Arcadian Sunset

by BlackStarGazer

Summary:

Marauder Cowboys.

Chapter 1: Status Quo

Notes:

Very special thanks to heated_mausoleum and luckytiger96 for beta reading this chapter for me.

And especially to heated_mausoleum for listening to me rant about the characters and plot.

February 1862

 

The corset was digging into his ribs making it almost impossible to breathe and the itchy fabric of his dress was causing him to break out in hives. Beauty is pain and the burden that women of high society must overcome. Walburga always said this and chastised him any time he went to scratch or move or breathe . 

The table was surrounded by ornate hand painted China, crystal goblets, and fine silver all placed in measured places beneath a fine linen tablecloth on a black stained, hand carved oak table. Nothing but the best for The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

Around the table were very high members of society including Orion Black and Mrs. Black, Bartemius Crouch Sr, Mrs. Crouch and Bartemius Crouch, Jr., Garett Rosier, Mrs. Rosier and Evan Rosier, Michael Mulciber, Mrs. Mulciber and Wulfric Mulciber, Zachariah Avery, Mrs Avery and Alexander Avery, Abraxas Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy and Lucius Malfoy. 

Orion Black had a chokehold on the railroad industry and he was making a heavy profit from the war raging in the south. His next big project was expansion westward and he was currently in dealings with congress to pass the Pacific Railroad Act. He currently had several congressmen in his pocket so he was confident the act would pass soon. 

Bartemius Crouch Sr. ran The World literally and figuratively. He owned the highest selling newspaper and also profited heavily from the war as he had no standards for the stories he was selling. His big motto was If it bleeds it leads . 

Michael Mulciber was the biggest steel tycoon America had ever seen, profiting largely off of the war and Orion Black’s railroad system. He also had several congressmen in his pockets and ran the industry with a tightly closed fist. 

Zachariah Avery was the leader of the steamboat industry. Like his counterparts, he profited off of the war and the troops' need for supplies as well as the government's need for water travel. 

Abraxas Malfoy was the oil baron of America. His wealth was the only one at the table to rival Orion’s and while Orion would have crushed him as soon as he came close, a merger was made between the families trading his niece Narcissa for several millions of dollars to keep his wealth high above Abraxas’. 

Together, Crouch, Mulciber, Avery and Malfoy made up the four elements of destruction for society ruling the air, the earth, the water, and the fire of America and Orion Black, titan that he was, ruled them all. 

“So, Ms. Black,” Regulus cringed internally, feeling the hives beneath his neck fester against the lace, “you’ll be turning sixteen this year.” Mrs. Crouch stated with a glint in her eye that had Regulus’ heart beating rapidly. “Will you be coming out to society this spring or will you be waiting until after your birthday? December is it?” 

Regulus swallowed deeply before answering. Mrs. Crouch wasn’t just asking if he would be coming out to society. She was asking if he was going to be on the market which implied heavily that she wanted to enter negotiations for marriage. For slavery . Because that’s all a woman was. Just an ornamental piece to sit on a shelf until it was time to be used and then, once used, discarded back onto her place on the mantle. But Regulus had long concluded that he was no woman . His body may have changed in ways he could not fathom, nor did he care to, but Regulus had known from a very young age that his traitorous body did not reflect who he was. 

He had several scars under the beautiful lace dress he was wearing from actively expressing his feeling of dysphoria to Walburga and eventually he learned to play the part. To wear the mask. To hide who he truly was from society. He had accepted his fate to a point but with the impending doom of debutante season and his upcoming forced participation, that acceptance was waning. 

“I believe that is a question better suited for my mother, Mrs. Crouch,” he said diplomatically, avoiding the hungry gaze from Wulfric. Walburga took the crystal goblet and led it to her thinly smiling lips, leaving a light hint of rouge on the rim of the glass as she set it down. 

“My daughter will be coming out this spring. We were going to wait until she was sixteen but with circumstances being what they are, we thought it best to accelerate her debut.” 

Circumstances being what they are was a delicate way of saying their eldest son and heir had run off and left them without a proper heir.

Regulus glanced at Barty who was enraptured by the food before him.

“That’s excellent news!” Mrs. Crouch claimed. “You know Bartemius here is the top of his class at West Point.” 

West Point was a military academy attended by most young men of high society. Regulus longed to go and join them but had to rely on Sirius’ stories when he came back for the summer. 

“That’s only because Sirius isn’t there anymore,” Regulus muttered. The sound of silver clanking against the china alerted him that he had been heard and he looked up from his glass to be greeted with a sea of astonished eyes staring back at him. He looked at Barty whose eyes were crinkled in mirth and he chuckled softly as he lifted his glass to his lips. 

“Too right you are, Black,” he said as he winked. 

“Bartemius, where is your decorum? It’s Ms. Black. You do not address a lady of such standing by her surname alone,” Mrs. Crouch chastised. 

Barty looked over at Regulus and smiled wickedly. “My apologies,” he said but did not correct himself. 

Barty, Sirius and Regulus had grown up together. They were the best of friends until Evan came along and paired himself with Barty often. When Regulus was eight, he had gone to the river with his brother and Barty to go for a swim. Regulus had begged and pleaded to go swimming with them and while Sirius would have let him if they were alone, having Barty there made him pause.

✶✶✶

“I’m going to tell you something, but it has to go to your fucking grave, Crouch,” Sirius began looking at Regulus. Regulus found it difficult to speak about himself after he told his mother. She had used the belt on him, attempting to beat the blasphemy out of him but it was no use. Regulus knew who he was but now he knew he had to wear the mask. To wear the dress. To play the part. Aside from Regulus, Barty was Sirius’ best friend. They attended school together, they played together, the two were inseparable. So Regulus looked to his older brother for guidance. He wanted so desperately to swim in the river with them and have a piece of what they had. The freedom to be who he was without shame or fear, even if it was just for the afternoon.

Sirius wanted the same for his brother. He wanted his brother to share in the adventures he had rather than be told about them and see the wistful look in his brother's beautiful, silvery blue eyes. Sirius knew the repercussions of the secret they shared but he also trusted Barty. He could see the courage behind Regulus’ eyes hiding behind the fear.

His bravery had been stifled by the harsh lashes inflicted on him by his mother, but it was not gone completely. With a simple yet encouraging nod from Regulus, he knew that this was something he wanted to say but couldn’t force the words to escape his lips. Not when the wounds from his back were not yet healed. But still Sirius hesitated.

“Do you trust him, Siri?” Regulus asked with large eyes.

“What is it? I won’t tell a soul,” Barty said curiously.

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

Sirius looked at him suspiciously and shook his head. “I can’t, Reg. She’ll fucking kill me. Then you. Then me again.”

Regulus pleaded and begged with big eyes that he knew Sirius could never resist. Barty looked around him and found a sharp rock. He picked it up and dug the stone into his palm and grinned wildly.

“Whatever it is, I’ll make a blood pact. I won’t say anything on pain of death.”

The two brothers looked at him with wide eyes and loose jaws before looking at each other. Regulus raised a brow and Sirius lowered his head, shaking it from side to side before peering over his lashes with a smirk on his face.

“You’re fucking crazy, Barty. You know that? Tell me you know that.”

“Black, you’ve no idea.” The ten-year-old smirked and offered the rock to Sirius. Regulus watched his brother take the rock from Barty’s hand and cut it deep into his palm as he watched Regulus with a questioning gaze as if to say ‘last chance to back out’. Regulus held his head high and stared back at his brother who sighed and placed his left hand in Barty’s.

“Do you trust him?” Regulus asked again.

Sirius looked to his best friend and sighed, “Yeah, Reg. I trust him.”

“Then tell him.” Regulus pleaded, unable to find the words himself as he looked at his older brother. “Please.”

Sirius sighed heavily, his bloodied hand entwined with Barty’s and watched the blood fall to the earth in slow steady drops. He looked back up into Barty’s eyes and found curiosity mixed with determination. 

“Reg is a boy.”

Barty’s brows creased and he looked back over at Regulus giving him a once over before looking back at Sirius.

“Then why is he wearing a dress?”

“Because mother makes him,” was Sirius’ oversimplified answer.

“Why would she make him wear a dress?”

Sirius sighed, taking his right hand and pinching his nose while still firmly grasping Barty’s left hand. Sirius struggled to find the words to properly explain.

“He may not have the…parts…a boy has but he is a boy,” he said with firm determination, daring Barty to challenge him. Barty looked back to Regulus once more who started fiddling with his dress suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the eyes scrutinizing him. Suddenly those eyes that were searching for something softened and Barty looked into Regulus’ eyes.

“Yeah, I don’t know how I missed it before. Honestly, it makes much more sense.” Barty said and Sirius let go of his bleeding hand.

“So, do you have a name you prefer to go by?” Barty asked.

Regulus looked up at Sirius who nodded once and turned toward the river.

“Regulus. But don’t—don’t call me that in front of anyone. Just whenever we're alone.”

Barty nodded, “and when we’re not alone?”

“You can call me Reg or Reggie like Siri does.” Regulus took the toe of his boot and drew a nervous line in the bank of the river, “if you have to call me miss or ma’am or whatever, I’ll understand but when we’re alone…”

Barty smirked, “Fuck that.”

Sirius turned his head toward Barty and grinned.

“Well” Barty sighed, running a bloodied hand through his hair, “a secret for a secret, yeah?”

Sirius looked at Barty with puzzlement and nodded.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t fancy girls.”

“What do you mean you don’t fancy girls?” Sirius said with no judgment, simply curiosity.

“Just that. I don’t fancy girls. Don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“So, there’s not a single person that catches your eye?” Sirius said in bafflement.

“Oh, there are plenty of people who catch my eye, Black,” he said with a wink.

“How can you not fancy girls but also fancy girls?” Regulus asked, confused.

“Because it’s not girls I fancy,” Barty said with another wink.

“You fancy boys?” Regulus asked loudly, causing Barty to cringe.

Regulus felt his cheeks grow hot under Barty’s shy gaze and Sirius' intense stare.

“I’m not judging!” Regulus exclaimed trying to find the right words, “I just—I didn’t know boys could do that.”

“Well, they can,” Sirius snapped and quickly averted his gaze.

Barty scratched the back of his head, “Yeah, I just—I don’t know—I don’t fancy girls the way I do boys. I thought there might be one exception but turns out I was wrong.”

Sirius fixed a stare on Barty.

“What do you mean it turns out you were wrong ?”

Barty smirked, “Turns out I’ve only ever fancied boys., he said and winked at Regulus before quickly avoiding a lunging Sirius.

Regulus watched as Barty was chased by an irate Sirius screaming, “Keep your dirty hands off my brother, Crouch.”

The two ran around out of sight and when they returned Barty was panting with a wolfish grin and Sirius had a solemn fierce look on his face.

“So can we go swimming now?” Regulus asked.

“Absolutely not!” Sirius exclaimed as he sent a murderous look to Barty who held his hands up in surrender.

“Relax, Black, I’m not going to defile your baby brother. I get it. He’s off limits .” Barty smirked, sending a knowing gaze to Sirius.

“Please Siri?” Regulus begged with those wide eyes that had Sirius folding in a second.

“Fine.” He gritted out and pointed his finger at Barty, “But any funny business from you and I’ll—“

“Yes, yes, I know. You’ll have my dick for dinner with some lovely mashed potatoes. It’s fucking hot. Can we get on with it?” Barty said, stripping his shirt off.

Sirius looked back to his brother and gave a grave nod and Regulus ran to him and looped his arms around Sirius’ neck planting a big kiss on his cheek. He ran over behind a tree to place his dress and could hear Barty’s soft laughter and mumbled words that sounded like, “Mate, you’re so screwed.” 

Once bare, Regulus joined the two other boys feeling less confident than he was before. He had seen Sirius naked on occasion and envied the body his brother was granted, the body he was not. As he peaked past the tree he watched his brother undress and saw his sharp cheeks and pointed chin and his slender neck. His eyes swooped lower to see his shoulders which were lightly toned from boyish activities his brother was allowed, climbing trees, playing sports and the like. His chest and stomach were flat with his ribs cutting through his skin from a combination of healthy activity and dinners that were missed as punishment for his childish indiscretions. His eyes roamed lower and he saw the defined pelvic bones protruding beneath ivory skin. Sirius moved toward the water before Regulus could look any further with hungry, envious eyes. As he stood behind the tree looking at his own body, soft and plump in all the areas Sirius was hard and slender, and couldn’t help but think of the new revelation Barty bestowed upon him. As he felt his gut coil and tighten with fluttering wings batting against the edges he couldn’t help but wonder if it was truly just envy he felt for his brother.

With a deep breath, Regulus sprinted toward the water while Barty and Sirius’ backs were turned. He whooped into the water with a large splash which rippled onto Barty and Sirius, drenching the parts of them that had not yet been touched by water. Barty went to chastise Regulus but his face turned cold and his features were marred with acidic anger.

“What happened to your back?” Barty asked with gritted teeth, sure he already knew the answer. The same harsh lines that stained Regulus’ back were etched on Sirius’. Regulus coiled in on himself wrapping his arms tightly around his torso.

“Mother didn’t—she didn’t—she didn’t take it well—when I told her.”

Barty turned toward Sirius with a grim expression plastered on his face, “Your mother is a bitch.”

There was no argument from either brother.

✶✶✶

Once dinner was concluded, the men retired to the smoking room and the ladies retired to the drawing room. The children, however, were sent to their respective rooms as the guests were all staying the night.

Regulus went to his room and did his best to take the infernal lace off his body. He was just about to rip the damn thing off when he heard a creak outside his door followed by a familiar coded knock.

“Come in,” Regulus whispered loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear him. Barty slipped inside.

“You know my mother will kill you if she finds you in here,” Regulus drawled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“What do you think she’ll imagine is happening?” Barty flirted aimlessly.

“Probably that you’re trying to ruin her only daughter.”

“Hmmm. Didn’t know she had any daughters,” Barty smirked which caused Regulus to smile.

“And I’m fairly certain, your ruination has already happened,” Barty’s joke fell flat and landed on the floor along with Regulus’ smile and broken heart.

Regulus felt a tear stream down his face and Barty stepped forward with open arms and crushed Regulus to his chest. “What can I do, love?”

Regulus sniffled, “Help me take this wretched thing off?”

Barty hummed, “You sure know how to sweet talk a man.”

Barty pushed Regulus back observing the tear-stained face of his friend and reached out his thumbs to dry his cheeks. He motioned for Regulus to turn around and Regulus obeyed wordlessly. Barty’s cool fingers deftly unclamped the buttons from the loops and worked his way down from the neck to the waist.

“You know my mother is going to try to get us married.” Barty said conversationally.

“I know.” Regulus said solemnly.

“Well don’t sound so sad about it,” Barty joked.

“I’m fairly certain my mother wants me to marry Wulfric,” he said and they collectively shuttered.

“I can’t do it,” Regulus whispered. “Not even with you.”

Barty put his forehead on the base of Regulus’ neck.

“Not to sound selfish but you’re the best I’m gonna get, Reg.”

“We both know that’s not true. Evan would have you in a heartbeat.”

“He would," Barty whispered, though Regulus wasn't entirely convinced Barty believed his own words, "but he can’t. We can’t.”

Barty sighed and lifted his head. Regulus let the dress fall to the ground and stepped out of it. Barty picked the dress off the ground and placed it in the chair next to the armoire. Regulus turned around again for Barty to begin to undo the laces of the corset.

“Remember the promise you and Sirius made? Back when I was thirteen?” Regulus asked softly as he felt Barty’s nimble fingers undo the laces of his whalebone cotton corset. 

“You really want to run away?” Barty paused.

“I have to Barty. I can’t stay here. I can’t become this.” Regulus gestured to the corset and the dress on the chair.

Barty sighed, “I could talk to Evan. But even if he won’t come, I’ll go with you.” 

“You don’t have to. You could stay here with Evan.”

“You’re in as much of a prison as I am. If he’s not willing to break free with us then…”

Barty left the words unsaid as they would likely never need to be said. Evan would come. For Barty, Evan would do anything.

Barty finished unlacing the corset and took a step back, allowing Regulus to take the corset off and fumble through his drawers for an old shirt of Sirius’ which he put on, took off his chemise and sat in the floor in front of the chair Barty had sat in, opposite the chair by the armoire.

Barty began to fumble through Regulus’ hair pulling out clips and clamps that kept his neat bun in place.

“When do you want to leave?” He asked.

“Before Monday.”

“Reg, that gives us two days, you realize.”

“Barty, I’ve been planning this for years, you realize.”

Once Regulus was free of all his constraints he sighed deeply. Barty continued to play with his long, beautiful curls.

“We’re going to have to do something about this,” he said as he combed through Regulus’ hair.

“I know.” Regulus smirked. “I can’t fucking wait.”

Barty gave him a grin that he felt more than he saw, and Regulus tilted back his head laying it in Barty’s lap and Barty placed a quick affectionate peck on Regulus’ forehead.

“Monday, then?”

“Monday.”

Chapter 2: Go West, Young Potter

Notes:

I had forgotten to mention a date in the previous chapter. Oops.

Chapter One was set in February 1862.

Thank you so much to heated_mausoleum and luckytiger96 for beta reading this for me. :)

August 1867

 

The morning sky was painted with orange and red hues as the sun rose over the buildings of a busy New York street. Several urchins in the street sang loudly for their supper, urging the people passing by to purchase the words that were meticulously pressed into the harsh white paper in their hands, promising more bad news on top of James’ already withering morning.

He looked over his cup of coffee out the window of his mother’s bedroom simply observing the life that passed by him. On the corner of the street he could see a young girl dressed in neutral tones contrasting wildly with the array of colorful flowers in her basket. He watched as a man struggled to reign in his dog while passing the butcher’s shop. He watched the wheels of a fine carriage scar the road with heavy lines as it moved along the street. He observed everything that was happening around him from the other side of the window, studiously avoiding the man in his mother's bedroom.

“I’m afraid I have grave news, Mr. Potter.” The man said with a heavy sigh while James did his best to ignore the tense spirit of the room.

“What is it, Doctor?” James could hear his father ask from his mother’s bedside. James already knew the dreaded word before it escaped the doctor's lips. The red that stained the bowl next to his mother’s bedside was so vibrant and bright it could not be ignored. The consistent coughing that grated on his soul and his ears like a child scraping horse hairs against the hard metal strings of a violin. The once darkened skin from days in the sun turned pale and clammy.

“Consumption.” The conviction in the doctor’s voice at his own diagnosis caused James to close his eyes from the world as if by not seeing the world around him it would stop. 

“How long do we have, Doctor?” Monty choked out.

“It’s difficult to say.” The doctor ran a hand through his curly locks looking away from the couple. “It is severe. There’s a possibility that with a change in climate you could extend your time. There really aren’t treatments out there to assist. The only recommendation I can make is better weather, lots of rest, a healthy diet and exercise. Given the state of her lungs I would say about a year. Possibly two.”

At this James opened his eyes and stared at the doctor with a pale face and a slack jaw. The doctor looked back at James with sympathetic eyes before crossing the room and slowly exiting leaving the couple on the bed to mourn the life that could have been.

James turned for the door giving his father a solemn look which was returned with a short nod and a depreciative smile. He walked out of his mother's room and felt the warm salty tears trickle down his face. Fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief, he quickly wiped away the sadness and headed down the stairs and out the door.

The vivacious sound of life erupted as he opened the front door and headed down the street toward the station. He stopped by the bakery grabbing a loaf of warm freshly baked honey bread and walked further down the street toward a merchant selling fresh fruit. James examined the apples and upon finding two that satisfied him he handed the merchant the proper change and continued on his daily path.

“Oi! Deputy!” He heard a familiar voice cry out, “Why the long face?” 

James turned his body to find two long-haired, ginger boys with identical smirks. “Oh, you know. Just one of those mornings, Georgie.”

James plastered on a smile and tossed an apple at the boy. George took a healthy bite and made a taunting groan toward his appleless brother.

Freddy looked at his brother with annoyed eyes and James handed out the other apple. Fred went to take it before James quickly snatched it away and asked with a raised brow, “Have you two been staying out of mischief?”

“Oh, deputy. You don’t have to worry about us.” George said with a wink. “Our mischief is managed.” 

“Hmmm. See that it is.” James said as he held out the apple to Freddy once again allowing him to take it with small dirty fingers. James held out the loaf of bread to George.

“Share this with your brothers, eh?” James said with a quick smile. “I’ll see you two around.”

The street was busy, so James had to look both ways before crossing it safely and entering the station. He was greeted by several officers before he finally made it to Marshal Longbottom’s office. With a heavy hand he knocked on the wooden door thrice before hearing a jovial “Come in”.

James sighed as he opened the door and was met with warm brown eyes that were crinkled around the edges.

“Good morning, James.”

“Hiya Frank.”

“I have some good news.” Frank said as he stood from behind his desk looking down at a letter. “But first Governor Slughorn has sent you a letter.” He held the letter out to James and with a hesitant hand, James took the parchment from Frank's hand and read over the letter.

 

Sir,

It was lovely to meet you at the Governor’s Independence Day Dinner in New York last month. You have come so highly recommended by both Governor Abbot, a dear friend of mine, and by Marshal Longbottom, whom I have known since he was a babe. It was, of course, a shame to hear about the terrible business last spring with Mrs. Longbottom’s passing. I do hope that if there is anything I can do to help, my dear Frank will ask. You would pass that message along, yes?

As I told you at the dinner, you have come highly recommended by Governor Abbot and Marshal Longbottom to assist me in my little problem with the Railway Raiders, as The World has affectionately come to call them. They seem to have infested my territory and I was hoping you were still interested in joining me in Colorado as a United States Marshal, per our discussion at Governor Abbot’s dinner.

I took the liberty of recommending you to President Johnson to be the Marshal for Colorado and, with my recommendation, he wholeheartedly agreed that you would be the best candidate to evict our little problem gang, especially after your success in Albany with those bank robbers.  You should be receiving the order soon. I told him that he must be hasty. We must move quickly if we are to remove the infestation tainting Colorado.

I will be expecting you no later than the end of the year. Let us ring in the new year together as a united front against these miscreants.

Governor Horace Slughorn

 

James and Frank had attended Governor Abbot’s Independence Day celebration the month prior and met the new governor of the Colorado Territory. Horace Slughorn was originally born in New York and was granted the opportunity to venture out west and make a name for himself in Congress. He was the kind of man who hoarded connections, always keeping them close in case they proved themselves to be useful to him. Governor Abbot sang wildly of Frank’s and James’ praises for diligence in regards to removing the bank robbers that bombarded New York. They were never caught, much to James’ dismay, but they were run out of the state which was good enough for Governor Abbot. 

James looked back up at Frank to see him holding out a document and holding back a smile. He reached out to take the document with an unsteady hand and placed it over the letter and began to read it over.

 

To All who shall see these Presents Greeting:

Know Ye, that reposing special trust and confidence in the integrity, and diligence of James Fleamont Potter, of New York, I have nominated and by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, do appoint him Marshal of and for Colorado Territory; and do authorize and empower him to execute and fulfill the Duties of that Office, according to the Law; and to have and to hold the said Office, with all the Powers, Privileges, and Emoluments to do the same of the Right appertaining, unto him the said, James Fleamont Potter, for the term of four years from the Date hereof, under the President of the United States for the Time being, shall be pleased sooner to revoke and determine this Commission.  

In testimony whereof, I have caused these Letters to be made Patent, and the Seal of the United States to be hereunto affixed.

Given under my Hand at the City of New York, the third day of August, in the Year of our Lord, One thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven.

                                                                                             Andrew Johnson

                                                                                             President of the United States

 

He stared at the script on the letter with disbelieving eyes, unable to  truly process the promotion warrant before him.

“They’ll be expecting you there in four months' time.” Frank said with a bright smile.

“I got it?” James looked up and found a wide grin stretching across Frank’s face.

“You got it.”

The elation from the culmination of his work bearing fruit was quickly smothered by the devastating realization that despite the generous offer, he would have to decline. His smile melted into a frown which was mirrored by Frank.

“What’s wrong?” Frank asked with curious eyes.

“The doctor came to see Mum today.” Frank’s face shifted into wide eyed terror.

“Don’t—“

James ignored the plea, “it’s consumption.”

Watery eyes threatened to spill over Frank’s bottom lids. Frank closed his eyes and the tears that were perched there cascaded down his face.

“How long?”

“A year. Maybe two.”

A fist pounded against the hard wooden desk, and James flinched at the sound. Earlier that year, in the Spring, Frank had laid his own mother to rest after her own battle with consumption. Effie had been with him every step of the way, offering warm meals and a second home when his own became unbearable as he was surrounded by the emptiness of the once lively household.

“Fuck,” Frank said as he saw the widening of James’ eyes. “I’m so sorry, James. I—if there’s anything I can do…”

James lifted his hand and silenced him, “There’s nothing to be done. The doctor said rest, a healthy diet and exercise was all that could help prolong her life. Well, that and a dry climate but I don’t see that happening here in New York.”

Frank looked back at the letter still in James’ hand. “I have a friend who recently got back from a trip in Colorado. He said the climate was dry, even in the winters. This promotion might be exactly what Effie needs if she would be willing to go with you.”

“And if she isn’t?” James asked as he placed the parchment back down on Frank’s desk.

“Talk to her about it, James. You know she’d do anything for you. And Euphemia Potter has never had a problem making new friends.”

“The traveling could worsen her condition. I—I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Frank sighed, “Talk to the doctor. See what he thinks. Then talk to Effie. Once you’ve done both you can come back to me with your decision and I’ll respect it regardless of what you decide.”

James pinched the bridge of his nose where his glasses sat between his index finger and his thumb.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll do that.”

Frank gave James an empathetic look before dismissing him.

“Take the day off, James. Go talk to the doctor and then go spend time with your mom and dad. We can hold the fort down here.”

James nodded and headed out the door and down the street back the way he came. He walked toward the doctor's house who conveniently lived just across from The Potters. He lifted the knocker and banged on the door thrice before a small woman in a black dress opened the door.

☀☀☀

“Mr. Potter, how lovely to see you!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Davies. Is your husband in perchance?”

“Of course, of course, come in!” She moved back and allowed the door to open wide as James stepped through the threshold. “You’re not ill, are you?” She asked with a concerned look.

“No, Mrs. Davies. I’m here on behalf of my mother.”

The small woman before him replied with a shocked look, “Not Effie? Oh dear. I do hope it’s not something serious. I’ll go get the doctor, you just sit tight in the drawing room.”

She scurried off presumably to the doctor's study and James followed her instruction finding a comfortable chair to sit in. He listened to the crackling fire and stared aimlessly at the hypnotizing red and orange flames. So mesmerized, he didn’t even hear the doctor come in and only realized he was no longer alone when he felt a kind warm hand squeeze his shoulder.

“How are you, my boy?” Dr. Davies asked, concern painted on his face.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, Doctor.”

“Of course. Of course. What can I do for you?”

“I just received word that I got a promotion.” James began and looked up to see a beaming smile and crinkled eyes staring back at him.

“That’s wonderful news, James! A Marshal! Oh, I know how hard you’ve worked to make this happen. I’ll bet Monty and Effie are so proud!” 

James fiddled with his tie before admitting, “I haven’t told them yet.”

“Why ever not? They could both use some good news. Especially on a day like today.” Dr. Davies said in a somber tone.

“The promotion comes with a transfer.” James explained, “They want to send me to Colorado. Frank said it would be a better climate if Effie came with me but I’m concerned the toll traveling will take on her health. And if she can’t come…I don’t want—I don’t want to spend what could be her last days away from her.”

Dr. Davies moved to the liquor cabinet and grabbed two crystal glasses as he moved to pour them both a healthy dose of a tonic for the soul. He turned to hand James a glass which was gladly accepted.

“I won’t lie to you, my boy. Traveling will be hard. But I fear the cold wet winters of New York would be much harsher. I would never presume to tell you what to do but if she can make it through traveling, Colorado would be a much better environment for her condition.”

“You think so?”

Dr. Davies took a large gulp of the amber liquid, “Consumption feeds on humidity. The weather in New York combined with the population and pollution–this is an ideal place for it to breed. Out west, there are dryer climates, less people, more open air. I’d say she has a fairer shot there than here.”

James nodded and took one last swig of from his glass before handing it back to the doctor.

“Thank you for your time I—I really appreciate it.”

James said his goodbyes to Dr. and Mrs. Davies and walked across the street to his home.

☀☀☀

He opened the door and took off his jacket placing it on the coat hanger in the foyer. Effie was perched in the tea room. He could hear the soft sound of his mother’s laughter echoing in the foyer and with brave steps he entered the room crossing over to give his mother a peck on the cheek.

Monty was seated at the small table across from her reading a story aloud from The World and paused when he saw James walk in.

“What are you doing back so soon, son?” Monty asked with a furrowed brow.

“Frank gave me the day off.” James said as he claimed the seat perpendicular to his parents and poured himself a cup of tea.

“I—“ James cleared his throat. “I have some news.”

Effie’s smile encouraged him to continue, “I got an offer today.”

“Oh?” Monty looked at his wife from across the table.

“They want to promote me and send me to Colorado.”

“Colorado?” Effie asked. “That’s the new territory out west isn’t it dear?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news, Jamie! I’m so proud of you!” Effie beamed and took his hand in hers.

“When are you expected?”

“Four months time.” James said, taking a sip of his tea. “I haven’t decided if I’m going.”

Bafflement crossed Effie’s features, “Not—not going? You’ve worked so hard for this Jamie! Why on earth would you not go?”

James sent Effie a meaningful look and realization dawned on her.

“Oh, absolutely not.” Effie exclaimed. “James Fleamont Potter. You have worked entirely too hard for this. You’re not going to let my little illness ruin your chances.”

James scoffed, “Little illness?”

“Yes, James. My illness is insignificant in the sight of your happiness.”

“How exactly do you expect me to be happy without you?” James whispered.

Effie looked at him with soft eyes and moved to hold her son's face in the palm of her hands. “Jamie, darling, you must find a way.” James could feel the tears slipping down his face and the soft thumb that moved to erase them from his cheeks.

“Come with me.” James pleaded.

“James…” Monty began.

“Frank says the climate out there is better and I already spoke with Dr. Davies. The winters out here are too harsh and wet for your condition. The weather is dry in Colorado even in the winter. It would do well for your health.”

“But the journey alone, James…” Monty began.

“It is certain she will not do well here, Dad. There’s a possibility she could do better in Colorado.”

“James,” Effie said with a thin mouth, “let us sleep on it. We’ll give you an answer in the morning, alright?”

Defeated, James simply nodded his head and sipped his tea in silence.

 

James didn’t sleep that night. He laid awake with doubt and uncertainty rattling in his brain. Frustrated, James got out of bed and went to the balcony to gaze at the stars. In the twilight, he could see the sun's rays threatening to peek over the night sky. He looked toward the heavens and found two bright stars shining in the distance. With closed eyes, James whispered into the air a prayer, a wish, and for a moment, he could have sworn he saw both stars wink back at him.

After getting dressed, James made his way down to the breakfast table finding a plate of eggs and bacon steaming and waiting for him. He leaned over to the side to kiss his mother’s cheek.

“Thanks, mum.”

“Of course, dear.” 

James counted to sixty in his head before deciding that was long enough to wait to ask the question that had been on his mind since noon yesterday.

“Did you and dad make a decision?” he asked with hopeful eyes.

Monty glanced at Effie who gave a short nod before informing James, “We have.”

“And?”

“We’ve decided that it would be best to go with you to Colorado.” Effie said suppressing a smile.

James nearly tore his neck off, flicking it back and forth between his mother and his father. “Really?! You mean it?”

Effie’s laugh twinkled around the room, “Yes, Jamie. Really.”

James jumped out of his chair and moved to give his mother a tight squeeze before racing around the table to his father to repeat the action.

“This is—“ James ran a hand through his unruly brown locks, “Oh this is great! I’ve got to tell Frank!”

Effie sipped her tea and offered, “You should invite him over for dinner tonight. We can celebrate.”

James nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah! I’ll invite him for dinner. I’ve got to go! I need to—" James ran up to Effie once again pulling her into a warm and strong embrace as he whispered against her hair, “Thank you, mum. This will be so good for you. For us. I promise.”

Effie chuckled, “Yes, dear, but it won’t be good if you suffocate me before we can leave.”

James shuffled back and looked around the room searching for nothing in particular before landing on the door leading into the hallway.

“I’ve got to go! I’ve got to tell Frank.” he said as he grabbed a piece of bacon and shoved it in his mouth racing down the hall and out the door.

James hurried to the bakery for a loaf of buttered bread. He sprinted to the produce stand and picked out two green apples before paying the merchant. He ran down the block before seeing the twins and tossing them an apple each and hastily handing George the bread.

“Oi! What’s got you in a hurry?” Freddy asked James who was already headed to the station.

“Colorado!”

Freddy looked at George and shrugged his shoulders, “He’s looney, that one.”

James hastily greeted everyone before power walking to Frank’s office. With no preamble, James opened the door to see Frank sitting at his desk writing a letter with glasses precariously tipped just below the bridge of his nose. Frank looked up to see James with flushed cheeks and a wide smile.

“I’m going.” James declared. “We’re going.”

Frank matched his smile and gestured for him to sit across the desk from him.

James skipped to the chair and plopped down attempting to catch the breath he left at home.

“She said yes?” Frank asked, setting down his quill.

“She said yes,” James confirmed. “She also said you’re coming to dinner.”

“She did not phrase it like that.” Frank shook his head with a smile.

“No. Her exact words were, ‘You should invite him over for dinner tonight’ which roughly translates to, ‘You’re coming to dinner’.”

Frank laughed. No one, least of all him, could ever refuse Effie Potter.

“I guess I’m coming to dinner.” Frank smiled.

“What are you writing?” James asked.

“Your acceptance letter.” Frank peered up over his glasses.

“But I only just accepted.” Blue eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Yes, and I know Effie Potter.” Frank said with a smirk, “She was never going to refuse you.”

Frank folded the letter and placed it in an envelope before running the wax of the seal over the candle and dripping it onto the paper.

“By the way, you have a present in the holding cells.”

James raised a brow. “Anyone we know?”

Frank shook his head. “No. Bit of an enigma that one.”

Intrigued, James leaned forward. “How so?”

Frank simply nodded to the door in silent dismissal, “You’ll see.”

☀☀☀

James walked to the holding cells to be treated by an old man wearing a tattered police uniform.

“Hiya Argus. How’s the day?”

Argus grunted.

“Who’ve we got today?” James tried again hoping for actual words this time.

“Sorry tosser won’t give us his name.” Argus grumbled as he began to leave, “I’m going to take a piss.”

He stopped when he reached James and looked back at the cell before leaning close to him, “Watch that one. He’s shifty.”

James took hesitant steps toward the cell. He instantly knew what Frank was talking about. This man was certainly an enigma.

The man had long greasy hair down to his shoulders. At first glance, James thought the man was rather tan but upon closer inspection he realized the man was caked in dirt. Dirt on his face, his chest, under his fingernails. He looked like a wild thing caught in a cage. He had a sharp aristocratic jaw line which was lined with coarse black hair. His clothes were made from fine material but tattered and torn… likely stolen , James thought. James moved closer and leaned against the desk opposite the cell. The man was sitting on the floor with his right leg stretched in front of him and his left leg bent up. His left arm was lazily draped on the propped-up knee, and he watched James as James watched him.

“What’s your name?”

The man continued to silently track James’ movement as James crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk.

“What are you in for?”

The man tipped his head to the side and narrowed his eyes before licking his lips. Never before had James felt nervous while interviewing a criminal but in this moment with sharp gray eyes staring at him, James felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine sending a shiver throughout his body.

“Do you speak English?” James asked. It was common enough that many who stepped off the boat from the old world hadn’t mastered English. He knew a little French and German but if it were another language, he would have to gather another person.

“Sprechen sie Englisch?”

Amusement glittered into the gray eyes of the prisoner and James found his jaw slack as the light hit his eyes and he swore he could see stars in them. 

“Parlez-vous Anglais?”

The man’s nose wrinkled, and he chuckled deeply.

“No. Don’t do that,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Your German accent was decent. Your French is atrocious.”

James smirked back at the man, “Got you speaking to me though, didn’t it?”

The man smirked back but otherwise remained silent.

“So, what are you in here for?”

“That, officer—"

“It’s Marshal actually.”

The man allowed his eyes to graze from the top of James’ head down to his boots and back up again before grinning.

“That, Marshal, is a very long story indeed.”

James looked around the room and pushed himself off the desk moving closer to the bars.

“Well, luckily for you, I have all the time in the world.”

Sirius looked up at James, “do you now?”

James nodded and hummed as he watched the man peel himself from the floor and saunter toward the heavy iron bars. He looked one arm around a bar and repeated the motion with his other until he was leaning heavily against the closed prison door.

“I do. And I’ll have you know I’m a very patient man.”

The man licked his lips again searching James’ body until he found his eyes once again.

“Patient, huh?” The prisoner drawled, “Are you also gentle, Marshal?”

James sucked in a breath fighting desperately to keep the blood pumping evenly through this body.

“I can be. But I can also be rough when the occasion calls for it.”

A full set of teeth shown behind an ever-widening smile as the man said, “Oh, trust me, when it comes to me, the occasion” the man’s eyes traveled low and the James’ battle with his traitorous blood was quickly lost as it surfaced on his cheeks and the area at which the man gazed, “definitely calls for it.”

The prisoner looked back up into James eyes and sent him a devilish wink.

“Hmmm.” James summoned the courage to get closer to the man through the bars, staying just out of reach but close enough to see the freckles that lined his dirt covered face.

“I have a policy when it comes to being rough with anyone.” James said with heavy implication.

“What’s that, love.”

“I get a name first.” He said as he took a step closer feeling the fingers of the man graze against his waistcoat.

“And what would you do with it if I gave it to you?” The man said slowly, batting his lashes.

“Only one way to find out.” He said as he leaned his chin against the bar.

Gray eyes searched his blue eyes and the man before him smiled before leaning in allowing his lips to barely graze James as he uttered a single word.

“Sirius.”

 

Chapter 3: Prisoners and Propositions

Summary:

Thank you to heated_mausoleum and luckytiger96 for beta reading this chapter for me.

Special thanks to heated_mausoleum for everything that you do to make this story better.

August 1867

 

James took a long look at the prisoner before him. Sirius was not a common name, and he had seen the poster of a young man, a boy really, several years ago scattered around the city, with large black print at the top. MISSING.

He could see the resemblance through the dirt and grime plastered on his face. They had the same aristocratic chin, the same piercing eyes, the same pointed nose. The boy in the poster was clean cut and posh with short hair and a clean-shaven face. A long story indeed.

“Sirius Black?” James said and the prisoner flinched.

“Heir to the Black dynasty?” he continued with a puzzled look but was met with silence and a snarled lip.

“Orion Black’s son?” James continued, “Heir to Black Railways?”

Sirius took a step back and released his arms from between the bars and shoved his hands in his pockets as he granted James a feral smirk.

“Not anymore.”

James leaned against the bars, already missing the proximity, and put his arms through mimicking Sirius’ earlier stance.

“I think I’d like that long story, now.”

Sirius stared back at him with defiance as he licked his lips, “I don’t think you’ve earned it yet.”

James’ brow rose and he leaned back reluctantly taking his arms further away from Sirius, “Very well, then. I guess I’ll just have to give Mr. Black a visit and tell him I’ve found his missing son.”

James cringed as he noticed the immediate change in Sirius’ demeanor. The once confident stance turned timid and flirtatious eyes grew fearful as he raced to the bars and grabbed James’ right arm harshly.

“No,” he whispered.

If it were any other prisoner, he might have teased him for being so reluctant to return to his parents like a lost boy but the terror that laced those mesmerizing gray slate eyes gave him pause. He reached out his left hand to cover Sirius’ over his arm. Eyes met and sympathy poured from James’ into Sirius’ anxious ones.

“Alright, mate.” James whispered back, “I won’t tell him.”

“Oi! Get your hands off of him you mangy mutt!” Argus yelled as he stormed over to James with the intention of using his baton to beat into Sirius’ arm. James caught the baton just before it came down harshly on the prisoner and Sirius pulled his hand away from James and back behind the bars.

“It’s alright, Argus.” James said. “No harm done.”

Argus looked between the two men and huffed through his nose.

“You can’t let them treat you like that, Deputy.” Argus turned a murderous gaze to Sirius as he spat, “They need to know their place.”

“Deputy, huh?” Sirius said from behind the bars, his arrogant flirtatious manner back in its rightful place, “Thought you said you were a marshal. Don’t know why I believed you. You’re far too young to be a marshal.”

James huffed a laugh and shook his head, “Youngest ever. I just got my promotion letter yesterday.”

Sirius grazed his eyes along James’ figure, “Well, congratulations, Marshal.”

Argus sputtered, “Dep—Marshal, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t—” 

If only to stop the blithering of the man, James interrupted, “It’s quite alright, Argus. It hasn’t been announced yet. You weren’t to know.”

Argus stood up straight cracking his back as he did which caused James to wince, “Congratulations, Marshal.” He said as he raised his hand in salute.

Reluctantly, James returned it. “That’s quite enough of that now. Why don’t you go take your lunch while I interrogate our prisoner, here.”

Argus pulled his hand down in a sharp salute and placing one foot directly behind the other did a sharp about turn and James cringed again at the sound of knees cracking.

“Just how old is he?” Sirius asked idly.

“He served in 1812 if that’s an indicator.” James replied as he turned back to face the man separated from him by iron.

“So, Sirius.” James began walking slowly back up to the bars. “How about that story?”

Sirius looked at the man skeptically. His father had many people in his pockets, and he couldn’t afford to be thrusted back into their clutches. But a flash of red caught his eye and James followed his gaze to see two familiar irate faces beaming up at him. He gave a huff and hung his head low like a disappointed father.

“What now?” James asked the officer holding the two boys with each hand by their shirts.

“Caught these two causing mischief in the square,” the officer said. “I was gonna let them off with a warning but this one” he gestured to Freddy, “fucking bit me.”

“Deserved it, too, didntcha? Putting your grubby hands on me,” Freddy moved to try to bite him again.

“Fred.” James said with a stern voice that caused Freddy to straighten up.

“You can’t hold us.” George said. “I know my rights! Habus corpse!”

James huffed a laugh, “Habeus Corpus, George. It’s Habeus Corpus.  Habeus Corpus simply means that I have to take you before a judge to determine if you can be held on charges. Would you like for me to take you before a judge?” James asked with an arched brow and fought a smile as the twins snapped their wide eyes at him.

“I didn’t think so. Now, would you like to tell me why you were being warned by an officer in the first place?”

“Well, we got this hat see?” George began.

“A big old bowler cap. You should have seen it; the guy who owned it must have had a massive head.” Freddy interrupted.

“Where did you get the hat?” James inquired and noticed the side glance George gave the officer.

“That’s irrelevant to the story.” George said a with blush rising to his cheeks.

“Anyway, we got the hat, and we found a brick—” Freddy continued, and James pinched his nose and rubbed the bridge.

“Where did you get the brick?”

“That’s irrelevant to the story.” Freddy parroted sporting an identical coloring to his brother.

“So, we took the brick and put it under the hat, right?” George continued. “And then we hid behind a corner and waited for someone to come over and kick the hat.”

“Why would someone kick the hat?” James asked, confused.

George and Freddy gave him a dumbfounded look and tilted their heads, “If you see a hat on the road, just lying there, what would you do?”

“Pick it up?” “Kick it.” James and Sirius said at the same time.

George and Freddy looked at the prisoner leaning against the bars lazily with an amused look stretched across his face.

Both boys tipped their heads at him and said justified, “Thank you!”

“We didn’t know we was being watched, though.” George turned his head back at the officer.

“And this one stopped us at the corner.”

“Ah well,” James said looking back at the officer. “Just seems like a harmless prank.”

“Tell that to the bloke who kicked the hat.” The officer said and jerked his head as he heard Sirius bark out a laugh. James fought a smile with every fiber of his being.

“Was he gravely hurt?” James asked.

“No, but he was annoyed.”

“Perhaps he shouldn’t go around kicking hats.” James smirked before he asked the officer, “No real harm done, right?”

“This one bit me.” The officer pouted.

“Are you gravely hurt?”

“Don’t know. He might be rabid.”

James smiled widely at that, “Freddy are you rabid?”

Freddy smiled back before he turned back to the officer, “Maybe.”

“Piss off.” The officer said back.

“How about this. One hour in the cells for you to reflect on what you’ve done, an apology to the officer, and you’re on your way.”

“An hour?!?” Freddy and George cried.

“An hour.”

“Fifteen minutes.” George countered.

“An hour.” James said.

“Thirty minutes.” Fred countered.

“An hour.”

“Forty-five minutes?” George pleaded.

“An hour and thirty minutes.” James countered.

“An hour.” George and Freddy said, and James smiled victoriously.

“An hour.” James conceded. “And an apology.”

Fred turned to the officer and looked up, “I’m deeply sorry I have caused you such bodily harm. I do hope you don’t catch my rabies.”

“You little shit.”

The officer moved to grab him, but Freddy was too fast as he ran to his behind James.

“Probably the best you’re going to get, Officer.”

James watched as the officer huffed and walked out and turned his head toward the grinning twins.

“What am I going to do with you two?”

“Apparently, lock us in the cell for an hour.”

James shook his head at the boys, “I’m not going to lock you in the cell. Just sit at the desk.”

Freddy pouted, “We don’t get to go in the cell?”

Sirius chuckled and James rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers.

“Not even a minute ago you were complaining about being in the cell. Now you want to be in the cell?”

“Well, if we have to be down here anyway, we might as well get the full experience.” George said, looking at Sirius curiously.

“Fuck. Fine. You can go into the cell, but I’m leaving the door open.”

James moved to the corner of the office where a long iron key hung on a hook. He grabbed it and walked back over to the cell to see Sirius leaning against the bars hungrily.

“You aren’t worried he’ll try to escape?” Fred asked.

James slid the key in the hole and looked up at Sirius in time to see him lick his bottom lip.

“No,” James said as he turned the key, “I’m sure he’ll behave. Won’t you, Sirius?”

Sirius leaned in close, placing his head between the bars, “I make no promises, Marshal. ”

Sirius sent him a wink as he opened the door wide and the safe iron blanket that was draped between them was removed leaving them bare to each other.

He felt two small bodies push past him and into the cell. He watched as the boys looked around the cell in fascination before George turned to Sirius.

“So, what are you in for?”

“I put a brick under a hat and watched a man kick it.” Sirius deadpanned.

“Really?” Freddy asked with wide eyes.

Sirius shook his head and laughed, “No.”

“So what are you in for?” Freddy asked with a tilt of his head.

“I was hungry. I took a loaf of bread and got caught.”

George looked up and nodded his head. “Yeah. That’s what Freddy and I got busted for the first time when the deputy caught us.”

“Didn’t you hear, it’s Marshal now.”

Twin sets of eyes snapped to James.

“You got it?” Freddy asked.

“Is that why you were running around like a mad man this morning?” George inquired.

James looked at his boot sheepishly before looking up through his lashes and a shy smile graced his face, “Yeah. I got it.”

“Oh man! That’s great!” Freddy said.

“What’s Colorado?” George asked with a somber look on his face, already seeming to know the answer.

James looked up and frowned. It hadn’t hit him until just now that he would be leaving everyone but his parents behind. Who was going to keep these boys out of trouble? They were quite harmless really, apart from the initial arrest they hadn’t done anything truly illegal, just childish things. What if the new deputy didn’t see it like that? James could see a different life, a harder life for the boys in front of him and he felt his eyes water at the thought of them becoming hardened criminals simply for pulling a few pranks.

“It’s a territory out west.” James choked out.

“You’re leaving us?” Freddy asked with big eyes as he wrapped his tiny hands around the bars and pulled his face through them. James looked between the two boys and then back at the floor not trusting his eyes to stop from leaking.

“Nah, you can’t get rid of us that easy, Marshal.” George said with a mischievous grin, “We’ll come with you! We can be your deputies.”

James tilted his head back and laughed as he felt a tear slip through the cracks and run down his face. He wiped it away quickly.

“I think your mother would have a word or two about that. Speaking of, how is she?”

Freddy and George frowned. “She’s been pulling double shifts at the factory.”

Molly Weasley was a war widow with six children. Arthur had been drafted to fight for the Union early on in the war. The day The World published the names of the fallen soldiers at Gettysburg was a dark day for everyone, but no one felt the darkness and the cold quite like Molly Weasley. After that day she was a changed woman. The light in her eyes had vanished and was replaced with a weariness that bled from her eyes onto her face and with time spread to her body. She worked long hours at the cotton factory chucking the soft billowy clouds into the cotton gin to produce threaded cotton. Her body ached and with every passing day she felt the pain of her heart grow larger rather than smaller.

“What time does she get off today?”

“Sunset.” The boys answered.

“Why don’t you boys run along and invite her and your brothers and Ginny to mine for dinner, yeah? Frank will be there. We’re celebrating my promotion.”

“Really?” Freddy and George exclaimed.

“Yeah. Pop off you two.”

Fred and George ran out the cell and toward the door. George stopped short and looked at the clock on the wall and back down to James and grinned wildly.

“Fifteen minutes.”

James looked at the clock and back at George.

“Piss off.” He said half heartedly as the boy exited the room. James could hear the rhythmic sound of pattering feet up the stairs grow further away. He looked over to see Sirius lazily leaning against the opened cell door.

“So, a loaf of bread, huh?”

“Yep.” Sirius shrugged, “I was hungry.”

“You’re going to have to give me a little bit more than that.” James said as he crossed his arms and leaned against the desk.

“Oh? And what is it you’d like?” Sirius asked with a flirtatious smile and a raised brow.

“I’d like for you to tell me your story.”

“Hmm. You’d have to buy me dinner first.” Sirius joked.

“How about I invite you to dinner instead?” James asked and watched as Sirius failed to hold back his surprise.

“You want to invite me, a prisoner, into your home? With your family?” Sirius gaped baffled at the audacity of the man before him. James simply shrugged.

“I could steal all your prized possessions.”

“But you won’t.”

“I could set fire to your dining room.”

“Hmmm. But you won’t.”

“I could be a killer. You already know I’m a thief.” Sirius pointed out.

James looked him up and down before sauntering over to Sirius holding his gaze, placing one hand on the bar of the cell and leaning in close.

“Nah. I’ve met killers before. You don’t strike me as one. Not to say that you wouldn’t if the circumstances were right, but you’ve definitely not killed anyone thus far.”

“So, you’re just going to let me go?” Sirius inquired.

“No. I’m not going to just let you go. You’re going to take me to the merchant you stole from. You’re going to apologize and I’m going to pay for what you stole. Then, you’re going to come to dinner with me and my family and friends and when they’ve all left. You’re going to tell me your story.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, then, you can spend a night in the jail, and I’ll take you to the judge in the morning. The choice is yours. Choose wisely.”

Sirius opened his mouth to speak but a talk figure in the corner caught his eye.

“Fuck me, James.” Frank sighed exasperatedly. “Why in god’s name is the fucking cell door open?”

James stood back and straightened himself.

“Hiya Frank.” He greeted the man with a smile. “We’re going to let him go.”

Frank crossed his arms over his chest and arched a brow. “We are, are we? And why, pray tell, are we letting him go, James?”

“He committed a petty crime.”

“Then he should pay the petty fine or do the petty time.”

James waved him off, “Oh, I’ve got that all sorted.”

“Do you now?” Frank said with a smirk before he turned to Sirius and allowed his eyes to graze over the prisoner.

“You certainly have a fucking type.” Frank muttered as he put his fingers on his temples and rubbed the oncoming headache away.

“What?” James asked.

“Nothing.” Frank shook his head, softened his features and gave James a pleading look. “Please tell me this is not another Albany situation.”

James looked away and swallowed, “You know I stand by my decision in Albany.” He rubbed at the scar on his left peck.

Frank scoffed and frowned, “The man shot you James. You could have died if he hadn’t missed.”

James smiled at nothing recalling the memory, “Nah. I told you already. He didn’t miss. He shot me exactly where he wanted.”

Intrigued by the conversation, Sirius arched a brow as he moved to lean his back against the bars and placed his hands in his pockets.

“You have a thing for pain, Marshal?”

James frowned and tilted his head, “No?”

“Then why are you smiling fondly while talking about being shot?”

A slow smile erupted across James’ face, “You would have had to have been there.”

“Why did he shoot you in the first place?”

James gave Sirius a sheepish look and rubbed the back of his neck. “I…umm…I called him Pretty Boy. It seemed to annoy him, so he shot me.”

Sirius barked out a laugh that echoed through the jail.

Frank smiled and reevaluated the man before him as he watched the interaction. James had always been a good judge of character. He didn’t blindly believe that any one person was good or bad, not even when the evidence for or against them was overwhelming. James had a second sense about these things, but he always allowed people to offer their story before exonerating or condemning them. He could sniff out a lie from 10 miles out and he could hear unspoken truths between the words that were told to him. It had served them well in the war when they were at their lowest and it had served others well in the war when they were at their highest. James and Frank were not men without sin and the weight of their actions in the war guided them to be better men. To be better officers of the people. 

Frank had long learned to trust James’ judgment, even if he didn’t agree with it or understand it. Most of the time, he cursed James for it. Especially with the memory of James bleeding out in an alleyway was so fresh.

“Sir?” A voice from behind him broke Frank away from his thoughts.

“Yes?”

The young officer stood at attention as he delivered his message, “Orion Black is here to see the new Marshal?” He said slightly confused.

“Ah! That would be Potter.” He said, seeing the question in his eyes. He turned to James who had a hard look on his face as he looked over to the prisoner who was clutching the bars behind him. Interesting.

James stepped forward and Sirius’ hand shot out with lightning speed, and he grasped James’ arm with a fierceness. The officer lunged forward before being stopped by Frank’s hand to his chest, he shook his head once and felt the man relax slightly.

“Don’t.” Sirius whispered loud enough for Frank and the officer to hear him. Frank furrowed his brow as he observed the two men closely.

James put his hand over Sirius’.

“I won’t tell him.” James assured but Sirius simply shook his head.

“No. Not that.” James could feel the grip strengthen and his eyes grew concerned.

“Don’t meet with him.” Sirius whispered, “You don’t know what he’s like.”

Frank watched as the worry dripped from the prisoner. He saw it in the way he clutched James' arm. He saw it in the way his other hand trembled. He saw it in the man’s pleading eyes.

“Why don’t you bring him down here, Officer?” Frank spoke and both men’s heads snapped up one in confusion and the other in terror.

“Down here, sir?”

“Yes.” Frank confirmed before the man retreated out of the room.

“What are you thinking, Frank?” James asked, as he felt the grip on his arm choke out the blood supply leaving it numb and tingling. 

Frank sauntered over to the cupboard and pulled out a blanket. He walked over to the prisoner and slowly with gentle hands took his fingers off James’ arm and handed him the blanket.

“I’m thinking that I want for you,” He looked at Sirius, “to go back into your cell—”

James moved to protest but Frank silenced him.

“Where you will be safe,” Frank emphasized, “and I want you to observe the conversation that is had.”

Sirius looked at Frank with apprehension.

“James trusts you, I don’t know why but I’ve learned with James not to question it.  That being said, you don't trust Orion Black and while I’m curious as to why, I won’t pry for now.” Frank explained and watched as the prisoner relaxed slightly.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but you seem to have intimate knowledge of Orion Black.” Frank observed and Sirius remained silent, “If he is to have a discussion with James, I want you to observe and report back to us your opinions on the exchange.”

“Why?” Sirius asked curiously as he tipped his head to the side.

“About a year ago, Garrett Rosier, head of the Bank of Commerce—”

“I know who he is.” Sirius snarled.

“Yes, well, he came to James and I about a problem with some robbers. The interaction was skullduggery at best. If this is to be another altercation similar to that, I would like for you, someone who knows Orion Black personally, to report on your opinions of the conversation.”

Sirius shuffled and looked down, “What if he recognizes me?”

Frank held out the blanket and Sirius took it, wrapping it around himself.

“With this, you’ll be practically invisible to him. Men like Orion Black don’t think anything of men they deem unworthy. To him you’ll just be another prisoner not fit to breathe the same air.” Frank looked at Sirius pointedly, “not his missing heir.”

James gaped and Sirius stiffened. “You know?” James asked.

“I could put it together. Especially when I took a hard look at you.” Frank confirmed. “Orion won’t look at you.”

“And if he does?” Sirius asked.

“You’re a prisoner under the jurisdiction of the state of New York. He can’t touch you here.” Frank assured Sirius.

“You’re playing with fire,” Sirius muttered as he moved behind the bars once again and settled in the corner of the cell where he could view the desk perfectly and did his best to hide his face while still being able to see the interaction. His heart pumped wildly as he heard the slam of the cell door and watched James lock the door and offer him a worried smile.

Frank positioned himself behind the desk facing Sirius to keep a watchful eye on him. Truth be told, Frank had no way of really knowing that Orion wouldn’t recognize Sirius immediately. He had met the man and his family once before sans Sirius. He was initially struck by his beauty and his charisma however seeing the genuine fear in Orion’s son's eyes at the mention of his name and the promise of his presence the more doubtful Frank became that Orion was all that he seemed to be upon first impression. Though a stranger, and a criminal at that, Frank felt a subconscious need to ensure Sirius’ safety. So, he sat, and he watched, and he waited for Orion Black. 

James leaned against the wall perpendicular to the desk. He gritted his teeth in anticipation and his eyes flickered up as he heard the firm footsteps of the approaching figure. When Orion Black walked through the door, James was sure his heart stopped. The man before him had a slender frame which was made prominent by his fine fitted black three-piece suit. His throat was garnished with an emerald green ascot which sat proudly puffed out. The sharpness of his jawline was accentuated by a clean-shaven face apart from the upper lip which sported a smooth clean handlebar mustache. High cheekbones laid beneath a pair of piercing slate gray eyes. His short black hair featured a prominent part and was smoothed to the side with pomade. The only imperfection to his immaculate appearance was the impressions in his hair on the sides left behind by a bowler cap.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” Orion spoke with a deep timber as he dipped his head slightly in greeting. “I apologize for my appearance,” he said, smoothing out the impressions on his hair, “I seem to have misplaced my hat.”

The prisoner from behind the bars coughed loudly to cover the laugh forming in his throat and James stifled the smile threatening to emerge on his face.

“Which one of you is Marshal Potter?” Orion asked clearly not remembering Frank from the last time they met. While Frank would usually be offended, in this case he was grateful his instincts served him right in regard to how Orion viewed the worth of men.

“That would be me.” James said as he kicked off the wall and extended a hand. With three long strides, Orion crossed the room and took James’ hand to shake. James felt a shiver run down his back as he briefly held the strong soft hand in his. Two gray eyes held his gaze as they shook hands, and he found himself lost in the familiarity of them.

“Pleasure to meet you, Marshal Potter.”

“Likewise.” James said and released his hand from the surprisingly warm grip. He gestured to Frank.

“This is Marshal Longbottom.”

Frank stands up to shake Orion’s hand, “Mr. Black and I have met before.”

Brows draw close in confusion as Orion struggles to place where he might have seen Frank before. He withdrew his hand and placed it in his pocket as he tilted his head in such a similar way to Sirius that it has James baffled.

Sensing that Orion is at a loss, Frank took pity on him and offered, “Barty Crouch held a party back in ‘60 for the success of the first year of The World. My father wrote for him. I met you, Mrs. Black and Ms. Black.”

There was a short cough that erupted from the cell.

“Ah. Yes. I apologize for my lapse in memory.” Orion offered.

“It’s quite alright. How is Mrs. And Ms. Black?”

Another cough echoed through the room.

“Mrs. Black is as well as can be expected. My daughter—” Sirius’ cough penetrated the room which caused Orion to take his first notice of the man in the cell, but the distraction was quickly forgotten, “has been quite ill, I’m afraid.”

James fought to catch Sirius’ eye.

“She—”

A series of violent coughs erupted but Orion spoke over the noise. 

“She’s become quite sickly ever since the disappearance of her brother. The doctors have advised her to not leave the house.”

The coughs subsided when Orion finished talking and he turned to James.

“Is it safe to be here? That man sounds quite ill. I’d hate to pass something on to Ms. Black.”

Sirius coughed once again earning a sharp glare from Frank.

“Him?” James asked nonchalantly. “He’s fine. It’s just allergies.”

Orion eyed the man from behind the bars with skepticism before turning back to James.

“What I have to speak to you about is of a sensitive nature. Could we possibly go somewhere more private? Just the two of us?” Orion asked boldly.

“Well, Frank can leave but unfortunately, I have to stay here. Can’t abandon my post. I’m sure you understand.” James said with a charming smile as Orion frowned and looked at the prisoner once again.

“What about him?” Orion asked.

“Him? Oh, he’s German. Fresh off the boat. Doesn’t know too much English, though.”

Orion nodded seemingly placated though. Frank rose and bid them both goodbye as he closed the door behind them.

“Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Black?” James asked, as he leaned against the desk with his arms crossed drumming his fingers on his elbow.

“As you know, I am the owner of Black Railways. I am also a good friend to Garrett Rosier and Horace Slughorn. Both have assured me that you’re the man to go to for my current…predicament.”

James nodded and glanced at his boots before fixing his gaze inside the cell.

“And what is your current predicament?” James asked as he shifted his eyes back to Orion’s.

“There is a band of miscreants that seem to take pleasure in illegally boarding and stealing from the occupants of my trains. I would like them captured and punished accordingly.”

James hummed and moved his arms to place his hands in his pockets. “And these marauders, they steal from everyone on the train?”

Orion frowned, “Admittedly, no.” Orion took his hand from his pocket and flourished it in the air. “They seem to only bother the first-class cars.”

“What do they look like?” James asked.

“Unfortunately,” Orion huffed as he crossed his arms, “No one knows.”

James’ eyes snapped to Orion’s, and he narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean no one knows?”

“The deviants wear masks.” Orion drawled.

“What kind of masks?”

“They wear black masks that cover the upper portion of their face so one could only see their eyes and from here down.” Orion gestured from his lips down to his chin.

“Are there any designs on the masks?” James asked as he held his breath.

“One was covered in white lace. One was feathered on the side. Another had red roses on the sides with thorns under each eye and red tears embroidered on the cheeks. And one had a constellation embroidered into each cheek.”

“Which constellations?”

“Does it matter?” Orion asked with a raised brow.

James shrugged, “It does to them.”

Orion huffed, “Leo and Canis Major.”

A sharp intake of breath was followed by a loud cough. Orion eyed the cell once more with narrowed eyes.

“Well, in regard to helping you. I’m not sure what I can do. Unless they come to the Colorado territory, it’s out of my hands.”

“You’re a United States Marshal, yes?”

“Yes. But my jurisdiction is the territory of Colorado. Unless I get an order from the president to go after them, I can’t just go out of my way to find them. Now, if they come to Colorado, or we cross paths naturally, I would be more than happy to help you apprehend them.”

James could see a light of mischief making those slate gray eyes even more familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger in where he had seen them before.

“Well, I would like to offer you free passage in our first-class car for you and your family to help you on your journey to Colorado.” Orion smiled.

James shook his head and removed a hand from his pocket, and he placed it behind his neck as he rubbed it sheepishly.

“Yeah, alright.” He said which earned him a beautifully charming smile from Orion.

“How many tickets will you need and when do you plan on leaving?”

“I’ll get you the details on when, later once I’ve settled things with the governor and more importantly my mum.”

Orion barked out a rich laugh and James was temporarily enraptured.

“In regard to how many? I’ll be needing six tickets.”

“Six? That’s quite a family you’ve got.” Orion commented idly. “I can make that happen. Just get with my secretary when you get more details from your mum.” He said with a winning smile and a handheld out. James shook it and watched as Orion put his other hand in his pocket.

“I look forward to doing business with you. And if there’s any way you can capture them before Christmas, I’ll be sure to send you a large present.” Orion said suggestively and James realized Orion had mistaken him for the kind of man who would put monetary gain over true justice.

Orion removed his hand and tipped his head in goodbye. James stood still watching the retreating form and smiled widely.

Sirius waited a while before removing the blanket and hesitantly stepping forward toward the bars. He noticed James' unwavering grin and star struck eyes and worried that perhaps he had James all wrong. Perhaps James was just another man waiting to be plucked and placed into Orion’s pocket to accompany the baubles he played with when he was lying.

“What’s got you smiling so hard?” Sirius asked, tilting his head as he tried to determine how easily swayed by Orion’s words he was.

“You know Pretty Boy? The one that shot me?”

Sirius furrowed his brows as he attempted to follow James’ train of thought.

“Yeah?”

“He wore a mask.”

“Did he?” Sirius arched his brow at the still smiling James. “Did one of the descriptions match his?”

“Yeah.” James sighed dreamily.

“Hmmmm. Which one?”

“The star speckled mask.”

Sirius furrowed his brow in thought. He knew Orion was lying about Regulus. He wasn’t sure how much and what exactly, but he knew from the way Orion played with the chess piece hidden in his pocket that Orion was lying. He had a wild thought when he heard the description of two of the masks that it was Barty and Regulus playing bandits. Suddenly the idea of James potentially pining after his brother sent a pang of jealousy through him. Jealousy for the masked bandit that seemed to capture James’ heart. Jealousy for Regulus potentially being the said bandit. But as James began to rub over the scarred wound on his chest, the idea that Regulus could be the man who shot him for calling him “Pretty Boy” put him in a fit of giggles that quickly turned into roaring laughter.

James turned to him with an arched brow still sporting a love-struck smile on his face.

“What’s so funny?” James asked.

Sirius’ laughter died down long enough for him to inform James, “Marshal, you’re so screwed.”

Chapter 4: Missing

Notes:

Hello everyone! Just to give you heads up, there is going to be quite a bit of time jumping so I wanted to clear a few things up:

Chapter One: February 1862 (with flashbacks)
Chapter Two: August 1867
Chapter Three: August 1867
Chapter Four: February 1862/August 1862 (with flashbacks)

Thank you to heated_mausoleum and lucktiger96 for beta reading this chapter for me.

February 1862

 

Walburga watched the edges of the parchment incinerate as she held it to the flame of the flickering candle. The shame that filled her was paramount. Losing one child was a misfortune but could be rectified if presented properly. Upon Sirius’ disappearance in December, Walburga had gone to Bartemius Crouch Sr to minimize the scandal. Rather than claiming he had run away, like the cowardly child that he was, she presented Crouch with a story of abduction. It was believable enough considering they were a wealthy family with a sole heir to their empire. They had plastered posters on every door of the city and Sirius’ face lined the front pages of The World for weeks taunting Walburga with the knowledge that she had failed at her one duty: raising a proper heir.

Losing two children was carelessness and Walburga had spent a lifetime of being careful. Stepping where she was told to step. Stopping where she was told to stop. Her life had been dictated to her from the moment of her birth and the one time she retaliated, well, the scars on her back and the burns on her hands served as a reminder to stay in her box. She stood there by the burning letter she had placed on the silver tray watching as the words disappeared into ash and thought about her parentage. Perhaps she was not heavy handed enough. Perhaps she had not instilled enough fear into her children.

Children were meant to fear and respect their parents. This lesson from Leviticus had been etched onto Walburga’s brain and body from childhood. As she looked at the gray ash, so similar to the color of her daughter’s eyes, she felt the cold reminder of her shortcomings and the heat of the anger in her heart. The juxtaposition sent shivers down her spine as she straightened to address her brother.

“Did you know about this?” She fixed Alphard with a cold stare. Both her children were close and confided in their uncle far more than they ever felt comfortable confiding in her. The affection Alphard received from the pair never failed to send a spike of jealousy through her heart.

“Know that they were planning to run away?” Alphard confirmed and Walburga nodded sharply, “No.”

Walburga felt an ease that at least he didn’t have prior knowledge of her daughter’s plans.

“But I didn’t stop him as he walked out the door.” Alphard admitted and pulled out a pre-rolled cigarette from a silver case buried in his breast pocket. He struck a match relishing in the look of shock etched on Walburga’s face and lit the cigarette between his lips.

“Sirius? This whole time you knew—“

Alphard shook his head smiling. “Not Sirius. I had no encounter with him prior to his leaving,” he said truthfully, conveniently leaving out that he had seen his nephew the other day.

“Then to whom are you referring?” she asked with an arched brow, lips twisted with confusion.

“Regulus.” Alphard said simply.

“Who the hell is Regulus? I’m asking if you knew my daughter was planning on leaving? Is this some boy she’s run off with?” Walburga asked, shaking at the potential thought that her daughter had been ruined.

“I’m referring to your son, Regulus.” Alphard fixed his eyes on her face and watched her brows shoot up in shock before they narrowed in displeasure.

“I have one son and his name is Sirius .” Walburga denied. “I have one daughter and her name—“

Alphard cut her off with a pointed look, “And you wonder why he ran away.”

“Did you see her before she left?” Walburga asked again.

“I saw him as he was leaving.” Alphard admitted.

“And you didn’t stop her?”

“And fix him with a life of misery? A slave to a duty that should never have been bestowed on him? A slave to a duty that should never have been bestowed on you? ” Alphard asked with kind eyes that saw too much for Walburga’s liking.

Orion Black opened both doors to the drawing room with a scowl marring his handsome face followed by two equally unhappy men and two worried women.

“Orion, I hardly think now is the time to have guests over.” Walburga hissed at her approaching husband.

“Apparently, our daughter isn’t traveling alone.” Orion huffed as he dutifully kissed his wife’s cheek and headed straight for the liquor cabinet.

“You know where she is?” Walburga turned like a sunflower following the movements of her own personal sun blazing brightly with righteous anger and burning her flesh as she was helpless to remain close in his orbit.

“No. But I know who she is with.” Orion clarified as he reached for seven crystal glasses and began pouring a clear liquid into each. “Apparently, our child is not the only one to go missing this night.”

Walburga turned back to the guests to see Bartemius Crouch Sr, Mrs. Crouch, Garrett Rosier and Mrs. Rosier making themselves comfortable on the furniture of the Black’s drawing room.

“Did they leave a note?” Walburga asked the couples. The Rosier’s shook their heads, but Bartemius Crouch Sr. clutched a small letter in his hand with a tight angry fist.

Walburga extended her hand and Bartemius drew his hand back slightly.

“His note is not suitable for a lady to read.” Bartemius gritted.

“My daughter is missing . I’ll decide for myself what is suitable to read.” Walburga hissed. Bartemius looked up at Orion who nodded his head once and reluctantly relinquished his grip on the letter and handed the crumpled parchment to Walburga.

She snatched it from her hands and opened the letter with an unimpressed gaze fixed on Bartemius before she glanced down at the parchment. There, in elegant penmanship, were two simple words written with a heavy hand: Fuck you.

Walburga wrinkled her nose in distaste before handing the letter back, “Charming.” She deadpanned.

“Did Ms. Black leave a letter?” Garrett inquired. Walburga quickly shook her head and avoided the lazy gaze and raised brow from her brother who remained silent.

“What are we to do?” Mrs. Rosier lamented. “This is surely ruin for all of us.

Walburga was a fiercely cunning woman practiced in the art of manipulating her society and bending its will to hers.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rosier, you will claim that Mr. and Ms. Rosier went abroad to take a tour of the old country visiting family and whatnot. Be as vague as possible whenever asked directly about their whereabouts. Mr. And Mrs. Crouch will claim that Mr. Crouch has been called upon to go West to write articles for The World in regards to the dealings out there. Kansas, I should think. Tie it in with the beginnings of the new state.”

 

The two families seemed to soften their worries as Walburga put out her orders and Orion raised an impressed brow.

“What of Ms. Black?”

“Riddled with despair at the loss of her brother, Ms. Black will have a series of illnesses that overcome her. It’s best if she stays indoors so she won’t be susceptible to further illness.” Walburga spoke plainly as she accepted the drink offered to her by her husband.

“In the meantime, I think it would be wise to have someone out looking for them.” Orion commented idly.

“Of course,” Walburga agreed.

“Do you have someone in mind, dear?”

“Wulfric Mulciber and Alexander Avery.”

All eyes turned to her in shock.

“Should we really be allowing them to be abreast of the situation?”

Walburga sighed, “For their silence and their diligence to bring back our children quickly, we will offer Wulfric our daughter's hand in marriage and offer Alexander your daughter's hand in marriage.”

“They’re both ruined. Regardless of whether or not they have actually been tainted, the scandal alone is enough to deem them unfit members of proper society.” Bartemius seethed.

“They won’t be ruined in society's eyes if we play our parts.” Walburga countered.

“They will be to Wulfric and Alexander.” Garrett pointed out.

“If Wulfric and Alexander are smart, they won’t care.” Walburga stated plainly and rolled her eyes at the confused looks on the faces of the room.

“Ms. Rosier is the daughter of the president of New York’s largest bank. Ms. Black is the daughter of the owner of Black Railways. Their prestige accompanied with their money is enough to overlook any discretion. Especially if said discretion has not borne any fruit nor been exposed to society. We will all offer a significant number of shares in our companies and the promise of uniting our families. They would be fools to turn down the offer.”

All parties, apart from Alphard, looked relieved at the sensible elaboration of Walburga’s plan. The families resolved to bring the Mulcibers and the Averys into their plot in the morning and the two families left the Black home feeling slightly better than they had walking into it.

“You’re really going to do that to him?” Alphard asked when they were alone again.

“She will do what is necessary. She only brought this upon herself. I blame Sirius for leading a poor example.”

Alphard scoffed, “Of course you would.”

Walburga turned her head sharply and narrowed her eyes, “What is that supposed to mean?” she spat from her seat on the sofa. Alphard rose and placed a hand on the back of the sofa as he leaned in closely so Walburga could hear and see him clearly as he seethed.

“The loss of your children is a poor reflection on you as a parent, Wally. You did this. You drove them away. You followed your parents' example rather than setting out your own path and wishing a better hand for your children than the one you were dealt.”

Alphard leaned in close enough to brush his nose against hers as he spat out, “Just because you didn’t have the brass to collect your happiness with Lucretia doesn’t mean you should stunt your children from going after their own happiness.”

A sharp smack echoed through the drawing room and Walburga watched as the red impression leapt from the surface of Alphard’s turned face. She ignored the feeling of a solitary tear drifting down her cheek.

“Get out.” She hissed and watched as a snarling Alphard leaned back, straightened his suit and looked down on Walburga with a mix of pity and disgust. Only when she heard the sure sound of the drawing room door slam closed did she allow herself to cry.

 

August 1862

 

Barty Crouch laid with closed eyes on the grass of the field with his head in Pandora’s lap. The sounds of cicadas singing songs into the summer afternoon filled his ears as he felt warm soft hands place flowers in his hair.

Out in the country air of Aurora, New York, Barty felt free. No longer were the expectations of society or his father weighing down on him. And though he still hadn’t expressed his desire to court Evan, he finally felt the calm peace he had been waiting for and planned to give him the letter burning in his pocket and the bright orange butterfly weeds he had picked. 

Evan Rosier was not a man to be bought. Trinkets and baubles did nothing for him as he found that his parents generally attempted to buy his affection rather than earn it. Barty strived to learn from their mistakes. He wanted to shower Evan in gestures rather than presents. He wanted to show him how much Evan meant to him rather than give him empty words and promises. But he had to start somewhere and filling the parchment with the love in his heart, he wrote his affections and feelings down waiting for an appropriate time and place to give it to him.

Upon first sight of Evan, Barty hated him. They met at a dinner when he was twelve years old and he found Evan to be uptight, stoic and rude. During later meetings, he found that his opinion had not changed. Evan had no desire to play childish games with Sirius and Barty and chose a library over the outdoors often. 

It didn’t help that Barty had, in Evan’s eyes, offended his beloved sister, Pandora. Over the course of several meetings throughout the years, Pandora could be found at any given moment trailing after Barty like a lost puppy. One day in the summer of ‘59 he confronted her about it.

“We’re connected, you and I.” Pandora declared with a certainty that startled Barty. He huffed indignantly.

“I assure you we’re not. I don’t fancy you, Pandora. You’re a lovely girl but you’re just not my—my type of girl.”

Pandora barked out a laugh and said with a knowing smile, “Oh Barty. I doubt anyone is your type of girl.”

Barty looked at Pandora with fear and trepidation. She grabbed his face in her hands and looked at him with her glacier blue eyes and he found no judgment hidden beneath the surface.

“We’re connected.” Pandora repeated.

“How?” He breathed out quietly.

Pandora tilted his head right to left and up and down before admitting, “I’m not quite sure but, when I discover the truth, I’ll let you know.”

Evan walked into the hall finding his sister's hands on Barty’s face which was so close to her own. He quickly walked over to the couple and Barty staggered back as Evan pushed him up against the wall.

“Stay, the fuck, away from my sister.” Evan growled with his hand tightly wrapped around Barty’s throat. Barty was lost in the feeling of blood rushing to his head and his cock as he looked at cerulean eyes which threatened to drown him with their heavy gaze. He pulled Barty forward only to shove him back again against the wall and quickly released his throat. He walked over to Pandora and offered her his arm. She looked down at the offering and back up to her brother's face. Puzzlement consumed her as she looked back to Barty and then again at her brother. She gave Evan a warm smile and took his arm allowing him to escort her out of the hall and into the library. Barty wrapped his hand around his own throat softly massaging the indentions from the fingerprints that were sure to bruise and caught Pandora’s eye as she turned her head before entering the room. She gave him a mischievous smile and a wink before stepping in leaving Evan to look back seething at Barty before following his sister.

Barty adjusted himself and watched as Sirius walked briskly from the library.

“Why the fuck is Rosier mad at you? He just waltzed in the library cursing your name.” Sirius asked and upon not receiving a response from a dazed Barty he changed his tone.

“Mate, are you alright?” Sirius asked concerned as he saw the freshly red indentions of nails that had clawed into Barty’s neck.

“Fine.” Barty croaked out. Sirius perused Barty’s body from head to toe looking for other signs of damage and found a glaring bulge in the seam of Barty’s trousers.

“Barty are you— " Sirius laughed and was quickly cut off by an irate Barty.

“Shut the fuck up, Black.” he hissed and as he walked away, he could hear the taunting laughter of Sirius Black echo in the hall.

It wasn’t until Evan Rosier, Sirius Black, and Barty Crouch Jr joined West Point in the fall of 1860 that Evan, Sirius and Barty became friends. It was certainly a rocky start that ended in fights more often than not with Sirius diligently playing the part of peacekeeper. But the explosion of one argument led to a series of revelations for Barty.

“My sister is obviously infatuated, Heaven only knows why, and you’re here telling me what? That she isn’t good enough for you?” Evan seethed as he squared away his uniform for the following day ensuring that everything was in its proper place for the morning.

“I’m not saying she’s not good enough for me, Rosier. I’m simply saying she isn’t my type.”

“Why? Because she’s odd?” Evan asked looking up at Barty, “that’s what you said upon meeting her, right? ‘Well you’re an odd little girl?’”

Barty ran a hand over his face before huffing out, “Yes, she’s odd! I like that she’s odd. It’s not an insult, Evan. It’s a fucking compliment. In a sea of people who all conform to the same bullshit rules society holds for us, she stands out unashamedly. Fuck I admire her. But I don’t love her, and I never will.”

“She adores you.” Evan gritted out. “Why can you not return those affections? Give me one good reason.”

Barty began pulling at his hair as they talked in circles. He couldn’t risk Evan finding out he didn’t fancy women. They were friends mostly, when they weren’t arguing, but they weren’t close enough for him to feel comfortable sharing that piece of himself. Not when it could ruin him.

“She doesn’t adore me.” Evan scoffed. “Fine, she does. But not in the way you’re implying.”

Evan strode over to where Barty was standing with his hand in his hair fighting the urge to rip it all out. He batted away Barty’s hand and grabbed a fist full of the hair for himself and arched Barty’s neck to look into his eyes.

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” Evan gritted out with a sharp tongue and blazing eyes.

As Barty felt the closeness of Evan’s body combined with the assertiveness in his demeanor, he felt his heart race as Evan’s face grew ever closer gravitating toward Barty’s. Overwhelmed by the magnetic energy, Barty felt the all too familiar tightening of his gut.

“I’m not lying, Evan.” Eyes roamed without permission to Evan’s lips, and quickly, back up to cerulean eyes. Angry furrowed brows softened in confusion and Evan’s lips parted as they flickered to Barty’s frown. He hunted across Barty’s face and finally captured the truth in Barty’s eyes as he saw them widen at the feel of Evan’s frame closing in on, his leaving no room to breathe let alone to misinterpret the stiffness that lay between their stomachs.

Evan leaned forward into Barty before quickly stepping back with wide eyes. He grazed over Barty with a slowness as if he were taking him in for the first time and his eyes lingered ever so slightly at the prominent protrusion in Barty’s trousers before sauntering up his chest past his neck and met Barty’s. His shocked face had softened ever so slightly, and the lightest tint of rouge was smeared across his sun kissed cheeks. Evan cleared his throat and found sanctuary in the door that led to the hallway. He crossed the room to exit and with a hesitant hand on the doorknob he looked back at Barty with unsure eyes and a darker pink blossomed across his face. He swung the door open and exited the room hastily.

Sirius’ loud whistle shook Barty out of his  revere.

“That was hot.” Sirius commented with a Cheshire like grin.

Barty flung himself on the small sofa in the dorm room and lazily tossed a small pillow at Sirius’ face which was caught with one hand by the offender.

“You fancy him,” he stated with confidence as he boldly looked at the swell in Barty’s trousers.

“Just because I care for the company of men does not mean that every man catches my fancy, Sirius. Honestly.” Barty huffed.

“No, not every man, but certainly this one.”

Despite the several fighting matches he had entered with Evan, most of which ended with a hardness Barty had to take care of later, it never dawned on him until the moment Sirius pointed it out that he did, indeed, fancy Evan Rosier. But he wasn’t just attracted to his aristocratic face and devilish body. He loved to be challenged and Evan loved to provide that challenge. He loved how Evan had ridiculous rules about what he could or would eat or not eat. Evan couldn’t stand most fruit because of the texture they provided, often too stringy, too coarse, too firm, not firm enough. Evan had several rules about consumption of food and Barty knew them all.

He also had several odd rules about organization. Specifically, when it came to his books. Most libraries organized books by the authors last name or divided them into genres. Evan had the peculiar code of sorting his books chronologically. When it came to studying, Evan would always start with the first class of the day and end with the last class of the day rather than choosing the quicker assignments and getting them out of the way (like Barty did because even if he wasn’t able to complete his longer assignments due to a lack of attention span, he would have the majority of the work done.).

Textures of fabrics were also an issue for Evan. He would rather feel the icy chill of New York winter than feel itchy wool irritate his skin. He also couldn’t stand the texture of silk as it was too soft and slippery against him.

These small quirks and ticks had been picked up meticulously by Barty over the years and stored safely deep within the confines of his heart. So deeply in fact, that he was blind to the signs which all pointed toward Evan until Sirius scrubbed at the cataracts he had subconsciously placed over his Antarctic blue eyes.

The four had been on the run for six months and had nary a word or a sign of their parents following them, and Barty felt comfortable. Laying here with Pandora softly humming along with the cicadas, he felt like he could finally stop running and start living. He could build a life here in the fields of Aurora next to the Cayuga Lake. He could see his life so clearly before him and with a sudden and sharp intake of breath from above him, he felt it all slip away.

“Pandora, what's wrong?”

Chapter 5

Notes:

I wanted to take the time to thank heated_mausoleum and luckytiger96 for taking the time to be my beta readers. You’re amazing and this story would not be nearly what it is without you. You’re amazing and I love you. 😘

August 1862

Pandora Rosier had a way of looking at the world through her kaleidoscope eyes that others found unnerving. But not Regulus. She could take those colors and shapes and morph them into sensical patterns and read the world around her like a story written in the third person. She could feel what people were feeling, often knew what people were thinking, and had a way of seeing patterns emerge before her, creating an almost omniscience. Regulus experienced this during his first encounter of meeting the fae-like spirit he had come to love like a sister.

 

The young girl, Pandora, was draped in a fine blue dress with billowy sleeves and lace stitched into the collar. She had bright blue eyes and a kind smile. Her cheeks were rosey against her ivory complexion and she held herself in an unearthly manner. Like she did not belong among the mortals of this plane but rather with the angels, or perhaps from the mischievous smile painted on her lips, more accurately, the Fae.

 

“Hello.” She greeted Regulus as he stood gawking at her like an imbecile. He looked to his brother with confusion and hoped for a hint on how to deal with the girl. However, Sirius did not return Regulus’ gaze as his eyes were glued to the beautiful, delicate frame. Not from want but from pure awe of her magnificence and the open soul that was bleeding through her eyes.

 

“What is your name?” Pandora asked plainly with open eyes and an open heart.

 

Regulus drew his brows in confusion. Perhaps she was daft. Their parents had just introduced Evan and Pandora to them all and vice versa. His name was literally just said.

 

“Are you so quick to forget?” Regulus inquired curiously and he watched Evan stiffen. The tinkling sound of a light and airy laugh emanated through the room.

 

“No,” she said simply with eyes crinkled from laughter. “I’m asking you your name. Not the name they gave you.”

 

Fear struck through his body and he immediately turned to Barty but found that the boy looked equally aghast and his eyes burrowed into Regulus’ pleading, for him to believe he had not said a word. Barty shook his head subtly once and then Regulus switched his gaze to Sirius who was staring at Pandora like he was ready to snarl and bite the faerie girl if need be.

 

Sirius took quick steps toward her but was cut off by Evan who stood directly in front of Pandora, blocking an irate Sirius from his path.

 

“I suggest you calm down, Black.”

 

“I suggest you suck my dick, Rosier.”

 

Evan stiffened and spared a glance for his sister and Regulus.

 

“It’s not appropriate for you to use such crass language in front of ladies. Surely your mother taught you better manners than that.”

 

“Lady.” Pandora piped up cheerfully.

 

The quarrel was momentarily forgotten as all sets of eyes snapped to her.

 

“What?” Even asked.

 

“It’s inappropriate for you to use such crass language in front of a lady,” Pandora corrected. Evan had long since learned to go along with Pandora’s childish whims as they often turned out to bear fruit. However, in this instance he was at a loss. He looked back at Regulus who held his fearful yet fascinated gaze to Pandora.

 

“So, what is your name?” Pandora repeated.

 

Regulus looked at Pandora, who held an encouraging smile and back to Evan whose eyes bounced between the two of them as if they were speaking a language he did not quite understand.

 

Regulus fixed his posture as he held his head high and rolled his shoulders back. He ignored the look of worried protest from Sirius and said for the first time with assurance and conviction in his voice. “My name is Regulus.”

 

“Regulus.” Pandora tasted the name on her tongue and smiled when she found she enjoyed the flavor.

 

“Regulus, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Pandora.” She glided gracefully across the room, allowing her glacier eyes to stay fixed on the slate gray before her. When she reached him, she held out her hand palm down with curled fingers and maintained eye contact as Regulus hesitantly took her hand in his and lifted it as he bowed his head. His lips kissed her fingers and he felt the magnetism of Pandora pulling him to her bonding then for life.

 

Sirius looked at Pandora with an unease but as he turned to see his little brother smiling widely at the girl before him, he found the action contagious and found his lips stretching painfully across his face. The movement from the corner of his eye of Evan’s head looking back and forth between the brothers stirred him out of his revere and the cold hard eyes and threatening frown were back waiting to incinerate Evan on command.

 

“Brother, why don’t you go meet Regulus properly?” Pandora said as she appeared at his side with a hand on the extended arm which had been holding Sirius back.

 

“Regulus?” He asked confusedly.

 

“Yes, Regulus.” Pandora confirmed cheerfully, “You and he are going to be great friends.”

 

“He?” Evan asked, feeling quite lost as he looked at Regulus who still held his head high and arched his brow.

 

“He.” She confirmed.

 

He looked back at Sirius who did not seem baffled but rather fixed him with a challenging look. He glanced at Barty who eyed him with a smirk on his face and an arched brow, then he gazed back at his sister with her knowing eyes that had never steered him wrong and nodded once, regardless of whether or not he understood her logic. He stepped back from Sirius, straightened his suit and strode with confident steps to greet Regulus. He held out a hand.

 

“Evan Rosier.”

 

Evan watched Regulus’ lips turn up slightly as he took his hand and shook firmly, “Regulus Black. Pleasure to meet you.”

 

Evan smiled genuinely at the boy before him. “Likewise.”

 

So when Pandora climbed through the window, gray dress snagging on a nail as she ripped the fabric, sparing no glance at Regulus as she began packing her things hastily, Regulus followed suit.

 

“Dora, what’s wrong?” Evan asked as he surveyed the panic in her frantic movements as she grabbed the trinkets she held most dear and shoved them in a carpet bag.

 

“They’re here,” Pandora prophesied as she hoped Evan would not fall prey like so many men carelessly not heeding the warnings of Cassandra. Evan’s eyes grew wide and he searched around the room to find his own bag and began stuffing everything within an arm's reach in the wooden handled carpet bag.

 

“Who is here?” Evan asked as he scrambled to stuff his clothes in his bag.

 

“Alexander. Wulfric. They’re here. They’re looking for us.”

 

Evan briefly stopped his frantic packing and shared a look with Regulus. They probably wouldn’t recognize him at first glance. Regulus’ hair was cropped short curling around his face and toward the nape of his neck. He wore gray trousers, a white blouse, and a gray vest all of which highlighted his charcoal gray eyes which stared warily back at Evan.

 

“Right.” Evan resumed his packing. “Where is Barty?”

 

“Fetching the horses.” Pandora said simply.

 

“What horses?” Evan stopped once again to watch his sister’s lips split into a mischievous smirk.

 

“Alexander’s and Wulfric’s.” She said with a wild glint in her eyes.

 

Evan smiled and shook his head as he grabbed another bag to fill with Barty’s items. A loud bang echoed from the other side of the door throughout the room and everyone paused.

 

“Police! Open up!”

 

Pandora rushed to the window, bag in hand and tossed it out. She turned to Regulus who threw his bag to her and it followed down into Barty’s waiting hands. Pandora crawled out the window and shimmied down, and almost twisted her ankles in her heeled boots but quickly recovered.

 

Regulus followed suit, as he ungracefully tumbled out and landed on the ground with a sharp thud. Evan ran to the window, two bags in hand and tossed them down to Regulus and Barty who quickly tied them to two black horses. Barty climbed on top of the saddle and held his hand out to Pandora, gracefully lifting her and placing her behind him. Regulus mounted the other horse and looked up to see Evan climbing out of the window.

 

Evan looked toward the door to see it open and was met with two raging, familiar faces. He smirked and presented them with two fingers before pushing off and landing unsteadily on the ground. He quickly mounted the black horse behind Regulus and the four of them rode off through the town like the flames of hell were on their tails.

 

****

 

Barty and Regulus went to gather twigs and dry leaves to start a fire in the small wooded area they had escaped to, leaving Pandora and Evan to inventory their possessions. As he picked up another stick and added it to the ever growing pile in his arms, Regulus began to feel as though he had become a burden. Alexander and Wulfric would not have come after them if it weren’t for his selfish desire to be himself. Barty, Pandora, and Evan would never have been in danger and on the run as they were if it were not for him. He had come to the realization that they would be better off without him and began to subtly plan his escape giving Barty, Evan, and Pandora a fighting chance at freedom.

 

“Why do you look like you have the morbs?”

 

“I don’t.” Regulus denied but a deftly arched brow had him caving quickly.

 

“I just think if it weren’t for me—“

 

“Nope.” Barty interrupted quickly as he walked toward Regulus, placing his heavy bundle of sticks on top of Regulus’ pile. Barty reached out with both free hands to grab Regulus’ face harshly.

 

“You’re not doing this.” Barty said firmly.

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Blaming yourself. Sinking into that black hole you keep tucked in your mind. Thinking that you’re a burden,” Barty declared as he rubbed his thumb across his cheek. “You are precious to us and we would follow you anywhere. But we’re all also here together for our own reasons.”

 

Barty’s hand moved south to place a gentle grip around his throat. “I love you, Regulus, but I swear to god, if you bail on us,” the grip around Regulus’ throat tightened just shy of painfully, “Alexander and Wulfric will be the least of your problems because I will hunt you down and cage you like a bird.”

 

Regulus’ brow raised playfully, “Will you now?”

 

Barty’s smile turned feral and the grip tightened harder as he leaned in to kiss the cheek previously grazed, “You know that I will.” As Barty let go of the slender throat he rubbed the sides soothingly.

 

“You’re mine, starlight. Always and forever. And I tend to keep that which is mine close to my heart.”

 

“Mmm. And Evan? Is he yours as well?” Regulus smirked.

 

Barty sighed and lowered his head as he ran his hand through his hair, “Depends on if he wants to be.”

 

“What about what I want? Don’t I get a say?” Regulus pouted petulantly.

 

Barty gazed up to meet Regulus’ eyes and smirked. “No.”

 

The pair travel back to see Evan and Pandora surrounded by everyone’s belongings. Neatly folded clothes in four piles combined with mementos from the four of them are placed in a row. On top of Pandora’s pile are an array of rocks that have been collected in their travels as well as a sewing kit. Regulus’ pile contained pictures taken of Sirius and him as well as a stack of letters that were written to him while his brother was at West Point. On Evan’s pile were three books and on Barty’s pile was a dried rose and several black feathers tied by a red ribbon.

 

Evan and Pandora looked warily at the approaching pair and Regulus’ heart dropped.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Evan looked at Pandora for her to break the news.

 

“Well, we were able to grab most of our belongings, but we left behind our stash of money.” 

 

Regulus and Barty had spent years saving everything they could get their hands on, knowing that one day they would need to escape the gilded cage they had been born into. They had managed to conjure up enough to live a modest life for a while before they would need to find a steady source of income. Now all they had left was what lined their pockets.

 

“ Fuck .” Regulus whispered as he tugged at his freshly cut hair. He felt his heart race as the thoughts began to invade his brain causing that dark hole to swell. What were they going to do? He couldn’t bear the thought of returning home to that loveless, vapid, shell of a building with his mother ready at the door with a switch. They had a plan and it was falling apart at the seams.

 

“Empty your pockets,” he heard Barty say and they all followed the order.

 

Evan had 6 silver pieces and one gold, Barty had a handful of greenbacks and three silver pieces, Regulus had 3 silver coins, and Pandora had four beautiful white stones.

 

“If we ration, we can live off of this till winter. Maybe.” Evan said somberly, still unsure of the plan Regulus and Barty were privy to which was now a moot point considering they had lost practically everything.

 

“So, what are we to do?” Evan asked simply as he hoped to be let in on the new plans since the old ones were dashed.

 

“We can’t stay here.” Barty rationalized. “I mean, we can stay the night but we need to move on at first light. They’re likely to be looking for us.”

 

The light of freedom in Regulus’ mind began to wither and die as the imposing void began to snuff it out.

 

“We could find somewhere to live, make a living—“ Evan began.

 

“How exactly are we meant to settle down when we have people on our tails?” Regulus bit out.

 

The group was silent and Barty moved toward the sticks laying haphazardly on the ground from where Regulus had dropped them. He collected them and put them in a pile. As he examined two rocks looking for the perfect pair to create a spark, Barty got an idea. An awful  idea. A wonderful, awful idea. Barty’s face split into a wicked grin as he began to strike the two jagged stones together close to the pile of sticks and leaves.

 

“You know,” Barty began as he blew into the kindling forcing it to breathe in the oxygen and flourish into a proper flame and watched with satisfaction as it ate away at the leaves, “we’re already on the run. Why not continue to remain so?”

 

Evan gave Barty a wary look. He had seen the mischief in his eyes one too many times to know there was no good to allow him to finish his thoughts.

 

“No.” Evan said firmly.

 

Barty’s smirk vanished and was replaced with a pout.

 

“You don’t even know what I was thinking.”

 

“I know enough.”

 

“Let’s hear him out, Evan” Pandora said from her perch on the warm flat rock.

 

Evan sighed and gestured for Barty to continue.

 

“Thank you, Pandora. ” Barty winked and Evan sighed once more. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted.”

 

Evan scoffed as Barty glared at him in mock annoyance. “We’re already on the run. Why not make it worth it?”

 

“Worth it how?” Regulus asked skeptically as he crossed his arms.

 

“We take back what is owed to us.”

 

“You want to go after Alexander and Wulfric?” Regulus’ face and arms dropped in bafflement.

 

“No, darling. Those boys are simply pawns. I want to go after the kings.”

 

Regulus furrowed his brow, annoyed with the riddles.

 

“Speak plainly, Barty, or don’t speak at all.” He huffed.

 

“Our parents sent these two goons out after us to collect us and bring us back. I suggest we hit them where it hurts.”

 

Regulus scoffed, “As if they have hearts to hurt. The only thing they care about is their—“ Regulus stopped mid sentence finally piecing together the riddle Barty had set before him.

 

“No.” Evan said firmly when he saw the wide spread impish smile on his sister who had solved the riddle before Barty presented it. Evan turned to Regulus expecting a voice of reason but was met with wide eyes followed by maniacal laughter.

 

“Bartemius Crouch, Jr.!” Regulus exclaimed loudly as he sauntered over to where Barty was standing with his hands in empty pockets. Once Regulus reached him, he put both hands on either side of Barty’s face and kissed him loudly on the mouth. “You are a fucking genius.”

 

Barty blushed as he quipped, “You say that like this is your first time realizing it. I’m hurt, Reg. I’m really hurt.”

 

Regulus turned to Evan who was sporting a clenched jaw and tight fists at his sides.

 

“No.” Evan repeated.

 

Pandora rose from her perch and began to walk toward Evan with large doe eyes. Regulus and Barty joined her approach. As the vultures he reluctantly called family began to circle him, nipping away at the flesh of his resolve, he held fast and began to list all the reasons this was a very bad idea.

 

“What if someone recognizes us?”

 

“We’ll wear masks!” Pandora chirped.

 

“We don’t even have enough horses.”

 

“We’ll steal more,” Barty provided.

 

“This is a terrible plan.” Evan said as he looked at Regulus and hoped foolishly that Regulus would agree. He decidedly did not.

 

“Can you think of a better one?”

 

Evan held his head down and shook it from side to side. He peered at Barty through his lashes and saw the silent “ please” his thin chapped lips made. Unable to refuse Barty anything these days, which is a turn of events he would rather not dwell on, he nodded once and chuckled at the yells and whoops that the trio made. 

 

Tomorrow morning, they would find themselves planning for their new career in bank robbery.

 

***

 

“Not like that, Barty” Regulus slapped Barty’s hand as he stole the fabric and needle from Barty’s hands. “You’re being clumsy with it. You need to have patience and have more finesse.”

 

Regulus poked the needle through the black fabric and moved his hand to the other side pulling the needle out slowly before poking another hole and drawing out the red thread through the mask with elegance.

 

“How do you do this so well?” Barty asked, annoyed.

 

“Years of practice.” Regulus said with a huff. Embroidery was the only thing about his social education that he actually liked. “It’s art, Barty. Treat it as such.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m not much of an artist.” Barty pouted looking at the mask as if it had personally offended him. Regulus tipped his head close to Barty’s and whispered in his ear. “The roses, they're an homage to Evan, yes?”

 

Barty gave a quick nod glancing over at Evan who was struggling similarly and sported a frustrated face that Barty found endearing.

 

“Was your love for Evan rushed? Hurried?” Barty shook his head.

 

“No.” Barty’s feelings for Evan developed like a kettle left on the stove. It warmed him as it sat over the flame of his desire, burning so slowly that he didn’t notice it was bubbling over and scalding him until he heard the whistle of Sirius’ words echo through his mind.

 

“Then why should your art for him be?” Regulus asked in a low voice as he handed the needle and mask back to Barty.

 

Barty took the needle and poked and pulled, gaining a steady rhythm and more confidence as he continued to gently thrust the needle through the fabric, watching as the red thread bled through the small hole in the black mask. He coaxed out the crimson with new purpose and forced it back through, puncturing small holes along the sides and tugging the needle through repeatedly until at last there, in all its glory was a singular rose on the side of his mask.

 

Taking the time to look up from his work, he glanced over at Regulus’ mask and saw a familiar pattern etched into the cheek of the mask. He let out a small sigh as he looked up to see the same pattern etched into the night sky. The graveyard of fireflies danced around them, lighting the passing night.

 

“Do you miss him?” Barty dared to ask and watched as Regulus stuttered and pricked his finger on the needle. He raised it to his lips and sucked at the blood.

 

“Do you remember when we got pneumonia?” Barty nodded with a confused brow. “Do you remember the feeling? The feeling of a thousand needles puncturing your lungs as you dared to draw a breath. The shivers that left you grasping for anything and everything to cover you and keep you warm. The overwhelming thirst like you were Moses in the desert searching for the promised land and rather than finding milk and honey you were met with sand and decay.”

 

Barty nodded simply.

 

“That’s what it feels like to be without him.” Regulus said as he resumed his needlework. “Breathless. Cold. Desiccating.”

 

Regulus placed a final punch of the needle into the mask finishing his Canis Major constellation. “So, to answer your question Barty, yes. I miss him.”

 

“How is it coming?” Pandora asked the group. The four placed their masks in a line near the fire. Pandora’s was finished. It was a beautiful black mask with white lace, both of which she had used one of her dresses to cut out the fabric. Barty had a singular rose in the left corner just to the left of the eye hole. Regulus had Canis Major sewn on the right cheek of his mask and Evan had just completed sewing the edges of the mask. He looked down at the other masks and noticed the intricate designs.

 

“I didn’t realize we were dressing them up.” Evan said as he scratched the back of his neck. “It took me forever to just do that.”

 

“You just need a little flare.” Barty said as he tapped his lips with his fingers. Suddenly a thought occurred to him and he snapped his fingers and walked briskly to his bag pulling out a bunch of feathers which were tied in a red ribbon. He leaned down to Evan’s mask and fanned them out from the cheeks. He stood up and held his hand out toward the mask as if to say “ Behold!”  

 

“You can just sew them into the mask!” Barty exclaimed excitedly.

 

Evan’s mouth fell open. He closed it and then opened it again doing his best impression of a codfish as he tried to force the words out of his mouth. “Barty, you’ve carried around those feathers for…forever. They’re practically a part of you. I’ve never seen you without these feathers.”

 

Barty put his hands in his pockets and shrugged as he met Evan’s gaze. “Well…now you can keep a part of me with you. ”

 

Evan could feel the blush rising to the surface of his cheeks and willed it to return from whence it came. However, it was no use. He nodded simply and leaned down to gently collect the feathers and his mask and sat down on the log in front of the fire and resumed his sewing, unaware of the electricity radiating off of Barty and into the atmosphere. 

Notes:

I hope you all are enjoying this as much as I am enjoying writing this. I promise there WILL be cowboys. I just have to set up the backstory first, so please bear with me. 🙏

Chapter 6

August 1867

 

The sound of laughter echoed through the hall as Frank made his way toward the cell block. He had requested for an officer to let him know as soon as Orion Black left so he could reconvene with James and the mysterious Sirius Black. As he walked into the room, he saw a love-struck James staring off into space as the prisoner filled the air with his barks of laughter. 

 

“What’s so funny?” Frank asked as he waltzed into the room with an amused smile. 

 

“Marshal’s drooling over his sweetheart.” 

 

“Ahhh, pretty boy,” Frank smiled and shook his head before turning the conversation. “So, how did it go with Mr. Black?” 

 

The jovial atmosphere in the room turned cold and James was quickly snapped out of his daydreams as he recalled the encounter with Sirius’ father. The pair recounted the conversation to Frank who listened with furrowed brows and crossed arms. 

 

“So, what are you going to do?” Frank asked once James finished. 

 

“I’m going to do exactly what I said I would do. I’ll take his offer to ride on his train and if I encounter these marauders, I’ll—“ James paused. 

 

“You’ll what, James?” Frank raised a brow. 

 

“I’ll apprehend them.” 

 

Frank looked at James skeptically, “You’re going to arrest them. After you let them go in Albany? Why the change of heart?” Frank paused and looked over at his friend with terrified eyes, hesitant to make his fears known, “or was it a change of pocket?” 

 

James narrowed his eyes as he snarled, “do you really think so low of me?” 

 

The room was loud with silence as the two men stared at each other. They had crossed the river of lost souls together and journeyed into Hell as they heard the anguished cries of their comrades. They had committed unspeakable acts together in the name of survival. Their time in the war had changed them, and not for the better. But once they returned from the cold, dark reaches of the underworld, James had vowed to himself to become a better man. To never take orders he didn’t whole heartedly agree with again. Frank could still see the echo of his friend draped over the slain soldier, hands covered in blood, cheeks stained with tears, eyes full of regret. 

 

“No. I don’t,” Frank said more to himself than to soothe James. “So, you're going to arrest them? Charge them? Bring them back? And then what?” 

 

Sirius and Frank watched as the muscles of James’ face began to defy gravity. It lifted in such a mischievous way it shot a pang of homesickness in Sirius’ heart, as the devious smile of his blood brother flashed before his eyes. 

 

“Who said anything about charging them?” James smirked. “Who said anything about bringing them back?” 

 

James began to pick off the invisible lint of his suit as he clarified, “I only told Orion I would arrest them. I never said what I would do with them once they were in my possession.” 

 

“So, what will you do with them when you have them in your custody?” Frank tilted his head and James turned to face Sirius head on. 

 

“What I do with all my prisoners; I’ll ask them to tell me their story.” James winked and Sirius grinned. 

 

“And what happens when the story they tell isn’t up to your standards?” Frank whispers, frightened at the man’s audacious nature, certain it will be the end of him one way or another. 

 

“Doubtful, but I’ll cross that bridge if I come to it.” 

 

Frank hums in acceptance and gestures to Sirius with a nod of his head, “and what about this bridge?” 

 

James smiled and nodded, “I’m taking this one for a walk.” 

 

A soft sigh escaped Frank's lips as he looked down, “Are you going to book him?” 

 

“Not today,” James said with a gleam in his eye. “Today we’re going to right some wrongs and have a nice home cooked meal with my parents.” 

 

Frank whipped his head up with such a quickness, a soft crack could be heard causing the pair to cringe, “you’re going to let him into your home?” 

 

The newly appointed marshal crossed his arms and set his face with a frown, “why not?” 

 

“The man is a thief!” Frank cried out and cringed at his own volume. 

 

The river of guilt that threatened to spill from behind James’ eyes as he whispered with a cracked voice, “I’ve done far worse for far less.” 

 

The ground began to quake, the walls vibrated violently, and Frank’s vision began to black out. It had been a long time since he had an episode of a soldier's heart but as he began to hear the screams of an officer, he saddled himself up for a ruthless sally. 

 

Sound seemed to cease in the woods. There was no cheerful song from the birds in the trees, no chirping from the crickets in the grass, even the breaths of the four soldiers and their captive seemed to be held tight within their lungs, waiting for the lieutenant to break the silence.

 

“Sir?” Frank watched as James questioned the officer with wide eyes and a nervous smile.

 

“You heard me, Potter,” the officer said calmly, a vicious sneer aimed at the solider in the gray uniform. “Shoot him.” 

 

James looked back at the man whose face had turned pale and sickly, sweat trickling down his face, eyes wide with fright. 

 

“…But he surrendered, Lieutenant…” James countered, unwilling to perform the duty set out before him. 

 

“I never heard such a thing,” the lieutenant mocked with a malicious grin. 

 

“I surrender! I surrender!!” the confederate soldier began to scream as he fought to free his arms from the tight grip of the soldiers on either side of him. “Please! I don’t even want to be here! I was drafted! I just want to go home! Please, just let me go home!” 

 

Frank looked back at the lieutenant and watched as he smiled at the distress of the young man before he turned to James. 

 

“See? He’s a fucking coward. A man without conviction is no man at all. The least he could do is have the balls to die an honorable death. But he doesn’t even have that does he?” 

 

The lieutenant spit onto the ground by the young soldier's feet. Frank could see the snot, tears and dirt streaming down the young soldier's face as he begged for his life. The lieutenant grabbed his pistol from its holster and shoved it in James’ hand. 

 

“Do you have conviction, Potter?” Frank watched on as James looked from the gun before him to the lieutenant and nodded once taking the pistol with shaky hands. “Good. I expect you to do as you’re told. Don’t bother burying the body. Leave him to the birds.” 

 

James nodded once again, and the lieutenant left. Frank stood still. It was as if the roots of the trees had sprung up and worked their way around his ankles and twisted around his legs tying him to the earth. James walked with heavy steps toward the still sobbing soldier. 

 

“What’s your name?” James spoke softly. 

 

“Benji,” the soldier sniffled between sobs, “Benji Fenwick.” 

 

James took a steady breath and the two soldiers looked baffled as he continued his interrogation, likely wondering where this was going. 

 

“Benji, tell me about home,” James asked softly. 

 

“I live—I live on a farm. It’s a small farm right—right outside of Augusta.” 

 

“What do you grow?” 

 

“Vegetables mostly—tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, peas, lettuce. It depends on the season and the year. My younger brother, Phinny and me, we tend to our own land with our father. It’s not a lot of land. Only 10 acres or so, but we manage alright. Except—“ Benji sniffled, “my dad got drafted at the start. And then I got drafted. Phinny is too young. He’s only 16–“ the sobs became uncontrollable, and James went to reach out a hand to Benji’s shoulder. 

 

“Tell me about the land. What does home look like? We’ll all close our eyes and picture it together, yeah?” 

 

Benji blinks and looks at James’ soft, sad smile and nods as he closes his eyes with a tear running down his face. Frank watches as James tells the two men to close their eyes as well and he turns to face him. 

 

“Close your eyes, Frank,” James whispers. 

 

Frank hesitated before he finally obeyed. Frank listened as Benji painted a picture with his words so clearly, he could practically see the small southern farm. 

 

“Right now, the leaves are changing colors. The cool October air is rolling down the mountains. The trees have already turned, their leaves are golden, crimson, purple, bright fuckin’ orange. The ground is littered with dead leaves that my brother and I rake up and jump in when we’re bored. It’s always a bitch though because we wind up covered in ticks by the end, but we don’t care. The rain is harsh, and the winds are wild. The leaves blow in the wind and dance around in circles and waves. In the winter, the mountains are covered with snow, and you can see them from my farm but the most we get is frost or maybe a couple of flakes. Nothing that sticks. In the spring, the mornings and evenings are cool. My brother and I will go after we’ve had dinner and sit outside for hours laying on the cold wet grass, gazing at the stars. In the summer—“ 

 

A shot rang out, interrupting Benji and Frank's eyes opened wide. He watched as the two soldiers struggled to hold the man up, their faces horrified as they realized Benji was dead. 

 

The two men dropped the corpse of Benji Fenwick on the ground harshly and looked at James with wide eyes as he held on tightly to the pistol in the palm of his hand. Slowly, they backed up and away from James whose face was as blank and pale as the corpse on the ground. Only when Frank heard the retreating steps of the other soldiers did he tear his face away from the man awkwardly draped onto the earth, blanketed by fallen leaves. The roots that once held Frank firmly to the ground shriveled up and he found himself walking toward James with unsteady legs. James’ eyes bored into cold blue eyes that stared back at him from below as if he were willing the corpse to blink, to move. His pleas were lost on Benji as he remained motionless. A gentle touch of Frank’s hand on his shoulder shocked him out of his daze. James hastily discarded the pistol and knelt to the ground. He pulled the fallen soldier in his arms and hugged him fiercely from behind, rocking his body back and forth as he let out a gut-wrenching cry of agony and regret. 

 

He watched as tears streamed down James' face and Benji's blood soaked through the creases of his fingers, staining them. 

 

“He just wanted to go home, Frank. I–” James began. “I just wanted to let him go home. Why couldn’t we let him go home?” 

 

Frank shook his head and watched as his friend cried out for an unresponsive God. Time seemed to crawl as he endured the sobs which turned silent as James held his head back and wept toward the heavens. 

 

When James had shed his last tear, he gingerly searched through the pockets of the young man and found two letters and a bloodstained picture. The picture was of two young boys, one was obviously Benji but the other boy’s face was unrecognizable as blood had seeped into the corner, blocking his features. James placed the letters and the picture in his pocket and he laid Benji softly on the ground. The pistol, which had been carelessly thrown to the ground, caught James’ eye and he scrambled for it. 

 

He got on all fours, like a dog and began pawing at the earth, using the grip of the pistol as a shovel. 

 

“What are you doing, James?” Frank asked dumbly, unsure of how to handle lunatic behavior. 

 

“I’m digging a grave,” James said as he wiped his brow with a bloodied hand. 

 

Frank looked at the body and then back at James before walking away. When he returned, he found James in the same state, knees and one palm dug into the earth as he clawed at the ground with the iron piece. He held out a shovel before James who blinked dumbly as if the object was foreign. A soft, bloodied hand grabbed the wood and he hoisted himself off the ground, not bothering to remove the dirt from his knees. The two worked in silent diligence as they continued to dig a grave. When it was finally finished. James and Frank lifted themselves from the depths of the hole they had dug themselves into and walked over to the body still staring into space with his unguarded eyes. 

 

James reached over with his hand, soaked in blood, sweat, dirt, and tears, and closed the eyes of his victim. 

 

“Frank?” He could hear James calling for him, “Frank?” 

 

“Frank?” Suddenly, Frank found himself with James much closer than he had been a moment ago. He was no longer sporting a navy-blue uniform but rather a sharp gray suit. His hands were no longer stained, on the outside at least, but clean and free from the crimson reminder. 

 

“It’s been a while since you had a moment like that,” James commented with a worried brow. Frank coughed and tried to gather his surroundings, no longer in the woods, but in the cellblock, back in New York. He tried to steady his breathing and James knew better than to touch him when he was coming out of one of his episodes. 

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Sirius asked from behind the bars. 

 

“Case of a soldier's heart,” James replied quietly. Frank would often slip into flashbacks of his time in the war, sometimes he would simply forget where he was or what he was doing, other times, times like this, he would be submerged into a scene. Helpless to do anything but relive the worst moments of his life. 

 

Once his heart rate and breathing turned to normal, he wiped away the tears from his eyes and glanced back at Sirius, “Yeah, we’ve both done worse for less.” 

 

Frank walked away from the pair and turned toward James before he exited, “I’ll see you both tonight.” 

 

When Frank left, Sirius took a long look at the marshal before him. He looked tired and weary, all the light heartedness vanished from his body and left him a cold, empty shell of a man. 

 

“What was that about?” Sirius asked softly. 

 

James wiped his face with his hand and as it reached his jaw, he began to massage it before he allowed it to fall to his side and into his pocket. 

 

“If I had to guess, autumn of ‘62.” 

 

“What happened in autumn of ‘62?” 

 

James sighed to the ground before he searched Sirius' face with his own empty eyes. “Nothing good.” 

 

James gathered the keys and unlocked the cell holding his prisoner. Sirius took a hesitant step outside. 

 

“So, you’re going to have me meet your folks? Bit sudden, isn’t it?” Sirius teased, eager to bring forth a smile and was rewarded as a smirk lit up James’ face. Not quite as brightly as before, but it was a start. 

 

“I am. But first, you’re going to take me to the merchant you stole from, and we’re going to have a chat.” 

 

The smile on Sirius’ face dropped along with his head and he gave a sullen nod. 

 

James escorted Sirius out of the building and down the street to the bakery he visited daily. At the counter was a short, stout man with gray curls framing his face and kind brown eyes that warmed all the more when James walked in. 

 

“Twice in one day, eh?” the man smirked and shook his head. “Deputy Potter, what can I do for you?” 

 

“Actually, Mr. Diggory, it’s about what we can do for you.” 

 

Sirius stepped from behind James and the man’s smile vanished, “What is he doing here?” 

 

“He’s come to apologize.” 

 

“Has he now? Well, apologies won’t make up for the bread he stole,” Mr. Diggory crossed his arms and lifted an unimpressed brow. 

 

“I’d wager not. That’s what this is for,” James pulled a few coins out and laid them on the counter. 

 

“I don’t want your money, Deputy. I want his. His money or his punishment, doesn’t matter to me. Just as long as justice is served,” the man spoke fiercely, and James had to hold back a shudder at the idea of punishing Sirius. 

 

“Ah, well, you’ll have to take my money for now, but I guarantee he’ll be working for it,” James bargained. 

 

Sirius took his cue and, with practiced ease, slipped into a role he had abandoned. He straightened his back, rolled back his shoulders, and looked Mr. Diggory in the eye as he apologized, “Sir, I wanted to apologize to you for having stolen a loaf of your bread.” 

 

The man grunted in response. 

 

“Are we all settled then?” Hardly satisfied, the baker grunted again and the two left the shop and headed down the street toward the Potter residence. 

 

“Mom,” James said, “we’re home.” 

 

Effie came into the foyer and graced Sirius with a soft smile. 

 

“Hello dear, how was work?” 

 

“Work was great. I accepted the position,” James smiled, and Effie matched him with a thin pale face. 

 

“That’s wonderful. I’ve already started making some traveling arrangements.” 

 

“Thank you, Mom. But don’t worry about the train fare. It’s already taken care of.” 

 

“Oh?” Effie asked curiously. 

 

James leaned in to kiss his mom on the cheek and whispered in her ear, “I’ll fill you and Dad in later.” 

 

Effie nodded primly with a look that told James he’d better make good on that promise. 

 

James smiled and snapped his fingers, “speaking of arrangements. I’ve invited the Weasley family to join us for dinner tonight.” 

 

“Oh?” Effie beamed. “It will be wonderful to see Molly again. I hope she’s doing well.” 

 

James grimaced and Effie frowned before fixing her features and waving her hand. “Well, never mind that for now. Who is this?” 

 

“A stray,” James joked and dodged his mother’s playfully scolding hand. 

 

“James Potter, I taught you better than that. Where are your manners?” 

 

“Mom, this is Sirius Black. Sirius, this is my mother, Effie Potter.” 

 

Recognition flickered on her face long enough for Sirius to notice but she made no comment regarding who he was. 

 

“Well, you look like you could use a little…freshening up.” Effie offered, “How about I gather you a bit of a bath. James, why don’t you get him some fresh clothes?” 

 

Sirius observed the modest home as he was escorted by James’ mother to the bedroom with a jack and jill bathroom. It was a fine home, to be sure, filled with love and warmth rather than useless trinkets that were never meant to be touched. Once they reached the bedroom, Effie continued to the bathroom and began to run a cold bath for Sirius. She showed him where the linens were and left him to his own devices.

Once finished with his bath, Sirius pulled himself out and dried off using a towel Effie had provided. He took scissors to his face and began to slowly cut the clumps of hair around his jawline, watching the thick black hair fall onto the towel. He glided the straight razor against his face, making smooth cuts of the bristly hair. 

 

When Sirius walked out, James’ choked on air. For an ungodly amount of time, the pair stared at each other. James soaked in the long locks that fell just past Sirius’ shoulder. His face was smooth, and James could see the resemblance between Orion and Sirius. The aristocratic jawline, sharp enough to cut. The slender frame, not quite as muscular due to his time on the streets, but just as distinguishable. The slate gray eyes which were glossed by amusement as he allowed James to take him in with hungry eyes. When James finally realized the two had gone too long without speaking and he was just fucking staring, he struggled to find a talking point. 

 

“Wow. You umm-you clean up well,” was what he managed to get out and internally cringed. 

 

“Thanks,” Sirius smirked and strode past him to head downstairs. James shook his head and rubbed the palm of his hands into his eyes. 

 

You clean up well? James chastised himself before following Sirius out the door. 

 

As the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, they were met by Frank. 

 

“Ah, who is this?” Frank asked with puzzlement, looking at the familiar man but not quite placing him. 

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me, Marshal, I’m offended.” 

 

Frank’s eyes widened in recognition. 

 

“Fuck,” Frank exclaimed. “I don’t know how I didn’t place you. You look just like your father.” 

 

The foyer seemed smaller as Sirius’ eyes narrowed and a dark smile graced his face. 

 

“Yes, well, must be all the inbreeding,” Sirius’ tone lightened but his face did not. The door was quickly flung open, and three sets of eyes started at the sudden intrusion of two freckle-faced boys with wide smiles. 

 

“We’ve arrived!” 

 

“Freddy! George! That is no way to enter someone’s home when you’ve been invited.” A short, thin, red headed woman came gasping in as she attempted to catch her breath after chasing after her precious little deviants. 

 

Effie walked out of the dining room at the sound of the door being slammed open and smiled widely at the sight of her dear friend. 

 

“How are you, Molly dear?” Effie asked as she brought the younger woman in a tight embrace. 

 

“I’m tired, Effie,” Molly answered honestly, hugging her friend just as tightly as she held herself back from crying. It had been far too long since the pair had seen each other. Since Molly had begun working day and night at the factory, attempting and failing to make ends meet, she hardly had time for luxuries such as friends. 

 

“I can’t imagine,” Effie said sympathetically. “Why don’t you all come in and make yourselves at home? James? Be a dear and look after the children.” 

 

Effie took Molly’s arm and led her into the dining room, rather than the parlor as there was no need to stand on ceremony amongst old friends and set her down at the table while she prepared some tea. 

 

“How are you doing? Financially. Do you need anything?” Effie asked quietly as to not be overheard by the children currently roughhousing with James in the foyer. 

 

Molly was a proud woman and if it had been anyone else who asked, she would have said I’m doing just fine or We’re getting by . But the truth of the matter was they were behind on rent by two months and Molly could barely afford to feed her six children, much less herself. And Effie Potter was the kind of friend to lean on in times of trouble. She would offer anything she could give to a true friend, even if it was just an ear. So, Molly swallowed that pride and told the truth plainly. 

 

“Freddy and George are going to have to start working at the factory next month. We’re barely getting by with Bill and Charlie working. Not to mention the amount of mischief those two get up to, as I’m sure you’ve heard from James.” 

 

Effie sat next to her friend at the table and offered her a hand, choosing her words carefully as James walked past, rubbing at his gut from having been punched playfully by Charlie. 

 

“Monty and I were discussing our plans for moving to Colorado. James got promoted, did he tell you?” 

 

Alarmed by the change in subject and the wonderful news, Molly jerked in astonishment, “he absolutely did not! Why, James, that's marvelous! Congratulations!” 

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” James smiled shyly as he took a seat across from Molly. 

 

Effie squeezed Molly’s hand and looked at James, “I wired the governor, and it seems that the residence out there has been taken care of until we’re able to build our own home. We would really like to not sell this place as it has been in the family for years. We were wondering if you would be willing to look after it for us while we’re gone.” 

 

Molly removed her hand from Effie’s and nervously twisted them in her lap. “Look after it for you? I would love to help you out Effie, really, I would but I’m not sure I could manage the hours I’m working and maintain such a grand home.” 

 

The hand previously abandoned reached back out toward Molly’s and Effie shook her head as she gripped it gently, “No, darling, you misunderstand me. We would like very much if you were to move into the home while we’re gone to make sure that the house doesn’t go stale. This house has always been a source of bright and vibrant energy and I would feel at peace to know that it was being well looked after by equally bright and vibrant souls.” 

 

“I couldn’t afford the rent, Effie,” Molly said with a frown. 

 

“I’m not asking you to pay rent, Molly. We’re asking you to bring life into the house while we’re gone. Plus, it’s closer to work. You wouldn’t have to walk nearly as far. There are plenty of rooms. What do you say?” 

 

“Can I think on it?” Molly asked hesitantly. 

 

“Of course,” Effie squeezed her hand once more before letting it go. 

 

James shifted in his seat as he watched the matriarchs. He had not discussed it with his mother, though he knew she would be amicable, but he wasn’t sure how Molly would take the offer he was about to propose. He took a deep breath and decided to go for it. 

 

“Molly, I have a delicate question to ask you.” 

 

Molly looked up from her teacup, “What is it, James?” James scratched the back of his head nervously and stopped suddenly at the chastising eyes of his mother. 

 

“I wanted to know if I could sponsor Freddy and George.” 

 

Molly tilted her head and sported a confused brow, “What do you mean ‘sponsor’?” 

 

“I’d like to take them to Colorado with me,” James began. “You and I both know that George and Freddy simply love to cause non-malicious mischief. I’m worried that the man who might take my place would not see their harmless acts as…well…harmless.” 

 

Effie rose from the table and James’ eyes followed her as she began to pour a cup of tea and handed it to James. Molly was silent as Effie rejoined her side and James continued as he fiddled with the cup before him. 

 

“I don’t—“ James began again tripping over his words, “I think you’re a wonderful mother. And I believe you do the best and want the best for your children.” 

 

James sighed and lifted the cup to his mouth draining the tea in one go, wishing silently that it was brandy. “Fred and George have a light in them that shines so brightly in a world that is so dark. I’m worried if they stay in this world as they are, that light will flicker and die. I’m worried that one of two outcomes will befall them if they remain in New York. Either they will break under the pressures of society here and they will be ghosts of their true selves or they will continue to be themselves and society will punish them for it.” 

 

Molly began to breathe deeply, and tears escaped her eyes. James pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. The white linen cloth transferred to her hand, and she began to dab underneath her eyes as James continued. 

 

“It is not my wish to take your children from you but to offer them a place to be themselves. To live their best possible lives. And I truly feel that they could do so out west.” 

 

Molly sat dumbfounded. She knew in her heart that what James was offering was the best for her boys. She didn’t have the means to look after them as things stood. Ever since Arthur died in the war, Molly became the sole provider of a household with seven children. Molly combatted her depression from the loss of Arthur by working as often as she could, not only to provide for her family but to forget the loss. Forget the pain. However, misery found her once again when her family suffered from an outbreak of smallpox. Bill, Charlie, Fred and George all recovered quickly. Ginny and Ron were given to the neighbors at the first sign of infection. Percy suffered the worst. His body was covered with sores, he vomited anything he tried to consume, the fever boiled his skin and seared his brain. Molly was certain after Arthur’s death there would be no greater pain. She found out just how wrong she was in the summer of ‘63 as she stood above the freshly covered grave of her son.

 

Every day was a challenge made harder due to the fact that she hardly saw any of her children anymore due to her long days at the factory. Bill and Charlie worked in a different section, Fred and George were always mucking about, and Ron and Ginny stayed with a neighbor while she was at work. By the time she got home at night, she had just enough time to prepare dinner and send them all off to bed. The only day she had the luxury of seeing her children was Sunday, and after church, they all spent the day cleaning the house. A dark demon inside her wanted to thrash James for suggesting such a thing. They were her children. Hers . How dare he try to take them away? Wasn’t it cruel enough that God had already taken one child from her. Now James wanted to take two ?

 

However, as she looked into James’ eyes, she knew he was aware of what he was asking of her. What he was asking for her to give up. Molly saw the uneasiness of his smile and the way his hands played nervously with the linen on the table. Fred and George burst into the room and eyes went instantly to James. She felt that demon clawing at her back whispering dark nothings in her ears. Mine, it said . But they weren’t hers. Fred and George were eight, soon they would be on the cusp of manhood, and with Arthur gone, they needed someone to look up to. To show them how to be a good man. And while James got up and continued wrestling with the twins, she saw the love in his hands, in his arms, in his eyes. 

 

Molly cleared her throat loudly, startling the two boys and James, “Fred? George?” 

 

Both boys straightened their shirts and raised identical brows to their mother. She fought a shaky voice and the tears behind her eyes as she plastered on a smile. 

 

“How would you like to go to Colorado with the Potters?”

Notes:

That awkward moment when you forgot a Weasley child, so you had to kill him off. Sorry RegulusBlackKinniebecauseItoofearwater. Not sorry, Naodrith (you know what you did).

Thanks again to heated_mausoleum and luckytiger96 for being so amazing and taking the time to beta read for me. This story wouldn't be half as good if it weren't for you.

Chapter 7

Notes:

Very special thanks to heated_mausoleum and luckytiger96 for everything that you have done to make this story better than it was when I gave it to you.

August 1862

 

Alphard watched as Orion clenched his fists around the parchment in his hands. He smiled into his drink from his seat in the chair of the drawing room. Only one of two people could cause the usually stoic man to show any type of emotion, though it was usually anger.

 

“Bad news?” Alphard mused as he set his glass down on the side table and sifted through his breast pocket for his cigarette case.

 

Orion was still standing near the fireplace with one hand on the wall and he leaned into the warmth. Alphard took the moment to relish in Orion’s frustration. The robber baron was always so perfect in appearance and decorum, even around his wife, Alphard’s sister. But with Alphard, Orion let his guard down and the younger man took advantage of his fallen mask. He captured the moment in his mind. Alphard admired the man he reluctantly loved as a suitcase haunted his bedroom, waiting for the dark of night where they could both slip away unnoticed. He had no choice in the matter. Between Orion’s charm and grace, the younger man was a fool for Orion when he met the man at the young age of fourteen. 

 

Orion straightened himself and stalked over to his brother-in-law with the soft steps of a hunter, careful not to startle his prey. He grasped the matchbook in his pocket, he moved to stand between Alphard’s open legs and lit a match, holding it just in front of his midsection, forcing Alphard to lean forward to light the cigarette in his mouth. As he looked up to Orion’s face from his seated position, he blew the first puff of smoke out toward those smokey eyes that held his destruction.

 

“What did my nephew do now?” Alphard asked as Orion pocketed his matchbook with one hand and stroked Alphard’s neck with the back of his knuckles with his free hand.

 

“Your niece actually,” Orion breathed out, entranced by the stubbled trail his hands walked. Alphard didn’t bother to correct him. Walburga had known for nearly a decade of Regulus’ identity but the pair of them agreed on one thing alone, though they had vastly different reasons; Orion was never to know. Walburga was ashamed of Regulus and felt the sin was a reflection of her own poor parental guidance. Whereas Alphard simply feared for Regulus and what would happen if Orion ever discovered his truth.

 

“It seems, according to Wulfric, she has cut her long, beautiful curls and is masquerading around New York as a man while cavorting with the Rosier twins and that Crouch boy.” Alphard hummed as he leaned back and took a drag from his cigarette and Orion dipped down to his knees. He began to run the palms of his hands on the top of his brother-in-law’s thighs and Alphard fixed him with a dark stare. Watching the most powerful man in New York on his knees never failed to earn a reaction from his traitorous body. He continued to smoke his cigarette as Orion’s hands drifted up toward his belt, taking the firm leather out of its metal cage and unbuttoning the suit pants and, with a wordless gesture and sharp, predatory eyes, demanded Alphard lift his hips. Helpless to do anything but obey, Alphard lifted his hips and let Orion slide his trousers down past his knees.

 

With tender and deft hands, Orion untied Alphard’s shoes, slipped off his socks and pulled the trousers completely off leaving the seated man bare from the waist down. Orion took his time as he moved his hands up Alphard’s toned legs.

 

“She’s starting to become more trouble than her disgrace of a brother,” Orion murmured as he watched the skin, he was grazing rise, seeking out the warmth of his hand in the cool night air.

 

Alphard sighed, “Why do you hate them so?”

 

Orion paused his ministrations and looked up at Alphard with a curious expression as he moved to sit back on his haunches, keeping his hands firmly on his lover’s knees. 

 

“What gives you the impression that I hate them?” Orion asks in earnest.

 

Alphard scoffs and rolls his eyes. Unmoved from his position, Orion quirks a brow, waiting earnestly for his brother-in-law to answer the question.

 

“Ri, you can’t fucking stand them. You talk to and about Sirius like he’s the bane of your fucking existence. The way you treat–” Alphard stopped himself from revealing Regulus’ identity and began again. “You treated your older child as if he were meant to be some twisted version of yourself and when that obviously didn’t work out, you didn’t even go looking for Sirius when he ran away. You treat your younger child like they’re a fucking possession and only want them back so you can put them on your fucking mantle. You don’t give them a chance to be themselves. You just make them drown in duty and obligation, society’s impractical standards, your impossible standards.”

 

Orion sat patiently waiting for Alphard to finish his rant before he rose and took back the high ground. With well placed hands on either arm of the chair, Orion leaned his face close enough to ghost his breath against Alphard’s lips. A small, wicked smirk crossed his face, causing Alphard to lean back further into the chair.

 

“Central Park.” Alphard brow furrowed in confusion. “You honestly think I would not keep tabs on my only son?” Orion almost looked hurt by the accusation as he trailed his eyes over his lover he searched for evidence to the contrary and came up devastatingly short.

 

“I pay people to keep an eye on him. To make sure he’s eating, to make sure he doesn’t get hurt, to make sure he doesn’t freeze to fucking death while he’s out there sowing his wild oats.”

 

Alphard looked at Orion with wide eyes at the revelation, “You think he’s going to come back.”

 

In the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the soft orange glow from the fireplace which cast shadows across Orion’s face, Alphard saw in the light the naive surety that Sirius would return, and he would return like the prodigal son. The roses blinded him from the reality of the world he had created for himself, and Alphard thought of the letter laying on his pillow and the suitcase packed and ready at the edge of his bed.

 

“Ri, he’s not coming back,” Alphard whispered softly.

 

Orion scoffed, “Of course he’s coming back. What is he going to do? Be a vagrant for the rest of his life? No, he will have his freedom and while he may enjoy it for a short while, he will realize the necessary evils of duty and obligation. He will come back and resume his responsibilities.”

 

Alphard fixed him with a frown, “It’s almost been a year, Ri.”

 

“Well, clearly he hasn’t gotten his fill yet, but he will and when he does, I’ll welcome him back with open arms.” Orion wrapped his arms around Alphard’s thighs and lifted him in the air before he turned and sat in the recently vacated chair. Alphard settled against Orion with each of his knees on either side of the older man’s lap. Strong, warm hands began to unbutton the black vest, then the white shirt, both of which were haphazardly discarded to the floor. Alphard leaned in to brush his lips against Orion’s. Alphard coiled himself around the hunter, squeezing out soft moans from the man beneath him as he ground against Orion’s clothed center. The older man pushed the younger back to let him sit on his lap as he reached for his belt and unclasped it. The predator kept his eyes on his prey as he prepared himself, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down past his mid-thigh. Alphard lifted himself slightly to allow the fabric to be pushed further down, past Orion’s knees. He kicked off his shoes and used his feet to push off his trousers leaving him in a simple white button-down shirt. Alphard resumed his rightful place on Orion’s lap and began unwrapping him slowly, cherishing the moment he knew would be gone all too soon. Orion moved to help him, but Alphard smacked his hand away with a soft smile.

 

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” Orion whispered as he moved to push back an unruly curl behind his lover’s ear. Alphard paused his work and inhaled sharply. He avoided the man’s eyes as he continued with shaky hands to unbutton the blouse. With firm hands, Orion grasped the hands before him with one and Alphard’s chin with the other forcing his face up so that he could observe him.

 

“Look at me, darling,” Orion pleaded softly. Reluctantly, Alphard obeyed. “You do know, yes?”

Alphard hid the weakness of his tears, lest his hunter see and take advantage. 

 

“Of course, I do,” he lied. Orion searched those gray smokey eyes, looking for insincerity, but Alphard had learned long ago to keep his truths tightly bound and secured in the cage of his ribs, locked away from prying slate eyes. He could feel that truth rattling against the bones in his chest aching to break free, but no matter how hard it clawed at its prison bars, Alphard could not bring himself to say the words back so he showed him the best he could for as long as he could, one last time.

 

He leaned in and kissed his lover as he choked on all the unsaid words. With unsteady hands, Alphard cupped Orion’s chin and deepened the kiss, rocking his hips against his lover’s. Long fingers wrapped around his neck like a collar and pushed back just far enough to break the kiss. With hazy eyes, he watched Orion slip two fingers past Alphard’s lips. As he lathered them with love, he melted beneath the man whose focus was set on the sinful mouth before him. Once his fingers were lubricated to his satisfaction, Orion stole them from Alphard’s mouth causing the younger man to let out an embarrassing whine. A devilish smile formed as he moved his fingers and began lightly tracing the puckered hole between Alphard’s legs.

 

“Please,” Alphard whispered in a needy voice as he put his forehead against Orion’s and closed his eyes. Orion took one finger and allowed only one knuckle to breach his hole. He allowed it to settle for a moment before taking it back out and circling the hole once more.

 

“What was that?” Orion whispered against Alphard’s lips.

 

“Please,” he repeated even more desperately and gasped as Orion generously let two knuckles on his middle finger pass through his star, letting the man lightly grind on it before pulling it out again and retracing the hole.

 

“Darling, you’re going to have to speak up,” Orion teased.

 

“ Please, ” Alphard groaned and was rewarded as Orion slipped the entirety of his middle finger into his lover. With short gasps and closed eyes, the younger man continued to roll his hips and was rewarded for his display by the addition of Orion’s ring finger. He could feel himself wrap around the cool metal of betrayal and lies and gasped sharply into his brother-in-law’s mouth.

 

Orion went to add a third finger, but Alphard shook his head, “I’m ready. Please, Ri. I’m ready.”

 

Fingers pulled out and the young man whined.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you, mon cheri,” Orion whispered with soft kisses on his lover’s chin.

 

“I want it to,” Alphard said quietly. He wanted to feel Orion inside of him for as long as he could. He wanted every step he took away from the Black residence to burn. To serve as a reminder of when he had gambled and lost on a man incapable of genuine love.

 

“Look at me,” Orion commanded, and Alphard’s eyes snapped open. Rather than the warm open silver pools he usually found when he looked into his lover’s eyes, cold steel froze him in his place. Orion hunted for truths that lay beyond Alphard’s glassy eyes. He seemed to find what he was searching for. He frowned and gave a sharp nod before lining himself up against Alphard’s resistant opening and paused, holding his fist over the head of his cock so the younger man could not sink onto it. He took his other hand still wrapped around Alphard’s throat and squeezed lightly as he breathed into the lips before him.

 

“Tell me you love me,” Orion demanded with a strong voice and piercing eyes which shone with anger in the firelight. Alphard looked over Orion’s shoulder, afraid for the hunter to catch his gaze. The older man lowered his grip on his cock past the head and squeezed tighter around Alphard’s neck as he sank onto the head of Orion’s cock and teased him.

 

“Tell me you love me,” he said again, lowering his hand slightly and allowing more of his cock to fill the man on top of him. Alphard shook his head, still avoiding his lover’s eyes.

 

Orion removed the collar of his fingers and grasped Alphard’s chin forcing his gaze and whispered against his lover’s lips pleadingly, “ Tell me you love me. ”

 

The lonely star looked at the hunter and as Orion removed his hand and filled Alphard, the truth and tears he had been holding back spilled out of him. The cage he had locked them in so securely had been unlatched; the tears and the words fell free and the cold night air was filled with the warmth of praises and promises until the pair found serenity together for the briefest of moments.

 

Alphard did his best not to think in terms of finality as he came on Orion’s chest. Not to cry as Orion came inside him moaning his name for the last time. Not to feel his heart crack with every breath his lover stole from him as they leaned into each other foreheads touching. 

 

Walburga made her appearance known and two sets of gray eyes illuminated in the darkness by the light of the dwindling fire. There was no telling how long she had been there. What all she had seen. But, by the look in her eyes and the stern expression on her face, Alphard hazarded a guess that it was more than they ever intended on allowing.

 

“It’s time for bed, Orion,” she gritted out. Alphard moved to allow Orion to get dressed. The pair moved slowly as they put their trousers back on. Orion looked around for his shirt and found it on the floor. He didn’t bother to button it up, leaving Alphard’s cum glistening in the firelight as he put it on, and moved to give Alphard one last kiss. The younger man leaned and savored those warm lips against his, despite the audience. Orion tucked a stray strand of hair behind Alphard’s ear and passed by Walburga with no acknowledgement, leaving the brother and sister alone in the drawing room.

 

Walburga stood in the doorway eyeing her haphazardly dressed brother with disdain and envy.

 

“How is it fair that you should get everything you want while I’m left to wallow in the misery of this existence?” Walburga whispered angrily, “I gave up everything.”

 

“No one that mattered ever asked you to.” Alphard sighed as he slumped himself back into his chair, “And I don’t have everything ”. 

 

Gray eyes narrowed and Walburga moved her hands to her side and clenched them into fists. “You have more than I have.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” Alphard snarled and his sister recoiled. “You could have had something, maybe not everything, but something. You could have had love and affection. You had a chance to get it right. You had the opportunity in your hand to be the person for your children that our parents never  were, and you fucking squandered it. And why? Because you want everyone to be as miserable as you.”

 

“Those children are abominations in their own rights,” Walburga said with a sneer.

 

“They are your children!” Alphard yelled.

 

“And if you knew what I knew, you would be just as disgusted by their sins as I.” Walburga said with disgusted eyes and a smile that turned malicious and promised ominous truths. Alphard drew his brows together.

 

“What did you do?” Alphard asked in a deceptively calm voice.

 

“Nothing.” Walburga said innocently as she began to walk around the room grazing long pale fingers along the back of the sofa.

 

“Bullshit,” Alphard accused.

 

She fixed him with a hard stare that would have made any other man quiver in fear, but after a lifetime of dealing with his sister’s harsh stares, he was unmoved. He returned her stoney gaze and waited for her to break.

 

With a sigh, Walburga relented, “The pair of them were involved. ”

 

“Yes, and?” Alphard glossed, “What did you do?”

 

Walburga drew her brows in confusion, “I don’t think you understand, Alphard. They were together . As a husband and wife are together.”

 

“Christ, Wally, they were fucking. Just call it like it is. What. Did. You. Do?”

 

He can feel the daggers of his sister’s eyes piercing his skin and the growl from across the room echoes in his ears. “You knew, ” she accused.

 

“Of course, I knew. I knew because I paid attention .” Alphard got up from his chair and crossed the room with slow determined steps. For every step he took forward, she took one back until she was practically in the fireplace, the flames dancing around the hem of her skirts threatening to singe the fabric should she get any closer. “Now, for the last time , what did you do ?”

 

“The morning Sirius ran away, he left a letter for his sister,” Walburga began, “I read it. It was vile . Filled to the brim with promises of love and Sirius pleading for his sister to join him. Well, that couldn’t happen. Not to her. I won’t have him filling her head with such nonsense and blasphemy. So, I burnt it.”

 

Alphard almost tripped as he stepped away, with eyes that held no recognition of the woman before him. “You what?” he whispered.

 

“I burnt it, Al. He was asking her to run away with him, to–to– be with him. I couldn’t allow it,” Walburga stuttered ungraciously.

 

His shaky hand ran through his dark curls as he stared into space, unable to look his sister in the eye, “You’ve no idea what you’ve done, Wally. Regulus thinks Sirius left him behind.”

 

Walburga stepped away from the fire with annoyance crossing her face, “Better that than to be filled with a foolish notion that they could actually run away together and live in some fantasy world where they can be whoever or whatever they want to be. Life is not a novel, Alphard. The sooner she realizes that the better.”

 

A cruel smile twisted Alphard’s face, “Except they have run away. Maybe not together. But they are out there being exactly who they were always meant to be.”

 

“Vagrants?” Walburga scoffed.

 

“Better than being chained to a life of misery and regret.” Alphard gave her a pointed look and her eyes darkened.

 

“Fuck you, Alphard.” She hissed.

 

“Actually, your husband already took care of that,” a malicious and unapologetic smile stretched across his face.

 

“Just in case you were under any delusion about your relationship with my husband, you’re nothing more than a hole to him. He may whisper praises and sweet promises of love to you, but its's all just lust covered lies. Orion Black is incapable of love.” Walburga sneered.

 

The wild grin sank along with Alphard’s eyes, and he whispered, “Yeah. I know.”

 

Shock covered her face as she watched with wide eyes the genuine ache that twisted Alphard’s features. Walburga took a hesitant step forward, reaching out her hand in an attempt to comfort her sibling as he had done so many years ago for her, but pulled it back before it could reach her brother’s arm. She took the retracted hand and placed it in her own and fixed her face to one of indifference.

 

“Doesn’t matter now, though,” Alphard said with a small tug of his lips as he looked up to his apathetic sister, “you’ll be rid of me yet.”

 

“You what?” Walburga whispered with wide eyes.

 

A sigh escaped his lips as he tilted his head back. As he looked back at his sister, he said, “I’m leaving, Wally. I have nothing and no one keeping me here any longer.”

 

The blood drained from Walburga’s face as she processed the damning statement and she said in a small voice that neither of them recognized, “You’re leaving?”

 

“Don’t act like you’ll miss me, Wally,” Alphard smirked as he put his hands in his pockets, his shirt still left open revealing the several marks her husband had left on the man. He turned to leave the room and paused at the threshold. A hand reached up to tap the wall and he looked back at his sister with a teasing scowl, “Be a dear; don’t burn my letter.”

****** 

The nearly empty bar was dimly lit with gas lanterns and a fireplace roaring in the corner. Alphard moved with slumped, tired shoulders, setting his suitcase next to the barstool. He hoisted himself up to sit, wincing as he felt the phantom presence of his lost lover. Next to him sat a man with thick black hair, smoothed down with pomade. The only evidence of his age were the salty strands sprinkled along his temples. His face was clean shaven despite the current fashion. He had dark eyes that hardly showed in the low lighting and a charming smile that Alphard was sure to fall for. As he held two fingers up to the barkeep, he turned his body to face the displaced Black scion.

 

“Business trip?” the man asked as he observed the clean, pressed suit on Alphard and the lonely suitcase next to him.

 

“Not exactly.” Alphard smirked as he took the glass that had been placed in front of him and lifted it, “Cheers.”

 

In the corner of his eye, Alphard could see the man watching the movement of his throat as he gulped down the amber liquid. He placed the glass down on the bar and gestured to the man behind the bar for a refill.

 

“Long day?”

 

“Long life,” Alphard admitted. The man next to him hummed noncommittally.

 

“So where are you headed?” The man asked with a perfectly arched brow.

 

“I didn’t get that far.” Alphard admitted.

 

“Hmmm. I’m headed to Colorado,” the man volunteered.

 

“What’s in Colorado?”

 

“Chaos from what I hear. Nothing but outlaws, cowboys and vagrants.”

 

“Sounds like a good time.”

 

“Mmmm. Perhaps.” The man mused as he ran a singular finger along the rim of his glass, “I hear it’s a good place to escape your troubles, that is if you’re running from something. Are you?”

 

“Am I what?”

 

“Running from something?” The silence between the two was electric. Small hairs on the back of Alphard’s neck and arms as the stranger’s lips curled into a predatory smile as he leaned in close and whispered teasingly, “Or is it someone. ”

 

Alphard looked down at the empty glass before him, shifted in his chair and rolled his shoulders back as if to adjust the invisible burden placed upon them. 

 

“Ahh. I see,” he said as he lifted a glass to his lips and his dark brown eyes sparkled in the firelight as he suggested, “Well, if you’re keen, you could join me.”

 

There was a thick silence in the air as the man looked over his glass at the blush on Alphard’s face and his lips spread wide as he set his glass down. Alphard felt brazen and reckless as he asked, “in Colorado? Or your bed?”

 

“You’re a bold one, aren’t you?” the man chuckled and leaned in toward him and coiled his fingers around the younger man’s wrist, “why not both?”

 

While Orion’s touch was hot fiery magma flowing just beneath the surface of Alphard’s skin magnetized by his touch, the stranger’s touch was cold icy waters freezing in his veins. But regardless of the differences, the response was the same as he felt his cock twitch while the man’s fingers uncoiled from around his wrist and slithered up toward his shoulder. Cold fingers found warmth at the base of Alphard’s neck and the man’s thumb drew small circles at the hollow of his neck.

 

“I don’t even know your name,” Alphard breathed out softly, the cool sensation of the man’s touch alleviated the scorch marks left on him by his previous lover.

 

“Quite right,” the stranger whispered, “I seem to have forgotten, Mister?

 

“Black. Alphard Black.” Recognition flashed in his eyes and the man’s smile stretched wide as he introduced himself.

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black. My name is Tom Riddle.”

Notes:

Next up: Baby's First Bank Heist!

Chapter 8

Notes:

Not dead. Let's have dinner.

December 1862

 

The winter was approaching fast, and the marauders' funds were dwindling. They had spent some of their money on supplies to camp rather than pay nightly for a warm place to stay. Barty and Evan taught what they had learned at West Point, showing Pandora and Regulus how to master basic outdoor survival techniques such as picking which wood was most optimal for a campfire, starting a campfire, and safely putting out a campfire. Evan was by far the most adept at hunting, as Barty couldn’t stomach the idea of killing an animal—even for his own survival. But Barty was a master at gathering. He shared his knowledge with the pair of what berries and mushrooms were best for harvesting and which ones were poisonous—going into elaborate detail about what would happen to a person if they ate the toxic products of the earth with a gruesomeness that made Pandora’s stomach turn.

Pandora and Regulus worked with Barty and Evan to learn how to sew, not only to pass the time, but the knowledge would come in handy in the event that any of them were wounded. The constant worry of Mulciber and Avery’s tracking riddled Regulus’ mind, but Barty did his best to distract the younger Black with stories of West Point and news of the war (which he had gathered from discarded papers he acquired from town). The crew was smart about their chores. Alternating every week to ensure that each member of the group became familiar with each task rather than having one person be proficient in a singular task. This, of course, was Pandora’s idea as she explained, “What if one of us is unable to complete our normal duties due to injury, sickness, or death?” 

The morbidity of death was not something they wanted to linger on, but all parties knew it was a possibility in the wilderness. They were playing a wild and dangerous game—not only with their adventures in the woods but their determination to succeed in the bank heist they had been planning for months.

Much like the tasks with their forest-dwelling, each gang member had a job planning for the upcoming heist. These roles were fixed, but they often discussed around their nightly campfire what they had learned, ideas they had formulated, what everyone’s responsibilities were during the heist, and how to accommodate for possible injuries or scenarios. Barty and Evan were charged with going to town. Gathering information about the bank itself, such as exits, schedules, and the overall architecture of the building, was Evan’s job. He was the least conspicuous of the four and had a knack for understanding operations and patterns. He kept all his notes in a little notebook that he took with him, filling it with scribbled schedules and drawings of the bank they intended to liberate.

Barty was in charge of the social aspect. He was the easiest to get along with of the four and learned a few tricks from his father about extracting information without letting an individual on to his scheme. He would often go to saloons at just the correct hour to pay for one drink, and with his charm and silver tongue, he would manage to get the bankers to pay for the rest of his drinks until they were quite pissed and stumbled back to their homes to rest from the weary toil of weekly mathematics. On those nights, Evan would wait out in the alley for Barty to emerge and safely take him back to camp. While they were in town, Barty would occasionally pilfer pamphlets such as Marx’s  The Communist Manifesto , written entirely in German, and the occasional novel, such as Alexandre Dumas’  The Three Musketeers  for Regulus, to read to them.

Pandora worked diligently at mending clothes and making more suitable attire for both her and Regulus as they were wearing Evan and Barty’s trousers, which were much too long for either of them. She found a certain peace in the mindless task of sewing, and it calmed her nerves from the visions she would have that plagued her dreams. She would often tell Regulus of the man who haunted her with his sadness, and he found himself hating whoever he was for distressing his beloved friend. But Pandora felt no such anger toward the boy as he struggled with unset boundaries and the actions, he was forced to take to survive the war. One cold December night, she woke up screaming, and she cried into the arms of the three men as she recounted the tale of the blue-eyed soldier forced to slay a young boy in a gray uniform. She wept as she described the horror of the man digging into the tear-softened dirt with his fingers and the agony that found a home in his heart.

After that night, Regulus found it hard to curse the soldier. It wasn’t his fault Pandora had a gift—a curse—depending on how one looked at it. And he couldn’t imagine being placed in the man’s shoes. He knew what it was like to feel required to bow to authority, and he could only hope that one day, this man would find the courage he had found to set boundaries for himself—to be a free man and hopefully gain some peace for himself, as well as Pandora.

Regulus’ task was built on the backs of others but arguably the most important. Every morning, he would take the information shared and formulate plans for each of them. He was the undesignated leader of the group, and while they were all equals and wouldn’t do anything unless everyone was in agreement, Regulus was the initiator. With Evan’s notes, Barty’s gossip, and Pandora’s occasional visions, he would compile all the data to formulate a plan. They would gather around the campfire and listen as Regulus outlined the procedures for the heist. Once he explained the initial plan, the floor was open to questions, concerns, and adjustments. The four worked together to run through possible scenarios, errors in the plans, and potential outcomes. Long days and nights of tireless reconnaissance and planning had come to a head one December night.

“Alright, based on Evan's information, the best time to do this would be fifteen minutes before the bank closes Friday night. The police will be too distracted by the change in shift, and the bank will have limited civilians because everyone will either be at home or the bar across the street. Pandora will be the lookout and the timekeeper on the roof—you know what to do if anyone is approaching.” 

Pandora made a bird call that sounded eerily close to a mockingbird, “And the sound for time?” 

A shrill whistle that mimicked an Eastern bluebird pierced through the air, and Regulus nodded, “Good. Evan will be in charge of the civilians, ensuring they do as they’re told. Barty and I will grab the money. We have four sacks. That’s two each for both of us. We don’t take any more than we can fit in those sacks, and we don’t take from private boxes. We’re going after the bank’s money, not the people’s money.”

Regulus reviewed their inventory. They had two knives, three pistols, and five bullets. “That’s one for Pandora, one for Evan, and one for Barty,” Regulus said, handing out the pistols. “I’ll take one knife. Even you get the other one.”

“Why does Evan get a knife and I don’t?” Barty pouted.

“Because your hands will be too full with the fucking sacks of greenbacks, Barty,” Regulus said as he rolled his eyes.

“Pandora, you get two bullets; Evan, you get two; and Barty, you get one.”

Regulus ignored the look of shock and offense on Barty’s face as he continued, “Civilians are off limits unless absolutely necessary. Bankers aren’t likely to play heroes, but if they do, you have the means to deal with it. The guard and the coppers are the ones we really have to look out for. We go in, and Barty tells everyone to stand against the far wall—assuming they all do so; Barty and I will go to the back where the vault is with a banker, grab the notes, and high tail it out. The horses will be tied up outside the bar across the street. By this time, there will be patrons in the bar, which means there will be spare horses outside the bar. Evan and Pandora will each take a horse and flee north toward Union Springs and Barty, and I will take two horses and head down to Ledyard. Then, we’ll regroup east of here at Sunrise in Sherwood. If the coppers chase us and we can’t catch a break by Sherwood, we’ll meet in Syracuse in three days' time. We’ll get a room at a motel under the name John Williams. The party that arrives first will wait no more than three days. After that—"Regulus huffed.

“It’ll be fine. I have a good feeling about this.” Pandora reassured with a warm place hand, squeezing Regulus’ thigh.

************

A sleepless night filled with anxiety and painful longing plagued Regulus. He looked to the stars and yearned for the one in his sights, haunting him from the heavens. The restless man cast a wish on the ghost in the sky and closed his eyes. But Morpheus’ arms were held tightly against the ruthless god's chest as he was unwilling to welcome the runaway into the realm of slumber.

“I can practically hear your brain taunting you, Starlight,” Barty whispered into his neck with a gruff and sleepy voice as he shifted closer to offer a semblance of comfort denied to him by that spectral light. Regulus fixed his breathing to mimic sleep—he didn’t want to keep Barty up with his worries and pining, but his friend was cleverer than he gave him credit for, and Barty knew him far too well. “Stop foxing, Regulus. I know you’re awake.”

A heavy sigh escaped him, and he watched as his breath left his body, seeking out the warmth in that bright star. 

“There’s a good lad, now—tell Uncle Barty all about your woes.” 

Regulus shoved the man beside him in a brotherly fashion but conceded when he heard the low rumble of laughter and felt the hand card through his short curls, “I’m just worried about tomorrow,” he admitted.

“I’m worried something will happen to you all, and I’m—I’m worried—I’m worried I’ll get caught, and they’ll—they’ll send me back,” Regulus’ breath became shaky, and the corners of his vision blurred with unshed fearful tears. He could practically feel the cold, grim clutches of Grimmauld around his arm and neck and, from a distance, heard the deep baritone of a man encouraging him to—

“Breathe, Reggie, that’s it—that’s good just like that. In through your nose—hold it—out through your mouth—good. Just like that, keep going.”

The coldness melted, and all that was left was the warmth of his brother in all but name and blood. A warm, gentle breath tickled his ear as Barty whispered, “I’ll make a deal with you, yeah? Say we get caught—” Regulus’ breath hitched, and Barty laid a firm hand on the center of his chest, “say the word—any word, and I’ll kill you myself. I’ll make sure you never have to go back.”

Regulus huffed out a laugh that died quickly when he saw the fierceness in Barty’s eyes, “You’re—you’re not joking—” The brunette stared back at him unwaveringly with a solemn promise in his grave eyes. “Barty—you can’t even kill an animal, let alone a person—let alone a  friend .”

“If it meant liberating you from the hands of those who would trap you in a golden cage and force you to sing their song rather than your own, I would absolutely kill you.” Regulus found his resolve true, but the execution was unrealistic. However, he played into the fantasy and found that it gave him a modicum of hope amidst the horror he might endure. “Liberté,” Regulus breathed out, “that’s my word.” Eventually, he found sleep after the long and weary trek through the malicious webs of his mind, and when he dreamed, he saw visions of black hair and starry eyes.

Everything was going according to plan—until it wasn’t. Pandora had snuck out in the early hours with Regulus to perch themselves on the roof of the bank and wait for the evening. Barty and Evan arrived in town around 3 pm and had a pint to calm the nerves as well as keep the horses outside from looking suspicious. Thirty minutes prior to the bank closing, Barty and Evan retreated to the alley and put on their masks. The hoods of their traveling cloaks were drawn, which, given the frost weather, didn’t seem out of place, and Regulus climbed down the drainpipe with his star-stitched mask firmly in place. The three men walked into the bank, which was empty apart from the guard, two bankers, and a young woman with her son, who appeared to be no more than four. The guard was seated at a desk and clearly ready for the day to end as his feet were propped up. The paper in his hand prevented him from seeing the bandits as they entered, and Evan quickly sauntered over to the desk and nudged the paper down with the nose of his pistol. He smirked as he watched the eyes of the guard widen.

Immediately, the guard reached for his own pistol, but at the sound of Evan’s revolver cocking, he paused. “Don’t be an addle-cove. Stand up.”

The guard flushed, whether from embarrassment or fear, Evan didn't know or care. The bandit was entirely too focused on the task at hand as he walked over toward the guard and, with one hand, unclasped the holster belt around the man's waist. With a firm tug at the leather strap, the bound weapon was freed and safe within Evan's clutches; then, he tilted his head to the side and waved his gun toward the center of the bank in a wordless gesture as he urged the man to join the young woman.

**********

Barty had a way of owning whatever room he walked into. As he walked into the bank, mask secure and head held high, he took sure steps toward one of the bankers as if the young hooligan were here specifically to see the man and not here to  rob the place . Barty didn’t bother pulling the gun from his holster—sure, he could convince the man to move with his words rather than brute force. “Mr. McTavish! It's so lovely to see you this fine evening! Now, if you don’t mind, my associate and I,” he gestured to Regulus, who stood against the counter on the opposite side of the other banker, “will require your assistance. You see, you have several stacks of paper—the loveliest green you ever saw—and well, I don’t know about you, but when I find a thing of beauty, I want to show it off—not keep it locked in a dark room.” He gave the stout ginger-haired man sporting a well-kept beard a knowing look as he peered toward the young woman against the wall beside the guard. The banker's eyes followed Barty's gaze and widened. 

In his time spent in the town, Barty had discovered a few things about the townsfolk. One of them was the dark secret between the stocky banker and the schoolteacher, Mary. Every Friday, she would visit the bank just as it closed, depositing her meager wages. The two wouldn’t be seen again until dusk had fallen, and the town was dark enough for the pair to go their separate ways in the dark of night.

With a cheeky smile, Barty leaned in and whispered, “Come now, we wouldn’t want to keep this beautiful woman waiting, now, would we? The faster you move, the quicker we’ll be about our way, and then you can get on with more,” Barty licked his bottom lip suggestively as he roamed his eyes over the man, “salacious activities.” McTavish’s eyes narrowed, and he flushed so that his pale, freckled skin began to blend with his fiery hair. Silently and slowly, the banker nodded and gestured for the other much younger banker to move to the patron side of the counter. The other employee was a tall, lanky man—no older than Barty, as green to the job as the cash patiently awaiting to be liberated from its cold, steely prison. He walked over and stood beside Mary and the guard under the careful Evan's careful watch.

************

Regulus raised a brow, and Evan nodded as if to say  I’ve got this . The two bandits stepped through the swinging door flush with the waist-high counter. Silently, the three men walked to the back. The room was filled with tiny metal boxes from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. At the far wall was a large black safe that could easily fit Barty and Regulus. McTavish turned the six-pronged lock to the left, then to the right, then to the left again before he twisted the lever up, and the sound of iron bars shrinking into the door echoed in the small room. When he opened the door, the banker stood back and allowed the bandits to raid the black metal cabinet. Not wanting to stay a moment longer than necessary, Regulus moved with a quickness. He grabbed the sacks from between his pants and his waist and began filling them until they were bulging with greenery.

“You’re the worst kind of men, you know that?” Regulus momentarily paused as the man began criticizing them, “You think you can just come in here and steal from hardworking folks.”

“Actually," Barty began, "I happen to know that about 30 years ago—give or take—New York made it mandatory for banks to have insurance. So, when the bank can’t pay those hardworking folks , it’s not the  people  who lose the money."

Barty stepped toward the banker leaning against the cold metal door while Regulus resumed the hurried task of filling the sacks. "Now, with smaller banks—the ones owned by the town; they get their money from the government. In which case, of course—you would be right. We would be stealing from hardworking folks  because the government would then add the loss to their taxes to the  people  and distribute the debt accordingly. Making the multitude pay pennies—but still, they would pay."

Both Regulus' sacks were filled, and he reached out toward Barty for the bags tucked in his trousers. Barty deposited them into Regulus' hands and continued his lesson with a smirk.

"Now, when a small bank is owned by a larger bank, the smaller banks have to crawl back to their mommy and daddy banks and get money from them. In which case, the owners of the larger bank lose their money. Now—do you know which kind of bank this is?” 

The banker huffed, clearly annoyed by the question—as if Barty thought he didn’t know his job. " This is an individually charted bank run by The Bank of Commerce.” 

Barty lightly tapped the man’s cheek, causing him to flush with anger. “ Good   job ," the bandit patronized, "Now—do you know who happens to own the Bank of Commerce?”

The banker growled out through gritted teeth, “Garrett Rosier.”

Barty smiled wide at the red-faced man, “That’s right. Bully for you.” Invading the man’s personal space, he took a hand and pressed it against the cold metal door, leaning into the man against it, “Now, when the devil comes knocking, you be sure to tell him I send my regards.”

Barty gave the man a wink, then reached into his pocket and produced a set of yellow button flowers with a long stem. He gently placed the tansies in the man’s suit lapels before pulling out his gun and lazily pointing it toward the man. 

“Get in,” Barty ordered with a malevolent smile. The man balked as he looked back and forth between the man and the empty cell. 

"You—you can’t be serious.” McTavish stammered.

A laugh left Barty, and he could hear Regulus chuckle lightly beside him. He cocked the gun and gripped it more firmly in his palm to show that he was sincere.

“Get. In.” He enunciated through clenched teeth. 

The banker swallowed thickly, sweat pooling around his temples, soaking the red curls. Slowly, the man did as he was told and climbed into the dark, empty prison. “Now, as I said before, when you have something precious—something beautiful in your grasp—you don’t hide it away from the world. You show it off—you parade it around. Not like a trophy, as if to say  this is mine  or  look at what I have . But so that the world can see the beauty in such a thing—such a person and admire them the way you do. Beautiful things need air to breathe. Beautiful people need to be loved in the light. And you have kept poor Mary in the shadows for far too long.:

Barty's mirthfulness lost its luster as he continued his speech. His eyes grew darker, and his smile looked more sinister and less playful as he continued berating.

"So, I think some time in the shadows will do you well. Perhaps once you’ve had some time alone in the stuffy darkness, you will learn to appreciate what has been willingly offered, and perhaps—you’ll be smart enough to take that gorgeous woman on a proper fucking date.” Barty hissed the last word, and the safe door slamming could be heard throughout the mostly empty bank.

**********

Evan watched the disgruntled guard, the confused banker, and the frightened woman while his stomach was tying itself in knots. The armed robber kept a calm exterior of indifference while he waited for his friends to exit the back room. Mary was shaking but stood tall as if not to let her fear known. Evan wished he could reassure her—to let her know he honestly had no intention of harming her and she was in no real danger, but he knew he couldn’t. The best he could do was hold the gun in his hand languidly pointed toward the ground but still ready to use if the occasion called for it—though he hoped desperately that it wouldn’t. 

Evan could hear the faint song of a little bird noting the passage of time in the background and felt a bead of sweat drip down from his temple. The guard seemed more irritated than frightened that he had been caught unaware and unprepared while the banker kept shifting his eyes to the back room, waiting for his partner to emerge. 

The sound of metal slamming against metal caused the three hostages to jump and turn their eyes toward the back room, where they watched as Barty and Regulus emerged sans a ginger banker.

“Where is Mr. McTavish?” the tawny-haired man asked, keeping his eyes on the back room and waiting for the other banker to pop his head out.

Barty looked at the man and smirked, “Ah! Reginald—it is Reginald, isn’t it?” 

The young banker nodded, and Barty continued as he threw the sack of paper over his shoulder, “Reginald, you see—Mr. McTavish is a very  naughty boy  and hasn’t been very appreciative of all he has, so I decided some quiet time would really help him mull over his actions. If I were you, I’d give him a few minutes to let him think over his choices.” 

He looked between the young man and the schoolteacher, and a sly grin crossed his face, “Say, Mary, have you met our lovely Reginald?”

“I—well—no,” Mary stuttered as she blushed and took Reginald’s hand. Evan couldn’t help but roll his eyes as Barty continued to play matchmaker with the couple.

“Love is a delicate thing, Miss Mary—not unlike a rose. You have to water it and prune it, but most of all, you have to give it the sunlight it needs to blossom, and  some men  will never heed the sage advice given to them."

Evan huffed as Barty ignored the songbird, warning them time was up, but he stood silent as he watched Barty set the heavy sacks of cash down and cup Mary's face in his hands.

"You are so worthy of the things you don’t allow yourself. You make excuses and allowances for those who are selfish in their desires and would stifle you. But love is also selfish—and so should you be. Don’t let yourself settle for less than you  so clearly  deserve." Barty leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead as he whispered, "Take care, love."

The desperate sound of a bird calling from the heavens let the three know it was well past time to leave, so with a wink to Reginald, Barty took a step away from Mary, hoisted the sacks over his back, and walked out of the bank with Regulus. Evan kept his pistol trained on hostages until the pair were safely out of the bank; then, he took one last look at the annoyed guard and smirked as he ran out of the building.

The bar across the street was bustling, but the four were cloaked by the early darkness of the winter evening. Six horses were fastened to the post. Regulus handed a sack to Evan as they picked out their horses and attached the bags of cash to each of them while Barty and Pandora mirrored the actions. Each cloaked bandit climbed on their respective horse and took a final look at each other before parting. Regulus and Barty headed South, while Pandora and Evan traveled North.

*********

“They should be here by now,” Evan huffed worriedly, pacing back as he chewed at his nail.

“Evan, stop pacing—they’re not coming tonight.”

The blonde-haired man stopped in his tracks. " What do you mean ‘ they’re not coming tonight ’?' 

Pandora shrugged as she poked the fire with a long twig she found in the forest. "Exactly what I said, 'they’re not coming tonight.' We’ll catch up with them in the west.”

“The— the   west —Pandora, we’re meant to meet in  the   east .”

“No—we  planned  to meet in the east; we were  meant  to meet in the west,” she corrected slowly as if talking to a small child.

Evan wanted to pull his hair out in retaliation to Pandora’s vexatious nature. His efforts not to throttle his sister were met with an eye roll and a heavy sigh as she said, "Some distance between you two will be good for you. It’ll give you time to think—you know?”

“Time to think about what?” Evan asked, genuinely perplexed. 

Another agitated sigh left his sister, “Sometimes it’s like talking to a brick wall with you.”

“How do you expect to have a normal conversation with me when all you do is speak in fucking riddles and expect me to figure it out?” Evan yelled. Suddenly, the night was quiet, and the sky began to salt his hair with thick white flakes. 

“You used to like my riddles,” Pandora said in a small voice as she continued to stoke the fire with a bit of a pout. The white-hot anger in his veins, fueled by his sister’s laissez-faire attitude, chilled in the dark winter night. He walked over to the log she was seated on and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

“I do love your riddles, douée. I’m just worried about Barty and Regulus.” A tender hand brushed the platinum blonde locks behind her blushing ear. “Have I ever told you a lie?” She asked, turning away from the fire to face him. 

Crystal blue eyes met his own, and he could safely admit, “No, you’ve never lied to me.”

“Then trust when I say all will be well," Pandora said softly as she kissed his palm.

A heavy sigh escaped him, and though he nodded in acceptance, Evan still felt the tingling in his gut that something wasn’t right. But he trusted in his sister and was confident that though there must be a reason for their delay, whatever it was would turn in their favor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Hope this was worth the wait. Up Next: Whatever happened to Barty and Regulus....?

As always thank you to my lovely friends for being amazing and letting me rant about Cowboys even when cowboys have not actually fucking happened yet. (I swear they're coming, y'all).

Chapter 9

Notes:

Thank you to waitforthespark for listening to my delirious summary of this chapter and encouraging me to keep going.

TW: Mentions of slavery, rape, incest, abuse (of every kind) and gender discussion.

December 1862

 

Regulus and Barty trotted away from the bar and headed south. The pair refrained from racing away as it would cause too much attention to them, but they kept their pace steady as the distance between their partners in crime grew. Barty rubbed at the ache in his chest as he thought of Evan. They had not been separated by more than a couple of feet in almost a year now, and scenarios of his and Pandora’s capture paraded through his mind, taunting him with loud warning bells and whistles ringing in his ears. 

“Was that entirely necessary?” Regulus said and pulled him out of the whirlpool of emotions he found himself trapped in.

“Was what necessary?”

Regulus straightened his posture and shot Barty a mocking grin to match his imitation of Barty’s threats, “When the devil comes knocking, you be sure to tell him I send my regards.”

Barty frowned as Regulus let out a laugh.

“And then the tansies —” Regulus chuckled, “what were you trying to say with that? Were you trying to declare war on the banker?”

Regulus teased his friend, but when Barty didn’t laugh with him, he realized the severity of what Barty had done.

“Oh God, Barty—you fucking idiot.”

“What?” Barty snarled.

“You cannot be serious right now. Garrett Rosier?! Say what you want about the man, but he’s not a fucking idiot—he’s smart enough to put two and two together with your taunting and your fucking flower. He’s going to know it was us.” Regulus hissed.

“Yeah, well, I’m counting on it,” Barty mumbled, and in the distance, he could hear a set of hooves slowly pounding away at the dirt trail behind them. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt a prickling run down his spine as Regulus continued.

“We still have Mulciber and Avery to worry about, and you’re out here starting fucking wars and chaos.”

“I told you when I proposed this plan, Starlight. We’re going after the kings.”

“Yes, but I thought you meant covertly—like—I don’t know, just hitting them where it hurts. Not actually letting them know it was us doing the hurting.”

Barty turned his head to see Regulus’ boyish face. He was still young, though he looked older with his height and more defined jaw from the limited diet they had.

Regulus had an innocence about him that Barty had always admired, but a part of him wanted to push apart the petals to see the dark, seedy core beneath. It was a rare thing for Barty to find someone who could meet him on his level—Sirius always had, and Regulus rose to the occasion whenever Barty prodded. So, he raised the bar, itching to see if Regulus would extend his limbs to reach it. “Don’t you want them to know it was us? Don’t you want to see the calamity in the papers and be fully aware that they know they fucked up when they threatened us with their ideals of conformity and submission? Come on, Black. A part of you wishes you could see your parent's faces scrunched up in frustration at what you have done to them. How you’ve not only humiliated them but defied them.”

Regulus squinted his eyes and let out a loud huff, but Barty found victory in the slight tug of rose-petal lips and a fleeting flash of starlight in his eyes. But the triumph was short-lived as they heard the steady trot of another horse behind them growing closer.

The rider was gaining on them. Not quickly, but just enough to cause concern to cross Regulus’ face. Dark brows furrowed in worry, and the eyes beneath them threatened to look back, but Barty shook his head at Regulus and ticked at the horse, encouraging her to go just a little faster.

Regulus followed suit but so did the rider behind them and it wasn’t long before the pair of bandits shared a look and increased their speed to a running pace. They charged fiercely into the night as they were chased by their pursuer, whose face was blanketed by the darkness. Despite the cold winter evening, sweat dripped from Barty’s brow and down his cheek as he and his friend aimed to outrun the unknown rider behind them.

The clomping of hooves pounding against the dirt sang in 4/4 measure, and Barty was almost certain they wouldn’t lose the villain who threatened to capture them. His heart pounded in his ear as they approached the turn that would take them to Evan and Pandora—toward safety. But how safe would it be in the end? Sure, the odds were better four against one, but he would sooner perish than allow a single petal on his bed of roses to be trampled by the hooves of a horse or worse—the bullet of a gun. He gave a quick look to Regulus, seemingly having the same sentiment. The younger boy nodded forward—a silent sign to continue on the path they were already on. Barty squeezed his thighs against his horse, urging her to move faster, and she obeyed the command with a fury—racing hard against the newly, heavily falling snow. The lone rider couldn’t keep up with the pair, and eventually, there was enough distance between the two. Nature provided a white and grey cloak with her frozen tears to hide Barty and Regulus away from the unwanted pursuit, and in the distance, they saw a soft shimmering light.

The two continued their hastened pace toward the light, and as it came closer, the boys spotted a barn and a house. Barty wasn’t a praying man—but he was a gambler, and he bargained with whatever gods that watched them that if they could make it safely out of this peril, he would hand the letter that burned against his heart to his flower. An offering—of love and devotion that was sure to win the favor of someone if not the actual object of his affection. It was as if Aphrodite herself had heard his plea and shook his hand with a tight grip as the pair gained on the house.

A short man in a long coat exited the home at the sound of the approaching duo. “Bit of nasty weather out here,” the man shouted.

He couldn’t have been more than fifty with salt and red pepper hair and kind-assuring green eyes. He was a cheerful, honest-looking sort of man. The kind of man who would help anyone out of the kindness that bled from his open chest and onto his skin, bathing him in grace.

The horses slowed to a trot and eventually stopped entirely when the pair of outlaws pulled back the reigns.

“Yeah, we weren’t expecting it to come down so hard; otherwise, we wouldn’t have traveled,” Barty lied smoothly. If the man caught it, he didn’t let on as he offered a place for the horses in the barn and a seat by his hearth to warm themselves. Barty and Regulus peeled off their coats and scarves and handed them to a young woman—probably around Regulus’ age—who took them and hung them up on pins near the stove to dry. Strawberry tendrils peaked through her white bonnet, threatening to overtake the fabric like curly vines wrapped around a fence. She had her father’s green eyes and a smattering of copper freckles that lined her face which featured a mischievous grin as she blatantly ogled Regulus. Barty smirked as he saw the blush from the icy cold deepen on his friend’s cheeks and he slapped Regulus on the shoulder before taking a place next to the warm inviting fire.

“You must not be from around here if you weren’t expecting the weather to turn sour quickly,” the old man said as he packed his pipe and lit a match, puffing at it to encourage the tobacco to smolder.

“No, we’re from out east. Just passing through on our way to Rochester.” 

The most convincible lies have some truth mixed in.

It was a saying his father had always encouraged as it served him well in selling words to the masses. Probably the only beneficial thing he learned from the old man.

“Ahh,” the host said, “the city. Never bothered with it. Too many kind smiles with sharp teeth.”

The man passed his pipe to Barty, who took it and inhaled a bit of the woodsy tobacco. It tasted earthy and grounding. The offerings of the generous man weighed heavy on Barty’s heart, but still— better not to trust a stranger.

“My my. My manners have been misplaced,” the old man said as he patted his pockets as if he were looking for his manners to materialize in one of them.  “My name is William Abott, and this is my beautiful daughter, Hannah.” He said as he gestured to the young woman who materialized with a tray of hot tea. Delicately, she poured the liquid into four cups and passed them to each of the men before settling down on a sofa with her own tea.

“I’d offer you milk and sugar, but we haven’t any at the moment, what with the war and all,” Mr. Abbot said dismally as if he had quite a few opinions on the matter but kept them locked up tightly behind his plump pale lips.

“It's a Pleasure to meet you,” Barty said sincerely. “I’m Barty, and this is Regulus.”

Regulus stayed quiet with his back straight and nodded once in greeting to the pair.

Barty watched his friend with a skeptical eye and couldn’t understand why Regulus was acting so demurely, but he made a mental note to ask him when they were alone.

“The storm isn’t likely to pass in the night. We don’t have a spare bed here, but you’re more than welcome to stay in the barn loft. There’s a bed up there for when we had a helping hand on the farm, but with the war—most of the young men in our town are out there fighting.”

Barty bristled at the implication he perceived from the old man but when he looked back at Mr. Abbott, he didn’t see any judgment or disdain in the bright green eyes. Only worry and something else—in the corner—just out of— thump. Barty’s eyes snapped to the floor where a sound had come from under the floorboards.

“Oh, don’t mind that,” Mr. Abbott chuckled, “all sorts of critters down there looking for warmth under the house. Trying to stay out of the elements, you know?” The old man’s voice was even, but the sweat on his brow and the crease in his eye told Barty something wasn’t quite right.

“As I was saying, you might have to beat the bed a few times to get some of the dust off, but it’ll do in a pinch.” 

Barty handed the pipe to Regulus, whose hands stayed awkwardly still against the saucer.

“Hannah, once these boys are warmed enough, won’t you show them to the barn?” Mr. Abbott said as he stood up to exit the room, “I’m going to check on the kittens and see if they need any milk,”

Barty’s eyes narrowed as the older man walked out of the room and toward the kitchen.

“I thought your father said you didn’t have any milk,” Barty noted casually as he took another puff from the tobacco pipe.

“He meant we don’t have any to spare,” Hannah said coolly.

Barty stared at the young girl with a mocking smile from behind the smoke wafting between them and she stared right back at him. Challenging him. In the corner of his eye, he watched Regulus sip at his tea and the faux grin sported on Barty’s face turned into a very real frown, but his eyes were torn from his friend when he heard a child giggle from beneath him.

Confusion set in, and he chanced a glance at his hostess, whose smile had never faltered. “It’s getting late. Best to get the pair of you to bed. You both look exhausted.” Hannah’s sympathy looked real— felt real— but a nagging whisper tickled his ear that claimed they’re hiding something. The two boys stood and placed their cups on the tray.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get some blankets for you.” 

Hannah left the pair alone, and they shared an unsettled look. Something was afoot here, and Barty wouldn’t get a wink of rest without knowing what.  Regulus shook his head, silently begging Barty to not ruin this opportunity for them—to just let it go—whatever it was. But Barty was not the type of man to let things go. So, he kneeled down and listened for more clues. He was rewarded for his patience and his efforts to seek hidden truths and found them on the floorboard.

Between the cracks, he could see a pair of wild, enthusiastic eyes staring back at him. He heard another giggle from within the floor, and he knelt down to listen to it better.

The sound of fierce shushing rose from between the wood, and Barty could see a pair of fearful amber eyes staring back at him.

“Regulus,” Barty said in a calm voice, “we need to go.”

Regulus looked down, and all signs of color drained from his face. He saw tiny fingers peeking from between the floorboards before they were quickly yanked back. “Barty, we can’t leave them.”

“We can absolutely leave them.” The guilt riddled him as soon as he said it, but his priority was ensuring Regulus was safe, not some strangers. As he looked into silver blue pleading eyes, he resigned himself, sighed, and he walked over toward his and Regulus’ coats where the knife and pistol rested warmly in their pockets. Barty pulled them from their snug reclusions and let Regulus choose his weapon. The younger boy took the revolver from his hand, which suited Barty just fine; he was better skilled with a knife anyway. He tucked it in his pants at the base of his spine and waited for Hannah to return.

The girl smiled brightly as she walked out of the other room, arms full of blankets, and headed for the door to lead the way to the barn but was stopped when Barty pulled out his knife and wrapped one hand around her arm and let the knife in his other hand kiss her jugular. To Hannah’s credit, she didn’t scream but stood stock still as the warm blade scratched lightly at her pale flesh.

“Call for your father,” Barty said evenly, and she turned her head to look at him defiantly. He pressed the knife a little deeper and gritted out the command again, to which she reluctantly obliged.

Mr. Abbott returned with a towel in his hand, wiping an unknown substance off his fingers. He looked up and frowned when he saw Barty behind his only daughter, threatening to remove her from the world.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Mr. Abbot.”

“You’re going to release the people you have captive in the cellar of your house, and you’re going to let them and us go.” Despite the way his heart was racing, Barty spoke as calmly as he had all evening.

To his surprise, the old man chuckled, “And where will you go? Did you forget there was a storm outside?”

Mr. Abbott shook his head with humorous disappointment, “Your heart is in the right place, lad, but your head is lagging.”

Regulus, for the first time since they arrived at the Abbott home, found his voice when he pulled out the gun, pointed it at their host, and cocked it, “ Let them go ,” he demanded.

Mr. Abbott trailed his eyes over the younger boy and tilted his head before nodding once. He stomped one foot twice on the floor, and several shuffling feet could be heard beneath them. A door in the kitchen floor opened, and Barty could hear the heavy steps of two men from behind the wall. They rounded the corner and assessed the scene with wide eyes.

“They had no part in this,” one of them said gently, with downcast eyes. “Let them go, please.”

Barty faltered as he took in the men. One was a tall, muscular man, most likely in his early thirties; he had a pink-lined scar running from his brow to his cheek and an eye that had been sewn shut. His mocha skin was littered with darker scars along his hands and peeking through the open portion of his shirt. He didn’t look afraid but rather somber, as if he had resigned himself to a fate that Barty didn’t understand. The other was no older than himself, with perfectly smooth coffee skin and amber eyes.

Despite the obvious fear in the younger boy’s face, he stood tall with his back straight, a posture that resembled so many lessons Barty had learned when he was younger. The older man wore worn sun-faded clothes with patches, while the young man’s clothes resembled something Barty might find in his own wardrobe. Still, they had obvious signs of having been torn and mended.

“What do you mean he had no part in this ?” Regulus asked with a steady hand still heavy with the weight of death aimed toward Mr. Abbott.

“We forced him to take us in, he didn’t—there’s no need to arrest him.” The older man said and oh, wasn’t that fucking ironic. They thought Barty and Regulus were coppers.

“Are you or are you not being held captive by this man?” Regulus asked the pair and frowned in confusion when they shook their heads.

“No, we were on the run, and we came here, saw an opportunity, and took it.”

Barty could sniff out a lie better than anyone, but at this moment, he couldn’t fathom the reason behind it until he glanced at the younger man with an open palm hanging heavily at his side. The skin of his palm was raised and resembled a name Barty couldn’t make out from the distance and the angle, but suddenly, everything seemed to click at once.

Barty fixed his gaze on Mr. Abbot, who was frowning ferociously at the two men who were apparently *not* being held captive but had remained otherwise silent. Then he caught Barty’s eye and looked pleadingly—not for himself but for his guests.

With a hesitant hand, Barty lowered the knife still pressing tightly against Hannah’s throat and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze before letting go of her arm.

“Regulus, put down the gun,” Barty said as Hannah moved away and kept her skeptical sage eyes trained on her assailant. He walked over toward the boy who shot him a questioning look as he clung tighter to the grip of the gun.

“They’re lying,” Regulus hissed, and Barty took a gentle hand and lightly placed it on his friend’s extended arm.

“I know they are,” Barty confirmed, cringing internally at the look of betrayal on his friend’s face. He leaned in close and let his lips brush against Regulus’ ear. “Do you trust me, starlight?”

A war raged behind starry eyes as Regulus glanced up at Barty’s face and then back to the two men, before settling on Hannah’s who challenged him with a sharply raised brow.

Reluctantly, Regulus uncocked the revolver and handed it to Barty who placed it along with the knife on the side table.

“My apologies, Mr. Abbott,” Barty said and heard Regulus scoff beside him. "It seems we haven’t been entirely honest with each other, and you have been an incredible host. I’ll make a deal with you. You tell me your truth, and I’ll tell you mine.”

William Abbott’s grin held a secret he expelled as he said, “I already know more of your story than you think, my boy. And as far as my story goes, it isn’t mine to tell.”

All eyes settled on the two men standing in the kitchen doorway. The elder searched Barty’s face for something and seemed dissatisfied by what he found. But when his eye flickered over to Regulus, recognition lit up his face and he nodded once. The younger boy was far more reluctant but followed suit and both men looked to Mr. Abbott as a mitigator between themselves and the violent strangers.

“Very well,” Mr. Abbot said, “we’ll indulge you if and only if you can manage to keep an open mind, open ears and a closed mouth.”

Mr. Abbott looked at the two men and encouraged them to get the others, to which Regulus looked fiercely at Barty.

To calm the younger boy’s nerves, he took his hand in his friend's and intertwined their fingers, giving him a light squeeze and caressing the back of Regulus’ hand with the smooth circles he traced with his thumb.

The younger lad paused at the scene as he reentered the living room from the kitchen; a small, shy child hid their face in the younger man’s collar.

Behind him, a young girl came rushing, tightly woven braids cascading down and tickling the nape of her neck. She bounded toward Barty with a childish innocence and, with no warning, began to fish for something in his pocket. Alarmed, Barty stepped back, and the older man caught her by her arms, pulling her back and away from the dangerous man.

Barty stuck his free hand against his trouser pocket and found a gold chain hanging out of it. He pulled at it until a pocket watch emerged and swung like a pendulum before he silently offered it to the young girl to play with. She reached out a hand to grab it but was too far away, and with the tight grip on her arm, she couldn’t reach it.

Barty walked over to the man, handed it to him, and watched as he hesitantly passed it along to the younger girl, who beamed with glee.

“Can I trust you not to assault anyone else while I fetch us all some tea?” Mr. Abbott said good-naturedly, seeming to have quickly put the past—recent as it was—behind him and looked to the future where all secrets were to be laid bare. 

Barty huffed a laugh and scratched the back of the head, “Yeah—“

Barty urged Regulus to sit next to him by the fire while the two men sat on the sofa. The young girl walked toward the fire and sat on a pillow while playing with the pocket watch and admiring the way it gleamed as the orange and yellow flames reflected off it.

Hannah and Mr. Abbott returned with a tray of fresh tea and six cups. Hannah poured the tea silently while Mr. Abbott made necessary introductions, “Elijah, Micah, this is Barty and Regulus.”

There was an awkward silence in the room as all parties waited for the other to start their tales. Eventually, Barty grew restless and volunteered his story, “We’ll go first, shall we?”

Regulus scowled, which Barty ignored as he launched into a wild story of runaways and bandits. When he was done, Elijah and Micah stared at him incredulously.

“So—you’re not coppers?” Micah, the older man, hesitantly asked.

“Nah,” Barty said lazily, “pretty sure we were outrunning one on the way here, though. Lost him in the storm.”

The pair on the couch were silent for a moment before Elijah grinned and let out a hearty laugh.

Barty couldn’t help but admire Elijah’s beauty.

Tiny lines crinkled around the corners of his eyes while the deep rumble of laughter escaped him, and amber ignited between the black pupils and the whites of his eyes. But the smile—Barty melted at the smile that graced Elijah’s face, taut and ever so slightly crooked. Blush crept up on the apples of his caramel cheeks and provided an extra blanket of warmth to the room. Barty felt a sharp jab at his side and saw Regulus smirking with knowing eyes.

Barty coughed, and eventually, the laughter died down. Though Elijah had warmed to him slightly, Micah was not easily swayed.

Micah eyed Hannah, who was seated next to her father embroidering, and warned, “Our story is not suited for young ladies.”

Regulus’ fingers twitched at the obvious dismissal of the girl, a feeling Barty knew Regulus had experienced too often in his lifetime at dinner parties with itchy dresses, looking longingly as Barty, Sirius, and Evan went to the smoking room with the other men.

 

 

“Piss off, Micah, you can’t run me off,” Hannah said unbothered, never looking up from where she poked the needle through the fabric and tugged the thread through.

Regulus held his breath for the inevitable backlash that was sure to come from a lady speaking to a man in such a way. But the comment earned her no harsh words or violent hands but rather the makings of a reluctant smile on Micah’s face as if someone had looped a hook in his lips and tugged slightly upward. Micah looked at Mr. Abbott with a silent, questioning brow, and the host responded, “I find that any attempt I have to censor my daughter is foiled as she is likely to go to her room and press her ear against the crack of the floor to hear better. She might as well be comfortable while she listens to your story, Micah.”

Hannah childishly stuck out her tongue in a good-natured, teasing way, and Micah rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips spread further.

A heavy sigh rattled from Micah’s lungs, and he spoke with a deep, rich, grave voice: “Our stories are intertwined, woven together by blood and pain. This will not be pleasant. It is not an adventure we have partaken in but a hardship we have endured. I will thank you to keep your comments and questions to the end, for I will not be repeating myself, as this tale is not an easy one to tell.”

Mr. Abbott packed the pipe and lit it, passing it to Elijah. The calm intrigue on his face led Regulus to believe this was a story he had not heard himself, and though Mr. Abbott would not ask, he was eager to listen—if only to understand the men better. 

“To understand where we come from, you must first understand our former masters. The LeStrange Family originally hailed from France. They made their way to Louisiana in 1830 when Mas—when Roldolphus was eight and Rabastan was six.

Rabastan was a quiet boy who—I am told—enjoyed the company of books more than people. The thing about Rabastan was that he abhorred everyone equally, finding more pleasure in nature and the sounds of the earth rather than with humans. Roldophus, on the other hand, had a fascination with people. Specifically, those that were untarnished, unblemished—pure.”

Elijah passed the pipe, and Micah gathered it, inhaled, and exhaled a long breath before continuing.

“My sister and I were born to the Rookwood Family, but we were just two sets of mouths to feed, and Augustus couldn’t see the benefit in— investing in us. So he took us down to the quarter to be sold for auction. We were four years old at the time. Roldolphus had just turned twelve and his father had taken him out to buy a present for becoming a man. It wasn’t long before he set his eyes on my sister and pleaded for his father to purchase her. But we were a packaged deal, so his father was forced to buy us both. When we started working at the Big House—Sylvia learned what it was to be a lady's maid, and I went to the kitchens.

“Being as Sylvia was Roldolphus’ to do with as he pleased when she wasn’t working, he would often pluck her from her bed in the middle of the night and take her upstairs but was always sure to bring her back before any of his family knew he had taken her. She never spoke of what he did in the nights, but her eyes were always a bit wider, and her tongue was always a bit more quiet. One night, she began to try to fight him—to stand up for herself—he won out, and the next day, she was covered in a smattering of fingerprint bruises that lined her arms and thighs.

He didn’t touch her for another week, but during that time, he would come in the night with a wooden rod and strip me of my shirt, lay me against the bed with my back exposed, and beat me ‘til I bled. Once Slyvia’s bruises had healed, he came back with no rod but an open palm, and she took it if only to spare me pain.”

Micah took another puff of the pipe and passed it to Regulus, who, with a hesitant hand, accepted it and took a deep breath in, choking on the smoke tickling his throat. He felt the stiff slaps of Barty’s palm against his back and passed the pipe to Barty, opting for the tea next to him to wash down the smoke.

Micah kept a close eye on Barty and watched with a glint of surprise as Barty placed the pipe between his lips and sucked.

After a long pause, Micah continued, “Roldolphus used me against her, forcing her into his bed each night with threats of violence to me, and it worked. She grew more and more tired with a lack of sleep and more and more compliant for him. When she was fourteen, she got pregnant. At the first scar that tore across her belly, Rodolphus took me outside and tied me to the whipping post. Once he was done and my back was torn, he left me out there for her to find. I can still hear the guttural scream of my name when she found me.”

Silence fell across the room, and Regulus could almost hear the sound of Slyvia’s wails rattling inside Micah’s mind.

“Around that time, a family had moved down from up north. They were incredibly wealthy and had two daughters. The eldest was a cold, dark, malicious creature fascinated by blood and death. The youngest—the youngest was the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on. Soft porcelain skin, long black locks, ruby lips, and her eyes—her eyes shined like silver starlight.”

“Ms. Bella was courting Rodolphus, and Andromeda was courting Rabastan. Rodolphus and Bella got along like a house on fire. Ms. Bella liked to watch, and her fingers were always itching to grab the rod or the whip and play with him. But ladies didn’t partake in such activities, so she was content enough to sit there and watch the blood pool on the ground as Rodolphus took his anger out on me and some others. He had discarded Sylvia as she grew more plump, and her skin stretched as she grew life inside her belly. Ms. Bella’s skin was smooth and silky, untarnished by work or duty. That was—until they got married. Despite hating children—Ms. Bella knew her role and soon became pregnant with Rhiannon, and those inevitable marks stretched across her skin. When Rodolphus would no longer touch her, she became angry and violent and began to beat Sylvia, who at this point had been gifted to Ms. Bella on their wedding night. Due to the strain on her body, Elijah was born a month early, and Sylvia died in childbirth.”

Regulus watched as a tear fell from Micah’s tired face. He wiped it away furiously as if angry it had dared to slip past the defenses of his lashes.

“Rodolphus and Ms. Bella had no temperament for babes, but Rodolphus couldn’t justify letting such a pure, untarnished thing go. So, he kept Elijah in the Big House, letting the others care for him. When Rhiannon was born, it made sense to him that they would just be raised together until they were old enough to be taught their places, and then they would be separated.

"I got sent to work out in the barn with the animals and only ever got bits and pieces of Elijah from the kitchen staff that came out to gather eggs and milk from me in the morning. I was told when he took his first steps, when he said his first word, when he made his first laugh, but I never got to see or hear any of this with my own eyes and ears. Over time, Andy—Bella’s sister, came over more and more. She was engaged to be married to Rabastan and while he hated the company, appearances still had to be made. So, when she would visit, they would spend thirty minutes together in plain sight then, they would go on a walk in separate directions. She had a fascination with animals, specifically horses, and her path would always lead her to me. She would talk to me while I brushed them and cleaned out their stalls. We would talk for hours about how she missed New York and how beautiful the winters looked when the land was covered in snow. How the lakes would freeze, and she would dance on them with metal blades under her feet.”

Regulus got a sinking feeling in his stomach. A pool of dread the more and more Micah described the foreign sisters. His eyes widened with realization, and he couldn’t help the gasp that bled through his fingers as he covered his mouth in horror.

“She also told me of her rambunctious cousins that she missed dearly,” Micah said with a knowing look.

**********

December 1860

“My dearest star, I think I’ve fallen in love,” Andromeda whispered in the night, careful to keep a mindful ear on Bellatrix’s steady snores. Andy visited often, spending months at a time in New York unable to stay away from her little cousins but this particular visit was during The Christmas season. Bella had left her husband behind as he had prior obligations, and despite her general distaste for everyone else—Bellatrix had always had a fondness for her sisters and missed Narcissa dearly, so when offered the opportunity to travel north with her family, she took it. And Andy had left behind her husband, Rabastan as he wasn’t one to enjoy the company of–well, anyone.

“He’s funny and sweet, usually quiet, but once you get him talking—lord, his voice? It’s so rough and deep, and his eyes? So black when I look into them, I can see my own eyes reflected, and it’s like stars in the sky. But when the sun hits them just right? It’s like the most beautiful dark red you’ve ever seen.”

 

“Rabastan?” Regulus whispered, his breath warming their intertwined hands as they lay face to face. A cutting sadness scraped the happiness away on Andromeda’s face, and she sighed, “I–no. Someone else. Rabastan and I have an–arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” Regulus echoed.

“Yes, well. It’s not strictly speaking an orthodox arrangement, but Rabastan is hardly an orthodox man. He–allows me to find comfort in the company of others .”

Regulus scrunched up his nose in confusion, “So you court other men? While you’re married?"

“I–sort of. Really, I never took the opportunity though it was always offered to me. But now–”

“So, has this other man asked you to court him?”

Andromeda shook her head sadly.

“Why not?” Regulus asked as he scooted his body closer to hers.

“It’s not—he’s not—it’s a forbidden sort of union. It’s not something either of us could ever indulge in because it’s not acceptable .”

“Who says?” Regulus asked, “Who says it isn’t acceptable?”

“Society,” Andromeda said plainly and fumbled with her nightgown.

“ Fuck Society ,” Regulus hissed and watched as Andromeda’s eyes grew wide, and they both let out a fit full of giggles, then quickly shushed themselves so as not to wake Bellatrix.

“Seriously, Andy—who is society to tell us what is or isn’t acceptable? Who we can or can’t be? Who we can or can’t love .” Regulus sighed heavily, “Don’t let them steal your joy because they don’t understand it. It’s not theirs. It’s yours, and if you let them take it from you, it’s no one’s fault but your own. Be who you want to be. Love who you want to love. Carpe Astra .”

Andromeda gazed at Regulus in the night, and he felt for the first time that maybe someone outside of those few who knew his truth saw it for themselves without him having told them.

She fiddled with his long, curly locks, pulling them back and up so the ends draped just above his neck. She hummed thoughtfully and whispered, “I think you’re right, mon étoile .”

*********

Regulus was going to be sick. He could feel the bile rise from the depths of his stomach, burning his heart as it clung there, unable to make its way out completely.

“I thought it might have been you when I first saw you. Your face was so similar to Ms. Bella’s—angry and ready for action. But your eyes—they were full of fearful determination, and I noticed the anger was not of malice but of righteousness. Andy would get the same look on her face whenever she spoke of the upcoming war and the rights of humanity. But then you said your name, and I’ll admit I faltered in my conviction that you were the same cousin she had talked about so much. She called you by another name.”

“A dead name. It no longer suits me—“ Regulus said, “in truth, it never did.”

Micah chuckled, “Andy used to say the same.”

Barty looked back and forth between the two men and a spark ignited as he connected the dots, but still he remained uncharacteristically silent. Regulus knew he was chomping at the bit—desperate to ask questions— but he quelled his curiosity as requested.

Micah turned toward Elijah and spoke so lowly that Regulus could hardly hear him, “You don’t owe them anything . If you don’t wish to tell your story, then don’t.”

Elijah nodded but pierced Regulus with his light amber eyes as he spoke in a smooth, polished French accent, “Rhiannon and I grew up together. We loved each other as siblings.”

“Her flesh matched her soul, her mind, and her heart—beautiful in equal measure. The purest creature I have ever encountered, birthed by two monsters. She was always eager to share her knowledge, her thoughts, and her feelings and did so with me often despite what the law would allow. She taught me to read and write alongside her by candlelight when the rest of the world was asleep. Rodolphus must have gotten more brazen in his older age because he never came for us at night but rather during the day. Plucking us from childish play and forcing us to—“

Elijah looked toward Hannah, who had stopped her embroidery in favor of giving full attention to the story. Regulus could see the battle in his mind, but Elijah pushed through, willing to give Hannah an accurate depiction of the world rather than keep her safe from the demons that dwelled within it.

“We were five when he began his inspections of our bodies. Only ever searching the outside for little imperfections with his rod-wielding callused fingers. He never used any form of physical punishment that would leave evidence visible to the eye. He would touch us—encourage us to touch each other. We were children, and we didn’t understand what was being asked of us, but with age—we learned, and we grew to hate it. When we were ten, he started touching us internally, slotting rough, wet fingers inside of us and forcing out reactions we were not willing to give. We both felt so— unclean — soiled by our father. Tainted by each other. She never wanted it, and neither did I, but we held no malice toward each other for the things he forced us to do.

On my twelfth birthday, Father pulled me into the room alone. He sat me down and told me I was a man now and that it was time for me to put away childish games and learn how to be a man. Throughout the day and most of the night, he used me—forcing my pleasure, which made it all the worse. I cried, I bled, I mourned the loss of my innocence—what little there was left. For a while, he used me alone at his leisure, and the only morsel of comfort I knew was that he wasn’t harming Rhiannon any longer. But time is a cruel mistress.  Rhiannon’s birthday came around, and he took his time teaching her how to be a woman. Eventually, we were called to reunite in his chambers, and he began to indulge his twisted fantasies. Forcing us upon each other, and over time, our manipulated efforts bore fruit.”

 

Elijah squeezed the child in his arms tightly against his chest as if he were shielding the child away from the judgment of the world—or at the very least the room, but upon finding none in the eyes of the group, he continued, “Rodolphus did as any high society parent would and sent Rhiannon away to have her child as to not ruin her prospects for marriage, and though I missed her every moment she was gone, her safety and well-being gave me strength to endure our father. He continued his routine the nine months she was away and then went to fetch her and our child as a ward of his own. Rhiannon was riddled with fear that he would come and take our child—play with our baby the way he had played with us in our youth. She wouldn’t even let our nursemaid hold the baby for fear that the woman would be ordered to relinquish custody to Father. Unwilling to put anyone in that position, she cared for our child in every way possible, and she was the best mother—“

 

Elijah’s eyes teared up, and Regulus felt overwhelmed by the love this man had for his sibling, even through the horrors they endured. His mind couldn’t help but reflect on his own lost brother and how much he missed him.

 

“After the birth, of course, she was scared and of no use to Rodolphus anymore, so he married her off. The gods smiled on her as the man Rodolphus picked was a genuinely kind man and one Rhiannon found herself falling in love with. She was forced to leave her child—as she had no claim, and her husband was at a loss as she cried in the night and all throughout the day. They visited frequently, and one day, he pulled me aside and begged me to help him understand the attachment she had with the child. I’ve only gambled twice in my life—but both times, fortune smiled on me.

 

“Until now, he was the only person ever to hear our story, and he reacted with horror and disgust—not at Rhiannon or myself but at Rodolphus. He did everything he could to take our child away from the demon we call father—even threatened to expose him, but Father was a cunning man and explained if he exposed Rodolphus, he would be exposing Rhiannon. It wasn’t long before Rodolphus began to demand time alone with the baby, and I did my best to sway him away—gave him a more enthusiastic fuck—made him think that I wanted it. Did my best to tire him out so he wouldn’t think of touching my child. But Rhiannon and I both knew the distraction wouldn’t last long. We snuck away to the stables to talk about our options. At first—I suggested I would take our child and give them to Rhiannon. They could run away—up north out west, it wouldn’t matter. But Rhiannon wouldn’t have it. She insisted we both escape. That I couldn’t be left there with that devil, and her and her husband would easily be found. They would have papers, documents, their faces are known. However, if I ran, we would have a better chance of getting away and staying away. I would have no papers, no sign of my name on any documents. It was a risk, but in the end, we both agreed. My uncle overheard us, and we thought we would be denounced.”

 

Elijah looked over to his uncle with an apologetic smile, “But he looked at Rhiannon skeptically—he had no reason to trust her. He had never met her before, and while we didn’t know each other that well either, he said he owed it to his sister—my mother—to take a chance. He asked me if I trusted Rhiannon, and I did. With my life, with my heart. My faith in her was good enough for him, and he told us of a way out. There was a woman who had recently died and left a little girl behind, and he promised the woman before she passed, he would protect her daughter—keep her from wandering hands. He had already planned on leaving in a week’s time, so we began to plot. Rhiannon spoke with her husband, and they agreed to stay at the Lestrange Manor during our last week there. Soaking up as much as she could of our child before they were torn away from her forever. When the night finally came, I crept into her room and stole the child away from her bed as planned.”

Elijah looked down to the babe in his arms who had fallen asleep and pressed a kiss against her jet-black curls.

 

“I met with Uncle Micah, and the pair of us ran with heavy arms full of promises and hope. We found the carriage that would hide us in the night and take us to our first rendezvous, where a family with kind hearts and open minds took us in, fed us, and provided a place to rest for us before we were to journey to our next point. It went on like this for weeks. Gentle strangers opened their doors, offering the little bit of safety and comfort they could. Risking not only their safety but their freedom, as well, to harbor us.”

 

Elijah set his eyes on the older man in the corner and breathed out, “For which we are eternally grateful and could never repay the debt we have accumulated.”

 

“Nonsense,” Mr. Abbott said, “The lord has blessed me with the opportunity to help you, and I would be a fool to squander it. I only wish I could offer you more.”

 

The weight of the sacks full of paper tied to the horses sat on Regulus’ heart and he chanced a glance at Barty who seemed to be lost in the crashing waves of thought.

 

“We almost got caught at our last station, and Micah and I made an agreement that these souls aiding us would not suffer for their kindness. So when we turned up on Mr. Abbot’s door, we made a condition that if we were caught, we would claim we had forced him to take us in, and he would corroborate our story.”

 

“Yes, well—I didn’t actually think it would happen, and I have to admit I was a bit miffed that you went through with that, even if it was to a pair of well-meaning bandits.” Mr. Abbot sighed.

 

“We’ve had a lifetime of pure souls being punished to spare us pain, William. And I won’t start my life as a free man shackled by the guilt of what would happen to you or your daughter if we were discovered.” Micah spoke clearly, his deep, rough voice filling the room.

Regulus and Barty were silent once the story had been told. Pain dwelled in Regulus’ heart at the knowledge that his own flesh and blood had partaken in such heartbreak for the two men, but if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t surprised in the least that she would be so violent or relish in the violence and pain of others. She had always been a bit of a sadist. His one comfort was the fact that Andromeda had given him some peace, if only for a little while.

“What about Andy?” Regulus asked, “Did she know you left?”

“I couldn’t put that burden on her,” Micah said, “if they found out she knew—I couldn’t bear to be the reason any pain came to her.”

“I left her a note for her to find in the stables. Elijah helped me write it. But that was all I could give her. If you see her—could you—“

Regulus shook his head, “I probably won’t ever see her again. I—we’ve run away, remember?”

Micah nodded solemnly, a sad smile on his face. “Did you ever tell her your name?”

“No—I wasn’t,” Regulus huffed, “I wasn’t sure she would understand.”

“She would have,” Micah said with conviction.

Regulus eyed the pair of men on the couch and hazarded his unsolicited advice, “It’s liberating, you know? Choosing a name for yourself. One that suits you because you chose it. Hearing it called back to you as a reminder that you are not what someone raised you to be but rather that you are who you have always been.”

“How did you choose your name?” Elijah asked curiously.

“I looked to the stars, and when I found one I could relate to, I seized it.”

“Carpe astra,” Micah mumbled, “Andy used to say that phrase quite often.”

Crackling fire and gentle snores of the two children were all that could be heard on the cold December night. As the six of them sat contemplating all that had been shared, Micah kept a studious eye on Barty, but Regulus’ friend didn’t seem to be bothered but simply stared back. And though questions burned in his eyes, he kept a silent tongue, letting the tale settle in his mind. 

No apologies were shared, nor were sympathies expressed. Whatever words Regulus could say wouldn’t soothe the pain that the two men had endured—that they were still enduring.

Mr. Abbott stood and walked silently toward the window surveying the scene outside, “Looks like the storm has passed for the most part.”

He looked back toward Barty and Regulus, “Hannah, will you show them to the barn?”

Quietly, Hannah discarded her work and stood gathering the blankets she had set on the table beside her seat. She walked to the door and waited for Regulus and Barty to join her.

The pair of boys stood up, and Regulus nodded to Micah and Elijah before joining Hannah, but Barty stayed behind. With two hands in his trousers, he walked toward Elijah and held out his right hand. The amber-eyed boy stared at it like he didn’t know what to do with it, then hesitantly placed his hand in Barty’s.

Barty gave the hand a hearty shake, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Elijah.”

He turned toward Micah, let go of Elijah's hand, and held it out for Micah to take.

Micah quite literally rose to the occasion, meeting Barty eye to eye and clasping his hand in the younger boys. 

“And you, Micah,” Barty placed his empty hand over Micah’s. “Thank you for sharing your stories. For as difficult as they were to hear, my imagination falls short of how it must have been to have lived them.”

Micah continued to let Barty hold his hand as he studied the man once again—whatever he had been looking for before, he seemed to have found it buried deep behind pale skin.

Micah gave Barty a quick nod and flashed him a small smile as he retracted his hand, and then Barty walked over to join his friend.

****

“It’s not much, but with the blankets, it’ll do for the night. And if you huddle close, you’ll likely forget the cold.” Hannah said.

“It’s perfect, Hannah, darling,” Barty said smoothly as he grabbed the blankets already on the bed and whipped them up, allowing any dust or dirt to leap from them into the air and settle on the hardwood floors.

Hannah walked over to Regulus and asked quietly, “Are you alright?”

Regulus nodded swiftly—it wasn’t his place not to be alright. But this day had been particularly draining, full of action, adventure, mystery and heartbreak. His heart was running a marathon with the finish line in sight, but it still pounded against his rib cage and burned within him.

Hannah got closer to Regulus, who was unknowingly hyperventilating and stole his breath with a soft kiss against his lips. His heart stopped, his ears rang, and his lungs shriveled with each passing second.

When she finally released him, he felt his mind empty of all thoughts apart from the kiss they had shared. It was soft, sweet, endearing—nowhere near the passionate kisses he had shared with Sirius but lovely nonetheless.

Hannah blinked at him shyly and whispered, “I just thought giving you something sweet might calm you down,”

“I—yes—thank you,” Regulus stammered and scowled when he heard Barty chuckle in the background.

“And I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been itching to do that since you walked through the door.” She gave Regulus a flirtatious wink that made his heart flutter, then walked away toward the ladder.

“Oi—where is my sweetness?” Barty pouted mockingly.

The fiery redhead let her eyes blaze with mirth as she walked up to Barty and whispered against his lips, “I don’t think you would fall prey to my particular brand of sweetness, but you’re more than welcome to help yourself to the crumbs of it I left on your friend's lips.”

Barty balked, and Hannah winked before heading down the rungs of the latter.

“Oh, I like her,” Barty declared once she was out of sight. He looked over toward Regulus, who, despite his dose of medicine, seemed riddled with thoughts of the day. Barty beckoned him toward the bed. Once settled, he maneuvered Regulus’ head to lay upon his chest, strummed at the short curly locks as he attempted to extract the thoughts racing through his mind.

“Tell me about your day, darling.”

“Barty, we were together the entire day. You know how my day went.” Regulus huffed.

“Tell me anyway. I want to see it with your eyes,” Barty urged, desperate to know what his friend was thinking and feeling.

“My friends and I robbed a bank,” Regulus started, and Barty gasped with faux shock, “ Scandalous . Were you afraid?”

“I was a bit—I was worried something would go wrong. That someone would get hurt. Whether it be us or them. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to be like—“

“Regulus Arcturus Black.” Barty said with a firm voice and strong hands, forcing Regulus to look him in the eye, “The blood of the covenant is thicker than water. You may have been birthed into a family, but they are no more yours than the name they gave you. You alone choose your true family. You, me, Evan, Pandora—even Sirius. That is the family you have chosen, that is the pact you have made, and you are nothing like that woman. You are nothing like your mother. You are nothing like your father.”

Once Barty was satisfied his piece had been heard and accepted, he placed Regulus’ head back down on his chest just above his heart, letting Regulus be calmed by the steady rhythm of the beating organ and the rise and fall of his chest.

“What else happened, Starlight?”

Regulus drew a shaky breath and whispered, “In the bank. The banker said something, and I—he said, ‘You’re the worst kind of men’.”

Barty had a retort on his tongue—ready to defend Regulus that he was not a bad person, but Regulus hoisted himself on his elbow and gazed at Barty with tears swelling in his eyes. But they weren’t tears of sadness or pain—they were tears of relief, of pride , and Barty felt utterly confused.

“He called me a man ,” Regulus breathed out almost peacefully.

Barty was more perplexed by the minute and couldn’t understand what was going on in Regulus’ head, but he was desperate to solve the riddle, “You are a man.” Barty said, ignorant of the soaring of Regulus’ heart.

Regulus lifted himself to sit up and properly looked at Barty without having to strain his neck, “No, I know—but I’ve never been seen as such by anyone besides you, Pandora, Evan, and—and Sirius. And please don’t take this the wrong way—your acceptance and understanding have gotten me through so much but—but this was the first time anyone in society has ever called me a man , and while yes—littered with negative connotations, he —he identified me correctly and it just—it was very reaffirming is all.” Regulus began to fiddle with the blankets on the bed while Barty processed the feelings being shared with him.

It had been almost a year since he saw Regulus in society forced to play a part—constantly acting as commanded, and if Barty was honest with himself, sometimes he forgot that Regulus had experienced a very different boyhood than he had. Sometimes, he forgot what it was like for both of them, chained by society's expectations. As if their life before was just a nightmare and they had always been on the run, free men. In that moment, Barty realized what a privilege it was to forget—to move on—to leave those expectations at the door and be who he was always meant to be. But for Regulus, it wasn’t the same—and for the first time, Barty recognized that no matter how far they ran or how free they were, there was always a demon whispering in his ear, reminding him of the shackles society—his family—had placed on him. Barty held out a hand and encouraged Regulus to resume the restful position and was rewarded with the light, sweet smell of Regulus’ hair, “I’m happy for you, Starlight.”

Regulus went on to tell Barty of his audacious best friend and the truly idiotic plot to gain credited revenge on their fathers when he was under the impression the vengeance would be anonymous . Barty chuckled and listened as Regulus elaborated on his fear of having been caught and the relief of finding solace in Mr. Abbot's home. Regulus regaled him with the fear that Mr. Abbot had been holding people captive and laughed at himself that he could ever have thought such nonsense about such a gentle man. He shared his feelings about all that had been told to them and stumbled over Mr. Abbot’s words, ‘“ I only wish I could do more .”

“Barty,” Regulus said sleepily, “what are we gonna do with all that money?”

Barty hummed to himself, “Well, I was thinking we could use it to purchase the materials to buy a house somewhere. Somewhere near a river, where we can play when it’s hot, we’ll have a handful of animals: chickens, cows. Goats are a necessity.”

“Oh god, not goats,” Regulus groaned.

“Oh god, yes , goats,” Barty scoffed, “It’s not a proper farm without goats.”

“But they’re so mean—they kick and head butt you for no reason , and they eat everything.—bit like you, if I’m honest.”

“See? You love goats, truly,” Barty teased and continued his fantasy, “You and Pandora can have separate rooms, and Evan and I will share.”

“Ooooh,” Regulus teased, and Barty tugged his hair lightly, “ow!”

“Oh, hush, it didn’t hurt,” Barty said. "It would be a modest home as we would spend most of our time outdoors anyway, and on warm summer nights, we’ll lay blankets out and watch the stars telling each other their stories and making up new ones.”

“It sounds lovely,” Regulus hummed, “but I think you’re forgetting two critical issues with that plan.”

Avery and Mulciber. The men were still after the four and likely wouldn’t stop until they were captured and brought back or until they had run far enough to escape them forever.

“Yeah.” Barty relented.

“What if—what if we could do something good with it?” Regulus asked in a small voice.

“Good?” Barty questioned.

“Well—from how it sounded, Micah and Elijah are not the first to come to Mr. Abbot’s home. And I can’t imagine he has unlimited supplies and what it costs to feed and house strangers. Not to mention, he could give them some starting money to help them out—if we just gave it to him. You know?”

Barty let the idea settle on his tongue and tasted the bittersweetness of it. The dream of settling down and living a quiet private life with Evan was within his grasp, but Regulus was right; they wouldn’t be able to indulge in such a fantasy until they had solved their problem.

“Besides—we can always get more when we rob the next bank,” Regulus said slyly, and Barty’s eyes lit up.

“We did have fun, didn’t we?” Barty said.

Regulus nodded and smiled crookedly.

“Yeah, alright. Besides, Pandora and Evan have the rest of the money. We can certainly get by with that.”

The pair fell asleep with the sound of the whipping wind outside and the gentle snores of the horses below them. And though Barty felt the burning letter in his pocket he decided it could wait just a little longer to be read.

**********

Evan and Pandora woke on a cold, crisp December morning, packed their tent, rolled up their mats, and attached their meager belongings to the horses. Evan let Pandora lead the way as she seemed to know exactly where she was going. Despite his sister’s reassurances, he was worried for Barty—and Regulus. But Barty was more of a wild card than Regulus, and he hoped his friend would be able to reign the wild thing when it got too feral. During the quiet ride, his thoughts lingered on soft strawberry blonde hair and crisp green eyes—fresh as the grass and just as itchy whenever they settled their gaze upon him. Despite the discomfort, Evan looked forward to setting eyes on his friend again—if only to ensure he was still in one piece. The horses trotted through the sloshy snow and came upon a house in the midday with a barn in the distance. It was a cozy-looking home, though it looked as though it had seen better days. There was definitely work to be done on it, and he idly wondered if perhaps it wouldn’t be in mild disrepair if it weren’t for the war. Times were hard as so many young men were drafted off fighting and dying, leaving the elderly and young to pick up the pieces and make do. A kind-looking man with salt and red peppered hair stood outside as if he had been waiting for them to arrive. Soon after they dismounted, he heard a familiar cry rip through the silence of the farm, “DORA!”

Evan looked up to see Regulus tackle his sister with short limbs and quick questions.

In the doorway stood a man who was all too familiar to him. The thorn in his side leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed and a smug smile on his lips.

Evan gave his horse a soft pet and sauntered over to the bane of his existence, who teased, “Miss me?”

The itchy feeling waved over his chest, and he scratched at the fabric over his skin as if it could soothe the burn–it didn’t.

“Like a fucking bullet to the head.”

Barty smiled genuinely, and the fluttering of wings in his center soothed the itch where his nails could not.

“Mr. Abbott, this is Evan and his sister Pandora,” Barty introduced, then whispered conspiratorially, “They’re the better half of our gang.”

“Ahhh,” Mr. Abbott said as he pressed his index finger to his nose, “pleasure to meet you.”

The old man welcomed them to the house, where they happened to be just in time for lunch, and Evan side-eyed his sister, who returned with a look that said, I told you so.

Seated at the dining table, there was a young woman with auburn hair and soft green eyes, a little girl who couldn’t have been more than five, an older man with dark eyes and mocha skin lined with pain, and a young man with caramel skin and a nervous smile holding a child. Barty pulled out a chair for Evan next to him and introduced them, “This is Evan and Pandora. Guys, this is Elijah and Mi—“

“Theodore.” The older man said and sat up straighter, “you can call me Theodore.”

Evan smiled at the man and then immediately frowned when he saw Pandora walk over to Elijah and hold her arms out.

“Your arms must be tired,” she said to the younger boy, who held his babe closer as if he was scared Pandora would take them away. But as he gazed up at her, he could visibly see the man melt at his sister, recognizing the purity of her soul and hesitantly offering the child to Pandora, who instantly cooed over the young one.

Pandora sat down and began to feed the little one the peas Regulus had put on her plate. 

The lunch was a quiet affair until Mr. Abbott offered them a place to stay over the night.

“Oh, we couldn’t possi—“ Regulus began but was cut off by Pandora.

“We’d be delighted. Regulus, I was thinking 200 would be sufficient.”

Evan watched as Regulus cocked his head, not following the train that was chugging steadily through Pandora’s mind. “200 what?”

“Dollars.” Pandora said, “to get us through to our next heist.”

Evan was clueless as to what was going on but Regulus leaned over and kissed her head fiercely and he sent Evan a pleading look.

The blue-eyed bandit was completely lost and turned to Barty for answers, but menace that he stuffed his face full of a roll of bread and mumbled with a full mouth, “Just smile and nod, love.”

Evan shook his head clear of the nonsense and did as Barty bade, smiling and nodding at his two friends.”

They spent the night in the barn telling each other of their separate adventures and divided up the money they had accumulated by nefarious means. When they woke Pandora and Regulus offered most of the money to William who accepted with the promise of good use and not a cent would be spared on himself or Hannah, and gave the remaining amount to Theodore and Elijah.

“We can’t accept this,” Theodore insisted, but Regulus was persistent.

“Andy would want you to have it. She would want to know you were safe and secure even with this little amount. I’d offer you more, but it might be more suspicious if you had too much. If you’re not going to take it for yourself, at least take it for the little ones.”

Theodore reluctantly accepted the money on their behalf and attempted to hand back the watch Barty had offered two nights prior.

Barty took it in hand and whispered the engraving, “Tide and time wait for no man.”

Barty hummed and returned it to Theodore’s hand, “My father gave me this watch as a reminder of loyalty, specifically loyalty to him. I kept it as a reminder that I should be loyal to myself before all others. I no longer need the reminder, but I think it might suit you for a time. And when you no longer need the reminder, perhaps you can pass it on to someone who does,”

The air fell heavy between the two, and  Theodore cut through the thickness, embracing Barty in a firm hug. Once they parted, Barty gave one last look at Elijah and a flirtatious wink at Hannah, causing Evan to scowl at the woman as he followed his friend out of the home. Pandora and Regulus lingered behind while Evan and Barty fetched the horses, and in the end, when they parted, the pockets were less burdened, and their hearts and minds were a little more full.

Notes:

Two notes:
1. Ya girl learned the proper pronunciation, spelling, and definition of oggled. My whole life is a lie. Thank you for enlightening me L and Nao and I guess Barry.
2. waitforthespark, you're so lucky it wasn't a smoking lounge. I was soooo close to changing it.

Mulciber and Avery catch up with the Marauders.

Chapter 10: Justice

Notes:

“And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.” Revelations 6:5

March 15. 1863

“God fucking damn it” Exasperation spat from Evan’s tongue like poison lingering on his taste buds infecting him with the sickening sweetness in the early morning. Barty sat with his back against a stone as he watched the frustrated man maneuver the tiny pocket mirror to see where the blade in his other hand had nicked his lightly tanned neck. A little red stream trailed down the side of Evan’s neck, and Barty’s eyes followed the ruby treasure as it pooled in the hollow of the other man’s collarbone. A frustrated growl sliced through the air, and Barty huffed as he raised himself from his languid resting place. He sauntered over to his friend and plucked the mirror from the other man’s hand before pocketing it.

“Hey!” Evan exclaimed, “I was using that.”

With a spark in his eye, Barty licked his bottom lip as he looked at the crimson tear leaking from the tiny wound just underneath the edge of Evan’s jaw, “Not very well, it seems.” 

“Give it back, Crouch,” Evan barked, and Barty rolled his eyes as he placed a firm hand on the other man’s shoulder and pressed down firmly, wordlessly commanding the man to sit .

Barty watched as Evan’s traitorous knees buckled, and the man sat pouting as his ass fell hard against the rock beneath him.

“Ow.” Evan scowled, but Barty ignored him. He gathered the small brush and swirled it around in the soap bowl, lathering it before lifting Evan’s chin and brushing it softly against the seated man’s face.

Evan’s skin was slightly burned from all the time they had spent outdoors. Pink stains swept across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, giving the man a permanent blush, and fuck if it didn’t kill Barty to see and not touch . But this he could do. There was a purpose behind this touch , so he allowed himself to enjoy it as soapy suds gathered along Evan’s cheeks, across his chin, and down his neck.

The man hissed as the soapy water reached the cut he had made on his perfect skin, and he fixed a deadly glare at the boy in front of him.

The line of blood faded into a pink watercolor that painted the stubbled canvas before him. “Oops,” Barty said, grinning—not bothered in the slightest by drawing a reaction out of the man, even if it was a painful one. Barty didn’t care what emotion lingered in Evan’s eyes as long as they were looking at him. Anger, curiosity, frustration, want. He would take them all like a spoonful of sugar, masking the bitter taste of Evan’s unreturned affections, easing the tightening in his throat. The letter of his unheard gospel still burned in his pocket, waiting for a day of peace to allow for them to be read by cerulean blue eyes.

Evan scoffed and muttered, “You did that on purpose.”

Barty answered with a wicked smile as he set the brush down in the bowl and saddled himself on Evan’s thighs. His knees dug against the unforgiving stone, but he didn’t mind the pain as long as it meant having his rose close enough to smell. Bushy blond brows raised in alarm as Barty sat down and stole the straight razor from the man beneath him. A gentle press of his crooked finger against Evan’s chin instructed his friend to look up, and Barty set his sights on the white, soapy mess he had made of Evan’s face. The blade gleamed in the morning light as Barty put the edge against Evan’s neck and listened to the scraping sound of coarse hairs being sliced by the silver razor.

Barty could feel the ocean gaze crashing against his face in waves of puzzlement as Evan looked down his nose at him, but Barty stayed diligent in his task, removing the white-covered coarseness and leaving behind smooth skin. 

Barty kept at his task silently as he moved to the other side of Evan’s slender neck. Visions of purples and blues clouded his mind as he thought of what it would be like to devour the flesh before him, and the bandit felt himself grow hard as he watched the blade erase all the evidence of lather and hair. The truth was, Barty didn’t care if Evan kept his stubble, if he grew a full beard, or if he kept his face clean and visible at all times. It was still the most beautiful face he had ever laid eyes on, whether bare and smooth or covered and rough. Barty would take any version of Evan, but he knew Evan preferred himself to have the look of a gentleman—even if the style was misplaced in the wilderness.

Once the sides were complete, Barty encouraged Evan to lift his chin further to tend to the middle of the man’s throat. Carefully, he stroked the blade upward, unable to ignore the way Evan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. 

With each stroke, Barty wiped the blade clean on the towel resting on Evan’s shoulder before moving on to the next section. With his index finger and thumb pinching Evan’s chin, Barty swiveled the man’s head, searching for any missed spots. Upon finding nothing but hairlessness, he pulled the chin down and vivid blue perfection with flakes of gold illuminated by the morning light kissed brightly colored green eyes that radiated at the sight.

Evan’s breath billowed in the cold morning air against Barty’s lips, and he could practically taste him. The hardness against his stomach became impossible to ignore, and he shifted subtly against the man’s lap only to be stopped by firm hands on his hips. 

“Stop that.” Evan’s words rose into the air along with the foggy condensation as the warmth of the man beneath him escaped and found purchase as the angel’s breath flew toward the heavens where it rightfully belonged. Beneath him, however, was the evidence of something less than holy. Spearing against his own cock was an unexpected sign of arousal, which Barty fervently fueled by purposefully readjusting himself against Evan’s lap. 

The man let out a groan as Barty shifted and asked with faux innocence, “Stop what?”

A devilish smile pulled at Barty’s lips as frustration and annoyance framed Evan’s face. The fingers pressing into Barty’s hips squeezed threateningly.

“ Bartemius .” Evan gritted out.

“ Evangelion .” Barty mocked. 

Early on, when they still hated each other, Evan discovered Barty’s distaste for his full name and used it against him like a weapon, carefully wielding it to slice and maim. So Barty manufactured a weapon of his own, christening his foe with forgotten lore.

But the names once intended to pierce each other were now used in playful mockery as Barty was no longer chained to the butchered claim as an honorable son, and Evan was no longer bound to be a good little messenger spilling secret truths to his father, so that the corrupt banker may reap the rewards of others’ misdeeds. They were free men—they had been long before their escape. 

Freed from the shackles of their minds placed on them at birth, at the very least. 

But underneath the Avalonian Sunrise in the wilderness of their homeland, they were truly liberated, and yet—Evan still held back.

Sighing in defeat, Barty resumed his task. He pushed Evan’s chin to face right and grasped the blade more firmly, gently scraping the cool metal across Evan’s warm flesh. As he turned Evan’s face to the left and began to shave the sudsy cheek, Barty began to think about what reaction he would draw from purposefully spilling the crimson beauty. To watch as the sun-kissed skin was marred by his hand. To witness as it scabbed over and healed, leaving behind a permanent mark for Barty to fix his eyes upon with pride, knowing that a little part of him would always be with Evan. To know that every time Evan looked into a mirror, he would see that mark and think of him . A silver love line, permanently carved on his skin. Of course, Barty knew better than to indulge in his fantasies and would only ever partake in such depravity with the earnest consent of his friend. Besides, if he nicked Evan now, the man would never let him partake in the delight of grooming him again.

So Barty continued down his sure path with the sharp blade, leaving Evan’s skin untarnished by his hand. Satisfied that both cheeks were clear, Barty turned Evan’s face toward him. He lost himself in the raging sea of Evan’s eyes for a moment before he looked down at the soapy upper lip and chin. 

Evan kept his lips pressed tightly, and the breath that exited his nostrils warmed Barty’s chilly fingers as he gingerly shaved the man’s upper lip. The twin hardness that pressed together was majorly ignored by the pair as Barty moved on to the last section of Evan’s face. Once he was done, Barty gave the blade a final wipe against the towel and closed the straight razor before placing it in the box sitting neatly on the rock next to Evan. He took the dry side of the towel to wipe clean any extraneous soap and handed the mirror back to Evan so he could inspect his work. The skin was clear of any unwanted hair, but the nick Evan had given himself was still bleeding and Barty’s friend frowned at the sight.

“It’s still bleeding.” Evan noted. 

Barty turned his head to the side to inspect the cut. It was superficial, but a new red streak was slowly working its way down Evan’s neck. Barty bent his head forward and licked the flesh just underneath the stream, catching it on his tongue as he glided it up toward the wound. He felt the death grip on his hips tighten harshly as he sucked and lavished the spot with his rough, wet tongue. Barty ran his drooling mouth over his friend’s throat and Evan bucked up—unable to stop himself, and the pair moaned at the friction. The soapy copper taste lingered on Barty’s tongue after he pulled away and reached for a bottle in the shaving kit. He unscrewed the cap and put a generous amount of the liquid on his hands before patting them against Evan’s face. Hooded eyes widened at the sudden stinging sensation of the aftershave, and Evan growled as a smirk played against Barty’s lips.

With reluctance, Barty removed himself from his friend’s lap and stretched his body, willing his arousal to dissipate. But as he looked at the hungry gaze Evan was gracing him with—Barty knew all attempts were in vain and decided fresh, cool water was the only solution. 

“I’m gonna go join Reg and Panda in the river. Are you good to stay with here?”

Evan placed his elbows on his knees and his head in his palms as he nodded against them. A deep sigh left Barty as he turned toward the direction of the crisp water in search for his friends and a way to extinguish the fire blazing in his abdomen.

 

************

Evan watched as Barty left feeling an assortment of emotions. Confusion made his mind blurry, and the arousal that came from his interaction with Barty sparkled like glitter through the haze. It was as if his mind melted whenever Barty was near him, and he couldn’t understand why .

He stood up and began to properly clean the items of his shaving kit before placing them back into the box and his thoughts lingered on the eyes of the man who had left his face and mind as smooth as polished stone. Sharp green eyes matched the frosty blades of grass beneath his feet, grounding him and shimmering as they illuminated with want.

He wasn’t ignorant to the physical reaction Barty had every time they had gotten into an argument or a tussle. He knew Barty was attracted to him physically. And for the first time, as Barty gingerly tended to him, that arousal was reciprocated. The gesture of domestic care sent a wild flutter in his abdomen where there had only been sparse spasms at best. Apart from his sister, no one had ever touched him as tenderly and gingerly without demanding something in return, and Evan struggled to decipher the riddle in his heart. 

As he began packing the bed rolls and latching them onto the back of the saddles, his mind began to wander back to Barty’s impromptu visit the night they ran away.

 

*****
February 1862

 

Evan could hear the creaking of the floorboards inside his bedroom as he lay in his bed. It would be alarming if it didn’t happen so often that Evan already knew who the footsteps belonged to. The light of the full moon through an unblanketed window seeped through, illuminating the uncharacteristically cautious face of Barty Crouch Jr.

 

“What is it this time? Were you making a speech in front of the instructors in nothing but your socks?” Evan huffed out a tired laugh. Barty had often found excuses to crawl into bed with him at West Point, where they shared a room with Sirius—well before Sirius left. Now, it was just them. They were due back from the winter break next week, and Evan wasn’t entirely sure how their dynamic would change without Sirius there to mediate when their fights got bad.

 

Barty shook his head and made no move to join Evan in the bed, which caused concern. He sat up from the bed and kicked his legs out over the edge, using the duvet to cover himself. Barty looked tired, but more than that, he looked frightened. Barty worried his lip between his teeth, and his brows were drawn so close together they looked as if they were almost one. The ordinarily cocky young man held his arms close to his side in thought fists, and his boots shuffled against the floor as he drew a small circle with his toe.

“Barty?” A whisper so soft and full of genuine concern had Barty release his lip and look up at Evan.

“I’m running away,” Barty said softly. “With Regulus.”

“Oh,” Evan said quickly, feeling a burn in his heart, likely from his meal, which had probably not been properly digested. Surely that’s what it was.

“When do you leave?” Evan asked. “Where will you go?”

“Tonight. Regulus has a plan. He said the fewer people that know or overhear, the better. I’m on my way to pick him up now, actually, but I wanted—“ Barty swallowed thickly. “I want you to come with us.”

Evan looked up to see Barty’s pleading eyes, and he bit his lip from instantly agreeing to going with him. He couldn’t imagine a life without Barty, which was hilarious because when he met the lanky, obnoxious child, he couldn’t imagine a life with him. He couldn’t fathom having to spend stuffy dinners watching Sirius and Barty make up new ways to subtly piss off their parents. He couldn’t comprehend the possibility of hearing Barty’s pleas every summer for Evan to play with them. And now, with the reality dawning on him, he would likely never see Barty’s smile, never hear Barty’s laugh, never smell the rose oil on his person, or feel Barty’s firm hug, or taste his breath when they huddled together on cold winter nights. And it dawned on him that, at that moment, Barty was his best friend. And now it was likely he would never see him again.

“I can’t—“ Evan choked out. “I can’t just leave Pandora behind. She’s coming out this year. Mother and Father have already begun negotiations with the Avery family to offer her hand in marriage.”

“Alexander?” Barty guffawed in incredulity.

“Yes.”

“But—but he’s,” Barty stammered, “But he’s horrid.”

“I know. Which is why I can’t leave her.”

“You can’t let her marry him. He’ll crush her.” Barty said firmly with angry eyes. “Her body. Her spirit. Her fucking soul. He’ll demolish her.”

“You don’t think I know that.” Evan rose, pushing back the duvet, approaching Barty in nothing but thin, white linen sleeping trousers.

“You think I want to see her wed off to that—that—Barbarian?” Evan huffed out. He looked into Barty’s eyes and silently begged him to realize. “I can’t leave her.”

“I—I understand.” Barty swallowed and took a step forward, ready to embrace Evan in a final hug. The door swung open, and the soft light of a candle appeared. Behind it stood a young blonde-haired girl with her hair braided back dressed in a traveling coat, a lightweight dress, and black boots. In one hand was a candle; in the other was a suitcase.

“Oh, good. I was worried I’d missed you.” Pandora whispered as she entered the room and closed the door behind her.

Barty and Evan stared at her with pinched eyes and then back at each other.

“Pandora, what are you doing?” Evan asked as she set her suitcase down and headed toward Evan’s bed, leaning beneath it.

“I’m grabbing your bag,” Pandora said as she pulled a suitcase from beneath Evan’s bed. Once she had righted herself, she handed the luggage to Evan.

“Well, don’t dawdle. Get dressed,” she said as she went to Evan’s armoire to pick out the suitable traveling suit, she had set aside two nights prior. She handed him the clothes, and Barty looked at her with confusion etched onto his face. Evan set the clothes down on the bed, and he matched Barty’s face as he stared at his sister.

“Did Regulus tell you what we’re doing?” Barty asked.

“No.”

“Do you know what we’re doing?” Barty asked.

“You and Regulus are running away. Evan and I are coming with you.”

“We can’t just—“ Evan began, but was cut off by his sister’s sharpness.

“We can just. If you think I’m going to stay here and have my freedom squeezed from me, you are mistaken, dear brother.” She softened her features and moved close to Evan to hold his head in her hands. “And if you think I will allow you to sacrifice yourself and your desires for my sake, you don’t know me very well.”

She removed her hands, gingerly picked the clothes back up, and held them out to Evan.

Evan knew not of the desires she spoke of. Desire for freedom? Desire for independence? Desire for companionship? He couldn’t imagine a life without Barty’s friendship, and Pandora offered him a way to maintain that closeness. So, with open hands, he took the offering and the clothes and began to get dressed.

****

 

His back was turned toward the horses as he gathered the cooking utensils and placed them in a small bag. He heard the painful neigh of one of the horses and turned to watch her crumble to the ground with a resounding thud . Beside the wounded animal was Wulfric Mulciber with a red-stained knife and a feral grin. Evan sprung into action and reached for the pistol resting in the holster on his right hip, but his hand was stopped abruptly by the feel of a sharp, cold knife against his throat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Rosier,” Avery whispered into his ear as he pressed his body against Evan’s back, holding him firmly in place. A myriad of thoughts raced through his brain about how he could get himself out of the predicament he was in. But he came up empty. His best option was to warn at least somehow the others who were close enough to hear his call but not close enough to save him.

Mulciber casually saddled the still dripping blade into its holster, pulled out a pistol, and aimed it at Evan’s head as he stood ten paces away from his target.

“Where is she?”

Evan feigned ignorance as he asked, “Who?”

“Ms. Black, where is she?”

“I imagine Mrs. Black is at Grimmauld Place with her husband,” Evan said coolly and felt the knife press deeper into his throat, pinching at the small wound that had begun to bleed again at the assault.

Mulciber snarled and twisted his face menacingly as Evan felt the warm breath of his captor against his neck, “You know your father has promised your sister to me; in fact—her dowry has been increased due to your indiscretions . It was truly foolish of you to take a pair of unmarried women and bring them to the wilderness. They’re ruined now—luckily, Wulfric and I are here to save them from your poor judgment. Out of curiosity, how ruined are they? Do you fuck Ms. Black while Crouch fucks your sister?” 

Unable to help himself, Evan shuttered in disgust at the idea of either prospect.

Avery purred against his ear, “Then again, your sister always had been a little odd—maybe she lets you fuck her while the other two watch. Tell me—how does her cunt feel around your cock? Is it still tight, or have you and Barty worn it out?” 

Avery whispered against his ear, and Evan felt bile rise and burn against his rapidly beating heart as he said, “No matter—she’s got other holes I will be more than happy to explore. To stretch and tear. I’ll bet she screams so fucking sweetly, and I cannot wait to hear her sing for me .”

Evan twisted his neck slightly to look at the man whispering filth and promises of demolition. He barely felt the slight scrape of the knife around his neck as adrenaline pumped through his veins. 

He fixed the sadistic man with a piercing fire in his eyes as he heard a righteous angelic voice from ten paces away deliver a sweet pledge, “Avery, darling, the last thing you’ll be hearing is your own death rattle if you don’t take that knife away from Evan’s throat.”

Evan broke his staring contest with Avery to see Barty with an open shirt and coat–hastily thrown on. His drawers were tucked into his boots, and the droplets of water from the river ran down his chest and crystallized in his hair. Despite the late winter chill in the air, Barty’s hand was steady on the handle of the blade he held against Mulciber’s throat as he mirrored Avery.

“Crouch,” Wulfric began tightly, “you’re a fool.”

Evan assessed the situation, and with a gun pointed at his head and a knife digging into his throat, he reluctantly agreed with Mulciber. Bright green eyes searched Evan’s, and Barty’s lips tugged upward to one side as he asked, “Vertraust du mir, Vögelchen? (Do you trust me, little bird?).”

There was a lot Evan didn’t understand when it came to Barty Crouch Jr. The man baffled him, challenged him, vexed him. But one thing Evan did know—felt—was when it came to his friend, he had unwavering confidence in Barty, and with the slightest nod, he watched as Barty’s smirk molded into a genuine smile before his comrade fixed his gaze down the barrel of the gun in Mulciber’s hand as it stayed fixedly pointed between Evan’s eyes.

Barty tilted his head and turned his attention to Avery, “You have until the count of three to drop that fucking knife, or I will make good on my promise.”

Evan felt his breath catch in his throat and watched the subtle cue as Barty tilted his head back.

“One,” Barty said as he kept his eyes on Evan.

“What are you gonna do, Crouch?” Mulicber feigned confidence, but the fear in his voice gently shook against the knife at his throat, “if you cut my throat, I’ll put a bullet into your little bird’s brain, and even if I manage not to, Avery will surely slit his throat before you get a chance to save him.”

“Two,” Crouch said through gritted teeth, and Evan watched as the familiar green eyes provided a stabilizing calm that cut through the tension of the scene like a knife.

“ Three . ” All the men stood still with breaths held. But when no action came from any of the men, Avery laughed heartily.

“You humbug! For a second there, I thought you were actually going to—“

Barty was almost serpentine in his movements as his left arm shot out and grasped Mulciber’s wrist, redirecting the pistol to aim two inches to the left while his right hand glided the knife through Mulciber’s neck. Evan tilted his head back and to the left when the deafening sound of a shot fired echoed against the rocks surrounding the camp space, and Evan felt the knife nick the flesh just above his shoulder as the man behind him stumbled back. He turned to see Alexander Avery with wide eyes, still standing as his body had yet to catch up with the hole inside his brain. A small gust of wind blew the man down, and Alexander crumbled to the ground like a doll. 

Evan turned around to see Mulciber clutching the side of his throat that had been slit with one hand and digging the still-bloodied knife out from its sheath with the other. Barty’s eyes were fixed on Evan, unworried about the gun less man—as Barty had disarmed him after having fired the first bullet.

Evan watched in horror as Mulciber turned around, knife in hand, and moved to swipe at Barty. But his savior was quick and jumped back out of the knife’s reach. Instinctively, Barty plunged the knife into Mulciber’s shoulder, and Wulfric grunted in pain as he dropped the hand holding his neck. Mulciber swiped his feet behind Barty’s legs, causing the man to fall on his back with a thud. 

Wulfric firmly grasped the handle of the blade with both hands and straddled Barty as he attempted to plunge the knife into Barty’s chest, but two hands held both assailing wrists, pushing back and away. Mulciber was stronger, though, and Evan stood struck by fear and watched as Mulciber sank the knife in Barty slowly—millimeter by millimeter. 

 

********

 

With deep knitted, sweated brows, Barty looked up at the man whose blood trickled down from his neck. He hadn’t cut as deep as he thought, but he could feel the man above him getting slightly weaker from the blood loss.

Everything was happening all too quickly and somehow—at the same time—in slow motion. Barty watched as the blade tried to make a home in his chest and found his eyes flicker to the man he had tried to save. A deep breath escaped him as Barty saw Evan frozen in place—still alive. Evan got like this—when he became stressed out, he became non-verbal, paralyzed, almost as if he was frozen. Over the years, Barty found ways to break his friend out of his head—tender touches, soft crooning words of praise, none of which Barty could offer him now. 

Barty found, as he gazed at the man who would never read the words buried in his coat pocket–which were sure to be drenched in his own blood as the knife pierced through them and into his flesh, that he felt no blame in his heart for the petrified man. His only thought was how much devastation Evan would feel when the frost of his mind thawed, and Barty was dead. 

But suddenly, a shot rang out through the valley, and Barty saw a well-placed bullet pierce through the skull of his attacker. Blood splattered across Barty’s face, but with deftness, he pushed the weapon in his chest out and up as the man sank and toppled over him. Barty rolled their bodies over and looked up to find a black Colt in Pandora’s hand, smoking from the justice that had been served on the frigid winter morning.

Barty breathed out a sigh of relief and scrambled up with aching limbs. He nodded to Pandora and placed a hand between his skin and the coat. The wound wasn’t terribly deep—but he would definitely need Regulus to sew him up. Pandora’s eyes flickered to Evan, and concern hardened her soft features. Barty looked to see the man, and he shrugged off his jacket. Evan was shivering—not just from the cold but the shock as well. He walked over and wrapped his coat over Evan’s shoulders and tugged at the ends, trying to keep his wilting rose warm and safe. Evan’s eyes stared at the bright red wound that ripped Barty’s flesh.

“You’re bleeding,” Evan stated, slowly coming out of his haze.

 

“‘Tis but a scratch,” Barty tried to soothe with a lighthearted quip, but it fell to the ground along with the snow that had begun to sprinkle the earth around them. Evan parted the shirt to inspect it more clearly with glossy eyes and mimicked Barty’s earlier motion as he bent down to lick at the wound. Barty groaned at the sensation of the rough tongue against his red-stained chest. The wound was too deep to cauterize the cut with saliva the way Barty had done with Evan’s neck, but the wounded man let Evan continue his ministrations as he lapped up the blood leaking from his marred flesh. He patted the soft blond locks as Evan sucked at his chest, desperate to do something when he had done nothing at a time action was needed most.

“Du bist in Sicherheit, Evan. Sie sind weg und du bist bei mir in Sicherheit. Fliege zurück zu mir, Vögelchen. (You’re safe. They’re gone and you’re safe. Fly back to me, little bird)”, Barty soothed softly, and he felt Evan pull his head up and saw rose-painted lips that taunted him.

The fog over cerulean eyes lifted as Evan whispered, “You killed them.”

Barty looked over to Avery’s body lying on the ground, and his eyes narrowed in disgust at the corpse he had created, “They tried to hurt you—they tried to kill you, Evan.”

Two firm hands cupped Barty’s chin and pulled his head to face Evan. “I didn’t—” 

Evan frowned as he looked down at Barty’s chest. The evidence of his inaction was painted in crimson.

With a red-stained hand, Barty lifted his friend’s chin and whispered, “Hey, it’s okay.” 

Barty dragged down one of Evan’s hands from his face and onto his heart, “I’m okay.” 

He repeated the action, placing Evan’s other hand over his friend’s heart, “You’re okay.” 

Evan pressed his forehead against Barty’s, and their noses brushed as Barty whispered, “We’re okay.”

Long exhales of warm breath fanned against Barty’s face, and he could feel a calmness begin to manifest in Evan’s body when the sudden sound of pain rang out from the wounded horse. 

They looked over and saw Regulus assessing the injury on the prone horse's leg. The pair walked over to see a frown on the boy’s face. 

Barty looked down to see the leg of his horse covered in blood from where Mulciber had sliced through the skin. 

“I’ll go grab the needle and thread and get a rag and a bowl, and you can start sewing him up.” Regulus grabbed Barty’s arm as he moved to turn. Sad silver stars looked down at his chest and trailed back up to crash against gentle green eyes. 

Barty looked down at his chest and huffed a laugh, “This? No—I’m fine. I’ll be fine. But she needs to get taken care of quickly, or she’ll lose more blood.” 

Barty turned to gather the kit but was fixed in place by Regulus’ grip. 

“Regulus we’re wasting time.” 

Regulus looked back at the horse, and Barty turned around. 

Green eyes traced over the cut and then traveled lower, where Barty saw a white pointed edge jutting through the flesh of his horse, and his stomach sank. He wasn’t ignorant. Barty knew a broken leg on a horse was a death sentence. But still, his eyes refused to send the knowledge of what he was seeing to his brain, and Barty kept repeating in quick breaths, “It’s fine. This is fine. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.”

He could barely feel the tender circles Evan drew on his lower back, but Barty could hear the words clearly: "Why don’t you and Regulus go down to the river and fetch some water while Pandora and I tend to him?”  

Green eyes stayed trained on the horse. A sharp neigh pulled Barty out of his trance, and he nodded, “Yeah, Reg and I will go get some water to clean him up.”

Evan kissed his temple and gently pushed him toward Regulus. Then Barty felt the gentle arm of his best friend wrap around his waist and guide him away from the injured horse and toward the cold stream.

 

**********

 

When the pair reached the river, Regulus gingerly took Barty’s shirt off.

“Reg, we’ve got to hurry—the horse.”

Regulus pursed his lips as he looked at the wound, “The horse can wait, Barty. Evan and Pandora will take care of her. Let me take care of you .”

Regulus shucked his own clothes off as Barty took off his trousers, and the pair walked into the cold, steadily flowing river. Their bodies shivered as they trekked further into the water until they were waist deep. Years of sneaking out to the river by the Black summer cottage and skinny dipping had made the pair comfortable at seeing each other naked. 

As the years passed, new developments plagued Regulus’ body, causing him to feel increasingly shy about joining the other boys. But they never paid any mind to the extra weight on his chest, and eventually, he became less hesitant to strip off his shirt in front of them.

Regulus scooped some water, poured it over Barty’s wound, and watched the excess blood clear away. Once clean, they waded to the shore and redressed. Barty left his shirt off so Regulus would have easier access to stitch him up with the sewing kit Pandora had handed him before they left camp. The injured man sat on an elevated rock with his legs parted to allow Regulus to step between them. The younger boy tried to keep his fingers steady in the frosty air as he pulled the thread through the eye of the needle and got to work.

“Are you okay?” Regulus asked as he poked a hole through the pinched flesh and tugged at the thread. 

“Well, I’ve been stabbed,” Barty answered sardonically, and Regulus huffed a laugh.

“Not—not that. I mean—well, you just killed a man.”

“Well, he wasn’t a very good man,” Barty answered nonplussed.

“Still—” Regulus struggled to find his words as he kept his eyes fixed on the shivering chest before him, “You were schoolmates; you practically grew up with him. Not to mention that killing can—do things—to a person. It can be a heavy burden on your soul.”

Regulus could hear the smirk in Barty’s voice as he said, “Oh, Starlight. Are you worried about my tarnished soul?”

Regulus stabbed the needle with a little less care through Barty’s flesh and felt satisfaction at the hiss of minor pain, “I am trying to let you know if you need to unburden yourself—you can always come to me.”

Regulus lifted his eyes to find unfamiliar darkness on Barty’s usually playful face.

“I feel no burden. No remorse. No sadness at the— loss —of Alexander Avery. He tried to take you, to take Pandora, to take Evan away from me. And I will gladly battle any man or woman that ever dares to take any of you unwillingly.”

Regulus swallowed thickly and nodded, then resumed his task and mended the evidence of Barty’s devotion to his friends.

“Was it hard? —to kill him, I mean,” Regulus asked, avoiding Barty’s eyes.

“With his knife to Evan’s throat? No. It was as easy as breathing.”

A gunshot rang out, startling the pair of them, and Regulus watched as a single tear fell down Barty’s cheek and landed on the hand holding the needle.

“Try not to hold it against him,” Regulus said as he continued sewing.

“I won’t,” Barty sniffed as another tear fell onto Regulus’ tender mending hand.

 

Notes:

How are we feeling??

Barty and Pandora out here slayin'.

Up Next: Sirius tells his story and James and Co. prepare for Colorado.

Chapter 11: Under Pressure

Notes:

Okay-So I lied. The next chapter will feature the Potter Clan preparing for Colorado. In the meantime, enjoy some prongsfoot.

Special Thanks to Heated_Mausoleum who spent countless hours listening to me rant about Cowboys as a whole, to waitforthespark who encouraged me to keep going with the smut and the aftercare (I really hope you liked it, darling) and to fairies_withspirits your brilliant wordsmithing has saved my cavern once again.

August 1867

After dinner was over and the Weasley clan had left, James escorted Sirius and Frank to the parlor. The room was vibrantly colored with soft blues and purples, creating a calm and relaxed atmosphere to match the matron of the Potter home, and while Sirius studied the room with a critical eye, James studied Sirius.

Despite the flirtatious and devil-may-care attitude, the man seemed to carry a heavy weight on his shoulders, and James was itching to help unburden him.

“I’m sure this is not nearly as lavish as you’re used to,” James said, pouring two fingers of brandy into three identical crystal glasses.

Sirius thumbed at the embroidered fabric clinging to the windows and whispered reverently, “It’s lovely.”

A flicker of pride swelled in James’ heart at the compliment to his mother and the welcoming home she had created.

“My mother helped Effie make those curtains,” Frank said and a memory played in James’ mind of Augusta and Effie working tirelessly by the fire sharing stories as they sewed love into the fabric and created an immortal garden that would last long past Augusta Longbottom.

“She has a wonderful talent,” Sirius replied in earnest.

“She did.” Frank agreed somberly as he took a sip of the brandy.

“Did?” Sirius asked hesitantly.

“She passed away last Spring.” Frank revealed and looked to James with a pitying stare, “She put up a fight, to be sure, but in the end, her consumption won out.”

Sirius dropped the fabric in his hand, and James could see the apology already on his tongue, but Frank intercepted, “She would have loved to know her work was appreciated.”

With weighted steps, James walked over to Sirius and offered him a glass, putting his own mother’s impending doom in the back of his mind as he smiled and suggested, “I think it’s time for that story now, Mr. Black.”

Sirius took the crystal in his hand and scrunched up his nose in distaste at the moniker, “Sirius will do.”

James settled into the armchair opposite the chair Sirius had chosen while Frank made himself at home on the couch. Long fingers lightly gripped the bottom of the glass, and Sirius swirled the honey-colored liquid. He nodded solemnly before he gulped the liquid down in one go to ease the tightening of his throat and let the truth spill from his tongue in amber waves.

James’ eyes widened, though he knew the man thought whatever monsters troubled Sirius’ past were best left in the shadows of his mind. Still, James wanted to coax them into the light to allow Sirius to see they were nothing to fear. The marshal peeled himself off the chair and took Sirius's glass to refill it.

“Titans of Industry,” Sirius scoffed, “My father, Orion Black, is possibly the most influential man in New York–possibly in all of the North. He’s charming, charismatic, wealthy, highly intelligent, and devilishly handsome.”

James eyed Sirius as he returned from the liquor cabinet to hand the man his second helping of medicine and huffed a laugh, “Got to be honest, I didn’t expect such praise to be uttered from you regarding your father.”

Sirius’ warm demeanor vanished and left a coldness that seeped into James’ bones.

“Would you consider yourself to be a foolish man, Marshal?”

“James will do.” James said, then denied, “Depends on the context. I often do foolhardy things, but I consider myself to have good judgment of character.”

“I hope so because if not, you–James Potter–are fucked. ”

James tilted his head, a curious smile spreading across his face, “How do you mean?”

“In addition to all of the praise I gave. Which–I would deny it as praise and claim they were merely facts about the man–he is ruthless, narcissistic, entitled, controlling, and greedy. ”

James tried to reconcile the image Sirius painted with the little he knew about the man.

“Greedy?” James asked, “I know he’s wealthy , but he gave a lot for the war effort–”

James recalled the packages of hope containing hardtack and salt pork with the Black Railway logo burned into the boxes feeding the masses.

Sirius scoffed, lifting the glass to take a small sip to wash down the bitter taste of his father’s philanthropy . “I assure you; he made the money back.”

At the look of confusion on the law’s face, Sirius elaborated, “Say one of those crates of food cost ten dollars, right? He sold it to the government for half that price, making it seem like he’s helping the effort and feeding the Union soldiers. Meanwhile, a crate of rifles costs $50 for him, but he sells it to the government at $200 a crate. He got much more than he gave , I can promise you.”

“But–why wasn’t this in the papers?” Frank asked, “His donation was in the papers; why wouldn’t the scandal be?”

Sirius laughed sardonically, “Because Crouch owns the papers. And Orion Black owns Crouch. A little hush money goes a long way. Bartemius Crouch, Sr. was most certainly reaping the rewards of Father’s deal. Orion got notoriety for being a philanthropist while stealing money from the people who were actually paying for the war and taking all the credit.

On top of that, taxes increased because where does the government’s money come from ? So, Orion managed to encourage the government officials of the areas he was trying to build a railroad through to increase the taxes even more for those who refused to sell their land to him, greasing their pockets and minds with promises of industry and wealth all the while getting the land for a fraction of the price at auction. Orion Black is a greedy man. ”

James let the taste of truth settle on his tongue and between his teeth as he chewed the newfound knowledge into smaller bites so he wouldn’t choke on it as it went down his throat. Still, it wasn’t enough, and the marshal lifted his own glass, taking a healthy gulp of the amber liquid to help wash it down.

“He’s also very possessive of what he considers to be his. His business, his money, his land, his children. Anything and everything is a commodity. Trinkets that he maintains in neat little rows, keeping them shining and pristine for all to view but not touch. ”

A dark shadow fell just below Sirius’ eyes as his brows furrowed, and James thought sympathetically that he looked so tired. Despite the warning, the marshal was itching to reach out and smooth over those wrinkles that lined the criminal’s forehead, to take his fingertips and massage the tension in the man’s face.

“I have lived a very fortunate life compared to others. I never wanted for food, or shelter, or clothing. Love was sparse in the early days, but I managed to find it in the most unlikely of places,” Sirius gave an empty smile to the brandy in his hand, and James gave one of his own as he thought of short midnight curls and fierce silver eyes. The marshal instinctively rubbed at the phantom pain the metal arrow had struck through him, just barely missing his heart, and a genuine smile and teasing eyes reached out for him, “But you would know all about that. Wouldn’t you, Marshal?”

Frank looked back and forth between the two men and chuckled while James muttered, “Piss off.”

“Anyway,” Sirius sighed, “I lived in grandeur, the kind of life most people only dream about, and while it looks beautiful and alluring, it felt cold, rotten, empty. Invisible shackles in the name of duty and obligation chained me. Choked me like a collar. Like I was just a pampered pet and would be cared for as long as I obeyed the commands of my master. It was stifling, and with every year that passed, more and more links were added, weighing me down. It became harder to move, and I could feel myself decaying with every order, every lecture, every charge.”

James could feel Frank’s eyes on him. The feeling Sirius described was all too familiar to the pair as they muddled through the war together, but James didn’t dare look at his comrade for fear that it would welcome that all-too-familiar feeling of guilt for his actions while draped in a dark blue prison.

“One day in particular, it became too much.” Sirius admitted with glassy eyes, “Father came to me with two tasks that would define my future irrevocably.”

James leaned in, the drink in his hand forgotten as he gave his full attention to the blackened star in his parlor.

“On my sixteenth birthday, my father sat me down and laid out my destiny as he saw fit to make it so. At the time, I was attending West Point with the goal that once I graduated, I would become an officer for the Union Army. He made promises of my protection, of course. I would be little more than an ornament, and it would be little more than a stamp on my record that I would be a war veteran. A tool to utilize to my advantage when the time came to use it for publicity. At this point, I had already been attending meetings, a silent observer of my father’s work. But he gave me sugar-coated promises of more liberty. The freedom to speak privately with him and give my opinion rather than just ask questions. The worst part is I believe he thought the offer to be truly appealing to me; a child offered the opportunity to be a man, but I didn’t want to spend my life lying, cheating, stealing, and plotting for power. Power over others seemed like such an empty thing to me, and I never had a desire for it. All I wanted was the freedom to wield power over myself—choose my own fate, as it were. Still, I probably would have resigned myself to the fate the gods and my father conspired to lay out for me if it weren’t for the other thing.”

“What was the other thing?” James asked, enraptured by the story and eager to learn more.

Sirius set a wicked smile on his face and hissed out a single venomous word, “ Marriage.”

Frank laughed and slapped his knee, “Didn’t want to be tied down to a broad yet?”

Sirius scowled and Frank’s face was already filled with an apology. Brightly blazing eyes turned their way toward James, and the marshal could hear the faint exhale from his partner as the heat of them no longer scorched the brown-eyed man.

“Marriage, a loveless marriage made of convenience and back-alley deals, is possibly one of the worst prisons anyone could ever endure. A life chained to another person with no love or regard between the two, being forced to spend a lifetime with someone who doesn’t understand you and has no desire to because you are simply a means to an end, knowing that that feeling of apathy is reciprocated and the only solace you have is that in this prison you are not alone despite feeling helplessly lonely –that you have a partner to share in the misery that is your life? I wouldn’t wish that fate on my worst enemy. Let alone the added torment should one of you be in love with another person and trapped by decorum, God, and law to be parted from them in every way you desire.”

James breathed in deeply as he recalled his parents and how fortunate he was to have experienced such a loving and warm home. The look in his father’s eyes whenever they found his mother was similar to the distant look Sirius gave his brandy as if he were searching in the bottom of the glass for his lover.

“And were you–” James began gruffly, “Were you in love?”

Sirius’ eyes sparkled and brightened in the wake of unshed tears threatening to spill like the admission that slipped from his tongue, “I was.”

“But not anymore?” James asked curiously. Sirius’s lips spread wide, and his eyes smiled with them, forcing those transpicuous beads to roll down his face.

“You’ve never been in love.”

“Well–”

“No,” Sirius shook his head, “It wasn’t a question.”

James pouted and took a swig of his drink while Sirius continued, “You would know if you had because love is like–” Sirius sighed wistfully, “Love is like a steel knife placed just above your heart; gravity does the rest. It drives the knife slowly but surely deeper into your heart, and you think–God, this is painful. But you don’t remove it. Instead, you drive it deeper and deeper into you. Determined to let it bury its sharp, coolness into you and pray it never leaves. And once it settles there, you think–fuck, this is actually pleasant; the pain turns into pleasure, and it feels like nothing you've ever experienced before. And should you have the misfortune of the object of your affections, removing their blade from your heart–fuck–you bleed out, and you know you’re dying by the way that it hurts so much worse than it did when they first thrust it into you. But that pain dulls, too, over time. Healing . Leaving a jagged white scar over your heart as a constant reminder to yourself and to anyone you dare try to give it to, that it is damaged . A part of you will always feel those phantom sensations–like the knife is still there–and when you realize it isn’t, that the knife is long gone–it’s like having to experience that pain all over again.”

James felt for the scar beneath his shirt and watched as curious silver eyes tracked the movement. Sirius was right; of course, he hadn’t experienced love. Not really, but he came damn close feeling the prickling of a knife belonging to the prettiest boy he ever laid eyes on, and given a chance, he would let that boy stab him a thousand times over.

“So, you ran away?” Frank asked, bringing both men back to the original conversation, and a deep gray fog settled over Sirius’ eyes as he told the story of the night he abandoned everything.

December 1, 1861

Sirius hastily wrote a letter filled with apologies and promises for his dearest lionheart, urging the boy to find him at their spot in a year's time so they could run away together properly. He needed time to find a job and settle down. Find a way to provide a modest life for them until his brother could join him. There was no doubt in his mind that his brother would run away with him once the time was right. Regulus still had two years before he had to endure that dreaded debutante debut, and Sirius was determined to steal him away before that happened.

He filled his rucksack with essential items to last him until he could find a job and get a place to stay. 

He paused at his drawer filled with letters and a few pictures of his brother and his friends. He turned back to the letter and almost left a postscript telling Regulus to keep them safe but ultimately decided to stuff them into his sack, sure his mother would burn them in his absence. He tiptoed across the room, bag in tow, and shut the door as quietly as possible before turning to his brother's room across the hall. Sirius desperately wanted to say goodbye to his brother, but Regulus was a light sleeper and sure to wake at the sound of him opening the door. He would demand to come immediately with Sirius, but it wasn’t time yet. With a long sigh, Sirius readjusted the strap of his rucksack on his shoulder, slipped the letter under his brother’s door, and stealthily slipped down the stairs toward the front door.

An orange glow bled from the drawing room, promising damnation and condemnation in the wake of the tangible salvation of the front door. Sirius walked with the softest steps he could, keeping his eye on his father’s figure as he stood in front of the fireplace, spellbound by the flames that danced and swayed to the tune of its own laughter as it crackled in the otherwise silent room.

Creak.

The floorboard bent to the pressure of the runaway’s weight and knocked Orion out of his trance. Dark coal eyes fell upon the scene of a child frozen by fear with the weight of a small world on youthful shoulders. Sirius was adorned in a black traveling cloak and thick leather boots, prepared to face the devastating New York City winter alone.

His father frowned, and in the corner of his eye was a wrinkle of confusion, but it quickly disappeared as he set a mask of superiority on his face. Sirius straightened as his father sauntered toward him. He was ready for the harsh words, the possibility of a sharp smack across his cheek (though Orion usually left that brand of brutality to Walburga), but instead, Orion leaned against the frame of the parlor, cigarette in hand, and asked calmly, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Sirius, ready for a fight, puffed his chest and lifted his chin to declare almost childishly, “I’m running away, father.”

A sudden eruption of laughter echoed in the foyer and startled Sirius, but his demeanor quickly changed into fury at his father’s dismissal.

Orion chuckled lightly, “No, you’re not.”

Sirius would not bend, and he most certainly would not break in the face of his father’s amusement. He stood strong and tall as he glared at his father, “Yes. I am.”

Again, Sirius expected to be met with wrathful words berating him, greedy hands clutching him, and gluttonous eyes eating away at his soul, but instead, he was met with obvious slothful apathy and a hint of pride as his father said with confidence, “Alright. Go.”

“I—what?” Sirius faltered.

“Go on, Sirius. Sow your wild oats. Give yourself a taste of the freedom you clearly think will be more beneficial to you.” Orion lifted the cigarette to his lips, sucking in the poison and letting it settle in his lungs before warning Sirius with smokey words, “But you and I both know you’ll be back.”

Sirius shook his head furiously to deny the truth Orion was so sure of and so wrong about, “Father, I’m not coming back. This–this is it.”

Orion took languid steps toward Sirius and placed a firm hand on the shoulder not occupied by the sack of meager possessions. He squeezed it firmly, then patted his son’s face, thumbing at the apple of his cheek, “Yes, Sirius, you will.”

The weight of his father's gaze was heavy and burdensome, filling his heart with a dull ache as he whispered with tears in his eyes, “Goodbye, father.”

Orion smiled, kissed his son’s temple, and whispered confidently, “I’ll be seeing you later, Sirius.”

The older man removed his hand and headed toward the stairs while the young boy resumed his journey toward the door of freedom. He opened it, letting the chill into the already cold, lifeless home. His eyes fixed on the lamps lighting his way toward liberation, but some sort of longing brought his gaze back into his prison. He searched for his father's form on the stairs and stared at the back of Orion’s head as his father lackadaisically climbed. When his father finally disappeared from view, not bothering to look back–so sure his prodigal son would return, Sirius gazed back out to the bleak December night and took confident steps out of the cage he was born into.

*****

“So what happened with your lover?” James asked curiously as Sirius finished his story (conveniently leaving out that his lover and his brother were the same person). 

Sirius sighed and finished his brandy, “As promised, I waited for them at our spot. They never came.”

Sirius’ heart fractured at the sadness in James’ eyes. It wasn’t pity but rather a genuine, innocent expectation that Sirius’ story would end happily despite knowing it didn’t.

“So, Marshal, was my story up to your standards?” Sirius teased in an attempt to bring levity back to the room. James’ eyes flickered, and his lips twitched, “Aye.”

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed ten times, signaling Frank that it was time to leave. He said farewell to the two men and assured them he would see James the next morning.

James escorted Sirius to his chambers and lingered in the doorway. He opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish—obviously searching for words that refused to surface. Eventually, the man settled on a soft goodnight and left Sirius alone in his borrowed room.

Sirius began to unbutton his shirt and stared at the bed. It had been such a long time since he knew anything of comfort, and this night had been truly overwhelming. The combination of James's warmth, an extension of his home and family, threw the man for a loop, but having to relive the night he left was almost too much to bear.

He shucked the borrowed shirt off his body and glanced at the bed before settling on the floor. Long dark locks of raven hair and glistening starlit eyes haunted him when he closed his eyes, so he kept them open. Sirius stared at the ceiling and wished he could turn back time just to catch a glimpse of his brother. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes and leaked out, streaming across his temples and onto the hardwood floor.

At the sound of gentle raps, Sirius furiously wiped away the tears and propped himself on his elbows, croaking out, “Come in.”

James opened the door with neatly folded clothes in hand and looked around at his eye level before spotting Sirius on the floor.

The host tipped his head and smiled curiously, “What on earth are you doing on the floor?”

“Sleeping.” Sirius shrugged, “Well—trying to.”

James furrowed his brow and mock-mumbled, "You know you can sleep on the bed, right?”

Sirius eyed the furniture and shook his head, “No, it—it looks too comfortable .”

Pity filled the eyes of the law, and Sirius almost growled at the sight but refrained as James lowered himself to sit on the floor in front of him.

“You know I was thinking,” James began.

“Did it hurt?”

A flicker of amusement crossed James’ face, and he kicked Sirius’ leg, “No, you ponce.”

Sirius smiled and teased, “What were you thinking, Marshal.”

“What do I have to do to get you to call me James .”

Sirius waggled his eyebrows, and James huffed out a laugh. “I was thinking , I’m allowed a deputy. I can appoint anyone I see fit.”

Sirius sat up at the implication that James saw him fit to carry out the law. To stand by him, to come with him. And the offer tasted bittersweet on his tongue.

“I can’t just—leave,” Sirius mumbled, and he heard James sigh and the rustling of fabric as the man put aside the nightclothes he had come to offer. Warm hands gripped his thighs, and James lowered his head to meet Sirius’ downcast gaze.

“Why not? There is nothing for you here, Sirius. Just ghosts and bad memories.”

“They weren't all bad,” Sirius countered, thinking of his chosen family.

“Perhaps not, but they are memories . And while memories can be a wondrous thing if you linger in them for too long, you’ll drown in them, and it will be like you never left that house.”

Sirius sniffed, and James leaned in closer, making room and slotting himself between Sirius’ legs as he knelt on the ground before the broken man.

A tender hand cupped Sirius’ tear-stained face and tilted it toward the brightly shining sun in the dead of night.

“You’ve run this far, Sirius; what’s a little further? Run away with me, come with me to Colorado. Start a new life. A fresh life. Leave the rot and decay of your past behind you.”

“But—Regulus.” Sirius whimpered.

“Regulus,” Sirius could hear James taste the name on his tongue, and it sounded sweet and reverent—not bitter and spiteful like he expected, “Regulus has chosen his path. Don’t wither in the shadows waiting for him to come around. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, Sirius.”

A dream. That’s precisely what Regulus was now. Not a tangible body for him to hold but rather a ghostly apparition that haunted him and kept him fixed in a land he was never made for. The sweetest morsel of light in a dark and decayed world. And here James Potter was, offering Sirius a chance to live. He had waited so long, stuck in no man's land amidst the battle between his future and his past, waiting for that precious little star to join him and guide him out of the foggy purgatory he had found himself in. But James was so bright and brilliant, clearing the way for him to see the truth he denied, much like his father before him. 

He’s not coming back.

And it was time Sirius let go of that dream.

But after six years of holding on, Sirius didn’t know how to let go.

After a lifetime of pressure piling on top of him, he felt weighed down–worn and tired. Too tired to lift himself, but the gentle hands that held his gaunt cheeks and wiped away his tears were offering him a way up– a way out . 

And Sirius was determined to take it.

He felt his heavy head–congested from the tears–nod in silent agreement.

It was time.

He felt the softest fluttering of lips against his forehead before James stood, offering his hand.

A way up.

A way out.

And Sirius, bone weary, took it and let himself be lifted toward the celestial being whose smile brightened even the darkest corners of the diminished star.

“You don’t have to answer about the position just yet,” James assured as he pulled Sirius to his feet, “Take the night to sleep on it.”

Sirius eyed the bed like it was a foreign contraption that would eat him alive, and he felt James’ chuckling breath blow against Sirius’ long, dark tendrils, tickling his skin.

“Come on,” James said, guiding Sirius to the bed and turning it down with all the care and genuine hospitality as if it were a pleasure for him to do such a menial task for his guest.

Silver eyes darted between the softness of the bed and the encouraging smile. Hesitantly, Sirius began to slip into the covers but was stopped by James’ snapping fingers as the man muttered under his breath, “Oh! I forgot.”

James left Sirius standing by the bed as he walked toward the discarded pile of clothes, lifting them off the floor and handing them to his guest.

“It’s a nightshirt,” James said lamely as Sirius held it awkwardly, unsure what to do with the fabric. He had gotten so used to sleeping wherever he could in his day clothes that the luxuries of beds and nightshirts were foreign to him now.

“I wasn’t sure if you sleep in one, and I just wanted–” James’ hand reached behind his head to scratch nervously at the base of his neck, “well–I want you to get used–to get readjusted. As much as you can.”

It was sickeningly sweet the way James was so eager to bring life back into Sirius, who, despite his mask of aloofness, had been on the cusp of death for ages. The criminal was determined to reward him despite not truly feeling rehabilitated: “You truly want me to get readjusted as much as I can?”

“Yes,” James said eagerly, nodding.

Sirius tossed the shirt onto the arm chair and watched the frown sink like an anchor on James’ face. Sirius leaned in and whispered against his host’s ear in a light and sultry voice, “Well then, I won’t be needing that, as during the summer, I usually slept naked.”

A sharp inhale let Sirius know he had hit his mark, but as he pulled back, he witnessed wide blue eyes filled with shock and arousal and plush parted pink lips that almost caused Sirius to lean in and bite them.

James cleared his throat in an endearing way to Sirius, and it pleased him to know that his brazen self could cause such a reaction in the man.

“Right—I’ll just—um—“ James turned around and waited. Sirius removed his borrowed pants and draped them over James’ shoulder, then climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over himself, protecting his modesty for James’ sake.

Sirius coughed when he was settled, and James turned around, beautifully pink, as he traced his eyes over the fabric that gave way to Sirius’ form.

“Right—well, if you need me, I’m just down the—“

Sirius pushed himself up and grabbed James’ hand before he could turn away. It felt childish—foolish, but he couldn’t help himself. In a strange house with an entirely too comfortable bed, Sirius knew he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. Usually, when he couldn’t sleep, he would reach out to Regulus or, in the early days at school, Barty—before the traitor found solace in a rose bed.

“I—“ Sirius began but didn’t know where to finish. It had been so long since Sirius had the ability to ask for help that he forgot how to , but James read him like a well-worn book—as if he had flipped through Sirius’ pages, memorizing their words, knowing exactly what was to come.

“Yeah, alright, budge over,” James said as he removed his shirt. Sirius shuffled to the side, making room for his savior, and watched James’ brows furrowed at the nightshirt in the armchair. When he raised his eyes to Sirius, the absolute menace set his lips in the most teasing smirk and raised a challenging brow. A hearty laugh echoed in the room as James discarded his shirt onto the armchair on top of the nightshirt and crinkled them by sitting in the chair to untie the laces of his boots.

Sirius watched the domestic scene with a propped elbow, his hand gently resting in the palm of his hand. Tantalizing fingers worked deftly through the laces, loosening them and tugging them until the marshal could pull his feet free from the leather prisons. James took off his socks and rolled them up, placing them neatly into his boot. Then, he stood and kept his eyes on Sirius as he began to pull at the laces of his pants.

Sirius was a greedy man, a gluttonous man, just like his father, and he kept his hungry eyes trained shamelessly on James’ body as the man began to undress slowly. James’ eyes, lit by the candle on the nightstand, matched his insatiability as he put on a show for Sirius. When the trousers were pushed down past his thighs, Sirius silently applauded the performance as well as the half-hard cock that met his eyes. Just above average, cut, with a few freckles that Sirius wanted to connect with his tongue, curving upward slightly the more it filled with blood and arousal. James smirked at the blushing approval that heated Sirius’ face, and the misguided star couldn’t help but roll his eyes in humor as he said, “Come here, Loverboy.”

A small chuckle escaped James as he obeyed and climbed in next to Sirius.

Despite the apparent arousal from both parties, neither made a move as they settled on their backs, watching the firelight from the candle dance across the ceiling.

Silently, they lay waiting for sleep to come, but in the quiet of the night, Sirius’ mind raced, and the pressure behind his eyes in his body began to build. On the streets, the constant noise was a welcome distraction, but in the quiet night at the Potter’s residence, with only the cadence of James’ breathing filling the room, Sirius found himself overwhelmed by the weight of his choices and the burden of his life swelled beneath his skin.

“Having trouble sleeping,” James asked with closed eyes.

“‘S too quiet,” Sirius admitted.

“You don’t like the quiet?” James asked curiously.

“My thoughts are too loud when it’s too quiet,” Sirius admitted shyly, but when the blue eyes graced him with a knowing look, the criminal felt a momentary relief in the piercing gaze as if James somehow understood him.

James turned to his side, pulled Sirius’ left arm toward his face, and whispered an offer as he pressed a chaste kiss to Sirius’ inner wrist, just above the thrumming blue vein: “I can help empty your head—if you like.”

Sirius rolled to face James and whispered, “It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Despite their easy flirtations, both men were hesitant as James slowly took the hand in his, placing it on his hip while the blue-eyed man cupped Sirius’ chin. Their noses brushed as unsure lips lightly grazed against each other. For a moment, they lay there soaking in the other's breath, letting the skin of their noses and lips barely touch until finally, James slotted his mouth onto Sirius’.

The kiss tasted like the brandy they had consumed earlier, and though the effects of the alcohol had long worn off, the gentle caress was far more intoxicating, and like a man in a desert, Sirius moved to quench his thirst on the man. With fervor, the love-starved star set out to devour the sun–determined to consume him like the black hole he believed himself to be. He slotted a thigh between James’ and began to lick and suck and pull at the mouth against his own but was pushed back by a steady, firm hand.

Sirius frowned as his bed partner stopped his movements. James’ heavy pants evened out, but his pupils remained engorged.

“If you keep going like that, it’ll be over before it even starts,” James muttered, “I don’t know how long it’s been for you, but for me–it’s been a while. And I would very much like to take my time taking you apart, Sirius Black.”

At James’ words, Sirius felt a sudden burst of insecurity and fear come over him, and his mind felt heavy with wariness.

“James—I—I’ve never,” Sirius began but couldn’t find the end of his sentence as the weighted blanket of anxiety wrapped around him.

“You’ve never? Not even with Regulus?” James asked without judgment but with a fair share of curiosity.

“I—well—he— I did the taking .” Sirius tried to explain in the most modest ways, knowing Regulus would be appalled at the conversation if he were in the room.

“Ahhh.” James said and smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry, love. You’re in good hands.”

“Taken many men, have you?” Sirius snorted sardonically—enviously.

“Actually, my first was a woman—a much older woman,” James waggled his brows, “One of Mum’s friends had been recently widowed. Her children had grown, and she needed a distraction in her day-to-day life. Minnie taught me how to take my time. How to properly please a partner—man or woman and her lessons served me well.”

“Did you love her?” Sirius asked.

“God, no. I cared deeply for her and wouldn’t trade our moments for anything. But the transaction was purely a mutually physical one.”

The jealousy quelled at the response, and Sirius nodded. James twisted their bodies so Sirius could rest on his back while the more experienced man slotted himself in between virginal thighs.

“So, will you let me, Sirius?” James asked as he nipped lightly at the thin flesh of Sirius’ neck, “Will you let me take you? Will you let me take care of you?”

James brushed his nose along the curve of Sirius’ neck and whispered in his ear, “You won’t have to do anything, pet. Just lay here while I open you up, fill you with love.”

“I—this isn’t—it’s not just a physical transaction—right?” Sirius asked—begged—as the pressure built in his head, in his heart, in his cock.

James pulled back to look at him properly, and Sirius nearly drowned in the depths of the oceanic eyes--porcelain skin cracking under the pressure of the weighted gaze.

“I—this is going to sound insane,” James began, treading lightly, and vulnerability poured from his eyes, “but—I—I’ve always had this thing.”

“Thing?” Sirius parroted, sure whatever James was going to say would not please his ears or soothe his aching heart.

“This thing—with people. I can—it’s like another sense. I don’t give my love—my affections— to just anyone, Sirius. Not—not romantically . But I know a kindred spirit when I meet one. It’s not logical; it’s purely instinct, but out of everyone I have ever met, I have never felt as much of a connection as I do with you. ‘Whatever souls are made of—I’m certain—yours and mine are the same.”

“Brontë, huh?” Sirius teased.

“Don’t laugh, Sirius,” James pleaded, “not about this. You—you feel it too, right?”

Sirius lay beneath the sun, bathing in his light, and of course he did.

“Regulus used to have this theory about soulmates—rather than a soul in two pieces destined to find each other, souls were scattered in the wind through space and time like confetti, and we find little pieces of ourselves in others.” Sirius placed a tentative hand over James’ heart as he whispered, “I see it, James. I feel it. I’ve only ever felt so strongly about one other person, and fuck if it doesn’t frighten me that I’ve known you for little more than a day—but yes. I feel it, too.”

A sigh of relief rang out in the night, and James lowered his forehead to press against Sirius’.

“Will you let me love you? ”

James’ stare pierced through Sirius’ eyes, and he could hear the sincerity of the plea—like James truly believed he could bore a hole in the back of Sirius’ head and let the rot and filth that swelled, pressing painfully against his skull, would seep out. Like he believed he could dig out the infection in his heart left behind by the last person who pierced it. And though Sirius didn’t think he was capable of being loved, the sincere weight behind blue eyes was enough to convince him to let James try.

Sirius nodded, and a puff of relief from James left his lashes fluttering. The marshal began slow; taking his time with reverent kisses that built the tension in the man’s criminally beautiful body. The tantalizing pace the more experienced man set was excruciating, and though Sirius was eager for a quick release to quiet the voices in his head, he was terrified of the impending penetration of the uncharted cavity. His skin felt the fiery purification of the healer’s hands as they roamed down his body, leaving scorch marks in their wake.

A dull heat began to settle just below Sirius’ naval. With every touch and tender kiss, he felt the pressure in his core burn and build and spread across his body, filling his heart and his cock as his flesh fought a losing battle against the gravity that kept him contained and level.

The sun-kissed man scraped his sharp teeth against the skin at Sirius’ neck biting and sucking, alleviating the pressure of bad blood which lay ever present beneath the surface. His mouth trailed down and continued to feast on porcelain skin, and Sirius could feel the tiny fractures widen at the strain as his blood rose toward the surface with each bite itching to be let out. The venom of society, of his parents, of his own making was pulled from the flesh with each mouthful, and praise at the sensation came in the form of his healer’s name—repeated over and over like a psalm as he lay beneath James.

Sirius felt the scraping of James’ teeth nipping at the base of his cock, making it impossibly hard, and the man clearly knew what he was doing as he moistened the tip with his own spit and worked his hand around the head and down toward the root before gliding it back up and repeating the motion.

James encouraged Sirius to lift his legs and hold them up so he could reach that most precious star with his devilish tongue. A curled tongue that poked and prodded at the virginal entrance nearly sent Sirius reeling back. However, James kept steady hands on the man’s shaking thighs, silently commanding him to stay still while he nuzzled Sirius’ bollocks with his nose, breathing in the musky scent of arousal. He continued to lap and suck and dig with a rough tongue until Sirius was slick enough for him to spear with a singular digit.

In a swift motion, James swallowed his cock, allowing himself to gag on it, creating excess saliva, which he scooped up with his index finger coating it thoroughly before pressing it against Sirius’ hole.

“Breathe, love,” James whispered as he took a padded, spit-coated finger and traced small circles around the puckered star before pushing through at a punishingly slow pace. Sirius felt pressure building up under his skin, ready to burst out at any moment, but the man willed it to simmer beneath the surface, clenching every part of his being, including the cavern James was patiently attempting to discover.

“You’ve got to relax, love, or this will hurt. And I don’t want it to hurt. Not this time anyway.”

Sirius tried to acquiesce to the command, focusing on the sound of his own rapidly beating heart and the soft hums from the man beneath him. He managed James’ earlier advice and took a shaky breath, releasing it as James pushed further into him, burning as the man took his time opening him up, letting the digit settle and kissing his inner thigh, whispering delicious praise as he grew accustomed to the intrusion.

James began to work his finger in and out, sawing away at him, and he felt a padded tip press against an untouched bundle of nerves. Sirius cried out as he arched his back, and James chuckled as he cooed, “ There it is . That’s it, love. Relax for me. Let yourself feel good.”

It had been so long since Sirius knew any bit of comfort or pleasure that he could hardly reconcile with what he was experiencing, but the more James curled his fingers inside, hitting that spot that felt like magic tingling from within him, electrifying his nerves.

The uncomfortable stretch of another finger was quickly forgotten as James wrapped his lips around the head of his weeping cock. Sirius’ fists scrambled to hold on to something–anything–and found purchase in the soft, warm linen as James swirled his tongue around the tip, lapping up the salty tears of Sirius’ erection.

Long, slender fingers worked in tandem with the warm, wet sheath of James’ mouth, pushing and pulling, rising and falling. The overwhelming synchronized sensation of feeling the back of James’ throat each time those tender fingertips brushed against his prostate had Sirius spilling into the relentless mouth, engulfing his swollen length.

Years of pressure seeped from the fissures of Sirius’ body–pouring in creamy white waves onto James’ tongue, and the man dutifully took the burden from him with each gulp as he swallowed liquid starlight.

The relief was short-lived as James continued to work his fingers into Sirius’ hole, adding a third finger. Sirius’ spent cock languidly laid softening against his hip, and his hands reached out to grip James’ wrist, urging him to stop the continuing stimulation, but James removed the hold and placed it on the bed next to Sirius’ head as he continued to pump into him.

“Oh, pet . We are far from done here.” James teased, then softly added, “Be a good boy and just lay there while I make you crumble around me, and– I promise you –I’ll put you back together when I’m done.”

James sweetened the command with a gentle kiss as he pulled his fingers out, leaving Sirius gaping–clenching around nothingness and eager to be filled again–to feel whole again.

“Sirius,” James said as he kept his eyes on his cock as he rubbed the tip against Sirius’ widened center, “I want you to watch.”

Sirius looked up, and James’ palm rested against his jaw, a thumb tugging at his bottom lip as James whispered with hypnotic eyes, “I want you to watch as I enter you–want you to keep your eyes fixed on my cock as it fills you, can you do that, pet?”

Unable to form coherent words, Sirius nodded dumbly, and his hooded starlight eyes fell toward the brown thatch of curly coarse hair and the star-speckled cock that pressed against his center.

While Sirius kept his gaze firmly fixed on James’ hardness–begging for entry–he could feel the oceanic gaze on his face and blushed fiercely. With the temperance of a saint, James slowly inched his way, forcing his love past the resistant ring–and let it settle, waiting patiently for the tight hole to adjust to the intrusion.

Tears leaked from Sirius’ eyes and rolled down his cheeks and onto the pillow beneath him, no longer looking down but directly at James’ concentrated face. Through the haze of discomfort, Sirius could see how desperately James was holding back—eager to make this experience good for him, and the runaway couldn’t recall the last time he had been treated with such care. With a tentative roll of James’ hips, Sirius could feel his softened cock twitch with interest as a wet, velvet-soft head met his sensitive gland.

Sirius’ head fell back in pleasure as James continued to assault him in the most delicious way—pushing him further and further into hazy ecstasy. Sharp teeth and soft lips buried and surrounded themselves in the exposed shoulder, and James gnawed on the flesh, leaving it raw and aching.

Sirius’ cock swelled, and James braced one arm by the raven-haired head as he reached between them and stroked the angry red head whispering words of validation.

“You deserve so much more than this world has given you, Sirius. Not in the way of empty possessions and meaningless baubles, but—fuck—nnng—affections, appreciation, love. And I’m going to give it to you. Fill you—fuck—fill you till your bursting with it. Load you up with it until you’re sick of it—sick of me—and just when you think you couldn’t possibly stand another morsel of my affection—I will flood you with more. Till you’re—unnnnh—till you’re drowning in it.”

Colorful spots and squiggly lines twirled before Sirius’ eyes as he felt his pleasure overwhelm him and explode in like brightly blazing fireworks; warm stripes of white lightening scared his stomach as he let himself go, and he felt the fulfilled promise of James drenching him with love—saturating his hole.

James began pulling himself out of the swollen hollow, but Sirius whined and lazily pulled James closer, silently begging him to be filled for a little longer. He could feel his partner twist him to lay on their sides as his leg was being pulled up and over James’ hip.

Soft hums vibrated against Sirius’s temple, and the gentle strokes of James’ healing hands lulled him into a hazy space between wakefulness and slumber. The tension in his body that had built up from years of posturized perfection and stress had snapped as he felt the safety of the stranger’s arms.

Sirius buried his face in the crook of James’ neck and felt warm streaks heating his cheeks as he bit down against the fleshy haven, choking on a silent sob.

“Oh, love .” James lamented as he continued to trail his hands along Sirius’ skin. Without the weight--without the burden--Sirius felt himself floating up toward the heavens at an alarming rate, and the fear of drifting away pierced him as he held onto James like a lifeline and cried. Having completely burned through his own energy, he felt the pressure dissipate and the force of Sinking his nails and his teeth into his lover, keeping himself tethered to the earth by James’ cock; he sucked in a shaky breath. He buried himself further into the man as he cried out.

James readjusted himself, and Sirius pulled back with wide, pleading eyes that pleaded don’t let go of me .

“Relax, love, I’m just trying to get my arm under you so I can hold you better, yeah?” James soothed, gingerly placing his arm in the space between Sirius and the bed and pulling the fragile man closer to him.

He tugged the weeping star tighter to him, and Sirius could hear in a calm, reassuring voice, “Let it out, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

James squeezed him impossibly tight, massaging his flank with firm circles as he whispered, “Just let go . I promise I’ll hold on to you.”

Sirius let himself collapse on himself, feeling the explosive emotions he had kept bottled up, fuel that kept him going, anger, sadness, longing, loss, desperation, they all melted away, leaking out of him in salty tears and hoarse sobs while James held him together–fusing himself to the boy he barely got a chance to be–creating something new. Something brighter. Replacing the negative pressure that fed him enough to survive and giving him the enthusiastic pressure of love that fed him so he could thrive.

When the sobs subsided, Sirius relaxed into his partner and pressed gentle kisses to the impressions he had made in James’ flesh, soothing the ache that he had caused. Much to his dismay, James’ softness slipped free from his hole, but at the whine he gave, his healer reached down and slipped two fingers in its place, holding him together for just a little longer.

“I’m sorry I became such a mess at the end,” Sirius whispered shamefully.

“Nonsense,” James murmured back, “I told you, Sirius, I fully intended to make you crumble–but I would also put you back together. Do you feel more put together?”

Taking a moment to assess himself, despite the weeping and the loss of emotions that he had always been taught to hold together so tightly, he felt better–felt fresher–felt brighter and more hopeful, so he nodded and confessed, “I do.”

“Good,” James said, kissing his forehead, “I’ll be right back.”

Sirius clung to his host, convinced that if he let go, James would disappear forever, and he would fall apart without him. But James pulled back at Sirius’ hair, lifting his face to meet worry-filled, cool gray eyes. “I’m just going to the washroom. I will be back, love.”

The hold Sirius maintained loosened to allow the man to untangle himself from the clinging star, and he watched as he walked toward the door. After a few moments, James returned with a bowl of water and a wash rag.

James dipped the rag in the water and wrung it out before he brushed the fabric against Sirius’ tear-soaked, splotchy cheeks, traveling down to the swollen blue marks on his neck, sopping up the salty white explosion on his abdomen.

He rinsed the rag, twisting it to remove the excess water before prompting Sirius, “Lift your legs, pet.”

Sirius whimpered as the cool, wet rag gently wiped away the love dripping out of him, and when James was satisfied Sirius was thoroughly clean, he washed himself, then disgraced the rag into the bowl of seedy water.

With an amused glance at the bed, James commanded, “Come on, love, let’s sleep in my bed.”

Sirius mumbled sleepily, “too tired t’move.”

James huffed humorously before he scooped Sirius up like a bride and carried him to his clean bed.

His long, black, wavy hair was pulled up, and Sirius could feel the light tugs of a comb working its way through the tangles James had made. When he was done smoothing the knots, James loosely braided the hair to prevent catastrophe in the morning, then settled down next to Sirius, pulling him into his chest and letting the blank head rest peacefully on his chest.

“Did you mean it?” Sirius asked sleepily.

“Mean what?” 

“That you want me to come to Colorado with you. That you want me to be your deputy.”

Sirius could feel the breath that caught in James' lungs, then heard a prayerful “Yes.”

Years of waiting for a star, pining after it in the cold and empty night sky, longing for that blazing brightness to warm him, had gone by, and it was time Sirius swallowed that most painful truth. Sometimes, wishes didn’t come true. And sometimes, they did in the most unexpected of ways. James may not have been the star he wished on every night for over half a decade, but he was the one fate had seen fit to give him. And Sirius would be a fool not to take this chance at happiness that had been denied him for so long.

So, with a hopeful sigh, Sirius whispered in the night against James’ chest, “All right, I’ll come with you,” and drifted off into a soundless sleep, knowing that come morning, he would rise with the sun.

Notes:

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." Wuthering Heights
"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Let the smut begin!

Please feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed. ❤️

Chapter 12: Revelations

Notes:

Thank you to waitforthespark for listening to my rambles and helping me work out the organization of this chapter. This one really put me through the wringer (Also credit for Pandora's nickname goes to their brilliant mind).

Thank you to all my dear friends who have encouraged me to keep going with this chapter.

December 16, 1867

Orion Black crumbled the letter in his iron fist, clutching the paper like the tree it was cut from had personally offended him. The past five years had been one failure after another as little bits of his life sifted through his fingers like sand, but his business had always been an exception to that defeat— until now.

The timid rapping at the door defused the rising frustration, and Orion laid the letter on his desk, smoothing out the crinkles in the parchment as he collected himself enough to say in a calm, clear voice, “Come in.”

A short, stout woman with a high-pitched voice and an overly ambitious glint in her eyes entered his office. She cleared her throat with a tiny ahem that precursed every introductory sentence and grated on Orion’s nerves. Everything about the woman’s demeanor set Orion on edge, from her mocking meekness to her appalling choice of apparel. Honestly, he should fire her if only not to have to set eyes or ears on her again. But his secretary was a nepotistic hire–purely for the benefit of her father to get her out of the house and for Orion to gain a closer working relationship with him. She was much more than she seemed, to be sure–brilliant, cunning, devious –truly unappreciated by the world of business solely due to her sex, but she knew of her shortcomings in society, and rather than wallow in them, she wielded them as a tool to be underestimated by the masses. And though Orion couldn’t stand the sight of her, his desire to utilize individuals for his own personal gain outweighed his distaste for her powdered pink appearance.

Orion delivered a charming smile to the toad of a woman and greeted her in a blandishing voice, “Delores, lovely to see you, dear. What can I do for you?”

The secretary giggled lightly, and Orion had to school himself not to grind his teeth together at the odious sound, “Mr. Black, a Mr. Alastor Moody is here to see you.”

“Ah,” Orion said, “Please see him in.”

Delores nodded and stepped aside for a tall, burly man to hobble past her. Coal black hair with white ribboned locks embedded–no doubt earned from his time being a spy in the war–was smoothed back into a smooth ponytail tied with a black bow that settled at the base of his neck. His clothes were finely made but outdated by at least seven years. It was apparent the man cared little for fashion and utilized clothes for their intended purpose of keeping the cold December weather from seeping into his skin and infecting his bones. His suit was a toffee brown, while his coat was as black as his hair. A woolen blue scarf that had been wrapped around his neck was being disposed of and tucked into one of the very large pockets of the warm, woolen watch coat. Alastor stroked his salt and peppered beard while his beady onyx eyes honed in on the little pink lady who made herself comfortable in the chair opposite Orion’s desk–pen and book in hand, ready to take notes from their meeting.

Orion watched as Alastor curled his lip in distaste at the secretary.

“Delores, darling, that won’t be necessary. This meeting is of a casual nature. Just two old friends catching up.” Orion couthly dismissed.

The secretary looked up and swiveled her head back and forth between the two men. A thin line set on her face for a fraction of a second before she smiled brightly and shrilled, “Well, if you need me, I’ll be right outside the door at my desk.”

“Actually, Delores, why don’t you take an extended lunch today.” Orion urged and sweetened the command with a morsel of praise, “You’ve been working so hard on the orders for the Denver supplies–you should get a full break for all your efforts, which I assure you have not gone unnoticed.”

Delores’ smile was hollow-hearted. As she rose, she inspected the intruder with anuran eyes before finally leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Orion didn’t bother to offer Alastor a seat as he knew the man wouldn’t take it–always opting to stand ready for any potential threat. He also didn’t offer the man a drink as the solider was too paranoid to take any offerings of food or beverage from anyone or any establishment–cursed by a suspicious mind (another gift from the war). The man stood on two legs, one of flesh and bone, the other made of oak–a testament to his resilience and strength. He took the staff in his hand and propped it in front of himself, leaning two overlapping wrists atop the handle as he asked in a gruff, mockingly sweet voice, “How’s the wife?”

Taken back by the question, Orion blinked, “What? Why do you care?”

Alastor rested his chin on the back of his wrist and batted his eyelashes mockingly, “We’re old friends, dearheart.”

Orion scoffed, “Piss off, Alastor, you know I said that purely for your benefit.”

“Don’t kid a kidder, Black; it was for your benefit as well,” Alastor said gruffly as his eyes fell on the crumpled letter on Orion’s desk, “See you got my letter.”

Orion frowned as he affirmed, “I did. Any elaboration about this Texas Red you have for me?”

Alastor Moody straightened himself and reported succinctly, “Lily Evans, affectionately known as Texas Red by the local papers in the west, is twenty-four. Originally from Harrisburg, Texas, she was displaced when her father refused to sell the land to make way for your railroads in the ‘50s. Her family lost the land due to increased taxes, and they were forced to move up north to Colorado to live with her grandparents. Ms. Evans grew up working on the farm alongside her sister, Petunia, and their parents. Same thing happened: your people made a bid, the Evans’ refused, taxes went up, they lost the land, and her parents and grandparents refused to leave when it came time to take the house. So, your people took liberties–they locked the family in the house (sans Lily and Petunia, who were in town that day) and burned the house down with the elders of the Evans Clan inside. Lily and Petunia returned just in time to hear the screams but not in time to do anything but watch. Might have fucked with her head a bit. She lost her sister that same winter, and with no one to hold her back, she’s been seeking vengeance in any way she can.”

“And in what ways has she succeeded?” Orion asked thoughtfully as he leaned back in his chair.

Alastor pulled out a folded piece of parchment and handed it to the businessman.

“That’s a list of all the people she has killed–well, that we know of,” Alastor admitted.

Orion’s eyes took in the names of the twenty men listed. He didn’t recognize any of them, but there was no doubt in his mind that they were hired by his own men, who he had scattered between Texas, Oklahoma, and Colorado.

“In addition to the murders, she has taken root to use dynamite to dismantle your tracks out there. She’s a smart lass,” Alastor praised as he pulled a folded map from his pocket, walking over to the desk—unruffling it as he hobbled and set it on the desk, smoothing it out, pointing to the areas she had destroyed, “she goes for intersections—not large ones, mind— but any area that may shift from one track to another essentially destroying two lines rather than one.”

Orion traced over the thin lines of the paper, settling at the large red Xs that indicated where Lily had made her mark. He had to admit, it was a cunning play—and he found himself thinking what a benefit it would have been to have such a brilliant, devious mind on his side. As it stood, she was not on his side, and this little flower needed to be smothered, drowned— dried out . And he knew just the man to do the job.

“May I have this?” Orion asked the private investigator, who gruffly nodded.

The titan began to fold the paper along the already-rooted creases as he inquired, “What other news do you have for me, Alastor?”

“The marauders struck in Philadelphia last week,” Moody began and, with knowing beady black eyes, continued, “which I’m sure Crouch already informed you of.”

The band of outlaws had been a thorn in everyone’s side since they began their small little heist in Aurora four years ago—declaring war on Garrett Rosier before moving on to bigger fish. While their efforts were not nearly as destructive as Texas Red’s , they instilled fear in the public—namely the higher class—as they raided pockets and luggage. Occasionally, they would heist a cargo line, stealing goods at a rest point before they had the opportunity to reach their destination, and while the nuisance hardly dented Orion’s pockets, a star-sized crater had been embedded into the once smooth surface of Orion’s reputation.

“Which way do you predict they’ll head?”

“Can’t say with any certainty, mind you, but my best guess would be they’re headed out West.” Alastor estimated.

A wicked smile formed on Orion’s face. That suited him just fine. Marshal James Potter would be heading west in ten days, and he trusted the man to make good on his promise. Not out of loyalty to him . Orion wasn’t daft enough to think he had gained such favor with the man yet. But out of a duty to do what was right. There was, of course, the nugget of knowledge that the marauders had escaped James Potter’s grasp once, and Orion was confident the marshal would be determined not to let it happen again.

“Very well, Alastor. Next item?”

“We still haven’t been able to locate your son,” Moody said, his frustration vibrating off him in an annoyed exhale. “Last seen in August around Central Park, your man lost him, and not a peep has been heard or seen of him since, but we’re still looking.”

Orion frowned. It had been four months since he had heard of Sirius, and he began to think something awful may have befallen him. When Sirius had been a vagrant, walking the streets of New York, Orion had always known where he was—that he was safe. But without the updates on his whereabouts from his spies, a dark cloud of uncertainty grew within the pit of his stomach with every passing day.

“See that you do,” Orion gritted out, trying but failing not to let any emotion show. He seemed to be failing at a lot these days, including—

“What of my daughter?”

Alastor sighed, “No sign of her either, I’m afraid. Did, however, find those boys you’ve been missing—Avery and Mulciber? They’d been dead for some time, hardly anything left of them when a stranger stumbled across their bodies. He searched their pockets for evidence of who they were and showed this to the authorities. Mulciber’s clothes were soaked in blood—indicating it was not a quick or peaceful death.”

Alastor laid an envelope on the desk—Orion’s last correspondence with the young man.

“The police should be informing the parents any day now, so if you want to cut them off at the pass, I suggest doing it soon.”

“Did the killers leave any evidence behind?”

“No. Only things on the scene were their corpses and a dead horse.”

“Just one?” Orion asked, confused.

“My guess is the murderers took Avery’s horse with them.” Moody mused.

“What makes you so certain it was Avery’s horse and not Mulciber’s?” Orion asked, cocking his head.

“The corpse still had the saddle on it. The Mulciber crest was threaded into the leather.” Moody shrugged as if it was obvious.

But it wasn’t obvious. According to the letter Orion had received days before Muliciber and Avery’s disappearance, his daughter and her crew had stolen both Avery and Mulciber’s horses. Wulfric had written to wire him money to buy them horses to continue their pursuit.

Orion hummed as he stood to pour himself a drink while his mind raced. The easy answer was Wulfric was lying about the horses being stolen, and he pocketed the money. The more convoluted answer was that his horse was stolen by Orion’s daughter and her gang of runaways, but then why would the horse be found dead at the scene of the crime unless—

Something about the mention of Mulciber’s saddle triggered a memory, a jagged piece of an unfinished puzzle that never quite fit anywhere, so it was discarded and forgotten until now.

“Alastor, do you still have the testimonies and reports of that first heist—the marauders—their first bank robbery?”

“Aye,” Moody responded, not following Orion’s train of thought but intrigued, nonetheless.

“I need it.”

“Anything else?” Moody inquired.

Orion’s eyes flickered back to the letter on the desk. He sipped his whiskey and responded, “Get me the report of The Marauders’ Rochester second heist. The one from ‘63.”

Moody didn’t ask the questions Orion could see blazing behind onyx eyes, but he nodded and informed him, “I’ll have them for you by the end of the week.”

Orion reached out a hand to shake the investigators and watched him leave with rough steps as he sat at his desk and pondered.

Nothing could be done without solid information, but the problem of Texas Red was something he could manage. Not one to sit and ponder hypotheticals, Orion made a plan to woo the Sun and began to write a letter to Horace Slughorn.

December 20, 1867

 

James tried to tame his wild hair in the winter wind. Freshly fallen, frozen flakes anointed his head, covering his dark locks in white powder that sank to the floor as he walked into the precinct and shook his head.

“Good morning, John,” James greeted the officer on duty.

“Good morning, marshal. You have a visitor.”

James glanced at the clock on the wall and noted the long spear piercing through the nine and the small arrow edging between the eight and the seven.

“It’s a bit early for a visitor, yes?” James asked.

The officer agreed with a nod of his head and responded, “He was very insistent.”

James sighed, “Very well.” Then he trudged to his office, shaking off the cold that seeped into his bones and burned his flesh.

The door was open, and a tall, handsome figure stood by the window, watching the snow gather on the glass, then melt and sink to the bottom of the pane. The room was darker than usual due to the overcast, but several candles were already lit for him, giving it a more intimate atmosphere than James was accustomed to.

He stood just outside his door watching Orion Black, studying him cautiously–curiously. James hadn’t heard a peep from the man since August, and he couldn’t fathom what reason he might have to call upon him other than to reiterate the agreement they had made in the summer, but the reminder could have easily been sent via post. No. Orion Black wanted something more, and it was important enough to request it in person. So, James steeled himself–the earnest warnings of his lover blaring in his ear.

“Oh, Marshal Potter, you’re here,” Orion said in a welcoming voice as he spotted James’ reflection in the glass window. He turned around, one hand in his trouser pockets and the other palm open; he gestured toward the room, “Please come in.”

James would have reminded Orion that this was his office, and he needn’t be welcome to it if he had not been distracted by heavenly eyes that trailed over him and devilish lips that curled up in one corner holding a secret at the summit.

The marshal shook his head, unraveled the crimson scarf from around his neck, and hung it on the coat rack next to the door as he stepped inside.

“Are you all set for your travels?” Orion asked as he pulled out a thin metal case containing rolled cigarettes from his waistcoat. James unbuttoned his coat and watched with entranced eyes as his lover’s father pulled one from the case and leaned down toward the candle on James’ desk to light it.

In the soft glow of the candlelight, Orion looked in his element. As if he thrived best in the shadows, contrasting brightly against the darkness of the room, the dim light reflecting against him, giving him a powerful, God-like aura. James felt drawn to that energy as he hung up his coat and ambled toward the lustrous eyes that beckoned him.

“Yes, we are prepared. Mum took care of most of the details,” James said as he stopped short of the man now leaning against his desk, long, lithe legs stretching out toward the marshal, one crossed over the other in a relaxed yet poised manner while Orion wrapped his vermillion borders around one end of the cigarette and sucked tantalizingly.

“Wonderful,” Orion smiled as he offered the cigarette to James, who took it eagerly–if only to occupy his lips and keep them from spilling rivers of words without thinking.

The marshal wrapped his lips around the moistened tip and inhaled a taste of death, coating his tongue in a musky taste sweetened by notes of cherry and vanilla.

Orion pulled two envelopes from his breast pocket, one made of smooth, black parchment and the other made of bone and ink.

He held out the first for James to grab, but when the marshal reached for it, Orion snapped it back with a playful smile.

“It is important to me that should you come across the masked bandits—"

“The Marauders?” James clarified.

“Yes, should you come across the Marauders, I request that you capture them alive. ” Orion smiled widely, his eyes piercing James like silver daggers, silently hinting at the demand behind the request.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” James said as he stepped forward to take the envelope from Orion’s recoiled hand and placed it in his pocket. "Should I cross paths with them, of course.”

“Rumor has it you’ve crossed paths with them once before,” Orion looked at James’ chest as if trying to see the star-shaped wound under the layers of cloth.

“Yes, I have.” 

“May I see?” Orion murmured while his eyes remained on the handkerchief that filled the pocket covering the kiss of death left permanently embedded in James’ skin.

It was not an unusual request. Several of the officers he had met who had heard of his adventures with the Marauders begged to see the evidence of the tale. So James began to unbutton his vest and then his shirt—not fully—just enough for Orion to witness the scar left behind by the constellation-clad villain.

James took two fingers and curled them around the fabric, pulling it back to expose his stroke of death to Orion.

As Orion studied the stared scar centimeters from the marshal's heart, James studied his lover’s father. The man’s features softened in the light of the discolored flesh, and James could see so much of Sirius in him. But there was something about the way his rosy lips pursed in thought that reminded him of someone—a face in the corner of his mind, blurred just enough that he couldn’t make it out.

“Which one did this?” Orion asked as the pads of his fingers skimmed over the damaged flesh, then danced around the rim of the healed crater.

“Don’t have a name. But I call him Stargazer.” James admitted admiringly, and Orion huffed a little laugh.

“Do you have little names for all of them?” He asked as he continued to trace the edges of the mark.

James took the cigarette in his hand and inhaled, gathering his thoughts before he spoke to the demon in his view.

Smoke billowed from James’ lips as he answered, “The feathered mask—I call him Raven. The rose mask is Rosie,”

“Creative,” Orion jibbed, and James smirked in the wake of the humorous comment.

“And the white-laced one—I call her Domino.”

“Domino?”

“Yeah—her mask is black and white, like dominos.”

“Huh,” Orion said and pressed lightly against the scar as he asked, “So the stargazer did this to you?”

James gulped and nodded as Orion continued to caress the mended skin, “fitting since it looks almost like a star.”

James looked down at the scar. It was in the shape of a bullet from where the metal ball had priced through the flesh, but around it was five tiny slices from where the doctor had to make room to fetch the lead out of his muscle.

The air in the room grew thick and foggy with every heady whisper between the two, and the older man grew bolder and let his fingers linger lower, brushing past James’ exposed nipple and over the fabric of his shirt to latch on to the lower portion of the marshal’s waistcoat, squeezing lightly sat on the edge of the desk with open legs slotting the younger man between them. James began to feel incredibly relaxed as Orion’s soft whispers twirled him around and around, wrapping him in a silky warmth, keeping him protected from the harsh elements of the winter morning. Lulled by the deep timber in his voice and the soft glow of starlight in his eyes, the marshal was mesmerized by the inviting atmosphere Orion had created.

Sirius loved like a man starved, gorging himself on it–taking large bites and scarfing it down, choking on it, and still desperate for more. His father, however, took his time, relishing more in the hunt than the release. Orion’s right hand rested on James’ hip while his left worked its way up James’ torso and down his arm, wrapping around the wrist of the hand with the still-lit cigarette, pulling it down to suck at the cherry vanilla tobacco.

James barely registered the way he swayed against Orion as the older man pulled and whispered against his lips in a smoky breath, “Tell me, James, do you ever gaze at the stars?”

The smoke billowed past James’ parted lips, creeping down his throat, pooling in his lungs, and settling there, staining him from the inside.

“ Yes,” James whispered as he looked through foggy eyes at the man who made his star.

Orion took another drag of the cigarette and released James’ wrist to cup the back of the marshal’s hair, tugging on it, causing James to gasp lightly as Orion slotted his plump, pink lips against James’ raw, red mouth.

Smoke swirled between them as Orion breathed pollution into the marshal, corrupting him with hazy passion and melting his mind with a wicked tongue. James’ tongue moved on its own accord, following the older man’s lead as they danced slowly against each other. James felt the hand on the back of his neck pull along with the hand on his waist, and he groaned as he felt Orion’s hardness grind against his own.

In a moment of clarity, James pulled his lips off the older man’s and leaned his forehead against Orion’s as he breathed out, “I have—I have a partner.”

Orion chuckled as he whispered, “And I have a wife, what of it?”

James could feel the hand on the back of his neck gently pull him forward again, but he pressed a firm hand against the chest before him, “Yes, but I love my partner.”

“You love your partner?” Orion asked blankly.

“Yes,” James answered in a quiet confession.

“Are you in love with your partner?” Orion asked—not out of malice or to further tempt the man but out of genuine curiosity.

“Well—,” James said nervously as he fiddled with the emerald handkerchief peeking out of Orion’s waistcoat, “I love him very deeply, and I could easily see myself falling in love with him.”

James’ brows furrowed, and he bit his lip. He pushed himself off Orion and was met with no resistance as the limbs around him fell to the older man’s sides.

“But all hope of that will be lost if I engage in a—” James waved his hand, searching for an appropriate word to call whatever this was, “ dalliance with you.”

Orion plucked the cigarette from James’ hand and inhaled the last of it, covering the taste of rejection with the bittersweet flavor.

“Mmm,” Orion hummed, “A man of honor. I have to respect that. I don’t like it, but I do respect it.”

James blushed as Orion’s eyes trailed over him and settled on the bulge of his trousers. Despite the sticky feeling of the man’s web that remained on his skin, he managed to gather himself. Sirius was right to warn him, and though he took the caution seriously, his confidence in his abilities to read people—which had never failed him before—was far too great in the wake of Orion Black.

The marshal eyed the other envelope sitting on the desk and gestured to it, desperate to get the sultry eyes that promised a concerning amount of looking but an equally respectful unspoken vow not to touch.

“Is that for me?” James asked as he cleared his throat and his mind from the previous contamination.

Orion reached behind him and produced the letter and let him have it as he discarded the butt of the cigarette in the ashtray on the desk.

James inspected the envelope. It was addressed to him, and the marshal idly wondered how it came to be in Orion’s possession. The wax seal was familiar to him, as he had been corresponding with Governor Slughorn ever since his new charge.

James glanced up curiously at Orion while he opened the letter and peered through his glasses to read its contents.

The letter contained his newest charge to capture a red-headed fiend colloquially known as Texas Red and bring her to justice, whether by the end of a rope or the wrong end of a pistol. James shuddered as a vision of lifeless blue eyes and desperate pleas echoed in his mind.

Behind the letter was a folded poster with fierce charcoal eyes, an innocent button nose, and a wicked smile that spelled revenge.

“Is there a reason you are handing this to me?” James asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear the silky voice of the devious spider admit it to him.

“As I’m sure the letter states, Lily Evans has damaged several railroad lines— my railroad lines—and I want her brought to justice.”

“I assume the same sentiment stands then—you want her alive?”

“That would be incorrect. I don’t care if she’s alive or dead as long as she’s stopped.” Orion amended.

“Why her and not the others?” James asked curiously, shivering at the stare of cold, gray eyes that matched the stormy weather outside.

“That, marshal, is my business.”

James hummed and covered the face with the arrest warrant before folding them back up and placing them in his breast pocket beside the tickets.

“Very well,” James said. Keep your secrets but know that I am only after her because she has an arrest warrant out for her, not because you have requested that she be stopped.”

Orion tilted his head, and a small, pitying smile found a home on his lips. James could not decipher its meaning but felt the overwhelming desire to rip it from the man’s face.

“I wanted to extend my condolences to you and your wife.” James said and fought the urge not to smile victoriously when the rueful smile transformed into genuine puzzlement, “It was the fourth anniversary of your son’s disappearance earlier this month.”

A wistful look settled on his face, and James almost regretted mentioning Sirius as soon as he saw it, but the forlorn gaze didn’t last for long as iron walls settled behind Orion’s eyes.

“Condolences aren’t necessary,” Orion gritted out, “I’m confident he will resurface when the time is right.”

“So he ran away, then?” James asked nonchalantly, “The papers made it seem like he had been abducted.”

Orion opened his mouth to reply, but the firm rapping at the door silenced him.

“Come in,” James called over his shoulder.

“Hey James,” Frank began but paused at the figure sitting casually against James’ desk, “Good Morning, Mr. Black—am I interrupting anything? I can come back later.”

“No, Marshal Longbottom,” Orion said as he glanced at the clock on the wall. I have another appointment I must get to.”

Orion pushed himself off the desk and walked to the coat rack, gathering his belongings. As he wrapped an emerald scarf around his neck, he looked back at James’ still exposed chest and said, “Do be sure to give your stargazer my regards when you capture him.”

The older man nodded to the two gentlemen and strode out of the room and into the unforgiving December morning.

“What was that about?” Frank asked as he took in James’ appearance.

“ That was Orion attempting to buy me,” James answered.

“Oh? How much did he offer you?” Frank said, amused, “Or rather, what did he offer you?”

James looked down and blushed at his state of undress. He began to refasten the buttons as he mumbled, “Something I wasn’t willing to trade.”

Guilt and shame filled him as he recollected himself from the encounter with the elder Black, and he suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to confess his sins.

“Frank—I have to go. I need—”

James’ friend nodded sagely and offered, “I’ll hold down the fort; you go do what you have to. Take as long as you need.”

The marshal murmured his thanks, gathered his coat and scarf, hastily dressed himself, and ran off to beg for absolution.

 

************

“You’re late,” Alastor said without turning from the window as Orion walked through the door.

The elder Black smoothed back his hair. His cheeks were flushed not only from the cold but also from the heated interaction he had had with the young marshal.

“Observant as ever, Alastor,” Orion drawled as he closed the door behind him.

The industrious man removed his jacket and noted how the paranoid spymaster eyed the door expecting to find a pink toad with an ear pressed against it.m should he walk over and open it.

“You will have noticed Delores’ absence. It's nearly the holidays, and I gave the office workers an early start to the weekend.”

“How diplomatic of you,” Moody snarked as he eased up only slightly.

“Indeed,” Orion deadpanned, “What do you have for me?”

Alastor Moody produced two files hidden in his worn leather satchel, which clung to his side. Orion rounded his desk as his private investigator unceremoniously flopped the folders on it.

“December ‘62, three men walk into a small bank in Aurora, New York, owned by Garrett Rosier at around 4:45 pm, fifteen minutes before the bank closed on a Friday,” Alastor began, painting a picture for Orion, “according to the witnesses which included one guard, two bankers, and a teacher, the three of them wore masks. The man who held the teacher, guard, and younger banker at gunpoint was described by the three as a young man—maybe in his late teens or early 20s with blonde hair—almost white, and sharp blue eyes, standing at about 5’ 11”, clean-shaven, and he wore a black suit. They all said he didn't talk much.”

“Now, the other two men held McTavish, the main banker, at gunpoint and forced him to open the safe. McTavish described one of them as a shorter man, about 5’6”, with honey-blonde hair and green eyes that would not shut up. That’s the one with the rose and thorns on his mask.”

“Rosie,” Orion hummed, recalling the pet names James had given the villains.

“Whatever you like,” Moody said dismissively, “He’s the one who seemed to be the ring leader—according to McTavish. He’s also the one who was quoted to Garrett Rosier saying some nonsense about ‘sending the devil his regards.’”

“Yes,” Orion said, “I remember that. He left a flower with the banker and kept him locked in the safe after they left.”

“A tansy,” Moody confirmed, “though I never did get why the flower was important, but from what I heard, Rosier was bloody fuming over it.”

“Flowers have meaning,” Orion explained, “depending on the genus or the color, they can mean several different things.”

“A flower is a flower,” Moody denied, “it’s a pretty thing to look at—to give a bonnie lass. What meaning could it possibly have? Oh, Mr. Rosier, I do so adore you. Take this flower as a token of my undying affection. Balderdash.”

Orion laughed at the high-pitched mocking voice, “No, you prat. Tansys are a symbol of protection, health, and immortality. But they can also mean resistance or a declaration of war. Given the circumstances and the dramatic message, I would wager the latter was the intention.”

Alastor Moody gaped at Orion. When he finally caught his bearings, he muttered, “That is the most ridiculous shite I have ever heard. A flower? Sending messages? Humbug. Utter nonsense. Leave it to the posh to have hours to waste coming up with meanings behind flowers and then wasting even more hours teaching their children such utter poppycock.”

Orion froze as Alastor moved on to the next bandit, barely hearing the description behind the stupor of the revelation.

“The other lad was described with raven curly hair, grey or blue eyes, standing at a whopping 5’4”. Speculation is that he’s the youngest member of the group. He never said a word—just quietly filled the sacks and left.”

“Which one is this,” Orion asked, half listening as he searched through his drawer for the letter Mulciber had sent him.

“The dog and the lion one.”

 

“Which constellations?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to them.”

 

Orion heard James’ voice echo in his ears as he whispered, “Leo and Canis Major.”

“Don’t tell me,” Alastor grunted and mocked Orion’s voice, “ the stars have meaning, too.”

Orion continued to search for that damnable letter, and the customarily poised businessman’s frantic hunt, Alastor began to connect the stars.

“Oh, you have got to be bloody kidding me,” humor dripped from the war-scarred man, who laughed boisterously.

“Don’t—don’t jump to conclusions. The flowers—that for sure is a clue that these are not your average blokes. They come from an educated background at the least , but the stars—they could mean nothing.”

“ They could mean nothing,” Alastor mocked disbelievingly.

Orion finally produced the letter from Mulciber and ate each word with hungry eyes, swallowing them whole and filling his belly with revelation.

“Tell me, Black,” Alastor whispered, “do they mean nothing .”

“The horses,” Orion said with a scratchy throat as he stood to pour himself a healthy dose of medicinal liquid to ease the burn,” tell me about the horses.”

“An officer by the name of Travers was having a drink in the saloon across from the bank. He noted four individuals, three men and a woman, with masks. One of the men, the uh—fair-haired one,” Alastor said as he checked his notes,” and the woman—also fair-haired— took one horse and headed North. The other two took a horse and headed south.”

“What kind of horses were they?” Orion asked as he took a sip of whiskey from his glass.

“Black Stallions.” Alastor answered, “he lost them in the storm, though.”

“And the horses they had at the next heist—the one in March of ‘63–what kind were those horses?” Orion asked curiously.

“One black Stallion, one brown thoroughbred, and a grey American Quarter horse.” Alastor read off.

“ Fuck.” Orion cursed.

“Care to share with the class, Black?”

“Not particularly,” Orion admitted.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours.” Alastor taunted.

“You, of all people, know the power of knowledge, Alastor.” Orion sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb, “and I’m not ready to relinquish this piece just yet.”

Alastor huffed. They both knew Alastor could guess the information Orion withheld. But Alastor Moody dealt in facts. Tangible evidence. And he never revealed anything without certainty. For now, that was all Orion could cling to as he finished the puzzle he had been working on for years in silent dismay.

“Well, if you’re not in a sharing mood—I think I’ve done all I can for you now. Call me when you’re ready for me.” The investigator shuffled toward the door, the sound of his peg leg keeping time with the steady ticks of the clock.

“One more thing before you go.” Orion called out, “They have four horses now, yes?”

“Aye,” Moody answered and barked a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Orion inquired with a knitted brow.

“The other horse has been described as a blood red Mustang—back in ‘65 a man named Corbin Yaxley was boasting at a bar in Chicago about a pure white Mustang he had paid to have dyed blood red. The next morning, he was found in an alley sans the fabled horse. A few weeks later, a horse with that same description showed up at the scene of one of your train heists.”

“I’m failing to see the humor, Alastor.” Orion drawled impatiently.

“‘And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see. And there went our another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.’ Revelations 6:3-4. Fitting that—what did you call him? Rosie? Would be the one upon a red horse waging wars.”

Once alone, Orion pulled out a portrait of his youngest child. The image before him didn’t match the testimonials of those the bandit encountered. The stargazer had been described as a thin man with short curly locks—a silent thief with a wild glint in his eyes that spelled mischief. The child he saw before him had long, luscious locks that spiraled tamely, the picture of elegance and grace. Bred and molded to perfection. He remembered the day this portrait was taken and how the camera had captured the blank stare. At the time, Orion had chalked it up to boredom. Another mindless duty to perform in the name of decorum. But as he looked deeper into those expressionless eyes exposed by film, he saw the decay in black and white. There was no glassy twinkle, no hint of a smile. It was as if this portrait had been taken post-mortem, and Orion was staring at the corpse of the child he raised.

Orion poured through the descriptions of the bandits that plagued him.

Pandora Rosier— Domino —was easy to pick out with her long starlight locks on pleated back but ever-present. Described by many as an observer more than a participant. A white dove cooing in the sky—warning the others.

Evan Rosier— Raven— was described as a coarse man. Utilizing swift action and guarding the others from harm with a stern expression and an iron rod ready to defend the others from any ill will.

Barty Crouch Jr— Rosie— was portrayed as a loquacious trickster. A devilish man with charm and wit but clearly the most passionate and deadly of the group.

And then there was his stargazer— silent but powerful. Many described the bandit cutting Crouch with a sharp stare, keeping the others focused and on task and wordlessly instructing them. This one's power was distinct, and Orion had always considered the star-spangled villain to be the leader of the pack.

They moved together as a unit. Unstoppable, unattainable. Not by him. Not by the law.

Until recently, Orion had never heard of any of them killing or maiming. They simply walked in, claimed their riches, and left.

Orion thumbed over the portrait of the lifeless child and wondered at the testimonies. The monikers that came with the foursome. A wild bunch. Daredevils. Masked Marauders.

Pocketing the portrait, Orion stood from his desk, gathered his coat and prepared to deliver the damnable news to two childless fathers.

 

****

“You’re back early,” Sirius said as James walked into the Potter’s parlor, closing his book at the ghastly expression on his lover’s face, “what’s wrong?”

“Your father came to visit me this morning,” James said as he twisted the leather gloves he hadn’t bothered putting on in his hands.

“Oh?” Sirius steeled himself for the worst, that his father had found out about his haven with the Potters—come to collect him and take him back to the dreary depths of his own personal Hell.

James purposefully avoided his gaze, and when their eyes met, regret—remorse filled those bright blue eyes he had come to cherish.

“Turns out I am a fool, ” James admitted, and Sirius watched as tears streamed down the man’s face.

Sirius felt the sympathetic plight of the man who had been entangled in his father’s web, and he beckoned his lover to come closer so he could comfort him.

Rather than sitting beside him, James fell at his feet, resting his head on Sirius’ thigh. The runaway felt the salty tears dampen his trousers as he carded his hand through the unruly snow-soaked locks.

“Start from the beginning, darling,” Sirius encouraged, silently listening as James recalled all the events of the morning.

“Please say something,” James’ voice shattered as he begged.

Sirius’ fist curled into the hair he had been stroking as anger simmered just below the surface of his skin making him itch with the need to do something.

He heard the whine escape from his lover, who still hadn’t mustered the courage to look him in the eye. He relinquished his grip and smoothed over the dark, damp hair with reassuring pets, finding comfort in the feel of the soft locks between his fingers.

“I’m so sorry, Sirius,” James sniffled, “truly, I don’t know what came over me. I—”

Sirius reached his hands around to grasp the face glued to his lap and pulled him forward, letting James rest on his knees between Sirius’ legs.

“Look at me, James,” Sirius said softly, but James kept his eyes scrunched closed and shook his head between the makeshift cage of Sirius’ warm palms.

“ James, ma lumière, look at me.” Sirius urged and swept the fallen tears away with his thumbs as the apologetic man opened his flooded eyes, “You did nothing wrong.”

“I kissed him back, Sirius.” James countered, “I–”

“Firstly, James, you and I have never had a discussion about the exclusivity of our relationship. We’ve never established boundaries, and perhaps that’s something that needs to be rectified at a later time when we’re not both so– emotionally charged. ” Sirius said as he thought of starlight eyes permanently etched into the inside of his eyelids, haunting his dreams, causing him to wake and seek out the friction of James’ warm, inviting body.

“Secondly,” Sirius began and gave James a small pitying smile, “I did warn you, love. I can hardly blame you as I have been a victim of his spell as well.”

James’ eyes widened, and Sirius laughed, “Not in that way, you depraved prat. It’s just–he has a way of discerning what you desire most and wielding it like a weapon against you. For me, it was always my brother. He would use our relationship against us.”

“And what I desire most is your father?” James asked, genuinely confused.

Sirius smiled wickedly, “Sometimes, Father gets blinded by his own ambition and misinterprets desires. I don’t think you desire my father precisely; I think you desire the stars. ”

Long, tender fingers wrapped under James’ chin and lifted it, inspecting the lips that had been rubbed raw by the elements and the lingering stain of his father’s poisonous caress.

“I’m not blind, James. I know exactly where my good looks come from. I see him in myself–in my brother. I also know the power his charisma has over men. How he catches them in his webs and sucks them dry while he hypnotizes them, keeping them enthralled.” Sirius ran his thumb over the chapped lips, desperate to cleanse them of his father’s seduction, “I can also see why he would choose to seduce you with his body. You’re clearly attracted to him.”

James opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t force the lie past his teeth, and it sat on his tongue, coating it with a sickening sweetness. 

“I’d be offended if you weren’t given how much we look alike. But don’t get lost in his pretty face and forget who he is— what he is. He wanted something from you. More than just one thing. And while I know you will uphold the law—it’s important that you know, that you listen to me when I tell you—the law is not merely a set of standards or words on a paper,” Sirius said as he fished out the letter from the governor from James’ pocket.

“Those standards, those words, were created by men. And men—” Sirius said with a sad smile, “are easily corrupted. Easily influenced by those in power. Don’t rest all your faith in the law and forget to think critically—to think for yourself. To think before you blindly follow orders. Don’t forget that there may be someone nefarious pulling the strings in the name of justice. ”

Sirius pulled the letter from the envelope and whispered, “She may be blind—but you cannot afford to be.”

James watched as Sirius read the letter, still settled on the floor between the man’s knees. His brows furrowed as he deciphered the meaning of the letter and shuffled the papers to see the face of Texas Red.

He smiled widely at the beautiful, fierce woman on the poster.

“Let’s table the domestic talk for later, yeah?” Sirius said as he stood and lifted James up with him.

He fished out a pack of cigarettes from the drawer and placed one between his lips, and James lost himself in a moment of Deja vu. The same frame stood before him, but where Orion was all elegance and poise, Sirius was casual and thoughtful as he struck the match against the side of the box and lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply before working through the crux of the problem before them.

“Alright, so Orion wants the Marauders—that tracks. They’re stealing from his clientele, which is obviously going to deter his more financially privileged passengers from traveling on his line. The fact that he brought the letter to you, rather than having it delivered through the mail, is important. He wants you to know that he has Slughorn in his pocket. But what is the connection between this vandal and my father?”

James took the cigarette from Sirius and placed it between his lips, sucking at the end, then handing it back to his partner.

“The warrant didn't say what she vandalized, but the request—or should I say requests—for justice felt eerily similar to when Garret Rosier visited Frank and I back in ‘65.”

“Tell me,” Sirius demanded as he leaned against the windowsill and watched the citizens of New York walk along the streets.

 

Notes:

Thanks to all of you who have made it this far. I hope you enjoyed reading Alastor & Orion as much as I enjoyed writing them. (Also-to have been so patient with me, I promise you, Cowboy Remus is just over the horizon.)

This fic will be on a brief hiatus as a pair of psychopathic darlings are calling my name and begging for attention.

See you all in August ❤️

Chapter 13: Dreams

Notes:

I'm sorry I disappeared from the face of the earth. I wrote this chapter back in August but hated it, and then other works played the "pick me, pick me" card and would not be silenced.

Special Thanks to waitforthespark for gently pushing me to finish this chapter and waitingforgodette for helping me get out of my head about it. (Also, imagine me cackling that both of you are chilling in your little purgatories waiting for things.)

Excruciating pain stabbed Pandora’s stomach as she woke in the pitch-black night. The empty organ was devouring itself, desperate to seek some sort of nutrition to feed her body. It was a kind of hunger she had never experienced, and she was at a loss as to the cause. Though she had lost a great deal of plumpness in her cheeks and hips, forcing her features to mold into a sharpness that rivaled her mind, she was fortunate enough to have a brother who had no qualms about hunting and skinning animals for the quad to eat. She was also quite the gatherer, collecting berries, nuts, and edible flowers that kept any real hunger at bay.

Just a few hours ago, Evan had caught and cooked a rabbit that the four had shared along with some chestnuts they had roasted on the fire.

But now she felt so weak and empty . Foreign hopelessness had begun to flood her heart and slowly pumped through the river of veins, spreading from the slowly beating organ toward the tips of her fingers and toes.

Her mouth was cotton-dry, and her lips were raw, chapped, and peeling, while her brain pounded against her skull, swelling and aching to be free from the ivory enclosure. Lethargy and the dried crust in her eyes made it difficult to open them, but when she did, Pandora was greeted with an unfamiliar sight.

The tent she shared with Evan was gone, and the body next to her was not her brother but an oddly familiar black-haired soldier trapped in a drab and dirty navy uniform.

She looked down toward her hands, which felt every bit as heavy as her spirit, and found iron shackles linked and hanging from her wrists—no. The wrists she was peering down at were not her own.

Once strong, masculine hands seemed withered and gaunt. The skin around the wrists was raw and bleeding, and red clay covered the wounds on emaciated arms.

She felt the head on her shoulder shift and peered past it to see a tired boy in gray sitting on a stool, staring down at a piece of paper with a frown marring his face.

The youthful boy—no more than sixteen by the look of him—sighed and rummaged through the satchel attached to his hip. He pulled out a small brown package, which crinkled and crumpled as he opened it.

Pandora’s mouth salivated, and a raging desperation replaced that hopeless sensation.

“Please—” Pandora heard a dry croaking plea erupt from within her starving belly, “Please.”

The red-haired boy looked up with wide blue eyes, clearly not expecting her to be awake. His gaze shifted toward the package; then those baby blues trailed back up to meet Pandora’s. 

“I—I can’t.” The boy stammered, “They told me not to feed you.”

Pandora could feel the adrenaline rushing in her veins as she pushed up to settle on her knees and crawled forward, “Please—I—they haven’t fed us in weeks. I’m so hungry. You don’t even have to give us all of it. Just a piece.”

The boy shook his head, eyes wide with fright as she sat between his legs, fragile hands clutching at ashy gray wool.

“I can’t, Corporal. I’ll get in trouble.”

Pandora felt a tongue smack against her lips and heard a stale timber whisper frantically, “You won’t—they’ll never know. We won’t tell. You won’t tell. No one has to know, just please.”

Gangly fingers rose higher to wrap around the collar of the boy who held the package as far away from his person as he could, high above his head.

“I’m sorry, Corporal. Truly, I am—but I can’t ,” sympathetic electric blues begged Pandora to understand, but the blood in her veins began to rise and peak. 

An animalistic snarl surfaced from the depths of the empty stomach: “ Give it to me. ”

The Confederate private shook his head, too frightened to speak, but did not bend to the feral man beneath him.

Crusty lips curled maliciously as the hand reached up to grab the package of hard tack.

With a firm hand, the younger man pushed her down, and the body Pandora was trapped in should have buckled at the strength, but a rush pushed through the veins of the vessel she was imprisoned in, and long, dirty fingers wrapped around a clean, tanned throat.

Lightning flashed in the cracks of the shacked prison, and a thunderous roar boomed, rattling the wooden planked walls.

“GIVE ME THE GODDAMN FOOD, YOU BASTARD.” An anguished voice rumbled in time with the bellowing sky.

With the hands clutching and cinching his larynx, the boy could do little but whimper in response. He dropped the food on the ground and clawed at the crepey skin of the hands that held him. 

The once pristine nails dug in, drawing crimson pearls to the surface.

The food was forgotten as a red film clouded her vision, and though Pandora was mumbling a chanting series of no's , she was helpless to do anything but watch as the hands meant for holding–for healing– squeezed tighter and tighter.

Blue eyes pleaded and screamed where the soft, molasses voice could not. Red veins began to surface and pop in the whites surrounding them.

Raindrops leaked through the roof's cracks and fell onto Pandora’s face, fusing with the salty tears that pooled from dehydrated eyes.

Silent pleas fell on deaf ears as the breath and life of the young boy drained away.

“JAMES!” She heard an alarmed voice cry out from behind her, but it was too late. The starlight had left the blue irises, and a dull, lifeless film coated them.

Chains jangled, and Pandora felt a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch and looked up to see concern riddled on James’ companion's face, flickering back and forth between James and the boy.

“God, what have you done?”

James turned his head back toward the boy with clearer vision, and Pandora felt him scramble away from the damage he had caused.

“I—Frank—I—” fresh tears welled as he took in the horror of his desperate actions, “I was so hungry—I just wanted a piece—I—he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t give it to me. I just wanted—“

Frank walked over to James, who stepped away like a frightened deer. With bound hands, he pulled his arms over James’ head and pulled him in. The weary soldier sobbed as he clutched at the navy uniform, and the wool scratched against his sodden cheeks, leaving them raw and burning.

“I—I didn’t mean to—I just—”

Frank shushed and held the man in his arms, petting his matted hair as he wept.

“We have to get out of here, James. We have a chance at freedom, and it would be a waste to squander it. So, I need you to pull yourself together. Okay? Can you do that for me?” Frank asked with a voice as soft as silk.

James took in a deep, shaky breath and nodded.

“Good boy,” Frank cooed, lifting his hands over James’ head and rifling through the guard’s clothes for a set of keys.

Pandora’s sights caught on the paper the boy had been holding and the body she was chained within slowly walked over to see two faces of young boys in uniform.

As he knelt down, Pandora begged James not to look. She had known the soldier in an instant, having seen his likeness in a similar nightmare, but she rummaged through James’ feelings and knew he had no recollection of the boy he had killed. But James could not hear her warnings, and he picked up the portrait with a shaky hand to see a familiar face that haunted his dreams.

“I live—I live on a farm. It’s a small farm right—right outside of Augusta.” 

“What do you grow?” 

“Vegetables mostly—tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, peas, lettuce. It depends on the season and the year. My younger brother, Phinny and me, we tend to our own land with our father. It’s not a lot of land. Only ten acres or so, but we manage alright. Except—” Benji sniffled, “my dad got drafted at the start . And then I got drafted. Phinny is too young. He’s only sixteen–“

Pandora felt the heart within James begin to swell and ache with grief as he set his eyes on the boy whose life he had stolen.

He’s only sixteen.

He’s only sixteen.

He’s only sixteen.

Thunder clapped above her, and the last thing she heard was a guttural cry echoing in her mind before she woke up screaming.

“Dora!”

“PANDORA!”

“What’s going on—what’s happening?”

“I don’t know. She just woke up screaming, and I can’t get her—open your eyes.”

Strong arms wrapped around her and cradled her back and forth, rocking her at a soothing, steady pace. Tender hands cupped her face, and gentle thumbs pushed the tears away as she heard an angelic voice ring out, “Breathe for me, Pandora. Come on, in and out. Innnn. And Ouuuut. Good, just like that.”

No longer tethered to the lost soul, she felt the crystal visions in her mind ebb away, but the ache in her heart remained. Trembling fingers wrapped around Regulus’ small arms, and she tried to ground herself in the love that surrounded her. Barty’s breath blew against her hair, tickling her ears, and she finally opened her eyes to see she had returned to herself. She was in the tent with her brother and her friends, and she was safe.

She was no longer in physical pain, but she was drained from the vision physically, mentally, emotionally.

“What happened, darling?” Barty whispered as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to quell the tremors that wracked her body.

“That soldier—”

“You saw him again?” Regulus asked, harsh lines of worry wrinkling his youthful face.

Pandora nodded, and a new wave of hot tears streamed down her face like raindrops falling from a windowpane. They paused over the small mole on the apple of her cheek before rolling to the side and dripping down her sunburnt cheeks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Barty asked delicately.

Pandora declined with a swivel of her head.

It wasn’t her story to share. It shouldn’t have been her story to live, but fate had other designs and saw fit for her to witness the gruesome scene.

The red sails peaked through the tent's flap, and Pandora rose, desperate for fresh air to cleanse the smokey despair clinging to the edges of her lungs.

The marauders had camped out on a cliffside, and with sluggish feet, Pandora walked toward the edge and sat on a rock, waiting for the sun to rise.

Crimson spilled over the horizon, and pink clouds lined the sky, heeding sailors to take warning for the oncoming storm heading their way.

The flap of the tent rustled, and soft footsteps approached. A shoulder brushed against hers, but her comrade remained silent as the pair watched a red-painted sun, brimmed with fury, peek over the horizon. The thunderous roar of another’s brutally battered heart echoed in her mind, and she tried desperately to silence it, focusing on the cardinals that greeted the dawn with their chipper song, unaware of the mourning beyond the southern hills.

“The sun looks angry today,” Regulus commented.

“He’s in mourning.” Pandora croaked—her mouth every bit as dry as James’ was.

“What did he lose to be mournful of?” Regulus asked.

“Himself,” Pandora whispered as she wished upon the brightly burning star beyond the horizon that she could steal the vision away from the desperate soldier, to harbor it away from him so it would not linger in his tainted mind and eat away at his soul.

Regulus hummed and pulled at a weed that had grown from a crack through the rock.

“Do you think he’ll find himself again?”

Pandora averted her eyes from the rising sun and searched through twin stars captured on her friend's face, “Maybe.”

Pandora huffed, “but not for a while. He’ll find respite when he reaches the west, I think. But then a new challenge will arise and leave him more bloodied than ever before.”

In the corner of her eye, she could see Regulus frown.

He opened his mouth and closed it—wishing to speak but not overstep.

In the end, his curiosity won out, “do you think he’ll find any rest?”

Pandora rarely sought out answers, but her own traumatic experience by proxy left her wondering.

Wonder was a dangerous thing.

But after the pain she had witnessed, she itched to know. So, she calmed herself and closed her eyes. All manner of colors mingled together and separated in the darkness, but the sun peeked through the thin skin of her eyelids. She saw the same blazing orb, just as red, but where pain and anger had risen in the sky while her eyes were opened, passion and love sank beyond the hills while they were closed.

A small star kissed him with violence and ignited a passion within him he had long forgotten, but it hid away from him.

A bright, blazing star greeted him in the northern sky, matching his energy and pain.

He fought the moon, but the moon bit back, sinking cool, relieving teeth into him—alleviating the pressure and drawing out the blood that boiled beneath his surface.

And when the moon and stars collided, melding themselves to him, he found a swelling desire that the three managed easily—calming him, grounding him, letting him sink into paradise.

Pandora opened her eyes to see the angry sun, and though her heart broke for him, she smiled.

“As the sun rises, so too shall he set.”

Notes:

Just a reminder: This is the second (but not the last) person James has killed. The first person being Phinny's brother, Benji back in December of 1862, only nine months prior to this chapter.

And because it's my story and I feel like rambling, I will point out the key differences between the two (this will be a surprise tool for later): James was ordered to kill Benji and while this took a toll on his soul, there was a sense of inevitability or a lack of responsibility James felt for having killed Benji. It didn't hurt him any less, but he could rationalize that because he was ordered to kill, it was out of his hands. If he hadn't done it, someone else would have been charged with this responsibility and probably wouldn't have been as kind about it (if you can call it that). This death, however, was quite literally in his hands. He was entirely responsible for his actions and yes one could easily blame it on his circumstances having been a POW behind Confederate lines, this was a much more animalistic and brutal death one that will stay with him (see chapter 6: "We've both done worse for less") for the rest of his life. It's also why he is so adamant about making sure his boys are fed, because he knows what hunger can do to a man and he refuses to allow anyone to have to suffer the madness of hunger/thirst that he did during the war-especially when he is in a position to prevent it. >>>Just a little insight into Marshal James Potter.

The next chapter won't be updated until after this year is done but when it is updated, James will be tasked by Gareth Rosier to seek and destroy The Marauders (Summer 1865).

Chapter 14: War is Over, What Now?

Summary:

War is over. James navigates a post war New York and catches a taste of The Marauders' mischief.

Notes:

What was supposed to be a one-chapter update has turned into three chapters (the other two will be scattered throughout the next two weeks). The update was just getting too long, and I didn't want for anyone to get bored throughout the whole chapter because there is a lot of repetitive information to the reader, but I needed for James to learn this information, so I apologize if this portion of the three-part chapter lags.

I want to give a shout out to the lovely waitforthespark for reading this story to me. I have realized, several things after having it read out loud the biggest issue being that there were no chapter titles for the first nine chapters (shameful behavior), also I don't know what tenses are, and I still haven't figured out why James was defacing his mother in Chapter 2, but I've fixed that and several other minor issues found in chapters 1-4 and will continue to make edits.

And as always, thank you to my darlings in honey that continue to inspire, motivate me, and answer all of my random questions.

Hope you enjoy!

May 1865

 

James stared silently into his cup of black coffee, unable to find a reason to sweeten the bitterness of it with sugar or cream. The longer he gazed into the liquid's unblemished surface, he could almost make out the vision of chaos and calamity that forced him awake in the wee hours of the morning.

His parents were helpless to comfort him. He wouldn’t talk to them of the horrors he had endured—that he had inflicted. Trapped so deeply in his mind James hadn’t heard the bell of the door ring, nor the gentle pleasantries from his partner in crime as Frank crossed the threshold. It was only when he felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder, a gentle thumb tracing along his neck that James was startled away from the black dog that haunted him.

“James,” Frank greeted and took a seat next to him, helping himself to a cup.

“Frank,” James’ voice cracked from disuse. He watched his smooth black pool ripple with the small sugar cubes that were released from the tight grip of miniature tongs. The dark liquid had grown cold, and thus the white crystals remained huddled together for warmth, but a silver spoon eagerly broke them apart as it danced around an invisible maypole.

A dollop of milk was added, and the darkness was dampened, causing James to look up.

Frank looked good—better—much better than James felt. His dark hair was still long but carefully brushed and hanging just beneath his chin in brilliant glossy waves, his face clean-shaven apart from the thick mustache that was combed and tidied, his eyes were bright, but worried lines surrounded them, and they teetered along the fine line between concern and pity .

“Why are you here, Frank?” James asked, unkindly. He wanted to be alone, to drown in his thoughts, to be swallowed up by his dreams of blue eyes and tearful pleas. James had assumed when the war had ended less than a month ago, and they had returned home, Frank would abandon him in favor of forgetting.

But still, he came. Frank visited every morning he had a mind to, which was far too often in James’ opinion. Sometimes they would manage to talk about what they had seen. They never talked about what they had done. But other times— most times —they would just sit in silence.

Not today though. James could see it. Frank had that nervous look about him, like he wanted to share something, to convince James he needed to go back out into society again.

But James wouldn’t have it. He was safe in his home, in his room. He couldn’t be bothered to smile at the grocer, or flirt with the flower lady. Not when a demon sat on his heart, weighing it down, suffocating him with his memories.

“I have some news,” Frank said, holding the saucer in his hand as he twirled a spoon in an already well stirred cup.

Making no move to indulge his friend, James sat in silence, wishing the time away—wishing his life away.

When it was clear there would be no comment from James, Frank cleared his throat and continued, “I have been appointed as a marshal for New York.”

The words trickled into his ears, but he could make no sense of them, lost in the loud guns and screams of agony that echoed in his mind.

“The governor reached out to me a week ago, informing me of his decision to nominate me, and alerted me this morning that I had been selected.” Frank droned on, the sound of his voice once a welcome cadence was overpowered by the drums of war pounding in James’ head.

“As such,” Frank continued as James stared at him with dead eyes, “I am allowed deputies to aid me in my duties.”

“Get to the point, Frank,” James huffed, eager to be rid of the unwanted company so he could resume his previously scheduled solitude and self-loathing.

Frank shuffled in his seat and thrummed his fingers against the brown parcel set out on the white linen. The rectangular package was thick and James idly wondered if it had been there the whole time but dismissed the thought, deciding he didn’t care.

“I’d like for you to be my deputy, James.” Frank declared. The words slipped past the drums and James could hear them loud and clear but could hardly prevent the boisterous laughter of disbelief that escaped him, coaxing shock to the surface of Frank’s earnest face.

“You must be joking.” James decided, but as Frank’s cheeks sank, James scoffed, “You’re not joking.”

Jet black waves crashed against Frank’s pink cheeks as he shook his head, and James struggled as he searched black coffee eyes for the faith Frank held in James’ abilities to carry out—well— anything .

“Frank, I cannot begin to tell you what a horrifically bad idea this is.”

“We’ve had worse ideas,” the newly appointed marshal pointed out, hoping to draw out a rare smile, but was met with resistance as James continued.

“I’m not fit. Not mentally. Certainly not morally . I’ve no business being an officer of the law. Not when I’ve broken it so.”

“That was war, James.” Frank denied, “it’s not the same.”

“I killed a man with my bare hands, Frank. I sent another man to his grave simply for being born in the wrong place at the wrong time.” James countered, “I have no business condemning other men who have done the same as I have, or for anything less than what I have.”

Frank pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to James, and just when James had thought he had tucked a kernel of sense in his friend’s head, Frank fixed him with an immovable stare.

“You cannot sit here and wallow in your misery . No one wins in war. Everyone has lost something, someone. And you do those boys a disservice by wasting away your life. The community needs someone like you. You’ve a kind heart, James. So what if it’s been a little bruised. It still works. If it didn’t, you wouldn’t feel the way you do about those boys. You wouldn’t be drowning in this black lake of guilt. The officers that I command now, some of them are good men, but they see only what they want. Only what they know. They don’t see the hardships people are facing, they’ve no sense to help those who are hurting the most. While others look at any man, woman, or child who commits crimes as lesser than themselves because they made a poor decision. Some of the people that come through, they don’t deserve the punishments they’re being given. Just the other day when I was only observing their work, preparing myself for this position, I saw a woman whose only crime was that she had been out after curfew. She was sentenced to a year at the workhouse on Blackwell.”

“Blackwell Island?” a shiver ran down James' spine as Frank nodded once. The tales he had heard of the infamous island were that of nightmares, from the asylum to the workhouse to the “hospital” if one could call it that, as it was more of a waiting room for those afflicted with smallpox to die. It was a thin strip of land nestled in the east river between Manhattan and Brooklyn where the “undesirables” were sent to laugh, to cry, to die out of the view of the general populace. A prison for the misfits of society to lose bits of themselves in hopes that the bits that were lost were the less appealing attributes society damned.

“She didn’t deserve it, James, most of them don’t. And I would aim to see reform in the way prisoners are processed so that people who commit petty crimes or those who don’t commit any real crimes at all are treated with kindness, respect, dignity—regardless of their socioeconomic status, or their gender, or their lifestyles. But I can’t do it alone. I need someone to help me. I need you .”

James sat staring at the brown parcel, unable to look Frank in the eye and deny this plea. Upon further inspection, it wasn’t just one parcel, but five, wrapped individually and tied together with twine. A sigh of downheartedness escaped Frank, and James could feel the warmth of it blowing onto his cheeks, melting the frost off James’ face.

“Think on it. For me. Please.” Frank pleaded and rose from the table, leaving the package behind.

Heavy steps pounded in James’ head in time with his heart as Frank made his way toward the foyer and despite every cell in his body crying out to stay put–stay silent–James stood, grabbing the parcels and croaked out, “Frank.”

The marshal stopped in his tracks and turned with hopeful eyes that grew dull as he saw the packages in James’ shaking hands.

“You forgot this,” James whispered as he held out the discarded items toward his friend.

“I didn’t forget them, James.” Frank admitted, “I brought them here for you. Thought it might do you well to have someone keep you company, apart from the ghosts you let squat in your mind.”

“Oh,” James whispered as he pulled the presents into his arms, hugging them tightly. “Hey Frank?”

“Yes, James?”

“What was her name?” James was met with a tight knitted brow of confusion, and he elaborated, “the woman who got sent to Blackwell?”

Broad shoulders straightened and pulled back as Frank answered, “Alice. Her name is Alice.”

“That’s a lovely name.” James mumbled loud enough for Frank to hear.

“She’s a lovely woman. Tough, too. She’ll make it out. I’m sure. But just because she can , doesn’t mean she should be forced to. ”

The small nod of agreeableness was missed by Frank, as he had already turned to leave James alone with the collection in his arms.

With great care, James set the parcels down, untied the twine, and opened the first parcel. Beyond the light brown bark of the packaging parchment was a garden snake colored binding. The cover was bare, unassuming with no evidence to what could lay beyond the pages, but as he opened the thin novel, he read the foreign words in large, printed letters: LES MISÉRABLES and for the first time in a very long time, James gave a small but genuine smile.

It had taken very little time for James to devour the tales of Hugo’s miserable souls and though each person’s tales of suffering was different from the last, but no less engaging, James found himself drawn particularly to Jean Valjean and his desire to help others when he could and extend the kindness, which had been granted him, toward other poor souls just trying to navigate their life in the best way they could.

It was one week after Frank had visited James, that James bathed himself–for he reeked of misery and negligence–got dressed and paid a visit to Frank at the precinct down the road. He really shouldn’t have been surprised, when he walked into the station and was escorted to Frank’s door, to see a small piece of paper nestled into a metal frame on the door across the hall that read in black cursive ink Deputy Potter.

“Fuck you, Frank,” James cursed under his breath as he knocked on the door and stepped inside.

A pair of reading glasses were jumbled under thick fingers as Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose. When the marshal set sights on James whatever seemed to be troubling him vanished and in place of the frown was a bright smile.

“It’s about time you showed up to work,” Frank beamed as he rummaged through the drawer in his desk and flung a sharp object toward James.

A point of the star embedded itself into the fatty part of James’ palm between his index finger and his thumb and he lifted the wound to his mouth to stifle the minimal bleeding.

“Christ, Frank,” James exclaimed.

“Oh hush, you big baby. Come here and help me look over this.”

James stared down at the silver star, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe off the blood from its point, and fastened it to his breast pocket.

“Alright, Frank,” James sighed, making himself comfortable in one of the chairs opposite the marshal’s desk, “what’ve you got?”

 

June 1865

 

“I want them caught. For two and one-half years they have been traipsing around all over New York stealing money from the citizens of New York.” The door to Frank’s office was closed as James approached it, but the thick wood was no match for the thunderous boom emanating from Garrett Rosier.

Perhaps James should have knocked, but he thought against it as he turned the knob and strutted into the meeting and if the worshipful look Frank was sending his way was any indication, his presence was more than welcome.

 

“Who is stealing money from whom?” James inquired as he sat in the spare seat across from Frank and next to Mr. Rosier. While James had never met the man, he had seen his face plastered all over The World over the last few months and was familiar enough with his business to know exactly whose money was being stolen.

A baffled look crossed the banker’s face as he appraised James with a critical eye, “Who are you ?”

Before James could reply, Frank offered an introduction, “Mr. Rosier, this is my deputy, James Potter. James, this is Mr. Rosier, president of the National Bank of Commerce here in New York, and he is not pleased with the way our department has handled the bank robbers who have been assaulting his staff and his patrons for the past two years.”

“Two and one half ,” The banker corrected, clearly not pleased with the round as he seemed to count the minutes as pennies, the hours as nickels, the days as dimes, the weeks as quarters and so on. After all, time was money , and it seemed the masked bandits had stolen a bit of both from Mr. Rosier.

“Yes, my apologies.” Frank conceded, “Two and one half.”

“Are these the robbers you told me about?” James asked with faux naïveté that would not be lost on Frank but would, as intended, fly over Mr. Rosier’s head. 

“The same.” Frank replied then turned to the disgruntled man, clearly annoyed that his attention had been stolen, even if it was only for a penny. “Mr. Rosier, I assure you we are looking into them. There is much research to be done, people to interview, banks to inspect, but it will take time. James and I have only been at our posts for a few weeks now, and we are still getting acquainted with your predicament.”

The banker leaned forward and though his voice was low, it shook with an agitated fury, “I want them caught .”

“And we will do our best.” Frank assured, “It will of course require some good faith on your part, do we have your permission to interview your employees and inspect your vaults?”

“Yes, yes, whatever you need, you shall have.” Mr. Rosier sat back and waved his hand with an air of distracted nonchalance.

“Then in the meantime, please rest assured that we are doing everything we can to catch them: dead or alive .” 

Frank’s words were intended to mollify the man, but his crooked brows shot up, and his hands clutched the arms of the chair as he cried, “ No !”

Clearly shocked by his own outburst, Garrett leaned back into the chair, though his fingers remained as warped as his brows. His voice, however, was less than bothered as he corrected, “Alive. Only alive.”

“Very well,” Frank amended, curiosity woven behind dark brown eyes, “ alive .”

The room was silent for just a moment after the strange outburst, and James took a moment to observe their guest. Garrett Rosier wore a pair of fine gray trousers with a gray top hat propped up on his knee. His vest and coat were black, as was his tie, all of which brought out the piercing icy blue eyes that seemed to be assessing James in equal measure. His hair was swept to the side, as was the fashion, and his blonde mustache was thin and awkward, as if he were trying to keep with the trends of the day but unable to really pull them off. Something about the man left a bitter, acrid taste in James’ mouth. Though he couldn’t quite determine the cause, James could hear the sirens warning of the dangerous game he was about to indulge in.

The cogs behind icy blue eye, directed toward James, were turning and suddenly stopped allowing a hollow, eerie smile to stretch wide across Garret Rosier’s face as he vowed, “If you are able to apprehend these masked miscreants before the end of the year, I will make sure your division is generously rewarded.”

“We will work as swiftly as possible.” James promised with a thick mask of agreeableness to stifle the revulsion beneath.

Garrett nodded, clearly certain his bribe had hit its mark, and rose to bid the two officers farewell, but a nagging question tickled the back of James’ mind, and he felt it slip past his tongue before the banker had a chance to vacate the room.

“Mr. Rosier,” James began, waiting for the shark to turn around and suppressed a shudder at the sharp toothed grin nestled in the vault where truth was hoarded like so many gold and silver coins.

“Yes, Deputy?”

“These miscreants, as you call them—from the limited research I have done—seem to only steal from branches of the National Bank of Commerce in New York. Could this possibly be a personal vendetta? Is there anyone you can think of that would have it out for you or your bank?” James asked.

Rosier’s eye twitched, and he swallowed shallowly before answering, “I doubt these delinquents are capable of any sort of vendetta. They’re simply greedy thieves who would steal from innocent people for their own personal gain.”

“Very good, Mr. Rosier,” James responded,“ I’ve no further questions.”

It was mere moments later, after Garrett Rosier had left, that Frank let out the breath he seemed to have been holding.

“What do you think?”

“He’s lying.” James declared.

Frank nodded in agreement but prodded, “About what exactly?”

“All of it.” James answered, “He’s playing on our assumed ignorance for starters. The banks are insured.”

“I thought they got rid of the Safety Fund, didn’t it go bankrupt during the panic?” Frank countered.

“Yes, but, okay, so—brief overview. In 1829, the Safety Fund Act was put in place, yeah? The goal was that the banks would pay into the fund a certain percentage every year to aid in the event of loss, theft, what have you. Because prior to this act, Rosier would have been right. The banks had no obligation to their customers and the people would have lost that money. Then, of course, the economy sloped into a pit of depression which caused the bank run of ‘37 and the fund was depleted. So, in ‘38 New York adopted the Free Banking Act, which essentially did the same thing as the Safety Fund, but rather than feeding money into a fund, New York banks were obligated to put up collateral—stocks, bonds, real estate, and the like—to the federal government who would loan them the money in the event of loss and the bank was required to pay the federal government back.”

“So, when they steal from the bank, it’s still the bank they are stealing from?” Frank clarified.

“Yes, now a bank could obviously raise interest rates on loans and such if they wanted to make back the money lost, but that’s their prerogative. As it stands, the only group losing money is the bank.” 

“Since when did you know so much about banking history?” Frank grinned.

“Mum’s dad used to work at a bank. He would take her to work with him, and she would sit under the counter, and she took an interest in finance.” James shrugged, then continued to dissect the banker’s lies, “The next thing that struck me as odd was that he was adamant that the robbers be caught and not killed . Now, this could be one of two things, either he intends to make an example of them, likely by greasing some judges' palms to inflict the worst possible punishment, or he has some sort of connection with them.”

“Which do you think it is?” Frank asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk.

“I can’t say with any certainty, but based on the way he twitched when I asked him if it was personal, I’d say he knows them or at the very least knows of them, beyond them just stealing from his vaults. Possibly someone he or the bank has wronged in some way. I’ll have to do some digging.”

“Let me know what you find. In the meantime, I also want you to go to the seven banks they have robbed. Interview the bankers, take note of the banks themselves, and interview anyone who was in the bank at the time of robbery, and some of the town’s people. Anyone who may have been a witness. Do that and report back to me in a month.”

“You got it, boss,” James responded, sending Frank a cheeky wink before rising from his chair.

“Oh and James?” Frank added, “Take Phil with you.”

James’ shoulders sank along with his spirits, “ No .”

“ James. ”

“ Frank , I am not spending a whole month with Xenophilius.” James argued.

“You need another set of eyes, and you know the importance of traveling in pairs.” Frank reminded.

“Yeah, yeah. But Xenophilius?” James whined.

“Phil is a good guy, a bit odd, but he’s clever.”

“He’s a kook.”

“Take him with you.” Frank ordered and chuckled to himself as James groaned all the way out of his office.

 

☀☀☀

 

“‘When the devil comes knocking, you be sure to tell him I send my regards’ that’s what he said?” James asked as he penciled in the quote on his small leather-bound journal.

“That’s what he said,” McTavish confirmed, “right before he shoved me in my vault. I was trapped there alone for hours.”

“And the devil he was referring to was—”

“Garrett Rosier, that’s right.”

“And this was the one with the stars on his mask?”

“No, the roses and thorns.” The auburn-haired man corrected.

“Right,” James said as he made a note.

“He didn’t leave you alone, though,” Xenophilus spoke up.

The freckled-faced banker’s cheeks grew red as he sputtered, “Yes, he did.”

“No,” Phil walked toward the banker, stretched out a thin bony finger, and pointed at the man’s lapels, “he gave you company.”

“A fist full of flowers is not company. ” McTavish argued.

“What kind of flowers were they?” Phil prodded and James watched the interaction with awkward fascination, unsure where the line of questioning was heading, but unable to stop its movement.

“What does it matter what kind of flowers they were? They were yellow flowers—I don’t know what kind they were.”

“It obviously mattered to him,” Phil said cryptically.

“Do you still have them?” James asked.

“No. I chucked them in the bin after the cops came the first time.”

“They were tansies,” the teller answered, “Yellow tansies.”

“Interesting.” Phil said and seemed to ponder on the flowers in his mind.

“Thank you, Reginald.” James offered before turning toward the annoyed banker. “I think we have everything we need. I’ll send a telegram if we have further questions.”

 

☀☀☀

 

Xenophilus Lovegood was a peculiar man whose mind drifted wherever the wind allowed, often making him appear odd to the casual acquaintance. Violence did not suit him, and he refused to carry any weapon, but Frank had assured James though he had a poet's soul, he had a mind for mystery, often asking questions that others would overlook, which made him essential to their unit. He had long white hair that reached to the middle of his back, which was kept in a thick braid. He was older than James by ten years and had gained disfavor by most for having not served in the war due to his pacifism. But James didn't judge him for his unwillingness to join, not when he was still plagued with nightmares of blood and horror.

“Hey Phil?” James asked as his hips swayed to the rhythm of the steady steps from the horse beneath him, “Why would it matter what kind of flowers they were?”

“Oh, deputy, it matters a great deal what kind of flowers they were. Flowers have a language, you know.” Phil answered, gliding along on his own steed.

“Um—no. I don’t know, actually.” James admitted.

“Oh yes, flowers have been used to tell stories, convey emotions or intent for centuries in Asia and other parts of the world. It became all the rage in England a few years back and has since traveled to America.”

“Does every flower have a meaning?” James asked curiously.

“Not all, but most do. Not only the type of flower, but the color of the flower can change the message drastically. Take a rose, for example. Roses are delicate things that require great care and delicacy. A red rose signifies passion, love, romance. While a white rose gives the message of innocence and new beginnings, and a yellow rose symbolizes joy or friendship. The choice you make will depend on the person you intend to deliver a rose to and the message you wish to convey.”

“Do you think these tansies had any real meaning behind them, or do you think they were just tansies? ” James asked, wrapping his hand against the leather of the lead to turn the horse down the forked road.

“I think that these individuals do not make choices based on aesthetics alone. Look at their masks, carefully crafted and filled with symbols of stars, roses, ravens and lace? They could easily have left the masks alone—left them bare and black. Everyone has a story to tell, but some chose to leave a little mystery to keep one guessing.”

“So you think the man behind the mask with roses is a romantic?” James joked.

“Oh most certainly,” Xenophilus answered with sincerity, “but note the roses are not alone. He chose to include thorns.”

“And what is your take on that one ,” James asked, internally rolling his eyes.

“It’s protection, a defense of sorts. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say he is a deep romantic with a troubled past, and thus has grown thick skin to ward off potential predators.”

James watched as clouds rolled in the distance, threatening an oncoming storm.

“Hey Phil?”

“Yes, Deputy?”

“What do yellow tansies mean?” James asked as a thunderous roar echoed from the sky, followed by a hearty bolt of white lightning.

“War.”

 

☀☀☀

 

Though they had planned to make a straight shot to Warsaw, New York, the weather did not offer safe passage and James and Xenophilus were forced to stop in Wayland until the storm passed. They were soaked through and through from the rain that furiously beat down on them, so much so that the brims of their hats were flooded and sloshed as they dismounted their steeds. James instructed Phil to find shelter for the horses, who were growing steadily agitated with each violent crack of thunder, while he secured them shelter from the storm.

The swinging doors of the saloon slapped James back as he stood stock still in the wake of a sea of unkind faces casting skeptical glances at the stranger. A curious uneasiness fell upon the deputy, and he could practically feel the unwelcome aura of the six Wayland citizens wafting off of them and onto his skin, making it itch.

“Hi there, my partner and I are looking for a room. You wouldn’t happen to be able to point us in the right direction, would you?” James asked, a winning smile painted on his shivering lips.

Twelve eyes stared at him as if he were speaking in a foreign tongue, but eventually the barkeeper spoke up, “we have a room available upstairs.”

“Ah. That would be grand, thank you.” James said, and felt more than he heard, the silent presence of Phil next to him.

“We'll also be needing a meal if your kitchen isn’t closed.” James added and watched as a young man huffed from his chair and stood at the silent order from the barkeeper as he nodded his head once.

“We don’t mean to be an inconvenience,” James called out toward the cook, but his apologies fell as the man disappeared behind the swinging door to the kitchen, which oscillated back and forth.

“What brings you here,” the bartender asked, pouring two glasses of whiskey as he looked down at the star over James' chest, “deputy.”

James took the glass and gulped it down, eager to warm his bones, “We’re just passing through on our way to Warsaw.”

“What business do you have in Warsaw?” A pretty young woman with a round face and harsh eyes asked as she placed her hand on her hip.

“We’re investigating the robbery that happened there last spring.” Phil offered, and James groaned internally, for it was no business of theirs what they were doing.

If James had thought they were unwelcome before, the faces of the five remaining people turned even more sour, and suddenly he wasn’t as annoyed with Phil.

“We don’t know anything about that.” The woman declared, unprompted.

“We never said you did.” James said, and his brows furrowed at the statement, “but out of curiosity, you wouldn’t have happened to see a band of four individuals wearing an assortment of masks, would you?”

“No,” the woman snarled and James debated on questioning her further but ultimately decided against it as the cook plopped down a loaf of bread and an apple in front of them, “very well.”

Phil and James ate in silence, then made their way up the stairs and toward the loft where their room was.

“They know something.” James declared.

“Do you think they’ve been sworn to secrecy under threat?” Phil asked as he fluffed his pillow.

“Not under threat, no.” James said as he ran a hand through his partially dried hair, “they seemed—I don’t know—protective, almost. What I can’t seem to understand is why.”

After a few moments of laying on the bed, James decided he couldn’t let it go and snuck out of his room and onto the loft, careful to stick to the shadows.

“I don’t like it.” The woman whispered, “Do you think we should warn Doc?”

“You’re being paranoid, Bertha.” The bartender claimed, “Warsaw is forty miles from here, they’ve no reason to expect they ever stayed here.”

“Regardless of whether they know they were here, they’re still after them, Dirk. We should tell Doc so he can warn them not to come back.” Bertha argued.

“They’re smart enough not to retrace their steps, Bertha.” Another man chimed in.

“Don’t understand why they’re digging this up, it’s been two years.” Bertha continued, “We owe them, Edgar.”

“Yeah,” Edgar conceded, “I’ll go warn the Doc.”

Notes:

Next up: James meets Regulus (and reluctantly Barty).

Chapter 15: Six-point Stars & Black Velvet Bands

Summary:

James and Xenophilius return to New York and give their report to Frank. Meanwhile, someone has the audacious idea to rob the Manhattan branch.

July 1865

“So, what have you two got for me?” Frank asked as James and Xenophilius plopped down in their respective chairs, exhausted from their travels across the state.

“They have a pattern, which we already knew. They strike once every season, but never in the same place. Their last heist was in Schoharie back in April, so we should be expecting for their next robbery to be any day now.” Xenophilus answered.

“It’s definitely personal, too.” James added as he unbuttoned his vest, itching to get home and catch some well-deserved sleep, “They left tansies, well, one of them left tansies at every location, a sort of calling card.”

“What color were they?” Frank asked, sincerely.

“Really?” James blinked, looking back and forth between the two men incredulously, “Am I the only one who didn’t know flowers had meanings?”

“Yellow,” Phil answered, ignoring James’ antics, likely used to them by now.

“Ah,” Frank said, clearly knowing the intent, “Which one of them left the flowers?”

“Rosie,” James huffed, making a note to ask his mum about floriography after he got a good night's sleep.

“Rosie?”

“The one with roses on his mask,” Phil supplied.

Frank suppressed a laugh and asked, “You gave them nicknames?”

“Needed something to call them.” James yawned and stretched out his aching back across the back of the chair.

“Cute.”

“Yes, I thought so,” James smirked, “Anyway, Domino is the lookout—”

The marshal looked toward Xenophilius and mouthed the word Domino as if it wasn’t obvious to him which of the bandits the name belonged to.

“The black and white laced mask,” Phil offered and Frank nodded, suppressing an eye roll, but still James continued.

“And the Raven is the guard dog, keeping everyone in line.” James informed, waiting for the next interruption, which never came, “You’re not going to ask me which one the Raven is?”

“Well, it’s the one with the feathers, obviously.”

James pouted but continued, “While Rosie and the star-speckled mask one—”

“You haven’t got a name for him?”

“Not yet, it’ll come to me,” James frowned. He didn’t know enough about stars to know which constellations were featured on the mask and no one could give him a definitive description, if the multiple, mismatched drawings in his pocket were anything to go by.

“Anyway,” James continued, “They’re the ones who get into the vault.”

“Any idea what they do with the money?”

“I’ve got an idea—totally baseless, of course—” James hesitated.

“Hit me.”

“The bankers were more than happy to provide any information they could, but the townsfolk were tight-lipped.” James said.

“You think they’re being threatened?” Frank asked, with worried eyes.

“No, I overheard one of them at a bar in Wayland, outside of Warsaw, that said ‘We owe them’ but it didn’t sound—it sounded almost reverent. Like they were protective.”

Frank leaned into his desk, resting his elbows on the hard service as he laced his fingers together. It all seemed so familiar, like he had heard the story before in a slightly different font. Frank pondered over the facts as they had been presented to him and studied the way James' eyes glittered and gleamed, sparkling like stars through the dreamy, tired daze. James was not a religious man. He didn't believe in idols or gods; there was very little he would put on a pedestal for and suddenly—like a bolt of lightning had struck his brain—Frank realized James' theory, “You think we have a Robin Hood?” 

“I think we have a Robin Hood.” James declared.

 

♢♢♢♢

 

“This was such a fucking stupid idea,” Barty declared as the four of them glued themselves to the wall in the alley way, hands full of bags that were filled to the brim with grass green notes.

“It was your fucking idea, Crouch.” Evan seethed, adjusting his mask to make sure not a mole or a freckle was visible to anyone who might see them.

“Well, why did you listen to me?” Barty argued.

“Both of you shut up.” Regulus warned as he looked around for the best escape route. It was broad daylight, and there were far too many New York City officers rushing toward the bank they had just busted. Silvery blue eyes searched for a way out and found one in the form of a stairway leading toward the heavens.

Pandora, observant little bird that she was, tipped her head toward Regulus in silent agreement and headed toward the ladder.

It was a rickety thing, rusted and disused, and it buckled under her weight though Pandora managed and began to climb to safety. When Evan tried to join her, the ladder began to shift in an alarming way signaling it would not carry the weight of more than one person at a time.

Evan leapt off the ladder for fear that his sister would crash down and waited until she was safely on the platform of the stairs. He quickly climbed to meet her and as he did Barty whispered, “Alright Starlight, you’re next.”

But something held Regulus back. A shimmer in the corner of his eye, bright and bold, then gone in an instant.

“If the ladder falls, while you’re in it, I won’t be able to pull you up. You go first.” Regulus ordered.

Barty hesitated but reluctantly agreed and began to scale the ladder. Suddenly, the shimmer was back. But this time it wasn’t a fleeting light, but a brightly blazing star attached to the heart of a tall, dark figure whose face was obscured by shadows.

Quickly, Regulus tossed up the bag in his hands to a waiting Barty, pulled the revolver from his holster and turned, pointing the barrel toward the light that still shone.

The figure was nonplussed by the threat and continued to walk, out of breath but still calm, toward Regulus.

“You can put that down. We both know you’re not going to use it.” The figure breathed out, clearly attempting to regulate his breath from the sprint past the alley and back again.

With a wicked smile and a steady hand, Regulus cocked back the revolver and snarled, “Do we now?”

“Fuck,” Regulus heard Barty whisper but paid no mind to him, keeping his eyes and attention on the starred man with his hands raised in surrender.

“I just want to talk.” The man promised, and his eyes came into view, followed by his face.

The man before him was dressed well, sporting a three-piece blue suit that brought out the color of his eyes. Warm tones lit up his skin, as if he had been playing in the sun all summer. His face was kind, sincere—playful even. He was the kind of man Regulus could see himself falling for, but the star on his chest was a stark reminder of who he belonged to and that this man, no matter how friendly he seemed, was the enemy.

“You must be the deputy we were warned about.” Regulus said coolly.

“Ahh, so you’ve heard of me.” The deputy purred as he flashed a wink and a smile that—only for a moment—had Regulus lowering the barrel. But with another step forward, he righted the angle, aiming it for that wretched star.

“You’re not nearly as handsome as they described you,” Regulus lied. The quick movement of the man lifting his hands to cover his heart—feigning a wound—startled Regulus, and he adjusted his aim, pointing the revolver at the deputy’s head.

“Ahh, you wound me.” The deputy gave a mock frown, but the glint in his eye let Regulus know his words hadn’t even made a scratch.

“In contrast,” the man declared too close—practically touching the barrel of Regulus' gun with his throat, “You are every bit as pretty as they said.”

Regulus frowned and was seized with a righteous fury that thrummed through his veins as he closed the gap between steel and flesh, vowing through gritted teeth, “If you ever call me pretty again, I will shoot you.”

A flash of excitement flickered behind blue eyes as he whispered, “Then what would you have me call you?”

“Nothing,” Regulus replied, “I would have you forget you ever saw us.”

Blue eyes washed over Regulus like a tidal wave as the man traced over the bandit’s body. He licked his lips and brought his eyes back to Regulus’ and said with a deep, rich timber, “I am a man capable of many great things, but I don’t think forgetting you could be one of them.”

“Starlight,” Barty called up from the platform and both heads turned to see Barty holding a revolver aimed for the deputy, “Come on. I’ve got him.”

The man frowned but brightened when the metal dug further into his flesh rather than pulling away.

“Why have you been poking around our old haunts?” Regulus asked.

“Well starlight,” the deputy said and smiled like an idiot as Regulus jammed the barrel further into his chin, “you’ve been very naughty. And it seems you have pissed off the wrong people.”

A scoff rang from above and the deputy’s mirth filled eyes flocked to the sound as he said, “or perhaps, the right people.”

“And you’re here to collect.” Barty accused, but the man shook his head and lowered his eyes back toward Regulus.

“Nah.”

“But—” Regulus whispered, confusion wrinkled in his brow, “that’s your job. Apprehend the bad guys.”

“That would be correct,” the man said as he tilted his head, “but I’m not entirely sure that you fit the bill yet.”

Twin stars swept back and forth as Regulus assessed the man in his thrall. Deeming him a man of his word, and sure Barty would gun him down if he weren’t, Regulus uncocked the gun and let it fall back into its holster.

A red circular mark was embedded in golden skin, and Regulus stared at it for a moment before glancing back into wide pupils that seemed to aim to absorb every inch of him.

“Have you gotten what you need?” Regulus asked.

“I still need a name.”

“I’m not giving you my name,” Regulus scoffed. Much good it would do him, anyway.

“I’ll just have to make one up then,” the man grinned, and Regulus found himself wanting to slap the offender that mocked him off his perfect face.

“Yeah, right. You do that.” Regulus said, turning on his heel, but was stopped abruptly by the hand that shot out to grip his arm.

The sound of a gun cocking echoed in the alley, and Barty had a deadly stare that threatened more than any man-made weapon.

“Watch it, copper.” Barty warned and Regulus felt the heat of the hand fade away as the man withdrew it once again signaling his surrender.

“What is it?” Regulus asked, anxious to flee before someone less than lenient found them.

“Nothing—I just um—” the man stammered, all confidence drained as he scratched the back of his head and whispered, “nothing.”

“Spit it out, deputy.” Regulus demanded.

The harsh tone of Regulus' voice pierced through the man’s insecurity, and he whispered, “your eyes are just so—”

Regulus’ hand was back on the gun before the deputy could say word on his lips and the man huffed a laugh that bounced quietly off the brick walls as he settled for, “ethereal.” 

The star-spangled—thankfully—covered the roses that sprouted on Regulus’ cheeks, and he sneered as he proclaimed, “I assure you, I am not delicate by any means.”

“No,” the man agreed, licking the sweat that dripped onto his lips, “but you are heavenly.”

“As entertaining as this is to watch,” Barty drawled, “we do have an escape we need to execute.”

Thankful for the interjection, Regulus peered down at the golden star and muttered, “Goodbye, Deputy.”

“I’ll be seeing you again, Stargazer.”

“Stargazer?” Regulus asked, curiously.

“Well, you won’t give me your name, so—” Regulus felt the deputy’s knuckles brush against each cheek and tried—but failed—to suppress a chuckle as he turned away and climbed the ladder.

Barty’s green gaze never left the man below as Regulus began to climb and as he reached the platform safely, he turned around to see the officer holding the ladder for him.

“I would stay up there if I were you.” The man called out to the pair, “if you try to move during the daylight, you’re more likely to be seen.”

“How do we know you’re not going to turn us in if we stay?” Barty asked skeptically.

“You don’t,” the man answered honestly as he shrugged as he slipped his hands in his pockets. A growl of annoyance pushed through Barty as the pair turned to climb the staircase toward their sanctuary, but they were once again paused by a final call from the deputy.

“Oh, and Rosie?”

“What now?” Barty barked.

“The devil would have you know your regards have been received and are not at all appreciated,” the smirk on the deputy’s face was odd and misplaced given the golden star on his chest but Barty seemed to find humor in the remark as he leaned over, placing his forearms on the railing.

“Is that so?” Barty asked, “be a dear and tell your Master Rosier I said his money was and will continue to be well spent.”

All humor temporarily vacated the deputy’s face before his smile returned, a little darker than before, “I assure you he is not my master.”

“As far as I’m concerned, anyone who accepts a bribe from him, or does his bidding, is a servant of the devil.” Barty sneered.

“Well, it might be of interest to you to know I have not, nor will I accept money from Mr. Rosier. As far as his bidding, he demanded we capture you and your lot.” The man explained.

“And yet you didn’t,” Barty called out.

“And yet I didn’t,” the man confirmed.

“Why?” Barty asked, puzzlement carved like jigsaw pieces in his eyes.

The man poked his tongue against his cheek like he was holding back his response, and with a wink, the deputy turned and strolled down the alley singing an altered version of an old Irish folk song.

 

His eyes, they shone like diamonds,

I thought him the king of the land

And his hair hung over his shoulder,

Tied up in a black velvet band

 

Barty straightened himself and turned toward Regulus, grinning as he raised his hand toward the black curls, which had grown out since he first cut them, draped over his shoulder. Long slender fingers tugged lightly at the black band holding the curls together.

“Seems you have an admirer,” Barty cooed, biting his lip to stifle the chuckle.

“Shut up and climb,” Regulus groaned as he pushed past his friend to meet the others.

“No, I think it’s cute,” Barty mockingly reassured as he followed, “you have a fancy-man.”

“I will gut you with a rusty knife.” Regulus threatened, but Barty was far too joyful to stop his teasing. 

When they reached the top, Regulus debated hurling himself over the edge as Barty announced, “it seems Regulus has captured the heart of the law.”

“What do you mean?” Evan asked concerned, “what took you two so long.”

“We had a bit of a run in.” Barty explained as he sat down next to Evan and stage whispered, “There’s a deputy that has eyes for our boy here. Let us go and everything.”

“He didn’t let us go because he fancies me,” regulus huffed.

“Maybe not, but he does fancy you.”

“Can we go back to the 'law' part?” Evan asked, looking over the side of the building and finding the alley empty.

Regulus felt a pair of pale blue eyes trace across his form and turned his head to see a wildly grinning Pandora.

“What?” Regulus asked as he took off his mask.

“You’ve been touched by the sun.” She answered with a hearty giggle.

It had been an unseasonably hot summer and Regulus could only imagine what his face looked like having been outside with his mask on for far too long. But as his friend brushed her knuckles against the phantom constellations, he wondered if she was speaking plainly or in her own riddlesome way.

“—can’t blame him, though. He was cute.” Barty teased.

“Cute.” Evan repeated.

“Yep,” Barty confirmed in an overly dreamy voice, “Tall, warm tan skin, pretty blue eyes behind thick dark lashes, and floppy brown hair that shone red in the sunlight. And his smile—”

“Shut it, Bartemius.” Regulus growled, sending a death glare to his so-called friend, who was clearly amusing himself at Regulus’ expense.

“Is that—” Evan began, clearing his throat, “is that what you look for in—in a man?”

A light breeze blew across the roof and gathered the humor along with it as Barty looked down and answered honestly, “Not necessarily. I like a variety of men, of all shapes and sizes, colors and creeds, but I won’t deny he was handsome.”

“Handsome.” Evan repeated.

“Attractive.” Barty supplied.

“Attractive.” Evan parroted, “to you.”

“Yes, but—”

“Do you really think you should be fawning over an officer, let alone a Deputy Marshall, given our…employment?” Evan chastised.

“I’m not fawning over him,” Barty declared.

“But you find him attractive.” Evan stated.

“Well—yeah.”

“Handsome.”

“If you had seen him, you would too,” Barty argued and Evan scoffed at the insinuation as he stood and crossed the roof, putting distance between himself and Barty.

“Listen—”

“I don’t care ‘bout your excuses, Mrs. Weasley,” a nasally voice drawled from the front of the building, “many women’ve lost their husbands, and I’ve been more than fair, ain’t I? If the rent you owe ain’t in me hand, payment in full, I will evict you.”

“But my chi—”

“Your children ain’t my problem, lady. Perhaps you should’ve thought ‘bout that before ‘avin’ so many.”

The four of them had gathered to peer over the side of the building to watch the interaction and witnessed a distraught, red-faced woman clench her fists in frustration before letting her reality, along with her shoulders, sink.

“That’s fucking shameful.” Pandora condemned as the landlord walked away, straight backed, without a care in the world.

“Disgraceful behavior.” Evan agreed and walked over to the bags of money tucked away in the corner of the roof. “Who do we know that we could trust in the city to distribute properly.”

“Well, we have to make sure she gets helped,” Pandora urged, “Wait—where is Barty?”

Regulus peered over Pandora’s shoulder to see Barty already disobeying the deputy’s warning in an effort to follow Mrs. Weasley.

“Oh. Good.” Pandora said as she followed Regulus’ gaze.

“Alphard would do it.” Regulus offered.

“I don’t think that’s such a good—”

“Yeah, I—I just miss him. I was hoping, but—” Regulus shook his head. He knew it was a bad idea, but he missed his uncle nearly as much as he missed—.

“What about your deputy?” Evan asked, feathers still ruffled, but eager for a solution.

“He’s not my deputy.” Regulus retorted and with no mask to his face, the blood flowed freely, bubbling to the surface of his cheeks.

“We’ll find someone,” Pandora assured as she draped her arms around Regulus.

 

♢♢♢♢

 

I took a stroll down broadway

Meaning not long for to stay.

When who should appear but this pretty fair lad

Come traipsing along the highway.

He was both fair and handsome

His neck, it was just like a swans’.

And his hair it hung over his shoulder

Tied up with a black velvet band.

 

Frank heard a rich tenor bellow from down the hall, which grew louder and louder as it approached his office. If it had been anyone else, he would have told them to knock it off, but as James walked through the door with the brightest smile Frank had seen since before the war, the headache from the lashing he had just received from Garrett Rosier for yesterday’s blunder was forgotten and replaced with a devastating case of curiosity.

“What has you so chipper,” Frank asked.

“Nothing,” James claimed as he climbed on top of one of the chairs in front of Frank’s office, his feet firmly planted in the seat and his ass resting on the back of the chair.

“‘Nothing’ he says.” Frank smiled, but unfortunately duty called, and he had to fill James in with the information Garrett Rosier had provided.

“So, James—” Frank began, but a sharp knock on his door interrupted the thought, and he called in the intruder.

“Sorry to interrupt you, Marshal, but there’s a man who claims to have a lead on the bank bandits.”

Frank waved the witness in and watched as James’ face fell. In fact, he suddenly looked a little ill.

“Mister—”

“Fletcher, sir, at your service.” The man said as he placed his hat over his heart and bowed, revealing greasy unkempt hair, what little of it there was.

“Mr. Fletcher, please have a seat.” Frank offered while James slumped into his own chair, “What information do you have for us, Mr. Fletcher?”

“Well, I’m a landlord, yeah? And ‘ard times is fallen on my tenants, but still bills gotta get paid y’know? So, I’ve got meeself about five tenants who were supposed to get evicted this mornin’ if they didn’t give me what was owed to me by noon today. Poor folks,” Fletcher continued, offering sympathies as fake as the gold painted rings on his fingers, “they ain’t got a penny to their name, but all of a sudden, they pulled up to my door, cash in hand, claimin’ relatives died and left ‘em with some money. Now, the first one I didn’t bat an eye, the second one, I thought bein’ peculiar, but after the third I thought to meself, somefin ain’t right. Now I got a good look at the papers this mornin’ and saw that bank had been robbed and four peoples who done it. I also saw that reward for whosever caught ‘em. So that’s why I’m ‘ere.”

“To collect your reward?” James asked as he picked a speck of invisible dust from his sleeve.

“‘s right,” Fletcher confirmed, puffing out his chest.

“And you believe these tenants of yours are the bandits that robbed the bank off 5th yesterday?” Frank asked.

“Yep.” Fletcher confirmed, popping his lips.

“Well, we’ll be needing their names and addresses so we can interview them.” Frank informed.

“Right, got all that right ‘ere,” Fletcher said as he pulled out five pieces of paper.

“You said you had five tenants, yes?” James asked.

“‘s right.” Fletcher nodded.

“There were four bandits.” James deadpanned, ungenerously.

“Right, well, maybe one of ‘em’s a look-out.”

“Right,” James said, disbelievingly.

“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Fletcher. Should we discover these individuals are, in fact, the bandits we’re looking for, I’ll be sure to pass along your information so you may be properly rewarded.” Frank dismissed, but Fletcher remained seated.

“I don’t get me money now?” Fletcher asked, looking back and forth between the two officers.

“No, Mr. Fletcher, we need to determine these are the criminals we’re looking for, beforehand, you understand?” Frank explained and as the landlord’s face soured, he offered, “I’ll put my best man on it, I assure you.”

James’ expression of disdain never faltered until Frank pushed the papers provided from Fletcher toward the edge of the desk in his deputy’s direction. Disbelief and a hint of betrayal saturated James’ blue eyes, but he leaned forward to take the papers, regardless, without vocalizing his annoyance.

The deputy sifted through the papers and paused before leaning his head back and roaring with laughter that brought tears to his eyes which he wiped away as he chuckled, “Molly Weasley. You think one of the bank bandits is Molly Weasley? ”

“Like I said, one of’em could’ve been a lookout.” Fletcher repeated with shifty eyes that lead Frank to believe he was less than confident in his suspicions.

 

♢♢♢♢

 

“A look-out,” James scoffed as he reached the familiar door, knocked three times, and waited. The deputy took a moment to observe the forgotten neighborhood. He hadn’t been on this side of the city since before the war, and he was surprised at how much had changed. Once a booming area with a rich economy looked crumbled and war torn, shops had been closed, curtains drawn, some apartments had been boarded up with thick wooden planks and long steel nails. What was once a charming little neighborhood had grown cold, silent, nearly empty.

The door opened and James snapped his head away from the street and back to the open space where he was forced to look down to greet two skeptical faces.

“Who are you then?” asked Fred–no George? There was truly no telling, as when James had last seen them, they were only two, just starting to develop their little personalities.

“I’m here to see Molly Weasley.” James stated.

“No such person ‘ere.” one of the twins lied and began to close the door, but James shoved his boot in the empty space before it could close.

“Fred, George, who is at the door?” A crackling voice called from behind the door. James pushed it open to reveal the eldest Weasley child, eyes wide with recognition. Bill shoved the two younger boys aside to tackle James with a great big hug that nearly suffocated the deputy.

“You made it.” Bill whispered between the tears that leaked onto James’ cheek and neck.

“Yeah, Billy, I made it.” James whispered, hugging him back with equal measure, “Let me get a good look at you.”

Bill untangled himself from the returned soldier and stepped back, letting James soak in all the years he had missed. The eldest Weasley brother had grown nearly three feet since James had seen him last. His hair was a darker, less vibrant red, hanging all the way down to his shoulders. Baby fat had disappeared entirely, leaving the boy lean and lanky and dark purple circles shadowed his eyes, but still his smile was wide and his eyes bright.

“God,” James choked, “you’ve gotten so big.”

“Soon I’ll be catching up to you.” Bill joked.

“Yeah, you’ll pass my height, I’m certain.” James assured, “Where’s your mum?”

“She’s still at work.” Bill answered, “But you can come on in and wait for her.”

“Billy, he’s a copper,” one of the twins whispered, eyeing James as if he were a threat.

“A copper who changed your nappies,” James retorted and chuckled as twin pairs of eyes widened comically.

“This is Ms. Potter’s son, the one who went to war.” Bill explained as he backed against the open door, allowing James to pass through.

It was a modest apartment, always had been even before the war, but as James looked around an unsteady feeling came over him. The first thing he noticed was the beautiful wooden piano with ivory keys, which had been the centerpiece of so many Christmases, was nowhere to be seen. There were no lace trimmings, or ornate curtains, none of the finer touches Mrs. Weasley had made over the years. The walls were bare, with only phantom evidence of discoloration that the portraits and paintings had been there at all, except for a singular frame above the fireplace draped in a black sheet.

“Billy,” James turned toward the three children, heart pounding to the tune of a funeral march, “Where is Arthur?”

Bill lowered his head, staring at the cracks in his shoes, as he whispered, “Gettysburg.”

“Oh.” James said, the revelation was heavy, and he felt his knees buckle under the weight of it, and he stammered and reached for the chair to his side to rest as he took in the loss of his friend and what it meant for the family Arthur had left behind.

“Is your mum–” James started, but the rest of his sentence silently fell off his tongue and onto the floor.

Graciously, Bill retrieved it and responded, “No. No, she's not really doing well. She won’t tell you, of course. It’s hard–”

“Yes. No, she must be–of course.” James muttered, “Where are Charlie and Percy?”

“Charlie is off to fetch the littles,” Billy said, “and Percy—Percy is—”

“We all got a case of smallpox,” James heard Molly say as she walked into the living room, “Percy didn’t—he didn’t make it.”

It was within an instant that James came barreling across the room embracing Molly so tightly she could hardly breathe, but she refused to let go as she whispered over and over into James’ ear, “You made it back, you made it back to us.”

“Molly,” James wept, “I’m so sorr—”

“Hush now, darling,” Molly soothed, which made James sob all the more.

 

♢♢♢♢

 

Once Charlie had arrived with the littles, the two elder boys kept the other four entertained while James helped Molly make dinner.

“That’s a fancy badge you have there, deputy.” Molly said as she pointed the knife chopping onions toward the star in James’ chest.

“I have a bit of a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“I’m here on business.”

“Oh.”

“Not that I didn’t want to see you, of course! It’s just, your landlord has some suspicions about how you came to the money you paid him this morning.”

“My Uncle Barry died.” Molly deadpanned.

“You don’t have an Uncle Barry, Mols.”

“It’s so inconvenient that you know that.” Molly smiled, “but I won’t give them up, James. Not even for you.”

“I’m not asking you to. I just–you don’t even have to tell me a single detail about them. I just want to know,” James sighed, “Did they threaten you?”

“What?” Molly scoffed, “Don’t be absurd.”

“So, they just gave you the money, no strings attached.” James said.

“One string attached,” Molly admitted, “An unspoken one.”

James leaned in, and asked with curiosity, “What is it?”

“Don’t turn them in.”

“How much did they give you?”

“I can’t return what I’ve given the landlord,” Molly admitted, “but the rest–”

“I don’t want any of it, Molly, and as far as I’m concerned Uncle Barry was very generous to you in his untimely departure,” James promised, “I just want to know how much and to whom.”

“Enough for the back owed rent, plus the next couple of months. Same goes for the other tenants if you’re planning on interviewing them.” Molly said, wiping her hands on her apron, “You’ve been gone, James. And Lord knows I don’t blame you for that, but you've got no idea what it's been like for us left behind. Arthur’s pay was decent enough to help keep us afloat, but when he died, the money stopped coming in, and I had to start taking shifts at the factory. And it was even harder when–when–Percy,” she began but couldn’t find it in her to finish the sentence, “well, let’s just say death isn’t free. And I am one of many women who have lost not only their spouses but their way of living. The world doesn’t stop to mourn, and neither can we. So, when these angels offered us a leg up, we took it. Didn’t bother asking where it came from, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. You take it and offer your gratitude, and you pray that one day you’ll be back up on your feet enough to offer someone else a hand.”

They were silent for a long time while James processed all he had learned, not just about the bank bandits, but how the world had changed in his absence.

“You know, we would have helped, if you ever need it in the future, we will help,” James vowed.

“You can’t help us all, James,” Molly said, “And I don’t want you bending yourself all out of shape trying to do so.”

“At the least, promise me, if there’s ever a day you’re facing eviction again, you come to us. And if there is ever a night where your cupboards and pockets are bare, you come over and have dinner with us.” James begged.

“James.”

“Your pride will not keep food in your children's bellies and a roof over your head, and you can’t take care of them if you don’t take care of yourself.” James warned with sincere sympathy. He knew first-hand what hunger could drive a man to do, and he was determined not to let the Weasley family fall into that fate.

Reluctantly, Molly’s shoulders slumped, and she promised, “if we are in desperate need, we will come and find you, or your parents.”

“Thank you, Molly,” James whispered as he kissed the top of her head.

Once dinner was prepared, the Weasley's and James gathered around the kitchen table and helped themselves to the meager meal. James had offered to surrender his portions, but one stern look from Molly had him cowering, and he ate his meal without another word on the matter.

“Did you know our Da?” Fred piped up from across the table.

“Yeah, I did. Our families go way back, you know? Arthur’s dad and my dad worked at a law firm together. As my dad was retiring, your grandfather was coming in and Dad showed Septimus the ropes. He took over all of dad’s cases and even after he retired often came over for advice. Arthur used to tag along, but even though he was a handful of years older than me, he would come and play with me.” James said.

“Did he play with your brothers and sisters too?” George asked.

“No,” James laughed, “I didn’t have any brothers and sisters.”

“No brothers and sisters?” Fred gasped.

“Nope—just me.”

“Wonder what that’s like.” Fred and George said in unison.

“Rather lonely, actually.” James admitted, “but your father has always been—was always—like a brother to me. I even remember the first time he met your mum. God, he was over the moon—totally gone. Told me all about this snappy little woman with hair as fiery as her spirit and I swore one day I was going to find my own red-haired vixen.”

“Did you?” Bill asked, and the room grew silent as they waited for his answer.

“I’ve since grown up, and I’m old enough to know that fire doesn’t burn in one shade. Sometimes it’s orange, other times red, but the hottest flames are blue and white.” James responded and witnessed the confusion of Charlie’s face.

“I’ve never seen a blue or a white fire.” Bill commented.

“You haven’t?” James exclaimed with a hint of humor, “Bill, wait till I show you this—”

James rose from his chair and walked across the room to the door. Upon realizing none of the Weasley clan was following him he turned around and said, “well—come along then.”

The children’s eyes turned toward their mother whose smile was small—a twitch of the lips really. Molly nodded her head and one by one the seven of them stood and followed James out to the street.

The street was as silent as it was when James had first approached, and the gas lanterns were lit mildly drowning out the stars above. Bill set his eyes on those lanterns and lifted his arm to point at the amber hue burning above.

“See? They’re yellow.” Bill said.

With steady hands, James grasped the boy's shoulders and turned him in the street. He cupped his hands and placed them on either side of Bill’s temples and lightly lifted the boy’s head to gaze toward the heavens.

“What color are they, Billy?” James whispered.

“Oh . They’re white.” Bill answered.

“Exactly.” James said proudly, watching the other children cup the sides of their eyes to see the stars.

“Well—” Fred thought, “How are you gonna get a star down from all the way up there?”

A chuckle rose from Molly who wrapped her arm around James’ and the deputy scratched his chin as he answered, “I don’t know, Freddy—it’s a delicate thing capturing stars.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Notes:

Next up: During their fall time bank heist, the Marauders' luck begins to run out. James is stuck between a rock and a hard place as he stumbles upon the robbery in progress.