied to him?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Sirius throws his arms up in frustration. “Really? That’s what you take
away from my speech?”

Regulus meets his eye without flinching. Chin raised, jaw set. The golden afternoon light pouring
in through the window catches on the ridges of his face—the high cheekbone, the line of his nose.
He’s grown up so much Sirius struggles to see in him the same toddler that forgot he was a separate
body from Sirius. But he is. His little brother. Underneath the sneer and the firm slant of his mouth
and the coldness of his eyes, he is Reggie. His Reggie.

“Tone down the dramatics,” Regulus sniffs. “I’m in a hurry, Sirius. You might find this hard to
understand, but not everything is about you. And I do have something rather important I have to
do.”

“Where do you need to go so urgently, huh? To a little meeting with your little Death Eater
friends?” Sirius snarls, irritation making his skin itch.

Sirius is getting angry again. Forgetting the panic he felt when he pulled his little brother out of the
water, limp and cold like death itself. His body feels hot, skin stretched over his bones. There’s a
pounding in the back of his head.

Regulus? He’s composed as ever, standing there with dirty, tangled hair and Sirius’ clothes and
staring at his brother like he’s an idiot.

“I need to go to Hogwarts,” Regulus says simply. They hold each other’s gazes for a moment, and
Sirius makes sure Regulus can see that he will not back down. Not this time.

Shrugging, Regulus nods stiffly and adds, “I suppose there are a few things we need to talk about
before I go. Do you have something to drink? Something strong.”

“Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, have some tea before you get drunk?” Sirius quips, but he’s moving
towards the living room anyway.

Regulus follows, grabbing his boots in the process from where Sirius had left them to dry on the
windowsill. They get sunlight most of the day on that one, so they should be nice to wear by now.

“Possibly. But as you so kindly pointed out, I almost died. So, whiskey.”

That shuts Sirius up, because yeah. It’s a good enough reason, he supposes. Besides, it’s almost six
in the afternoon now. Appropriate time for a drink. And, Regulus is eighteen now. Deciding to
switch tactics to see if that gets him anywhere with his brother, Sirius swallows the questions that
are banging against the back of his teeth and pours some whiskey.

Neither of them mention the sword on the table, but Sirius catches Regulus looking at it out of the
corner of his eye.

“Happy birthday,” Sirius says when he hands him a glass with three fingers of fire whiskey in it.

Regulus rolls his eyes, takes the glass, and drinks it all in one go. Grimacing, he sets the empty
glass down before taking a deep breath and meeting Sirius’ eye. “We have a problem.”

“Only one?”

“Stop fucking joking, this is—” Regulus stops himself. Scowls. “Listen to me. The Dark Lord
cannot find out you know about that cave. He can’t find out I know about it, either. No one can
know what happened last night, Sirius. You can’t tell anyone. Not even Ja—him. No one. It’s life
or death.”

There’s an edge to Regulus’ voice. A warning. It makes something cold and sticky wrap itself
around Sirius’ spine. Apprehension sits low in his gut. When Sirius takes a sip of his own whiskey,
he keeps his eyes on Regulus over the rim of his glass.

“Alright,” Sirius says measuredly. “I’m listening. No jokes. I’m listening, Regulus. But you’ve got
to start talking.”

“I can’t tell you anything more than that,” he says simply. “You’ve no reason to trust me, so I
won’t ask you to. But I can’t tell you what’s going on. It’s no safe. It would get us killed.”

“Who is us?”

“Me and Remus.”

And Sirius lets that sit with him for a moment. Thinks back to the forest, and Remus asking for
trust. Sirius might not be on the best of terms with his brother, and he most certainly wouldn’t trust
him as far as he can throw him, but he trusts Remus. With his life.

“I know Occlumency,” Sirius whispers. “I had to learn. Because of her.”

Regulus nods, tilts his head. “I know. But it’s too complicated. There are too many moving pieces.
I cannot risk it.”

“Reg—”

“It’s safer for you and for me if you don’t know. As far as you’re concerned, I’m your evil brother
who turned Death Eater. That’s all I can be. That’s all you can know,” Regulus insists, green eyes
sharp and cunning. “If things had gone my way, you would have never had reason to even think
otherwise. But alas, I keep having to fix your people’s mistakes so here we are.”

Sirius hates it. He hates being in the dark. But Remus told him to trust. And Sirius does. He does.
Remus knows much more than Sirius about the situation, and Remus has chosen to work with
Regulus. He asked Sirius to let it happen. Remus would never do that if he wasn’t sure. And that’s
enough for Sirius.

“Alright,” Sirius says, nodding. “Alright. So. No one can know about the cave. What else?”

Regulus blinks at him, mouth parting slightly before he catches himself and closes it again.
“What?”

“I said what else,” Sirius repeats. “You’re clearly working on something, and Remus is working
with you. And he might have no choice in whether he helps you or not because of the debt, but he
asked me for trust in the forest. You haven’t earned my trust, but Remus has. I trust him. And he’s
on your side. So, what else do you need?”

####
If he’d had a choice, Regulus wouldn’t have brought Sirius along to Hogwarts. However, given the
circumstances, Sirius has been incredibly cooperative. Besides, Regulus isn’t too proud to admit
that when it comes to sneaking around the school, he couldn’t do better than Sirius. Perhaps James,
but Regulus will not involve him in this for any reason.

Besides, it did not escape Regulus’ notice that Sirius hasn’t told anyone his brother was in his flat.
Sirius had Regulus unconscious and at his mercy for hours and he did nothing about it other than
tuck him into bed, make sure he warmed up, and wait for him to wake up.

Considering the fact that as far as Sirius knows Regulus is an ungrateful little shit who chose the
Death Eaters over him and his friends, that had been a little disorienting. Not to mention it had
taken a little while for the Legacy to wake up again inside of him after having been muted by that
potion from hell. All is back to normal now, and Regulus is once again safely removed from the
vast majority of his emotions. But he did feel them for a bit there.

When he woke up and saw his brother. When he reached for his shirt. Relief and love and joy so
fucking strong Regulus thought he’d be crushed under the weight of it. Because his brother came
for him.

His hero.

Who is now standing next to him in Hogsmeade, spreading open the map so they can plot a route
that will get them in and out unseen.

“Alright,” Sirius says. “We’ll take the Honeydukes tunnel. Shop’s closed for the evening now, so
that should work.”

“Where does it go?” Regulus asks.

Tapping his finger on the map, Sirius says. “Here. It’s a bit of a trek to the kitchens, so we have to
wait until curfew. Otherwise, we’ll run into people.”

“We can’t stay out here in the open,” Regulus observes. “We can’t risk anyone seeing us.”

“In the tunnel, then,” Sirius suggests.

And that’s what they do. Regulus follows Sirius as he deftly breaks into the sweets shop, then
through to the storeroom and down into a tunnel. They walk in silence, then sit at the edge of the
passage and wait.

It should have been awkward. But Regulus is too distracted with his thoughts to pay attention to
whether Sirius is fidgeting in the silence or not. He’s been gone for a day, which will raise some
eyebrows amongst certain people—Barty and Remus will definitely ask where he’s been—but it’s
hardly noteworthy. Elspeth mentioned her parents were away, so if anyone of notice asks where he
went, Regulus can most likely explain his absence away with a romantic gesture of some sort.
Perhaps he and Elspeth have spent the whole day in bed overcome with a bout of passion.

“You’re making a face,” Sirius mutters, lips twitching into an amused grin.

Regulus looks at him, and replies, “I’m thinking. Usually helps solve problems. You should try it,
sometime.”

Sirius chuckles under his breath but says nothing else. Regulus goes back to his mental review of
his situation. They light cigarettes, which will smoke the tunnel, but neither of them really care all
that much.
The cup is somewhere with Bellatrix. Regulus needs to get Elspeth’s memory of that antiques room
and review it as soon as possible. And once he destroys the locket tonight, he’ll be that much closer
to having rendered Riddle mortal again. The pieces of his puzzle are almost in place. Remus has
wrestled support from the wolves. A whole army of them. Enough to help Regulus fight when the
time comes.

Barty and Evan are a bit of a liability. As long as Evan is unconscious, and Barty is glued to his
side, they’re vulnerable. They could be used for leverage against him. Perhaps he should consider
having them moved somewhere. Grimmauld Place, maybe. He has to give that some more thought.

“Remus said you’re not… blindly loyal to your Dark Lord,” Sirius whispers seemingly at random.
“Which I’d gathered from the secrecy and all. But why? What are you doing? Who are you
working for?”

“Myself,” Regulus replies. “I’m Lord Black, Sirius. I don’t answer to anyone.”

Sirius shifts his weight, grimacing probably from sitting on the ground for at least an hour now. He
looks at Regulus, eyes narrowed and bottom lip between his teeth. “Right.”

Silence. Then, “What’s your endgame?”

“I beg your pardon?” Regulus asks, blinking.

“I mean, what are you working towards? What… what is all this? Why are we even at Hogwarts?”
Sirius asks, burying his hands in his hair in a frustrated gesture.

“I can’t tell you,” Regulus says, calm and collected. Salazar’s socks, was he that dramatic before
Legacy? Regulus can’t remember it, not exactly. Not without it all being a biz hazy and blurred.

“Are you going to let Remus come home?” Sirius asks in a small voice, looking up a bit
sheepishly.

Regulus shifts to avoid the bit of protruding wall digging into his shoulder blade. “Not yet. I need
Remus. But once I’m done… yes. Sure. I’ve no desire to keep him around when he outlives his
usefulness.”

“Godric have mercy, Regulus, do you hear yourself?” Sirius asks, appalled. “Remus is a person,
not a tool.”

Waving a hand to indicate he couldn’t give less of a fuck, Regulus checks his wristwatch. A few
more minutes until curfew, then they can sneak out of this tunnel and go do what they came here to
do.

It’s a little unsettling to be back at Hogwarts. The darkness in his mind is skittish, though that could
be because that potion truly did a number on him. Still, he doesn’t want to be in this castle for a
moment longer than absolutely necessary. He’s lost a lot of memories. Most of the specifics. But
he is aware that he felt very intense things inside these walls and there’s a certain nostalgia clinging
to the recesses of his mind.

“Were you scared?” Sirius asks him.

Regulus’ eyes snap up to his brother’s. “What?”

“In the cave. Were you scared?”

“What sort of stupid fucking question is that?”

“Just answer me, Reggie. For once, just bloody answer,” Sirius pleads. “Because I was terrified. I
thought I’d lost you. I got there, and you were under the lake, and I didn’t know if I’d arrived in
time and suddenly all the fights, and the hate, and the baggage between us didn’t matter. I wanted
you alive despite it all. And I… were you scared?”

“Yes,” Regulus replies simply. “I didn’t want to die. It was terrifying. I’m glad you saved me.”

“What did you regret most?” Sirius asks.

Regulus rolls his eyes. This is ridiculous, and absurd, and entirely pointless. But they’re in a tunnel,
passing time, and his brother did risk his neck to save Regulus. He supposes he can give him some
answers. It’s not like they make a difference. It’s not like Regulus remembers what it feels like to
care.

“I don’t regret anything,” Regulus tells him. “I thought about some things. Wished things could
have been different, I guess. Mostly, I wished for more time. There are things I have to see through.
Important things.”

“Like what?”

“I can’t—”

“Tell me,” Sirius sighs. “Right. Okay.”

“Things to keep you safe,” Regulus says, running a hand through his tangled curls. “The things I’m
doing… you’d think they’re horrible. I don’t care that they are. I don’t have much of a conscience.
But I think you and your friends will care. But they’re… to keep you safe. And Dorcas. And…”

“James?” Sirius asks, tilting his head to the side. Regulus doesn’t answer, but the silence is enough.
Sirius nods to himself, biting his lip again. “That’s why Remus told me to trust him and you. And I
know him. He wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t sure that whatever you’re doing is helping us,
keeping us safe, somehow. But I don’t… here’s what I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell us
from the beginning?”

“You’re getting your shit confused,” Regulus says. “I’m not one of you. I’m not a good guy. The
eighty-odd people at the Ministry? I concocted that poison. I don’t regret it. It was necessary, and it
was done.”

“Fuck, Reg—”

“Just because I don’t particularly want you or Dorcas or him to die doesn’t mean the rest of it isn’t
true,” Regulus informs his brother. “Or that I regret my choices. I told you. I don’t.”

“But you saved Remus. You let James and Marlene go. You kept Sam alive in your dungeon and
pretended to forget she was there most of the time,” Sirius insists, raising his voice a little bit.
“You’ve never forgotten a thing in your life, Regulus. You can fool the others, but not me.”

Regulus scoffs, looks away. “Sam was a fucking mistake. It cost me too much.” He pauses,
shudders at the memory of the torture and the cave. Then, “You have a spy, by the way,” Regulus
tells Sirius. “In the Order. I’m certain of it.”

Something dangerous flashes behind Sirius’ eyes as he sits up, leans forward, closer to Regulus.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. But when I find out, I’ll send you their head in a box,” Regulus says viciously.
“They’ve put my entire operation in danger. I want them found probably more than you do.”

“Fuck,” Sirius groans, dropping his face in his hands. “I suspect Dorcas.”

“It’s not Dorcas,” Regulus says with finality.

Sirius narrows his eyes at him, calculating. “Oh, fuck me. But I am an idiot. Of course. And right
under my nose. Godric’s sword at the bottom of the lake!”

“Leave Dorcas alone, Sirius,” Regulus says threateningly.

“But it is Dorcas. Fuck. She’s been passing you information, hasn’t she? That’s why we’re all still
kicking. People talk, you know? About why it is that the bunch of young ones is still alive and
whole when so many others are not.”

“I said Dorcas isn’t the spy. Stay away from her.”

And then his brother laughs. He just. Laughs. And Regulus is confused, but he lets it happen
because what else? Sitting back against the wall, Regulus lights a cigarette and waits for his
brother to stop being stupid.

“Ah, don’t look so cross. You’ve nothing to worry about,” Sirius says when he calms down. “I’m
not touching Dorcas. She’s single handedly kept us all alive for a year. I’m not jeopardising that
for anything. But it means I don’t know who the other spy is.”

“I’ll find out,” Regulus tells him. “And I’ll kill them. Like I said, head in a box. Do try to keep up.”

The chortle that escapes Sirius’ throat is surprised but also kind of resigned. Like he’s surrendered
himself to the strangeness of this whole day. Of being here with Regulus, his brother, who is
having the first civil conversation possibly ever with him. It strikes Regulus that having muted
emotions does make interacting with Sirius a lot easier. When you’re not drowning in memories
and love and guilt and what if’s and things unsaid… well. Talking to your brother is just like
talking to any other person.

Using the map and Sirius’ outstanding knowledge of the castle layout, they successfully reach the
kitchens without getting spotted. From there, there’s an awkward moment where Kreacher loses his
shit at seeing Regulus made it out before he remembers himself. Hiding in a corner from prying
eyes—which include Sirius who is reluctantly standing by the door—Kreacher hands Regulus the
locket.

“Stay at Hogwarts,” Regulus orders his house elf. “Stay hidden. Don’t tell anyone your real name.
When it’s safe for you to come back home, I will call on you.”

“Yes, master,” Kreacher says. He looks a little put out, but Kreacher isn’t stupid. He’s aware of the
fact that neither of them should have ever made it out of that cave, and that this locket is important
to the Dark Lord.

“One more thing,” Regulus says as an afterthought, turning back around after he’s started to make
his way to the door. “Thank you for going to get Sirius. You saved my life, Kreacher.”

With that, he collects his brother and they leave the kitchens and Hogwarts the same way they
came. Sirius doesn’t say a word the entire time, except to give directions to Regulus so they can
avoid prefect patrols doing the rounds, or to open the passage behind the statue of the witch.
Hogsmeade is quiet. The little village gone to sleep on this night at the very end of May. The two
brothers stand in a back alley, hidden by shadows, and regard each other for a long moment.

“You have my word no one will know what happened today,” Sirius says rather solemnly. “Please,
keep Remus safe. That’s all I ask in return. Keep him safe and return him to me.”

Regulus nods. The locket is heavy in his pocket, but he doesn’t dare destroy it in front of Sirius.
That is one secret he can’t take any chances with. Not until he’s got the cup and he’s confirmed
whether there are any more or not. The stakes are too high.

“Be careful what you share with who. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to sus out who the spy
is,” Regulus says. “Dorcas is safe. She knows about the spy, too, and is keeping an eye on things to
see if she can catch them. Anyone else is a suspect.”

“Not James,” Sirius hisses.

Pursing his lips in agreement, Regulus tilts his head. “Not him. But the rest.”

“Good luck, Regulus,” Sirius tells him, taking a step back and pulling his wand from that half-bun
he used to wear in school. “Don’t go to any more caves, alright?”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus takes out his own wand to apparate away. “Goodbye, Sirius.”

####

With the arrival of dawn, James is no less confused by the events of the previous day—still
unexplained—but he is tired enough that his brain is choosing to put the wondering on hold in
favour of making it to the rendezvous point to conclude his assignment for the night.

By the time he had to leave his house to make this patrol, Sirius still hadn’t come back. Most
strange of all, Dorcas had at one point jerked upright, let out a sigh of deep relief, then absconded
with Pandora to a private room to discuss Godric knows what.

When they’d come back out, Dorcas had announced she needed some sleep and she’d taken
Marlene back to their flat. No explanations. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Suffice to say, James was thoroughly confused and annoyed, and more than a little bit suspicious.
Perhaps Sirius was right, after all, and Dorcas is a traitor with access to some secret communication
channels.

Frustrated at being in the dark and more than a little worried for the general safety and wellbeing
of everyone he cares about, James has resolved to go confront Dorcas as soon as this patrol is over.
Preferably, together with Sirius, if he’s back from wherever he went. He’s always been better at
that sort of thing than James is.

Next to him, Emmeline is dragging her feet with the tell-tale signs of chronic exhaustion. They’re
running themselves rugged with these all nighters, but the Death Eaters keep killing Order
members faster than they can recruit new people.

“It’s just up the road,” James says in what he hopes is an encouraging voice. “Five more minutes.”

A grunt is all the response he gets, but he doesn’t begrudge Emmeline her rationing of words.
After a ten hour shift, James fully understands that even simple speech requires too much energy.

Ahead of them, slightly uphill, there’s an old stone house that marks the edge of the village.
They’re still in London, just in the suburban area, in one of the hundreds of small towns that have
been adjoined to the city by way of the ‘Greater London’ M25 road delimitation.

“Alright,” James sighs with relief. “Portkey should be just through there and to the back. In the
shed.”

Emmeline nods and, together, they push open the door to the small house. That’s when things start
to go sideways.

With a shout, Emmeline shoves James out of the way of a curse, dodging it in the nick of time
herself. James’ stomach vaults into his throat a second before the adrenaline kicks in and his body
scrambles to fight back.

The place is swarming with Death Eaters. An ambush. In a safe house that’s meant to be their
rendezvous point and extraction location. And if this isn’t proof that there’s a spy, James doesn’t
know what is. He can doubt the validity of Sirius’ claims and suspicions no longer. Someone is
definitely, certainly giving information to the Death Eaters.

A flash of light makes him squint even as he retaliates with a stunning curse powerful enough to
send the Death Eater he hits flying across the room. Behind him, two more Death Eaters step
inside, blocking the way back out. James swears under his breath diving behind a chair to avoid
being hit.

Panic claws up his windpipe, but James needs to keep a level head. He needs to find a way out for
him an Emmeline. Trapped in close quarters they’re never going to make it.

“Emmeline!” he shouts over the ruckus. “Out in the open. We need to get out in the open!”

Immediately, he has to roll to avoid being killed by an explosion curse, but he does catch a glimpse
of Emmeline making a face that tells James she knows and she agrees but she’s not trapped inside
with a gazillion Death Eaters for the fucking giggles.

They’ve cut off their exit routes, so getting out in the open really isn’t as easy as James is making it
sound.

Cursing under his breath, James springs up to his feet and manages to take down two people
blocking a door to another room. It’s not the great outdoors, but it should give them a respite, so
James reaches for Emmeline, tugs on her arm and they both bolt through the door into what is very
clearly a bedroom.

James points his wand at the door, ready to charge at the first Death Eater chasing after them and
is only mildly surprised for a single second that no one seems to be chasing them when there’s a
flash of light, and then the ceiling is collapsing on them.

With a shout of panic, James dives headfirst under the bed, remembering to grab Emmeline’s shirt
and bring her with him at the last minute. Overhead, the bed groans and creaks under the weight of
debris and James—through coughing up a lung and a half from the dust—prays to Godric
Gryffindor, Merlin, and the Captain of the Holyhead Harpies that it’ll hold and not crush them.

The taste of dust and wood splinters coats the back of James mouth as it all settles. For a moment,
there’s silence and quiet and all he hears is the hammering of his own heart. Then, his brain kicks
back into gear and he’s scrambling, trying evaluate their options. If the Death Eaters think they’re
dead, they could do an emergency apparition away.

“Em?” he whispers as quietly as possible.

When there’s no response, James turns to check on Emmeline. She looks pale, way too pale, and
there are tears streaming down her face, leaving track marks over her dust-covered cheeks.
Alarmed, James scrambles closer.

“What’s wrong?”

“My leg,” Emmeline chokes.

It takes an agonising second for James to realise that not all of Emmeline made it under the bed on
time. Her right leg was partially exposed and it’s now… it’s…

“Fuck,” James breathes out.

“How bad is it?” Emmeline asks him. “I can’t see it.”

“Don’t look,” James warns her. “It’s very bad, Em. Don’t look at it. If you panic, we won’t make it
out of here.”

Emmeline sets her chin and nods. “Can you fix it enough to get out? It hurts too much. I can’t
move.”

Her leg is half-crushed under a slab of ceiling. And if that was the worst of it, James would
perhaps hold out some hope. But there’s a metal rod through her leg, just below the knee,
effectively impaling it. Side to side. It’s gruesome, and the only reason James hasn’t thrown up yet
is that he’s in shock.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” James mutters, hands shaking as he fumbles around for his
wand. He finds it and holds it, trying to think. “Healers. They’ll know what to do. We… hospital.
Yes.”

Across the room, on the other side of the wall, they hear noises. Scrapping noises. People moving
debris noises. James’ gut swoops down, like he’s on free fall, and he has to bite his own tongue
until he tastes blood to keep himself from panicking.

“Shit,” Emmeline says. They lock eyes, and then hers harden and she says, “Leave me. James, get
out of here. You need to go.”

“No way,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not leaving you. They’ll get you. Kill you or worse.”

Emmeline holds his gaze, her lower lip wobbling a little. “Then you do it. Please. Don’t let them
torture me. Kill me and run. I deserve a clean, painless death. Please, James.”

James recoils, horrified. “Absolutely not,” he says, eyes bouncing all over as though a solution will
present itself for him. “I can’t kill you, Em. Don’t even.”

“James,” she says firmly. “Either I die alone or we both do. They’re coming and I can’t move.
We’re done for. My leg’s too fucked up. I can’t even crawl from under the bed.”

She is, of course, right. But James has never left anyone behind and he’s not going to start now.
But what does he do? Emmeline’s leg is trapped. He’ll never—oh. Oh fuck.

“I’ve an idea,” James whispers, gripping his wand tightly. Sweat runs down his back in rivulets,
and his stomach is contracting with nausea, but he’s not going to leave her behind. “Do you want to
live?”
“Of course, I do,” Em says, eyes wide. “I don’t want to die James, but I don’t want to be tortured.”

"I can... fuck," James swears. "Em, how badly do you want to live?"

"What are you asking?"

“I can get you out,” James whispers, voice trembling. “I will get you out of here. But your leg... I
can't save your leg.”

“Okay,” she whispers back, tears falling over her cheeks. “Okay. Yes. Whatever it takes. What are
you—how?”

“I’m so sorry,” James says, pinching his eyes closed.

“What are you sorry—” Emmeline falls unconscious as soon as James’ spell hits her, and then he’s
alone. Half under the bed, half hovering near Emmeline’s leg. Now or never. He tells himself that
she’ll understand. She gave him permission and this is awful, but it's the only way to save her.
Emmeline will be alright. She’ll be alive and that’s what matters. It’s their only way out. James
gulps.

He doesn’t want to do this. Really doesn’t. But he can hear the Death Eaters digging their way
through the rubble. They’re out of time. And he hopes against all hope that Emmeline truly prefers
this to death. That she didn't say yes in a haze of panic. He's got no time to hesitate anymore. He's
got to do it.

With a careful swipe of his wand, James cuts the trapped part of Emmeline’s leg off, choking back
a sob as he does. Then, she’s free and he’s dragging her body over the debris, through the wall that
crumbled, and onto the back garden of the house. Throwing Emmeline’s body over his shoulder,
James apparates away as many times as he’s able before finally making it to St. Mungo’s and
collapsing right by the door, to the cries of alarm of visitors and hospital staff alike.

****

James has been here before.

On a hospital bed, waking up to find Sirius hovering, eyes tight with worry and bruised with lack of
sleep. Behind him, also hovering, is James’ mother. There’s a gash over her eyebrow that wasn’t
there last time he saw her. Yesterday? The day before?

“What day is it?” James croaks. His mouth is dry and dusty. He can taste the house crumbling on
his tongue.

“James!” Sirius breathes out. Relief and anguish mingled in that one word. Then, he’s practically
climbing the bed and clinging to him for dear life. “Oh. Fuck. James.”

“Hey,” James says, tugging Sirius closer until they’re kind of cuddling on the hospital bed. “I’m
alright. I’m okay.”

“You very nearly weren’t,” Effie says, swallowing hard. “How did you escape?”

There’s something in her voice that gives James pause. He’s afraid to ask, but he does anyway,
because not knowing won’t make it not true. “Who else?”

And he knows from the tightening of her mouth that his guess is correct. Other people were
targeted, too. Some didn’t make it. James’ heart does a sort of half-lurch up then swoops down as
possibilities flit through his mind, like his body can’t decide how to react to the horrifying options
of death and destruction.

“Who?”

Sirius sighs against his shoulder, and whispers, “Arthur Weasley is here. He’s alive, but barely. We
don’t know if he’ll pull through. And,” Sirius swallows, “Frank. Frank’s gone. I’m sorry, James.”

“No,” James says, shaking his head. “No. No, that’s… that can’t be.”

There are tears in Effie’s eyes. “I’m sorry, James. I know you were friends.”

James isn’t listening. He can’t. His mind is full of Frank. Frank getting him on the Quidditch team
for the first time. Frank staying behind to check out something James wanted to show him, because
he valued his opinion about flying more than anyone’s. Frank telling James he’d met Alice. Frank
writing to James about Alice’s first meeting with Augusta. Frank inviting James and all his friends
to his wedding because why not? Because Frank loved people and he loved life and James was
lucky enough to get a bit of that.

Frank. His friend. His Captain.

There’s a choked sound in the back of his throat, and then James asks, “Alice?”

“She’s sedated,” Sirius says. “Frank died getting her out. She didn’t want to leave him behind. He
didn’t give her a choice. Turns out Alice is pregnant.”

“Oh fuck,” James whispers. “Fuck no. No.”

“I’m so sorry, darling,” Effie says in a pained tone.

He’s breaking inside. Crumbling like a pastry. Too much grief. It’s too heavy for James. He
doesn’t know how to hold it. What to do with it. It feels like he’s tearing at the seams, coming
undone on this hospital bed. Breaking, breaking, losing bits of himself with every name etched
onto his memory.

Mary. Fabian. Frank.

Sirius clears his throat. James looks at him, blinking through tears. Gently, Sirius says, “The good
news, because believe it or not we have some of those, too, Emmeline is going to live.”

“Oh, shit,” James breathes, accepting the glass of water from his mother. “How is she?”

“Well, she lost a leg,” Sirius says, grimacing. “But she’s alive. Sam is with her. She’s next door.”

It hits James, then. The memory.

He drops the glass of water, brings his hands over his mouth. “I’m going to be sick,” he gasps, then
he’s throwing up over the side of the bed where, by some miracle, someone left a metal bowl sort
of thing.

Sirius holds him through it. Effie vanishes the mess quickly when he’s done, then steps closer to
give him some of the potions on his bedside table. He tries to fight her off, but she’s his mum, and
he ends up doing what she tells him to do even though he’s nineteen and a soldier and he cut off
someone’s leg in the field to save their lives.

Shoving his mother out of the way, James vomits again. There isn’t much left for him to expel, but
he heaves for a bit until Effie puts a cool, damp cloth on his neck.

“You need to sleep,” Effie says, giving him a vial of potion. “Drink this, darling.”

“Mum, no—”

“She’s right,” Sirius insists. “And I’ll stay here, okay? I’ll stay here until you wake up again.”

James surrenders, because he’s not sure there’s anything else he can do. And he’s tired. And
hurting. And fucking sad.

The potion tastes like licking Pete’s boots, so James grimaces, then he turns to Sirius as he settles
onto the pillows. “Where did you go?”

Sirius smiles at him, bites his lower lip. “It’s a secret. But I snuck out to see Remus.”

“Pandora said Regulus was in danger,” James remembers, blinking fast to keep himself awake
through the haze of the potion starting to take effect.

“He’s fine,” Sirius says. “He’s totally fine. Being a good little Death Eater and earning his place in
hell, I’m sure.”

James scowls. He wants to tell Sirius that’s not funny in the slightest, but the potion has taken hold
of him, and he’s dragged down, under, under, under. To the quiet. Where he sleeps and forgets and
doesn’t think about Frank, or Emmeline’s leg, or Fabian and Mary and the people they’ve lost this
year and the hurt that’s been burrowing in James’ chest for far too long.

####

People are still standing and milling about the foyer in Malfoy Manor when Regulus and Remus
arrive for the meeting that’s been called. While there’s nothing unusual about it, Regulus is slightly
on edge because he did destroy the locket a few hours ago.

His body is battered, and covered with bruises that look enough like finger and handprints to make
him feel sick every time he catches a glimpse of them. To add insult to injury, Regulus didn’t sleep
much because he didn’t dare take a potion to knock himself out. Not yet. He won’t be caught dead
being that vulnerable until he’s certain Riddle doesn’t suspect a thing.

Suffice to say, he’s not in a good mood.

Fortunately, having Remus with him today means most people give them a wide berth, so they’re
casually sipping some whiskey and left unbothered by everyone else.

“Is he always late?” Remus asks under his breath.

“Why? You’ve got somewhere you need to be?” Regulus replies, raising an eyebrow.

Rolling his eyes, Remus glances towards the far end of the foyer and the door disappearing to what
Regulus knows is an interior patio. “I want to smoke, that’s all.”

“You can’t,” Regulus replies. “Wait until the meeting is over.”

“Fucking hell,” Remus grunts. “This whole anti-muggle thing is a bit over the top, isn’t it? You’re
telling me none of these fuckers smoke?”

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” Regulus says, putting down his glass. The shadows skittering in the
corners—not many because it’s the middle of the day and rather bright outside—have suddenly
grown unsettled, which means Riddle has arrived. “Just not in public.”

Remus’ retort dies on his lips when Riddle walks into the foyer, forcing everyone to scramble to
make it to their seats in the adjacent room. Regulus, who had strategically positioned himself near
the door, is one of the first ones in, taking a seat without ungraceful antics. Remus does, too, much
further down the table. At the very end.

“We have excellent news today,” Riddle begins. On his right hand side, Bellatrix sniggers. “Last
night attacks were mostly successful. We have dealt Dumbledore’s side a powerful blow. Frank
Longbottom and Arthur Weasley are dead or getting there. We also severely wounded Emmeline
Vance and, most importantly, that flying nuisance, James Potter. Do we have news on their
status?”

Regulus’ eyes flick to Remus immediately, a warning. Don’t react. Don’t move. Don’t let him see
your weakness. Remus is sitting completely still, face drawn with tension. It’s a little obvious, but
at least he’s not breaking down.

Dolohov leans forward on the table, clears his throat, and says, “I’m afraid… My Lord. Our
informants have confirmed that the Potter boy and the Vance girl are in St. Mungo’s. They are
injured but will recover.”

Riddle nods, even as Bellatrix grimaces with frustration. At the edge of the table, Remus relaxes
upon hearing James is going to be fine. Regulus sends the shadows back to the corners from where
they’d started to gather heavily under the table, unnoticed by its occupants.

“What’s our next move, my Lord?” asks Yaxley.

“The Ministry,” Riddle says. “We have sufficiently debilitated all its pillars. We control the press.
We control potion ingredients supplies. We control the floo networks and have tracking capabilities
in place for apparitions. There are only two power elements remaining. The Ministry itself, as a
symbol of government, and Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts?” Dolohov asks.

Riddle ignores him, which makes Dolohov shrink back into his seat to listen to the continued
explanation of their leader. “We’re moving to take the Ministry first. Completely. We’ll remove
the current Minister and I’ll take full control of Wizarding England. Then, we’ll take over the
school. It’s about time we had an educational reform.”

“My Lord,” Lucius says cautiously. “We should perhaps consider eliminating Dumbledore before
moving to place you as head of our government. There are rumours in the Ministry that if
something were to happen to Minchum, Dumbledore will be automatically named Minister in the
interim.”

Bellatrix lets out a hissing sound that reminds Regulus of snakes. Cold and slithering and
unpleasant to touch. Riddle looks at Lucius, brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“What will it take?” Riddle asks.

Lucius clears his throat. “About half the Ministry is already on your side, my Lord. But the other
half are either fearful and on the fence, or vocal about their support for Dumbledore. I don’t see
how they could be swayed while he’s still alive.”

“Could we take Hogwarts?” someone further down the table asks.

Riddle tilts his head, taps his long, crooked fingers on the dark, polished wood of the long
mahogany table. “No. We must take the Ministry first.”

“But—”

“Our Lord is right,” Regulus intervenes, speaking for the first time. “If we attack the school, we
risk the public rallying. Nothing pushes people out of fear-induced complacency faster than a threat
to their children. We cannot openly attack the school without risking losing influence everywhere
else.”

“The Ministry, then,” Lucius says quickly, siding with Regulus as per usual. “It’ll take some time
to prepare an attack with solid chances of success, but it can be done. Regulus, we’ll need to
discuss some form of gaseous incapacitation and antidotes.”

“Of course,” Regulus replies swiftly. “Severus and I have been experimenting with various
ingredients. We can have a separate meeting to discuss.”

“Certainly,” Severus adds from further down the table, too. He’s recently started to get himself
invited and Regulus can tell he’s enormously pleased by this. “With your permission, Regulus, I’d
like to invite Lucius to Black Manor so we can demonstrate.”

Riddle nods at this exchange, seemingly pleased by the collaboration. It is agreed that Lucius will
visit the potions lab in two days time to begin discussing the requirements for an attack on the
Ministry. Then, the conversation moves on to other tasks, including continuing to disrupt the
Order’s operations as much as possible and killing as many of their members as they can.

The longer the meeting goes on, the more Regulus becomes certain that Riddle doesn’t suspect
anything. There have been no lingering looks, no threats, no sense of danger. It seems as though
Riddle considered his torturing of Regulus and the taking away of his elf as enough corrective
measures for his perceived softness and is ready to let it go in favour of keeping his most skilled
potioner and strategist around.

To keep up the pretence that Regulus has no idea what Riddle has been up to, he lingers once the
meeting is adjourned. Riddle notices, and gestures for him to approach. Remus loiters by the door,
waiting for him.

“My Lord,” Regulus says, bowing reverently. “I was just wondering when I could expect my house
elf to return? My mother is not used to brewing her own tea. She’s in a state over Kreacher.”

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid you’ll have to procure a new one,” Riddle replies casually. “Your elf served
me very well, but unfortunately he won’t be coming back to you.”

Regulus allows his eyes to widen in surprise, and schools his face into something akin to
annoyance. The most authentic response he can muster to sell his surprise. “Oh. I see. I am pleased
Kreacher served you well, my Lord.”

“Good,” Riddle says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a private meeting in a few minutes. Give me
the room.”

Stiffly, because it would be rather strange if Regulus wasn’t at least a little bit annoyed at having to
replace a valuable servant, he makes his way towards the door to collect Remus on his way out.

And it would have all been fine. He would have kept the ruse and continued to fool Tom Riddle—
the Dark Lord—had the door not opened that very moment to let in the last person Regulus ever
thought he’d see in Malfoy Manor.
Peter Pettigrew, who was clearly not expecting to run into anyone, stops dead in his tracks and
stares at Regulus with so much fear it would be comical if not for the icy cold awareness coiling in
Regulus’ spine. This is the spy. This is who told Riddle about his ‘too soft’ treatment of Sam
McKinnon. This guy is the reason Regulus was tortured. The reason he almost drowned in a cave
and he's been exposed to Sirius.

This guy's head is the one that's going in a box.

A choked sound escapes Remus. It catches Pettigrew’s attention, and he glances over at him. Their
eyes collide, and Regulus understands in that moment that their gig is up. It’s in the terror in
Pettigrew’s face. In the shake of his hands.

Pettigrew will sell Remus out to save his own skin without hesitation. And in doing so, he’ll
jeopardize everything Regulus has worked for.

“Pettigrew,” Regulus says, cold and threatening.

“You know each other?” Riddle asks, coming closer.

Regulus flashes Pettigrew a smile that’s got way too much teeth. “Hardly. I just know his name
from school. He was always following Sirius and the Potter kid around.”

Riddle cocks his head. “Is that so? I believe Peter’s words were ‘closest of friends’ with Sirius
Black and James Potter when he came to offer his services.”

Pettigrew squeals a little bit, eyes darting from Regulus, to Riddle, to Remus. “My—My Lord,” he
stutters in fear. “Black wouldn’t know the extent of my relationship with them.”

“Hmm,” Riddle says, narrowing his eyes and taking out his wand with his claw-like fingers.
“Perhaps you exaggerated it? You were cornered. Caught by one of my men and on the brink of
death. If you lied to me about how much you know, Pettigrew, you’ll pay in blood.”

“No, my-my Lord,” Pettigrew whispers. “My information is good. I have—I can tell you...”

Riddle lifts a hand. Then, he gestures towards the door. “Regulus, leave me to deal with this. I
expect to hear a good progress report from you and Lucius on those potions by next week. You’re
dismissed.”

Satisfied that he’s done what he could to undermine Pettigrew in front of Riddle for now, Regulus
slips out with Remus close behind him. They’re through the foyer and out of Malfoy Manor so fast
no one has a chance to stop him or try to talk to him, which is just as well. Regulus' mind is busy
working damage control. Plans are unfolding in his brain. Things he needs to do, steps he neesd to
take.

“Barty,” he bellows, striding down the corridors of Black Manor not five minutes later.

The door to a room adjacent to where Evan is resting opens and Barty pokes his head out. He takes
one look at Regulus and straightens. “What’s wrong?”

“Be ready to move Evan out in ten minutes,” Regulus says, throwing open the door to the make-
shift infirmary. “This isn’t safe anymore. We’re compromised.”

“What happened?” Barty asks while simultaneously rummaging around his room quickly to pack
his essentials.
“Peter fucking Pettigrew happened,” Remus snarls, joining them. He’s got a cigarette hanging from
his lips and looks the picture of murder. “Fucking rat. I cannot… he was one of us. Oh, shit. I’m
done for.”

“Yes, you are,” Regulus confirms, using his wand to pack the medical stuff they’ve been giving
Evan in an attempt at waking him up from his coma. “Pettigrew will tell Riddle Sirius isn’t a
homophobic asshole, and that he’s actually your boyfriend. Your whole act is up, and so is mine
for having covered for you. Are you certain the packs will remain loyal to you?”

“Completely,” Remus says with confidence. “We have a protocol for this. None of the wolves are
stupid enough to think Voldemort actually cares. They follow him for the promise of better
conditions, but they know those are flimsy. I’m their alpha and I’ve told them what we’re
planning. The reward if they stick with me. They’ll do what I say.”

“Get them to disperse. They’re to lay low until you call on them,” Regulus instructs. “Then, head to
Grimmauld Place. We’ll set up base there. It’s as fortified as it’s going to get, and I changed the
wards earlier today. Riddle isn’t keyed into them anymore, neither are any Death Eaters. You and
Barty are, so you can come and go, but I suggest you don’t go anywhere until I say so.”

“Is that where I’m taking Evan?” Barty asks, slinging a bag over his shoulders.

Regulus nods, closing the trunk and vanishing it with a swish of his wand. “Yes. My mother won’t
bother you, she’s locked in the attic.”

Remus’ eyebrows fly up. “She’s what?” Barty asks.

“Locked in the attic,” Regulus replies, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “She’ll beg for food if
you go near her door. Don’t give it to her. It’s… poetic justice, I like to call it.”

“You’re starving your mother?” Barty asks, blinking at him.

“Yes. We don’t have time for this,” Regulus insists brusquely. “Go to Grimmauld. Stay put. I’ll
follow shortly.”

Remus swears under his breath, puts out the cigarette in an ashtray. Barty runs a hand over his face,
then looks at Regulus. He’s pale and a bit shaky. “Are you sure you’re compromised? Pettigrew
doesn’t really know anything to implicate you, does he? You could be fine.”

“I don’t know yet,” Regulus replies. “You’re right that Pettigrew has no knowledge of anything
I’ve done since taking the mark. It’ll damage my reputation if he tells Riddle I’m gay, but that’s
hardly enough to prove I’m a traitor. But I did lie about Remus and Sirius, so… I don’t know.”

Remus kisses his teeth, shakes his head. There’s tension pulling at the corners of his eyes, turning
the amber in them a shade darker. More dangerous. Regulus likes Remus. He always has. He’s hot
and damaged and a good person to have in your corner.

Pettigrew has made a huge mistake in threatening Remus. A trapped beast will always fight the
hardest, and Remus isn’t one to mess around on a good day.

“Peter is, quite clearly, much more cunning than we gave him credit for,” Remus says, allowing
his hatred to seep into his words. “There’s no way of knowing what he’ll tell Riddle. He could turn
him against you.”

“If I run, he’ll know for certain I’ve been planning something and I can’t risk that until I’ve had
time to check on a few things,” Regulus replies, determined. He needs to find out if there are any
 more horcruxes. It’s the one missing piece of his puzzle and Regulus can’t make a move without it.

Waving his hand towards the door, he scoffs. “Stop wasting time. You need to get out of here and
take Evan with you.”

“It’s too dangerous for you to stay,” Barty says, anxiously.

Regulus looks at Barty. His first friend. The first person he chose. Loyal. Unhinged. A bit selfish
and definitely volatile. Good looking and cunning. Always has been. Regulus remembers once
wanting to kiss Barty. Remembers doing it, in a classroom in school because Barty needed it. He
doesn’t remember what it felt like. Was it nice? Did it make his heart beat faster? Or… beat at all?
Regulus doesn’t know. He looks at Barty now and understands this is someone he wants to protect,
and yet he can’t feel it.

Fortunately, Regulus doesn’t need emotions to plan things, or to see them through. Barty’s safety is
important, and that’s all there is to it.

“Go,” Regulus insists.

Barty makes a choked sound, steps closer. “Come with us now. Please. Reg, he’ll kill you.”

“He’ll try,” Regulus says wickedly.

Chapter End Notes

French translations:

"Sirius? Is that you?"

"Reggie? I'm here. You're okay. We are safe."
"I thought I was done for."

****

Okay!! Here we are! I told you the dominos were cascading, and they are cascading
hard. We're really speeding up towards the conclusion!

From the top - James had the worst night. The Worst. He was so anxious, and
confused, but also aware that he's being lied to by his own people he's not happy
about it. Not at all.

Dorcas losing it when Regulus contacted her in the cave then put the ring away? STOP
SHE BROKE DOWN SO THOROUGHLY

Pandora's powers acting up? Sending her on a wild goose chase trying to find Sirius?
BUT KREACHER BEAT HER TO IT!! What iconic behaviour. He really said 'Sirius
Black is a blood traitor and so he won't tell the Dark Lord he will save Regulus' -
Kreacher, my man, you were correct

SIRIUS' POV?! HELP He was ready to die for Reggie and I cannot with that. Like,
the way everything stopped mattering when he saw Reg being dragged by the inferi?
STOP IT I AM IN TEARS Also, note - I know according to canon the sword
technically appears inside the hat, but it is said that the sword will present itself to a
worthy Gryffindor in a time of need and I've ran with that so we'll take it

And then the Black brothers being little shits to each other and having half-
conversations that go nowhere because Reg is stubborn and worried about everyone's
safety? UGH Them sneaking into Hogwarts together? PLS I LOVE THEM

The scene with James and Emmeline was awful so I'm going to skip right over it. I'm
sorry.
James waking up in the hospital and Sirius lying to him again

FRANK I am so sorry. I love Frank. But this was an ambush and it was going to get
ugly

AND THEN THE END OF THE CHAPTER! Most people knew this was coming, and
yes it was. The gig is up. Peter is found out and he has seen Remus (if it's not clear,
Peter didn't know what had happened to Remus prior to running into him because
Voldy doesn't share info around. It's been said before that he keeps people in the dark
on purpose to avoid being betrayed).

DOMINOS CASCADING IN A LINE

I will update again on Saturday, I think, because I don't want to leave too much time
between chapters now that things are really snowballing so I'll do my best to find time
to publish this weekend

See you in the comments section friends

 How to save a life
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

I will once again please ask you to stare very fixedly at the Regulus lives tag, at the
Engame Jegulus, and at the happy ending tag. We're almost there, I promise you

Tws for this one:

Depictions of abduction / kidnapping
Depictions of violence (magical and non-magical)
Blood
Depictions of torture
Depictions of poisoning
Depictions of grief
References to past child abuse
References to force starvation
Discussions about past murders

I think that covers it, but as always let me know if I've missed anything

We have broken 100K hits? I AM SHOOKETH IN THE BEST WAY Thank you
so much for sticking with me for so long

Enjoy!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Up until the moment when Bellatrix Lestrange bursts into his room with an absolutely deranged
look in her eyes, James never stopped to contemplate whether hospitals are actually all that safe.

It’s the middle of the night, because James had to stay an extra one for observation and so that St.
Mungo’s could appoint him to see a mind healer to deal with the trauma of having to cut off
Emmeline’s leg to save her life.

Sirius isn’t here—he wanted to stay but Moody sent him on assignment claiming they’re stretched
too thin for him to have a holiday—and Effie is asleep on a chair in the corner. The hospital had
been quiet and dark. James had been dozing off, until he wasn’t.

Someone’s screaming in the corridor, and the lights are flickering. Flashes in various colours pour
in through the broken door Bellatrix has just destroyed on her way in. Loud, crashing sounds. The
sounds of battle. Death Eaters in the hospital is not something James thought they’d have to worry
about, because until that moment it’d been neutral territory. It seems Voldemort doesn’t care
anymore.

Bellatrix takes out her wand, striding into his room with determination. This is it, then. James
thinks he’s going to die. There’s no time for him to get his wand. He doesn’t even know where his
wand is. And the only thing he can think of is that he hopes his mother is spared. He won’t beg.
Won’t be undignified. Not for himself. But if it means saving Effie—
“What the fuck?” he yells when Bellatrix doesn’t immediately curse him but instead closes a hand
with long fingers and sharp nails around his forearm.

Effie’s awake now, wand in hand, but she’s too slow. She shouts, and aims, but it's too late. James
sees the stunning curse fly towards them, but it never lands because Bellatrix apparates right out of
his hospital room like that’s not supposed to be fucking impossible, tugging James along with her.

They land roughly. Bellatrix lets go of him like it burns her, muttering some curse or other under
her breath. James blinks and he's on the floor, on his hands and knees. There’s a carpet under his
fingers. Soft and velvety. Expensive. He tries to look up, but a boot connects with his ribs and he
grunts as he falls. It hurts.

“Stay down,” Bellatrix snarls.

At least he’s wearing his glasses, James thinks. Small mercies.

“Send a message to the Dark Lord,” Bellatrix says to someone James can’t see. “We’ve got the
Potter boy, as he requested.”

“I still don’t understand why he’s so bloody important,” someone replies. James thinks it might be
Dolohov, from the voice, but he’s not sure. “What makes the Lord think Dumbledore would try to
save this one?”

“He’s not bait for Dumbledore,” Bellatrix says, and the hissing scratch of her voice makes the
small hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Nothing is making sense to James. He knew he was a target, because him and his air force have
caused enough havoc for the Death Eaters to have noticed. They’ve tried to take him out several
times, once it became obvious he was never going to join them and they stopped trying to recruit
him.

But capturing him alive? As bait? For who? Sure, Sirius will tear the world down trying to get him
back—it’s what James would do if the roles were reversed—but why would they want to get back
at Sirius now? He's not important enough. Doesn't run the Order or have real influence. It’s just
odd. And if it’s not Sirius, James has no idea who would—

A small cramp-like feeling runs through his every muscle, making him curl on himself on that
carpet. It can’t be. Surely. No fucking way. It’s been a year. Even if they somehow found out about
him and Regulus, it’s old news by now. Regulus has been a loyal Death Eater for too long. Killed
too many people. He’s bloody engaged to that blond Fawley woman.

And yet.

I would burn down this entire castle if it meant keeping you safe.

James doesn’t dare think about it. Doesn’t dare entertain the idea that he might be bait for Regulus.
Because that would mean Regulus has done something to warrant needing to be baited and that—
that’s a train of thought that will get James nowhere.

No. This is something else. It has to be. And James isn’t going to just lie around and wait to see
what happens.

Without warning, he rolls on his back to get a sense of the space he’s in before he swings his body
forward and jumps to his feet in one smooth, swift motion. He’s wandless, which is a problem, but
he’s also fast and agile and just a tad desperate.
Bellatrix shrieks, shoots a curse his way but James is rolling again, dodging and coming to a stop
behind a tall coat pole that will have to do as a weapon. James lifts it off the ground and swings it
at Bellatrix, scattering coats and cloaks all over in the process.

She hisses, jumps back to avoid being hit by it, then attacks James again. The curse catches the top
part of the pole. It explodes in a cloud of dust and wooden splinters, making James wince. He
doesn’t drop it, though, swinging again as he advances. He catches Bellatrix’s shoulder, draws
blood with the jagged edge.

“How dare you!” she shouts, a bit manic as she retaliates.

James grunts as her hex hits his shoulder. Grinding his teeth through the pain, James attacks again
with his pole and he would have possibly impaled Bellatrix with it had he not been hit with a
stunning curse right in the middle of his back.

He never even heard his attacker coming.

####

It takes about eight hours for it all to go to shit.

Fortunately, Regulus can do a lot with eight hours.

The moment Barty, Evan and Remus are safely holed up in Grimmauld Place, Regulus sets about
to preparing for the very real possibility that Peter Pettigrew will plant enough doubt in Riddle’s
mind that he’ll come for Regulus. Which means he has limited time to make sure his research and
progress in destroying the horcruxes remains secret, and to call in some favours should things go
truly, terribly wrong.

Contacting Elspeth and instructing her to join Barty and the others in Grimmauld Place is easy
enough, and Regulus has no doubts that she’s smart and has no interest in putting herself at risk.
She’ll make it to Grimmauld on her own, in time. Regulus cannot afford for her to be a lose end.

Securing the Manor so it cannot be accessed once he’s out of it—should he need to leave it—takes
longer. The better part of the day. By the time he’s done with everything he wanted to set up, it’s
almost mid-afternoon. And just as he’s leaving Severus in the potions lab with a clear set of
instructions for what to do should things go wrong, the mark on his arm begins to burn, alerting
Regulus that he’s expected.

Glancing quickly at Severus, Regulus catches him looking at his arm. “You too?”

Severus nods, mouth drawn. “Lestrange Castle.”

“Well, then. Let’s not keep the Dark Lord waiting,” Regulus replies confidently, despite the
trepidation building in the back of his mouth. “Shall we?”

He apparates away, and lands on the steps of Lestrange Castle just as the familiar tingle of
awareness from his connection to Dorcas raises in the back of his mind. Regulus takes a moment to
adjust his clothing, pretending he’s concerned with the creases on the lapels of his black shirt, and
sends her a mental ping.

“Of all the times I’ve said I can’t talk, this is the one I really need you to heed me,” Regulus thinks
quickly. “There’s—”

“They’ve taken James.”

Regulus feels his entire body go rigid. It’s a strange sensation. He can’t… remember it. He’s lost
the ability to recall what it feels like to care. To love. But it seems as though his body hasn't. It
remembers what Regulus' soul cannot. His blood has left his face, and there’s a clanking sound in
the cage of bones in his chest like the shards of his heart are throwing themselves against it
violently.

He may not be able to recall the emotion behind it or feel any of it right now, but keeping James
safe has been a tenet of Regulus' life for the past year. Longer.

And now Riddle has taken James.

“Dorcas,” Regulus thinks roughly. “Find Sirius. Don’t let him do anything stupid. Tell him you
spoke to me. Can you get to Grimmauld Place within an hour?”

“Isn’t Walburga there?”

“Remus is there. So is Barty,” Regulus tells her. “You can tell them you’ve been helping me. The
time for secrecy is over. Tell Sirius I said to meet there.”

“What are you going to do?” Dorcas asks.

“I’ll meet you in Grimmauld shortly. First, I need one last piece of the puzzle. Oh, do you have
anyone you trust to brew a potion to bring someone back from the brink of death?”

“REGULUS?!”

“Do you or do you not?”

“I do.”

“Bring them to Grimmauld, too,” Regulus says. “And Dorcas. Once you walk into my house, you
can’t leave until we’ve finished this. And it's going to be dangerous. Make sure they know it.”

As he climbs the steps to the gates of Lestrange Castle, Regulus calls forward his Legacy magic.
His veins darken. The shadow swirl at his feet. Severus blinks twice, looks at his hands. Regulus
looks at him, challenging him to say anything.

Wisely, Severus simply nods and pushes open the door. “After you, Lord Black.”

The scene that greets Regulus when he walks into the receiving foyer of Lestrange Castle makes
him raise an eyebrow. Clearly, James put up a fight, apparently with a mangled coat rack that’s
been left precariously balanced against the wall. Stepping over discarded coats and cloaks, Regulus
and Severus make their way to the drawing room.

Inside, Pettigrew is shaking in a corner—disgraceful coward that he is—and Bellatrix is standing

over an unconscious James with Riddle. Keeping his face completely neutral, Regulus looks
around, then meets Riddle’s eyes head on.

“My Lord, you called,” he drawls.

Riddle’s gaze flicks over to where Pettigrew is quite literally quacking in his boots. “Regulus. I
have been informed there are some irregularities with the tale Remus Lupin regaled us with.
Enough to raise suspicions.”

“Lupin has gone to ground,” Regulus replies swiftly. “The moment he saw Pettigrew he bailed.”
“Interesting,” Riddle says, nodding. “His debt?”

“If he tries to fight against us, he’ll die,” Regulus replies. “He has no choice but to be loyal. If he’s
smart, he’ll stay in hiding for a while.”

“Does he have information that might jeopardise our operations?” Riddle asks.

“No, my Lord,” Regulus responds. “He’s a half-breed mutt. Muscles, not brains. I didn’t share
anything with him, and he wasn’t smart enough to ask.”

Pettigrew’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t dare say anything. Regulus almost wishes he did. Any
excuse to kill him, and Regulus will take it. If not now, then soon. Pettigrew’s days are numbered,
and Regulus’ list is one name longer.

Riddle nods, turns to look at Bellatrix who immediately straightens and smiles at him adoringly.
“We’ll need a new alpha. Bellatrix, I want a target on Lupin’s back. Whoever brings me his head
will be handsomely rewarded. Spread the word or find him yourself if you want some sport. But I
want him dead within the week.”

“It’ll be my pleasure, my Lord,” Bellatrix hisses, hanging on the s in pleasure uncomfortably. “And
I’ll deliver it with my traitor cousin’s head, too.”

“Yes,” Riddle says, turning to Regulus again. “That is also concerning. You see, Regulus, Peter
here has some claims… about your character.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow. He still hasn’t looked directly at James. He can't. If he does, he'll snap.
“Does he now?”

Pettigrew squeaks. Riddle ignores him. “He claimed you’d do anything to keep this one,” Riddle
nudges James with his boot. “Alive. Why is that, Regulus?”

“He’s more valuable alive than he is dead,” Regulus replies swiftly. “Fleamont and Euphemia
Potter are two key players in Dumbledore’s organisation, not to mention Fleamont single handedly
controls the part of the Wizengamot Lucius hasn’t managed to bring into the fold yet. James is
their only child, and it’s common knowledge it was very hard for them to conceive. You want the
Ministry? You bargain with them for James.”

“Interesting theory,” Riddle says, pursing his lips.

Bellatrix snarls, “We don’t run a prisoner exchange program.”

“You’ll get to kill Sirius,” Regulus adds. “He’ll give himself up for Potter. He is, with the
exception of Moody or Dumbledore himself, the most valuable prisoner you could have captured.
Killing him would be all kinds of stupid. Are you stupid, Bella?”

“I think the rat is right and you care about this boy,” Bellatrix replies, smirking at him as she takes
out her wand.

“The rat is just a rat,” Regulus says.

“Whose information has been helpful before,” Riddle says. “Tell me, Regulus, why would Peter
here make these claims if they aren’t true? Seems to elaborate a lie for him to have made it up,
doesn’t it?”

Bellatrix sniggers, then says, “Easy to check. Let’s wake the boy up.”
James groans when he comes to. At first, it’s clear he doesn’t know what’s going on. Doesn’t
remember, perhaps. He blinks, rubs a hand over his eye under his glasses, crooked and cracked on
one side. He’s in a hospital-issued gown, which is possibly the most undignified Regulus has ever
seen James.

It’s pitiful, and insulting, and if Regulus could feel emotions he’d be brimming with fury. James
deserves better than this. As it is, he’s harbouring very vivid, very detailed fantasies of the ways in
which he’s going to kill Bellatrix and Peter Pettigrew.

Because he’s watching—no point in looking away anymore, he supposes—Regulus sees the
moment James realises he’s in the presence of Riddle. With a shuddering breath, James goes still,
then his eyes narrow.

“What an honour,” he drawls, voice raspy with the dregs of unconsciousness. “Voldemort himself.
I thought you’d be taller.”

“You’ll show respect!” Bellatrix shouts. She backhands James across the face, then points her
wand at him, “Crucio!”

The sound of James’ screams grates against Regulus’ ears like claws raking down a chalkboard.
Regulus’ teeth grind hard enough for his jaw to ache, fists clenching until his knuckles are
translucent.

“Bellatrix,” Riddle says, waving a hand towards her. “Let me speak to him first.”

She eases up, and James collapses forward, panting, curled onto one side and dry heaving. He’s
sweating, and there are tears in the corners of his eyes, but he looks defiant as ever. Proud.
Beautiful, Regulus thinks. Even here, trapped and battered, James is the most beautiful thing
Regulus has ever seen.

“You can fuck right off,” James says when he finds his voice again. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Riddle smiles even though James is not looking at him so he can’t see it. “I have one question,
really,” he drawls. “Answer it and I might consider sparing your life.”

James scoffs, but there’s silence for a beat.

And then, “I’m inclined towards killing Lord Black here. What do you think about that?”

Regulus doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. But James? James was never one to have a poker face. He
wears his heart on his sleeve and shows every emotion he’s ever had on those hazel eyes of his.
There’s a sharp intake of breath, and he looks up at Regulus. The terror there is so plain, Regulus
knows he’s done for.

“Interesting,” Riddle says, even though James hasn’t spoken a word. “I wonder what else you’ve
lied to me about, Regulus.”

“Not mentioning a tryst I had in school with another student hardly counts as betrayal, my Lord,”
Regulus replies, holding his gaze. “Just because I didn’t tell you about my bed partner preferences
doesn’t mean I’m disloyal.”

There’s a moment when Regulus fleetingly wonders if he can pull this off. If he can fool Riddle
one more time. And he would, he knows. Riddle wants to believe Regulus. His most promising
servant. The powerful Lord Black. Riddle will overlook him sleeping with men, and being a bit too
soft on Sam McKinnon, because he wants Regulus by his side.
If it were anyone other than James on his carpet, Regulus could have fooled Riddle again. But it’s
not. It’s James, and so when Riddle speaks again, Regulus knows his ruse is over.

“Very well. Kill him, then. Prove yourself, Regulus, and it’ll all be forgotten. I don’t care who you
sleep with, so. Go on. Kill James Potter for me,” Riddle drawls, hungry and eager.

Kill James Potter for me.

Regulus has reached the final gambit. The last hurrah. There’s one horcrux left he knows of for
sure, and there’s only one way for him to confirm if any more exist. Right now, the only two things
that matter are keeping James alive and ensuring Riddle doesn’t know Regulus knows about his
secret. The rest Regulus can give up. He can pivot and adapt and re-plan and find another way.

For James.

“No, I don’t think so,” Regulus says calmly. “I will not be killing James.”

“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear,” Riddle says. “You either kill him, or I kill you.”

“No,” James gasps before Bellatrix kicks him in the ribs. He coughs, looks up at Regulus from the
floor. “Regulus.”

There’s a reason the monsters in his head are scared of James. He looks at Regulus like he’s worth
dying for. And isn’t that grand? Regulus doesn’t feel the warmth, or the other things he’s certain
anyone else would be feeling in this moment. But he can appreciate the significance of it all.
There’s beauty in how valiantly James loves Regulus. After all this time. Even here. Even now.

“Then, so be it,” Regulus replies, looking at Riddle. If he dies here tonight, Dorcas will find the
box. He has to trust they'll finish what he started because he's not willing to sacrifice James. Not for
anything. Not even to get his revenge or to end the war. “His life for mine. Swear it.”

Riddle laughs, and Bellatrix follows suit quickly. Regulus stares at them, unfazed. Waits for them
to stop being hysterical. He doesn’t look at James, who’s shaking on the floor, muttering under his
breath. Doesn’t look at Snape, standing behind him ready to take his place as head potioner for the
Death Eaters.

“You’re not in any place to bargain, boy,” Riddle says. “What’s stopping me from killing you both
and being done with it?”

“If I die, everything I own goes to Sirius,” Regulus tells Riddle, a slow, wicked smile on his lips.
“If I die tonight, with no heir, the line of Black answers to Sirius Black. The Manor. My house. It’s
all gone. All belongs to him. Do you really have the time to set up a new potions lab elsewhere?
That would set you back… three months? Four? In that time, Dumbledore’s army will rally for
having made James Potter a martyr. Is that a risk you want to take, my Lord?”

It's quite satisfying to watch his words land. Hit the mark. Yes, Riddle can rebuild but does he want
to? The Dark Lord hates delays and incompetence. And all Regulus is asking in return is for him to
keep James alive. It costs him nothing, really.

“You’ll transfer the line to Bellatrix,” Riddle says, eyes narrowing. “If I swear to keep James
alive.”

“No,” Regulus replies firmly. “Bellatrix is a madwoman. I don’t want her near what’s rightfully
mine. I’ll transfer it to Severus. If I die, he’ll retain control of Black Manor. It’ll be his.”
“Severus?” Bellatrix shrieks. “What’s that little half-blood done for you?”

“I respect competence,” Regulus says. “Severus has worked with me in that lab for a year. If
anyone should own it, it’s him. That’s my deal. My life for James’ and Severus gets to keep the
Manor when I die.”

“This is preposterous!” Bellatrix is shouting, pacing around like a caged animal.

Regulus pays her no mind. His eyes are on Riddle. It’s his call. His decision. And it takes him only
a second to make it. “Very well. James Potter will live. I will spare him.”

“If he dies, the contract is null and Severus loses everything,” Regulus says firmly.

“As you wish,” Riddle replies. Bellatrix is protesting, but nobody is paying her any mind. Regulus
squares his shoulders, ready to meet his maker. But then, Riddle smiles wickedly and says, “I
think, given the circumstances, it’s fitting that it be Severus who kills you. Another test, if you
will. To make sure this little friendship of yours isn't going to cause me problems. Severus, if you
please.”

“Seal the deal,” Regulus insists, stretching his hand out. "It'd be null otherwise."

Riddle sniffs, but he reaches forward. Regulus has to bite back a swell of nausea at touching
Riddle's hand, but he does. He holds. Endures it as Riddle closes his fingers around Regulus'. It’s a
second, perhaps less. It’s all Regulus needs.

“I’m ready,” Regulus says, straightening his back.

“No!” James shouts, scrambling forward to launch himself at Regulus. Nobody was really
expecting it, so James does make it, and then they’re on the floor. The breath punches out of
Regulus’ lungs as the weight of James falls on him, his face hovering close, right above Regulus’.
“I can’t let you kill yourself for me.”

Bellatrix is already on James, wrenching him away, but Regulus meets his eye and whispers,
“Horrible things.”

The sound that escapes James is primal. It’s broken. It’s instinct and pain and the memory of a
night when Regulus vowed to do unspeakable things to save his life if it came to that.

And here they are.

James fights with the strength of a hundred men. He breaks Bellatrix’s nose with an elbow. As her
grip on him loosens, James lunges forward again before she hits him with a petrifying curse. And
then James’ eyes are desperate, because he can’t move, but he’s pleading anyway.

Don’t do this, his eyes say. Don’t go where I can’t follow.

“Severus,” Regulus calls lazily, like he’s not addressing his executioner by name. “Get on with it,
will you?”

“It seems quite fitting to me,” Severus says, taking out a vial from a pocket. “To kill a poisoner
with poison.”

“Test it first,” Riddle instructs. “I want no mistakes. How do I know this poison is effective?”

Severus raises an eyebrow and calls for one of the lackeys that are always milling about in the halls
of Lestrange Castle. The unsuspecting man comes in, unperturbed by James on the floor,
Bellatrix’s boot on his back, and Riddle watching Severus as he tips a bit of the vial into the man’s
mouth.

He’s dead within two minutes.

“Excellent,” Riddle says. “Proceed.”

Regulus looks at James only once. He can’t remember what it felt like to love him, but he knows
he did. He knows James made Regulus happy. Knows he felt like the sun, whatever that means.
Regulus nods, tilts his head back, and lets Severus pour the poison down his throat.

It takes two minutes for Regulus’ body to hit the floor.

####

James screams.

No.

No.

No.

Regulus can’t be dead. The body on the carpet in front of him cannot be Regulus. Because Regulus
is sharp angles and beautiful lines. Green eyes that can pierce through a soul and raven black curls
that are so soft they could be made of silk.

Regulus Black is cold except when James is touching him, and kisses like he can speak through the
way his lips slant and his tongue curls on yours. Regulus is a star. Bright and beautiful. He’s the
beating heart of a lion. He's a thief of heartbeats. The keeper of all of James'. He’s soft smiles and
few words. Big gestures and quiet gentleness. He’s clever and well spoken. A boy on a roof,
moonlight breaking on his head casting him in silver. He’s graceful and elegant, a cat. The best
Seeker Hogwarts has had in years, and Sirius’ little brother, and the love of James’ life.

And the body on the carpet, empty, lifeless, unmoving, is not that.

James is cold. There’s a sort of buzzing sound in his ears. The back of his throat hurts because he’s
screaming but not really because he’s still petrified so no sound is escaping him. He’s trapped in
his head and Regulus is…

Regulus—

The thought won’t coalesce. It won’t form, not fully. Because James can’t deal with it. He can’t, so
he won’t. Regulus is okay. He’ll get up and it’ll all be a bad joke and then he’ll do something
absurd like burn down Lestrange Castle and rescue James.

Perhaps they’ll kiss, and Regulus will stab him again. He’ll take it. A million blades if it means
Regulus is on his feet.

James squeezes his eyes shut. The only part of him he can move. He feels like he’s caving in on
himself. Disintegrating. Breaking down to pieces so small he’ll seep into the carpet and become
one with this velvet where Regulus is resting, too.

That’s all it is. Resting. Regulus is resting.

Resting.

Suddenly, James is back in the Come and Go Room. Regulus is sleeping on his chest, fitfully,
because he always had nightmares, but he’s sleeping and James is holding him, and James thinks
he’s found peak happiness.

“James,” Regulus says, voice thick.

He’s still smiling, and he looks young and beautiful. Happy. So fucking elated. Like he cannot
believe James could ever love him. And isn’t that the most ridiculous thing? Because how could
James not?

“Regulus,” he replies. “I—”

But Regulus’ fingers press against his lips, and a sort of terrified look crosses his eyes.

“Don’t say it,” he whispers. “I will ruin it.”

And James hesitates, because he knows Regulus isn’t ready to say it back. It’s okay. James knows.
He knows that Regulus loves him. He told him in his own way.

“You don’t have to say it back,” James mutters against his fingers. “I know. You’ve shown me. So,
it’s okay to not say it back. But I… I’d like you to hear it.”

Slowly, carefully, Regulus drops his hand, eyes intent and fixed on James like he can’t believe this
is happening.

“Regulus, I love you,” James says softly.

If it weren’t for the curse, James is certain he could have clawed his own ribcage out of himself by
now. Anything to make it stop. The agony. The memories, flooding his brain like a current.
Regulus kissing him. Regulus smiling. Regulus. Just Regulus.

Always Regulus.

“Get rid of that,” Riddle says. James hears him like he’s underwater. “And put this one somewhere
he doesn’t cause problems.”

“It’ll take him to Black Manor, my Lord,” Snivellius says.

It snaps something inside of James. Some piece that has been dormant. A dark piece. The piece
that’s angry. And it helps. It’s always easier to feel anger than despair and pain and sadness.

Snivellius. He killed—he. He did this. James couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t move. And Snivellius
killed Regulus.

Oh.

No.

No.

No.

Please, no. Make it stop. James wants to bang his head against the floor and pass out. He wants to
be unconscious, so he doesn’t have to feel it. The pain. It’s too much. He’s dying. Sure as dawn
brings the sunrise, James must be dying from this because he was just tortured and it didn’t hurt
half as much as what he’s feeling now.

Regulus is dead.

Regulus is dead.

James loves him and he’s dead.

Someone levitates his body. Then James’. And he’s floating. Unable to move still, and floating
next to Regulus. James pinches his eyes closed, then opens them again. He wants every second he
can get. But this isn’t Regulus. It can’t be Regulus. Where’s his grace? His haughtiness? The mean
air that clings to him like the rest of the world ought to apologise to him for existing in his orbit?

Regulus is dead.

Regulus is dead.

And James Potter will never know joy again.

####

Interlude: Dorcas’ POV

Dorcas, Sirius and Marlene barely fit under the invisibility cloak—because apparently James has
one—but they won’t risk being seen until they've confirmed this is safe for them. Marlene is short
anyway, which helps. They’re standing on the steps of Grimmauld Place, wands drawn and ready.
Sirius was the one to knock on the door.

Now, they’re waiting.

Dorcas’ heart is hammering. It has been since Regulus contacted her. James is missing, and Dorcas
isn’t sure what that means. She’s worried for her friend, and concerned for how Regulus is going to
retaliate. She wouldn’t be surprised if he razed all of London to get James back. This is a disaster.

All the sacrifices Regulus made just so that James would be safe and he got caught anyway. It
makes Dorcas want to kill someone.

“Do you think no one is here?” Marlene whispers.

She hasn’t asked Dorcas any of the important questions yet. Dorcas doesn’t deserve her, but fuck if
she’s not grateful that Marlene is in her corner. All Dorcas had to do was ask Marlene to trust her
and promise to explain when they had a quiet moment, and Marlene simply nodded, grabbed her
wand, and asked where to.

“I’m pretty sure that Barty and Re—” Dorcas falls silent as the door creaks open.

The three of them hold their breath, and then Dorcas steps out from under the cloak and meets
Barty Crouch. His blue eyes widen, then he looks over his shoulder and says, “It’s Dorcas.”

Remus’ voice floats through, sure and steady, “Let her in, quickly.”

Before Dorcas has time to say anything, Sirius has launched himself out from under the cloak, past
the door, almost knocking Barty over in the process, and into the house. By the time Dorcas and
Marlene both step in and close the door behind them, Sirius is Remus’ arms and quietly breaking
down.
Dorcas found Sirius at the hospital with Effie and Fleamont who were threatening Moody with
everything they had if he continued to refuse attempting to rescue James. To no one’s surprise,
Moody held fast. He likes James as much as the next person, but they can’t make exceptions.

Surprisingly, the moment Sirius saw Dorcas and the way she was looking at him, he excused
himself and locked them in a supply closet. Dorcas didn’t even have to explain that she’d been in
contact with Regulus the entire time. Sirius knew. Somehow, Sirius knew. And he was very quick
to agree to coming to Grimmauld, if that was what Regulus had said to do in order to prepare to
rescue James.

Bewildered, Barty stares at the scene for a moment before looking at Dorcas for help. “What the
hell is going on?”

“James has been taken,” Dorcas says sombrely. “Regulus told me to come here. He’s on his way.”

“James what?” Remus asks, voice breaking. He holds Sirius tighter, like he understands now why
he’s quietly crying against his boyfriend’s chest.

Seemingly deciding that his questions can wait, Remus curls forward like he can protect Sirius
from the rest of the world. “Hey. It’s okay. We’ll get him back,” Remus whispers against the
crown of Sirius’ head.

“How did you… why are you here?” Barty asks, running a hand over his hair. “I mean, I’m glad to
see you, Dorcas. But like how?”

Someone else is at the door, interrupting their little reunion. Barty scowls, takes out his wand.
Dorcas shakes her head. “We should set up in the kitchen. Marls, can you make some tea? There’s
a few people coming.”

“Who’s coming?” Barty asks.

Remus is coaxing Sirius towards the kitchen, Marlene at their heels. Dorcas sets her shoulders and
heads for the door, opening it to admit Lily. She hurries inside, and Dorcas is about to shut the door
behind her when a blond woman Dorcas has never met apparates directly onto the top step, like she
knew exactly what she was doing.

“Who are you?” the blond woman asks, staring at Dorcas.

“Who are you?” she shoots back.

“That’s Regulus’ fiancée,” Barty says. Lily gasps in shock. “Let her in.”

“What is happening?” the fiancée asks, looking at Lily, then at Barty, then peering down the
corridor towards the kitchen where more voices can be heard. “Where is Regulus?”

“He’s on his way,” Dorcas replies. Sighing, she turns to Lily. “Did you—”

Crack.

Sam, Gideon, and Emmeline—with her brand new prothesis—apparate by the door, cutting off
Dorcas’ question. She knows Regulus isn’t going to be happy about this, but well.

Lily was visiting Emmeline when Dorcas went to find her, and the moment Emmeline heard, it
was a matter of time before Sam found out. How Gideon ended up here, Dorcas doesn’t know, but
she’s not going to fight it. James has been kidnapped and too many people care about him to let it
go. Dorcas trust Regulus with her life, but there’s no way he can rescue James all on his own. So,
she’s brought him the help before he has a chance to protest it. Regulus is going to get a hand from
all these people, whether he wants it or not.

“Get in, quick,” Dorcas says. Barty’s eyebrows are at his hairline. “Anyone else?”

“No,” Gideon says, closing the door behind him. “We didn’t think it was safe to tell anyone else.
Effie and Fleamont are kicking up a fuss. That’ll keep Moody busy for a while. What’s the plan?”

“Who the fuck is this?” Barty asks. “What in Salazar’s name is happening, Dorcas? Regulus is
going to murder you for invading his home like this.”

“Regulus?! Regulus Black?” Sam shrieks, looking around like she expects him to jump at her from
the shadows. “Where exactly are we? What is this house?”

“Everybody quiet!” Dorcas roars. “You’re here because you want to help rescue James. The rest is
irrelevant. Kitchen is that way, go and get some tea. You’ll get answers soon enough.”

“Who the hell is James?” the fiancée asks, bewildered.

Dorcas decides to ignore the blond woman for now and ushers everybody to the kitchen. Chairs are
pulled, people sit down, and tea is served. Sirius seems to have recovered from his breakdown and
is sipping from a mug much more calmly.

Once everyone is in the same room and the noise has subsided somewhat, Dorcas clears her throat.
She doesn’t know where to start. What should we tell them? Regulus said the time for secrecy was
over, but how much is too much or too little?

“What’s your name?” Dorcas decides to start by addressing the unnamed woman, out of politeness.
“I’m Dorcas Meadowes. Everyone else knows each other, but we don’t know you.”

“Elspeth Fawley,” she says primly. “I’m engaged to be married to Regulus.”

Sirius makes a noise that could be interpreted as a choked giggle that Elspeth decides to ignore,
thankfully. Remus gives his boyfriend a look, then says, “Why did you come here, Elspeth? Are
you meeting Regulus?”

“He sent me a message this morning asking me to come,” she replies, shrugging. “He said some of
his friends would be here. I just didn’t expect so many.”

Dorcas nods, satisfied. “Alright. Okay. So, Regulus needs you for something. That’s alright. Are
you aware that you can’t leave again, Elspeth? I’m sorry, but until we have a plan of action, no one
can go anywhere.”

“I don’t make plans of action with anyone but Regulus,” Elspeth says, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t
know any of you. Well. I know you.” She points at Remus. “I’ve seen you around the Manor.”

“So loyal to your fiancé,” Sirius sneers, rolling his eyes. Elspeth looks at him and seems to register
the resemblance because she squints towards him. “Who are y—”

There’s a crash, and a harsh knock on the door, and Dorcas is flying down the corridor again, wand
in hand. They aren’t expecting anyone else. Anyone but Regulus. But he would never in a million
years be so clumsy as to crash when apparating to his own hom—

Dorcas’ stomach falls to her ankles.

Regulus is on his hands and knees, on the steps of Grimmauld Place, and he looks like death.
When he tilts his head, blinking, his bloodshot eyes are unfocused. “Poison,” he says, then he
collapses forward. “Golden frog.”

Shit.

“Lily!” Dorcas shouts, dragging Regulus inside and shutting the door after him. “Barty, Remus!
Ward the house. Lily, get your ass here right now!”

“What’s wrong with him?” Lily asks, already at the door.

“Golden frog, he said,” Dorcas mutters.

Lily’s eyes go very wide, then she’s crouching by Regulus. “That’s impossible. He should be
dead.”

“Can you help him or not?!”

There’s a flurry of activity after that. Lily, who brough a backpack filled to the brim with potions,
takes another look at Regulus then shoves a bezoar down his throat. Barty and Remus work
together to reinforce the defenses of the house—they’ll need Regulus to activate full protection
when he’s conscious again, but something is better than nothing—and then they wait.

Sirius hovers by Regulus the entire time, muttering and swearing under his breath. Elspeth has lost
all traces of colour, but she’s been rather stoic about the whole thing and is simply standing against
a wall. Sam looks like she wants to protest being in the presence of her captor, but she’s here for
James, and Marlene is with her so they’re waiting. Emmeline and Gideon are more of the same.

It takes a few minutes for the bezoar to take effect. When it does, Regulus coughs, and asks for
water. Lily passes him a glass, then helps him up. He immediately, vehemently, protest being
touched so Lily lets go, shaking her head like she thinks he’s an idiot.

Putting the glass of water down, Regulus squeezes his eyes shut for a second, seems to gather his
wits, then opens them again.

“James is alive,” he says. His words are met with a very audible release of breath from every
person present in the room. Looking around, he finds Gideon and Emmeline and frowns. Then, he
sees Sam and his eyebrows twitch. “Dorcas, what the fuck are all these people doing here?”

“They want to help rescue James,” Dorcas says, stepping closer. “Fuck. Reg. I’m going to hug
you.”

“No, you’re not,” he says immediately.

She tries to anyway, but Regulus throws himself back and away so violently she freezes. Their eyes
meet, and there’s something… Regulus has always disliked being touched but this?

Sirius clears his throat, then says, “Dorcas, maybe you shouldn’t. Just back off, yes?”

And it stings, because it’s been months and months since she last saw him, only able to talk to him
mind-to-mind. She’s missed her best friend. Sue her if she wants a hug. But Dorcas knows better
than to ask Regulus for explanations in front of other people.

Admitting defeat, Dorcas steps back and is met with the shocked stares of everyone present. She
shrugs it off, clears her throat. “Right. Well. I’m glad you’re okay. I was fucking worried.”
Sirius rolls his eyes and says, “Are you certain James is alive?”

“Yes,” Regulus replies so firmly, so quickly, that there’s no doubt. “I made sure of it. He’ll be alive
for two days, after that, I’m pretty sure they’ll kill him.”

“Why two days?” Gideon asks. “Why are—what is happening? Someone’s got to explain because
that right there is Regulus fucking Black and last I checked he was a Death Eater.”

“You’re the asshole who broke my nose,” Regulus mutters, fingering his wand which has suddenly
appeared in his hand. Dorcas steps between them immediately, alarmed by the tone of Regulus’
voice.

“All you need to know is that Regulus won’t let anything happen to James,” Sirius says, waving his
hands. “Explanations later. Regulus is on our side for this. That’s what matters.”

“Sometimes you say smart things,” Regulus tells Sirius, and Dorcas will eat her fist if that’s not a
small smile passing between the brothers. Oh Salazar’s beard, she’s missed something. Something
major.

“Why two days?” Remus asks, re-directing the conversation.

Regulus swings his legs over the table where Lily put him and stands. He dusts himself off,
adjusting his clothes like he was just taking a nap and not on the brink of literal death. He will
never cease to shock Dorcas with his nonchalance.

“The Death Eaters are preparing to take the Ministry for which they need a series of potions being
developed in the lab in Black Manor. Voldemort believes he needs to keep James alive to have
access to them because I made a deal with him to that effect. Once he stops caring about whether
he can access the Manor or not, he has no reason not to hurt James. So, two days.”

“How—what deal?” Sirius asks, narrowing his eyes.

“I didn’t drink poison for fun, did I?” Regulus says.

“What the fuck?” Dorcas explodes, stepping closer to her best friend. “Do you—what poison?
What?”

With an exasperated noise, Regulus says, “Voldemort thinks I’m dead. That’s all you need to
know. He thinks I’m dead, and James has two days. So, we have to work quickly.”

“How are we going to do this?” Sam asks, speaking for the first time since Regulus showed up.
She doesn’t meet his eye, but looks around the room instead. “I mean… I’ve been there. The
Manor is too well guarded. Too protected. I just don’t see how.”

“I already have a plan,” Regulus says firmly. “We need a few things, most of which I have here,
and three teams. I suppose it’s not terrible you brought some help, Dorcas.”

“I don’t trust a plan you’ve put together,” Gideon pipes up. “We should plan it as a team. Why
would we listen to you? How do we know you’re not sending us all to certain death?”

“Remove this idiot from the room before I strangle him,” Regulus says calmly.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? How do you even know James? Why do you care about
him?” Gideon demands, puffing his chest out a little bit.
Regulus narrows his eyes at him, looks him up and down. Dorcas thinks everyone is holding their
breaths. Hoping Regulus doesn’t put it together. But this is Regulus. Of course, he was going to
figure it out. When it clicks, Regulus looks at Dorcas with renewed tension around his jaw.

“Really? You had to bring the fucking rebound to my house?”

There’s stunned silence, broken only by Barty who starts giggling like mad. “Oh, this is just too
good,” Barty says, clapping his hands together. He looks at Gideon, then says, “Dead man walking
if I ever saw one.”

“I’m confused,” Emmeline announces. “What is happening?”

“Nothing is happening,” Regulus replies, rolling his eyes. “You,” he points at Gideon, “will be
quiet and do as told or I’ll kill you. Everyone else, we’re moving to the dining room. More space to
go through the plan. Let’s get moving.”

Gideon scoffs, takes a step closer and makes the mistake of grabbing Regulus by the shirt. “If you
think for a second that I’m—”

Abruptly, Gideon stumbles back, letting go of Regulus. Eyes going wide, he brings his hands to his
throat, going red in the face. A strangle sound falls from his lips, then he's on his knees, fighting
for air. He’s… oh, shit. He’s choking.

“Regulus, stop it! Regulus, please. You cannot kill him. He's a friend. REGULUS!” Dorcas pleads.

"Fine," Regulus flicks his wand and Gideon gulps in air. Gideon gets to his feet, chest heaving, and
looks at Regulus. He smirks, and then faster than any one person should be able to move, Regulus
proceeds to punch him in the face. There’s a crack. Gideon’s nose, if Dorcas had to guess.

Stepping back like he didn’t just attack someone, Regulus puts his wand in his holster and says,
“This is my house. You're still breathing because I decided to allow it. I can change my mind at
any point. Stay out of my way and be quiet. This is your one and only warning.”

“You motherfu—" Gideon lunges forward, looking for all the world like he’s ready to have a
proper brawl with the boy who just made a fool of him. He doesn’t get close enough because
Remus and Barty immediately close ranks, cutting Gideon’s path towards Regulus.

“Do what he says, mate,” Barty tells him. “Regulus isn’t messing about. The only reason you’re
still breathing is that he’s inferred James would be upset if he killed you, but I wouldn’t bank on
that stopping him for long.”

“Are you hearing this?” Gideon asks, outraged. He’s holding his bleeding nose with a hand. “The
man’s a psychopath!”

“You started it,” Remus growls. “Back the fuck off right now.”

“I mean… ignoring this little… whatever this was. I’m kind of with Gid,” says Emmeline,
exchanging glances with Sam. “How do we know we can trust him? He is a Death Eater, is he
not?”

“He did keep me prisoner for months,” Sam says, shifting her weight uncomfortably. “It wasn’t
exactly a vacation, you know?”

“Listen, I trust Regulus,” Dorcas says firmly. It’s about time these people give Regulus credit for
saving their asses time and time again. “How the fuck do you all think we’ve survived this long? I
know it was awful, Sam, but Regulus could have killed you. He didn’t because I told him you were
Marlene’s sister and that mattered to me. So, sure, you were in a cell, but you survived it because
of him.”

Sam breathes in sharply, eyes going wide from Dorcas to Reg and back again. Emmeline and
Gideon look absolutely stunned. Blood keeps dripping from Gideon’s nose, pooling at his feet.
Sirius looks like a proud parent, which is confusing Dorcas to no end, but she’ll take it.

Fortunately, Barty and Remus are already in Regulus’ corner and people don’t know Barty, but
they know Remus. And they know Sirius. No one has any doubts those two would do anything to
save James, which goes a long way.

Rallying, Dorcas continues her rant, “Reg also saved James when he fell off his broom. That drop
should have killed him. The time when they ambushed us outside Danetti’s house last summer? I
knew to run inside because Reg told me they were coming. He let James and Marlene go from that
safehouse. Time and time again he has been saving us and you had no idea. He told me—”

Dorcas stops herself, biting her lip. She doesn’t want to tell Gideon that Regulus told her about the
poison inside the Ministry, because she wasn’t quick enough to save Fabian and they lost him.
That might do more harm than good. So, she looks away, clears her throat.

“I trust him,” Dorcas insists vehemently, setting her chin and challenging them to doubt her. “And
you trust me. So that should be enough. And he might be a little violent in his methods, but we’re
going to rescue James from Voldemort, so I think violence is in order. Be glad the psychopath is on
your side for this one and stop with the pissing contest.”

“I don’t trust him,” Gideon says mutinously. Sirius rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t
get stuck backwards. “Why does he even care about James? Who are you to James? He’s never
even mentioned you—”

“I strongly suggest you drop that line of questioning,” Sirius cuts him off cheerfully. “If he tries to
kill you again, I won't stop him.”

Gideon splutters in shock and outrage but wisely shuts up.

“I don’t care if you trust me or not,” Regulus says, glancing around. He very purposefully skips
Gideon, like he can’t even bear to look at him. “Any of you. But I have two days to rescue James
and kill Voldemort, and you’re wasting my time. So, you shut up, stay and listen, or you fuck off
somewhere you’re not bothering me but the next person to interrupt me will lose their tongue for
it.”

“Did—did you just say you want to kill Voldemort?” Lily asks, eyes wide and jaw set.

“Yes, Evans,” Regulus replies, smiling. “That’s exactly what I said.”

****

The room where they rushed to save Regulus from the poison isn’t an appropriate space for them
to plan such a huge undertaking, so small task groups are assigned to getting things ready in the
dining room—the largest—so they can properly go through the rescue James plan.

Dorcas volunteers with Marlene to find some blueprints of the Manor and maps of England from
the library so she gets a moment alone with her girlfriend. No one opposes, so they disappear up
the stairs together.
“Marls?” Dorcas starts as soon as the door to the library clicks shut behind them.

Marlene turns around, faces Dorcas. She’s lost weight this year. The worry and the fighting and the
fitful sleep has taken a toll on them all. Still, Dorcas thinks Marlene is the most beautiful person
she’s ever seen in her life. Dorcas loves Marlene so much it feels like it doesn’t fit inside her body
sometimes.

“Did you know Sam was alive the entire time?” Marlene asks, meeting Dorcas’ eyes.

“Yes.”

“Were you communicating with Regulus while he held her in a cell in a basement for six months?”

“Yes.”

Kissing her teeth, Marlene looks away. Dorcas waits. She understands the grief. The pain. The
anger. Marlene has every right to be angry. Dorcas won’t push. She knew, the moment she made
the unbreakable vow, that she was risking losing Marlene. And Dorcas would rather die than lose
her, but she’d do it again. Because Regulus is going to kill Voldemort and end the war, and Dorcas
helped make that happen.

It's got to be worth it. She hopes Marlene understands.

“Is it true? What you said? That he kept her alive because she’s my sister?” Marlene asks, voice
shaking.

“Yes,” Dorcas confirms. “As soon as Sam went missing, I contacted Regulus. He was going to kill
her, because Voldemort was testing his loyalties. He convinced him to keep Sam alive because I
asked him to spare her. For you.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me? Why? You could have told me she was alive but that we couldn’t
go. I would have—”

“Marls,” Dorcas whispers. “You would have tried to rescue her and it would have gotten you and
Sam killed. I’m sorry. I really am. But it was the only way to keep her alive.”

“Six months, Dorcas,” Marlene says, tears spilling over her cheeks. “She was in a cell for six
months. And I… I’m so mad at you. I don’t—” Marlene looks away, takes a breath. “Sam couldn’t
be rescued, but James can. Why?”

“Because Regulus was the one keeping Sam prisoner. It was up to him if she lived or not,” Dorcas
explains. “James was taken because someone told Voldemort Regulus was never loyal to him. If
we don’t rescue James, he will die. It’s different.”

Marlene seems to accept this. She nods to herself, furiously wipes her tears off her cheeks. After a
moment or two, she croaks, “What else?”

“I made an unbreakable vow to help Regulus,” Dorcas confesses. “I knew from the beginning he
was going to try to take Voldemort down and I vowed to help him.”

Marlene swallows, purses her lips. She looks away, then back at Dorcas. She’s so beautiful, so
strong, so unbearably brilliant in every way that Dorcas can barely stand to be in the same room as
her knowing she’s upset her. But Marlene deserves this. Honesty, as far as Dorcas can give it. So,
she stays.
Marlene asks, “Do you really think Regulus can kill him?”

The question isn’t what Dorcas is expecting, but she answers anyway. “If anyone can do it, it’ll be
Regulus. He’s been working on it the whole year.”

“Very well,” Marlene says. “I’m in this to rescue James and to kill Voldemort. But Dorcas? I don’t
know if I can forgive you. I can’t… I can’t think about it right now, or I’ll break, and I won’t be
any help. So, I’m not thinking about it. Not until it's over. But don’t touch me. Don’t come close to
me. Not unless it’s about the mission.”

Dorcas takes this in stride. Her ribs crack, and her heart splinters, but she holds Marlene’s gaze and
nods. It’s fair, Dorcas thinks. It hurts like hell, but it’s fair. And it doesn’t mean it’s the end. It
means Dorcas has to make it up to Marlene. Has to atone. Make amends. Earn Marlene’s trust
again.

And she will.

“I love you,” Dorcas says. “I love you so much I would die for you. You are my soulmate and the
reason I want to win this war. I love you and I know I kept secrets and that I hurt you. I’m sorry. I
didn’t know how to do it differently. I did my best. I’m sorry I’ve been lying to you.”

“Dorcas—”

“I just… take your time. We’ll do this thing, and win this war, and then you’ll take your time. And
I’ll be here, proving to you every day that I love you and working to regain the trust I broke. That’s
all,” Dorcas tells Marlene with a soft, sad smile. “However long it takes. I’ll wait, Marlene. I’ll win
you back.”

Marlene looks at her for a long silence. And then, she nods, and says, “Let’s find those maps.”

####

Before he starts giving battle plans and getting his new little army into shape for the task ahead,
Regulus has to make sure the cup is where he suspects it is. Which is why he’s with Elspeth alone
in one of the upstairs bedrooms, standing in front of a desk where he’s set the pensieve.

As usual, Elspeth has been a great sport about the fact that there is a large number of unknown
people in Regulus’ usually empty home. She hasn’t asked many questions. Only one, and one that
Regulus thinks is the one that matters most.

“Who is James Potter?”

It was simple. Direct. She had asked it out of earshot of everyone else. And Regulus had answered
it plainly, because they’ve reached a point where secrecy only hinders their plans.

“He’s my Irene,” Regulus had said.

To Elspeth’s credit, she’d set her shoulders and nodded. “Then, I will help you.”

Now, in the room, she’s regarding Regulus with calculating eyes that remind him of their first night
at the Opera. She’s put her hair up in a bun and cut off the long, billowing sleeves of her dress so
she has better freedom of movement. Apparently, Elspeth is ready to fight with them if that’s what
it comes down to.

“If you give me the memory,” Regulus says, gesturing to the pensieve, “I’ll review it quickly.”
“What are you looking for?” Elspeth asks. “Tell me. Perhaps I know already. Wouldn’t it be
quicker?”

“I can’t tell you what it is. For your own safety,” Regulus explains.

Now that he knows the cup is the last horcrux, Regulus cannot take any chances. He needs to make
sure it’s destroyed during the rescue of James so that he can then kill Riddle once and for all. It’s
an elaborate plan, with many moving pieces. Regulus won’t risk it.

“Can you look in my head without hurting me?” Elspeth asks him plainly.

This is, admittedly, not what he was expecting. But he answers quickly. “Yes. Legilimency doesn’t
have to hurt.”

“Then do it,” she says. “We don’t have much time and the pensieve takes forever. I trust you not to
mess about.”

“Why?”

“Because if you feel for this James the way I do for Irene… well. You wouldn’t waste a second
digging around my head. Not if it’s a second you could spare him of suffering,” Elspeth says.

Regulus doesn’t feel any particular way, but he’s not going to tell her that. Instead, he nods. Elspeth
steps closer, and then Regulus’ hands are on her face and he’s inside her mind. He’s as careful as
he can be, looking for the antiques room. She’s helping him, so it comes to the forefront quickly.

And in the room, in a large glass case amongst a lot of other collectibles, is the cup of Helga
Hufflepuff.

Letting go of Elspeth, Regulus nods. “Excellent. The item I need is indeed in the room.”

“Did you just go inside her head?” Sirius asks from the door, where he’s standing with an
expression so severe Regulus has to bite his tongue not to mention how much like their mother he
looks.

In the perennial darkness that weighs over Grimmauld Place, Sirius looks every bit the Black he
wishes he wasn’t. Wearing muggle clothes is doing nothing to hide the aristocratic air that clings to
him stubbornly, even as he leans against the doorframe, one foot crossed over the over.

The late afternoon sun filters through the blinds, drawing parallel lines on the hardwood floor. Dust
particles dance in the air, catching the light like fireflies. Regulus can feel shadows swirling in the
corners, whispering to him words of revenge and power. The darkness inside of him knows Riddle
has taken something Regulus considers his, and it wants it back. The shadows might want James
dead, but they want him dead by their hand. They're greedy and selfish and will not accept a slight
of this magnitude.

Elspeth, always the pragmatic, looks at Sirius and says with a shrug, “It was quicker. I gave him
permission. Stop meddling between me and my fiancée.”

“Oh, please,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes. “I know the marriage is a sham. Go on, I need to talk to
Regulus alone.”

“I don’t like your brother. I much prefer you,” Elspeth tells Regulus, wrinkling her nose in Sirius’
direction before slipping from the room to go join the others in the dining room.
Lighting a cigarette, Regulus leans against the wall and looks at Sirius, amused. “I think that’s the
first time that’s ever happened.”

Sirius laughs. Loud and bark-y. Like a dog. His dark, torn jeans feel out of place in Grimmauld.
Fleetingly, Regulus wonders if he should take Sirius upstairs to visit Walburga just so she can have
a fit at seeing him looking like a muggle. A white t-shirt that’s a bit worn and see-through in
places. Regulus spots ink on his skin, and squints. Intrigued. He’ll be asking about that when
they’re not on a ticking clock.

Shaking his head, Sirius comes to stand close to Regulus. Once he has a cigarette of his own
dangling from his lips, he runs a hand down his face, grabbing his chin, then gives Regulus a
severe look.

“Where is mother?”

“She’s locked in the attic,” Regulus replies. “I haven’t had time to deal with her yet. I was saving
her for a special occasion.”

“Hmm,” Sirius says. Takes a drag of his cigarette. “Remus said you killed Orion. Is that true?”

“Is now the time?” Regulus asks, allowing a bit of frustration to seep into his voice. “We’re in a
hurry.”

“I’m going to lead all my friends and my boyfriend to battle at your side,” Sirius says with a
pointed look. “A battle I don’t expect we’ll all survive. I’m ready to lay down my life for James,
but if I’m risking theirs under your orders, your plans, then, I need to know it’s the right call. So,
tell me brother. Tell me I can trust you.”

Regulus considers this. There’s logic there. Merit. It’s a valid point, he decides. And so, he looks
Sirius in the eye and recites, “Orion Black. Cygnus Black. Rodolphus Lestrange. Walburga Black.
Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“What?”

“The people in the room torturing you the night you ran away,” Regulus explains calmly, like he’s
not telling Sirius something that has been a central tenet of his life for the past several years.

“Three of the five are dead. One is locked in the attic, waiting for the day of her reckoning. The
last one will die when we rescue James. I had a more elaborate plan for Bella but well, I’m happy
to adapt. And Riddle. Voldemort. He wasn’t there, but they were torturing you so you’d join him. I
hold him responsible for the suffering we endured. Because if he hadn’t been gathering followers,
things would have never got so bad for us.”

Sirius swallows, stares at Regulus like he’s never seen him before. “I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand? We were kids. They hurt you. Over and over again. They made me
watch. I could do nothing. For years, mother abused you. Father allowed it. Bellatrix found it
funny,” Regulus spits, eyes hard like stones on his brother, who’s listening with an expression
Regulus can’t read.

“And then Voldemort began getting powerful and things got worse. Until you were on the floor
bleeding with a blade stabbed through your hand and more broken bones than any one person
should have to endure in a lifetime. They were torturing you because you refused to take the mark
and I was watching. Always made to watch. To learn the lesson. The spare who they hoped would
learn from the mistakes of the heir.”
Regulus clenches his jaw, a flicker of anger licking up his spine despite the darkness of the Legacy
tempering his emotions. He supposes not even the most twisted magic can completely erase that
level of trauma from formative years. He was a child, for crying out loud. It’s a miracle either of
them function as well as they do after that.

Sirius lets out a sort of choked sound, but Regulus isn’t done. He takes a long drag of his cigarette,
then repeats,

“What is there to understand, Sirius? I couldn’t do anything about it then. I was too small, too
weak. But I knew I wasn’t going to be that way forever. So, I waited. And I plotted. And I’m
making them pay. Every single one of them.”

Harshly, challenging, he meets Sirius’ eyes. And Regulus is surprised to find a bit of awe, and a lot
of shock, and some confusion in them.

Not for the first time, Regulus wonders how this conversation would go if he could feel emotions
of his own. If he wasn’t swallowed up by darkness that keeps his on a tight leash. Something tells
Regulus he wouldn’t have simply admitted the truth if he could feel it. He remembers, vaguely,
there were reasons why he’d decided Sirius should never know this. But he can’t really hold on to
them now.

Perhaps if he hadn’t given up so much of his soul, of who he was then, he would be better at
judging whether this much truth is good for Sirius. As things stand, no emotions get in the way and
Regulus doesn’t particularly care if he’s hurting Sirius’ feelings. That’s on him for having them,
Regulus supposes. Sirius asked for honesty, and he’s getting it because Regulus needs him to play
his part in James’ rescue. Nothing else matters.

“I guess this doesn’t make much sense to you because you’re missing one piece of information,”
Regulus says, half to himself, half to the brother standing there staring at him like he doesn’t know
what to do with himself.

“What is that?” Sirius croaks, voice hoarse like sandpaper.

“The night you left, I wanted to go with you,” Regulus tells Sirius. He sees the words land. Sees
Sirius take them, absorb them. His eyes turn glassy.

“Then why did you stay?” he whispers, tears welling in his eyes.

“Mother cursed me. Imperius. She knew you were coming for me. I was to say yes to you, go
outside, and kill you,” Regulus says, speaking the words into existence.

There was a time when Regulus wanted to shield Sirius from this truth. Wanted to protect him from
it. But he can’t remember enough of why that seemed like the best course of action at the time.

Sirius wants transparency to lead people into battle. Regulus needs him to lead people into battle.
So. Here they are.

“I wasn’t strong enough to fight the curse completely. I wasn’t strong enough to go with you,”
Regulus explains. “But I was strong enough to say no to you, so you’d leave without me. I did it to
save your life. I stayed to save your life. But what I wanted was to follow you. If I could have, I
would have said yes.”

Sirius covers his mouth with a hand, staggers back a few steps, shaking his head. Eyes wide and
lined with red. Face pale as Regulus has ever seen it. Sirius’ shoulders shake, curl in on themselves,
and then there are tears streaming down his cheeks. He’s heaving, strangled, muted sobs curling up
his throat. A keening sound that’s raw pain and failure and guilt.

Regulus stares at him, mildly annoyed. He finishes his cigarette and lights another one, waiting for
his brother to compose himself.

Leaning against the wall for support, Sirius fights for breath through the sobs wrecking him. It
makes something stand at attention inside of Regulus. He knows he doesn’t like this. Doesn’t want
Sirius to be so broken. But not enough to do something about it other than try to bring him back to
the pressing matter at hand. James and Riddle.

“Can you… do this later? With Remus, maybe? You do remember that we are in a hurry,” Regulus
points out when he’s tired of watching his brother cry.

“How the fuck can you just stand there like that?” Sirius wheezes wetly after a few moments. He’s
fighting for air, still shaking, lips trembling like he might lose the battle and start full-on weeping
loudly any moment (Regulus will swiftly exit the room if this happens).

Fortunately, Sirius finds it in him to look at Regulus, desperate and pained, and say, “I don’t—what
is wrong with you? Don’t you… this is. I thought… I spent so long thinking you wanted to stay.
You told me you wanted to stay! Why? Reggie, I—I can’t. I didn’t know. I thought you—but then
—”

A sob wrenches itself from Sirius’ chest, cutting him off. He has no choice but to cover his mouth
again, muffling his cries with the palm of his hand, chest heaving violently.

“Don’t torture yourself,” Regulus says, waving a hand. “I can’t feel a thing. I’m not upset or sad or
anything ridiculous like that. You shouldn’t be guilty. That’s not helping anybody. I need you to
pull yourself together so we can save James. Can you do that? To save James?”

Without warning, Sirius lunges for Regulus who’s startled into dropping his cigarette. And then
Sirius is hugging him and Regulus can feel the sobs wrecking through his brother reverberating
against his own body.

The contact makes Regulus want to crawl out of his skin. He remembers it. Hands. Holding on.
Hugging him. Water. Darkness. He was drowning—

“Sirius,” Regulus chokes out.

It’s not the same. Regulus tells his brain that it’s not the same. He’s not in the water. Sirius isn’t
cold and slimy. He’s hard planes and warmth. Smells like leather and cigarettes.

Regulus still can’t stand it for more than a few seconds. It’s too much. Too soon.

“Let go of me right now,” Regulus growls, shoving his brother as hard as he can.

To his relief, Sirius does. He shakes his head, looks at Regulus. “Fuck. We have to talk about this.
We have to talk about this a lot. You… Fuck.”

“Enough.”

“No. No, you don’t understand. I thought… everything I thought was wrong! I should have been
there for you. Should have protected you from her! And I didn’t and you had to stay and I hated
you for it,” Sirius says desperately. “How can you stand to even look at me?”

“Sirius,” Regulus growls. “Pull it together. Right now. Stop it because I fucking need you to help
me save James. This,” he gestures between them, “doesn’t matter if James dies. Do you hear me?
Nothing matters if James dies. So, man the fuck up and get it together.”

“I just—it’s so much. You’ve been… Reggie, you can’t just kill people. I mean. You can, clearly,
because you’ve been doing it. But it’s wrong. I mean… murder isn’t okay. Fuck.”

Sirius turns around. Back again. Regulus watches him dissolve, break down. Sirius is trying to keep
it together, but he’s struggling. “I don’t care if you approve, Sirius.”

That earns him a chuckle, then Sirius is giving Regulus a wicked half-smile through his tears that
makes his brother look dangerous. Regulus likes it. “I can’t even tell you that it’s wrong you killed
them because the world is honestly a better place without them. But what about you? Taking lives
takes a toll. You’re… shit. Regulus!”

There he goes again, breaking down.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Regulus raises an eyebrow at his brother. “Are you quite done?”

“No! Fuck. All this time? But then… why didn’t you say something? When you took the mark or
before or… You should have told me about mother. And I—” He buries his hands in his hair,
pulling it back tightly.

“Sirius, grow the fuck up, okay? We have limited time to save James. Nothing else matters. Do you
hear me? Nothing else matters. Not now,” Regulus snarls, slapping his brother across the face. A
loud whack that bounces off the walls around them. Sirius blinks, properly stunned into silence.
“Get it together or we’re going to lose James.”

Sirius stops. Takes a deep breath, then, to Regulus’ relief, nods. “Okay. But we’ll talk about it.
After. When it’s done. When James is safe.” He takes another large gulping breath. “Alright. This
is a lot. But okay. We need to save James. Okay.”

“Good. Now, focus. Did Orion ever tell you about the Legacy of the Black family?” Regulus asks,
tilting his head to the side.

“The Leg—” Sirius’ mouth falls open, eyes grow wide. Understanding washes over him in a single,
sweeping wave. “That creepy magic that eats your soul or some shit? The one he refused because
he loved Walburga?”

“Yes.”

Sirius stumbles back, shocked and shaking once again. Honestly. This is why Regulus is better off
without emotions. They complicate everything. He’s having so much second-hand embarrassment
on behalf of Sirius that it’s a miracle Regulus hasn’t spontaneously burst into flames.

Gaping at him, Sirius says, “That’s why you’re so bloody detached? Shit. Reggie, what did you
do? I… can we reverse it? Shit. Fuck. I should have known.”

“Stop freaking out,” Regulus snaps. “I’m only telling you because you’re leading the attack team
and I need you to understand that when I say I’m going to kill him, I mean it. That I can do it. But I
can’t attack until the time is right.”

“Right.”

“I’m going to lay out a very careful plan down there. And I need you to make sure everyone does
as told. Especially that fucking action-man James has been messing around with. Can you do that?”
 “Action man?” Sirius asks, visibly amused despite everything else. “Are you jealous, Reggie?”

“I’d have to feel shit to be jealous. I’m irritated. I want to kill him. I’m also slightly offended.
James has better taste than that,” he says dismissively. “Anyway. Irrelevant. Can you get them to
fall in line and do what I say or not?”

“Yes,” Sirius confirms. “Yes, I can.”

“Are you ready?” Regulus asks.

Sirius is a Black. Better than the others. More… whole, somehow. He’s the one that got away and
learnt to be a good person. But he is a Black nonetheless. Sirius knows darkness. There’s a part of
him that understands what it’s like. A part of him that longs for the cruelty and the evil.

Regulus watches his brother reach for that part and use it to shield himself from everything else.
From the things that are a distraction. Sirius looks down, pinches his eyes closed. When he looks
up again, he’s set. Ready.

Reaching forward with a hand, Sirius says, “We’re going to get James and kill Voldemort.
Together.”

“Together,” Regulus replies, clasping his brother’s arm making sure it’s where there’s fabric so
there’s no skin on skin.

They smile. It’s cruel and teethy and terrifying. The Black brothers have always been a force to be
reckoned with apart. Now, it’s time for the world to see what it looks like when they’re working as
a team.

Chapter End Notes

We are here

Everything is coming to a head and we are READY to go take down Voldy! How are
we feeling!?

Poor James literally CANNOT CATCH A BREAK!? That man is so tired

Regulus' mithridatism to the rescue! He was so smart for preparing for that. BUT
ALSO OMG Regulus was absolutely ready to die for James if Voldy had chosen to
use Avada Kedrava or whatever, Reg would have taken it because he has people now
who can finish what he started (Dorcas knows to look for his box if he dies) HELP
HE'S SO IN LOVE WITH JAMES EVEN THOUGH HE CAN'T REMEMBER
PROPERLY

DORCAS POV! She's getting all the allies together

Elspeth being an icon again
Lily saved Regulus' life!

REGULUS PUT IT TOGETHER ABOUT GIDEON AND HE WAS SO PISSED OF

PLS
Gideon and Reg forced to work together but hating each other is peak comedy and I
think we need that in this fic because things are getting intense
DORLENE
I am so sad. They've been so strong and solid the entire fic... but that vow was always
going to come back and bite Dorcas' ass. But I trust our powerful lesbians and their
capacity for communication. So... we'll be alright. Eventually

Not Regulus 'He's my Irene?' HELP I AM IN TEARS

BLACK BROTHERS SUPREMACY. Sirius KNOWS. OMG. Regulus just... told him
and then was like 'why u breaking down get it together' MY MAN?! HELLO!? Sirius
was so overwhelmed with everything it's a miracle he managed to form coherent words
ngl but he's a king and he pulled himself together to save James. UGH I LOVE THEM
SO MUCH!?

Next chapter on Monday!

Also, honestly, your comments I just can't explain how happy they make me. I
smile so much when I get the notifications. THANK YOU a million times. I wouldn't
have been able to write so much so fast if it weren't for all of you cheering for our
characters in every chapter I try to reply to as many as I can, but sometimes I run out
of time. Please, know I READ EVERY SINGLE ONE and I love all of them

That said, see you in the comments section again friends

 In the name of love
Chapter Summary

The battle of Lestrange Castle Part I

Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

We are getting ready to rescue James

TWs for this one:

Depictions of grief
Depictions of violence
Depictions of death
Blood
References to past kidnappings
References to past torture
References to past poisoning
Depictions of PTSD

I think that's it? Very few TWs but there's a battle in this chapter so I think they cover
it? Let me know if I missed anything!

Enjoy!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

There’s a stone digging into his back, a little to the left of his spine.

It’s sharp, and James is certain it’s going to bruise. It’s really quite painful. James doesn’t move.
Doesn’t do anything about it.

Instead, he focuses on the point where the stone is poking him. The sharp ache of it biting into his
muscles, grating against his skin through the flimsy fabric of the hospital-issued gown he’s
wearing.

Above him, the ceiling of the cell is darkened with patches of mould. There are no windows here,
so James doesn’t know what time it is. He can’t tell how long he’s been here, lying on the ground
in a cell in the bowels of some Manor. Is he still in Lestrange Castle? Has he been moved
somewhere else?

Does it even matter?

The Order of the Phoenix doesn’t do rescue missions. James knows this all too well. No one is
coming for him. At least not in a sanctioned effort. James has the nagging feeling that Sirius won’t
let it go. He’ll try something. It’ll be reckless and insane and the sort of thing that James would do
if their roles were reversed. It’s probably going to get Sirius killed, so James hopes that someone
with more sense stops him from trying.

Selfishly, James doesn’t want to see Sirius right now. Because Sirius doesn’t know his little brother
is dead and James can’t tell him. He can’t form the words. Can’t breathe them into existence. The
moment he says them out loud, it’ll be over. It’ll be true. Irrevocably. Irreparably.

And James isn’t ready to accept it.

Regulus is dead.

James feels his throat constrict, the taste of grief thick in his mouth. He’s cried. He’s raged. He’s
torn his vocal cords to shreds screaming up a storm. None of it has been enough to release the
pressure of the things inside James’ chest.

In the time he’s been lying on the ground, James has thought of many things. He’s wondered if
necromancy is a thing that he could attempt. He’s wished for a time-turner so he can go back and
undo it, stop Regulus from trading their lives. He’s replayed every moment, over and over again,
and cried his eyes out that the last thing Regulus ever said to him was ‘horrible things’ and the
entire universe contained in those two words.

What does any of it mean?

There’s a lot James doesn’t understand. And it’s making him extremely angry because it’s fucking
unfair. James has questions, and Regulus is dead and can’t give him answers. And how will James
ever find peace now?

Regulus went to great lengths to make sure James knew their love wasn’t as important to him as it
had been to James. He pushed James away. Joined the Death Eaters. Killed people, hurt people, did
every single awful thing he could. And yet, when push came to shove, Regulus made the ultimate
sacrifice for James.

If Regulus didn’t die in the name of love, what did he die for?

But if he did... If Regulus died in the name of love, love for James, why did they go through all
this heartbreak?

It doesn’t make sense, and that is perhaps the one thing keeping James from completely falling
apart. He’s grieving, and drowning under the weight of the loss, but he’s also puzzling over every
piece of it. Trying to understand what he missed. Where he went wrong. If there were things he
should have seen and he didn’t. Why Regulus made the choices he did.

And fuck.

Fuck Regulus. Fuck death and dying and sacrifices. Fuck everything and everybody because James
will never get to ask. He’ll never know why. He’ll never know if Regulus meant the things he said
or not. He’s been robbed of the chance to figure it out. Could they have found their way back to
each other? Was that even on the cards?

He’ll never know and it’s like watching Regulus die all over again. The future he could have,
perhaps, had with the boy who stole his heart and pretended he didn’t want it. Gone.

Did Regulus want it? James' heart beating and bloody?

He’ll never know now.

James will never get to ask.

It hurts.

James lies on the floor of a cold, damp cell in a dungeon somewhere, and replays every interaction
he’s ever had with Regulus over and over in his mind.

A stone is digging into his back. It’s going to bruise. Perhaps draw blood. James doesn’t move. He
hasn’t and he won’t. He’ll let himself rot, puzzling over the questions he’ll never get an answer to
and gagging on the pain of loss.

####

“Rescuing James is the easy part,” Regulus says, bracing his hands on the large, polished table of
the dining room in Grimmauld Place. Around it, a group of young, wary people watch him with
expressions ranging from distrust to eagerness. “The team risking the most is the one attacking
Lestrange Castle head on. The most important team is the one sneaking inside.”

“I don’t understand why we have to time it all like this,” says Emmeline Vance, who is not a fan of
Regulus but level-headed enough to be thinking about this all critically. Regulus kind of likes her.
“Why don’t we rescue James, then make a case for the entire Order to attack Voldemort’s location
and take him out?”

“Because if simply openly attacking Voldemort with everything he’s got was an option,
Dumbledore would have done it already,” Remus says before Regulus has a chance to reply.
“Voldemort is too cunning. The only way this works is if we catch him by surprise.”

“He’ll assume the goal of the attack is to rescue James, not to take him out,” Regulus adds. “He
thinks I’m dead. He doesn’t know you know James isn’t in Lestrange Castle.”

“How do we know Voldemort will even be there?” asks Marlene.

“He doesn’t need to be there,” Regulus confirms. “But he will come. He’ll show up if he feels the
threat is big enough. That’s why we have to make it matter. Sirius is going to fight Bellatrix. If he’s
lucky, he’ll kill her. That’ll bring Voldemort out, if he doesn’t decide to come before then.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Dorcas asks, concern drawing her eyebrows together.

“I have a contingency plan in place. He will show up one way or another. Trust me,” Regulus says
firmly. He won’t tell them that he’s certain Riddle won’t risk them taking Lestrange Castle with
one of his horcruxes inside. That’s Regulus’ guarantee that if they make the attack threatening
enough, Riddle will show up.

He has also conveniently left out that he still has allies. Allies who have a lot to gain if this goes
right. Allies who will not fight openly for fear of it going wrong, but who are willing to move a
few pieces covertly in the background.

“Alright,” says Sam. She hasn’t looked at Regulus once and always positions herself as far away as
she can from him. But she’s cooperating. She’ll fight for James. That’s all Regulus cares about.
“So, one team rescues James, the other attacks Lestrange Castle and makes enough of a ruckus
Voldemort will show. Then what? How the fuck are you going to kill him?”

“Yeah,” Gideon adds, balancing on the hindlegs of his chair. “You’re just a kid.”
Regulus ignores that. He’s not taking the bait. Action-man has been trying to needle him for the
better part of an hour, and it’s infuriating him to no end that Regulus is refusing to allow anything
he says to rattle him. It’s kind of funny. Sirius certainly thinks so, for he keeps sniggering every
time action-man fails to bait Regulus into a fight.

“Let’s talk teams,” Regulus says. “We need two people to rescue James.”

“I’ll go,” action-man says immediately.

To Regulus’ surprise, it’s Barty who objects. “No, mate. You’re not going. It’s got to be me
because I know Black Manor and because Regulus can trust me around James so he won’t be
distracted.”

“What do—”

“Gid,” Emmeline says, interrupting him. “Drop it. This is a mission not party planning. We have to
be clinical about it.”

Regulus definitely likes Emmeline Vance.

“I know the Manor, too,” Sam mutters, grimacing. “For James, I can go back.”

“It’s the safest part of the whole thing,” Regulus reminds them. “Black Manor will not be heavily
guarded, not with the Death Eaters thinking I’m dead. The only high-ranking person there will be
Severus, and he’ll be called away to help fend off the attack on Lestrange Castle as soon as it
starts.”

“I can go alone,” Barty says, shrugging. “I’m not afraid of Snape and I can get James out.”

“Actually, I think I should come with you,” Lily interjects. “If James is hurt or unconscious, you
won’t be able to get him out alone. I'll bring potions to help James recover. And I’m certain
Severus won’t hurt me if we run into him.”

“We can give them James’ invisibility cloak,” Sirius suggests. “Get them in and out unseen.”

“No,” Regulus says, shaking his head. “I need the cloak. There’s something inside Lestrange
Castle that we have to get and that’s the most important part of this whole thing.”

“What is it?” Dorcas asks.

“I can’t tell you.”

Action-man scoffs, but nobody pays him any attention. Lily purses her lips. “So, you’ll go inside
the Castle then come back out and fight?”

“Exactly,” Regulus says. “I’m going inside with Elspeth, because she knows the way to the room I
need to go to. Just us, under the cloak. We’ll sneak in when the attack begins.”

“If that thing you need to get is that important, you should tell one of us,” Dorcas says decidedly.
“If something happens, someone else needs to be able to finish it.”

That is a good point, Regulus thinks. It makes him nervous, because this is the most crucial secret.
The one ace up his sleeve. Riddle will come to Lestrange Castle and fight them thinking himself
immortal, not knowing Regulus has destroyed his horcruxes. If he finds out he’s vulnerable, he’ll
flee and not re-emerge until he’s made more. Regulus can’t let that happen.
It's the one secret he still hasn't told anyone.

After a moment of hesitation, Regulus makes a decision and looks around the room. “I will tell
Remus, and only Remus,” Regulus declares.

Everyone turns to stare at him, but Remus simply lifts an eyebrow. “I see.”

“I don’t see,” Sirius protests. “I’m your brother. Why not tell me? I’m deeply offended by this.”

“It’s because I’m immune,” Remus says, sighing. “Regulus is being practical and smart. Don’t get
emotional over it.”

“Ah,” Sirius says, understanding dawning on him. Then, he turns indignant eyes on Regulus and
adds, “I’ll have you know I’m fucking good at Occlumency. I was raised by Walburga, in case
you’ve forgotten.”

“Fucking good isn’t the same as immune,” Regulus points out, an eyebrow arched to drive his
point home.

“I don’t understand anything,” Emmeline pipes up. “We know Voldemort is an expert legilimens,
so I suppose that makes sense that you want to be careful who you tell what. But why is Remus
immune?”

There’s an uncomfortable silence during which Regulus looks at Remus, wondering how he wants
to handle this. For some reason, Regulus had assumed everyone knew Remus was a werewolf, but
either he was wrong about that, or the others don’t know wolves are immune to legilimency.

With a sigh, Remus pulls out a cigarette from his pack and lights it before glancing around the
room. “Because I’m a werewolf,” Remus says plainly. “We’re immune to it. It’s a gene thing.”

“Anyway,” Sirius says hurriedly, with the air of someone very keen to swipe something under the
rug as quickly as possible, “You go inside and get this thing. The rest of us attack head on. That’s
the plan, right? So, we’re ready?”

“Are we going to ignore the fact that Lupin is a fucking werewolf?” Action-man asks, eyes wide
and popping out of his sockets.

“Yes,” Marlene says firmly. “Get over it, Gid. The rest of us did a long time ago.”

“Fuck me.”

“Wait,” Dorcas says suddenly, completely blanking the action-man throwing a fit a few seats down
from her. “Wait. We have another problem. We haven’t talked about the fact that there’s a fucking
spy in the Order. And I trust the people here, I do. But it’s too dangerous to—”

“The spy isn’t here,” Regulus interjects.

Remus growls, a rumbling thing from deep in his chest that makes Action-man and Emmeline look
at him with a bit of fear.

“I take it you and Remus know who the spy is?” Sirius asks, tilting his head.

“It’s Pete,” Remus spits out, so much vitriol in his voice Regulus is impressed. “Fucking rat sold us
out. We ran into him two days ago at a Death Eater meeting. That’s why Barty and I had to move
here. Peter blew my cover with Voldemort the moment I saw him.”
The silence is so dense you could hear a pin drop. Sirius takes a harsh breath, clenches his jaw.
Dorcas looks at Regulus, who nods minutely to confirm. Sam is frowning, exchanging glances
with Emmeline.

It’s Marlene who speaks first. “Do you know why? Why would he do this? And… I mean…
how?”

“Yes, we had a nice little chat over tea. What do you think?” Remus snarls. “He’s a lying piece of
shit. A fucking coward.”

“But he’s your friend,” Lily mutters, frowning. “It’s… I mean… he’s one of the marauders. It
doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if Voldemort promised something he wanted,” Sirius hisses, low and dangerous. “He’s
been angry at Dumbledore since Olive. He’s been fidgety and scared the entire time, making quips
about how unfair he thought it was that James got all the flying missions as if he didn’t almost
fucking die when he fell from one!”

“You mean when Rabastan knocked him off it,” Marlene points out. “James doesn’t fall off his
broom.”

Regulus’ lips curl. “I killed him for that.” He looks at Emmeline. “He was duelling you.”

Emmeline lets out a choked gasp. “I knew I couldn’t remember killing him. Fuck. You sneaky
bastard, they made me see a mind healer for weeks!”

There’s a moment of shocked silence while people process this, before Lily clears her throat and
speaks again. “But Peter? Betraying James like that? He adores him.”

“I’m pretty sure he adores being alive more,” Sam says rather viciously. “It’s not the first time
someone does this, guys. You just haven’t been around long enough to see it. People get scared. If
Voldemort threatened Peter’s mother or whatever, that’s usually all it takes.”

“Does it matter?” Regulus asks. “He sold you out. Betrayed you. He’s the one who told Voldemort
James was a good bargaining chip.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Sirius snarls. “Fuck.”

“No, you’re not,” Remus says calmly. “The best I can do is let you watch. Because I am the one
who’s going to kill Peter.”

“I like it when you talk dirty to me,” Sirius mutters, leaning forward and giving Remus a quick
kiss.

Regulus shakes his head. “Don’t be gross.”

Sirius sniggers, settling back onto his chair with a look of pure smugness on his face. Elspeth is
staring at him with something akin to awe on her face, and it occurs to Regulus that she’s most
likely never been in an environment where nobody gives a shit who other people love.

It’s easy to forget that Elspeth comes from a pureblood family with as much bigotry as his because
she’s so practical and straightforward about things. But it must be shocking for her to watch Sirius
openly kiss Remus in front of other people.

“So, to recap,” Dorcas says, redirecting the conversation to the task at hand. “Regulus and Elspeth
sneak inside the Castle to do a secret thing that’s very important. The rest of us attack upfront and
cause as much chaos as possible. And, Lily and Barty rescue James from Black Manor.”

“I’m joining the battle as soon as we get James to safety,” Barty declares. “It’s what Evan would
want.”

“That’s good. The more the merrier. We know Voldemort has a fucking legion. It’s not going to be
easy,” Sirius says, kissing his teeth. “I think we should get more people involved. Effie and Monty
will fight with us.”

“We have an army, too,” Regulus says, exchanging a conspiratorial look with Remus that makes
Sirius narrow his eyes and hiss.

“Stop that,” Sirius says aggressively. “Stop whatever the fuck that was. I do not like it.”

“Relax,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes.

“When you say we have an army,” Dorcas starts, tilting her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly that. However, it doesn’t hurt to add more numbers. Who in the Order do you
think would join the attack even though it’s not sanctioned by Dumbledore?” Regulus asks.

There’s a moment of pause. A pregnant silence. People look at each other, a quiet conversation
passing between them. Regulus waits. Barty yawns. Elspeth sips her tea, completely unbothered by
the whole thing.

Eventually, Sirius nods, “Pretty much everyone that’s left. It’s for James. James has saved many
lives. Fuck, I’d say even Moody might show up if the attack is underway and he hears about it.”

“Then that’s what we do,” Regulus says. “Once we’ve caught Bellatrix’s attention, someone can
get a message to James’ parents, tell them you’re attacking the Castle. If they show up during the
battle it’ll help.”

“Why can’t we tell them now?” Sam asks, tightening her ponytail. The pink ends of her hair fall
over her right shoulder onto her chest, where Regulus can see the ink poking out of her t-shirt.

“Because we can’t risk a leak. We need to take them by surprise.”

****

It’s been years since the last time Grimmauld Place was this busy. Every room is occupied. Remus
and Sirius are sharing Sirius’ old room. Regulus has the master bedroom. He’s given his old room
to Barty and Evan—still unconscious on the bed—and the guest bedrooms have been distributed
between the rest of them. It's a bit petty, but Regulus isn't above pettiness and so action-man is the
only one without a room. He has to sleep on a sofa. If it'd been up to Regulus, he'd sleep on the
fucking floor.

They’re taking one night to rest. Tomorrow morning, they’ll prepare and head out. They’re
attacking Lestrange Castle at dusk. It gives them a day to polish any last-minute details and
practice the most complex spells one last time, while still being early enough that James isn’t in
danger of being killed. Besides, Sam and Emmeline insisted on attacking as soon as possible to
avoid Voldemort having a chance to take on the Ministry.

Regulus couldn’t argue with that logic. So. One night to rest, gather their strength. One day to
prepare, sharpen their weapons.
And then.

It’s strange to be here in this moment, Regulus thinks. He’s been preparing for it for so long. His
revenge has been years in the making, and he’s so close. Two more names, and his original plan
will be complete. Add to it Riddle—the driving force behind most of the evil he’s endured in his
life—and he’ll have gained retribution from everyone who hurt him. From everyone who broke
him and broke Sirius and left them messes of men whose pieces don’t fit together.

“Regulus?”

He looks over his shoulder to find Dorcas hovering at the threshold of his room, a look of
uncertainty on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just wanted to check on you,” Dorcas says, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.
“You showed up half-dead. I was worried.”

“Ah. Well, you shouldn’t have. I knew I’d survive the poison. I’ve been dosing myself with it for a
year,” Regulus explains casually. “But it had to look real.”

“And the reaction to the hug?” Dorcas asks, raising an eyebrow. Regulus makes a face that he
hopes conveys he doesn’t understand her question. Dorcas sighs. “I know you’ve never liked touch,
but that was something else. And you and Sirius… what did I miss?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dorcas swallows, purses her lips. Looks away, nods her head. “Marlene broke up with me.”

“What?” Regulus looks at her more closely. The quivering of her lower lip, the awkward way she’s
holding herself together, like she’s breaking but fighting against it. “Shit. Dorcas, what happened?”

“Sam,” Dorcas whispers. “She doesn’t know if she can forgive me for not telling her about Sam.
And it’s okay. It’s okay, Reg. I made a vow to help you. To fight with you. I don’t regret it. But
I’ve lost the person I love the most in the world out of loyalty to you, and I’m hurting so fucking
much I don’t know what to do with it. So please, be loyal back? Just tell me?”

“Sit down,” Regulus says, gesturing to the bed. Dorcas lets out a relieved sigh and crosses the
room to sit next to him. He doesn’t touch her. “I can’t tell you why, not yet. But I had to go to a
cave, and it was... Possibly the most fucked up place I’ve ever been to.”

Dorcas’ eyes widen. Regulus shakes his head, runs a hand through his curls. “I almost died in that
cave. Sirius found me. He saved me at the very last minute. But the things that happened in there…
I don’t know how to touch people now. It’s not like before, where it was uncomfortable. It’s more
than that. It… it takes me back there. To when I was dying.”

Dorcas frowns deeply. “Shit. I’m sorry, Reg. Is that when you told me…?”

“Yes,” Regulus confirms. “I thought I wasn’t going to make it. I needed to know someone would
find my research and finish what I was doing.”

“Fuck,” Dorcas says with feeling. “I was so worried that night. Pandora, too.” There’s a pause.
Dorcas twiddles with a thread on her jeans. Then, she looks at Regulus and asks, “Do you think
you’ll struggle to touch James, too?”
“Bold of you to assume James will want to touch me,” Regulus says deadpan.

Dorcas scoffs. “Please. The man’s been pining for you for a year. You stabbed him and all he
could think about was that you'd kissed. I'm pretty sure he'll want to touch you.”

“What about the action-man?”

That coaxes a loud chuckle out of Dorcas, and Regulus finds that he likes the sound. He’s missed
her. It’s a strange sensation, like he wants to feel something but can’t and both things are colliding
in his mind. Regardless, he’s glad to have Dorcas back.

“James has been sleeping around,” Dorcas tells him with a bit of trepidation, like she expects
Regulus to start throwing hexes upon hearing the news.

“Sleeping around,” Regulus mutters.

Regulus thinks that if he could feel jealousy, perhaps he would break things in a fit of fury. A
jealous tantrum, like he did in school the first they ever kissed. As things are, he’s mildly curious
about why James Potter—the most romantic person he knows—has been doing that instead. He
doesn’t… objectively, he doesn’t like it. The idea of James touching someone else, kissing
someone else makes him want to strip off his own skin. His body is suddenly hot and buzzing with
an energy he can’t name. An energy that could drive him to take to the streets and blast people into
oblivion in a rage. But he’s in control of himself. Probably a good thing. Otherwise, he might do
something stupid.

“Well, yes. He's been getting drunk and fucking people left, right and centre,” Dorcas explains, a
bit more relaxed now Regulus isn’t immediately destroying the world. She shrugs. “We all know
why, and we all know it’s not a healthy way to cope, but we’ve been at war, so nobody had the
time or the inclination to tell James his choices weren’t making anything better. He was struggling
to get over you, and that was his outlet. Gideon simply was there at the right time. It’s not serious.”

“Does he know that?” Regulus asks, packing more bite into his tone than he means to.

Dorcas sniggers.

Regulus takes out a cigarette, lights it with his wand. The silence is comfortable. Easy. Two friends
in a room. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Are you going to tell me how you’re going to kill Voldemort?” Dorcas asks. “Or is that another
secret?”

“I’ve… there’s this magic in my family,” Regulus tells her. “This dark magic. I’ve got it now. And
it’ll make me strong enough to kill him.”

There’s silence again. More charged, less easy. Dorcas smacks her lips, then looks at Regulus
again. “That’s the part where you go too far, isn’t it?” Her eyes widen with realisation. “That’s
why you’re not worried about being able to touch James. You don’t actually expect it to be a
problem.”

“Dorcas…”

“No,” she says firmly, getting up to pace the room in front of Regulus, still sitting on the bed. “Do
you remember the vow I made? I’m bringing you back, Reg. You will kill Voldemort, and I will
bring you back from whatever hell you have to go to for it. So, start thinking of how you’re going
to be able to stand touch again, because you and James are figuring your shit out when this is over.
I will not give you another option.”

Regulus is going to protest. To tell Dorcas that it’s too late. He’s given too much of himself to the
darkness already. Even if he came back… fuck.

Regulus doesn’t want to come back.

Why would he give up this thing that makes him powerful? The magic keeps him sharp. Gives him
abilities he’d never be able to develop otherwise. It would be so stupid of him to give up this thing
that has taken away his suffering.

No one in their right mind would choose to let go of power. To actively choose to face his misery
again. Regulus has no intention of doing that, but before he can tell that to Dorcas, he feels a
disturbance in the wards around the house.

“Someone’s trying to get in,” he says, springing to his feet and crossing the room in quick strides.
Wand in hand, Regulus calls for Sirius as he hurries down the stairs.

His brother shows up shirtless but armed, and then he’s following Regulus to the entrance hall, a
look of determination on his face. Dorcas and Remus are not far behind, and neither is Barty who
heard the ruckus and came to join the fray.

Calling the shadows to him, Regulus raises his wand as he throws the door open and steps forward.
Then, immediately drops the darkness and scowls at Pandora, who’s giving him a pointed look as
she waits for him to wave her in through the wards.

“I don’t understand why you look so upset,” Pandora says as she steps inside, gliding past Regulus.
“Everyone else is here. You didn’t think I would miss it, did you?”

“You’re supposed to be in school,” Dorcas shrieks. “Shit. Pan! What are you doing here?”

“I had a feeling,” Pandora says, like that explains anything.

Regulus rubs his temples with his fingers. This has been the longest day of his entire life. “You can
share a room with Dorcas. We’re not moving on Lestrange Castle until tomorrow. Dorcas, catch
Pandora up. I’m going to my room. Do not bother me unless someone is dying, and even then, only
if it’s Sirius, Dorcas, Barty, or Remus.”

“I’m going to swoon,” Remus says, making everyone but Regulus laugh.

####

Interlude: Lily’s POV

Lily’s stomach is churning something fierce.

She’s in the kitchen, bent over a cauldron Regulus dug up from his Hogwarts trunk, preparing a
series of healing potions to take with her tomorrow. They don’t know what state James will be in,
so Lily is coming prepared for anything. She has the suspicion that James will want to join the
battle as soon as he’s rescued, and there’ll be no stopping him.

So, Lily is going to make sure he’s in good shape so he can make it back with everyone else.

The chopping of ingredients and stirring is soothing. It always has been. But tonight, she feels like
she might throw up any moment. It’s not that she’s afraid. Although yes, she is. She’s going to go
fight for the first time. And that’s a little terrifying.

But worst of all is the fear for everyone else. They’re attacking head on. Not a raid gone wrong, or
them defending something against Death Eaters like in the past. This time, the Order is attacking
first, and Lily is worried.

And yet… sitting in that room, watching Regulus lay out the plan, she had no doubts that he would
see this done come hell or high water.

Lily has witnessed James’ love for Regulus for a long time.

Today, she was witness to Regulus’ love for James.

It’s different. It’s sharper and colder and not something Lily would have ever thought to call love.
But the determination in Regulus’ ice-cold eyes, the ruthlessness of his movements, the cutting
edge of his words… Regulus Black loves James Potter so much he’s made himself into a weapon
and is ready to cut down the world for him.

Lily is wondering whether she should tell Regulus she slept with James when she senses a presence
in the kitchen. Looking up from the cauldron, she finds Regulus himself standing there, watching
her with a critical eye.

This boy might be the most beautiful person Lily has ever seen in an objective and detached way.
It’s just a fact. He’s graceful like a feline, and always perfectly put together. Ink-black curls, and
cheekbones so high they should come with a safety hazard warning. A jawline Lily could have had
a crush on if things had been different. Eyes that are green and harsh and slicing like a blade.
Regulus’ beauty is the kind of beauty a predator wears. It draws you in, makes you curious so you
forget to be afraid until it’s too late.

Lily can see why James was attracted to him to begin with. It’s easy. Too easy to be drawn to
Regulus Black. But loving him? That’s a mystery to her. Because he’s all edges and hardness. Cold
and remote like the night sky he feels like he belongs to. Lily could never. She loves warmth and
tenderness too much.

“For James?” he asks her, nodding towards the cauldron.

“Yes,” Lily confirms. “He’ll want to fight. So, I’m bringing everything I can think of to help him
recover.”

“He shouldn’t be too out of shape,” Regulus tells her. “I would focus on pepper ups and a general
strengthening potion. I cut a deal with Severus. He’ll be keeping James unharmed.”

“And just how exactly did you manage that?” Lily asks, impressed. “Severus has always hated
James.”

“I have a few aces up my sleeve. But I also reminded Severus James is your friend. He cares, still,”
Regulus says. Lily winces slightly. “There’s also the fact that James saved Severus’ life once. A
debt is a debt. Severus had to honour it. Besides, he also owed me one.”

“I didn’t know James saved Severus,” Lily mutters. “James hates him, too.”

“Well, Severus is easy to hate,” Regulus deadpans. There’s a pause, and then he tilts his head to the
side, regarding Lily.

“I half-expected you to get together. With James,” Regulus says, and he sounds completely
unbothered by it, which Lily thinks is strange, but to each their own. “You had feelings for him,
didn’t you?”

“I did,” Lily says. “And at the time, it was obvious James was never going to like me back that
way. Besides, I have feelings for someone else now. I don’t… James is just a friend, and that’s all
we want to be.”

“Hmm.”

“Look, Regulus, I don’t have any details about what happened between you, but for a very long
time James was in no state to get together with anyone in any meaningful way,” Lily says
truthfully. “He… hasn’t been coping so well.”

“I’m aware he’s been sleeping around.”

Lily looks at him, hesitates. What is she supposed to say to that? She’d be lying if she said she’s
not at least a little bit afraid of Regulus. Would he hurt her if he knew?

A little unsettled, Lily decides that if he asks, she’ll tell him. She won’t lie to him. But she’s also
not going to volunteer information that could result in injury to her person. Not while they’re alone
here in the kitchen. She doesn’t know Regulus well enough to gauge his emotional state.

“Do you know why he did it?” Regulus asks after a moment.

“Sleep with half the population?” Lily asks. Regulus nods. “To distract himself. To feel desired.
To feel like he was good enough for someone to want after you… well. James has been feeling like
he wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t what?”

“Good enough.”

Regulus doesn’t reply to that. His mouth slants in a hard line, eyebrows scowling a little. Lily sighs,
begins to bottle the potion so she can clean the cauldron and begin a new one. Regulus doesn’t
have any more, so she can’t brew more than one thing at a time. He watches her work for a while,
tracking her every movement but not commenting on it.

It’s a little unsettling. His presence in general is foreboding. It makes her a little uneasy, and she
thinks it’s got to do with the way sometimes the veins on his hands will darken. It’s not something
Lily has ever seen before, but she knows better than to think there isn’t magic out there she’s never
encountered.

Regulus Black has secrets. Dangerous secrets. And that’s going to be what wins this war. Lily is
certain that he’s going to kill Voldemort for having dared hurt James. So, if it makes the small
hairs on the back of her neck stand up when he’s in the room, she’ll endure it. For peace. For a
future in which they can rebuild.

“You’re good,” Regulus says matter-of-factly. “I’ll leave you to it. Oh, Evans? Pandora is here.
She’s in Dorcas’ room.”

Lily feels her heart lurch in her chest, but before she can ask Regulus how he knows, he’s out of
sight and she’s alone in the kitchen again.

****
It’s morning when Lily finally runs into Pandora. Last night, she didn’t have the courage. She
wanted to. Wanted to see her so badly it hurt. But Pandora’s rejection is still too fresh and Lily can
only cope with so much. So, she finished her potions and went to bed without seeking her out.

Now, she’s in the dining room, sipping tea and munching on toast with Emmeline, Gideon, Remus
and Sirius, when Dorcas comes in followed by Pandora.

The sight of her hits Lily like a bullet. Which is confusing, because Dora doesn’t resemble
anything as hard as that. She’s airy and light. Ethereal and delicate. She’s in muggle clothes, jeans
and a shirt with billowy sleeves that hug her slender wrists so beautiful Lily wants to whimper.
Pandora has her hair up in a high ponytail, which is not a look she’s seen before, but Lily
immediately likes because it accentuates the curve of her long neck.

People are chatting around them, unaware of all the things that are bubbling up inside of Lily’s
chest. Dorcas helps herself to breakfast, muttering good morning, but Pandora is standing still.
She’s looking at Lily, blue eyes fixed on hers.

When Pandora turns and walks back out of the room, Lily follows. Of course, she does. There was
never any doubt.

“Lily,” Pandora says, gesturing with her head towards a small room off the main hallway.

It’s a sort of parlour, Lily thinks. There are three armchairs and a fireplace. A few bookshelves and
a window that overlooks the garden. A small room. Intimate. It smells of dust and old parchment.

“What are you doing here?” Lily asks. “You should be in school.”

“Everyone I care about is in this house,” Pandora says simply. “I couldn’t stay away.”

“Not everyone,” Lily says bitterly. “Your man in the forest isn’t here.”

Pandora flinches, and Lily feels a wicked sense of satisfaction from it. She shouldn’t, she knows.
But Lily has never felt more inadequate than when Pandora looked at her with tears in her eyes and
said she liked Lily so much it was asphyxiating her, but she couldn’t be with her because she was
waiting for some random man she’d seen in a dream once.

“Lily, listen, I—”

“No,” Lily says, shaking her head. “No, Dora. I get it, alright? You’re waiting for him. Fine. It’s
your choice. But this? This is unfair. I’m not letting you do this to me. So, please, stay away. Don’t
seek me out. Don’t come talk to me. Don’t get close.”

Lily pushes past Pandora towards the door, because suddenly the room is too small and she can’t
breathe. Pandora’s presence is too overwhelming. It makes Lily feel small and fragile and she’s
about to go to battle. She can’t be—

Pandora’s slender fingers wrap around Lily’s arm, and then she’s being tugged back and Pandora’s
mouth is on hers.

“No,” Lily says, pulling back savagely. “Please, Dora. Don’t do this to me.”

“I spoke to Regulus,” Pandora says quickly, one hand still holding on to Lily’s wrist, the other
coming up to cup her cheek. “He told me about the cave, and it was—” Pandora stops, shakes her
head. “Not relevant. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve… my dreams are a very important part of
me. My abilities as a seer are so special to me. But I’ve… I think I’ve been letting that blind me to
the fact that at the end of the day we have a choice. And I make mistakes. I interpret things the
wrong way sometimes.”

“What?” Lily’s heart is thundering in her chest, beating so hard she’s certain Pandora can feel it.

“We have a choice,” Pandora repeats, voice sure and steady even though her hands are a little
shaky where they’re touching Lily. “Nothing is set in stone. And I’ve been waiting for the man in
the forest because I was young when I had that dream and it felt so good I’ve been chasing that
feeling forever. And I was an idiot because I found it but it wasn’t the man in the forest and so I
thought it couldn’t be. But it is. I don’t have to wait for him. I don’t want to wait for him because
that feeling is here. With you.”

Lily searches Pandora’s face. Looks for a trace of deception. For regret. But there is none. There’s
just hope and determination and the perfect, smooth lines of pale skin and freckles and blue eyes
she knows so well.

Hope is a dangerous thing, Lily knows. And yet, she can’t help but to let it fly. Let it spread its
wings inside of Lily.

“What are you saying, Dora?” Lily whispers.

“I’m saying that I choose you, Lily. Just you, if you’ll still have me.”

It’s not their first kiss, but it feels like it. Like a new beginning. Lily and Pandora move forward at
the same time, meeting in the middle. Soft lips and tongues that are a bit shy at first but quickly
forget to be tentative because oh. It’s glorious.

Pandora fits so well in Lily’s arms. Slender lines slotting against Lily’s soft curves. Someone sighs
into the kiss, and the other swallows the sound, feeds off it, and gives it back. Time stops. The
world falls away. There’s just Lily and Pandora and their hands running over skin and clothes
while their mouths move together.

When they break for air, Lily presses her forehead to Pandora’s. “I’m… I’m going to need you to
explain how you changed your mind to me in more detail,” she says, thumb tracing the curve of
Pandora’s cheekbone. “Because I don’t understand it, and I have to. I need to. Because you hurt
me. But I want to forget it. I want this with you.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Pandora says. “Everything. Every dream I’ve ever had and how it’s
turned out or not. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I’m making this choice, Lily. I’m
choosing you.”

Lily sighs, closes her eyes. “Why now? What changed?”

“I felt you were in danger. You and Dorcas and Regulus. I was so scared. And then I remembered
what it felt like the day we found Mary, and I thought… if anything happened to you, I would die,”
Pandora whispers, her breath fanning over Lily’s mouth.

“And I knew that it was so stupid for me to feel this way and fight it instead of embracing it. I
wasn’t sure what to make of any of it, but I had to come anyway. Just to help. To make sure you
made it home,” Pandora says, pressing small kisses all over Lily’s face as she speaks. Her brow.
Her nose. Her temple. Her cheek. Featherlight touches of affection that make Lily’s heart sing.

“Last night I spoke to Regulus about some stuff that’s happened. Stuff I dreamt about. And he
helped me realise I’ve been perhaps interpreting my dreams wrong. Or underestimating how our
individual choices can shape our fate.”
Pandora kisses Lily again, and Lily melts into it. She lets it wash away some of her unease. There
are things she doesn’t understand, not yet. But she will. Pandora has promised to tell her, and Lily
trusts her. And she wants this. Wants it badly enough she’s willing to risk getting her heart broken
again.

Lily is a Gryffindor, after all. And love is only for those brave enough to risk it all.

“Do you remember when you told me you were glad I’ve never had a dream about you?” Pandora
asks.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t understand it then. What you meant,” Pandora confesses. “But I do now. I don’t want my
fate to be determined by some dream I had when I was a kid. I won’t let it. We’re going to make
our own fate together, Lily.”

“I like the sound of that,” Lily says, smiling, finally. A big, hopeful smile that stretches over her
entire face and soul. A smile that says yes. We’re going to do this thing. Together.

They spend most of the morning in that room, kissing and talking. Whispering against each other’s
mouths and laughing. Pandora tells Lily everything. Lily listens. She tells Pandora everything, too.
She confesses she slept with James. Tells Pandora how upset she was when she sought him out.
The hurt. The heartbreak. How they decided to distract each other from their woes.

Pandora, in true Pandora fashion, holds no grudges. She understands. It’s wonderful to unburden
oneself to someone like Pandora, Lily thinks. Because she has no judgement. She says James is
extremely good looking and that Lily has impeccable taste. She also recommends not telling
Regulus unless absolutely necessary. And that’s that.

Lily would have liked to take Pandora to bed, but she also doesn’t want it to be rushed, or in a
house full of people preparing for battle. So, they don’t. They kiss and promise each other to take
their sweet time as soon as this is all over and they can devote themselves to the task thoroughly.

Between kisses, Pandora confesses to Lily she’s never been in bed with anyone, and Lily confesses
to Pandora she’s never been in bed with a girl. And that’s beautiful, they decide. That they’ll
discover it together.

“If we have any questions, I can always ask Marlene,” Lily says, giggling with her head on
Pandora’s shoulder. “Or you can ask Dorcas. It’s not like we don’t know who to go to for help.”

Pandora giggles, too. And it’s a sound so beautiful Lily would like to bottle it.

There’s a knock on the door. Polite but sharp. Lily and Pandora exchange a glance. It’s time, and
they’re both ready to fight and come home afterwards. Perhaps, Lily thinks, more ready than she
was before. Because now she has something special to fight for. She has someone to come back to.
And that’s the best motivation she could have when she’s out on the field tonight.

****

“We’re moving out in thirty minutes,” Dorcas announces to the room. “Is everyone clear on what
they’re doing?”

Sitting next to Lily, legs pressed against each other’s, Pandora squeezes her hand, fingers laced
together. They’re as ready as they’ll ever be. Potions are packed, and wands are in holsters, and the
plan has been reviewed so many times Lily feels a bit dizzy with it all.
There’s a chorus of agreement around the table as everyone confirms they know what they’re
doing. The door opens, and Regulus walks in. Dorcas looks at him and nods in some silent signal
that prompts Regulus to roll his eyes.

“I’m not going to give a speech,” he says.

“No shit,” Barty chuckles. When everyone turns to him with raised brows, Barty shrugs. “Reg’s a
man of few words. He gets shit done, doesn’t waste time talking about it.”

“I really don’t want to,” Emmeline mutters, tilting her head. “But I kind of like you.”

“War will do that to you,” says Sam. She still won’t look directly at Regulus, but is otherwise
coping with being in the constant presence of her jailer very well.

Sirius stands up, braces his hands on the table. “Listen. I just… what we’re doing is dangerous. I
know you all know. We’re all adults and we all know what we’ve signed up. for. But there’s a
good chance some of us don’t come back from this.”

“Well,” Marlene says, rolling her shoulders back. “Don’t know about that. That Felix Felicis has to
be good for something, right?”

Regulus nods, face completely devoid of emotion. “Marlene is right. Remember to drink it right
before battle starts so you get the most time out of it. It will guide you through whatever you’re
doing. Trust it, and you really should be fine.”

Lily had never thought about brewing liquid luck before. She knew about it. Every potioner worth
their salt knows it exists, but also that it’s incredibly difficult to make. So, when Regulus whipped
out a bottle earlier that day, and asked Dorcas to get hers, Lily was impressed.

There isn’t a lot of potion. Two bottles. Regulus told them James had one, but they don’t know
where it is nor do they have time to go looking. So, they rationed what they do have so that when
everyone takes sip it’ll give them three to four hours of good luck. It won’t be long enough to
cover the full duration of the battle, they don’t think, but it’s better than nothing.

It was agreed that Regulus wouldn’t take any. Sirius protested this decision, but Regulus argued
that he’s the most difficult to kill of all of them.

“Are we sure it’ll work?” Gideon asks.

“Yes,” Regulus says now, sounding bored.

“I don’t trust your word,” Gideon declares, crossing his arms over his chest.

Honestly, Lily is tired of Gideon being a jealous little shit. He’s been trying to get into a fight with
Regulus since he figured out he’s James’ ex-boyfriend and, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing.

Even more so because Regulus refuses to take the bait and has not once given Gideon the
satisfaction of reacting to his taunts. Regulus Black has outstanding self-control and Lily is one
hundred percent certain that’s the only reason Gideon is still breathing. That, and Regulus wants as
many bodies as possible in the fight. But if Gideon keeps this up after James is rescued, there’s no
telling what Regulus will do to him.

“Have you taken it before?” Remus asks Regulus, curious.

“From the exact same batch of the bottles I gave you. It works. Guaranteed,” Regulus confirms.
Then, he straightens and looks around. Dorcas comes to stand next to him. So does Sirius, and
Remus. Barty, too. Pandora gets up and tugs on Lily’s hand. One by one they all get to their feet
until they’re standing with each other. A tight circle of people in their late teens or early twenties
ready to take up arms to end a war they didn’t start.

“Good luck, everyone,” Sirius says firmly. “See you on the other side.”

****

Before Lily knows it, she’s out the door of Grimmauld place and apparating to Black Manor with
Barty Crouch. She’s nervous, but also settled. She’s ready. They’re going to rescue James.

“There’s a service entrance around the back straight to the kitchens,” Barty tells Lily once they’ve
apparated near the Manor. They’re outside a muggle pub. According to Barty, the Manor is just up
the road from there. “We’ll go in that way. The stairs to the dungeons are close to the kitchens, so
it’ll be quicker.”

“I’ll follow you,” Lily nods.

They walk up the road in silence. When the outline of the Manor rises towards the slowly
darkening sky in front of them, Barty takes an abrupt turn and veers off the road and into the
scattered trees surrounding the area. Lily goes with him without questioning it.

“We should take the potion now,” Barty says when he stops under a large oak tree from where
they can see the back door. It’s small and unassuming. Between where they’re standing, and the
kitchen door, there’s a large expanse of garden and a little to the left a shed and some laundry lines.

“Alright,” Lily says, retrieving the small bottles from her pack. They all got a tiny container with
their dose of potion from Regulus, who cautioned against taking it too early. “Have you had liquid
luck before?”

“No,” Barty says, accepting the little bottle from Lily. “You?”

“No.” They look at each other, then, “Bottoms up.”

It’s a strange feeling. Like warm honey sliding down her throat and lighting up a fuzzy lightbulb
inside her chest. Barty makes a face like he, too, is experiencing something unexpected. And then
Lily feels the tug that tells her to go into the house right now. Without waiting another moment.

“We should—”

“It wants us to—”

They nod to each other, then they’re walking with purpose towards the small kitchen door. As
Regulus predicted, the house is mostly empty. Lily can hear noise coming from the front of the
Manor, but it’s faint which tells her any people are a distance away. If they’re quick in and out of
the dungeons, no one will know they’ve rescued James. Besides, the attack on Lestrange Castle
will begin any moment now and most people will be called away to fight.

It occurs to Lily as she follows Barty down the stairs that Black Manor would make a fantastic
film location. Lily has red many fantasy novels set in places less creepy than the narrow stone
staircase she’s currently navigating. She half expects a knight with a sword and a shield to show up
and intercept them. Then, as though realising how absurd that is, Lily almost lets out a giggle.

At the bottom of the stairs, they arrive at a landing with a door. Behind it, Barty says, are the
dungeons. Felix tells Lily to push the door first, and it tells Barty to let her, so that’s what they do.

When Lily steps into the dungeons of Black Manor, she comes face to face with Severus Snape.
“Hello, Lily.”

“Shit,” she says, scrambling for her wand. Behind her, Barty already has his to hand.

Severus shakes his head. “There’s no need for all of that. Potter is in the third cell to the left.”

Immediately, Barty is pushing past him towards the cell. Lily looks at him, then at Severus again.
She hesitates.

“You could come with us,” Lily says. She shouldn’t. She gave up on Severus a long time ago,
because you cannot help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. But old habits die hard, it seems.
So, Lily meets his eye and tries again. “Switch sides. James’ parents would make sure you’re
forgiven for having helped us rescue him.”

“I’m needed in Lestrange Castle,” Severus says calmly. “It’s good to see you, Lily. You look
great.” Slipping a hand into his robes, Severus produces a wand. Lily tenses, but he only gives it to
her. “It’s Potter’s. I’m assuming he’ll need that. Won’t want to miss the action. Always needing to
play the hero that one.”

“Severus…” Lily takes the wand. “Thank you.”

With a nod and a swish of his robes, he steps around her towards the door. Before he starts up the
stairs, however, he looks back once. “Lily… Don’t come to Lestrange Castle. It’ll be dangerous.”

“You should know me better than that,” she tells him.

“I do. But I had to try,” Severus replies. Then, he’s up the stairs, and Lily is rushing to help Barty
rouse James.

####

A dense forest surrounds Lestrange Castle, almost like a natural barrier between it and the rest of
the unwanted world. Of course, a wide semi-circular shape around it has been cleared to make
space for the property, but its edges are delimited by forests with thick, tall leaves.

In the woods, Regulus bids his time. Elspeth is at his side, waiting for him to throw the cloak over
them so they can sneak into the castle unseen. First, however, the battle must start.

The waiting is making people anxious. Regulus can see it in the way their faces are drawn, eyes
narrowed as they remained fixed on the castle. Dusk has turned the sky purple overhead. At least
it’s not raining, Regulus thinks. It’d be annoying to do battle in a downpour.

“Sirius,” Regulus calls, stepping over the overgrown underbrush to get closer to him. “Are you
guys ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” he replies. His wand is in his hair, because Sirius is still stupid like that, and
the sword of Godric Gryffindor is at his back. This is, admittedly, rather cool.

There was some discussion about whether Sirius should bring it or not, and action-man—of course
it was fucking action-man—raised doubts about whether Sirius actually knew how to wield a
sword.
This had not gone down well with Sirius who’d immediately proceeded to give him a
demonstration of what all the hours of fencing he was forced to endure as a child had achieved.
After that, Remus had promptly dragged Sirius to their room for a good two hours during which
Regulus found a sheath in one of the storage rooms so his brother could carry the sword until he
needed to use it.

And so, here Sirius is, with the sword at his back ready to fight with it in battle.

“Remus?” Regulus calls.

“We’re set,” Remus replies from further down the line.

“Take Felix now,” Regulus indicates. Up and down the forest line, the people who’d been planning
with him in Grimmauld Place drink.

Regulus shoots a brief shower of green sparks over them, and then Sirius is moving. Elspeth finds
Regulus quickly and he takes out the cloak, throwing it over them both. They have agreed that
should anything go wrong, Elspeth will slip out from under it and reveal herself, because it’s
imperative that Regulus isn’t discovered until the right time. Still, in an ideal world, they’ll both get
in and out unseen.

From under the cloak, Regulus and Elspeth march a bit to the left of the bulk of the group. Sirius
leads them, with Remus on one side and Dorcas on the other. Sam, Marlene, Emmeline, Gideon
and Pandora behind them. They’re all looking quite menacing, Regulus has to admit.

Breath speeding up with the exertion of climbing the upwards slope, Regulus hurries up so he’s the
first one at the wards. Him and Remus have been here before, keyed in so they could come and go
to dinners and Death eater meetings. They knew it was most likely that Remus had been removed
from access. But Bellatrix thinks Regulus dead, and he was ready to bet she didn’t bother adjusting
the spells.

“Hold,” he whispers from under the cloak. Sirius and the others stop right at the edge. Waiting for
him.

Regulus calls forward the darkness, feeling his veins turn black under his skin. Focusing, he
reaches forward, to the wards, and smiles to himself when they give way under him. Bellatrix is
getting lazy in her power. Complacent.

Spreading his hands in front of him—still under the cloak—Regulus pushes with his shadow magic
and overwhelms the wards. There’s a shattering sound, then the barrier visibly cracks. The others
can see it, too. Emmeline gasps out loud, impressed.

The moment the wards are down, an alarm begins to blare, and it’s show time. Sirius wastes not
another second, running forward with his wand raised, leading his friends into a battle that they
can’t win. But that’s not the point. Not yet, anyway.

With a loud bang, the doors to the castle burst open and there is Bellatrix. She looks outraged but
delighted, like she’s offended they dared invade her home but excited that she finally gets to fight
the Order out in the open.

With her stand at least half a dozen Death Eaters, and more will begin to arrive shortly. As the
fighting begins, so does their clock. The longer they take, the more dangerous this is for everyone
else.

Regulus and Elspeth slip around, safely under the cloak. They climb the steps carefully, avoiding
the lackeys and Death Eaters pouring out of the castle to fight with Bellatrix. The doors are left
open, and the Death Eaters are too worried with the small group of people charging at them, so
even though they didn’t take any Felix, Regulus and Elspeth slip inside without issue.

“Upstairs,” Elspeth whispers to Regulus, gesturing towards the grand staircase.

Climbing the steps with Elspeth under the cloak is a little jostly. Awkward, almost. Regulus would
rather he didn’t need her, because every now and then they’ll brush elbows and it’s making him
sweat. But the castle is too fucking big and Regulus would take too long to locate this antiques
room. So, he grits his teeth against the discomfort and keeps going.

Not five minutes later, Regulus is standing in front of the glass case from Elspeth’s mind. Triumph
flares in his chest. Here it is. The last horcrux.

“Guard the door,” he tells Elspeth as he shoves the cloak in his pocket. “Whatever happens, do not
come any closer. I can’t guarantee your safety if you do.”

“What in Merlin’s Earth is in that case?” Elspeth asks, eyes wide.

“You don’t want to know,” Regulus replies, yanking open the doors to it.

Regulus was prepared, so when the cup senses danger and lashes out with a projection of Riddle
himself, he intercepts it with a flare up of darkness. Gathering the shadows to him, Regulus
wrestles with the cup while fishing one of the basilisk fangs from his pocket. The cup is fighting
him harder than the locket and the ring did, and Regulus wonders if it can sense it’s the last one.

There was a reason Regulus insisted on shaking hands with Riddle to seal his deal for James’ life.
The one touch. The one second to snatch that piece of information from his mind. Risky. Reckless.
But worth it.

There are no more horcruxes.

A scream tears through the room, the cup, anguished and agitated at the danger, tries to overwhelm
Regulus. It pushes hard against him. A weight that threatens to crush him. There’s a lot of power
pouring out of the cup, twisted and evil and ruthless.

Gasping for air, Regulus strains his muscles as he pushes back against it, gathering more power.
More darkness. Too much, perhaps. Inside of him, another piece chips away. It carries memories.
It carries feelings. It puts distance between Regulus now and Regulus then.

His feet slide back on the polished hardwood floor. Bracing himself, knees bent and legs locked as
hard as he can manage, Regulus fights back. One step. Then another. It’s hard work, because the
cup doesn’t let up even for a second. But Regulus is stubborn and determined. The voices in his
head are, too.

More. More. More.

Darkness rises inside of him, lending him strength. With a grunt, Regulus lunges forward and stabs
the cup with the fang. It shrivels, another scream, a cloud of smoke. Then silence.

Panting for breath, Regulus bends over himself.

“Regulus?” Elspeth asks from the door. “Are you alright?”

He looks at her, blinks. Sweat sticks to his brow. “What?”

“You…” Elspeth clears her throat. “Your eyes aren’t green anymore. They’re black. And…
uhm…”

Elspeth gestures downwards, and Regulus looks to find that this time his veins haven’t gone back
to normal when he relinquished his hold on the legacy magic. Should he be concerned by this? No,
he decides. He wants this. Power. He’s invincible, or as close to it as he can get. And if his legacy
is closer to the surface, he’ll wield it that much more effectively against Riddle.

Rising from where he fell into a crouch, Regulus dismisses Elspeth’s concerns and sets his
shoulders. “Let’s go. We’re done here.”

In his head, the darkness whispers. It scratches its claws against the insides of his skull. Voices.
Agitated and celebratory.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

####

Despite the potions that Lily has given him, James is still disoriented. Once he's dressed with the
clothes she brought him, he can stand but a bit shakily. He asks for side-along apparition, because
he’s not sure he can manage it on his own right now. Barty is here, too. It’s confusing, and heart-
breaking because James can’t look at Barty without thinking of Regulus so he tries not to.

According to Lily, Sirius and Remus are leading a group of people in an attack against Lestrange
Castle. A final stand sort of thing. This James doesn’t understand either, but where Sirius goes,
James follows. So, they’re here now, in a forest that surrounds the land that belongs to the
Lestranges.

In the near distance, James can hear the sounds of battle. Flashes of light exploding in the dusk.
People shouting. He wants to charge forward. Find Sirius. Fight with him, because that’s all James
has left.

But when he goes to take the first step, Lily holds him back. “Wait a second,” she says. “We’re
supposed to go in with the second wave.”

“What second wave?” James asks.

Over the castle, someone shoots a shower of golden sparks. Barty and Lily both look up, then they
grin. “You’ll see. Come on. That’s our signal.”

Feeling like he’s stepped into the wrong story, James accepts that he’s not going to get answers
until the fighting is over and decides to simply go with it. He doesn’t need to understand how they
ended up here to help his friends.

A battle is a battle. The ins and outs of it don’t matter. Not right now. Sirius is out there,
somewhere. He’s fighting, and so James is going to fight with him. At least when he’s in the throes
of battle, he doesn’t have time to think about Regulus.

When they burst past the tree line, James sees the ground slopes upwards slightly which is a bitch
to run up, but the fighting is right ahead and there. Remus is to the side, engaged with two Death
Eaters. Sam and Emmeline are back-to-back with Marlene, which is a bit odd because James
would have expected her to be near Dorcas, but whatever.

Gideon is here, which is surprising, but he’s a good fighter and he’s holding his ground remarkably
well. Dorcas is fighting with Pandora and near them, closest to the steps leading up to the castle is
Sirius. Sirius, who is fighting with Bellatrix—is that a fucking sword? James thinks he might be
hallucinating, but alright.

And then, to his right, from the trees bursts an army of people. An actual army. There’s got to be at
least eighty of them, if not more. They’re running, and they’re fitter than James is because they’re
covering ground much faster than he could.

Remus immediately gestures to them, somehow communicating what they need to do because they
fall into formation straight away and flood the battlefield like a tide.

“Who? What the fuck is going on? Who are those people?” James asks, doing his best to not slow
down. Lily and Barty are running with him.

“Those are Remus’ wolves!” Lily replies, grinning proudly.

“What?”

“And that’s your parents, mate,” Barty shouts, gesturing to their left, where another group of
people has burst from the trees and is also running towards the battle.

Effie and Monty are leading the charge. Molly and Arthur Weasley are with them, so is Kingsley.
And Langlock, with his prothesis for his missing arm. Alice Longbottom leads a group of Ministry
aurors that James doesn’t know but is grateful to see anyway. Even Moody is here, charging ahead
with determination, that new, magical blue eye of his spinning around like crazy.

James worries for a fleeting second that he’s still in his cell and this is a fever dream. None of it
makes sense. But here he is, and he’s in the battle now, and Sirius is fighting Bellatrix who has just
realised there are a lot more of them than there are Death Eaters and is shouting instructions for
reinforcements to be brought.

Things escalate very quickly. Death Eaters apparate in throes, but the Order is here, and a
contingent of aurors is here, and Remus’ wolves are legion, and they are fierce.

“James!” Sirius shouts with relief when he sees him.

Then, they’re side by side, fighting. Bellatrix is shrieking, angry as they’ve ever seen her. Her
curses are almost always green. Sirius and James duel her together, forcing her away from the
others to give people a chance to fight and survive.

The pop of appararition alerts James there’s someone new to his left, then he sees Lucius and
Narcissa Malfoy on the steps of Lestrange Castle, looking around with concern. They exchange a
glance, and Narcissa nods like she’s confirming some secret decision. And to James’ horror,
Lucius yanks back his sleeve and presses his wand to his mark in what is unmistakably a call for
help to Voldemort.

“Shit,” James mutters, renewing his fight with Bellatrix. “Sirius, Voldemort is coming.”

And to James’ utter shock, Sirius simply smiles and says, “About time he got here. We’ve been
waiting for him.”

“Who is we?” James asks, ducking to avoid a curse and retaliating fast.

A few things happen very quickly, all at once. James watches it all happen as if in slow motion,
even though it can’t take more than five seconds, perhaps seven.
 Voldemort himself appears at the bottom of the steps, face like thunder as he sees the hordes of
people fighting on the front lawn of Bellatrix’ house.

Impossibly, wonderfully, terrifyingly, Regulus Black steps out of Lestrange Castle. James lets out a
choked sob. Lowers his guard for a second.

It’s a mistake, he knows it the moment he does it, but he thought Regulus was dead and he’s not
and James can’t process it. His chest caves in on itself, overwhelmed with a flare of relief, and
love, and anger and the grief he’d been carrying that now needs to evaporate. It’s a lot and James is
overcome for a moment, which in a battle is as good as a death sentence.

He’s let his guard down, and he shouldn’t have, because he was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange and
she doesn’t get distracted. She doesn’t miss.

Bellatrix’s killing curse smashes itself against a wall of shadows suddenly surrounding James. A
shield, raised from nothing to stop the impossible. To save James’ life. He looks up, and there is
Regulus still atop the steps, but his hand is streaked with black and stretched in his direction and
there’s murder in his eyes.

And then, Sirius who is also the son of House Black and doesn’t get distracted, doesn’t miss an
opportunity when it presents itself, takes advantage of the moment of shock at the killing curse
having failed to plunge the sword directly into Bellatrix’s chest.

Bellatrix Lestrange dies with her mouth wide open in shock and betrayal, pierced through the heart
with a sword that signifies bravery and acceptance and wielded in the name of those who have
been hunted and killed for their heritage. It is, perhaps, the most poetic killing James has ever
heard of.

Voldemort screams. Feral and furious, and then he’s on Sirius because somehow, Voldemort can
fly or move fast enough that it looks like it. But just as they rose to protect James, shadows grab
onto him, yanking him back and away from Sirius, who is pale and shaky but whole. Unharmed.

And then Voldemort is on his feet, wand in his hand, and Regulus is standing right in front of him.

“Your fight is with me, Tom,” he says, then they lunge at each other.

Chapter End Notes

I AM SORRY ABOUT THE CLIFFHANGER THE CHAPTER HAD TO END

SOMEWHERE AND TRUST ME THIS WAS THE NICEST ONE I COULD
MANAGE

I am super behind answering comments in the previous chapter because I'm dealing
with some life stuff I had very limited time this morning and I thought you'd prefer
to have the new update early
I'll do my best to go through and reply to as many of your wonderful comments as I
can later today But I have read every single one and I love you so much and I got so
excited after reading your reactions that I have updated chapter count because it's
going to be 64 chapters instead of 63 now

THANK YOU so much

***

James is having the worst time He thinks Reg is dead and he's so sad it's making
me sad

Regulus getting battle plans ready

Sirius being absurdly jealous of platonic Moonwater
Gideon being a little shit and Regulus refusing to even think his name? PLS HE'S SO
PETTY AND FUNNY
Barty volunteering to go get James because he knows Regulus will trust him and not
be distracted while he does the VERY IMPORTANT THING. True BFF right there

Reg & Lily's interaction? I'M SCREAMING

PANDALILY RISING Our queens are back on and I am so here for it Thank
goodness Pandora realised that divination is a dodgy art and that she shouldn't put her
entire life on hold waiting for something that may or may not happen

Remus finding Sirius and his sword hot is all of us SIR YOU ARE VALID FOR
THAT AND I SUPPORT YOU

All the horcruxes are destroyed!! I repeat - Voldy can die

The battle? Remus' wolves? HELP THAT'S SO SEXY

Effie and Monty leading the charge? ICONIC
James being confused but ready to fight is so on brand for him. He's been confused for
so long, my baby, you're about to get explanations finally

James saw Reg is alive my baby was shooketh and distracted UGH

Sirius vs Bella
THE SWORD
I have no words

NEXT CHAPTER IS THE BATTLE PART II ARE WE READY FOR IT!?

See you in the comments section

 The Monsters In My Head
Chapter Summary

The battle of Lestrange Castle Part II

Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

We are here. I am so excited about this chapter but I'm also well nervous because it's...
you'll see. It's important, and a pivotal moment, and basically the peak of the mountain
we've been climbing

That said, this chapter gets a bit heavy in some parts so please heed the TWs and be
ready for it to get angsty and rough. As always, you know the tags are our creed. We
respect the tags. We trust the tags. Happy ending and engame Jegulus are so close

TWs for this one

Depictions of violence (it's a battle my people)
Depictions of death
Depictions of grief
Depictions of pain / torture
References to past torture
References to past death
References to past stabbings
Blood and various injuries
Depictions of vomiting
Cutting (in a ritual magic sort of way)

Let me know if I've left anything out but I think those should cover it

Enjoy

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When one is in battle, the world falls away until all that’s left is your opponent and your weapon.

It’s intimate in a twisted, messed up way, and Regulus thinks that’s beautiful. Here is a man who’s
a match for him. The most powerful wizard to rise in centuries, facing off with a boy who’s made
of shadow and sheer spite. Regulus knows as he bares his teeth at Riddle that he’s going to need
every ounce of power at his disposal to best him.

Tom Riddle isn’t to be underestimated. It’s clear that he has been cultivating his magic carefully
and thoroughly for a long time. Furthermore, obviously Riddle was born with a natural inclination
for the dark arts as well as more raw power than should have been possible.
Beating Riddle won’t be easy.

With his wand in one hand and a fistful of shadows on the other, Regulus engages in the dance of
battle with the ultimate enemy. It’s a fight to the death. Neither will yield to the other. There is
only one way this ends.

Regulus darts to the side, dodging a spell that comes his way. He hits back while still in motion. To
anyone watching, they’ll be blurs of flashing lights and dark clothes. Both Regulus and Riddle
move inhumanly fast and have impeccable wand work.

Grunting, Regulus takes a hit, sacrificing some of his pain to gain enough room to counter attack.
Through gritted teeth, he watches Riddle stumble back as Regulus’ hex singes his cheek. A hit for
a hit. It’s got to be this way because Riddle’s curses are complex and well developed and simple
shields and counter-curses aren’t enough. Regulus is not going to win this fight by honouring any
duelling rules or by being careful.

They’re on the steps of Lestrange Castle, and Regulus has only a very faint awareness of the battle
going on around them. Sirius has moved on from Bellatrix. James is with him, fighting side by
side. Dorcas is down in the fray, sticking close to Barty which is just as well. Pandora has found
Evans and they’re sticking close to Remus who is leading the army of wolves rather ruthlessly and
effectively. As far as he can see, the people who matter to him are whole and still fighting and
that’s got to be enough because Regulus has no space to worry about them. Not now. Not if he’s
going to end this war tonight.

Somewhere on the battlefield, more people arrive. Aurors. With them is Dumbledore, who looks
furious as he takes stock of the battle, seeking out Moody. Narcissa has been gone for long enough,
Regulus suspects she’ll be back shortly. And he doesn’t have time to check, but he has to count on
Lucius keeping his word. He’ll see when the battle is over if Malfoy delivered or not. There’s no
use worrying about it now.

Regulus sidesteps to avoid a curse, then throws a handful of shadows at Riddle paired with a
powerful explosive curse that Riddle blocks. Sweat gathers on Regulus’ temples, running down his
back. There’s no time to stop. No time to think. He’s duelling, letting himself fall into the rhythm
of it, the wand an extension of his arm, the darkness another weapon in his arsenal.

Light flashes from Riddle’s wand, a torrent of cursed fire that Regulus deflects with a shield of ice
and darkness. Breaking the shield into shards, he shoots them at Riddle, but they get transfigured
into water drops. Harmless.

More magic. More curses. Flashes of light, and blocked attacks. Riddle lands a half-hit on
Regulus’ shoulder, but Regulus then lands a small explosion near Riddle’s head and his ear begins
to bleed.

Small wounds. Not enough. They’re both too powerful. Too good. Too ruthless. Regulus isn’t tired
yet, but he will be. He can’t let this drag on for too long.

We need to end this.

In his head, the voices wake. Slithering and agitated, the shadows come forward. Curl around his
brain, pounding against his eyes. The back of his teeth. They’re louder now than they’ve ever been.
They demand. They want.

Regulus. Let us out. Let us out.

Ours.

It’s a mantra, repeated every time he wields the darkness to defend himself. Regulus has two
advantages. One, Riddle thinks himself immortal and is therefore more concerned with hurting
Regulus than protecting himself. Two, Riddle underestimates the lengths Regulus will go to in
order to win this.

Because there is no line too holy. No limit too hard.

Regulus has made it this far and he’s ready to cross them all. As he dances with Riddle over the
front lawn of the castle, locked in a stalemate that neither of them seems to be able to break,
Regulus understands there’s only one way he can move forward. And he’s willing.

The monsters in his head rise, the promise of power and glory too enticing. And Regulus makes
them a bargain. He’ll give in and give up, letting the darkness overcome him whole, if they beat
Tom Riddle. He’ll let himself go fully. Won’t hold on to any of the things that made him him. Full
control of a body to once again walk the earth and submit it to their will. Regulus' self, sacrificed in
exchange for ending the war.

For killing Tom Riddle.

Yes. Yes. Ours. Ours.

Forever in the dark.

No coming back.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

It’ll take a moment to make it happen, though. To relinquish himself and give in entirely. He’ll
have to let go of the spells he’s holding at the moment. And Regulus isn’t sure how to go about it
because Riddle is too fast. But unless he finds it, unless he has a second to allow the legacy magic
to consume him fully, he won’t win.

Looking up from the battle, Regulus locks eyes with Dorcas. He can’t afford any more than that—a
single look—for there’s a curse already hurtling through the air towards him. But that was all he
needed, apparently.

When he’s blocked Riddle’s latest attack, Regulus senses people at his side and finds Dorcas,
Barty, Pandora, Remus, Sirius and James. They’re all here. Fighting with him. For him.

“What do you need?” Dorcas asks, having understood his look perfectly.

“I need time,” Regulus grunts, throwing up a shield combined with shadows to protect them all
from Riddle’s onslaught. “Buy me a minute, then I’m ending this.”

“You heard him,” Sirius says, twirling the sword by the hilt. “We’re buying time.”

There’s a grunt of agreement. They line up in front of Regulus, a human shield made of the people
he wants to protect most. His people facing death on behalf of Regulus. It’s the one thing he
wanted to avoid at all costs. It’s quite possibly how he’s going to win the war.

“Ready guys?” Dorcas asks. “Now!”

Regulus drops the shield and shuts his eyes, trusting that they can hold their own for a moment. All
the people he loves. He cares about. They’re powerful and determined and they’re fighting
together. There’s a special kind of magic in that. In the connections between souls who love each
other in all the different ways love exists.

They’re making a stand together. And that’s got to be enough to keep them safe for the minute
Regulus needs. It has to be. Regulus has to trust it is.

And then, he looks inside. Finds the monsters in his head. The voices. Every Black that has ever
dabbled in the dark arts. They’re greedy. Grabbing at him. Desperate for a body that will simply
allow them to rise. No resistance. No humanity left.

In his head, Regulus stands on the precipice. At the very edge. Looks down, into a void so deep
and ravenous that it won’t ever spit him back up. Power in exchange for himself.

He doesn’t hesitate to jump.

####

It takes all six of them pouring themselves into the shield to keep Voldemort at bay. James is
sweating buckets, and he’s a little dizzy, but they hold. They hold and protect Regulus, who
duelled Voldemort one-on-one for close to an hour and didn’t give an inch. If James hadn’t been so
busy fighting other Death Eaters, and fearing for his life and everyone he cares about, he would
have been having a crisis over how hot the whole thing was.

His wand is vibrating from the effort of sustaining so much magic for so long, shoulders pressed
against Sirius’ on one side and Pandora’s on the other.

Dumbledore is hurrying up the slope towards them, and James thinks for a moment it’s fucking
rich of him to want to come and claim victory. He decides, right there and then, that he won’t let
that happen. Regulus is the one who deserves to take down Voldemort.

James wants to look behind him. See what’s happening. What Regulus is doing. Is he ready? James
doesn’t know what they’re waiting for, but he hopes Regulus hurries up because Dumbledore is
moving fast.

There’s a scream. A roar of pain that makes James falter and then he can’t stop himself from
glancing over his shoulder. Regulus is on his knees, curled forward, hands over his face. It lasts a
second before his cry is abruptly cut off.

And then he gets to his feet and James thinks he’s going to be sick. Whoever this is raising his
wand to charge at Voldemort again, he’s not Regulus. He wears his face, and his rings, and the
beautiful curls that James adores.

But it isn’t Regulus.

“Let go. It’s time to end this,” he says. “Now.”

With a sigh of relief, all of them drop the shield and stumble backwards, catching their breaths after
the exertion. Hand on his chest to ease the sharp piercing of exhaustion, James watches as this odd
version of Regulus taunts Voldemort.

He sounds the same, but not. Looks the same, but doesn’t. Regulus-who-is-not-Regulus steps past
the line of his friends and James can do nothing but watch as he attacks Voldemort with renewed
vigour.
There’s something evil on Not-Regulus’ face, James knows, because Voldemort looks upon it and
for the first time hesitates. It’s quite a sight, to see the man who has brough the entire Wizarding
World to a halt for almost a decade be afraid of an eighteen-year-old.

“What did he do?” James whispers. His heart is in his throat, and he should perhaps be re-joining
the rest of the battle a bit further down the lawn, but he can’t. He can’t move. Can’t do anything
but watch.

Not-Regulus attacks Voldemort with a blast of something dark. Voldemort retaliates with green,
deadly light and James wants to cry. Wants to jump in the middle and protect Regulus because a
killing curse can’t be deflected. It can’t be stopped.

Except, apparently, it can.

Whatever Not-Regulus is doing, the powerful jet of light and shadow that shoots from his wand
and his hand smashes itself against the green light. It builds in the middle, a large, vibrating orb
where the magic of both men collides. And then, Not-Regulus is pushing and James’ jaw falls open
because the killing curse is moving backwards.

“Are you seeing this?” Barty asks, voice wavering. “Are you seeing… those are shadows? Is he
pushing back a killing curse? What the fuck?”

“Yes,” Sirius says. “Yes. I see it, too.”

While Not-Regulus is holding the line with his wand raised and well aimed, he flicks his other
hand. Almost casually. Like it costs him nothing. Shadows shoot up from the ground, trapping
Voldemort where he is. They crawl up his body like vines, curling around his arms, his neck. The
green light is pushed back even further by the current of blackness erupting form Regulus-who-is-
not-Regulus’ wand.

Dumbledore is almost upon them, wand at the ready, but even he stops short and stares, eyes wide
behind his glasses. Sirius and Remus step up in front of him, cutting his path. The look on their
faces challenge Dumbledore to even try to say anything about it. He can’t get involved, can’t claim
this victory, because Not-Regulus is too fast. Too powerful. Too committed.

“Goodbye, Tom,” Not-Regulus says. He lifts his wand-free hand again, twists fingers that are
stained black at the tips, and makes a crushing motion with his fist.

Voldemort’s neck makes a horrible cracking sound when the darkness around it snaps it broken,
closing around it so tight Voldemort's head is separated from his body. It hits the soft grass just as
the green killing curse hits the body square in the chest. The villain of James’ nightmares,
responsible for mass-murders of muggles and muggle-borns, for torture and fear and a war that’s
gone on for too long dies a double death at the hands of the boy who owns James’ heart.

When Voldemort crumples to the floor, there’s a moment when nothing changes. It’s strange,
James thinks, because how is the entire world not brought to an immediate halt? Can’t they tell
how momentous this is?

Then, Death Eaters must feel something happen to the brands on their arms because there’s
shouting. Panic spreads like wildfire across the battlefield, interrupting duels and fights
everywhere on the lawn of Lestrange Castle. Immediately, some people begin to attempt to
apparate away and that snaps Dumbledore out of his haze.

He turns, raises his wand, and begins to shout orders for the Death Eaters to be round up. Moody
answers, and then they’re leading the charge to prevent anyone from escaping. Anti-apparition
wards get conjured. Rather quickly, a lot of the masked people drop their wands and put their
hands up in surrender. Some put up a fight, and that keeps Moody and Dumbledore busy and away
from them, which is just as well because James is still waiting for Not-Regulus to turn around and
look at them.

Someone’s cheering, James thinks, but he can’t look away from Regulus-who-is-not-Regulus,
standing over the body and the severed head of Lord Voldemort. Slowly, deliberately, Not-Regulus
puts his wand in his holster at his wrist, then tilts his head up towards the sky. When his hair falls
back, James gets a glimpse of a smile that makes the blood run cold in his veins. That is not the
boy he loves, and he doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t know how to get Regulus back.

Carefully, all his friends gather close, all staring at Not-Regulus with trepidation. The first one to
move is Dorcas. She exchanges a glance with Pandora, then clears her throat.

“Regulus,” Dorcas calls him, taking a tentative step closer.

Pandora moves with her, interlacing their fingers between them. She looks dishevelled and tired,
but her brow is set in determination like she knows something the rest of them don’t.

“Regulus, it’s me. Dorcas. Look at me.”

“Regulus…” he says, voice the same but different, somehow. Colder. Detached. This is the texture
of the voice that used to tell James his thighs were a hazard, but there’s none of the boy in it. “That
was his name.”

Was? His? What?

James doesn’t understand what’s happening. Doesn’t understand what he’s witnessing. His brain is
trying to puzzle it but failing. Helpless, he watches Dorcas step closer still before Regulus-who-is-
not-Regulus puts up a hand. It’s streaked through with black, the tips of his fingers as though he’s
dipped them into a pot of ash.

“Don’t come closer,” he says, firm and a little threatening. “You’d do well to leave.”

“I can’t leave,” Dorcas says just as firmly. “You know I can’t leave.”

Her hands are a bit shaky, and there’s a waver in her voice. It takes James a moment to realise
Dorcas is afraid and that. In the bits and bobs James managed to gather during the battle, he found
out that Dorcas has been working with Regulus the entire time towards killing Voldemort. James
doesn’t know the particulars yet, but he understood the basics. Dorcas and Regulus never stopped
being friends. Trusting each other. Working together.

So why is Dorcas afraid of Regulus now?

“It’s done,” Not-Regulus tells Dorcas. “It can’t be undone.”

James exchanges a confused glance with Barty and Remus, but Sirius hasn’t taken his eyes away
from his brother. He’s pale, his mouth a tight line of worry. James shuffles closer to Sirius and asks
under his breath, “What is going on?”

Swallowing harshly, Sirius whispers, “See if he lets you get closer.”

“Me?”
“Together,” Sirius says.

And that’s all he needs. James goes where Sirius goes. No questions asked. They step closer,
moving slowly until they’re level with Dorcas. It’s there, standing right before Regulus-who-is-not-
Regulus that James is close enough to see his eyes for the first time.

They’re black. All black, not green, no white. Just black, endless and devouring. Terrifying. James
has never looked at Regulus and not felt the fire of want. The desperation of loving him so
thoroughly it flayed him open. And yet, here he stands and thinks he’s the most beautiful he’s ever
been, but James is wary of him. It’s a jarring feeling.

The veins on Not-Regulus forehead are tainted dark, running over the sides of his face,
disappearing and reappearing under his skin where they get closer to the surface. They go down his
neck, dip under his clothes. James wonders if they’re black all over and what that means. It’s clear
to James that Regulus has done something to himself. Something that allowed him to do that magic
trick with the shadows that killed Voldemort. But at what cost?

“Reg?” James asks, voice wavering. “Hey. It’s me. James.”

The bottomless pits of his eyes snap up to James’ and Regulus growls. He bares his teeth and snarls
at James, raising shadows from the ground that pool around his feet like he’s standing on a twisted
parody of a cloud.

“Take him away,” Regulus-who-is-not-Regulus says. “I can’t look at him.”

“Why?” Dorcas asks boldly, loudly. “You love him. Do you remember? You love James. You did
this for James. For Sirius. For me.”

James is a little embarrassed at the fluttering of his heart when he hears Dorcas say that. Is it true?
Does Regulus love him still? It can’t be. Or maybe it can. He doesn’t know anything anymore.

“Shut up,” Regulus-who-is-not-Regulus warns.

“You made me a promise,” Dorcas insists, stretching her hands in front of her. “To come back
from where you had to go. It’s done, Reg. Come back.”

“I said shut up!” Regulus-who-is-not-Regulus roars, making a big swiping motion with his hand. In
the next instant, James feels something hit him bluntly and he’s thrown back, skidding a few paces
over the grass.

Grunting, James scrambles back to his feet and sees his friends doing the same around him. Not-
Regulus looks furious. James is a little bit afraid. Not of Regulus. Never of him. But of whatever
this is that has taken residence inside the body he loves. And that just won’t do.

Quickly, James finds his way next to Dorcas, Sirius on his heels. “What do we do?”

Dorcas swallows, wipes sweat off her brow. “He’s got to choose to come back to us,” she says,
sounding a bit pained. “It has to be his choice. Wherever he is in there, he has to want to come
back. To let the darkness go.”

“How do we do that?” James asks.

“We remind him why he’d want to,” Pandora says firmly. “He’s afraid. Think about it. Why would
he choose to come back and face what he’s done? He’s killed and hurt a lot of people. It’s easier to
be lost within that magic inside his head.”
“Can we bring him back? Is it possible?” Sirius asks, weary. “I don’t know enough about this to be
sure. I ran away before I got to the details.”

“What?”

“It’s a Black family thing,” Sirius explains. “That magic. It’s rooted in our blood. It’s dark and
twisted and it’s done something to Reggie.”

Dorcas sets his shoulders, looks at Not-Regulus. “I’ll bring him back or I will die trying.”

Alarmed, James shakes his head. It won’t come to that. He’ll bring Regulus back. He can do it. He
loves him, and Regulus… well. Regulus chose near-death over hurting James. That has to mean
something, right? James chooses to believe it does.

“Regulus,” James calls, stepping closer despite his earlier warning. “I forgive you. You told me
about this. You warned me, remember? Horrible things, you said. You’d do horrible things to keep
me safe. And you have. But I need you to come back to me now so we can rebuild. Come back to
me, Reg.”

“Stay away,” Regulus warns, growing agitated. “Stay away from me!”

“No,” James refuses. Then, Dorcas is at his side, speaking to Regulus. “Hey. You’re my best
friend. I love you, Reg. And James is right. You’ve got to come back to us. Please.”

“Brother,” Sirius says. “I didn’t pull you from a lake full of inferi for you to hide away in your own
head. Come back to us. You’ve got one more name on your list, don’t you? Come back to me.
We’ll cross it together.”

James’ eyes widen. Inferi? A lake? Names? Lists? What in the name of Godric Gryffindor is Sirius
talking about? Fucking hell. James feels like he’s never going to wrap his head around what’s been
happening.

Not-Regulus brings his hands to his hair, shaking his head left and right. Muttering ‘no’ and ‘stop
this’. He curls in on himself, trembling a little bit. James feels awful. This is hurting Not-Regulus,
he thinks. But that’s got to be a good sign, right? So they can get Regulus back?

“Reg?” Barty mutters, coming up closer to them, too. “Hey. I need you to help me figure out how
to wake Evan up, alright? You can’t leave me alone to deal with that. I can’t do it. I need you to
help me. It’s your job to fix the shit no one else can fix. Come back.”

Not-Regulus falls to his knees on the grass. James glances around and sees there’s a small crowd of
people gathering. Apparently, the Death Eaters who surrendered are dealt with, so as people
become idle they’ve noticed something is happening.

James forces himself to ignore them. Nothing matters if he can’t get Regulus back. They need to
talk, and James needs to understand, and for that to happen Regulus has to be himself. Slowly,
James moves forward. Closer.

He lowers himself into a crouch so he’s level with Not-Regulus who is clawing at his face and
muttering to himself. It’s heart wrenching.

“Reg?”

Upon seeing James so close, Not-Regulus lashes out again. He jumps backwards, away from
James, snarling like a feral cat. Standing up to his full height, Not-Regulus gets his wand out again,
points it at them. “Leave me be! It is done and it can’t be undone. This is us now. Ours. Forever.”

There’s a dull thud, and then Dorcas is on her knees on the grass, clutching her arm to her chest.
She’s heaving, tears streaming down her face. Alarmed, James crouches next to her. “Are you
okay?”

“No,” Dorcas says, voice trembling. “I made an unbreakable vow to bring him back. If I fail…”

And James has had enough. Something inside of his chest roars and stands on its hindlegs. A lion.
A beast that’s tired of being beaten and defeated. It’s too much. He likes to think he cares for
people in a special way. He supports them and gives pieces of himself to help them instead. Likes
to consider himself a reasonable person who lifts his friends up and shields them. A leader. A loyal
friend. James works so hard to be good. To quell any dark impulse that comes his way. To put
others before himself. To be understanding and loving and caring.

For a year, James has fought a war, and watched friends die, and not given up or given in to the
despair and the anger. But now? Now James turns thunderous eyes on Not-Regulus and lets
everything he’s been holding back pour out of him.

Whatever the hell is possessing his ex-boyfriend is going to get the fuck out right this moment so
that James can get his answers and, hopefully, the man himself back.

Vibrating with badly contained anger, James steps up to Not-Regulus, eyes narrowed and teeth
bared.

“You listen to me you little shit,” James snarls.

He’s vaguely aware of his friends’ jaws hanging open as they watch, but he can’t care. He’s too
angry. He’s confused and overwhelmed and fuck. James thought Regulus had died. He thought
he’d never get answers. That he’d lost the love of his life and was doomed to die in a cell in a
dungeon. And then Regulus was here, alive and well, but somehow not himself.

James will not have it.

“You have lied and cheated. You have tortured and killed and maimed people. My friends. And
yours. You looked me in the eye and told me I didn’t matter to you. Broke my heart. Tore me to
pieces. You faked your death and left me behind with a hole in my chest and no hope of ever
knowing joy again.”

Not-Regulus’ dark eyes widen a fraction. He takes a tiny step back, hands fluttering at his sides.
His mouth is parted, shock stealing away some of the threatening expression he’d been wearing
until now.

James won’t give him a chance to recover. To reply. To think. He steps even closer, towering over
Not-Regulus, chest puffed. He gestures towards Dorcas, who is on the ground, shivering. Her wrist
is covered in painful looking boils, which James guesses are a result of the vow reacting.

They don’t have much time.

“That girl over there risked her life for you over and over again. Your brother pulled a sword from
a fucking rock and battled the undead for you. You will not disrespect them by taking the easy way
out. I will not let you let Dorcas die for you, do you hear me? Do you understand?” James steps all
the way up to Regulus and grabs his face with his hands.

It’s insane, James knows. It’s dangerous. But he’s got to try. He’s so angry and hurt and hopeful
and it’s all confusing and exhilarating and he’ll be damned if he’s going to give up easily. Not-
Regulus’ breath hitches, and that’s good enough for James.

“Regulus, I know you’re in there somewhere and you’re going to man the fuck up right this instant
and come back to us. Come back to me. Because I deserve better. I deserve answers and you will
give them to me!” James says firmly. “You’re going to come back and save Dorcas. Right now.
Right now, Regulus.”

Not-Regulus blinks. Blinks again. Fast. James is still grabbing his face, and he hasn’t lashed out
yet so it has to be progress, right? And then, his black eyes slide off James’ face and go towards
Dorcas, on the ground.

Dorcas looks up, face pale and brow coated with sweat. And she says, “Reg? I love you, okay? No
matter what. I love you.”

“I…” Not-Regulus hesitates. James lets him go. Gut feeling, perhaps. But he knows this is the
tipping point. When James’ hands fall away from his face, Not-Regulus moves to crouch beside
Dorcas.

She smiles at him. Unafraid and trusting. Like she knows he will come through for her. Like there
was never any doubt. “Love me more than you love the darkness, Reg. Please?”

Sirius kneels next to him, face open and hopeful. Not-Regulus glances at him briefly. Sirius
doesn’t say anything. James isn’t sure there is anything he can say. They look at each other for a
long moment. The Black brothers, always torn apart, always trying to get back together, it seems.

With a swift motion, Not-Regulus pulls out a dagger from his clothes. James shouts a warning as
Sirius’ eyes widen, but Not-Regulus falls forward on his knees and turns the blade on himself.
Swiftly, he cuts his palms. One large gash on each hand. His head falls back, and then he screams.

Every single person on that lawn stops what they’re doing to watch because the sound that escapes
Regulus that moment is so grief-ridden, so raw and full of agony, that it cannot be ignored. Regulus
screams, on his knees on the grass, hands spread on his sides, head thrown back up towards an
indigo sky peppered with stars.

Darkness seeps from the wounds at his hands like ink. It leaks and leaks, rising up into the air as it
leaves him. It takes forever. It takes a single moment. James isn’t sure. All he knows is that
Regulus has chosen them, because Dorcas is no longer suffering which must mean this is the
outcome they were hoping for.

And yet, James hates himself a little. Because Regulus is enduring an agony that if James had
known was required he would have perhaps hesitated to push him so hard. It is done now. They
can do nothing but wait.

####

Think of the sun.

Trust the stag.

He is drowning.

Everything hurts.

The inside of his head is a battlefield.

Voices and monsters.

Claws and jagged edges.

There’s a cage of bones.

Blood and pain and ice.

He is lost in it.

Is there a way out?

He threw away the key, he thinks. Did he? He doesn’t remember. The bones are coated with black.
Tar-like and thick and preventing the light from coming in. There’s pain. Heavy and smothering.
Agony both of the body and the mind. He wades through it. It’s thick. It clings to him. He doesn’t
stop. Keeps going. Fighting.

Why? Where is he going?

A girl. A sofa. Hands on shoulders and a shy smile. There’s a fire, too. And the girl looks at him
like he’s special. Like he matters. They trade secrets in the dark and he thinks this person is worth
protecting.

Who is she? He loved her.

Come back.

He wants to. This girl. He wants her to live. And he can feel a light tugging at him, somewhere. A
string tying him to another soul. Can he follow it home? Maybe. If only he can find it. Where is the
light? Where is the thread?

There are fragments. Pieces of his soul he’s been giving up to the darkness. But now he’s here,
down in the void, right at the end of his existence, and the pieces he’s sacrificed are around him.
Broken and scattered. But they’re here in the pit at the edge of oblivion. Can he reach for them?

Voices rise up. Call for him to stop fighting. To surrender to the darkness. Let the fragments go.
Forget himself. He has no name. No past. Only a future painted in blood.

Embrace the power. Claim his glory. He could rule the world. Stand tall over everything and
everyone. See them bow at his feet. Worship him. A king crowned in night and shadows.

Do you trust me?

Flashes of a past he can’t remember. The fragments batter themselves against the bones, breaking
on the shards of a heart that was frozen and thawed and frozen again. There are eyes, and smiles,
and warmth.

Warmth.

Heat.

Light.

Hands on his face, he thinks. But where is his face? Where is he? His body is not his but it is and
he’s lost. So lost.
Warmth.

Heat.

Light.

“You’re going to come back and save Dorcas.”

Who said that? Where is that voice? It’s so sweet. He wants more of it. Where did it come from?

“Right now. Right now, Regulus.”

And it hits him.

He remembers.

Regulus is his name.

He remembers.

Not everything, but enough. He is Regulus Black. Regulus. Reg. Reggie. A friend. A brother.
Lover. He was those things, wasn’t he? Can he be them again?

James was a fucking furnace.

The sun made flesh.

The monsters in his head are scared of James. Why? Who is James? James is the sun, Regulus
thinks. Suddenly, brightly, like a light has gone on inside.

The shadows skitter about. Screeching and fighting. Claws digging into flesh and tearing it all the
way to the bone. Ice and cold and a barren landscape that grew flowers from the smile of a boy
who dared to love him when Regulus didn’t even love himself.

When he’s deep in the darkness, the memory of the sun will have to be enough.

Un jour, je trouverai les mots pour te dire ce que je ressens.

Straining against the battering of the shadows, Regulus stands. He’s in the cage of bones. Trapped
in his own head, he can see it. Jagged, frozen, bloody. Bones and pain and cold.

There are gaps and voids. Things he doesn’t remember. He’s lost so much. Given himself piece by
piece to the voices in the whispering dark. He’s deep in. Given up. Given in. Gone too far. Nothing
reaches him here. Nothing except for one single thread. Thin and fragile but there. Tugging at his
wrist. A promise.

Love me more than you love the darkness.

I vow to bring you back from the depths of darkness.

I love you, Regulus.

Come back.

It prickles at the back of his mind. That vow. Arms around him. Warmth and softness. A friend.
With both hands, Regulus holds on to that. The connection. The thread. He pulls. Follows it. Step
by step, painstakingly, Regulus pulls himself out of the darkness a little bit. Moves forward.

Dorcas. Her name is Dorcas.

Regulus finds the pieces of his soul in that darkness and takes them back. One by one. Slowly.
Painfully. He moves. Keeps moving. Tugs on that thread. Hangs on to the vow. To the memory of
the sun. To the silver shine of a pair of eyes.

Brother.

Friend.

Lover.

It’s terrifying but he’s not a coward. He’ll face it. Keep pulling. Go back to that friend. Find the
warmth. Banish the shadows. Regulus tugs on that vow, on the light, and things come back to him
a little bit. The memory of the sunlight. A snitch. A drawing. Flying into a cave full of light and
colours. Skin on skin and lips on lips and his heart thundering, thundering, because his cage thawed
under the touch of the sun.

Gasping, Regulus pulls himself further. For Dorcas. For Sirius. For James.

He remembers.

Not quite, but more. Better.

Voices rise. Angry, possessive. They want him. He made a bargain for power and they delivered
on it. Regulus made a deal. He has to honour it. He doesn’t want to.

Regulus clings to the light. To the thread of the vow guiding him back. It burns him. It hurts.

He doesn’t let go. He chooses the pain, embraces the heat.

The shadows fight and dig and tear. Regulus withstands it.

Endures.

He’s a Black, after all, and pain is the measure of a man.

Voices in the dark. Whispering. They’re furious. They’re ashamed of him. Of his choices. He
could have ruled the world. Could have had it all. An army of worshipers. A kingdom at his feet.
They push. They fight. They try to persuade him.

And then, one broken boy on a bridge. Eyes grey like silver. A face he’s loved since he took his
first breath.

You could have had it all, brother.

What can they offer you that would top being loved by James Potter?

Brother.

Brother.

Brother.
The whispering dark fades. There’s a warning in there. He’s gone back on a magical deal and
there’s a price to pay. He'll pay it in blood.

What is it? He doesn’t know. Can’t think. He hurts.

Regulus feels alone. Barren. Void. He’s weak and his thoughts are jumbled. Something is not right,
but he can’t fix it. Doesn’t know where. What. How.

He hurts, and that’s all he knows.

“Sirius,” Regulus croaks. He’s in his head, and he’s not. Bones and blood and pain. Grass under his
knees, stars over his head. “Dorcas,” he whispers. Darkness and light. A battle in his chest, under
his nails, behind his teeth. It hurts. “James,” Regulus says. A prayer. A wish.

“We’re here. Reg? Come back to us.”

Voices, but not. Gentle. Kind. Loving. Do they love him? How can they?

He’s spilt so much blood the world runs red with it.

Regulus doesn’t regret it, but he does. Wouldn’t change it, but he would.

There’s a battle inside of him. Roaring. Fiery.

A massacre of Regulus then and Regulus now.

It hurts. But he endures. Outlasts. Grits his teeth and holds on.

He’s screaming, he thinks. Has been for a while. Doesn’t know. He fights. Tugs on the vow.
Crawls through the shards of his broken pieces, bleeding all over them as he keeps moving towards
the light.

And then it all ends, and he falls.

####

Night has closed in around them sometime between the battle starting and now. Fortunately,
someone has conjured orbs of light that float over the lawn to help with the clean-up and rounding
up of the Death Eaters that have surrendered. There are injured to tend to, so St. Mungo’s healers
have been called to the scene, too.

James is only vaguely aware of this all happening, because all his focus is on Regulus, fighting
some battle within himself to expel the darkness clinging to him.

There are dozens of people watching. Two of those people are his parents. James doesn’t care. He
doesn’t look up. Sirius is next to him, shoulders pressed together, breath held. They’re waiting.
Hoping. Praying to Godric Gryffindor and Merlin and every deity they’ve ever heard of, magical
or muggle, that Regulus comes back to them.

It takes forever, but the end arrives abruptly. Without warning. One moment Regulus is screaming
his throat raw and tensed up with pain and suffering, the next the oozing darkness stops pouring
out of him. Suddenly, his shout cuts off and Regulus slumps forwards, face first onto the grass.

Regulus falls, and James is there.

Cradling Regulus onto his arms, he turns him around. His head lolls, eyes closed. The veins on his
forehead are no longer black.

“Dorcas, is it… is he…?” James asks, voice wavering. “Something’s wrong.”

Dorcas has her fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she looks relieved but also extremely worried
which shouldn’t be possible but she’s pulling it off. “He’s come back. The vow is fulfilled. But…
James, is he breathing?”

His own lungs make a valiant attempt at crawling up his throat as James tries to determine whether
Regulus is still alive or not. Turns out, he can’t. He’s shaking, and clutching Regulus to his chest, a
little out of it.

Fortunately, Sirius is right there and he’s running slender fingers over Regulus’ pulse points. It
can’t have been more than a few seconds before Sirius has jumped to his feet and is shouting for
help with such desperation everyone around them seems to dissolve into an instant panic.

“Healers! Someone bring a healer!” Sirius is shouting. “Please. Help.”

“No,” James mutters, panicking. “No. I can’t do this again. Don’t do this to me again. I watched
you die once. I can’t do it again. Please. Regulus. Come back. Stay with me. Regulus.”

Dorcas has scrambled up, too, and is shouting something at someone. James doesn’t know what.
Regulus is so cold. He feels so small in his arms. Fragile. And how can that be? He just defeated
Voldemort all on his own. This cannot be how Regulus dies. Not now. James just got him back.

Not again.

Not like this.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore says firmly, one hand on his shoulder. “Allow me.”

“No,” James says, instinctually. “No.”

“Mr. Potter, I understand we’ve had our differences,” Dumbledore tells him calmly. “But this
young man here has saved us all and I would like to repay the favour.”

“You can save him?” James asks. He’s never felt so small. So insignificant. So useless.

“I’d like to try,” Dumbledore insists.

James blinks, confused. But Dumbledore has a powerful presence, and a commanding voice, and
even in his state James finds himself stretching his arms a little bit. Dumbledore kneels next to
James and lifts an arm. Shockingly, a large, beautiful bird swipes down and perches itself on it.

It’s the most beautiful creature James has ever seen. Majestic and in the colours of a fire. It takes
James a moment to recognise it as a Phoenix. He gasps, watching as the bird dips its head over
Regulus’ face and cries.

Pearly, and clear, shimmering as they catch the light of wands around them. They roll down its
beak, falling on Regulus’ lips. Without prompting, James reaches gently with his thumb and tugs
on Reg's chin a little, separating his lips to allow the tears into his mouth.

Sirius has come back and is once again crouching next to James, tensely watching the proceedings.
Dorcas is hovering over them, too, biting her nails. There are tears on her cheeks.

A solemn silence has settled across the lawn, and it takes James a moment to understand that all
these people saw Regulus fight Voldemort and win. Most of them won’t know the details. Won’t
know who this boy really is. But they saw him fight the tyrant that has been murdering their loved
ones for year and deliver justice.

It tugs at his heart knowing that every single person standing vigil around them wants Regulus to
pull through. That’s a lot of good wishes. Good energy. And that means something. It carries
weight. Magic feeds of emotions and there’s a lot of it here.

James hopes it’s enough.

The Phoenix straightens, lifts its beak up towards the night and makes a sound that’s as beautiful as
it is sad. For a moment, James panics. Does it mean it didn’t work?

Gasping, he can’t stop himself from cradling Regulus against his chest once more. Desperate and
afraid until he hears a tiny cough. James freezes. Sirius inhales sharply. They exchange a glance,
look down.

Regulus blinks and James could cry. His eyes are green. The most beautiful eyes James has ever
seen. Green, framed with lashes so long they caress his cheek when they’re closed.

“Regulus,” James whispers at the same time Regulus says, “James?”

His heart expands in his chest. It pushes at his ribcage, growing with relief and hope. There’s a lot
he has to work through. Anger. Confusion. Questions that need answer and trust that was broken
and needs repairing. But Regulus is alive. He’s here. He’s back. That means there’s a chance, and
James has always been an optimist.

A chance is all he needs.

Dumbledore has at some point politely stepped away with his Phoenix, leaving them in their small
bubble.

“Hey,” James says, he’s crying, he thinks. Relief will do that. He doesn’t care. “Hey. You’re okay.
You made it back.”

“Oh,” Regulus says, he’s shaking a little bit, disoriented. Beautiful. Lovely. Everything James has
ever wanted.

“Yeah,” James says, smiling.

They look at each other for a moment. Two. Then, Regulus coughs again and it seems to jostle him
out of his haze. With a grimace, Regulus shifts in James’ arms and asks, “Dorcas?”

“I’m here, Reg,” Dorcas says, dropping to her knees next to James. Regulus’ eyes search for her,
and when they find each other, Regulus lets out a heartfelt sigh.

“Hey,” Regulus whispers. Then, he drags his eyes to the other side and finds Sirius. “Hello,
brother.”

The strangled sob that bubbles out of Sirius tugs at every string in James’ heart. Immediately, he
shifts and helps Regulus sit up. Sirius is on his knees in front of his brother, chest heaving. They’re
on the grass, and it’s a bit wet, but soft.

Regulus straightens, finding his strength. He coughs a bit, then blinks fast like he’s adjusting. As
he gets his bearings back, Regulus withdraws, and James lets him go fully. There’ll be time for
them to talk. For questions and answers.

Right now, they’re in the immediate aftermath of a war and they’ve got to get up and pick up the
pieces of it. James takes a deep breath, trying to get the whirlwind of emotions inside of him to
settle.

Sirius and Regulus look at each other for a long moment. A silent conversation passes between
them before Sirius smiles, takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and gives one to Regulus.

“Are you ready to deal with…?” Sirius asks him, tilting his head towards the battlefield.

Lighting his cigarette with his wand—James is pleased to note that his fingers are no longer
stained black—Regulus nods. “Yeah.”

They stand. Moody has made his way over. He’s brought a St. Mungo’s healer with him. Behind
him, looking exhausted but pleased, is Lily. She goes straight to stand next to Pandora, sagging in
relief against the taller, blond girl.

As he shifts his weight, James’ knees crack and he’s a little shocked to realise his legs are numb.
He was so concerned with Regulus that he didn’t even notice the pins and needles stabbing the
muscles of his legs.

Dumbledore looks at them, blinking twice when he spots the cigarette dangling from Sirius and
Regulus’ fingers. The Phoenix has flown away, having completed its mission, it seems. It’s a bit of
a shame, it was a truly wonderful creature.

“We’ve a lot to discuss,” Dumbledore says.

“In a minute,” Regulus replies, looking around. It seems to James that he’s taking stock of the
situation.

Dumbledore goes to speak again but Regulus lifts a hand and cuts him off. To James’ utter shock,
Dumbledore nods his acceptance and simply waits. Regulus just fucking silenced Albus
Dumbledore with a look and the wave of a hand. James finds this so hot he wants to put his head
through a fucking wall.

“Remus?” Regulus asks, finding him standing across form them.

He looks a bit rougher than most, having been in the thick of the fray with the packs of wolves.
There’s been a lot of brawling and curse breaking on that end of the battle. Remus is bleeding from
his chin and favouring his right leg which tells James there’s an injury there somewhere.

“Welcome back,” Remus says, stepping up. “You got one of those?”

Regulus’ mouth twitches as he gestures to Sirius. Sirius passes Remus a cigarette. He lights it, then
tells the rest of them, “The packs scrambled as soon as the Ministry team showed up. They’re
ready to come back if you need them. Say the word, and they’re here. Elspeth is with Narcissa and
Lucius. They stuck by you. The moment you showed up to fight Voldemort they switched.
They’ve rounded up the Yaxleys and the Dolohovs. Set perimeter wards so nobody could esscape.
Snape went to run that errand you asked of him.”

“What?” Sirius asks, jaw hanging open.

Regulus smirks, exchanges a knowing glance with Remus. Then, Regulus turns to Dumbledore and
Moody, rolls his shoulders back.
“I made a deal with the Malfoys. They’ll be acquitted of their war crimes in exchange for
cooperation. You’ll get names and details of deeds from them. Lucius has also agreed to pulling
some of the bills he was set to pushing through and he can give you a list of who’s corrupt at the
Ministry.”

“You had no authority to make promises of acquittals, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore says severely.
Moody shoots him a sideways glance, but James knows from the tilt of his mouth that he doesn’t
give a damn. Moody will pardon the Malfoys if it gets him every other Death Eater and corrupt
official.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a hero,” Regulus says with a flippant shrug. “And I’m Lord Black. I think
you’ll find I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

James makes a strangled noise from deep in his throat and has to physically take a step back to stop
himself from jumping Regulus right there and then. Questions and answers and all sorts of other
issues between them be damned.

Regulus doesn’t miss it, and James has to bite his knuckles at the knowing smile that curls the
corners of his mouth upwards, even as he refuses to make eye contact with James.

Look at me. Talk to me.

No luck. Regulus remains staring resolutely at Dumbledore.

“There’s something else,” Regulus says. “Severus Snape will also be acquitted.”

“Snivellius!?” Sirius asks, outraged. “Really, Reggie? Why Snivellius?”

“He let James go,” Regulus says, tilting his head towards James, eyes still not coming anywhere
near him. “And he helped me fake my death so I could orchestrate this whole thing. A deal is a
deal.”

There’s a tense silence while Regulus and Sirius look at each other. Then, Sirius swears under his
breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. Fuck. You’ve got so much explaining to do.”

“I agree,” Dumbledore says. “But not right now. I must ask, Mr. Black, are you certain Tom Riddle
is dead?”

“If you’re asking about his little toys,” Regulus says, staring straight at Dumbledore, “Yes. I’m
certain.”

He dips his hand into his clothes and produces what appears to be a mangled cup or chalice of
some sort. It’s been stabbed through with something very sharp, possibly hot—a poker, maybe?—
judging from the blackened edges of the hole in its middle. Regulus throws it at Dumbledore, who
catches it with a dexterity one wouldn’t normally expect from an old man.

“Toys? Plural?” Dumbledore asks.

“Does anyone have any idea what they’re talking about?” Dorcas asks, throwing her arms up in the
air. “I’m so lost.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the only one who was in on this?” Sirius asks Dorcas, raising his
eyebrows.

Dorcas scoffs, waves a hand towards Regulus. “Have you met Reg? He’s not big on details.”
“It was for your safety,” Regulus says. “Need-to-know basis is the best way to operate.”

“I like how he thinks,” Moody says, stepping forward decisively. “But the time for debriefs and
explanations is later. All of you need to be checked. No exceptions. That was a brutal battle. I want
everybody to be seen to. No exceptions.”

Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but Moody shoots him a look, points at him, then at the healer.
“You first, Black. I saw you stick a bloody sword in Bellatrix. I’m sending you to a mind healer,
too.”

“There’s no need—” Sirius begins to protest when Lily and Pandora step forward. “We’ll go first. I
think Sirius should stay with Regulus for a bit. Barty?”

“Yeah,” Barty agrees, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’ll go first.”

Mollified, Moody nods and allows this compromise. The three of them step off to the side. Dorcas
hesitates for a moment, but then Regulus looks at her and mutters, “I promise I’ll explain later,
okay? We’ll talk. Go see a healer. That wrist looks like it hurts.”

Dorcas follows Lily, Pandora and Barty to where the healers have set up small stations to help the
injured. Moody stalks away, muttering under his breath about starting to get the Death Eaters to
holding cells in the Ministry and finding Lucius Malfoy stat so he can tell him who to round up.

James catches something about a ‘midnight raid’ to catch the corrupt officials before Moody
beckons to Gideon Prewett. Pleased to see Gideon is in one piece, James lifts a hand in vague
greeting when their eyes meet across the lawn. Gideon smiles, winks at James, then turns to listen
to whatever instructions Moody is giving him.

Regulus’ jaw is clenched tight, but James missed the last thing Dumbledore said so he doesn’t
know what’s upset him. It seems to James he’s never going to catch up.

“How many were there?” Dumbledore asks Regulus once it’s just them, Sirius, Remus and James.

“Five. I’ve got the others in Grimmauld Place. You can have them, I’ve no use for them anymore.”

Dumbledore looks downright impressed, eyes glinting behind his glasses as he nods along to
Regulus’ voice. “How did you find them?”

“Research, cunning, some liquid luck and help from Myrtle,” Regulus replies casually.

“Who’s Myrtle?” James asks before he can stop himself. Regulus’ shoulders tense. James clears
his throat, shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Can you… I mean… what are you talking about?”

“Horcruxes,” Remus supplies. “Regulus told me this morning, just in case tonight went wrong.”

That doesn’t help, because James has no idea what a horcrux is. But alright. Frustration is starting
to bubble inside of him. He wants to be alone with Regulus. Wants to talk to him. Wants Regulus to
look at him.

“If you are certain they’re all destroyed and Tom will not be coming back, then I think we can
pause this conversation,” Dumbledore suggests gently. He’s showing more consideration in the
span of this one conversation that he has in the time James been part of the Order. Something’s
really wrong with this old man, James thinks. But oh well.

“There are too many things we don’t know yet,” Sirius protests, glancing at Regulus who simply
shrugs.

Dumbledore shakes his head. “I understand you have all had a stressful forty-eight hours, not to
mention a near-death experience for Mr. Black. Mr. Potter was until very recently in a cell. And
you have to see a mind healer as is protocol for those who must take a life in battle. We’ll meet
tomorrow evening to go through the details. Discuss next steps. For now, get a good night’s rest.”

“My deals with the Malfoys and Snape stand,” Regulus says firmly. “You do not make any
decisions until we’re all at the table. Remus speaks for the werewolves and you will listen. The
Minister for Magic must resign before our meeting tomorrow, or I’ll pay him a visit personally and
he will not like that.”

“Mr. Black…” Dumbledore starts.

“What?”

“You cannot depose a tyrant to put another in his place,” Dumbledore says carefully. “I will not
simply do what you want. That’s not how things must work.”

Regulus flashes him a smile that makes James weak in the knees. He steps up to Dumbledore,
squaring his shoulders, and says,

“Listen to me very carefully, Albus. I have half the Wizengamot in my pocket by influence of
Lucius Malfoy and the other half by influence of Fleamont Potter who I’m certain will be very
pleased I saved James’ life several times over. Every auror in the Ministry watched me destroy a
man you’ve been unsuccessfully battling for a decade and win. The Order of the Phoenix is
painfully aware of how willing you’ve been to sacrifice them to the greater good from the comfort
of your office at Hogwarts, which is a stark difference to my approach, right here at the very front
of the front lines, getting my hands dirty.”

James’ hands are clammy. His heart is beating wildly in his chest and he’s not sure he’s breathing
properly but he’s never seen Regulus like this. Confident and strong and vicious. It’s fucking
glorious. Disorienting, and a little concerning, but glorious.

Dumbledore holds his stare remarkably, but James can tell he’s listening. Regulus is not delving
into hysterics or dramatics. He’s speaking truths, delivering words that are sharper than blades and
he’s forcing Dumbledore to pay attention.

It’s so hot James is sweating.

“Right this very moment, I am the most powerful person in Wizarding Britain and I am not talking
about magical ability. I have no interest in governing the country but there are things that have
been allowed to go on for too long. People who’ve been discriminated against. Corruption rooted
deep, and not all on Riddle’s side. I have demands and you will meet them unless you want
everyone who ever followed you to find out why exactly you’re so obsessed with the greater
good.”

The last words are delivered like stones, hitting Dumbledore until he winces ever so slightly.
Regulus tilts his head then, black curls falling over his ear. Beautiful and soft. James wants to
touch them.

“It’s better for everyone if we get along, Albus,” Regulus says smoothly. “But I’ve no problem
becoming your enemy.”

“No,” Dumbledore says swiftly. “There’s been enough of that. Reform is good. We’ll do what we
can. I see no problem with your deal with the Malfoys and Snape. I will have the Minister’s
resignation by the time of our meeting tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Regulus says.

Dumbledore takes his leave after that. James hesitates. Is now the time when he finally gets to talk
to Regulus? He has to. They have to. Don’t they?

Oh. All James wants is to ask questions. Touch him. Shout at him, perhaps. Kiss him, if the
opportunity arises.

But it’s very clear from Regulus’ body language that he doesn’t feel the same. He’s holding
himself coiled tight, like the slightest touch will break him. He hasn’t even looked in James’
direction since that first moment when he came back to himself.

And it occurs to James that he doesn’t know what it took for Regulus to come back from that
darkness. Perhaps he’s hurting still. That thought is enough to instil patience in James. He’s never
had much, but for Regulus will he learn it. He’ll wait. Give him space.

“I need to talk to Moody,” Regulus mutters to no one in particular.

“Are you going back to Grimmauld?” Sirius asks him, eyes narrowed as he watches his brother like
he might drop dead any moment.

“Later, yes. I have some loose ends to tie up first,” Regulus says.

Sirius and Remus exchange glances, then Sirius nods towards Regulus. “We’ll come in the
morning.”

Shrugging, Regulus replies, “Whatever. Remus’ keyed into the wards.”

And then Regulus is walking away, towards Moody, and he hasn’t even looked at James since he
came back from the brink of death. He swallows. Reminds himself he’s just decided he has to be
patient.

But it’s tough. Not even a look. Isn’t James worth at least that? It’s not that James thought the
moment Voldemort died Regulus was going to turn around and declare undying love for him. He’s
trying to be mature about this. Reasonable. To understand. This has been an ordeal and he doesn’t
know what it cost Regulus to fight back but it had to be a lot because he almost died from it.

Besides, James knows that they have shit to talk about. To work through. They can’t fall back into
bed and pick up where they left off a year ago no matter how much he’d like to. But even with all
that. Even knowing all that. Doesn’t James… not even a look?

“Hey,” Sirius says, nudging him with a shoulder. “You alright?”

“James?!” Lily shouts from near the healer’s tent. “James, please come get checked out. It’s your
turn now. Sirius? Remus?”

“Yeah,” James says, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Just a bit out of it. Let’s go before
Lily bursts a vocal chord with all that shouting.”

####

Regulus needs a minute.

Or ten.

Forcing one foot in front of the other is hard when all he wants to do is stand in front of James and
stare at him. Fuck. It had to be James holding him when he came back. Of course, it had to.
Because Regulus has very clearly pissed off the universe and it decided that upon coming back
from the brink of death the ideal punishment was to put him on James’ lap.

Fucking torture.

Regulus hasn’t been able to look at him directly yet. He doesn’t… doesn’t know how. Regulus hurt
him so much, so thoroughly. He lied and cheated and killed people. He said—wait. Oh fuck. No.
Salazar’s cape on a pole. Regulus stabbed James.

Kill me now.

It’s physically painful for Regulus to stay upright when all he wants is to curl over himself right
that moment and have a breakdown as he’s attacked by the memory of kissing James, then sliding
his dagger between his ribs. How the man can even stand to be in Regulus’ vicinity is a mystery to
him. Regulus most certainly doesn’t deserve it.

Most of his memories are a little hazy still. Spotty. They come back in flashes and it’s a truly
mortifying ordeal. Bit by bit, he's coming back to himself and it's a lot.

Another reason why he isn’t in the right headspace to face James.

Truth be told, Regulus is afraid. He’s terrified of looking at James and seeing all of the things he
wants to ignore reflected back at him. Hurt. Guilt. Longing. Love, perhaps, or a twisted version of
it because there’s no way James still wants him after everything.

Looking at James is going to break Regulus.

There’ll be too many things and too much of them all at once. For someone who has spent a year
going through life with no emotions, it’s daunting.

So, he hasn’t yet. He’s not ready.

Regulus needs time to put his thoughts in order. To remember how to feel things and how to tamper
them naturally. As a Black, and the twisted mastermind of the lot, Regulus has never had issues
keeping himself and his emotions in check. Always has been rather good at it. He’s just a little out
of practice for obvious reasons and until he has it under control again, he cannot face James. He
physically cannot.

There’s no telling what sort of stupidity would ensue if he did.

So, Regulus walks away, keeps his shoulders straight and his chin up. He’s surrounded by people
still. People who saw him take down Riddle. People who cannot see a glimmer of weakness.
Regulus has to keep it together for one more day. Until that debrief. Until he has put his conditions
on the table and set things to rights.

Then, he can break. He can have a panic and do whatever he needs to do to deal with the onslaught
of feelings fighting for dominance inside his chest. It’s chaos in there. Achey and confusing and
terrifying.

But Regulus has to keep it together. He has things to do still.

Control yourself. You’re a Black. You’re a dragon.

As he crosses the lawn towards Moody, Regulus finds himself smiling a little. A dragon. That’s the
sort of thing that hasn’t crossed his mind in too long. A flash. A memory. Young people scattered
around a green dorm mucking about and saying he’s mean and prickly. Like a dragon.

Looking over his shoulder, Regulus spots Barty talking to Pandora and Dorcas. His friends.
Bringing a hand to his chest, Regulus wishes he wasn’t so overwhelmed. He never thought he’d
miss it, but the cage of bones had its uses. He has no idea how to function properly when things are
just free to fleet about behind his ribs.

“Moody,” Regulus says sharply when he’s standing by the man. “If I were in need of a passport
and new identity, where would I get one?”

“Boy, I understand the feeling but unless you want to live off Polyjuice forever, there’s no way
you’re not going to get recognised,” Moody tells him severely. “You’re Lord Black and a war
hero.”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus scoffs. “It’s not for me. It’s for a friend.”

“Then, you want to find Mundungus Fletcher,” Moody says. “Tell him I sent you. This is his. You
can track him with it.”

Regulus takes the piece of cloth that Moody hands him and nods his thanks. He begins his trek
back across the lawn. Sirius, Remus, and James are by the healers getting checked. Evans is
hovering nearby, looking a little worse for wear but Regulus pays her no mind because he spots
Elspeth walking up from behind her.

Gesturing to her to join him, Regulus walks up to Barty, Pandora and Dorcas. “I have shit to do
tonight that can’t wait,” Regulus tells them without preamble. “Barty, I need you to take Elspeth
back to Grimmauld.”

“I can go to my own house,” Elspeth protests as she arrives and catches the tail end of Regulus’
sentence.

“Not if you want to leave for Greece tomorrow you can’t,” Regulus says. Elspeth’s eyes grow wide
like saucers. She brings a hand to cover her mouth. “No hysterics. I may not be a demon of
shadows anymore, but I still don’t like them.”

“Ah,” Elspeth says with a small smile. “So, he’s always been mean just because?”

“Pretty much,” says Barty, also smiling. “He had to offset that prettiness somehow.”

“He really is very pretty,” Elspeth comments, laughing.

“Enough,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes yet again. “Barty and Elspeth, go to Grimmauld. Elspeth,
do not leave the house. Don’t be seen by anybody. I’ll explain tomorrow when I get back.”

“Where are you going?” Pandora asks him, tilting her head.

Regulus’ first instinct is to dismiss her. He’s never liked lying, but he’s also not keen on sharing
his plans. Except there’s no point to that now, is there? He’s not doing anything dangerous. He’s
simply tying loose ends.

“I have to visit an old friend and also get my house elf back,” Regulus replies simply. “And sort out
 a few things for Elspeth’s trip.”

“Do you need help?” Dorcas asks, beaming at him like he’s a toddler on his first day of school.

“No. You need to go rest,” Regulus says tightly.

In the confusing jumble of feelings in his chest, he can easily identify a large quantity of guilt for
what he put Dorcas through. He hasn’t forgotten Marlene broke up with her. Or the blisters on her
wrist where the unbreakable vow almost killed her because he was too close to not coming back.
Dorcas is his best friend. He came back for her, but now that he’s here, he needs space before he
can fully face her, too.

“Can I go to Grimmauld Place, too?” Dorcas asks in a small voice, the smile wiped from her face.
“I can’t go back to… you know.”

“Of course,” Regulus says immediately. “For as long as you want. Pandora, if you want to go, too,
that’s fine. I just thought you’d head home.”

“I’m going to the Potters, actually,” Pandora says brightly. “I want to be with Lily.”

“Oh?” Barty asks. Elspeth leans forward, too, visibly curious. Dorcas’ eyebrows fly to her hairline.

“Something you want to share?” Dorcas teases.

Pandora smiles. It’s pure and happy and it makes Regulus feel for a single moment like he’ll be
alright. It was worth it. Whatever comes next. Whatever trade-off he has to work through for
having come back from the dark. However many breakdowns he has to fight through and pull
himself together from. However low the lows are, this is a high that makes it worth it. His friend,
this happy and unafraid. Free.

Regulus made this possible and he clings to that with both hands so he doesn’t drown in his own
mess.

“We’re together now,” Pandora whispers, biting her lower lip. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Barty whoops and sweeps Pandora up in a hug. Elspeth claps her hands, then brings them against
her red cheeks. She blinks fast, trying to banish tears. Dorcas smiles at her. “It’s alright, girl. I get
it.”

“Right,” Regulus says stiffly. “Pandora, good for you. Tell my brother not to come bother me until
at least noon tomorrow morning. I’m assuming he’ll go to the Potter’s too. I’m off now.”

Without further ado, he turns and walks far enough that he can apparate away unincumbered.
Before he leaves, he hears Barty laughing and saying, “Nah, he’s always been awkward as fuck
when people are emoting. That’s also just classic Reg.”

Chapter End Notes

We survived The Great War

I don't even know how to write today's end notes because I'm all over the place. This
chapter took so much out of me to write but I love it so much?
Regulus battling Voldemort and holding his own!?
Everyone coming to help Reg even though it meant facing Voldy?
Regulus giving himself up

Voldy's head popped off that was so foul lmao

Angry James to the rescue? Hello? I'm UNWELL

My favourite scene has to be Regulus' battle inside himself. It was so... heart
wrenching to write? I cried while I was putting it together, ngl but HE CAME
BACK

For Dorcas. For James. For Sirius.

HELP I'M ON THE FLOOR

And now we are on the aftermath! There is some angst still on the way because these
people are traumatised, so it's not going to be like... easy... but also, the war is over so
we're okay

Next chapter will be on Friday

That Jegulus reunion is getting closer. So close. We're almost there. OMG I CAN'T
WAIT

I love you all with my entire heart!! Thank you to every single person who has left a
comment. Honestly, this story is as much yours as it's mine
 The Weight of War
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

We're on the way to that promised happy ending and I'm very excited, but you know
me and my characters - we love a bit of angst in the name of healing. This chapter has
some of that

TWs for this one:

Depictions of panic and/or anxiety attacks
Depictions of disociation
References to past events (war, torture, murder)
Depictions of grief
Depictions of violence
Blood
References to cutting / carving and scars
References to past limb amputation
Discussions of PTSD and war-related trauma
Discussions about murder
References to past child abuse
References to forced starvation (Walburga is still in that attic)
Sex (there is smut in this chapter and it's more explicit than previous sex scenes. If you
want to skip it, stop reading when Remus says 'Is it?' and resume reading at the next
scene break marked by the usual ####)

I think that's it but let me know if I've forgotten anything!

Also, given I'm not sure of the fate of TikTok, I've decided to make a Tumblr so you
can find me there if you'd like to say hi: https://www.tumblr.com/solmussa

Enjoy

See the end of the chapter for more notes

There are three stops on Regulus’ tour tonight.

The first one was a visit to Fletcher, who agreed to help rather quickly and without asking any
questions when Regulus dangled a pouch of money at him. In less than an hour—during which
Regulus sat in a pub and drank a beer and had no less than three existential crises—Fletcher had
come back with papers and a new identity.

After tomorrow, Elspeth Fawley will have died in the battle of Lestrange Castle and Elaine Ross
will be on her way to Greece to find an Irene with unknown last name. It makes Regulus feel some
kind of way to know that he’s single handedly responsible for someone else’s happy ending.

Like, it’s a good thing. And he feels… proud of it. Elspeth helped him and she deserves to go find
her love in Greece. But when he’s spent so much time not feeling, even the good is overwhelming.
Regulus feels like he’s gagging on emotions that he can’t sort. Things he can’t name. Doesn’t
know how to process them. What to do with any of it.

And the worst part is that he doesn’t have a lot of time to figure it out because there are people
who expect him to talk to them. Give them answers. Regulus is paralyzed with fear just by thinking
about it. He needs to find a way to be alright. To work through at least some of it if he's going to be
able to function as expected of him.

So, once he has the papers, he steps out of the pub and apparates to his second stop on tonight’s
tour. Hogsmeade.

Because he’s always been a cunning little shit, Regulus didn’t give back James’ invisibility cloak.
He’s kept it—temporarily only, he will return it—and he’s using it now to make his way to
Hogwarts through the tunnel Sirius showed him under Honeydukes.

It’s late at night. Past curfew already. With the cloak over his head, Regulus makes his way
steadily and without any issues from the statue of the witch at the tunnel’s entrance to the second
floor. Flashbacks assault him with every step. Being back in this school is both wonderful and
painful. He remembers it all now. Some parts, he wishes he didn't.

His steps are soundless on the grimy tiles covering the floor of the bathroom. Regulus wouldn’t be
surprised if someone told him no one has been here in a year. It’s rather sad. Perhaps he should
have stopped to see Myrtle when he came to Hogwarts with Sirius in search of the locket, but
Regulus had given up too much of himself to the darkness for that thought to even cross his mind
back then.

Folding the cloak into a pocket on his light spring coat, Regulus purposefully scruffs a foot against
the floor as he walks towards the wall where he spent so much time sitting and puzzling over
horcruxes with Myrtle. The same floor he sat on and thought of having snuffed out the sun.

“Is someone there?” Myrtle floats out of her stall, face drawn into a sad grimace, and stops short
when she sees him. “Regulus?”

“Hi Myrtle,” he says, sitting down.

The smile that splits her face in two tugs at the guilty thread in his gut, unravelling it. Regulus
focuses on that. On how he used to feel about Myrtle. Grateful for her help. Guilty that he was
manipulating her. Mildly uncomfortable when she spoke of them as a couple.

“Oh, Rowena’s locks, I cannot believe you are here,” Myrtle exclaims, covering her mouth with
her hand. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“You know what? I missed you too,” Regulus admits softly.

Myrtle lets out a sound of pure delight before floating closer, to hover right by his knees like she
used to do before. “I’m so happy you are here!”

Sighing, Regulus lets the back of his head fall against the wall. There are cracks on the ceiling that
Regulus doesn’t remember. Perhaps they’re new. Perhaps he never noticed them.

“Regulus?” Myrtle asks gently. “What is it?”

“What makes you think there’s an ‘it’?”

“I know you,” Myrtle tells him rather proudly. “When you come here because you need to figure
something out, you have this look about you. Like determined and all business. And when you are
sad, you come in and sit down and sigh, just like that. Except for that time you just had a break
down straight away but I think that was an exception.”

Regulus blinks at the ghost. And again. He supposes he did come to visit Myrtle when he was
feeling overwhelmed quite often. She has seen him cry, which is not something a lot of people can
say. It used to make him feel better, Regulus remembers. Because she’s a presence that can’t touch
him but can comfort him anyway.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Regulus breathes in deeply before saying, “I don’t even know…” He
pauses, exhales loudly. “Do you remember when I asked you if I was a monster?”

“Yes.”

“I did it,” Regulus tells Myrtle. “All the horrible things. I’ve done so many awful things. And… I
don’t regret them. I think I should. But I don’t. I just… I’m overwhelmed with memories I thought
I’d lost and with… ehm… feelings about things I said or did when I didn’t have any. But I don’t
regret it and that’s the worst of it. I think people are expecting me to like want to do some sort of
penance for the bad I’ve done. I don’t feel like I have to. I don’t want to. And I don't know where
that leaves me.”

“These bad things you did,” Myrtle starts with her ‘I’m analysing this logically’ voice. “Why did
you do them?”

“Some of them to protect people that are important to me. Some of them for my own power. For
my own benefit. To keep myself out of harm’s way, I guess? I had things to do, and I couldn’t risk
it,” Regulus says, groaning in frustration. “It’s complicated, Myrtle.”

Regulus pauses, bites his lip. There’s so much he doesn’t know how to voice. How to put words to.
He wishes he could take his trusty dagger and turn it on himself, carve open his chest and let it all
out so he didn’t have to deal with it because it’s so much.

Myrtle tilts her head, looks at him with narrowed eyes before breaking into a smile. “Did you do
bad things for good reasons?”

“I don’t think that’s going to cut it,” Regulus replies, mildly amused despite himself.

“What do you want, Regulus? Do you want me to absolve you? Because I don't think I can. You
didn't do anything bad to me. I have nothing to forgive.”

That's a very good question. What does he want? He wants... he just wants to feel better. To learn
how to cope with it again. "I think I just need to talk it through. I'm... there's a jumble of shit inside
me and I need to sort it out."

"Alright," Myrtle says. "Then, which is the part that's bothering you the most?"

“I hurt someone who is… special to me,” Regulus whispers. “And I don’t know if he’ll forgive me.
I don’t know if he should. But I'm a selfish asshole and I want him to. I want him to be okay with
everything I did even though I don't deserve it.”

Myrtle hums, then puts her hand on Regulus’ knee. It’s cold and feels wrong. Other. There’s a
piercing flash in his head.

Water.

Hands.
Drowning in the dark.

Violently, Regulus jerks away from her.

“What’s wrong?”

Regulus heaves. He can’t breathe. He’s drowning in a cave in the dark. His lungs hurt. There's
water in his mouth and hands dragging him to the depths. He's alone. Pain and despair. He’s dying,
and he knows it, and he doesn’t want to because there are things he hasn’t done. Things he hasn’t
said. But he’s so tired and afraid and overwhelmed.

How is he meant to go on? What is he supposed to do now?

“Regulus?”

Shaking his head, he gasps violently, his lungs struggling to bring air inside. He’s drowning. But
he’s not. He’s on the floor of the bathroom. Sixteen again. Freshly broken because he’d given up
everything he had in the name of a vengeance that consumed him for so long there’s nothing left
now that he’s resurfaced from it.

“Regulus? You need to breathe,” Myrtle tells him. “I know it’s hard but try to breathe. Just
breathe.”

Breathe.

Breathe.

Regulus tries. He forces his brain to slow down. To regain control.

And fuck it's so hard. It's so, so hard. Trading pieces of his soul for power seemed simpler than
whatever this is. The aftermath of war is messy. It’s broken pieces and flashes of battles. It’s a tally
of the things that were sacrificed stacked up against the things that were saved.

But there. In his despair, there's some light. A single thought that pierces through the panic.
Regulus saved them. Dorcas. Sirius. James. He did, and that’s enough. It’s got to be enough
because it’s all Regulus has. It’s all he’s going to get because the great war took too much from
him.

Coming back to himself bit by bit, Regulus finds that he’s rocking back and forth, his head
between his knees. Myrtle hasn’t tried to touch him again, and he’s grateful. Regulus fights for
control. Fights to breathe. In and out. Slowly.

Regulus doesn’t regret what he’s done. But he hates how aware he is of what he’s lost to get here.
How does he reconcile that? How does he sort through the things piercing his sternum and making
him bleed?

James is safe. Alive. Whole. And that’s what Regulus wanted but if he’s honest with himself—and
what’s the point on lying now?—he wishes he could have done it differently. Because Regulus is
back to himself and the first thing he saw when he wrenched the pieces of his soul out of the
darkness and its claws were hazel eyes and who the fuck was Regulus kidding? How did he think
he’d be alright after that?

Ah, fuck. If Regulus wasn’t good enough for James before, he doesn’t even deserve a second look
now. Regulus broke his heart and toyed with it. Taunted him with kisses in blood and then stabbed
him. Seduced him in a dark forest under the rain just so he'd have a chance to get away. James has
seen the worst of Regulus over and over and over again. The monster, the darkness, the lust for
power. Blood dripping from his fingers and evil wickedness in his eyes.

Would James even believe him if Regulus told him the truth now?

That he loves him.

Regulus loves James.

Always has, always will.

The thing is, a part of Regulus never expected to make it. He thought he’d die in the name of
revenge and that was the easy part. Regulus was ready to meet his maker. But then he didn’t die.
He survived. He’s here, and he’s not whole but he’s himself, and that’s a torture he isn’t sure how
to endure.

A garbled sound escapes him. Keening and pitiful. He’s crying now. Wet tears on his cheeks. Sobs
punching out of him and strangling him. He can’t breathe, not well, not properly. He’s breaking.
Falling apart. He can’t stop. Perhaps he doesn’t want to.

Regulus is afraid that he has lost James. That he’ll never get to hold the sun in his hands again.
He’s too broken, too foul. Regulus went too far and lost the right to ask James for anything.

"Regulus?" Myrtle tries again, softly.

“Lost everything,” Regulus whispers through muffled sobs. "Lost everyone."

“I’m here,” Myrtle says. “And you’re not alone. I don’t… I’m not sure what you’ve lost, but it’s
not everything. It can’t be. I think you just feel that way because you’re overwhelmed now.”

“You don’t—” Regulus can’t speak. He’s heaving too hard.

“You’ve got me. It’s not much, because I’m just a ghost in a bathroom stall. But I’m here for you.
And I know that you have friends. You told me about them, remember? The Crouch kid and the
Rosier boy. And that girl who’s so fierce. Dorcas, wasn’t it?”

Dorcas.

Regulus gasps, gets a bit of air in. His brain clears ever so slightly. He has Dorcas, but at what
cost? Dorcas lost everything too because of her loyalty to Regulus. And he hates himself for it.
He’s not worth that. Dorcas should have chosen Marlene over him. How will he ever repay that?
How will he ever make it up to Dorcas? He doesn’t think he can because he’s a mess of a man with
nothing to offer anyone anymore. But he'll try. He'll try because Dorcas deserves that, doesn't she?
Can he try? He's not sure. He feels so small. So overwhelmed.

It was easier when he thought he'd never have to face these people again. When he thought he'd
die, so no one would get to ask him questions once all was said and done. Regulus didn't
necessarily want to die, but well. How is he meant to do this? He can't. He can't.

He hurt James and Dorcas both.

In his mantra, there were three names. For James. For Dorcas. For Sirius. The brother that found
him in the cave and pulled him out of the water. Older brother. Hero. Protector. Regulus doesn’t
know where they stand anymore, because he said things he shouldn’t have. He looked Sirius in the
eye and revealed truths he’s always known would break his brother.
It’s like Regulus can’t do anything without there being collateral damage.

But Sirius stayed, didn’t he? He stayed. This time he stayed right by his side. Came to him.
Worked with him. They were a team and they led an army to battle together. Sirius clasped his arm
and said yes to Regulus. Until the end. That’s got to mean something, right? Regulus wants to think
so. And if he’s lost James and broken Dorcas but got even a sliver of his brother back… well then,
perhaps he can live with that.

Hanging on to that one thought, that one possibility, Regulus drags himself out of his state. He
regains control. Little by little. Clamps down on himself and forces his body to listen. He is the
master of it. In control.

When he feels like he can utter words without dissolving into sobs again, he wipes his face with his
sleeves and clears his throat. “Myrtle, I—”

“Don’t you dare,” Myrtle says, cutting him off. “You needed that. I could see it. Sometimes, the
only way to sort through stuff is to let it out. Do you feel better?”

Surprisingly, Regulus does. He blinks at her, and the shock must be on his face because Myrtle
giggles. Regulus feels his lips tug up at the corners. “I do. I just… you’re a smart Ravenclaw girl.
What’s your take on redemption?”

Myrtle smiles, wide and proud. It’s a bit odd, but Regulus will take it. “I think you have to forgive
yourself first.”

“Hmm,” Regulus says.

“I think you regret some things. You said you don't... but well. Do you?"

Regulus shrugs. "I regret the outcomes, maybe. Not the things themselves. I had to do them."

"Right. Well, my earlier point stands, then. You did bad things for good reasons. If you had to hurt
people you care about, then apologise to them for it. Make amends. Do something good, perhaps,
if you can. And forgive yourself for your mistakes,” Myrtle tells him firmly.

“I do. I forgive myself, I think. Because I couldn’t have done anything differently. And I… I saved
everyone,” Regulus says, then stops. That’s the thing, isn’t it? “I saved everyone.”

The words echo in the bathroom. His own voice, repeating them back at him. “I saved everyone.”

And that’s it, really. That’s what matters. Whether they forgive him or not. Whether he’s lost them
or not. The people he cared about are alive and free and the war is over and they get a shot at life.
And Regulus made that possible.

The storm in his chest subsides. There’s still a lot there, but he can parse through it now. Like
having a breakdown let off some pressure so it’s easier for him to sort through what’s going on.
There’s love and heart break because of James. There’s guilt and worry because of Dorcas. There’s
regret and fear and hope because of Sirius. There’s friendship and relief because of Barty. There’s
kinship and something akin to respect because of Remus.

Regulus gets to explore all of that because they’re all alive. Because they have time now. There’s
no clock. No mission. No goal. No race. For the first time in a very long time, Regulus is free to do
whatever he wants to do. To dance at a party without thinking of the end. To go on a Valentine's
day date without breaking down. To embrace it all. Try it all just because and not like a man on
death row.
Sitting on the floor of Myrtle’s bathroom, Regulus has come to some of the most important
conclusions of his life. It happens again on the night of the last battle of the great war. Regulus
decides that he’s making a new list. A list not of names, but of things to do. To try. To explore.
Things to get out of a life he's been given a second chance at.

Revenge is over—almost—and he supposes he needs a new project. One where he looks after
himself the best he can. And, most importantly, one where he fixes some of the things he's broken.

“Thank you, Myrtle,” he says, getting to his feet. “I think I know how to move forward now.”

“I’m glad,” she says, smiling. “I won’t… I won’t kiss you this time, okay?”

“It’s not you,” Regulus tells her. “Something happened to me, and anything that feels cold to the
touch… I can’t stand it. Not yet.”

“I understand,” Myrtle replies. “Will you come visit me again?”

“Yes,” Regulus says. “I will. I promise.”

When he leaves the bathroom, Regulus feels lighter. Like he’s offloaded a massive weight. He
knows what to do. Has a plan. Ideas. Things to attempt. And it feels good. He’s always functioned
best when he’s had a project. A goal. Something for his mind to work through and figure out.

But first, he needs to retrieve his house elf.

****

Black Manor is dark and quiet as Regulus walks up the steps and pushes open the door. It’s past
midnight and the stars are twinkling in the sky above like they know a secret. Perhaps they do,
Regulus thinks to himself. They’ve seen it all. Watching from the sky, not missing a single thing.
What do the stars think of him?

With a small smile, Regulus realises it doesn’t matter. There’s one star he cares about. And only
one. And knowing his brother, Sirius will make his thoughts known to Regulus tomorrow morning,
so he won’t have to wonder for long.

Rolling his shoulder to work out the knots he gave himself sitting on the floor of a bathroom for
hours, Regulus steps into the hall of the Manor. He has to stifle a yawn, which is testament to how
fucking tired he is. Hopefully, by the time he makes it back to Grimmauld everyone will be asleep,
and he’ll be able to knock himself out with a potion for a few hours.

“Regulus,” Severus says, emerging from the drawing room. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

“I was delayed,” Regulus replies. “The package?”

“Delivered to the Potters with your note and embellishments, as requested,” Severus confirms.
“Our deal?”

“Dumbledore has confirmed it. You’ll be acquitted for your help in keeping James safe. I
recommend you find your way to Malfoy Manor and wait there,” Regulus tells him. “You’ll
receive a visit from Moody soon enough. The deal only stands if you and Lucius give the others
up.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Severus says swiftly. Then, he clears his throat and asks, “Did you see
Lily?”
“I saw her. She was perfectly fine,” Regulus replies, rolling his eyes. Honestly, this man is
pathetic. He needs to get over his crush like yesterday. “I’m sending a clean-up team to the Manor
tomorrow. I expect you to be gone before they arrive.”

Already thinking of his bed and the sweet oblivion of sleeping potions, Regulus turns to leave.
Kreacher was extremely excited to see him when he came to the kitchen in Hogwarts, and even
more excited to be told he could now go back home.

With instructions to stay away from the attic and tidy up Regulus’ master bedroom, Kreacher
apparated away from Hogwarts with so much energy, Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if he came
back to a spotless house despite the fact it’s been barely an hour.

He’s almost at the door when Severus calls after him one more time. Annoyed, Regulus looks over
his shoulder. “What?”

“What did you tell them? When they asked why I switched sides last moment?” Severus asks.

“I told them you owed me a debt and I gave you no choice,” Regulus replies, raising his eyebrows.
“Or did you want me to tell them about your mother?”

It had been so easy for Regulus to find leverage over Severus Snape. To give credit where credit
was due, Severus’ father had gone out of his way to disappear. Regulus wasn’t surprised that
Severus didn’t know what had happened to his parents, especially because Tobias had gone full-
muggle and forced Eileen to do the same, committing her to a mental hospital where people
thought her cries about being a witch were nothing other than a symptom of her issues.

Once he’d discovered the misfortune of one Eileen Snape—nee Prince—and located her in a
psychiatric ward in the midlands, it'd been so easy for Regulus to come to Severus and recruit him
to his side. Severus had agreed to everything Regulus had asked in exchange for him using his
money and influence and free Eileen. And for Severus’ father’s new address.

Once the war matters are resolved, Regulus expects to hear about the death of one Tobias Snape.
Knowing what he knows of how he’s treated Eileen, Regulus thinks the man deserves what’s
coming for him.

“No,” Severus says quickly, a grimace of horror on his face. “No. I owed you. You strong armed
me. We leave it at that. No one has to know.”

“Like I said,” Regulus replies. “Be gone by morning, Severus. You’re no longer welcome here.”

####

For the first time in over a year, James is sitting in his living room in the middle of the night and
he’s not worried about whether the people he cares about will make it home or not. They’re all
here. No one is in danger anymore.

It’s disorienting and strange but in the best way.

His parents are hosting every Order member that wanted to celebrate. It’s still a bit subdued. They
had a grand total of four casualties. Three aurors and one of the Bones family. No one James is
close to. He’ll attend the funerals out of respect, but he’s not really grieving. It could have been
more. It should have been more, but Remus’ wolves fought so hard and fiercely they took the brunt
of it. According to Remus, seven werewolves died in Lestrange Castle. They’ll have a special
ceremony for them in private with the packs.
There’s a lot of incredulity and wide eyes here tonight, too. Like people are struggling to accept
that it’s really over. But as the drinks flow, and people talk about the battle, share what they saw,
and repeat over and over that Lord Voldemort is really dead, it’s starting to sink in.

The Weasleys are here, talking animatedly to Monty. They’ve brought their children who are
ecstatic about being allowed to stay up way past their bedtime. They’re running around like mad,
chasing Rosly who’s being a good sport and allowing it.

Emmeline and Sam are fiddling with the record player, laughing and drinking and singing to the
music. Marlene is nearby, but she hasn’t smiled. James thinks it’s got to do with the fact that
Dorcas didn’t come, but he doesn’t know what’s happened there and he hasn’t asked. Not yet.

“James?” Effie asks, stopping next to him on her way to get a drink or a nibble.

He meets his mother’s eyes, feels his stomach swoop down low, a wave of emotion rise. “I’m…”
He’s what? He’s okay? Is he? James doesn’t know what he is or how he’s feeling. Too much has
happened to him over a short time.

Regulus died.

Then he didn’t.

Then he almost died again.

And when he came back, he couldn’t even stand to look at James.

Without another word, Effie pulls him into a hug and whispers, “Your father and I are proud of
you. We love you. And whatever happens with Regulus Black, you can always come talk to us if
you need to, okay? We want you to be happy. That’s all that matters to us.”

“I don’t—” James presses his face against her shoulder. “I don’t know if we’ll… I can’t talk about
it right now.”

“That’s okay,” Effie whispers, running her hand through his hair. “That’s okay. We just wanted
you to know we are here if you need us. And we love you. More than anything.”

“Thanks, mum,” James says. He clings to her for another second before stepping back, because he
doesn’t want to catch attention.

With a gentle smile, Effie nods, presses a kiss to his forehead, and goes to continue being the
graceful hostess she is.

People have been coming and going all night. People James knows and some he doesn’t.
Informants and allies that Moody kept close to his chest. Even McGonagall showed up at one
point, which gave James a little heart attack and made him choke on his drink. Sirius laughed so
hard he had to sprint to the bathroom because he claimed to be at risk of pissing his pants.

Moody showed up a little while ago rumbling about how the auror department needs to get their
shit together, but even he accepted a drink from Monty and is now taking to him and Langlock by
the window. Alice Longbottom and Lily are huddled on a sofa, talking in quiet tones. Alice looks
sad but Lily has managed to coax a few smiles out of her.

Gideon, who is sitting with Pandora, keeps stealing glances at James that he’s very deliberately
ignoring. That’s not happening tonight. Hopefully ever again, if Regulus wants to take James back.
James isn’t sure. He’s terrified of finding out.
Knocking his drink back and putting the empty glass on the table, James makes his way through
the living room, into the kitchen, and out the back where he finds Remus and Sirius smoking.

“We were going to come find you as soon as we finished these,” Sirius informs him, lifting the
hand holding his half-smoked cigarette. “We need to talk.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” James asks pitifully. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bludger.”

“Well,” Sirius says, taking a drag of his cigarette. “If we want Reggie to set the record straight
tomorrow morning, we need to come at him with questions. He’s never been the most forthcoming
person, and he’s not good with his words.”

“You don’t say,” James mutters, closing his eyes for a second as he’s assaulted by memories of
Regulus struggling to voice something and deciding to kiss him senseless instead.

Remus’ mouth twitches, but he doesn’t say anything. Lets Sirius do all the talking. “Right. So. We
should pool our information, and then see where we have gaps so that we just ask him point blank
tomorrow. That’s the only way we’re going to get it all.”

This is, admittedly, a very good plan of action. James is tired, and still very confused, and more
than a little hurt over the fact that Regulus didn’t even deign to look at him. But he does want
answers badly enough to put that aside.

“Alright. Well. I’m the one who’s in the dark here,” James tells his friends. “I caught a few bits
during the battle, but really, I’ve no idea about anything. So, start talking, I guess.”

“Moony?” Sirius asks.

“I need another fag for this,” Remus says, pulling a pack out of his pocket and lighting another
cigarette. He takes a long drag, rubs a hand over his face, then starts talking.

James has to brace himself against the wall as Remus beings to explain how he got caught. That he
was brought to Black Manor and tortured. He tells them about Regulus tricking Lord Voldemort.
Giving Remus water instead of veritaserum and withstanding Voldemort’s legilimency.

They got drunk that night, Remus says. Just the two of them in a room that Regulus had in the
Manor that was protected with all sorts of wards. Regulus told him a few things, then. Explained he
had a plan.

“He didn’t know werewolves are immune to legilimency,” Remus says. He’s finished his cigarette
by now, but has lit another one. Chain-smoking is, apparently, required to get through this.

“He was very curious about it. It seemed to be the thing that made him decide to trust me a little
bit. And I get it. You don’t know what it was like for him there. Everyone was in his business all
the time. People came to him, tried to butter up to him. And Voldemort was always around, asking
for potions and shit.”

“Okay,” Sirius says. “One question I have for him is to confirm that we are right in our
assumption. If I’m getting this right, he didn’t tell any of us about what he was planning because he
was worried we’d be found out.”

“You mean he didn’t trust us?” James asks, wary.

“I mean he understood we couldn’t guarantee no one would get caught,” Sirius says, defending
Regulus to James for perhaps the first time ever.
There’s a moment of silence while they digest this. What it means. It makes sense, James knows.
Doesn’t make it hurt any less, but he understands why Regulus didn’t tell them, he supposes. If he
really thinks about it, James can see how he would have done something rash.

“Yeah,” Remus confirms. “Regulus was so fucking careful with information. He didn’t even tell
me everything. I only heard about the horcruxes this morning and even that was just a back-up plan
in case something happened and someone else had to find the last one.”

“What is a horcrux?” James asks, running his hands through his hair. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“It’s very dark magic. Basically, you kill someone and that rips your soul and you take that piece
and stuff it in an object so that even if you die, you don’t really, because a part of your soul is
preserved,” Remus explains. “Regulus told me Voldemort made five.”

James is dumbfounded. Is that… “Does that mean Voldemort was immortal?”

At the same time, Sirius exclaims, “Five?”

“Yeah,” Remus confirms. “Regulus found all of them and destroyed them. He had to do that before
he took a stand against Voldemort because yes, James, if we’d tried to take him out before he
would have been able to come back.”

Sirius pushes his hair desperately out of his face, stretching the skin back as he does. “Fuck. Okay.
So, new question for Regulus, how did he find them? I want to know.”

“Yeah,” James agrees, nodding to emphasize his point. “So, he’s been hunting these horcruxes the
entire time? Wait. That’s…”

James’ throat closes. His eyes sting and he has to look away from his friends and blink very fast.
It’s futile. A tear drops, running over his cheek. With a shuddering breath, James looks up and
finds an expression of equal sadness on Sirius’ face.

“That’s a lot of responsibility to put on a seventeen year old kid,” Remus says, voicing what James
and Sirius are feeling. “From what I gather, Regulus found out about the horcruxes still in school.”

“But he could have told us,” Sirius says, voice hoarse. Apparently, his earlier argument is no
longer valid. Not when the enormity of everything Regulus has done starts to sink in. “We would
have hunted them with him!”

“I suppose,” Remus says carefully. “We’ll have to ask him. But I can see how that would have
spiralled. If he’d told James, James would have told you. You would have wanted me there. And
how were we ever going to just disappear into thin air without raising suspicion? Your parents
would have gone mad with worry because the war was on.”

“There was no way we could have done it,” James whispers before a small sob punches out of him.
“Shit. He thought it was the only way. Doing it alone. Pushing us away.”

“Well, he was right,” Remus deadpans. “It sucks, but he was right. He did it. He ended it.”

Sirius crouches down, puts his face in his hands. James follows. It’s easier if they’re curled up, he
thinks. Easier to deal with the guilt and the weight of what Regulus did for them even though they
spent a lot of time thinking he’d betrayed them.

Fuck.
James wonders if Regulus will ever forgive him for doubting him. He should have known better.
Should have been able to see that Regulus was… but does it mean that if he’d had a choice, he
wouldn’t have ended things with James?

“I don’t know what to think,” James confesses wetly. “It’s stupid. I know. He’s a war hero and he
killed Voldemort but all I can think about is whether he… I just…”

“Hey,” Sirius says, pulling him into a hug. With the shift in weight, Sirius falls flat on his butt,
James on his lap. Doesn’t matter. They hold each other here, crying and processing. Guilt and
relief and love. “It’s okay.”

Remus kisses his teeth, crouches in front of Sirius and James and puts a hand on James’ shoulder,
squeezing it gently.

“You didn’t see the state he was in when he showed up to Grimmauld. He was still in the throes of
that Legacy magic so he shouldn’t have been able to feel much at all. But he was determined to
save you. I think you should talk to him, but there’s a good chance you can fix things between
you.”

“He was so jealous of Gideon, by the way,” Sirius says suddenly, amused. He wipes his tears with
the back of his hand and grins at James. “Hilarious.”

James jerks upright, horrified. “What? Who told Regulus about Gideon? Are you lot mental? Oh
fuck, Regulus is going to be so bloody mad.”

The outrage in his voice is shrill and loud. It makes Remus and Sirius burst into hysterical giggles,
and when has James ever been able to resist a good laugh with his friends? They fall apart right
outside the kitchen, on the path that leads to the conservatory where Lily’s potions are forgotten
now. Not needed anymore.

They laugh, and wipe their tears, and smile. It takes a while for them to get it all out. They’re
struggling, it’s clear, but they’re also already healing. Putting things together and finding solace in
the understanding that things had to happen this way.

“I can’t believe Regulus knows about Gideon,” James mutters when he’s calmed down.

“He called him the rebound,” Sirius says, beaming.

Groaning in mortification, James gets to his feet and helps Sirius up. Him and Remus light new
cigarettes. James looks up at the sky. Clear and full of stars. He feels better. Thinks perhaps there is
a chance for him and Regulus. He’s going to try to win him back. Explain to Regulus why he’s
been sleeping around. Ask for another chance. He did it once, didn’t he? Managed to fool Regulus
into falling for him. He can do it again. He hopes.

“So,” Remus says, always the most level of the three of them. “We’ll ask him about the horcrux
hunt. We’ll ask him to confirm his reasons for not telling us. What else?”

“What was that about inferi you said to him? I mean, I got that you saved him from a lake of them,
but like… why? Where?” James asks Sirius, frowning. “What happened? When?”

“You remember I told you I found the sword on a rock in the sea?” Sirius asks.

James and Remus nod. Sirius had explained that very quickly and very vaguely to James during the
battle when he’d been distracted by the sight of his best friend playing knight. “I mean, you only
said ‘I pulled it out of a rock to help Reggie’ so… perhaps a bit more detail?”
And that’s Sirius prompt to tell them about the cave. Kreacher coming to find him. Sirius
apparating to that rock with him and the sword materialising right there. He pulled it out and went
to the cave in the cliffs, following Kreacher’s instructions. When Sirius describes what he found
there, James has another breakdown.

Just… collapses into hysterics. Loses his collective shit.

He sobs into Sirius’ shoulder, wailing about how brave Regulus is, and how heroic Sirius is, and
how he should have been there. They almost died, and not only was James not helping, he didn’t
even know about it. For someone who’s built a life around protecting Sirius and, most recently,
trying to rescue Regulus, this is a lot.

Deep down, James feels a little bit like a failure. It’s wrong. He can’t make this about him. He
shouldn’t. It’s not. But he can’t help what he feels. He wishes with every fibre of his being that he
could have been there. Could have helped. Could have shouldered the pain and the fear that
Regulus and Sirius must have felt in that cave.

But he wasn’t. James wasn’t there. He didn’t know about it. Couldn’t do anything. All that’s left is
for him to look after them now. To do his best so that if there are scars, James can nurture them.
Heal them back to full strength. He wasn’t there then, but he’s here now. And James has to be okay
with that and move forward.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” James whispers into the crook of Sirius’ neck. His arms are around
him, strong and unwavering. “I’m sorry, Pads.”

“Don’t be,” Sirius says. “I think it was meant to be this way. Regulus would have never told me the
truth about the night I left if it weren’t for what happened in the cave. I think we needed that so we
can find a way to be brothers again.”

“I think he would like that,” Remus adds. James blinks and finds that Remus is here, too. On the
ground, holding James with Sirius.

“Yeah,” Sirius says with a soft smile. “I think so, too.”

“Wait,” James says, jerking upright to look Sirius in the eye. “What do you mean the truth about
that night you left?”

“Ah.” Sirius grimaces, pinches his eyes closed. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about that yet. I
need to… it needs to be Reggie first.”

There’s a bit of guilt on Sirius’ face that James wants to banish immediately. He gets it. That night
tore them apart and it’s been making them bleed for a very long time. If this whole ordeal has
brought shit to light that can help them heal, James is not going to get in the way of that.

“You don’t have to tell me. Now or ever,” James tells Sirius firmly. “I love you and I… I’m just
glad you guys can talk about it.”

“Me too,” Sirius says, rolling his neck back with a light pop. “Fuck. I’m tired. Never thought I’d
say this, but do you think they’ll notice if we leave the party early?”

“We can sneak around the back and climb the trellis. Nobody will know,” James suggests with a
grin. He is bone-deep tired, too. There’s been too much of everything. He wants it to be over. All
the bloodshed, the pain, the agony.

James wants peace. New beginnings. Second chances.

That’s how they end up stumbling together as they stand up, shaking their legs to get blood
flowing in them again after having been on the ground for so long. James yawns, stretching his
arms over his head without any shame whatsoever, and is about to lead their little covert mission to
their rooms when there’s a commotion inside the house.

When you’ve been at war for a whole year, watching people you love die day in and day out, you
can’t simply turn it off. You don’t just go back to normal the minute the war is over. Logically,
James knows there’s a million reasons why there could be a commotion at a party. His body? It’s
sprinting across the kitchen, wand in hand, heart thundering and ready to protect his people.

“What’s happening?” James asks as he skids to a halt in the foyer, where everyone has gathered in
confusion.

Sirius and Remus are on his heels. They make their way to the front of the small crowd, pushing
past friends and family, and come to an abrupt stop when they see the front door open and Moody
staring at a rather large box with his magical eye.

“Clear the room,” Moody orders. “Potter, Black, Lupin. You stay. Everyone else out. Party’s
over.”

It’s muscle memory at this point for these people to obey an order given by Alastor Moody. In less
than five minutes, everyone is gone. Lily goes up to her room after kissing Pandora goodbye. Effie
and Monty hover in the foyer, because it’s their house and Moody can’t kick them out of it, but
they respect him enough to not get in the way for now.

Wands drawn, the three friends approach Moody and the box with some trepidation. James clears
his throat, opens his mouth. Moody beats him to the punch. Before James can even ask what to
expect, Moody has slashed his wand and torn the box. As it falls open, James feels his heart lurch
right up into the back of his throat.

Inside the box, tied up and gagged, is Peter. Shirtless and bloody. He’s been beaten, and someone
has carved the word ‘coward’ on his chest. Well, not someone. James knows who did this. Who’s
sent Peter here.

Because pinned to his forehead, there’s a note that says,

Caught a rat.

R.A.B.

####

Interlude: Remus’ POV

Remus has always considered himself a monster. He’s made his peace with it. Knows that there are
broken things inside of him. He has learnt to deal and to do the best he can with what he’s got.
Most of the time, he can keep it all at bay. The animal. The beast in his chest. Sure, it comes out at
times. Usually around Sirius if Sirius is naked, but that’s okay. It’s okay because Sirius likes it.

The moment Remus lays eyes on Peter, bound and gagged, eyes wide with fear, he feels something
snap inside of him. The monster, unleashed. A large, furry creature roars, stands on its hind paws
and bares its teeth.

Here is the one who betrayed his friends. The one who almost got James killed.
There’s a sound like a growl, and then Remus is being pulled back by arms that are strong and
warm and firm. Sirius is shouting, face red and angry. The first thing Remus thinks is that this is it.
Sirius has seen how twisted he truly is and has decided he’s had enough because if he hadn’t been
stopped, Remus would have torn Peter to pieces already.

Except, after a confused second, Remus actually beings to process what Sirius is shouting and he
realises that Sirius is demanding that James let Remus go.

“He fucking deserves what’s coming to him,” Sirius is saying, teeth bared and wand gripped in his
hand so hard his knuckles are translucent. “Let Moony go, James.”

“We can’t just kill him,” James says, sounding winded and pained. “He was our friend.”

“He betrayed us! If it weren’t for Regulus, you and Moony would be dead, and I’d be half-way
there,” Sirius shouts vehemently.

“Sirius,” Effie says sternly. Remus blinks, disoriented. He’d forgotten Effie and Monty are here.
Moody, too, though he doesn’t really give a fuck what Moody thinks of him so that’s less relevant.
“Breathe.”

“Are you calm?” James asks Remus while Effie guides Sirius through some deep breathing Remus
knows they learnt together when Sirius first ran away from Grimmauld Place.

Grunting, Remus nods. Then, he thinks better of it and mutters, “Don’t let me go yet. I’ll kill him if
you do.”

James huffs a breath. “You’re too strong, Moony.”

“If you want him alive, you’re going to have to suck it up,” Remus snaps. “Because I think we
should kill him.”

Fuck. He’s furious. Peter doesn’t deserve James’ compassion. Where was he when… Remus
smirks to himself. He knows it’s a bit wicked. It’s the sort of thing Regulus would do. But quite
honestly, Remus likes Regulus these days. The guy was ruthless. He saw a way to win and took it.
He fucking saved them all time and time again. So, what if his methods were a bit violent? It was a
war. Gentleness was never going to cut it.

Remus tilts his head to make sure James can hear him, and asks, “Was Pete this nice to you when
they brought you to Lestrange Castle?”

Silence falls like a hammer on an anvil. Effie and Sirius turn to stare, eyes wide. Monty inhales
sharply. Moody looks low-key impressed.

Remus presses his point. “He was there. Regulus told us. Peter was there when they hurt you and
when they gave Regulus an ultimatum. He drank poison to save your life and Peter stood by and let
it all happen. Didn’t he?”

“You were there?” James asks.

Peter is crying. He can’t talk. But when he sees the look on James’ face, he nods. One single,
perfunctory nod.

“You were there,” James whispers, voice hoarse now. His hold on Remus has loosened enough that
Remus can step away from him.
Sirius walks up to them. It’s the three of them standing in front of Peter. And it’s wrong. It
shouldn’t be this way. But it is. Remus is practically vibrating with how fucking much he wants to
smash Peter’s head in. He doesn’t even need magic. He’ll tear him apart the muggle way. Get his
hands bloody and bruised.

“Moody, take off his gag,” James asks. “I want to talk to him.”

The moment he can speak, Peter begins to beg. Immediately. Without shame or pause. “James,
please. They threatened my mother. I almost got killed so many times. They captured me and it
was the only way to survive. What was I supposed to do? They were too strong. Too powerful.
They were going to win. I didn't want to die. I was so afraid. No one was going to come rescue me.
You know they weren't. Dumbledore didn't care about us. I was so scared.”

“And you think the rest of us weren’t?” James asks him, face hardening. “Everyone was afraid. It
was a war!”

“But you won! You won. And I’m so sorry. Please. I didn’t know what else to do,” Peter cries.
He’s pathetic, Remus thinks. Shaking and begging. Weeping like a child.

“We didn’t win,” James says. “We didn’t win, Peter. Nobody wins a war. We survived. And some
of us didn’t. You told them where to find us. You killed Frank. Alice will have a baby with no
father because of you. Because of what you did. What you told them.”

“James, please, I was so scared—”

“Do you know I cut off Emmeline’s leg to save her life because they were waiting for us at the
safe house? I did that. I have to carry that for the rest of my days because of you. How is that fair,
Pete? Why is that my burden to carry when it was your cowardice that caused it?”

James is crying now. Tears are falling over his cheeks, and his voice is thick and heavy but he’s
not wavering. He’s pinning Peter down with the force of a thousand suns and forcing him to face
the weight of what he’s done. James is burying Peter alive under the weight of war.

Despite his lust for blood, Remus is impressed. James doesn’t get angry often, but when he does,
he’s a sight to behold. And he might not be hitting Peter with his fists, but from the way Peter is
flinching and curling in on himself, this is hurting him just as much.

Sirius, who has until now been rather quiet, seething with that ice-cold fury that Remus knows
dwells in the darkness that has teeth, tilts his head and pins Peter down with silver-grey eyes. “You
sold Moony out to Voldemort. You knew they’d kill him. And you still blew his cover.”

“Sirius, I had to—”

“The only reason I haven’t pulled your insides out of you through your mouth is that my parents
are watching, and I’d like them to not hate me for the rest of my life. But give me that bullshit
again and I will do it and not feel sorry about it,” Sirius hisses, low and dangerous and so full of the
promise of retribution that a shiver runs down Remus’ spine.

Remus has to look away for a moment to gather his wits because honestly, violence like that should
not be sexy but Godric Gryffindor help him. He’s half-hard in his pants now and that’s just
inconvenient. Sirius threatening murder is possibly one of the hottest things Remus has ever seen
and considering he’s dating a man so beautiful he makes breathing into an art form, that’s saying
something.

“Did you tell them about me?” James asks, putting a hand on Sirius’ forearm before sliding it
down until their fingers are interlaced. Remus smiles a little at that. At how much they help each
other, always.

Peter squeaks. “Please, James—”

“Did you tell them about me?” he roars, silencing Peter once more. “Did you tell Voldemort to use
me against Regulus?”

Peter crumples to the ground. Despite being bound and almost unable to move, his legs give out
and then he’s on his knees. Begging. Remus can’t take it. He steps forward and grabs him by the
throat, hauling him up to his feet again.

“Answer the fucking questions,” Remus snarls.

“I did!” Peter shouts, going very red in the face and breathing hard, like he’s running up a hill. “I
did! I told them. The Dark Lord suspected Regulus had been too soft on Sam. And then he had
questions about what he did when he disappeared at night. And then he found out he’d lied about
you, so he knew Regulus was hiding something. It wasn’t my fault! He was going to go after him
anyway!”

“I thought he was dead,” James says quietly. He looks at Peter straight in the eye and says, “You
remember what it felt like when Olive died, don’t you? You know what it’s like. Except I had to
watch it happen. I watched Regulus die and I couldn’t do anything to stop it because of you.”

“James—”

“I won’t kill you,” James spits out, and it’s the most vicious Remus has ever heard him. “Death is a
kindness you don’t deserve. You’re going to live the rest of your life knowing you betrayed your
friends. You’re going to suffer for it every moment that you’re awake and you’ll have nightmares
about it when you’re not.”

“What are you—” Peter tries again but Sirius cuts him off.

“The dungeons under Black Manor are in need of a new tenant,” Sirius says nonchalantly. “I’m
sure Regulus will be happy to host.”

“No,” James says. “If we send him back to Regulus, he’ll kill him.”

“I still think we should do just that,” Remus mutters. “I’m surprised Regulus sent him to us alive.”

“That’s his idea of a romantic gesture,” Sirius says, amused. “He knew James would want to talk to
him.”

“A romantic gesture?” James asks, blinking at Sirius.

“Yup.”

James looks absolutely stunned for a solid minute before he smiles a little bit. Peter is still on the
floor, begging to be forgiven. Swallowing, James looks down at him and says, “We won’t kill him.
I want him to go to Azkaban for life. No reviews. No paroles. No nothing. Life in Azkaban.”

Remus tilts his head, impressed. He didn’t know James had it in him. A part of him still clamours
for blood, but if he can’t get it, then he’s okay with Peter being tormented by dementors for the
rest of his days without respite. It’s a fate he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.
“Alastor,” Sirius says. “Peter’s an animagus. You’ll have to factor that in. He doesn’t get a trial.
Doesn’t get anything. Throw him in a cell in Azkaban tonight. Make sure he never comes out of it
again.”

“That’ll be my pleasure,” Moody replies. He looks proud, and that makes Remus feel even better
about the solution. “There’s no need for trial. We have a confession and witnesses. This rat is
never going to see the sun again.”

As Moody steps up to gather Peter, who’s babbling and asking for mercy, Remus has a small little
impulse and after he managed to quell his thirst for blood, he decides to indulge it.

“One moment,” he asks. Then, he steps up and punches Peter right in the face, across his jaw. His
lip splits, blood dribbling instantly over his chin. “Now, you can take him away.”

****

It’s a little creepy, Remus thinks, but he loves watching Sirius sleep.

Specially, when it’s the morning and Remus is awake before Sirius—which happens often, to
Remus’ delight—and the sunlight falls into the room, casting Sirius’ ink-black hair alight. Remus
isn’t a poet and he’ll never be one, but when he’s tracing the lines of Sirius’ face with his eyes he
thinks of miracles and soulmates and love so strong it could move the heavens.

Remus has never been an optimist. Far from it. His thoughts tend to turn towards the catastrophic.
He's always ready for things to go wrong, for life to take another swing at him. And yet, this
morning, as he breathes calmly in bed and simply watches Sirius sleep, Remus thinks they’re going
to be okay.

They’ve got some shit to deal with and some decisions to make. And the absolutely terrifying
prospect of a future unincumbered by war ahead of them. Remus, for one, has no fucking idea what
he wants to do with his life. If he’s honest, he didn’t think he’d make it this far. He thought some
of them would be lost to the war and the ones who survived would go through the rest of their lives
a shell of themselves.

And yes. Remus won’t dishonour Mary’s memory or Fabian’s or Frank’s or anyone else’s by
forgetting that they did die. But so many of them did not. And Remus is so happy he feels weird
about it. He doesn’t think he’s been this calm and hopeful ever before in his life.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Sirius mutters against his pillow. “Something wrong?”

Remus turns on his side, runs the pads of his fingers over Sirius’ shoulder. He’s got so many new
tattoos. Remus is obsessed with them. They look so fucking good on Sirius’ pale skin it’s all
Remus can do not to take a bite out of him.

“It’s a bit weird waking up and not… fearing for our lives,” Remus admits. “I’m not sure what I’m
meant to be doing now.”

Sirius yawns, scoots over in the bed to get closer to Remus. “Well. Today, we have to go meet with
Regulus about the packs. And we have the Order meeting in the evening. That’s a plan. You like
those, don’t you?”

Chuckling, Remus rolls onto his back and brings Sirius with him so he’s lying flat on his chest. His
boyfriend hums contentedly and begins to trace idle figures over Remus’ chest with his fingers,
following the lines of his scars like they’re a treasure map.
“Right. Yes, I do,” Remus admits, feeling a bit better. “What about tomorrow?”

“Let’s see what happens today first, no?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Remus mutters. “It’s just… weird. It’s just weird.”

Sirius props himself up with his arms on Remus’ body so he can look at his face. Idly, Remus
wonders how it’s possible that Sirius wakes up looking like that. It’s fucking unfair and if he
wasn’t waking up in Remus’ bed, he’d be incredibly vexed by it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” Remus replies immediately.

Biting his lower lip—which is distracting as fuck—Sirius looks away, then back at Remus.
“Regulus has Walburga in the attic.”

“That’s not a question,” Remus says softly.

Huffing a breath through his nose, Sirius pinches his eyes closed and says, “Is it wrong that I want
to kill her?”

“You’re asking me? The one who had to be physically restrained when confronted with a guy who
used to be our friend?” Remus asks, bewildered.

“Well, yes. I’m also going to ask James,” Sirius admits rather sheepishly. “Because I only care
what you and James think. And if… if you think it makes me like them, then I will… I don’t
know. I don’t know, Moony. What is good enough for Walburga? I see James’ point in sending
Peter to Azkaban but her?”

“I’m pretty sure that Regulus is going to kill her whether you want him to or not,” Remus says
candidly. He hasn’t forgotten what Regulus told him about his list of names. “I think… I think the
question is whether you want to be a part of it. Either way, I still love you. I don’t think killing the
person who tortured you when you were a child makes you any particular brand of bad.”

“It’s still a kill,” Sirius mutters, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I’m supposed to be better than
them. And I… when I stabbed Bellatrix, it was without thinking. She’d attacked James with a
killing curse, I thought James was gone, and I had a sword, and the sword went in her heart. It was
the middle of battle, and I didn’t really have time to like… make a decision. It just happened. So, I
don’t feel… I don’t feel bad about it, actually.”

“But Walburga is a prisoner, so you’ll be deciding to kill her and that’s why you’re hesitating?”
Remus asks, trying to figure out what Sirius wants. What he needs.

If Remus is honest, he’d happily traipse over to Grimmauld Place and kill Walburga for him. Right
this moment. No questions asked. But he wants to support Sirius. Wants to be… a good boyfriend,
Remus supposes. Whatever that means.

“Yes,” Sirius confirms, nodding. “I think that’s it. I have to make a conscious decision to take a life
and I’m worried that makes me like every other Black.”

“Some people would tell you that revenge accomplishes nothing,” Remus says slowly, carefully.
His thoughts are a bit jumbled, and he’s not sure if he’s going to manage to make his point come
across correctly. Clearing his throat, he tries his best, “Some people will say that you’re supposed
to be better than that. The bigger person. But I’m me. I’m a monster and you love me anyway. I’ve
killed people, Sirius. I had to. Other wolves, as I was submitting the packs. I didn’t enjoy it. I
wished I didn’t have to. But I can live with those because it was them or me and I chose myself.”

“And I’m glad you did,” Sirius says fiercely.

“That. That exactly is my point. You and I are not like other people. Shit happened to us. We
survived it and we did our best. But we have darkness inside of us that’ll never go away,” Remus
tells Sirius, reaching to cup his face in his hands. “I love you despite the darkness. I love you,
perhaps, because of it. Kill Walburga, or don’t, it won’t matter to me. Ask me to kill her for you,
and I will. Ask me to spare her, and I’ll fight Reg for it. I just want you to choose what makes you
feel like you’re choosing yourself. Not for me. Not for James. Not for anyone else’s opinion. Just
for yourself.”

Sirius surges forward and kisses Remus so hard their teeth click together. Remus’ eyes flutter shut,
hands sliding into Sirius’ hair to knot in the soft raven locks he loves so much. When his fingers
tighten in his hair, Sirius makes a noise into Remus’ mouth that shoots straight to his dick.

With a grace that Remus himself could never muster in a million years, Sirius slides his body up
until he’s straddling Remus, bent forward all the while to carry on kissing him like they might
never get another chance. One of Remus’ hands trails over Sirius’ skin, coming to rest on his hip.
Digging his fingers in, Remus adjusts Sirius position until they’re pressed against each other.

“Fuck,” Sirius groans, ripping his mouth away from Remus’ lips to nip at his neck. “I don’t think
you’ve offered to kill anyone for me before. It’s hot. Very hot.”

“Is it?” Remus asks, amused and aroused by the way Sirius is rutting his hips into his own.

“I’m going to need you to fuck me right now,” Sirius informs him, forcefully pressing down and
making Remus’ head spin with how good that feels.

Remus huffs a laugh but then Sirius is biting at his collarbone and nothing is funny anymore. It’s a
good thing they’re already naked. No clothes to get in the way. Just skin, slick and peppered with
dark ink that makes Remus want to whine every time he looks at it.

Never one to refuse Sirius Black anything, Remus hooks an arm around his back and propels
himself up, twisting them so that Sirius is the one splayed on the bed and Remus is hovering over
him.

“I love it when you do that,” Sirius breathes, hair fanned out over the pillow. His eyes are dark and
shinning with want and love and Remus thinks one of these days he’ll pass away from how being
on the receiving end of that look from Sirius makes him feel.

Sirius turns his head, his mouth aligned with the ugly scar on his arm. Remus has a lot of scars, but
none of them spell it out so clearly for all to see. He’s a beast. A monster. And Bellatrix Lestrange
wrote it onto his arm for everyone to know. Sirius presses his lips against it. He’s done that every
day since he first saw it. Remus thinks it’s part of the reason Sirius doesn't feel guilty at all that he
killed her, but he hasn’t said. Remus won’t ask.

They kiss, fervently and deliriously. Hands slide over bodies, tongues curl together. Sirius grabs
Remus' dick in his hand and pumps him slowly, in time to the strokes of their tongues. Remus bites
his neck, drags his teeth over his collarbone, closes his mouth over one of Sirius' nipples until he's
arching off the bed and begging Remus to touch him. Take him. Have him.

When he fishes the bottle of lube from the nightstand, Remus shimmies down to position himself
between Sirius legs. As Remus takes him in his mouth and presses with his fingers into Sirius to
prepare him, Sirius looks down. There’s, a smug smirk on his face and if Remus wasn’t so in love
with him already, he’d fall head over heels all over again.

They’ve been together for a bit more than a year. In that time, Remus has learnt everything that
makes Sirius unravel. He knows how to touch, where to lick, how to wrap his tongue this way or
that to make Sirius’ eyes roll into his head. And there are very few things Remus enjoys more than
putting all that to good use. In this position, Remus can't take all of Sirius because of the awkward
angle, but he makes up for it by swirling his tongue over the tip, tasting Sirius' arousal every time.

Remus curls his fingers inside of Sirius, hitting that spot that makes him whine and cuss under his
breath. He'd smile if his lips weren't busy sucking on the most delicious dick Remus has ever
tasted.

“Oh fuck, Remus. Please, stop,” Sirius pants, tapping Remus’ shoulder. “I really do want to fuck
and if you don’t stop right now that’s not going to happen.”

Swiftly, he climbs over Sirius and aligns himself, sliding an arm around Sirius’ lower back to prop
him up a little bit. Sirius' knees bend, go up, and Remus looks at silver grey eyes as he pushes
inside slowly. And it’s a fucking beautiful thing, the feeling of sinking into Sirius. Of getting as
close to him as humanly possible. Becoming one. All that romantic shit that people write songs
about and Remus never understood until it was them two in a bed together.

His hips are nestled against Sirius' thighs as he waits for a moment, giving him time to adjust.
Sirius' dick, hard and glorious against his stomach, is distracting. Remus doesn't resist the urge to
touch him, which makes Sirius moan then wiggle a bit to tell Remus he's ready for more.

“I fucking love you,” Remus says, forehead pressed against Sirius' as he begins to move, drawing
his hips back, then forward again.

“Say it again,” Sirius asks him, panting.

Remus thrusts. Adjusts his angle. Thrusts again. Sirius' eyes roll into his head. "Oh, fuck. Yes. Yes.
There."

Smirking wickedly, Remus sets a new pace, making Sirius' mouth fall slack, eyes glossed over. His
hair is a mess, and his cheeks are pink, and Remus is so fucking gone for this man he'll never find
his way back. Not that he'd ever want to.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” Remus chants, fucking Sirius with everything he's got.

“Promise me you’ll never stop,” Sirius says urgently, heels digging into Remus as he urges him to
move faster, chasing release. “Promise.”

“Forever,” Remus grunts, sneaking his hand between them to help Sirius along. “This is forever.
You and me. Until the end of time. Until the end of everything.”

They come within seconds of each other, breathless and frantic, and wonderful. Sirius all over
himself, Remus inside of Sirius. And then they lie there for a bit because they can. It doesn't matter
that their skin is sticky or that they're sweating. They have time to just be. To revel in this. And
they take it. Because there’s no more running to missions. No more fighting. No more fear. No
more graves.

“Did you mean it?” Sirius asks, pressing a kiss to the underside of Remus’ jaw. “Until the end?”
“We survived a war together,” Remus tells him, finding his mouth and whispering the words
against Sirius’ lips. “I will always be yours. And you’ll always be mine. Until the end.”

####

Regulus discovers as he stands on Portsmouth harbour at seven in the morning the day after the
battle of Lestrange Castle that he has developed a rather severe aversion to large bodies of water.
This shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is. He wishes he was stronger than this. It's rather unfortunate,
too, because Regulus did love to take a bath from time to time. He’ll have to stick to showering
now.

Wrinkling his nose, he takes a step back and away from the edge of the harbour and turns to the
blond woman standing next to him in a traveling cloak. It’s a bright day with calm seas. Her
journey should be comfortable.

“Your death will be announced in the papers tomorrow,” Regulus tells Elspeth, handing her the
new passport and papers he got for her. “You should be in Greece by then, so hopefully you’ve
found Irene. It would be quite unpleasant for her to think you’ve died.”

Elspeth rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “She doesn’t get the Daily Prophet in Greece. And yes, I
will find her well before that, but I appreciate the concern.”

“I’m not concerned,” Regulus says primly. “Just practical.”

“Whatever you say.” Elspeth picks up her bag, steps up to the bridge onto the boat. “I would hug
you, but I understand you don’t like it. Thank you, Regulus. I will never forget what you did for
me.”

“Of all the fake fiancées I could have had, you weren’t the worst,” Regulus tells her, lips twitching
at the corners.

Elspeth laughs, airy and carefree. It’s a rather beautiful laugh. Regulus thinks Irene is a lucky
woman. “Do come visit us in Greece once you win back your James’ heart. I’m sure Irene will
want to meet you.”

“I don’t do well in the sun,” Regulus says haughtily.

“James does,” Elspeth counters. And Regulus has to admit that the thought of James standing on a
beach, shirtless under the sun, makes him want to abscond to Greece with him right this very
second if only to get to behold that sight.

“Yes, well,” Regulus says, clearing his throat.

Rolling her eyes, Elspeth says, “Stop fretting. I’m no expert, but I’d say from the way he held you
and how desperate he was to bring you back from that… uhm… episode, that he’s still very much
in love with you.”

Uncomfortable, Regulus shifts his weight on his feet, then points to the ship. “You’re going to miss
the ferry.”

Shaking her head, Elspeth waves at him. “Always a pleasure. Goodbye, Regulus.”

And she’s off. Boarding the ship to carry her to Europe where Regulus has arranged for a series of
portkeys to speed the travel along. It was a bit of a pain doing it on such short notice, but nothing
that money couldn’t fix. By the time Elspeth Fawley is announced as one of the victims of the
 battle of Lestrange Castle, she’ll be in Irene’s arms.

Chapter End Notes

Friends, besties, I love you all so much. Genuinely. The overwhelming support for the
previous chapter was outstanding and you've made me so happy. I cannot express it.
THANK YOU. Every single comment makes me smile and your enthusiasm and love
are helping a lot with dealing with the stuff going on in my life. So, again, BEST
READERS IN THE FANDOM I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH

Okay, now about this chapter:

Regulus went to visit Myrtle to have his little (big) breakdown about getting his
emotions back and UGH I always knew Reg was going to go back to see Myrtle
again, because she really helped him so much during school. It was so good for him to
do that. He feels safe in her bathroom, and he knows she doesn't judge him, and that
was so important for him to be able to really begin his healing journey Myrtle was
once again the GOAT and I'm so here for this partnership. YOU GO BESTIES

Snape! A reveal! Regulus wasn't going to bank on Snape being honourable (our boy
is much too smart). Like... PLS Regulus doesn't trust anyone no way he was going to
just trust Snape keeping to his word LMAO
OF COURSE he found some leverage. All that reading and researching and running
around England looking for Horcruxes had to have some additional perks

James' POV - Effie being a queen and just like... 'we love you no matter what'
HELP She's so smart and such a good mum. Does she have some thoughts about
Regulus? Yes. Does she understand this overall traumatic and overwhelming night
isn't the right time to review that? Also yes. Is she ready to support James in his love
for an unhinged psychopath anyway?.... also yes. Effie just wants James to be happy,
okay?

Then the reveals!! James learning a LOT from Sirius and Remus and breaking down
repeatedly? PLS HE'S SO SAD Like... just... IT'S A LOT OKAY? AND JAMES
FEELS LIKE A RAW WOUND HE NEEDS CUDDLES James went through all
the emotions, but he was with Sirius and that helped. Platonic Prongsfoot remain
undefeated as the top soulmates I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOUR

Then PETER PETTIGREW The rat. The traitor. UGH

Listen... I know some of you wanted Reg to send the head in the box. Regulus wanted
to do that, too. HE REALLY DID
But like... realistically, James wouldn't have been okay with that because Peter was his
childhood friend. Peter was to James sort of what Barty is to Regulus in that Peter was
*THE FIRST FRIEND* and sure, Sirius came along and Prongsfoot rose to claim all
the titles, but James has a capacity for love that's unmatched and it would have been
too hard for him to accept Regulus just killed Peter without giving him even a chance
to talk to him. And Regulus KNOWS THAT That man is determined to find a way to
make James love him again ROMANTIC GESTURES

That said - poetic justice in Peter being sent to Azkaban without a trial or any
consideration at all. Rings a bell? I love me a bit of anti-canon parallel because I'll
never forgive Peter for sending Sirius to prison. Enjoy your stay in Azkaban,
Pettigrew. You're never getting out because I make some of the rules here JUSTICE
FOR SIRIUS BLACK

Wolfstar I love them. I just. I do. So much. Forever

And finally!! ELSPETH IS GOING TO GREECE That queen deserves her happy
ending with Irene so much. GO GET YOUR WOMAN ELSPETH

Now, I know we want Jegulus reunion but this had to happen first. For them to sort it
out, this chapter to focus on their separate revelations. A lot happened to these two
people and, again, in the name of a happy ending that's forever and not 'just for now'
they had to break down and deal with the aftermath on their own first. BUT NEXT
CHAPTER HAS THE RENUION SO THE WAIT IS ALMOST OVER.

It will be published on Sunday and I'm SO EXCITED

See you in the comments section, friends! At risk of being repetitive, I live for
your comments. Thank you so so so so much
 Always You
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

There's nothing to say that's more important that this chapter, so let's get straight to it!

TWs for this one:

Depictions of murder
Blood, use of knifes, death
References to past child abuse in many forms (all the forms)
References to past murders
References to bigotry
References to past trauma (near drowning, inferi)

I think that's it, but as always please feel free to flag if there's anything I've missed!!

There's a bit of French. Translation in end notes.

ENJOY

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Dorcas,” Regulus says, knocking on the door to her room in Grimmauld Place.

“Come in,” she calls through the door.

Regulus slips inside. After dropping Elspeth off at the harbour, he had some time to shower and
change into some of the muggle clothes he got last summer. It is imperative that he goes shopping
soon, Regulus has realised, but there’s no time for that today so this will have to do. He’s in jeans
and a black t-shirt with a black hoodie thrown over to hide his arm. Fortunately, even though it’s
early June, it’s not very warm so the hoodie is actually rather comfortable.

Fidgeting with his rings, Regulus looks at his best friend and says, “So, I ehm…” He stops, clears
his throat.

Fucking hell. He hasn’t got any better at voicing things, has he? This is going to present a problem.
He’s no longer sixteen and able to pass it off as teenage insecurities. People will expect him to be
eloquent now. And really, he can be. Just not when it’s about… feelings.

“I’m fascinated by the fact that you could give Albus Dumbledore of all people a dressing down to
make him quake in his boots but cannot bring yourself to ask me whatever it is you want to ask
about James,” Dorcas says, visibly amused as she swings her legs over the bed to sit up and watch
Regulus like all she’s missing is some popcorn.

“How do you know it’s about James?”

“You’re having a gay panic like you did when you couldn’t figure out what to do about Valentine’s
Day,” Dorcas informs him. “It’s adorable, and I’m very happy it’s happening because it means
you’re back for good.”
“If you ever call me adorable again, I will hurt you,” Regulus snarls, closing his eyes and pinching
the bridge of his nose with his two fingers. “And I mean that.”

Dorcas laughs, gets up and comes to stand in front of Regulus. There are dark bruises under her
eyes that Regulus knows are Marlene’s. Guilt bubbles inside of him immediately. If it weren’t for
him, Dorcas and Marlene wouldn’t be going through this.

“What did you want to ask?” Dorcas says softly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Regulus replies. “Are you… did you sleep?”

“Stop,” Dorcas says, waving a hand in front of her. “Stop that. I’m sad, and heartbroken, but I’m
going to win Marlene back. You didn’t think I was going to give up that easy, did you? I’m going
to woo the shit out of her until she takes me back.”

Regulus tilts his head, intrigued. “And… ehm… how exactly will you be doing that?”

“Well, for starters, I’m going to talk to her,” Dorcas tells him. “And to be quite honest, I don’t
think it’ll take any more than that for you. Marlene is proud and nurtures grudges like they’re
kittens, but James is the most forgiving person I know.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not particularly good at talking,” Regulus snaps at Dorcas,
burying a hand into his hair.

Dorcas hums, crosses her arms over her chest. “You already did this once, Reg. James fell in love
with you in school. And I’m pretty sure he hasn’t fallen out of love, but even if he had, you can do
it again.”

“Last time it was easier,” Regulus insists, panic mounting. “Last time I could… I just… James did
all the work.”

“Well, then perhaps you just have to find a way to show him you’re willing to do some of the
work, too?”

“What do you mean?” Regulus asks, latching on to this piece of advice. Anything to help him
figure out if he’s got a chance.

Dorcas shrugs, purses her lips. “Like a big gesture. James seems like the type to like romantic
things.”

“I already… I sent him a present,” Regulus admits, hating the way his cheeks heat up a little.
Salazar have mercy on him, he’s just as hopeless as he’s ever been. Floundering his way through
trying to remember how to act like a normal person in love.

“What did you send him?”

“Pettigrew.”

“You did what now?” Dorcas yelps, eyes going wide and mouth falling into an O. Immediately,
Regulus worries he miscalculated. Perhaps that wasn’t a good idea?

Shrugging to hide his mounting panic, Regulus says, “I didn’t kill him. I sent him to the Potters
alive so James could talk to him. He cares about that sort of thing. I thought he’d appreciate it.”

“Salazar’s cape on a pole,” Dorcas says, and she looks like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or
hit Regulus over the head. “Right. Okay. I mean… my idea of a romantic gesture was more along
the lines of a fancy dinner. Or, I don’t know, serenade him with a mariachi band and a song?
Something that doesn’t involve blood and violence.”

“I don’t know how,” Regulus says, defeated. Although he has to admit that the idea has merit. If he
could figure out how to put on some sort of… romantic situation.

"Yes, you do."

"James planned all the romantic stuff before," Regulus protests. "I can like think of a gift. Spend
money. Buy him something or make him something. But like a date? Where do I even start?"

"I believe in you," Dorcas says encouragingly.

Fuck.

He’s going to need to sit down and plan this like he’s drawing up battle plans.

And then, another thought. A terrible one. Punishment for his crimes, if he had to name it. Some
people would call it trauma, but Regulus calls it cosmic revenge. Penance for the people he killed,
maybe? Who knows.

Clearing his throat, he says uncomfortably, “Dorcas, there’s another issue. Even if I figure out how
to do a big gesture for James… which is a big if… I still can’t touch him. He deserves better than
that.”

There’s a long, drawn out pause. The back of his throat gets itchy. Regulus swallows, trying to
keep himself in check. He will not cry. He’s Lord Black. Slayer of a basilisk. A war hero.

He will not cry over a boy. No matter how much he loves said boy.

“I’m going to put my hands on your shoulders,” Dorcas informs him when the silence has gone on
for so long Regulus was starting to wonder if he should just leave. “Okay?”

Every single muscle in Regulus’ body tenses, but he nods. He has to find a way to get through this,
or else he’s never going to stand a chance with James. Even if James still wanted him after
everything, there’s no way James would be able to have a relationship with no touching. He’s too
tactile for it and Regulus loves that about James. He wouldn’t ask him to give that up. It wouldn’t
be fair. So, he either finds a way to be okay with it, or he’s going to have to let James go.

“Tell me if you freak out,” Dorcas says, lowering her palms slowly over Regulus’ shoulders.

She places them there gently and waits. Doesn’t grab. Doesn’t tug. Regulus breathes and finds that
he’s okay. This is okay. There’s no water. He’s not drowning. And Dorcas’ hands are warm.

“I think I’m okay,” Regulus says quietly. Doing his best to stay focused. Stay here, with his best
friend whom he trusts. “Your hands are warm.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“The inferi were cold,” Regulus deadpans. Dorcas flinches, but doesn’t move her hands. Regulus
decides to experiment. “Can you run them down my arms?”

“Why, Reg, are you trying to seduce me?” Dorcas teases, laughing as she moves her hands over the
outline of his arms, slowly bringing them to his elbow, and below. “Hands?”
“Let’s try,” Regulus says. It’s the hardest part, he thinks, because it’s skin on skin. “I don’t know
what’ll happen.”

“If you hit me, I’ll make you buy me some expensive shit to make up for it,” Dorcas tells him.

Carefully, she ghosts her fingers over the back of Regulus’ hands, then slides her palms against his,
holding both his hands. Regulus’ fingers twitch, and he grabs onto her, breath and heartbeat
accelerating.

Control yourself. You’re alright. You’re the master of your own body.

“Are you okay?” Dorcas asks.

She hasn’t let go, and Regulus is grateful because the longer she holds him the easier it gets. He’s
focused on her warmth. How smooth her hands are. The smell of the oils she uses for her hair. It’s
so different to the cave.

“Yes,” Regulus says after a moment, triumphant. “I’m okay.”

When he steps away and lets Dorcas’ hands go, Regulus is smiling. Perhaps he’ll be alright. James
always runs warm. Like a fucking furnace. There’s no way Regulus will think of inferi if he’s
lucky enough to find himself pressed against James again.

“Sirius should be here any minute. Remus and James are coming a bit later. You’re welcome to
join the meeting with Dumbledore this evening if you want,” Regulus tells Dorcas, adjusting his
hoodie and his hair a little bit.

The prospect of seeing James again is making him a little jittery, and he’ll clamp down hard on that
as soon as he’s on his way, because Regulus will not be caught dead doing something as
pathetically mundane as being nervous. But Dorcas is his best friend, and they just ended a war
together, so Regulus supposes he’s allowed to show a bit of himself to her, after everything.

“I’m going to stay with Barty,” Dorcas replies. “It’s tough for him.”

“Oh, I’m working on that,” Regulus says swiftly. “If all goes well, Evan will be up and about
tomorrow.”

Dorcas blinks at him, shocked, before a huge smile draws itself over her face. “You never stop, do
you?”

“Stop what?”

“Looking after your friends.”

“You’re making me uncomfortable.” Regulus goes straight for the door, determined to exit this
conversation right this very moment. Enough vulnerability for a whole week, he thinks.

Laughing, Dorcas shakes her head at him. “Fuck. I’m so glad we’re okay. Good luck with James.
Not that you need it. He loves you, Reg. I’m sure of it.”

He’s almost out the room so Dorcas can’t really see him, but he’s rolling his eyes anyway just for
the hell of it. The nerves have lodged themselves as a ball in the back of his throat, and his guts are
having a riot, but Regulus did not go to hell and back again to chicken out before he finds out if
James will give him a second chance.
One thought bounces in his head at the last minute, so he looks over his shoulder and says, “Also,
Dorcas? I’ll buy you expensive shit just because. Whatever you want.”

****

Sirius is waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

There’s a cigarette hanging from his lips and he’s leaning against the handrail for the staircase,
staring directly at the attic’s door. Behind it, Walburga has been alone for over a week. The last
time Regulus brought her some food was the night of the cave. He has been a little preoccupied
since, not that he feels too bad about it. She starved them for longer when they were young,
rationing water and some bread so they’d stay alive enough to feel themselves slowly fading.

Psychotic bitch.

“Hey,” Sirius says softly, taking out his pack of cigarettes and offering one to Regulus.

“I’ve got my own,” he says, pursing his lips a little awkwardly.

Sirius shrugs, shakes the pack a little bit. “Just take one, Reggie.”

He does, lighting it and coming to rest against the railing next to Sirius. The smoke hurts his lungs
as he holds it in for way longer than he should, but Regulus doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t
know where to start.

The things he said to Sirius last time they were here… he shouldn’t have. He never meant for
Sirius to find out about the list, or about the night he left. He wanted to protect him from that. He’d
made that decision long ago. The truth doesn’t set you free. It binds you to people. And Regulus
didn’t want Sirius to stay at his side out of obligation or guilt.

Shit. He wishes he could go back and change it. Wishes Sirius didn’t know the truth. Regulus
never anticipated that losing parts of himself to the Legacy would ever lead down this road.

“I can hear you thinking,” Sirius says, and he sounds a bit amused. “Remus does the same thing.”

“Yeah, well,” Regulus replies. “Remus is the smartest of you lot.”

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Sirius admits, huffing a laugh.

Silence again. And Regulus has always been the kind of person that’s comfortable in silence. He
used to enjoy watching other people squirm as they perceived it as awkward. Used to find it funny
how they’d scramble for a way to break it while it never bothered him.

This silence? It’s making his skin crawl.

Where do they go from here? They’re too broken. Regulus used to think unravelling truths between
them would only lead to more blood and tears. He held on to that. To the feeling of not being able
to look at Sirius without cracking inside.

Carefully, he glances at his brother out of the corner of his eye.

It hurts still. There’s too much history. Sirius left. Regulus stayed. Sirius wanted Regulus to come
with him. Regulus wanted to go.

They were brothers in a house that was never a home for them. A house that beat them bloody and
broke them under the weight of expectations, rules, and tradition. Regulus remembers them
banding together. He’s read somewhere that children of abusive homes do that. Siblings close
ranks, because it’s the only way to survive.

Can they go back to that? They’re out now. The house is not a prison, and the people who hurt
them are gone. Regulus made sure of that. Well, there’s one remaining, but not for long.

Can Sirius and Regulus learn to be brothers when there’s no outside threat? Can they find a way to
work together at peace? Or is their relationship doomed to only work when there are world-ending
stakes?

How does Regulus find out?

The only thing he knows, after all this time, is that he loves Sirius.

Is that enough? Can it be enough?

“I don’t know how to do this,” Sirius says, breaking first. Always first. Always biting the bullet for
Regulus.

“I should have never told you those things,” Regulus admits in a small voice. How absurd that after
everything, being alone with Sirius still makes him feel little. Always a younger brother, no matter
what.

“What do you mean?”

Looking down at the floorboards, cigarette between his fingers, Regulus says, “If it weren’t for the
Legacy and the fact I couldn’t feel a thing, I wouldn’t have told you.”

Sirius frowns, turns to look at him head on then seems to regret that and glances away, back
towards that daunting door. “Are you saying you would have let me carry on believing you chose
them over me?”

“Easier that way, isn’t it? Look at us. We don’t even know how to talk to each other.”

Smoke curls in the air between them. It’s dark up here. Regulus has opened a few more windows.
Asked Kreacher to pull back some curtains so Grimmauld Place isn’t so gloomy. But it’s still
designed to be creepy and shadowy and more a house than a home.

“We can learn, can’t we?” Sirius asks after a moment. “We weren’t doing too badly in school.
Towards the end?”

“I guess,” Regulus says, vaguely. Then, in a rare bout of inspiration, he adds, “Actually… maybe…
we’re obviously shit at this. At… hum… talking.”

“You don’t say.”

“Right. But if we found something to… ehm… work on together?”

Sirius looks at him then, open and curious. Hopeful. “That sounds very good. Any ideas?”

Regulus’ ribs constrict, trapping his chest and all the things in it, and squeeze. His hands get
clammy and his legs a little jittery, but once he has an idea, he rarely lets it go. So, he pushes on.

“Do you still draw?” he asks, doing his best for a tentative smile. Sirius beams. Just, full on beams
like it’s easy. Like they can actually fix this thing between them. It makes Regulus feel a little bit
better.
“I haven’t practiced in a long time, but I can pick it up again,” Sirius says enthusiastically. “You
want to draw together?”

“Something like that,” Regulus says, shrugging. “We can talk about it later, then. We still have
to…” He tilts his head towards the door. “Do you want to see her?”

That prompts Sirius to take another cigarette, also offering a second one to Regulus. He takes it.
Might as well. It does help him feel a little more settled. Regulus is going to kill his mother. The
question isn’t ‘if’ but whether Sirius wants to be involved or not.

After this, Regulus won’t need to kill another person again unless something catastrophic happens.
Say, they hurt James. Or Sirius. Or Dorcas. Or Barty, Evan, Pandora. Remus, maybe… the usual.
But, provided no one looks at his friends the wrong way, Regulus is happy to embrace a more
pacificist life. Especially if he’s going to try to win James over again.

Let’s not think about that right now or else he’ll break into hives.

But Walburga? Walburga’s got to go.

“I do, yes,” Sirius says, running his tongue over his teeth.

Without further ado, Regulus puts the cigarette between his lips because he knows it’ll drive his
mother insane and takes out his wand. One over-the-shoulder look at Sirius to confirm he’s ready
later, he’s unlocking the wards on the door and pushing it open.

There’s a shrill scream, and then Walburga is charging at them like a demented banshee. She’s all
curled fingers and bared teeth, eyes gleaming wild with desperation. This is a woman who will
fight tooth and nail to free herself from her captors or die trying.

Swiping her sharp nails at Regulus’ face like they’re claws, Walburga screams again. Regulus was
ready, and he’s already muttering a spell to stop her. Turns out it’s unnecessary because Sirius
sweeps in and slams their mother bodily against the wall, holding her by the throat.

“Hello, mother,” Sirius snarls. “Missed me?”

“You are no son of mine!” she says, both hands grabbing Sirius’ forearm desperately. She’s
kicking her feet, but Sirius has her up over the floor. “You are a disgrace! A stain on the name of
Black.”

“That’s a bit contradictory, isn’t it?” Sirius muses, turning his head to look at Regulus.

Walburga glances at him, too. Her hair is a mess, a bird’s nest over her head, and she looks thin.
Too thin. The way Sirius used to look when she withheld food from him for days, sometimes
weeks.

“Regulus,” Walburga hisses. “I thought you had better sense than to associate with this heathen.
What will your fiancée think?”

“Elspeth is dead,” Regulus says casually. “Which is a good thing anyway, because mother, you
should know I do not like women. Not even a little bit. Or, I should say, I like women and have
some good friends, but I have never felt the inclination to touch any of them in any way remotely
resembling romantic. I like men.”

“Hmmm,” Sirius says, amused at the horrified widening of Walburga’s eyes. “I do like women.
And men. Anything goes, really. Or went. These days, I only like one half-blood werewolf by the
name Remus Lupin.”

Regulus can feel it in his bones when their mother tries to use legilimency on them. He might no
longer have power over darkness and shadows, but Regulus began to train with her long before he
claimed the Legacy of House Black. He’s still one of the most talented wizards of his generation.

“I wouldn’t,” he says, raising his wand and pointing it at her. “Don’t even think about it.”

“You’re doing this to torment me!” Walburga wails. “These are lies meant to hurt me!”

Sirius laughs bitterly. “No. No. You really did produce two of the gayest people alive, mother. A
feat, really. You should be proud,” he says, twisting his voice into an imitation of the way their
mother would speak to him when punishing him that makes a small shiver curl around Regulus’
spine.

“Regulus!” Walburga cries, digging her nails into Sirius’ skin. She breaks it and drops of blood
well but Sirius doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t let go. If anything, he squeezes harder. “Regulus, stop
this at once!”

“I was going to leave you here until you died of starvation,” Regulus says, cocking his head to the
side. “It was hard to decide how to deliver justice to you. Father was easy, because the letters really
did fuck me up. Cygnus should have kept his mouth shut at the wedding. He pissed me off and
paid in blood. A bit too early, but oh well. I didn’t get to enact my full plan on Rodolphus.”

“I killed Bella, so that was that. With a sword, too. Very aristocratic, mother,” Sirius chips in
cheerfully.

Regulus huffs a laugh. “So, you see? There’s only you left. And I thought, what should it be? You
were so creative. Knew so many ways to hurt your own children. Hard to pick one, really.”

“Reggie,” Sirius says, looking between their mother and him. “We are better than her. We have to
be. It’s… it’s what James would want.”

“I’m not letting her live, Sirius,” Regulus replies.

“Neither am I,” Sirius confirms. “But we won’t drag it out. We’re not cruel. Not like her. I refuse to
be.”

“What are you saying?” Walburga asks, and for the first time her voice wavers. Regulus takes
great pleasure in watching her connect the dots. Understand Regulus killed her husband and her
brother.

“What is this?” Walburga demands again, raking her nails over Sirius’ forearm. “You cannot do
this! I am Walburga Black! Lady of this house! You—”

“Be quiet mother. We’re discussing how we’re going to kill you,” Regulus says, waving his wand.
“Silencio!”

Her eyes go wide with fear. Regulus sees the moment Walburga fully processes that they’re not
joking. They’re not pranking her. They’re not exaggerating either. Sirius is the one holding her by
the throat, but Walburga looks at Regulus and goes pale. She knows Regulus is the one who’s
going to kill her.

As expected, she’s dignified about it. Like Cyngus. Keeps her gaze level, her lip curled in disgust.
She won’t beg for her life. Not that she can, because Regulus has taken her voice. But the principle
stands.

“You want it to be quick?” Regulus asks Sirius.

“Yes.”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus nods. “Fine.”

“I will do it,” Sirius says, but the hand that’s not curled around Walburga’s neck is shaking and
Regulus hasn’t missed it.

Stepping closer, Regulus puts a tentative hand on his brother’s shoulder and says, “No. No, you
won’t. This is my revenge. My list. My kill.”

“But—”

“No, Sirius,” Regulus insists. “You’re too good now. Too much like James. You’ve worked too
hard to be better. It’s got to be me. Let me do this for you.”

They seize each other. Black brothers. Messes of men deciding the fate of the person who broke
them. The woman who should have protected and nurtured them and instead tore them pieces so
jagged they still haven’t managed to make them fit.

Sirius spent most of his life protecting Regulus. And now, Regulus is asking Sirius to let him be
the shield. Let him carry this weight. Shoulder this moment that they both need but will only break
one of them.

“Alright,” Sirius says, nodding. “I would do it so you didn’t have to, but I… okay. If this is what
you want.”

Regulus unsheathes his dagger, twirls it over his fingers. “Make room,” he says, stepping up to
their mother. Sirius shifts his body, keeping Walburga pinned to the wall with his full forearm over
her collarbones now. Giving Regulus space.

Placing the tip of the dagger over her chest, Regulus looks at his mother. She meets his gaze. Her
eyes are beautiful. She used to be beautiful. Before hatred and cruelty twisted her face into the
visage of a monster. A clawed, blood-thirsty hag who preyed on her own children and made them
into what they are today.

If Regulus is capable of killing his own mother, it’s only because she taught him well.

“I want you to die knowing that I’m adding Sirius back to the family tree. I want you to know that
both your sons love men and will not continue the line. I want you to die knowing you failed.”

Regulus watches her. Wishes things had been different. Longs for a mother who knew how to love.

“You tried to break us. Tried to make us hate each other. And you failed. You’re going to hell, and
from there I’m going to make you watch as I make amends and find a way to be a good brother
again just to spite you.”

The blade goes in with a crunch, piercing through fabric and flesh. Muscle and bone. It goes
straight through her heart. A clean death, like Sirius asked for. Virtually painless. Quick. Much
better a death than Walburga Black ever deserved.

Stepping back, he yanks the knife out and wipes it on his mother’s clothes. Next to him, Sirius sets
her down gently when he’s done. Too gently, Regulus thinks, but that’s Sirius for you.

“Fucking hell, Reggie,” Sirius whispers when he straightens back up, and when Regulus’ eyes slide
sideways he sees that there are tears on his cheeks. “You’re really delivering on the speeches these
days.”

“What can I say,” Regulus mutters. “Nearly dying three times over the span of a week will inspire
even me.”

Sirius looks down. Frowns. Looks up again. “She’s gone,” Sirius says, swallowing. “Walburga is
gone.”

And then he’s crying. Sobbing. His shoulders hunch forward and he covers his face with his hands
and weeps. It’s quiet and heart-breaking. Regulus stares for a few moments. He’s always felt
awkward when people cry. Comfort isn’t something he knows how to do.

Can he try? He’ll mess it up. Regulus knows his limits. Knows what he’s good at and what he isn’t.
And this? This is way out of his remit.

But then Sirius takes a shuddering breath in and looks up at him. Still crying quietly, Sirius’ eyes
trace Regulus’ face. Sirius says, “I love you, brother. I do. And we’re not going to get this right
straight away but I’m going to keep trying until we do.”

“Stop,” Regulus chokes out. “Stop that.”

It’s too much, too soon. He can’t deal with this. It’s making him dizzy. His throat is too thick, his
eyes are stinging and fuck. Regulus will not cry.

He will not cry.

Regulus looks away and swallows hard, finding his control. Keeping it together. There’s blood on
his finger. His mother’s, he thinks. He wipes it on the wall, not caring if it leaves a stain. He
fumbles for his cigarettes and takes two out. Gives one to Sirius.

“I will try, too,” Regulus says when he’s certain he’s won the battle against the wave of emotions
that had been rising inside of him. Dangerously close to the surface. “I’m just a lot less histrionic
about it than you are.”

Sirius laughs. Wet and thick with lingering tears. But it’s his laugh. Bark-like and loud and one of
the nicest things Regulus has ever heard. Stepping towards the door, Regulus gestures with his
head. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“Are you just going to leave her?” Sirius asks, but he’s almost at the door like he was desperate to
remove himself from the presence of their dead mother.

“I’ll deal with her later,” Regulus replies nonchalantly. “When you’re not having a fucking
breakdown in the middle of the crime scene.”

That makes Sirius laugh again. With a click and a flick of his wand, Regulus locks the door behind
them again to ensure Kreacher doesn’t accidentally come in and find it. It would send him to an
early grave. Kreacher did love Walburga, unfortunately.

“Remus and James will be here any minute,” Sirius says, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
“I need a moment before we talk to them. Are you alright by yourself?”
“Go on,” Regulus replies, gesturing down the stairs vaguely. “I’ll meet you in the drawing room
when they arrive.”

****

For someone who’s faced a basilisk, hunted and destroyed five horcruxes, given his body up to a
terrifying type of magic that erases your sense of self, and killed the most powerful dark wizard to
rise in Britain since the Middle Ages, it’s rather pathetic that Regulus is hesitating to walk into the
drawing room simply because he knows James is in it.

It’s just that so long as he doesn’t confront James, Regulus can hold on to the fantasy that it’s okay.
That James still wants him. That the killings and kidnappings and the stabbing don’t matter. That
Regulus never told James he didn’t mean any of what happened in school and broke his heart to
pieces.

Regulus was cruel to James. Downright mean. He needed to push him away and he did it well.
Ruthlessly. He drew blood and twisted the knife and didn’t stop until James was begging for
mercy.

He’s the boy who killed the sun and it’s the day of his reckoning and Regulus is afraid.

Memory is a finicky thing. It’s fickle and capricious. But now the shadows are removed, Regulus
has a very good one, it turns out. Because he remembers what it felt like to break James’ heart like
it was yesterday. And in a way, it kind of was. Because he went and muted his emotions shortly
after and never had to really grieve that loss, did he?

James on the other hand has apparently been in half of England’s beds, if Dorcas is to be believed.
Dorcas can always be trusted, at least as far as Regulus is concerned, so yes. It happened. James
has been sleeping with people.

Regulus tries not to think about this fact because if he does, he’ll take off on a new killing spree
and that one he’s certain he can’t get forgiveness for. The point is, James has spent a year getting
over Regulus. It’s reasonable to think he might have succeeded.

Fuck.

The door to the drawing room opens, startling Regulus. Fortunately for him, his poker face remains
as impeccable as ever so he simply meets Remus’ eyes and nods.

Remus watches him with narrowed eyes as Regulus steps past him into the room like he just
arrived here and didn’t spend a good five minutes panicking right outside.

“Did you get Kreacher to make food?” Sirius asks, looking up from the cigarette he’s fishing from
his pack. “Oh. Hello, Reggie.”

“You’re hungry?” Regulus asks, looking around the room. James is standing by the window, and
Regulus does his best to pretend it’s not sending his guts all the way into his mouth. He’s wearing
a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and that’s just… why? Regulus wants to whine out
loud. Couldn’t he be wearing something else? Like… maybe some of those stuffy ugly ceremonial
robes with the frocks? Who said ‘yes, James, wear this sexy shirt and show off those muscles and
make Regulus suffer’?

Honestly. Fuck.

Those arms are going to give him an aneurysm. They’re all smooth brown skin over taut muscles
and oh, how Regulus would love nothing more than to watch them strain from holding him against
a wall. It’s been so long since James pinned him against a wall. Regulus would gladly fight another
war if someone promised him that as a reward at the end of it—

“Regulus, I said yes,” Remus says rather loudly.

“Yes what?” Regulus snaps, annoyed to be distracted from his fantasizing about James’ forearms.

“Yes, we are hungry,” Remus says, mercifully not drawing attention to the fact that he totally
caught Regulus having indecent thoughts.

It’s best if Regulus doesn’t look at James again. At least not while there are other people around.

“Kreacher,” Regulus calls. There’s a loud crack, then the elf appears right there in front of him.
“Can you please prepare some snacks for us? Barty and Dorcas, too. They’re in my old room
upstairs.”

“Yes, master,” Kreacher says quickly. “I know. The Rosier boy is sleeping still. I changed his
sheets with help from the Crouch boy.”

“Oh,” Regulus says, blinking fast. “Thank you, Kreacher. That was nice.”

“Anything for young master’s friends,” Kreacher says solemnly. “I bring snacks soon.”

With that, he disappears again. Regulus clears his throat, finds his pack of cigarettes in the pocket
of his jeans. Remus walks back into the room and leans against the table. Sirius is pacing, which is
only mildly irritating.

“Well?” Regulus asks, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“We have some questions,” Sirius says, looking directly at him. “And we need answers before we
go into that meeting with Dumbledore. We should also make some plan. Agree on our joint
approach.”

Regulus shrugs, leans against the nearest bookshelf and inhales some more smoke. “Fire away.”

####

James thinks that he should be given an award for self-restraint for the past two hours. He has
exhibited truly heroic levels of control. Seriously. He has been locked in a room with Regulus
wearing muggle clothes (!) and talking. Like civilised people.

Having had their breakdowns the day before, this conversation is much easier. Especially, because
the way Regulus talks about things is detached and clinincal. He did what he had to do. He did it
well. The war is over.

They went through their questions, and Regulus answered. They put it all together. Everything they
missed over the past year. Regulus’ plans. His truly impressive strategy. James has always loved
how smart Regulus is, but listening to how he dealt with everything was something else. Regulus
isn’t just smart. He’s a veritable genius. A ruthless, incredibly competent, determined one.

Quite frankly, James deserves to be commended for his composure. He did not once pounce on
Regulus no matter how desperately he wanted to or the seven different ways in which he imagined
taking off those jeans and having his way with him. It was really quite a feat, and as proud as
James is of himself for getting through that, his patience has run out.
“We’re set, then,” Remus says, satisfied. He looks rather pleased, and James can’t blame him. The
plan he and Regulus have concocted is truly brilliant. “We just need to push it tonight.”

“Dumbledore will do whatever Reggie tells him,” Sirius says, amused and more than a little proud.

“Do not call me that,” Regulus snarls, putting out the end of his cigarette on the ashtray.

“I’ll call you whatever I want,” Sirius replies petulantly.

“La ferme,” Regulus says, smirking when Sirius gasps in outrage.

Remus and James exchange a glance, because neither of them understand a word of French. Sirius
splutters his indignation for a while, but ends up just shaking his head and half-smiling so James
knows whatever Regulus said wasn’t too bad. He hopes.

The scratching of Regulus’ quill is the only noise for a little while. They agreed to writing down a
few points, especially around the plans for Remus and his wolves. When he’s done, he sets it down
and looks around—avoiding James—and says, “Well, then. We are done here.”

Sirius gets to his feet. And then so does Regulus. When he stands, looking for all the world like
he’s ready to leave this room, James’ heart vaults into his mouth. This can’t be it. It can’t. He
won’t survive another minute of this uncertainty.

“Wait!” James blurts, loudly. Everyone freezes.

He’s barely spoken at all during the meeting. Too preoccupied with watching Regulus be Regulus.
Mean and snippy, but with less bite behind his words. Smart and witty and cunning as ever.

It’s not like James had much to input anyway. Regulus’ ideas were all very sound and none of them
had that much to add. Once they got the questions out of the way, most of the discussion moved
towards what do to about Remus’ werewolves, which James didn’t feel qualified to comment on.
They also discussed whether Sirius wants to be added back to the Black family tree or not. That one
Sirius has asked for time to think about, and James will talk to him when they’re alone, because he
can tell Sirius needs that.

“Wait,” James repeats, looking straight at Regulus, who is frozen in place. “Regulus, please.”

Immediately, Remus stands up to join Sirius and together, they swiftly leave the room, not even
bothering to pretend to be subtle. The door clicks shut, and Regulus snaps out of his momentary
paralysis. He turns around, faces James.

Heart in his throat, James steps closer. Not too close. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Regulus. But
close enough to see the green of his eyes and the shape of his lips. After all this time, Regulus still
smells like lavender and the outdoors. Like cigarette smoke.

“I can’t—” James swallows, clears his throat. “I can’t stand this. I need to know, so I’m just going
to ask. And I’m hoping that you’ll tell me the fucking truth for once.”

For the first time since he came back to himself outside Lestrange Castle, Regulus is looking at
him. Finally. He’s standing in the middle of the room, in that stupid hoodie that shouldn’t look half
as good as it does and those jeans that James wants to tear to pieces, and just staring at James.
Quiet and intense, hands half-hidden in the sleeves of his hoodie because it’s a tad too big for him.
Lovely and so overwhelmingly similar to the boy on the owlry roof that James’ heart is twisting
itself into knots at the sight.
This could go all kinds of wrong, James knows. And Regulus never responds well to being
cornered. But James ran out of patience, and this is the best he’s going to get, he thinks. So, even
though his gut is churning, and his palms are clammy, James just goes for it.

Never let it be said that James was a coward.

“The day you left me,” James says, voice wavering. He doesn’t have to specify. He knows Regulus
knows what day he means. “Was everything you said true?”

“No,” Regulus says.

The word lodges itself between James’ ribs. It’s hard to push through, to stay where he is. To not
cross the space between them and kiss Regulus until neither of them can remember the hurt
between them.

But he does. Stays put. Because James wants to do this right. He wants something that can last and
the only way they’re going to get it is if they rebuild carefully.

“Was everything you said a lie?”

“No.”

Nodding, James takes another shuddering breath. He’s beginning to understand that Regulus
doesn’t regret what he did because it was the only way they could end up here. And that’s okay
with James. If getting his heart broken was the price to pay for peace, who is he to resent that?

They’re on the other side now. They survived the war. They’re here, standing at the beginning of
something new, and James wants to take Regulus’ hand and cross over together.

“Did you love me? Back then, in school. Did you love me?” James asks, letting his voice go soft
and low. A little hopeful.

“Yes.”

There’s a sigh of relief, then James is taking one step closer. Just one. There’s a chasm between
them still and he can’t rush it. He did that once, and it exploded in their faces. This time, James is
determined to go slow. To be careful with this.

“You hurt me pretty bad,” James whispers. It isn’t a question, but Regulus takes it as once. He tilts
his head, looks at James with not a hint of remorse.

“I know. I did it on purpose,” his voice is clear and cool and so lovely. James has missed it so
much.

“Was it because you didn’t want me anymore? Or…” He doesn’t finish the thought. Let’s it hang
there, a thread between them that Regulus can pull on or snap.

Regulus looks away, worries at his lower lip with his thumb and index finger. He still wears rings.
“I had to make sure you didn’t get any stupid ideas,” Regulus says. “You have a hero complex. I
couldn’t risk it getting in the way.”

“I’m going to need more than that,” James presses, mouth dry and pulse thundering in his ears. His
lungs feel like they’ve turned into dehydrated plums in his chest, working overtime just to get a
little bit of air in.
James has to be sure. He needs to know everything if he’s going to get through this. If he’s going to
trust in his own gut feeling ever again. Because he thought so, didn’t he? He suspected Regulus
couldn’t have possibly faked the feelings they shared all those months. He needs confirmation that
he was right about it.

“You saw what happened the moment Pettigrew told Riddle we have a past,” Regulus snarls, and
now he sounds vicious. That cruel tilt is back on his mouth and it’s doing things to James’ insides.
“It almost got you and I killed. I couldn’t risk it. I had to make sure you didn’t come after me. That
you didn’t try to save me or help me or be involved. It had to be this way.”

“Is that all we have?”

Regulus blinks, thrown off by the seemingly random question. “What?”

“A past. Is that all we have?” James asks.

Hesitation pulls Regulus’ beautiful face into a scowl and oh. James could melt right here, right
now. His fingers twitch with the need to press one of them between his brows to ease that frown.

Regulus used to be so scowly. Is he like that still? James’ heart stutters in his chest at the idea that
perhaps he’ll get the chance to find out. To re-discover Regulus. To learn him again. The things
that are the same and the things that are not.

“I…” Regulus starts. Stops. Looks away. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm,” James mutters, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Do you want it to be just
the past?”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” Regulus replies rather stiffly. “What matters is what’s happened. It’s
too much. It should be too much.”

“That’s not really up to you, though,” James points out, watching Regulus’ face carefully. “I decide
what I want to forgive. What I can forgive. You might recall it’s quite a lot.”

Regulus’ voice wavers on a single word. “Why?”

James sorts through all the answers he could give. Hope and second chances. The greater good—
Godric, he sounds like Dumbledore—and how Regulus did bad things for good reasons. Peace and
the end of the war.

He also thinks about all the questions he still has. The doubts and the lingering hurt from
everything he’s been through. It’s hard, because there’s so much he wants to know.

James opens his mouth, a vague-ish sort of answer on the tip of his tongue and meets Regulus’
eyes. It’s been a year. More, since Regulus let down his walls around James. Too long. And
perhaps James shouldn’t still be able to read some of it. After all, if he’d known how to dismantle
Regulus’ shields thoroughly he would have never been able to do what he did.

Still, in that moment, James sees the flicker of fear in Regulus’ eyes and it kills the vagueness on
his lips. Instead, what he says, is a lot simpler. It’s his truth, the one he’s carried in his broken heart
all this time. The one he’s chased in beds and mouths that smelled like cigarettes but never made
him feel anything other than lonely.

One of them is going to have to be brave, James realises. It’s the only way they’ll find their second
chance.
“Because I love you, Regulus,” James says firmly. The other boy inhales sharply, eyes widening.

Silence. They’re standing on the edge of forever, James thinks. Whatever happens next will write
their story. A second chance, or a period. Possibility wounds itself around James’ neck, tying itself
to Regulus’ hands. It’s his choice. It always has been because from the moment James began to fall
for Regulus, he never had any hope of making it back up.

One sharp, almost gasping exhale. And then, “What?”

“I love you.”

James remembers an early kiss. He remembers Regulus’ tongue in his mouth. Remembers thinking
it was like walking a tightrope—dangerous and thrilling. Remembers wanting fall off that edge and
splatter himself against the beautiful, sharp things Regulus made him feel.

He’ll do it again. He’ll take anything Regulus wants to give him.

“How can you?” Regulus asks.

His hands are shaking a little bit, and it says something about how shocked he is that he’s not even
attempting to hide that small sign of weakness from James.

“How could I not?” James counters simply. “I have loved you since the first time you told me to
fuck off. I loved you on the owlry roof and behind the mirror and in the Come and Go Room. I
haven’t stopped loving you for a single second since the moment I started.”

Regulus’ eyes are rimmed with red, and James isn’t sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one, but he’s
on a roll now and he can’t stop until he’s put it all out there. Baring his soul for Regulus to decide
what he wants to do with it.

“I tried to get over you,” James tells him. “I tried so hard. I tried to move on. To find ways to stop
thinking about you. It was futile. There was never any hope for me. It’s you. It’s always been you
and it’s always going to be you. And I know we have to talk about things, and that a lot has
happened, but I just had to tell you because if you don’t—” James chokes, has to swallow the ball
of fear in his throat.

Only for the brave, James.

Be brave.

“If you don’t love me anymore, that’s okay. I’ll figure it out. I’ll keep trying to move on. But I
need to know where we stand because this weird in-between where you can’t even look at me is
driving me crazy. So, please, just tell me if it’s all in the past or if you want—”

“Stop,” Regulus says. His chest is heaving a little, like he’s struggling to breathe, but his eyes are
clear and bright and so lovely James could die. “James, stop. I don’t like it when you cry.”

James brings a hand to his cheek and finds it wet. “Oh.”

Regulus takes a step. Then another. James wants to go to him, but he’s rooted to the spot. He’s
cracked his chest open and let Regulus take a peek inside. Waiting for his verdict is terrifying.

For a moment, James wonders if Regulus is going to kiss him. He’s never been good with words.
But Regulus simply lifts a tentative hand and wipes the tears from James’ cheeks. The tips of his
fingers linger, cool and soft, and James sighs. He’s been starved of Regulus’ touch and even though
this is a far cry from what he really wants, James will take it. He’ll take anything.

“I don’t know if I can fix everything that’s wrong with me,” Regulus says under his breath. “You
deserve better than broken.”

“You are not broken,” James says forcefully. A bit angrily, too. He won’t accept this. Won’t let
Regulus think this about himself. “You have wounds that need to heal but you are not broken. You
don’t need to fix yourself. You need to heal. And that’s okay with me. I have things I have to heal,
too.”

Regulus swallows hard, blinks twice before he reigns in whatever emotions James’ words evoked
in him. That’s okay. James knows Regulus likes to be in control. To keep things under wraps. He’s
prepared to be patient. To give Regulus time to learn to let go again. To feel comfortable and safe
with James to open up. If that’s something Regulus even wants, which James isn’t sure because
Regulus still hasn’t answered his question.

“You should know that I’m…” Regulus stops. Breathes in. Tries again. “Did Sirius tell you about
the cave?”

“Yes,” James says immediately, wracking his brain trying to figure out why it’s relevant right this
moment when they’re standing so close to each other he can count Regulus’ eyelashes. “The one
with the lake, right?”

“Did he tell you what happened? I fell in the lake,” Regulus says, and a haunted look crosses his
face.

James’ heart stops. It sinks in, what Regulus is trying to tell him. And James feels the tears spill
again. He can’t stop them, because he’s so fucking sorry. He should have been there. Should have
protected Regulus. Save him that pain and agony and fear and fuck.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” James whispers.

This is very clearly not what Regulus was expecting, because he blinks rather violently, then twists
his mouth in a grimace. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t know if I can stand to be touched. Do you
understand how that might be a problem?”

“Do you think that matters to me? If I can never touch you again, I’d still be happy to call you
mine. You should know me better than that,” James says, immediately aghast. And yet, this is…
This feels familiar. They’ve been here before. James, appalled at Regulus’ assumptions, desperate
to prove him wrong.

“That can’t be,” Regulus says, voice slightly less steady now than it was before. James will take
that as a win. “It’s not… you can’t.”

“I can. I do,” James insists, curling his hands into fists to stop himself shaking. “But you still
haven’t answered my question. I don’t know what you—what do you want, Reg? Do you still want
me?”

Regulus steps back, turns around. He buries his hands in his hair, then looks at James again.
Haunted and afraid.

“I’m more fucked up than I was before,” Regulus whispers. “I mean, the things I’ve done. The
things I said to you. James, how can you even stand to be in the same room as me? I stabbed you.”

“Yes, I know. I was there. It was hot, don’t tell anyone,” James says, smiling at Regulus which
only serves to make him even more confused and shocked. At least he’s turned back and is facing
James again. Small wins.

“I will ruin you,” Regulus says. He makes it sound like a threat and it says something about all the
things that are wrong with James that there’s a not insignificant twitch of interest in his pants at
those words. “I will ruin you, James. I already almost did.”

“And I’d do it all over again,” James says firmly. “All of it. The pain and the tears and the blood
just to have you. I’ll take anything you want to give me, Reg. Every piece, no matter how big or
small. Sharp or soft. Ruin me, love me. I don’t care just stay with me, if you want to. Do you want
to?”

“We can’t—” Regulus stops, shakes his head. Bewilderment is an adorable look on him. It’s
making James’ knees go weak. “How can you not care?”

“Oh, I care,” James replies. “I care too fucking much, Reg. That’s the problem. So, please, for the
love of all that is holy, answer my question. Or are you just toying with me?”

That seems to get through to him. He stops looking indignant, letting his face go soft, or as soft as
the face of someone like Regulus can go. He stares at James for a long moment. The silence is
killing James, but he’s said his piece. He needs this. Needs to know if he’s got a chance or not.

“Don’t move,” Regulus says quietly. “Don’t touch me.”

James shoves his hands in his pockets immediately. His earnest gesture earns him a half-smile
from Regulus that he would gladly die for. And then, Regulus shifts his weight up onto the balls of
his feet and presses his lips to James’.

It’s featherlight. A brush. Smooth lips that barely touch him. James waits. He keeps himself in
check. Doesn’t move even a smidge.

And there, in the space between their lips where there’s barely any air, Regulus begins to sing. It’s
a whisper, soft and fragile. But James knows these words. He’s got them tattooed on the inside of
his heart. They line his skin, every inch of it, because Regulus has touched it and it’s belonged to
him since.

“Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s'effondrer

Et la Terre peut bien s'écrouler

Peu m'importe si tu m'aimes

Je me fous du monde entier”

“Oh,” James says, a whisper. These words live in his bones. In every corner of his soul.

“Tant qu'l'amour innondera mes matins

Tant qu'mon corps frémira sous tes mains

Peu m'importe les problèmes

Mon amour, puisque tu m'aimes.”

Regulus sings L’hymne à l’amour against James’ lips. Every word. He sings to him of stealing the
moon from the sky. Sings about mornings filled with love. Of hands on his body. Sings of the
world ending, and them not caring because they’ve got each other. He sings of problems not
mattering if they have each other. Sings, and sings, and sings.

Regulus loves him in French music.

Heart burning in his chest like it’s been set on fire, James understands then just how powerful their
love is. It ended a war. Survived the impossible. It hurt, and it tore them apart, and yet James
meant what he said. He would do it all again if it brought him to this moment. He’d take the pain,
the loss, the grief. The tears and the shards of his heart. All of it. Again and again so long as he
ended up here, standing in a drawing room mid-afternoon listening to Regulus whisper-sing the
hymn to love against his mouth.

“J'irais jusqu'au bout du monde

Je me ferais teindre en blonde

Si tu me le demandais

J'irais décrocher la Lune

J'irais voler la fortune

Si tu me le demandais”

Regulus sings and with every word James feels himself heal. Every tear he cried, every sleepless
night. All the pieces of his heart stitching themselves back together. It’s the most beautiful thing
anyone’s ever done for him. It strikes James that this is Regulus trying. Trying to be the one to do a
big gesture.

It seems that James isn’t the only one who decided to be brave today.

And if this is how it is, it means the others are right and Regulus didn't stop loving him. He loved
James through everything. And that... it hits James with the force of a typhoon. It feels like he’s
standing in the eye of a hurricane. This is what it is like to be loved by Regulus Black. To stand in
the storm and watch it rage around you knowing it’ll never touch you. Regulus brought mass
destruction to the world, found a way to end a war that terrorised the country for a decade, and did
it all while keeping James safe.

To be loved by Regulus Black is to be protected by the wrath of chaos. To be cradled by hands that
only know destruction but learn gentleness just for this. Regulus’ love is a shield and James thinks
that’s beautiful. He’s so very lucky to be the one who gets to see Regulus like this. Soft and tender
and singing in French for him.

When the song ends, Regulus opens his eyes and looks at James, who hasn’t breathed yet. He
can’t. His chest is too full of hope and love for him to do anything but stand there until Regulus
tells him it’s okay to move.

Regulus smiles, reaches with one hand to push back some of James’ hair behind his ear, and says,
“Not just the past.”

“Fuck,” James groans. It’s wet and thick with emotion and a little bit embarrassing but James is so
beyond shame right now. “Oh fuck. Thank fuck. I love you so much.”

Regulus curls his fingers behind James’ head and presses their foreheads together. James’ entire
body is shaking. His hands are still in his pockets.
“We still have to talk,” Regulus says, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes,” James agrees. “Yes, we do. But we’ll figure it out. I promise you. We’ll work through it and
we’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Regulus says, closing his eyes for a moment. “I think so, too.”

****

Don’t ask James how, because his brain is still a bit jittery with the excitement of how well this has
gone for him and he isn’t really processing the details, but they wind up on the sofa. They’re not
touching. Regulus has made it very clear he cannot abide that and James respects that. But they’re
sitting together.

Regulus is smoking a cigarette, elbows resting on his knees, and James is simply watching him.
It’s been a year since they broke up. The war has left its mark on Regulus. On the way his
cheekbones are slightly sharper, the lines of his face more angular. Harsher. He’s done and seen
things that would make a lesser man crumble.

“How did you survive the poison?” James asks, biting his lip. “I thought… I really thought you
were dead and it was the most horrible thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I’ve been poisoning myself for almost a year,” Regulus replies, staring straight ahead.

James remembers this. How Regulus would not make eye contact to have difficult conversations. It
used to be that he’d rest on his chest, but they can’t do that now. This will have to work. He doesn’t
comment. Simply waits. Gives Regulus space to find the words.

“I built a tolerance to it as a precaution, so when I heard you’d been taken, I made a deal with
Severus,” Regulus explains. “It was a gamble, but I was out of options. And it worked. Riddle has
always had a bit a flair for dramatics, so he took the bait.”

“What if he hadn’t?” James asks, voice thick with the grief that the memory brings.

“I would have died,” Regulus says. With a deep sigh, he turns his face and looks at James, curls
falling to the side. “I walked into that room prepared to die for you. I had contingencies in place so
others would find the final horcrux and finish the job if it happened.”

James pinches his eyes closed for a second, feeling a little overwhelmed. “That was… Reg. You
were risking the fate of the war. What if the horcrux hadn’t been found after you… It was... You
—” James stops himself, realisation dawning on him.

The smile that curls Regulus’ lips up is like a scythe. “I told you this, James. I would let the world
burn for you. And I almost did.” Regulus sits back, brings a knee under his ass to twist his body so
he’s facing James on the sofa. “I was ready to risk Riddle winning this war to get you out of that
room alive. A real hero would have put the greater good above a single life.”

It’s a bit hard to sit with that, James will admit. To hear it voiced out loud and to have to accept that
the man he loves loves him so much he put James above everything and everyone else. It’s a lot.
It’s terrifying. It’s also making James want to kiss Regulus senseless. He doesn’t, of course,
because Reg has asked him not to. But he wants to.

“I thought you couldn’t feel things with that… those shadows inside of you,” James says after a
little while, when his voice feels steadier. “That you couldn’t… yeah, that you couldn’t love me or
anyone.”
“Everything was muted,” Regulus explains. “Like I’d thrown a blanket over things so I couldn’t see
them or touch them, but I knew they were there. All the facts were intact in my brain. I knew
Dorcas my best friend and that she was important. That I wanted to protect her. I didn’t feel
anything for you, but I knew I wanted you alive. And so on.”

"When we kissed, both in the safehouse and the forest, that it felt… strange,” James admits
sheepishly. “Like you, but also not.”

“Ah,” Regulus says, and he’s smiling again. A little bashful. Unless James is very much mistaken,
that’s a blush right there on his cheeks. “The monsters in my head were scared of you.”

“Come again?”

Regulus looks away, face turning fully pink. James thinks it’s so adorable he wants to die. He’ll
melt into a puddle and spend the rest of his days as a gooey substance with the sole purpose of
singing the praises of how lovely Regulus is when he’s blushing.

It takes effort for James to focus enough to process what Regulus says next, but he’s glad he does.
Because it’s important, James realises immediately. It’s possibly the most important thing said
today in this room.

“You felt like the sun every time. My power was made of darkness. Of course, it hated you. It
didn’t want me anywhere near you because when you were with me, I wanted to let it go. To find
my way back,” Regulus says, still not meeting James’ eye. “That’s how I did it, you know? At the
end. I mean, a lot of it was Dorcas. That vow she made was like a little thread showing me the
way, but I only found it after you yelled at me. When you touched my face.”

“Reg… Look at me?” James whispers, ducking his head so he can find his eyes.

They meet, and Regulus looks shy and unsure. It reminds James of the early days. Nights on the
owlry roof when Regulus was at times cold and harsh and at times shy and bashful. Like he didn’t
fully believe James could like him.

“Do you remember when I told you that you’d said you loved me many times? Never in three
words and eight letters, because that’s just not you,” James says, smiling. “You’re… more of a
show it than say it person. But sometimes, you’ll say something like that and that’s how I know. I
love you, too, Reg. And if I had monsters in my head, they’d be terrified of you. Hands down. No
questions.”

Regulus chuckles, then his eyes widen in alarm as he starts to giggle. He covers his mouth with his
hands, horrified that he’s been caught in this weakness, but James adores it. He can feel his own
goofy grin on his face, and he’s unashamed of it. They’re finding their way back to each other.
Second chances never felt this good.

When he calms down—which takes about two seconds because he’s still Regulus Black—he looks
at James and says, “I want to try something. Is that okay?”

James goes very still, deliberately putting his hands palms down on the sofa. “Whatever you want.”

“Don’t move, okay? Don’t try to touch me,” Regulus says, an echo of earlier that makes James’
heart flutter in his chest.

Carefully, Regulus props himself up on his knees before swinging one of them over James. For a
moment, he just hovers there, knees on both sides of James’ thighs, standing tall above him. James
looks up, thrilled to be this close to Regulus.
“Reg? You don’t have to do this,” James says gently. “I meant what I said earlier. If you never
touch me again, I’ll still love you all the same. Always. That won’t change.”

“I want to do this,” Regulus replies primly. “And you’re going to shut up and let me.”

Helpless, James can only nod and wait. He keeps himself still, relaxed as best he can so Regulus
doesn’t try to do anything he’s not comfortable with for his sake. His heart is thundering in his
chest, but that James can do nothing about.

It takes an eternity, but Regulus lowers himself until he’s straddling James. His hands come up and
hesitate only a moment before he puts them on James. One curling around his neck like before, the
other against his chest.

“Can you feel it?” James asks him, nodding downwards to indicate his heartbeat. “It’s for you.”

Regulus smiles, bites his lower lip and looks away before finding his way back to James’ face.
“Stop that. It’s distracting.”

“Hmm,” James says, smiling, too.

They stay like that, and James is so deliriously happy about it he’s genuinely not expecting it when
Regulus curls forward and kisses him. It takes him completely by surprise. So much so, that James
gasps, and then Regulus’ tongue in his mouth and James’ brain splutters and flatlines.

His first instinct is to touch him. His hands lift off the sofa of their own accord, but James
remembers himself. Regulus is trusting him with this. He won’t mess up. It’s a gargantuan effort,
but there’s nothing James wouldn’t do for Reg, so he finds the strength to press his palms down
again, flat on the cushions, and let Regulus kiss him however he wants to. However he can.

Regulus’ fingers tangle in James’ hair, and he tugs a little and James makes a noise that Regulus
swallows. His other hand is still on his chest, unmoving. Pressed against the beat of James’ heart,
which is frantic now, as though it wants to propel itself out of his chest and into Regulus’ hands.

“James,” Regulus mutters, breaking the kiss momentarily. “Put your hands on my waist. Just there,
keep them still.”

“I’d really rather not,” James says. It comes out as a half-whine. A bit pathetic and very needy.

Scowling, Regulus pulls back so he can look at him. “Why?”

Swallowing hard, James grimaces. “Ahh… your waist and I have a very particular relationship and
I will not be able to stop myself if I put my hands on it.”

“Particular relationship?” Regulus asks, scowling even more.

For lack of a better explanation, James tilts his hips up a little bit so Regulus—still straddling him,
thank Godric for that—can feel he’s already hard in his trousers even though they haven’t really
done anything all that provocative.

“Your waist is to me what my thighs are to you,” James says with finality. “I will die if I do what
you say.”

“Oh,” Regulus says, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Alright. Okay. Not the waist, then. Not
yet.”
“Not yet?” James asks, hope so plain on his voice he would be embarrassed if he had space left
inside of him for it.

With a wicked smile, Regulus says, “I don’t know how long it’ll take me, but I did not go through
everything I went through to be so fucked in the head I cannot have sex with my boyfriend again.
So. Not yet.”

“Godric have mercy one me,” James says dramatically, letting his head fall back against the sofa.
“I am dead now. You have killed me.”

Regulus laughs, then nudges James to look at him again, which he does. Of course, he does.
There’s nothing he can deny Regulus. Ever. “Let’s try this instead,” Regulus says softly. “Put your
hands here.”

He demonstrates by putting his palms flat on his thighs where they’re resting on either side of
James’. Slowly, James does as told, moving carefully so he’s predictable. He doesn’t want to
trigger Regulus, but he also doesn’t want to disrespect his efforts by refusing.

When his palms are flat on Reg’s legs, James looks up at him again to find him smiling softly.
“You always run hot,” he says. “That helps.”

“Do you want to tell me what… I mean… should I just always wait for your directions? Is that
what you need?” James asks, trying to find Reg’s boundaries so he can make sure never to cross
them.

“For now, yes,” Regulus says. “Or… more like, let me know if you’re going to touch me. Don’t
catch me by surprise, okay?”

“Okay,” James says, nodding. Then, because he’s like a man starved, “Are you going to kiss me
again?”

“Until you can’t breathe,” Regulus says, and then he does.

They’re kissing for hours. Days. Weeks. James doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. He’s home.
Regulus is his and that’s all James needed for his heart to mend. And if he’s honest, he likes that
they have to take it slow. Likes they can’t just jump straight into bed and gloss over the wounds
that the war has left on them.

James will have to tell Regulus about his nightmares. About what happened with Emmeline and
how certain sounds take him back to that collapsed room and what he had to do in it to survive.
He’ll also have to come clean about—oh. Shit.

Regulus knows about Gideon. Does he know about everyone else? About Lily? Oh no. Oh—

“Hey, we have to go—Merlin’s beard on fire! MY EYES!” Sirius wails, way too loud considering
the room really isn’t that big. “Moony! I am traumatised for life!”

James and Regulus break apart and turn to see Sirius at the door with an arm thrown dramatically
over his face and flailing with the other. Next to him, Remus is rolling his eyes with fondness.

“We’re going to be late for the meeting,” Remus says to James and Regulus by way of explanation.

The meeting. That Gideon will be at. Lily, too. Ah. Fuck.

Unperturbed by his brother’s dramatics, Regulus elegantly climbs off James’ lap and stands,
righting his clothes that aren’t very rumpled in any case because of the no-touching situation.
James is a little slower on the uptake, possibly because he’s panicking. He’s full on panicking
inside because Regulus is not going to react well to the news.

“You okay?” Sirius asks from the door, having stopped his hysterics when Regulus stood up. He’s
looking right at James, who knows he looks a little terrified. He’s never had a good poker face.

“Yeah,” James says, pushing himself to his feet and clearing his voice. “I just—who’s coming to
this meeting?”

Regulus stiffens immediately. Sirius and Remus exchange alarmed glances.

Oh fuck.

“Why?” Regulus asks, turning cold eyes on James. “Is there anyone you’re particularly keen to
see?”

“I was going to tell you—” James groans, takes a deep breath. “It never meant anything.”

“Does he know that?” Sirius says from the door, eyebrows raised.

Regulus’ eyes flash and James wants to throttle Sirius. “Not helping, mate.”

Sirius shrugs, then leans against the frame with his arms over his chest. “You weren’t here when
we were planning your rescue. He was a right dick.”

“Seconded,” Remus says. “I think Regulus showed superb restraint. I wouldn’t have been so
civilised.”

“What are you talking about?” James asks, bewildered.

“Your action man,” Regulus deadpans. All the softness from earlier is gone. No trace of it. This
version of Regulus is the one the others see. Calculated. Cold. Mean. “If he so much as looks at
you, I will kill him.”

“You can’t kill him!” James exclaims. Then, a bit more calmly, “No more killing people, okay?
We are in peace time now.”

“Speak for yourself,” Regulus sniffs. “I reserve the right to murder.”

“Regulus,” James says sternly, and delights in the way his eyes go a little wide and a little dark.
That trick will never not work on him, James thinks with a thrill of pleasure.

“How would you feel if you had to go and sit in a room with someone I’d been fucking?” Regulus
asks him.

“Your wedding announcement was on the front page of the Daily Prophet!” James says
immediately. “It said you were in love with her!”

“Oh please,” Regulus retorts. “You knew I don’t like women. There was no way that was for real.”

“That’s what I said,” Sirius pipes up.

“Sirius!” both Regulus and James say at the same time.

He cackles, but Remus nudges him, and he falls silent, covering his mouth with his hand. James
sighs deeply, then steps closer to Regulus.

“Hey,” James says, voice pitched low. “I get it. I would want to rip his head off, too. I—” Wait.
James blinks, then, “Did you… were you with anyone?”

“Really?” Regulus says, outraged. “Really, James?”

Sheepish, he grimaces a bit. “Well… I just…” He rubs the back of his neck. Understanding this
isn’t the place or the time for it, he lets it go. With a deep sigh, James says, “Look, I’m sorry. I
thought you didn’t care. I was in a bad place. I’m not proud, but none of it meant anything.”

“He seems to think differently,” Regulus points out, refusing to say Gideon’s name.

“Gid’s… he’s been through it, okay? He lost his twin brother in the Ministry attack and everything.
So, I’m going to talk to him, and tell him we’re never going to happen, and that I’m yours. Please,
don’t hurt him,” James explains carefully.

“What happened to his brother?” Regulus asks, scowling.

“He died when he went inside to help. The poison got him,” James says sadly.

The breath punches out of Regulus’ lungs, and he looks up. Meets Remus’ eye. Remus nods, and
James finds it a bit strange that they can communicate like that, but apparently they do now. He
exchanges a confused glance with Sirius, who shrugs like he, too, is a bit bewildered but can’t do
anything about it.

After a moment, Regulus nods, “Alright. I won’t hurt him so long as he stays away from you.”
Then, looking up at James, “But if he tries anything, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Fair,” James says. “Should we go?”

Sirius and Remus step out of the room. James makes to follow but stops when he hears Reg speak
softly behind him. In a very small, subdued voice, he says, “Nothing happened with Elspeth. Or
with anyone. I didn’t want anyone who wasn’t you. I haven’t touched another person since we
broke up.”

He knows Regulus doesn’t mean to make him feel like shit, but James does. If he’d had more
faith… well. There’s no use allocating blame. What happened happened, but James wishes it
hadn’t. He wishes he could tell Regulus has hasn’t touched another person, either. But that’s not
true. And he has to own it.

“I didn’t want anyone that wasn’t you either, but you weren’t… I—fuck. Reg, I didn’t know,”
James says, blinking fast to keep tears from falling. “I’ll tell you everything. Anything you want to
know. But I thought you didn’t love me and I was so lost. I didn’t know how to cope. Every person
I slept with had one thing in common and only one.”

“Is that relevant?” Regulus asks harshly.

“Yes,” James replies. “I only hooked up with people who smoked so that when I was with them, I
could close my eyes and pretend it was you. Because you taste like smoke. So, I picked them on
purpose, chasing your mouth in strangers whose names I didn’t even bother to learn most of the
time.”

Regulus’ mouth falls open, a very soft ‘oh’ escaping him. There’s a deep scowl still on his brow
but he looks less murderous and more sad. It breaks James’ heart, but there’s no use pretending.
 James did what he did, and it’s one of the things they have to work through if they’re going to be
together.

And James wants to be with Regulus more than anything, so he has to be honest. He has to tell
Regulus everything.

“It’s… I don’t like it,” Regulus says after a prolonged silence. “It drives me insane to think about
it. But I guess… I knew you weren’t going to wait. I made sure you thought there was nothing to
wait for. So. I can’t really be mad at you for it, can I?”

“No,” James says, because it’s the truth. “But that’s the thing about feelings, Reg. They’re not
rational. And it’s okay. I would be running up the walls if roles were reversed. I would hate it so
fucking much if you’d let anyone else touch you.”

“How many?” Regulus asks.

“I don’t know,” James replies honestly. “Too many. No one more than once, except for Gideon. I
told you. I don’t even know most of their names.”

“That’s a bit fucked up, James,” Regulus says, then he smirks wickedly and admits, “But it makes
me feel better.”

James lets out a relieved gasp and crosses the space between them. He lifts a hand, slowly, and
waits. Regulus nods his permission. James very gently, very carefully slides his hand against
Regulus’ jaw until he’s cupping his face.

“We’ll talk more about it. I’ll tell you as much or as little as you want. But none of them mattered.
And if I’d known even for a second that you hadn’t stopped loving me, none of it would have
happened,” James says, infusing his words with as much honesty as he can.

“And I’m not saying that to make it sound like it’s your fault. It’s not. I’m just saying I didn’t
know. I was heartbroken. I was drowning in self-pity and sadness, and it was the way I found to
cope with the pain of loving you when I thought you didn’t love me.”

“I’m going to hate the action-man forever,” Regulus says, tilting his head to rest his cheek fully in
James’ palm. “But I understand. As much as I hate it, you had every right to do what you wanted.”

“I pretended it was you, Reg. Every single one,” James whispers again, desperate to make him see
that James only went looking for pleasure in other places because he thought he had no choice.
“Do you understand that I loved you the entire time? And that I do not want to be near anyone else
ever again?”

Regulus doesn’t answer in words. This is an important question, and Regulus has always been
better at showing than telling. So, he pushes himself up onto the balls of his feet and kisses James
softly. Just lips, pressed against lips, gentle and precious like keeping good secrets.

I understand. I know.

I love you, too.

Chapter End Notes

Reg tells Sirius to 'shut up' in French

The song is Reg's favourite song - you can listen to it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BvJRyJuyOpo

####

HOW ARE WE FEELING?! I AM ON THE FLOOR THAT WAS SO CUTE?!

Regulus I will not say 'I love you' but I will sing in French Black absolutely slayed me
with that one. Like? SIR!? Leave anything for the rest of us? How am I meant to go
on?! JAMES IS ONE LUCKY MAN.

Alright, sorry, I'm so excited. From the top!

Dorcas & Reg = platonic soulmates. They're just UGH brilliant. Amazing. Wonderful.
ALL THE WORDS. I love them

Also Reg in muggle clothes HELP HE HOT

The Black Brothers getting cosmic justic. YES BOYS MURDER YOUR MOTHER!
That scene was so emotional because Sirius is like KILL HER BUT BE NICE
ABOUT IT and Regulus is rolling his eyes like UGH FINE BUT ONLY BECAUSE
IT'S YOU ASKING I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!?!

REGULUS' LIST IS OFFICIALLY COMPLETE Now to put all that genius to other
things

Not Regulus almost having a stroke at the sight of James' forearms!? SIR ARE YOU
OKAY? THEY'RE JUST ARMS AND YOU'VE SEEN HIS MAN NAKED He's so
precious OMG

And James!? LMAO The poor man was fighting for his life the entire time like 'pls
look at me' and then, of course, midlly Angry James came to the rescue. YOU
KNOW REGULUS THOUGHT THAT AUTHORITATIVE 'WAIT' WAS HOT AF

I do not know what to say about the reconciliation scene other than a nonsensical
keysmash because they're so... UGH That scene wrote itself, honestly. James and
Regulus knew what they wanted and they were determined to get it I was just a
conduit for that to make it onto a page THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH PLS
I AM UNWELL

HOW ARE YOU ALL FELING!? Come be emotional with me in the comments
section

I love you all so much

 Mending the broken pieces
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!!

This one is a bit long and it has two interludes (!)

TWs for this chapter:

References to past violence
References to past death / war / victims of war related terrorism
References to death of a family member
Mild violence (muggle style)
Vague references to past torture
Sex (there are two sex scenes in this chapter, one a lot less explicit than the other, but
it's there)
Hospital visit (I'm not sure if this is a TW but better be safe, I guess?)
References to past child abuse

I think that's it for the TWs! :)

If you want to skip the sex scenes:

For the first one, stop reading when Evan says 'Just give me a quick summary' and
resume a few lines below that where it says 'What do you mean?'
For the second one (this is the explicit one), stop reading when Sirius says "What--
what are you doing?" and resume reading at the next scene break (####)

French translation in the end notes!

Enjoy!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It’s with enormous curiosity and more than a little bit of trepidation that Regulus walks into Potter
Manor for the first time. Without the need for secrecy and considering the Potters have possibly
the largest property out of all Order members, it was agreed that this meeting would be held here.

The first thing Regulus notices is that the Potter’s home is decorated with useful furniture. There’s
none of that fancy crap he so often finds in other pureblood houses like statues or strange art made
of materials one has no business making art out of. It’s a house that’s been lived in, and it shows,
and Regulus thinks it’s the most beautiful one he’s ever been in.

Before he can get emotional, he follows Sirius, Remus and James to the dining room. It has been
arranged to host people around a large table with extra chairs brought around it from other rooms.
Nobody is sitting. Not yet.

Immediately, James mutters that he’s going in search of his parents and dives into the small crowd.
To Regulus’ immense relief, James didn’t ask if he wanted to go meet them with him. He’s not
ready for that, and he can’t help but love James that little bit more for knowing it without having to
be told. Besides, Regulus is still battling with the barrage of things—mostly good, a few bad—that
surfaced between them in the past few hours.

“Let’s go have a smoke,” Remus suggests, gesturing across the room to a door that Regulus
suspects leads towards a garden. “We won’t start for a bit. A few people are still missing.”

Regulus, who has never liked a crowded room to begin with, doesn’t need to be told twice. That’s
how he finds himself leaning against the outer wall of Potter Manor, smoking a cigarette with
Remus. They lost Sirius along the way to Moody who wanted to check whether Sirius stuck to
protocol and saw a mind healer following his kill (he did not).

“Sirius told me about Walburga,” Remus comments after a few moments.

“No talking. I’m enjoying the quiet,” Regulus says, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back
against the wall.

Remus chuckles, takes a long drag of his cigarette. Fortunately, he accepts this and doesn’t try to
make conversation again. Regulus thinks about the bridge in school. Their patrols together as
prefects.

He’s glad he’s somehow ended up here, with Remus Lupin for an ally. Not a friend, not yet.
Perhaps not ever. He doesn't know if he's capable of making new friends. Real ones. Still, Remus
is someone with whom Regulus feels a sense of kinship. They went through some shit together and
that’ll make you bond with people whether you want to or not.

When their cigarettes are finished, Regulus pushes himself off the wall. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Remus says, nodding. “Let’s do this.”

By the time they walk back inside, everyone has arrived. Most people are sitting around the table,
and what do you know? Action-man is sitting right next to James and talking to him in hushed
tones. James looks stern and his body language is very clearly telling the other guy that it’s a no.
Still, Regulus feels the ice-cold fury spread through him, urging him to do something.

Frustratingly, James was very clear. He asked Regulus not to hurt this idiot and as much as Regulus
would like to strangle him, he’s trying hard to show James he’s not a complete monster despite the
atrocities he committed during the war. Huffing under his breath, Regulus watches as the action-
man sighs, runs a hand over his hair, and mutters,

“I really thought we had something good going on.”

And just. No. Absolutely the fuck not. Regulus never once doubted James’ loyalty. That was never
the issue. He just doesn’t like that this other guy thinks he has any claim over James.

James is his.

“Reg,” Remus mutters under his breath, holding him back when he takes a step forward. He’s
noticed the scene, too. “You already killed his brother. I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

Cutting Remus a sideways glance, Regulus smirks. “I won’t kill him.”

Then, he wriggles out of Remus’ grasp and goes to claim the chair on action-man’s other side.
Right next to Sirius, who looks incredibly excited. Dumbledore is at the head of the table with
Moody. There are a lot of people here Regulus doesn’t recognise and some he does. None of it
really matters to him.
Dragging the chair loudly over the floor, Regulus sits down. He can hear action-man quietly
speaking to James still. He catches the words ‘Death Eater’ and ‘psychopath’ amongst other things.
Ah. So, action-man has moved on from how good their ‘thing’ was and is now trying to convince
James Regulus isn’t good for him.

Beautiful.

Leaning on the table with his arms, Regulus meets Dumbledore’s eye and raises an eyebrow. “Are
you starting this thing or not?”

Silence falls heavy and so loud it rings in Regulus’ ears. He hates having all eyes in the room on
him, but it can’t be helped. He’s got this. He can do this. He’s done worse and survived.

“Yes,” Dumbledore says quickly. “Thank you, Mr. Black, for coming today.”

“I still don’t understand why we need him here,” Action-man says, so predictable. So easy.

Sirius is making a face that tells Regulus he’s trying very hard not to laugh. Remus is playing with
a quill. Someone has set parchment and quills around the table in case anyone wants to make notes.
It’s adorable, Regulus thinks absently. So orderly and mundane. Like this is a lecture and not a
post-war debrief to discuss the future of an entire country.

“Gideon, please,” Emmeline says, rolling her eyes. “Not this again? We all saw Regulus duel
Voldemort and kill him. He ended the war. Not to mention he put together the plan for James’
rescue and quite a few other things we don’t know the details of. So just shut up, will you?”

“He’s still a Death Eater,” Gideon says, but he crosses his arms over his chest and slumps back on
his chair.

Extremely pleased with himself for changing out of his hoodie and jeans before this meeting,
Regulus shrugs off his jacket at that moment, hanging it neatly off the back of his chair and leaning
with his forearms on the table, deliberately showing off the mark. There’s a harsh intake of breath
around the room before Dumbledore clears his throat.

“Mr. Black, have you read a copy of the Daily Prophet today?” Dumbledore asks.

“No,” he says brightly. Then, cutting James a sideways glance that Gideon—sat in the middle—
absolutely catches, he says, “I’ve been a bit busy.”

James coughs, eyes sparkling with mirth. Sirius makes a sort of strangled noise before Remus
shoots him a pointed look.

“The Minister for Magic has resigned,” Dumbledore confirms. “There will be a general election in
two months’ time. In the interim, there’s a task force of people that will primarily look at the bans
passed under Voldemort’s influence as well as the bills that Lucius Malfoy has kindly pointed out
to us as being targeted. He’s been very cooperative.”

“He will continue to be if you stick to the deal,” Regulus says casually. “Oh, and I meant to tell you
that no one else will be pardoned.”

“Excuse me?” Dumbledore asks, blinking.

“Other Death Eaters will try to trade information for their freedom. You will deny them all. You
don’t need them anyway,” Regulus says firmly. “Lucius knew almost everything. What he didn’t
know, I can cover. No one else walks.”
“I agree with that,” Moody says vehemently, shocking Regulus. He didn’t expect the head auror to
be so ready to tag-team with the guy who took off his eye. According to James, Moody just
desperately wanted to end the war and he thinks an eye isn’t too big a price to pay for that. Turns
out Moody is a ‘bygones be bygones’ kind of man if it gets him peace and the bad guys in jail.

“Alastor,” Dumbledore says.

Shaking his head, Moody slams a hand on the table, “No. The boy knows what he’s talking about.
We’ll show them no mercy. All of them to Azkaban. No exceptions.”

“Have we regained control of Azkaban?” a woman asks.

“Yes,” a man that Regulus is certain has to be James’ father says. “The dementors are back under
control and there’s a team reviewing our measures for the prison so that they cannot be swayed
again. We’ll be adding personnel on patrol as well as upgrading cell security.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore says, nodding. “Thank you, Fleamont.”

Yes. Definitely James’ father. Regulus gets distracted for a moment, watching the man out of the
corner of his eye. What does he think of the fact that his son is in love with the likes of Regulus
Black? Does he even know it?

Given the display when Regulus was fighting to find his way back from the darkness, he’s certain
most people here know something is happening or has happened between them. But Dorcas was
there. And Sirius. And Barty. And Remus. Perhaps people don’t know James and Regulus are
romantically involved.

“Reggie?” Sirius whispers, nudging his foot with his boot.

“What?”

“Did you have anything else for us to discuss?” Dumbledore says.

Action-man makes a noise of bewilderment, then throws his arms up. “ What? Now you’re asking
him to lead Order meetings? You’re… are you serious?”

There’s a groan from James. Remus drops his face in his hands just as Sirius beams and proudly
says, “No. I am.”

“Honestly,” Regulus says, tilting his head. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

Sirius ignores this, grinning like he’s just dropped the wittiest pun in all of history. Regulus is
deeply embarrassed on his behalf. So much so, if he weren’t so collected as a general rule, he’d be
squirming on his chair.

“Oi!” Action-man insists. “Why are you asking him his opinion on anything? He’s just a kid. And,
I repeat, he’s a Death Eater.”

“Pipe down, old man,” Emmeline says, rolling her eyes. Regulus shoots her a quick look and she
winks at him. Regulus definitely likes her.

“Gid,” James says. “Regulus has done more to end this war than all of us here combined. I think if
he wants to add a few points to the agenda, we can listen to them.”

“I agree with James,” says a lady with a fierce glint in her eye but the softest smile Regulus has
ever seen.

“Yeah, you would agree with your son,” says some unknown man. Regulus’ gut does a cartwheel
when he realises that this is Euphemia Potter and that she just spoke up to support him.

The man is still talking, for some reason, “I’m with the Prewett kid. Who is Black to dictate an
Order meeting?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, then leans forward to look at Dumbledore. He doesn’t have the time or the
patience to deal with this bunch of self-righteous idiots. As if they had a say in anything. What
have they done to end the war? Go on their little patrols and run errands for Moody? Please.

“The werewolves,” Regulus says firmly, pointing at Remus with a ring-clad finger. “You’re going
to suggest to the Ministry that Remus be appointed the head of the werewolves’ team in the
Magical Creatures Department. He’ll lead them and be the liaison with the government. Bills about
their treatment will be reviewed and amended. That’s non-negotiable. I will gladly remind
everyone that it was an army of wolves that fought Riddle’s Death Eaters at Lestrange Castle and
that without them and Remus’ leadership you would all be dead.”

With that, Regulus leans back on his chair and begins to play with a quill, running it over his
knuckles. Dumbledore looks at Remus. “Do you agree to all this? To openly leading the wolves
and the reform?”

“Obviously,” Remus says. “You didn’t think we’d show up here without having discussed it
beforehand, did you? Give us a bit more credit. We did end the war for you.”

There’s a collective gasp of outrage at the blatant disrespect in Remus’ tone. Regulus smiles to
himself. Sirius looks like he might swoon any moment.

“Very well,” Dumbledore says. “It’s not going to be easy, but I support the reform.”

“Easy is overrated,” Remus mutters under his breath.

Dumbledore looks at Regulus again. He does have one more thing—two, actually—but they’re not
to be shared with the class. He’ll talk to Dumbledore privately when this pathetic excuse for a
meeting is over. So, leaning back on his chair, he shakes his head once.

“Good. Well, I did have a few other things to discuss,” Dumbledore says pleasantly. “The war is
over. We lost a lot of good people and we will forever remember them and the sacrifices they
made. The first thing I would like to propose is a special service in-memoriam of those from the
Order we lost. I would arrange at Hogwarts this summer with a small monument to commemorate
them.”

“Why at Hogwarts?” asks Sam. “It’s a school.”

“It’s the one thing we have in common,” says a man Regulus doesn’t know. “Where else would we
do it?”

Sam considers this, pursing her lips. After a moment of thought, she nods. “Yeah, can’t think of a
better place. Doesn’t make a ton of sense, but then again that’s not the point, is it?”

“No,” a plump ginger woman with a maternal sort of smile says softly. “That’s not the point. I
think Hogwarts is as good a place as any.”

The meeting goes on for a while as people discuss things about the war that do not interest
Regulus. In that time, he watches the Potters. They have a lot of gravitas, Regulus notes quickly.
When they speak, people listen. They are respected, but not feared. These are the people who
raised James. The most loyal, most caring person Regulus has ever met. That in itself means
Regulus considers Euphemia and Fleamont Potter worthy of his protection.

It's a little alarming how long that list has grown. Glancing around the table, Regulus takes stock of
those who aren’t here. Marlene didn’t come. Dorcas and Barty are in Grimmauld Place with Evan,
still unconscious. Pandora… actually, where is Pandora? Scowling, Regulus searches the room
twice but she’s not here. Neither is Evans. They might be in bed, Regulus thinks. Then
immediately wishes he wasn’t scarred from the cave and he could have ripped James’ clothes off
earlier.

Suddenly, the meeting is called to an end and people are getting up. Regulus blinks, slightly
disoriented, and pushes back his chair. He needs to talk to Dumbledore in semi-privacy.

“I’ll be right back,” Regulus mutters to Sirius, who shoots him a curious look.

Without waiting to see what the rest of them are doing, Regulus follows Dumbledore out onto the
hall. It takes him perhaps three to five minutes to discuss with him what he needs, but by the time
he makes it back into the dining room, most people have vacated it. Absently, Regulus notes an
indent in the wall that’s the size of a small fist and wonders if James had anything to do it. Seems
most likely.

The small smile is wiped off Regulus’ face when he looks up and finds Sirius and Remus standing
by the window, looking at James and action-man with a wary look in their eyes. This, Regulus
quickly notices, is because action-man has stood up and put a hand on the back of James’ chair and
another on the table in front of him, kind of caging him in.

“Gid, listen, I’m sorry. I understand it might be a bit strange, but it doesn’t matter to me what he’s
done or hasn’t done. It’s him I want,” James is saying, looking around a little self-consciously.
“You and I... that was never meant to get serious. We talked about it. I’m just not… I don’t feel
that way about you.”

“I just think you would if he weren’t around,” action-man says, sounding pained.

Regulus raises his eyebrows, but neither James nor this annoying little fool have noticed him
approaching.

“But he is,” James says simply. “He’s very much around, Gid.”

“You deserve better than him,” action-man says. “That mark is never going to come off his arm,
you know? Are you telling me you’re okay with staring at the symbol they stood for when you’re
in bed with him? The one floating over the Ministry when Fab and Mary died?”

Enough.

Swiftly, he picks up one of the quills on the table, twirls it overs his knuckles and slams it into the
back of action-man’s hand. Hard.

“What the fuck?” he roars, yanking his hand away from the table and bringing the quill with him
because it’s about an inch deep into his hand. “You motherfucker!”

Regulus is prepared for the punch, so he dodges it easily, stepping sideways gracefully. James
immediately scrambles up, but action-man is a bit out of it. He’s fast and strong. He’s furious.
When he reaches for Regulus again, Regulus may or may not let him grab him on purpose.
Action-man’s hand fists in the front of Regulus’ t-shirt, bringing him close. Regulus smiles at him,
all teeth, and says, “Go on. Give me an excuse to end you.”

“It’s your fault my brother is dead,” action-man snarls, drawing his other hand back. “And now you
want to take the only good thing I have left. Fuck that. Fuck you.”

It’s going to be a sucker punch at close range. If he breaks Regulus’ nose again, Regulus will kill
him. James will have to deal.

Except the punch never lands. James’ hand has hooked on action-man’s elbow, stopping him. The
next thing Regulus knows, he’s stumbling back a bit from having been let go off abruptly and
James has slammed action-man bodily onto the table. Towering over him, James points his wand at
him.

“Do not touch my boyfriend,” James says, voice low and dangerous.

Regulus’ knees go weak. He’s pretty certain he’s blushing a little bit, but he can’t help it. This is
possibly the hottest thing James has ever done. Angry James being possessive and defending him
is Regulus’ every wet dream and it takes actual effort not to make any sound as he stares. The
muscles of James’ arms are straining against his t-shirt with the effort of holding action-man down
and Regulus wants to lick them. Every single inch of them.

“James, he’s a Death Eater,” action-man insists pathetically. “Him and his friends killed my
brother. He’s clearly got an impulse control issue. He’s violent! How do you know he’s not going
to kill you if you piss him off? Or someone else, huh? Look at this!” He waves his hand around,
the quill still stuck to it.

“Regulus has been actually very reasonable and civil considering you’ve been a right ass to him all
evening,” Sirius pipes up from where he is against the wall. “And before, too. Actually, Gid,
you’re making it very hard to like you these days in general.”

His voice is cheerful, but there’s a dark look on his eyes that tells Regulus if James hadn’t pinned
action-man to the table, Sirius would have. It does something funny to his insides to realise that
they’d turn on one of their friends for him. To defend him.

“He might have that mark on his arm, but Regulus has proved he never truly was a Death Eater. He
did what he had to do to get to Voldemort,” James says firmly, righteous anger lacing his voice and
sending sparks of awareness to Regulus’ groin.

“I understand you’re upset about Fabian, Gid. I really do. We miss him. And Mary. And everyone
who died. It was a war, and we did our best. Everyone lost someone and I know it hurts and you’re
grieving. But this? This is beneath you. You’re better than this. Don't let your grief turn you into
someone you're not. Let it go.”

There’s a gasp, and then Regulus looks up and sees a few people by the door who have clearly
been alerted by the noise that something was going on. One of those people is Euphemia Potter,
and Regulus just about wants to curl into a ball and hide. This is not the sort of impression he wants
James’ mother to have of him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” action-man protests, shoving at James hard enough that he stumbles back a
little bit. “I expected better from you all than to side with one of them.”

Sirius steps up closer and peers over James’ shoulder down at action-man. “Listen, man. I’m
cutting you some slack because of your brother but you’re starting to really piss me off.”
“Gideon,” says the ginger woman from earlier, who’s pushed her way to the front of the little
crowd gathered by the door watching the scene unfold. “You’re being a hot-headed idiot and it’s
embarrassing. Come to the kitchen so I can fix your hand and stop with this… whatever this is.”

There’s a tense moment where it looks like action-man might just try to get past James and take
another hit at Regulus—which he’s secretly hoping for so he can hit back—before he huffs, turns
towards the ginger woman, and lets her lead him away and to the kitchen.

Regulus glances at James, who looks a little thrown off, and decides to make himself scarce now.
He understands some of these people lost loved ones to the war, and that he reminds them of the
side responsible. Truth be told, it’s not unlikely that Regulus is directly responsible for some if not
most of those deaths.

“I’ve got stuff I need to do,” Regulus says to James.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” Regulus replies firmly. James wilts, and Regulus hesitates, then says, “I’m spending some
time with Sirius tomorrow, but I can… ehm… come by in the afternoon? Or you can come to
Grimmauld Place?”

“Yes. Yes, I’d like that,” James says, smiling once more. “Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll come to
Grimmauld Place.”

Regulus nods, gives James a small smile, then he turns and heads straight for the door, doing his
level best not to check over his shoulder to see if James’ parents are horrified or not.

****

The smell of pizza in the hallway is so strong it makes Regulus’ mouth water as he apparates
directly onto the stair landing. Absently, he wonders when the last time he ate was, then he decides
that as soon as he makes it to Grimmauld Place he’ll ask Kreacher for some dinner.

In any case, it’s a good thing he’s doing this on an empty stomach because he’s a bit uneasy.
Regulus has never been good with words, good with emotions. He’s going to have to use both for
this and it’s making his insides churn something fierce.

Still, he owes this to Dorcas. He owes a lot to Dorcas. But this is the thing that matters most. He
knows.

Rolling his shoulders back to gather his courage, he steps up to the door and knocks.

Marlene makes a face of utter shock when she opens it, then looks behind him like she’s preparing
to be attacked. Really, Regulus thinks, Marlene should be grateful he was polite enough to knock
instead of apparating directly inside her flat. He could have. Their wards aren’t particularly strong.
If Dorcas moves back in, he’ll have to review them and strengthen them. Just in case.

“Are you alone?” Marlene asks, stepping aside to let him in.

Brushing past her, Regulus says, “Yes.”

The door clicks behind him, then Marlene is striding towards the living room. Regulus should have
known that hers and Dorcas’ flat would be the perfect mix of bold and graceful. It’s in Soho,
tucked away behind Leicester Square. Too noisy for Regulus’ liking, but then again, it’s not him
who lives here.
Marlene throws herself on a sofa of black leather and looks at him with contempt. “Did she send
you, then?”

“You know her better than that,” Regulus replies, going to stand by the window. “Mind if I
smoke?”

“Since when are you so polite?”

Smirking a little, Regulus takes out a cigarette and lights it before kissing his teeth and pinning
Marlene with a look that has made many people squirm. Not her, though. Marlene has always been
tougher than steel.

“Why are you here, Regulus?” Marlene asks, letting her head fall back on the sofa and closing her
eyes.

“Because you’re being a selfish little bitch and it’s hurting Dorcas,” Regulus says.

That gets Marlene up from the sofa in a flash. Like a whirlwind, she steps up to Regulus, eyes
flashing with hurt and outrage. “How dare you!”

“Why exactly are you so mad at her?” Regulus asks, raising an eyebrow. Marlene is practically in
his face, but he’s not moving an inch. He’s not going to let her get away with this idiocy.

Scoffing, Marlene crosses her arms over her chest and looks away. “She lied to me. Kept things
from me. I don’t trust her anymore.”

“Right,” Regulus says, huffing a laugh. “It’s got nothing to do with you hating that someone else
saved the day.”

“That’s not—” Marlene stops, runs her tongue over her teeth. “My sister was missing for six
months. Dorcas knew she was safe and she didn’t tell me. She let me hurt for six months. How am
I supposed to just forgive that?”

“And what would you have done?” Regulus challenges her.

“I would have told her!” Marlene cries, throwing her arms up in the air. “We’re supposed to trust
each other. Be everything to each other. Why didn’t she tell me? If she’d explained, I would have
understood. I would have helped her!”

Regulus frowns, tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes at Marlene. Then, it hits him. “You
don’t know?”

Marlene pauses mid-rant, stares at him. “What don’t I know?”

“Dorcas would have died if she’d told you the truth,” Regulus says. “She made an unbreakable
vow. I thought you knew that?”

“Yes,” Marlene says, frowning deeply. “She said she made an unbreakable vow to help you, but I
don’t see how that’s—”

“That’s not all,” Regulus says, interrupting her. Salazar’s cape on a pole. He thought Dorcas was
smarter than this. No wonder Marlene is so upset. Clearing his throat, Regulus explains, “Part of
the vow was secrecy, Marlene. Dorcas couldn’t tell you without my permission and I didn’t give
it.”
“I don’t understand.”

“If Dorcas had told you Sam was alive and safe, you would have wanted to know how she knew,”
Regulus says, then pauses for Marlene to nod. “Dorcas couldn’t tell you that. How do you think
that would have gone down? You either would have called her a spy, or a liar, or pressed and
pressed until she told you the truth and that would have killed her. She couldn’t tell you about me.
So, she was in an impossible situation.”

“Oh,” Marlene whispers, eyes widening. “The vow demanded secrecy?”

“Yes.”

Marlene bites her lower lip and walks to brace her hands on the windowsill, staring out at the
street. It’s getting late. An early June night, overcast and dark, but not chilly. Regulus is still in the
clothes he wore for the meeting. Black slacks, shirt and jacket. He didn’t think a hoodie and jeans
gave him the level of authority he was going for. There’s a time for him to be Lord Black and a
time for him to be just Regulus. That meeting with the Order was Lord Black’s business.

When he fishes his pack of cigarettes from his pocket to have another one, Marlene asks for one
without looking at him. He gives it to her and they smoke in silence. When they’re done, Marlene
sighs, presses her forehead against the glass, and speaks.

“I understand why she did what she did,” Marlene says. Her breath fogs the window, and it would
annoy Regulus if it was his house, but it’s not, so he ignores it. “She saved us. She saved my sister.
But I… I think a part of me is angry that Dorcas didn’t put me first because I would have put her
first.”

“She loves you more than life, Marlene,” Regulus says firmly. “You’re looking at it the wrong
way. Dorcas wasn’t choosing me over you. She was choosing what she thought was the quickest,
safest way to end this war. She was so worried about you joining the Order. About you being in
danger. She just wanted it to be over as quickly as possible, and she knew I could make that
happen.”

“She could have told me,” Marlene insists, weaker than before, softer than before. “I don’t know if
I can trust her now.”

Regulus doesn’t know Marlene very well, but he gets the sense that she’s stubborn. Perhaps she
just needs time to accept she was wrong to get so mad at Dorcas.

Pushing himself off the wall, Regulus crosses the room towards the door. “I’m done here. I came
to tell you you’re making a mistake. You’re never going to do better than Dorcas. Get off your
fucking high horse and admit you’re punishing her unfairly before it’s too late.”

“What do—”

“I’m not going to let her pine for you forever. She deserves better and I’ll make sure she gets it. So,
up to you, really,” Regulus says, yanking open the door before throwing one last thing over his
shoulder. “Dorcas was brave and loyal and without her we would still be at war and Sam would be
dead. Do with that what you will.”

****

The golden snitch catches the morning light as Regulus runs it over his knuckles once, twice, three
times before putting it away. He slept rather well, all things considered, but the potions did keep
him in slumber for longer than he wanted to so he’s running a bit late.
Having just sent the owl with his small present for Emmeline, Regulus gets up from his desk and
snatches the second vial from the package delivered to him less than twenty minutes ago.
Dumbledore kept his word, and Regulus is pleased.

It’s going to be a good day. He’s made careful plans that are designed to help him move on from
the horrors of the war. To make amends for himself and others. To heal, which is something
Regulus has realised he wants and needs.

You are not broken. You just need to heal.

Yes, Regulus thinks, smiling to himself. James is right. He often is and Regulus likes it.

“You guys presentable?” Regulus asks, knocking lightly on the door to Evan and Barty’s room.
His old one.

“Yeah, come in,” Dorcas replies. She dragged a mattress in here sometime yesterday and slept on
the floor, keeping Barty company through the night.

“Morning,” Barty says. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Evan’s hand. “Dorcas said you
might be able to help?”

Regulus takes the vial out and shows it to them. “If this doesn’t work… nothing will,” he says
honestly. “But I think it’s going to work.”

“Good enough for me,” Barty says, moving out of the way to give Regulus room.

He shakes his head, puts the vial on Barty’s hand. “Just have him drink it. It should be you what he
sees when he wakes up.”

“Shit, Reg,” Barty says, looking away and blinking fast. “Sometimes you say things that make me
think you have a heart. Better be careful.”

Dorcas chortles at Regulus’ exaggerated eyeroll. He goes to the window, cracks it open to let in the
late spring breeze, and lights a cigarette.

With a trembling hand, Barty pops open the cork on the vial and brings it to Evan’s lips gently. He
tugs on his bottom lip, parting them so the pearly liquid can slide inside. When the vial is empty,
Barty drops it on the bed without looking and holds his breath.

Evan’s fingers twitch, but Barty is staring at his face so he doesn’t notice it. Regulus smiles, relief
suddenly gripping him so tightly not even he can keep his face in check. A second later, Evan’s
eyelids flutter open.

Barty proceeds to break the fuck down.

Completely.

He just starts sobbing, face pressed into Evan’s chest, hands fisted in the sheets as he wails and
weeps and trembles rather violently. Alarmed, Evan brings his arms around Barty—moving a little
sluggishly—and looks around at Dorcas and Regulus for an explanation.

Dorcas speaks first. “Welcome back. Fuck, we missed you. We’ve been so worried.”

“I don’t understand,” Evan says, his voice raspy from lack of use for so long.

“You’ve been in a coma for a little over a month,” Dorcas explains gently. “And he’s been acting
like everything was fine. He needs that. Just let him have it.”

“Oh,” Evan says softly. He looks down at Barty, breaking down so thoroughly it tugs at Regulus’
recently reanimated heart. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m back. I’m here. Barty? I’ve got you. I’m here. I love
you. Shhh… it’s okay.”

Evan curls himself forward over Barty, and Regulus can’t hear what he’s saying anymore, but he
doesn’t need to. That’s private. It belongs to them, and them alone.

Stubbing his cigarette, he pushes himself off the windowsill and gestures for Dorcas to come with
him. Quietly, the two of them slip from the room and leave Evan and Barty so they can have their
reunion in peace.

There’ll be time for them to be all together as friends. Hopefully, a shit ton of time because Regulus
is, for once, not on a ticking clock. It’s a rather strange thought, and it makes his steps falter for a
moment, but he’s with Dorcas, so it’s okay.

They have breakfast together in the kitchen with Kreacher bustling around them like a mother-hen.
It’s mildly irritating, but Regulus allows it because this house elf saved his life and the least
Regulus can do is let him make way more food than they need. Besides, Sirius is on his way and
he eats like he’s still having a growth spurt so it can hurt to have too much.

“Is Remus coming with Sirius?” Dorcas asks him, blowing over her tea.

“No,” Regulus says. “He’s gone to the Manor with some of his wolves. They’re going to put
together a plan for a refurbishment so it can be turned into a sanctuary.”

“That’s a pretty amazing thing you’re doing for the werewolves,” Dorcas tells him, smiling. “Quite
selfless too. Some might call it growth.”

Deeply uncomfortable with that, Regulus shrugs. Takes a sip of his coffee. “Hardly selfless. I don’t
want to set foot there ever again.”

“You could have sold it,” Dorcas says.

“I don’t need more money,” Regulus scoffs. “I have plenty. Way more than I know what to do
with.”

“Are you going to live here indefinitely, then?”

“For now, yes,” Regulus says. “I need some time to figure a few things out. But you can stay as
long as you want. You know that, right?”

The front door bell rings, shrill and lively. Regulus looks up, but Kreacher is already hurrying
down the corridor so he turns back to his coffee. Sirius is a bit early, but it doesn’t bother Regulus.
He’s quite keen to get started, actually.

Finishing his coffee, Regulus stands up ready to greet his brother and stops. It’s not Sirius.
Schooling his face into neutrality so he doesn’t look as smug as he feels, Regulus nods, and says,
“Marlene.”

Dorcas, who’d been digging into her eggs and hadn’t bothered looking up, jumps. Literally. She
jumps, hitting the table with her knee and sending her fork clattering to the floor. Eyes wide, she
looks at Marlene and breathes, “Hi.”
“Can we talk?” Marlene asks, looking everywhere but at Regulus.

“The drawing room has a great track record,” he says smoothly. “And I’ll make sure you’re not
bothered.”

Marlene nods stiffly, then turns and marches out of the kitchen. Dorcas scrambles after her,
shooting Regulus a confused but hopeful look. Regulus simply raises an eyebrow and cocks his
head to indicate she’s wasting time, and he won’t let her. Dorcas nods, more to herself than to
Regulus, he knows, and follows Marlene.

####

Interlude: Evan’s POV

It takes Barty a solid five minutes to stop sobbing, but Evan doesn’t mind it one bit. He’s never
seen Barty cry before, and there’s something special about holding him against his chest and
soothing him. It's intimate and it shows a side of Barty Evan knows is just for him. Through it all,
Evan whispers sweet nothings to him, reassuring Barty that Evan is here, awake. They're together,
and everything will work out.

The weeping subsides gradually, until Barty is kind of just hiccupping.

“Oh, Merlin’s bollocks,” Barty groans. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Do you feel better?” Evan asks gently.

Barty straightens, dries his face with the sheets on Evan’s bed. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy
and there are red splotches on his cheeks. He’s never looked more adorable. And while adorable
isn’t a look Evan necessarily needs to see on Barty often—he’s quite into the unhinged, wicked
vibe—it tugs at his chest.

“I should be the one asking you that,” Barty replies, shaking his head. “You’ve been… asleep for a
while.”

“A month,” Evan nods. “Reg said.”

For the first time since he woke up, Evan takes a moment to look around him. He’s in a room he
recognises. He’s been here before. Once. The day that he and Regulus had a fight after he’d just got
the mark.

“We’re in Grimmauld Place?” Evan asks.

Barty grins, then nods. “You’ve missed quite a bit.”

“How much is a bit?”

“The war is over,” Barty informs him. “The Dark Lord is dead. Regulus killed him.”

This is, admittedly, not something Evan ever thought he’d hear. Questions barrel into his mind,
overwhelming him. How did it happen? When? And did everyone make it? Is Dorcas alright?
Pandora? Oh, yes. Dorcas was here, too, Evan recalls suddenly.

Reeling from this absolute bomb of information Barty has just dropped on him, Evan opens his
mouth and closes it again a few times before he finds some words.

“I’m…” Evan says, then stops. “The war is over.”

“Yeah. And I didn’t…” Barty bites his lips, then rolls the sleeve of his shirt up to expose a
perfectly clean and smooth arm. Evan inhales sharply. That means he’s not marked either. Which,
now that he thinks about it, makes sense because he’s been unconscious.

The relief that sweeps through him is so intense Evan lets out a little gasp. Meeting Barty's blue
eyes, Evan's own well up. Barty didn't get marked because he was unconscious. He knows this in
his very bones, and if he loved Barty before, it's nothing compared to the overwhelming feeling
expanding inside of Evan now.

“Barty..." Evan whispers. "I... you didn't have to. I mean... wow. Just... why?”

“My dad died and then you were in a coma,” Barty replies. “Seemed a bit pointless. And you
didn’t want it anyway. Not really.”

“How do—”

“Please,” Barty insists, pinning him with a beautiful glare. Blue eyes and lashes and fuck. Evan is
suddenly not sure why they’re talking. Who cares about war when Barty is here looking like that?
Relieved and happy and more relaxed than Evan has ever seen him?

“I knew you didn’t actually want it. Don’t even try to pretend. I know…” Barty carries on about
how he always knew Evan didn’t really want to be a Death Eater, but he doesn’t pay attention, too
busy searching desperately for some water. He finds it. A glass on his bedside table. Drinking it in
two large gulps, Evan sets it back down then cuts Barty off.

“Kiss me,” Evan demands. “Kiss me right now.”

Barty doesn’t disappoint. He surges forward, and then their mouths are against each other’s. Barty
kisses him with such fervour Evan’s heart breaks a little bit. It must have been truly awful for Barty
to watch him sleep, not knowing if he'd ever wake up.

Fuck.

Sliding a hand around Barty’s neck, Evan tugs him closer. He can’t imagine what it must have
been like. If it’d been Barty on this bed for a month, Evan would have driven himself mad with
worry.

“Just give me a quick summary,” Evan whispers urgently against Barty’s mouth. “Make it short.
You only have however long it takes me to get you out of your clothes.”

Delighted, Barty grins then begins to rattle off a series of facts—Regulus plan, Remus’ wolves,
something called a horcrux, a battle in Lestrange Castle—as Evan fights to get him naked. Clearly,
whatever had been ailing Evan has been conquered because he feels so good. Strong and healthy
and so very ready to make Barty forget every second of misery he endured while he was
unavailable. He makes a mental note to ask Regulus what they gave him, but later. Right now,
Evan is going to make up for the weeks he's spent not moving.

When Barty is naked, Evan throws the sheets and blanket back and helps him take his own clothes
off—a t-shirt and soft tracksuit bottoms he suspects belong to Regulus—then they’re both kissing,
touching everywhere, naked skin warm and smooth. It's clumsy and desperate, but they don't care.
They need this. Quick and dirty and rough. They're alive, together, and they'll have time for more
elaborate fucks. Right now, Evan and Barty just need to feel each other.

Evan closes his fingers around Barty’s dick—hard and ready—and he groans.
“Are you sure?” Barty pants against his mouth. “You literally just woke up.”

“You know damn well I love morning sex,” Evan replies, sliding his tongue between Barty’s teeth
so he stops fussing.

Barty quickly stops being careful after that and Evan feels triumphant. They work themselves into
a frenzy with their hands on each other, teeth biting and tongues sliding. Barty is straddling Evan,
whose hands are gripping his arse so roughly he's sure there'll be bruises tomorrow. They don't
care.

They quickly realise they don’t have lube, which frustrates them, but then Barty slides down
Evan’s body and takes him in his mouth and it’s forgotten. Evan comes embarrasingly quickly,
which only makes Barty grin and pat himself in the back. Laughing, Evan grabs him and flips him
around so their positions are reversed, then it's his turn.

After, when they’re lying next to each other, sweaty and grinning, Evan looks at the ceiling and
says, “So, what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s no war,” Evan mutters, mind spinning a little. “So… do we have to be functioning adults?
Get respectable jobs at the Ministry or something? Live a dull, pureblood life? What… what are
we supposed to do?”

Barty laughs, then bites Evan’s shoulder. “Please. You’re filthy rich and your father is dead. You
literally can be anything you want to be.”

Turning his face to look at Barty, he says, “What do you want to be?”

“Your lover, obviously,” Barty replies primly. “You’ll be Lord Rosier and keep me around so I can
look pretty, make you laugh, and suck your dick.”

Evan knows it’s only half a joke. Barty’s too smart to not want to pursue some sort of project.
Something to do. To put his brain to use. But Evan wants to keep him near. Be with him, always.

“Will you move in to Rosier Manor with me?” he asks quietly. “It’s a bit early but—”

“The war and your coma negates all societal rules about the right time keeping in a relationship,”
Barty growls. “No such thing as ‘early’ as far as I’m concerned.”

“You only say that because you have nowhere else to live,” Evan teases.

Barty laughs again, rolls over to lie on top of him, pinning him on the bed. “Don’t tease me, or I
might have to find someone to seduce so they’ll take me in just to spite you.”

“You would never,” Evan says. “Not without inviting me along.”

“Fuck,” Barty groans. “You know me too well.”

Evan lifts his chin and kisses him. Barty kisses him back.

They don’t leave the room for another hour and when they do, it’s to bathe together. Evan doesn’t
think he’ll let go of Barty any time soon, because he knows Barty needs that. To know he’s here.
He’s back. Awake and with him for real.

And there are worse things than spending an entire day glued to your gorgeous boyfriend’s side.
 ####

He only had two nightmares.

That’s the first thing James realises upon waking up the day after the debrief meeting. The second
is that it’s a beautiful early June day. Through his windows, warm golden sunlight pools on the
hardwood floor. The sky outside is spotless. Not a cloud in sight.

Smiling, James stretches his arms over his head, hitting the headboard, before he slaps at the
drawer next to his bed. At the back of it, shoved as far as it could go, is the Rubik’s cube Regulus
got him. James solves it in record time, and then he’s just lying on his bed, on his back, smiling
like a child on Christmas morning and listening to Edith Piaf sing about love.

James is happy.

The war is over. Regulus loves him. They’re going to be okay.

A sharp knock on the door is all the warning he gets before Lily’s head is poking in. He knows it’s
her by her voice, because he can’t see anything yet. His glasses are somewhere on his nightstand.
“James, are you awake?”

Sitting up, James rubs his knuckles over his eyes and puts on his glasses. Lily looks tired and pale.
It tugs at a string on his chest with a bit of worry, dampening his good mood slightly. “Yes. Come
in. What’s wrong?”

“I received a note from St. Mungo’s,” Lily tells him, stepping inside. “They need me to go back in.
There was something in the tests they run after the battle.”

His heart lurches in his chest, propelling him from the bed. “Did they say what? Do you feel
unwell?”

In two strides, he’s crossed the room to stand right in front of Lily, scanning her face carefully as
though it’ll tell him what’s wrong with her. Lily pinches her eyes closed. “I just feel quite tired all
the time, even after sleeping well. I don’t know what it is, but Dora had to go back to school to do
her NEWTs and I was wondering if you’d come with me?”

“Yes,” James says immediately. “Of course. Let me throw some clothes on.”

“Thank you,” Lily replies, biting her lower lip. “I… I didn’t know who else to ask. Marls is
wallowing in misery over Dorcas, so I… just thank you.”

“Hey. Anytime, aright? That’s what friends are for,” James says gently. “Do you want me to get
Remus?”

“As if Sirius would let him get away from their flat,” Lily jokes, smiling for the first time since she
came to James’ room. “Nah. Leave them be. If it’s bad news then yes, we can call them.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” James says firmly. “That’s just not going to happen. We deserve
happiness, Lils. And we’re going to get it.”

Half an hour later, James and Lily walk into the main building of St. Mungo’s hospital together. A
plump receptionist with a wonderfully kind smile checks her files and nods at Lily when she shows
her the letter from the hospital requiring her to visit them. She gives them directions and tells them
to walk up a flight of stairs then take two rights.
“Ask for healer Zander,” the receptionist says. “She’s lovely. She’ll take good care of you.”

They don’t talk as they find their way to this healer Zander person. James can tell from Lily’s
fidgeting that she’s nervous. Truthfully, he is, too. He’s not sure how they’ll cope if there are bad
news. A part of him is a little angry at whoever or whatever is up there watching over them.

A day. That’s all they got before something else popped up and isn’t that unfair? After everything
they’ve been through, they got a day of peace. Not even that, because with the meeting, and
Gideon throwing a tantrum, the happiness he’d found with Reg felt a little stilted.

Fortunately, they have plans to see each other this evening and James plans to make it so special
Regulus will forget about all the bad things that have happened to them. Perhaps James will take
him flying, if Regulus is okay with holding on to him. If not, he supposes they can fly their own
brooms together.

But if Lily is sick… no. No. She can’t be.

James just wants everyone to be happy at the same time for once. Is that too much to ask for?

When they turn the corner—the second right, per the receptionist’s instructions—James frowns.
This hall is decked with drawings very obviously made by children. On the waiting chairs lining
the walls, there are a lot of pregnant people and babies.

“What the—” Lily mutters before she’s interrupted by a nurse that comes bustling out of a door.

“Hello, do you have an appointment?” he asks Lily.

Slowly, like she’s expecting someone to tell her she’s in the wrong place, Lily says, “I’m here to
see a healer Zander?”

“What’s your name, dear?” the nurse asks.

“Evans. Lily Evans.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding down at a clipboard he’s been holding the entire time. For some reason,
James feels a little out of it. There’s a prickle in the back of his brain, and his mouth is dry, but for
the sake of his sanity, he’s refusing to consider why that might be. “Yes, come with me.”

And then, the nurse glances at James, opens his mouth, but decides at the last minute to close it
again.

James thinks he’s going to faint.

Both he and Lily look downright terrified as they’re led through a door and into an office where a
tall, slender woman with dark skin and a truly impressive afro smiles at them. “Miss Evans, I’m
healer Zander,” she says brightly. “Please, take a seat.”

“I don’t understand,” Lily says immediately.

“Hmm,” Zander mumbles, scanning the files on her desk quickly before looking up at Lily, then at
James. She seems to take in how uncomfortable they both are, because she takes a deep, slow
breath and says, “I understand you were both at the battle that ended the war?”

This immediately makes James feel better. If it’s got to do with the battle, then it’s fine. This is all
fine. There’s nothing to worry about. Lily seems to relax a bit, too, because she says rather calmly,
“yes. We both were. I was checked by a healer afterwards and then you sent me this letter?”

She slides it towards Zander over the desk, who doesn’t even look at it before leaning forward,
clasping her hands together. There’s a nice, large ring with a pink stone on her middle finger that
catches the light when she moves.

“The healer that did your check picked up on something that we’d like to confirm,” Zander
explains. “All it takes is one quick test, right here. Is that alright with you?”

“What something?” Lily asks, frowning. “Is it… is it bad? Am I sick?”

James puts his hand on Lily’s shoulder and squeezes. Zander’s eye track that and soften when she
sees the gesture. For some reason, that’s what prompts her to abandon caution because she smiles
at them tentatively and says,

“Not sick, no. We think you might be pregnant.”

The first thing that crosses James’ mind is that it should be Pandora here with Lily and not him.
Then, terrifyingly, his brain catches up with the fact that it’s not actually possible for Pandora to
have got Lily pregnant which means…

James makes a strangled sort of noise involuntarily. His heart is in the back of his throat, and he’s
pretty certain he’s a second away from passing out. In fact, there are black dots spotting his vision,
so he has to blink rather furiously to clear them.

When he regains his wits—barely—he takes in Lily’s state. She’s shaking violently, a hand clasped
over her mouth, and James knows he has to pull through for her. He has to keep it together for Lily
because if he crumbles then who’s going to support her?

Clearing his throat, James gently tugs Lily into a hug. She resists him at first, but he doesn’t let up
and then she comes. Curls into his chest and whispers, “This can’t be happening. I’m so sorry,
James. I thought I was careful. I took the potion. I mean… How can it… it was just once! I
haven’t… Oh fuck. This wasn’t—”

“Hey,” James whispers. “It’s alright. Okay, breathe. We’ll figure it out. It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lily says again. “Shit. I can’t—oh my God.”

“This test,” James says, looking at Zander. “Will it confirm it without a doubt?”

“Yes,” Zander says quickly. “It’s rather simple. Painless. Look, I can see that this wasn’t
something you planned… and it can be a bit of a shock. But you have options. Let’s make sure we
are right about this first, and then we can discuss what to do.”

This seems to get through to Lily, who nods before letting go of James to look at the healer. With
trembling hands, she wipes an errant tear from her cheek and says, “Do the test.”

It’s rather simple, like Zander said. They sit by the desk, and Zander prickles Lily’s index finger to
get a drop of blood that she puts on a glass slide. Then, the healer mixes Lily’s blood with a drop of
some potion and waits. It takes five minutes. The longest five minutes of James’ life, and Lily’s by
the looks of it.

The entire time they’re waiting, Lily’s fingers—which became interlaced with James’ at some
point, he can’t remember—squeeze him so tight the bones of his hands grind. He doesn’t let go.
Doesn’t comment. They’re both terrified, because if that mixture turns up blue, it means they’re
having a baby. If it turns red, it means they’re not.

“What if it’s blue?” Lily asks, voice quiet.

James swallows. He only just got Regulus back. This would change things. If he became a father…
would Regulus even still want him? James doesn’t know if Regulus even likes children, let alone
whether he’d be willing to be around one regularly. It’s a lot to ask of him. Regulus deserves better.
Freedom to do whatever he wants to do without being shackled to someone who has to keep track
of sleep schedules and nappies and whatnot.

Oh fuck.

What would his parents say? They’d tell him off for being so careless. So stupid. But they’d be
brilliant grandparents, James thinks. They’re still young. They always wanted more children,
James knows, but his mother wouldn’t have survived another pregnancy. Effie and Monty would
help. James is certain of this, and that makes him feel a little less panicked. They have a solid
support system... family and friends. But shit.

Shit.

“I don’t know,” James whispers. Then, squeezing Lily’s hand, “I’ll support you no matter what.”

“Would you want to have it? To… keep it?” Lily asks him, face pale and sweaty. “Or would you…
would you want to not have it?”

James closes his eyes. Tries to think about it. Really think about it. He finds that he maybe wants
this. Well, not this. Not really. Not with Lily, because they’re not in love, not together, not even old
enough to know how to raise a child.

This wasn’t planned. It’s an accident, and there’s no point pretending otherwise. They’re both in
relationships with other people and neither of them were looking for a baby or want to have to
figure out co-parenting schedules or anything like that. They’re nineteen years old. Too young. Still
healing from a war that ended only two days ago.

This is bonkers, James thinks.

Absolutely, one hundred percent bonkers.

But… he’s always wanted to be a father one day. And if James pictures a baby that has a bit of him
in them… well. He can’t pretend his heart doesn’t melt just a little.

“The choice is yours, Lily,” James says firmly. “It’s your body that has to grow a baby if it’s in
there. But I… I’ve always wanted to be a dad. Not like this, I’ll admit. This is… uh… not ideal. But
if that test is blue and you want to have the baby, we’ll figure it out. We’ll find a way to make it
work. I promise.”

Kissing her teeth, Lily nods. Keeps nodding, like she’s convincing herself. “I think… Oh, Godric.
What is Dora going to think?”
“Dora? I think she’ll be great about it. Understanding and supportive. She’ll make a great mum,”
James says honestly. “Regulus? Not so much. Can you honestly imagine him holding a baby?”

Lily groans and it’s so heartfelt, so profound, that James giggles. And then they’re both laughing
hysterically, which James realises is just a response to the stress and the fear, but still. They laugh
and laugh and the rest of the minutes run out.

Healer Zander clears her throat, and both James and Lily’s head snap forward at the same time.
James takes in a deep breath to steady himself. Looks down.

Blue.

James and Lily are having a baby.

####

Interlude: Sirius’ POV

“I think it’ll look better if you have the tower first, on this side, and then the stars right here,” Sirius
says, moving the different drawings around to show Regulus what he means. “Feels more
organic?”

“Right,” Regulus says, bending over the scattered paper to analyse this latest suggestion. “But then
where does the dagger go?”

Sirius chews the inside of his cheek as he thinks about it. This is nice, he has to admit. Regulus’
idea that they work on something together was genius. He’s always been a smart one, his little
brother.

Four hours ago, when Sirius walked into Grimmauld Place for the first day of their ‘Black
brother’s bonding’ operation, as he’s dubbed it—no one tell Regulus this, please—he was nervous.
Every single inch of his skin felt too tight over his body, and his insides squirmed like worms
wiggling out of the earth.

It pissed him off, if he’s honest. Made him want to kill Walburga all over again. Because who gets
that anxious over spending a morning with their brother? It shouldn’t be such a big deal. The fact
that it is is her fault. But she’s dead now, and they’re free.

They’re trying.

Surprisingly, it was much easier than Sirius anticipated. It turns out that by having something to
focus on, something to keep their hands busy, there was less room for awkward and stilted. And so
for the past four hours, they’ve talked over blank sheets of paper and stained their fingers with
charcoal. With their eyes trained on their drawings instead of on each other, things flowed much
better than they ever have before.

They’re a long way from being okay, but they’re trying. And they’ve got time. All the time in the
world. This time around, it’s true.

“What if I put it here?” Regulus asks, turning his arm to show Sirius.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah. That’s actually very good. It brings both sides of it together, so it
feels cohesive. I like it.”

They smile at each other. This is also new. It makes Sirius feel like crying, but in a good way. He
doesn’t, of course, because Regulus would freak out about it. But yeah.

“I need a break,” Sirius says, getting up from the chair and groaning as he rolls his shoulders back.

Regulus looks at him with raised eyebrows and mutters, “Someone’s getting old,” under his breath,
but he too stands. They drift over to the window, throwing it open because it’s almost summer and
the early afternoon air is warm and smells of grass and flowers. Kreacher is in the garden.

“Do you think James will like it?” Regulus asks, eyes carefully trained on the house elf as he takes
a drag of his cigarette.

“He’s going to have a heart attack,” Sirius replies. He has no doubt that James will lose his mind
when he finds out what Regulus has planned. “What did you think of his?”

“What?” Regulus’s head swivels around, mouth open. “He’s got a tattoo?”

Frowning, Sirius purses his lips. Didn’t he and Moony catch them making out in the drawing room
yesterday? Granted, Sirius didn’t think they fucked in there (he hopes, or he’ll have to murder
James and he’d really rather not), but surely Regulus saw James’ ink?

“I’m confused,” Sirius says carefully. “But also, wildly uncomfortable. I don’t want to talk about
you and James doing… stuff.”

“Oh,” Regulus mutters, looking away. “None of that. Not yet. Just kissing.”

Sirius stills, a trickle of guilt jabbing at his heart. “Because of the cave?”

Regulus doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. The way his lips thin and the look in his eyes
hardens is enough for Sirius. Swallowing past the lump in the back of his throat takes more effort
than it should. Sirius pinches his eyes closed, pursing his lips as he searches for the right words.

How does he say this?

“Don’t,” Regulus cuts in, like he can tell what Sirius is thinking. “Not your fault.”

“Feels like it,” Sirius admits with a deep sigh. “I was late. Should have been there sooner.”

“Tu m'as sauvé la vie ce jour-là,” Regulus says firmly, stubbing his cigarette against the outside of
the windowsill aggressively. “And I will sort this out, by the way. I will be fucking James again
soon enough.”

Sirius throws his arms up in outrage, groaning loudly. “Please, don’t say shit like that. It takes
years off my life.”

“You brought it up,” Regulus says casually.

That is, unfortunately, true. Sirius shrugs, flicks his cigarette butt away then turns back to the table
where their sketches are. It’s good work. It needs some polishing, because they’re both out of
practice, but definitely usable by a proper artist so they can turn it into what Regulus wants.

Primly, Regulus gathers the papers in a neat pile and puts them in a folder that he shrinks with a
flick of his wand to slide into the pocket of his jeans. He’s in muggle clothes again, and Sirius
suspects it’s on purpose. Regulus feels more like Reggie and less like Lord Black when he’s not in
wizard’s garb. Sirius likes it.

“Are you hungry?” Regulus asks, tilting his head to the side to look at Sirius through his curls.
“I thought you said you were taking me somewhere?”

“Yes,” Regulus replies. “I have something I want to show you. But we can stop to eat on the way
or not. Up to you.”

“Alright. Yes. I could use—” He’s interrupted by James’ voice floating out of his pocket, where
he’s got the mirror stashed away. “Pads? Are you there?”

Regulus watches with badly disguised interest as Sirius pulls the mirror out. James’ face crowds the
frame. He always holds it way too close. Sirius has tried and failed to tell him not to, but James is
James and he’ll continue to get carried away no matter what.

“You alright?” Sirius asks, taking in the slightly wild glean in his eyes.

“Yes,” James says. “Yes. Alright. All good. Excellent. Uhm, are you with Reg?”

“Hello James,” Regulus says, raising his voice slightly so it carries to the mirror.

“Reg! Hi,” James shouts. Sirius blinks, holding the mirror further away from him to preserve his
ears. “Look, I’m so sorry but I can’t see you today. I have a… a family emergency.”

“What?” Sirius asks, heart vaulting into his throat immediately. “Effie? Monty? What’s wrong?”

Regulus has also moved to stand closer to Sirius so that he can see the mirror and, therefore, James.
There’s tightness around his jaw, and before he puts his hand in his pocket, Sirius catches a twitch
of Regulus’ fingers that betrays his anxiety.

“No. They’re fine,” James says hurriedly. “Everyone’s fine. It’s just…” He pauses, smacks his
lips. “I just need the day. Is that alright? I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay? I’ll come by
tomorrow evening instead.”

“Sure,” Regulus says, though he sounds rather stiff. James doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, James.
Tomorrow.”

“Okay, good,” James replies. He looks to the side and whatever he sees there distracts him. “Right.
I’ll ehm, yeah, see you tomorrow.”

And that’s it. He puts the mirror away and as abruptly as the call came it ends. For a confused
second, Sirius stares at his own reflection, his brother behind him half-in and half-out of the frame.
Sliding the mirror back into his pocket, Sirius turns to face Regulus. He’s staring stonily ahead,
straight at the wall.

And Sirius is lost. He doesn’t know how to do this. Regulus is upset. Or, at least, Sirius thinks he
is. It’s a bit hard to tell with Regulus because he’s so good at masking his emotions at all times.
Still, Sirius understands some of his fears. They did grow up in the same house, after all. And if
Remus had done that to Sirius, he’d be panicking. Wondering what he did wrong or why James is
being a bit cagey—because that was definitely dodgy by James’ usually transparent standards—
and what it means.

“Reggie,” Sirius says tentatively. “It’s probably—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Regulus says immediately, cutting him off.

“Okay,” Sirius agrees. “No talking about it, then. Come on. I’m starving.”
“What?” Regulus blinks, finally turning to look at Sirius.

Spreading his arms dramatically, Sirius groans, “Well, you promised me food, and my stomach
heard you. So, are we going or not?”

Regulus narrows his eyes at him and, absurdly, Sirius feels caught. Admittedly, he’s no idea if his
dramatics even work or if his friends just indulge him out of some secret marauder code of honour,
but still. The way Regulus is looking at him says he knows Sirius is trying to distract him.

Shockingly, after only a moment, Regulus nods however stiffly and says, “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.
There really is something I want to show you.”

****

Sirius is and has always been a rather verbose person.

What can he say? He just has flair. Talking back and mouthing off was always one of the ways in
which he could fight against his parents. Annoy them. Make them pay for the hell they put him
through. So, he learnt from a young age to be rather creative with his words. And sure, there are
things that are hard to say. Things that he struggles to talk about but even that he’s got better at
since Moony.

And yet, as he stands on the side of the road next to Regulus and gapes, Sirius cannot for the life of
him utter a sentence.

“So?” Regulus says, trying for haughty and petulant but failing to completely hide the tinge of
insecurity seeping into that single syllable.

Sirius just stares. He cannot move. Cannot think. Cannot words.

“Well, then,” Regulus says after a long, awkward pause, shifting his weight from one foot to the
other. “If you hate it, that’s fine. I can sell it. Yes, I should sell it. Let’s just go.”

Abruptly, Regulus turns and takes a step away. Sirius’ hand shoots out of its own accord and grabs
him. “Stop.”

His brain catches up with his actions, and Sirius remembers Regulus doesn’t like to be touched—
the cave—so he lets go quickly, blinking at his brother, then back at the scene in front of him.

“You… how did you… I just—” Sirius rubs his eyes, makes sure this isn’t a hallucination or a
trick. “How did you even know?”

“Well, your boyfriend did live in my manor for the better part of four months,” Regulus says,
scowling. “He wouldn’t shut up about you. I picked up a thing or two.”

“Why?” Sirius asks, absolutely baffled. The more he stands here and processes what he’s staring
at, the more overwhelmed he becomes.

Regulus has, apparently, bought a garage near his flat in Covent Garden. And as if that wasn’t in
and of itself ridiculous enough, he put a motorbike in the garage. A motorbike. Black, and shiny,
and so utterly gorgeous that Sirius fell instantly in love with it. And then, Regulus gestured vaguely
around and told Sirius it was his.

That’s when he lost the ability to speak for a little bit.

“Why not?” Regulus says, shrugging. “I’ve money. You like bikes.”

“Reggie, ne joue pas au plus fin avec moi.”

“Il s'agit d'un remerciement,” Regulus says. “Pour être venu quand j'avais besoin de toi.”

“I’m going to hug you and you’re going to deal with it,” Sirius announces, turning to look at his
brother with eyes that are stinging a bit.

Regulus stiffens, but he nods. Sirius approaches him like one might approach a spooked animal.
Carefully. Slowly. Moves deliberately so that Regulus sees him coming. Sirius was there. He
pulled Regulus out of the lake, so he remembers what it looked like. The inferi were grabby hands
and hooked limbs, taking, taking, taking.

This hug is giving. It’s thank you, brother, for trying. It’s mending broken pieces and working
through the shit they’ve got on their backs. It’s healing, little by little, day by day. It’s
understanding that things won’t be this good every day, but they will also not be just bad.

Sirius’ arms around Regulus are gentle. Protective and caring. He doesn’t grab, keeps his hands
open, pressed against Regulus’ back. Regulus is still and tense, but slowly begins to melt into it.
There’s a small sigh, and then Reggie’s arms come up, too. They curl around Sirius’ torso and
stay.

They will fight again. Bicker and shout at each other. Regulus will mock him and point out how
stupid he is. Sirius will get angry at Regulus’ meanness. They’ll probably blow up and dig up shit
they shouldn’t. Sirius left. Regulus stayed. They have loved each other and hated each other
simultaneously for so long that there’ll always be a little bit of both in whatever they do next.

But Sirius knows it’s okay. Siblings fight. They hurt each other. But they always find their way
back. It seemed impossible once. Sirius remembers fights in the corridors of Hogwarts, words
thrown like arrows, cruel smiles and cutting glares. If anyone had told him then that he’d be
hugging his brother on the streets of London one day, he would have thought them mad.

And yet.

They’re here.

Together.

Trying.

****

“Moony!” Sirius calls excitedly as the door swings shut behind him with a loud bang. “Moony?”

“Hi,” Remus says, poking his head out of the kitchen door. He’s making something, judging from
the smell. Grilled cheese, if Sirius had to guess. “How was your day with Reg?”

“I fell in love,” Sirius declares very seriously (he he). “She’s the most gorgeous, the most amazing,
the shiniest, she’s everything Moony. I want you to meet her.”

Sirius comes up to his boyfriend practically vibrating with excitement, a smile so wide on his face
his eyes are squinting a little. Remus looks away from him for a moment—presumably to turn off
the pan or whatever—then steps out to meet Sirius halfway.
“You better be talking about some sort of pet,” Remus says with that wicked glint in his eye that
makes Sirius’ insides melt and his dick pay attention. “Or else.”

“Hmmm,” Sirius says, throwing his arms around Remus’ neck. “Are you jealous?”

“Depends,” Remus mutters, dipping his face to bite Sirius’ neck. “Who is she?”

Sirius makes a needy sound at the feeling of Remus’ teeth on his skin, but his excitement is too
great to be deterred. Slipping out from Remus’ grasp, he tugs on his hand and drags him to the
door.

“Let’s go meet her!” Sirius insists.

He never took off his shoes, but he has to wait for Remus to slip his feet into his. Impatient, Sirius
fidgets the entire time until he can take hold of his boyfriend again and then he’s tugging him
down the stairs and out on the street. Remus looks a bit wary, but mostly just amused by Sirius’
antics as he follows him down the road and turns the corner.

Sirius only lets go of Remus’ hand when he’s standing in front of the garage so he can open it.
Quite literally thrumming with anticipation, he jumps in to stand right next to the bike, spreads his
arms wide and says, “Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Remus stares at the bike, then at him, then at the bike again. Sirius can’t stand it. He wants Remus
to like this bike very badly, because Sirius loves her, and what he loves Remus should love, too.
So, Sirius throws a leg over it and sits on his bike—his bike!—and looks at his boyfriend again.

“Well?” Sirius asks, shaking his head a little bit to indicate he really, really needs Remus to give
some sort of verdict.

A slow smile spreads over Remus’ face, which Sirius thinks is a very good sign, but then he leans
over, hits the button to close the garage door again, and stalks closer to Sirius with a look that
makes him wonder if he’s about to watch the bike be destroyed for how dangerous it is.

“What—what are you doing?” Sirius asks, suddenly nervous but also alarmingly aroused. He’s
always liked dark, dangerous-looking Remus. Sue him.

Remus comes to a stop next to him, grabs Sirius’ by the chin, and brings his mouth close enough
that when he speaks, Sirius feels his lips grazing his. “Apparently, I have a bike kink.”

Then, they’re kissing. Sirius has to focus to not topple over—because he’s still sitting on the bike
—but it’s hard because Remus is kissing him within an inch of his life. Without warning, Remus
picks Sirius’ up, just lifts him up from the bike, and walks them both until Sirius’ back hits a wall.

Sirius is going to pass out from how hot this whole thing is. Everything inside of him is burning,
liquid fire licking his every nerve ending. Remus is... just. Hottest man alive. Sirius cannot believe
he’s his. Well, he can, because he’s pinning him to a wall rather deliciously, but it’s the whole idea
of it all. That someone like Remus Lupin continues to choose broken, messed up, Sirius Black over
and over again.

“I will figure out a way to fuck you on that bike,” Remus says, mouth trailing kisses over Sirius’
jaw. “For now, I’ll settle for next to it.”

“I knew you were going to love her,” Sirius replies, eyes rolling into his head when Remus bites
him again.
“Stop talking,” Remus grunts roughly, pulling Sirius’ t-shirt up over his head.

Sirius forces his eyes open because he likes watching Remus watching him. The way his eyes
darken as he traces the lines of the tattoos on his body. Sometimes, he will lick them which makes
Sirius feel like he’s ascended to an astral plane and will never come back to earth. Good with him,
by the way. He’s not complaining.

But today Sirius really wants to make Moony feel good. He’s so happy. Full of hope and genuine
joy. Sirius wants to share that. To make Moony feel it, too. The months that they were apart were
some of the hardest of his life, and Sirius is still not over the shock of having him back. He’s not
taking Remus for granted. Not that he ever did, but he now knows what it feels like to wake up
alone, wondering if Moony is okay or not, unable to go to his side. It pumps a new sort of
determination through Sirius’ veins.

After some grappling and yanking at clothes, some pushing and tugging and general manoeuvring,
Sirius manages to climb down to his feet and then press Remus against the wall firmly. Blinking
fast like he’s not sure how this happened, Remus surges forward to gain the upper hand again but
Sirius is ready for him and puts one hand on his chest.

“No,” Sirius growls. “Stay there and let me do this.”

When he drops to his knees, Remus stops fighting him, a content hum leaving his lips. Sirius takes
Remus’ in his mouth, closing his eyes for a moment to appreciate the fact that they’re here. They
can do this whenever they want, as often as they want, for any reason. And that’s… fuck. After
everything they’ve been through, that’s worth celebrating.

As Sirius works, head bobbing up and down on Remus, doing the things he knows his boyfriend
likes most, Moony threads his fingers through his hair, waiting. They tighten, then relax, then
tighten again. Sirius knows Remus is fighting with himself. Trying to keep himself in check until
Sirius gives his permission.

Eyes fluttering open, Sirius looks up at his boyfriend. Fuck. He’s so in love with him. Remus is the
most beautiful human being Sirius has ever seen. Strong and brave and ruthless and his. His.

Remus’ gaze finds him, and Sirius nods a little, letting Remus know it’s okay. He can let go, do
what he wants to do, because Sirius loves it, loves him, and this is theirs. With a groan, Remus’ hip
snap out of the grip he’s kept them in, and then Sirius lets him take control, and lets go.

When Remus gets off, he pulls Sirius up, into his chest. Cradles him gently, kissing him and
running his hands over his face, his hair. “I fucking love you,” Remus says, hand sneaking down to
where Sirius is still hard and aching. “What do you want?”

Sirius’ eyes flutter closed as Remus’ fingers close around him. Truth be told, he just wants Remus.
Any way he can get him. It’s all so good, always. “Just this,” Sirius whispers, turning his face into
the crook of Remus’ neck. “Like this.”

Remus understands. He always does. He holds Sirius, keeps him close, so close, the closest they
can possibly be. And Sirius drinks it all in. Remus’ arm around him, his lips on Sirius’ temple,
running close to his ears, his words, soft and sweet and lovely. It doesn’t take long at all for Sirius
to get off too, not when Remus is everywhere all at once. Loving him without reservations, without
conditions. Just as they are. Just as they need.

Afterwards, they go for a ride on the bike. It’s even better than when he went on a test-ride with
Regulus, because Remus isn’t afraid and doesn’t yell at Sirius about his reckless driving. Remus
simply shakes his head, chuckling darkly with his chin resting on Sirius’ shoulder.

That night, they eat grilled cheese toasties and smoke while listening to a Bowie record. They kiss
on the sofa until they’re both panting and a tad desperate, then they get up and move to the
bedroom, where they fall into bed in a tangle of limbs and tongues and breath. Naked and sweaty
and young and unafraid.

####

“What happened to you?” Barty asks, raising an eyebrow as Regulus walks into the living room of
Grimmauld Place to find him and Evan curled up on the sofa together looking cosy as hell.

“Huh?” Regulus frowns. “Where’s Dorcas?”

“Left with Marlene while you were still holed up with Sirius,” Evan says, smiling. “They said to
tell you you’re expected for dinner tomorrow at seven. They also warned you not to be early.
Apparently, they’ll be busy.”

Evan wiggles his eyebrows and Barty giggles like a schoolgirl, which makes Regulus rolls his
eyes. That must mean that they’ve sorted it out, Regulus thinks. It’s rather unsettling, how all the
pieces of the puzzle that is his life seem to be falling into place. Taking out a cigarette for himself
and one for Barty—that he throws for his friend to catch out of the air—Regulus leans on the
windowsill.

It’s late now. Dark outside, but a clear night. He can see the stars through the window, and the
moon. It’ll be full in a couple of days, but Remus now has Black Manor and the surrounding forests
for that. They’re working on setting up perimeter wards so the wolves don’t run too far and so that
no muggles accidentally wander too close to the sanctuary.

“You didn’t answer me,” Barty says. “Where did you go? You look like you just got off a broom.”

Rolling his eyes again, because he genuinely feels like he’s back in the Slytherin dorms with these
two, Regulus mutters, “Sirius drives like he’s being chased by demons.”

“That clarifies absolutely nothing. Thank you,” Barty snorts a half-laugh, shaking his head.

Evan smiles fondly before looking at Regulus in a way that makes him want to run from the room
screaming. He’d been hoping to avoid this, but apparently his friends aren’t going to let him off the
hook. Regulus mournfully remembers how nobody tried to talk about feelings with him when he
was an evil Death Eater and wonders if he should keep carrying his dagger around.

“Reg,” Evan says. “I know you don’t like it, but I’m going to say it anyway. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Barty adds, grinning. “We won’t make a big deal of it, but…” He clears his throat. “Well,
we owe everything to you.”

Regulus shifts his weight, looks away. Nods stiffly. Evan disentangles himself from Barty and
crosses the room, coming to stand as close as he dares to Regulus. He’s got no choice but to look at
him.

“I won’t do it but know that I would hug you if you weren’t you,” Evan says, smirking a little.

“I appreciate you keeping your hands to yourself,” Regulus says primly. Cocking his head to the
side, he gives Evan a quick once-over. “You feel alright, then?”
“We already fucked,” Barty announces from the sofa, looking extremely pleased with himself.
“Several times. So, I’d say he’s feeling fantastic.”

“That’s my room you were in,” Regulus deadpans, though he really doesn’t care. It’s not like he
uses it anymore.

“Yeah,” Evan says, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Which is why we’re moving out,
tomorrow. We’re ehm… very grateful, but we thought you’d like the house to yourself again.”

“And James,” Barty adds. “You’re not going to go to Potter Manor, are you? I can’t see you living
with your in-laws.”

It’s a casual, throw-away kind of comment but it makes Regulus panic immediately. He hasn’t got
as far as to think about their living together arrangements yet. He’s been busy. What with that
Order meeting, and his demands, and helping Remus set up the sanctuary, and mending his
relationship with his brother and winning his boyfriend back. There’s been no time to even consider
that.

Should he have? Is James expecting him to have a plan already?

Surely not. James knows they have issues. Regulus needs time so he can work on the touching
thing. He’s alright with careful contact with his clothes on, but he’s not yet sure how or if he can
handle skin-to-skin. How is he going to move in to live with James if he can’t stand to be that close
to him? It would only drive them both insane and make them fight.

Regulus knows he doesn’t want to fight with James ever again. For any reason. Thank you.

“He’s panicking,” Barty notes, sliding off the sofa and coming to stand next to Evan. “Shouldn’t
have asked him that. Too soon.”

“Shut up,” Regulus snaps. “Where are you guys moving?”

“Rosier Manor,” Evan tells him proudly. “Needs a good overhaul, but it’ll give us something to do
while we figure out what’s next.”

“As if you need a job,” Barty snorts.

Evan shrugs, then looks at Regulus. “Are you thinking of working somewhere? Or is being Lord
Black your main occupation now?”

This, Regulus has thought about. He doesn’t need money, but his mind needs focus. Needs
challenge. Something to do. He cannot be idle for the rest of his life or he’ll drive himself mad.
Possibly start murdering people again. Definitely not something James would be happy about. So,
yes. Regulus knows what he wants to do.

“I’m definitely going to be doing something,” Regulus says sincerely. “I’d be bored out of my mind
otherwise.”

“The Wizengamot?” Barty asks, wrinkling his nose.

Regulus shakes his head, leans back on the wall. “No. Sirius was always better at sweet talking
people than I am. He’s thinking about it, now that I’m writing him back into the House.”

“Sirius? Your brother? A politician?” Evan asks, blinking violently.

 Next to him, Barty’s lips twist into an amused sort of half-grin. “Actually, I can see that. He’ll
drive all the traditionalists insane and push for actual change. Besides, his boyfriend is a freaking
werewolf. Someone has to push for their rights.”

“That sounds scarily similar to what Sirius said when I suggested it to him,” Regulus admits,
mildly impressed with Barty’s observations.

“Yes, but can you imagine Sirius in those stuffy robes they have to wear?” Evan asks, sounding
downright horrified. “No leather jackets in the Wizengamot meetings.”

“For now,” Regulus and Barty say at the same time before they all start laughing.

When they calm down, Regulus asks Kreacher for some food and they eat together. He’s still a bit
peeved that James cancelled on him, but spending the afternoon with Sirius made him feel a bit
better and he’s determined to be mature about this. If James says he has a family emergency,
Regulus will believe him.

Besides, truth be told, Regulus owed this time to Barty and Evan. Specially Barty. He stuck by him
through thick and thin. Dorcas has always been and will always be special, but Barty is Regulus’
first friend. A little insane. Very loyal. Regulus thinks he’s the kind of person that will be in his life
forever and he finds that’s quite grateful about that.

Chapter End Notes

French translations:

"You saved my life that day," Regulus says firmly, stubbing his cigarette against the
outside of the windowsill aggressively. “And I will sort this out, by the way. I will be
fucking James again soon enough.”

"Reggie, don't play dumb with me."

"This is a thank you," Regulus says. "For coming when I needed you."

####

OKAY! OMG

Not Gideon attempting to convince James he's better off without Reg. SIR? THESE
TWO MEN ARE SOULMATES PLS GIVE IT UP
Reg getting violent is brilliant BUT JAMES IMMEDIATELY LOSING HIS SHIT
WHEN GID TOUCHED REG!? I AM UNWELL
And Reg panicking because James' parents are around? He's so adorable PLS

Marlene getting TOLD Reg really said "Stop being a little bitch" and you know
what? VALID. Dorcas is a queen and she deserves EVERYTHING

ROSEKILLER REUNION
Barty breaking down broke my heart and then healed it again. Like... that man was
fighting for his life every day for the past month and being a good friend and like
helping with the war all the while dying inside because Evan was in a coma I love
Rosekiller so much
RIGHT. Well. Here we are. We're having a baby. THE DRAMA of this whole
situation is sending me But also - James is correct that they have a huge support
system. There are so many people around them and yes, they're super young and this is
unplanned but like... it happened ♀️
ALSO, I WILL NOT DRAG THIS OUT REG FINDS OUT IN THE NEXT
CHAPTER AND THINGS ARE DISCUSSED AND PLANS ARE MADE

Then Black Brothers Bonding? Like... OMG they're so cute? And so awkward? UGH I
LOVE THEM YOUR HONOUR
Reg finding out James has a tattoo
And planning to get one himself!!!!!

THE BIKE Sirius absolutely losing it was so precious. He was like 'I'm going to
hug you and please allow it because otherwise I will pass away'

NOT REMUS 'I have a bike kink now' LUPIN SIR!? Can you stop being horny for
one (1) minute? Apparently not. TBH he's valid because his boyfriend is Sirius
'Leather jackets, tattoos and attitude' Black...

And finally... a little Slytherin Skittles reunion because I've missed them. I know
Dorcas and Pan weren't there, but still

IMPORTANT NOTE: I am not cheating you out of the Dorlene reunion. You get a
Dorcas POV in the next chapter and get to see exactly how that went down in full

How are we feeling? Come yell at me in the comments section

I love you all so so so much! I'm feeling a bit emotional over the fact we're 4 chapters
from 'THE END' You've made a difficult time so so so much better for me with
your support and comments and love. I can never thank you enough

Next update Thursday

 Trying Together
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

So, rather unexpectedly, my plans changed and I am not going to be able to publish
tomorrow, so surprise you get Reg's reaction, Dorlene reconciliation and some
Jegulus smut a day early I thought you'd prefer that than having to wait until Friday

TWs for this one:

Discussions about pregnancy & choices
Sex
Depictions of panic attacks
Depictions of dissociation
Depitcions of PTSD
References to drug addiction (sleeping draughts)

I think that's it? We are in the happy era and it shows! If I missed anything, let me
know

If you wish to skip the sex:

First scene: stop reading when Regulus says 'I can help with that' and resume reading
at the next scene break (###)
Second scene: stop reading when James says 'Tell me what to do' and resume when
Reg says 'Me too'

Enjoy!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Taking a fortifying breath and focusing hard to stay calm, Regulus holds his left arm still for the
man with the gun. He’s very handsome, which helps because it’s distracting Regulus from the fact
that he’ll have to endure his touch for several hours if he’s going to get this done.

The tattoo parlour is ‘closed for personal reasons’ today. Regulus is trying to leave his
manipulative ways behind, but he wasn’t willing to wait weeks for an appointment. He has
standards and a magic wand. He’s alone here with the headlining artists, who is according to
Regulus and Sirius’ research, the best there is.

Wrinkling his nose a little bit, he eyes the dark mark on Regulus’ arm. “Who did you say did this
one?”

“I didn’t say,” Regulus replies primly. “It’s none of your business.”

“Fair enough,” he says, shrugging.

The full design that Regulus and Sirius worked on all day yesterday is spread on a side table next
to them so that he can look at it for reference. He’s already transferred the lines to Regulus’ skin
with some muggle technique he’s not bothered to learn anything about.
“If it gets too much, you let me know,” the artist says, starting his gun. It makes a buzzing sort of
noise that’s not entirely unpleasant.

“Sure,” Regulus says, as if a little ink being punched into his skin could ever compare to the kind
of pain Regulus has known. Still, the guy’s a muggle. Not his fault he’s no idea who Regulus is or
what he’s done.

When he puts his hand on Regulus’ arm to steady himself, Regulus has to grind his teeth to stop
himself from flinching. But he’s stubborn, and he’s going to get through this. He wants this tattoo
done. A carefully woven tapestry that will absorb the mark and make it part of a bigger story.
Action-man was right that there’s never getting rid of the skull and the snake, but that doesn’t
mean Regulus was going to just let it be.

After a few minutes, his body relaxes as it understands he’s not in danger, and this isn’t an undead
body in a lake. It’s a blond tattoo artist with nice brown eyes that’s working on Regulus’ arm with
impressive focus.

“Dorcas, are you there?”

“Reg?”

“Yes, hi. Can you talk?”

“Yeah. Marls’ still sleeping. Are you okay?”

“Just bored for the next few hours,” Regulus glances at his arm.

For a muggle, this would take several sessions spread over weeks. Fortunately for him, he’s a
wizard with very good healing skills and absolutely no qualms about modifying the artist’s
memory so he gets it all done in one go.

“Oh, wonderful,” Dorcas thinks rather cheerfully. “Then you have plenty of time to explain to my
why Sam and Emmeline barged in here last night to tell us we missed all the drama.”

“Ah,” Regulus pairs that with a twinge of amusement so Dorcas can feel it, too. “I stabbed the
action-man.”

“Regulus!”

“James slammed him onto a table.”

“You somehow made that sound dirty and it’s making me uncomfortable.”

“It was very hot.”

He feels a laugh through the link, then curious excitement. “Alright, then. Tell me everything.”

####

Absurdly, because he’s got quite literally nothing to do with this situation, James wishes Sirius was
here. It’s just that this is one of the most terrifying things he’s ever done, and he usually faces hard
situations side by side with Sirius.

This one, however, he’s facing side by side with Lily Evans. Which, as far as people to team up
with in the face of hardship goes, is rather good. Just not Sirius.
“James?” Effie asks, frowning as she looks from him to Lily, sitting next to him on the sofa.

They’ve agreed they need advice from ‘proper adults’ and given Lily’s difficult relationship with
her family, and how amazingly supportive Effie and Monty are generally about pretty much
everything, they both decided to tell them.

In principle, that was a great idea. But now James is staring at his parents and trying to find the
words to tell them he’s going to be a father by accident at nineteen and well. James really wishes
Sirius was here.

“Sorry,” James chokes out. He swallows. Lily’s leg presses into his, a show of camaraderie.
They’re in this together, even if they’re not together. Godric’s socks, this is going to be so fucking
awkward. “It’s just…. I don’t know where to start.”

“Are you in trouble?” asks Monty.

“Not really,” James replies, grateful to be asked direct questions. It helps. “I mean.” He glances at
Lily. She shakes her head minutely. “No. Not in trouble. But I need some help.”

“What’s wrong?” Effie asks kindly. “Is this about your family, dear?”

Lily blinks, then blushes. “No. No, they’re all alright as far as I know. This is… ehm… James and
I—”

Monty frowns, visibly confused by Lily’s mumbling but Effie tilts her head. She studies Lily for a
long moment before turning to James. “I was under the impression you were… that you had
feelings for Regulus Black.”

James feels his lungs seize up, squeeze, and sputter out a series of high-pitched coughs that are
quite embarrassing, but he cannot stop. His cheeks are on fire, but he’s never lied to his mother’s
face before and he’s not going to start now. So, even though it’ll only make this whole thing more
complicated and harder to explain, he bites the bullet.

“He’s my boyfriend,” James declares. “I think? I mean, we’re working on it, you know. We have
things to talk about. But, yes. He’s my boyfriend.”

Lily covers her mouth with her hand to hide a giggle and James thinks traitor at her because
honestly. Where’s the solidarity?

“Has something happened to him?” Monty asks with concern, leaning forward.

This is, admittedly, not what James was expecting. It’s not that he thought his parents wouldn’t be
alright with him having a boyfriend. They know about Sirius and Remus and have never given a
damn. But well. He’s just declared he’s dating the man responsible for bringing down Voldemort
through a complex plan that involved him going under cover and mass-murdering quite a lot of
people in the name of victory, so.

You know. He thought they’d be a bit more scandalised. Have some concerns, at least.

“Wait, so you don’t care?” James asks, glancing between them with furrowed brows. “That he’s…
I mean, Regulus.”

“I wouldn’t have picked someone so ruthless for you,” Effie says plainly. “But the heart wants
what it wants. And he risked everything to save your life. I hear he was willing to die to bring you
back. Who am I to stand in the way of that?”
“He makes you happy and keeps you safe, that’s good enough for me,” Monty adds with a shrug.

James stumbles forward and onto his mother’s arms before he even knows what he’s doing. She
hugs him immediately. Automatically. And then, James is sniffling and trying his best not to break
down because he still hasn’t told them about him and Lily and he has to because he’s going to be a
father and he has no idea what to do about it or how to even begin to wrap his head around that
fact.

Drawing back, he looks at Lily, takes a deep breath, and stands up. She comes next to him, and
James closes his eyes as he explains.

“During the war things got a bit rough and… well, ehm, Lily and I had a night together,” James
says, stumbling a little over his words because he’d rather never have to tell his parents about his
sex life but here he is. “And… I mean…”

“We’re pregnant,” Lily says, taking the hit for him. James is so grateful he opens his eyes to look
first at her, then at his parents. “I’m pregnant, and it’s James’ baby. We don’t know what to do.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, and then Effie is vaulting out of her armchair and taking Lily
into a huge hug. “Oh darling,” she says as Lily breaks down because Effie’s hugs have that power
over you. “It’s going to be okay.”

Heart galloping in his chest, James meets his father’s eye. Monty gets up, too, and clasps him on
the shoulder before pulling him into a hug of their own. “It’ll be alright, son.”

Once everyone’s emotions are a bit more settled—Rosly is called to bring tea and something to
munch on because big decisions shouldn’t be made on empty stomachs—Effie guides them
through their options. She’s kind and gentle and doesn’t say anything that healer Zander didn’t
already tell them, but she’s James’ mother. She’s family. She’s home.

When Effie says they’ll be alright no matter what they choose to do, James believes her. Judging
by how Lily begins to relax and stops holding herself so tightly James thought she might crack,
she’s believing her, too.

“Whatever you decide to do,” Effie says after they’ve reviewed all their options. “I think you need
to talk to your partners about it.”

“I’ve already written a note to ask for permission to visit Pandora at Hogwarts,” Lily mutters,
wiping a few tears from her eyes. “Oh my God, she’s still in school and I want to bring a baby into
her life. How’s that fair?”

“Well, as you say, it’s her life. Pandora has a choice in it. If you are having this baby, and I think
you are, from what we’ve talked about, she can choose if she wants to be a part of it or not,” Effie
says, then looks at James. “Same with Regulus.”

“Fuck,” James says, dropping his face into his hands.

“Language,” Monty admonishes, but it’s half-hearted at best.

“When are you going to see Pandora?” James asks Lily.

“I’m floo-ing into McGonagall’s office in about an hour,” Lily says, voice cracking with her nerves
and fear and general overwhelmed emotional state.

James takes her hand and squeezes it gently. “She’s going to be great about it, Lils. This is Pandora
we’re talking about. She probably already knows.”

Lily blinks at that, and then smiles, a wet sort of giggle bubbling up from her chest. “Well, that
would certainly make it easier to tell her.”

“At least you know she won’t be stabbing you over it,” James teases, and he’s only half-joking
when he says, “I’ll have to make sure Reg doesn’t have his dagger on him.”

“Or any quills,” Effie adds helpfully.

“Mum!” James says, indignant. “That was a joke!”

“Was it?” Monty asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s not going to stab me,” James informs them. Not again. “Dump me, maybe. But he won’t stab
me.”

And yet, James thinks to himself, that’s probably worse. He’d take being stabbed by Regulus over
being dumped any day. He only just got him back. After everything. All the pain and blood and
heartbreak. Tears and nightmares and desperate kisses that shouldn’t have been…

James has to trust that Regulus loves him enough to find a way to be okay with this.

If he isn’t, James doesn’t know what he’ll do.

****

Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the ability to do what’s right even when one is afraid to do it.
That’s what James tells himself as he stands outside the door to Grimmauld Place, pulse beating so
fast James is worried he’ll have a heart attack before he’s even made it inside.

Regulus opens the door and smiles shyly at James, like he wasn’t sure James would show. As
usual, it tugs at his heart, makes him want to surge forward and wrap Regulus in a hug. Keep him
there, in the cage of his arms, for the rest of his days.

He can’t do that for several reasons, the main one being Regulus has explicitly asked James not to
touch him. That’s going to make what’s coming harder, because if James could hold Regulus while
he tells him the news, it’d be harder for him to spiral into a fit of… rage? Jealousy? Sadness?

James doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but he’s prepared for the worst. After all, Regulus did
end a war for him. To save him. And James is repaying him by throwing a major curve ball at a
relationship that’s already fragile as is.

“Are you coming in?” Regulus asks after a moment when James shows no intention of moving.

Blinking, James nods. “Yes. Yes.”

Regulus moves out of the way to let him in. As he walks past him, James catches a hint of lavender
and smoke and wants to put his head through the wall in despair. He wants to avoid this. Not tell
Reg.

That’s not an option. James won’t do that to him. He deserves to know. Still, James wishes things
were different.

“Dorcas and Marlene invited us to dinner,” Regulus tells him. “Is that alright?”
“Huh?” James asks, distracted. Regulus frowns, leads him into a room that’s not the one they were
in last time. This is smaller, cosier.

“Dinner with Dorcas and Marlene. Do you mind?” Regulus asks.

“No,” James says robotically. “That’s… fine. But I—Reg, we need to talk.”

Regulus nods, pulling back the curtains to let some late afternoon light into the room. “Yes. I
know. We’re only expected a seven. We have some time. And we can talk more after.”

“No, I mean…” James runs a hand through his hair, pinches his eyes closed. Then, “Can I have a
cigarette?”

That is very clearly the wrong thing to say because Regulus freezes and James watches him shut
down. Reg is gone in an instant, and James is left alone in a tiny room in Grimmauld Place with
Lord Black. Beautiful as ever, but a lot less soft.

“You don’t smoke,” Regulus says with a pointed look. “What’s wrong?”

James sighs, looks at him helplessly, and something must show on his face because Regulus
scowls deeply but takes out his pack and throws a cigarette to James while bringing another one to
his own lips.

“I… can you light it for me?” James asks pathetically.

Regulus’ eyebrows shoot up, but he comes over and lights James’ cigarette, passing it back to him
when it’s burning. “Start talking.”

After a rather embarrassing coughing fit, James sits down and looks up at Regulus, who is standing
completely still. Smoke curls around him, fogging the air a little bit. Blurring the lines of him that
James knows so well.

“During the war,” James starts, voice heavy with too many things to name. “After the Ministry
attack, when we lost Mary, we were… things were bad. Very bad. And I—”

Sharply, Regulus cuts him off, “I don’t think I need to know this.”

Oh. He wishes it were so simple. James wishes he could just not. “I’m sorry,” James whispers,
desperate. “But you really do. I wouldn’t tell you if it wasn’t important.”

Regulus’ jaw tightens to the point James thinks he’ll hear a crack. He nods, eyes flashing with a
hard look James has never seen turned on him before. It’s quite scary, and even though James
knows Regulus would never truly hurt him—despite evidence to the contrary—he can see that
Regulus will push him away if he has to. Regulus is the sort of person who will always strike first.

“So,” James says. “Mary was dead. So was Fabian. And a lot of people. Remus was missing.
Things were very bleak.” He pauses, swallows. “And I slept with Lily.”

The lines of Regulus’ shoulders sharpen, like he’s poising to attack. His hands have curled into
loose fists at his sides. “It was better for all involved that I didn’t know that.”

Sensing danger, James decides to just say it. Rip the band-aid off. It tumbles out of his mouth in a
panic. “Lily’s pregnant. It’s my kid. We’re… we’re having a baby. Lily and I.”

Abruptly, Regulus turns away from James. He walks to the window, braces a hand on it, head bent
forward. With his other hand, he fishes a new cigarette out and lights it wordlessly. James has a
strange sense of deja-vu to the fight they had about their future. The one in the Come and Go
Room turned library when Regulus did the same. Turned away from him, leaned on the shelves.

“Reg, it was… we obviously didn’t—”

“Stop,” Regulus says. He sounds hoarse. “I get it. Just go, James.”

What? Like that? They need to talk about this, don’t they? But maybe Regulus needs time to
process the news. Maybe he can’t talk about it, not yet. Except James feels all kinds of wrong
leaving Regulus here like this.

After a few panicked moments of hesitation, James stands up, takes a few tentative steps until he’s
hovering behind Regulus. Not touching him, but close enough he could if he tried. “Reg, listen. I
know it’s not what we wanted but—”

“Don’t make it harder,” Regulus chokes out, and James’ heart seizes up and does a backwards flip
because Regulus is almost never not composed. “Just go. Please.”

“But we should talk about—”

“I said leave,” Regulus snarls, mean and vicious. Like an animal cornered.

And it hits James that Regulus is crying. Fuck. No. Just... Regulus hates showing weakness. He
wouldn’t be crying if he could help it, which tells James this has hit Regulus a lot harder than he
thought it would. Guilt thickens in the back of James' throat.

“Reg…”

“Go. Fucking go.”

Bewildered, James’ brain goes on overdrive. He’s got to figure this out. Of all the reactions he
expected, upset Regulus—upset to the point of crying—wasn’t really on the cards. He expected
some meanness, possibly. Regulus calling him stupid for not being more careful. He was prepared
for jealousy. Threats against Lily’s life, perhaps. A full murder plan, even. He was ready to beg for
Lily’s life, to talk Regulus down from a fit of anger. For tears? Not so much.

“Reg, listen to me, please,” James tries again. He’s always trying. He doesn’t know how to give
up, does he? “It was one time! We were so sad. I thought you didn’t love me. She was lonely. And
—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Regulus insists. “It’s done, and now there’s a fucking kid on the way. And
kids… they deserve good parents. So, there. Now, just leave me. I don’t want to see you.”

“But Reg—”

“What do you want? I’m not going to congratulate you so you can fuck right off.”

“I don’t want you to congratulate me. What the fuck, Reg? I want us to talk.”

“What is there to talk about!?”

Regulus still hasn’t looked at him, and it’s driving James insane. He can’t read him. Doesn’t know
what’s happening. Is he jealous? Is he upset their future has been thwarted by a baby? Is Regulus
breaking up with him? James doesn’t know, and it’s distressing him.
“Well, us.”

“There’s no us anymore, is there?” Regulus says bitterly. “She won. Maybe I should congratulate
her.”

It takes him a moment. An excruciatingly long moment to really process Regulus’ words. To make
sense of them and arrange them in his mind. To form a conclusion. But when he does, it hits James
like a freight train. So hard that James lets out a gasp that sounds a lot like ‘oh’ before he wedges
himself between Regulus and the wall, crouching to look up into Regulus’ face.

Tears run down his beautiful nose. His eyes are pinched closed, and there’s so much tension oozing
from his body that James wishes he could just wrap his arms around him. But he can’t, so he’ll
have to find words instead.

“Regulus? Whatever you think is happening here, it’s not that,” James says firmly, which is a little
hard when he’s in a half-crouch trying to coax his boyfriend into opening his eyes.

“Lily is pregnant, and it’s mine, and we’re going to have it because it’s not the baby’s fault we
were careless. But I want you. Still you. Just you. Also, Lily is with Pandora. She’s staying with
Pandora. Lily wants Pandora,” James swallows. “So, what I’m trying to say is that I want to be
with you, but you need to know that… well. There’s… there’s a kid now. So, I don’t know if
that… If you’ll still have me, even though I’m going to be a father.”

Regulus’ eyes snap open at that, and he startles at finding James crouched in the space between
him and the wall. He rears back, a little baffled before he blinks and regains his wits.

“You’re not leaving me?” Regulus asks, scowling.

“What? No!” James says, throwing his arms up in the air for emphasis. “I just got you back. I’m
not letting you go, not unless you ask me to.”

“Right,” Regulus says jerkily, quickly wiping his face with his hands like he’s embarrassed. He
steps back, looking around the room a bit wildly. “Right.”

“Hey,” James says, capturing his attention again. “Can I touch you?”

Regulus hesitates, then shakes his head no. “Not yet,” he says. “I just…” Regulus presses a hand
over his mouth, eyes wide. When he lowers it, he’s regained control. “I thought you were trying to
tell me you wanted to raise this kid with Lily. As in… you know. Together.”

“Yeah, no,” James says ruefully. “It’s not like that. It was never like that. We literally only had sex
because we were both miserable and like just happened to be home alone at night. She was already
gone for Pandora when it happened, and I’ve never not been gone for you.”

“But she’s… you know. She’s Lily Evans.”

“Look, Reg,” James starts. Stops. Thinks of how to word this properly. “I’m not going to lie to you
and tell you I regret it. I don’t. I wish we had never had to break up. I wish I’d never been in that
dark place, but I was. So, I wish it hadn’t happened, but I don’t regret that it did. She’s my friend,
and we needed some sort of outlet. We talked about it, that night.”

“I’m not sure I want to hear this part,” Regulus says sharply.

“You do. You need to, because I don’t want you to wonder. I don’t want you to doubt this. Us.”
Regulus nods.

“So, we talked. Lily came to me because Pandora had broken up with her and Mary had just died,
and she was a mess. And I’d been a mess for a while. We knew it wasn’t romantic, not that way. It
was… two friends who needed comfort and distraction during a very difficult time,” James
explains, hoping he’s making sense. Hoping Regulus can understand.

Regulus watches him closely, studying his expression, and James is grateful that he’s always been
transparent. That he has the worst poker face. Because he’s telling the truth, and he knows Regulus
can see it.

“It wasn’t like the others,” James adds, putting it all out there. Everything. “I knew it was Lily the
entire time. I thought of you, because I always did, but not… I didn’t pretend. I made a decision to
be with Lily that night, but not because I had feelings for her. I didn’t. And she didn’t have them
for me. We did it because we didn’t know how else to find solace. It was just the once, and the
next day we were friends all the same. It changed nothing between us.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Regulus mutters. “About her.”

“We hadn’t had time. I thought we’d have a… calmer opportunity to talk more. To go through
everything. Reg, you must know that I was always going to tell you. I just didn’t want to do it all at
once. I thought it would be too much,” James confesses. “But then this absolutely insane curve ball
got thrown our way.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t… that she doesn’t want to be with you?” Regulus asks.

“I’m sure. That night, before… before it happened, she said, and I quote, ‘I’m totally using you and
I’m giving you permission to use me.’ We both knew where we stood. She knew about you, and I
knew about Pandora.”

Slowly, Regulus steps a bit closer. James stays still. Waits for him to get comfortable. It takes a
few minutes, but Regulus works his way to James. He curls his arms around James’ waist and puts
his head on his chest, soft curls spilling over James’ t-shirt.

“Put your arms around me,” Regulus says, making it sound like a demand.

James does, holding him properly for the first time. It takes him back to easier days. Earlier days.
When they were in school and he had no idea what was coming. When Regulus was just a boy in
love with another boy and not a war hero who’d carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I’m so jealous,” Regulus confesses, pressing his face into James’ chest. “I’m so fucking jealous.”

“I love you,” James whispers against the crown of Regulus’ head. “And nothing can change that.”

“What are you… what now?”

“What do you mean?”

Regulus sighs. “I understand why it happened. I believe you. Everything you said. I hate it, but I
believe you. You’ve always been a terrible liar. But where does this… what does it mean for us?”

“Well,” James says carefully. “I want to be with you. But I am having a baby, Reg. And I
understand if you don’t want to deal with that. You’ve been through a lot. You deserve a chance to
make of life whatever you want, without responsibilities weighing you down.”
“And you don’t?”

“This is my… calling it a problem sounds harsh, but I guess, yes. It’s my problem. I was careless
and there’s a baby. It’s my mess, not yours.”

“Like I haven’t been cleaning up all you people’s messes for a year,” Regulus snorts. James’ lips
twitch into a small smile.

Then, more seriously, “You don’t have to do this, Reg.”

“Do you want me to?”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” James says softly. “It’s up to you.”

“What’s your plan?” Regulus asks. James feels the movement of his jaw against his chest.

“We only found out yesterday. There’s no plan yet. Lily went to talk to Pandora about it, too.”

“Pandora is going to be fine with it,” Regulus says. “She’ll call it divine intervention. A cosmic
miracle. Something like that.”

James chuckles, and then he feels Regulus smile against his chest. Slowly, he moves one of his
hands, watching Reg for any signs that this isn’t welcome. When Regulus doesn’t stop him, he
slides it gently into his hair, tangling his fingers in those soft curls he’s so obsessed with.

“You can be as uninvolved as you like,” James whispers. “If you never want to meet him, that’s—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Regulus warns him. “It would break your heart if I said I didn’t want to know
your kid.”

“Well, yes,” James admits, caught in his lie. “But I would take that over not having you. I would
take anything over not having you.”

“I can’t be a parent,” Regulus says, voice wavering. “I’m not fit to be a parent.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be the parent. You can be the scary, rich uncle?”

Sighing something dramatic and deep from his chest, Regulus pulls away to look at James’ face.
His eyes have softened into something like fond exasperation. “You are so stupid.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” James grins tentatively.

“No, I mean you are stupid and will probably put your child in danger,” Regulus informs him. “So,
I will obviously have to be around to ensure their safety, because you absolutely cannot be trusted.
I’ll be the rich uncle.”

James’ chest caves in like it wants to take Regulus inside of it. The air in his lungs becomes a
hurricane, tearing through everything James is, everything he has been, and uprooting it violently.
This moment, right here, with Regulus in his arms telling him he’s in this. This is the moment
James will think back to when he’s old and grey and dying. Love in its purest form. Two boys
choosing each other no matter what. Despite everything.

“You’ll do that with me?” James asks, voice breaking. He can feel tears welling in his eyes.

“Yes,” Regulus replies. “Yes, James. I will.”

“Can I kiss you? Please, say yes. Pleas—”

Of course, Regulus kisses him. Saves him from the swell of emotion threatening to overwhelm
him. Because being loved by Regulus Black is to watch chaos rage around you knowing it’ll never
touch you. His love is a shield and it’ll protect James even from himself.

Regulus breaks the kiss momentarily to whisper, “I don’t know if I can touch your skin without
panicking, but we’re going to try.”

“Yes, okay,” James replies. “Whatever you say.”

They’re kissing again. James has Regulus’ under his hands and his lower lip between his teeth and
he’s never letting go. Ever. Regulus tilts his head up, allowing James a deeper kiss. His tongue
slides in, tasting smoke. He chased this feeling so many nights, with so many strangers, and it was
so fucking futile. Nothing will ever compare to the real thing.

James puts his entire focus, his entire being, into this kiss. Hands locked where they are because
Regulus doesn’t want to be touched without warning and James is not breaking apart to talk. Not
even to ask for permission to touch. He doesn’t need to. One of his hands is on Regulus’ back,
keeping him close, and the other is in his hair. That’s more than enough for James.

Devoted as he is to their kissing, James doesn’t notice until Regulus hands are trailing over his
shirt, hesitating at the edge of it. And this, for this, he will break their kiss just enough to say,
“Reg? You don’t have to. This is plenty. This is enough.”

Regulus surges forward, capturing his mouth again, kissing him the words he can’t say. James
smiles against his mouth, and then Regulus’ hand is on his stomach and he’s groaning because it’s
cold and smooth and it’s been so long.

It takes an eternity, but Regulus seems to get more confident the longer his hand is fleeting over
James’ abs. At some point, one hand becomes two, and then later, his shirt has been opened, falling
to the sides.

Regulus tugs at it, asking for it to come off, and James steps back to comply. As he shrugs his
shoulders out of the shirt, Regulus stares at him, eyes dark and hungry. He smiles, twisted and
beautiful.

“It did scar,” Regulus mutters, running the pads of his fingers over the place where he stabbed him.
“I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

“Don’t be,” James says, blushing. “I told you I thought it was hot.”

“Do you have a knife kink now?” Regulus asks, grinning.

James chuckles. “Not particularly. I don’t think I do? Fuck. I don’t know. Maybe? I just know that
if I’m going to be stabbed, I’d like it to be you every time.”

“Hmm,” Regulus says. “Nobody’s stabbing you again. I won’t let them.”

He’s poised to say something else, James knows, but it cuts abruptly because Regulus’ eyes drift
downwards and widen as they zone in on the ink on his lower stomach. To the side, right by his
hip.

With no regard for how it affects James to see Regulus do this, he crouches down a bit so he can
better examine the ink. Stifling a pained groan, James braces a hand behind him on the wall for
support because his knees have gone weak.

“Oh fuck,” Regulus whispers.

Then, he tilts his weight forward and presses his lips to the tattoo. That in itself is torture enough,
but then the little shit proceeds to trace it with his tongue and James just about passes out from
sheer want.

Regulus takes his time, tracing the antlers that James knows are a bit silly, but couldn’t help but
love. And then the constellation drawn over the top of them, positioned so the heart of the lion
lands right between the prongs that give him his name. Because that’s what he’ll do, always.
Cradle Regulus between his hands. Keep them there, where he can be soft and lovely and his.
James decided a long time ago that he was going to show Regulus love didn’t have to hurt. That it
could be good and kind and giving instead of only taking.

Look at us now.

Wordlessly, Regulus straightens back up, eyes still trained on the tattoo. “I got one, too,” he tells
James, lips curling into a small smirk.

“What? When?” James asks, completely unbothered by how breathless he sounds. “Where is it?”

Instead of answering, Regulus pulls off his hoodie, letting it fall to the floor behind him. James is
glad he’s bracing against the wall, because he would have fallen to his knees if unsupported. At
some point in the past day, Regulus has found the time to get himself a sleeve. Well, half a sleeve,
James supposes. He’s not sure. It’s irrelevant.

There’s a piece of literal art on his arm, starting at his wrist and spreading all the way to his elbow.
It merges with the mark, absorbing it into the tapestry of the design until something that was dark,
evil and twisted is just another scar. Another part of a wonderful story.

It’s beautiful. James would like to examine it carefully, discover all the details. He will. He’s going
to run his fingers over every single line until he’s got it memorised. But at first glance, he can see
the owlry roof, and a broom. The outline of a cave. A rubik’s cube. A snitch. There are words as
well, in French, James thinks, though he’s not certain. There’s a dagger, too, and that makes heat
take to James’ blood like a flame to kindle.

Fuck. It’s their love story and it’s etched onto Regulus’ skin. Permanent. Eternal. Everlasting.

“It’s…” Regulus starts, then hesitates, searching James’ face.

“It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, is what it is,” James says roughly. Godric help him. This
whole no-touching thing is getting harder by the second. “Merlin’s bollocks, Regulus please put the
hoodie back on I’m fighting for my life here.”

With a smug smirk, Regulus steps into James’ space again and brings his hands to cradle his head.
“I can help with that.”

This next kiss is bruising. Rough and violent and it makes James’ head spin. He’s still reeling from
it when Regulus gives him a warning look, says, “Do not touch me, okay?” and drops to his knees.

Here lies James Potter. He died (happy) by Regulus’ tongue.

Thoughts become inconsequential. There’s no time. No space. His brain is splattered on the ceiling
above them because it exploded the moment Regulus wrapped his lips around James’ hardness.
He’s just a shapeless entity of pleasure and want and love so strong it unmade a kingdom and is
rebuilding the world anew.

Regulus looks up at him, mouth around him, cheeks flushed and James thinks he’d do it all again.
Get stabbed. Fall off a broom. Get hit by Bellatrix’s curse. He’d fight the war again if it brought
him here to this moment. To Regulus.

It takes very little time for James to come.

When Regulus takes all of him into his mouth and James feels himself hit the back of Regulus’
throat, he loses it. Unbothered, Regulus works him through it, only leaning back when James is
fully spent.

Usually, he lasts much longer, focuses, works for it. But today he’s defeated by his feelings, and
the way Regulus keeps looking at him through his eyelashes, that tattooed arm in plain sight
because Regulus’ palms are pressed flat against James’ hips.

Smoothly, Regulus gets back up. Graceful as a cat. Always poised, always elegant. Even when he’s
standing up after sucking his boyfriend off, lips red and swollen. It takes James a few disoriented
moments to gather his wits again. Regulus is smiling at him, making his heart expand and sigh
contentedly.

“Can I…?” James asks tentatively.

“Come back here with me after dinner,” Regulus says, picking his hoodie up. “And we can try.”

And that, James thinks, is all he’ll ever ask for.

Trying. Together.

####

Interlude: Dorcas’ POV

The kitchen is on fire.

Marlene is valiantly fighting the flame with hopes of rescuing whatever it was she’d been trying to
make. Beef Wellington, Dorcas thinks she said. Marlene reasoned that Regulus is a very rich and
posh person and so her thank you dinner ought to be very posh, too. Never mind Marlene has never
cooked anything before in her life. She was undeterred when Dorcas pointed that fact out.

“I fought a war, Dorcas. I’m sure I can manage some beef,” Marlene had said.

That was three hours ago. Now, there’s a fire.

“I’m going to get food from the Italian around the corner,” Dorcas tells Marlene, shoving her shoes
on. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes,” Marlene confirms, dousing the entire oven and surrounding areas with water from her wand.
“The beef didn’t survive, though. So, Italian it is. Make sure it’s posh.”

Dorcas smiles at Marlene, who’d been scowling at her disaster but reciprocates with a grin of her
own when he catches Dorcas’. They look at each other for a long moment, just enjoying their
tender moment.

Things are not back to how they were. Not by a mile. But Dorcas has come to realise that she
doesn’t necessarily want them to be. They both fought for a year. Marlene went through the trauma
of losing Sam, to get her back, to then finding out Dorcas had been a spy the entire time. And
Dorcas herself carried the weight of secrets and the responsibility for a lot of lives for months and
months.

Going back to normal isn’t an option. But what is normal anyway?

As she makes her way down the stairs and out into the early evening air in search of appropriately
posh food for Regulus so Marlene can say thank you, Dorcas lets her mind wander. When Marlene
came to Grimmauld Place to talk, Dorcas had been prepared for the worst. She’d accepted that
Marlene wasn’t going to forgive her, and that she’d have to spend several months, if not years,
grovelling to get her back.

In an unexpected turn of events, Marlene had declared she’d seen the light and proceeded to fuck
Dorcas in Regulus’ drawing room. Dorcas had let her. She would have let Marlene do anything she
wanted. A part of her understands why James never even doubted his love for Regulus following
that fateful stabbing.

Dorcas would let Marlene stab her and she’d probably thank her for it, if it meant having Marlene
close.

There wasn’t a lot of talking for the fucking part, understandably. They were busy with mouths and
hands and slippery fingers and all sorts of mind-blowing things that Dorcas hadn’t thought she’d
get to do to Marlene for a long time yet.

After, when they were spent and sweaty and sprawled on the floor together, Dorcas had held her
breath and asked, “What does this mean?”

“You should have told me that you’d made a secrecy vow,” Marlene had said sternly. “That…
changes things. I’m not happy you didn’t tell me but I get it. I do. I really do. You did the best you
could of a really shit situation and you saved Sam’s life. You told Regulus she was important
because she was important to me. And I got her back, thanks to you.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Dorcas had confessed, tears prickling at her eyes. “I didn’t want to make a
secrecy vow. I just wanted to help Reg come back.”

“Why did you?”

“Because Reg… he had a point. It was hard to accept it, but he was right to keep everything under
wraps,” Dorcas had admitted. “Look what happened with Peter. I know you’d never betray anyone,
but it was just the principle of it. Regulus knew that secrets stop being secrets when more than two
people know them. He couldn’t risk it. I had to make that vow so I wouldn’t be tempted to tell you
or anyone else. How do you think I felt when James was walking about like a ghost half the time? I
knew things that would have made so many people happy, but they were so dangerous. It was
better that I couldn’t tell. I don’t know if I’d been strong enough to keep quiet otherwise.”

“Hmmm,” Marlene had nodded, then she’d pulled Dorcas closer. “I spoke to Sam. She thinks we
should see a mind healer. Together or apart. That’s up to us, I guess. She’s doing it. To cope with
what happened during the war.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Dorcas had said before twisting in Marlene’s arms to look her in the
eye. “I’m sorry for the secrets I kept, but I’m not sorry that I helped Reg. Is that… can you live
with that?”
“Dorcas, you ended the war,” Marlene had told her, taking her face in her hands. “You and
Regulus. But Regulus couldn’t have done it without you. I’m sorry I got so mad at you.”

“Never,” Dorcas had whispered. “Never apologise. Your feelings are so valid. It was… it was
shitty.”

“You had no choice,” Marlene had said firmly. “I understand. And we’ll work through it. But we’ll
do it together, yes? I love you.”

They had made love again, which Dorcas sincerely hopes Regulus will never find out. She’s not
sure if he uses that room a lot or not. Regardless, he should have known that during a
reconciliation sex was a possibility. If he had a problem with it happening there, he shouldn’t have
suggested that room.

Dorcas is quietly giggling to herself, bags of food hanging from her fingers. She’d been pleasantly
lost in the memory of her make-up sex with Marlene for the duration of her little trip, which was
just as well.

When she walked back into her apartment, she found that Regulus and James were already here.
Regulus looked like he always did—dangerous and beautiful. He was wearing an interesting outfit
made of muggle clothes but that wouldn’t have been too out of place in the wizarding world. It was
all black, because of course it was, and comprised of tailored trousers, a shirt with the sleeves
rolled up to his elbows, and black Converse. When Regulus had had time to purchase Converse
shoes, she had no idea.

“What is that?” Dorcas exclaims, dropping the bags of food and striding into the flat to gape at
Regulus arm.

“That is the coolest ink I’ve ever seen,” Marlene is gushing. “Just you wait until Sam hears about
this. She’ll take it as a personal challenge to out-do you.”

Regulus stares at them like they’re insane, but only shrugs and lets them look. Dorcas is careful not
to touch him but brings her face as close to the arm as she can to take in the details. It’s a work of
art. Genuinely beautiful.

“Hi Dorcas,” James sing-songs, grinning at her. “Nice to see you. I’m good, yes, thanks for asking.
How are you?”

“Sorry, James. That’s a bit distracting,” Dorcas laughs, finally greeting him properly.

“Yeah,” James says, looking everywhere but at Regulus’ arm. “I know.”

Marlene giggles, rolling her eyes. “Oh, Godric’s bollocks Cap. You’re hopeless.”

James, who’s wearing jeans and a shirt, too, simply beams. With his hands in his pockets, messy
hair, and genuine joy on his face, he looks nineteen again. It strikes Dorcas that James hadn’t
looked his age for a while now, and she hadn’t noticed until it changed.

“Are you all quite done?” Regulus asks. “Can we get a drink or do you always withhold sustenance
from your guests?”

“Stop whining,” Dorcas tells him, gesturing to the kitchen. “Come on.”

Marlene and James exchange a surprised glance, but Regulus lets Dorcas get away with that. He’ll
let her get away with anything, she knows. Regulus won’t outright say it, but what he and Dorcas
went through together meant a lot to him. She brought him back—with James’ help—and gave him
a second chance.

Dorcas knows that’s why he came to talk to Marlene. Because he wanted to repay her. To make
sure Dorcas got a second chance, too.

They pick up glasses and a bottle of wine and head back to the living room. James is on the sofa,
and Regulus goes to sit right next to him. It makes Dorcas’ heart warm to see that Regulus
deliberately presses the outside of his thigh against James’. It’s obvious he’s told James about his
touch issues, because not once does he try to initiate contact with Regulus. Still, Dorcas can see his
stubborn best friend relentlessly testing his own boundaries and pushing his own limits constantly,
even in subtle ways.

The man poisoned himself for a year as part of his insane planning. His resilience and grit are
unmatched. Dorcas has no doubt he’ll be back to climbing James like a tree in no time. And he
deserves that. That and everything and anything else Regulus wants. Fortunately, Dorcas knows
James is ready to give Regulus the entire world, so that’s alright.

“Right,” Marlene starts. Regulus immediately tenses. “I just wanted to—”

“No,” Regulus says. “I know what you’re going to say. No need.”

“But I—”

“Drop it,” Regulus insists, looking away. “I know. It’s okay.”

Marlene looks at Dorcas with a bit of a hopeless expression, so Dorcas puts a hand on her knee and
squeezes. “Regulus is allergic to emotions, Marls. I warned you.”

“I’m so confused,” James announces.

Regulus nudges him with his shoulder and says, “So, your natural state of being?”

Under Dorcas’ thigh, Marlene’s knee jerks up a little bit like she’s alarmed. It reminds Dorcas that
most people don’t really know Reg. He doesn’t let them. Amused, Dorcas watches Marlene’s
reactions as James turns to Regulus, mock hurt on his face.

“You’re so mean to me,” James pouts.

“You like it.”

Dorcas has to bite back a chortle as James nods, grins brightly, and receives a peck on the lips for
his troubles from Regulus. Marlene’s jaw is on the floor.

Some time later, Dorcas and James spread out the food on the table and herd their better halves
over so they can eat. Wine is poured and pasta is served, and Dorcas settles in with no small
amount of satisfaction to have dinner with her friends and her girlfriend. She’ll never take the small
things for granted again, because Dorcas knows what it’s like to not have them. Or to have them
and lose them.

Conversation stays superficial while they’re enjoying truly great pasta. Dorcas will most certainly
be back to that Italian place. Regulus is picking delicately at his fettuccini while James is heartily
enjoying a bowl of spaghetti like he’s five years old.

“So. I wanted to ask you something. Cap, I have a letter from the Cannons,” Marlene starts when
her plate is empty. “And I… they made me an offer. Like a standing one. But that was a year ago,
before the war. They said to contact them if I changed my mind… and I don’t know if I should.
Thoughts?”

“You still want to go pro?” James asks her, a bit surprised.

Dorcas frowns, wondering where the surprise comes from. They all need to decide what they’re
going to be doing with their lives moving forward and Marlene was a fantastic beater. Why
wouldn’t she still want to go pro? Or is James projecting?

“I do,” Marlene confirms. “I just can’t see myself in any other sort of… office job, you know? I’d
get bored and set the place on fire.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Regulus mutters.

Marlene chortles. James bites his lip, thinking. After a moment, he says, “Then yes. If you want to
go pro, get in touch. You didn’t turn them down to go on holiday. You were fighting a war. Saving
the world. I reckon they’ll be happy to welcome you with open arms.”

“If they don’t, I can threaten somebody for you,” Regulus offers, poking at the tiramisu with his
spoon like he’s expecting it to come alive and jump at him.

“What’s wrong with dessert?” Dorcas asks him, raising an eyebrow.

Regulus looks up, blinks, then looks back down at the tiramisu. “Nothing,” he says, taking a bite
out of it to prove his point.

James and Marlene are still talking about Quidditch, so Dorcas focuses on the ring that Regulus
hasn’t asked her to return yet.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Regulus.”

“You don’t want to hear it.”

“Oh, I do,” she says firmly, sending him a wave of confidence for good measure. She’s not as
skilled as he is at filtering emotions to pump through the bond, but she’s good enough. “Come on.
Whatever it is, I can deal. You know that.”

Regulus rolls his eyes—which she can see because he’s across from her—and then says into her
mind, “I want to fuck James and I can’t and it’s pissing me off.”

Dorcas chokes on her wine, spluttering it all over the table. Marlene and James look at her,
alarmed, but Regulus only sits back with a pointed look that she doesn’t need the rings to know
means ‘I told you you didn’t want to hear it.’

“You okay?” Marlene asks her.

“Yes, sorry,” Dorcas coughs. “Wrong pipe.”

“What do you want to do?” James asks Dorcas, putting his elbow on the table and resting his chin
on his hand to look at her. “Have you thought about it?”
“I have. I’m fast-tracking into the auror program,” Dorcas tells them. Regulus’ eyebrows fly to his
hairline. “Alice is going to go on maternity leave in a few months and someone’s got to cover her.
Moody offered. I said yes.”

“When?” Regulus asks.

“This morning,” Dorcas replies, shrugging. “I think it’ll be interesting work. And I like Alice.”

“Who’s Alice?” Regulus frowns, the distant face he wears when he’s thinking hardening his
features a bit.

“Alice Longbottom,” Marlene says quietly. “Her boyfriend Frank died the same night Emmeline
lost her leg. Different mission, though.”

“Ah,” Regulus mutters. “I see.” Then, he looks at James, narrowing his eyes. “You got my present,
right?”

Now, it’s James’ turn to choke on his wine. With a shaky hand, he puts the glass down and nods,
looking for all the world like he doesn’t want anyone to ask what the present was. Naturally,
Dorcas needs to know immediately.

“What present?”

James shakes his head. “Please, don’t.”

“Well, that’s no fun!” Marlene exclaims, looking at Regulus expecting him to spill.

But Regulus doesn’t. He’s looking at James, and there’s a bit of concern there. Like Regulus
doesn’t know if he upset him. James, who is apparently the Regulus whisperer, notices
immediately and smiles at him. “It’s fine. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Marlene swiftly changes topic to a much more pleasant one, namely the party she thinks they
should throw to celebrate the end of the war. James is immediately receptive to the idea. Two
minutes into it, he volunteers Potter Manor. Ten minutes later, they have a whole plan, tentative
date, and guestlist.

“Sirius is going to be so upset we planned this without him,” James mutters. Then, his eyes widen
like he’s realised something and locks eyes with Regulus, who is with Dorcas by the kitchen
counter pouring some firewhiskey now they’ve finished their meal.

Something passes between Regulus and James, and Reg mutters, “If you want to go tonight, that’s
okay.”

James considers this—whatever this is, Dorcas is confused—and then shakes his head. “Tomorrow
morning.”

Regulus takes a sip of his whiskey to hide his smile, the tips of his ears a bit pink. Dorcas has the
strong suspicion that they have plans to test Regulus’ limits when it comes to touching tonight. She
wishes them the best of luck from the bottom of her heart. She thinks she’d go insane if she
couldn’t touch Marlene.

Twenty or so minutes later, they’re all back in the main living space. James is on the sofa and
Regulus is on the floor, back resting on James’ legs. Marlene is curled up on Dorcas’ lap. They’re
all drinking and chatting away about nothing when there’s a sharp knock on the door and then the
sound of a key.
Marlene frowns, then shouts, “Sam, I told you I had company tonight.”

“I know, but Em insisted,” Sam’s voice floats in a second or so before she walks into the living
room with Emmeline right behind her.

For some reason, Regulus immediately looks uncomfortable and Dorcas is ready to jump in when
Emmeline holds Sam’s hand for support and fucking kneels in front of him. Emmeline, who lost
half her leg and is wearing a prothesis, kneels.

“Don’t,” Regulus says quickly, growing more agitated by the second. “There’s no need. Get up.”

“Thank you,” Emmeline tells him with such heartfelt emotion that not even Regulus Black can
throw it back in her face. “I don’t know how you did it, but thank you for waking her up.”

Stiffly, Regulus nods. “It’s… I—”

“What he means is that he’s glad you’re happy and he accepts your thanks gladly,” James supplies,
smiling. “But he’s sure that must be uncomfortable, and there’s really no need. So, please, Em,
come sit on the sofa?”

With Sam’s help, Emmeline gets back up and they sit together next to James. Regulus springs to
his feet and strides to the window to smoke a cigarette. Dorcas can see that his entire face is pink.

“What happened?” Marlene stage-whispers to Sam.

“Regulus sent Em something this morning. She fed it to her mum. Manon is awake,” Sam explains,
a bit of wonder in her eyes still. She glances at Regulus, who is decidedly looking out the window.
“He makes it hard to hate him.”

“Why would you hate him?” James asks, aghast.

“He did keep me in a cell for six months,” Sam points out.

There’s a scoffing sound, then Regulus’ voice, “You mean I kept you alive for six months.”

Sam shrugs, then gets up to go smoke a cigarette next to Regulus. Dorcas watches him make a bit
of room for her. “You could have been nicer about it,” Sam says, inhaling smoke.

“I could have been meaner, too,” Regulus replies.

Dorcas smiles and plants a kiss on the top of Marlene’s head. This is good. It’s healing. They need
to talk about what happened. Voice their grievances. Some people will never forgive Regulus.
Gideon, for one, will never see him as anything other than a Death Eater.

But others, like Moody, understand that one can’t win a war without crossing a few lines. Though
Moody’s willingness to forgive Regulus might have something to do with that magical eye he has
now that allows him to see through literally anything. He’s thrilled.

And then, there’ll be people like Sam. Who hates and doesn’t hate Regulus in equal measure,
because he caused her harm but also saved her and those two truths are hard to balance in a mind at
the same time.

Surviving a war isn’t done without wounds. They all have scars. Some more than others. And
healing is going to take time. Forever, perhaps. But Dorcas thinks as she looks around the room
that they’re doing a good of starting. Now, all that’s left is carrying on.
 ####

When Regulus and James first got together, James threw a fit one day and broke his hand against a
wall. Or was it a board? Regulus remembers the hand, remembers healing it for James, but he
doesn’t remember the room all that well. The room wasn’t important. James was.

That day, Regulus had selfishly been thinking of how badly he wanted James to kiss him again, and
how that required him having two good hands so he could tangle them in Regulus’ hair. It’d been
so easy to mend the cracked knuckles and heal away the bruising.

Unfortunately, the one that needs healing now is Regulus and it’s not something that can be
magicked away with a wand. If that was even possible, Regulus would have done it already.

“Reg? We can just sleep,” James says gently, hovering somewhere behind Regulus. “I’m actually
pretty tired.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Regulus mutters around his cigarette.

“I’m not lying,” James says, running a hand through his hair with a rueful smile. “Well, okay yes. I
lied about being tired. I’m not really. But not about the other thing.”

“I know,” Regulus says. “I know.”

Turning around to lean on the wall, Regulus looks at James. They’re in the master bedroom in
Grimmauld Place. Alone in the house save for Kreacher, but he’s in his little room down in the
cellar and won’t bother them at all. Regulus wants to take James to bed and make him fall to pieces
under his hands. He wants James to splay him open and unravel every last thread that’s keeping
him together.

But Regulus doesn’t know if he can and he hates it.

Didn’t he give enough to this fucking war?

He sacrificed everything he had, everything he was to win. To get revenge on everyone who ever
hurt him and save the lives of the people he cared about. To destroy the horcruxes and take down
the man terrorising a nation for almost a decade.

Regulus had been willing to obliterate himself. To crumble away into dust and allow darkness to
inhabit his body for the rest of his days. A puppet for shadows to keep growing. He went to hell,
looked the devil in the eye, and said yes just so that everyone else could live. Find peace.

A part of him never expected to make it back, and then he did, and Regulus is grateful, but he’s
also fucking pissed. Because of all the things to lose, did the warmth of the sun really have to be
one of them? Regulus knows that James will stay even if he can never touch him freely again.
That’s just James.

But Regulus doesn’t want that. He wants hugs and casual touches. Wants to kiss James until their
lips are blistered and raw. Wants James’ hands on his waist, pulling him into a cuddle. Regulus
wants to wake up as the little spoon, the weight of an arm that’s much too big and strong pining
him to the bed. He wants filthy sex in the evenings and slow sex in the mornings. Quick sex in the
shower and drawn-out, torturous sex on Sundays when there’s nothing else to do and no one to see.
Regulus wants it all, in every way, every position. He wants everything with James.

There’s a popping sound when he rolls his neck around that startles James, who looks up from
where he’d been untying his shoelaces. Regulus throws away the cigarette butt and crosses the
room, coming to stand in front of him. Immediately, James straightens, looking up at Regulus.

“I refuse to be defeated by some corpses and a bit of water,” Regulus declares.

“Okay…” James says slowly.

Determined, Regulus takes off his jacket and shucks off his shoes before climbing onto the bed.
On his knees, still fully clothed, he gestures for James to join him. He mirrors Regulus’ position,
facing him.

“We’re going to do this every day until it’s not an issue,” Regulus says firmly. “If that’s…”

“Yes,” James says immediately. “Whatever you want. Whatever you need. But please, please,
please, know that you don’t have to do this for me.”

“It’s not for you,” Regulus tells him sincerely, looking straight into his eyes so James can see the
truth of his words. “This is for me. I need this. I need you. I refuse to give you up.”

“Okay,” James breathes, smiling. “Tell me what to do.”

Normally, Regulus likes it more when it’s the other way around. When James gives instructions
and gets bossy and then fucks the living daylights out of Regulus or demands that Regulus fuck the
living daylights out of him. However, realistically, he’s going to have to take charge of this
situation.

Regulus has never met a challenge he didn’t absolutely annihilate, so he’s up for the task. He’s
Lord Black, after all. A mastermind. Genius. Slayer of a Basilik and of Tom Riddle. He’s a war
hero. He can manage some verbal cues.

“Kiss me,” is the first thing he says. “Put your hands here and don’t move them until I tell you.”

Their mouths meet in the middle. The kiss is slow, leisured. Regulus melts into it, eyes fluttering
closed as he does. It’s a lot easier for him to touch James than to let James touch him. In fact, he
barely has difficulties with it. That’s why Regulus begins to undress him slowly, nimble fingers
undoing every button of his shirt and his belt buckle.

James lets him do whatever he wants, following Regulus’ instructions to the letter. He hums and
groans in pleasure as Regulus’ hands run over his body. Kisses him like a man starved. Lets
himself be kissed, staying still when Regulus’ mouth travels to his throat, his collarbone, his
pectoral muscles.

Truth be told, Regulus could get lost in this. He could simply enjoy James, like this, forever. He’s
perfection. A body carved from hours of exercise. Discipline and sweat and commitment. It’s a
study in anatomy. Perfect muscles rippling under perfect skin to make a perfect body that Regulus
wants to worship for the rest of his days.

But he’s a man on a mission. Regulus wants to be able to do this without thinking. Without having
to focus or give orders to a man he much prefers in control. And for them to get back to that,
Regulus needs to get over his issues with being touched. With being grabbed.

Shuddering a little, Regulus tells himself he can do this.

“Now, my shirt,” he says, dragging his teeth over James’ jaw. “Kiss me the entire time. It helps
distract me.”
By some miracle, Regulus keeps it together while his shirt comes off. It helps that James is still,
after all this time, a fucking furnace. He’s so warm that Regulus isn’t triggered when their chests
graze. They kiss, revelling in the fact that they’ve got this far, when they thought perhaps they
wouldn’t.

It makes Regulus bold. He takes James’ hands and puts them on his chest. Waits. He’s okay. He’s
fine. He’s here, with James, and this is good. It feels good. Regulus wants to continue feeling good.

“Touch me,” he whispers against James’ mouth. “Just touch me. I’ll tell you stop if I need you to.”

James is gentle. Careful. He runs his hands over the planes of Regulus’ body like he’s relearning
them all. Paying attention to his reactions. He slows his kissing down because of how focused he
is, but Regulus doesn’t mind it one bit. He’s so fucking elated he could cry. He won’t. But he
could.

When James has successfully ran his hands all over Regulus’ torso, his hands stop on the line of his
trousers. Waiting to be asked to stop or for permission.

“Yes,” Regulus says, hands tangling in James’ hair. He’s so close. Almost there. “Yes. Off with
them. Off with everything.”

It’s when they’re both completely naked and Regulus lies on the bed, tugging James to lie on top of
him that things start to go wrong. James is heavy. A weight pining him down. They’re kissing, and
it’s glorious, but Regulus’ brain starts to go a bit buzzy.

Water.

Bed.

Water.

Bed.

Water—

“James,” he chokes. “James, I—”

James throws himself off Regulus so violently he tumbles to the floor. It would be funny if
Regulus wasn’t fighting with his own mind for control. He’s broken into a sort of cold sweat, and
he’s shaking. Images continue to flick in and out of his mind.

The cave.

The room.

The cave.

Theroomthecavetheroomthecavetheroom—

“Stop!” he shouts, as though the memories could listen. “Stop it.”

It was going too well. He was almost there. He got naked with James, and he was fine. It was
amazing. Until it wasn’t. And why why why why—

“Reg?” James’ voice is soft, measured. “Regulus? Can you hear me? I want you to breathe, okay?
Just breathe. In and out.”
Regulus blinks and finds that he’s sitting on the bed, head between his knees. He’s rocking back
and forth. When did he start to rock? No idea. This is mortifying, but the look of pure concern and
love on James’ face leaves no room for embarrassment.

“Breathe with me,” James asks.

He’s at the edge of the bed, as far away from Regulus as he can be. And Regulus hates it. This isn’t
what he wants, but it’s all he can have.

They breathe. His pulse goes back to normal. The blurriness in his eyes clears. Eventually, he’s
back in his own body in full. Groaning, Regulus drops his face into his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“Hey,” James says, shifting on the bed. He comes closer, but stays far away that they won’t touch
by accident. “This was amazing. I didn’t even… I mean, Reg, you got naked with me. I didn’t even
dare hope that we would get here this quickly.”

“That cave was weeks ago,” Regulus spits out, angry and humiliated.

“But you only started trying two days ago,” James says firmly. “Reg, I know you’re not most
people. But healing takes time. You can’t speed up the process by sheer force of will. That’s not
how it works.”

“Yes, I can,” Regulus says stubbornly. “We should try again.”

“No,” James refuses. “We’re going to put on some clothes and sleep. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Regulus bites his lower lip. It’s not in his nature to accept defeat. He hasn’t been defeated before by
anything or anyone. Is he really going to let this end here? Like this? No. No, he’s not.

But James has a point. Regulus feels exhausted now, after his stupid little panic attack or whatever
that was. He knows that pushing himself that far again isn’t a good idea.

“I want to get off,” Regulus says, looking at James pointedly. “And I’d like it if you did, too.”

“Reg—”

“Come here,” Regulus tells James, pushing himself up to his knees again. He’s not even hard
anymore, but he can get there. The want hasn’t gone away. It’s been coiled tightly inside of him for
a year.

A bit warily, James approaches him until they’re back on their knees, where they started, but naked
instead of clothed. Regulus leans forward and presses his lips to James’. Only his lips.

Pulling back, he says, “we don’t have to touch each other.”

For an excruciating moment, James looks confused. Then, he understands, and looks at Regulus
with wide eyes, mouth falling open. “Oh,” he says. “That’s… yes. I like that. Yes.”

Triumphant, Regulus leans forward again and James captures his mouth. They kiss, connected only
through their lips and tongues and teeth. Regulus does bring a hand to curl around the nape of
James’ neck, mostly for a bit of balance and stability but James doesn’t touch him at all.

It doesn’t take them very long to be panting into each other’s mouth, gasping with unreleased
tension. Regulus breaks the kiss briefly, looks down and finds James is just as hard as he is, which
is perfect. James looks, too, and a flash of that sexy wickedness crosses his eyes.

Lips ghosting over Regulus’, James says, “touch yourself.”

It’s not what Regulus had in mind, nor is it what he really wanted. But there’s an intimacy in being
able to do this. To find ways to discover pleasure together despite the challenges and the barriers
and the trauma dragging them down. They’re fighting against it, and they’ll keep at it until there’s
nothing standing between them and they can take their pleasure any way they want it.

But for now, falling apart together like this is enough. It’s beautiful, actually. Regulus comes first,
because it’s been so long, and he’s so bloody fucking happy that they’re here, together at last. No
clock. No revenge. No lies or secrets. He makes a mess of his own hand, but also a bit of James,
because he’s right in front of him and there’s no avoiding it. And that tips James over the edge, into
his own pleasure.

Smiling, they break the kiss, lips swollen and red and wet. They clean themselves up and throw on
some soft clothes for sleeping. Quickly, they discover that Regulus absolutely cannot be the little
spoon even clothed because it sends him into another panic. So, again, they adapt. James becomes
the little spoon, and Regulus gets as close as he dares.

“Reg?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you,” James whispers, voice thick with sleep. “I’m so glad we’re here.”

“Me too,” he says, and smiles into the back of James’ head.

Regulus reaches over to his bedside table and takes out a vial. The movement alerts James that
something’s happening and he glances over his shoulder, watching what Regulus is doing.

“What’s that for?”

“I… it’s a sleeping draught. It also has some veritaserum and some poison,” Regulus admits.

James’ eyes go wide and he turns over on the bed to look at Regulus. “Poison? What? Why would
you carry on with that?”

“I can’t just stop,” Regulus explains. “The withdrawal could kill me. I need to… slowly reduce the
doses. Like a reverse mithridatism kind of thing.”

“I do not know what mithidir—that word means,” James says, baffled. “But why? And I thought
you didn’t need draughts with me?”

Regulus winces, but he’s made a decision not to lie to James again, so he won’t. “I’m addicted to
them,” he confesses. “As in, I can’t sleep if I don’t take them. In school, with you, I was surprised
that I could get through the night without them, but we didn’t sleep together that often. Once a
week or whatever seemed to be fine, but any more than that and I wouldn’t have been okay. That’s
not good enough for me now. I would like to make sleeping with you a regular thing, so I want
to… I want to quit.”

“How bad is it?” James asks carefully.

“Bad,” Regulus tells him. “These days, I need about three or four of these to fall asleep.”
 “How do we fix it?”

Regulus smiles, then gives the vial a little shake. “Same principle. Take less and less until I’m
okay.”

“And you know this… how?”

Frowning, Regulus looks at James for a moment, then says, “No.”

“Yes,” James says. “For me. Please.”

Regulus should be embarrassed by how easily and quickly he folds, but if he’s being honest, he
wants to get better. He doesn’t want to be chained for the rest of his life to these potions. It’s not
healthy, and also dangerous. Besides, if there’s going to be a baby around, Regulus cannot be
dependent on drugs. What if he’s baby-sitting and he’s knocked out and doesn’t hear the baby
crying? No. He needs to kick this addiction and he’s got nine months to do it.

“Alright,” Regulus agrees. “I’ll start seeing a healer about it.”

“Thank you,” James says, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’m so proud of you.”

With a grimace, Regulus tips the vial into his mouth and drinks before settling back in with James.

That night, they both have nightmares. James wakes up sweating and crying and Regulus does his
best to soothe him. When it’s Regulus’ turn, James does a much better job whispering sweet
nothings to him in the dark until he calms down. And so on.

Do they get much rest? Debatable. Is it still the best night Regulus has had in a whole year?
Without a doubt.

Regulus still doesn’t know everything that happened to James. Doesn’t know what he dreams
about. But he knows he’ll tell him. He’ll tell Regulus everything. And Regulus will do the same.
Piece by piece until they’ve dismantled all the ugly and can keep only the beautiful. It’ll take time
and effort but they’re stubborn. They’ll keep trying.

Trying.

Together.

For the rest of their days.

Chapter End Notes

I will catch up and reply to comments for the previous chapter ASAP but I didn't want
to make you all wait an extra day for this, so I used my unexpected free time to post
instead

I will say I was SUPER NERVOUS about chapter 60 and I didn't want to say it when I
posted it but now that it's out there, I'm so grateful for how amazing you've been about
it. Even the people who didn't like the 'bomb' (I know, surprise pregnancies, UGH)
were NICE about it, and shared thoughts politely and kindly, and having seen the
experiences of other authors out there... you just don't understand how happy you all
make me. THANK YOU for being quite literally THE BEST READERS IN THIS
FANDOM. I just... yeah. THANK YOU

Now, for the screaming!!

I LOVE THIS CHAPTER WITH MY ENTIRE HEART BECAUSE THEY'RE

WORKING SO HARD FOR THEIR HAPPINESS?!

Reg got a tattoo and it's glorious

And Effie and Monty are supporting the kids
Lily went to talk to Pandora...

And James told Regulus My man, you were so brave Also, WELL DONE on
communication 10/10, smashed it, beautifully done. You dropped this

Reg's reaction? Not him immediately thinking James was leaving him LIKE BABE
PLS THAT MAN DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO EXIST WITHOUT YOU
His insecurity because it's Lily
James expected him to become violent but Regulus felt so defeated he was past
violence. He was just sad
But then? he doesn't care there's a baby? Like, so long as James is HIS the rest is okay.
He can deal. RICH UNCLE REG

Watch out for Sirius' reaction in the next chapter and his insight into how Reg feels
about children

Then DORLENE

They TALKED and they had sex and they're back together because they're
queens!!!
Not Marlene trying to thank Reg and failing, then Emmeline not taking no for an
answer

To everyone asking - yes, it was phoenix tears! Reg asked Dumbledore for two vials
because he remembered Em's mother was also in a magically induced mysterious
coma (like Evan). That was planned from the beginning

And finally, Regulus trying to get past his trauma in two days and James like... Babe,
maybe... slow down? That's so Reg, tho. Like, NO I WILL DEFEAT THIS NEW
ENEMY
This scene is actually super important (like yes it's smut) BUT it's important because
it's them adapting. Finding ways to be close despite the challenges, overcoming those
together UGH I'M EMOTIONAL

OKAY Three more chapters to go

Now, for real, next chapter will be Friday

PLS COME HANG IN THE COMMENTS SECTION WITH ME

I LOVE YOU
 Here's to us
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

I cannot believe we're on CH 62 already. I am so emotional

I do not think there are any TWs for this chapter? It's fluffy and fun. There are
references to working through trauma and doing therapy but nothing heavy. There are
references to sex and/or sex is implied but it's not explicit in this chapter (I seem to
have saved it all for CH63 and 64 ). There are also some references to general
bigotry, but again super vague.

ENJOY!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Prongs!” a disembodied voice floats through the room, breaking past the fog of sleep still clinging
to James. “PRONGS! WAKE UP!”

“I’m going to kill my brother,” Regulus mumbles into his pillow, rolling over to cover his head
with it. “Slowly. Painfully.”

“PRONGS!”

Groaning, James stumbles from the bed and fishes the mirror out of the pocket of his jeans.
Blinking to clear his head a bit, James stares at the reflection—grey eyes instead of his hazel ones
—and mumbles, “What?”

“You need to come here immediately,” Sirius says excitedly. “I have to show you something.”

“It’s… uhm… what time is it?” James asks, yawning.

“Torture,” Regulus is mumbling. “I’ll draw it out for ages.”

“Time is inconsequential!” Sirius is saying through the mirror. “A social construct. I refuse to be
shackled—”

“It’s seven am,” Remus grunts from somewhere behind Sirius. “And he’s been up since six. Please,
come deal with him before I kill him.”

“Just go ahead and kill him,” Regulus says from the bed.

“What’s going on?” James asks, staring at Sirius a bit more carefully now. “You never get up
before Moony.”

“This is important!” Sirius insists. “Please, come to our flat at once.”

Sighing, James runs a hand through his hair which is messier than usual. “I need to stop by the
Manor first. I’ll be over after.”
“Don’t take too long,” Sirius whines. “This is the most important news of your life.”

Regulus snorts, and James knows what he’s thinking. But he’s not going to tell Sirius about the
baby on the mirror, so James supposes this is a happy coincidence. He did need to see Sirius today
anyway.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Pads,” James tells him. “Now, go make it up to Moony for bothering
the shit out of him so early.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Sirius says cheerfully before disappearing from the mirror.

Chuckling, James puts it away and crumbles back onto the bed, yawning. Regulus turns around
again, sleep making his features soft. He runs a feather light hand over James’ chest, barely
touching him with the tips of his fingers. It’s enough to make James shiver deliciously.

“I’m busy today,” Regulus informs him. “There are a few things I need to sort out and I have a
meeting at the Ministry.”

“I’m going to check on Lily. I’m pretty sure Pandora was great, but just in case she was not,”
James tells him. “Then, I’ll go see what Sirius wants.”

Regulus opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then thinks better of it and simply nods.
James turns on his side to face him and they stay like that, on the bed, with the early morning light
pouring in through the window. It’s the small moments like this one that James missed the most
when they were apart. The feeling of just being with Regulus. Unhurriedly, quietly, gently.

“Is it too soon to ask you to come to the Manor for dinner?” James murmurs, watching Regulus
closely for a reaction.

“Your parents watched me stab action-man with a quill,” Regulus says, fidgeting a bit.

“Don’t tell anyone, but my dad thought it was funny,” James confesses, biting back a chortle.

Regulus’ eyebrows shoot to his hairline, then a wicked smile curls hips lips to the side in a half-
smile so sexy James groans.

“I think I’m going to like your dad, then,” Regulus says, amused. Scooting a bit closer to James, he
presses a tender kiss to his mouth and whispers, “I’ll come for dinner.”

****

“Well?” Lily asks him as soon as he walks into the kitchen of Potter Manor.

James can’t do anything but smile. Wide and hopeful and genuine. He’s so happy he feels like he’ll
start bouncing off the walls any second with all the energy he’s got inside.

When Lily sees his expression, she beams, too. “Oh, thank Merlin. So, he’s alright with it, then?”

“Yeah,” James says, taking in a huge gulp of air hoping it’ll help him calm down. “Once I
explained I wasn’t leaving him for you, he was fine. He… actually, he even made a joke about me
being a bad parent! He called me stupid!”

An airy giggle escapes Lily and James shoots her a wounded look. “I’ll have you know I’m going
to be the best dad in the entire world.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Lily says, still giggling into her cup of tea. “But I’m glad Regulus will be
there to make sure nothing catches on fire.”

James leans against the counter and pretends to be offended even though he’s really not. He’s in
such good spirits nothing could bring him down. Regulus didn’t break up with him. Dorcas and
Marlene are back together. Manon Vance is awake thanks to Regulus—he confessed to James this
morning that he strong armed Dumbledore into providing more Phoenix tears and that’s how he
woke both Evan and Manon up—after being in a coma for nine months. And it’s a beautiful early
summer day.

With a contented sigh, Lily puts some hair behind her ear and tells James, “Dora was also great
about it. She didn’t know in advance. She never has dreams about me. But when I told her, she
began to wax poetic about new life bringing light to the world after all that had been lost during the
war. She thinks this child will be special.”

“Of course, they’ll be special,” James cuts in immediately. “He’s a bit of me and a bit of you. And
they’re going to grow up a bit of Reg and a bit of Pandora. That kid is going to rule the world if
they want to.”

“That sounds like more than a bit of Regulus,” Lily muses, twisting her lips into half a grimace,
half a smile.

Shrugging, James tries not to grin too blatantly. What can he say? He’s in love. Deeply,
irrevocably, profoundly in love.

“So,” James begins. “I actually wanted to talk to you about two things.”

Lily sets down her cup and tilts her head, red hair spilling like a halo of fire down her shoulders.
“Bad things?”

“No. Not bad. Just things,” James says. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward all of a
sudden. He really doesn’t know what the right way to approach this is, but he’s got to. This baby is
his, too. He’s going to be responsible about it.

“Go on,” Lily urges him.

“Right. Well, I was thinking… you’ll have like appointments and checks and tests, right? And I
understand if you want Dora to go with you, of course. She’s your—is she your girlfriend?”

Amused, Lily nods. “Yes. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Right. Well, obviously, that’s absolutely—”

“James,” Lily interrupts him. “I would like it if you came to the appointments. You don’t have to,
but if you want to, it would be great. You are the father, after all.”

“Oh,” James says, letting out a relieved sigh. “Right. Yes. Well, I want to. I want to be involved.”

“Then you will be,” Lily tells him brightly. “We’re going to have to figure out things like schedules
when they’re born, but we’ve got time for that. That reminds me, I’m moving out this summer.
Dora and I are going to find a place together. I just can’t abuse your family’s hospitality anymore.
I’m not in danger now, so I can find my own place.”

“You know my parents would love it if you stayed,” James says. “They’d even let Pandora move
in if she wanted to. Especially, because I… I hope I won’t live here much longer.”
“You’re moving to Grimmauld Place?”

James flinches a bit, then grimaces. “Well, I don’t… we haven’t talked about it. I just—it’s been
like four days since the war ended but things are moving so fast… and why wouldn’t they, you
know? I haven’t stopped loving him for a second so it makes sense. But last time I brought
something like that up we had a major fight. I’m kind of hoping Regulus will be the one to suggest
it.”

“Do you want to move to Grimmauld Place?” Lily asks him.

“Not really,” James admits. “I want to move in somewhere with Regulus but not Grimmauld Place.
I… I want somewhere that’s just ours. Also, the elf heads creep me out.”

Lily giggles, covering her mouth with her hands. “They are so creepy.”

It’s nice, James thinks, that his relationship with Lily is still intact. It survived their one night
stand, and it’s apparently going to be okay through this, too. And of all the people to have a child
with, James would pick Lily in a heartbeat. Well, obviously, he’d like to have a kid with Reg but
given the situation he’s in, James is glad that it’s Lily he’s in it with.

“What was the other thing?” Lily asks him.

“Ah. I want to tell Sirius,” James informs her. “But I wanted to make sure that was okay.”

Lily blinks at him, mouth forming an O of surprise. “You haven’t told him yet?”

Feeling absurdly like he’s been caught doing something naughty, James squirms a little. “Well, no.
I haven’t had time, but also, it’s not just like my thing. And I was so worried about Regulus
freaking out, and then we had this dinner thing last night and—” Defeated, James drops his face in
his hands. “He’s going to throw a fit, isn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” Lily says, visibly amused by James’ predicament. “But then you can tell him that we
want him to be the godfather, and I think that’ll bring him into the fold.”

Now, it’s James’ turn to stare at Lily open-mouthed. She’s blushing but holding his stare rather
steadily. There’s a surety there, like she’s thought about this carefully.

“Are you sure?” James asks, chest already expanding with the excitement of what that means. The
baby is going to be a bit of James, a bit of Lily, a bit of Regulus, a bit of Pandora and a bit of Sirius.
Luckiest kid in the entire world, if you ask James.

“I am sure,” Lily replies. “And I want Marlene to be the godmother. Is that alright?”

“Yes,” James says immediately. “Yes. International Quidditch star godmother of my kid. Oh
Godric’s socks, I’m jealous of this baby.”

They laugh together. Free and careless. It’s the sound of joy after grief. It’s the sound of two people
who lost everything and then got it back and are determined to never let go again.

****

Sirius is vibrating when James arrives to his flat.

The moment the door closes behind him, Sirius bounces from where he’s standing and engulfs
James in a hug that’s more of a death grip than anything else. Confused, James’ arms come around
Sirius, too, before he looks over his head at Remus who’s on the sofa smoking a cigarette and
looking fondly exasperated.

“What’s with him today?” James asks.

“I’m right here!” Sirius protests. “And I’m a man in love.”

Blinking, James looks down at Sirius. “Yes, I know. With Moony. Everyone knows.”

“No,” Sirius declares, stepping away from James so he has space to throw his arms out. “I now
have two—three—loves of my life. You count, too. So, three.”

“What are you talking about?”

Remus rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, stubbing out his cigarette on an overflowing ashtray.
James makes a mental note to send them Rosly so they get some help with the house because these
two are true disaster when it comes to cleaning.

“I’m off,” Remus says. “This is now your problem until I come back.”

“Wait!” James says. “Wait. I need to tell you something. Both of you.”

“Can it wait?” Remus asks, gesturing to the door. “I’m supposed to meet with some people at the
Ministry about the werewolf reform and I don’t think it looks good if I’m late.”

James wonders if it can wait or not. On the one hand, the baby won’t be born until February,
according to healer Zander. Of course, the little one could always come early, but still. James
supposes that the news can wait.

But he doesn’t want to. He wants them to know right now. His best friends, the people he fought
and bled with. People he would fight and bleed for again without hesitation.

So, James takes a breath and just comes out with it in one rush of words, “I’m going to have a
baby.”

“I beg your pardon?” Remus says, eyes widening.

Sirius stares at Moony, brows furrowed. “Since when do you sound like that? Stop that. Too posh.
I don’t like it. Throw a fuck in there for good measure.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?” Remus amends, shooting Sirius a sideways glance that James thinks
he shouldn’t have seen. Sirius beams at him.

“Padfoot! Moony! Merlin’s balls. Pay attention. I just told you I’m going to be a father!” James
screeches, arms up in the air in disbelief.

This time, Sirius does seem to process the words because he turns towards him, blinking fast,
mouth moving but no sound coming out. James meets his gaze, silver grey and sharp, and nods.
Sirius inhales violently, then frowns.

“How?” Sirius asks. Then, “Oh no. Wait, who?”

Remus runs a hand over his face. “You sound awfully chipper about it, so I’m not sure what the
appropriate reaction to this is. But I’m panicking internally. Also, have you told Regulus?”

James has never had a good poker face, so he doesn’t even try to hold one. He beams, bright and
wide, and says, “Lily. Lily is pregnant and it’s mine. We’re having a baby. We just found out, and
obviously it was a bit of a shock, but well. What’s done is done. We’re having the baby and it’s all
going to be fine and—”

“When the fuck did you sleep with Lily?” Remus asks, mouth falling open so much James
momentarily worries about his jaw hitting the floor.

“When you were playing double agent with Reg,” James replies, blushing. “It was just the once.
That’s irrelevant.”

“It’s not irrelevant if there’s a baby on the way!” Remus protests, sounding a bit strangled.

“Reggie,” Sirius mutters. “You’re still alive, so I’m assuming he doesn’t know?”

Giggling, James shakes his head. “He knows. He… he’s fine with it? He freaked out at first, but
only because he thought I was leaving him to have the baby with Lily. Which I’m obviously not
doing. We’re going to be a family of five.”

“Five?” Remus asks. James notices that he’s moved to lean against the wall like he needs support
to process this news.

“Well, Lily isn’t leaving Pandora either,” James explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the
world.

“You told Reggie before you told me?” Sirius pouts.

“I need to sit down,” Remus declares, plopping himself on the sofa with an exhausted expression
on his face. He digs in his pockets for a cigarette, looking for all the world like he’s been told he’s
the one who’s about to be a father.

“I’m…” Sirius clears his throat. “Are you sure about this, Prongs?”

“Yes,” James says firmly. He smacks his lips, then sets his shoulders. If he’s got to convince them
that this is a good thing, then he will. James supposes he should have expected some resistance. He
is nineteen, and this is admittedly a little bit out of left field, but it’s happening and he wants his
friends to support him.

“I know it’s a bit… insane. And unexpected.”

“You don’t say,” Remus mutters through his cigarette.

James shoots him as nasty a look as he can manage, which he’s never been very good at anyway.
He wishes Regulus was here. He has an impressive side-eye.

Throwing his arms out for emphasis, James says, “Did we plan this? Obviously not. But the baby
is coming. And Lily and I are solid. In a platonic way. Regulus is fine with it. Pandora thinks it’s a
miracle post-war baby that’s going to be some sort of beacon of hope. We’re going to do this.”

“Right,” Sirius says, sounding put-out. “So, you’re having a kid.”

There’s something odd on his face, if James didn’t know better, he’d say it’s jealousy. Sirius runs a
hand through his hair anad turns around. Paces to the window. Comes back. “I just… you’re too
young, Prongs. What… what about our adventures?”

“We can still have adventures,” James says. “My parents will babysit whenever we want.”
“But a baby!” Sirius whines. “A baby. I cannot. I just…”

“Pads? The baby is coming. We’re doing this,” James smiles tentatively at him, looks him in the
eye. “And I… well. Lily and I want you to do it with us.”

At this inclusion, Sirius visibly perks up. Stops his pacing and dramatic flailing of his arms. Tilting
his head curiously, he says, “What do you mean?”

“We want you to be the godfather of the baby,” James tells him.

Immediately, Sirius launches himself at James with such strength that he tumbles back but he
catches Sirius anyway. Always. James has never let Sirius fall and he’s not going to start now. On
the sofa, Remus is shaking his head but there’s a fond, resigned sort of smile on his lips.

“Is that a yes, then?” James asks.

The noise Sirius makes is a choked sort of half-laugh half-sob that James knows means he’s
overwhelmed but in a good way. Clinging to him, Sirius cries a little bit, his tears wetting James’
shirt. Remus pushes himself off the sofa and comes over, putting his arms around the both of them
for a three-way hug.

“Congratulations, then,” Remus mutters. “Of all the insane shit you’ve ever done, this has to be the
most unhinged. But whatever. We’re having a baby.”

“We’re having a baby,” Sirius wails dramatically. “I’m going to buy this baby so much shit. You
have no idea. All the shit. Everything they want. Their first word is going to be Padfoot just you
wait. When do we know if it’s a boy or a girl? Oh. Oh. I’m going to have to install a side-car,
aren’t I? So I can take them places with the wifey.”

“What?” James asks, rearing back so he can look at Sirius and Remus. “What in Merlin’s name are
you talking about?”

Blinking through his tears, Sirius says, “Oh. Yes. That’s why I wanted you to come over. I got a
bike. Well, Regulus got me a bike.”

“A bike.”

“Yes. A motorbike,” Sirius tells him, beaming. “Obviously not as earth-shattering news as a baby,
but not all of us can go around shagging Red.”

“Sirius!” Remus groans, closing his eyes. “I cannot believe Regulus is okay with this.”

“I can,” Sirius says quietly. They’re still all mushed together into a hug, so James feels the way
Sirius’ body softens a little at the mention of his brother. “Reggie has a soft spot for kids. He’ll
deny it to his grave, but he likes babies.”

“That… doesn’t sound like Reg at all,” Remus says. “He hates noise. Hates mess. Doesn’t like it
when people don’t obey him. I mean, a toddler sounds like Reg’s worst nightmare.”

“You’re forgetting this toddler is going to be a mini-Prongs,” Sirius muses, smiling against James’
chest. “And I’m not saying Reggie won’t get irritated with the noise and the mess and all that. He
will. But well… just trust me on this one. We have a soft spot for little kids, okay?”

James and Remus exchange a glance and let it drop. They know Sirius well enough to understand
what that means. Where it comes from. Sirius and Regulus’ childhood was awful on all accounts,
and they only found solace in banding together. They have so many wounds and scars from that.

Is it really that strange that they feel protective of small children? James wouldn’t be surprised if
both of them saw themselves in the young. Perhaps it’ll be healing for them to have a kid around
that they can spoil. A kid showered in so much love it’ll make up for all they didn’t get
themselves.

“Right,” Remus says, disentangling himself from the hug. “Now, I really have to go. Congrats
again, Prongs. I’ll drop by to see Lils on my way back from the Ministry.”

“We’re having dinner at the Manor today with Reg,” James tells him. “You two should come. I
think it’ll make it easier for him, so my parents don’t harass him too much.”

“Oh, we’re meeting the parents already!” Sirius coos, delighted. “Count me in. I’m going to watch
Reggie squirm under Effie’s scrutiny and love every minute of it.”

James rolls his eyes fondly. Remus leaves the flat, and Sirius lights himself a cigarette that he
smokes while muttering the words ‘kid’ and ‘gifts’ and ‘godfather’ under his breath. When he’s
done, he insists James must meet his wife immediately and drags him out of the flat with the
promise of the best ride of his life around London.

####

The ink hasn’t yet dried on the paper he’s signed when Regulus is already out of the room. He
hates the Ministry. It’s stuffy and overwhelming and full of incompetent people. Fortunately for
him, his new job requires him to spend almost no time here at all.

“Regulus?” Remus’ voice makes him stop walking, look over his shoulder. “What are you doing
here?”

“I had a meeting,” Regulus replies, waiting for Remus to catch up. They resume walking together,
heading for the exit. “You?”

“The paperwork to make sure the Manor is protected as a sanctuary,” Remus says. “It’s all in order
now.”

They step into the elevator together. A man in truly hideous lime-coloured robes attempts to get in
with them, but both Remus and Regulus look at him with threatening scowls. Swiftly, he changes
his mind and waits for the next one.

Outside, the air is warm and the sky blue. Summer in London is always unpredictable, but they’re
having a couple of good days. James has commented how nice it is enough times that Regulus has
started to pay attention to the weather.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Remus asks Regulus, gesturing with his chin down the main road.

A road where Regulus fought his brother. Watched James’ thigh be wrecked by Bellatrix. His chest
tightens as he looks down it. There are places that will always throw him back to the war. This is
one of them.

Clenching his jaw, Regulus nods. A drink sounds pretty good right now.

Remus leads him away from the Ministry, through several streets in Muggle London. They step
into an unassuming pub, small and a bit run down, but quiet enough that it doesn’t bother Regulus.
They order pints and grab a table near a window. There’s an ashtray on it, inviting them to smoke,
so they both pull out their packs and light fags.

“Did James tell you he sent Peter to Azkaban?” Remus asks him after the first sip of beer.

Frowning, Regulus shakes his head. “No. He… he isn’t ready to talk about Pettigrew yet. If I’d
known he was going to live, I would have killed him myself.”

“I tried,” Remus says, shrugging. “James couldn’t do it. He said he wanted Peter to suffer for the
rest of his life, but I think James couldn’t stomach an execution.”

“And you?” Regulus asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I wanted to rip his head clean off,” Remus admits, sipping more bear. “But you know I’m…”

“I can get us into Azkaban if you want to go. We can make it look like he did it himself,” Regulus
tells him.

Remus mulls this over. Regulus sees the flash of hunger in his eyes. The way his fingers curl
tighter around the pint glass before he shakes his head, curls tumbling about. “No. No. James was
very clear, and I don’t… it was his call. Peter was his childhood friend first,” Remus says through
gritted teeth. “As much as I want to fucking end him, James deserves to make that call.”

“Alright,” Regulus says, shrugging. “But if you change your mind…”

“How would you even get us into Azkaban?”

“I work for the Ministry now. I’m an intelligence agent. Not supposed to tell you but fuck them. I
have access to prisons and all sorts of off the book facilities. Much more than the auror
department.”

“So, you’re a spy?” Remus asks, tilting his head.

“I’m the boogie man.”

Remus laughs, lifts his beer and clinks it against Regulus’ who scoffs. “James doesn’t know yet.
I’m telling him, obviously. But not yet.”

“What about his parents? What will you tell them if they ask tonight?” Remus asks.

The thought of tonight’s dinner makes Regulus break into a cold sweat, but he wants to do this
right. Love James the way he deserves. Regulus wants to do all the things he thought he’d never
get to do again. Things he didn’t think he’d ever get to do even once. Meeting the parents is a rite
of passage in any relationship and Regulus will be damned if he’s going to chicken out of it.

“That I’m a healer at St. Mungo’s,” Regulus explains. “The Ministry won’t need me all the time, so
I’m actually getting a job there. You may remember I’m pretty fucking good at healing. It works as
a cover and it’ll keep me busy.”

“Was this their idea or yours?” Remus asks, smiling as he puts the butt of his cigarette out in the
ashtray.

Regulus gives him a pointed look, and Remus laughs. They finish their beers. Smoke another
cigarette. Have a second pint. Conversation ebbs and flows. It’s always been easy for Regulus to be
in silence with Remus, one of the reasons he was inclined towards liking him to begin with.

When their time runs out and they both need to go home and change for their dinner, they part
ways without much pause. It strikes Regulus as he apparates to Grimmauld Place that perhaps
Remus Lupin is a friend.

The thought makes him smile.

****

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Sirius asks, sounding so sceptical it pisses Regulus right off.

“You should only open your mouth if what you have to say is more beautiful than silence,”
Regulus says petulantly. “In your case, feel free to never utter a word again.”

“Ha ha,” Sirius deadpans.

They’re in Grimmauld Place, standing side by side and staring at the tapestry with their family
tree. It’s been a long time since Regulus has stopped and paid it any attention, and doing so now
feels strange.

Wand in hand, he bites the inside of his cheek. They’ve talked about it. Regulus wouldn’t do this if
Sirius hadn’t agreed, but still. What if Sirius only agreed because Regulus suggested it?

“Sirius,” Regulus says tentatively. “Are you sure? I know you hate… everything about being a
Black. We don’t have to do this. I won’t be upset.”

“Bold of you to assume I care about whether you’re upset,” Sirius says primly, and Regulus knows
it’s mainly because he’s still annoyed Regulus told him to never speak again.

“You overturned your wine glass and spilt it all over Effie’s skirt because she asked me one too
many questions,” Regulus recalls. That first dinner had been such a catastrophe by the end of it
Regulus had been certain James’ parents would forbid him from ever seeing Regulus again.

“Because you panicked and fled the scene!” Sirius protests. “I was trying to diffuse the situation.”

“By ruining Effie’s dress.”

“By doing something more dramatic than fleeing the dining room!”

“She asked me if I loved James,” Regulus huffs. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Say yes?” Sirius suggests, much like he did that night when he found Regulus hyperventilating in
the bathroom.

Rolling his eyes, Regulus gestures to the tapestry with their family tree on it. “You’re getting off
topic. Do we call this whole thing off?”

“No,” Sirius says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Absolutely not. We’re doing this. I hate what
being a Black meant when we were children, but we’re the only ones left, Reggie. Dromeda doesn’t
count, she’s a Tonks now.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Sirius waves a hand to dismiss that train of thought. “Listen, it’s because I’m a
Black that I’m your brother. And that’s… that means something to me. I’ve talked about this with
Moony. I want to do this. With you. Change the House of Black. Make it better.”

“Well,” Regulus says, a wry smile twisting his lips. “We’re ending the line by being irrevocably
gay, so more than making it better we’re destroying it. But I get your point.”

“James’ baby will be a Black,” Sirius’ points out. “I’m his godfather, and you’ll be… his second
dad? Fuck me if I know how that works, but anyway. He’ll inherit on my side, if I don’t have a kid
myself.”

“The scary, rich uncle,” Regulus says with no small amount of pleasure. He’s already obsessed
with the idea of it.

Then, he catches up to the rest of Sirius’ sentence. “You? A kid?” Regulus turns to stare at his
brother, eyebrows at his hairline.

Shrugging, Sirius puts his hands in his pockets and tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling.
After a long moment, he sighs and says, “Do you want to know the real reason I’m taking the seat
in the Wizengamot?”

Curious, Regulus nods. Sirius took a few days to think about it when Regulus first floated the idea
past him, but once he’d wrapped his head around it, he was committed. He hasn’t changed his mind
since, despite the endless paperwork they have to do to write Sirius back into the House of Black
and restore the magical ties Walburga severed. Fortunately, Lord Black has power to do that and
more, so it’s not a problem. Just tedious.

Sirius runs his tongue over his teeth, then says, “I’m going to force them to make gay marriage
legal. I want Dorcas and Marlene to be able to marry if they want to. Me and Moony, maybe.
Though Moony fucking hates the idea of a wedding, so I don’t think that’s happening. And,
well…”

“Do you think James wants to get married?” Regulus asks, staring fixedly at the wall and forcing
his voice to sound casual and not at all like he’s about to keel over from the thought alone.

“Prongs? The most romantic person alive?” Sirius points out. “I bet he’s planned a proposal for
every season, picked outfits to go with them, and is carrying a ring around in his pocket until the
opportunity presents itself.”

“WHAT?”

“It’s a joke! It’s a joke!” Sirius exclaims. “Merlin’s bollocks, Regulus. Calm down. As far as I
know, he’s not going to propose to you. Not now, anyway. Don’t look so terrified.”

“I’m not scared,” Regulus wheezes through the squeezing in his lungs.

Sirius raises an eyebrow at him, then pointedly looks at his shaking hands. Regulus rolls his eyes,
takes out his wand and strides over to the tapestry. The smug smirk falls off Sirius’ face straight
away, then he’s stepping up next to Regulus.

“I hope she’s screaming up at us from hell,” Sirius mutters as Regulus beings to run his wand over
the tapestry, muttering words for repairing and rebuilding under his breath.

It takes a little over half an hour. Because he can’t help—the tapestry can only be amended by the
head or the lady of the house—Sirius becomes impatient and begins to pace. Regulus has to
threaten his life to get him to stop. He hates it when people pace, but he’ll never tell a soul it’s
because Riddle used to do that.

The sun is getting low when Sirius’ face is woven back into the tapestry, his name etched in
flowery writing on the family tree, connected through golden thread to the faded names of Orion
and Walburga Black above them, and right next to Regulus.

“There,” Regulus says, stepping back. “You’ll be on the family tree forever.”

“Nothing lasts forever, Reggie,” Sirius mutters good naturedly, staring at his name on the wall.

And Regulus, who never thought he’d be here again with his older brother, nudges him with his
shoulder and says, “We can. We’ve been to hell and back. Forever is a piece of cake.”

When Sirius engulfs him in a hug this time, Regulus doesn’t immediately push him away.

****

Four weeks after the end of the war, they have a lot to celebrate. Potter Manor has been dressed for
the occasion. Long, wooden tables covered with food are lined up on the garden, set up under fairy
lights strung from end to end. On one end, a small stage has been erected and Sam and her band are
tuning their instruments. Against the wall is the bar, where Sirius and Marlene have been since
they arrived.

Effie and Monty—around whom Regulus is still a bit skittish—went all out for this party and
invited everyone they know. They’re greeting guests by the garden entrance, big smiles plastered
on their faces. Effie looks ethereal. Regulus quite likes her sense of style. But his favourite is
Monty. There’s a tinge of madness in him that calls to Regulus.

After the initial catastrophic dinner, Regulus was invited to spend time with them again. Smartly,
and possibly at James’ suggestion, they took a different approach for their second attempt.

Instead of sitting down and being all formal, they went to a cooking class together. The four of
them. Effie and Monty, Regulus and James. Regulus was surprised that the Potters were allowing
him near knives that sharp, but they had a great time.

None of them did any real cooking but having something to do—much like drawing his tattoo with
Sirius—had helped Regulus take his mind off the awkwardness of the situation and he’d been able
to have a semi-normal conversation with James’ parents.

Slowly but surely, he’s finding his feet. It’s very different to socializing with the purebloods he’s
used to. Effie and Monty are earnest and caring. Effie tried to hug him once. He flinched so hard he
startled her. Thankfully, James is very good with his own parents and smooths things over
whenever Regulus fucks up.

Speaking of James, he’s not here in the garden. Where did he go?

Emmeline is sitting on the stage watching Sam set up. Dorcas is with Marlene, leaning on the bar
and talking to her and Sirius. Remus is by himself—shocker that—against the far wall, smoking.
Action-man is here, too, but he’s got a baby with a shock of red hair on his hip and is with a plump
woman and who Regulus hopes is her husband because he keeps sneaking butt-squeezes in when
he thinks nobody’s looking.

“Where is James?” Regulus asks, frowning. They’re a little early, most guests are only just
arriving, but Regulus thought James would be here to receive them with his parents.

“It’s a bit annoying that you’re rich, and James is also rich,” Barty mutters, looking around at the
party set up and the garden. “Look at this house. So unfair. What about the rest of us? You can’t
hoard wealth like that.”
“What do you need?” Regulus asks immediately, without even thinking about it. Anything Barty
needs, Regulus can and will procure. He’s told Barty this before. Then, “Wait. Evan is filthy rich,
too. What are you complaining about?”

Next to them, Evan chortles but Barty rolls his eyes. “It’s the principle of the thing! You don’t
understand. I’m going to find Remus. He gets what it’s like.”

“Do not kiss him again!” Evan calls to Barty’s retreating form.

Regulus watches him find Remus, smoking by the wall, and get a cigarette off the werewolf.
Shaking his head in amusement, Regulus glances at Evan. “Did Sirius talk to you?”

“About pushing to make same-sex marriage legal for wizards? Yes, he did. We’re working on it,”
Evan says, smiling as he sneaks another quick glance Barty’s way.

He’s taken the Rosier seat in the Wizengamot, too. Initially, he didn’t want it, but Barty has found
himself a job in the Department of Mysteries and it quickly became apparent that an idle and at-
home-all-day Evan wasn’t a good Evan. Regulus suggested to Sirius that he spoke to him. Clearly,
that has worked out.

Besides, Evan’s mildly sneaky nature—Regulus recalls calling him Machiavellian once—is a
fantastic weapon in a politician’s arsenal. Regulus has no doubt that Evan and Sirius will make
same-sex marriage legal for wizards.

“Monty will help,” Regulus mutters, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket. “I can threaten Lucius.
That’ll give you a majority.”

“Someone’s keen,” Evan teases, nudging Regulus’ foot with his own.

“Who’s keen on what?” Dorcas asks. She’s carrying three drinks and promptly passes one to
Regulus and one to Evan.

“Nothing,” Regulus says, giving Evan a threatening glare. Evan chortles, but he doesn’t push it. No
one has forgotten that just because Regulus has embraced the peaceful lifestyle these days doesn’t
mean he’s not capable of horrors.

If they forget, all they have to do is read the articles that pop up here and there in lesser
newspapers raging that just because he killed Riddle, Regulus shouldn’t be allowed to ‘gallivant
around like he didn’t commit heinous war crimes.’

Honestly, Regulus had quite liked that one. More than the one calling him an ‘unhinged
psychopath’ because he thought that was a bit redundant. Heinous is a good word. James had
muttered something about making a new appointment with the mind healer when he’d told him
that.

Yes, they do see a mind healer now. Regulus hates it. Hates her, specifically. But he’ll admit that
it’s been helping with the touch issues and that’s the only reason he endures it. The rest of it is
useless. Regulus doesn’t want or need anyone telling him where his scars are or what his pain
tastes like. He knows. He’s too smart not to.

“Dorcas, have you seen James?” Regulus asks her.

“He was inside with Lily and Pandora,” Dorcas replies, shrugging. “I overheard something about
some letter arriving?”
“I’m going to go find him,” Regulus says, knocking back his drink in one go.

“Whoa,” Evan exclaims. “Are we getting smashed? Is it that kind of party?”

“It’s a Potter party,” Dorcas replies casually. “Which means yes. Absolutely, one hundred percent
yes to getting smashed. Sirius and Marlene are half-way there already.”

“The party hasn’t even started yet,” Evan says, sounding impressed. “Let’s go catch up.”

“You okay?” Dorcas asks Regulus.

Nodding, he gestures with his head towards the house to indicate he’s going to look for James, then
she’s off towards the bar again and Regulus is crossing the garden. He can feel eyes on the back of
his neck, most likely action-man’s, so he ignores it. It’s pretty embarrassing that he thinks a nasty
look will make Regulus uncomfortable.

The door to the kitchen is unlocked, and Regulus slips inside easily. James is here, by the table,
with his back to Regulus. His head is tilted forward, like he’s reading something. Quietly, because
he can still move like a cat, Regulus comes up and puts his arms around James’ middle from
behind.

“Oh,” James says softly, and Regulus can hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t realise you’d
arrived.”

“What are you doing that you lost track of time?”

James hums, then turns around. Regulus looks up at him and the world falls away. It’s just them.
Again. Forever. He’s still not used to it. Sometimes, Regulus will panic, and he’ll have to go in
search of James right that moment no matter what.

Two days ago, he worked himself into a fit and apparated to St. Mungo’s because he had to
confirm James was fine. That he’d truly been rescued, and the war was over, and James was
Regulus’ and he wasn’t going to leave him. Regulus barged into the ward where Lily was having
her appointment, only coming to an awkward stop when he saw James sitting in the waiting area
with her and Pandora.

Nobody had said a word when Regulus had sat down next to them and stayed the entire time, his
hand slipping into James’ to ground him. Here. With me. Real. He’s back and he made it, and
James loves him.

“Reg?”

“Hmm?”

“You with me?” James asks, rubbing the tip of his nose against Regulus’ in a childish gesture that
Regulus should hate but finds adorable because it’s James and Regulus doesn’t hate anything
James does. It’s infuriatingly pathetic but he’s helpless.

“Yes, sorry. What were you reading?”

“They’re… hmm.” James shifts his weight, then presses a quick kiss to Regulus’ lips. “We can talk
about it tomorrow? After the party?”

“As if I’m going to think about anything else for the rest of the evening if you don’t tell me,”
Regulus deadpans. “Show me.”
James does, turning around so Regulus can see the table and the papers spread over it. They’re
letters. Letters from at least half the Quidditch teams in the league. They want James as their
chaser.

“This is brilliant,” Regulus says. “Are you having trouble deciding what team to join?”

For some reason, this isn’t the right thing to say. James jerks away a little, blinking like he’s been
caught off guard. Scowling, Regulus reads the letters again quickly to make sure he didn’t miss
anything. Nope. All there.

“James?”

“You… don’t mind?” James asks him. “That I would be busy? That I’d have to do all the games?
It’s a lot of travel.”

“Have you forgotten we can apparate?” Regulus says, still scowling because he doesn’t understand
James’ reaction. Why isn’t he excited about it?

“Right,” James says. Bites his lower lip. Looks away, back at Regulus. “But you’ll be home and
I’ll be busy and I—”

“Ah,” Regulus cuts him off. “But I told you about the Ministry and St. Mungo’s. I’ll be working,
James.”

“Well, yes… But I—” James sighs, bites his lip. Looks away. Back at him. Away again.

Regulus presses his palms flat on James’ chest, trying to ignore how firm it feels because he cannot
get distracted with that right now. “What is this about?”

James deflates like a popped balloon, making a noise that’s air and worry all mixed into one long
harrumph.

“I don’t know. I don’t… am I really good enough for that? These teams are the best teams in the
country. Some of them are the best teams in the world. What if I let them down? What if I’m…
just not good enough?”

“You aren’t just good enough. You’re amazing,” Regulus tells him earnestly. “The best young
player by a mile.”

“You’ve got to say that. You’re my boyfriend. It’s like in the job description,” James whines,
making a sad little face.

“Excuse me?” Regulus says, schooling his face into his ‘are you fucking kidding me’ face. “When
have I ever told you what you wanted to hear and not what I thought?”

“Literally every time therapy comes up,” James points out rather smugly.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t count. You know I hate her. It’s not a secret.”

“You really think I’m… that I could play in the league?” James asks, eyes a bit glassy.

“I think any team will be lucky to have you,” Regulus says firmly. He brings his arms up around
James’ neck and presses a kiss to his lips. “And I’m going to come to your every game. Just think
of all of Quidditch changing rooms you’re going to find yourself in.”

James makes a choked noised in the back of his throat and then grabs Regulus’ waist with shaky
hands. Careful and gentle, because that’s just James even though Regulus has told him he’s much
better now. A month of intense therapy and some interesting experimental techniques he’s
volunteered for (literally, he’ll do anything to get rid of this stupid trauma) including ‘exposure
therapy’ have helped him make considerable progress.

Sex isn’t on the table yet, because skin-to-skin remains challenging. But they’re at a point now
where if he’s clothed, Regulus can pretty much make out with James or hug him just like before.
And they’ve become really creative in the bedroom so they can still get off together even on the
days when Regulus can’t stand even a little bit of touch.

“Alright, that’s the most compelling argument of them all,” James says against Regulus’ mouth.
“I’m doing it, then. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Regulus replies, kissing him fully.

After a little while, they break apart. Mostly so they can breathe. James beams, presses their
foreheads together. “I love you.”

“I know,” Regulus says, leaning in for another kiss. Frustratingly, that’s the moment James’ brain
decides to catch up with the past ten minutes all at once.

Rearing back, eyes wild, he says, “Fuck. I’m going pro.”

Regulus grins at him, shaking his head fondly, then says, “He’s behind the bar getting everyone
drunk.”

James blinks violently, then beams even harder and presses an enthusiastic kiss on Regulus’ mouth
before bolting for the door. Regulus hasn’t even made it back to the garden yet, taking a small
moment to smile to himself in the privacy of the kitchen, but he can already hear chanting and
cheering. The unmistakable voices of James and Sirius when they’re celebrating something.

By the time Regulus makes it to the bar, everyone has gathered to see what the commotion is
about. Regulus finds himself next to Dorcas, who winks at him and nudges his shoulder with hers.
James is leaning over the bar, shouting something at Sirius who’s got his arms around his neck.
Marlene is shaking a cocktail maker, scowling a little bit at James and Sirius taking up so much bar
space. Remus is watching the scene with an amused glint in the corner of his eyes.

“Here, you’re woefully behind!” Barty passes Regulus a drink. “Catch up.”

Sam’s band is warming up, so soft, tentative music floats across the garden. With a flourish, Sirius
disentangles himself from James’ and shouts that it’s time for the first round of shots of the day.

“Red, get over here!” he calls, waving his arm.

Hand in hand, Pandora and Lily come out of the house and head straight for the bar. Lily’s cheeks
are flushed, and Pandora is smiling with that gentleness that Regulus has always associated just
with her.

A row of ten shots is arranged on the bar countertop by Sirius and Marlene, then everyone’s being
given a small shot glass. Lily, who found an open spot right next to Regulus, purses her lips.
Subtly, Regulus tips her shot glass over the bar and empties it on the ground, not caring it splatters
his shoes a little bit. A quick, precise aguamenti charm later, he’s pushing the new, alcohol-free
shot glass towards Lily without making eye contact.

“Oh,” Lily says when she notices what he’s done. Then, “Thank you, Regulus.” He can hear a
smile on her voice.

“We’re toasting!” Sirius declares dramatically. “Everyone, glasses up! We go around. Everyone has
to toast to something. Those are the rules.”

“I’ll start,” says James, vibrating with excitement. “To love!”

There’s a chorus of aawws and two very pronounced eyes rolls—Regulus and Remus—before
Sirius is shouting, “To the end of the war!”

“To our collective baby!” That one is Barty who for some unfathomable reason has included
himself in the group of people who will be involved in the baby’s life. He’s like… properly excited
about it. Much to Sirius’ dismay, Barty has already bought the baby their first toy.

“To friendship!” Dorcas winks at Regulus when she says that one, and Regulus feels himself
smiling a bit, cheeks warm.

“To parties every weekend!” Marlene declares, winking.

“To choosing your own fate,” Pandora says, exchanging a knowing look with Lily who raises her
glass of water and says, “To dreams coming true.”

Evan toasts to breaking the cycle of hate and redeeming family names, which Regulus has to admit
is a really good one. He’s been keeping track, because he’s Regulus Black, and the only ones who
haven’t toasted yet are Remus and him. Regulus squirms a little. He’s not good at this sort of thing.
What would he toast to? Crossing names of a kill list? Making his enemies pay?

Remus tilts his head to the side, looking at his glass like he’s deep in thought before he says, “I’m
going to toast to Regulus, because we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

They lock eyes, and Regulus scowls and says, “To Remus, who lived a short but intense life.
Because I’m going to kill him now.”

Everyone laughs, and they drink their shots, and then Sam’s band is playing so they abandon the
bar and head over to watch and listen to the music. Regulus has never liked crowds. That hasn’t
changed. In fact, because of his reinforced aversion to touch, he could argue it’s a little worse than
before.

Stealthily, he breaks from the group and skulks to the side, away from the people. There are no
walls or poles or columns of any kind, just open garden and grass. Without anything for him to lean
against, Regulus feels rather awkward just standing there, so he takes out a cigarette and tries to
remember what one does with their limbs when they’re not trying to be threatening.

To Regulus’ secret delight, James comes to him immediately. Hazel eyes that glint with that
twinkly joy that says ‘I’ll always find you, in any room, any crowd, anywhere, anywhere’ and
makes his mouth break into a grin that Regulus has tattooed on his heart.

“Hi,” James whispers. He knows, and he understands, and Regulus loves James for choosing to
stand with him on the sidelines when he’s always been a ‘middle of the brawl’ kind of guy.

Slowly, everyone makes their way over, too. Like Regulus is a magnet and all their friends
gravitate to him. He knows it’s not true. They’re just polite and probably didn’t want him to stand
there awkwardly. But it’s nice nonetheless.

Sam’s band is pretty good, Regulus has to admit. They have a mix of original songs and covers.
When Sam sings a rock-ified version of Bob Marley’s No Woman, No Cry, Regulus finds himself
nodding his head along to the music. James’ hand finds his, and their fingers tangle in between
their bodies. Subtle, almost invisible. That small gesture contains a universe.

Another girl Regulus doesn’t know takes over leading vocals for the next song, something much
more upbeat, almost pop-y. With an excited yelp, Dorcas takes Marlene’s hand, then they’re off a
little to the left to dance together. Pandora takes one look at them, then is tugging Lily along to do
the same.

As soon as Lily is out of range, Regulus fishes a new cigarette out of his pocket, which prompts
Sirius, Remus and Barty to do the same. Well, Barty makes eyes at Remus who rolls his before
giving in and passing a cigarette over.

“You’ve got to start buying your own,” Remus scoffs through his first mouthful of smoke. “That’s
the last one I’ll ever give you.”

“You wound me,” Barty says dramatically.

Sirius narrows his eyes at the exchange but says nothing, smoking in peace, bobbing his head to the
music, too. Evan comments on how good the drummer is which, apparently, is something James
feels passionately about. Regulus very quickly forgets all about the band, too absorbed in watching
James rant enthusiastically about what makes a drummer good vs great. Evan appears to be equally
entranced.

An indefinite amount of time later, the music changes again to a cover of Get It On led by Sam.
Regulus, who has nothing against T-Rex but isn’t their biggest fan either, takes another cigarette
out before Lily finds their way back to them and he puts himself on a smoke ban.

Barty has thrown an arm over Evan’s shoulders in what could be a ‘lads being lads’ way to the
untrained eye. Sirius is staring at Sam a little starry eyed, Remus lighting a cigarette next to him
also watching the band. Regulus tilts his head sideways and up to look at James, and finds him
already looking at him.

Fuck. He’s never going to get tired of this. Of going to parties with the people he cares about
without drowning in the knowledge it’ll be the last one. Of looking at James and being allowed to
just waste time simply staring. Regulus doesn’t think he’ll ever take the simple fact of being alive,
here, now, for granted. Ever.

Because he very nearly wasn’t alive, here, or now.

Regulus is about to say something deeply embarrassing to James when a low, raspy voice beings to
sing almost absent-mindedly along to the lyrics. Curious, Regulus glances around and finds Remus
fucking Lupin is singing and he very clearly isn’t realising he’s doing it.

Everyone else has noticed, though.

Sirius is staring at his boyfriend like he’ll keel over or drop to his knees any second. Regulus is
very intently praying for the former. Evan looks a little dazed, and Barty looks like he might
attempt to kiss Remus again. Which Regulus lowkey hopes he does because it’d be hilarious to
watch Sirius’ reaction to that.

The song ends, and before anyone can get a word in, Barty blurts, “Fuck me, Lupin. Since when
can you sing? I know I promised never to kiss you again but you’re making it hard, mate.”

Remus proceeds to blush violently as he realises he’d been, in fact, singing. At the same time, the
starry-eyed look is wiped from Sirius’ face as he swivels his head around dramatically and glares at
Barty.

“What do you mean kiss you again?” he says, horrified.

There’s a loud groan—from Remus—and a chuckle—from Evan—before Barty smirks at Sirius

and says, “Well, Remus and I kissed once.”

“I’m going to need you to tell me that was a joke right now,” Sirius says, turning his body to face
Barty head on. “For the sake of your physical integrity, mostly.”

James moves as if to stand next to Sirius, but Regulus holds him back. “I want to watch this,” he
mutters.

“Reg,” James protests, conflicted. “Sirius doesn’t fuck about when it comes to Remus.”

“I know,” Regulus says, shrugging. “That’s what makes it funny.”

James makes a sound of distress, but Regulus has him by the arm, so he stays put. For now. Barty,
who has never met a challenge he didn’t love, winks at Sirius. “Not a joke, Black,” he says
nonchalantly. “My tongue, his mouth.”

Sirius’ fists curl. “When did this happen?” Then, looking at Evan with wide eyes. “Don’t you have
anything to say about this?”

“I mean… it was kind of hot?” Evan says shrugging.

“It was very hot,” Barty confirms.

“Barty,” Remus says in a warning tone. “Pads, we didn’t kiss. That’s not what happened. Barty is
being a little shit.”

“Do not break my heart like this, Remus!” Barty wails, putting his arms over his chest. “Did we or
did we not swap some spit?”

Regulus can see the little muscle twitching under his brother’s left eye. The one that means Sirius is
very mad. He wore the same look the day after James told him he’d kissed Regulus for the first
time. Squeezing James’ arm, he whispers, “Sirius’ about to go off!”

“Why do you sound so delighted?!” James asks, appalled.

“The war ended, and I quit violence cold turkey,” Regulus says, purposefully omitting the brief
discussion about possibly murdering one Peter Pettigrew and ignoring the part where he stabbed
action-man with a quill because that was well justified, and he will not apologise for it. “I’m
experiencing withdrawals. This is a little treat.”

“You’re not even the one doing the violence,” James protests.

Regulus shrugs, then says, “My kind of violence usually ends with a dead body. Too much clean
up. This is less messy.”

James blinks at him, mouth in a thin, slightly appalled line but cheeks darkening a little. It makes
the breath hitch in Regulus’ chest that James finds his wickedness hot. He can’t resist pressing a
quick kiss to his mouth, despite the fact that they’re in a public place. Most people at this party
watched James cradle Regulus’ body to him on the lawn of Lestrange Castle anyway, so their
involvement is hardly a secret these days.

Next to them, the Sirius-Barty drama continues to unfold. Sirius has Barty by the collar of his shirt,
lifting him clean off his feet.

“I should have probably said,” Barty comments casually, as though he’s not being threatened by a
mildly feral Black, “That I find these sorts of situations quite hot. So, unless you want me to kiss
you, too, Black, you’re better off putting me down.”

This shocks Sirius so thoroughly he lowers Barty to the ground, though he doesn’t let go. Glancing
at Evan, Sirius asks, “Is he for real?”

“I’m afraid so,” Evan confirms, grinning. “Barty’s a little crazy.”

“Pads,” Remus says, sliding an arm around Sirius’ waist from behind. “He’s winding you up.”

Then, Remus lowers his voice so none of them can hear what he’s saying, but Sirius’ eyes go very
wide, and he goes very red, and then he’s releasing Barty like he’s burnt him and nodding rather
jerkily.

“Do not mention that… thing again,” Sirius warns Barty. “Ever. And I’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Sure,” Barty says, then he winks at Sirius which makes Evan laugh.

When Remus steps back, a satisfied smirk on his face, James leans in and whispers to Regulus,
“That face Sirius is making means they’re going to do kinky shit tonight.”

“I’m extremely disturbed that you know that,” Regulus says, cringing with his entire body.

James shrugs like it’s completely normal and not at all line-blurring that he knows what his best
friend looks like when he’s anticipating having kinky sex with his boyfriend. Regulus rolls his
eyes, lets out huffing breath, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Gripping her mic like she’s playing a sold-out gig and not in the Potter’s garden to a crowd of fifty-
odd people, Sam announces that they’ve got one song left, and they all shuffle a little closer to the
stage.

Dorcas and Marlene are right up by the edge of it, practically smelling Sam’s feet. Barty and Evan
have dragged Pandora and, by extension, Lily with them, too. Regulus has noticed Barty and Lily
seem to get along quite well after their rescue mission together. He likes that the groups seem to be
merging smoothly. Makes life easier.

Next to Regulus, Remus lights another cigarette before throwing a lazy arm over Sirius’ shoulders.
When Sirius turns to look up at Remus, he catches Regulus’ gaze. They hold it for a moment, nod
to each other. A trickle of warmth unfurls in Regulus’ chest. Light pouring in through the wound.

They’re not… normal. Not fully functional, either. But they’re working on it. Together. And that’s
really all Regulus wants. His brother saved his life. Came back for him when he needed him the
most.

After all this time, Sirius chose Regulus. For that alone, Regulus will never stop giving his brother
another chance to find the way they fit together.

Messes of men learning to love each other through the darkness, ready to stand in the sun
The moment passes. Sirius breaks eye contact to press a kiss to the underside of Remus’ jaw and
Regulus rests his head on James’ shoulder, watching Sam and her band perform.

Regulus is used to his head running at a million miles per hour. Always scheming, planning,
strategizing. He’s been doing that, his genius turned towards preparing his future instead of taking
down a dark wizard, but he finds that as he’s standing here with his boyfriend and his friends,
listening to Sam sing… there’s quiet in his head. The music fills it and the point where he’s
touching James soothes him and Regulus is just here. Being.

He's happy.

“Let’s grab another drink,” James mutters into his ear when Sam’s band finishes. Someone beings
to fiddle with a record player to keep the music going, and people begin to disperse around the
garden.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Regulus asks, narrowing his eyes at James with suspicion.

“Maybe.”

James’ warm hand closes around Regulus’ wrist, and then he’s being gently tugged towards the
bar. Regulus isn’t really putting any effort into resisting, but he is mildly curious as to why James is
invested in getting him sloshed.

The answer becomes very clear an hour and three drinks later, when someone puts an ABBA
record on and James’ eyes sparkle with excitement. “Let’s dance.”

“No,” Regulus says, leaning on the bar. “You go.”

“But I want you to dance with me,” James whines. He turns to Sirius, who is bouncing on the balls
of his feet but wisely isn’t trying to persuade Remus to dance. “Padfoot, help me out?”

“Sorry, no can do,” Sirius says solemnly. “We’re just about learning to get along. I’m not ruining
that because you want to shimmy to Dancing Queen.”

James makes a loud sound of pure outrage, looking around for another person to recruit to his
cause. Meanwhile, Regulus exchanges a nod of ‘good job’ with Sirius, who beams proudly—he is
quite drunk by now—before announcing he is going to dance with Sam.

“Lily!” James cries. “Tell Regulus he has to dance with me.”

“I’m not telling Regulus he has to do anything,” Lily says immediately. “I like my head where it is.
Attached to my body.”

“Regulus would never hurt you,” James says, aghast. Then, “Right?”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus winks at Lily before saying, “Pandora would curse me into oblivion, so
no. She’s safe. Still not dancing, though.”

Lily giggles and salutes Regulus.

“Come oooon,” James begs, pouting adorably.

“Sorry, James,” Regulus says, shaking his head. “Not happening.”

With a sigh from deep in his belly, James drops his arms at his side and nods. “Alright. Okay. Me
and my broken heart are going alone, then.”
Remus snorts a badly contained laugh that makes Regulus’ mouth twitch, too. They watch James
strut over to Sirius, who throws his arms in the air, and then they’re dancing together, swaying
wildly and rather clumsily. Zero inhibitions. Sam and Marlene laugh at their drunkenness, teasing
them despite the fact that they’re not really faring that much better.

Dorcas, Barty and Evan have found some chairs and are sitting down together, talking and people
watching. Regulus has no doubts they’re roasting everybody. They can get mean when they’re in
the mood. Regulus is very tempted to go join them, but he’s got a pretty good view of the floor
from where he is standing, and he does love watching James dance.

“Lils! Here, I made you this,” Pandora says, swooping in. Her summer dress billows around her.
She hands Lily a glass with a pink drink that Lily eyes curiously.

“What’s in it?”

“It’s peach and strawberries with a bit of elderflower,” Pandora says happily. “It’s like a non-
alcoholic cocktail. Try it!”

Lily smiles at her, eyes glittering with adoration. She tugs on Pandora’s dress to bring her closer
and presses a quick, soft kiss to her lips. When Pandora steps back, smiling, Lily takes a sip from
the drink.

It’s clear from the way her eyes widen a little and her smile tightens that Lily doesn’t like it. To
Regulus’ amusement, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she drinks again and sweetly presses a
second kiss to Pandora’s mouth. “Thank you, Dora. It’s refreshing.”

“Liar,” Remus mutters, low enough that only Regulus can hear it. He has to turn away to hide how
much he’s struggling to not laugh.

“We’re going to stand by the wall to smoke,” Regulus says to Lily and Pandora.

“Sure,” Pandora replies easily. “Shall we dance? I’ve learnt a new one I’d like to show you.”

Regulus thinks Lily must really love Pandora very much, because keeping up with her and her
eccentricities isn’t easy, and yet Lily does it seamlessly. Like all she ever wants to do is go along
with whatever new idea Pandora has had. Regulus would have never guessed they’d be so perfect
for each other. Pandora’s softness and Lily’s quiet, intense fire. But they work. They work really
well.

Regulus spends a good portion of the party after that just leaning against the wall with Remus,
smoking and drinking. The sun sets, and the fairylights go on. People drink and dance. Effie and
Monty come and go, keeping everyone fed and watered, big smiles plastered on their faces.

For Regulus and Remus, most of the time is spent in comfortable silence, though they do share
opinions on a couple of the guests’ antics. As people get drunker and things get sloppier, there’s
enough drama to keep them entertained.

Eventually, James seems to get tired from dancing and starts making his way over. In his drunken
state, he accidentaly bumps into action-man, who had been talking to someone at the edge of the
dancefloor. There’s a tense moment when it looks like action-man might start something, but then
James nods and carries on walking.

Still, as James walks a little unsteadily towards Regulus and Remus, action-man’s eyes stay on him
the entire time and Regulus wonders if the man’s got a death wish.
“Hi,” James says, smiling sloppily when he’s close enough. “I bumped into Gid. It was my fault.”

“He’s staring at you,” Regulus points out.

“Reg…” James starts. “Please.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Regulus asks.

James groans. “Just… nothing he hasn’t said before. But Reg, we’ve talked about this. Gid is
grieving, we should cut him some slack.”

“If he doesn’t give it up, he’ll see his brother real soon,” Regulus mutters around his cigarette.

“Reg!” James yelps, then looks away. Regulus tries not to smirk but fails. James can pretend all he
wants, but they both know he finds it hot when Regulus gets violent on his behalf.

“Joking,” Regulus says.

“No, he’s not,” Remus chirps, pulling Sirius in as he joins them a bit unsteadily. “How much have
you drunk?”

“Too much,” Sirius says frankly, swaying a bit. His words come out all slurred and meshed
together. “Take me home?”

“Yeah, no,” Remus says, smiling. He pushes himself off the wall then puts out his cigarette.
“We’re staying here. Up to your room you go.”

“Moony!” Sirius whines, too loud. He flails an arm around and stumbles, almost falling down in
his inebriated state. “We cannot do that thing here. This is Effie and Monty’s house.”

Remus rolls his eyes, trying to look nonchalant. Regulus isn’t buying it—he can see the pink on the
tips of his ears. “That thing isn’t happening while you’re this drunk.”

“Noooooo,” Sirius wails dramatically. “You promised! You said if I let Barty go, you’d—”

Eyes wide, Remus clamps a hand over Sirius’ mouth, muffling the rest of his sentence. Sirius
blinks, then slumps his shoulders in defeat. Smiling despite it all, Remus tugs Sirius close and
whispers, “I’ll make it up to you. But right now, you need to sleep this off. Let’s go.”

Regulus shakes his head at the retreating shape of his brother and Remus before glancing at James,
who’s leaning against the wall and muttering something to himself. James is also pretty drunk, and
Regulus concludes it’s as good a time as any to leave the party.

“James?”

Slowly, James turns to Regulus and says, “I love you so much.”

He can’t help the smile that breaks on his face. Regulus can feel his cheeks heating and he’s
slightly mortified but also this is James. They’re alone. No one is paying them attention. It’s dark
—they’re away from the fairylights—and most people are either leaving or too drunk to notice the
two men huddled against a wall.

The words crowd on his tongue, and Regulus almost says it, but he doesn’t want the first time he
manages it to be when James is drunk. He deserves to hear it sober. Fully present and lucid.

Instead, he says, “Je sais. Laisse-moi t'emmener au lit.”

“I don’t know what that means,” James tells him, eyes darkening. “But say it again.”

“It means let me take you to bed,” Regulus replies, amused. He curls his fingers on the front of
James’ shirt. “Laisse-moi t'emmener au lit.”

“Yes,” James breathes, huskily. “Take me to bed, Reg.”

Chuckling, Regulus slides his hand into James’ and leads him into the house. He twirls the ring on
his finger, and calls Dorcas through it while they’re walking.

“Dorcas?”

“Everything okay?” She looks up from the chair, finding Regulus guiding James through the
garden.

“James’ sloshed. I’m taking him to bed. You okay? Can you let Barty and Evan know I’m
leaving?”

“Go take care of your man,” Dorcas winks at him in the distance, smiling. Barty and Evan must
notice, because they turn around. When Barty sees him, he gives Reg a little salute. “I’ll make sure
these two get home alright.”

“Thank you.”

It takes some manoeuvring to get to James’ room up the stairs, but they manage it. Once inside,
James lets out a huffing breath and tugs Regulus against his chest. Regulus smiles, face pressed to
James’ shirt.

“It’s sad I still live with my parents, isn’t it?” James slurs, running his fingers through Regulus’
hair. “But I’m afraid if I ask you about it, you’ll get upset.”

“You’re too drunk for this conversation,” Regulus tells him gently.

“I’m not too drunk,” James says immediately. He disentangles their bodies and pushes Regulus
gently aside. “I’ll show you.”

Amused, Regulus crosses his arms and nods. James takes in a deep breath and sets his shoulders.
Then, for some reason, he lifts a foot and grabs it with his left hand while bringing his right
forefinger to his nose.

Bewildered, Regulus watches the display. “Huh?”

Dropping his extremities back to their right place, James turns to look at him with a smug
expression. “Would I be able to do that if I was drunk?”

“Yes,” Regulus deadpans. “You are drunk and you just did. So, obviously.”

Aggravated, James shakes his head. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” Regulus says, smiling against his will. “Come on. Bed.”

“Oh. Yes, bed!” James exclaims.

Immediately, he goes to battle with his clothes. Regulus knows he should help, but he’s enjoying
James’ antics too much to interfere. It takes an inordinate amount of time for him to divest himself
of his shirt and trousers. Regulus loves every single second of it.
Eventually, James is standing only in his pants, and Regulus’ mouth is watering. Which isn’t great,
because he still can’t manage prolonged skin to skin contact, which is unfortunately a requirement
for sex. The kind of sex he wants to have with his boyfriend.

“Very impressive,” Regulus mutters, eyes trailing James’ chest, his abs, and that damned tattoo that
makes Regulus’ knees weak every time he sees it.

“Thank you,” James says proudly. Then, he registers that Regulus is still fully clothed and blinks.
Blinks once more, eyes focusing more than they have been until now. “Maybe I shouldn’t have got
naked.”

“Oh no,” Regulus says. “I’m really enjoying this.”

“But you’re… leaving?” James asks sheepishly.

Regulus pauses. He doesn’t want to. At all. But he also can’t give James what he wants. What
Regulus also wants. This is so fucking annoying.

“I can stay,” Regulus tells him carefully. “But you know I can’t…” He gestures towards James’
body, feeling stupid and small and just so bloody tired of the whole situation. “Not yet.”

“But you want to stay?” James asks again, watching him intently. “With me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then,” James says, then he strides over to his closet and throws it open. In the blink of an
eye, he puts on a big, worn t-shirt before turning to Regulus. “Take whatever you want to sleep in.”

Oh.

Salazar have mercy on him, Regulus loves this man so much. The way James just… knows. He
gets it. And he wants things, but he can’t have them, and he’s never once made Regulus feel bad
about it. Fuck. He could live two lifetimes and still not deserve someone like James.

Embarrassingly, Regulus feels his eyes prickle with unshed tears as he wordlessly moves towards
the closet. He finds one of James’ old quidditch jerseys and takes it, hands a bit shaky. James
smiles and sits on his bed, watching Regulus undress but very purposefully putting distance
between them.

When he tugs the jersey over his head, Regulus turns towards the bed and finds James’ mouth
hanging open. “What?”

James swallows, then makes a small noise. Defeated, James simply waves a vague hand in the
general direction of Regulus. He looks so adorably flustered Regulus wants to scream. He just…
He wants James.

“James,” Regulus says, walking over to the bed. “Are you in control of yourself?”

It takes him a moment. A moment that melts Regulus’ heart, because James is drunk and horny and
he could have just said yes regardless. But his concern and love for Regulus win every time, so he
thinks about it. Regulus can see him working through it, deciding if he’s where he needs to be.

With a shake of his head, James says, “I’m too drunk. I’ll forget not to touch you.”

A bit disappointed, but eternally grateful to his boyfriend, Regulus nods. “Then, let’s sleep. Come
 on.”

They get in bed together, lying on their sides and facing each other. James makes a face, then says,
“The room’s spinning.”

“Put your leg down. Take your foot off the bed and plant it on the floor,” Regulus tells him. “Barty
does it all the time. He says it helps.”

James turns on his back and does just that, exclaiming, “It works!”

Regulus smiles, closes his eyes. The bed dips and then James’ hand is in his hair, gently running
through his curls. “I’m sorry,” Regulus mutters. “I’ll figure it out. I promise.”

“Reg—”

“I know,” he says, small smile tugging at his mouth. “I know you don’t mind. But I do. I will
figure it out and when I do, we’re going to spend at least three straight days in bed.”

The groan that crawls out of James’ throat makes Regulus almost whimper. He doesn’t open his
eyes, because that won’t help. Instead, he curls into himself a little more and tries to force himself
to sleep.

Chapter End Notes

WE HAD A CHAPTER OF PURE FLUFF WHO AM I!?

Regulus complaining about his annoying brother when he called James through the
mirror was so funny to me. Like, PLS THEY ARE SUCH SIBLINGS THESE
DAYS

Pandora being like 'This baby special' when Lily told her? YES MA'AM. We knew
you were not going to disappoint
Lily wanting Sirius and Marlene to be the godparents! I'M UNWELL

Sirius being jealous of the baby!? HE'S SO PRECIOUS and then immediately doing
a 180 when he's informed he'll be the godfather like IMMA SPOIL THIS KID SO
MUCH I love godfather of Harry Sirius Black so much
Remus needing to sit down was so real LMAO
Their little three-way hug? PLS

Regulus and Remus going out for a drink like friends. HOLD MY HAND I'M
FRAGILE Platonic Moonwater own me. Just. They do. IT'S TRUE. ALSO not them
debating whether to go end Pettigrew?! LMAO
AND honourable mention to Regulus 'I found a job where I can kill people' Black.
Intelligence agent? SIR THAT'S HOT but also... being a healer at the same time?
WE LOVE A WELL ROUNDED KING. He can kill you or save your life, it's a coin
toss depends on his mood

YES I DID DROP AN ANTI-HERO REFERENCE IN THIS FIC I HAD TO

Sirius is back on the tapestry and that's so special to me and him becoming a
politician with the sole purpose of legalizing same-sex marriage? THAT'S SO SIRIUS
OF HIM I JUST UGH
Not him sending Regulus into orbit by joking about James proposing

And then a PARTY!! Because the last one Reg went to was so bittersweet but now
he's happy and he's looking after Lily
AND SIRIUS FOUND OUT BARTY KISSED REMUS LMAO - Regulus being a
little shit like 'ooooh this is fun' and Sirius absolutely losing it while Evan is
completely unbothered I AM UNWELL I LOVED THAT SCENE

Finally, James almost going apoplectic when Regulus put on his quidditch jersey
PLS he's such a boy. But also so adorable and respectful. Dropped this

****

I AM SO SAD THAT WE'RE ALMOST DONE. TWO MORE CHAPTERS TO

GO
We'll have some time jumps in the coming chapters and you get to see some things I
hope will make you kick your feet and giggle
Someone asked if we'll see Harry interact with Reg and the answer is yes we will.
There are a couple of scenes where Harry is a toddler

Come hang out with me in the comments section I love you all so much
 To build a home
Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

It's the penultimate chapter and I'm EMOTIONAL

There are a couple of warnings for this one, but it's again extremely fluffy and happy!
Also, re comments - life has been wild and I'm once again behind but I'm hoping to
catch up tomorrow Every single comment makes me extremely happy and I am so,
so, so grateful that you continue to show up for me and this fic

TWs for this chapter:

SEX - like, a lot of it. This chapter is the smuttiest chapter of the fic so far and it's
explicit. You have been warned!
Difficult labour - there is a scene where a character has a baby and there are
complications. Both the baby and the mother make it and are healthy and fine, but the
scene can be intense and triggering to people so if you want to skip it, it's the last
scene of this chapter.

If you want to skip the sex:

- Don't read the first scene at all. That's just smut.
- Then, for the second scene sex scene (third one in the chapter if you follow the
breaks), read only until Regulus asks 'Don't you want to see the rest?' and then resume
reading at this line "Good?" James says, indignant. "Mind-blowing."
There are more mentions of / implied sex throughout the rest of the chapter but I can't
realistically give you specifics for those because they are kind of everywhere. Sorry

ENJOY

See the end of the chapter for more notes

September 1979

The roar of the crowd makes James’ blood sing. There’s an entire Quidditch stadium chanting his
name, and it’s only his first game with the Appleby Arrows. He’s not the captain, which feels a bit
odd, but fair. He’s the team’s rookie and this is his first game.

He has scored a grand total of one-hundred and twenty points on his own.

Everyone is going absolutely wild. And James is loving every second of it.

On the stands, Regulus is watching the game. He’s not shouting or chanting. That’s not his style.
He’s very still, eyes trained on James most of the time while simultaneously keeping track of
everything that’s going on in the game. James knows when he’s off his broom, Regulus will give
him a play by play of the strengths and weaknesses of the Arrows.

Honestly, he can’t wait.

Swooping down low to avoid a bludger, James flies back into formation to steal the quaffle from
the other team. He had missed this. Missed flying for fun. For sport. Missed worrying about
bludgers instead of killing curses. Missed the rush of the crowd’s love. He’s at home on his broom
in the middle of a match with his boyfriend in the stands sitting next to Sirius and Remus. Sirius
has been on his feet the entire game, bellowing off the top of his lungs like a man possessed.
Remus is pretending he doesn’t know him.

Marlene isn’t here because she’s playing her own game with the Cannons. Dorcas, Lily and
Pandora are watching her game up in Cardiff. James hopes Marlene’s team wins. He’s excited
about the day they’ll play against each other. It’s a little sad, but Quidditch teams poach players all
the time. The minute he has a bit of a say, he’s going to start buggering the Arrows’ manager to
make a bid for Marlene.

“That was so brilliant!” Sirius shouts of the top of his lungs when James exits the changing rooms
after the game. They won by a huge margin after the seeker caught the snitch.

“I’m impressed,” Remus adds, smiling at James.

Sirius has jumped on him, and currently has his legs around his waist like a koala, so James cranes
his neck over Sirius’ shoulder to find Regulus’ eyes. He smiles at him but doesn’t say anything.

A few months ago, James would have panicked. But now he knows. If Regulus is quiet and
smiling at him like that, it means he doesn’t want to share in public. Which works for James,
because when Regulus wants to be private it’s usually really good.

That’s why James does his best to talk to reporters as quickly as humanly possible, then promises
Sirius and Remus that they’ll have a celebratory pub visit the next day before linking his hand in
Regulus and apparating away.

The moment they’re in Grimmauld Place, Regulus turns on him and crowds James against the
nearest wall. He kisses him and James immediately knows something is happening. Something
good and exciting and all the words that he can’t think of because he’s too busy curling his tongue
with Regulus’ and sinking into the feeling of it.

When they break the kiss, Regulus runs his teeth over the column of James’ throat. “Today,” he
says, eyes shining wickedly.

Immediately, the blood abandons James’ brain and extremities to concentrate in his pants.
“Today?” he croaks, swallowing through the mounting excitement.

“Right now,” Regulus confirms, smirking.

James knows Regulus has been doing some exposure therapy with his mind healer to get over his
touch issues. He’s been very pleased with the results recently. Two weeks ago, he was able to sleep
as the little spoon for most of the night for the first time since they got back together.

“Here?” James asks, breathless.

“Upstairs,” Regulus says, then he pulls back and turns, leaving James panting in the corridor.

It takes James all of one second to remember how to operate his legs, then he’s practically
sprinting up the steps towards the master bedroom. When he told Regulus that he’d love him even
if he could never touch him again, James meant every word wholeheartedly. But knowing that
Regulus never wanted that, and that they’ve both been desperate to be able to touch freely has been
a slow, drawn out kind of torture.
And yes, they’ve found ways. On Regulus’ worst days, they usually just don’t. Or if they really
need to, they’ll take care of it themselves, but together. Not touching, but watching, listening. On
the good days, they’ve been making steady progress. Hands and mouths in various positions
depending on how much Regulus can handle.

The past two weeks have been very, very good. And when James walks into the room and finds
Regulus already shirtless, that sinful tattoo on his arm plus a few others he’s got scattered—one of
his ribs, one on his right bicep, one under his collarbone—James wonders if a person can
spontaneously combust.

“Are you sure?” he asks, but he’s already yanking his t-shirt off.

“Positive,” Regulus replies, stepping closer. “Kiss me.”

James does. Oh, does he now. He kisses Regulus like it’s the first and last time he’ll ever get to do
it. They know that it’s easier for Regulus the further gone he is into the physical aspect of it all.
Out of his mind where the memories live and haunt him. And James does his absolute best to drive
Regulus as wild as he can.

Breaking the kiss, James dips his face to Regulus’ neck, gently biting the smooth skin there.
Regulus arches into him, and it’s the first hurdle. Their chests meet. James waits, half his brain
devoted to what he’s doing with his tongue and the other half paying attention to whether Regulus
is okay.

“Stop thinking,” Regulus groans. “I’m fine.”

Chuckling, James slides a hand down from Regulus’ hair and traces the lines of his chest until he’s
gripping that waist he’ll never get tired of worshipping. Regulus holds on to James’ shoulders,
tilting his head to the side to give him better access.

Oh, he’s definitely fine.

Emboldened, James circles his hands around and dips them down to grab Reg’s thighs, pulling him
up. Immediately, he curls his legs around James’ torso. His arms slide around James’ neck, then
Regulus presses his hips forward.

Ah, fuck. James is quickly losing his ability to have coherent thoughts.

James looks up, finds Regulus’ green eyes staring at him, pupils a little blown. Smiling, James
says, “I love you.”

Regulus kisses him, nudging his lips open to slide his tongue into James’ mouth. One of them
makes a sound, but it’s lost in between them. Shared breaths are one when you’re this close to your
person.

Somehow, they find themselves on the bed. Regulus is on his back, curls spread over the pillow,
and James is hovering over him. This is the second hurdle but when James opens his mouth to ask,
Regulus rolls his eyes and pops open his jeans to wiggle out of them.

Taking the hint, James follows suit. He hesitates when he’s only in his pants, but Regulus shows no
sign of wanting to slow down even a little bit. Fully naked, he raises an eyebrow at James then dips
his eyes to his pants.

“James, stop treating me like I’m going to break,” Regulus says.

“I just—”

“You know what I want,” Regulus tells him pointedly. “Don’t make me ask for it again.”

James still hesitates a little, because he’s so on edge he’s worried if he gives in to what Regulus
wants, he’ll go too far, and it’ll ruin the whole thing. Surely, this first time they should take it
easy? Slow? Just… make love instead of fucking like the world is ending?

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Regulus groans, then decides to take matters into his own hands.

He curls his fingers in the waistband of James’ pants and pulls them down roughly. James watches,
entranced, as Regulus takes them off him and drops them over the side of the bed, a defiant
expression on his face as he straightens back up to face James.

Maintaining eye contact, Regulus lays down on his back, completely naked and hard and the most
beautiful thing James has ever seen in his entire life. And James can’t hold himself back any
longer. Regulus is obviously very sure of this, and James isn’t going to ruin it. Not when he’s been
working so hard to get over his issues so they can do this.

When James comes back to hover over Regulus, he tilts his chin up and captures James’ mouth
with his own. The kiss turns desperate quickly, especially when Regulus’ legs come up to curl
around James’ waist so he can push him down, against himself.

“Oh, fuck,” James says, feeling himself building up too quickly. Way too quickly. In his defence,
it’s pretty hard to stay in control when Regulus is this needy. “Slow down.”

“Make me,” Regulus challenges him, eyes flashing.

James raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t ask if Regulus is sure. He is. And if it gets to be too much,
Regulus will stop him. He can probably have James off the bed in under a minute if he wanted to.
Besides, that pesky dagger of his is somewhere in the bedside table drawers.

Grunting, James braces on his knees and takes Regulus’ wrists, pining them over his head with a
single hand. Regulus’ breath hitches, then he’s arching off the bed. James uses his free hand to
press Regulus’ hips back down. “Behave.”

“Ah,” Regulus gasps. “Fuck.”

“I said behave,” James tells him, dipping to bite his lower lip.

Regulus whimpers, and kisses James. Head spinning with desire, James slides his hand further
down until he’s curling his fingers around Regulus’ dick. He makes a sound of pleasure that James
swallows before stroking him.

Breaking the kiss, Regulus gasps again. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t even think about moving,” James warns Regulus as he lets go of his wrists so he can open
the drawer that has what they need.

Bed is probably the only place Regulus has ever been obedient. James knows. He remembers. This
isn’t new, even if it feels like it after how long it’s been since they last had sex like this. But they’d
already discovered what they liked in school and it’s relatively easy to fall back into it.

James removes his hand from Regulus, which elicits a soft whine of protest from him, then coats
his fingers with lube. He settles between Regulus’ legs, leaning over to resume their earlier
position with his hands pinned down. Regulus drops his thighs open, eyes shining with
anticipation. When James begins to work on preparing him, Regulus’ eyelids flutter closed and his
mouth falls slack.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” James says roughly, dipping the first finger inside of Regulus.

“James,” Regulus moans. “Oh fuck.”

“We’re getting there, love,” James tells him. “You know this takes time.”

Regulus shakes his head, and James smiles, pressing a kiss to the tattoo under his collarbone that
reads Nous aurons pour nous l'éternité which James knows means ‘we’ll have all of eternity’
because he has memorised every word to Regulus’ favourite song.

A few minutes later, Regulus is ready and writhing on the bed with sheer desperation. “James, I
sweat to Salazar if you don’t fuck me right this instant I’ll stab you again.”

Smirking, James draws his fingers out and gives himself a few strokes to make sure he’s slick and
well coated with lube before aligning himself with Regulus. He has to let go of his wrists for this,
because James hasn’t done this with Regulus in a year and a half and he wants to see every second
of it. He just… he needs to see it to believe it. That they’re here. After everything.

When he pushes in, Regulus lets out a sound that makes James have to focus hard not to come
undone right then. That’s going to be a problem, James thinks as he waits a moment to give Reg
time to adjust.

“What are you waiting for?” Regulus growls, digging his heels into James’ backside to push him
in.

Abandoning himself to his boyfriend’s whims, James bottoms out and then they’re both groaning
together. James’ heart is thundering in his chest. He feels like his entire body is made of fire and he
wants to burn with Regulus. Be consumed by it, bed, sheets, mattress. The entire house could go up
in flames from how much he’s burning for the beautiful man under his hands.

James moves his hips, back then forward, and he swears to Godric that he sees stars. Fucking hell.
None of the people he slept with has ever made him feel this way. Not even close.

“Are you okay?” James grits out.

Regulus’ eyes are wide, pupils blown. His lips are parted, and his cheeks are flushed. He looks the
prettiest James has ever seen him as he nods rather emphatically, tilting his hips to encourage
James to keep moving.

He does, finding a rhythm that he can keep up without going too far too quickly, then bends
forward to capture Regulus’ next moan into a kiss. When he sits back up so he can up his pace a
little bit, Regulus licks his lips.

“Can you—” Regulus glances at James’ hand, resting lightly on his hip. “Come back down here.”

James complies, adjusting his position as he goes. The new angle scatters Regulus’ train of thought
because he moans loudly and grips James’ shoulder like he’s hanging on for dear life. Still, after a
moment or two, he comes back to himself enough to articulate what he wants.

“Hand,” Regulus says. “Like in the forest.”

“Oh fuck,” James grunts, immediately catching on to what he means.

There’s no way he could forget it. The way Regulus reacted when James got angry at him and
curled his fingers around his throat turned James on so much he got off to that specific memory the
day after it happened.

No more words are needed. James adjusts again, finds his balance and brings one hand to Regulus’
throat. Immediately, Regulus goes feral. He is hands grabbing at James and heels urging him on.
Moans that are half choked and erratic breathing. Glassy eyes and parted lips.

“More,” Regulus says. James’ hand tightens a little, not much because he refuses to actually hurt
Regulus, no matter what. Doesn’t seem to be a problem, because Regulus’ eyes roll into his head
and he croaks, “Fuck, James. I’m—”

Regulus comes all over his stomach, a blush spreading all the way from his forehead to his chest.
James follows suit, unable to hold himself back any longer. Not when Regulus reacts like that to
him.

When he collapses on the bed next to Regulus having taken care of cleaning duties, James lets out
a deep, breathy laugh. “Wow.”

Next to him, Regulus tilts his head and smiles. “You playing quidditch does things to me.”

James laughs. “So, I can look forward to this after every game?”

“Yup,” Regulus says, still smiling. The blush hasn’t faded completely yet, clinging to his cheeks
with a rosy hue that makes James gooey inside.

“That’s some motivation,” James says, grinning. He tugs Regulus closer, breathing in the lavender
and smoke. Regulus hums contentedly, and curls in against James.

They fall asleep without drugs or medicines that night.

****

Muggle pubs are always noisy, always somewhat golden, and full of pink cheeked men. James
loves them. The air smells of ale and spilt beer, with a tang of wood from the panelling on the
walls. The best part? No one recognises them, which is why they’ve become regulars at the Dog &
Fox.

They tried to go to the Leaky Cauldron once a few weeks after the end of the war, but they were
accosted by a mob of people wanting to thank them, or shake their hands—cue a horrified Regulus
—and James had to elbow his way out before his boyfriend threw a fit and killed someone.

Tugging Regulus by the hand and keeping him close, James manoeuvres through the throng of
people towards the table at the back. The one Sirius likes because it’s by the door to the beer
garden and makes stepping out for a smoke easy. James can see the crown of Sirius’ head, black,
lustrous, and glorious and Remus’ smirk as he listens to what Sirius is saying. Dorcas has her head
on Marlene’s shoulder, but they’re both also listening to Sirius intently.

Lily and Pandora aren’t here, because Lily is in a phase where she feels sleepy almost all the time.
Besides, it’s not very nice to bring her to a pub where everyone will get sloshed. Instead, they’ve
agreed to meeting for lunch tomorrow in a fancy restaurant where they serve the Italian risotto
she’s become a huge fan of.
“Took you long enough!” Sirius exclaims when Regulus sits next to Remus, who scoots over to
make enough room.

They exchange hellos with the group. Regulus leans in to talk to Barty, Dorcas and Evan, who look
excited to share something with him. James can never be sure. Half the time the Slytherins talk
about deep, important stuff. The other half? It could be anywhere from wondering why crabs walk
sideways to plotting a murder. When that happens, James is never sure if they’re joking or not.

There’s a reshuffling of seats, then James offers to get a round and collects orders. With a quick
smile in Regulus direction, James bounces over to the bar.

Two seconds later, Sirius is sidling up to him and leaning with his elbows on the sticky surface.
“So. My brother walked into the pub and he was smiling. He wiped it away before he reached the
table, but I saw it,” Sirius says solemnly. “Do you want to tell me how you managed that one?”

“Not really, no,” James says, beaming. “And you don’t want to hear it, either.”

Sirius’ eyes widen, then he purses his lips. “You are disgusting.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Sirius laughs. Loud and carefree. A bit like a bark, which they always tease him for. Together, they
carry all the drinks to the table and pass them around. Regulus notices the way Sirius is looking at
him and scowls, but he’s such a scowl-y person no one else notices. After a brief moment of
confusion on Regulus’ part, Sirius breaks eye contact and raises his glass.

“To the MVP of the first game of the season for the Appleby Arrows!”

Everyone cheers as they toast to James. Marlene makes a snide comment about the competition,
but it’s good-natured. She winks at James as she drinks. He smiles back. He’s so happy he feels
like he’s floating.

Two rounds of beer later, James is on the bench and Regulus is on his lap. There was a moment
when Regulus tried to act like he didn’t want to sit on James, but he quickly gave up on that
pretence and informed everyone James is currently leading the scoring table after only one game,
so Regulus is allowed to be all over his boyfriend today as an exception. Because it’s what James
wants, Regulus says. Nobody is buying that lie, but they know better than to point it out.

For some reason, Regulus sitting on James’ lap is highly amusing to Barty. Every time he glances
their way, he starts giggling. Evan has tried to shut him up, but he only succeeds if he kisses him.
This prompts everyone to protest against public displays of affection—also, James has seen more
of Barty’s tongue than he ever needs to at this point—so they stop. And the cycle starts again.

Marlene and Dorcas think they’re being sneaky, but Regulus told James they’re holding hands
under the table and teasing each other. It turns out that the only two people who are moderately
behaving are Sirius and Remus. James would have never guessed.

“So,” Marlene says, leaning on the table. “Lou Reed is playing in Hammersmith next month. We
should—”

“Go,” Sirius says enthusiastically. “We should go. How do we procure tickets?”

“What is a Lou Reed?” Evan asks.

“Oh no,” Remus mutters.

“He’s a genius,” Sirius beings. Marlene nods firmly, then adds, “American musician. He’s a
muggle, but like, his music is brilliant.”

Sirius and Marlene tag team and proceed to shower Evan and Barty in a barrage of musical facts
that start with Lou Reed but quickly move on to other muggle bands or musicians they love.
Dorcas, who once told James she could watch Marlene read a dictionary and find it hot, is staring
at her girlfriend intensely as she speaks. Remus has rolled his eyes twice already, but he’s also
interrupted Sirius and Marlene to correct a fact here and there.

On his lap, James feels Regulus shift so he can lean in closer, lips brushing James’ ear. “Do you
want to go see Lou Reed?”

“Sounds fun,” James replies, pitching his voice low so their conversation stays in their bubble.
“Will you come?”

“If we can stick to the edge of the crowd, yes,” Regulus says. His eyes dart towards his friends
before refocusing on James. He’s so close James can count his long lashes. “I think Barty might
like it. It’d be good for him and Evan to go to more muggle things.”

“We could take them to the cinema,” James suggests, smiling as he pushes a curl behind Regulus’
ear. “Maybe they’ll like the spaceships one. With the swords that make noise.”

“Star Wars,” Regulus says, pressing a kiss to James. It’s slow and teasing. A memory of the day
Regulus took James to the cinema for a date, and they made out in the back row for so long after
the movie was over the cleaning crew told them off.

Forgetting he’s in a public place, James adjusts Regulus on his lap so he can kiss him more deeply,
delighted when Regulus sinks into it. His elegant fingers tangle in James’ hair, nails scrapping at
his skull.

“Oi!” Sirius bellows suddenly. “You two stop that right now!”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to that,” Evan mutters, though James can’t see his face
because he’s still kissing Regulus.

“I said stop it!” Sirius shouts.

When they don’t break apart, Sirius stretches over the table, knocking a half-empty pint over in the
process, and pulls Regulus back by his shoulder. The look Regulus throws his brother would make
anyone else shit their pants.

“Come on,” Remus says, nudging Reg. “Let’s have a smoke.”

Grumbling, Regulus disentangles himself from James’ lap and follows Remus to the beer garden.
Barty goes with them. Dorcas smiles at James and, when Sirius isn’t looking, winks at him and
mouths ‘good job’.

“Next round is on you for being gross,” Sirius informs James, frowning at him.

And James has been spending too much time with Regulus, he thinks, because it comes so
naturally to him to tease Sirius he doesn’t even think before saying, “I can’t really get up right now,
mate. Sorry.”

Evan chokes on his drink, laughing so hard a bit of beer comes out of his nose. Sirius makes a
horrified noise and smacks James over the head while Marlene and Dorcas giggle together. James
shrugs, then shoots Sirius a sheepish look that only gets him a small twitch of his lips.

Rolling his eyes, Sirius slides out of the bench to go order. James sits back, feeling smug and
happier than he’s ever been.

####

October 1979

Sunlight falls directly across his eyes because they forgot to close the curtains last night. Groaning,
Regulus considers fishing for his wand to close them from the bed, but then he remembers what he
planned for today and discards the idea.

“James?”

There’s a noise of sleepy annoyance before James blinks, disoriented and still half in slumber.
“Hi,” he rasps. “Good morning, love.”

Regulus rolls onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows and looks at James. Carefully,
he climbs over him until he’s lying on James’ chest, looking down at James’ face. It takes a little
while, but James eventually pulls himself from sleeps’ claws. Regulus swallows, nerves curling in
his stomach and making him feel small and breakable.

“So, uhm,” Regulus clears his throat. “I made a plan for today.”

“You did?” James asks, surprise twisting the corners of his mouth upwards. “What’s the
occasion?”

Oh, Salazar help him. Regulus is going to pass out before he gets to see this through. Why did he
think he could pull off something like this? This is the kind of thing that people like James do.
Regulus? He’s really pushing himself out of his comfort zone and it’s making him feel all kinds of
ways.

“Reg?” James asks softly when he doesn’t reply. “You okay?”

“I…” Regulus says, bites his lip. “I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. But I’ve been putting it off
for stupid reasons and I don’t want to anymore.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” James says, still smiling. He pushes some of Regulus’
curls behind his ear, tips of his fingers grazing his skin.

“I want to show you something,” Regulus tells him. “Will you come with me?”

“Anywhere,” James confirms, craning his neck to kiss him softly. “Right now? It’s like… I don’t
know. It’s early.”

“Right now.”

James sits up, making Regulus slide back until he’s straddling him. “This okay?” Regulus nods,
and James puts his arms around him, tilting his head up for a kiss. When they break apart, James
says, “Don’t you have a meeting today? For that Ministry thing you’re doing?”

“Not today,” Regulus tells him. “I cleared the day.”

“For me?” James asks, beaming into another kiss. Regulus nods again and James mutters against
Regulus’ mouth, “I’m honoured.”
“Stop it,” Regulus says, pulling away and climbing off the bed. “Don’t ruin this.”

It takes them a bit longer than Regulus would have liked to get ready, but he’s unable to begrudge
James anything these days so Regulus simply waits while nursing a cup of coffee that’s as dark and
bitter as the crevices of his soul.

On the way out, James grabs a croissant and is munching on it as Regulus tugs him by the arm and
does side-along apparition. Regulus’ hands are clammy by the time they materialise in a back alley
right in the middle of the coastal town of Lyme Regis.

Sunshine bathes the beachline, twinkling on the turquoise water. It’s a calm, beautiful day in early
October. Unseasonably warm. It’ll get cold soon. They’ve already had a couple of ugly days of
thick rain last week. But today, someone, somewhere, wanted Regulus to have this. Good weather
to show James the thing he’s been working on all summer.

“Where are we?” James asks, looking around with interest. As they walk out of the alley, James
crouches down to grab a small, smooth pebble made of a type of green stone Regulus can’t name.
“This place is gorgeous.”

“Lyme Regis,” Regulus says. “Dorset. You like it?”

“It’s a very nice town from what I can see,” James replies, nodding. “Why are we here?”

“You’ll see,” Regulus says, tugging on his hand. “Come on.”

Heart beating in his chest so wildly it’s sure to bruise, Regulus leads James up through the village.
They turn together around a corner, looking at quaint houses lining both sides of the road. James
doesn’t ask questions. He simply lets Regulus lead him through. He truly meant it when he said
he’d follow Regulus anywhere.

They pass a small garden, keep climbing the hill. The houses become more scattered as they walk,
until they’re heading towards one final, large cottage high enough to have a view of the sealine
from the front windows. The closer they get to it, the more nervous Regulus becomes. His gut is in
this throat and there’s a lump in the back of his mouth that’s making his jaw ache. But he keeps
walking.

When they stop in front of it, James blinks at Regulus, then at the cottage. “What’s here? Who
lives here?”

Regulus is going to be sick.

But he’s told himself he can do this. He’s prepared himself for this. And of all the things he’s
overcome, of all the things he’s done, this is the one that matters the most. It’s also the one that
takes the most courage.

But love is too important to be something you can get without earning it. Nothing worth having
should come easy. Regulus knows this. He’s lived through it. And of all the things he’s fought for,
his love for James is the one he’ll put first. Always.

So, Regulus sets his shoulders, and decides to be brave. To earn this. His future with James.

“Let’s go inside,” he says, tugging James along.

When Regulus produces a key from his pocket, James’ breath hitches but he doesn’t ask or say
anything until they’ve stepped into the house. Once they’re past the threshold and James looks
around, he asks again, voice wavering, “Reg?”

Earn the future you want.

Be brave.

“It’s… it’s for you and for me. For your baby when they’re with us. It’s… it’s the house you
wanted when we were in school,” Regulus whispers.

James’ jaw is hanging open, and he seems to be having trouble breathing.

“I know. It… it looks the same? I mean… how? I—” James’ voice dissolves into nothing as he
stares around, eyes glassy like he cannot believe what he’s seeing.

“Well,” Regulus says, swallowing. “I have a very good memory.”

James makes a choked sound, then he’s stumbling forward and grabbing Regulus’ face with both
hands. He’s shaking, eyes shining with welling tears. When James speaks, it’s thick with emotion.
“I… I don’t know what to say. I’m so overwhelmed.”

“Is that good or bad?” Regulus asks, hands fluttering around James’ shoulders.

“It’s brilliant. Lovely. It’s everything I ever wanted. I just… You… you did this? For us?” James
looks like he’s expecting to wake up from a dream.

“Yes,” Regulus replies, then looks James in the eyes, presses their foreheads together and says,
“Because I want this with you. Us. Here together.”

“I want that, too,” James whispers. “I didn’t know how to ask you. I didn’t want to scare you
away.”

“You can’t scare me away, James.” A breath, deep and fortifying, and then words Regulus has
been building up for months. He says, “I love you. I’m sorry it took me this long to say it. But I do.
I love you—”

The rest of his words get lost inside James’ mouth as he kisses Regulus like he wants to devour him
whole. Honestly? Regulus would be on board with that. He’d make himself a home in James’ chest
and never be parted from him again. He’d hide in the pocket of love between James’ ribs and live
forever warm and content. Standing in the sun. Basking in it.

When they run out of air and break the kiss, Regulus tilts his head towards the rear of the cottage.

“Do you want to have a look around?” Regulus asks gently, a soft smile on his lips.

“Yes,” James breathes. “Yes, please.”

Regulus links their fingers together and leads James to the living room first. They go slowly, hands
clasped. The silence between them is a precious thing. Full of tenderness as they explore the details
Regulus has spent all summer painstakingly replicating from the memory he took out of his mind
and put in his pensieve.

“You even got the carvings on the wood to be the same,” James whispers, running the fingers of
his free hand over them.

“Talk me through it,” Regulus says. “The things you imagined when you dreamed of this place.”
James smiles, and immediately points towards the couch. “I’ll sit there, and we’ll have a fire going,
and you’ll have a book. You’ll be on the carpet, back on my legs and I’ll play with your hair for
hours.”

Regulus’ heart flutters, cheeks getting warm with a blush. “What else?”

They drift towards the kitchen. James runs a hand over the countertop. “We’ll cook. I’ve learnt a
bit from my mother. Maybe we can take some more cooking lessons together. But I want to make
you dinner while you sit here and sip wine and look pretty.”

“Oh? Is that my job now?” Regulus asks, smirking.

“Yes,” James says firmly. “I’ll romance you. We’ll wine and dine and then have brilliant sex.”

“In the kitchen?” Regulus says, interest piqued. He eyes the counter. “Looks a bit hard but we can
make it work.”

James’ eyes flash. “You haven’t shown me the bedroom.”

Regulus fakes nonchalance. Gives him a little shrug. “There was no bedroom in the cottage I saw,
so I had to get creative.”

“Oh,” James says, tugging Regulus’ hand. “Show me right now.”

Laughing, Regulus follows James as he finds his own way through the cottage. It has a guest room
that James peers into, then decides this can’t be it and carries on. There are two bathrooms, also
ignored. He stops at a room that’s very clearly a nursery and kisses Regulus long and deep, no
words needed to express how grateful he is that Regulus is still on board with the whole baby
situation.

The master bedroom is at the back of the cottage. By design. If they have guests, they still have
privacy. It’s nestled against the wall that faces the sea and a corner with a door that leads to a
private terrace decked in wood. A large closet on one side. A beautiful desk on another. A door that
leads to an en-suite bathroom. And the biggest bed Regulus could find.

“Oh my God,” James breathes when they step inside. “That bed is huge. Humongous. Gigantic.
Best bed I’ve ever seen. There’s so much space. We must test it immediately.”

“Don’t you want to see the rest?” Regulus asks, amused.

“Later,” James says, pulling him in for a kiss. “Later. Please, Reg. I need you to fuck me on that
bed in our cottage right now. This very second.”

And Regulus cannot say no to that. In a million years. Smiling, Regulus nudges James back.
Grinning like he’s won a prize, James obliges until his legs hit the bed. Regulus kisses him, tongue
swiping into his mouth before pulling back out so he can trap James’ lower lip between his teeth.

James gasps, hands coming up to bury themselves in Regulus’ hair. Breaking the kiss, Regulus
runs his lips over James’ jaw, then slides open mouthed kisses down the column of his throat.

With elegant fingers, Regulus begins to work on the buttons of James’ shirt. When he’s opened it,
he continues his journey down his torso. Since they ran into each other in the Quidditch changing
rooms, Regulus has been obsessed with James’ abs. If he’s not being bossed around by James—
something Regulus enjoys immensely—he always takes time to lick every single one of them.
James makes a noise of satisfaction when Regulus pays attention to his tattoo, then inhales sharply
when Regulus fingers hook on the waistband of his jeans.

“Fuck, Reg,” James breathes.

Jeans pooled on the floor, Reg nudges James back and he climbs on the bed. It takes Regulus a
moment to swiftly divest himself of his clothes, then he’s straddling James on the bed.

“You are so gorgeous it blows my mind every time,” James says, looking up at him.

“Says the man with a body we could study anatomy on,” Regulus teases, leaning forward to kiss
him.

They fall into it, hands sliding up and down, hips rutting into each other, seeking friction through
the pants they’re still wearing.

Some time later, Regulus regains enough of his senses to crawl backwards, tugging James’ pants
off as he goes. James gasps, hard dick bouncing up against his stomach when it’s freed. Regulus
hovers above it, considering.

“What do you want?” he asks James.

“You,” he replies, earnest. “I need you. Please.”

Humming, Regulus takes James’ dick in his mouth. At this angle, he cannot take all of it at once
because he’s been blessed with a boyfriend that’s very well endowed. But it doesn’t matter because
Regulus isn’t going to suck James off tonight. This is just the build up.

When James is writhing on the bed, arching his back and begging, Regulus gets the bottle of lube
he pre-emptively put in the bedside table. James’ eyes widen in anticipation, pulse fluttering on his
neck.

Regulus smirks up at him, leaves the bottle within reach but untouched, then dips his head between
James’ legs and pushes him up and apart.

“Is this okay?” Regulus asks.

“Oh my God, I’m going to die,” James says. “Ah—yes. Yes. Oh my God.”

Regulus hasn’t done this before to him. James hasn’t done it to Regulus either. They just never got
there before, but it’s been on Regulus mind since they reconciled four months ago. It’s one of the
most intimate things Regulus can imagine, and he couldn’t think of a better time and place for the
first time.

He isn’t sure how exactly to do this, but he’s smart and he loves James, and he’ll figure it out.
Tentatively, Regulus presses his tongue to James’ entrance, and he swears up a storm, shamelessly
asking for more. Encouraged, Regulus tries a few things. Lips and tongue. Teasing and probing
and experimenting. James unravels, moaning and begging without reservations. It's glorious.

“Please,” James asks. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to come just from this.”

“Do you want to?” Regulus asks, pausing his ministrations for a moment.

“Not today. Today, I really want you,” James pants. “Please?”

Immediately, Regulus clambers back up and coats his fingers in lube. From there, it takes very
little to get James ready because he’s so relaxed and pliant already. When Regulus lines himself
with James, James looks at him like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Wait,” James says. “Like this.”

He turns around, goes on all fours and Regulus almost comes from the sight alone. “Fuck,” he says
roughly, “look at you.”

“Reg? Please?”

Regulus pushes in, just a bit, and they both groan. “Okay?” Regulus asks.

“Yes. Yes, oh my God, please.”

James pushes back, fucking himself on Regulus’ dick, and Regulus’ control snaps like a string
pulled too tight. He holds James by the hips and begins to thrust, setting a pace he knows James
likes. Or he used to, at least. Regulus hopes that hasn’t changed.

Quickly, he discovers that it hasn’t because James’ hands grip the coverlet, fisting it roughly and
moaning with his face pressed into the mattress. There’s a string of incoherent words escaping him,
telling Regulus he very much still likes it like this.

Regulus’ breathing gets irregular and shallow very quickly, because having James like this makes
him a little crazy. He ups the pace, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back as though in
prayer. James whines, says, “More. Please, Reg, I’m so fucking close. More.”

There’s nothing James could ask for right now that Regulus would deny. He sets an unforgiving
rhythm, skin slapping on skin, chests heaving. Jerkily, James touches himself once and comes all
over the brand new bed covers with a shout and Regulus’ name on his lips. As soon as he hears it,
Regulus follows, coming so violently he sees stars.

James slumps forward, hooking one heel around Regulus' back to force him to slump forward with
him. With some difficulty, Regulus slides out and rolls to lie next to James. They rest for a
moment, enjoying the blissed-out state that comes after sex with the person you love. Regulus
could drift off to sleep. He won’t, because it’s the middle of the day and he wants to show James
the rest of the place, but he’s so relaxed that he genuinely could.

Turning on his side, Regulus snuggles closer to James, basking in the heat. With an idle finger, he
traces the lines of James’ muscles. “Good?”

“Good?” James says, indignant. “Mind-blowing.”

Smiling, James rolls onto his side so he can look at Regulus. Pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his
nose that makes Regulus wrinkle it—because he has to pretend he doesn’t like it—James adds, "I
love you. And this is the most romantic, the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me.
I…"

Without warning, James rolls off the bed—stopping briefly to cast a quick cleaning spell—and
searches for something in his jeans. Curious, Regulus comes to sit on the edge.

He's sitting there, naked and sated, cheeks pink from exertion, when James shocks the living
daylights out of him by kneeling.

"What are—"
"I read somewhere that penguins gift their partner a pebble and if it's accepted, they become a
couple for life," James says very solemnly, like he’s not spewing random animal facts. "And you
got me this cottage which I can never match but," James clears his throat, says, "I am yours and I
want to be forever. And… I know we’re too young and all that. This isn’t even a ring, and maybe
this is insane, but we fought a war and survived it and you almost died and so did I and—”

“James,” Regulus says, putting a finger against his mouth. “Breathe.”

“Right,” James says, blushing so hard Regulus can almost feel the heat radiating from his skin. “I
just… Regulus, will you be mine forever? Will you, maybe, marry me?"

James produces a pebble—the pebble he picked up earlier on a whim— and presents Regulus with
it. They're naked in the bedroom. The air smells of sex and they're both sweaty and a little
breathless. It's an improvised proposal with a pebble from someone else’s garden for a wedding
they can't have because it's not legal and they’re too young for it anyway.

It's perfect. It's James. A little wild, and earnest. Intense, and too soon, and possibly too much.
Impulsive and honest. Insane, in every sense of the word.

It's everything.

So, naturally, Regulus says, "Oui. Yes. I will marry you, James."

“I love you so much,” James says, putting the pebble in Regulus’ hand and curling his fingers over
it to close it together. A promise. “Whatever happens. I’m yours. Always and forever.”

Regulus slides off the bed, throws his arms around James' neck, and kisses him. Against his mouth,
Regulus whispers, “Dans mes rêves les plus fous, notre histoire d'amour éternelle durera plus que
nous.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means in my wildest dreams, our love story will transcend us,” Regulus tells him. “They’ll write
stories about us.”

“Who will?” James asks, smiling.

“Historians, obviously,” Regulus replies, smiling back.

“Will they say we were very good friends who lived together in a cottage by the sea?” James
teases, nudging a kiss under Regulus’ ear.

Regulus’ laughter is airy and joyful. It’s young. Bright and full of tomorrows. He gets to have those
now. As many as he wants. All of them with James.

****

These are his people.

Regulus twirls the whiskey in his glass around before taking another sip. He’s leaning on the wall,
watching the small crowd in the living room of his cottage. The one he now shares with James.

It’s their housewarming party.

Fire cracks in the chimney. The bookshelves are full. James is walking around offering canapes to
their friends, sipping from a bottle of beer hooked between the fingers of his free hand. It’s raining
outside, heavy and stormy. The windows of the cottage are double-glazed, though, and it’s all
reinforced with so many wards nothing will ever get inside without Regulus knowing. Not even a
drop of water.

They’ve officially been living here for three days only, but Regulus made sure everything was
unpacked and arranged on day one. He brought Kreacher to help. Kreacher, who is currently in the
kitchen making the next batch of snacks. James and Regulus haven’t yet decided what to do with
him, but Regulus thinks perhaps he’ll send him to Hogwarts to live there and work with Tappy.

Neither of them wants a house elf around permanently. Besides, if they ever need anything, the
Potters have already offered to send Rosly like they do for Sirius and Remus. They also have to
decide what to do with Grimmauld Place. Regulus won’t sell it, because that feels wrong. But it’s
likely to be empty and unused for quite some time and that doesn’t sit too well with him. That’s for
another day, though. Not a pressing matter.

Remus puts a new album on the record player, cigarette hanging from his mouth. Regulus scowls,
ready to tell him off, but he quickly steps towards the garden before lighting it. They have a strict
‘no smoke inside’ policy. Sirius is outside already. Through the glass doors, Regulus watches
Remus join him, sliding an arm around Sirius’ waist. His brother leans his head on Remus’
shoulder.

“Hey,” James says, sliding up to Regulus. He’s put down the tray of canapes somewhere, because
he’s no longer carrying it. “You alright?”

“Yes. Just taking it in, I guess.”

A soft smile pulls at the corners of James’ mouth. His hand finds Regulus’, fingers tangling
together. “Still feels a bit surreal, doesn’t it?”

Squeezing James’ hand, Regulus steps a bit closer to him, right into his space so that he can lean on
James’ chest. “That’s a good thing.”

“Is it?”

“We’ll never take it for granted,” Regulus mutters, eyes tracking all his friends.

Dorcas and Marlene are sharing an armchair by the fire. Lily is on the large sofa, while Pandora is
on the floor sitting cross legged. Barty is next to Lily, because he has self-appointed as the ‘bringer
of water and snacks to the mother of their baby’. Evan is chatting to Emmeline. Sam has gone
outside to smoke and is talking to Remus and Sirius.

James smiles and presses a kiss to Regulus’ temple just as the song on the record changes—Remus
has devised a magical system that changes music without the need for someone to stand by the
player all night—and ‘I Will Survive’ starts playing.

Before he can even protest, James is tugging on Regulus’ hand, whiskey sloshing over his glass.
“Come on,” James says, pouting. “Please. It’s just friends.”

Regulus hesitates, but the look on James’ face is so pure he knows it’s a lost battle. Nodding,
Regulus puts his drink down and allows James to drag him closer to the music. Dorcas, who also
loves this song, is already singing the opening lyrics with Marlene who has never had any issues
putting on a performance at parties.

Sirius sprints inside like the devil is on his heels and beams in ecstasy when he finds Regulus
reluctantly standing on the makeshift dancefloor. Throwing his arms up, Sirius shouts, “Go on
now, walk out that door!”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus lets James swing him around a little bit. Barty joins them, hand in hand
with Lily who is singing, too. Pandora comes with Evan and all four of them dance together.
Emmeline drags Sam back inside and before Regulus knows it, everyone is shouting “I will
survive” to the top of their lungs in the living room of his cottage.

It strikes him as fitting. All these people survived. And they’re here, dancing in the house he built
for James, safe and sound and ready to live the rest of their lives unafraid and happy.

Closing his eyes, Regulus puts his hands on James’ chest and tries his best to move his feet to the
music, letting go of his usual inhibitions. This proves to be challenging when the music changes
again and YMCA beings to play in all its glory.

James laughs, absolutely delighted, then leans in. “Do you know the dance?”

“What?” Regulus asks, terrified.

“Everyone!! Get ready!” James shouts, gesturing wildly for their friends to stand in a circle. To no
one’s surprise, they all comply. Regulus and Remus—who apparently gave up on pretending he
didn’t want to be involved—exchange equally horrified glances. “Reg doesn’t know the dance, so
we have to show him!”

And then, to Regulus’ absolute dismay—and some amusement too because this is objectively
hilarious—all his friends move their arms in time to the music, making the letters Y, M, C, and A
in perfect sync with the lyrics.

In between, they just dance a bit clumsily, shimmying and swaying and in Barty’s case jumping up
and down a little bit. Regulus finds himself shaking his head, laughing, and then the chorus comes
on again, and somehow his arms are up, too. It’s a Y. An M. A C. An A.

Everyone is giggling, and Regulus’ cheeks are flushed, and then James is kissing him and pushing
him back until they hit the wall.

“I love you so much,” James pants into his mouth, kissing Regulus so fervently his head is
spinning. Regulus’ fingers tangle in James’ hair. He thinks someone is cheering, and Sirius is
gagging, but he’s lost in James so it doesn’t matter.

“Which part of that silly dance did it for you?” Regulus asks, bewildered but very much on board
with it.

“The fact that you did it,” James breathes, kissing Regulus’ throat. “Not the dance. I’ll admit that’s
not very sexy. But—fuck.”

“Oi!” Sirius shouts, making his way over and yanking James back by the shoulder. “It’s almost one
am. We’ll be gone soon. Wait until then.”

“But he was dancing!” James protests.

“I’ll dance some more,” Regulus says. James beams, links their fingers together, and leads him
back to the open space where their friends are still acting silly. Barty wolf-whistles, which makes
Evan roll his eyes, then they’re kissing.

The rest of the night is a blur. Whiskey, and cigarettes. ABBA songs, and Queen, and at one point
even Led Zeppelin, Regulus thinks. They’re all sweating and smiling. Dancing and kissing their
respective partners. The only sober person is Lily, but she’s never needed alcohol to have a good
time and the baby bump that can be discerned isn’t enough to stop her.

By the time people leave, Regulus is floating in a haze of alcohol and happiness he doesn’t think
he’s ever felt before. With a flick of his wand to activate the wards around their cottage, he tugs
James to the bedroom. They stumble down the corridor together. Regulus blinks and he’s against
the wall again. James is kissing him.

Blinks again and he’s naked, legs around James’ waist. He’s also naked. They’re still in the
corridor, but it doesn’t matter because they’re alone. Even Kreacher was sent back to Grimmauld.

Sloppy kisses, greedy bites. James tastes like the outdoors and whiskey. Like James. Regulus dips
his tongue in the hollow of his collarbone, grinds his hips forward so his dick rubs against James’
abs.

Eyes dark, pupils blown, James puts Regulus down so he stands on his own two feet and drops to
his knees.

“Oh, fuck,” Regulus says, letting his head fall back against the wall as James wraps his lips around
him.

They only make it to the bedroom for sleep, already spent and sated and clinging to each other in
their bliss of pleasure and love. That night neither of them has nightmares.

####

December 1979

“It’s snowing,” James says, staring out the window from his very cosy seat on his sofa in front of
the fireplace.

“Oh?” Regulus looks up from his book, but he’s on the floor so he can’t see. Getting up nimbly, he
walks over to the glass doors that open to their garden. “It’ll settle. It looks pretty heavy.”

“We might get snowed in!” James exclaims, abandoning the sofa to come be near Regulus. He
approaches loudly, making sure Regulus knows James is behind him. When he’s within reach,
James says, “I’m going to hug you.”

There are no complaints, so James does. Regulus relaxes into him, his back on James’ chest.
Putting his chin on Regulus’ shoulder, James watches it snow with his fiancé.

“Do you remember?” Regulus asks quietly.

“Of course, I remember,” James replies. “I remember it all, Reg.”

“I was so sad that day,” Regulus confesses.

It’s been like this for the past few months. Slowly unravelling every secret he held. It’s always
unprompted. Regulus will find pockets of time to confess some truth or other to James, and James
will listen, take it, and then kiss Regulus until the bruise left by the telling is smoothed away.

“It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me,” Regulus explains. “I wanted to enjoy it so
much. But I was so aware of the passing or time. Of what I was going to do. That I was going to
hurt you.”
Turning his face, James places a kiss to Regulus’ cheek. “I prayed every single day last winter for
it to not snow. I don’t think I would have kept it together.”

“Hmm,” Regulus hums, closing his eyes. “I know what you mean.”

They stay like this in silence for a while. Snow builds up, covering the ground. It’s beautiful and
clean. A perfect snowfall, really. James is half tempted to ask Regulus to go outside just to watch
flakes get caught in his curls, but Regulus hates the cold. Instead, James nuzzles his neck until
Regulus is squirming with the need to giggle, refusing to give in to it.

“I want to buy rings,” Regulus says softly. “Would you—I know we can’t actually get married. But
would you wear one?”

James’ heart skips a beat, then another. “Yes. Obviously yes.”

“Let’s go tomorrow,” Regulus suggests.

“Sirius will notice if I’m wearing a ring,” James says carefully. “There’s no way he’ll miss it if I
show up to New Year’s Eve with one on.”

They haven’t told anyone about their engagement for three reasons. One, they can’t actually get
married yet so it’s a bit strange that they even got engaged. Two, they know Sirius’ dream is to
legalise same sex marriage, and they think telling him would put undue pressure on him. It
wouldn’t be fair. Three, both Regulus and James quite like that it’s something only they know.
Their little secret, after so many big ones.

“I’ll tell him I’m educating you,” Regulus replies, shrugging.

“Educating?”

“In the art of accessorising.”

James laughs, jostling Regulus’ body with it. He doesn’t complain. “Alright, then. Rings
tomorrow.”

“James?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

It’s been a while since Regulus learnt how to say it in those words, and James is still not used to it.
It makes him feel like he’s been struck by lightning. Every single inch of his being alight with
warmth. He feels electric, powerful, invincible.

When his breath hitches, Regulus turns in his arms and kisses him. Slow and gentle. A kiss that’s
meant to be just a kiss, and not the start of anything more. Lips and tongue just because they can.
James smiles into it, says, “I love you.”

Regulus disentangles them and goes to the sofa to grab some blankets and pillows. Carefully, he
builds a small nest on the floor, right by the glass door. He picks up his book and settles in it,
looking up at James in invitation. James sits down, rests his back on the side of the sofa and pulls a
blanket over his shoulders.

“Is this how you imagined it?” Regulus asks him, resting on his chest and cracking his book open.
“No,” James whispers against the crown of his head. “It’s miles better.”

****

In hindsight, James should have anticipated that Regulus in a black tie would be a problem.
Regulus in a black tie wearing make-up was sure to be a veritable catastrophe for his self-control.
But alas, he didn’t think about it until it was too late, and Regulus was standing in their bedroom in
the cottage tugging the sleeves of his jacket into place.

James isn’t particularly proud of his reaction, but well. It couldn’t be helped. Regulus protested
being undressed immediately after putting his suit on, but he quickly abandoned the complaints in
favour of moans and groans and greedy, encouraging words for James to fuck him harder. James
may or may not have put his hand around Regulus’ throat, which never fails to make him go wild.

Suffice to say, they’re late. Very late.

When they finally arrive at the hotel where the party is being held, people are already half-way
through dinner. The empty seats next to Sirius and Remus are like a beacon, shaming James for
being a weak, dirty man who could not keep it in his pants. His only consolation is that Regulus
looks absolutely thrilled, cheeks still a little flushed and eyes shining.

Fortunately, their table is near the entrance so not everyone notices their late arrival. When Regulus
slides into his seat, signally a waiter for two drinks, Sirius scowls at him.

“Did you get lost?” he asks. “Was about to send a search party.”

“There was a problem with my suit,” Regulus replies primly. Perfectly composed. As if the
‘problem with his suit’ wasn’t that James went insane with lust at the sight of it.

“Huh,” Sirius says, then looks up at James. “Are you going to sit down?”

“Yes,” James says robotically. “Where are my parents?”

“Over there,” Remus supplies from his seat next to Sirius. “They’re with the McKinnons.”

Dinner is pretty fancy. They get served some meat with mash potatoes and roast vegetables that
make James think the chef has to be French. Spanish, perhaps. In any case, it’s delicious. He eats
and drinks some wine and has a generally lovely time. Sirius is on his ‘best behaviour,’ making the
other guests at their table squirm with inappropriate jokes that have Remus in stitches.

A few people approach the table to whisper their thanks to Regulus. It’s awkward, and Regulus
hates it, but he’s also kind of used to it because it has been happening for so long now. Seven
months of peace.

When deserts are brought out, James grabs his spoon to dive in enthusiastically. Regulus excuses
himself to go to the bathroom. The minute he’s out of earshot, Sirius leans in closer and says, “Out
to the garden with me right now.”

“What? No! I want to eat the pudding.”

“Prongs,” Sirius says very sternly. “I’m not asking.”

“Bollocks,” James protests, but he gets up. He doesn’t know how to say no to Sirius. He doesn’t
want to, anyway. When he’s agitated like this, it’s usually something important. “Lead the way.”
They exit the room through a side door with glass panels on it that leads onto a stone patio. A
fountain stands in the middle, water dribbling from it and making James think he should probably
visit the bathroom, too.

Sirius lights a cigarette, leans against the wall with a foot bent behind him. “So,” he says, kissing
his teeth like he’s searching for the right words. “You’re wearing a ring.”

Immediately, James gets nervous. He told Regulus this would happen. They have a plan. James
knows what to say. “Regulus is educating me.”

“Educating you?”

“In the art of accessorising,” James recites, proud of himself for sticking to the script.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Sirius raises an eyebrow, “Are you telling me Regulus got that ring for
you?”

“Yes,” James says solemnly. “So that I start getting comfortable with jewellery. You know he
loves his rings.”

“Right. Okay,” Sirius says, nodding his head before pinning James with a look that makes him
want to squirm. “The thing is that is an engagement ring. And I have zero doubt Regulus knew that
when he got it. So. What did he say exactly when he gave it to you?”

“What?”

“I think you might be engaged and not know about it,” Sirius tells him candidly.

“Godric! Sirius, do you think I’m an idiot?” James asks, aghast, but also terrified because how the
fuck does Sirius just know?

“I mean…” Sirius says, dragging the word a little. “You didn’t know he was your boyfriend. So, it
stands to reason.”

And well. There’s no point anymore, is there? James is awful at lying anyway. Always has been.
And Sirius has clocked on. So, James groans, runs a hand over his face, and says, “Look. When
Reg showed me the cottage, I impulse-proposed. But obviously, we can’t get married so it’s not
like… it’s symbolic. But Reg wanted rings and I—”

Eyes wide, Sirius waves a hand in front of James’ face to cut him off and shouts, “Wait, so you are
engaged? And you’re aware of it?”

Fighting through the smile that splits his face in half, James says, “Kind of? Like I said, we can’t
have a wedding, so it’s symb—”

“Who says you can’t have a wedding?” Sirius demands, scowling like James has personally
offended him.

“The law?”

Scoffing, Sirius flicks the butt of his cigarette away. “Since when do marauders care about the
law?”

It’s a good point, James has to admit. But it’s not like it matters for this specific scenario. Does it?
It still wouldn’t be binding. Not that he needs that. He doesn’t. He’s going to live with Regulus in
their beautiful cottage for the rest of their lives and he doesn’t need a piece of paper to tell him
they’re in love. But, well. It would be nice.

“I mean… sure, we like a bit of rule-breaking but this isn’t the same,” James says, watching Sirius’
reaction carefully.

Like the dramatic king he is, he immediately throws his arms up in the air and proclaims,
“Bullshit! If you want to marry Regulus, you’ll bloody well marry him.”

“Huh?”

Pacing over the stones, Sirius gesticulates widely for emphasis as he explains, “We’ll have a grand
party. I’ll officiate the ceremony. We’ll have a setting for it and then another one for the breakfast.
And a party, obviously. A huge party. You’ll wear suits or whatever you want to wear,” Sirius
pauses, looks at James very intently, “Do you want a white gown? I’ll buy you a white gown. And
then we’ll—”

James cuts off his planning with a hug so tight Sirius’ voice dies out as the air is squeezed out of
his lungs. Laughing, Sirius puts his arms around James, too. They hold each other, faces against
their necks, breathing each other’s air.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” James tells Sirius.

Sirius sniffles a bit, then chuckles wetly against James’ shoulder. “Fuck. You’re going to marry my
brother.”

“Well,” James says, a bit teasing. “I have to ask him again now, don’t I? When he said yes he
didn’t think we could actually do it.”

“Thank Godric you’ve got me,” Sirius declares, stepping back to smile at James. “Talk to Reggie,
then give me a date. I’m going to plan the shit out of your wedding.”

James nods, smiling fondly at his best friend. His brother. The anchor through all the shit they
went through. James knows whatever substance souls are made of his and Sirius are the same. Two
halves of a full idiot. Always together, even when they’re apart.

“Whatever happened to the sword?” James asks after a moment, watching Sirius light himself a
celebratory cigarette.

“Gave it to Dumbledore. It should be in Hogwarts,” Sirius says, shrugging. “Apparently, he knows

what to do with it so next time a true Gryffindor needs it, it can present itself to them.”

“Remus is going to be sad,” James jokes.

Sirius blushes violently and adorably, but this is James, so he only nods. “I’ve still got the bike. He
likes that, too.”

Dessert plates are cleared when they walk back into the room. Regulus is sitting next to Remus,
and they’re both discussing something with solemn faces. James and Sirius head straight for the bar
and come back with drinks for all four of them just in time for the party to officially start in the
adjacent salon.

Slightly reluctantly, Regulus stands up. He glances at the throng of people making their way from
the dining room to the ballroom and wrinkles his nose. James steps closer, presses the pad of his
index finger between his furrowed brows.
“We’ll stick to the edge of the crowd,” James whispers. “Find a balcony so you can smoke.”

“I’m not going to dance tonight,” Regulus says, pursing his lips a little.

“I know,” James says, offering him his arm like the gentleman he is. “And I like that you only
dance when we’re alone or with family.”

That makes Regulus smile. He takes James’ arm, sliding his hand in the crook of his elbow.
Together, they make their way to the party. When Sirius sees Regulus’ hand in James’ arm, he
immediately turns to Remus and demands the same treatment. He rolls his eyes, but Remus
complies.

Some people shoot nasty looks at them. James is certain there’ll be comments made. He doesn’t
care. Can’t care. The four of them risked their lives and that of everyone they love to save this
country from war. The least the general public can do is keep their noses out of their business.

Fortunately, there are more people who are embracing change than there are old-fashioned,
bigoted assholes. They smile at them as they pass. Some even wave a little. James’ parents are at
the bar, so he heads that way. When they join them, Monty immediately turns to Regulus.

“They make a superb whisky sour,” he says, gesturing towards the bar. “Would you like to try
one?”

Sliding his hand off James’ arm, Regulus nods and leans against the bar next to Monty, who’s
already asking the bartender for the cocktails. James rolls his eyes, then greets his mother.

“I was worried you weren’t coming,” Effie says. “Why were you so late?”

“Apparently,” Sirius drawls. “There was a problem with Regulus’ suit.”

James can feel his face heating as he reaches over and smacks Sirius over the head. Effie, who’s
too smart and knows her sons well, gives James a pointed look. “I raised you to have better self-
restraint than that.”

Remus’ eyes widen, caught off guard by how easily Effie put it all together and, most importantly,
the fact that she’s discussing James’ sex life so calmly. Mortified, James clears his throat and says,
“I mean… yes. But also, have you seen him?”

“Merlin’s balls! Honestly, James,” Sirius exclaims. “That’s my baby brother.”

“And this is our mother,” James snaps back. “You started it.”

Effie laughs, shaking her head. She looks at Remus, who is still visibly horrified by the whole
thing, and winks, “Oh, don’t fret Remus. I was young once, too. It’s only natural.”

“What is?” Monty asks, joining their group with Regulus.

To James’ absolute delight, Regulus ordered him a drink without prompting. Their fingers brush
when he hands it to him, and they linger for a beat longer than necessary. It still makes James’
heart fly that he can do this now. Be in a room with Regulus and call him his. He can look at him.
Touch him. Talk to him.

There was a time when he thought he’d lost it all and having it again after that makes it so much
sweeter. If there’s something James knows in the marrow of his bones is that he’ll never take
happiness like this for granted. He’s been too close to misery too many times not to be aware of
how quickly things can be snatched away from you.

“James was telling Effie about Regulus’ wardrobe malfunction,” Sirius says gleefully.

“Really,” Regulus deadpans.

“Did you fix it?” Monty asks, oblivious.

Effie giggles. Regulus blushes so hard James feels actually bad for him. Putting a hand on his dad’s
shoulder, James says, “Sirius is messing with you, dad.”

“That’s why Regulus is my favourite,” Monty says immediately, sending Sirius into a calculated
spiral of dramatics.

“Blasphemy! Lies!” Sirius says, hand on his chest like he’s wounded. “You would never.”

James doesn’t miss how pleased Regulus looks by Monty’s words. There’s a faint blush on his
cheeks as he takes a demure sip from his cocktail. Effie shuffles around to leave Sirius and Monty
to their antics—they love to egg each other on—and leans closer to Regulus.

“Don’t tell Sirius,” Effie says conspiratorially. “But Monty does adore you. He won’t stop talking
about how clever you were in Poland.”

“Why does dad know what happened in Poland and I don’t?” James asks, outraged.

“Because your father has clearance,” Regulus replies primly.

Grumbling under his breath, James repeats ‘your father has clearance’ while making a grimace
before taking a sip of his drink. It’s delicious.

“Almost twenty years old and still a child,” Effie sighs, tilting her head towards Regulus. “You
know, it’s not too late to run.”

“Mum!” James cries. They love this. To gang up on him and act like James is a problem Effie has
transferred to Regulus. James doesn’t mind, because he knows it’s all jokes. He’s very certain of
his mother’s love for him. Always has been. So, he indulges their little game by pretending to be
offended. “This is ridiculous. I’m very mature. I’m a professional Quidditch player!”

Regulus smiles, eyes flashing. “Because sports stars are renowned for their poise and good
behaviour.”

“Don’t let Dorcas hear you say that,” James teases.

Effie laughs airly. “Oh, I love those girls. It’s been too long. You should invite them for dinner
soon—” Her eyes lock onto the ring on James’ finger and she cuts herself off. Then, with a pointed
look at Regulus, she says, “Are you sure?”

Blushing so hard it has to be hurting, Regulus nods, then flutters his fingers so Effie can see he’s
also wearing a matching ring. “We know it’s not… ehm… it’s symbolic.”

“Well, Sirius, Evan and Fleamont are working hard with the Wizengamot,” Effie says, pulling both
of them closer. She knows Regulus can’t stand to be hugged, so she simply brings him near enough
he’s included, then puts her arms around her son. “Give it a couple of years. Oh, I’m so happy for
you both. I love you so much.”

“We haven’t really told anyone,” James warns her. “So don’t—”
“Tell your father,” Effie parrots. “Yes. I know. Don’t worry.” She kisses the top of James’ head,
then gives Regulus a warm smile and a nod. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I came to this party to
dance.”

The next couple of hours are spent alternating between the bar and the terrace. They don’t dance,
but none of them mind. Remus and Sirius are wrapped up in each other, much like James and
Regulus. It turns out that Remus was just as weak as James when it came to Sirius’ make up and
black tie. They only made it in time because Sirius had the foresight to get dressed very early.

It occurs to James that it says something about their inebriation that they’ve reached the part of the
evening where they share this sort of thing, but it doesn’t really bother or surprise him because him
and Sirius have always overshared.

The only reason Sirius doesn’t know anything about James’ sex life these days is because it
involves his brother.

“The countdown is about to begin,” Regulus informs him, putting out his latest cigarette.

Together, all four of them crowd near the door so they can hear it. James hears Remus mutter
something to Sirius about a similar night two years ago and smiles to himself. Snaking an arm
around Regulus’ waist, he pulls him closer.

“I’m going to kiss you at midnight,” James tells him. “Just so you know.”

And Regulus looks at him, tilting his head up, and says, “Why wait?”

Who is James to argue with that? They waited long enough. Made enough sacrifices. Regulus is
right. They make their own rules. And there’s nothing James wants more than to end this year and
start the new one lost in Regulus’ mouth.

They kiss right then.

Through the countdown.

Into the new year.

It becomes a tradition that they never break.

****

February 1980

“For the love of God will someone tell me what’s wrong?” Lily cries, loudly enough that her voice
reverberates in the room. “Why is the baby not here yet? Fuuuuuuck.”

A scream of pain follows her question. She doubles over on the bed, knees bent up. Her red hair is
darkened at the roots with sweat. There are tears on her cheeks and purple bruises under her eyes.
Lily has been in labour for almost an entire day and James doesn’t know anything about these
things, but something tells him their baby should have arrived already.

“Please,” Lily cries again. “Just tell me. I know something’s wrong.”

She’s gripping James’ hand so hard the bones are grinding, but he’s not complaining. Across from
him, on the other side of the bed, is Pandora. She looks tired, too. When Lily realised she was in
labour, Pandora brought her to St. Mungo’s and has been here since. Her patronus—a beautiful
swan—woke James up.

Regulus is out of the country on a mission for the Ministry. James wishes he was here.

“There’s malpresentation,” the healer says. “That means your baby is facing the wrong way.”

“And?” James asks, heart speeding up. He doesn’t want the word ‘wrong’ anywhere near what’s
happening here.

Lily screams again with a contraction, tightening her grip on James’ hand. Pandora looks at the
healer, desperation seeping into her voice, “What do we do? Fix it! She’s been in pain for hours.”

Nurses come and go. There’s a lot of activity in the room and it’s not filling James with confidence.
Lily is screaming again. James wishes he could help.

One of the nurses gives Lily a potion. Pandora frowns, but before she has time to say anything, Lily
has taken it. To James’ surprise, Lily falls asleep immediately. Pandora’s face whips to look at the
healer.

“You need the mother to push for delivery,” she says, voice shaking. “Why did you do that? What
are you doing?”

“We tried to turn the baby around,” the healer explains. “He’s stuck. We can’t move him. It’s not
looking good.”

“What does that mean?” Pandora shouts, heaving in gulps of air as she fights for composure.

The healer looks at James, ignoring her. “We can’t save them both and we’re running out of time.
We’ve tried everything we could, but your baby is bottom first and facing backwards.”

Chest squeezing so tight James can’t breathe, he says, “What are you saying?”

“You have to tell us who to save. The mother, or the child,” the healer declares. “I’m sorry.”

No.

Absolutely not.

James can’t do this. He won’t. It’s just not—

“We need an answer right now,” the healer prompts. “Or we’re going to lose them both.”

“Not on my watch,” Regulus says, swiping into the room like a tornado. “Step aside.”

“Healer Black, this isn’t your patient!”

James, who is so relieved to see Regulus he almost fainted, lets go of Lily’s hand to shove the other
healer back. Regulus is already washing his hands and rolling his sleeves up, wand at the ready. “If
he says he can save them, then he can,” James snarls. “Get out of his way.”

“This is preposterous!” The healer says. “It’s impossible to save them both. Not with the baby’s
malpresentation.”

Completely unbothered by the healer, Regulus steps up to the bed and looks at the situation. He
looks over his shoulder. “I need a nurse.”
For a tense moment, James wonders if he’s going to have to assist Regulus himself. But then, a
young woman who can’t be more than three or four years James’ senior steps closer. “What are we
doing?”

Regulus beings to move as he talks, yanking back the sheet covering Lily and straightening her
legs. “We’re doing it the muggle way,” Regulus explains. “The baby can’t be born through the
birth canal. We’re cutting them out.”

When Regulus whips his dagger out, James’ brain processes his words and his stomach tumbles
down to the soles of his feet. “You’re what now?”

“James,” Regulus says, a warning in his tone.

Rooted to the spot with fear, James trusts Regulus with the most delicate, precious thing in his life.
His baby. And Regulus delivers. He asks a few questions about the potion used to knock Lily out,
then beings to mutter incantations with his wand. A moment later, he makes a very precise cut on
Lily’s lower belly.

James has to look away when Regulus put his hands inside of Lily’s body. By the time he dares to
glance back, the baby is in the nurse’s arms, and Regulus is once again murmuring spells to close
the wound he made on Lily. A second nurse has stepped up and she’s feeding Lily potions at
Regulus’ command while he continues to work on stemming the blood loss and whatever else he’s
doing with his wand.

Quickly, the first nurse moves to a table set up nearby and runs a set of tests on the baby before
feeding them a few potions in rapid succession. When the baby begins to cry, James slumps against
the wall, so overwhelmed with relief that he’s crying, too.

Since Lily is still unconscious, the nurse brings the small bundle of blankets to James. “It’s a boy,”
she says, smiling. “Healthy and perfect. He was a champ. Dealt with all that very well.”

The first thing that pops into his head is the name. Harry James. They’d agreed with Lily
beforehand. If it was a boy, that’d be his name. If it’d been a girl, she would have been called
Harper Lily.

“Here,” the nurses says. “Hold him.”

Swallowing, James tries to put his arms the way he’s seen other people hold babies. He apparently
does something right because the nurse deposits the small infant there. And suddenly, James is
holding his son.

His heart grows a size.

James peers down, finds a small face, eyes pinched close and yawning and thinks, “I love you.”
There’s nothing else. Just an overwhelming desire to hold and protect this little human from
everything and everyone. He’s so small. So vulnerable.

Without warning, James’ brain supplies him with all the way his own body is too big. Too strong.
It probably feels hard and terrifying for someone so tiny. Oh, is he holding the baby the right way?
What if he’s making him uncomfortable? What if he’s accidentally hurting a little leg or a little
arm?

Panicked, James looks up ready to beg for help and finds Lily smiling at him.

“He looks a bit like you,” she says. “Harry James Potter-Evans.”
 Immediately, James’ eyes fill with tears. He approaches the bed slowly. Carefully. And he
hesitates. “I want to give him to you, but I’m terrified of moving my arms,” he admits.

Lily laughs. She’s crying, too. “You’ll be okay. Just make sure you’re supporting his head.”

Heart thundering, James moves with such tenderness it takes an age for him to transfer the baby to
Lily. When he’s safely nestled against her chest, the nurse approaches and gives Lily instructions
for how to bring him to her breast for the first contact.

Out of respect, James looks away. Finds Regulus smiling at him. He crosses the room, takes
Regulus’ face in his hands and kisses him. When they break apart, James presses his forehead to
Regulus’ and says, “Thank you.”

“You held it together remarkably well,” Regulus praises him, running a hand up his arm, then
curling his fingers around the back of James’ neck. “You should see the state Sirius is in outside.”

That startles a laugh of James. “How did you know?”

“I got home from Turkey and saw your note,” Regulus says. “I thought the baby would be born
already. It was pure luck I arrived when I did.”

Together, they turn to glance at Lily. Pandora is crouching by the bed, her face close to the baby’s
head. She’s whispering something to Lily that sounds sweet and encouraging. With the baby
tucked against her chest, Lily leans back a little and asks for some water.

While Pandora gets her a glass, Lily smiles at Regulus. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Regulus says, shrugging. “He’s a fighter. And so are you.”

Blushing, Lily accepts the water from Pandora and drinks heartily. The nurses leave the room,
leaving the four of them alone. James tucks Regulus against his side and lets out a sigh. This is his
family. His future husband, and the mother of his child, and her girlfriend.

And their son.

Harry Potter.

Chapter End Notes

I am on the floor

This entire chapter is just... HAPPINESS. Like... they're so... UGH PLS I AM
UNWELL
Regulus got over his trauma and they can have sex again and I'm so happy for them
they deserve it all

He said I love you nobody touch me I'm so emotional

Sirius being a little dramatic shit every time they kiss will never not be funny

THE COTTAGE
HELP I CRIED. THE SPONTANEOUS PROPOSAL!? WITH A PEBBLE?!
SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

The housewarming party? Regulus dancing YMCA is everything. I just. I have no

words. I mean. I am a puddle

New Years' Eve without explosions

Sirius planning their wedding? PLS I AM FRAGILE
Jegulus making a new tradition of kissing through the countdown

And then!!! Regulus saving the day and helping Harry be born I am
OVERWHELMED

One more chapter to go. It has some small surprises (good ones), more smut, a
wedding , and toddler Harry being a little menace. I will publish it on Tuesday. I
CANNOT BELIEVE ONLY THE BRAVE WILL BE COMPLETE

I need to be 'gently craddled'. I feel like I'm setting my little baby free

Come hang with a fragile, emotional author in the comments section? PLS

I LOVE YOU ALL WITH MY ENTIRE HEART

 Faith in the Future
Chapter Summary

Happy Endings

Chapter Notes

Hello hello (for the last time on this one)!

Here it is. The last chapter of Only the Brave

I… don’t know what to say? Actually, I do, but also, I’m a puddle on the floor because
I cannot believe that this is the last one.
This fic has been with me through a very hard time, so I'm super attached to all the
characters. More than that, I have found so much unexpected joy in screaming in the
comments and notes with all of you. Genuinely, thank you
Just know that you have helped a smol bean of a human being get through some tough
times with every comment and kudos for this fic. I am going to miss all of you going
feral for BAMF Regulus and losing it about James simping at all times. I have had an
absolute blast sharing this with you during a time when everything felt super bleak.

I have said it many times, but here it is again: I have been blessed with the best readers
in the fandom. You have my heart.

TWs for this one are very minor:

Death (someone dies but it’s a new person that shows up in this chapter and that’s it so
don’t panic)
A bit of blood because toddlers fall all the time and scratch their knees
SEX – like almost every POV in this chapter has sex in some way.

Alright, I’ll save the rest of the rambles for the end notes

French translation in the end notes!

ENJOY!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

October 1980

Interlude: Remus’ POV

“I swear to Merlin that if you don’t calm down right this moment, I will box your ears in,” Remus
snaps, forcefully putting his hands on James’ shoulders and pushing him into the sofa so he sits the
fuck down and stays still.
“Moony—”

“Shh!” Remus says, flashing Sirius a warning sign. “You’re not allowed to contribute. Every time
you speak, you make it worse. Sit down right now.”

Sirius absolutely does not heed Remus’ warning. Instead, he bounces around the suite of the hotel
like he’s got springs for feet. It’s ridiculous. One would be forgiven for thinking he’s the one
getting married. Remus can only be fucking grateful that if (when?) the time comes, he won’t be
allowed to witness this part.

Especially, because Sirius looks ridiculously hot in his brand new suit and Remus hasn’t been
allowed to touch him all day. It’s been driving him up the walls, but he received stern instructions
that it was their duty to support James through this and therefore sneaking away for a quick fuck
wasn’t allowed.

“I’m going to be sick!” James announces for the millionth time that day.

“No, you’re not,” Remus tells him, rolling his eyes. “Have a smoke.”

“I don’t like smoking,” James protests.

“And I don’t like you panicking,” Remus retorts. “So you either calm the fuck down on your own,
or you smoke a fag.”

Sheepishly, James nods. “Fag.”

All three of them light one. It’s T minus ten minutes. They’ve agreed that Regulus will go in first
and wait for James at the 'altar'. Remus wasn’t privy to the decision making, but he suspects it’s
because Sirius needs to walk Regulus down the aisle and then take his place on James’ side to be
the best man. Given James’ mother is an actually nice person and therefore hasn’t been murdered
by his lunatic of a fiance, Effie will be walking James down the aisle.

Originally, Sirius had volunteered to officiate the wedding. However, to everyone’s surprise,
Moody had informed the wedding planning party that he’d been a sea Captain for some time in his
early career—Remus didn’t bother asking the ins and outs of the naval branch of the intelligence
office within the Ministry—and therefore he knew how to officiate a wedding. Regulus had found
it funny. James had thought it cool. So, Moody will be marrying them.

“Why are you so nervous anyway?” Remus asks when James has managed to be quiet for more
than a single minute.

“I don’t know,” he says earnestly. “I’m not like bad nervous. More like excited? It’s a bit intense.”

“You’re literally the definition of intense,” Sirius points out. “But I get it. I’m the same.”

Shaking his head, Remus pulls James into a hug. “It’s going to be perfect.”

From there, things are a bit of a blur. Even though the wedding isn’t official, everyone in
attendance—not that many people, because they kept it to close friends and family only—is
behaving like it is. Because it doesn’t matter.

When Sirius, Evan and Fleamont get the bill signed to legalise same-sex marriage, Reg and James
will skip over to the Ministry and sign a paper. That part isn’t the one that’s important. This, here
with everyone they love, is.
Remus takes his place as a groomsman on James’ side. Across from him, Regulus is waiting for his
fiancé looking for all the world like it’s another Saturday and not his wedding day. If it weren’t for
the fact that his hands are in his pockets—which Remus knows means they’re shaking—he
wouldn’t know Regulus is freaking the fuck out. He is still the most composed person Remus has
ever met.

Behind him are the members of his party. Dorcas is his best-woman. Barty, Evan, and Pandora are
his groomsmen. Next to Remus, Lily is fidgeting a little. The wedding hasn’t started and she’s
already tearing up. Harry is with his muggle grandparents for the night, because at seven months
old it was decided he wouldn’t really know what was going on and him being at the wedding
would just hinder the fun for his parents. On Lily’s other side, Marlene is bouncing on the balls of
her feet with impatience.

The music changes. Or it starts, rather, and Sirius and Regulus both whip their heads around at the
same time to look at James. Remus has spent all day with James, so he doesn’t look. Instead, he
pays attention to Regulus’ face.

And fuck.

Remus isn’t an emotional person, but the look of overwhelming fondness and adoration that
transforms’ Regulus’ face when he sees James walking down the aisle towards him makes Remus
shed a tear.

A faint blush spreads over Regulus’ cheeks. He’s wearing make-up for his wedding. Perfectly
drawn eyeliner that makes his green eyes look even more enticing. He’s in a black suit. A fitted
shirt and a cape of a dark moss-green colour that Remus thinks is bold but works for him.

When James reaches him, Regulus looks like he might faint. It’s adorable, and Remus almost
laughs out loud at the fact that he just used that word to describe Lord Black. He’d have his head if
he told him. But he does. Regulus looks adorably in love, overwhelmed and besotted and
everything a man should look on his wedding day.

James whispers something to Regulus, then they kiss briefly. James’ suit—sparkly jacket included
—was a gift from Sirius who is on the verge of tears even though the ceremony hasn’t even started
yet. Remus glances at his boyfriend, taking in how absurdly sexy he is in that suit, luscious hair
arranged artfully around his face. And Remus’ heart does a funny little thud. It beats three times in
rapid succession, then stops. And restarts with a jerk as a thought crosses Remus' mind.

One day, that might be them.

One day, it could be them.

The thought doesn’t leave Remus’ head for the entire duration of the ceremony. He’s always hated
weddings but this? This is bloody brilliant. A party to celebrate two people who chose each other
through everything. Despite everything. There was a great war and they fought on opposite sides
and found their way back to each other.

This isn’t a wedding. This is an ode to the kind of love poets write about.

Besides, James and Regulus decided to truly make it their own. It’s all the love and none of the
stifling tradition. Both grooms have chosen the parts they wanted to keep, discarded the ones they
didn’t, and added new things just because they can. No stifling dress codes or endless pureblood
rituals. There’ll be a dance, because James adores it when Regulus dances with him, but it won’t be
to a string quartet. The speeches are limited to just two—Dorcas’ and Sirius’—and then there’s a
party until sunrise. Basically, a lot of fun and none of the tedious ceremony.

If it’s like this, Remus absolutely wants a wedding with Sirius.

Half an hour later, Moody pronounces James and Regulus husband and husband. Sirius is weeping,
and Remus cannot stop smiling. Next to him, Lily is blowing her nose into a tissue. The newlyweds
kiss and the audience breaks into polite applause. Frowning, Barty shakes his head, cups his hands
around his mouth, and whoops as loudly as he can. A full howl, like a hooligan at a muggle
football game.

Their friends smile at each other, then they too start cheering like it’s a Quidditch match and not a
wedding. And Remus throws his arms up and cheers with everyone else. It’s loud and boisterous
and entirely too rowdy.

It’s absolutely perfect.

****

“If we get caught, James and Regulus are going to be so pissed,” Sirius mutters, doing absolutely
nothing to stop Remus from continuing to drag him across the hotel reception.

Unbothered, Remus looks over his shoulder at his boyfriend and says, “Do you really think they’re
taking photos?”

“What?”

“Knowing James, I wouldn’t be surprised if he booked this time specifically so they could fuck,”
Remus informs Sirius.

Outraged, Sirius makes a noise of protest, still following Remus. They’re in a corridor now, and
Remus is trying every door they come across hoping one of them is open and works for what he
intends.

“James would never!” Sirius says. “And I know for a fact Regulus wants photos.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Remus teases him just as the door he’s pushing gives.

It’s a cleaning supplies closet. Not very romantic, but it’ll do. Yanking Sirius by the arm, Remus
locks them both in and flicks the light switch on. It smells rather strongly of air freshener, and the
space is quite limited, but Remus has been waiting for this all day and he won’t be deterred.
There’s no way on Earth he’ll get through dinner and the dance if he doesn’t get some release
beforehand.

As soon as the door is locked, Remus pushes Sirius roughly against it and kisses him. They don’t
have a lot of time. In fact, they have very little. So, Remus intends to be very efficient about this
and then make it up to Sirius later.

Dragging his teeth over Sirius’ collarbone, he shoves his jacket back, tearing at the shirt. Sirius
groans, tilts his hips forward, hands grasping Remus’ shoulders. “Fuck. Moony.”

“Unbuckle your belt,” Remus grunts, still fighting to open the collar of Sirius’ shirt enough to have
more skin to bite.

Dutifully, Sirius works his belt, then pops open the button of his suit trousers. Remus’ hand palms
him through the fabric before tugging it all down and releasing him. Sirius hisses when he closes
his fist around his length.

They kiss again, dirty and hurried. Sirius opens Remus’ trousers, too, and then they’re both
exposed, throbbing erections rubbing against each other as Remus takes them in his hand. Sirius
moans, lets his head fall forward to rest against Remus’ shoulder.

“Can I fuck you?” Remus asks, upping his pace. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since you put on
that stupid suit.”

Sirius tilts his head so that Remus can see the wicked smirk on his face. Instead of answering, he
pushes Remus back a bit, then turns around. Bracing his hands on the door, Sirius spreads his legs
as far as they’ll go with the trousers pooled around his shins and looks at Remus over his shoulder.

It takes considerable effort for Remus to not completely wreck Sirius right there and then. He
absolutely could, and Sirius would love every second of it, but Remus is aware of the fact that they
have several hours of wedding ahead of them and Sirius needs to be able to walk. So, with an
amount of self control Remus would like to be noted as Herculean, he forces himself to go slow
and be civil about this. No matter how much Sirius is teasing him.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Remus says desperately.

Sirius only spreads his legs a little more.

“Oh my God,” Remus groans, urgently fishing the small lube packet out of his pocket. When he’s
got it, Remus coats both himself and Sirius thoroughly. He slips two fingers in at once and Sirius
twitches and moans so loud Remus has to take his wand out and cast a silencing spell before
continuing.

“Moony,” Sirius pants not three minutes later. “Please.”

Remus lines himself up and pushes in just a bit. They haven’t had time for any proper foreplay and
he’s not sure he won’t accidentally hurt Sirius, so he’s trying his best to—

Sirius pushes back, fucking himself on Remus’ dick without any regard for his own wellbeing and
Remus’ brain short-circuits. From there, it’s a frantic race to the finish. Remus thrusts forward,
bottoming out inside Sirius, who braces against the door with beautiful, veiny hands. Holding on to
his hips, Remus sets an unforgiving pace, chasing the release already coiling in his lower belly.

“Fuck,” Sirius moans. “Yes. Remus, right there. Oh, fuck.”

“I’m close,” Remus warns Sirius.

Sirius falls forward a bit, leaning with his left forearm across the door so he can release his right
hand. Remus holds back until he hears the little whiny noises that tell him Sirius is also close, then
he abandons all restraint and chases his orgasm with gleeful uninhibitedness.

They come together. It feels so right, so natural. Like the norm and not the exception. Panting,
Remus falls forward to press a kiss to the back of Sirius’ neck, whispering, “I fucking love you.”

“You also love fucking me,” Sirius says, body vibrating with an errant laugh.

When they’re back to themselves, clean and fully dressed again, Remus takes a moment to push
Sirius against the door once more just to kiss him. Leisurely, slowly. He takes his time to savour
the feeling of it. Remus remembers what it was like to drown and come up for air in Sirius’ mouth.
It’s still the best place in the entire world.
It’s there, in that cleaning supplies closet after a quickie in the middle of their best friend’s
wedding, that Remus decides he’ll propose to Sirius one day. He’s not sure when or how, but he
will. He wants to.

For the longest time, Remus thought there was no way Sirius could ever love him. Then he thought
he wasn’t worthy of it. Good enough for him. He worried about the things that made him a
monster and fretted about the darkness in his soul.

But Sirius proved him wrong every time. Sirius trusted him when no one else would have.
Believed in him. Unfailingly. Unwaveringly. Remus showed Sirius the worst of himself and Sirius
still chose him.

And Remus wants to choose Sirius every single day and every single night for the rest of their
lives.

####

Interlude: Sirius’ POV

It would be fantastic, Sirius thinks, if he could manage to stop crying for at least five minutes.
Especially considering he’s supposed to deliver his best man’s speech as soon as Dorcas is done
with hers.

Unfortunately, he’s at the wedding of both his brothers and it seems that the more he drinks, the
less control he’s got over himself.

Well. It could be said that it’s Dorcas’ fault. Sirius’ waterworks began when she opened her mouth
for her speech, and he hasn’t been able to stop since. She’s told people about a side of Regulus a
lot of them don’t know. Most of them, actually. While Sirius sits there listening to Dorcas tell
stories about Regulus falling in love with James, he can’t help but to feel the happiest he’s ever
been. And that comes with tears.

“I knew Regulus was absolutely head over heels gone for James when he came to me for advice
about Valentine’s Day,” Dorcas is saying. Regulus looks absolutely mortified, face pressed against
James’ shoulder. “He had a proper panic about it.”

“I’m so going to kill you,” Regulus groans from his seat. James is beaming, running a soothing
hand through Regulus’ curls.

“No, you won’t,” Dorcas says fondly. Addressing the small crowd again, Dorcas clears her throat.
“I consider Regulus family. He’s like a brother to me. The person I trust the most in the world.
He’s never let me down. Never failed to show up for me. I love him more than life. I never thought
I’d meet someone who could see everything I see in Reg. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid to love
him fully.”

She looks at James, smiles.

“But from the moment James showed up, there was never any doubt that he was the one for Reg.
He walked straight past Regulus’ walls, blasting through them with that unwavering conviction
and determination. James, I could never wish for a better husband for my best friend. I know you’ll
take care of him. Love him. And make him happy. And that’s all I can ask for, really. So,” Dorcas
raises her glass, “please join me in this toast to celebrate James and Regulus.”

Sirius cheers, drinks his glass. All of it. Remus squeezes his knee in encouragement, then he’s
standing up on shaky legs. It’s a small wedding. Only close friends and family. Most of the Order
and some of James’ teammates from the Appleby Arrows. Regulus invited three healers he gets
along with from St. Mungo’s but no one from the Ministry because they’re all spies and it just
doesn’t work like that.

Still, even though Sirius knows pretty much every person here, he’s nervous. This matters. He
doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. But he has to say something, and he can’t stall any more.

Clearing his throat, Sirius runs a hand through his hair. Regulus and James look at him. The room
falls away and it’s just them.

“I once told James that love is only for the brave,” Sirius says, surprised to find his voice steady.
“It’s a scary thing, to fall in love. To trust someone else with your heart. To allow them to see
every part of you. The ugly parts. The broken parts. It takes courage to be vulnerable with another
person. To let someone in and show yourself to them. But you two must be the most fearless men
alive.”

He likes that, his brain supplies. He, too, wants to be fearless. Always.

Sirius takes a breath to steady himself. Carries on. “You have gone through trials that most couples
will never even imagine. You had to do things most people won’t see in their worst nightmares.
And yet, through it all, you loved each other. In the ugly. Through the dark. And despite that, you
still chose to stand together in the sun. You are the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

Someone’s sniffling, Sirius thinks. He can hear the gentle sound but can’t see who it is. He can
only look at his brother and his other brother. James’ eyes are lined with red. Regulus is blinking
very fast.

“James,” Sirius says, stops. “You’re lucky enough to have caught a star. And I don’t have to tell
you to love him because I’ve known since the first day that you do. Hopelessly. Endlessly.
Because that’s the only way you know how to love. So, I won’t. And I know you don’t need my
advice, but I have to say something for all these people to sigh and tear up, so I’ll just say that
there’s something quite poetic about you being an international Quidditch star chaser.” He winks.
He is fully aware that it is the corniest pun in the history of puns but he simply doesn't care.

It's the wedding of his brothers. He'll be tooth-rottingly corny about it and people will allow it.

“You’re lucky to have caught a star. Never let it go.”

“Never,” James replies solemnly, a tear rolling over his cheek.

Smiling, Sirius looks at Reggie. “Petit roi, cela fait longtemps que je n'ai pas vu cette expression
sur ton visage. Si quelqu'un mérite de tenir le soleil dans ses mains, c'est bien toi. Ne le laisse
jamais partir. Ne cesse jamais de chercher le soleil où que tu ailles. Il te ramènera toujours à ta
patrie.”

“Il est ma patrie,” Regulus replies softly. “Je reviendrai toujours vers lui.”

It’s been an adjustment for Sirius and Regulus to learn to be brothers. Some days, it’s easy as.
Others, they bicker like they’ve got to catch up for the years they wasted. Sirius still struggles with
the guilt of leaving Regulus behind now that he knows the truth. And Regulus struggles with
letting Sirius in. Letting him be an older brother again. But they’re working on it. And they’re
getting better every day.

Stumbling forwards, Sirius crashes into them both, throwing his arms around them in an awkward
three-way hug. James mutters something about not understanding the French, but he’s laughing
and crying. Regulus is holding on to Sirius with shaky hands.

“I love you both so much,” Sirius whispers.

“I love you, too,” James says.

“Je suis heureux que tu sois mon frère,” Regulus mutters. “Je t’aime.”

There goes any hope of Sirius’ weeping stopping any time soon. Sobbing violently, joyfully, he
buries his face in James’ neck because Regulus would never allow it.

“I refuse to be left out of this,” Remus grumbles somewhere behind Sirius. Then, he’s piling on top
of them, too.

Barty shows up with Evan, throwing their arms into the mix. Then Dorcas, Marlene. Lily and
Pandora. They’re a pile of people, some sobbing, some laughing. They’re the ones who survived
the war.

Family, Sirius thinks.

Family.

####

May 1981

Interlude: Dorcas’ POV

She could get used to this, Dorcas thinks.

Through the open window—bright blue flaps open to let the morning sea breeze in—Dorcas can
hear the sound of waves gently lapping against the cliff at the bottom of the hill. Their four-poster
bed has a mosquito net around it, giving the illusion of a small, private world. Soft sunlight pours
across their legs, covered only by a thin cotton sheet.

There’s no need for any more in Greece.

Next to Dorcas, Marlene is still asleep. She’s naked, blond hair spilt over her pillow. There’s a
nasty bruise on her shoulder that hasn’t yet healed. A bludger that hit her during the last game of
this season. Marlene’s team ended up fourth on the league table, a great result compared to
previous seasons. James’ team ranked second, losing the final against the Holyhead Harpies. James
is still bitter about it.

Carefully so as to not disturb her girlfriend, Dorcas takes a sip of water from the glass on her
nightstand before lying back down. First day of vacation and she’s already feeling relaxed. It must
have something to do with the sound of the surf under her window.

“Morning,” Marlene mutters, eyes still closed. “It is gorgeous outside?”

“Yes,” Dorcas replies, grinning.

“I’m ridiculously excited about the idea of you in a swimming suit.”

Dorcas chuckles, turns her head on her pillow to look at Marlene. She’s opened her eyes at last,
brown and deep, lined with thick lashes and a bit of make up that’s permanently smudged around
them because Marls is just a bit lazy when it comes to taking it off.
“Hi,” Marlene smiles.

“Hi.”

Pushing herself up on her elbows, Marlene presses a soft kiss to Dorcas’ mouth before reaching for
the glass of water. Dorcas complains at having all of Marlene’s weight on her, but it’s really just
for the drama. There’s nothing better than the feeling of Marlene’s body stretched over hers.

Instead of lying back down, when Marlene puts the glass on the table she moves to sit across
Dorcas’ lap, straddling her. Dorcas’ eyes trace the planes of Marlene’s body. She’s made of muscle
and power. Lean lines and smooth, freckled skin. Dorcas loves every ounce of her. She’s the most
perfect body Dorcas has ever seen. Has ever touched.

Lifting her hips up, Dorcas catches Marlene by surprise. She pitches forward, and Dorcas captures
her mouth in a kiss much more searing than their good morning one. Gripping Marlene’s hips,
Dorcas slides her tongue into her mouth, grazing her lower lip with her teeth. Marlene shudders
deliciously.

Confidently, Marlene’s hands traipse over Dorcas’ body. One of them cups her right breast, thumb
teasing her nipple. The other curls under her jaw, tilting Dorcas’ face up for a deeper kiss. Not to
be outdone by her girlfriend, Dorcas also beings her own exploration of Marlene’s skin. She stops
at her ribs, caressing the curve of her breasts before dipping one hand down to press it between
Marlene’s legs.

Wonderfully, Dorcas finds that she’s already aroused. It’s one of the things she loves about
Marlene. One of the many things. Marlene is so incredibly responsive Dorcas could—and has—
lost hours just finding new ways to pleasure her. Nothing compares to the look on Marlene’s face
when she’s just come by Dorcas’ skill.

“Babe,” Dorcas says. “Come here.”

She grips Marlene’s thighs and nudges her forward. Dorcas isn’t physically strong enough to
actually move Marlene, even though she’s bigger than her. But Marlene doesn’t need more
prompting to move on her own. Deftly, she positions her knees on both sides of Dorcas’ head and
lowers herself slowly until she’s aligned with Dorcas’ mouth.

“Hands on the headboard,” Dorcas instructs, then she puts her lips and tongue to much better uses
than talking.

****

It turns out that they aren’t the last ones to breakfast—in fact, they’re the first to arrive—even
though they did lose track of time for a bit there. After Marlene came, she insisted on reciprocating.
Then Dorcas decided it’d been so good Marlene definitely ought to have another one, and so on. It
ended three to two. Not that anyone’s counting (Dorcas knows that Marlene definitely is because
she’s competitive for everything, even orgasms).

Irene greets them with a soft smile and gestures for them to join her at the table. She looks every
bit the Greek hostess, long kaftan pooling around her, elbow length brown hair, sun kissed cheeks
and freckled nose.

It smells so gloriously of delicious food that Dorcas’ stomach rumbles a little. On the table, a
beautiful spread of breads, pastries, fresh fruits and Greek yoghurt has been laid out. A large pot of
steaming coffee sits next to a jar of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Irene, you’re spoiling us,” Dorcas says, taking a seat. “What is this called?”

“Spanakopita,” Irene replies. “It’s a pie with spinach. There’s also cheese pie. That one.”

“I am in heaven,” Marlene declares, reaching for the cheese pie.

Smiling widely, Irene looks very pleased at their enthusiasm. After a short while of watching them
load their plates with food, she asks, “Did you sleep well?”

Dorcas only met Irene yesterday evening when she received them all after their travels with a quick
but delicious dinner and yet, she feels so comfortable around her you’d think they’ve been friends
their entire life. Where Elspeth is all harsh pragmatism and bold independence, Irene is soft
wistfulness and leisured warmth. Opposites do attract.

“Amazing,” Marlene says earnestly. “I’m going to have to buy a bed like that for our London
apartment.”

“I don’t think it was the bed,” Dorcas says, laughing.

“The sea is very calming,” Irene agrees, catching on to Dorcas’ meaning. “It has wonderful healing
powers.”

“I can’t wait to go swimming,” Marlene declares around a bite of bread. “Oh, Godric’s socks, this
is delicious.”

Even though it’s early morning, it’s already very warm. Both Dorcas and Marlene are wearing
billowy dresses made of fabric thin enough to be slightly see-through, which is why they decided
to don their swimming suits already. Fortunately, the white stone walls of the house and the open
windows create a mild draft that helps cool the rooms down.

Dorcas’ braids are piled on either side of her head in two messy buns, a look that Marlene likes
more than the others. She says it makes Dorcas look a bit rock and roll.

To their right, a door opens to let Lily and Pandora in. More billowy dresses—they did go shopping
in preparation for this trip together—and ponytails keeping their hair up. Pandora looks completely
unfazed, but Lily’s cheeks are a tad red. It could be the heat, or it could be Pandora’s fault.

With them comes Elspeth, wearing jean shorts and a blouse but, most shockingly, a truly horrified
look on her face.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Irene asks her immediately.

Lily giggles and answers for Elspeth, because apparently her shock is such she cannot form words.
“She accidentally walked in on Sirius and Remus.”

“Walked in on—” Irene starts, stops. “Oh. Oh.”

“I’m scarred for life,” Elspeth announces, sitting on a chair next to Irene and letting her forehead
fall against her shoulder. “I will never recover.”

“It can’t have been that bad,” Dorcas says, swallowing her laugh.

Horrified, Elspeth groans, “I saw… I saw a… you know. That.”

“She means a dick,” Lily supplies knowingly. “Apparently, Elspeth had never seen one before.
She’s only ever been naked with Irene.”
“I haven’t either,” Pandora says, sounding completely unbothered by this fact. “They don’t sound
that bad, though.”

“I hear some people quite like them,” Marlene quips, taking a bite of cheese while dribbling honey
over some yogurt with the other hand. Efficient queen.

Dorcas chortles, losing her battle not to laugh at Elspeth’s horror. “I bet if you ask any of the six
idiots still upstairs, they’ll tell you they’re brilliant.”

Clicking her teeth, Lily says, “Come on now. They’re fine. Just another body part.”

Marlene’s eyebrows shoot up. “I forget you sometimes like men.”

“Well,” Lily says, shrugging. “I just mean that it’s a bit unfair to declare dicks are awful in a
general sense. They’re really not. They’re just… dicks. Bit narrow minded, I guess. But I
understand Elspeth’s shock. I’m pretty sure if you ask Regulus, he’d tell you vaginas are horrifying
seeing as he’s only ever been with James.”

There’s a moment of silence while Dorcas is certain everyone—perhaps bar Irene—is picturing
Regulus’ face upon being confronted with a question about vaginas. Then, simultaneously, all six
women begin to laugh hysterically. Pandora has to brace on a chair, because she’s laughing so
much she’s doubled over.

Dorcas is about to tell them she knows for a fact Regulus is mildly afraid of boobs when the man in
question strides in, blinking in surprise at the giggling women. Without a word, he finds the chair
nearest the window and grabs the pot of coffee.

Immediately behind him is James, carrying Harry on his hip. He’s a gorgeous, chubby little thing
that looks like a copy of James shrunk for size. The only thing he has of Lily (physically) are his
eyes.

“Why are laughing? I want in on the joke,” James asks cheerfully, finding the baby chair Irene
procured in advance of their arrival and securing Harry on it.

Harry makes a noise of distress at being strapped to the chair, much preferring his father’s hip,
then mumbles something Dorcas doesn’t quite catch. The only people who understand Harry when
he says the few words he’s learnt are his parents, Pandora, Regulus or Barty. Sirius pretends he
does, but Dorcas isn’t sure that’s true.

Glancing around, James reaches for a banana, then pauses, “Lils, am I okay to give him some
fruit?”

“Yes,” Lily replies, standing up from the chair she’d slumped into during her fit of laughter. “Irene,
could we perhaps boil an egg?”

“I already did,” Irene says, getting up, too. “I thought you might want some for Harry.”

Elspeth pours herself a generous cup of coffee then moves to sit next to Regulus. Curious about
their relationship, Dorcas watches as Elspeth points out the pie to Reg, then to the yogurt. Pursing
his lips in consideration, Regulus picks yogurt and honey, and begins to prepare it as Elspeth tells
him what she’s planned for the day.

“Unless anyone has issues with sea sickness, we think a boat trip would be lovely,” Elspeth is
saying. “You must let us take you out on it. After all, we couldn’t have bought it without you.”
Regulus’ lips twitch. “The engagement ring?”

James, who had been busy helping Lily feed Harry his breakfast, looks over his shoulder. It’s
hilarious, Dorcas thinks, that he’s still a bit testy about the fact that Regulus and Elspeth announced
an engagement on the newspaper.

“The earrings,” Elspeth replies with a smile. “I’m saving the engagement ring just in case.”

“She calls it our safety net,” Irene adds, also smiling.

“Just how much jewellery did you buy the woman?” James asks, mildly affronted.

Dorcas takes a sip of her juice to stop herself from laughing. Marlene is struggling through a
mouthful of bread. James being jealous of a lesbian who agreed to be his husband’s beard and then
ran away to Greece the moment she could to be with her woman is so absurd it’ll never not be
funny.

“She’s very good at haggling,” Regulus replies with a shrug. “I respect her hustle.”

Rolling his eyes, James smiles sheepishly before turning back to Harry, who is for some reason
squeezing banana between his fingers and making disgusting looking puree of it seep between his
knuckles. Dorcas shudders, profoundly glad that it’ll never be her dealing with a toddler.

Barty and Evan join them five minutes before Sirius and Remus. Because they’re all young, and
silly, and on holiday, the minute Sirius and Remus walk into the dining room all the girls begin to
giggle again. Remus scowls, then goes to sit between Barty and Regulus but Sirius’ eyebrows fly
up to his hairline.

Pinning Elspeth with a knowing look, he says, “I see you couldn’t resist telling everyone. I don’t
blame you. I would want to brag, too.”

This only makes Elspeth look horrified again and everyone else laugh. James, sitting at the table
now that Harry is fed, looks up at him. “What did Elspeth see?”

“Remus and I were—”

A roll of bread hits Sirius on the forehead, cutting him off. From across the table, Remus growls,
“Sirius, no.”

With a shrug that’s meant to apologise to James, Sirius abandons his confession and takes a seat at
the table instead. Barty pushes a plate of honeyed bread towards Evan before fixing himself some
breakfast. Evan sets a mug of coffee in front of Barty, and Dorcas knows it has just the right
amount of sugar in it.

“I’m pretty sure everyone fucked this morning,” Barty says casually. “And if you didn’t, what the
hell is wrong with you? We’re in Greece for a holiday.”

“Barty!” James cries. “Not in front of Harry.”

“He doesn’t understand yet,” Barty replies, shrugging. “Isn’t that right, little buddy?”

On his chair, Harry looks at Barty and laughs, arms and feet kicking happily. “Bah-ty,” Harry says.
Barty immediately melts into a puddle, dissolving into smiles and kisses and cooing noises.

Offended, Sirius takes it upon himself to get Harry to say ‘Padfoot’ again. Never mind he’s been
told it’s too difficult a word and that he should be happy Harry says ‘Pads’ rather well. Sirius is
undeterred and so everyone else just leaves him to it. At least it means that Lily and James get to
have breakfast without worrying about keeping Harry entertained.

####

Interlude: Lily’s POV

After breakfast, Regulus announces that he won’t be getting on the boat.

Elspeth looks poised to insist, but Dorcas, James and Sirius swiftly interject. Irene, who is an
absolute delight, quickly suggests they spend the day at the beach instead. Everyone agrees to
gathering their things and meeting at the front gate of the house in twenty minutes or so.

With Harry on her hip—he slept in James and Regulus’ room the first night to give Lily and Dora
privacy, but Lily packed his things—she and Dora make their way up the stairs. They have a
wonderful top floor suite with a view of the ocean.

Lily and Dora have been together for almost a year now. She tries not to think about the fact that
their anniversary is the day of the Battle of Lestrange Castle, because it’s a bit weird. But it is.

In that year, Lily has learnt a lot. She can read most of Dora’s signs now, anticipating a bout of
intuition. She can also tell when Dora has had a prophetic dream as soon as they wake in the
morning. That’s why it’s not surprising that Lily knows the moment she steps in their room to
prepare her beach bag something has happened.

“What is it?” Lily asks, putting Harry down on the floor for a moment. If he falls, he’s not going
further than that so it’s the safest place for him to be.

Dora glances out the window, lips pursed. “I’ll… I’ll be late for the beach.”

“What did you feel?”

Dora takes a deep breath in, then turns her beautiful blue eyes on Lily. “There’s a forest on the
other side of the hill.”

And that’s… well. Lily has spent a year terrified of this day. Pandora chose her, but she chose her
on the brink of war. Worried about death. About time running out. And Lily was so happy about it
that she held on to this with both hands. She has loved Dora every day since without reservations
and has been terrified of losing her in equal measure.

“He’s there,” Lily says. It’s not a question. She knows. She understands. She’s not ready. “Right.”

Swallowing, Lily looks away. Picks up Harry, holding him to her chest. It makes her feel better.
Here’s a little boy who needs her. Always her. His mother. She loves him unconditionally. First
and foremost. Above everyone and everything else.

It’s comforting, so Lily holds onto her son as she watches the woman she loves nod. “He’s there,”
Dora says. “And I must meet with him.”

“Okay,” Lily says, even though what she wants is to rage. To scream. To beg Dora not to go. To
stay. Love her, please and forever.

But Lily won’t do that. She has too much dignity. Too much self-love. Lily knows her worth and
she might be breaking to pieces but she won’t guilt-trip someone into staying with her. She
deserves better. Deserves to be chosen.

Lily is not expecting, so when Dora speaks next, her brain doesn’t fully process it. “What did you
say?”

Smiling shyly, Dora asks, “Will you come with me? To the forest. I’ll meet him with you by my
side. Because I still want you, Lily. I still choose you. I just need to understand what the dream is
about. What it means.”

“Oh,” Lily says. A tear runs over her freckled cheek, then she’s nodding. “I’ll leave Harry with
James.”

****

Used to Dora’s ways, no one bats an eye when Lily announces she’s accompanying her girlfriend
to the forest and leaves it at that. They promise to be back soon to enjoy the beach day, and that’s
that. Regulus takes Harry in his arms. Harry immediately tugs on the earring Regulus wears these
days, completely unafraid of a man that haunts other people's nightmares, and says ‘Reg’ with a
bright smile. Immediately, Regulus absolutely dissolves into a softer version of himself that Lily is
still not used to seeing.

James double checks he’s got everything he needs. He’s a great dad, but he gets a bit nervous when
Lily isn’t around. Everyone thinks it's adorable. He tries so hard to do everything right.

As they walk to the forest, Lily begins to talk. She does this. When she’s nervous, and she’s full on
freaking out right now, she blabs. Fortunately, Dora has told her on many occasions that she loves
listening to Lily rant. So rant she does.

Lily tells Dora the latest gossip from her work with St. Mungo’s, where she’s part of the team that
brews healing potions. Tells her about an annoying co-worker from Germany who insists on
following the books to the letter and gets all prissy when Lily does things her way.

She rants about Harry’s last check-up at the doctors, because the muggle doctors she goes to gives
her advice on certain things that contradict the magical healer’s advice. Lily wishes they shared
knowledge. After all, if it hadn’t been for Regulus and his knowledge of caesareans, Lily would
have died giving birth.

The tirade has gone off on a tangent about Petunia’s latest slight when Lily falls silent. They’ve
reached the forest. It’s not very dense. Actually, Lily thinks ‘forest’ is generous, but she’ll allow it.
Dora leads her through the trees, determined and unafraid. For her part, Lily is about to hurl.

In her mind, the mystery man was threatening. Lily had made him to be a sort of monster that’d
one day come to take Pandora away. She had given him all sorts of horrid features. Made him
terrifying. Huge and growling. Aggressive.

The reality is that Pandora’s man in the forest is rather good looking. He’s tall, blond and not at all
intimidating. He’d be handsome, if not for the haunted look on his face when he chances upon the
two women.

When he moves, Lily’s eyes zero in on the bundle in his arms. The one he’s clutching to his chest
desperately.

“Hello,” Pandora says. “I’m—”

“Pandora,” the man whispers. “I saw you in a dream. Oh, thank the Hallows. You’re just in time.”
Lily’s stomach falls to her heels. No way she’s winning this. Whatever this is. The man had been
looking for her, too. Oh, Godric. Lily’s going to cry.

“Just in time?” Dora asks, bewildered. Lily can tell this isn’t what she was expecting. “I saw you in
a dream, too. But I wasn’t given your name,” Dora says gently.

“Xeno,” he says urgently. “My name is Xeno. You’re coming to save her, aren’t you?”

“Who?” Dora asks, frowning a little.

“My daughter.”

It’s getting hot. The sun is shining on an enamel blue sky that goes on for miles and miles, meeting
the sea in the horizon. There are other islands nearby, Lily knows, but none visible from where
they are. The trees around them are quite beautiful, but completely different to what she’s used to.
Lily can’t name a single one of them.

Sweat trickles down her back, making the thin linen of the shirt she changed it stick to her skin.
Gingers aren’t made to be in this much heat, Lily thinks mournfully, but she was so excited about
this trip. A holiday with all her friends. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come. But what was she
supposed to know the mystery man would be waiting for them on a random Greek island?

“Pandora,” Xeno says, stumbling forward a bit. “Please. What did you see in your dream? I… I
need your help.”

“What sort of help?” Lily asks, unable to help herself.

“My baby,” Xeno says, cradling the bundle to his chest. “I’ve been cursed. My wife has already
succumbed to it. We saved the baby just in time.”

“What do you mean you’ve been cursed?” Dora asks. Lily’s eyes track the man. He looks thin.
Breakable. “By who?”

“We were exploring,” Xeno explains. “We did that, my wife and I. Search for legends. Mystical
objects. Forgotten artifacts. We opened something we shouldn’t have and even though we tried
everything, the curse won’t break. I’m dying, and my baby needs a home.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re a seer, too,” Xeno says. “My daughter will be one. Both my wife and I have gifts.
I couldn’t risk her going to a home that didn’t understand what it’s like, but you do. You do. It's
your destiny, Pandora, to give my daughter a home.”

“This can’t be,” Lily says, shocked. “I thought… didn’t you say you thought it was love?”

Dora looks pensive. Quiet. Focused. She steps closer, extends her arms, “May I hold her?”

To Lily’s surprise, Xeno doesn’t hesitate. He hands Pandora the blankets. Inside, there’s a tiny girl.
She can’t be more than a few days old. “In my dream, you came to save her. My wife saw it, too.
And she sent me looking for you before it was too late.”

Dora looks at the baby and smiles. “What’s her name?”

“Luna,” Xeno says, then he sways on his feet. “Her name is Luna. Will you save her? Take her in?
Give her a home?”
“Are you sure there’s nothing we can do for you?” Lily asks, suddenly desperate to save the man.
It doesn’t sit well with her. It just doesn’t. “One of the most powerful wizards I’ve ever known is
in a house just across the hill. He’s a friend. He can try to break your curse.”

“Lily is right, Xeno,” Dora says. “Let us try to help you.”

Xeno hesitates, glances at the baby and Pandora. Then, he looks across the forest. “Alright.”

Together, the three of them make their way through the forest. Pandora keeps the baby against her
chest, gently rocking her a little. As they walk, Xeno strains to talk to them. He explains he runs a
small business where he looks for and recovers strange artifacts. Chasing legends is his passion. He
tells them a strange story about something called a Nargle that Lily has never heard of, but Pandora
seems to be familiar with.

By the time they arrive back at the house, Lily has reluctantly begun to actually like this man.
Especially, because so far, he has given them no indication of wanting to woo Pandora. Lily leaves
them in the living room, where Xeno has slumped onto a sofa, and races across the house, out the
front door, and down the gravelly road towards the beach.

She cannot honest to Godric believe that she’s trying to save mystery man’s life.

The things she does for love.

Regulus is lounging leisurely on a sunbed under an umbrella, not an inch of his pale skin exposed
to the sun. It doesn’t escape Lily’s notice that Reg’s chair and umbrella are rather far from the
water. Next to him, directly where the shade of the umbrella ends, James has spread his towel on
the sand and is sprawled on it, wearing a red swimming trunk.

Harry is sitting close to the water with Remus, Sirius, Evan and Barty. They seem to be attempting
to build a sand castle. Elspeth, Irene, Dorcas and Marlene aren’t around, but Lily doesn’t have time
to ask about their whereabouts.

It’s so hot Lily’s hair is sticking to her nape from her frantic run. When she stops by Regulus, she’s
panting. “Pandora needs you,” Lily wheezes.

It’s really a beautiful thing how much Regulus cares. There’s no need for anything else. The
moment the words fall from Lily’s lips, he’s up and striding up the path towards the house. James
sits up, frowning, “What’s wrong?”

“Just… stay here, alright? We’ll be back,” Lily says. “Keep an eye on Harry.”

Then, Lily is rushing back up, following Regulus.

In the living room, Pandora is soothing the baby who has started crying in the time it took Lily to
go get Regulus. Xeno is breathing heavily, eyes closed, still on the sofa. When he spots the man,
Regulus frowns. Then, he glances at Pandora and says, “Where did you find that baby?”

“It’s his baby,” Dora says. “But he says he’s cursed and dying. We thought you might be able to
help.”

“Why do we care?” Regulus asks, scowling.

“He’s the man in the forest,” Pandora tells him. Apparently, this means something to Regulus.
Truly, Lily isn’t surprised that Pandora had told her friends about her dream.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Regulus says.

For the next hour or so, Regulus works a series of complex incantations on Xeno. He asks
questions and tries things Lily didn’t even know were possible. She brings every potion she has in
her stash, and then Regulus’ own stash, too. They try everything.

It’s not enough.

Xeno dies from the curse. He teaches them all a lesson, for he dies unafraid. He goes with a smile
because he’ll see his wife again, and he knows Luna has a mother in Dora. “Teach her to dream. To
be herself. She’ll have powers like yours,” Xeno says weakly. “Because we are alike. No one else
could raise her but you.”

Pandora cries, holds Luna tightly. Lily hugs her. When Xeno has drawn his last breath, Lily presses
a kiss to Pandora’s cheek and says, “Harry could do with a sibling. He’d be terribly spoilt
otherwise. We’ll be okay.”

“Pan,” Regulus says, sighing. Always a pragmatic king, he's already thinking of what must be done
next. “Did he say what he wanted to be done with his body? We can’t leave him here.”

“He wants to be buried next to his wife, he said,” Dora tells him. “A small town on the other side
of the island.”

“I’ll deal with that,” Regulus tells her. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Dora says, smiling first at Lily, then at Regulus. “I had the dream wrong. I thought I was
meant to love him because I had this overwhelming feeling of fondness and happiness, but it
wasn’t for him.”

“It was for Luna,” Lily says, understanding dawning on her.

####

Regulus would like it to be noted that he’s dealing with a dead body against his will. This time.
This specific dead body.

It’s too bloody hot to be doing this, but he told Pandora he would, and well. Here he is. Sweating,
and huffing and puffing, Regulus apparates to the other side of the island with the dead man and
finds the cemetery.

Fortunately, he has some credentials with him at all times for situations just like this. Or, perhaps
not exactly like this, but should anything happen. It’s a perk of his job as an intelligence agent.
With a flash of his wand and a few words, the cemetery’s keeper promises to take care of the dead
man.

All in all, it takes Regulus about half an hour to ‘deal with it’ and make his way back to the beach.
He’s in a mood, he knows, and the hot sand blistering his bare feet isn’t helping. Regulus should
have protested the beach day, but when the alternative was a boat, well. Besides, he couldn’t come
to Greece and refuse to be outside. Could he?

Despite the fact that there are some muggles around—albeit rather far down the other side of the
beach—Regulus summons his cigarettes. He simply does not want to wait until he’s on his chair.
He does use a lighter he fishes from the pocket of his swimming trunks—some surfing brand that
knows to build them in—and takes an inhale.
Then promptly chokes on the smoke.

At some point during his dead-body disposal duties, James decided to go for a swim. And he’s
now walking out of the sea, wet skin glistening in the sun and muscles rippling with every
movement. Fuck. Regulus needs to lie face down on the sand. Like, immediately. Before his
thoughts become obvious to everyone, courtesy of his quickly hardening dick.

But he can’t move, because how is he expected to tear his eyes away from all those abs? From
those fucking thighs? From James’ hair or the curve of his biceps as he shakes it around to dislodge
excess water? Salazar help him, Regulus is unwell. This isn’t a sight that one should be confronted
with by surprise. It’s too much. Too hot.

It’s everything.

Regulus thinks he’s made a sort of whiny noise, but he’s not certain. His brain is fuzzy, filled with
static and the single impulse to launch himself at James—he knows he’ll catch him—and kiss him
until James is as desperate as he is.

Mouth dry, Regulus takes a step. Then another. Until his feet are on the wet sand and he’s standing
in front of James who, totally oblivious, stopped to inspect the sand castle four grown ass men are
building Harry, who’s much more interested in waving a plastic spade around.

“Reg?” James asks when he spots him. “Reg, the water!”

The warning comes too late. A wave reaches Regulus’ feet, submerging them to the ankles. The
water is a lot warmer than he’d expect, and the sand under him shifts as the sea retreats again. It’s
so soft, and it’s so sunny here. He’s sweating and James is in small swimming trunks. Regulus
finds that his brains stays where it needs to stay. He’s okay. No cave. No inferi. No panic.

“Oh,” Reg says, looking at James who’s now standing right before him, a hand coming up to
cradle his cheek.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Regulus says, surprised. “I have no intention of actually swimming, but this is okay. This,”
he gestures towards James’ ridiculous amount of abs, “is helping.”

James grins, a sparkle of mischief in the corner of his hazel eyes. He leans in for a kiss, then asks,
“where did you go just now?”

“Later,” Regulus replies, sliding his hands up James’ chest and kissing him again.

Something grainy and slightly disturbing hits Regulus’ leg a moment before two small arms wrap
themselves around his knee. Breaking the kiss immediately, Regulus looks down and finds Harry
hugging his leg.

“Reg,” he says, then grins at him.

Letting go of James, Regulus crouches down to be eye level with Harry. “Hi Haz.”

Having successfully caught attention, Harry proceeds to grab Regulus’ hand and tug him towards
the dry sand. Relieved the kid doesn’t want to go into the water, Regulus follows. James falls into
step beside them, watching the place where Harry’s small, brown hand is determinedly clinging to
Regulus’ long, pale one.
“Harry!” Sirius calls. “The sandcastle.”

Harry doesn’t care about the sandcastle. Not even a little bit. It turns out that Harry is hungry,
because he goes straight for Regulus’ bag that he packed this morning and says, “Snack.”

Regulus smiles, and finds the pot of diced fruit Lily gave him. Sitting on his sun bed, Regulus
begins to feed Harry. It doesn’t take long. Harry makes a mess but eats every last bit. And when
he’s done, he wiggles off the bed and runs back to Sirius who’s being dramatic and lying on the
sand pretending to cry. Harry launches himself at Sirius, then they’re laughing as Harry attempts to
tickle his godfather.

“He’s a great kid,” Regulus says. “Deserves the world.”

“Yeah. He does,” James replies a tad too softly.

When Regulus glances at James, he finds his husband looking at him, not at his son. It makes
Regulus’ heart trip and fall over itself.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we sneak away?” James asks, heat building in his gaze.

Regulus scoffs. “I buried a dead body this morning and none of you had any clue. Distracted idiots.
What if someone had come to attack you?”

“You what?” James asks, alarmed.

Regretfully, it makes the heat in his gaze diminish. This is not what Regulus wants, so he quickly
scoots closer. “I didn’t kill anyone, don’t worry. I’ll explain later. I had to help Pan and Lily.”

“Reg? Why did Pan and Lils need help with a dead body in Greece in Irene and Elspeth’s house?”

Groaning, Regulus puts his hands on James’ shoulders. “Someone died a natural death and Pandora
saw it because she’s Pandora and they came to me for help. Now, can we please get back to the
house?”

Considerably less alarmed than before, James smiles and nods. They get to their feet, ready to
sneak away, when a piercing cry breaks the peace.

Nothing as effective as a cock block than a crying child.

“He stepped on a broken shell,” Sirius explains, already carrying Harry up towards them. “There’s
a little cut.”

“Big cut,” Harry says indignant, pausing his crying to make his very important announcement.

“The biggest,” Barty, who’d sprinted to his aid the moment Harry cried, says supportively.

Through his tears, Harry offers Barty a shaky smile. The next several minutes are spent dealing
with Harry’s cut on the sole of his foot. This task is given to Regulus who as far as most people
know is a healer. It takes him a single moment and one flick of his wand, but there’s a big show of
putting on a plaster and kissing it better.

Belatedly, it occurs to Regulus that there’s something quite hilarious about a bunch of shirtless
young men—most of whom are heavily tattooed or on the way there, or in Evan’s case sporting
several piercings on his face alone—cooing at a small one year old with a penchant for dramatics.

When Harry decides he’s done being fussed over, he starts to get prickly which both James and
Regulus know means he’s tired. It’s time for a nap. The perfect excuse to attempt to sneak up to the
house again.

As James picks Harry up—something Regulus loves to watch because James holding Harry makes
his insides go all goey—there’s a shriek carried in the breeze across the beach and then Marlene
sprints into view being chased by Dorcas. Dorcas catches up, longer legs and all, and then picks
Marlene up, throws her over her shoulder, and marches into the water. Behind them, Irene and
Elspeth laugh and follow hand in hand.

“Let’s go bother them,” Barty says cheerfully.

“Race you to the water,” Evan says, bolting as soon as he’s said it.

Remus sits on the bed Regulus just vacated and tugs Sirius down. “You need more sunscreen.”

“Right,” Regulus says. “We’re taking Harry for his nap.”

And he strides away with James and his son before he accidentally catches sight of Remus putting
sunscreen on Sirius, something that shouldn’t be dirty but them two can make absolutely filthy.

####

None of them expected to welcome a new baby into their lives while on holiday, but here they are.
Pandora tells them the tale. Explains about what the man in the forest dream meant and what
happened. Where the little girl came from.

Of all the things they’ve gone through, this isn’t necessarily the hardest to assume. It’s unusual and
definitely not what they thought would happen, but well. Pandora’s gift has helped them on many
occasions. It makes sense that they’d accept the gift demands they help someone else for once.

And it’s not hard at all, because the baby is incredibly small but extremely cute. A couple of days,
perhaps a week old at most. She’s a girl, and she’s Pandora’s and Lily’s. James loves her
immediately. Wants to protect her forever. Take her into this huge family that they’ve built on the
ashes of war. They’re thriving with love and acceptance. They have plenty to give. One more heart
to tie to theirs forever. James thinks it’s beautiful.

They celebrate with a big dinner and some drinks. Sirius plays guitar and sings. Everyone takes a
turn holding Luna. Harry is introduced to his little sister. He squeals and makes grabby hands, then
throws a tantrum when he’s not allowed to hold the baby.

Every time James catches Regulus’ eye, his expression softens and James gets a small smile that’s
just for him. It’s honestly a wonderful evening. James’ heart is full to bursting with love.

After everyone has gone to bed, James and Regulus step outside. A sky full of stars greets them.
It’s a clear night. Warm and bright. Regulus slides his hand into James’ and together they walk
down to the beach. It’s deserted at this hour—almost two am—and a quiet moment for them to just
be.

They leave their shoes near the path and step on the sand barefoot. The sounds of the sea and the
smell of salt in the air make James smile. Side by side with Regulus, they walk along the shore.

One thing he’s learnt living with Regulus is to appreciate silence. It can sometimes say more than
words. It holds all the things they have shared. Wraps around them and creates a bubble of peace
that they fought hard for. As they walk together, James finds himself relaxed. He thinks of
everything they’ve been through. Of everything they have ahead.
James is happy.

Actually, no. He’s not just happy. That seems like too small a word for what he is. For how he
feels. Because he’s whole. Full of life and hopes and dreams. He’s excited. He’s complete. He has
found heaven and it’s in holding Regulus’ hand. In coming home to him, or him coming home to
James. It’s in Harry asleep on the bed between them, starfishing and taking up entirely too much
space for one so small. It’s in evenings by the fire with books. Dinners in their cottage, tasting wine
because Regulus is into that sort of thing now. It’s in their walks down to the village to have a pint
in a pub overlooking the beach of Lyme Regis. It’s in the seam of Regulus’ lips when James runs
his tongue along it. In the glint in his eye and the corner of a smile when James slides his hands
down Regulus’ torso. In his curls, and the way Regulus gasps when James tugs on them.

Lost in his delirious joy, it takes James a moment to notice Regulus has stopped walking.

Digging his feet in the cool sand, James tucks a strand of hair behind Regulus’ ear and asks, “What
is it?”

“I just like this,” Regulus says, gesturing to the silver path the moon casts on the sea. “It’s
beautiful.”

“Says the most beautiful man on the planet,” James tells him, never one to miss an opportunity to
tell Regulus how lovely he is.

Regulus chuckles lightly, leans into James. “Only the planet?”

“The entire universe. Every galaxy,” James replies swiftly, rather proud to know about those things
thanks to those Star Wars movies Regulus likes.

Turning to look at him, Regulus smiles. Runs a hand through James’ hair and looks at him through
his eyelashes, face suddenly overtaken by a sultry expression. It makes James catch on fire.
Sometimes, he wonders if it’ll ever fade. So far it hasn’t. That need to touch Regulus, to hold him,
to kiss him. The want that drives them to bed—or other places—as often as they can get away with.
James thinks they’ll be like this until they’re old and their bones can’t keep up with it. Even then,
he thinks, James will find ways to bring them together. To merge into one.

“Sometimes I wish I could shrink you and carry you in my pocket like a little, mean pixie,” James
tells Reg. “Just so I could have you near at all times.”

“If I was small enough to fit in your pocket, I wouldn’t be able to do this,” Regulus says, shifting
his weight onto the balls of his feet to kiss him.

Regulus’ hands slide under James’ linen shirt, fingernails scratching over his abs. James deepens
the kiss, trapping Regulus’ lower lip between his teeth.

Thoroughly distracted as he is by lavishing Regulus’ mouth with attention, James doesn’t notice
him working his buttons until his shirt is hanging open. Regulus presses himself closer, aligning
their hips, and James growls when he feels Regulus’ dick hard against him.

“We can’t fuck on the beach,” James pants, releasing him from the kiss just long enough to speak.

“Says who?”

“The sand,” James explains. “It gets everywhere.”

Message delivered, he busies himself with trailing open mouthed kisses along Regulus’ neck. He
grips his shoulders, then pushes the fabric until James’ hands fall from his curls so the shirt can
crumble to the sand. Immediately, Regulus is opening the button of his shorts, then James is bared
to the night.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since you went swimming earlier,” Regulus says, sinking to his
knees.

“What if someone comes?” James asks, though he puts absolutely zero effort into stopping Reg.

“What did you think the long walk to the most remote part of the beach was for?” Regulus asks,
looking up at him through those wonderful eyelashes.

“Oh,” James says, but it comes out as a gasp because Regulus wraps his lovely lips around James’
dick, swirling his tongue over the head once before bobbing down to take him in all the way to the
hilt.

Conquered and very much willing to surrender, James let’s his hands rest idly on both sides of
Regulus’ head. His knees go weak as Regulus works his way up and down, up and down, jaw
relaxed to fit all of James. It’s fucking glorious.

James likes everything they do. Always. But the way Regulus sucks his dick is special. Like James
is a pagan God and Regulus a supplicant kneeling at his altar, worshiping with devout fervour. It’s
almost embarrassing how hard it is for James to keep himself in check and make it last. He knows
they do it like this first, until Regulus has worked himself up to his own frenzy, when he’ll ask—

With a wet pop, Regulus releases him for a moment to look up and say, “you’re being very polite.
Stop it.”

“What do you want?” James knows the answer, but he always asks anyway. It’s important for him
to hear Regulus say it every time.

“Fuck my face, James.”

And well. He does. Regulus’ eyes roll into his head as he lets James take over. Mouth slack, spit
dribbling down his chin, Regulus’ hand finds his own dick and he touches himself to the rhythm of
James’ thrusts into his mouth.

“Fuck,” James groans, then he’s coming, stars behind his eyes and body wrought with the best kind
of release, and Regulus works him through it all, swallowing before he, too, is overcome with his
pleasure.

When it’s over, Regulus sits back on the sand. He’s smiling, lips swollen and red. James fixes his
trousers quickly and joins him, side by side watching the sea gently lap at the shore.

“I cannot believe we just did that in a public place,” James mutters, mildly embarrassed.

“It’s three am and there isn’t a soul for miles,” Regulus deadpans. “Hogwarts’ quidditch rooms
were much riskier than this.”

“Hmm,” James says, then he tugs Regulus closer. “You’re always right, of course.”

“James?”

“Yes?”
“I love you,” Regulus says quietly, for him and the sea and the night sky only.

James is more than happy. He’s everything. With Regulus. Always.

####

June 1983

“Reg!” Harry cries as soon as he makes his way into the VIP box.

Regulus’ boots are splattered with mud, and the jacket has a torn pocket, but he didn’t have time to
change. Hopefully, people won’t notice. If they do, he might blame it on the kid currently grinning
at him so widely the apples of his cheeks are pushing his eyes closed.

Immediately upon seeing Regulus is smiling back at him, Harry jumps off Lily’s lap and runs to
tug on Regulus’ hand, ushering him to his seat. He bumps into the legs of a few guests—families
of other players—so Regulus bends gracefully and picks him up. At three years old, Harry is a little
menace, but Regulus adores him so much it’s mildly embarrassing.

“How are we doing?” He asks, breathless.

“They’re winning,” Pandora says, Luna on her lap watching the game with huge, blue eyes.

Regulus hates that he’s a bit late. He missed the first fifteen minutes of the game, but he couldn’t
get here all the way from Utsjoki any faster. They were called to hunt down a rogue, buddying
wizard from America who had made his way to the most remote village he could find this side of
the Atlantic and was hiding with the locals. He had to be captured and sent back to the Americans
to be dealt with, as he was responsible for an attack that killed close to twenty people in Tulsa two
months ago.

Dorcas leans closer and whispers in his ear, “there’s blood on your shirt.”

“Shit!” Regulus says, getting his wand out to clean the leftovers of his mission.

On Pandora’s lap, Luna looks at him. “Bad Reg! Bad words!”

Harry giggles, then yells, “Dad’s gonna score again! Look!”

Regulus finds James on the pitch immediately and yes, Harry is right. There he goes, brilliant,
beautiful, every dream Regulus has ever had. James scores, then looks towards the box. When he
sees Regulus made it to his game, he beams and touches the inside of his arm where the scar with
star had begun to fade but he got it tattooed over.

Not too long ago, Regulus would have been deeply mortified by the way that simple gesture makes
him want to melt into a puddle. These days, while he won’t be caught dead emoting in public,
Regulus has come to terms with the fact that he loves James too much to try to pretend his heart is
a tameable beast. So, Regulus tucks all these little things into the pockets of his mind, then shows
James when they’re alone.

For now, because he’s surrounded by people, Regulus keeps his response to an emphatic cheer that
is no more or less raucous than that of the rest of the VIP box. Harry, who is three and also
unincumbered by any shame whatsoever, is beside himself with excitement at his dad having
scored. He’s on his feet, wobbling precariously on Regulus’ legs and clapping so hard his hands
are a bit red. A few seats over, Sirius is howling. Just, full on howling. His tattooed arms on
display, in the air, flailing around like he’s never before seen James score a goal. Remus pretends
to be embarrassed but the fondness in his eyes betrays him.

The game carries on. It’s a final. The league title is at stake but Marlene—who was signed by
James’ team last season— and James are on fire. They work extremely well with the rest of the
team and more goals get scored with relative ease. At one point, Marlene hits a particularly
complicated bludger and aims it perfectly at the other team, which makes Dorcas groan and close
her eyes for a moment to deal with what Regulus suspects is overwhelming lust.

One hour in and Regulus is certain they’re going to win, which is a wonderful wedding present for
Marlene and Dorcas.

They’ll be the first fully legal and official same sex marriage in Wizarding Britain, following
Sirius, Evan and Fleamont’s reform which was passed last week. Dorcas and Marlene are tying the
knot the day after tomorrow. Everyone said it couldn’t be done so quickly, but they underestimated
Regulus’ capacity for bribery and blackmail. Everything is ready. It’ll be the most grandiose
wedding ever.

When the game is over—they won, of course they won—they all run onto the pitch to celebrate.
Marlene jumps into Dorcas’ arms and James catches Regulus as he does the same.

“How does it feel? First league title,” Regulus asks against James’ mouth.

“Dad! Dad!” Harry tugs on James’ clothes. “Daaaaaaad!”

Laughing, Regulus stands on his own so James can pick his son up instead. James flashes him a
look over Harry’s head that reads ‘later’ and Regulus tucks that into the pockets of his mind, too.

Sirius throws an arm over Regulus’ shoulders, then whispers, “Don’t even think about stealing
James away. That’s a league title and we’re celebrating. You can be gross and inappropriate later.”

“I’ve been in Lapland for six days,” Regulus hisses.

“You kept Moony from me for months,” Sirius replies primly. It’s his favourite card to play
whenever Regulus protests about having been away from James due to work.

Rolling his eyes, Regulus says, “Fine, but you’re paying for the drinks.”

Which is a stupid thing to say because Regulus has more money than he knows what to do with,
and he’s married to a man who is equally rich which means they’re never running out of it even if
they try. But it’s the principle of it all. Also, Regulus just doesn’t want to let Sirius get away with
cock-blocking him that easily.

“We’re going to our place,” Sirius says, smiling. “Drinks are already bought.”

“Don’t tell James,” Regulus warns. “He’ll have a fit about you jinxing his win.”

They share a conspiratorial look, then huff a laugh together. Sirius lets go of Regulus to go jump on
James now that he’s once again toddler free—courtesy of Lily—and Regulus watches and they
tumble to the ground then wrestle for some reason. It’s a thing they do after important matches.
Apparently, they used to do it in school when Sirius was on the team after practice.

Eventually, the entire party makes it to Sirius and Remus’ house. They bought it last year, having
decided their flat wasn’t suitable for hosting the large group of friends they’d acquired. It’s a
wonderful townhouse in West London, with its own garage for Sirius’ bike. The chimney is not
connected to the general floo network, because some things (like a bit of paranoia) you just never
get over—James and Regulus’ cottage is the same—but it connects directly to five places. The
cottage. Dorcas and Marlene’s house in Brighton. Lily and Pandora’s house in Wimbledon. Rosier
Manor. And Potter Manor where Effie and Monty still host Sunday roast every weekend for
anyone who wants to come.

By the time James and Regulus stumble back to their home, they’ve drank too much to be able to
do anything other than pass out on their bed. But that, too, is something Regulus doesn’t take for
granted. They can simply go to bed and agree sex is for the morning, because they have time.
There’s a tomorrow. And another one. And another one.

Regulus remembers counting days. Feeling them slip through his fingers like grains of sand. The
panic of watching time tick knowing it was a guillotine inexorably coming down to sever you from
the things you wanted. The people you loved.

Not anymore.

So, drunker than he should be, but so in love he’s gagging on it, Regulus tucks his head in the
crook of James’ neck and falls asleep unafraid.

****

31 August 1991

He’s much too old for this, Regulus thinks. But he’s here anyway. He’d be anywhere James asked
him to be, and the roof of their cottage isn’t an exception. Regulus will make sure to complain
about it when they descend, then drag James to bed so he can make it up to Regulus by fucking
him with a hand to his throat. All in all, it’s shaping up to be a great night, ass starting to get numb
from the uncomfortable perch atop a roof notwithstanding.

James is leaning back, elbows resting behind him. It was his idea to climb up here. After dinner—
delicious cannelloni Regulus is rather proud of—he asked that they came to watch the stars
together. It’s not unusual, but they tend to do it out in the deck behind their room, not on the roof.

Regulus suspects he’s feeling a bit melancholic. His suspicions are confirmed when he tilts his
head and says, “I can’t believe Harry’s going to Hogwarts tomorrow.”

“I can,” Regulus says. “I’ve spent a week in Diagon Alley wrangling his over excitedness.”

“Reg!” James groans, but he grins. “He wouldn’t let anyone else buy his books.”

“I wonder why,” Regulus deadpans, but he, too, is grinning.

Sighing, James runs a hand over his face. “It’s a bit pathetic that I’m a little jealous of him, isn’t
it?”

“You have good memories from school. It’s normal to feel a bit of nostalgia.”

They fall silent for a moment, and Regulus basks in it. It’s been eleven years since the end of the
war. Since they found their way back to each other. In that time, they’ve had a lot of blessings.
Dorcas and Marlene married. Two years ago, they moved to America where Marlene is now the
captain of a Quidditch team. Barty and Evan haven’t married, but they live together in Rosier
Manor and bicker so much you would never guess. For some reason, they’ve adopted six cats over
the years.

“Lily said they’ll go a bit early,” James mutters. “I’d like to meet them in King’s Cross at ten
thirty. Is that okay?”

“Of course, it’s okay,” Regulus replies, lighting a cigarette. He’s quit several times, but always
falls back into it. One of these days he’ll quit for good. He swears.

“Did they stay in the Leaky Cauldron?” Reg asks after a moment.

“Yes,” James confirms. “Luna thought it was exciting and you know she’s a bit miffed Harry’s off
to school a year before her, so Lils and Pan wanted to spoil her a bit.”

Lily and Pandora moved to Dorset when Luna was three and Harry was four. They’re not in Lyme
Regis, but close enough that Lily can drive between their houses in under one hour. They still use
the floo primarily, but she insisted that Harry and Luna be familiar with the muggle world. It’s
worked out better for Harry than Luna, who spends a great amount of time chasing garden gnomes
and not enough learning to operate a telephone. Harry, on the other hand, fits in very well in both
worlds.

“Is Sirius coming?” Regulus asks through a mouthful of smoke.

James gives him a look. “I know better than to try to stop him.”

“Harry’s going to be so embarrassed,” Regulus groans.

Thirty one years old and Sirius is as dramatic as he was at seventeen. He’s sure to do something
hysterical, like crying or running alongside the train as it leaves the platform. Regulus briefly
wonders if he can take James’ invisibility cloak with him to hide under before he remembers
Harry’s taking it with him along with the map.

“He’s too young for that,” James says, grinning. “Wait until he’s a teenager. Then, he’ll bar Sirius
from coming to see him off.”

Regulus laughs, rests his head on James’ shoulder. He’s right. Regulus loves him. He loves all his
friends. Loves his brother. It used to scare him. Overwhelm him. Not anymore. Years of therapy
have really helped, though he’ll never say that aloud to anybody. Not even James.

Sirius and Remus did marry, to everyone’s delighted surprise. Two months after Dorcas and
Marlene’s wedding, Remus proposed to Sirius in Paris, where they’d gone for a weekend getaway
orchestrated by Regulus (who knew what Remus had planned and still did not say a word to
anyone, not even James). This was both a shock and also the source of a ridiculous argument where
James got stroppy over the fact that Regulus didn’t inform him immediately Sirius was going to be
proposed to. That was smoothed out with sex, too. Regulus isn’t ashamed of it.

The proposal was rather grand, considering it was planned by Remus of all people, and Sirius had
been so overwhelmed he had sobbed for ten minutes straight, during which Remus had panicked
because he had not yet got an answer. Regulus later told him he was an absolute idiot because there
was never any doubt it was a yes.

That wedding had been a nightmare to plan because Sirius had decided to have opinions on things
that one should absolutely not have opinions on, ever. For any reason. However, Regulus had
enjoyed it because it had been a project for them to work on together. These days, they are a fully
functioning, healthy pair of siblings, and Regulus is so grateful he sometimes has to take a moment
to reassure himself he deserves it.

“And Remus?”
“He can’t make it, but he bought Harry a trunkfull of chocolate to make up for it,” James laughs,
then, more subdued, “I hope Harry makes some friends. He can’t possibly eat all that chocolate by
himself.”

“Of course he will,” Regulus says firmly. “He’s your son. I bet he’ll knock it off with the first
person to walk into his carriage.”

James smiles. Tugs Regulus closer. “Maybe he’ll marry their sibling one day.”

“I don’t think that sort of thing is genetic, but sure,” Regulus says, teasing. “Perhaps his friend will
then marry whoever else they adopt into their group.”

“So long as they keep it to three,” James mutters, a shudder running through his body.

Regulus squeezes his hand. It’s been a long time, but James still thinks about Peter sometimes.
Regulus doesn’t understand it. As far as he’s concerned, that disgusting piece of shit should have
been killed eleven years ago. But James mourns the friendship they used to have. Wishes he could
have done things differently so that Peter wasn’t pushed to betraying them.

This rather sombre turn to their thoughts and conversation isn’t what Regulus wanted, so he adjusts
his position and presses a kiss to the soft space right under James’ ear. A shiver runs through his
husband, and Regulus smiles to himself before leaning in again. He presses his teeth against James’
skin, revelling in the hum he makes in his throat in pleasure, then soothes the spot with his tongue.

“I know what you’re doing,” James says, voice low and raspy.

“Is it working?” Regulus asks, lips moving against James’ neck because he’s not stopping.

“Yes,” James replies. “It’s most definitely working. Let’s get of the roof.”

And they do. Regulus makes loves to James in their bed. The bed they’ve shared for eleven years.
The one they’ve broken three times. It’s a personal challenge of Regulus’ to break it at least three
more before they hit forty.

Later, when they’re sweaty and sated, lying together in bed, James turns his head to look at
Regulus and says, “Tell Myrtle to look after Harry.”

Smiling, Regulus nods. “She’s already excited about meeting him.”

“We’ve armed him with the cloak, the map, and a rather clever ghost,” James says, running his
fingers along Regulus’ arm. “He’s going to terrorise all the teachers.”

“Just say you’re excited about getting called to a meeting with Minnie,” Regulus teases, biting his
collarbone gently. Not in a sexual way, but in an affectionate-possessive way.

The rumble of James’ laugh jostles both their bodies a little. Regulus loves it. “I’m looking forward
to an excuse to visit again.”

“Do you think Harry will find our room?” Regulus asks.

“Not until he’s at least seventeen,” James says.

“I was sixteen,” Regulus says softly.

“When you fell in love with me?”

 “Oh, no. That was much earlier and you know it,” Regulus says. They’ve talked about this.
They’ve talked about everything by now, but James likes it when Regulus says it again. “I was
sixteen when you noticed me.”

“Only because I was a royal idiot and it took me seventeen years to think of looking your way,”
James replies, tucking him closer. “And I’m lucky you were already staring back.”

“It’s a good thing you’re aware. That’s the first step.” Regulus sighs, smiling into the darkness of
their room at night. “I’m glad you looked. I’d been hoping you would, even if I didn’t know it
then.”

At that, James twists to press a full kiss to his mouth. “I love you,” James whispers, lips against
lips. “So much. Je t’aime. Now, and tomorrow, and every day for the rest of my life.”

“I love you, too,” Regulus replies.

“Is it silly that after all these years I still feel like I’m going to burst when you say that?” James
asks. Regulus can hear the smile in his voice.

“I love you silly,” Regulus say.

“Reg,” James sighs.

“Go to sleep James,” Regulus says, pressing one last kiss to his mouth. “Go to sleep so I can tell
you again tomorrow.”

And the day after that. And the next. And the next.

THE END

Chapter End Notes

Translation:

"Little King, it's been a long time since I've seen that expression on your face. If
anyone deserves to hold the sun in their hands, it's you. Never let it go. Never stop
looking for the sun wherever you go. It will always bring you back hom."

"He is my hom," Regulus replies softly. "I will always return to him."

****

I am so overwhelmed and happy and sad all at the same time PLS I CANNOT
BELIEVE IT IS DONE

Reg and James got married

Sirius dropping the starchaser pun, help I love him
Remus thinking he wants a wedding after witnessing the Jegulus one. SIR YOU ARE
SO VALID
 WE WENT TO GREECE!!! And Pandora adopted Luna!!!
I just want to say here that it was always the plan. Elspeth's wife living in Greece was
not random, I chose it because Xenophilius sounds Greek to me (please know I do not
know any Greek, this is just a *vibes* thing) and so I planned for him to be there when
they went

Dorlene having awesome sex on holiday because they are queens They deserve the
world
And they were the first official, fully legal same-sex marriage in Wizarding England I
AM SO HAPPY FOR THEM LIKE UGH THEY DESERVE EVERYTHING!!
If you're wondering - Jegulus signed their papers to make their own wedding 'official'
AFTER the Dorlene wedding so they didn't take that 'honour' away from them

Reg being an absolute puddle around Harry and Luna PLS HOLD MY HAND

And then the roof! OF the COTTAGE! Like... these two fell in love on the owlry roof,
so it feel very fitting to end the fic on another roof, watching the stars, and talking
about school

****

Like I said in the opening notes, I am so emotional. I cannot believe this is done
650K words long give or take and so many of you have stuck with me for so long
It's just... I never thought so many people would read my words, and I am so touched
by all your love. It has been so fun

THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART

Every TikTok edit or video, every time someone recommends my fic to someone else,
every time you reach out in any way to show your love for Only the Brave I feel like
you're giving me a pebble, and I am so honoured

There's an Only the Brave playlist here:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/19HGnqEibyDvawr2a098pa?si=5e47d379a9e748ef

I am on Tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/solmussa) and on TikTok (@itssolmussa) if

you want to say hi !

That is it for now. Hopefully, I'll see you on the next one

End Notes

Hello!

This is my first fic on AO3 so I did my best with tags and whatnot, hopefully I got it right
but... sorry if I didn't! I have no idea how long this fic's going to wound up being, but I'm
writing it for me and for a friend so it's very fluid. At times a little dark, at times totally
irreverent, it's just the way I would have liked the Jegulus story to play out.

Per the tags this is NOT canon compliant so whatever happens (and a lot will happen) you
can rest assured that Regulus will make it. Barely. But he will make it.
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