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The night before he, Ron, and Hermione were headed off to the ministry, Harry was having trouble falling asleep, even with the intense fatigue washing over him. He knew he needed the rest, but there were too many thoughts and worries crowding his mind, and try as he might, Harry couldn’t keep them away. He lay on the bed in Sirius’s room and stared blankly at the ceiling, mentally going over their — admittedly very vague and much too risky — plans and praying repeatedly that they’d make it out alive.
He’d almost managed to drift off when the distinct pop of a house elf had Harry jumping up again, wand already in hand and pointed in the direction the sound had come from.
A second later his eyes focused, and a sigh of relief slipped past Harry’s lips as he lowered his wand slightly.
“What is it, Kreacher? Are we in danger?” he asked in a quiet whisper, keeping himself on guard just in case. Kreacher had never bothered him at this time before, so Harry could only assume that some kind of trouble had fallen upon them.
“No, Master,” Kreacher replied, head bowed low. He shuffled forward and held out both hands, offering some object to Harry. Harry squinted at it in confusion, before his eyes widened as he realized what it was.
Regulus Black’s locket.
“Master Regulus has ordered Kreacher to return his locket to Master Harry. Master must keep it, and he must tell no one of it,” Kreacher spoke again. His face was contorted, as though the very thought of parting with the locket physically pained him, but he firmly held it out nonetheless.
When Harry made no move to take it from him, taken aback as he was, Kreacher made a sound of impatience and pushed the locket into his hand.
Carefully, Harry accepted it. He was still utterly bewildered, and his drowsy state did nothing to help comprehend the situation. But it sounded like Kreacher was going to force it upon him no matter what he said, and Harry was simply too tired to argue. He watched for a moment as the moonlight glinted on the golden locket in his hands before placing it safely in his pocket and absentmindedly thanking the house elf, who bowed and apparated away.
Back in bed, Harry’s sleepy brain finally registered the rest of Kreacher’s words.
Did he say Master Regulus ordered him? Regulus Black?
It made no sense. Harry couldn’t see how someone who had died well over a decade ago could possibly have made Kreacher give up the locket. As a matter of fact, he was surprised that anything in the world could persuade the elf to do so, considering how… emotional, he’d been when Harry had given it to him.
Then again, one could never really understand house elves. It was usually better to let them do their thing, and try not to interfere. Besides, although Harry couldn’t bring himself to trust Kreacher entirely, even now, he could admit that the elf had been rather helpful as of late.
The last thought that Harry had before sleep overtook him was that he hoped this wouldn’t backfire on him.
* * *
Aware that sleep would evade him once more, Harry sat up. He looked over at Hermione’s sleeping form, feeling a stab of irrational jealousy at her peaceful expression. He quickly shook the feeling away, knowing, better than anyone, that his closest friend was just as worn out as he was.
The past few days had flown by. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had, somewhat successfully, broken into the Ministry, stolen the real horcrux, and was now figuring out their next step while also doing their best not to get caught by the enemy. It was no easy task, and things only grew worse with each passing day.
Now, Ron had left them, Hermione seemed lost, and Harry, well, he didn’t even know how to feel anymore.
With a quiet sigh, Harry dragged himself out of their tent to get some fresh air and calm his disquieted mind.
He settled on the ground right outside the tent, knowing it was too dangerous to stray no matter how much he wished he could go for a walk. Instead, he simply stared off into the distance and struggled to think of something, anything, to cheer himself up.
“Hello, Harry Potter.”
Harry started at the sound of a voice, eyes darting to the left to find himself face to face with a translucent human form. He stared. There was no mistaking the identity of this man, but…
Instead of the words and questions Harry tried for, a half-desperate, half-hysterical laughter bubbled up and burst out of him. He couldn’t help it, because it was like his entire existence was nothing but a poorly made joke — how did he get himself into these situations?
He gasped as he tried to gather himself up, noticing that the other person looked a little irritated at his reaction. In retrospect, Harry figured that laughing out loud probably wasn’t the best idea — the man had likely believed that Harry was laughing at him, when in truth, he’d been laughing at his own ridiculous fate.
“I’m sorry,” Harry finally rasped out, still snorting in laughter, “I wasn’t laughing at you. I just… You — How?”
Seemingly accepting his apology, the man gave him a grin reminiscent of a similar one Harry had been faced with so many times on the face of another, though this one was smaller and slightly hesitant.
“I’m tied to my locket. You know, the one you currently have there?” he said, pointing a finger at Harry’s pocket.
Startled, Harry reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out the locket. With all that had been going on in the past couple days, the other locket had honestly slipped his mind. Harry held it in front of him, eyes darting incredulously between it and the form of someone who could only be Regulus Black — and a semitransparent, apparently intangible version of him, at that.
Harry opened his mouth. Then he closed it. And opened it again.
“How? Why?” It was all he could think to say.
“How is unimportant, at least for now. I’ll explain that another day, if you’re really that curious. As for why, I should think that quite obvious — I couldn’t very well leave without making sure all my effort hasn’t gone to waste, could I? I bound myself to the locket in order to ensure that my work is completed and this war comes to an end.”
Harry shrugged. He could kind of understand where Regulus was coming from, he supposed, though he thought the methods were rather extreme. Not that he’d say so to someone he’d met less than ten minutes ago.
Another question came to mind.
“Can others see you? How does this work, exactly?”
Regulus shook his head.
“No. You are the only one who can see me, and you’ll also need the locket in your possession to be able to. Your friend will be unable to see or hear me, even if she happens to be holding the locket.”
“Right. As always, everything happens to Harry Potter. Okay, then,” Harry muttered to himself.
It really wasn’t much information to go by, but Harry got the feeling that was about as much explaining as he was going to get for now. If he wanted to learn more, he’d have to ask some other time.
So as an alternative, as he processed everything, Harry took a moment to take in Regulus’s appearance.
Regulus Black resembled his brother quite a lot, Harry decided, with the black hair and the grey eyes, as well as the overall aristocratic features usually associated with the Blacks. Though, Regulus had shorter hair, a stark contrast to Sirius’s wild locks, and held himself with the air of a controlled, dignified pureblood wizard. Harry could easily see why his godfather had said his parents had approved of Regulus more than himself.
As a wave of pain washed over him at the thought of Sirius, Harry closed his eyes for a moment to push the reminders away. It was not the time for grieving.
“Then you can help us, right?” he asked, eyes opening to focus sharply on the person in front of him.
“I will. At least, as much as I can in this form,” Regulus answered, gesturing to himself to emphasize what he meant.
Harry nodded at him, making the decision to trust Regulus. They needed all the help they could get, now more so than ever.
“How much do you know?”
* * *
As it turned out, Regulus was aware of most of the more well-known events that had occured in the past years — though mostly from overheard conversations or glimpses of newspaper headlines — and thankfully didn’t require too much catching up. For obvious reasons, he also knew a bit more about Voldemort and his horcruxes than anyone else, barring Harry and his friends, did.
However he did need some explanations on the details — the prophecy, for instance, or the number of horcruxes, which ones they’d dealt with, and what they were trying to do now.
So over the next couple of days, Harry spent much of his time talking to Regulus, bringing him up to date and comparing the knowledge they had about the war and about Voldemort.
At first, Harry had some concerns regarding this sudden addition to his small group. Even if he’d decided to try trusting Regulus, there were topics he did not wish to revisit, and there were things he couldn’t talk freely of without at least discussing it with Hermione.
Moreover, Regulus was very different from the friends Harry was used to, and the man had originally come off as rather reserved and a little difficult to converse with.
To his surprise, however, Harry quickly found that he liked having Regulus around. Regulus definitely wasn’t outspoken or talkative, as he’d gathered from their first meeting, but he had a way of understanding Harry and offering the exact words he needed to hear at the right time.
The fact that he was mostly quiet also meant that Regulus was a very good listener, and therefore the best person to go to when he needed to get something off his chest. Because as much as Harry loved his best friends, they sometimes had trouble with paying attention or holding back their own opinions, but Regulus did neither. He listened attentively, and always thought deeply before offering cautious suggestions or insight, and Harry appreciated this greatly.
Under the circumstances, their friendship bloomed, perhaps a bit unexpectedly, but quickly and steadily.
Time continued to pass by, but with Hermione distraught and with no new information, there was really nothing much they could do but keep going and hoping for the best.
And then came the doe patronus, and with it, Gryffindor’s sword and Ron.
* * *
Now, Harry was very much aware that running after the doe had been dangerous, and that he shouldn’t have attempted to retrieve the sword without anyone to help him. He really was, even without the long talking-to he’d received from Hermione after all the drama with Ron had finally come to an end. Even so, he’d thouroughly apologized for being stupid, as well as made promises to do all he could not to repeat the incident. He had believed that would be the end of it.
Therefore Harry really didn’t need another round of scolding from Regulus, who had apparently decided it wasn’t enough and had taken it upon himself to confront Harry as soon as he’d stepped away from the others.
“Can’t you spare the lecture?” Harry interrupted after a while, “You heard Hermione…” he trailed off upon noticing the sharp glare he was faced with.
“No, I can’t. I knew you were a Gryffindor, but this? This isn’t brave, it’s not just reckless, it’s borderline idiotic. I told you to stop, did I not? You should have listened instead of running off on your own. It doesn’t matter if you know who sent it, you do not spontaneously go after a patronus without knowing why and where, especially not when you’re in the midst of a war.”
Harry didn’t bother mentioning that he most certainly didn’t know who the patronus was from. He had a feeling that that piece of information would get him into worse trouble.
So he opted for silence, letting Regulus get the words out of his system. Harry figured he did deserve it, even if everything had turned out okay.
And though he could have done without the lengthy lecture, it was touching, in a way, that Regulus cared for his safety. Harry hadn’t seen Regulus so riled up before — he’d genuinely been worried, which made Harry a bit guilty for what he’d done.
It was another ten minutes before Regulus apparently decided that Harry had been reprimanded enough.
Harry silently breathed out in relief, only to freeze as Regulus’s next words caught his attention.
“Now, then, we now know that Severus is likely a spy for the Light, but —“
“Severus? Snape? What does he have to do with anything?” Harry burst out, unable to help himself.
Regulus narrowed his eyes at Harry, who bit his lip uneasily as he came to the conclusion that he had, once again, said something wrong.
“Why are you…” grey eyes flashed dangerously in realization. “Harry,” he called calmly — too calmly. “Surely you weren’t stupid enough to follow a patronus you didn’t even recognize?”
Harry winced, fidgeting uncomfortably. That was exactly what he’d done, after all. He had no excuses to make, and he knew better than to try.
“You’re hopeless,” Regulus groaned, “But the doe, it was probably Severus.”
“It can’t be,” Harry denied immediately.
“Unless his patronus has changed in the past years, it was him. I am aware that you dislike Severus, but don’t make the mistake of underestimating him. It is always possible that he could still be playing his role as a spy,” Regulus argued back.
Harry paced, mind racing.
“I don’t get it. I told you, I saw Snape kill Dumbledore, I was there.”
He stopped, running a hand through his hair.
“But if, as you say, it was Snape that sent it… that changes things, if he’s actually on our side,” he mused, looking thoughtfully at Regulus as he came to a decision.
“We need to talk to Ron and Hermione. Maybe they could have some ideas.”
Truthfully, Harry had wanted to introduce his friends to each other for a while, but he’d postponed it both because Hermione had previously been too concerned with Ron and because Regulus didn’t seem to be too enthused about it. Now, though, he thought it was about time it happened.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Harry,” Regulus warned him, looking doubtful. “As I’ve mentioned before, your friends will not be able to see me as you do. They may not believe you.”
Harry had expected this reaction, however, and only laughed lightly, dismissing his words with a wave of the hand.
“Of course they will. Anyway, I can’t explain things otherwise, and they are more than capable of noticing it if I attempt to lie. Besides, it will be easier for you, too, if you don’t have to keep waiting until I’m alone to talk to me. Come on.”
* * *
Contrary to Regulus’s doubts, Ron and Hermione did listen to Harry, and they did believe him — that is, after they checked, on several accounts, that he wasn’t seeing hallucinations, at least. They learned not to question it when Harry seemingly started chatting with the air beside him, and neither did they try to talk Harry out of his friendship with Regulus.
Though they never did succeed in reaching an agreement on the topic of Snape, Harry was relieved that he no longer had to hide to spend time with his new friend.
Unknown to Harry was the fact that, in reality, neither Ron nor Hermione had believed everything from the beginning. They could certainly see that Harry believed what he said, and that he wasn’t lying on purpose, but they hadn’t been so sure that Harry wasn’t hallucinating.
On multiple occasions, the pair had watched worriedly as Harry as he spoke animatedly to an invisible being, silently questioning whether their friend had finally reached his limit.
But once Harry started sprouting pieces of information that there was no way of him knowing without someone else’s aid, they had no choice but to come to terms with the idea that Harry had indeed been speaking the truth. For better or worse, Regulus Black did exist in some way, and he was coming along with them.
While Ron was somewhat satisfied with this conclusion, Hermione was not. Though the witch kept her doubts to herself, knowing Harry wouldn’t appreciate it if she pried, she worried, because her friend was entirely too trusting, too kind, too loving. He always was, even through all the pain she had seen him go through for those very reasons.
It was only when she saw Harry smile and laugh — an honest, carefree laugh, which she hadn’t heard in many months — that Hermione finally understood. She wasn’t called the brightest witch of her age for nothing, she had a feeling she knew which direction the pair was headed, and she knew better than to interfere. And so she decided to let them be, watching from afar as the two grew closer and closer.
* * *
“So you’re what? A ghost?” Harry questioned one day.
They’d finally talked about how Regulus had linked himself to the locket (no, Harry, it’s not a horcrux) and Harry honestly still didn’t understand how it worked.
Or what that made Regulus, if he wasn’t quite alive nor dead.
Regulus frowned at him.
“I’d truly prefer if you didn’t call me as such,” he sighed, sounding exasperated, “But if you insist, then yes, I would be considered a ghost, of a sort, since I don’t have a physical body. But I do get to decide when I wish to leave, which is decidedly unlike a regular ghost.”
“What is it like, to be what you are?” Harry wondered, only belatedly realizing that it could be a sensitive subject. “You don’t have to answer that,” he hastily added, blushing apologetically.
“It’s fine, I’d be curious if I were you,” Regulus reassured him, “As for what it’s like… Lonely, I suppose. I may never have been much for socializing, but a person can only take so much solitude before it makes you almost lose your mind.”
Harry grimaced sympathetically, knowing all too well just how that felt. Before Hogwarts, he’d had no one to talk to, and though he’d preferred that over dealing with the Dursleys, he had always wished for even one person willing to spend time with him.
He secretly vowed to do all he could to make sure that his friend wouldn’t feel lonely anymore. Though he wasn’t sure he’d be enough, being only one person, Harry hoped he could be of some help.
There was a small lull in the conversation after that, in which Harry found himself playing with the locket around his neck. He put it there when Regulus had arrived and hadn’t taken it off since, and nor did he plan to. In fact, he’d grown so used to it that it almost felt like a part of him. It would feel wrong not to have the locket with him.
Harry furrowed his brows as he thought of Regulus’s tie to the locket, Regulus’s earlier words echoing in his mind.
“So… he began carefully, if you choose when to leave, would that be after the war, then? If — sorry, scratch that, when — we win?”
Regulus only shrugged and nodded in response.
Harry let out a small sigh, the thought of Regulus leaving was somehow disturbing. He brushed off Regulus’s confused glance, instead turning to give the other a soft smile.
“Then I’d better succeed soon, huh?” he asked, trying to sound optimistic.
The look Harry received told him Regulus wasn’t fooled by his attempt to dodge the silent inquiry, but the man answered him nonetheless.
“That’s the idea, yes,” he began slowly, “But that doesn’t mean I want to see you putting yourself in unnecessary danger again. We need to tread carefully, otherwise we stand no chance.”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, reminded of how he’d almost drowned the last time he’d run off on his own.
“I know that, I’m just…” he shrugged, not really sure what to say. He knew he was impulsive, he acted on instinct. It didn’t mean he knew anything about changing how he was.
As if reading his thoughts, Regulus spoke up again.
“I don’t mean to say that it’s a bad thing that you have strong instincts. In fact it’s a blessing; after everything I’ve heard of your life, that is probably what has kept you alive so long. All I’m saying is don’t rush off by yourself without warning, and perhaps try to listen to others sometimes — that’s what I’m here for, it seems, though you’re a bit of an impossible case.”
The words ended with another fond but exasperated sigh, and Harry couldn’t help the snort of amusement that escaped him, at the same time feeling some of the emotional burden he’d had lift off his shoulders.
* * *
Harry found himself by Dobby’s small grave once more, trying to quell his surging emotions as they threatened to take over.
They’d made it out of the manor, but not without a loss. Dobby’s sacrifice had saved his life. Again, Harry had lost someone he cared about, suddenly and unexpectedly.
As memories played over and over in his mind, Harry shut his eyes against them, wishing he could do anything to change what had happened.
After a while he felt the presence of someone else beside him, but he stayed still, making no move to acknowledge the company.
“I’m sorry,” came Regulus’s voice, tinged with guilt.
“Wait- what?” Harry snapped out of his trance, whipping his head around to look incredulously at Regulus, who was avoiding his eyes. “You didn’t do anything.”
At that, Regulus gave him a pointed glare.
“That’s not what I meant,” Harry frowned, taken aback. Surely, Regulus knew him better than to think he’d be so cruel.
Regulus looked back at him unblinkingly.
“I think it is, and I don’t blame you,” he stated, both his tone and expression void of emotions.
“It’s not,” Harry insisted again, both hurt and a little annoyed at the fact that Regulus was trying to twist his words. It was one of the things he hated, when others purposefully and deliberately misinterpreted things he said, and Harry couldn’t begin to understand why Regulus was acting like this.
“Isn’t it, though? I watched you get kidnapped, and I did nothing. Couldn’t do anything. I...” Regulus stopped abruptly and clamped his mouth shut, as if he’d said more than he’d meant to.
Oh.
Harry’s frustration melted away as he realized what the problem was. He suddenly recalled how distraught Regulus had been the entire time in the manor and afterwards, and mentally berated himself for not seeing it sooner.
He’d noticed it before, that Regulus piled himself up with guilt over things that were out of his control. It was more than the kidnapping — often when Harry talked about some mess the Death Eaters had caused, Regulus would suddenly close up and draw away, acting like it was his fault even when he hadn’t taken part and could have done nothing to help the situation.
He’d wondered if it was Regulus’s way of punishing himself for the wrong choices he’d made in the past. It was likely unintentional, of course, and Harry had no idea if Regulus even realized he was doing it to himself. Originally, Harry had held the hope that once Voldemort was dead, the man would come to forgive himself naturally, but he figured now was a good time as any to confront this issue.
“You didn’t do nothing,” he offered as firmly as he could, “Sometimes things happen that just can’t be changed, but it’s not your fault. None of it is.”
“I may not have known him, but based on what you’ve told me… Dobby didn’t deserve to die.”
“This isn’t just about Dobby, though, is it?” Harry prompted gently, knowing the answer when only the crashing sound of waves answered him. He let out a soft sigh, wishing Regulus would open up a bit more. But even if he didn’t want to, Harry could at least try to make him understand.
“If I hadn’t been born, my parents may be alive. The prophecy wouldn’t have affected them, and they wouldn’t have had to hide. If it wasn’t for me, perhaps they could have lived a long, happy life.”
Regulus began to protest, but Harry ignored him and continued talking.
“Sirius would never have gone to Azkaban, and he’d never have died coming to save me from my own stupidity,” Harry smiled wryly, “I could, potentially, apply this to everyone who has been hurt in this war. And I did. Still do, actually. But it doesn’t change anything, does it?”
Regulus had fallen silent again at some point, Harry observed. He sat rigidly with his hands clenched into tight fists, but he was clearly listening intently.
“There’s no use feeling guilty over things that can’t be changed. Even more so when you’ve done everything you can. It’s not easy, obviously, and it’s a bit hypocritical of me to say this to you when I also struggle with the same problem. But just... think on it, okay?”
With that, Harry stood up, brushing off the sand from his clothes as he did. He offered Regulus another small smile, looked over at Dobby’s grave one last time, and began to walk away, before pausing.
“It might not mean much, but if you ask me… I don’t know everything, but you’ve done more than enough to compensate for whatever mistakes you’ve made in the past.”
Without turning back to see if his words had had any impact, he continued on his way to the cottage.
* * *
They didn’t speak of it again, but Harry figured that he’d done his job, since he often found Regulus deep in thought in the following days. And though he didn’t say so, Regulus seemed to have reached some sort of a conclusion, for he appeared a little lighter than before afterwards.
Harry also believed that the talk had changed something between them, as though a wall he hadn’t known was there had broken down. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was different, or even why, but he certainly wasn’t about to complain. Whatever Regulus believed about his usefulness, Harry found his help immensely valuable, and was thankful that his friend was with him — even when all he could give was moral support.
Actually, Harry needed that moral support, and he needed it desperately. By now the shadow of the war loomed over them, darker and more ominous than it had ever been. The tension in the air continued to rise, suffocating each and every one of them, but affecting Harry most of all.
And as determined as Harry was, he constantly feared that his determination would not be enough to turn the tides. When his fears threatened to take over, it was Regulus that brought him back, reminding him of his goals and dreams, rekindling the hope that had almost burned out. Many nights were spent awake, making quiet conversation about how much had been lost, why losing any more wasn’t an option, what to do after saving the world, and other topics. They didn’t always talk of the war, of course, but it was admittedly the most commonly brought up subject, all things considered.
In a way, it wasn’t much, but those moments were enough to keep Harry going, enough to stop him from giving up.
Had it not been for Regulus, Harry wasn’t sure that he’d have made it safely to the final battle.
* * *
Mind whirling from all the information he’d been forced to accept, Harry emerged from the pensieve to find Regulus waiting anxiously.
“I… I need to go.” It was the first thing that came to mind. He needed to go, to finish this war, to kill Voldemort, to… be killed.
“What?”
“I need to go,” Harry said again, putting more strength into his voice this time. “I am a horcrux. The last one.”
“You—“ Regulus choked. For once, it seemed that he was at a loss of words. Harry almost laughed, he’d never thought he would see it happen. Instead he tried for a faint smile, but even that attempt came out as more of a grimace.
There were many things Harry could have said, maybe to reassure Regulus — or himself — that it was okay, that killing Voldemort would be worth it, or even that he’d greet Regulus in the afterlife. But no sound would pass his lips.
So he said nothing more, and tried to gather himself together, preparing to face Voldemort one last time.
“You will not die,” Regulus suddenly spoke up, his eyes boring into Harry. “Tell me you won’t.”
Harry shook his head in response.
“I can’t promise that,” he said gravely, “If I do -“
“You will not,” Regulus pressed on, “Not like this, Harry. You remember everything you said about the life you want after the war? You’re going to have it.” He began listing everything Harry had talked about in their numerous discussions.
Harry stayed quiet as he listened to Regulus talk. If only, he thought wistfully, but the instructions left for him had been quite clear: he was to die so that the world could live. Still, he didn’t interrupt, letting Regulus go on.
“...You could date someone.” A small frown appeared on Regulus’s face now. “Get married, have kids, even grandchildren. Just… live.”
Harry frowned a little as well, that was something he’d never talked about, and there was something off about the way Regulus was saying it. As if he didn’t quite agree with it, and was just saying the words for Harry’s sake. It was strange, because from what Harry had learned of him, Regulus never seemed to be afraid of making his opinion clear on matters. So why now?
He didn’t have the time to dwell on it, however. As it was, they’d already wasted too much time. If Harry wanted to reach Voldemort in time, he needed to move, and now.
Harry could feel his blood rushing through him, the anticipation, the fear, even the rage as he walked toward what was sure to be his last stand. His whole body tingled with the thought that this was it, it was the end, and the war would truly be over within a few minutes. As would his life.
And yet he also felt weirdly calm. Like a pig raised for slaughter, Snape’s voice rang out in his head. Perhaps Dumbledore’s plan had truly worked perfectly, he thought darkly, watching Voldemort raise his wand.
Harry stood, unmoving.
If he died, he would see his parents. Sirius. Remus. They’d all be there.
And then Harry looked at the man who was floating by the trees unnoticed by the enemy, staring back at him with wide grey eyes.
He’ll be there. Somehow, it was the most reassuring thought he’d had so far, and Harry clung to it with everything he had. Without thinking, his hand reached for his locket, gripping it tight as he was engulfed in a green light.
* * *
“How have you been?”
Harry jumped, spinning around to find the source of the voice.
“Regulus!” He couldn’t hide the relief that crawled its way into his tone and his expression.
It had been a few weeks since the battle. After he had, unbelievably, made it back and killed Voldemort, Harry had searched everywhere, only to discover that Regulus was nowhere to be seen. He had assumed that Regulus had moved on now that Voldemort was gone, now that the war was over. His goal had been met, which meant there was no more reason for him to stay any longer.
If he was being honest, Harry had been more than a little bothered by the prospect that Regulus had never even thought to say goodbye.
“I thought you’d gone,” he said softly, trying and failing to appear indifferent. Harry let his eyes scan Regulus, making sure that nothing had happened to him — no matter that nothing could have happened, what with his invisibility and all.
Regulus looked away.
“I needed some time to think. There were some… complications, things I had to come to terms with.” As he spoke, his eyes took on a faraway look, a look Harry recognized from his own experience.
It reminded him of how he’d felt whenever he wished for his parents, a family, maybe even siblings. When he longed for something that just couldn’t happen.
Seeing the same face on Regulus, Harry was suddenly hit with the oddest impulse to reach out and grab his hand or give him a hug, tell him that whatever it was, it would be okay.
He chose to restrain himself, however. He didn’t think Regulus was the type of person who liked physical affection, which would make things very awkward for both of them, and anyway, Harry knew his hands would just pass through.
At his silence, Regulus seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts, turning to Harry again with a wry smile.
“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered leaving, but I… well,” he shrugged, suddenly looking unsure. “Would you prefer it if I left?”
Slowly, Harry shook his head. Despite the fact that they hadn’t known each other for very long, Regulus had become a close friend and confidant for him. One that he did not wish to lose, if he had any say in the matter.
He watched Regulus’s smile turn into something a bit more genuine. Harry returned it with a cautious smile of his own, still feeling hesitant.
The problem was that he was all too aware of the fact that Regulus hated his situation. Stuck between life and death, he could only talk to Harry, and couldn’t even touch the one person he could communicate with. He could interact with no one, nothing, else. And Harry, knowing how much this half-life frustrated Regulus, couldn’t expect the man to continue to go through it just because he was selfish.
When Harry voiced his concerns, Regulus only gave him a fond look, assuring him that it was completely his choice.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be here as long as you need.”
Then, he added something in a softer whisper that Harry nearly missed.
“Perhaps even after I’m not.”
Harry got the impression that he wasn’t supposed to hear that. He didn’t quite understand what Regulus could possibly mean by it, but chose not to ask. In the end, he didn’t think it mattered. Harry was certain that he would always want his friend with him — there would not come a time when Regulus wasn’t needed. If anything, Harry worried that it would be Regulus who would get sick of him first.
But true to his word, Regulus didn’t ever bring up the topic of leaving again. Neither, of course, did Harry.
* * *
Time is said to heal all wounds. Slowly but surely, the world moved on from the horrors it had faced. People recovered from the damage done by the war. Buildings were rebuilt, wards replaced. Mourning families and friends learned happiness and joy once more, even as they knew, in their hearts, that they would never really forget their losses.
For Harry, it was the first time he was given the chance to live like a somewhat normal person, with no threat of Voldemort hanging over his every step. Once he recovered enough, he often stayed with the Weasleys, or visited Teddy and Andromeda. He studied sometimes, played Quidditch, and simply lived, doing everything else a regular teen was supposed to do.
It didn’t mean that things were necessarily easier than before. There were other things to worry about, choices to make, people to face.
The war had left a lasting impact. It took a while for Harry to stop flinching at loud sounds, immediately assuming the worst. He sometimes reacted violently if someone attempted to sneak up on him. His nightmares eventually lessened a little in intensity, but never fully disappeared, and Harry knew they never would.
The public was another problem. Not that they didn’t adore him, as their so-called “Savior,” but Harry knew just how fickle their admiration was, how easy it was for them to turn their backs on him at the slightest hint of a mistake. The fact that he’d never desired any of the fame in the first place only made it worse.
One thing he did succeed in was becoming an auror, just as he’d thought he’d wanted to. And yet when he reached that goal, Harry was faced with the realization that was tired of fighting, of battles, for he’d seen more than enough to last a lifetime.
Still he stayed for a few years, making an attempt to change his thoughts on the job, hoping he’d get used to it soon. It only served to exhaust him both physically and mentally, however, and Harry eventually gave up on it altogether when he was offered a place as the DADA professor at Hogwarts.
Throughout all of this, Regulus remained a quiet but strong support, as he had been since the very first day they’d met. Even once Harry’s closest friends grew busy finding their own path and forming families, Regulus remained by him, and Harry couldn’t be more grateful to whatever force had led him to stay. He was one constant that Harry knew he could rely on, no matter how much he struggled with everything else.
It was after Harry settled in to his new job that he finally started feeling comfortable. At least, that was what he thought. Teaching, though not an easy job by any standards, was something that not only was he good at, but he also found enjoyable.
At some point he was offered to become Head of Gryffindor, although Harry cautiously refused the position, stating that he wasn’t fit for the job. It didn’t stop the Headmaster from asking him again a few years later, and then a third time. Each time Harry turned it down, somehow feeling that it wasn’t what he wanted.
* * *
“But why?” Regulus asked, “I thought you’d like being Head of Gryffindor.”
Harry had just relayed the story of how he’d refused the position, once again.
Harry shrugged in response, before grinning wildly as a thought crossed his mind. He faced Regulus with a mock sad look.
“Well, I mean, I’ve always belonged in Slytherin — I can’t possibly betray my true house and be Head of Gryffindor!” he exclaimed, making it as dramatic as he could. He watched happily as Regulus’s eyes grew round in surprise.
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
Harry snickered at the face he made.
“I’m not. The hat told me I’d do well in Slytherin, I just chose Gryffindor.”
“Impossible,” Regulus shot back, “It must have been a mistake. You have the subtlety of an angered giant, and no self preservation to speak of. Even Ravenclaw would suit you better, and we both know how absurd that notion is.”
Harry glared at him halfheartedly. He couldn’t bring himself to actually feel offended when he knew Regulus was in a good mood. Though the former Slytherin had loosened up a lot over the years, he didn’t often make jokes. Harry rather liked it when he did, even if it was more often than not at his own expense.
They both burst into laughter.
“Jokes aside — even if I wasn’t really joking — I can’t take that responsibility, nor do I want it. You know I want a quiet life, it’s part of why I stopped my career as an auror in the first place,” Harry said, catching his breath.
“So you’ve told me. Makes me wonder why you’re still teaching those kids,” Regulus mused, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.
Harry pulled a face at him.
“I like teaching. You might not like my students, but I do.”
“Merlin knows why,” Regulus muttered under his breath. He then spoke up before Harry could retort again, “I know you enjoy teaching, Harry, but that wasn’t why I asked, and you know it.”
“Yeah,” Harry deflated, sighing, “I don’t get it. It’s nice, being here, but I keep feeling like I want to get away from it all.”
Regulus hummed in response, looking thoughtful.
“I think I know why. You’ve never had a break. Not before the war, certainly not during it, and not even after. You’re always working for something or another, but even people like you need to breathe sometimes. To get away from everything, as you said.”
“That… could be it. But I have a job, I can’t just leave it,” Harry sighed again, resting his head on a hand.
“Why not? I daresay the Headmaster will agree with my words. If anyone deserves to escape reality for a while, it’s you,” Regulus insisted. When Harry still looked doubtful, he added, “This could also be a good chance for you to complete your wish of traveling the world.”
The conversation ended there as Harry pondered on the idea. Regulus was right, as he usually was — he was tired, of everything, and perhaps it really was time for a break.
By the end of the week, he’d come to a decision.
“You’ll come with me?” he asked Regulus. He didn’t bother to elaborate. Harry knew he didn’t have to.
Regulus was quiet for a moment.
“...You know I will,” he finally replied, his voice gentle and sincere. He then quickly drifted away before Harry could say another word, looking slightly uncomfortable at admitting it aloud.
Harry smiled softly to himself. Yes, he knew. He’d wanted to ask anyway, because he liked to hear it.
* * *
It took a couple months to pack up and prepare for the trip, but the pair was soon far away from the world they knew. They had decided not to make any specific plans, instead choosing to go wherever they felt like going, do whatever they felt like doing. There was no set agenda and no rules, none at all.
Only then did Harry finally feel free. It was more than the fact that it had been one of his dreams to travel. Being somewhere where he was just another stranger, where no one expected anything of him, was comforting in a way he’d never experienced.
He’d never not had to worry about others’ prying eyes wherever he went. He’d never been able to just let things go and relax, take the time to reflect over and think about them. This had been a long time coming, Harry realized. And this was why their so-called “trip” ended up taking much, much more time than he’d expected.
Another thing that was a long time coming was really getting to know Regulus.
Harry had been a little ashamed to realize that he didn’t actually know his friend all that well — at least not half as much as Regulus knew him. They were close, very much so, but more often than not, things were focused on Harry and his life. Combined with the fact that Regulus was skilled in the art of steering conversation topics away from himself, their knowledge about each other was a bit unbalanced, and Harry was determined to rectify this problem.
He started by gathering as much information as he could by way of direct questions, bringing up anything and everything that he could think of. Sometimes the topics were light and fun, other times they were heavier, darker.
In a way, it was a lot like the conversations they’d had back during the war, except that they weren’t in any danger, and Regulus was the center of attention now.
One of the hardest talks to get through had been regarding their childhood — neither of theirs had been pretty, not in the least. It was often that Harry wished it was possible to touch Regulus, but that day he had wished more than ever that he could give him a tight hug for everything he’d gone through, just once. Instead he had to settle for words, which, in his opinion, never felt enough.
The second part of getting to know Regulus was constant observation. Regulus wasn’t as obvious as Harry was about things, which meant it was harder to pick up signs about what he wanted or how he felt, what he liked and what he didn’t.
Harry made sure to take everything he learned into consideration, accomodating to Regulus’s needs as best as he could. It was the least he could do, after all that Regulus had done for him.
And if, just maybe, it sometimes seemed like he paid closer attention to Regulus than was strictly necessary, it wasn’t anything worth noting.
* * *
Reading was something that they did quite often — more than Harry had ever thought he’d find himself doing. And though he wasn’t as averse to the idea as he once had been, it wasn’t like he’d suddenly discovered an immense interest toward reading and learning.
Regulus, however, was the opposite of Harry. Had he been able to, Harry imagined that the man would lock himself within the library and stay there for however long it took to read every book. As it was, he couldn’t read a single book on his own.
Because Regulus couldn’t pick up a book or turn its pages, they usually ended up reading together, with Harry holding the book between them. Over the years, it had turned into something of a daily routine, sometimes more than once a day.
Truthfully, Harry didn’t always pay attention to the book during these sessions.
Sometimes he only pretended to read since he knew Regulus wanted to. He’d mentioned before that Regulus was free to use him as a human page-turner if he ever felt like it, but the man never requested it of him. Harry suspected that Regulus either hadn’t believed that Harry wouldn’t mind or still thought it was too much to ask of him.
So Harry had taken it upon himself to make a show of reading something and asking Regulus to read with him, even on the days that he wasn’t up to doing any actual reading.
Today was one of those days. Harry held open a book — something on potions, which, even after all this time, Harry wasn’t much interested in — and acted like he was reading, choosing instead to stare at Regulus out of the corner of his eye.
He wondered absentmindedly if it was weird that he watched his friend so closely that he could tell which parts of the book were confusing, or interesting, just from the small changes in his expressions, the little twitches of his mouth, or the way his eyes lit up.
Harry decided it wasn’t as weird as watching a friend sleep, and he was fairly certain Regulus did that at times. He never made it obvious, because Harry never saw him around when he went to bed. But there was no other way to explain how he was there every time Harry woke up screaming from a nightmare, soothing him with whispered words of comfort and soft reassurances.
Oddly enough, the idea didn’t bother him much. Rather, it gave him comfort to know there would be someone to help him when he needed it. Had it been anyone else, Harry would have blanched at the very thought of being watched while asleep, especially during the rougher nights. But this was Regulus, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. Somehow, the man was the exception to all his rules.
The amount of time they spent together was proof of it. Harry enjoyed his privacy, and always wished for time alone and away from everyone else, even those he considered family, but he’d never felt so with Regulus, who was almost constantly around. On the off chance Harry really needed it, Regulus seemed to notice in advance and moved away without needing any prompting.
It was all of this and more that made Harry rely on and trust him, utterly and completely.
“What is it?” Regulus’s voice suddenly cut in.
Harry blinked to find that Regulus had stopped reading and was regarding him curiously.
“Nothing,” he muttered, quickly flipping a page.
It gained him a suspicious glare, but Regulus returned to the book almost immediately — something had obviously caught his interest.
Harry settled back with a grin, content to simply watch Regulus read again. It was much more interesting than potions, anyway.
As had become a habit, Harry’s left hand slipped up to where the locket lay on his chest, and he squeezed it tight — wishing, not for the first time, that all his gratitude, and everything else, could be conveyed to Regulus through it somehow.
* * *
Harry sat at his desk, eyes skimming over Hermione’s most recent letter. Most of it talked about how she and Ron, along with the rest of the family, were doing. But the last part of the letter caught his eye. Hogwarts was searching for a new DADA professor — apparently, the last one had retired. The past few letters had all mentioned it, and Harry recognized the intentions behind them — she was asking him to come home.
His previous replies had carefully avoided the topic, as Harry had been unsure as to what he wanted. At any rate, he wasn’t so sure taking over the DADA position again would be a good idea.
A part of him missed teaching, although it hadn’t been long since he stopped (he’d often taken up random jobs whenever they settled somewhere new, and teaching had been one of the most common) and yet another part of him reminded him that he’d been away from that world for much too long, and that he was quite old now.
Even so, he did wish to return to Hogwarts. No matter what, it was his home, and some part of Harry had always known he’d go back. He just hadn’t known when that would be.
Harry was roused out of his thoughts when Regulus came into the room, taking one glance at him and asking if something bad had happened.
“No, nothing bad. Actually, it sounds like they’re doing really well.”
Regulus nodded, before looking at him expectantly.
“That’s not all she said, is it?” he prompted.
“Well,” Harry stalled, “not exactly.”
“So, are we packing up soon?” Regulus asked knowingly, effectively making Harry jump in surprise.
“I’ll never understand how you do that,” Harry complained, though his smile gave him away, “but maybe. I need to know what you think, and besides, I haven’t yet decided what I want either.”
But Regulus shook his head at him, with that same knowing glint in his eyes.
“Yes, you have. I’ve been waiting for this day for longer than you might think. If you’re worried about me —“
Harry fidgeted uncomfortably, he had been worried, that too had been part of why he was unsure about returning. Being around more people meant less privacy, which meant it would be near impossible to talk to Regulus out of their private quarters. He didn’t like the thought of making Regulus feel lonely.
“— then don’t be. I told you before that I’m fine and I meant it. If you want to, we’re going back.”
And so Harry found himself once more at Hogwarts.
The moment he saw the castle again, he knew it had been the right choice. He hadn’t realized exactly how much he’d missed it until he was there.
For half a year he taught DADA once more, just until the Headmaster got a hold of a new professor to take the job. Even after that he was given the chance to stay at Hogwarts, which was an offer Harry was only too glad to take.
While he wasn’t exactly a professor, the students and other professors treated him as if he was. He still stood in as a substitute for classes occasionally, or helped give tips for Quidditch players.
But most of his days were spent quietly roaming the grounds of Hogwarts, often accompanied by curious students or friends that had come to visit, or sometimes alone with only Regulus as company.
* * *
Harry thought it ridiculous, but if there was one thing that didn’t change, even after all those years he’d been away, it was the masses’ interest in their Savior’s life.
Particularly, his love life.
Which was non-existent, as far as everyone else was concerned.
Countless times, people had offered to introduce him to someone, and countless times, Harry had refused as politely as he could, reassuring them that he was fine on his own. Harry had honestly believed they would stop pestering him to get married after a certain age, but at this point in his life, he was getting the feeling he never would escape it.
It proved to be annoying, but Harry had now outgrown the stage of worrying what others, particularly strangers, thought of him. It was his life, after all, and they had no right to decide things for him, not anymore.
As always, it was only Ron and Hermione that seemed to readily accept and respect his choices.
“Just answer one question, will you?” they asked, “Are you happy?”
They’d asked the same question before, Harry realized. Many times, in fact, throughout their lifetime of friendship.
Each time, Harry had shrugged it off, or rolled his eyes at them, shaking his head in amusement.
“I don’t know,” he’d said, because he hadn’t. He knew sadness, anxiety, maybe indifference, but he hadn’t known what it was like to be happy, or content. For most of his life, it had been a foreign concept for him.
Faced with the same question now, Harry thought that he finally had a proper answer.
“Yes,” he replied, surprised at how easy it was to say so.
Harry didn’t notice the meaningful look exchanged between his two best friends, nor the nearly inaudible thank you Hermione mouthed at the person hovering close beside him, nor even the responding nod from Regulus despite the fact that it could not be seen by the pair it was meant for.
It was later that day that Harry found Regulus watching at him intensely, an unreadable expression on his face. Harry raised an eyebrow at him — something he’d picked up from Regulus — and then turned away, figuring the man would speak up once he was ready.
“Are you happy?”
The question came abruptly.
Harry stared out a window at the Hogwarts grounds, a thoughtful look crossing his face. It was an odd thing. His life wasn’t perfect, after all. Many would deem his current life boring, uneventful, repetitive. And well, Harry thought, taking a sidelong glance at the man waiting for his reply, I can think of a few other things I want. Yet, despite all that…
“...yes.”
And Harry was, more so than he’d thought he could be. It had taken a long time to shake off the shadows of his past, and even longer to learn and find what happiness was, but he was finally living the way he’d always asked for — just a simple, peaceful life.
* * *
Harry stared at his bed. Or rather, he stared at the objects that were lying on his bed, illuminated by the light glowing from the tip of his wand.
He’d been about to go to bed, having already washed and turned the lights off, when he was greeted by this unexpected sight.
Seven roses, along with a gift. A gift, which was in a pure white box, tied with dark blue silk ribbons.
Harry had to rub his eyes to make sure he’d seen it correctly.
A courting gift.
He knew who it was, of course. There was only one person who would dare try after all this time, and only one who he’d ever consider accepting. The reason he was surprised wasn’t the courting itself, it was because he hadn’t really expected something to happen while he was still in the world of the living.
The only question was exactly how it had been prepared and placed in his room, but Harry found that he didn’t really care. Perhaps the man had asked Timpy, his house elf, to help — house elves’ magic worked differently, after all, and perhaps he could talk to her — but the truth of the matter was unimportant. It was there, and that was all Harry could think about.
He carefully opened the gift, finding within it a bracelet, obviously charmed with various spells to protect and keep him safe. It was silver, with intricate details and small glittering emeralds, but nothing extravagant, which was honestly a relief. Harry knew that it probably cost much more than was reasonable, and he didn’t even want to know exactly how much, but at the very least it wasn’t overly ostentatious.
It was a curious choice, though. As rusty as Harry’s knowledge about pureblood courting was, never having bothered to pay attention to it, he was pretty sure that the bracelet didn’t really fit the criteria of being a gift of intention — the first gift.
Actually, he rather thought it was closer to the second, what with the protection it provided. The first was usually something to do with the family, maybe something engraved with the family crest, or…
Harry’s hand flew to his chest, his heart speeding up as his hands closed around the familiar weight of the locket.
Of course. He’d always had the first gift with him. This was something from the Black family, wasn’t it? And this would explain the incident a few days ago.
Harry had come home that day to find flowers on his desk, which was odd, since he hadn’t asked for the roses. He’d blindly assumed Timpy had put them there — whether because she thought his room was too gloomy, or just wanted to do something for him, or for any other reason — and Harry hadn’t asked because he didn’t want his house elf to take his questions the wrong way.
Combined with the locket, it could technically be argued that Harry had, albeit unknowingly, accepted the courtship.
To be sure, it was an unorthodox method of initiating a courtship. There was no formal letter of intention, no fancy words of promise of love and eternal happiness that usually came with it. But…
Nothing about their situation was conventional, was it? And since when had either of them conformed to the norm? This was their relationship, no one else’s. It didn’t matter what others may or may not think about how they went about it.
Harry held the bracelet close.
“Thank you,” he whispered into the dark room, as loudly as he dared. Harry knew Regulus would hear him, wherever he was.
Neither of them mentioned it the next day. Nor the next. Harry wore the bracelet on his wrist, however, and like the locket, never took it off unless it was absolutely necessary. Though, unfortunately, he did have to keep a disillusionment charm on it in public to avoid unwanted attention, the protection it provided and the meaning behind it was a comfort that he enjoyed.
* * *
If Harry had had any remaining doubts about the intention behind the presents after that first night, they all disappeared in the course of the next few months. One after another, more gifts appeared before him, each time accompanied by another seven roses.
Like the first two, they were technically not following the rules closely enough to be a formal courtship in the eyes of anyone else. But Harry held the belief — and he thought Regulus did as well — that the only opinion that counted was theirs, and by their rules, it counted as a courtship. A bit unorthodox, but Harry honestly didn’t want it any other way.
Almost as if they’d made a promise not to, neither ever, ever, uttered a single word about it to each other. Harry pretended not to notice the longing glances sent his way. Regulus carefully ignored the way Harry sometimes reached out without thinking, as though expecting to be able to take Regulus’s hand, or touch his face. In the daylight, both danced around the other, careful not to step past the line between friendship and into something more.
But the nights, they were a different story altogether. It was always late at night when Harry would find the presents left for him, with the lights off and the room silent. Those little moments, those gifts were the only evidence that either of them acknowledged what was between them.
There were also times throughout the night when Harry could have sworn that he’d felt a cool touch, just barely brushing across his cheeks, or his forehead. He was never quite brave enough to open his eyes and see, however. Whenever it occurred he stayed as still as he could, almost holding his breath until it stopped.
And so it went, until one night, Harry finally fell asleep in bed to wake up and find himself somewhere else.
* * *
Harry blinked, glancing around at his surroundings from his position on the ground. He was at King’s Cross, once again. And there would be no going back for him this time, he was sure.
He didn’t mind it, however. He’d lived a fairly long life, and a surprisingly happy one, at least by his standards, and it was about time for him to move on. What was it, that he’d been told all those years ago? That death was the next great adventure? Harry could certainly agree with that now.
Before he could move to get up, the sound of footsteps alerted him to someone else’s presence. Harry’s eyes flickered over to his right, noticing a familiar figure walking — actually walking and not just hovering — toward him.
Regulus stepped forward slowly, his gaze trained on Harry.
A moment of silence passed as the two simply stared at each other, both wondering if the other was really there. Harry blinked repeatedly as he tried to comprehend the idea of a fully-colored, no-longer-ghostlike Regulus, who was apparently solid enough to walk on ground now.
Then Regulus held out a hand, palm facing upwards, a glittering golden ring, placed in the center. It was the final piece of their courtship. A smirk graced Regulus’s face as he offered it to Harry, who was still staring, stunned.
“Hello, Harry Potter,” he grinned, echoing a greeting from many decades ago. This was completely disregarding the formalities usually required of a proposal, of course — especially when considering that Regulus was standing and Harry was the one on the ground.
Harry huffed out a breath of laughter, the sudden rush of excitement making him rather giddy. Being proposed to first thing after he died hadn’t been what he’d expected, but he couldn’t think of a better greeting. He reached out with shaky hands to grab the ring and, more importantly, the hand holding it out.
“Hello, Regulus Black,” he grinned in response, finally finding his voice.
It was impossible to describe the tender feelings that bloomed in Harry’s chest at finally being able to touch the one who’d always been out of his reach. The feelings only increased further as Regulus carefully — so carefully — took his hand and slipped the ring on his finger, keeping their hands clasped together afterwards.
By now his brain began to argue that it must be a dream, screaming at him to wake up, and yet Harry could feel the warmth of the larger hand holding his, feel the coldness and the weight of the new ring on his finger. And he could feel with his whole heart that it was indeed real, that Regulus was really here with him. He knew that this moment would be one he would cherish and look back on for decades, even centuries to come.
Nothing much was said after that, but words were no longer necessary. A single glance and a squeeze of the hand was more than enough to convey the intensity of underlying emotions that they both felt, the promises of forever left unsaid.
And after all, they had all the time in the world for words later on. For now, this was all they needed.
Hand in hand, the two watched as the train arrived, ready to step in and go wherever it took them, ready to face the true afterlife — together.